We found
the steamer waiting for us, and the little pier thickly crowded with
people waiting to go on board or to see their friends on board. The
deck was, indeed, so crowded, that it was not an easy matter to get
from one part of it to another: and the crowding and confusion were
still further increased by the whole of the fore part of the vessel
being occupied by cattle.
It was
soon seen that a party of emigrants had come or were coming on board,
and were now taking leave of their friends with every token of the
most passionate distress. With that utter unconsciousness and disregard
of being the observed of all observers, which characterises authentic
sorrow, these warm-hearted and simple-minded people demeaned themselves
entirely as if they had been shrouded in all the privacy of home,
clinging to and kissing and embracing each other with the utmost ardour,
calling out aloud in broken tones, the endeared name of brother, sister,
mother, sobbing and crying as if the very heart would burst, while
the unheeded tears ran down from the red and swollen eyes literally
in streams. It was a sight no human being could see unmoved: and when
the final orders were given to clear the ship and withdraw the gangway,
the howl of agony that rose at once from the parting deck and the
abandoned pier, was perfectly overpowering. “O Mary! O Kitty!
O mother dear! O brother! O sister, God bless you! God preserve you!
The Lord in Heaven protect you!” and a thousand other wild and
pious ejaculations, broken and intermixed by agonising cries and choking
sobs, literally filled the air, and almost drowned the roar of the
engine and the wheels that tore the loving hearts that uttered them
asunder.
Amid
the crowds of people on the pier, swaying to and fro as they shouted
aloud and waved their hats and handkerchiefs. Several women were seen
kneeling on the stones, kneeling and weeping, with their hands raised
fixedly above them, and so continuing as long as they could to be
distinguished from the receding crowd.
The
scene was altogether a most painful one to witness, and not soon forgotten
by those who witnessed it. If it told, in language not to be misunderstood,
of the warm and strong affections of a most cordial people, it brought
home the truth to the fancies of all, and to the memories and hearts
of many – that there is no greater pang in store of life’s
ills than Separation. And, indeed, such a separation as this, is often
a greater pang, to one of the sufferers at least, than death itself
is; for here, on both sides, nature still retains her full consciousness
of loss and her full strength to suffer; while Providence has most
kindly so ordered it, in the great separation of all, that the woe
on one side at least, is more than half lost in the weakness.
There
were about twenty of these emigrants, all destined, in the first place,
to Liverpool by way of Dublin. The majority of them were going to
the United States, but several, particularly the young women, were
bound for Australia. Every one was going out on funds supplied by
their friends who had preceded them to the land of their exile.
One
woman, with two children, was going to Philadelphia to join her husband,
having already received £15 from him, although he had left Ireland
less than a year. He had borrowed a good part of the money, the wife
said, from his brother, who had been longer settled than himself.
Several
young unmarried women were going to Australia, expecting to be taken
in as domestic servants immediately on their arrival. They too, had
been invited, on the same irresistible terms, by their absent friends
and relations to share their exile. There were one or two complete
families, father and mother and children; but most of them were but
links in a broken chain which had its ends in opposite quarters of
the earth.
Among
the most deeply affected of these poor exiles were two young girls,
who, at the invitation of some friends in Australia, were leaving
nearly all the links of their chain of affection behind them. I believe
one of the kneelers was their mother, as when dragged forcibly from
them, she had sunk on her knees as she had reached the shore. They
had a brother also, a strong, rough, long-coated young fellow, who,
not withstanding all remonstrances and entreaties that he would leave
his sisters and go on shore, had so many last words and fresh leave-takings,
that when he at last broke lose from them, he found the gangway hauled
up, and the ship’s side some distance from the pier. I don’t
think he intended this, but his stay was an evident respite both to
himself and his sisters. In his various subsequent attempts to cheer
his sisters, he at length adopted one expedient, which I presume must
be regarded as completely national: he set-to, with right good will
and with all his might, to dance jigs before them! Poor fellow, it
was at once laughable and melancholy to see the mingled grotesque
and sorrowful expression on his countenance, more especially when,
amid his formal mirth, he now and then caught a glance of his sisters
rubbing their swollen eyes. He however, held up wonderfully well until
our arrival at the next stopping place (Williamstown), when the final
leavetaking was made, and as he took his departure from the ship,
setting up, as soon as he descended into the boat, such another portentous
howl as had signalled the parting at Killaloe.
