18
April, 1875
While heavy drinking may cloud the mind, sometimes under great duress
it grants clearer thinking than I am accustomed. I shall write while
these thoughts remain clear.
Where to begin? Today, while in a new port, I was nearly arrested by
five coppers in their finest for mistaken identity. It seems that
“Atlas” O’Flaherty is a wanted man here. But for some reason, this is
the first place I have ventured where I am not Atlas O’Flaherty. That
makes little sense, I shall try to clarify.
When I was a lad, every few months my Uncle Quaid would return from
hunting whales, and I would visit him at the docks and be told all
manner of strange and wonderous tales of sea creatures, storms, strange
lights, pirates, sea kings and ghosts. On rare occasions I might be
accompanied by my brother or sister, but my uncle rarely came to visit
us. Mum clearly did not think much of her brother by marriage.
When I came of age and she realized that I had a streak of wanderlust,
she did wish that I had chosen a more “honorable” profession than
sport. But in sport, at least she merely would never let up her
disapproval of my decision. When I had no other choice but to join the
circus1 is when she would no longer call me her own. Not
before one final row where she told me I would be “ten times worse than
Quaid” and meet an early, ignoble end. Oh, if she only knew what has
happened to Uncle and his honest trade.
Since the world found a means of lighting their lamps from stuff that
comes from the ground, many of those whose trade was hunting whales
have had to find another profession. It has been revealed to me this
day that my uncle’s new trade is piracy.
Not just looting other ships, mind you, but making a full bloody legend
of it. Sailing around in a ship named “the Black Rock” of all things.
He may not be the captain of that boat, but it strikes me more than odd
that it would bear a name closely resembling one from his favorite
tales. And, no doubt to play into more legend, either he or his
companions are playing up his resemblance to a certain series of
fiction that has made its way to this place as well. Taking up the
name “Atlas”.
While I would not trade anything for the friendships I made in Rigby’s
Circus, I have frequently cursed the name given me by Old Man Rigby2.
Atlas was someone whose height was described as so much larger than my
own in the sideshow, and whose abilities where half-trickery or
glittering generality under the main tent. Later he would become a
spectre so unlike me, both in manner and decision. Not only could I not
measure up to “Atlas”, I had absolutely no desire to.
The Atlas in the stories has always been a hero. Someone good beyond
measure. In our modern world the only means and end to piracy is
killing and stealing from honest, hard working men. I never wanted the
name “Atlas”, but I find now the name is being used for something that
I do not approve. I have missed Uncle Quaid dearly, but I fear our
reunion will not be a happy one. The name “Atlas” O’Flaherty has been
tainted with piracy. I may not have wanted that name, but it was given
to me. Whether or not I measure, I desire it, I deserve it, it
is my name. My name! I am Atlas O’Flaherty!
Notes:
1. The beginning of Seamus’ circus career has a few
contradicting stories, but the core has been partially verified by
court documents. Not long after a controversial loss in the ring, Mr.
O’Flaherty attended the carnival surrounding Rigby’s circus and stood
accused of destroying a popular test of strength machine. The
predominant story is that despite a demonstration that he used the
proper coinage and performed the task as described, a simple squeeze
and twist, he was held liable for the destruction of two strength
machines and disturbing the peace, by a judge reportedly with
anti_Irish sentiment. Smelling an opportunity, Millard Rigby negotiated
a settlement that involved Seamus to become a performer and work off
the cost of the machines rather than incur a debt he had no immediate
means of repaying.
2. Seamus
O’Flaherty, the boxer was occasionally known as “The Giant”, “The Irish
Giant” or “the Giant Mick”, depending on where the various matches were
held, and only by announcement or rumour. The name Atlas O’Flaherty was
created by Millard Rigby for the circus. He reportedly “lost” many
large paper-machè globes that he was intended to hold on his
shoulders for side show appearances.
Proceed to International
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