Stories by English Authors: Ireland | Page 2

the boot, and got a sack o' bishkits and a cask o' pork and a kag o' wather and a thrifle o' rum aboord, and any other little matthers we could think iv in the mortial hurry we wor in--and, faith, there was no time to be lost, for, my darlint, the Colleen Dhas went down like a lump o' lead afore we wor many sthrokes o' the oar away from her.
"Well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next mornin' we put up a blanket an the end av a pole as well as we could, and then we sailed illegant; for we darn't show a stitch o' canvas the night before, bekase it was blowin' like bloody murther, savin' your presence, and sure it's the wondher of the worid we worn't swally'd alive by the ragin' sae.
"Well, away we wint, for more nor a week, and nothin' before our two good-lookin' eyes but the canophy iv heaven and the wide ocean--the broad Atlantic; not a thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky; and though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things in themselves, throth, they're no great things when you've nothin' else to look at for a week together; and the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be more welkim. And then, soon enough, throth, our provisions began to run low, the bishkits and the wather and the rum--throth, THAT was gone first of all--God help uz!--and oh! it was thin that starvation began to stare us in the face. 'O murther, murther, Captain darlint,' says I, 'I wish we could land anywhere,' says I.
"'More power to your elbow, Paddy, my boy,' says he, 'for sitch a good wish, and, throth, it's myself wishes the same.'
"'Och,' says I, 'that it may plase you, sweet queen iv heaven, supposing it was only a DISSOLUTE island,' says I, 'inhabited wid Turks, sure they wouldn't be such bad Chrishthans as to refuse us a bit and a sup.'
"'Whisht, whisht, Paddy,' says the captain, 'don't be talking bad of any one,' says he; 'you don't know how soon you may want a good word put in for yourself, if you should be called to quarthers in th' other world all of a suddint," says he.
"'Thrue for you, Captain darlint,' says I--I called him darlint, and made free with him, you see, bekase disthress makes us all equal--'thrue for you, Captain jewel--God betune uz and harm, I own no man any spite'--and, throth, that was only thruth. Well, the last bishkit was sarved out, and, by gor, the WATHER ITSELF was all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowld. Well, at the brake o' day the sun riz most beautifully out o' the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as chrystal. But it was only the more cruel upon us, for we wor beginnin' to feel TERRIBLE hungry; when all at wanst I thought I spied the land. By gor, I thought I felt my heart up in my throat in a minit, and 'Thunder an' turf, Captain,' says I, 'look to leeward,' says I.
"'What for?' says he.
"'I think I see the land,' says I.
"So hes ups with his bring-'em-near (that's what the sailors call a spy-glass, sir), and looks out, and, sure enough, it was.
"'Hurrah!' says he, 'we're all right now; pull away, my boys,' says he.
"'Take care you're not mistaken,' says I; 'maybe it's only a fog-bank, Captain darlint,' says I.
"'Oh no,' says he; 'it's the land in airnest.'
"'Oh, then, whereaboats in the wide world are we, Captain?' says I; 'maybe it id be in ROOSIA, or PROOSIA, the Garmant Oceant,' says I.
"'Tut, you fool,' says he, for he had that consaited way wid him, thinkin' himself cleverer nor any one else--'tut, you fool,' says he, 'that's FRANCE,' says he.
"'Tare an ouns,' says I, 'do you tell me so? and how do you know it's France it is, Captain dear?' says I.
"'Bekase this is the Bay o' Bishky we're in now,' says he.
"'Throth, I was thinkin' so myself,' says I, 'by the rowl it has; for I often heerd av it in regard of that same; and, throth, the likes av it I never seen before nor since, and, with the help of God, never will.'
"Well, with that, my heart began to grow light; and when I seen my life was safe, I began to grow twice hungrier nor ever; so says I, 'Captain jewel, I wish we had a gridiron.'
"'Why, then,' says he, 'thunder an' turf,' says he, 'what puts a gridiron into your head?'
"'Bekase I'm starvin' with the hunger,' says I.
"'And, sure, bad luck to you,' says he, 'you couldn't eat a gridiron,' says he, 'barrin' you were a PELICAN O' THE