Part 5

“Well,” says Mick, “I tould King James I’d start for the quay at wance an’ make things right wud my brother Pat. So I put on my hat an’ I left the house. I walked up the quay a bit an’ what did I see but a whole parcel of Orange throopers comin’ through the gates of the bridge. They dhrew themselves up outside the gates, an’ I heard a big man that was at the head of ’em shout out: ‘Now boys, you know King William’s ordhers. Sarch every public-house for the vagabone an’ every ship at the quays.’ My heart went down into my boots at the words, for I knew who the ‘vagabone’ was. The big horse soger then shouts out again: ‘Now there are a hundhred of you here. Let fifty of you take the ships an’ fifty more the public-houses, an’ to save time, divide yourselves wance more into fives, for that’ll hasten matthers a dale. An’ to the fifty of ye that’s goin’ to sarch the ships, this is my ordhers: If ye don’t find him aboord any wan of ’em, line the ditches from top to bottom, an’ see that he doesn’t pass ye laither on!’”

“Line the ditches!” says Jimmy. “What did he mane by that?”

“I suppose he meant to line the quays,” says Mick Gorman; “but being an ignorant man that wasn’t brought up in a sayfarin’ place he thought a quay was a ditch.”

“Like enough,” says Jimmy. “What did you do then?”

“Begor,” says Mick, “I was nonplushed for a short spell, but I thought I’d best go aboord my brother’s lugger an’ arrange matthers there in case we could hit on a plan for smugglin’ King James aboord. So I walks aboord by the plank to my brother’s ship and roused him out of his bunk, and settled it all wud him about Misther Stuart in case we could pilot the cargo in safety through the town, an’ then I wint back to the ‘Royal Oak’ and towld everything to his Majesty.”

“Poor man, he was mighty sorrowful to hear the news I had for him about the Orangemen. ‘What’ll I do at all at all?’ he axes me. ‘I thought I could depind my life on Jimmy Murphy.’ ‘Jimmy Murphy!’ says I—a dacenter man never broke bread.” ‘So I thought meself,’ says King James, an’ with that he towld me all about you, an’ of coorse I blew a horn for you. ‘Poor Jimmy,’ says I, ‘never went back of his word, I’ll go bail; an’ ’tis the clever little man he is too.’ ‘What’ll we do at all at all?’ says King James, wringin’ his hands. ‘Can’t you think of any plan to get me safe aboord your brother’s boat?’ ‘Worse luck,’ says I, ‘’tis a poor hand I am on an emergency like this. I’m fairly bet.’ ‘How long do you think ’twill be,’ says King James, ‘before the sogers will make their way here?’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘there are at laiste thirty public-houses between this an’ the bridge, an’ ’tis like enough they’ll have a dhrop in aich house. It’s now about half-past four,’ says I. ‘I think we might safely calculate on them not gettin’ this far until about half-past six.’ ‘That’ll be just on the high wather,’ says King James. ‘I think the tide’ll run till seven,’ says I, ‘for my brother promised he wouldn’t take the stage off until the town clock sthruck seven.’ ‘I’ll tell you what you’ll do,’ says King James. ‘Run over as quick as you can to the other side of the bridge an’ send Jimmy Murphy here, for I have great confidence in the little man, an’ wud the help of goodness he’ll hit upon some plan to smuggle me through the sogers on the quay.’ ‘You’re right,’ says I to the King. ‘Jimmy is the man.’

“So that’s why you see me here now,” says Mick Gorman, fairly out of breath.

“Faix,” says Jimmy, “you’ve lost a dale of time as it is wud your rigmarole story; but no matther! I have a plan in my head already.”

“What is it?” axes Mick Gorman.

“That’s my business,” says Jimmy. “Now,” says he, “let you take charge of the bridge an’ open the big gate at six o’clock to the minute, an’ I’ll put my best fut forward for the ‘Royal Oak.’ Tell me, Mick,” says he, “does the big whisky puncheon stand in the middle of the shop still?”

“It does,” says Mick Gorman.

“How is it inside?” says Jimmy.

“There’s only about three gallon left in it.”

“_Only_ three gallon!” says Jimmy, smackin’ his lips. “But that’s not I meant at all. I want to know what sort of a thing the inside of this whisky puncheon is.”

“It’s made to howld a hundhred and twenty gallon inside, of coorse,” says Mick Gorman.

“A hundhred and twenty gallon of whisky!” says Jimmy, liftin’ his hands an’ lookin’ spacheless. “Glory be to goodness! Why ’twould keep a man in the horrors for a year at laiste.”

“That depends!” says Mick Gorman, laughin’ hearty. “But between yerself an’ meself, Jimmy,” says he, “’tisn’t all whisky, of coorse, we gives ’em, or ’twould play the mischief wud their livers.”

“I know,” says Jimmy. “Eighty gallon of sperits an’ forty gallon of boilin’ wather an’ sugar-o’-candy makes the best public-house whisky, I’m tould.”

“Begor, wan ’ud think you wor in the public line all your life,” says Mick. “Who towld you we boiled the wather?”

“Sure it’s only naatural you would,” says Jimmy, “in ordher to melt the sugar-o’-candy. But you don’t seem to undherstand in the laiste what I mane about the big puncheon of yours. What I want to know is if there are any nails stickin’ out the ribs of it inside?”

“Nails stickin’ out!” says Mick. “’Tis aisy known now you worn’t born in the public business. Do you think ’tis like an empty sugar hogshead it is?”

“I didn’t think anything,” says Jimmy, a thrifle vexed. “I only axed for information.”

“Well,” says Mick Gorman, “the inside of it is as smooth as the barrel of a gun, if that’s what you’re dhrivin’ at.”

“That’ll do,” says Jimmy. “Now,” says he, “where do you keep your tool-chest?”

“You’ll find it undher the counther near the till,” says Mick. “The till is locked, of coorse.”

“I’ll remember that,” says Jimmy; an’ off he starts at a throt for the “Royal Oak,” leavin’ the landlord lookin’ afther him wud his mouth wide open like the slit of a post-office letther-box.

When he arrived at the “Royal Oak” he found King James sittin’ in the back parlour partly disthracted. Every noise the poor man heard he thought ’twas the Orangemen; but when his eyes fell on Jimmy Murphy he seemed greatly relieved in his mind.

“How was it at all, Jimmy,” says he, “that you let the vagabones through the gate?”

“There’s no use frettin’ over spilt milk,” says Jimmy. “The sogers are in the city, an’ the thing is to get you out of their grip, an’ not to be axin why I let ’em pass, isn’t it? Do you think I’m a match single-handed for a whole pack of dhragoons in full cry?”

“Of coorse not,” says King James. “Don’t heed my temper, Jimmy; for it’s in a bad state of mind altogether I am. Only save my life whatever you do, an’ I’ll not forget you when I come into my rights wance more.”

“I’ll do my best for you,” says Jimmy; “for I passed my word to you this mornin’—”

“An’ you wor never known to go back of your promise,” says King James, takin’ the words out of little Jimmy’s mouth.

“Never!” says Jimmy; “but there’s no time to be lost, blowin’ our own thrumpets.”

“I know that,” says King James; “an’ I’ll do anything you ordher me, Misther Murphy.”

“Very well,” says Jimmy. “Is there any wan up in the house yet?”

“Divil a wan,” says King James. “At laiste I didn’t hear a stir inside the house since Misther Gorman went out last.”

“’Tis the mischief to rouse servants in the mornin’,” says Jimmy; “but that’s all in our favour now. Come into the shop wud me an’ I’ll thry an’ thransmogrify you.”

“You won’t hurt me, I hope?” says King James, “for I was tendherly reared.”

“Naither hurt nor harm will come to you at my hands,” says Jimmy; “so thry and look a bit cheerful. Begor, ’twould frighten a horse from his oats if he saw what a long face you’re pullin’. Have heart, man! Have heart!”

“I will, Jimmy, I will,” says the King.

The pair of ’em then crossed the hall an’ went into the shop. There wor square holes cut in the top of aich shutther so there was a fair share of light in the shop.

“What’s that mystayrious bundle you have in your hands?” says King James to Jimmy, as they passed through the flap of the counther.

“A pair of pillows,” says Jimmy. “Haven’t you the sighth of your eyes?”

“Maybe ’tis goin’ to smother me you are,” says King James.

“Look here,” says Jimmy, “if you give me any annoyance wud foolish remarks like that I’ll throw up the job altogether. Do what I tell you and keep your tongue in your cheek, for time and tide waits for no man.”

“It’ll be high wather at seven,” says King James.

“Ay,” says Jimmy; “an’ for all the Kings in Europe it wouldn’t run a minute laither. Doesn’t that make you feel very small in yourself?”

“It does,” says King James.

“Well, sing small now an’ fetch me out a big tool-chest you’ll find undher the counther near the till,” says Jimmy. “I’m not puttin’ temptation in your road, for the till is double-locked.”

So the King did as he was towld, an’ Jimmy picked out a saw wud a taperin’ point, an’ mountin’ a high stool that stood alongside the big whisky puncheon he set to work. Bein’ a handy man it wasn’t long until he had sawn the lid off the puncheon. Then he threw the lid on the ground an’ jumped down afther it, King James gazin’ at him all the time as if he was in a dhrame.

“Hand me over that big copper measure there,” says he to King James, pointin’ to a three-gallon measure standin’ on the counther.

Of coorse the King did as he was towld, but he looked mighty onaisey, an’ says he, “What is it you’re up to at all, Misther Murphy?”

“I’ll tell you when I’m done,” says Jimmy; “but I can’t spake when I’m busy, so howld your whisht, if you plaize, James,” says he.

It tuk nearly ten minutes to dhraw off the whisky from the puncheon, an’ when the measure was full Jimmy turned to the King,—

“Now get up on the stool there and jump into the puncheon,” says he.

“Man alive!” says King James, “sure the fumes of it would knock me off my head complately.”

“Betther be knocked off your head than have your head knocked off,” says Jimmy. “Do what I tell you at wance if you have sense. Come look alive, James the Second,” says he, “or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.”

So the King never said a word, but mounted the stool and scrambled into the puncheon.

“It’s just about your height, isn’t it?” says Jimmy, workin’ away wud an auger on the lid of the puncheon.

“’Tis,” says King James, standin’ on his tip toes an’ lookin’ over the top the same as a cow peepin’ over a fence.

“Now,” says Jimmy, “make yourself comfortable about the head with these pillows, an’ you’ll be aboord ship in due time. I’m afther borin’ a lot of air-holes in the head of the puncheon so that you’ll be able to have plenty fresh air on the journey.”

An’ sayin’ the words Jimmy got up on the stool an’ dhragged the lid of the puncheon up wud him. He was a sthrong little man for his build, but it tuke a few heavy sighs out of him before he could fix the lid in its place.

“Mind your sconce now,” says he to King James; “for I’m going to hammer over your head.”

“Oh murdher!” says the King. “Did any one ever hear of the likes of this? ’Tis choke I will between want of air an’ the smell of the whisky.”

“’Tis thankful to Heaven you ought to be to have the chance of gettin’ dhrunk so chape,” says Jimmy.

“How do you feel when you’re gettin’ drunk?” says the King, his voice soundin’ very hollow from the puncheon.

“Grand!” says Jimmy. “Grand intirely; but gettin’ sober is the mischiefs own job.”

“I can’t hear you wud the noise of your hammer,” says the King, for Jimmy was hard at work fixin’ the lid nately in its place wud some nails.

“Howld your tongue!” says Jimmy. “I think I hear the thramp of horse-sogers in the sthreet outside. Now wan last word to you,” says the little man. “Whatever happens, or whatever inconvaynience you feel, don’t let there be a whimper out of you. ’Tis like enough you’ll soon be dead dhrunk an’ then you won’t feel any onaisiness until you’re gettin’ betther, but if you makes the slightest noise ’tis all up wud you. Good-bye now, James, an’ mind, not a stir or a word out of you!”

Just as Jimmy was done spaykin’, there was a thundherin’ knock at the hall door. “Bad scran to it!” says he, “they’ll be atop of us before the job is finished.” So he whips a lump of chalk out of his pocket, an’ he prents in big letthers on the puncheon,

“PICKLED PORK FOR SHIP’S USE ONLY.”

Then he runs out to the door an’ opens it, rubbin’ his eyes as if he was just afther gettin’ out of bed.

There wor five men at the door, aich of ’em howldin’ a horse by the bridle, an’ Jimmy soon saw they wor about three parts screwed.

“What can I do for ye, gentlemen?” says he, bowin’ very politely.

“Is there any sthrangers lodgin’ in the house?” axes wan of the sogers that had a sthripe on the sleeve of his jacket.

“None _lodgin’_ here, worse luck!” says Jimmy. “Business is shockin’ bad. But won’t you step inside, sargeant?” says he. “Who is it you’re lookin’ for?”

“James the Second,” says the sargeant.

“Murdher!” says Jimmy. “Is he in these parts?”

“We’re towld so,” says the sargeant, steppin’ into the hall; “an’ me an’ my min is searchin’ the public-houses for him.”

“Dhry work, I’m sure,” says Jimmy, grinnin’ to himself.

“’Tis,” says the sargeant, though, poor man ’twas as much as he could do to stand study on his legs. “Do you keep a good dhrop here? I’m sick an’ tired of this wild-goose chase, an’ I’ll take your word for it that King James isn’t here, if the dhrink’s to my likin’.”

“Don’t take my word for anything,” says Jimmy; “but obey ordhers, an’ search the premises. Call in your men now an’ let ’em prod the beds an’ look up the chimbleys an’ down into the cellars, for I wouldn’t have it said that any man disobeyed ordhers on my account in this house.”

The fact of it was poor Jimmy was afeard to tell a downright lie, an’ of coorse he knew they’d never think of lookin’ for a King in a whisky puncheon.

Well, the sargeant called in two of his min an’ towld ’em to search the house from top to bottom, an’ when the min had started to go down into the cellar Jimmy took the sargeant into the shop an’ says he,—

“Do you see that three-gallon measure of malt there?” pointin’ to the copper standin’ on the flure near the big puncheon. “I’ll make yourself an’ your comrades a present of it if you does me a bit of a favour. Take a sniff of it before you makes up your mind,” says Jimmy, dhrawin’ the poor man to the measure just like the sarpint drew Eve to the apple-three.

“Great stuff intirely!” says the sargeant, suckin’ in his stomachful of the fumes. “I’ll do anything in raison for three gallon of that. What is it you want?”

“Well, you see that big cask of salt pork there?” puttin’ his hand agen the side of the puncheon. “I’ve sowld it to the captain of a little ship, an’ he sent me up word last night that it should be aboord before seven o’clock this mornin’. It’s just twenty minutes to the hour now, an’ I clane forgot last night to give ordhers about the cask, an’ all I wants your min to do is to take it down to the little ship for me. Is it a bargain?”

“It is,” says the sargeant. “Let us wet the conthract this minute.”

So Jimmy dipped a tumbler into the measure an’ passed it to the sargeant, who swallowed it as if it wor so much wather he was pourin’ down his throat.

Just as he was dhrainin’ the last dhrop in comes the sogers to the shop, an’ of course they had to confess they couldn’t find King James on the premises. The sargeant tould ’em of his bargain wud Jimmy, an’ ’twas right glad they wor when they heard of it; an’ they all sampled the stuff wud as much aise as the sargeant.

“Now,” says Jimmy, “we must lower the cask on to this little throlly here; an’ go to work gently, boys, or maybe some of the brine would find its way through the pores of the puncheon, an’ you’d have the captain of the vessel dockin’ me for short delivery.”

Well, the four men got the cask safely mounted on the little throlly an’ Jimmy opened the shop door.

“Here,” says he, “let wan of you stand at aich side of the cask to study it, an’ two more of you take howld of the rope.”

“I’ll tell you a betther an’ a quicker way,” says the sargeant. “Two of us can stand at aich side of the barrel an’ we’ll harness four horses on to the throlly. The other two men can remain here to keep shop for you, Misther Landlord, an’ we’ll be at the ship an’ back again for the three gallons before the clock will sthrike seven.”

“A great idaya!” says Jimmy, “an’ I’ll lock up the whisky while ye’re harnessin’ the horses.”

It was about a quarther to seven when they started from the “Royal Oak,” an’ in less than five minutes they were gallopin’ along the quay in grand style, until Jimmy cried “Halt!” as they came abreast of Pat Gorman’s lugger.

The fifty horse-sogers were by this time linein’ the quays, an’ wan of ’em had planted himself just outside Pat Gorman’s craft.

“Make way there for pickled pork!” shouted the sargeant, as the throlly dhrew up alongside the sentinel.

“Aisy a bit!” says the sentinel. “We have ordhers to examine everything that comes aboord.”

“This is only pork, man,” says the sargeant. “I’m afther examinin’ it meself;” for ’tis in dhread he was of any delay that would keep him from hurryin’ back to the three-gallon measure.

“In that case,” says the sentinel, “we’ll pass it along, sargeant; an’ what’s the manein’ of your convartin’ yourself into a thransport?”

“I’d think you’d best promise him a share of the whisky,” whispers Jimmy to the sargeant; “for ’tis a dacent man he is not to be delayin’ us wud the usual red-tape regulations.”

“All right,” says the sargeant “I’m agreeable.” An’ then he towld the sentinel all about the bargain he sthruck wid Jimmy Murphy.

“Here’s a sample of the stuff,” says Jimmy, offerin’ a flask of it to the sentinel. “An’ now, boys,” says he, turning to the sogers that wor on fut, “unload the pork and rowl the barrel aboord by the stage, for ’tis as near high wather as it well can be.”

Poor James the Second was in a dead sleep by this time, as Jimmy partly guessed he would be, so the unloadin’ of the cask from the throlly and the rowlin’ of it aboord the ship didn’t inconvaynience him in the laiste.

Of coorse Jimmy went aboord an’ whispered a few words on the quiet into Pat Gorman’s ears, an’ when the cask was safe an’ snug on the ship’s deck he shuk the skipper by the hand, an’ says he,—

“Don’t broach the pork until ye’re outside the harbour, for ’tis a tendher piece of mate.”

Thin, Jimmy and the sogers walked ashore and in no time the stage was taken off the lugger; an’ as the town clock was sthrikin’ seven Pat Gorman’s ship started out into the sthrame an’ was soon out of sighth behind Crummle’s Rock.

An’, wudout a word of a lie, that’s the way poor James the Second escaped from Watherford to France.

It was a fine spring mornin’, an’ Saint Pathrick, when he saw the first sighth of the sun peepin’ in through the blinds of his windy, thought he’d tumble at wance out of bed an’ have a gallop across counthry to settle his stomach before breakfast.

He was afther puttin’ a hard night of it over him, an’ he didn’t feel very comfortable in himself, so he just poured a jug of cowld wather over his head an’ gave himself a few dabs of a towel and downstairs he crept, of coorse after fixin’ on his clothes.

He was on a visit this time in the County Limerick wud a neighbour of his, another Saint, but wan that couldn’t howld a candle to Saint Pathrick in discoorsin’, or card-playin’; an’ as he knew his frind was a light sleeper an’ a late riser he made as little noise as he could gettin’ out of the house. He just took a top hat off of a big nail in the hall, an’ goin’ round to the stable he bitted his horse an’ fixed him for the ride wud his own two fists, an’ then he jumped into the saddle as active as a circus man.

On he rode, anyhow, thinkin’ hard to himself what more good he could do in the ould counthry.

“I’m afther convartin’ all the kings an’ the princes an’ such like,” says he to himself; “an’ betther than that,” says he, “I’m afther banishin’ every sarpint an’ other varmint clane out of the land. I left ’em the fox, of coorse, for ’tis a fine huntin’ people they are, an’ all pray and no play makes Pat a dull boy; but I flatther myself that afther the curse I read agen the reptiles there isn’t as much as a toad ’ud dar’ to show his snout on Irish soil. ’Tis a great man intirely I am!” says he, diggin’ the spurs into the horse; an’ sure there was small blame to him to be proud of himself.

Well, the words wor scarcely out of his mouth whin he lifted his head to have a look at the sky; an’ begor, the screech he let out of him frightened the poor animal he was ridin’ into a canther.

“Be good to me!” says he, “but ’tis snakes, I see.”

Naaturally he felt ’twould play the mischief wud him if it ever came to be heard he was in such a desperate condition, an’ cursin’ the hard livin’ he had been enjoyin’ wud the other Saint, he was about turnin’ tail an’ throttin’ home in despair when he felt his own horse thremblin’ all over like a jelly-fish.

“Maybe, afther all,” says Saint Pathrick to himself, “it’s a raal live dhragon I sees on the horizon, sent to me as a punishment for my pride.”

So he lifts his head wance more, an’ studys himself in the saddle, an’ puttin’ wan hand over his brows, he mutthers,—

“Oh begor, there’s no mistake about it! ’Tis a rale dhragon, sure enough, an’ a cunnin’ ould rascal too if I’m any judge of the likes of him. That fellow is three hundred year ould at the very laiste, an’ where the mischief he could have been hidin’ is a fair puzzle to me. No matther,” says he, “I’ll prayche a sarmon agen him that’ll dhraw all the venom out of him or I’ll know for what. Get along now, good horse,” says he, “an’ let us see what we can do for this play-acthor.”

So the Saint rides on a few hundhred yards until he gets within hailin’ distance of the dhragon, purtendin’ all the time he hadn’t persayved him.

As soon as the dhragon, who was about six hundhred feet from the tip of his snout to the end of his tail, sees the man on horseback, he gives a chuckle to himself, and says he,—

“Begor, it never rains but it pours! I haven’t had a male ashore for nearly a twelvemonth, on account of that cursed Saint Pathrick, an’ here on my first mornin’s journey I comes across a man an’ horse almost at daybreak. There’s a dale of bone about the baste,” says he; “but we mustn’t look gift horses in the ribs.” An’ wud that he bursts out laughin’ an’ sends a blast of fire out of his mouth right in the direction of Saint Pathrick. “That’ll give him pepper,” says he, dhrawin’ in his breath.

“Phew!” says Saint Pathrick, addhressin’ his horse. “That’s the game, is it? Well, I’ve often heard tell of blowin’ a kiss to a party by way of good morra, but fire an’ sulphur is a new sort of a way of axin’ a man how-do-you-do. Never mind his blasts, ould horse,” says he, pattin’ the animal on the neck; “I’ve said the prayers agen dhragons already, an’ naither hurt nor harm can come to us.”

The horse gave a neigh out of him just as much as to say, “I quite understands you,” an’ on Saint Pathrick throts until he gets right abreast of the varmint.

“Good morra, good man,” says the dhragon, complately at a loss to undherstand how it was that the blasts of fire an’ smoke he was sendin’ out of him didn’t seem to throuble the sthranger. “It’s a mighty sthrong stomach you must have to howld out agen the sulphur fumes.”

“Sulphur, is it!” says Saint Pathrick. “Sure, I partly lives on it. I takes it with thraycle every mornin’, an’ fine wholesome stuff it is.”

“Bad luck to it!” says the dhragon, feelin’ a bit nonplushed, “I suppose that’s wan of the new dodges this divil of a Saint Pathrick is afther taychin’ the people of this misfortunate counthry.”