Our Destiny Is Blood

by Clare Daly

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, if you please!’ he shouted.

  His deep voice, with its heavy Scottish accent, boomed around the crowded room. Silence fell as they all turned their attention to him. He leaned forward on the table, his huge hands spread like plates before him. He looked like he’d been fighting with the sea all his life. His skin was red from the elements and Evelyn guessed, a fondness for alcohol. That was the battle perhaps. The drink and the sea.

  ‘Listen carefully. It concerns your welfare aboard this ship. I draw your attention to the rules of passage. Breaking those rules will not be tolerated and will have repercussions. All passengers will stay below deck in bad weather. On fine days, you will be permitted in small numbers to take air on the deck and cook your food on a deck stove. Here is a list of rations,’ he said pointing to a notice on a centre pillar above the table. ‘These will be distributed to those travelling to America. We expect to reach the port of Liverpool at seven o’clock this evening depending on sailing conditions. Have your trunks ready to be unloaded. Those going on to New York we will set sail at six tomorrow morning. There is no need to disembark. Any ailing passengers may seek the advice of the ship’s Doctor Elliott, and be sure you do if you have a fever, for all our sakes. God speed!’

  He left the room and there was an immediate chatter of conversation, deafening in the confined space. Passengers crowded around the rations list.

  WEEKLY PROVISIONS:

  21 quarts water

  2 1/2 lbs Bread or Biscuit

  1 lbs Flour

  5lbs Oatmeal

  2oz Tea

  1/2 lb sugar

  1/2 lb molasses

  Michael got up to look but Evelyn didn’t care what was on the list. They would have food. That was good enough. For now, they were on a ship bound for America, something she wouldn’t have thought possible, only days before. How quickly everything had changed. She had lost her father, her home. Corcoran had made her suffer and she…well, she had brought a wrath to bear on him, that she never could have imagined. They lunged forward as the ship pulled away from the quay wall. A loud cheer erupted and she let herself rest finally, comforted by the notion that the worst was behind them.

  14

  Someone was shouting – loudly above their heads. She stretched her aching body, stiff from slumber and listened. McGregor was bellowing orders at the crew. Michael stirred beside her. Neither of them had been disturbed by the crossing but from the looks of things, others weren’t so lucky. Many had been sick and while most had availed of the buckets provided, the young did not possess the same self-control. There was vomit on their clothes, on the floor, their bunks. A crewman shouted into the hold: ‘Clarence Dock, Liverpool.’

  Departing passengers gathered their things as people scrambled for their lodgings. Michael threw himself into a low bunk beside Tom and Bill and another young man, who introduced himself as Lawrence Sherlock. Lawrence was from Portlaoise he told them, and with starvation a sure outcome, his father had given him the last of his money to make a new life, in the hope that he could send back some of his good fortune. All three were pale and gaunt and it had not taken long for Tom’s enthusiasm for the voyage to falter. Their clothes and straw mattress bore the proof of it.

  The Eleanora came to a stop with a whoosh of the anchor into the deep water. Almost half of the ship’s passengers were leaving and once they had all alighted, the business of rations began. The cook, his apron even filthier than before, doled them out, warning them that they would not receive more for another week, and to use their judgement and common sense in the matter. He was a serious man, and she expected that rationing at sea was a serious business. Should circumstances make the journey longer than planned, it was his job to make sure they wouldn’t run short. They were among the first group allowed on deck to cook and as Evelyn reached the top of the stairs, the air was sweeter and fresher than any she had ever breathed. Liverpool by comparison to Dublin, was a huge port with ships as far as the eye could see, and a lively swarm of dock workers.

  ‘Why don’t they let us off the ship?’ she asked McGregor as he passed.

  ‘The Captain has learned it’s best for onward passengers not to venture on land here, Miss. There are men who would have your belongings in a moment for a lie of good lodgings told, and you run the risk of getting the fever more out there in those slums, than you do here. Believe me, you are safer here’, he said. As if to second his response, there was a loud caw from above as a crow flew in, circling the sails before landing on the mast above them.

  Despite having a bunk that night, she found it hard to sleep. She couldn’t relax her mind, and when at last she did, it was plagued by snatches of unformed dreams that wouldn’t let her rest. She woke weary. Maybe the ocean’s waves suited her better. She ignored the noise of the cabin and turned over, thinking she would try again when she realised Michael wasn’t there. She looked about. There he was, pushing against the throng of people trying to get by him, as they made for the stairs.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘C’mon, you have to see this,’ he said.

  She could hear it from the bottom of the stairs – the shrieking. But it was not human. It was a squawking chorus, that drowned out the sounds of passengers, as they clamoured over each other to investigate. When at last she could see it for herself, she gasped. On every piece of rigging that could accommodate them, hundreds of black crows sat looking down on them, cawing loudly. All of a sudden, their racket ceased. In place of their town hall chatter, lay an eerie silence, each bird perfectly still. And then one loud squawk from the highest placed of them, shattered their display, as one by one they flew away, each one following the path of the other until a single black line cut through the sky. Beside her, one of the crew blessed himself.

  ‘Never seen anything like that in all my years,’ he said. ‘On no other ship did they land, but ours. It’s a bad omen.’

  ‘Come now, Spike, don’t be alarming the passengers with your superstitions,’ said Captain Pearse. ‘We have two hundred people to board. Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

  Michael gave Evelyn a shrug but she knew the crewman was right. They had chosen this ship for a reason. Had they assembled like that for her? Michael put his arm around her as people began to disperse.

  ‘I bet you’ve forgotten,’ he said.

  ‘Forgotten what?’

  ‘Yep, I thought as much.’ He leaned in and kissed her cheek. ‘Happy Birthday Ev. He would be very proud of you today.’

  She was eighteen, the day her father would have rejoiced upon. If only he knew all that had happened. Although she wasn’t sure he’d approve.

  ‘I didn’t have time to pick you up something – too busy on the run from the law,’ he said, ‘but I did find this in the lazy beds yesterday.’

  He handed her a small, beautifully carved animal – a dog – the detail and craftsmanship exquisite.

  ‘It’s a bit on the scary side,’ he said, pointing to its snarling mouth, ‘but then everything is a bit scary at the moment.’

  ‘I love it,’ she said.

  And she did. There was something elegantly grotesque about it. She held it tightly in her hand, watching as the last of the birds disappeared from the sky.

  As the Eleanora prepared to pull up its anchor, the last of the new travellers settled on board. The crowd at port was heaving with heartfelt goodbyes. Women selling lemons in large baskets from the dock, threw them aboard on receipt of a ha’penny, a godsend for the sea sickness ahead. A large steamer towed them out of the docks and into the mouth of the River Mersey. Soon they left Liverpool behind and sailed northwards, moving up the English coastline before turning north west at Scotland, sailing over the crown of Ireland.

  With the ship again at full capacity, the hold was packed and Evelyn was thankful for the bunk space, restful sleep returning to her. Not all had the pleasur
e – and those suffering lack of sleep were travellers that would slowly become encased in their own wooden prison, their minds unable to find any peace among the toppling waves. It was not until they were beyond the coasts of Europe that they felt the isolation truly set in. The ship which seemed a leviathan at port, was dwarfed by the watery universe, no more than a bobbing cork in a vast oceanic world. It was as though nature had cast its watchful eye over them and flew hurdle after hurdle, testing them with all its might. They fought hurricane winds that swung the ship from side to side, the sea a huge swell trying to envelope them.

  In the third week, the rains came and for five days straight, sheets of water fell from the skies. Though cooking was done under a makeshift canopy, people retreated to the hold for fear of influenza from a soaking in the icy air. Eleven days from New York the waters began to freeze as they sailed northwards. At midnight, the sea froze around them – a hard layer of salty ice. The air grew colder and the ice deepened halting the ship’s passage. The crew were quick to respond hoisting themselves down onto it, their hammers and axes hard at work at the bow. If they didn’t try to break it, they might be stuck for weeks and rations would run out, not to mention the freezing conditions that would put them all at risk. So, the ship kept momentum, slowly moving forward, one swing of a pickaxe at a time. Michael volunteered up on deck to help and Evelyn watched him tie his rope carefully around his waist before climbing over the portside.

  A mist had swept in and though she could hear their axes she could no longer see them at work. Exasperated voices drifted on the air as they pounded the ice to no avail. She swung her leg up on the rail, pulling herself over the side of the ship. The mist was thick and she dropped down, the ice solid beneath her feet. Kneeling, she put both hands out in front of her and concentrated their heat into the frozen sea.

  Clever, she heard a voice say in her ear.

  The heat sent cracks running into the ice and she pushed her palms out further still, to channel it to the front of the ship. The ice started to melt slowly at first and then she heard the crew’s shouts that their efforts were working. The ice was breaking. She looked around wishing for him. The sound of his voice had awakened her desire to see him again and there he stood, out to sea, across the icy mass. He wore the same suit, this time accompanied by a grey top hat which he removed to greet her. His expression was warm as before but there was something else in it too. Pride perhaps. Yes, he was proud of her.

  Voices floated across the mist, as the men began to ascend the ropes and he disappeared, the mist clearing as the icy ground began to rock beneath her. She quickly took one of the lagging ropes and climbed it. She was standing on deck as Michael climbed back up over the side.

  ‘Go below Evelyn. You’ll catch your death up here. The ice is thinning, I think the worst is behind us.’

  The energy she’d ignited still ran through her and she rubbed her hands on her skirts to banish it before going below. That night she was unable to sleep, thinking of him. She should have spoken to him. Walked out on the ice to meet him. A proper introduction. Next time. She would speak to him next time.

  15

  After forty-eight nights at sea, The Eleanora dropped anchor in New York Harbour. Its passage through The Narrows had been slow, as they crept silently by the sleeping monsters of Long Island on its starboard, and Staten Island, portside. A swirl of light from Robbin’s Reef lighthouse rippled across the bay, and a few miles ahead, a sprinkle of tiny gas lights grew to a glow, as the island of Manhattan revealed itself. Everyone crammed together on deck for their first sight of a new world, their first breath of American air. It almost tasted different, as if it had been magically altered and hope had a taste, a sweet smoky flavour that made all who inhaled it salivate for the new possibilities life held.

  ‘The land of second chances,’ Michael said, his voice, for the first time in weeks spurred with that infectious optimism. Tom and Bill had squeezed through to the front, Tom clapping his hand on the side of the hull to congratulate their steed on her magnificent journey.

  ‘If we pass quarantine, you’ll have your feet on American soil by dawn,’ Captain Pearse said to him, making his way to Doctor Elliot, who was for now the most important man on board. He’d lost weight, a man whose fabric had been stretched to its very seams, one man single-handedly battling the onset of fever and disease. Every voyager owed him a great debt, and he along with the Captain had been adamant not to let sickness take hold. Every morning the floors had been mopped and scrubbed. The sick were kept to one end of the ship and the doctor worked through many nights fighting illness with only the contents of his medical bag and his wits. The esteem with which he was held on board was second only to the Captain himself. His brow furrowed as he discussed their status with Pearse, who looked nonplussed by his concerns. Miraculously, they had not lost a single soul on their voyage and the Captain rested a hand on the doctor’s shoulder, confident that they would pass quarantine on that principle alone. They ushered what passengers they could below deck, as the officers boarded them for inspection.

  By first light, they sanctioned the Eleanora safe for docking, after much reassurance from Doctor Elliot that the relatively small number who were ill, had not infected anyone else. He agreed that the sick should be transferred to the quarantine station at Tompkinsville on Staten Island, for care and observation. Among them, Lawrence Sherlock, for whom the journey across the Atlantic had been as tumultuous as the waves, plagued first by sea sickness and then dysentery. He was a good humoured young man. Many’s the night he’d kept the whole bunk awake with stories of his antics on the farm, joking that he still had to grow his sea legs, and that by the time he’d get to New York, he’d be rightly pickled from all the lemons he’d eaten. He’d kept his humour as best he could, but when his condition worsened and he’d been moved to the sick bay, that spark began to fade in his eyes.

  He’d often talked about this moment, when he would lay eyes on America for the first time, and now it was tainted. He was almost too weak to open them but he did, just for a second, to catch the sunrise as they lowered him into the quarantine vessel, and then he was moving backwards, away from Manhattan and his dream. What if Staten Island was the only piece of America he would ever see and he’d crossed an ocean for nothing? What if they all had, for none of them knew what lay ahead? The one thing Evelyn was certain of as she looked at the city, was that he was there, waiting. He had brought her here, as sure as if he’d tied a length of ribbon around her waist and pulled her slowly to him. This was his city, his island. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew it was true.

  If she was scared, she might have considered telling her brother, but she wasn’t. And how would she begin – with a secret told from their father’s death bed, that he never wanted to share with him? Would be feel betrayed, insignificant to a man that he idolised and who was not there to explain himself? And when he’d got over that, what of her gift? Would he refuse to believe her, angry with her for listening to the feverish ramblings of a dying man? Then, she’d show him and she would see the true measure of him. At first, he might be afraid. A natural response. Then maybe delighted – not only for her – but for himself and he would have ideas for what she could do with such a talent, and he would continue to stand over her as he always had. Maybe even in the way of her and this man. What if he was jealous, resentful? And what would her stranger make of him, of his intrusion into whatever it was that was going on between them? No, it was better for now to keep Michael in the dark, about everything.

  McGregor’s gruff voice startled her.

  ‘Have your papers ready,’ he said. ‘You’ll need them for the port officers.’ He looked at Michael. ‘And they are strict mind, so don’t think about dodging them and making a run for it. They’ll have you back with us and our timber out of here, or worse in one of their prisons. You’ll wish for servitude after that.’

  ‘Anything is better than what we left,’ M
ichael said.

  ‘You’d think so, but be careful. This city is not for the faint hearted and it’s sure not like home.’

  It was home now. Good or bad. Come what may.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Michael said. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ she snapped, regretting the words the moment they left her lips. Her hands began to tingle. ‘I’m just nervous, here…’ she said, giving him the contracts, ‘you mind these. I’m afraid I’ll lose them.’ Or set them alight.

  She picked up her skirts as she made her way down the gangway. There was something about leaving the ship that made her feel like she was leaving a part of herself behind. Shedding her skin like a snake, the old one left, never to be worn again. She’d left Ireland a girl, fleeing a country torn apart by starvation and had arrived in New York, a young woman, ready to embrace a new life, and new abilities. The indentured servitude meant nothing to her. She had no wish to start life in America as a fugitive, looking over her shoulder and he knew where to find her anyway. So, they would do as they had pledged. Keep within the law, at least for now.

  They watched as their contracts passed through a series of hands. First the port official at the end of the gangway, then to another who escorted them to an office. From his hands, they went to a clerk where they were stamped and recorded before passing to another, who would assign them to their new employer; their fate passed around on pieces of paper, as if they were nothing. Many foreign ships had docked that morning and the room began to fill with more immigrants all vying for the positions available that day. The far wall of the office was lined with agents and employers keen to get the best, able bodied and fittest workers.