In the middle of the night I was awoken by Liam’s cries. I went over to his crib and found that he had been sick all over his bedding. This was strange as he seemed to be enjoying the ship’s motion until now and had eaten well that evening. I called the night steward and had new bedding brought for Liam, but he vomited again and again. I fed him boiled sugar water from a spoon but he wasn’t able to keep it down. I began to feel frightened. This was more than simple seasickness. I suspected something in the pureed food had upset his delicate digestive system, or, worse still, had poisoned him. Of course all this commotion awoke Miss Pinkerton. I apologized but she was touchingly concerned and asked if there was anything she could do. Really there was nothing, but sleep was impossible with a child screaming and vomiting nearby.
In the morning he fell into exhausted slumber and I sent my own soiled nightclothes to be laundered. When he awoke he was listless as he sucked at the breast, but then promptly vomited again. I had the steward summon the ship’s doctor. He came, examined Liam, and said it could be food poisoning or a particularly virulent stomach grippe that sometimes went around confined quarters like ships at sea. Either way there was nothing to be done except to try to keep some liquids down him, and maybe give him a little tincture of opium to help him sleep. I declined the latter and held him in my arms, offering the breast whenever he awoke. He had never been sick before in his life and it terrified me to see my normally lively child lying there, his skin clammy to the touch and barely responsive. Even his cry had become weak, like a kitten’s.
I consoled myself with the knowledge that we would be landing in France the next day. But then Miss Pinkerton came down to the cabin to report that there was stormy weather ahead and we would not make Le Havre on Friday, as scheduled, but a day late. My spirits fell at such news. A sick son and now a storm ahead. I didn’t leave the cabin but I could tell immediately when we sailed into the storm. The ship creaked and groaned, and there was even the occasional deep resounding thump as she slapped against an extra large wave or fell into the trough behind it. It was hard to keep my balance when I stood up with Liam in my arms. Miss Pinkerton returned to report that half the passengers were now seasick, the crew was working busily to secure anything not bolted down and to swab floors. Not a pleasant atmosphere, she said with her typical understatement.
I suppose it was because I had been up all night and hadn’t eaten properly, and also that the air in the room was stale and tinged with my child’s vomit, but suddenly I too was overcome with seasickness. I heaved. The room spun around. I lay on my bunk, being flung from side to side, wishing I were dead. The steward bought me a basin, a wet washcloth, and some tea. It lay on the table untouched until a particularly violent wave sent it crashing to the floor. Up above I could hear the distant sound of objects falling and breaking. I tried to sit up to nurse Liam but he would hardly take anything. In my current state I might not have been producing milk anyway.
The next twenty-four hours were like a never ending nightmare. Miss Pinkerton observed my current state and took charge, bringing me down bouillon, ice water, and ginger tea and tempting me to drink. She reported the dining room was less that half full at lunch time, and by dinner there were only twelve people apart from herself and Miss Hetherington. The widows and Miss Schmitt had also succumbed. I spent the night alternately worrying that the ship might go down and then wishing it would so that I could be out of my misery. The night seemed to go on forever and having an inside cabin with no porthole meant that I had no idea when dawn was breaking and whether the day showed any promise of improving conditions.
Miss Pinkerton went up to breakfast and came back to report triumphantly that there were only three people in the dining room and that the waiter had turned positively green when she asked if she might have scrambled eggs and bacon to keep her strength up. She also reported that the upright piano in the second-class lounge had broken loose from its moorings during the night and had careened about the room, demolishing everything in its path as well as itself. All that was left was the keyboard, standing up like a skeleton with the pedals sticking out below it.
When I didn’t smile she bent closer to me. “My dear, you must make an effort, for your child’s sake. How can you provide him with the nourishment he needs if you just lie there? Come on now, buck up. Try sitting up and sipping a little broth.”
“I can’t,” I wailed. “The room spins around and I feel as if I’m going to faint.”
“Nonsense. Remember what we said before? Mind over matter, dear. Mind over matter.”