Call Me Ismay (11 page)

After staring at the envelope for several minutes, Langston finally decided to open the letter. As he unfolded it, his eyes scanned the message with terrified fascination.

Dear K. Langston-

By now Gidley's fate is known to you. Hold your weapons vampirical as close to your heart as you do these Words-

Gidley, is merely a pawn in the Chess Game mastered by Lyons- to Him, the Argued Prophecy is everything-

Proceed with caution as the MP moves towards an independent Republic to be formed out West with Himself as Head-

The Women will follow-

Seek not to destroy by the light of day but by the Light of Truth-

I grasp your spirit in the palm of my Hand as I wish you safety-

Yours, Lillith

Langston pushed his horn rimmed glasses up closer to his face, then slowly brought them back down over his nose. He gazed over the lenses and examined the note with his naked eyes. His heart was pounding.

It was the first time one of the letters had been signed.

CHAPTER SIX

April 30th, 1912

The Caucus Room of the Senate Office Building in Washington D.C. had initially been the location of United States Senate hearings on the
Titanic
disaster. It had seemed to be a natural choice for its immense size. Already the catastrophe had captured the attention of the world at large. Indeed, the public and the press had descended upon the nation's capitol, demanding answers.  The room's elegance, including panels of marble and great chandeliers, eerily invoked the finest aspects of the
Titanic's
luxury, which had been lost in the depths of the Atlantic just two weeks and a day before. After just one day, however, it was decided that the proceedings would be moved into the much smaller Committee on Territories Conference Room, with its colonial lamps and mahogany furniture. Some members of the press speculated the inquiry had been moved out of respect for the
Titanic's
dead into a space that didn't reflect brazen ornateness. In truth, the hearings had been moved because the Caucus Room offered horrendous acoustics.

The American inquiry, headed by Senator William Alden Smith of Michigan, had managed to illicit shocking, disturbing and poignant details of what had happened. The ship's crew, as it had become excruciatingly obvious, was absolutely unprepared to respond to the passenger's needs after the collision with an iceberg. There was severely conflicted testimony from the ship's lookouts on the presence of a strange haze on the ocean the night of the disaster. There had been a reckless, dangerous absence of foresight in the lack of a sufficient number of lifeboats. At least one nearby ship, the
Californian
, had inexplicably failed to respond to the scene of the accident in a timely manner. But of all the stories that had surfaced in the wake of the sinking, not one captured the attention of, or the condemnation by, the American people as did the story of the survival of J. Bruce Ismay- chairman of the White Star Line.

Ismay had expressed an almost immediate desire to return to England, twice calling upon Senator Smith to allow him to go. Smith, who chaired the inquiry through a Senate Commerce Committee, had flatly denied Ismay's request. The Senator had been mostly a fair and responsible leader of the inquiry, but he was also quite capable of becoming zealous when he felt the occasion warranted it. Smith had gone so far as to subpoena Ismay before he'd even had a chance to disembark from the
Carpathia
, the steamer that had come to the rescue of hundreds of survivors.

Ismay, dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit, took a seat before the subcommittee for what he fervently hoped would be the last time. He was completely exhausted and visibly shaken. Sitting next to him were a handful of other White Star Line officials, including Harold A. Sanderson. A well-meaning but excruciatingly boring member of the firm, Sanderson- like Ismay- had somehow managed to survive the sinking. Also seated nearby was Phillip Franklin, the vice president of International Mercantile Marine. Rounding out Ismay's entourage were two hulking bodyguards that he'd deemed necessary to hire and bring along in the wake of several credible threats to his physical safety. He'd already been questioned in front of spectators and press at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York, and it had been deeply traumatic. Ismay came away from the proceedings believing that he'd been accused of a mortal sin for the simple act of surviving the sinking, and there was the very real chance that an angry surviving member of the
Titanic's
crew, or maybe a relative of a deceased passenger bent on vengeance, would attempt to complete what the disaster had spared him. As he sat before Smith and six other U.S. Senators- along with a horde of intensely interested newspaper reporters- he reminded himself to listen very carefully to each and every question, and to answer them to the best of his ability.

Senator Smith was seated behind a long conference desk. Surrounding him were bipartisan colleagues from Oregon, Ohio, Florida, Nevada, California and North Carolina. Smith began the proceedings with a statement of fact. “Mr. Ismay, you were sworn in New York.”

“I was, sir.” With both hands, Ismay gripped the handle of a walking stick that he had brought along, desperately needing all the support it could provide.

The Senator from Michigan- a headstrong, intelligent man with handsome features- took an officious tone. “I desire to ask you a few questions in addition to those I asked you the other day. I believe you said your stateroom was on A deck?”

“On B deck.”

“On B deck, Number 56?”

Ismay drew in a breath- aside from a nagging uncertainty on the room number which Smith had previously questioned him about in New York, he could not understand really what difference it made which room he had stayed in. Still, he decided quickly to cooperate, despite his irritation. “I am not sure whether I said 52 or 56, but a gentleman who was on the stand yesterday said he had 52, and if he had, I could not have had it. I must have been in 56, I think.”

Senator Smith briefly made eye contact with Ismay, then continued. “The shipbuilding firm of Harland and Wolff built the
Titanic
, did they not?”

Ismay nodded. “Harland and Wolff of Belfast built the
Titanic
, yes, sir.”

“Have they built other ships for your company?”

“They built practically the whole fleet of the White Star Line.”

Senator Smith glanced at his notes. “Including the
Olympic
and the...” He seemed to lose his place for a moment. “The
Baltic
?”

“The
Olympic
and the
Baltic
and all those ships.”

“Under whose immediate supervision has that work been done?”

“Lord Pirrie is the chairman of the company.” Ismay cleared his throat, the expression on his face grim. Lord William James Pirrie had initially been expected to sail on the
Titanic's
maiden voyage, but he had undergone a serious operation that had prevented him from making the trip.

“He is chairman of the building company?”

“Yes.”

“Has Mr. Thomas Andrews held-”

Ismay blurted out an interruption. “He was one of the directors of Harland and Wolff.”

Senator Smith gazed upon Ismay for a moment, puzzled. Thomas Andrews had been the architect of the
Titanic.
Smith continued. “He himself was a builder?”

“Yes.”

“Was he an engineer?”

“I would not call him an engineer. He was more of a designer, and was superintending the building of the ships....”

“And he designed the
Titanic
?”

“Yes.” Ismay felt an odd sense of panic that had seemed to come in waves ever since his rescue on the
Carpathia
, but retained his composure.

“And he was one of the passengers on this ill-fated voyage?”

Ismay cast his eyes downward. “Yes, sir.”

“And he did not survive?”

“He did not,” Ismay replied quietly. A murmur of recognition filled the room. If Ismay had been the heart behind the design of the
Titanic
, Andrews had been the brains. While the precise details of his death were not known, the simple fact that he had perished while Ismay- his employer- survived had not been missed by an unforgiving public. Andrews' death had already been confirmed during Ismay's testimony in New York, making this exchange an uncomfortable sequel.

“How old was he?”

“It is difficult to judge a man's age, as you know, but I should think he was perhaps 42 or 43 years of age. He may have been less. I really could not say.” Ismay rubbed the side of his face with a trembling hand, uncomfortable.

Senator Smith seemed to weigh his words carefully before speaking. “Was the company of which you are the head been afflicted with the loss of many ships at sea under your management?”

“No, sir,” Ismay responded, diffidently.  “I do not think we have had more than our share, perhaps.”

“Do you now recall how many you have lost during your management?”

Ismay hesitated, uncomfortable with Smith's phrasing. “Sir, the only two that I remember are the
Republic
and the
Naronic
. I really was not the manager when the
Naronic
was lost. The only ship that has been lost since I have been manager is the
Republic
.”

“Where was the
Republic
lost, do you remember?”

“She was lost after being hit by an Italian steamer, I do not remember where. I think she was about 36 hours out of New York, but I really do not remember the place.” Six people had perished during the
Republic
incident, which had occurred just a few years before. For an instant, Ismay considered pointing out that those who had died were lost in the collision, and not the sinking, but he thought better of it.

“Do you remember where the
Naronic
was lost?”

“She was never heard of after leaving Liverpool.”

There was a small stir in the room, and Senator Smith glanced at his colleagues, startled somewhat. “For what port was the
Naronic
destined, Mr. Ismay?

“New York.”

“And you have no means of knowing as to the latitude and longitude in which the
Naronic
was lost?”

“No, sir. She was practically a new ship when she was lost, and she had a moderately sized crew, and I believe a few dozen cattlemen on board.”

“Cattlemen?”

“Yes, sir, her primary cargo was livestock.”

Smith took a moment to carefully review his notes, and for a moment a slightly bewildered Ismay thought the Senator was going to try to draw a connection between where the
Titanic
and the
Naronic
had foundered. However, Smith took his questioning in a different direction.

“What was the
Naronic's
tonnage?”

“I do not remember, sir.”

“Do you remember how much she cost?”

“No, I could not tell you that.” 

“Do you remember how high she was insured?”

“I do not think she had been insured at all, sir.” Nearly twenty years had passed since the
Naronic
disappeared, taking nearly eighty souls with her. It was a mystery that had never been solved, but an iceberg had been suspected. As Smith fell silent again, once again reviewing his notes, Ismay quietly cringed. The feeling of some of his own skin, still chapped and irritated from the cold when he had been rescued just a fortnight before, had given him a newfound empathy for what the victims onboard the
Naronic
had surely endured. The skin on his upper thighs, which had been protected by only the thinnest of clothing on the night of the disaster, burned incessantly under his pant legs as though they had been affected by a rash. His hands, folded tightly on the table before him, still bore a dry soreness that he feared would never leave.

Senator Smith resumed his questioning. “Who of your company directed Harland and Wolff to build the
Titanic
?”