“Been sailing them all day, I suppose,” said Father. “Out by the pool were you? That where you saw the Birdman?”
“Yes, Father,” I said; and then, “About the Birdman, Father; everyone just calls him ‘The Birdman’, but he must have a real name like other people, mustn’t he?”
“Woodcock,” said Father, sitting back in his chair and undoing a notch in his belt as he always did after a meal. “Woodcock, that’s what his mother was called anyway. You can see for yourself if you like – she’s buried down in the churchyard somewhere. Last one to leave Samson they say she was, her and the boy. Starving they were by all accounts. Anyway, they came over to Bryher and built that cottage up there on Heathy Hill away from everyone else. The old woman died a few years after I was born. Must have been dead, oh, thirty years or more now. The Birdman’s lived on his own up there ever since. But you hear all sorts of things about his old mother. There’s some will tell you she was a witch, and some say she was just plain mad. P’raps she was both, I don’t know. Same with the Birdman; I don’t know whether he’s just mad or evil with it. Either way it’s best to keep away from him. There’s things I could tell you …”
“Don’t go frightening her now with your stories,” said Mother. “Anyway it’s only rumours and tittle-tattle. I don’t believe half of it. If anything goes wrong on this island they blame it on the Birdman. Lobsters aren’t there to be caught – it’s his fault. Blight in the potatoes – it’s his fault. Anyone catches the fever – it’s his fault. Dog goes missing – they say he’s eaten it. Lot of old nonsense. He’s just a bit simple, bit mad perhaps, that’s all.”
“Simply, my aunt,” Father said, getting up and going over to his chair by the stove. “And what’s more, it’s not all tittle-tattle, Clemmie, not all of it. You know it’s not.”
“There’s no need to tell her any more,” said Mother. “Long as she doesn’t go anywhere near him, long as she keeps off Samson, that’s all that matters. Don’t you go filling her head with all those stories.”
“But they’re not all stories, are they, Clemmie? Remember what happened to Charlie Webber?”
“Charlie Webber? Who’s he?” I asked.
“Never you mind about Charlie Webber,” said Mother; and she spoke firmly to Father.
“That’s enough – you’ll only frighten her.”
But Father ignored her. He leant forward towards me in his chair, stuffing his pipe with tobacco. “Charlie Webber was my best friend when I was a boy, Gracie. Got into all sorts of scrapes and capers together, Charlie and me. Nothing we wouldn’t tell each other; and Charlie wouldn’t ever have lied to me, not in a million years. He wasn’t like that, was he, Clemmie?” But Mother wouldn’t answer him. She walked away and busied herself at the sink. His voice dropped to a whisper now, almost as if he was afraid of being overheard. “There’s always been strange stories about Samson, Gracie. Course, people only half believed them, but they’ve always steered clear of Samson all the same, just in case. But it was all on account of the Birdman and his mother that Samson became a place no one dared go near. They were the ones who put it about that there was a curse on the place. They were always warning everyone to keep off, so we did. They told everyone it was an island of ghosts, that whoever set foot on the place would bring the terrible curse of Samson down on his family. No one quite believed all that about ghosts and curses; but just the same everyone kept well clear of the place, everyone except Charlie.”
Father lit up his pipe and sat back in his chair which creaked underneath him as it always did whenever he moved. “I never went over there, but Charlie did. It was a day I’ll never forget, never, never – low tide, no water to speak of between Bryher and Samson. You could walk across. It was my idea, and not one I’m proud of, Gracie, I can tell you. It was me that dared Charlie Webber. I dared him to walk over to Samson. We were always daring each other to do silly things, that’s just how we were; and Charlie Webber never could resist a dare. I stood on top of Samson Hill, and watched him running over the sands towards Samson, leaping the pools. It took him about ten minutes I suppose and there he was jumping up and down on the beach waving and shouting to me, when suddenly this man in a black sou’wester appeared out of the dunes behind him, came from nowhere. He began screaming at Charlie like some kind of mad fiend and Charlie ran and ran and ran. He ran like a hare all the way back across the sand, stumbling and splashing through the shallows. By the time he reached me he was white with fear, Gracie, white with it I tell you. But that’s not all of it. That very same night Charlie Webber’s house was burnt to the ground. It’s true, Gracie. Everyone managed to get out alive, but they never did find out what caused the fire; but Charlie knew all right, and I knew. Next day Charlie went down with the scarlet fever. I caught it after him and then near enough every child on the island got it. Aunty Mildred – you know Daniel’s Aunty Mildred – she was just a baby at the time and she nearly died of it.”
“Did Charlie Webber die of it?” I asked.
“Now that’s enough,” said Mother sharply. “You’ve said enough.”
“Clem,” said Father, “she’s ten years old and she’s not a baby any more. She’s old enough to hear the rest of it.” He lit his pipe again, drawing on it deeply several times before he shook out the match. “No, Gracie, Charlie didn’t die, but he had to leave the island. His family was ruined, couldn’t afford to rebuild the house. But before Charlie left for good he told me something I’ll never forget. The day after the fire, Charlie was sitting on the quay when he felt someone behind him. He looked around and there was the Birdman. There was nowhere for Charlie to run to. He’d come, he said, to say sorry to Charlie, to explain to him that it wasn’t his fault. There was nothing he could do once Charlie had set foot on Samson. He told Charlie that there was a curse on the island, that the ghosts of the dead haunted the place and could not rest, not until the guilt of Samson had been redeemed, whatever that meant. And when Charlie asked him why there was a curse on Samson, why the ghosts could not rest – this is what he told him. He was a little boy when it happened, younger than Charlie, he said. The people of Samson woke up one morning to find a ship run aground on a sandbank off Samson. Like a ghost ship it was on a flat calm sea. No fog, no wind, no reason for it to be there. They rowed out and hailed it, but no one answered; so they clambered on board. There was no one there. The ship was deserted. Well you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, do you? Every man on Samson, sixteen of them there were in all, he said – every one of them was on that ship when it refloated at high tide. They sailed it off to Penzance to claim the salvage money, but they never got there. The ship foundered on the Wolf Rock, off Land’s End, went down in broad daylight, mind you; gentle breeze, no fog. Every man on board was lost. The Birdman’s own father went down on that ship, Gracie.”
“It’s a horrible story,” said Mother, “horrible. Every time I hear it it makes me shiver.”
“True nonetheless, Clemmie,” Father said. “And that wasn’t the last of it. It seems things went from bad to worse on Samson after that. With no men left to go fishing or to work up the fields, the women and children soon began to go hungry. All they had to eat was limpets. The Birdman told Charlie that they even had to eat the dogs. It’s true, Gracie, that’s what Charlie told me. Then with the hunger came the fever, and the old folk and the babies began to die. So they left. One by one the families left the island until the Birdman and his mother were alone on Samson.”
Father drew on his pipe again and found it had gone out – his pipe was always going out. “And I believe every word Charlie told me, Gracie. I don’t pretend to understand the whys and wherefores; and I tell you straight, I don’t know if it’s him that’s cursed or Samson. All I do know is that it’s better to keep away from the both of them – that’s for sure. So you keep well clear of him, you hear me now?”
I sat silent for some time lost in Father’s story, my head full of questions. “So he can put spells and curses on people li
ke they say he can?” I asked.
“Maybe,” said Father, tapping his pipe out on the side of the stove. And I shivered as I thought of how close we had been to his cottage that day, and how he must have been watching us on Rushy Bay. Then there were those letters in the sand. Perhaps they were initials, but perhaps they were part of some spell. I wanted to be sure.
“What about his first name, Father?” I asked. “Do you know his first name?” But immediately I regretted it for I felt Mother looking at me. I was being over inquisitive, too interested; and she was suspicious.
“Why all these sudden questions about the Birdman, Gracie?” she asked. “You’ve never shown any interest in him before.”
“Just saw him today, like I said. Just wondered, that’s all. Daniel and me, we just wondered about him.”
Mother came over and stood in front of me. She took my chin in her hand and pulled it up so that I had to look her in the eyes. She always did this when she thought I’d been up to some mischief and she wanted to get the truth out of me. “You haven’t been speaking to him, have you, Gracie? You haven’t been over on Heathy Hill, have you? You know you’re not supposed to go there, don’t you?”
“No, Mother, course I haven’t, honest I haven’t.” It was just as well I did not have to lie, for Mother would have known. Father I could deceive any time I wanted, but Mother knew me far too well. She looked down at me out of tired, kind eyes, a knowing smile on her lips, so knowing that I had to look away.
“You leave him to his birds, Gracie,” Father said. “You keep well away like I said. Promise me now. You be a good girl and stay away.”
“I promise,” I said. “I’ll stay away.”
And so I did, for a day or so at least. It took only that long for Daniel to persuade me to go with him back to Rushy Bay, that we had been silly to run away in the first place just because we’d heard a donkey braying. I told him everything Father had told me about the Birdman and Samson and Charlie Webber. He listened, but I could see he didn’t really believe any of it. He said he had heard something about the fire before, and that it didn’t matter anyway because we weren’t going to Samson like Charlie Webber did. We were only going to Rushy Bay. And the Birdman might be a bit loony, but what did that matter? He just wanted to make friends, that was all. Why else would he give us back our boat? Why else would he be leaving messages for us in the sand? We didn’t have to go anywhere near him, did we? Perhaps I agreed to go with Daniel because I was half convinced by his arguments, or perhaps I was inquisitive.
When I crawled up over Samson Hill with Daniel that next day I kept flat on my stomach in the heather until I was sure the Birdman was not down there on Rushy Bay waiting for us.
The Birdman was not waiting for us, but something else was.
Johnny Trott, bellboy at the Savoy Hotel, has made the unlikeliest friends in young heiress Lizziebeth and Kaspar the Prince of Cats. And it is this friendship that takes them all on the maiden voyage of RMS Titanic …
never saw the iceberg, nor did any of us stokers, but we soon met one of the crew who was there when the ship struck, and who had seen it all. He said the iceberg was at least a hundred feet high, looming above the ship, and not white like icebergs are supposed to be, but dark, almost black. But it had been a glancing blow, he said, no cause for alarm, no need for panic. And no one was panicking. No one was rushing anywhere. By now more and more passengers were beginning to appear on deck, to find out what was happening, just as we had. I saw a couple strolling arm in arm. They looked completely unconcerned, as if they were simply taking the air. Even after the collision, like everyone on board, they clearly still accepted, as I did, the absolute assumption – and one that had after all been confirmed to me in person of course by Captain Smith himself – that the Titanic was unsinkable, that everything would be all right.
It was when the ship began to list, and this happened quite soon, that the first doubts began to creep in. But only when I saw men and women gathering in numbers on deck, and putting on life-preservers, did I truly begin to understand the dreadful danger we were now in, and only then did I think of Lizziebeth and Kaspar in their stateroom on deck C. It took me a while to locate the right corridor, and when I did I had some difficulty in finding my way to number 52. There was no time to stand on ceremony. I hammered on the door, yelling for them. A moment or two later Mr Stanton was standing there, in front of me, his face grey with anxiety. He was fully dressed, with his life-preserver already on, as were the rest of the family.
They looked at me as if I’d come from another planet. I just blurted it out. “I stowed away.” That was all I said by way of explanation. There wasn’t time for any more, and now it didn’t matter anyway.
“Are we sinking?” Mrs Stanton asked me. She was quite calm and controlled.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so. But I think we should get out on deck.”
Mrs Stanton was picking up her bag.
“We must take nothing with us, my dear.” Mr Stanton spoke to her very gently but firmly, as he took it from her.
“But all my precious things, my mother’s necklace, my photographs,” she cried.
“You and Lizziebeth are all that’s precious,” he said quietly. He turned to me. “Johnny, you will take care of Lizziebeth.” Lizziebeth’s hand had crept into mine. It was cold. She looked up at me, her eyes full of bewilderment. She seemed still only half awake. It was only as we were leaving the cabin that she seemed to begin to comprehend what was going on. She grabbed her father’s arm suddenly. “Papa, what about Kaspar? We can’t leave Kaspar.”
“We leave everything behind, Lizziebeth, and I mean everything.” Mr Stanton spoke very firmly to her. “Now follow me and stay close.” Staying close was not easy because the corridors and gangways were full of people, and many of them were carrying or dragging heavy bags. Lizziebeth kept saying it again and again, to me now, “What about Kaspar? We can’t leave him, Johnny, we can’t. Please. All those people, they’ve got bags, they’re carrying things. Please.” She was trying to tug me back all the time, but I knew there was nothing I could say to comfort her. I had to ignore her and keep going.
As we got up on to the Boat Deck and out into the cold air I realised that the ship was listing noticeably more severely than before. I saw dozens of post bags being piled up on deck, and abandoned luggage everywhere. Boats were being lowered away, and the band was playing. Everywhere people were gathered in small groups, huddling together against the cold, some with blankets round their shoulders. A few were praying aloud, but most stood in silence, waiting patiently.
I recognised Mr Lightoller, the officer we’d seen in the Captain’s cabin, going about the deck, organising, spreading calm as he went, and explaining to everyone that it would be women and children first, that when all the women and children were safely away in the lifeboats, then the men could leave. When he turned to Mrs Stanton and told her it was her turn to get into one of the boats, she clung to her husband and refused.
“I won’t leave my family,” she said. “We belong together, and if it’s God’s will, then we will die together.”
Mr Stanton took her gently by the shoulders and, looking deep into her eyes, he spoke to her very softly, almost in a whisper. “You will take Lizziebeth, my dear, and you will do as the officer says, and go to the boat. Johnny Trott and I will come after you, I promise you. Go, my dear. Go now.”
At that moment Lizziebeth broke free of my hand and ran for it. I knew straight away that she was going back for Kaspar. I went after her at once, and caught her at the top of the gangway. She struggled against me, but I held her tight. “I can’t leave him!” she cried. “I can’t! I won’t!”
“Lizziebeth,” I said. “Listen to me. I must take you to the boat. It’ll be gone soon. You have to go with your mother. You have to save yourself. Leave Kaspar to me. I’ll find him. I’ll save him.”
She looked up at me, her eyes full of sudden hope. “You promise me?”
>
“I promise,” I told her.
“And you, Johnny, what will happen to you?”
“I’ll be all right, there’s plenty of boats,” I said.
When we got back to the railings, the lifeboat was nearly full and almost ready to launch, but I could see the crew were having the greatest difficulty in lowering it. With the help of Mr Stanton and a sailor we helped Lizziebeth and her mother into the boat. But still the boat could not be lowered. One of the crew was slicing away at the rope with his knife, cursing as he did so, and cursing even louder when he dropped his knife into the sea below. There were several lifeboats in the water already and rowing away from the Titanic. I glanced towards the stern and saw it was a great deal higher than it had been before. I could feel the great ship settling ever lower into the sea.
I caught Lizziebeth’s eye then. She was willing me to do it, and to do it now. I knew that if I left it any longer it may well be too late. I would show her there and then that I meant to keep my promise if I could. I turned to Mr Stanton beside me. “I’m going for Kaspar,” I said. “I shan’t be long.” He shouted after me to come back, but I ignored him.
By now the decks were crowded with men, all of them corralled by the crew who had made a human cordon to keep them back as the last of the women and children were being helped into the boats. But there was no pushing, no shoving. I saw among them dozens of my fellow stokers, most of them black with coal dust, and all unnaturally quiet. As I pushed my way through them to get back down below, one of them called out to me. “You should be in one of they boats, Johnny lad. You’re only a slip of a boy. You’re young enough. You’ve got the right.”
The gangway was packed with passengers trying to make their way up on deck, some of the older and more infirm still in their nightgowns. One of the sailors who was trying to help them tried to stop me going down. “You can’t go. There’s water coming in everywhere down there, the whole ship’s flooding fast.” I dodged past him. “Idiot!” he yelled after me. “You blithering idiot! You go down there and you won’t come back up again!” I ran on.