AN EXILE FROM ERIN.
The next day I was too fully conscious of being the heroine of a
sensational drama, to shed tears over my lonely and miserable self. The
boat left the North Wall early in the morning, so that toilet,
breakfast, farewells were a hurry, a scare, the suspension of feeling in
stunned senses. I scarcely tasted tea, but I looked forlornly at the
lovely red-and-white cups as big as bowls, which I still remember as a
comforting joy to the eye.
All the children around me were stamping and shouting, running every
minute between mouthfuls to see if the cab had come, if my box were in
the hall, and read aloud the label, "Passenger to Lysterby by
Birmingham," in awed tones. It seemed so wonderful to them that I should
be described as "passenger" to anywhere. Not a tear was shed by anybody.
Only war-whoops and joyous voluble chatter and thrilling orders that
rang along the passage like the clarion notes of destiny. Elsewhere
hearts under such circumstances might break. Here they only palpitated
with delight in the unusual, and the whole party was filled with a like
impatience to lead me in triumph down to the cab, not from a heartless
desire to get rid of me, but for the grand dramatic instant of farewell.
They greedily yearned to bundle me into the fatal vehicle, for the
intoxicating novelty of waving their handkerchiefs to me from the
doorstep as the cab drove off.
What might follow for me they did not take into account, having neither
imagination nor tenderness to help them to look beyond a glowing moment.
What would follow for them they were already perfectly aware of: a wild
race up-stairs, and a whole entrancing afternoon devoted to discussing
my departure, voyage, and probable experiences.
My stepfather took me up in his arms, kissed me on both cheeks with his
cheery careless affection, and carried me down-stairs. My mother
followed with a shawl, and a packet containing cold chicken, bread,
cake, and milk.
In the hall the terrible postulant stood waiting for me, and met my
scared look with a quick nod, meant to assure me that although her
aspect might be that of an ogre, she could be trusted not to devour a
little girl. My mother gave her the lunch and the shawl, and told her to
keep me warm, as I was not yet recovered from the effects of
whooping-cough. Through the open door I saw my box on the top of the
cab, and it seemed as if hundreds of shrill young voices were shouting
blithely to me, "Good-bye, Angela." Quantities of soft young lips strove
to kiss me at once, and dancing blue eyes sparkled around me, and gave
me the sensation of being already cast out of a warm circle where my
empty place would not be felt, where no word of regret would ever be
uttered for the unwelcome waif that called them sister.
Without a tear or a word, giving back their joyous "Good-bye" without
sorrow or revolt, I carried my mumbed little heart into the cab, so
alone that the companionship of the postulant offered me no promise of
protection or sympathy, and I never once looked at my stepfather sitting
opposite me.
So I began my life, and so has it continued. Some obscure instinct of
pride compelled me to wave my handkerchief in response to excited waves
of white from the pavement. I looked as if I did not care, and this was
the start of a subsequent deliberate development of the "don't care"
philosophy, which the good ladies of Mercy triumphantly prophesied would
eventually lead me to perdition. To perdition it did not lead me, but to
many private hours of despair and suffering, for which I could claim no
alleviation in the support of my fellows, since I had chosen the
attitude of defiance and "don't care."
Heaven knows how much I cared! what salt passionate tears I wept because
I always cared a great deal too much. But this nobody knew. My pride was
to pass for a hardened reprobate, and such were my iniquities and the
ferocity of that same untamable pride that if I achieved success in
nothing else, here my accomplishment could not be disputed.
I can hardly tell now what were my first definite impressions of a ship
and the sea, for it is difficult to recall the time when either
constituted a novelty for me. If there were truth in the theory of
transmigration of the soul, mine ought to be a remnant of a sailor's, or
a child's born at sea. The big vessel inspired me with no fears, but an
acute sensation of delight. The ropes, the sailors, the shouting, the
wonderful file of porters laden with trunks and portmanteaus, cases and
boxes dropping into mysterious depths with such an awful suggestion of
fatality, the triumphant assertion of our herded insignificance, the
captain's air of deity upon the bridge above, the marvels of the cabins
below, and the little perilous stairs one rather slid than walked down,
and the rapture of climbing up again from the stuffy dimness into the
grey brine-tasting air, to laugh aloud in the intoxication of fear as
the ship rose and fell upon the swell of a choppy grey sea rushing into
the river's mouth.
It was sad to be alone, to be going away at seven from one's land and
home among unknown barbarians; but for one strange hour I was not to be
pitied, so quivering with pleasure was this first taste of adventure.
By-and-by I grew stunned and quiescent, and was glad to sit still,
curled up in some pretty lady's lap, where my cheek rested luxuriously
against soft, warm fur. But for the moment I was too eager to see
everything, follow every curious movement with childhood's wide alert
gaze, hear everything, understand everything.
My stepfather, like a big, good-natured man, humoured me, and we seemed
to travel together hand-in-hand over an entire world, looking at all
sorts of odd things, and listening to all sorts of odd noises. It was
less beautiful, to be sure, but how much more interesting than the
pantomime! I provoked a shout of laughter from a man in a greatcoat
with a tremendous black beard, by clamouring to know where the sharks
were. Before the answer could come, a bell rang sharply, and somebody
sang out "All ashore!"
"Good-bye, Angy, and God bless you! Be a good child, now, and don't
fret," said my stepfather, stooping to gather me to him, and there was a
break in his voice I had once before heard, when he found me with dead
Stevie in my arms.
I can imagine what a piteous little object I must have looked, so frail
and fair and small, standing alone on the big deck, without a hand to
clasp, a fond smile to encourage me, lips to kiss away my tears. But he
was too much of the careless, good-tempered Irishman to allow unpleasant
emotions to trouble him except in a vague and transient way. Now I know
how he would blink away the sad vision, and as he turned from me with a
cheery "Don't fret," he waved his hand encouragingly, and his golden
beard shone brightly in the subdued morning lights. He was a brave
picture at all times, so smiling and handsome, and tall, and big, with
the clearest blue eyes I have ever seen and the most winning of
gestures.
I was straining to watch the last of him, forcing my passage through
skirts and trousers, like an excited mouse, when a lady caught me up in
her arms and held me while I frantically shook my handkerchief, and he
to the last stood on the wharf, kissing his hand and waving his hat to
me, as if I were a grown-up person. I was enchanted with his gallant air
and fine courtesy, and flung him kisses with both hands. Then I buried
my head in the lady's fur, and sobbed as if my heart would break.
Ireland was receding from me, the ship was rocking, there was a sullen
deafening roar of steam, and I could no longer discern the one familiar
figure I gazed for in the dim indistinguishable crowd on the thin, dark
shoreline. The only world I knew was fading fast before my wet glance,
and in terror of another I clasped the strange lady's neck, and shivered
into her soothing furs.