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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Hullo, Misther Gray-ham!" he cried on seeing me approach, "I was jist a wondtherin' how long ye'd be acting skipper on the poop! You looked all forlorn up there, ma bouchal, loike Pat's pig whin he shaved it, thinkin' to git a crop o' wool off av its back. Aren't ye sorry now ye came to say, as I tould ye hey?" "Not a bit of it," said I stoutly.
I added, however, for his personal benefit as I turned my back on him in contempt, "Those who crow the loudest, I've heard, generally do the least when the time for real action comes!" "Thrue for ye, Mister Gray-ham," cried Tim Rooney. "Brag's a good dog, but Howldfast's the bist for my money.
'Dade an' sure, sorr, I belaive he don't think none the worse av it now, by the same token; an' would give the same anser, sorr, to what I've axed him more nor once since he foorst came aboord us. Faix, I'll ax him now, your riverince. Ain't ye sorry, Misther Gray-ham, as how ye iver wint to say, now?"
"I couldn't have done it no betther mesilf! Ye can well-nigh swing a cat round, which it would a poozled ye to a-done afore, faix. An' sure, Misther Gray-ham, does ye loike bayin' at say yit?" "Of course I do," I answered. "Why shouldn't I?" "Begorra, ye're a caution!" he ejaculated. "An', did that haythin, Ching Wang, wake ye up this mornin' wid some coffee, as he promised me.
But, to my especial friend the boatswain the end of the contest was now a foregone conclusion and victory assured to me. "Bedad, me bhoy," he whispered in my ear as he prepared me for what turned out to be the final round of the battle, "that last dhroive av yourn wor loike the kick av a horse, or a pony anyhow! One more brace av them one-twos, Misther Gray-ham, an' he'll be kilt an' done wid!"
I recollect well Tim's whispering softly as I let go my hold of the port sill, "Sure, now, take care av y'rsilf, Misther Gray-ham, sorr, an' don't forgit what the skipper's tould you about your coorse whin ye gits outsoide the rafe; ye're to steer nor'-nor'-west, wid a little more west in it, an' kape a good look-out for the blissid gunboat an' an' God bliss ye me bhoy, an' that's Tim Rooney's dyin' wish if ye niver say him ag'in!"
Another youngster from Leadenhall Street eh?" He looked at me inquiringly as he asked the question. "Yes, sorr. He's Misther Gray-ham, sorr; jist come down to jine the Silver Quane, sorr, as foorst-class apprentice," replied the boatswain with a sly wink to the other, which I was quick enough to catch.
They had not done much, he said, their leader having only just succeeded in breaking open the main-hold, and just beginning another attack on the cabin, when the report of the shell from the Blazer's pinnace as it burst made the pirates scramble overboard for their lives. "But, sure, I caught that chafe villain av theirs, at last, Misther Gray-ham." "Oh, did you!" I cried.
And then, turning to me, he added, "Sure an' that wor a purty droive, Misther Gray-ham; ye lit him have it straight from the shouldher." "I'm sure I didn't mean to hurt him," I answered, sorry now for my opponent as he scrambled at last up on his feet, looking very bedraggled and showing on his face the signs of the fray. "I only held out my hand to save the poor bird, and he ran against my fist."
Hitherto, although I had been more than two days and two nights on board and had sailed all the way from the docks along the river and down the Channel, I had never yet been sea-sick, smiling at Tim Rooney's stereotyped inquiry each day of me, "An' sure, Misther Gray-ham, aren't ye sorry yit ye came to say?"
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