CHAPTER FOUR
"Mister Wilde your behaviour on this voyage so far has been completely unacceptable!" Smith roared pounding a fist on his desk. "As our Chief Officer, I expected a basic level of professionalism from you. So far you've limboed well under it!" Sighing he shook his head and scowled, "Not to mention the issue of dressing like a woman. It's an embarrassment!"
Wilde just looked ashamed, his face raw from scrubbing off his make up. He was wearing one of his shirts loosely tucked into his trousers and buttoned erratically. He looked more like a homeless man than a senior officer, but at least he didn't look like a terribly ugly woman.
"I still make the case that Mister Murdoch should be reprimanded," Ismay insisted looking at the humiliated officer. "Mister Wilde's ... Umm, hobby ... Didn't interfere with his duties. He still maintained a professional attitude despite this hobby of his. Mister Murdoch however, has refused point blank to carry out certain duties and I am pretty sure he has been encouraging mischief amongst the crew."
Wilde looked at Ismay gratefully and mouthed, "Thank you." He looked to Smith whose expression had softened slightly.
"Mister Wilde, I'm going to have to ask you to cease your activities for the duration," He said before glancing at Ismay. "Does this seem reasonable enough Mister Ismay?"
"Yes it does."
Wilde nodded, looking down at the floor and mumbling, "Thank you sir."
"Good!" Andrews remarked, no longer wishing to be a spectator to Wilde's humiliation. "Now that this is settled, I'll locate Mister Murdoch," He announced to the men.
"Thank you," Smith smiled gratefully as he sank into his chair and held his face in his hands. "This has been an absolute farce of a sailing day, not to mention not getting to enjoy my dinner. You are excused Mister Wilde."
He left the office to stares from Boxhall and Hichens who were still on duty in the wheelhouse. "Not a word," He warned as he sulked past them, ignoring sniggers from Hichens. He was grateful to arrive back in his room where he could clean himself up and look presentable.
Down in one of the first class corridors on B Deck, Moody slumped to the floor. He was out of breath and had a terrible stitch in his side. He had given up searching for more people to witness Wilde in dress. Letting out a long sigh he ignored the strange glances he was getting from the passengers.
A young woman with vibrant red hair approached him and asked kindly, "Are you okay officer?" She smiled at him while she waited for an answer which was merely a shy nod. "Are you sure?" She checked.
"Yes Miss," He said quietly, dipping his head slightly. He massaged his temple as Porky was now giving him a headache.
"Well, perhaps you should go and lie down," She suggested, helping him to his feet. "Oh, I haven't even told you my name!" She realised with a chuckle. "I'm Rose ... Rose DeWitt Bukater."
"Thank you Miss DeWitt Bukater, it's nice to meet you," He smiled albeit rather weakly before introducing himself. "James Moody, I'm the Sixth Officer."
"Well Officer Moody, I hope you feel better soon," She said politely, waving as she left for her stateroom.
He decided at that point to turn in, having to get up in the early hours for his watch. While taking in the night air he was distracted by the sounds of shouting and jeering that appeared to be coming from the forward well deck. Jogging lightly, he arrived at the bridge and looked down below. "For Christ's sake," He groaned as he watched the peculiar sight below.
Murdoch had been tied to the base of the crow's nest, far too intoxicated to keep himself upright, or even talk coherently. His cap was missing along with his jacket, and his shirt was unbuttoned. He kept looking around giddily and reciting nonsense punctuated by the odd scream.
"Come on lads, let's get to bed!" Rowe commanded, having been recruited by Andrews to find Murdoch. He was trying to get other drunk crewmen back to their quarters but it simply wasn't happening for him. Once had even gone as far as climbing over the railings at the ship's bow, threatening to jump.
Smith walked up to Moody, standing next to him and watching the carnage below. The officer suddenly wished that he was the one hanging off the ship. Scared to look at the captain, he sidled away from him in case he was next for questioning.
"Mister Moody, take over from Mister Boxhall's watch please," Smith ordered politely while still keeping an eye everyone. "I require his assistance."
"Yes sir," He replied, walking into the wheelhouse to relieve his colleague from his watch. "Mister Boxhall, the Captain requires your assistance," He informed him politely. "He's asked me to take over your watch."
"Ah, Andares could feel the tension in the air. Something is not well within this vessel. The Captain has made a wise choice," He whispered into Moody's ear as he left to address Smith.
"Some night, eh?" Quartermaster Walter Perkis grinned. He was secretly pleased to be on duty while something was going on, having heard about earlier events from his other colleagues. Lowering his voice, he suggested, "If we stay quiet we can listen to what's going on down there."
Moody nodded and smiled, relieved to be out of the firing line, "Absolutely. Just keep your eyes out front please Mister Perkis."
Meanwhile Lowe and Pitman were hiding out in the smoking room, trying to look as though they were enjoying the atmosphere with a couple of brandies. Pitman swallowed his drink whole, whereas Lowe took a small sip and spat it back into the glass and gasped, "Eurgh!" He pushed the glass away from him and grimaced, "It's like poison!"
Pitman laughed and shrugged his shoulders, "Maybe it is ...?" As soon as he realised what he had said he wanted to take it back immediately. "Shit, Harry, I didn't mean it!"
It was no use however as Lowe went white as a sheet, and was desperately trying to wipe away any traces of brandy from his mouth. "I knew they were out to get me! Captain Smith did this! He's trying to kill me!" He shrieked, jumping to his feet.
Pitman followed suit as he was afraid of what could happen next. He asked in a hushed voice, "What shall we do?"
"RUN!" Lowe screamed, effectively silencing the room. The gentlemen of the first class stared incredulously as he led the way out with both of them screaming at the top of their lungs. He would toss the odd glass of brandy to the floor and yell, "He can't get me!"
The two of them shoved passengers aside as the raced towards the lifts, with Pitman even going as far as throwing an elderly woman to the floor as she walked into the lift ahead of them. He shot the operator a look as he gave them a disgusted scowl, but felt backed into a corner and couldn't do anything about it.
"E Deck!" Lowe ordered, slamming the gates shut. He watched as the woman was helped up off the floor then shrieked to his colleague, "You'd better apologise for that, Herb!"
"Sorry!" He called to the woman as the lift began to descend. He couldn't help but notice how shocked she looked, as though she had seen a ghost.
Biting his fingernails Lowe wailed, "We are in so much trouble! She's going to get us for that!"
Wringing his hands, Pitman was suddenly hit by the reality of their situation. "What did I do? What did I just do?!"
The lift operator sighed and hung his head, "God help us all ..."
By this point, Smith had managed to exert some sort of control over the chaos in the forward well deck. "This has been the worst sailing day of my career!" He complained to Andrews, who had spent the last half hour gathering information. "For God's sake, our first officer is tied to the crow's nest!"
Andrews looked over at Murdoch who was desperately trying to wriggle free but with no luck whatsoever. All he could do was run around in circles like a crab with his back to the base of the crow's nest. "Yes, that is a worry," He agreed quietly, shaking his head in disbelief.
"That one over there," Smith began, pointing to Boxhall who was trying to coax the skittish crewman back over the railing, "Can't decided who he actually is!"
"Doctor Rosenbaum," Andrews informed him without being asked. "Did you know he puts on accents too? He sounds American this time. In any case, it appears to be working for him."
Smith wasn't finished with his rant however, and continued, "The chief officer is also having some sort of identity crisis! My most junior officer is covered in cuts and bruises for no apparent reason!" Taking a deep breath mid-rant to calm himself, Smith pointed up to the officers quarters. "Two officers are also apparently missing! They're being tracked down by a senior officer who I had to physically prise away from another of those goddamn paintings!"
"I can't imagine Mister Lightoller liking that," Andrews mused before receiving a stern look in return. "God, was it that bad?"
"I had to change my shirt," Smith replied curtly. "I apparently ruined his painting which warranted being poked in the chest with a paintbrush!" Noticing that he had rendered Andrews speechless, he ordered, "Mister Andrews, please gather the details of the crew here tonight. I want an accurate account of tonight's events for my report. If you'll excuse me, I had better deal with Mister Murdoch."
Murdoch squinted at him due to the alcohol having affected his vision, blurring everything within inches of him. Once he realised who it was approaching him, he circled the crow's nest again in a desperate attempt to flee. "Bastard!" He cursed as he tripped over his own feet and slid to the ground.
Smith stood before him, arms crossed and the vein on his forehead ready to pop. "Just you wait until you have sobered up." He then stormed over to Boxhall, who had succeeded in pulling the apparently suicidal crewman over the railing. "Mister Boxhall, please see to it that Mister Murdoch is retrained in his own bed tonight, he needs to dry out."
In his American accent, Boxhall replied, "Yes sir. While I'm at it, I'll try to get to the source of these demons that are driving him to drink."
Smith raised his eyebrows at the man as he skipped over to Murdoch, who was now passed out. Looking around, he decided to leave Andrews in charge and head back upstairs in case Lightoller had brought back Pitman and Lowe.
So far, Lightoller was having no luck finding them. He was getting closer as he was called over by the lift operator who wanted to report on the officers' disgraceful behaviour. Folding his arms after being made aware of what had happened earlier he asked, "So, you're saying that one of our officers physically threw a passenger to the floor?"
"I can assure you Officer that I am not lying," The operator insisted truthfully. "I can ask around and have the woman in question tell you herself," He offered, his eye line falling when he realised that there was a large blue paint stain on Lightoller's shirt.
Realising the stain was showing, he pulled his jacket around tighter and asked, "Well, where did they go next?"
"E deck," The operator replied, motioning for him to step into the lift. "I'll take you down."
Lightoller closed the gates as the lift descended down to the lower decks. When they arrived a strange sighted greeted him, "You have got to be kidding me ..."
"Hello Lights," Lowe chirped, carrying his uniform in one hand and a pint in the other. He was wearing a stoker's uniform, wanting to disguise himself in they hope that 'they' would never find him.
Pitman bounded towards the two of them, wearing clothes he borrowed from a third class passenger. He had discarded his uniform in a worn sack before ordering a steward to throw it overboard. As soon as he caught a glance of the furious look on Lightoller's face, he cowered behind Lowe and pleaded, "Harry, tell Lights to stop being scary."
"Well! Aren't we in trouble tonight gentlemen?" Lightoller asked, grabbing both of them by the shoulders and pushing them into the lift with force. He was suddenly in a very serious mood, which was surprising given that he gave up halfway through his rounds to paint a picture of Murdoch riding a unicorn.
Pitman let out a yelp and crouched on the floor. Whatever courage he felt from the brandy had long left his system. He pressed his face against the elevator wall and whimpered, "Please don't hurt me! I didn't mean it!"
"Did the Captain send you?" Lowe asked nervously as he backed against the gates.
"Yes," Lightoller answered curtly with a glare. He was still fuming over his ruined painting of a little girl playing with a bowl of fruit. He was relieved that he got the Murdoch painting finished at least. "You're in big trouble."
"I KNEW IT!" Lowe cried, rattling the gates and jumping up and down on the spot like a trapped rabbit. "He's going to kill me!"
"Easy on the gates!" The operator snapped, pulling him away. Stopping the lift at the top he announced, "Here we are."
"Thank you," Lightoller nodded, gripping the officers' shoulders once again. "I apologise for the trouble they have caused. Needless to say that they will be punished."
The operator nodded, watching as they were led away and feeling relieved to be rid of them. Watching them plead to be let go, he laughed to himself, "Boy, are they in trouble!"
