Titanic: April 1912 (7 page)

He turned her around, waiting until the crewman had hold of her hand before he moved back. He watched the man lift the life preserver over her head and tie it tightly across her chest.

Gavin stood very still, the cold night air seeping into his heart. He was terrified of the dark water and he knew that was part of the reason he didn't want to get into the lifeboat. But it was more than that. He refused to be a coward. Lionel was somewhere, doing his job. So was most of the rest of the crew. They weren't scrambling to get in the lifeboats. Nor were most of the other men onboard.

Gavin began handing out the life belts. The last two he gave to a family who didn't speak English. He helped them tie the straps around a wriggling toddler. As they thanked him, he felt incredibly alone.

There were so many things Gavin wanted to say to his mother. He wished he had given Karolina a message for each of his brothers and sisters. Why hadn't he thought of that?

But even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. Until this moment, he had believed he was somehow going to live through this awful night. Now, he wasn't sure at all.

Chapter Eleven

“Lower away!”

Karolina heard the crewman's cry and felt the first tiny shift of the lifeboat at almost the same instant. The curved arms, where the pulleys were set, rose gracefully overhead, silhouetted by the brightly burning deck lights.

“Stay together, now. Mind what I say!” the crewman shouted as the men on the winches set to work.

Karolina steeled herself as the lifeboat jerked a few inches to the side, then swung back, bumping the deck. She could still see Gavin, standing with his arms crossed over his chest for warmth. She shivered, wishing she could think of some way to thank him, some way to . . .

“Don't worry, we'll be all right, honey.”

Karolina looked up into the face of a well-dressed, gray-haired woman. “I can't find my aunt,” Karolina said, without realizing that she was going to say it. Her voice sounded high and uneven in her own ears. The boat jerked again. Karolina saw Gavin wave, and she waved back. The band finished one song and began another.

“God bless you and keep you always,” the woman next to her murmured. “I will love you forever, my darling.”

Karolina glanced at her and realized she was whispering, the words intended for a spectacled man who stood watching the lifeboat be lowered. He had both hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched against the freezing night air.

“If you can spare him, Lord, I will do anything,” the woman whispered, then she began to recite the Lord's Prayer, over and over, her eyes closed as the lifeboat swayed over the open water.

Karolina's eyes ached with tears as she stared at Gavin. He was standing straight and tall, and his head was high. This was even more awful for him than for most people, she knew. She wanted, more than anything, to make the boat stop, to force the crewmen to let Gavin come aboard. Gavin waved once more, a tiny motion of his hand.

“I'll find your brother, Gavin!” Karolina shouted to him. He nodded, an exaggerated gesture so she could see him and understand. “And I'll see you in New York,” she added. Her voice was rough and strained, and she hoped he couldn't hear how terrified she was.

The boat lurched, and Karolina gripped the edge of the seat with both hands. The gray-haired woman was still praying, her whisper as constant as a summer breeze through tall grass. Karolina leaned forward, trying to maintain eye contact with Gavin, but the boat was moving downward now, and after a moment, she could see only the yellowish light pouring from inside the staterooms and saloons.

In the suddenly bright light, Karolina looked at the passengers in the boat. Some of the women were wearing furs and more glittering jewelry than she had ever seen before. Others were dressed much more plainly. One woman had forgotten her shoes in her hurry to leave the
Titanic.
All the men in the boat were wearing uniforms. Karolina glanced wildly upward, anger rising in her heart. Why hadn't they let Gavin come aboard? Why hadn't he even tried?

The boat tilted forward, and Karolina heard the woman beside her pull in a quick, startled breath.

“Lower stern!” a shout came from a man in the bow. The winches creaked, and the rope made a high, whining noise as it ran through the pulleys. The boat leveled, then overcorrected, the stern sinking so low that Karolina had to lean forward.

“Lower bow!” the shout rose in unison from two or three of the crewmen.

Again the pulleys shrieked and groaned as the winches strained. The lifeboat was lowered again, the lighted portholes sliding past on one side. Karolina caught a glimpse of a dog's face, its mouth open as if it were barking against the glass. Then it was gone, and she was peering into a room with trunks and cases spilled out onto the floor. As the boat slid down past more lighted portholes, she saw people standing in a small circle, their arms around each other.

“Lower bow!”

The shout came before Karolina even noticed that the boat was tilting again. The glassy black water below them was coming closer and closer. The
Titanic
towered above her now, seeming impossibly big—like a city that had somehow been flung into the ocean.

“Good-bye, my love,” the woman next to her whispered, and Karolina saw her looking upward.

The lifeboat swung gently from its ropes, moving downward. The ocean, dark and endless, reflected the eerie brightness of the stars. Karolina felt herself shiver and she looked back up toward the boat deck. She couldn't see Gavin anymore, but she could imagine his fear. Tears flooded her eyes.

“It's all right, dear,” the gray-haired woman said quietly. “We'll be just fine. I was told that rescue ships are on their way.”

Karolina smiled politely and scanned the horizon. The only lights that broke up the dark sky were stars. There were no rescue ships.

• • •

“Gavin!”

Gavin turned to see Lionel running toward him on the slanting deck, still carrying a stack of life preservers. “Are we really going down, Lionel?” Gavin asked without meaning to.

Lionel nodded somberly. “I think so. A first-class steward told me that Mr. Andrews said so.”

Gavin blinked. “Mr. Andrews?”

Lionel set down all but one of the life preservers. “Mr. Andrews is one of the builders. He should know.”

Gavin glanced out at the glassy black water. His heart was pounding against his ribs. It was going to get him, after all. The water was going to get him.

“Here. Gavin? You should have saved one for yourself.”

Gavin looked back at Lionel, unable to focus on what he was saying.

“Put it on, Gavin.”

Gavin took the life preserver, then he held it loosely in his hands. After a few seconds, the printed messages on the life belt began to make sense to him.
inside front, inside back.
He turned the preserver so that it would go on straight, then lifted it over his head.

“Get forward now, Gavin,” Lionel was saying. “Get on one of the collapsibles if you can.”

“Have you heard anything? Is help coming?” Gavin asked, his voice shaky. He pulled in a deep breath and concentrated on tying the life preserver straps across his chest and belly.

“The cork in this will keep you afloat for a long time,” Lionel said.

Gavin nodded and swallowed hard. His throat was so tight with fear, he couldn't answer.

Lionel pointed toward the bridge. “Get up there. Maybe you can get a place.”

“What about you?”

Lionel shook his head. “Look.” He gestured, a wide, sweeping motion with his right hand. “There are hundreds of us here.”

Gavin nodded, shaking with cold and nervousness. The crowd was quieting now, with only a little round of gasps each time the bow dropped lower in the water. The band, he realized, astounded, was still playing.

“Go on, now,” Lionel interrupted his thoughts. “Collapsible D is on this side, up by the bridge. And if you see Harry, get him on it, too.”

“Come with me, Lionel.”

Lionel shook his head. “I want to get down to D-deck if I can. I think there are people still down there. I saw men climbing the hoists to get up here.”

Gavin stared at him. “They locked the gate coming up from the well deck.”

“If they are up on deck, they have a chance,” Lionel said. “The Marconi operator has been sending a distress signal for hours. If a ship does come along, we might all make it yet.” He reached out and clapped Gavin on the shoulder, then started off through the crowds.

The deck shuddered beneath Gavin's feet, and he nearly fell. The slope was sharper all the time. He looked out across the water and was shocked to see how much closer it looked now. The bow was filling with water so quickly that there might be little time left.

Gavin started toward the lifeboat Lionel had pointed out. It was above the boat deck, fixed to the roof of the wheelhouse. Men were up there now, kneeling beside it. Someone had placed narrow ramps extending from beneath the boat to the boat deck below. As Gavin watched, the boat was skidded down them and ropes attached to it.

The downward slope of the deck was steep enough to make it hard to walk without stumbling into people. Just ahead Gavin saw a heavyset boy in a White Star uniform struggling with a bulging burlap bag. As Gavin got closer, he recognized Wallace.

“What are you doing?” Gavin demanded as he caught up.

Wallace looked startled, then almost angry. “What do you care?”

Gavin shrugged. “Lionel told me to get on that lifeboat.” He pointed at the collapsible. People were climbing into it now. “Do you know where Harry is?”

Wallace hoisted the bag higher on his back, grunting with effort. “I haven't seen him.” He gestured at the lifeboat. “Do you think they'd let me on, too?”

Gavin nodded. “Why not? Maybe not that bag, though. What's in it, Wallace?”

Wallace looked up at the stars, then met Gavin's eyes again. “Swear you won't tell anyone?” He set the bag down.

Gavin frowned. “Tell me later. I want to get on that lifeboat.”

Gavin started off, glancing back, realizing that the bag was so heavy Wallace could barely lift it. “Leave it here.”

Wallace looked offended. “I can't.”

“How badly do you want to live?” Gavin asked him. He pointed. The collapsible was close to half full now. “Come on.”

Wallace lagged behind. Gavin was in line while Wallace was still fighting the heavy bag down the inclined deck. Wallace fell in beside a family with two small children—both crying. Their mother, a soft-spoken woman with a musical voice, kept trying to reassure them. Their father, tears streaming down his face, was urging his wife forward, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

“We have room for seven more,” a crewman near the collapsible cried out to the crowd. A soft chorus of moans went up as four women quickly stepped forward and got on.

Gavin was just behind them, looking at the ­people already seated in the boat. There were men here, though not as many as women. Still, there didn't seem to be a hard-and-fast rule. He scanned the crowd. Harry was nowhere to be seen—nor was Karolina's aunt.

“Three more!”

Gavin glanced back at Wallace, trying to catch his eye. Wallace's whole attention was on the bag he carried. He was leaning into its weight, gripping the top like his life depended on keeping it.

“Three more!” the crewman shouted again.

Gavin stepped forward at the same moment that the man in back of him shepherded his wife and children closer to the boat. Gavin looked at them. The little girl was weeping, obviously terrified. Her brother had stopped crying, but his face was pinched and pale.

The man caught Gavin's eye and mouthed a ­single word. “Please.”

Thinking about his own sisters and brothers, Gavin moved aside. He heard people behind him arguing about what they ought to do now that this boat was filled. Two or three groups started off, almost running. Gavin knew what they were doing. They hoped the other collapsibles on the starboard side weren't yet full.

“Gavin?”

He turned to see Wallace dragging the bag toward him. For the first time, he noticed that Wallace wasn't wearing a life belt. Involuntarily, he glanced in the direction Lionel had gone, carrying the pile of preservers. “Where's your life belt, Wallace?” he asked, beginning to understand.

“I left it down below. I got this, instead.” Wallace laughed quietly and nudged the bag with his foot.

“A life belt is worth more than anything you have in that bag, Wallace.”

“You're crazy, Gavin. I will never have to work again.”

The angle of the deck beneath their feet increased suddenly, and Gavin whirled to look out at the water.

“Lower away!” the crewman shouted frantically. The collapsible lifeboat swung outward.

Gavin's stomach clenched. The water was no longer far below. It was barely ten feet from where he stood. The
Titanic
was sinking fast.

Chapter Twelve

The ropes squealed through the pulleys, and Karolina sat rigidly, trying not to think about the icy ocean below. In a few seconds, the lifeboat would be bobbing on the glassy surface. She shivered. It was so cold.

“Is the plug in place?” one of the crewmen was shouting. “We don't want to take on water.”

There was a scramble near the bow of the boat. A seaman half-stood, muttering. Karolina watched him work his way, crouching, to the center of the boat. He bent over, and she could see him straining to do something.

“Got it,” he finally said, straightening enough to make his way back to his seat.

As the lifeboat touched the surface of the water, Karolina felt an odd weightlessness, then a soft rocking motion.

“Man the oars!”

The order was given by an officer in the bow. A crewman wrestled the oars into the oarlocks one at a time, moving awkwardly between the passengers.

“We're ready, Officer Boxhall,” he said when he was finished.

“I can help row,” a woman said from one bench back.

Karolina turned to look at her. She wasn't young, but her face was determined, and she gave off an aura of calm and strength.

“I know how to row,” another woman said from the stern.

“And I,” came a third voice.

There was a slow changing of seats, Officer Boxhall directing their movements so that the boat was not too much disturbed. Then two crewmen and the women began to row. Karolina suddenly noticed a bearded man near the bow who kept up a murmur in a language Karolina didn't recognize. It sounded like a prayer, and she hoped that it was.

“When she goes down, there'll be a wave that could swamp us,” Officer Boxhall called to the rowers. “Or an undertow. So put your backs into it, men, and ladies, if you are able.”

Karolina only half-heard what he was saying as the lifeboat began to move away from the
Titanic.
Everyone was staring at the enormous vessel. It was strange to see the giant ship lying docilely at a slant in the water. The brightly lit portholes, arranged in their neat rows, met the black surface of the water at an angle. It was like seeing train tracks meet: It was wrong, impossible.

The lights fascinated Karolina. She wondered if the ones below the waterline were still burning. She imagined the first-class staterooms fully lit, people's belongings still neatly arranged in the closets and on the shelves. The water would seep in soon, cold and relentless. Was Gavin still aboard? Where was Aunt Rose? Karolina bit at her lip, hard, trying to still the painful thoughts.

“Row harder, if you can. She'll be going down soon, and the wave could easily catch us if we are this close.”

Karolina heard one of the women begin to cry, a soft, racking sound. The older woman next to Karolina was sitting up very straight, her chin held high.

The
Titanic
tilted forward again, and there were odd, haunted groans from the ship's metal hull. There were screams from the open boat deck. Karolina looked up. Astonished, she saw hundreds of people still onboard. Many of them were hurrying toward the rising stern even as they cried out. Karolina shuddered, listening as the commotion rose, then fell back into silence as the
Titanic
settled into its awkward new position.

At first the rowers worked hard, and the lifeboat cut through the calm water. Once they were some distance away from the
Titanic
, they slowed, then stopped rowing, staring back at the ship. Karolina sat very still in the half-empty lifeboat. No one was talking. They were all silent, helpless, watching the
Titanic.
In the darkness, the little cutter rocked on the glassy surface.

“Oh, my God,” the woman next to her breathed.

“Row, port side. Starboard, ship your oars,” Officer Boxhall shouted.

“He means lift your oar up out of the water,” Karolina heard one of the women explaining to someone. “The boat will turn if only one side is rowing.”

Karolina twisted on her seat to look. It was true. They were curving back toward the
Titanic
in a slow arc.

“Starboard side, oars back in the water!” Officer Boxhall called. “I want to come around the stern. Maybe we can get close enough to her starboard side to take on a few more people.”

As they rowed, Karolina could see the crowds swarming over the poop deck and the stern. Even the well deck, where Davey had run from her, laughing, was now full of frightened people.

Karolina blinked, digging her fingernails into the wooden bench. There were children her own age looking down at her. There were men, perched high on the cargo cranes, clinging with one hand and waving desperately with the other. She could see their faces.

The
Titanic
was nosing into the water now, its bow so much lower than its stern that it was disorienting to look at it. Karolina squeezed her eyes shut, then turned her head before she opened them again and looked out at the vast, menacing ocean. There were no ships close by. She was sure of it. Their lights would have been visible for miles on this clear night.

It was so dark. The stars were a canopy of sparkling pinpoints, more beautiful and peaceful than anything she had ever seen. She looked up at them and thought about her parents. Her eyes flooded, and she said a silent prayer for Aunt Rose and Gavin.

As the lifeboat neared the stern, Karolina saw that there were more people crowded along the promenades now. She craned her neck, trying to see their faces. Was Gavin among them? Or Aunt Rose? She thought she could see Lionel, his tall, thin frame braced against the rail, his blond hair windblown.

“Port oars out of the water,” Officer Boxhall commanded.

The boat turned, rounding the stern of the
Titanic.
The giant propellers were half out of the water. The sea sloshed in little eddies around the exposed ­rudder.

“All oars back in. Keep straight on.”

The boat shuddered, then straightened as the inexperienced women found a rhythm in their efforts. Karolina leaned forward, still scanning the crowds, searching the faces. The lifeboat drew closer and closer. Karolina could hear voices across the open stretch of water between the ship and the lifeboat.

“Ship oars!” Officer Boxhall commanded.

Karolina jerked around to stare at him. As the lifeboat glided to a stop in the water, Officer Boxhall leaned forward, a look of fear on his face.

“What are you doing?” one of the older women demanded.

“I am afraid there is some suction already,” Officer Boxhall said. “It could draw us right down with it.”

“But we can't just leave all those people—” Karolina began.

“If we lose twenty-five to save one, that's not right,” a crewman said when Officer Boxhall did not answer.

“We could go a little closer,” Karolina argued. “We could just see if . . .” She trailed off, realizing she was speaking so quietly that Officer Boxhall could not possibly have heard her. The woman sitting beside her took her hand and held it silently. Karolina remembered the woman's husband, how brave and strong he had seemed.

“Our husbands and sons wouldn't want us put into more danger,” a woman said from the stern.

Officer Boxhall shouted orders, and the rowers fumblingly complied. Within a few moments, the boat was moving away from the
Titanic
again. Tears blurring her vision, Karolina watched helplessly as the faces on the stern became smaller with distance, then impossible to see.

Finally, once they were well away, Officer Boxhall had the rowers ship their oars again. The lifeboat glided forward a little longer, then came to a swaying stop. The lights on the
Titanic
were still burning brightly, and Karolina was sure she could still hear the distant sound of music.

Officer Boxhall called for another rocket and lit the fuse, sending it off into the night sky. The green ball of fire soared above them, arcing very slowly back down to the black water. Karolina saw it hit, its light instantly extinguished.

A thin sound of distant screaming made Karolina jerk back around. The
Titanic
was pitching forward. Karolina could see people hanging on to railings, clinging to each other and whatever came to hand. As she stared, horrified, she saw several people fall, all at once, sliding across the deck, then overboard, into the sea. One man seemed to run at the rail, jumping outward from the side of the ship.

The squeal of the tortured metal was almost unbearable. Then, as more people dropped from their desperate perches, the bow dipped even lower. The deck was an incline no one could climb now. From deep inside the ship, Karolina heard a swelling crash, the shrieking of metal being torn by the force of its own weight.

“That's the boilers and the engines letting go,” one of the crewmen said quietly. “Everything in her that can fall is crashing straight through the bulkheads now.”

Karolina clenched her jaw against the horrible cacophony. She imagined the inside of the ship like an overturned doll house—the furniture, the silver, the thousands of glasses in the dining saloons, the pianos—everything would be destroyed. Then, after what seemed like a long time, the incredible noise stopped, and Karolina realized that the stern was rising, had been rising. The
Titanic
was very nearly vertical, its stern towering far above the surface of the sea.

Standing against the stars like an impossible vision, the huge ship seemed to balance itself on the black water. The lights flickered, then came back on. Finally, in one smooth, incredible slide, the
Titanic
disappeared beneath the ocean. Everything was silent. Then, Karolina could hear the screams.