Deadly Voyage Read online

  “I don’t think you should — ” I began, but a loud bellow drowned me out. A man in a blue officer’s uniform was charging across the well deck.

  “Down!” he yelled. “Get down from there! This instant!”

  Johnnie quickly jumped back onto the deck. We both turned to face the officer. I dreaded what was coming.

  “What do you lads think you’re playing at?” the officer roared.

  I felt my face burning.

  “I was looking for my, uh, pet,” Johnnie said coolly.

  “Your pet?” the officer bellowed. “What kind of pet?”

  “Well, it’s a … a … ”

  “A hamster,” I said.

  “A hamster?” the officer roared. “Have you taken leave of your senses, boys? You climbed up here to look for a hamster? You could have been killed!”

  “We’re very sorry!” I blurted out. “We didn’t know — ”

  “Come with me,” he ordered. “I’ve a good mind to take you both to the captain.”

  Johnnie kept craning his head to look for Sykes as we walked down the stairs to the well deck with the officer behind us. He made us walk up another three decks to the bridge.

  “Wait here,” he said after we reached the door to the wheelhouse.

  I could hear him inside, conferring with another officer.

  Soon he came out. “We’ll have a word with your parents,” he said.

  We went first to the Ryerson cabins. When the officer knocked on one of the doors, a woman I supposed was Johnnie’s tutor, Miss Bowen, answered.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am, I’m Second Officer Lightoller. I caught this young scamp on top of a windlass just now,” he said. “Young fool had no business at all being on the fo’c’sle deck — it’s a restricted area. Could have injured himself.”

  “Oh, John, how could you?” Miss Bowen said. “How could you be so foolish? And at such a time, too. Your poor mother.”

  Johnnie stared down at his shoes.

  “I’ll leave him in your hands, ma’am,” Officer Lightoller said, tipping his cap to Miss Bowen as Johnnie went inside.

  As we walked toward our stateroom, I saw my parents in the corridor, returning from a walk on deck. What rotten luck! I’d been hoping they might be in the lounge. My father noticed Officer Lightoller and immediately sensed that something was up.

  “Good afternoon, officer,” he called out. “I see you have my son with you. Anything the matter?”

  “Afternoon, sir,” Lightoller replied. “We found him and another lad in a restricted area.”

  “I see,” said my father. “Up to some mischief, were they?”

  “Well,” Lightoller continued, “I caught the other lad clambering onto a windlass on the fo’c’sle deck.”

  “Good heavens, Jamie,” my mother snapped. “Have you no sense at all?”

  “Very well, officer,” my father said, in a steady voice designed to calm my mother. “Thank you for returning him to us. We’ll see that this doesn’t happen again.”

  He motioned me into the cabin.

  “Who were you with?” my mother demanded once we were inside our suite.

  “Johnnie,” I replied.

  “The Ryerson boy? Oh, Jamie, how could you!” she said, becoming even more agitated. “His poor mother, as if she didn’t have enough to bear already!”

  “What’s wrong with his mother?” I asked.

  “Didn’t he tell you? The family is in mourning!” she replied. She said that Johnnie’s eldest brother was killed in a motoring accident while on Easter break from Yale. “The Ryersons got word in Paris and are going home for the funeral.”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice his father wearing a black arm band,” my father said.

  “I haven’t really met either of his parents,” I replied.

  “Well, they’re keeping to themselves, of course,” my mother said. “But people will be talking about this. They’ll blame us, I know it.”

  “Now, now, my dear — ” my father began.

  But my mother was far from done with me. “That American boy likely doesn’t know any better,” she snapped. “But you’ve been to a proper English school!”

  My father turned to me and said that I’d upset my mother very badly, which I knew was a cardinal sin. From now on I was “confined to barracks,” as he put it, using one of his old British army terms. “You are not to leave this room for the rest of the voyage unless you’re with us,” he said as he ushered my mother into their room and closed the door.

  I threw myself onto the bed and punched my pillow. Stuck in this room or tied to my parents for the rest of the trip! It was too awful to think about! And I’d probably never see Johnnie again. I wondered why he hadn’t told me about his brother. I felt guilty about suggesting we take Sykes for a walk. Now Johnnie had lost his pet, and it was really my fault.

  Eventually I fell asleep and woke up to the sound of the bugler playing out on deck. Moments later I heard my parents stirring in the other room as they began to dress for dinner. I was glad that my school blazer and tie were good enough for me to wear in the dining saloon, and that I didn’t have to wear a tuxedo like my father did.

  “Time to get dressed,” my father said, popping his head out the door.

  “I’m not going,” I muttered.

  “Suit yourself,” he replied. “But you’re not to leave the cabin.”

  My mother’s perfume wafted toward me as they came out of their room all dressed up. Mother even had her diamonds on and a small tiara in her hair. She seemed almost relieved that I wasn’t going down to the dining saloon, so I knew I really was in disgrace. After they left, I could hear Rosalie tidying up in their room. She must have come up to help my mother get dressed for dinner.

  “I ’ear you ’ave been a naughty boy,” she said as she came through into my room.

  “That’s what they tell me,” I sighed.

  “I try to tell your mother,” she said. “I tell her it’s no big thing, but you know your mother. I should not be saying this, but, you know, she care too much what people think. And there are so many rich people on this ship.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But it’s not like she’s going to see any of them again once we’re home.”

  Rosalie turned toward the door, promising to bring some dinner up for me.

  She returned about half an hour later with a plate of food. “Now I go and finish my dinner,” she said as she left.

  I ate quickly and then looked at my watch. It would be at least an hour before my parents finished their dinner and then had coffee while they listened to the orchestra. That would give me some time. I cracked open the door and checked out the corridor. It was empty, so I walked along it to the Ryerson cabins, on the other side of the ship. I crept up to Johnnie’s room and put my ear to the door. All was quiet inside. I tapped on the door and then ducked around a corner. A few minutes later Johnnie stuck his head out.

  “Hey, Johnnie,” I whispered. “Are you alone?”

  “Coast is clear,” he said, “come on in.”

  I stepped into his room and he shut the door.

  “I am so-o-o sorry — ” I began, but he interrupted me.

  “Sorry about what?”

  “About getting us into trouble,” I replied.

  “Oh that,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Miss Bowen hasn’t told my parents about it because she doesn’t want to upset them. I got a tongue-lashing from my sisters, but I couldn’t care less about that. And now I get to eat in my room, which is much better anyway. Here, have a sandwich,” he said, pointing to a tray on the washstand.

  “Well, I’m sorry about your brother,” I said. “I didn’t know about him.”

  “Yes,” Johnnie said, his face darkening, “it’s very sad. And I think about him a lot. I think about him flying out of that car and hitting a fence — which is what happened. I just hope he died quickly.” He looked up. “But I just can’t be sad all the time, you know? My mother cries a
ll day long. My sisters mope around. I just needed to have some fun. That’s why I didn’t tell you about him.”

  “I feel bad that we lost Sykes. Taking him out on deck was my stupid idea,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t worry.” He shrugged. “Say, do all Canucks apologize a lot?”

  “Maybe we do,” I said with a small smile. “But I better get back to my cell before they realize I’ve escaped.”

  “Okay,” said Johnnie, “you’re a pal. Let me check that no snoops are about.”

  He poked his head out the door and then gestured to me. I scurried down the corridor and across to the other side of the ship and into my room. Only minutes later I heard my parents’ voices outside and threw the covers over my head, pretending to be asleep. Once they had gone into their room and all was quiet, I got up and brushed my teeth, put on my pyjamas and got back into bed. Soon I was sound asleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A QUIET SUNDAY

  Sunday, April 14, 1912

  “Let’s take Max for a turn around the deck, shall we?” my father suggested after breakfast on Sunday morning.

  “Remember, we’re attending the church service at half-past ten, Henry,” my mother added.

  I stifled a sigh. Obviously a very long, boring day lay ahead for me. My parents seemed determined not to let me out of their sight. Max, at least, was excited to see me and began yelping and scratching at his cage door the moment my father and I walked into the kennels. I knelt down and fed him a few sausages that I’d wrapped in a napkin at breakfast. Once I got him out on deck, Max pulled ahead on his leash, so I sped up and then broke into a run behind him, waving over my shoulder to my father, and happy to have a few minutes of freedom. Max slowed down a little as we reached the second funnel. The ocean was still very calm, with only small waves and almost no whitecaps. The Titanic seemed to be making good time and I wondered if today’s posted mileage would be greater than yesterday’s.

  I kept hoping I might see Johnnie on deck, but when there was no sign of him I decided to walk back and find my father. I spotted him standing in a small group by the railing, listening to a short, stubby man who was gesturing with a short, stubby cigar. He had a commanding presence, even though his full beard made him look like he had no neck.

  “Mr. Hays, this is my son, James,” my father said, but Mr. Hays merely nodded at me and carried on talking. “Yes, the Chateâu is going to be like no hotel Ottawa has ever seen before. I’d say it will outdo even the Titanic for luxury, wouldn’t you agree, Payne?” he asked, turning to a young man next to him.

  “Oh, yes sir,” Payne replied.

  “We’re naming it after Laurier, you know,” Mr. Hays stated proudly and my father nodded his approval — he had always been a staunch supporter of Prime Minister Wilfrid Laurier.

  “There will be a grand opening ceremony when we get back,” Mr. Hays continued, “and my sculptor friend, Monsieur Chevré here,” he said, pointing to a third man standing beside the railing, “will see his very fine bust of Laurier installed in the lobby.”

  Monsieur Chevré, who had been looking out to sea while smoking a smelly French cigarette, turned and gave us a small bow. He looked every bit the French artiste with his small goatee and large felt hat.

  “Excellent!” said my father. He glanced at his watch and added, “Well, I’m afraid we must join my wife for the Sunday service.” We all shook hands and my father and I walked Maxwell back to the kennels.

  “You knew Mr. Hays already?” I asked.

  “Yes. Hays is the president of the Grand Trunk Railway,” he replied as we walked toward the staircase entrance. “A very important account for the bank. That young assistant of his, Vivian Payne, lost his father as a boy. Hays has more or less adopted him.”

  I was glad I didn’t have to work for Mr. Hays. And I was also glad that my name wasn’t Vivian!

  When we returned to our stateroom, my mother was already dressed for church and waiting for us. I put on my school tie and blazer and followed my parents to the dining saloon. A good number of people were seated in the chairs that had been set up in the centre of the room. Captain Smith was already standing in front of a lectern with the piano behind him. We took seats off to one side near the back.

  I looked around for Johnnie and his family and saw them across the room in the second row. He and his father were both wearing black arm bands and his sisters and Miss Bowen were all in black. So was his mother, who had a black veil drawn over her face.

  Captain Smith looked very impressive with his white beard and his blue uniform with brass buttons and gold stripes on the sleeves. He welcomed us all on behalf of the White Star Line and then read the service from a book on the lectern. It wasn’t too different from the Anglican chapel services we’d had at school, except that there was no boys’ choir singing in Latin. We all stood when the pianist played the first few bars of each hymn. The last one was O God Our Help in Ages Past. As I was singing the line about “our shelter from the stormy blast,” I suddenly spied something moving near the wall. I put the hymnal up over my face and turned my head to have a closer look. The tables had been moved to the side of the room, and there was definitely something moving underneath them. Then a small white face stuck its pointed nose around a table leg.

  Yikes! It’s Sykes! I thought as my heart began to pound. How could I catch him without causing a scene? Then I saw that a steward had noticed him too. As the steward started to move toward the table, Sykes darted away underneath it. I was afraid one of the ladies might see him and let out a scream. But just then the service ended and people started milling about and talking. While my parents chatted with the Fortunes, I pushed my way over to the Ryersons. I grabbed Johnnie by the wrist and whispered, “Sykes! Over by the wall!” and pointed my head to where I’d seen him. Johnnie’s eyes widened and he gave me a small nod. Miss Bowen glared at me, so I beat a hasty retreat back to my parents before my absence was noticed.

  When we returned to the dining saloon at lunchtime, I glanced around for any sign of Sykes, but saw nothing. During lunch, Major Peuchen told us that he had sent a wireless message to his wife in Toronto and that it was “a modern marvel” to be able to do that from a ship at sea. “It wasn’t cheap, so I expect it’s a very profitable racket for the Marconi company,” he added.

  “Oh, Henry,” said my mother. “We must send one to Arthur! ‘Greetings from Titanic in mid-Atlantic’ or something like that!”

  “It’s easy!” I said. “You just give your message to the enquiry office and it goes up through a pneumatic tube and pops out in the Marconi room.”

  “Jamie!” my mother said, “How do you know all this?”

  “I was there!” I replied casually. “With Father Browne, when he was taking a photograph of the Marconi room. Before he got off in Queenstown.”

  “Well, you have been getting around,” my father observed, with a tinge of disapproval in his voice. But after lunch he and I walked up to C deck to send a wireless message to my brother. Arthur was eight years older than me and was already working for the Imperial Bank in Montreal. I knew my father was pleased about him choosing banking as a career.

  As we approached the purser’s office we saw a number of people looking at the new posting of the distance we had travelled so far.

  I checked the notice board. “It says we’ve gone five hundred and forty-six nautical miles since noon on Saturday,” I announced to my father. “That’s even better than the five hundred and nineteen we did yesterday!”

  He nodded and we went inside the purser’s office and found the window for the enquiry office. There was a charge of twelve shillings and sixpence for sending a wireless message of up to ten words, and ninepence for every word beyond that, so my father kept it brief: Greetings from Titanic. In NY Wed. Arrive Montreal Thurs. Father.

  “Let’s go up on deck again,” I said after we had finished. I hoped there might be a chance of running into Johnnie there. I also thought I might look in on the Marconi room a
nd possibly see our message pop out from the pneumatic tube.

  As we walked forward, I hurried toward the Marconi room door. “Let’s see if they have our message!” I said.

  “Hold on, Jamie. I don’t think — ” my father started to say, but I’d already begun to open the door. At the desk inside was the same young operator Frank Browne had photographed.

  “Not now, son! Too busy!” he called out sharply. I glimpsed a large number of messages piled up on his desk. Many more cylinders sat in the tray below the pneumatic tube.

  “’Nother ice message!” I heard him call to his boss as I shut the door.

  “They’re too busy,” I said to my father.

  “Yes, I’m not surprised,” he said, clearly disapproving of me having gone in there.

  “What’s an ice message?” I asked him.

  “Ice message?” he replied, raising his eyebrows. “That’s likely from another ship telling us that there are icebergs ahead. You often see them on spring crossings.”

  “An iceberg!” I said. “I’d love to see an iceberg. Have you ever seen one?”

  “Oh, once or twice,” he responded. “But never up close.”

  Now I really hoped to run into Johnnie so I could tell him that we might be seeing icebergs. That would be something to get excited about. I thought we might give Max another walk on deck, but we soon spotted the steward from the kennels with a fistful of leashes in each hand as he walked eight dogs along the deck. Max was among them, along with a handsome English bulldog and a tiny King Charles spaniel.

  It had turned colder, and my father suggested that we go back down to the stateroom. I agreed, as I was starting to shiver. I continued reading my book, Captains Courageous, till later in the afternoon, when my mother suggested that we all have tea in the Café Parisien.

  “We haven’t been there yet and it looks so charming,” she said, “just like a sidewalk café in Paris. Your father and I are dining late this evening,” she added. “In the Ritz restaurant with the Fortunes, so tea will sustain us till then. You can have something in the room tonight, if you’d like.”