At the Bottom of the Atlantic
A family’s journey to the U.S. cut short
By Aubrey Sage
Nineteen of my family members lie at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean with the rusted century-old remains of the RMS Titanic.
At 10 years old, my grandfather told me the two largest families to go down with the infamous Titanic were my relatives, the Goodwins and Sages. The Sages, from my father’s side, had a family of 11 where the youngest was four. The Goodwins, from my mother’s side, had a family of eight. Their youngest was 19 months. Both were in the steerage class of the ship, hoping to make a life in America.
Just over 107 years later, I am living in America. I am getting an advanced education. I am living the dream that they all died for.
A 1911 postcard from John Sage to his wife reads:
“My dear, Have found a lovely plot of land. Jacksonville is quite the most wonderful of places. I count the days until I’m home with my dear ones.
Your loving husband, John.”
That plot of land would soon be the Sage family pecan farm in Jacksonville, Florida. The tropical foliage and the sun must have made a picture of paradise — nothing he’d ever seen in Northamptonshire, England where he worked as a baker for most his life.
George, his eldest son, travelled with him to America in April, 1911. They worked several months in the cramped, rattling carts of the Central Pacific Railway until they earned just enough money to make the purchase of their new home.
By late autumn, George and John returned to England to gather the rest of their family and essential belongings. They originally planned to board the RMS Philadelphia, but due to coal strikes, they had to book passage on the Titanic instead.
After saying goodbye to their friends and neighbors, the family travelled to Southampton to sail off. There they were, all 11 Sages among thousands of excited passengers boarding the most luxurious ship in the world. There they were atop the steel beast as it slowly pulled away from the only home and life they knew, looking on the crowd of spectators waving handkerchiefs. April 10, 1912, RMS Titanic, third class.
I often take everything around me for granted. I complain about insignificant things every day while getting a college education in a free country. I think about how I have never crossed the Atlantic Ocean.
Hell, I’ve never left North America. How can I begin to understand the distance or appreciate the feat of my ancestors’ willingness to live an unrealized dream?
Ninety-six miles away from the Sage family in Wiltshire, Frederick Goodwin received several letters from his brother and sisters. They had settled in Niagara Falls, New York, and were urging him to join his family. He lived his adult life working in a dark and tiny print shop, so working a big power station in Niagara Falls didn’t sound so bad.
Once Frederick’s sisters gathered enough funds for travel, they sent it his way so their families could be reunited. Frederick brought his wife and six children to London to board a different steamer, but the coal strikes also changed their plans and their fate. April 10, 1912, RMS Titanic, third class.
I wonder what it was like to walk along the decks watching the ocean waves pass at unimaginable speeds.
I try to picture the vast night sky with no land in sight. I wonder what is was like to wake to the awful noise of ice scraping metal.
Some accounts say the Sage’s made it to the upper deck before the Titanic sunk. I wonder, were they all together? What was four-year-old Thomas thinking amidst the frantic surge? Was he scared?
I wonder if the Goodwins even made it up to the decks. Were they were still in their rooms waiting for it to be over? Were they at peace when they died?
I wonder how beautiful the stars were that night.
I have so many questions, but I can’t come close to imagining what that night was for the over 1,500 people who met their ends. Of my 19 ancestors, only two bodies were recovered: thirteen-year-old Anthony Sage and Sidney Goodwin, just 19 months.
I’m not sure when the Sage’s and the Goodwins made it over to America. Yet, here we are, over a century later, and there they remain at the bottom of the ocean. Just another name on the passenger list.
Sometimes I wonder why my ancestors wanted to come here so badly. Especially in recent years I find myself ashamed to be American, but looking at this list of names, and where I am, I can only hope that I am here for a reason.