The Ship of Dreams

It was called “The Ship of Dreams.” An impressive mansion upon the sea that would fashionably carry us to America, where we would finally endure a life of freedom and wealth. It was everything that we deserved, and so much more - or so my mother said.

“The Titanic” it’s all that she talked about from breakfast to dinner, I think that she even dreamed about it. She was obsessed, steeled and primed to escape our modest village and begin a new life. I on the other hand concealed a wretched fear lurking within. Leaving everything that I knew and loved, and moving to America (a land that I knew very little about) seemed foolish and intimidating. I was perfectly happy living in our simple, unvarnished home in Southampton. However, mother had always dreamed of more. For my entire life I had watched her work her fingers to the bone cleaning homes, and serving those opulent, well-endowed snoots in the city.

She had sacrificed so much in order to save every spare coin, in hopes of one day having the chance to unfetter herself. Of course, I knew that she desired a better life for me too. Mother detested the thought that I would someday be forced to scrub dirty floors, and bow before those deep-pocketed, fat-cats as she had done. In a way, I suppose that I felt a heated scorn toward her for forcing me to leave the only life that I had ever known. On the other hand, I admired her courage and gallantry.

April 10th 1912

As morning dawned, we began loading our few possessions into an old car that mother had borrowed from our neighbor. In my mother's eyes we were heading out for something better and beautiful. A new life full of potentials and possibilities. In my eye's I was driving right into a formidable nightmare, yet I didn't know just why.

I quickly cut a branch from my favorite rose bush, and tucked it into my journal. I knew that even on my darkest days it would remind me of home.

I heard that over 2,000 people would be boarding the ship. I had never seen so many people gathered in one place. Most were meticulously dressed, clearly most of the passengers on this ship came from money (and lots of it). I stepped into the shadows and lowered my head as I noticed my soil-stained hands, rough and raw from the hours of gardening that I had done.

There was a brief moment of shame as an elegant woman carrying a silky umbrella bumped into me. She eyed me up and down, and snorted with disgust as she brushed her sleeve with her lace-gloved hand. “Beggarly” she grumbled as she gave me one final, sour glance.

Although she tried desperately to hide it, I noticed the anxiety and uncertainty in mothers stare as she peered across the vast, blue ocean. I wondered if she was having doubts, however I didn't dare to ask. She had waited her whole life for this moment, and no matter how forbidding that I was feeling, I refused to ruin this chance for her.

April 11th 1912

I had awakened early, the constant motion of the ship made it difficult to rest. I couldn’t help but to wonder if the higher-class cabins above felt such turbulence. I looked over at mother, sleeping peacefully, lost in her hopes and dreams of a better life ahead. As I opened the door to our small quarters, I could smell breakfast lingering in the air. I overheard a worker complain “Eggs and ham for the rich – toast and coffee for the poor.” I felt a sharp pang in my stomach as the delightful scent reminded me that I hadn’t ate anything since we left our home in England.

We (lower class passengers) had been carefully disassociated from the high-class. I closed my eyes and imagined those beautiful people eating breakfast on fine dinnerware, and drinking juice from crystal glasses as the spicy ocean air blew through their hair. My vision was cut short as a well-dressed crew member approached. He quickly handed me a plate containing two pieces of overly toasted bread with a huge clump of cold butter. There was one, single apple that had been sliced into four small portions, and two cups of coffee which had long cooled. “May I have eggs?” I politely asked. Without speaking a word my question was answered with a smug, consequential gesture. “Even at home the poor people have eggs for breakfast!” I mumbled as I carried the pitiful breakfast back into our room.

April 12th 1912

Last night I witnessed a man being arrested by the Master-at-Arms. Apparently, he had been caught sneaking upstairs and plundering food from the kitchen. It seemed so unethical to arrest a man for only taking one loaf of bread and some fruit preserves. “We’re hungry!” I heard him plead as they carried him away. Down the corridor I noticed a young pregnant woman holding a small child in her arms. She wiped a tear from her face as she noticed my stare. “I thought that this was the Ship of Dreams.” She huddled the youngster close as she slipped back into the darkness.

We have not seen the ocean or felt the fresh air on our face since we came aboard the Titanic. Those of us who were deemed “the less fortunate” have been strictly forbidden to leave our designated confines.

Some of the passengers have fallen ill, others never seem to leave their cabins. How much longer before we reach America? I don’t know how much more any of us can bare. Honestly, this feels like a floating prison where we are browbeaten and intimidated for being less fortunate than the substantial people above us. I too feel the pains of hunger and illness swelling up inside of me, yet I dare not say a word.

The Ship of Dreams must be only for the rich and prosperous.

April 13th 1912

I have grown more and more decrepit. I fear that mother is unbearably ill as well. She has not left her bed all day, and yet I am too weak to attend to her. I managed to ask a crew member if there was a doctor on board. “The ship physician will see to you as soon as time permits.” He still has not arrived, and I do not expect that he will. For now, I will lay here and wait, it’s all that I can do.

Wait for what?

Wait for life... for death... I don't know anymore.

I close my eyes and dream of being back in Southampton where I am happy and safe. I am gardening with the sun on my face and the cool breeze in my hair. I see mother walking up the old stone road, she looks tired. We lock eyes for a moment and share a warm smile.

April 14th 1912

I can hear music coming from up above, it sounds like a celebration. I wonder if we are near our destination.

The physician still has not come to see us.

Outside, in the hall I heard two men speaking of a small child that had succumbed to the illness. I hear a woman sobbing in the distance. I think about the pregnant lady and her child, oh, how I hope they are okay.

Mother still has not moved from her bed. I struggle to hear her breathing but I am unable to rise from my own pallet. There is a repugnant odor filling the room.

“Mother, we’re almost there. Can you hear the celebrations?”

“Mother” she does not respond to my voice any longer.

I don’t know how many more entries that I can make, I now scrabble just to hold the pen in my hand.

I am scared. No, I am horrified that we may never see America.

April 15th 1912

There was a horrendous, loud sound. I can hear people scattering and roaring in fear.

I am unable to stand, yet I managed to crawl to mother’s bed.

Mother is dead.

I have known this, yet I refused to accept the reality.

Water...it’s so cold. It’s deluging the cabin.

Submerging.... Smothering.

I wrap my arms around mother, and bury my face into her cold, algid sweater.

“I love you mama.”

I can hear the sounds, as if the ship is cracking and breaking.

The screams above have quieted.

All that I can hear is the sickening howl of death as the ocean take us.

Yet within this trepidation and fear, oddly I feel a calming peace wash over me.

There is no more dread or fright. No more uncertainty or pain. All that remains is peace, serenity, and freedom.

If one day you find this journal, within the deep, blue sea.

Know that we deserved a chance, to live and to be free.

You may never see my face; you may never know my name.

But keep me in your memory, please remember me just the same.

For within these icy waters, my spirit will gloriously dive.

Please remember me, and what it means for you just to be alive.

In life if you are happy, stay right where you are.

For happiness lives within you, you don’t have to travel far.