Ghost Messages Part 12

Ailish spent much of the time in the hold talking to Davy, who knew an incredible amount about the construction of the Great Eastern. He told her stories of the men who built the ship and the trials that had to be overcome when constructing a vessel larger and more advanced than anything that had ever floated. His vivid detail and minute descriptions made her feel as though she were there, watching the Great Eastern rise plate by plate and bolt by bolt. Since he was not much older than she, Davy must have heard all these fabulous tales from his father and had listened very closely indeed to remember so much.

The morning of the fifth day, a hopeful glimmer of sunlight poked through the thick fog and everyone's spirits brightened. Paddy and the crew eagerly took their stations, lowering the fishing wire and watching for the telltale strain that would signal they'd caught the cable.

"We've hooked it!" Paddy at last sang out, but this time, no cheer went up. Instead, everyone bent to their task. The hours slowly pa.s.sed as Ailish watched the men steadily and very cautiously haul in the cable.

Continuing her vigil that evening, she sat perched on top of the cannon, enjoying the crisp salt air and clear starry night. She wished her da was with her, having a pipe and a mug so they could once again talk, content in each other's company. She now looked at her world differently and it made her even more proud of her father. He was not the richest man, true, but he was ingenious at keeping their little caravan rolling and even if they ate potatoes more than she liked, Ailish knew he always did his best and that he loved her. What more could a daughter ask for?

The next day, mother nature once more displayed her fearsome power. The crew was finishing their last preparations to drop the line, after having gained, then lost the cable one more time earlier that morning. In dismay, the men watched as an ominous pillar of black thunderheads rose on the horizon.

"We're in for a blow, lads!" Paddy said, trying to hide his disappointment. "We'd best lower a buoy to mark our spot. I have a feeling this will get rough."

It was indeed bad luck and another serious setback. But as Ailish looked around at the crew, she saw no signs of defeat. Instead, everyone busied themselves preparing for the storm to come. How could these sailors keep going in the face of all that had happened? She saw that it wasn't only the Great Eastern that was made of iron, but everyone who sailed aboard her.

The gale hit with pounding waves and hurricane winds. The mighty ship rolled and wallowed as she stoically endured all the sea threw at her. The battle never let up and as Ailish sat huddled in her big bed listening to the howling of the storm, she was thankful that Davy and Charlie had done such a good job of keeping the Great Eastern shipshape.

Finally, dawn broke and with it the tempest abated. With the sun came renewed hope as the men doggedly set to work preparing the grapnel for its long descent.

When Ailish went on deck, she felt that today would be an extra important one.

"Are you a betting man, Mr. Whelan?" she asked, handing Paddy one of the steaming cups of coffee she'd brought with her from the galley. "I'll wager we finish the job this try."

"I'm worried saying it out loud will jinx it, O'Connor. Before I face that engine again, let me finish my mug in peace." He motioned her to the ship's rail and together, they watched the sun scribing its arc over the silky water. Again, she was struck with the wonder of the sea, the indomitable power hiding beneath that tranquil surface.

"You're right about one thing, la.s.s, today is the day."

Something in his tone alerted her. "Yesa" She drew out the word. "Today we bring up the cable and continue our journey to Heart's Content. By tonight, we'll be steaming west."

He turned to her, mouth set firmly. "I don't think you understand. We've used every sc.r.a.p of wire, hemp rope and manila line we have aboard. There is no more."

Her face fell as the full meaning of his words became clear. "So this is the last chance. If the grappling line breaks again and the wire sinks to the ocean bottom, we'll have no choice but to go back to Ireland."

He nodded. "One way or another, O'Connor, today is the day."

She knew all hands had said a silent prayer as the last of the cobbled wire was cast into the ocean, then everyone waited to see if they could hook their elusive fish.

Two hours later, Paddy waved and this time, the men did cheer. "We've got it!" He fired up the engine and working levers and gears, set the machine rattling and banging as it brought up the prize.

Tension had never been higher. Ailish felt she could squeeze it in her fist and wring out the sweat. All day, the engine toiled as fathom after fathom of wire was reeled back in. There was not a breath of breeze, as though the very air around them knew the import of this day. Captain Anderson strode up and down Oxford Street, looking severe, and Ailish thought he was trying to make the cable appear through sheer force of will.

The first hundred-fathom join came up with no problem, then the next, and the next. Mutterings took on a hopeful tone. The next hundred was hauled aboard and the one after that and still the wire held.

Ailish wanted to get closer, to offer a few words of encouragement to Paddy, but she knew he was so focused on his job, that any distraction would not be welcome.

It was evening and the eighth join had been safely pulled up when Ailish saw something odd about the line. It looked somehow thinner than the previous sections, as though it were stretched to its limit.

Before she could say a word, the wire gave way, flew through the capstan and was gone, quicker than the gasp that escaped Ailish's lips.

No anguished cry arose from the crew. No frantic scrambling to prepare another attempt. Everything they had worked for so tirelessly was swallowed in one bite by the relentless ocean, leaving not a ripple on the surface.

They were defeated.

19.

The Future Is Waiting

.-- a. . .-. . .-- .- a - a. . a a. .. .--. -a --- ..- -. -..

The mood was somber as the crew shut off the machines and put away their tools. Ailish ran to Paddy. "It's really over, then?"

"Aye, la.s.s. This is the end of it." His voice was strained and despair written plainly on his face. Wiping his hands with a rag, he leaned against one of the cannon. Ailish noticed a deep gash scored the barrel from the deadly encounter with the lethal wire. "I'm looking on the bright side, small though it may be. My family may have to wait a little longer for their money, but at least they'll get it and me, safe and sound."

"And the O'Connors will be the ones appearing in the pages of the Irish Times as newly wealthy emigrants to Newfoundland." She grinned self-consciously up at him. "It was quite the adventure, wasn't it?"

"Like no other a" and I don't just mean the laying of the transatlantic cable. We made a fine pair, Miss O'Connor. Two Irishmen on a mission."

"Two Irish persons," she corrected, "and I wholeheartedly agree, Mr. Whelan!" Unexpectedly, a lump seemed to form in her throat. "Paddy, it's been a privilege being here on the Great Eastern and to see everyone working together to make this venture a success. This isn't the end. Men like Cyrus Field and Mr. Canning, not to mention Professor Thompson, will never let the dream die. The future is waiting. I know the transatlantic cable will work; that one day, ghost messages will be flying thick and fast all over the world. I get a tingly feeling when I think about it and my tingly feelings are never wrong."

They exchanged a look and she knew no more words were necessary. They were friends and always would be, no matter the time or tides that lay ahead.

Paddy left to rejoin the men and Ailish continued to watch the activities on deck. She wondered what would happen next. Her answer came through the deck under her feet as she felt the Great Eastern's engines begin to pound. Slowly the bow of the ship swung eastward as Captain Anderson, reacting swiftly to this last disaster, started their long journey home.

Disappointment, weariness and a terrible sadness overtook Ailish. Not wanting her crewmates to see her so dejected, she silently slipped below to her quarters. "Stop being such a baby," she chided herself, but it was no use. She couldn't stem the sudden flood of tears and she wept into her pillow, not for herself, but for all the stalwart crew who had tried so hard and given so much. Her eyes, red and swollen, grew heavy and she fell into a restless sleep, filled with strange dreams.

Davy Jones moved languorously through all of them and each time she saw him, he grew more transparent, becoming a will-o-the-wisp, a breath of air on a frosty morning. And always, in her dreamscapes, he was walking by her side but just out of reach.

The minute Ailish awoke she went in search of her friend. She hadn't meant to nap and knew he would be desperate for news. As she made her way down to the storage hold, she was unable to set aside the feeling that there was something she couldn't quite grasp, something cloudy and intangible like the mist in her dreams.

It was a relief to see Davy on his usual crate. His face told her he already knew the fate of the cable.

"We're bound for Ireland now," she said with a half-hearted smile. "And I'll be showing my da this wretched hair."

"It's growing on me." Davy tipped his head. "Or maybe I should say it's growing on you. I'll bet he'll be that glad to see you, he won't notice the stylish new bob."

That's what she loved about him. Davy could always make her feel better, no matter what. "I'm guessing that means we'll be parting ways soon." She had to force the words out as they seemed to stick.

"Aye, my girl, that it does."

She went on haltingly. "I want to thank you again for, forabeing such a good friend. I couldn't have made it without you."

The look he gave her was filled with warmth. "No, Ails, it's the other way around. I couldn't have made it without you! It's been a long time since I had anyone to talk to. You have no idea how much I'll miss you."

Ailish thought of all they'd been through. Davy had been getting her out of trouble from the first time she set foot on the deck plates of his ship and soon, they would be separated forever. It was strange how in such a short time, she'd become so close to this bash boy that the thought of leaving him behind was impossible.

She didn't want to say goodbye. "Davy, why don't you come with me when we reach Valentia? Once my da sells the wonderful horse, there will be more than enough money to give all of us a new start." It was insane, yet in her heart, this is what she truly wanted and she was desperate now. "You could come to Newfoundland with us. They have lots of boats there. Why, a lad who knows the workings of ships as much as you do would be able to find employment in no time..."

But Davy was slowly shaking his head. The sadness on his face tore at her and she knew what he was going to say.

"That's a fine dream, la.s.s, but no. Even if there was a way for me to go with you, my place is here on my ship." He smiled at her, but the smile never reached his remarkable eyes. "Besides, who'd look after that big galoot Charlie? He'd be lost without me. We're as much a part of the Great Eastern as the iron plates and rivets holding her together."

His voice was as soft as a sea breeze and Ailish felt an odd p.r.i.c.kling sensation, like when your foot goes to sleep. Then waves of warmth started inside her and spread outward to her fingers and toes, the heat building from a spark to a flame. Trembling, she forced herself back under control and quenched the invisible fire.

Davy stood up. "There's Charlie calling. I'd best be getting back to work." Smiling, he gave her a roguish wink. "I can promise you this: you'll always be my favourite cabin boy." He turned to leave, then stopped and faced her. "There's an old sentiment that says as long as you keep a loved one in your heart, they are with you always. You'll always be with me, Ailish O'Connor."

He walked away and as she watched, a trick of the light made it seem as though he was growing transparent, fading, until he disappeared into the darkness.

Epilogue.

September 8, 1866

.-- a. .- - .-- .- a -.. .- a- -.-- It had been a year since the disastrous cable-laying attempt, but as Ailish stood once more at the bow of the Great Eastern, it seemed like a lifetime ago. They were anch.o.r.ed at Heart's Content, Newfoundland, and this time, the transatlantic cable had been successfully laid with not one mishap. The most important undertaking in the world was finally a success story, one for the history books.

Far below, Ailish could see Cyrus Field, up to his knees in the chilly bay water, as he supervised hauling the sh.o.r.e cable. This heavier end would be spliced to the much thinner cable they had laid and the flurry of telegraph signals would begin. She admired the friendly American. His vision led him to invest more money in this year's success and she hoped he made a million pounds and was famous forever.

As she watched, he turned and saluted, his wide grin flashing up at her. She nodded back; then hugged her father, as he kissed the top of her head. Her hair was longer again, but she didn't wear it in braids or flying wildly loose as a young girl would. She swept it up now, and it made her feel very ladylike. Her stylish Dublin clothes added to her new mystique, and her da looked a proper gentleman, too, with his tall beaver hat and long frock coat.

When she'd returned to Ireland last year, her da, healthy once more, had been overjoyed to see her. He'd thought it miraculous that she came back not only with the wonderful golden horse, but with two sheep in tow. Now, when they sat together in the evenings, he never failed to ask for another story about her time aboard the Great Eastern. His taste for whiskey was gone. Instead, they drank pots of the strongest tea in the world and Ailish loved it.

"This crossing was nothing like last year's," she said to Captain Anderson, who stood next to Ailish and her da.

He nodded as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Agreed. I didn't have an impudent stowaway to knock me down."

She giggled. "I turned out to be a very helpful stowaway. I took great care of Dimples and Rainbow and they will certainly love their new home."

Michael O'Connor smiled. "Thanks to that wondrous little horse, we were able to buy that fine fishing boat for me and an even grander house on the harbour for Ails. I think my daughter will make a wonderful chatelaine and we'd be proud if you'd stay with us when you're in port, Captain Anderson."

"That would be very generous, sir. It would be a true kindness if I had a bed that didn't move with the tide." He stroked his precisely trimmed beard. "I had a piece of news you may be interested in. Rufus Dalton is enjoying a lengthy stay in Newgate Prison for a series of crimes reported, they say, by ex-members of his gang. I'm happy your treasure wasn't added to the list of stolen and lost property."

"And Paddy Whelan, have you any word of him?" Ailish asked.

"No, la.s.s, but I'm sure that clever young man is doing fine."

Her father looked at his new watch. "It's time to go ash.o.r.e, me darlin'. We'd best get our belongings."

Ailish didn't want to leave the ship, not yet. At the beginning of the crossing, she'd asked after Davy Jones, even gone looking for him a" but she'd been unable to find him, and no one had seen or heard of the riveter and his bash boy. She hadn't wanted to bother the captain with it during the cable laying, but now was her last chance to find out.

"Captain Anderson, would you answer one more question?"

He nodded kindly. "Why, certainly, my dear."

"Last year, I was friends with the bash boy in the hold, but this trip, he wasn't on board. Do you know what happened to him?"

Captain Anderson looked puzzled. "I remember you mentioning something about this fellow before. You must be mistaken. There was no bash boy aboard, then or now."

She shook her head adamantly. "Mistaken? No, sir. Davy worked with a riveter on the iron plates belowdecks. Why, I talked with him there many times."

"Miss O'Connor," the captain began indulgently, "I am quite certain there was no bash boy in the hold. There hasn't been since the last plates were affixed, in 1857."

A frown creased his brow and he seemed to be recalling some forgotten fragment of information. "There is, however, a legend that has attached itself to the Great Eastern. It tells of a riveter and his bash boy who fell while working between the double hulls when building the ship. The calamitous noise of two hundred riveters hammering away drowned out their cries, and they were walled up alive. It is said you can hear a ghostly hammering belowdecks as they continue to pound in their phantom rivets."

Ailish felt dizzy. A long-ago memory surfaced, of Ma telling her it was possible for fey souls like them to speak to someone who had pa.s.sed over, gone to the other side. She'd said it started with a numb sort of tingling that turned into a white-hot heat, like a fever were burning inside.

The last time she and Davy had spoken, she had felt that heat.

A thousand clues she'd missed at the time flooded her head. His detailed stories about the building of the Great Eastern, clear as if he'd been there; his magic trick with the gaslights, and the way he'd appeared in the dark pa.s.sage just when she'd needed him. And her name, she couldn't remember ever telling him, yet he knew it. His old-fashioned clothes a" had she ever seen him in anything but those same faded breeches? And all the mysterious notes a" on every one, the ink had blurred and faded away.

She remembered the day she'd wanted to touch him, and he'd become so angry, spouting that nonsense about Ailish thinking he wasn't good enough for her. He hadn't wanted her to touch him because he knew she couldn't touch him!

And in all the time she'd been with Davy, she had never seen him any place but belowdecks. The reason was now so obvious. And his answer to her a" "We're as much a part of the Great Eastern as the iron plates and rivets holding her together." It had been the literal truth.

Their last meeting tumbled into her mind. Her invitation for him to leave the ship and join her and Da a" it had seemed crazy even at the time, so perhaps she had known, deep in her bones.

Davy Jones was a, a a She couldn't say it.

"That is truly a tragic tale, Captain Anderson." She smiled tremulously. "If anyone asks, the riveter was named Charlie and the bash boy who died was a remarkable young man by the name of David Jones."