CHAPTER ELEVEN

The party in steerage was in full swing by the time Lightoller arrived with Lowe. There were the usual drunken antics of the passengers, and both men couldn't help but feel slightly jealous. Of course they would rather get drunk than locate and restrain Murdoch but for them their duty calls, sadly.

"I bet that nobody here would poison my drink," Lowe muttered to his colleague as they crept down a couple of the stairs that led down to the hall.

Peering across the room Lightoller couldn't help but snigger, "I heard about you and Herb running out of the Smoking Room, screaming at the top of your lungs."

"Yes …"

"Relax Harry, no-one is going to get you. This is steerage! They love officers!" He claimed as a drunk old Spaniard hugged him before stumbling up the last couple of steps. As he led the junior officer through the crowds, he examined every passenger that they walked by. After turning back to check that Lowe was still accompanying him he remarked, "Will has to be here somewhere …"

"For you Mister Officer!"

"Oh, thank you," Lightoller said with a raised eyebrow as he received a half-finished pint from an Englishman who was struggling to remain upright. He watched the man slur his words before falling onto his friends and chuckled slightly. Peering into the glass, he debated finishing the pint but instead plumped for dumping it at the nearest table.

"You're not drinking it? He might get you if you don't!" Lowe shouted to him, picking up the pint and watching the drunk man fearfully. "He could turn angry any second!"

"You drink it then if you're so worried!"

Lowe did. The rest of the pint was gone within five seconds.

"Feel better?" Lightoller asked him while his attention was caught by a little boy who repeatedly slapped his father's legs. He frowned as the man seemed to ignore the child and pay attention to his cigarette.

"A little," The Welshman burped.

Swiping a pint from a table when no-one was looking, Lightoller handed it to him and ordered, "Drink it. It'll help you feel better!" He continued to do this until Lowe had passed out drunk on a table towards the rear of the hall. Relieved to be rid of the 'dead weight', he began scanning the room meticulously. "Show yourself you drunken idiot …"


In that same hall, Pitman made the mistake of hiding under an empty table. Soon enough he was trapped underneath when a group of Dutch passengers gathered around it. With his escape routes effectively blocked, he hugged the table leg and closed his eyes as he wished for the party to end soon. "Ow! Mummy!" He cried when he accidentally received a boot to the thigh from one of the women. Fortunately, no one at the table heard him as he wept gently while gripping the table harder than before. He was kicked again, prompting a squeal of, "Stop it!"

A kind face appeared before him as the woman looked at him apologetically, "So sorry. You are okay, yes?"

Pitman shook his head rapidly, "No! I want out of here!"

One of the gentlemen at the group joined them under the table and observed, "Elena, he seems stressed."

Nodding, Elena brushed away a strand of blonde hair before pulling out a roll-up and lighting it. Offering it to the officer she smiled and instructed, "Here. Take it." Watching him take it and look at it with terror, she told her friend, "Bert, he won't take it."

As she made a smoking gesture with it, Bert nodded as Pitman took a draw and told him, "It will help you relax."

Out of fear of these strange people – well, strange to him anyway – he continued to smoke it until it was finished. He was rewarded with a tin that upon opening he saw was holding a lighter and another twenty or so cigarettes.

"You feel better now, yes?"

He nodded at Bert's question, a goofy grin forming on his face. "Tastes good."

"Have them all Officer. Is good for you," Bert smiled kindly at him before helping him out from under the table and to his feet.

"Thank you good man," The officer smiled as he lit another cigarette before walking into the crowds. He walked to the back of the room where he found Lowe still unconscious on a table. He perched on the table next to him and continued to puff away, gradually feeling more relaxed.


At the opposite end of the hall, Wilde was pushing past the passengers while warning Moody, "You had better not start any of this Porky nonsense down here! I don't know what it is but I do know that it is not the time and place for it!"

They were prevented from going any further by a brawl between a small group of Scotsmen who were arguing over the outcome of a card game. Moody watched intently as punches were thrown with the odd kick to the shin mixed in for good measure. "I'll look at the bar!" He announced, turning on his heel and running off to leave Wilde by himself.

He watched the fight instead of stopping it, wondering if the men would know of Murdoch's whereabouts. To him they seemed to possess similarities to his missing colleague. He decided to let the fight play out instead of stopping it, not just to avoid a beating but hoping they would co-operate with him.

"Take that ye bastard!" One of the men shouted, knocking his opponent out cold where he hit the floor with a thud.

Applauding the fight, Wilde approached him carefully, "Excuse me?"

Raising a fist at him the victor yelled, "Do ye want a taste o' the MacLeod fist?!"

"Oh my Heavens no!" Wilde insisted, stepping back while waving his hands in front of him. "I was looking for someone!"

Receiving a pint and a cigarette from his friend, the man introduced himself, "William MacLeod. And who are ye supposed to be?"

"Chief Officer Henry Wilde."

"What can I do for ye, Chief?" William asked as he took a draw from his cigarette.

"I was looking for my colleague, First Officer William Murdoch. I don't suppose you've seen him? He'll be wearing a similar uniform to mine."

"I saw a few officers. What's he look like?"

"Short, fat and Scottish."

William shook his head and said, "I only saw two tall English ones and a Welsh one."

Wilde nodded and thanked him before making a quick exit. Concluding that the man had saw Moody, Lightoller and Lowe, he sighed and walked towards the bar. Watching Moody down what was his sixth pint in remarkably quick succession, he barked, "Mister Moody you are on duty!"

"Porky told me to!" He slurred as he received another pint from a very amused barman.

Wilde looked to the barman incredulously, "You're allowing this? He is supposed to be working just now!"

"Is that right? Then why are you here then?"

"That's my pint – I mean, point," Moody stumbled, his words still slurred. "Henry Tingle-Tangle-Tingler-Whatever Wilde is an arse! He lets us have no fun … It's like prison!"

Wilde let out a loud groan before warning, "Don't think for one second that the captain won't hear about this Jim!"

"Shurrup Henrietta!" He hollered. "Go put on your frock and get drunk with me!"


Boxhall was the last officer to arrive at the party, assuming of course that Murdoch was actually there. In full Doctor Rosenbaum mode he attempted to analyse the passengers, determining what kind of drunks they were. "Happy … Miserable … Happy … Idiot … Angry … Oooh, cantankerous," He murmured to himself as he sat at a quiet table. "Delirious … Happy … Lightweight … Sarcastic …" This continued for several minutes until he decided to eventually get up and look for Murdoch. He smiled at the passengers who were enjoying themselves. Relishing the grateful hugs and well-wishes he received from them. He concluded that most of these people were in fact friendly drunks, and that he had better work on his analysis.

"Joe!"

He spun around to see Lightoller storm towards him, looking both disappointed and angry. Chuckling to himself he observed, "Someone's not in a good mood …"

"This is absolute shite!" He ranted, his face red with frustration. "Harry's passed out somewhere in this room! I saw Jim at the bar, completely wasted! He even had the sheer cheek to blow fucking kisses at me! Believe you me, I would much rather get drunk instead of looking for this bastard who is probably drunk himself at this point! Do you see my problem here?!"

"So, you feel that William has ruined your chances for a good night through his own selfishness and quest for alcohol and controversy?"

"Damn right! I can't believe this is happening to me!"

"You seem wound up," Boxhall continued, trying to analyse his rage. "Have a pint or two to help you relax, and then continue with your search."

Sitting at the table next to them, Bert turned around from his table and interrupted, "Excuse me? Did I hear you say that you need to relax?"

"What of it?" Lightoller asked curtly, frowning and folding his arms in a defensive manner.

"I have the other officer man cigarettes. They relax you. He was crying under our table, but the cigarettes helped him. Now he is relaxed and happy," He explained to the two officers.

"Cigarettes?" Boxhall asked with a furrowed brow. "Sir, if I may ask … Where are you from?"

"The Netherlands. Rotterdam, you should visit it is lovely," He answered as he lit up his own 'cigarette'.

Taking a sniff, Lightoller hissed to his colleague, "That isn't tobacco! And that officer sounds exactly like Herb!"

"I guess it's some sort of cigarette then," Boxhall concluded with a smile. "Do you want to relax or search?"

Lightoller only grunted before walking away, thinking that his night couldn't possibly get any worse.


In a secluded corner of the room, Murdoch stood at a table with Tommy and Fabrizio with a row of pints just waiting to be consumed. "My pretties!" He declared, staring lovingly at his pints. He had already finished the bottles that survived Pitman's retrieval and was now downing the pints as quickly as he could.

"This is going to be a long night," Tommy sighed as he looked around him, left in charge after Jack wandered upstairs for fresh air.

"Shurrup and lemme drink in peace!" Murdoch commanded, trying to remain upright against the wall. He failed, yelling, "Shiiiit!"

Fabrizio groaned and helped him sit up somewhat reluctantly. He handed him another pint as he asked, "You okay?"

"Ahhhh, my precious …"

Shrugging, he leaned on the table and told his friend, "I say we give him back."

"He's not a faulty watch that we can just return to the shop!" Tommy exclaimed as he fought back a laugh. "And before we ask … We can't trade him for another officer either!"

"I know," Fabrizio nodded before a figure wearing a uniform caught his eye. "Bastardo! Over there!"

Tommy followed his eye line to see Wilde striding towards them purposely. He leapt to the floor and warned, "Hide Mister Murdoch! An officer's coming!"

Doing as he was told, he crawled under the table in a clumsy manner reminiscent of a baby learning to crawl. He faced the wall and pulled his pints towards him with help from Tommy who jumped to his feet and took a seat at the table.

"Good evening gentlemen," Wilde nodded as he approached them. "I was wondering if I could have your assistance for a brief moment."

"Indeed you may not!" Tommy snickered in a pompous voice which resulted in him looking pleased with himself.

Wilde sighed heavily and walked away, muttering to himself. "Ignorant bastards …"

"Close," Fabrizio commented as he looked down at Murdoch who had finished all of his pints and was keen for more. Without being asked he volunteered, "I'll go get some more Mister Murdoch."

"Why has he not passed out yet?" Tommy asked his friend as he simply walked away shaking his head.

"I can handle my drink unlike these arses around me," Murdoch slurred, puling himself up onto a chair and resting his head on the table. "I have ears you know."

"What if someone sees you?" Tommy asked with slight concern. "They might recognise your face."

"Then I'll do what I did to Lightoller. Now where is more alcohol?"