The Purser’s Story Page #2

"The Purser's Story" by Robert Barr is a captivating tale that follows the life of a ship's purser, who navigates the challenges and intrigues of life at sea. As he manages the ship's affairs and interacts with a diverse cast of characters, the purser experiences a mix of adventure, drama, and personal reflection. The narrative explores themes of duty, loyalty, and the complexities of human relationships within the confined space of a vessel, offering readers a unique glimpse into maritime life in the early 20th century. Barr's storytelling combines humor and poignancy, making it an engaging read for fans of nautical fiction.

• Travel

								

disengaged hand of the elder girl. “Tell me, darlint, where yees are
from.”

I suppose I had spoken rather harshly to them before, although I had
not intended to do so, but however that may be, at the first words of
kindness from the lips of their countrywoman both girls broke down and
cried as if their hearts would break. The poor woman drew them towards
her, and, stroking the fair hair of the elder girl, tried to comfort
her while the tears streamed down her own cheeks. “Hush, acushla; hush,
darlints, shure the gentlemin’s not goin’ to be hard wid two poor
childher going to a strange country.”

Of course it would never do to admit that the company could carry
emigrants free through sympathy, and I must have appeared rather
hard-hearted when I told Mrs. O’Donnell that I would have to take them
back with me to Cork. I sent the children away, and then arranged with
Mrs. O’Donnell to see after them during the voyage, to which she agreed
if her husband would let her. I could get nothing from the girl except
that she had lost her ticket; and when we sighted New York, I took them
through the steerage and asked the passengers if any one would assume
charge of the children and pay their passage. No one would do so.

“Then,” I said, “these children will go back with me to Cork; and if I
find they never bought tickets, they will have to go to jail.”

There were groans and hisses at that, and I gave the children in charge
of the cabin stewardess, with orders to see that they did not leave the
ship. I was at last convinced that they had no friends among the
steerage passengers. I intended to take them ashore myself before we
sailed; and I knew of good friends in New York who would see to the
little waifs, although I did not propose that any of the emigrants
should know that an old bachelor purser was fool enough to pay for the
passage of a couple of unknown Irish children.

We landed our cabin passengers, and the tender came alongside to take
the steerage passengers to Castle Garden. I got the stewardess to bring
out the children, and the two stood and watched every one get aboard
the tender.

Just as the tender moved away, there was a wild shriek among the
crowded passengers, and Mrs. O’Donnell flung her arms above her head
and cried in the most heart-rending tone I ever heard—“Oh, my babies,
my babies.”

“Kape quiet, ye divil,” hissed O’Donnell, grasping her by the arm. The
terrible ten days’ strain had been broken at last, and the poor woman
sank in a heap at his feet.

“Bring back that boat,” I shouted, and the tender came back.

“Come aboard here, O’Donnell.”

“I’ll not!” he yelled, shaking his fist at me.

“Bring that man aboard.”

They soon brought him back, and I gave his wife over to the care of the
stewardess. She speedily rallied, and hugged and kissed her children as
if she would never part with them.

“So, O’Donnell, these are your children?”

“Yis, they are; an’ I’d have ye know I’m in a frae country, bedad, and
I dare ye to lay a finger on me.”

“Don’t dare too much,” I said, “or I’ll show you what can be done in a
free country. Now, if I let the children go, will you send their
passage money to the company when you get it?”

“I will,” he answered, although I knew he lied.

“Well,” I said, “for Mrs. O’Donnell’s sake, I’ll let them go; and I
must congratulate any free country that gets a citizen like you.”

Of course I never heard from O’Donnell again.
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