by Ann Moore
“She’s tired now, Alice. Let her rest.”
“She’s dying!” Alice gripped Grace’s shirt. “I couldn’t keep her warm enough, and now she’s too hot and I can’t cool her down. And it’s so wet … it’s so wet down here. She’s soiled herself, but I can’t clean her. For the love of God, Grace, do something. Get us off this boat! It’s the boat that’s killing her. Oh, God, I should never’ve taken us away.”
“Alice.” Grace kept her voice low, but firm. “Alice, stop. You know there’s no getting off the boat. It’s not the boat. She’s sick, is all. She’s been sick before. I’ll help you now. We’ll clean her up and get some tea in her, wrap her up in extra blankets. You’re tired, Alice. We’ll all tired. But we’ll get through this.”
She looked at the child, who was shivering now though beads of sweat clung to her brow. The air was foul, but when she moved her head away, she realized how many others were sick, as well. The stench of dysentery and vomitus filled the air, as did the groans of the old and the whimpers of the very young. As others awoke and realized that they, too, were ill, panicked cries for water joined the chorus.
“Liam,” Grace commanded. “Liam, where are you?”
He appeared out of the gloom. “I’m sitting at the top of the stair,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “The smell’s awful down here.”
“Aye. ’Tis real bad.” She paused, thinking. “I want you to find Captain Reinders. Tell him we’ve got fever here. We need water brought down and the doctor. Can you do that, boy?”
He nodded.
“Be careful up there,” she warned. “The deck is slippery and you could be knocked right off your feet. Go now, and come straight back.”
He was away and pounding up the stairs before the words were out of her mouth.
“The doctor will come now,” she reassured Alice. “He’ll know what to do, and we’ll get them to leave the hatch open, change out this bad air for fresh.” She took her friend’s hand. “I’ve got to check on Mary Kate. Then I’ll be right back.”
The air was a little fresher near the front as they caught every blast that came when someone went in or out; still, the smell of sickness clung to the blankets and clothes. She placed a hand on the warm bundle that lay peacefully on their bunk, rousing her gently.
“Wake up, child,” she murmured. “Wake up now and come away from your dreams.”
Mary Kate opened her eyes and sat up, blinking hard and reaching for her mother. She yawned, then coughed.
“Whoosh,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Aye.” Grace brushed the unruly hair back from her daughter’s face, a face that was blessedly cool to the touch.
“Are folk sick?”
“They are,” Grace told her. “And we’d do best to keep ourselves out of it.”
“Is Siobahn dead, then?” she asked, and Grace’s heart lurched that her daughter could ask that question so soberly.
“Ah, no, girl! Siobahn’s sick, true enough, but her mother’s with her and Liam’s gone for the doctor. We must hope for the best in all things,” Grace said, wondering what that might mean to a child who had grown up surrounded by misery, to whom illness, starvation, and death were everyday facts of life. “Get your cloak. And put on your boots. We’ll get our food as soon as Liam comes back.”
Mary Kate did as she was told, but when Liam came down the hold there was no doctor behind him and the boy’s face registered his anger.
“Ah, he’s a great eejit of a man.” Liam snatched off his cap. “The captain orders him come right away, but he says he must have a good meal first! And after the meal, there’s coffee to be had and then his pipe, and then his daily constitutional!” Here, the boy’s curiosity got the better of his disgust. “What’s a constitutional, then?”
Grace shrugged. “Another thing to keep him from coming down, sounds like. Where’s the captain now?”
“In the bow with Mister Mackley, the first mate. They sent that Boardham to tell the doctor and I come along to show him the way.” He glared, his anger fully returned.
“Did you tell the captain?”
“He wouldn’t let me! Boardham, I mean. Said the doctor would come when he was ready, and I was to leave off the captain as he had enough to attend to what with the storm coming and all.”
“Is there to be a storm then?” Grace asked, suddenly aware of the worsening pitch of the ship, the lanterns swaying on their hooks, the groans of the timber.
“Oh, aye!” Liam’s eyes sparkled. “A terrific one! Just ahead is a great black cloud that swirls above the sea and the captain says we’re in for it.” He clapped his hands in excitement. “I’m going up to watch!”
Grace caught hold of his shirttail. “Oh, no, you’re not!” she ordered. “You’re going to stay right here with Mary Kate while I get our food and water. We may be stuck here awhile.”
He crossed his arms and turned his head away in a huff.
“I’ll tell you what,” she bribed. “If the storm’s not hit by the time I come back, we’ll put on cloaks and go up into the air, the three of us. But you must do everything I say—do you hear me now, Liam?”
He nodded grudgingly.
“And if the doctor comes, you show him to your sister right away. Until then, you stay right here with Mary Kate. Understand me?”
Again he nodded stiffly, letting her know it was far beneath his dignity to be a mere baby minder; but by the time she’d prepared herself to go up, he was sitting cross-legged on the bunk across from Mary Kate and entertaining her with a hand-clapping game, his dignity set aside.
Stepping onto the deck, Grace was hit with a blast of wind; she wrestled the hatch closed behind her, then put her head down and pushed forward, moving from post to post to keep from being blown over. The sky was nearly as dark as night, but the thick, swirling mass of driving rain that lay just ahead was blacker still. Captain Reinders stood at the helm, hand to his mouth, shouting orders into the wind. Crewmen clambered down from the rigging, having reset and tied off the sails, while the rest moved quickly to secure the deck. There was a grim urgency to their work that chilled her heart, but she fought her way to the galley and pushed open the door.
“Yer late!” the cook yelled. “I’ve stowed it all away! Can’t you see we’re in for terrible heavy weather, you stupid woman?”
“Please,” Grace shouted above the howl of the wind. “Anything!”
He untied a cupboard and pulled out a greasy packet. “Fried bread,” he growled, shoving it at her. “Butter and cheese.”
She stuffed it into her basket and thanked him profusely.
“Take these.” He pushed three boiled eggs into her hands. “And this.” He’d already filled a crock with tea. “Don’t come up again if it’s bad,” he warned. “You’ll go right overboard and no one to fish you out.”
“Thank you!” Grace shouted. “Bless you!”
The wind was even worse now, and the rain pelted against her face, blinding her. She fought her way back to the steep stairwell, forced open the hatch, then climbed down into the hold, which was warm and dry for an instant, then close and overpowering.
“Come sit on the stair,” she beckoned Liam and Mary Kate, and they followed her halfway up where the smell was not so bad.
She undid the parcel and gave them each a slice of fried bread, wiping the butter with it first. They practically inhaled it, and then the cheese and eggs, all washed down with tea.
“There’ll be no going back up,” she warned them, looking straight at Liam. “The wind is fierce. It’s not safe.”
“Where will we pee, then?” Liam asked. “And what about the water for Mam and Siobahn?”
“I’ve a little water left from yesterday,” she said, thinking aloud. “If you can’t hold on to yourself, then pee in the pot by our bunk. But don’t miss!” she admonished. “’Tis bad enough down here.”
Mary Kate looked up at her wide-eyed and nodded solemnly.
“You two stay,” she ordered. “And
don’t move a’tall. I’m going to see to your mother, Liam, and get her to eat something.”
The air was definitely worse as she worked her way into the back of the hold, and she wished there were some way to move the Kelleys closer to the stairwell. There was a time, not too long ago, when she would not have hesitated to bring them all into her own bunk; she recognized this and was ashamed, but could not alter the sorry truth of it. The need to survive made harsher judges of them all—the life of her own child was more important to her than the life of another, no matter how dear. And yet her heart was heavy, knowing how she’d changed.
“Here.” Alice looked up at the sound of Grace’s voice. “You must eat something now or you’ll be no good to her a’tall.” She handed the exhausted woman a boiled egg and a piece of bread, then poured out the rest of the tea in Siobahn’s mug. “Eat and drink, Alice. You must.”
Alice sighed, then nodded and began to peel the egg. Grace felt Siobahn’s face and listened to her shallow breathing; her eyes remained closed and the breath rattled in her chest.
“Where’s the doctor, then?” Alice asked at last.
“Liam says the captain ordered him down, but now a terrible storm is upon us and I don’t know what’s happening. I’ve been up myself,” she said. “’Tis bad—all the crew are making ready and the captain’s busy with getting us safely through.”
“Is he English, the doctor?”
“American,” Grace told her. “But bringing home an English wife.”
Alice’s face fell. “We won’t see himself down here, then,” she said bitterly, picking up her daughter’s hand.
“Ah, now, the captain won’t abide that. If he has to drag the man down himself, you know he will.”
Alice said nothing, but Grace knew she held little hope.
“I’ve set Liam and Mary Kate on the stair. The air’s better there, less chance their falling sick. Why don’t you go sit with them a while? I’ll stay with Siobahn.”
Alice shook her head. “She’ll be wanting her mother when she wakes.” She turned now away from Grace. “She’ll want her mother,” she said again, and lay down beside her sleeping child.
They fought the sea hard for two days and two nights, and when the clouds parted on the morning of the third, Captain Reinders’ exhausted crew breathed a collective sigh of relief and thanked God that not one of them had been lost. When the damage had been assessed and as many as could be spared excused to sleep, the weary captain went down to tell the passengers himself that the worst was over and it was safe to come up.
He expected stink—the latrines had been impossible to use—and he expected grim, frightened faces. But he had not expected the horror of mother’s keening over the bodies of dead children, the foul odor that stung his eyes and stifled his next breath, the baffled, gaping mouths of the dying and the bewildered, accusing eyes that met his own. And when he saw it—his eyes adjusting to the darkness—when he realized what had happened, it nearly broke him.
“Where the hell were you?” Reinders demanded, now back in his cabin.
Draper shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as the ship bounced steadily through the sea.
“Secured in my cabin, Captain, looking out for the welfare of my own wife and children. And calming the others, as needed.”
“What others?”
“My fellow passengers in the upper cabins, of course.” Draper lifted his chin with an air of indignation. “Certainly you did not expect me to risk my safety by attempting to reach those in steerage? A responsible physician owes it to every passenger on board to keep himself alive and well in order to attend them.”
“Every passenger includes those below,” Reinders said, gritting his teeth. “That’s where I sent you before the storm.”
“My good man …”
Reinders brought his fist down on the desk. “How many dead?”
The doctor blinked and looked away, appearing to think. “Thirty-five,” he reported, less indignation in his voice. “Mostly women and children, the elderly.”
“How many ill?”
“About the same—though more men now, and still a number of children.” He removed his spectacles and polished them with a handkerchief drawn from his vest pocket. “Some of these will die, of course,” he added matter-of-factly. “But not all. And there shouldn’t be too many more cases now that the weak have been culled.”
Reinders winced. You coldhearted son of a bitch, he thought. “I want you down there every day, all day, until this is over. Is that understood?”
Draper replaced the spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “Surely, Captain, you don’t require that I exhaust myself and so expose myself to illness. Where would you be then?”
“Exactly where I am now,” Reinders spat. “You’ve proved yourself worthless so far. Let’s see if you can’t improve on that record, or I will report you to the hospital board when we arrive in New York.”
Draper gave a dismissive flick of his handkerchief and turned as if to go. “I am a man of solid reputation, Captain.”
“Times have changed in New York since you’ve been enjoying the fine life in London, Doctor.” Reinders stood, rising to his full height. “There are medical boards now. Standards. Plenty of able doctors. No hospital is going to associate with a man who left hundreds of sick passengers to die in the hold of a ship simply because he didn’t want to get his feet wet.”
Draper eyed him warily.
“So you get your syrups and your pills and whatever else you’ve got in that bag, and you get yourself down there and save as many of those poor wretches as you can,” Reinders ordered. “I’m holding you personally responsible for every death that occurs on my ship for the rest of this voyage. Got that?”
Draper opened his mouth, then closed it again, turned and huffed out of the room, but Reinders had no doubt he’d get his bag of tricks and make haste to the hold. Reinders sank back into his chair again and allowed himself a moment of disbelief, head slumped into his hands. He’d been so proud of the crew and the ship, pulling through that storm, on top of the world this morning, despite his fatigue, when the last cloud blew over and clear skies shone ahead. So proud. And now so humbled.
There was a tight rap on the door.
“Come.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Captain.” Mackley closed the door behind him and handed Reinders a piece of paper. “Here’s the list.”
Reinders sighed, looking it over. “You’ve confirmed it? The names of the dead have been verified by someone else aboard?”
“Yes, sir.” Mackley stood at attention.
Reinders ran down the list again, Donnelly catching his eye—no mark; none by the daughter, either. He was relieved. That was something anyway. And then he remembered the boy and went farther down the list to Kelley; plenty of those and one in the boy’s group was marked: Siobahn, age 5. Must’ve been Liam’s sister, he thought, and rubbed his forehead wearily.
“Excuse me, Captain,” Mackley broke in.
Reinders put the list down on his desk and looked up.
“I’ve got every man I can spare on sewing up the bodies. If you’ll say a few words, we’ll bury them at sunset.”
Reinders nodded. There was a service for burial at sea printed in his captain’s manual and he would read from that. But these were very religious people.
“Any priests aboard?”
“I already thought of that, Captain, and there is one old fellow who’s sick, but still on his feet. Should I ask him to pray or something?”
“Yes.” Reinders pinched the bridge of his nose. “When everyone is up on deck for the burial, I want a detail sent down into the hold. The place reeks. There’ll still be sick passengers down there, and that worm of a doctor had better be in attendance, but give him a few jobs anyway.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll see the hold is scrubbed down and the toilets, too. They flooded during the storm. And what about their bedding, Captain? A lot of it is shitty. Do we throw it overboard?”<
br />
It would be damn uncomfortable for those who did not have any extra blankets, but unless he wanted the illness to spread it would have to go. “Save what you can, but if there’s any question, throw it over.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Mackley retrieved the list. “It’s not your fault, sir,” he offered. “Just bad luck, you know. Those damned medical officers in Liverpool barely run an eye over ’em before they board. And then the storm, and them all being shut up …” His voice trailed off. “Just bad luck,” he finished weakly.
“Excused, Mackley,” Reinders said, not unkindly.
When the first mate had gone, Reinders stood and looked out the porthole at the brisk but settled sea, whitecaps sparkling in the sunlight. He listened to the sound of the waves slapping against the hull, a sound that had always brought him great satisfaction, comfort even, if one were to think in those terms. But it gave him no satisfaction today, brought him not an ounce of comfort. Today, he would bury thirty-five men, women, and children in those waves, and tomorrow he would bury even more. He could only hope that none of his crew fell ill, but if they did, he would bury them as well. No, the sound of the sea and its very vastness were of no comfort today, only reminders of how small and alone each man truly was.
Twelve
SEAN sat at the long table in the Livingstons’ beautiful dining room, each course growing cold until it was whisked away only to be replaced with another. Meat, fowl, fish—it all looked the same to him.
“You’ve not eaten a bite, Mister O’Malley,” Florence murmured in her warm, deep voice. “I had the pheasant done especially for you, in the sauce you liked so well last time you were here.”
“Forgive me, Miss Livingston,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have come tonight. I’m not fit company for your lovely table.”
“Is it your sister?” she inquired gently, her voice low so that others would not hear their private conversation. “You must be quite worried.”
