The Boy From Ballyclerahan

Chapter 12: The Apprentice

Bay de Verde, Newfoundland, June 10th, 1811

"Jaysus by', have a bit o' sense!" yelled Johnny. "Ye don't know a codfish from your arsehole! Sure, ye pricked just about every goddam finger ya got trying to hook a few on a hand line. What the hell's gonna happen when ye gets a splittin' knife in yer hands? Ye might cut yer whole arm off!" His injured shoulder healed well enough, Johnny's arms flailed wildly as he delivered his plea.

"I'll be fine, Johnny, don't worry 'by. Ed and I have been to Taverner's wharf already. Said they'll teach me. As if I was a youngster," Pat replied. Didn't know I was all that important. He couldn't suppress his smile.

"Wha's so funny 'bout dis, Pat? Jaysus 'by, we're tryin' to save ye! T'ink 'bout why ye came in da first place. Forgot 'bout dat did ye?" Johnny continued.

"And yer no youngster, Pat," offered Seamus, joining the exchange. "Bay de Verde kids are taught to make fish almost as soon as dey can walk. You're a little old to start now, don't ye t'ink,"

"It's 'cause de're desperate for a few warm bodies 'by," added Ferguson. "Asked me to stay on too. What'd ye t'ink? Yer dat special?" Pat's smile melted away. It was starting to get nasty.

"Knock it off, 'bys! That's enough!" shouted Wilt, overhearing the conversation. "Pat's a grown man and he can do whatever he wants. He is neither a paid crewmember of the Fanny nor beholden to her like you shackled arseholes are. If he wants to leave, he should leave and that's got nothing to do with you!" He crossed his arms in disgust, awaiting their response. Silence. Wilt was in charge now.

After a few awkward moments, Seamus piped in, defusing the situation. "Look Pat, i's not like dat. We loves ye like a brudder, dat's all. Ye're part of da family now. When we lost Reardon, it killed us as ye knows. Don't want to lose ye too," the Goliath's eyes welled, arresting the sentiment. He jammed a thumb into the corner of his eye to stem the tears from fully forming.

"And besides, we needs ye on da boat," Ferguson interjected. "For yer skills 'by, you know the way ye..." he paused to think for a moment. "Well, I don't know what da feck yer good at, but yer a damn good lad!"

Pat's smile returned. Ferguson always wrapped his compliments with insults. That's how he let you know he liked you. Otherwise, you were just ignored.

By contrast, Seamus, the empathetic giant, wore his heart on his sleeve. "I guess what we're sayin' is dat we want ye to stay on," Seamus continued. "Stick it out wit' us if ye can. Yer good stock, Patrick. Yer mother would be proud o' ye."

Pat hesitated. Would she be? He let out a conflicted sigh. "My mother is dead, Seamus. And I might as well be too if I don't do this. I'm frightened to death, I really am, and a big part of me just wants to jump back on the Fanny and carry on with you all. You are my family, I have little other. But I have to do this. I need to be free."

One by one he met their eyes. A motley group to be sure, but he was proud to be counted among them. They did what they could. They steered the Fanny to shore. They saved lives. But now Pat's part in their journey was at its end.

"Leave him alone now, 'by's. He's made his decision and we need to respect that," Wilt directed, his voice softening now. He turned to Pat. "We'll be in St. John's for several weeks, maybe longer. If you change your mind, you are welcome to rejoin us. You'll find us at the London Tavern, no doubt." The crew snickered, nodding in agreement." And I have a feeling we won't be going anywhere for quite a while so you'll have some time to consider your options," he continued. Pat wasn't sure what Wilt meant by that but he was heartened by the open invitation.