intoplace. The bulkhead was sealed, but the gash in the hull extended well past it, the sea pouring into the belly of the
Titanic
.
At that moment, Captain E. J. Smith rushed onto the bridge to a barrage of reports about the nature of the accident. The experienced seaman listened grimly. It was entirely possible that, by reversing the engines, his first officer had made a grave error. A large liner was most maneuverable when she was moving the fastest. If the
Titanic
had maintained speed, she might have missed the iceberg altogether.
Smith did not say this aloud, of course. Any sailor worth his salt knew that the past was past. All that mattered was the here and now. How serious was the damage?
No one yet knew.
“Ask the carpenter to sound the ship,” he ordered. “And summon Mr. Andrews.”
Alfie awoke to a throbbing in his head and a burning cold against his jaw. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sophie, kneeling over him, her face bruised and anxious, holding a brick-sized piece of ice to his cheek.
Ice … the berg …
“Jack the Ripper!” he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. “Where did he go?”
“He limped off. Oh, Alfie, you were so right! He tried to kill me!”
Alfie shook his head to clear it. “This time he’s well and truly caught. The
Titanic
isn’t Whitechapel, where he can disappear down a sewer. And tonight we have a live witness.”
Sophie nodded feelingly. “It’s a lucky thing that iceberg came along, or he would have finished the both of us!”
Alfie took stock of their surroundings. Blocks and chips of ice lay strewn about the forecastle. “I thought there would be more,” he commented. “I felt the whole ship shake.”
“I’ve read that the bulk of an iceberg is underwater,” Sophie put in. “Maybe most of the shaking took place belowdecks.”
Alfie looked worried. “I think I should go down and check on my da.”
“But what about Jack the Ripper?” Sophie protested in a voice writhing with anxiety. “He’s loose on the ship! We have to tell the officers before he attacks somebody else!”
“Come with me as far as E Deck,” Alfie decided. “That’s Scotland Road. There’s always a lot of crew around. Someone will know what to do.”
They descended to the well deck and reentered the forecastle to the spiral staircase.
“Listen,” Sophie urged.
Alfie paused. “I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s just it. From the moment we left Southampton, the thrum of the engines was as natural as your own heartbeat. Now it’s stopped. You don’t suppose anything’s really wrong, do you?”
Alfie quickened their pace on the metal stairs. “My father will know. He’s worked on ships all his life.”
As they approached E Deck, the hustle and bustle of Scotland Road reached their ears. If anything, it seemed more active than usual to Alfie. “I’ll come find you once I’ve spoken with my da.”
She started to go, then turned to him, eyes huge. “Alfie, you saved my life.”
“And you saved mine right back,” he told her. “I’ll see you soon.”
He continued down, hurrying now, the silence of the engines preying on his mind. Now he was aware of a cold, damp wind rising from below. Why had he never noticed that before?
As he neared the bottom, an appalling sight met his unbelieving gaze. Dark water swirled at the base of the staircase. Shocked, he climbed back up to F Deck and threaded his way aft to the ladder access to the boiler rooms.
As he descended, unimaginable chaos enveloped him. The wind was even stronger, only here it churned thick with steam and smoke. The stokers, some drenched from head to toe, splashed around in knee-deep water. And the noise was unavoidable — a cacophony of urgent bellowed instructions to “Shut the dampers!” “Man the pumps!” and “Don’t let the water reach the furnaces!”
“
Da
!” It was no use. Alfie’s shouts were lost in the pandemonium. He dropped to the deck, the frigid water soaking his thighs. It
Titanic
.
At that moment, Captain E. J. Smith rushed onto the bridge to a barrage of reports about the nature of the accident. The experienced seaman listened grimly. It was entirely possible that, by reversing the engines, his first officer had made a grave error. A large liner was most maneuverable when she was moving the fastest. If the
Titanic
had maintained speed, she might have missed the iceberg altogether.
Smith did not say this aloud, of course. Any sailor worth his salt knew that the past was past. All that mattered was the here and now. How serious was the damage?
No one yet knew.
“Ask the carpenter to sound the ship,” he ordered. “And summon Mr. Andrews.”
Alfie awoke to a throbbing in his head and a burning cold against his jaw. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sophie, kneeling over him, her face bruised and anxious, holding a brick-sized piece of ice to his cheek.
Ice … the berg …
“Jack the Ripper!” he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. “Where did he go?”
“He limped off. Oh, Alfie, you were so right! He tried to kill me!”
Alfie shook his head to clear it. “This time he’s well and truly caught. The
Titanic
isn’t Whitechapel, where he can disappear down a sewer. And tonight we have a live witness.”
Sophie nodded feelingly. “It’s a lucky thing that iceberg came along, or he would have finished the both of us!”
Alfie took stock of their surroundings. Blocks and chips of ice lay strewn about the forecastle. “I thought there would be more,” he commented. “I felt the whole ship shake.”
“I’ve read that the bulk of an iceberg is underwater,” Sophie put in. “Maybe most of the shaking took place belowdecks.”
Alfie looked worried. “I think I should go down and check on my da.”
“But what about Jack the Ripper?” Sophie protested in a voice writhing with anxiety. “He’s loose on the ship! We have to tell the officers before he attacks somebody else!”
“Come with me as far as E Deck,” Alfie decided. “That’s Scotland Road. There’s always a lot of crew around. Someone will know what to do.”
They descended to the well deck and reentered the forecastle to the spiral staircase.
“Listen,” Sophie urged.
Alfie paused. “I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s just it. From the moment we left Southampton, the thrum of the engines was as natural as your own heartbeat. Now it’s stopped. You don’t suppose anything’s really wrong, do you?”
Alfie quickened their pace on the metal stairs. “My father will know. He’s worked on ships all his life.”
As they approached E Deck, the hustle and bustle of Scotland Road reached their ears. If anything, it seemed more active than usual to Alfie. “I’ll come find you once I’ve spoken with my da.”
She started to go, then turned to him, eyes huge. “Alfie, you saved my life.”
“And you saved mine right back,” he told her. “I’ll see you soon.”
He continued down, hurrying now, the silence of the engines preying on his mind. Now he was aware of a cold, damp wind rising from below. Why had he never noticed that before?
As he neared the bottom, an appalling sight met his unbelieving gaze. Dark water swirled at the base of the staircase. Shocked, he climbed back up to F Deck and threaded his way aft to the ladder access to the boiler rooms.
As he descended, unimaginable chaos enveloped him. The wind was even stronger, only here it churned thick with steam and smoke. The stokers, some drenched from head to toe, splashed around in knee-deep water. And the noise was unavoidable — a cacophony of urgent bellowed instructions to “Shut the dampers!” “Man the pumps!” and “Don’t let the water reach the furnaces!”
“
Da
!” It was no use. Alfie’s shouts were lost in the pandemonium. He dropped to the deck, the frigid water soaking his thighs. It
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