Part 5 (1/2)
”So I had, sir, and fine I'd like the uniforms and the swords and the horses, but I wouldn't have the heart to kill a man, and me never seeing him before. If a man did me a wrong, I'd kill him quick as I'd wash my hands, but never seeing him before, I could na, I just could na--”
”It's a clean thing, the sea,” the Raghery man ventured.
”He's so very young,” objected Uncle Robin.
”There's nothing but that or the books for me, Uncle Robin. A sailor or a scholar--and I don't think I'd make out well with the books.”
”The books aren't all they're cracked up to be, wee Shane. I've written books myself, and who reads them but a wheen of graybeards, and they drowsing by the fire? Knowledge, laddie, I have that.... And it isn't even wisdom. Knowledge is like dry twigs you collect with care to make a bit fire you can warm your s.h.i.+ns at, and wisdom is the gift of G.o.d that's like the blossom on the gorse. I've searched books and taken out the marrow of dead men's brains, and after all, even all my knowledge may be wrong.... Your father's name will be remembered as long as the Gaidhlig lasts, for songs that came to him as easily as a woman's kiss.
And your Uncle Alan's footprints are near the pole. And Mungo is remembered forever because he died with a laugh. Not that I'm saying anything against them, wee Shane; better men will never be seen. But Daniel Donelly's name is remembered because he beat Cooper in a fight, and songs were made about it. And I'll be remembered only when some old librarian dusts a forgotten book. And I was supposed to be the wise pup o' the litter, with my books and my study. And all I have now is a troubled mind in my latter days. Aye, the books!...”
”Shall I go to sea, sir?”
”Is it up to me? And how about your mother, laddie?”
”Oh, there's little warmth within her for me, sir. She's a bitter woman.
She does na like my father's breed.”
”Are you your father's breed through, wee caddie? Are you Campbell all?
Here, gi' us a look at your face. Aye, the eyes, the nose, the proud throw to the head of you. I'm afeared there's little of your mother in you, laddie; afeared there's none at all.”
”I'm no' ashamed o' my kind, sir.”
”And you're set on going to sea?”
”I'd like it fine, sir.”
”And if it does na turn out the way you thought it would, you're not going to cry or turn sour?”
”I thought you knew me better nor that, Uncle Robin.”
”I do.” The big man laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and smiled at the s.h.i.+pmaster. ”Take him, Raghery man!”
-- 11
Though all was wonder to wee Shane, there was so much of it that it flicked through his head like a dream: the hazy September afternoon; the long, lean vessel like a greyhound; the sails white as a swan's wing; the cordage that rattled like wood; the bare-footed, bearded sailors; the town of Carrickfergus in the offing; the _lap-lap-lap_ of water; the silent man at the wheel; the sudden transition of the friendly Raghery man into a firm, authoritative figure, quick as a cat, rapping out commands like a sergeant-major.
The town of Carrickfergus began to slip by as if drawn by horses. The mate ran up the ladder of the p.o.o.p.
”Topsails, McCafferty!” the Raghery man ordered.
”Topsails, sir.”
A minute later there came the mate's voice from amids.h.i.+ps:
”Sheet home the topsails--and put your backs into it!”
Patter of feet. An accordion began to whine like a tinker. Creak and strain. Faster lapping of water. A song raised in chorus:
As I came a-tacking down Paradise Street-- Yo-ho! Blow the man down!
As I came a-tacking down Paradise Street-- Give us some time till we blow the man down!