Chapter Text
"I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be."
― Charles Dickens, (1861, from Great Expectations)
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Part I
April 15th, 1912
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"Will you go away with this boat, or I?"
Had Harold Lowe not been standing near the 6th Officer when he asked it, he might've missed that damning question so quietly spoken over the steam of Titanic's roaring funnels behind them.
But something in the calm of James Moody's voice was stranger to Lowe, making him pause at securing the falls to the davits at Lifeboat 14.
Turning his head toward his fellow junior officer, only a rank shy of his own, Lowe saw a different man than the sunny young lad he'd first met in Belfast.
When James Moody walked out of his adolescence and grew into a sailor, it must've been at that moment at Lifeboat 14. His soulful forget-me-not-blue gaze that had always reminded Harold of a doleful puppy dog, now looked weary but undefeated as he stared undauntedly into the Atlantic. Taking on a resolved creed of honor and duty that made him a tableau of the old captains long gone. The seadogs who answered the war cry of the hurricane, though it should cut down their ship right from under them.
But the courage that drove James Moody's actions that night was not the same gung-ho warfare that sent Lowe head-to-head about the deck, with gut and pistol keeping the passengers from sabotaging the davit falls.
James's concerns were quieter. More observant and circumspect about the passengers he'd just trusted into the lifeboats. Ever mindful that in the interest of being safe and sound, being sound mattered as much as being saved.
And so, James looked after the little particulars his fellow officers might've missed, as they made every effort to superintend the escalating mayhem.
Watching the lifeboats row away from the ship into the cold dark unknown, James explained to Lowe, "I've put 58 into this boat, but I saw five boats go away without an officer. The women must be terrified. Even after leaving their men behind, the nightmares carry on. Someone ought to go with this one and look after them."
"It's not our duty to make the passengers comfortable, but to save the life of them. There aren't enough boatmen to put to the job of rowing here, and there's no time for hunting a man down. They will make do for themselves, Mr. Moody," Lowe informed him, his breath foggy with each firm word as he trembled from the cold. "What have you for the time? We should keep note of it faithfully for the ship's log."
"My watch reads a quarter pass one," James reported to the 5th officer, as he dropped the brass open-faced Elgin back into his officer's coat pocket. "All the horrors seem to happen at night, Godfrey...don't they?"
And with Titanic having yet to play her swan song, James Moody felt he would never again know a horror like this one.
Since that haunting moment he'd picked up the phone in the wheelhouse, 20 minutes before the end of his watch, and asked Fredrick Fleet in the crow's nest, "Yes, what do you see?", Moody suspected that worrying about what he should report in the scrap log was just spitting into the wind now.
Now unable to shake that gut-sinking instinct that he'd never again be returning to the bridge to write anything down.
Tensions on deck had swelled from lightly fascinated confusion to sobering desperation.
"Remember the SS Artic" Lowe's eyes darted alertly around to the men inching testily toward Lightoller. "The mutiny in '54?"
"It won't happen like that," James assured him, before Lowe could let that dark idea distract him. "And we'll take care that it doesn't."
"You watch this side, and I'll watch the other," Lowe told him. "If the men rush this boat again, get out of the way of my pistol."
James's soft blue gaze followed Lowe's, scanning the anxious male passengers for anymore signs of bullishly trampling the women as they waited their turn. A particular handful of them always looking to jump the distance between Lifeboat 14 on the davits and the barrel of Lowe's pistol, the moment the officers turned their backs.
And having worked well past his scheduled watch by 1:25 a.m., time seemed more and more like a whirling blur to James.
Had it really been nearly 2 hours since Lightoller had asked for the heat to be turned on in the officers' quarters?
Only two hours since James had practically skipped along the deck at the idea of returning back to his cozy nook for a cabin?
It felt like only a moment had passed, and still a forever more, since he'd staggered into the wheelhouse with the sound of ice grinding against Titanic's hull, panting to catch his breath as he called out to Quartermaster Hichens, "Hard astarboard! Mr. Murdoch ordered the helm hard over, sir!"
And just as he'd stood faintly shaken, but dutifully firm over Hichens to make sure Murdoch's order was carried out correctly, James now faced the brink of a stampeding crowd, and the unprecedented decision that would test the limits of his officer's oath.
To stay or to quit?
For James, there could only be one answer.
And to realize that answer was a juxtaposition to the calm sea, smooth as glass, reflecting the night sky glittering with stars on a mirror for an ocean.
With the band playing "Barcarole" off to his left to keep the passengers calm, no epilogue was ever so beautiful for his last night alive.
"Keep order! Keep order!" James's superior, Officer Lightoller hollered at the men again. "Women and children first! Men stand back! Keep order, I say!"
And with the crowd only just held back by his command, Lightoller turned back to Lifeboat 14 swung out over the ship's side above the open ocean.
Flipping open his company pistol in his shaking hands, as he tried to keep it all together, pushing each bullet into the empty chamber he hadn't ever imagined using.
"Mr. Lowe, Mr. Moody, they won't hold back for long. Andrews will have to hold his peace. We can't risk waiting to put more in. I need her gone away quickly," he said to his fellow officers. "One of you get in this boat, for God's sake, and hurry."
And snapping his pistol shut again, Lightoller marched on to bark orders to a seaman loading more cargo into the boat. "What's this luggage doing here? Get rid of it! There's no luggage on this boat! Get rid of it, we need the room! And get rid of that too!"
"Well, we have our orders," James told Lowe, politely stepping aside for his fellow officer. "After you, Mr. Lowe."
"What are you playing at, Mr. Moody?"
"Lightoller's right. If we don't move now, all of this will be for naught. One of us should go," James said. "I'll stay behind and keep the men in line. I won't allow any more women to be hurt while going into the boats. And besides that, we'll need at least 8 men to lower her away even. So, you take this boat in my stead."
"Why should I go before you?" Lowe disagreed. "You're no more caliber for a man than I. And should I remind you, Mr. Moody, that well-read is not the same thing as well-endowed. So, I say it's me who'll stay and slack rope, and you who'll go."
"If it were not for your ghastly scribbling, that is, which might be about as legible as if you'd wrote it at gunpoint. That leaves me alone to look after the ship's log. Someone well-read ought to make note of the boats being launched. And we both know, you're no man of letters, Mr. Lowe," James remarked lightheartedly. "And so, I'd be better use to everyone here on deck."
"Well I outrank you," Lowe countered. "So, I say It's me who'll stay behind and you who will go."
"No, sir, I won't be going yet," James quietly challenged Lowe, in a defiance the 5th officer wasn't used to taking from the ever-faithful Moody when given an order. "It's here I must go my own way. Until I've soundly satisfied my duties."
"That's not up for you to decide, James," Lowe said firmly. "You've been asked to leave this ship by two higher ranking officers. This isn't the sea trials, Jim, where we make sport of each other and it all comes out right in the end. I say it'll be you, and you'll obey the order as I give it."
"It's more practical, is all," James smiled wearily at Lowe, as if it ever could be as easy as that. "I know it was just sport before, but you proved me wrong at the sea trials, and I can attest you're more experienced a boatman than I. And so, it's more important that you go and I remain. I'll get in another boat."
"Come off it, will you? It's not a bloody competition, and it can't be won either," Lowe tried to reason with him. "You know the odds as well as I do."
"I know them...just as you do," the 6th officer affirmed quietly. "But my mind's made up, Mr. Lowe. Besides, how else am I to settle this score between us on who'll rank captain someday?"
Lowe shook his head, searching Moody's face for hope that he was only kidding this time, like every other time he'd hassled his most immediate superior. Moody had that way about him. Always making light where Lowe meant business, but always in that pleasant sort of way that'd make you feel sorry if he wasn't around
"You're a bloody fool, James," Lowe told him. "You always were."
"Just take care of these, will you?" James nodded at the passengers in boat 14. "And godspeed, Mr. Lowe."
But before James could move on to superintend Lifeboat 16 in Lowe's place, Harold called after him, "Mr. Moody?"
James stopped, peering over his shoulder at him.
"So long as you're standing there disobeying orders, will you at least swear to one thing?" Lowe asked him. "When the time is right, you'll take that boat abaft, if I am to go in this one."
"Alright, old man. Off you go then," James assured him. "I'll be chuffing right after you in no time."
And dodging around each other again so that Lowe could step around Moody toward Lifeboat 14, and Moody could step backward onto the deck, Lowe paused at ship's edge.
His conscience crushed under the guillotine of his guilt as he turned one last time back to the 6th Officer.
"When I say get yourself away with number 16, I mean every word of it, James," Harold told the young officer solemnly. "Don't wait. Be ye mindful at all times. Because once this ship goes, there won't be any coming back from her."
"And I'll do everything I know to do when she does," James answered.
"That's not at all what I bloody..."
Lowe's declaration stopped abruptly, and for a moment, James thought he saw a fleeting passion in the 5th officer that the seasoned boatswain rarely laid bare.
But as fleetly as it appeared, it was gone before Moody could ever make any meaning of it.
"That's not what I mean," Lowe finished at last, more evenly than before. "I'm not going to say that you being a ruddy Englishman, and an out-and-out fool on more than one occasion, means I've gotten on with you the most....But if you don't come in that boat right after me, I shall never live to forget this night."
But James knew he couldn't give his fellow junior officer an answer Lowe might sit comfortably with.
He had already made known his say.
"Good luck to you, Mr. Lowe," he nodded a solemn parting to his comrade. "Take care, old fellow."
And leaving the 5th Officer to take charge of Lifeboat 14, James turned to pull his black sailor's gloves over his numbing fingers, and got to work assuming command over Lifeboat 16.
"Who's next for this boat, please?" he called out to the crowd of passengers around him. "Any more women and children, please come forward."
"James!"
It was a man's voice in the crowd, still dressed to the nines in his dinner jacket and white bowtie as he stumbled and knocked aside the other passengers, desperately pushing his way through.
"James! A word with you, Officer Moody!"
"Step back, sir!" Lightoller ordered, pushing the frantic 1st class passenger back over the line and away from 16. "Women and children only!"
"I understand you have a job to do, sir, and I have no intention of interfering. But by any means whatsoever, it is absolutely necessary that I speak with that officer there," the passenger persisted, brazenly charging right up to an armed Lightoller again. "I am Patrick Crawley, and Mr. Moody can attest that we are long acquainted. What is more, I hold a first class ticket here, and I deserve at the very least a chance to explain-"
"I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Crawley, but I couldn't care a hoot who you are," Lightoller cut him off. "I say, there will be no men, regardless of his fare, on this boat."
"Then I too must apologize for the inconvenience, sir," Patrick stood his ground. "Because until I am allowed to speak to Officer Moody, I will not turn around."
"You two," Lightoller asked the closest seamen at hand. "This man wishes to be removed by force. Kindly, will you oblige him?"
"I will not be knocked around and dragged about like a miscreant! Lower your weapon at once, sir!" Patrick persisted heatedly with Lightoller. "I told you already that I have no intention of taking a seat in a lifeboat that a lady might have instead."
Turning to Moody again, he said, "James, please, hear me out. I wouldn't have come this far, if it wasn't absolutely necessary that I do."
And knowing that Patrick Crawley would bring down hell upon himself before he gave up his foolhardy crusade, James relented to Lightoller, "I'll dispose of this one."
Then the officer turned Patrick roughly around and escorted him on his way back through the crowd, so the crew could finally get back to loading the boats.
"What are you here roaring your eyes out about?" James demanded of him. "Fancy getting yourself shot, do you?"
"For all that time it took you to answer," Patrick remarked. "That appeared to be the least of your worries."
"If it wasn't the least of them, I'd be tellin' lies," James returned. "Thought you'd never come down from your high horse up in first class. To what do I owe the grace of yours, Crawley?"
Patrick rounded on him hotly.
"You know damn well what," Patrick declared. "You knew all along about Millicent, didn't you? You knew my sister was aboard this ship, and still, you swore on knowing nothing about it. Did you truly believe that by keeping this little secret of hers, you were doing her any favor?"
James stopped walking.
And though the rival of his youth had gotten better over the years of hiding his feelings when he heard Millie's name, Patrick caught that passing ignition in James's eyes that was just enough to confirm his enduring suspicions about Moody's undeclared yearning.
"What have you done?" James whispered, his breath bated.
"No...This is entirely your doing," Patrick swore to him. "If you had been honest with me from the start, I would've done the right thing for her, and dragged her off this ship the moment we docked in Cherbourg, and none of this..."
Patrick's words trailed off, choked into silence by the welt in the back of his throat, as the weight of their star-crossed reality came crushing down on him.
"What have you done with Millie?" James demanded more forcibly this time. "For God's sake, man, say something."
"She's my sister, James. It's my duty to protect her, even when she can't see the good in it herself," Patrick declared. "All I wanted was to bring her back home safely to Yorkshire. To make her come to her senses, and convince her to button up this 'finding herself by working in service' twaddle of hers. She's a Crawley, not a maidservant, for God's sake! What was I to do, should anyone find her out?"
"Just tell me where Millie is," James said to him. "If you've found her out, why isn't she here with you?"
"There was a...disagreement of sorts after dinner..." Patrick's voice shook slightly as he made his confession. "When I recognized my sister in the corridor, I requested a steward to send Millicent to my room with tea...And when we met, I demanded that she quit this stuff of nonsense and come home at once...But just like Millie, she refused to do what was best for her...And so, I took matters into my own hands, because she gave me no other choice...I left soon after...And I'll die for it, James. I deserve nothing better for behaving the way I have...I felt bloody terrible about leaving her like that, so I returned to my suite to apologize. But before I could find my door, a steward stopped me in the corridor and refused to let me pass. He said no one was allowed back in their rooms, and that all passengers were to go up and wait on deck for a lifeboat. I couldn't find my father to tell him what had happened. I haven't seen him since he went for cigars and brandy in the smoking room. And I didn't know who else to turn to for help, which is why I came straight away to you."
"You mean to say Ms. Crawley hasn't quit your cabin since you last spoke to her?" James asked him.
"I made her a promise that she wouldn't be allowed to leave until we reached New York," Patrick confessed. "I grabbed hold of her and forced her into the wardrobe. Then I took the chair from the writing desk to stop her from turning the knob....And I made damn well sure she couldn't get out."
"Dear God," James breathed. "Have you told this to anyone else?"
"None of the stewards would listen to me," Patrick said. "No one would allow me to go back. My only hope was getting someone of higher rank involved, and see if they might relent at last. But I can't tell now if I'm too late...if I have doomed her...I never intended for any of this to happen. How could I have known that the ship would sink?"
James glanced back at Lifeboat 16, where Officer Wilde had taken over his place directing the boat's launch.
"Please tell me I'm not too late, that she can still be saved," Patrick pleaded with the Scarborough officer. "Tell me I haven't murdered my own sister. My God, James, I beg you to help me."
Turning his eyes back on Patrick Crawley's dawning anguish, James finally spoke, "I'm sorry to say, sir...that by murdering her, you have murdered us both."
And saying no more, James silently moved aft toward the First Class Promenade, as Titanic descended from under him.
Leaving a crumbling Patrick Crawley behind him to answer to his own fate, as James Moody walked into his.