The Furt The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Titanic Tragedy

‘I know captains are supposed to go down with their ships, but I am not sure about owners,’ Miss Storm- Fleming continued. ‘I suspect he will face a lot of questions once we get back. Our lifeboat is filled with mostly women and children, although there are a few of the crew on board to make sure we get to a rescue ship.’

‘Why are we rowing?’ I asked.

‘They are afraid that if the Titanic goes down, the suction will take down any craft that is nearby,’ explained Miss Norton. ‘So they want to be well away.’

Suddenly, pain raced through my head and I was forced to sit back. I thought of Holmes and what must be transpiring on board the ship. Had my friend encountered Moriarty? Was he alive? Would I ever know his fate?

‘Look!’ a woman shouted. We all turned immediately towards the Titanic.

The stern of the ship was rising into the air, slowly, like the second-hand of a clock. As its arc steepened, we heard dreadful crashing sounds caused by the ship’s furnishings and cargo tumbling towards the sinking bow.

There were screams in the distance. Screams from the people who were gathered at the stern, holding on to any part of the superstructure they could find. Screams from those who had already jumped or fallen into the freezing waters of the North Atlantic. On deck, passengers were climbing up the sloping decks on their way to the rising stern. Perhaps the stern would not sink, at least not for a while. Perhaps the air remaining within the hull would hold it above the water until help arrived.

I looked at my watch. It was 2.18 — more than two and a half hours since the Titanic hit the iceberg. My companions in the lifeboat, for the most part, were staring intently at this drama. Their eyes were wide open, some glistening with tears. A notable exception was Mr J Bruce Ismay, who was leaning over his oar, his face buried in his hands.

Out across the water the brilliantly lit ship suddenly glowed red. The lights blinked, then blinked again. Moments later, all that could be seen was the ship’s dark hull, as it eclipsed the bright stars of the night sky.

I watched as the Titanic continued its upward arc. The sounds of screaming heightened. In the darkness, I could only imagine what it must be like for those remaining on deck. The effort needed to hold on to rails and other fixed points grew with each passing moment. Gradually, many would lose their grip and go tumbling down the deck. If they remained conscious, they would soon suffer the stinging pain of the cold sea.

It would be even worse for those still trapped below. Visions of the steerage passengers came to mind — families huddled together in the darkness against the forward wall of their quarters. Uncertainty must be the greatest fear of all. And what of my friends, the Svenssons, whom I had met on my journey through steerage with Futrelle? Did they make it safely to a lifeboat? And what of Futrelle? Was he clinging to a rail, or was he already in the water, with a life jacket keeping him afloat?

The Titanic was now nearly vertical in the water. For a long time it just stood there, its stern pointing towards the sky. Then it began its gradual descent, down towards its dark and peaceful new home. As it made its way down, there was a loud bubbling sound as air escaped from the hull.

When the first of the ship’s tall funnels hit the water line, it snapped off like a twig, sending a cloud of soot and steam into the air. It appeared to glide through the water for a moment before it sank. One by one, the other funnels followed suit.

Suddenly, there was a mighty shattering sound below the surface of the water. Some cried that the Titanic was breaking up, but I could not tell for sure. An enormous bubble of air rose from the water as the stern remained poised for one final moment, and then disappeared.

‘She has gone,’ said Miss Norton. She could barely find the breath to speak. All those people... Mr Holmes... Oh, my God!’

Miss Storm-Fleming’s head rested on her arms. I could hear her sobbing. I lifted my elbow over the edge of the boat and placed my free hand on her shoulder.

I held back my tears: they would come later, at the proper time.

I looked over at Ismay. He was bowed down over his oar. I could only imagine what he must be thinking.

Minutes passed as we quietly contemplated what had happened. The only sounds were a frothing noise from the sea and a chorus of weeping in the lifeboat.

But the cause of our grief had not yet ended. The worst of it was about to begin.

Back where the mighty ship had just sunk, we heard the cries of hundreds of souls. They had survived the sinking and were out there in their life jackets, floating in the still water amongst the ship’s debris.

There were both cries for help and screams of pain. The temperature of the water was below freezing. They would not last long.

My two companions were staring out into the darkness. Soon, Miss Storm-Fleming turned to me. She had the look of someone who desperately wanted to jump over the side to help, but knew that would be futile.

‘Doctor Watson, is there nothing we can do?’

I put my right hand over the side and into the water. At first, it merely felt cold. I left it there. It did not take long before I felt a stinging sensation. I lifted my hand out of the water and warmed it under my arm.

‘You there!’ I motioned to the crewman in charge of the boat. ‘We must row back and help. We can fit a few more in here.’

My statement sparked a wave of debate up and down the boat. The man pondered the request.

‘Very dangerous, sir. True, we might save a few. On the other hand, we might find ourselves surrounded. In the state those folks are right now, they’d all try to climb on board at once. If that happened, this little canvas boat would sink like a rock.’

Private debate continued throughout the boat.

‘Perhaps we should wait a while...’ one woman shouted, ‘...until things have quietened down a little.’

Miss Storm-Fleming jumped to her feet, but I put my hand on her shoulder and held her down.

‘By then they will be nearly dead!’ she cried. ‘Is that what you mean?’

Our boat never did go back for survivors. I would later find out that there was very little effort by any of the lifeboats to pull people from the water.

The one notable exception was Fifth Officer Lowe in Lifeboat No. 14. He divided his fifty-five passengers among four other boats and took on board a few of the experienced crew. They mounted a valiant rescue effort, but to little avail. Most of those in the water had already succumbed to the cold temperatures.

After a while, the cries in the distance ended. We were left to silent contemplation and prayer. This was interrupted, from time to time, by talk of being rescued. That light off in the distance never did come to our aid. But we were confident, hopeful even, that help would soon be on its way.

As time passed I found myself growing drowsy and disorientated. Chills ran through my body. Despite my lightheadedness, I recognized the early signs of hypothermia. The cold sea air and the ordeal of the past several days were taking their toll. At some point, I fell fast asleep.

I awoke as light began to fill the sky. My head was resting in Miss Norton’s lap, and I was covered with a blanket. There was considerable conversation taking place among the passengers. Some thought they saw the outline of a ship in the distance.

Miss Storm-Fleming, who had been looking across the sea with the others, turned to me and felt my forehead.

‘What time is it?’ I asked.

‘Four o’clock.’

‘Is there a ship?’

‘We still do not know. There is something out there in the distance.’

I rose to a sitting position and looked out across the sea. For a moment, in the pinkish light of dawn, it appeared that we were surrounded by sailing boats. But, as my eyes cleared, I could see that these images were just a continuing reminder of our ordeal. The white objects were icebergs. Most were small, but they were scattered all over the sea. Not far from the side of our boat I saw a deckchair floating.

‘You must rest now, Doctor Watson. For a while we thought we were going to lose you,’ said Miss Storm- Fleming.

I closed my eyes, feeling old and useless. I then slept for two more hours.

‘Doctor Watson, wake up, it is time to go. The rescue ship is here.’ Miss Norton was lifting up my head.

We were pulling up alongside a small liner, the Carpathia. Below the single funnel