Convictions (7 page)

“I think singing would be a fine thing for you to do, Alice,” said Sarah.

“Aye, let the lass sing. Cheer us all up, it will,” said Kate.

“Go ahead, luv,” Sarah said.

In a clear, confident voice, Alice sang:

Twinkle, twinkle little star

How I wonder what you are

Up above the world so high

Like a diamond in the sky

When the blazing sun is gone

When he nothing shines upon

Then you show your little light

Twinkle, twinkle all the night

Then the traveller in the dark

Thanks you for your tiny spark

He could not see which way to go

If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep

And often through my curtains peep

For you never shut your eye,

’til the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark

Lights the traveller in the dark

Though I know not what you are,

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

“Well done,” said Sarah, clapping along with several of the women.

“Thank you, Alice.” Jennie dabbed away her tears.

“Do you know another?” asked Flo.

The girl said, “I learned one at the big house where they sometimes had parties, and people sang.” She paused. “But maybe it’s too sad for us.”

“Let’s hear it anyway,” said Hildy.

“Yes, you have such a lovely voice,” said Kate.

Alice began the first verse:

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;

A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,

Which, seek thro' the world,
is ne'er met with elsewhere.

Home, home, sweet, sweet home,

There's no place like home,

There's no place like home.

When Alice reached the second verse, stumbling slightly over the words, Jennie joined in quietly, along with a few other voices, including Sarah’s. Hildy and Flo hummed. Gladys sang aloud. Iris’s high-pitched, off-key voice quavered above everyone else’s when Alice started the third verse. Jennie and her bunkmates sang the words strongly and several young children joined in the chorus.

By the last verse, it seemed like everyone was singing – except for the warders, though they didn’t complain.

As the last chorus died away, more than a few people were sniffling. Many praised Alice, clapping their hands together or rapping on the wood of their berths with their knuckles. Jennie swiped at her tears and dried her hands on her shift.

From the guardroom, someone hollered, “Shut those women up.”

The young warder heading in their direction called in a subdued way, “That’s enough now!”

As Nate passed Jennie’s berth with the lantern held high in front of him, she thought she saw a glisten at the corner of his eye.

Though a kind of quiet had reigned for a brief time, the privies were still in constant use with women and children rushing down the passageways in both directions. Jennie’s berthmates left, sometimes to be sick and other times to visit someone needing help.

After one such time, Sarah, weary and pale, collapsed into her berth.

Jennie crawled over to the edge of her bunk.

“Can I help?” she asked, dreading the thought of what that might entail.

“Nothing you can do,” Sarah moaned, clutching her stomach and drawing her knees to her chest. “You are fortunate, Jennie, not to be so afflicted.”

“’Tis not the movement of the sea that ails me,” Jennie agreed. Indeed, it was the confinement in the hulk of the ship with no way out that troubled her.

“You! Get down here and grab a mop.”

Jennie jumped at the sudden appearance of Scarface. “Me?” she asked.

“Who else is lollin’ about and gabbin’, while others are ill?” Scarface snarled. Jennie cringed away as he laughed and tried brushing down her chest.

Jennie awkwardly descended, and she slipped on the slimy floor. The stench rose up. She stared at the mess around her in a daze.

Scarface thrust a mop at her.

“You seen a mop and pail before?” he asked, sarcastically. “Move it, or you’ll be another to get a floggin’ for insubordination.” He stomped away.

Jennie made a feeble attempt at cleaning a spot, but suddenly felt light-headed. At once she turned her thoughts to her father. What would he have done if he were in her place? But then, he probably never would have been someplace like this.

Her father, besides possessing fine carpentry skills and a reputation for hard honest work and fair dealings, had been well-known beyond their immediate community. She felt a swell of pride. Word of William Lawrence’s talents had even reached the ears of royalty. He was awarded a commission to build a special royal carriage. He took Jennie with him to deliver it, and that included a ferry ride. Her father, a descendant of the honoured Lawrence family, who fought so valiantly in the Napoleonic Wars, had never shirked his duty. Surely, Jennie could show some of that Lawrence bravery now.

She drew back her shoulders and gave the mop another few wipes across the timber flooring. As she bent to wring out the foul mess, she suddenly went light-headed again, and her body sagged. How was she going to endure these abhorrent conditions for the next four months? Would she ever safely see land again? And if she did, what horrible fate awaited her? Could it be worse than the conditions on board the ship?

Booted footsteps of a guard stomped toward her. Jennie knew Scarface was coming back. She grabbed the mop and pushed it vigorously across the floor. The footsteps faded as she worked her way toward the surgery.

She glanced inside. Dr. Weymss was dabbing up the blood from Lizzie’s open wounds. Once he seemed satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, he smeared what looked like lard from a pail onto them and started to wind strips of cloth around her body.

Jennie shuddered. Lizzie’s back was a horrible ribboned mess of ragged flesh. The surgeon wasn’t even taking time to suture them so that her cuts would heal flat and smooth.

Without thinking, Jennie blurted, “Aren’t you going to stitch the wounds first?”

The surgeon turned to her in surprise. “What does it matter?”

“She’ll be horribly scarred if you don’t,” Jennie said.

“She’ll most likely be dead before she reaches our destination anyway, with the attitude she has. Besides, it takes too long.”

Sarah wobbled up behind Jennie on her way back from the privy. “You could help him. You have skills with the needle.”

Jennie gaped at Sarah. She’d only sewn gloves and dainty women’s collars and underthings. How would she ever be able to sew flesh?

“If you had some help to sew her wounds, would you take it?” Sarah asked Dr. Weymss.

The surgeon shrugged.

“You can do it.” Sarah gave Jennie a little nudge. “Same as sewing gloves.”

Jennie stared at Sarah. Using needle and thread on gloves was totally different.

Lizzie made a pitiful sound, though she still seemed unconscious.

Sudden resolve swelled through Jennie. Never was it more important than now that she show her Lawrence fortitude. She set aside the mop with no regret.

“I’ll help sew her wounds, Dr. Weymss, if you show me how.”

Chapter Six

Clang! Clang! Bang!

Jennie cracked her eyes open and squinted in the gloom.

“Five-thirty a.m. Rouse yourselves!” This time it was Walt’s footsteps stamping along the passageway, yelling and clanging his club against the bunks. Annoyed mumblings and rustlings sounded up and down the length of the berths.

“Get up, you layabouts!”

Jennie inched her sweaty body away from Hildy and mopped at her face. The humid confines hadn’t yet dried from the constant swabbing of berths and floors. Nor were they likely to for quite some time. Vaguely she recalled a constant shuffling of people moving along the passageway all night, still plagued with sickness.

Though her other injuries were starting to heal, Jennie’s arms ached from the gruesome task of stitching Lizzie’s back. Once he’d seen her handiwork, Dr. Weymss had left her alone to labour for hours.

Lizzie had lain unconscious through most of it. She moaned in relief only as Jennie smeared soothing lard on her wounds when she finished sewing the ugly ripped skin. Lizzie’s back would still be heavily scarred, but at least there wouldn’t be such deep gouges. That is, if she lived. Jennie wasn’t sure how anyone could survive the severe flogging Lizzie had endured.

Lizzie! Did she make it through the night?

Bleary-eyed, Jennie crawled over her bunkmates and slid down to the floor. As she started toward the surgery, she scratched at the bedbug bites all over her body.

“Take your mattresses and hammocks deck side with you.”

The order came from someone standing in the shadows at the bottom of the hatch. “Those of you on this side first.” Nate stepped out of the gloom and pointed to Jennie’s group. He stared as if straight through her.

Jennie felt her face redden as she turned back to retrieve her bedding, and then she stumbled awkwardly along with her companions, carrying their rolled sleeping gear. She paused to peer into the surgery, and someone nudged her forward. But she’d managed to catch a glimpse inside. Lizzie seemed to be
breathing. Otherwise, it didn’t look like she’d moved since Jennie had tended to her. The white strips of cloth binding her wounds were blood-pink in places. Had some stitches let go? Jennie wanted to go to Lizzie, but dared not leave the line of women. Red Bull’s threat for disobeying orders was too strong in her mind, and the evidence of doing so was right before her eyes.

Jennie handed her mattress through the hatch to a relay of upper deck crew and then climbed up. Emerging topside into the subdued daylight, she glimpsed a sailor lashing the mattresses to the gangway nettings for storage.

“You’ll gather them again at the end of the day.” Meadows' orders caught her attention. “Now, line up in front of Surgeon Weymss.”

She watched as the surgeon doled out something in a teaspoon to each of them.

“What’s that?” asked Jennie.

“Lemon juice – daily ration,” Nate said in passing without looking at her.

“Wouldn’t want us gettin’ scurvy and dyin’ on them,” Hildy whispered.

Jennie looked at Hildy in alarm.

Beside her Sarah nodded. “One more thing to worry about in this hellhole.”

Jennie drew a deep breath and waited for her turn.

Overhead, a smattering of gloomy clouds hung low in the sky. The birds had disappeared. The wind held the tall sails taut in the stiff breeze. The water slapped against the ship as it sliced through the waves.

“Wash yourselves and get back below deck,” Meadows ordered, once Jennie and some of the others had swallowed the sour juice.

Unsteadily, Jennie followed the others to a line of buckets, each three quarters full, sitting on the right side deck floor. The water sloshed from side to side with the movement of the ship.

She glanced at the row of warders, standing behind them with smirks on their faces, Red Bull among them. Closing her eyes, Jennie scooped water onto her face. She gasped. Cold sea water again. Her insect bites stung. At least she was half expecting it.

Behind her, the guards chuckled.

There was no way she would wash any more of herself. She stepped away from the bucket.

Red Bull growled in her ear. “Finish!” He gave her a shove.

Jennie bent and cupped a little water into her hand. She held her breath as she scrubbed at her neck.

“Faster,” Red Bull snarled.

Bracing herself, she splashed water onto her arms, underarms and the top of her chest.

Suddenly, the red-bearded monster grabbed the bucket and sloshed the water over her. It dribbled down her body, and the salt stung her bites and scrapes. Jennie struggled to catch her breath. Red Bull ran his hands over her shoulders. She wrenched away from him. He pulled another woman into her place.

Grabbing a damp rag near the bucket, she tried to mop herself dry. Sarah handed her a tatty hairbrush after she finished brushing Alice’s hair. Jennie tugged through the tangled wet ends of her own hair, before passing it to Hildy.

Avoiding Red Bull’s leers, she stared at the cold, grey sea and the endless dull sky. Everywhere there was water and more water, sky and more sky, grey upon grey and the ever-present smell of the sea.

A crack on her shoulder brought her to stark attention. Rough hands shoved her into line with the other women. In a daze, Jennie took a last breath of salty sea air, and ducked down the hold.

Below deck, Jennie was surprised to see that the other half of the prisoners had positioned plank tables and benches underneath where the hammocks had hung. Some were in front of the surgery. With the door closed, there was no way to enter undetected to check on Lizzie. A few women squabbled about where they were going to sit, but were quickly brought to order by the guards, who shoved them onto the benches. Jennie managed to seat herself between Sarah and Alice, who gave her a weak smile. Jennie patted Alice’s hand, as a shrill whistle sounded. Meadows called for their attention.