The sloop was a fast sailer, and a good say-boat, and I ought to have
been continted--but somehow it's myself that wasn't satisfied at all at
all.
I never saw the tall masts of the big ships that traded to furrin parts
that I didn't long to clamber up their sides, and see if I couldn't get
a berth--anything, from captain to cabin-boy, I wasn't particular--on
boord one of them.
One fine day, when the little sloop was high and dry, my cousin stepp'd
into a shebeen to get a taste of the mountain dew, and give me what he
called my share, which was a dale more pewter than whiskey--for it's
mighty little of the latter was left in the measure whin he handed it to
me; when a tall, spare, good-looking sort of a chap enough, with
lashings of bright brass buttons on his coat and waistcoat, and a smart
goold band round his peaked cap, who happened to be taking his morning's
refreshment at the same time, said to my cousin as he emptied his
naggin, "Fill that," says he, "onct more,--fill that, and drink wid
_me_."
"Never say it again," says my cousin. "Fill and drink's the word _this_
time with _you_, and the _next_ with _me_, honest man!"
"All right!" replied the stranger.
And fill and drink it was more than onct round, you may be on your oath.
"That's a smart youngster!" says he wid the band and buttons, pointing
to me.
"The boy's well enough, as a boy," says my cousin. "He's strong, handy,
and willing, and not the sort of a lad to kape where there's an empty
larder; but if he ates well, he works well; so more power to his elbow,
and double rations, wid all my heart!"
"That's the lad for my money!" says the stranger. "Would you like to
take a trip with me, youngster?"
"What ship do you belong to, sir?" I asked.
"That," says he, going to the door of the public, and pointing to a
splindid three-master, with the stars and stripes at the peak.
"And where do you sail to, sir?" says I.
"New York," replied he.
"Where's that, if it's plasin' to you, sir?" says I.
"In Amerikay," says he; "the land of the brave, and the home of the
free!"
"Amerikay!" broke in my cousin. "My sister's wife's uncle has a son
there--a tall young man, badly pock-marked, with a slight cast in his
left eye, and hair as red as a fox. Lanty O'Gorman is the name he has
upon him. He has been there two years and better. Mayhap you have met
him?"
"I dar say I have," said the stranger, laughing heartily.
"Would you take a message to him, sir?" asked my cousin.
"I'd be everlastingly delighted," says he, "but there's a dale of
O'Gormans about; and as most of them are pock-marked, squint, and have
red heads, I'm afraid I'd be bothered to know him. Do you think that
young shaver would remimber him?"
"Faith and troth I would, sir," says I, "by rason of the leathering he
gave me onct for making an April fool of him, telling him the chickens
the ould hen had hatched from the ducks' eggs had tuck to the water, and
if he didn't hurry and get them out of the pond, every mother's son of
them would be drownded!"
"Wal," said the stranger, "it's an almighty pity you ain't there to see
him. The man I know of the name of O'Gorman is as rich as mud; and if
he took a liking to you, he could make your fortune right off the reel
in less than no time!"
"I'd give the worrild to go," says I.
"Come, old man," says the Yankee--I found out afterward he was an
Amerikan--"what do you say? Will you let this young shaver take a trip
with me? He shall be well cared for under the stars and stripes. I'll
give him fair pay and good usage. Fact is, I am in want of a smart lad,
who has got his say-legs, to wait upon myself and a few extra
cabin-passengers. I like the cut of the boy's jib, so say yes or no--
how is it to be? It will be for the lad's good?"
"Arrah, good luck to ye, cousin, darlint, let me go! It has been the
wish of my heart, slapin' and wakin', this many a long day! Let me go,
and sorra a rap I'll spind of the lashings of goold Cousin Lanty will
give me, but bring every pinny home safe and sound, just as he puts it
into my hand!"
"You offer fair and honest," says my cousin. "It's true for you, it
would be for the boy's good--far better than his wasting his time
dredging and coasting about here; but--what would his mother say?"
"Wal," said the stranger, "I have done a good many pretty considerable
difficult things in my time, but as to my being able to tell you what
his mother, or any other female woman of the feminine persuasion, would
be likely to _say_, my hand won't run to that; so, rather than play the
game out, I'll hand in my cards. What I want to know is, what _you_
mean to say to it; and you must be smart making up your mind, for the
_Brother Jonathan_ will trip her anchor bright and early in the morning!
Yes, sir-ree!"
To cut the matter short, boys, the Yankee skipper gave my cousin enough
in advance to find me in the slops I wanted; and I felt as if I could
lep over the moon for joy when I saw the ship's articles signed, and
myself rated, at fair wages, as cabin-boy for the outward and return
trips.
The ould people lived some twenty miles inland, so there was no chance
of seeing them to bid good-by; and maybe that was all for the best, as
it wasn't till the hurry and bustle of buying my kit was over, and I got
fairly on boord, that the thought of my father and mother, little Norah
and Patsey, came across my mind; and when it did, the joy I felt at
getting the great wish of my heart gratified--sailing in an elegant
three-master--with more people on boord her (she was an emigrant ship)
than there was in my own native village, and a dozen besides--turned
into unfeigned sorrow at parting from them; and, for the life of me, I
couldn't close my eyes all night, because of the scalding hot tears that
would force their way from under the lids.
But boys are boys, and sorrow sits lightly on young hearts; and it's a
blessin' it does, for sure we get enough of it when we grow older, and,
perhaps, wiser, and better able to bear it!
Faith, it was as much as I could do to wonder at everything I saw on
boord the beautiful clipper--for a clipper she was, boys, and could
knock off her twelve knots an hour as easy as a bird flies.
The skipper was as good a seaman as ever boxed a compass; the crew,
barring the skulkers, were well trated. As for the "ould soldiers," the
way _they_ got hazed and started was--I must use a Yankee word--a
caution!
We made the Battery at New York in a few hours over thirty days.
I got leave to go on shore with the third mate, a mighty dacint young
man; and whin I tould him I wanted him to take me to my cousin, by my
mother's sister's side, whose name was O'Gorman, with the small-pox, a
squint, and a foxey head, I thought he'd taken a seven years' lase of a
laugh, and would--unless he split his sides--never do anything else but
that same for the rest of his born days.
To cut the matter short, he tould me the skipper had sould me as chape
as a speckled orange! So I gave up all hopes of finding my cousin and
my fortune; saw as much as I could of the beautiful city; bought a
trifle or two to take home; and, after another splendid run, was landed,
safe and sound, onct more on the dear ould Cove of Cork.
"Then you saw no ghost in that ship?" says Bostock.
"Faith, I did!"
"But you have told us nothing about it!" says I.
Wait till a while ago. I tuck my wages, and started for the public,
where I knew I should find my cousin--and right glad he was to see me;
but I couldn't help feeling as if something was wrong by the way he
looked and answered me, whin I asked afther the ould people and little
Norah and Patsey.
"Take a tumbler of punch, now!" says he; "and we'll talk of that
afterward."
"Not at all," says I. "The news, whether good or bad, will go better
with the punch; so we'll have them together. How is my darlint mother?"
"Well!" says he.
"And dad?" I inquired.
"Well, too!" says he.
"Thank the Lord for that!" says I. "And the little ones?"
"Happy and hearty!" says he.
"Thanks be to heaven again!" says I. "But what's the matter wid you, at
all, man alive?"
"The matter wid me?" said he. "What would be the matter wid me?" said
he.
"Sorra a one of me knows!" replied I. "But you look as if you were at a
wake widout whiskey!"
"You didn't hear much about what happened at Ballyshevan in Amerikay?"
says he.
"Faith, you are right! Not much more than I did about Foxey O'Gorman,
wid his squint and red hair!" says I, laughing to think what a fool the
skipper had made of me.
"There's nothing to laugh at _here_!" says he. "There's only two things
that have been plintiful this sason!"
"Potaties and oats?" says I.
"No such luck!" says he.
"What thin?" I asked.
"_Famine and faver_!" he says pat.
You might have knocked me down wid a Jack-straw, whin I heard those
words. I raled back, and if it hadn't been for a binch that was close
against the wall, which I clutched a hould of, and managed to bring
myself up with, I'd have fallen full length on the floor.
"Have a good sup of this!" says he, handing me his tumbler of punch;
"and don't take on so," says he. "You are better off than most of the
neighbours! Sure death hasn't knocked at your door; and all you love
are living--though they have had a hard time of it--to welcome you
back."
"You are right," says I, as I started up, "and the sooner I get that
welcome the better. What am I wasting my time here for, at all at all,
whin I ought to be there--it's only twenty miles. It's airly yet, I can
be home by nightfall. I have promised to return, but I've got three
days' lave, so I'm off at onct."
I won't kape you on the road, sure it's longer than ever it seemed; but
it came to an end at last. I forgot all my fatigue whin I opened the
door, and stepped inside the threshhold; it was between day light and
dark--there was no candle burning--but I could see the forms of the four
people most dear to me on earth. An involuntary "The Vargin be
praised!" broke from my lips.
"My son!--my son!" almost screamed my mother, and if I had been four
boys instead of one there wouldn't have been room enough on me for the
kisses they all wanted to give me at the same time.
Whin the first great joy of our meeting was over, I began to ask pardon
for quitting ould Ireland widout their lave.
"Don't spake about it, darlint," said my mother; thin, pointing upward,
she added, mighty solemn, "Glory be to Him, it was His will, and it was
the best day's work ever you did. Tell him what has happened."
"I will," said my father. "You see, Phil, my son, soon after you sailed
for Amerikay, the old master died, and the estate came into the hands of
his nephew, a wild harum-scarum sort of a chap, that kapes the hoith of
company with the quality and rich people in London and Paris, and the
lord knows where else besides; but never sets his foot, nor spinds a
skurrick here, where the money that pays for his houses, and carriages,
and race-horses, and the wine his foine friends drinks--when his tenants
is starving--comes from. Seeing how things were likely to go, the ould
agent threw up his place rather than rack the tenants any further; this
just suited my gintleman, who sent over a new one, a hard man, wid a
heart of stone, and he drove the poor craytures as a wolf would drive a
flock of shape; they did their best, till their crops failed, to kape
their bits of farms; but then--God help them! they were dead bate--sure
the famine came, and the famine brought on the faver; they couldn't pay;
they were evicted by dozens; and the evictions brought oil something
worse than the famine or faver--something they hungered and thirsted for
more than mate and dhrink."
"What was that, father dear?"
"_Revinge_!" says he.
"Revinge! father--revinge!" I muttered.
"Yis," says he; "but hush! spake low, darlin'! _The boys wint out_!
Well, after that, it's little the moon or stars were wanted to light up
the night while there was a full barn on the estate.
"The country is overrun by the police and the sojers; but it is small
good they have done, or are likely to do. Starving men don't care much
for stale or lead; but--"
Here he paused, and raised his hand.
"Hush! there's futsteps on the road, and me talking loud enough to be
heard a mile off."
As he spoke, he rose, went stealthily to the door, opened it, and looked
out.
"There's nothing to be afraid of, it's naither the peelers nor the
sogers, it's frinds that's coming."
As he wint back to his sate, a fine, handsome young fellow brought in a
lovely girl, exclaiming, as he entered, "God save all here."
"Amen for that same kindly wish," was our answer.
They were ould frinds and playmates, the son and daughter of two of the
snuggest farmers on the estate; and I well knew before I sailed for
Amerikay they were engaged to be married.
"I wasn't wrong," said the young man, as he looked hard at me, "it is
Phil himself. How's every bit of you? sure it's right glad I am to see
you here this blessed night."
"And me, too, Phil," said pretty Mary Sheean, as she took the hand young
O'Rourke left free, and shook it warmly.
We sat for, maybe, an hour or more, talking over ould times; and it was
with a sad heart I listened to the bad news--for bad enough it was!
O'Rourke tould me the rason of his visit was to let me know he and Mary
had made up their minds to sail for Amerikay, where they had some frinds
doing well, and it was agreed they would go as steerage passengers with
me, three days after date, in the clipper ship, _George Washington_.
As they rose to depart, and were bidding us a kind good-night, a low
whistle outside caused us all to start. O'Rourke drew himself up, and
compressed his lips tightly, as he listened for a repetition of the
signal.
Mary turned deathly pale, and clutched her sweetheart's arm
convulsively.
The whistle was repeated.
Miles stooped down, kissed the trembling girl's forehead, and,
addressing me, hastily said, "Phil, tired as you must be, I know I can
trust to you to see Mary safe home."
"Why not do so yourself?" asked I.
"Because I am called, and must obey."
"Are the boys out to-night?" inquired my father.
"They are, and will be till--"
"When?--where?" demanded my mother.
"No matter," said O'Rourke, "you will know soon enough. Perhaps too
soon."
The whistle was heard for the third time. O'Rourke rushed from the
cottage, exclaiming, "Heaven guard you all!"
After the lapse of a few minutes, I started with Mary for her father's
house. As I left her, looking very sad, at the door, I told her to be
sure to see that O'Rourke was not too late to sail wid me.
"Little fear of that," said she; "since his father has been ordered to
quit the farm, to make way for a friend of the new agent's, he'll be
glad to lave the place forever."