THE 'DERRY BOAT
"Bad cess to the boats! for it's few they take back of the many
they take away."--A GLENMORNAN SAYING.
Jim and I had a long talk together, and I asked him about the people at
home, my father and mother, the neighbours, their doings, their talk,
and all the rest of the little things that went to make up the world of
the Glenmornan folk. In return for his information I told Jim about my
life in Tyrone, the hardships of Bennet's place, the poor feeding, the
hard work, the loneliness, and, above all, the fight in the bedroom
where I gave Joe Bennet one in the stomach that made him sick for two
hours afterwards.
"That's the only thing that a Glenmornan man could do," said Micky's
Jim, when I told him of the fight.
Afterwards we sauntered along the wharf together, waiting for the other
members of the party, who had gone to the Catholic chapel in 'Derry to
say their prayers before leaving their own country. Everything I saw was
a source of wonder to me. I lived many miles from the sea at home, and
only once did I even see a fishing-boat. That was years before, when I
passed Doon Ferry on my way to the Holy Well of Iniskeel. There did I
see the fishing-boats of Trienna lying by the beach while the fishermen
mended their nets on the foreshore. Out by the rim of the deep-sea water
the bar was roaring, and a line of restless creamy froth stretched
across the throat of the bay, like the bare white arms of a girl who
bathes in a darksome pool. I asked one of the fishers if he would let me
go with him across the bar. He only laughed at me and said that it would
suit me far better to say my prayers.
For the whole of the evening I could not take my eyes off the boats that
lay by 'Derry Pier. Micky's Jim took no notice of them, because he had
seen them often enough before.
"Ye'll not wonder much at ships when ye've seen them as much as I've
seen them," he said.
We sought out our own boat, and Jim said that she was a rotten tub when
he had examined her critically with his eyes for a moment.
"It'll make ye as sick as a dog goin' roun' the Moils o' Kentire," he
said. "Ye'll know what it is to be sea-sick this night, Dermod."
We went on board, and waited for the rest of the party to come along.
While waiting Jim prowled into the cook's galley and procured two cups
of strong black tea, which we drank together on deck.
It was, "Under God, the day an' the night, ye've grown to be a big man,
Dermod," and "Ye're a soncy rung o' a fellow this minute, Dermod Flynn,"
when the people from my own arm of the Glen came up the deck and saw me
there along with Micky's Jim. Many of the squad were old stagers who had
been in the country across the water before. They planted their patch of
potatoes and corn in their little croft at home, then went to Scotland
for five or six months in the middle of the year to earn money for the
rent of their holding. The land of Donegal is bare and hungry, and
nobody can make a decent livelihood there except landlords.
The one for whom I longed most was the last to come, and when I saw her
my heart almost stopped beating. She was the same as ever with her soft
tender eyes and sweet face, that put me in mind of the angels pictured
over the altar of the little chapel at home. Her hair fell over her
shawl like a cascade of brown waters, her forehead was white and pure as
marble, her cheeks seemed made of rose-leaf, of a pale carnation hue,
and her fair light body, slender as a young poplar, seemed too holy for
the contact of the cold world. She stepped up the gang-plank, slowly and
timidly, for she was afraid of the noise and shouting of the place.
The boat's derricks creaked angrily on their pivots, the gangways
clattered loudly as they were shifted here and there by noisy and dirty
men, and the droves of bullocks, fresh from the country fairs, bellowed
unceasingly as they were hammered into the darkness of the hold. On
these things I looked with wonder, Norah looked with fright.
All evening I had been thinking about her, and the words of welcome
which I would say to her when we met. When she came on deck I put out my
hand, but couldn't for the life of me say a word of greeting. She was
the first to speak.
"Dermod Flynn, I hardly knew ye at all," she said with a half-smile on
her lips. "Ye got very big these last two years."
"So did you, Norah," I answered, feeling very glad because she had kept
count of the time I was gone. "You are almost as tall as I am."
"Why wouldn't I be as tall as ye are," she answered with a full smile.
"Sure am I not a year and two months older?"
Some of the other women began to talk to Norah, and I turned to look at
the scene around me. The sun was setting, and showed like a red bladder
in the pink haze that lay over the western horizon. The Foyle was a
sheet of wavy molten gold which the boat cut through as she sped out
from the pier. The upper deck was crowded with people who were going to
Scotland to work for the summer and autumn. They were all very ragged,
both women and men; most of the men were drunk, and they discussed,
quarrelled, argued, and swore until the din was deafening. Little heed
was taken by them of the beauty of the evening, and all alone I watched
the vessel turn up a furrow of gold at the bow until my brain was
reeling with the motion of the water that sobbed past the sides of the
steamer, and swept far astern where the line of white churned foam fell
into rank with the sombre expanse of sea that we were leaving behind.
Many of the passengers were singing songs of harvestmen, lovers,
cattle-drovers, and sailors. One man, a hairy, villainous-looking
fellow, stood swaying unsteadily on the deck with a bottle of whisky in
one hand, and roaring out "Judy Brannigan."
"Oh! Judy Brannigan, ye are me darlin',
Ye are me lookin' glass from night till mornin'--
I'd rather have ye without wan farden,
Than Shusan Gallagheer with her house and garden."
Others joined in mixing up half a dozen songs in one musical outpouring,
and the result was laughable in the extreme.
"If all the young maidens were ducks in the water,
'Tis then the young men would jump out and swim after . . "
"I'm Barney O'Hare from the County Clare
I'm an Irish cattle drover,
I'm not as green as ye may think
Although I'm just new-over . . ."
"For a sailor courted a farmer's daughter
That lived convainint to the Isle of Man . . ."
"As beautiful Kitty one mornin' was trippin'
With a pitcher of milk to the fair of Coleraine
And her right fol the dol right fol the doddy,
Right fol the dol, right fol the dee."
I could not understand what "right fol the dol," etc., meant, but I
joined in the chorus when I found Micky's Jim roaring out for all he
was worth along with the rest.
There were many on board who were full of drink and fight, men who were
ready for quarrels and all sorts of mischief. One of these, a man called
O'Donnel, paraded up and down the deck with an open clasp-knife in his
hand, speaking of himself in the third person, and inviting everybody on
board to fistic encounter.
"This is young O'Donnel from the County Donegal," he shouted, alluding
to himself, and lifting his knife which shone red with the blood hues of
the sinking sun. "And young O'Donnel doesn't care a damn for a man on
this bloody boat. I can fight like a two-year-old bullock. A blow of me
fist is like a kick from a young colt, and I don't care a damn for a man
on this boat. Not for a man on this boat! I'm a Rosses man, and I don't
care a damn for a man on this boat!"
He looked terrible as he shouted out his threats. One eyebrow was cut
open and the flesh hung down even as far as his cheekbone. I could not
take my eyes away from him, and he suddenly noticed me watching his
antics. Then he slouched forward and hit me on the face, knocking me
down. The next instant Micky's Jim was on top of him, and I saw as if in
a dream the knife flying over the side of the vessel into the sea. Then
I heard my mate shouting, "Take that, you damned brat--and that--and
that!" He hammered O'Donnel into insensibility, and by the time I
regained my feet they were carrying the insensible man below. I felt
weak and dizzy. Jim took me to a seat, and Norah Ryan bathed my cheek,
which was swollen and bleeding.
"It was a shame to hit ye, Dermod," she said more than once as she
rubbed her soft fingers on the wound. Somehow I was glad of the wound,
because it won such attention from Norah.
The row between O'Donnel and Jim was only the beginning of a wild
night's fighting. All over the deck and down in the steerage the
harvestmen and labourers fought one with another for hours on end. Over
the bodies of the women who were asleep in every corner, over coils of
ropes, trunks and boxes of clothes, the drunken men struggled like
demons. God knows what they had to quarrel about! When I could not see
them I could hear them falling heavily as cattle fall amid a jumble of
twisted hurdles, until the drink and exertion overpowered them at last.
One by one they fell asleep, just where they had dropped or on the spot
where they were knocked down.
Towards midnight, when, save for the thresh of the propellers and the
pulsing of the engines, all was silent, I walked towards the stem of the
boat. There I found Norah Ryan asleep, her shawl drawn over her brown
hair, and the rising moon shining softly on her gentle face. For a
moment I kept looking at her; then she opened her eyes and saw me.
"Sit beside me, Dermod," she said. "It will be warmer for two."
I sat down, and the girl nestled close to me in the darkness. The sickle
moon drifted up the sky, furrowing the pearl-powdered floor with its
silver front. Far away on the Irish coast I could see the lights in the
houses along-shore. When seated a while I found Norah's hand resting in
mine, and then, lulled with the throb of the engine and the weeping song
of the sea, I fell into a deep sleep, forgetting the horror of the night
and the red wound on my face where O'Donnel had struck me with his fist.
Dawn was breaking when I awoke. Norah still slept, her head close
against my arm, and her face, beautiful in repose, turned towards mine.
Her cherry-red lips lay apart, and I could see the two rows of pearly
white teeth between. The pink tips of her ears peeped from amid the
coils of her hair, and I placed my hand on her head and stroked her
brown tresses ever so softly. She woke so quietly that the change from
sleeping to waking was hardly noticeable. The traces of dim dreams were
yet in her eyes, and as I watched her my mind was full of unspoken
thoughts.
"Have ye seen Scotland yet, Dermod?" she asked.
"That's it, I think," I said, as I pointed at the shoreline visible many
miles away.
"Isn't it like Ireland." Norah nestled closer to me as she spoke. "I
would like to be goin' back again," she said after a long silence.
"I'm going to make a great fortune in Scotland, Norah," I said. "And I'm
going to make you a great lady."
"Why are ye goin' to do that?" she asked.
"I don't know," I confessed, and the two of us laughed together.