Spirit of the Titanic (13 page)

A
s Jim stood at the railings, watching the distance grow between him and the lifeboat, he was joined by an older white-bearded gentleman. I was sure I had seen him before, either in the first-class dining room or in the lounge. He had caught my attention for the simple fact that he was never without a book in his hand. In fact, I could see one now, bulging out of his coat pocket.

I was so happy to see Isobel and the children launched safely, although I felt the awful wrench at their separation from Jim. Yet, I sensed that I had achieved something, at long last. Surely I could share Jim's pride at getting them off
Titanic
. Emboldened by this, I wanted to take a quick runabout to see if there was anything else I could do, but I didn't want to leave Jim alone. Fortunately I didn't have to worry.

“Would you care to join me for a quick brandy? It would heat you up. Such a cold night, isn't it?”

Jim's relief at this kind invitation covered his surprise at being addressed by such a well-dressed gentleman. “Thank you, sir. I don't know anyone here and wasn't sure what I should do.”

“Yes, it's a strange one alright. Let's head inside.”

I went with them, finding myself unwilling to leave Jim just yet. Were I still flesh and blood I could have left with Isobel. I was only 15, wasn't I? What I mean is that I was just as scared as any other child; only every other child here had at least one of their parents with them, while Jim, who had always reminded me of Da, was the nearest I had to a mother or father.

As the two men walked together, they found themselves, rather suddenly, the centre of much attention. The assorted dogs that had been racing around, in all directions, had re-grouped and surrounded us, barking fiercely and pawing the air.

The old man merely nodded. “It seems we're not alone.”

Jim wasn't sure if the gentlemen meant the dogs and looked politely confused.

“I mean, I think you might have a companion of some sort, that is, the supernatural sort,” the old man explained with a slight smile.

I was shocked. Could he be talking about me?

The grey-haired gentleman went on watching Jim's face with interest and added, “You know what I'm talking about, don't you?”

Jim shooed the dogs away, using the threat of his suitcase, lightly whacking the nearest one across the nose. “I don't know. Maybe. It's just that we were downstairs waiting for the gates to be unlocked. Only no one came back for us. I'd still be standing down there if it wasn't for the baby, Sarah, wanting to go down the corridor, as if she could see someone and wanted to play with them. She led us, if you like, through a door to a staircase we hadn't known about. Anytime I was unsure of what direction to take, Sarah would start reaching toward what turned out to be the right way forward, at every turn. Isobel, my wife, believes in guardian angels and she thought that's what it was. I wasn't sure either way, but …”

“But you ended up at the lifeboats in the nick of time to send your family off safely.”

Jim chuckled. “Yes, yes, I suppose so.”

Neither of them could see me, but I was nodding away in agreement and possibly even blushing, though I couldn't be sure.

On entering the first-class luxurious smoking room, the man, who had introduced himself as Mr. Stead, chose two leather chairs that were no more than a couple of feet from the bar. The red-faced man and his family were nowhere to be seen, much to Jim's guilty relief. The waiter, on seeing the gentleman, immediately poured two brandies and brought them over with a dignified bow.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

The two men took a first sip in silence. Mr. Stead said appreciatively, “I don't drink much stuff like this because it makes me too sleepy to read. However, on a night like this, it's rather perfect. Wouldn't you agree?”

Jim smiled uneasily. All around him were the unmistakable sounds of a ship in trouble. Things rolled off tables and, every so often, chairs edged forward as soon as you stopped looking at them. There were also the sounds of upset, a sobbing child or a woman appealing for someone to save her. Naturally his thoughts were full of Isobel and the children. He hadn't even thought to ask where the lifeboats were heading.

Now here he was, a poor man all his life, sitting in the most glamorous surroundings he had ever seen. His mind was so muddled that his head hurt. And on top of his confused and distracted state, he had absolutely no idea how his night was going to end.

“Do you think heaven looks like this?”

He surprised himself with his own sudden question. Mr. Stead glanced around, trying to imagine how this first-class smoking room might appear to the distracted young man. He answered Jim with one of his own. “Do you think you're going to die tonight?”

Jim stared back at him and replied slowly, “I don't know. It's hard to be sure, one way or the other. Isn't it?”

The man smiled and agreed, “Yes, it is.”

There was a victorious gasp from Arthur, who had been obliged to dive to the rescue of some dainty-looking glasses that had been about to slide off his counter. Jim found himself slightly cheered by the fact that the dignified waiter had thought it necessary to prevent them from falling. That must mean there was hope yet. Arthur obviously believed there was a future for the glasses and it was more than his job's worth to permit them to be lost.

Mr. Stead followed Jim's gaze and, somehow, guessed what he was feeling. “There's always hope, my boy. It's what makes us human.”

The older man went quiet for a couple of minutes. Jim watched the people around him until the man spoke again. “Whatever does happen tonight, never forget, young man, that we're all part of history.”

“I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I understand.”

“Well, this is the biggest and most luxurious ship ever to be put out to sea.
Titanic
didn't exist a few short years ago; she was just a man's dream, a fantasy. Today, she's part of the new world, where all sorts of men are making important discoveries and pursuing knowledge just because they're curious. Electricity, motorcars, and massive ships are just a few examples of how much the human race has progressed in the last while.

“Perhaps that's one of the reasons some call her the ‘Ship of Dreams.' It's what all her passengers, rich and poor, have in common; we were here first, on the biggest ship in the whole, wide world. Don't you see? You, your pretty wife, and children are part of history forevermore — undertaking this epic journey like true adventurers or pioneers. We are the chosen ones, never to be forgotten. She is bound to us as we are to her.”

It was thrilling to hear the man talk like this. That's exactly how I felt, how I had
always
felt, from the moment I presented the first-ever boiling hot rivet to Ed and Charlie to the day I crashed to the ground, and now I believed it even more. We were all part of her, everyone who built her, worked on her, and sailed on her. Hadn't Jack scandalized Ed by loudly declaring on the morning of her launch: “God may have created the world but it was us who created
Titanic
.” In the end, even Jack gave in to sharing the same pride I had always felt.

My dear
Titanic
, damned to transform her very first passengers into her very last, would, in exchange, offer them immortality. Wasn't that what Mr. Stead meant?

He took another sip, swirling the brandy around his tongue before swallowing it. “There is real spirit on this ship. I don't just mean ghosts or even …” he lifted his glass and winked, “spirits like this brandy or whatever else Arthur is hiding behind the bar. No, I mean that amongst the passengers, crew, and
Titanic
herself, we have shared something very, very special indeed.”

The two men finished their drinks in companionable silence, jumping only slightly when a chair fell on its side. When their glasses were empty, the old gentleman reached into his pocket for his timepiece. Jim couldn't help admiring the elegant watch on its silver chain.

“Well, my boy, it's 2:10 a.m. I'm not too sure about the importance of knowing the time, at a time like this; I am merely giving in to a long ingrained habit of mine.”

They were the only passengers left in the lounge. The only other occupant was Arthur, who was scowling as he attempted to squeeze his lifejacket around his coat.

“Do you think we should go out on deck again?”

“Yes, it's probably best. If I could suggest, it might be a lot easier for you to leave your suitcase here. It looks rather heavy and will only get in your way. If I were you, I'd hide it behind the bar. That way, it will be waiting there, safe and sound, for when you need it again.”

Of course, the words “
if
you need it again” were left unsaid, but were plainly heard by both men, nevertheless.

Jim followed the sound advice, stowed away his family's belongings, and the two men made their way outside, back toward the sound of the lively music and the huge crowd.

* * *

I sensed Captain Smith nearby and found him splashing his way through the corridors. He was making a last trip to the boys in the Marconi office.

Their door was closed in a useless effort to keep the water out. Nothing much had changed in my absence. Jack was still at the desk, pounding out his frantic messages; Harold stood by, wishing he could be of more help. The only difference was the green water that was pooling around their ankles. That hadn't been there the last time.

The sight of the telegraphists still working away, despite the Atlantic seeping into every crevice of their tiny office, believing that they might be able to save everyone, made the old man swell up with emotion. He wanted, I felt, to say something momentous, something worthy of the occasion, and, in fact, he did think of something to say. It was a first line, a perfect opening: “Your parents would be very proud of you both.” Yet, he couldn't bring himself to utter this fine sentence. For one thing, there was no wonderful second line in his head. There was also the troublesome problem about the tenses. Should he use the past tense, “would have been proud,” suggesting that they were goners, thus giving away the fact that he believed that, at this stage, they were all goners? Shouldn't he behave as if there was still hope? Then again, of all the people still aboard the vessel, these two knew just about all there was to know.

Harold cleared his throat, “Er … sir?”

Captain Smith snapped out of his daze, to find the two boys staring at him.

Oh dear, how long have I been standing here?

He looked about the office, like a man taking stock of a place he would never see again. His sadness was immense, but he fought to keep it in check. Facing Jack and Harold, he gave them a smile of such pride and sorrow that Jack looked down at his messages, not wanting to hear what was coming next.

Reluctantly, Captain Smith delivered his final verdict — the facts, such as they were: “Men, you have done your full duty. You can do no more. Abandon your cabin. It's every man for himself.”

Expecting them to immediately rush to the door, the captain moved aside to allow their exit. Nothing happened, however, except that Jack went back to tapping on the radio, refusing to meet his captain's eyes, while Harold shrugged as politely as he could, to indicate that he wasn't leaving either.

What boys
, thought the old man,
what
boys
.

“You look out for yourselves. I release you both.” Then, almost under his breath, he added, “That's the way of it at this kind of time.” And then he was gone, with me close behind. As far as I could make out, he was planning to spend the rest of the time at the bridge. I left him to it while I hurried to find the baker.

* * *

I could hear Charles laughing pleasantly and really wasn't all that surprised to find him sitting on a chair, in the pantry of the first-class dining room, sharing a fresh bottle of brandy with the elderly Dr. O'Loughlin. They clinked their glasses, delighted to have found, at this hour, such a likeable friend in one another.

“The thing about the Crimean War was that thousands more soldiers died from disease than they did in battle.”

Charles scratched his chin and expressed his surprise. “Really? I didn't know that. It just goes to show how important your profession is, sir.”

“It's only as important as yours, my friend. After all, one must eat well to prevent illness in the first place.”

“Right you are, Doctor. I won't argue with you there.”

His glass now empty, Charles stood up. “Well, I suppose we should head for the upper deck.”

He was only mildly surprised when his companion, instead of moving to follow him, shook his head, his pale blue eyes twinkling all the while.

“No thank you, Mr. Joughin. I am 77 years old and have had a satisfactory life, all told. Therefore, I won't be joining you on your further adventures. I think, instead, I should like nothing more than to stay where I am and take a second drink, and then a third and then a fourth, if God grants me the time.”

Much to the old man's relief, Charles didn't try to change his mind. Instead, he offered his hand in acceptance of a decision well-made, and tapped the bottle a brief farewell. “Goodbye, Doctor. I treasured these brief minutes in your company. God bless you.”

The elderly man, already pouring his second drink, made a heartfelt reply: “Thank you, dear Mr. Joughin. You have been nothing but kindness itself.”

My mind was reeling as Charles strolled through the waterlogged corridor. All these scenes of farewell were threatening to overwhelm me. Was this what life was all about? I didn't get to say it to anyone, that day I fell. None of us got to utter it to one another, Ma, Da, or me. I felt robbed, cheated out of everything that should have been rightfully mine. What had happened to my family?