Rough Seas Ahead - Sampler Page
Until
now the worst part of the trip across the Atlantic Ocean had been the almost
inedible food and the reeking stench of unwashed bodies. But suddenly the skies
turned as black as the men’s dirty trousers and the sea churned beneath them,
tossing the ship from side to side, and intermittently raising the bow and
slamming it back onto the foaming waves. The passengers grabbed for buckets as
the vomit rose up in their throats, but there were not enough pots available to
accommodate the quantity of foul-smelling emissions spewing from the mouths of
the seasick immigrants.
Mary Alice fought her way through the jammed ship as far forward as her seventeen-year-old, five-foot-four body could manage, pushing herself past the burly unshaven men and the crying women, many of whom were holding babes to their breasts. She needed air desperately. As she was about to pass a middle-aged lady lying on a cot, the woman grabbed her hand and pulled Mary Alice towards her pleading, between the racking coughs that shook her body, “Help me girl. Please help me.”
Mary Alice got down on her knees beside the woman, but recoiled slightly as she observed the red-rimmed eyes and pale, sunken cheeks.
“What can I do fer ye? Shall I be fetching ye some water?” She had seen many sick people in Ireland, but none looked as bad as this woman, except for her mother hours before her death.
“Ah, if ye please, bring up me bag from under the cot and raise me up. Put the bag under me head.”
The effort it took the woman to speak produced another coughing spell that sent her body into spasms. Mary Alice pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and placed it on the woman’s mouth and she spit out the bloody phlegm clogging her throat. When the choking stopped and the woman regained her breath, Mary Alice tugged the bag out from under the cot, raised the suffering woman to a near sitting position, and gently leaned the frail body up against the satchel. She reached into her pocket and handed the woman the three remaining mint drops her father had pressed into her hand at the dock in Cork City before she boarded the ship to America.
“Maybe these will help ye.”
“Yer an angel, ye are, and a pretty one at that, but nothing can help me now but the Almighty. I’ll be gone before the ship reaches the harbor.”
“Now don’t ye be thinkin’ like that. I’ll fetch the ship’s surgeon.” Mary Alice stood up ready to get help, but the woman clutched her hand. “He’s been here and gone. No hope, says he.”
“Well there are more powerful healers than him. We’ll pray to the Virgin Mary fer yer recovery.” Mary Alice withdrew rosary beads from her pocket and began praying aloud, but the old woman stopped her, and taking the young girl’s firm hand in her pale, weak, trembling fingers, thanked her for the kindness she had shown a stranger. “Reach in me pocket, lass. There be an envelope. Take it out.”
Mary Alice fumbled in the woman’s well-worn jacket and retrieved a small packet and offered it to the woman who refused, saying, “It’s fer ye, lass. A small payment fer the kindness ye’ve shown a dying woman. No, no don’t go interrupting me,” she gasped. “If ye donna take it, the sea will after they slip me body over the side.”
Upon opening the envelope Mary Alice found a wad of dollars and a scrap of paper. The dying woman seemed to sense the girl’s unspoken thoughts as to why she was dying alone in the Atlantic Ocean so far from home.
“It’s not much money, but it’s all I’ve got, and I don’t want it to go to the grave with me. It’s fer ye, fer doing me the favor I’m goin’ to ask of ye. There’s a paper inside the envelope with me brother’s name and address. William Peyton. He’s expecting me. Could ye visit him in New York City and tell him the pneumonia did me in? I was to live with him, but the Lord had other plans. Will ye do that fer me, lassie?”
Mary Alice assured her she would follow her wishes and asked the woman her name.
“I’m Catherine Peyton, from County Clare,” she gasped, as the coughing began again, small coughs this time, and then her eyes closed. “I’m going to sleep now,” she mumbled, and Mary Alice gently placed the blanket over her, kissed Catherine’s hot, wet forehead, and raced toward the open deck where she thought she might be able to breathe again.
Read more of ROUGH SEAS AHEAD from Amazon.
Mary Alice fought her way through the jammed ship as far forward as her seventeen-year-old, five-foot-four body could manage, pushing herself past the burly unshaven men and the crying women, many of whom were holding babes to their breasts. She needed air desperately. As she was about to pass a middle-aged lady lying on a cot, the woman grabbed her hand and pulled Mary Alice towards her pleading, between the racking coughs that shook her body, “Help me girl. Please help me.”
Mary Alice got down on her knees beside the woman, but recoiled slightly as she observed the red-rimmed eyes and pale, sunken cheeks.
“What can I do fer ye? Shall I be fetching ye some water?” She had seen many sick people in Ireland, but none looked as bad as this woman, except for her mother hours before her death.
“Ah, if ye please, bring up me bag from under the cot and raise me up. Put the bag under me head.”
The effort it took the woman to speak produced another coughing spell that sent her body into spasms. Mary Alice pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and placed it on the woman’s mouth and she spit out the bloody phlegm clogging her throat. When the choking stopped and the woman regained her breath, Mary Alice tugged the bag out from under the cot, raised the suffering woman to a near sitting position, and gently leaned the frail body up against the satchel. She reached into her pocket and handed the woman the three remaining mint drops her father had pressed into her hand at the dock in Cork City before she boarded the ship to America.
“Maybe these will help ye.”
“Yer an angel, ye are, and a pretty one at that, but nothing can help me now but the Almighty. I’ll be gone before the ship reaches the harbor.”
“Now don’t ye be thinkin’ like that. I’ll fetch the ship’s surgeon.” Mary Alice stood up ready to get help, but the woman clutched her hand. “He’s been here and gone. No hope, says he.”
“Well there are more powerful healers than him. We’ll pray to the Virgin Mary fer yer recovery.” Mary Alice withdrew rosary beads from her pocket and began praying aloud, but the old woman stopped her, and taking the young girl’s firm hand in her pale, weak, trembling fingers, thanked her for the kindness she had shown a stranger. “Reach in me pocket, lass. There be an envelope. Take it out.”
Mary Alice fumbled in the woman’s well-worn jacket and retrieved a small packet and offered it to the woman who refused, saying, “It’s fer ye, lass. A small payment fer the kindness ye’ve shown a dying woman. No, no don’t go interrupting me,” she gasped. “If ye donna take it, the sea will after they slip me body over the side.”
Upon opening the envelope Mary Alice found a wad of dollars and a scrap of paper. The dying woman seemed to sense the girl’s unspoken thoughts as to why she was dying alone in the Atlantic Ocean so far from home.
“It’s not much money, but it’s all I’ve got, and I don’t want it to go to the grave with me. It’s fer ye, fer doing me the favor I’m goin’ to ask of ye. There’s a paper inside the envelope with me brother’s name and address. William Peyton. He’s expecting me. Could ye visit him in New York City and tell him the pneumonia did me in? I was to live with him, but the Lord had other plans. Will ye do that fer me, lassie?”
Mary Alice assured her she would follow her wishes and asked the woman her name.
“I’m Catherine Peyton, from County Clare,” she gasped, as the coughing began again, small coughs this time, and then her eyes closed. “I’m going to sleep now,” she mumbled, and Mary Alice gently placed the blanket over her, kissed Catherine’s hot, wet forehead, and raced toward the open deck where she thought she might be able to breathe again.
Read more of ROUGH SEAS AHEAD from Amazon.