The Deepest Waters, A Novel

by Walsh, Dan

  He wondered . . . was this it? Was it too late now to escape?

  After bobbing up and down a few moments, the ship settled into a new position. Slowly, those on board untangled themselves and crawled up the deck. The Vandervere was now at a thirty-degree angle. It took every bit of a man’s strength just to remain fixed in whatever foothold he could find.

  John heard a door above them open and close. The captain emerged from the wheelhouse, the first officer by his side, both holding fiercely to the rails. “Men,” he shouted, “I must release you from your task. You’ve fought the sea bravely, but she has won. No ship has appeared to save us. The Vandervere will soon fully give way to the sea. I’m giving the order to abandon ship. You have your life preservers, but they may not prove to be enough. Please, grab for yourselves anything that might float or assist you in the water. It has been my privilege to serve as your captain. I only wish I could have done more.”

  He and the first officer retreated from sight. John instantly remembered a conversation he and Laura had at the captain’s table their first evening aboard. Someone had brought up the subject of shipwrecks and superstitions. The captain had said, “If that happens, I’ll not survive. This ship goes down, I go down with her.”

  4

  “I can’t go overboard!” someone yelled. “I can’t swim.”

  “Nor I,” another said. “I don’t want to die!”

  John was an excellent swimmer, but it hardly mattered now. There was nowhere to go. Several crew members ripped hatches and shutters off their hinges. They waited for a wave to rise near the rail then jumped into the ocean. Passengers followed suit. But John could see that there weren’t enough hatches and shutters for all the men on deck.

  One older gentleman scolded a young officer. “You men should give those hatch doors to those who can’t swim.”

  “You heard the captain,” the man said. “It’s every man for himself now.”

  John looked behind him at a group of men huddled in the corner. They weren’t moving, their faces a mask of terror. Clearly they couldn’t swim.

  A junior officer yelled at them. “She’s going under any minute. You men don’t jump, you’ll be sucked down with her.”

  John looked at a partially submerged stairway that headed below. He grabbed a sailor’s arm as he hurried past. “Help me,” he said. “I need to go down there.”

  “Sir, you don’t want to do that.”

  “There’s still a little time. We need to aid these men. I’ll hold my breath and grab anything that will float. Just stand here as I come up and pass them out.”

  “I can’t, sir. We’ve got to get off the ship. She’s going down any second.”

  “Please,” John said. “A few minutes.”

  The men stared at each other, John’s eyes pleading. “Go,” the sailor said.

  “You’ll be here?”

  “Yes, go.”

  “What’s your name?” John asked.

  “Erik,” the sailor said.

  John pulled off his shoes, ran down the steps, and waded in. He took a deep breath and went under, feeling his way along. He opened his eyes. A few blurry shapes hovered above him. Chairs near the ceiling. He dragged them back toward the stairs.

  He handed them to Erik, who tossed them to the men. “I didn’t think you’d be here,” John said.

  “Me either,” said Erik. “Hurry.”

  John dove back in the water, this time going the opposite direction. He found a small table. For the next several minutes, he went back and forth like this until he’d grabbed everything that floated, as far as his lungs would reach. There were still six men left in the corner who couldn’t swim.

  “I remember seeing bigger tables,” John said, “in the dining saloon where we ate.”

  “They’re bolted down,” Erik said. “But just to keep them from sliding. A few good yanks should free them.”

  John took a deep breath and went back again, his strength nearly spent. In two trips, he freed up two tables.

  When he brought them out, Erik said, “These should float two men each.” They passed them out. Only two men left. Suddenly, the ship jolted, dropping deeper. Both men fell, then helped each other up. “We must go, sir.”

  “I just need two more,” John said. “One for them and one for you and me.”

  “If we don’t leave now, there won’t be a you and me.”

  “Then come with me. It’s not far.”

  Erik nodded, but John saw fear in his eyes. The water level now reached the top of the stairs. As John went under, he turned. Erik was following. He reached the first table and started to pull. Erik swam to the other side and pulled hard. The table quickly broke free. Erik swam away with it. John swam over to the last table.

  He yanked and pulled until the first side broke free, but then he ran out of air. He turned and headed for the stairs. He grabbed a quick breath and started back. As he turned into the hall, he realized he hadn’t seen Erik. He reached the table, broke the other side free, and towed it back. As he came out of the water, the ship moved violently to one side. Instinctively, John knew . . . This is it. He looked around. Erik was gone. He crawled toward the last two men, dragging the table behind him.

  “That sailor,” one of them said, “he took the last table and jumped over the rail with it.”

  “Here,” John said. “Get up, we’ve got to go.”

  “Will it float us all?”

  “I think so, but we don’t have a choice.” He led them to the rail. Both men were trembling. The sea looked so angry and alive. “See all the others.” John pointed to over a hundred men spread out before them in the water, clinging to one thing or another. Some had drifted over a hundred yards away.

  “If I go under, I’ll sink,” one of them said. “I won’t come back up.”

  “That won’t happen,” said John. “Just take a breath, jump in, and hold it underwater. If you do, the air inside will force you back to the surface. All you have to do is kick your feet.”

  The man looked down. “I can’t.”

  “Your name is Hansen, right?” John said.

  “Yes, Robert.”

  “I remember,” said John. “We had dinner together last week at the captain’s table. You’re heading home to visit your wife and children . . . in Boston, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Robert, think of them . . . waiting at the dock to meet you. If you don’t jump now, you’ll never see them again.”

  “Are you sure I’ll come back up?”

  “Yes.”

  The sea decided for them. A rogue wave poured over the ship, sweeping all three into the water. Robert and the other man made it back to the surface. John found the table, brought it over, and helped the men take hold. But it was evident it wouldn’t float them all.

  “Where are you going?” Robert asked.

  “I’ll be okay,” John said. “There’s a life preserver right over there. Just start paddling away. We’ve got to get clear of the ship. They say it can suck you under if you’re too close.”

  The men kicked hard and began to move away. John’s arms were so tired. He put one through the life preserver and turned on his back to avoid swallowing seawater. Before they were fifty yards away, the ship began to move. It creaked and wailed like some dying sea monster; the volume was shocking. Everyone turned. John heard screams. He looked up and saw three men who’d climbed to the top of the masts; their feet dangled in the air. Suddenly, the bow of the Vandervere rose straight up, then dropped out of sight, taking the men down with her.

  For a few seconds, huge bubbles floated up. Then nothing.

  It was as if the Vandervere had never been.

  All over the water, men screamed out, a furious blend of panic and fear. John listened, tried not to give in. But he thought, these cries come with good reason. They were now alone, adrift at sea, over one hundred miles from dry land. The waves tossed them up and down, a constant motion, forcing them to spend what little energy remai
ned just to hold on. They had no food or fresh water. Nothing to protect them against the sun. Aboard the Vandervere they at least had the hope of being seen by another vessel. But now another ship peering out to the horizon would see nothing, would have no way of knowing they were there in the water.

  John realized that all his efforts to help the men who couldn’t swim had become as pointless as their bucket brigade had been. It had merely postponed the inevitable.

  He thought of Laura, relieved she had been spared all this and was safely aboard the Cutlass. “Thank you, Lord. I couldn’t bear it if she were here.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered how excited she’d been when they’d loaded all their wedding gifts into trunks to take with them. She had wanted to bring them back East to show his sister, Allison, whom Laura had never met.

  I should have told her then. It was the perfect time. But he didn’t. “God forgive me,” he said quietly. “Don’t make her pay for my mistake.” He thought about the note he’d written. “Don’t let her last memory of me add to her sorrow.” These melancholic thoughts at least dampened the volume of the men shouting and pleading for their lives.

  John thought back to a part of the vows he’d made three weeks ago at their wedding: “Till death do us part.” Mere words then, formalities. He meant them sincerely but thought he at least had decades before they’d be called to account.

  He thought once more about their wedding gifts lying in the Vandervere’s hull, now resting at the bottom of the sea. Certain that he, and all those floating out here with him, would soon join them.

  5

  The morning dragged on.

  Time itself had slowed to where Laura could feel each minute pass. For the last several she’d watched a little girl try to gnaw the corner off of a biscuit. It made her grateful she’d lost her appetite.

  “You don’t have to eat that thing,” Micah said to the girl, smiling.

  “But I’m hungry.”

  This broke the mother’s stare. She looked up from the deck at Micah. “I guess the cook isn’t used to making biscuits for so many,” she said. “Probably left them on too long.”

  “Wish that were so,” said Micah. “They like that on purpose. Call it hardtack. I git the hard part, but not the tack part. Maybe ’cause it feel like tacks goin’ down.” He grinned, then leaned over and whispered, “Maybe one a’ you ladies can ask Captain Meade to give that cook Smitty a hand. Else you’ll be eatin’ like this all the way to New York.”

  Laura smiled. It felt good to smile but somehow out of place.

  “Just come to tell you ladies,” Micah said, “coffee’s ’bout ready, be a line right next to the one for biscuits.” He started to walk away, then turned and whispered to Laura. “Wanted to tell you fust. I make the coffee, and if you like coffee, you’ll like this.”

  “Thank you, Micah.” Laura got up and followed him. The boat slid down a slight wave. She paused to steady her footing. Crabby emerged from somewhere and followed Micah, tail wagging.

  Laura walked past a group of six men huddled off to the side, and fought a rush of resentment. They were the Vandervere men—the only Vandervere men—who’d survived. One looked at her, noticed her glaring, and quickly looked away. You should look away. She wished she had enough boldness to say what she really felt.

  Why are you here . . . cowards, safe and sound, and my John is not?

  She flashed back to an ugly scene that took place yesterday during the rescue. All day, small boats had rowed back and forth between the two ships, ferrying women and children to safety. The hurricane had passed, but the wind was still strong and the waves horrendous, mercilessly tossing the lifeboats about. Two hours on that lifeboat terrified her more than two days on the Vandervere battling the hurricane.

  The wind and strong currents caused the ships to drift farther apart as each minute ticked by. By sunset, the gap between the ships had grown to four miles. Laura was the last woman to leave the Vandervere. She insisted she must stay with John. John and the captain pleaded with her.

  John pulled her close. “Laura, you must go,” he said. “The captain won’t release the men until the last woman is safely away.”

  “I can’t. What if they won’t release you? There are hundreds of men left. What if—”

  He gently put his finger to her lips. “Laura, it’s in God’s hands. He brought us together. We must hope he’ll bring us together again.”

  “Ma’am, there’s no more time,” yelled Lieutenant Ashcroft, a young officer on the lifeboat. “We must get underway.”

  “Mrs. Foster,” the captain said gently. “Please.”

  She looked the captain straight in the face. “Will you promise John will be on the next boat over?”

  “I will do my best,” the captain said.

  John and Laura hugged then kissed. A strong wave smashed against the ship, covering them in salt spray. The lifeboat rose and fell and banged against the side.

  “Ma’am, please,” Ashcroft yelled. “We must go.”

  She began to pull away. John handed her a black pouch. She knew what it was: all the gold they had saved for their trip. “Why are you giving me this?”

  “Just take it, Laura. I’ll feel better if it’s with you.”

  He led her to the rail’s edge. They quickly tied a rope around the bottom of her dress to keep it from blowing up as she lowered. Before taking her seat, the waves drenched her from top to bottom. She glanced at the others in the boat, about fifteen women and children. Three crew members manned the oars with the lieutenant. She sobbed uncontrollably as the little boat set off.

  She turned back to watch John.

  “I’ve written you a note, inside the pouch,” he yelled. “Don’t read it . . . unless you hear word that we—that we will not . . .” Tears poured down his cheeks. He looked away.

  “John!” she screamed. “I must go back,” she said to Ashcroft.

  “Mrs. Foster, that’s impossible.”

  “John,” she shouted out again. “I love you.” The words hung a moment in the air then fell to the sea, already overcome by the wind and waves. She continued to watch him growing smaller. She waved constantly until a great commotion interrupted her. The lifeboat rocked back and forth. She thought it might tip over. Two men appeared in the water, one on each side. They grabbed the edge and each flung a leg over, trying to climb in.

  “Hold on, what’s this?” a crew member yelled.

  “You men get off,” shouted Ashcroft. “You’ll swamp the boat.” He grabbed one of their legs and threw it back over the side.

  The man on the other side got in, knocking a mother against her little girl. Laura recognized him, a gambler who rarely left the card table in the saloon deck.

  “Let me in,” the other man cried. “I can’t go back, I’ll drown.”

  A crewman was about to smash his fingers with a board. “Wait,” said the lieutenant. “Bring him aboard. We’re too far out. He can’t make it back.”

  “With respect, sir. We’re gonna reward him for jumping ship?”

  “He just wants to live,” Ashcroft said. “That’s not a crime.”

  “But sir, the lottery.”

  “It’s too late for that,” said Ashcroft. Two crewmen helped him aboard.

  “What does he mean about a lottery?” Laura asked.

  “It’s nothing,” said Ashcroft.

  “It’s not nothing,” said the gambler. “They spread word to the men of a lottery, to see who gets on the lifeboats after the women are off.”

  “Shut up, Simons,” said Ashcroft.

  “You do the odds, ladies. Four hundred men left, a rapidly sinking ship, twenty spots for each boat.” He turned and looked at the three other crewmen. “You men aren’t stupid. You know as well as I, this is the last boat going to the Cutlass.”

  They all looked at Lieutenant Ashcroft.

  “Ignore him,” he ordered. “Keep rowing or we’ll never close the gap.”

  “That’s right,” the gambler
said. “Keep rowing, men. But as you do, look at the sun. We might just get there before dark. I estimate two hours to close the distance. You think any more lifeboats will go out after dark? It would be suicide. I heard the captain say he didn’t think the Vandervere would last past midnight.”

  The women all looked at Ashcroft. “Lieutenant,” one of them said. “Tell us it’s not true.”

  “Please, ladies. I have every intention of turning this boat around as soon as you are safely aboard the Cutlass.”

  “Ah . . . intentions,” said the gambler. “A wonderful thing—”

  Ashcroft struck him in the mouth, knocking Simons over. “I told you to shut up!”

  After righting himself, Simons had rubbed his jaw and said, “Guess that proves my point.”

  Lieutenant Ashcroft had apologized for his outburst and kept assuring the women they would most certainly be going back for the men.

  Laura held up her tin cup, and Micah filled it to the brim with hot coffee. Quickly a line of women formed behind her. She turned and walked past the gambler Simons, standing next to Lieutenant Ashcroft. It was odd seeing them together.

  Last evening, when they finally had arrived at the Cutlass, things went exactly as the gambler had said. It was almost completely dark. The lieutenant had argued valiantly, pleading for the crewmen to return with him to the Vandervere. None would; they all just looked away. Several women had even offered to pay the men large sums of gold.

  Finally, Captain Meade of the Cutlass intervened. “Lieutenant,” he’d said. “Please climb aboard. All has been done that can be done. There’s no hope of finding the Vandervere in conditions like these. You must see that. You’ve done your duty. It’s in God’s hands now.”

  Reluctantly, Ashcroft had conceded.

  Laura set the cup of coffee down on a wooden barrel and reached for the black pouch John had given her, tied now to her belt.