“Much more disagreeable than it sounds.”
“Yes, I imagine so. But it seems the storm is dying down now.”
“I’d never trust it. We have to be prepared for all weather. This has been a salutary lesson to us, perhaps.”
“People don’t always learn their lessons.”
“I don’t know why when they have a good example of how treacherous the sea can be. Smiling one moment … angry … venomous … the next.”
“I hope we shall encounter no more hurricanes.”
It was past ten o’clock when I reached my cabin. Mary Kelpin was in her bed. I went to the next cabin to say good-night to my parents. My father was lying down and my mother was reading some papers.
I told them I had dined with Lucas Lorimer and was now going to bed.
“Let’s hope the ship is a little steadier by morning,” said my mother.
“This perpetual motion disturbs your father’s train of thought, and there is still some work to do on the lecture.”
I slept fitfully and woke in the early hours of the morning. The wind was rising and the ship was moving even more erratically than it had during the day. I was in danger of being thrown out of my bunk and sleep was impossible. I lay still, listening to the wailing and shrieking of the gale and the sound of the heavy waves as they lashed the sides of the ship.
And then . suddenly I heard a violent clanging of bells. I knew at once what this meant for on our first day at sea we had taken part in a drill which would make us prepared, in some small way, for an emergency. We were told then that we were to put on warm clothing, together with our lifejackets which were kept in the cupboard in our cabins, and make for the assembly point which had been chosen for us.
I leaped down from my bunk. Mary Kelpin was already dressing.
“This is it,” she said.
“That ghastly wind … and now … this.”
Her teeth were chattering and space was limited. It was not easy for us both to dress at the same time.
She was ready before I was, and when I had fumbled with buttons and donned my life jacket I hurried from the cabin to that of my parents.
The bells continued to sound their alarming note. My parents were looking bewildered, my father agitatedly gathering papers together.
I said: “There is no time for that now. Come along. Get these warm things on and where are your lifejackets?”
I then had the unique experience of realizing that a little quiet common sense has its advantages over erudition. They were pathetically meek and put themselves in my hands; at last we were ready to leave the cabin.
The alleyway was deserted. My father stopped short and some papers he was carrying fell from his hands. I hurriedly picked them up.
“Oh,” he said in horror.
“I’ve left behind the notes I made yesterday.”
“Never mind. Our lives are more important than your notes,” I said.
He stood still.
“I can’t … I couldn’t … I must go and get them.”
My mother said: “Your father must have his notes, Rosetta.”
I saw the stubborn look on their faces and I said hurriedly:
“I’ll go and get them. You go up to the lounge where we are supposed to assemble. I’ll get the notes. Where are they?”
“In the top drawer,” said my mother.
I gave them a little push towards the companionway which led to the lounge and I turned back. The notes were not in the top drawer. I searched and found them in a lower one. My life jacket rendered movement rather difficult. I grabbed the notes and hurried out.
The bells had stopped ringing. It was difficult to stand upright. The ship lurched and I almost fell as I mounted the companionway. There was no sign of my parents. I guessed they must have joined others at the assembly point and been hustled on deck to where the lifeboats would be waiting for them.
The violence of the storm had increased. I stumbled and slid until I came to rest at the bulkhead. Picking myself up, feeling dazed, I looked about for my parents. I wondered where they could have gone in the short time I had taken to retrieve the notes. I was clutching them in my hands now as I managed to make my way to the deck. There was pandemonium. People were surging towards the rail. In vain I looked among them for my parents. I suddenly felt terrifyingly alone among that pushing screaming crowd.
It was horrific. The wind seemed to take a malicious delight in tormenting us. My hair was loose and flying wildly about my head, being tossed over my eyes so that I could not see. The notes were pulled from my hands. For a few seconds I watched them doing a frivolous dance above my head before they were snatched-up by the violent wind, fluttered and fell into that seething mass of water.
We should have stayed together, I thought. And then:
Why? We have never been together. But this was different. This was danger. It was Death staring us in the face. Surely a few notes were not worth parting for at such a time?
Some people were getting into boats. I realized that my turn would not come for a long time . and when I saw the frail boats descending into that malignant sea, I was not sure that I wanted to trust myself to one of them.
The ship gave a sudden shivering groan as though it could endure no more. We seemed to keel over and I was standing in water. Then I saw one of the boats turn over as it was lowered. I heard the shrieks of its occupants as the sea hungrily caught them and drew them down.
I felt dazed and somewhat aloof from the scene. Death seemed almost certain. I was going to lose my life almost before it had begun. I started thinking of the past, which people say you do when you are drowning. But I was not drowning . yet. Here I was on this leaky frail vessel, facing the unprecedented fury of the elements, and I knew that at any moment I could be flung from the comparative safety of the deck into that grey sea in which no one could have a hope of survival. The noise was deafening; the shrieks and prayers of the people calling to God to save them from the fury of the sea . the sound of the raging tempest. the violent howling of the wind and the mountainous seas . they were like something out of Dante’s Inferno.
There was nothing to be done. I suppose the first thought of people faced with death is to save themselves. Perhaps when one is young death seems so remote that one cannot take it seriously. It is something which happens to other people, old people at that; one cannot imagine a world without oneself; one feels oneself to be immortal. I knew that many this night would lie in a watery grave but I could not really believe that I should be one of them.
I stood there . dazed . waiting . striving to catch a glimpse of my parents. I thought of Lucas Lorimer. Where was he? I wished I could see him. I thought fleetingly that he would probably still be calm and a little cynical. Would he talk of death as nonchalantly as he did of life?
Then I saw the overturned boat. It was being tossed about in the water. It came close to the spot where I was standing. Then it had righted itself and was bobbing about below me.
Someone had roughly caught my arm.
“You’ll be washed overboard in a minute if you stay here.”
I turned. It was the deck hand.
“She’s finished. She’ll turn over … it’s certain.”
His face was wet with spray. He was staring at the boat which the violent wind had brought close to the ship’s side. A giant wave brought it almost level with us.
He shouted: “It’s a chance. Come on. Jump.”
I was surprised to find that I obeyed. He had my arm still in a grip. It seemed unreal. I was sailing through the air and then plunging right down into that seething sea.
We were beside the boat.
“Grip!” he shouted above the tumult.
