Row
Several crewmen aboard Lifeboat Number 16 were rowing them away from the Titanic, afraid it might suck them down when it went under. The further away they got, the more obvious it became that Titanic was floundering quickly now. At this distance, one could easily see just how much of the bow was underwater. Though the water was rising in the stern portion as well, from where Meg sat, it looked as if the frigid Atlantic were about to reach the Boat Deck near the front of the ship.
She had come to the realization pretty quickly after being placed in the lifeboat that there was very little chance that Charlie would survive the sinking, particularly if he refused to get on a lifeboat. She had been counting the launches the best she could from where she sat, and it appeared as if only the collapsibles were left. Though her body had begun to shut down, and therefore her tears had dried up, occasionally, she would shutter violently, and if it weren’t for the arm of the strange woman who had moved to sit beside her, bringing a blanket in the process, she was fairly certain she would have completely lost contact with the world around her by now.
Ruth’s voice was helpful, as well. The questions may have been disruptive to others around them, but they kept her from sliding away entirely, tempting as it were.
“Daddy, which little boat is Mummy in?
“Well, Mummy was one of the first to go in a little boat, so probably one that is very far away.”
“With Baby Lizzy?’
“Yes, love.”
“And Mr. Jonaffin?”
“Yes.”
She asked question after question, and each one her father fielded handsomely, except for when she’d ask about Charlie.
“Which boat is Uncle Charlie in, Daddy?”
“I’m not sure, darlin’.”
“He is in a boat, isn’t he, Daddy?”
“Let us pray that he is.”
“The water is very cold, isn’t’ it Daddy?”
“Yes, love.”
“I should think it would be hard to swim when one is so cold.
“Yes, darlin’.”
“Daddy, do you think, if Uncle Charlie could swim to our boat, we could find a space for him?”
“Perhaps, love. But it would be a very far distance for Uncle Charlie to swim to our boat. I think he shall get in another boat, a closer one.”
“Does anyone know the time?” a woman in the back of the boat asked quietly.
“Time to pray,” was the answer she received at first.
Then another voice answered, “I have eight past two.”
“Why aren’t any other ships coming to help?”
“How long shall we drift about out here?”
“I should rather drift about here endlessly than still be on Titanic….”
Meg had begun to chant a prayer over and over in her head, similar to the chant she and Ruth had sent out into the universe not that long—an eternity—ago when they would have died, locked below deck, if Charlie hadn’t found them. “Please, God, save Charlie… please, God, save Charlie… please, God, save Charlie….” She repeated it over and over again in her mind, in her heart, begging, pleading, for it to be so. Over the years of abuse, she had attempted to strike a bargain with God so many times. “If you keep him out tonight, I’ll contribute to so many charities, help so many in need, say so many prayers…” anything she could think of. Rarely was there any sort of response from the heavens, and over the years she had come to believe God suffered from selective hearing. But the fact that she had found Ruth, and then Charlie had found them, that they were sitting on this lifeboat now, made her think, perhaps, miracles were possible.
And she just needed one more.
Ten minutes after the time had been given, they watched in stunned horror as the water completely covered the Boat Deck from the bow. The lights blinked once, and then went out forever. Even with only the light from the heavens, they could clearly see the stern portion of the ship lifting out of the water. Meg thought she had entirely lost her grip on reality—that what she was seeing could not possibly be real—as the back portion of the boat began to lift into the air. The gasps aboard the lifeboat were hardly audible, but the screams emanating from the ocean liner carried across the expanse now, and many of those around her began to weep in empathy for those who were now surely living the most terrifying experience one could possibly imagine.
Once the tail end of the ship was nearly vertical, there was a gut-wrenching screech as tons of metal and wood began to ratchet apart, the weight of the bow beneath the surface of the water far too great for the aft portion to bear. With a resounding roar, the ship broke into two pieces, and the forward portion of the hull disappeared under the surface of the water.
The tail of the ship came crashing back down then, and even from such a great distance, it was clear to Meg that those tiny specks flying into the ocean were people—men, women, and children who had not been as lucky as she. The screams intensified and then, the tail section floundered as well, tipping up once more before the Atlantic swallowed her whole. There in the distance, in the vast space where the world’s greatest ocean liner once stood, was nothing but inky blackness and a few lapping waves.
But then the noises began to intensify, the screams of hundreds, if not thousands, of people in the water. It was hard to distinguish precisely what any of them were saying, but she knew they were begging for help, for the very boats they were sitting in to go back and rescue them, to save the children they so desperately clung to, to assist the injured, to find a way to end the misery of a thousand needles sticking into their bodies as the bone-numbingly frigid water began to chew at their flesh.
“We need to go back,” someone behind her was saying.
“There are children out there,” said another.
But no one said anything loud enough to make the crewmen act.
And all Meg could say now was the same thing she had been saying for the last fifteen minutes, “Please, God, please save Charlie.” Only this time, rather than keeping it as a thought in her head, it became a whisper, and then an almost inaudible gasp while she used up what little voice she had left. Then she realized Ruth was saying it, too, as was Daniel, and she could only hope that somehow, God would heed their cries.
She could see some of the other lifeboats coming together now. Some of the passengers were being moved from one boat to another. And within a few moments, two of the lifeboats began to make their way back toward the wreckage.
“Look, they’re going back!”
“They’ll help those people in the water.”
“They’d better hurry. The cries are dying down. Won’t take long to freeze to death in these temperatures.”
“Please, God, please save Charlie.”
The woman next to her, the one who had her arm around her, she was saying it, too. Meg glanced up at her face for the first time and realized the woman who was doing her best to keep Meg from toppling overboard--both physically and mentally—was none other than Mrs. Appleton.
Meg continued to chant her prayer until her voice ran out completely. Shortly thereafter, the world began to spin, and she leaned her head against Mrs. Appleton’s shoulder still pleading for a miracle.
About an hour later, flares from an approaching ship signaled that help was nearby, and sighs of relief from the survivors in the lifeboats resonated around them. It wasn’t until approximately 4:10 AM that the Carpathia began receiving the occupants of the first of Titanic’s twenty lifeboats. The process would take over four hours, and a few of those who had been rescued from the ship, or plucked out of the water, would not make it aboard Carpathia alive.
Before the sun came up on April 15, 1912, approximately 1,500 of the 2,250 lives aboard Titanic had been lost.
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