An Irishman, who served on board a man of war in the capacity of a
waister, was selected by one of the officers to haul in a tow-line of
considerable length, which was towing over the tafrail. After rowsing in
forty or fifty fathoms, which had put his patience severely to proof, as
well as every muscle of his arms, he muttered to himself, “Sure, it’s as
long as to day and to-morrow! It’s a good week’s work for any five in
the ship!--Bad luck to the arm or leg it’ll leave me at last!--What!
more of it yet!--Och, murder; the sa’s mighty deep to be sure!”--After
continuing in a similar strain, and conceiving there was little
probability of the completion of his labour, he suddenly stopped short,
and addressing the officer of the watch, exclaimed, “Bad manners to me,
sir, if I don’t think somebody’s _cut off the other end of it_!”
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