Not the Same Sky (7 page)

Down below, almost two hundred girls moved about a little, whispering to each other.

‘That girl wasn’t right about the number of days,’ Anne Sherry said.

‘Which girl? There’s plenty here,’ Julia Cuffe remarked.

‘The one who was beside you outside, before we got in here.’

‘Oh no, couldn’t count, that one,’ Julia said. ‘Probably hadn’t got to that at her school, or only knows it in Irish. Just as well she’s not in charge of anything.’

Honora was going to ask what number of days the girl had said, but decided against it. They would know soon enough.

CHAPTER 8

In Charles Strutt’s mind, it was important to manage the girls in such a way that they did not know they were being managed. In each group he would decide on one girl to speak for them. Of course the groups would be arbitrary, existing only in his mind to help with the smooth running of things. That core person might have to change, as responsibility turned some into tyrants while others flourished when given it. That was why he would not inform any girl of where he was placing her on the ladder in his mind—he might have to alter the place she held.

He would not yet try to remember all their names, there were far too many of them, and too many that were similar. He knew there would be a way in which the names would come to him. Often a name would attach itself to a person because of an association, although he would have to be extremely careful not to let it slip. Charles, with his understanding of translation, was doubly conscious of the minefield of naming. Didn’t he spend hours searching for the correct word? Translation was like a ship really, smooth sailing, through leagues or miles of water at the speed of knots, with the danger to follow the presumption of such calm. But thinking of these things would not get the decks cleaned.

There were lots of duties to be remembered as well as names. He had the dispensation matter sorted with the Romish priest—he would have to inform the girls of that. The priest was accepting, knowing full well that fast days could not be observed at sea. It had merely been a matter of courtesy, neither of the men actually believed a priest might say no.

Charles moved the lists about on his desk—they would be the backbone, the soul, of his operation. He would have to bring some variety while still retaining their essence. He had worked them out as if this ship would sail at a good pace, straight the entire journey, on course, never baffled by wind or current change. It was the only way. The countenancing of setbacks would lead to indecision and confusion. He had rotas organised for sewing, lessons, singing and dancing. Washdays would be strictly Mondays and Fridays, weather permitting. Washing would take place early, so as to allow the linen to dry before being put away at night. He knew this would cause astonishment among some, who would never have entertained the idea that one could wash and dry linen on the same day. What weather! There would be no washing hanging about between decks on non-designated days, no flapping irregularly creating a sense of untidiness. Charles had thought of many routines that, when put together, would be the foundation of as smooth a journey as possible, barring disaster.

The washing of the decks would be a strict part of the training. Of course, during rough weather, the crew would be very busy. During the first bout of seasickness, which he hoped wouldn’t last beyond Madeira, hot sands would have to be used frequently. He knew how this was done: the sand was placed in stoves and heated to two hundred degrees, then spread an inch deep on the affected areas, and when the area was perfectly treated the sand was collected for reuse. He would not have to do this himself, but would have to make sure that it was done properly. Hopefully the captain and he would be able to establish a good working relationship. They would no doubt have differences, but, with luck, these would be kept to a minimum and would not become explosive. They were both of the same mindset with regards to the conduct expected from the crew—conduct that would have to be diligently policed. Charles knew this had not always been so on ships of this nature that had tread these waters before him. The stories had been heard: how some were fed more than others, how food had been appropriated, and worse. But not here. He would see to that.

Every mess on this ship would consist of eight and would have its turn to be first on the list for serving. Each one would have its own utensils, iron ladle, large tin oval dish, two tin three-pint pots, one two-gallon water keg, a potato net, pudding bag and towel. Each mess would have a planned menu, the ounces clearly measured to eliminate errors. No mistakes were going to be made here.

‘No one, and I repeat no one,’ he said to the cook, ‘is going to get thinner on me.’

Each girl had already been assigned a bolster, blankets and counterpane, a large linen bag, a knife and fork, two spoons, a metal plate and a mug. Each girl had the utensils to eat, and eat she would, providing of course that she was not sick. How he dreaded the Bay of Biscay. Would the girls be good to each other then and care for the sick among them? Yes, he was sure that they would.

Already his bright thoughts from his train journey to Plymouth were mirrored in the changed demeanour of some of the girls. He couldn’t be sure if the changes had occurred among the most forlorn looking, but then he did not know or remember who had been the most forlorn. He would never go back to not knowing these girls. Of course he still didn’t know them—he knew only a few names even now, and he couldn’t tell the difference between most of them. But he knew the overall look of them better than he had when he first saw them. And he would get to know them even better. Though not during sick days. The sick ones would remember him as ministering what little there was—sage, arrowroot, preserved milk perhaps. He would not remember them before Biscay anyway, that was too soon. They would merge into one for him, berth number after berth number. When they were better, when life had begun to return to their cheeks, they would look different from when lying curled on their sides retching, different enough to give him something to recognise. And the experience, that of the sickness and the care, if they could remember the tending of others, would leave a mark of its own on their faces.

Charles Strutt and the captain and crew and matrons and sub-matrons knew the sequence of events to be followed each day.

Doors open at five thirty. The well-enough girls would have two hours in which to wash, dress and make themselves generally presentable. As soon as the weather got warm enough, a large bath of seawater would be placed under a tent and they would be able to immerse themselves between five and six in the morning. The officer on watch would be summoned to test the tea or coffee, to pronounce it fit to drink, and to ring the breakfast bell. After breakfast, berths, tables, lockers and between decks would be swept, scraped and polished with holystones and sand. The ladders would be brought on deck and similarly treated. Plates and cutlery would be made to gleam. The mattresses and bedding would be folded and made dry and clean, weather permitting. The girls would then rearrange themselves, their faces and hair, for inspection. And at eleven o’clock school would begin. Here hieroglyphics would become understandable. Some who could already read and write would help those who were not as proficient, or at least not as proficient in English. Shapes would be made on pages. The maker of those shapes would stare mesmerised by what it meant and that she had done it and had made its meaning. There would be bursts of great joy during this time.

Dinner would come, substantial pies, as regular as breakfast, and prompting another ceremony. And after, tired though the girls might be, classes would resume. There would be more needlework and letters in the afternoon. Materials had been kindly provided by some local women at Plymouth, the women Honora had watched come and go. Some of these women would perhaps occasionally wonder how the girls were getting on, but most of them wouldn’t, having given materials to the ship only because their neighbours were doing it. At five thirty, tea would be called, announcing to anyone who might pass that this ship had been well ordered for the last twelve hours.

After tea, when the girls would assemble for dancing and singing, they might whisper the progress of the quilt they were secretly making for Mr Strutt—the shapes and stitches, the size of the squares, the best way to handle a needle. They would have begun the quilt for him because he was theirs now. Judgment had been made. Already. And in the making of the quilt they would stitch in some of their hearts and do their best to be cured. The lanterns would be hung on deck to light the dancers, and between decks for those too tired, too shy, or too sad. At eight thirty all the lanterns, except three, would be doused—after the decks had been cleaned, of course. Girls would then retire to bed. And sigh. And maybe cry. And hopefully sometimes smile before sleeping.

The clarity, the precision and the reliability of this routine would add shape to their days. The girls did not know this yet, which put them at a disadvantage. The future emptiness of their days worried many of them. They did not know yet that they were going to be busy, very busy indeed. It would have relieved them if they had known, and did indeed, when it began to become clear.

The
Thomas Arbuthnot
sailed out at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, 28 October 1849. A light breeze set it on its way. This good start left very few sick, so passing the ship
The Lizard
that first night brought a satisfaction the crew would not have liked to revel in too much, for fear it might strain their luck. A Russian barque passed them, but then the wind picked up and allowed the
Thomas Arbuthnot
to pass it. Unfortunately this quickening gave many their first taste of seasickness. The journey from Dublin had clearly been less rough than he had presumed. A stunned girl looked at him, he could not remember her name.

‘Am I getting sick?’

Charles knew enough to understand the question.

‘No, just seasick. It happens sometimes at sea.’

‘So I will get better?’

‘Yes, you will.’

How strange that the girl had not asked him when. The main deck leaked, water sprayed berths, the sea roughed up getting ready for rage. Charles gave as much consolation and encouragement as he could to the bewildered below. He talked to the captain and between them they organised what cleaning, scraping, and purifying was possible. In some ways Charles welcomed this early stirring of the waters, giving him a chance to assess the weaknesses in his plan. His eye was keen, he could see the immediate problems and where cracks might appear as they progressed.

The captain worked beside him. He was not sure about this surgeon, he seemed stiffly conscious of his charges as if they were the only thing on this vessel, but then that could be to his advantage. It did not appear he was going to have to spend time keeping order. Unlike his last journey, there would be no routing out of crew from shadowed corners on this voyage, not if this man had his way. He called for two more crew members, and between them they lit stoves and aired the inside quarters as best they could. The captain had not intended to engage in this activity himself, but with Charles bent to it he felt he had no choice. He would be careful in future to control where they met to speak. Charles went back down to the girls to promise them the journey would not always be like this—most believed him because they wanted to. In time they would become used to bad weather and forget comparisons of awfulness. On his way back up he noted as many leaks as he could and put them down for caulking when the fine weather came as promised.

Charles told the girls that the sight of Madeira would bring calm. So confident was he that he was, at this moment, getting ready their books for school. The notion of school on a boat seemed such a peculiar idea that they looked at him and said nothing. What could they say to what they didn’t know?

Anne Sherry whispered, ‘Well, my mother went to a hedge school, maybe it will be like that.’

‘He’s nice, really,’ Honora dared.

‘He could be worse I’m sure,’ Julia sniffed.

‘I think he’s nice … I think,’ Honora said.

Bridget Joyce, who stood beside Honora as often as possible, said nothing.

It was in the afternoon that Charles first caught a glimpse of it, the height of the hills reaching up out of the water. He focused his eyes carefully to check he had not made a mistake—it would not be good to tell his passengers about the sight of land and then discover that he himself had suffered a dreaded illusion. But no, that was it, that was land, and the water looked more ironed out because of it. He took a map to the girls. Although all of them had been to school at some time, there had of course been huge disruptions in their education. It was impossible for Charles to decide whether it was the disruptions or the issue of language that made them stare at him sometimes, as if they had no idea what he was talking about. He could not help being aware too, that they might not be as open with him as he presumed. Bearing these things in mind he unrolled the map. There would be those who could understand the notion of representation, and those who couldn’t, or perhaps deliberately wouldn’t. Maybe they would have been interested in an academic or dreamy way inside the four walls of the school close to their homes. Maybe now they did not want to understand the vastness of that water, the length of time it would take a letter to travel. The truth of the distance might be too catastrophic. They would know that forever it would only be letters that would go home, never them. There were also those who did not want to see themselves on large maps, a smaller contour of life being more suitable for most. But he would show it to them, because he believed they were entitled to know. He tacked the map to a beam. He was surprised as they flocked to him, the girls crowding close to see.