Dara

by AnonYMous

  'What can I do?' I asked anxiously.

  'You, Miss Dara, you cannot do anything, but I can. From now on, until we get to New York, I will be as close to you as your own shadow, guarding you night and day. When you are in your cabin you will keep the door locked and will open it to no one but me.'

  His voice, rich and elegantly pedantic, reassured me that I was now safe under his guardianship.

  When we opened my cabin door the stench was overpowering. I looked inside; the oil lamp was still burning and I caught a quick glimpse of Mrs. Ponsonby still lying on her bed covered in blankets with her face to the wall.

  As I had already given the Reverend Blake my reasons for sleeping on deck, he expressed no surprise and, shutting the door, said, 'Come with me; that cabin will have to be cleaned before you can use it.'

  He spoke to a seaman who fetched a mop and two buckets, one with a long piece of rope attached to the handle. Throwing the bucket over the side, he played out the rope until the bucket was full of sea water.

  Mrs. Ponsonby, on her bed with her face turned away, ignored us while we watched the seaman who mopped and rinsed the floor three times with fresh sea water before we accepted that the floor was now as clean as a new pin. His face lit up when I proffered a few shillings as payment for his service.

  'Now, young lady,' said the Reverend, 'into bed and catch up with lost sleep. Lock the door as soon as you get inside and don't open it to anyone but me. I will be back at midday with some food.'

  From that day on I was in the constant company of Robert, as I came to call him. As the days went by I almost forgot about the menace of the man intent on murdering me and, much to Robert's concern, became forgetful about always being on my guard.

  When he learnt of my desire to improve my education, almost all my daylight hours were taken up with lessons in English literature and grammar, Robert's favourite subjects. He set me essays to write so that I could improve my spelling and use of words, and fired my imagination with his enthusiasm to such an extent that in the years to come I never lost interest in the written word and became an avid reader of English literature whenever books were available to me.

  When we were about four days' sailing time from America the ship began to roll very badly shortly after we got to bed and it tossed so heavily that more than once I nearly fell out of my berth. Within the hour the wind began to roar and howl as if determined to destroy everything afloat. Mrs. Ponsonby, moaning and groaning, turned over and spewed on to the cabin floor. Making a quick decision to move myself below decks, I collected my clothes and got out of the cabin. The force of the gale winds was so violent and the pitch of the ship so steep that I found it almost impossible to keep on my feet, and I was flung against the ship's rail.

  Terrified, clinging with all the strength of my arms and hands to the rail, I viewed with horror and abject fear mountainous forty feet high waves crashing down on the deck. Shivering with cold and drenched to the skin, I heard the planks and woodwork of the lifeboat above my head splintering and cracking as it swung like a mad thing from its davit. The smoke stack was making loud cracking sounds and I feared that it would be blown over and set fire to the cabins on the deck. Seamen came from below, no doubt on Captain's orders, with strong heavy chains and began to lash the stack more firmly to the deck.

  Peering through the sea spray and catching sight of the entrance to the steerage quarters, I got to my feet with the intention of making a dash for it. As I was waiting for a lull in the wind the ship suddenly pitched hard over to starboard. Seeing the deck heaving up before me I turned round to hold on to the rail with all my strength and then fell to my knees as the ship lurched further towards the raging sea until it was almost lying on its side. Something hard struck me on the back of the head and before my forehead hit the rail and I passed out, I heard above me a man's voice cry out in fear. When I came to my senses, my hands were still clinging fiercely to the rail. Feeling very dizzy, my head throbbing painfully, I crawled on hands and knees back to the cabin and collapsed on the bed. Oblivious to the storm raging outside, I dropped into a deep sleep.

  By morning the raging wind had blown itself out and, although there was a heavy swell, it was calm in comparison to the night's violent gale. Robert awakened me about eight in the morning by which time the seas had gone down very considerably. Briefly, I explained my adventures during the storm, after his startled exclamation at seeing the swelling on my forehead, and asked him to allow me to sleep till noon as my head still ached. When he departed I fell into bed thankful that I could continue my slumbers.

  By the time he returned at midday I was up and dressed and, although feeling rather delicate, was much refreshed after sleeping most of the morning. He had given a lot of thought to my account of what had happened during the storm and told me of his suspicions that the man who had threatened me with a watery grave had attempted to do just that when I was standing at the ship's rail the previous night, and no doubt would have succeeded in his evil intent but for the ship rolling so suddenly on to its side. It was his opinion that the man had rushed towards me with outstretched hands as I turned to hold on to the rail but flew over my head when I dropped to my knees, kicking me accidentally with his boot on the back of my head as he passed on to his own watery grave.

  Later that day, in conversation with the Captain, Robert was informed that one of the seamen was missing and was thought to have been swept overboard during the storm. It seemed to Robert that the Captain felt no sorrow over the loss of this man as his reputation was of the worst. Constantly getting into fights because of his vile temper, he had become most unpopular with the rest of the crew and it was rumoured that he was responsible for the death of a man during a brawl in one of the back streets of Liverpool. One of the crew had seen him washing the blood from a deep arm wound on their first night out from Liverpool. No doubt the result of another fight in that port, the Captain had concluded. I thanked God for my lucky escape and looked forward to arriving at New York and getting the whole dreadful affair behind me.

  Three days later we were piloted into New York's bay and its magnificent harbour. In the distance I could see the 'Great Western' and other ocean-crossing vessels lying off Sandy Hook, waiting for their next voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. The sun was blazing down on hundreds of wooden cottage-type houses which made up the city on the lower part of Manhattan Island as I gazed with rapt attention at all the bustle and preparation for our docking.

  Having landed in America, the promised land for many of us, we immigrants had to face the officials at Castle Garden on Battery Park. The interviews and official papers were mere formalities for Robert and me as we were not considered 'undesirables', and we were given a warm welcome.

  There was a crowd of people of all nationalities waiting to greet their immigrant relatives. Robert pointed out how easy it was to guess their origin in Europe: the Irish by their breeches, top hats and holding cudgels which they wouldn't hesitate to use in a fight; the Swedes with their vests of different colours; the Germans smoking their meerschaum pipes and wearing distinctive caps and short jackets.

  I wasn't impressed by what I saw of New York as we were driven to the steamship 'Drew' that would carry us the one-hundred-and-fifty miles up the Hudson River to Albany. The streets were mired in slush and were without pavements, only an occasional high wooden sidewalk. There was filth lying about everywhere. The alleys running off the streets were knee-deep in mud from the overnight rainfall. I had expected to see a clean new city with impressive buildings, whereas it was mostly dilapidated wooden houses and broken down shacks and, to complete the depressing picture, there were chickens pecking at piles of garbage and pigs rooting in the gutters.

  The steamer had comfortable cabins and a dining room where we ate our first American meal. Famished, as I had been without food since landing, I soon supped up the first serving of oyster stew and then tucked inside me chicken and lamb chops served with potatoes, peas and cabbage, and finished this substanti
al feast with buckwheat pancakes swimming in maple syrup. All around us people were gobbling the food in huge mouth-fuls as if they hadn't got a minute to spare.

  There was a lot of strong earthy language with exclamations of 'Sodom and Gomorrah' or 'I'll be God-damned' and similar oaths coming from the male passengers, many of them chewing tobacco after their meal and spitting the dark brown juice all over the floor. I was to learn in later months that this filthy habit was prevalent all over America and even carpeted floors were stained with tobacco spittle. Nevertheless, their frank and unconstrained manners appealed to me and were a good deal more honest than those in England.

  With that lovely satisfied feeling that comes with a stomach full of good food, Robert and I made our way up on deck where, leaning against the rail, we admired the beautiful scenery on either side as the steamship splashed its passageway up the Hudson River. It was then that Robert told me about his life in Edinburgh as a Presbyterian minister and of his beloved wife who had died of cholera after twenty-six wonderful years of a marriage where there was never a cross word spoken in anger by either of them.

  After she had died he became a recluse and neglected his work, much to the dismay of his church members who tried to no avail to rouse him from his torpor. Every article of household furnishing, indeed nearly every feature of the streets of Edinburgh, reminded him of his dear Charlotte. When he received a letter from his brother in America commiserating with him on the loss of his wife and inviting him to come to Montpelier where there was a vacancy to be filled for a minister of the Presbyterian Church, it took but only a day's thinking to accept the invitation and remove himself from all that raised memories of his dearest Charlotte whose love he had cherished since he was but a young man of twenty years.

  He informed me that our friendship which had developed from his guardianship on board the steamship 'Britannia' had lifted him from his three months of sorrowing and that he was now taking a new interest in life. I was totally unprepared for what was to come next.

  Taking both my hands in his and looking down at our clasped hands he said, 'My dearest, you may be unaware of how fond I have become of you. You are constantly in my thoughts and although there is this difference in our ages I know beyond all doubt that I would be the happiest man in the world if you would become my wife and help me in my work as a minister for God.'

  It took me a full minute to recover my senses and realize that this dear man who had gained my respect and admiration was actually making a proposal of marriage.

  'Oh, Robert,' I sighed, 'if only I loved you as a girl ought to love her future husband I would accept your proposal with great joy. But the truth is I don't. You are my dear, dear friend and mentor and I am very fond of you.'

  I paused for a moment trying to find the words that would put my refusal more tactfully. 'You deserve someone much better than I could ever be. I cannot see myself as a minister's wife and for that matter I have no intention of becoming anyone's wife. Marriage is not for me or ever will be. Please don't be hurt, dear Robert. I am honoured that you have asked me and if I had to get married I would rather be a wife to you than anyone.'

  Without another word he kissed me on the forehead and departed for his sleeping quarters.

  During our journey to Albany where we would have to part company no further reference was made to marriage and we resumed our friendship as before.

  Disembarking at Albany, our first task was to take rooms at an hotel, for the next morning I would board an Erie Canal barge for Buffalo, three-hundred-and-sixty-four miles away, and he to set off for the green mountains of Vermont.

  We would be going for hundreds of miles in opposite directions and would probably never see each other again. The thought of our parting made me feel very sad and I wished we could continue our journey together, but I knew no good would come of that.

  Nevertheless, desiring to show my appreciation in some way for his kindness and protective friendship that had been constant from the first moment we met, I invited him to dine with me at the best eating place in Albany at my expense, adding that he must order only the very best dishes on the menu whatever the cost.

  The dinner was a most excellent meal and we arrived back at the hotel after stumbling and falling about through dimly lit streets, both a little intoxicated from the wine we had drunk throughout the dinner. A gentle kiss on the lips and then he went to his room and I to mine.

  I was slipping my nightdress over my shoulders when I thought I heard a light knock. Opening the door, I was surprised to see Robert standing there, bare-footed, dressed only in trousers and shirt, with tears rolling down his cheeks. Concerned at his distress, I brought him inside and shut the door.

  He just stood there with bowed head. Going up to him I put my arms around his neck saying, 'There, there, Robert, don't take on so; we may meet again some day.'

  He slowly put his arms around me and drew me in close. So close was I pressed up against him that I could feel the prominent bulge at his crotch. Experience of other men told me what that meant. The thought came to me that he had been without a woman for at least three months and if that was what he was in need of I would be only too happy to oblige. I would willingly have done a lot more to make him happy before we parted.

  It took but a moment, crouched in a corner, to insert the sponge, slip off my nightdress and return to his arms, naked as the day I was born. He had his eyes closed and was breathing heavily as I unbuttoned his trousers and got him to step out of them.

  When his trousers dropped his cock sprang up stiff and erect. I fondled it for a little while, then put it between my soft plump thighs. He groaned like a man being tortured beyond endurance. Pressing hard up against him, my tits flattened against his chest, I milked him by tugging at his cock with my thighs which had a firm grip on it. I could feel it sliding along the moist groove of my giny when I pressed hard on to him.

  He suddenly gripped the cheeks of my bottom and pushed the head of his cock right through to my backside. It was pulsing strongly when I felt his arms crush me to him as his emotions climaxed. Then he swayed and his whole body seemed to crumple as he leaned heavily against me. I had to support him with my arms to stop him falling.

  The tears were coming down his cheeks again and he was mumbling to himself. I could only catch some of the words:'… Oh, God, forgive me… Oh, Dara, I am deeply ashamed… I'm just a fornicating sinner like the rest of them… I'll never forgive myself.'

  When I realized what he was saying I got annoyed. 'Don't be silly, Robert. You are not a fornicating sinner. You are a kind, decent man who has been without a woman for too long. We were not fornicating,' I said, 'you didn't even get it inside me. The truth is you haven't committed a sin. You love me and I did what I did because I'm very fond of you. Please don't take on so, it isn't anything to get into a bother about.'

  Blinded by tears, he pushed me away from him and groped for his trousers. He needed my assistance to get into them and get through the doorway back to his own room.

  Confused and unhappy that we should part this way, I slept uneasily throughout the night.

  When I got downstairs in the morning Robert had gone, leaving a note in an envelope which read, 'Dara, please try to forgive me, Robert.'

  I frowned and stamped my foot. How could he, I asked myself, deny his own natural feelings because of his religious beliefs and then take on so because they had got the better of him. I had been prepared to give him a whole night of love and kisses and send him on his way a happy and contented man. Instead it had all turned sour because of his damned religious beliefs.

  Tearing his note into small pieces, I threw them into the street. I was doubly annoyed because, for the first time since John Bruce, I had wanted to give myself to a man freely, with affection, respect and a warm heart, and once again I had been pushed off.

  The long days spent on the barge taking me through the Erie Canal to Buffalo were dull and boring, apart from the beautiful countryside which was like none that I
had ever seen before. After boarding another boat I arrived at Cleveland, a town at the mouth of the Ohio River. My relatives had a farm about twenty miles south of Cleveland. A few enquiries in town led me to a carrier who was willing to take me to within a mile of Peel Farm.

  They had named the farm after the town in the Isle of Man where they had emigrated from some eighteen years before. Since they had left the island a year or so before I was born, the only knowledge I had of them was gained from reading letters that they had written to other relatives. The Quirks were not close relations, Mrs. Quirk being my dead father's cousin, but being Manx, like themselves, I was sure that they would give me a warm welcome. As I had departed within a few days of making up my mind to emigrate, I had not written to inform them of my intentions as I knew I would arrive at the farm before a letter could reach them.

  The farmhouse was like two log cabins adjoining each other to form a letter L, giving the impression that originally there had only been one log cabin and the second had been built at a later date when more house rooms had been required. There was a porch door on which I knocked repeatedly without getting any answer, so I wandered around to the back where there was a door held open by a small wood log. It was the door to the main room of the house. A spotlessly clean combined kitchen and living room.

  A lovely appetizing smell of baking bread emanated from the room and the first thing I saw was half a dozen newly baked loaves on a very large wooden table. On the other side of the table a blonde haired woman, nearly six feet in height and stout with it, was kneading dough. She looked up for just a brief moment as I entered then stooped over her dough again. As I stood with my leather luggage bag, not knowing what I should do or say next, she asked without looking up from her work with the dough, And who might you be?'