Spirit of the Titanic (8 page)

The smallness of the telegraphists' office was bothering me. I left the two boys behind and went out in search of something … what, I didn't know. To my surprise, I found that as soon as I focused on Mr. Andrews I knew exactly where he was and made my way to him. He was in full flow, racing around, making sure everyone he met, staff and passenger, was wearing a bulky, milk-coloured lifejacket. Typically he was making no distinction between the little chambermaids and the first-class passengers that he met. One young girl went running past him and he immediately called after her, “Annie, why aren't you wearing your lifejacket?”

The girl stopped, confused, and explained, “Sorry, sir, it's just that the missus asked me to fetch her jewellery from the purser's office.”

I saw the impatience in his eyes before he quickly covered it up with a tight smile, and said firmly, “Get your lifejacket before you get the jewels. Will you promise me that much?”

Annie nodded. “Yes, sir. I'll go and get it right this minute.”

“That's my girl.”

She passed a foreman, one of the lower-deck supervisors, as she headed off in the opposite direction. He was out of breath.

“Mr. Andrews, I've been looking for you. I hear we're evacuating the passengers. How bad is it?”

The engineer glanced around to make sure they were alone and asked, “Where are your men?”

“Some of them on duty in the boiler rooms; the rest of them, the day shift, are asleep in their dormitory.”

“I'm afraid it's as bad as can be, Harry. She's sinking fast — maybe an hour, maybe two, but no more than that. The best you can do is wake everyone up and get them into the lifejackets. Just keep it quiet, though; we don't want to start a panic just yet.”

With that, Mr. Andrews strode off, leaving the man trembling in his wake. The man blessed himself quickly before galloping off toward his sleeping workers. Only, he wasn't alone. A young boy, even younger than me, was following him closely. I couldn't make out his features; in fact, I couldn't even be sure of what I was looking at. It was more like a blur or a silver shadow. The longer I stared after him, the less I could see.

It was too much to think about now. I just wanted to keep going. As I quickly moved through the different sections, I was surprised to find no signs of panic or upset. The staff, that is the staff who knew what was happening, remained tight-lipped and occupied in doing what they did best. I went outside to see what was going on. There, Officer Murdoch had all his officers line both sides of the deck, poised to start working the great pulleys that would release the white, wooden lifeboats down the side of
Titanic
to the sea, one at a time. The crew, for the most part, knew what they were doing, so there was only the passengers' confusion to deal with — which was no small thing.

There was a group of passengers on deck, all from first class, and they seemed more annoyed than worried about the whole situation. There was a lot of stamping of feet and exclamations about the cold weather. All of them were squashed into their lifejackets and not many were too pleased about it. One woman called out to the officer who had been put in charge of the first lifeboat, “Must we wear this awful thing? It's extremely uncomfortable.”

I recognized her as one of the posh ladies from the captain's dinner table. She stood in between her husband and the young woman who I guessed, from her plain dress, to be her maid.

The young officer looked slightly unsure of himself. “I'm sorry, madam, but Captain said everyone is to put on a lifejacket.”

She refused to be satisfied with this, however, and looked as if she suspected the officer of lying to her. “Where is the captain? I wish to speak to him immediately.”

Suddenly Officer Murdoch appeared and answered her brusquely, “I'm afraid Captain Smith is rather busy at the moment.”

Before she could make a reply to this, he turned to address the sulky gathering: “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please. We are ordered to evacuate the ship and therefore will be lowering the first of the lifeboats within the next few minutes. Could I ask all the ladies and children to step forward, as they will be lifted out first?”

There was a standoff between the freezing passengers and officers. I couldn't believe it; not one woman made a single move. Instead, a man in a shiny top hat tut-tutted crossly. “I say, is this really necessary? Surely it's a bit melodramatic. I mean, where is the captain? Shouldn't he be talking to us?”

Officer Murdoch, to his credit, didn't seem very surprised by the crowd's reaction. The same couldn't be said of his colleagues who were standing off to the side. They caught each other's eyes and carefully made faces of disbelief to one another. I must admit to finding it all funny, in a tragic sort of way. The captain's word is law on a ship, but what happens when some of the richest people in the world refuse to carry out his orders?

When Officer Murdoch caught several women sending spiteful glances toward the less-than-glamorous lifeboat, he took a guess as to what the problem might be.

“I assure you, ladies, you will be quite safe. Once you have all taken your seats, my men and I will let the boat down very slowly. It is a long way down, I grant you, but perhaps it would be better if you kept your eyes closed until you reached the water.”

For the benefit of the men, he added, “The captain insists.”

Still the passengers remained unimpressed with the proceedings.

One lady, wrapped up in fur, took her husband's arm and turned away, saying, “Let us go back inside, my dear. We will be far safer on this ship than sitting in the middle of the ocean on that little thing and a great deal warmer too.”

Most of the crowd seemed to agree with the woman and shuffled back inside. However, much to everyone's surprise, including mine, the complaining couple and their maid remained where they were. Maybe it was because they had wisely put on their heavy coats or maybe it was because they liked the captain so much — whatever it was, it was enough. The haughty lady addressed the officers loudly and clearly, “Very well, then. I'll get into your boat but I absolutely insist that my husband comes with me.”

As far as I could see, Officer Murdoch had no choice. For one thing, there was no reason not to let the stern-looking gentleman take a seat, since there was hardly any other competition for it. More importantly, time was ticking by and, in order to encourage the rest of the passengers to make a move, Officer Murdoch needed someone to get into the first lifeboat, so that the rest would follow by example. After all, there were 15 other boats to get started on. He nodded to the young officer to let them through. Relieved to be in charge once again, the young man gestured at his fellow sailors and they re-assumed their positions at the pulley.

“Very good, madam. Give me your hand and watch your step.”

Suddenly there was a bit of a commotion.

“Here, here, let us through, there's a good chap.”

It was Chief Baker Charles Joughin, with four loaves of bread in his arms. He appeared to be leading a small army of fellow bakers, all carrying four loaves each.

“All right, boys, take a boat each and deposit your bread — careful mind. Don't let them get bashed.”

Charles gazed after his assistants with pride and seemed to address the backs of the snooty husband and wife, since they wouldn't trouble themselves to turn around, or maybe it was just their pretty maid that he made his excuses to. “That's my pantry cleared out, 40 pounds of bread. I was going to bring some cakes, but I thought they'd be too messy, you know with the cream and that. Anyway, here you are then.”

With that, he passed the bread over to the maid who had been doing her best to follow her mistress into the boat. “Oh … well I … er, thank you.”

Luckily one of the officers, who could hardly hold in his laughter, was able to take the bread from her, otherwise she would have been stuck as she definitely needed both hands to climb over the side of the boat — and neither the Lord nor Lady appeared willing to help her.

Beaming with satisfaction, the baker headed back inside. I decided to follow him. At the door of the busy first-class lounge he met Wallace Hartley with his band of musicians and exclaimed, “Ah, Wallace, we meet again. And these must be your good friends. How do you do, gentlemen?”

I was struck by the fact that the musicians were all wearing their coats and clutching their instruments at the ready — except for the man who played the piano.

“Charles! We're in a bit of a rush, I'm afraid, but I might as well introduce you to everyone while we're here. This is Jock, Theodore, Fred, and Roger. Lads, this is Mr. Charles Joughin, Chief Baker.”

Everyone shook hands.

“Where are you all off to; do you have a boat to catch?”

Wallace laughed and replied, “Gosh, no. Captain Smith asked us to go outside to play to the passengers while they're being evacuated — just to keep things cheerful-like.”

Charles was delighted. “What a wonderful idea. I think the ladies, especially, probably need a bit of comforting alright. Music always makes me feel a lot better about things — and if I can't have music, I'll take whisky instead.”

Theodore held the door open for his friends and said, “Well, Charles, it was lovely to meet you. Will you be coming out to listen to us?”

“Oh, I'll be along presently, I'm sure. I think I'll just take care of a few things first. If you know what I mean,” the baker replied with a wink.

Again everyone laughed and shook the baker's hand again as they all trooped outside. Charles couldn't resist calling after them, “Don't forget to play my favourite song!”

He made his way back downstairs with me close behind. I was intrigued about the things he wanted to take care of. A few minutes later we were in his quarters. There was no sign of the other bakers that he shared his room with. The cabin was warm and cosy, betraying no hint of the freezing temperatures outside. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a half-bottle of whisky.

“Hello, my lovely.”

I couldn't believe it.

Stretching himself out on his narrow bed, he casually bunched up his pillow into the back of his neck so that he could drink in a horizontal position. Humming his favourite song about the seaside, he slowly unscrewed the top of the bottle and took a mouthful of the brown liquid.

He was the picture of a contented man. “Glorious, just glorious! Exactly what the doctor ordered, at a time like this.”

As he took a second mouthful, there was a burst of shouting in the distance. He barely raised an eyebrow and merely took a third sip. On his fifth sip he began a conversation: “Well, I don't know what's to become of us but I tell you one thing for nothing; I'm not going to panic. Nope, it's all going to work out just fine. Everything always does in the end.”

He took another large mouthful. I sat at the end of his bed, pretending he was talking to me.

“The thing is, as Nana Joughin — may God rest her soul — always said, the less worrying a person does allows their problems to fix themselves naturally, in their own good time.”

With that he put the top back on the bottle and laid it gently beside him, flattening out his pillow to allow himself to recline perfectly.

“Ah, Nana, you were the finest of women. I hope you're having a fine old time up there, wrestling with Saint Peter and joking with the Good Lord himself. God bless you. Sure, I might be seeing you soon.”

Then, bellowing out a contented yawn, he shut his eyes and floated off to sleep.

L
eaving the baker to his dreams, I sped down to third class. Just as I suspected, Jim, Isobel, and the children were still fast asleep. I couldn't help smiling, in spite of everything, when I heard baby Sarah snoring louder than her father. The scene was the same from cabin to cabin. Hundreds below deck had no idea that anything was amiss. After all, there were so many doors to be knocked on, starting with the wealthiest. It was really frustrating, even if I could have caused some commotion by sending something crashing to the ground, to wake up them up, there was absolutely nothing in the tiny cabin aside from the beds and wash basin, and they were all firmly nailed into place. I tried blowing on Jim's face, but he merely scratched his nose as he slept. There was nothing for it but to trust that the efficient and hard-working staff would be along shortly to get everybody up. With some reluctance I took a last look at the contented family, promising them that I'd be back as soon as I could.

I went back up on deck to scan the black sea in the hope of spying an approaching ship. Maybe Charles was right, that it would all work out in the end. I hadn't visited the Marconi office in a while. For all I knew they could have contacted someone who could help us in time. However, there was nothing on the horizon — nothing around
Titanic
except cold water, ice, and more ice.

Frederick Fleet and his fellow lookout Reggie looked stunned by all the activity on deck. I saw them shyly approach Officer Murdoch and present themselves for duty. Reggie was sent one way, Frederick was sent another.

“Okay, Fleet, go over and make yourself useful to Officer Lightoller.”

Frederick made his way to the other side of the deck, keeping his eyes down the whole time. It was as if he was somehow scared of the passengers around him. In fact, there wasn't a sadder face to be seen. I watched him take a deep breath as he stepped up to the broad figure of Second Officer Lightoller, and I felt prompted to stand beside him for he seemed in dire need of a friend.

Officer Lightoller was a tough-looking sailor, with square shoulders and a wide-legged stance. I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find he was some sort of boxing champion. He wasn't as polite as his colleagues, being far more concerned with carrying out his job as efficiently as possible and allowing no one to stand in his way. Therefore, when a well-dressed lady, upon being beckoned forward by him, shook her head violently and began to cry, she found herself being grabbed by Lightoller's assistants and practically tossed into the lifeboat. He'd probably have treated his grandmother in the exact same way. Really, I couldn't help admiring the officer who seemed completely unafraid of crying women and the upper classes.

“Sir, Frederick Fleet reporting for duty, sir, on Officer Murdoch's orders.”

“Very good, Fleet. You're one of the lookouts, aren't you? This one is just about ready to be set down, so I need you on it. I trust you can row a boat.”

Fred opened his mouth to make a reply but Lightoller rushed on.

“Well, if you don't, you'll soon learn. Take the right oar. Two other men will go with you, to help row and navigate.”

“Yes, sir.”

They watched a young girl and her anxious mother thread their way into the boat. Fred took the opportunity to ask his new commanding officer a question.

“Sir, where should we row to?”

Keeping his eye on the mother and daughter, the officer replied in a low voice, “Just row as fast as possible away from the ship. After that, your navigator is in charge.”

Fred managed to hide the gulp of fear he inhaled, from Lightoller, at least.
So, that was it.
Titanic
was going to sink
. That's why Lightoller told him to row fast, in case the lifeboat got pulled down into the ocean with her.

Whereas I was perfectly free to be upset and confused, the young lookout was losing a battle to control his emotions. I felt his panicked embarrassment when his disobedient eyes misted over with tears. Lightoller, who had shown no patience for sobbing women, seemed mostly curious about the tearful boy standing beside him.

“Whatever is the matter? You're going to be safe. Apart from having to deal with that lot, you're going to be fine.”

Fred blinked hard. “It's … it's not that, sir. It was me that saw the iceberg; only I saw it too late, didn't I? This is all my fault. I looked and looked, but we were almost on top of it before I could make it out.”

Like me, the older man was genuinely struck by the sorrow on the lookout's face. Glancing around to make sure he was free to say what he wanted, he gestured at Fred to move closer.

“Fleet, I'll tell you something but don't repeat it to anyone else, alright? You're not to blame for this. Maybe no one person is. Having said that, one thing I'd have done differently is this: I'd have let her hit that blooming iceberg head on. As far as I'm concerned, none of this would be happening if she had just smashed her nose into it.”

With that, Officer Lightoller turned away to issue orders for the boat to be lowered. For the last time he called for more women and children, but none came forward. There were other boats waiting to be launched, so it was time to move on. Fred understood the conversation was over and readied himself for action.

The women in the boat were like sheep. They sat demurely, hands by their side, in silence, without the slightest idea of what to expect next — except for one. It was the forthright American, Mrs. Brown, another diner from Captain Smith's table. She was looking at Frederick, with some concern, obviously noting the fact that he was far from happy. As the young boy accidentally met her eye, she startled him by winking mischievously. It was strange how such an observant woman didn't notice that her wide-brimmed hat, which was over loaded with flowers and ribbons, kept knocking the head of the tense-looking woman sitting beside her.

Lightoller gestured to the boat.

“Off you go then, Fleet. Don't forget, right oar with long, even strokes.”

Fred climbed in and took the seat on the starboard side, gripping the large, wooden oar with both hands, despite the fact it would take several minutes to make the long descent to the water below. I was interested to see the descent. There were a few gasps from the women as the boat swayed in mid-air, inching its way down the side of the enormous ship. Mrs. Brown, probably attempting to offer comfort, said loudly, “Well, girls, thank goodness it isn't windy. Imagine doing this in the middle of a storm.” No one answered her, but she didn't seem to mind.

At least the journey to the ocean was well-lit. All the windows and portholes blazed with light. No doubt the ladies found it peculiar to be that close to the outside of a ship. Of course, it was a position I was very familiar with. A few of the women were also in terror at being so high in the air. They shut their eyes tightly, one of them mouthing the words of a prayer.

One young girl, sitting in front of Frederick, slowly leaned toward the edge of the boat. Mrs. Brown immediately called out to her. “No, honey. Don't look down. It will only upset you, and it's probably best not to look up either.”

I could see Frederick discreetly straining to see as much of
Titanic
as possible. He was doing his best not to draw attention to himself, especially from the flamboyant American. I guessed him to be searching for any visible evidence of the collision with the iceberg. The puzzled look on his face told me that he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. When they eventually sat on the water, the other sailor told Fred to follow his lead, waiting a heartbeat before plunging his oar into the sea. Fred did the same.

Both rowers were facing the ship in order to row away from her. As I watched, Fred did a double take. He was staring at the front of the ship. Next I saw him glance cautiously at his neighbour, who gave him a warning look, indicating that he should keep quiet and continue rowing. How I wished I could see what they did. Within a couple of minutes, they had disappeared into the silent, dark night and I found myself glad to turn back to the noisy, crowded deck once more.

Wallace and his band were playing lively music that I didn't recognize. I thought it made a huge difference to hear the cello and the violins singing out such a catchy tune. Not many people seemed to be really listening to them, yet quite a crowd had gathered near them. The officers were working hard to fill the lifeboats and then launch them, though they still faced resistance from a lot of the passengers. I found a tense Thomas Andrews walking the length of the ship, interrupting the clusters of women who were standing around talking instead of climbing into the lifeboats.

“Ladies, you must get in at once. There isn't a moment to lose. You haven't time to pick and choose your boat. Don't hesitate. Please, get in. Get in.”

It bothered me that none of the launched lifeboats was actually full. For instance, that first boat containing the grand couple and their maid had just 12 people in it. There should have been 70, not 12. What madness! Mr. Andrews joined me at the railings, checking perhaps to see how the boats sat on the water. “Oh, my God!” he mumbled to himself, before calling to one of the sailors, “Why aren't those boats filled to their proper capacity?”

“Because they won't bloomin' get in them,” was the rude reply. The busy man obviously didn't know who he was talking to.

Pain was etched across the engineer's face as he rushed to the nearest group of people and pleaded, “Ladies, I must insist on you leaving
immediately
.”

Just then there was an explosion in the sky above us, a flash of colour dashing forth for just an instant. A few of the women screamed.

Mr. Andrews called out, “Don't be alarmed; they've set off the rockets to alert ships to our situation.”

At this explanation, there was a huge shift in the passengers' attitudes. Up to that point, the majority had trouble accepting that the evacuation was an absolute necessity. Scenes of utter disbelief were played out, from one side of
Titanic
to the other.

“Must I really get into that tiny thing? I thought this ship was unsinkable. Where's the captain? I demand to see him.”

“Do you really expect us to believe that a ship of this size and magnitude is going to sink because of some iceberg?”

These same voices were instantly silenced by the whooshing sound of the first rocket. Nobody could argue with the fact that a ship releasing rockets was a ship in distress. Hundreds of husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons now turned to their womenfolk and bade them to go. Very few women, however, were immediately obedient. In many cases crewmen were forced to drag women away from their male companions, turning deaf ears to the screams of protest. Here and there some of the men tried to convince their families that they would be following on a later boat.

One elderly couple caught my eye. They were standing in the centre of a small circle of gentlemen, who seemed to know them well, and reminded me of my father's parents — grey and dignified in their obvious devotion to one another.

“Mrs. Strauss, there is no need to be afraid. You will be perfectly safe, as will Mr. Strauss. We won't leave his side.”

His wife smiled vaguely at her friends but didn't budge an inch.

The gentleman, Mr. Strauss, gently remonstrated with his wife for not obeying the captain's orders.

“Rosalie, Captain Smith wishes you to get into a lifeboat, along with the other women and children.”

However, Mrs. Strauss only pursed her lips and kept a hold on her husband's arm. I'm sure that the old man could have made her go had he issued her with a stern order, but something prevented him from taking this final step. I sensed his reluctance to say goodbye to her. One of the men tried a different line of reasoning.

“Madam, with all respect, if you don't go Mr. Strauss will be anxious about your safety. Surely you don't want to cause him undue worry.”

It seemed she had finally been convinced. Hanging her head, she mumbled, “Very well, Isidor,” and allowed herself to be escorted to join the line of women and children waiting to board lifeboat 8. However, when her husband stepped away from her to rejoin his friends, she flipped around to look at him. How small and vulnerable he must have seemed to her as he took his place beside the taller, younger, and altogether stronger-looking men. No doubt she was thinking about the fact that she had taken care of them both for many years and, now,
here we are in this dreadful situation, from which I am expected to just waltz off and leave him behind
. I wasn't the least bit surprised when she shook her head and marched right back to her group. Ignoring the crowd, the harassed officers and the worried frowns of their companions, she looked her husband in the eye and stated firmly, “We have been married for over 40 years. Where you go, I go.”

Her husband knew better than to waste any more time in persuading her to leave again. Besides, I think he preferred that they be together, no matter what. Some of the young gentlemen came up with a different plan. One of them gestured to Mr. Strauss and then to the lifeboat, saying, “I'm sure nobody would mind a gentleman of your years getting in and then you could both be safe.”

But the old man wouldn't hear of it. “No, I will not go before other men.”

Likewise, his wife didn't bother arguing with him. Their decision made, to face whatever was coming, side by side, they smiled at one another and walked away from their companions, hand in hand, to the deck chairs to take a seat.

“No, Lucien, I can't. I'm not leaving you.” It was the same couple I had spied earlier, when the husband thought he had heard the laughter of his favourite aunt.

The wife was crying as her husband led her by the hand toward the officer who was calling for more women and children. Fixing his face into a stern expression, he took a deep breath and turned to her, dropping her hand as if in annoyance — but I knew he didn't mean it.