himself overly hastily—and who would keep his promises. Helen would have liked to comfort the boy in her arms, but of course that was out of the question.
She waited silently for George to turn away. Helen imagined that childish tears were building in his eyes, but George returned her gaze calmly and firmly.
“I will always love you,” he stated. “Always. No matter where you are and what you’re doing. No matter where I am and what I’m doing. I love you, only you. Don’t ever forget that, Miss Davenport.”
5
T he
Dublin
was an imposing ship even before it was under full sail. To Helen and the orphan girls it seemed as big as a house, and in reality the
Dublin
would shelter considerably more people over the next three months than a common tenement house. Helen hoped it wasn’t as prone to fire and collapse, but the ships bound for New Zealand were inspected for seaworthiness before departure. The ship owners had to demonstrate to the Crown inspectors that the cabins received enough air and that they had sufficient provisions on board. This last consideration was still being fulfilled that day, and Helen sensed what awaited her as she watched the barrels of salted meat, the sacks of flour and potatoes, and the packets of hardtack being loaded on board from the pier. She had already heard that the cuisine on board lacked variety—at least for the passengers in steerage. The first-class guests in cabins were served very differently. It was rumored that they even had their own cook on board.
A gruff ship’s officer and a doctor oversaw the boarding of the “common people.” The latter looked Helen and the girls over briefly, felt the children’s foreheads, most likely to check for febrile illnesses, and had them stick out their tongues. When he did not find anything questionable, he nodded to the officer, who then checked their names off a list.
“Cabin one in the rear,” he said and waved Helen and the girls on quickly. The seven of them felt their way through the tight, dark corridors in the hold of the ship, which were all but blocked by excited passengers and their belongings. Helen did not have much baggage, but even her small travel bag became increasingly heavy. The girlscarried even less; they only had little bundles with their night things and one change of dress apiece.
When they finally reached their cabin, the girls tumbled in, gasping. Helen was anything but excited by the tiny chamber that would serve as their living quarters for the next three months. The furnishings in the dark, low-ceilinged room consisted of a table, a chair, and six berths—bunk beds—Helen confirmed with horror, and one too few to boot. Luckily, Mary and Laurie were accustomed to sharing a bed. They took possession of one of the middle berths and snuggled in close together. They were already terrified about the journey to come, and the crowds and noise on board only scared them further.
Helen, on the other hand, was more bothered by the permeating stench of sheep, horses, and other animals wafting up to them from belowdecks. Someone had erected provisional pens for sheep and swine, as well as a cow and two horses next to and below Helen’s billet, of all places. Helen found all this unconscionable and decided to complain. She ordered her girls to wait in the cabin and set out for the deck. Fortunately, there was a shorter way up to the fresh air than the way they had come through steerage: directly in front of Helen’s cabin was a set of stairs that led upward, on which provisional ramps had been set up for the loading of the animals. None of the crew could be seen from the aft of the ship, however; unlike the entrance on the other end, this one wasn’t being watched. However, it swarmed with people too; emigrating families were hauling their baggage aboard and embracing their loved ones with tears and lamentations. The crowds and noise were unbearable.
Then, suddenly, the crowd parted along the gangways over
She waited silently for George to turn away. Helen imagined that childish tears were building in his eyes, but George returned her gaze calmly and firmly.
“I will always love you,” he stated. “Always. No matter where you are and what you’re doing. No matter where I am and what I’m doing. I love you, only you. Don’t ever forget that, Miss Davenport.”
5
T he
Dublin
was an imposing ship even before it was under full sail. To Helen and the orphan girls it seemed as big as a house, and in reality the
Dublin
would shelter considerably more people over the next three months than a common tenement house. Helen hoped it wasn’t as prone to fire and collapse, but the ships bound for New Zealand were inspected for seaworthiness before departure. The ship owners had to demonstrate to the Crown inspectors that the cabins received enough air and that they had sufficient provisions on board. This last consideration was still being fulfilled that day, and Helen sensed what awaited her as she watched the barrels of salted meat, the sacks of flour and potatoes, and the packets of hardtack being loaded on board from the pier. She had already heard that the cuisine on board lacked variety—at least for the passengers in steerage. The first-class guests in cabins were served very differently. It was rumored that they even had their own cook on board.
A gruff ship’s officer and a doctor oversaw the boarding of the “common people.” The latter looked Helen and the girls over briefly, felt the children’s foreheads, most likely to check for febrile illnesses, and had them stick out their tongues. When he did not find anything questionable, he nodded to the officer, who then checked their names off a list.
“Cabin one in the rear,” he said and waved Helen and the girls on quickly. The seven of them felt their way through the tight, dark corridors in the hold of the ship, which were all but blocked by excited passengers and their belongings. Helen did not have much baggage, but even her small travel bag became increasingly heavy. The girlscarried even less; they only had little bundles with their night things and one change of dress apiece.
When they finally reached their cabin, the girls tumbled in, gasping. Helen was anything but excited by the tiny chamber that would serve as their living quarters for the next three months. The furnishings in the dark, low-ceilinged room consisted of a table, a chair, and six berths—bunk beds—Helen confirmed with horror, and one too few to boot. Luckily, Mary and Laurie were accustomed to sharing a bed. They took possession of one of the middle berths and snuggled in close together. They were already terrified about the journey to come, and the crowds and noise on board only scared them further.
Helen, on the other hand, was more bothered by the permeating stench of sheep, horses, and other animals wafting up to them from belowdecks. Someone had erected provisional pens for sheep and swine, as well as a cow and two horses next to and below Helen’s billet, of all places. Helen found all this unconscionable and decided to complain. She ordered her girls to wait in the cabin and set out for the deck. Fortunately, there was a shorter way up to the fresh air than the way they had come through steerage: directly in front of Helen’s cabin was a set of stairs that led upward, on which provisional ramps had been set up for the loading of the animals. None of the crew could be seen from the aft of the ship, however; unlike the entrance on the other end, this one wasn’t being watched. However, it swarmed with people too; emigrating families were hauling their baggage aboard and embracing their loved ones with tears and lamentations. The crowds and noise were unbearable.
Then, suddenly, the crowd parted along the gangways over
Similar Books
