by Gerard Doran
“Let’s go for a victory row and show our thanks to the crowd.” Watt gripped the tiller ropes. “I’d best stand up and tip my hat to all those people on the bank.” The Blue Peter circled the judge’s platform.
The chant started with just a few voices, but within seconds a chorus of “nine thirteen, nine thirteen, nine thirteen” thundered across the pond. The clapping and cheering followed the crew back to the dock, where hands reached down to help the crew up. They tried to make their way through the mob, but to no avail. People would not let them by without shaking their hands. “We won’t get out of here tonight,” Martin whispered in Jack’s ear. “Sure, these people are all gone mad!”
“Mr. Power! Mr. Power!” shouted an Evening Telegram reporter. “How do you feel about breaking the record you set in the Myrtle?”
“It’s like this, b’y. I was with six great men back then, and I got six great men today.”
“I got an idea,” said Jack. He motioned to the crew to grab Watt. They lifted him up on their shoulders, which seemed to help their progress. Watt was raised high above all the others in the beauty of their victory as the sun sank over Mount Carmel Cemetery. Sunk, too, were the hopes of the Torbay crew, who slowly moved to shake hands with the victors.
Chapter
29
Croke handed Watt the bottle of rum. The cox drained the last ounce. The seven men climbed out of the carriages and stumbled into the dim evening light of Pat Fox’s yard on the Rocky Hills. The commotion from the open windows spewed down to the river valley below. A steady roar of voices, mixed in with fiddle tunes, greeted Watt and his crew as they entered the narrow porch that led to the kitchen.
Tommy came running and wrapped himself around John. John looked down at him.
“Where’s Aunt Kate?”
“Oh, she’s here somewheres. I’ll go get her.” He rushed off, poking his way through the crowd.
“Look who’s here!” shouted Kitty Fox, running at Watt, her arms open. She squeezed him hard. “By God, we’ll wallop her down tonight, b’ys.” Kitty grabbed Watt by the arm and jigged him across the kitchen floor. The rest of the crew weaved their way across the crowded room.
“Move aside, folks. I got a keg here just for the champions,” hollered Pat Fox. “I’m the bartender,” he said, laughing. “The rest of you better stay clear of it.”
Croke took a jug of the brew from Pat, placed it to his lips, and downed it in one swift guzzle. He felt a warm, soft touch at his arm. Someone had managed to reach him through the swarm of bodies. He turned and looked into the blue eyes of Mary Carew.
“You rowed a great race today, Din.” She pulled on his arm, seeking to get closer. “They said you couldn’t replace Jack in the boat, but you done it. You won.” She pressed herself to his side. “This is from the whole cove.” She smiled, tilted her face up to his, and kissed him. Her lips and the skin of her face were so soft. He felt embarrassed for his day-old growth of beard, and was glad their embrace went unnoticed by the raucous crowd. His knees turned from wobbly to weak. His heart racing, he reached down, took Mary’s hand, and led her to the door. They slipped outside into the cool of the August night.
“Let’s hear it for the crew,” said Pat Fox, standing on the woodbox. He had to yell to get the attention of the revellers. “To seven wonderful men, who were a real credit to the cove today.” Barely penetrating the wall of noise, he raised his glass and shouted more loudly. “Three cheers for Outer Cove!” The crowd raised their drinks high. “Here’s to all your hard work, and especially yours, Watt. The best skipper on Quidi Vidi!”
The evening light vanished and the first stars popped into the night sky. Lanterns shone through the windows of the Fox house like beacons for the dark cove. Fox’s open door continued to welcome a steady stream of visitors.
“Tell us, Uncle John, tell us again,” said Tommy, sitting on the floor in front of the mob gathered around John. “Tell us when you knew you was going to win the race.”
John could feel the room sway. The heat rose up to his head. “I never seen the likes of the wash coming from Martin and Jack’s blades, and Croke’s, too, as we passed the Virginia River coming back up the pond. It was then I upped the . . .” He felt a slap on his back and saw a hand with a jug of beer in front of his face. He grinned. “B’ys, slow down with the beer or I’ll never get through the night. Where was I? Well, we were coming off the turn and I looked over my left shoulder and Torbay hadn’t quite rounded the keg. It was then I knew we could have the win.”
“I thought you was cracked when you asked us to row to Logy Bay,” Jack Nugent said, patting Watt on the back. “But that’s where we had it over Neddy’s crew. Their boat slowed down in the second half of the race, and ours never.”
“You hit the nail right on the head, Martin.” Watt laughed. “We were in better shape than Torbay. Well, when I sees Dr. Rendell again, I’m going tell him that what he told John was true.”
Dan felt a warmth at his side and thought of Liz. He turned his head to find stout Maggie Carrigan curled up around him. Her dress and most of her petticoat were off. He suddenly became aware of something pricking his skin in the places Maggie wasn’t touching. It took him a moment to realize it was hay. He wondered whose loft he was in, but then Maggie’s heat and his tired body and the fumes in his head took him back to sleep.
Morning dawned over the rocky hills, guiding the last of the revellers back to their houses, back to their sleeping families and farms. Songbirds chirped their waking calls at the exhausted few traipsing the rocky roads.
Martin lifted the porch door latch and entered the kitchen. He jumped, startled by the figure on the daybed snoring like a bear. Then he recovered himself and had a look. It was Dan McCarthy. He shook him, saying, “Dan, Dan.”
Dan sat up. He moaned and held his head in his hands the way Father Clarke held the chalice at Sunday Mass.
“What are you doing here? Last time I seen you, you were with Maggie Carrigan.”
“Oh God, Martin, don’t remind me,” said Dan, squinting his eyes. The morning light was like a knife in his head. “The Lord have mercy. I’ll never take another drop. She’s a lovely woman, all the same, poor Maggie. Although I thought I might have had two women there when I put me arms around her.” Dan burst out laughing, and then groaned.
“They don’t call her the Great Eastern for nothing,” Martin said, grinning. “Anyways, b’y, I’m going to bed. Haven’t slept yet.”
An easterly breeze crept in through an open kitchen window and down over Dan huddled beneath the quilts. He tried to drift off, his hazy thoughts travelling between memories of the race and the time at Fox’s and his hangover. The Sussex clock on the oven box ticked away, harassing his headache. It was time to go home.
“Din, Dan, are you going to stay in the bed all day?” Ellen banged the door shut as she walked into the kitchen. “What time did ye get home, or don’t ye remember?”
“Daylight, mother, daylight,” mumbled Din through a crack in the bedroom door.
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. You must have all that drink slept off by now.” She poked her head into Dan’s room. “My God, this place smells like a tavern.”
“Then open the window, Mother. The Pines are spreading manure today. You might like that smell better.”
“None of your sauce, Dan,” snapped Ellen. “I spent most of the morning getting together things to put in your chest. Boston isn’t that far off for you.”
Dan rolled over. “I’ll get up in a few minutes. Put the kettle on, Mother, for the love of God.”
“Yes, my son.” She leaned over and kissed him on the head. “I’ll gladly get you a cup of tea. But after you finishes breakfast, I wants you to head straight to the Big River and have yourself a wash.” She rapped on Din’s door on her way to the kitchen. “Get up now, Din. I suppose you’ll h
ave some tea, too?”
“Yes, Mother, I’ll have a cup. Make it good and strong,” Din growled. “Like the bark.”
The punts tugged on the ropes that held them to the grapnels on the sea bottom of the cove. A light breeze gently moved them from side to side within the quadrant ruled by the swirling winds that criss-crossed the water. The fish had moved off shore, but the marker buoys for the traps still dotted the coastline to Torbay Point. Soon, the traps would be taken in, marking the close of the fleeting summer. The men and women of the cove, who had toiled so hard during the hectic fishing season, would finally have a rest.
“Kate,” said John. “Are you coming with me to the McCarthys’?”
“I seen Dan after Mass on Sunday. I can’t bear another goodbye.” Kate looked at John and then at Tommy, who sat quietly eating a slice of gingerbread.
“I’ll be back in an hour or so.” John took his cap off the wall hook. “Then again, I might be less than an hour. Don’t want to poke my nose into their last few hours.”
“It must be hard on a mother,” said Kate, “a son leaving home.”
“At least Din will stay in the cove.” John put on his coat.
din caught belle and led her to the barn. He could see Ellen at the kitchen window, Dan beside her.
Dan’s eyes shifted to the yard, then back to his mother. Each sight of her weighed on him. He was trying to find the right words to say to her, words that would say he was both sorry and glad to go.
“The mare is tackled up,” said Din from the doorway.
Dan stepped close to Ellen as she rose from the chair. His eyes filled, and the tears flowed down his face. He embraced her, his powerful arms meeting around her small back. He touched and then kissed her hair. There was some silver in it now. “Goodbye, Mother. I’ll come back home again someday.”
“I knows I’ll see you again, Dan. You and Liz and your youngsters. Don’t take too long about coming back, my son. You’re young and you have all the time in the world waiting for you, but I don’t. Liz will be some happy when you lands there.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt.
“I suppose she’ll be.” He cracked a grin.
Anxious to get moving, Belle tilted her head and nickered. Din helped his brother lift the chest aboard the carriage.
Dan couldn’t look at his mother, standing there alone in the doorway. When he was in the carriage, he turned and waved to her before it disappeared into the thick stand of spruce lining the narrow laneway. Except for the noise of the carriage wheels on the rocky road, the long ride to town was silent. The hurt in the brothers’ hearts lay in the stillness between them.
“You’ll look after Mother, won’t you?” said Dan. They had arrived at the harbour. Dan was contemplating the ship at anchor, which would take him away from all he had ever known.
“Of course, b’y. I’m not going nowhere.” Din looked up at the plumes of smoke rising from the Dartmouth’s stacks. “Do you think you’ll row in Boston? You know, in a regatta.”
“Row in Boston? Sure, I don’t know . . . I doubt I’ll be rowing in punts if I does row.” Dan inhaled deeply, looked down, and kicked a pebble out into the ocean. He shook his head to try to stem the oncoming rush of tears to his red eyes. “How did this happen, me leaving home?” He picked up his bag. “I don’t know if I even wants to leave.”
“Liz is waiting for you.” Din reached out to shake his brother’s hand for the last time. Dan’s grip on his hand was like a vise. “Those big mitts of yours. Watt knew who to put on number five oar. We’ll never replace you in the boat.”
“Well, b’y, this is it. I’m off to a new land.” Dan stepped on the gangway with his heart on his sleeve.
“You can always come home,” Din shouted to him as walked aboard the ship.
Dan looked at the old city from the deck of the Dartmouth. Breathing in its salty, smoky air for the last time, he watched horses and ponies shuttle to and from the busy docks. It was easy to spot the big dappled grey mare as she rounded the corner and moved out of sight.
He was sitting on the bed in his stateroom, thinking about going to find the dining room, when there was a light tap on the door. Before he could get up and answer the knock, a porter opened the door and poked his head in.
“Mr. McCarthy, would you mind terribly moving to another cabin? You were allocated this one by mistake. It’s not for a single person, but a family. We’ll move you to first-class, if you’re agreeable.’’ A young woman squeezed her way past the porter into the room. She looked at Dan imploringly. He glanced out into the corridor and saw a man and two young children. Her husband, no doubt, and youngsters.
“Yes, sir, I’ll shift myself directly.” Dan got up and followed the porter down the hall and up a stairway.
“Thank you for accommodating the Mullins family, Mr. McCarthy. Seems there was a mix-up in the bookings. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay in first-class. We’ll have your trunk sent up immediately.” The porter placed Dan’s bag inside the door of his new stateroom. “Have a pleasant voyage.”
When the ship sailed, Dan sat beside a portside window, watching Signal Hill. The signal pole was flying three flags: Murray’s, Steers, and Baine Johnston. The ship pitched and rolled with the tide, making a wide arc as it left the Narrows and headed for the open water. Dan placed his face close to the porthole and watched the Narrows become smaller and smaller. He decided that the ache in his belly was hunger, not homesickness, and went to find the first-class dining room. It turned out to be a large room, gleaming with white tablecloths, napkins, china, and silver cutlery. He had never seen anything like it before. It made him feel shy and about a foot smaller. Just before he turned to leave, he caught sight of a man nodding at him and beckoning to an empty seat at his table for two. Dan was about to shake his head and turn on his heel, when his bellyache got the better of him. He walked to the table and sat down. He’d figure out what to do with all the fancy trimmings later.
The man stood up and extended his hand, and Dan shook it, noting his new acquaintance’s expensive suit and fine leather shoes. A book, Great Sailing Voyages, lay face down on the table. They sat down, and Dan placed a linen napkin on his lap. He had seen the man remove one from his lap when he stood up.
“Sailing for Halifax or Boston? I’m heading to Boston to visit friends,” said the man in a pleasant voice. His accent was that of the rich.
Dan felt a stab of unease and looked down at the table. “Boston.”
“You have a girl there?” The man’s voice was warm and friendly. Dan felt his unease subside. He looked up.
“Yes, sir, I do indeed have a girl in Boston. Her name is Elizabeth Malone, and we’re getting married as soon as I gets there. Well, not the very moment. You knows how long it takes women to get ready for a wedding.” Dan grinned. He felt nothing but hunger now. “My name is Dan McCarthy. I’m from Outer Cove.”
The man grinned back at him. “I know you. You’re one of the McCarthy brothers who rowed the regatta course record in the Blue Peter this year.” He leaned forward, his eyes shining. “That was the greatest row I’ve ever seen on the lake. That record will last a long time. Watt Power and your crew are gifted rowers.”
“You seems to know a lot about rowing, sir.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Rendell. Dr. Herbert Rendell. I designed the Blue Peter.”
“You’re the man who designed the Blue Peter?” Dan almost stuttered the words.
“Bob Sexton built her, as you know. He’s a remarkable craftsman.”
“That he is, sir, that he is.”
The doctor looked through a window at the cliffs of Signal Hill. “I saw you study those flags on Signal Hill as we left the harbour. I guess you won’t be going to the seal hunt next spring.”
“No, sir. Me and me brother Din was there last spring
. Hard work, it is.” Realizing that no one in the room was wearing a hat, Dan took his off and hung it on the chair. His coal-black hair contrasted well with his neatly ironed white shirt. “We were meant to go on the Southern Cross, but by some stroke of luck we ended up on a Bowring ship instead, the Aurora. I mean, we never wanted to go on a Baine Johnston ship because . . .” Dan came to a halt, embarrassment and confusion preventing him from continuing. Sure, this man wasn’t interested in any of that.
“It wasn’t such a stroke of luck. More like a stroke in time.” The doctor crossed his legs and placed his hand under his chin. “John Whelan told me that if you and your brother were to take a berth with Baine Johnston, that would be the end of the crew that he and Mr. Power were trying to build.”
“Well, sir. Did he, now?” asked a bewildered Dan. He tried to imagine John Whelan in conversation with Dr. Rendell, and failed. That John was a deep one.
“I know the owners of the Southern Cross well. Let’s just say they owed me a favour.”
“So it was you who had me and Din switched to the Aurora?” Dan’s expression was a combination of disbelief and dismay. What did this man think of him and Din?
“Yes, it was I. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. McCarthy. I fully understand why you and your brother were forced into making such a painful decision, and I was happy to be of assistance in delivering you from it.” He smiled and patted Dan’s hand. “Now, I think it’s time we caught that waiter’s eye and had ourselves a glass of whisky, don’t you?”
Chapter
30
“John, I think you’re going to have to keep your promise to Tommy today,” said Kate, looking out the window as Tommy rounded the corner at Barnes Road in full flight. “Your promise to take him out in the punt. That’s if he don’t tumble and hurt himself before he gets to the door.”
