by Walsh, Dan
“We’re not going back to England.”
“Then where are we going, Captain?”
“I . . . I don’t know, not yet.”
“You don’t know. Then let me ask you this: I’m supposed to be in Charleston for my meeting tomorrow afternoon. It’s the very reason I made this voyage. If we turned around this instant, would we be in Charleston in time for my meeting?”
Houtman wanted no part of this conversation. “It’s possible. But I have no control over the winds.”
“Then I insist you turn this ship around this instant!”
“You insist?” Houtman yelled back. “You don’t insist.”
“Captain, you were paid to bring me to Charleston in a set amount of time.”
“Is that so? I don’t recall signing any contract to that effect. In fact, when I was asked how long this voyage would be, I recall giving an estimate only, then emphasizing what I have always believed . . . the sea does as she pleases.”
“But this delay is not the sea doing as she pleases, Captain. It is you,” he shouted. “Doing as you please!”
Houtman needed to end this. How could he argue from reason when he had no reason to give? “Mr. Giles, I will make this concession . . . if valid justification for my decision does not present itself by morning, we will turn around and head back to Charleston.”
Giles paused to consider. “Will we still make it in time for my meeting with the senators?”
Houtman sighed. “No, we will not.”
“Then I reject your offer!” He was shouting again.
Houtman could not have a passenger yelling at him in front of the men. “You reject my offer, do you?” Houtman yelled even louder. “It was not an offer, Mr. Giles, and you have no leverage to bargain with. You have the authority of a box or a crate. Or like this barrel here, and no more. You will go where the ship goes, and the ship goes where I say it goes.”
“You hear that?” Robert asked.
“I hear something,” said Ramón. He nudged John. “John, did you hear that?”
“I think John’s asleep,” Robert said.
John heard something also, but he felt too weak to jump into the conversation.
“Sounds like people yelling,” said Robert. “Coming from that direction.” He pointed off in the darkness.
“Could just be one of the men on the fringe,” said the ambassador, still lying down, “yelling at some hallucination. Probably drank seawater.”
“No,” said Robert. “There it is again, and look . . . isn’t that a light?”
“Where?” said Ramón.
Robert pointed, now on his knees. “Look, it is . . . some kind of light.”
“Gentlemen,” said the ambassador. “I think that is a light. Much too low to be a star.”
Now John’s eyes opened. It did sound like an argument, well off in the distance. He hadn’t heard a sound all day but the wind and splashing of waves. This was quite different. John sat up and looked where Robert had pointed. There was a light, two lights, actually. “Men,” he yelled to all the men floating on tables and hatches nearby, “scream out for all you’re worth. That is a ship out there.”
They instantly began to yell and shout.
“Jesus,” he said quietly, “are we saved?” He felt the urge to cry but had no tears. He joined in yelling, “Here we are!” with all the strength he could find.
“Captain, Mr. Giles . . . with all respect, sirs, would you men stop talking a moment?”
Houtman and Giles instantly stopped. They looked at young Pieter, astonished to hear him address them this way.
“Listen,” he said, his face beaming in the lantern light. “I hear something, getting louder, there off the starboard bow.”
Houtman heard it now also. He rushed to the nearest rail. “Do you hear that, Mr. Conklin?” he yelled toward the stern.
“I do indeed, Captain. I am turning her in that direction.”
“Very well,” said Houtman. It was the voice of men crying out in distress. He was certain. He wanted to jump, to cheer. But he could not, so he looked at Giles. “I believe that sound, Mr. Giles, may very well be the reason that deranged gull struck me in the head.”
Giles just looked back out to sea toward the growing sound, on his face a look of utter amazement.
31
“The lights are getting bigger,” Robert yelled. “Do you see them?”
No one answered. They just kept shouting. But it was obvious to John. The lights were getting bigger.
The ambassador sat back and buried his head into his knees. His shoulders moved up and down. He was sobbing. So were many others. Tears of joy. Shouts to God. Parts of Bible verses. Phrases from memorized prayers. John heard them all, mixed in with their cries.
Robert looked back at him. “We are spared, John. God didn’t abandon us.”
John continued to watch as the ship moved closer. There was no moon to aid them, and the starlight was hindered by scattered clouds. He tried but couldn’t see all the men in the larger group. He wondered how many were still alive. How would they know if they’d rescued them all?
Twenty minutes later, John saw parts of the ship lit up by a half dozen lanterns. Finally words came from the ship, someone yelling. John asked everyone to be quiet. No one heard him. Robert did and shouted for the rest to be still. Everyone stopped, listened.
“We don’t see you,” the voice said with some kind of accent. “How many are you?”
John whispered to Robert, who shouted, “Fifty, maybe a few more.”
“Are you in a ship or a boat?”
“No,” Robert yelled. “We’re shipwrecked, floating at sea.”
“For how long?”
“Several days,” Robert yelled back. “Can you help us?”
A long pause.
“Yes, we have room for all of you. Plenty of food and water.”
The sky erupted with shouts and cheers and praise. John collapsed on the raft, overwhelmed and exhausted.
He had just one thought . . . Laura. He would see his love again.
Though he hadn’t had a drop to drink in days, from some reservoir within, tears finally came.
“Captain,” said Mr. Giles, “this is the most remarkable thing I have witnessed in the entirety of my life. I offer my most humble apology.”
Houtman looked at Giles. His hat was off, his head bowed. It was the oddest scene. “Apology accepted, Mr. Giles.” He had felt like such a fool just minutes ago. Tears filled his eyes as he looked back toward the voices. This was amazing. He had no words. It was a story he would tell his children and his grandchildren. And they would tell theirs.
“Keep talking to them, Pieter, until we draw close enough to begin the rescue.”
“Yes, Captain.”
He looked back at Pieter, then the rest of his men spread throughout the deck, so proud of their teamwork. Without instructions, they had already reset the sails to slow the ship’s speed. Four of them were at work preparing the small boat.
Within twenty minutes, the ship had reached the main body of men. Houtman leaned over the rail. It was hard to see anything a few feet beyond the lanterns. The rescue boat was quickly lowered. A moment later, he heard a loud splash. One of his crewmen yelled, “Stop or you’ll swamp us.”
“But I can’t swim.”
“Then let us pull you aboard.”
More splashing. “I can’t swim.”
“We’ve got you, sir. Calm down.”
Houtman needed to do something. “You men on the water,” he called out. “This is Janus Houtman, captain of the Angeline. Please don’t panic or rush the rescue boat. We can only take a few at a time. But you have my word, we will stay all night if we have to, until each of you is safely aboard.”
This calmed things considerably. Houtman heard a new noise on the opposite side of the ship. More men were calling out for help from that side, slapping the side of the hull. Three crew members rushed to help and tossed ropes over the side. “Wrap th
ese ropes around you. We’ll pull you up.”
In ten minutes, between the rescue boat and the ropes, fifteen men were on board. Not a single one could stand. But they had all asked for the same thing: water. His men were ready to give them all they desired.
Houtman stepped in. “Careful,” he said. “Start with sips only.”
“But we haven’t had anything to drink in days,” one of them said.
“Which is why you must sip the water now. We have plenty, but you’ll be sick if you drink your fill. Trust me.”
The men reluctantly obeyed.
His crew lifted another small group of men from the rescue boat. Houtman bent down and asked one of them, “What ship are you from?”
“The SS Vandervere,” came the quiet reply.
“The Vandervere,” said Giles, standing beside Houtman. “I know of this ship, part of the steamship mail line. I thought someone said there were only fifty in your group?”
“I don’t know about that,” the man said, looking down.
“This can’t be all,” said Giles. “The Vandervere carries over five hundred souls. Where are all the others?”
A pause.
“Gone,” someone else said. “A ship came just before we sank, rescued the women and children.”
“How many?”
“Just over a hundred, I think.”
“Thank God for that,” said Houtman. “That means over three hundred men are lost?”
“I think more than that,” said the man. “Closer to four hundred I’d say.”
“How awful,” said Giles. “What of your captain and his officers?”
“All gone,” he said. “None of the crew survived, except a few of lower rank, the ones that rowed the women in the lifeboats. Could I have another sip?”
“Certainly,” said Houtman, standing up. The extent of the tragedy began to settle in. A massive loss of life. He’d never heard of such numbers from a single shipwreck. To have played a role in this miraculous deliverance for these fifty men was still a thing of wonder, but . . .
Four hundred souls. Gone.
32
“We need to paddle faster,” Robert said. “Look how many have already boarded.”
John didn’t have the strength to keep up with Robert.
Robert noticed. “John, can’t you go any faster?”
“Robert, what difference does it make if we get there a few minutes faster? You heard the captain, they’re staying until everyone is onboard.”
Robert turned around, paddling just as hard, but Ramón slowed to John’s pace. “An amazing thing,” he said. “We haven’t seen a single ship since the Vandervere sank, and God brings one right to us on the darkest night yet.” He smiled. “Robert, I say let’s savor this moment.”
For the next few minutes, no one spoke as they paddled. They just watched the rescue unfold. John didn’t see or hear any stragglers behind or beside them. He kept calling out, just to be sure. He wished he had a lantern. The three men stopped paddling as they drew near the ship. The raft floated right into it, bumping it gently. A few yards away, three other survivors were being lifted from the small boat to the ship. A crewman held a lantern over the rail in their direction. “How many more are there?” he asked.
“I think we’re the last,” John said.
“Are you sure?”
“How many are already aboard?”
The man asked someone. “With these three, there are fifty. How many on your raft?”
“Three.”
“Does fifty-three sound right?”
“I can’t be sure,” said John. “I lost count. But that seems close.”
“Well, let’s start getting you men up here. Who goes first?”
“John should go,” said the ambassador.
“I agree,” said Robert.
John felt honored. He crawled to the front of the raft, stood up carefully. A crewman dropped a rope formed into a large loop. John stepped into it and two men lifted him aboard. As soon as his feet touched down, he crumpled to the deck. He quietly patted it with his hands as small puddles formed from the water in his sleeves. The deck felt rock hard, like land.
“Who’s next?” John heard the crewman say. “You go, Ambassador,” he heard Robert say. He heard them groan as they pulled Ramón up. John turned to watch when suddenly several men yelled all at once.
A splash, then another.
“The raft flipped over,” a crewman shouted.
“I can’t swim.” It sounded like Robert. The next phrase, garbled.
John stood up and rushed to the rail. “Robert,” he said. Robert didn’t answer. A crewman dove in. John dove in behind him. He splashed around in the darkness, grabbing for anything. He felt an arm and pulled.
“Let go.” It was the crewman.
John wiped the water out of his eyes. “Robert, say something.” Still no reply, but he heard splashing and coughing in the darkness beyond the raft. He swam toward it, but when he got there, it stopped. “Robert.”
“You men,” the captain yelled. “Jump in and help him. You others, bring your lanterns here.”
Treading water, John took a deep breath and descended into pitch blackness. His arms reaching every which way. He didn’t feel a thing. He went back up for another breath, heard voices calling out Robert’s name, then went under again a few yards away. This time he went deeper. He was almost out of breath and ready to return when his fingers brushed something.
He grabbed at it, a collar.
Robert.
He grabbed it with both hands and kicked upward. And kicked. Where was the surface? He had energy for one last kick, then he must let go.
He kicked again but still didn’t break through. Strong hands grabbed his shirt and pulled. He gasped as fresh air rushed in. “Help me, I’ve got Robert.”
“You head back,” one of the crewmen said. “I got him.”
John swam toward the lantern light, but he just couldn’t make it. His arms suddenly became too heavy. Instinctively, he rolled over on his back and tried to float, tried to catch his breath. He felt so sleepy. He started drifting off.
“Where’s John?” he heard Ramón shout. He sounded far away.
“There he is,” someone shouted. “Pull him here.”
33
The doorbell rang at Joel Foster’s brownstone on East 22nd Street in Gramercy Park. He and his wife, Evelyn, had only three house servants, hand-me-downs from his parents’ staff. Lounging in his library in his favorite chair, puffing on a fine cigar, he awaited the coming interruption. He was actually surprised it hadn’t come hours ago.
“It’s the new driver, sir, sent from your mother.”
Joel pretended not to hear a moment, then set his book on the table. “Let me guess, Edward. He’s here to pick me up.”
“It would appear so, sir.”
“Right. He didn’t hand you a message?”
“No, Mr. Foster. As before . . . your mother says to come right away.”
He stood up and followed Edward to the foyer. Edward moved so slow these days. Out of respect, he didn’t pass him.
“Your hat and coat, sir.”
“Thank you, Edward. I believe my wife is upstairs with the nanny. Tell her not to wait up for me. I have no idea what to expect.”
“Very good, sir.”
Joel hurried down the steps. The driver already had the carriage door open. As he ducked his head getting in, he said, “Any news?”
The driver closed the door. “The courier from the steamship company still hasn’t come, sir. It’s why Mrs. Foster sent me. She’s quite upset and insisted something must be wrong.”
Why couldn’t she believe him? He’d told her you couldn’t rely on ship schedules.
“Mr. Foster, begging your pardon, sir.” The driver’s eyes pointed to something lying on the seat across from Joel. “Took the liberty of picking that up on the way here. A newsboy was selling it on a corner. Looks like this newspaper agrees with your mother.”
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br /> Joel held the newspaper up to the window, letting it catch the light from a street lamp. The Herald, late evening edition. The headline read:
SS VANDERVERE MISSING?
Beneath it, a smaller line said:
Ship Carrying Over 500 Passengers, 20 Tons of Gold Fails to Arrive.
“Great . . . just great.” Joel tossed the paper down.
“I do something wrong, sir?” the driver asked through the carriage window.
“No, Eli. I’m glad you caught this. My parents have the morning edition delivered. I need you to make sure my mother doesn’t see it, unless that ship arrives overnight. If it doesn’t, they’ll be saying worse things than this by tomorrow. Let’s get over there now.”
“Yes, sir.” The driver climbed into his seat, and the carriage took off.
Joel picked the paper back up. He longed to keep reading, but the light was too dim. The press was so irresponsible; they had no regard for the consequences of their wild speculations. He knew they couldn’t have gotten any new information from the steamship line. They’d never say anything to the newspapers. Now the families of hundreds of passengers, not to mention the unstable financial markets, were given all this fuel to pour on the fire of their fears. He must keep his mother from seeing or hearing anything about this, until the ship came into port.
Just then, an image flashed into his mind—the panicked look on the vice president’s face earlier that evening. The sense Joel had that he was holding something back. Joel wondered what it was. And how much longer he’d have to wait before he found out.
34
“Land ho!”
Laura almost dropped her plate of ham. Everyone rushed to the port side to look. She set it on a barrel and joined them. The sailor in the crow’s nest proclaimed the news again.