In the prettily situated village of Ring, within the beautiful harbour
of Cove, lived an old man named Jeremiah Sullivan, who was by profession
a boat-builder, and who, being unrivalled in that art, justly regarded
himself as one of the most important personages in the said village, if
not in the county of Cork itself. It was indeed the conviction of Jerry
that the man who, if any such man there were, could surpass him in the
plan, the construction, or the finish of a race-gig, must be a wonder,
and far above the general standard of human excellence. After his divine
art, and the equally divine productions of that art, his daughter Sally
Sullivan was next best loved by the enthusiastic and honest old man.
Sally had the reputation of a snug little fortune and of an infinite deal
of beauty, the latter founded, no doubt, on the possession of a pair of
roguish black eyes, a blooming cheek, and a rosy pair of lips, that half
disclosed two rows of the prettiest and whitest teeth in the world.
Jerry had one favourite apprentice, to whom he had already imparted some
of the most important secrets in his profession, and to whom, at some
distant period, he intended to confide the entire, as a legacy richer
than the hoarded treasures of a miser; nay, more valuable than even
the philosopher’s stone. William Collins (for such was his name) was a
fine-looking young fellow, standing about five feet ten inches in height,
and possessed of a light, active, muscular, and admirably proportioned
figure; indeed, Sally was known to have told her female friend in the
strictest confidence that William had the brightest pair of eyes, and the
handsomest brown curls, that young man could well be vain of. William,
on the other hand, could find no language sufficiently comprehensive to
express his ideas of Sally’s beauty; and as for her good qualities, her
temper, her cheerfulness, her sweet-toned merry laugh--to describe them
was quite an impossibility. The fact was, they were both young, both
amiable, both warm-hearted, and very naturally both lovers! Yet poor old
Jerry never dreamed what the real state of the case was. Wonderful as was
his penetration, deep as was his knowledge, and great as was his skill
in all matters appertaining to the building of a boat, in affairs of the
heart he was blind and stupid as a mole. He, honest simpleton, could
never dream that Sally’s frequent intrusions into the work-yard could
be attributed to aught else than that most natural spirit of curiosity
common to young people who desired to witness the interesting process of
a delightful and important art! Besides, Jerry never wore his spectacles
within doors; and, therefore, it must be presumed he never saw the
eloquent flushing of his daughter’s cheek, or the additional brilliancy
of her dark eye, when he spoke of the young man’s attention to his duty,
and of his surprising advancement in the nicer labours of the profession.
Early in the month of May, a gentleman ordered a race-gig from Sullivan,
and from time to time sent his man Duggin to see after the progress of
the work. This Duggin was held to be the crack oarsman of the harbour,
and consequently prided himself not a little on his reputation. He was
a powerfully made though not a tall man, and his features were rather
good than otherwise, but rendered displeasing from a peculiar expression
of cunning about the eyes, and a perpetual sneer on his lip. Duggin had
heard of Sally Sullivan’s fame as a beauty; and being quite of a gallant
temperament, he conceived the very natural design of rendering himself
agreeable to the old boat-builder’s daughter. The moulds were laid down,
and soon the outline of the future race-gig began to be formed more
distinctly, when Mr Curly Duggin one day entered the work-yard to pass
his opinion on what had been already done, and to offer any suggestions
as to the future, that his scientific judgment might deem necessary.
On his entrance he found the peerless Sally seated on a chair, and
apparently employed at some feminine labour--_apparently_ so, for in
reality her eyes were fixed on every movement of William Collins, who
was busily engaged in the building of this future wonder of the race-gig
class. Sally, observing the stranger enter, and not relishing the
familiar stare of a pair of wicked-looking optics, nor the too evident
admiration they expressed on their master’s part, immediately left the
yard, and retired to the neatly painted cottage of her father. As for
Collins, looking up from his work at that very instant, he saw, with the
quickness of jealousy, the manner of Duggin and the retreat of Sally;
and from that hour he felt an unconquerable aversion to the bold looking
oarsman.
“Come, now, I’m blessed,” said Duggin, “that’s a nate tidy craft, if
I’m a judge in the laste! I say, Mister what’s-your-name, isn’t that
purty girl the ould fellow’s daughter?” “Yes, she is,” replied William,
with a growl; “that young woman is _Miss_ Sullivan.” “Sartinly she is a
beauty without paint! Has she a heap of fine strapping fellows, that’s
sweethearts, following of her--has she, my hearty?” “How the devil should
I know! What have I to do with any one’s business but my own?--and that
gives me enough to mind.” “Why, my fine fellow,” said Duggin, rather
annoyed at the reply, “I tell you what, that same ain’t over partiklar
civil.” “Isn’t it?--then if you don’t like my civility, I can’t help your
liking; so that’s all I care about the matter.”
Duggin made no reply, but marching round and round the half-built boat,
he made several slighting observations signifying his utter contempt for
the plan, as well as its execution. “Why, blow it!” said he, “look at
that. I tell you there’s no living use for that infernally outlandish
keel. You might as well turn a lighter, as such a tub as that, in the
water!”
Poor William’s feelings were almost too great for words, so indignant
was he at this coarse and vulgar attack on the object of his zealous
labours. He, however, merely said, “She’s very unlike a tub, for the
matter of that; and as for the keel, that will give her a sure grip of
the water, and make her hold her way.” “Who’s the out-and-out judge that
said them wise things, I’d like to know?” asked Duggin, with a mocking
sneer on his lip. “Them that’s as fine judges as any in the harbour,”
replied Collins; “there’s Dan Magrath, and Ned Desmond, and Mark Brien,
down at the ferry; and there aren’t better men to be found at handling an
oar.” “Bother!” said Duggin, “little I’d give for a score of ’em; and as
for that fellow Magrath, he’s a regular _lubber_, that isn’t no more fit
in a race than I’m fit to bite a piece out of this anchor at my feet!”
“I know nothing about biting the anchor,” said Collins; “but I tell you
what: the four of us will try you at the regatta for the ten-pound cup!”
“Done! done! my hearty: mind ye don’t go back, and be forgetting yer
promise!” said Duggin, with the air of one already certain of the prize.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” Collins replied; “I never broke my word yet,
and I don’t intend to begin now.” Again did Duggin criticise the boat,
and declare himself dissatisfied with nearly every point about her. The
temper of the young builder was severely tried; but rather than turn
away a customer from his master’s yard, he with difficulty succeeded
in curbing his rising passion. Scarcely had Duggin, however, left the
yard, when a piercing shriek rang from the house, through which lay the
general passage. William heard it, and flinging aside the plane he was
then using, he rushed in to ascertain its cause. What was his amazement
at beholding Sally struggling violently to release herself from the arms
of the gallant Duggin, who was endeavouring in vain to snatch a kiss
from the maiden’s rosy mouth! “Ha! you villain!--there, take that!” said
Collins, as with one fierce spring he gripped him by the throat, and
flung him headlong on the floor.
Duggin was for a moment nearly stunned by the fall, but when in a measure
recovered from its effects, he rose from the ground, and eyeing the pair
with a fiendish expression of malice and revenge, he said, “Collins, mark
my word for it, if I was to go to hell for it, I’ll be into you for that
fall! Mind you keep a look-out, my tidy fellow! Good morning to you,
Sally--good morning, purty Sally! Don’t forget the race, unless you’re
afraid, Collins!” So saying, Duggin left the house; and no sooner had he
gone, than Sally, frightened by his brutal insolence, burst into a flood
of tears; but she at length allowed herself to be consoled by William,
who used the most persuasive and powerful arguments in order to soothe
her ruffled spirits.
As might be anticipated, the gig was disliked, and left on old Sullivan’s
hands. Jerry was a little peevish on the subject, and was continually
regretting his unfortunate attack of the gout, which prevented himself
from superintending the work, and of a consequence rendering it a model
of perfection. But poor William bore up manfully against all, and even
had the audacity to prophesy, for the old man’s comfort, that in two days
after the coming regatta, he would procure for the gig no less a sum than
two-and-twenty guineas! The boat was finished, launched, and christened
“the Darling Sally;” her fair namesake worked with her own pretty fingers
a white silken flag, that was intended to adorn the beautifully-moulded
bow.
It was summer, and the sun was in his meridian glory, pouring a flood of
light and beauty over one of the loveliest combinations of landscape--the
tree-clad hill, the many-coloured rock, and the widely-extended
water--that can by possibility be found within the limits of the British
empire. The month was glorious July, and the scene was the far-famed Cove
of Cork. How beautiful did all appear on the last day of the regatta,
as a fleet of fairy-like yachts, yielding to the light breeze that just
broke the surface of the sea into tiny waves, dashed aside from their
bows the silver spray, and skimmed like sea-birds over the bosom of
the Cove. The sea actually blazed with light, and the islands seemed
like emeralds set in gold. Green were the hills that encircled in their
embrace the beauteous sheet of water, and cloudless was the heaven that
overhung the loveliness of earth. A stately man-of-war rode at anchor
nearly opposite the town of Cove, and gay were the flags and streamers
that enlivened by their hues the dark maze of rigging rising from the
nobly proportioned hull. Several merchantmen were also there, and decked
in like manner as the floating citadel--the seaman’s pride. The marine
picture was finished by myriads of boats of all sizes and shapes, from
the one-oared punt and the light wherry, to the family whaler or the
well-manned race-gig, that were ever gliding to and fro, imparting life
and animation to the beautiful scene.
On the Regatta Quay might be observed hundreds of elegantly dressed
females, with their attentive cavaliers; some of the latter arrayed in
divers fantastic styles of costume, intended to resemble the garb of the
sailor, and resembling it about as much as their affectation and the
swagger of their gait resembled his manner. Naval and military officers
added by their brilliant uniforms to the liveliness of the picture.
On an erected platform was stationed a brass band, that from time to
time played some fine pieces of music and exhilarating airs--a fitting
accompaniment to the soft murmur of the wave, the harmony of nature.
Outside the gate of the privileged yard were ranged tents of every
variety--some few in the form of an oblong square, with a slanting
roof--others like an Indian wigwam--some covered with bleached, and some
with dirty canvass, while in each of them a piper or a fiddler might be
heard discoursing most peculiar music, responded to by the clatter of
some score of feet, whose movements would puzzle the eccentric genius of
Fanny Elsler herself. Outside these temples, erected equally to Bacchus
and the lively Terpsichore, more intellectual food was offered to the
youthful mind in the antics of Punch and Judy; and there was, besides,
a magnificent theatre, the approach to which was by a _ladder_, and on
a platform before which the distinguished company--Turkish warriors and
Christian knights, princesses and Columbine, assassin and clown--were
threading the intricacies of a fashionable dance, to the sound of three
trumpets and a drum. Fun, frolic, and delight, reigned within as well
as without. In fine, it was the last day of the regatta, and “_now or
never_” was the universal motto.
In obedience to the warning gun, the twenty-ton yachts had drawn up in
line near their starting buoys. For a moment their mainsails flapped
idly in the breeze as they wore gracefully round. Another gun, and up
went jibs and gaff-top-sails, as they began to move in one cluster
of snowy canvass. At first they seemed scarcely to stir through the
water that lazily rippled around their bows; but as the breeze began
to be felt, they got under weigh, and the waves were broken into foam
by the dividing stem. Sally was seated in the well-cushioned stern of
her father’s four-oared family gig, which was steered by that worthy
individual himself; she wore a Leghorn bonnet with smart pink ribbons;
and as she sat near her bluff, broad-shouldered, honest old parent,
she looked as handsome a maiden as ever lent willing ear to a lover’s
vows. She was now all anxiety, as the time for William’s race was near
at hand. Duggin’s crew were on the course; and if one might judge from
the perfect appointment of the gig, the lively strokes pulled on her,
and the rapidity with which she was turned, one should seem to run no
risk in betting on her certain success. The Norah Creenah--for such was
her name--was painted on the outside a delicate buff, and on the inside
pink. One of the best and most fortunate cockswains in the harbour
steered her; and as he glanced on the powerful limbs and the muscular
chests of his men, and saw the exquisite regularity with which the blades
were dipped into the wave, his heart swelled with anticipated triumph.
“Sally, my dear,” said old Jerry Sullivan to his daughter, “take the
_ropes_ for a minute, and mind what you’re about, child.” Jerry stood
up in the boat to have a peep at the preparations for the race; but
hardly had he time to satisfy his curiosity, when the bow of the gig
came slap against the side of a large yawl, and he was laid sprawling in
the bottom from the concussion; and to mend the matter, Sally began to
scream most energetically at the mischief she herself had occasioned.
The truth was, she had mechanically obeyed her father’s directions, by
taking the tiller-ropes, but that was all, for her thoughts were far
otherwise engaged. “Back water, ye infarnal ould lubber! Do you want to
stave the side of us in? Where’s yer eyes, ye ould fool?” Such were the
pleasing queries which the parties in the assaulted boat levelled at the
innocent Jerry. “Why don’t you look out yourselves, and be hanged to
ye!” said the choleric builder, as he replied in the true Irish fashion
by putting another question. After plentifully heaping the choicest
epithets on each other, the belligerent parties at last separated, the
victory being equally divided. “Come, boys,” said Jerry to his crew,
“heave ahead, and let us see are they getting all ready for the start.”
In a few moments the boat reached that part of the strand where William
Collins and his companions were busily employed in rubbing black lead on
the bottom of the new gig. “Well, Bill, my hearty, how’re you coming
on? What do you think of her now? don’t she look handsome?” “She does,
sir, look very beautiful,” answered William in reply to his master’s
last remark, as he gazed with admiration on Sally. “Is the paint hard on
her, Bill?” asked Jerry. “Paint! paint on her, sir!” exclaimed William,
still looking at Sally. “Why, what ails you, boy? I said paint; is the
paint dry?” “All right, sir; hard as a bone.” “Very good--now see are
the stretchers the regular length and well lashed down.” But though
he received an affirmative answer, he was not satisfied till he had
convinced himself by examination that all the arrangements had been
attended to by William. “I’m aisy in mind now, any how. I hope she’ll
do; eh, Bill?” “Never fear, sir; we’ll do our best; and if we don’t
come in first, it won’t be our own fault. Did you hear the news, sir?
A gentleman--the same that was in the yard over on Friday--came up to
me and said if the boat won the race, he’d give five-and-twenty guineas
down on the nail.” “Bless my soul!” exclaimed old Sullivan, charmed at
the offer. “But what good is a man offering of such a price when there
isn’t any great chance of her winning?--oh, if I wasn’t laid up in my bed
when she was building! Well, it can’t be helped now; more’s the pity!”
“Well, sir, we must do our best; won’t we, boys?” said William, turning
to his crew. “We’ll try, any how,” was the reply, as they raised the
light gig carefully from off the stones on which she rested, and gently
floated her on the water. “William, here’s the flag,” said Sally. “Ha!
there’s the gun!” “’Tis the gun, sure enough. I’ll bring you the cup,
Sally, I hope. Come, lads,” he continued, “take your places. There--step
gently! Magrath, tread on the kelson, and don’t stand that way on the
ribs!” “Run down a bit,” said Jerry, “and lave me see your trim. Give
the long steady stroke, for the breeze is freshening. Now start away;
and, Bill, my boy, mind you win!” Away they pulled from the strand; and
as they shot quickly out, Jerry could not help exclaiming with delight,
as he noticed how evenly the gig went under the stroke, and how regular
was the time kept with their oars; but his former misgivings returned,
as he remarked the great difficulty with which she was brought round.
Duggin, in the meantime, was dashing about, attracting all eyes by the
beauty of the Norah. “Clear the course!--clear the course--pull out of
the way!” So bawled the racing steward, as by entreaty or by threat he
succeeded in clearing a space sufficient for the rival boats. “Take your
places!” again shouted he. Oh! how Sally’s heart beat as she saw the gigs
drawn up opposite the quay where the fashionables were assembled, and on
which was placed a small signal-battery. She leaned against her father
for support, as she observed the crews gently “backing water” to keep on
a line till the word was given. “Which side will you take?” asked the
cockswain of the Sally. “All the same, my hearty; stay where you are,”
answered Duggin with a voice as if confident of success. “Ready!” shouted
the steward. All oars were thrown forward, as the men bent ready for the
first dash. “Fire!” Scarce had the gun boomed over the water when the
blades were dipped together. “Pull, boys, pull!” cried the cockswain
of the Norah. “Heave away, my lads, heave! now for the start!” cried
the other. After about five strokes the buff shot right ahead, clearing
completely the bow of her sable rival. A sneer of bitter triumph might be
seen on Duggin’s lip as he darted past his hated opponent. In a very few
minutes more, however, the buff ceased to gain, as the black, under the
powerful and steady stroke of her crew, began to more gallantly through
the water. As they came alongside the ruined barracks below the town
of Cove, the Sally had come up to the Norah, and for a short distance
they went stem and stem together. From that point they had to shoot over
towards a large buoy, round which they must turn. The cockswains now
urged on their men, who answered by a cheer, as the wave foamed under
their strokes. Duggin’s crew pulled with desperate vigour in order to
gain the turn, but the black continued the same even regular pull that
was evidently telling well. “Look now, father; is the white flag first?
is it ahead, father?” asked Sally. “No, child; the Norah is---- No! she
is not! Bravo, Bill! there they go for the buoy! That’s it. More power to
you, Bill! Don’t they walk out of the saucy buff!” It was true for Jerry;
the black boat was now fairly six lengths ahead, and was gaining more at
every stroke. They reached the buoy; and now began the difficulty. “Back
water, larboard side; pull--pull on the starboard,” said the cockswain.
“Magrath, heave! Brien, that’s the go!” shouted William, as he backed
with all his might. “Hurra for the honour of Passage! Pull, my lads,
pull!--rattle into ’em. Hurra!” bawled the Norah’s helmsman, with a voice
hoarse from exertion. Before the Sally could be well got under weigh
after the turn, the Norah had darted round the buoy, and was in a moment
three lengths beyond her. “Oh, heavens, they’re beat!” said Jerry, as
he sank back on the cushion in utter despair. “Don’t say that, father!
Look again!” entreated Sally. “There!” cried the old man, as he ventured
another glance, “she’s clane out of her again! Bravo, Bill! Give it to
her! There she clips, the beauty! I always said there wasn’t your equal
except myself at building a gig! Now, boys,” continued he, addressing
his own crew, “pull a rattling touch over, and we’ll give them such a
cheer! Heave, my lads--that’s it; bend your lazy backs!” The course was
about two or three miles in length from the buoy to the old convict-hulk,
round whose dark mass the boats must pull before they made for the quay
from which they had started, and which was also the winning-place. The
struggle up along the bank was indeed a beautiful sight, as from time
to time the chances seemed to vary in favour of each, and as the crews
appeared to gain new vigour from the cheering that came from the numerous
boats which met them on the course. Gallantly did the long stroke tell
on the Sally, as she shot far out of the rakish buff. She was dashing on
in noble style for the convict-ship, when, smash! away went the bowman’s
oar! All was in confusion. On came the Norah! At that very moment Jerry
Sullivan arrived; and seeing the terrible disaster, he caught at the
oar next his hand, and flung it within reach of the bowman. “You have
it now, my boys. Now, Bill, pull, my darling fellow, hurrah!” shouted
Jerry, as the crew gave back the cheer, and the Sally bounded after the
lively Norah. Thirty strokes more, and the Sally was stem and stem with
her well-manned rival. They passed the man-of-war, and the sailors who
crowded the side of the noble vessel gave them a cheer. Before them rose
the hull of the old convict-ship, and now the struggle was, who should
round her first. Still was the same quick stroke pulled on the buff, and
still did the other crew continue to keep the same powerful one on the
black. The stern of the hulk was neared; the Sally was five boats ahead,
but the Norah dashed on gallantly in her wake. “Pull, boys, pull!” was
the word in both boats. “Back water hard! Pull on the bow! Hurra! Back
her well! Hurra!” shouted both cockswains. The Sally had not well rounded
the bow of the convict-ship, when the Norah had turned, as if on a pivot,
and again was stem and stem with her opponent. Now, indeed, was the true
time for testing the capabilities both of the men and the boats, for a
breeze was blowing from the west, and as the tide was making fast out
of the harbour, there was a swell as both met in opposition. Shouts now
greeted the gigs as they dashed on to the winning-place. Again did old
Jerry meet them, and cheer aloud! Duggin literally foamed at the mouth,
as he plied his oar with the energy of desperation, while William shouted
to his crew to pull; and pull they did. In spite of all the exertions
of Duggin, the Norah dropped back, as the Sally bounded on to the goal.
Duggin cursed and raved, but all to no purpose; for the high-pointed bow
of his gig caught the wind, and she had not the same power of keeping her
way as the other, owing to her want of keel. “Stand by with the match!”
cried the steward. “There they come; the black boat is long ahead! Fire!”
No sooner had the loud report followed the quick flash, than the oars
were tossed on high, and the Sally rode triumphant! Loud were the shouts
that rang from land and sea, as the victors dropped their blades into the
wave, and shot into the landing-place to receive their well-earned prize.
Who can describe the pride and joy of the old man, or the deep rapture of
his daughter, as they saw the steward present the silver cup to William,
flushed as he was from the exertion and triumph of the moment! As it
would be quite impossible to do justice to their feelings, the attempt
must be modestly refrained from.
The gig was immediately purchased for twenty-five guineas, and orders
were given to Jerry for the building of two more on an exactly similar
plan. As for Duggin, he was so subdued in spirit by the loss of his
reputation as a crack oarsman, that he never after that day was known
to try his fortune on the course, and neither visited Ring to woo Miss
Sullivan, nor to make good his threat on the body of the victorious
William. It has been since whispered among the gossips of the village
that old Jerry Sullivan, though much surprised at hearing of the mutual
love of William and Sally, finally gave his blessing and consent to their
union. Need it be told that the well-won silver cup was ever looked on as
an honoured vessel, and that Sally prized it nearly as much as William
himself did?