Ticonderoga Ship’s Log 22 December, 1852, 0530
Hot dry wind NNE at 25 knots. Sighted the coast of the colony of Victoria at 1823 yesterday evening. Disembarking at Point Nepean at 0730 today.
One hundred and two souls lost to typhus. Many more passengers and crew ill. Doctor has succumbed and unable to tend to sick since midday yesterday. Ordered yellow flag hoisted at 0500.
Kit tended to her children the best she could in the cramped quarters. Clean water was reserved only for drinking so she wiped Robert's brow with a rag dipped in a bucket of sea water.
“Are we there yet, Mama?”
“It won’t be long now darling. Try to sleep.”
“Where is Clara?”
“She’s up on deck looking at land. You can see the beach we’ll be walking on before you know it. There’ll be a nice clean bed waiting for you and a hot meal. I have no doubt.”
“Where’s Clara gone?”
Kit cradled his feverish head in her lap and rocked gently with the movement of the ship. She gathered her skirts around her as a large foot landed on the straw mattress next to her. The tall man
bent his back beneath the overhead sleeping compartments and crossed by her before sitting next to his wife and children, splayed on a mattress at the far side of the deck. It had long been
too hot to sleep in the compartments and people had moved their mattresses to the floor.
“Was that Daddy?” Robert asked.
“No, love, I told you, he’ll be waiting for us onshore. You’ll see him soon enough. Now hush and sleep.”
“There won’t be no one waiting for you on shore will there?” Ginny leaned in slightly from her mattress to whisper. She had placed her mattress next to Kit’s days ago, but the two women were so
uncommon little conversation passed between them.
Looking down at Robert, Kit shook her head. “My husband, Jimmy, sent us the fare months ago, then the letters stopped.”
“Don’t you worry none, love, there’ll be people on shore to help you look after the littlies, I wager. I was up on deck earlier and I heard one of the crew say he could see a sea of tents at the
point. They’re prepared for us, they are.”
Kit smiled obligingly. “Where is your Lizzy? She was here yesterday, wasn’t she?”
“That she were. She’s hitched up with one of them sailors. He’s sharing his rations with her and his bed no doubt. The little whore is good at looking after herself, I’ll give her that. Taught her
well I did.”
"Would you mind Robert for me while I find Clara?” Kit asked.
“Of course I will. You go.”
Kit carefully lifted her sleeping boy’s head and lowered it to the mattress. She stood and smoothed her soiled skirts before picking her way across the prostrate bodies to the stairs leading to the
upper deck. She waited impatiently at the bottom while a crew member, descending with a bucket of water, stopped to tie a kerchief over his mouth and nose.
She squinted in the bright light and peered around at the figures standing on the deck. Hearing the shrill sound of a girl's excited scream, she spun around and saw a sailor lifting Clara into the
air as if to throw her overboard. Kit grabbed her skirts and lifted them just clear of the wooden boards and rushed to her daughter.
“Clara,” she scolded as she neared.
The sailor lowered her down.
“If you’ll pardon me, my daughter is needed below.”
“She’s a fine lassie,” the sailor remarked, as Kit took her by the hand and tugged her arm. She pulled her behind her as the eleven-year-old resisted.
“Let me go, Mama. I was just playing.”
Yes, and Lizzy is only one year older than you and she was just playing with the sailors too, until yesterday.
“I don’t want to go back down there; it’s dirty. I want to stay up here.”
“Until we're with your father again, you will listen to what I tell you. Now, get back down there and help me look after your brother.” They descended the stairs and walked between the mattresses
to the middle of the deck.
“He don’t look good, Kit, “Ginny said as she reached the mattress. “I can’t get no word out of ‘im.”
Kit knelt next to her boy. His face was ashen and his little body, dressed only in a gauze vest and knee pants, was slick with sweat.
She lifted the bucket and tipped the water down the length of his body.
“The water’s gone warm. Fetch more water." She pushed the bucket into Clara's hands.
Clara grasped the wooden bucket, leapt across the bodies and disappeared at the top of the stairs.
“Everything is going to be all right,” she said as she cradled his head on her lap.
“When did he last eat?” Ginny asked.
"I haven’t been able to get anything into him since the day before yesterday."
“I’ve got a crust of bread here." She produced a scrap of material from under her mattress and unwrapped a small chunk of bread.
“Thank you. You’re very kind.” Kit took the bread and broke off a tiny morsel and placed it in her son’s mouth. “Now, you eat this, you hear? It will help make you better.”
The bread sat in his mouth but fell to the mattress as his head drooped to one side and his mouth opened.
“Oh, my God. No. Not my boy. Not here. Please.”
Ginny moved onto her knees and bent down to listen to the boy’s chest. She shook her head.
Kit let out a mournful cry and cradled her boy in her arms, stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head. Her silent tears fell onto his face as she held his head to her breast.
Clara reappeared with the bucket of water and placing her head on her mother's shoulder, stared down at the tranquil face of her brother.
“Now, you listen to me, Kit Monahan," Ginny said. "Stop your wailing, or as sure as the sun will cross the sky, they’ll take him from you and throw him overboard. Stay with him and cradle him like
you was before. Like he’s sleepin’, and we’ll be on land soon and he can be buried proper there.”
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