America, the new, improved promised land

A thick grey fog enveloped the island that morning. As we tumbled down the gangways like so many rats deserting the ship, all I could hear was praying. 'Holy Mary Mother of God thanks be to thee for this day.' As soon as their feet touched land the other passengers fell to their knees, kissed the ground and gave thanks. I’m not a religious man, though my mother often tried to persuade me that I should remember to thank the lord and count my blessings. Back home in Kerry I couldn’t see anything to be grateful for. We were cursed, the land was cursed, and as soon as I could get a passage out I took it. Standing there on Ellis Island I felt the urge to say thank you to someone or something greater than myself. I too had begun to doubt we would ever make it safely to America, the new, improved promised land.

Cork seemed a lifetime ago and Kerry was a distant memory, a land that I had read about in picture books. A land of fairy tales and nightmares, soft and green in summer, cold and grey in winter. Where the grass may be greener than New York, but there was no opportunity to make something of yourself. I came to America like so many other Irish before me, because I believed that in America if you worked hard, you could get anything you wanted.
The day we left Cork the sun had sparkled on the sea, the rain clouds for once had rolled back and it had all felt so auspicious. We cheered and waved as we sailed out the dock, catching a last of glimpse of Ireland before we headed west over the vastness of the ocean to another land, another continent. The weather was fair, the ship was comfortable enough, although we were packed in eight to a cabin, not including the babies. And there were a lot of babies.

Two days out of port everything changed. Black storm clouds rushed in, the wind whipped the sea into a frenzy and slapped us in the face; the rain came down vertically, then horizontally. The poor ship pitched from wave to wave, tossed like a ball which could be dropped and sink like a stone any minute. The smell of fear mingled with the stench of vomit and there were none aboard who did not fear for their very lives. Everyone remembered Titanic, a few had even known people who had died aboard. You could hear the crew saying that this was different, that that was a freak accident, an iceberg pierced the skin of the ship; this was just a bad storm, something the Atlantic could brew up at any moment. But I looked them in the eyes and I could see they were afraid. I have no idea how far off course we ended up, the Captain told us very little. The storm raged for a day and a night, and our tiny cabin became unbearable. It was impossible to stand on deck for any length of time without being drenched to the skin. With the ship pitching down forty foot drops the risk of being flung into the wild ocean never to be seen again was too high to contemplate for more than a single lungful of fresh air. The women and children huddled together competing to see whose wails would be the loudest. The men gathered together drinking and playing cards trying to pretend that they were not as afraid as their womenfolk. But no-one was fooled. It felt like a judgement on us all for abandoning our homes, our land, our people to save our own skins.

Twenty five hours after it started, it stopped. The wind dropped and the sun peeped through a break in the clouds. The men cursed their women and told them to shut up the crying, that it was just a bit of bloody weather and as if by magic, a rainbow appeared in the sky. It truly seemed like a miracle that we were still alive. I don’t blame them for praying. To have arrived was indeed a blessing and as unlikely as the pot of gold we all hoped to find at the end of our rainbow.

We filed into the hall dirty, stinking and unaccustomed to walking. You could see the look on the officer’s faces; another bunch of wretched Irish, poor to the bone. We did not feel welcomed. They processed us as quickly as they could, our names, dates and places of birth carefully logged in the register and then we were ferried across to the city. Many of us had not expected to be put on another boat. We thought with luck we would never have to step foot on one again. But this last journey was over soon enough and we found ourselves standing on the docks, clutching our suitcases on the brink of the new world. I had no idea where to go, no more than most of the other hundreds of people standing on the sidewalk that day. So when a fellow Irishman clapped his arms around me, offered to buy me a drink, well I thought St Michael himself had come to greet me.

Charlie led me down a few dark alleys and soon we were in a bar full to the brim with Irishmen and women. He bought me a pint and asked me where I was from and what my plans were.
“Oh you know, get myself somewhere to stay and get myself a job.” I answered supping on my pint.
“Well that’s grand lad. And do you know anyone here in the city?”
“Not a soul. Well actually my ma says cousin Rory came over on the boat a couple of years ago and is here somewhere, but I’ve got no address for him, so it’s going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Now that’s a crying shame. This is a city of millions of people. You’ll never be able to find him.” Charlie paused. “Now look I wouldn’t just do this for anyone, but you seem like a decent lad. I’ve got a friend who’s got a lodging house, nothing fancy, and it’s a little ways out from here. But it’s clean, and it’s affordable. She might just have a room free. That’s if you’re interested?”
I sipped my free beer and thought to myself how lucky was I.