 Chapter 1 of Futility or the Wreck of the Titan. She was the largest craft afloat and the greatest of the works of men. In her construction and maintenance were involved every science, profession, and trade known to civilization. On her bridge were officers who, besides being the pick of the Royal Navy, had passed rigid examinations in all studies that pertain to the winds, tides, currents, and geography of the sea. They were not only seamen, but scientists. The same professional standard applied to the personnel of the engine room, and the stewards department was equal to that of a first-class hotel. Two brass bands, two orchestras, and a theatrical company entertained the passengers during waking hours, a corps of physicians attended to the temporal, and a corps of chaplains to the spiritual welfare of all on board, while a well-drilled fire company soothed the fears of nervous ones and added to the general entertainment by daily practice with their apparatus. From her lofty bridge ran hidden telegraphed lines to the bow, stern engine room, crow's nest on the foremask, and to all parts of the ship where work was done, each wire terminating in a marked dial with a movable indicator containing in its scope every order and answer required in handling the massive hulk, either at the dock or at sea, which eliminated, to a great extent, the horse nerve-wracking shouts of officers and sailors. From the bridge, engine room, and a dozen places on her deck, the ninety-two doors of nineteen watertight compartments could be closed in half a minute by turning a lever. These doors would also close automatically in the presence of water. With nine compartments flooded, the ship would still float, and so no known accident of the sea could possibly fill this many. The steamship titan was considered practically unsinkable. Built of steel throughout and for passenger traffic only, she carried no combustible cargo to threaten her destruction by fire, and the immunity from the demand for cargo space had enabled her designers to discard the flat kettle-bottom of cargo boats and give her the sharp dead rise, or slant from the keel, of a steam yacht, and this improved her behavior in a seaway. She was eight hundred feet long, of seventy-thousand tons displacement, seventy-five thousand horsepower, and on her trial trip had steamed at a rate of twenty-five knots an hour over the bottom, in the face of unconsidered winds, tides, and currents. In short, she was a floating city, containing within her steel walls all that tends to minimize the dangers and discomforts of the Atlantic voyage, all that makes life enjoyable. Unsinkable, indestructible, she carried as few boats as would satisfy the laws. These twenty-four in number were securely covered and lashed down to their chocks on the upper deck, and if launched would hold five hundred people. She carried no useless, cumbersome life rafts, but, because the law required it, each of the three thousand berths in the passengers, officers, and cruise quarters contained a cork jacket, while about twenty circular life-boys were strewn along the rails. In view of her absolute superiority to other craft, a rule of navigation thoroughly believed in by some captains, but not yet openly followed, was announced by the steamship company to apply to the Titan. She would steam at full speed in fog, storm, and sunshine, and, on the northern lane route, winter and summer, for the following good and substantial reasons. First, that if another craft should strike her, the force of the impact would be distributed over a larger area if the Titan had full headway, and the brunt of the damage would be borne by the other. Second, that if the Titan was the aggressor, she would certainly destroy the other craft, even at half speed, and perhaps damage her own vows, while at full speed she would cut her in two with no more damage to herself than a paintbrush could remedy. In either case, as the lesser of two evils, it was best that the smaller hull should suffer. A third reason was that at full speed she could be more easily steered out of danger, and a fourth, that in case of an end-on collision with an iceberg, the only thing afloat that she could not conquer, her vows would be crushed in but a few feet further at full than at half speed, and at the most three compartments would be flooded, which would not matter with six more to spare. So it was confidently expected that when her engines had limbered themselves the steamship Titan would land her passengers three thousand miles away with the promptitude and regularity of a railway train. She had beaten all records on her maiden voyage, but up to the third return trip had not lowered the time between Sandy Hook and Daunt's Rock to the five-day limit, and it was unofficially rumored among the two thousand passengers who had embarked at New York that an effort would now be made to do so. End of Chapter 1 Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 2 of Futility or the Wreck of the Titan This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 2 Eight tugs dragged the great mass to mid-stream and pointed her nose down the river. Then the pilot on the bridge spoke a word or two. The first officer blew a short blast on the whistle and turned a lever. The tugs gathered in their lines and drew off. Known in the bowels of the ship, three small engines were started, opening the throttles of three large ones. Three propellers began to revolve, and the mammoth, with a vibratory tremble running through her great frame, moved slowly to sea. East of Sandy Hook, the pilot was dropped and the real voyage begun. Fifty feet below her deck, in an inferno of noise and heat and light and shadow, coal passers wheeled the pick-fuel from the bunkers to the fire-hold, where half-naked stokers, with faces like those of tortured fiends, tossed it into the eighty white-hot mouths of the furnaces. In the engine room, oilers passed to and fro, in and out of the plunging, twisting, glistening steel, with oil cans and waste, overseen by the watchful staff on duty, who listened with strained hearing for a false note in the confused jumble of sound, a clicking of steel out of tune, which would indicate a loosened key or nut. From deck, sailors set the triangular sails on the two mass, to add their propulsion to the momentum of the record breaker, and the passengers dispersed themselves as suited their several tastes. Some were seated in steamer chairs, well-wrapped, for though it was April, the salt air was chilly. Some paced the deck, acquiring their sea legs, others listened to the orchestra in the music room, or read or wrote in the library, and a few took to their berths, seasick, from the slight heave of the ship on the groundswell. The decks were cleared, watches set at noon, and then began the never-ending cleaning up at which steamship sailors put in so much of their time. Had it by a six-foot boson, a gang came aft on the starboard side, with paint buckets and brushes, and distributed themselves along the rail. Davids and stanchions, men, never mind the rail, said the boson. Ladies, better move your chairs back a little. Roll in. Climb down, oh, on that. You'll be overboard. Take a ventilator. No, you'll spill paint. Put your bucket away and get some sandpaper from the yeoman. Work inboard till you get it out of you. The sailor addressed, a slight-built man of about thirty, black-bearded and bronze, to the semblance of healthy vigor, but watery-eyed and unsteady of movement, came down from the rail and shambled forward with his bucket. As he reached the group of ladies to whom the boson had spoken, his gaze rested on one, a sunny-haired young woman with the blue of the sea in her eyes, who had arisen at his approach. He started, turned aside as if to avoid her, and raising his hand in an embarrassed, half-salute, passed on. Out of the boats and sight he leaned against the deck-house and panned it, while he held his hand to his breast. What is it, he muttered, wearily, whiskey-nerves, or the dying flutter of a starved love. Five years now, and a look from her eyes can stop the blood in my veins, him bringing back all the heart-hunger and helplessness that leads a man to insanity, or this. He looked at his trembling hand, all scarred and tar-stained, passed on forward and returned with the sandpaper. The young woman had been equally affected by the meeting, an expression of mingled surprise, and terror had come to her pretty, but rather weak face. And without acknowledging his half-salute, she had caught up a little child from the deck behind her, and turning into the salandoor, hurried to the library, where she sank into a chair beside a military-looking gentleman, who glanced up from a book and remarked, seeing the sea serpent, Myra, or the flying Dutchman? What's up? Oh, George, no! She answered, in agitated tones, John Rowland is here, Lieutenant Rowland. I've just seen him. He is so changed. He tried to speak to me. Who? That troublesome flame of yours? I never met him, you know, and you haven't told me much about him. What is he? First cabin? No. He seems to be a common sailor. He is working and is dressed in old clothes, all dirty, and such a dissipated face, too. He seems to have fallen so low. And it is all since—since you saw it on him? Well, it is no fault of yours, dear. If a man has it in him, he'll go to the dogs anyhow. How is his sense of injury? Has he a grievance or a grudge? You're badly upset. What did he say? I don't know. He said nothing. I've always been afraid of him. I've met him three times since then, and he puts such a frightful look in his eyes, and he was so violent and headstrong and so terribly angry that time. He accused me of leading him on, or playing with him, and he said something about an immutable law of chance and a governing balance of events that I couldn't understand, only where he said that for all the suffering we inflict on others we receive an equal amount ourselves. Then he went away in such a passion. I've imagined ever since that he would take some revenge he might steal our Myra, our baby. She strained the smiling child to her breast and went on. I liked him at first, until I found out that he was an atheist. Why, George, he actually denied the existence of God, and to me a professing Christian. He had a wonderful nerve, said the husband with a smile. Didn't know you very well, I should say. He never seemed the same to me after that, she resumed. I felt as though in the presence of something unclean, yet I thought how glorious it would be if I could save him to God, and tried to convince him of the loving care of Jesus, but he only ridiculed all I hold sacred, and said that much as he valued my good opinion he would not be a hypocrite to gain it, and that he would be honest with himself and others and express his honest unbelief, the idea. As though one could be honest without God's help, and then one day I smelled liquor on his breath. He always smelled of tobacco, and I gave him up. It was then that he, that he broke out. Come out and show me this reprobate, said the husband rising. They went to the door, and the young woman peered out. He is the last man down there, close to the cabin, she said as she drew in. The husband stepped out. What, that hangdog ruffian scouring the ventilator? So that's Roland of the Navy, is it? Well, this is a tumble. Wasn't he broken for conduct, unbecoming an officer? Got roaring drunk at the president's levy, didn't he? I think I read of it. I know he lost his position and was terribly disgraced, answered the wife. Well, Myra, the poor devil is harmless now. We'll be across in a few days, and you needn't meet him on this broad deck. If he hasn't lost all sensibility, he's as embarrassed as you. Better stay in now. It's getting foggy. End of chapter 2, recording by Tom Weiss. Chapter 3 of Futility or the Wreck of the Titan This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss. Futility or the Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson. Chapter 3. When the watch turned out at midnight, they found a vicious half-gale blowing from the northeast, which, added to the speed of the steamship made so far as the effects of her deck went, a fairly uncomfortable whole gale of chilly wind. The head sea, choppy as compared with her great length, dealt the Titan successive blows, each one attended by supplementary tremors to the continuous vibrations of the engine, each one sending a cloud of thick spray aloft that reached the crow's nest on the foremast and battered the pilot house windows on the bridge in a liquid bombardment that would have broken ordinary glass. A fog bank into which the ship had plunged in the afternoon still enveloped her, damp and impenetrable, and into the gray ever-receding wall ahead with two deck officers and three look-outs straining sight and hearing to the utmost, the great racer was charging with undiminished speed. At a quarter past twelve two men crawled in from the darkness at the ends of the eighty-foot bridge and shouted to the first officer, who had just taken the deck, the names of the men who had relieved them. Backing up to the pilot house, the officer repeated the names to a quartermaster within, who entered them in the log-book. Then the men vanished to their coffee and watched below. In a few moments another dripping shape appeared on the bridge and reported the crow's nest relief. "'Rollin' you say?' called the officer above the howling of the wind. "'Is he the man who was lifted aboard, drunk, yesterday?' "'Yes, sir.' "'Is he still drunk?' "'Yes, sir.' "'All right. That'll do.' "'Enter Rollin' in the crow's nest,' quartermaster,' said the officer. Then, making a funnel of his hands, he roared out, "'Crow's nest? There? Sir?' came the answer, shrill and clear on the gale. "'Keep your eyes open. Keep a sharp look-out.' "'Very good, sir. Been a man of war's man, I judge, by his answer. No good,' muttered the officer. He resumed his position at the forward side of the bridge, where the wooden railing afforded some shelter from the raw wind, and began the long vigil which would only end when the second officer relieved him four hours later. Conversation, except in the line of duty, was forbidden among the bridge officers of the titan, and his watchmate, the third officer, stood on the other side of the large bridge-binigal, only leaving this position occasionally to glance in at the compass, which seemed to be his sole duty at sea. Sheltered by one of the deck houses below, the boson and the watch paced back and forth, enjoying the only two hours respite which steamship rules afforded, for the day's work had ended with the going down of the other watch, and at two o'clock the washing of the tween deck would begin as an opening task in the next day's labor. By the time one bell had sounded, with its repetition from the crow's nest, followed by a long-drawn cry, "'All's well!' from the look-outs the last of the two thousand passengers had retired, leaving the spacious cabins and steerage in possession of the watchman, while sound asleep in his cabin of bath the chart-room was the captain, the commander who never commanded, unless the ship was in danger, for the pilot had charge making and leaving port, and the officers at sea. Two bells were struck and answered, then three, and the boson and his men were lighting up for a final smoke, when there rang out overhead a startling cry from the crow's nest. "'Something ahead, sir? Can't make it out?' The first officer sprang to the engine-room telegraph and grasped the lever. "'Sing out what you see!' he roared. "'Hard afort, sir! Ship on the starboard tack, dead ahead!' came the cry. "'Port your wheel hard over!' repeated the first officer to the quartermaster at the helm, who answered and obeyed. Nothing is yet could be seen from the bridge. The powerful steering engine in discerned ground the rudder over, but before three degrees on the compass-guard were traversed by the lover's point, a seeming thickening of the darkness and fog ahead resolved itself into the square sails of a deep laden ship crossing the titan's bow, not half her length away. "'Hell, and damn!' growled the first officer. "'Steady on your course, quartermaster!' he shouted. "'Stand from under on deck!' he turned a lever, which closed departments, pushed a button-mart, captain's room, and crouched down, awaiting the crash. There was hardly a crash. A slight jar shook the forward end of the titan, and sliding down her four top-mass stay and rattling on deck came a shower of small spars, sails, blocks, and wire rope. Then, in the darkest starboarded port, two darker shapes shot by, the two halves of the ship she had cut through, and from one of these shapes, where still-burned abinical light was heard, high above the confused murmur of shouts, and shrieks a sailorly voice. "'May the curse of God light on you and your cheese-knife, you brass-bound murderers!' The shapes were swallowed in the blackness of stern. The cries were hushed by the clamor of the gale, and the steamship titan swung back to her course. The first officer had not turned the lever of the engine-room telegraph. The boson bounded up the steps of the bridge for instructions. Put men at the hatches and doors, send everyone who comes on deck to the chart-room, tell the watchman to notice what the passengers have learned, and clear away that wreck forward as soon as possible. The voice of the officer was hoarse, and strained as he gave these directions. And the eye-eye, sir, of the boson was uttered in a gas. This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss Futility or the Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson Chapter 4 The crow's nest look-out, sixty feet above the deck, had seen every detail of the horror. From the moment when the upper sails of the doomed ship had appeared to him above the fog to the time when the last tangle of wreckage was cut away by his watchmates below. When relieved at four bells, he descended with as little strength in his limbs as was compatible with the safety in the rigging. At the rail, the boson met him. Report your relief, Roland, he said, and go into the chart-room. On the bridge, as he gave the name of his successor, the first officer seized his hand, pressed it, and repeated the boson's order. In the chart-room, he found the captain of the Titan. Pale faced and intense in manner, seated at a table, and grouped around him the whole of the watch on deck, except the officers, look-outs, and quarter-masters. The cabin watchmen were there, and some of the watch below, among whom were stokers and coal-passers, and also a few of the idlers, lampmen, yeoman, and butchers, whose sleeping forward had been awakened by the terrific blow of the great hollow knife within which they lived. Three carpenter's mates stood by the door with sounding rods in their hands, which they had just shown the captain, dry. Every face from the captain's down wore a look of horror and expectancy. A quarter-master followed Roland in and said, engineer felt no jar in the engine room, sir, and there's no excitement in the stoke-hole, and your watchmen report no alarm in the cabins. How about the steerage? Is that man back? asked the captain. Another watchman appeared as he spoke. All asleep in the steerage, sir, he said. Then a quarter-master entered with the same report at the four castles. Very well, said the captain, rising, one by one come into my office. Watchmen first then petty officers, then the men. Quarter-masters will watch the door that no man goes out until I have seen him. He passed into another room, followed by a watchman, who presently emerged and went on deck with a more pleasant expression of face. Another entered and came out, then another and another, until every man but Roland had been within the sacred precincts, all to wear the same pleased or satisfied look on reappearing. When Roland entered, the captain seated at a desk, motioned him to a chair, and asked his name. John Roland, he answered. The captain wrote it down. I understand, he said, that you were in the crow's nest when this unfortunate collision occurred. Yes, sir, and I reported the ship as soon as I saw her. You are not here to be censured. You are aware, of course, that nothing could be done, either to avert this terrible calamity or to save life afterward. Nothing at a speed of twenty-five knots an hour and a thick fog, sir. The captain glanced sharply at Roland and frowned. We will not disgust speed of the ship, my good man, he said, or the rules of the company. You will find, when you are paid at Liverpool, a package addressed to you at the company's office containing one hundred pounds in bank notes. This you will receive for your silence in regard to this collision, the reporting of which would embarrass the company and help no one. On the contrary, captain, I shall not receive it. On the contrary, sir, I shall speak of this wholesale murder at the first opportunity. The captain leaned back and stared at the debauched face, the trembling figure of the sailor, with which this defiant speech so little accorded. Under ordinary circumstances he would have sent him on deck to be dealt with by the officers. But this was not an ordinary circumstance. In the watery eyes was a look of shock and horror and honest indignation. The accents were those of an educated man, and the consequences hanging over himself and the company for which he worked, already complicated by and involved in his efforts to avoid them, which this man might precipitate were so extreme that such questions as insolence and difference in rank were not to be thought of. He must meet and subdue this tartar on common ground as man to man. Are you aware, Roland, he asks quietly, that you will stand alone, that you will be discredited, lose your berth, and make enemies? I am aware of more than that, answered Roland excitedly. I know of the power vested in you as captain. I know that you can order me into irons from this room for any offense you wish to imagine. And I know that an unwitnessed, uncorroborated entry in your official log concerning me would be evidence enough to bring me life imprisonment. But I also know something of admiralty law, that from my prison cell I can send you and your first officer to the gallows. You are mistaken in your conceptions of evidence. I could not cause your conviction by a logbook entry, nor could you from a prison injure me. What are you, may I ask, an ex-lawyer? A graduate of Annapolis. You are equal in professional technique. And you have interest at Washington? None whatever. And what is your object in taking this stand, which can do you no possible good, though certainly not the harm you speak of, that I may do one good, strong act in my useless life, that I may help to arouse such a sentiment of anger in the two countries as will forever end this wanton destruction of life and property for the sake of speed that will save the hundreds of fishing-craft and others run down yearly to their owners and the crews to their families. Both men had risen, and the captain was pacing the floor as Roland, with flashing eyes and clenched fists, delivered this declaration. A result to be hoped for, Roland, said the former, pausing before him, but beyond your power or mine to accomplish. Is the amount I named large enough? Could you fill a position on my bridge? I can fill a hire, and your company is not rich enough to buy me. You seem to be a man without ambition, but you must at once. Food, clothing, shelter, and whiskey, said Roland with a bitter, self-contentuous laugh. The captain reached down a decanter and two glasses from a swinging tray and said as he placed them before him, Here is one of your wants. Fill up. Roland's eyes glistened as he poured out a glass bowl, and the captain followed. I will drink with you, Roland, he said. Here is to our better understanding. He tossed off the liquor, then Roland, who had waited, said, I prefer drinking alone, captain, and drank the whiskey at a gulp. The captain's face flushed at the up front, but he controlled himself. Go on deck now, Roland, he said. I will talk with you again before we reach soundings. Meanwhile, I request, not require, but request, that you hold no useless conversation with your shipmates in regard to this matter. To the first officer, when relieved at eight bells, the captain said, He is a broken down wreck with a temporarily active conscious, but is not the man to buy or intimidate. He knows too much. However, we found his weak point. If he gets snakes before we dock, his testimony is worthless. Fill him up, and I'll see the surgeon, and study up on drugs. When Roland turned out to breakfast at seven bells that morning, he found a pint flask in the pocket of his P-jacket, which he felt of but did not pull out in sight of his watchmates. Well, captain, he thought, you are in truth, about his purel, and sip it a scoundrel as ever escaped the law. I'll save you your drugged Dutch courage for evidence. But it was not drugged, as he learned later. It was good whiskey, a leader, to warm his stomach while the captain was studying. End of Chapter 4, Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 5 of Futility or the Wreck of the Titan This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss Futility or the Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson Chapter 5 An incident occurred that morning which drew Roland's thoughts far from the happenings of the night. A few hours of bright sunshine had brought the passengers on deck, like bees from a hive, and the two broad promonades resembled in color and life the streets of a city. The watch was busy at the inevitable scrubbing, and Roland, with a swab and bucket, was cleaning the white paint on the starboard tap rail, screened from view by the after-deck house, which shut off a narrow space at the stern. A little girl ran into the enclosure, laughing and screaming, and clung to his legs while she jumped up and down in an overflow of spirits. I went away, she said. I went away from Mama. Drying his hands on his trousers, Roland lifted the tot and said tenderly, well, little one, you must run back to Mama. You're in bad company. The innocent eyes smiled into his own, and then, a foolish proceeding which only bachelors are guilty of, he held her above the rail in jesting menace. Shall I drop you over to the fish's baby? he asked, while his features softened to an unwanted smile. The child gave a little scream of fright, and at that instant a young woman appeared around the corner. She sprang toward Roland like a Tigris, snatched the child, stared at him for a moment with dilated eyes, and then disappeared, leaving him limp and nervous, breathing hard. It is her child, he groaned. That was the mother look. She is married, married. He resumed his work, with the face as near the color of the paint he was scrubbing, as the tanned skin of a sailor may become. Ten minutes later the captain, in his office, was listening to a complaint from a very excited man and woman. And you say, Colonel, said the captain, that this man Roland is an old enemy? He is, or was, once a rejected admirer of Mrs. Selfridge. That is all I know of him, except that he has hinted at revenge. My wife is certain of what she saw, and I think the man should be confined. My captain, said the woman vehemently, as she hugged her child, you should have seen him. He was just about to drop Myra over as I seized her, and he had such a frightful leer on his face, too. Oh, it was hideous. I shall not sleep another wink in this ship. I know. I beg you will give yourself no uneasiness, madam, said the captain gravely. I have already learned something of his antecedents, that he is a disgraced and broken-down naval officer. But as he has sailed three voyages with us, I have credited his willingness with us to work before the mass, to his craving for liquor, which he could not satisfy without money. However, as you think, he may be following you. Was he able to learn of your movements that you were to take passage in this ship? Why not, exclaimed the husband. He must know some of Mrs. Selvitch's friends. Yes, yes, she said eagerly. I have heard him spoken of several times. Then it is clear, said the captain, if you will agree, madam, to testify against him in the English courts, I will immediately put him in irons for attempted murder. Oh, do, captain, she exclaimed. I cannot feel safe while he is at liberty. Of course I will testify. Whatever you do, captain, said the husband savagely, rest assured that I shall put a bullet through his head if he meddles with me or mine again. Then you can put me in irons. I will see that he has attended to Colonel, replied the captain, as he bowed them out of his office. But as a murdered charge is not always the best way to discredit a man, and as the captain did not believe that the man who had defied him would murder a child, and as the charge would be difficult to prove in any case and would cause him much trouble and annoyance, he did not order the arrest of John Rowland. But merely directed that for the time he should be kept at work by day in the tween deck out of sight of the passengers. Rowland, surprised that his sudden transfer from the disagreeable scrubbing to a soldier's job of painting life-boys in the warm tween deck, was shrewd enough to know that he was being closely watched by the boson that morning, but not shrewd enough to affect any symptoms of intoxication or drugging, which might have satisfied his anxious superiors and brought him more whiskey. As a result of his brighter eyes and steadier voice, who was not a participant, had his pot of tea dashed from his hand before he had taken three swallows. He procured a fresh supply and finished his supper. Then, taking no part in his watchmate's open discussion of the fight and gartered discussion of collisions, rolled into his bunk and smoked until eight bells, when he turned out with the rest. End of Chapter 5 Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 6 of Futility or the Wreck of the Titan This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss Futility or the Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson Chapter 6 Roland said to Big Boson as the watch mustered on deck. Take the starboard bridge look out. It is not my trick, Boson, said Roland in surprise. Orders from the bridge, get up there. Roland grumbled, as many sailors may when aggrieved and obeyed. The man he relieved reported his name and disappeared. The first officer sauntered down the bridge, uttered the official, keep a good lookout, and returned to his post. Then the silence and loneliness of a night watch at sea, intensified by the never-ceasing hum of the engines, and relieved only by the sounds of distant music and laughter from the theater, descended on the forward part of the ship. For the fresh westerly wind coming with the Titan made nearly a calm on her deck, and the dense fog, though overshown by a bright star-spec sky, was so chilly that the last talkative passenger had fled to the light and life within. When three bells, half past nine, had sounded and Roland had given in his turn the required call all's well, the first officer left his post and approached him. Roland, he said as he drew near, I hear you've walked the quarter-deck. I cannot imagine how you learned it, sir, replied Roland. I am not in the habit of referring to it. You, told the captain, I suppose the curriculum is as complete at Annapolis as at the Royal Navy College. What do you think of Murray's theories of currents? They seemed plausible, said Roland, unconsciously dropping the sir, but I think that in most particulars he has been proven wrong. Yes, I think so myself. Did you ever follow up another idea of his, that of locating the position of ice in a fog by the rate of decrease in temperature as approached? Not to any definite result, but it seems to be only a matter of calculation and time to calculate. Cold is negative heat, and can be treated like radiant energy, decreasing as the square of the distance. The officer stood for a moment, looking ahead and humming a tune to himself, then saying, yes, that's so, return to his place. Must have cast iron stomach, he muttered as he peered into the binocle, or else the boson doused the wrong man's pot. Roland glanced after the retreating officer with a cynical smile. I wonder, he said to himself, why he comes down here talking in navigation to a four-mast hand. Why am I up here, out of my turn? Is this something in line with that bottle? He resumed the short pacing back and forth on the end of the bridge, and the rather gloomy train of thought which the officer had interrupted. How long, he mused, would his ambition and love a profession last him after he had met and won and lost the only woman on earth to him? Why is it that failure to hold the affections of one among the millions of women who live and love can outweigh every blessing in life and turn a man's nature into a hell to consume him? Who did she marry? Someone, probably a stranger long after my banishment, who came to her possessed of a few qualities of mind or physique that pleased her, who did not need to love her. His chances were better without her. And he steps coolly and easily into my heaven. And they tell us that God doeth all things well, and that there is a heaven where all our unsatisfied ones are attended to, provided we have the necessary faith in it. That means, if it means anything, that after a lifetime of unrecognized allegiance, during which I win nothing but her fear and contempt, I may be rewarded by the love and companionship of her soul. Do I love her soul? Has her soul beauty of face and the figure and carriage of a Venus? Has her soul deep, blue eyes and a sweet musical voice? Has it wit? And grace and charm? Has it a wealth of pity for suffering? These are the things I loved. I do not love her soul if she has one. I do not want it. I want her. I need her. He stopped in his walk, and leaned against the bridge railing, with eyes fixed on the fog ahead. He was speaking his thoughts aloud now, and the first officer drew within hearing, listened a moment, and went back. Working on him, he whispered to the third officer. Then he pushed the button which called the captain, blew a short blast of the steam whistle as a call to the boson, and resumed his watch on the drugged lookout, while the third officer conned the ship. The steam call to the boson is so common a sound on a steamship as to generally pass unnoticed. This call affected another besides the boson. A little nightgown figure arose from an underbirth in a saloon stateroom, and with wide open, staring eyes, groped its way to the deck, unobserved by the watchman. The white, bare little feet felt no cold as they patterned the planks of the deserted promenade, and the little figure had reached the steerage entrance by the time the captain and boson had reached the bridge. And they talk went on rolling as the three watched and listened, of the wonderful love and care of a merciful God who controls all things, who has given me my defects and my capacity for loving, and then placed Myra Gaunt in my way. Is there mercy to me in this? As part of a great evolutionary principle which develops the race-light at the expense of the individual, it might be consistent with the idea of a God, a first cause. But does the individual who perishes because unfitted to survive owe any love or gratitude to this God? He does not. On the supposition that He exists, I deny it, and on the complete lack of evidence that He does exist, I affirm to myself the integrity of cause and effect, which is enough to explain the universe and me. A merciful God, a kind, loving, just, and merciful God, He burst into a fit of incongruous laughter which stopped short as He clapped His hands to His stomach and then to His head. What ails me, He guess. I feel as though I had swallowed hot coals, and my head, and my eyes. I can't see. The pain left Him in a moment, and the laughter returned. What's wrong with the starboard anchor? It's moving. It's changing. It's a what, what on earth is it? An end, and the windlass, and the spare anchors, and the dappets, all alive, all moving. The sight He saw would have been horrid to a healthy mind, but it only moved this man to increased and uncontrollable merriment. The two rails below, leading to the stem, had arisen before Him, in a shadowy triangle, and within it were the deck fittings He had mentioned. The windlass had become a thing of horror, black and forbidding. The two end barrels were the bulging, lightless eyes of a nondescript monster, for which the cable chains had multiplied themselves into innumerable legs and tentacles, and this thing was crawling around within the triangle. The anchor davits were many-headed serpents which danced on their tails, and the anchors themselves writhed and squirmed in the shape of immense hairy caterpillars, while faces appeared on the two white lantern towers, wrenning and leering at Him. With His hands on the bridge rail and tears streaming down His face, He laughed the strange sight, but did not speak, and the three who had quietly approached drew back to wait. While below, on the promenade deck, the little white figure, as though attracted by His laughter, turned into the stairway leading to the upper deck. The phantasmagoria had faded to a blank wall of gray fog, and Roland found sanity to mutter, they've drugged me, but in an instant He stood in the darkness of a garden, one that He had known. In the distance were the lights of a house, and close to Him was a young girl who turned from Him and fled, even as He called to her. By a supreme effort of will He brought Himself back to the present, to the bridge He stood upon, and to His duty. Why must it haunt me through the years, He groaned, drunk then, drunk since. She could have saved me, but she chose to damn me. He strove to pace up and down, but staggered and clung to the rail, while the three watchers approached again, and the little white figure below climbed the upper bridge steps. The survival of the fittest, He rambled, as He stared into the fog, caused an effect. It explains the universe, and me. He lifted His hand and spoke loudly, as though to some unseen familiar of the deep. What will be the last effect, where, in the scheme of ultimate balance, under the law of correlation of energy, will my wasted wealth of love be gathered and weighed and credited? What will balance it, and where will I be? Myra, Myra, He called. Do you know what you have lost? Do you know in your goodness and purity and truth of what you have done? Do you know the fabric on which He stood was gone? And He seemed to be poised on nothing in a worthless universe of gray, alone. And in the vast, limitless emptiness there was no sound, or life, or change. And in His heart neither fear nor wonder nor emotion of any kind save one, the unspeakable hunger of a love that had failed. Yet it seemed that He was not John Rowland, but someone or something else. Her presently He saw Himself far away, millions of billions of miles, as though on the outermost fringes of the void, and heard His own voice, calling, faintly, yet distinctly, filled with the concentrated despair of His life came the call. Myra, Myra, There was an answering call, and looking for the second voice, He beheld her, the woman of His love, on the opposite edge of space, and her eyes held the tenderness, and her voice held the pleading that He had known but in dreams. Come back, she called. Come back to me. But it seemed that the two could not understand, for again He heard the despairing cry. Myra, Myra, where are you? And again the answer. Come back. Come. Then in the far distance to the right appeared a faint point of flame which grew larger. It was approaching, and He dispassionately viewed it, and when He looked again for the two, they were gone, and in their places were two clouds of nebula which resolved into myriad points of sparkling light and color, whirling and croaching until they filled all space, and through them the larger light was coming, and growing larger straight for Him. He heard a rushing sound, and looking for it saw in the opposite direction a formless object, as much darker than the gray of the void as the flame was brighter, and it too was growing larger and coming, and it seemed to Him that this light and darkness were the good and evil of His life, and He watched to see which would reach Him first, but felt no surprise or regret when He saw that the darkness was nearest. It came closer and closer until it brushed Him on the side. What have we here, Roland, said a voice. Instantly the whirling points were blotted out. The universe of gray changed to the fog, the flame of light to the moon rising above it, and the shapeless darkness to the form of the first officer. The little white figure which had just darted past the three watchers stood at His feet. As though worn by an inner subconsciousness of danger, it had come in its sleep for safety and care to its mother's old lover, the strong and the weak, the degraded and disgraced but exalted, the persecuted, drugged, and all but helpless, John Roland. With the readiness with which a man who dozes while standing will answer the question that wakens him, he said that he stammered from the now waning effect of the drug. Myra's child, sir, it's asleep. He picked up the nightgowned little girl, who screamed as she awakened and folded his P-jacket around the cold little body. Who is Myra? asked the officer in a bullying tone, in which were also chagrin and disappointment. You've been asleep yourself. Before, Roland could reply, a shout from the crow's nest split the air. Ice, yelled the lookout, ice ahead, iceberg right under the boughs. The first officer ran amidships, and the captain, who had remained there, sprang to the engine room telegraph, and this time the lever was turned. But in five seconds the bow of the titan began to lift, and ahead, and on either hand, could be seen through the fog a field of ice which arose in an incline to a hundred feet high in her track. The music in the theater ceased, and among the babble of shouts and cries, and the deafening noise of steel scraping and crashing over ice, Roland heard the agonized voice of a woman crying from the bridge steps. Myra! Myra! Where are you? Come back! End of Chapter 6 Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 7 Of Futility for the Wreck of the Titan This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss Futility for the Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson Chapter 7 Seventy-five thousand tons dead weight rushing through the fog at the rate of fifty feet a second had hurled itself at an iceberg. Had the impact been received by a perpendicular wall, the elastic resistance of bending plates and frames would have overcome the momentum with no more damage to the passengers than a severe shaking up and to the ship than the crushing in of her bows and the killing to a man of the watch below. She would have backed off and slightly down by the head finished the voyage at reduced speed to rebuild on insurance money and benefit largely in the end by the consequent advertising of her indestructibility but a low beach possibly formed by the recent overturning of the bird received the Titan and with her keel cutting the ice like the steel runner of an ice boat and her great weight resting on the starboard bilge she rose out of the sea higher and higher until the propellers in the stern were half exposed then meeting an easy spiral rise in the ice under her port bow she healed overbalanced and crashed down on her side to starboard. The holding bolts of twelve boilers and three triple expansion engines unintended to hold such weights from a perpendicular flooring snapped and down through a maze of ladders, gratings, and four and a half bulkheads came these giant masses of steel and iron puncturing the sides of the ship even where backed by solid resisting ice and filling the engine and boiler rooms with scalding steam which brought a quick though tortured death to each of the hundred men on duty in the engineer's department amid the roar of escaping steam and the be like buzzing of nearly three thousand human voices raised in agonized screams and callings from within the enclosing walls and the whistling of air through hundreds of open deadlights as the water entering the holes of the crushed and ribbon starboard side expelled it the Titan moves slowly backward and launched herself into the sea where she floated low on her side a dying monster groaning with her death womb a solid pyramid like hummock of ice left to starboard as the steamer ascended and which projected close alongside the upper or boat deck as she fell over had caught in succession every pair of davits to starboard bending and wrenching them smashing boats and snapping tackles and grips until as the ship cleared itself it capped the pile of wreckage screwing the ice in front of it and around it with the end and broken stanchions of the bridge and in this shattered vox like structure dazed by the sweeping fall through an arc of seventy foot radius crouched rolling bleeding from a cut in his head and still holding to his breast the little girl now too frightened to cry by an effort of will he aroused himself and looked to his eyesight twisted and fixed to a shorter focused by the drug he had taken the steamship was little more than a blotch on the moon whitened fog yet he thought he could see men clamoring and working on the upper davits and the nearest boat number twenty four seemed to be swinging by the tackles then the fog shut her out though her position was still indicated by the roaring of steam from her iron lungs this ceased in time leaving behind it the horrid humming sound and whistling of air and when this too was suddenly hushed and the ensuing silence broken by dull booming reports as from bursting compartments Roland knew that the holocaust was complete that the invincible titan with nearly all her people unable to climb vertical floors and ceilings was beneath the surface of the sea mechanically his benumbed faculties had received and recorded the impressions of the last few moments he could not comprehend to the full the horror of it all yet his mind was keenly alive to the peril of the woman whose appealing voice he had heard and recognized the woman of his dream and the mother of the child in his arms he hastily examined the wreckage not a boat was intact creeping down to the water's edge he hailed with all the power of his weak voice to possible but invisible boats beyond the fog calling on them to come and save the child to look out for a woman who had been on deck under the bridge he shouted this woman's name the one that he knew encouraging her to swim to tread water to float on wreckage and to answer him until he came to her there was no response and when his voice had grown hoarse and futile and his feet numb from the cold of the thawing ice he returned to the wreckage way down and all but crushed by the blackest desolation that had so far come into his unhappy life the little girl was crying and he tried to soothe her i want mama she wailed hush baby hush he answered wearily and bitterly so do i more than heaven but i think our chances are about even now are you cold little one we'll go inside and i'll make a house for us he removed his coat tenderly wrapped the little figure in it and with the injunction don't be afraid now play star in the corner of the bridge which rested on its forward side as he did so a bottle of whiskey fell out of the pocket it seemed an age since he had found it there and it required a strong effort of reasoning before he remembered its full significance then he raised it to hurl it down the incline of ice but stopped himself i'll keep it he muttered it may be safe in small quantities and we'll need it on this ice he placed it in a corner then removing the canvas cover from one of the wrecked boats he hung it over the open side and end of the bridge crawled within and donned his coat a ready-made slap chest garment designed for a larger man and buttoning it around himself and the little girl lay down on the hard woodwork she was still crying but soon under the influence of the warmth of his body ceased and went to sleep hobbled in the corner he gave himself up to the torrent of his thoughts two pictures alternately crowded his mind one that of the woman of his dream and treating him to come back which his memory clung to as an oracle the other of this woman cold and lifeless fathoms deep in the sea he pondered on her chances she was close to or on the bridge steps and boat number 24 which he was almost sure was being cleared away as he looked would swing close to her as it descended she could climb in and be saved unless the swimmers from doors and hatches should swap the boat and in his agony of mine he cursed these swimmers preferring to see her mentally the only passenger in the boat with the watch on deck to pull her to safety the potent drug he had taken was still at work and this with the musical wash of the sea on the icy beach and the muffled creaking and crackling beneath and around him the voice of the iceberg overcame him finally and he slept to awaken at daylight with limbs stiffened and numb almost frozen and all night as he slept a boat with the number 24 on her bow pulled by sturdy sailors and steered by brass buttoned officers was making for the southern lane the highway of spring traffic and crouched in the stern sheets of this boat was a moaning praying woman who cried and screamed at intervals for husband and baby and would not be comforted even when one of the brass buttoned officers assured her that her child was safe in the care of John Rowland a brave and trusty sailor who was certainly in the other boat with it he did not tell her of course that Rowland had hailed from the berg as she lay unconscious and that if he still had the child it was with him there deserted end of chapter seven recording by Tom Weiss chapter eight of futility or the wreck of the Titan this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Tom Weiss futility or the wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson chapter eight Rowland with some misgivings drank a small quantity of the liquor and wrapping the still sleeping child in the coat stepped out on the ice the fog was gone and a blue sailless stream stretched out to the horizon behind him was ice a mountain of it he climbed the elevation and looked at another stretch of vacant view from a precipice a hundred feet high to his left the ice sloped to a steeper beach than the one behind him and to the right a pile of hummocks and taller peaks interspersed with numerous canyons and caves and glistening with waterfalls shut out the horizon in this direction nowhere was there a sail or steamer's smoke to cheer him and he retraced his steps when but halfway to the wreckage he saw a moving white object approaching from the direction of the peaks his eyes were not yet in good condition and after an uncertain scrutiny he started at a run for he saw that the mysterious white object was nearer the bridge than himself and rapidly lessening the distance a hundred yards away his heart bounded and the blood in his veins felt cold as the ice underfoot for the white object proved to be a traveler from the frozen north lean and famished a polar bear who had sent it food and was seeking it coming on at a lumbering run with great red jaws half open and yellow fangs exposed Roland had no weapon but a strong jackknife but this he pulled from his pocket and opened as he ran not for an instant did he hesitate at a conflict that promised almost certain death for the presence of this bear involved the safety of a child whose life had become of more importance to him than his own to his horror he saw it creep out of the opening in its white covering just as the bear turned the corner of the bridge go back baby go back he shouted as he bound it down the slope the bear reached the child first and with seemingly no effort dashed it with a blow of its massive paw a dozen feet away where it lay quiet turning to follow the brute was met by Roland the bear rose to his haunches sank down and charged and Roland felt the bones of his left arm crushing under the bite of the big yellow fanged jaws but falling he buried the knife blade in the shaggy hide and the bear with an angry snarl spat out the mangled member and dealt him a sweeping blow which sent him farther along the ice than the child had gone he arose with broken ribs and scarcely feeling the pain awaited the second charge again was the crushed and useless arm gripped in the yellow vice and again was he pressed backward but this time he used a knife with method the great snout was pressing his breast the hot fatted breath was in his nostrils and at his shoulder the hungry eyes were glaring into his own he struck for the left eye of the brute and struck true the five inch blade went into the handle piercing the brain and the animal with a convulsive spring which carried him halfway to his feet by the wounded arm reared up with paws outstretched to full eight feet of length then sagged down and with a few spasmatic kicks lay still Roland had done what no Inuit hunter will attempt he had fought and killed the tiger of the north with a knife it had all happened in a minute but in that minute he was crippled for life for in the quiet of a hospital the best of surgical skill could hardly avail to reset the fractured particles of bone in the limp arm and bring to place the crushed ribs and he was adrift on a floating island of ice with the temperature near the freezing point and without even the rude appliances of the savage he painfully made his way to the little pile of red and white and lifted it with his uninjured arm though the stooping caused him excruciating torture the child was bleeding from four deep cruel scratches extending diagonally from the right shoulder down the back but he found upon examination that the soft yielding bones were unbroken and that her unconsciousness came from the rough contact of the little forehead with the ice for a large lump had raised of pure necessity his first efforts must be made in his own behalf so wrapping the baby in his coat he placed it in his shelter and cut and made from a canvas a sling for his dangling arm then with knife fingers and teeth he partly skinned the bear often compelled to pause to save himself from fainting with pain and cut from the warm but not very thick layer of fat a broad slab which after bathing the wounds at a nearby pool he bound firmly to the little ones back using the torn nightgown for a bandage he cut the flannel lining from his coat and from that of the sleeves made nether garments for the little limbs doubling the surplus length over the ankles and tying in place with rope yarns from a boat lacing the body lining he wrapped around her waist in closing the arms and around the hole he paused turn upon turn of canvas and strips marling the dummy like bundle with yarns much as a sailor secures chafing gear to the double parts of a hauser a process when complete that would have aroused the indignation of any mother who saw but he was only a man and suffering mental and physical anguish by the time he had finished the child had recovered consciousness and was protesting its misery in a feeble wailing cry but he dared not stop to become stiffened with cold and pain there was plenty of fresh water from melting ice scattered in pools the bear would furnish food but they needed fire to cook this food keep them warm and the dangerous inflammation from their hurts and to raise a smoke to be seen by passing cracked he recklessly drank from the bottle needing the stimulant and reasoning perhaps rightly that no ordinary drug could affect him in his present condition then he examined the wreckage most of it good kindling would partly above partly below the pile was a steel lifeboat decked over airtight ends now doubled to more than a right angle and resting on its side with canvas hung over one half and a small fire in the other it promised by its conducting property a warmer and better shelter than the bridge a sailor without matches is an anomaly he whittled shavings kindled the fire hung the canvas and brought the child who begged piteously for a drink of water he found a tin can possibly left in a leaky boat before its final hoist to the davits and gave her a drink to which he had added a few drops of the whiskey then he thought of breakfast cutting a steak from the hind quarters of the bear he toasted it on the end of a splinter and found it sweet and satisfying but when he attempted to feed the child he understood the necessity of freeing its arms which he did sacrificing his left shirt sleeve to cover them the change and the food stopped its crying for a while and roland lay down with it in the warm boat before the day had passed the whiskey was gone and he was delirious with fever while the child was but little better end of chapter eight recording by tom weiss chapter nine of futility or the wreck of the titan this is a leber vox recording all leber vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit leber vox dot work recording by tom weiss futility or the wreck of the titan by morgan robertson chapter nine with lucid intervals during which he replenished or rebuilt the fire cooked the bear meat and fed and dressed the wounds of the child this delirium lasted three days his suffering was intense his arm the seat of throbbing pain had swollen to twice the natural size while his side prevented him from taking a full breath voluntarily he had paid no attention to his own hurts and it was either the vigor of a constitution that years of dissipation had not impaired or some anti-febrile property of bear meat or the absence of the exciting whiskey that won the battle he rekindled the fire with his last match on the evening of a third day and looked around the darkening horizon saying but feeble in body and mind if a sail had appeared in the interim he had not seen it nor was there one in sight now two weeks to climb the slope he returned to the boat where the child exhausted from fruitless crying was now sleeping his unskillful and rather heroic manner of wrapping it up to protect it from cold had no doubt contributed largely to the closing of its wounds by forcibly keeping it still though it must have added to its present sufferings he looked for a moment on the wand tear stained little face with its fringe of tangled curls peeping above the wrappings of the canvas and stooping painfully low kissed it softly but the kiss awakened it and it cried for its mother he could not soothe it nor could he try and with a formless wordless curse against destiny welling up from his heart he left it and sat down on the wreckage at some distance away will very likely get well he mused plumally unless I let the fire go out what then we can't last longer than the bird and not much longer than the bear we must be out of the tracks we were about 900 miles out when we struck and the current sticks to the fog belt here and west southwest but that's the surface water these deep fellows have currents of their own there's no fog we must be to the southward of the belt between the lanes they'll run their boats in the other lane after this I think the money grabbing wretches curse them if they've drowned her curse them with their watertight compartments and their logging of the lookouts 24 boats for 3000 people lashed down with tarred grip lashings 30 men to clear them away and not an axe on the boat deck or a sheath knife on a man could she have got away if they got that boat down they might have taken her in from the steps and the mate knew I had her child he would tell her her name must be myra too it was her voice I heard in that dream that was hashish what did they drug me for but the whiskey was all right it's all done with now unless I get ashore but will I the moon rose above the castellated structure to the left flooding the icy beach with ash and gray light sparkling in a thousand points from the cascades streams and rippling pools throwing into blackest shadow the gullies and hollows and bringing to his mind in spite of the weird beauty of the scene a crushing sense of loneliness of littleness as though the vast pile of inorganic desolation which held him was a far greater importance than himself and all the hopes plans and fears of his lifetime the child had tried itself to sleep again and he paced up and down the ice up there he said mootily looking into the sky or a few stars shown faintly in the flood from the moon up there somewhere they don't know just where but somewhere up above is the christian's heaven up there is their good god who has placed myra's child here their good god whom they borrowed from the savage bloodthirsty race that invented him and down below us somewhere again is their hell and their bad god whom they invented themselves and they give us our choice heaven or hell it is not so not so the great mystery is not solved the human heart is not helped in this way no good merciful god created this world for its conditions whatever may be the nature of the causes at work beyond our mental vision one fact is indubitably proven that the qualities of mercy goodness justice play no part in the governing scheme and yet they say the core of all religions on earth is the belief in this is it or is it the cowardly human fear of the unknown that impels the savage mother to throw her babe to a crocodile that impels the civilized man to endow churches that has kept in existence from the beginning of a class of sussayers medicine men priests and clergymen all living on the hopes and fears excited by themselves and people pray millions of them and claim they are answered are they was ever supplication sent into that sky by troubled humanity answered or even heard who knows they pray for rain and sunshine and both come in time they pray for health and success and both are but natural in the marching of events this is not evidence but they say that they know by spiritual uplifting that they are heard and comforted and answered at the moment is this not a physiological experiment would they not feel equally tranquil if they repeated the multiplication table or boxed the compass millions have believed this that prayers are answered and these millions have prayed to different gods were they all wrong or all right would a tentative prayer be listened to admitting that the Bibles and Korans and Vedas are misleading and unreliable may there be an unseen unknown being who knows my heart who is watching me now if so this being gave me my reason which doubts him and on him is the responsibility and would this being if he exists overlook a defect for which I am not to blame and listen to a prayer from me based on the mere chance that I might be mistaken can an unbeliever in the full strength of his reasoning powers come to such trouble that he can no longer stand alone but must try for help to an imagined power can such time come to a sane man to me he looked at the dark line of vacant horizon it was seven miles away new york was nine hundred the moon in the east over two hundred thousand and the stars above any number of billions he was alone with a sleeping child a dead bear and the unknown he walked softly to the boat and looked at the little one for a moment then raising his head he whispered for you myra singing to his knees the atheist lifted his eyes to the heavens and with his feeble voice and the fervor born of helplessness prayed to the god that he denied he begged for the light of the weight in his care for the safety of the mother so needful to the little one and for courage and strength to do his part and bring them together but beyond the appeal for help in the service of others not one word or expressed thought of his prayer included himself as a beneficiary so much for pride as he rose to his feet the flying jib of a bark appeared around the corner of ice to the right of the beach and a moment later the whole moonlit fabric came into view wafted along by the faint westerly air not half a mile away he sprang to the fire for getting his pain and throwing on wood made a blaze he hailed in a frenzy of excitement bark ahoy bark ahoy take us off and a deep toned answer came across the water wake up myra he cried as he lifted the child wake up we're going away we going to mama she asked with no symptoms of crying yes we're going to mama now that is he had it to himself if that clause in the prayer is considered fifteen minutes later as he watched the approach of a white quarterboat he muttered that bark was there half a mile back in this wind before i thought of praying is that prayer answered is she safe end of chapter nine recording by tom weiss chapter ten of futility for the wreck of the titan this is a labor box recording all labor box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit labor box dot or recording by tom weiss futility for the wreck of the titan by morgan robertson chapter ten on the first floor of the london royal exchange is a large apartment studded with desks around and between which surges a hurrying shouting crowd of brokers clerks and messengers fringing this apartment or doors and hallways leading to adjacent rooms and offices and scattered through it are bulletin boards on which are daily written in duplicate the marine casualties of the world at one end is a raised platform sacred to the presence of an important functionary in the technical language of the city the apartment is known as the room and the functionary as the caller whose business it is to call out in a mighty sing song voice the names of members want it at the door and the bare particulars of bulletin news prior to its being chalked out for reading it is the headquarters of Lloyd's the immense association of underwriters brokers and shipping men which beginning with the customers at Edward Lloyd's coffee house in the latter part of the 17th century has retaining his name for a title developed into a corporation so well equipped so splendidly organized and powerful that kings and ministers of state appealed to it at times for foreign news not a master or mate sails under the British flag but whose record even to forecastle flights is tabulated at Lloyd's for the inspection of prospective employers not a ship is cast away on any inhabitable coast of the world during underwriters business hours but what that mighty sing song cry announces the event at Lloyd's within 30 minutes one of the adjoining rooms is known as the chart room here can be found in perfect order and sequence each on its roller the newest charts of all nations with a library of nautical literature describing to the last detail the harbors lights rocks shoals and sailing directions of every coastline shown on the charts the tracks of latest storms the changes of ocean currents and the whereabouts of derelicts and icebergs a member at Lloyd's acquires in time a theoretical knowledge of the sea seldom exceeded by the men who navigate it another apartment the captain's room is given over to joy and refreshment and still another the antithesis of the last is the intelligence office where anxious ones inquire for and are told the latest news of this or that overdue ship on the day when the assembled throng of underwriters and brokers had been thrown into an uproarious panic by the crier's announcement that the great titan was destroyed and the papers of europe and america were issuing extras giving the meager details of the arrival at new york of one boatload of her people this office had been crowded with weeping women and worrying men who would ask and remain to ask again for more news and when it came a later cablegram giving the story of the wreck and the names of the captain first officer bosson seven sailors and one lady passenger as those of the saved a feeble old gentleman had raised his voice in a quavering scream high above the sobbing of women and said my daughter-in-law is safe but where is my son where is my son and my grandchild then he hurried away but was back again the next day and the next and when on the tenth day of waiting and watching he learned of another boatload of sailors and children arrived at gibraltar he shook his head slowly muttering george george and left the room that night after telegraphing the council at gibraltar of his coming he crossed the channel in the first tumultuous riot of inquiry when underwriters had climbed over desks and each other to hear again of the wreck of the titan one the noisiest of all a corpulent hooked-nosed man with flashing black eyes had broken away from the crowd and made his way to the captain's room where after a draught of brandy he had seated himself heavily with a groan that came from his soul father abraham he muttered this will ruin me others came in some to drink some to condole all to talk hard hit meyer asked one ten thousand he answered gloomily serve you right said another unkindly have more baskets for your eggs knew you'd bring up though meyer's eyes sparkled at this he said nothing but drank himself stupid and was assisted home by one of his clerks from this on neglecting his business accepting to occasionally visit the bulletins he spent his time in the captain's room drinking heavily and bemoaning his luck on the tenth day he read with watery eyes posted on the bulletin below the news of the arrival at gibraltar of the second boatload of people the following life boy of royal age london picked up among wreckage in latitude 45 20 north longitude 54 31 west ship arctic boston captain brand oh my good god he howled as he rushed toward the captain's room poor devil poor damned fool of an israelite said one observer to another he covered the whole of the royal age and the biggest chunk of the titan it'll take his wife's diamonds to settle three weeks later mr meyer was aroused from a brooding lethargy by a crowd of shouting underwriters who rushed into the captain's room seized him by the shoulders and hurried him out and up to a bulletin read it meyer read it what do you think of it was some difficulty he read aloud while they watched his face john roland sailor of the titan with child passenger name unknown on board peerless bat at christiansand norway both dangerously ill roland speaks of ship cut in half night before loss of titan what do you make of it meyer royal age isn't it yes was siphirated another i figured back only ship not reported lately overdue two months was spoken same day 50 miles east of that iceberg sure thing said others nothing said about it in the captain's statement looks queer they'll bought of it said mr meyer painfully and stupidly there is a collision clause in their titan's policy i merely pay the money to their steamship company instead of their royal age people but why did the captain conceal it they shouted him what's his object assured against collision suits there looks of it perhaps looks bad not since meyer what's the matter with you which one of the lost tribes did you spring from you're like none of your race drinking yourself stupid like a good christian i've got a thousand on the titan and if i'm to pay it i want to know why you've got the heaviest risk and the brain to fight for it you've got to do it go home straighten up and attend to this we'll watch roll until you take hold we're all caught they put him in a cab took him to a turkish bath and then home the next morning he was at his desk clear eyed and clear headed and for a few weeks was a busy scheming man of business end of chapter 10 recording by tom weiss chapter 11 of futility for the wreck of the titan this is a leverbox recording all leverbox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit leverbox.org recording by tom weiss futility for the wreck of the titan by morgan robertson chapter 11 on a certain morning about two months after the announcement of the loss of the titan mr meyer sat at his desk in the rooms busily writing when the old gentleman who had bewailed the death of his son in the intelligence office tottered in and took a chair beside him good morning mr selfridge he said scarcely looking up i suppose you have come to see their insurance carried over their 60 days are up yes yes mr meyer said the old gentleman weirdly of course as merely a stockholder i can take no active part but i am a member here and naturally a little anxious all i have in the world even to my son and grandchild was in the titan it is very sad mr selfridge you have my deepest sympathy i believe you are their largest holder of titan stock about 100 000 is it not about that i am their heaviest insurer so mr selfridge this battle will be largely between you and myself battle is there any difficulty asked mr selfridge anxiously perhaps i do not know their underwriters and outside companies have blazed matters in my hands and will not pay until i take their initiative we must hear from one john roland who with a little child was recovered from their bird and taken to christensen he has been too sick to leave their ship which found him and is coming up their tames in her this morning i have a carriage at their dock and expect him at my office by noon there is where we will transact this little business not here a child saved query the old gentleman dear me it may be little myra she was not a Gibraltar with the others i would not care i would not care much about the money if she was safe but my son my only son is gone and mr mire i am a ruined man if this insurance is not paid and i am a ruined man if it is said mr mire rising will you come around to their office mr selfridge i expect their attorney and captain brice are there now mr selfridge arose and accompanied him to the street a rather meagrely furnished private office in thread needle street partitioned off from a larger one bearing mr mire's name in the window received the two men one of whom in the interest of good business was soon to be impoverished they had not waited a minute before captain brice and mr austin were announced and ushered in sleek well fed and gentlemanly in manner perfect types of the british naval officer they bowed politely to mr selfridge when mr mire introduced them as the captain and first officer of the titan and seated themselves a few moments later brought a shrewd-looking person who mr mire addressed as the attorney for the steamship company but did not introduce for such are the amenities of the english system of cast now then gentlemen said mr mire i believe we can proceed to the business up to a certain point perhaps further mr thompson you have the affidavit of captain brice i have said the attorney producing a document which mr mire glanced at and handed back and in this statement captain he said you have sworn that their voyage was uneventful up to their moment a direct that is he added with an oily smile as he noticed the paling of the captain's face that nothing occurred to make their titan less c worthy or manageable that is what i swore to said the captain with a little sigh you are part owner are you not captain brice i own five shares of the company stock i have examined their charter and their company list said mr mire each boat and their company is so far as assessments and dividends are concerned a separate company i find you are listed as owning two sixty seconds of their titan stock this makes you under their law part owner of their titan and responsible as such what do you mean sir by that word responsible said captain brice quickly for answer mr mire elevated his black eyebrows assumed an attitude of listening looked at his watch and went to the door which as he opened admitted the sound of carriage wheels in here he called to his clerks then faced the captain what do i mean captain brice he thundered i mean that you have concealed in your sworn statement all reference to the fact that you collide it with and sunk the ship royal age under night before the wreck of your own ship who says so how do you know it lustered the captain you have only that bulletin statement of the man rolling an irresponsible drunkard the man was lifted aboard drunk at new york broke in the first officer and remained in a condition of delirium treatments up to the ship wreck we did not meet the royal age and are in no way responsible for her loss yes added captain brice and a man in that condition is liable to see anything we listened to his ravings on the night of the wreck he was on lookout on the bridge mr austin the boson and myself were close to him before mr mire's oily smile had indicated to the flustered captain that he had said too much the door opened and admitted roland pale and weak with empty left sleeve leaning on the arm of a bronze bearded and manly looking giant who carried little myra on the other shoulder and who said in the breezy tone of the quarter deck well i've brought him half dead but why couldn't you give me time to dock my ship a mate can't do everything and this is captain barry of their peerless said mr mire taking his hand it is all right my friend you will not lose and this is mr roland and this is their little child sit down my friend i congratulate you on your escape thank you said roland weakly as he seated himself they cut my arm off at christian sand and i still live that is my escape captain brice and mr austin pale and motionless stared hard at this man in whose emaciated face refined by suffering to the almost spiritual softness of age they hardly recognized the features of the troublesome sailor of the titan his clothing though clean was ragged and patched mr selbridge had arisen and was also staring not at roland but at the child who seated in the lap of the big captain barry was looking around with wondering eyes her costume was unique a dress of bagging stuff put together as were her canvas shoes and hat with sail twine and sail makers stitches three to the inch covered skirts and underclothing made from old flannel shirts it represented many an hour's work of the watch below lovingly bestowed by the crew of the peerless for the crippled roland could not so mr selbridge approached scanned the pretty features closely and asked what is her name her first name is myra answered roland she remembers that but i have not learned her last name though i knew her mother years ago before her marriage myra myra repeated the old gentleman do you know me don't you know me he trembled visibly as he stooped and kissed her the little farhead puckered and wrinkled as the child struggled with memory then it cleared and the whole face sweetened to a smile grandpa she said oh god i thank the murmur mr selbridge taking her in his arms i have lost my son but i have found his child my granddaughter but sir asked roland eerily you this child's grandfather your son is lost you say was he on board the titan and the mother was she saved or is she too he stopped unable to continue the mother is safe in new york but the father my son has not yet been heard from said the old man mournfully roland's head sank and he hid his face for a moment in his arm on the table at which he sat it had been a face as old and worn and weary as that of the white-haired man confronting him on it when it raised flushed bright eyed and smiling was the glory of youth i trust sir he said that you will telegraph her i am penniless at present and besides do not know her name selbridge which of course is my own name mrs colonel or mrs george selbridge our new york address is well known but i shall cable her at once and believe me sir although i can understand that our debt to you cannot be named in terms of money you need not be penniless long you are evidently a capable man and i have wealth and influence roland merely bowed slightly but mr. mire muttered to himself wealth and influence perhaps not now gentlemen he added in a louder tone to business mr roland will you tell us about their running down at their royal age was it the royal age asked roland i sailed in her one voyage yes certainly mr. selbridge more interested in myra than in the coming account carried her over to a chair in the corner and sat down where he fondled and talked to her after the manner of grandfathers the world over and roland first looking steadily into the faces of the two men he had come to expose and whose presence he had thus far ignored told while they held their teeth tight together and often bury their fingernails in their palms the terrible story of the cutting in half of the ship on the first night out from new york finishing with the attempted bribery and his refusal well gentlemen what do you think of that asked mr. mire looking around a lie from beginning to m stormed captain brice roland rose to his feet but was pressed back by the big man who had accompanied him who then faced captain brice and said quietly i saw a polar bear that this man killed in an open fight i saw his arm afterward and while nursing him away from death i heard no wines or complaints he can fight his own battles when well and when sick i'll do it for him if you insult him again in my presence i'll knock your teeth down your throat end of chapter 11 recording by tom was