“There could be no doubt of it. The 'Esmeralda,' our noble
frigate, was not in the service of the Republic, but by some
infamous treaty between Pedro and Narochez, the minister,
was permitted to carry the flag of Columbia. We were
slavers, buccaneers, pirates,—not sailors of a state. When,
therefore, the British war-brig 'Scorpion' sent a gun
across our bows, with an order to lie to, and we replied by
showing our main-deck ports open, and our long eighteens all
ready, the challenge could not be mistaken. We were near
enough to hear the cheering, and it seemed, too, they heard
ours; we wanted but you, Roland, among us to have made our
excitement madness!”
The carriage drew up at Kennyfeck's door as Cashel had read thus far, and in a state of mind bordering on fever he entered the hall and passed up the stairs. The clock struck eight as he presented himself in the drawing-room, where the family were assembled, the number increased by two strangers, who were introduced to Roland as Mrs. Kennyfeck's sister, Miss O'Hara, an elderly maiden lady, with a light brown wig; and a raw-boned, much-freckled young man, Peter O'Gorman, her nephew.
Nothing could be more cordial than the reception of the Kennyfecks; they affected not to think that it was so late, vowed that the clock was too fast, were certain that Mr. Cashel's watch was right; in fact, his presence was a receipt in full for all the anxieties of delay, and so they made him feel it.
There was a little quizzing of Roland, as they seated themselves at table, over his forgetfulness of the day before, but so good-humoredly as not to occasion, even to himself, the slightest embarrassment.
“At breakfast at the barrack!” repeated Miss Kennyfeck after him. “What a formidable affair, if it always lasts twenty-four hours.”
“What do you mean? How do you know that?” asked Roland, half in shame, half in surprise, at this knowledge of his movements.
“Not to speak of the brilliant conversation, heightened by all the excitement of wit, champagne, and hazard,—dreadful competitors with such tiresome society as ours,” said Olivia.
“Never mind them, Mr. Cashel,” broke in Miss O'Hara, in a mellifluous Doric; “'tis jealous they are, because you like the officers better than themselves.”
A most energetic dissent was entered by Cashel to this supposition, who nevertheless felt grateful for the advocacy of the old lady.
“When I was in the Cape Coast Fencibles,” broke in Peter, with an accent that would have induced one to believe Africa was on the Shannon, “we used to sit up all night,—it was so hot in the day; but we always called it breakfast, for you see—”