Cottam nodded, writing furiously, but Rostron’s hand on his shoulder made him look up. “You all right, kid? Need anything?”
A rueful grin tugged at Cottom’s mouth. “Coffee, sir. And maybe a big piece of chocolate cake.”
Laughing, Rostron tipped his hat and promised to send it right down. He did, too.
Dunallon, 9:00 a.m.
They all came to Dunallon: Tom’s parents, brothers, sister-in-law, all the children, and a few extra servants who came along to help the Dunallon staff. The usually boisterous crowd was quiet, gathered in the garden shade, watching children play. Talk was subdued: even the younger children seemed to catch the mood.
Casey held her mother-in-law’s hand as if it were a personal lifeline. Her face was nearly bloodless as she stared at something only she could see. Sam stayed near her, partly afraid she would say something that would require some damage control, but mostly concerned for her well-being. He was truly afraid, if the news was bad, that she would simply die.
The day crawled by. People moved in and out of the house as the weather warmed up, but Casey stayed among her flowers, and Mrs. Andrews stayed with her. Tom’s brothers took shifts at the telegraph office, unwilling to wait for news to filter down to them through the shipyard. Around eleven, James came in to say a telegraph had been received from Carpathia, stating they had reached the Titanic and were in the midst of rescue. The Baltic, Olympic, and Virginian were on their way, as well. The original message had been sent from Carpathia to New York about three hours ago. There were no details, but with word that the ship still floated, a little color returned to Casey’s face. She and Sam exchanged a glance. In their past, the ship was gone by the time the Carpathia arrived. Something they had done was working.
Titanic, 4:00 a.m.
They continued to work steadily, loading people onto the boats, lowering the boats, starting again with the next batch of people. By four o’clock, Carpathia was nearby, taking people from the lifeboats. Once water had reached the long hallway they called Scotland Road, it had begun to fill the port side, which had more open space to hold the water. This had straightened the list to starboard, but was now creating a list to port. She would not be able to right herself this time. The bow was completely submerged. Water had been pouring over the tops of the watertight bulkheads for thirty minutes. She would fill quickly, now. Tom thought they still had about a hundred people to get off.
Those still aboard had to hang on and pull themselves up the incline of the deck. As the boat tilted further, Tom slipped, and along with about thirty others, fell in a heap to the deck. He slid toward the water, desperately grabbing for rails or ropes. The deck burned his hands and ripped his nails as he tried to stop his slide. When he entered water, still on the ship, he made a desperate lunge and found a rail, stretching his body lengthwise to try and catch the others. Some slid past, landing against submerged rails, a few continued further and he could no longer see them. Bruised and aching, Tom began pushing people back, urging all of them upright again.
Looking down, trying to see those who had fallen further, Tom spied a couple of empty boats heading for them. One boat stopped to pick up the people who had fallen and Tom turned to his group.
“Go down! Hang on and go into the water. There are empty boats from Carpathia.”
They obeyed, too frightened to argue. Tom helped them past, watching until the sailors had them in hand, pulling them into the boats. Then he turned, shivering violently, and made his way back up, looking for people to help.
He stopped when the electricity flickered. The next moment, the ship plunged into darkness. Screams pierced the night, as those still on board panicked in the dark. They were practically at water level, and the remaining mob began jumping for the lifeboats floating at the ship’s side. A few men kept their heads and began cutting the ropes to free the boats. Tom added his shouts to the chaos, trying to encourage the people to help each other into the boats.
As the last few people climbed in, Tom looked around. Was everyone off? He and Captain Smith, along with Lightoller, made one more round of all the areas they could reach, wanting to make sure. Titanic was submerged to amidships now and the rate of sinking had increased so much, Tom could no longer estimate it. Wet and shivering, sick with sorrow, Tom hurried up and down ladders in the eerie darkness. Carpathia was shining lights on them and in the sporadic flashes, he splashed through water nearly to his chest, checking nearby staterooms, lavatories and sitting areas, calling out and listening for human voices. Through it all, his hands were constantly on his ship, touching her, offering comfort. He heard only sloshing water and the deep groans of fatigued metal and wood. Titanic was dying. He was saying good-bye.
Satisfied there was no one left, they agreed to abandon ship. They began to enter the freezing water, one by one, to swim toward Carpathia, several yards away. Tom and Captain Smith shared a brief look. With a twitch of his eyebrows, Tom acknowledged Smith’s final claim as Master of the Ship, and with grief filling him, he left his ship to her fate.
He was already wet and cold, but the freezing water stabbed every part of his body, even under the lifebelt, as if a million needles had fallen on him. He swam as hard as he could, forcing his exhaustion and grief to wait. Only his promise to Casey, that he would do everything in his power to live, kept him moving toward Carpathia. It would have been so much easier just to die.
After he reached Carpathia, after they helped him up the ladder and hauled him onboard, after he gave them his name and place of residence, after they gave him a blanket, Tom refused to go below. Shaking furiously with cold and shock, he turned, leaned against the rail, and watched his ship. As if in a dream, he heard a steward suggest again that he go to the saloon for hot soup and dry clothes, but was vaguely aware that someone shushed the steward, explaining who he was. He ignored it all. He just watched her, wanting her to know that she would not die forsaken.
Her death throes soon claimed the attention of everyone on deck and those still at sea in lifeboats. She was at an ungodly angle, her stern high against the stars. They had begun to move away but they were still so close, Tom almost could reach out and touch her. She began to groan, an unfathomable sound from deep within her, soon joined by the creaking and shriek of wood and metal. They watched, Tom with the dread of foreknowledge, the others astonished, as she began to break apart, right in the middle.
He had heard about it from Sam and Casey. He had seen Sam’s drawings of it. But nothing could prepare him for the horror and majesty of the actual sight. Although it was underwater and dark, he knew when the bow broke away, not quickly, but gradually breaking free, as the stern slowly settled back into the water. Tom’s breath came in short gasps of silent weeping at the indecent sight of the open stern, filling again with water.
It took just a few moments. As he watched, with one hand unconsciously reaching for her, what was left of Titanic faced downward, and slipped beneath the sea.