The Other Side of the Night by Daniel Allen Butler Page B

left, Evans slipped on his headphones, adjusted his set, and began tapping out to his friend Jack Phillips on the Titanic , “Say old man, we are surrounded by ice and stopped.” Evans hadn’t bothered to ask Phillips for permission to break into the Titanic ‘s traffic, give a position, or even properly identify himself, but just barged right in, so it was little wonder that Phillips tapped back furiously, “Shut up! Shut up! You are jamming me! I am working Cape Race!”
    Despite the seeming harshness of Phillips’ rebuke, Evans knew that it wasn’t personal—he had interfered with the Titanic ’s signals. Peeved at himself for making such an amateurish mistake, Evans pulled the headphones off and shut down his set. Captain Lord hadn’t asked for an acknowledgment from the Titanic , and Evans wasn’t about to face Phillips’ ire a second time by asking for one, or—an even more frightening prospect—risking his captain’s wrath by reporting the consequences of his mistake.
    The Titanic, wherever she was, was so close that her powerful transmitter nearly blew his ears off when Phillips had responded. Evans had had enough; his day was done. So just a few minutes before 11:30, he pulled on his pajamas and settled into his bunk with a book. After perhaps a quarter-hour had passed, Evans put down the book, turned out his reading light, and drifted off to sleep. His workday was over. Certainly nothing was going to happen in the middle of the night that would require his services.

Chapter 4
     

S O S– TITANIC
     
    It was half past eleven o’clock on the night of April 14, 1912, on the North Atlantic, about three hundred miles southeast of Halifax, Nova Scotia. The brand new White Star liner Titanic , the largest and most luxurious passenger vessel in the world, was gliding smoothly through the water on her maiden voyage, bound for New York. On the bridge, First Officer William Murdoch had the watch, and he was quietly confident that the remaining two-and-a-half hours before his relief would be quite uneventful.
    Even should something unusual arise, Murdoch was a man well-equipped to handle the unexpected. A short, wiry man with a pleasantly plain face and a ready smile that heralded boundless good humor, Murdoch was a Scot from Dalbeattie in Galloway, raised in a seafaring family. Like the Titanic ’s Second Officer, C.H. Lightoller, he had done his apprenticeship in sail, earned all his certificates, then joined the White Star Line, serving first in the Australian trade, then moving to the passenger liners of the North Atlantic. He had served on an impressive succession of distinguished ships: the Arabic , the Adriatic (under Captain Smith, now the captain of the Titanic ), then the Oceanic . Most recently he had been Captain Smith’s First Officer for two months on the Titanic ’s sister ship, Olympic . Murdoch was a conscientious officer, and as he had amply demonstrated over the years, was an excellent seaman, with nearly faultless judgement and iron nerves. Captain Smith was certain to be glad Murdoch was on board.
    Captain Smith, of course, was Captain Edward J. Smith, the commodore of the White Star Line. Solidly built, slightly above medium height, he was handsome in a patriarchal sort of way. His neatly trimmed white beard, coupled with his clear eyes, gave him a somewhat stern countenance, an impression that could be immediately dispelled by his gentle speaking voice and urbane manners. Respectfully and affectionately known as “E.J.” by passengers and crew alike, he was a natural leader, radiating a reassuring combination of authority, confidence, and good humor.
    Captain Smith had, like most of his officers and most skippers on the North Atlantic, gone to sea as an apprentice at the age of twelve, signing on as a cabin boy on a square-rigged ship. After getting his certificates he signed on with the White Star Line at the age of twenty-seven, and his career had been an uninterrupted series of