The Deepest Waters, A Novel (2 page)

The SS
Vandervere
lasted through the night, but it was no use. Every man still conscious and onboard knew this. No one would say it. John Foster would not be the first.

His arms and shoulders ached, almost to the point of madness. Had he been in any other setting, he could not have restrained his cries. Another bucket passed up the line. He could barely grasp the handle. Surely the next one would fall to the deck.

But he took the next one—as he had for the last two days—from a Latin man in his midforties, an ambassador from Peru. He passed it up to an old miner, who’d spent his last nuggets buying passage back East. Beside the miner was a man who owned two banks—one in Oakland, another in Sacramento. John found this a matter of some wonder, how the storm had reduced men down to one social class: anyone who could hold a bucket.

He looked at the men in the line up ahead. Although the ship never stopped moving, the bow now pointed skyward, as if frozen upon some invisible wave. The men at the rear stood shin-deep in water that John was certain had just been passed up the line. The captain in his finest uniform had been shouting exhortations, over and over, insisting this was no fool’s errand. It was buying them time. Until he gave orders that all was lost, they must continue. A second ship might still appear on the horizon and come to their aid.

They had known since the second day of the storm that the
Vandervere
had been dealt a mortal blow. A leak had sprung below the waterline, and they couldn’t stop it. Then, this bucket brigade seemed to be doing some good. Now the ocean rose up the deck exponentially faster than a thousand, ten thousand buckets could withstand.

John looked out at the sea once more. The winds had slowed since yesterday, but he longed to see a placid, calming scene, if only for a moment. Still the waves rose and fell without ceasing, roving blue hills slamming into each other and into them. Every so often one great wave leapt above the rest and poured over the deck, knocking men down, sweeping some into the sea.

Those still able would find a bucket, stumble back into place, and begin bailing again.

So much water, coming at them from every side. John was certain that before long the ship must be swallowed whole.

Thirty minutes later, the
Vandervere
lurched violently, tossing men every which way. Dozens went over the rail. The rest slid down the deck toward the base of the ship, colliding so hard that some were knocked unconscious. Shouts and fearful cries to the Almighty rang through the air. John was still conscious but felt blows from several elbows and feet about his head and sides.

He wondered . . . was this it? Was it too late now to escape?

After bobbing up and down a few moments, the ship settled into a new position. Slowly, those on board untangled themselves and crawled up the deck. The
Vandervere
was now at a thirty-degree angle. It took every bit of a man’s strength just to remain fixed in whatever foothold he could find.

John heard a door above them open and close. The captain emerged from the wheelhouse, the first officer by his side, both holding fiercely to the rails. “Men,” he shouted, “I must release you from your task. You’ve fought the sea bravely, but she has won. No ship has appeared to save us. The
Vandervere
will soon fully give way to the sea. I’m giving the order to abandon ship. You have your life preservers, but they may not prove to be enough. Please, grab for yourselves anything that might float or assist you in the water. It has been my privilege to serve as your captain. I only wish I could have done more.”

He and the first officer retreated from sight. John instantly remembered a conversation he and Laura had at the captain’s table their first evening aboard. Someone had brought up the subject of shipwrecks and superstitions. The captain had said, “If that happens, I’ll not survive. This ship goes down, I go down with her.”

“I can’t go overboard!” someone yelled. “I can’t swim.”

“Nor I,” another said. “I don’t want to die!”

John was an excellent swimmer, but it hardly mattered now. There was nowhere to go. Several crew members ripped hatches and shutters off their hinges. They waited for a wave to rise near the rail then jumped into the ocean. Passengers followed suit. But John could see that there weren’t enough hatches and shutters for all the men on deck.

One older gentleman scolded a young officer. “You men should give those hatch doors to those who can’t swim.”

“You heard the captain,” the man said. “It’s every man for himself now.”

John looked behind him at a group of men huddled in the corner. They weren’t moving, their faces a mask of terror. Clearly they couldn’t swim.

A junior officer yelled at them. “She’s going under any minute. You men don’t jump, you’ll be sucked down with her.”

John looked at a partially submerged stairway that headed below. He grabbed a sailor’s arm as he hurried past. “Help me,” he said. “I need to go down there.”

“Sir, you don’t want to do that.”

“There’s still a little time. We need to aid these men. I’ll hold my breath and grab anything that will float. Just stand here as I come up and pass them out.”

“I can’t, sir. We’ve got to get off the ship. She’s going down any second.”

“Please,” John said. “A few minutes.”

The men stared at each other, John’s eyes pleading. “Go,” the sailor said.

“You’ll be here?”

“Yes, go.”

“What’s your name?” John asked.

“Erik,” the sailor said.

John pulled off his shoes, ran down the steps, and waded in. He took a deep breath and went under, feeling his way along. He opened his eyes. A few blurry shapes hovered above him. Chairs near the ceiling. He dragged them back toward the stairs.

He handed them to Erik, who tossed them to the men. “I didn’t think you’d be here,” John said.

“Me either,” said Erik. “Hurry.”

John dove back in the water, this time going the opposite direction. He found a small table. For the next several minutes, he went back and forth like this until he’d grabbed everything that floated, as far as his lungs would reach. There were still six men left in the corner who couldn’t swim.

“I remember seeing bigger tables,” John said, “in the dining saloon where we ate.”

“They’re bolted down,” Erik said. “But just to keep them from sliding. A few good yanks should free them.”

John took a deep breath and went back again, his strength nearly spent. In two trips, he freed up two tables.

When he brought them out, Erik said, “These should float two men each.” They passed them out. Only two men left. Suddenly, the ship jolted, dropping deeper. Both men fell, then helped each other up. “We must go, sir.”

“I just need two more,” John said. “One for them and one for you and me.”

“If we don’t leave now, there won’t be a you and me.”

“Then come with me. It’s not far.”

Erik nodded, but John saw fear in his eyes. The water level now reached the top of the stairs. As John went under, he turned. Erik was following. He reached the first table and started to pull. Erik swam to the other side and pulled hard. The table quickly broke free. Erik swam away with it. John swam over to the last table.

He yanked and pulled until the first side broke free, but then he ran out of air. He turned and headed for the stairs. He grabbed a quick breath and started back. As he turned into the hall, he realized he hadn’t seen Erik. He reached the table, broke the other side free, and towed it back. As he came out of the water, the ship moved violently to one side. Instinctively, John knew . . .
This is it
. He looked around. Erik was gone. He crawled toward the last two men, dragging the table behind him.

“That sailor,” one of them said, “he took the last table and jumped over the rail with it.”

“Here,” John said. “Get up, we’ve got to go.”

“Will it float us all?”

“I think so, but we don’t have a choice.” He led them to the rail. Both men were trembling. The sea looked so angry and alive. “See all the others.” John pointed to over a hundred men spread out before them in the water, clinging to one thing or another. Some had drifted over a hundred yards away.

“If I go under, I’ll sink,” one of them said. “I won’t come back up.”

“That won’t happen,” said John. “Just take a breath, jump in, and hold it underwater. If you do, the air inside will force you back to the surface. All you have to do is kick your feet.”

The man looked down. “I can’t.”

“Your name is Hansen, right?” John said.

“Yes, Robert.”

“I remember,” said John. “We had dinner together last week at the captain’s table. You’re heading home to visit your wife and children . . . in Boston, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Robert, think of them . . . waiting at the dock to meet you. If you don’t jump now, you’ll never see them again.”

“Are you sure I’ll come back up?”

“Yes.”

The sea decided for them. A rogue wave poured over the ship, sweeping all three into the water. Robert and the other man made it back to the surface. John found the table, brought it over, and helped the men take hold. But it was evident it wouldn’t float them all.

“Where are you going?” Robert asked.

“I’ll be okay,” John said. “There’s a life preserver right over there. Just start paddling away. We’ve got to get clear of the ship. They say it can suck you under if you’re too close.”

The men kicked hard and began to move away. John’s arms were so tired. He put one through the life preserver and turned on his back to avoid swallowing seawater. Before they were fifty yards away, the ship began to move. It creaked and wailed like some dying sea monster; the volume was shocking. Everyone turned. John heard screams. He looked up and saw three men who’d climbed to the top of the masts; their feet dangled in the air. Suddenly, the bow of the
Vandervere
rose straight up, then dropped out of sight, taking the men down with her.

For a few seconds, huge bubbles floated up. Then nothing.

It was as if the
Vandervere
had never been.

All over the water, men screamed out, a furious blend of panic and fear. John listened, tried not to give in. But he thought, these cries come with good reason. They were now alone, adrift at sea, over one hundred miles from dry land. The waves tossed them up and down, a constant motion, forcing them to spend what little energy remained just to hold on. They had no food or fresh water. Nothing to protect them against the sun. Aboard the
Vandervere
they at least had the hope of being seen by another vessel. But now another ship peering out to the horizon would see nothing, would have no way of knowing they were there in the water.

John realized that all his efforts to help the men who couldn’t swim had become as pointless as their bucket brigade had been. It had merely postponed the inevitable.

He thought of Laura, relieved she had been spared all this and was safely aboard the
Cutlass
. “Thank you, Lord. I couldn’t bear it if she were here.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered how excited she’d been when they’d loaded all their wedding gifts into trunks to take with them. She had wanted to bring them back East to show his sister, Allison, whom Laura had never met.

I should have told her then. It was the perfect time.
But he didn’t. “God forgive me,” he said quietly. “Don’t make her pay for my mistake.” He thought about the note he’d written. “Don’t let her last memory of me add to her sorrow.” These melancholic thoughts at least dampened the volume of the men shouting and pleading for their lives.

John thought back to a part of the vows he’d made three weeks ago at their wedding: “Till death do us part.” Mere words then, formalities. He meant them sincerely but thought he at least had decades before they’d be called to account.

He thought once more about their wedding gifts lying in the
Vandervere
’s hull, now resting at the bottom of the sea. Certain that he, and all those floating out here with him, would soon join them.