Into the Storm Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Friday, January 24, 1851

  75. Farewell, England!

  76. In Search of Stowaways

  77. Laurence Found

  78. Mr. Murdock on the Prowl

  79. A Proposal Is Made

  80. The Steerage Deck

  81. Berth Mates

  82. Laurence in the Hold

  83. An Identity Revealed

  84. Mr. Clemspool about His Business

  85. Mr. Drabble at the Bowsprit

  86. Mr. Clemspool Writes a Letter

  87. 7:35 P.M., Lowell, Massachusetts

  88. A Meeting in Lowell

  89. Mr. Jenkins and Jeb

  90. Mr. Tolliver Calls

  91. Jeb Grafton

  92. Whispered Words

  Saturday, January 25, 1851

  93. Meetings

  Monday, January 27, 1851

  94. In London, Mr. Pickler Makes His Report

  95. Enter Sir Albert

  96. Mr. Shagwell Asks a Question

  Wednesday, January 29, 1851

  97. Maura’s Morning

  98. Mr. Gregory O’Connell

  99. Jeb and His Gang

  Thursday, January 30, 1851

  100. Patrick Goes to the Bottom Hold

  101. Sir Albert Kirkle in the City of Liverpool

  Saturday, February 1, 1851

  102. Bridy Listens

  Thursday, February 6, 1851

  103. A Warning

  104. The Storm

  105. In the Bottom Hold

  106. Seasick and Smiling

  107. Out of the Bottom Hold

  108. Mr. Grout in the Galley

  109. Patrick and Laurence Search for Safety

  110. Mr. Grout Learns Something

  111. Into the Storm

  Monday, February 10, 1851

  112. The Sickness

  113. A Death

  114. Mr. Murdock Makes a Discovery

  115. Laurence Goes Looking

  116. Sarah Grafton

  117. Mr. Jenkins Makes a Visit

  Monday, February 17, 1851

  118. Night at Sea

  Thursday, February 20, 1851

  119. Mr. Grout Has a Lesson

  120. An Unexpected Meeting

  121. From the Podium

  Saturday, February 22, 1851

  122. Patrick Goes Searching

  Sunday, February 23, 1851

  123. The Thirty-first Day

  124. Mr. Grout and the Money

  125. Mr. Grout and Mr. Drabble Make Plans

  126. Business Plans

  127. Mr. Clemspool Sees Something

  Monday, February 24, 1851

  128. Patrick’s Idea

  129. A Change of Name

  Tuesday, February 25, 1851

  130. The Robert Peel Is Inspected

  131. Mr. Shagwell’s Salvation

  132. Mr. Grout at the Liberty Tree Inn

  133. Mr. Grout Makes a Discovery

  134. Laurence and Mr. Murdock

  135. On Land Again

  136. A Meeting at the Inn

  137. The Rage of Laurence

  138. Story of a Life

  Wednesday, February 26, 1851

  139. A Meeting on the Wharf

  140. Unhappy Decisions

  141. What Laurence Does

  142. Mr. Grout Buys Some Clothes

  143. Mr. Jenkins Buys Some Words

  144. Laurence, Mr. Grout, and Mr. Drabble Go to Lowell

  145. The O’Connells Reach Lowell

  146. A Lowell Lodging

  147. The Room

  148. On Adams Street

  149. Mrs. Hamlyn’s Place

  Thursday, February 27, 1851

  150. Patrick at the Mill

  151. An Encounter

  152. Mr. Clemspool Visits the Mill

  153. Maura Goes to the Mill

  154. Bridy Alone

  155. Mr. Drabble Reaches Another Stage

  156. Mr. Clemspool and the Money

  157. Mr. Clemspool Takes Action

  158. In the Spindle City Hotel

  159. Sir Albert Comes Across

  160. Mr. Clemspool Complains

  161. Mr. Grout Takes His Walk

  162. A Meeting at the Mill

  163. Patrick’s Day

  164. In Which Laurence Finds an Occupation

  165. Nick Seeks Revenge

  166. Patrick Meets Someone He Knows

  167. Mr. Shagwell and Mr. Clemspool Have a Talk

  168. Mr. Clemspool Paces

  169. Earnings

  170. Maura after Work

  171. Mr. Shagwell’s House

  172. Mr. Jenkins Meets with Friends

  Friday, February 28, 1851

  173. Maura Doesn’t Worry

  174. Mr. Drabble Wanders

  175. A Surprising Pair of Shoes

  176. Brothers

  177. Albert Looks for His Man

  178. In the Shanty

  179. Tales Are Told

  180. In Search of Safety

  181. In Which Mr. Clemspool Has a Visitor

  182. The Bank Key

  183. Mr. Drabble Returns

  184. Laurence Meets Some Friends

  185. A Family Reunion

  186. Further Adventures in the Hotel

  187. Jeb Follows Laurence

  188. Maura Returns

  189. Mr. Jenkins Speaks

  190. The Mob

  Saturday, March 1, 1851

  191. From the Ashes

  192. Lord Kirkle’s Money

  Saturday, March 8, 1851

  193. Departures

  Also by Avi

  About the Author

  Copyright

  A brisk, chill wind and a strong tide bore the Robert Peel down the Mersey River, away from the city of Liverpool and out upon the rolling Irish Sea.

  On the main deck stood three hundred and fifty emigrants, most of them Irish. They were of all ages, from children in mothers’ arms to the old and hobbled. Virtually everyone was dressed shabbily, though here and there — like plump plums in an otherwise poor pudding — could be seen those of a richer sort. Well-off or poor, most were cold, many weak and ill. All were pondering what would happen to them next. But now that England had been left behind — and the ship’s gray sails bulked large even as her high, stout prow plowed the waves — there was little the passengers could do but wait anxiously for some word from the ship’s captain.

  Maura O’Connell, her brother, Patrick, and their friend, Mr. Horatio Drabble, pressed side by side against the ship’s bulwark, each lost in thought.

  Mr. Drabble, long, lanky, expanded his thin chest and breathed deeply of the rich sea air, hardly believing his good fortune. Just a few days ago he had been trapped in the insufferable misery of Mrs. Sonderbye’s Liverpool basement. Now he was sailing to America, the fulfillment of a dream long held. Watching England’s coast fade in the distance, he felt the weight of past disappointments drop away. As far as he was concerned, he had already become a new man. His smile was as wide as his face.

  Maura O’Connell — brown hair blowing, red shawl aflutter — thought of her mother back in Ireland. While Maura could envision the woman wrapped in black, saying her beads, the girl could not imagine where in the ruins of Kilonny Village she might have found shelter. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

  And was not her brother, Patrick, too young, too headstrong? And did she not bear full responsibility for him?

  Then there was the actor, Horatio Drabble. Though he had been truly kind and helpful to them in Liverpool, Maura was not certain she knew him. There were times he seemed to be from quite another world, not because he was English, but because he, like Patrick, struck her as mo
re boy than man.

  Then Maura thought, with some self-chiding, that soon they would be in America with their father, and she could turn over all her responsibilities to him. How well he’d care for them! Maura wanted little but some peace, some quiet, and some work to call her own. How fine that her father, rich man that he was, would provide it. The idea prompted one of Maura’s rare smiles.

  Patrick O’Connell had no interest in observing either the passing scenery or the other passengers. Nor was he pondering the future. He could think of nothing but Laurence hidden belowdecks. So it was that he stared fixedly at Captain Rickles — splendid in gray uniform and red mustache — who was standing before the main mast, calling commands to the sailors in the high rigging. As Patrick watched, the first mate approached the captain, who introduced him to Mr. Drabble’s friend, Mr. Grout, and his stout companion whose name Patrick did not know.

  So great was Patrick’s worry about Laurence that he simply assumed the subject of their discussion was stowaways. The notion filled him with dread. He must free Laurence.

  Satisfied that Maura was intent upon her own thoughts, Patrick murmured, “I’m going to watch from over there.”

  “Don’t go far,” Mr. Drabble cautioned. “They’ll be letting us below soon.”

  Small and wiry, Patrick had little trouble slipping through the crowd to the opposite side of the ship. Once there, he climbed the ratlines a ways and held on, toes curling over the ropes. From this roost he studied the main deck in search of some entry into the bottom hold. Only now did he admit to himself that he had no clear idea where or what the bottom hold was. In all his twelve years he had never been on such a boat. The words had made sense in Liverpool, when Fred told him where he’d hidden Laurence. They didn’t make sense now.

  Looking about, Patrick noticed a sailor emerge from a closetlike structure almost directly below the main mast. Would that be a way? he asked himself.

  As soon as the sailor moved on, Patrick climbed down from the lines and stole a look inside the small structure. A narrow stairway led down. After checking to see if anyone was watching him, Patrick stepped into the alcove, made the sign of the cross, grasped the guide rope, and started to descend.

  The first level he reached was dim. Long rows of what appeared to be wide shelves stretched forward and aft into darkness. As for cargo, he saw none. The steps continued down. He went on.

  At the next level Patrick discovered a few candles set in wall-mounted glass bulbs. Their small yellow flames illuminated neat rows of boxes and crates. Here, surely, was the bottom hold.

  Taking up one of the candles, Patrick made his way toward the bow of the ship only to come to a sudden, heart-pounding stop. Before him gaped an open hatchway. One more step and he would have plummeted down.

  From the open square of the hatch a ladder dropped into darkness as black as his hair. Was there yet another, third hold below? Fred’s words echoed in his mind: the bottom hold. Patrick stepped onto the ladder and began to climb slowly down.

  Candlelight revealed a dark cavelike expanse embraced by enormous arching timbers. Countless casks, barrels, and chests, piled one atop the other, were deployed in rows that seemed to vanish, fore and aft, into murky blackness. The air was humid, clotted with the stench of rot and filth. Sounds of sloshing bilgewater, the creaks and groans of the plunging ship, filled his ears. This, Patrick told himself with dread, must be the bottom hold.

  Leaving the ladder, Patrick moved warily in the direction he thought was forward, for Fred had also said the bow.

  As Patrick crept along — the rough planking pricking his bare feet — he tried to examine each and every crate in fear of missing the one that bore the telltale X in a circle.

  Upon reaching the bow, Patrick held the candle up. A few feet from where he stood he saw a coffinlike box wedged between two great beams as far forward as possible. On the side facing him, Patrick could just make out Fred’s mark.

  Patrick ran to the box and tapped on it. “Laurence!” he called. “Are you there, Laurence?” When no answer came, he began to claw away at the boards.

  On the quarterdeck Mr. Murdock, the first mate, assembled his stowaway search party: two sailors, Mr. Grout, and Mr. Clemspool. One sailor carried a long sharp stick, the other a heavy hammer. Mr. Murdock held a lantern.

  “All right, gents,” the first mate began, “yer welcome to come along to search for stowaways if it’s Captain Rickles’s pleasure. I’m just warning yer to keep behind me and the lads. If we find someone, they’re liable to be desperate. Yer’ll want us to deal with ’em, not yerselves.”

  “No need to worry about me, sir,” Mr. Clemspool replied heartily. The further the ship drew away from England, and Mr. Pickler, the more the man’s cherublike face resumed its cheerful demeanor. “My friend, however, who cannot claim more than twenty years of life, is quite another matter.”

  Indeed, Mr. Grout was finding the ship’s motion most upsetting. His stomach was queasy, and his face had turned a pasty white. As the Robert Peel pitched and rolled, he was continually reaching out for support. “Will this ’ere search take long?” he fretted.

  “I wouldn’t think so, sir,” Mr. Murdock told him, taking pleasure in the landlubber’s uneasiness. “But yer welcome to step out at any time and go to yer stateroom. Just take yerselves a pull of fresh air before we go, ’cause we start in the bottom hold. And it’s not particular pleasant there.”

  From inside the crate a weak and dazed Laurence blinked at the candle flame. His muscles were cramped. His stomach ached from hunger. His throat was parched. “Is that you, Patrick?” he beseeched hoarsely.

  “Aye, it’s me,” Patrick replied, much relieved to have found his friend. “And you, Laurence, are you all right?”

  “I thought you’d never come,” the English boy managed to say.

  “Didn’t I tell you I would?” Patrick returned with pride, though as he spoke he looked nervously back over his shoulder.

  Carefully, he helped Laurence from the crate. But the boy sank to the floor, too weak to stand.

  “I’ll be needing to put the boards back on,” Patrick cautioned. “Else for sure they’ll know you’ve been in the box.” He set his candle aside and worked to shove the crate boards back into place.

  “Now, Laurence,” he said, kneeling before his friend, “you must listen to me, because I can’t be staying long. I don’t know where we’re to be yet so I can’t take you with me. And faith, I’m thinking it wouldn’t be safe for you there. Maybe you’d best bide some time here.”

  “Where?” Laurence asked, too numb, too confused to think for himself.

  “I’m not sure exactly,” Patrick admitted. “You could try among the barrels over there. Only you’d best hurry, Laurence. They’ll be searching for you.”

  “For me?” whimpered Laurence.

  “For any stowaways.”

  The miserable boy stared into the murky darkness.

  “Laurence, you must look at me and listen! I’m going now or my sister will be wondering where I am. You can hide yourself, can’t you?”

  “Patrick! Will you come back soon?”

  “Don’t you be worrying about that,” Patrick assured him as he retrieved the candle and backed away a few steps. “You can be sure I’ll come as often as I can.”

  “But —”

  “Just hide yourself, Laurence!” Patrick whispered with urgency as he moved further into the dark. “Do you hear me? Hide yourself!”

  Laurence struggled to his feet. “Patrick!” he called. But the Irish boy had disappeared, though where Laurence was not sure.

  Enveloped by inky blackness, Laurence stood where he was, sensing little more than the ceaseless pitching and yawing of the ship. The motion made him disoriented. It was hard to grasp what was happening. “I’m going to America,” he said out loud. “To America,” he repeated as though trying to convince himself. Then he added, “I have no family. I’ve no money. My name is Laurence, and I —”

 
Suddenly he heard voices coming from above. Terrified of being caught, Laurence looked up and saw a beam of light cut down a ladder like a golden spike. Then he saw boots descending. Close to panic, he scrambled along the aisle in search of a hiding place.

  Imagine people hiding in such a pestilential hole!” Mr. Clemspool exclaimed.

  “But they do, “Mr. Murdock said as he swung his lantern beam about to illuminate the cargo.