Every Man for Himself (21 page)

There was terrible confusion below, the passageways jammed with people, their possessions stowed in pillowcases slung across their shoulders. We saw not a single officer or steward as we forced our way through. A boy riding a home-made hobby horse with a skein of red yarn for a mane scraped my ankle; his mother scurried behind carrying an infant, a shawl over her breast, the tiny fingers of the child caught like a brooch in the wool. In the public lounge an untidy circle of men and women surrounded a priest reciting the rosary. Some knelt, others rocked backwards and forwards as though the ship rolled beneath them. The priest was a bear of a man with a great splodge of a nose and he gabbled rather than spoke, the responses swirling about him like the hectic buzzing of disturbed bees. Coming to a bend in the passage near the dormitories, we had to flatten ourselves against the tiled wall as a dozen or more stokers, faces black with grease and some carrying shovels, swept headlong past. The fans in the ceiling had stopped spinning and it was uncomfortably warm. I couldn’t help contrasting this subterranean hell with the Eden above, where, under the twinkling stars, they paced to the swoon of violins.

Moments later we spotted Adele coming from the direction of the kitchens. One hand balanced aloft a cheap suitcase, a loaf of bread teetering on top, the other hitched up the skirt of Rosenfelder’s dress, exposing her handsome legs to the knee. She wore a black cloak lent by Lady Duff Gordon; even so, we could clearly see the edges of that waterfall train had become trimmed with dirt.

‘My God,’ cried Rosenfelder. He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his honey-coloured fur and, sinking to the floor, frantically dabbed at the material. He was knocked sideways by the blundering run of a middle-aged man carrying a dinner plate rattling with spoons. I was ashamed on Rosenfelder’s behalf – so much more was at stake than a ruined gown – and dragged him to his feet. Adele said, ‘There’s sea water trickling across the floor of the kitchen. My shoes have turned crusty,’ and sure enough, her ivory slippers were stained yellow at the toes.

We escorted her to the boat deck, starboard. A boat was being prepared for lowering. Either the ropes were too new and too stiff or the cleats weren’t oiled sufficiently, but the handlers were having a devil of a job getting her down from the davits. There was no sign of Ginsberg and the girls. Astor and his wife were standing nearby, not touching, he looking out into the night, she drooping beneath the studded sky. He had brought up his dog; yawning, its breath curled like smoke. Mrs Brown was there too with the Carters and Mrs Hogeboom. Mrs Carter said she was worn out traipsing the stairs from one deck to another and would be glad to sit down. While we were waiting I strolled towards the stern. Ahead of me an officer hurried towards two women coming from the port side in the direction of the gate separating the first and second class. He held up his arm. ‘May we pass?’ one of the women asked, and he replied, ‘No, madam, your boats are down on your own deck,’ and they trailed away.

When our boat was at last ready and Mrs Carter had boarded, Mr Carter cried out, ‘If anything should prevent me from following, everything you need to know is in the third drawer down in the bureau.’

‘Yes, dear,’ replied Mrs Carter.

The Astors stepped forward. Helping his wife over the gunwale Astor asked, ‘I can go with her, can’t I? She needs me.’ His foot was raised, ready to climb. The officer replied, ‘I’m afraid you can’t, sir. We have to see to the women first.’ ‘I understand,’ Astor said, and dropped back instantly. His wife looked at him; she gave a plucky little smile as he waved his farewell. I turned to Adele and seized her elbow. She was tearing chunks out of the loaf with her teeth, as though famished. She shook me away and crumbs flew in all directions. ‘I’m not getting in that thing,’ she said. ‘I’ll go when the Duff Gordons tell me it’s time.’ I think Rosenfelder was relieved at her refusal. Mrs Carter had shown him her torn coat.

The boat descended with creaks and groans. It was half full, no more. We peered down, waiting to hear it hit the water. ‘We need a man,’ bellowed the spunky Mrs Brown, her hat in the light of the portholes assuming the shape of a swooping vulture. ‘There’s no one at the tiller.’ The officer shouted for a seaman and a wine steward from the a` la carte restaurant darted forward and shimmied down the rope before anyone could stop him. Someone screamed out he was a damned scoundrel. We watched the boat row away. There were no lanterns on board and once it had moved out of the shimmer of the porthole lights we heard only the ghostly splashings of the oars. ‘Garfield has the key,’ called Mr Carter. There was no reply.

The second boat was almost in place when it jammed some three feet above the rail. A complicated procedure required it to jerk upwards before coming down; I supposed this was to make sure the ropes were running free. The officer in charge turned – I was fortunate to be standing nearest to him – and called for assistance. I leapt at the chance, glad to be active at last, and put my whole heart into the task, tugging and pushing as though it was my own life that depended on it. And when we had got it straight, or fairly so, and the officer shouted for the women to come forward, I was able to help them up and tumble them aboard. Again the boat was cranked away half full, and I couldn’t but do arithmetic in my head and subtract the saved from those left behind, particularly those bewildered souls I had seen below in the steerage class.

I was now ordered to the port side where there were more men than women gathered on deck. I learnt later that a rumour had gone round to the effect that men were to be taken off from here and women from the starboard side. Whatever the truth of it, when boat Number 5 was ready to be filled there were so few women that a dozen or more men were allowed to clamber in. I asked the officer if we shouldn’t wait but he said there wasn’t time and he daren’t fill it to capacity, not at this height, because the boat might break in two under the strain. There are women and children waiting below at the gangway hatches,’ he said. ‘They can enter more easily from there.’ As the boat dropped in fits and starts, the women clinging to each other, a commotion broke out to my right and a man shouted, ‘Faster . . . faster . . . lower away faster, I tell you.’ It was Bruce Ismay, whirling his arms round like a windmill. He had lost one of his slippers and his bare foot stamped the deck as he cried out again in a fever of impatience, ‘Faster, damn you . . . faster.’ Then the officer supervising got angry, and shouted back, ‘If you’ll get the hell out of the way, I’ll be able to do my job. You want me to lower away faster? You fool, you’ll have me drown the lot of them.’ At this Ismay limped off, his arms still swinging. I craned over the rail, expecting to see the boat halt on a level with the hatches, but it met the water and rowed away.

Shortly after, they started sending up more rockets, this time at five-minute intervals. As each glare flashed the deck with light the upturned faces froze in shock. In one such instant I glimpsed Adele, curved like a mermaid with that glimmering train swished aside. I made my way along the now crowded deck and reaching her, urged her to follow me. She told me she had arranged to meet up with Rosenfelder and the Duff Gordons on the forward area, but had lost them in a sudden stampede to starboard. I asked if she had seen Wallis and she said she had, in the foyer with Ginsberg and another girl, but that was a while ago. Wallis had been smoking a cigarette.

I was escorting her forward when an officer marched up and demanded I fetch blankets from the store room. Just then the Strauses passed by with their maid. The girl was crying, protesting that she didn’t want to leave them, and they were assuring her that it was for the best and that she must think of her widowed mother. I pressed Mr Straus to look after Adele and he replied it would give him pleasure.

I hadn’t the faintest idea where the store room might be, but remembering the rugs flung to the floor as they utilised the steamer chairs on the enclosed promenade, I hurried below. Securing a hefty pile I was about to return when I glanced through the windows into the smoke-room. It appeared empty save for a circle of men playing cards in front of the fire – but then, one of the players shifted and to my amazement, behind him in the alcove, I saw Wallis sitting with Ginsberg. Dreadfully concerned, I dashed inside.

When she saw me she waved her hand excitedly and cried out, ‘Now we’ll know what’s happening.’

I could tell by their flushed faces that they’d both been drinking. Knowing what I knew about her, I suppose I shouldn’t have been so shocked, but I was. Absurdly, I felt I was to blame in some way. Furiously I turned on Ginsberg and called him a blazing idiot for not taking her up on deck.

‘Steady on,’ he protested. ‘I did try. She wouldn’t have it.’

‘I almost went,’ she said. ‘Earlier, with Molly. I feel rather guilty about it. She was clutching my arm and at the last moment I just twisted away. I couldn’t stand the idea of being cooped up with all those bawling children.’

‘Ida, at least, is safe,’ I said.

‘Safe?’

‘Yes, safe,’ I ground out. ‘The ship is sinking, or hadn’t you heard? She looked all over for you. The door to your room was locked.’

‘I was with Ginsberg,’ she insisted. ‘I can’t think why the door was locked.’

There was the slightest pause, in which she and Ginsberg exchanged glances. Defiantly, she took one of his cigarettes and waited for him to light it. ‘Stay and have a drink,’ she urged. ‘The stewards have all vanished but Ginsberg keeps leaping over the bar.’

‘You needn’t look at me like that, Morgan,’ Ginsberg said. ‘I’ve been scrupulous in leaving money behind. It’s as well to be honest, don’t you think, even if no one will ever know.’

Tearing the cigarette from Wallis’s fingers I crushed it flat in the spittoon.

‘Dear me,’ she cried, ‘you’re as touchy as Ida.’

‘She didn’t want to get into the boat,’ I shouted, ‘not without you. She would have stayed if the officer in charge hadn’t shoved her aboard.’

‘Poor dear Ida,’ Wallis murmured, ‘she’s always responded to shoving,’ at which, exasperated beyond endurance, I left them.

Guggenheim was blocking the gymnasium doorway, peering through the window to watch Kitty Webb walk away. He stepped aside to let me pass and Kitty looked back and called out, ‘Be seeing you, Benny.’ He said, ‘Goodbye, little girl,’ but I doubt if she heard because the door was already closing and the orchestra stood near by. In spite of the cold the cellist wore no gloves and I marvelled that he managed to hold his bow so steady on the strings.

Captain Smith had come down from the bridge and was standing with the quartermaster at the foot of the companionway. They were both staring into the night. I wanted Smith to notice I was being useful, so I approached and handed the rugs to the quartermaster. He took them without comment; Smith’s gaze never wavered from the horizon. It was possible to believe a whole fleet of ships lay anchored there, for the stars shone so brightly that where the heavens dipped to meet the sea it swam with points of diamond light. I walked further off, stamping my feet to stop my toes from freezing, until I heard the creaking of the davits on the forward area. They were releasing Number 1 boat and I raced to assist.

This time my help wasn’t welcome; there were at least six or seven members of the crew manoeuvring it into position. Ready to shift, they all climbed in, and at that moment a man and three women crossed out of the shadows and I heard Duff Gordon’s voice say, ‘May we get into the boat?’ and the rough reply, ‘If you must.’ I supposed two of the women to be Adele and the Strauses’ maid, but as I got closer I saw both were elderly. I called out to Lady Duff Gordon, asking what had happened to Adele, but already the boat was swinging away and she couldn’t have heard me. I shouted up to the officer to wait, for I had clearly seen there was room for thirty or more aboard, but he continued to work the ropes, bellowing at me to stand back; I guess he was under the impression that I was trying to save myself.

As the last life-boat on the starboard side dropped from sight, a great swoosh of smoke belched from the funnels and rubbed out the sky. When it had drifted on and the milky stars came back I heard the first gun-shot.

I was running in the direction of the report when Charlie came haring up.

‘Wallis wants you,’ he panted. ‘You must come and talk to her. She refuses to move unless you speak to her. Hopper tried to carry her off bodily but she kicked him. She’s frightfully squiffy.’

‘The shot,’ I said. ‘I heard a shot.’

‘There was a bit of a rumpus on the port side. Some of the men tried to rush the boats and the second officer fired over their heads. They were steerage passengers, of course.’

The men in the smoke-room were still playing cards. Ginsberg had gone. Hopper stood with his leg raised on a chair, scowling and rubbing at his shins. ‘You talk sense into her,’ he muttered. ‘She’s gone crazy.’

Wallis looked at me with glittering eyes. Such a look! Not crazy at all but ugly with suffering. I knew what was wrong with her without being told, as though her soul had flashed on mine. Pity welled up in me, and envy too, for I might never know the sort of love that gripped her by the throat.

‘Please,’ she croaked. ‘I must speak to him. You will find him, won’t you?’

‘I’ll try,’ I said. ‘But you must come on deck to be near the boats.’

‘I can’t move,’ she said.

‘I know,’ I soothed. ‘Charlie will carry you.’

I didn’t look for Scurra. Not right away. There were more urgent matters to attend to, for when I came out on to the promenade there were at least a hundred people milling about the deck, shouting and shoving at each other in their attempts to get to a life-boat swaying at the rail. There were steerage passengers among them now; I caught sight of the priest with the nose and the boy with the hobby-horse. The officers were striking out with their feet at the men and hauling the women up like so many sacks. There was no thought in my mind of going back for Wallis; it would have been well-nigh impossible for Charlie to get her through such a crush. Hopper and I fought our way to the front and once there stood shoulder to shoulder, heaving the men aside and passing the women and children into the arms of the officer who knelt on the gunwale. Fists punched my face but I scarcely felt the blows.