UNTITLED STORY
Chapter Eight
April 18, 1912
Joshua sat beside Jack in the infirmary,
wondering what to do. Jack had still not regained consciousness since they had
been rescued from the freezing waters. He had been unconscious when Officer
Lowe had pulled him into the lifeboat, the only sign of life being his faint
pulse and the slight movement of his chest as he breathed.
It was likely that only Joshua would have
been rescued had it not been for the fact that Lowe, in a moment of desperate
hope, had checked the other man clinging to the table for signs of life. Jack
had been alive, but just barely, and his condition had grown worse after that,
in spite of the blankets he had been wrapped in. One of the men had tried to
give him brandy from a flask to warm him, but that had only resulted in Jack’s
inhaling the liquid, hurrying along the pneumonia that had already been
developing.
After he had been brought on board the
Carpathia and brought to the second class infirmary, his fever had soared until
it was dangerously high, reversing the effects of the hypothermia but bringing
on a whole new problem. And in spite of the medicines he had been given, his temperature
had dropped only slightly.
There was no way that Jack could fend for
himself right now—his very survival was in doubt as long as the fever remained
at such a high level. It had been lowered enough to keep him alive, but it had
always gone back up within a short time. And now that the ship had docked, they
would have to leave the infirmary.
Joshua had an apartment in the city, and some
money, but not enough to pay for hospital care. And that was what Jack needed,
if he was to have any chance of surviving. He looked at him again, then turned
as the doctor walked up to him.
"Mr. Landsley, the ship has docked, so
you and Mr. Dawson will have to disembark."
Joshua ran a hand through his hair, wondering
what to do. He could bring Jack back to the apartment with him, but he couldn’t
give him the care he needed, and he didn’t know anyone else who could, either.
If Jack was to survive, he needed a doctor’s care.
"Doctor, I’m not sure what to do now. I
had hoped that the fever would break before we docked, but obviously it hasn’t,
and he needs a doctor to care for him."
"New York has a number of good
hospitals. He can be admitted to one of them."
Joshua shook his head. "I don’t have the
money to pay for that," he admitted, "and I don’t think Mr. Dawson
has a penny to his name."
"I see." The doctor thought for a
moment, then pulled a pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket. "New York
also has several charity hospitals. They don’t always offer as high a quality
of care as the other hospitals, but under the circumstances…" He wrote
down an address. "This is the charity hospital closest to the docks. The
White Star Line has agreed to provide transportation within the city, and when
the stewards come to clear the patients out of here, tell them to bring Mr.
Dawson to a cab and give them this address. He will be brought to the hospital
and admitted."
Joshua tucked the paper into a pocket.
"Thank you, doctor. If you don’t mind, though, I’ll accompany Mr. Dawson
myself, to make sure that he is admitted to the hospital in a timely manner and
that he gets the care he needs. I live in New York City, so I will be able to
make my way home from there."
"All right, Mr. Landsley. Just tell the
stewards of your decision. It’s probably best that you go with him, anyway,
since he can’t speak for himself."
Joshua nodded, turning his attention back to
Jack. He listened to Jack’s labored breathing, observing the bright flush of
fever on his face, and wondered if the young man had any chance of surviving.