Marlene Dotterer - Shipbuilder

He realized his mistake when a waiter impeded his progress. “Would you care for a drink, Sir?”

Tom turned to stare in astonishment at the proffered tray of wine and champagne. He noticed another waiter with a tray of canapés and he turned in a bewildered circle, seeing the chatting groups, the orchestra playing jauntily, the fur coats and sparkling jewelry. He turned to answer the patient waiter.

“You are a member of this crew. Put these drinks down, put on your lifebelt, and report to a lifeboat. Encourage everyone you see to do the same. The Captain has given the order.”

The waiter nodded. “Aye, Mr. Andrews. I know. But it’s cold outside and people want to be comfortable while they wait their turn to load.”

“Comf…” Tom stopped. Sam and Casey had mentioned this. I always thought they were exaggerating. Trying to show me the excesses of this time.

He shook his head and moved to the starboard exit. He grabbed a crew member. “Put your lifebelt on, now. I need you to help me.”

The skinny boy nodded and fumbled with the belt in his hand. While he was doing that, Tom turned and tucked a hand under the elbow of a lady he recognized as Mrs. Appleton. She had come aboard at Southampton.

“Madam, please put on your lifebelt and follow this crewman to a lifeboat. I see your sisters are here as well. All of you, move smartly, please. We have many people to load.”

“Surely, this ship will not actually sink, Mr. Andrews.”

“We certainly hope not, madam. But the Captain refuses to take chances with the lives of the passengers and crew. Hurry now.”

He saw them out, instructing the young boy who was still buckling his lifebelt, “See them into a boat and return for more passengers. Move sharp.”

He repeated this scene, starting with those closest to the exit and slowly widening his circle. Murdoch had moved to the boat deck and was supervising the loading of portside boats. Everywhere Tom saw a crew member, he put them to work guiding passengers outside.

He stopped when he came upon John Astor for the second time. “Sir, I thought you already got into a boat. Where is your wife?”

Astor bit his lip and stood straight. “Women and children first, Mr. Andrews. I asked to go with my wife, as she is in a delicate condition, but the officers are not loading men at this time.”

Blast. He’d forgotten about that. He dashed to the starboard boat deck and found Lightoller. “Listen, I know it goes against the grain, but don’t turn men away. We don’t have time. Make sure every boat is loaded to the full. They’ll be warmer, too and there will be more people to help with rowing.”

Lightoller looked doubtful and Tom shook his arm. “I’m serious, man. Fill those boats up! We’re getting people out here as quickly as we can. Get them into boats! Don’t send any away less than full.”

He raced portside and gave Murdoch the same speech. Murdoch was more receptive. “Aye, I’m trying to load women and children first, but if they’re not here, I’m putting men in.” He hesitated, but went on. “The boats haven’t been completely full. We’re worried about the weight.”

“Nonsense!” Tom blew his breath out in frustration. “These boats have been tested for up to seventy men in weight! Fill them up!”

Damn, he thought as he turned away. How could I forget they’d do that? What else am I forgetting?

Back inside, he ushered Mr. Astor out again and reminded every crew member he saw to tell the men to load up along with the women and children.

“We have time to get everyone off this ship. But we can’t be sloppy about it.” They all nodded and agreed to see all passengers loaded.

He stopped in despair when he spied a group of ladies, lifebelts tied snugly around their warm coats, standing near the orchestra. What in thunder is going on now? “Ladies, I thought you were in line for boats. Why are you back inside?”

Miss Elizabeth Eustis, a handsome spinster traveling with her sister, placed a flirtatious hand on his arm. “Oh, Mr. Andrews, don’t be angry with us, sir. But it’s so cold outside. We thought it better to wait in here and listen to the music.”

An idea struck him and he reached for the first violinist, interrupting his playing. “Mr. Hartley. May I have your assistance?”

The orchestra had stumbled to a stop at Tom’s interruption and Mr. Hartley did not look happy. But he remained polite. “Certainly, Mr. Andrews. What can I do for you?”

“Do you have your coats and lifebelts?”

Hartley gestured behind the stage. “Aye, we do.”

“All of you, put them on and come with me.”

“What?” Hartley began to sputter. “Where? We’re needed, here.”

“No, sir.” Tom said. “I need you in a lifeboat. You can play once you’re on the water. It will help immensely with getting these people to load up. I’m afraid that by playing, you are slowing things down considerably.”

There were protests from the bystanders and Hartley considered Tom as if he’d grown a second head, but he put his instrument down and reached for his coat. The rest of the orchestra followed his example. Tom helped them with the belts, pushed their instruments into their hands and guided them starboard.

“Mr. Lightoller. May I ask for your sufferance for one thing? Please load these gentlemen into this boat and send it out straightaway. We’ll sacrifice space, just this once.”

Lightoller waved the orchestra into the half-filled boat, shaking his head at Tom. “Mr. Andrews, you are crazier than a fox in a henhouse. But if it will keep you happy…”

Tom turned his head back to see several more people crowding onto the deck after the orchestra and glanced at Lightoller with a grin. “Didn’t Handel write “Water Music” for the King of England, to be played on the Thames? We’ll have our own version.”

Hartley heard him and sputtered in laughter. “All right, Mr. Andrews. The first request is for Water Music. As soon as we’re down, I promise.”

The crowd waiting to load began to laugh, and the word got around: if they wanted to hear the music, they needed to get into boats.

With the party atmosphere subdued, loading began to move more efficiently. By 1:10, just one-and-a-half hours after the collision, they had launched twelve boats. A good number of people waited near their assigned spaces, and others stood ready to take their places once they were loaded. The guarantee group were coming and going at a steady clip, bringing thirty or forty third-class passengers as far as the first class promenade on A deck. From there, they could easily reach the boat deck and were loading onto boats as efficiently as first- and second-class passengers.

Tom had a chuckle seeing Roderick Chisholm, his chief draftsman, guiding a group from third class with a small girl sitting snugly on his shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than two, but she was looking around in a serious manner as Rod approached Tom. “Her parents are lost,” Chisholm informed him. “Don’t think they speak English. You haven’t noticed any frantic people looking for a child, have you?” Tom couldn’t say that he had, and Chisholm nodded briefly. “Well, I’ll head back down for another group. She’s got a good perch and she’ll spot them right enough. Doubt they got on a boat without her.” He headed off then, with the child clutching to what little hair he had, chatting a blue streak to her about keeping an eye out for her wayward parents. As Rod was approaching the stairs, the child suddenly spotted her parents, and with a shouted “Maman!” used Rod’s head as a launching pad to jump into the arms of her frantic mother. Tom treasured the moment.

The list of the ship was getting worse.