by Clare Flynn
They leaned over the railings, watching the sailors go about their final preparations for sailing. The cargo was stowed, all passengers on board and the ship gave an initial warning blast from its foghorn. Jack was watching the crew preparing to raise the gangplank and unhitch the ropes from the huge bollards that held them in port. The engines were firing and he was filled with excitement and exhilaration. He looked at Eliza and smiled, leaning forward to drop a light kiss on her forehead. She smiled up at him, eyes shining. This was it. Soon they would be in America – free of the MacBrides and free to marry and build a future together.
Jack heard a sharp whistle, some shouting and the sound of a commotion on the dockside. The part-raised gangplank dropped back and three policemen walked up it onto the ship. At first he looked on with mild curiosity, then, just as he was about to remark to Eliza that it looked as though some poor escaping villain was about to be collared, he saw the familiar figures of Thomas MacBride and Father O’Driscoll walking behind the peelers.
Jack’s heart missed a beat, then began thumping inside his chest as his throat constricted with fear. He clung to Eliza’s hand, holding onto her as though if he loosened his grip she would float up from the deck beside him and drift away into the clouds. His stomach churned. He tasted bitter bile in his mouth. Dread. Fear. Panic. Eliza hadn’t noticed the boarding party. She was still smiling, eyes closed, taking deep breaths of the salty air, savouring the moment. His grip on her hand tightened and she opened her eyes.
‘It’s too late,’he said. ‘They’ve come for me.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry’ he said, ‘I’m so sorry, my love.’
A shout went up. ‘There he is.’
The policemen ran towards him. They grabbed Jack and cuffed his hands, then wrenched him around to stare into the faces of his tormentors. He wanted to be angry, but he felt defeated, beaten
‘Got him!’ Father O’Driscoll’s voice was triumphant.
‘I’ve done nothing.’ Jack’s voice was strangulated, tense, hopeless. ‘You can’t do this. What am I accused of?’
‘Breach of promise. Theft of property.’ One of the policemen spoke.
‘This is wrong. Don’t listen to them. I’ve made no promises to anyone and I’ve stolen nothing.’ He looked about him desperately, hoping in vain that someone would intervene. A crowd of onlookers had gathered around, their faces curious, eager for this unexpected entertainment, but none of them showed any inclination for helping. ‘I’ve done nothing,’ he cried again, his voice desperate.
‘In that case you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?’ said the same man. ‘You can make a statement at the police station and we’ll look into it and then if you’ve really done nothing wrong you’ll be free to go.’
‘But the ship is about to sail.’
‘Then it will be sailing without you.’
He felt like a man being condemned to death, just when he had believed himself to be on the brink of a new, better life. The handcuffs bit into his wrists and he bowed his head. Defeated. How had he ever dared to believe he would be free? How had he dared to think he had escaped MacBride and O’Driscoll? The ship’s foghorn gave a warning blast and the policemen pushed him forward towards the gangway.
Eliza flung her arms around him and cried out, ‘I’m coming with you, Jack, wherever they take you.’
One of the ship’s officers approached and addressed the policemen. ‘Either get off now or you’re sailing with us. We’re leaving right away.’
‘We have a warrant for this man’s arrest.’ The policeman thrust a paper under the noses of one of the ship’s officers. The man gave it a cursory look then shrugged.
‘Get him off my ship then. You’re holding us up. We need to get underway.’
One of the policemen took hold of Eliza and pulled her away from Jack as the other two manhandled him towards the gangplank. O’Driscoll meanwhile spoke to a pair of the sailors and slipped them some coins. They grinned, pocketed the money and moved forward to take hold of the struggling Eliza, preventing her from following Jack off the ship. He turned to Eliza and shook his head. ‘God bless you and have mercy on you, Miss Hewlett. I wish you a better future in America.’ He winked at her and followed the others down the gangplank and off the ship.
Jack twisted his head round as he was marched off the ship. He could see Eliza pinned against the railings by the sailors the priest had tipped. He wanted to drink in the sight of her, burn her image into his brain, knowing that it could be the last time he would ever see her, but the peelers jerked him around and pushed him forward. With the sound of the booming foghorn the great ship sailed out of the dock. Jack felt lost, powerless, broken.
12
Cast Adrift
When a few yards of water separated the boat from the quayside, the sailors relaxed their hold and Eliza slumped to the deck on her knees, unable to process what had just happened. As the ship moved forward she was deaf to the screaming of gulls overhead, blind to the city behind and insensible to the sting of the wind on her face. She had never felt so alone, so lonely. Jack, Jack, where was her Jack and what were they going to do to him?
Her chest tightened as she thought about what might lie ahead. She was trapped on board a huge ship, penniless and destined for a foreign country. Until a couple of days ago she’d been a happy teacher, loving her work, loving her life in Bristol and most of all loving her Jack. The past few days had seen her world ploughed up, turned over like impacted soil after a long winter and spat out so that her future was unrecognisable and filled with fear. She knelt on the deck, clutching the railings and looking back towards the increasingly distant landmass. Jack’s face swam before her eyes and she tried to focus on him. What would he want her to do? What would he do in her place? She had no answers. When she fell in love with Jack she had been prepared to do anything to be with him. She would have walked all the way to Liverpool if he’d asked her; she’d have tried to swim to America if he’d been swimming beside her. But this? All alone. Cut off from everything she’d ever known. Everything she’d ever wanted. Most of all cut off from Jack.
She cursed Mary Ellen MacBride and her father from the depths of her soul, careless of whether she was committing a sin. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. How had God let it happen? But then God’s representative on earth in the form of Father O’Driscoll had been the prime mover in the wrecking of their lives.
Eliza stayed on deck until she could no longer feel her own face, her jaw numb with cold and her cheeks streaked with salt from sea-spray and her own tears. The crowd, grown bored with the lack of spectacle, had disappeared below. She tried to force herself to think, to focus on what she was going to do next. With a dull lurch of her stomach, she remembered that Jack had the pouch with their money in. She had barely a few shillings. Not enough to pay her passage home. Not even enough to tide her over in America until she could find a job. Shivering as the bitter wind cut into her, she went below to fetch her shawl.
She couldn’t remember the way back down to the steerage section. As she went down yet another companionway she was uncertain: it had not seemed so far down before. The passage was dim and it took her a few moments to adjust to the gloom after the brightness on deck. Her skirts brushed up against something and she jumped with fright as a hand took hold of her arm. She leapt away, pushing herself back against the wall.
‘You know where you’re going, Miss?’ The voice was coarse, with a tone of mockery. ‘Passengers are not allowed in the crew’s quarters. We don’t often see ladies this far below.’ He gave a low laugh as he pronounced the word ladies with a cynical exaggeration. ‘Not unless they come down here for a purpose.’
She cried out and backed away from him, banging her arm on the door to the companionway. She scrambled up the steps and emerged on another level. Breathless, she leaned back against the wall of the passage and gulped in big mouthfuls of air. Through the gloom another figure loomed in front of her and she cried out, ‘Leave me alone. Get away
from me.’
‘Can I help you, Mademoiselle?’ The accent was foreign. ‘Are you unwell? What is the trouble?’
It was a bearded gentleman, with gingery blond hair streaked with silver. He looked at her with kind, sad eyes.
‘I lost my way. I went to the crew’s quarters by mistake…’ Her voice tailed off, embarrassed, unable to find the right words about what had just taken place.
‘Then allow me to prescribe a cup of strong tea. That usually does the trick when one is feeling, shall we say, désorienté.’
She looked at him blankly. She didn’t want to talk to a stranger, even one offering her a cup of tea. She just wanted to close her eyes and, when she opened them again, find Jack beside her.
The man was looking at her quizzically. ‘Mademoiselle? A tea?’
She looked at him as though he were mad.
‘No. I must go.’ As she spoke she felt the tears rushing into her eyes. ‘Sorry. I must go.’ She pushed past him and ran along the corridor her heart slamming against her ribs.
When she got to her quarters in steerage she flung herself on her bunk and buried her head in her arms and cried her eyes out. No one paid any attention. The ship was full of people with sad stories, broken dreams, shattered lives, She was no different from dozens of others.
Later on, when everyone was sleeping, she lay in the dark torturing herself, playing back in her mind what had happened on the deck earlier, over and over again, as if by doing so the outcome might be different. But it wasn’t a bad dream. It had happened. Waking up didn’t make any difference. Jack was gone. She was alone.
By morning she had cried out all her tears. She went through her things, searching the lining of her small travel bag, hoping in vain to find some forgotten coins. She had no jewellery. Nothing to pawn. Just the clothes she was wearing and the few provisions she and Jack had bought in Liverpool. She would either have to convince the shipping company to take her back without payment or she must find work in New York to save for the ticket home. As soon as Jack had convinced the police of his innocence he would follow her – or at least get word to her. Better to wait until she heard from him. He would come up with a plan. She must trust him, believe in him. Meanwhile she must be strong.
The following morning Eliza went out onto the deserted deck. The winds was biting and the sky grey and most of the passengers were staying below. She felt lonely, but more determined than yesterday. She kept repeating the words “Be strong. Jack will come” over and over in her head, trying to make herself believe.
Someone came and stood beside her. It was the man she had met yesterday.
‘How are you today, Mademoiselle? I fear we met at what was a bad moment for you?’
‘I’m sorry. You must have thought me rude.’
She forced her mouth into a smile, nodded and was about to move away, when he spoke again. ‘My I then renew my offer of a cup of tea?’
She was irritated, She wanted to be alone, with her thoughts, but the idea of a hot cup of tea was appealing so she nodded.
He smiled and offered her his arm. ‘Allow me’ he said in a strong accent.
‘You are French?’ she asked, not caring what his answer might be.
‘German. But I have lived for the past twelve years in Belgium.’ He steered her along the passageway to the second class dining room. He settled her at a table in the empty saloon and went in search of someone to serve them. She looked around the wood-panelled room. It was very different from the cramped and overcrowded conditions in steerage. When the man returned and seated himself opposite her, she asked him, ‘Where is everyone? There’s no one about.’
He shrugged. ‘Up on deck possibly? In the library? In their cabins?’
‘You have private cabins? A library?’
He nodded. ‘And a smoking room. A card room too I believe.’
‘In steerage there are bunks, all together. Everyone eats and sleeps in the same place.’ She didn’t want to make small talk with this man but felt obliged to as he was standing her the tea. She looked around her at the empty room. ‘How many people are in second class?’
He tilted his head to one side, eyes closed as he thought. ‘I don’t know exactly. No more than fifty or sixty.’
‘There must be hundreds down in steerage. All squashed in like straw in a haystack.’
He smiled and looked as though he was about to say something.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ she said.
‘No, no. Quite the contrary, Miss.?’
‘Hewlett.’
‘Enchanté, Miss Hewlett. Allow me to present myself – Dr Karl Feigenbaum, at your service.
The steward appeared and placed a pot of tea in front of them. The German doctor paused the conversation to serve her with a cup, raising his eyebrows when she declined the sugar and accepted the milk. ‘You English are so strange with your tea-drinking. I am not so fond of it, preferring a good café.’
‘I hope you are not drinking it on my account, sir?’
‘Certainly not. You have clearly not yet had the opportunity to taste the vile concoction they serve as coffee on board.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they use water from the bilge pumps to make it.’
She forced a smile.
‘There isn’t any coffee down below. Just very weak tea. From an urn. Half-cold.’
He smiled back at her and she looked down, suddenly embarrassed at being there with him.
They sat there for a while sipping their tea in awkward silence, then both started to speak at once.
‘Why are you travelling to America?’ he asked.
‘I must go back to the steerage deck,’ she said at the same time.
They both leaned back in their seats, Eliza uncertain whether to respond to his question and the doctor looking anxious that she was about to leave.
He took a deep breath then reached across the table and took her hand in his. He bent his head and grazed his lips over the back of her hand. She stiffened as she felt the tickle of his beard and moustache, and quickly pulled her hand away from his.
‘I just want to say again that I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Hewlett.’
She felt uncomfortable. While his continental hand-kissing was probably viewed as normal in Belgium or Germany, it didn’t feel appropriate under the circumstances. They were strangers. She doubted if he would have done it were Jack present. She swallowed her annoyance and took another sip of her tea. Hot and strong, the way she liked it. Then aware again of her situation she asked herself what she was thinking of – sitting here in the second class dining room, drinking tea with a complete stranger, risking being found out and ignominiously returned to steerage? What would Jack think? What on earth was she doing, behaving as though she were at a parish social when her heart was breaking?.
‘I shouldn’t be here. I’m not supposed to leave steerage. I’m sorry. I must go. Thank you. Goodbye.’
Ignoring his protests, she put down her unfinished tea, scraped back her chair, gathered her skirts and ran out of the saloon, gasping with relief when she recognised the stairway back down to steerage.
Back on the small open promenade deck, she immediately regretted her premature exit. Another cup of tea would have been more than welcome and the temperature on deck was bitterly cold, despite the time of year. And the gentleman had been kind. But had she stayed, he would have expected her to answer his questions, to tell him why she was here, en route for America and all alone. Something she was not ready to share with anyone.
She didn’t want to go below to the noisy crowd in the big steerage cabin, so she stayed on the deck, shivering, repeating her mantra, telling herself to be strong, to believe in Jack, struggling to suppress the little voice inside her that kept saying he wouldn’t come for her. I’ll be strong for you Jack. I’ll be strong. Your love will make me strong.
Life on board was hard to bear. The pitch of the sea made Eliza nauseous and she passed a couple
of days tossing and turning on her narrow bunk, a slop bucket close at hand for the vomiting and retching that wouldn’t stop. The steerage quarters were cramped and foul-smelling, the odour of vomit pervasive, as many of the voyagers, like her, struggled to find their sea-legs. The noxious stench was mingled with the stink of unwashed bodies, cooking smells and stale breath, which combined to make the nausea harder to shake off. She lay on the narrow bunk, wishing for sleep, for oblivion – desperate for it all to be over, longing to plant her feet on dry land again. Praying that this was all a terrible dream she would awaken from and she would find herself back in Bristol sharing her bread with Jack in the park. Around her she could hear the moans of fellow sufferers, the screaming of sick babies and the raucous cries of children, frustrated at their close confinement. At night those passengers still standing tried to raise their spirits by singing, dancing, playing flutes and fiddles, banging tambourines and generally trying to turn what she saw as a voyage to hell into a cause for celebration. She put her hands over her ears and tried to shut out the noise. She replayed the events of the past week through her head. How was it possible that her life had so utterly changed in just a few days? She had gone from a happy state of loving Jack and looking forward to their future together, to being here, seasick, alone and destitute.
Three days before their arrival in New York Eliza was at last well enough to emerge from the bowels of the ship. This time she was careful to follow a couple of other women as they made their way onto the deck, avoiding any risk of straying into the crew’s section.
She leaned against the railings, straining her eyes in the hope of spotting land. Not that she expected the sight of land to bring her any comfort. She would be alone and penniless in a strange city, with ten days worth of ocean separating her from Jack and everything else she was familiar with. The gunmetal grey sea stretched endlessly in front of the ship in a monotonous moving mass. She told herself that once she was on dry land she would be able to think more clearly. Perhaps she could find someone to help her. If she explained that she had been accidentally separated from her fiancé maybe someone from the shipping company could help her to get back to England. Then she thought that perhaps Jack was by now sailing on the next ship to join her. She must wait for him in New York. He would be there soon. Wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t let her down. He would never abandon her. But what if MacBride and O’Driscoll were holding him? She must return to help him, to prove his innocence of the charges they had laid against him. But what if they crossed each other mid-Atlantic? As she grappled with the possibilities, she felt more and more confused. It was like a horrible cosmic lottery and no matter what she chose she feared the odds were stacked against her.