In the Land of the Long White Cloud

for personal hygiene.
    “I would like to wash our clothes, but they just don’t dry, so it’s a lost cause,” she complained to Gwyneira, who promised to at least help Helen out with a spare dress. Her own cabin was heated and perfectly insulated. Even in the roughest seas no water seeped in that might ruin the soft carpet or the elegantly upholstered furniture. Gwyneira felt guilty, but she simply couldn’t ask Helen to move into her room with the children. Gerald would never allow it. At most, she brought Dorothy or Daphne up with her, under the pretense of needing her clothes mended in some way.
    “Why don’t you hold your lessons down with the animals?” she finally asked after once again finding Helen shivering on the deck while the girls took turns reading aloud from
Oliver Twist
. It was cold out, but at least it was dry, and the fresh air was more pleasant than the damp vapor in steerage. “Even if the sailors complain, they still clean it every day. Mr. Warden checks up on whether the sheep and horses are being well cared for. And the purser is fussy about the animals intended for slaughter. After all, he didn’t bring them along to get sick and die so that he has to throw the meat overboard.”
    It had become clear that the swine and fowl served as living provisions for the first-class passengers, and the cow was indeed milked every day. Those traveling in steerage, however, did not receive so much as a glimpse of these good things—until Daphne caught a boymilking the cow secretly at night. She squealed on him without the slightest qualm, but not before watching him so that she could imitate the milking motions. Since then the girls had had fresh milk. Helen pretended not to notice.
    Daphne agreed with Gwyneira’s suggestion. She had long since noticed while milking and stealing eggs how much warmer it was in the improvised stalls belowdecks. The cows’ and horses’ big bodies gave off a comforting warmth, and the straw was soft and often drier than the mattresses in their berths. At first Helen rejected the idea, but she finally relented. She held lessons in a stall for a full three weeks before the purser caught them and threw them out, cursing and suspecting them of stealing food. By this time, the
Dublin
had reached the Bay of Biscay. The sea became calmer, the weather warmer. With a sigh of relief, the passengers from steerage brought their damp clothes and bed linens up to dry out in the sun. They praised God for the warmth, but the crew warned them: soon they would reach the Indian Ocean and curse the scorching heat.

6
    N ow that the first arduous leg of the journey was over, social life aboard the
Dublin
began to stir.
    The ship doctor finally took up his work as teacher so that the emigrant children had something to occupy them other than pestering each other, their parents, and above all, Helen’s girls. The girls shone in class, and Helen was proud of them. She had hoped the school lessons would give her some time to herself, but she ended up observing her charges during their lessons instead. This was because already on the second day the little gossips Mary and Laurie returned from class with troubling news.
    “Daphne kissed Jamie O’Hara!” Mary reported, out of breath.
    “And Tommy Sheridan wanted to feel Elizabeth up, but she said she was waiting for a prince, and then everyone laughed,” Laurie appended.
    First Helen dealt with Daphne, who showed no sign of remorse. “Jamie gave me a good piece of sausage for it,” she admitted. “They brought it with them from home. And it went real fast anyway; he can’t kiss right at all.”
    Helen was appalled by Daphne’s apparently considerable knowledge in these matters. She admonished her strongly but knew it did no good. Daphne’s sense of morality and decorum could possibly be deepened over time. For now, only self-control would help. So Helen sat in on lessons with the girls and took on more responsibilities in the school and in preparations for the Sunday service. The ship doctor was grateful to her, as he was not much of a teacher or a preacher.
    There was now music almost every evening in steerage. The people had made peace with the loss of the old homeland—or at least found solace in singing old English, Irish, and Scottish tunes. A few had brought instruments with them on board; one could hear fiddles, flutes, and harmonicas. Fridays and Saturday nights there was dancing, and here again Helen had to keep Daphne