Mhari Ni Sidhe - Part 3
The storm had lasted five days, longer than a northeaster had right to last in summer. Torquil sat, comparatively dry, watching his men bail and fret round the mast. Manx Cunars had no fixed cover, but an oiled sailcloth, propped with poles, could be set up at the stern to provide an area of cover for the sailors to rest in. Torquil saw Peel Ardal pat Connail Gair on the shoulder and walk towards him. He was surprised it had taken so long.
The rangy congenial Peelman ducked under the sailcloth and sat down on the bench next to Torquil.
“Wee word captain?”
“Sure enough, what’s on your mind Ardal?”
“Awful storm this captain… not a natural sort of storm at all.” Torquil said nothing. “The mast could be gone at any moment,” Ardal and Torquil both touched the wooden bench with their right hands. “Then where would we be?”
“Nowhere good and drifting, Ardal, nowhere good and drifting.”
“God and the saints forbid it! Well, me and a few lads have got to talking.”
Ah yes, thought Torquil, At times like this, won’t the lads just get to talking.
“And it seems to a few of us that back in the Dee, there was a few words got said that shouldn’t get said on any boat. And what with this being such an unnatural storm, well… some might say the two situations would have something to do the one with the other.”
“And what would a few of the lads have me do about that, Ardal?”
“Well, young Taidgh is a nice enough lad, but… well, we gave him the swim in river water did we not? Surely only sea water can wash away jinx words?”
“Well now, if we gave the boy a swim in this storm, Ardal, would he not die?”
“Now, Torquil, it’s only certain ones who can decide who lives and who dies from a swim, if a certain fella decides he wants the boy for his own crew, well… that’s the way it has to be.” He shrugged, almost apologetically
Torquil tipped his head to one side, as if considering the matter, leaving the crewman waiting a good minute.
“Tell you what Ardal, let me try a wee something. Would you bring me the good Spanish sword from under the second bench?”
The Peelman left confused, then returned with the fine Castillian blade. Torquil unwrapped it from its seal skin binding and hefted the sword in his left hand, testing its weight. A good blade, and it should be, for what he’d paid.
“Send me Taidgh, Ardal.” Ardal looked concerned.
“Now, skip, you’re not…”
“Send me Taidgh. Now.” The Peelman walked off, cowed, leaving Torquil alone with his worries.
“You called for me skipper?” Taidgh’s voice was trembling. He had the look of a lost soul, green from the constant rise and fall of the boat and terrified. It seemed the lads had been none too discrete when they’d got to talking.
“How about you, Taidgh. I hear your old man was a farmer by the Big White Fella? (2)”
“That he was, skip. Till he died last winter.”
“Well, you’d know how to handle the devits (3) then? It’s good devit country by the White Fella.”
“That’s right skip.”
“So why don’t you go get the big devit na curn(4) and take it to the bow.”
“Skip, moving a devit na curn on a rocking ship isn’t easy, I’d have to wrestle it, we might both go over the side.” Torquil fixed the youngster with a stare.
“Still, Taidgh, I’d do it just the same.”
Torquil watched the lad stagger across the rocking boat to amidships and pull the terrified ram from its pen. An epic struggle then ensued, as the young Manxman, holding the ram by its horns and neck, wrestled it to the prow over a wet slippery deck full of working men, who Torquil signaled not to help. It took Taidgh a good five minutes to manhandle the terrified ram to the bow, when he had accomplished the feat Torquil picked up the Castilian sword and strode across the rising and falling deck to the prow. Arriving next to a nervous Taidgh, the captain turned to address the crew, he had to shout to be heard above the wind.
“Men of the Mhari ni Sidhe, we find ourselves in peril on the sea. I stand before you to beseech the King Below the Waves to aid us in this darkest of hours. “ Torquil turned left slightly, directing himself towards the raging grey waves. “Great King, after who our island is named, take pity on us humble sailors. We beg you forgiveness for any offence we may have given you, and any trespass we may have committed against you. To show our good faith, we offer you these gifts two.”
The captain span round with the speed of a striking snake and plunged his sword into the chest of the struggling ram. He picked up the bloody ram by two legs and slung it into the sea.
Everybody looked at Taidgh. Torquil held the sword aloft, high above Taidgh’s head. The boy was knelt down in front of him covered in blood and weeping softly.
“Now the second part of our sacrifice, a Kingly gift for you, great sea-lord.”
The crew held their breath as Torquil drew back his arm and, as they reached the crest of a great wave, hurled the sword over the side of ship. Eighty six eyes followed the sword as it cartwheeled through the air and landed, hilt first in the foamy ocean.
“We pray, King below the waves, that the blade Talspeid (5) will draw the blood of your enemies. Now, we beg you, allow us to continue our journey in peace.”
Silence, broken by Joan the pilot’s voice.
“The love of God! Did you see the hand? He only bloody caught it!” Bless you, Joan, you terrible lovely liar, thought Torquil.
“Aye, a great green hand…” Agreed another. Torquil strode down the gangway to the bow, leaving the blood-soaked youngster kneeling in the rain.
An hour later the wind began to drop, and by nightfall, the northeaster had become a fresh but friendly breeze.
(2)Sailors’ speak for Snaefell on the Isle of Man. The word “Snaefell” is taboo aboard a Manx ship.
(3)Taboo avoidance for “sheep”. From Welsh “Devaid”
(4) “Horned Devit”, ram.
(5) The sword was ontained through Cornish merchants, its name comes from Cornish “Tal” meaning bright, and the loanword “Speid” meaning “sword-blade”, from Castillian “Espada”.