S.O.S. Titanic

HARCOURT, INC.
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Copyright © 1996 by Eve Bunting

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bunting, Eve, 1928–
SOS Titanic/Eve Bunting,
p. cm.
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Barry O'Neill, traveling
from Ireland to America on the maiden voyage of the
Titanic
, finds his life endangered when the ship
hits an iceberg and begins to sink.
ISBN 978-0-15-200271-8
ISBN 978-0-15-201305-9 (pb)
1. Titanic (Steamship)—Juvenile fiction. [1. Titanic
(Steamship)—Fiction. 2. Ocean liners—Fiction.
3. Shipwrecks-Fiction.] I. Tide.
PZ7.B91527Saad 1996
[Fic]-dc20 95-10712

The text was set in Galliard.
Designed by Camilla Filancia
Printed in the United States of America

H J L N P Q O M K I

DOM Z BB DD CC AA (pb)

To the memory
of those who died on the RMS
Titanic

This is a fictional story, an adventure set on board the ill-fated RMS
Titanic.
I have tried to be as accurate as possible with the positions of decks cabins, stairways, et cetera; but details of the layout of the
Titanic
are complex, and photographs are few. She sailed on her maiden voyage April 10, 1912. She sank in the North Adantic five days later, April 15, 1912, at 2:20 A.M.Her life was short.

Many of the names in this novel are names of real people, such as Phillips, the wireless operator. It was he who switched from the traditional distress signal CQD to the newly designated call, SOS. This was the first time in history the distress call SOS was ever sent.

Some of the names and events I used are purely fictional. I tried only to tell a story, one of the hundreds that might have happened on that first, and only, tragic voyage of the RMS
Titanic.

—E. B.

With a boom loud as gunfire, and then another, great chunks of ice broke free of the glacier and splashed into the dark sea. Gulls shrieked and rose. A seal curved itself and dove as the newly birthed bergs settled in the seething ocean and drifted silently south toward the shipping lanes.

Barry O'Neill stood on the Queenstown quay, along with Mr. Scollins and Grandmother and Grandpop. In the last minutes before the leaving, the quay swarmed with excitement. People from the town were there, and some who'd come in from the country to share the thrill of the big ship's maiden voyage. It had been built in the Belfast shipyard and launched in Southampton, and was on its way to New York. There'd never been a ship like it in the history of the world. There would never be a sailing like this one again.

It wasn't very hard to tell the watchers from the goers. The watchers were having a holiday. But for the goers and their relatives this wasn't just another day with midday dinner brought in a basket and the chance of a few hours without rain. This was the end of the old and the start of the new. This was adventure, good or bad. They stood in small clusters, silent and subdued.

Barry and Mr. Scollins were two of the goers.

Barry tightened his throat to hold back his tears. Hard enough for his grandparents, without him having a blatherfit and making things worse.

He glanced sideways at the Flynns. They stood together in a pushing, noisy bunch. There were his archenemies, Jonnie and Frank Flynn, surrounded by all the other brothers and sisters. There was Mrs. Flynn, her hair coming out of a streaky bun, flowered apron drifting below her black coat. There was Mr. Flynn, in the same old trousers and bald wool jacket he'd worn all week long, for cutting turf on Saturday, for going to mass on Sunday.

As if sensing Barry's look, Jonnie spoke to Frank and the two of them glared, their dark Flynn scowls flying at him like black crows. One of the sisters turned, too, the one with red hair thick as a horse's tail, and she gave Barry a scornful up-and-down stare. Was she the sister who was going to America with Jonnie and Frank? She might be. The three of them had on new, stiff clothes, the fold marks still showing in them, and their boots were shiny and unscratched.

"We'll be on the same ship with you, Master O'Neill," Jonnie Flynn had said the day they'd come upon each other in front of the blacksmith shop. "Bad cess to your grandfather for making me leave Ireland. It was because of him that the others decided to come, too. They'd never let me go alone. We Flynns stick together."

"My grandfather didn't make anybody leave," Barry said fiercely

"It was him, and you along with him. And here's something you should think about. There'll be the three of us—Franky, me, Pegeen—and only one of you. You haven't had the pleasure of meeting our sister Pegeen, but you will like her. Why wouldn't you, seeing as how she's just like me and Frank?"

Jonnie had been speaking in the high-falutin' voice he always used when he talked to Barry, the little talking that they did.
As if I can help the way I speak,
Barry thought.
As if I haven't tried to lose the boarding school voice that comes from talking that way every day of my life since I was five years old and sent to London to the Chesterton School for Boys.
He had only had the holidays with Grandmother and Grandpop to strengthen the Irish that was part of his heritage.

"I'm just as Irish as you are, so you can drop that accent," he'd yelled one day at Jonnie Flynn. "My ancestors have been here for ... since ... for centuries and centuries, longer than yours."

"My kind doesn't
have
ancestors," Jonnie Flynn had sneered, scuffing off down the footpath in his loose boots, which had strings for laces.

They would all be on the same ship for the whole voyage, even though Barry and Mr. Scollins would be in first class and the Flynns would surely be in steerage. There'd be a confrontation. Well, he wasn't going to worry about them. Maybe Mr. Scollins would prove to be an ally on board the ship—though looking at him, Barry didn't think he'd be much of a help in a fight.

"Barry"—his grandmother bent forward to take a piece of lint off his dark coat—"you'll be very careful, won't you?"

"Yes, Grandmother."

"And, Mr. Scollins—I don't need to tell you this, I know, but grandmothers worry, so I trust you'll forgive me. Please take good care of our grandson." She tried to make her voice light. Barry knew that way she had of saying something serious and making it seem unimportant. "We want him to be looking fit and healthy when he meets his mother and father in New York, so they'll know we've taken good care of him all these years. So maybe they'll let him come back and visit."

"Of course they'll know that, Grandmother. You and Grandpop have always been..." He had to stop because the tears were squeezing up past the tightness of his throat. In a minute they'd pour right out of him.

"Never you fear, Mrs. O'Neill," Mr. Scollins said in his precise manner. "I will keep an eye on him at all times."

"Well, now." Grandpop gave Barry a wink. "A fifteen-year-old boy does need a little freedom. Don't be too strict with him. We want him to enjoy the voyage."

"Here comes the tender," Mr. Scollins said, and they all turned to see the
Pride of Erin
chugging toward them across the last few yards of open water. She was a good-sized boat that could carry upward of a hundred passengers. Tom Henderson stood on the bow, ready to throw the thick lines, and men on the dock waited to secure them safely to the hawsers.

The crowd grew silent. "Ladies and gendemen, the baggage is safely aboard," Tom Henderson shouted. "I'll be taking the passengers to the ship momentarily."

Such a silence then, such a tense, waiting silence.

"Well, this is it." Mr. Scollins's voice had lost its stuffiness, and excitement trembled through. Hard to remember sometimes that Mr. Scollins was only nineteen, Barry thought. Not much older than Barry was himself.

He had been one of the young men who answered the ad Grandmother and Grandpop had placed in
The Irish Times:

Responsible companion-guardian for 15-year-old boy traveling by steamship from Queenstown, Ireland, to New York. First-class ticket and five guineas provided to suitable applicant.

They had interviewed nine others besides Mr. Scollins, then they'd pronounced him the most suitable applicant: not too old to be very stern, yet old enough to be trusted—for hadn't he been working with a firm of jewelers in Dublin for five years? And wasn't it fortunate and by the grace of God that his firm was expanding to America and he'd been offered a job there?

The
Pride of Erin
was moored now, fastened fore and aft. The harbor surge moved her gently against the row of old oak fenders that lined the quay.

There was a sudden, terrible wail from the clustered Flynns, and Barry saw the mother, her arms wound tightly around Jonnie and Frank and the girl who must be Pegeen. "I'll not be letting you go!" the mother shouted. "God save us, how can I be letting you go, my own wee children?"

"Looks as though she has plenty of children, and some to spare," Mr. Scollins said in his stuck-up voice.

Mr. Flynn was stroking his wife's hair, murmuring to her. But some of the little Flynn children were wailing now, too, clinging to the hem of their mother's coat or holding on to the black-stockinged legs of the red-haired sister. "Pegeen, Pegeen, don't go!" they screamed.

"Ah, poor things. I feel for them." Grandmother took a handkerchief from the pocket of her coat and wiped her eyes. "Children going, mothers left behind. It's terrible hard. Could we give them a lift home, Seamus?" she asked Grandpop.

Barry touched Grandmother's hand. She didn't know, and Grandpop didn't know either, that they'd had anything to do with the Flynn children leaving.

Grandpop raised his eyebrows. "Take the holy all of them? There's not that much room in any carriage yet built. And don't be forgetting what those Flynn boys did to my carriage, and it brand-new. The big scratch along it is there yet, no matter how much Dickie polishes it."

It was Grandpop's report about the scrape that had finally turned the court against Jonnie Flynn. "Twenty-three complaints, young man. And this one just the final straw. Take your choice. The jailhouse or out of the country."

"I meant only to take the poor mother and father. They didn't do anything. There's room now that Barry and Mr. Scollins..." Grandmother's voice trailed away.

Tom Henderson had come to shuffle about in front of them, his navy blue cap in his hand. "Madam, sir. It's time for the young gendemen to come now. I'd like them to lead the way, being as how they're the only first-class passengers we have going out of Queenstown."

"The only ones?" Grandpop asked.

"There's four going second class, and the rest are in steerage," Tom Henderson said.

Grandmother's chin quivered. "It is time, then."

Mr. Scollins lifted the small Gladstone bag he'd insisted on keeping with him.

As if on cue, a loud blast from the big ship's funnel echoed across the ocean and rolled over them, so they clapped their hands to their ears: it set the horses that waited with the carriages and carts on the edge of the quay to whinnying and snorting.

Every head turned to look in the direction of the sound. There the ship lay, motionless, the small shapes of the passengers who had boarded at Southampton or Cherbourg dark along her rails, her four funnels big as factory smokestacks. Oh, the gleaming newness of her! Oh, the sheen and the shine! The biggest ocean-going vessel in the world. Too huge to even get into Queenstown Harbor. Waiting out there, she seemed to fill the horizon and the world.

Some of the passengers began walking slowly toward the
Pride of Erin
, which would take them out to her. Walking forward but looking back as they went. Barry shook Grandpop's hand, knowing they were both crying, glad when Grandpop pulled him close so that they didn't have to see each other.

"You'll be coming home again someday," Grandpop whispered.

"Yes," Barry said.

"Your hands are like ice." Grandpop fumbled in his pockets and pulled out his old gray knitted gloves, the wool matted and thick. "Take these. They'll keep you warm."

Barry nodded.

Then it was Grandmother's turn. She hugged him against her. He smelled the old tea-rose smell that was always about her, felt the softness of the fur tippet that was draped around her neck. "Don't forget us, Barry. We love you dearly."