a little more

Upon returning to Tom’s side, Harry could see that his friend had already made the acquaintance of several of the other passengers

“Harry, here is Sheamais Fisher, and his his goodwife. They have been kind enough to share a little space here with us, and the missus has offered to cook for us as needed.”

Harry bowed slightly to the smaller man “A pleasure to know you Master Fisher,” he said, and turning to the man’s wife he nodded “Ma’am.”

“I understand you are a physician, Dr. Clarke,”

Harry cast Tom a dark look. He had planned to travel as just another passenger, but now the news would spread throughout the company like wildfire.

“Aye Master Fisher, I was trained as such, but I have yet to begin the practice.” he demurred.

“Well, that will be remedied soon enough, I should think, Doctor.” Fisher observed, a toss of his chin gesturing to the scores of women and children occupying the crowded hold. “My mother travels with us an’ I am that concerned for her health.”

“I wonder that you allowed her to accompany you at all then, sir.” Harry replied.

“Aye, well them as were my thoughts, but my mother is a rare determined woman, and no amount of argument would keep her from her grandchildren.”

The grandchildren in question, numbering six in all, came in all shapes and sizes, ranging in age from eight to two, having arrived in quick succession as befits a good Catholic family, and were now occupied in fussing over the youngest of their number, playing peek-a-boo to make the baby laugh. The younger Mrs Fisher stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband and had a broad fair face and rosy cheeks, and from all appearances a sunny disposition, while her mother-in-law the elder Missus Fisher was less robust looking, taking on the look of forged steel, with a temperament to match.

Independence Day

Bruce Springsteen- Independence Day

Well, Papa go to bed now, it’s getting late
Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now.
I’ll be leaving in the morning from St Marys Gate
we wouldn’t change this thing even if we could somehow.

There’s a darkness in this house that’s got the best of us
There’s a darkness in this town that’s got us too.
But they can’t touch me now, and you can’t touch me now
They ain’t gonna do to me what I watched them do to you.

Now I don’t know what it always was with us, we chose the words, and yeah, we drew the lines
There was just no way the house could hold the two of us, I guess that we were just too much of the same kind

Say goodbye it’s Independence Day, Papa, I know the things you wanted that you could not say.
But won’t you just say goodbye it’s Independence Day, I swear I never meant to take those things away.

par 3,4,5...

The day was bright and cold and a strong salty breeze blew from the east as they turned away from their native shore. Crisp white sails billowed out against a clear azure sky, and spirits were high amongst the company of passengers. The shouts of the crew as they set to their work rang out above the excited hum of the men, women and children assembled on deck. The air was buzzing with motherly admonitions and the chatter of children, punctuated with the occasional wail of a baby, and the deep rolling tones of Irishmen.

There were a few familiar faces among the passengers. Harry espied an acquaintance from his high school days in Newry; one Patrick Drummond, standing beside a pretty young woman he took to be Patrick’s wife. Each held a small child, raised up to the rail to see the last of Ireland as the ship moved further and further away from the verdant horizon. Finally the coastline faded from view and all fell to the business of settling in their belongings, and securing their space in the crowded hold belowdecks.

In the communal living quarters the company segregated, dividing itself along traditional ethnic lines. From the Irish Catholics came the broad rolling consonants of their native Gaelic, from the Protestant tenants the clipped syllables of the King’s English as positions were negotiated, but thus far there was none of the traditional element of discord in evidence, as all were newly acquainted and exhilarated by their common purpose. The Protestant gentry were ensconced in private cabins, and thus were removed from the general population, and Harry had a fleeting pang of regret at having declined such private accommodations, which were expensive but not beyond his means. He left it to Tom to make them a space to stow their packs and hang their hammocks among the scores of folks doing the same and went below to the cargo hold to secure his trunk. He had been well outfitted for his new life in the colonies, and was possessed of a number of good shirts and breeches, as well as three good coats. In his pack were only such items as he would need for the voyage, the rest were in his trunk, along with his books and tonsorial(?)items...he had no intention of shaving whilst on board the Belfast. He welcomed the respite from the daily ablutions required of the son of the manor and physician at study. The cargo hold was filled from floor to ceiling with barrels and crates containing all that most passengers owned in the world. Abundant provisions had been made for the journey; Harry was cheered at the sight of cask upon cask of good Irish whiskey, supplied by the Clarkes at a fair price, standing stacked alongside barrels of potatoes and onions and salted beef. The ship’s cook was reputed to be more than adequate to his task according to the Captain, who was a friend of Harry’s father.

and...

The men stood on the deck beneath a full moon. The sea was calm and a warm breeze blew from the south. Below decks the hum of prayer and keening was barely audible...around the deck small groups of men gathered, to smoke or merely bide the time.

Harry regarded his friend’s face, strong and placid in the moonlight. It was not a handsome face, but lean and angular with deep set brown eyes and a mop of coal black curls, prematurely shot through with flecks of grey.

“I expect wee Tansy will have foaled by now” Harry remarked.

“Aye”, Tom replied with a smile flickering across his mouth. “I wonder if it was a colt or a filly. Whatever it is, I am sure it will be a prizewinner, and this the third foal she’s thrown. Her Brownie is a bonny wee filly.”

“Aye”,Harry murmured. “I will be sure to inquire when I write to Father.”

The men fell silent as they gazed out at the sea, one fair head, one dark. So they had stood for a long while, lost in their own thoughts, when a silvery fin, gleaming in the moonlight, cut the water for a moment and then disappeared. Their eyes met briefly, and they beheld each other’s alarm for a long pause but not a word was spoken. Within a few minutes, the fin appeared again, slicing silently through the inky surface of the ocean. As they stood they counted three times the fin broke the water and disappeared, obviously now circling the boat.

“Perhaps you had better hold on to this, ye heathen” Tom said with a grin, slipping his olivewood rosary into Harry’s palm. “I’m reasonably sure my soul is still safe within the terms of my last confession, an’ I have had nary a chance of committing a sin on this leaky old tub.”

Harry looked down at the item in his hand. “This was your mother’s.” The beads were smooth and gleamed with the power of too many Hail Mary’s to be counted.

“Aye” said Tom. “She would want your soul to stand a chance in hell as much as I do.”

Harry chuckled. “Aye, she would. She always worried about my potential for everlasting damnation, every time she caught us out sampling the casks.”

“Well before then” replied Tom with a quiet snort.

The sound of a splash drew their attention once again to the water below them. A porpoise leapt out of the ocean and seemed to hang suspended before following its arc back into the watery depths.

“Was that....?” whispered Harry, more to himself than to Tom.

“Aye.”

Paragraph 2

While Harry was at the study of medicine, Tom being the second son,and not bound as his older brother was, to step into their father’s role as farm manager, was apprenticed to a blacksmith and cooper, by the design of old Lawrence Clark. Tom was by this time already an experienced farmer and stockman, as was Harry. Both boys had learned the art of whiskey at Grandfather Sheridan’s knee, set to stirring the mash for as far back as either could remember. It was decided that producing the barrels for aging the new whiskey on the farm would be of good benefit, as well as the many mundane tasks for a lad proficient with iron and fire, and loathe was old Clarke to release Tom when he announced his intention to accompany Harry to the Colonies, but so he did with grim yet resigned countenance. And so the year 1771 found the boyhood companions grown to honorable and accomplished manhood, and reunited as the Belfast set sail for Philadelphia.

The First Paragraph

Henry Clarke and James Sheridan stood on the deck of the good ship Belfast on May Day of 1771, watching the coast of Ireland recede over the horizon. Henry was four and twenty years of age, and James two years his senior. At six foot tall, Henry, or Harry as he was called at home, was considered a stout and brawny man, which appearance belied his bookish nature, for his love of reading had set him down a path of education upon which few of his peers had tread. While Jamie was by no means unschooled, he preferred to work with his hands, and his six foot three inch frame gave him the advantage over Harry in all things physical or athletic. Harry and Jamie had been raised together on a prosperous farm in the region of northeastern Ireland known as Ulster Plantation. Their fathers had grown up together, as had their fathers before them, within the rarified intimacy of master and servant, each devoted to the other and largely oblivious to the rigorous constraints of their respective social status, or in the case of the Sheridans, the lack thereof. Each generation of Clarkes and Sheridans had worked the Clarke lands side by side, sharing in privations and abundance alike. Harry and Jamie had grown up constant companions to each other in all things: play, chores, and school. Each well knew the value of hard physical labor, but Harry had determined from a young age to attend school as often as the seasonal demands of farm life had allowed. It was Harry's love of learning which separated them. While Jamie remained behind, Harry was sent to high school in the nearby city of Newry, at the age of fifteen where he remained until he completed the course of study, at age nineteen. Then his father put him to the study of medicine, which course was completed by the time he reached his present age.

Taylor's Sketchbook

“This sketchbook compiled by James E. Taylor, New York artist in 1898. He came to Paris for a vacation and to visit relatives. He became interested in the history of the area and after interviewing numerous residents made these sketches and wrote the stories accompanying them.”

“Incomplete would have been my contemplation of this Walhalla of the Warrior had I neglected the Sepulture of the Clarks three generations of whom there lay in everlasting sleep. Near the cemetery gate on four sides of a polished granite block 9 feet high engraved in intaglio is a long list of departed Clarks…awaiting Gabriel’s trump in the surrounding plot.

The inscription on the north face is most interesting- It is a record of the founder of the Family in America, Henry Clark, describing him as a native of Armagh County, Ireland who migrated to the colonies in the Reign of George III-prior to the Revolutionary War- and of his locating near Wheeling with the advance guard of Civilization, where through his boldness and sagacity he became a power in advancing the Settlements and thwarting the aggressive savages as Cornstalk, Little Turtle and other tribal chiefs found to their cost, and who died at the Wheeling Creek stockade after it’s unsuccessful investment in 1774 by the Savages, headed by the white renegade Simon Girty, ... was named Fort Henry in compliment to the bold Armagh boy-Henry Clark-though some aver that it was so christened in honor of Patrick Henry. What American has not read of its noble defense by Sheppard and the vital part Elizabeth Zane played in preventing the garrison massacre: