Convictions (10 page)

“Don’t put her right next to me,” Iris squealed again.

“Push to the back then, because she’s staying,” said Sarah. “We’ll all shift so Lizzie can have the front. It will be easier for her.”

“But not for us,” grumbled Iris as she squirmed against the hull. “Lord help me to persevere.” She began a fervent mumbled prayer.

Barely had the space been made, when Lizzie slumped half on and half off the bunk.

“She’s fainted,” gasped Jennie. “Shall I get the surgeon or a guard?”

“A guard will be too rough. The surgeon won’t come. We’ll manage,” said Sarah. She and Jennie eased Lizzie’s top half onto the bunk. Kate climbed out and lifted Lizzie’s legs.

Once they had her settled, Jennie tended to Lizzie’s back, making sure the stitches held and the bandages were in place. Satisfied, Jennie climbed slowly to her own berth and collapsed.

The daily routines passed in an endless blur for Jennie. She didn’t know how much time had elapsed, nor did she care. Sometimes she felt numb, and at other times, she had to quell the fear that seized her and made her as helpless as a rabbit in the jaws of a fox – especially at night.

Although Jennie frequently awakened from sleep, scratching at lice and bedbugs, or in terror from her nightmares of burning in hellfire, once it was the whisper of warders creeping past her bunk that woke her. Dottie had expired in the surgery one evening at 8 p.m. as the roll call before bed was underway. The surgeon hadn’t been able to do anything for the elderly woman’s dysentery-ridden body. Even though she’d never liked Dottie, Jennie thought it was a relief that she hadn’t had to suffer any longer.

When Jennie heard the creak of the infirmary door, she knew that’s where the warders had gone. A short time later, she heard the light rumble of the ladder being put in place and then some thumping and whispered cursing, followed by a scuffing sound.

Jennie peered through a narrow slit in the berth boards, but darkness shrouded the guards. There was a tap, and someone from above opened the hatch door a crack. A faint light from overhead revealed three figures, struggling with what looked like a bulky body wrapped in a blanket. It took some time before they managed to manoeuvre their load onto the deck and close the hatch again.

Several moments later, Jennie heard a distant splash. Had they just dumped Dottie into the ocean? No one had been able to say good-bye, and no prayers had been said over Dottie! She was just gone. True, the surgeon was afraid others might catch her illness, but surely Reverend Brantford could have had some kind of prayers for her before they dumped her so unceremoniously into a watery grave.

Jennie recalled others that had died and some who’d gone mysteriously missing. She wondered now if they too, had been heaved overboard in the middle of the night as fodder for the sharks. She’d never thought before about what happened when people expired on the ship. Had no one else been awakened tonight? Were they all oblivious?

She heard the hatch creak open again, and saw the warders return with an empty blanket in their arms. They stowed it back in the infirmary. Unmoving, Jennie stared into the dark, as they rustled past her. The guardroom door hardly made a sound as they opened it and slipped inside.

After that the ship seemed to settle back into its familiar gentle creaking, as if breathing a sigh of relief. It was some hours, though, before Jennie fell into an uneasy sleep amid the usual snoring and muttering.

And then she dreamt of hands reaching for her, pulling at her. She flailed out to keep them from heaving her into the sea too. “Don’t throw me overboard!” she cried out.

Smack!

Jennie jerked awake, her arms punching wildly in the air, her heart pounding.

Hildy smacked her again. “Hit me one more time, and I’ll pulverize you,” she hissed.

Jennie dropped her arms, staring wide-eyed into the dark.

“Lie still, or Dottie won’t be the only one to leave the ship tonight. I’ll dump you overboard myself.” Hildy flopped her head away.

So, others
had
heard. She hadn’t been alone in what she’d witnessed. Somehow, knowing that did little to calm Jennie's anxiety. Sleep came no more to her that night.

Chapter Eight

The next morning
, Jennie attempted to ask
about Dottie, but tight-lipped warders ignored her. She waited until Alice had gone to clean the utensils after breakfast before whispering to the others at her table about what she’d observed in the night.

“That’s eleven dead so far,” said Hildy. She sported the beginning of a bruise around her left eye. “Was almost one more.” She rubbed her arm and gave Jennie a fierce look.

Jennie hadn’t known that many women had died.

“They’ll put it down to them being sick before they boarded,” Flo replied. “They don’t care if we live or die.”

Sarah tried to reassure them. “Those days are supposed to be gone. That’s why they’ve hired surgeons on ships now,” she said. “Dr. Weymss’ sole responsibility is for our well-being.”

Although this was of little consolation, Jennie hoped it was true.

Fanny guffawed. “That’s only because the captain receives a bonus to land us safe and sound at the end of the voyage.”

“And that’s only for the ones they say weren’t sick before we sailed. You can bet they lied about the number of those too,” said Hildy.

Was it true what they said? Jennie looked around the table. What if most of them didn’t make it? Who would care?

“But there are too many dying now. Surely, the authorities must know there weren’t that many sick before they left,” Sarah said.

Flo snorted. “Too late for the ones that are already gone, ain’t it!”

“Yeah, and what’re the authorities going to do about it once
we get there? Can’t bloody well resurrect the dead,” Fanny
spat out.

“The doctor would be in for it too, if he let us
all
get sickly and die,” Sarah added.

“He’s probably in cahoots with the captain.”

“I’m sure he had to hand over some kind of records before we left port. No point in getting het up about it,” said Sarah in a calm voice. “They can’t let us all die,” she repeated.

“Too bad they weren’t a little more concerned to begin with,” said Fanny. “If they don’t start feeding us better, we’ll all be fish food, whether they have a doctor or not.”

“At least the surgeon tastes our meals now to make sure they are cooked proper,” said Sarah.

“We still could get scurvy and all of us die like what happened in them earlier ships,” Hildy countered.

“That’s why they give us lemon juice,” Sarah argued. “Though I admit it doesn’t taste the freshest.”

“Soon they’ll have to give it to us in the rum to keep it from going off completely,” said Lizzie, not looking like that would be altogether a bad thing.

“Too bad someone doesn’t do something about the way they treat us too. You call that swill they give us as water, fit for washing in?” whined Flo.

“And what about keeping us packed down here like cooked sardines,” said Hildy. “This heat can’t be good for a body.”

Hildy indicated Lizzie, sitting quietly at the corner of their table, her hair tangled, grime on her face. Lizzie hardly spoke to anyone any more. During meals she rocked with her arms drawn over her chest rather than eating. Sometimes Jennie made attempts to feed her by placing pieces of biscuit in her hand and guiding it to her mouth. Otherwise, she might not have eaten at all.

“They keep this place like a pigsty and treat us no better than pigs,” agreed Flo.

“The pigs are probably treated better.” Hildy scowled.

“Geez, listen to you,” said Fanny from across the way. “You’re still thinking you’re on a voyage to somewhere exotic. We’re prisoners, for Christ’s sake.”

“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain,” Iris scolded. Her high voice rose an octave as she continued to admonish them.

The hurled insults continued, but Jennie’s thoughts crowded them out. She did her best to keep herself as clean as she could with the small amounts of grimy water they had to use. She, like many of the others, moved about with an arm or the collar of her dress pressed to her mouth and nose while below deck, but the lack of oxygen and stifling heat made her dizzy.

Jennie’s favourite time was on deck during a fair day, savouring the brisk air and sunlight. She took full advantage when parading around the deck for exercise, stretching and strengthening her aching muscles, as much as the confines of their parading lines would allow. The spray of waves refreshed her, especially now that all of her wounds had healed.

Fanny complained whenever Jennie sped up, enjoying the bracing air on deck.

“Quit messing us up, Miss Prim,” she’d heckle and try to pull Jennie back into a regular pace.

At those times, Jennie took in deep breaths of salty sea air, and made believe that her stomach didn’t ache continually, that her hair wasn’t matted and that her clothing wasn’t smelly and threadbare. She almost persuaded herself that marching to the beat of the drum around and around the ship meant she
was
heading to an exotic life somewhere. She found it hard, though, to pretend she didn’t miss her family and her home horribly, and that her pale and haggard shipmates were not an indication of how she looked too.

The warders had removed leg irons and chains on deck totally after the first couple of days away from land, easing their movements slightly. They were marched in a continuous line, three deep. Jennie kept to the outside of the deck, so she could concentrate on the changing colours of the water – from blue to grey to black and every shade in between. She soon became familiar with the moods of the sea.

One day it was calm and smooth as if sleeping, and the next it would angrily knock them about. Sometimes the sea would frolic and splash and roll happily. Those times made it hard to walk, but Jennie’s spirits always lifted, as did the boredom of sedately walking.

But eventually even a playful sea failed to rouse her. One dreadful day after another passed, punctuated only by the mood of the sea and weather. They were never close enough to any land for birds to appear. At times, it didn’t seem to matter if it were light or dark, night or day; time simply unfolded all around her, and Jennie had no awareness of it.

“Not feeling so chipper today, Miss Prim?” Fanny asked one particularly sombre morning.

Jennie said nothing as she stared at the bleakness of the sky blending into the dismal grey of the water. The vast, endless sea
and sky melded with the void she felt inside. It was as if she didn’t e
xist.

Without realizing it, Jennie had stopped walking. But a sharp whack on her shoulder brought her back to the bleak present. Walt loomed over her, his wooden club ready to strike again, if she dared talk back or dallied any longer.

“Does it please you to strike me?” she asked without thinking. The prisoners around her stopped.

Walt stood, speechless for a moment, before he stammered, “Only doing me job!”

“How would you like it if I hit you?” she challenged.

His face flushed, and he gave her a forceful shove. “Move on!”

From across the deck, Jennie saw Red Bull watching the exchange. When she came abreast of him, the huge, muscular man roughly grabbed her arm.

“Actin’ up again, you tart,” he mocked. “We’ll see about sortin’ you out once an’ fer all.”

He flung her aft of the mainmast partially out of sight of the others, and gave her a thwack across the shoulders. She tried to leave, but he grabbed her, letting his club drop. He pinned her against the wall with the full weight of his body.

She tried to scream, but he clamped his big hand over her mouth, and yanked up her dress.

She bit his hand. Hard. He cursed.

“Let me go,” she managed to cry out before he slapped her and jammed his hand back over her mouth.

The harder she squirmed, the more his eyes gleamed with excitement. Suddenly, Jennie let herself go slack.

“That’s more like it.” Red Bull pawed at her clothes, groping at her bodice.

With a sudden jerk, she rammed her knee into his groin, and then shoved his chest hard.

He flew back with a painful gasp and doubled over. She ran from his clutches.

The other guards who had gathered around laughed. Red Bull groaned and made a clumsy lunge at her. He grabbed her ankle and she fell, face down. Wrenching her over, he plunged his body full length on top of her and jammed the side of his hand into her mouth. With his other hand, he ripped at her dress and fumbled at his breeches.

Jennie tried kneeing him again, but he was too heavy, and her legs were pinned. She bucked and twisted beneath him, trying to get away from his rough hands. He banged her head against the deck, and she lost consciousness for a second.

All at once, Nate was there.

“I’ve had enough of you hurting these women!” he yelled and grabbed Red Beard’s arm. “Let her go!”

Red Beard swung at Nate, but didn’t connect. “You’re a dead man,” he spat. “Both of you are as good as dead,” he added, jerking his head at Jennie.