THE "STAR OF THE SEA"
There was a vast crowd assembled down where the extemporized pier jutted
into the creek, and where the new fishing-boat, perfect in all her
equipments, lolled and rolled on the heaving of the tide. Her high mast
made an arc of a circle in the warm June air, as the soft, round
wavelets lifted her; and many was the comment made on her by those whose
eyes had never rested but on the tarred canvas of the coracle.
"She has a list to port!" said an old mariner, critically.
"Where's yer eyes, Jur?" cried another. "Don't ye see she lanes to
stabbord?"
"I'll bet dhrinks all round she's level as the althar," said a third.
"'Twill take six min to navigate her," cried an old salt, who had been
around the world.
"'T is aisy to get 'em for the big wages the priest is offering."
"How much?" cried a mariner from Moydore.
"Fifteen shillings a week, an' a share in the profits."
"Here's the capt'n and the priests. Now, boys, for a cheer."
And there was a cheer that made the ocean shiver, and fluttered the
flags over the tents, and made even the trick-o'-the-loop men pause in
their honest avocation, and the orange-sellers hold their wares
suspended in midair.
"Is that him?" was the cry, as Father Letheby, his face aglow with
excitement and pride, came down the by-path to the pier.
"That's him, God bless him!" said the Kilronan men. "'Twas a lucky day
brought him among us. What are yere priests doing?"
"Divil a bit!" said the strangers, who felt themselves humiliated.
There was a ring of merchants around Father Letheby, the shopkeepers
over from Kilkeel and Loughboro' who had subscribed to the balance of
local aid required by the Board of Works. They scanned the boat
critically, and shuffled, in imagination, the boundless profits that
were to accrue.
A light breeze blew off the land, which was another favorable omen; and
it was reported that the coast-guards had seen that morning the Manx
fishing-fleet about twelve miles to the south'ard.
There had been a slight dispute between Father Letheby and Campion about
the naming of the craft, the latter demanding that she should be called
the "Bittra Campion of Kilronan," and Father Letheby being equally
determined that she should be called the "Star of the Sea." Bittra
herself settled the dispute, as, standing in the prow of the boat, she
flung a bottle of champagne on the deck, and said tremulously: "I name
her the 'Star of the Sea.'"
But she grew pale, and almost fainted, as the heavy bottle, without a
break, pirouetted down between sails and cordage, and seeking an opening
in the gunwale of the boat flopped into six fathoms of sea-water.
It was a dread omen, and all felt it. Nothing could have been more
inauspicious or unlucky. But the Celtic wit and kindness came to her
aid.
"Never mind, Miss; 't isn't you, but the d----d old hulk that's
unlucky."
"Thim bottles are made of sheet-iron; they're so tick they don't hould a
glassful."
"One big cheer, byes, for the 'Star of the Say.'"
It was a big cheer; but somehow there was a faltering note somewhere;
and when Father Letheby handed Bittra ashore and the decks were cleared,
and the crew summoned to make her ready to clear off, the men held back,
cowed and afraid.
"You miserable cowards," said Father Letheby; "afraid of every little
accident! I'll not let one of you now aboard; I'll get a crew of men
from Moydore!"
This stung them to the quick; and when a few Moydore boys stood forward
and volunteered, they were rudely flung aside by the four stalwart
fishermen, and we went near having a good free fight to crown the
morning's proceedings. Yet it was easy to see that their hearts were
heavy with superstition and fear; and it was just at this crisis that
Campion stepped forward and offered himself as captain and helmsman.
There was a genuine ringing cheer when he walked down her deck; for
every one knew what a splendid seaman he was, and it is exhilarating to
see a strong man, self-reliant and confident, assume an authority and
premiership by natural right, where weaklings are timid and irresolute.
The clouds moved off from Father Letheby's face only to gather more
deeply upon poor Bittra's. Campion saw it and came over to where she
stood, leaning on Ormsby's arm.
"I would be miserable up at that old castle, mignonne," he said fondly,
"when you and Ormsby depart. It is only a few hours at sea, and it will
give nerve to these poor fellows."
"Father! father!" was all that she could say through her tears. What
dreadful forebodings filled that gentle heart!
"Tell her it's all right, Ormsby!" Campion said, turning away from the
tearful face. "You know all about the sea, and that there's no danger.
What a noble craft she is! Good by, little woman! You have no time to
lose if you want to catch the mail. Good by, Ormsby! Take care of her!"
He choked down his emotion as he kissed his child, and then sprang on
deck.
"All right, lads! Ease off her head first! There, cast away aft!"
And the pretty craft was caught up by the flowing tide; and with the
strong hand at the helm, floated calmly down the deep creek until she
reached a wider space, where the wind could catch her. Then they raised
a white sail, half-mast high, and she leaned over to the pressure until
she shot out amongst the breakers, and her mainsail and topsail shook
out to the breeze, and she cut the calm sea like a plough in the furrow,
and the waters curled and whitened and closed in her wake. Then, at a
signal, her pennant was hauled to the masthead; and every eye could read
in blue letters on a white ground "Star of the Sea." There was a
tremendous cheer, and the fishing-boat went forward to her fate.
Long after the crowd had dispersed, two figures leaned on the
battlements of the bridge that spanned the fiord higher up near the
great house. Bittra fluttered her little handkerchief as long as the
dark speck at the helm could be discerned. Then the boat, now but a tiny
white feather in the distance, was lost in the haze; and Bittra and her
husband set out on their wedding journey.
* * * * *
As we went home, Father Letheby showed me a letter received that morning
from the manager of the great firm at Loughboro', complaining that the
work lately sent from the Kilronan factory was very imperfect, and,
indeed, unsalable, and calling for the first instalment payable on the
machines.
"I called the girls' attention to this," he said, "some weeks ago, when
the first complaints were made; and some pouted, and some said they were
doing too much for the wages I gave them, although, to encourage them, I
gave them nearly double what I had stipulated for, and have left myself
without a penny to meet this first instalment."
"Come," I said, "this won't do. Let us go in and see all about this!"
We went upstairs to the great room, to find it empty of workers. The
girl who was placed in the position of superintendent was knitting in a
corner, and rose as we entered.
"Where are the girls, Kate?" he said, not unkindly.
"I don't know, your reverence. They were saying yesterday that this
should be a holiday."
"They knew all this work was waiting, and that the manager was
complaining."
"They did, indeed, your reverence. I told them so, and one said: 'Let
them wait.' They're grumbling about the wages, though they were never
better off in their lives before."
"Are they all of the same mind in that matter?"
"Oh, no, your reverence. Nine of the girls are anxious, and are really
grateful for the work; but there are three doxies, who have bachelors,
if you please, and they think themselves quite above the work."
"I see. I think I know them. They won't come here again. Can you supply
their places?"
"Easy enough, your reverence, but--"
"Never mind. I'll do that myself."
He did. He dismissed the recalcitrants promptly; but when it became a
question of obtaining substitutes, it was not so easy.
The rest of the girls went to work the following day; but as they passed
through the village in the evening on the way home, they were hooted
unmercifully, called "staggeens," "thraitors," "informers," and, as a
result, remained at home, and sent in their resignation to Father
Letheby. Not that the entire body of villagers sympathized with this
disgraceful conduct; but the powers of evil are more aggressive than the
agents of goodness; and the children of darkness are wiser in their
generation than the children of light. I suppose it is the same the wide
world over; but, of a surety, in Ireland one rebel makes a thousand. No
one thinks himself called upon to be a martyr or witness to the right.
Of course, Father Letheby had sympathizers; but they limited their
sympathy to kindly criticism:--
"He was well in his way, making ladies of thim that ought to be diggin'
praties in the fields."
"He's young, Maurya; when he gets oulder, he'll know betther."
"Shure, they were bad enough to say he was puttin' the money in his own
pocket, and dem goin' to their juty every month."
"I hard my lady with the fringes and the curls and the cuffs say that
the poor priest was turning a good pinny by it; and that he larned the
thrade from his father."
"The dirty whipster; an' I saw the chops and the steaks goin' in her
door, where a fryin'-pan was never known to sing before."
"An' her kid gloves an' her bonnet on Sunday. Begor, the Lady G---- is
nothin' to her."
"Well, the poor priest is well rid av thim, however. I suppose 't will be
shut up now."
Nevertheless, the girls never came back. The terror of some nameless,
undefined apprehension hung over them.
* * * * *
But I am anticipating. We dined with Father Letheby the evening of this
eventful day. We had a pretty large party of priests; for a good many
had come over to witness the launch of the fishing-boat. And, Father
Letheby's star being in the ascendant, he had a few worshippers,
unenvious, except with the noble emulation of imitating him. This is the
rarest, but most glorious success that life holds forth to the young and
the brave. Fame is but a breath; Honor but the paint and tinsel of the
stage; Wealth an intolerable burden; but the fire of noble rivalry
struck from the souls of the young in the glow of enthusiasm--here is
the only guerdon that the world can give to noble endeavor, and the
kingly promises of success. And my brave curate, notwithstanding the
reverses of the morning, rose to the occasion, kindled by the sincere
applause that rang around him for noble efforts that had passed into
completeness and fruition; and I, an old man, just about to make my bow
and exit, felt almost young again, as the contagion of youth touched me,
and I saw their eyes straining afar after the magnificent possibilities
of the future. God bless them! for they need every square inch of energy
and enthusiasm to meet the disappointments and defeats, the lack of
sympathy and appreciation, and the superabundance of criticism that
await them. Dear me! if only the young had fair play and the tonic of a
kindly word--but no, kind words appear to be weighed out like gold;
and then comes deadly depression and heart-searching, and all brave
courage is extinguished, and all noble aspirations checked, until in
middle age we find only the dried-up, cauterized, wizened soul, taught
by dread experience to be reticent and cautious, and to allow splendid
opportunities to pass unutilized rather than risk the chances of one
defeat. And the epitaph on these dead souls is: _Foris pugnæ, intus
timores_.
This evening we let ourselves out bravely. It was a great occasion; we
were all proud of the success of my brave young confrère; and when
Father Duff rose to propose his health, the table rang and rocked with
our applause. The westering sun threw a soft glory over the beautiful
flowers and plants that decorated the table, and lingered long in the
ruby flames of the glasses; the room was filled with a hundred odors
from plant and shrub, and the blood of grapes that were crushed in the
wine-presses of Languedoc and Dauphiny; and from afar through the open
window came the scented June air and the murmurs of the ever restless
sea. Father Duff spoke well, and feelingly, and generously, and wound up
a fine, eloquent speech with the words:--
"And whilst we heartily wish him many years of increased utility in
wider and loftier spheres of action, and, with successful work, the
laurels and the prizes that should follow it, may we be tempted to
follow his noble initiative, and to learn that the very war against
difficulties, and their conquest, is one of the richest prizes of labor
and effort, and that toil and battle, even of themselves, have the
faculty of ennobling and refining."
Then we all stood up, with our glasses poised, and sang: "For he's a
right good fellow." There were greetings of "Ad multos annos," etc.; and
just then there came across the fields from the direction of the pier a
low, wailing sound, so thin and faint that we almost doubted the
testimony of our ears. Presently it was renewed, in increased volume,
then died away again as the land breeze caught it and carried it out to
sea. We looked at one another in surprise, and Father Letheby, somewhat
disturbed, said:--
"I did not know that any of our people was dead."
"You expected no funeral this evening?"
"No! I got no intimation that any one was to be buried."
Then he rose to respond to the toast of his health. He spoke well, and
with a good deal of grateful feeling; and he seemed to appreciate mostly
the generous congratulations of the younger clergy, whom he had gathered
around him. But ever and anon, that wail for the dead broke over the
moorland, and interrupted his glowing periods, until it came quite close
to the village, and appeared to be circling round the house in dismal,
funereal tones of agony and distress.
"I must bring my remarks to an abrupt conclusion, gentlemen," he said
anxiously; "something is seriously wrong in the village, and I must go
and see."
He had not far to go. For now a tumultuous throng had burst into the
village, as we could feel by the hurried tramp of feet, and the sound of
many voices, and the awful accents of hysterical women raising that
chant for the dead that is so well known in Ireland. The crowd gathered
in thick masses around the door and we went out.
"She's gone, your reverence, and they are all drowned."
"Sunk by a steamer--"
"Struck her foreships--"
"No! abaft--"
"The captain's drowned--"
"Can't you let the min spake for theirselves?" said Jem Deady, who
assumed at once the office of Master of Ceremonies. "Bring these fellows
for'ard, and let them tell the priest."
They were brought forward, the four fishermen, but were not too well
able to sustain conversation, much less to detail a thrilling narrative
of events; for the poor fellows had been filled up to the epiglottis
with whiskey, and were in momentary peril of asphyxia. By piecing and
patching their ejaculations together, however, it was ascertained that
the "Star of the Sea" had a glorious run to the fishing-fleet, was
welcomed cheerily by the Manx boats, and even more enthusiastically by
the Cherbourg fleet; had made all arrangements for the sale of her fish;
and then, with renewed vigor, was making for home. The haze that had
hung over the sea all the morning had deepened, however, into a thick
fog; and one wary old fisherman had ventured to warn Campion that he had
too much way on, and to keep a good lookout. He laughed at the notion of
their meeting any vessel in those desolate waters, and had freed the
helm for a moment whilst he lit a cigar, when just then there was a
shout, and a large steamer loomed out of the fog, running at right
angles with the fishing-craft. Screams of warning came from the steamer,
her fog-whistle was sounded, but Campion took it coolly.
"He thought it was the wather-witch, the 'Halcyonia,' he had, your
reverence, and she swung to the touch of a baby's finger."
But the heavy craft was not so obedient, and Campion's attempt to show
his seamanship was disastrous. He ran right under the steamer's nose,
and had just almost cleared her when her prow struck the boat, six or
eight feet from the stern, sheared off her helm and steering apparatus
as if cut with a knife, and struck Campion as he fell. Then in a moment
the boat filled and careened over, throwing her crew into the sea. The
four fishermen were saved, two by clinging to the suspended anchors of
the steamer, two by ropes flung from the deck. Campion went down.
"The last we saw of him was his black head bobbing in the wather; and,
faith, it wasn't his prayers he was sayin'."
Here, indeed, was the dread descent of the sword on Damocles. And all
looked to Father Letheby to know what he would say. He received the
dread intelligence, which foreboded ruin to himself and others, like a
man, and merely turned to the expectant crowd and said:--
"Get these poor fellows home as soon as possible. Their clothes are
dripping wet, and they'll catch their death of cold."
True, indeed, there were little pools of water in the hall where the
shipwrecked fishermen were standing.
As we turned to go in, whilst the crowd dispersed, Jem Deady took
occasion to whisper:--
"Look here, your reverence, 't was all dhrink."
Jem had kept his pledge for six weeks, and by virtue thereof assumed all
the privileges of a reformer.
It was a dread ending of the day's business, and it came with crushing
effect on the soul of Father Letheby. They were bad omens,--the revolt
at the factory and the destruction of the boat. We remained for hours
talking the thing over, whilst my thoughts ran away to the happy girl
who was just then speeding from Kingstown on her bridal tour. I followed
her in imagination through smoky England to sunny France. I saw her,
leaning on her husband, as he led her from church to church, from
gallery to gallery, in the mediæval cities of the Continent; I saw her
cross from the Riviera into Italy, and I realized her enthusiasm as she
passed, mute and wonder-stricken, from miracle to miracle of art and
faith, in that happy home of Catholicism. I could think of her even
kneeling at the feet of the Supreme Pontiff whilst she begged a special
blessing on her father, and he, rolling with the tide, a dead mass in
ooze and slime, and uncouth monsters swimming around him in curiosity
and fear, and his hands clutching the green and purple _algæ_ of the
deep.
Some one asked:--
"Was the boat insured?"
"No," said Father Letheby. "We were but waiting the result of her trial
trip to make that all right."
"Then the committee are responsible for the whole thing?"
"I suppose so," said Father Letheby, gloomily.
"I should rather think not," said Father Duff, who was quietly turning
over the leaves of an album. "Depend upon it, the Board of Works never
allowed her to leave her wharf without having her fully insured, at
least for the amount payable by the Board!"
"Do you think so?" said Father Letheby, as the cloud lifted a little at
these words.
"I know it," said Father Duff, emphatically.
After a little time, and ever so many expressions of sympathy, the
guests departed and left us alone. In a few minutes a knock came to the
door, and Lizzie summoned Father Letheby.
"You're wanting just for a minute, sir."
He went out, leaving the door ajar. I heard Father Duff saying with
emphasis:--
"I am deputed to tell you, Letheby, that we are all determined to stand
by you in this affair, no matter what it costs. As for myself, I want
to assure you that if you are good enough to trust me, I can see my way
to tide you over the crisis."
"Ten thousand thanks, Duff," Father Letheby replied. "I shall show you
my friendship for you by demanding your assistance should I need it."
He came in to tell me.
"Never mind," I said; "I heard it all, God bless them!"
I then regretted, for the first time in my life, that I had not loved
money; I would have given a good deal for the luxury of drawing a big
check with these brave young fellows.
I remained till twelve o'clock, debating all possibilities, forecasting,
projecting all manner of plans. Now and then a stifled wail came up from
the village. We agreed that Bittra should be allowed to proceed on her
wedding trip, and that when she returned we would break the dreadful
news as gently as possible.
"No chance of seeing the dread accident in the London papers?"
"None! It cannot reach London before to-morrow night. They will then be
in Paris."