‘Captain Cluffe is drowned, Sir; and I’m Lieutenant Puddock,’ rejoined the officer.

‘Tare-an-ouns, an’ is it yerself, Captain Puddock, that’s in it?’ cried the man.  ’I ax yer pardon; but I tuk you for one of thim vagabonds that’s always plundherin’ the fish.  And who in the wide world, captain jewel, id expeck to see you there, meditatin’ in the middle of the river, this time o’ night; an’ I dunna how in the world you got there, at all, at all, for the planking is carried away behind you since yistherday.’

‘Give an alarm, if you please, Sir, this moment,’ urged Puddock.  ’Captain Cluffe has gone over this horrid weir, not a minute since, and is I fear drowned.’

‘Dhrownded! och! bloody wars.’

‘Yes, Sir, send some one this moment down the stream with a rope—­’

‘Hollo, Jemmy?’ cried the man, and whistled through his crooked finger.

‘Jemmy,’ said he to the boy who presented himself, ’run down to Tom Garret, at the Millbridge, and tell him Captain Cluffe’s dhrownded over the weir, and to take the boat-hook and rope—­he’s past the bridge by this time—­ay is he at the King’s House—­an’ if he brings home the corpse alive or dead, before an hour, Captain Puddock here will give him twenty guineas reward.’  So away went the boy.

‘’Tis an unaisy way you’re situated yourself, I’m afeard,’ observed the man.

’Have the goodness to say, Sir, by what meanth, if any, I can reach either bank of the river,’ lisped Puddock, with dignity.

’’Tis thrue for you, captain, that’s the chat—­how the divil to get you alive out o’ the position you’re in.  Can you swim?’

‘No, Thir.’

‘An’ how the dickens did you get there?’

‘I’d rather hear, Sir, how I’m to get away, if you please,’ replied Puddock, loftily.

‘Are you bare-legged?’ shouted the man.

‘No, Sir,’ answered the little officer, rather shocked.

‘An’ you’re there wid shoes on your feet.

‘Of course, Sir,’ answered Puddock.

‘Chuck them into the water this instant minute,’ roared the man.

‘Why, there are valuable buckles, Sir,’ remonstrated Puddock.

’Do you mane to say you’d rather be dhrownded in yer buckles than alive in yer stockin’ feet?’ he replied.

There were some cross expostulations, but eventually the fellow came out to Puddock.  Perhaps the feat was not quite so perilous as he represented; but it certainly was not a pleasant one.  Puddock had a rude and crazy sort of banister to cling to, and a rugged and slippery footing; but slowly and painfully, from one post to another, he made his way, and at last jumped on the solid, though not dry land, his life and his buckles safe.

’I’ll give you a guinea in the morning, if you come to my quarterth, Mr. ——­ Thir,’ and, without waiting a second, away he ran by the footpath, and across the bridge, right into the Phoenix, and burst into the club-room.  There were assembled old Arthur Slowe, Tom Trimmer, from Lucan, old Trumble, Jack Collop, Colonel Stafford, and half-a-dozen more members, including some of the officers—­O’Flaherty among the number, a little ‘flashy with liquor’ as the phrase then was.