This Golden Land (7 page)

     The officials had looked into Agnes's case—the pros and cons of a woman on her own traveling with a small child had to be weighed. But when they examined her papers they agreed to let her continue to Sydney because she was a skilled artisan, and such workers were in great demand in the colonies. That, and the fact that she had a healthy child. So Agnes Ritchie had placed herself and her son in God's care and, with their small bundle of possessions, had climbed the gangway of the
Caprica.

     The first four weeks had been a harrowing time of terrible sea sickness, scalds, burns, broken limbs, and bruising during rough seas. Agnes had stoically accepted it all as God's will, praying day and night that He keep her and her son well. And then contagion had broken out, what everyone was calling "the bloody flux" because of the severe diarrhea. It had started shortly after they stopped at some islands for fresh food. A few fell ill but managed to recover. But then came the first death and burial at sea. After that, the contagion spread so quickly that panic set in. The immigrants grew afraid to go belowdecks, insisting that the open air of the main deck was safer. But even up there, as the men and women had bunked down on the boards, despite the captain's orders that they go below, the contagion continued to spread.

     Four more deaths. Four more burials at sea. And then Agnes's Donny fell ill and stopped eating.

     The ship's doctor called it dysentery. It dehydrated the body, he said, and so Mrs. Ritchie was to see that her boy drank as much water as he could. But it didn't seem to matter how much she managed to get him to drink, the dehydration was accelerating. His skin was hot and dry, his lips cracked and bleeding. He moaned with pain.

     Agnes had not left his side in days, even though she herself was weak from the illness and felt on the verge of collapse. "You'll be missing your lessons," she murmured as she stroked his hair. Captain Llewellyn had established a daily school routine for all immigrant children: they were to
gather on the main deck and receive lessons in writing and arithmetic from a teacher also traveling to a new life. Each child had a slate and chalk, and their voices could be heard on the shifting wind as they recited the alphabet and multiplication tables. Donny Ritchie loved school and was always the loudest voice heard.

     "Come on, Donny lad, have some water." He had been in and out of torpor for three days, and always she coaxed him to open his eyes and drink.

     But this time Donny Ritchie did not wake up.

     "It's about bloody time!" boomed a voice at the other end of the vast, crowded belly of the ship. Agnes looked up to see Redmond Brown, a potato farmer escaping the famine in Ireland, raising a fist to Dr. Applewhite, who had just arrived. "How come that high and mighty lot up there ain't falling sick like us?" Brown shouted.

     "Allow me to pass, sir," Applewhite said, and made the mistake of laying a hand on the man.

     Brown shoved back, and the crewman who was escorting the doctor seized Brown's arm and pulled him away with such force that the Irishman staggered backward into a large barrel, knocking it over so that contents rushed out like a broken dam.

     "Now look what you've done!" Brown cried, scrambling to his feet. "That's our drinking water."

     As few lamps were burning in steerage, due to the high risk of fire, Dr. Applewhite had to make his way through darkness, pushing his bulk between beds and crates, bundles of clothing stowed on the floor or swinging from the rafters. He went to the wooden shelf that was Donny's bed, and examined the unconscious child in the light of the swaying lantern. As he searched for a pulse, the doctor made a secret vow: Never again to sail on an immigrant ship. In fact, he amended, once they were docked in Adelaide, he was going to set foot on solid ground and never set foot off.

     The steward was clearing away the barely touched lunch when Mister James came into the salon. The Merriwethers had retired to their cabin, leaving
Neal Scott and Hannah Conroy to wait for news from Dr. Applewhite. At the sight of the First Officer, in his marine-blue tunic, brass buttons and gold braided cap, Neal and Hannah rose anxiously.

     "Mr. Scott," said James in a grave tone, "are you able to handle a gun?"

     "What's going on?"

     "The boy has gotten worse and the immigrants are threatening an uprising if he dies. We will need every able man to defend this ship."

     Hannah draped her shawl around her shoulders and started for the door. "I will see if Dr. Applewhite needs assistance."

     As Mister James handed Neal a pistol, he said, "You do
not
want to go down there, Miss. It's not a fit place for a lady like yourself."

     But Hannah walked past the officer, with Neal following.

     From the quarterdeck, beneath a blue sky, with a stiff wind filling the sails, they saw the crowd down on the main deck, looking angry and dangerous. The silence was ominous. Captain Llewellyn, in his long dark coat over white trousers, with his dark blue visored cap bearing the gold braids of his rank as commander of the
Caprica
, stood squared-off with the ragtag crowd that figured they had nothing to lose. Standing with Llewellyn were merchant marine sailors who wore blue bellbottom trousers and white shirts with square collars. Since their long hair was braided into ponytails and smeared with tar to prevent them getting caught in the ship's equipment, the men were nicknamed Jack Tars. Tough-looking sailors, Hannah thought, but no match for the enraged mob.

     Tucking the pistol into his belt, Neal took Hannah by the arm, protectively, and led her down the companionway. Hundreds of wary, suspicious eyes watched them as they went. As they descended into the foul-smelling belly of the ship, a crewman said, "Watch your step here, Miss. A barrel of drinking water got knocked over. The floor's slippery."

     "Ah, Miss Conroy," Dr. Applewhite said when she and Neal reached Donny's bedside. "I'm glad of your help. I've three new cases to look at. Revive the boy and give him as much water as he will tolerate. We'll need to keep this up round the clock if we're to save him."

     But when Hannah saw the deep torpor, the sunken eyes, and when she felt the barely detected pulse, she recalled an epidemic of dysentery that had
swept through Bayfield, and she knew that the boy could not be revived and the subsequent lack of hydration would lead to his death. But when she voiced this to Applewhite, the physician said, "Oh, the boy will revive. At least once anyway. Use this." And he produced from his medical bag a small vial stoppered with a cork.

     Removing the cork, Applewhite slipped his arm beneath Donny and, lifting him up, moved the vial from side to side beneath the boy's nose. To Hannah's astonishment, the Donny's eyes snapped open and he drew in a sharp breath. Quickly stoppering the vial, Applewhite brought a tin cup of water to Donny's mouth and held it there while the boy took in a few sips. When Donny closed his eyes, Applewhite lowered him to the soiled bedding and said to Hannah, "It is called spirits of ammonia. It is made from ammonium carbonate, a compound that stimulates the lungs, thereby triggering the inhalation reflex, causing a patient to come round. A little trick I learned in India."

     Hannah was astounded. Her father's own recipe for smelling salts was ordinary table salt dampened by a dozen drops of lavender, and it would not have been strong enough to revive Donny Ritchie.

     When Hannah suggested that bringing him out of the hold might help, Applewhite agreed. "Take him to my cabin. The sickbay has a bunk with a porthole above for fresh air." He handed her the vial of smelling salts and said, "Slap the boy until he comes round, then force him to drink water. As much as he can tolerate without throwing up. Keep at it, Miss Conroy. Keep him conscious and keep giving him water. I shall stay here with the new cases."

     At that moment, Agnes collapsed. Neal picked her up and laid her gently on a bunk, but as he started to turn away, she seized his hand in a surprisingly strong grip, and whispered, "Take care of my boy. He's all I have. He's why I came on this voyage. Without him I have no reason to live." In the dim light of the odorous hold, while the ship groaned and creaked, and a mutiny brewed topside, Neal was captured by Agnes's wide, pleading eyes. And as he stood momentarily frozen, he felt something react deep inside himself, a nameless quake that jolted him.

     Dr. Applewhite intervened. "Now now, madam, your boy is in good
hands. You must look after yourself." Then he gestured to a crewman near the companionway. "You there! Break open another barrel of drinking water!"

     As Neal gathered the child into his arms, he heard Mrs. Ritchie say in a weak voice, "Please God, I beg of you, take me instead."

T
HE TINY COMPARTMENT ADJACENT TO THE DOCTOR'S CABIN
was cramped, with a narrow bunk along one wall, cabinets and shelves containing medical supplies on the other. There was barely enough room for Neal as he bent to place Donny on the bed. He then returned to the door to allow Hannah to go to the boy's side, where she knelt and tapped his face the way Dr. Applewhite had. "I don't know how long I can keep this up," she said as she waved the smelling salts under Donny's nose. He awoke abruptly, sucking in breath, and she immediately brought the cup of water to his lips. Although his eyes were closed, Donny took in a few sips before he sagged in her arm. "It seems so barbaric. But there is no other way to get water into his body. And if he doesn't get adequate water, he will die."

     She looked up at Neal, who kept glancing over his shoulder. "What is it, Mr. Scott?"

     When he did not reply, but kept his eye on the corridor as if danger lurked there, Hannah said, "What is the matter, Mr. Scott?"

     "I'm sorry," he said, bringing himself back to Hannah who knelt by the bed. "I was just thinking . . . Agnes Ritchie . . . something she said."

     "And what was that?"

     He frowned, unable to put his feelings into words. For reasons Neal could not fathom, the Scotswoman had reached a place deep inside him, had touched his soul in a way it had never been touched. He could not shake her wide eyes, her whispered plea, her prayer to God from his mind.

     "Take me instead . . ."

     "Miss Conroy," Neal said suddenly, startled by the idea that had just jumped into his mind. "There is something I would like to try, with your help." Even as he spoke, Neal was amazed at what he was saying, the audacious experiment he was suddenly gripped to try. It had to do with Donny and his mother, but there was something more, an emotion so powerful within himself, nameless and foreign, that Neal knew he was acting upon pure impulse. For now, he must do this. He would analyze it later.

     "I would like to take the boy's photographic portrait."

     "Portrait!"

     He spoke quickly, the words tumbling out as the idea expanded in his mind. "Two years ago, a neighbor's child was killed in the street by a runaway wagon. The mother was inconsolable. She tried to commit suicide on the day of the child's funeral. But a photographer was there—you have heard of photography, Miss Conroy?"

     She nodded.

     "The photographer made a portrait of the deceased child lying in her coffin and—it was like a miracle, Miss Conroy. The distraught mother was so greatly calmed that she never thought of suicide after that."

     "But Donny hasn't died!"

     "He might, and I am afraid, Miss Conroy, that if he does, Agnes Ritchie's grief might be enough to spark a rebellion on board this ship. A photographic portrait might bring his poor mother some comfort, and help quell the uprising. And I would rather capture his likeness while he is alive, Miss Conroy, than when he is a corpse. Mrs. Ritchie would know the difference."

     She looked at him uncertainly. "You really think that a portrait—"

     "I have the equipment," he said quickly, wondering how on earth he was
going to accomplish such an impossible feat on a moving ship. "A camera is part of my scientific equipment."

     "How long will it take? I must keep reviving him and administer the water."