“They’ll kill me first before any harm comes t’ Kayleigh. I arranged for the Clan t’ avenge Kayleigh’s rape. She knows nothin’ about this, and neither does Mary. They won’t either, yer understand.
“Three Clan na Gael men were t’ do the deed, but I did it fer them—they were just lookouts. The killin’ was brutal, cold and brutal. That’s how I wanted it. I beat the man t’death with me fists. I watched blood flow from his mouth and ears and saw him convulse until life left him. Made sure O’Corkerane’s men saw me smile. They didn’t expect that. Maybe they thought there would be satisfaction or a sense of justice or even revenge. They did not expect t’ see pleasure—like the devil smiles at the suffering of the damned, like he smiles at me.”
Griffin bristled. “You tortured him. Where’s the justice in that?”
Jim MacKenna stopped and placed his right hand on Griffin’s shoulder, his face inches away from Griffin’s. “Listen ter me, listen, damn it. I had no choice. I had ter send a message. Haven’t yer realized that by now?
“Told those men ter tell O’Corkerane that was what I’d do ter any man that harmed me daughter. That wasn’t the end of it, though. The next time I met O’Corkerane, in the Harp and Plough it was, I roughed him up a bit. Yer can never show fear. There can never be any misunderstandin’. Now, I told him face to face I’d kill him fer harmin’ Kayleigh. So yer see, he’ll kill me first. The bartender saw the whole thing. Saw O’Corkerane crumble like a child’s doll. Yer see, he’s not so fearsome now. He’ll kill me first—he’s too full of vengeance ter do anything else. Can’t let what I did stand without an answer.” Griffin nodded.
“Have yer noticed the Irish lads you shipped in New York? I hope you noticed there was no trouble with the San Francisco Shipping Masters Association? What was it? Ten dollars a head ter ship yer own men. Everyone else pays thirty dollars and more. It ain’t all bad. It was me that arranged yer cargo fer the Central Pacific. That was my cargo you carried. It was me too that greased the skids with Balfour and Guthrie and the grain arrangement with the Ralli brothers. That ain’t all either. This will help you and Kayleigh get yer feet on the ground.”
Big Jim reached into the inside chest pocket of his sack coat and handed Griffin a folded piece of bond paper.
Griffin was taken aback. “That’s the mortgage on San Matias. I’ve not asked for your help.”
Big Jim laughed. “Pay up, then! Hand it back and I’ll give the money to me grandkids when yer have them. I own the mortgage, Griffin—ha! Got it at a discount too, I did. I got yer by the short and curlies now, ain’t I?”
Griffin smirked, then laughed, and placed the mortgage in his own coat pocket and replied, “You need to read this letter. I’m surprised you don’t already know.”
MacKenna took a letter from Griffin’s hand. It was the report from George Priest on William Jr.’s financial dealings.
“Let’s find a bar, Griffin, I want a pisco punch. The Bank Exchange’s not far from here fer the likes of you and me. We’ll catch a horse car if we have ter. Have yer tried pisco punch? It’ll make a gnat want ter fight an elephant, they say.”
Once seated in the Bank Exchange bar room, Jim MacKenna took George Priest’s letter from Griffin and read it again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea fer ya t’ spend so much time at sea, Griffin. William Jr. will drain you dry like he did his father. I hope yer also understand leavin’ Kayleigh t’ fend fer herself ain’t a good idea either.”
Griffin replied, “Well, at least at sea, I’ve only five Irishmen to worry about. I’ll take Kayleigh to sea with me, hire a midwife, and a maid to take care of her.”
Big Jim MacKenna rose from his chair. “We’ll need to think this through, you and me together—no talking with our women about it. And there’ll be no bad blood between us, at least none that Mary and Kayleigh will ever see. If I’ve something needs saying t’ yer, I’ll say it, and yer t’ me. No Mary. No Kayleigh, and no bullshitting each other. Barkeep!”
MacKenna sat and pointed to part of George Priest’s letter. “There may be some value left in what Willie Jr. bought; it’s stocks—he’s greedy, not stupid, maybe even before his time. I know about Bessemer.”
“Damn it, Jim. I’m dependent on George Priest to see this through for me in Boston. I don’t want Hanna hurt—she’s Kayleigh’s best friend. This Irish business really messes things up, every plan I had. Do I take Providence to England? Hell if I know.”
Big Jim rubbed his brow with the tips of the fingers of his right hand then pointed his hand toward Griffin and made a motion as if he were going to pat the table. “I’ll introduce myself to George Priest. I’ll buy up the holdings, but I won’t pay more than market value—well, just a little more, but I want to remain hidden. Can’t take a chance of anything ever being found out.”
Griffin smiled. “Let’s have a cigar and another punch.”
“Mary’s seen me in Garryowen’s glory a time or two. Seein’ yer with me will save us a tongue-lashing. Yer’ll buy this one.”
“Barkeep!”
The morning fog had rolled out past Alcatraz Island to sea through the Golden Gate. The early September sunlight, as clear as polished optical glass, warmed faces and illuminated shadows.
***
Nicholas Priest had cleaned the ship’s bilge with Smallbridge and Richard Ernst. This was the foulest experience he had ever had. The bilge looked foul, felt foul, and smelled worse. Then came lining the ship’s hold with wood planking, as required for carrying grain. More work below in the hold, separated from fresh air and sunlight. This, however, came to an end after supper, and Nicholas Priest found that he was refreshed despite the labor, as he could sleep all night without interruption. He was also somewhat richer for the experience, as he was surprised to learn that his indenture as an apprentice did come with the wage required by the Shipping Commissioner’s Act of 1872.
Captain Griffin called the boys to his reception area and asked them if they would like to attend Thompson’s Navigation School while the ship loaded grain. This school could certify that they possessed the basic navigational skills required of a mate. Richard Ernst declined at first because he did not intend to be a career seaman, but eventually accepted as he would enjoy the company of his two companions and they him, while the evenings would be free for adventure ashore in San Francisco. Smallbridge discovered a photographer who had a lovely and, behind her father’s back, lively daughter. The others asked if she had friends.
With time and money to spend, Nicholas Priest found himself in a small top-floor studio in a greengrocer’s store near Geary and Larkin discussing tattoos, his tattoos, with Sam Duder, John Stedwin, Smallbridge, and an elderly Japanese gentleman whom Duder and Stedwin deferred to as Master Horiyoshi, master of tebori.
Master Horiyoshi’s studio was an unusual place by Western standards, with more than a little reflection of Japanese Buddhism, a large skylight, vials of ink, a teapot, and a large handheld barber’s mirror. The sailors were invited to sit around a bamboo mat on the immaculately swept floor and were offered strong green tea prior to discussing business.
Master Horiyoshi spoke a limited amount of English and the conversation essentially involved their shipmate John and the master. It was soon understood that Priest was there to get his tattoos for crossing the line and rounding Cape Horn. The master smiled, bowed, and looked to Priest to acknowledge his intent.
John Stedwin took off his shirt and showed the master the large koi fish tattoo that occupied his entire back. The master smiled and indicated that he recognized his own work. Sam Duder directed Priest’s attention to the colors used: black, white, blue, and red. He also pointed out the shading of the colors; the black ink was as delicately shaded as a charcoal drawing, and a large angry sea was portrayed in the tattoo’s background.
“I showed him the work so he could recognize it, and I’m showing it to you because the master’s work don’t come cheap and ain’t quick to do, Priest.”
Smallbridg
e added, “Looks good to me, but you go first.”
The master drew his face close to Priest and sniffed. “Good, not drunk.”
Having completed some of the preliminaries, the master sketched out his interpretation of the classical Neptune Rex, crowned and with his trident spear. His Neptune did bear a resemblance to the classical Greek image; however, the musculature, the hair, and the pose were very fierce and, as Duder explained, in the samurai tradition. This Neptune rode upon the back of a wingless dragon with reptile-like scales, three toes, and a beard. The background featured a roiled sea that Priest clearly recognized as graybeards, the waves breaking at the top, the upward movement of the water, and the dark abyss for the trough. Sam explained that the tattoo would be inked on Priest’s left calf. Some Japanese was exchanged between Stedwin and the master, and Priest learned that the master felt a shoulder would be the more appropriate canvas.
“Does it matter, Duder?”
“Not too much, as long as the shellbacks know it’s there. I suspect you’d want to keep it covered up, though, and either place works for that.”
“Show me yours, Sam?”
Sam showed that his was indeed on a shoulder, but it was not at all like what the master had sketched. Duder explained that it was his first tattoo and done in New York before he knew tattooing and had experienced the Orient.
Priest looked at the master and pointed to his left calf. The master nodded that he understood but said, “Big. Not cheap.”
Shortly thereafter, an agreement was reached, fifteen dollars exchanged, and Priest was asked to remove his trousers and lie down on the mat.
Smallbridge smiled. “It’s gonna hurt, Sweets, but you’ll get used to the pain. Ain’t nothin’ you can’t take.”
The master proceeded to grind his inks from a mixture of charcoal he called sumi and mix in the colors. When that was complete, he cleaned Priest’s calf with hot soap and water and shaved where the tattoo would go. Then he assembled his needles. These needles were not what Priest or, for that matter, Smallbridge expected. They were delicately carved ivory needles bundled in bunches by a brass band to the end of a carved bamboo stick that was nearly a foot and a half in length.
The master said, “Draw in first, color later.” The master then sketched the outline of his work on Priest’s calf. Sam Duder stretched Priest’s shaved skin to form a firm canvas. This sketch took nearly an hour to complete. Duder laughed. “Worst part’s over.” Priest knew he lied.
Priest saw the master wash his own hands and assemble his tools by Priest’s side. The master sat cross-legged over Priest’s calf and used a small brush dipped in an inkpot to ink his needle. He placed his left hand on Priest’s calf, gripped the very top of his needle like a chisel in his right hand, and angled the needles over the thumb of his left hand so they would strike the outline the master had drawn on Priest’s skin. Then, as Priest watched and Duder kept his skin stretched, Horiyoshi pushed the needle quickly through the top layer of skin in a lunging motion. Priest winced.
The first puncture hurt, but less than he had imagined it would. Priest also knew that Duder, Stedwin, and Smallbridge were watching him to see his reaction to the pain. Priest closed his eyes and breathed slowly to relax his body. Every five seconds his skin was punctured by another thrust. Duder kept the skin taut. The only stoppage came when the master wiped the blood off Priest’s calf and either re-inked or changed his tattoo pens. Priest imagined he heard a shiss noise as the needles exited his skin.
The process ended with the master smiling toward his subject while picking up and cleaning his tools. Nearly three hours had passed. The master cleaned the blood and excess ink from Priest’s calf and showed him the outline of Neptune emerging from the sea on the back of a dragon that the master had created. The outline extended from below the ankle to the top of the calf. Stedwin drew Priest’s attention to the intricate detail of the dragon’s scales.
Duder explained the significance of the symbols.
“Sweets, you’re getting something to be proud of. Neptune shows that you are a shellback, a member of Neptune’s kingdom. The dragon is riujin, who holds power over the sea and its tides with his magical jewels. The dragon will be finished in the same black, white, blue, and red, the four natural powers of the earth. The sea is a real snorter. This tattoo says you are a powerful man and full of good fortune.”
Duder added, “John told Master Horiyoshi about you. About how you came on board all sick, how you fought, and how you’ve become a real shipmate to us. What he’s done is choose symbols to show who you are and what he sees as your future. The master thinks you’ve the makings of a samurai.”
Priest had observed how Duder and Stedwin treated the master with courtesy. He bowed to the master and told him, “Thank you.” With that, the master bandaged the fresh tattoo, and Stedwin warned him to be careful with it. He was also told that he must come back so the master could finish coloring and shading the tattoo. He wanted the skin to heal before proceeding.
Duder explained the history of tattoos in Japan, that they had been used to punish criminals, and that the Japanese government had outlawed tattoos to please Western visitors. He said the common Japanese people have for centuries considered tebori to be an art and an expression of Japanese culture. The master tattooist listened, asked Stedwin occasionally to translate, and smiled. Horiyoshi spoke to Priest: “Be proud.”
Master Horiyoshi had been brought to San Francisco by sailors so that he could continue to practice his art among those who appreciated it. The master, however, wished to return to Japan.
Several days later, Priest again found himself on the mat with the master, Duder, and Stedwin. Priest steeled himself for the experience. It was good that he did so. The needles used by the master to color and shade in Neptune, the dragon, and the sea were considerably larger in width than the delicate needles used for outlining. Smallbridge said that he would join his shipmates later in the evening and was anxious to see the finished tattoo.
Once again Priest relaxed to control his breathing and thought of a field of freshly fallen New England snow to keep his mind away from what he endured. Then the memory of what had happened in Virginia passed through his mind. He grunted and smiled. The master stopped momentarily. “No move.”
Master Horiyoshi began anew and steadied his needles with the index finger of his left hand and pushed the needle into Priest’s skin with his right hand in a chisel grip at the top of the bamboo. Once again, a push was made every five seconds in a steady rhythm, only stopping to clear away the blood, ink, or change inks and needles.
When the blood and excess ink had been washed away, Priest was shown his new tattoo in the mirror. It was past midnight. He was amazed at the result and pleased with what had been done. He could easily imagine what it would be when his skin healed, and wondered what the boys at his school in Virginia would say about it. Then he smiled, realizing he did not give a damn about the opinion of those boys. He shuddered a moment, though, when he thought of his mother and how she would cry. She would surely be overcome with sorrow and a sense that she had somehow failed him. He hoped she would one day understand who he had become and what the tattoo meant.
As Priest’s mind wondered about how his mother would react to him, Smallbridge burst through the door and exclaimed, “Priest, Sweets, I saw her. Sophie’s at the Bella Union. It had to be her!”
Priest smiled.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Paul Thomas Fuhrman grew up the eldest of three children in Middletown, Ohio, and graduated from Bishop Fenwick High School. He earned a bachelor’s degree in English literature from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. After college, Fuhrman spent five years, ten months, and twenty-eight days plus a wake up of commissioned naval service. He acquired the rank of full lieutenant and his wife, Donna, his salvation. Fuhrman loved bridge watches and Combat Information Center watches as well as any deck or small boat operation. He also started crewing on sailboats in the navy. His favorite ship was
the USS Tacoma PG 92.
The sea was Fuhrman’s dream from grade school on. He read about the sea, ships, and sailors in a wonderful old gothic Carnegie library on First Avenue in Middletown, Ohio.
Now ashore, arms stacked, children educated, and settled in his retirement home in Virginia, The Downeaster became an obsession of some ten years’ research and writing and has finally reached print. It is an ambition fulfilled.
MacHugh and the
Faithless Pirate
Robert MacHugh is a late 17th century Scots wine merchant and smuggler in New York who finds himself (not totally willingly) chasing pirates, perfidious French persons, angry Native Americans and others as a “favor” for a very powerful London power broker. A story filled with straining canvas, roaring cannons, spies, crooked Dutch patroons, Maroons and pretty girls, among other things.
A rip-snorting, swashbuckling adventure, that I was quickly caught up in. I liked the battle scenes, the storms and the part with the Maroons. The opening scene had a lot of atmosphere. I would have liked to know Kate a little better.
—Daniel Parrott, Former captain of the tall ships Pride of Baltimore II, Harvey Gamage, Bill of Rights and Tole Mour; professor of navigation at the Maine Maritime Academy; author of Tall Ships Down.
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Fiction and Non-Fiction
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Interesting • Informative • Authoritative
Table of Contents
Title Page1
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Coriolanus Ship
Full Rigged Ship
The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage Page 32