Titanic (10 page)

 

 

I had to stop and return to my diary in the harsh light of day because the next part is the worst of all. After the
Titanic
sank, the unspeakable shrieking of hundreds of people dying filled the night. Frenzied, terrified screams. Since we were still very close to where the ship had sunk, I could distinguish individual voices begging for help, calling out for people they loved, and praying for salvation.

“We must go back,” one of the women in my boat said, her voice shaking. “We must help them.”

“We can't!” another woman shouted, nearly hysterical. “They'll kill us all! No one can help them any more – we have to save ourselves!”

Everyone chimed in with their own opinions – I was very much in favour of returning – and a near-mutiny ensued. Finally, a ship's quartermaster named Perkis made the decision that we were so close we had to try. He said that he was in charge, and we would follow his bidding. So our boat began to row back, and we were able to pull five or six half-frozen men out of the water. Each time, I prayed that one of them would be Robert, and each time, my prayers were not answered. One of the men was clutching a bottle of brandy, and Quartermaster Perkis tossed it overboard, since the man was obviously
already
intoxicated and might become unruly.

The rescued men were drenched, and a goodly amount of water had spilled into the boat as we struggled to haul them in. It was deep enough to cover my boots completely. Most of the men were in a very bad way, and I offered the one closest to me my coat. He was too cold to respond, so I just took it off and covered him as well as I could.

The screams of the dying seemed to last for ever. It was a horrifying, unearthly sound that would have sickened the very Devil himself. I am not sure which was worse: the screams themselves, or the way they gradually faded away. I think we had enough room in our boat to try to rescue a few more – but now we were rowing in a different direction, and the quartermaster could not be persuaded otherwise. The rescued men's teeth were chattering, and some of them were out of their heads from the cold. Other than trying to help them get warm, no one knew what else to do.

It was pitch-black, except for the stars, and even Quartermaster Perkis did not seem sure about which way we should go. As far as I know, we were just rowing around in circles. After a while, we heard a whistle blowing, and rowed towards it. A boat commanded by an Officer Lowe wanted as many lifeboats as possible to tie up together for safety. I think there were three other boats who responded to his call, and Officer Lowe transferred all of his passengers into our boats. He was planning to return to the site where we had last seen the
Titanic,
and try to rescue some more people.

While we waited for him to return, our boats drifted aimlessly. There were a number of children, as well as a few babies, on our lifeboat, and some of them cried on and off. Obviously, there was no milk to give them to soothe their distress. I tried to help one woman by rocking her baby for a while, but had no more success calming him than anyone else had. Between the crying babies, a few seasick women, and the ravings of the frozen men – one of whom was also very drunk – ours was not a quiet boat.

On the whole, I do not remember any conversations. There may have been some, but I just cannot remember. I think I just sat there in utter despair. Two of the women near me were weeping, but most had been silenced by a combination of grief, shock – and the terrible cold. Anyone who was not fortunate enough to be rowing, which served as an excellent distraction, just hunched down and tried to stay warm. At some point, two of the men we had pulled aboard succumbed to their ordeal, and died. After that, the silence aboard our boat was impenetrable.

Officer Lowe returned with only four more survivors – all of them strangers – and then directed us to begin rowing again. A sailor caught sight of another boat with figures standing up on it. He said that it was one of the collapsible emergency boats, and she looked to be in grave danger of capsizing. With Officer Lowe's encouragement, we rowed over there with one other lifeboat – Boat 12, I think. Between us, we were able to take on all eighteen or twenty men. Again, Robert was not among them. Maybe he was on another lifeboat, or was clinging safely to some wreckage, or – I could not face the other possibility.

By now, our boats were very crowded and the water inside reached to my knees. Had the sea not been so calm, we would surely have been swamped.

When a passenger first shouted that she saw a ship, none of us believed her. The men told her that it was probably only a shooting star, or maybe dawn beginning to break. But as the lights loomed closer, we realized that it
was
a steamer, and she was heading our way!

For the first time, we all had a feeling of hope. The sky was getting brighter, and the steamer was still coming towards us. As a new morning dawned, the sky pink and light blue, I was stunned to see that we were surrounded by a veritable mountain range of icebergs. In the dark, they had been completely invisible, but now they were everywhere. For objects so lethal, they were also majestic, and almost beautiful in a horrid way.

Someone in our boat looked at her watch, and announced that it was getting on for five in the morning. I felt as though our time in the boat had lasted for months, so I was surprised only a few hours had passed.

The rescue steamer proceeded cautiously through the ice field. Every so often it would stop to take aboard the occupants of a lifeboat. Our boat rowed doggedly in their direction, but we did not get to her side until almost eight o'clock. Up close, I could see that our saviour was called the
Carpathia.

There were ladders and cloth slings hanging over the side to help us aboard. Many of the people in our boat were too weak to climb, but I chose a ladder. As I reached the deck, a uniformed man helped me aboard. As he asked me my name and wrote it down, a woman pressed a mug of hot liquid into my hands and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. I lurched off to the side, out of the way, so that others could also come aboard.

A great many survivors were waiting by the railing, searching for loved ones and friends. We were one of the last boats to be picked up, so I knew that their hopes were growing faint. My legs were shaking, so I sat down on the deck, and sipped the hot liquid. The taste was unexpected, but I recognized the smell as coffee. There may have been some brandy in there as well.

A kind-faced woman knelt next to me and offered to show me to the saloon, so I could get warm. Once in there, someone else handed me a sandwich, and my mug was refilled. By and by, a doctor stopped to examine me, and pronounced me perfectly fit, and extremely lucky. I was none too sure of the former, but utterly certain of the latter.

I must say that the commander of the
Carpathia,
Captain Rostron, was terribly heroic. Having seen those treacherous ice fields, I have no idea how he made his way to us without his own ship crashing. Once all of the lifeboats had been emptied, he steered his ship over to the area where the
Titanic
had gone down, in search of more survivors. Alas, there were none to be found, and there was not even much debris to be seen.

Another ship, the
Californian,
arrived around then, and they were to continue the search while we headed for New York.

Before we steamed away, Captain Rostron gathered all of us together for a brief service. He and a reverend gave thanksgiving for the approximately 700 of us who had been saved, and then led us in prayer in memory of the more than 1,500 people who had been lost.

Fifteen hundred.

As soon as I felt stronger, I began to look around to see if anyone I knew had survived. There were
so few
men, and I never found Robert. Or Mr Prescott, or Mr Hollings, or Ralph Kittery, or so many others. Colonel Astor had not survived, and neither had Mr Andrews or Captain Smith or Dr O'Loughlin or – my mind just could not accept the enormity of the loss of all those fine people.

Especially, of course, Robert. I
should never
have left him alone like that, no matter how hard he begged. Surely, if he was brave enough to accept his fate, I should have been as well.

I think the
Titanic
's crew may have suffered the most devastating amount of deaths. Stewards, cooks, engineers, postal workers – even the entire band perished. How admirable they were! How admirable
all
of them were!

Steerage passengers also fared far worse than the rest of us, although those in the second class had a great many die, also. I am sure there were countless stories of heroism among their ranks, which will never be told, as so few eyewitnesses are alive to tell them.

This afternoon, I was sitting out on the deck half asleep, when I heard a familiar bark. I opened my eyes to see Florence tugging at her lead, and trying to pull Mrs Carstairs in my direction. Mrs Carstairs saw me, and looked very pleased.

“What an agreeable surprise!” she said. “I was so very concerned. Now that I have found you, you must come and join me for the rest of the voyage.”

I shook my head, too exhausted and sad to face that notion. “Thank you, but I would rather be alone just now.”

She stared at me, dumbfounded. “But—”

“Robert died,” I said, and came very close to bursting into tears.

She nodded, her expression more serious than I had ever seen it. “I'm sorry, child. I know how fond you were of him.”

I nodded, and rubbed my hand across my eyes, trying very hard not to cry. To my surprise, Mrs Carstairs dragged over a deck chair – by herself! – and sat next to me.

“My Frederick would have died, too,” she said. “With Thomas Prescott, and all of the others. And
I
would have been on that lifeboat, thinking that he would be perfectly fine.”

We were now safely on a ship, surrounded by widows; she was, indeed, lucky that Mr Carstairs had not made the voyage. We sat in silence, for there seemed to be little to say.

Then I let out my breath. “Thank you,” I said. “For
I
should have been in steerage.” And therefore, almost certainly would have also died in those icy waters.

Mrs Carstairs nodded, set Florence on my lap, and we sat there together without speaking for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

We are supposed to arrive in New York tomorrow night. During the last couple of days, I have done little more than write and think, and think even more. I am not hungry; for the most part, I have not slept.

The
Carpathia
's passengers have been uniformly sensitive and benevolent. They have donated clothes to those who have none, along with toothbrushes and other necessities. Some of them have even given up their beds! I decided that I would be more comfortable on the floor of the saloon, or outside on the deck. For those of us in that position, the ship provided steamer rugs and blankets to try to make us comfortable.

When my parents died in such quick succession, I thought my whole world had come to an end. I could not understand why they had died, or how life could be so cruel. And now I do not understand why
I
survived, when so many others did not.

And why did not every single lifeboat return to help our fellow human beings? Had we not already been so close, I do not think
our
boat would have gone back, either. People were too frightened, too confused, too self-protective to remember others. But
we had room.
All of the lifeboats did. Fear seems a paltry excuse. We were
all
afraid that night. I know I did not want to die, but neither did I want to abandon others to their helpless, frozen fate.

Although I suppose that is exactly what I did by virtue of taking my seat on Boat 4 in the first place. I abandoned Robert; I doomed complete strangers. I hope that I can work out some way to understand all of this. Why it happened, what could have prevented it, how to keep anything like this from ever taking place again.

Most of all, I hope I can learn how to forgive myself for still being alive when so many others are not.

 

 

We steamed into New York Harbour at 8.30 p.m., in the midst of a fierce thunderstorm. Somehow, given the circumstances, that seemed only fitting. Smaller boats surrounded us, and many of the bright flashes we saw came from cameras, not lightning. Then, when we finally berthed, I could see a tremendous crowd waiting for us on the pier.

Before we disembarked, I saw Mrs Carstairs making her way towards me. Awkwardly, she tried to hand me one of her typical wads of folded banknotes.

“Here,” she said. “I thought you might need this.”

I shook my head. “No, thank you. You have already done more than I deserve.”

“Take it, it's a pittance,” she said, sounding impatient. “My address is there, too, if you need anything.”

I hesitated, but then slowly nodded and tucked the money into my pocket. I was about to land in a foreign country, with no idea of what was going to happen, or where I was going to go – and the few pounds I had had were now at the bottom of the ocean.

“Will your brother be here to meet you?” she asked.

Would he? “Yes,” I said, uncertainly. “Everything has been arranged.” Of course this was not true, but what did it matter?

She nodded, and then we looked at each other.

“It is not for us to know why we survived,” she said. “Try to remember that, Margaret.”

I hoped, very much, that that was true.

 

The gangways had been laid out now, and the first group of numb, tired passengers began to get off. When it came to be my turn, I followed those who had gone ahead, looking neither right nor left. It was a chaotic scene, as people searched for loved ones, and reporters rushed around with notepads, trying to get stories. I ignored all of this, only wanting to get off the pier and find a quiet place to sit down. Mrs Carstairs had located her son-in-law, and she offered to drive me to the railway station or a hotel, but I assured her that I was fine. I thanked her one last time, she shook my hand, and then I bent to give Florence a light kiss on top of her head.

That was the last time I saw them.

Once they had left, I stood alone in the frantic crowd, trying not to panic. Where
was
I going to go? I was in the middle of a strange city, with nothing more than the clothes on my back, and a few dollars. It was upsetting to have so many people swarming around me, and it took me quite some time to make it to a quiet street corner across the way. I wanted to sob loudly, but was afraid of drawing attention to myself.

Gradually, the crowds began to thin out. Every so often, someone would stop and ask me, eagerly, if I had been on the
Titanic,
and I would just shake my head. It was easier that way.

I had so hoped that William would be here, but I did not know where to start looking. For all I knew, he thought I had perished at sea. Maybe he had never even received the letter I sent from St Abernathy's! I did not want to leave, in case he
was
here, but maybe I should try to find a room for the night. Then tomorrow I would have to work out some way to get to Boston.

Slowly, I got up and began to walk around a little more. I was still surrounded by strangers, and the whole scene was overwhelming. If I could just sleep for a while, maybe I would feel better and could think more clearly.

After all, this would not be the
first
time I had slept on the streets.

A woman standing by two tall bundles of apparently donated clothing asked me if I needed help, but I just shook my head. I have accepted far too much charity in my life, and no longer want to do so.

Ever.

I finally found a deserted bench, near the shipping office. At first, I just sat down, but when no one seemed to notice me, I stretched out and closed my eyes.

Maybe when – if? – the sun came up, I would know what to do.

I was almost asleep when I suddenly felt someone sit down next to me, and a hand touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, terrified – and then recognized my brother.

“There you are,” William said, his eyes filling with tears. “I was worried sick.”

I began crying, too, and hugged him with what little strength I had left. William hugged back and I rested my head against his shoulder, not even noticing the pouring rain.

I was finally safe.