by Charles Egan
What impressed Luke too was their Irish nationalism. Having experienced famine in Ireland, he was moving in this direction himself, but the strength of it in the United States surprised him. Ireland was colonised by Great Britain, not by America. Also, most Irishmen in New York were proud to become American and fought hard for citizenship. Many times, Luke heard the expression ‘Irish American’. That meant pride; pride against the whole damned world. And political power? Irish power?
*
One evening, he returned to Mrs. Gleeson’s boarding house, washed himself, and came downstairs. A man rose.
‘Luke Ryan. It’s been a long time.’
‘Mick,’ Luke said in surprise. ‘Mick O’Brien, is it? How the devil did you get here?’
‘Sure I sailed out of Liverpool, didn’t I? No time to swim!’
Luke laughed, and slapped him on the shoulder.
‘Always the joker, eh! Well, by God, it’s good to see you, Mick.’
‘And you too, Luke.’
They sat at the table as Mrs. Gleeson served.
‘A hard crossing, was it?’ he asked.
‘A damned hard crossing,’ Mick said. ‘A fast one though.’
But why had Mick left? Luke knew the O’Brien family had taken the Grogan farm after the Grogans had emigrated. Clearly, it was not enough. The real mystery though was that Mick O’Brien was here in Jersey City.
‘How the did you find me?’ he asked.
‘I met with your people before I left. There was some story of a friend of yours called Costello having a brother owned a bar in Five Points. Didn’t take me long to find John Costello, and to run you to ground after that.’
He untied his laces, and kicked his boots off.
‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘There were fellows in Costellos’ talking about blight back home.’
‘Arra, we’ve all been hearing about that this long time,’ Luke said.
‘They were pretty serious about it.’
‘Sure you know the way it is. The slightest touch of blight – or mildew even – and they’re saying it’s all over the country. Sure we’ve blight every year.’
‘I don’t know that you’re right there,’ Mick said. ‘Sure, the potatoes rot here and there every year, but that’s because of the weather, not the blight.’
‘Did you see any?’
‘Not in England…’
‘Well don’t you be worrying about it. We’ll wait and hear what everyone else has to say.’
More rumours, he thought. Am I so sure now?
*
Next day, Mick accompanied them to the anthracite dock. It was another roasting day, hot and humid. There were the usual lines of men, waiting hopelessly for work.
‘Just stay with us,’ Luke said. ‘Them fellows won’t know you.’
Inside, Luke took him across to the foreman.
‘Who’s he?’
‘One of ours,’ Luke replied.
‘We’ve no places.’
‘I know.’
‘Can he work?’
‘As well as any of us.’
‘A dollar the start.’
‘Fifty cents.’
‘Seventy-five.’
Luke slipped him three quarters. The foreman took one coin and clicked it against the other two in turn. Then he pocketed them.
‘And he’d better be good. He’ll be first out if we need less men.’
They walked over to the others.
‘That was pricy,’ Mick said.
‘I know. Only started it a few weeks back, the bastard. The rest of the fellows outside, they can’t afford to buy work, and they’d be too weak anyhow. And forget what he said about first out. You’re in, and there’s an end to it.’
‘I’ll pay you back on Saturday.’
‘Fine so.’
He gave Mick a shovel, and they began to work.
‘Damn it, I’m not used to this,’ Mick said at the break.
‘Ah, you get used to it in time,’ Luke said.’
‘I don’t know; I’ve never done work like this before.’
‘Weren’t you shovelling muck on the railways.’
‘Not in this heat.’
‘You’ll be grand. Build up your muscles, and the sweating gets less.’
They worked on.
‘Carrigard?’ Luke asked him. ‘How’s Carrigard?’
‘Bad enough,’ Mick said. ‘Your family and mine won’t starve, whatever about the rest. But there’s bitterness there too.’
‘Why’s that?’ Luke asked.
‘It’s ever since they took the farms. We took Grogans’, you knew about that?’
‘Yes,’ Luke said, ‘and we took Bensons’ too.’
‘So there you have it. There’s many will never forgive us for that.’
‘But they were gone,’ Luke said. ‘Bensons and Grogans, they’d left the farms, gone to America. They didn’t need the farms. Why would anyone whinge about it?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Mick said. ‘Jealousy maybe, just jealous they didn’t get the farms themselves. And bitterness that the Ryans and the O’Briens survived with no one dying.’
‘That was near enough,’ Luke said. ‘Father had fever, he came close enough to it.’
‘Yes, and two of ours got fever too, and lived. But we didn’t starve, and why not? Because we were working and had enough cash. I was sending money back from the railways all through the worst of it. And you were a supervisor on the Famine Relief. You’ll never be forgiven for that.’
‘But damn it, I was doing the best I could,’ Luke said. ‘If it wasn’t for Famine Relief, how many more would have starved? What did they expect me to do?’
‘You’re right,’ Mick said, ‘but still, you’re the one who was choosing who would go on the Relief Works, and – even worse – who wouldn’t. They’ll never forget that. And there’s many here in America won’t forget it either.’
‘So what do you think?’
‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ Mick said. ‘We’re old friends, all those years working together on the railways, and I understand it all too. I know what you had to do. And the other lads who worked with us in England. They understand too. So long as you resist.’
Resist? Resist who? Or what? Luke decided not to ask.
*
That night he lay awake in his bunk, thinking.
1846 again?
Total failure? Famine following. Or there already?
To hell with it. Stop thinking like this. All we’re hearing are stories. If there was a real blight – or famine – we’d know all about it soon enough.
Still? If there was a famine, he would have to send money, increase the amount he was sending. How much would he have left for rent or food or the cost of letters?
If there was a famine.
Now, he was more concerned about Winnie. When would she arrive?
Is she alive or dead?
He desperately wanted to travel to Lackan, and meet all his old friends who had experienced nothing of famine in Ireland. Working on the railways was tough, but there was no hunger. Shovelling anthracite was no tougher.
But he could not travel. He had to wait for Winnie. But when would she write again. He had written to her, and sent her the money for the ticket. There was still no answer.
What then? One thing was certain; he would never return to Ireland. Whether Winnie came this year or next year, his future – their future – was in America. Ireland meant nothing but hunger, even in the good years. And England? No, he certainly would not work with Danny.
At least in America he would have work, whether in New York, New Jersey or Pennsylvania. Tough work perhaps, but they had more freedom than they ever had in Ireland.
But where was Winnie? Why hadn’t she written?
When should I give up and say she’s not coming?
He soon got his answer.
*
Mrs. Gleeson gave him a letter.
‘From Ireland,’ she said.
Luke stared at the letter. It was Winnie’s handwriting, but, for the first time, he was frightened to open it. He realised all the rumours of the past weeks had worried him, more than he realised. Did this letter contain the truth of it? Was it good news or bad?
He ripped it open and skimmed through the letter in seconds. There was no mention of blight.
Then he started reading it again more slowly.
‘Oh Christ.’
‘What is it?’ Jack asked, alarm in his voice.
‘She’s leaving on a ship out of Westport. Late July, she says.’
‘Speak in Irish,’ Seán Óg asked.
‘My wife is leaving Mayo in late July.’
‘She’ll be here in September so. Early September.’
There was a silence around the room.
‘Well?’ Seán Óg asked. ‘What else does it say?’
‘I’m just reading it.’
‘Well, read fast, you fool,’ Jack said. ‘What does it say about the blight?’
‘Nothing. She says nothing of any blight.’
‘Well, thank God for that,’ one of the other Tourmakeady men said. ‘I was getting worried before. All these fellows talking.’
‘Sure they’re only making things up to amuse themselves,’ Jack said. ‘Pay no mind to them.’
Luke lay back in his bed that night, thinking. He was deeply relieved. No blight. She would have said it if there was. But then, it all began to gnaw at him again. The ships on the Atlantic crossed at different speeds. There was talk of steam ships that could bring the crossing down to three weeks.
Could the blight have settled after Winnie had written her letter? He listened to all the snoring. There were fellows who weren’t concerned, and he was only worrying about ghosts.
He had been a fool to listen to it all. Nothing but rumours, no truth to any of it.
Chapter 6
New York Sun. September 1848:
No Scarcity of Food. It is estimated that the harvest of the United States this season is sufficient to feed half the people on the globe, abundantly. With scarcely an exception, every species of grain, fruit and vegetable is yielding throughout the country, an extraordinary crop. Of beef, pork, butter, cheese etc., the same plenty abounds and while our population are secure of every comfort and luxury in the way of food, we shall have a surplus sufficient to meet all the Famine that may occur in the Old World.
The next time he visited Costellos’, Catherine was serving behind the bar.
‘I thought you might like to see this,’ he said. He put Winnie’s letter on the counter.
‘Mayo?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
She opened it and looked through it.
‘Well, that’s good news anyhow. She’ll be here soon. And she says nothing of blight.’
‘She doesn’t, does she? But we keep hearing stories.’
‘I know,’ Catherine said. ‘It never stops, does it? All these stories, I don’t know the right of it.’
She’s right, he thought. When will we ever know, what’s happening in Mayo?
Luke took the letter back.
‘The one other thing that’s worrying me, she’s taking a long time coming.’
‘Arra no,’ Catherine said. ‘Sure when I crossed, it took seven weeks. No, she’ll be here soon enough, and you’re to stop worrying.’
He joined her in serving beer. The bar was busy again.
Costello tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Come here with me,’ he said, ‘there’s people I want you to meet.’
Luke was puzzled, but followed him through to the stairs and up to the first floor. Costello knocked on a door and entered, Luke following. Three men sat at a candle-lit table observing him. Páidín was serving whiskey. He held the bottle up to Luke. He nodded. Two more whiskies were served.
‘This is the fellow, John, is it?’ one of the men asked.
‘Yes,’ Costello replied, ‘Luke Ryan. Originally from the County Mayo.’
‘Out John’s part of the County, are you?’ another asked.
‘No,’ Luke said, ‘the opposite end. Kilduff, out the Dublin side of Castlebar.’
‘You’ve heard of the Ancient Order of Hibernians?’
‘I have,’ said Luke, without commitment.
‘What do you know of it?’
Luke hesitated. Was it a secret organisation or not? If he said too much it would compromise Costello.
‘Very little,’ he said. ‘All I know is what I’ve heard on the street.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That it helps new Irish immigrants, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’
‘Isn’t it enough?’ said Luke.
There was a whispered consultation between the men.
‘So from what you’ve heard, would you like to join the Ancient Order of Hibernians?’
‘I would.’
‘And what are your reasons for wishing to join?’
Luke thought, carefully.
‘A number of reasons, but two main ones. The first is the simple one of wanting good company. God knows, this is a big city, and it’s easy for any Irishman to get lost in it. When John told me the Hibernians were an Irish friendly society, I thought it a good way of meeting other Irishmen, and that was good enough for me.’
‘There’s other friendly societies…’
‘Yes,’ Luke said, ‘and to be honest about it, if John had spoken about another one, I might well have joined it instead.’
One of the men wrote notes with a stubby pencil in a well-worn notebook.
‘There was another reason?’
‘A simple reason too,’ Luke replied. ‘It’s just how I’ve been sick and tired these years past of having others direct our lives. From the time I was old enough to understand it, I was always against it. I knew what the other landlords were doing, not that we could complain about our own, but some of them were downright evil. And the Clanowen evictions at Gort na Móna last year; that angered me more than I can tell you. I’ve worked on the English railways too, and I know well how rough the contractors and their foremen can be. Again, we weren’t so badly off, we had our own gang and our gang leader bargaining with the contractors. It was the other fellows who got it worse. And then, in Quebec and in Montreal, I saw what things were like, and I worked for the logging companies in the forests too. So when I found my way to New York, John told me about the Hibernians. One way or the other, it looked a good way of taking control of our own future.’
Had he gone too far? Shown too much knowledge?
‘You’re intending to stay in the city then?’
‘For now, anyhow,’ Luke said. ‘I have to wait for my wife coming over from Ireland. I’m hoping she’ll be here in few weeks.’
‘And then?’
‘Hard to say. I was intending travelling on to Harrisburg out in Penn-sylvania. I’d friends there working on the railways. I’d worked with them long enough in England, and I reckoned that if the rails here were as good as England, there’d be good money in it.’
‘You’ve changed your plans?’
‘More a matter of having them changed for me. The rail building is slowing out that way, and they’re all moving up to Lackan…’
‘Lackan?’ one of the men interrupted. ‘That’s up by Scranton?’
Luke looked puzzled.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I don’t know the towns around yet.’
Costello put his hand on Luke’s arm.
‘You should know that’s anthracite country. And the Order was founded in Cass Township. If you’re moving up that way, you’ll be staying close to the Hibernians, just as much as in Five Points.’
More whispering, then one of the men nodded at him. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘John here has spoken for you. You’re in.’
Luke was surprised, but also relieved. He had not asked to join the Hibernians, but if he had not been interested, Costello would have sensed it from their earlier discussio
ns.
‘Come on, so,’ Costello said. ‘Let’s join the meeting.’
Luke followed him to a back room off the bar.
He reckoned there were twenty or thirty men present.
He was asked to confirm that he was a true Irishman, and a true Catholic. Many other questions followed. At the end, he was requested to take the St. Patrick’s Pledge, confirming his loyalty to the Order.
The rest of the evening passed in a confusing flurry of introductions and discussions. He tried hard to memorise the many names, but knew he could not.
The men were from all over Ireland, Belfast and Dublin included, but as he soon found out, most were from the west coast, all the way from the north of Donegal down to West Cork.
Apart from Costello, three were from County Mayo. One was from Erris, who Luke already knew was a friend of Costello’s. Another was from Partry, close by Tourmakeady.
Costello introduced the third man as Matt Carroll, who owned another bar in Five Points.
‘From the south end of Mayo’, Carroll explained to him, ‘close by Ballinrobe. There’s bad news down that end too. Evictions, by the thousand.’
‘I know. Lucan, wasn’t it?’
‘It was. Cleared out a dozen villages between Ballinrobe and Claremorris. Bringing in Scots fellows now, he is, to run his big farms for him. Tenant farmers with five hundred and a thousand acres. No room for the little man now.’
‘And what about the people?’ Luke asked.
‘I don’t know. But I’ll tell you one thing, there’ll be a good crowd of them coming through New York now.’
‘Yes,’ Costello said, ‘and join the rest of us, forced out by the English. By famine and fever.’
‘Not that New York made them very welcome though,’ Carroll said. ‘The coffin ships – they wouldn’t let them land here at all, made sure they all went to Quebec. Turned them away from Boston and Philadelphia too. We didn’t want any Irish, did we?’