A Son of Aran

by Martin Gormally

  ‘Thanks for your advice, I don’t know what I would have done if we hadn’t spoken to each other. Here, take a slug of it yourself for your trouble. Máirtín, will you have a drop?

  I don’t agree with this Border and all that goes with it,’ Peadar stated with conviction after the coach crossed into County Donegal. ‘It’s a damn shame that Irish people can’t move freely around their own country without being challenged by both our own and the British authorities.’

  His feelings of anger abated in a little while. They passed a signpost indicating the Grianán of Aileach.

  ‘Look, Máirtín,’ he shouted with excitement, ‘on the hill over there is the ancient fortress of the O’Neills, kings of Ulster. I would love to visit it but we don’t have an opportunity today—some other time maybe! I must get back to Aran as fast as I can—important letters may be waiting for me.’

  His interest in the countryside increased with every mile as he watched out for recognisable features of the landscape.

  ‘There’s Ben Bulban where Fionn and the Fianna used to hunt the wild boar,’ he said, ‘that’s where Fionn found Diarmad and Gráinne frolicing together. When Diarmad lay dying from an injury, he called for a drink from the well to slake his thirst. Fionn let the water drain through his fingers as he carried it to him. As a result Diarmad died of thirst and Fionn took Gráinne for himself. If Oisín had been there he wouldn’t have allowed that to happen; he was away in Tír na n-Óg at the time.’

  Máirtín was astounded at the extent of Peadar’s knowledge of Irish history and mythology.

  ‘I suspected that he was reading a lot recently,’ he said to himself, ‘now I know for sure.’

  ‘Eileen, we’re back with good news,’ Peadar declared with wild excitement when he and Máirtín arrived home. ‘Subject to a few incedental requirements, I have been offered the opportunity I have been waiting for all my life, a lengthy assignment aboard a research vessel that leaves shortly for the Atlantic Ocean. If all works out as I anticipate, I’ll not be seeing Seosamh or you for the best part of a year. During that time I hope to find the lost Isle of the Blest where my father is said to have gone many years ago. Will you give me your blessing as I set out on this wonderful adventure?’

  ‘Of course, Dad, I am delighted that you are about to fulfill your dearest dream. I am consoled that you will be in the company of a responsible research group who won’t allow you to do anything foolish—better by far than your earlier plan to ally yourself with some unknown sailors from West Africa. I will miss you—Seosamh, Carl, and Eileen Óg, will miss you too. However, your happiness and fulfillment is important to us. We will be thinking of you while you are away and praying that you return safely.’

  ‘Micilín, I’ll be away for the rest of the year. The potatoes will be ready for digging soon. You know that Seosamh isn’t able for physical work; will you look after these, put some in a pit for the use of Eileen and the family, and keep the remainder for yourself. You might keep an eye on the cattle too; when October comes, maybe you’d bring them to the fair in Galway. If you fail to sell them, don’t give them to those ‘daylin’ men that hover around the fair green waiting to pick them up at their own price. Go out the road to Bushy Park where a man named Carty will hold them for you until the following fair. Carty is a decent man—don’t forget to treat him right; he took me out of a hole many years ago when I was faced with a similar situation. We Aran people should treasure the good friends we have in Galway—without them we would often be in a bad way.’

  News of Peadar’s success soon got around; his neighbours congratulated him. ‘Begorra, Peadar,’ they said to him, ‘if you find the island of Hy Brasil and return safely we’ll erect a monument to you on the pier at Kilronan.’

  ‘Turas seafóideach (a silly journey),’ was how one man described Peadar’s proposed trip to a group of islanders congregated outside the chapel after Mass on Sunday: ‘nach bfuil fios againn go léir nach bfuil sa scéal sin ach ráfla a chuir iascaire éigin amach tar éis dó iomarca poitín a ól (don’t we all know that story is only a rumour put out by some fisherman who had drunk too much poitín).’

  ‘N’feadar cérb é an iascaire sin (I wonder who that fisherman was),’ another said. ‘Tá an scéal céanna dhá chrao-ileadh leis na glúnta fada anuas (that same tale has been in circulation for long generations past). B’fhéidir go bfuil rian na fírinne ann (maybe there’s a grain of truth in it).’

  ‘Bhuel, cathfidh muid fanacht go dtí go dtiocfaidh Peadar thar n-ais chun cuntas cruinn a fháil faoi (well, we’ll have to wait until Peadar returns to obtain full details about it), sé sin, más rud é go bfillídh sé riamh (that’s if he ever comes back).’

  Preparations completed, suitcases packed and labelled, Peadar bade goodbye to his family and friends in Aran and boarded the Dun Aengus for Galway. He stayed there overnight to drink a few pints with Festy, the Claddagh fishermen, and his former workmates in MacDonacha’s. He called on Miss Leedon too, acquainting her of his good fortune:

  ‘If it weren’t for you,’ he assured her, ‘I would never have known about the research team or The Abercorn Voyager. I will be forever grateful to you for keeping me in mind. I’ll let you know in due course how the sea trip is going. I hope we will meet when I get back.’

  Bright and early next day he was on his way to Dunlaoire and Holyhead en route to Southampton. Singing softly to himself, his mind raced ahead to the much sought after trip to the South Atlantic.

  ‘What great discovery will I make?’ he mused. ‘Will I succeed in finding the legendary island of Hy Brasil? Will anyone be living there? Will I meet my father who disappeared before I was old enough to know him well? If we do meet, will we recognise each other? Questions, questions, questions—no answers at present—in time, all will be revealed!’

  Southampton Water, the channel stretching inland from the Solent, lay resplendent in the light of early morning sunshine as Peadar retraced his steps along the docks to Canada Wharf. Lifted by a flowing tide, The Abercorn Voyager swayed gently on her moorings, its grey hull and gleaming superstructure complemented by two lifeboats fastened on deck, together with an array of nautical equipment, life belts and life jackets, all securely stowed aft.

  ‘Like to take a look around before we go inside?’ a bystander asked. ‘I take it you are Mr O’Flaherty—we have been awaiting your arrival. I am Jake Larmer, your captain. Come with me while I give you the grand tour of our ship and relate her history and vital statistics: Built in Bremen pre World War Two, length 553 feet, width 75 feet, tonnage 17,900, twin screw, diesel propulsion, 13,500 BHP, Max speed 17 knots. As you see, her upper deck has been fully kitted out with life saving equipment. A light dinghy is included for exploration use in shallow waters. Ship’s officers and members of the research team will occupy berths on the main deck. Crew members will be accommodated below. Individual roles will be allocated later this morning, routine duties will be explained and preliminary instructions given. Trial exercises and emergency drill will take place over the next few days to ensure that each member of the crew is fully familiar with his duties, capable of discharging them in an efficient manner, and displaying, at all times, willingness and espirit de corps. That’s all for the moment—we meet in the officers’ lounge at eleven sharp.’

  ‘Welcome, gentlemen, aboard The Abercorn Voyager. My name is Jake Larmer, your captain and chief officer on this research expedition. Your fellow mariners and their responsibilities are as follows:

  Research Officers:

  Francois Claude, France

  Joseph Mario, United States of America

  Hokyo Hama, Japan

  First Mate:

  Anton St. Bernard, Germany,

  with responsibility for supplies

  Marine engineer:

  Mohammed Hassan, Saudi Arabia

  Cook:

  Chan Li Fu, China

  Crew:

  Jean Baroja, Basque Country

  Peadar O’Flaherty, Ireland
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  Alphonso de Gorma, Portugal

  Trias Corassus, Greece

  ‘Scientific researchers aboard, specialists in geology, seismology, marine biology, and related disciplines, are professional divers and cartographers. They will support each others activities without interference by staff, other than as boatmen and porters.

  ‘Crew members will act as general deck hands, undertake rotational watch duties and assume responsibility for overall security of the vessesl and its personnel. Shore leave, where appropriate, will be at the discretion of your captain to whom requests shall be directed.

  ‘Over the next four days you will be initiated in your respective roles. On this voyage, due to limited resources at the disposal of the organisers, each member is expected to perform duties assigned at any given time, in a spirit of willingness, co-operation, and cordiality. Exercises commence tomorrow. Assembly on main deck is at 7.00 hours.’

  ‘September 20th 1961, the first day of the rest of my life, Glóir do Dhia (praise to God), here we go,’ Peadar mused as The Abercorn Voyager slipped its moorings and slowly edged its way down the waterway to the Solent. Resplendent in the morning sun, its green and white pennant fluttered in the light breeze as the ship entered the English Channel. In the melee of vessels berthing and leaving port, its departure went unnoticed, apart from a small number of colleagues and well wishers on the quayside who waved to their scientist friends on board. At the outset the sea was calm but, as the ship approached the coast of Cornwall, the swell of the Atlantic caused those aboard to call on their sea legs to stay upright. The crew, from varying nationalities and backgrounds, had not yet become fully acquainted. Although English was the official language of the expedition, familiarity of some members with the language was basic. Focus on personal names proved difficult, giving rise to abbreviations being resorted to—Cha, Jan, Tri, Alpho, Pedro.

  After the vessel had safely negotiated the English Channel, a south westerly course was set; an outline plan for the voyage was revealed at a meeting convened by the captain: ‘The route proposed on this trip encompasses sites of volcanic origin, identified and unidentified, from the Azores southwards to Tristan da Cunha with exploratory expeditions in sea areas adjacent to the Canary Islands, Cape Verde and Sargasso. Port calls will be made en route at which, subject to captain’s permission, brief shore leave may be allowed. Due to the nature of research activities, progress between points indicated will, of necessity, be slow.’

  For the crew, the early days of the expedition were occupied in familiarising themselves with duties of deck scrubbing, routine cleaning of quarters, polishing brasses, and rotation of the twenty four hour watch. As the ship moved at a leisurely speed in the direction of the Azores, coastlines of Spain and Portugal gradually diminished and the broad Atlantic Ocean surrounded them on all sides. Peadar, taking his turn at daylight watch, scanned the sea with a long telescope. In off time, leaning on the rail, he recalled the trauma of his abandonment by smugglers in those same waters, lashed to a beam of balsa wood to keep him afloat, and his eventual rescue many miles further south by the more benevolent crew of a fishing vessel.

  ‘In my comatose state, did I really have the revelation that I remember, or was my mind confused by old tales of Manannnán Mac Lir and his son Mongán, as told by fishermen and others? One part of my experience has been proved valid, however. Earlier investigations of marine species confirm that the sea horse, or sea serpent as the reptile is known, does exist in Atlantic waters. In the aftermath of the cyclone, did this creature propel me at speed to the position where I was later found? Did I really see the outline of land away to the west where no such land is known to exist? Am I destined to find the elusive island of Hy Brasil that so many fishermen claim to have seen but never reached? Some day soon, perhaps, that question will be answered!’

  As the Voyager approached a proliferation of small islands that bordered The Azores, the scientific officers could be seen pouring over charts and taking measurements. The ship stood off at some distance from land while the dinghy was lowered. One of the crew was detailed to man the oars while research officer, Mario, equipped with diving gear, was lowered over side. After he had spent some hours exploring underwater sites, he returned to ship where he discussed findings with his colleagues. Officer Hama duplicated the exercise, and they were seen to enter their findings in a log book. Accompanied by two crew men, Officer Claude landed on Sao Miguel where, he told them, a series of volcanic tremors and eruptions had been recorded in previous centuries, the most recent some twenty five years previously. He seemed particularly interested in sampling hot springs that were widespread on the island. In all, the exercises occupied two days. Peadar was disappointed that he had not been chosen as oarsman—he was anxious to display his prowess in that area. He would have liked too to get a closer view of the luxuriant island vegetation which he observed in the distance, and to sample some of the luscious fruits hanging tantalisingly from plum trees and vines.

  Several days later the tall peaks of Madeira beckoned ahead. Although, judging by their shape, these appeared to be of volcanic origin, the research people did not express an interest in probing them. The Voyager made a brief stop at Funchal on the main island where Peadar was granted permission to go ashore long enough to send post cards to Eileen and family, Máirtín, Festy, and Miss Leedon, briefly acquainting them of his voyage to date. In the sweltering heat he quaffed a few glasses of finest Madeira wine and took a supply with him on board to treat his mates. Barefoot, clad only in shorts during their leisure hours, he found the crew lazing on the deck in glorious sunshine, their bodies tanned like leather from wind and weather.

  ‘Sante, salude, chin- chin,’ they chanted in chorus as they drank his health.

  ‘This is the life I have been longing for,’ Peadar mused, ‘different by a long shot from my experience of a few years ago in these waters.’

  Seeing him falling silent, his companions roused him from his reverie.

  ‘Hey, Pedro, what caused a fellow like you to volunteer for this trip?’ Alpho, the big Portugese man, asked. ‘Would you not have been better occupied netting fish along the coast of your native Ireland?’

  ‘What prompted any of us?’ Peadar responded. ‘Like you, I love the sea and all that relates to it. I happen to be in a situation in which I don’t have to fish any more to earn a living. I want to see more of the world; I have an interest in volcanos that are known to erupt from time to time in these waters. Perhaps we’ll experience an earthquake during our trip. The lost island of Hy Brasil lies beneath the ocean somewhere out here—should it reappear, I would like to be the first to set foot on it.’

  ‘You’re a dreamer, Pedro’, said the Greek. ‘In my country there are similar legends about a lost city named Atlantis that lies at the bottom of the sea. Despite many searches, nobody has succeeded in locating it. As far as I am concerned it is a fable handed down from one generation to the next. I don’t believe the story.’

  ‘I wouldn’t discount fables such as these,’ commented the Basque. ‘All ancient peoples have their own particular mythology—who can say which version is right? Wise men of olden times were not given to concocting stories about nature. Somewhere, somebody experienced an unexplained phenomenon and recorded it. Insofar as that person could ascertain, his account was valid. That’s how the saga commenced. I’m in agreement with Pedro in his quest for the island he speaks about. Without vision and imagination, life would be humdrum—there would be no innovations or inventions. Look at this ship with its diesel engines—a century ago, who would credit that a big boat could operate without sails? It’s the same in many other areas of living. Go for it, Pedro, don’t give up on your dream.’

  ‘How about you, Chan?’ asked Peadar, ‘You are a long way from your country—why did you volunteer for this voyage?’

  ‘I flee China because of bad emperor. I was fisherman in my country; he take my boat and my fish. I am man of the sea. I no go back. I now fish some more. I ta
ke fish from sea at night. I cook, you eat fresh fish. I am free man now; I make fish shop in England when we get back.’

  Steep, rocky coastlines, cone shaped mountains and barren hillsides greeted their arrival off the Canary Islands. From what he had read, there was no doubt in Peadar’s mind that these were the result of volcanic eruptions of thousands, maybe millions, of years ago. The captain dropped anchor off the port of Las Palmas; the scientists went ashore, one at a time, in the dinghy. Peadar, chuffed at having been chosen as oarsman on this occasion, returned to ship when his assignment had been completed. It was Chan’s turn to have shore leave. For most of their stop-over of one month’s duration in the Canaries, the dinghy was in constant demand ferrying the scientists from one island to another where they collected samples of soil and rock fragments from above and below sea level and took these back on board. Crew members in attendance on those occasions had the opportunity of viewing different facets of natural vegetation (mostly the lack of such) at elevated levels, and fringe areas of low valley lands where vines, sweet potato, and sugar cane were cultivated. All got to see the craters of extinct volcanoes at the crest of Vandama, 2000 feet in depth, and Pico de Los Muchachos. Materials ejected from these eruptions were accorded special attention by the investigating team.

  ‘I hope the ship she will not founder from the weight,’ Mohammed laughingly remarked as the scientists and crew brought more and more samples on board.

  For the long voyage from the Canary Islands to Tristan da Cunha the marine engineer pulled out all the stops. The Abercorn Voyager responded, accelerating at times to its maximum of seventeen knots. By-passing Cape Verde archipelago and the island of St Helena, in ten days the vessel had crossed the equator and arrived in the South Atlantic midway between South Africa and Brazil.