TITANIC. What Really Went Down

CHAPTER ONE

November 1910. Brunswick Station, Georgia, USA

TRAILING WISPS OF STEAM, and stirring occasionally like a great beast waiting hesitantly to be released, the locomotive seemed incongruous, connected to just two carriages. The blinds were drawn in the first carriage. Behind it, was the ‘caboose’, which would normally be the last carriage in a train line-up. The ‘caboose’ sat silently, like a ‘maid-in-waiting’, behind the first carriage. Then, through the escaping steam, a figure appeared. An elderly stationmaster swung into view, peering curiously at the carriage, then at the ‘caboose’. Edging closer, he tapped loudly on one of the windows. Suddenly the blind flew up, startling him. The stationmaster stepped back, cautiously.

Before he could look inside again, the carriage door opened and a distinguished, well-dressed man stepped onto the platform, quickly followed by several others, equally as well-turned out. They gathered around a taller man in   a top hat.

"Gentlemen, as we are travelling incognito, and because the utmost secrecy is necessary, we should look and behave like typical members on a hunting trip to the Jekyll Island Lodge. Let’s go - our baggage will follow."

They began walking boisterously towards the stationhouse. But before they could make it to the doorway, the stationmaster side-stepped briskly into their path.

Excuse me gentlemen, can I be of assistance?

The man in the top hat responded immediately, approaching the stationmaster, somewhat brusque in his manner.

Ah yes, of course – we will need transport to the quay my good man, where I believe our boat to the Lodge is waiting. 

Unimpressed, the stationmaster stood his ground, blocking any attempt to circumvent him.

You can’t fool me sir!

Annoyed, the man in the top hat stepped belligerently closer.

I beg your pardon?

Gathering himself pugnaciously, the stationmaster leaned forward.

"This is all very pretty gentlemen, but I must tell you – we know who you are – and the reporters are waiting outside".

The group of men fell silent. All eyes were now on the stationmaster. The taller man in the top hat stared menacingly at the stationmaster, waving his cane aggressively.

You’re bluffing old-timer. Just get on with your work my good man and see to our luggage and transport.

The stationmaster stepped into the path of the   taller man as he tried to walk past him.

Shame on you, Senator Aldrich. That is no way to speak to a taxpayer, let alone your seniors!

One of the other men stepped forward.

Everyone knows who the Senator is buster - now let’s be done and move along, he said loudly, putting his hand in his pocket, and taking out a wallet. He slipped out a $10 bill, and snapped it between his fingers.

Perhaps a little incentive to say nothing? Just move aside my good man – and ignore the Senator and the rest of us. We mean you no impoliteness, he said, waving the $10 bill under the stationmaster’s nose.

The stationmaster stood his ground.

"You can’t bribe me, because I know exactly who you are Mr. Davidson. I don’t want any of JP Morgan’s ill-gotten gains. He might be your boss but he doesn’t   impress me".

The stationmaster walked slowly up to the group of men, looking each one in the eye.

"You, sir, are Paul Warburg, the leader of this pack ... and you are the very famous Mr. Frank Vanderlip, sir, said the stationmaster pointing at his companion. And ... I presume these two gentlemen are your advisors and confidantes? He paused looking at each in turn. You must be Shelton, the senator’s secretary, and you, sir, are  Dr. A. Piatt Andrew, and, if I’m not mistaken, representing the bloody Rockefeller mob and their thieving cousins the Rothschilds."

There was a deathly silence. The men looked at each other, uncertain of a response. Henry Davidson made the first move.

"Come for a walk with me old-timer...er, sir. I have a story to tell you." They disappeared around the back of the stationhouse, out of earshot.

In the small garden at the back of the station the two men turned to face each other. It was a tense moment. Henry Davidson eyed the stationmaster.   

If it isn’t money you want, what is it old-timer? We’re here on important business in the national interest.  

The stationmaster leaned closer.

"Equ des tratus di mastrio, Brother."

Henry Davidson immediately extended his right hand and the stationmaster responded with the traditional Jesuit handshake, drawing him close.

"Equ Brother, but how did you know?"

"I did not, but I needed to, said the stationmaster in a low whisper. We have special arrangements for you - but we also need information on the outcome of your deliberations on the island. The general has ordered it."

He released Henry Davidson from the handshake, standing back, at attention.

"Of course, but in return you cannot throw us to the wolves of common gossip, Brother."

I have no intention of alerting the journalists, said the stationmaster emphatically, adjusting his spectacles. I will tell them you took the alternative route via Maine to avoid them and that this train was simply a decoy. Anyhow, I already told them you would arrive three hours hence, by which time you’ll all be safely in the Lodge.

"Good work Brother. I should return to the others now. Godspeed. Testaam bus adi amore."

On the station platform, the other men turned as Henry Davidson walked briskly back towards them.

Not to worry gentlemen, it’s all fixed. He won’t give us away – I guarantee it!

Senator Aldrich, looking relieved, was the first to speak.

I don’t know how you did that Henry, but thank you. Shall we proceed? And gentlemen, as an added precaution, we will address each other only on a first name basis from   now on. 

The men crossed the platform, walked over a bridge and onto the quayside. They boarded the small ferry at the end of the pier. The boat swung away slowly and disappeared into the early morning mist.

An infamous chapter in history, was about to   be written...

CHAPTER TWO

BOARDROOM: DEPARTMENT Foreign Affairs, Whitechapel

The large, sumptuous boardroom hummed with dozens of conversations – a mixture of political appointees, high-ranking military personnel and their aides, plus the usual flunkies. Like all meetings of the Committee of Imperial Defence, it was more about the politics of war than detailed battle plans for impending hostilities.

An odd gathering of uniformed men and Saville Row suits, somehow incongruous given the gravity of the situation. Typical, had it not been for the vaguely familiar hulk of a man, slightly obscured behind the haze of smoke from his cigar.

There was much waving of arms and finger pointing. Assistants were attentively positioned behind their respective superiors, whose animated conversations slowly devolved into small groups that had formed around the edges of the vast boardroom table. In the centre was a large map of Europe.  

In the midst of this din, an aide suddenly stepped forward and tapped loudly on the table edge with a brass-tipped pointer.

"Can I have your attention please, gentlemen?!

The noise subsided slightly.

"Gentlemen quiet please!"

He waited impatiently while the noise of conversation died down. Then he pointed towards the main entrance and loudly announced, The Prime Minister, Lord Asquith, at your service milords.

Lord Asquith entered the room and was shown to a highchair midway down the length of the table. Instead of sitting, he deliberately remained standing, looking slowly around the room.

Please be seated gentlemen, we do not have   much time.

The rest of the men sat down haphazardly around   the table.

"Milord’s, His Majesty’s officers, gentlemen – thank you for attending this urgent meeting of the Committee of Imperial Defence. I would remind you, that you are subject to the rules of His Majesty’s Secrecy Protocol.

As you are all well aware, the spectre of war confronts us. It looms larger than any threat that has ever faced England, and in ways that we cannot even imagine. The enemy cannot be under-estimated, nor their readiness to deploy poison gas, including the killer Phosgene and Diphosgene on the battlefield, which has added a sinister new dimension to modern warfare. The need to respond and adapt our defences to these realities, and to rapidly counter these deadly new threats that face us, must not be ignored. However, I will leave these matters to the Chief of the Army, to outline for you. If you will please -   Sir Henry."

Sir Henry Wilson stood up and walked over to where the aide with the pointer was standing, and taking it from his outheld hand, he turned to address those present.

Thank you all, for being here at such short notice - and particularly you, Home Secretary.

A few ‘hear-hears’ echoed around the table.

On behalf of all present, we are relieved to have you here Lord Churchill, at this historical moment for King and Country. Given the circumstances, your insights into these events, and the threats they pose, are exceedingly valuable in guiding our response to them. We thank you for joining these proceedings – your country needs you at this difficult time.

There are louder ‘hear-hears’ from the gathered men.

Sir Henry Wilson continued hastily...

This evening we will be examining the scenarios that confront us and debate a suitable response. As you have pointed out, Lord Asquith - warfare has changed. Today we are able to move troops to the front line in mere days - mainly because of sea and rail transport. Gone are the days of energy-sapping marches to the frontlines of   yester-year.

Sir Henry leaned over the table, tapping the pointer to where the French coastline curved upwardly towards the north.

In the event that Germany attacks France, it will most likely be here, through Belgium. The French have 64 divisions, while the Germans will probably pit 84 divisions against them. This indicates that we will need to urgently bolster the French forces - which by my calculation, means that we will have to put upwards of 150,000 supporting troops into the field within days. And that, he said, turning towards his namesake, Sir Arthur ‘Tug’ Wilson, (Admiral of the Fleet), is where the Royal Navy comes in sir ...

"And that sir, interjected ‘Tug’ Wilson, in his loud and overbearing manner, is where the Navy does not come in! Sir!"

There was a stunned silence in the room. Sir Henry, aghast, dropped the pointer onto the table.

I’m not sure what you mean, Sir Henry?

"What I mean is NO! His Majesty’s Navy will not, and cannot, move additional troops across the channel. Not 6000, not 60,000 - and certainly not your expeditionary force of 160,000 men to assist the French! It would be an act of madness, in the face of war breaking out in the foreseeable future."

"But isn’t that what His Majesty’s ships are there for Tug, damn it, er ... sir!?"

"I don’t mean to be rude Henry ... sir, but not to put too fine a point on it, it is simply ... impossible! Absolute lunacy! With the growing strength of the German Navy, its wireless-equipped U-Boats and strong mercantile fleet, we’ll be short on our ability to contain them in the North Sea. We already are. With respect, sir, we’re not prepared. And we certainly won’t be if we disperse our ships before hostilities break out. Did you not read the minutes of our last meeting in which First Lord McKenna made this   clear, sir?"

Eyes flaming, Sir Henry seemed about to burst, but the intervention of Winston Churchill avoided further acrimony.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, we are missing the point here! Whilst I agree that we need to support France in the event of a German invasion, we can’t do it without exposing ourselves to even greater danger – especially if we divert the Royal Navy from its duties in the North Sea. What we need is troopships – and