Alex
“Fareweel, Alex,” yelled Hugh, waving at the departing young man standing at the rail of the ship.
The Ocean Monarch was sailing out of the Larne harbor on its way to Philadelphia. Alex waved back to indicate he had heard, but the lump in his throat would not allow him to shout anything back in answer to Hugh. Robert nodded and waved.
Alex was so distressed and sad at leaving his brothers that as soon as the land was out of sight, he climbed down the ladder to the deck where his hammock was hanging on a hook. He unfastened one end and attached it to the companion hook across the deck so that he could lie down in it. The combination of the long ride, sadness, and the tankards of ale caused him to drop into a deep sleep almost immediately. The gentle rolling of the ship put Alex into an even deeper sleep as the ship sailed along the northern Irish coast making its way toward the North Atlantic and west to America.
A sharp pain in his back suddenly woke Alex from his slumber. He opened his eyes to find the large man named Samuel, from the Larne tavern brawl, standing over his hammock looking down at him. Samuel had just kicked Alex in the back and that blow had jolted him out of sleep. Alex rolled out of the hammock to the side away from the large man and dropped into a fighter’s crouch with one hand reaching down for his boot knife.
“There won’t be no Scots sleeping in this section while Samuel Ruskin is alive,” said the big man.
“I guess you’ll have to leave this section then,” replied Alex with a grin as he raked his long blond hair out of his eyes with his left hand.
“You’re the one that’s leaving, Scot, since you don’t have your friends here to protect you.”
“And who’s planning on making me leave?”
“Me and me mates,” replied Samuel as he gestured toward the other two men, the same ones that had been sitting at the table with him in the tavern.
The two men who were standing next to Samuel stepped away from him to give him more room, and one of them slipped around behind Alex.
“Three Brits to one Scot; I like those odds,” said Alex as he reached his hand down closer to his boot knife.
But before he could grasp the knife in his boot sheath, Samuel’s friend grabbed Alex from behind around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. The man then pulled Alex backwards and up as far as he could. The deck above them was so low that the clearance wouldn’t allow the man to lift Alex up very much. Samuel and his other friend were on the other side of Alex’s stretched out hammock, so they were going to have to walk around it to get to Alex. Alex saw that the situation would get bad for him quickly. He knew that he must find a way to get free of the man who was holding him pinned to his chest.
Alex first nodded his head down and then brought it back up quickly while arching his back at the same time. This contortion caused the back of Alex’s head to strike the nose of the man holding him. The force of the blow both jammed the man’s head into the deck above and broke his nose, which immediately started gushing blood. It also caused him to let go of Alex so that he could put both of his hands over his broken nose to stop the bleeding. As Alex dropped out the man’s grasp, he reached down and drew his knife from the sheath built into his boot and reassumed a fighter’s crouch. Only this time, he was holding a knife. The man with the broken nose was out of the action; he was sitting on the deck, holding his nose and moaning from the pain. The odds had been reduced from three to one down to two to one, plus Alex now had a knife in his hand.
“What in the devil is going on here?” shouted one of the ship’s seamen as he ran along the deck to where the altercation was taking place.
“There’s no difficulty,” said Samuel Ruskin. “My friend here accidently slipped and fell down. I’m afraid that he may have broken his nose. This kindly young Scots lad got his knife out to cut some rags for him, to help stop the bleeding.”
“Well that’s not what it looked like to me, and if the captain hears about it, you four will be traveling to America in the hold. There’s a brig down there just made for the likes of you.”
“There’s no need to tell the captain about a minor accident on the passenger deck. We’ll get this blood cleaned up and everything back in order in no time at all.”
The seaman relaxed a bit and seemed to be buying the story. “You might want to have the cook take a look at this fellow’s nose. He doubles as the ship’s doctor and might be able to set it back in place for him.”
“We’ll do that and don’t bother about it anymore,” said Samuel patting the seaman on the back as the young tar turned around and walked off.
As soon as the seaman was out of hearing range, Samuel turned to Alex and said, “This ain’t finished yet, laddie.” Alex just shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t matter to him. Samuel bent down to help his friend get up, and they walked off to another part of the deck. Alex knew he had dodged a musket ball and that it wasn’t, in fact, over. He didn’t have Hugh and Robert to back him up, so he would have to think of a way to take care of the situation himself. He lay back down and stretched out in his hammock to think about it; he was soon asleep again as if nothing had happened. Alex slept the rest of the day and all night without stirring.
The next day, it seemed as if an uneasy truce had been called between Alex and his foes and the men didn’t start any more trouble. The crowding of the ship caused by well over a hundred passengers bound for America prevented any more confrontations, since little privacy existed on the ship. There were always people or sailors nearby.
* * * *
Robert and Hugh
“What will we do back home?” asked Hugh as he rode along beside Robert on the same Wigtown Road from Stranraer to Dumfries that they had ridden to Portpatrick over two years prior.
“We’ll do what we’ve always done,” replied Robert.
Hugh smiled to himself because he knew what Robert was talking about. Robert and Hugh had waved goodbye to Alex and then ridden back to the cattle station near Donaghadee to resign from their jobs as drovers. Since they had no connections or family in Ireland, there was no reason for them to stay there. The authorities were looking for Alex, not for them, so there was no real reason they couldn’t go back where all their friends and family were located.
Angus MacDonald was sad to see them go because they were the best drovers he had ever hired. He also liked the lads very much and wished them well. But he understood that they would rather be home where they were born and be near their family and friends. Angus gave them a bonus of one week’s pay and gave them free passage on the cattle ferry back across the Sheuch.
Robert sold his horse to one of the other drovers and rode Alex’s horse, Hack, on the road home. The trip across Scotland was long and boring and not much fun without Alex, but they soon arrived back at their father’s house.
“Alex was a wee sad to be gang to America,” said Hugh to his father John.
“I ken so, but there be nae other options for him t’ stay in Scotland or Ireland. The authorities would hae had him in a fortnight.”
“That may be true, but he didn’t want to be gang all the same.”
“He’ll be better aff in America. I ken that there’s lots of opportunity in America, and a man can make something oot of himself there. It doesn’t matter if ye were born nobility or common man; ye can make yer own fortune there if ye want to.”
“I suspect so,” replied Hugh conceding the point.
“What are ye and Robert gang to do back here?” asked John.
“Ride,” said Robert interrupting the conversation between his father and brother.
* * * *
Alex
The voyage became uneventful as time wore on and the routine of ship life became monotonous. Each day was almost identical to the previous. Alex spent as much time as he could on the main deck, out in the sun and wind and away from the crowding on the sleeping deck. He got to know a few of the sailors fairly well and often helped them with the simple routine tasks around the ship. Most of the passengers were
either English or Irish, so there weren’t many Scots for Alex to associate with. He mostly stayed by himself and tried to mind his own business.
The Ocean Monarch was an old ship, so her hull leaked very badly. The bilge water that accumulated each day had to be pumped out using the bilge pump. The bilge pump itself consisted of a hollowed out round cylinder and piston that was located down in the bottom of the hold. It had been installed at the lowest point of the hold and had an inlet hose connected to it that stretched down into the bilge. The piston located inside the cylinder was attached to a long wooden pole that stretched all the way up to the main deck. The pole at the main deck was attached to a levered handle so that the piston could be pumped up and down by two men standing side-by-side on the main deck. The cylinder in the hold was also attached to an outlet pipe that ran up to the main deck and over to the scuppers. Two check valves at the inlet and outlet of the cylinder kept the water flowing in the discharge direction. The bilge water was pumped up and out of the scuppers where it flowed down the side of the ship into the sea. The sailors took turns working the pump handle up and down on the main deck to empty the bilge.
Alex often helped pump out the bilge water and also learned how to be a pretty fair hand at mending sails. The sails of the Ocean Monarch had been in service a long time and were tattered and patched in many places. Alex frequently worked at sewing patches into the sails where they had been torn or worn by the wind and water. He hoped that his trip to America would be a swift one.
* * * *
Robert and Hugh
The outlaw band rode off the main trail and swept in across the marshes on horseback just after the full moon had risen high enough in the sky to cast an eerie light on the farmstead. It was well past midnight, and the English farmhouse was dark inside. The farm’s dogs were the first to smell and then see the strange horses. A weak lamp was lit in the farmhouse kitchen window as soon as the dogs’ barking woke up the people inside the farmhouse. The raiders were after the livestock and anything else of value that they could lay their hands on.
As the riders approached the farmstead, they fanned out into their assigned tasks like clockwork. The raid had been intricately planned, and the raiders, who had been in the saddle for hours, were expected to execute the final phase of the plan without any hesitation or confusion. One group of riders opened the corral gate and began to herd the horses out into the night. Another group opened the barn to see if there were any livestock such as cattle that they could rustle, and the third group of riders dismounted at the farmhouse to kick open the front door and see if any valuables were easy to pick up inside.
Hugh led the group of riders toward the corral, Robert led the riders into the barn, and their father, John was leading the group that kicked in the farmhouse door. John knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped into the farmhouse. He had expected crying and wailing and frightened farmers inside the farmhouse, but there weren’t any. What he faced was a dozen muskets aimed at him by British soldiers. John immediately saw that it was a trap so he dove out through a front window, breaking the glass into thousands of pieces. He landed on the porch just before musket fire erupted from inside the farmhouse.
After rolling across the porch, he picked himself up and ran toward his horse yelling, “Ambush!” British soldiers had popped up in the loft of the barn and more came running from behind outbuildings. They also streamed from every other hiding place that could be found on the farm. John mounted his horse just as more musket fire erupted from all directions around the farm.
All the raiders immediately aborted the raid and started making their escape. The riders had a plan in case they encountered an ambush or anything else unexpected. They knew that some of them would be captured or killed, but to increase the odds that most of them would escape, they all fled in different predetermined directions like the spokes of a wheel radiating out from its hub. That was the plan, rather than fleeing in a large group and risking a mass capture or even worse, a mass killing.
Robert and Hugh were riding side-by-side due west at an all-out gallop, making toward the trees, when a musket shot rang out in their direction. The speeding musket ball was a lucky shot, and it struck Hugh high in his back near his left shoulder. Fortunately for Hugh, he was wearing a three-inch wide leather belt over his left shoulder. The belt crossed his body diagonally and was attached to the scabbard that held his short sword on his right hip. The leather shoulder strap was decorated with brass medallions, and the musket ball struck one of those brass medallions, saving Hugh from a painful shoulder wound. But the force of the blow knocked Hugh forward and completely off the right side of his horse. As Hugh struck the ground, his right collar bone struck the ground first and snapped like a green twig. Hugh passed out from the pain, lying on his back on the ground.
Robert saw Hugh fall and immediately reined up Alex’s horse, Hack. He rode back to where Hugh had fallen and dismounted next to him.
“Hugh, wake up, lad,” said Robert as he went down to his knees and lifted the unconscious Hugh in his arms and shook him gently.
Hugh groaned, opened his eyes and whispered, “Leave me Robber, and get out of here before the soldiers come.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“I can’t ride with the pain in me shoulder, and ye will get us both captured if ye try to carry me.”
Robert knew that Hugh was right, so he made his decision immediately. “Don’t give up hope, Hugh,” he said as he gently laid Hugh back down and remounted Hack.
Robert had just passed into the cover of the trees when a group of British soldiers rode up to the hollow where Hugh was lying. They dismounted and lifted Hugh to his feet. From the way he held his right arm and his obvious pain, they knew that his collar bone was broken. One of the soldiers unbuttoned the middle of Hugh’s shirt and placed Hugh’s right hand and forearm into the gap. He then buttoned it back up to hold the arm in place. The soldiers removed all of Hugh’s weapons and gently lifted him up onto one of the horses to lead it back to the farmhouse.
When the group arrived back at the farmhouse, the soldiers dragged Hugh off his horse and led him up to the British Army officer who was waiting for them on the porch.
“Well, if it isn’t one of the outlaw leaders,” said the officer as he stepped off the porch and placed his hand on Hugh’s right shoulder, kneading it back and forth with his fingers. As the broken bones ground together, Hugh passed out from the pain and collapsed to the ground, unconscious once again.
“We leave immediately for Fort Craghead. Throw the big Scot into the wagon,” commanded the officer to the troops who were standing around the unconscious Hugh.
“How many of them did we capture?” asked the officer of his sergeant.
“Sir, this one is the only one we captured alive. We killed four others with our initial musket volleys,” replied the sergeant.
“Very well, I had hoped for more captives, but this one will do. Bring me the dead outlaws and line them up on the porch so I can get a look at them. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
The sergeant gave orders to the men to bring the dead raiders to the farmhouse and lay them out where the commander could get a good look at them. The officer had lit a lamp and he held it up to the dead men’s faces as he walked along the line of the four dead men.
“These are not the leaders. Load them with this big ugly Scot on the wagon. We leave in five minutes.”
When the troops had crossed the marshes and reached the main road from the farmstead, the commander called for a halt and rode back to the wagon with his sergeant.
“Sergeant, get some ropes and hang these dead men in this tree beside the road, where everyone who passes by can see them.”
“Sir, are you sure you want to do that?” asked the sergeant.
“You have your orders, sergeant; get to it. I want this to be a reminder to all outlaws that this is their fate.”
“As you wish,” replied the skeptical sergeant.<
br />
As soon as the gruesome task was completed, the infantry unit moved out, marching down the road toward Fort Craghead. It was only a two hour journey from the hanging tree to the fort. The rising sun was almost peeking over the ridge in the east as the last man rode through the fort’s main gate.
Not far off to the east in the distance, a lone rider had reined up on the ridge, watching the troops and the wagon carrying Hugh file through the gate. When the sun finally rose above the horizon and shone on the rider’s back, Robert smiled as he patted Hack on the neck.
* * * *
Alex
“It looks like rain today, Alex,” said one of the young sailors that Alex had befriended, as he looked up toward the gathering clouds.
It was a cold, windy day with low clouds scurrying over the two masts. They had been at sea for six weeks, making slow progress to America because the wind had not been favorable. The passengers and crew had celebrated Christmas several days ago, and it had been fairly smooth but slow sailing after that. It had been a routine voyage so far, with only minor illnesses and a few issues with the food.
“Might be,” replied Alex who was strolling around the main deck of the Ocean Monarch.
No sooner had Alex spoken than the wind picked up and soon it began to rain. It wasn’t a hard rain but a steady one that seemed to intensify with each passing minute. The sea became rougher, and soon the ship began plowing into the waves much like the cattle ferry had when Alex and his brothers were crossing the Sheuch. Alex had seen this all before and was afraid that this would be a repeat of his previous ocean experience. He doubted that he could swim to America from this far out at sea, and the ocean water was extremely cold this time of year.
The captain came up from his cabin to take command of the ship from the officer of the day watch while the storm was raging. After he observed the deteriorating situation, he shouted, “All hands on deck!”
All the sailors came streaming up from below and took their assigned positions on the deck and in the rigging. The captain yelled, “Shorten sail!” and the first mate yelled, “Man the pumps!” as the ship began taking on more water. The seaman scurried to carry out the orders. One young tar ran to the bilge pump and motioned for Alex to join him at the pump handle. They began pumping out the sea water as fast as they could pump the handle. Some of the rigging fowled in the wind and broke loose. The bosun sent the seaman who had been working the pump with Alex aloft to help mend the broken sheets and hawsers. He sent one of the cabin boys below to commandeer one of the other passengers to help Alex, who was now pumping out the bilge water alone at the bilge pump handle.