“I say, Mike, stop that confounded keen, and tell me where are we?”
“Off the ould head of Kinsale, sir.”
“Where is Captain Power?”
“Smoking a cigar on deck, with the captain, sir.”
“And Mr. Sparks?”
“Mighty sick in his own state-room. Oh, but it’s himself has enough of glory—bad luck to it!—by this time. He’d make your heart break to look at him.”
“Who have you got on board besides?”
“The adjutant’s here, sir; and an old gentleman they call the major.”
“Not Major Dalrymple?” said I, starting up with terror at the thought, “eh, Mike?”
“No, sir, another major; his name is Mulroon, or Mundoon, or something like that.”