by Charles Egan
‘Well, he’s not here, and we don’t know where he is. Do we?’
‘We don’t,’ Luke said, ‘but one thing I would like to know – what’s this you say about evictions.’
‘You haven’t heard then?’ Costello said. ‘The Walshe Evictions, just before Christmas. Cleared the lot out, including all my family and friends, the bastard. Pretty well all dead now, from what I can gather. Two lads turned up here with my sister to tell us the story. She was the only one left. They’d lived in Ballina Workhouse for the rest of the winter. They saw it all. They saw what they did to the people, and the way they let them freeze and die on the sand. Pure murder it was, my own family too. I’ll never forgive it.’
‘And why should you?’ Jack said. ‘It’s a bad story, and we hear them often enough.’
‘Well, enough of that,’ Costello said. ‘It wasn’t to hear stories like that that you came here.’
‘No,’ Jack said. ‘We came here in the hopes of finding Conaire, or at least hearing he was coming. But now we know he isn’t here.’
‘So what will ye do now?’ Costello asked.
‘Find work…’ Luke answered.
‘Not in this hell hole, you won’t,’ Costello said. ‘Or should I say, ye’ll find work right enough, but it’ll pay little, and the rookeries ye’ll live in would make sure life’s not worth living. Not that ye’d last long anyhow. There’s fever enough to kill any man, the longer he stays.’
Jack started to pick up his pack. ‘Well, we’ll just be moving so.’
‘Hold a while, why don’t ye? Ye can settle down here for a few days ’till you find work elsewhere. We’ll fit ye in some way.’
‘But, how much…?’ Luke started to say.
‘Look, if ye’re friends of Conaire, I’d like to hear more about him. Ye can share a room for a day or two, and work the bar at nights if ye want. That way, we’ll all be happy.’
‘Fair enough,’ Jack said.
That evening, they both slept in an upstairs store-room above Costello’s bar. The beds were squeezed tightly, with bunks running four high on one wall. Under the bunks of the beds, there were chamber pots, some empty, some full.
Three children sat on one bunk, their mother alongside them. She was very thin.
An old man lay on one lower bunk, breathing harshly. Luke walked past, sniffing close. Above the stink of human sweat and shit, it was difficult to pick anything up. He leant closer to him.
‘Checking for fever, are you?’ Jack said.
‘You’re quick,’ Luke said. ‘He’s fine though. Old age only, that’s all that’s wrong with him.’
‘There mightn’t be fever here right now,’ Jack said, ‘but I reckon if we hang around long enough, there will be. It’s like Costello says, we might not live long if we stay.’
The next morning, Luke requested a pen and ink from Costello, and wrote to Farrelly in Harrisburg, requesting information on the railway building there. He gave the address at Costello’s in Orange Street.
He explained his plans to Costello, and it was agreed that they might stay in the room until a reply had been received. They decided to find work.
‘And where better than the lumber terminal,’ Jack said.
Before they went, Luke borrowed a needle and thread from Costello, and stitched his trouser pocket with his dollars inside. Jack looked on in surprise. Then he did the same.
They left the bar.
More dogs and more pigs. And always the fetid smell of garbage, shit and piss. It was already warm.
Many of the hovels they passed were mere wooden structures built up against the walls of the squalid tenements. On street corners they saw beggars, mostly young girls, some as young as five, Luke reckoned, though even this was hard to determine given their stunted growth.
He noticed too that the prostitutes did not stand on the same corners as the beggars. He found now that he could identify prostitutes from the other women, though he could not work out why this would be so since there was little difference in their appearance.
At last they left Five Points and the squalid tenements around it.
‘And thank God for that,’ Jack said. ‘All we’ve got to do now is find the ferry.’
They walked, trying to follow the route they had come by.
At last they found the piers. Luke saw a post office, and sent the letter to Farrelly.
They went to one ferry, but it was larger than the one they had taken the previous day. Jack went over to ask a sailor, and came back.
‘He doesn’t know about any lumber terminals.’
Nor did anyone else. They walked along until they saw another ferry.
‘That looks a little more like it,’ Jack said.
It was three cents for the crossing. They came to the terminal, but it seemed too quiet. Men were working, but less than the previous day.
A line of men stretched back from the gate. Jack went to the end while Luke stayed at the wharf, watching.
Jack came back. ‘They’re saying there’s no new rafts in, only the one they’re unloading there, and they don’t know when another is coming.’
‘So why are they waiting?’
‘They’re hoping one’ll be along shortly. When there is, the gangers come out and chose who they want to work. One way or another, we’re too late for today – they started lining up hours ago.’
They returned to the ferry.
‘Well, that didn’t take long,’ Luke said, ‘and if they’re only choosing men by the day, how do we get to be chosen? Why would they take us above any others?’
They returned to the bar.
‘Ye’re back early,’ Costello said.
‘We tried the lumber terminals,’ Jack said. ‘Thought we could get work there easy enough. No chance.’
‘Don’t worry. Ye’ll have work soon enough. ‘
They worked that evening in the bar, sometimes serving customers, but more often washing up. The bar intrigued Luke. As the evening wore on it became more and more crowded.
Sometimes they worked alongside Costello’s sister, Catherine. Luke was still curious about the Torán evictions, but he felt it was not the time to ask. Catherine certainly knew all about it, but why distress her asking about things she would prefer to forget. Losing Conaire was bad enough.
*
They were still concerned about carrying cash. They spoke to Costello about it.
‘Ye’ll need a bank,’ he told them. ‘Many of them don’t deal with the Irish, but I reckon ye look respectable enough. It’d be best to talk to the Irish Emigrants Society first, they’ll give you the best advice on the matter. There’s some talk of them setting up a bank for the Irish, but I don’t know that they’ve done it.’
They followed Costello’s instruction to Chambers Street, less than half a mile from Costello’s bar. There was a line of men and women inside the door, many poorly dressed. They waited in line for an hour, at last being directed to a man at a table.
‘You’re busy enough today, ‘Luke commented.
‘We certainly are. There’s many looking for lodgings, and those that have found them have been shocked at the conditions of them, and are trying to find somewhere else. Happens all the time. And then there are the ones that have been robbed, lost everything. Sometimes we give them a few cents to help them on their way. I’d say from the look of ye though, ye’d not be having that kind of problem.’
‘We might be close enough to it,’ Jack said. ‘We’re carrying our wages, don’t want to lose them. We’re looking for a bank. Heard you might have one.’
‘Not yet,’ the man replied. ‘We’re close enough to setting one up. Are you thinking of sending money home, is that it?’
‘That, and having somewhere to keep our money that would be safe.’
The man took out a scrap of paper.
‘This is where you’ll go so,’ he said. ‘The Chemical Bank is where we send everyone.’
‘A strange name,’ Luke commented.
&nbs
p; ‘It is, isn’t it? They’re reliable though, they won’t run off with your money.’
He scribbled the address and gave it to Jack.
‘It’s on Broadway, near Ann Street. Not far to walk.’
They left.
‘Might as well do it at once, so.’ Luke said.
They found the Chemical Bank, where Luke explained what they needed.
‘Are you looking for a draft for Ireland?’ a clerk asked them.
‘Not yet,’ Luke answered. ‘We’re only looking for a secure place for our money for now.’
Within a few minutes, the business was done.
That evening, Luke was serving behind the bar with Catherine.
‘Have you been here long?’ he asked.
‘Three months near enough,’ she said.
‘Direct from Ireland then?’
‘Indeed. An early crossing.’
‘A bad crossing, was it?’ Luke asked.
‘The crossing wasn’t so bad’ she answered. ‘The food wasn’t the kind you’d want to eat, but there was food, and that was more than we had in Torán.’
He flinched. Torán! Better not press her on that.
He waited, as she served beer. When she returned, she grasped his hand.
‘You’ve heard of Torán then?’ she asked, speaking in Irish.
‘Yes,’ Luke said, ‘didn’t Conaire tell me enough of it, and I crossing the ocean with him.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but he never knew what happened after.’
‘I know,’ Luke replied. ‘John told me of that.’ He decided this time to press on. ‘But only the fact of it happening, none of what really happened.’
She said nothing.
‘It’s all right’ he said. ‘There’s no need to talk.’
‘But there is,’ she said. ‘If I don’t tell you, who will I tell? And if I don’t tell anyone, the world will forget it. Yes, it was a bitter time. Christmas-time too. We all thought Mr. Walshe – a Catholic – would never evict us. What fools we were to even think it. They came with their soldiers and guns and their crowbar brigade, and destroyed every cabin in Torán. Mullach Rua and Clochán too. All the animals were taken for rent. Then they just went off and left us there. Some of the people tried to scramble back under what was left of the cabins, but it was desperate cold and they died. Others dug into the sand dunes along the Mullet and the Great Ocean, they thought it was warmer, God help them. And I – to my eternal shame – I left Torán. I walked to Belmullet and found the hotel there where they were throwing out scraps for the starving. From there I walked to Ballina, fifty miles, every single mile of it. Why they let me into the Workhouse, I’ll never know, but they did. But I knew I had a brother in America. I’d repeated the name so many times over in my sleep, how could I forget it? By February, I knew there was no hope in Torán, that there would be no people alive. So what was there left but to go to America? So I walked to Killala, found an early ship, but I had no money, so I found a sailor and became a ship’s wife, and…’
‘Oh, God…’
‘Think nothing of it,’ she said. ‘It was the price I had to pay to leave Ireland. And in the end I found John, didn’t I? Not like most, who lost their families in the wide open spaces of America.’
They were down early for breakfast.
‘Letter for you, Luke.’
He saw the postmark. ‘My God, that was quick.’ He slit the envelope and sat at a bar table.
Harrisburg, 5 June
Orange St.
Five Points
City of New York
Mr. Luke Ryan
Costello’s Bar
Dear Luke,
We received your letter, and it was well you wrote to us, since matters here have changed greatly since I last wrote to you.
I must tell you that rail building is finishing in this place. It appears from what we hear that there has been a crash in the money markets, and this has carried through to the rail companies, who have little money to spend on further rail building. Your letter therefore arrived only just in time, since we will be leaving this site in one week.
We are now going to a township called Lackan, which is in Pennsylvania, convenient to Wilkes Barre and Scranton. I understand they supply the anthracite market in New York from there. We will therefore travel to Lackan to work in the mines. We hope to be working as contract miners, the same as we worked on the railways in England and God knows, we made good money there. Mikey Jordan, Matt McGlinn and some other Kilduff men will travel with me. It might seem strange to you to have railroad workers going to work in mines, but from what I understand, much of the work will be shovelling anthracite onto wagons, and we’re all well used to shovelling.
My suggestion therefore to you would be to join us in Lackan. Should you wish to remain in New York though, you will find work difficult to get at this time. You might find a job at the anthracite terminals either in New Jersey or New York. I know the Morris Canal has an anthracite terminal at Jersey City. Many other men we have met have worked there, though I understand the wages are low. In this way though, you may well be able to save enough to travel to Lackan, where we should be well settled by then. I hope this is not all disappointing for you, but perhaps my idea will help.
From your good friend,
Martin Farrelly
P.S. I will write the moment we arrive in Lackan.
Luke was concerned by the reference to Matt McGlinn. They had been old friends in Carrigard, and worked together along the railways in England, but when McGlinn had come to him, looking to work on the Famine Relief Roads, Luke had not been allowed to select him. He remembered the despair in McGlinn’s eyes that day. Would they be able to work together? The famine still followed him.
He showed the letter to Costello.
‘It might not be too bad an idea either, working the anthracite docks,’ Costello said. ‘They’ll certainly pay more than I’m able to pay you, though they won’t give you board and lodging.’
Yes, Luke thought, but it will get us out of Five Points.
‘So what’s he saying in the letter?’ Jack asked.
‘They’re going working in the mines. They’ll be contract miners there.’
‘What does that mean?’ Jack asked.
‘It means they work for themselves as a gang. Same as we did in England. Contract by the ton, not just being paid by the day.’
‘Sounds like piecework. Like the Relief Works in Mayo?’
‘Arra, no,’ Luke said. ‘That was a different business. From what Martin says, this is better. If you’re strong you’ll have no difficulty with that. It’s like on the railways. A good gang can earn far more than anyone else. We were damned near the best paid on the English railways then, working hard for long hours, I’ll tell you, but no complaints from us. And from all I see here, it’s the same in the mines.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Jack said. ‘It’s piecework all the same. A brutal way of using fellows to get the greatest number of tons for the least amount of dollars. That’s all it is. You’ll see.’
‘We’ll both see.’
‘Who said I was coming?’
‘You’re not?’
‘And have the mining bosses abuse me like that? No way.’
‘Well, I’m going,’ Luke said.
‘So when will you leave?’
‘I’ll have to wait ’till I hear from Lackan first. After that, it’ll be as soon as Winnie arrives.’
Chapter 32
Dublin Evening Post, June 1848:
New York besieged. Since Saturday morning, the lower part of the city – say from the Battery, through West Washington and Greenwich Streets, up as far as Washington Market – has been kept in constant motion. Steamboats, lighters, periaugers, scows, clamboats and nondescript water-witches of every sort, have arrived almost hourly from quarantine, loaded with almost entire villages of men, women, and children, some of the larger steamers having emigrants packed in every part like bales of cotton on a Missi
ssippi cotton-boat.
Next day, New York was hot and humid. Luke and Jack walked over to Cortland Street and found a coal terminal.
‘Christ, I’ve never seen so much coal in my life,’ Jack said. ‘There’s any amount of shovelling here!’
‘And any amount of men to shovel it too. Must be a hundred here waiting?’
‘And none of them looks as if they’ve eaten for a long time.’
As they watched, the gate was opened, and the men lined back against an outside wall. Luke and Jack tried to join it but were quickly elbowed to the far end.
‘Damned bastards,’ one man shouted at them. ‘Think you can come here and take our jobs. It’s scum like you who are stealing the food from our mouths.’
Neither Luke nor Jack responded. They had noticed the Irish accent though. Was this what Irish men thought of their own?
One man came out of the terminal, accompanied by two men with sticks. He walked the line, pointing at each man required. They never got as far as the end of the line.
Luke felt sickened. Now he had been through a selection, he knew what it felt like. At least he could understand McGlinn better, when they finally met.
‘What now?’
‘Now we find the terminal on the Jersey side,’ Luke said.
Soon they were standing in an empty anthracite lighter, crossing the Hudson River. They found the anthracite terminal. There was no line of men waiting for selection. They were sent to the ganger and asked for work. Luke was rather surprised when they were both given shovels, and told to get on with it.
They joined a group of men and started shovelling. After a while, Jack stopped, wiping his brow.
‘This is hard work,’ he gasped. ‘I thought we knew what work was up the Gatineau. I don’t know how long my arms will take this.’
‘Arra, pay it no mind,’ Luke said. ‘You’ll strengthen up quick enough. I’m well used to this kind of work, shovelling rock and dirt on the railways. There’s a trick in it, you know. Your muscles will tell you how, and once you understand what they’re telling you, there won’t be much pain.’