Ships, Dreams, and New Worlds: Three Generations of Family Immigration
Discover how Irish, Slovak, Polish, and Swedish families journeyed to America from the 1850s-1920s. Explore passenger records, settlement patterns, and immigration stories across three generations.
Week 28 of #52Ancestors Challenge: Travel
Every family tree is a map of journeys—some planned, some desperate, all courageous. As I trace my ancestry back through the generations, I'm struck by how many pivotal moments in my family's story involve someone making the extraordinary decision to leave everything familiar behind and cross an ocean toward an uncertain future. Today I want to honor five distinct immigrant journeys that brought my ancestors to America, each representing different waves of migration, different economic pressures, and different dreams of what the New World might offer—including the sobering reminder that the American dream came with very real costs.
William Dowling and Ellen McAuliffe: A Kerry Love Story Across the Atlantic (1857-1858)
From Listowel's struggles to Brooklyn's opportunities
The earliest of my immigrant ancestors arrived as part of the great wave of Irish immigration following the devastating famine years. William Dowling and Ellen McAuliffe, my paternal 2x great grandparents, both presumably hailed from Listowel, County Kerry, Ireland, and both made their separate journeys to America in the late 1850s, only to find each other again in the vastness of New York.
Ellen blazed the trail first, I believe stepping off a ship in New York on August 7, 1857, when she was just 16 years old. Her journey from Cork and Liverpool followed the well-worn Irish immigrant route of the 1850s, when many Irish traveled first to Liverpool before boarding ships bound for America. At such a young age, Ellen likely traveled with family members or under some form of sponsorship—unaccompanied teenage girls rarely made such dangerous journeys alone.
William followed about a year later, arriving around 1858 at approximately age 19. By this time, steamship companies had made travel more established and safer than the notorious "coffin ships" of the famine years. Ships from Irish ports to New York typically completed the journey in 7-10 days, and while steerage conditions still challenged passengers, they had improved considerably from the desperate famine crossings of the 1840s.
What makes their story particularly compelling is how these two young people from the same Irish town managed to find each other again in the bustling chaos of New York and Brooklyn. By 1864, they had married in Manhattan, creating one of those remarkable immigrant love stories where homeland connections rekindled in the New World.
What makes William's transformation particularly impressive is how quickly he established himself in his new country. By the time he achieved naturalization in 1869, he had built a successful dry goods business, operating a store on Grand Street in Brooklyn. His progression from recent immigrant to business owner exemplifies the opportunities that America offered to those willing to work hard and take calculated risks.
Together, William and Ellen raised six children in Brooklyn: John Francis, William F., Florence J., Ellen A., Thomas F. (my great-grandfather), and Timothy S., who died young in 1876. Tragically, Ellen died in September 1875 at just 34 years old, leaving William to raise their children as a widower. Despite this heartbreak, the foundation they had built together provided the economic stability that allowed the family to purchase property and establish lasting roots in Brooklyn—property that remains in the family to this day.
Peter Plunkett and Julia Smith: Building a New Life in Post-Famine Brooklyn (1848-1875)
From County Meath to Brooklyn's opportunities
As for my other paternal 2x great grandfather, Peter Plunkett's arrival in Brooklyn around 1848 represents the Irish immigration story of economic opportunity rather than desperate escape. Born in June 1829, likely in County Meath, Ireland, Peter arrived as American cities were experiencing unprecedented growth, creating opportunities for immigrants with determination and ambition.
By 1850, Peter had not only established himself in Brooklyn but had married Julia Smith, my other paternal great grandmother, also an Irish immigrant born in 1825. Their quick courtship and marriage suggests they may have known each other in County Meath or met through Irish immigrant networks in Brooklyn. Julia's age at marriage (25) was relatively advanced for the era, possibly indicating she had been working and saving money before marriage, which was common for Irish women who emigrated independently.
Peter found work in Brooklyn's bustling waste collection industry, which would eventually lead to his paper business. But he and Julia built the real foundation of their success together as partners. Julia shouldered the enormous responsibility of managing their household during these crucial years. She raised nine children: Bridget, Bernard (who became a priest but died young in 1883), James, John, Peter (also became a priest, dying in 1886), George, Julia, Stephen, and Mary (my great-grandmother). Managing such a large family while Peter built his work demanded extraordinary organizational skills and unwavering dedication.
Julia's tragic death on May 15, 1875, at age 50 came just as the family had achieved economic stability. Peter later remarried Julia's sister Anna, who became the mother of his youngest daughters Margaret and Letitia. This marriage to Julia's sister ensured continuity of care for Julia's nine children while maintaining family connections.
Peter's success enabled him to purchase property and establish lasting roots in Brooklyn—property that remarkably remains in the family to this day. Their story represents the successful Irish immigrant experience of the post-famine era, where courage to cross the ocean and determination to build something lasting created the foundation for generations of American descendants.
Vasilius Marcisak and Anna Hurkala: Escaping the Poverty of Austrian Galicia (1901)
From the Carpathian Mountains to Pennsylvania coal country
The story of the Marcisak and Hurkala families represents the massive wave of Eastern European immigration that transformed American industrial communities at the turn of the 20th century. Vasilius Marcisak and Anna Hurkala, who would later marry (my maternal great grandparents), both left the tiny mountain village of Litmanova, Slovakia, in 1901—but their journeys were separated by geography and timing.
Vasilius departed first in January 1901, sailing to New York aboard the SS Lahn (line 7).1 Anna followed in August 1901, making the longer journey to Baltimore aboard the SS Gera (line 2)2. Behind them, their homeland suffered from crushing poverty in what was then the Kingdom of Hungary (now Slovakia). According to scholarly research, nobles owned more than 90% of all arable land, forcing serfs to work it only as sharecroppers, while the majority of peasants struggled to survive on less than five acres per family—plots too small to support a family of four.3
Upon arrival, both eventually made their way to Star Junction, Pennsylvania, where more than half of Slovak immigrants settled in Pennsylvania to work in the coal mines and coke ovens that powered American industry. Their new home was a company town built around coal production, where the air was thick with smoke and the ground itself was made of cinders from the ovens.
Paulus Dubnianski and Julianna Knysz: Dreams Interrupted in Pennsylvania Coal Country (1903-1906)
From Austrian Galicia to tragedy in the industrial heartland
The Polish branch of my family tree tells perhaps the most heartbreaking immigration story of all, representing the massive wave of Eastern European migration that brought nearly 2 million Polish immigrants to America between 1870 and 1914. Paulus Dubnianski and Julianna Knysz, my other maternal great grandparents, embodied the classic pattern of chain migration and family separation that characterized this era—a journey that would be marked by both hope and tragedy.
Paulus broke the family apart temporarily to pursue their American dream. He made the first crossing in 1903, leaving behind his wife Julianna and their young children in Leluchów, a small town in what was then Austrian Galicia (now southern Poland). Like the Slovak immigrants before him, Paulus fled the economic stranglehold of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, where Polish peasants faced discriminatory taxation, limited educational opportunities, and little chance for land ownership. The Austrians deliberately prevented industrialization in Galicia, maintaining it as an agricultural supplier while extracting wealth for the empire's benefit, and education lagged behind with only 15% of peasants attending any kind of school.5
The separation tore at their hearts but served a strategic purpose. Paulus needed time to establish himself in Pennsylvania's coal country, find steady work, and save enough money to bring his family to America. For three long years, an ocean separated the young father from his wife and children—a sacrifice that thousands of immigrant families endured in pursuit of economic stability.
Julianna's journey came in 1906, following the same route through Bremen, Germany, that had carried countless Eastern European immigrants before her. The passenger manifest shows her traveling with her two oldest children, Michael and Mary (lines 6-8)6, as she made the difficult decision to leave their homeland forever and join Paulus in America.
But their American dream was tragically cut short. On June 29, 1912, just nine years after his arrival and six years after the family's reunion, Paulus was struck and killed by a locomotive at age 37. This industrial accident left Julianna widowed with young children in a foreign country where she barely spoke the language. When Julianna herself died in 1920, my grandfather George was orphaned at just ten years old—a stark reminder that the pursuit of the American dream came with very real costs for immigrant families.
The tragedy illustrates the harsh reality faced by immigrant families in America's industrial age—the same railroads and heavy industry that provided economic opportunities also posed constant dangers to working-class families trying to build new lives in their adopted homeland.
David Sten: The Modern Swedish Voyager (1926)
From the land of midnight sun to American opportunity
My paternal grandfather David Svensson Sten represents what we might call the "modern" immigrant experience—though his 1926 journey was still fraught with uncertainty and courage. At just 18 years old, David made a calculated decision to follow his siblings Alma and Hugo to America, purchasing a second-class ticket aboard the S.S. Gripsholm for the then-substantial sum of 600 Swedish Kronor.
David's journey began in Gothenburg, Sweden, where he boarded one of the most advanced passenger ships of its era. The Gripsholm, operated by Swedish American Line, offered a world apart from the cramped steerage vessels that had carried earlier generations of immigrants. With improved third-class accommodations that featured "two, three and four-berth staterooms where people who pay the minimum fare may yet have all the privacy and comfort which is vouchsafed the millionaire," the ship represented a new era of immigrant travel.
By 1926, the Swedish immigration experience was fundamentally different from the desperate flights of previous decades. David wasn't fleeing starvation or persecution—he was pursuing opportunity. His brother Hugo had already established himself in Delaware, creating the kind of chain migration network that made the journey both safer and more purposeful.
The Gripsholm carried David smoothly across the Atlantic during a comfortable week-long crossing that contrasted sharply with earlier immigrant experiences. David stepped onto American soil in New York harbor in December 1926 with his Swedish passport, proper documentation, and a clear plan to join his brother in Delaware, where he would eventually build a career as a carpenter. David's love for building flowed naturally to his son, whose first job in construction helped build the infrastructure at LaGuardia Airport in New York—quite literally helping to construct the gateway that would welcome future generations of immigrants to America.
Five Journeys, One American Story
What strikes me most about these five immigration stories is how they represent the full spectrum of reasons people leave their homelands and the complete range of outcomes that awaited them in America. David Sten's 1926 journey was a young man's calculated pursuit of opportunity, armed with documentation, family connections, and reasonable expectations of success. The Slovak and Polish families of 1901-1906 were escaping poverty and seeking economic advancement, riding the wave of industrial demand for workers. The Irish families of the 1850s-1860s were escaping famine's aftermath and building the foundation of American urban communities.
Yet all these journeys required the same fundamental courage: the willingness to leave behind everything known and familiar for the promise of something better. Whether traveling in the relative comfort of early 20th-century steamships or enduring the hardships of earlier immigrant vessels, each of these immigrants made choices that would echo through generations.
The story of Paulus and Julianna adds a sobering dimension to this narrative—a reminder that immigration's promise came with real risks. Industrial accidents, early death, and family separation were the prices some immigrant families paid for pursuing the American dream. My grandfather George's orphaning at age ten wasn't unique; it was part of the larger immigrant experience where families often endured profound losses in their pursuit of better lives.
But even in tragedy, these stories reveal the remarkable resilience of immigrant communities. When Paulus died and Julianna was left widowed, the Polish-American community in Pennsylvania's coal country provided the support networks that helped families survive. When George was orphaned, the extended family and community connections ensured his survival and eventual success in his adopted country.
The Foundation of Everything
These five journeys didn't just change individual lives—they created the entire foundation for my existence and for countless American communities. Without David's carpentry skills, the Marcisak-Hurkala work ethic, the Dubnianski-Knysz determination despite tragedy, Peter and Julia's entrepreneurial partnership, and the Dowling family's community-building efforts, the intricate web of connections that eventually led to my family would never have formed.
Today, as I research these journeys through ship manifests, naturalization records, death certificates, and family documents, I'm constantly amazed by the ripple effects of these immigration decisions. David's carpentry skills influenced his son and grandsons. The Slovak work ethic built American industry. The Polish family's tragedy reminded us that courage doesn't always guarantee success. Peter Plunkett's paper business created economic foundations that sustained extended family networks. The Irish families' determination to establish roots led to property ownership that benefits our family to this day.
These weren't just individual journeys—they were the building blocks of American communities, the foundation stones of the cities and industries that would define the nation's character. Every census record, every naturalization paper, every ship manifest, every tragic death certificate represents not just a name or a date, but a moment when someone chose hope over fear, possibility over security, the unknown over the familiar.
The five immigrant experiences in my family tree remind us that American immigration has always been complex, challenging, and costly. Some journeys ended in prosperity and multi-generational success. Others ended in tragedy but still contributed to the larger story of community building and American development. All of them required extraordinary courage and faith in an uncertain future.
As I continue researching these family lines, I'm reminded that genealogy isn't just about collecting names and dates—it's about honoring the extraordinary courage of ordinary people who dared to cross oceans in pursuit of dreams they could barely imagine. Their journeys created not just my family tree, but the rich, complex tapestry of American immigration that continues to evolve today.
Do you have immigrant ancestors who crossed oceans to reach America? What were the conditions that drove them to leave their homelands, and what do you know about their journey? I'd love to hear about the travels that created your own family tree!