Coffin Ship (6 page)

Want! want! want!

Thro' dark December's gloom;

To face the fasting day

Upon the frozen flag!

And fasting turn away

To cower beneath a rag.

Food! food! food!

Beware before you spurn,

Ere the cravings of the famishing

To loathing madness turn;

For hunger is a fearful spell,

And fearful work is done,

Where the key to many a reeking crime

Is the curse of living on!

For horrid instincts cleave

Unto the starving life,

And the crumbs they grudge from plenty's feast

But lengthen out the strife –

But lengthen out the pest

Upon the fœtid air,

Alike within the country hut

And the city's crowded lair.

Home! home! home!

A dreary, fireless hole –

A miry floor and a dripping roof,

And a little straw – its whole.

Only the ashes that smoulder not,

Their blaze was long ago,

And the empty space for kettle and pot,

Where once they stood in a row!

Only the naked coffin of deal,

And the little body within,

It cannot shut it out from my sight,

So hunger-bitten and thin;

I hear the small weak moan –

The stare of the hungry eye,

Though my heart was full of a strange, strange joy

The moment I saw it die.

I had food for it e'er yesterday,

But the hard crust came too late;

It lay dry between the dying lips,

And I loathed it – yet I ate.

Three children lie by a cold stark corpse

In the room that's over head –

They have not strength to earn a meal,

Or sense to bury the dead!

And oh! but hunger's a cruel heart,

I shudder at my own,

As I wake my child at a tearless wake,

All lightless and alone!

I think of the grave that waits

And waits but the dawn of day,

And a wish is rife in my weary heart –

I strive and strive, but it won't depart –

I cannot put it away.

Food! food! food!

For the hopeless days begun;

Thank God there's one the less to feel
[sic]
!

I thank God it is my son!

And oh! the dainty winding sheet,

And oh! the shallow grave!

Yet your mother envies you the same

Of all the alms they gave!

Death! death! death!

In lane, and alley, and street,

Each hand is skinny that holds the bier,

And totters each bearer's feet;

The livid faces mock their woe,

And the eyes refuse a tear;

For Famine's gnawing at every heart,

And tramples on love and fear!

Cold! cold! cold!

In the snow, and frost, and sleet,

Cowering over a fireless hearth,

Or perishing in the street.

Under the country hedge,

On the cabin's miry floor,

In hunger, sickness, and nakedness,

It's oh! God help the poor.

It's oh! if the wealthy knew

A tithe of the bitter dole

That coils and coils round the bursting heart

Like a fiend, to tempt the soul!

Hunger, and thirst, and nakedness,

Sorrow, and sickness, and cold,

It's hard to bear when the blood is young,

And hard when the blood is old.

Death! death! death!

Inside of the workhouse bound,

Where maybe a bed to die upon,

And a winding-sheet is found.

For many a corpse lies stiff and stark –

The living not far away –

Without strength to scare the hateful things

That batten upon their prey.

Sick! sick! sick!

With an aching, swimming brain,

And the fierceness of the fever-thirst,

And the maddening famine pain.

On many a happy face

To gaze as it passes by –

To turn from hard and pitiless hearts,

And look up for leave to die.

Food! food! food!

Through splendid street and square,

Food! food! food!

Where is enough and to spare;

And ever so meagre the dole that falls,

What trembling fingers start,

The strongest snatch it away from the weak,

For hunger through walls of stone would break –

It's a devil in the heart!

Like an evil spirit, it haunts my dreams,

Through the silent, fearful night,

Till I start awake from the hideous scenes

I cannot shut from my sight;

They glare on my burning lids,

And thought, like a sleepless goul,

Rides wild on my famine-fevered brain –

Food! ere at last it come in vain

For the body and the soul!

Village on Mienies, County Cork.
(The Illustrated London News, 20-2-1847)

The Sweeney family home at Lettercallow today. (Courtesy of John Bhaba Jaick Ó Congaola collection)

Spailpín, Brian Connors near Kilrush, County Clare.
(The Illustrated London News, 22-12-1849)

The new commercial docks in Galway were completed in 1842. The large L-shaped complex gave the town one of the finest harbours on the western seaboard; a harbour that would bear witness to many sad sights following the outbreak of famine. It was from here that the brig
St. John
would sail on its fateful journey a few years later.

As the famine continued many other coffin ships sailed from Galway, carrying with them thousands of poor and destitute people. Among them was
The Barbara
owned by R. D. Persse,
The Wakulla
,
Cushlamachree
and
Alice.
Exactly how many people had sailed from Galway by 1 May 1847 is unknown, but the figure is estimated to be in excess of any full season of emigration in previous years. Some ships also sailed to St Johns, Quebec and New Orleans. Three-quarters of the Irish emigrants setting out on this journey travelled via Liverpool. By 1847, as the situation became increasingly desperate, about one thousand famine refugees were pouring into Liverpool every week. This influx was concentrated within a few square miles of the waterfront. The immigrants were described as ‘passive, stunned and mute'. Liverpool's notorious cellars became the popular home for the refugees who did not continue on to America, with as many as forty people at a time sharing a space no more than twelve to fifteen feet wide. A Dr Douglas in Canada stated that one of the main causes of ship fever was the ‘filthy slums in which poor emigrants lodged' before embarking on their voyage.
[1]

The brig
St. John
arrived in Galway port during the first week of September 1849. The captain, Martin Oliver, was living in Bohermore at the time, which was only a short distance from the Galway docks. Some sources indicate that Captain Oliver was originally from Scotland. The ship was owned by Henry and Isaac Comerford. One of Henry Comerford's five children, also called Henry, was appointed first mate of the
St. John
. The Comerfords had quite a number of business interests around Galway, including two timber yards, a grain store, a large farm, two offices and a large supply shop where most commodities of the day could be purchased. Henry was married to Margaret, the daughter of Donald McDonagh of Ballykeale House near Kilfenora.

Two-Masted Brig.
(Courtesy of Tim Collins)

According to
Lloyd's Register of Shipping
of 1845, the
St. John
was built in St John in New Brunswick, Canada, in 1844. This document records the owners as Owens & Company. It was listed as weighing 985 tons but this is incorrect as the ship was actually around 200 tons. The Comerfords purchased the
St. John
from Owens & Company in 1849 at a cost of £1,500. It served as a passenger vessel departing Ireland and as a cargo ship on its return journey. Henry Comerford also owned another ship called the
Sarah Milledge
which he used in the same manner. Other sources state that the brig
St. John
was built and owned by Tony Conneely of Lettermullen in Connemara. These sources indicate that the ship was built at Long Walk in Galway. They also state that Tony Conneely was the first captain and that her maiden voyage took the ship to St John, after which city she was probably named. According to one source the ship was old and well travelled by 1849, having completed many voyages between Ireland and the continent. This would make sense if later reports are correct in stating that the timbers of the overworked ship were rotten and that the old ‘hulk' was not seaworthy at the time of the disaster. Nevertheless, it is highly unlikely that the ship was built in Galway given the information recorded in
Lloyd's Register of Shipping
.
[2]

Among the crowd assembled at Galway docks on the morning of 7 September 1849 were twenty-seven-year-old Honora (Mary) Burke and her three children. She was pregnant with a fourth child at the time. It is not known why, but her husband remained behind in Galway. Perhaps he was to follow in due course. Twenty-eight-year-old Honora Cullen and her three children were also patiently waiting to board the ship. There is no mention of her husband accompanying her either. Nearby lurked a fourteen-year-old boy, who was trying to camouflage himself amongst the supplies being loaded on to the ship. He did not have the money for his passage and was awaiting an opportunity to slip on board without anyone noticing. The boy had two sisters travelling on the
St. John
and he was determined not to be left behind in Galway. Another passenger, Peggy Mullen, was also preparing to board the ship with her sister's little daughter who she was taking with her on the voyage. The baby's mother had travelled to America on an earlier voyage and was now anxiously awaiting their arrival in Boston. The Egan family, a father, mother and child from Dysart, County Clare, joined the others at the docks. In fact, there was a large gathering from County Clare, with Ennistymon, Lahinch and Kilfenora well represented as can be seen from the passenger list. Natives of Connemara and Galway made up the remainder of the passengers. The thirteen-strong Sweeney family represented the largest family travelling that day. Isaac Comerford, who is listed as one of the sailors and was possibly a son or nephew of the owners, survived the tragedy; he is likely to have been a relative of the owners of the ship.

Embarkation at Liverpool Docks.
(The Illustrated London News, 6-7-1850)

The two-masted, square-rigged sailing vessel was manned by a crew of sixteen that day. The dockside was crowded with friends and family members bidding tearful goodbyes to their loved ones. Once the ship's supplies had been loaded, approximately one hundred passengers made their way up the gang-plank and located their bunks. The rising tide lifted the 200-ton brig and she was ready to sail. The sailors, supported by the dock crew, cast off and soon the brig was moving out into Galway Bay. There was some excitement among the children as they watched the crew scurrying around the ship and setting the sails in position. The ship rounded Nimmo's Pier and from the main deck the passengers watched as Galway port grew smaller and smaller. The ship sailed past the lighthouse on Mutton Island and on along the coast of Connemara. The poor, unfortunate passengers must have felt that hunger, death and disease were all behind them now and that they were on their way to a better life in America.
[3]

According to various sources, the ship anchored off the coast of Lettermullen to take on fresh water supplies, as it was feared that the water in Galway was infected with disease. It is almost certain that a number of additional passengers boarded at Lettermullen. These people were not listed on the ship's manifest and, later, the authorities were later unable to account for all those who had lost their lives. The captain was suspected of pocketing the fares of these new passengers.

Advertisements for emigrant ships Alice and Abbotsford out of Galway, March 1848.
(The Galway Mercury, 25-3-1848)

Sources indicate that one could obtain a ticket to America by exchanging a bullock to the value of £3. Allegedly, one person from Lettermullen made such an exchange to secure a place on the
St. John.
It was only after the ship had sailed that the true owner of the bullock realised he had been robbed and arrived at the port to reclaim his animal. For most people hard cash was the only currency that secured them a ticket away from hunger.

The ship is believed to have been anchored at Lettermullen for almost a day, and one has to wonder if the
St. John
and its passengers might have outrun the storm had they not delayed for so long. After raising anchor at Lettermullen, the
St. John
sailed out towards the open Atlantic Ocean. The emigrants would have taken one last poignant look at Connemara as it faded from view. While some passengers must have cried for their homeland, knowing they would never see it again, others must have felt cheated by the beautiful but barren land that could no longer sustain its people. What were their thoughts as they sailed out past the Aran Islands?

Notice of Henry Cumerfort's ship Sarah Milledge arriving in Galway and notice of the birth of his grandson.
(The Galway Mercury, 17-7-1847)

As the ship ploughed westward, most of the pas-sengers were crammed into narrow compartments below the main deck. Few had been to sea before this sailing and, as on other famine ships, a wave of seasickness would likely have swept over many of the passengers before the Irish coast had even faded from view.
[4]

The frightened passengers huddled together in the cramped steerage quarters clutching their rosary beads to their chests as the ship rose and fell with the swell of the ocean. Apart from the threat posed by the unknown watery depths below them, the passengers also feared an outbreak of what was termed ‘ship fever', which all too often resulted in death, followed by a lonely burial at sea.

Four days into the journey, the fourteen-year-old-boy was discovered hiding in the hold. His captors were initially very angry and presented him to the captain, but the issue was soon resolved and the boy was passed into the care of his sisters.

The days of sunshine and clear skies that followed had a calming effect on the passengers. They soon became accustomed to the roll of the sea and found the journey more bearable. At meal times they queued in an orderly fashion to cook their meagre food rations on the small stoves available on the open deck. For women such as Mary Sweeney, who had a husband and eleven children to take care of, the ship's cooking arrangements can't have made her job easy.

As the weeks passed by, and the coastline of America drew ever closer, there was a growing sense of hope aboard the ship. A fiddler occasionally played some popular tunes that made children scramble to their feet and try their hand at Irish dancing. With the ship making good time under favourable winds, there was a general air of optimism amongst the passengers. As the
St. John
surged forward, its sails billowing in the strong winds, people began to speculate about what the land of hope and promise would bring. During the first week of October the ship entered the waters of the New World and excitement levels reached a crescendo. The passengers knew they were close and they competed for space along the gunwales each day, their eyes scanning the horizon for the first glimpse of the American coastline. They were almost there. Memories of their homeland, where hunger stalked every road and boreen, began to fade away. The following poem, which was published in the
Galway Mercury
on 5 September 1846, describes the hardship the passengers had left behind:
[5]