New York, January 1868
RMS SCOTIA SAILED TO New York under the command of Captain Judkins. One of Cunard’s finest officers and a staunch upholder of ship’s discipline, he ruled with a rod of iron. The captain had once legendarily threatened to clap a number of passengers from the American Deep South in irons when they not only refused to listen to a lecture given by Frederick Douglass but threatened to throw the abolitionist overboard. Captain Judkins, a taciturn man with the appearance of a distinguished politician, made no attempt to endear himself to his passengers, most of whom lived in fear of his acerbic tongue. However, he and Aunt Marion had struck up an unlikely friendship in the ten days spent at sea, as a result of which she and Margaret were invited to dine at his table almost every night and given a pride of place at the grand gala ball thrown to celebrate the New Year. It was a dubious honour, for the captain enjoyed the sound of his own voice rather too much, and his officers held him in a combination of reverence and fear, but when Aunt Marion pointed out that it ensured they had champagne on tap, Margaret could hardly demur.
The huge paddles of the Scotia had temporarily stopped turning in the early hours of this morning, some miles off the American coast, to allow US government officials to board. Wrapped in her thick travelling cloak, her hands in fur mittens, Margaret stood at the rails of the first-class deck as the engines started up again to complete the short final leg of their transatlantic journey up the East River to their berth in New York Harbour. The docking process was terrifyingly complex, for the river was teeming with ships, tugs, barges, and rowing boats, all jostling for position. As the engines were cut for a final time, a cacophony of voices rang out, shouting instructions from the dockside, from the barges, and from the bridge of the Scotia. Horns blasted, rigging creaked, gulls screeched plaintively, and the tang of salt gave way to the acrid scent of smoke that filled the leaden skies. On the decks of the other ships Margaret could see hordes of people crowded together, all straining, as she was, for their first glimpse of New York City.
Her stomach was churning like the vast ocean they had just crossed as the barges on which they would be disembarked came alongside. She couldn’t believe they had actually arrived in the New World. Her mind had been in constant turmoil as they steamed at alarming speed across the Atlantic, every creak and roll of the ship, the foaming wake it left in its trail, a reminder of the distance they were travelling, of the world and the loved ones she was leaving far behind. It was easy during daytime to put her fears aside and enjoy the Scotia’s lavish hospitality, but at night in her cabin she had lain awake, questions and worries swarming like bees in her head. In those long, dark hours, she felt completely alone. Gazing out the porthole at the pincushion of stars in the ink-black sky, she had veered between exhilaration and the sensation of being trapped on this hulking, roiling iron vessel. Forced to forge relentlessly onwards, secretly relieved that the choice to turn back had been taken out of her hands.
Now, looking out at the emerging New York skyline, Margaret’s optimism reasserted itself. She had taken a huge leap into the dark, but despite all her doubts and fears, she was still convinced it was the right move. The article in the Illustrated Times, which Lord Powerscourt had so kindly shown her before she left, simply confirmed her in her views. No matter what she did, no matter what her motives, at home she would always be the scandalous Lady Margaret.
As she watched the first nets containing luggage being winched down onto the barges, Aunt Marion joined her. “Good morning, my dear. Isn’t this exciting?” Her eyes twinkling, she produced two glasses of champagne. “The sun must be over the yard-arm somewhere. This will be our last opportunity to sample the contents of Captain Judkins’s most excellent cellar and our first chance to toast the New World.”
“Good morning, America,” Margaret said, smiling as she raised her glass.
“We are quite delighted to make your acquaintance,” Aunt Marion added, taking a deep draught. “Now drink up, for we will be disembarking on one of those barges directly. I fear I will resemble a prize heifer being unloaded from a cattle boat.”
The barge deposited them at Castle Garden pier, on the southern tip of the island of Manhattan, with Governors Island nearby. In the distance lay the green hills of Staten Island. The Scotia was one of many ships disembarking this morning, and the jetty was a seething mass of humanity hailing from every corner of the world, or so it seemed to Margaret. Her legs wobbled so much as she set foot on dry land that she was momentarily frozen to the spot. Her nose twitched at the smells; her ears rang with the noise. Officials were shouting instructions, waving their arms, and she panicked as the crowds surged forward.
“Stay close, my dear,” Aunt Marion said with reassuring calm, grabbing her arm, casting a disapproving gaze around her at the milling throng. “It seems that Americans are true to their principle that everyone is equal from the very outset. I can see no separate process for first class. Ah well, leave this to me. Dealing with bureaucracy is one of my many talents.” She frowned disapprovingly at a fellow passenger ranting at an official. “Patience and courtesy are what will see us through, so pin that enchanting smile of yours to your face, and let us have at ’em.”
True to her word, Aunt Marion steered them quickly through a cursory medical examination and into the main rotunda building, a vast circular space where the noise of so many people talking in so many different languages was deafening and the stench from so many passengers who had been cooped up in steerage was overpowering.
“Take deep breaths, and you will quickly become accustomed to the smell,” Aunt Marion commanded as she pushed Margaret in front of her towards the registering department.
By the time their papers and baggage had been checked, and arrangements had been made to send their luggage on to the hotel which would be their temporary home, it was late morning. Emerging on the other side of the rotunda, they found themselves in a large courtyard, where passengers, children, and baggage stood in groups, looking as dazed as Margaret now felt. Exiting through another door, they were officially disembarked and on American soil.
The Battery, as it was known, was a vast space with a few sparse trees and a great deal of traffic. Conveyances of every size and description blocked the way—carriages, carts, and pedlars’ barrows. Touts proclaimed the name of the hotel or boarding-house they represented. It was here that the reunions took place. Families embraced, lovers kissed, and people laughed and cried at the same time. Babies were held up to be inspected, dogs barked, and children bounced on their toes, clinging to their mothers’ skirts. Margaret smiled at one little girl who was holding an exuberant puppy on a lead, and was rewarded with a gap-toothed grin.
Aunt Marion, meanwhile, was carefully noting down the licence number of the hansom cab. “One can never be too careful,” she said, ushering Margaret ahead of her. “Drivers,” she added with a meaningful glance at the man who had descended from the box to assist her, “are the same the world over in my experience, always eager to charge one double the going rate if they can get away with it. We are off to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, my good man, which should be no more than a fare of seventy-five cents, if I am not mistaken.”
“Spot on, unless you care to add a generous tip, lady,” the man replied, winking at Margaret as he closed the folding wooden doors over their legs, before leaping up onto the box behind them and urging his horse into action.
The wind bit at their faces, for the hansom cab was only partially enclosed, but Margaret leaned forward, eager to catch her first glimpse of what she knew enough to call downtown New York. “I can’t believe we’re actually here. I know you are a seasoned traveller, but until we set sail, Ireland was the furthest afield I’ve ever been.”
“There is nothing like travel for broadening one’s mind.” Aunt Marion grimaced. “A dreadful platitude, but true nonetheless, provided one is happy to embrace the experience, of course. You would not believe the number of people I came across in the diplomatic service who put all their efforts into recreating a little patch of England. You must know the type, for your father mingles with ambassadors and high-ranking officials. They are the ones least likely to learn the local lingo or customs. Don’t get me wrong now; there were plenty others like my dear Alexander, who made every effort to adapt, but some—” She broke off, shaking her head. “Such people, I fear, gain little from their foreign travels save continual bouts of homesickness and occasional bouts of the scours.”
“Well, I intend to throw myself into life here with gusto.”
“I am sure you will,” Aunt Marion said, patting her hand. “You will be homesick, there’s no avoiding it, but the trick is not to wallow in it. And remember that you are not alone, for I am by your side.”
“Thank you, Aunt Marion.” Margaret leaned over, surprising her with a kiss on the cheek. “For everything. I am so glad you are here with me.”
“Please, I beg you, let’s dispense with the aunt. We are to be friends and accomplices, not guardian and ward. I am very glad to have been given the opportunity to accompany you, my dear. Since I lost Alexander, my life has been rather dull, I must confess. I, too, am eagerly anticipating pastures new, you know, even if only for a limited period, and I freely admit that I am also looking forward to enjoying a bit of luxury. I am reliably informed that our accommodation incorporates something called a vertical railroad to convey us to our rooms. I hope it is of sturdy construction. I am rather looking forward to trying it out.”