Chapter XX.

  “Och! botheration—­’T is a beautiful coost
    All made up of rocks and deep bays;
  Ye may sail up and down, a marvellous host,
    And admire all its beautiful ways.”

  Irish Song.

Little did we, or could we, anticipate all that lay before us.  The wind held at north-west until the ship had got within twenty miles of the Welsh coast; then, it came out light, again, at the southward.  We were now so near Liverpool, that I expected, every hour, to make some American bound in.  None was seen, notwithstanding, and we stood up channel, edging over towards the Irish coast at the same time, determined to work our way to the northward as well as we could.  This sort of weather continued for two days and nights, during which we managed to get up as high as Whitehaven, when the wind came dead ahead, blowing a stiff breeze.  I foresaw from the commencement of this new wind, that it would probably drive us down channel, and out into the Atlantic once more, unless we could anchor.  I thought I would attempt the last, somewhere under the Irish coast, in the hope of getting some assistance from among the children of St. Patrick.  We all knew that Irish sailors, half the time, were not very well trained, but anything that could pull and haul would be invaluable to us, in heavy weather.  We had now been more than a week, four of us in all, working the ship, and, instead of being in the least fagged, we had rather got settled into our places, as it might be, getting along without much trouble; still, there were moments when a little extra force would be of great moment to us, and I could see by the angry look of the skies, that these moments were likely to increase in frequency and in the magnitude of their importance to us.

The waters we were in were so narrow, that it was not long before we drew close in with the Irish coast.  Here, to my great joy, we saw a large fishing-boat, well out in the offing, and under circumstances that rendered it easy for those in it to run close under our lee.  We made a signal, therefore, and soon had the strangers lying-to, in the smooth water we made for them, with our own main-yard aback.  It is scarcely necessary to say, that we had gradually diminished our own canvass, as it became necessary, until the ship was under double-reefed top-sails, the fore-course, jib and spanker.  We had brought the top-sails down lower than was necessary, in order to anticipate the time when it might be indispensable.

The first of the men who came on board us was named Terence O’ something.  His countenance was the droll medley of fun, shrewdness, and blundering, that is so often found in the Irish peasant, and which appears to be characteristic of entire races in the island.

“A fine marnin’, yer honour,” he began, with a self-possession that nothing could disturb, though it was some time past noon, and the day was anything but such a one as a seaman likes.  “A fine marnin’, yer honour, and as fine a ship!  Is it fish that yer honour will be asking for?”