A Pocket Full of Shells

by Jean Reinhardt

  The young men shook their heads vigorously.

  “Would that have come out of our wages, Matthew?” asked Michael.

  The barge owner shook with laughter.

  “Of course it would. All I’m providing is bed and board and a hot meal.”

  “Thanks for thinking of us,” said James, “But you are widowed and entitled to have an ‘arrangement.’ It wouldn’t be right for either of us. I’m glad we slept. We might have been tempted.”

  “I know, lad, the girls talked me into it. The other one went off with a man she knew, who happened to be passing by.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Having helped to load the coal on the barge, James and Michael bade farewell and thanked Matthew for getting them to Leeds.

  “Look me up next time you are in Liverpool,” he shouted back, as he set off to retrieve his horse from the stable in which it had spent the night.

  A young man who had been glad of a lift to Liverpool, was on the barge unravelling ropes that would be needed for the journey. He warned the two Irishmen to be careful of where they slept and ate as there was typhus in the city, especially the east side, called the Bank. This was where many who had tried to escape the poverty and hunger in Ireland had ended up. It was a place they should avoid.

  “Shouldn’t we just keep walking and head for Sunderland?” Michael suggested as they looked around the streets.

  James knew that would be the sensible thing to do.

  “Matthew did say it would only take a couple of days to walk it,” he said, “Let’s buy some bread and ask someone to point us in the right direction.”

  A young girl was begging outside a shop as James and Michael went inside. They purchased some food and asked the baker which of the streets would lead them to the road for Sunderland. Giving them directions, he stepped outside.

  “Go on with you,” he shouted at the frail little thing standing at his door, hands outstretched.

  “Pesky beggars” he said as they watched her shuffle up the street and turn into an alley.

  As James and Michael approached the spot where the young girl had disappeared a pair of small, grubby feet could be seen on the ground sticking out from the laneway. James ran ahead to look around the corner and found her lying in the dirt crying, pitiful sobs shaking her tiny frame.

  He gently picked up the child, asking where she lived. She was as light as a feather and cold as ice.

  “Cross Street,” she said weakly. “Do you know the Bank?”

  “If I carry you can you show us the way? Will your mother be home?” asked James.

  The little girl shook her head.

  “My mother died last week. My daddy will be there.”

  Pleading with James to leave the child make her own way home, Michael followed, at a distance.

  Standing in front of the house the young girl had brought them to, James and Michael had to hold their noses to avoid the stench. They gave her the bread they had bought and watched as she ran inside, her bare feet ankle deep in muck. Both of them turned quickly and ran from the area, not stopping until they were sure the squalor and stench was far behind. Walking in silence, Michael didn’t know whether to be angry with his friend or proud of him.

  After a day and a half’s walk James felt tired and asked Michael to rest up for a while. Finding a field through which a clear, stream flowed, the young men decided it was a good place to get some sleep. There was a small copse of trees at the water’s edge and if it rained at least it would afford some shelter. Night was falling fast, bringing with it a cold breeze. Michael was shivering with the drop in temperature. He watched his friend sleep. There was something different about James. He was shivering too, but there were beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “James, James, wake up.” Michael was worried.

  “I c..c..can’t st..stop sha..k...king,” James was drenched.

  “You have a fever. Could you walk if I helped you? We need to get to your family.”

  Michael took hold of his friend’s hand and pulled. James tried to stand but slumped to the ground within seconds. There was only one thing to do. Taking his coat off, he carefully placed it over James, saying he would go find his brothers and bring them back with him. Filling the jar his mother-in-law had given them with water from the stream, Michael set it beside James and placed a wet cloth across his forehead.

  “Keep sipping the water. I won’t be long, nobody would give us a ride with you as sick as you are, but I might get one on my own. I promise, James, I will be back soon, even if I have to run all the way.”

  Michael ran through the night, until he got a lift on a cart, having promised to help unload it. Following the directions given him by the carter, Michael found the street that the McGrother families lived on. It was still dark as he knocked loudly on the first door he came to. A sleepy old man appeared, a worried look on his face.

  “Where’s the fire, son? What has you calling at this hour of the night?”

  “Please, mister… tell me which house... the McGrother’s live in. Their brother… needs help,” Michael could hardly breathe having run non-stop for almost an hour. He was bent over, hands on his knees taking in huge gulps of air.

  The old man crossed the street and banged on a door. Michael recognized Owen as soon as he laid eyes on him.

  “James is sick, I left him to rest while I ran on ahead. Can you get a cart? We could be there in a few hours with a horse.”

  Everything happened at once. Owen’s wife, Rose, gathered whatever blankets could be spared from her relatives. Someone arrived at the top of the street with a horse and cart. Owen and his wife, along with Michael, climbed onto it. The carter gave the reins to Owen and jumped down, saying the horse would get there quicker with less weight to pull. Michael told them about the young girl James had carried and how they had run from the squalor she was living in.

  “I think he picked up the fever from her,” he said.

  “Typhus doesn’t come on that quick, it would take at least a week. Did you sleep in a crowded place when you arrived in Liverpool or were you kept below deck on the way over?” asked Rose.

  “We stayed above deck all the way over, but some people died on the journey. A doctor looked in our mouths before we were allowed off the boat.”

  Then Michael remembered something.

  “We spent the first night in Liverpool in a crowded ruin of a place because the weather was so bad. James gave his coat to a young family whose children were shivering with the cold. The father gave it back to him next morning.”

  “I don’t think it was just the cold making them shiver. It might have been the fever,” Owen said.

  It wasn’t long before Michael saw the copse of trees and Owen reined in the horse. As the cart came to a halt Michael jumped down. Rose handed him the blankets and a bag containing herbs and medicine. The two of them climbed over the fence and raced up the field, while the horse was being tethered.

  “James, I’m back. Owen and Rose are with me,” shouted Michael running towards his friend, who was sitting up resting against a tree.

  There was a strange look in James’s eyes and he was beating the ground around him with a stick. Michael tried to coax him into drinking some water.

  “He’s delirious,” said Rose standing at a distance. “James, we need to put you in the stream, do you understand what I’m saying?” she shouted.

  Still brandishing the stick, James looked at his sister-in-law and cried out, “Mary, get back. The dogs will eat you, they’re hungry, go home, love. Take care of Catherine.”

  Owen stepped forward to go to his brother but Rose put her arm across his chest, stopping him.

  “Don’t touch him yet. Take off all your clothes. Michael you can leave yours on. You are going to bring James to the stream and hold him down.”

  “Am I to get into the water fully dressed?” asked Michael.

  “It looks like typhus, which is spread by lice,” said Rose, “So James and his clothes are probably c
rawling with them. You may have picked up some yourself. Everything you are wearing will need to be boiled, but for now, dunking will have to do.”

  Owen was already naked, kneeling down beside his youngest brother, having left his clothes in a pile near the cart. Michael helped him remove his friend’s clothing, which was damp with sweat.

  The two men carried James, who was still lashing out at something only he could see. He screamed when they put him into the cold water. It took all their strength to hold him down. Michael freed the stick from his clenched fist. After a few minutes, James’s body relaxed as he passed out. Rose gave them the soap she had brought with her and they laid him on the grass to wash him down. Wrapped in blankets and carried back to the cart, James seemed to be in a restful sleep, in spite of having a rasping cough. Owen picked up his brother’s clothes and held them under the cold water for a few minutes. Rose urged the men to wash themselves with the soap, as a precaution.

  “Come on Michael, let’s make sure we don’t bring any unwelcome guests back with us,” said Owen.

  He stood on the grassy bank and lathered his body, while Michael looked on shivering, still in his wet clothes.

  “What’s wrong with you, boy? Strip off and soap up.”

  Michael turned his head to look at the cart. Realizing that the young man was too embarrassed to stand naked in front of a woman, Owen laughed.

  “Don’t mind our Rose, she works at the infirmary. There’s nothing she hasn’t seen, Michael. Besides, she’s too busy caring for James to be bothered looking at you – and me she can see anytime,” said Owen, throwing the soap.

  Michael caught it and laughed.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said, peeling off his drenched clothing.

  Owen jumped into the stream to rinse off. Before getting dressed, he gathered the wet clothes belonging to James and Michael and tied them into a bundle to hang off the cart. Rose said she would boil them when they got home. The sun was beginning to rise but the air was chilly and Michael shivered, glad of the blanket he had been given.

  “How are you feeling yourself?” Rose asked.

  The young man shrugged his shoulders, “Hungry and cold, but not sick.”

  “You should be alright so. But let me know the minute you feel unwell,” said Rose.

  Michael nodded and looked at James, who was deathly pale. Rose could see how anxious he was about his friend and felt the need to reassure him.

  “He is as strong as a horse. Don’t worry about him. One of the doctors gave me some medicine they use in the infirmary so I could look after a sick neighbour. I still have plenty left. Anyway, not everyone dies from typhus, you know. It’s mostly the old, the very young and those suffering from starvation that do. A weakened body finds it hard to fight off disease.”

  Rose gave Michael another blanket as he was still shivering. The journey back home was a quiet one, with everyone too exhausted to make any attempt at conversation.

  CHAPTER 12

  Rose was sure that James would need to be hospitalized and said so to her husband on the journey home. Owen remained silent for a few minutes, then asked if they would take him in at the infirmary where she worked.

  “Doctor Henshaw will know what’s best. I can’t say for sure, but if it’s typhus he might suggest the workhouse. They have a fever ward,” Rose was preparing him for the worst possible news.

  “The infirmary has a fever ward too, he can go there,” said Owen.

  Rose put a hand on his arm, explaining, “It’s full to the brim, love. The sick are lying on the floor as it is. I just want you to know what might be said.”

  “Nobody belonging to me is going to the workhouse. I will find a place to keep him until he’s recovered. I can take the time off work. We can manage,” Owen meant what he said and there would be no changing his mind.

  James started to cough and tried to sit up.

  “You are not losing your wages on account of me, I’m feeling much better, in spite of the fact that you tried to drown me. I don’t recall much of what happened since Michael left me, but I distinctly remember being plunged into freezing cold water.”

  Rose asked him how long he had been awake and James said he heard her mention typhus.

  “Do you think that’s what I have?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know for sure but that is why we dunked you and your clothes in the river, James,” his sister-in-law replied.

  It wasn’t long before the horse turned into Chester Lane, stopping at the infirmary. They had reached their destination.

  Rose jumped down from the cart as it pulled up, and ran inside. Owen followed carrying his brother, who was beginning to burn up again, leaving Michael to look after the horse. Instructing them to follow him into an examination room, Doctor Henshaw took one look at the way James was breathing and said he didn’t think it was typhus. He checked for the tell-tale rash on his body and other symptoms that would suggest the dreaded disease, some called, the Irish Fever.

  There was an epidemic of typhus in 1847 following the mass migration of starving, impoverished people from Ireland to England, America and Canada.

  After a thorough examination the doctor informed James that he was suffering from pneumonia. Owen smiled and slapped his brother on the back, which set off another fit of coughing.

  Rose gasped and said, “We put him in a stream and then lathered him with soap. I was afraid he would infect us. Did we make him worse?”

  She knew how serious an illness pneumonia was. Doctor Henshaw put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Not at all, Rose. That’s what brought his temperature down, but he does need to keep warm.”

  He gave her instructions on how to care for James, most of which she already knew.

  A lot of people had gathered in the street to await the return of the cart. Rose cautioned James to avoid coughing, so as not to alarm anyone. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. A hush came over the crowd as James was carried by Owen into the house. Michael followed, embarrassed to be among so many strangers wearing only a blanket. Everyone moved away, fearing the worst at the sight of the unconscious young man.

  “Is it the fever?” someone asked.

  Rose told them that he had pneumonia, not the fever, and had been seen by a doctor.

  “He should be in the infirmary, it’s wrong of you to bring sickness into our street, Owen, even if it is your brother,” a woman shouted out.

  “How do we know what you say is the truth?” a voice at the back of the crowd piped up.

  Rose turned to face her neighbours before entering the house.

  “How many of you have been nursed through an illness by me?” she asked.

  An uneasy silence hung in the air.

  “Did I ever turn anyone away from my door? There is no need to worry. If I am prepared to let James into my home with my children inside, then you should not be afraid to have him in the street. Nobody is asking you to pay him a visit. Now go back about your business and let us get on with ours.”

  With that, Rose went inside and slammed the door shut with such force it made those who were standing nearby jump.

  James had been placed upstairs in the children’s bed. He was to have that room to himself for the next few weeks. Rose sat by the range and pulled her youngest son up onto her lap.

  “No need to be so glum, Jamie,” she said, “Your uncle James will be right as rain in no time.”

  Owen sat beside her, warming himself by the fire.

  “It’s been a long time since I ran naked through a field, Rosie love. Not a very pleasant thing to do at this time of year. I might get sick myself, then you’ll have to nurse me, too.”

  He pulled her close, a strong arm circling her waist.

  “You’ve never been a day sick in your life, Owen McGrother,” Rose said, tickling the little boy on her knee.

  “Your daddy is just looking to skive off work, isn’t he?”

  As young Jamie squirmed and laughed, the memory of the twin da
ughters they lost to measles just a few years before came flooding back to Owen.

  “The doctor is right about the pneumonia, isn’t he? I meant what I said earlier about staying somewhere with James until he got better,” he said solemnly.

  Rose took his big, calloused hand in hers. She traced every scar with her finger, reminding herself of how hard he worked at the forge to keep them warm and fed. Owen was the eldest in his family and sixteen years older than James. He had been like a father to his youngest brother since the death of their parents. Rose knew what the young man meant to her husband.

  “If I felt our children were in any danger I would never have put your brother in their room. They will be sharing with us anyway, and your sister Maggie will be here when I’m at work during the day – to make sure this young scallywag doesn’t get in to disturb his uncle.”

  Again, she tickled her son before allowing him to wriggle free. Owen remarked that the neighbours were not too happy about the situation.

  “Never mind that lot, a person can’t have an innocent sneeze without them going into a panic,” said Rose.

  She stood up and began to prepare breakfast. Michael, who had fallen asleep on a bench against the wall, was snoring loudly.

  “I’m glad he is staying with Maggie. That noise would wake the dead,” she laughed.

  CHAPTER 13

  A loud knock woke Catherine from her afternoon nap. Mary ran to the door, annoyed at whoever was interrupting her daughter’s sleep. On the doorstep stood one of Paddy Mac’s children.

  “Mary – sorry, I mean Mrs. McGrother – can you come to our house, Mammy has news for you. She says you’re not to worry, but it’s about your husband.”

  There was a loud screech out of the startled baby as Mary grabbed her from a warm bed. The young boy put his hands over his ears

  “She sure can make a noise, can’t she?” he said.