Spirit of the Titanic (10 page)

Then the strangest thing happened. Or maybe it wasn't so strange at all, since I had wondered how on earth the little spider was going to subdue an aggressive creature that clearly outweighed him. The spider returned to his corner to, I thought, consider his options. Meanwhile, the wasp freed one leg, only to get it immediately entangled again. Would the spider wait until the wasp had exhausted itself and then move in to take him? Could wasps sting spiders? Would the sting kill the spider? In the end none of my questions were answered, because the spider did something much more sensible. Cautiously he retraced his steps to just above where the wasp was stuck and began to pick apart the threads, one by one. The clever creature was helping the wasp to escape, thereby saving his web and himself a whole lot of trouble. Unable to fly off immediately, the wasp dropped to the window sill, slightly dazed. I couldn't imagine that it would taste very nice anyway and I admired the spider for keeping a cool head throughout.

With my thoughts miles — and years — away in Belfast, I had almost forgotten where I was until the baker suddenly reminded me by loudly exclaiming, “Wait! Don't I know you? Aren't you the one that made that dainty web above my bed?”

Charles swivelled his head around to check whether anyone was in residence at the web. They weren't.

“So, it is you. Unusual for you to leave your home and go walkabout?”

The spider listened contritely, so it seemed, unwilling to commit itself to any kind of answer.

“Well, no matter. You're safe now.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Charles stopped short. I felt him to be checking the truth in his cheery statement. Was the spider really safe? Or had he merely rescued him momentarily before they both succumbed to a watery grave?

“I must admit I hadn't believed it was so serious. The whole thing with lifejackets and lifeboats — I thought it was just protocol. Now here we both are sitting in a puddle belonging to the Atlantic Ocean.”

Neither I nor the spider could make a reply to this, so Charles was free to continue with his train of thought.

“So maybe we should head outside and see how the land lies.”

He laughed alone at his rotten joke.

Still holding aloft the creature, which was beginning to stretch out its legs, one at a time, Charles dug out his cigarette case with his other hand.

“First of all, you need a name. I'm going to christen you ‘George,' after His Royal Highness of England.”

The spider stood perfectly still, as if considering this, and then signalled his acceptance with a speedy return to stretching out the legs on the left-hand side of his body.

“Second of all, you need a safe carriage. Now, George, this here tin is my most prized possession. Grandfather Joughin gave it to me on my twenty-first birthday. He got it from a man who had fought in the Crimean War, who told him that these little nicks and cuts were caused by Russian bullets during the Charge of the Light Brigade. I don't expect you to know anything about this, but if we get out of here alive I'll tell you all about it.”

There were only a couple of cigarettes left and he removed one of these to slide behind his ear. Next he tipped his still dazed eight-legged friend into the tin, promising, “This is for the best, George.”

The spider was quite possibly relieved to find itself falling into the snug, dry tin after its recent swim.

Charles placed the tin inside his shirt and stood up slowly. Another surprise awaited him. The floor was no longer even; it seemed to slope ever so gently. The baker took a final slug of whisky, before screwing the cap on and placing it under his pillow.

“With God's grace, you'll be waiting here for me on my return.”

With the immediate business taken care of, he took a firm grip of the upper bunk and pushed himself toward the door.

“Well, George, we're off!”

* * *

Once more I found myself drifting back into my past. I couldn't help it; the baker's kindness to his half-drowned spider reminded me of the day I found a tiny bird on the ground in front of our house. I called Da to ask him could I keep it and was most surprised when he said no.

“But why not? I've always wanted a pet. Please.”

He wasn't listening to me, however. Instead, he was peering up at the roof, searching for something. I picked up the little creature and held it close to me. Suddenly Da pointed and explained, “There now, see? That's where he's fallen from.”

Following the direction of his index finger, I saw a small, flimsy-looking nest that looked as if it had been squashed into the edge of the roof. Just at that moment a squawking bird flew quite closely over our heads.

“And that's the little fella's mother. There's one thing you have to remember when it comes to God's creatures, Sammy. Never, ever get between a mother and her baby.”

The bird perched herself on the nearest lamp post and continued to squawk at the top of her voice. Da winked at me.

“Aren't we lucky that we can't understand what she's screaming at us? I'm sure she's calling us the most dreadful names.”

It was a little scary when the mother bird dived from her post to swoop past my shoulders. Her baby chirruped twice and, I had to admit, he did look absolutely terrified of me, despite my stroking his skinny, bony head in my friendliest manner.

“Ach, don't be mauling him, son. She mightn't take him back if he stinks of human hands, especially ones as mucky as yours.”

As his mother sped by me again, I held her baby up in the air. “Go on. Go to your mother. Just flap your wings.”

Da shook his head and said, “No, he's not ready to fly yet. But isn't he great for surviving such a fall, the poor thing. You'd have thought the shock would kill him outright.”

“Well, if he can't fly back to the nest, I should probably hold on to him then. His mother knows where he is and she can visit him.”

Da laughed. “Nice try, Sam. Fortunately for mother and child I've got a better idea. I'm going to ask Mr. McCracken if I can borrow his ladder and put the wee mite back where he belongs.”

Mr. McCracken ran the corner shop which was just a few minutes away from us, and he used his ladder to reach the more expensive items that he kept up on shelves near the ceiling.

“I'll be back in a tick and I don't want to see him in your hands on my return. Put him down and just make sure he doesn't stray, although he's probably too confused to go for a walk anyway.”

At this stage I had been joined by some of the other children. The bird's mother kept a cold eye on all of us as we stood around her baby, willing it to do something more than simply stand there, the odd, nervous tweet escaping its beak.

“Well now, Nick, looks like we've got ourselves an audience.”

Mr. McCracken had not only lent Da his precious ladder but also Nick, his oldest son, who was very tall and very, very spotty.

“Aye, I see that. Now, where is this lost birdie?”

My friends and I parted ways, allowing my father and Nick to walk between us, step carefully over the bird, and lean the ladder against the wall of the house. Nick bent down slowly and picked up Beaky. I couldn't resist naming him, just in case I got to keep him in the end.

“His wee heart is racing.”

The mother suddenly screeched by, obviously upset that Beaky had been picked up again. Nick crouched low to make us laugh. “Oh, missus, I hope you're not aiming to peck my eyes out.”

My father continued on joking with Beaky's mother as he took the baby in his hand and stepped up the ladder, Nick holding it steady for him.

“Now, here he is, safe and sound. Don't be hard on him. He wasn't running away from you and I don't think he was sneaking off for a cigarette or to see a girlfriend. He just made a mistake, and you can plainly see that he's very sorry for causing so much trouble.”

As soon as Da reached the nest, the mother bird landed on the roof, careful to keep her distance as she watched the proceedings.

“Da, Da, what can you see?”

“I see an empty nest, son. No wonder his ma is upset. He's her only chick. There you go, little man, no more high jumps for you. Wait until your wings are stronger. Good luck now and tell your ma I was asking for her.”

We all laughed at this. I really enjoyed the other children laughing at my father's jokes. It made me feel like I was on top of the world. Maybe that's what I missed the most — someone making me feel like I was on top of the world.

* * *

My plan was to stay with Charles and George for a while, but the baker was walking so slowly, edging himself along the corridors, either because of the sloping or the whisky and I had so much to do yet. I hurried off, determined to come back and check on him. I wanted to visit the upper deck, once more, and see what was going on. Time was ticking on and I had a hunch that the real work had yet to begin.

O
n my way to the deck, I decided to drop into the first-class lounge. I hadn't been here in a while. In the corner of the lounge was a group of gentlemen thoroughly absorbed in their card game. There were five players in all, dressed impeccably in evening wear, starched white collars, perfectly creased trousers, and shoes that had never trod in anything untoward. Although the men looked calm, they didn't seem cheerful. Indeed, their poker game was a rather sedate one. Cigars were being duly puffed on and the sombre steward continued to serve up drinks as requested.

“Arthur, brandy and ice, please.”

“Right away, sir.”

It could have been an ordinary evening on an ordinary ship. Maybe having lots of money does make you a better person. You mightn't scare that easily if you knew you had the money to buy your way out of anything — or almost anything.

Outside, there were plenty of people milling around the deck. I must admit it was hard to believe that such a large, noisy crowd was in mortal danger. The band played on and looked genuinely happy to be performing this important concert, regardless of the fact that they only seemed to be performing to each other. Wallace beamed at his men as he raced his bow over the strings of his violin. I stayed beside them, just for a minute, because the atmosphere among the musicians was as warm and positive as the one among the engineers and Guarantee Group, all these men doing their job of looking after the passengers who — understandably — hardly noticed their efforts. Although I was sure that panic would greet the end of the music and the lights that cheerfully glowed from every window and porthole.

I had to fight the temptation once more to hide away from the ever-pressing fact that
Titanic
's bow was definitely sinking into the Atlantic Ocean. Harold Bride was standing near Wallace and his men, obviously checking, like me, the state of affairs. The lines on his forehead told me that he also sensed the mood of the crowd.

There was a hint of terror in the air now. Many of the lifeboats had been rowed off into the night while hundreds and hundreds of people began to grow restless over the few seats left. A loud bang made a few women scream. An officer had fired his gun into the air as a warning to the unruly mob that threatened to rush onto an already crowded boat. Elsewhere some of the male passengers had tried to escape by hiding between the women and children. It was a huge change from the crew's previous difficulty in trying to persuade stubborn passengers to board the lifeboats.

The sounds of a passionate argument reached my ears and I went over for a closer look.

“But he's a child, for God's sake!”

“I'm sorry, sir, but I've got two boys, myself, of 13 and 14 years, and he looks plenty older than them.”

The father looked wild with confusion as he pleaded with the stony-faced officer. “I can't believe this. He's only 16. You've got to let him on that lifeboat, I beg you!”

“I'm taking only women and children, as instructed by Captain Smith.”

“But you're saying that this boy is an adult. How can you? Do you see any stubble on his chin? Can't you see the fear in his eyes? I tell you, he's still a child.”

The frightened boy stood behind his father, staring at his feet. I felt him wishing that his father would just accept the officer's decision and walk away. Anything would be better than this embarrassment.

He was lucky to have a father to fight for him.

“How would you feel if someone like you condemned your children to staying on board a sinking ship? He's my only child. Please!”

Suddenly the heated discussion was over, the father having said the only thing to make the officer change his mind. Scowling at the boy who was the cause of all this trouble, the officer shouted, “Oh, just get in and be quick about it. We're launching immediately.”

There was no time for a farewell and the boy never got to thank his father who, at least, looked satisfied that he had managed to save his son.

Some of the crew were confused about whether it was women and children
only
or was it women and children
first
, and then the men could take the remaining seats? Captain Smith's name was mentioned, but no one seemed to know where he was. As a result, some were letting men on and others weren't.

A young mother clutching her newborn baby was being encouraged to board one of the last few lifeboats.

“Missus, will you come on? We can't wait for you.”

She was without a chaperone. Perhaps her husband was waiting for her to join him in America, where he had already found a job and a place to live. She was dressed quite plainly but neatly, suggesting that she was travelling second class. Used to having first her parents take care of her and then her husband, she must have felt very scared and alone, except for the precious bundle in her arms — this tiny, defenceless mite who was hers alone to protect. She had to be both mother and father to it and, therefore, she was unwilling to trust anyone else with her child's life. And this, I realized, was her problem. To climb into the lifeboat, she would have to hand over the baby to someone until she took her seat.

Moving over beside her, it was almost as if I heard her thoughts as clearly as if she was saying them aloud. Her biggest difficulty was the fact that she didn't know anyone else on the ship:
What if I have to take that seat right at the back and there isn't enough time to get Brigid to me before they launch the boat? What if one of those mothers has to hold her until we reach the water? If the boat suddenly lurches — like the others have — they might let Brigid fall, to look after their own flesh and blood. How I can trust any of them with my child? I can't. I just can't.

The officers in charge were much too busy for her to try and explain her misgivings. What on earth was she going to do? Suddenly a male passenger approached her. He was youngish, with an open, honest face, the type you would trust immediately. His large, brown eyes had observed everything. Someone else might just have seen a silly girl who was wasting time needlessly. This well-dressed gentleman, however, saw a young mother in distress and quickly recognized what was making her so.

“If you would allow me, madam? I understand your fear in letting go of your baby. You have my word that if you give me your child and climb into the boat I will pass it to this officer here and instruct him personally to hand over the child to you, and you alone, as soon as you step on board. Would that be acceptable to you?”

The woman's features filled with an exquisite relief, that, in the midst of all the noise and near-chaos, this kindly man understood her plight so well.

Too moved to speak her thanks, she could only nod her acceptance as the tears crept steadily down her face. Together they went up to the officer who, of course, listened carefully to what this first-class passenger was telling him to do. Then, without any further delay, the young woman was helped into the boat, where she immediately stood and waited with outstretched arms. The infant, blissfully asleep, was gently passed from the passenger to the officer, who had to almost step into the boat himself in order to deliver the precious parcel back to its impatient mother. Not moving away until he saw the woman and her baby safely seated, the man waved his farewell and returned to sit on a nearby deck chair. I felt a rush of love for him. It was such a small act that had heroic consequences. Two lives had been saved for no other reason than he wanted to be of help.

* * *

I had a hankering to locate Captain Smith. His name was heard throughout the busy deck, yet no one seemed to know where he was. I found him in his quarters, a sorry sight indeed. He was without hope of any kind. The air about his rooms was grey and bleak. There was no pulsating atmosphere here, nor battling heart. Sitting on the side of his bath, he addressed his piteous reflection in the mirror:

“There is nothing more to do. Yet they keep pestering me with questions as if they believe I can change what's happening, but I'm only a man. Help is too far away and there aren't enough lifeboats. What am I to do about that?”

I felt he met my gaze in the mirror. If he could see me, he didn't show any surprise, so I couldn't be sure.

“My last trip … in every way. No, no, mustn't think like this. It's too soon. How can I have deserved this — after so many years of unblemished service? In less than two hours I will only be known as the captain of the biggest sinking ship in the world. This is to be my legacy. Oh God, it's too much to bear.”

He was so crushed that he couldn't even summon the energy to cry. I felt his pain and his loneliness. No doubt he was right, too, about being the one who would be blamed for this — no matter how it ended. But still, he was giving up far too early. He was forgetting that his presence would probably give people some comfort, just like the musicians' tunes and the electricians' burning lights. He had a responsibility to carry on, just like the telegraphists, the officers, and the others who were still hard at work.

Is this how you behave? Locking yourself away from your crew and passengers? Ignoring your duties which still exist, and never more so than at a time like this? I am so ashamed of this unworthiness.

It was then I heard another man's voice quite clearly as if there was someone else in the room, but it could merely have been inside the captain's head, I suppose.

Whichever it was, it had an enormous effect on the grey-haired man. He let out a gasp of realization. “Dear God! What am I doing?”

That was it. His break was over. Fixing his cap on his head and straightening his tie, he flung aside the feelings of hopelessness that threatened his mind, reminding himself that he was Captain Edward John Smith, a British sea captain, and he
still
had a job to do.

As had I.

Leaving the captain behind, I was heading back to the lifeboats, to check up on matters, when I heard a man's voice rising in shock and anger. “Great God, man. Have some pity and let them through.”

A confused-looking steward was attempting to block the path of some passengers who were obviously not first class. Oh my goodness! It was the young sisters who had boarded at Cork, Kate and Maggie, with their neighbour, James, who was pleading their case. “I beg you, they're not yet 18 and won't take up much room in a lifeboat.” The steward was contrite, shrugging his shoulders and offering, he knew, a less than satisfactory explanation. “It's just that rules are rules: first class go first, then second, and then third.”

James opened his mouth to argue, but Maggie placed her arm on his and smiled sadly at the steward. “Maybe you might just let my sister through, sir. I can wait my turn, but she's my responsibility and my mother would want me to do right by her.”

Before Kate could refuse to go anywhere by herself, the steward shook his head, finally deciding. “No, no. Come on through. It's best if you stay together. But I'm afraid I just cannot let you by.”

James beamed at the man, in sudden friendship. “No worries there, mate. I just wanted them looked after.”

The girls hugged their friend quickly while the steward told them to be quick, pointing out exactly where to go for the boats. James called after them, “I'll catch up with you in New York.”

All this time I had been rushing around, seeing, watching, observing. There had to be more that I could do. There had to be a reason for my being here. It just didn't make sense if I was on this voyage only to watch it fall apart in front of me, unable to help in any way. Wasn't that what the bandmaster, Wallace Hartley, meant, when he talked about there being a plan for everyone, something that had to be discovered by each of us?

Watching the baker rescue a tiny, half-dead spider and that first-class passenger helping the young mother with her baby, and now James's victory for the sisters, had sparked something within me. The captain struggled bravely with his hopelessness, as did Jack and Harold, who still hadn't found anyone else who could help, yet they stayed in their office, Jack unable to free himself from his headphones and desk. Meanwhile, the brief flicker of the lights reminded me of the various battles taking place, to keep
Titanic
alive, down in the engine room. Four faces floated in front of me and I just knew that they were mine to look after: Jim, Isobel, Joseph, and Sarah. The sea had already taken one person in my life and that was enough. I had to do something for this little family, for this father who reminded me so much of my own. I just had to be able to help them.