Star of the Sea

by Joseph O'Connor

  Our intrepid old lady is in poor enough health this night, and creaking along wearily and sorely through a blasting squall; but more of that anon.

  This afternoon, just after two o’clock, a thunderously loud sound was heard all over the ship, followed several moments later by another, the latter sending a great reverberation up through the decks so that the masts shook like trees in a gale. When I left the wheelhouse I looked overboard and the water was full of thick bubbling blood of an astonishing redness, several hundred yards around. It was immediately obvious that we had been struck by a whale, and a large specimen at that, to judge from the force of the blow and the copiousness of the blood.

  And several moments later my suspicion was confirmed, for the great bloated body was seen in the scarlet water seventy yards to starboard, still thrashing ferociously and spouting and making terrible sounds like human screams, the poor magnificent beast. It was a mature male razorback, Balaenoptera physalus, in excess of eighty feet in length, its tail the size of a yacht, its body covered in great tufts of weed and small shelled creatures, and its noble head gashed quite open from its encounter with the hull. Its tortured spoutings were fully fifteen feet in height. Some of the passengers appeared on the deck and were very greatly alarmed. Others asked me to arrange for it to be netted out of the water so it might be chopped up and eaten but I said that would not be possible. I tried to send them away, but the Maharajah had come among them and he told them to rest their gaze on the ocean for a moment if they wanted to see something they would never forget in their lives. Soon the sharks came up to take their quarry, the poor creature now being weakened almost to death, and the water appeared as though it were boiling all around. I very much wish His Imperial Imbecility had considered his advice a little more carefully; given the principal use to which the ocean has been put on this voyage.

  Myself and Leeson and some of the engineers hurried below to the downhold and saw that a fissure of about three feet in length had been cracked on the starboard side, and we were taking on water at a fast rate, and soon were up to our bellies. A baling party was quickly deployed and the damage put to rights, though not without the Herculean efforts of the men, the pumps being rusted and in some cases broken and the hold quite alive with many large rats.

  Repairs having been effected, a survey was made of the cargo. Thirteen bags of the Royal Mail had been destroyed beyond salvage and I called down George Wellesley the Mail Agent to swear a report. (A most bumptious oaf of a man, maddening arrogant.) Two very large barrels of pork had gone rotten in the downhold and were infested with maggots so I gave orders for them to be thrown overboard. They were hauled up from the hold but in the ten minutes they remained on deck while the men went to fetch the tally-ropes, they were broken open by persons unseen and completely emptied of their contents.

  That was not all the adventure we experienced this day, for later this afternoon there was a small fire in the steerage section which very briefly caught the overhead spars and threatened to engulf the maindeck. Seven passengers and two of the men were injured in extinguishing it, not badly. Surgeon Mangan has seen all of them and given opiate treatments for their burns. Considerable damage has been sustained, particularly to the overhead and portside bulkhead, but is capable of being repaired.

  More disturbingly it was brought to my attention by First Mate Leeson, following his inspection, that some of the steerage passengers have been breaking planks off the inner cladding and removing portions from bunks and deck boards in the stowage section, in order to use them as fuel for their fires. In one section near the stern almost all of the internal wainscot has been torn away with several large holes hacked in the outer boards also, through which the elements now have unrestricted ingress.

  At this impartation I had Leeson go down into steerage again, and gather all the passengers up on the quarterdeck, where I reminded them in the strongest possible terms of the regulations regarding fires, candles and other naked flames below decks. Also, that destruction of any part of the ship was a very serious offence punishable by imprisonment. We might yet have but one short day at sea but the rules on this matter would be vigorously enforced, for a ship may be lost half a league out of harbour as quick as she sinks in the ocean.

  Mr Dixon was standing nearby with Lady Kingscourt, who, despite my entreaties to remain in the First-Class quarters, is lately in the habit of visiting the steerage passengers to attempt good works among them. He made several unhelpful interventions, asking me loudly and in full hearing of everyone were the people expected to be cold and wet at night and so on, and generally stirring up their already substantial disaffection.

  ‘What the H*** would you do yourself in their situation?’ he exclaimed.

  I said profanity would hardly assist their situation, nor would loutish execrations keep them warm or dry; and whatever I might do I would not destroy the very vessel which was preventing my own destruction, for such would be the doing of the emperor of Bedlam.

  He went above with a veritable fanfare of blasphemies and returned shortly afterwards with a blanket from his bunk and another from Lady Kingscourt’s, insisting I take them for some of the steerage passengers. This I did. But I thought it curious, I cannot help but own it, that he should feel so easeful removing the coverings from a married lady’s bed and apparently without so much as a by-your-leave.

  Our American friends have achieved admirably in many fields of endeavour, but in the aspect of manners are often sorely lacking.

  11.53 p.m. Beacons burning at extreme easterly point of Long Beach near South Oyster Bay. Getting stormy.

  ‘The Bogus American’

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  THE ANCHORAGE

  OUR ARRIVAL AT NEW YORK; AND THE UNEXPECTED DIFFICULTIES CONFRONTING US THERE; AND CERTAIN INFAMOUS EVENTS OF THE SUBSEQUENT DAYS.

  Saturday, 4 December, 1847

  Our twenty-seventh day out of Cove

  LONG: 74°.02′W. LAT: 4O°.42′N. ACTUAL GREENWICH STANDARD TIME: 04.12 a.m. (5 December). ADJUSTED SHIP TIME: 11.17 p.m. (4 December). UNITED STATES NATIONAL OBSERVATORY TIME: 11.12 p.m. (4 December). WIND DIR. & SPEED: E. 88°. Force 2. PRECIPITATION & REMARKS: Extremely cold with biting gusts. Lying at anchor in New York Harbour.

  This morning at a quarter to five we passed Jamaica Bay and Coney Island and reached the Scotland Light Vessel in Lower Bay; leading to the South Channel of New York Harbour. There we signalled by flag-hoist for a pilot to come out. Reverend Deedes conducted a brief service of thanksgiving for our safe arrival while we waited for the steersmen and wharfinger to come; and never in all my years at sea was I happier or more thankful to the Almighty than I was this morning. Lord Kingscourt joined us at prayer: a mighty unusual thing. He said he had been having difficulty sleeping of late.

  No signal came back for more than two hours but I thought nothing of it, since the port has been extremely busy in the last several years. I returned to my quarters and commenced to bundle my kit. By eleven o’clock no pilot had come and then I began to feel a mite apprehensive. I returned to the upperdeck and waited with the men.

  Finally, just before noon, the tugboats appeared in the distance and a great cry of cheering arose among the passengers. Many embraced each other and began singing hymns and national songs. But their joy was soon to be tempered by a further necessity of patience. On board the leading pilot boat was an officer of the city’s Quarantine Division, charged to present me with an order under the Customs Acts not to debark but to come in and await further instructions. He refused to furnish more information; simply I must do as was requested and keep the ship calm. I said nothing to the men or the passengers: only to Leeson. We both of us felt the news might not be happily greeted.

  Pilot Captain Jean-Pierre Delacroix came aboard and took the wheel, an Acadian man of Louisiana. He appeared to speak extremely little English so I called Mr Dixon who knows some of the French language. But Delacroix would not say anything about what was taking place in the port, merely remarki
ng that he had a job to do.

  Many of the passengers were in a state of tremendous jubilation as we fixed lines to the tugs and began to move through the Narrows and into the bay. After nigh on a month at sea, to be so close to land always seems a blessing. And indeed the land looked so beautiful and verdant in the cold sunlight; Staten Island and New Jersey to the West, the farmlands and little towns of Brooklyn to the East. It is sometimes said by seamen that land has a smell, and this day such seemed indeed to be the case, a wonderful aroma of vegetation and fodder. One could see the town of Red Hook through the lifting mist, and several of the cattlemen on the silhouetted hillsides raised their caps and waved as we passed, to the great rapture of all the passengers.

  It was only when we were directed by the pilots into the Buttermilk Channel that I knew something was badly amiss, for in fourteen years making the voyage this has never happened before. A very heavy feeling of foreboding came down. From there we were towed around the island and into the harbour to meet a situation of extreme concern.

  Such a scene I never saw in my life. At my estimation, about a hundred vessels are lying at anchor in the harbour at present, all having been refused permission to tie up at the dock. We were led by the pilots’ tugboats to a position about quarter of a mile from the South Street Docks, between the Kylebrack out of Deny and the Rose of Aranmore out of Sligo, with the White Cockade out of Dublin lying aft. There we were ordered to drop anchor and await further communications. By the time we had anchored and stowed and written report for the tidewaiter, two more vessels had come in behind, the Kylemore out of Belfast and the Sir Giles Cavendish out of Mobile, Alabama for Liverpool but mainsail torn from the gaskets off northern Pennsylvania.

  I considered the overall situation facing us now. If I said I had many sick on board, which I do, it might make the passengers’ chances of being permitted entry that much the lesser. Very hard to know which course to take. I sent a message in to the port to say I was practically out of provisions and water and had well upward of three hundred on board between men and passengers; but a notice came back from the Port Office telling me to wait. Freshwater could be provided, and a surgeon if necessary, but any attempt to come in with the ship would be regarded as an illegal act and met harshly; by the impounding or burning of the vessel if necessary and the imprisonment of every man and passenger on board. I asked for a representative of the company to be sent out to consult with me, but at the time of writing none has appeared.

  At two o’clock I had a visit from Surgeon Wm Mangan, who said he was greatly troubled by the situation on the ship. A number of passengers were extremely ill and must be taken into a fever hospital immediately. I explained the circumstances and said there was nothing I could do. He asked if it was true that we had a quantity of mercury amongst the cargo. When I said it was indeed, he asked if he could have some for the preparation of some medicament or another. Of course I acceded. (‘Some debaucher down in steerage must have a certain dose,’ Leeson joked to myself, when the good doctor had gone. And he added: ‘One night with Venus, a whole life with Mercury.’ But I did not think such a remark at all amusing. I have seen men die of that evil condition and would not wish such a death on the very worst foe.)

  The situation is become alarming, not to say precarious. Many of the passengers have thrown their bedding overboard, in the belief that it is to be inspected by the quarantine officers for lice; and are thus left with no protection from the cold at night. They do not understand that for all the cold of the day, the cold of night can be lethal at this latitude. We are lying so close to the Ferrytown and the Clipper that the passengers are able to call across to those on the other two vessels. All manner of rumours are now being diffused: viz, any person from Ireland will be turned away from the customs post; all European immigrants must produce a sum of one thousand American dollars before being granted admission; the men are being separated from the wives and children & cetera, and repatriated.

  I had Leeson gather all the passengers in assembly and informed them there was no cause whatsoever for alarm, but my remarks were not greeted well. Many heckles and angry remarks were made. I ordered all remaining supplies of wines, ales and spirits for the First-Class passengers to be distributed among steerage. Perhaps that was a foolish course; but it is too late now.

  It is to be hoped that some news will come tomorrow, for many are in a condition of surpassing agitation.

  First Day, 5 December, the sabbath,*

  Our twenty-eighth day out of Cove

  LONG: 74°.02′W. LAT: 4O°.42′N. ACTUAL GREENWICH STANDARD TIME: 11.14 p.m. UNITED STATES NATIONAL OBSERVATORY TIME: 6.14 p.m. PRECIPITATION & REMARKS: Extremely low temperatures all the day, falling to minus 16.71° Celsius this night. Decks and ladders hazardous with thick ice. Ratlines and riggings are frozen solid. Icicles hanging from masts, jibs and shroud-ropes, presenting a danger to passengers; have ordered them broken with spars. Turbulent last night with heavy winds and many passengers sick of stomach.

  Still lying at anchor at low tide in New York Harbour. Black, leaden sky all the day. I estimate the number of vessels similarly situated to be now 174, and increasing by every hour. The waters of the harbour badly clogged with feculence and foul matter of all kinds. Hundreds of large black eels in the filthy water. A child of steerage last evening scooped up what she thought to be a large purple balloon with a line-and-hook. Very badly stung by Portuguese man o’ war jellyfish. She may die.

  I sent a message at noon with an urgent request for a meeting with some person from the Port Office but no reply has yet been given. About an hour ago I had Leeson flag-signal to the Wharfage House for us at least to be allowed to disembark the women and children, many of whom are by now in a pitiful condition, but again no response whatsoever has been forthcoming.

  Two steerage passengers died last evening, John James McCraghe of Lee, nr. Portarlington, Queen’s County, and Michael Danaher of Caheragh, County Cork. I have ordered the remains to be placed in the hold, since burials within the harbour are strictly forbidden. (In any case, those passengers who profess the Catholic faith consider it unholy to be buried on the sabbath day.) A seaman, William Gunn of Manchester, is badly struck with a fever and is not expected to last the week.

  This morning Seaman John Grimesely came to see me and said he had been requested (indeed elected) to do so by his comrades. He said the men were most disturbed by recent developments and could not be asked to bear them much longer.

  Last night a number of altercations had broken out in steerage, some of them of very considerable violence. Eight male passengers had been placed in the lock-up, two of them having to be restrained with manacles or leg-irons. He said there was a rumour of a plot among the steerage passengers to scupper the ship or put it to fire were we not granted permission to debark without delay.

  At that remark I lost my temper and said I would light the first torch myself: that I went to sea to be a seaman not a glorified undertaker and that if he did not return to his watch immediately I would elect the tip of my boot up his democratic hole.

  Food very low. Water almost gone. What we have is frozen to rock.

  Monday, 6 December

  The twenty-ninth, day out of Cove

  LONG: 74°.02′W. LAT: 40°.42′N. ACTUAL GREENWICH STANDARD TIME: 00.21 a.m. (7 December). ‘LOCAL TIME’: 07.21 p.m. (6 December). PRECIPITATION & REMARKS: Extremely cold with bitter frost. Temperature at 2 p.m. was minus 17.58° Celsius. Smoke and soot in the air.

  Our comrade William Gunn departed this life early this morning, a terrible sadness for he was a good honest lad. He was 19 yrs old, from the city of Manchester, a true friend to all he met.

  Heavy snow now falling. Harbour choked up to Governors Island. Widely rumoured that the port has been closed by the navy; all vessels being halted and boarded by frigates off Coney Island and Rock’way Beach. Very large crowds of the poor congregating on the docks before us in expectation of news of loved ones aboard the ships. Many constables a
nd troopers fending them back.

  At the suggestion of Lord Kingscourt, I have given orders that all provisions now on board are to be shared equally between the steerage passengers, the men and those in First-Class. Have had vigorous complaints from Wellesley the Mail Agent, who says he shall never again sail with the Silver Star Line. I said I profoundly regretted his decision (which I do not) but I could not suffer the passengers to starve to death in order to retain his custom.

  Mr Grantley Dixon has begun to send in by boat a number of reports and articles he has made on our predicament for the Tribune of New York. As to whether or not this is helpful I venture no opinion. (The man secretes such an intimate cognition of righteousness that one would swear he sees an archangel in the glass when he shaves.)

  Gangs of newspaper reporters have been coming out in skiffs and punts, also large parties of ordinary ‘sight-seers’. Though they are strictly forbidden to board any ship, nor to come within twenty yards of it, they call up to the passengers asking them questions, which can only spread alarm and inquietude. I understand that one reporter has been arrested for attempting to induce a passenger to jump the Slieve Gallion Brae out of Wexford and thereby make himself an entertaining article.

  Groups of resident New York Irish have also been rowing out to make enquiry about relatives or friends who are expected, in all manner of vessels from coracles to dories, some little better than floating bathtubs. They sometimes bring baskets of food or parcels of clothing and although we are supposed not to accept these, a blind eye is oftentimes turned. It is a very sad sight, to see people call out the names and home-towns of their loved ones – ‘Mary Galvin of Sligo, is she up there with you?’ ‘Is Michael Harrigan of Ennis there? It is his brother’ & cetera – and sometimes to be told that their people are in fact deceased and have been buried at sea. One poor man was seen by Reverend Deedes, gaily calling the name of his father, as in welcome, and saying a happy place had been prepared for him in his son’s home at Brooklyn, where he should never know want again. Only to be informed that his relative had never boarded the ship, having died on Derry Quay a month ago. Another man had brought out his infant daughter in the boat, never seen by her grandparents, and was holding the little mite aloft so proud, only to be given the terrible news that his mother and father had died at sea. It is an eerie sound, at night especially, to hear all the names being cried out from the darkness.