“Pete Hillary, I make for you
This lonesome, sad complaint.
Alive you wa'nt no use, 'tis true,
And dead you prob'ly ain't.
“Pete Hillary, Pete Hillary,
I don't know where you are.
Here's luck to you, Pete Hillary,
Beyond the harbour bar.”
Just then Irish came running up the path, and climbed the ladder on deck, and he cried:
“It's a warrant for ye, Kid I Run! Oh, wirra! What did ye do it for?” He was distracted.
Sadler paid no attention. He only twanged his banjo, and sang casual poetry, and Little Irish ran on:
“'Tis Pete Hillary himself was pulled out forninst the sand-bar,” he says, “an' he's back in Ferdinand Street, swearin' for the bucket o' wather he swallyed. An' 'tis the English consul up to the City Hall says he come from Jamaica, an' a crowd of naygers from Ferdinand Street be the docks. Ah, coom, Kid! Coom quick, for the love of God!”
And Sadler says: “Gi'n me a kiss,” he says,
“Gi'n me a kiss, sweetheart, says he;
Don't shed no tears for me, says he,
And if I meet a lass as sweet
In Paraguay, in Paraguay,
I'll tell her this: 'Gi'n me a kiss;
You ain't half bad for Paraguay.'”
And Irish says: “An' there's two twin sojers with their guns,” he says, “an' belts full of cartridges on the Harvest Moon, an' the gentlemen at the Transport says, Hide, dom ye! he says, till they can ship ye wid a cargo to Californy.”
Says Sadler:
“The little islands fall asleep,
The little wavelets wink.
Aye, God's on high; the sea is deep;
Go, Chepa, get some drink.
Ah, Magdalena——