"By that time we had arrived at the door of my father's house. I paid the rapparee, and in I popped. There was my father and mother, and all my brothers and sisters (bating Tim, who was in bed sure enough, and died next day), and that baste Father McGrath to boot. When my mother saw me she ran to me and hugged me as she wept on my neck, and then she wiped her eyes and sat down again; but nobody else said 'How d'ye do?' or opened their mouths to me. I said to myself, 'Sure there's some trifling mistake here,' but I held my tongue. At last they all opened their mouths with a vengeance. My father commenced—'Ar'n't you ashamed on yourself, Terence O'Brien?' 'Ar'n't you ashamed on yourself, Terence O'Brien?' cried Father M'Grath. 'Ar'n't you ashamed on yourself?' cried out all my brothers and sisters in full chorus, whilst my poor mother put her apron to her eyes and said nothing. 'The devil a bit for myself, but very much ashamed for you all,' replied I, 'to treat me in this manner. What's the meaning of all this?' 'Haven't they seized my two cows to pay for your toggery, you spalpeen?' cried my father. 'Haven't they taken the hay to pay for your shoes and stockings?' cried Father M'Grath. 'Haven't they taken the pig to pay for that ugly hat of yours?' cried my eldest sister. 'And haven't they taken my hens to pay for that dirk of yours?' cried another. 'And all our best furniture to pay for your white shirts and black cravats?' cried Murdock, my brother. 'And haven't we been starved to death ever since?' cried they all. 'Och hone!' said my mother. 'The devil they have!' said I, when they'd all done. 'Sure I'm sorry enough, but it's no fault of mine. Father, didn't you send me to say?' 'Yes, you rapparee; but didn't you promise—or didn't I promise for you, which is all one and the same thing—that you'd pay it all back with your prize-money—and where is it? answer that, Terence O'Brien.' 'Where is it, father? I'll tell you; it's where next Christmas is—coming, but not come yet.' 'Spake to him, Father M'Grath,' said my father. 'Is not that a lie of yours, Terence O'Brien, that you're after telling now?' said Father McGrath; 'give me the money.' 'It's no lie, Father McGrath; if it pleased you to die to-morrow, the devil of a shilling have I to jingle on your tombstone for good luck, bating those three or four, which you may divide between you, and I threw them on the floor.
"'Terence O'Brien,' said Father McGrath, 'its absolution that you'll be wanting to-morrow, after all your sins and enormities; and the devil a bit shall you have—take that now.'
"'Father M'Grath,' replied I very angrily, 'it's no absolution that I'll want from you, any how—take that now.'
"'Then you have had your share of heaven; for I'll keep you out of it, you wicked monster,' said Father M'Grath—'take that now.'
"'If it's no better than a midshipman's berth,' replied I, 'I'd just as soon stay out; but I'll creep in in spite of you—take that now, Father M'Grath.'
"'And who's to save your soul, and send you to heaven, if I don't, you wicked wretch? but I'll see you d—d first—so take that now, Terence O'Brien.'
"'Then I'll turn Protestant, and damn the Pope—take that now, Father
M'Grath.'
"At this last broadside of mine, my father and all my brothers and sisters raised a cry of horror, and my mother burst into tears. Father M'Grath seized hold of the pot of holy water, and dipping in the little whisk, began to sprinkle the room, saying a Latin prayer, while they all went on squalling at me. At last, my father seized the stool, which he had been seated upon, and threw it at my head. I dodged, and it knocked down Father M'Grath, who had just walked behind me in full song. I knew that it was all over after that, so I sprang over his carcass, and gained the door. 'Good morning to ye all, and better manners to you next time we meet,' cried I, and off I set as fast as I could for the ship.
"I was melancholy enough as I walked back, and thought of what had passed. 'I need not have been in such a confounded hurry,' said I to myself, 'to ask leave, thereby affronting the first lieutenant;' and I was very sorry for what I had said to the priest, for my conscience thumped me very hard at having even pretended that I'd turn Protestant, which I never intended to do, nor never will, but live and die a good Catholic, as all my posterity have done before me, and, as I trust, all my ancestors will for generations to come. Well, I arrived on board, and the first lieutenant was very savage. I hoped he would get over it, but he never did; and he continued to treat me so ill that I determined to quit the ship, which I did as soon as we arrived in Cawsand Bay. The captain allowed me to go, for I told him the whole truth of the matter, and he saw that it was true; so he recommended me to the captain of a jackass frigate, who was in want of midshipmen."
"What do you mean by a jackass frigate?" inquired I.