Voyage Du Mauvais Sort

Dressed in a grey suit, a man with mousey features stands facing the horizon. Colors dance across the sky in dull hues of rich blue and purple; the green water glimmers against the dim light. The man pulls a small glass spectrum from his pocket and holds it up to the light. This object takes natural light and separates the colors making clinquant rainbows in the surrounding area.

The man has been coming to the dock since he was a boy with his father. At ten years of age, he and his father would ceremoniously hold the spectrum up to the light and his father would always say, “If the spectrum creates rainbows, it will be a good day for pursuing your dream.”

Every day he would respond to his father, “Dad, I want to be a ship builder just like you.” On this day, he mutters to himself, “Today is a great day indeed. Dad, I believe you were right.”

It’s early spring of 1912, the market is blossoming with life as shop owners and their families begin opening their stores to begin a day of sales, socializing, and just living everyday life. Mr. Thomas Andrews finds this setting quite refreshing as he walks to the dock to begin a day of building ships. Currently, Andrews is taking a large role in the building of one of the three newest White Star Line ships. In fact, Mr. Andrews designed the entire ship himself, based solely off the ideas generated between Mr. J. Bruce Ismay and his own uncle, Lord James Pierre.

Andrews walks briskly this morning, filled with vast amount of excitement. Blueprints coiled beneath his arm, he occasionally stops to merrily greet the shop owners and a handful of wandering merchants. Most people he can nod off with a quick “hello,” and a tip of his paint splattered hat; others not so easily. Some would ask him about how the ship is coming along; of course he would respond with a, “she’s coming along well and on schedule.” If anyone asked any further questions, he would apologize and scurry off to make it to the dock on time.

After several delays, Andrews arrives to his destination remaining just as bright-eyed as he was when he started his morning. Today the workers and he would be busy painting the final coat on the first-class stay rooms, with today being the final day of work before the ship sets sail on her maiden voyage. He arrives just as the crew members for the voyage are arriving to set their rooms, he waits patiently as the men in front of him unload their baggage onto the ship. “Good morning, Mr. Andrews,” the kind gentleman in front of him says, smiling a genuine smile of the sort.

“Morning,” Andrews replies cheerily, “Final day until her first voyage. I believe she’s up to it; I just hope she meets your standards, young Victor.” Thomas smiles a toothy grin that crooks slightly to the left; he has faith in the boy. Clearly just out of school, twenty-three-year-old Victor has been trained personally by the older Thomas Andrews. Victor is a small boy, standing just under the height of Andrews. Chestnut brown locks ripple with life in the wind as Victor smiles revealing straight lines of pearly white teeth.

“Oh, I’m quite certain she exceeds my standards, Mr. Andrews. You are the best at your job and I’ve been waiting all my life to work on one of your creations!” Victor answers hungrily. Thomas can’t help but to see a past vision of himself within Victor’s perspective and antics of life. After Victor boards the ship, Andrews climbs aboard; the ship still smelling of new wood paneling, new carpet, and wet paint. He doglegs his way through corridors in search of the first room he is to paint.

He finds the room with ease; promptly after entering he grabs a bucket of paint and begins mixing it with a flimsy wooden wand. A few rotations later, the previously white paste is a rich, creamy eggshell color that coincides harmoniously with the maroon carpeting and mahogany wood paneling. Before long, his painting partner enters the room huffing, “Sorry mate! The market is crazy this morning; everyone wants to see the ship before she departs tomorrow morning.”

Andrews chuckles, “That’s quite all right John, I’m just starting myself.” Thomas dips his brush in the paint tray, carefully he watches the paint trickle from his brush, captivated for just a moment by the beauty of the dripping paint. Quickly, he snaps out of this daze and hurries over to a wall to begin painting the final coat. “I’m having dinner with Pierre and Ismay tonight; we’re discussing tomorrow.” He seems confident in his work, but in his mind is a whole new story. Andrews is highly intimidated by his uncle and Mr. Ismay; His stomach contorts itself in all different ways. He holds everything in, not once faltering in his charm and sensibility.

Thomas is just finishing the last stroke of paint in the whole ship when the five o’clock steamer whistle blows. The whistle is a sound like heaven to him; today, the bell’s bellowing undertones signal it’s time to leave to go have a celebratory dinner with the other two masterminds in the building of the ship. Andrews briskly makes his way home, only sharing mere nods of recognition to those who tried speaking to him.

The man easily slips through the streets, quickly making his way home; flying through the door, he checks his watch for just a moment before proceeding to the master bedroom. He pulls out a pair of sleek black pants that match his dinner jacket, laying them flat on the bed before entering his closet. He searches the top row of jackets for his black jacket with silver buttons to wear over his crisp, white button front shirt. Having the attire at hand, he strips quickly down to his drawers and pulls on the suit. Once he finishes buttoning the white shirt he pulls a pricey grey and black striped tie, pulling it precisely to the center. Before he finishes with the black jacket, Thomas grabs his grey wool vest, only then to complete the outfit with the slim fitting jacket.

Arriving at the restaurant a few minutes early, he sees neither of the two men. Mr. Andrews takes his hat off as he enters the building and unceremoniously takes a seat at the table clearly reserved for him and the two men. Before long, the other two enter looking far more like gentlemen than Andrews could ever imagine looking himself. He stands, a smirk slithering its way across his face; hand extended, he shakes hands with both of the men, all of them exchanging a greeting.

Mr. Ismay is a brittle looking man, his light brown hair cut sharply around his head. He has a thick moustache the size of a gutter rat, covering all of his upper lip except for a thin sliver of skin showing directly in the middle. His eyes were hungry for attention, chatting constantly about the ship making headlines. It seemed so, to Mr. Andrews, that Bruce was only a part of this ship for the money.

Pierre is a jolly man, his stature always in a firm stance. His white beard covers most of his round face, only making it seem rounder. He, unlike Mr. Ismay, wanted to build the ship for the luxury; not that he would be the one experience it. But what does Mr. Andrews care, he is happy with just achieving such a dream as this.

They later come to discuss who would be traveling on the ship during her maiden voyage, and both Ismay and Andrews were elected to partake in it. Mr. Andrews’s mind rushes with exhilaration; Not only had he built a ship of dreams, he would travel on the ship of dreams.

The next morning, Thomas is awake before the sun has risen; His body is flooding with enthusiasm, much like the morning his father took him to the building dock for the first time. He opens his trunk once more, checking for any items that he may have forgotten to pack and might need on the ship; after checking through several times, he moves on to making his way to the dock. He wants so badly, to be the first one there in order to help people find their stay rooms and just to see the excitement on their faces as they board the time’s most luxurious ship.

The dock is coming into the horizon of his sight, many people have already started showing up; Not only passengers of the ship, but people there to just wave the ship off in all of its majestic glory. There is no denying Andrews is proud of the labor he put into the ship and it is what everyone is calling it, “the Ship of Dreams.” This ship is a dream, his dream, and not one thing would take it away from him. He designed the ship using a new technique with a double bottom, making the ship far less likely to sink. He also designed it so that if the ship were to take on water, it could fill up to four compartments and stay afloat. Not once did he imagine the ship’s disastrous fate.

Thomas is ecstatic to hear people use the name of his ship, a microcosm to say the least, Titanic. After paying a crew member to take his trunk to his room, he boards with only blueprints coiled beneath his arm. No doubt in mind, he had reached his dream.