William Ryan McGuire started the most exciting day of his life. He waited atop the rolling rocky hills of Foilakilly looking out towards the Bantry Bay sea mouth. He was looking for a black ship; he had only heard stories, now he would touch the very timbers that formed her soul. Father Donnelly stood back watching his grandson dance and skip among the spring grass. A messenger had told them to wait for a Ghost from the past on this very morning. A fine morning, the wind was brisk from the west and the sun had risen far enough to quell the morning chill. The hill tops began to be dotted with small groups of people, families excited by the prospect of an encounter with inspiration.
First a black mast tip, then a black sail, then the bow of the most feared ship afloat cut the rolling morning waters, spraying salt mist into the air and tingling the senses as it entered the nostrils of the Ghost’s crew. Fial stood at the bow, cleanly shaven, his hair cut to collar-length and his hand on the black hilt of the dagger figurehead. They drew sail just below Doonour and Fial searched the rolling hilltops with his long glass. Half a mile to starboard he looked upon his son, dancing with his hands high in the clean morning air. He called his crew to the deck.
"We cannot live forever, the future of our land is in our sons and daughters. The first time I touched a warship the destiny of my country flowed from my fingertips. My son will never forget this day and if we have achieved anything beyond death and destruction it will be fused to this boy's soul. When this day is done we will sail to the Congo and find your sons and daughters, sowing the seed of the future. We are just a small ship considered insignificant by power. We have a crew looked upon as nothing but a disposable resource, yet we have become the most feared ship afloat. Fear is not enough on the staircase to freedom. Our sons and daughters will carry the reputation of this ship and its crew to places that we cannot go; our part is done. Look upon the hill you will see the next William Wilberforce or Arthur Wellesley. Let him never forget this day and carry it in his heart so he never drops the dagger against the might of the sword. Blank load the cannon for our arrival fire as we drop anchor. Let him feel the power of the Ghost."
The crew were deeply moved, wiping tears from their cheeks as they had done before when addressed by their saviour. Life had grabbed a new meaning as new levels of adrenalin drove their limbs in a show of perfect discipline below a young boy who watched in awe. The anchor hit the water and Will McMurrin could feel the splashing spray and smell its seasoned salt. He was mesmerised by the cannon flashes, then felt the numbing of the shock waves as they thundered up the hillside. The Irish ensign waved in the wind above her mast and a king was born.
From the moment Will fell into this father’s arms he held or touched him. As the longboat circled the Ghost he sat between his father’s legs, Fial holding him tight. Fial explained as they went; Will asked few questions as he was in complete wonder and listened carefully to his father. Once Will had walked the lower decks and put his hands on her cannon he was shown the helm and talked to One to Ten. They spent a few short hours on the Ghost then boarded the longboat and as they headed back to shore the Ghost again let fly with her cannon.
Fial felt this was the time to give Will direction. "Son I want you to do something for me."
"Yes father."
"I want you to read all you can of William Wilberforce and the parliamentary system of Westminster in London. Read of Arthur Wellesley from our own land."
"Why?"
"I cannot take the Ghost to these places of power but you can take her legacy with knowledge and wisdom. I learnt the power of the British navy and in so doing found their weakness. Win a place in Westminster and you will win a battle I cannot even begin to fight."
Will looked up at his father. "I read well."
"In time you will learn to read between the lines."
"I think I know what you mean. Are you leaving now father?"
"Yes son. To take me from the sea would be as taking a fish from the water, I would surely wither and perish. I will return and always be with you. When you hear the whistling wind behold the Ghost for that very wind has driven her sails."
"I touched her and smelt her timber and pitch. I could smell the flour stored in her hull. The fresh bread baked on her deck. You could hardly see her crew moving around on the black deck."
"Beware son for the Ghost is the bringer of death. She is an invisible dagger flashing below the sword of might. We can always carry a dagger hidden from the sword. I long for the day we no longer need to pull it in anger."
Fial handed the boy to Donnelly at a rocky beach below the Foilakilly hillside. He spoke to his father-in-law briefly.
"I still see his mother’s face every day, I can never love another woman," said Fial.
"You are leaving the boy with us?" asked Donnelly.
"I did not come to take him, I came to send him.”
Donnelly put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Praise the Lord."
"I want books about a man called William Wilberforce please grandfather," asked Will.
Fial groped around inside his tunic, smiling as he found what he was looking for amongst his pistols. He handed Donnelly an envelope sealed with wax. "In the next few days open this, read it then destroy it. Make sure you are the only one who ever knows its contents."
Donnelly smiled at Fial, his gaunt cheeks lifting towards his happy, brown eyes. "You are wiser than you are brave Fial McMurrin. I will pray for you and may God himself drive the wind of your ship."
Fial shouted back as they cast off his longboat. "I was thinking that had already been done. Remember the sound of the wind my son, I will return."
Donnelly and Will climbed the rocky hillside and watched the Ghost whisk away the crew, waving to them and the small, gathered families of farmers dotted along the hillside. Will shed no tears; he just beamed with contentment.
A seventy year old farmer and his wife watched from the hilltop above the high cliffs of the bay as it entered the open sea; they had lived there all their lives. Both of their sons had perished fighting the British army years before. His wife wondered, "Do you think he has his son with him?"
"Oh no," replied the farmer.
"Then how will he fight on when he gets old like us?"
"He lost his father as we lost our sons. And what can we do now we are old? McMurrin does not have much but he uses it wisely. He would not risk his son to continue his legacy, he's smarter than that. We can keep them in meat and vegetables for as long as we can, that's what we can do woman. Now come, we need tend the flock, the fight has just begun."