Gypsy

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘Land’s been sighted!

  At the excited yell from one of her fellow steerage passengers, Beth rushed to get her coat and joined the throng of other people pushing and shoving to get up on deck. It was early afternoon, eight days since they left Liverpool, and it seemed odd that even those who had spent the entire voyage prostrate with seasickness had suddenly found the strength to get up.

  Rain was coming down heavily, the visibility very poor, and all Beth could see ahead was a slightly darker grey line on the horizon, yet that didn’t send anyone back to the warmth below decks. All around her she could hear people asking one another how long it would be until they landed, and then discussing what they’d do first once they’d been through immigration.

  After having the entire deck to herself for most of the voyage, it felt strange to be jostled by so many people. Sam wasn’t there — she assumed he was with Annabel — and she couldn’t see Jack either. To try to avoid the crush, and to find a spot from where she might get her first glimpse of land, she elbowed her way through the throng of people, right up to the railings that separated them from first class.

  There, to her surprise, just the other side of the railing, was Clarissa, huddled under an umbrella with a gentleman.

  Beth might have only had a brief glimpse of her in the dark, but she knew without any doubt it was Clarissa, even before she heard her speak. She was wearing a long, light brown fur coat and matching hat, a few tendrils of blonde hair fluttering in the breeze around her face.

  Beth kept looking straight ahead, but her eyes were swivelling sideways to study the woman. She was what most people would call a classical beauty: an oval face, porcelain-like complexion, a perfect straight nose and high cheekbones. Beth couldn’t see her eyes straight on, but she assumed they’d be blue. Yet her looks were not as interesting as the way she was with her companion. He held the umbrella above them with one hand, but she was holding his other arm almost possessively and looking right up into his eyes each time he spoke.

  Beth assumed he must be yet another admirer, because he didn’t fit the image of an old, stout man she had created in her mind for this woman’s husband. He was around forty and tall, with a little goatee beard and neat moustache, as straight-backed and slender as a guardsman in a stylish dark blue coat with an astrakhan collar. Unusually, he wasn’t wearing a hat, and he had a good head of wavy brown hair. While not rakishly handsome like the other man Beth had seen, he had a pleasant, good-natured face, and he was laughing at something Clarissa was saying to him.

  ‘I’m afraid I may lose the brolly soon,’ Beth heard him say as a gust of wind almost turned it inside out and he had to struggle to bring it under control.

  ‘I did say, my darling, that it was a mistake to bring it out here,’ Clarissa replied, smiling fondly at him. ‘Umbrellas don’t belong on ships, only in cities.’

  ‘And let my lovely wife get wet?’ he exclaimed jovially.

  Beth was so surprised to discover this was the cuckolded husband that she almost jerked her head round towards the couple, but she controlled herself just in time and kept her eyes fixed firmly on the horizon.

  ‘I did suggest it would be wiser to watch for land from the saloon,’ she heard Clarissa retort.

  ‘Maybe wiser, but there’s a more exciting atmosphere out here,’ her husband replied, waving one hand at the steerage passengers. ‘Look at them all, clamouring for their first sight of America.’

  Beth knew she ought to feel disgusted that this woman thought so little of marital fidelity. Clearly her husband wasn’t an ogre, and she’d been playing fast and loose with the handsome younger man’s feelings. Yet what she felt was more like disappointment, and sadness that the other man was going to be badly hurt.

  A few minutes later, the mist and rain lifted just enough for land to be dimly sighted, and this took Beth’s mind off Clarissa and her lover.

  The passengers learned to their frustration that they wouldn’t set foot in New York that evening, for the ship had to lie at anchor in the Hudson River until an immigration official came aboard. It was said that he had to check there was no disease on board, and then, providing all was well, they would be allocated a berth in the New York docks the following morning.

  The calmer waters and the delight at being so close to their destination cured seasickness instantly and everyone wanted their last night to be one to remember. Even Miss Giles, who had watched the women in her care like a hawk, relaxed her vigilance.

  When the customary cauldron of stew was brought down for the evening meal, there was a near riot in the rush to be served. Some of the passengers had eaten nothing but a few spoonfuls of thin gruel and dry bread since Liverpool, and now they were ravenously hungry.

  Beth could hardly believe her eyes as they fell on the greyish-brown, greasy liquid with a few pieces of vegetables and more lumps of gristle than meat floating in it. She had forced herself to eat some of the nauseating concoction each night, because there was nothing else on offer, but they all looked as if they were positively enjoying it.

  Once the meal was over, out came the fiddle, the spoons and the mouth organs and the singing, dancing and drinking began in earnest. Jack had a bottle of whisky and offered it to Beth. She took a swig and winced as it burned her throat, but, determined to be daring, she took another and found it went down more easily.

  Maybe it was only the whisky, but that evening Beth felt like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon. The sheer number of young men clamouring to dance with her proved that she was attractive; she felt excited and optimistic about the adventure awaiting her in the morning. While she knew she was going to miss Molly dreadfully in the weeks ahead, she suddenly realized she wasn’t sorry she’d left England.

  ‘Get your fiddle and play, Beth,’ Sam urged her.

  She tried to refuse because she’d never played in public before, and she was afraid she wasn’t as good as the old man. But Sam wouldn’t leave it, and soon all the other people around them were clamouring for her to play too.

  Beth had always played the fiddle by ear, even though she read music for the piano, and when she came back with her instrument she listened to a few bars of the tune the old man was playing, and once she thought she’d got it, she joined in with him.

  It was far faster than she was used to, yet it felt right, the way the fiddle was intended to be played. Her fingers moved like quicksilver on the strings and her bow was making them sing. She moved her whole body in rhythm, closing her eyes and completely immersing herself in the music.

  She sensed rather than saw her audience’s appreciation: the foot-tapping grew louder, and whoops of joy came from those dancing. All at once she knew this was what she was made for, to play soaring, happy music that lifted her and all those around her to a better place. She forgot she was on a ship surrounded by grubby, pale-faced people and felt as if she were dancing barefoot across a buttercup-strewn meadow in bright sunshine.

  When the tune ended and she opened her eyes again, she saw she had taken everyone to that place too. Their eyes were shining, they were smiling broadly, and sweat poured from their faces.

  ‘Ah, you’re a little gypsy!’ a man in the crowd shouted out. ‘Sure and wasn’t that the best fiddling outside of Dublin!’

  Beth played a few more times before putting her fiddle down and joining in the dancing. It was even more frantic than on their first night, the music louder, and as she was swirled around in a frantic polka, she laughed with sheer joy.

  Sam passed her by again and again, each time with a different girl in his arms, and his wide, approving grin at the sight of her enjoying herself made her feel even more elated. It occurred to her that he’d probably harboured doubts that she could ever break out of her prissy ways, and maybe he’d even feared she would be a liability.

  She vowed to herself then that she would show him she could be as good as any man in taking the rough with the smooth, and she would throw herself into the big adventure wholeheartedly.


  A couple of hours later, the pipe and cigarette smoke and the sheer number of hot sweaty bodies in a confined space with little fresh air coming in, made Beth head for the deck.

  As she went up the stairs she realized to her consternation that she was a little tipsy because she found it hard to coordinate her movements. Just as she was about to topple backwards, she felt two hands clutch her round the waist from behind to steady her.

  It was Jack.

  ‘Steady on, girl,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure the deck is where you want to be, I’ll come with you.’

  As they finally got up to the top, the cold fresh air felt wonderful. The rain had stopped, the sky was clear and studded with stars and the sea was flecked with silver lights.

  ‘This is better,’ she sighed, taking deep breaths. ‘How beautiful it all looks.’

  ‘That it does,’ Jack agreed. ‘The sea looks like black satin, and see that moon!’

  It was just a crescent, but it appeared far closer and brighter than Beth had ever noticed back in Liverpool. They found a locker to sit on and stayed there in companionable silence for some time. The band was playing along in the first-class saloon, and now that they were going up the Hudson River it was far warmer than out at sea, so much so that several other couples had come up and were standing further along the deck.

  ‘You’re a dark horse,’ Jack said, grinning at her. ‘You never said you could play like that. I thought when I saw your violin case you only played that screechy chamber stuff.’

  ‘It’s an Irish fiddle,’ Beth said with a smile. ‘I don’t think it knows anything but jigs. My mother never approved of it; she always said it was ale-house music.’

  ‘You’ll never be short of work playing that way,’ Jack said. ‘But where are you going tomorrow? Have you got plans?’

  ‘I think Sam has,’ she said. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m going to my friend’s place,’ he replied. ‘I don’t think it’s much, a kind of lodging house, but it will do until I get work.’

  ‘And what will that be?’

  ‘Anything that pays well,’ he replied. ‘I just wish I had a talent like yours. You’ll surely have people falling over themselves to hire you.’

  ‘Hire me?’ she exclaimed. ‘To play my fiddle?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you were gonna do?’ he asked, looking puzzled.

  ‘I thought I’d have to do domestic work or be an assistant in a shop, like back home,’ she said.

  Jack snorted with laughter. ‘Well, you’d be crazy if you did when you’ve got a talent like that up your sleeve.’

  ‘But they won’t take a girl on, will they?’

  ‘That would be an even bigger attraction,’ Jack said. ‘Especially someone as pretty as you.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Jack,’ she said, blushing a little.

  ‘I’d be glad to come and listen, but I don’t suppose you’ll want to know me once you start moving in fancy circles!’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Beth said indignantly.

  ‘Nah!’ He shook his head. ‘I’m too rough for someone like you. Your friends will look at my scarred face and think I’m a wrong ’un.’

  ‘How did you get it?’ she asked, and reached out to touch the scar gently.

  ‘My pa done it. He was hitting Ma, I tried to stop him, and he picked up the knife and slashed me. That’s why I left London. Couldn’t take no more.’

  ‘If you got it defending your mother, there’s no reason to be ashamed of it,’ Beth said, and kissed the scar.

  Suddenly his arms were round her and he was kissing her.

  Beth was startled, but not unpleasantly so. Jack’s lips were soft and warm; she liked the way one of his hands was caressing her face and the tingle she felt down her spine. Without even being aware of what she was doing, she nestled into his arms and put hers around him.

  As his tongue insinuated itself between her lips she thought he was taking liberties, but it felt good and she didn’t want to break away. He was breathing heavily, holding her tighter and tighter, and it was only then that she realized she ought to call a halt.

  ‘We should go back now,’ she said as she broke away and stood up. ‘We’ve got an early start tomorrow and so much ahead of us.’

  ‘I don’t ever want to let you go,’ he whispered. ‘You’re so lovely.’

  Beth smiled at him and patted his face. ‘That’s sweet, but you’ll see me tomorrow.’

  ‘I’d do anything for you,’ he said, catching her fiercely by her shoulders. ‘Anything!’

  By the time Beth got back below decks, the party had broken up. A few drunken men were still staggering around, but the women and children were all in bed. In the single women’s dormitory Maria and Bridie were waiting for Beth; it seemed someone had reported back that she had been seen with Jack.

  ‘Is he your sweetheart?’ Bridie whispered, her freckled face alight with eagerness.

  ‘No, at least I don’t think so,’ Beth said, hurriedly pulling off her dress and boots and clambering into her bed. She had no idea whether a few kisses amounted to being someone’s sweetheart. She liked Jack, but then he’d been the only man on the ship that she’d got to know. And for all she knew, she might meet someone far more suitable when they landed.

  ‘Did he kiss you?’ Maria whispered.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was it like?’ Maria asked.

  ‘Nice,’ Beth whispered back. ‘But I don’t know how it compares as it was the first time.’

  ‘You’ve never been kissed before?’ Bridie said incredulously.

  Miss Giles came in then to check everyone was in bed, so Beth was spared having to say anything more.

  She pretended she’d fallen asleep before Miss Giles left, shutting the door behind her. With her eyes closed she could relive Jack’s kisses, and savour the delicious sensation all over again.

  ‘What’s happening now?’ Beth asked Sam. It was ten in the morning and a clear, sunny day. They had been woken at first light by the ship’s engines starting up again, and someone yelled out that it was time to disembark.

  Suddenly it was utter chaos down in steerage with everyone rushing to pack up the remainder of their belongings. Even the crew shouting out that it would be several hours before they left the ship made no difference to the mass panic.

  Beth was swept up in it too, and rushed up on deck to see for herself.

  There was New York spread before her, looking exactly the way it had in a picture she’d seen in a magazine. She could even see the spire of Trinity Church which she knew was an aid to shipping as it was the highest building.

  She was spellbound. The church spire might be the tallest building, but all the others appeared remarkably tall too. It was the sheer volume of ships that really astounded her. Countless piers jutted out into what a sailor told her was the East River. Apparently the Hudson, which they’d sailed up the previous evening, was on the other side of the island, and a ship was moored at each and every pier. Despite the early hour the quay was crowded with every kind of cart, wagon and carriage imaginable, and hundreds of men were unloading and loading cargos.

  As they came in closer, the noise of barrels being rolled over the cobbles, horses’ hooves, wagon wheels, ships’ engines and human voices was tremendous, and when Beth looked away from the quayside she saw thousands of craft of every kind, from tugboats to old sailing ships, out on the river. Looking back in the direction the ship had come from, she caught sight of the Statue of Liberty, which she’d seen so often in pictures at home. But nothing had prepared her for the sheer mammoth size of it, towering over the harbour, or the emotion it awakened in her.

  She remembered her teacher reciting a poem. Beth couldn’t recall if it was actually something to do with the statue, or just America in general, but the part of it which had remained in her head seemed to fit both of them: ‘Give me your tired, your poor huddled masses yearning to breathe freely. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.’

  Beth
didn’t see herself, Sam or anyone on this ship as ‘wretched refuse’, but she supposed the woman who wrote it had watched many thousands of people from all over Europe hobbling through the immigration halls. With their worn suitcases, drawn faces, and shabby clothes they probably did look like so much refuse, though she thought the poet could have used a kinder word.

  The Brooklyn Bridge was far bigger and longer than she expected too. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could conceive of erecting something so huge over a river.

  Her final thought before going back below decks to await instructions about when they would disembark was to wonder, if the port of New York held all these marvels, what more incredible sights there would be in the rest of the city.

  ‘It seems the first and second classes are too grand to pass through immigration,’ Sam said gloomily later as he and Beth watched gangways being lowered and the upper classes happily tripping down them, most with porters carrying their luggage. ‘We get taken on a ferry to Ellis Island to be checked out. If they don’t like the look of us we get sent back to England.’

  ‘They aren’t likely to send us back,’ Beth pointed out. ‘We’re strong and healthy.’

  ‘I wasn’t afraid we’d be sent back. It’s how long it will take to be cleared. Look how many ships there are here, all full of immigrants. It will be hard to find somewhere to stay tonight once it’s dark.’

  By four in the afternoon Beth was growing very anxious as the queues to be interviewed by immigration officers didn’t appear to be moving at all. It was nearly twelve o’clock before the ferry had brought them to the island and the huge, pine-built building in which they were to be ‘processed’. She had heard from a sailor on the ferry that this building had only been opened in 1892, but it was filled with thousands of people with unwashed bodies, and what with the poor ventilation, her stomach rumbling with hunger and her legs aching with standing for so long, it felt like an ancient torture room.

  So much noise too — thousands of voices all talking at once, and many of them speaking foreign languages. There was a palpable undercurrent of fear as well, which perhaps was why so many small children were crying. Word passed back down the queues that they were to be questioned along with a medical examination, and although this didn’t bother Beth or Sam, it was clear that it was creating anxiety for many.