My Best Friend

September 1850

Dear Children,

As promised, I wanted to tell you about my best friend, Catherine McGuirk. She was Terry’s only sister, the second in the family after him. Unlike me, she managed to convince her big brother to bring her along when they set sail from Ireland in early 1844. Of course, she had Terry wrapped around her little finger, even though they were as different as night and day. Where Terry was conservative and careful, Cath was fun loving and adventurous. Where he was shy, she was gregarious and outspoken. They had the same mesmerizing blue eyes, but on Cath they left a trail of broken hearts in her wake.

Terry was very protective of his sister, and the only place Cath was allowed to meet people was at church gatherings. Keep in mind that Sag Harbor could be a bit rough in those days. Some of the sailors and fisherman that worked on the docks and on the whaling ships could be something less than respectful to a lady. It was especially wise to avoid Main Street when they just came back from sea. They would dig elbows into each other and nod, wink and chortle as my sister-in-law and I walked by. We should not have been walking alone, and it was a good thing our hotheaded brothers could not see them or there would have been fisticuffs. The drinks served at the taverns along the wharf may have contributed to some of their boldness, or it could have been Cath laughing and singing as we walked down the street. I never had so much fun as when I was with her, and never so scared I would get into trouble.

Cath did meet a nice young man at our church, St. Andrews, the first Catholic Church in all of Suffolk County. His name was Michael Heffernan and his family was very active and generous in the parish. To give you an idea of what a special place our adopted home is, I will tell you a story about our church. When we Irish people came to the United States, we were not wanted here in America, and folks let us know it. But in Sag Harbor, when our leader, Michael Burke, bought us an old Methodist church to renovate and call our own, instead of stopping us, a lovely Protestant man, Mr. Mulford gave us $100 to put toward the work. That quieted any opposition, and we proceeded in peace. That is the way of Sag Harbor and this community has always had room for everyone.

Michael loved Cath very much, but perhaps he and his family were a bit pious for her. They married in 1847, but it did not take long before she was chafing under the bit. The Heffernans were a bit fancy for our Cath, as they had come to this country a while back and had become almost real yanks. They wanted her to take her place in church affairs, and be a perfect lady. Cath was too good at riding horses, raising cattle, and dancing for that.

After the young couple was married for over a year, the unthinkable happened. Cath ran away. She went to Greenport, a town on the north fork of Long Island, where my cousin, Laurence Brady and his family lived. It was not so far really, as you could take a steamer, the “Olive Branch”, over there from Sag Harbor. Laurence Brady had a troubled daughter by the name of Mary whom Cath turned to in her crisis. Laurence claimed there was more work for him in Greenport, but eventually we found out the real reason he and the family were living apart from us. It seems young Mary had a baby out of wedlock. It was a terrible shock, but there was nothing that could be done, and Mary had to raise her son as best she could. Cath went over there hoping that Mary would be the one person who would accept what she had done. She was right and Mary never judged her.

Michael went and pleaded with Cath, but it was to no avail. When Michael Heffernan realized his wife was not coming home, he was so devastated that he moved to the Ohio territory. After that, Cath did not even call herself Mrs. Heffernan, preferring to remain Catherine McGuirk. I worry so about her. What is to become of her? What is a woman to do without a man? Who ever heard of a girl wanting to be a spinster, especially after she had a husband? At least Cath and Mary have each other in their difficult, some would say scandalous situations. The funny thing is, they both seem to have found some peace. Is it because they do as they please with no man telling them what to do? I shall never understand what Cath did, and shall never stop missing her, my best friend.

Published in:  on November 20, 2009 at 12:27 pm Leave a Comment
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We Were the Lucky Ones

August 1850

Dear Children,

We were the lucky ones. You may have heard of “the luck of the Irish”, well, that describes us. First we were lucky to be from Ireland, that place of misty wonder, but we were luckier to leave our beloved home. Many people would have liked to leave, but they could not afford to. You see, things were very difficult for Catholics in Ireland. It was not until recently that we got some of our rights back that were stripped away by our English oppressors. So having the means to leave was a great blessing for us. One of my great good fortunes was to miss the potato famine, what they called in Ireland, the Great Hunger or in Gaelic, An Gorta Mor. When I came to join my brother, little did I know that it would start in few months.

We were also fortunate to live in the town of Monaghan, in the north province of Ulster, where things stayed prosperous much longer than in the south and west of Ireland. Having crops and goods to sell to finance all our passages was another blessing. We did not come over here all at once. In fact, from the first of the family, until the last, our passages went on for over ten years. Some of the family was lucky that they could stay in Ireland, as the linen industry survived better than most, and there was still a living to be made growing flax and spinning cloth. None of us was forced to come here, as so many Irish people were because they were starving and evicted from their farms.

The first day I walked down Main Street of Sag Harbor in April 1845, I heard so many languages my head was spinning like my mother’s spinning wheel. Later I learned I was listening to Polish, Spanish, Portuguese, German and Russian. In Ireland, everyone spoke the same language and we knew each other for our whole lives. Here, even though we could not understand our fellow newcomers, they still made us feel less alone. It was our blessing that at least we were speaking the same language as the Americans, though they had trouble understanding our “Irish brogue”. While lots of the local people were not exactly friendly, they seemed to at least tolerate us. We considered that a great good fortune, to be left alone for “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”, especially compared to Irish immigrants in almost any other place else in America. It turns out that in our little corner of this land, being different was more of the same. Could we have found a better spot to stake our claim in the new world?

They say God gave us free will and it separates us from the animals, and it is surely something to be thankful for. Yet sometimes in this world, when it is taken away from a person, like it was from us in Ireland, a body begins to feel like an animal, penned up and hopeless. Now our lungs have sucked the air of freedom and we can hold our heads up again. We see our future and our children’s future as bright and full of promise. At home, there was nothing but loss and more loss, our land endlessly divided and subdivided. We have gone from shrinking to expanding in our hearts, minds and spirits.

Our bustling whaling village is so much more exciting than the town of Monaghan back home. They both have a weekly market, but how much grander and more varied it is here. Folks come from every town in the whole East End of Long Island every Saturday to be a part of it. There is work for any man willing to roll up his sleeves, and folks here like to work hard, even the rich ones. There is no landed gentry like the thieves who stole our land in Ireland, and everyone works for a living. We doff our caps to no man and the constitution says we are all equal. There are no tithes to bleed us dry and the taxes are low.

All in all, God has blessed us so since we set foot on this land and we are indeed the lucky ones. I am so glad to have our own little piece of heaven here in Sag Harbor and Bridgehampton. God willing, they will be ours for a very long time. Until next time, children.

Tá mé chomh mór sin i ngrá leat, tá mé chomh doirte sin duit,
Your mother,
Susan

Published in:  on November 10, 2009 at 2:41 pm Leave a Comment
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Mr. Gelston’s Visit

July 1850

Dear Children,

I’m starting a diary today and it is going to be a secret. I have found a hiding place where no one will find it until I’m passed away from this earth. Someday, one of you children will discover it and then you will know everything about how I came here and what my life was like. That is why I am addressing this diary to you for that far off “someday” when you will be reading these words.

I picked today to start my diary because for the first time I feel like a real American. A man named Mr. Richard Gelston came to our door and wrote down our names to be published in the 1850 Census of the whole United States of America. He is the son of the man who runs the Customs House in Sag Harbor for the whole United States, appointed by George Washington himself. Right here at our doorstep. What a great country we live in. I cannot believe the government wants to know all our names and ages, as if we are real citizens and not just Irish immigrants. They asked for Dad’s name, Terry, my name, Susan, and little Frankie and even Mollie’s name, though she is just a wee baby. I told them I was 22 years old and felt like a grand lady of the house, even though we are in a rented cottage on Mr. Halsey’s land in Bridgehampton. But unlike back home in Ireland, he says if we can turn a profit on our acreage, we can work toward owning it. Think of it, children, our own land! We have waited generations to get back the land that was stolen from us by the English. Now in this bright new world our chance has finally come.

Oh, do not be fooled by all the Irish people you will hear moan and groan about the Emerald Isles and the Old Sod. They forget that we were prisoners in our own country. We are free here. We have a chance to get ahead. Do not listen to the neighbors who long for the past. That is what we left behind. All our work was for the landlord, and we could never be our own masters. I wanted better for you children. Here, you will have a chance to be the master of your own fate. Now we are free, but make no mistake, we didn’t like being mistreated. Members of our family were risking their necks protesting the British rule. We are a proud people and we never forgot or forgave our land being stolen. It was time to leave and declare independence from tyranny.

Did you know, children, that I came here all by myself? Yes, it is true and I was only 16 years old. In April 1, 1845, I got on a huge ship called the Queen of the West and sailed here all alone. The hardest part was leaving Pap and Mam and the younger children, but at least the great hunger was still months away. I worried about them so once it started. Of course, your father was already here, but I was coming to meet my brother, John, and his new wife, Elizabeth. He came on the ship, “Hottinger” the year before and found his way to the town of Sag Harbor, New York, where there were plenty of jobs in the whaling industry for anyone willing to work. Little Jane Fee was our first American, born later the year I came and named for our beloved Aunt Jane.

Within a few years of our arrivals, Sag Harbor was teeming with Fees and McGuirks and many more of our relatives like the Bradys and the Mulligans. But there was always a few of us who preferred farm life. Even though I lived on a farm for most of the years I lived here, part of me will always love the bustle of town life. It was really the best of both worlds as we visited Sag Harbor every Saturday to trade at the market. I will tell you more about it all next time. Frankie and Mollie are waking up from their naps so I will bid you goodbye for now.

Tá mé chomh mór sin i ngrá leat, tá mé chomh doirte sin duit,
Your mother,
Susan

Published in:  on October 30, 2009 at 6:04 pm Leave a Comment
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