Inquiry

By: Grant

North Atlantic, April 15th, 1912, 2:20 AM

The water stung like thousands of needles stabbed Braydon all at once. The Siberian husky clutched the stern railings. He gazed upward and tried to see the top of the ocean. Braydon tightened the straps of his cork and canvas-made life jacket around his waistline in an attempt to make sure his contents were secured underneath it. He let his paws grip on the railings go, and pushed his boot-covered paws on the stern in an attempt to project himself upward. The effort was not that effective as the canine began to feel himself sink down with the weight of a rock. Braydon looked downward and saw the stern return to view. His eyes took note of the words printed on the hull. TITANIC LIVERPOOL. But the dog had no time to worry about the name, he placed his botts against the stern once more and pushed. As he slightly floated up, Braydon put his muscles to work and tried to swim up to the surface. The weight of his contents tried to revoke the canine's efforts but Braydon was just able to get his snout and head above the water. He gasped for the cold air and tried to find something to keep him afloat. The cold air quickly attacked the canine's drenched fur and made them sting.

As Braydon tried to remain afloat, he waved his right paw around until it touched something. It felt hard and wooden. The canine looked In the direction of the object. His eyes landed upon the sight of an overturned collapsible boat, with various men cluttered aboard it. A paw reached out and Braydon looked up to see the face of a Labrador Retriever wearing a monkey jacket, a shirt, and pants made of black wool.

"Take hold of it lad." the officer said, as he struggled to not slide off the boat. "We can still fit you in I'm sure."

Braydon darted out his right paw to take the retriever's paw. The officer pulled with all his strength to get the husky onboard the overturned vessel. Once Braydon had his torso pressed against the lifeboat, he used his other paw to push himself aboard. Both the canines let out a sigh of relief. The retriever steadied himself as he looked over his shoulder and tried to bark orders at the other occupants that were aboard.

"Form a queue, you lot," the officer said, "Keep steady and even yourselves, don't put yourself at a position which ya cannot last a while at."

The occupants along with Braydon tried to follow the officer's orders. The majority of them stood on their hind legs and stretched out their arms to even themselves out. However, someone moaned from one end of the vessel. Some men looked over their shoulders just as a corgi winced as his feet shook underneath him. A voice from behind the corgi spoke with urgency in its tone.

"This lad has bad paws," the voice of a young orange-furred cat said, "He can't stand for long."

"Someone shall let him lean unto them." the officer shouted back, "Are ya gonna be fine, Harold?"

"I-I'll b-b-be alr-r-right," The corgi replied, his voice stuttered in the cold, "Th-Tha-Thanks for a-a-asking Charles."

Braydon had very little attention aimed at the current affair and was rather focused on checking his body for the satisfaction of his contents being present. But the current issue forced the Husky to just stand still and not flip the overturned boat into the proper position. As the men stood on the boat wailing sounds of pleading arrived in their ears from the darkness. They shuddered but made no attempt of responding to the endangered voices. Soon one man aboard the vessel recited the Our Father and soon the rest joined in unison of the prayer.

3:30 AM

All the men's fur had frozen to their flesh and Harold moaned in pain once more. Suddenly, a distant sizzling sound reached their ears, which perked up. One voice was raised in an alert.

"I dare say, a rocket." the voice exclaimed, "And not too far. It's-"

"Ah, rubbish," a voice protested, "Might just be another lifeboat trying to attract others to join them."

"Both of you mutts, keep quiet," Charles ordered, with a stern tone. "We'll just have to wait until further notice. Just keep praying."

As time slowly progressed and the sun began to rise as did the wind. The overturned boat rocked and the men's fear increased drastically. Five men had already died from the cold. All the men then began to ramble on about how they were destined to die. Not long after two boats approached the overturned vessel. All the men began to sigh in relief and exclaimed thanks to God above. As the boats pulled along, the men all started to swamp the lifeboat numbered 'twelve'. The men helped Harold over first before they climbed aboard themselves. The men and crew rowed as best they could in the direction that the other occupants of lifeboat No. 12 had said was where the rescue ship was. The other lifeboat, No. 4 towed the overturned boat.

Moments later, Lifeboat No. 12 arrived at the side of the oceanliner which had come to rescue those who have survived. The RMS CARPATHIA. Rope Jacob ladders had been tossed out of the side entrances of the liner. But both Charles and the orange-furred cat called up to the crew aboard.

"We have got a man who lacks the strength within his lower paws," they exclaimed, "Lower a stretcher, so he can get aboard."

Soon, a chair tied with ropes was lowered and Harold was placed onto it before it was drawn back aboard. Afterward, the men climbed up the ladders to their safety. All except Braydon and Charles. The two canines glanced at each other as if waiting.

"You shalt go on sir," Braydon said with an honoring tone, "High-ranking officers first."

"No," Charles retorted and gestured in an offering manner to the ladder. "I shall not board until all the other men are onboard."

Braydon felt anxious, but the tone of the Second Officer sounded more like it was an order than a request. The husky climbed up the ladder in an awkward way but arrived at the entry nonetheless.

Immediately, a steward rushed to his side, as an otter, wearing a purser's outfit, held a clipboard and pencil in both paws. The otter looked at the canine before he questioned him.

"Full name?" the otter asked, as he glanced back to his clipboard.

"Braydon Dean's" The husky answered.

"Occupation?" the otter asked.

"Crew. Stoker." Braydon replied.

"Any relatives you know of that was aboard?"

"No sir," Braydon answered.

The otter finished his writing and nodded at the steward. The steward, a young calico cat of some sort, guided Braydon down the corridors of the ocean liner. Soon, the two found themselves on the deck of the ship. The steward finally let Braydon go once he was on the lower deck. After he received a warm blanket, Braydon checked to see if his contents were still accounted for. Upon feeling a large, hard rectangular object underneath his soot-covered shirt in between the straps from his corduroy trousers, the husky let out a sigh of relief. He was safe and had what he needed. Needed, to live. To be truly safe. Everything that had happened before seemed like not much to him now. But he would later double-think that once he had gotten properly warmed up.

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