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Updated: May 16, 2025
The men let the cattle go and rode dejectedly back to camp, and even Mick's efforts to start a conversation with his two white companions was not a great success. A fire was lit, the quart-pots were boiled and "tea-ed", and the damper and meat served out all round, and soon afterwards the stockmen unrolled their swags and lay down for the night. Sax could not sleep.
The frock was still in existence; but by Mick's orders Diana had trimmed it up gaudily for the child to make her appearance in to the Signor; so the little girl's attire was certainly very gipsy-like.
And when he had got the idea into his head, it seemed to act like a swivel-joint, and set him nodding to the tune of: "Well tub-be sure; glory be to God; young Nicholas O'Beirne." "I wish to goodness he'd come over and cure Mick, poor man," said Mick's wife.
Instead of acting on Mick's advice, however, the mulatto, screaming with rage, and his whole face distorted with passion, made a wild rush at him, trying to butt him in the stomach. "A ring! A ring!
Mick's complaint now was that he could not find any one rejoicing in his name; for every one he and I met, strolling along from Castletown to Waterfall, the landing-place at the foot of Hungry Mountain, half round the bay, was either a Sullivan or an O'Brien not a single Donovan being to be met with for love or money.
This, of course, gave us plenty of exercise in tacking; and the constant going aloft, with the brig rolling and a choppy sea under her, had overset the equilibrium of poor Mick's stomach.
On one occasion, though, my chum Mick nearly had his nose carved off in an encounter with a comrade, though luckily his opponent did not succeed in spoiling Mick's beauty. This would have been a pity; for, really, he was a very good-looking chap, and I am sure my sister Jenny, though she wouldn't confess it, would have been sorry if anything had occurred to mar his comely face. It happened thus.
The sound drew Mick's attention to him. "So yer've recovered, have yer?" he asked, stooping down to pick up a quart-pot of water. "P'raps that'll help yer." He dashed the cold water into the man's face. It certainly brought him round to complete consciousness, and the dark eyes no longer looked appealingly at Sax, but gazed with hatred at his tormentor.
The man yelled and squirmed with pain, but his captor held him tight. It was a cruel thing to do, but Mick's Irish temper had got the better of him, and he held the brand on the flesh till it had burnt a mark which would never come off. Then he released his grip and stood up. Instantly the tortured black sprang to his feet and reached for a stick.
Mick's remonstrances, however, were all in vain; for, as mother frequently accused father of being, I was `obstinate like all the Bowlings, and once I had set my mind on a thing I'm sorry to say nothing would turn me from it.
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