On the eve of Mary’s Day, three persons from the Men of Goodhope will exchange loving goodbyes with their spouses. Reasons for leaving usually center around a group of “old mates” gathering to catch up on the year’s events. Or perhaps friends well met rehashing former glory days. Each time these excuses are accepted without as much as a shrug. Such continues the innocent appearance of this ritual.
Year after year, departing from Dublin, Cork, Galway, Limerick, Donegal, Waterford, Sligo and other fair towns and villages in between, they gather at one airport for an overseas flight. Each anniversary the trio’s composition is changed to scupper any appearances of patterns.
When the Men of Goodhope arrive from Ireland at a predetermined meeting place, they still take the same strict precautions as when they arranged Peter’s escape long ago. It would be incomplete if not mentioned that their dedication to Peter Harvey’s memory would take the breath from his heaving lungs were he still alive. These people represent all that is good in human remembrance. They are not only noble in their actions, though humble in their deeds. There is no take in the lot of them.
On arrival in Nova Scotia, these special men feel enchanted by the invigorating salt air and overarching “presence” in this land. For while many call this the New World, her character is far more rooted. She will lull you, ever so quietly at first. Though as time develops, you will begin succumbing to her many charms. Nevertheless, the mission at hand is always pressed forward, the same as every year before.
This year of 2000 was no different than those of the past. Peter Harvey’s remaining male descendant provides updates on his wellbeing, along with any concerns encountered in the past year, especially in terms of perceived danger. New safeguards are enacted if need be, as well as fresh instructions for emergency contact and other primary issues. All efforts are made to cover off any eventualities.
Then the fun part ensues. He will hear various goings on from back in Ireland. Old stories of particular interest will be updated. And the latest activities of the Men of Goodhope will be related. One aspect the descendant especially enjoys is when new recollections of Peter’s past deeds are recounted. It helps to give him a broader perspective on his revered ancestor’s compelling accomplishments.
“One thing Peter Harvey believed from the depth of his very soul was that our country’s problems could be resolved. The hardest part to put into action was replacing the wants of a corrupt powerful few with solid benefits for the many.
“I remember what my grandfather said about Peter,” continued this tall gentleman of clean build. “With both hands he tried to take all that was ill in the land and change it with his heart. But when the words left his mouth, those problems had been transformed into a believable passion that fired up everyone who heard him into action! Peter was the embodiment of all that was good in mankind.
“It is a shame after all these years we have to meet you like this, though you know they will always be after his kin. My word, if the public only knew what went on behind some closed doors!”
After saying these moving words, a colleague of his added more reflections. The natural beauty of these surroundings urged a purging of learned recollections. The compelling landscape demanded no less than the purity of honesty, where sheltered secrets remained as such.
“I tend to look upon it this way Andy,” Cormac replied to his colleague. “I was always taught the devil roams our earth in constant vigil. It is always looking to weave a shadowy veil of hate on those humans too weak to resist. In fact, it tries to cloak all of us at one time or another with its lethal tapestry! Most resist, though it is successful enough to garner some, smothering them with evil intent.
“It is because of these few we have to meet in isolated places like today. How ironic when the man whom we honor only wanted peace and justice for all! Ah well, such is the hard life on man’s earth. Nevertheless, we know Peter ran enough for all future generations of his line.”
Turning to the descendant, Andy brought forth further sentiments. “Your ancestor was a key figure in the struggle for our country, giving light so desperately needed, no required, by each citizen of the day. Yet in the end he paid a heavy price to escape the arrest warrant, as well as every eldest male descendant thereafter.
“The warrant is rumored to be as real today as when it was proclaimed. It’s said to be administered by a senior member of the Stanton clan, purely out of vengeful self-interest!”
While the solitary piper played “Green Fields of Canada” on uilleann pipes (called union pipes in Peter’s day), a solitary red rose was planted in Mary’s remembrance. It was said through the years she loved a vibrant splash of color to brighten the Atlantic grey of Kilmarnie.
Mary chose red to symbolize the common blood we all share. This would only be true to her nature. Mary was all about community, care, kinship and love. To her, all of these attributes could be identified in this beautiful flower.
As they departed after another anniversary, the descendant recalled a timeless tale passed down for generations through his family. It centered on an eternal battle between the essence of spirit and growth, locked in fierce struggle against shadow and regression.
In his humble opinion, it was far beyond the seemingly limited capacities of humans to totally understand this constant battle within ourselves. He reasoned this to be why injustices continued to plague our world in a so called modern age.
So he remains the latest unfortunate exile of a long line, whose wistful dream of a return to Ireland is tempered by an unofficial standing sentence of arrest. Regardless, he keeps a vigil of quiet desperation, hoping that perchance the day will arrive when he can safely put feet on that old soil which knew Peter’s toil.
In Nova Scotia, it is quite fascinating for one to hear tales like Prince Henry Sinclair’s purported expedition to Guysborough County with possible Crusader treasure. Or the story of Oak Island in Mahone Bay with its cache of legendary pirate bounty. These stories hold a timeless fascination with their ancient lure of lost troves.
Though it is said rumors of this nature have some basis in fact, it is far beyond the scope of most to prove their merit. While some continue to pursue the hope of possibility, such tales continue to make the descendant smile. For he knows the only untold story of hidden treasure based in Nova Scotia.
As for the golden key, the chance of anyone finding this artifact would be remote indeed. Vincent Lawrence, the surviving son of Peter Harvey after a horrific tragedy befell his dear brother Jackson, made it so.
When Vincent, the descendant’s grandfather, was alerted to one more scheme to seek him out, he decided not to tell his only son where the key was hidden. Therefore, neither the descendant’s father nor the descendent himself knows where it still lies. Tragically, due to the wretched lust of these powerful pursuers, some good benefit from that treasure will never happen.
Throughout the decades since Peter Harvey’s escape from Ireland, a number of plots have been hatched to find the descendent and those before him. A few came very close to success, nearly compromising a number of descendants’ lives and freedoms. So with each day that passes, the descendant has intimate knowledge that life is less a right than a privilege.
Therefore, despite the decades since Peter Harvey’s escape, the Men of Goodhope must remain ever diligent. To some it would seem a remote possibility that those pledged will find the descendant after so many years of pursuit. Yet both the Men of Goodhope and the descendant still gather on Mary’s Day without fail each season. Why is that so? Because throughout human experience, wherever there is huge bounty, there is an eager hunter.
To that end, whenever the descendant sees a stranger hesitate for just a second, their guard is raised a touch. For it will only take one time for his whereabouts to be found to have certain danger transpire. Nevertheless, he holds no regrets being born into a story of such extraordinary history. His presence pays testamen
t to a giant of an ancestor in Peter Harvey, who came into Ireland when a generation needed another worthy hero.
Now, safely within the confines of his comfortable home, the descendant wonders when he will be able to enjoy a life unfettered. Or, heaven help him, be the latest descendant to die without knowing one day of true peace, his life always in the balance.
Then, after a period of quiet reflection, he always arrives at the same conclusion. Each day will be lived in the wonder of being alive. While acknowledging the danger of circumstances, he will not yield to being its mental prisoner. This would surely be a response with which Peter Harvey would agree.
Meanwhile, across the broad Atlantic, Roger Stanton, the 13th Earl of Northworth, sits in silent contemplation at Northworth Woods. It had been ten years since an ancient verdict was passed upon his remaining days. At first he reflected for weeks on end in stunned silence. After all, he had been known as quite the liberal in his days at Oxford. He proudly lived by such core principles since birth.
However, fate played a cruel irony upon him. He was assigned the role of a ruthless bounty hunter, obsessed with carrying out a false sentence at all costs. Furthermore, he was to make this man, whom he never met, pay dearly for an act of heroism committed by his ancestor time ago. The whole affair was as shocking today as when he first learned of its existence.
Looking around the elegant study where he first learned of this heavy burden, he stared into the grand portraits of generations of Stantons before him. They appeared as proud, dignified, elegant men, every one of them. Now he knew that from Lord Charles Stanton forward, such poses were mere illusion. For behind studied faces, the anguish from a lifelong pledge of hard pursuit would turn these images into haunting visages.
Sitting back in a comfortable leather desk chair, Roger Stanton pondered the two issues which never left his conscious thoughts. One was the obvious question of whether he could ever find Peter Harvey’s eldest male descendent, putting an end to Lord Charles Stanton’s cursed directive. Secondly, he wondered what could be unlocked by this golden key, an object which made a man with truly everything desire it from beyond the grave.
Here were two men living worlds apart that never met. Two men of different stations in society, though both born with a strong sense of good intentions. While each desired freedom from this taxing situation, only one could obtain liberty at the expense of the other man.
THE END
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About the Author
"Walk with me and explore paths you could never find alone." Quote by Craig Johnson.
Are you willing to challenge your views of the past and present? Welcome to stories that can guide you in a new quest for knowledge. Learn of lands, people and times forged through a fertile tapestry of visions.
Read the stories you always knew were hidden just out of sight. Extraordinary characters woven into unique circumstances, all part of a world that may have been, waiting for you to hear them speak.
Experience the profound imagery of my words. There are secrets to be told, adventures to explore, and entertainment in these memorable experiences. ENJOY.
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The Watchman's Grace Page 71