He rushed from the cabin and headed for the stairs again. Few first-class passengers remained on either A or B decks, and those he saw had apparently gone back to rescue money or jewelry, as their hands held small boxes and bags. One or two had returned for life vests and struggled into them awkwardly as they strode up the steps. The only sound came from the occasional rockets being fired and the crashing of furniture, dishes and china from somewhere below.
On the boat deck once more, he moved to the port side where queues of passengers seemed more orderly. As boat six began its descent into the water, a woman’s voice called out, “We have only one seaman in the boat.”
The officer looked around, apparently wondering if he could spare one of the few he had left, when a middle-aged gentleman called out, “I will go if you like.”
“Are you a seaman?”
The man raised his head and shoulders as if expecting a salute. “I am a yachtsman.”
“Well, if you’re able to make it into the boat,” the officer said, “you may go.”
The man grabbed one of the ropes lowering the boat and slid down it. Inasmuch as the port side listed more with every passing minute, he hadn’t too much distance to cover, and Richard guessed the water to be merely a foot or two below the craft.
Being tall as well, he again found gaps in the crowds at the railings where he could see into the boats being loaded. Still no sign of his own child and the woman who cared for her and whom he now loved with all his heart.
A shot rang out, and he dashed toward the sound coming from starboard.
“You can’t board, I say,” the young steward screamed, waving his weapon. “I shall shoot again if I must.”
Good Lord, would the poor fellow shoot a passenger? Richard heard another pistol report, but it appeared the young man fired only warning shots.
He forced his way out of the crowd, back to the entrance to the Grand Staircase, now relatively empty. Perspiration dripped from his face. His entire body felt hot in spite of it being the coldest night he could remember.
Chapter 24
Beth, Kathleen’s hand tightly clutched in her own, stumbled onto the boat deck. She’d thought the scene chaotic before going below for the doll; now she could hardly believe her eyes. She felt as if all of the thousand-plus ship’s passengers crammed the deck between where she stood at the entrance to the Grand Staircase and the place where she’d waited for Richard, where lifeboats were being lowered and filled.
The man with his back to her suddenly turned and shouted. “Beth!”
“Richard!”
“Pa-pa!” Kathleen dropped Beth’s hand and rushed into his arms.
Tears glistening in his eyes, he picked her up. However, due to the crush of people, he couldn’t swing her around, as he always did after a brief absence. “You’re here.” He set her on her feet and reached for Beth. She went willingly into his embrace.
After as passionate a greeting as she could manage with both of them wearing life vests, she wiped her own tears from her cheeks.
“Where have you been? I was frantic.”
“I’m sorry we were so long,” she said. “Kathleen has Toby now, so we’re ready to go.”
Richard’s smile vanished. “Do you see this mob? There are hundreds of people trying to leave the ship and not nearly enough lifeboats.”
“Not enough lifeboats?” She looked up at the remaining ones being uncovered and swung into position and noted a similar commotion with boats being lowered on the port side. “Is that all?”
As she stared upward, she felt the deck move beneath her feet. If they listed any more to port, she would have difficulty standing. She took Kathleen’s hand again. “What shall we do?”
Richard cleared his throat. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you into one of the boats.”
Perhaps the listing would improve their chances of finding seats in the lifeboats on the port side of the ship. She suggested as much to Richard.
“No, I think our chances will be better here.”
“But the gunshots ...”
“Just warning shots. In fact, they may have done their job by scaring people into forming more orderly queues.”
Pushing Kathleen in front of her, Beth followed close behind Richard as he shouldered his way through the crowd.
“Woman and child!” he called out. “Let them through, please.”
Finally at the front of the line, she looked down at the wooden lifeboat, dangling from its ropes at the side of the ship. A crewman took her by the arm and forced her to step inside the craft before handing Kathleen in as well.
Standing in the boat, her heart pounding, Beth turned again to Richard. “Come with us.”
“I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“Pa-pa,” Kathleen screamed. “I’m afraid. Come with me.”
“I’ll come in another boat. Don’t be afraid. Beth will take care of you. I’ll see you in New York.”
His final words came to her muffled by the sound of those still waiting to board, pushing him farther away.
“Sit down,” the crewman shouted and, as already-seated passengers made a space for her on a bench, she lowered herself into place and nestled against Kathleen. An arm around the girl, Beth made an effort to keep her voice soothing. But she knew that it shook, and that copious tears belied every word.
Kathleen didn’t seem to notice, so intent was she on sobbing into the hair on Toby’s head. “I’m scared.”
“Ain’t we all?” A stout woman with a dark shawl over her head and shoulders leaned toward them. “It’s all right to be scared, dearie, but we’ll all be fine in the end, you wait and see.”
Beth smiled at the stranger, grateful for her positive words. Other women were also sobbing, and Beth could hear the music from the band, which was now stationed on deck. Kathleen snuffled, cuddled her doll and tried to bury her face in Beth’s life vest.
The lifeboat—after being loaded with six more women—made its journey into the water. A rocket exploded above them, its white stars briefly lighting up the sky, a stark contrast to the blackness of the water beneath them. Groaning, the boat descended, jerking and creaking, into the abyss. It landed with a sharp jolt that made Kathleen cry even harder.
An oarsman released the lines and, wielding an oar, pushed off from the hull. He took his own seat and, together with another crewman, plunged the oars into the water and began to row. As they pulled away from the ship, Beth saw many men at the railings—whether passengers or crew she couldn’t tell—throwing deck chairs into the water. She also noticed, with a twisting pain that gripped her entire being, that the bow had dipped significantly lower.
As the men at the oars rowed farther and farther from the ship, she stared into the dark night from whence they’d come, trying to make out the details of the ship. Were it not for the lights shining out of every porthole on every deck, the ship would have been almost invisible, a black hull against a pitch-black sky. She counted the lighted decks: six. Should there be more? A statistic from the flyer she’d perused the day of departure came back to her now: ten decks—although the lowest probably had no portholes, being below the waterline and containing engine rooms, baggage and mail. No, she must be wrong! Six had to be the right number. The Titanic was not sinking, and the unknown ship, whose lights shone in the distance, would surely arrive before too long.
* * *
Richard shifted back and forth, trying to keep an eye on the lifeboat as it descended, carrying Beth and Kathleen to safety. He felt helpless and alone, despite the surging crowds. More third-class passengers had arrived on the boat deck, many of them speaking Polish or some other language he didn’t understand. He knew how helpless they must feel, unable to comprehend anything about what was happening. A young woman with a baby came to his attention and, noting how frightened she looked, he took her by the arm, smiling to reassure her, and led her toward the next lifeboat being loaded.
Soon he found himself shepherding many women, all with their a
rms full either with babies, bags and boxes, or blankets and rugs against the cold. He saw some come up to the boat deck and immediately retreat to a warmer place. With smiles, gestures and a few words that he hoped conveyed the danger, he urged them toward the boats. The activity distracted him from the biting cold of the night air.
He watched as a group of men on A deck threw deck chairs, rafts and boxes overboard—anything wooden that might float. The women taken care of, he decided to join them. That activity, too, would keep him warm.
As he hurtled deck chairs from the port side, he realized the gap between ship and lifeboats had widened. A woman tried to make the jump and almost fell into the sea. Richard dashed back up to the boat deck to help. There, a man speaking loud and rapid Italian picked up children and tossed them into the waiting arms of the adults who had managed to get into Boat Ten, in spite of the three-foot gap.
He looked at his watch again: 1:25. Almost two hours since the Titanic had struck the iceberg. The ship continued to tilt to port, and the bow was noticeably lower. Everyone seemed to know the ship would sink; the only question was when. Every time he saw a lifeboat lowered with only half the spaces filled, his stomach lurched. His spirits revived only when, in the distance, he saw lights that he hoped belonged to ships coming to their rescue.
Screams from starboard sent Richard dashing to the other side once more. There, Boat Thirteen was being lowered, and a crewman shouted at the men inside. “The condenser. Get clear of the condenser.”
By leaning far over the rail, Richard could see the problem but was powerless to help. Steam blew out from an escape tube on the side of the ship and the lifeboat was directly in its path. The blast would capsize it.
More screams and shouts alerted the lifeboat’s occupants and finally, using oars and spars, the men on board managed to push the boat aft, farther away from the blast.
But Boat Fifteen, now loaded, started down as well, and, not seeing Boat Thirteen had shoved itself into its path, hovered directly above it. This time the screams and shouts came from the passengers in Boat Thirteen. Richard bounded forward to help the crew stop the descent of Boat Fifteen. With few feet to spare, they brought it to a halt. As both lifeboats, one after the other, splashed down safely, Richard heaved a sigh.
Ten minutes later, lifeboat number Sixteen was launched on the port side, followed in ten more minutes by Boat Two and, later, Boat Four. These last three held their full complement of passengers, for which Richard was grateful. He looked around at the hundreds of passengers still swarming the deck, more, it seemed, coming up from third class as if only now, at two in the morning, realizing the Titanic was sinking and they must try to escape. His throat tightened with unshed tears. Then his attention was drawn to a commotion on the bridge, where officers struggled to launch the collapsible boats. He rushed to help.
Collapsible C was not as large as the wooden lifeboats, and held only forty-seven. Although its hull was wood, its sides were canvas, making storage easier. The sides now up, it was loaded into the davit and sent on its short journey toward the water, only fifteen feet away. This craft was also fully loaded, mostly with women and children. Richard watched helplessly as two men leaped into the boat from the rapidly flooding A Deck just below.
Collapsible D followed five minutes later. There, the officer in charge, by holding hands with the five remaining crewmen, formed a ring in front of the boat. He shouted for women and children, and the ring of men broke apart for only a few minutes as they were let through.
A tall man with a French accent lifted two little boys in his arms and passed them over the heads of the linked crewmen. Two women, already standing in the boat, opened their arms for the children. “Merci, merci,” the man said, and Richard’s eyes stung at the thought of a father sending his children to safety without him.
Despite their efforts, Collapsibles A and B remained lashed upside down on the roof of the officers’ quarters.
Frustration mounted. Richard, who had never had to launch a lifeboat of any kind in his life, joined the officers who yelled and swore, trying to untie the ropes that bound the boats.
“Here, try this!” A well-dressed American passenger reached up and handed one of the officers his penknife. Moments later, a victory shout rang out as the severed rope binding gave way.
But the water had reached the boat deck, and Collapsible A, loosed from its mooring, floated off, loaded with whatever passengers had managed to scramble on.
Only one boat remained. Richard looked around at the men still occupying that part of the ship. Many passengers, their bright life vests like white splashes on a dark canvas, rushed to the rising, still dry, stern. Should he try to board? It was his last chance. He needed to survive to care for his daughter and knew he would have no chance in the below-freezing water of the ocean. Although he saw no women around at that moment, he felt sure some remained on board, to say nothing of the many other men. Judging by their clothes and demeanors, they were intelligent men, probably wealthy, whose businesses required their expertise. Who was he to take a place on the boat and perhaps survive?
Captain Smith came into view and went into the radio shack. Richard heard him tell Phillips and Bride to leave. “It’s every man for himself now,” he said before disappearing into the crowd.
Richard entered the shack just as Phillips made his way toward the stern. Bride was trying, one last time, to send a wireless message for help. He looked up.
“I heard the captain,” Richard said. “Are you still sending distress calls?”
“Using the new letters, S.O.S., ’cause it’s easier. Prob’ly the first time it’s been used in a real emergency.”
Richard had a sudden desire to make light of the whole incredible situation. “Under the circumstances, we won’t be returning your jigsaw puzzle. Sorry.”
Bride grinned. “Under the circumstances, I understand.” He became sober-faced again. “The Carpathia is on her way to rescue us. Any lifeboats left?”
“Only the last collapsible. You must come.”
“I imagine Phillips is trying for that.”
Richard pulled Bride from the shack. “I saw him heading for the stern, where there’s still some deck. The bow is almost completely under, and the stern is rising. It’s become a steep uphill climb.”
Bride’s eyes widened. “Good God, man, you’re a passenger. Why aren’t you in a boat?”
“Why aren’t you? You must go, too.”
They joined the men still wrestling with Collapsible B. Water sloshed around their feet and they swore and shouted at one another.
“Turn her over!”
“Can’t. She’s too heavy. We need four more men if we’re to do it.”
Bride and Richard each grabbed onto the sides of the boat and tried to lift it.
Suddenly, with a jolt, the bow dipped farther and a wave of water rushed at them, drenching their legs. The boat slipped out of their hands as if it had a mind of its own and slid into the water, still upside down.
Chapter 25
Beth counted the rows of porthole lights again. Only five. She tried to quell her rising panic. After all, it had been an hour since she’d boarded the lifeboat, at which point all six decks had showed above the water line. The rescue ship would arrive in time. Except, the lights in the distance never became any brighter. If they belonged to a ship, it didn’t appear to be moving in their direction.
Kathleen slept, her head on Beth’s lap, never relaxing her grip on the beloved doll.
Beth wished she could sleep. She slumped on the bench, exhausted, no energy left, the muscles in her arms and legs unwilling to attempt so minor a thing as changing position. Yet, her mind refused to shut down. Over and over, one message cycled endlessly through her head: the Titanic was sinking. The ship that the newspapers had hailed as “unsinkable” had met her match—an iceberg—and now the massive wound in her side could not stop the relentless sea water from claiming her.
The oarsmen, having rowed a considera
ble distance from the ship so as not to be pulled under when she sank, stopped rowing and—like everyone else—simply gaped at the stricken vessel. All around Beth the many women, plus a few men, spoke in hushed tones, as if in church. Although their voices didn’t rouse Kathleen, words carried through to Beth. A few of the passengers obviously knew more about the ship, or had listened to more knowledgeable people explain its construction.
“They said the ship had six water-tight compartments,” a woman said.
“The water-tight compartments didn’t hold,” an elderly man said quietly, “because the partitions didn’t go all the way up.”
“You mean,” another asked, “the water could splash over the top?”
“Yes. As the compartments filled, one by one, the water rose over the partition, flooding the next compartment, and so forth.”
After a long pause, someone said, “Whoever could have guessed that scraping along an iceberg could do so much damage to a hull made of steel?”
There were now four rows of porthole lights. The ship was sinking faster. Her heart began to pound. The rescue ship would not get there in time!
She and Kathleen were safe, at least for the time being, but what about Richard? Had he managed to get into a lifeboat? Did he, even now, sit in one of the others that rested on the eerily flat ocean surface? Her stomach felt tied in knots, and a terrible dread choked her, making her gasp for air. Cold, freezing air. She closed her mouth and lowered her head, tears burning her eyes and coursing down her cheeks.
“Look,” someone shouted. “The funnel!”
Eyes snapping open, she saw the first funnel sway precariously. With a terrible roar, it toppled down, crashing onto the deck. It would have crushed any passenger unlucky enough to be in its path. Then it tumbled, as if made of cardboard, into the sea.
Cries of sympathy—and terror—went up from the others in the lifeboat. Some stood up for a better view. They were too far away to know if anyone had been killed outright by the massive funnel, but the sound of its falling carried across the water. Beth assumed many of the women had been praying silently, but now they prayed in audible tones. Others wept openly. Some had seen their husbands standing at the railings, simply awaiting their fate, and they sat mute, dazed and paralyzed.
Cold April Page 17
