Page 64 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

50 Jack Fritscher

exploded.
Molly rose up and she shouted, making good use of her
music hall voice, demanding another sailor. Just like Molly.
Just like me. Demand ing another sailor. “Throw me a sailor!”
she bellowed. “I need a man to help row this boat full of sob-
bin’ women.” She turned to me and whispered again. “You
see? You’ll be more help here rowing in a woman’s dress than
standing in your pants on deck singing hymns.”
Brice tossed a sailor twelve feet down into our descend-
ing boat. It was Felix Jones. “I’m not a common sailor,” Felix
announced to everyone. “I’m a purser.” I pulled my collar up
and my hat brim down. “G’wan,” Felix whis pered. “I’d know
you anywhere. We both can thank Mr. Brice and Officer Max
and con sider ourselves lucky.”
As soon as we hit the water, Molly stood in the prow of
the boat, like Washington crossing the Delaware, barking
orders, com manding Felix and me and the 24 women in the
boat to row for our lives. At that moment, the unsink able
Molly Brown became fixed in history and legend. I rowed
with all my might, tears streaming down my face for my
Edward, surely lost below decks.
It was a night so clear we could see stars reflecting them-
selves on a sea smooth as a mirror. The noise of the ship was
enormous. People wailing, jumping, screaming in the night.
Flare guns. Pistol shots. Random music, nearer, singing,
my God, praying, to thee. Then like thunder, Titanic split in
two. The bow sank almost instantly. There was a moment of
almost absolute silence. It was 2:15 AM. Then thunder again.
Titanic’s stern reared high in the water, bright, brilliant with
light, phallic, magnificent in disaster, tall as a skyscraper. In
a crashing avalanche, everything movable on the ship slid
violently into the water. The postal clerks, dedicated to faithful