Sustained honor Part 8

"Where?"

"At Baltimore."

"What d'you want to go there for?"

"I met a young man who belongs there, and he advised us to go."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Terrence Malone, an Irishman."

"That name's not French any way. How are we going to Baltimore?"

"A schooner sails to-morrow."

"Can we go in her?"

"Yes."

"Plague take the sea! I never tried it, and I don't want to."

"It will be a short voyage."

"Short, yes, but long enough to make me sick. I don't want to be in the game. I am not a water dog. Keep me on the dry land, and I'm all right."

But Fernando knew that a journey by land would take much longer than by sea. Terrence Malone came to see them that evening and informed them that the schooner would sail next day. He was a jolly young fellow and had so many droll stories and jokes, that he kept his companions in a roar of laughter. One joke followed another in such rapid succession that the youngsters had scarce done laughing at one, before he fired another at them.

"Baltimore is the most wonderful city in the world, barin Cork," the fair-haired son of the Emerald Isle declared. "There you find gallant gintlemen and the prettiest girls on earth. Ah! if you could but see my Kitty Malone! She's a beauty, just a trifle older than mesilf, but every inch a darlint. Her head is red, her face a trifle freckled, her body's so stout that the girt of a mule wouldn't encircle her waist," and here Terrence winked, "She plays on the wash-board an illigant tune, for which she charges a half a dime a garment."

"Did you ever meet with such a jolly fellow?" laughed Fernando when he was gone.

"No," Sukey answered. "He has made my sides ache."

Next day found the westerners on board the schooner sailing out from the harbor of New York. The skipper was half tipsy, his crew insubordinate, and for awhile no one seemed to know or care whither they went. The captain had such frequent recourse to his demijohn, that it was evident that he would soon be wholly unfit for duty. At last Terrence declared he would have to take matters in hand himself.

The sea was rough, and both Fernando and Sukey were too sick to leave their bunks long at the time.

"Jist ye lie still there, like a darlint, and lave the skipper to me,"

said Terrence to Fernando. "Not another divil of a drop shall he have, until we are safe in Baltimore."

Then he went away, leaving Fernando wholly in ignorance of his plan. At last, becoming anxious about him, he went out to see what he was doing.

The schooner was rolling heavily and Fernando was so sick he could scarcely stand, yet he crept out under the lee of the cabin and saw a sight that made him smile.

Terrence and the captain were sitting on the deck playing cards. The young Irishman had won two demijohns and three jugs of rum from the captain, and he was now playing for the last pint flask the skipper possessed. The young Irishman won it and carried his property to his stateroom, and when the skipper next applied for a drink, Malone answered:

"Divil a drop will ye get, till we are safe in Baltimore." The captain plead in vain. Terrence was firm, and the skipper in time became sober.

Next morning it was discovered that owing to the drunkenness and carelessness of the captain and crew, they had drifted far out to sea.

The waves rolled high, and the little schooner plunged about in a manner frightful to a landlubber.

Fernando was awakened by a groan. It was Sukey, and going to his berth Terrence asked:

"What's the matter, Sukey?"

"I am dying!" he answered.

"Courage, courage, me boy, ye'll get over it."

"I don't want to get over it," answered Sukey, with a hollow groan.

A few moments later the skipper came to beg for a morning dram.

"Divil a drop, cap'in, until we are in Baltimore."

"How long will it take to reach Baltimore, captain?" asked the seasick Sukey.

"Twenty-four hours."

"Oh, Heavens!" groaned Sukey. "Can't you sink the s.h.i.+p?"

"What do you want to sink for?" demanded the astounded skipper.

"I'd rather drown than live twenty-four hours longer in this blamed boat."

"You'll live over it," growled the thirsty skipper.

"I don't want to live over it. I want to die."

Terrence roared with laughter, then he told a funny story which seemed to increase the pangs of poor Sukey.

By the middle of the afternoon, Fernando had recovered enough to go out on deck. He found the captain and his crew huddled up in the fore part of the deck, discussing a large, square-rigged s.h.i.+p, which was bearing toward them. He heard one of the sailors say:

"She flies English colors."

A little later there was a puff of smoke from her forecastle and a ball dashed into the water athwart their bow.

"It's a cruiser, and that means to heave to; but blow my eyes if I do it!" cried the captain, who was opposed to search and impressment. He put the schooner about and, with all sail spread, flew over the water at a rate of speed which defied pursuit. The cruiser fired several shots after them.

"Who is that shootin'?" Sukey asked unconcernedly, as Fernando entered the wretched cabin.

"A British man-of-war."

"What is it shootin' at?"

"At us."

"I hope she will hit us and put me out o' this misery," groaned Sukey.

Fortunately for the chief characters of this story, the man-of-war did not hit them, and next day they reached Baltimore. Sukey recovered his health with remarkable rapidity, and a few hours on sh.o.r.e made him quite himself.