Some of the men sang softly. Others prayed. Some made no sounds at all. Hours went by.
The sea became rougher, and every few minutes a wave splashed into the boat.
George was drifting off to sleep when one of the men shouted. “It’s a ship!”
And sure enough, a bright light was heading toward them.
“No,” another man said. “It’s just lightning.”
But the light was getting bigger. And brighter.
George stared at that light, afraid that if he even blinked it would disappear, but soon he could see the outline of a gigantic ship steaming toward them.
He whispered to Marco, who barely fluttered his eyes. He pulled his friend closer, rubbing his arms.
“It won’t be long,” he whispered. “Hang on.”
As the sky brightened, George gaped at the scene around him. It was as if they’d fallen through a hole in the ocean and come out on the other side of the earth.
There were icebergs all around them — hundreds of them, as far as George could see.
They sparkled in the golden pink light. They were so beautiful, but looking at them sent a chill up George’s spine.
As the ship got closer, George could see that it was a passenger steamer, like the Titanic. Closer and closer it came, until George could read its name: Carpathia.
There were people crowded on the deck, looking over the rail. They were yelling and shouting and waving. But one voice rose above all the others, like a siren:
“PAPA! PAPA! GIORGIO!”
Marco’s eyes fluttered, and he smiled a little.
“Enzo,” he whispered.
George could see the little boy, waving frantically from Aunt Daisy’s arms. Phoebe stood next to them, waving, with the sunlight glinting off her spectacles.
“They’re safe, Marco!” George said. “They made it!”
George grabbed Marco’s hand.
“And so did we.”
CHAPTER 15
Those first two days on the Carpathia were a blur.
George mostly slept, on a bed of blankets and pillows on the floor of the first class lounge. But he sensed that Phoebe and Aunt Daisy never left his side. He sometimes heard Enzo singing softly to him in Italian, his breath hot on George’s cheek. He heard Aunt Daisy and Phoebe talking—about Marco, whose feet were badly frozen, about the Carpathia’s passengers, who couldn’t do enough for them all. About the hundreds and hundreds of people who didn’t make it out of the water.
Slowly George felt stronger, and on their last night at sea, he was able to go out onto the deck with Phoebe.
They sat on a bench, wrapped in a blanket. A stewardess came over and gave them each a mug of warm milk.
Phoebe looked up at the sky as she warmed her hands on her mug.
“I finally saw a shooting star, when I was on the lifeboat,” she said. “You can guess what I wished for.”
George reached for her hand.
Yes, of course he knew.
On the bench next to them sat two women. Both were crying. Probably they’d lost their husbands. Or brothers. Or fathers.
There hadn’t been enough wishing stars for everyone that night.
Phoebe said that only about 700 of them made it out of the water.
Phoebe leaned in close to George. Her coat smelled like rose water. A lady from the Carpathia had given it to her.
“Have you wondered?” she asked quietly, “if maybe there really was a curse?”
At first George didn’t understand that Phoebe was talking about the mummy.
With all that had happened, George hadn’t thought about it.
But now it hit him: how strange it was that the ship had collided with the iceberg at the exact moment the scar-faced man had opened the lid of Mr. Burrows’s crate.
“I guess we’ll never know,” George said.
But the next evening, as the Carpathia was closing in on New York Harbor, George and Phoebe overheard a skinny man with a beard speaking to an officer.
“Before the Titanic, I was traveling in Egypt, a place called Thebes,” the man said. “I explored a magnificent tomb of a royal family.”
Phoebe’s eyes bugged out.
And before George could stop her, she had marched over to the man.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you Mr. Burrows?”
“Yes, I am,” the man replied.
Phoebe took a big breath.
“Mr. Burrows,” she said. “This might sound like a very strange question. But did you bring a mummy on board the Titanic?”
The man looked at Phoebe.
“A mummy?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “We heard it was a princess.”
Mr. Burrows’s eyes were tired and sad.
But he smiled a little.
“My princess,” he said. “Yes.”
“So there was a mummy?” Phoebe exclaimed.
“No, child,” he said. “One should never take a mummy from a tomb. That is very bad luck. Princess was my cat. She passed away on my trip to Egypt. And so I had her … wrapped, so I could bring her back with me.”
“So the princess was a cat?”
“Yes,” he said sadly. “The most beautiful cat that ever lived.”
Three hours later, just after nine o’clock, the Carpathia docked in New York City in a thunderstorm.
There were thousands of people waiting on the pier.
But the first person George saw as they walked down the gangplank was Papa. He rushed up to George and Phoebe, grabbing them both and pulling them to him. All around them, people cried with happiness. Others just cried, their tears mixing with the pouring rain.
They introduced Papa to Marco and Enzo, but there wasn’t much time to talk. Their train to Millerstown was leaving soon, and an ambulance was waiting to take Marco to the hospital.
Luckily, George didn’t have to say a real good-bye to Marco and Enzo.
Aunt Daisy was staying in New York City to take care of Enzo until Marco’s feet were healed. And then they would come with her for a visit to Millerstown. Seeing the way Marco and Aunt Daisy were looking at each other, George wondered if maybe Marco and Enzo would stay forever. George sure hoped so.
As they rode to the train station, newsboys screamed from every street corner.
“Read all about it! Titanic survivors in New York! More than fifteen hundred people dead! Read all about it!”
George covered his ears.
He wanted to forget everything about the Titanic.
He wanted to put it out of his mind forever.
CHAPTER 16
But he couldn’t forget.
Even back on the farm, surrounded by friends from school and neighbors from town, he felt like he was still drifting on the dark ocean. And each day that went by, he felt himself drifting farther away. At night, when he got into bed, he’d see the faces of all those scared people on G deck. He’d see the ship disappearing into the sea. He’d remember the stabbing cold, and the screams of hundreds of people crying for help.
He didn’t bother trying to fall asleep. Each night, after Phoebe and Papa were in bed, he went out into the woods.
He was heading back to the house one night when he heard a noise through the bushes.
Something was there. He could sense it.
The panther?
He took out his knife, fighting the urge to run away, and peered through the branches. George stared in shock. It was Papa.
He was sitting on a large rock, looking up at the sky, smoking his pipe. He looked like he’d been there for some time.
Papa turned. He didn’t look especially surprised to see George.
“Sorry to give you a scare,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” George asked.
“Don’t know,” Papa said. “Sometimes I just come here, when I can’t sleep.”
George couldn’t believe it. How many nights had they both been out in the woods at the same time?
Papa eased himsel
f off the rock and began walking back toward the house. “I’ll take you up to your bed.”
“No, Papa,” George said. “I come to the woods too.”
Papa looked at him with a very slight smile. “I know that,” he said.
Papa knew? What else did Papa know about George?
What else didn’t George know about Papa?
He and and his father looked at each other. Really looked, for the first time in a long while, maybe since Mama died.
Suddenly George started to cry. They took him by surprise, his tears, and he couldn’t stop. He cried for all those people who didn’t make it out of the water. He cried because somehow he did. He cried because he knew that no matter how much time went by, a part of him would still be out in that ocean. He would never forget.
Papa held George’s hand and didn’t say a word. And then he led George over to the boulder, where they sat together under the stars.
George stared up at the sky. Were those really the same stars that had burned so brightly above the black ocean that night?
Was he really still the same boy?
George, who couldn’t stay out of trouble. George, who didn’t try hard at school.
George, who found the escape ladders. George, who pulled Marco to that lifeboat.
Who didn’t give up.
They sat on the boulder for a long while, and as the sun started to peep over the trees, George told Papa about Mr. Andrews.
“He said he thought one day I’d build a ship.”
Papa didn’t laugh. He puffed on his pipe, looking thoughtful.
“How about we build one together?” Papa said. “A nice little boat. For the pond. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“That’s a good idea,” George said.
A great idea.
“We could start today,” Papa said, standing up and holding out his hand.
They walked back to the house together. The birds were singing softly. The chickens were squawking for breakfast. A breeze was whispering through the trees. And a voice seemed to sing to George, very softly:
“Awake, awake.
It’s now daybreak!
But don’t forget your dreams….”
Papa looked out into the woods, like he could hear it too.
MY TITANIC STORY
This book is a work of historical fiction. That means that all of the facts about the Titanic are true, but the main characters came from my imagination. George, Phoebe, Aunt Daisy, Marco, and Enzo are based on people I learned about while researching the Titanic. By the time I finished writing this book, they sure felt real to me.
I can see George now, relaxing in the little boat he and Papa built, rowing around their pond while Phoebe watches from the shore, reading a book about dinosaur fossils. I can picture Aunt Daisy and Marco’s wedding, how Enzo would run down the aisle with a huge grin on his face. That’s my favorite part of being a writer, giving my characters happiness in the end. If only I could do the same for the 1,517 people who didn’t survive the sinking of the Titanic.
What a sad and terrible story!
One day as I was trying to finish the book, I needed a break, so I went to New York City with my eleven-year-old son, Dylan. We stopped to rest in one of my favorite neighborhoods, in a tiny park on West 106th Street and Broadway with trees and a bronze statue of a woman lying on her side. I read the gold writing engraved in a marble bench, and to my surprise I saw that the entire park was a memorial to two famous New Yorkers who died on the Titanic, Isidor and Ida Straus.
I couldn’t forget the Titanic, it seemed, not even for an afternoon.
And nearly one hundred years later, the world hasn’t forgotten either.
FACTS ABOUT THE TITANIC
More has been written about the Titanic than any other disaster in modern history. I tried to include as much information as I could in the book. But here are some more amazing facts that I wanted to share with you.
• The Titanic was the largest ship—the largest moving object—ever built. It weighed close to 50,000 tons, and was eleven stories tall and four city blocks long.
• There were 2,229 people on board—1,316 passengers and 913 crew. Survivors included 498 passengers and 215 members of the crew.
• The passengers came from 28 different countries, including many from america, england, Ireland, and Finland. There were a few passengers from China, Japan, Mexico, and South Africa. Most of the crew members were from England and Ireland.
• There were nine dogs on the Titanic. They stayed in kennels, but their owners could take them out onto the decks for walks. Two Pomeranians and one Pekingese survived with their masters.
• After the sinking of the Titanic, laws were changed to require all ships to carry enough lifeboats for every passenger and crew member.
• For decades, divers, scientists, and treasure hunters searched for the wreck of the Titanic. It was finally located in 1985 by a team led by U.S. scientist Robert Ballard, 2 ½ miles below the surface of the sea.
• Ballard and his team did not take anything from the wreck. Dr. Ballard believes the Titanic should rest in peace as a memorial to those who died. But he couldn’t stop treasure hunters from diving to the wreck and removing thousands of artifacts: jewelry, dishes, clothes, even the ship’s hull.
What do you think about this? Do you think the Titanic should be brought to the surface or left in peace?
Can you survive another thrilling story based on true events?
Read on for a sneak peek at
I SURVIVED
THE SHARK ATTACKS
OF 1916
Ten-year-old Chet and his best friends, Dewey and T.J., rushed down the path toward the creek. It was the hottest day anyone could remember in their little town of Springville, New Jersey. So hot Papa actually let Chet leave work early to take a swim at the creek.
They stripped off their clothes and raced to the dock. Chet was the first to leap into the air and cannonball into the creek.
Dewey splashed down right after, with T.J. just behind.
“Chet! Catch!” T.J. said, sending his rubber ball through the air.
Chet leaped up and caught it, then turned to throw to T.J. But T.J. was looking down the creek. His eyes were so strange that Chet almost dropped the ball. T.J. looked terrified.
“What’s wrong?” Chet said, looking all around.
Last summer a snapping turtle had almost bitten off Dewey’s finger. There were also snakes, a few mean enough to bite you if you got too close.
But T.J. was looking at something else. Something Chet had never seen before. A black triangle sticking up through the water.
Could it be … was that a shark’s fin?
No, Chet thought, shaking his head. It couldn’t be. His eyes were playing tricks on him. His mind was messed up because of those shark attacks down at the shore, those two men attacked while they were swimming. The blood. The ladies fainting on the beach. No wonder they were seeing sharks in the creek.
There couldn’t be a shark in the creek. That was crazy. Chet tried to laugh, but T.J. was still standing there with that terrified look, and now Dewey was rushing through the water toward the grass.
“Get out of the water!” he yelled.
The black triangle was coming right at them, faster, faster, closer, closer.
Chet swam as fast as he could, but T.J. just stood there, frozen. “T.J.!” Chet shouted. “Hurry!”
But it was too late. The shark was heading right for T.J., and he screamed.
There was a huge splash.
And then he was gone.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank my agent, Gail Hochman, for all she did to bring this series to life. I am also grateful to my wonderful editor at Scholastic, Amanda Maciel, and to Ellie Berger and Debra Dorfman, for welcoming me to the world of Scholastic books. Ben Kanter and Aaron Leopold helped me get this right. And to my children, Leo, Jeremy, Dylan, and Valerie, who make every day a thrilling journey.
About the Author
Lauren Tarshis at the Isidor and Ida Straus Titanic memorial in New York City.
Photo by David Dreyfuss
Lauren Tarshis is the editor of Storyworks magazine and the author of the critically acclaimed novels Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell out of a Tree and Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell in Love. She lives in Connecticut and can be found online at www.laurentarshis.com
Copyright
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc, Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Text copyright © 2010 by Lauren Tarshis
Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Scholastic Inc.
Cover art by Steve Stone
Cover design by Tim Hall
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, LITTLE APPLE, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First printing, June 2010
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
I Survived #1: I Survived the Sinking of the Titanic, 1912 Page 4