In The Belly Of The Bloodhound (23 page)

“We ain’t gonna do nothin’ like that at all. Now shut yer gob.”

“Will ye do it if I give you a look at me bare bum?”

“Wot?”
Both heads pop over the side of the hatch and stare down at me. I think they’re noticing for the first time that I ain’t got my dress on.

“If you do it, I’ll pull down me knickers and give you a look at me bare bum,” I say, repeating the offer. These two ain’t the brightest lights in the world, that’s for sure.

The two heads disappear. I can hear a hurried conversation twixt the two. Then the heads pop over the edge again, looking down while casting furtive glances to the side.

“All right, let’s see it, then.”

A deep breath.[_ Well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do._] Careful about the tattoo, though. If that’s ever known, I’m a dead duck—wouldn’t get no price at all in Algiers, no, I wouldn’t, and it’d be straight to the fo’c’sle for me, prolly wi’ a detour under that Sammy Nettles.

I turn, undo the string, and let slip my drawers so that the waist slides down to just under my butt cheeks. I put my weight on my right leg, count to three, then shift it to the left, count to three, then I pull my drawers back up. “There. That’s all you’ll get for now, lads, so go do your job like good fellows.”

“Ooooow, Missy, that was prime it was, but no, Missy, ye’ve got to do it again, and turn around, too, or we ain’t gonna do nothin’.”

“No, I don’t gotta do it again, Mick, or turn around even,” says I, tying up the string on my drawers. “All I got to do is yell for the Captain and tell ‘im you’ve been a-peekin’ at me bare bum and he’ll tie you both t’ the gratin’ and flog yer sorry asses till y’ die. You know he will.”

The two men look sharply at each other and realize the wisdom of what I’m saying.

“Oow, but don’t take it so hard, luvs…Maybe next time I’ll drop me knickers again…maybe give you a little bit more…every other day, is it? Maybe in a few weeks we’ll be such good friends, I’ll even give you a peek at the rest of me parts. Wouldn’t that be somethin, now? See, it’s favor fer favor, like…”

The tub is jerked out of sight. In minutes, it comes back in, dripping salt water, freshly rinsed. We hook up the second tub, and it comes back in rinsed, dripping, and full of fresh salt water. The hatch is closed and I turn and give the thumbs-up sign to my crew. Many look aghast, but many look glad to see the tub of water, however salty it may be.

“That was disgraceful!” says Constance Howell, glaring at me and shaking with righteous shock. I had heard her beside me, gasping in disbelief throughout the whole episode. She is plainly outraged by my behavior.

“We got the water, didn’t we?” I snap back at her. I’ve been getting a little irritated with Miss Holiness lately. I turn my attention back to the other girls, who are clustered on the Stage. “Division Three! Come help me move these tubs under the Balcony. Everybody, come help.”

The girls tumble off the Stage as I begin to organize the moving, but our Constance is not yet through chastising me.

“How could you have done that?” she hisses. “You shameless hussy!”

I have had enough and I turn and light into her. “Listen, Miss Prissy,” I snarl, “I don’t know if you know anything about my past, and I don’t care if you do or not, but do know this: I lived as a beggar on the streets of London for five years with nothing on but a shift to hide my nakedness. You know what a shift is? It’s like this here undershirt ‘cept it ain’t got no sleeves and it’s a little longer but not by much. Five years and[_ nothing_] else. Do you catch my meaning? No shoes, no stockings, no coat, no drawers, no nothing—and now you stand there and scold me and expect[_ me_] to be[_ shy?”_]

I lift my hand and point my finger between her eyes. “No, Connie, I ain’t shy about what I just did, and I ain’t shƒƒbout doing[_ anything_] that will get us out of this goddamn mess.[_ Anything.
] Do you understand that? Good.” I take my finger from her face and point it at the water tub. “Now you put your shoulder to that tub and help us get it under the Balcony. Now,[
move!”_]

I turn my back on her and address the others, who have clustered around. “It’s time we set up a proper privy. We’ll move the tubs over here and drape petticoats around for privacy. Rebecca, be a love and go get my petticoat out of my kip.”

“Aye, aye, Sir!” says Rebecca, saluting and scooting off on her mission. She is over her seasickness and is most glad of it. It is good to see her feeling better, and it calms my seething temper.

Moving the empty tub is easy, the full one much harder, but we get it done, and Rebecca is right back with my remaining unripped slip.

I take the petticoat and rip it down its center seam so as to double its area. “See, we’ll use tiny strips to tie up the corners like this,” and I show them how we’ll make sort of a U around the tubs by tying the corners of the torn petticoats to the slats of the Balcony.

“Ruth, you’re good with a needle, and I sure wish we had one, ‘cause it’d make the job a lot easier. But we don’t, so what you’ll have to do is knot the edges of the petticoats together. Will you do it? Good. Now, we’ll need about six more petticoats to do the job, so offer ‘em up, ladies, and you shall have a private bathhouse!”

The slips are retrieved and ripped, and Ruth Alden directs the job, and it is soon done.

“As fine a piece of work as ever I have seen,” I say, surveying our new privy. “Now, as to who will be first to wash up close my eyes, spin around with my finger pointing out, and when I open my eyes, the person I’m pointing at will be first and we’ll continue down Sin-Kay’s alphabetical line to the end and then around to the other end. All right? Here goes.”

I spin around a few times and when I open my eyes, I’m pointing at Cathy Lowell. She wastes no time in going back to her kip and getting her washcloths and disappearing behind the curtain.

“On the beat now. One, two, three, and four! Left foot up, down toes, and now[_ hard_] on the heel!” Obediently, the ten left feet of the girls of my division, Division Three, lift and hit the floor, as the girls begin to learn the dance. Except for Katy, Sylvie, and Annie, these girls are more used to the stately movements of the minuet and gavotte, but this will be good for them, as it is more active and will get the blood flowing. We cannot allow ourselves to get too soft here in the bowels of the[_ Bloodhound._]

I started them off on learning this Irish dancing as soon as I had my turn in the washroom. It was not much, being able to strip off one’s clothes for a few moments and dip a washcloth into the vat and wash oneself off, but it was something, salt water or no. I have several bars of soap in my seabag, and I will bring them out, but I still don’t wish for them to know about that yet, so I keep quiet and the soap stays in my bag.

The girls, having completed their toilette, as Mademoiselle Lissette would have it, have hung their washrags to dry from slats all around the Balcony, so that the Hold is festooned with little white flags. It’s almost festive.

Then I have Division One up for Dance. Clarissa hates to do anything under my instruction, of course, and chafes at the indignity of it all, but her dear friend Lissette lifts her elegant hoof and so the fuming Clarissa has to do it, too. It warms my heart to see it.

“Again. All together now. One, two, three, and[_ four…”_]

French class, then Chorus, and then Clarissa, Dolley, and I have a strike meeting and decide what we’re going to do tomorrow. As we are breaking up, Hughie and Nettles bring in the dinner—it is the usual kettle of steaming burgoo, but this time there is a basket of hot biscuits. I know Sin-Kay served them up as a way to torture us, and torture us they do. It’s been a full twenty-four hours now since we’ve eaten and the smell of the biscuits hits us like a hammer.

“Oh, Jacky,” pleads Elspeth, “couldn’t we just have the biscuit?”

“No, Elspeth, not even the biscuit. Be strong now.” Nettles is grinning and holding out a biscuit through the bars, waving it around, trying to tempt us.

“Hey, girlies, watch this,” he says as he dips the biscuit, the wonderfully golden brown and probably not-very-weevilly biscuit, into the pot of burgoo and then pops it into his mouth.[_ “Mmmmmmmmm,”_] he moans in satisfaction.

There are moans from several of the girls, too.

I turn my back to the doorway and clap my hands three times.

More water!

Better food!

Flaps open till dark!

We chanted till they took the food away and the flaps came slamming down. Sudden darkness filled the Hold, as well as an oppressive silence.

I know that doubts about the strike are now worming their way into some minds. “I’ve got an idea!” I pipe up all cheery in the dark, figuring I’ve got to get their minds off food somehow. “Let’s play Grandmother’s Trunk! Everybody feel around and join hands and get in a circle. Come on, now. That’s it.”

Hands reach around in the dark and encounter other hands, and the circle is made.

“Since I thought of it, I’ll go first, and we’ll go around to the right,” I say. Then I recite, “I took a trip to my grandmother’s house and in my trunk I put…a paper of pins!” I squeeze the hand of the girl on my right, who turns out to be Hermione.

“I took a trip to my grandmother’s house, and in my trunk I put a paper of pins…and a hairbrush.”

“I took a trip to my grandmother’s house, and in my trunk I put a paper of pins, a hairbrush…and my doll,” says Rebecca, and that gets some snorts.

“I took a trip to my grandmother’s house, and in my trunk I packed a paper of pins, a hairbrush, my doll,” says Constance, “...and my prayer book.” Of[_ course…_]

Then Clarissa’s lazy drawl comes out of the darkness. “I took a trip to my grandmomma’s house, and just why I would do that I do not know, she bein’ a horrid old person, but anyway, I packed my trunk, and in it I put that silly paper of pins, a hairbrush, my doll Sally Ann, my prayer book…if I could find the damned thing, that is, and…a big ole juicy Virginia ham, glistenin, positively[_ glistenin’_] with a deep honey glaze and studded with those lovely little brown cloves.”

Uh-oh…

Before I can protest, the next girl in line, Barbara Samuelson, jumps in and says rapidly, “I took a trip to my grandmother’s house, and in my trunk I packed a paper of pins, hairbrush, my doll Agnes, prayer book, ham, and…” Here she slows down and I can almost sense the spit pooling in her mouth as she says, “...and a whole roasted goose! With crackly skin, just right, oh, God!”

By the time it gets to three more girls, they drop the memory part of the game and merely state their deep-down favorite thing that they want to eat right here, right now. Curiously, though, they pick up on Clarissa’s lead and name their dolls.[_ Hmm…imagine that, Clarissa with a doll named Sally Ann._]

It’s Annie’s turn. “My dolly Colleen…and a big slice of colcannon, hot off the stove!”

I think about stopping this, that this is not good for them, but no, let them go. They’re having a good time, and I probably couldn’t stop it anyway, even if I tried. And I know they consider me pushy enough already without me barging in now and ruining their fun.

Rose Crawford comes up with “My doll Judy…and fried groundhog with cornmeal batter, the ribs just so crunchy and good, oh.” Rose is one of the girls from the country. I thought that this would ordinarily have brought[_ yucks_] from some, but now it does not. It’s amazing what twenty-four hours and a growling belly can do to a girl’s outlook.

Then Sylvie says, “My doll Gabriella…and[_ maccharruni con pesto Trapenese_] for sure, yes.” We don’t have to know what that is, but from the quiet passion in her voice, we know it is very, very good and we would like to have some, too, whatever it is.

Around it goes. Turkeys, roast beef, chops—everything gets a heartfelt mention. Even possum gets a nod, from another country girl.

Now it’s Elspeth, stammering, “My d-doll Tatters…and…and the glass of warm milk and honey my mommy brings me at buh-bedtime.”

Oh,[_ come on, Elspeth…please._]

Some of the girls choose side dishes—my[_ doll Janey Mae…and a bowl of mashed potatoes—or_] desserts, like[_ my doll Felicity…and a cherry pie,_] as if we were putting together a grand banquet. Well, the dinner table is groaning and ready to break with all we are putting on it, that’s for certain.

When it’s her turn, Dorothea Baxter up and says, “My doll Olivia Galileo…and Newton’s[_ Principia Mathematica.”
] There is silence. Then a titter. Some snickering. Then outright full-scale laughter fills the Hold. Only Dorothea, in the midst of this orgy of food wishes, would wish for a[
book.
] “Well, and maybe a watercress sandwich,” she adds, when the laughter has died down. I reflect that this is the first time since we were put down here that we have laughed as a group, and I hope[
they_] hear it out there.

When it comes to Katy, she simply says, “Dollbaby…and a brace o’ squirrels. Cooked like Mama cooked ‘em. With gravy.”

The game continues all around till, finally, Cloris Minton says, “My doll Henrietta…and a huge plum pudding!” and she squeezes my left hand.

“It’s come back to me I say, “and now that we have had our fill, ladies, it’s Storytime!” With hoots and laughter and a round of applause, the girls head for the Balcony and I head for the center of the Stage.

“Now you’ll remember from yesterday how I took the coach from Peter’s Head to London, went to Jaimy’s house, met his mum, and got tossed out on my ear. All right, then…

“A[_ tousled head popped up from under the pile of rags and straw that is the old Blackfriars Bridge kip. It belongs to a boy of about eight years…”_]

After I have finished my bit, and all the doings of the day are done, I sit with Hughie for a while, telling him about the pretty horses back at the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls in Boston, and I ask if he would like to see them someday. “I know you would, Hughie, ‘cause I remember back under the Blackfriars Bridge, when we kids would dream about what we wanted to be when we grew up and you said you wanted to be a hostler, ‘cause you liked horses. You remember that, Hughie? Sure, you do. Hey, you wanna join our new gang? Why, this gang right here, Hughie. All these girls, and you, Hugh the Grand, bein’ a member, too. Remember how Rooster Charlie used to call you Our Muscle? Well, you can be Our Muscle again, with this gang. What do you say? Good, Hughie, good. Welcome to the gang, but remember, this is a secret gang and you can’t tell anybody about it. Good night now, Hughie. You’re a good boy.”