Weavers of the Tapestry
by Kathrine E. Bellamy, RSM

In the days leading up to May 2, 1842, the date set for the departure of the missionaries, Baggot Street was a beehive of activity as friends and relatives flocked to the convent for a final visit. The departure itself was noted in Weekly Orthodox Journal:

Wednesday the following clergymen and religious ladies sailed in the Sir Walter Scott, from Kingstown Harbour, for their mission in Newfoundland: Rev. John Regan, of the Newfoundland mission (formerly of Ireland); Rev. Jas. Gleeson, Waterford; Rev. Matthew Scanlan, Cashel; Rev. John O’Neill, ditto; Rev. John Cullen, Wexford; Sister Mary Teresa [sic] of the House of Mercy, Baggot Street; Sister Mary Rose, ditto; Sister Mary Ursula, ditto;

Miss Maria Supple, Dublin, Miss Catherine Waters, ditto; and Miss Catherine Phelan, ditto. Previous to their departure they were visited by several of their friends and relatives. This ship carries out nearly one thousand tons of finely cut stone for the splendid new cathedral of St. John [sic], Newfoundland.

As the sisters strained for a last glimpse of their beloved Ireland, the first qualms of seasickness turned their thoughts to more urgent matters. Nevertheless, we are told that once they became accustomed to the ship’s motion, the travellers enjoyed the experience of the sea voyage across the Atlantic. As the Sir Walter Scott approached Newfoundland, the sisters may have watched the stately procession of majestic icebergs that visit the waters along the east coast of the island during the spring and early summer. Perhaps they were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of whales in their pursuit of the millions of silver caplin on their annual visit to the beaches of Newfoundland.

Early on the morning of June 3, the wind changed, and a soft westerly breeze turned the restless sea into a blue expanse of water, with waves dancing in the sun. Word went around the ship that land had been sighted some hours before dawn and that the long journey was almost at an end. The sisters went on deck to catch sight of their future home. In the distance they could see the long, rocky face of Newfoundland. Francis Creedon had seen it all before, but for the other three, the sight of the craggy headlands and the seemingly unbroken line of forbidding rock may have filled them with dismay. They were accustomed to the gentle green hills and valleys of Ireland. Now they were faced with what seemed to be a stern, unyielding land. As the ship drew closer, they were aware of small pinnacles of rock thrusting up through the surface of the waves. Ahead of them, the rugged cliffs had been transformed by the sun into a multicoloured wall of blue, gray, silver, and black. Soon they were able to distinguish a narrow opening in the wall of rock that surrounded their new home. One of the sailors may have explained that this opening was called “The Narrows.” They must have been disappointed when they were told that, because of the direction of the wind, they could not enter the harbour until the following day. However, the impatient Bishop Fleming was not about to wait a moment longer than necessary to escort his new community to their temporary home. He hired a pilot boat and went out to bring them ashore himself. It is doubtful that his plan received an enthusiastic response from the sisters. They eyed with consternation the frail rope ladder descending from the deck of the Sir Walter Scott to a small boat tossing around on the surface of the restless ocean. While the bishop urged them on with cries of encouragement, one can imagine each sister nervously approaching the rail and cautiously climbing down the ladder into the waiting arms of a brawny sailor. The bishop wrote, “In a short time [we] got all on board the boats, although from the great height of the vessel and the heaving of the sea, it was attained with some difficulty to get the ladies safely and comfortably placed there.”

The experience of entering St. John’s Harbour is memorable, even today. The towering hills with stunted fir and spruce trees clinging to the rock give no hint of what lies a mile or so ahead. It was not until their boat had entered the Narrows that, suddenly, the sisters could see the whole town of St. John’s laid out in the form of an amphitheatre, the streets rising one above the other on the northeast side of the harbour. Bishop Fleming described the town as it was seen by the sisters in 1842:

The aspect of a fishing hut perched in a nook among hanging and perpendicular rocks which for some time puzzle you to discover a means of approach to the [shore]. The wide spread fish flake, here carried over the rocks and even over the sea, and there with its myriad of props in shores supporting over the dwelling house and extensive stores; again the stages where fish is taken in from the boats running far out upon the sea in sheltered coves.

[The little sheds] with grass on top to keep out the rain and sun—all of these appear in the eyes of the European visitant exquisitely picturesque, and they failed not to excite the greatest interest particularly in the Sisters of Mercy who, not improbably, were filled with the thought that, amid scenes such as these, and amongst the poor who dwelt thus in positions the very approach to which, particularly in winter, was pregnant with danger, their future destinies were cast.

When at last they arrived at the wharf, the sisters were a little overwhelmed, perhaps, at the throngs of people gathered to welcome them. They, and the two young ladies destined for the Presentation Convent, were introduced to Mrs. Tobin, who brought them to her home to await the bishop’s carriage. After a brief visit to the Presentation Convent, where they took leave of the Presentation postulants and Maria Supple, the bishop escorted them to the church to offer prayers of thanksgiving for their safe arrival. After that, they were brought to the bishop’s own home on Henry Street where they resided until their convent was ready for occupancy. The fact that the Sisters of Mercy were housed in the bishop’s own residence is confirmed in a letter from Fleming to Dr. O’Connell in which he stated, “. . . the Sisters of Mercy taking up their abode at my residence which I had given up to them pro temper, until I should have prepared for them a more suitable and comfortable dwelling.” In another letter from Fleming to O’Connell, August 1846, the bishop identified his residence as being next to the chapel, “situated a little north of Duckworth Street.” On yet another occasion the bishop stated that, for a few months after their arrival, the Sisters of Mercy lived in his own home, which “I gave up altogether to them” until their convent was ready.

That evening as they gathered for the prescribed hour of recreation, the sisters had a special reason to celebrate, for the day that saw the end of one journey and the beginning of a new and exciting future was the Feast of the Sacred Heart. Perhaps in their excitement, they forgot the words of Catherine McAuley to Frances Warde, “If they should have a new foundation—it will not be without the cross.”