by Diane Hoh
Still, she knew why no one was willing to feel anything. Because if we did, she told herself as she settled back into her seat, if we really let ourselves feel, we would start screaming and we would never be able to stop.
“Oh, no,” Margaret Martin cried out suddenly. “I just saw a flash of lightning!”
Elizabeth realized why that alarmed the woman. Just as Hichens had said, they had no protection from the elements. If a storm should come up, they would all become soaked within seconds, and with the temperature so low, they would freeze instantly in wet clothes. And they had no way of bailing out any rainwater that collected in their boat. Too much of it would sink them.
She realized just as quickly that it was much too cold and the sky too clear for an electrical storm. The light that Margaret had seen couldn’t be lightning. It had to be something else. Perhaps a shooting star.
As if she had spoken aloud, Quartermaster Hichens said, “That’s a falling star, not lightning.”
Then a slight boom sounded in the distance, and Margaret said, “There, did you hear that? Thunder, I warrant.”
Hichens disagreed again, but could come up with no theory as to what the sound might have been.
Elizabeth, suddenly exhausted, leaned back against the gunwale, closing her eyes. She didn’t care what happened, she decided. What difference did it make now? Everything was ruined, anyway. Her mother was right to give up.
Max’s voice sounded in her head: “Cut it out, Elizabeth. If you want to be that dramatic, go on the stage, like Lily. Otherwise, sit up and pay attention and do anything you can to save yourself. Don’t disappoint me.”
Angry that he had the nerve to tell her what to do, Elizabeth sat bolt upright, her eyes flying open.
The first thing she saw was a light on the horizon. Then she saw another, and moments after that a green running light.
“It’s a steamer!” Major Peuchen shouted. “Look, there, all of you, it’s a steamer, and it’s heading this way!”
A rocket shot up into the air over the oncoming ship. As a second rocket went up, the steamer seemed to slow in the water. Elizabeth held her breath. Perhaps it didn’t see them. How visible could the boats sitting low in the water be from such a distance? If the steamer didn’t see them, it would sail away, taking every last ounce of hope with it.
At the same moment, she realized with a shock that the stars overhead were slowly fading, and a faint buttery glow was appearing off to the east. Dawn. She glanced down at the watch still hanging around her neck. It wasn’t five A.M. yet. Morning dawned early in the frozen north.
Now she could see the outline of the approaching ship, one dark funnel spitting smoke into the air. Smaller by far than the great Titanic, but far more beautiful, as well, because it promised rescue.
The sea was dotted with huge icebergs, shining pink and white under the rising sun, like giant chunks of peppermint candy. Elizabeth suddenly feared for the oncoming ship. Suppose it hit one and met the same fate as the larger, sturdier Titanic?
Careful, she silently warned the captain of the unidentified ship, careful…
Everyone in boats number six and sixteen, still lashed together, sat upright, eyes and ears alert.
“Has it come to rescue us, then?” someone asked Hichens.
“No,” he answered. “She is not going to pick us up. She’s only here to pick up bodies.”
Elizabeth found that answer not only ridiculous, but macabre as well. As if any ship’s captain would pick up only the dead and abandon the living! Surely no one in the boats believed that.
If she had had in her possession a large piece of tape, she would have fastened it over the quartermaster’s mouth.
She needn’t have worried. None of the women in the boat had any intention of allowing their pessimistic leader to keep them from rescue. A man in boat sixteen was wearing nothing but pajamas. He was so cold, his teeth were chattering, and although Hichens had ordered them to drift, Mrs. Brown now told the man to start rowing in order to keep warm. She ignored the quartermaster’s protest as she gave the order.
Other women in the boat took up her cry, demanding that they, too, be allowed to row to keep warm.
A stoker, still covered with the coal dust from working on board the Titanic, manned an oar on the starboard side. He was shaking with cold. Mrs. Brown scooped up a fat, brown sable stole lying in the bottom of the boat and wrapped it around his legs, fastening it around his ankles. Then she directed the man wearing pajamas to cut the two boats apart.
Hichens, furious, shouted a protest, and made a move to stop her.
“I will throw you overboard if you interfere,’’ she told him with great authority. Other women nodded in agreement.
Hichens had no choice. He gave in to the mutiny. He sank back under his blanket as the boats were pulled apart, but he began shouting insults at the Denver millionairess who had thwarted him.
“I say,” the stoker called out, “is that any way to talk to a lady?”
Undaunted, Hichens retorted, “I know who I’m speaking to, and I am commanding this boat!”
No one believed that for a second now, and the women continued to row.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, lifeboat number six, manned almost solely by women, made its way slowly toward the steamer on the horizon.
Chapter 30
Monday, April 15, 1912
When Katie saw the steamer making its way toward them, she thought at first that she was seeing things. Hadn’t they thought when they left the Titanic that a steamer was off to the east, waiting to rescue them? And there had been no ship there at all.
But others had spotted the oncoming ship, as well. Some accepted the idea of rescue eagerly. Others were more cautious, fearing disappointment. But as the steamer drew closer, everyone accepted that rescue was at hand.
We’re goin’ to get out of this, Katie told herself in astonishment. We are. Paddy was safe in the other lifeboat and they would meet on board the rescue ship. She could only hope and pray that Brian would be in another lifeboat as well.
Please, please, she prayed as they rowed for the ship, please let Brian be alive!
Soon they were close enough to read the name of the vessel that was about to pluck them from the cold, dark sea. Carpathia. Not as large or as grand as the Titanic, but to those in the lifeboats, it was a golden chariot.
As they approached the ship, Katie could see people standing at the rail, peering down in curiosity. Had they heard that it was the great ship Titanic that had sunk? They wouldn’t have believed it, of course. But here was the proof, coming straight at them in a raggedy group of lifeboats.
Getting on board was not an easy thing. There were ladders and netting hanging from the Carpathia’s side. The able-bodied boarded in that fashion. But others were unable to negotiate the ladder. To aid them, ropes were lowered and slung under arms or tied around waists, so that those who had no energy to climb could be hoisted upward. Canvas slings were used for some of the children. Boarding was quiet and orderly, though some people, either still in shock or terrified they would fall into the ocean, had to be urged on by those climbing before and after them.
When Katie reached the top of the ladder, she turned to glance behind her one last time. The more heavily loaded lifeboats were still struggling at a snail’s pace toward the ship. She told herself Brian could be in any one of those boats. He had to be, for Paddy’s sake as well as her own.
Instead of being rushed inside to warmth by passengers and stewardesses on the Carpathia, Katie remained at the rail, waiting for Paddy. She was white-faced and shivering with cold, but she was so terrified that she would miss his arrival, she refused to budge.
When she saw him, far below in lifeboat fourteen, her face was so frozen she was unable to form a smile. But she waved and called his name, and was waiting for him at the top of the ladder with outstretched arms.
When they were both safely on board, they embraced warmly, not caring who saw them. They had
survived the long, terrible night. They were safe at last. And they were together.
Now all they had to do was find Brian among the survivors.
Though they were frozen through, they decided to wait where they were until every lifeboat had disembarked its passengers. If Brian wasn’t among them, they would explore every inch of the Carpathia, hoping he had been picked up earlier.
A stewardess arrived with blankets and a tray of hot cups of cocoa. Katie accepted the blanket and a cup of cocoa, as did Paddy. Thus warmed, they stood at the rail, watching with others as the occupants of one lifeboat after another boarded. Eileen arrived, refusing to speak to Katie, although Bridey and Kevin gave her hugs and said they would see her later as they were rushed inside by two older women passengers on the Carpathia.
Katie watched as boat number six arrived and the pretty girl climbed aboard, her mother right behind her. The good-looking young man she’d said good-bye to on the Titanic, the man who had saved Bridey and Kevin, wasn’t with her, and Katie hadn’t noticed him climbing aboard at any other time. But then, she’d been watching for Brian. She hoped he had survived.
When the last lifeboat, a severely overloaded number twelve, arrived at the Carpathia’s side, there had still been no sign of Brian Kelleher.
Katie’s hopes rose when she saw how full boat twelve was. Brian might be in this one. The boat was so crowded, the gunwales were precariously close to the sea, and the water was becoming choppy, tossing waves of icy water over legs and feet.
“There’s more than seventy people on board that one,” Paddy commented, “and that’s not counting the wee ones.”
Katie nodded, but she was busy searching fiercely for a tall, dark-haired young man in a worn gray jacket. There were so many faces in the boat, she couldn’t sort them all out. But she couldn’t say yet that Brian’s wasn’t among them.
A surging wave broke across the lifeboat, then a second.
“It’s goin’ to founder,” Paddy said darkly. “They’d best get them people on board now!”
But moments later, the lifeboat rode out a third wave and then was in the shelter of the ship, bobbing like a cork on the sea as it unloaded its cargo.
When the last passenger had climbed on board, many of the survivors gathered at the rail, their eyes searching the choppy sea for some sign of husbands and sons who might still be alive in the water. Katie heard a woman say plaintively, “But he was a strong swimmer, my boy, he won medals, he was a strong swimmer!” Another woman cried, “George wouldn’t have given up, he wouldn’t! My George was a fighter!”
But as the ship circled the waters and no more swimmers were discovered, those watching from the rail fell silent. And when the Carpathia began slowly to pull away from the scene, the truth sank in. A morose silence fell. Then it was broken by heart-wrenching sobs as the women who were now widows accepted the terrible truth. They were led inside to be comforted and cared for.
The look on Paddy’s face was one of utter desolation.
Katie refused to give up. “Bri could have come on board with the first survivors,” she said. “We must search the ship. He could be here somewhere.”
And though Paddy’s expression didn’t change, he nodded and followed as Katie marched along the deck in search of Brian.
Nola Farr almost didn’t make it up the ladder. Exhausted and despondent, her hands numb, she hadn’t the energy to climb. Elizabeth, directly behind her, shouted encouragement, urging her mother onward. But Nola had to be virtually hoisted upward by the crew on board the Carpathia. Once on deck, she sank quietly to her knees, weeping softly. It fell to Elizabeth to get her mother up and inside where it was warm, which she did quickly, though she herself was exhausted and frozen. Two women from the rescue ship hurried over to help her, murmuring, “Poor thing, poor thing,” as they assisted the distraught woman to her feet.
“She’ll be all right,” Elizabeth insisted, though she was grateful for the help. “She’ll be fine. She’s very strong.” And hoped that it was true.
With her mother ensconced in a deck chair inside where it was warm, a woolen blanket wrapped around her, Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to lie down somewhere and close her eyes. She ached almost as much for sleep as she did for warmth. But how could she give herself over to sleep? What kind of nightmarish visions would rush into her mind then?
Would she ever be able to sleep again without hearing those terrible screams?
She had never even asked Max if he knew how to swim.
Instead of sleeping, she spent the next hour wandering the decks and the public rooms, checking each pallet, mattress, and cot that held a survivor. She knew in her heart it was hopeless. But she also knew she would never be able to rest until she was absolutely certain that her father and Max hadn’t survived.
She found Lily, white of face and sound asleep on a cot, a gray wool blanket covering her to her chin. But Elizabeth did not find Arthur.
Nor did she find her father or Max.
Fighting tears, Elizabeth returned to the public room. Unable to sleep, she sat huddled in a chair beside her mother’s, trying to warm herself beneath a gray wool blanket. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured Max or her father struggling in the frigid, dark water, and her throat closed and she couldn’t breathe, and her eyes filled with fresh tears. She finally gave up trying to sleep and sat staring straight ahead, watching the Carpathia’s passengers attempting to comfort the survivors lying on cots or mattresses or reclining in deck chairs.
It struck her as odd that there was so little crying. What there was, was quiet. It was as if none of the grief-stricken wanted to disturb anyone. Or perhaps they were still in shock.
After a while, a woman approached to tell Elizabeth and her mother that two religious services were going to be held. “One,” she said quietly, “will be a short prayer of thanksgiving for the seven hundred people rescued, while the other,” her tone deepening, “will of course be a funeral service for the fifteen hundred who perished. You are both welcome to attend.” Then she went on her way, spreading the word to other survivors.
Elizabeth swayed in her chair, clutching its wooden arm for support. Fifteen hundred? Fifteen hundred people had died in this one night? How was that possible? So many lives lost, so many families torn apart, so many hearts broken…all in one long, terrible, frigid night.
If that many had died, it was impossible to think that Max might have survived.
Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. Hadn’t she known all along? Hadn’t she given up, in truth, when the Titanic sank and she saw all those people being torn from the rail and tossed into the icy sea like rag dolls? Hadn’t she known then that Max couldn’t possibly have survived? Fifteen hundred people had been lost. She’d been a fool to think that he might have made it just because she needed him to. Hadn’t the other women thought the same thing of their husbands and sons? And now they knew better. Now they had accepted the truth. She would have to do the same.
But it hurt so terribly.
Elizabeth leaned her head back and closed her eyes again, oblivious to the activity taking place around her. Women were being comforted by the Carpathia’s passengers, who seemed so willing to help. Stewards and stewardesses were moving about, warm blankets in their arms, cups of hot liquid in their hands, seeing to the ill, the exhausted, the frozen. Children unaware of the depth of the tragedy played quietly, darting curious glances now and again toward their grieving mothers, who were comforting each other. Survivors who refused to give up hope walked among other survivors, peering down into faces, searching for a husband or son lost to the sea.
But Elizabeth was lost in her own misery. What was going to happen to them? Without her father, would they still be a family? Would her mother ever recover from this terrible shock?
Even as Elizabeth thought this, Nola roused herself. She sat up, glanced around as if suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings, and noticed Elizabeth sitting off to her left. With great effort, Elizabeth�
�s mother tossed aside the blanket wrapped around her and got to her feet. She was at Elizabeth’s side in seconds, kneeling beside the chair, putting her arms around her daughter. She didn’t say that much. She said only, “I am truly sorry about Max, Elizabeth. I am. But it will be all right, it will, I promise you.” But that was almost enough. Elizabeth put her head on her mother’s shoulder, and without tears, they clung to each other for several moments.
Then Nola raised her head and said in a voice only slightly shaken, “Now, I believe we might both feel better if we attend a service. But first”—in a normal voice now—“we must both do something with our hair. I’m sure we look a fright!”
They did the best they could, without benefit of comb or brush. Even Nola seemed to realize finally that how they looked mattered little in view of the circumstances. Still, she walked to the services with her head high and her shoulders back, as if her appearance were as impeccable as ever.
The service did help. Elizabeth said a silent good-bye to her father, though she knew he would always be with her in some way. She said another to Max, feeling a fierce pain of regret that they had had so little time, and that she had spent so much of that time arguing with him.
If her mother had broken down during the service, Elizabeth would have, too. But Nola kept her head high, held her daughter’s hand tightly in her own, and any tears she shed were quiet ones. Elizabeth saw men with tears streaming down their faces, too, and wished fiercely that her father were among them.
When the service was over, Elizabeth’s mother said in an exhausted voice, “I must go send a Marconigram to your grandparents, to prepare them. I doubt that word of the sinking has reached New York yet, but if it has, they mustn’t receive word of their son’s death from the newspapers. You go and rest. I’ll be right back. Then I believe I shall find a cot to lie down on. I seem to be feeling quite tired.”
