Stories of Comedy Read online

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  LITTLE CLASSICS

  EDITED BY

  ROSSITER JOHNSON

  STORIES OFCOMEDY

  BOSTON AND NEW YORKHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANYThe Riverside Press Cambridge1914

  COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  CONTENTS.

  PAGE

  BARNY O'REIRDON THE NAVIGATOR _Samuel Lover_ 7

  HADDAD-BEN-AHAB THE TRAVELLER _John Galt_ 58

  BLUEBEARD'S GHOST _Wm. M. Thackeray_ 67

  THE PICNIC PARTY _Horace Smith_ 102

  FATHER TOM AND THE POPE _Samuel Ferguson_ 131

  JOHNNY DARBYSHIRE _William Howitt_ 168

  THE GRIDIRON _Samuel Lover_ 206

  THE BOX TUNNEL _Charles Reade_ 217

  BARNY O'REIRDON THE NAVIGATOR.

  BY SAMUEL LOVER.

  I.

  OUTWARD BOUND.

  Barny O'Reirdon was a fisherman of Kinsale, and a heartier fellownever hauled a net nor cast a line into deep water: indeed Barny,independently of being a merry boy among his companions, a lover ofgood fun and good whiskey, was looked up to, rather, by his brotherfishermen, as an intelligent fellow, and few boats brought more fishto market than Barny O'Reirdon's; his opinion on certain points in thecraft was considered law, and in short, in his own little community,Barny was what is commonly called a leading man. Now your leading manis always jealous in an inverse ratio to the sphere of his influence,and the leader of a nation is less incensed at a rival's triumph thanthe great man of a village. If we pursue this descending scale, what adesperately jealous person the oracle of oyster-dredges andcockle-women must be! Such was Barny O'Reirdon.

  Seated one night at a public house, the common resort of Barny andother marine curiosities, our hero got entangled in debate with whathe called a strange sail,--that is to say, a man he had never metbefore, and whom he was inclined to treat rather magisterially uponnautical subjects; at the same time the stranger was equally inclinedto assume the high hand over him, till at last the new-comer made aregular outbreak by exclaiming, "Ah, tare-and-ouns, lave aff yourbalderdash, Mr. O'Reirdon, by the powdhers o' war it's enough, so itis, to make a dog bate his father, to hear you goin' an as if you warCurlumberus or Sir Crustyphiz Wran, when ivery one knows the divil afarther you iver war nor ketchin crabs or drudgen oysters."

  "Who towld you that, my Watherford Wondher?" rejoined Barny; "what thedickens do you know about sayfarin' farther nor fishin' for sprats in abowl wid your grandmother?"

  "O, baithershin," says the stranger.

  "And who made you so bowld with my name?" demanded O'Reirdon.

  "No matther for that," said the stranger; "but if you'd like for toknow, shure it's your own cousin Molly Mullins knows me well, and maybeI don't know you and yours as well as the mother that bore you, aye, inthroth; and sure I know the very thoughts o' you as well as if I wasinside o' you, Barny O'Reirdon."

  "By my sowl thin, you know betther thoughts than your own, Mr.Whippersnapper, if that's the name you go by."

  "No, it's not the name I go by; I've as good a name as your own, Mr.O'Reirdon, for want of a betther, and that's O'Sullivan."

  "Throth there's more than there's good o' them," said Barny.

  "Good or bad, I'm a cousin o' your own twice removed by the mother'sside."

  "And is it the Widda O'Sullivan's boy you'd be that left this comeCandlemas four years?"

  "The same."

  "Throth thin you might know better manners to your eldhers, though I'mglad to see you, anyhow, agin; but a little thravellin' puts us beyantourselves sometimes," said Barny, rather contemptuously.

  "Throth I nivir bragged out o' myself yit, and it's what I say, that aman that's only fishin' aff the land all his life has no business tocompare in the regard o' thracthericks wid a man that has sailed toFingal."

  This silenced any further argument on Barny's part. Where Fingal lay wasall Greek to him; but, unwilling to admit his ignorance, he covered hisretreat with the usual address of his countrymen, and turned thebitterness of debate into the cordial flow of congratulation at seeinghis cousin again.

  The liquor was frequently circulated, and the conversation began to takea different turn, in order to lead from that which had very nearly endedin a quarrel between O'Reirdon and his relation.

  The state of the crops, county cess, road jobs, etc., became topics, andvarious strictures as to the utility of the latter were indulged in,while the merits of the neighboring farmers were canvassed.

  "Why thin," said one, "that field o' whate o' Michael Coghlan is thefinest field o' whate mortial eyes was ever set upon,--divil the likesiv it myself ever seen far or near."

  "Throth thin sure enough," said another, "it promises to be a fine crapanyhow, and myself can't help thinkin' it quare that Mikee Coghlan,that's a plain-spoken, quite (quiet) man, and simple like, should havefiner craps than Pether Kelly o' the big farm beyant, that knows allabout the great saycrets o' the airth, and is knowledgeable to a degree,and has all the hard words that iver was coined at his fingers' ends."

  "Faith, he has a power o' _blasthogue_ about him sure enough," said theformer speaker, "if that could do him any good, but he isn't fit tohould a candle to Michael Coghlan in the regard o' farmin'."

  "Why blur and agers," rejoined the upholder of science, "sure he met theScotch steward that the lord beyant has, one day, that I hear is awondherful edicated man, and was brought over here to show us all apatthern,--well, Pether Kelly met him one day, and, by gor, hediscoorsed him to a degree that the Scotch chap hadn't a word left inhis jaw."

  "Well, and what was he the betther o' having more prate than aScotchman?" asked the other.

  "Why," answered Kelly's friend, "I think it stands to rayson that theman that done out the Scotch steward ought to know somethin' more aboutfarmin' than Mikee Coghlan."

  "Augh! don't talk to me about knowing," said the other, rathercontemptuously. "Sure I gev in to you that he has a power o' prate,and the gift o' the gab, and all to that. I own to you that he has_the-o-ry_, and _che-mis-thery_, but he hasn't the _craps_. Now, theman that has the craps is the man for my money."

  "You're right, my boy," said O'Reirdon, with an approving thump of hisbrawny fist upon the table, "it's a little talk goes far,--_doin'_ isthe thing."

  "Ah, yiz may run down larnin' if yiz like," said the undismayed sticklerfor theory versus practice, "but larnin' is a fine thing, and sure wherewould the world be at all only for it, sure where would the staymers(steamboats) be, only for larnin'?"

  "Well," said O'Reirdon, "and the divil may care if we never seen them;I'd rather depind an wind and canvas any day than the likes o' them!What are they good for, but to turn good sailors into kitchen-maids,bilin' a big pot o' wather and oilin' their fire-irons, and throwin'coals an the fire? Augh? thim staymers is a disgrace to the say; they'refor all the world like old fogies, smokin' from mornin' till night anddoin' no good."

  "Do you call it doin' no good to go fasther nor ships iver wint before?"

  "Pooh; sure Solomon, queen o' Sheba, said there was time enough for allthings."

  "Thrue for you," said O'Sullivan, "_fair and aisy goes far in a day_, isa good ould sayin'."

  "Well, maybe you'll own to the improvement they're makin' in the harboro' Howth, beyant, in Dublin, is some good."

  "We'll see whether it'll be an improvement first," said the obdurateO'Reirdon.

  "Why, man alive, sure you'll own it's the great
est o' good it is,takin' up the big rocks out o' the bottom o' the harbor."

  "Well, an' where's the wondher o' that? sure we done the same here."

  "O yis, but it was whin the tide was out and the rocks was bare; but upat Howth, they cut away the big rocks from undher the say intirely."

  "O, be aisy; why how could they do that?"

  "Aye, there's the matther, that's what larnin' can do; and wondherful itis intirely! and the way it is, is this, as I hear it, for I never seenit, but heerd it described by the lord to some gintlemin and ladies oneday in his garden where I was helpin' the gardener to land some salary(celery). You see the ingineer goes down undher the wather intirely, andcan stay there as long as he plazes."

  "Whoo! and what o' that? Sure I heered the long sailor say, that comefrom the Aystern Injees, that the ingineers there can a'most live underwather; and goes down looking for diamonds, and has a sledge-hammer intheir hand, brakin' the diamonds when they're too big to take them upwhole, all as one as men brakin' stones an the road."

  "Well, I don't want to go beyant that; but the way the lord's ingineergoes down is, he has a little bell wid him, and while he has that littlebell to ring, hurt nor harm can't come to him."

  "Arrah be aisy."

  "Divil a lie in it."

  "Maybe it's a blissed bell," said O'Reirdon, crossing himself.

  "No, it is not a blissed bell."

  "Why thin now do you think me sich a born nathral as to give in to that?as if the ringin' iv the bell, barrin' it was a blissed bell, could dothe like. I tell you it's unpossible."

  "Ah, nothin' 's unpossible to God."

  "Sure I wasn't denyin' that; but I say the bell is unpossible."

  "Why," said O'Sullivan, "you see he's not altogether complete in thedemonstheration o' the mashine; it is not by the ringin' o' the bell itis done, but--"

  "But what?" broke in O'Reirdon impatiently. "Do you mane for to saythere is a bell in it at all at all?"

  "Yis, I do," said O'Sullivan.

  "I towld you so," said the promulgator of the story.

  "Aye," said O'Sullivan, "but it is not by the ringin' iv the bell it isdone."

  "Well, how is it done then?" said the other, with a half-offended,half-supercilious air.

  "It is done," said O'Sullivan, as he returned the look withinterest,--"it is done entirely by jommethry."

  "Oh! I understan' it now," said O'Reirdon, with an inimitableaffectation of comprehension in the Oh!--"but to talk of the ringin'iv a bell doin' the like is beyant the beyants intirely, barrin', as Isaid before, it was a blissed bell, glory be to God!"

  "And so you tell me, sir, it is jommethry," said the twice-discomfitedman of science.

  "Yis, sir," said O'Sullivan with an air of triumph, which rose inproportion as he carried the listeners along with him,--"jommethry."

  "Well, have it your own way. There's them that won't hear raysonsometimes, nor have belief in larnin'; and you may say it's jommethry ifyou plaze; but I heerd them that knows betther than iver you knew say--"

  "Whisht, whisht! and bad cess to you both," said O'Reirdon, "what thedickens are yiz goin' to fight about now, and sich good liquor beforeyiz? Hillo! there, Mrs. Quigley, bring uz another quart i' you plaze;aye, that's the chat, another quart. Augh! yiz may talk till yo're blackin the face about your invintions, and your staymers, and bell ringin'and gash, and railroads; but here's long life and success to the manthat invinted the impairil (imperial) quart; that was the rail beautifulinvintion." And he took a long pull at the replenished vessel, whichstrongly indicated that the increase of its dimensions was a veryagreeable _measure_ to such as Barny.

  After the introduction of this and _other_ quarts, it would not be aneasy matter to pursue the conversation that followed. Let us, therefore,transfer our story to the succeeding morning, when Barny O'Reirdonstrolled forth from his cottage, rather later than usual, with his eyesbearing _eye_ witness to the carouse of the preceding night. He had nota headache, however; whether it was that Barny was too experienced acampaigner under the banners of Bacchus, or that Mrs. Quigley's boastwas a just one, namely, "that of all the drink in her house, therewasn't a headache in a hogshead of it," is hard to determine, but Irather incline to the strength of Barny's head.

  Barny sauntered about in the sun, at which he often looked up, under theshelter of compressed bushy brows and long-lashed eyelids, and ashadowing hand across his forehead, to see "what o' day" it was; and,from the frequency of this action, it was evident the day was hangingheavily with Barny. He retired at last to a sunny nook in a neighboringfield, and stretching himself at full length, basked in the sun, andbegan "to chew the cud of sweet and bitter thought." He first reflectedon his own undoubted weight in his little community, but still he couldnot get over the annoyance of the preceding night, arising from hisbeing silenced by O'Sullivan; "a chap," as he said himself, "that liftthe place four years agon a brat iv a boy, and to think iv his comin'back and outdoin' his elders, that saw him runnin' about the place, agassoon, that one could tache a few months before"; 'twas too bad. Barnysaw his reputation was in a ticklish position, and began to consider howhis disgrace could be retrieved. The very name of Fingal was hateful tohim; it was a plague-spot on his peace that festered there incurably. Hefirst thought of leaving Kinsale altogether; but flight implied so muchof defeat, that he did not long indulge in that notion. No; he _would_stay, "in spite of all the O'Sullivans, kith and kin, breed, seed, andgeneration." But at the same time he knew he should never hear the endof that hateful place, Fingal; and if Barny had had the power, he wouldhave enacted a penal statute, making it death to name the accursed spot,wherever it was; but not being gifted with such legislative authority,he felt Kinsale was no place for him, if he would not submit to beflouted every hour out of the four-and-twenty, by man, woman, and child,that wished to annoy him. What was to be done? He was in the perplexingsituation, to use his own words, "of the cat in the thripe shop," hedidn't know which way to choose. At last, after turning himself over inthe sun several times, a new idea struck him. Couldn't he go to Fingalhimself? and then he'd be equal to that upstart, O'Sullivan. No soonerwas the thought engendered, than Barny sprang to his feet a new man; hiseye brightened, his step became once more elastic,--he walked erect, andfelt himself to be all over Barny O'Reirdon once more. "Richard washimself again."

  But where was Fingal?--there was the rub. That was a profound mystery toBarny, which, until discovered, must hold him in the vile bondage ofinferiority. The plain-dealing reader would say, "Couldn't he ask?" No,no; that would never do for Barny: that would be an open admission ofignorance his soul was above, and consequently Barny set his brains towork to devise measures of coming at the hidden knowledge by somecircuitous route, that would not betray the end he was working for. Tothis purpose, fifty stratagems were raised, and demolished in half asmany minutes, in the fertile brain of Barny, as he strided along theshore; and as he was working hard at the fifty-first, it was knocked allto pieces by his jostling against some one whom he never perceived hewas approaching, so immersed was he in his speculations, and on lookingup, who should it prove to be but his friend "the long sailor from theAystern Injees." This was quite a godsend to Barny, and much beyondwhat he could have hoped for. Of all men under the sun, the long sailorwas the man in a million for Barny's net at that minute, and accordinglyhe made a haul of him, and thought it the greatest catch he ever made inhis life.

  Barny and the long sailor were in close companionship for the remainderof the day, which was closed, as the preceding one, in a carouse; but onthis occasion there was only a duet performance in honor of the jollygod, and the treat was at Barny's expense. What the nature of theirconversation during the period was, I will not dilate on, but keep it asprofound a secret as Barny himself did, and content myself with saying,that Barny looked a much happier man the next day. Instead of wearinghis hat slouched, and casting his eyes on the ground, he walked aboutwith his usual unconcern, and gave his nod and the passing word of_civilitude_ to ev
ery friend he met; he rolled his quid of tobacco aboutin his jaw with an air of superior enjoyment, and if disturbed in hisnarcotic amusement by a question, he took his own time to eject "theleperous distilment" before he answered the querist,--a happy composure,that bespoke a man quite at ease with himself. It was in this agreeablespirit that Barny bent his course to the house of Peter Kelly, the ownerof the "big farm beyant," before alluded to, in order to put in practicea plan he had formed for the fulfilment of his determination ofrivalling O'Sullivan.

  He thought it probable that Peter Kelly, being one of the "snuggest" menin the neighborhood, would be a likely person to join him in a "spec,"as he called it (a favorite abbreviation of his for the word"speculation"), and accordingly, when he reached the "big-farm house,"he accosted the owner with his usual "God save you."

  "God save you kindly, Barny," returned Peter Kelly; "an' what is itbrings you here, Barny," asked Peter, "this fine day, instead o' beingout in the boat?"

  "O, I'll be out in the boat soon enough, and it's far enough too I'll bein her; an' indeed it's partly that same is bringin' me here toyourself."

  "Why, do you want me to go along wid you, Barny?"

  "Troth an' I don't, Mr. Kelly. You're a knowledgeable man an land, butI'm afeared it's a bad bargain you'd be at say."

  "And what wor you talking about me and your boat for?"

  "Why, you see, sir, it was in the regard of a little bit o' business,an' if you'd come wid me and take a turn in the praty-field, I'll bebehouldin' to you, and maybe you'll hear somethin' that won't bedisplazin' to you."

  "An' welkim, Barny," said Peter Kelly.

  When Barny and Peter were in the "praty-field," Barny opened thetrenches (I don't mean the potato trenches), but, in military parlance,he opened the trenches and laid siege to Peter Kelly, setting forth theextensive profits that had been realized at various "specs" that hadbeen made by his neighbors in exporting potatoes. "And sure," saidBarny, "why shouldn't _you_ do the same, and they are ready to yourhand? as much as to say, _why don't you profit by me, Peter Kelly?_ Andthe boat is below there in the harbor, and, I'll say this much, thedivil a betther boat is betune this and herself."

  "Indeed, I b'lieve so, Barny," said Peter, "for considhering where westand, at this present, there's no boat at all at all betune us." AndPeter laughed with infinite pleasure at his own hit.

  "O, well, you know what I mane, anyhow, an', as I said before, the boatis a darlint boat, and as for him that commands her--I b'lieve I needsay nothin' about that." And Barny gave a toss of his head and a sweepof his open hand, more than doubling the laudatory nature of his commenton himself.

  But, as the Irish saying is, "to make a long story short," Barnyprevailed on Peter Kelly to make an export; but in the nature of theventure they did not agree. Barny had proposed potatoes; Peter saidthere were enough of them already where he was going; and Barny rejoinedthat, "praties were so good in themselves there never could be too mucho' thim anywhere." But Peter being a knowledgeable man, and up to allthe "saycrets o' the airth, and understanding the the-o-ry and theche-mis-thery," overruled Barny's proposition, and determined upon acargo of _scalpeens_ (which name they gave to pickled mackerel), as apreferable merchandise, quite forgetting that Dublin Bay herrings were amuch better and as cheap a commodity, at the command of the Fingalians.But in many similar mistakes the ingenious Mr. Kelly has been paralleledby other speculators. But that is neither here nor there, and it wasall one to Barny whether his boat was freighted with potatoes or_scalpeens_, so long as he had the honor and glory of becoming anavigator, and being as good as O'Sullivan.

  Accordingly the boat was laden and all got in readiness for putting tosea, and nothing was now wanting but Barny's orders to haul up the gaffand shake out the jib of his hooker.

  But this order Barny refrained to give, and for the first time in hislife exhibited a disinclination to leave the shore. One of hisfellow-boatmen, at last, said to him, "Why thin, Barny O'Reirdon, whatthe divil is come over you, at all at all? What's the maynin' of yourloitherin' about here, and the boat ready and a lovely fine breeze affo' the land?"

  "O, never you mind; I b'lieve I know my own business anyhow, an' it'shard, so it is, if a man can't ordher his own boat to sail when heplazes."

  "O, I was only thinking it quare; and a pity more betoken, as I saidbefore, to lose the beautiful breeze, and--"

  "Well, just keep your thoughts to yourself, i' you plaze, and stay inthe boat as I bid you, and don't be out of her on your apperl, by nomanner o' manes, for one minit, for you see I don't know when it may beplazin' to me to go aboord an' set sail."

  "Well, all I can say is, I never seen you afeared to go to say before."

  "Who says I'm afeared?" said O'Reirdon; "you'd betther not say thatagin, or in troth I'll give you a leatherin' that won't be for the goodo' your health,--troth, for three straws this minit I'd lave you thatyour own mother wouldn't know you with the lickin' I'd give you; but Iscorn your dirty insinuation; no man ever seen Barny O'Reirdon afeardyet, anyhow. Howld your prate, I tell you, and look up to your betthers.What do you know iv navigation? Maybe you think it's as aisy for to sailon a voyage as to go start a fishin'." And Barny turned on his heel andleft the shore.

  The next day passed without the hooker sailing, and Barny gave a mostsufficient reason for the delay, by declaring that he had a warnin'givin him in a dhrame (Glory be to God), and that it was given to him tounderstand (under Heaven) that it wouldn't be lucky that day.

  Well, the next day was Friday, and Barny, of course, would not sail anymore than any other sailor who could help it on this unpropitious day.On Saturday, however, he came, running in a great hurry down to theshore, and, jumping aboard, he gave orders to make all sail, and takingthe helm of the hooker, he turned her head to the sea, and soon the boatwas cleaving the blue waters with a velocity seldom witnessed in sosmall a craft, and scarcely conceivable to those who have not seen thespeed of a Kinsale hooker.

  "Why, thin, you tuk the notion mighty suddint, Barny," said thefisherman next in authority to O'Reirdon, as soon as the bustle ofgetting the boat under way had subsided.

  "Well, I hope it's plazin' to you at last," said Barny, "troth one udthink you were never at say before, you wor in such a hurry to be off;as new-fangled a'most as the child with a play toy."

  "Well," said the other of Barny's companions, for there were but twowith him in the boat, "I was thinkin' myself, as well as Jemmy, that welost two fine days for nothin', and we'd be there a'most, maybe, now, ifwe sail'd three days agon."

  "Don't b'lieve it," said Barny, emphatically. "Now, don't you knowyourself that there is some days that the fish won't come near the linesat all, and that we might as well be castin' our nets on the dhry landas in the say, for all we'll catch if we start on an unlooky day; andsure, I towld you I was waitin' only till I had it given to me toundherstan' that it was looky to sail, and I go bail we'll be theresooner than if we started three days agon, for if you don't start withgood look before you, faix maybe it's never at all to the end o' yourtrip you'll come."

  "Well, there's no use in talkin' aboot it now, anyhow; but when do youexpec' to be there?"

  "Why, you see we must wait antil I can tell how the wind is like tohould on, before I can make up my mind to that."

  "But you're sure now, Barny, that you're up to the coorse you have torun?"

  "See now, lave me alone and don't be cross crass-questionin'me--tare-an-ouns, do you think me sich a bladdherang as for to go toshuperinscribe a thing I wasn't aiquil to?"

  "No; I was only goin' to ax you what coorse you wor goin' to steer?"

  "You'll find out soon enough when we get there--and so I bid you aginlay me alone,--just keep your toe in your pump. Shure I'm here at thehelm, and a weight on my mind, and it's fitther for you, Jim, to mindyour own business and lay me to mind mine; away wid you there and behandy, haul taut that foresheet there, we must run close on the wind; behandy, boys; make everything dhraw."

  These orders were obey
ed, and the hooker soon passed to windward of aship that left the harbor before her, but could not hold on a wind withthe same tenacity as the hooker, whose qualities in this particularrender it peculiarly suitable for the purposes to which it is applied,namely, pilot and fishing boats.

  We have said a ship left the harbor before the hooker had set sail; andit is now fitting to inform the reader that Barny had contrived, in thecourse of his last meeting with the "long sailor," to ascertain thatthis ship, then lying in the harbor, was going to the very place Barnywanted to reach. Barny's plan of action was decided upon in a moment; hehad now nothing to do but to watch the sailing of the ship and follow inher course. Here was, at once, a new mode of navigation discovered.

  The stars, twinkling in mysterious brightness through the silent gloomof night, were the first encouraging, because visible, guides to theadventurous mariners of antiquity. Since then, the sailor, encouraged bya bolder science, relies on the unseen agency of nature, depending onthe fidelity of an atom of iron to the mystic law that claims its homagein the north. This is one refinement of science upon another. But thebeautiful simplicity of Barny O'Reirdon's philosophy cannot be too muchadmired,--to follow the ship that is going to the same place. Is notthis navigation made easy?

  But Barny, like many a great man before him, seemed not to be aware ofhow much credit he was entitled to for his invention, for he did notdivulge to his companions the originality of his proceeding; he wishedthem to believe he was only proceeding in the commonplace manner, andhad no ambition to be distinguished as the happy projector of so simplea practice.

  For this purpose he went to windward of the ship and then fell offagain, allowing her to pass him, as he did not wish even those on boardthe ship to suppose he was following in their wake; for Barny, like allpeople that are quite full of one scheme, and fancy everybody iswatching them, dreaded lest any one should fathom his motives. All thatday Barny held on the same course as his leader, keeping at a respectfuldistance, however, "for fear 'twould look like dodging her," as he saidto himself; but as night closed in, so closed in Barny with the ship,and kept a sharp lookout that she should not give him the slip. The nextmorning dawned, and found the hooker and ship companions still; and thusmatters proceeded for four days, during which entire time they had notseen land since their first losing sight of it, although the weather wasclear.

  "By my sowl," thought Barny, "the channel must be mighty wide in theseparts, and for the last day or so we've been goin' purty free with aflowing sheet, and I wondher we aren't closin' in wid the shore by thistime; or maybe it's farther off than I thought it was." His companions,too, began to question Barny on the subject, but to their queries hepresented an impenetrable front of composure, and said "it was alwaysthe best plan to keep a good bowld offin'." In two days more, however,the weather began to be sensibly warmer, and Barny and his companionsremarked that it was "goin' to be the finest sayson--God bless it--thatever kem out o' the skies for many a long year, and maybe it's the whatewould not be beautiful, and a great dale of it."

  It was at the end of a week that the ship which Barny had hitherto keptahead of him showed symptoms of bearing down upon him, as he thought,and, sure enough, she did; and Barny began to conjecture what the deucethe ship could want with him, and commenced inventing answers to thequestions he thought it possible might be put to him in case the shipspoke him. He was soon put out of suspense by being hailed and orderedto run under her lee, and the captain, looking over the quarter, askedBarny where he was going.

  "Faith then, I'm goin' an my business," said Barny.

  "But where?" said the captain.

  "Why, sure, an' it's no matther where a poor man like me id be goin',"said Barny.

  "Only I'm curious to know what the deuce you've been following my shipfor, the last week."

  "Follyin' your ship! Why, thin, blur-an-agers, do you think it'sfollyin' yiz I am?"

  "It's very like it," said the captain.

  "Why, did two people niver thravel the same road before?"

  "I don't say they didn't; but there's a great difference between a shipof seven hundred tons and a hooker."

  "O, as for that matther," said Barny, "the same high-road sarves a coachand four and a lowback car, the thravellin' tinker an' a lord a'horseback."

  "That's very true," said the captain, "but the cases are not the same,Paddy, and I can't conceive what the devil brings _you_ here."

  "And who ax'd you to consayve anything about it?" asked Barny, somewhatsturdily.

  "D--n me, if I can imagine what you're about, my fine fellow," said thecaptain; "and my own notion is, that you don't know where the d--lyou're going yourself."

  "O _baithershin_!" said Barny, with a laugh of derision.

  "Why then do you object to tell?" said the captain.

  "Arrah sure, captain, an' don't you know that sometimes vessels is boundto sail under _saycret ordhers_?" said Barny, endeavoring to foil thequestion by badinage.

  There was a universal laugh from the deck of the ship, at the idea of afishing-boat sailing under secret orders; for, by this time, the wholebroadside of the vessel was crowded with grinning mouths and wonderingeyes at Barny and his boat.

  "O, it's a thrifle makes fools laugh," said Barny.

  "Take care, my fine fellow, that you don't be laughing at the wrong sideof your mouth before long, for I've a notion that you're cursedly inthe wrong box, as cunning a fellow as you think yourself. D--n yourstupid head, can't you tell what brings you here?"

  "Why, thin, by gor, one id think the whole say belonged to you, you'reso mighty bowld in axin' questions an it. Why, tare-an-ouns, sure I'veas much right to be here as you, though I haven't as big a ship nor asfine a coat,--but maybe I can take as good a sailin' out o' the one, andhas as bowld a heart under th' other."

  "Very well," said the captain, "I see there's no use in talking to you,so go to the d--l your own way." And away bore the ship, leaving Barnyin indignation and his companions in wonder.

  "An' why wouldn't you tell him?" said they to Barny.

  "Why, don't you see," said Barny, whose object was now to blindthem,--"don't you see, how do I know but maybe he might be goin' to thesame place himself, and maybe he has a cargo of _scalpeens_ as well asuz, and wants to get before us there."

  "True for you, Barny," said they. "By dad, you're right." And theirinquiries being satisfied, the day passed as former ones had done, inpursuing the course of the ship.

  In four days more, however, the provisions in the hooker began to fail,and they were obliged to have recourse to the _scalpeens_ forsustenance, and Barny then got seriously uneasy at the length of thevoyage, and the likely greater length, for anything he could see to thecontrary; and, urged at last by his own alarms and those of hiscompanions, he was enabled, as the wind was light, to gain on the ship,and when he found himself alongside he demanded a parley with thecaptain.

  The captain, on hearing that the "hardy hooker," as she got christened,was under his lee, came on deck; and as soon as he appeared Barny criedout,--

  "Why, thin, blur-an-agers, Captain dear, do you expec' to be theresoon?"

  "Where?" said the captain.

  "O, you know yourself!" said Barny.

  "It's well for me I do," said the captain.

  "Thrue for you, indeed, your honor," said Barny, in his most insinuatingtone; "but whin will you be at the ind o' your voyage, Captain jewel?"

  "I daresay in about three months," said the captain.

  "O Holy Mother!" ejaculated Barny; "three months!--arrah, it's jokin'you are, Captain dear, and only want to freken me."

  "How should I frighten you?" asked the captain.

  "Why, thin, your honor, to tell God's thruth, I heard you were goin'_there_, an' as I wanted to go there too, I thought I couldn't do betternor to folly a knowledgeable gintleman like yourself, and save myselfthe throuble iv findin' it out."

  "And where do you think I _am_ going?" said the captain.

  "Why, thin," said Barny, "isn't it
to Fingal?"

  "No," said the captain, "it's to _Bengal_."

  "O Gog's blakey!" said Barny, "what'll I do now, at all at all?"

  II.

  HOMEWARD BOUND.

  The captain ordered Barny on deck, as he wished to have someconversation with him on what he, very naturally, considered a mostextraordinary adventure. Heaven help the captain! he knew little ofIrishmen, or he would not have been so astonished. Barny made hisappearance. Puzzling question and more puzzling answer followed in quicksuccession between the commander and Barny, who, in the midst of hisdilemma, stamped about, thumped his head, squeezed his caubeen into allmanner of shapes, and vented his despair anathematically: "O, my heavyhathred to you, you tarnal thief iv a long sailor, it's a purty scrapeyiv led me into. By gor, I thought it was _Fingal_ he said, and now Ihear it is _Bingal_. O, the divil sweep you for navigation, why did Imeddle or make wid you at all at all? And my curse light on you, TerryO'Sullivan, why did I iver come across you, you onlooky vagabone, to putsich thoughts in my head? And so it's _Bingal_, and not _Fingal_, you'regoin' to, Captain?"

  "Yes, indeed, Paddy."

  "An' might I be so bowld to ax, Captain, is Bingal much farther norFingal?"

  "A trifle or so, Paddy?"

  "Och, thin, millia murther, weirasthru, how'll I iver get there at allat all?" roared out poor Barny.

  "By turning about, and getting back the road you've come, as fast as youcan."

  "Is it back? O Queen iv Heaven! an' how will I iver get back?" said thebewildered Barny.

  "Then, you don't know your course, it appears?"

  "O, faix I knew it iligant, as long as your honor was before me."

  "But you don't know your course back?"

  "Why, indeed, not to say rightly all out, your honor."

  "Can't you steer?" said the captain.

  "The divil a betther hand at the tiller in all Kinsale," said Barny,with his usual brag.

  "Well, so far so good," said the captain. "And you know the points ofthe compass,--you have a compass, I suppose?"

  "A compass! by my sowl an' it's not let alone a compass, but a _pair_ acompasses I have, that my brother the carpinthir left me for a keepsakewhin he wint abroad; but, indeed, as for the points o' thim I can't saymuch, for the childer spylt thim intirely, rootin' holes in the flure."

  "What the plague are you talking about?" asked the captain.

  "Wasn't your honor discoorsin' me about the points o' the compasses?"

  "Confound your thick head!" said the captain. "Why, what an ignoramusyou must be, not to know what a compass is, and you at sea all yourlife? Do you even know the cardinal points?"

  "The cardinals! faix, an' it's a great respect I have for them, yourhonor. Sure, ar'n't they belongin' to the pope?"

  "Confound you, you blockhead!" roared the captain, in a rage,--"'twouldtake the patience of the pope and the cardinals, and the cardinalvirtues into the bargain, to keep one's temper with you. Do you know thefour points of the wind?"

  "By my sowl, I do, and more."

  "Well, never mind more, but let us stick to four. You're sure you knowthe four points of the wind?"

  "By dad, it would be a quare thing if a seyfarin' man didn't knowsomethin' about the wind anyhow. Why, Captain dear, you must take me fora nathral intirely, to suspect me o' the like o' not knowin' all aboutthe wind. By gor, I know as much o' the wind a'most as a pig."

  "Indeed, I believe so," laughed out the captain.

  "O, you may laugh if you plaze, and I see by the same that you don'tknow about the pig, with all your edication, Captain."

  "Well, what about the pig?"

  "Why, sir, did you never hear a pig can see the wind?"

  "I can't say that I did."

  "O, thin he does, and for that rayson who has a right to know more aboutit?"

  "You don't, for one, I dare say, Paddy; and maybe you have a pig aboardto give you information."

  "Sorra taste, your honor, not as much as a rasher o' bacon; but it'smaybe your honor never seen a pig tossing up his snout, consaited like,and running like mad afore a storm."

  "Well, what if I have?"

  "Well, sir, that is when they see the wind a-comin'."

  "Maybe so, Paddy, but all this knowledge in piggery won't find you yourway home; and, if you take my advice, you will give up all thoughts ofendeavoring to find your way back, and come on board. You and yourmessmates, I dare say, will be useful hands, with some teaching; but, atall events, I cannot leave you here on the open sea, with every chanceof being lost."

  "Why, thin, indeed, and I'm behowlden to your honor; and it's thehoighth o' kindness, so it is, you offer; and it's nothin' else but agintleman you are, every inch o' you; but I hope it's not so bad wid usyet, as to do the likes o' that."

  "I think it's bad enough," said the captain, "when you are without acompass and knowing nothing of your course, and nearly a hundred andeighty leagues from land."

  "An' how many miles would that be, Captain?"

  "Three times as many."

  "I never larned the rule o' three, Captain, and maybe your honor id tellme yourself."

  "That is rather more than five hundred miles."

  "Five hundred miles!" shouted Barny. "O, the Lord look down upon us!how'll we ever get back?"

  "That's what I say," said the captain; "and therefore, I recommend youto come aboard with me."

  "And where 'ud the hooker be all the time?" said Barny.

  "Let her go adrift," was the answer.

  "Is it the darlint boat? O, by dad, I'll never hear o' that at all."

  "Well, then, stay in her and be lost. Decide upon the matter at once,either come on board or cast off." And the captain was turning away ashe spoke, when Barny called after him, "Arrah, thin, your honor, don'tgo jist for one minit antil I ax you one word more. If I wint wid you,whin would I be home again?"

  "In about seven months."

  "O, thin, that puts the wig an it at wanst. I dar'n't go at all."

  "Why, seven months are not long passing."

  "Thrue for you, in throth," said Barny, with a shrug of his shoulders."Faix, it's myself knows, to my sorrow, the half year comes round mightysuddint, and the lord's agint comes for the thrifle o' rent."

  "Then what's your objection, as to the time?" asked the captain.

  "Arrah, sure, sir, what would the woman that owns me do while I wasaway? and maybe it's break her heart the craythur would, thinking I waslost intirely; and who'd be at home to take care o' the childher' andairn thim the bit and the sup, whin I'd be away? and who knows but it'sall dead they'd be afore I got back? Och hone! sure the heart id fairlybreak in my body, if hurt or harm kem to them, through me. So, say nomore, Captain dear, only give me a thrifle o' directions how I'm to makean offer at gettin' home, and it's myself that will pray for you night,noon, and mornin' for that same."

  "Well, Paddy," said the captain, "as you are determined to go back, inspite of all I can say, you must attend to me well while I give you assimple instructions as I can. You say you know the four points of thewind, north, south, east, and west."

  "Yes, sir."

  "How do you know them? for I must see that you, are not likely to make amistake. How do you know the points?"

  "Why, you see, sir, the sun, God bless it, rises in the aist, and setsin the west, which stands to raison; and whin you stand bechuxt the aistand the west, the north is forninst you."

  "And when the north is fornenst you, as you say, is the east on yourright or your left hand?"

  "On the right hand, your honor."

  "Well, I see you know that much, however. Now," said the captain, "themoment you leave the ship, you must steer a northeast course, and youwill make some land near home in about a week, if the wind holds as itis now, and it is likely to do so; but, mind me, if you turn out of yourcourse in the smallest degree you are a lost man."

  "Many thanks to your honor!"

  "And how are you off for provisions?"

  "Why, thin, indeed, in t
he regard o' that same we are in the hoighth o'distress, for exceptin' the scalpeens, sorra taste passed our lips forthese four days."

  "O, you poor devils!" said the commander, in a tone of sincerecommiseration, "I'll order you some provisions on board before youstart."

  "Long life to your honor! and I'd like to drink the health of so noble agintleman."

  "I understand you, Paddy, you shall have grog too."

  "Musha, the heavens shower blessin's an you, I pray the Virgin Mary andthe twelve apostles, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, not forgettin' SaintPathrick."

  "Thank you, Paddy; but keep your prayers for yourself, for you need themall to help you home again."

  "Oh! never fear, when the thing is to be done, I'll do it, by dad, wid aheart and a half. And sure, your honor, God is good, an' will minddessolute craythurs like uz on the wild oceant as well as ashore."

  While some of the ship's crew were putting the captain's benevolentintentions to Barny and his companions into practice, by transferringsome provisions to the hooker, the commander entertained himself byfurther conversation with Barny, who was the greatest original he hadever met. In the course of their colloquy, Barny drove many hard queriesat the captain, respecting the wonders of the nautical profession, andat last put the question to him plump:--

  "Oh! thin, Captain dear, and how is it at all at all, that you make yourway over the wide says intirely to them furrin parts?"

  "You would not understand, Paddy, if I attempted to explain to you."

  "Sure enough, indeed, your honor, and I ask your pardon, only I wascurious to know, and sure no wondher."

  "It requires various branches of knowledge to make a navigator."

  "Branches," said Barny, "by gar I think it id take the whole tree o'knowledge to make it out. And that place you are going to, sir, that_Bin_gal (oh! bad luck to it for a _Bin_gal, it's the sore _Bin_gal tome), is it so far off as you say?"

  "Yes, Paddy, half round the world."

  "Is it round in airnest, Captain dear? Round about!"

  "Aye, indeed."

  "O, thin, ar'n't you afeard that whin you come to the top and thatyou're obleedged to go down, that you'd go slidderhin away intirely, andnever be able to stop, maybe. It's bad enough, so it is, going down hillby land, but it must be the dickens all out by wather."

  "But there is no hill, Paddy; don't you know that water is alwayslevel?"

  "By dad, it's very _flat_ anyhow, and by the same token it's seldom Ithrouble it; but sure, your honor, if the wather is level, how do youmake out that it is _round_ you go?"

  "That is a part of the knowledge I was speaking to you about," said thecaptain.

  "Musha, bad luck to you, knowledge, but you're a quare thing!--and whereis it Bingal, bad cess to it, would be at all at all?"

  "In the East Indies."

  "O, that is where they make the _tay_, isn't it, sir?"

  "No, where the tea grows is further still."

  "Further! why that must be the ind of the world intirely; and they don'tmake it, thin, sir, but it grows, you tell me."

  "Yes, Paddy."

  "Is it like hay, your honor?"

  "Not exactly, Paddy; what puts hay in your head?"

  "Oh! only bekase I hear them call it Bo_hay_."

  "A most logical deduction, Paddy."

  "And is it a great deal farther, your honor, the _tay_ country is?"

  "Yes, Paddy, China it is called."

  "That's, I suppose, what we call Chaynee, sir?"

  "Exactly, Paddy."

  "By dad, I never could come at it rightly before, why it was nathral todrink tay out o' chaynee. I ax your honor's pardon for bein'troublesome, but I hard tell from the long sailor, iv a place they callJapan, in them furrin parts, and _is_ it there, your honor?"

  "Quite true, Paddy."

  "And I suppose it's there the blackin' comes from."

  "No, Paddy, you are out there."

  "O well, I thought it stood to rayson, as I heerd of Japan blackin',sir, that it would be there it kem from; besides,--as the blacksthemselves,--the naygers, I mane, is in them parts."

  "The negroes are in Africa, Paddy, much nearer to us."

  "God betune us and harm. I hope I would not be too near them," saidBarny.

  "Why, what's your objection?"

  "Arrah sure, sir, they're hardly mortials at all, but has the mark o'the bastes an thim."

  "How do you make out that, Paddy?"

  "Why sure, sir, and didn't Natur make thim wid wool on their heads,plainly makin' it undherstood to Chrishthans, that they were little morenor cattle?"

  "I think your head is a wool-gathering now, Paddy," said the captain,laughing.

  "Faix, maybe so, indeed," answered Barny, good-humoredly, "but it'sseldom I ever went out to look for wool and kem home shorn, anyhow,"said he, with a look of triumph.

  "Well, you won't have that to say for the future, Paddy," said thecaptain, laughing again.

  "My name's not Paddy, your honor," said Barny, returning the laugh, butseizing the opportunity to turn the joke aside, that was going againsthim; "my name isn't Paddy, sir, but Barny."

  "O, if it was Solomon, you'll be bare enough when you go home this time;you have not gathered much this trip, Barny."

  "Sure, I've been gathering knowledge, anyhow, your honor," said Barny,with a significant look at the captain, and a complimentary tip of hishand to his caubeen, "and God bless you for being so good to me."

  "And what's your name besides Barny?" asked the captain.

  "O'Reirdon, your honor,--Barny O'Reirdon's my name."

  "Well, Barny O'Reirdon, I won't forget your name nor yourself in ahurry, for you are certainly the most original navigator I ever had thehonor of being acquainted with."

  "Well," said Barny, with a triumphant toss of his head, "I have doneTerry O'Sullivan, at any rate, the devil a half so far he ever was, andthat's a comfort. I have muzzled his clack for the rest iv his life, andhe won't be comin' over us wid the pride iv his _Fin_gal while I'm tothe fore, that was a'most at _Bin_gal!

  "Terry O'Sullivan,--who is he, pray?" said the captain.

  "O, he's a scut iv a chap that's not worth your axin' for,--he's notworth your honor's notice,--a braggin' poor craythur. O, wait till I gethome, and the devil a more braggin' they'll hear out of his jaw."

  "Indeed then, Barny, the sooner you turn your face toward home thebetter," said the captain: "since you will go, there is no need of yourlosing more time."

  "Thrue for you, your honor,--and sure it's well for me I had the luck tomeet with the likes o' your honor, that explained the ins and the outsiv it, to me, and laid it all down as plain as prent."

  "Are you sure you remember my directions?" said the captain.

  "Troth an I'll niver forget them to the day o' my death, and is bound topray, more betoken, for you and yours."

  "Don't mind praying for me till you get home, Barny; but answer me, howare you to steer when you shall leave me?"

  "The nor-aist coorse, your honor, that's the coorse agin the world."

  "Remember that! Never alter that course till you see land,--let nothingmake you turn out of a northeast course."

  "Throth an' that would be the dirty turn, seein' that it was yourselfthat ordhered it. O no, I'll depend my life an the _nor-aist coorse_,and God help any that comes betune me an' it,--I'd run him down if hewas my father."

  "Well, good by, Barny."

  "Good by, and God bless you, your honor, and send you safe."

  "That's a wish you want for yourself, Barny,--never fear for me, butmind yourself well."

  "O, sure, I'm as good as at home wanst I know the way, barrin' the windis conthrary; sure the nor-aist coorse'll do the business complate. Goodby, your honor, and long life to you, and more power to your elbow, anda light heart and a heavy purse to you evermore, I pray the blessedVirgin and all the saints, amin!" And so saying, Barny descended theship's side, and once more assumed the helm of the "hardy hooker."

  The two vessels n
ow separated on their opposite courses. What a contrasttheir relative situations afforded! Proudly the ship bore away under herlofty and spreading canvas, cleaving the billows before her, manned byan able crew, and under the guidance of experienced officers; the fingerof science to point the course of her progress, the faithful chart towarn of the hidden rock and the shoal, the long line and the quadrant tomeasure her march and prove her position. The poor little hooker cleftnot the billows, each wave lifted her on its crest like a sea-bird; butthe three inexperienced fishermen to manage her; no certain means toguide them over the vast ocean they had to traverse, and the holding ofthe "fickle wind" the only _chance_ of their escape from perishing inthe wilderness of waters. By the one, the feeling excited is supremelythat of man's power. By the other, of his utter helplessness. To theone, the expanse of ocean could scarcely be considered "trackless." Tothe other, it was a waste indeed.

  Yet the cheer that burst from the ship, at parting, was answered asgayly from the hooker as though the odds had not been so fearfullyagainst her, and no blither heart beat on board the ship than that ofBarny O'Reirdon.

  Happy light-heartedness of my countrymen! How kindly have they beenfortified by nature against the assaults of adversity; and if theyblindly rush into dangers, they cannot be denied the possession ofgallant hearts to fight their way out of them.

  But each hurrah became less audible; by degrees the cheers dwindled intofaintness, and finally were lost in the eddies of the breeze.

  The first feeling of loneliness that poor Barny experienced was when hecould no longer hear the exhilarating sound. The plash of the surge, asit broke on the bows of his little boat, was uninterrupted by thekindred sound of human voice; and, as it fell upon his ear, it smoteupon his heart. But he replied, waved his hat, and the silent signal wasanswered from those on board the ship.

  "Well, Barny," said Jemmy, "what was the captain sayin' to you at thetime you wor wid him?"

  "Lay me alone," said Barny, "I'll talk to you when I see her out o'sight, but not a word till thin. I'll look afther him, the ralegintleman that he is, while there's a topsail of his ship to be seen,and then I'll send my blessin' afther him, and pray for his goodfortune wherever he goes, for he's the right sort and nothin' else."And Barny kept his word, and when his straining eye could no longertrace a line of the ship, the captain certainly had the benefit of "apoor man's blessing."

  The sense of utter loneliness and desolation had not come upon Barnyuntil now; but he put his trust in the goodness of Providence, and in afervent mental outpouring of prayer resigned himself to the care of hisCreator. With an admirable fortitude, too, he assumed a composure to hiscompanions that was a stranger to his heart; and we all know how theburden of anxiety is increased when we have none with whom tosympathize. And this was not all. He had to affect ease and confidence,for Barny not only had no dependence on the firmness of his companionsto go through the undertaking before them, but dreaded to betray to themhow he had imposed on them in the affair. Barny was equal to all this.He had a stout heart, and was an admirable actor; yet, for the firsthour after the ship was out of sight, he could not quite recoverhimself, and every now and then, unconsciously, he would look back witha wishful eye to the point where last he saw her. Poor Barny had losthis leader.

  The night fell, and Barny stuck to the helm as long as nature couldsustain want of rest, and then left it in charge of one of hiscompanions, with particular directions how to steer, and ordered, if anychange in the wind occurred, that they should instantly awake him. Hecould not sleep long, however; the fever of anxiety was upon him, andthe morning had not long dawned when he awoke. He had not well rubbedhis eyes and looked about him, when he thought he saw a ship in thedistance approaching them. As the haze cleared away, she showeddistinctly bearing down toward the hooker. On board the ship, thehooker, in such a sea, caused surprise as before, and in about an hourshe was so close as to hail, and order the hooker to run under her lee.

  "The devil a taste," said Barny. "I'll not quit my _nor-aist coorse_ forthe king of Ingland, nor Bonyparty into the bargain. Bad cess to you, doyou think I've nothin' to do but plaze you?"

  Again he was hailed.

  "Oh! bad luck to the toe I'll go to you."

  Another hail.

  "Spake loudher you'd betther," said Barny, jeeringly, still holding onhis course.

  A gun was fired ahead of him.

  "By my sowl you spoke loudher that time, sure enough," said Barny.

  "Take care, Barny," cried Jemmy and Peter together. "Blur-an-agers, man,we'll be kilt if you don't go to them."

  "Well, and we'll be lost if we turn out iv our _nor-aist coorse_, andthat's as broad as it's long. Let them hit iz if they like; sure it udbe a pleasanter death nor starvin' at say. I tell you agin I'll turn outo' my _nor-aist coorse_ for no man."

  A shotted gun was fired. The shot hopped on the water as it passedbefore the hooker.

  "Phew! you missed it, like your mammy's blessin'," said Barny.

  "O murther!" said Jemmy, "didn't you see the ball hop aff the watherforninst you. O murther, what 'ud we ha' done if we wor there at all atall?"

  "Why, we'd have taken the ball at the hop," said Barny, laughing,"accordin' to the ould sayin'."

  Another shot was ineffectually fired.

  "I'm thinking that's a Connaughtman that's shootin'," said Barny, with asneer.[A] The allusion was so relished by Jemmy and Peter, that itexcited a smile in the midst of their fears from the cannonade.

  [A] This is an allusion of Barny's to a prevalent saying in Ireland,addressed to a sportsman who returns home unsuccessful, "So you'vekilled what the Connaughtman shot at."

  Again the report of the gun was followed by no damage.

  "Augh! never heed them!" said Barny, contemptuously. "'It's a barkin'dog that never bites,' as the owld sayin' says." And the hooker was soonout of reach of further annoyance.

  "Now, what a pity it was, to be sure," said Barny, "that I wouldn't goaboord to plaze them. Now who's right? Ah, lave me alone always, Jimmy;did you iver know me wrong yet?"

  "O, you may hillow now that you are out o' the wood," said Jemmy, "but,accordin' to my idays, it was runnin' a grate risk to be conthrary widthem at all, and they shootin' balls afther us."

  "Well, what matther?" said Barny, "since they wor only blind gunners,_an' I knew it_; besides, as I said afore, I won't turn out o' my_nor-aist coorse_ for no man."

  "That's a new turn you tuk lately," said Peter. "What's the raisonyou're runnin' a nor-aist coorse now, an' we never hear'd iv it afore atall, till afther you quitted the big ship?"

  "Why, thin, are you sich an ignoramus all out," said Barny, "as not forto know that in navigation you must lie an a great many different tacksbefore you can make the port you steer for?"

  "Only I think," said Jemmy, "that it's back intirely we're goin' now,and I can't make out the rights o' that at all."

  "Why," said Barny, who saw the necessity of mystifying his companions alittle, "you see, the captain towld me that I kum around, an'rekimminded me to go th' other way."

  "Faix, it's the first time I ever heard o' goin' round by say," saidJemmy.

  "Arrah, sure, that's part o' the saycrets o' navigation, and thevarrious branches o' knowledge that is requizit for a navigator; andthat's what the captain, God bless him, and myself was discoorsin' anaboord; and, like a rale gintleman as he is, Barny, says he; Sir, saysI; you've come the round, says he. I know that, says I, bekase I like tokeep a good bowld offin', says I, in contrairy places. Spoke like a goodsayman, says he. That's my principles, says I. They're the right sort,says he. But, says he (no offence), I think you wor wrong, says he, topass the short turn in the ladie-shoes,[B] says he. I know, says I, youmane beside the three-spike headlan'. That's the spot, says he, I seeyou know it. As well as I know my father, says I."

  [B] Some offer Barny is making at latitudes.

  "Why, Barny," said Jemmy, interrupting him, "we seen no headlan' atall."

  "Whisht, whisht!" said Ba
rny, "bad cess to you, don't thwart me. Wepassed it in the night, and you couldn't see it. Well, as I was saying,I knew it as well as I know my father, says I, but I gev the preferenceto go the round, says I. You're a good sayman for that same, says he,an' it would be right at any other time than this present, says he, butit's onpossible now, tee-totally, on account o' the war, says he. Tarealive, says I, what war? An' didn't you hear o' the war? says he. Divila word, says I. Why, says he, the naygers has made war on the king o'Chaynee, says he, bekase he refused them any more tay; an' with that,what did they do, says he, but they put a lumbargo on all the vesselsthat sails the round, an' that's the rayson, says he, I carry guns, asyou may see; and I rekimmind you, says he, to go back, for you're notable for thim, and that's jist the way iv it. An' now, wasn't it lookythat I kem acrass him at all, or maybe we might be cotch by the naygers,and ate up alive."

  "O, thin, indeed, and that's thrue," said Jemmy and Peter, "and whinwill we come to the short turn?"

  "O, never mind," said Barny, "you'll see it when you get there; but waittill I tell you more about the captain, and the big ship. He said, youknow, that he carried guns afeard o' the naygers, and in troth it's thehoight o' care he takes o' them same guns; and small blame to him, surethey might be the salvation of him. 'Pon my conscience, they're takenbetther care of than any poor man's child. I heerd him cautionin' thesailors about them, and givin' them ordhers about their clothes."

  "Their clothes!" said his two companions at once, in much surprise; "isit clothes upon cannons?"

  "It's thruth I'm tellin' you," said Barny. "Bad luck to the lie in it,he was talkin' about their aprons and their breeches."

  "O, think o' that!" said Jemmy and Peter, in surprise.

  "An' 't was all iv a piece," said Barny, "that an' the rest o' the shipall out. She was as nate as a new pin. Throth, I was a'most ashamed toput my fut on the deck, it was so clane, and she painted every color inthe rainbow; and all sorts o' curiosities about her; and instead iv atiller to steer her, like this darlin' craythur iv ours, she goes wid awheel, like a coach all as one; and there's the quarest thing you iverseen, to show the way, as the captain gev me to understan', a littleround rowly-powly thing in a bowl, that goes waddlin' about as if itdidn't know its own way, much more nor show anybody theirs. Throth,myself thought that if that's the way they're obliged to go, that it'swith a great deal of fear and thrimblin' they find it out."

  Thus it was that Barny continued most marvellous accounts of the shipand the captain to his companions, and by keeping their attention soengaged, prevented their being too inquisitive as to their own immediateconcerns, and for two days more Barny and the hooker held on theirrespective courses undeviatingly.

  The third day Barny's fears for the continuity of his _nor-aist coorse_were excited, as a large brig hove in sight, and the nearer sheapproached, the more directly she appeared to be coming athwart Barny'scourse.

  "May the divil sweep you," said Barny, "and will nothin' else sarve youthan comin' forninst me that away? Brig-a-hoy there!" shouted Barny,giving the tiller to one of his messmates, and standing at the bow ofhis boat. "Brig-a-hoy there!--bad luck to you, go 'long out o' my_nor-aist coorse_." The brig, instead of obeying him, hove to, and layright ahead of the hooker. "O, look at this!" shouted Barny, and hestamped on the deck with rage,--"look at the blackguards where they'restayin', just a-purpose to ruin an unfortunate man like me. My heavyhathred to you, quit this minit, or I'll run down an yes, and if we goto the bottom, we'll haunt you forevermore,--go 'long out o' that, Itell you. The curse o' Crummil on you, you stupid vagabones, that won'tgo out iv a man's nor-aist coorse!"

  From cursing Barny went to praying as he came closer. "For the tendhermarcy o' heaven an' lave my way. May the Lord reward you, and get out o'my nor-aist coorse! May angels make your bed in heavin and don't ruinateme this a way." The brig was immovable, and Barny finished with a duetvolley of prayers and curses together, apostrophizing the hard case of aman being "done out o' his nor-aist coorse."

  "A-hoy there!" shouted a voice from the brig, "put down your helm oryou'll be aboard of us. I say, let go your jib and foresheet,--what areyou about, you lubbers?"

  'Twas true that the brig lay so fair in Barny's course, that he wouldhave been aboard, but that instantly the manoeuvre above alluded towas put in practice on board the hooker; as she swept to destructiontoward the heavy hull of the brig, he luffed up into the wind alongsideher. A very pale and somewhat emaciated face appeared at the side, andaddressed Barny.

  "What brings you here?" was the question.

  "Throth, thin, and I think I might betther ax what brings _you_ here,right in the way o' my _nor-aist coorse_."

  "Where do you come from?"

  "From Kinsale; and you didn't come from a betther place, I go bail."

  "Where are you bound to?"

  "To Fingal."

  "Fingal,--where's Fingal?"

  "Why then, ain't you ashamed o' yourself an' not to know where Fingalis?"

  "It is not in these seas."

  "O, and that's all you know about it," says Barny.

  "You're a small craft to be so far at sea. I suppose you have provisionson board?"

  "To be sure we have; throth if we hadn't, this id be a bad place to go abeggin'."

  "What have you eatable?"

  "The finest o' scalpeens."

  "What are scalpeens?"

  "Why, you're mighty ignorant intirely," said Barny; "why, scalpeens ispickled mackerel."

  "Then you must give us some, for we have been out of everything eatablethese three days; and even pickled fish is better than nothing."

  It chanced that the brig was a West India trader, which unfavorablewinds had delayed much beyond the expected period of time on her voyage,and though her water had not failed, everything eatable had beenconsumed, and the crew reduced almost to helplessness. In such a straitthe arrival of Barny O'Reirdon and his scalpeens was a most providentialsuccor to them, and a lucky chance for Barny, for he got in exchange forhis pickled fish a handsome return of rum and sugar, much more thanequivalent to their value. Barny lamented much, however, that the brigwas not bound for Ireland, that he might practice his own peculiarsystem of navigation; but as staying with the brig could do no good, hegot himself put into his _nor-aist coorse_ once more, and ploughed awaytoward home.

  The disposal of his cargo was a great godsend to Barny in more ways thanone. In the first place, he found the most profitable market he couldhave had; and, secondly, it enabled him to cover his retreat from thedifficulty which still was before him of not getting to Fingal after allhis dangers, and consequently being open to discovery and disgrace. Allthese beneficial results were thrown away upon one of Barny's readinessto avail himself of every point in his favor: and, accordingly, whenthey left the brig, Barny said to his companions, "Why, thin, boys, 'ponmy conscience, but I'm as proud as a horse wid a wooden leg this minit,that we met them poor unfort'nate craythers this blessed day, and wasenabled to extind our charity to them. Sure, an' it's lost they'd beonly for our comin' acrass them, and we, through the blessin' o' God,enabled to do an act o' marcy, that is, feedin' the hungry; and sureevery good work we do here is before uz in heaven,--and that's a comfortanyhow. To be sure, now that the scalpeens is sowld, there's no use ingoin' to Fingal, and we may as well jist go home."

  "Faix, I'm sorry myself," said Jemmy, "for Terry O'Sullivan said it wasan iligant place intirely, an' I wanted to see it."

  "To the divil wid Terry O'Sullivan," said Barny; "how does he knowwhat's an iligant place? What knowledge has he of iligance! I'll go bailhe never was half as far a navigatin' as we,--he wint the short cut, Igo bail, and never dar'd for to vinture the round, as I did."

  "By dad, we wor a great dale longer anyhow than he towld me he was."

  "To be sure we wor," said Barny; "he wint skulkin' in by the short cut,I tell you, and was afeard to keep a bowld offin' like me. But come,boys, let uz take a dhrop o' the bottle o' sper'ts we got out o' thebrig. By gor, it's wel
l we got some bottles iv it; for I wouldn't muchlike to meddle wid that darlint little kag iv it antil we get home." Therum was put on its trial by Barny and his companions, and in theircritical judgment was pronounced quite as good as the captain of theship had bestowed upon them, but that neither of those specimens ofspirit was to be compared to whiskey. "By dad," says Barny, "they mayrack their brains a long time before they'll make out a purtierinvintion than _potteen_,--that rum may do very well for thim that hasthe misforthin' not to know betther; but the whiskey is a more nathralsper't accordin' to my idays." In this, as in most other of Barny'sopinions, Peter and Jemmy coincided.

  Nothing particular occurred for the two succeeding days, during whichtime Barny most religiously pursued his _nor-aist coorse_, but the thirdday produced a new and important event. A sail was discovered on thehorizon, and in the direction Barny was steering, and a couple of hoursmade him tolerably certain that the vessel in sight was an American, forthough it is needless to say that he was not very conversant in suchmatters, yet from the frequency of his seeing Americans trading toIreland, his eye had become sufficiently accustomed to their lofty andtapering spars, and peculiar smartness of rig, to satisfy him that theship before him was of transatlantic build; nor was he wrong in hisconjecture.

  Barny now determined on a manoeuvre, classing him among the firsttacticians at securing a good retreat.

  Moreau's highest fame rests upon his celebrated retrograde movementthrough the Black Forest.

  Xenophon's greatest glory is derived from the deliverance of his tenthousand Greeks from impending ruin by his renowned retreat.

  Let the ancient and the modern hero "repose under the shadow of theirlaurels," as the French have it, while Barny O'Reirdon's historian, witha pardonable jealousy for the honor of his country, cuts down a goodlybough of the classic tree, beneath which our Hibernian hero may enjoyhis _otium cum dignitate_.

  Barny calculated the American was bound for Ireland, and as she lay_almost_ as directly in the way of his "nor-aist coorse" as theWest-Indian brig, he bore up to and spoke her.

  He was answered by a shrewd Yankee captain.

  "Faix, an' it's glad I am to see your honor again," said Barny.

  The Yankee had never been to Ireland, and told Barny so.

  "O, throth, I couldn't forget a gintleman so aisy as that," said Barny.

  "You're pretty considerably mistaken now, I guess," said the American.

  "Divil a taste," said Barny, with inimitable composure and pertinacity.

  "Well, if you know me so tarnation well, tell me what's my name." TheYankee flattered himself he had nailed Barny now.

  "Your name, is it?" said Barny, gaining time by repeating the question;"why, what a fool you are not to know your own name."

  The oddity of the answer posed the American, and Barny took advantage ofthe diversion in his favor, and changed the conversation.

  "By dad, I've been waitin' here these four or five days, expectin' someof you would be wantin' me."

  "Some of us!--How do you mean?"

  "Sure, an' ar'n't you from Amerikay?"

  "Yes; and what then?"

  "Well, I say I was waitin' for some ship or other from Amerikay, that udbe wantin' me. It's to Ireland you're goin'?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I suppose you'll be wantin' a pilot," said Barny.

  "Yes, when we get in shore, but not yet."

  "O, I don't want to hurry you," said Barny.

  "What port are you a pilot of?"

  "Why, indeed, as for the matther o' that," said Barny, "they're allaiqual to me a'most."

  "All?" said the American. "Why, I calculate you couldn't pilot a shipinto all the ports of Ireland."

  "Not all at wanst," said Barny, with a laugh, in which the Americancould not help joining.

  "Well, I say, what ports do you know best?"

  "Why, thin, indeed," said Barny, "it would be hard for me to tell; butwherever you want to go, I'm the man that'll do the job for youcomplate. Where is your honor goin'?"

  "I won't tell you that,--but do you tell me what ports you know best?"

  "Why, there's Watherford, and there's Youghal, an' Fingal."

  "Fingal,--where's that?"

  "So you don't know where Fingal is. O, I see you're a sthranger,sir,--an' then there's Cork."

  "You know Cove, then?"

  "Is it the Cove o' Cork?"

  "Yes."

  "I was bred and born there, and pilots as many ships into Cove as anyother two min _out_ of it."

  Barny thus sheltered his falsehood under the idiom of his language.

  "But what brought you so far out to sea?" asked the captain.

  "We wor lyin' out lookin' for ships that wanted pilots, and there kem anthe terriblest gale o' wind aff the land, an' blew us to say outintirely, an' that's the way iv it, your honor."

  "I calculate we got a share of the same gale; 'twas from the nor-east."

  "O, directly!" said Barny, "faith, you're right enough. 'Twas the_nor-aist coorse_ we wor an sure enough; but no matther now that we'vemet wid you,--sure we'll have a job home anyhow."

  "Well, get aboard then," said the American.

  "I will, in a minit, your honor, whin I jist spake a word to my comradeshere."

  "Why, sure it's not goin' to turn pilot you are," said Jemmy, in hissimplicity of heart.

  "Whisht, you omadhaun!" said Barny, "or I'll cut the tongue out o' you.Now mind me, Pether. You don't undherstan' navigashin and the varriousbranches o' knowledge, an' so all you have to do is to folly the shipwhen I get into her, an' I'll show you the way home."

  Barny then got aboard the American vessel, and begged of the captain,that as he had been out at sea so long, and had gone through "a power o'hardship intirely," he would be permitted to go below and turn in totake a sleep, "for in throth it's myself and sleep that is sthrayngersfor some time," said Barny, "an' if your honor'll be plazed I'll bethankful if you won't let them disturb me antil I'm wanted, for suretill you see the land there's no use for me in life, an' throth I want asleep sorely."

  Barnes request was granted, and it will not be wondered at, that afterso much fatigue of mind and body, he slept profoundly forfour-and-twenty hours. He then was called, for land was in sight, andwhen he came on deck the captain rallied him upon the potency of hissomniferous qualities, and "calculated" he had never met any one whocould sleep "four-and-twenty hours at a stretch before."

  "O sir," said Barny, rubbing his eyes, which were still a little hazy,"whiniver I go to sleep I pay attintion to it."

  The land was soon neared, and Barny put in charge of the ship, when heascertained the first landmark he was acquainted with; but as soon asthe Head of Kinsale hove in sight, Barny gave a "whoo," and cut a caperthat astonished the Yankees, and was quite inexplicable to them, though,I flatter myself, it is not to those who do Barny the favor of readinghis adventures.

  "O, there you are, my darlint ould head! An' where's the head like o'you? Throth, it's little I thought I'd ever set eyes an yourgood-looking faytures agin. But God's good!"

  In such half-muttered exclamations, did Barny apostrophize eachwell-known point of his native shore, and when opposite the harbor ofKinsale, he spoke the hooker that was somewhat astern, and orderedJemmy and Peter to put in there, and tell Molly immediately that he wascome back, and would be with her as soon as he could, after piloting theship into Cove. "But an your apperl don't tell Pether Kelly o' the bigfarm, nor, indeed, don't mintion to man or mortial about the navigationwe done antil I come home myself and make them sensible o' it, bekase,Jemmy and Pether, neither o' yiz is aqual to it, and doesn't undherstan'the branches o' knowledge requizit for discoorsin' o' navigation."

  The hooker put into Kinsale, and Barny sailed the ship into Cove. It wasthe first ship he ever had acted the pilot for, and his old luckattended him; no accident befell his charge, and, what was still moreextraordinary, he made the American believe he was absolutely the mostskilful pilot on the station. So Barny pocketed his pi
lot's fee, sworethe Yankee was a gentleman, for which the republican did not thank him,wished him good by, and then pushed his way home with what Barny sworewas the aisiest-made money he ever had in his life. So Barny got himselfpaid for piloting the ship that showed him the way home.