by George Moore
If thou hadst not given me thy cloak to wear, dear father. At which the Earl laughed, saying with tears in his voice: Thou art my son truly. And having no more words, the Earl and Ulick walked over to the window, to watch a ship coming up the bay, furling her sails as she approached the wharves. A ship from Honfleur, said the Earl, that calls at London, doubtless. I would sail in her, Ulick answered, and escape the weariness of a long ride across Ireland with thy little harper. It is true that with favourable winds thy faring may be shorter by sea than by land, but I would not have thee blown into the ocean.
After speaking these words the Earl seemed to forget his son, though he was standing by him. He is thinking of mother, not of me! Ulick said to himself, and his own thoughts leaping forward carried him in vision to within a few hours’ ride of Dublin, where he was in person five days later, turning in his saddle to ask Tadhg how many days’ sailing it was from Dublin to the Thames. Tadhg answered him that if the winds were fair they would reach the Thames within a week. But if this weather continues — look round you, master, and see if there be wind enough to fill a sail. Not enough to lift the thistledown, for that last lot was caught in you hedge, where it can do no harm; but there goes another lot, drifting up again, to float far away and settle in somebody else’s garden. Even the aspen is quiet, said Ulick, and I would sail from Dublin in a ship with two masts and a square sail on each. Make your mind easy, your honour; we have a day’s riding ahead of us, and there’ll be many a change in the weather between this and then. But there’s no height beneath that branch for a horse and man to pass under; come round this way and overtake the young youth herding pigs in the field. Whither lies the sea, my good man? You’ll get a sight of it when you have passed the small hills yonder. Sight of a windless sea, no doubt, cried Ulick, one only fit for oars! Outside Howth there’ll be wind enough for plenty of pleasant sailing, the pigherd cried back, if you don’t run into one of them noisy gales moving about at this time of year somewhere in the north. God save you both! And from pigherd to pigherd they rode, inquiring out the way, till they came within sight of the sea. As I foresaw it, a waveless sea! said Ulick. We’d do well to keep from talking about waves, and we on our way to England. We’d do better, Tadhg continued, to keep our eyes open for the river Liffey, that we are to meet in a great plain not a day’s journey from Dublin. And being near our journey’s end, with a great plain before us, I’m thinking the Liffey must be wandering about here somewhere. Behind those bushes yonder maybe, Tadhg; and riding forward they came to the Liffey gurgling over shingle. A safe ford is before your honour, said Tadhg. And riding their horses into the water they continued their journey along the right bank till they came in sight of a great cathedral, which on inquiry from a passer-by they learnt was Christchurch, built by the Danes, and saw the two churches on the left bank over against Ostman’s Bridge. And at the bottom of the steep hill in front of you are the city’s gates, said the passer-by. After thanking him for his courtesy, they began the descent of the hill. Now, which is to come first, the Mayor or the city? Ulick said, drawing rein. Tadhg’s instructions from the Earl were that Ulick should pay his respects to the Mayor on reaching Dublin. It is true, he began, that the city comes before the Mayor — Thou hast said it, Tadhg, the city comes before the Mayor; I would not waste an hour sitting within doors taking instructions from Nottingham but would see the city under the evening light, wherefore we’ll ride through the western and out by the eastern gate. If your honour would go to the Mayor with an easier mind after having seen The White Cloud — The way to the ships? Ulick cried to the soldier on guard. The ships, he answered, are moored in the deep channel off Lazar’s Hill or in salmon Pool beyond Irish Town. He continued to direct them, mentioning the many places they would pass by on their way thither — names unknown to Ulick and Tadhg, who whilst trying to keep in mind the various turnings they were to take, reined in from time to time to admire the buildings and to ask their names. The like of which they had never seen before was the City Hall, and they stopped agape at the strength of Bermingham’s Tower. On passing through Dames Gate they were at All Hallows Priory. We must keep to the north of the Priory, said Ulick; the soldier spoke of a marsh — And of a short cut through the marsh, Tadhg interjected, which we should find as dry as a bone at this season of the year. Yes; and of the archery butts in Hoggen Green, saying that we should keep to the left of St. Patrick’s Well so as to be out of the line of chance arrows, the archers being but apprentices. Now will your honour look round, for ’tis a grand evening we have brought to Dublin, one that couldn’t be bettered for seeing the city; and since it was the Danes that built her, Brian Boru might have stayed his hand, for wouldn’t the Danes have been a great help to us in keeping out the English. There was once a great Danish Empire, said Ulick, including England and Scotland as well as Ireland. All past and gone, Tadhg answered, and they turned their horses’ heads to the marsh.
After riding for a quarter of a mile through dying reeds, rushes, and tussocked grass, they came to some firm grassy slopes. Lazar’s Hill, said Ulick. Now, isn’t it wonderful that your honour should know it, never having laid eyes on it before! I have heard my mother speak of Félicien Aubes, a great gittern player who came from France to Galway with gleemen and gleemaidens. He died in that hospital. But open thine eyes, Tadhg, and admire the river, the bay and its shipping, with the very ship that I would like to take me to London yonder riding the tide — that one with the high forecastle and higher poop. Maybe she is The White Cloud herself, Tadhg answered, and we might do worse than ask about her from one of the fishers beyond. And Ulick having no fault to find with Tadhg this time for his opinions, rode towards a little group of shielings put together out of the broken timbers of boats and ships. True dwellings of fishers, he said on catching sight of long nets drying in the sun, lobster pots woven out of osiers, seines, fishing rods and lines. Hast heard of a ship known as The White Cloud? he cried to a man mending an old cobble drawn up on the beach. Heard of her? said the man. Aren’t we both looking at her! And her captain? Ulick inquired. Her captain was about a few minutes ago. Tadhg gave two shouts without getting an answer, but the third shout brought to them a florid-complexioned man, with clear blue eyes (a Norman Ulick recognised him to be even before he spoke). And guessing the two horsemen to be his passengers, the Earl’s son and his harper, the captain of The White Cloud said: We have been expecting you, sir, for the last few days, and would like to loose, if it be to your convenience, to-morrow at daybreak. We came into Dublin less than an hour ago, Ulick answered, and I have business at the castle with his Worship, the Mayor. Maybe I should have done my business first, but I could not put The White Cloud out of my mind. Well, there she is, sir, a fine, taut ship that with a fair wind will take us to the Thames in ten days, if you could come on board to-morrow. My business will detain me in Dublin some days — A pity, indeed, for I have in mind the storms that tear up the sea late in September and early in October. What did the pigherd tell us, master? and it’s they that know it; for being out with the pigs from daylight to dark, they are as quick as the wild geese themselves in scenting out a storm. A storm is making ready in the north or in the northwest for certain, the captain continued, so I would be on the other side before it breaks. We, too, would be on the other side, Ulick answered; but my father’s orders to me were not to leave Dublin without paying my respects to the Mayor and taking into my charge certain papers of public importance, the which I shall bring to his Majesty, Edward of England. Other minor duties there are for me to discharge, but these will not delay us. So they parted, the captain of The White Cloud unable to say more than he had already said in favour of an early sailing, and Ulick anxious that his pack-horses should come through the city’s gates not later than the next day, for he was anticipating a calamity: his arrival in London and all his doublets, tunics, hosen and shoon in Ireland, with nothing to appear in before Edward of England but his riding mantle. As a young man’s thoughts are never far from the clothes he i
s to flaunt before women, wherever he went Ulick heard of fashions newly come from London, and these, together with the assiduities of pretty women eager to dance with him, kept him in Dublin till his mood of dalliance began to yield to a dread that the captain’s warning might come true and The White Cloud be wrecked in an autumn storm, and his dream perish in it — France, Courancy, his mother’s town, and all the castles and their chatelaines. Nor was his dread of shipwreck altogether imaginary. Great clouds had been coming up for some days, and the captain would have gladly postponed the sailing of his ship if he had been allowed. But Ulick was obstinate, saying: If we sail not now we may not sail till the fine weather returns. As you wish, sir. The wind blowing off the coast favours our voyage.
Ulick would have preferred brighter weather for his departure, but if they escaped the storm he would be satisfied, and at the end of the day he sat comparing the dark line of the horizon with a sky seemingly gem-encrusted, turquoise and sapphire, and some jewel of warmer colour — pale agate, he thought. He did not remember a sky like the one he was looking at, and was in doubt whether to consider it a presage of a wreck or a quiet night, with sails and stars bringing them skilfully to London. The captain’s reading of the sky was: An ugly sky, boding a windy night, but believing himself to be right and the captain wrong, he turned to his berth, and it seemed to him that he had not been long asleep when he was awakened by the plunging of the ship from billow to billow. He cried aloud, for he was unable to collect his thoughts, and would have rushed headlong through the door of the poop, leaving it open, mayhap, if Tadhg’s voice had not stopped him. Where are we? he asked. On board The White Cloud, your honour, and in the midst of a storm. So we have run into the storm, Ulick replied, and coming out of the poop they caught a rope that was thrown to them, and belayed themselves to the bulwarks. By the light of two horn lanterns hung high on the masts they distinguished the sailors at work on the yards, taking the captain’s orders roared to them from the dark deck, and judged him to be standing by the steersman. At intervals they heard the words: Starboard! Port! and in a little while they began to understand that his skill was to dodge the waves, never allowing one to catch the ship on the quarter.
Why doesn’t the steersman look aft? said Tadhg, and Ulick answered: The steersman is a coward and dare not look behind him. A poor thing it is, your honour, to be out on a night like this and in doubt of one’s own steersman! and quaking he listened to the wind preparing on the horizon for another onset; like a charge of cavalry, gathering strength as it came, it fell upon the ship, stopping her in her course, stunning her. There is not a dry rag on board, said Tadhg. Look ahead, for God’s sake, captain! Another big fellow is coming, he added under his breath. Port! cried the captain, and the wave carried The White Cloud over the crest into the hollow, the sail on her foremast helping her to climb out of it. And hour after hour went by, with the same dangers, the same escapes, till the thought came to them that the speed of the wind was increasing and would carry them beyond England into the Atlantic.
For that or some other reason they heard the captain cry: We are running too fast; take in another reef! But his voice not seeming to reach them aloft, he moved a couple of steps nearer to make himself heard, and in that moment the mischief was done; for the steersman let the ship swing a little sideways and over her came a great wash of water, carrying away a great part of the poop, and breaking the mainmast. In the darkness and disorder of the deck it was hard to find the captain. Ulick and Tadhg deemed him dead, killed by the wave that had killed the steersman, but this was not so; he had saved himself somehow; and starting to his feet he rushed back to the helm, crying to the crew to cut away the raffle and free the ship from the danger of a broken mast, whereupon it seemed to Ulick and Tadhg that they must untie themselves and work with the others. But they were bidden back to their corner by the captain. Get some sail on the foremast, he cried, and the crew falling to his intention to bring the ship up to the wind, worked amain, getting at last a new sail ready to go up to their mates on the yards. But the ship, being down in the trough of the sea, got little help from the sail, and it was not till eight oars were thrust through the rowports that The White Cloud came round. All night the waves crashed against the bows. A good sign, betokening strength of thews and sinews in the rowers, said the captain. If they can hold out till dawn the sea may not get us. You hope for a lull in the wind at dawn? Ulick asked, and the captain answered: Maybe we shall get one if we are off the coast. The lash of the captain’s whip went out, and the rower caught strength from it and rowed through the night without feeling the weight of his oar, like one in a dream, till a bleak morning broke through grey scudding clouds. By noon the wind blew from the south-west. Two men fell over their oar; the lash went out again, but it could not rouse them. The feel of the deck tells me... Ulick and Tadhg heard the captain say as he disappeared under the hatchway, and when he reappeared again they heard what might well be the end of their lives: Her foremast is rocking in its socket, straining open the strakes, and the sail must be got down or she’ll split beneath us. But if we get the sail off her she will steer no longer, and she steers hardly at all with the sail set. Art afraid, Tadhg? I quake, master, for the sea is cold and salt is bitter in the mouth — an awful death! A voice cried: Land ho! and the beetling cliff of Dunmore rose out of the mist. The cliffs of Dunmore! said the captain. But she is leaking like a basket. The pumps would keep her afloat for another few miles if my men were not weary. We have done no work, said Ulick; myself and my harper can pump. Then bend to the pumps, Ulick de Burgo, you and your harper.
The White Cloud dragged herself round the hook of land into the great estuary nearly a mile wide, where she would have split under them if boats had not come to her help and towed her to the wharf. The hulk is saved, said the captain. We are here for many a month, he added, addressing the peasants. There are many good adzemen and smiths among you? To which the peasants answered: The best in Ireland; none better, though you walk the world over! We shall be detained three months in this village! Ulick muttered, and in doubt whether to seek in Waterford a messenger to take a letter to his father, or to wait in Dunmore till some other ship was driven by a gale to find shelter in the river Suir — one that had lost no more than a sail or some rigging and would be ready to proceed on her voyage to the Thames in a week or ten days, in less, perhaps, he asked the villagers who accompanied him to the inn if many ships put into Dunmore during the winter, and learnt from them that a big wind seldom failed to bring in a ship or two. The seasons are never alike, they said. In one season there is plenty of wind, in another the wind doesn’t signify. He was too weary in mind and body to put another question; an overwhelming desire for sleep was upon him, and when many hours later he came from the inn to look round, he said: A damp village, with one thing only in its favour — the great peak over against the sea whence ships can be seen for miles around. And coming upon the wreck of The White Cloud his heart warmed with pity for the ship that had nearly drowned them. And then catching sight of the village of Dunmore on an acclivity, he said: There must be a path leading to the peak that we saw from the deck of The White Cloud. But is it wise to go climbing to-day? Tadhg asked. Wouldn’t it be better to wait till the slavery of the pumps be out of our backs and arms? Ulick made no answer, and moving on Tadhg continued to seek for an opening in the thorns that grew thickly as a hedge about the hazels. I have come upon a twisting little path, your honour, but I shall have to stoop and there’ll be rents in my hose. Forget thy hose; Stoop, and I will follow, Ulick replied. After some scrambling Tadhg came into a hazel copse where there was plenty of room to walk about, the stems being few and the branches arching overhead. As good as a little house, he said. We’ll have some of these clusters, and jumping he caught a weighty bough from which they filled their pockets. A fine autumn smell there is about this wood, master, of nuts, toadstools, hips and haws, dead leaves and berries, and following a smell of ripe fruit they came upon brambles laden with blackberries.
Never till to-day, said Tadhg, have I seen nuts and blackberries ripening together, and it was surely the last fifteen days of fine weather that brought us this juicy second crop. The sun came out of the clouds, showing tall dying grasses and hare-bells in the interspaces, and their talk was seldom till they came upon a group of pines in an open space half-way up the hillside. A blackbird has met his death here, said Tadhg, and they viewed the delicate, half-picked bones and afterwards the marten leaping through the branches. As soon as we are gone he’ll come down to finish his bird. We have got our blackberries; why begrudge the marten his blackbird? said Ulick. My thoughts are now on the sea. I’d have said myself that we’d seen enough of the sea for a day or two! Tadhg answered. I would search the sea from the tall peak, Ulick replied, and he plunged into the bracken and was out of it soon, for the wood began to dwindle into spare, stunted pines; and amid juniper bushes he cried to Tadhg that the rocks were dangerous and that he must have care lest he should break his leg. After the juniper bushes there were some tussocks, and after the last tussock some fifty feet of rocks. On a day like this the cliffs are well enough, said Tadhg, but in a rising wind we’d be better lying down than standing up. Thy thoughts are ever in the future, Tadhg, Ulick replied, and forgetful of his servant his eyes wandered back and forth from the illusive horizon to the great range of cliffs, which Noah’s flood itself would be powerless to overflow. Three hundred feet of rock, and below the sea! I’d follow these cliffs to the end —
