The Coffin Ship Legacy

By Shirley Skidmore

Drawing on the life of her great-grandfather author Shirley Skidmore recreates a gripping story of the 'coffin' ships that brought Irish famine survivors to Canada. Most did not survive the harrowing voyage but those who did were further challenged by the harsh life meted out in the New World.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diamond River Books
• Release date: Oct 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9780986659843

Shirley Skidmore

Shirley Skidmore is a Director of the Sooke Fine Arts Council, a member of the Federation of BC Writers and a founder member of the Sooke Scribblers - an active writing group. 'Murder in the Sooke Potholes' and "Murder on the Galloping Goose' are two mysteries in a trilogy of mystery novels from Shirley Skidmore's pen. 'Murder on Whiffin Spit' will be available soon. She has also written the `Coffin Ship Legacy' an historical novel inspired by the Irish Immigrant experience in Canada's early years.

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THE COFFIN SHIP LEGACY

by

Shirley Skidmore

Copyright© 2009 Shirley Skidmore

Smashwords Edition

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Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9866598-4-3

An Irish Blessing

May there always be work for your hands to do

May your purse always hold a coin or two

May the sun always shine on your windowpane

May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain

May the hand of a friend always be near you

May god fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

Prologue

I woke up with a start. My heart raced as the sweat rolled off of my face and body. I groaned out loud. Pounding my clenched fist on the pillow, I could still hear that hateful voice in my dream. Bile filled my mouth.

Swallowing it, I felt my wife stirring beside me. I lay back and waited until her normal breathing returned. Walking silently to my dressing room, I put on the clothes that Bridget, had so carefully laid out for me. Descending to the kitchen, I noticed that Cook was busy stirring porridge and preparing food for breakfast.

Surprised by my early presence, she stared but said nothing. Soon the children would be flooding into the dining room so she would have to attend to her breakfast tasks with total attention.

Drinking a coffee that she silently handed me, I opened my daily newspaper.

I scanned the headlines for May 14, 1877. John A. MacDonald had made the news. He was quoted as being pleased with the formation of the new Dominion of Canada despite Queen Victoria’s fears that the colony was still too young. Turning quickly to the business section, I began to read the latest developments in commerce.

Usually this part of The Ottawa Citizen excites me as I would often note that many investors were trying muzzle in on my business. Today none of that enthusiasm was present. I couldn’t concentrate.

Tired and unsettled, I stood up and stretched. It was always the same after the dream. I felt that my world had cracked into a million pieces, and I lacked the glue to put it together. Scratching my head, I felt apprehensive and puzzled. Why had that old nightmare come back to torture me today?

Strolling outside to wait for my hansom, I barely noticed the beautiful day. Ottawa was clad in all her spring finery. Waiting for my horses and driver, I suddenly became aware of the perfumed air and the noisy mating of birds. Spring was here and I had almost missed it! This was my favourite season. With my lack of interest in everything, I felt as if I’d been sleepwalking through it.

Mick, my driver brought the chestnut horses to a halt. Climbing into the shiny black carriage, I settled myself into the soft cushions. As I gazed out the window, I tried not to think of the brutal man in my dream. I pulled myself together as I noticed my carriage was nearing my office. I must remember what I had to do today. Feeling dull and tired, it was hard to kindle any interest in business deals.

Entering the main office doors, I knew that my personal secretary Darcy would be ready to start working.

He is also a close friend. Always quick to read the expressions on my face, Darcy’s sharp eyes would have noticed my lack lustre behaviour of late.

Good morning, Desmond. It looks like you’ve had another sleepless night. Would you like a coffee?

As we went through the mail, he jumped up at one point after getting my tepid reaction over a new and exciting business deal. We had the rare prospect of buying land in the heart of the Ottawa business district.

Desmond, for God’s sake, what is wrong? What is bothering you? You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. You don’t look well. His eyebrows were moving in his young face. We have this great chance of buying land right downtown and you don’t seem to care about it!

Spring fever, and some trouble sleeping, that’s all it is! You always over react to little things, Darcy. I reshuffled unread papers until Darcy’s attention was diverted.

Hours crept by until finally I was able to make a discreet exit. Upon arriving home, I was still tired and uneasy. How I wanted to shirk that sense of impending doom. But it was sticking close and following me like a faithful dog.

During dinner, I tried to listen to Bridget chattering on about the children, the house and her maid. I knew she was not fooled by my silence. Grateful that the children had been fed earlier and were upstairs with their studies, I mentally thanked my dear wife. Bridget, sensing my mood, ate quickly and went upstairs to check on the children. From a distance I could hear the younger ones as they begged for another story before prayers and their rosaries.

Retreating to my study and pouring a brandy, I sat staring at the dark oak walls. I gulped down the brandy and was momentarily jolted by the warm sensation in my stomach. It didn’t help. Full of despair, I put my head into my hands as I wondered why the dream was returning. Deep down I knew I was only dreaming part of something bigger. Why couldn’t I just dream the whole damn thing at once and then get rid of it?

With a sense of foreboding, I went up to bed. After several hours of troubled sleep, I awoke to the trembling of my body and the heavy beating of my heart.

Praying out loud, I cried, Lord Jesus. Help me to know what is happening.

As I fell asleep, the dream so close to my conscious mind erupted and drew me in again.

Chapter One

Ireland, 1847

The sun vainly tried to break out and clear up the heavy dampness. Inside the small cottage, the smell of smoke and unwashed bodies permeated the dank air. The peat in the fireplace was burning by fits and sputters having been left out too long in the rain. All my relatives were gathered here and I didn’t understand why. I peered out from my usual position under my Granny’s arm and knew it wasn’t a party. Everyone looked too stern.

I was an only child and I had just celebrated my eighth birthday. I was used to my Granny’s company. We led a quiet life. Granny was always after me to make friends with others.

Desmond, I want you to get out of the cottage this morning while I clean. Go find someone to play with.

Nobody will play with me, I thought. Everyone calls me a Granny’s boy. I can’t help it. They frighten me. Anyway, I’m shy. My Mam always told me so.

Looking at my big rowdy uncles, I was confused and frightened by their stillness. Their size and loud teasing voices usually alarmed me. Today, they seemed different. I moved closer to Granny.

Listening carefully, I thought I heard that Granny was going somewhere. I had felt so lonely since my Mam had gone to be with Jesus. Granny was the only one that offered me some comfort. She sang lullabies to me. She told me stories and made me tea just like my Mam had. If she was going somewhere, what would I do? Closing my eyes, I tried to understand what was being said.

Now, Mam, Uncle Tim was saying, Michael will be drivin ye to Dublin to the ship where ye will be gettin aboard. Den after ye be on the ship for a bit, ye will be landin in a place called Coobek City. Our own dear cousin, Liam will be meetin ye.

But, Tim, protested Granny, Why should I have to leave at all. I know we must give up the wee cottage to the evil landlord, but why can’t Desmond and I move in with one of you?

Mam, responded Sean, another one of my uncles, Ye know dat der is no room in our wee housies, and no food for even our own babes. Ye must be knowin dat times are tuff.

Tim joining in with Sean added, Fadder Byrnes has written to Liam for ye and evertin is ready. God bless im, he be sendin de money fer yer passsage and for wee Des. Now ye must be goin!

Michael, the youngest son joined in, Please be tinkin of de good times ahead for ye bot. Ye should be knowin we will all be joinin ye someday.

All this left me quite muddled. Am I going with my Granny, I wondered? Sitting up straighter, I leaned forward so I wouldn’t miss anything that might be said.

Getting up, Granny went to make tea for the women and to get out the last of her hoarded whiskey for her kind but rowdy sons.

Soon a fiddle came out and Sean, with his rich tenor, began singing their favourite ballads. I ate my fill of tea and scones and fell asleep.

The last words I heard were, Now, Mam, ye must be ready to be goin on April twelf before de bastardly landlord burns de cottage down de next day.

-o0o-

My grandmother, Maureen O’Mallory was the only daughter of a schoolteacher and had been well educated. When her parents died in a boating accident, she was left with no immediate family.

And Desmond, that is when I met your grandfather Seamus. He often brought fish to our house. He was so kind. I had no place to go, so he asked me to marry him. Her eyes twinkled, He was so handsome, it didn’t take me long to fall in love with him.

She stopped and looked into the distance. "I knew my parents wouldn’t have approved. They wanted me to marry a doctor or lawyer. They disliked the rough O’Mallory family. How they must have turned in their graves!

Again she stopped, as if caught in memories. Please Granny tell me more. I want to know how he taught my uncles and Pap how to fish. I begged.

Startled, she looked me. Oh! Well, your grandpap didn’t like education. I think he was afraid of it. So your three uncles and your own dear Pap, Rogan, never learned much from books. They came to be the best fishermen around, though. Not one of them took after me!

They still fish, Granny. Tell me about the goats!

Your grandpap was a clever one, Desmond. He knew that fishing wasn’t the only way to make money. When the season was down, we tended a small farm. We grew potatoes like our neighbours, but your grandpap liked cabbage and so we grew both. We had a nanny goat called Lizzie and she kept us supplied with milk. Her husband, Billy kept us busy. He would eat anything and was always getting into mischief.

I laughed as she told me about the antics of Billy. I knew these tales well. They had been part of her storytelling when she put me to bed. Then when all your boys grew up, I finished this part of the story for her, Grandpap died on his boat fishing and you were so lonely you came and lived with us.

Granny never told me how difficult it had been after my father’s death. But I remember. I can still hear his vomiting and his harsh breathing that took up all the space in the cottage. How Granny and my Mam had wept after he was gone. My Mam got sick soon after and I helped Granny with the poultices and carrying of cold clothes. I had to take them down to the lake and rinse them out in the cold water and bring them back for my Mam’s hot body. Yes, I remember.

Before their deaths, Granny had been teaching me to read and write and do arithmetic. She also taught me to speak proper English. Now that we were alone, she and the priest had been giving me lessons.

With my Pap gone, we had little money but Granny still managed to make scones and soda bread. We lived on them with hot tea. Sometimes my uncles brought fish and potatoes. The farm had gone long ago.

A week ago, she spoke to me in a more serious tone than usual, Desmond, Father Byrnes has given me the tickets for our passage to Canada. We will be staying with cousin Liam in a place called Ontario. She stopped and brushed away a tear. The landlord, that evil man, will be burning our cottage down. You heard your uncles and I talk about this. So do you understand why we are leaving?

I nodded. How confused I felt. How can I have two different thoughts, Granny? I will miss our home but I am excited about going on a big ship. Is that wrong Granny?

Oh, you sweet boy. No, it is only natural. Now, you must help me get ready.

I stood on chairs and emptied cupboards and shelves. Granny went through all our belongings. She was dividing them in piles.

Desmond, when your Auntie Eileen comes over, you must help carry out this pile of dishes and those two chairs. The others will be coming, and I will show you who gets what.

Soon the cottage was empty. All we had left was some clothes for travelling in, Granny’s papers and personnel belongings and some jars and bags to carry food in for the trip. There were a few dishes that still remained for our use until we left. They were promised to someone.

My feelings continued to be mixed up. Every night, I shivered in my bed as I heard Granny cry. How I hated that evil landlord! In the daylight, we visited neighbours and listened to their similar plights. As they talked about leaving for Canada or America, I thought about the big ships and the ocean, and I was swept through with exhilaration.

One morning Granny said as she poured me some tea, I know you hear me cry, Desmond. I can’t help it. I have always lived here. She sighed and went on, But I guess it is also because I am afraid.

Smiling, she looked over, Maybe we could talk about the ship and the ocean and I might get excited too! And guess what. We will be sending money back here so your uncles and their family can join us! Then we will all be together again! She asked me about ships and I described those I had seen in books that the priest had lent me.

I knew it was hard on Granny. Yesterday we visited my Mam and Pap’s graves. Granny knelt down by my Pap’s grave. Please give me those flowers, Desmond. She laid them down and bowed her head. My darling, Rogan, I have come to say my final goodbye. Kneeling beside her, I could see her tears flow. I felt a big lump in my throat. She prayed silently for several minutes. Crossing herself, she rose.

We stood and looked at my Mam’s resting place. Before I got down beside Granny, I traced the words ’Mary’ on the wooden cross.

I listened as Granny promised, Mary, my lovely girl, I promise that I will look after your precious son, Desmond. Goodbye, my dear. She laid the remaining flowers.

Desmond, Granny is sad. Please walk around the cemetery and let me be for a while.

It was a cold and windy day as we set out for Dublin. Granny and I were dressed in as many clothes as we could wear. Granny was carrying a large bag. It held family mementoes, her rosary, identification papers, our tickets, and a large stone bottle of hot tea.I was given the task of looking after a smaller bottle of tea, and a parcel of bread and scones.

Uncle Michael lifted me in first. There’s a good boy, Des. Ye be sittin in the back of the cart. Yer Granny will be sittin up near me.

After helping Granny in, he tapped the back of the ancient pony with a small whip. Moving slowly, the old wagon swayed from side to side as I held on to my cargo.

I could hardly sit still. The thought of the ocean trip had me unsettled and in high spirits. Yesterday, Father Byrnes had shown me a map, Desmond, here is the path your ship will travelling on. Here is the Atlantic Ocean and there is Canada. I tried to tell Granny but she wasn’t interested.

She had been talking with neighbours and friends. She looked at the priest, Father, it seems Ireland is in a terrible mess. Everyone is either leaving in ships or in coffins. It breaks my heart.

Father Brynes looked over at me. I think he knew that the word coffin was bothering me. He nodded at Granny, and pointed his finger at the map again. See, Desmond, that’s Ontario where Liam lives.

I thought about the map and the ship as the cart bumped along.

For two days we travelled mile after mile in the rickety old wagon to our final destination. Uncle Michael and Granny were so quiet that they missed the lovely green valleys, and the pounding of the sea on the coastline. I felt sad. Usually on these trips we would sing songs aboutthe beauty of Ireland.

Uncle Michael broke the silence as he worried out loud about the old pony. Betsy, Der’s a good girl. God, don’t be letting her be lyin down on de road and be dyin!

Granny didn’t appear to be listening and so I edged closer. The rhythm of the pony’s feet put me to sleep.

I woke up in early afternoon as a slight mist fell over the cart and road. I moved even closer to Granny when it developed into a damp fog that covered us like a blanket. I could hear Uncle Michael urging the pony on as it struggled to locate the faint road we were travelling on.

Be movin, me darlin, it ain’t dat much ferder.

Finally by late evening, of that second day we reached the docks of Dublin. Uncle Michael pulled the pony to a halt as he urged it over to the side of the road. He pointed to the pier where our ship, The Irish Mist, was docked.

Looking distressed, he only muttered, Jesus, Mary and Joseph as he stared at the long line-ups.

As Uncle Michael was a fisherman, he always travelled with his oilskins and large oiled sheets. Before covering us, he handed out some extra food he was carrying.

Mam, be drinkin dis tea, yer look chilled.

We huddled under the sheets and tried to sleep. It was raining and a sharp cold wind was blowing.

The next morning he got into the line with us. Everyone was tired and cold and there was much pushing and shoving. It was raining harder and the wind was brutal.

Looking around, Uncle Michael, warned Granny and me, Be hangin on to yer parcels, keep tight to yerselves. Some of dese poor souls look loike der starvin.

Granny had already noticed it. She said, It shocks me to see the rags some people are wearing. I notice we are the only ones carrying anything. She crossed herself and I saw fear on her face.

Michael seeing her face, said quickly, Mam der be gards about. Ye can’t be goin back now.

Suddenly a great brute of a man appeared and began demanding tickets. Git yer tickets out. Den ye’ll movin forward so we can make more room for udders. Now move!

Michael while kissing his mother and hugging me wiped his eyes and said, I must be movin away and leavin ye. Mam be takin care of yerself and wee Desmond. Oi loves ye bot.

Kissing us again he departed but I had seen the huge tears that were rolling down his cheeks.

Getting our tickets punched, we moved ahead as people rudely jostled us. In the rain it was difficult to see where to go. Suddenly a fat man slipped in the mud taking several people down with him. There were cries of ye big oaf and yer a fat bastard.

I could hear others falling as the mud oozed up making the ground slippery. I was beginning to get scared as I listened to strangers cursing and screaming. Granny grabbed me and held me close.

A huge hose came out of somewhere. It began spewing its contents over the immediate crowd.

Ye’ll be behavin yerselfs, ye crazy hooligans! Oim de one ye be listenin to now. So just be movin on ahead until der be no more place to go. Den ye’ll be quiet and still or Oi’ll be usin de hose agin.

The crowd became deathly still. Then we moved onward slowly and stopped where the man stood. Suddenly the air was broken with the cries of bewildered children. It started another outcry. Around me I listened to the women weep and the men swear.

The big voice boomed again. Shut yer yobs up Oi be sayin, or Oi’l be using de hose on ye.

The older people quickly shut up. Mothers used the age- old method of soothing babies, putting their fingers in their mouths. They softly crooned to the older children as they rocked them. Amid the eerie stillness only the relentless wind and rain were free to vent their fury.

Feeling so uprooted, fear like wandering fingers was running through my mind. My warm and cozy life had disappeared. I didn’t know or understand what was happening to me. With one hand I held on to Granny and with the other I instinctively hid my parcel of food under my coat. It was a huge coat that one of my older cousins had donated. It covered and protected me from the weather. Beneath it I was wearing several sweaters and a vest. My Uncle Michael had plopped a fisherman’s hood over my tweed cap.

Granny tightened her hold on her bag and on me. She was breathing hard and had started coughing. She looked small and tired and it made me feel protective but scared.

I must be strong for you wee Des, poor lad, she cried, as she tried to see through the mist. I hope that we board the ship soon.

Little did we know that we would be standing all night and most of the next day. Later on the boat, I heard an older sailor telling a newer recruit why they kept us waiting that extra night before the ships sailed. The young man asked why. I listened in horror as he explained.

The crew would add more passengers into the long line-ups when it was dark so the others wouldn’t notice. These extra passengers never appear in any logs or ledgers.

The owner of the ship, The Irish Mist, is a cruel and callous man. He’s made himself rich by these devious methods.

I can still smell the aroma of their tobacco as they smoked. The old man went on, He knows that many of the passengers will sicken and die. We have to toss their bodies overboard. There was another pause as they drew on their pipes.

There is talk, my boy, of bribes being given to overworked Immigration Officers in Canada. Somehow, the passenger lists always tally. So the old bastard is never taken to task or questioned. We do all the work, and he gets the money, the sailor complained.

I fell against my Granny during the night. Granny told me she was feeling ill. She whispered, Des, I have to sit down. She pulled me to the ground and held me in her arms. We slept for a short time. It was difficult with the wind and driving rain.

Granny woke up coughing and her breathing sounded funny. I don’t dare open the food parcels, it might cause a riot. she muttered groggily. We could hear people around us moaning for something to eat. She pulled me closer for warmth.

Night turned into day and the weather remained wet and windy. In late afternoon, the familiar rough voice yelled out, Ye’ll be boardin soon and Oi wants no pushin and shovin de ye hear?

A large bell above our heads rang out and we all stirred. Granny had trouble standing. I dragged her up as well as I could. Everyone blindly followed the person in front of him. I held on tightly to Granny as she found walking difficult. At some point we reached the gangplank, and I shoved my Granny up ahead of me. It was fortunate that she was a tiny woman. Next I had to help her down some long narrow steps. Finally we entered a dark cavern in the bottom of the ship. Granny seemed to rally a bit when we were out of the rain. We moved with the crowd until