SAVE ALL WHO DARE THE EAGLE’S FLIGHT
Chapter Fifteen

O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard
And hushed their raging at Thy word,
Who walkedst on the foaming deep,
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

We weren’t there for an overly long amount of time—less than two hours—but it felt like much, much longer. It was by far one of the most chaotic places I have ever been in; foreign tongues intermingled and shouted at one another; children cried for their parents while parents, in return, cried out for their children; people shouted out for loved ones, trying desperately to locate them in the throng; some people laughed and joked, sure that they were safe; others wailed in despair and could not be pacified. And over all of this I heard Tommy and the steward bickering loudly and relentlessly. I got a headache from that stairwell, crammed in there with hundreds of other people. There were over twenty-two hundred souls on board, and roughly a third—if not more—of those souls were in the stairwell at some point or another.

Many people migrated to other corridors in hopes of finding an unbarred way up to the decks. Many people escaped; some, I have heard, were even aided by stewards. I wonder why they did not let us go. Kate Murphy told me afterwards that at another gate, Jim Farrell had argued with the steward until he grudgingly allowed the girls to go. I wish our steward had been as kind; many people went down because of him. I wonder if he ever got out, if he ever realized that the ship was sinking somewhere between the time I left him and the time the ship foundered. I am certain he didn’t get away; the lifeboats were almost all gone by the time I got up on deck. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Not long after the Cartmells left, the Gundersons appeared in the stairwell, dressed warmly and calling out in Swedish, no doubt asking the other Swedes what was going on. Not many Swedes spoke English, but they must have gotten the message, for they were wearing their lifebelts. I called to them and waved them over, as did Fabrizio. They had no trouble moving through the crowd; they were so strong and broad that people yielded easily to their pushes. They were at my side in a moment, gabbling in Swedish that they knew neither Fabrizio nor I could understand.

I didn’t understand what they were saying at first, but as they persisted, I gradually got the gist of it. They gesticulated wildly at themselves and then down the corridor opposite the one that the Cartmells had gone down. I shook my head and told them I didn’t understand, causing their gesticulations to grow wilder. They began gesturing to Fabrizio and me as well, but still, I remained incomprehensive. My mind was sluggish due to the headache and the general confusion. It still hadn’t dawned on me that they wanted me to come with them when they tugged on my arm, pointing to the corridor.

"They want you to go with them," the Scandinavian girl with white-blonde hair finally told me, turning around.

"You speak English?" I asked, momentarily floored.

She nodded. "Ja, and Swedish and Norwegian."

"Oh." I paused. "Well…where do they want me to go?"

She related the question to them. More gesticulations followed before she turned back to me. "They say they go to look for a way out. They want you and your friend to go look for one."

I chewed my lip and glanced at Fabrizio. He licked his lips. "Maybe we should ‘a go with a-them."

"But…Tommy…" I sputtered.

Fabrizio thought for a moment. "Okay, how about you a-stay here with-a Tommy. I will a-go with the Gundersons and if we find a way out of a-here, we will come get a-you and Tommy."

This sounded rational—we didn’t have to worry about losing one another or ending up where the flooding was going on. So I nodded. The girl related our idea to the Gundersons, who conversed for a moment before nodding. I hugged Fabrizio tightly; I didn’t know if I would ever see him again. Then he disappeared down the corridor with the Gundersons. Before long, the blonde girl disappeared as well. I think she went down the same corridor as the Cartmells, which would explain why I never saw her again.

About this time, the floor was beginning to tilt. Not badly, but just barely noticeable. I returned to the McFarlands, acting as if nothing were wrong. Whenever I met Kathleen’s eye, we gave each other looks that said the same thing--if we stay down here much longer, we’ll die. Part of me wished I had gone with the Cartmells. Part of me wished I had gone with Fabrizio and the Gundersons. And another part of me told me to stay right where I was. But I couldn’t let the children know this. So I smiled and joked with them, trying my absolute best to make them think everything was all right, that they weren’t in any danger.

It could have been half an hour or it could have been ten minutes; all I know is that after awhile, Timmy asked if I would hold him. I had forgotten about the lateness of the hour and the fact that he had gotten very little sleep and had suffered a stomachache earlier that day; he was worn out. He laid his little head on my shoulder as soon as I had picked him up and made only feeble, monosyllabic answers when I asked him a question. Nora soon began to lean against her mother, her eyes fluttering closed every now and then. What a time to be tired! But I rubbed Timmy’s back regardless; I had a feeling that he would not find much comfort later this evening.

What happened next has been a source of pain for me for many, many years, even to this day. Timmy’s soft little snores began to blow at my neck, and this did not evade Kathleen’s notice. And so she told me, "Y’know, the children are so tired…I’m right tempted to put them back in bed."

"I know; they won’t get much sleep later on," I said in a low tone so as not to awake Timmy or arouse Nora’s suspicions.

Kathleen sighed and shifted her weight. After a few moments’ pause, she said, "Y’know, Angie…I think I will take the kids back to the cabin. We won’t be let out fer awhile, and there’s no use in them standing around, wearing themselves out before there’s even anything to wear themselves out over."

I should have stopped her and told her that no, she needed to stay out here. I should have screamed at the steward to let them out. I should have taken them down a corridor and found a way out with them. I should have done anything but what I did next, which was to say, "Well…all right. I’ll come get you as soon as they start letting us up."

"Thank yeh kindly, darlin’," she said gratefully. She shook Timmy a little until he blearily opened his eyes. "Tim, we’re goin’ back to the cabin fer a wee bit."

"Why?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head.

"We won’t leave fer awhile now, and you need to be well-rested before we go," Kathleen told him.

"I don’t wanna…" Timmy complained.

"Tim, come on," Kathleen said firmly. "Angie will come get us as soon as everything’s ready."

"I sure will," I promised. A broken promise.

Timmy finally nodded his consent. I squeezed him to me and kissed his soft, round little cheek before letting him slide to the ground. Kathleen took her children’s hands and marched to her cabin, somehow parting the sea of people just as Moses parted the Red Sea.

For some time afterwards, I had always thought that Kathleen and her children died because I had not come back to warn them. I thought that they had died trying to escape the icy water and finding themselves trapped in the ship. After I had my first child and learned a thing or two about mothering, I realized differently. I realized that Kathleen knew that there was a very slim, almost impossible chance of surviving the sinking. A mother’s intuition informed me that Kathleen had taken her children to rest so that they would not know when they died. It is certainly what I would do for my children now.

You may think it horrible that a mother would purposely put her children to sleep to die rather than try to find a way out. You are not a mother if you think so. I once heard of a slave woman a few years before the Civil War who killed her children rather than subject them to slavery. A mother cannot bear to see her children suffer; Kathleen McFarland was no exception to this rule. I do not think I am wrong; I can think of no other reason why she would have taken away her children other than to spare them the agony of dying and knowing that they’re dying. There were many other women that night, I’m sure, who made sacrifices only a mother can make; Kathleen is only one out of many.

With Jack nowhere to be found, Tommy arguing with the steward, Fabrizio and the Gundersons gone one way, the Cartmells gone another, and the McFarlands in their cabin, I was alone. I went to stand with Helga and her parents, but I still felt lonely; we couldn’t understand each other, so we could only stand and wait. I liked Helga, really—I could almost say I loved her like a sister, considering her closeness to Fabrizio—but I sure would have liked her a lot more if I could have understood her. With nothing better to do, I let go of thought--my thoughts kept drifting to drowning and other unpleasant means of dying--and instead listened to Tommy’s argument with the steward—he wasn’t giving up.

"Yeh can’t keep us locked up in here like animals; the ship’s bloody sinkin’!"

Animals. Yes, we were rather treated like animals, weren’t we? People ignored us or ogled us but never treated us like one of them. We were unwanted but a necessity for the other classes to function. And if we were to die, who would notice? Who would care? There were other poor people like us all over the world; what difference did it make if a few hundred of us were removed from the earth? Some people felt a great deal kinder towards the steerage passengers who died than they ever would have if they had lived. Others said, "Oh, that’s too bad." And then they sat down to dinner and forgot about it.

I later found out that more compassion was shown for the dogs on board than for us; someone actually freed the dogs from the kennel while far, far too many people were still locked below. When I was told this, I felt sick. It is one of the truest and most horrible facts of the social system at this time, that the wealthy elite was more concerned over their mutts than they were for hundreds of people who had done nothing to be treated like dirt but simply living.

After a few moments, the steward called out, "Bring forward the women!"

I was too far down below to see what was happening, but I know I saw the gates open. Tommy turned around and, after a moment of searching, found me. "Angie, c’mere!" he shouted, motioning for me to come up.

Relief flooded through me; finally, a way out! I would get up the boat decks and get out! And maybe, somehow, Tommy and Fabrizio would be able to get off, too. I turned to Helga and pulled on her hand; the Dahls, seeing the open gates, began to walk up the stairs. Our chance never came, however; I heard shouts of, "Women only! No men!" There was a commotion at the top, and from what I can gather, it seems that some men tried to get through the gate as well and the steward and his assistants pushed them back. A fight ensued, ending with the gate being locked once more. My heart came crashing into my stomach.

"For God’s sake, man, there are women and children down here! Let us up so we can have a chance!" Tommy roared.

"Jack!"

I looked around; it was Helga. My heart, which had just returned to its rightful place in my chest, froze. Jack was wet, had broken handcuffs on his wrists and was pulling along an equally wet Rose. She was shivering in her short-sleeved dress, despite the blanket around her shoulders. I haven’t the foggiest idea what on earth the two of them went through; I can only imagine. They had been in the water, obviously, but I can think of nothing to explain the severed handcuffs.

"Jack!" I echoed, flinging my arms around him. I promise you that it wasn’t because I was still childishly clinging to the hope that he would someday love me or because I was trying to make Rose jealous; at this point, I was ecstatic to see anyone I knew.

Jack returned the gesture, albeit hurriedly, before pulling away. "Hey, where’s Fabrizio?"

"Uh…he went down that way with the Gundersons," I replied, pointing down the corridor they had disappeared down. "Jack, what the hell happened to you?"

"It’s a long story," Jack said shortly.

"Obviously," I muttered under my breath. Standing behind Rose were the Dalys and Bertha. I nodded at them and turned to where Tommy was still having it out with the steward, although more viciously now than before. "Tommy!" I shouted up to him.

Tommy turned and looked around; upon seeing us, he turned back to the steward--probably to give him one last withering glare--and then made his way down to us. "Jack!" he hailed, finally reaching us.

"Tommy, can we get out?" Jack asked. Where had he been?

"It’s hopeless that way!" Tommy exclaimed, impatience lacing his tone.

"All right," Jack said; I could practically hear his mind working. "Well, whatever we do, we gotta do it fast."

"Jack!"

We all turned around upon hearing Fabrizio’s voice. He was making his way through the crowd, looking eagerly at Jack.

"Fabrizio!"

They embraced like brothers, patting each other on the backs. I felt better, seeing them embrace like that; it was as if some sense of normalcy had been restored. Not much, but enough to get me thinking clearly again. That’s probably why I remembered the Gundersons.

"Fabri, where are the Gundersons? I thought you three were looking for a way out together," I said, standing on the tips of my toes and craning my neck as if I might be able to find them. It was impossible to find anyone in that crowd; it was as jumbled and confusing as a Picasso portrait.

"I do not a-know! One minute they are beside a-me, the next, they are not!"

"D’you think they found a way out?" I asked, fiddling with a tie on my lifebelt.

"Sì, I think so," Fabrizio confirmed, stopping my hand before I untied the work he had done. He turned back to Jack. "The boats are all gone!"

"This whole place is flooding; we gotta get outta here," Jack said, thinking aloud.

"There is niente this way!" Fabrizio exclaimed in frustration, gesturing angrily to the corridor he had just come from.

"All right," Jack placated once more, glancing around him. "Let’s go this way, all right? C’mon…"

We made to follow Jack, who was already leading the way to the corridor to the left—the same one that the Cartmells had gone down.

"No, Jack, aspetta, aspetta," Fabrizio said, stopping us.

We turned around to see him trying to talk to the Dahls. I wanted them to live, I really did, but I was also impatient and wanted to get moving. We waited, trying to be as patient as possible on a sinking ship while our lovesick friend tried to talk to a girl who could not understand him.

"Everyone, eh, you come with me, we go, to the boats, uh?" he tried, gesticulating wildly for the Dahls to come with us to the boat deck.

Helga turned to her father, asking him something in her harsh Norwegian tongue. They spoke for a moment, gabbling rapidly.

"You come, in the boat, in the boat," Fabrizio kept saying.

We all nodded, hurriedly gesturing for them to come with us.

"Capito, capito," Fabrizio tried, hoping there was a Norwegian word that sounded just like it.

But Olaf Dahl would have none of it; he shook his head, saying, "Nei," which I know meant "no." Helga and her father talked some more, he looking untrusting and she looking hopeful.

"Helga, per favore, uh? You come with me now! I’m a-lucky; it is my destiny to go to America, please!" Fabrizio begged her.

Rose made an exasperated motion with her head, and I felt some of the old annoyance flicker in me again.

"We’ll never get out," she mumbled.

"Give him some slack; she can’t speak English. He’s trying," I said harshly, turning back to the heart-wrenching scene before me.

Helga asked her father something, to which he again replied, "Nei."

Helga turned to Fabrizio then and kissed him. Just watching them made things seem less grim. It was one of the sweetest kisses I have ever witnessed and I was sure that it was a promise. But it wasn’t.

"Come!" Fabrizio cried once they had pulled away, taking her hand and starting to go.

"C’mon," Jack echoed, leading the way again.

But we were stopped again; Helga would not come. She shook her head, saying something in Norwegian and looking tearful. Her father forbade her to go and so she would not go. I have never lived the kind of life where one’s parents take precedence over one’s love, so I cannot say I completely sympathize with Helga, but I do understand duty. And what I saw that night was a confused girl who had to part with her love because of duty. It’s an awful thing, to be obligated.

Jack put a hand on Fabrizio’s shoulder as Helga stepped back with her family, the pain on her face making its way into me. I’m sure the others felt the same way, but we had to keep moving. Jack and Rose were wet and blue-lipped; if the water was that deep already, the ship was going fast and we needed to get to the lifeboats as quickly as possible.

"Come on," Jack urged, pulling on Fabrizio.

"I will never forget you!" Fabrizio promised Helga before he turned and followed us.

We mostly followed Jack down the corridor; he, at least, seemed to know what he was doing. We must have made quite a sight; Jack, soaked, wearing broken handcuffs; Rose, also wet, in her first-class finery and a simple blanket; me, dressed for the winter and wearing a bulky white lifebelt; an unshaven Tommy, who was also in his warm clothes and a lifebelt; Fabrizio, missing a coat and a lifebelt; Eugene Daly in his heavy overcoat that he would come to cherish; Maggie Daly all wrapped up, though less so than her husband; and Bertha Mulvihill, tagging along behind her neighbors and looking utterly confused.

Jack suddenly stopped short at the surprisingly opened entrance to E-Deck.

"Come on!" Tommy shouted, obviously annoyed at the holdup.

"No, c’mon, let’s go this way," Jack decided, darting down the hall. We passed a woman on the ground, sobbing and pleading with her husband, and a Syrian family, desperately trying to translate the sign that simply read E-Deck Berthing. "This way!" Jack shouted again, running up a small flight of stairs.

It was there that I was met with yet another annoying steward whose voice grated on my very nerves.

"Just go back to the main stairwell, and everything will be sorted out there."

"The hell it will!" one man said gruffly.

"It will all get sorted back there! Go back to the main stairwell!" the steward persisted.

There was less room at this stairwell and considerably fewer people, so this time, I had a better view of the argument with the steward. Honestly, were these people remotely aware that they were about to die?

"Open the gate," Jack ordered.

"Go back down the main stairwell!" the steward snapped at once; he wasn’t playing games.

"We’ve just been there and nothing is getting sorted out!" I said, half to the steward and half to myself. I knew it made no difference—the idiot was resolute.

"Open the gate right now!" Jack said, louder and more viciously than before.

"Go back down the main stairwell like I told you!" the steward said, undaunted. I certainly would have been fazed if I were him, but there again, he didn’t know Jack like I did.

Jack turned as if he would back down—we were all starting to roll our eyes and turn to find a different way out—but suddenly he lurched at the gate, shaking it and shouting, "Goddamnit! Son of a bitch!"

"Stop that!" the steward ordered, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

"Open the damn gate! Open it!" Eugene demanded.

Jack had darted behind Rose and I, and we saw that he was pulling up a bench off the ground. "Move aside!" we shouted, pushing people back against the walls.

"Fabri, Tommy, gimme a hand!" Jack shouted as we cleared the way for them.

Fabrizio, Tommy, and Eugene all ran to help Jack, dislodging the bench from its resting place and holding it up as a battering ram.

"Put that down! Put that down!" the steward bellowed, sounding as if he didn’t believe they would do it. "Stop that!" His companion ran off, leaving the steward to back up from the gate.

"One! Two! Three!" Jack roared.

All four of them let out growling noises as they ran forward and knocked the bench against the gates, hard.

"Again!" Jack ordered. They obliged, growling again as they battered the gate down. There were some cheers as the gate pathetically crumpled under the gate. Jack and Fabrizio climbed over it, urging the rest of us to come. Tommy helped Rose over first and then me, climbing onto the bench after us.

"You can’t go up there! You can’t do this!" the steward persisted.

One punch from Tommy and he was out like a light. With that, we ran and ran until we burst out onto the boat deck.

Chapter Sixteen
Stories