“In Latin?”
“Yes, sure, your reverence; in what else should you bless us but in holy Latin?”
“Well then prepare yourselves.”
“We will, your reverence—stay one moment whilst I whisper to the boys that your reverence is about to bestow your blessing upon us.”
Then turning to the rest who all this time had kept their eyes fixed intently upon us, he bellowed with the voice of a bull:
“Down on your marrow bones, ye sinners, for his reverence Toban is about to bless us all in holy Latin.”
He then flung himself on his knees on the pier, and all his countrymen, baring their heads, followed his example—yes, there knelt thirty bare-headed Eirionaich on the pier of Caer Gybi beneath the broiling sun. I gave them the best Latin blessing I could remember, out of two or three which I had got by memory out of an old Popish book of devotion, which I bought in my boyhood at a stall. Then turning to the deputy I said, “Well, now are you satisfied?”
“Sure, I have a right to be satisfied, your reverence; and so have we all—sure we can now all go on board the dirty steamer, without fear of fire or water, or the blackguard Hill of Howth either.”
“Then get up, and tell the rest to get up, and please to know and let the rest know, that I do not choose to receive farther trouble, either by word or look, from any of ye, as long as I remain here.”
“Your reverence shall be obeyed in all things,” said the fellow, getting up. Then walking away to his companions he cried, “Get up, boys, and plase to know that his reverence Toban is not to be farther troubled by being looked at or spoken to by any one of us as long as he remains upon this dirty pier.”