Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
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Harold slowly lowered the cutter, watching the millionaire's boat disappear from sight with a mixture of disgust and anger. Only twelve people in this one - and only two were women. All these wasted seats - and so many still below...
Murdoch had already moved aft, to ready the next four boats on the starboard side. The man was possessed of a demonic efficiency; almost too efficient, as the loading of the emergency boat showed. He wanted the boats out, gone as quickly as possible, whether or not they were full; in his mind, there wasn't a moment to spare. He had grimly confided in Harold that they had only about an hour before the ship would disappear beneath the waves.
Apparently, there was some half-arsed plan to load steerage passengers from the gangway doors below, but that wasn't happening. He saw the boats pull away quickly from the ship once they reached the water; they weren't hanging around waiting for instructions, and they certainly weren't taking on more passengers. At that point, it was every man for himself, and those lucky enough to be off the ship were more interested in preserving their own lives than loading the boats to their full capacity and saving as many as possible. That meant that those people belowdecks were likely doomed, unless they could find their way above, and quickly.
His heartbeat quickened. Corrine was still down there, he knew it. She wouldn't be able to find her way up without guidance; the ship was too large, too confusing, and many of the passages led to dead ends or areas cordoned off from steerage passengers. Panic threatened to overtake him; he had to find her... but he had a job to do up here, and he couldn't desert his post.
Or could he? With an effort, he calmed his racing thoughts and considered his options. He knew he had a few minutes before he would be expected to appear at the aft boats; perhaps he had enough time to race down the grand staircase and get to E deck, where she was quartered, before Murdoch noticed he was missing.
Never being a man to linger long on a decision, he was already in motion before he finished outlining his plan. If she wasn't on E deck, he would ask around for her, and check the well deck... maybe, with some luck, he would be able to locate her quickly and load her onto a lifeboat. Her safety was all that mattered to him now.
He passed the last of the empty lifeboat davits without incident, checking around carefully to make sure Murdoch wasn't in sight. He was about to enter the vestibule that led to the grand staircase when a blaring voice from behind pulled him up.
"Mr. Lowe! Where are you going?"
He flinched. It was Boxhall. He didn't think that chap liked him; didn't think he liked anyone, really. He was the captain's pet, a serious, studious sort - even more of a fanatic for rules and protocols than Lightoller. And, he was Harold's senior.
Caught unawares, his mind blank, Harold turned around to face him. Boxhall had been firing rockets from the starboard side all night, trying to get the attention of a ship that appeared tantalizingly close on the horizon. He must have been readying another and happened to look up at just the wrong time, for he still held the friction tube in his hand.
