The Hungry Road

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  Back below deck, John cared for Annie, for all Mary wanted to do was lie down in the bunk, close her eyes and somehow pretend that Con was still alive. She imagined she would hear him laugh or talk beside her.

  For three days, Mary could not eat or drink, though she had no fever. The young woman from Coronea kindly offered to cook meals for their family, while her friend from the island, Kate Connolly, gave her a bitter herb to take at night to dull her terrible pain.

  As she lay in the bunk, watching the ship’s timbers and feeling the constant rise and fall of the vessel, she knew her heart was broken. She had been fooling herself to think that somehow they could escape fate and the hunger. Like a ghost, it had followed them on to this ship and across the ocean.

  ‘Annie needs you,’ said John tentatively. ‘I need you.’

  She could see the fear in his pleading eyes. She nodded dumbly as he helped her up. Though her legs felt weak, they walked slowly around the narrow rows of steerage.

  ‘We are sorry for your loss,’ people murmured.

  ‘He was a fine boy!’

  ‘Thank you.’ She nodded, trying not to cry.

  The children stared at her as she fetched the cooking pot.

  ‘What is this I hear, Annie Sullivan, about you not taking a sup of food from your father?’

  ‘I don’t like it!’ the small child said stubbornly, her face the colour of snow.

  ‘Well, there will be none of that kind of talk. I am going up top to make us some gruel and woe betide anyone who doesn’t eat it. We all need to keep our strength up.’

  Her nephew was quiet and she feared he too might be getting ship fever.

  ‘Are you sick?’ she asked him, feeling his brow.

  ‘No!’ Jude blurted out tearfully. ‘I’m so sorry, Auntie Mary, but Sarah and I are the ones who brought the sickness to your door. It should have been me that died, not Con!’

  ‘Jude, hush with that talk.’ She could not believe that he was blaming himself. ‘Con’s death was not of your doing. He was as right as rain when we all boarded the ship. It was here that he got the fever, the same fever that took that boy Michael and a few others.’

  She could see the relief in the young boy’s eyes as she hugged him and kissed the top of his head.

  ‘Now, Jude. You stay well, do you hear?’ She smiled. ‘I made a promise to your mam that I would look after you.’

  CHAPTER 78

  SIX WEEKS OUT, THE LADY JANE GOT CAUGHT IN A TERRIBLE STORM and was tossed like a log in the towering Atlantic waves. The wind roared like a banshee, and thunder and lightning flashed above them. Sea water poured over the deck and in on the passengers, flooding the low steerage hold. For once, Mary pitied the crew.

  ‘Hold on to the bunks!’ John ordered the terrified children, using his belt to tie Tim and Annie to the upper one.

  All around them people prayed that they would not drown.

  As the ship gave a huge creaking lurch, Sarah was flung on to the soaked floor, howling in pain as Mary and John pulled her back up, for her arm was badly hurt. One man smashed the bones in his leg and a woman had her eyes blackened and nose broken as she was thrown against a wooden beam. Everyone was terrified, for they did not know how much more the ship could take. Some resorted to prayers while others sat in silence, watching the water rise, terrified they would drown.

  There were tears of relief when the gales and waves finally abated, although there were bruises and cuts aplenty among the passengers. Despite the severity of the storm, Mr Dwyer reassured them that the ship was undamaged and he gave the orders for the water below to be bailed out as the Lady Jane sailed on across the tall, churning waves.

  Six, seven weeks, all the days ran together. The family’s supply of oatcakes was long gone and the food they received was not fit for a dog. However, they had no choice but to eat the meagre rations and the little water that was allowed. Bored, some passengers played cards, listened to the fiddle, or told stories of their townland to pass the hours on the seemingly endless voyage.

  Suddenly there was a change at sea and the sailors gave orders to clean up the bunks and the steerage deck. All the filth, the stinking mouldy mattresses, the straw and the blankets were jettisoned to the churning depths of the Atlantic Ocean. The deck was washed with lime and new bedding straw appeared. The over hatch was left open and fresh air finally filled the fetid, squalid darkness.

  ‘We have entered American waters,’ declared Johnny Meagher. ‘I tell you, soon we will be landed.’

  The excitement was contagious as the passengers roused themselves from the terrible inertia and despondency that had hung over them for the past seven long weeks. Faces were scrubbed and children wailed in protest as mothers combed and tried to clean their hair.

  ‘America! We are nearly there,’ John told his family proudly.

  However, their hopes of landing any time soon were halted as the captain announced that an inspector was due to board the ship shortly.

  ‘Those who are deemed ill or display any symptoms of fever will be removed from this ship immediately to a nearby quarantine facility for medical care. By law, they must remain there until they have recovered sufficiently.’

  Consternation spread among the passengers, for many among them were unwell and incredibly weak.

  Mary looked at Annie, who resembled a ghost child. She had kept down little food during the journey and deep circles shadowed her eyes. Her lips were parched and flaking, and she sported a dark bruise on her leg where one night the previous week she had hit it on the bunk.

  What would they do if she was removed to this quarantine place? They had all heard terrible tales of what happened to the patients of such hospitals where fever, as in the workhouse, spread quickly. They knew stories of families who had endured the long ocean crossing, only to succumb when they landed there.

  ‘Mammy, what is happening?’ Annie asked, fearful.

  ‘It is all right, pet. No need to worry,’ she reassured her little daughter. ‘The captain said our journey is nearly over. Sit up and let me plait your hair.’

  CHAPTER 79

  ‘THERE IS TO BE A MEDICAL INSPECTION OF PASSENGERS AND CREW before we are allowed to sail into New York harbour,’ announced Mr Dwyer as the Lady Jane dropped anchor near Staten Island. ‘Anyone found with fever or contagion will be removed from the ship to Staten Island’s Marine Hospital – a quarantine station. It is the law here.’

  The passengers grew nervous and uneasy as a smaller ship docked beside them and an official inspector came on board.

  ‘I heard that if a large number of passengers shows any sign of fever, the ship itself could be quarantined for thirty days,’ Johnny Meagher had told them grimly.

  ‘Thirty days!’

  Mary’s heart sank at the thought of having to spend another month in these conditions. Surely people would not be so cruel to them when their journey’s end was so tantalizingly close.

  She watched silently as two men, unable to hide their disgust at the foul conditions, moved quickly among the passengers while another sat grim-faced at a long rough table. A sailor stood beside him with the ship’s manifesto, as he called people forward.

  The medical inspector’s expression was serious as he examined each person from head to toe. Eyes, nose, ears and throat. Feeling their neck, looking under their arms, and examining their skin carefully, looking for tell-tale typhus pustules and ship fever spots.

  Poor Mrs Murphy, Mary thought. The inspector, who had already been informed of Michael’s death, examined her, her husband and two younger sons. He pronounced gravely that they all were infected and were to be taken to the hospital. A young wife, who had lain in her bunk, sweating and tossing and turning since last week, was also lifted off the ship, accompanied by her upset husband.

  Mary and John stepped forward slowly when their names were called. She worried for all the children, but mostly for Annie who looked wretched. She gave her daughter’s cheeks a quick pinch to try to give her some
colour.

  ‘I see you already have lost a son,’ the medical officer stated matter-of-factly, as he began to examine the children.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ John nodded, trying to disguise the concern on his face as the man began to examine Annie.

  The poor child was terrified of him, her eyes welling with tears.

  ‘I am well, sir,’ said Tim, standing straight and strong when his turn came.

  Nora, Jude and Sarah were all nervous and quiet as the inspector made them cough and stick out their tongues.

  Then it was Mary’s turn. She blushed at the filth and odour of her skin and clothes as the man ran his fingers over her neck, shoulders and legs, and studied her throat and mouth, examining her as you would an animal at the market. He then called John forward and repeated the exercise all over again.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Sullivan, I have to admit that I have concerns about your youngest child, Annie. She seems very weak.’

  ‘Sir, she’s had the seasickness since we left Cork,’ Mary tried to explain. ‘She has kept little down and has just lain in her bunk the whole journey, only eating like a little mouse.’

  ‘Aye, so that is it,’ he said, writing on the list. ‘Mrs Sullivan, my advice is that once you land, your child will need good care and nourishment if she is to be well again.’

  He gestured for them to move away as another passenger’s name was called.

  Mary’s legs nearly went from under her with relief as she grabbed hold of Annie in her arms and hugged her tightly.

  Ten passengers in all were removed to the hospital from the ship, along with a seaman who had been ill and unable to do his duties the past few days. Fortune had smiled on the rest of them and the captain was given permission to continue their journey.

  The Lady Jane sailed slowly through Upper Bay to the wharfs and piers of New York where the rough Atlantic Ocean met the mouth of the broad Hudson River. A strange mixture of excitement, nervousness and emotion overwhelmed Mary as she, John and the children caught their first glimpse of the country that would be their new home.

  ‘Look, Mam, just look it!’ declared Tim, his eyes shining as they took in the city with its tall structures and streets all crowded together, the roads and warehouses, the horses and carriages. ‘It’s huge.’

  New York. The name tripped off their tongues and John gripped Mary’s hand tightly as they approached the wharf where they would anchor.

  The buildings, people and horses were getting closer and closer. The children began jumping up and down, giddy with excitement as at last they reached land.

  CHAPTER 80

  New York City

  October 1847

  HOLDING HER BUNDLE, MARY STOPPED TO CATCH HER BREATH AS SHE stepped up on to the gangplank. Her thoughts were with Con, who, only two months ago, had crossed it back in Cork, filled with hopes and dreams. Their son should be here with them in New York today, instead of lying buried in the depths of the cold ocean.

  ‘Mam, come on,’ Nora called, her eyes shining. ‘Mam!’

  Mary tried to gather herself, seeing the hope and excitement written on the children’s faces.

  ‘I’m coming.’

  Taking hold of Annie’s hand, she smiled as she, John and the children crossed the narrow gangplank and put the first foot on this new land … America.

  Crowds milled everywhere. As they stood to take it all in, a group of young boys and men, runners from the various boarding houses near to the wharf, accosted them.

  ‘I know of a clean room, missus. With a large bed for you and the children!’

  ‘Welcome to New York, good sir! Come with me to cheap boarding in a well-run Catholic establishment. Only a ten-minute walk for you and your family.’

  ‘Rest your head in the cheapest lodgings in the whole of the city.’

  The boys and men clustered around the exhausted passengers, trying to grab their bundles and baskets, to lead them towards their employers’ boarding houses.

  Johnny Meagher had warned them about such a thing happening, so Mary held on to their small bundle tightly, anxious as her legs and body struggled to adjust to the feeling of standing on dry land again after the constant movement of the ship.

  A large, red-faced woman in a fashionable blue dress and bonnet approached her as if they already knew each other.

  ‘It will all be strange to you, my dear, but if you are in need of clean lodgings, I am an honest woman.’

  ‘Madam, we are to find my brother’s place and hope to lodge with him,’ interrupted John. He held Annie in his arms, fearful she would be hurt in the crush of people and carts around them.

  ‘Well, good luck to you all.’ She smiled and took a printed card from her large pocket. ‘Here is my address should you be in need of somewhere to lay your heads.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Mary said, grabbing the card and putting it into her bag.

  The boys had started to run around, glad to stretch their legs and enjoy the warm sunshine and salt-scented breeze. Above them, noisy seagulls whirled and dived as goods and passengers were unloaded from the ships all around them. Carts and horses were quickly packed and laden with goods to be taken to nearby warehouses and businesses.

  ‘Move out of the way!’ shouted their impatient drivers.

  Mary, jumping aside, had never witnessed such a frenzy of activity. She began to fret about what lay ahead of them in such a large strange city that was so different from their tranquil home place.

  ‘Come, we must make our way to Pat’s address,’ John insisted. ‘Hopefully he will have space for us to rest and stay with him.’

  ‘Your brother is in for a surprise,’ she teased as, arm in arm, they set off with the five children in tow.

  John had only his brother’s letter to guide them but, having gained some knowledge of the streets and layout of the city, he had some idea of the direction they had to take.

  The streets were lined with tall wooden buildings and crowded with shops and stores, slaughterhouses, tanneries and breweries. There were all kinds of wares on display, from tin and copper to linen and lace, sides of beef and haunches of bacon.

  They passed a long avenue which was home to fancy shops and provision stores. Mary had never seen the like. They were well-stocked with food and bread, clothes, boots and shoes, hats and gloves, furniture and linens to entice the customer inside. Fashionable, well-dressed ladies and gentlemen paraded by, ignoring them. Mary was all too conscious of her family’s dishevelled and pitiful state.

  ‘More filthy Irish,’ a man in a velvet coat sighed, holding his handkerchief to his nose.

  Anger burned inside her and she was tempted to shout back at him. Did he have any idea what they had endured these past eight awful weeks at sea, these past hungry years? Instead, she concentrated her attention on trying to find Pat’s address, which they were told was in the Five Points district.

  They took a few wrong turns on the way, and Nora and Sarah grumbled about how tired and hungry they were.

  ‘After all that time on the ship, we are not used to walking. That’s all it is,’ she tried to reassure them.

  ‘We will eat soon,’ John promised. ‘Once we find where your uncle lives.’

  They had turned off the main roads and larger avenues to an area of crowded, narrow streets. Ones where tall houses were cramped together near yards, stables and busy factories. Rubbish was strewn everywhere – outside the factories and the houses, in the yards and dung heaps – and waste food scraps and unwanted goods were piled high. Pigs rooted and scrambled and searched among them, gobbling up the city’s rubbish. As they passed through Mulberry Bend and Cross Street, John asked a burly cart-hand who owned the animals.

  ‘They are the city’s pigs,’ he responded.

  A short walk later, a look of concern crossed John’s face as he recognized the name of the street from his brother’s letter.

  Pat Sullivan was living in Little Water Street, a rundown part of the city from what he could tell, in a shabby wooden house with ra
mshackle windows, a peeling door and broken steps. It was certainly not the fine dwelling he had boasted of to his brother.

  ‘Is this it?’ Mary could not hide her disappointment.

  ‘It seems so. I will enquire for him.’

  Mary stood by his side as John rang the bell again and again. It took an age before a heavy-set woman in an apron came to the door.

  ‘We are looking for my brother, Patrick Sullivan from Ireland. Does he live here?’

  ‘Pat Sullivan. Aye, he does,’ the woman replied, her eyes raking over them as she took in their poor condition. ‘But he’s not here at the moment. He’s at work. You will have to come back later, after six thirty. He should be here by then, for it’s dinner time.’

  ‘Ma’am, we hate to trouble you, but could we wait for him?’ John pressed. ‘We have just arrived in the city and the children are all exhausted. Could we wait in Pat’s rooms, do you think?’

  ‘“Rooms”, is it? I’ll have you know that Mr Sullivan shares a room upstairs with three others. This is a men-only establishment.’

  ‘We’ve been at sea for nearly eight weeks and the children need to rest a bit,’ Mary said quietly. ‘I promise you that we will be no trouble and won’t be in your way.’

  She could see the woman considering their situation.

  ‘My husband and I came over on the ship from Galway, nearly ten years ago,’ the landlady said, her tone softening. ‘I still remember what it was like. I suppose that I could let you sit awhile in the dining room until Mr Sullivan returns home. But you and the children will have to leave then.’

  The dreary dining room was home to a long table surrounded by fourteen chairs, and was already set for the evening meal. A sideboard containing bowls, serving platters and cutlery ran along the far side of the room, and a tall window looked out over the street.