Bridie's Fire

by Kirsty Murray

  ‘It was the workhouse or dying in a ditch by the roadside, boyo,’ said Bridie, trying to sound stern with him though her heart was breaking. ‘And now I’ve got this chance, I’ll get to the New World and then I’ll send for you.’

  ‘Like Uncle Liam?’ said Brandon with a bitterness that she’d never heard in his voice before.

  ‘Brandon, you know I’ll come back for you. You remember the story of Ossian? Remember how our dad used to tell it? How even though the most beautiful fairy princess in all the worlds took him beyond the ninth wave to the land of wine and honey, and loved him forever and kissed him with honeyed kisses, still he never forgot his brothers. And remember how the love of them brought him back to Ireland? I’ll be like Ossian, but I’ll bring you to me, to the Land of Forever Young, like in the stories except it will be Australia, and there’ll be sun-bowers and maybe palaces and we’ll have a home there together. We’ll have our silver and gold house right there.’

  ‘I remember Ossian,’ said Brandon in a small voice. ‘I remember that Ossian stayed away for three hundred years and when he came home everything had changed.’

  ‘But if I stay here, we’ll never have anything, Brandon, don’t you understand that?’ She pulled Brandon close to her and cupped his face in her hands. She could feel sobs racking his thin body, and she leaned her brow against his until he grew still.

  ‘You listen, Brandon O’Connor, and you listen well. I promise you this. You’ll sail across the sea too. Just like the blessed St Brennain, that Dad used to tell of. And you’ll cross all the waters to come to me and you’ll see all sorts of wondrous things like the Paradise of Birds and then we’ll have our house, one day, just like I always told you, I promise. We’ll have our silver and gold house.’

  The carts pulled up in the workhouse yard and the girls’ boxes were loaded on board. Bridie felt cocooned in the layers of her new clothes as she stood in the yard with the other girls. Her new boots were unyielding and painful, and the hard leather bruised her heels. She felt she was someone else, not the Bridie O’Connor who’d run wild across the cliffs at Dunquin, nor the Bridie who’d buried her baby brother and changeling sister and left her mother dying in a ditch, nor the Bridie who’d walked for days across Kerry looking for a safe haven for her brother and herself. She looked up at the windows of the workhouse, wishing that Brandon’s face would materialise in one of the panes, but they were blank and dark.

  ‘Here, Bridie O’Connor,’ called Caitlin from the back of the cart, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘Take my hand.’

  She pulled Bridie up into the cart beside her. The gates of the workhouse swung open and the cart turned into the road, taking them away from the workhouse, away from their old lives, away from Brandon. The other girls were all chattering among themselves but Bridie sat completely still, her hands folded in her lap, and stared at the road ahead.

  Bridie had never even seen a train, let alone climbed aboard one. The girls were herded into third-class carriages. Some of them shrieked as the train pulled away from the platform, and Bridie felt her stomach lunge and her heart beat faster.

  After their long journey and the heat of the city, the cool sea breeze from the Dublin wharves washed over them like a blessing. Bridie took a deep breath, and even though the air around the docks was sour, not fresh like the wind that swept off the Atlantic at Dunquin, she felt a thrill of recognition.

  Hundreds of girls milled about on the wharves, all in almost identical clothes. Further along the docks, some women were keening for their departing families. There was no one to keen Bridie O’Connor’s leaving Ireland, no one to call her name and bind her heart to the old world, nor was there for any of the other orphan girls.

  The water was flat and grey as they sailed out of Dublin harbour and into the great open sea. Some of the girls wept as Ireland disappeared from view, but most simply looked numb. Bridie and Caitlin leaned over the side of the boat and stared at the waves breaking against the bow. The steamer was so crowded that the girls were piled into every corner. They spent most of the night standing on the deck of the steamship, pressed tight against each other. By the time they reached Plymouth, they were all wretched and bedraggled and their beautiful new cloaks were heavy with seawater.

  A plump matron came on board and herded the girls down the gangplank. It was like being in a strange dream. They were taken to a big brick building and shown into a dormitory where they could change their damp clothes. They even had tubs of warm water to wash in and a doctor inspected each of them, to ensure they were strong enough for the voyage to Australia.

  That night, there was an endless flutter of conversation among the girls. Bridie lay in the dark listening to the ripple of voices that moved up and down the length of the room, but Brandon’s parting words wouldn’t stop echoing in her head.

  When at last they filed up the gangplank of the Diadem, the ship that was to be their home for the next four months, all the girls were strangely silent. There were over two hundred of them. Bridie’s cheeks flushed pink from the bite of frost in the air. Sailors were everywhere, on the decks and in the rigging. Three matrons shepherded the girls to a hatch that opened into the lower decks. Everywhere, people were shouting instructions. Bridie looked at the open hatch that led to the decks below. She wanted to turn and run back down the gangplank, but she reached out and grasped the folds of Caitlin’s cloak and followed her into the darkness below.

  13

  The voyage south

  Bridie sat on the end of her bunk and turned the knife and fork and two spoons that she’d been given over and over in her hands. Piled up beside her were a new mattress, bolster, blankets and counterpane, a large canvas bag for holding linen and clothes, a metal plate, and a drinking mug. Bridie had never owned so many things. She found it hard to believe they were hers to keep.

  The girls were divided into groups of eight for their meals. Three of the girls in Bridie and Caitlin’s mess were from the same workhouse, but there were also three new girls who’d come from Dublin. One of them, Biddy Ryan, couldn’t stop talking. The words bubbled out of her. She spoke in English, but it wasn’t the sort of English that Bridie had learnt from Caitlin. Every day, Bridie picked up new words from Biddy and practised them, saying them again and again until Caitlin stamped her foot and blushed angrily.

  ‘You don’t need to say those words out loud. You don’t even need to be knowing them,’ scowled Caitlin.

  ‘They make me laugh,’ said Bridie. ‘I know they’re rude but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun.’

  ‘There’s nothing right with that Biddy Ryan. You know how I’ve been counting our provisions each morning. Well, there’s a mite too much going missing. If you’re going to listen to that girl, then you can watch her too and make sure you tell me if you see any mischief.’

  Bridie couldn’t see that it mattered whether Biddy was stealing a handful of currants. Most of the girls couldn’t keep their food down anyway, and those that could weren’t eating much. As they sailed through the Bay of Biscay nearly everyone was vomiting except Bridie. At night and for most of the day, the other girls lay in their bunks, groaning, calling out for their mothers or praying as if they were near death’s door. Caitlin and dozens of other girls were constantly leaning over the side of the bunk and throwing up into a bucket. Often the girls would miss the bucket, and the decks below were awash with bile. Bridie stayed with Caitlin some of the time, but after a while the smell would overwhelm her. She had found her sea-legs quickly and she loved being on deck, listening to the cries of the sailors mingling with the call of the seabirds. When the big sails unfurled and billowed in the wind she felt her heart swell with happiness.

  Ten days after leaving Plymouth, they came into warmer weather. Bridie went up on deck and gazed out at the coast of Spain. Caitlin joined her, looking thin and wan. When Bridie slipped her arm around the older girl’s waist, she could feel how frail she’d become. Caitlin took a deep breath of the warm air and smiled
for the first time since they’d left Plymouth.

  ‘Four months!’ said Caitlin. ‘But then, when we get to the colony, I tell you, girl, things will be good for us.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Bridie. She couldn’t imagine the life that lay ahead.

  ‘It will be grand. We’ll both get jobs and save our pennies and then have our own little house together. Like two sisters.’

  Bridie looked into Caitlin’s pale face and knew she had never had a friend like this before. Her thoughts were interrupted by a cackle of laughter.

  ‘Will you look at those two,’ muttered Caitlin, frowning at Biddy Ryan and Margaret O’Shea. Biddy and Margaret were flirting with a pair of sailors, even though every girl knew it was forbidden to even speak to the men.

  ‘It’s just a bit of fun they’re having,’ said Bridie, bewildered by the ferocity of Caitlin’s disapproval. ‘They’ve each had their head in a bucket for a week. They’re probably trying to be sure they haven’t taken on the look of it.’

  Caitlin laughed, but Bridie could see from her sharp expression how much she disapproved of the other girls.

  Now they had all found their sea-legs, the Matron in charge announced that lessons were to begin and asked all the girls who could read and write to step forward. Bridie was left sitting on a bench with Biddy and Margaret. The matrons and two of the lady passengers who had volunteered to help began opening trunks of books and organising the girls into groups.

  Bridie couldn’t believe her good luck when the Matron appointed Caitlin to instruct illiterates. But when she looked at the pages of small black print, her heart sank. Learning to speak English had come to her quickly, but learning to read it seemed a huge and impossible task. How could she possibly make sense of all those little marks on the page?

  Even though Caitlin was encouraging, Bridie made small headway. Most of Caitlin’s time was taken up arguing with Biddy Ryan, and Bridie was left to unravel the mystery of the printed words alone. One sultry morning, while Bridie sat hunched over her Bible, tracing the words with her fingers, Caitlin and Biddy’s conflict took a turn for the worse. Biddy lost her temper and threw her book at Caitlin.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this useless studyin’,’ she shouted.

  ‘Well you’ll never make much of yourself in the colonies if you’ve got no learning, Biddy Ryan.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll make myself useful. I’m going to find myself a husband good and quick, and he’ll find uses for me.’ She laughed a low, throaty laugh and nudged Margaret. Caitlin snorted her disapproval and turned her attention to Bridie.

  Biddy Ryan was always in trouble but she didn’t care. After breakfast and chores, at half-past ten every morning, the Surgeon-Superintendent inspected each mess and every girl. Nothing was allowed to be left damp, and no hole or corner escaped his notice. The Surgeon made each of the girls hold her hands out, and if anyone had dirty nails his reprimand was cruel. It was always cruellest for Biddy Ryan, but when the Surgeon turned his back she’d pull faces at him and wink at the other girls. Bridie wanted to dislike her, to feel exasperated with her for making it so much harder for all the girls in their mess, but she couldn’t help admiring Biddy’s daring, and her jokes always made Bridie laugh, much to Caitlin’s disgust.

  At half-past twelve the ship’s bell rang, and pies or cakes were served out to the messes in turn; then the girls studied or sewed until teatime at half-past five. Bridie loved it when she was allowed to put her pencil down and take up a needle. The needle responded to her touch in a way she felt the pencil never would, and she quickly became known for having the finest needlework on board, despite being one of the youngest girls.

  At dusk, lanterns were hung on deck and between-decks as well for those too shy or too ill to go above. At first, Caitlin and Bridie sat on their bunk together in the evenings. Bridie would sew while Caitlin read to her and the sounds of music would waft down to them from up on deck. After several weeks, Bridie finally persuaded Caitlin to join the others. Eliza Dwyer had a fiddle and another girl a concertina and yet another a tin whistle. They played all sorts of songs and then a lively dance reel that brought the other girls to their feet. Bridie couldn’t resist the music.

  ‘C’mon, darling girl,’ she said to Caitlin, offering her arm, but Caitlin looked away. Suddenly Biddy Ryan was beside her, threading an arm through Bridie’s and dragging her out into the circle of dancers. Bridie swung in time to the music, her feet moving swiftly, the warm sea air like balm against her skin. Biddy waved at the sailors in the forecastle who were watching but Bridie paid them no attention. At that moment the dancing mattered more to Bridie than anything.

  Then the Matron caught sight of Biddy blowing a kiss in the sailors’ direction, and in a moment she’d dragged both Biddy and Bridie from the dance area.

  ‘Biddy Ryan,’ she snapped, shaking Biddy by the shoulders, ‘you are altogether too free with your attentions. This is not the first time I’ve had to send you below decks for this sort of flagrant wickedness but I hope it is the last.’

  Bridie went back to stand beside Caitlin, annoyed at the flush of knowing triumph on the older girl’s face.

  The day they crossed the Equator, all the girls were keen to be on deck for the ceremonies, even Caitlin. There were shouts of laughter as someone cried out that Neptune was being hauled up the side of the ship. It was the cook, his big belly hanging over a scrag of seaweed and scraps of green cloth. Beside him one of the younger deckhands was dressed as his wife, Amphitrite, and several other sailors paraded the deck as his attendants with their shirts stripped off and their bodies rubbed with something that lent a peculiar greenish hue to their skin. They grabbed several of the first-time sailors and held them still while ‘Amphitrite’ shaved their heads, then tied them up and ducked them over the side. Neptune turned on the crowd of girls and bowed deeply.

  ‘Ah, most beautiful ladies, come away with me to where the rocks of coral grow and you will all be my princesses and live like queens with my fair wife in our palace beneath the sea, and I’ll deck you in pearls and all the jewels of the oceans.’

  ‘I’ll come,’ called Biddy, laughing cheekily and reaching out her hands to him.

  Neptune winked at her as a matron slapped Biddy’s hands back down, then he disappeared behind the poop-deck. A moment later, a blazing tar barrel was cast overboard. The girls rushed to the side to watch the barrel disappear as the ship sailed swiftly away.

  ‘I’ve read that he’s meant to have a conch shell, drawn by sea-horses, and trumpeting Tritons beside him as he wheels across the waves,’ said Caitlin.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, girl!’ said Biddy Ryan, turning on Caitlin. ‘Do you have to spoil everything with your stupid book-learning?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘Well, have some sense, woman. You’re always spoiling the fun.’

  ‘At least I have common sense, while you’ve no sense at all,’ said Caitlin.

  ‘I’ve heard about your “sense”. The sense to leave your sister lying half-dead in a ditch while you made yourself cosy.’

  Caitlin flinched but it was Bridie who struck out in response, pushing Biddy onto the deck. She wrapped a hank of Biddy’s hair in her fist and yanked on it, hard, and then bit fiercely on Biddy’s shoulder until she could taste blood. Biddy screamed and scratched back, a whirling mass of skirts and hair. Bridie could hear Caitlin shouting for her to stop and then the matrons were tearing them apart, taking each girl roughly by the arm and hauling them below decks. Biddy and Bridie sat sweaty and breathless on the edge of their bunks, glaring at each other.

  Suddenly, Biddy grinned and smoothed her hands across her chestnut hair. ‘You fight like a vixen, never mind how you play the good girl with that whore Cait Moriarty.’

  ‘She’s no whore,’ said Bridie, resting her fingers against the bruise that was swelling on her cheekbone.

  ‘You may be a little one, Bridie O’Connor, but there’s none on this ship that’s so dainty tha
t they haven’t lied and stolen to be here. Sure, but there must be something black inside each of us to keep us strong while all our kin are buried deep.’

  ‘Maybe you and I are cut from the same cloth, Biddy Ryan, but Caitlin Moriarty’s made of finer stuff,’ snapped Bridie. ‘I wish they hadn’t stopped me before I could belt the priest’s share out of you for slagging off at an angel.’

  ‘Oanshagh, you fool, you’ll scrab my eyes out ’cause I tell the truth, will you? Every girl from Kerry knows the story of how Caitlin Moriarty left her sister at the workhouse gate where she died that night while Caitlin herself nestled up warm and safe in the straw. I’ll not damn her, but I’ll not suffer her airs either. She’s no better than any one of us.’

  Bridie wanted to pummel the foul-mouthed girl until Biddy cried out that everything she said was a lie, but she tucked her clenched fists under her arms to stop herself from swinging another blow and turned her back instead.

  14

  Winds of freedom

  Now that they were sailing through warmer climates, there seemed so much more to do. Every morning just after dawn, a tent was set up on the deck, and inside it, behind folds of calico, was a large bath full of seawater. Bridie loved the way the cold water made her gasp and her flesh tingle. When she scrubbed her skin, it was as if she was scrubbing away all the vestiges of her old life. It seemed as if all the pain and hurt and squalor of the workhouse had happened to someone else. The sounds of the ship’s bell ringing, the lapping of the waves, the creaking of the timbers: everything about being at sea seemed to add to her sense of happiness, and she sang to herself quietly as she washed. High above in the patch of blue sky between the folds of canvas, an albatross floated, watching over her, turning in graceful curves as it soared above the ship.

  On a fine hot day as they sailed through the tropics, the Superintendent ordered the girls’ boxes hoisted out of the hold. The sailors hated the whole ritual of airing the girls’ possessions and grumbled as they flung the trunks onto the deck.