Men of No Property

by Dorothy Salisbury Davis

  On the third night of the torpid stillness Peg was aware of a stirring. Norah and the child lay asleep. When she recognized Vinnie creeping by she watched him as far as a few bunks and closed her eyes again. She was dozing off when she heard him scream and without quite realizing what she was doing she darted out of the bunk and across the aisle. The boy and a man were threshing and howling. “Thievin’ my gold” and “Crackin’ my ear” cried one and the other, and as she tried to pull them apart she was tumbled on top of them. As sudden as life the entire hold was crawling and leaping with angry men and women. Some tore at her and some with her, women clawing her face and spitting names at her as foul as their breath. When she saw Norah trying to flail a way across to her and beaten back entirely, the fear thickened her throat beyond speech. Men clogged the aisle, threshing one another, breaking open barrels and heads alike. The fiends in hell behaved no wilder.

  Then from the hatchway the priest leaped like a black bird upon them beneath him and strove to pull one man from another. He was sucked down in their midst, swallowed, then disgorged again by the cursing, groaning men—imploring them in God’s name and by the saints they honored, his words like so many more blasphemies, until he was quieted by a blow. When he fell still they moved suddenly back from him. The women held their tongues a moment.

  “Jasus, we’ve flattened the priest!” a man cried. Then did the women set up lamentation.

  Slowly Farrell got to his feet and wiped a smear of blood from his face. He looked from one man to another and then drew a deep, rasping breath as though he had to suck the atmosphere to find air in it. He looked up to the hatchway where the grinning faces of the seamen hung round, as many as could crowd the space.

  “Get out from there!” he shouted. “The carnival’s over, shut up for the night!”

  When they were gone he turned back to the people. “How did it start?”

  The men were silent, looking down to the floor.

  “Can none of you say even that when you were all in it?”

  “Oh, I’ll tell ’ee, Father,” a woman finally cried. “It were the bold she!”

  And as though one tongue had fifty prongs, the others joined their abuses to hers. One phrase rang out above the chorus: “She’s a devil to be cast out!”

  “The Lord Himself said,” Farrell called out, his voice near a chant, “the Lord said ‘which of you will cast the first stone?’”

  “I’ll cast it, oh Lord, I’ll cast it quick!” a harpie to the fore screamed. She flung around clutching the air as though a stone were in it. “Send her up where I’ll call her! Slut an’ strumpet o’ hell! I seen her climb in on the man. Send her up an’ let the priest shrive her or drive her out or we’ll murder her truly.”

  Cries of approval went up like hallelujahs.

  The women surged back to surround her, and then writhing snake-like as she was hauled from one to another, Margaret Hickey was brought to the man’s feet. Norah spun and twisted, trying to follow.

  “I’m not a priest!” Farrell shouted. He tore the buttons from the cassock as he pulled it off and flung it into their midst. Madness it was, but in the way of an act of madness where there is no sanity, the gesture took on an enormous logic. The people fell away from the priestly frock as though it were enchanted, moans and shrieks of fear rising from those it chanced to fall upon.

  Norah Hickey gave it all meaning. “Father, don’t abandon us in our agony!” she called out. “Father, forgive us.”

  The mea culpas started as one and another fell to his knees.

  “Exorcise her!” the harpie cried. “Exorcise her!”

  Peg stood, her head up. Her breast was near bare, her bodice shredded, but she raised not a hand to cover it. I will not bow down, she thought, I will not though he strike me before them, for his face was wrathful. “I did nothing,” she said, and her eyes held on his face until he himself looked away.

  “I have no powers of exorcism,” he said and then looked again upon her. It was not wrath she saw in his eyes now, but a sudden searching desire, the sight of which trembled her body. She was near to fainting.

  Farrell lifted his voice in a pained cry: “I am as full of lust and sin as any man.” Then he bowed his head. “Let us pray God together for our deliverance. Let Him lift us up in the palm of His Hand, and set us down soon, free men on free land. Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallow’d be Thy name…”

  They prayed the Lord’s Prayer through with him, and he the Hail Mary with them, and Peg kneeled to it, setting her mind against the faintness with the praying. Had he not confessed himself of lust she would have thought that instant the terrible fancy of her own mind.

  “Go back to your bunks,” he said when the prayers were done. “Our enemies do not deserve that we kill one another in their stead.”

  “Ah, Father, if only we could get a bit o’ sky down here to look into,” an old woman crooned.

  “I shall see to it,” he said. “Margaret Hickey, you will come up with me for a while.”

  “I’ll stay where I belong, wanted or no,” Peg said.

  “I ask it,” he said quietly. “I do not command it.”

  When the aisle was empty he picked up the cassock and folded it over his arm. His shirt was soaked with blood and sweat. Peg went up the steps with him.

  “Let them come up fifty at a time and get some air,” he said to the captain who waited him at the hatchway.

  “Will they come peaceably?”

  “They will.”

  “See to it,” the captain bade the mate. “What about her?”

  “She will compose herself in my cabin and go down with her sister at the last. And I should set Lavery free if I were you, sir.”

  “Do you tell me, Mr. Russell, that the ruction you settled down there was on Lavery’s behalf?”

  “No sir,” Farrell said, “but I tell you the longer you confine the man, the greater their anger with this woman.”

  “Ah,” the captain said. “That may be the truth.”

  “The truth, sir, is that you are responsible for the discipline of your own men. You have no right to imprison a passenger in order to set them an example.”

  “When this vessel is on the high seas, Mr. Russell, there is nothing beyond my right. You are arrogant beyond your station.”

  “I am arrogant then,” Farrell said wearily, “because I believe humility is without reward. The ship, sir, stinks with foulness. I would that every pound note she earns stank as foul in the pockets of the men who put her to sea.”

  “She was clean leaving port,” the captain said.

  “So were her passengers!”

  “No sir, they were not, and if you were honest you would see it. Let me tell you, Reverend sir, I’d as soon command a ship of niggers.”

  “And you call yourself a Republican,” Farrell said scornfully.

  “No sir. I call myself by no such name. I say that men worthy of freedom are free, and I will consort with free men anywhere. Some call that Republicanism. Let me tell you a bitter truth: the slaves of South Carolina are as capable of self-determination as your countrymen below. You will not be long in America when you’ll see it for yourself. They are mastered by the priest and the politician. And if you are a priest, sir, which I doubt and which I care not—you will do well to scour your flock and teach them to think as well as to pray before proclaiming them free men and democrats, for I tell you, sir, democracy in the hands of the ignorant is a dangerous weapon. I should rather serve a king than a slave.”

  Farrell stood through the tirade even, Peg thought, as she had stood below, and when it was done he said only: “Let them up and give them each a measure of water, sir. A humane man could do no less.”

  The captain turned on his heel, but ordered a half-measure round.

  “Is he right about us?” Peg said.

  “If you believe him, he is right.”

  “Do you, Stephen Farrell?”

  “I would rather die than say it.”

  He
guided her to his cabin and left her within it. She was aware of the vigil he walked nearby until Norah came, and aware, too, she became in the quiet light of the sluggish lamp of the few books and papers of the man, his shaving cup, the water jug from which he must drink, the slop crock, the coarse linen towel which she dared presently to touch, to lift to her face, and into it she wept her sudden tears.

  7

  LAVERY FELT THAT HELL would hold no tortures for him, for hell at least would be his lot if he earned it. Sometimes, throwing himself against the planks within his reach, he found the pain a pleasure, a diversion from the dread monotony. The only distraction otherwise was the rare visits of idle seamen who came to gibe at him and ridicule his small success with the woman. They regaled him with tales of their own prowess, their seductions the world over. Better no distraction, better the recollection of every description of hell he sat through in church of a mission day.

  Many times for comfort he thought about the boy, Vinnie. Of all on board, he told himself, Vinnie Dunne was the only one he cared a tinker’s damn for. The lad had guts and a wily ken of people. He could play the dwarf or blow up his station to that of a man, depending on the nature of his benefactor. And by the God in heaven, Dennis swore, he’d make America his benefactor, that lad would. What a son his father was getting, and a lamb for a daughter he could fancify and bait a new wife with!

  The new wife was a notion he had picked up from Norah Hickey. Did she, Dennis wondered, picture herself in the part? Was that in her mind, mothering the baby Emma all the time? She had the hermit’s fear of sin whenever she thought of New York. And nothing would soothe her short of a snug nest to climb into. Och…There was no blaming her for that, flying her life at the crack end of her sister’s whip.

  He learned to sleep through crashing and wheezing, and to wake only when there was no sleep left in him, or sometimes when the rats skipped over him. He woke screaming curses at them that night, and then, when he was still, he heard his name called softly.

  “Eh? Is there someone there?”

  “Aye, it’s me, Vinnie. Are ye havin’ a nightmare, Dennis?”

  “If I am, you’re in it. Where are you, lad?”

  “I’m at the bottom o’ the ladder an’ it’s dark as a public shit-house.”

  “That’s no talk for a boy. You’re learnin’ from the British navy.”

  “Will you come get me, Dennis?”

  “How can I come get you and me anchored here like a bull in pasture?” He guided him then with his voice, and finally when the boy came within his reach, he caught him up in his arms and hugged him.

  “Eee,” Vinnie said. “Put me down. Ye stink terrible.”

  “Aye and I’m crawlin’ with nits.”

  “Me granny uster scratch me raw chasin’ after them. Are ye chained?”

  “I am. By the leg.”

  “Bastards,” the boy said.

  “How did you get down past them? Is it night or day?”

  “’Tis comin’ midnight. I brought you a bit o’ bacy on a biscuit.”

  “God bless you, lad, but I’m hungrier for talk. How long are we out from the land?”

  “Twenty days. Will ye quit pawin’ me, Dennis? It’s makin’ me skin crawl.”

  “There, lad, you mustn’t mind. I’m that starved.” He pulled the boy down to the bench where they could sit side by side. He was ashamed, wanting to hold Vinnie’s hand. He sat very stiff, that no part of him should touch the boy. The moment’s silence between them was as terrible to him as a night of it. “Will you talk to me,” he cried out, “or what did you come for?”

  “Yer gettin’ queer,” Vinnie said. “They was sayin’ you’d be techy.”

  “Who was sayin’?”

  “All them with us, and her.”

  “The devil take her,” Dennis said.

  “Did you give it to her good, Dennis?”

  The fury exploded like lightning in his head. Dennis lept from the bench until the pain from the clamp on his leg tore through him. “You’re a whelp of hell,” he cried at the boy, “comin’ down to torment me.” To his greater shame then, he could not control a fit of tears and sobbing that overcame him. They were right above. He was losing hold on his reason.

  Vinnie went after him and caught his hand, squeezing it, hugging it to him, until he got the man to yield and grope the way back to the bench with him.

  “I didn’t mean nothin’, Dennis. I’m more a man nor I look. She’s chippy by me.”

  Sweet Jesus, Dennis thought, weighing the boy’s words for a moment. Even the children first trying on breeches took after her. He drew a deep breath to steady himself. “You don’t know what it’s all about,” he said, wishing it were so.

  “I know more’n you think.”

  That you do, Dennis thought. The children on the Dublin streets were wiser in their time than he in his. He said nothing, breathing deeply of the dead air.

  “Are ye all right, Dennis?”

  “I’m weak,” he said. He could feel the cold sweat oozing out of his body. “I’m that weak.”

  “Have ye the biscuit by?”

  “I have in my pocket.”

  “Then swally it down. It be runnin’ wi’ grease and’ll slide down easy.”

  Dennis obeyed him and presently did feel stronger. “What’s gone on since I’m exiled?”

  “There was a grand fight wi’ us tonight. Did ye not hear it?”

  Dennis wiped his face on his sleeve. “I did and I didn’t. I thought I dreamt it. Was it her again?”

  “She was on my side in it. Oul’ McCarthy it was started it…”

  Dennis remembered McCarthy, a complainer from his cradle until he found the right coffin. He could hear the spit in the boy’s mouth as though there were taste to the tale he had to tell.

  “It started wi’ him bellyachin’ all day on Emmy’s cryin’…”

  “Is the little one sick?” Dennis interrupted.

  “No worsen all of us. Snivelin’, she’s always snivelin’.”

  “Maybe there’s somethin’ wrong with her,” Dennis said.

  “What’d be wrong wi’ her save somit she et an’ she’s givin’ that up fast as they get it down her so what’d be wrong wi’ her?”

  “All right, all right. I thought I’d ask itself.”

  “Is it her or the fight you want to hear on?”

  “Get on with the fight. You’re crabbed as an old man.”

  “Well McCarthy’s complainin’ all day, did ye get that?”

  “I got it.”

  “So over goes I tonight to even the score. I’d a rat by the tail, ye see, to put i’ the bunk wi’ him. But he grabs me afore I can swing it on him an’ it flies into the bunk across an’ the woman starts screamin’. By this time McCarthy’s batin’ me to a pulp an’ sayin’ I’m thievin’ his gold. Then over comes Peg and he pulls her in atop us, an’ with the other one screamin’ afore I know what’s happenin’ at all, half the ship is pullin’ us out of the bunk, howlin’ an’ cursin’ an’ tearin’ every bloody thing in sight to ribbons.”

  “You’ve a fine way with a story for the age on you,” Dennis said. “Yous must’ve had the whole bloody ship down on you.”

  “Nary a man dassed it save the priest.”

  “With soothin’ words and a bottle o’ honey,” Dennis said sarcastically.

  “He soured the fight sure. I wasn’t listenin’. They hauled Peg up to him and he throwed his cassock at her.”

  “That he might,” said Dennis. “It was no fit on him.”

  “He gave her down a book t’other day. She’s all the time readin’ me out o’ it. I can’t make head nor tail o’ it, but she’s daftin’ over it.”

  “Is she daft now over him?”

  “Eeh?”

  “The priest. Is she trailin’ after him now?”

  “What’d she do that for?” the boy said. “She seen him and got the book for penance.”

  “The great penance it must be and her sharin’ it
with you.”

  “She says she’s a terrible sinner, but I don’t think it, do you, Dennis?”

  “Are you askin’ or tellin’, you little owl?”

  “I’m tellin’ and leavin’ out the best part o’ the story.” The boy whispered then: “Is there somit down here wi’ us?”

  “None with two legs,” Dennis said.

  The boy tugged at his sleeve. “Oul’ McCarthy did have a bag o’ gold sovereigns. I got me fist into them durin’ the fight.”

  Dennis thought about that. For all his poverty, he had never stolen more in his life than a jujube drop from a tray of sweets.

  “So now they’ve thrun you down with me,” he said.

  “Na-a-w,” the boy said boastfully. “But it cost me one o’ them to the bloody watch gettin’ me down here to see you.”

  “Don’t be blamin’ your thievin’ onto me,” Dennis said. “If I was your da I’d give you a thrashin’ for it.”

  “Yer not old enough to be me da, Peg says so.”

  “Was she in the bag with you?”

  “I’ll shell her out half for startin’ the fight.”

  “The devil take back her soul where it came from,” Dennis swore, “connivin’ with a chile to plunder the unfortunate.”

  “No connivin’,” the boy said. “She came on me under his bed-tick, an’ what else can I do but share alike wi’ her?”

  “And what of McCarthy and his life savin’s? Did a thought of that never come to the two of yous?”

  “Didn’t he pinch ’em afore us? Where else ’ud he get ’em?”

  “Have you the proof of that, lad?” Dennis said, trying in his mind to find the best way of saving the boy.