Tamar (4 page)

‘Yes, Doctor, I seen dehydration before in little ones,’ Mrs Croft responded confidently.

‘Make a mental note of which ones you think are suspect, and I’ll come and look at them and we’ll start giving them sugar and water.’

Between them they set about assisting those passengers on the floor back into their bunks. As Mrs Croft washed her hands then sloshed away into the murk towards the other end of the compartment, John Adams turned to Tamar and explained,
‘What you need to do is put your hand to the child’s brow. If it’s abnormally hot or cool, that’s a sign they’re low in fluids, which happens when people vomit excessively. Also, if you pinch the skin on the backs of their hands and it doesn’t smooth out straightaway, that’s another sign.’ He took Tamar’s hand and held it up under a lamp while he pinched a small segment of her skin. ‘See? Yours is quite elastic. You must be very healthy, and with a completely cast-iron stomach, I’d say, to be impervious to seasickness.’

Tamar wasn’t sure whether she felt complimented or not. Without thinking she replied, ‘I certainly need it to eat some of the food we’ve been getting, Dr Adams.’

‘Please call me John. I don’t stand on formality.’

‘John, then.’ Tamar suddenly realised it was the doctor’s job to prescribe the passengers’ diet. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to be rude about the food,’ she said, embarrassed.

‘Yes, well,’ he muttered. ‘Some of the food
is
a bit substandard. However, it’s not my job to procure it, only to ensure everyone gets enough. The quality is up to the emigration company and, ultimately, the Captain. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for some of the money allocated for provisions to go into private pockets. The voyage is gruelling enough for steerage passengers, without depriving them of food. Especially the children. I’ve spoken to the Captain, but as we won’t be calling in to any ports, nothing can be done, I’m afraid.’

He handed Tamar a hard piece of strong-smelling soap and indicated a bucket of water sitting on the table, in which he began to scrub his own hands vigorously.

‘I’m a great believer in the theories of Louis Pasteur, a French chemist who has discovered that many illnesses are caused by tiny things called bacteria — organisms that can be spread by physical contact.’ Shaking the water from his hands he reached for a clean cloth. ‘It’s very important that we don’t pass bacteria from one
passenger to the next. As you know, everyone was examined before embarkation, but I fear some may have lied about their health. I would hate to start a shipboard epidemic.’

Tamar nodded and watched as John bent to examine a small patient. The doctor, who appeared to be in his late twenties, was not particularly tall, with piercingly blue eyes and fair hair that was already receding. Although not strictly handsome, his cheerful face was appealing and she decided that this, together with his forthright manner, made him rather likable.

‘This one’s all right,’ he commented. ‘Weak, but she’s not showing signs of dehydration. Water with lime juice will suffice.’

Sloshing and mild swearing announced Henry’s return, followed by a crewman carrying four burning oil lamps.

‘No candles,’ said the sailor. ‘Cap’n don’t allow ’em below decks on account of fires. These lamps should help, but don’t let ’em spill.’ He touched his cap to Tamar before he turned and headed back to the ladder.

‘All right, Henry,’ said John. ‘Put a lamp on each table and take the other one and help Mrs Croft see what she’s doing.’

John handed the remaining lamp to Tamar and they began to work their way around one end of the family quarters, feeling clammy foreheads for temperatures and asking those with the energy to respond how they felt.

John chatted as they went, asking Tamar what had made her decide to emigrate and what she planned to do in New Zealand. In response she briefly recounted her family tragedy and her subsequent realisation there was nothing left for her in Cornwall, and talked of her plans to work as a seamstress. John nodded in silent sympathy as she spoke.

‘What about you?’ she asked.

‘Well,’ he replied, not looking up from the child he was examining. ‘I am a physician, but I have no desire to practise
general medicine for the rest of my life. My real passion lies in reconstructive surgery. There have been some incredible advances in this field in the last twenty years, particularly since the American Civil War. I spent a year in America and I’ve seen the work being done, not only on war injuries but also on birth defects such as cleft palate. I firmly believe that if there’s a chance a patient’s quality of life can be improved by surgically enhancing their appearance, it should be done. Otherwise, who knows what talents and abilities may be lost to the world? This one’s not looking too good,’ he added, as he rolled a small child on to its side. ‘We’ll come back to him shortly.’

He moved on to the next bunk in which a woman and a four-year-old boy lay in each other’s arms. As he carefully separated them, the woman clutched his hand feebly and croaked, ‘Can yer look at me little ’un, sir? She were very poorly before.’

‘Where is she?’ asked John, looking into the bunk above and in those on either side.

‘Down by me feet somewhere. I were cuddlin’ ’er ’cos she were shiverin’, but then I nodded orf and she’s slipped down,’ the woman muttered, closing her eyes with the effort of speaking.

John gently extracted the little boy from the bunk and handed him to Tamar, then reached in past the woman and felt around under the blanket. ‘Oh, Christ,’ he mouthed.

‘What?’ asked Tamar.

‘I think I’ve found her,’ he whispered grimly.

He leaned forward into the cramped cubicle with both hands, almost kneeling on the semiconscious woman’s chest, then carefully withdrew a small, limp bundle. Signalling for Tamar’s lamp, he pulled a swaddling blanket back from the grey face of a small baby. Her lifeless eyes were half open. ‘She’s been suffocated. Her mother probably rolled over onto her, God help them both.’

Tamar stared at the dead infant in horror, then down at the little
sleeping boy in her arms. ‘What will you tell the mother?’

‘Nothing yet. She’s not fully conscious, been seasick ever since the storm started, I expect.’

‘Where’s the father?’ asked Tamar.

John shrugged, and covered the baby’s face with the blanket. ‘He won’t be far away, but he’s probably sick as well. I’ll put off telling them as long as I can, but I will have to inform the Captain.’ He picked a small wooden box off the floor, tipped the water out of it, placed the infant’s body gently inside and laid the box on the table.

Tamar and John continued their ministrations, but their conversation was subdued and confined to the matter in hand. John found seven more small children whose conditions required medical assistance, and two adult women in the same state. After an hour, the four of them had been around the whole compartment. They were tired and emotionally drained, their clothes reeked of vomit, and their hands were red and chapped from washing. Telling the others to take the opportunity for a short rest, John left to prepare a sugar and water mixture for those who were badly dehydrated. Then, when the seriously ill in the family quarters had been attended to, the sick in the single women’s and single men’s accommodation were checked.

John Adams and his small team of helpers had very little sleep over the next two days and nights, kept busy administering fluids to the sick and preparing bland food for the few who could keep it down. To their relief, there were no further deaths. John decided there was little point in cleaning out any of the living quarters until the storm had abated and the passengers had stopped being sick. Many were awake but still incapable of moving from their bunks. Tamar snatched a few hours’ sleep but, like Myrna, she was completely exhausted by the time the storm had begun to pass.

By the morning of the fourth day the foul weather receded, leaving the skies almost clear and the seas and the stomachs of
many of the
Rebecca Jane’s
passengers significantly calmer. There had been two deaths; that of the baby girl, and one of the ship’s cows, which had been destroyed after breaking its hip, and would be butchered for food. As well, two men suffered broken bones caused by falls during the storm, and now resided in the men’s hospital area. In the hold several ruined casks and crates of provisions which had come loose and broken open were discovered.

The tiny body of the suffocated infant was buried at sea that afternoon after a short service performed by the Captain. Her devastated parents and small brother huddled together for comfort, the woman inconsolable.

Tamar’s cabin mates had also recovered, although no one had much of an appetite for the next few days. Routines were re-established and the living quarters rigorously cleaned out and bedding washed and dried in the blustery wind on deck. It took Tamar several days to catch up on her sleep, but she found she had made some new friends. Several women from the family quarters gave her small tokens of appreciation, and many of the children began to say hello and address her cheerily as Miss Deane whenever she went through the crowded compartment.

Tamar also found herself spending some of her time on deck with John Adams. As the ship’s surgeon, he was expected to mingle with the steerage class on occasion and when his expertise as a physician was required. However, like Myrna, he did not altogether enjoy the company of his peers with their formal dining arrangements, their snobbery, their refusal to set foot on the main deck where the steerage passengers took their exercise, and their outrage when anyone but themselves or the Captain appeared on the poop deck. On the other hand, he did enjoy breaking rules, particularly social ones.

Tamar Deane was a mystery to John. She clearly had not come from a monied background, yet she was well-spoken, educated
and intelligent, and conducted herself with a quiet dignity and resolution uncommon in one so young. He felt she was struggling with her new status as a young woman with no family, but suspected she would adapt soon enough and do well for herself in New Zealand.

Furthermore, he had been unable to help noticing Tamar’s physical attractions, as well as her unassuming but friendly and astute manner. He found himself looking forward more and more to the time they spent together, and was beginning to wonder how she might feel about being the wife of a revolutionary, but altruistic and therefore probably not very wealthy, doctor.

April 1879

A week after the storm, the
Rebecca Jane
sailed out of the northeast trade winds and into the doldrums off the Ivory Coast. The wind deserted her sails, leaving them to hang limp and heavy as she meandered slowly towards the equator. Temperatures shot up, fraying tempers and turning below decks into a hot, airless furnace. Passengers spent as much time on deck as possible, and some of the single men volunteered to help with deck work as an antidote to the increasing boredom. John Adams was kept busy treating cases of sunstroke and sunburn.

The nights were especially arduous. The Captain gave orders for extended hours on deck so passengers could take advantage of the marginally cooler evening temperatures; men went about in their shirtsleeves, and women without shawls.

The passage through the doldrums became profoundly tedious, the monotony broken only by the daily routines of preparing meals, cleaning and, for the children, a shipboard school. Parents were relieved and grateful as it gave them a welcome break from their
offspring, most of whom were fractious and bored. Several cases of wife-beating, and one of husband-beating, were reported to the Captain who declared the culprits would be incarcerated in irons if it happened again.

Myrna and Tamar had become firm friends. Tamar found the older woman a stabilising, if slightly eccentric, influence and she valued and enjoyed their time together. One afternoon found the women strolling the deck and enjoying a slight breeze. Myrna was wearing emerald green boots, a purple skirt with a small bustle, and a tight-fitting long-sleeved jacket in leaf-green silk. With her red hair piled up, she was vividly spectacular.

‘Would ye fancy a pot o’ tea in ma room, lassie?’ she asked Tamar, who nodded. She had visited Myrna in her comfortably furnished cabin several times and had thoroughly enjoyed herself, although she had received withering looks from first-class passengers as she passed them in the narrow corridor. Tamar shuddered to think what the ladies had thought of Eliza.

There had been a marked improvement in Eliza’s personal hygiene and behaviour since that embarrassing evening, but no one had been able to summon enough courage to ask her what had been said. When the women were settled in high-backed wing chairs on either side of the cabin window, Tamar asked what had happened.

‘Well,’ replied Myrna, prising her shoes off and massaging her liberated toes. ‘Lovely shade these, but Christ, they hurt ma feet. Getting ruined by the sea water,’ she observed, inspecting one elegantly small, water-marked ankle boot. ‘But yon Eliza, first I persuaded her to tell me about what sort o’ life she’s had, which was no’ an easy task. She didnae want to say much about that. She’s no’ had it easy, poor lassie. Her mam died when she was wee, leaving
her and her da to bring up three bairns. The da sounded a hopeless case, always on the whisky and no’ working regularly. And he was free wi’ his fists and his personal charms as well, the bastard. He died recently, thank God for small mercies. Seeing the brothers and sister are auld enough to look after themselves, Eliza thought she’d try emigrating. She’s no’ a bad lassie, ye ken, just ignorant and scared. I had to tell her what to do when she was having her courses, poor thing didnae know. She wasnae using anything so no wonder she ponged. I gave her some o’ ma own cloths, showed her how to fold them and pin them in, and talked to her about washing them and her body regularly, a chore though that is on this ruddy ship.’

Having washed her own sanitary cloths in a bucket of sea water recently, Tamar recalled how they had dried stiff and unyielding and were very uncomfortable to wear afterwards. The cloths were a common sight hanging up to dry in the single women’s quarters where male eyes hardly ever ventured, but she had no idea what the women in the family quarters did with theirs. Wore them wet, she supposed. They could hardly hang them flapping gaily from the ship’s bulwarks.