MacAllister

MacCallister.”

The clerk pulled the card out and looked at it. “Yes, he applied for Section 280417.”

“And where would that be?”

“I’m sorry. I just gave you the map coordinates and for sure it would mean little to you if you didn’t have a map. If you would step back here, I’ll show you where it is.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm said as he pushed through the little swinging half-door that stretched between two sections of the counter and walked back to the map.

“It’s about fifty miles north of here, at this point, where Bear and Little Bear Creek join. Do you see?”

“Aye, and would ye be for having a smaller map available that I could use?”

“Are you filing for land? Because we provide maps, free gratis, for anyone who is applying for land.”

“I’ll not be applying for land,” Malcolm said.

“In that case, I’ll have to charge you fifteen cents for the map.”

“I’ll take it.”

Chapter Twenty-three

New York—Castle Garden Immigration

The steamship Neckar was built by Caird & Co, Greenock, Scotland, for the White Star Lines, and was launched on the 11th of October 1873. It displaced 3,122 tons; had a straight bow, 1 funnel, 2 masts; iron construction, and screw propulsion. The service speed was 16 knots, and the ship had accommodations for 144 passengers in first class, 68 in second class, and 502 in steerage. Angus Somerled, who was no longer the sheriff of Argyll-shire County, took his passage in second class, which lacked some of the amenities of first class, but was far superior to steerage, wherein the passengers were loaded like cattle.

After two weeks in transit, the Neckar was met by two tugboats that nudged the big ship into anchorage at an island off the southwest tip of Manhattan Island. His first view of the United States was a huge round building, so large that nothing could be seen beyond it. This was Castle Garden, and as he followed the other passengers down the gangplank, he saw that the roped-off walkway led all the passengers through a great double door over which hung the sign: UNITED STATES IMMIGRATION.

Once inside, to Somerled’s annoyance, there was an area marked specifically for first-class passengers. The remaining area had a sign that said: SECOND CLASS AND STEERAGE.

Somerled greatly resented being herded in with all the steerage passengers, many of whom had not bathed for the two weeks onboard the ship and now smelled of vomit and body odor. No doubt the vermin were coming to America, certain that they would find fame and fortune in the new country. Somerled wanted to tell them that if they were paupers in Europe, they would be paupers in America.

A small boy, clutching the hand of his mother, whose face was drawn and tired from two weeks in steerage, was looking at Somerled.

“Boy, what are you staring at?” Somerled barked in a voice that was more severe than normal because of his frustration over being processed with the unwashed minions of steerage.

Tears sprang to the boy’s eyes and he turned toward his mother, wrapping his arms around her leg and burying his face in her gray, shapeless dress.

“Sir, I’m sure he meant no harm. He is just a young child.”

“Teach him some manners,” Somerled said, roughly.

A moment later, Somerled was in customs and his luggage was being gone through. The customs officer saw a pistol, and looked up at Somerled.

“I don’t know what you have read, sir, but not all Americans are Wild West cowboys. And most of those who do own guns do not carry them.”

“I’ve no intention of carryin’ the weapon,” Somerled said, though his response was a lie. He had every intention of carrying his pistol.

The customs officer nodded, then searched through the rest of the luggage to make certain Somerled was not bringing anything into the country that might violate customs or require a tax. After customs, the immigrants were sent to various areas for processing, depending upon their language.

Somerled stood in line at the ENGLISH ONLY counter until he reached the front.

“Your name?”

“Somerled. Angus Somerled.”

“John, this one is for you. Another Irishman,” the clerk called to one of the other men.

“I’ll have you know, sir, that I am not Irish,” Somerled said with as much dignity as he could muster. “I am Scot.”

“Irish, Scot, it is all the same to me,” the clerk said. “I handle only people from England. Mr. Patterson will take care of you.”

Somerled moved over to the next space, where a man wearing a green visor looked up at him.

“Where are you from?”

“Scotland, Donuun in Argyllshire.”

“Were you gainfully employed while you were in Scotland?”

“Aye, and was a man of respect, too.”