by Paul Gallico
The Rosens were clinging on to one another to keep their feet from slipping through the pipes and into the muck from which issued sharp splinters of glass. All the women had resumed their shoes.
The Beamer came climbing out from the wine room, where he had scrambled to try and find a drink. He was not looking well. He made for Pamela and stood with his shoulder touching hers, and she felt that he was shivering. She asked, 'What happened, Tony?'
He replied, 'The barman. I think he must have bled to death. There was nothing I could do. I need a drink, Pam.'
She slipped an arm about his waist and held him tightly to her. He repeated, 'I need a drink,' and did not notice her comforting.
Scott said, 'We want to get up to the very bottom of this ship.'
'You mean the keel, don't you, sir?' Peters said.
'That's right. If there is any rescue attempt that's where we ought to be.'
Acre said, 'You'll never get through, sir. She's got a double bottom.'
'I know,' said Robin Shelby, 'that's where the oil tanks are.'
'The Skipper didn't ballast at La Guaira,' Peters said. 'I wondered why. But anyway, the fumes wouldn't let you through.'
'Do they run the whole length of the ship?'
'Except for the bow and the stern, sir.'
'Could we reach either?'
Peters looked the party over: fat Mrs Rosen, her black lace dress already shredded in places from her climb up the tree; the terrified Linda Rogo; Miss Kinsale. The young girls might make it and Mr Shelby and the boy, but not the fat woman. Some of the other gentlemen did not look too fit. Besides, he could only guess at the obstacles that would face them with the ship in the condition she was. He said, 'I couldn't say, sir. You could try.'
'Which way would you go, Peters? Towards the bow or the stern?'
Peters reflected. 'I'd say the stern. The anchors may have broken away and fallen out. That's what might be keeping her steady. In that case the chain lockers would be full of water. Even if they weren't, you'd never get past the anchor chains. I'd say you'd have a better chance in the stern. Maybe somewhere towards the end of the propeller shaft.'
Shelby asked, 'Why are we still floating, Peters?' It was a question none of them had dared voice.
Peters replied, 'I couldn't say, sir. It's mathematics, I suppose. Something to do with air spaces and buoyancy. I was told the cargo holds were nearly empty. There'd be air in them, then, wouldn't there? I wouldn't know, I'm only a steward.'
'But you've sailed in this ship for a long time, haven't you?'
'Twenty-five years to be exact,' Peters said, 'but I only know my own part of her, the kitchens and below decks.' Then he added, 'But we did notice that she had settled somewhat, sir,' and he gestured towards the pool of the grand staircase. 'That's why we suggested you come up here.'
Rogo said, 'So we're here, but where the hell are we? Where's it getting us, all this yackety yack?'
He stirred the group to uneasiness. They had been led up from the dining-room floor to exchange one shambles for another. The corridor was confined.
Scott refused to be ruffled. He said, 'You don't make a decision on a play without going for the weak spot. And when you make it, that's it.' Then to Peters, 'What's your opinion of our chances?'
He dropped his voice and said to Scott and Shelby, 'She could be settling gradually; she could take a lurch and go all at once.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Or she might float for hours before going down, unless the weather changed. An aircraft might spot us in the morning.'
Shelby said, 'Morning could be too late.'
Robin Shelby heard. He said, 'They could see us at night, too, if they knew we were missing. There's an aerospace rescue and recovery centre in the Azores. They fly Hercules HC-130s. If an astronaut came down, they'd fly over the area and drop flares. If we're sticking up out of the water, we'd show up on radar screens, even in the dark, wouldn't we?'
Peters said, 'See, he knows. He's a smart lad. I've had many a chat with him.'
Robin was wound up: 'They'd telephone to the Miami Marine Information Centre, who relay it to the Shipping Computer Centre in Washington. That's why ships send in position reports. If an astronaut has to come down suddenly where he's not expected, they have to know where every ship on the sea is all the time, so they can send the nearest one.'
The Beamer said, 'I say, laddie, you're pretty sharp on all that, aren't you? So it all boils down to that damned time element again; whether or not that position report went out.'
Susan Shelby whispered admiringly to her brother, 'How do you know all that, Robin?'
The boy replied, 'Aw, anyone today knows that, Sis. It's all in my astronauts magazine that Daddy gave me for Christmas.'
Scott asked, 'Do you know how long the emergency lighting will last?'
Acre replied to this question, 'About four hours, sir. One of the electricians is a pal of mine. If it hasn't been damaged. It's on two banks of storage batteries.'
Scott consulted his watch. It was half-past ten. He said, 'We ought to be able to make it inside of three hours.'
The thought of the lights suddenly going out and rendering them helpless rattled Rogo. Words spilled out of the side of his mouth, 'Then why don't we get up off our asses and get cracking? You wanna get caught stumbling around in the dark with a lot of women?'
The Beamer added, 'I say, yes. Oughtn't we to be off?'
Scott replied with a curt, 'No!' and when The Beamer looked startled, added, 'You've given me the ball, but before I run with it I like to know where the hole is going to be.'
The Beamer looked at Muller in bewilderment. The latter said simply, 'Football. American. But he's right. He's just saying he wants to know where he's going.' Then to Peters, 'By the way, what's directly below us -- or rather, I suppose, overhead now?'
He drew a look from Rogo, firing his dislike again, with his soft voice and cultured way of speaking.
'The swimming-pool,' Peters replied.
Rosen cried, 'What? With water?'
Martin moaned, 'Oh no!' and involuntarily pulled his head down closer to his collar. They all looked up uneasily.
One of the other waiters smiled crookedly and said sardonically, 'Duck!'
Peters said, 'It's all right. The Skipper always orders it emptied when there's any movement. If he hadn't, none of us would be here now.'
Scott asked, 'How far does it extend?'
Peters replied, 'Just about to the end of the pantry. There's a door leading to the passage just beyond the kitchens. If you go along there, you'll come to a companionway and can go down . . . I mean, up two decks which will bring you to the working alleyway.'
'Broadway,' put in Acre with a grimace.
Peters said, 'We call it Broadway. It's a wide corridor that runs the length of the first-class. From it you've got access to any part of the ship. It enables crew or hotel staff like us, or cabin stewards, electricians and all that lot, to get from one part of the ship to another without going up on deck, or into the cabin section.'
'. . . and scaring the passengers,' added the steward who had advised Martin to duck.
'Oh, cut it out, Williams,' Acre said.
'Pappas can show you the way,' Peters said, and then clapped his hands. 'Oi! Pappas! Wake up! Stop dreaming of home and mother. You speak Englis'? Show these people how to get to the alleyway.'
The Greek sailor turned his bearded face but it was still expressionless, as though he had neither seen nor heard anything.
'From there on,' Peters continued, 'you'll have to work your own way. Keep going aft. At some point you'll have to get up through the engine room to get to the propeller shaft.' Here he and Acre exchanged glances and Peters said, 'We don't know what's happened there.'
Acre added, 'It's five decks high.'
Muller's courage waned again. The 'five decks high' had clouded over his mind with a picture not wholly realized except to tell him they were embarked upon an impossibility.
But Scott was
imperturbable. He asked of Peters, 'Would there be any rope about?'
'Yes. There's a locker just at the end of the pantry. When it's rough we put up hand lines here to get us through into the saloon.'
'Would you get it for me?'
Williams said, 'Let him get it for himself. Nobody's working here any more. We're all in the same bloody fix.'
Scott said, 'That's true, I don't mind. Tell me where it is, Peters.'
The steward said, 'Come, I'll show you, sir,' and the two went off together.
Martin still natty in his tartan dinner-jacket with tie to match, the eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses alert, whispered to Muller, 'What do you think?'
Muller replied, 'He's been a winner, hasn't he? Maybe that's his formula.' Scott's firmness and unconcern had restored his courage and further aroused his curiosity.
The Minister and the steward returned. Scott had a coil of light, nylon rope over his shoulder and carried a heavy, long-hafted red fire axe. The axe had a sharp spike at the opposite end to the blade.
Martin asked, 'What's that for?'
Scott said, 'If we're going to have to climb, we might as well be prepared for it.'
Muller's mind conjured up a silly picture for him; Scott, in a Tyrolean hat, leather pants and cleated boots, roped to an Alpine ledge, wielding a climber's pick. But Rogo was driven to sudden intemperate fury.
'Climb! For Christ's sake, are you off your nut? And the lights go out? And women? What about the stairs -- there's got to be stairs, don't there?'
Scott said, 'The stairs may surprise you, Rogo.' The sudden glare was back in his eyes again, that straight unseeing stare. 'You're the one who wanted to get cracking. We're wasting time.'
And this brought back the urgency upon all of them again, and the horror of their situation -- upside-down in the biggest transatlantic liner ever built, 81,000 tons of metal hanging between heaven and the bottom of the sea.
Muller felt sickened again because Scott had brought to his mind something that had worried him and that he had been trying to remember ever since they had agreed to follow him. It was the dining-room staircase. He struggled against the implacable clarity of the picture and wondered how long he could stand being battered back and forth between doubt and death, cowardice and courage.
Scott looked his party over and asked, 'Are you still willing to trust me?'
Shelby settled any doubts by answering for them, 'We're with you, Frank.' But Mrs Rosen clutched at her husband's arm and whispered something to him. She had evidently been alarmed by the paraphernalia with which the Minister had reappeared.
Rosen said, 'Look, we don't want to be any trouble. Belle doesn't think she would be able to climb so good. Maybe we ought to stay here and not get in your way.'
Miss Kinsale said at once, 'Oh no, Mr. Rosen, you mustn't think of such a thing. I'm sure it won't be too difficult with Dr Scott to help us.'
Rosen looked uncertain and unhappy. Scott said, 'Come along as far as you are able to, keep going as long as you can.'
It rallied them again. None of them wanted to die. He had the gift of liberating the human soul from its fears, to touch upon that nerve that charged the will to survive in the face of all obstacles.
Scott said, 'I think we should have some order of proceeding and stick to it, so we know where we all are. It's going to be difficult walking on these pipes. We ought to go in twos, with the men helping the women. I'll lead with . . .' and he looked about for a moment, 'Miss Kinsale. Then I think Mr and Mrs Shelby and the Rosens; then the young people, Mr Bates and Miss Reid, Martin and Mr Muller, and I suggest the Rogos bring up the rear together.'
Linda Rogo said, 'Why should we go last?'
Rogo added, 'Yeah, what makes you think I'm gonna be tail-end-Charlie?'
'Because you've got a head on you and I expect you may be called upon to use it.'
The detective said no more and when his wife started to protest again, gave her arm a sharp squeeze and said, 'Shut up!'
Jane Shelby again felt a small pang of anger. If bringing up the rear in Scott's mind was a place of importance, why had not he chosen her husband over this horrid, violent man who so obviously despised him?
Even as he made his last disposals of his party, something had caught Scott's eye, an upside-down locker hanging from the ceiling from which extra tablecloths and napkins had tumbled. He retrieved eight of each that had not been immersed in the muck sloshing about the floor and distributed them to the men saying, 'Put the tablecloths over your shoulder and the napkins in your pockets.'
It was The Beamer who asked, 'Now what on earth for, old . . .?' and shut himself up again.
Scott said, 'The cloths may come in handy, if they don't we can discard them. As for the napkins, they'll be useful if one of us should suffer a bad cut. We can't afford injuries.'
Jane thought: God help any of us should we become crippled! He'd leave us.
Scott shook the shoulder of the still dazed Greek seaman and said, 'Okay, Pappas, get moving! Show us the way.'
Williams suddenly rasped, 'Sure! Okay! Get going! And what about us, here?'
The Minister turned back, 'Will you come along? I'll take anyone who wants to come -- or can; Peters, you boys from the kitchen, any of you or all of you.'
Peters said, 'I don't know, sir. Our orders in case of emergency are to remain at our posts until further instructions, or by signal or voice we're sent to our lifeboat stations.'
Williams said, 'Well, there ain't been no signal and there ain't been no voice, and what good are lifeboats when you're ass over tea kettle?'
Scott said, 'I should think you might consider yourself relieved of your orders by now. Very well, Williams, you and who else?'
Scott's quiet acquiescence suddenly threw Williams into an almost childish tantrum, 'Not me!' he shouted. 'You'll never make it! You got any idea what's between you and the bottom of the ship? You'll get yourself and everybody with you killed.'
Scott simply ignored the outburst and said, 'Peters?'
Peters said, 'I wouldn't be leaving Acre, here. We've been together too long. Things may still turn out all right, if we don't lose our heads.' Then he added, 'As you go past, don't look into the kitchens.'
'Why?' Rosen asked without thinking. 'Somebody get hurt?'
'The stoves came away as well as everything else,' Peters answered, 'These two boys here,' indicated the shaking chefs, 'got out. The others didn't.' Then almost as an afterthought added, 'The stoves were in use.'
It was Hubie Muller, the dilettante, whose mind was able to form the most vivid and scarifying picture, perhaps because like so many of his set he was an amateur cook and knew his way about the kitchen. All the plates of the electric stoves would have been glowing hot, and overturned, would have broken loose and with the scalding contents of their pots and pans, come crashing down amongst the chefs, the second cooks, the salad and pastry specialists, dishwashers and pantrymen, crushing, burning or hammering them to death. It was probably from there that the awful animal scream he had heard had emanated as the ship had gone over.
'We'll go,' Scott ordered, but first turned and said, 'Thank you, Peters. Thank you, Acre, and good luck to you.'
Shelby wondered whether he was going to add, 'I'll. pray for you,' but he did not.
The stewards said, 'And good luck to you, too, sir.'
As they moved off they heard Linda say, 'I don't need any help. It's all your fault we're in this mess.' And Rogo's plaintive, almost perpetually placating voice when addressing his wife, 'Aw, now honeybun, lemme take your arm before you bust one of them pretty gams of yours.'
Scott called out, 'Miss Kinsale.'
She said, 'Oh, thank you, Dr Scott,' and slipped her tiny hand through the proffered arm. He maneuvred it so that she would be on his left side and away from the kitchen. The other men followed suit. No one said anything more and there was only the sound of their feet reaching for purchase between the slippery pipes.
They picked their
way past the open kitchens on their right, their heads averted. They breathed a heavy mixture of acrid odours, food and behind it something sinister and sick-making. The picture in Muller's imagination supplied him with what it was: burned flesh. Most of the ceiling lights had been smashed, but two were intact and the flickering rays of the emergency bulbs showed only the outline of heaped-up steel or glinted off the wreckage of overturned copper cauldrons, stoves, ovens and equipment. Except for the sounds of antiphonal ticking of metal still cooling, the place was silent.