Journal of a Subordinate Group Member

Journal Entry of a Subordinate Group Member

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Dr. Maas Thomas

Journal Entry of a Subordinate Group Member

The Irish immigrating to America in the mid 1800's was largely prompted by the potato famine that swept through Ireland's countryside. Its people had become nearly completely dependent on the potato crop; the only thing with a high enough yield to feed their families from the small farms forced on them by British landowners. The blight on the potato in October 1845 (caused by a fungus) destroyed about 75 percent of Ireland's potato crop (The Great Irish Famine: Turning Point for Ireland and America, n.d.). Irish folk called it An Gorta Mór--translation: The Great Hunger. This left the Emerald Isle without its major crop for many years. Since potatoes represented the mainstay of nearly 4 million Irish citizens' diet, it is no surprise that the Great Potato Famine led to the demise of close to 1 million people in the five years that followed (The Irish in America, n.d.).

Irishmen and women relied on potatoes for more than just food; they were a way of life. Having no cash crop to buy food to feed their families, or even enough unspoiled potatoes to eat led many people to come to the United States in search of a better life. What they found when they arrived was anything but better though.

18 September, 1846

The potato famine has left many friends and neighbors with no crop, no livelihood, and no food. Death was all around us. Every day brought word of more starving kinsmen and the blight left our own potatoes rotting in the fields. With a wee babe and little te eat, my husband sold the horse, the chickens, and the cow te buy passage te America. (We had heard stories of riches and abundant jobs there). I had te leave my great grandmother's china, crystal, and the furniture behind for there was no money te pay for it te be shipped. Liam and I and baby Tara go te the harbor te board our ship te America, carrying naught but a few clothes, a dummy and nappies for the babe, and some biscuits and soda for me and Liam. (It was a good thing I packed that bit of food because food and water were in short supply on the ship).

Our tickets were in steerage--located below the main deck (Schaeffer, 2006). It was cold, dark, and gloomy there and we were only allowed on deck once every couple of days. Consequently, I spent most of the journey hunched over in a corner retching, as did many of the other passengers crowded in with us. I barely had strength to nurse my littl'un. Occasionally the ship's crewmen would lower a bucket of seawater for us to wash away the vomit and stench before permitting one wee toe out of that hole (Schaeffer, 2006). Te say Boston harbor was a welcome sight would be a wee bit of an understatement.

Less than ideal circumstances greeted us though as we were herded off the ship like so much chattel. People pointed and laughed at us for our clothes ("Irish Potato Famine: Gone To America", (2000)). They shouted names at us for what we eat and told us to go back to Ireland. It was cruel to discriminate against us like that, so it was. We are people; same as they are. We have feelings too.

Aside from being ridiculed and discriminated against; we were segregated into areas around the docks--redlined by the city officials so we would be easy to manage--forced to live in filthy cramped conditions with hundreds of other Irish families and men seeking their fortunes. A fellow countryman came to us a few days later saying he knew of a place for us to stay (Schaeffer, 2006). He spoke Gaeilge, our mother tongue,