Part 8 (1/2)

Bedad, ye may say that, and as fine a ghost as ever mortial man set eyes upon.

You must know I was always partial to the say, and first tried my hand at a sailor's life wid a cousin of my mother's, who had a small sloop he used for fis.h.i.+ng along the coast off the Cove of Cork.

It was on boord the little _Shamrock_ I got my say-legs, and, by the same token, many a sharp rope's-ending into the bargain.

I had plinty to ate, and plinty to drink, and plinty of hard work, too, as there were but three hands on boord--my cousin, one man, and myself, making up the entire crew.

I was well enough trated, and had no rason to complain.

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 s.h.i.+ps 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 las.h.i.+ngs of bright bra.s.s b.u.t.tons 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 b.u.t.tons, 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 s.h.i.+p 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!”