Ravenscraig

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Ravenscraig Page 51

by Sandi Krawchenko Altner


  Unbeknownst to Rupert as they struggled to find the oars and pull away from Titanic, boat number four was still not in the water. It had proved to be an exasperating challenge for the deck crew, and Mr. Lightoller was running out of time.

  “Have they forgotten to lower us away?” The demanding woman with the dog screeched to commander Perkis. “What on earth is happening? We’ll be dragged under with the ship!”

  “We don’t have enough men on board to row the boat!” Perkis answered back and a horrified Emma cried out in desperation, searching to see if she could spot Charles to be the needed man, but he was nowhere in sight.

  Their attention went to the cries of a hysterical woman who was being pushed onto the deck chair bridge. Screaming at the top of her voice she landed hard in the boat and in so doing, she knocked the wind out of Beth. The woman cried as though she was dying, but it was in a language none of them could understand. None but Maisie. The woman was babbling frantically in Yiddish. She had been separated from her baby.

  For a fleeting moment, Maisie’s heart stopped as her devastating options flashed through her conscience. She could stay silent and save herself or speak up and save the child. There was no choice. There was only instinct.

  She grabbed the woman by the shoulders and shook her hard to stop the screaming. Then she asked her urgent questions in Yiddish. Emma’s hand flew to her mouth and Beth squeaked out a pitiful cry.

  It was the fat lady with the barking Chihuahua that spoke first. “My God, they’ve allowed a Jewess on this boat! This maid is a Jew!” she squealed. “And this steerage class woman is a Jew also. They must be removed! I want to see the Captain. This is unacceptable. I won’t have it!”

  At this moment the boat began to lower, and the frantic Jewish woman shrieked again. Two crewmen from the deck were scrambling down the ropes into the boat. The woman continued to cry incoherently as if she had lost her mind, and Maisie gripped her and shouted her questions again. Dazed, the woman finally gave the needed information. Beth looked on in speechless amazement at the scene and Maisie yelled as loudly as she could up to the boat deck.

  “Stop lowering! Where is the baby in the red bonnet? Someone took her baby from her when she climbed the rope ladder up from the dining room. She is missing her baby!”

  Miraculously, the baby with the red bonnet appeared as a man shoved his way through the crowd and dropped the tiny child fifteen feet into the boat. Maisie dived into the lap of the fat woman to safely catch the wailing toddler, at the same time knocking the woman’s feathered hat over the side of the boat. With the baby now safe, the Jewish mother turned to Maisie, her face soaked with tears and twisted in emotion and offered her thanks and a blessing in Hebrew.

  The fat woman, bruised in the blow of the landing child began to cry out. “They are all Jews! They must be removed! I won’t stand for it!”

  This was Beth’s breaking point. She calmly handed her brandy flask to Emma, then turned to the woman and slapped her fleshy jaw with all of her might. “Shut up, you stupid old bat, or I’ll take that little mutt away from you and push you overboard!”

  The shocked woman yelped in pain and grabbed her face. “I think you broke my face!” Then seeing Beth’s raised fist threatening to plow her again, she shrank back and whimpered.

  The boat descended rapidly. Beth took a hearty swig from the returned flask before she turned to Maisie. “My dear God, Maisie! When did you learn to speak Jewish?”

  Suddenly the boat splashed heavily into the water, soaking some of the passengers, and sending up a shout from Mr. Perkis, the commander of the lifeboat, to take up the oars. The task of releasing the oars and getting them into the water proved clumsy and awkward as the women struggled over their bulky life belts in the dark night. Maisie was finally able to get an oar in the water. Emma’s eyes were as wide as saucers. She started to cry. Stiffened with fright and desperate for Charles’ safety, she felt her entire world was crumbling.

  Though the boat was only two-thirds filled, it seemed dreadfully crowded as the women shifted for space. Some clad in nightclothes and hastily grabbed blankets expressed their misery at the several inches of water that had settled in around their feet.

  There were no more lifeboats for the screaming passengers left on the Titanic. A deck chair flew toward the boat from overhead and was deflected by one of the men. The chairs were quickly followed by more bodies splashing into the water around them, one after another. Most were beating their arms against the water, but many were frighteningly still.

  Maisie’s heart pounded as she spotted two men making their way toward their lifeboat, swimming hard. She shook Emma out of her daze and yelled sternly at her.

  “Hang on tightly to this oar!

  From the other end of the boat, commander Perkis also saw the men in the water. “We’re taking these men aboard!” He yelled over the cries from the water. “Move into the center and sit on the floor of the boat to make room.”

  Maisie and another woman near the gunwale reached over and helped the men drag themselves into the boat. Perkis ordered them to row as hard as they could to pull away from the ship so as to avoid being sucked under when she sank.

  Suddenly the moment arrived. The bow dipped beneath the sea, and the stern of the great ship wrenched upward into the air, revealing her propellers. Up it climbed toward the sky, then for a gruesome single moment it paused, hovering motionlessly. Then there was a roaring, shrieking sound of metal on metal. The people in the lifeboats covered their ears, and some covered their eyes as Titanic split in two, then slipped away to the bottom of the ocean.

  Shivering and wet, but alive in the bone-numbing cold, the shocked survivors frantically worked the oars. Three more men were hauled into lifeboat number four from the freezing ocean. The trial proved too great for two of them, and they died shortly after, their anguished death-filled faces urging Maisie to push Emma and Beth to keep rowing, to keep moving to stay warm.

  Eventually the screams from the water quieted, and within the hour there was only silence and the quiet slapping of the water against the boats as the wind came up late in the night. A handful of boats with a few hundred survivors were all that remained of the unsinkable Titanic.

  More than twice as many had perished. The hours dragged on. The survivors took turns with the oars. Some sang. Some prayed. Some gave up fighting the cold and died. Finally, the terrible night came to an end as a blood red dawn broke over the ocean to reveal the piteous sight of the boats floating about the ice field with massive icebergs rising out of the water near them. The sight provoked fresh pain and more tears in the boats heavy with the aching hearts of widows and orphans. It was in the early dawn that a cry of hope and relief sang out at the sight of the long awaited rescue ship on the horizon. The Carpathia had come for them.

  “Row harder!” the fat woman yelled, and Beth strained against the oar with tears streaming down her cheeks. Other than the few in the lifeboats, it seemed the men were all lost. She was heartbroken for her daughter, but Emma’s life with Charles had just begun. She was young and beautiful, and she would have another chance with another man. Beth found herself overwhelmed with her own feelings of grief and sadness. Whatever would she do without Rupert? They had been together for close to forty years. Both strong and healthy still, she had never imagined life without him. They had raised four children and together had enjoyed building their place in society and their home at Ravenscraig. What joy could there be in remaining alive when your life was gone? She was crushed under the fear of what would become of her. Thank goodness she had grown sons to help her. Compared to some of these women, she was very lucky. She knew she was blessed.

  Taking the sorry and sodden group of survivors off the lifeboat and onto Carpathia was an arduous affair that required the use of slings for those too weak to climb up on the rope ladder. Maisie went before Emma, and together they half dragged Beth onto the deck with the help of the crewmen. Standing with stiffened muscles benumbed by cold, they wel
comed the blankets given them as they searched the deck in hope of finding the faces they were desperate to see. Could they hope? Emma turned and saw him first as he emerged from the crowd, moving briskly toward them.

  “Father!” she cried as he wrapped his arms around her and Beth together.

  “It’s a miracle, Rupert! Oh, thank God you are alive!” Beth sobbed with relief.

  “What about Charles, Father? Is he here, too?” Emma clutched his sleeve and cried.

  “Not yet, dear one,” he said softly, pulling her firmly into his embrace. “The boats are not all in yet. We must wait to see. Mary Fortune and the three girls are safe. The doctor is seeing them now.”

  One by one, the lifeboats came to the side of the rescue ship. Seven hundred five people were taken on board. Emma searched the faces and looked out desperately at the ocean to see if yet another boat would come. It was a terrible blow when the captain announced they were set to leave for New York.

  A horrible hurting hush descended upon the deck with the awful knowledge there were no more survivors, no more lifeboats floating about in the ice field. Emma wilted into Rupert’s arms and cried hard.

  “I never had time to say good-bye to Charles,” she choked through her tears. “He said: ‘Just know that I love you and I will be waiting for you when this is all over,’ and then he was gone.”

  Beth cried with her and stroked her hair to comfort her. Rupert suddenly remembered something and pulled away from Emma, as he reached for a hidden pocket.

  “I have something for you.” He brought out the tiny jewel box and opened it. Emma gasped when she saw it held the little diamond earrings that Charles had given her. She took the box and her knees began to buckle as the tears flowed down her face. Rupert reached his arms around her and helped her to sit down. Then he went again into his pocket and showed Beth the diamond pieces that he had stuffed into his money-vest. Beth was astonished. It was all clear to her now.

  “Rupert, darling. That’s why we didn’t see you on the deck! You went to retrieve our jewelry. Why did you take such a chance, Rupert?”

  “I didn’t know what to think. I knew Charles was with you,” he answered simply, feeling too much of a cad to be honest.

  The hush on deck slowly gave way to weeping and then disbelief. Only one third of the people on board Titanic had found their way to safety. Yet, the human spirit proved hard to suppress in this time of utter anguish and despair. Immediately, faint hope flickered anew and caught fire as speculation swept through the crowd. Perhaps other vessels in the area had picked up their men, and they would be reunited in New York.

  Maisie searched for assurance that this might be so, but could find no encouragement in the grim faces of Carpathia’s crewmembers.

  Emma, dazed and exhausted, clutched the jewel box in her hand, and seemed unable to respond to questions.

  It would be fifteen days before Emma would speak another word. Pitiful and small in that moment on the deck of Carpathia, she sought solace in the comfort of her mother’s arms, rocking gently in her grief, healing her heart, one beat at a time.

  The ship turned and headed for New York, threading its way back through the ice field. The wireless operators on the Carpathia sent a steady stream of messages to the loved ones ashore. Among the messages was a telegram Rupert sent to his sons in Winnipeg. “Family fine Stop Chas and Mr. F. lost RJW.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  New York Assignment

  April 14, 1912

  It was almost midnight, and Isaac was not pleased with having to work an overnight shift. He had law school tests to write the next day, and when the overnight Linotype man called the paper to say that he was suffering from a bad cold, Isaac was asked to stay and fill in.

  Though his primary job at the paper was as a writer, he truly enjoyed the simplicity and the feel of the Linotype machine, so he continued to take shifts in the composing room when the paper was short-handed. Isaac had become the fastest Linotype operator on the floor and took great pride in learning shortcuts to make the machine run even faster.

  He loved the smell of the molten lead and the feel of the clinking, whirring equipment in his hands. His fingers tapped fluidly over the keyboard and the Linotype machine sang out with musical efficiency as the front page for the morning edition neared completion. Soon he would be able to go home.

  With just a few more weeks of study before he would write the bar exams, Isaac was torn. He was driven to achieve and was recognized as a top student, much admired by both his peers and professors for his persuasive and insightful arguments. He had no doubt he would pass the bar. Yet, he remained undecided as to whether he would have a career as a newspaperman or a lawyer.

  He loved everything about the newspaper and had steadily increased the number of articles he was writing for magazines. Working thirty to forty hours a week and carrying a full load at school made for an arduous schedule, but Isaac enjoyed the fact that he had paid for his own education. His savings were growing, and he had a few dollars to spend, just for fun. The problem was that with his workload, there was not much time for fun.

  It wasn’t that he minded the work, but he did mind the toll it took on his social life. Ellen dated him for six months before she gave up, and Bessie, who was prettier and even more fun than Ellen, seemed to be a good sport, at first, about Isaac’s last minute cancelations, to go out on a story or to study. But it didn’t take long before she made it clear that she wasn’t happy about having to miss Saturday night dances because her beau had to work. It hurt when she broke off their romance. It hurt more when Ziporah told him Bessie was getting married to one of the Guberman brothers. Well, he’d come this far with his delayed education, and he was almost at the finish line. Then, whether as a lawyer or a newspaperman, he would make time for girls.

  The clatter of the Linotype machine took on a subtle change, and Isaac stopped to investigate. While he set to work on the mechanical problem, his mind went to thoughts of his ideal girl. Surely there was a nice young lady somewhere who would like him well enough to want to marry him.

  He reached over to adjust one of the machine’s small conveyor belts as his imagination soared. She would be kind and not too quick to complain. She would certainly be pretty. She would be loving and patient with children. He would take very good care of her and she would adore him. She would be his treasure. His tchotchkelah.

  With the machine now humming to perfection, Isaac stretched to loosen his muscles and then sat down and reached for the next piece of copy. One day. All good things happen in time. Like his Zaida said, the most important thing you had to have in life was patience.

  In the meantime, there was always a good story just around the corner. It helped that his good friend, Jim McGraw, had recently been promoted to night news editor. Jim always plucked the juicy stories out of the pile for Isaac to go after.

  For his part, McGraw could never understand why a talented reporter like Isaac Zigman was killing himself in law school. And, even worse, why he would want to bother hunching over a noisy, miserable Linotype machine for hours at a time when he could be out on a story. In answer to his questions about all this, what he got back from Isaac was a sack full of poetry on the many virtues of the composing machine. Jim just figured that Isaac was a special kind of eccentric, but it was fine by him if it made him happy. The kid sure could work. There was nothing about the newspaper business that Isaac didn’t have a talent for, Jim believed.

  He opened the story idea file to see what he could assign to Isaac for the next night and got into the details of a murder in the Red Light district. This would be right up Isaac’s alley.

  Suddenly, all hell broke loose as Eddy, the copy boy, flew into his office waving a tape from the news ticker. “Mr. McGraw! The Titanic has struck an iceberg! It’s being reported out of Montreal.” Eddy almost landed on Jim’s desk as he handed him the message.

  “What?” Jim read the ticker tape and seconds later was shouting orders in the newsroom.


  Isaac had just one more section to complete on the page when Jim burst into the room. “Ziggy! Stop what you are doing! We’ve got a new front page. The Titanic has struck an iceberg, and they’ve put out a call for help.”

  Isaac’s blood ran cold and his heart stopped beating. Maisie!

  “No!” Isaac shouted as though stricken with pain.

  “Ziggy, are you all right?”

  “My cousin is on that ship.”

  “Is she from Winnipeg? What’s her name?”

  Isaac caught himself. Everyone knew that he was Jewish, and it didn’t matter at the paper, but revealing Maisie’s truth could ruin her.

  “Isaac, what’s her name?”

  He chose to answer with a half-truth. “Her name is Malka Zigman. She’s from London. She’s on her way to Winnipeg.”

  “I’m so sorry, Isaac. I’ll check for her name when they start sending lists out. But just be prepared, the White Star Line isn’t going to be in a big hurry to get the names out for anyone but the first class passengers.”

  “Are you sure it was struck?”

  “I’m not sure of anything. We’re getting bits and pieces in over the wire, and the boys upstairs are hammering the story together now. The wire says sometime just before midnight the Titanic struck an iceberg a few hundred miles off Newfoundland. Even in mid April, the north Atlantic is full of ice, so it could be true. The message also said there were a number of ships in the area and that they were rushing to its aid. The closest port will be Halifax.”

  “Hey, Boss!” Eddy dashed into the composing room in search of Jim. “There’s a new message, Mr. McGraw,” he said thrusting wire copy to the editor.

 

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