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."
