‘Grab some bunks, Mary, quick, make a run for it.’ Dragging the children with her, Nell gathered up their baggage and flung the whole lot towards two bunks, one on top of the other. She shoved the bucket and pot under the lower one. Another woman was trying to put a blanket on the top bunk.
‘Mrs, my children are sitting in that bunk, have you no eyes in your head?’ yelled Nell.
‘There’s no windows, Mammy,’ wailed Mary.
‘No single bunks,’ shouted a ginger-haired sailor. ‘Two or three to a bunk. We’re heavily booked so everyone shares.’
Peggy stood rooted to the spot. She felt so alone she just didn’t know what to do. Suddenly Nell ran over, grabbed Peggy’s bundle and threw it on the top bunk with the girls’ things.
‘Peggy, aren’t you in a right daze. Sure, you’ll be sleeping with Nellie and Mary. I’ll be below with the boys. We’ll stick together through all this.’
Silent, Peggy climbed up on top. She sat on the worn wooden slats and watched the chaos all around her. As every family came aboard the mad scramble for a place became desperate. Single people, widows and orphans stood in the centre of the steerage area, unsure what they should do. In the end, a sailor allotted them a space to share. It was humiliating. God knows how it would be having to share such closeness with total strangers, thought Peggy.
Down below, Nell had relaxed and was chatting to the woman in the bunk beside her. ‘The minute I saw this place I was determined it would be ours. Look, Mrs, there’s a little hatch there to let some air in and the table is near enough without being too close, if you get my meaning, and isn’t there the extra bonus of a nice neighbour like yourself thrown in.
‘I’m Nell Molloy and this is my brood – Mary, young Nellie, Thomas and Tim – and not forgetting Peggy O’Driscoll, as near family as you can get.’
Peggy smiled but was too busy watching all that was going on to want to get involved in stories and family histories. Along the centre of the lower deck were fixed sturdy oak tables with a long bench on either side. This was their dining area; obviously they would take turns using the tables.
Within an hour and a half, calm had descended on The Fortunata.
It was dim and gloomy down below. Peggy couldn’t believe that this dreadful place was where she would spend the next five to six weeks. She could see so much in the faces of fellow passengers – excitement, hope, fear and, in a few, utter misery. They all were aware of the noise of water slapping against the wood of the ship’s frame. Suddenly it seemed louder and stronger, and they realised that the ship was casting off and leaving the quayside.
‘We’re away, she’s sailing,’ someone shouted.
At once there was a mad rush up on deck. They formed a human chain all round the ship. No words were spoken as they feasted their eyes on a last look at Ireland. The sailors raced around, some away up above the deck balancing on the tall masts, others dragging on the thick curving ropes as the heavy canvas sails began to catch the wind; and then The Fortunata moved with the tide and slid silently out towards the wide open sea. The journey had begun.
It was dusk when they filed down below. Everyone was aware that there was no going back.
CHAPTER 6
Setting Sail
ON THAT FIRST NIGHT AT SEA there were songs and stories, and by agreement no sad ones, and marvellous tales of emigrants who had become millionaires and had fine clothes and houses now. It was a night to be goodhearted and to try and think of the future, not of the past.
The Fortunata pushed her way through the tranquil seas with darkness all around. The music from below broke the stillness and up on deck the sailors on watch tapped their feet in time, knowing well that though the passengers were in fine fettle the first few days out, time would cure that.
Squashed up with Mary and Nellie on the hard planks with two blankets shared between them and using her old shawl as a pillow, Peggy found it impossible to sleep. There was the constant sound of tossing and turning, of old men groaning and women whispering prayers under their breath – not forgetting the snorers and night walkers. All night Peggy dozed in and out of a fitful sleep. At this rate she would be exhausted by the time they finally reached America.
The next morning it was hot, stuffy and smelly down below. If only they could open a window and let in some cool air and some light. Already the Atlantic ocean had made sure that nearly three-quarters of the passengers were ill. Both Mary and little Nellie were retching and vomiting. The women and children seemed to get it worst. Nell Molloy said a prayer of thanks for having had the sense to bring the tin bucket.
Peggy lay on her side in the bunk. ‘I won’t get sick! I won’t get sick!’ she tried to tell herself, just before she did. She felt clammy and sweaty, and her mouth was dry. Sea-sickness was worse than anything she had ever imagined. She would even have considered jumping overboard if she had been strong enough to get up on deck. Cold sweat and nausea wafted over her, wave after wave, almost to the rhythm of the sea. No one had prepared Peggy for this. She lay still on the bunk for two days, the constant motion attacking her. She could only keep down a few drops of water. Peggy felt such pity for the mothers of little ones trying to manage. The sea was rough and choppy, and clamoured against the boat, trying to seep in. I want to go home! was the thought in her mind every minute.
On the fourth day Peggy could just about sit up. She felt sticky and filthy, but at least the awful rocking feeling had gone. Bill Harvey, a large jovial man, was the kindest of the sailors and when he judged a few of the unfortunate passengers were over the worst of the sickness, he brought them up on top to sit in the fresh breeze. With the aid of a rough damp towel they were able to clean themselves up a bit. Even an hour away from the sourness below was heaven. Overhead the sun blazed. The cook and two assistants were busy stirring up a mess of pork and beans. The smell assaulted Peggy’s senses, but she forced back the feeling of sickness and looked around the upper deck.
The sailors’ quarters, which they’d heard were not much better than their own, were up at the top end and over them were the captain’s rooms. Outside his door was a big basket full of hens who kept up an enormous racket. Hearing the captain barking orders at his cabin boy, Bill sharply ordered the passengers down below again. The captain wanted them out of the way as much as possible.
Nell was busy looking after the children. She had only had a mild dose of sea-sickness but still she didn’t look well. The bell rang and the one cooked meal of the day was ready.
Peggy refused the lunch when Nell offered her some, and she passed it down to Thomas and Tim who were always starving. She sat on her bunk and nibbled one of the dry oatcakes Eily had baked for her. A girl stood near the bunk watching her eat. Her green eyes had smudges of grey under them but her smile was wide and friendly. Peggy patted the space beside her. The girl hopped up.
‘I’m Sarah, Sarah Connolly.’ She grinned.
‘Peggy O’Driscoll from Castletaggart.’
They both reached out at the same time to shake hands. Peggy began to giggle, realising what a sight they both were.
‘Were you sick too?’ asked Peggy.
Sarah nodded. ‘Really bad. I wanted to die.’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘No, I’m with my two older brothers, over there. James is seventeen and John is sixteen.’
Her brothers were sitting at the table, stuffing themselves with the pork and beans.
‘I’m fifteen,’ smiled Sarah. She was small and her thin curly black hair framed a slightly crooked face. But when she smiled her whole self lit up.
‘I’m thirteen, and I’m sort of on my own. My brother Michael was meant to come too but he got a job,’ sighed Peggy, ‘though I have the Molloys, a family from Castletaggart.’
‘Is Castletaggart a nice place?’ asked Sarah.
Peggy had to concentrate hard on the wooden edge of the bunk. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
‘Castletaggart is the best place in the world. My t
wo old great-aunts had a shop there …’
Hours later they were still chatting, sitting side-by-side on the bunk, sharing the ups and downs of their lives. Sarah’s family had been evicted from their farm during the Great Famine. They all moved to the local workhouse and that’s where she grew up. Her mother died there and her father was too confused ever to leave the place. A month ago almost half of all the inhabitants were offered free passage to Boston. There was nothing left for Sarah and her brothers to do but take it and try and start a new life.
‘I’m not sad leaving, Peggy,’ Sarah declared. ‘I’m not leaving anyone behind. I know my father is still there, but in his mind we all died long ago. For the last year or so he could hardly recognise us.’
‘Oh, Sarah, how sad!’ said Peggy.
‘I want a new start, Peggy. Come on, we’ll get a bit of exercise. Let’s walk up and down,’ urged the older girl.
Peggy lowered herself from the bunk. She still felt a bit dizzy. They passed the crowded centre tables. The one near Peggy’s bunk was the women’s. Every bit of seating was used. The children had the run of the bunks to play in. There wasn’t much space to walk, but at least when you had a friend to chat to it wasn’t so bad!
CHAPTER 7
The Storm
GRADUALLY PEGGY GOT HER APPETITE BACK. Then like the other passengers she was starving most of the time. She nibbled the oatcakes sparingly, each mouthful a reminder of home and what once had been. The sea was getting rougher and rougher. It was best to stay on the bunk.
Sarah had her hands full, as one of her brothers was badly sea-sick and demanding constant attention.
‘I’ll talk to you later, Peggy! It’s just that John needs me now.’
Nell Molloy tried to cheer her up but most of her gossip involved husbands or babies or women’s complaints. She treated Peggy the same as her own children and told her to ‘run off and play’ when she was talking to the other women.
‘There’s a storm blowing, mark my words,’ announced Nell.
An enormous swell of waves pushed against the side of the ship. The motion was becoming unsteady. No meal was served.
Bill Harvey shouted down to them all: ‘Stay in your bunks. Women, mind those children and try to tie up your belongings. We’re in for gale-force winds and the eye of a storm.’
Left on their own in the gloom down below, panic began to spread among the passengers. Sea water seeped through the boards and covered the floor. As soon as the wind began to howl the children started to cry. The ship rocked from side to side. Everyone held on tight to the sides of the bunks.
‘Stay where you are!’ yelled the men. The huge water barrel broke from its holding and bashed against the lower bunks, all the fresh water spilling into the salt water. Broken oatcakes floated on it. Within an hour the whole of steerage was flooded.
Three small children were flung from the lower bunk into the water. The water shifted and swirled around them as they cried for help. Broken pieces of wood and storage tins and barrels crashed against the walls. Everyone was shouting.
‘Save them! Save them!’
Sarah’s brother, James Connolly, and the children’s father tried to work their way to them. They were flung violently from side to side. The little girl was screaming and clinging on to the leg of a table. Her brother kept trying to stand, but slipped time after time. The two men finally managed to grab them both and hoist them up on to an upper bunk.
‘Everyone up in the top bunks,’ shouted the children’s father. A mad scramble followed. James was frantically feeling round in the water for the third child. Finally he pulled the little two-year-old from under the water. A hush fell on the passengers. Once James lifted him up to the outstretched hands waiting to grasp him, the child began to cough and choke, and water poured from his lungs and mouth.
The men pounded against the battened-down hatches. ‘Let us up on deck. We’ll be drowned like rats down here,’ they shouted. ‘We’re not criminals!’
All their pleas were lost in the screaming winds and mountainous waves that battered The Fortunata.
Mary Molloy was flung like a doll against the bunk. Her face was cut and her arm hung limp from her side, broken.
‘Pray, my pets. Pray to God. He’s the only one can save us now,’ urged Nell.
No matter how she hung on, Peggy could feel herself being torn from the bunk every time the ship heaved. She clung to the side of her bunk, terrified of the blackness below. Suddenly she was in it! She gulped down mouthfuls of the salt water. It almost choked her, and stung her eyes and filled her nostrils. In the darkness she felt for the edge of a bunk and tried to pull herself up. Her arms and body were too heavy for her. Then Sarah and James were dragging her up towards them. She was freezing cold and her teeth were chattering.
‘It’s all right, Peggy, we’ve got you,’ said Sarah comfortingly.
Peggy shut her eyes, and shivers ran through her. Sarah held her hand tightly. Wave after wave smashed against the sides of the ship. Water was coming down on them from above too. A huge cracking sound came from the top deck.
‘Don’t let it be the main mast,’ prayed John and James.
The whisper of the ‘Our Father’ began, and one by one more and more voices joined in. Finally Peggy fell asleep with the words of the prayer ringing in her ears. She dreamt of Michael sitting on a big white horse galloping across a green field.
* * *
‘Get up! Get up, Peggy. It’s all over. The storm is over.’ Sarah was awake beside her.
Peggy’s head felt muzzy and every bone in her body ached. But the ship was calm at last. Men, women and children began to stir in the upper bunks. Their clothes and blankets were sodden. Favourite possessions lay smashed and floating in the water beneath them.
James was standing with a crowd of men trying to get the captain to open the hatch. Peggy climbed down to the lower bunk and crept along till she got to the Molloys. Tim was crying.
‘Are you all right, Nell?’
‘I think I’m still in one piece,’ joked the woman. ‘The children are all half-dead with the fright and the cold.’
Peggy felt a shudder of relief run through her.
‘It’s all right, Peggy pet. We’ve all had a close escape.’
‘How’s Mary’s arm?’
‘Broken, most like, but broken bones mend.’
An hour later everyone was up on deck. The sailors were tired too – they had been doing their utmost to keep the ship afloat. The main sail had been battered and torn and the masts needed repairing. One sailor had been washed overboard at the height of the storm. Blankets were spread out to dry. A woman was wailing that she’d lost her baby.
A member of the crew appeared with the passenger list and called out the names. The baby and an old man were the only people missing. The crew found them when they were baling out the lower deck. Both had slipped under the water and drowned. At midday everyone huddled together as the captain read a few prayers from his Bible over them.
The two bodies, wrapped in blankets, were lifted up on deck, one large and the other – oh so small! Horrified, Peggy clenched her eyes shut as the two bundles were tossed overboard. Sarah sobbed out loud and James hid her face against his chest. The baby’s mother screamed and screamed. All of a sudden she made a run to the side of the ship as if she was going to throw herself overboard after the child – but her husband and another man caught hold of her just in time. Her sobbing and moaning continued on and on. Peggy stared, fascinated and disgusted, as the waves washed over the first grey floating packet. Soon it begin to sink. The smaller bundle bobbed in the eddy of the ship as if reluctant to disappear. Peggy didn’t know why but she began to cry too, crying for an old man and a little baby she never knew.
CHAPTER 8
The Long Voyage
FIVE, STINKING, ROTTEN, smelly, disgusting weeks. Peggy had thirty-five straws – well, parts of straws – one for each day, clustered together in a small pile. Every morning and every eve
ning she counted them. Thirty-five days on this festering bit of wood they called a ship. Find your fortune – start a new life – go to a land of promise! It felt as if a joke was being played on them, and at times Peggy was so angry she could have strangled someone – but who? – with her bare hands. Cramped in her bunk on The Fortunata with two of the Molloy children leaning up against her, Peggy urged herself to stay calm, stay well – to survive and get to America. Only a few more straws to add to the pile and then a new life lay ahead.
‘Slops time,’ shouted a sailor, opening the hatch. A glorious waft of fresh air flooded the lower deck. Mothers shook sleeping children and urged them to draw in the air.
Peggy looked over at Mrs Molloy. She looked sick, and one of the younger children lay beside her, ill now with cabin fever because of the stuffy conditions. She nodded to Peggy.
Peggy wrinkled her nose and grabbed the handle of the very full bucket. She tightened her nostrils and clenched her lips – it was best not to think about its contents but just concentrate on getting up the rickety steps and on to the top deck to empty the whole damn lot over the side.
‘It’s breezy on top, so take care which way it blows,’ joked a sailor.
Peggy stood on the sloping deck, pretending to be trying to guess which way the wind was blowing. The waves were lashing against the side of the ship. As the clouds moved in the sky, the water spread all around like a blue and green blanket. In some parts the sea was so green it was like a small field and in others it was so dark it was almost black. This was her third time up on top this week. She gulped in the air, letting it fill her lungs. The wind caught her hair and lashed it wildly to one side – she hoped some of the bugs would get blown away too. She imagined them being blown from her clothes and into the vast expanse of nothingness that lay all around.
Wildflower Girl (Children of the Famine) Page 4
