Work Text:
Hotel Continental.
Washington.
April 24th, 1912.
To Will:
Sometimes, I am glad you do not have to witness what an absolute circus this is. The Americans have us all but jailed, as they have not allowed very many of us to return home. Every day, an endless stream of asinine questions & severe lack of understanding of our trade, and that Senator Smith might be the worst of all. You would have hated it. And that is only one side of it. That you are spared the complaint of the armchair judge is a blessing indeed. The ones that never once have had to make the kind of life-or-death decisions we do on a daily basis, instant decisions that nine times out of ten result in a near shave & a merry voyage for all. But the one time, the one time the luck runs out, and every possible one-in-a-million circumstance aligns like they never would again—that is when the armchair judge pounces. I am very glad you do not have to hear it. With this constant human pressure from all sides, sometimes I think the bottom of the sea may be kinder.
I wish you were here.
The rumors are unbearable. They say & write whatever they please to sell their damned papers, all at your expense, but I know what I saw. I know you. I know you would have never stopped trying because that is just how you are, stubborn to the last, and the sea would have fought to claim you. A better man there never was, and I would have heard it, anyhow. But, I am just one voice against all their sickening stories. To Ada, I wrote a letter that I hope reaches her promptly, so that she knows the truth & does not have to abide by the stories. I hope my one voice carries far & wide, that the truth touches many people, that if they believe nothing else of what I say then at least let it be that which they believe. If the last record of my existence are the words I said in your defense, then I would not have it any other way.
I miss you terribly.
Yours, always,
C.H. Lightoller