Scattered Seeds (6 page)

“Passengers,” the first sailor shouted, “to your berfs!”

The crowd fell silent except for mothers hushing their babes.

“On behalf of Mister Conyngham an’ Cap’n McElwain, I’m ’ere to welcome you aboard
The Charming
’
annah
. My name’s Thompson—William Thompson—an’ I’m the mate on this fine brig.” He lifted his chin toward the men standing behind him. “This ’ere is Mister Smiff and Doctor Wilson.”

The two men behind Thompson nodded at nobody in particular.

“We ’ave fings to tidy up afore we weigh anchor.” He leaned close to Smythe’s ear and asked in a low voice, “Who is it you said we was missin’?”

Smythe looked over his sharp nose at his papers. “McAdams.” Henry licked his lips and glanced at his father, who betrayed no outward signs of alarm.

“What were ’is given name?”

“Robert.”

Thompson shouted, “McAdams! Robert McAdams!”

Father’s hand pushed against the small of Henry’s back and forced him a step forward. “Here is Robert McAdams.”

“See ’ere, Smiff, good luck already. Our man is right ’ere by the bloody ’atch.” His eyes were dark and deep in his leathery face. “Let’s us ’ave a look at your passes.” He held out his hand, palm up, and wiggled his tar-stained fingers.

Father pulled out their passes.

Thompson inspected them. “Full fare, aye?” He cocked his head to get a better look at their clothes. “A bit at odds wiff their cloves, wouldn’t you say, Smiff?” He allowed time for a reply, but Smythe merely grunted and shifted his weight as he scanned his papers.

Thompson nodded to the physician, which set the professional man to rummaging through his bag. “Why were ’e not examined by the physician at the quay?” Thompson demanded of Father.

“But he was, sir, along wi’ me.”

Thompson scowled at Henry. “That so, is it?”

Henry nodded, his insides quivering.

“Sir, check your paper again,” Father said to Smythe, “and if the examination was nae recorded, then the lad will submit to another.”

Henry hoped the examination involved no palpation; the torc would be found. The first mate seemed the sort of man to demand it as payment for some infraction or another. He eyed the stairs. If he shoved the physician aside, he could make it.

“No check beside ’is name, sir,” Smythe said, “an’ you know I makes me checks.”

Thompson said to the physician, “Mister Conyngham’s a stickler for ’is lists. Ye’ll ’ave to give ’im another butcher’s ’ook.”

The physician was a soft-spoken man. “I regret the inconvenience, sirs, but contagion must be avoided. I’m sure you understand.”

“Indeed, sir. Step forward there, Robert.” Father drilled him with an intense gaze. “Do as the good physician says. He’ll just look into your eyes and mouth, same as he did afore.”

He stepped into the aisle.

Thompson held up a lantern while the physician examined Henry’s eyes.

“Open up your mouth and stick out your tongue.” Doctor Wilson shoved a sour stick into Henry’s mouth. He flattened his palm across Henry’s forehead. “He’s cleared to sail.”

Smythe scratched a mark on his page.

The physician mopped sweat from his brow, gathered up his bag, and puffed up the stairs.

“Who’s next?” Thompson asked Smythe, as Henry scrambled into the berth.

“Patterson. James and Mary Patterson.”

Henry shot upright and hit his head on the berth above him.

Thompson and Smythe strode away shouting, “Patterson! Mary Patterson!”

The sound of her name struck him like a blacksmith’s hammer.

“Patterson! Mary Patterson!”

He rubbed the rising lump on his crown and looked at his father, who raised his eyebrows.

If
she
was on board, they were doomed already. He could stomach a lot of things, but not Mary Patterson.

Thompson located the Pattersons across the aisle, three table-lengths away, in the lowest berth. Henry’s hope that the first mate might toss Mary off the brig faded when Thompson laughed at something Mary said. Thompson even bowed to her just before she climbed back into her berth. She apparently satisfied Smythe as well, who blushed and added another checkmark to his paper.

As Smythe sprinted up the stairs with his papers, Thompson walked to the center of the aisle and read a lengthy list of rules, punctuating it with, “An’ any man who breaks the rules will find ’imself shackled in irons, ’e will. There’s reasons for rules aboard boats, ladies and gents, an’ I’ll ’ave order on mine.

“You’ll each ’ave three quarts of water, three biscuits, an’ a piece of salt beef or stockfish each day. For your ’ealth, you’ll take a thimble of brandy each morn. In fair weather, I’ll open the ’atch and let ten of you up at a time.

“Those of you who ’ave agreements with Mister Conyngham will get your new suit of cloves and a pair of shoes when we’re a day’s sail from Port James.”

A white-wigged gentleman banged down the stairs in thickly heeled shoes and interrupted Thompson’s speech. He stood like a ramrod at the foot of their berth.

“Customs officer,” Father whispered, as Henry marveled at the brass buttons and intricate embroidery decorating the man’s splendid scarlet coat.

“If I may, Thompson.” The man bowed to the first mate.

Thompson returned the gesture, but looked more than a little annoyed.

The officer cleared his throat. “Your attention, please. On behalf of His Majesty King George the Second, I hereby declare that no man shall be forced against his will to leave this land. I shall therefore demand of each of you, one by one, an oath that you make this voyage voluntarily.”

With the McConnells in the first berth, the customs officer began his questioning there. “Do you make this voyage freely, without coercion or threat, bodily or otherwise?”

“We do,” Father answered.

The man looked at Henry with steely eyes. “And you, lad? Has anyone forced you on board this brig?”

“Nay, sir.”

The customs officer studied Henry’s features. “What are your names?”

“Edward and Robert McAdams, sir,” Father replied.

“McAdams, is it?” The officer raised a brow.

“Aye, sir.”

The officer looked at Father’s shoes, ready to say something when Thompson muttered, “We’ll need to ’urry this up. Cap’n wants to weigh anchor, ’e does. You’ll find no stolen souls aboard
The
’
annah.
”

The officer pursed his lips and laced his fingers together behind his back. He moved on to question the remaining passengers, then returned just as a barefooted sailor shouted that the rain had stopped and the pilot was ready.

His job finished, the customs officer cast a suspicious glance toward the McConnells and whispered to Thompson as the footsteps of running sailors beat the wood above their heads. Something heavy struck the deck, and the brig groaned.

“Nay, sir, I checked the lists,” Thompson said.

“Question them again,” the customs officer said, and whispered something else.

“McConnell,” Thompson said. “Do we ’ave an Edward or ’enry McConnell aboard?”

“We’re not comforting the dying here.” The officer pushed past him. “McConnell! You have overpaid and are due a refund. Make yourself known or lose your coin!”

Henry’s breath caught in his chest.
The lobsterback Thomas saw talking to Uncle Sorley.

He looked for Mary. She surely heard his name shouted aloud. He found her sitting in her berth looking at him, her mouth agape.

Shite.

“We grow late, sir,” someone shouted down the hatch to Thompson, who paced near the foot of the stairs. “The tide’s willing, and Mister Conyngham’s clerk questions our delay. We are making a bollocks of our departure, sir, and you know the captain likes a grand—”

“I bloody well know we’re late!” Thompson glared at the customs officer strutting aft. “Tell the lord an’ master I’m ’aving trouble getting a bright red banty cock off ’is boat.” His face brightened as if an idea occurred to him. He turned and shouted, “All passengers are now free to roam the deck. Proceed singly and in an orderly manner, if you please. Remember, ladies and gents, we ’ave rules.”

Henry shimmied toward the bottom of the berth, relieved by the opportunity to disappear before Mary could identify him.

Father stayed him with a touch to his arm.

“But Father, Mary will—”

“Canny risk Sorley seeing ye.”

A booming voice startled them. “Do you not wish to savor a final look at your homeland?” The customs officer addressed Henry from the foot of their berth.

“We walked all night, sir. I am sorely tired.”

“That so? Is it possible that you stay below because you have used a false identity to board, and you do not wish to be identified?”

Father leaned forward. “See here, we paid full fare, and in return we have received naught but bother since setting foot on this brig. I demand, sir, to know why ye harass the likes of us?”

“This lad’s description matches that of one Henry McConnell.”

“Then Henry McConnell must be a fine-looking lad.”

The officer offered no smile. “There is a man on the quay looking for him and his father, who shares your given name.”

Father’s jaw looked as rigid as iron. “By God, is it not enough that a man must suffer the pain of leaving his hame? Is it necessary to add unjust provocation to his woes? I say, sir, if a man accuses us of some offense, then let him come aboard and confront us. Otherwise, I will thank ye to leave us alone to grieve our parting wi’ a land we love, a land that cradles my beloved wife and this lad’s mother.”

Henry hoped the challenge would convince the customs officer that they were not the men he sought.

“I know not what this Henry McConnell has done,” Father continued, “but my son—Robert McAdams—is innocent, paid in full, and desiring to rest his aching legs in peace.”

Passengers side-eyed the unfolding drama as they made for the stairs.

Mary approached, her stare locked on Henry’s.

They were caught. She would blab.

She slid her body between the officer and their berth.

Henry winced as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Och, Robert McAdams,” she squealed, “is it really ye?” She leaned in to give him a loose hug. “I did nae see ye on the quay and thought perhaps ye changed your mind or did nae make the boat.”

“Do you know this lad?” the officer asked.

She shot upright and scowled. “Do ye think me a strumpet, sir—a lassie who would embrace a stranger? Of course I know him.” She batted her eyelashes and flashed him a forgiving smile. “Although I wish I did nae. Thon wee bugger’s been tugging my plaits since we were wains.”

The crowd, anxious for a last view of Ireland, grew impatient behind the Pattersons and the customs officer, who blocked their way.

“Come, Mary,” James Patterson said to his daughter. “We’re holding everybody up. We’ll have a wee blather wi’ the McAdamses later.” He winked at them.

The officer’s cheeks turned a color matching his coat. “I am sorry to have troubled you.” He cut into line and climbed out of view.

Moments later, Henry and his father sat alone in stunned silence as the brig shuddered and groaned. A thump on the deck above their heads announced the severing of their last physical tie to Ireland.

Henry closed his eyes and tried not to think about the spires of Derry, or its hills fading into the distance. Images of his mother’s grave passed before him—a grave he’d never visit again. His throat constricted, and he shook his head to alter the gloomy course of his thoughts.

He turned them instead to Mary.

Why was she on
The Charming Hannah
in the first place? And why, by everything holy, had she helped them? He rested his head on his makeshift pillow and tried not to think about how she would gloat when Father forced him to thank her.

Chapter 8

To Henry’s relief, when the first mate herded the passengers below and battened the hatch, Mary climbed into her berth and covered every inch of herself with a blanket. Had it not been for her sobs, passersby might think the heap in the Pattersons’ berth was nothing more than a sack of flour.

Henry did not know what to make of her tears.

Most of the passengers lay in their berths, weakened by seasickness and emotional trauma. Many of them had already vomited up their rations—a biscuit and a piece of sharply salted beef. Those few blessed with iron stomachs snored. The rest added their groans to the brig’s as she plunged and rolled in the swells.

Henry wobbled like a drunkard behind his father as they made their way toward the table nearest the Patterson berth.

“Widen your pins. Copy the sailors . . . like this.” Father opened his legs and waddled, a funny-looking gait that proved effective.

They grabbed hold of the table’s edge and threw their legs over a bench to sit across from James.

Father gestured to Mary. “Is the lassie unwell?”

James scratched his wigless head, above which a lantern swung wildly on its chain. “A bit seasick is all. Misses her dog some. She’ll get o’er it.”

Some folk didn’t understand how a person could love an animal, but Henry did. He still missed Paddy’s velvety lips and grass-scented breath. He rubbed the heel of his palm against his aching chest and considered that only yesterday, he would have delighted in Mary’s misery. But today . . . well, as much as he hated to admit it, he felt sorry for her. Something obviously troubled her, and after all, she
had
saved them.

“Tough times are always hardest on our wains,” Father said. “I want to thank ye for—”

James held up his palms. “No need, sir. We are bound by a common plight.”

A couple struggling up the aisle slammed against James’s back. They offered apologies and sat at an adjacent table. The man dropped his sickly green face into his hands.

Father leaned in to whisper. “We have good reason to conceal our—”

“McConnell, ’tis no concern of mine. Your reasons are your own, sir.”

“We are ne’ertheless indebted to ye.”

They sat speechless for a moment.

Someone in one of the berths retched and spat.

“How did ye come to be on this boat?” Father asked.

“Probably much the same way ye did, the same as most of the folk here. It was either stay in Ulster and starve or take a chance on a new life in the Colonies.”

“Did Rankin release ye from your lease?”

“I broke it, but I was lucky enough to sell the stock.”

“He’ll be angry. Bad-tempered man, him. Ye must have fared well despite the loss of land and crops. Ye had a fine bullock or two.”

“These days, a man is hard-pressed to find a body wi’ coin to pay for grub, let alone extra stock. The tithes and hearth tax robbed me of my last.” He scrubbed a hand across his sparse hair. “E’en had to sell my wig.”

Henry noticed umber crescents at the ends of James’s fingers and thought it odd that the last Irish soil he’d see was trapped under a man’s fingernails.

Father looked concerned. “But surely ye have enough to make a good start.”

James leaned over his elbows. “Not yet, but I will. I could nae pay the fare ootright.”

“God’s greatcoat, man, ye did nae—”

“I did. It was either that or let my wain starve.”

Panic sparked in Henry’s belly. He sat up straight. For the first time since weighing anchor, he felt queasy. “Do ye mean to say ye signed indentures?” He hoped he hadn’t spoken out of turn. He was, after all, nearly a man.

Father shot him an incredulous look and parted his lips, but stopped short of speaking.

“It’s worse than that, I fear. We had no time to arrange for indentures in Derry.”

Henry’s dread for Mary grew, and his surprise along with it. Mary’s fate was her own affair. He didn’t even
like
her, so why should he care?

“Ye sail as redemptioners?” he asked.

Patterson nodded.

Henry looked at the sobbing heap in the Patterson berth, and then at James, who swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the table.

“Had no choice, ye understand.” James wrung his hands.

“Ye need not justify your actions to the likes of us.” Father’s tone contradicted his words.

“Thank Almighty God that my Rachel did nae live to see this day.” James shook his head. “But nay, I will nae succumb to low thoughts. We will persevere, Mary and me.”

Father fell silent at the mention of Rachel Patterson’s name, as always.

“What will happen when ye get to Philadelphia?” Henry asked. No one had fully explained to him what a redemptioner was.

“We will be indentured. I believe we’ll find something quickly, wi’ decent folk. Ye know yoursel’, McConnell, I’m a hard worker. And my Mary’s an able spinner, among other things. Folk will see our worth and offer us agreeable terms.”

Henry looked at the gray streaks in James Patterson’s too-thin hair and hoped the man had another plan. “What happens if ye canny secure an indenture?”

“Then we will be held on board the brig, but the first mate assured us that the demand for labor is so great that the wait is nae long. He also said most families are bound together, and their service is light, many times only three to six years.”

Father caught an empty tankard that threatened to roll off the table. “But will your age not reduce your worth and burden Mary wi’ a longer indenture?”

The lines deepened in Patterson’s forehead as he considered the unforeseen possibility. “I had not thought . . .”

Father looked down at the tankard he held. “I . . . uh . . . I spoke out of turn, sir. Of course a buyer will see your value and offer ye a fair indenture.”

James sat taller. “They aren’t measuring me for a box anytime soon.” There was no arguing he was a robust man in spite of his years. “I have a bit of work left in me yet, and there’s more understanding of husbandry in the tip of my wee finger than in the whole of a German. We will fare well. Ye’ll see.”

Father stretched his arm across the table to place a hand on Patterson’s arm. “Of course ye will. Henry and I will help. As I understand it, a redemptioner is freed from his contract if he can pay his fare wi’in thirty days of arrival. We’ll get it sorted.”

“Ye have your own affairs to manage.”

“Help we will. No argument.”

Henry glanced at the Patterson berth and raised his voice. “It’s the least we can do after what ye did for us today.” He detected no movement from Mary, but she surely heard because a woman in the berth directly above her screeched, “Haud yer wheesht, ye lout, some folk are tryin’ to sleep.”

The brig rolled, tossing passengers and their belongings from the berths. Feet pounded the boards above them as seamen scurried across the deck. Women comforted squalling babies, and children whimpered. The bilge pumps clanked. Somewhere, barrels knocked against each other.

“Weather must be getting bad.” Father stilled the lantern swaying above them.

Henry’s head spun. He pressed his hand against his belly and held his breath. He did not want to vomit, especially so close to Mary. It bothered him that she might hear him, although he wasn’t sure why. She was awake. He could hear her crying.

Poor Mary.

The hatch opened, and driving rain and hail spattered into steerage. A sailor shouted, “Snuff the lights. Mate’s orders.”

Just before the berths plunged into darkness, James said, “I hope this does nae last.”

But it did last.

For three miserable weeks.

And then it worsened.