A Winter's Tale
by Cassie Brown

It had been a quiet watch for John Bernard Murphy in the Marconi room. When the ship struck, it did not occur to him in the first moments that it was disaster. But he was jarred and tumbled from one side of the tiny room to the other most alarmingly, and when her gyrations began to subside slightly, the continual blasting of the ship’s whistle, the shouting outside, sent him staggering to the door. He poked his head outside and was able to discern other men tumbling about the boat deck. Even as it dawned on him that the ship was in difficulties, a sailor rushed out of the night, bellowing, “Cap’n said to send an S.O.S.!”

Murphy, as he had been drilled to do many times by Carter, sent an S.O.S. three times on the private wire rigged to Room 21. He was not permitted to send out calls himself, but he proceeded to get the emergency apparatus in readiness in the event it would be needed. To get the generator working properly, it had to be cranked slowly.

In a few minutes Carter burst into the room, haphazardly dressed, with his clothes unbuttoned and his shoes untied. In his arms he carried a couple of blankets that he had grabbed from his berth. “Where are we?” he gasped.

Murphy had just turned over the starting handle of the generator. “I don’t know,” he yelled. The Florizel was still rolling on the rocks and he had difficulty keeping his balance.

Carter bawled, “Then phone the bridge and get our position from the Captain!”

Flinging himself at the key, he began transmitting while Murphy tried to phone through to the bridge. There was no reply. “I can’t get any answer on the phone,” he roared. “I’ll have to go to the bridge.”

Carter was already tapping out: “S.O.S. S.O.S. S.O.S. Florizel.”

Engineer John Lumsden knew it was not ice that she had hit. The force with which she had struck was unmistakable. The concussion of ship on rock numbed all senses. The Spanish firemen who had been sleeping in the stokehold were thrown to the floor. The three firemen, the coal-passer, Oiler John Davis, and Lumsden pitched from one side of the engine room to the other.

The bouncing and rolling subsided slightly when she listed to starboard, her powerful engine still throbbing. Lumsden immediately ran to the reverse gear, anticipating the orders from the bridge to go full astern. As the engine strained to back her off the reef, there was a sound of screaming metal and rushing water; the Florizel had cracked in the middle and the ocean was rushing in on the starboard side.

Davis yelled, “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

Lumsden was like a man of stone. He did not answer Davis, but waited at the telegraph for orders from the bridge, whatever they might be. Davis waited for a couple of precious minutes, then, receiving no further orders, fled to warn the other engineers. The firemen, wearing only singlets and pants, followed Davis but rushed forward through the dining saloon, up the stairs to the social hall, and on up to the boat deck, stationing themselves by one of the lifeboats.

No orders came to Lumsden from the bridge. The ship continued to grind on the rocks, shuddering and screeching as her engine labored to haul her off the reef, and he waited for an interminable five or six minutes as the sea poured into the engine room and crept up around his legs. He knew with sickening finality there was nothing more he could do, nothing anyone could do. He turned the engine off, waded through sea water already surging up around his knees, and climbed the iron stairs to the dynamo, opening the steam on it. As long as the steam in the boilers lasted, it would feed the dynamo and keep the lights, whistle, and wireless apparatus operating until the sea flooded the engine room.

The engine cranks were still working when Lumsden took one last heartsick look at the sea rushing around the engine before he left.