The Dressmaker (8 page)

At first, things seemed calm. People were clustering on the deck, shivering and chatting nervously. “We hit an iceberg,” a boy said to no one in particular, holding out a large chunk of ice in his hand, as if making an offering. “See? I grabbed a piece as we passed by. We all did, down below. We were playing.”

As the minutes passed, with no one seeming to know what to do, Tess realized that crew members were struggling to untangle ropes and canvas covers, slipping on the deck, shouting to one another.

Lifeboats. They were launching lifeboats
.

As if by signal, people began bumping one another and scrambling toward the railing, shouting as they looked down into the sea. Suddenly there was an acrid, sweaty smell of human fear in the salt air.

Minutes passed. A shiver worked its way through Tess’s slender body—this was no drill, no joke. This was real. Her heart beat painfully fast as she tried to think. Sailors, jackets open, eyes wild, red in the face—a couple of them aimlessly waving guns—began shouting orders at the growing crowd of passengers. Tess heard a shot, which started people screaming. Children were wailing as mothers began lifting them into the lifeboats, flimsy contraptions swaying high above the water. One by one, the lifeboats were disappearing over the side for their descent, crowded with passengers.

Tess looked into the distance and saw, drifting far astern, retreating into the darkness, a tower of jagged ice, sullen and cold. If there had been in her mind any doubt before, it was gone now; they had to get into a lifeboat. She glanced around wildly, realizing with a sinking heart that the lifeboats on this part of the ship were already gone.

“I’ll check the bow,” she said to Lucile and Cosmo, both of whom looked stunned. Lucile screamed some instruction over the noise of the crowd, but Tess paid no attention, running as fast as she could, sliding on the deck, stumbling and dodging people in her way.

If anything, the chaos was worse at the bow. The unlaunched boats she saw there were full. A woman struggling for a place began screaming as the boat swung out and began descending without her.

“She’s crazy, I’m not getting in that rickety-looking thing,” exclaimed another woman, pulling her coat tight around an evening gown of emerald silk. “This ship is unsinkable; my husband told me so. He knows all about this kind of thing.” It was too hard to look into her eyes.

Tess watched in horror as the scene grew worse. Jean and Jordan Darling, holding on to each other, were arguing with one of the seamen
loading a lifeboat. “Only women allowed!” he bawled, pushing Jordan away. There was panic now; there were no rules. Somehow everyone seemed to realize at the same time that the ship was tipping alarmingly and there weren’t enough lifeboats for the milling crowd on the deck. People were running from stern to bow and back again, desperate to find a place. Tess saw Bruce Ismay calmly stepping into a lifeboat, keeping his head down, ignoring the stares of those who had been denied the last seats. But no one challenged his exercise of privilege. And then she saw Jack Bremerton passing a flailing, crying child into the eager hands of a woman in one of the lifeboats. He did so carefully, almost tenderly; his demeanor calm, his eyes somber.

“Mr. Bremerton!” she screamed.

He turned and saw her, his eyes widening. “Get in a boat now!” he yelled. “Go starboard!” The crowd surged, and she lost sight of him.

“Calm down, there are rescue ships on the way!” yelled a seaman.

“I told you,” said a woman eagerly to her husband as she shivered in the cold. “They’ll come for us, we’re safer here than in those boats. That’s right, isn’t it?” He wrapped his arms around her, not answering as, one by one, the lifeboats started down to the water.

Tess turned around and ran back; if there was any chance now of getting off the ship, it had to be from the stern.

By the time she got back up the slanting deck, Lucile had taken action. She had grabbed a rope holding what looked like a huge, ragged piece of collapsed canvas. It seemed dangerous and fragile, but it was the only thing resembling a lifeboat that had not yet been launched. Tess ran to help her hold it steady.

“Here’s a boat—why aren’t you launching this one?” Lucile yelled at the officer nearest to her.

He didn’t answer. Lucile looked furious. There was no order now. Everyone was running and screaming, families were being separated, and the harried seamen shouting to one another did not seem to know what they should be doing.

“Officer, do you hear us? You’re the one in charge here, aren’t you?”

The officer, whose name was Murdoch, jerked around and saw
her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. His forehead was glistening with sweat and his eyes were almost popping from his head.

“You’ve got a perfectly good boat here and I want to get in it,” she declared. Even here, in this chaos, she was an imposing figure.

“Lifeboat One? It’s a collapsible, a weak one at that,” he said.

“Nonsense, it will float, won’t it? Isn’t that the
point
here?”

He hesitated. Then, “Sullivan, get that boat ready for Lady Duff Gordon!” he yelled to a tall sailor with pockmarked skin. “I’m putting you in charge of the damn boat!”

Lucile climbed in first, motioning Tess and Cosmo to follow. Tess hoisted herself up onto the deck rail and looked around. Two women were hurrying toward them, one draped in a floor-length shawl.

“Get in, you two,” Murdoch said. They crawled aboard, and only when the smaller of the two looked up did Tess see that it was Jean Darling, the dancer. “Any more women?” yelled Murdoch.

There was a hesitation, and then a sudden, unruly scramble of seamen jumped into the boat.

“You bastards, can any of you row?” yelled the exasperated officer. “Bonney, you can row, get in there!”

“I’ve got work to do here, send somebody else!” the man named Bonney shouted as he untied the lifeboat’s ropes.

Tess caught a quick glimpse of him—it was the sailor who had promenaded her across the deck only hours before.

“Do as I tell you, that’s an order!”

Bonney hesitated.

“I said
move!
”

Bonney jumped. Landing on all fours, he straightened, saw Tess teetering on the deck rail, and reached out his hand. “For God’s sake, quick—” he said.

The ship was settling more rapidly, tipping downward, bow first.

“Will you get on with it?” Lucile gasped angrily. “Launch this thing—I’m feeling quite ill!” She clutched her stomach as the boat rocked back and forth, her face pale.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the officer. “Launch the damn boat,” he yelled.
“Now!”

“Wait, miss!”

Tess, about to jump in, turned and saw Mr. Hoffman stumbling toward her with his two sons, their legs flailing, one under each arm. “Take my children—save them, please.” His hair was damp, glued by the sea spray across his forehead. His eyes were imploring.

She reached for the children. Michel clung to his father, crying. With great effort, Hoffman broke the child’s grip and handed him to Tess. She had both boys now and turned to jump into the boat.

Too late. She looked down at Lifeboat One as it plunged seaward, almost empty, lurching violently back and forth. All was unfolding like a dream. Below her, the sailor named Bonney was yelling at her, his arms outstretched.

“Jump! Jump!”

She teetered, now holding two frightened boys; it was too late. The lifeboat had already descended some fifty feet. She looked down into Lucile’s upturned, shocked face. It was over, wasn’t it? It was over.…

“Don’t stand there staring, get in that one.” Murdoch shoved her in the direction of a boat already partially launched, but with its ropes tangled. “You’ve got a few seconds before they get it going again.”

Tess slid and stumbled across the deck, managing to hold on to the boys. The boat was crammed with women and children.

“No room, no room!” shouted a sailor.

“Of course, there is.” The buxom Mrs. Brown pushed him out of her way and reached up to Tess. “Pass the children to me and jump!” she commanded.

Tess obeyed. Two wild tosses; one jump, eyes closed. The boat began its seventy-foot descent from the listing ship, swinging and shuddering as they passed the crowded second- and third-class decks. People stared at them blankly, their faces white with shock, as if survival were part of another world far away.

But as the boat swayed and lurched past them, they began shouting.

“Take my little girl, take her!” yelled a man holding a small child in his arms.

“You are leaving us!” screamed a woman, pointing an accusing finger.

Tess could have touched some of them as the boat lurched back and forth.
Why wasn’t she with them?
She saw a flash of hope in the eyes of the man holding the child. Their gaze caught. He was young, worn-looking, maybe a farmer. Blue eyes, an unkempt beard. The child had a sloppy yellow ribbon in her hair, hanging lopsided now over one eye; she kept pushing it back. Her eyes were big with fright.

“For the love of God, take her!” the father screamed, holding the girl up, still looking at Tess.

Tess told the boys to hug each other, then leaned forward and stretched her arms out as far as she could. The child’s hands were like small, plump peaches, soft and round.

“Watch out,” yelled Murdoch above, peering over the side. “Push away, don’t let any of them grab you or you’ll buckle!”

A sailor thrust his fist hard against the side of the ship, sending the lifeboat swinging. The chance was gone. Tess covered her face as they descended into the black waters below.

She expected a jolt. But the lifeboat hit a surprisingly calm sea, settling in gently, and began drifting slowly away from the ship. Music was still rising into the cold, still air from the A deck. Tess had glimpsed the musicians—somber, playing steadily, braced against deck chairs to keep their balance—during the boat’s turbulent descent.

“Praise God, we made it,” cried one of the seamen.

It took a few moments for them all to realize that no one was rowing, a few moments more before the crew members began shouting at one another.

“Who’s taking the oars?” yelled one.

“I’m not an oarsman, and who put you in charge anyway?” said another.

“Someone has to row, you bloody fool,” a hoarse voice responded. “The officer on deck put me in charge, so get to the oars.”

“Never done it,” the other yelled back. “Jesus, are we going to sink?”

“I can’t row—nobody ever showed me how,” said a third seaman. Even here on the water his clothes reeked of tobacco and sweat.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Scrambling forward, Mrs. Brown grabbed an oar and pointed Tess to the one on the other side. “Let’s show these cowards what it means to do your job!”

Tess grabbed the oar and heaved it forward. She had rowed enough times across the pond below the manor house; she could do this. “Get the back oars!” she yelled at the seamen.

One of the crewmen fumbled with the back set of oars, swearing softly. “Damn things weigh a ton,” he mumbled. “But we’ve gotta get out of here or the ship will suck us under.”

Tess looked back at the
Titanic
. The huge ship was tipping upward, its stern slowly rising into the air—a sight beyond belief. Tess could see human forms, not faces now, rushing back and forth on the decks and bodies jumping into the sea.

“Row!”
she gasped. She wielded her oar, pulling as hard as she could, sure the muscles of her back were shredding apart. Suddenly, a tug—she looked down at the sea and into a human face.

A woman, skirts ballooning around her, was holding on to the oar with one hand, clutching what looked like a bundle of rags with the other. “We’ve got to help her!” Tess screamed, dropping the oar and throwing herself flat, grabbing the woman as the boat began rocking violently.

“Hang on, I’ve got her!” It was Mrs. Brown, reaching out into the water with surprisingly strong arms. Together they hauled the woman in, the added weight forcing the boat deeper into the water. They were overfull as it was, dear Lord, would this sink them? But the boat stabilized and Tess grabbed her oar again.

The ship was now almost perpendicular to the starlit night sky, a straight vertical slash, hovering like a dancer on point. The electric lights in the cabins and on the decks were still blazing, and a strange green glow from the still lit lights of the submerged part of the ship illuminated the black sea. It was, oddly, an incredibly beautiful sight.

“It’s going down—move, move, or it’ll take us with it,” yelled a voice from the stern of the lifeboat. The seamen scrambled for the back oars, no complaints now.

“Oh, God!” screamed a matronly woman with white hair, a spiraling wail that spoke for them all. The ship, bow first, was slowly
sinking into the water. People began tumbling like broken dolls from the decks, flopping, flailing into the sea. There was a huge cracking sound—and then the
Titanic
disappeared, swallowed in one huge gulp by the sea, taking with it all light, leaving the survivors in total blackness relieved only by the cold twinkling of the stars.

No sucking whirlpool—how had they escaped that? The lifeboats floated on still waters. The sea was so smooth, it reflected the stars above.

“It is two-twenty in the morning,” a sailor said hoarsely. “April fifteenth.” Strange, that someone would at that moment have the foresight to check his watch.

Then, rising from the water, an unforgettable, keening sound. It resembled the wail of a bitter wind curving around a snug house, the eerie sound that makes one shiver in bed, grateful to be inside.

“Not this,” wailed the woman with white hair. “My husband is out there, he must be.”

“Not just yours,” said another voice quietly.

Helpless, no one spoke. They barely dared to move for fear of sinking themselves.

Tess turned her attention to the still form of the woman in the bottom of the boat. Since being pulled from the sea, had she moved? Gently trying to turn her over, Tess saw that she held not a bundle of rags but a baby in a blanket—one that had perhaps been safely asleep in a cradle only an hour before. The child must be freezing. She took off her jacket to use as a wrap, even as the truth seeped into her brain. The baby was dead.