by Clare Flynn
‘Miss Hewlett, I feared you must have fallen overboard.’ It was the German doctor. ‘I am happy to see that you are very much alive.’
He smiled at her with a big beaming grin, then removed his spectacles and carefully polished them with a small cloth to remove the seaspray that had clouded them. The wind blew his hair, overlong and in need of a barber’s attention, up on either side of his face, giving him the aspect of Zeus or Poseidon. ‘I think you will find it more sheltered on the aft deck. It’s a little blowy on this side.’ He nodded in the direction.
‘I am not permitted to go up there.’
He extended an arm to her. ‘I think you’ll find you can pass quite safely with me. That is…’ His face was suddenly anxious. ‘That is unless you are waiting for another travelling companion?’
She shook her head, then looked about her to see if they were observed, but there was just a couple of women, preoccupied with the supervision of their children. She reluctantly rested her hand on his proffered arm and let him lead her up the stairs, hoping that the cursory wash she had improvised this morning using a flannel and half a cup of cold water would have been enough to remove the smell of several days shut up in steerage.
The second class promenade deck was much larger, despite the fact that the number of passengers were significantly fewer than in steerage.
‘It’s much nicer here,’ she said, stating the obvious.
‘I imagine the first class deck is nicer still.’ He nodded upwards absently, but kept his eyes fixed upon her.
‘Tell me, Miss Hewlett, you have not yet answered the question I posed the other day. Why is a young lady like you travelling alone to the United States? Are you joining your family there?’
She sighed. Better to get it over. She would likely have to tell her tale many times before she was done, so she needed to get her story clear. She knew she didn’t want to reveal what had happened to Jack. She didn’t want strangers knowing about his humiliation. She didn’t want to talk about him at all. It was nobody else’s business.
‘I have no family. My parents are dead. There’s no one else. I decided to start a new life in America. I read that there are many opportunities for people there who are prepared to work hard. Unfortunately my purse was stolen on the docks in Liverpool as we were boarding and I’ve lost all my money.’
As soon as the words were out she regretted them. He might think her a fortune hunter, or even a common beggar, preying on his goodwill. And most of all she didn’t want his pity. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to hear about that.’
‘I am very sorry, my dear. What will you do?’ Still his eyes were fixed on her face and full of concern.
‘I will look for employment as soon as we disembark.’
The man looked thoughtful but was silent. At last he moved his gaze from her and, leaning on the railing, stared out across the empty sea.
She looked sideways at him. He was tall and broad and a bit stout around the middle as though he’d enjoyed rather too many potatoes or dumplings back in Belgium or Germany. His suit was crumpled and she noticed he had ink stains on his fingers. She wondered whether there was a Frau Feigenbaum and if so, where she was – perhaps lying seasick in their cabin? Clearly she didn’t take too much care over her husband’s appearance.
As though reading her mind, the man turned back to face her. ‘I too am travelling alone.’
He was looking at her intently so she looked away.
‘I am travelling to join my brother in America,’ he said. ‘He followed my father into the brewing trade and now lives in the city of St Louis. He works at the Drescher Brewery and suggested I come out to join him there.’
She nodded. ‘You are a brewer?’
He shook his head. ‘Alas no. I wish I had been. My parents wanted me to have a profession and I studied to become a doctor, like my grandfather. I often think I would have been a happier man had I become a brewer. Beer makes men happy whereas all too often a doctor has to deal with the things that make them sad.’ He looked out over the sea.
‘But being a doctor means you can save lives too’ said Eliza. ‘You can make a real difference whereas beer is just a temporary pleasure.’
He turned to her, smiling. ‘You are a philosopher, Miss Hewlett. Now tell me more about yourself.’ He spoke the words as if he was issuing an order.
‘There’s not much to tell. My mother died giving birth to me and my father died when I was twelve. I am a teacher. I was born in Bristol and have lived there all my life.’
‘You are not married?’ His eyes were fixed on her and she looked away, embarrassed.
‘No. I am engaged to be married.’
‘Why then are you travelling alone to America?’
‘My fiancé will be following me soon.’ She turned away from him, uncomfortable under his gaze.
‘That’s an unusual thing for a man to do. To send his intended alone to a strange country.’
She blushed. Why had she mentioned Jack? She hesitated then said, ‘He was held up at the last minute due to a family problem and as we had already paid for the passage we decided I would go on ahead.’
‘I see,’ he said, but she knew he didn’t believe her.
He spoke again. ‘I have never married. Not from choice but from lack of opportunity. My mother, after the premature death of my father, suffered a series of apoplectic attacks and I cared for her until she passed away earlier this year. That was what took me to Belgium and kept me there for so long.’
She said nothing, hoping that he would move the conversation away from personal matters, but he persisted.
‘When Mama died six months ago there was nothing to keep me in Belgium and nothing to take me back to Germany.’
He was speaking quickly, as though anxious. All the while he fixed his eyes on her face and she felt uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny
He stopped suddenly, swallowed, took a deep breath, then spoke again with the same urgent speed. ‘I am what you call a confirmed bachelor. Comfortably off. I never wanted more. Or more truthfully never expected more. But…’
Eliza felt a wave of nervousness sweep over her. He was telling her too much. Where did he think this was leading? Did he think she was a woman of easy virtue? Were he to proposition her she would die of shame.
‘How long until we reach New York, Doctor?’ she blurted.
He paused, removed his spectacles and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.
‘The day after tomorrow.’
‘I will be greatly relieved when we can disembark. I have found the voyage to be difficult.’
‘My dear, were you affected by the seasickness? You should have sent for me.’
She turned to face him. ‘You have been most kind, Dr Feigenbaum. Now I must take no more of your time.’ Before he could respond she moved towards the companionway and descended to the steerage deck.
The following morning he appeared again as though from nowhere as she was standing on the deck, watching the empty sea.
‘Allow me to offer you a cup of tea, Miss Hewlett. Or perhaps you’d like to try the bilge water coffee?’
The tea she had been served with her breakfast had been cold and the milk curdled. It was an offer too tempting to refuse.
They settled into seats in the second class saloon and she sipped her tea gratefully.
‘Miss Hewlett, I have a question for you.’
She looked up, startled. There was something about the way he talked to her, looked at her, that she found unsettling.
‘Who was the young man you were with before we left Liverpool?’
‘You were watching me?’ She felt sick.
‘I couldn’t help but see. The poor chap was removed by force from the ship. Everyone was watching.’
She gave a little choked sob.
‘It was your fiancé?’ He stretched out a hand and placed it on hers, but she pulled hers away.
‘I don’t know what he did and I won’t ask you a
ny questions if you don’t want to tell me. But I can see you are in trouble and you are alone. Perhaps I can help.’
‘It was all a misunderstanding. He has done nothing wrong. He will sort it out and will be on the next ship to join me.’
‘I see. You sound very sure. I hope you are right.’
‘What do you mean? Of course I’m right.’
‘It’s just that the gentlemen of the law appeared to think otherwise. I saw there was a clergyman there too.’
She put down her tea as her tears were falling into the cup. She screwed up her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
‘I told you. It was a mistake. Jack will have sorted it all out by now. He will have wired to New York to tell me he is coming. And if he hasn’t then I will turn right round and take the next ship back.’
‘I see. This Jack is a very lucky man indeed.’
‘Lucky?’ she cried. ‘How can you say that? Lucky! He’s the unluckiest man on earth for what has happened to him.’
‘I’m sorry. I meant he was lucky to have your friendship and faith in him.’
She got up and gathered her skirt about her.
‘You make it sound as though such faith is unmerited.’
He made the slightest movement of his head as if in acknowledgment of the truth of what she said.
‘He has not only my friendship and faith. He has my undying love. Thank you for the tea, Doctor. Goodbye.’
Heedless of the stench of steerage she went back into the bowels of the ship and flung herself facedown on her bunk.
On the last evening on board, Eliza was standing on the deserted deck, watching the stars and wondering if back in England Jack was watching them too. She felt a movement beside her and turned to see the German standing beside her.
‘What a beautiful evening’ he said. ‘I fear I upset you when we spoke last. I apologise. I did not mean to offend you, my dear.’
She gave him a brief nod then moved towards the companionway. He was such an irritating man, following her like her shadow.
He reached out and took her arm.
She spoke abruptly. ‘Doctor, you have been very kind, but we arrive in New York tomorrow and I must prepare for disembarking. I wish you the best for the future. Good evening and goodbye.’ And she turned on her heels and went down the stairs, leaving him alone on the otherwise deserted deck.
14
Castle Garden
Determined to avoid running into Doctor Feigenbaum again, Eliza chose to endure the conditions below decks for the remaining hours of the voyage, only emerging as the ship’s foghorn gave its celebratory blast as they entered New York harbour.
She kept in the middle of the crowd from steerage, hanging back until she could see the doctor disembarking with the rest of the second class passengers. The first and second class passengers cleared the immigration process on board and were then spirited away to the mainland, while those, like Eliza in steerage, had to wait on board the ship before going through the lengthy ordeal of entry to the United States via the Castle Garden immigration centre. The vessel was quarantined in the harbour for a couple of hours – until a medical officer boarded, checked the ship’s paperwork and gave the steerage passengers a cursory look-over for any obvious signs of contagious diseases. This was just in case anyone had sickened on the voyage – all the passengers had already been vetted by the shipping company’s medical officer before being allowed to board in Liverpool.
When they were eventually transported by barge to Castle Garden, Eliza joined a long queue snaking its way past the customs inspectors and another medical officer, until she entered the rotunda of Castle Garden. America was real now. She realised she had given little thought to the specifics of what it would be like. It had been just a destination, a vague concept, an uncertain future. Now, she was here she was forced at last to face up to its alienness, to grapple with the realities of entering this vast unknown continent.
The huge circular room was supported by narrow pillars, surrounding a central glass ceiling which poured light down onto the motley masses. The noise was deafening as immigration officers interviewed arriving passengers, each in their own language, creating a cacophony of sound. She looked around her: there were people here from several ships, evidently originating from different European ports. The place resembled a museum of national costume – bearded Russians in long coats and fur hats, Slavic women enveloped in embroidered shawls of every possible hue, English, Scottish or Irish men in tweedy jackets, corduroy trousers, Poles in military style jackets, Italian girls in coloured head kerchiefs and peasant skirts, Germans wearing long boots, overcoats, leather breeches, some in leiderhosen.
As she shuffled forward in the queue for English speakers, clutching the cloth carpetbag that held her few possessions, Eliza could see that completion of the immigration interview did not represent the end of the process. Some passengers were pulled aside and marked out for transportation with the sick to Ward’s Island. A mother screamed and pleaded as she was separated from her husband and son and led away. But most of the assembled mass were processed and given leave to enter the United States.
After what must have been hours, Eliza reached the head of the queue and found herself in front of an immigration official.
‘Can you help me,’ Eliza said. ‘I believe there will be a telegraph message for me from England. Where do I go to find out?’
The man looked at her without interest and spoke with a tone of voice that betokened endless repetition and boredom with his job.
‘Name?’
She told him and then responded to his subsequent requests for her nationality, former place of residence, age and marital status. When she said she was travelling alone, he registered what passed for surprise on his otherwise expressionless face, by the almost imperceptible raising of one eyebrow.
‘Reason for entering the United States?’
‘I don’t think I want to enter the United States – I was travelling with my fiancé, but he was taken from the ship when we were about to sail. I believe he will have sent a telegraph to tell me when he will join me. Please tell me where I find out? If there is no message from him then I want to go back to England to find him.’
He looked at her for a moment and she thought he was going to ask why Jack was taken. Instead he asked, ‘Occupation?’
‘I’m a schoolteacher.’
He wrote something on a slip of paper and handed it to her. ‘Give that to the employment exchange.’
‘Money?’ he said, in the same monotone.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I need to see the money you’re bringing in. You have to be able to support yourself.’
‘I don’t need to support myself. My fiancé has our money. I told you they took him off the ship in Liverpool. He will be coming to join me. I won’t be staying in New York long. Just until he gets here. And if he can’t get here then I will be going back to England.’ She felt panic begin to grip her as she tried to explain. Her words sounded lame to herself so how must they sound to this disinterested stranger?
He looked at her impatiently so rather than argue she scrambled in her purse and produced the ten shillings and sixpence that was all she possessed in the world. He glanced at it, his face still blank.
‘Not enough. That’s not even three dollars. You have to be able to prove you can support yourself.’
‘Anyone you know here who can lend you the money or vouch for you?’
She shook her head.
‘Well, you can’t come into the United States without at least five dollars. Over there.’ He jerked his head towards a doorway.
‘What happens now? Where do I go?’
‘The holding pens till they decide if they’re going to send you back where you came from. Take this.’ He handed her another slip of paper. ‘Move along.’ Then raising his voice, ‘Next!’
Eliza hesitated and stood beside the table. ‘You mean they’ll send me home again?’ She couldn’t hide th
e relief in her voice.
‘Over there.’ The man turned in his seat and gave her a shove.
She moved towards the doorway where she was met by a big burly negro with a shaved head like a convict and a nose that looked as though he’d had a head-on collision with a brick wall. He took her slip of paper and opened the iron-barred door.
‘In there.’
Eliza’s joy at the prospect of being repatriated was short-lived as she contemplated being shut up in a cage with this mixed rabble of people, all of whom looked as though they were beggars or thieves and none of whom were speaking English.
She remained standing, afraid to venture further inside the holding pen and unwilling to sit, like the other inmates, on the floor. The bald-headed negro guard was standing a few yards away on the other side of the barred door, so she tried to attract his attention by waving at him, to ask him how she could find out about Jack’s telegraph. He ignored her for half an hour or so, then submitting to the boredom of standing sentinel when no one else had arrived requiring him to unlock the cage, he turned and looked at her at last.
‘Where you from, Ma’am?’
‘England. Bristol.’
‘You waiting for funds to be sent?’
‘No. I mean yes. I am hoping to receive a telegraphed message.’
‘You all alone, Ma’am?’
She nodded.
He looked her up and down. ‘You look like a nice, respectable lady. Why come to America if you don’t know anyone here?’