Neptune's Fingers Read online

  “That really is running away! How much farther can you go? We’re half way round the world from Ireland.” Jack tried to imagine himself doing the same sort of thing and failed. He was still shaking his head when Jim went on.

  “The two boys were like chalk and cheese so they parted company, one staying here and the other headed for the mainland. Your family doesn’t talk about him much. It seems he took his hardships out on them. Your mother knew him, of course. She used to hide from him so she said.” This was a huge piece of family history to take in. A whole chunk of blank pages were filled. Funny how Jim knew about it and he didn’t. Jim let him be while he chewed it over.

  “I wonder why dad hasn’t told me this,” said Jack.

  “I guess there was no call. You didn’t ask and he didn’t think to tell you,”

  Fair enough, thought Jack. Maybe he would ask him about it next chance he got. It was filling in a big gap in his past. Suddenly he said,

  “What happened to the other one? The one who stayed here?” That was an even bigger mystery.

  “He didn’t live here forever. He gradually integrated with the locals. Even married one of them and had a family. He kept coming back to the island, though. He drowned on the spit.” Jim’s tone put an end to the conversation. Jack wanted to know more. He felt he had been led down another path and the question about the boy cleverly dodged.

  “Have you ever seen a boy out here on the spit – other than me, I mean,” repeated Jack.

  “A stranger, you mean? No. Nothing like that. I know the faces of all I’ve seen. Even the silly ones,” he added.

  “I saw one yesterday,” said Jack, reflectively.

  “Did you now?” said Jim. That was all he would say on the matter.

  The boat was in the channel, rounding Beacon Head now. The tide was ebbing but the shallow draft of the launch let the little craft churn through it with ease. It was still about half an hour to Guthrie’s Bay and Jack sat quietly, his thoughts mulling over Jim’s startling news.

  CHAPTER 6

  Did ya get home ok yesterday?” asked Bill.

  “No, you baboon. I’m a ghost come to haunt you.” Jack lurched at him, arms raised like an apparition.

  “You know what I mean. Whooo, you’re a bit whiffy this morning. No ghost’d smell so awful.” Jack was not sure what a ghost might smell like. Musty, perhaps, but he had to admit the smell of his clothes was pretty strong. The heat made it worse. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought there was someone out at the wreck yesterday. When I got there I couldn’t see anything. Got wet for nothing. This was the best I could do this morning. Dad wouldn’t let me have the day off either seeing there’s only two more to go.”

  “Rough,” sympathized Bill. “If you can’t read and write by now, I don’t know what the next two days are going to do for you.” Neither boy would set the world alight with their education but they both could read and write. Bill hated the nibs and the watery ink provided by the school. He made blots with it regularly, causing Mister Bryant to suck his teeth in disgust. In two day’s time he would stick to good old reliable lead pencil.

  “That old wreck’s hanging together a long time. Must have a charmed life or something.”

  “Or something,” said Jack. One day very soon he was going to have a closer look at that wreck. “Did you know my grandfather was a survivor of that wreck?”

  “No! I heard all hands were lost.”

  “I thought so too. Jim told me about it this morning. It’s a bit surprising no one knows about it. No one who’s telling, that is.” Jack’s imagination was fired. There was a mystery here and that was a fact. He had already decided it was his mystery to solve. Just roll on, school holidays. There would be time then to explore it further.

  A niggling thought kept butting into his plans. The wreck was not a safe place. Divers needed rescuing in the past. He had no plans to become another one. It would be better to have a buddy when he did this. His father was much too busy. Bob would laugh and call him a galah. There was nothing for it. Bill was the most likely candidate. He made up his mind to broach the subject when the other kids were not around. He didn’t want a mob climbing all over The Kestrel. No, this was a job for two. Sharing adventures was a natural thing for Jack and Bill.

  As if to confirm this, Bill said,

  “You gonna go in the trawler race on the weekend? Harry Landy’s boat is going in it again. Ginny, traitor that she is, is going on the Dawnwind, just ‘cos it’s faster. Remember her face last year when they were disqualified for not going round the buoy? Laughed till I cried.” Bill was a breath of fresh air. He enjoyed everything. Jack joined in as he recalled the event. Ginny sulked for a week, he remembered.

  “Sure. It might be my last bit of freedom for a while. I start fulltime at the lighthouse after Christmas. Dad said I could have a short break. He’s all heart. Still, I can’t wait.” Part of Jack wanted to remain a boy. The other part wanted to be a man. He was in the middle of a tug-o-war.

  “Great. I told Harry you would. He’s got a space on board for us.” Jack was delighted. With all this delight there was little room for schoolwork in his mind. Mister Bryant knew the limitations at the end of the year. He was busy filling in forms and marking stuff to bother them too much with anything too arduous.

  The usual playground games were happening in earnest. Footballs flew about, skipping ropes turned everywhere and little ones ran about, lost in the ubiquitous dust. As expected, Christmas activities took up most of the day and Jack found himself the proud drawer of a galleon, sails in full fettle in the wind. Sailing ships were pressing on his mind at present and the carol, ‘I Saw Three Ships’ was his motivation. He stunned himself with the final result. This one was worthy of hanging on the wall.

  Jim arrived at the wharf at Guthrie’s Bay at 4:30 pm. His trip by truck to the city over, he gratefully climbed into his boat where he knew the bumps would not worry him. The dirt road to town was riddled with boulders and tree roots, making it a hazardous journey at best. Few people had motor vehicles. They belonged to the rich. A steamer came in each week carrying passengers from the city to Guthrie’s Bay and back again. A road worthy of the name seemed ostentatious, as it was not used often.

  The water was calmer, with small ruffles of foam at the peaks of the waves as the nor’easter skimmed over them. Jack climbed aboard and Jim cast off the ropes. The Aurora was in today, Harry busy on its deck, sorting out his catch before returning the boat to its mooring. He saw Jack and waved.

  “See you Sunday?” he called.

  “You bet,” answered Jack. Wild horses would not keep him away.

  The little boat set its course before the nor’easter. The faithful wind diminished the heat of the day and the air dampened with sea spray. With their backs to the wind, Jim and Jack rode a while in silence. The joy of being a free spirit on the water needed to be savored. Each thought his own thoughts, until the channels of the harbor were negotiated and the rest of the way was deep, clear water. The sea was calm under the vivid blue sky. Sparkling flashes of sunshine still danced on the tips of the waves like a million pixies winking. The sea was laughing. Jack’s soul was full.

  As they passed Sandy Bay with its rows of makeshift homes littering the shoreline, Jack looked over to Bill’s place. He knew exactly where to look. All the places had their own appearance. Ned Reed had a couple of crates out the front where he sat with his glass of beer. Blue Daniels, with his shock of red hair, was usually about somewhere, looking busy with little to show for it. His washing, still strung out on lines held up with long, forked, wooden props, waved in the breeze. Left too long, it just got wet again in the sea spray. Blue would have damp clothes tomorrow. Some people were tardy. Life did not hurry people along here.

  “Kevin’s truck is on its last legs,” Jim intervened in the silence. “Spare parts’re in short supply. Might have to send my grit on the boat next time. It’s a bit far to go in the launch.”

  “Would that cost much, Jim?�
�� asked Jack.

  “Yep. Too much really. I wouldn’t make much out of it.” He sat brooding again.

  “Something’ll turn up. It usually does. I don’t know why that is, but it is.” So spake Jack the Profit. Jim smiled. Jack was an optimist. In fact, if optimists had royalty, Jack would be their King. His unerring belief in the future, in spite of the poverty and misery about him, was amazing. The world needed people like Jack, Jim thought. They are the ones who made the rest get on with it and succeed. It would be a crime to disappoint him.

  “So, you’re going out with Harry, are you? He’s a lively lad. You and he would be two of a kind. I never see him without a smile on his face and a cheery hello.” He looked about at the cloudless sky and added, “Weather should hold. We’ll get a change early next week.”

  “Have you seen a barometer today?” asked Jack.

  “Nope,” answered Jim. “Don’t need one.”

  “Bob told me about the rain last night but he used the barometer. He thinks I’m a hopeless case ‘cos I don’t use it as much as he does.” Jack was more pragmatic than Jim. If it rained, it rained. Fair enough. There wasn’t much he could do about it one way or the other. Yet, here was Jim announcing with certainty the weather for as much as half a week away. Jack knew who he listened to the most. Jim had an uncanny knack of ‘feeling’ the weather. He was an outdoor man. He observed things others ignored.

  “You are anything but hopeless. Young, maybe,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll be wiser when I’m twenty-one. Well, that’s a while off. You’ll have to put up with me being a bit thick until then.”

  The conversation continued in this casual way, talking about things of little consequence most of the time. It was relaxing and comfortable. The journey was over before they knew it. The island of Narrowgut loomed before them and Jim guided his boat to the sandy cove. Jack helped him haul it up the beach before he waved his thanks for the lift and headed for home.

  Jack’s trousers flapped on the line strung up in front of the house. He had better hurry and get them in before they felt the effects of the nor’easter, if they hadn’t already. To think he had judged the tardy ones on Sandy Beach. He had no servants. He must look after his own clothes. He went by way of the line and retrieved them, slung them over his shoulder and went indoors.

  “Ah, there you are,” said his father. “Made good time, I see.”

  “Yeah,” said Jack. He told his father about Jim’s worries with Ned’s truck. These simple problems were of great importance in isolated spots like this.

  “Is it still all right to go on Harry’s boat for the Regatta?” asked Jack.

  Henry Lambert remembered his days, as a youngster, when he went on boats like Harry’s. His own liberties were few and far between. Jack had more than he realized. All the same, there were few diversions of note to give him pleasure. Henry had no intention of barring this outing. It would do the boy good before he was chained to the secluded island.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “Hope the weather holds out for you.”

  “Jim said it would,” said Jack.

  “Oh well, then. That settles it. I hope the Good Lord is listening.”

  Jack knew Henry admired Jim’s abilities. The man was at one with the island. Sometimes Henry could not help himself from sounding like a parent. It always made Jack smile.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sunday dawned with all the sunshine Jim predicted. Not one cloud blemished the clear blue of the sky. The Regatta was a fun day on a calendar where daily grind was the norm. Needless to say, everyone was involved one way or another. As many as possible, young ones in particular, found a trawler to call their own and clambered on board with great expectations. The Aurora was resplendent in colored bunting, rescued from some dark cupboard where they hid from one year to the next, all thought of fishing banished for the day.

  At Guthrie’s Bay, it was a Public Holiday, proclaimed by everyone who lived there. No one was going to argue. Some things were sacred. Twelve trawlers moored in the Bay each night and ten of them were ready for the contest. Lofty Lynch’s boat, The Eileen was still out fishing but no one worried. He would be back in time. Wild horses could not keep him away. Trawlers were work horses – glorified tubs – built for stability no matter what the weather. Speed was not essential. If Lofty’s boat had a full hold he might even be given a head start to save him unloading. Fair was fair.

  The Dawnwind, painted a splendid ochre with orange trim, stood out amongst the gray or white of the other boats, red and blue bunting fluttering from the derrick. Only The Eileen, a deep green, kept the Dawnwind company in the fashion stakes but until it returned to port, Dawnwind drew the eye.

  “Damned nonsense,” Harry called it. “If I wanted to be a decorator I’d have taken up a paintbrush for a trade. Gray hides a multitude of sins. Fishing is a bit messy once the fish are on board.” Rust colored stains added a lived-in look along the hull where water escaped from the bilges.

  Ginny disagreed. Her small feet led her straight to the Dawnwind, secure in the knowledge it had the biggest motor and therefore was the fastest boat.

  “Sound Mathematics,” Mrs. Tarrant said when Bill complained of her disloyalty for Harry. “You can’t argue with the numbers.”

  The irritating thing was, she was right. Nothing rankled Bill more than when his younger sister won anything over him. She took first prize in gloating and it was insufferable. She would eventually be told to cut it out, but she had a look that gloated better than her words.

  Bill’s feet strode to The Aurora, leapt across the gap between wharf and boat and found Jack, already entrenched on the bow, just under the cabin window. There was a space saved for Bill. He settled down and gave a contented sigh. Every day ought to be like this.

  “Thought you weren’t coming. I got here quick smart to get our spot up here,” Jack said in greeting.

  “Yeah. Ginny’s carrying on! You know how it is? She’s on the opposition as you might expect. The Dawnwind!” Bill may have sounded disparaging but he would love to own a boat like the Dawnwind. He would never admit to jealousy so he took out his frustration on Ginny. “Harry said I could go in the wheelhouse while we’re racing. I’d love to work on a boat like this,” he said, changing the subject. Bill was suddenly in heaven.

  “You’ve got salt water running in your veins,” said Jack with laugh. If Bill wasn’t in the water, he was on it. He’d sleep there if he could. “Plenty of time. I think I’ll stay out here. I get cooped up at home so out in the open sounds good to me.” Jack determined to enjoy every moment of his last days of freedom. It would end next week, after Christmas. It was hard to think about it now it was upon him. No more jaunts with Bill in his billy cart. No more impromptu swims or hikes. Life was about to change.

  Harry’s boat was popular. That is to say, Harry was popular. His laughter was effervescent and contagious. His boat filled up first every year. Everyone knew everybody. This day of frivolity belonged to the locals. It was compensation for the hardships endured in order to make ends meet. It was an escape for those with no employment; anesthesia to dull the hopelessness of no income. There were families out for a thrilling ride. Wal even forgot his oysters today and joined in, although he headed for The Marlin, a gray trawler with the derrick at the fore and the wheelhouse aft. Jack laughed. “It doesn’t know if it’s coming or going,” he often said.

  “There she is!” Jack didn’t know who shouted but everyone looked out towards the point at the end of the beach. The Eileen came into view. She rode round it into Guthrie’s Bay, increasing in size as she hastened to the wharf. A small group of expectant passengers cheered when they saw her. It was beginning to look doubtful they would be in the race. Now, their loyalty was rewarded. Here she was, and not a moment too soon. There was half an hour to go to get to the starting line, a pre-ordained spot marked by buoys. Jack found it hard to believe a better day could be had. All augured well for a spectacular d
isplay of boats, sea foam, bunting and cheering passengers.

  Waiting is always the hardest part but finally the time arrived, to the cheers of the passengers, and Harry and the other fishermen started the engines. The fumes from the fuel filled their nostrils. That would be short-lived, though. Once underway, the wind took care of that. With consummate skill, Harry reversed from the wharf. Some of the other boats were on their way as well. It was hard not to feel excited.

  “I hope we’re next to Dawnwind. I want to give Ginny a hard time.” Bill knew what was expected of an older brother. “Girls. What do they know about boats?”

  Jack only grinned. Ginny was on the best bet that he could see if winning was your aim. She seemed to know a fair bit about boats. Bill would be happy no matter where they came. Being here was fantastic. With few rules to get in the way, the boats jostled for a spot on the starting line, motors idling, ready for a quick getaway. Eleven boats, chunky, serviceable workboats, stood proudly as though they were a fleet of sailing craft on the playground of the rich. Today, Jack felt like a millionaire.

  No sign of The Pelican, though. She was a white boat with a black trim, for some reason, unable to get back in time. It hardly mattered. Most of the people of Neptune’s Fingers were here, either on a boat or lining the beach, or sitting in their own dinghies close to the action. Even Henry Lambeth was on the beach, Bob doing the honors in the lighthouse during the day. Henry brought Jack around to Guthrie’s Bay and left him to his own devices. The tides were favorable today so Jack was given leave to make his own way home and so prolong his day as much as possible. Jack was glad his father was there. He never took time off. The care lines on his face were relaxed as he stood talking to old timers from Guthrie’s Bay.

  Suddenly, a shot rang out; the signal to start. Eleven boats lurched forward, churning up the calm water into a frenzy of foam. The wake of each vessel sent waves rolling across the water so the boats in the rear rode them like surfers. Shrieks and laughter filled the air to mingle with the cawing of seagulls who were bound to be disappointed today as the boats were empty, save for the passengers. Jack could see Ginny on The Dawnwind. She sat on top of the wheelhouse, her long hair flying in the wind and her dress flapping about her legs. A huge grin announced her delight to the world.