Ship of Dreams (29 page)

It reached the ship, it split the bay;

The ship went down like lead.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Kent watched as the boat carrying his wife to safety—he devoutly hoped to safety!—moved away. He could see a few women bailing, apparently led by Della. Even in this extremity, knowing he might never see her again, he had to smile at her mettle. Only for a moment, however, for the captain then called for everyone to resume bailing.

A general murmur of rebellion arose. "What's the use, now the boats are gone?" one man asked loudly.

"The boats will come back for us, but it may take two or three hours," the captain said sternly. "Our job is to stay afloat in the meantime."

"What shall I do with this?" asked a crewman, coming up just then with Mrs. Small's toddler.

The captain seemed at a loss, clearly unaware until that moment that the child had been left behind. Then, "I'll take her," came a feminine voice from the stairwell.

Turning, the men saw an elderly woman, a steerage passenger, standing there. "Madam, I had believed all of the women to be gone in the lifeboats," Captain Herndon exclaimed. "Are you the only one left?"

"No, there are two others. We'll take charge of the child until the boats return."

The captain nodded, and the crewman handed her the little girl. She disappeared back down the stairs with her burden, but the men had all been reenergized by her appearance. Knowing now that there were yet women aboard, they returned to their bailing without further complaint.

Wearily, Kent picked up the ewer he had set down while helping Della into the last boat. A glance showed Francis Cadbury beginning to stir, but Kent did his best to ignore the man, not wanting to waste energy on anger that could be spent bailing—and perhaps increasing his chance of a reunion with Della.

A look around the decks, however, showed that more than five hundred men, passengers and crew, remained aboard. Reason told him that no more than a tithe of them were likely to survive the sinking.

Clearly Captain Herndon had come to the same conclusion. Once the bailing lines were reestablished, he gave new orders to every man not actively working. "Take all doors off their hinges," he told them, "and pull off the hatches. Gather up those barrels over there and lash them together."

Watching these operations as he bailed, Kent realized that the captain was liberating everything from the ship that was likely to float, presumably to serve as rafts after the sinking. As the others caught on, many abandoned their places in the bailing lines. As many other had given up hours ago, there were soon only enough men to operate the pulleys. Kent redirected his energies to helping to haul the barrels of water over the sides.

Every now and then Billy Birch attempted to rally the men in song, but by now no one had the spirit for it, and all lapsed into silence after only a bar or two. Billy, as exhausted as the others, and as weakened by seasickness as his wife had been, eventually gave up the effort.

On his way back from yet another trip to the rail, Kent saw Sharpe, who had been absent for the past two hours or more, dragging a large trunk up the stairs from the saloon onto the deck. "What are you doing?" he asked. "If you have energy to spare, we can use some help with this next barrel."

Sharpe just looked at him with something between a smile and a sneer. "What's the point? I mean to be on the next boat, and she'll float that long with or without my help. And if no boats return, this is all wasted effort anyway."

Kent frowned. "If all take that attitude, we can be assured of losing nearly everyone remaining aboard."

"They're as good as dead anyway. Look around you, Bradford! The ship won't last till morning. The water's already swamping the second deck—I looked, while I was on the first just now. It'll be every man for himself in short order, and I mean to be prepared."

"With that?" Kent nodded at the trunk.

Sharpe nodded. "Fifty thousand dollars worth of gold bullion. Enough to reestablish me, wherever I end up. And in here, notes for all monies due me." He patted his vest pocket.

Kent stared at him in disbelief. "Are you mad? What good is money if none of us survive?" He broke off to help with the next full barrel, and by the time he returned, Sharpe had moved to a spot near the stern rail, still dragging his trunk behind him.

The hurricane deck was being taken apart now, he saw, under the captain's direction. A sense of doom, which he'd been fighting since Della left, settled heavily upon him. Still, he did his part in the bailing, determined to save at least the remaining women, and as many men as he could.

After what seemed like endless hours, a shout greeted the return of the first lifeboat. Bailing was suspended as men rushed to the rail to watch the small boat approach. As it rounded the stern of the steamer, the captain shouted for the remaining women to be brought up on deck.

Francis Cadbury, who had been sitting in a corner near the wheelhouse nursing his head for the past two hours, struggled to his feet. "Women be damned," Kent heard him mumble. "This boat's for me." While crewmen were still helping the three women into their harnesses so that they could be lowered to the waiting boat, Francis sidled over to the railing.

Kent stepped up next to him. "What do you think you're doing?"

Francis glared at him, reminding him forcibly of the bully he'd been as a child. "Don't try to stop me, Bradford. I'm getting off this deathtrap, and I'll make sure your bogus bride gets the reception she deserves—if she reaches New York at all."

The rage Kent had ruthlessly held in check since Francis' attack on Della abruptly boiled over. He lunged at the man, and was gratified to see his eyes widen with fear—the same fear he used to inspire in Kent when he was a boy of seven. Francis tried to jump backward, but missed his footing. Before Kent could grab him, he hit the railing sideways and went right over.

"Damn!" Angry as he'd been, Kent didn't want Francis' death on his hands. He looked down, only to see him surface not five feet from the lifeboat. With an exclamation of disgust, he watched as two of the oarsmen hauled him into the boat to lie wet, fat, and panting in the bottom. All Kent had managed to do was grant Francis' wish of being first on the boat.

"Away from the rail!" Ashby, the engineer, roared then. Other men, seeing what had happened, were already preparing to jump. "We'll do this in an orderly fashion or not at all!"

Kent, Ansel Easton, and one or two of the other more prominent men aboard helped to restore order before a free-for-all could ensue. Though some grumbled, the men moved back while the last three women, one holding the child, were harnessed and lowered into the waiting boat.

After a quick, quiet consultation with Captain Herndon, Mr. Ashby went next, swinging down a rope into the boat. "I promise you, Captain, I'll return with as many boats as the brig has on her!" he shouted up as he reached the boat.

At this point, however, discipline among the men remaining on board disintegrated rapidly, despite anything Kent could do. A final sweep of the lower decks had ascertained that no other women or children remained aboard. With that, all chivalry seemed at an end. One man jumped overboard to land near the boat, and more were lining up to follow, when Ashby, in the boat below, pulled out a long knife.

"I'll slice any man who tries to get on in that way!" he cried, waving the dirk. Captain Herndon, however, shouted for Ashby to put away the knife and shove off. At this, one or two others vaulted over the side, and were pulled aboard the lifeboat as it began to row away.

"The other boats will return soon," Kent shouted, trying to stave off a mass exodus that might swamp the boat. In a moment, though, it was far enough away that no others were willing to risk the swim, even though it held only a dozen people besides the oarsmen.

Kent, Ansel, and the first officer tried to organize bailing parties again, but most were too busy watching for the next boat. Nelson Sharpe was busily bargaining with a crewmember for a spot in the next boat for himself and his chest, offering him several hundred dollars in gold for his help. The crewman eagerly agreed.

A few minutes later, though it seemed like another hour or more, another boat appeared out of the mist and rain. As it rounded the stern of the steamer, no pretense was made of rigging harnesses or lowering ropes. Men threw themselves overboard willy-nilly, scrambling for a chance at safety.

Kent heard Sharpe remonstrating with the crewman he had paid. "Come on, man, help me lower my trunk! I'll pay you double."

But one of the oarsmen below shouted up that the boat was taking on water, and Captain Herndon ordered it away before more men could swamp it. The boat headed off, this one with no more than ten men aboard.

A few moments later, the third boat appeared, and chaos erupted again. This boat appeared sound, and more men were able to get aboard. Sharpe, sobbing and cursing, frantically tied ropes around his precious chest of gold as the boat filled.

"Shall we make the attempt?" Ansel Easton asked Kent as he watched his onetime business associate in bemusement. "It's likely to be the last chance we'll get to join our wives."

Kent glanced over to where Captain Herndon stood, grim and resolute, showing not the slightest trace of fear or regret as he prepared to go down with his ship. "You go, Easton. I'll do what I can here."

Ansel took a few steps toward the rail, but then stopped. "No, you're right. Besides, I believe the boat is already pulling away."

It was. No others were likely to return, for the daylight was starting to go. All told, perhaps twenty male passengers and as many oarsmen and crewmen had escaped, along with the sixty women and children who had been aboard. Fully five hundred men remained aboard the
Central America
as the stormy skies ushered in an early dusk.

"They're gone, Nelson," Kent said to his onetime associate.

Sharpe looked up from the knots he was tying in disbelief. "Gone? They can't be. I've paid good money for a seat in that boat." He returned to his efforts.

"You'd do better to find something that will float, instead of that gold-filled anchor," Kent advised him.

"No! You just want it for yourself," Sharpe cried. "Get away!"

Kent shook his head and left him. "Here! You men! Let's get to bailing again," he called to a dejected-looking group near the rail. "If we can stay afloat till morning, they'll send the boats back, or another ship may come by."

He knew both were unlikely, but felt physical activity would be preferable—both to him and the others—to merely waiting for fate to overtake them. Apparently many others agreed, for with a few more words of encouragement, two bailing parties soon formed.

With each barrel of water he helped to heave over the side, Kent thought of Della. Almost, he could feel her thoughts wending his way over the miles of open sea. He imagined her aboard the
Marine
, staring into the gloom, watching for the returning boats, imagined her disappointment when she discovered that he was not in any of them.

"I'm sorry, darling," he whispered into the whirling wind.

But no. Della was strong. She would survive, with or without him. She would mourn him—he had to believe she loved him enough for that—but she would recover and go on. Still, it pained him to think he would not be there to ease her way.

"Sail, ho!" came an excited cry, breaking into his thoughts. Indeed, a small schooner was approaching. Already the captain was hailing her, telling her to send whatever boats she had and lay by them till morning.

A wave of excitement swept through the men on deck, and their bailing efforts were redoubled as new hope arose. They waited and worked, but no boats came, and after fifteen minutes it was obvious that the schooner, like the
Marine
before her, was drifting away from them.

"Why don't they help?" cried a man beside Kent. "Why are they going away?"

He only shook his head. "Perhaps they have no boats, and can't hold their position. All we can do is bail, and hope."

Even as he spoke, a tearing, wrenching sound reverberated from below, making the whole steamer shudder violently. "The second deck has burst its fastenings," shouted one of the crewmen. "The water is nearly to the first cabin."

Bailing was clearly pointless now, even as a distraction. Reluctantly, Kent threw down his pitcher along with the others and went to help distribute tin life preservers to everyone aboard who wasn't already wearing one. Some men, Sharpe for one, were now so dejected that they couldn't even be bothered to put one on, but sat helpless while others fastened their preservers onto them.

A distress rocket was launched, and then another. Fights began to break out over the best rafts and other objects likely to float. "Come on, Bradford," Ansel Easton called, hauling a large piece of wood behind him. "It's my cabin door. It will easily hold both of us. Help me tie a few ropes onto it, so we'll have something to grip when we're in the water."

Nodding, with one glance back over his shoulder to where Sharpe sat slumped against his chest of gold, Kent joined him. "When she goes down, she may go fast," he warned. "She'll pull everything and everyone with her, unless we can get well away. It may be wise to swim some distance before that happens."