Murder on the Titanic

by Evelyn Weiss

survival. And the officer standing up there is taking that one chance away from them. Maybe some of them are thinking: he’s one man; we are hundreds. There’s another surge of bodies.

  Crack! The officer fires his pistol, out along the side of the ship where it can’t hit anyone. It’s a signal that he’s totally serious. I see in his face that he is ready to kill, if necessary. The gunshot is like an electric shock pulsing through the crowd: men are shaking, stumbling, a wild mass of movement. The sound of shouts and yells from the men is deafening. The officer is gesturing to them amid the noise.

  I step forward to one of the sailors who is handling the ropes for the lifeboat. ‘Can I put my wife into the boat?’ He nods. Gwyneth is trying to step into the lifeboat but suddenly, there’s a shock like an earthquake: the whole of the Titanic shakes. The lifeboat is swaying wildly to and fro, like a child’s swing. It comes towards us again, nearly hitting us, and I look straight over the side of the boat at its occupants, women with white, terrified faces. I’m looking into the face of a tiny child on the boat, held tight in her mother’s arms. I look into the little girl’s wide blue eyes: she’s open-mouthed, struck dumb with utter bewilderment. Her face, and the golden curls of her hair, are inches from mine. Then the boat swings away again.

  The officer is standing up in the lifeboat, silhouetted against the sky above us, the gun held high in the air, and I can hear, from behind him, the shouting and yelling: it’s worse than ever. He looks into the wild eyes of the men pressing towards the boat, he holds his arm aloft and fires the gun again, away from the crowd, out into the night. Crack! There’s a huge shout from the men, I see terror in the eyes of the ones at the front. The officer fires a third time – Crack! The crowd pulls back, just a little. The officer is standing, looking at the crowd, telling them to back off. And this time, they do. They take a single step back, away from the boat. The officer is staring at them, it’s like he is pushing them back with his gaze. And, while he’s looking at them…”

  “What? What happened next?”

  “I hear the officer’s voice booming. He’s thanking the crowd for backing away. No-one is looking at Gwyneth and I. The boat swings towards us again, like a pendulum, and Gwyneth steps into it, and… I follow her. Hand-in-hand with her, I step across the gap. I fall down among the bodies on the lifeboat.”

  “Mr Gilmour, you’re on the boat?”

  “Yes. I’m in the lifeboat. The officer’s seen me, but I’m just one man, and he’s too busy to deal with me. Time has run out. He’s barking orders at the sailors, we’re starting to lower, he stands at the end of the lifeboat, his hands on the ropes, trying to steady the swinging of the boat. But then, the officer calls out again: the loudest shout yet. He has seen one more woman in the crowds on the Titanic.

  ‘Come here, madam! Now! Be quick!’

  And a young woman, dressed like a servant, is there among the hundreds of men. She steps forward, falls towards the boat, but she’s not alone, with both her hands she drags behind her a body, a man. They can’t separate her from this man’s body. Hands reach out from our lifeboat to help her, grasping her firmly, they save her, pull her into the boat; but she won’t let go of the body, and the man is dragged into the lifeboat too. He’s well-dressed, a first class passenger: now, I can see his face. My God, it’s Spence.

  The rest of the crowd is standing back, their eyes fixed on the officer who fired the gun, who is still shouting orders to the sailors. The sailors are following his instructions, they’re winding the winches now, down we go. All the terrified, angry faces on the ship slide out of our view, we’re below the Boat Deck now, going down the side of the Titanic, an endless black wall.

  The officer is standing up like a sentry on duty, at the very end of the boat. He’s watching the lifeboat as it slides downwards, but he keeps glancing up at the winching, checking that everything is working. The lifeboat is sliding and rubbing against the iron plates, all the way down the side of the ship. We can feel the boat shaking as it grinds against the Titanic. The friction against the hull is tipping the lifeboat. The side of the boat that is catching against the Titanic’s side goes up, the other side of the boat goes down, We’re all looking over the outside of the lifeboat as it tilts away below us, tilting, tilting… we’re staring straight down into the water. Are we all going to fall?

  The officer is still shouting instructions. ‘Oars! Get oars and push us away from the ship’s hull!’ I see four women standing up, holding their oars, pushing them against the side of the Titanic to lever us away from the side of the ship. The oars grind and splinter on the iron, but we’re lowering more easily now, I look up, I see the sailors winching down, faster and faster. Falling. The boat hits the water, hard. The ocean splashes us like ice. We’re cowering and shivering, bodies packed like sardines in the deathly cold. The officer is still standing, guardian of his boat, he looks out at all of us, huddled together, but he avoids my eyes. I look down at my knees. I feel shame, I’ve disobeyed the orders – ‘women and children first’. But I’m glad, so glad, that I’m not going to die aboard the Titanic.”

  “Who is aboard the lifeboat?”

  “Mostly people I don’t know. I think they are all women and children, except the officer who fired the gun, who is now steering the boat, and the body of Spence that the servant girl dragged in – and, there’s one other man, who has somehow got aboard the lifeboat. That third man sits and says nothing. I realize that he’s soaking wet, the splash when the lifeboat hit the water must have caught him badly. He’s shivering like a trembling leaf, and his eyes stare, not blinking, like a dead man’s. But – there’s something strange… oddly familiar.”

  “Familiar, Mr Gilmour?”

  “Yes. This quivering, half-dead man, he looks familiar. I think I’ve seen him with my legal people. In fact I recognize him: his name is Freshing. I invited him and Mr Sorensen, my lawyer, to join me at dinner on the first night of the voyage. He’s in the lifeboat next to Spence… and Spence is reaching out to him. A twisted, agonized hand is extended, stretched out towards Freshing’s face. Freshing is shaking his head, he doesn’t want to be involved in this horror. But somehow, he’s compelled. He leans close in to Spence.”

  “What are they doing? What are Spence and Mr Freshing doing?”

  “I can’t see. There are so many people, we’re all squeezed together like rats in a barrel, so many heads blocking my view. I’m choking with cold: the impact when we hit the water has splashed my clothes, too. My skin feels like ice, but I’m in better shape than that fellow Freshing. Gwyneth looks frozen with cold too, but her face is strong and determined.”

  “Can you hear anything, Mr Gilmour? Any voices?”

  “I hear the officer’s voice, telling those of us who are near the oars to take an oar and row. We need to get away from the ship before it sinks. I must do something to help. I’m a coward, a yellow-belly – the officer knows that. But, I’ll make myself useful now. Yes, I can reach an oar. I listen to the officer’s calls. He calls and calls, commanding us. I pull on my oar. Row, pull the oar. The lights of the Titanic are dim on the horizon now, like a line of little stars, and the freezing sea stretches all around us, black like oil. And –”

  “And what?”

  “Suddenly all the lights go out. Our boat is far from the wreck now. The Titanic is going down into the ocean. Sliding into her grave.”

  Gilmour’s voice is dream-like, seemingly detached from his feelings. The terrible intensity that he had earlier has faded, like the noise of thunder as a storm recedes, growing ever fainter. Little by little the color is returning to his face, his features begin to relax, and he starts to mumble to himself. The sound of his voice is like a childish burble, and after a while I can make out distinct words and a sing-song tone.

  “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream

  Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily

  Life is but a dream.”

  I hear the professor speak again.

  “Mr
Gilmour, you are coming back to yourself. Coming up out of the deep darkness of your mind. You are rising from the depths of a black dream, from fathomless, ink-dark ocean waters. You feel yourself floating up towards the surface: it gets nearer every moment. Now you can see the blue above you, the sun shining down on the waves, the blue of the sky, the rays of daylight shining through the liquid water. You’re touching the surface now, into the light. Your eyes are opening, you can see the horizon all around you, you feel the warmth of sunshine on your face, you are shaking your head, shaking drops of water from your skin. You are breathing dry air. Up here on the surface, it’s a beautiful day, Mr Gilmour. Open your eyes fully: look around the room: see us, your friends.”

  Gilmour shuffles and shifts in his chair, stretching his shoulders as if waking from sleep. He seems surprised to see us all.

  11.Icebergs

  It’s a bright, calm day; the gray weather of the eastern Atlantic has given way to blue skies as the Olympic steers a line south of Newfoundland. The sunshine is warm through the windows of the First-Class Dining Saloon as we breakfast. Axelson must have risen late today: a rare chance for Chisholm and I to talk together.

  “I’ve appreciated your kindness, this voyage. Little things,