Every Man for Himself

by Beryl Bainbridge

  Ida said it was the heat. All the windows were tightly closed because of the intense cold outside. She tugged my head up and prised out the stud of my collar. I jerked like a rabbit in a trap as the sliver of ice slid further down my spine. Hopper was worried about the clout he’d dealt me with his racquet. In Melchett’s opinion it was a delayed reaction to my excessive drinking of the night before; judging by the disdainful glance bestowed on me by Mrs Carter, just then leaving the restaurant with Mrs Brown, it could be reckoned I was in the middle of a repeat performance. That good old sport Mrs Brown winked as she passed by.

  I recovered quickly enough, physically, that is, feeling no longer sick and being quite steady on my feet. Mentally, something was wrong. As I walked to the smoke-room, Hopper and Melchett at either elbow and Ida faffing along behind in case I took another turn, I distinctly heard voices uttering sentences that didn’t finish. An hour and a half. Possibly . . . Hadn’t we better cancel that . . . As we have lived, so will we . . . If you’ll get the hell out of the . . . I shook my head to get rid of them and they trailed off like mist pushed by the wind. Once in the smoke-room, Hopper urged me to down a small measure of medicinal brandy, which made me shudder. As soon as I could I got away from him, insisting I needed to go out on deck, alone. I promised I’d be back in a jiff, and if I wasn’t he should come in search of me.

  He was right about the cold; the air stung my lungs. I was about to dodge back inside when I saw Riley sauntering towards the companionway up to the officers’ house. I called out his name, clapping my hands together to keep them warm. When he’d come close enough, I said, ‘Look here, I want to explain myself.’

  ‘Is that so?’ he replied. ‘And why would that be?’ He stood there, his face sinister in the lantern light, breath steaming.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said, and I wasn’t. ‘Something bothers me. Can’t we talk?’

  He said, ‘That we can’t, sir. Piss off,’ and with that he turned his back on me, cool as you please. I was astounded at his insolence.

  Melchett, Hopper and I played bridge later on, Ginsberg making up a fourth. We were mostly abstemious because Astor was sitting at the next table with Archie Butt, military aide to President Taft. I sat very straight in my chair; beyond a glass of hot lemonade I drank nothing and hoped it was noted. Butt was trying to find out from Colonel Astor, who had apparently recently been skiing in St Moritz, what the ‘Cresta’ had been like this year. He was having a hard time of it getting Astor to respond, he being his usual gloomy self and looking as though he’d just come from a funeral. Eventually Astor said he hadn’t the faintest idea, his bride having persuaded him from the run for fear he broke a leg. He wasn’t such a stuffed shirt as I make him out. He’d invented a brake for bicycles and even written a book. Sissy had actually read it; it had something to do with melting the Arctic to put the world on an even keel. He became more animated when the name Kitty was mentioned. I pricked up my ears, as they say, but the Kitty in question turned out to have four legs; she was an Airedale belonging to Astor, off her food and tied up aft of F deck.

  Butt and he left at half-past eleven. I know that because Butt took out his watch and expressed surprise at the lateness of the hour. I guess he was desperate to get to his bed. They had been gone no more than ten minutes – Ginsberg had ordered a whisky and Charlie and I had just won three tricks in succession – when suddenly the room juddered; the lights flickered and Ginsberg’s cigarette case, which sat at his elbow, jolted to the floor. It was the sound accompanying the juddering that startled us, a long drawn-out tearing, like a vast length of calico slowly ripping apart. Melchett said, ‘We’re in collision with another ship,’ and with that we threw down our cards, ran to the doors, sprinted through the Palm Court and out on to the deck. A voice called, ‘We’ve bumped an iceberg – there it goes,’ but though I peered into the darkness I could see nothing. From somewhere forward we heard laughter, voices excitedly shouting. Coming to the starboard rail I looked down on to the well of the third class recreation area; there were chunks of ice spilling and sliding in every direction, all shapes and sizes, glittering under the light of the foremast. Steerage passengers, most in their ragged night-clothes, were chucking it at each other as though playing snowballs. Hopper raced off to go down there and join in the fun. Charlie and I found it too cold to linger and hurried back indoors. A dozen or so men had poured out of the smoke-room and were milling about the foyer, pestering the stewards for information. Astor was there, still dressed but without his tie, leaning down to shout into the ear of Seefax who had been woken from sleep in the library and now sat on the staircase with his stick raised like a weapon. Everyone had a different explanation for whatever it was that had jarred the ship; Ginsberg swore we had lost a propeller, but what did he know?

  We couldn’t resume our game until Hopper returned, which he did quite soon, triumphantly carrying a lump of ice in his handkerchief. He thrust it under my nose and it smelt rank, a bit like a sliver of rotten mackerel. He dropped it into Ginsberg’s whisky when the poor devil wasn’t looking.

  We must have played for another ten minutes, by which time Hopper said he’d had enough. Remembering Andrews’ injunction that I should read while others slept, I decided to spend an hour in the library. I was crossing the foyer when the man himself swept past on his way to the stairs. I didn’t think he’d seen me but he said quite distinctly, ‘Follow me. You may be needed.’

  He led me up to the navigating bridge. Captain Smith was evidently expecting him because as we approached the wheelhouse the quartermaster flung open the door. I would have followed on Andrews’ heels but he shouted over his shoulder that I was to wait outside. Through the glass panels I could see Smith and his first and second officers clustering about him. Ismay was there too, dressed in a fur coat and wearing carpet slippers. He seemed to be excluded, roaming up and down, hands in pockets.

  I was glad I wasn’t outdoors, for even in the comparative warmth of the bridge house I found myself shivering. The silence wrapped me like a cloak and it was only then that I realised the ship no longer moved. When I pressed my face to the window to look down at the sea there was nothing but darkness; when I tilted my head the blackness was fiery with stars.

  Soon, the group inside, all but the quartermaster, came out and walked straight past me. I followed at a distance, unsure of my position, and then Andrews doubled back and told me to put on warm clothes and return to the bridge as soon as possible.

  There were even more people in the foyer when I made my way down. It was an incongruous sight; the mixture of clothing, the dressing-gowns and bathing-robes worn with gloves and scarves and fur tippets, the women with their hair loose, the men with their naked throats and ankles the colour of lard. I didn’t recognise Lady Duff Gordon until I heard her voice. She had creamed her face for sleep and her eyebrows had disappeared. No one seemed particularly disturbed by what had happened. The laughter bubbled beneath the drifting cigar smoke.

  I put my tweed jacket on over my evening clothes and then my Newmarket coat. I thought of wearing my cap – it matched the tweed – but when I tried it on in the mirror it made me look too young. I hadn’t the faintest notion what Andrews expected of me. As a precaution I stuffed an exercise book into my pocket along with several pencils, in case I was asked to patrol the decks and jot down details of steamer chairs snapped by the shower of ice. McKinlay met me in the passageway. He’d been off duty but now everyone was on call. Not that there was anything to worry about. We’d start engines any moment. I went back to the bridge and waited.

  I couldn’t tell anything from their expressions when they returned. Ismay wasn’t with them. This time as they passed through the door Andrews indicated I should follow. I stood respectfully at a distance beside a notice board on which ice warnings were pinned like butterflies.

  The talk was fairly technical. The water had risen approximately fourteen feet about the keel, forward. The watertight bulkhead between boiler rooms 6 and 5 exte
nded only as high as E deck. The first five compartments were filling and the weight of the water had already begun to pull her down at the bow. When it sank lower the water from Number 6 boiler room would swamp Number 5 boiler room. This would drag the bow even lower and water would flood Number 4, Number 3, Number 2, and so on.

  ‘How long have we?’ asked Captain Smith.

  Andrews snapped his fingers at me and I dug out my pencil and exercise book. I was dreadfully afraid it was I who would have to make the calculations, but it was just paper he wanted. Once only he glanced up at the clock above the door. It was two minutes to midnight.

  ‘An hour and a half,’ he said, at last. ‘Possibly two. Not much longer.’

  SIX

  Monday, 15th April

  There is no way of knowing how one will react to danger until faced with it. Nor can we know what capacity we have for nobility and self-sacrifice unless something happens to rouse such conceits into activity. In the nature of things, simply because I had survived without lasting hurt, I remembered little of those other occasions on which I’d been in considerable peril, once half-way up Mount Solaro when I’d been foolish enough to climb on to a wall and lost my footing, the other when tumbling from the side of a boat negotiating the Suez canal. Besides, I had been a boy then and it had been my own lack of sense that had landed me in trouble. As I trailed Thomas Andrews to his suite I confess I fairly glowed with exhilaration and can only suppose I’d failed to grasp the full import of that exchange in the wheelhouse. Andrews hadn’t uttered a word to me since leaving the bridge; now, coming within a few paces of his door, he turned and said, ‘They’ll be lowering the life-boats shortly and will need extra hands. Take nothing with you save what can be put in your pockets. Avoid alarming people. Tell the truth only to those among your friends who can be relied upon to keep a cool head. Have you a pocket knife?’

  ‘I have,’ I said.

  ‘Keep it with you,’ and with that he went inside.

  The crowd had dispersed when I crossed back through the foyer. Most of the men had returned to the smoke-room bar; judging by the noise they were in boisterous mood. Ginsberg and Melchett were at our old table, Ginsberg occupied in building a house out of the pack of bridge cards. This surprised me. I had thought he’d be in the thick of it, spouting his opinions about a lost propeller to all and sundry. I sat down feeling important.

  ‘Look here,’ I began, ‘I think it would be best if we went out to give a hand with the life-boats. Most of the crew will be needed for other things.’

  ‘You’ve experience of davits and such like, have you?’ asked Ginsberg. ‘I mean you’ve been through the drill?’

  ‘Well, no . . . but—’

  ‘Then you’ll be a lot of use, won’t you?’

  ‘We won’t actually be getting into the boats,’ scoffed Hopper. ‘It won’t come to that. Why, the women would never stand for it. It’s too cold.’

  I said, ‘I happen to know that it’s more serious than you think. I have it on the best authority that things are looking pretty bad. There isn’t a great deal of time.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Hopper asked.

  ‘For us to get into the boats,’ I said. ‘It’s essential we put on more clothes.’

  ‘I think not,’ Ginsberg said. ‘I doubt we’ll be getting into any boats, not unless the clothing you have in mind includes petticoats.’ He was still playing with his house of cards, his tongue caught between his teeth with the effort of laying on the roof. Hopper looked mystified. There’d been a time, years ago, when I too had gone out of my way to baffle him.

  ‘Look here,’ I shouted, ‘this isn’t a game, you know.’ I tugged at Ginsberg’s elbow to make him listen and sent his cards in a heap.

  ‘How many boats did you say there were?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t,’ I retorted. ‘But as a matter of fact there are sixteen, plus four collapsibles.’

  ‘Capable of carrying how many? Fifty at the most?’

  ‘More like sixty,’ I snapped.

  ‘And how many of us would you estimate are on board?’ He was watching me through half-closed eyes, waiting. A burst of laughter came from the direction of the bar. A voice began to bellow the ‘Eton Boating Song’. What a fool I am, I thought, and the elation which had buoyed me up drained away and I was left swirling the cards round and round on the table-top in imitation of a whirlpool to stop my hands from shaking.

  Just then Rosenfelder rushed in, his expression deeply gloomy. As always, he was looking for Scurra. A steward had come into the Palm Court, where he and Adele had been drinking high-balls with the Duff Gordons, and ordered them to their quarters to put on life-preservers before going up on deck. They had asked what luggage they’d be required to take with them and been told they couldn’t take anything, nothing but the clothes they stood up in. What was he going to do about his dress? He wasn’t allowed to carry it in its box and it was unthinkable that Adele should wear it in a life-boat. ‘There is the oil,’ he wailed, ‘the dirt, the salt-spray . . . it will be ruined. Where is Scurra? He will use his influence. Where are his rooms?’

  None of us could tell him. Hopper had seen him in the passageways of both A and C decks. Ginsberg had bumped into him along the main corridor of B deck, but he could have been coming from anywhere. Rosenfelder looked at me. ‘I’ve not been to his room,’ I told him. ‘My steward hasn’t even heard of him.’

  ‘Then he’s one in a million,’ said Hopper.

  ‘Why not ask Wallis Ellery,’ Ginsberg said. I noticed his voice was unsteady. He seemed to be having difficulty with his breathing. I fancied he was more alarmed than he let on.

  ‘She is not to be found either,’ Rosenfelder moaned. ‘Adele’s clothes are in her room. I have knocked at her door but there is no reply.’

  At that moment the bar steward came over and politely asked us to leave. We must all go as quickly as possible to fetch our life-preservers and assemble on deck. There was no cause for panic. It was simply a precaution. I arranged with Hopper that we meet in the gymnasium in ten minutes. ‘We’ll stick together, won’t we,’ he insisted. ‘It’ll be like the old days.’ ‘Yes,’ I assured him. Ginsberg strolled into the foyer and lowered himself into a leather armchair. Rosenfelder panted up the Grand Staircase in search of Scurra. Before we parted, Hopper touched my arm, ‘You’re my oldest friend,’ he murmured, ‘and my best.’ His eyes were scared. Ginsberg looked up and waved sardonically as the doors of the elevator clanged shut; he was holding a handkerchief to his nostrils.

  I rode below in the company of two ladies in wrappers and a man wearing pyjamas beneath a golfing jacket. I swear the stouter of the women was the one who had expressed disappointment at there not being more of a show when we left Southampton. She was going to the purser’s office to withdraw her valuables from the safe. Not that they amounted to much. She had a watch left to her by a grandmother born in Kent, England, a diamond pin that had belonged to her dead mother and an album of family photographs. If it came to the pinch, she said, she’d choose the album every time. The steward had told her to fetch what small items she had because everyone might have to get into the boats. The man in the golfing jacket laughed and said this was highly unlikely. ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ he said, ‘this isn’t some elaborate hoax. After all, the ship is unsinkable.’

  When I entered the passage McKinlay and the night steward were knocking on doors, urging people to go up on deck. I felt curiously detached and had the notion I swaggered rather than walked; I’d never been so conscious of how good it was be young, for I knew it was my youthful resolution as well as my strong arms that would enable me to survive the next two hours. I thought of old man Seefax and his feeble grasp on life and reckoned he might perish from nothing more than lack of hope. By now, wireless messages would have been dispatched to every vessel in the area, and even if there wasn’t enough room for all in the boats, there would still be time for those left behind to switch from one ship to another. Somewhere in my
mind I pored over an illustration, in a child’s book of heroic deeds, of a rescue at sea, ropes slung between two heaving decks and men swinging like gibbons above the foaming waves. How Sissy would gasp when I recounted my story! How my aunt would throw up her hands when I shouted the details of my midnight adventure! Why, as long as I wrapped up well it would be the greatest fun in the world.

  Accordingly, having reached my stateroom, I put my cricket pullover on under my jacket and taking off my dancing pumps struggled into three pairs of thick stockings. I had to pull one pair off again because I couldn’t fit into my boots. Then I went into the corridor and got McKinlay to help tie the strings of my life-preserver. He jokingly remarked that I’d put on weight since we last met and asked if I had with me everything I wanted to take. He’d been instructed to lock all the doors until the emergency was over – in case things went missing. They were having a spot of trouble keeping the steerage class from surging up from below.

  ‘I’m working for Mr Andrews,’ I told him. ‘I may need my room as a base . . . to write reports . . . that sort of rigmarole.’

  ‘It’s orders, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Well, in my case, just forget them, there’s a good chap.’ He hesitated, but the ‘good chap’ did the trick and he left my door alone. On an impulse I went back inside and took up the painting of my mother. Taking out my knife I levered the picture from its frame, tore out the stretchers and rolling up the canvas stuck it in my pocket.