Spirit of the Titanic (9 page)

“I never expected to have to ask you to obey me, but this is one time you must. My dear, it's only a matter of form to have women and children first. The ship is thoroughly equipped and everyone on her will be saved.”

She was obviously unused to having him speak to her like that and bowed her head in shame. Her nose had begun to run in the cold air, and since all her belongings were back in their cabin she quickly dabbed at it with the sleeve of her coat. Lucien, a dark, handsome man with a kind face, placed his own handkerchief into her trembling hands and firmly turned her by the shoulders, so that she had but one step further to take before being helped into the lifeboat. Looking miserable, she took her place in the middle of the strangers. None of the other women was in a position to offer her much sympathy as they were much too worried about the men on deck waving them a fond farewell. Lucien, knowing only his wife, stepped back, utterly alone, into the shadows, so that she wouldn't see his own tears.

A scuffle broke out beside us. An old lady, with grey hair and huge bosoms, was actually fighting off the two officers who were trying to force her into the lifeboat. I couldn't see any man with her, husband or otherwise, as she punched out with her fist of jewellery, screeching at the top of her voice, “Leave me alone, you brutes. I am not getting into that bathtub. How dare you! Take your filthy hands off me.”

I could plainly see the terror in her eyes and, finally, her captors, realizing that there were still hundreds of women and children who
wanted
to be saved, let her go. She took off at an impressive speed, heading for goodness knows where. Lucien saw all of this and was filled with a new appreciation for his brave wife. As her boat was being lowered, he raced to the edge of the deck and called after her, “Maria, Maria. Be brave. Everything will be fine. See you soon, my love.”

What a difference his words made. Her tear-stained face lit up with pure joy as she blew him a kiss to show him that she wasn't afraid anymore. She would be brave, just for him, just as he asked.

I
fled to the Marconi room, hoping to hear some good news. Jack was now in communication with several other ships. Harold arrived just behind me and asked him for an update.

“Well,
Titanic
's sister, the
Olympic
, is rushing to meet us, but she's even farther away than the
Carpathia
. There are a few ships heading in our direction, but not one is close enough.”

Jack's voice cracked slightly but he covered it up with a cough.

“What's happening upstairs?”

Not wanting to add to his friend's stress, Harold kept his answer vague. “Oh, it's mad busy. The band is playing, though, which is a nice touch. All the wealthy folks are moaning about the cold, as if the staff could do anything about that.”

“Do you think the passengers know the truth about … well, everything?”

Harold shrugged and replied, “No, or at least I don't think so. I heard that Mr. Andrews was the only one telling them that there wasn't any time to lose. I suppose it wouldn't help to start an all-out panic. Besides, Jack, I heard one of the officers tell his mate that the ship couldn't sink. He said she was her own lifeboat.”

“Oh, right,” said Jack. He gave Harold a strange look.

Harold in turn looked genuinely puzzled and asked, “What? That's great, isn't it?”

Moving a pile of papers around his desk, Jack said, “It would be even better had it come from Mr. Andrews.”

I stayed with them a while. To be honest, the scenes on deck involving families being split in two were exhausting me. I felt myself utterly swamped by all the sadness and the fear until I couldn't think straight. Meanwhile here, in this snug tiny office, business went on as usual. Jack tapped out messages over and over again while Harold sat by quietly, waiting for that one piece of good news that he could bring back to Captain Smith. These two boys knew exactly how things stood and yet they didn't lose hope for an instant. Both of them kept a quiet eye on the clock overhead. It was now 1:25 a.m.

Jack sighed, “I'm trying not to block the one line we have, so I'm keeping the messages as short as possible, but I think this is preventing the other operators from grasping the seriousness of the situation.”

As if to demonstrate his point, the
Olympic
sent a blissfully naive question.

ARE YOU STEERING SOUTH TO MEET US?

Jack took a second to work out how best to answer the query, to communicate in just one sentence that
Titanic
was in such a bad way that she was no longer sailing, that she was actually sinking on the spot.

WE ARE PUTTING THE WOMEN OFF IN THE BOATS

The next onslaught of bleeping was a question from a ship called the
Frankfurt
that was also miles away.

ARE THERE ANY SHIPS AROUND YOU ALREADY?

Harold jumped as Jack let out an exasperated shout, “Oh, for heaven's sake! What a stupid question. Would I still be tapping away here if I didn't need their blooming help?”

“Just ignore them,” suggested Harold. “They're much too far away anyway.”

Bewilderment was etched all over Jack's features as he said, “I can't believe that there is no one else.”

“Hey, I know,” said Harold. “Instead of the CQD, why don't you use the new code, the SOS. See if it brings us any luck.” He winked at his worried friend. “You never know, this could be your last time to try it out.” To his relief, Jack laughed a little, in spite of himself.

The operator on the
Frankfurt
was obviously feeling hard done by and sent through a second message.

WHAT'S UP OLD MAN?

Almost beside himself with rage, Jack raced off a reply, his index finger tapping out one line that meant a whole lot more.

YOU FOOL. STAND BY AND KEEP OUT.

It worked. Not another beep was heard from that particular ship.

* * *

Hearing Thomas Andrews's voice in the distance, I took my leave of the wireless operators. It wasn't right of me to hide away like that, only I did so want to be present for any news of an approaching ship. He was hurrying downward and I felt his need to suppress all the confusion he was feeling. Somehow I glimpsed, in his mind's eye, a picture of his wife and baby daughter. Running a hand across his shiny forehead he said aloud, to himself, me, and this long corridor of
Titanic
: “If I start feeling sorry for myself now, then I'm no good for anyone.”

We passed two young bellboys who saluted Mr. Andrews.

“Boys, if anyone is looking for me, I'm just going down to the engine room. And please put on your lifejackets. That is an order!”

I don't know what he was expecting to find, but he certainly seemed surprised to open the door of the engine room and discover his fellow engineers, team of joiners, electricians, and plumbers, including the entire Guarantee Group. The young Belfast boys seemed positively delighted to be a part of the busy crowd.

“Goodness! What are you all doing here?”

Roderick stepped forward. “Keeping her going, sir.”

Mr. Andrews looked around at the faces of the engineers and electricians, who calmly met his gaze in turn. They all knew the truth of the situation; he had made sure of that. The noise in the room was fierce as the massive engines continued to churn on, oblivious to the emotion that filled many eyes with the barest hint of tears. I could hear Mr. Andrews's thoughts once more,
What a true privilege it is to know these men and boys
.

He had always been the kind of man who preferred to see the good in everyone he met. Sometimes he was rewarded for his optimism and sometimes he wasn't, but he never gave up expecting all people to be good at heart. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he asked Roderick how long they were going to stay. Most of the men were standing in water, maybe an inch or more. The youngest of the boys had tucked the ends of their trousers into their socks.

The supervisor glanced around his companions, who nodded to him in agreement. He smiled and shrugged at his boss, suddenly shy. “Well, as long as it takes, sir. I mean, we can't have the heat or the lights going out; it would only scare the passengers, especially the kiddies.”

Mr. Andrews replied in a strained voice, “Yes, I see. Very good, then.”

With that, Roderick called out, “All right, lads, let's get back to work.”

As Thomas turned to leave, a few of the men wished him a good night.

For a few seconds I was tempted to stay behind, in the hope that I could be of help in some way. The energy in the room seemed to be pulsating. Maybe it was the camaraderie among these brave work colleagues or maybe it was because here was the source of
Titanic
's power. As I dithered over what to do, whether to stay or go, I suddenly sensed that the men weren't alone. Little flashes of white light danced in and around the workers unchecked.

Next I noticed Ennis, one of the youngest apprentices, peering in wonder at a particular bunch of wires and switches. His supervisor, William Parr, joined him to see what he was looking at. The apprentice glanced around, almost apologetically.

“This shouldn't be working. I mean, it had stopped working a few hours ago. The fuse had blown and I was just going to replace it now. But it's working again.”

William shrugged. “Maybe there was nothing wrong with it in the first place.”

Ennis rubbed the area around the switch, making sure it was free of sea water, “Maybe …”

Seeing that the boy wasn't convinced, William tried again. “Or maybe your guardian angel is an electrician?”

They both laughed and, as they did, I swear I could see a glow around them. In that moment I felt released from my need, or sense of obligation, to stay. I hurried after Mr. Andrews, not stopping to ask myself any questions.

Just as I caught up with the engineer, he rounded a corner and almost collided with Captain Smith. Both men eyed each other warily. I had been wondering what had happened to the captain and I felt Mr. Andrews wanting to ask him where he had been for the last while. I was pretty sure that neither realized the horrific guilt the other was feeling. The corridor was full of unspoken words and stifled emotions while the captain tried to look merely irritated at this unexpected meeting.

An awkward silence was broken by Mr. Andrews. “Is there any more news from other ships?”

The captain stared past him as he made a reluctant negative reply. “
Carpathia
is still over two hours away, maybe three.”

Neither captain nor designer was wearing a lifejacket, a fact that escaped them both.

“I've just been to the engine room.” Thomas smiled sadly as he spoke. “All of them — the whole 34 of them — refuse to leave.” He looked down at the captain's feet. “They said they didn't want the lights going out and frightening the passengers.”

As if to himself, he continued on talking but in a quieter tone. “Half of them have wives and children, while the other half are mere boys still living at home with their parents. Husbands, fathers, sons, all prepared to work together until the end. Quite wonderful, really.” He looked up again at the captain. “Don't you think?”

Captain Smith was unwilling to pursue this line of conversation and cleared his throat nervously before speaking. “Actually, I was just on my way down there to check out the situation.”

Thomas shrugged, almost dismissively. “Well, there's water in the engine room now.”

The two men had nothing more to say. Things were as bad as they could be, for another while at least. They parted in silence. This time I remained with the captain as he watched Mr. Andrews disappear from sight. Once we were alone, he took off in the direction of the Marconi room, where he entered without knocking.

“Is there any more news to be had?”

“No, sir,” replied Harold, as Jack watched uneasily from his chair.

The grey-haired man nodded as if he had heard exactly what he expected to.

“Righto. Well, I'm just letting you both know that water has reached the engine room.” Here, the captain took a moment after hearing a slight wobble in his voice. “I'm sure you both know what this means. The power can't last much longer. When the water reaches the wires, the electrical boards will short-circuit.” Breathing heavily he paused for a second. “Which means the end to the lights, heat, and, of course, your machine.”

On delivering this gloomy summary, he left, and Jack started frantically tapping out a new message to the operator on the SS
Carpathia
:

COME AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE

ENGINE ROOM IS FILLING UP TO THE BOILERS

* * *

The baker woke up suddenly, in surprise. I had decided to check in on him, having forgotten about him for a while.

“Who's there? What was that noise?”

Of course I was unable to answer him.

He rubbed his eyes for a few seconds, looking like he might just go back to sleep. This I couldn't allow him to do. The scene had changed much since my previous visit. Fortunately, though, he heaved himself up on his elbows, glancing at his watch as he did so.

“Cripes! How long have I been asleep anyway? Don't tell me I'm late for work!”

He sat up and swung his feet out confidently to rest them on the floor, where he was utterly bewildered to hear what sounded like a splash. The sound was instantly followed by the sensation of water pooling around his ankles and seeping into his flimsy work shoes. Charles stared in puzzlement at his feet, as if they belonged to someone else. It took at least half a minute before he remembered.

“Aha, iceberg; all passengers leaving on lifeboats. Well, I never. So, they weren't exaggerating.”

The almost empty whisky bottle lolled quietly nearby, on its side. It must have fallen off the bed and caused the noise which woke him. The liquid inside the bottle looked like it was doing its best to meet with the liquid outside. It chased its way around as the bottle turned this way and that. Delighted to see his old friend, Charles reached for it and took a small sip, just to help him wake up properly and decide what to do next. He took another sip, to be sure, tapping his feet against the ground to see if he could create a little wave.

Something in the water caught his eye. Charles bent over to get a closer look. It was a small, black spider that was losing the struggle to find dry land. The baker, who was instinctively, I felt, a rather compassionate man, scooped the weary creature up in his large hand. The rescued spider stood still, as if trying to catch its breath, allowing both it and its rescuer to size one another up. Lifting his outstretched hand closer to his face, the baker addressed the soaked creature in a kindly manner.

“You poor little mite. Just take a minute there to dry yourself.”

The spider didn't move a muscle, despite Charles looking off into the distance, respecting, as it were, the spider's privacy should it indeed wish to grab a towel and dry itself off. I watched, fascinated, welcoming a break from worrying about
Titanic
's possible treacherous future.

I had always taken a great interest in the world of small creatures, especially during those lonely days before I joined Harland & Wolff. In fact, it proved a great way to forget, however briefly, both about my lack of human friends and Da. It was my first important discovery: there were hundreds of daily adventures taking place in the same dull, sad house I shared with my mother.

One time I watched fascinated as a wasp tried to free itself from a spider's web. Guiltily I thought about helping it but didn't see how I could do this without getting stung. My guilt vanished, however, when the web's owner shot out of its dark corner and picked its way leisurely across the threads to see what he had caught. The wasp had nothing to worry about. The spider was half its size and no one realized this faster than the spider, which was being rocked violently from the vibrations caused by the enraged wasp. Nervously, or so it seemed to me, the spider stuck out a leg, to get an approximate measure of the intruder. He did it twice, as if to be completely sure. The wasp, feeling itself to be gently “felt,” doubled his exertions to free himself, beating his wings so fast that I couldn't see them.