Little Sir Runaway (open)

[Dora Lynch]

Little Sir Runaway (open)

Liam wandered along the docks, lonely for the boys he ran around with during the winter months. Either they were back at the family farms at work or apprenticed by now. He himself was supposed to be in school, boarding in town with Dora’s friend Emma Cling. Emma thought Liam was out at the farm, an ideal situation for the lad’s ambition. He watched for his opportunity.

Young Lynch had some coins, enough for passage if they caught him and best kept for when he landed in Ulster, if he got away with it. Surely they would not throw him overboard if he paid up.

“Do not tell Ma where I am until tomorrow and only if she asks, ya hear me Loomis?” Liam had shoved bread and a slab of cheese as provisions on the journey. “It ain’t like I am not a comin’ back. I am just gonna go to my birth land like Da done. To soldier if they need me. “ He took his sling and a knife, hiding it in his boot.

“That is the knife you stealed!” Loomis was looking for any excuse to stop his brother, he would miss Liam too much. “Oh. I remember. The pirate man give you work to earn it.” His sad puppy face did nothing to stay Liam’s urge to wander back to Ulster.

“Two, three hours. Not so far, by sea. I will bring you back a present.” Liam had to talk fast and move even faster, for he was starting to lose his resolve.

He had left Clovis’ estate and raced along the dirt roadway to town, imagining he was a young knight going to make his way in the world. Images of tall dapple gray horses and bright green horse barding, complete with golden tassels masked his good sense. Soon young Liam found himself on the docks of Turas Lan, watching the cargo shuttle make ready to dock, soon to leave on its return. He’s have to wait for ship direct to Ulster. One cannot go to sea for more than the three days the cargo ship might take with only a crust of bread and a slab of cheese.

He was dressed for the voyage. Boots, dark trousers under a long homespun brown wool jacket, tied at the waist with a cord. His red curly hair was hidden under a black knit in the grease hat, waterproof Dora told him. The sea would be the judge of that.

Then he saw it! Docked at the far end, and they were loading boxes and bales for Ulster. He was finally glad his brogue had not faded over the years. Liam Lynch loved his homeland, his Ulster. War had shifted him away as a refugee and now he was going to correct that error. While the porters went to dine and have a pint before heading back to Ulster, a short dark dressed shadow of a lad slipped aboard and hid himself for the duration.

We Irish are like homing pigeons. We feel the pull to come back home. Some cannot wait to save up for the ticket. So it was with Liam. Little Sir Runaway was on his way.

Next - The Seasick Wharf Rat

[Dora Lynch]

THE SEASICK WHARF RAT 1333


Liam was small for his age, no larger than the average eight year old, although he was ten at this time. Like a wharf rat, the boy skittered across the deck in shadow of barrels and hanging ropes; in the shades of sails now furled before the journey. Hooks and metal hitches clanked like a jail cell door, swinging above him. Liam Tremayne Lynch knew ships from being sent a refugee at sea from Ulster to Aberdeen and later onto Turas Lan. There were nitches a lad could fold up into, face out to defend from ship rats, and this time he had him a good knife. Today it was not make believe, this no game. Real life has to it a cold chill and that shiver ran along Liam’s back. Either that or it was the foot tracks of a real life ship’s rat.

His hiding place smelled of long time damp wet with salt water wood, rough cut with splinters jagging into a boy’s arm if he moved more that a breath’s space. Had he been asleep? Too soon boots came along tromping past where his face almost showed, near the level of the deck.

Now the ship the child stowed away upon was one of the lePower family owned, the “Promise” out of Waterford. Unlike most of their ships which were used for cargo, mostly stone work necessities, this was a lighter vessel, suited for the short jog to and from Ireland to the islands. Today, it had the unfortunate condition of being sailed by a totally drunken crew, a fact the Captain had to deal with or not. He decided not to delay the journey this time.

From his little hidey hole, Liam could hear the men as they called out to each other, in both English and his native Irish Gaelic. They spoke English with the same thick brogue that Liam did and even hidden in a gap between ship side and the inside of the railings, he felt comfortable, at home.

“Anchor aweigh!” came a call from the stern and the little boy could hear the creak of the wench “complaining”*while the rope holding the anchor was being wound up. Feet scampered back and forth before his hiding place and from the deck level, Liam could see the pattern of work that was entailed in launching the ship seaward. That is, he saw how it looked up to about their ankle level.

“Mister Crotty. What will you have done next?” Oh how the child relished hearing his particular accent again, from an adult voice.

“What I would have done, is not to have put to sea with a groggy crew, Shamus” The junior officer had to make do with what crew he had, for it was not his ship and the Captain was more inclined to keep to schedule than care who had taken a few too many drinks. “Being that what it is, every man of you not on duty, take the holystones and get to work on the decks. “ He pointed to the wooden crate that held chunks of sandstone used to scrub the decking.

Kneeling and with more grumbling than the prayer it looked as they might be doing, the off duty put their all into the work, knowing full well the other option. It was at his task cleaning near where Liam hid , that a sailor spotted the hidden lad. Making a sign to be quiet, the man kept himself between Liam and Crotty, for that officer was such a stickler for the rules, it would go better for the lad if the Captain himself found the stowaway.

The spring time seas were choppy and little gusts slapped the ships sides, smacking water in spurts onto Liam’s jacket back, where the oakum caulking had fallen out. The ship cut through waves and bobbed upon an open ocean, like a cork.

The back and forth, up and down constant rocking of the Promise as it made its progress to Ulster proved more than the hidden one could stomach. He was not going to make the two hour trip without incident. Suddenly and unexpected, Liam could not keep it back another second. “Ulp!” Liam’s last meal came back for an encore, right onto the deck where six men kept busy cleaning.

Complaining* = The sound when wood squeaks from dampness in the air.