A certain old gentleman in the west of Ireland, whose love of the
ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret and fox-hunting, was
wont, upon festive occasions, when opportunity offered, to amuse his
friends by _drawing out_ one of his servants, exceedingly fond of what
he termed, his “thravels,” and in whom a good deal of whim, some queer
stories, and, perhaps more than all, long and faithful services had
established a right of loquacity. He was one of those few trusty and
privileged domestics who, if his master unheedingly uttered a rash thing
in a fit of passion, would venture to set him right. If the squire said,
“I’ll turn that rascal off,” my friend Pat would say, “Throth you won’t,
sir;” and Pat was always right, for if any altercation arose upon the
“subject-matter in hand,” he was sure to throw in some good reason,
either from former services--general good conduct--or the delinquent’s
“wife and children,” that always turned the scale.
But I am digressing. On such merry meetings as I have alluded to, the
master, after making certain “approaches,” as a military man would say,
as the preparatory steps in laying siege to some extravaganza of his
servant, might, perchance, assail Pat thus: “By the by, Sir John”
(addressing a distinguished guest), “Pat has a very curious story, which
something you told me to-day reminds me of. You remember, Pat” (turning
to the man, evidently pleased at the notice thus paid to himself)--“you
remember that queer adventure you had in France?”
“Throth I do, sir,” grins forth Pat.
“What!” exclaims Sir John, in feigned surprise, “was Pat ever in
France?”
“Indeed he was,” cries mine host; and Pat adds, “Ay, and farther, plase
your honour.”
“I assure you, Sir John,” continues mine host, “Pat told me a story once
that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the French.”
“Indeed!” rejoined the baronet; “really, I always supposed the French to
be a most accomplished people.”
“Throth, then, they’re not, sir,” interrupts Pat.
“Oh, by no means,” adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically.
“I believe, Pat, ’twas when you were crossing the Atlantic?” says the
master, turning to Pat with a seductive air, and leading into the “full
and true account” (for Pat had thought fit to visit North Amerikay, for
“a raison he had,” in the autumn of the year ninety-eight).
“Yes, sir,” says Pat, “the broad Atlantic”--a favourite phrase of his,
which he gave with a brogue as broad, almost, as the Atlantic itself.
“It was the time I was lost in crassin’ the broad Atlantic, a-comin’
home,” began Pat, decoyed into the recital; “whin the winds began to
blow, and the saw to rowl, that you’d think the Colleen Dhas (that was
her name) would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her.
“Well, sure enough, the masts went by the hoard, at last, and the pumps
were choked (divil choke them for that same), and av coorse the wather
gained an us; and, throth, to be filled with wather is neither good for
man or baste; and she was sinkin’ fast, settlin’ down, as the sailors
call it; and, faith, I never was good at settlin’ down in my life, and I
liked it then less nor ever. Accordingly we prepared for the worst, and
put out 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 wildherness_,’ says he.
“‘Ate a gridiron!’ says I. ‘Och, in throth, I’m not such a gommoch all
out as that, anyhow. But, sure, if we had a gridiron we could dress a
beefstake,’ says I.
“‘Arrah! but where’s the beefstake?’ says he.
“‘Sure, couldn’t we cut a slice aff the pork?’ says I.
“‘By gor, I never thought o’ that,’ says the captain. ‘You’re a clever
fellow, Paddy,’ says he, laughin’.
“‘Oh, there’s many a true word said in joke,’ says I.
“‘Thrue for you, Paddy,’ says he.
“‘Well, then,’ says I, ‘if you put me ashore there beyant (for we were
nearin’ the land all the time), ‘and, sure, I can ax them for to lind me
the loan of a gridiron,’ says I.
“‘Oh, by gor, the butther’s comin’ out o’ the stirabout in airnest now,’
says he; ‘you gommoch,’ says he, ‘sure I told you before that’s
France--and, sure, they’re all furriners there,’ says the captain.
“‘Well, says I, ‘and how do you know but I’m as good a furriner myself
as any o’ thim?’
“‘What do you mane?’ says he.
“‘I mane,’ says I, ‘what I towld you, that I’m as good a furriner myself
as any o thim.’
“‘Make me sinsible,’ says he.
“‘By dad, maybe that’s more nor me, or greater nor me, could do,’ says
I; and we all began to laugh at him, for I thought I would pay him off
for his bit o’ consait about the Garmant Oceant.
“‘Lave off your humbuggin’,’ says he, ‘I bid you, and tell me what it is
you mane at all at all.’
“‘Parly voo frongsay?’ says I.
“‘Oh, your humble sarvant,’ says he; ‘why, by gor, you’re a scholar,
Paddy.’
“‘Thruth, you may say that,’ says I.
“‘Why, you’re a clever fellow, Paddy,’ says the captain, jeerin’ like.
“‘You’re not the first that said that,’ says I, ‘whether you joke or
no.’
“‘Oh, but I’m in airnest,’ says the captain; ‘and do you tell me,
Paddy,’ says he, ‘that you spake Frinch?’
“‘Parly voo frongsay?’ says I.
“‘By gor, that bangs Banagher, and all the world knows Banagher bangs
the divil. I never met the likes o’ you, Paddy,’ says he. ‘Pull away,
boys, and put Paddy ashore, and maybe we won’t get a good bellyful
before long.’
“So, with that, it wos no sooner said nor done. They pulled away, and
got close into shore in less than no time, and run the boat up in a
little creek; and a beautiful creek it was, with a lovely white
sthrand--an illegant place for ladies to bathe in the summer; and out I
got; and it’s stiff enough in the limbs I was, afther bein’ cramped up
in the boat, and perished with the cowld and hunger; but I conthrived to
scramble on, one way or t’ other, tow’rd a little bit iv a wood that was
close to the shore, and the smoke curlin’ out iv it, quite timptin’
like.
“‘By the powdhers o’ war, I’m all right,’ says I; ‘there’s a house
there.’ And, sure enough, there was, and a parcel of men, women, and
childher, ating their dinner round a table, quite convanient. And so I
wint up to the door, and I thought I’d be very civil to them, as I heerd
the Frinch was always mighty p’lite intirely, and I thought I’d show
them I knew what good manners was.
“So I took aff my hat, and, making a low bow, says I, ‘God save all
here,’ says I.
“Well, to be sure, they all stapt ating at wanst, and began to stare at
me, and, faith, they almost looked me out of countenance; and I thought
to myself, it was not good manners at all, more betoken from furriners
which they call so mighty p’lite. But I never minded that, in regard o’
wantin’ the gridiron; and so says I, ‘I beg your pardon,’ says I, ‘for
the liberty I take, but it’s only bein’ in disthress in regard of
ating,’ says I, ‘that I made bowld to throuble yez, and if you could
lind me the loan of a gridiron,’ says I, ‘I’d be intirely obleeged to
ye.’
“By gor, they all stared at me twice worse nor before, and with that,
says I (knowing what was in their minds), ‘Indeed, it’s thrue for you,’
says I. ‘I’m tatthered to pieces, and God knows I look quare enough; but
it’s by raison of the storm,’ says I, ‘which dhruv us ashore here below,
and we’re all starvin’,’ says I.
“So then they began to look at each other again; and myself seeing at
once dirty thoughts was in their heads, and that they tuk me for a poor
beggar coming to crave charity, with that says I, ‘Oh, not at all,’ says
I, ‘by no manes--we have plenty of mate ourselves there below, and we’ll
dhress it,’ says I, ‘if you would be plased to lind us the loan of a
gridiron,’ says I, makin’ a low bow.
“Well, sir, with that, throth, they stared at me twice worse nor ever,
and, faith, I began to think that maybe the captain was wrong, and that
it was not France at all at all; and so says I, ‘I beg pardon, sir,’
says I to a fine ould man, with a head of hair as white as silver;
‘maybe I’m under a mistake,’ says I, ‘but I thought I was in France,
sir; aren’t you furriners?’ says I. ‘Parly voo frongsay?’
“‘We, munseer,’ says he.
“‘Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron,’ says I, ‘if you
plase?’
“Oh, it was thin that they stared at me as if I had seven heads; and,
faith, myself began to feel flushed like and onaisy; and so says I,
makin’ a bow and scrape ag’in, ‘I know it’s a liberty I take, sir,’ says
I, ‘but it’s only in the regard of bein’ cast away; and if you plase,
sir,’ says I, ‘parly voo frongsay?’
“‘We, munseer,’ says he, mighty sharp.
“‘Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron?’ says I, ‘and you’ll
obleege me.’
“Well, sir, the ould chap began to munseer me; but the divil a bit of a
gridiron he’d gi’ me; and so I began to think they wor all neygars, for
all their fine manners; and, throth, my blood begun to rise, and says I,
‘By my sowl, if it was you was in disthress,’ says I, ‘and if it was to
ould Ireland you kem, it’s not only the gridiron they’d give you, if you
axed it, but something to put an it, too, and the drop o’ dhrink into
the bargain, and cead mile failte.’
“Well, the word cead mile failte seemed to sthreck his heart, and the
ould chap cocked his ear, and so I thought I’d give him another offer,
and make him sinsible at last; and so says I, wanst more, quite slow,
that he might understand, ‘Parly--voo--frongsay, munseer?’
“‘We, munseer,’ says he.
“‘Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,’ says I, ‘and bad scram to you.’
“Well, bad win to the bit of it he’d gi’ me, and the ould chap begins
bowin’ and scrapin’, and said something or other about a long tongs.
[Footnote: Some mystification of Paddy’s touching the French n’tends.]
“‘Phoo!--the divil swape yourself and your tongs,’ says I; ‘I don’t want
a tongs at all at all; but can’t you listen to raison?’ says I. ‘Parly
voo frongsay?’
“‘We, munseer.’
“‘Then lind me the loan of a gridiron,’ says I, ‘and howld your prate.’
“Well, what would you think, but he shook his old noddle as much as to
say he wouldn’t; and so says I, ‘Bad cess to the likes o’ that I ever
seen! Throth, if you wor in my counthry, it’s not that away they’d use
you. The curse o’ the crows an you, you ould sinner,’ says I; ‘the divil
a longer i’ll darken your door.’
“So he seen I was vexed; and I thought, as I was turnin’ away, I seen
him begin to relint, and that his conscience throubled him; and says I,
turnin’ back, ‘Well, I’ll give you one chance more, you ould thief. Are
you a Chrishthan at all? Are you a furriner,’ says I,’ that all the
world calls so p’lite? Bad luck to you, do you understand your own
language? Parly voo frongsay?’ says I.
“‘We, munseer,’ says he.
“‘Then, thunder an’ turf,’ says I, ‘will you lind me the loan of a
gridiron?’
“Well, sir, the divil resa’ve the bit of it he’d gi’ me; and so, with
that, ‘The curse o’ the hungry an you, you ould neygarly villain,’ says
I; ‘the back o’ my hand and the sowl o’ my foot to you, that you may
want a gridiron yourself yit,’ says I. And with that I left them there,
sir, and kem away; and, in throth, it’s often sense that I thought that
it was remarkable.”