Tabitha

by Vikki Kestell

  Chapter 20

  After two days on the train and one night suffered in a strange hotel, Tabitha was relieved to arrive in New York late afternoon of the second day. Yet, when she stepped down from her train, she was stunned by the enormity of Grand Central Terminal, with its forty below-ground lines and platforms and the dust and rubble of ongoing construction.

  She allowed herself to be herded along by the stream of disembarking passengers until she reached the main concourse. The immense, open room was overwhelming, but it offered her an escape.

  Tabitha set her face and feet toward the nearest exit. She emerged from the station amid many strange buildings and bustling crowds. When she managed to secure a cab to take her directly from the train station to the docks, she slumped with relief in her seat.

  “Pier 114, please,” she told the driver.

  “Sure thing, lady.”

  The cab wove in and out of late-day city traffic—a jarring cacophony of sight, sound, and chaotic struggle between motorized and nonmotorized vehicles. Trucks, cabs, carts, vendors, farmers, and merchantmen vied for passage through the streets.

  Finally, Tabitha saw the glint of water ahead of them.

  “Here ya go, miss,” the cabby announced.

  “Could you wait for me?” Tabitha asked. “I am only picking up my ticket.”

  The cabby shrugged. “Sure thing, but th’ meter keeps runnin’.”

  Tabitha presented herself at the pier’s office window and tendered her newly obtained passport. As the tiny book contained only Tabitha’s name, address, and description, the official studied it and then scrutinized her. With a nod, the agent handed back her passport and, after a short search, passed her a sealed envelope.

  Tabitha stepped aside and perused the contents of the envelope: A letter of authorization that identified Tabitha as a nurse of the British Red Cross assigned to the QAIMNS. Her boarding papers for the Arabic. Instructions for travel from Liverpool to QAIMNS headquarters in Surrey. A voucher for bus and rail travel in England. A small amount of British coin and currency.

  They have thought of everything, Tabitha thought with approval. She returned to her cab.

  “Could you recommend a clean hotel close by?” she asked the driver.

  “Yup.” He wheeled the cab in a tight circle. Minutes later, he pulled alongside a modest building. “That’ll be dollar fifty,” he announced.

  Tabitha fumbled for the change. “Could you pick me up tomorrow morning? At eight?”

  “Yup.”

  When she arrived at the same pier the following morning, the scene was very different from the afternoon prior. Vehicles clogged the harbor streets, each trying to edge closer to the pier before disgorging their fares and luggage. Streams of passengers flowed toward the gate leading to the gangway.

  “Ya might as well hoof it from here,” the cabby observed with laconic logic. “Ya aint’ got much t’ carry anyways.”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha replied. She handed him his money and joined the throng converging on the ship.

  The Arabic towered above the pier and yet, at six hundred feet in length, was not the largest of the White Star Line’s ocean-going ships. Tabitha stared up at the single huge stack protruding from the center of the ship and the four masts, two aft and two fore. As she climbed the gangplank, she noted the three decks rising above the ship’s main deck and the lines of portholes below the main deck.

  Once aboard, Tabitha found a place at the rail among the crush of passengers waving to friends and family down on the docks. She did not want to be in her cabin when the ship slipped its moorings and steamed out of the harbor, so she set her suitcase on the deck in front of her feet, placed her hands on the rail, and surveyed the bustling activity on the pier below.

  Tabitha shivered when the ship’s engine rumbled and the deck beneath her feet shuddered. Two tug boats nudged the much larger ship and, amid great shouts from the crew and the cries of the passengers, the Arabic slid from the pier.

  As the distance between shore and ship increased, so did Tabitha’s view. Soon she could make out the whole of the island’s lower outline, the two rivers bounding the island, and the cities on opposite shores. As the Arabic made its heading toward the open sea, Tabitha gazed in awe at the green-gold lady, torch uplifted, guarding the entrance to the harbor.

  The crowds of passengers laughed and chattered as they broke away from the rails. Tabitha, too, went in search of her berth. A steward pointed her to a tiny cabin one flight down from the main deck. The room had two beds, one built above the other, taking up the entire width of the narrow room. A grandmotherly woman reclined upon the bottom bed. She raised her head when Tabitha entered.

  “Good morning, dearie. I am Mrs. Patch. You do not mind taking the upper bed, do you?” the sweet older woman asked.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Patch.” Tabitha introduced herself and hoisted her suitcase onto the upper bed. She stared at her berth, at the bars along its edge that would, presumably, prevent her from rolling out onto the cabin’s floor in her sleep—or in rough seas.

  Hmmm. And just how shall I manage to get myself up there?

  “Bit of a ladder there,” her cabinmate pointed out.

  Tabitha nodded and climbed, a little awkwardly, onto her mattress to try it out.

  “I’ve been in the States for two months, visiting my children and their families in New Jersey. Headed home to England now,” Mrs. Patch offered. “What are your travel plans, dearie?”

  “I am a volunteer nurse with the Imperial Nursing Service,” Tabitha answered. It was the first time she’d called herself part of the service.

  “Bless you, dear! Bless you! Leaving your home to help us? Oh, the Lord bless you. And what part of this country do you call home?”

  “Denver. In Colorado.”

  “Oh, my. America is so big. Where would this Denver be, dearie?”

  “In the west,” Tabitha replied. “In the Rocky Mountains.”

  “Merciful heavens! America has such tall mountains!”

  A knock sounded on the door. “All passengers report to the main deck. All passengers please report to the main deck.” The voice repeated the command as it faded down the passageway.

  “It is the safety drill, dearie,” her English shipmate informed her.

  When the majority of passengers had assembled on the open deck, the captain, standing upon a box, raised his voice and bellowed, “I am Captain William Finch, master of the Arabic. In the event of an emergency, every passenger must know his or her lifeboat number and assembly point. First Mate Kirby will explain the process. You will give him your full attention.”

  The first mate took the captain’s place on the box and described the manner in which cabin numbers and lifeboats corresponded. “Your cabin and lifeboat are on the same side of the ship,” he shouted. “Port side cabins, port side boats. Starb’rd cabins, starb’rd boats. D’ye see? Your lifeboat number is painted on the backside of your cabin door. Memorize it! Your life vests are stowed in cabinets directly across from your lifeboat. D’ I make myself clear?”

  A general murmur wafted back to him.

  “I said, DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” he roared.

  This time the response was quicker and louder. “Yes!”

  “If the ship’s claxon sounds, you will gather your party and proceed immediately to your assigned lifeboat. You will retrieve a life vest from the cabinet opposite your assigned lifeboat, and don it. You will take nothing with you other than the clothes you wear. You will not go back to your cabin to fetch anything. You will queue up with your backs against the ship’s wall opposite your assigned lifeboat.

  “You will not approach the rail until a crewmember sways the boat over the deck and bids you to enter it. You will not attempt to enter your lifeboat before you are ordered to. You will not attempt to board any lifeboat other than your assigned boat. ARE MY INSTRUCTIONS CLEAR?”

  “Yes!” The passengers responded as one.

  The mate stepped dow
n and Captain Finch again climbed upon the box. He cleared his throat.

  “People, we are all nervous about German U-boats patrolling the seas and sinking innocent passenger vessels. Our concern is understandable. God willing, we shall make this crossing without encountering the German Navy.

  “To that end, this ship runs dark and silent at night. Come dusk, all cabin windows must be closed and covered. No exceptions. The crew will black out all windows in the dining room and salon and will douse all external ship lights save the minimum running lights needed for safe navigation.”

  He frowned mightily and glared around at the cowed passengers. “After dark there shall be no loud noises: No loud talking. No shouting. No singing. No music. No slamming of hatches or doors. No dropping of heavy objects. Immediately following dinner, passengers will retire to their cabins and remain there, engaging only in low conversation. In any and every event, passengers will follow crew instructions promptly and without argument.”

  He drew himself up. “America is not in this war. However, we are living in a time of war, and we are entering a war zone. The safety of this ship and its passengers is my responsibility. Have no doubt: I am master here. I will brook no deviation from these rules or any questioning of them or of a crew member’s directives. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Captain!” The passengers were well and truly terrified by now, Tabitha included.

  “Don’t worry, dearie,” Mrs. Patch soothed as the passengers dispersed. “I’ve crossed over many times on the Arabic. The captain gave the same talk on the way over. He is really quite a charming man—when there isn’t a war on.”

  Tabitha just nodded. This was her first time aboard a ship and, as the ship left land far behind and she could no longer glimpse the shore, the expanse of open ocean turned her legs to boneless rubber.

  Six days and five nights glided peacefully by. Even on the third day, when the weather had strengthened a bit, Tabitha had counted the rough sea a blessing—if the weather kept the German threat at bay.

  So long as this ship stays afloat, Lord, I am content, she had prayed.

  “The captain wishes me to announce that we expect to make port tomorrow by 10 a.m.,” the first mate informed the passengers at dinner the evening of the sixth day.

  With the news that they had made good time on their crossing and would reach Liverpool early the following day, Tabitha and her fellow passengers were elated. What the mate had omitted to mention was that the last eight hours of their journey would be the most dangerous portion of their crossing.

  Tabitha rose not long after dawn to the general stirring of the ship and its passengers embarking upon a new day. She dressed, washed her face, and combed out her hair before pinning it in the severe lines she was now accustomed to as a nurse.

  “You have such lovely hair, dearie,” her little roommate commented. “Such as shame to keep it all bound up like that.”

  Tabitha smiled. “I am in the habit of it, I suppose, Mrs. Patch.”

  “I want to thank you, Miss Hale, for coming over to nurse our bonny boys.”

  The older woman’s gratitude touched Tabitha’s heart. She ducked her head a little, acknowledging her cabinmate’s appreciation.

  A shuffling and low commotion in the passageway interrupted them. Tabitha put her head out of the door and saw crew members urging passengers into the passageway and up the stairs. It was being done with as little noise as possible.

  One of them noticed her. “Miss! To the dining room, right quick! Everyone!” he whispered.

  “We have to go, Mrs. Patch. Right now!” Tabitha grabbed her sweater and handbag and bolted for the door.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Patch followed suit and clutched her sweater and handbag to her chest.

  “Shhh. Just come. Hurry, now. And quiet like,” Tabitha insisted.

  They joined the line of silent passengers—some in a confused state of attire—that streamed up the stairs to the main deck and into the common areas. The entire ship’s complement soon crowded into the dining room and salon, and yet the room was hushed. No one dared to ask questions, but those nearest the windows scanned the sea with anxious eyes.

  The ship’s doctor and second mate stood upon chairs, head and shoulders above the passengers. Their threatening scowls and gestures forbade any questions.

  The second mate motioned for attention. When even the faint shuffling of feet settled, he whispered, loud enough for most to hear. “Ship’s lookout sighted a periscope off our starboard bow. We have radioed for assistance. If a ship of the Royal Navy is nearby, she will come.”

  Tabitha’s throat threatened to close up on her. She heard more than saw other women nearby gasping for air.

  “Silence!” the second mate growled, sotto voce.

  The passengers stilled again, all but for a small disturbance off to Tabitha’s left. She heard a man whispering as loudly as he could, “Help! My wife needs help!”

  Tabitha did not hesitate. She pushed her way through the close-packed bodies, hissing, “Make way! Make way!” as she did. When she arrived at the prostrate woman, the ship’s doctor was close behind her.

  “Seizure,” Tabitha whispered to him, taking in the woman’s stiffened, jerking body at a glance.

  He dropped to his knees to examine the woman. He looked up at Tabitha. “You are a nurse?” he asked softly.

  She nodded and dropped to her knees opposite him. She folded her sweater and, while the doctor lifted the woman’s head, she placed it underneath. The violent thumping of the woman’s head against the deck was not as worrisome once Tabitha’s sweater cushioned the blows.

  The seizure lasted all of two minutes. As the woman began to come around, she moaned and thrashed in her confusion.

  Tabitha leaned her mouth near the woman’s ear. “Please lie still and quiet. You have had a seizure, but you will be all right. Please lie still and be quiet.”

  The attention of the assembled passengers, which had been riveted on the small drama playing out before them, suddenly shifted. They all heard the engines of their ship throttle up. The regular, dull rumbling of the engines driving the Arabic’s twin screws, the low growl to which they were so accustomed, swelled and rose to a higher pitch.

  “We’re speeding up,” someone whispered.

  “We can’t outrun a U-boat!” a man cried.

  “Silence!” The second mate’s glare skewered the offending passengers.

  Without warning, the ship heeled over. “The captain’s tryin’ t’ ram the U-boat,” someone hissed.

  “The Germans’ll sink us now, f’sure!” another man groaned.

  “Shut yer pie hole!” whispered several voices at once.

  The Arabic, as unwieldy as she was, was now running hard through the dangerous waters off Ireland, scrambling for her port. Still kneeling near the woman who had suffered a seizure, Tabitha began to pray aloud in a soft voice. “O God, I do not believe you have called me to serve the war wounded only to be sunk at sea. Lord, in the name of Jesus, I beg you to save the lives on this ship! We are calling upon you, Lord! Please help us, Father God!”

  “Amen,” the doctor breathed.

  “Yes, amen,” the woman’s husband added.

  The Arabic shuddered again as the captain ordered the helm hard over. The floor of the salon tilted, and the passengers slid and struggled to keep their footing. Moments later, they both heard and felt the jarring grind of the ship’s port side raking across metal. Some passengers lost their balance and fell down only to be accidentally stepped on as the deck lurched again and their fellow shipmates stumbled and tripped. Excited and terrified murmurs erupted across the salon.

  “Rammed her, by God! Rammed that U-boat!” someone called.

  The murmurs grew into shouts and shrieks that were drowned out by the ship’s sudden, sharp claxon.

  “To your lifeboat stations!” the second mate bellowed. “To your lifeboat stations!”

  Tabitha’s heart thumped and raced, but she made herself ass
ist the doctor as he lifted their patient to her feet and into her husband’s arms. “Get moving, man!” the doctor urged her husband. Tabitha looked about in the melee for Mrs. Patch, but could not see the tiny woman in the panicked crowd.

  “Look!” a man screamed. He pointed out the port side windows of the salon. Many necks craned to see what was happening.

  “It’s a battleship!” another shouted. “British! Thank God!”

  Tabitha caught the barest glimpse of iron gray sliding past them—and then the BOOM of guns.

  “Get to your lifeboats!” the second mate bellowed again. He jumped from his box and ran to assume his own station.

  “Mrs. Patch! Mrs. Patch!” The salon emptied as Tabitha sought her roommate.

  “Go!” one of the crew commanded.

  Tabitha raced for her cabin’s side of the ship and fought her way down the deck toward her assigned lifeboat. When she reached the cabinets where the life vests were stored, she was relieved to find her roommate already lined up against the wall of the ship opposite the rails.

  “Hurry, dearie!” Mrs. Patch called to her.

  Tabitha reached for one of the remaining vests and struggled to put it on. A crew member grabbed it and jerked the vest over her head.

  “Tie it off here and here,” he instructed before turning away.

  But Tabitha was staring at the scene in the sea before her. The British battleship, perhaps a quarter mile off the Arabic’s port side, was sending lifeboats of her own into the water.

  “Captain Finch scraped that U-boat’s side, he did, and the crew took shots at it as we came close,” Mrs. Patch said from Tabitha’s elbow. “Some was saying the German boat could not go under the water after that. The battleship arrived before the U-boat could get away.”

  “What are they doing?” Tabitha screened her eyes with her hands but could only make out dots bobbing in the water.

  “Our boys sank that U-boat, thank the good Lord! Now they are trying to save the Germans who jumped as their boat was going under.”

  Tabitha stared—and finally understood that the “dots” bouncing in the frothy sea were men.