“You know, Declan,” said Thomas along the way, “since we met Alastair here, we have spent more time in jail cells than in our entire lives previously.”
“It’s not my bloody fault that this captain is a fool.”
Murdoch’s back-hand slap took Alastair off guard, and he reeled from the blow. Murdoch said in a stentorian voice, “You’ll show no disrespect to the captain, sir.”
“None whatsoever,” agreed Lightoller.
Murdoch stood a head taller than Alastair, and both officers were younger, thinner, and both apparently slaves to maritime protocol and law.
When the lift doors opened, this time it was on the lowest level in the ship, a place where cargo shared space with pets and animals of so many sorts it seemed a veritable Noah’s Ark. Most of the traveling pets were dogs and cats, but the occasional exotic parrot or zoo animal was also heard but not seen as they made their way toward the back reaches to indeed find a cell for restraining miscreants.
“Will your captain at very least wire Belfast?” asked Declan as they were being locked away in a barred cage the size of a twelve-by-twelve room, four bunks occupying the space within. “We’re not saboteurs.”
Neither officer replied, remaining silent, momentarily staring at the threesome now safely locked behind bars. Finally, Murdoch ordered each to extend his hands though the bars so as to have their wrists chains off. Using a key, he quickly, efficiently loosed all their restraints, holding each up for a crewman to collect.
“What about our letter and the photos, Mr. Murdoch? The letter from Professor Bellingham and signed too by Dean Goodfriar? Will it mean nothing to your captain?”
“Don’t count on your ruse going an inch further, my young prisoner.”
“My bag! It’s been searched and of no use to you, but there is a journal inside, a daily account I have kept since before Olympic was completed. Tell your captain to read the journal from the entry just before the time that you launched trials for Titanic. Please, do it.”
“The confiscated bag I looked through?” asked Lightoller who materialized out of the gloom just behind Murdoch. He had Declan’s bag with him. “Captain said to return it to you.”
“Didn’t find any bombs in there, eh?” asked Ransom in a jocular manner that ticked Murdoch off.
“You find everything too funny, Mister.”
“When you get my age, son,” replied Ransom, “things and people became quite laughable while dogs, cats, and mimicking parrots seem to grow smarter.”
“Careful with your tongue, man!” Murdoch warned to the sound of barking dogs and whining animals stowed somewhere in the left of darkness.
Lightoller handed the bag through the bars to Declan; he looked somewhat apologetic at how things had worked out, but he said, “Did I not warn you three?”
“You did indeed, sir, but I thought it the drink talking.”
Lightoller and Murdoch strolled off toward the lift to return to the upper reaches of Titanic, but it was as far as Lightoller got. Murdoch abandoned Lightoller to the duty of overseeing the prisoners. Lightoller must now assign men twenty-four hours a day to act as jail keepers.
“Mr. Lightoller,” Alastair said to him, “do you believe a word of our story? Have you not a single doubt? Man, we are who we say we are; my badge is authentic.”
“It matters little what I think, Constable.”
“Can you get a wireless message to Belfast—if not the police then the ship yard to get word to Constable Reahall?”
“I doubt I can get a wireless sent.”
“Why not? You’re an officer.”
“The wireless shack is inundated with requests to send messages both to America and Paris… it seems everyone aboard thinks it’s a novelty. Those poor chaps in the wireless room haven’t had any sleep!”
“But this is important.”
“Besides, I take a risk doing that; I’d be thrown in there with you men.”
“Then at least read this,” pleaded Declan, handing him his journal. “Please read it—and our letters of recommendation tucked in the back.”
“That much I suppose I can do. I am sorry about this, lads, and I don’t think you’re working for Cunard.”
“What’s the tipoff?” asked Ransom.
“You… you’re American.”
“How can you know that?”
“Your Belfast accent comes and goes.”
“Ahhh…”
“All I know for sure is that Cunard doesn’t hire American spies. Fact is, they dislike you Americans, intensely so; they rely on London-born chaps as a rule. That and Liverpool. Or Southampton for such as sabotage. You young fellas, you just don’t look the part.” He eyed Ransom, clearly believing that he did look the part of some kind of charlatan.
“For God’s sake man,” shot back Ransom, “why didn’t you say all this to your captain to at least help these boys out?”
“Well it just didn’t seem… it wasn’t my place.”
“At least you don’t think we are common gutter trash.” Ransom pounded the cage and it rattled as a result.
Lightoller nervously laughed; he’d pulled back from the lockup as a result of Ransom’s bullish behavior. “I came up in Liverpool.” His last statement held a mix of pride and sadness weighing it down at once as if he might add ‘enough said’.
Lightoller took the book and letters away with him, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll send down an evening meal for you in a few hours. Have to find a crewman to take first watch over you.”
“Nice of you Titanic officers to watch over us!” joked Alastair.
“There’s nothing funny about this!” shouted Thomas, looking all about them in the semi-darkened area behind the crates of cargo stacked to the ceiling. Thomas found a bunk and threw himself onto it.
“Thomas is right, Constable Ransom. What’re we to do now?”
“Wait for Lightoller to do his light reading, and hope we have convinced at least one man outside these bars.”
“You mean hope that we get out of here before the disease gets us,” complained Thomas.
“This place down here,” added Declan, “iron ore walls somewhat like that cave in Belfast, the mine shaft; looks a perfect place for… for…”
“Go ahead, say it,” replied Ransom, “a perfect breeding ground for that thing… and we’re smack in the midst of its hunting grounds and locked here. Helpless!”
“All cheery thoughts.” Declan did a little vault onto his chosen bunk.
Thomas bemoaned, “We-We gotta get off this ship, save our damned selves.”
“If… if it begins spreading,” Declan near whispered. “I saw some lifeboats out there.”
“I see you’ve learned to take in your surroundings, Declan,” said Ransom, testing how hard his bunk was before lying back. “Make a detective of you yet.”
“Thomas makes sense, Alastair.” Declan had decided against the one bunk for the identical one beside it. Lying now on his back, hands behind his head, he again spoke, “If we get shed of these bars, we should plot our escape from Titanic altogether; live to fight another day, you know? That is if they don’t come to their senses and quickly.”
“You mean if there’s no evidence aboard that the disease is here?” asked Alastair.
“No,” said Thomas, “I mean if they remain idiots and fools here in charge, like that self-important captain.”
“Smith is a great ship’s captain, Thomas,” argued Declan. “No one could easily believe our story. Look what it took to bring even Dr. B and the dean over to our side, not to mention Constable Reahall.”