The first tinges of pink were creeping into the sky as dawn approached the lifeboats, scattered like gulls across the surface of the ocean. The sea had begun to move during the night, now causing the boats to rise and fall with the slight swell.
Exhausted survivors sat slumped in the boats, the movement lulling those not already asleep into a disturbed slumber. First class, steerage, crew – it did not matter now. They clung to each other for solace, for some tangible reminder that they were still here, the contact providing a small comfort in the wake of the disaster they had all just experienced.
A small flotilla of boats bobbed together where they had been tied up in the night before the rescue of people from the frigid water. In Lifeboat #14, Fifth Officer Harold Lowe had finally sat down once it was clear there were no more living to save, for there was nothing now to do except wait for the ships that had promised to come.
Harold leant against the bulwark of the boat, alongside him and within his grasp leant the prone form of Officer Murdoch. Lowe's arms had a hold of him, the older man leaning in the crook of his arm, the blanket having been put over both at some point in the night. A woman in a fur stole had offered a silken scarf to cover William's face from the frost and the stares of the passengers in the boat. Harold had gently placed it, his free hand on William's forehead to keep it in place in the breeze that had picked up over the last hour or so.
The mood was solemn; the survivors had long since given up on talking, except for the occasional murmur to check on another, or a sob or cry from one of the women. Lowe willed himself not to fall asleep – he was well used to keeping awake during night watches, but this was no ordinary watch.
He really should be standing to keep his focus, but he couldn't bring himself to leave William alone in the bottom of the boat. It didn't feel right.
If only he'd gone back sooner.
It had broken Harold's heart to see the icy, still bodies in the water. So many of them, a horrifying flurry of white, like feathers scattered on the wind. He'd thought he wouldn't see worse than the children, cradled in the arms of their mothers. But then he'd seen Wilde, eyes staring and glazed over with ice. Henry, the chief who'd always looked the other way when a bit of harmless fun was being had, the gentle giant of their crew.
Lowe hoped with all his heart that he was with his beloved wife now. He'd always spoken of her so fondly, yet the tinge of sadness that came with mention of Pollie had always clouded Wilde's eyes and stayed with him for days afterwards. Surely, he was at peace now. He clung to the thought, as though it would lessen his own grief and guilt.
And then there was Murdoch. No, William, thought Lowe. Will. Also his senior, but somehow Lowe had never felt below him. William had always treated everyone with respect and his serious but cheery nature was always appreciated by all the crew. They respected the man, from officer to stoker, and would have done anything for him.
What I would give for five more minutes, thought Lowe, with regret. Five more minutes and I might have saved him, too.
He turned his head to look at the young woman that he had been able to pull from the water. She was sleeping now, cocooned in blankets, her fiery red hair peeking out at the top. She seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place her. A sudden lurch of the boat ripped his attention back to the present.
"Look!" shouted a woman who had sprung to her feet, eliciting cries from the other bedraggled survivors. "A light, over there!"
Lowe followed her gaze, where sure enough he could see lights on the ever-brightening horizon. In the boat nearby and ahead of him, Boxhall had stood to check too, and hurriedly reached into the supply box. He retrieved a flare and held it out over the water, igniting it with a loud hiss and a bright green glow, waving it slowly from side to side.
It felt like forever until they saw the starburst of a rocket explode on the horizon. They were seen; they were saved.
Cunard stewardess Lavinia Beaumont stood at the rail of Carpathia, watching the tiny, fragile-looking lifeboats slowly approaching the steamer. She squinted out in the hope of seeing amongst the faces her sister Millicent, Matron Stewardess of the Titanic. As the first boat came within a hundred yards of the ship, she hurried anxiously to her nominated post at the boarding doors, clutching a pile of woollen blankets, ready to receive the survivors.
A cargo net and rope ladder had been lowered down the side of the ship, with canvas bags and a sling chair ready for any too weak or too small to make the ascent unaided. Lavinia turned as the First Officer approached. They had previously worked together on the Carmania, and she was glad for a familiar face at that moment.
Horace placed a hand on Lavinia's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Your sister is crew, and a woman, I am sure she was off once her girls were seen to the boats." He smiled at her, hoping against everything that he was right.
Lavinia gave a small smile back. "Thank you, Horace, I appreciate it."
They both turned as the first boat pulled up alongside, the pitiful group of passengers so weak and exhausted that it took some time before the first started up the ladder, assisted by the seamen who had scrambled down the net into the boat. Lavinia placed her stack of blankets out of the way, shaking out the top one ready to receive the chilled, despondent passengers.
Rose opened her eyes at the sound of shouts and rope hitting metal. She looked up to see the tall young officer standing on the seat of the boat, as they drew up alongside a ship. The sun had finally peeked through the clouds for a moment, the first bit of real warmth she'd felt since the night before.
Her eyes swept up the riveted side of the ship, as she turned her head, she could make out the nameplate in tall white letters: Carpathia. As the lifeboat came to a stop, she could see curious faces peering down from the opened gangway doors, a group of crew including officers and a stewardess with a white cap perched on her blonde hair holding a blanket in her arms.
Rose drew herself slowly up to a sitting position as the first survivors made their way up into the ship. She felt stiff and sore and like everything was happening at a snail's pace. The young officer, Lowe she'd heard others call him, was standing and guiding the survivors into the hands of the seamen at the bottom of the rope net.
One woman was being helped into a sling, too weak to cling to the rungs. She didn't want to do that, she had been through so much, and she could make it up on her own. She'd have to get used to it, because she was on her own now for good. Jack was gone.
A sob threatened to erupt then, and she turned away, forcing it down. Not now, not yet.
Her eyes rested on a midnight blue coat then, gold buttons glinting in the sunlight. An officer, no wait, my officer, she realised. He was leaning against the seat of the boat, a blanket over him disturbed, showing the top of his coat, a glimpse of a crisp white shirt, his hands clasped on his chest. A gold and onyx signet ring sat on his pinky finger. She noticed his face was covered and knew he must be dead.
Her eyes filled with tears then. He'd been alive when last she saw him, he'd surprised her by speaking as she took the whistle and blew for all she was worth. She'd thought that like the big man who had been blowing the whistle earlier, that he had already died, but no, he'd actually shocked her by smiling, and said she had been laughing. Slowly, the memory came back to her.
Did you see…. those guys' faces….?
As she and Jack had raced out of the innards of the ship, door slamming behind them, she'd noticed an officer up above look down at the sound. It hadn't registered with her then, she'd been too breathless and giddy laughing, but he must have been the one in the boat now. The only witness to the moment she had pledged her commitment to Jack.
Poor officer, I wonder if you have a love waiting for you too..?
Rose smiled sadly, reaching out a hand to cover his cold one. He'd saved her life. Seen it start anew and then saved it from ending much too soon.
Up at the gangway, Lavinia peered down at the wooden boat. Almost all the survivors had come up, except for a few women including a redheaded girl wearing a blanket and what looked like a man in an officer's uniform. She handed over her latest passenger, now wrapped in a blanket, to one of the stewards and got a fresh blanket ready.
Mr Dean peered down, catching the eye of the young officer. "Any more that can climb up here?" he called.
In the boat, Lowe held a murmured conversation with the seamen, one of which climbed up the ladder to confer with the First Officer. "One says she can make it up, the other women are too weak and will need the sling. The other one-" he paused to look down into the boat- "the other is dead, sir."
By that point, the ship's surgeon had appeared, tired and weary from the long night racing through the ice and now the hours of tending to the recently widowed and distressed. As he watched, the last few women aside from Rose staggered inside the ship.
"There's no more room, other ships are enroute to look for the dead, mark it in the log and leave him for the recovery ship," he stated, with a detachment borne of necessity.
Lavinia glanced across at Horace, wondering what he would say. He didn't disappoint her.
"I'm not sure… we should do that. He's one of us, after all." Lavinia could only return his look, she had no authority here.
At that moment, there was a commotion in the vestibule behind and a man in an officer's overcoat & fisherman's jumper pushed his way through the crowd.
"I say, what's going on here? What's this I hear about leaving the dead? Absolutely not!" he raged, jabbing a finger at the surgeon.
The older man remained unruffled. "We need to be practical, there is nothing we can do for him. Our duty is to the living now."
Lightoller stormed over to the gangway door and peered down at Harold. He'd heard during the night that Murdoch had been pulled into boat 14 but hadn't made it.
"Lowe, you stay there and don't move a bloody inch!" he bellowed. "Not until Will is safely onboard, you hear me?" He whirled back inside, away from Lowe's view.
Down in the boat, Rose shifted William's head into the crook of her arm, hand still covering his, as she listened to the argument above her. If they were going to leave him to the sea, well, they'd have to make her leave the boat first. Lowe came and sat down on the other side of her, giving her a grim smile. "Thank you, Miss."
Above them, Lightoller was in full force and wasn't about to back down, his agitated voice clearly carrying down to the boat below.
"I don't care if you must put him in the cold pantry, we are not leaving Mr Murdoch. Yes, he has a name, and a wife I will be accountable to if she finds out I allowed her husband to be set adrift when we had every chance to return him to her," Charles crossed his arms with a vehement huff, challenging anyone to disagree with him now.
"I will not stand for it." He glowered at the assembled men, daring them to challenge him.
"What's all this, now, men?"
The Carpathia crew all stiffened to attention immediately, as a tall silver-haired man in captain's stripes strode in. Ship's commander Arthur Rostron stood tall and imposing in his uniform and cap, his hands clasped behind him, waiting for an explanation.
Mr Dean spoke first. "My apologies, Captain. Mr Lightoller here was advising us how best to proceed with uh – ," he floundered for a moment – "…accommodating… Titanic's First Officer just now."
"I see," said Rostron, not unkindly, but with a face that would brook no nonsense. "And just why are there still occupants in that boat?"
Dean spoke up again. "They refuse to move, sir. Not until Mr Murdoch is brought aboard."
Rostron looked about the room, making eye contact with each of his crew. "This man gave his life so others might live. I don't care if I must sleep out on deck, you will make room for him and treat him with all the respect due his rank," he stated calmly, but with no doubt as to his authority and intent. "Is that clear?" The last was directed to the doctor, who nodded silently.
The captain's gaze shifted to his first officer.
"Have the flags lowered to half mast, and advise all crew that there will be a service of remembrance and thanksgiving before we depart." He looked over to Lavina, the stewardess holding back tears as she realised there were no more boats coming.
"Miss Beaumont, do you feel able to continue, or would you like some time to rest?" he said kindly, coming up to her and placing a hand on her arm. "I wish I had news of your sister, but I do not."
Lavinia took in a breath and exhaled, before looking back up at her Captain. "I need to do my bit, sir. It's what Millicent would want."
Rostron nodded, then turned back to the rest of the crew. "All right men, get on with it. We depart in thirty minutes."
With that, the seamen and officers turned back to the gangway, ready to bring up the last of the Titanic survivors. Charles stood solemnly at the edge, looking down, waiting and ready to stand the final watch for William.