The Chirping In Your Ear

“Rich wankers, the whole lot of them,” George Patrick mumbled under his breath as he pulled another message from the outgoing message bin at the edge of his desk. His frustration had been growing as the evening wore on. He was quick on the wire machine, but with the machine being down the day before, clearing the backlog was proving to be quite the challenge, especially as the messages kept pouring in from the ship’s clerks at an increasing pace. He had been at it for the last two hours without a break. His fingers were cramping and his mind was starting to get foggy. He checked the clock on the wall. Only 8:45pm. It would be another five hours before the junior operator was scheduled to relieve him. Edward Flannery was a competent operator, but as a matter of pride, George wanted to clear as much of the backlog himself as he could.

George raked his hands down his face and pushed back from the desk. He needed to do something to get his blood pumping again and clear the haze that had begun to settle over him. He walked along the promenade on the boat deck, allowing the frigid Atlantic air to wash over him, providing an immediate rush and sharpening his focus. He made his way down to the F Deck to the third class galley for a large mug of coffee and a quick snack to help give him the energy he needed to finish the rest of his shift.

Once seated again at his post, George felt a sense of pride as he raced through the messages. He was hopeful that with his and Edward’s efforts tonight, the backlog would be cleared before morning and they could breathe more easily. Amazing how the wealthy guests seemed to think every communication was of the utmost importance. He seriously doubted that an update back to land on Zeus and Hera, the first-class poodles, was of any consequence to anyone. But his orders were clear. All first-class messages must be relayed as quickly as possible to Cape Race in Newfoundland to be relayed to the appropriate parties on land.

As 9:30pm rolled around, he could feel his body abuzz with energy now that the coffee had fully kicked in and he was speeding through the messages. At this time of night, there was not a great deal of radio chatter from the other ships in their sector. Most ships took a break from passenger communications for the evening, so when George heard an incoming message from Mesaba, he shifted his focus. *Multiple icebergs. Large ice field. Heading 278 mark 14. Confirm receipt and notification to bridge.* George quickly took down the message and was transmitting his confirmation when William Manson stormed into the small radio room.

“Where is Mrs. Franklin’s response?” he demanded impatiently.

“Mrs. Franklin?” George tried to recall which of the hundred messages from this evening Manson was in reference to.

“Yes, Mrs. Franklin. She sent a message to coordinate having her husband’s surgeon in New York upon their arrival. He is in terrible condition and they sailed with us specifically to get him to America for this new procedure that only Dr. Fisher is performing. Surely even you can understand the urgency of this matter.” The condescension hung heavily in the air as George stared sharply at the purser. As the supervisor to the more than 400 men and women responsible for tending to the passengers, William Manson had become accustomed to barking orders at most crew members, but technically George and Edward were employees of the Marconi Company, as they supplied the telegraph equipment, so neither man reported to William.

Manson made absolutely no effort to mask his feelings towards George. Initially, George had taken William to just be an unhappy and unpleasant man, but rumors among the crew were that Margaret, one of the first-class stewardesses, had turned down a dinner invitation with William on the first night of their voyage. Later that evening, Margaret had joined George for a stroll on the boat deck and, of course, William had seen the two of them. William had never specifically mentioned the matter, but that seemed to be the only rational explanation for his complete disdain for George.

“The message was sent to Cape Race and I’m awaiting a response. I’ll be sure she receives the update as soon as it comes through.”

“See to it that you do,” William said sharply. “We don’t need the reputation of Titanic, and of White Star Line, tarnished because some simple fool didn’t understand his place.” With that, William turned on his heel and was gone in an instant.

“What a prat,” George sighed under his breath as the radio continued to beep in his ear. He took a few steadying breaths before turning his attention back to the work at hand. Even though the interruption had lasted only a minute, it had riled him up and took him longer than he would have liked to admit to return to his normal even keel. Just a few more hours until Edward would take over and then he could go to bed and forget about this draining evening.

George continued to make decent progress through his backlog of messages, and had even sent a follow up on Mrs. Franklin’s message as well. It was just before 11:00pm when the door to the radio room crashed open.

“Mr. Franklin collapsed and the ship’s doctor is with him now. Where the hell is our update on Fisher?” He slammed his palm against the door, as if he needed to make it clearer that he was furious.

“There is no update-“

“What the hell have you been doing up here all night? I already stressed to you the urgency of this matter”

“And I sent another message to Cape Race just after you left.”

“Is that all you plan to do? Send one more message and sit back and wait?”

“What would you have me do? Swim to shore to relay the message?” George answered mockingly.

“I should have you fired for this,” William sneered.

“Marconi isn’t going to fire me for doing my job,” George laughed.

“Perhaps they’ll fire you for fraternizing with the crew during your assignment.” A scowl passed across Manson’s face and his eyes blazed with fury. George simply shook his head.

“So that’s what this is about? Your knickers are in a twist because Margaret joined me for an evening walk after she told you no?”

“You arrogant bastard,” he growled, lunging for George and pulling him up by the collar, shoving him against the wall.

“Gentlemen!” A booming voice came from behind them. They both turned to see the second mate glaring at them. Manson released his hold on George immediately and both righted themselves. “I have absolutely no interest in what prompted this or who started it. Need I remind you that you are both representatives of Titanic, particularly when you are on duty, and you are expected to conduct yourselves accordingly. If I get wind of any further disturbance, you will both be formally reprimanded. Is that clear?”

“Yessir,” both men said quietly.

“Now get back to work.” He waited by the doorway for William to leave and then followed him down to hall to ensure that the matter was over. Furious and agitated, George sat back down and slammed his fist against the desk. As soon as he put his headset on, he could hear the loud beeping of the spark gap wireless communication coming from the Californian. Given the small circle of radio operators, George knew of Howard Dalton from the Californian, although they had never met in person. He was a nice enough man, but he could be a worrier at times. His message was coming through loud and clear on George’s headset, to the point he could not ignore it. *Californian at full stop. Heavy ice field. Must wait for morning light to safely maneuver. Confirm.* He had ignored the message the first two times he heard it as he tried to focus again on the Franklin issue. The third time he heard the message, something inside him snapped. He pounded out his curt reply *Keep out. Shut up. I’m working Cape Race.* With that, the incessant loud beeping stopped and with a loud push of air from his lungs, he was able to resume his duties.

Just before midnight, George finally received the reply he had been waiting for all evening. *Fisher confirmed for April 17 in NYC. Send updated ETA on April 16.*

“Finally,” George sighed under his breath and confirmed receipt of the message. He jotted the short communication down on a card and rose from his chair to take the message to the clerk’s office. He doubted they would be delivering messages at midnight, but the last thing he wanted was to be accused of dragging his feet on this matter. He was scheduled to return back to Belfast on Titanic, but he planned to put in a request for a transfer to a different ship as soon as they returned. Having to deal with William Manson on an ongoing basis was not something he was interested in doing.

“Gentlemen,” a low voice said over his shoulder. Captain Marshall was standing in the hall and was addressing both him and Edward, who had evidently woken early for his shift and was walking down the hall to his station. “Step inside please,” he said as he motioned for Edward to join George in the radio room. “Roughly twenty minutes ago, Titanic struck an iceberg,” he paused, looking between the two men who simply nodded. Striking icebergs at sea was not uncommon, but a ship the size of Titanic was built to withstand significant impact without threat. “A very, very large iceberg. Send out the distress signals.”

“What, specifically, are we requesting of the nearby ships? Assistance in repairs?” George asked carefully.

“Unknown at this point Mr. Patrick. Given the size of our ship and the number of passengers, we will need all the help we can get. Mr. Flannery, keep me apprised of the efforts.” Without another word, he quickly disappeared down the hall, leaving the two men staring at each other in confusion.

“He’s just being overly cautious, right?” Edward asked George. He was less than a year out of training, and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred on any of his prior voyages. George had more than five years under his belt, but nothing terribly dramatic to speak of.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know Captain Marshall well, so I don’t know if he is overly cautious or not during possible emergencies. Regardless, let’s get to work.” He tried to maintain an even tone and not give any outward signs to Edward that there could be something to worry about. As the senior operator, it was his duty to instill a sense of calm under pressure and provide leadership during emergencies, and that is what George Patrick intended to do.

A surge of adrenaline ran through George as he sat back down. Just ten minutes ago, he was starting to feel tired and was looking forward to crawling into bed, but all thoughts of that had vanished. He looked back at his board to check which ships were closest to their current location based on prior communications and began sending out their distress signal. There were only a handful of ships in the vicinity, so hopefully they would receive news of inbound help shortly.

It was nearly half an hour later before they had any news to share with the captain. For all of the chatter that was buzzing on the radios just two hours ago, there was only one ship, Carpathia, that had answered their call. It was eerily quiet from the other ships in the vicinity. Edward raced, or walked as quickly as one could without actually running, to the bridge to deliver the update to Captain Marshall. He looked down at the note from the wire room indicating Carpathia’s location, speed, and estimated arrival time. As the captain finished reading the note for the third time, there was a loud groan followed by a lurching in the deck.

“Damn!” he muttered, shaking his head. “We’ll be at the bottom of the Atlantic in four and a half hours,” the captain said, staring blankly out at the inky black water around them. The clouds seemed to have thinned in the last hour, making the icebergs glow in the moonlight.

“Pardon?” Edward asked, not able to mask the distress in his voice.

“The bulkheads have failed, Mr. Flannery. The ship is going down and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.” The words seemed to spill easily from the captain’s mouth, but Edward’s ears could not believe what they were hearing. Impossible that this could be the fate of this ‘unsinkable’ ship.

“Sir?” Edward stammered.

“Send it,” Marshall rasped and then turned his back to the operator, looking down at some papers in front of him.

Edward knew he should be hurrying back to the radio room, but it was as if he was wearing cement galoshes. His mind seemed to have disconnected from his body as he relayed the captain’s orders to George.

“I’ll send out the CQD code, and maybe someone else will get our call,” George said, his tone failing to have the optimism he hoped for.

“Better try that new SOS code. May be your only chance to use it,” Edward replied, only half jokingly. Ships had only just begun using the SOS, but the operators all knew of the code. The next hour flew by as both men frantically tried to reach anyone that would listen. The Carpathia had acknowledged the urgency of the latest news and promised to come as quickly as possible, but they were still hours away. The other ships had remained silent.

“Wasn’t Californian in the vicinity? Why haven’t they responded? Even a courtesy message or something.” George felt those words like a swift blow to the gut. He knew why Howard Dalton wasn’t answering their calls.

“I snapped at him earlier,” George answered with a ghostly expression on his face. “He kept chirping in my ear, and Manson was all over me about this nonsense with Mrs. Franklin. So, I snapped at Howard to piss off and leave me alone.” The weight of this realization was almost crippling. George reached for the garbage can just in time for him to lose his late night snack. The fate of the entire ship was resting on them being able to summon help, and he had smarted off to the only ship that could make it to them in time. He just prayed that Howard Dalton did not hold grudges.