An Interview with an Irish Immigrant, New York, 1850

Céad Míle Fáilte – and welcome to your Letter from Ireland for this week. All’s well here in County Cork with the weather settling down for an extended dry spell with just the odd shower. Ideal Irish summer weather! How are things in your part of the world today?

I’m sipping on a cup of Lyons’ tea as I write and I do hope you’ll join me now with a cup of whatever you fancy as we start into today’s letter.

One of the most frequent enquiries I hear both on the letter and over in the Green Room is: “I wonder what life was like for my Irish immigrant ancestor?” The questioner often wonders about living conditions in Ireland, where they worked or farmed – what made them pack up and head off for a new life in a new land. Well, today I’d like to try something a little different to help answer these questions – so, humour me if you will.

Imagine if instead of wondering “what life was like for my ancestor” – wouldn’t it be amazing if you had the opportunity to ask them? That’s what we will do in today’s Letter. Let me explain some more. We have a big project this year in the Green Room. To mark our 10th year, over in the Green Room we are following a number of emigrant families from rural Ireland in the mid 1800s – and tracking them as they made their way first to Dublin, then over to Liverpool before boarding a sailing ship for a new life in one of the cities of North America. One of the families we are tracking are the Fitzpatricks from County Roscommon. They left Roscommon in 1850 and slowly made their way to New York.

In the following exchange, I imagine myself “interviewing” the father of the family – Dan Fitzpatrick – a couple of days after they have disembarked from their Irish immigrant ship on the lower east side of Manhattan, New York City.

An Interview with an Irish Immigrant, New York, 1850.

Today, we’re bringing you a story from one of the darkest periods in Irish history – the Great Hunger of the mid-1800s. I’ve had the opportunity to “speak” with Dan Fitzpatrick, who arrived in New York’s Lower East Side after an arduous journey from Ireland. I feel that his story, while fictional, represents the experiences of countless Irish families who made this difficult journey. Let’s hear from Daniel himself.

Mike: Mr. Fitzpatrick, thank you for speaking with me. Can you tell us about your journey from Roscommon to here in New York’s Lower East Side?

Dan: (sighs deeply) Ah, it’s been a long and trying journey, to be sure. We left our home in Roscommon this past summer. The potato blight left us with little choice. We made our way to Liverpool and from there boarded a ship bound for New York. The journey took nigh on 60 days, and while it wasn’t easy, we were fortunate compared to many others.

Mike: You say you were fortunate. Can you say a little more?

Dan: Well, we’ve heard terrible stories about the “coffin ships” where so many poor souls perished. Our ship, thank God, had a doctor on board. They allowed time on deck each day for fresh air, and we had enough food to see us through. Now don’t mistake me, t’was still a hard crossing. My wife Brigid, myself, and our six children all had to sleep in the same 6 by 6 cot and there was sickness the likes of which I’ve never seen before. But we’re here now, all of us, and for that, we’re grateful.

Mike: Can you tell us about your family and your first impressions of New York?

Dan: Of course. Well, I’m an old man – coming on 60 now – and my wife Brigid is a few year younger. We were married in 1821 in our home village of Croghan. Our eldest, Bridget, God bless her, is 28 now. Then there’s Mary who’s 15, Thomas who’s 11, Margaret who’s 9, John who’s 7, and our youngest is just a wee one.

As for this city, it’s… overwhelming, to say the least. The streets are crammed with people, more than I’ve ever seen in the one place. I’ve heard it’s one of the biggest cities on earth now. The buildings are packed tight, and the streets are narrow. The noise never stops! T’is a far cry from Roscommon, but we’re grateful for a roof over our heads.
 

Mike: I know it’s only been a few days, but how are you getting on in this new place?

Dan: Tis a comfort to hear Irish voices around us, I never knew there were so many accents in Ireland until I came here. I can hardly understand the Donegal lads. As for the Kerry girls, they seem to speak a different language. So we’ve settled near some other Irish families, which helps. There’s a strong sense of community among us. A bit like back at home, we’re all in this together, you see.

The conditions are hard, mind you. I hear that disease spreads quickly in these crowded buildings, and we’re all wary of it. But there’s comfort in the Irish community. We’ve found solace in Old St. Pat’s on Mott Street. Old “Dagger” Hughes there is a powerful voice for us too.

I hope we’ll hold on to the old ways. Just last night, we gathered with neighbours for some music and dancing. It reminded us of home, even in this strange new place. You should hear the stories being told – it’s like the four corners of Ireland have arrived in the one place.

Mike: What are your plans now that you’ve arrived?

Dan: Well, we have some neighbours from back home who’ve came over the last few years. We’ll be meeting with them, getting some help on finding our feet. I’ve worked the land all my life, but I’ll turn my hand to whatever work I can for my final few years. I’ve heard there might be work on the docks or in the buildings. The children will need to find work too. The girls will get some work as domestic servants – I’ve heard Irish girls are in demand for that.

Mike: The Great Hunger has forced so many to leave Ireland. How do you feel about leaving your home?
 

Dan: (long pause) It breaks my heart, truly it does. Roscommon has been home to my family for generations. But the rot… it left us no choice. We held on for years – but in the end it was too much. We were starving.

At least here, there’s hope for the children. But I’ll not lie to you – I won’t ever see Ireland again and that’s a heavy feeling to have in your heart.

Mike: What are your hopes for the future here?

Dan: We’re hoping for a better life, of course. It’s why we came. I hope that we’ll be free now, answering to no one and part of something bigger. It’s hard now, but I hope our children and grandchildren will have a freedom that we could only dream of in Ireland.

Mike: Thank you for sharing your story with us, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Is there anything else you’d like to say to our readers?
 

Dan: Just this – remember us. Remember all those who had to leave, and those who didn’t make it. And for those who did make it, remember that they carry a piece of Ireland with them, no matter how long they’ve been away.

As for those who are newly arrived like us, hold onto hope. They say America is a land of opportunity. Let’s pray it’s true for all of us. And never forget Ireland.

I expect that Dan Fitzpatrick’s story, while created for this letter, represents the experiences of countless Irish immigrant families during the Great Hunger. The Fitzpatricks were a small part of the great wave of immigration that would transform the Lower East Side, New York and, indeed, America itself.

How about you? What other questions would you ask your Irish immigrant ancestor in such a situation? How did their experiences shape your family’s history and identity?

I hope you enjoyed our “experiment” in the letter this week – let me know if you would like to see some more “interviews” like this one.

Slán go fóill (pronounced slawn gu foal) – Goodbye for now,
Mike.