Patrick John celebrated his twelfth birthday on March 15, 1782  and I immediately hot-wired myself to know of his whereabouts at all times and to hear any cry for help. I was taking no chances, not only was he the eldest of my grandchildren but without his teachings I could not have progress as I had and might today be haunting some disheveled old house or even (heaven forbid) the Tower of London. Being forced to listen day and night to the terrified shrieks, wails, moans, groans and desperate pleas of the likes of Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII, who still roamed the tower in search of her head, was not my idea of a good time. Patrick John was  a serious child who was doing well in school and already talked about attending Oxford or Cambridge with an eye on medicine. Fully intending to return and open a practice in Newfoundland, the fact that there were only three doctors to tend to the needs of the population of St. John’s was not something that was lost on him.

Being an unseen guest at the weekly meetings of Riley Brothers had been a real eye-opener for me. Shocked at the profits being made, I had at first expected the worse, that they were cheating their workers and the fishermen. A quick check of the company’s books soon showed any such thoughts to be unfounded, in fact fishermen were paid five cents a quintal more than most other merchants were offering. As was the case in all of Newfoundland at the time, fishermen were not paid in cash but in goods purchased at the company store. The same held true for those who worked directly for the merchant, most of whom  earned forty cents for a ten hour day. I soon learned that, little as it seemed, this was even more than some businesses paid but to pay more could do more harm than good to the economy of the Island.  Satisfied at last, that my sons were honest businessmen, I decided to eaves-drop no further into their affairs.

July 15, 1782 was a warm day by Newfoundland standards and early evening saw a group of young men and boys swimming in the harbour around the Riley premises. Twelve year old Patrick John was considered one of the best swimmers in his age group as well as an excellent diver. This evening he and some friends were jumping from the wharf nearest his home. The point of the game was to see who could stay under water for the longest time. I watched for awhile as the laughter grew louder and the pranks multiplied. Finally I took  my leave to share some words of wisdom with an old owl who lived a mile or two back in the forest and was just waking up as the sun sank further and further toward the horizon.  We had been conversing for less than ten minutes when my alarm system told me that something was wrong with Patrick John and the owl suddenly realized that he was talking to himself.  At first the boys had been cheering, amazed at the length of time Patrick John was staying under this time, when his best friend Martin suddenly caught a glimpse of the boys body floating lifeless beneath the surface.