Children Of The Tide

by Valerie Wood

  He stared at her.

  ‘She can ride up behind you,’ she said. ‘And she can stop until ’mistress gets back, then she’ll decide what’s to be done. But I can’t think of thy poor fayther with no woman to tend him.’

  ‘Thank you, Martha.’ He was moved by her concern. ‘It’s kind of you.’

  Martha surveyed Jenny and then brushed a speck of dust from her cloak. ‘She’s a good girl, you’ll have no bother with her. And she was coming to ’mill house eventually, anyway.’

  Tom gave a small smile. She doesn’t trust me with Sammi, yet I’m allowed to ride through the darkness with this young maid!

  They went outside, the moon was just breaking through the clouds, edging them with translucent light. Across the sea, it drew a path of silver and sparkled on the breaking wave crests, which sighed and lamented as they broke against the cliffs.

  ‘All right, Jenny?’ he asked as he put her bag at the front of the saddle and prepared to mount.

  She was staring, transfixed, at the sight of the ocean. ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘It’s so big, isn’t it? It makes me feel so small, as if, as if I’m of no account, of no importance.’ She looked up at him waiting for her on his mount. ‘It frightens me, Master Tom.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind coming to Tillington with me?’ he said, holding out his hand to hoist her up. ‘There’s no sea at Tillington.’

  She put her foot on the mounting block and took hold of his hand to heave herself up. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m glad to come, though this is a nice house and they’ve been good to me. But I just wish—’

  They trotted on down the long winding drive which led down to the old lane of Monkston; a stoat bounded in front of the horse’s hooves, its moulting red coat showing streaks of white in the moonlight; they heard the scuttle of a rabbit and then its scream as the spitting predator struck.

  ‘What, Jenny? What do you wish?’

  ‘I just wish that Miss Sammi was coming too.’

  ‘Ah,’ he breathed, so that she couldn’t hear him. ‘So do I, Jenny. So do I.’

  36

  Billy stood by the refreshment tent the next day and waited for the proceedings to finish. The Mayor’s children planted the second tree to the sound of great cheers, and the festivities began once more. A horde of children stampeded towards the tent where they had been promised, by a clown in curly wig and false red nose, that they could have a free coffee and piece of cake at his expense.

  He moved out of the way and found a convenient place to stand where he could watch out for Mr Pearson to become free. He looked again at the crowd and judged that there were as many people as the day before, but the crowd were not quite so elegant; there were also many more children, as the children of the workhouses and Trinity House had been admitted free of charge. There’s the girl in yellow again; she does have an appearance of Betsy, he thought, though her face is shadowed by her bonnet. He narrowed his eyes to observe her and her companion. He looks familiar. Billy stared harder. Craddock! That’s who it is. So it can’t possibly be Betsy. He’s quite a libertine according to what I hear. Perhaps it’s the woman he brought to Gilbert’s wedding who caused such a scene with Harriet’s father, and whom Tom escorted to the door! Craddock won’t forget that evening in a hurry, he mused wryly. I can’t understand why Gilbert invited him in the first place, he’s surely not a friend?

  A young barefoot boy walked past him, his cheeks bulging with cake and Billy scanned the crowd to see if he could find any of the children from the cellars, for if he could, he thought, he would take some of them with him to meet the Mayor. But strangely, he couldn’t see one familiar face.

  Nor had he seen them last evening as he had walked back into the town to see the firework display and the German Working Men’s torchlit procession as it wound its way around the town. The crowds had followed them and, with their torches held high, they sang their vigorous songs outside the Royal Station Hotel where the Mayor and his party were celebrating the end of the festive day with a splendid banquet.

  The Mayor had come out to thank them and pledged his continued support to the working classes of the town. A great cheer went up and Billy joined in. He’s the man, he’d thought exultantly. He’s the one who can help.

  The Mayor was free! The crowd surrounding him had moved away and there was only a handful of people by his side. Billy hurried across and approached one of his aides. Mr Pearson glanced up as his aide spoke to him and then, excusing himself to his other guests, came across to Billy. He shook him by the hand. ‘Your cousin has explained a little of what you have in mind, Mr Rayner. Do you not think that the orphans of this town are catered for sufficiently? We have our workhouses, our hospitals and Children’s Unions, a school even, for children of seamen.’

  ‘And excellent establishments they are, I’m sure sir, with some exceptions,’ Billy said bluntly. ‘But I have in mind an establishment especially created for the children who live on the streets: a home which they can call their own and where they can attend workshops and gain education and training. They are independent, most of them, used to fending for themselves,’ he implored earnestly. ‘Their energy needs to be channelled in a direction other than foraging, so that they can eventually go out and earn their own living.’

  Mr Pearson drummed his fingers together. ‘You say they live on the streets?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They live in cellars below ground, with rats and mice for company. I’ve seen them trying to keep dry when the rain pours in and the mud, for want of a more descriptive word, seeps into the cellars. The situation, sir,’ he said boldly, ‘is a stain on our society.’

  The Mayor viewed him candidly. ‘Do you have an occupation, Mr Rayner?’

  ‘I am at present working with my cousin at Masterson and Rayner, sir.’

  ‘And would you be willing to give up your position if such an organization was set up?’

  Billy felt a surge of hope. ‘Yes, sir. I would.’

  ‘Why?’ The Mayor was blunt. ‘What motivates a young man like you to give up the promise of a good career, position and standing in society for the sake of down-and-outs who probably won’t appreciate what you do for them?’

  ‘I have so much, sir. Family, friends, security,’ Billy said quietly. ‘And they have nothing, no hope or expectations, through no fault of their own. Circumstances dictated that they should live in the gutter. They are young, they deserve more than they have at present.’

  Mr Pearson nodded in agreement. Then he put out his hand. ‘Let me think it over,’ he said. ‘I think I might know one or two people who would be interested. Yes. Benevolent men who have money and time to spare.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Billy beamed. ‘I would be so grateful.’

  The Mayor started to move away and then turned back. ‘Have you thought of a name for this venture?’

  Billy swallowed. ‘I have, sir.’ He felt so full of emotion. ‘Three words only. Three words without whose aspirations we are all lost.’

  Pearson gave a compassionate smile at his youthful earnestness. ‘And they are?’

  ‘Faith, Hope and Charity.’

  He walked back into town, elation giving a spring to his step. I must write to Sammi and tell her, she will be so delighted. And Jenny too, she must be told that her friends are to be given a chance such as she has had. She was the first to escape from that Devil’s Hole. I’ll go to the cellars before I go to my lodgings, he decided. Though I’d better not say anything yet, just in case the plans don’t materialize. But I’ll find out why they didn’t come to the park. It’s not like them to miss out on a treat.

  There were several boys sitting on the cellar steps as he approached. They all had their heads scrunched down into their jackets and their hands in their pockets. Tim, one of the smaller boys, looked up. His skin looked yellow and flaky, and his eyes were small and sunken in his cheeks.

  ‘What’s up, Tim? Somebody pinched your space?’

  He shook his head and then looked down at the
floor. ‘No.’

  ‘Have you had anything to eat today?’

  Again he shook his head. ‘Not hungry.’

  Billy sat on the wall and looked down at them. ‘You didn’t come to the fête at the park today! There was food and drink and games. I was expecting you.’

  ‘Some of us was sick,’ Tim muttered. ‘That’s why we didn’t come.’

  Billy glanced from one to another. Something was wrong.

  ‘Some of us is very sick,’ said another. ‘That’s why we’re out here. ’Stink’s making us sicker.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m out here.’ Tim put his head onto his knees. ‘I’m out here ’cos our Mary’s asleep in ’bed. I can’t get warm ’cos of her.’

  ‘What do you mean, Tim?’

  The boy sniffed. ‘She’s that cold I can’t get near her.’

  Billy got to his feet. ‘When you say they’re sick – how sick do you mean?’

  One of the older boys said, ‘Some of them’s been sick since ’weekend, only it’s gotten worse.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘’Other end as well, Master Billy. We tried to clean ’em up but we’ve no water. Them that’s sick has drunk it all, they were that thirsty, and when we went to get another bucketful from ’tap down yonder,’ he indicated with his thumb across to a nearby court, ‘’folks there chased us off – said as we were up to summat.’

  Billy descended the steps. ‘I shouldn’t go in if I was thee,’ one of the boys called after him. ‘Tha can’t tek a deep breath down there. Not unless tha puts ’scarf round tha nose.’

  Billy pulled out the silk scarf which he had had inside his jacket collar and put it around his mouth and nose, then pushed aside the planks of wood and sheets of cardboard at the entrance. He couldn’t at first discern anything in the gloom, but his nostrils were assailed by a fetid stench. He retched but resisted the urge to turn around and rush back outside. Instead, he put his hand over his nose and ventured further into the dank and gloomy interior, and as his eyes became accustomed to the dimness he saw several children lying together in a corner. Some were on makeshift beds, others were lying on sheets of cardboard, covered by pieces of old carpet and rags. Pools of vomit lay festering beside them.

  ‘God in Heaven,’ he muttered. ‘What has happened?’ He moved cautiously over to them, speaking in a low voice so as not to frighten them, for above all they were mistrustful of adults, seeing them all as dictatorial authority.

  ‘It’s Billy,’ he whispered. ‘Billy Rayner. I’ve come to help you.’

  There was a low moan from a bundle of rags and someone half sat up. It was Dinah, she was a friend of Jenny’s and about her age. ‘Master Billy.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘I’m that thirsty and I’ve got terrible cramps in me belly. I think I’m dying!’ She started to cry. ‘I want me ma.’

  He put his hand on her forehead. It was cold and her skin was wrinkled and dry like an old woman’s. ‘How long have you been like this?’ he asked urgently. ‘Are you all the same?’

  She nodded, she had hardly the strength to speak. ‘Since Sat’day,’ she said weakly. ‘Some of little children are worse. They haven’t been able to keep owt down.’ She pointed to an empty bucket and then flopped down again onto the floor. ‘We’ve drunk ’bucket dry.’

  He stumbled across to another of the beds. It was made of wooden boxes and was off the ground. He carefully pulled away the coat which was covering the child beneath. It was Mary, Tim’s sister. She was lying still and silent; Billy put out a tentative finger and touched her cheek. It was icy cold.

  He faltered for a moment and then staggered away. ‘I’ll fetch help,’ he croaked, though he doubted that anyone was listening and headed for the entrance and fresh air. He retched and retched. He couldn’t stop himself, he was so horrified and nauseated at the sights he had seen below ground. The boys watched him with unblinking expressions. It was as if they were inured of all feelings and emotions.

  He wiped his mouth and straightened up. ‘I’m going to fetch a doctor. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  ‘They won’t take them into ’Infirmary, will they?’ asked Tim. ‘Our Mary won’t want to go. Not without I go with her.’

  Billy’s eyes smarted. How could he explain to this small boy that his sister wouldn’t be going anywhere ever again? He turned away. Where to go? Not all doctors would be willing to come to patients who couldn’t pay.

  Then he remembered Doctor Fleming, who had often been called upon to attend casualties at Masterson and Rayner; mainly to porters or seamen who had injured themselves during the course of their work. I can but ask, he thought as he set off at a run towards Lowgate where the doctor lived.

  A carriage was waiting outside the doctor’s house and the doctor just emerging into the street to enter it.

  ‘Doctor Fleming,’ Billy said breathlessly. ‘You’re needed urgently. There are some very sick children—’

  ‘There are sick people all over this town, young man.’ The doctor looked at him from over his round spectacles. ‘But I cannot attend them all. You must find someone else, I fear.’

  He put one foot on the step of his carriage. ‘Where are they, these children? Are they within walking distance? And how many of them?’

  ‘They’re in the cellars in North Church Side. It’s only five minutes, sir. If you could just come. There are about seven or eight of them, all very sick.’

  The doctor stepped down and confronted Billy. ‘In the cellars? Which cellars?’

  ‘Where the warehouse burnt down, sir.’ Billy spoke quickly, trying to impress the urgency upon him. ‘That’s where they live.’

  ‘Beggar children, are they? Vagrants?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Billy said despondently. So now he wouldn’t come. He’d have to find someone else.

  The doctor put his foot back onto the carriage step and entered. After closing the door, he pushed down the window. ‘I can’t come. I’m on my way to a woman about to give birth. Ring the bell on my door. My nephew is there. Tell him I told him to go with you. It’ll do him good to see life in the raw rather than reading about it in his text books.’

  He tapped on the roof of the carriage with his cane and it pulled away, leaving Billy feeling guilty for his erroneous attitude towards the diligent doctor.

  Doctor Sheppard was a brisk, eager young man who grabbed his bag and hurried after Billy as soon as he was told of his uncle’s directive. ‘Thank heavens,’ he said. ‘I thought I was going to be twiddling my thumbs all night.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go to the birthing?’ Billy asked curiously.

  ‘The woman wouldn’t have me,’ he said cheerfully. ‘She said having one male there was more than was seemly. It’s a breech and likely to be a forceps job, otherwise she wouldn’t have had my uncle either. You know what women are like,’ he added. ‘They think that men are in the way at such a time.’

  Billy reflected that they were probably right. How could men be expected to understand the rigours of birth? The only births that he had seen were those of lambs and calves and small animals like kittens and pups in the stables at Garston Hall, when he had watched in awesome fascination.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Doctor Sheppard looked around the street as Billy slowed from his fast trot as they neared the cellar steps.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s pretty rough down here,’ Billy said, and the boys who were still sitting near the steps moved back to let the doctor through. They ducked their heads as they went through the low opening and entered the dark and musty interior.

  ‘What in God’s name is this place? It’s as black as Hades.’ The doctor slipped and almost stumbled. ‘Surely no-one lives in this wretched place? Is there no light?’

  ‘There is no light,’ Billy said grimly. ‘Not down here, or in their lives. Wait a moment and your eyes will become accustomed. These are all children living alone,’ he explained, ‘though there are other people living further back; families and some single people – some drunks, some escaping from the law. But no-one
interferes with the other, everybody keeps to themselves.’

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ the doctor muttered. ‘The air is foul.’

  ‘Try not to breathe too deeply,’ Billy advised him.

  ‘Thanks for the advice, doctor,’ Doctor Sheppard said sardonically. ‘I’ll try to remember.’

  Billy gave a spontaneous grin in the darkness, though he felt far from humorous. Here was a man he could relate to. ‘Here they are,’ he whispered as they reached the children. ‘One child is dead. They’ve been drinking from a bucket of water which smells putrid.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. The water is still being drawn from the River Hull, and we know well what gets thrown in there.’ Sheppard pulled back the coat covering Tim’s sister and hastily threw it back again. ‘She’s dead all right, has been for some time. We’ll have to get the body out before it starts decomposing.’

  Billy put his hand to his mouth as nausea overtook him.

  ‘Breathe through your mouth if you feel faint,’ Doctor Sheppard said. ‘Never mind the stench, and if you’re going to be sick, go and get it over with.’

  ‘No, I’m all right,’ Billy gasped. It was not the nauseating stench but the thought of the poor child, Tim’s sister, spoken of in such basic terms that had sickened him.

  ‘This is Dinah,’ he said, going to where the young girl lay. ‘She said they’d been sick since Saturday.’

  Doctor Sheppard put his hand on Dinah’s forehead as Billy had done less than half an hour ago. ‘I don’t know if we can save her,’ he said. ‘We have to get them out of here. They need fresh water; saline.’ He put his hands to his head. ‘I’ve not seen it before. But I’m almost sure.’

  ‘What?’ Billy asked, staring open-mouthed at his stricken face.

  ‘It’s cholera.’

  37

  Gilbert leaned back and put his feet up on the desk. He felt rather pleased with himself. He had been included in the assembly of notable shipping personages of the town in the procession to the new public park, and had had discussions with eminent members of the shipping and commerce professions on the state of the whaling industry. At least, he had listened and sagely nodded his head when points had been brought up, and he had agreed that the industry wasn’t what it had once been, now that there were fewer whaling ships sailing from Hull.