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Senator William Alden Smith
Bill followed the pretty dark-haired girl, who was attempting to lead the way while struggling with the weight of a clumsy portmanteau. So this was Eva’s new protégée, heaven help her. She was very young, with large, innocent brown eyes that were at odds with the determined set of her chin.
Joe Bayliss leaned down and plucked the bag from her hand, and she turned on him, a nervous Daphne to Joe’s looming Apollo.
“We’ll move faster if I carry this,” Joe said as the girl stared up at him, frankly fearful.
“The sheriff will take good care of your bag,” Bill said.
Joe’s title seemed to mollify her as Bill had hoped. Joe was a sheriff. He could be trusted. Bill wondered who the girl was. She was simply dressed in a dark woolen coat over a gray dress, and she wore no hat. Perhaps her bag represented everything she had been able to save from the shipwreck. On the other hand, she had been on her way down the gangplank when she had spoken to the police escort. The Titanic’s passengers were supposedly being kept on board, so she must be a passenger from the Carpathia, yet she said she had been working for Eva Trentham. Well, she was a mystery, but she knew her way around the ship, and Bill could not afford to waste time or thought wondering about her.
“This door,” the girl said. “This is Dr. Lengyel’s cabin. He’s in there.”
Joe shook his head. “We’re not looking for the doctor.”
“I know. You’re looking for Sir Bruce Ismay, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we are,” Bill said.
The girl spoke with a slight edge to her voice. “Well, he’s in there. He’s been in there ever since they brought him aboard, and he’s had that sign on the door the whole time.”
“‘Please do not knock,’” Joe said with amusement in his gravelly voice. “All right, then, we won’t knock.”
He dropped the girl’s bag at her feet and gave her an encouraging smile. “You wait here, miss, and when I’m done, I’ll come and carry that for you. Little thing like you shouldn’t be lugging around a heavy bag.” He leaned toward her, and she took a nervous step backward. “Are there no gentlemen on this ship?”
“I think that most of the gentlemen are at the bottom of the Atlantic,” the girl said quietly.
Joe nodded gravely. “You’re probably right. Sorry—I should have thought. Well, never mind that. I’m here now. Do you mind telling me your name, miss?”
“It’s Kate,” she said. “Kate ... just Kate.”
“All right, Miss Kate. Wait for me here. This won’t take long. The senator has business with Mr. Ismay, and that may take a little longer, but all I have to do is serve him a subpoena. When I’ve done that, you can show me where I can find the Titanic’s officers. You seem to know your way around.”
“And after that,” Bill said, “ask the young lady to conduct you to Mrs. Trentham. I want Eva to know that we have this matter in hand.”
Joe turned to Will McKinstry. “All right, Mr. McKinstry, give me the paper, and let’s get on with it.”
McKinstry opened his briefcase and produced a single sheet of paper. So few words, Bill thought, but enough to light an international fire.
Joe took the paper and looked at the handwritten sign on the door. “‘Please do not knock,’” he said under his breath. “Well, see what you think about this.”
True to his word, Joe did not knock. He did not even turn the handle. He simply set his shoulder to the door and shoved. The door burst open, revealing a man in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, standing in the center of the doctor’s small cabin. His wavy black hair was slicked back from his face, and dark, startled eyes stared at Joe from above a luxurious mustache. “What the devil?”
Joe looked over his shoulder at the girl who had accompanied him. She returned his look with an admiring stare.
“Well done,” she whispered. “That’s what I wanted to do.”
Joe winked at her. “Wait there, Miss Kate. No need to come in.”
Ismay was beginning to splutter. “Who said you could come in here? I’m not to be disturbed. Who the devil do you think you are?”
“Now, now,” Joe said. “Let’s watch our language in front of the young lady. We’re just going to come in and close the door, and then we’ll have some quiet words with you.”
“I don’t want to—”
“It’s not about what you want,” Joe said. “It’s about what the United States wants. You are Mr. Bruce Ismay, aren’t you?”
“I am Sir Bruce Ismay.”
Joe cocked his head to one side. “We don’t go in for titles on this side of the Atlantic, Mr. Ismay. But just so we can be certain, I’ll ask you again. Are you Joseph Bruce Ismay?”
“I am.”
Joe tucked a sheet of paper into the front of Ismay’s waistcoat. “You’ve been served, and these two gentlemen are my witnesses.”
“Served? What do you mean by ‘served’?”
“The senator will explain. I’ll leave you now and take Mr. McKinstry with me. We have other work to do.”
Joe turned away and, with some effort, closed the door that he had all but pulled from its hinges. Bill was now alone with Ismay, who stared in disbelief at the paper in his hand.
“What is this?”
“It is a subpoena, sir, requiring you to give an account of your actions on board the Titanic on the night of April fourteenth and fifteenth.”
Ismay shook his head. “I am not required to do any such thing.”
Bill realized that he had already acquired an instinctive dislike of Bruce Ismay. He suspected that even if he had met him under entirely different circumstances, he would not have liked him. He thought of the sign on the door and the fact that Ismay was smartly dressed in a laundered and starched shirt. He reflected on how he had stood on the pier and watched the Carpathia drifting toward her berth in the driving rain while, all along the waterfront, men stood bareheaded and women cried, and all craned their necks searching for a familiar face among the bedraggled survivors. He was no longer worried about Taft or anyone else. What he wanted now was justice. It was for this moment that he had worked his way up from the streets of Grand Rapids to a seat in the Senate.
He made no attempt to keep pride of position from his voice. “I am Senator William Alden Smith of Michigan, and I have been appointed chairman of the Senate investigative committee on the sinking of the White Star liner Titanic.”
Ismay shook his head. “There is no need for your Senate to conduct an inquiry. The British Wreck Commissioner will look into the whole matter.”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Mr. Ismay. The American people require a reckoning for the death of so many American citizens.”
Ismay lifted a hand as if to fend off Bill’s words. “Senator, really, must you do this now? I am sure that in the fullness of time, we will—”
Bill tamped down the heat of his anger. This moment called for cool determination. Let Ismay splutter—Bill would remain in control.
“I don’t think you are interested in the fullness of time,” Bill said. “In fact, I believe that you intend to leave this country immediately and that you will not return to answer for your actions.”
“No, no, Senator. I will, of course, be very willing to speak to your committee or whatever it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me ...”
“No, I won’t excuse you. I know full well that if I turn my back on you, you and your crew will leave this ship without ever setting foot on American soil.”
“I don’t know where you get that idea.”
Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of papers. “Marconigrams,” he said, “messages sent by you from the Carpathia to your office in New York.”
“You have no right to read my messages,” Ismay complained.
Bill continued as though Ismay had not even spoken, separating the papers one at a time and setting them on the bunk as he finished.
“‘Most desirable Titanic crew aboard Carpathia should be returned home earliest moment possible. Suggest you hold Cedric, sailing her daylight Friday. Returning in her myself.’ ... ‘Very important you should hold Cedric daylight Friday for Titanic crew. Answer.’ ... ‘Think most unwise to keep Titanic crew until Saturday. Strongly urge detaining Cedric, sailing her midnight if desirable.’”
Ismay shook his head. “You don’t understand. I am concerned for the welfare of my crew. They have wives and children in England, and they should be allowed to go home.”
“I know that the list of survivors has been published in Britain,” Bill said. “The wives and children know what they need to know. Let me make myself clear, Mr. Ismay: you and your crew will be detained until our Senate committee arrives in New York to speak with you.”
Bill was suddenly aware that Ismay was looking past him, and his expression had become hopeful. “Here’s Mr. Franklin from our New York office,” Ismay said. “He’ll take care of this.”
Bill looked at the man who was standing in the passageway outside, eyeing the damaged door that now hung partially open. Franklin was a bald-headed, broad-shouldered man. His round face was pale and shocked, and his eyes were red rimmed. Bill knew that the White Star offices had been surrounded by reporters and relatives of the missing ever since the first report had come over the wires. No doubt the man was exhausted. Nonetheless, Franklin’s voice was firm. “What’s going on? Are you all right, Ismay?”
“No, I am not.” Ismay waved the subpoena angrily at Bill. “This man—he says he’s a senator—tells me that I cannot leave the ship.”
Bill shook his head. “No, I told you that you must leave the ship. You must come ashore, you and your crew, and appear before my Senate committee.”
Ismay looked past Bill and spoke angrily to Franklin. “Do something. I’m a British citizen. He has no right to detain me.”
Franklin took the subpoena from Ismay’s trembling hand. He was silent for a moment as he read, and then he sighed wearily. “Legally served,” he said, “by Joseph Bayliss, sheriff of Chippewa County.”
“Where the devil is Chippewa County?” Ismay asked. “And what gives him the right to detain a British citizen?”
Franklin returned the paper to Ismay. “It doesn’t matter where he comes from. He has been sworn in by the sergeant at arms of the US Senate. This is a valid subpoena. Granted, you are a British citizen, and it may raise some questions, but—”
“So call the British ambassador,” Ismay said. “See what he has to say about this.”
“The British ambassador has already called me. He will not interfere, or at least not yet,” Franklin replied. “Frankly, old man, this is a public-relations nightmare. Heaven knows I’ve done my best. I’ve been fending off a pack of reporters for the past three days, not to mention dealing with some of the richest and most powerful families in New York society, who want to know what happened to their fathers and sons. I’ve had the Guggenheims in my office, and Mrs. Astor’s father. I can’t help you, Ismay. If the US Senate wants to know what happened, you will have to tell them.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Ismay said. He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the carefully arranged waves. “I’m as ignorant as any other passenger.”
“But you are not just any other passenger,” Franklin said. “You are chairman of the White Star Line.” He turned to Bill. “With your permission, Senator, I’ll escort Sir Bruce ashore. I can assure you, on behalf of the White Star Line and on my word as a gentleman, that Sir Bruce will appear before your committee and tell you what he knows. I trust that is sufficient for you.”
Bill took a moment to consider. He recognized that Phillip Franklin was not just a fellow American but also a possible ally. New York traffic in Lower Broadway had been brought to a halt by the throngs of people, both rich and poor, who had laid siege to the White Star offices, asking Franklin questions he could not possibly answer. He must have been thinking that the situation would be much easier if Ismay had perished with the ship. But he hadn’t perished. He was here, and the public knew he was here.
Bill nodded. “Very well. I will see you tomorrow, both of you, at the Waldorf Astoria. Ten o’clock.”
“No, no,” Ismay stuttered. “It’s too soon. I have urgent matters to attend to.”
“Tomorrow, ten o’clock,” Bill repeated as he pushed open the broken door and stepped out into the passageway.
Kate Royston
Kate had no choice but to lead the way for Joe Bayliss through the ever-moving throng of passengers. She should really try to find the Van Burens before they changed their minds about allowing her to stay the night, but the sheriff had taken possession of her bag, and she could not imagine trying to wrest it from his grip. She was also very curious to see what he would do next.
“I think the officers from the Titanic have been staying together in the officers’ mess,” she said. “They were standing watch with the Carpathia’s officers on the voyage, but—”
Joe leaned down and spoke in a low voice. “A young lady like you should not know where the officers are sleeping,” he said.
Kate shook her head. “Oh, I don’t. I mean, I’ve only spoken to one of them. Harold Bride was the radio operator, and he’s been helping on the Carpathia, so I spoke to him. He’s had an awful time with frostbite on his feet.”
“So you’ve been doing your own interviewing,” Joe said. “Maybe I should serve you with a subpoena.”
“But I don’t know anything.” A sudden thought brought Kate to a complete standstill, which caused the senator’s aide, Mr. McKinstry, to bump into her. Fortunately, Joe’s presence stood between her and the press of people, and gave them a moment to untangle themselves.
“I have to tell you something,” Kate said. “There’s a radio operator; his name is Harold Cottam. You should talk to him.”
“Was he on the Titanic?”
“No, no. He was here on the Carpathia. He took the first message, and he took it to the bridge, but they didn’t believe him.”
Joe raised his scraggly eyebrows. “Is that so?”
“Yes. He had to wake the captain himself and tell him. After that the crew were wonderful, but I think that Harold, Mr. Cottam, should have some kind of recognition for persevering and not giving up when the bridge officers wouldn’t believe him.”
“Ah,” said Joe. “Now, you and this Mr. Cottam, are you ...?”
“No, of course not. I just wanted to tell you.”
“And now you have,” Joe agreed. He winked at her again, and she wondered why she was suddenly blushing. Was it because he thought that she and Harold Cottam were having some kind of shipboard romance, or was it because he had winked at her?
Joe gestured with a large hand. “Lead on, Miss Kate. Let’s find these officers.”
Kate brought her companions to the door of the officers’ mess and waited for Joe to hand over her bag. He set the bag on the deck, but as she reached down for it, he shook his head. “I told you, I will carry it and I will escort you from the ship. There’s a rough crowd out there tonight. You may not be safe.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to McKinstry. “Go down among the immigrant survivors, and see if you can find this family.”
“The senator asked me to be your witness when you serve the subpoenas.”
“And the senator also asked us to find this family, who are relatives of his kitchen maid. I can’t send Miss Kate in among those people, so I’m sending you. Miss Kate will make a perfectly fine witness to me serving the subpoenas.”
McKinstry pocketed the paper but still hesitated. “Get a move on,” Joe said. “God only knows what will happen to them once they leave the ship. Go and see what you can do.”
McKinstry turned, obviously reluctant, and pushed his way back into the stream of passengers moving along the corridor.
Kate eyed the closed door of the officers’ mess. “Are you going to break this one?”
“Would you like me to?”
“No, of course not.” But it would be exciting!
Joe grinned. “We are going to enter politely. I imagine these officers are good fellows who’ve had a rough time. There’ll be no trouble unless they make it themselves, and the presence of a young lady like you might make them think twice about what they say.”
Kate closed her eyes, remembering the words that had been said about her father. The presence of Kate had made no difference on that occasion. Vile words had come from men she’d known all her life, men who had always called her Miss Kate and addressed her mother as “ma’am.” Nothing the officers could say would surprise her.
She followed Joe into the officers’ mess, where five men sat around the mess table. In the days since they had come on board the Carpathia, their clothes had been dried, but their dark sweaters and watch coats were streaked with salt. Although they had shaved and combed their hair, their faces were haggard, and their eyes were still shadowed by all they had seen. From what Kate had been able to hear of shipboard gossip, some of these men had not taken to the lifeboats. They had gone down with their ship and been plucked half-frozen from the water.
The only man she recognized was Harold Bride, the Marconi operator, whose bandaged frostbitten feet were resting on one of the chairs. While the other men sprang to their feet, Bride remained seated and looked at her curiously. “Who is this, Miss Kate?”
Joe took over the conversation before Kate could reply. With some instinct that Kate could not fathom, he picked on only one man. “Mr. Lightoller, I believe.”
Lightoller, a sturdily built man with a wide, honest face, eyed Joe. His blue eyes measured Joe’s inscrutable gray eyes and seemed to find something to respect.
“Charles Lightoller, second officer.”
“You are now in command?”
“I am the most senior officer to survive.”
Lightoller spoke with a light burr to his voice. Not Irish, Kate thought, not Scottish, not Welsh, and definitely not London. It was a voice that spoke of a rural upbringing well away from the big cities. It was the voice of a man who was now very far from home, but it was not lacking in confidence. Lightoller stood straight-backed and gazed at Joe as one equal to another. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“You and your men are expecting to leave this ship,” Joe said, “and take passage on the Cedric to Southampton.”
“We are.”
“And I’m here to stop you.”
A low protesting murmur rose from the officers around the table. Lightoller waved them into silence.
“Well, Sheriff, that is something you will have to take up with Sir Bruce Ismay. He has made the arrangements.”
“But you are the senior officer,” Joe said, and Kate detected a note of cunning in his voice. “I’m not a naval man myself, but I’ve done my time in the service of my country. Are you saying that you are answerable to Mr. Ismay?”
Lightoller hesitated before replying, and Kate realized that something very significant was taking place. This was the moment Eva had predicted. Lightoller need only say that he and his officers took commands from Ismay, and the question of blame would rest firmly on Ismay’s shoulders.
Lightoller shook his head. “To tell you the truth, Sheriff, we are no longer employees of the White Star Line. Things in the merchant navy are very different from things in the Royal Navy or even in your navy. When the ship stops moving, whether it be in port or in the middle of the ocean, our employment comes to an end. All of us at this table, and all of our surviving crew, have been cast adrift, so to speak, without employment. The White Star Line has no obligation to return us to England, but they are willing to do so, and we are willing to take up the offer.”
“Well,” said Joe, “you are no longer adrift. The US government will take responsibility for you from now on. You will be our guests.”
The men murmured again, and Lightoller silenced them with a look. “And if we choose not to be?”
Joe produced his sheaf of subpoenas from his pocket. “I have already issued Ismay a subpoena to appear before a Senate inquiry, and I am about to do the same to you, with this young lady as my witness. Introduce me to you officers, Mr. Lightoller, and let’s get on with it.”
Lightoller paused for a moment and then seemed to accept the inevitable. “We might as well get this over and done with, I suppose. There’ll be another inquiry when we get to England, but if you want to have one, we’re in no position to stop you. We have nothing to hide. We’ll tell you what we know, not that any of us will enjoy remembering.”
Kate thought that the sturdy Englishman shivered as he spoke, and the haunted expression in his eyes grew darker and deeper. He pointed to each of the men at the table. “Herbert Pitman, third officer; Joseph Boxhall, fourth officer; Harold Lowe, fifth officer; Harold Bride, radio operator.”
Joe thumbed through the papers and handed one to each man. “That’s done,” he said, “and witnessed. I need one more thing. I need your logbook.”
The five men looked at each other, and the man Lightoller had introduced as Harold Lowe, fifth officer, finally spoke. He sounded surprised. “The logbook?” he queried. “What makes you think we have the logbook?”
Kate saw Joe tensing his shoulders, and for a moment, she feared he would become violent. He had already broken down the door of the doctor’s cabin without any provocation. Joe’s words came out in quiet, measured tones that carried their own threat just by being spoken. “When the captain gives the order to abandon ship, maritime law requires that the captain gives the logbook to a responsible officer in the first boat away.”
“Well,” said Lowe, “I’m not sure if that is law or just custom, but it doesn’t matter, as I don’t recall the captain giving any order to abandon ship.” He looked around at his fellow officers. “Did any of you hear the order?”
“Couldn’t hear anything,” Boxhall said. “When we found water coming in on the lower decks, the captain gave the order to stop engines while the carpenters went below to sound the ship. The chief engineer had to vent steam, you see, and that makes a terrible noise. We could hardly hear a word. I certainly didn’t hear any order to abandon ship.”
“And yet you abandoned her,” Joe said.
Boxhall shook his head. “No, I would not say that. I took command of the second lifeboat to leave, but it wasn’t a case of abandoning ship. It was just a precaution, and we had no intention of abandoning our command. We could see the lights of another ship close by. We were firing rockets to signal her. I was not given the logbook. It was not considered necessary.”
Lightoller tapped Boxhall’s shoulder. “Sit down, Mr. Boxhall. We have no need to explain ourselves to this man. We’ll say what we have to say when we are called before the committee, but we’ll say nothing now.” He looked up at Joe, not at all intimidated by the fact that Joe towered over him. “You’ve done what you came to do. Now please leave us in peace. We do not have the logbook, and I have nothing more to say about it. I bid you good day.” He nodded at Kate. “And you too, miss.”
Kate caught her breath as she met his brief glance. He was not as tall and weathered as Joe, not as charming as Danny McSorley, or as painfully determined as Harold Cottam, but he radiated strength and honesty. She knew that whatever testimony he gave would be the truth. This was a man who could not lie.
She felt a sudden overwhelming shame. If she had not told Eva about Ismay’s telegrams, none of this would be happening. Because of Eva’s determination to bring down Sir Bruce Ismay, and through him J. P. Morgan, these men could not return home. Because Eva had harassed Senator Smith into holding an immediate inquiry, wives and children far away in England would have to endure a long, painful wait until they were reunited with their husbands and fathers. She lowered her eyes. She could not look at Lightoller. She could not look at any of them, knowing that they would be forced to face false accusers. She could not endure that again. She could not watch the ruin of innocent men.
She picked up her portmanteau, darted out of the door, and forced a place for herself in the steadily moving stream of people, then followed the flow until she found a side corridor. Of course, there was no reason for Joe Bayliss to follow her, but she moved as fast as she could, dodging and darting through a maze of corridors and dragging the bag down a flight of stairs until she felt the wind and rain on her face as she stood at the top of the gangplank.
Senator William Alden Smith
Bill entered the suite occupied by Eva Trentham. He was not at all surprised to see that she had found a comfortable place for herself, or that she had a sturdy Irishwoman standing by to fetch and carry for her. He was, however, somewhat surprised by the size and shagginess of the dog that Eva had managed to rescue and by the tall young Viking who held the dog on a tight leash as Bill entered the suite.
Eva sat in her wheelchair like a queen on a throne and waved a beringed hand at him as he entered. “Ah, Senator, at long last. I informed the officials that I would not leave the ship until I had spoken to you.”
“No one from the Titanic has left the ship yet, so it was not an issue,” Bill said, glad to have the chance to take some of the air out of Eva’s bubble of importance. He didn’t dislike the old lady, and he certainly liked the fact that she so frequently used her influence to assist his career, but he liked to place limits on her self-aggrandizement. She was an important member of New York society, one of the last of the grande dames, but even she would not be going ashore until it was her turn and until the crowds outside were brought under control.
“Well,” Eva asked, “did you see Ismay?”
“I did, and I served a subpoena.”
“And how did he take it?”
“Not well.”
Eva smiled. “Good.”
“He will be appearing in front of the Senate subcommittee tomorrow morning at ten,” Bill said.
Eva clapped her hands. “I can’t wait to see it.”
Bill moved to pull up a chair, and the dog growled.
“This is Wolfie,” Eva said. “We don’t think he bites.”
“You don’t think ...?”
“Well, we really don’t know anything about him. We found him swimming, and I insisted he be put in my lifeboat. He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?”
Bill eyed the scruffy animal, taking in his long, drooping ears and sad bloodhound eyes, partially hidden by a fringe of untamed brown hair. “What is it?”
The young man with the leash leaned down and smoothed the dog’s head. “Wolfie is an otterhound, sir. We don’t know how he managed to reach the water or make his escape.”
Bill nodded. “I’m sure that’s a puzzle,” he said. “If a dog like this could save himself, how could so many people die?”
“That’s something for you to ask Ismay,” Eva said. “I can’t wait to hear the answer.”
Bill sighed. This was the second time that Eva had mentioned attending the hearings, and now was the time to put an end to her expectations.
“The hearings will be closed,” he said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Trentham, but it will not be possible for you to attend.”
“Stuff and nonsense, Senator. Stuff and pure nonsense. Do you think you’ll be able to keep people out? We want to know what happened. We’re entitled to know what happened.”
“We will allow a small number of reporters.”
“Ha!” said Eva. “A small number indeed. You had better make arrangements for a large number of reporters and a large number of interested parties. I will be there.” She indicated the blanket-wrapped woman standing behind her chair. “Bridie will be there. She’s entitled to know what happened to her fellow Irishmen, and Mr. McSorley will be there, won’t you, Mr. McSorley?”
“Well, I—”
“Of course you will. Where else would you go?”
McSorley spread his hands. “I’m going to Cape Race, ma’am.”
“Not yet. You have plenty of time before you have to go up there into the wilds.” Eva looked at Bill. “This is Danny McSorley, and he is a radio operator for the Marconi company. He was traveling second-class on the Titanic. You may need his testimony. He’ll be staying with me at my Park Avenue house tonight. And of course, there’s young Kate.” Eva looked up at Danny. “Do you know where she is?”
“I assume she’s gone, ma’am, along with the other passengers from the Carpathia.”
“Why would she do that?” Eva asked.
“Those were the instructions, ma’am,” Danny said. “Carpathia passengers were to go ashore first.”
Eva shook her head vigorously. “That doesn’t mean she should go ashore. I need her here with me. So, she’s gone off and left me to fend for myself after everything I’ve done for her. What an ungrateful little madam.”
Bridie leaned forward. “Begging your pardon, missus, but did you tell her you wanted her to stay?”
“Why would I need to tell her?” Eva snapped. “Surely she could see for herself. If she’s gone, it’s because she didn’t want to stay.” She shrugged. “Oh well. Easy come, easy go.”
“I could go ashore and look for her,” Danny offered with a hint of desperation in his voice.
“No, I’m afraid you couldn’t,” Bill said. “All Titanic passengers are to remain on board and await immigration authorities, and we will be keeping them here until we know who we will want to interview. We’ve placed a tight guard on the gangplank to make sure that no one sneaks away, and we have police watching the pier. I’m sorry, young man, but you’ll have to wait.”
“Stupid, ungrateful girl,” Eva muttered. She glared at Danny. “Don’t look so crestfallen. There are plenty of other single girls in New York.”
Danny tugged on Wolfie’s leash. “I’ll take him out for some fresh air,” he said. “I suppose I’m allowed to do that.”
Bill saw the way that Danny was looking at Eva: the look of a Viking about to wreak some terrible vengeance. He felt nothing but sympathy for the young man as he slammed out of the suite with the shaggy hound at his heels.
Kate Royston
Kate pulled her identity papers from her bag, along with her stamped passenger ticket proving that she, Katherine Elizabeth Royston, had been a passenger on the Carpathia.
An immigration official ushered her through the police cordon. “You’re one of the last ones, miss,” he said. “We’ll be dealing with the Titanic passengers next. Do you know where you’re going?”
Kate nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. My employers are waiting for me.”
The official touched his cap. “All right, miss. Good night.”
Rain battered Kate as she followed the narrow path created by the police cordon. Arms reached out toward her, and she caught snatches of questions.
“Have you seen ...?”
“Do you know ...?”
“My mother was ...”
“How about an interview, miss?”
She waved the questions away. She had no answers for these people. She hesitated. Someone should answer them, and if not Senator Smith, then who would it be? Who would find the truth?
She walked until she was clear of the crowd and the voices, and finally stopped on a deserted street. She set down her bag and tucked her passport and ticket safely into the interior, among her few items of clothing. How much time had she wasted helping Joe Bayliss? How long had she been walking since she had left the Carpathia? Where were the cabs? Where were the Van Burens? She turned around and watched the distant camera flashes and the lights of the Carpathia, now some distance away. She couldn’t go forward without any idea of where to go. She would have to turn around and make her way back on board the Carpathia, where she could find the purser and explain her problem, or maybe she could find Mrs. Broomer; she would surely be able to help her. They would know how to reach the Van Burens, and then Kate could explain what had happened. She had been helping the senator; surely they would understand and not refuse her a bed for the night.
She shook her head, disgusted at her own stupidity. At this moment, the Van Burens, however unpleasant, were her only security, and all she’d had to do was follow them to a cab. If she had held Brigitta’s hand, they would have waited for her, but instead, she’d gone running off trying to interfere in Eva Trentham’s affairs. And it was not as though the old lady cared anything for Kate, dismissing her without a second thought.
Well, none of that mattered now. The Carpathia was still at the pier. Someone on board would surely recognize her, and if they could not tell her how to reach the Van Burens, maybe they would allow her to stay on board for the night. Tomorrow she would make a new plan—hopefully, a better one.
As she turned to pick up her bag, someone or something slammed into her from behind, shoving her face downward onto the cobbled street. She screamed in pain as her face collided with the stones, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She heard the sound of running footsteps and rolled over onto her hands and knees just in time to see a figure retreating into the curtain of rain. She sat up and blinked at the rain and blood streaming down her face. She reached for her bag, for a handkerchief, but she knew already that the bag would not be there.
She could not even feel surprise. It was all gone—her papers, her ticket, her clothes. She was no one now, just another fatherless girl alone on the streets of New York.
She used the sleeve of her coat to wipe the blood from her eyes. If only she could have put her papers in her pocket, she would not feel so helpless. Unfortunately, her coat, made by her mother’s dressmaker, was designed for a young lady to wear—a young lady who would carry an elegant purse and would not spoil the lines of her coat by having a pocket large enough to jam full with important items.
She trudged back toward the flicker of flashbulbs and the glow of lights from the pier. The crowd that had been so silent was loud now and seemingly out of control. Above the wailing of women and the shouting of men, she heard the shrills of police whistles.
Soon she was at the back of the crowd, and she could hear the reporters calling out.
“That’s Mrs. Astor. Over here, Mrs. Astor!”
“Mrs. Guggenheim!”
“Lady Rothes!”
That’s it, Kate thought, hearing the name of the countess. I don’t have to get back on board. I’ll tell the countess what happened. She knows me. She’ll know what to do. She’ll think I’m a complete ninny—not five minutes off the boat, and I’ve already been robbed—but there’s a kind heart somewhere under that cool exterior.
Kate swiped the blood from her eyes again and pushed forward, determined to speak to the countess. She caught a glimpse of her standing hatless in the rain, with her blonde hair disheveled and her eyes searching the crowd. Kate pressed against the police cordon separating the first-class passengers from the crowd. She called out, but the countess did not even turn her head as she moved forward, gliding swanlike toward two impeccably dressed gentlemen who had obviously come to meet her. She was gone in moments, and Kate was, once again, in the midst of the surging crowd.
“Here they come. Here they come. Here’s third class.”
A group of uniformed officers stood at the foot of the gangplank. Kate heard the murmur of voices in the crowd. “Immigration. They won’t let them in without papers.”
“How can they have papers? They have nothing.”
“Will they take them to Ellis Island?”
“Not tonight.”
Kate wriggled through the crowd and ducked beneath the linked arms of the policemen. For a moment, she was in the open, looking up at the Carpathia’s gangplank and seeing the first of the Irishwomen descending the gangplank with shaky steps. When the woman’s knees buckled beneath her, one of the policemen stepped forward to catch her, and Kate managed to dart past him and gain a place on the gangplank, but not for long. The immigrants tottered down the gangplank, unsteady after so long at sea, ragged, terrified, some crying, some crossing themselves, some grasping the hands of the few, very few, children who had been saved.
Their surge toward land was irresistible, and Kate was caught up and carried back toward the dock. Hands reached for her. She tried to force them away.
A woman’s voice spoke softly in her ear while someone else held on to her arms. “It’s all right, dear. We’re here to take care of you. You come with us. You’ll be all right. Do you speak English? Do you understand me?”
Kate squinted through the film of blood that had once again gathered before her eyes. She thought she must have a head wound. She knew head wounds could bleed without being serious. No, she wasn’t severely injured. She could walk. She could manage. She could get back on board the Carpathia.
The woman’s voice came again. “I don’t think she speaks English, but look at her, poor soul. She’s bleeding.”
Kate managed to free one of her arms and wipe the blood from her eyes. She found herself surrounded by young men and women in Salvation Army uniforms.
Kate tried to pull away, but the young woman who held her was apparently as strong in her body as she was in her faith, because her grip was unrelenting.
“I have to go back,” Kate said. “I have to go on board.”
“Oh, you do speak English. That’s good. Now try to understand—”
“I have to go back,” Kate insisted. “I’m not an immigrant.”
Another, older woman with rain dripping from her bonnet joined Kate’s captor. “Some of them are very confused,” she said, “but we can’t stand out here in the rain arguing with them. The police say we’re to take them to our hostel tonight, and they’ll come in the morning to inspect them.”
“I don’t need to be inspected,” Kate insisted. “I’m not an immigrant.”
“Well, then,” the older woman said acerbically, “if you’re not an immigrant, where are your papers? Do you have anything to say who you are?”
“Of course I do,” Kate said. “I was a passenger on the Carpathia.”
“Do you have anything to prove that?”
“No. I was robbed. I had my passport and my—”
“You’re confused, dear, and you’ve had a bang on the head. The Carpathia passengers are all long gone. You and your fellows are the only ones left. Now, you come with me before I have to fetch the immigration officers to arrest you. It’s best not to begin your life in a new country by being arrested.”
“But—”
“But nothing. It’s me or the police. Now, you look over there and see what’s happening to those that won’t behave themselves.”
Kate looked up in time to see three police officers take down a strongly built immigrant man who had evidently tried to make a run for it.
“He’ll be on his way to jail,” said Kate’s captor. “You don’t want that to happen to you. You can sleep in our hostel tonight, and the health inspectors will come in the morning. You speak very good English, and I know you understand me. You’ll be held in quarantine while we find out who you are and where you’re going, and then, if you’re free of diseases, you’ll be released.”
Kate could not find the will to resist as the two women dragged her toward the ominous black shape of a police wagon. She could not go back aboard the Carpathia. She could not walk through the night to the Van Burens’ house. She certainly could not expect any help from Eva Trentham. Tomorrow, she said to herself. I will sort this out tomorrow.
She stepped up into the closed back of the wagon and took her seat among the immigrant women. She closed her eyes. Words danced in her mind: jail, quarantine, health inspectors, police. Someone slammed the van doors, shutting out the rain. A key rattled in the lock. Jail, quarantine, health inspectors, police.
New York Times
April 19, 1912
When the ship finally pulled into dock near Fourteenth Street, two thousand people were on the pier and waiting in almost complete silence. Near the pier another 30,000 had gathered and 10,000 more lined the Battery. In addition to friends and relatives, medical personnel and government officials were on the scene. The Carpathia passengers disembarked first, because the ship’s captain realized that the scene would become tumultuous as soon as the Titanic survivors first appeared. That moment came when a woman passenger with teary eyes and makeshift clothes descended the gangplank and stumbled away from the boat on the arms of an officer and the crowd started to wail with sounds of shrieks and sobs.