hope to see Mrs. Willingham’s trunk standing alone and unsecured, awaiting his key. No such luck. There was, instead, a vast cargo hold. Crates of all sizes, containing everything from tea to machine parts, were stacked one on top of the other, tightly tied down.
As if a wave exists large enough to toss a ship this size, thought Alfie. The Titanic rode the Atlantic so sturdily that a pencil could be stood upright on a tabletop. He had seen it several times. It was a favorite game in the first-class lounge.
He surveyed the hold, his gaze passing over bales of rubber, rolls of linoleum, sacks of potatoes, and barrels of mercury and the scarlet resin called dragon’s blood. In the center of the compartment was parked a motorcar! It was large and bright red, yet it was almost completely hidden by the endless cases and parcels and casks.
And then something inside the automobile moved!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RMS TITANIC
T HURSDAY, A PRIL 11, 1912, 8:50 A.M.
Alfie froze. “Is someone there?” he asked in a high-pitched voice.
There was no answer and no more movement. He had a small argument with himself. Was it part of a junior steward’s duties, for less than four pounds, to see if anyone was hiding in there?
Good sense told him no, but curiosity won the day. He picked his way through the piles of cargo and gingerly approached the motorcar. As he peered in through the windscreen, the last thing he expected to see was a pair of eyes looking back at him.
Twin gasps of shock rose in the hold.
With surprising speed, a small wiry figure in a rumpled steward’s uniform leaped out of the automobile, sending a stack of hosiery cases toppling. He stood, poised, as if trying to decide whether he shouldfight or flee. Hemmed in by piles of cargo, escape seemed unlikely, and a struggle might bring half the crew down upon them.
Alfie stared at him. “You’re the one I saw in the uniform room!”
“So I was sleeping on the job,” Paddy blustered. “So what?”
“You don’t work here!” Alfie exclaimed. “You’re a stowaway! I saw the rags you threw off!”
“You must be thinking of someone else, friend,” Paddy insisted through clenched teeth.
“Perhaps we should let the captain make that decision. There’s a telephone to the bridge just outside in the fireman’s passage.”
“You do what you think you have to,” Paddy replied grimly. “And while he’s here, we can also ask him why a lad of fifteen is signed on to his crew.”
Alfie winced. “How do you know that?”
“I might have overheard a little father-and-son chat in that same uniform room,” Paddy told him with a slight smile.
“You’re a stowaway,” Alfie accused again.
“That I am,” Paddy admitted. “And you’re underage. So we’ll have each other for company when we’re put ashore at Queenstown before the Titanic crosses to America.”
“I think sneaking aboard a steamer bound for New York is more serious than a wee exaggeration in the hiring line,” the young steward said, a little less certainly.
“Looks like we’re going to find out, then.” Paddy sensed his advantage and pressed it. “I feel sorry for you, I do.”
“For me ?” Alfie challenged.
“Well, if I get the bum’s rush, I’m right about where I started. But you’ve got a job — and your pa …”
“I won’t tell anybody about you,” Alfie blurted quickly.
“Now, where would the justice be in that?” Paddy began to pick his way through the maze of cargo. “Perhaps I’ll telephone the bridge myself —”
“Please don’t,” Alfie pleaded.
But Paddy did not stop. “All this is weighing on my conscience something terrible. And it wouldn’t hurt to put some food in my belly. Even in the brig, there’s a square meal to be had.”
“I’ll bring you food!”
The stowaway turned around and favored Alfie with a grin. “A sandwich would be lovely. And a glass of that nice, rich milk.”
Light dawned on Alfie. “You blackmailing little gangster!”
Paddy’s expression
As if a wave exists large enough to toss a ship this size, thought Alfie. The Titanic rode the Atlantic so sturdily that a pencil could be stood upright on a tabletop. He had seen it several times. It was a favorite game in the first-class lounge.
He surveyed the hold, his gaze passing over bales of rubber, rolls of linoleum, sacks of potatoes, and barrels of mercury and the scarlet resin called dragon’s blood. In the center of the compartment was parked a motorcar! It was large and bright red, yet it was almost completely hidden by the endless cases and parcels and casks.
And then something inside the automobile moved!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RMS TITANIC
T HURSDAY, A PRIL 11, 1912, 8:50 A.M.
Alfie froze. “Is someone there?” he asked in a high-pitched voice.
There was no answer and no more movement. He had a small argument with himself. Was it part of a junior steward’s duties, for less than four pounds, to see if anyone was hiding in there?
Good sense told him no, but curiosity won the day. He picked his way through the piles of cargo and gingerly approached the motorcar. As he peered in through the windscreen, the last thing he expected to see was a pair of eyes looking back at him.
Twin gasps of shock rose in the hold.
With surprising speed, a small wiry figure in a rumpled steward’s uniform leaped out of the automobile, sending a stack of hosiery cases toppling. He stood, poised, as if trying to decide whether he shouldfight or flee. Hemmed in by piles of cargo, escape seemed unlikely, and a struggle might bring half the crew down upon them.
Alfie stared at him. “You’re the one I saw in the uniform room!”
“So I was sleeping on the job,” Paddy blustered. “So what?”
“You don’t work here!” Alfie exclaimed. “You’re a stowaway! I saw the rags you threw off!”
“You must be thinking of someone else, friend,” Paddy insisted through clenched teeth.
“Perhaps we should let the captain make that decision. There’s a telephone to the bridge just outside in the fireman’s passage.”
“You do what you think you have to,” Paddy replied grimly. “And while he’s here, we can also ask him why a lad of fifteen is signed on to his crew.”
Alfie winced. “How do you know that?”
“I might have overheard a little father-and-son chat in that same uniform room,” Paddy told him with a slight smile.
“You’re a stowaway,” Alfie accused again.
“That I am,” Paddy admitted. “And you’re underage. So we’ll have each other for company when we’re put ashore at Queenstown before the Titanic crosses to America.”
“I think sneaking aboard a steamer bound for New York is more serious than a wee exaggeration in the hiring line,” the young steward said, a little less certainly.
“Looks like we’re going to find out, then.” Paddy sensed his advantage and pressed it. “I feel sorry for you, I do.”
“For me ?” Alfie challenged.
“Well, if I get the bum’s rush, I’m right about where I started. But you’ve got a job — and your pa …”
“I won’t tell anybody about you,” Alfie blurted quickly.
“Now, where would the justice be in that?” Paddy began to pick his way through the maze of cargo. “Perhaps I’ll telephone the bridge myself —”
“Please don’t,” Alfie pleaded.
But Paddy did not stop. “All this is weighing on my conscience something terrible. And it wouldn’t hurt to put some food in my belly. Even in the brig, there’s a square meal to be had.”
“I’ll bring you food!”
The stowaway turned around and favored Alfie with a grin. “A sandwich would be lovely. And a glass of that nice, rich milk.”
Light dawned on Alfie. “You blackmailing little gangster!”
Paddy’s expression
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