by Charles Egan
‘I’d go,’ he said.
‘Well then?’
‘But it’s not as simple as that. There’s still the lease.’
‘There is,’ Luke said. ‘But Pat’s the one who really wants it.’
‘True enough,’ Michael said, ‘but he’s still not twenty-one.’
‘What is he? Nineteen? And you’re saying Burke wouldn’t accept that, or that he’d throw ye out for the sake of two years?
‘No,’ Michael said. ‘I’m not saying that. But if…’
‘If what? If he evicted ye, who else could take it? There’s no-one else around here with the money anymore. And even if there was, they wouldn’t touch a farm where there’d been an eviction, not now. He’ll know all that, and he’ll know I’ll be sending money back from America. No, the lease will be safe enough.’
‘But we need to get that in writing.’
‘Fair enough,’ Luke said. ‘I’ll write to Burke tonight. If he says no, I’ll stay, but I reckon after all that’s happened in the last year, there’s no way on God’s earth he’d say that.’
When they came in, Winnie was making up the bed. Luke went in, and closed the door.
‘I told him,’ Luke said.
‘What? About America?’
‘Yes. About America.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing much. He doesn’t like it, but he sees the sense of it. No, he won’t stand in our way.’
‘I’m glad so,’ she said. ‘All that talk about hanging, you had me worried.’
‘Arra hell…’
‘No, it’s no little thing. You might say that no one saw you, but there’s no way you could be sure of that. And if anyone did see you, they’d not be able to keep their mouth shut. No, there’s no ‘buts’ about it. We’re going to America, and the sooner the better.’
They went out to the table where Eleanor was serving. Luke noticed his mother was crying. He thought back to the first day he had come home. ‘You’re not to go away again,’ she had said. Yes, if she had reason to cry when he came home, she would have more reason for it when he was leaving.
‘I’ve told your mother,’ Michael said, ‘though I think she knew already. But which or whether, she knows it’s the only way.’
Eleanor nodded her head. She sat down.
‘I’m sorry. It’ll be hard on ye,’ Luke said.
‘Sure it’s the way it has to be,’ Michael said. ‘But I’m well able for the farm, and Pat will be coming home soon enough.’
‘And if he doesn’t…’ Eleanor said.
That evening, Luke wrote the letter to Mr. Burke. He pointed out that the work on the Relief Works and on the Soup Kitchens had come to an end, and while they were hopeful they could continue to pay the rent, there could be no guarantee of this if the blight returned. The best way therefore was for Luke to work in America where he had a job arranged, and he could pay the rent from there.
A few days later, they received a letter from Edmond White. He stated that Mr. Burke would accept this arrangement but only for a maximum of one year.
‘But it wouldn’t be worth going to America for only a year,’ Winnie said.
‘No,’ Luke said, ‘but we’ll ask for two. By then Pat will be twenty-one, and he’ll be able to sign it.’
‘Yes,’ Michael said. ‘That’s it. Then, one way or the other, we can keep the lease.’
Luke wrote a second letter, this time directly to Edmond White, pointing out that Pat would be twenty-one in two years, and asking for an extension. They received a reply stating that Mr. Burke would accept either arrangement, so long as one of Michael’s sons, of legal age, would be living on the farm and acting as co-lessee within two years.
‘And that means Pat,’ Luke said to Winnie that night. ‘And we’re going to America.’
Mr. Patrick Ryan Carrigard
Knockanure Union Sunday
Knockanure
Co. Mayo
My Dear Pat,
I am writing to tell you that the farm will now be yours. I am sure you will be happy to hear this, since it is something that has been dear to your heart for many years.
After much thinking about it, Winnie and me have decided that our future is in America. As you may know, Martin Farrelly is working in Pennsylvania, and he has invited me to join him there.
Mr. Burke has already agreed that when you are twenty-one you will sign the lease along with Father, and so the lease will stay in the family even when I’m gone to America. He would not have agreed to my going otherwise. But that will not be for some time yet, so I am sure we will meet before I go, either here or in Knockanure.
Luke
There were reports and rumours filtering back to Kilduff from the seaports of the West – Sligo, Westport and Galway. The most disturbing rumours concerned the United States.
One morning, as Winnie walked towards Kilduff, she met a group of twenty men and women walking towards Carrigard and Knockanure.
‘Is there water near?’ a woman asked her.
‘You’ll find water at the well, over where the women are standing.’
She was desperately thin. She made to walk on, but Winnie stopped her.
‘Have ye been travelling?’
The woman glanced at her, her eyes rolling, but she said did not reply. The group was still walking, following Winnie’s directions to the well, and the woman followed them. Winnie walked back with them.
‘Where have ye been?’ she asked.
‘We have been away.’
‘But where?’
‘America.’
‘America!’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it was to America we went. One day we spent in America.’
‘One day! But how long have you been away?’
‘Two months on the Great Sea. One day in America. The soldiers came, the men of the Crown, so all the people, they had to walk to Westport. We went from Westport with the ship they called the Arcturus. I went with my sister. But many joined us in Westport. There were many hundreds of them. And hundreds of us. So we all went to America for a day. There were not a hundred when we returned. The people who came with us, they had the Black Fever, they brought it on the ship with them. At first it was only their own, but then many more became sick. That was when my sister died. They threw her into the sea. Four weeks travelling, and we came to their great city, Boston. But other ships found us, and they would not allow us to stop.’
‘They would not allow it? But everyone goes to Boston.’
‘Not us. The ships of the Americans stopped us. They had guns.’
‘Guns!’ Winnie wondered if she should believe what she was being told.
‘Guns,’ the woman repeated. ‘And so we had to leave their harbour. Our ship carried us three days more until we found a quiet place. But when most were off, the soldiers came. The soldiers of the Americans. They would not let us stay. They caught the captain, and with a pistol to his head, they told him to leave. We all had to go. Five weeks more we spent on the Great Sea, but we were not so many, and the fever became less. And so we came to Westport, where we had left.’
‘And the money. Did they give you back your money?’
The woman stopped, and looked at Winnie, but said nothing more.
When Winnie returned, she told Luke of all she had learnt. That afternoon he walked into Kilduff, asking who knew more. In the bar, only one elderly man knew of the voyage of the Arcturus. He gave Luke two names in Baile a’ Cnoic. Luke walked through the broken remains of Lord Clanowen’s burnt village and the silent village of Sliabh Meán. He walked on, higher up the Mountain. Up here, everyone knew the story, and he spoke with two men and an old woman who had survived the journey. They all confirmed what Winnie had heard.
They heard many more rumours, and listened to what advice they could, thou
gh much was contradictory. People still spoke of travelling through Liverpool to America, but there were reports that many Liverpool ships had also been barred from American ports. So it would have to be Quebec. Sabina had been right on that. But it was getting late in the year, and they would have to decide soon.
‘I don’t like this,’ Luke said to Winnie one evening. ‘I don’t want you dying on me before we even get to America.’
‘But what else can we do?’
‘Go on the upper deck. We’d be away from the fever there.’
‘But we’d only have enough money for one…’
‘True enough.’
She stared at him. ‘No,’ she shouted. ‘If we go, we go together, and that’s an end to it.’
But already she knew that there might be no other way. As time passed, she began to suspect she was pregnant. She discussed it with Eleanor one morning.
‘I’ve missed my bleeding, Mother.’
‘But, what? Are you sure? For how long?’
‘Long enough. I haven’t been counting days, but it’s too long, that’s for sure and certain.’
‘But what about America?’
‘I don’t know,’ Winnie replied. She thought again of telling Eleanor about the man Luke had killed, but once more she decided it would only worry Eleanor and would not help.
‘I don’t know,’ she repeated, ‘and God knows, we don’t want to be separated. But Luke – I think he has to go.’
‘And you’ll have to stay, child. There’s no way you could travel on those ships with a baby or expecting one.’
‘But we swore we’d never be apart,’ Winnie said.
‘I know, child, I know,’ Eleanor said. ‘God knows, you haven’t been long married. But the sea travel will be rough, and things in Quebec aren’t much better by all accounts.’
Winnie had tears in her eyes. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Not long married, and now to be apart again.’
‘Yes, alanna, it’s cruel. But sure you’ll have us, won’t you. Sabina too, and little Brigid, won’t she be delighted to have a new little friend.’
Winnie looked at the child.
‘Are you sure she wouldn’t be jealous of another baby. All the attention she gets now, aren’t we spoiling her.’
‘Arra no, there’s no reason for her to be jealous. Aren’t there enough of us to give her and the new baby all the kindness they want.’
‘I suppose there are.’
Yes, Eleanor thought to herself, there are. She’ll get all the attention she wants, little Brigid. And the new baby too. But there’s one thing you didn’t say, Winnie. You never said it would be more sensible to go back to Brockagh. You didn’t, did you? My first grandchild, born in this house. Won’t that be something?
Kitty and Sabina came down to the house that afternoon. When Eleanor told them about the pregnancy, she saw the look of sadness in Kitty’s eyes. Wishing it was hers, she thought. She’ll never forget, poor girl.
‘But what can ye do?’ Kitty asked Winnie. ‘Will ye stay then?’
Eleanor answered for her. ‘Would that they could. Sure isn’t it what we’d all like, but there’s no way it can be done. Luke will have to go, but Winnie will have to stay until the child is born.’
‘And give the little thing chance to get enough strength to travel,’ Sabina said. ‘Isn’t that it?’
‘Yes’ Kitty said. ‘And give Brigid a brother or sister to play with.’
‘But not for long,’ Winnie said.
Kitty kissed Brigid on the forehead. ‘Does Luke know about this?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You’ll have to tell him, won’t you? He’ll have to have a say in all this.’
She told him that night.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘As sure as any woman can be. No, my love, the baby’s there, and there’s no way we can give it back.’
‘But – what now?’
‘Isn’t it what we were thinking all along? You’ll have to go, and I’ll have to stay.’
‘But we said…’
‘Yes, my love. It’ll break my heart too. But there’s no other way, a ghrá.’
‘But when would you come?’
‘That I don’t know. As soon as the little one is fit for it, then I’ll follow you. There’s one good thing though. You’ll be able to go on the upper deck, with only the one of us travelling. And with Sabina’s money, you won’t have to work in England to earn the money.’
He did not answer.
One morning they walked down to Sabina. The bar was deserted. Sabina took down Ian’s maps, and they studied them closely. ‘Where’s Harrisburg?’ Winnie asked.
‘We’re reckoning about a hundred miles west of Philadelphia. Just about – there.’ He pointed at a blank space in the middle.
‘I don’t see a town.’
‘Oh, it’s there alright.’
‘And what about Quebec?’
‘Up, around here.’ He pointed to a beer stain above the map.
‘How would you get between the two?’
‘There shouldn’t be too much trouble, from all I hear. Work a while, get a bit of money, then sail down to New York and Philadelphia.’
‘Is it far?’
‘Far enough.’
When all had been agreed, he and Sabina met with the shipping agent as he came through on his weekly visit to Kilduff. They bought a ticket for a boat leaving Liverpool for Quebec. The last of the season, the agent told them.
‘You got the ticket, did you?’ Winnie asked as he returned.
‘I did. By Liverpool. Going out of Westport costs too much.’
‘The upper deck?’
‘No. Steerage.’
Winnie looked at him, too stunned to speak. Eleanor left down the dishcloth she had been using, and walked across the room to him. ‘You’re going steerage?’
‘I am. There’s no choice in the matter. The upper deck is all booked out. It’s steerage or nothing. And even that I’m lucky to get. There’s few enough places left. The boat’s the last of the season from Liverpool, August the eleventh. After that there’s not enough sailing time before the river to Quebec freezes.’
Winnie had started to cry. ‘But you’ll die.’
‘Me? I’m not going to die, my love. All these months in the mountains I’ve been with fevered people and people dead of it. If I was going to die of fever, it’s there I’d have died, not on some ship going to America.’
‘You’re taking a terrible chance,’ Eleanor said.
‘The chance is little enough, Mother. And anyhow, it’s the way it has to be, so that’s an end to it.’
That night she woke from a nightmare of hanging and death. Luke was still beside her, snoring gently.
It had taken her long enough to accept that no one had seen what had happened at Lord Sligo’s wall, but now there was another danger. Fever. Yes, he was strong, and if he was going to die of fever, it would have been in the fever sheds at Brockagh. But was she certain? She thought again of the woman’s story of crossing the Great Ocean and all who had died on it. She could not rest until Luke wrote to her from America. How long would that take? Five weeks to get there. Five more for a letter to come.
And what if it never came? It will come. It will come.
Mr. Martin Farrelly Carrigard
C/o Pennsylvania Railroad Kilduff
Market Street Co. Mayo
Harrisburg Ireland
Pennsylvania
United States of America 24th June 1847
Dear Martin,
All here were surprised to hear that you had gone to America. I can understand your thinking though, and there are many men around Kilduff and Carrigard who would think the same, but they do not have the money to hand that would bring them to Am
erica. I too had been thinking of America for a long time, and your letter was the last push.
I am sorry for the delay in writing to you. Even when I got your letter, I was not sure what to do. God knows there are enough things to sort out here on the farm. Also, I had been thinking of going back to the rails in England to earn money, and perhaps travel to America in a few years, though where I did not know. But now my plan is to go to America right away. As it happens, I will not be going direct though. I do not know how much ye know in Harrisburg about what is happening between here and Pennsylvania, but from all we hear, many of the American ports are closed to Irish ships.
The other thing I must tell you is that I am married, and my wife is now expecting a baby, which will make it difficult for her to travel. I have therefore bought a ticket to travel to Quebec by Liverpool, and this will be for me alone in the first place. My intention is to then cross the border into the United States, and meet with you as soon as possible. When I have earned enough money, I will bring my wife and baby out.
While Quebec remains open to us though, the story on the ships is a terrible one, with many dying of fever on the crossing, but I have little choice about that. My ship leaves Liverpool on the eleventh of August, and I am told it might take four or five weeks to reach Quebec, if the ice does not stop it. In any case, I will write you another letter as soon as I land in Canada, and tell you of my plans.
I look forward to seeing you and Mikey as soon as I can.
Your old friend,
Luke Ryan
That Sunday, Pat walked over to Carrigard. The family were at their mid-day meal.
‘I just wish to God you’d have told me what ye were planning earlier,’ he said, brushing aside Eleanor’s greeting. ‘America, is it? Why all the secrecy?
‘But we did tell you,’ Luke said. ‘I wrote last week. Did you not get it?’
‘Oh, I got it right enough, and a hell of a shock it gave me. I’d have come over that very night, except for the way the Union is. Could ye not have warned me?’
‘There was no point,’ Winnie said. ‘We were only thinking about it till now.’
‘And anyhow,’ Luke said, ‘isn’t this what you wanted. The farm will be yours now.’
