Disclaimer: I own Wallace and other stuff that you didn't see in the movie; the characters and the accounts that are from the movie belong to the movie people for Gangs of New York. Also some of the terminology, I got out of the actual book Gangs of New York written in 1927 by Herbert Asbury.
Also too avoid confusion the first couple paragraphs you see are diary entries, it was the best way I figured to start the story. However I hopefully wont have to use that method again. I wrote the diary entries in actual format, meaning words are misspelled, there is no grammar, basically I wrote it how I figured a 11 year old living in the 5 Points who just came over from Scotland would write and talk.
Well now that I've gotten that straightened out enjoy the fic.
7th entry. June 6th 1863. Wallace Levi McClintock.
'Sorry I haven't ritten in so long, I just havent had time. Me father says we're getting close to America, and we should be there in a few days at the most. A part of me is glad, I can hardly wait to leave this bloody boat behind. I've decided I may never leave solid land once we arrive in New York. Then again apart of me is a little fraid of reching America. Father says that America's in a war right now. When I asked with who he said with herself. I'm hoping there's no fiting in New York, just a little bit of what we had to see when we caut our boat in Ireland to take us to Liverpool in Britin where this ship was waiting, was enough fer me, I've seen some fights breaking out, back home in the highlands but I've never seen anything like this, it was there I was starting to dout this trip was really worth it. We sold every thing we owned including our mare Nessie. And now Father hasn't been feeling well fer three days now, he keps saying he's fine but I'm worried 'bout him. So I hope we reach New York soon, I think he'll be fine once we're on land, but he says that it isn't seasickness. See father loves the sea; he grew up near it, while I was born and raised in the highlands. I think we're the only Scots on the boat, everyone else is Irish, most of them are speaking Gaelic, I can only understand a few words. Father however understands everything their saying, but he wont translate all of it. That's all for now, the crew's handing out bread and I've got to get me and fathers piece before some Irish thief takes it. I probly wont be riting till we get to New York, I'm running out of ink and there's not a hole lot of light down here.'
8th entry. June 9the 1963. Wallace Levi McCLintock.
'I know I said I was not going to be riting till we got to New York. We are still not there yet. Captin says we should be there the day after tomarow, but he has been saying that since we left Liverpool. The reson I am riting is Father died this morning. The Captin gave him a buriel at sea. Which is what he would have wanted I think. After the buriel the Captin came over to me and said when we reach New York they were going to put me in some place for orfens, theyd tech me everything I need to no in America and I'd leave the place an edacated young man. Mean while as he's going on 'bout all this, I'm thinking let them try and put me any place once this bot hits land I'm not staying around, I'll be long gone by the time they relies I'm gone. Just as he was saying this an Irish woman father had been talking too near the entire trip, stepped up and said that I wasn't an orfen, I belonged to her. The Captin was as shocked as I. But he didn't say a word after that. I was greatful to the woman. Becuse I've decided that once we reach New York, no matter how long it takes I am going to save up enough money and buy meself a tiket home. I heard that these places they take orfens too don't let them out until they are 18, and that's if theyve behaved. If I got meself stuck in one of those I wouldn't be getting home till I'm at lest 30. I really don't know how I'm going to earn money, I've heard the Captin talking saying that the Irish will work for less wages then anyone else, so all the Irish are taking up all the damn jobs. But that doesnt matter to me, I have a skill that the Irish cant get paid fer, no matter how low of pay they will work fer. Me skill cant be cheated out of long hours fer less money. I'll get me tiket and I'll get home, back to Scotland, where me grandparents are where me mum is buried."
Wallace closed the journal and looked around. All around him his fellow immigrants went about their business. Death had become a daily occurrence on their ship; so one more quick funeral was nothing new. Though they had offered sympathies, they had just done it out of respect for the dead. And Wallace knew that. He didn't even get up off his hammock to get his share of the bread and cold soup being passed out to the passengers. He didn't feel like eating, how could he, his father had just died leaving him alone on a boat surrounded by Irish. None of them where speaking English, they where all talking in Irish, and Wallace could only make out a few words. Such as "Jobs" and "wages." One Irish woman was complaining about the dampness and that it was giving her babies chills. His father had taught him a little Gaelic on their way too Liverpool. But it was only a little bit, it was enough too ask for the way too the dock and too tell someone to get out of the way.
"Not eating aint going to bring him back boyo." An Irish man in his late 30s said to Wallace. As he returned from the stairs leading up on deck where the crew was handing out food. He was looking at Wallace sympathetically.
"Leave me be!" Wallace said loudly.
"Look boyo, you're just going to have to get on with your life."
"Jus' leave me be."
"Ya have a temper, that's good, means you're strong willed. Don't see much of that." The man held up half of his bread. "Look boyo, I'm offering you part of my food."
"I don't want yer sympathies." The man nodded
"Fine I'll just leave it here, I'd eat it quick though. Might not know how long it will stay there." Wallace watched as the man left, he then looked down at the bread and quickly ate a little bit. He took what he hadn't eaten and wrapped it in some paper from his journal and put it in his bag. Suddenly a bell rang up on deck and the first mate poked his head down into the belly of the ship he had a cloth covering his face and Wallace knew why, the smell down there was horrible and he was positive he had seen some rats that could be compared with small dogs. He had red marks from the fleas that littered the hammocks and Wallace hadn't slept longer then an hour at a time for fear of either getting bitten by one of the grotesquely large rats or having his belongings swiped.
"We'll be reaching New York tonight, we'll dock in the morning." Was all he said before retreating back up too the deck. There was cheering all around and Wallace sighed, he'd have to be all set to get off as soon as they hit dock. He picked up his fathers bag and quickly sorted through it. He pulled out things that he wanted too keep, like his fathers timepiece, the money they had left after purchasing the tickets, his fathers knife, and his mothers locket. Wallace took it and clipped it behind his neck. Everything else Wallace put in his own bag and tied it closed. All of his fathers other belongings Wallace put back in the bag and tied it closed. The other stuff he'd sell. He took his cap out from under his blanket and jammed it onto his head pulling it so it shadowed his eyes. Now he was ready, the minute they landed he was out of there, Wallace didn't know exactly where he'd go anywhere where he could still earn a living. Besides he'd only stay long enough too earn his money and go home. As the sun began setting, Wallace could see the outline of land, he wrapped the rope on his bag around his hand and took a deep breath, he was ready.
"New Yerk get ready fer a taste of Scottish 'ighlands."
So did you like the first chapter? I hope so, tell me if you did or you have any suggestions I'm always open to constructive criticism however Flames are not tolerated. *bows* guten tag!