The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by William Seil

  I looked at the sadness in the eyes of my fellow passengers and said no more.

  I noticed that I was wearing a life jacket. So were my companions. Miss Norton said that Mr Wilde had provided them before the boat was lowered. Apparently, there had been some difficulty getting the boat in the water. The angle of the ship had been so steep that the lifeboat continually banged along the outer hull. The passengers in the boat had to push against the hull to provide clear descent into the water.

  Our small Englehardt Collapsible was nearly full, but those of us inside were only a handful compared to the 2,200 that had been on the Titanic. Overall, the four Englehardts could carry a total of nearly 200 people. The ship’s sixteen standard lifeboats, larger than the Englehardts, had a total capacity of nearly 1,000. Even if all twenty lifeboats were filled — which they were not — almost half of the passengers would be left without a boat. Their fate would depend on a ship arriving in time. But, given the speed at which the Titanic was sinking, that prospect was looking bleak.

  ‘Any signs of a rescue ship?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ Miss Storm-Fleming replied, ‘although we have been watching that light out there.’ She pointed to a white light miles off in the darkness. ‘It must be a ship, but it has not moved. Surely it has picked up our wireless messages, or seen our distress rockets. But it remains stationary.’

  I suddenly remembered something. ‘Oh, the little girl who was injured. I must see to her.’

  ‘She is well,’ said Miss Norton. ‘We used the first aid kit. Why not rest for a while, and examine her later?’

  ‘Is everyone else unhurt?’ As I looked about the boat, I saw the familiar face of Bruce Ismay some distance away, illuminated by the light of a candle held by one of the passengers. He was seated behind an oar, helping to row.

  ‘Ismay is on board?’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Storm-Fleming. ‘He jumped into the boat just as it was being lowered. I cannot say I really blame him. There was space on board and all the other passengers had left the area. The crew called for women and children, but no one was around.’

  ‘But still, the owner of the line...’

  ‘I know captains are supposed to go down with their ships, but I am not sure about owners,’ Miss Storm-Fleming continued. ‘I suspect he will face a lot of questions once we get back. Our lifeboat is filled with mostly women and children, although there are a few of the crew on board to make sure we get to a rescue ship.’

  ‘Why are we rowing?’ I asked.

  ‘They are afraid that if the Titanic goes down, the suction will take down any craft that is nearby,’ explained Miss Norton. ‘So they want to be well away.’

  Suddenly, pain raced through my head and I was forced to sit back. I thought of Holmes and what must be transpiring on board the ship. Had my friend encountered Moriarty? Was he alive? Would I ever know his fate?

  ‘Look!’ a woman shouted. We all turned immediately towards the Titanic.

  The stern of the ship was rising into the air, slowly, like the second-hand of a clock. As its arc steepened, we heard dreadful crashing sounds caused by the ship’s furnishings and cargo tumbling towards the sinking bow.

  There were screams in the distance. Screams from the people who were gathered at the stern, holding on to any part of the superstructure they could find. Screams from those who had already jumped or fallen into the freezing waters of the North Atlantic. On deck, passengers were climbing up the sloping decks on their way to the rising stern. Perhaps the stern would not sink, at least not for a while. Perhaps the air remaining within the hull would hold it above the water until help arrived.

  I looked at my watch. It was 2.18 — more than two and a half hours since the Titanic hit the iceberg. My companions in the lifeboat, for the most part, were staring intently at this drama. Their eyes were wide open, some glistening with tears. A notable exception was Mr J Bruce Ismay, who was leaning over his oar, his face buried in his hands.

  Out across the water the brilliantly lit ship suddenly glowed red. The lights blinked, then blinked again. Moments later, all that could be seen was the ship’s dark hull, as it eclipsed the bright stars of the night sky.

  I watched as the Titanic continued its upward arc. The sounds of screaming heightened. In the darkness, I could only imagine what it must be like for those remaining on deck. The effort needed to hold on to rails and other fixed points grew with each passing moment. Gradually, many would lose their grip and go tumbling down the deck. If they remained conscious, they would soon suffer the stinging pain of the cold sea.

  It would be even worse for those still trapped below. Visions of the steerage passengers came to mind — families huddled together in the darkness against the forward wall of their quarters. Uncertainty must be the greatest fear of all. And what of my friends, the Svenssons, whom I had met on my journey through steerage with Futrelle? Did they make it safely to a lifeboat? And what of Futrelle? Was he clinging to a rail, or was he already in the water, with a life jacket keeping him afloat?

  The Titanic was now nearly vertical in the water. For a long time it just stood there, its stern pointing towards the sky. Then it began its gradual descent, down towards its dark and peaceful new home. As it made its way down, there was a loud bubbling sound as air escaped from the hull.

  When the first of the ship’s tall funnels hit the water line, it snapped off like a twig, sending a cloud of soot and steam into the air. It appeared to glide through the water for a moment before it sank. One by one, the other funnels followed suit.

  Suddenly, there was a mighty shattering sound below the surface of the water. Some cried that the Titanic was breaking up, but I could not tell for sure. An enormous bubble of air rose from the water as the stern remained poised for one final moment, and then disappeared.

  ‘She has gone,’ said Miss Norton. She could barely find the breath to speak. All those people... Mr Holmes... Oh, my God!’

  Miss Storm-Fleming’s head rested on her arms. I could hear her sobbing. I lifted my elbow over the edge of the boat and placed my free hand on her shoulder.

  I held back my tears: they would come later, at the proper time.

  I looked over at Ismay. He was bowed down over his oar. I could only imagine what he must be thinking.

  Minutes passed as we quietly contemplated what had happened. The only sounds were a frothing noise from the sea and a chorus of weeping in the lifeboat.

  But the cause of our grief had not yet ended. The worst of it was about to begin.

  Back where the mighty ship had just sunk, we heard the cries of hundreds of souls. They had survived the sinking and were out there in their life jackets, floating in the still water amongst the ship’s debris.

  There were both cries for help and screams of pain. The temperature of the water was below freezing. They would not last long.

  My two companions were staring out into the darkness. Soon, Miss Storm-Fleming turned to me. She had the look of someone who desperately wanted to jump over the side to help, but knew that would be futile.

  ‘Doctor Watson, is there nothing we can do?’

  I put my right hand over the side and into the water. At first, it merely felt cold. I left it there. It did not take long before I felt a stinging sensation. I lifted my hand out of the water and warmed it under my arm.

  ‘You there!’ I motioned to the crewman in charge of the boat. ‘We must row back and help. We can fit a few more in here.’

  My statement sparked a wave of debate up and down the boat. The man pondered the request.

  ‘Very dangerous, sir. True, we might save a few. On the other hand, we might find ourselves surrounded. In the state those folks are right now, they’d all try to climb on board at once. If that happened, this little canvas boat would sink like a rock.’

  Private debate continued throughout the boat.

  ‘Perhaps we should wait a while...’ one woman shouted, ‘...until things have quietened down a little.’

&nbs
p; Miss Storm-Fleming jumped to her feet, but I put my hand on her shoulder and held her down.

  ‘By then they will be nearly dead!’ she cried. ‘Is that what you mean?’

  Our boat never did go back for survivors. I would later find out that there was very little effort by any of the lifeboats to pull people from the water.

  The one notable exception was Fifth Officer Lowe in Lifeboat No. 14. He divided his fifty-five passengers among four other boats and took on board a few of the experienced crew. They mounted a valiant rescue effort, but to little avail. Most of those in the water had already succumbed to the cold temperatures.

  After a while, the cries in the distance ended. We were left to silent contemplation and prayer. This was interrupted, from time to time, by talk of being rescued. That light off in the distance never did come to our aid. But we were confident, hopeful even, that help would soon be on its way.

  As time passed I found myself growing drowsy and disorientated. Chills ran through my body. Despite my lightheadedness, I recognized the early signs of hypothermia. The cold sea air and the ordeal of the past several days were taking their toll. At some point, I fell fast asleep.

  I awoke as light began to fill the sky. My head was resting in Miss Norton’s lap, and I was covered with a blanket. There was considerable conversation taking place among the passengers. Some thought they saw the outline of a ship in the distance.

  Miss Storm-Fleming, who had been looking across the sea with the others, turned to me and felt my forehead.

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Four o’clock.’

  ‘Is there a ship?’

  ‘We still do not know. There is something out there in the distance.’

  I rose to a sitting position and looked out across the sea. For a moment, in the pinkish light of dawn, it appeared that we were surrounded by sailing boats. But, as my eyes cleared, I could see that these images were just a continuing reminder of our ordeal. The white objects were icebergs. Most were small, but they were scattered all over the sea. Not far from the side of our boat I saw a deckchair floating.

  ‘You must rest now, Doctor Watson. For a while we thought we were going to lose you,’ said Miss Storm-Fleming.

  I closed my eyes, feeling old and useless. I then slept for two more hours.

  ‘Doctor Watson, wake up, it is time to go. The rescue ship is here.’ Miss Norton was lifting up my head.

  We were pulling up alongside a small liner, the Carpathia. Below the single funnel of the Cunard ship, I could see passengers lining the rail. Some, judging by the blankets draped over their shoulders, were survivors of the Titanic, looking for relatives in approaching lifeboats.

  I attempted to climb the ladder that had been cast down from the deck, but found I was still too weak. A member of the crew threw me a rope, which was looped at the end. I put this under my arms and began to climb, as he pulled me from above.

  We were offered blankets and coffee by one of the Carpathia’s passengers, which we accepted, gratefully. The mood on board was, as one might expect, very sombre. Some passengers were sitting in chairs, staring blankly at the deck. Others were walking about, searching for loved ones.

  We saw Officer Lowe, who was strolling about trying to console survivors of the disaster. After speaking to a woman in a deckchair, he walked over to where we were standing.

  ‘Doctor, I am very pleased to see you here. Can I help you with anything?’

  ‘No, no, thank you,’ I replied. ‘I was just wondering if you, perhaps, had seen Commodore Winter?’

  ‘No, I am afraid to say I have not.’

  ‘Mr Futrelle?’

  ‘No, nor him either and, if I’m not mistaken, most of the boats have pulled up alongside... Forgive me, Doctor, but you do not look well. Why do you not go below? The Carpathia’s passengers have given up their cabins for the survivors. They are all being very kind and helpful.’

  ‘We will soon, Mr Lowe. Thank you.’

  I was feeling unsteady on my feet and somewhat dizzy. With the assistance of my two companions, I contacted a member of the Carpathia’s crew, who took me below to a cabin. Again, I slept.

  When I awoke, hours later, Miss Storm-Fleming was sitting by my bedside and we were alone in the small, modest cabin.

  ‘Doctor Watson, you will be pleased to know that the ship’s doctor said you should recover fully. All you need is rest.’

  ‘Holmes?’

  She gripped my hand. ‘Still no sign. And there is no sign either of Futrelle, the captain — or that scoundrel, Moriarty.’

  She had been talking to the other passengers and crew and told me what she had learned. The captain had apparently gone down with the ship. There was a report that he had been on the bridge when it went down, while someone else said they had seen him swimming in the water. One rumour had it that he had swum to a lifeboat carrying a baby and then left without attempting to save himself. The young wireless operator, Mr Bride, had survived, but his colleague, Mr Phillips, had not. They had both heroically stayed at their posts until the very end, when the captain relieved them of their duties.

  One of the strangest stories was of Mr Andrews, the ship’s builder, who apparently decided to see the end in the ship’s smoking room. Someone reported seeing him standing there, without a life jacket, staring at the painting of Plymouth Harbour. His old debating partner, William Thomas Stead, was there too, sitting quietly with a book.

  Some of the ship’s officers, including Lightoller, Boxhall and Pitman, who had been put in charge of individual lifeboats, had survived. Others, like Mr Murdoch, were among the dead.

  There had been many acts of heroism during the night – some of which, undoubtedly, will never be known. But one that must not be overlooked was that of Arthur Rostron, captain of the Carpathia, who guided his ship through a field of icebergs to come to the Titanic’s rescue. While his ship had been too far away to arrive before the sinking, her crew acted valiantly to rescue survivors. Another ship, the Californian, had apparently been much closer, but had shut down its wireless equipment minutes before the first disaster call went out. Some of the crew had seen the rockets being fired, but did not recognize them as a disaster signal.

  In all, just over 700 of the Titanic’s 2,200 passengers and crew had survived. By far, the heaviest losses were among the steerage passengers and the crew. All thirty-six of the ship’s engineers, who kept the engines and lights going until the very end, had apparently died.

  And what of Holmes? Mr Lightoller told Miss Storm-Fleming that he had seen him struggling, hand to hand, with Moriarty just before the ship went down. But he could not say what happened to him after that.

  ‘They say we will reach New York by Thursday,’ said Miss Storm-Fleming.

  I did not answer at once but lay there, staring at the ceiling.

  ‘I was just thinking about Holmes...and about all those people on deck. Some just refused to believe that the ship would sink, right to the very end. Hundreds more might have been saved if they had taken the danger seriously. Did they really think that the Titanic was unsinkable?’

  ‘I suppose we have become arrogant, somehow believing that we had overcome the forces of nature once and for all. We have forgotten humility. I think, if anything, the Titanic is a reminder for us to face the future with more humility. But, if you want to talk about legacies, let us consider the one left by Mr Holmes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mr Holmes certainly believed in the power of reason, but there was far more to him than that. His character and unswerving devotion to justice were unmatched. And the clarity of his values gave him the courage to recognize the villains of the world. I say courage, because once he recognized an injustice, he felt duty bound to challenge it. And he did this with an energy and confidence that set an example to everyone else.’

  ‘Indeed, he did, Miss Storm-Fleming.’

  ‘Doctor Watson, you too have shown those qualities. In fact, they live on in your bo
oks. There is your legacy to future generations.’

  There was a knock at the door and Miss Norton walked in. ‘Why do you not come up on deck with me and get some fresh air?’

  ‘Well, Doctor Watson?’ said Miss Storm-Fleming. ‘Are you ready for a turn on the deck?’

  ‘Miss Norton, Miss Storm-Fleming, fresh air is just what is required.’ I rose from the bed and smiled at my companions. ‘We must be fit. There is still much to be done.’

  Chapter Thirty

  SUNDAY 21 APRIL 1912

  It was reassuring to feel solid earth beneath my feet. The sky was blue and the sun had just risen over Chesapeake Bay. I was walking along the bank of the Severn River, which was dotted sparsely with oak and maple trees. I paused to listen to the chorus of chirping birds and the water splashing over the rocks. There is nothing quite like the serenity of a fresh spring morning.

  I was being treated to this welcome respite by American intelligence officials. An acknowledgement of my role in the delivery of the submarine plans, they had offered me free use of a guest cottage at the US Naval Academy at Annapolis. I accepted gratefully.

  My two companions of the last two weeks were also enjoying the hospitality of the US Navy and staying at guest cottages near mine.

  Try as I might, I could not remove the haunting memories of the Titanic’s sinking and the loss of my dear friend from my mind. But here, alone with my thoughts, I was just beginning to comprehend fully the enormity of what had happened.

  I walked on, poking at shrubs with my walking stick as I moved at a brisk pace. The air was becoming warmer and I considered stopping to remove my overcoat. The fresh air and exercise were making me hungry, and I was beginning to think about breakfast. I turned to see how far I had walked from the academy.

  Behind me, I could see only the river and the vast solitude of the fields. I had apparently lost track of time and walked further than I had planned.

  Then, in the distance, I saw another hiker. The man had just emerged from behind a ridge, and was walking along the river bank, following the same path I had just travelled. He was a tall, gaunt figure wearing a long grey travelling coat and close-fitting cloth cap. There was something familiar about the man — his gait, the look of his clothing — but I was too far away to obtain a good view.