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Authors: William Seil
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matter more thought. Where can I reach you?’
‘We are in cabin B10 on the port side of the ship.’
‘Very well, then, I may want to speak to your wife later. Do you mind if I keep this note for a while?’
‘If it will be of any help.’
The baron departed, at least partly satisfied with the limited assistance I had offered. Miss Storm-Fleming watched the baron as he walked away, then turned to me with a gleam of excitement in her eyes.
‘What intrigue!’ she said. ‘Would it not be amazing if we were able to capture a blackmailer and turn him over to the captain? Do they have brigs here on these big ocean liners?’
‘Miss Storm-Fleming, I would not expect too much from this. As the baron said, it could simply be a prank.’
My words of caution did not seem to quell her enthusiasm.
‘I suppose so. But it is an adventure, Doctor Watson. I think that is just what this trip needed — an adventure!’
I laughed. ‘All right, then. I will attempt to provide you with one. But please do not be too disappointed if I am unsuccessful.’
Miss Storm-Fleming and I continued our conversation and had a most enjoyable morning. We hardly noticed as the Titanic entered St George’s Channel on its way to Queenstown. But soon the great ship made a wide port turn, slowed and came to a complete stop near another vessel.
‘Why are we stopping?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked. ‘We have not yet reached Queenstown.’
‘I believe we are just picking up the pilot to guide us into Cobh Harbour.’
We continued to travel through the harbour until the ship stopped, once again, and lowered its anchor about two miles from shore.
‘One of the crew told me that this stop is likely to take a couple of hours,’ I said. ‘Those two tenders approaching are the America and the Ireland . They’re bringing a hundred or so second- and third-class passengers on board, along with the mail.’
Miss Storm-Fleming and I moved to the rail when the tenders came alongside. There were a few passengers who were making ready to leave the ship. They had experienced the thrill of Titanic ’s maiden voyage, without paying the full trans-Atlantic fare. One of the departing passengers was a young man loaded down with photography equipment. I wondered whether he was acting in a professional capacity, or was simply an amateur.
The boarding process was more leisurely than it had been at Cherbourg. There were fewer passengers arriving in the tenders, and the crew had little difficulty directing them to their quarters. And since there were so few, if any, first-class passengers boarding at this stop, there was far less baggage for each individual.
One of the newcomers, carrying his Irish pipes, made his way quickly to the aft of the ship. Soon we heard the sound of lively Irish airs.
‘Look!’ cried Miss Storm-Fleming, suddenly. She was not gazing at the tenders, but at the skies behind the ship. Other passengers also looked excitedly in that direction.
A man had climbed to the top of the aft funnel from the inside, and was now staring over the rim. His face, blackened from soot, peered out to the Irish coast. Then, after resting his chest against the rim, he gazed down upon the passenger decks.
‘Looks like one of the stokers,’ said a junior officer, who had been standing by the rail, taking notes on the loading operations. ‘Probably some Irishman wanting to look at the Emerald Isle.’
‘How did he get up there?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked. ‘Won’t he suffocate?’
‘That fourth funnel’s a dummy. There is a ladder inside that leads up from the engine room. It is a long climb, but I suppose it is worth it for a breath of fresh Irish air.’
Miss Storm-Fleming and I laughed, as did the other passengers who had gathered round. That is, all but one. An old woman with a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders continued to stare upwards in silence. Slowly, she made the sign of the cross across her chest.
‘Don’t worry, madam,’
‘We are in cabin B10 on the port side of the ship.’
‘Very well, then, I may want to speak to your wife later. Do you mind if I keep this note for a while?’
‘If it will be of any help.’
The baron departed, at least partly satisfied with the limited assistance I had offered. Miss Storm-Fleming watched the baron as he walked away, then turned to me with a gleam of excitement in her eyes.
‘What intrigue!’ she said. ‘Would it not be amazing if we were able to capture a blackmailer and turn him over to the captain? Do they have brigs here on these big ocean liners?’
‘Miss Storm-Fleming, I would not expect too much from this. As the baron said, it could simply be a prank.’
My words of caution did not seem to quell her enthusiasm.
‘I suppose so. But it is an adventure, Doctor Watson. I think that is just what this trip needed — an adventure!’
I laughed. ‘All right, then. I will attempt to provide you with one. But please do not be too disappointed if I am unsuccessful.’
Miss Storm-Fleming and I continued our conversation and had a most enjoyable morning. We hardly noticed as the Titanic entered St George’s Channel on its way to Queenstown. But soon the great ship made a wide port turn, slowed and came to a complete stop near another vessel.
‘Why are we stopping?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked. ‘We have not yet reached Queenstown.’
‘I believe we are just picking up the pilot to guide us into Cobh Harbour.’
We continued to travel through the harbour until the ship stopped, once again, and lowered its anchor about two miles from shore.
‘One of the crew told me that this stop is likely to take a couple of hours,’ I said. ‘Those two tenders approaching are the America and the Ireland . They’re bringing a hundred or so second- and third-class passengers on board, along with the mail.’
Miss Storm-Fleming and I moved to the rail when the tenders came alongside. There were a few passengers who were making ready to leave the ship. They had experienced the thrill of Titanic ’s maiden voyage, without paying the full trans-Atlantic fare. One of the departing passengers was a young man loaded down with photography equipment. I wondered whether he was acting in a professional capacity, or was simply an amateur.
The boarding process was more leisurely than it had been at Cherbourg. There were fewer passengers arriving in the tenders, and the crew had little difficulty directing them to their quarters. And since there were so few, if any, first-class passengers boarding at this stop, there was far less baggage for each individual.
One of the newcomers, carrying his Irish pipes, made his way quickly to the aft of the ship. Soon we heard the sound of lively Irish airs.
‘Look!’ cried Miss Storm-Fleming, suddenly. She was not gazing at the tenders, but at the skies behind the ship. Other passengers also looked excitedly in that direction.
A man had climbed to the top of the aft funnel from the inside, and was now staring over the rim. His face, blackened from soot, peered out to the Irish coast. Then, after resting his chest against the rim, he gazed down upon the passenger decks.
‘Looks like one of the stokers,’ said a junior officer, who had been standing by the rail, taking notes on the loading operations. ‘Probably some Irishman wanting to look at the Emerald Isle.’
‘How did he get up there?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked. ‘Won’t he suffocate?’
‘That fourth funnel’s a dummy. There is a ladder inside that leads up from the engine room. It is a long climb, but I suppose it is worth it for a breath of fresh Irish air.’
Miss Storm-Fleming and I laughed, as did the other passengers who had gathered round. That is, all but one. An old woman with a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders continued to stare upwards in silence. Slowly, she made the sign of the cross across her chest.
‘Don’t worry, madam,’
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