Chapter 6 - Goodbye to Europe
I woke on April 11 to a different quality of light.
My cabin was still dim, but something about the air felt brighter.
After dressing, I went outside.
Ireland lay ahead.
Green hills rose beyond gray-blue water. Small houses dotted the slopes. The coastline seemed almost impossibly peaceful after the smoke and noise of Southampton.
Queenstown was our final European stop.
Today people call it Cobh.
To me that morning, it was simply the last land I expected to see before New York.
I ate breakfast quickly and went back to the rail.
Small craft moved between shore and Titanic.
Passengers arrived by tender because, again, our ship was too large for the ordinary harbor facilities.
This group looked different from those who had boarded at Cherbourg.
More families.
More bundles.
More people whose clothes suggested they had spent most of their money on the ticket rather than what they wore while using it.
I watched one woman carefully climb from the tender while holding the hand of a little girl.
The child wore a dark coat one size too large and carried a cloth doll with red yarn hair.
Halfway up, the doll slipped.
It fell onto the landing below.
The girl cried out.
I happened to be near enough to reach it before anyone stepped on it.
I picked it up.
One button eye hung loose.
The girl stared at me.
“Is she hurt?”
I inspected the doll gravely.
“Terribly.”
Her eyes widened.
“But I believe she’ll recover.”
The mother looked exhausted but smiled.
“Thank you.”
I handed the doll back.
The girl hugged it.
“My name’s Eva.”
“Ethan.”
“This is Rosie.”
“Pleased to meet you, Rosie.”
Her mother introduced herself as Anna Kovács.
She was Hungarian, though she spoke English well enough. She and Eva were traveling to join Anna’s brother near Pittsburgh.
“America?” Eva asked me.
“Yes.”
“Is it big?”
“Very.”
“Bigger than this ship?”
I considered that.
“Just a little.”
She seemed disappointed.
A crewman directed them toward Third Class.
Anna thanked me again.
Then they disappeared with the crowd.
I expected never to see them again.
Titanic was large enough for people to vanish inside it.
I spent the next hour watching Queenstown.
Mail was transferred.
Passengers boarded.
A few people who had traveled only this far left the ship.
Vendors and small craft moved across the harbor.
Near midday, preparations began for departure.
I leaned against the rail.
Ireland was beautiful.
The fields looked intensely green even beneath the pale sky. Houses clustered near the water. Church towers rose above the town.
People ashore waved.
Some passengers beside me cried.
That affected me more than I expected.
For many emigrants aboard Titanic, this was not simply a holiday departure.
Some were leaving home for years.
Some forever.
A young Irishman near me held his cap in both hands.
“Family?” I asked.
He nodded toward shore.
“All of them.”
“You’ll come back.”
He smiled without looking at me.
“That’s what me mother says.”
The anchor came up.
The engines began their steady work again.
Queenstown slowly moved away.
The young man remained at the rail long after individual people on shore could no longer be distinguished.
Eventually even the buildings became small.
The green hills flattened into a distant line.
Then only the tops remained.
Then nothing.
I stood there longer than necessary.
For the first time in my life, there was no land visible in any direction.
Atlantic water surrounded us completely.
Behind us lay Europe.
Ahead lay America.
Between them lay nearly three thousand miles of sea.
I returned inside strangely quiet.
At lunch, Eleanor noticed.
“You look thoughtful.”
“We’ve left the world.”
She buttered a piece of bread.
“The world is larger than land, Mr. Cole.”
“You always have an answer ready?”
“At my age, one accumulates them.”
I told her about Anna and Eva.
“The girl asked whether America was bigger than Titanic.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“What would you have said?”
“I would have told her America is large enough to become whatever she needs it to be.”
“That sounds suspiciously optimistic.”
“I am allowed one weakness.”
That afternoon, I stood at the stern watching our wake.
It stretched behind Titanic like a white road drawn across the sea.
For miles, it seemed.
Eventually even that vanished.
I opened my notebook.
APRIL 11.
Last view of Europe.
I hesitated before adding:
There are more kinds of journeys aboard this ship than there are passengers.
Mine was an assignment.
Henry was going home.
Eleanor was returning to family.
Anna and Eva were beginning a new life.
The Irishman at the rail was leaving one behind.
May you like
Titanic carried all of those hopes westward together.
And above us, four funnels trailed smoke into an empty sky.
