Several cheered Lightoller.
Eugene Daly, who often entertained third class passengers with his uilleann pipes and caused impromptu parties deep in Steerage and who took care of unescorted, fellow Irish-women spoke up, “It was not Mr. Murdoch who saved Mr. Jefferies but another officer, I believe. On the deck, Mr. Murdoch was a hero and made sure the ladies were aboard the lifeboats. When he was rushed, he shot two men dead for being cowards and bully-boys.”
“Good for him,” Gracie said.
Daly went on, “We waited a bit, and then after a while, I heard another shot. Mr. Murdoch, it was. I did not see him myself, but everyone said Mr. Murdoch did not want to go into the freezing water, and he felt a mighty guilt at the orders he gave for the ship. But for his orders, he said we might have missed the berg.”
“He did what the Captain or I would have done. He was not at fault,” Lightoller said.
“Most assuredly he wasn’t. I wish he had made it as he was a good man, but how he must have feared the pain of the icy water. I can understand that. I would rather depart this life than go into the water again,” Daly said.
Daly grabbed a man next to him and kept him from falling.
“Thank you,” the man said.
“Maybe it was not Mr. Murphy but someone else. Maybe he is aboard another boat and safe. I sorely hope so.”
“Maybe the Captain as well,” someone suggested.
“Maybe,” Lightoller felt a pain in his chest and throat as he answered. He would not tell the others they had left the Captain back in the water to perish. He didn’t have a lifebelt.
At the stern, two slipped off at once, hitting their heads as they fell. One was knocked unconscious. The other one kicked and fought to get back in the lifeboat, and they pulled him back up alongside them. Besides being wet and cold again, he was all right. The man who was knocked out floated a while and maybe drowned, but it was a few minutes before the megaladon scooped him up.
All around, the field of bodies had thinned as the fish fed. In some ways, it was amazing to see the shark taking the dead as it did normally, in private and in moderation. None had ever seen an animal feed so methodically. It was a sleek, eating machine, enormous and powerful. He cleared out many of the bodies.
“That is all he does: swim and eat, I suppose,” Jack Thayer said.
“Normally. But I would gamble this arsehole enjoys what he is about tonight,” Lightoller told them.
He and Gracie told stories, they sang songs, and the two men kept everyone focused and positive as the time passed. At one point, they had thirty- five standing on the overturned hull, but the shark teased them, making waves and eating those falling into the water.
He never bumped the boat although he could have. He did not swallow the boat whole although he could have.
As soon as they were farther away from the wreckage, he stopped collecting his meals, but there were twenty-four left standing. As the boat lost the air pocket beneath it, it slid deeper into the water.
After a while, the survivors stood in a few cold inches of water, but it could have been far worse. Later, it was over their ankles, making it more difficult to keep their balance, so a few slid off and floated away. In a few hours, the water was to their knees, and they were barely able to stay on the hull; more slipped off.
Later, when they were found, the shark was forgotten, and they were thinking about the losses they suffered, there were fourteen left standing on the boat. Mr. Gracie, Mr. Daly, Harold Bride, and Officer Lightoller managed to stay on the hull.
Jack Thayer, also saved, never stopped praising Officer Lightoller for his heroics and intelligence during a catastrophic event. Had he remembered the shark, he would have appreciated the Officer even more.
Lightoller never knew why he suddenly developed an interest in sharks, but it became a subject he enjoyed reading about and studying.
He liked the normal ones.
Chapter Thirteen: Boat C
Howard’s Account
In our boat, there were many who could not speak English but instead, spoke other languages we did not know. We spoke by pantomime much of the time because some gestures are universal in meaning. Some of those who could not speak English were probably used to using gestures and hand movements to indicate what they wished to say.
There was a family: the mother had a small babe in her arms and two children barely old enough to speak, but she tried to keep track of her children. Several other children cuddled against their mothers as well, hiding their faces from the cold, from strangers, and in fear. How helpless they must feel, all alone and terrified, unable to communicate easily.
Most all had come from third class.
In pieces, we understood that Mr. Stead and Mr. Daniels had found them and brought them to the boat at some point. How like those two for them to have gone into the lower decks to search for women and children at the risk of their own lives. Even after getting them onto the boats, the two men had refused to join us, going back for more who needed help.
I would never forget the bravery of those men and hoped, each time we saw a floating, waving survivor, he would be Stead or Daniels.
As the flooding spread, stewards locked gates to each deck so the monsters could not swarm those atop deck. They did not know monsters were everywhere, but they did what they thought was right in that situation, knowing that many people were caught below and left to drown as they closed the gates.
Stead and Daniels climbed down and found those who had survived the water, vermis, and other beasts. The pitiful survivors were wet, dressed in clothing that was a little too thin, shivering under blankets, and pressed against the black, steal gates. Their fingers held the grating, and they cried out for help in many languages besides English, but no one was still below to help them.
As the water rose, the women held their children as high as they could to avoid the cold; small children would die quickly if exposed. The women crammed themselves at the tops of the stairs, looking back as the sea lapped at the first step.
When they saw Stead and Daniels, at first they did not raise their heads, afraid to hope. They had seen one steward come down, headed for the kennels to release the dogs. With luck, some might find a way to float to an open stairway and climb upwards. No one ever saw the steward again, but they heard some of the dogs barking.
Daniels opened the lock and motioned them to follow. He asked, as best he could, where the others were. Were they still locked in the lounges? The people told him the rest were locked away and afraid, but they were more terrified to come out. The water had reached the stairs already, blocking the way down or up.
“You came out, however, and waited for help. That was brave,” Stead said to them sincerely.
“Seulement enfant,” one of the women said, hoping they understood.
“Your only child,” said Daniels as he nodded, “we need to go now. It will not be easy, but we must go.”
They had waded through flooding, climbed ladders with children, and fought things that wanted to eat them; they were almost exhausted. Some of the men whispered last minute sentiments and waved them all away, saying that the women and children had to escape.
The men said they would stay and guard the gates so no one tried to over run those trying to escape and no abominable creatures came through. “Le garde,” the woman said, “monstre.”
Some of the men had makeshift weapons, but some faced the threats below with nothing more than scared, barred fists. The woman showed us how the men stood, fists raised and ready to fight, “Pour combattre.”