For once, it was Patrick who wanted to turn back to shore. The rest of the boats were already doing so, due to a squall that had suddenly come upon them, but a net full of fish was hard to leave behind. The Murphy brothers put it to a vote as to whether or not they should cut their losses and head for home.
Patrick had been the only one of the four men voting to leave the catch behind. While three of them struggled to haul in the net, the youngest crewman baled water out of the boat as fast as it was coming in. The heavy load dragged the vessel sideways in the swelling sea, while an ever increasing gale sent waves crashing over the men.
“We’ll have to cut the net free and turn back, or we’ll lose the boat,” shouted Patrick above the screeching of the wind. “And our lives.”
Waving his bone handled knife in the air, Patrick waited for a signal from one of the Murphys, that would allow him to free the boat from a heavy weight threatening to drag them all to a watery grave. The older brother took out his own knife and shouted for Patrick to cut through the ropes. It wasn’t long before their burden was released, sinking below the waves.
While Patrick helped the youngest member to bail water, the others rowed with all their might. As they drew closer to the shore the sea began to calm a little. Patrick had removed his boots earlier, tying them securely to the boat. He knew he would have a better chance of staying afloat without them, should he be washed overboard.
A crowd had gathered on the beach, watching and praying for the men to reach the shore and hopes were high that soon they would be on dry land. The men on the boat had begun to offer their own silent prayer of thanks when, out of nowhere, a monstrous wave reared up and flipped them over.
James McGrother and Matthew Clarke were already in a boat, preparing to set out for a rescue, should it be necessary. As soon as the giant swell struck, they began to row furiously in the direction of the upturned boat. The sea was choppy, but most of the wind had died down. James, who sat in the bow, glanced over his shoulder from time to time, trying to count how many heads were in the water. He could only see one person and they seemed to be hanging onto the upturned boat.
As they pulled up alongside the vessel the youngest member of the crew cried out for help and the two rescuers hauled him in beside them. While James questioned him about the other fishermen, his eyes scanned the sea around him. Matthew Clarke tied the upturned vessel to his own boat, as he too kept an eye out for the missing crew.
“Patrick pulled me up out of the water – cough – then he went down – cough – to look for the Murphy boys. He should be back up by now – cough –. Can either of ye see him?” the young man asked in between bouts of coughing up seawater from his lungs.
“Over there, James,” Matthew Clarke shouted, grabbing hold of his oars.
“I see him, I see him,” said James.
They rowed towards the exhausted young man who had just come up for air. Patrick had seen their approach but was frantically looking around him in the hopes of finding at least one of the Murphy brothers. Just as he was getting ready to dive once more, his father-in-law’s voice rang out.
“Patrick Gallagher, think of your wife and children. The Murphys are gone. Get yourself into this boat and don’t be foolish, man.”
Ignoring the advice, Patrick disappeared below the surface and searched until he could no longer hold his breath. His ears began to ring and bright colours flashed before his eyes. As a feeling of serenity and calmness overtook him, Patrick slowly lost consciousness.