Ship of Dreams (30 page)

"But when is that likely to be, do you think?" asked Easton. "The captain seems confident she'll float till morning, but I admit I'm skeptical."

"I'll be surprised if she lasts till midnight," Kent agreed. "We'd best be prepared." He helped Easton lash two more ropes around the door, then they hauled it to the leeward rail. A faint shout upon the waves drew their attention.

One more lifeboat had returned, and John Black, the boatswain, stood up in its stern and hailed the steamer. When they deciphered his words, however, their brief spurt of hope died.

"She's stove and leaking," the bo'sun shouted. "I'm sorry, Captain!"

"Keep off, then," Herndon shouted back from the top of the wheelhouse, where he and Mr. Frazer were struggling with another rocket. "Stay back at least a hundred yards."

Kent and Easton exchanged a glance, then in unspoken agreement went to join the captain and first officer. "Can we be of assistance?" Kent asked as they climbed up beside them.

Captain Herndon turned, and Kent was struck by the quiet resignation in his face. He'd meant it when he'd promised to go down with his ship, that first night out of Havana. But all he said was, "Give me your cigar, Easton, for this last rocket."

Ansel handed the captain his cigar, but just as he touched it to the rocket fuse, a massive wave hit the ship, making it shudder from bow to stern. To Kent's surprise, the captain directed the rocket downward at an angle toward the sea, rather than upward. Then, with a sickening start, he remembered that a rocket fired downward was a maritime signal for imminent sinking. Intercepting his look, Captain Herndon nodded sadly.

"This is it, gentlemen. It has been my honor to know you, and I apologize that I was unable to bring you safely to New York."

Another great wave hit the ship, and the bow began to rise, as the stern was slowly sucked beneath the water. Screams and shouts arose, as men began to abandon the ship on all sides.

"This is our cue," Kent told Easton. With difficulty, they clambered down the tilting ladder to the main deck, only to find that their raft was already gone—either washed overboard or seized by other desperate passengers.

"Over the side then," said Kent urgently. "We've life preservers. It's our only hope."

Even as they leaped—and the ship rode so low in the water now that they had only to jump a few yards—the bow rose higher and began to turn, almost idly, in a circle.

"A whirlpool," Easton gasped as they attempted to paddle away from the ship. "She's caught in a whirlpool!"

Their progress was painfully slow. It was obvious to Kent that they could not get nearly far enough from the ship to avoid being sucked down with her. Indeed, even as he thought it, with a great creaking groan, the
Central America
sank with a rush, her lights disappearing beneath the waves to engulf them all in terrifying darkness.

Kent took a deep breath a split second before he was pulled under—far under—along with everything else within fifty feet of the steamer. He felt the straps of his life preserver giving way, and clutched at them desperately, knowing it was his only hope. Just as he thought his lungs would burst, he felt himself moving upward again. Kicking hard against the water, he fought for the surface.

After what seemed an eternity but could have been only seconds, his head broke through to blessed air. He sucked it into his lungs once, twice, three times, and then he heard an ominous rumbling below him. Jettisoned from far beneath the surface by their own buoyancy, boards, doors, spars, barrels—and bodies—shot upward. A large piece of decking erupted less than two yards from him to be propelled ten feet into the air—directly above him. It reached its peak then fell. All Kent could do was brace himself for the impact before everything went black.

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Della and Addie huddled together under a blanket the captain of the
Marine
had thoughtfully given them. More than two hours had passed since the last lifeboat had left for the steamer. During that time, Captain Burt had managed to tack in a wide circle, and now, at last, approached the
Central America
again from the windward side. Her lights shone through the fitful rain, no more than two miles distant, Della guessed.

"Look, Addie! We'll reach them yet!" she said, pointing.

Addie had nearly fallen asleep, but at her words she sat up straighter. "Oh, we are coming closer. We are! But look how low in the water she sits."

Della bit her lip. She had already noticed that distressing fact and privately thought Captain Burt's claim that the steamer would float until morning was unwarranted. As they watched, a streak of flame shot into the lowering clouds—a distress flare.

"Isn't that a sail, there, near the steamship?" Della asked after a moment. "Another ship has come!"

"Yes, but it's moving away," Addie pointed out after a moment.

"Perhaps the men have already been transferred to it," Della suggested, though she knew there had not been time for that, not unless the other ship had dozens of boats of its own.

"Perhaps," Addie agreed, but Della knew they were merely trying to keep up each other's spirits. They stared at the steamer's lights, willing them to come closer. The other ship, visible only by its own lights, moved farther and farther away.

"Why don't they come this way?" Addie cried. "Surely they must see our lights as well."

Della shook her head. "They must also be crippled by the storm and unable to maneuver well. But they may well have taken passengers off of our old ship while they were near."

Slowly, slowly, they drew nearer the
Central America
. Both women anxiously watched their progress, hands clasped together for comfort. Then another rocket left the steamer, this time at an oblique angle, to disappear quickly into the sea.

"What do you suppose ... ?" Addie asked, but Della merely pointed. They watched, horrified, as the lights of the steamer disappeared, row by row, until all was darkness.

"No," Addie whispered. "Oh, no."

Della folded the other woman in her arms, though her own heart felt as though it had died as well. With vain, halting words, she tried to tell Addie—and herself—that some of the men must have escaped. Captain Burt approached them, his hat in his hand.

"Ladies, won't you go below now?" he asked quietly.

In unison, they shook their heads. "We have to know," Della explained brokenly. "Surely there will be some word—"

"When there is, be sure I will bring it to you immediately," the captain promised.

Numbly, Della and Addie rose and allowed themselves to be led below. Women and children, some of them injured, were crowded into an inadequate cabin there, with seawater several inches deep sloshing with every movement of the ship. Old Aunt Lucy, the stewardess, was the most seriously hurt. Her breathing was labored and from her weakness, Della feared she must be bleeding internally. For half an hour Della spoke softly to her, comforting her as best she could until she slept.

Then she moved among the others, looking for some way to occupy herself by helping anyone who might be in need. Most, however, were either dozing or huddled in despair, far beyond any aid she could offer.

"I can't remain here," she finally said to Addie. "I'm going back on deck."

"I'll come with you." Together, they climbed back up the narrow stairway and settled themselves on a hatchway near the prow. A moment later, without a word, Captain Burt brought them a large sheet of sailcloth and spread it for them to sit on.

"Thank you, Captain, for understanding." Della managed a weary smile of gratitude. The captain only grunted.

Though they were soaked through with rain and the occasional wave, neither woman moved as one hour stretched into two. The captain had just come up to plead with them again to go below when a hoarse shout was heard upon the waves.

Della sprang up with an energy she hadn't known she still possessed and ran to the rail. "It's Mr. Black, with the last boat," she cried.

The captain ordered a line dropped, and a few minutes later the
Central America
's boatswain scrambled aboard. The activity had brought several other women up from below, and a fair crowd was gathered breathlessly by the time he stepped on deck.

"What news, man, what news?" asked Captain Burt impatiently.

John Black looked around at the anxious faces, and his expression killed all hope in Della's heart even before he spoke the dreadful words:

"The steamer has gone down," he said dully, "and every soul aboard her has been lost."

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CHAPTER 19

How long in that same fit I lay,

I have not to declare;

But ere my living life returned,

I heard and in my soul discerned

Two voices in the air.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Della caught Addie as she collapsed. "Are you sure?" she asked Mr. Black urgently. "What of the other ship we saw in the distance?"

"I can't speak to that," the man answered, "but the deck of the
Central America
was still thick with men when she went down. If any were taken off, it wasn't many. And there was no ship by her when she sank, that I do know."

The other ship must not have had boats then, Della thought, though aloud she said, "Then there may be a hope still, Addie, however slim."

But Addie shook her head. This latest news seemed to have finally broken her spirit. Around them, other women wept, some silently and some audibly, pitifully, railing against fate. Della helped the captain to quiet them and get them settled again below for what remained of the night. She urged Addie, Virginia, and even poor Mary Patterson to help, knowing that activity would distract them from their pain.

Addie joined in after only a moment's hesitation, but Virginia and Mary were too weak and weary from grief and seasickness to move. Della's own heart felt cold and dead within her breast. Soon, she knew, the agony must come, piercing the numbness. For now, though, she was willing to delay all emotion and concentrate on the tasks at hand.

The cabin was terribly crowded, so once tea and hard bread had been passed around, Della and Addie returned to the deck to sleep, agreeing that they would do better away from the palpable grief and sickness below. Captain Burt brought them another sheet of sailcloth to use as a blanket, and they made their bed on the same hatchway where they had held their fruitless vigil.

The next two days passed slowly, agonizingly, for all of them. Food and water being in short supply, they subsisted mainly on mush and molasses, sharing a handful of spoons and cups among a hundred people. The storm had finally blown itself out, and Della could not help but question the timing of the heavens.
 

Despite all the ship's doctor could do, Aunt Lucy died of her injuries. Della held the black stewardess's hand at the last, wishing she could have done the same for Kent in his last moments. Addie continued to pray at intervals, for the others, sick and hurt, aboard the
Marine
and for those who might have survived the sinking of the
Central America
.

Della envied her the comfort she drew from her faith, but could not bring herself to do likewise. She had finally found love, had been given a chance at a new life, only to have it snatched away. Providence had played them all a cruel joke, and she refused to ask anything more of it. The luck she had always been able to count on had finally run out.

On the third day they met a schooner, and its captain agreed to provide them with whatever food and water he could spare. He came aboard briefly, to hear the tale of the shipwreck and survey the survivors, hungry, weary and sunburned.

"You can have anything I have," he said gruffly, and Della was surprised to see tears standing in the hardened seaman's eyes. Were they really such a pitiful lot? She supposed they were.

The captain's sympathy had an odd effect on her, both hardening her resolve to survive, and causing unwilling gratitude to well up within her. She had always hated being dependent on anyone other than herself, but now she could not help but be thankful for the help offered her and her friends. The feeling bothered her.

Captain Burt did all he could to cheer the survivors, telling them of miraculous rescues at sea he had heard about. More than once Della heard him tell Addie that he believed she would see her husband again when they reached port. At one point she took him aside.

"Don't you think it wrong to raise her hopes like that? She's been through enough already, Captain."