Love...Maybe: The Must-Have Eshort Collection

‘I don’t like the sound; it’s eerie. If there are U-boats in the area won’t it alert them to our position?’

‘I’m sure the captain knows what he’s doing,’ Jack replied. But when they went up on deck later and peered out into the dense swirling mist, he frowned and seemed about to say something before stopping himself. They were travelling slowly, with visibility of just a few yards.

The foghorn kept blasting until around midday when sun burned through the mist revealing a view of emerald coastline speckled with fishermen’s cottages. The sea was a smooth dark navy.

‘Oh, isn’t that a lovely sight!’ Gerda cried.

Passengers flocked on deck and the relief was palpable. They were almost home. Everyone was smiling, and even those who’d kept themselves to themselves so far had a cheerful word with their neighbours.

At one o’clock Gerda and Jack went down for the second sitting of lunch and they chatted about what they would do on disembarking: he wanted her to come and meet his mother, then they would travel across to South Shields to see Thomasine. They agreed to send her a telegram explaining that Gerda would be a week late. She couldn’t wait to share the news that she was coming home with a husband-to-be – and not just any old husband, but a clever, brave, kind one, who had money and who made her laugh. She must write to Charlotte and to Else Gabrielson in Brooklyn.

‘My ma’s going to adore you,’ Jack was saying, when suddenly there was a sound like a door being slammed hard and the ship gave a huge jolt. Plates and glasses flew off tables and shattered on the floor.

‘What the …’ Jack stood up, looking around. There was a deep rumbling sound now and the ship seemed to be shuddering. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, Gerda!’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come quickly!’

‘What is it?’ Her throat was tight. No one else seemed to be reacting as they sprinted out of the dining saloon and down the staircase towards their cabins.

‘We’ll get your life jacket first, then mine,’ Jack said.

‘Have we been hit?’

‘It looks that way. Either that or we’ve collided with something.’

In her cabin, Jack pulled the bulky cork life jacket from the top of the wardrobe and showed Gerda how to slip it over her head and tie the cords around her. The floor felt odd beneath her feet and she realised it was tilting. She held onto the door frame to steady herself.

In the corridor some women were hysterical. ‘What shall we do?’ one cried and Jack yelled at them to get their lifejackets and make their way up to the boat deck. The whole time, he didn’t let go of Gerda’s hand; he was holding it so tightly that she didn’t feel afraid, even though they could smell smoke drifting down the passageway.

Once Jack had his life jacket they climbed the main stairs; they were at an odd angle so she had to cling to the banister. ‘We’re listing to starboard,’ Jack said, and Gerda felt reassured he knew this term. She saw a steward’s trolley rolling along a corridor then hitting a wall and overturning with a clatter.

They were both out of breath when they emerged through the main entrance onto the boat deck. The air was thick with glowing cinders floating in the breeze. A column of black smoke was rising from a funnel right in the dead centre of the ship.

‘Was it a torpedo?’ Gerda could hardly make herself heard against the fierce roar of escaping steam coming from the engine room.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Jack said. He peered over the railings at the side. ‘The lifeboats are hanging alongside the Promenade Deck. ‘Come on, we’d better go down.’ He pulled her towards the stairs again.

‘Are we going to sink?’ Gerda started to ask, just as all the lights went out and her words were drowned by the screams of terrified passengers. She knew the answer anyway. How could a ship survive this level of damage, tilting so far onto its side? She remembered reading that the Titanic had been listing, but not as much as this, not so quickly. It was still less than ten minutes since the explosion.

On the Promenade Deck, there was utter confusion, with people pushing past each other in the search for lost children or spouses, struggling to pull on the cumbersome lifejackets, seeking crew to beg for help. One group of passengers climbed into a lifeboat and sat down, but Captain Turner himself came charging over and ordered them out. Gerda couldn’t hear why.

‘I don’t think they’ll manage to get the lifeboats lowered on this side,’ Jack said, leaning over the railing. Gerda looked down and could see his point: the ship was listing so badly that they would have to bump down the ship’s side to reach the water. Still, there were folk piling into them as soon as the captain’s back was turned, staking their claim to a space. While they were watching, a couple of seamen tried to lower one lifeboat, cutting the restraining ropes and straining to jerk it outwards and down, only for it to get snagged on some rivets protruding from the ship’s side.

‘Let’s try the starboard,’ Jack suggested, pulling her by the hand. They ran down the promenade to the stern and all the way round.

A young woman in a fur coat was sobbing by the barber’s shop and she grabbed Jack’s sleeve. ‘Please help, sir. I couldn’t find my life jacket and now it’s so dark inside I’m scared to go back to my cabin. Could I possibly have yours? I can pay you for it.’

‘Jack …’ Gerda tugged his arm, wanting him to refuse. It wasn’t fair.

He looked at her with a slight frown then, without a word, started unfastening the cords.

‘You’re very kind. Thank you, sir.’ The woman opened her reticule and pulled out some notes.

‘I don’t want your money, miss.’ Jack handed over his life jacket. ‘Good luck to you.’

Gerda didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop him, but fear gripped her and squeezed tight.

*

On the starboard side, the lifeboats hung seven to eight feet out from the deck, dangling precariously in mid-air because of the ship’s list. People were leaping across the gap, and each time someone landed in a boat it swung wildly, threatening to capsize. One man missed and fell to the ocean below with a yell of terror. Gerda rushed to the railing to see him bobbing in the water, arms flailing.

A seaman used a boathook to pull one lifeboat closer to the deck and helped several ladies to step across the gap. When all the seats were taken he cut the ropes by the davit and he and another seaman began to lower away. Just at that moment, the ship gave a sickening lurch, swinging all the boats sideways, and suddenly another lifeboat half-full of women and children appeared directly beneath. The seamen did their best but couldn’t stop gravity taking its course and one lifeboat landed on top of the other with an appalling crunch.

‘Don’t look,’ Jack instructed, pulling Gerda away. She was too horrified to look, too distressed to speak. Thank God for Jack. He knew what to do. She would be lost without him.

Further along the deck another lifeboat was being prepared for launch. A woman clutching a baby was waiting to board and Jack noticed she had tied her life jacket upside down.

‘Let me help you fix that, ma’am,’ he offered. Gerda held the baby, a tiny dark-haired mite who was sound asleep despite the commotion, while Jack showed the woman the correct way to slip the jacket over her head and retie it in place.

The lifeboat was filling up now. Jack took the woman’s hand and he and a seaman helped her climb up to the rail then step outwards across the gap. Gerda passed the baby to the seaman, who stretched as far as he could and passed it into its mother’s arms, whereupon it woke with an affronted wail.

‘Now you, my love,’ Jack said to Gerda, stroking her face quickly, tenderly. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

‘Do you promise?’ she asked. ‘Remember: we sink or swim together.’

‘I promise.’ His eyes were serious. ‘Hurry now.’

Gerda took his hand and leapt across the gap, turning her ankle slightly on landing. When she looked back she saw Jack deep in conversation with the seaman.

‘We’re going to lower the boat first,’ he called to her. ‘It will be safer. I’ll help with the ropes then I’ll join you when you’re down on the water.’

The lifeboat lurched violently and everyone screamed. ‘Come now, Jack. Please!’ Gerda yelled over the din. How would he get into the boat once it was in the water?

He didn’t seem to hear, busy tugging on a rope, leaning so his body acted as a counterweight. The two men tried their utmost but couldn’t hold the lifeboat level and its bow dipped abruptly. Gerda grabbed onto the sides and held tight. They dangled, almost vertical, for a moment then one of the ropes slipped and they were falling upright. There was a smash when the bow hit the surface, then the shock of cold water closing over her head, the sting of salt in her nose and roaring in her ears. She surfaced quickly, buoyed up by the life jacket, and looked back towards the ship.

Jack was still on the Promenade Deck, about thirty feet up, scanning the water. She raised her arm to wave and as soon as he spotted her, he climbed onto the rail, put his arms by his sides and jumped in feet first.

*

Jack surfaced a few yards away, spluttering and coughing, the wind knocked out of him. Gerda swam over and he clung to her, his weight pulling her lower in the water.

‘There’s something I forgot to tell you,’ he gasped. ‘I’m not a very strong swimmer.’

‘Don’t worry; I am.’ Gerda had grown up swimming with her father in the fjords of Norway and the sea off North Shields; she loved the water, and the sea temperature today, while cold, was not freezing. ‘Why don’t you take my life jacket?’ It would be tricky to transfer it from one to the other, but it made sense.

He wouldn’t hear of it though. ‘I’ll manage. We must stay close so we don’t get separated.’ All around them the ocean was teeming with people struggling and crying for help. ‘We should swim further out. I don’t think the ship’s got long to go and we don’t want to be sucked under when she goes down. That way.’ He pointed towards the horizon.

Gerda struck out, thankful the sea was so calm. The life jacket was bulky and obstructed her strokes but it would have been much harder battling through waves. A thought occurred to her and she called over her shoulder: ‘Might the U-boat captain still be out there, watching us?’

‘He’ll have got away. Wouldn’t want to hang about. A Royal Navy ship will be along soon to rescue us and they’d blow him out of the water.’