SOS Lusitania (5 page)
Authors: Kevin Kiely
‘B
oy!’ shouted the Baroness.
I scrambled to my feet. The guns lay between us in the middle of the floor, and the room seemed very restricted and horribly uncomfortable all of a sudden.
‘You have a son?’ Crowley exclaimed, looking at me and her in surprise. ‘Can we trust him? How much does he know?’ He sounded furious.
‘He is only the luggage boy,’ the Baroness said, pursing her lips. ‘He should be ashore. He should not be on the liner. He is trouble.’
‘Oh, we have a small problem then!’ Crowley screwed a fist around the top of his cane as if he would break the white egglike knob.
‘I think we have a big problem,’ the Baroness said anxiously. ‘It is dangerous for me travelling to New York because of the business I am doing.’ Her voice seemed to echo off the cabin walls.
I felt the room heaving and moving more than it actually was. Things had gone totally crazy. I will die here, I thought.
‘He has heard everything. Look at his face. In my work this is called an intelligence leak, Baroness.’ Crowley stared at me as if I had escaped from the zoo. ‘We’d better sort it out. I can dispose of him out the porthole into the sea. It is night-time, the liner is moving fast. No one will hear or see anything except us.’ He fingered the top of the cane, ground his teeth and I was suddenly more scared than I had ever been in my life.
‘I shall pour myself a glass of wine. Do what you have to do. And be quick.’ The Baroness did not look at me.
Suddenly my fear turned into action. Crowley looked like a giant, but I rushed forward, kicking him on the shin, and grabbed the cane. But he clung onto it. I managed to pushed him backwards – then the cane jerked out of my grip with a single gunshot that shattered the mirror between the two bedroom doors. In the struggle, Crowley lost his footing, fell on the Baroness, and knocked over the table as well as the
bottle and the glasses. I did not wait. I rushed past them out the cabin door, thinking how sinister it was that the cane was also a gun.
‘Stop that boy!’ I heard Crowley roaring from behind me. But he was a heavy man and I was far faster than he was. I reached the end of the corridor and bumped into a man with a moustache, who was smoking a cigar, while the woman who held his arm moved against the wall to let me pass. They ignored Crowley’s shout. I saw a sign saying ‘stairs’ below the image of a hand, and bounded down the steps, nearly landing in a heap at the bottom. What had I seen and heard from Crowley and the Baroness? Dangerous stuff all right. I had to get into hiding – and quick. Crowley would be looking for me everywhere. I raced down to the next deck in leaps and bounds, and struggled out of my coat because sweat was pouring off me. It was a relief to pull the schoolbag off my back, but awkward carrying it and the coat. A woman asked me something about ‘E Deck’, but I ignored her and kept moving. Crowley might find me; the Baroness might find me; Dad might find me. Oh God! Leaving home gets you into serious danger, I thought.
Down I went, another four flights. I seemed to have lost Crowley. I turned on to a corridor where a heavy steel door
bore the word ‘cargo’. I stopped, and stood there gasping, holding my schoolbag and coat. Then, suddenly, the door opened. Someone came out, left the door ajar, and walked in the other direction. I rushed through. It seemed like a good idea – anyway, it was my only hope. There might be other doors out of it, I thought.
It was a storage room. I went past shelves of luggage, boxes, parcels and crates of all sizes that were stacked on the floor. The cargo seemed to go on and on. All around the walls were dimmer lamps, their wicks inside glass globes. There was a sloping desk with a lamp at each side, and inkbottles, pens and open ledgers. Then I heard footsteps coming and I ran into a dark, murky corner between shelves. A crewman came in, whistling, sat at the desk and started to count. ‘Eighty-four plus nineteen plus twenty-seven,’ he went silent for a moment as his belly rumbled and he burped, ‘equals one hundred and thirty, plus seventy nine.’ He counted again, ‘Two hundred and nine.’ I heard the ledgers slam shut, then his footsteps as he went to the door which slammed shut too with an echoing thud. A key was poked into the lock outside and turned with a very loud click. Except for the spluttering gaslights, the place became a vast, gloomy cargo area.
Crowley will hardly find me here, I thought, but I was
locked in again. I put my hands up to my face, closed my eyes and stared at the millions of tiny dots of panic that I saw in the inner darkness.
T
he cargo dungeon, as I began to call it, was bewildering. I was desperate to get out, but the door was made of thick steel and locked. The handle was a bar of steel too. The liner was rising, falling and pitching with a lurch that made it heave before rolling back, and this rhythm was constant. It was difficult to keep my balance when I walked around. I lay down behind shelves of luggage – parcels, suitcases, bundles and packages – hoping someone, but not Crowley, would come and free me. I thought of Dad and Mam, Colleen and my brothers. But none of them could help me now, except Dad if he came to check the cargo. I was thinking that Mam would be upset in Queenstown and that she’d be worried sick about me.
It was a crazy, stupid, mad thing to do, to run away from home. What kind of a boy runs away from a happy home? I felt sleepy from all of the woe and didn’t care anymore about anything. I started to cry, sobbing aloud, my chest heaving like the liner. Then I grew tired of the crying and decided to lie down, using my schoolbag as a pillow, with my coat as a blanket, even though my shoes were sticking out the bottom.
I woke up after some time – maybe a few hours – and heard two distinct noises: one was the loud booming of the liner, rolling, creaking and shuddering with all its power and might; the other was a scratching noise. The shuddering made me uneasy as if the liner was about to stall or lose power. How long had we been at sea? I did not know. Had I slept a whole day without noticing? I did not know. The place was stuffy. There was a dim light coming from a porthole behind some shelves. I made my way in the gloom to the desk; walking across the floor was like climbing a hill that kept moving about. I opened the ledger, but the pages were dark and unreadable without more light. I tried to light the lamps, but I couldn’t.
The scratching noise came again. It made me stop and listen. I got closer to where it came from and stamped my foot. A grey rat, with its ropey tail and sleek body, scurried away. I immediately lost my nerve for sleeping on the floor. I moved
towards the door, sat on the chair, lifted the heavy ledger from the desk and held it up, waiting to drop it on the rat. But after a long time the rat still hadn’t come back, so I put the ledger down.
I went over and touched the wall and felt the studs of the rivets that held the liner together. Dad had told us about rivets. There was a regular pattern of rivets spreading out in every direction. My face and forehead felt cool against the wall and the drops of moisture were abundant. I wet my hands in the drops and bathed my face. I began to lick the wall to satisfy my thirst. The dryness of my tongue eased after much licking, and I was able to swallow without my throat sticking. I felt a bit better, and went back to the chair, steadying myself a few times since the liner was really thrusting forcefully ahead. I felt all right until the horrible rat made another appearance.
The creature slithered and circled the floor, making for the desk, so I had to challenge him. I lifted the ledger and he began to squeal. I flung the ledger with a steady aim – and missed. I grabbed the chair to defend myself. It was him or me. This was going to be our war. Again, he scurried away at my show of strength and didn’t reappear.
The moisture on the walls kept away my thirst. I lifted the ledger and the schoolbag on to the desk and crawled up on top,
dragging my coat over me. It made for a very uncomfortable sort of bed, but a deep sleep finally came over me. When I woke, my throat was sore. I was trembling with the cold and my chest ached. As I lumbered towards the wall, I felt weak and the motion of the liner toppled me – I hit the floor hard. It really hurt. Still, when I dragged myself up on to my hands and knees, the droplets of water on the lower rivets were in good supply. I licked and sucked as much as I wanted, but began to break into a wrenching cough.
I flopped on the floor in a weakness. If the rat came again, I could do nothing. Tears welled up in my eyes. My arms were heavy. My breathing was slow and painful. This was real big trouble. I was going to die and the rat would eat pieces of me every day. No one would know what had happened to me, ever. What could I do? In school, Mr Dempsey would write on the board for everyone in the class to learn off: ‘Finbar Kennedy ran away from home. Pray for his safe return.’ Queenstown seemed to have disappeared like a sweet dream. And America was as far off as Heaven. I missed my family so much it hurt. Crowley would be looking for me too. If he found me I was dead anyway.
My fear of the rat kept me between sleeping and waking. I was not going to let a measly rat kill me when I had escaped
being shot by Crowley. I scolded myself for having ever run away from home. I suddenly began to croak and then tried to scream: ‘I am Finbar Kennedy. Help me!’ The only one that heard me was the rat, who moved every time I screamed. I raised my head and screamed more, but my screaming simply made the rat move around. Each time I raised my head and screamed, he moved. This was the end. I was going to die. I started to howl like a baby for his mama.
C
hristopher, Colleen and Sean, along with Mam, sat in the Royal Irish Constabulary Barracks in Queenstown answering questions for Sergeant Kilroy who wore his black uniform, with shiny buttons and a belt around the waist, standing in front of a map of County Cork. His peaked cap was on the desk, and beyond, through the window, lay a splendid view of Queenstown harbour on a bright, blustery April afternoon.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Sergeant Kilroy, and he stroked his chin as Mam sobbed, ‘this is very distressing. Three days and no sign of your Finbar? I have put the Missing Person posters
up around the docks. The police have them around Cork too, and we wait in hope. We have sent officers to the houses where Finbar’s friends live in the town, and Mr and Mrs Dempsey at the school have been most helpful going from door to door with inquiries. Canon Gill will be saying prayers on Sunday in the cathedral for Finbar’s safe return. Have you thought of anywhere else he might have gone besides the list of places you already gave us, Mrs Kennedy?’
‘No,’ she replied, sighing. ‘You have heard from my sister, Mary, in Youghal. Finbar is not with them. Will you be searching Cork city?’ she pleaded, folding and unfolding her handkerchief.
‘Cork city is a big place, but we will keep on the alert for him in that area.’ Sergeant Kilroy pointed to the map. ‘Why do you not believe what Finbar wrote in the note he left under his pillow, Mrs Kennedy? Let’s have another look at the page in question.’ The sergeant rummaged in a drawer, took out a large brown envelope with ‘Missing Person’ printed on the front, and written below it: Finbar Kennedy (born 1902) of 1 Park Terrace, Queenstown, The Cove of Cork.
‘Of course I believe poor Finbar’s little note, but I don’t think he’d have the courage to run away to sea. My friend, Mrs Kelly, agrees. It is just his way of writing down some
dream or something. Finbar is such a good boy, but he’s a dreamer. Anyway, my husband, Jack, would have sent us word if Finbar was on board, and we’ve heard nothing. The whole idea is ridiculous, Sergeant.’ She blew her nose. ‘I don’t want to get Jack into trouble either. We need his job. I’m sure Finbar will come home with his schoolbag some afternoon soon. Sure, Cork city is full of wonders for a young lad.’ She looked at Colleen, who nodded.
‘The note says,’ the Sergeant looked at the children for a few moments and then turned towards Mam:
‘Dear Mam, don’t kill me, but I am sorry. I must go away to sea in a liner. Do not worry, people who know Dad will help me. And Dad will help me too when I tell him I ran away to sea to warn him about what I saw in my dreams. Then I will be home in a few days. Here are some pennies to buy eggs. I love you, and Colleen and Christopher and Sean. Your loving son, Finbar.’
A young policeman came into the office and handed the Sergeant a note. The sergeant nodded and said, ‘Will you ask your children to wait outside with one of the other officers, please, Mrs Kennedy?’
Mam stared at Colleen, who then put a hand on the neck of each of her brothers and led them outside. Mam shut the door and sat down again, facing Sergeant Kilroy.
‘I went to Admiral Coke at the American Consulate last evening.’ Sergeant Kilroy spoke slowly. ‘The Admiral had the means of getting a message to your husband’s ship. The American Consulate received a reply and passed it on to the barracks this morning. Will I read it to you, Mrs Kennedy?’
‘Did they find Finbar? Is he in trouble? Is my husband in trouble? Finbar is the apple of his father’s eye! The eldest son, you know …’ She put her face in her hands and began to moan.
‘There now.’ Sergeant Kilroy moved in his high-backed chair and adjusted the tunic around his neck uneasily. ‘This is what the message says:
“RMS Lusitania 28 April 1915, received inquiry stop none by name of Finbar Kennedy boy aged thirteen en route to New York stop not on passenger or crew list stop.’
He folded the sheet of paper solemnly.
‘Is that all?’ begged Mam.
‘I have read every word,’ said the Sergeant. ‘I assure you, Mrs Kennedy, we will continue to work on Finbar’s case, and collect every scrap of information that comes our way, until we find him.’
‘Oh well,’ muttered Mam, getting up slowly, ‘thank you, Sergeant.’ She looked as if she were about to say something else, but instead she turned and went out of the room to her
children, who huddled around her. ‘Let’s go home and have our supper, my pets. We’ll call on Mrs Kelly and see if she has some nice treats.’ She smiled sadly at their frightened faces, and none of them dared ask anything more about Finbar for the rest of the evening and the night.