The Journal of Hamilton Murphy

It’s been two years since he promised his grandfather, on his death bed, that he would find them no matter how long it took. His grandfather had searched for eight years before he died, trying to fulfill the promise he made that night.

Two weeks ago he got the best lead he or his grandfather had gotten in ten years, thanks to his cousin who had travelled to a small town in Ontario, Canada, for a chess tournament and met a fellow competitor who had been on the Titanic. When his cousin said she was a beautiful young Irish woman with scarlet hair and emerald eyes he knew he had to make this trip.

Now standing on the doorstep of this tiny clapboard house in Niagara on the Lake, he could feel his heart beating faster as the small package trembled in his hands. He could hear footsteps approaching from inside, and knew, somewhere deep in his soul, it was her. He had no idea what to say. They were just kids the last time they saw each other, and she had probably forgotten he existed by now. But he could never forget her as she lived in his dreams and was his happiest memory from that time.

The door opened to reveal a woman of such beauty that she took his breath away. It was her. Even though she was ten years older, he knew it was her as he would recognize her eyes anywhere. Looking into those eyes, his fears came true; it was obvious that she didn't recognize him.

He didn’t know what to do or say and just stood there staring, like a fool, until she spoke, "Can I help you, sir?"

He struggled to compose himself before answering, "Sorry to disturb you, miss, but I believe this package belongs to you."

With trembling hands, he held the small book, wrapped in paper, towards her.

She asked, “Why would you think this belongs to me?”

"Because I believe your father's name is Hamilton Murphy, and he was on the Titanic the night she sunk."

She felt like she was punched in the stomach and called for her aunt before inviting him in.

They sat in the living room staring at each other for a minute before she took the package from his hand and opened it. She recognized the book and her father's writing on the cover instantly.

This Journal is the property of Hamilton Murphy.

Tears were streaming down her face as she thanked this handsome young man for all he had done before opening the journal to the first page and beginning to read her father's words.

*******

April 10/1912

9 am;

Phoebe’s ten-year-old eyes are as big as saucers staring up at the steel hull.

Holding tightly to my sister Muriel’s hand, she turns to me, mouthing “Daddy,” with a look of wonder that’s usually reserved for children, but I feel it as much as her. So does everybody else standing on this dock, waiting to be the first to sail aboard this majestic man-made marvel.

Titanic; they couldn’t have picked a better name because it truly is that; Titanic.

Even though I’ve spent the better part of a year and a half hammering rivets into that steel hull, I still feel awed by what I now see. I now see it for all its glory. It towers above us as a testament to what man can do. It almost seems alive, waiting to be released from its shackles and set free to do what smart men, brave men and hungry men have built it to do.

But it didn’t come without great pain. Several families experienced the greatest pain of all during the building of this ship.

At least eight men died in that shipyard; some of them were still kids in my eyes.

Samuel Scott was one of them. He was just fifteen years old when he fell from a ladder, ending his life. I never knew him personally, but it felt personal to all of us workers that sweated blood, day in and day out, six days a week for a few pounds.

All of us have stories to tell and scars we carry from those days. Most of the scars are easy to see, but some are hidden deep within our souls.

You can tell a riveter by his hands and ears. The hands are burned from mishandling the hot rivets, or they're missing fingers from a misplaced swing of the hammer. But the ears suffer a worse fate. Most of the riveters I know have lost the ability to hear normal conversation from the constant loud hammering of metal on metal. Many of us are close to deaf from the pounding music of the hammer.

But the deeper scars, the emotional ones, are harder to see. Having to hide your love for your homeland, Ireland, was a difficult thing to do. But if you wanted to be treated equally and keep your job, it was the only option you had. Some of us lost who we were, thinking we were making the right choices for our family's well-being, while some of us just suffered loss.

I lost Yvonne, Phoebe’s mother.

The last time I saw her alive was six months before she got sick. The family hid her sickness from me, afraid I would quit my job and run to her, which I would've done in a heartbeat.

I would have done anything for her; she was the love of my life. A tiny scarlet-haired maiden with emerald eyes and a smile that could launch a thousand ships, she stole my heart at eighteen years old. She's the reason I pounded close to eighty thousand rivets into this ship.

We were supposed to be boarding Titanic together today, crossing the Atlantic to meet her brother, Michael, in New York before heading on to Canada and starting our new lives.

She wanted to give Phoebe a better chance to flourish and have opportunities that didn’t exist for her here at home. Thanks to Muriel and the unwavering strength that she possesses, Phoebe will still have that chance.

If it wasn't for my sister, I don't think I would be here today, standing on this dock or inhabiting this flesh. After Yvonne passed, I slipped so far down a black hole of grief that I may never have returned. Every waking moment and even my dreams were so consumed by the pain of losing her that I spent endless days trying to drown myself with drink. My memory of those months is spotty at best. But Muriel never gave up on me. She fought with everything in her and dragged me, kicking and screaming, out of that hole and pushed me into my daughter’s arms. She saved my life and Phoebe’s future.

9:45 am;

“Come on, daddy,” Phoebe squeals pulling my hand as we begin to board on the third class ramp.

It’s a little chilly this morning, not more than 5 or 6c, but we don’t feel cold. With clear sky above and the excitement and anticipation of what lays ahead, we feel the warmth and camaraderie of the hundreds of souls around us as we take those first steps towards a future filled with promise.

***

April 11/1912

2:30 pm;

The last day and a half have been filled with awe, wonder and excitement.

We left Queenstown, Ireland, about an hour ago now, after picking up the final load of passengers, and are steaming westward toward the new world and our new lives.

The last time I saw her, Titanic was a colossal structure of steel and wood with none of the onboard finishing’s installed. I don’t know what I was expecting but what was unveiled to us when we finally boarded is way beyond any expectations I might have had. It’s truly a floating palace. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.

The grandeur and opulence of Titanic are breathtaking. They've thought of everything I could have imagined and some things I couldn't when designing this ship. It seems the whole ship has been designed to make the passengers feel comfortable during their journey.

Even the steerage area is far beyond what any other ship would provide. Every cabin has running water, a luxury few of us third-class passengers would have at home.

And yes, we have our own cabin complete with wood panelling, beds with mattresses, electric lighting and our own washbasin. I expected we'd be sleeping with several other people, dormitory-style, so getting our own cabin was a welcome and wonderful surprise.

It feels like our lives have already changed for the better, which seems to have brought a peace to my soul. I still miss Yvonne more than words can say, but I feel comfortable knowing that she would be happy to see us fulfilling the dream of a better future that she envisioned for Phoebe.

Speaking of Phoebe, she’s already made several new friends. They’re all around the same age and run around like a gang of Imps. There are five of them, four girls and one boy. The girls are all Irish and full of boisterous fire, but the boy is Scandinavian and seems to be full of a quiet wonder and curiosity. It’s funny that he would carry the old Swedish name, “Anger.” He's the opposite of what his name would imply in English, as I don't think he's capable of showing anger. With his yellow hair and ice-blue eyes, he's the most handsome little boy I've ever seen, and I'm sure there will be many broken hearts left in his wake.

***

April 14/1912

10:30 am;

We’ve just finished a wonderful breakfast of ham and eggs with bread and butter and the most excellent coffee. I don’t think I’ve eaten as good as I have in the last few days in a very long time.

For the last two days, everything about this ship and this voyage has been going perfectly, with no problems or disappointments. We've had calm seas since we left Ireland, and there's been a rumour going around that we may even arrive in New York early.

Muriel has spent her time becoming friends with the mothers and sisters of Phoebe's gang of Imps, while Phoebe's face seems to have acquired a perpetual grin of joy. I've never seen her so happy and full of life. I can’t help but think of the joy that Yvonne would feel to see her like this.

I’ve been spending a lot of time playing chess with the grandfather of Phoebe’s friend, Anger. His name is Eric, and even though he is much older, we share an emotional understanding as he has also lost someone close to him less than a year ago. The pain in his eyes as he recounted the story of losing his son and daughter-in-law, Anger’s parents, in a tragic fire brought me to tears. I understand now why this beautiful little boy always seems to be carrying a weight of sadness behind his eyes.

I feel a strong sense of pride as I watch Anger smile and laugh while trying to teach Phoebe to play chess. They seem to have become good friends over the last few days, and I believe this is precisely what both of them need.

Eric is travelling with his grandson to up-state New York, where the boy will be adopted by his mother's sister and her family. The family lives close to the Canadian border, just south of Niagara Falls, so Eric has invited us to stay with them for a couple of days. He says it will give us a chance to get our land legs before travelling on to Canada.

9 pm;

It's been another memorable day, and there’s a feeling of excitement as we near our destination. We’re scheduled to arrive in New York on April 17, but it feels like we have increased speed. Maybe the Captain is trying to set some kind of record; at least that's what the rumours are.

Today the temperature has been slowly dropping from about 15c this morning to 10c by noon, and just an hour or so ago, it was down to 1c. We've all decided to stay inside and bed down a little early tonight, hoping that tomorrow brings warmer weather.

Muriel and Phoebe are already sleeping, so I think it's time I lay down the pen, turn off the light and join them.

***

April 15/1912

1:20 am

Phoebe, I’m writing this as fast as I can as there’s not much time left. Eric and Anger will be boarding one of the last lifeboats shortly, and I need to put this journal in Eric's hands. He's promised to find you and deliver these words into your possession, no matter how far he has to go or how long it takes.

Watching you call for me through your tears, as I placed you on that small boat with Muriel and the other women and children was the most difficult thing I have ever done. You are everything to me, Phoebe; you're the best thing I've ever done and the best part of me. I'm so sorry I couldn't join you on that boat; I needed to get you to safety first. You have your whole life ahead of you, and no matter what happens now, I know you will make a mark on this world.

I will try my best to get off this ship and find you, but if that’s not God's plan, please remember how much I've loved you. You will never be alone, no matter how long or how far you go. All you have to do is think of me, and I will be there watching over you and in your heart.

You may never forget this night, but please, believe me, honey, when I say that the time will come when the pain will lessen and become bearable. You are strong little one, stronger than you know, and I need you to take care of your aunt Muriel now. She needs you now as much as you need her, and I know she will do anything in her power to protect you and keep you safe from harm.

Whenever you feel the warm sun on your face or a gentle breeze at your back that helps you walk forward in life, please know that your mother and I walk with you. We will be forever by your side, my love, because our love for you is stronger and more enduring than anything that happens here tonight.

I am trying my best, but I now understand that there are no words I could write on this paper that could come anywhere near describing how much I love you.

Please live your best life, my little dove.

********

Watching her read her father's words with tears in her eyes broke his heart but also freed his soul. He had completed his grandfather's dying wish, and that somehow eased the pain of losing him.

She finished the last entry and closed the book softly before holding it to her chest and staring into his eyes. It was all coming back to her now, all the things that happened and all the emotions she felt on that ship so many years ago. She remembered that terrifying night with such clarity that it felt like yesterday, but she also remembered the happy days leading up to that night.

A smile crossed her lips as she stared at the handsome young man sitting across from her with yellow hair and ice-blue eyes.

She knew now who he was as she stood and walked toward him, saying his name as a question, “Anger?”

“Yes, Phoebe, it is me, Anger,”

She rushed to him, and as they held each other close, they both felt the same thing at the same time; it felt like they were taking their first steps towards a future filled with promise.