Chapter 18

The Landing

The snow sputtered erratically down from dark skies in the final retreat of day, while the surviving passengers lined the deck with their bags. They were a battered army, forever refined through the smelting of tragedy, peering out with what hope remained at their hard-earned prize.

They were all family now, nudging each other politely to procure a view. The exhilaration was palpable and growing, restrained only out of respect for those orphaned and widowed by the cruel hands of their bitter voyage. Witnessing a sight few imagined possible, they were awestruck as the Sea Mist drifted by Governors Island and headed into Hudson Bay.

The crippled ship was humbled to be in the same waters as the hordes of majestic vessels traversing in all directions, a rag-worn peasant among royalty, wealth, and enterprise. Decorated with colorful, boasting banners, ships of all sizes, some under the power of steam, weaved dangerously past each other, oftentimes resulting in exchanges of angry threats and insults from competing crews.

Clare’s hands gripped the wooden rails as Seamus and Pierce stood on either side of her, protecting her space and holding her steady. One of the fever’s victims had left behind a small handcart, and the other passengers granted it to Clare to use for transport once they came to shore. And several times, during the ship’s slow approach to port, she had nested in it, covering herself in blankets.

But now, Clare’s spirits soared as she marveled at the grandeur of Manhattan rising before her. As they neared the great snow-covered docks, the tiny moving dots on the shoreline became people alive with the bursting commerce of an upstart nation.

The inspections they all dreaded came and went without incident. Sharply clad bureaucrats arrived by an oared boat. After a few officious glances and cursory questions, papers were signed and then they left as quietly as they came.

Clare couldn’t have been more relieved.

A steam tug edged the Sea Mist until it settled in alongside the wooden pier and into the awaiting arms and ropes of the dockworkers. The gangway was lowered, connecting the weary travelers to their new world.

The first-class passengers unloaded first, most seeming to be in good health and well fed, and a long stream of luggage trailed behind them. Finally, ropes lowered and steerage passengers broke ranks, no longer yielding to captain or crew, pouring onto the shoreline with an ardency tempered by their exhaustion and grief.

Clare was embarrassed to be wheeled in the cart as they angled down the plank as part of the motley caravan of immigrants, but she relented because she didn’t want to slow the boys and hadn’t the strength besides.

“The wind’s picking up and snow’s coming heavier,” Pierce said.

Seamus pulled out another blanket and wrapped it around Clare. Her illness not only made her weaker but more susceptible to the cold.

The boys shouldered the two bags, which now were considerably lighter than when they boarded the Sea Mist more than two and half months ago.

A man with a snow-crusted plug hat stepped in their path. He had a fistful of currency. “Have you your dollars yet?”

“Our what?” Seamus said.

“Your dollars.” The man gave a patronizing smirk. “Irish money is no good here.”

“Of course we know that.” Seamus motioned to Pierce, who extracted what was left from his leather purse and gave it to the stranger.

The man counted what was handed to him and tucked it in his shirt pocket. Then he glanced up as if calculating, before fanning through his dollars and giving several to Pierce as well as a few coins.

“Will you look at this?” Pierce said, proudly. “Yankee cash.”

After a few steps in that direction, they were stopped by another man, this one a wiry fellow with black teeth. “You friends need lodging?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” Seamus said. “Friendly folk here, are they not?”

They were joined by Mack and Muriel, who had said some farewells.

“Are we ready to get going?” Mack said.

“We are that.” Seamus nodded.

“Make certain you don’t fall prey to the money changers,” Mack said in a fatherly tone. “My cousin warned me they’ll skin you as you get off the boats.”

The boys were silent, and Clare didn’t say anything either out of pity.

“Is she warm enough?” Muriel looked down at Clare. “Mack says it’s a long walk to the Five Points.”

Pierce loaded his pack. “The Five Points?”

“That’s where me cousin lives.” Mack put gloves on his hands. “The one you’ll be staying with as our guests. The Five Points is where the Irish go. It will be like home, they say. Several from the ship are heading there together. Ah. They’re moving now.”

Not wanting to be left behind in the darkness of this strange land, Clare, Seamus, and Pierce joined the ragtag convoy of immigrants as they began their wide-eyed sojourn down the snowy, paved roads of the sprawling city of New York. Clare was awestruck by the brilliance of hundreds of gas lamps, massive works of architecture, and the richness of the citizenry and their modes of transportation, which filled the streets with horses, wagons, sleighs, and hordes of pedestrians.

As they cleared the way for the silk-dressed, top-hatted locals, Clare was keenly aware of the contrast of their own impoverishment, and few friendly faces greeted them as they passed.

It was strange as well to see so many people rushing by them with wrapped gifts and with arms full of vegetables, and breads, and carrying turkeys and chickens into their homes and apartments. There were also red ribbons strung on lampposts, wreaths hung on doors, and a spirit of festivity.

However, it wasn’t until they came up to a well-bundled group of carolers on a street corner, cheerfully singing in harmony, that it dawned on Clare. It was Christmas Eve.

This news gave them a lift in their step, but it didn’t last for long as the streets began to empty as a result of the rising storm. They had no choice but to press on as the wind lashed at their reddened faces and boots sank deeper into snow as did the wheels of Clare’s cart. Children faltered as did the elderly and infirmed and progress ground to a crawl, which only made it more intolerable.

“How much farther?” Seamus shouted above the tempest.

“Don’t know for certain,” Mack said. “We must be getting closer.”

A man had overheard the question and he answered. “Less than a mile.”

Even through the cover of snow, it was clear the neighborhoods were shifting, as the great homes and newly erected ornate buildings she first saw gave way to brokenness and dilapidation.

They turned a bend in the road and heard voices of mischief and saw a large gathering of men around a rusted barrel with wild flames ascending. Each of the scowlers were dressed alike in brick and beige plaid jackets with tall chestnut hats, many sporting mustaches. As they spotted the travelers approaching, the men nodded to one another and rose from their places, picked up irons, brickbats, and bottles and tossed in their hands what appeared to be stones.

“Keep steady,” Mack said to the boys. Clare sat up.

“Shouldn’t we turn around?” Muriel said.

“Just lads at play,” Mack replied. “They’ll mean us no harm.”

The train of sojourners moved to the far side of the road with the adults positioning themselves between their children and the strangers, all the while trying to remain calm and unaffected as if not to stoke the tension further.

It was eerily quiet and Clare’s entire body clenched as they drew closer to the men, who seemed to be feasting on the angst of their prey. One of the men stepped forward, a bearish fellow with black, bushy sideburns that nearly met at his square chin.

“Greetings, my good Hibernian friends.” He took off his hat and bowed theatrically. “With the spirit of Christmas running through us, we’ll offer you free passage through our property this evening.”

His men responded with curses and jeers.

The leader held up his hand and they silenced. “We merely request . . . in a small gesture of your gratitude, that you leave the women behind.”

Cheers erupted followed with heckles and gyrations.

The immigrants lowered their heads, flowing by as far along the opposite side of the road as possible, and a few hastened their steps.

“Where are you goin’ so fast?” the man hollered. “That’s it. Run, you grubby Micks. Here’s your presents a day early.”

Clare’s body was jostled as Seamus wheeled the cart forward as they all were being pelted with objects. She heard bottles shattering against walls and the thud and screams when hurled items met their mark. The fleeing broke out to full panic as some of the immigrants slipped in the snow and others bent down to lift and carry the fallen away.

“Take her, Muriel,” Seamus shouted, relinquishing the handles of the cart.

Clare looked back to see her brother joining several of the men who remained to confront their assailants. She lifted herself out of the cart.

“Seamus!” she screamed just as a bottle struck Pierce in the face and he collapsed to the ground. Two of the Irish lifted him and they all retreated back to the women and the children, being bombarded with objects as they ran.

One of those projectiles landed in a snowbank beside Clare, and a small boy scurried to pull it out. It was a potato.

“You just leave that there,” said the boy’s mother.

Clare unwrapped her scarf, filled it with snow, and placed it on Pierce’s forehead, putting her arms around him.

“Keep moving!” Mack shouted, and they all hurried together, even Clare on foot, for a full block before sensing the danger was behind them.

“Welcome to the city of New York.” Seamus eyed the damage.

“Don’t worry yourself,” Mack said. “Ireland is not far ahead. We’re closing in on the Five Points.”

As they traveled down the final streets leading to their destination, the weather lifted and just as suddenly the whole populace of this slouching neighborhood seemed to spill out from listing tenement buildings, seedy taverns, storefronts, and brooding alleys. Hordes of pigs and mean-spirited dogs comingled with street merchants, peddlers, and pickpockets.

The children of the community were dressed in rags and were unkempt and unsupervised. They played cheerfully in front of the increasing glut of brothels, which lined either side of the road. Prostitutes would take a break from enticing customers to pick up a stray ball or to fling a mound of snow.

The streets themselves became more deeply rutted and were mostly a mushy heap of soot, excrement, and rubbish with dingy blotches of brown blending with the white of snow.

Everything appeared more and more run-down. The buildings sagged with age and disrepair, windows and shutters hung by wires, broken doors flapped in the wind, and in many cases were merely frayed rags pulled across the door frame.

The travelers rounded a turn and then opened into a great clearing, a huge square with five traffic-laden streets emptying into a dissonance of poverty, vice, and flamboyance. It was a place that must have been ever more bustling at night than day.

“Welcome to our new home,” Mack said loudly. “This here is the center of the Five Points.”

They were too battered, too tired, and too underwhelmed by what they were witnessing to celebrate, but they did all pause to take in this milestone of their bitter journey.

If it was Ireland, then it was an Ireland Clare had never imagined, and perhaps never hoped to see.

Soon, the group who traveled from the docks, following warm embraces and tears, scattered to their own destinations and only the five of them remained. Clare, who had abandoned the cart and had been braving it on foot, was wearying and relieved when Mack led them to a three-story building. But it was rundown and bore an air of putrescence.

“Are you sure this is it?” Muriel asked with disappointment.

“I’m afraid so.” Mack ascended the stairs to a shabby door just as a teenage boy came out and eyeballed them.

Clare couldn’t hear the conversation, but soon the boy waved for them to follow him to the side of the building.

There he came upon a wooden hatch, with many footprints leading to and from it in the snow. He lifted it and a dim light revealed stairs leading down.

“There?” Mack said incredulously, as if suspecting some sort of chicanery.

The boy nodded.

Mack set his pack on the ground and turned to the others. “Wait here.”

He descended cautiously, and within a few moments there was laughter and shouts of greeting heard below. Shortly, a man smoking a pipe stuck his head up and flashed his hands for them to enter.

“Come out of the cold, dear friends. We’re so thrilled you made it safely. And just in time for Christmas, you are.”

Muriel went first, and as she began to lift Mack’s bag, the man took it from her and offered an arm in escort.

Pierce, Seamus, and Clare exchanged wary glances before reluctantly following behind. Clare had traveled as far as she could this night, and there was no spirit left in her to protest if she had wanted.

As she stepped down, the musty stench of mildew, urine, and smoke overcame her, and Clare feared she was the victim of another nightmare, fingers of death drawing her back down the steerage hull of the Sea Mist.

But there also was a most-welcomed warmth inside, and she spotted a crude stove at the other end of what appeared to be a dirt cave beneath the house. To avoid rubbing their heads on the ceiling, they had to crouch as they walked.

Spread throughout and covering most of the dirt floor were a couple dozen straw mattresses, many with sleeping occupants. There wasn’t much room for their feet to navigate between the bodies lying around them, but just as the moth to the flame, they wove their way in the direction of the rustic furnace.

In the dim light, the faces that peered up as they passed were ghostly, bearing expressions of pain and poverty.

As Clare proceeded, the world about her began to spin and a wave of nausea and light-headedness came upon her. In her fragile condition, the activities and emotions of the day engulfed Clare with weariness.

Seamus assisted her in finding a patch of earth where she could lay down on her worn blanket. Here among strangers in the damp cellar of this foreign land, she heard troubling whispers just out of range of hearing.

Then Clare succumbed to the darkness.