It was almost eleven-fifteen when Phoebe was finally asleep and the light was out under Aunt Daisy’s door. George crept out of bed. He quickly got dressed and put his knife in his pocket. He’d need it for prying off the lid of the crate. And who knew? Maybe there was a live cobra in the box too. George could hope, couldn’t he?
George opened the door and peeked into the hallway. He wanted to avoid Henry, who seemed to have eyes in the back of his bright orange head. He wouldn’t like George creeping around so late at night.
But the hallway was quiet. There was no noise at all except for the quiet hum of the engines, rising up from the bottom of the ship. George loved that noise. It made him think of crickets in the woods at night.
In fact, being out here all by himself reminded him of the nights at home when he sneaked out into the woods while Papa and Phoebe were asleep.
He’d head out when his mind was filled with restless thoughts.
About why Papa was always mad at him, or why he didn’t try harder in school.
And of course Mama.
Almost three years had passed since she died. George tried not to think about her too much. But some nights when he closed his eyes, he’d remember her smile. Or her smell when she hugged him close. Like fresh grass and sweet flowers.
And that song she’d sing to wake George up in the morning:
“Awake, awake.
It’s now daybreak!
But don’t forget your dreams….”
Thinking about Mama was like standing close to a fire. Warm at first. But get too close and it hurt too much.
Much better to stay clear of those thoughts.
Nothing cleared George’s mind quicker than being in the woods. He never stayed out for more than an hour or two…. Except for that night back in October.
George was heading back toward home when he heard a terrible sound, like a little girl screaming. He turned around, and in the dark distance he saw two glowing yellow eyes.
Some old-timers said there were black panthers in the woods, but George never believed it.
But as the yellow eyes got closer, George could see the outline of a huge cat, with two glistening fangs.
George told himself not to run. He knew he’d never outrun the panther.
But he couldn’t help it — he ran as fast as he could. Branches cut his face, but he didn’t slow down.
Any second the panther would leap up and tackle George. Its claws would tear him apart. George could feel the cat right behind him; he could smell its breath, like rotting meat. George grabbed a fallen branch. He turned and waved it in front of him. The panther lunged and grabbed the branch in its jaws.
George let go of the stick and scrambled up a tree, climbing as high as he could go.
The cat dropped the branch and came after him, like a shadow with glowing eyes.
George pulled out his knife.
He waited until the cat’s front paws were on the small branch just below him. And then, with all his might, he chopped at the branch with his knife.
Crack.
The branch broke free.
The giant cat tumbled through the air, screaming and crashing through the branches, and then hit the ground with a thud.
There was silence.
And then the cat stood up. It looked up at George for a long moment.
And it turned and walked slowly back into the woods.
George stayed in the tree until it was just about light, and made it into bed just before Papa woke up.
His friends at school refused to believe George when he told them, even when he swore on his heart.
“No way.”
“Big fat lie.”
“Next thing you’ll be saying is that you’ve been signed by the Giants.” Their laughter rose up around George, but it didn’t bother him, because right then he realized that it didn’t matter what they thought.
George knew he’d faced down the panther.
And he’d never forget it.
CHAPTER 7
Just thinking about seeing the mummy made George happy. He went down five flights of stairs to G deck and practically skipped along the long hallway toward the front of the ship. He ducked into doorways a few times to hide from the night stewards. But he had no trouble finding his way, not like Phoebe, who got lost walking from the dining room to the washroom.
“Next time I’ll leave a trail of bread crumbs, like Hansel and Gretel,” she’d said, their first day on board.
“How about lemon drops?” George had suggested. Phoebe had giggled.
The hold was in the very front of the ship, past the mail sorting room and the cabins where the stokers and firemen stayed. Too bad, George thought, that there wasn’t time to sneak in and see the escape ladders. Luckily there were two more days at sea.
George walked right through the doors of the first class baggage room and down a steep metal staircase that led to the hold. All around him were crates and trunks and bags neatly stacked on shelves and lined up on the floor.
It took him a minute to figure out that everything was arranged in alphabetical order, by the owners’ names, and a few minutes to find the Bs.
And there it was, a plain wooden crate stamped with the words:
MR. DAVID BURROWS
NEW YORK CITY
CONTENTS FRAGILE
George smiled to himself.
This was going to be easy.
He took out his knife and started to pry off the lid. He worked carefully, prying each nail loose so he’d be able to close the crate tight again when he was finished.
He’d made it halfway around when he heard a strange sound.
The hair on his arms prickled.
It was the same feeling he’d had the night of the panther, that someone — or something — was watching him.
George stared at the crate, his heart pounding.
And before he could even take a breath, something leaped out of the shadows and pushed him to the ground.
George looked up, half expecting to see a mummy rising out of the crate, her arms reaching for George’s throat.
What he saw was almost as horrifying.
It was a man with glittering blue eyes and a scar running down the side of his face.
He grabbed George’s knife out of his hand. The man was small, but very strong.
“I’ll take this,” he said, admiring it. Then he looked George up and down.
“So,” the man said. “Trying to fill your pockets with some first class loot?”
George realized he must be a robber. George had caught him in the act!
“Uh, no, I’m …”
The man pointed to George’s boots. “Which trunk did you steal those from? Cost more than a third class ticket, I’d say.”
George shook his head. “I got them in London,” he said, and too late realized he’d made a mistake.
“Ah, a prince from first class,” the man said with a hearty laugh. “Just down here for a little thrill? What’s your name?”
“George,” said George softly.
“Prince George,” the man said, bowing in a joking way. “A pity those boots wouldn’t fit me,” he added, standing up. “But you do have something I’d like. Your key. Always wanted to see one of those first class cabins.”
There was no way George could let this man up to the suite! He’d jump overboard before he let him near Aunt Daisy and Phoebe.
“There’s a mummy down here!” he blurted out. “It’s worth millions! It’s in that crate!”
The man raised an eyebrow.
George kept talking.
“I thought I could sneak it off the ship and sell it in New York,” George lied. “My father’s business is bad. I thought if I could sell it …”
The man looked at the crate.
“I like the way you think,” he said.
He waved the knife at George and told him not to move. And then he quickly worked the knife around the lid. Obviously he’d done this many times before.
He lifted the lid off the crate. But before either of them could look inside, there was a tremendous rumbling noise, and the entire hold began to shake so hard that George almost fell. The shaking got stronger and stronger, the noise louder and louder, like thunder exploding all around them. A trunk tumbled off a shelf and hit the scar-faced man on the head. The knife clattered to the floor, but George didn’t try to get it. Here was his chance to escape. He spun around, ran up the stairs, and darted out the door.
CHAPTER 8
George ran as fast as he could down the hall. He heard shouting behind him, but he didn’t stop until he was back on B deck, safe again in first class.
A steward hurried past him with a stack of clean towels.
“Good evening, sir,” he said. George nodded, out of breath. Nothing could happen to him up here, he knew. So why was his heart still pounding?
It was the ship, he realized — that thundering noise. That shaking in the hold. Had a boiler exploded? Had a steam pipe burst?
An eerie silence surrounded him, and George’s heart skipped a beat as he realized that the engines had been turned off. The quiet rumbling had stopped.
Just outside, George heard people talking loudly. Did they know what was happening?
George went out onto the deck and walked over to the small crowd of men. Most were still dressed in their dinner tuxedos and puffing on cigars. They were standing at the rail, pointing and laughing at something happening on the well deck, one level below. What was so funny?
George squeezed between two men and looked over the rail.
At first he was sure his eyes were playing tricks. It looked like the well deck had been through a winter storm. It was covered with ice and slush. A bunch of young men in tattered coats and hats were pelting each other with balls of ice, roaring with laughter like kids having a snowball fight.
“What’s happened?” asked a man who’d walked up behind George.
“The ship nudged an iceberg!” said an old man with a bushy mustache. He didn’t sound worried.
An iceberg!
“Is that why they’ve stopped the engines?” said the new man. “Because of some ice on the deck?”
“Just being cautious, it seems, following regulations,” said the older fellow. “I spoke to one of the officers. He assured me we’ll be underway any moment. Hey there!” he yelled down to the young men below. “Toss some of that ice up here!”
One of the gang picked up a piece of ice the size of a baseball. He threw it, but the man with the bushy mustache missed. George reached out and made a clean catch with one hand. The crowd cheered. George held up the ice and smiled. Then he held it out to the man.
“Keep it, son!” he said. “There’s plenty for everyone.”
The piece of ice was heavier than George had expected.
He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose.
It smelled like old sardines!
More ice balls came sailing up from below, and the men jostled to catch them.
Their laughter and cheers rose up around George, and the fear he’d felt in the baggage hold faded away. From up here, on the deck of this incredible ship, George felt powerful. Nothing could hurt him on the Titanic.
Not a meteor falling from space. Not a giant squid.
Not the scar-faced man.
George squinted out into the distance, hoping to see the iceberg, but the sea faded into darkness. His teeth were chattering now. It was so much colder than it had been at dinnertime. He wanted to be back in bed, curled up under his fancy first class sheets and blankets.
The corridor was still quiet as George crept toward his suite.
As he was letting himself in, he stepped on something that made a crunching sound under his boot. At first George thought that it was ice or a piece of glass. But when he picked up his heel, he saw that the carpet was covered with yellow crystals.
George smiled. It was just one of Phoebe’s lemon drops.
George let himself in, easing the door shut.
Phoebe’s bed curtains were closed. The light under Aunt Daisy’s door was off.
George quickly changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed.
Yes, he was safe, he told himself.
He tried to go to sleep, but as the minutes ticked by, his mind got restless.
It hit him that his knife was gone, forever, and the total silence of the ship seemed to press down on him. Why hadn’t the engines started up again?
He lay wide awake, listening and wondering. It was almost a relief when he heard someone knocking on their door.
CHAPTER 9
It was Henry.
“Hello, George,” said Henry. “Can I speak to Mrs. Key, please?”
Henry wore his usual polite smile, but his voice wasn’t jolly.
“What is it?” said Aunt Daisy, stepping out of her room.
“So sorry to barge in like this, ma’am,” Henry said. “But there’s been an … incident.” Aunt Daisy glared at George.
“I’m so sorry, Henry,” she said in an exasperated voice. “My nephew here just can’t seem to stay out of trouble!”
“Oh, no, ma’am!” Henry exclaimed. “This has nothing to do with George. It’s the ship, ma’am. Seems we’ve bumped an iceberg. I’m sure the captain is just being cautious, but he wants everyone up on deck.”
“It’s after midnight,” Aunt Daisy said with a laugh. “Surely the captain doesn’t expect us to appear on deck in our nightclothes!”
“No, ma’am. It’s very cold outside.” Henry walked over to the dresser and brought out three life jackets. “And you’ll need to put these on. Over your coats.”
Aunt Daisy stared at the life jackets as if Henry was holding up clown costumes.
“Henry! I’m not taking the children out into the cold for some kind of drill! Has Captain Smith lost his senses?”
“Of course not, Mrs. Key,” Henry said. “Now if you could get yourself and the children ready. I’ll be back in just a moment to see if you need any help.” He left them alone.
“All right, George,” Aunt Daisy said. “I guess we’ll have another adventure to boast about when we get back. You get dressed. I’ll get Phoebe up.”
Aunt Daisy went to Phoebe’s bed, pulling aside the curtains.
George heard a gasp, and he rushed over.
Phoebe wasn’t there.
“Where could she be?” Aunt Daisy exclaimed.
A cold feeling crept up George’s spine. Phoebe, his guardian angel. She must have woken up while George was gone, and now she was somewhere on the ship. Searching for George.
He took a deep breath.
“I went out exploring,” George said. “After you went to bed. I didn’t think Phoebe would wake up. She never does!”
“So she’s out there looking for you?” Aunt Daisy said.
George nodded. “She doesn’t want me getting into trouble.” He kept his eyes glued to the floor. Aunt Daisy should be furious with him, and Papa was right! George had no sense. Not one lick of sense.
How would they ever find Phoebe?
But then George had an idea … that lemon drop in the hallway.
Could it be?
He ran out into the corridor, which was still empty. It seemed Henry wasn’t having much luck getting people out of bed and up onto the deck.
George ran a little ways down the hall.
There!
He hurried down a bit farther.
Yes! Another lemon drop!
Phoebe! His smart sister!
Aunt Daisy came up behind him.
“She’s left a trail of lemon drops,” George said.
Aunt Daisy looked confused.
“Like Hansel and Gretel,” George explained. “She left a trail so she could find her way back.”
CHAPTER 10
George and Aunt Daisy scrambled to get dressed and put on their life jackets. Aunt Daisy brought Phoebe’s warmest coat, and George carried the extra life jacket. They’d quickly find Phoebe and head up
to the boat deck. And tomorrow morning this would be a big joke to laugh at over breakfast.
George thought that Phoebe had gone to the promenade deck — that she’d been woken up by the commotion with the ice and figured that George had gone out to see what was happening.
But when they got to the main staircase, he saw that the yellow glints were headed downstairs, not up to the deck.
His heart sank.
Phoebe had headed down to the first class baggage hold. Because she knew that George would want to see that mummy.
Of course she’d known.
Phoebe could read his mind.
A chill went through George’s bones.
What if the scar-faced man was lurking in the baggage hold when Phoebe got there?
He ran faster down the stairs now. Aunt Daisy called after him, but he didn’t slow down.
But when he got down to G deck, there was a gate stretched across the doorway.
“This wasn’t here when I came down,” he said to Aunt Daisy. He tried to pull it open, but it was locked. And just on the other side there was a mob of people standing restlessly, third class passengers from the looks of their worn clothing.
“Look,” Aunt Daisy said, pointing at one of Phoebe’s candies glinting on the floor on the other side of the gate, pushed next to the wall. “She’s down here. Pardon me!” she called to the steward standing in front of the crowd.
“You’ve gone the wrong way, madam,” he said, staring at Aunt Daisy’s huge diamond ring. “The captain wants first class passengers up on the boat deck now.”
“My niece is down here somewhere,” Aunt Daisy said. “You need to let us through.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t have wandered down this far,” the steward said.
“We’re quite sure she’s down here,” Aunt Daisy said. “So if you’ll please open the gate.”
I Survived the Sinking of the Titanic, 1912 Page 2
