ACCOUNT: The following was written in the USA in 1930 by Daniel E. Harrington and found among his personal papers. These entries were written over a three-year period and gives a very interesting glimpse into the hardships of emigrants in the 19th century. Part 1: 1930 - "My father, John Harrington (Causkie) was born in the parish of Eyeries on 21 June 1819. His father John Harrington, as near as my information goes, was a native of Castletown proper (Castletownbere) Co. Cork. My great-great-grandfather also bore the name of John. He had several brothers, two of them Daniel and Cornelius being pressed into military service in the wars between England and France in the last part of the 18th century, both losing their lives in the conflict. Bere Island was the birthplace of my mother. Her name was Mary Harrington (Kebugh) - (Kebugh a secondary surname commonly used on the Beara Peninsula). My grandfather's wife died in Ireland about 1830, leaving three children, two boys and one girl, my father then being the oldest, and about eleven years. A second marriage took place in a few years, this time to Margaret Harrington from the adjoining Co. Kerry. She had two children, Mary and Daniel, who came to this country after my grandfather preceded her with my father and his brother Timothy. My grandfather and his two sons, John (my father) and Timothy, landed in Quebec, Canada, in June 1837, having left their home on St. Patrick's Day of that year. After they had secured a footing they sent for the family left at home, consisting of my father's own sister Hannah and my grandfather's second wife with her babies. During my grandfather's three months' voyage the ship fever had spread through the hapless emigrants, so that half of them were sick, many dying before they reached the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. It was an everyday occurrence to see from one to three corpses committed to the deep long before those unhappy voyagers sighted land. Among those on the sick list was my father's brother Timothy. My father knew the "yards" and could ply the oars like a real sailor. This kept him above the deck a good deal, thus saving his health on the trip over. But by the time the ship made quarantine below Quebec all hopes of saving Timothy's life had been given up by the doctors in charge. Hundreds of Irish emigrants were being buried in mud trenches on the shore of the St. Lawrence River. My grandfather was an eye-witness to this during the week that they waited for a final decision on Timothy's condition. When the word came to him that it was no use waiting longer, he asked for and received permission to dig a grave for Timothy high up and away from the water, so that at some future date he would return and give his son a more respectable resting place. My grandfather now set out for the copper mines of Stratford, Vermont, about three hundred miles away. Fortunately he had enough to pay for his passage via boat on the river to Montreal, then by stagecoach to the nearest point on Lake Champlain, boat again to Burlington and then by foot and anyway he could to Stratford. This journey took about seven days. He went to work at once in the mine as a foreman." - to be continued.