by Gill Paul
‘Was it a torpedo?’ Gerda could hardly make herself heard against the fierce roar of escaping steam coming from the engine room.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Jack said. He peered over the railings at the side. ‘The lifeboats are hanging alongside the Promenade Deck. ‘Come on, we’d better go down.’ He pulled her towards the stairs again.
‘Are we going to sink?’ Gerda started to ask, just as all the lights went out and her words were drowned by the screams of terrified passengers. She knew the answer anyway. How could a ship survive this level of damage, tilting so far onto its side? She remembered reading that the Titanic had been listing, but not as much as this, not so quickly. It was still less than ten minutes since the explosion.
On the Promenade Deck, there was utter confusion, with people pushing past each other in the search for lost children or spouses, struggling to pull on the cumbersome lifejackets, seeking crew to beg for help. One group of passengers climbed into a lifeboat and sat down, but Captain Turner himself came charging over and ordered them out. Gerda couldn’t hear why.
‘I don’t think they’ll manage to get the lifeboats lowered on this side,’ Jack said, leaning over the railing. Gerda looked down and could see his point: the ship was listing so badly that they would have to bump down the ship’s side to reach the water. Still, there were folk piling into them as soon as the captain’s back was turned, staking their claim to a space. While they were watching, a couple of seamen tried to lower one lifeboat, cutting the restraining ropes and straining to jerk it outwards and down, only for it to get snagged on some rivets protruding from the ship’s side.
‘Let’s try the starboard,’ Jack suggested, pulling her by the hand. They ran down the promenade to the stern and all the way round.
A young woman in a fur coat was sobbing by the barber’s shop and she grabbed Jack’s sleeve. ‘Please help, sir. I couldn’t find my life jacket and now it’s so dark inside I’m scared to go back to my cabin. Could I possibly have yours? I can pay you for it.’
‘Jack …’ Gerda tugged his arm, wanting him to refuse. It wasn’t fair.
He looked at her with a slight frown then, without a word, started unfastening the cords.
‘You’re very kind. Thank you, sir.’ The woman opened her reticule and pulled out some notes.
‘I don’t want your money, miss.’ Jack handed over his life jacket. ‘Good luck to you.’
Gerda didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop him, but fear gripped her and squeezed tight.
*
On the starboard side, the lifeboats hung seven to eight feet out from the deck, dangling precariously in mid-air because of the ship’s list. People were leaping across the gap, and each time someone landed in a boat it swung wildly, threatening to capsize. One man missed and fell to the ocean below with a yell of terror. Gerda rushed to the railing to see him bobbing in the water, arms flailing.
A seaman used a boathook to pull one lifeboat closer to the deck and helped several ladies to step across the gap. When all the seats were taken he cut the ropes by the davit and he and another seaman began to lower away. Just at that moment, the ship gave a sickening lurch, swinging all the boats sideways, and suddenly another lifeboat half-full of women and children appeared directly beneath. The seamen did their best but couldn’t stop gravity taking its course and one lifeboat landed on top of the other with an appalling crunch.
‘Don’t look,’ Jack instructed, pulling Gerda away. She was too horrified to look, too distressed to speak. Thank God for Jack. He knew what to do. She would be lost without him.
Further along the deck another lifeboat was being prepared for launch. A woman clutching a baby was waiting to board and Jack noticed she had tied her life jacket upside down.
‘Let me help you fix that, ma’am,’ he offered. Gerda held the baby, a tiny dark-haired mite who was sound asleep despite the commotion, while Jack showed the woman the correct way to slip the jacket over her head and retie it in place.
The lifeboat was filling up now. Jack took the woman’s hand and he and a seaman helped her climb up to the rail then step outwards across the gap. Gerda passed the baby to the seaman, who stretched as far as he could and passed it into its mother’s arms, whereupon it woke with an affronted wail.
‘Now you, my love,’ Jack said to Gerda, stroking her face quickly, tenderly. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’
‘Do you promise?’ she asked. ‘Remember: we sink or swim together.’
‘I promise.’ His eyes were serious. ‘Hurry now.’
Gerda took his hand and leapt across the gap, turning her ankle slightly on landing. When she looked back she saw Jack deep in conversation with the seaman.
‘We’re going to lower the boat first,’ he called to her. ‘It will be safer. I’ll help with the ropes then I’ll join you when you’re down on the water.’
The lifeboat lurched violently and everyone screamed. ‘Come now, Jack. Please!’ Gerda yelled over the din. How would he get into the boat once it was in the water?
He didn’t seem to hear, busy tugging on a rope, leaning so his body acted as a counterweight. The two men tried their utmost but couldn’t hold the lifeboat level and its bow dipped abruptly. Gerda grabbed onto the sides and held tight. They dangled, almost vertical, for a moment then one of the ropes slipped and they were falling upright. There was a smash when the bow hit the surface, then the shock of cold water closing over her head, the sting of salt in her nose and roaring in her ears. She surfaced quickly, buoyed up by the life jacket, and looked back towards the ship.
Jack was still on the Promenade Deck, about thirty feet up, scanning the water. She raised her arm to wave and as soon as he spotted her, he climbed onto the rail, put his arms by his sides and jumped in feet first.
*
Jack surfaced a few yards away, spluttering and coughing, the wind knocked out of him. Gerda swam over and he clung to her, his weight pulling her lower in the water.
‘There’s something I forgot to tell you,’ he gasped. ‘I’m not a very strong swimmer.’
‘Don’t worry; I am.’ Gerda had grown up swimming with her father in the fjords of Norway and the sea off North Shields; she loved the water, and the sea temperature today, while cold, was not freezing. ‘Why don’t you take my life jacket?’ It would be tricky to transfer it from one to the other, but it made sense.
He wouldn’t hear of it though. ‘I’ll manage. We must stay close so we don’t get separated.’ All around them the ocean was teeming with people struggling and crying for help. ‘We should swim further out. I don’t think the ship’s got long to go and we don’t want to be sucked under when she goes down. That way.’ He pointed towards the horizon.
Gerda struck out, thankful the sea was so calm. The life jacket was bulky and obstructed her strokes but it would have been much harder battling through waves. A thought occurred to her and she called over her shoulder: ‘Might the U-boat captain still be out there, watching us?’
‘He’ll have got away. Wouldn’t want to hang about. A Royal Navy ship will be along soon to rescue us and they’d blow him out of the water.’
Before long, Jack was lagging behind so she stopped to wait, treading water, then let him rest awhile, holding onto her life jacket for buoyancy.
‘I’m going to unhook my skirt,’ she announced. ‘It’s weighing me down.’ She reached behind to locate the fasteners on her blue gabardine and wriggled it down her legs. This was no time for modesty.
Jack didn’t comment. He was looking back towards the ship, where there was a scene of devastation. The bow was almost submerged and people were either clinging for dear life to the railings, or hurtling, limbs flying, towards the churning water. One man was dangling from the side, holding onto a rope, when a propeller hurtled past slicing off his legs. They could see several lifeboats floating upside down but only one that had been launched successfully and it was packed full to bursting.
‘There must be more lifeboats. Keep your eyes pe
eled.’ Jack was shivering and Gerda put her arms round him and rubbed his back vigorously.
‘Please God we find one soon!’
And then there was a great roar, a sound of splintering wood, and the ship made a sudden plunge. The stern rose high in the air before sliding beneath the waves and it was gone in a matter of seconds. A gasp of despair rose from the souls in the water then a communal keening sound. There was a final explosion and a cloud of steam erupted from the deep, briefly marking the spot where the ship had been.
Gerda was stunned. ‘How could she have gone so quickly? It’s not even twenty minutes since we were hit. The Titanic stayed afloat for an hour and forty minutes.’
‘I s…suppose she was hit at a c…critical point.’ Jack’s teeth were chattering like castanets and Gerda hugged him again, rubbing his arms as hard as she could. She badly wanted to kiss him but couldn’t stretch far enough over the top of the life jacket to reach his lips.
Jack seemed scared now; all the confidence he had shown on board had evaporated in the cold water. No matter, because Gerda felt strong. She would take charge. She was the swimmer. She would make the decisions.
*
Before long, Jack was too weak to swim much, but they found that if he hooked his arm through the life jacket, Gerda could tow him along. She began to head back towards the spot where the ship had disappeared, hoping that’s where any lifeboats might be found. The water was littered with deckchairs, boxes, and folk desperately trying to clamber onto any object they could find. A badly mangled body floated past face down, the arm and part of the upper chest ripped away so it looked like a joint of meat in the butcher’s window. Gerda’s stomach heaved with the horror. All around, people were crying out, desperately asking for the whereabouts of loved ones: ‘Mary Steel? Have you seen Mary Steel?’ ‘John Adams!’ ‘He-e-enry.’ ‘My baby. Where’s my baby?’ One woman had placed an infant on a jagged sheet of wood and was swimming beside it, but the child was uncannily still and quiet and Gerda feared it was dead. Pushing obstacles aside, she scanned the horizon for a lifeboat. It was hard to see over the heads of the crowd, but at last she spotted one moving away from them into open water.
‘Hang on, Jack,’ she said. ‘Hold tight.’
She struck out with all her strength. It was hard to swim front crawl in a life jacket, but it was the fastest stroke and she needed to catch that boat. Its occupants were obviously trying to get away from the survivors in the water, probably scared of being overwhelmed and sunk, but it looked as if there was room for two more, if she could only reach them.
Gerda counted the strokes in her head, breathing in every fourth stroke, keeping her face above the surface so she could see the way. Jack’s weight pulling on the life jacket made it harder. For a while it looked as though the gap between them and the boat was widening, but then it seemed to slow and she realised she was catching up. She didn’t call out until they were close by.
‘Please let us on board. There are only two of us and my fiancé doesn’t have a life jacket.’
‘Go away,’ said a woman with an aristocrat’s vowels. ‘There’s no more room.’
Gerda reached the boat and hooked one hand over the side, which was just a foot above the water. She couldn’t haul them up by herself. She’d need help. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her knuckles as a man hit her with the side of an oar.
‘Get off!’ he yelled. ‘This boat is full.’ He raised the oar as if to hit her again and Gerda quickly let go.
‘There are only two of us. We’ll hardly take any space. Please help.’ She looked up at the man’s red, angry features then round at the other faces. Women turned away so as not to catch her eye.
‘You’ll find other boats over in that direction,’ one woman said, pointing back the way she had come. ‘We can’t risk you capsizing or sinking us.’
At least she sounded sympathetic, so Gerda swam round and held onto the edge of the boat alongside her. ‘Oh please reconsider,’ she begged, then howled in pain as the oar came down on her knuckles again.
‘Get out of here! Away!’ the man shooed, as if she were an irritating stray dog.
Gerda turned to Jack, surprised he hadn’t joined the argument or at the very least remonstrated with the man who had hurt her. His face was white, his eyes staring and his breath coming in quick short pants. His whole body was shaking convulsively and she realised he was showing signs of hypothermia. Her father had taught her to recognise such things.
‘My fiancé is dying. Does that mean nothing to you?’
‘Over there,’ a woman pointed. ‘I can see a boat that’s only half-full. I’m sure you’ll make it if you hurry. Good luck to you.’
Gerda looked in the direction she indicated and saw the silhouette of a boat. There was no arguing with these people, not with a man who was capable of hitting her with an oar. ‘Come, Jack,’ she said. ‘We’re not wanted here.’
As she began to swim off, Jack lost his grip on the life jacket and slid beneath the water. Instantly Gerda grabbed hold of him, pulling his head up. His hands were blue and swollen from the cold so she rubbed them to try and bring back some circulation. If only there was a way for her to take off the life jacket and tie it on him. Why hadn’t she insisted on doing that earlier? Now he had no strength left and would sink to the bottom if she let go for a moment. She would have to hold him with one arm and swim with the other.
Fierce anger with the people on the lifeboat gave her renewed strength. She turned Jack onto his back and slipped her left forearm under his chin, just as her father had once demonstrated, then she began to swim towards the boat with her right, using her legs to propel them. After a while she swapped over. Jack’s eyes were wide and staring, so at least he hadn’t lost consciousness; that would be the next stage. Strange that he had succumbed before her; perhaps it was because she had more flesh on her, Jack being very lean. She knew she had to keep moving, to keep her wits about her. Her limbs felt numb, but she hadn’t started the convulsive shaking yet.
Around her, it seemed more bodies were dead than alive. Some folk had drowned because they’d put their lifejackets on the wrong way and they bobbed along with their heads beneath the water. Those who floated face up had bewildered expressions, as if in their final moments they had been puzzled by their fate. There was a surprising number of children, their faces turned to the sky: had the Lusitania really carried so many youngsters? Gerda didn’t stop to check if they were dead. There was nothing she could do for anyone else. She couldn’t allow herself to help, couldn’t allow herself to feel fear or horror. She simply had to save Jack.
The sunshine reflecting off the water was blinding and she kept losing sight of the lifeboat she was heading for. Her throat was raw from swallowing salt water and her limbs felt as if they were weighed down by sandbags. That happened when swimming in the cold as blood was diverted to your organs. How long had they been in the water? Why was it taking so long to send rescue ships when they had surely been seen from the Irish coast? It had looked just ten or twelve miles away: too far to swim in the cold water, but no distance at all for a boat to cover.
There was a current now, pulling her slightly off course. She shifted Jack around, managing to kiss his forehead as she struck out with her right arm, kicking her legs wildly.
I will not lose him, she pledged, gritting her teeth. I WILL NOT. I WILL NOT.
Suddenly there was a lifeboat right in front and faces were peering over the edge.
‘Help us,’ she pleaded. ‘My fiancé can’t last much longer.’
There was a pause while they talked amongst themselves, then a lady replied: ‘We’ll take you, my dear, but there’s no room for men. Surely your fiancé can fend for himself?’
‘He can’t stay afloat. I’m the only one with a life jacket.’
‘I’m sorry, we can’t take you both.’
Gerda scanned the sea around them: there were no other lifeboats in sight. She looked into Jack’s face and knew he didn’t
have long to live if he stayed in the water.
‘My name is Gerda Nielsen,’ she said forcefully, grabbing the side of the lifeboat. ‘I am twenty-nine years old and I’ve never had a husband. On the ship last night this man, Jack Welsh, proposed marriage to me, and I accepted. I love him and I must be married to him. I will not let him die.’ Her words were slurred because her tongue was swollen and her jaw frozen, but there was no doubting her passion.
She continued: ‘Jack gave his life jacket to a lady who did not have one, then he leapt into the water to be with me, even though he is not a strong swimmer. He is a good man and right now he is alive, but unless I get him onto your boat within the next few minutes he will perish. You must help me. Someone – anyone – give me a hand.’
It seemed to take ages but it must only have been a few seconds later when she felt her fingers enclosed in a man’s grip.
‘Give me yer man’s arm,’ he said, his accent rough. Someone else helped, and they dragged Jack on board with difficulty then reached down to haul her up, scraping her bare legs on the side. Her shoes and stockings had long since floated off.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, moved beyond measure. ‘God bless you.’
She removed the bulky life jacket and threw it overboard then huddled up with Jack in a space in the stern. She wrapped her body around him, cradling his head next to her own, breathing her warm breath across his face, rubbing his back and his arms. She could feel his heart still beating; there was a weak pulse in his neck, a tiny twitch, but his eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.
Seabirds squawked above but otherwise it was quiet. No one on the lifeboat spoke, all of them lost in a trance of shock and cold. Gerda couldn’t bear to look out at the debris in the water, at the bodies of all the folk who hadn’t made it. She concentrated on trying to transmit the warmth from her blood into Jack’s core. Her fingers and toes throbbed and her throat hurt but she knew she would survive. Please, God, let Jack make it. On board the ship she had worried that he was the strong one, he was the clever one, and she’d feared he would realise she wasn’t such a good catch. But it turned out she wasn’t useless after all. Please God. Please.
