Liam Gellikin crouched breathlessly underneath the fallen wood panels, leaning against the dilapidated building that he prayed would fall upon him as he waited for blood to rush back into his fingertips. A few paces away, situated on the banks of the Irish Sea, was his only refuge; a passenger ship that would take him from Dublin to Liverpool and away from the only place he’d ever known. “Damn? ort,” Liam muttered as the numbness in his limbs began to subside. Damnation on All. On everything. The frigidity of the Irish coastal wind began to beat against his chest, pushing relentlessly against his feeble bones. Liam slowly lifted himself out of the crevice between the remnants of the old building and the fallen wood planks. A chill crept down his spine and he became numb once again.
Liam closed his eyes and inhaled the air, trembling from the hypothermia that was beginning to consume him. He reluctantly moved away from the buildings, praying no one would notice his attempt to escape this semblance of hell. There was not a soul in sight except for the crowds by the harbor waiting impatiently to board a small steam ship owned by the Dublin and Liverpool Steam Packet Company. This ship was their only chance for survival and Liam’s only chance for freedom.
Liam began to feel something pounding inside him, but it wasn’t due to fear or sadness. Any expression of those two emotions would surely weaken and eventually kill him, and he was not prepared to die unless he died of his own accord. He could have easily killed himself at home in County Kildare, but he could not muster enough courage to push the knife into his own chest.
He walked slowly away from the dilapidated remnants of the city that stood overlooking the Irish Sea. He walked steadily with his hands clenched at his side, shaking with anxiety. He could not go home now; the only direction was onward.
Overlooking the calm blanket of waves outstretched before him he almost forgot the desolation and poverty that remained behind him. He had never seen the serenity of the water before leaving County Kildare. Now he knew why people were filled with hope when all that surrounded them were the capricious waves of the immense ocean and the uniformity of motion in a tireless sea.
He reached the boarding dock that led into the harbor. He heard church bells in the distance and he felt a pang within his stomach, stopping him momentarily before he began his steady trek down the boarding dock once again. Only one man could help him now, and trusting a stranger frightened Liam more than anything. Liam followed the directions of his mother and looked for a man named O’Leary who worked for the Dublin and Liverpool Packet Company and wished to help him stowaway in the ship sailing to England. Liam had only met this man a few times when he was very young. The man and his father were acquaintances before Liam was born, but when Liam’s father died of cholera five years ago, he never saw the man again.
Liam reached into a small pocket in his worn coat jacket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with name John O’Leary printed on one side. The other side said, “Tell him you are the son of Seamus Gellikin. Say nothing more.” Liam walked down the dock slowly until he reached the crowds waiting in line for their places on the steam ship and their passages to freedom. Liam knew the man would be near the boarding dock waiting for him to arrive, and he hoped he would recognize the man by the few things he remembered about him: his intense glaring eyes and rotund abdomen.
Liam approached an elderly man standing by the dock intently scanning the crowds. The man looked haggard and worn and obviously frustrated with the enormous rumble of the crowds and the chaos that surrounded him. His long face and pink, wrinkled skin were evidence that this man had once been robust and healthy, which Liam recognized as a symptom of the famine’s toll on all the people of Ireland. Liam hoped this man would be the savior for whom he was looking.
“You John O’Leary?” the boy asked with a solemn, blank stare. The man ignored him and did not say a word to reply. He knew that this was the young boy for which he had been waiting. “I’m the son of Seamus Gellikin.”
“I know who you are, boy,” the man said in a gruff, muffled voice. Even when he spoke, his eyes never moved from the crowds, obviously worried that someone would realize that he was attempting to help a fugitive. “I wish I could tell you to leave but I can’t. I know why you’re here, and I wish your father had been a son of a bitch so that I wouldn’t have to help you.”
Liam stood still and erect, hoping O’Leary was an honorable fellow who would keep his word. John O’Leary was not a man that Liam wanted to cross, but neither did he want to befriend him. Liam stared at the waters along with the man, both of them hating themselves for what they were about to do. “Follow me, boy.”
Liam followed the man to the center of the crowds that were boarding the ship. He stood next to O’Leary, squeezing himself between the massive crowds, hiding himself from everything he once loved. He hoped O’Leary was aware of everything that had occurred. Liam began to wish he could go home and forget about the last few days, but he knew that going home would bring more anguish to his mother and brothers than they could bear. His mother needed to believe that one of her children would live through this horror, and Liam had to keep that hope alive for her. If it wasn’t for her and his younger brothers, he would have killed himself months before today.
Liam and O’Leary finally reached the entrance of the ship where the passengers were being ticketed and forced into small chambers within the ship in order to maximize the amount of storage space for supplies. Liam began to feel ill as he watched the apparition of blank faces forced to leave their homeland in this dishonorable fashion. “Hurry up, boy. We haven’t the time to dawdle,” O’Leary shouted as he began to noticed the boy growing pale at the sight of the starving beings surrounding him. “They’re the lucky ones, boy. You’re one of the lucky ones.”
O’Leary already knew about the incident that had occurred earlier in the week. Everyone in County Kildare knew about the murder, but Liam had hoped that no one in Dublin would recognize him or know about his fugitive status. Unfortunately for Liam, O’Leary knew that many men were looking for Liam, and there was no way of knowing whether O’Leary truly wanted to be an accomplice to a fugitive.
Liam followed the man through the halls of the upper decks. When they reached the staircase, Liam felt as though he was sprinting to keep pace with the old man. It was apparent that O’Leary was afraid that someone would know; someone had to know who the kid was. People are always starving in Ireland, but they don’t go around killing British noblemen to stay alive, he seemed to be thinking.
Liam and O’Leary continued speeding down the steps to the lower level where livestock were being led to their more spacious quarters. “You’ll be in here, boy. Be grateful you’re with the cattle and not the crowds. I find it more comfortable to be surrounded by the filth of cattle than the filthy remnants of the starving poor,” O’Leary mumbled sadistically. The man was blunt and heartless, but correct. Where cattle were sheltered, deck passengers were not, and in some ways, Liam had better accommodations than the paying passengers who were forced to stand with the harsh cold winds thrusting against their faces throughout the twelve hour journey. “The cattle are worth more than the passengers,” Liam said. The sound of his own voice speaking those words made him sick with hatred once again.
Liam and O’Leary arrived at the cargo room of the ship, and O’Leary pushed aside a box on the floor to reveal a small door that opened upward. Underneath the small door was a cubicle large enough for one person to stand inside uncomfortably. The storage space was filled with the remnants of stale grain. O’Leary stared at Liam without saying anything. The open room above the hideaway would soon be filled with livestock and other supplies that were to be shipped to England in hopes of making some small profit. “You have to go in now before this room is full, child.” O’Leary glared with a mix of empathy and hatred. How could a boy leave his family like this?, he thought. They both knew the answer. The boy was better off dead than alive, and certainly better off in America than Ireland.
“There you go. That should do you some good until we get to Liverpool,” O’Leary said with a faint smile that was so disingenuous Liam could not reciprocate.
“Thank you,” Liam uttered and stepped into the small, dark cubicle where he would sit for the next twelve hours. As O’Leary closed the small trap door he uttered, “May you have a world of wishes at your command.” With that Irish proverb, the door closed over his head and the little light that came through the cracks was extinguished by the placement of a large box over the door. And God and his angels close to hand.
Never before in Liam’s life had faith been more requisite, yet he couldn’t bring himself to ask for God’s forgiveness. He was numb once again, and the reality of being locked in a cubicle for twelve hours without light or certainty that he would live to see tomorrow was no punishment compared to the horrors he had witnessed in Kildare.
The absolute darkness in the cubicle, combined with the smell of wet manure, nauseated Liam and he began to believe that he would receive his death wish before the end of the journey to Liverpool. He attempted to pray, but couldn’t remember how to beg for forgiveness or recite passages from the Bible. Lord, as I walk through the valley… He couldn’t say it. The words couldn’t come out of his lips without his gagging or wheezing due to lack of oxygen. Thankfully, there was a small hole that allowed for air to enter the tiny space, but he wasn’t sure whether the air entering this prison would actually assist him in living through this incredible journey or just prolong the effects of this torture.
The minutes seemed like hours as he waited, but he knew that it had only been a few minutes at most because the ship had not begun to move. He was growing colder by the moment, despite the enormously small quarters and the warmth of stagnant air. The water and sludge on the floor of the cubicle seeped into his shoes and he began to lose the feeling in his feet due to the frigid temperature.
Liam began to grow angry and forlorn as he considered how he arrived at this state of being. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He thought about his mother and his two brothers, Seamus and Daniel. How could he leave them to save his own life? Self-loathing retook his consciousness once again, and he began to replay the events of the last three days repeatedly in his mind. He couldn’t escape the inundation of images. The dark alley. The open window. The man’s pocketbook. The knife on the dresser. Daniel’s screams. His mother’s pleas for sustenance. The murder. The blood. The horror. At that moment Liam began to vomit in the darkness. He was convulsing and could feel the fever rising but could not manage to find warmth. Lord, as I walk through the valley…He still could not say the words. He had to remember this nightmare and know why it occurred in such a terrible manner. Why did he yield to his starvation? Was it love for his family or absolute hatred of those men who refused to sympathize with their plight? He couldn’t know. All he could do was replay the nightmare that occurred, scene by scene.
Nightfall in Kildare. Mother holds six year old Daniel in her arms. Daniel shaking. Daniel’s fever overcoming him. Drifting out of consciousness. Cold. Starving. Pain. Boiling water for warmth. Mother trembling. Daniel wheezing and shaking in her arms.
Outside, barefoot and numb. The frigid night wind. Running away. Running for miles. There. The house of Roger Manchester, the British governor of County Kildare. Damn? ort. Knocking on the door. Begging for mercy. Mercy for Daniel. “Get off my property.” Damn him. Running to the window. The pocket book on the table. Inside the room. He sees. I shriek. Grabbing the pocket book. He charges. I grab the knife. Screams. Struggle. Death. Horror. Damn? ort.
The fragmented images kept running through Liam’s mind. To kill a man for food was acceptable for survival. To kill a British governor in a fit of rage was grounds for imprisonment and execution. Liam knew this, and so did the rest of Kildare. When the incident occurred, everyone knew Liam had murdered Manchester. He was the only young man with the strength and ability to kill a grown man and the only one who was foolish enough to attempt robbing the governor. When Manchester was killed, Liam knew he would have to flee, and he knew his family would suffer the consequences of his actions.
The air was becoming thicker in the cubicle, and Liam started felt his legs giving out. His eyes began to close slowly, and he could feel himself drifting into unconsciousness. Lord as I walk through the valley…There was a loud thrashing sound above him. The sound of footsteps was coming closer and voices grew louder as he began to lose consciousness. “Where is the boy?” shouted one voice. Liam heard the boxes being thrown about atop the small door above his head. “Open it,” commanded a voice above him. Liam felt his head drifting away, but suddenly he awoke.
Liam gasped as the light hit his face, blinding him as if some divine shadow had entered his vision. He wasn’t sure if the bright lights were of this earth or if he had finally received his eternal punishment. Liam soon recognized O’Leary’s face glaring down at him and he realized that his escape to heaven was thwarted. Five men stood around O’Leary glaring down at Liam. All were officers of the British occupation forces who had been searching for Liam ever since the murder three days prior. Liam threw up his hands and let out a sigh, knowing that his death was now on their terms.
Liam opened his eyes, giving a look of hopeless defeat to O’Leary. O’Leary stared at Liam in an unapologetic manner, knowing that Liam understood that this was going to happen. Liam was not angry, but completely resigned to this fated outcome. He could not escape his past, nor did he want to leave Ireland, the only home he ever knew. He would rather die in Ireland than die trying to escape the fate he knew he deserved.
The guns of the officers were pointed at Liam’s head as they violently pulled him out of the small cubicle. He was covered in filth and the remnants of wheat, and the officers mocked him for his pathetic appearance. “He’s not even a man,” one officer shouted as he kicked Liam’s frail legs. Liam groaned and fell to the floor; his face lying in the soot of the floor. “Let’s take him off this ship.”
O’Leary watched as Liam was dragged away by the British authorities who would soon dispose of him. He wondered if he would ever feel sympathy for the young boy, but he knew he couldn’t. To feel sadness would be the death of O’Leary, and all the men of Ireland, and he could not let his sympathies weaken his attempts to survive. For returning the fugitive, O’Leary would have food for weeks, and survival was necessary at this time, not charity.
The grasp of the soldiers was so strong that Liam knew he could not escape his impending fate, and he did not want to avoid death. As they walked towards the boarding dock of the ship, Liam looked up and saw the thick white haze rising from the water’s surface. He gazed at the authorities who led him away, frequently hitting and beating at his fatigued limbs. Lord, as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil. For thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. He remembered now. Lord, forgive me for what I am about to do.
Liam glanced past the side of the ship that lay ten paces away from him. The crowds stared intently at the authorities who pulled Liam away from the ship quickly. Liam mustered up every last ounce of strength within his decrepit body and broke away from the grasp of the authorities, who were taken aback by the strength of the ailing boy. He ran as fast as he could to the railing of the ship, counting the paces with each moment that passed. Five more. Four more paces. Three more… This was on his terms. Liam reached the rail, and thrust his feeble body over the railing of the ship.
The crowd screamed with horror as the young boy’s body plunged into the thick haze of the harbor below. The crowd stood still and quiet as they watched the authorities fire their pistols feverishly into the calm waters. All was still. There was no body and no sign of the boy’s remnants in the tranquil sea below. As the authorities walked off the boat satisfied and accomplished, the crowds began to murmur once again, thinking of their own freedom. As the masses of Ireland waved goodbye to their homeland, forgetting the child they saw plunge to his death, O’Leary stood at the hull of the ship and whispered to the cool Irish wind, “May we have a world of wishes at our command.” The ship exhausted a blast of steam and slowly began its journey to Liverpool.
Katherine Boyle is a freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences. This piece was originally submitted for the Liberal Arts Seminar.
