The Pirate Princess: Return to the Emerald Isle

by Matthew Morris

  After the song ended, the din of the crowd grew louder and the rhythm of the music picked up. A few people got up to dance. Declan raised his glass and made a toast to the memory of Owen O’Flaherty. The table replied with the traditional Irish Slainte, meaning health or to your health. More and more people joined in to dance. Even Trout dragged Meg out to the dance floor to teach her a few céilí dances.

  The céilí was Ireland’s traditional folk dance. It was very similar to square dancing. Pairs of dancers stood in rows facing other couples, each dancing back and forth in a one-two-three jig. Meg had never had so much fun. Like waves crashing on the shore, the lines of people first moved in toward each other and then back out. The couples then weaved in and out, over and under, their hands joined like live Celtic knotwork. At one point in the set, Trout held Meg’s arms and they twirled in a circle as fast and as hard as they could. For the first time ever, Meg understood why her sister loved to dance—it was exhilarating!

  When they finally sat back down they were surprised to see that Alonzo Woods had joined their table, a pint of Guinness in hand.

  “Hello, children,” he said to Meg and Trout as they settled into their chairs. He was talking with Shay in low tones and they had very serious looks on their faces. Meg could not make out what they were saying but she could tell that her mom was uncomfortable.

  “What’s that about?” asked Trout.

  “Maybe he’s telling her how he found us out at the castle in the fog, and my mom is mad that I was out on the water after my accident,” she whispered back.

  Shay and Mr. Woods continued their discussion in hushed tones. When he finished his drink he stood up and went back to the bar.

  Shay looked over to Meg. “I need to talk to you.” She got up from the table, took Meg by the hand, and walked her outside.

  Meg was nervous and started to speak before her mom did. “I’m sorry, Mom. We were careful on the water and Trout knew exactly what he was doing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Us rowing out to the castle in the fog yesterday. I just had to get out there and I forced Trout to take me.”

  “Oh, that…” Shay said, giving Meg a look and a nod. “I knew about that already. Declan called me after he gave you two the currach.”

  Meg was relieved, but now curious. “Then why did you bring me out here?”

  “Mr. Woods wants to buy Owen’s property.”

  “What!”

  “He’s an archeologist who does a lot of research on Bofin and he wants a permanent base here.”

  “No. Mom, we can’t sell it. It’s ours.”

  “Meg, it’s actually Nanny’s, so it will be up to her to decide what to do with it. Besides, what can we do with property in Ireland?”

  Like a sudden storm, Meg burst out and told her mother about her discovery and all that had gone on the day before.

  “Granuaile…,” a smile crossed Shays lips. “I suppose it’s possible. Do you know she has direct descendants in Westport Sligo that trace their lineage all the way back to her son Tibbot?”

  Meg nodded her head. “She also had three children with her first husband, Donal O’Flaherty. Maybe we come from one of them. Why else would they put on the white sails of a king for Owen today?”

  “Hereditary kings don’t exist anymore in Ireland. ‘Kings,’” Shay made air quotes with her fingers, “are chosen by people in certain areas to lead, but the title does not pass on to the king’s children. Back in Cleggan, I was told that Owen was called the King of Inishark because he was the oldest one left from the island and that the remainder of the Shark islanders wanted to pay him his due respects with the white sails when they heard we had sailed up from Galway in a hooker.”

  Meg was unconvinced. “But we can’t sell, Mommy… It’s our home.”

  “Nanny will have to decide that for herself when we call her tomorrow. For the time being we need to get ready,” she kissed Meg on the forehead. “It’s Halloween and we are in Ireland, which is where the holiday first started! Let’s have some fun!” Shay put her arm around Meg’s shoulders and led her back into the pub.

  23

  Samhain in Eire

  Meg and her mother spent the rest of the day at the pub. In between sets of singing and dancing Shay told Meg all about the history of Halloween in Ireland.

  The American holiday of Halloween traces its roots back to the ancient Celtic celebration of Samhain. The Celtic year was divided into two halves based upon the path of the Sun: the light half and the dark half. The light half was called Bealtaine and was celebrated with the rise of the moon on the thirtieth of April. Bealtaine was dedicated to the fertility of the land and the increase in the hours of daylight as the days and weeks progressed.

  Samhain, which began each year around October 30, was considered the Celtic New Year. Great bonfires were lit in celebration of the New Year, and all household fires had to be doused then relit from the Samhain bonfire. Samhain commemorated the harvest and the end of the light half of the year. It was also a time when the veil that separated this world from the otherworld—that is, the afterlife, or beyond—was very thin. It was believed that, at the time of Samhain, fairies and ghosts walked in our world along with living people. In order to confuse the spirits and keep them from doing harm, the Irish would dress up like them. Kids went door-to-door to sing songs and offer prayers for the dead in exchange for a soul cake, a flattened bread with fruit inside. These customs lead to modern-day trick-or-treating.

  Meg knew most of the stuff her mom told her already but Shay was in a talkative mood and Meg didn’t want to stop her. Shay’s storytelling had reached a new level of enchantment in Ireland, and Meg detected a little bit of an Irish accent developing in her mom’s speech the longer they were in the country. The stories eventually ended, and the Murphys and Davins left the pub.

  It was dark as they stepped outside to a crystal clear night. Looking out across the water on the shores of Ireland the dark hills loomed in the distance and they could see tiny Samhain bonfires on the tops of them. To Meg they looked like dark giants with miniature crowns. The surreal scene was like something out of a fairy tale. Meg loved the idea of bonfires on Halloween and thought that next year they should have a Samhain fire of their own. Halloween had always been a favorite holiday of the Murphys. Every year they celebrated New England’s beautiful fall foliage and the arrival of chilly nights with a party at their house. The whole family, including Shay and Mark, dressed in costume and went trick-or-treating until their bags were full of candy. Meg realized this was the first time in days she had thought of home. And, for the first time in her life, she was not in a rush to go back.

  Meg turned and looked around Inishbofin for bonfires. Seeing none, she asked Trout why there weren’t any on this side of the water. Trout reminded her that, since there were no trees on Bofin, wood was hard to come by. Before Meg could express disappointment at not being able to experience a Halloween bonfire, Trout added that he had been saving up pieces of driftwood that he had collected from along the shoreline, and that they would be able to light a pile of that when they got home. They continued their walk down the dark road under the glow of the stars. On the way, they passed a few children wearing homemade costumes going trick-or-treating from door to door.

  Later that night Trout led Meg to the top of a hill where he lit his bonfire. Even though it was not as big as those Meg viewed from across the water, she was happy to be celebrating in this tradition all the same. The rest of the family had stayed at the house to take Deirdre out trick-or-treating and to tell ghost stories.

  Now that they were alone, Trout took the opportunity to ask Meg, “What was that back at the pub with yer ma?”

  “Mr. Woods wants to buy Owen’s property from us so he can have a permanent base on Bofin.”

  “Really…Or maybe he knows more about Owen O’Flaherty than he let on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember back out at the for
t, The Digger said that he had been searching for the key to finding Granuaile’s treasure. What if the key is buried somewhere on your property?”

  “It’s actually my grandmother’s, not mine.”

  “Whatever! When Owen was alive, The Digger couldn’t go on his property without permission. And I doubt he got it ‘cause Owen spoke to no one. What if The Digger had been waiting for him to die so he could look for the key? Isn’t it funny how he just happened to be going up the coast at the same time as the two of you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. How do we find out what he’s up to?”

  “Let’s sneak onto his boat to see if we can figure it out. When he is here, The Digger usually stays at the pub until late, so we should have some time.”

  “Let’s do it!”

  Meg couldn’t believe what she had just agreed to do, but the thought of finding out more about her ancestor’s treasure overcame her anxiety about sneaking onto someone else’s boat at night. Trout stomped out his tiny fire and they walked down the hill making their way towards the harbor. A couple of times they were frightened by other kids who jumped out from behind walls and yelled “Boo!”, putting them more on edge than they already were.

  From the beach where the Davin’s currach lay, they could see that Alonzo’s skiff was still tied up to the pier. They carefully turned the boat over and dragged it down to the water.

  Slowly Trout and Meg rowed out to the large motor yacht, pausing a couple of times to make sure the coast was clear. Meg’s senses were all on high alert; she thought she might be able to hear a conversation going on in Cleggan if she tried. And with every splash of the oars, she thought they would be alerting anyone on the shore to their mission. But they reached the yacht unnoticed. They tied the currach up to the far side so that it could not be seen from the town and carefully climbed on board.

  The moon had risen and the night was lit with its eerie glow. Meg reached out and turned the handle of the door to the cabin which, to her relief, was unlocked. Like a pair of cat burglars she and Trout crept inside. They entered into a galley and dining room area. Meg could see on the far bulkhead, securely held in place with special straps, a large library of books on a shelf. Just below, there was a table for eating. Meg noticed there was a newspaper on the table.

  She walked over and pointed to an article on the opened page, “Look at this.”

  “The death notice,” Trout said.

  Meg read aloud. “Inishbofin. Mr. Owen O’Flaherty, originally from Inishark Galway, was found last evening by his neighbors at his home on Inishbofin. He is survived by a daughter, Kathleen, who lives in the United States. There are no funeral arrangements at this time.”

  “He was coming here on purpose!”

  “I wonder if he knew my mom and I were coming,” Meg whispered.

  “Nobody knew about you but my family,” Trout replied.

  They searched the titles of the books on the shelf. There were books on Granuaile, pirates, Barbary corsairs, Ireland, and many old books with no titles on the spine. Meg unstrapped the books and took down one of the old, untitled ones.

  The leather binding was falling apart. She held the book delicately and opened it only to discover that it was in another language that she did not understand, so she replaced it on the shelf. None of the other books held clues that they could easily decipher, so Meg replaced the strap that held the books secure from the movement of the ocean.

  “Let’s check the stateroom,” Meg said as she led the way down the passageway. Trout was surprised to hear her suggest that, and Meg had even surprised herself at her own daring, but there was a family treasure involved and they needed to get to the bottom of this.

  Moonlight poured into the cabin through a porthole. They saw a well-made bed and looked around, but the cabin was neat and nothing was lying out in the open. On the far bulkhead wall they saw a door to what they thought was a closet. Upon opening the door they discovered a large safe inside. The door to the safe was slightly ajar. Meg swung open the heavy door, revealing a small, leather-wrapped package amidst a pile of old-looking scrolls. The package was worn and tied up with a strap. Meg carefully untied the strap. Inside the oiled skin was a small book. Like the wrapping, the book was very old. They were disappointed to find the handwritten words on the inside were also in another language. Meg turned the pages that were covered in writing and drawings.

  “That’s Bofin!” Trout said, pointing to a hand-drawn map of the island. It showed the harbor with a line across the mouth. Written in the space under where the ruins would be located, they read Castillo Bosco and on the other side Castillo Grania.

  “Castillo…” Meg had just started to take Spanish classes in school. “Castle, that’s castle in Spanish. Bosco’s Castle! I wish I paid more attention in class so I could read the rest. Do you know Spanish?”

  “I barely speak English!” Trout joked.

  Towards the back of the book they saw the phrase Bruja del Mar in heavy bold writing, repeated over and over.

  “The Digger called Granuaile bruja, witch. This must be the diary of Don Bosco!”

  The quiet sound of the water against the hull was suddenly broken by the growl of an outboard motor being started across the harbor. Meg and Trout looked out the porthole and much to their horror saw Mr. Woods making his way across the water towards his yacht. Meg quickly rewrapped the diary and placed it back in the safe. They rushed back up the passageway but it was too late. By the time they got out the door and started to get back in the currach, Alonzo Woods had already seen them. While they stood on the aft deck of his yacht waiting to be busted, Meg looked down to the Cailín Mo Chroí that was still tied up to the side and came up with a plan. Al tied up his skiff and climbed onto the deck.

  “Happy Halloween, children… My boat is a little out of the way to go trick-or-treating, don’t you think?” Alonzo said in a very serious tone. His speech was slurred.

  “Mr. Woods! Perfect timing. Trout here brought me out to our boat to get something I left onboard.” Meg pulled on the chain around her neck and showed him the compendium that was underneath her shirt.

  Alonzo’s eyes lit up as he saw it. “What is that?” he said. Meg knew he was pretending to not know what it was.

  “It’s just a gift my grandmother gave me for my birthday. It’s an…”

  “Astronomical compendium,” Alonzo finished.

  “You know about them? Well, I was back on the island trying to explain to Trout how my mother and I know how to navigate by the stars, and realized I left it on the Cailín Mo Chroí, so we came out to get it.”

  “You left it on the boat?” Alonzo said, unbelieving.

  “I had put it in a safe place when we left Galway and I just remembered about it when I was talking to Trout. Not too many people know what this is. How do you know about it?”

  “Come, let me show you something,” he said, leading them back into the yacht. Trout gave Meg a worried look when Alonzo turned his back on them. Alonzo turned on the cabin light and told them to sit them down at the table. Before they did, however, he grabbed the newspaper that was on it and took it with him into his stateroom. He returned with the leather-wrapped package that Meg had just placed back into the safe just moments before.

  “This is something my grandfather gave me,” he said, revealing the book. “It’s the log book of Alonzo Bosco. It has been in my family for generations.”

  “How did your family get it?” asked Meg.

  “Alonzo Bosco is my ancestor.”

  “But your name is Woods.”

  “It was a common thing to Anglicize foreign names. You know, make them sound more English. Bosco, or bosque in Spanish, is translated to forest in English, or woods, just like Grania Ni Mallie is Grace O’Malley in English. When the Bruja del Mar, or, witch of the sea, chased Don Bosco off Inishbofin he went back to our home in Spain. That is where my family has been ever since.”

  Alonzo opened the log book to a page and read. “I intercepted a
galley bound for the Sea Witch today and found a letter on board from a map maker in London. He is writing to tell her that he has accepted her commission and will begin working on her special map in earnest. He has given no details of what he is making for her but the letter is signed by a Humphrey Cole. I wonder if the Sea Witch has commissioned a map to my treasure! Her treachery knows no ends!” Alonzo finished reading and closed the log book. “Not only did Humphrey Cole make maps, he was one of the greatest instrument makers in Elizabethan England.” He looked at the compendium hanging around Meg’s neck.

  Meg instinctively brought her hand up as if protecting the compendium. She put it back inside her shirt.

  “Wow! That sure is cool. You are related to a pirate.”

  “As are you,” Alonzo said, squinting at her.

  Meg feigned surprise. “I don’t know what you are talking about. But it’s late and Trout and I have to get back now,” she said as she took Trout by the hand and led him towards the door.

  “Yes. Yes, it is late and you must get back to your mother,” Alonzo’s face was cold as ice. He followed them out and watched as they boarded the currach. “Could you do something for me?”

  “Sure, Mr. Woods. Anything.”

  “Tell your mother that the deal is off. I have no use for your land anymore.”

  Alonzo Woods stood like a statue on the deck of his boat and watched them row their way back to shore. They pulled the currach up on the beach, turned it over, and ran all the way back to the West Quarter under the Halloween moon. Meg glanced back once and saw Alonzo still standing where they had left him on the aft deck of his boat.