As I write this I have a shiver that keeps my pen from properly dipping in my inkwell. It has been 15 years now but the experience with that bearded nightmare of a man still gives me the feeling of a thousand sewing needles pricking my spine. That man of course is Edward Smith. Captain of the RMS Titanic. I had been around ships my whole life. My father was a navy man who would lose his life in the great war. I followed in the naval tradition but got out and began working for white star line in 1911. I thought I was the luckiest man in the world. I was assigned to the maiden voyage of her Majesties ship, the glorious Titanic! If I knew then what I know now, I would never have gone near that ship. Not because of its terrible fate, but because of the madman who commanded it.
I had never met the captain. We had been at sea for a few days. When his name was mentioned people seemed to stiffen. More than once a crew member would be shuffled by me with a broken nose or missing teeth. When I inquired to what incident had occurred I was told “You know, just Cpt. Smith being Cpt. Smith.” I will never forget the first time I met him. I had been on the bridge taking simple notes for the day when there was a ruckus outside. There was yelling and sound of fabric tearing and then a high pitched screaming. In through the door burst the captain who had a young seaman by the nipples and was twisting violently.
“I tell YOU if it is a nice day. I am the fucking captain of this goddamn ship!” Cpt. Smith yelled at the man. He then released him and delivered a swift kick to his back side. The man scurried out perhaps more embarrassed than physically damaged. The captain looked out to sea then suddenly shouted “Get that man back here now! Right the fuck NOW!” Half a minute later two men dragged him in. He was apologizing profusely and shaking. The captain walked over to him in a very calm manner and simply hugged him. A tender embrace not unlike a mother would to her own son. “It’s not your fault. You are a good man.” The man’s back was to me which allowed Cpt. Smith to lock eyes with me and whisper “Elephant Shoes” and I believe winked as if I was a lady that he fancied. I was so confused I didn’t really think of it in the moment. He released the man and cried out. “What is the fuel situation?” And immediately the first mate handed the captain what I believe was brandy which he consumed immediately. Edward Smith was a sturdy, bearded man who looked as regal as a captain should. I gathered myself stepped forward to introduce myself. Before I open my mouth to speak he struck me with the bottle in his hand. I hit the ground and was woozy. I could feel the blood dripping from the wound. I was immediately whisked away by two men to the infirmary. I could hear Smith shouting “The Queen sends her fucking regards. HAHAHAHAH!” It would be two days before I recovered and could work again. That first day back would be the worst in my life.
The night of the iceberg was a cold one. We had heard iceberg warnings but honestly Cpt. Smith preoccupied everyone’s mind. He was like rabid dog except you know when the dog will bite. The only time we were safe is when passengers were around. He would dine with them, tell stories of the sea, and generally be the most excellent host I have ever seen. Occasionally he would excuse himself from the table and go into the kitchen and touch himself until he reached climax into a glass of champagne. Now, I wish to be clear I never personally witnessed this behavior. The kitchen staff would tell me he would make them describe times when “they felt socially awkward but still in control of whatever situation they were in” in excruciating detail while he did this. He would then grab handfuls molasses and look at his hand disgusted. Absolutely disgusted to the point of making himself gag and in that moment is when he would expunge his male issue into the glass. The sickest part to me is that he would make sure only one person was served that glass. Himself.
To be continued