My New Curate Part 47

"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 s.p.a.ce, 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 subst.i.tutes, it was not so easy.

The rest of the girls went to work the following day; but as they pa.s.sed 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 antic.i.p.ating. 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble rivalry struck from the souls of the young in the glow of enthusiasm--here is the only guerdon that the world can give to n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble efforts that had pa.s.sed 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. G.o.d 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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.s unutilized rather than risk the chances of one defeat. And the epitaph on these dead souls is: _Foris pugnae, 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 confrere; 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 gla.s.ses; 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 n.o.ble 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 enn.o.bling and refining."

Then we all stood up, with our gla.s.ses 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 ma.s.ses 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 a.s.sumed 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns 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:--