"I now call upon Mr. Robert Van
Wyck, his Honor, the mayor of New York City--now the second largest city in the world-- to say a few words."
The mayor took over the megaphone. "My dear new Americans," he said. "You have come to a land where all things are possible, all dreams can become reality for those who dare. To those of you who are Irish I say a special Irish welcome. You'll find that many of our most distinguished citizens are Irish like yourselves. Many of our aldermen here in New York City are
Irish to the core. They rose from humble
circumstances like your own through hard work and through the power of politics. The message I give to you--never underestimate the power of the Irish vote. If we stick together and work for the good of the whole, we can accomplish great things.
"To all you new immigrants I say this--work for the good of the whole. Get involved. Exercise your right to vote. This is a wonderful country. A free country. For the first time in your lives, you have the right to choose. You have the right to direct your own future. Make the most of it!"
Some of the foreigners seemed to get the gist of this. They nodded to each other, smiling, then they clapped, although they glanced around nervously in case the police might be watching.
"This is a special day," the mayor continued. "Today I unveil a plaque, officially dedicating this magnificent new building. A special cake has been baked by our wonderful New York Italian community and I understand that you'll all get a slice once I've cut it."
Even the foreigners understood this one. They smiled and nodded to each other.
"And since Ellis Island is geographically part of our great city, and you'll all be stepping ashore there in a little while, I've brought some of our finest entertainers to make this a festive occasion."
I don't know about anyone else sitting on those hard benches, but I didn't want to be entertained. My nerves were as taut as violin strings. The sooner I faced those uniformed in spectors and got through this ordeal, the better. Still, I didn't have much choice. A Signora Torchelli, whom they announced as a famous opera singer from Italy, now performing in New York, sang us a song in Italian. She certainly had a big voice to match a big body. It echoed around that hall and bounced back from the newly tiled walls. Then the mayor introduced the toast of vaudeville, that famous monologuist and comedian, the darling of the Irish, Billy Brady.
I'd never heard of him. Neither had anyone around me. Obviously not the darling of the Irish in Ireland. He came to the front of the balcony-- a big, jovial man with a round moon face and curly hair. "For my first monologue, I'm going to remind those Irish among you of home," he
said. He turned away, and when he turned back he was wearing a gray wig and a head scarf. Then he launched into a monologue about an Irish grandmother coming to New York. My, but he was funny. He had that Irish grandmother to a tee. All the Irish in the audience shrieked with laughter. The non-English-speakers stared blankly, trying to catch what might be making us laugh. When the monologue had ended, he took off the scarf, put on a monocle, and did an impersonation of the president, Mr. McKinley. This didn't go down so well. None of us knew a thing about Mr. McKinley. We didn't even know what he looked like or whether Billy Brady was doing a good impersonation of him. But the dignitaries up in the balcony were laughing away, so he must have been good. We clapped politely.
The afternoon concluded with the famous Irish tenor, Edward Monagan. He sang "Tis the Last
Rose of Summer," and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Irish mothers and fathers sobbing into each other's arms, children crying because their parents were. Me? I just wished he'd get on with it and leave. I've never been much of a one for sentimental songs.
After the song had ended the mayor's party began to move away. I thought they were leaving and breathed a sigh of relief.
"When do we get the cake?" Seamus whispered in my ear.
"Any time now, I should think," I started to say when there was a commotion on the stairs and I saw that the mayor and some of his party were coming down, into the registry room. A couple of men with cameras ran ahead of him. He stopped to pose on the steps and flashes went off, filling the air with a bitter, burning smell. Then the mayor came down the aisle toward us, shaking hands and patting babies.
"He's acting more Irish than the Irish," I overheard a guard behind us mutter.
"Yes, well he's only here because of Tammany. He knows he's in Tammany's pocket," his fellow guard responded. I didn't know what that meant at the time.
The mayor came closer. More handshakes. More pictures. We happened to be close to the aisle and the mayor's eyes fell upon Bridie, snuggled sleepily upon my lap.
"Here's a little Irish miss if ever I saw one," he said, attempting to pick her up. "And what's your name, darling?"
"Tell the gentleman it's Bridie O'Connor," I prompted, but of course she hung her head shyly and tried to squirm away from him.
"Bridie Connor--what a lovely name for a lovely child," he said. He tried to set her on his knee and motioned to the photographers to take his picture with her. "Welcome to America, Bridie," he said.
Bridie started to cry again, but before I could do anything, the Irish comedian, Billy Brady popped up behind the mayor and made such funny faces that the child actually started laughing. It was the first time I'd heard her laugh. People around us joined in, and soon half of Ellis Island was laughing.
The mayor patted her head and handed her back to me. "Lovely child. Take good care of her," he said. "Gee, but I could do with a whiskey and soda," I heard him mutter to Billy Brady as they made their way out of the hall.
Seven
After they had gone, little paper boxes of cake, like you get for weddings, were passed around among us. They had "Souvenir of the official dedication of Ellis Island, February 27, 1901" printed on them and a picture of the mayor. Most of us were hungry enough to eat the cake without noticing the picture. We'd just finished when Mr. McSweeney, the administrator, addressed us through the megaphone again.
"I'm sorry but the mayor's visit has made it too late to be able to process everyone tonight. Those of you in the back rows of the room, you'll be served supper and then you'll spend the night in the new dormitories, here on the island. But don't worry, we'll try and get you through as quickly as possible in the morning." This message was repeated in other languages. I saw people on other benches turning to mutter to each other, but they didn't make a fuss about the news, like the Irish and English people around me were doing. I suppose in their countries they were used to things going wrong and not being able to do a thing about it.
"Right, come on. Get a move on. Off to chow," the guard barked as soon as the dignitaries had disappeared. I gathered up the children, staggering after the official in a daze. I had managed so well this far but asking me to wait and worry another whole night was just too much. I felt as if I might cry at any moment. I pressed my lips tightly together and shuffled behind the other immigrants as we were led into a dining room full of long tables. Stewed meat and potatoes were served, along with white bread and milk. Some of the foreigners fell upon the white bread as if they'd never tasted such a delicacy before.
After we had eaten, the women were told to follow one guard while the men followed another. We were led through to another building and then upstairs to a dormitory full of iron beds.
"If there's not enough beds, you'll have to make do with the floor," the guard said, looking unconcerned. "There's extra blankets you can sleep on."
Luckily we got a bed. Bridie had held up so well until now, but the sight of this large room, full of strange women, was too much for her. She burst out crying. "I want to go home. I don't like it here." I pressed her to me before she wailed out, "I want my mammy" for the whole world to hear. I rocked her, I held her, I sang to her until at last she fell into an exhausted sleep. Seamus curled up and went to sleep, too. I lay beside them, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. The place was full of strange and uncomfortable noises--the hiss and knocking of the pipes in the central heating system kept jarring me awake. I'd never been in a place with heating before and found it uncomfortably hot. Then there was the sigh of the wind, the mournful bleating of foghorns and the slap of waves, mingled with the snores and coughs of a hundred other women.
One more day and I'd be free. If I could just keep going one more day ... if O'Malley didn't betray me ... if the children didn't give me away ... if the English police hadn't put out a bulletin on me. I very seldom prayed but I prayed now. Holy Mother, let it soon be over. Get me out of here safely and I'll say Hail Marys every day for the rest of my life.
I drifted into uneasy sleep, then woke with a start in the middle of the night. One dim light
cast long shadows across the sleeping room. Sounds of sleep whispered around me. I reached out my arm and touched the coolness of the sheet. Bridie was not in the bed beside me. I leaped up and looked around. Seamus still lay curled up like a small animal, sound asleep. Nothing moved on the neighboring cots. There was no sign of Bridie.
I felt my heart hammering in panic as I moved between the rows of beds, whispering her name, bending to search under each bed, carefully stepping over each sleeping body, until I had covered the entire dormitory. She wasn't there. I ran out into hallway. One dim light glowed at the far end. Where could she have gone? What would have made a child like her, frightened of her own shadow, go off into the terrifying unknown shadows of a strange building?
There were a couple of lavatories just down the hall from the dormitory. I tried them both but she wasn't there, either. I must wake someone, I decided. I must get help. I started to run, blindly, my footsteps echoing back from newly painted walls and stone floors. Someone must be awake in the eerie silence of this sleeping building. I came around a corner and there she was, heading for an open doorway.
"Bridie," I called. She didn't respond. I ran up to her and went to grab her before she entered the room. "Bridie, what on earth were you thinking to ..." Then I saw that her eyes were wide open and staring, like a person possessed. It took me a moment to realize that she was sleepwalking. Poor little mite, after all the shocks of that day, no wonder her sleep was unsettled. I remembered that it can be harmful to wake sleepwalkers too abruptly. I moved ahead of her and was about to kneel to wake her as gently as possible when a figure loomed out of the dark room ahead of us.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" a big voice bellowed.
I swept up the terrified child and looked up to see a big man in the peaked cap and braided uniform of a guard.
"This is the men's dormitory," he said, coming up to us in such a threatening way that I backed hastily. "What are you doing hanging around here?"
"I'm sorry, but the little girl was sleepwalking," I said. "There's no need to shout
at us. We're going back to the women's dormitory this minute."
"And make sure you stay there," he thundered, "Or you'll be sent back where you came from."
I could feel him watching us as I carried the sobbing child back to the safety of the women's dormitory. When I went to sleep again, it was with my arm tightly around Bridie. I wasn't taking any chances.
Women were stirring around me. It was hardly light and the room was distinctly chilly. Surely there was no need to get us up before dawn, was there? But there were lights on in the hallway outside and I could hear alarmed voices shouting and running feet. Something was wrong. A fire? Maybe this grand new building wasn't as fireproof as they thought. But I couldn't smell smoke, and it certainly wasn't what you could describe as warm.
At that moment the electric light was turned on in our room and a guard stood in the doorway. "Everybody up and downstairs to the dining room now," the guard commanded. "There's coffee down there. Wait until you're told what to do next."
He hurried us out and down the stairs to the dining hall. Men from our ship were already sitting at one of the long tables. Wives went to join husbands. I could hear the whisper running from table to table like wildfire. "Yes, in our very room. I saw it myself. Horrible, it was ... poor man ..."
I glimpsed Michael Larkin sitting among the men. He usually looked pale but today he looked positively ashen. I hurried up to him. "I'm so glad to see you're still here," I said. "Do you know what happened?"
A woman leaned across him. "A man was killed," she said in a hoarse whisper.
"An accident?" I asked.
A man farther down the table leaned toward us. "No accident. The fellow had his throat slit from ear to ear."
"A fight?" The man shook his head. "In his sleep, it must have been. Someone who knew what he was doing, that's for sure--and a powerful sharp knife. I was only three beds away and I heard nothing. None of us heard a thing."
"The poor man," the woman beside me said, crossing herself. "To come all this way and then that. Still, he did ask for trouble, didn't he?"
"Who was it?" I asked. "Someone we knew?"
Before Michael could answer, the woman spoke again. "Why, it was that man O'Malley," she said. "The one you slapped across the face."
I have to admit that my first reaction was one of relief. O'Malley was dead. He wouldn't be stirring up any trouble for me with the immigration inspectors. He wouldn't be waiting to make things hard for me in New York. He wouldn't be making trouble for anyone. He was gone. I knew that any good Catholic would be praying for his immortal soul at this moment, but I had never been a good Catholic. I was glad he was gone. Now I was one step closer to being home free.
I squeezed myself and the children onto the bench beside Michael.
"In your dormitory, was it?" I asked.
He still looked shocked and ashen.
"I was the first person to discover him," Michael said. "His throat ... he was wearing that red neck scarf ... bright red ... and all that blood ..." He closed his eyes and shuddered. "I wished him ill, but not like that. No human should be butchered like that. ..."