There was no satisfying his audience, so once more Kennie had to fall back upon the flute. While playing, a heavy sea struck the vessel on the weather bow, and the water came tumbling down the hatchway; although it rushed forward among the men and hissed against the hot iron fending of the copper, they hardly shifted their positions.
But Kenneth played a selection of the best English, Irish, Scotch, and Welsh airs now, now merry, now plaintive and sad, now almost wailing, and anon merry again, once more.
There was a perfect chorus of applause when he had finished. The old bo’sun must crawl over to the corner where the musician was—although, owing to the motion of the ship, it was no easy task—and shake Kenneth by the hand.
“God bless you, young sir,” he said, and the tears were in his eyes. “I was back in bonnie Berkshire all the time you was a-playin’, sir. I saw my children, sir, runnin’ among the daisies, the crimson poppies growin’ among the corn’s green, the waving lime trees all in flower and covered with bees—ah! sir, you took the old man home, you took him home.”
“Don’t talk twaddle,” cried his tormentor; “he took us all home, for the matter o’ that.”
“Sit down, ye ould fool!” cried Tim O’Flaherty.
Kenneth put up his flute, and the bo’sun sat down beside him.
“Hark to the thunder!” he said; “listen to the thud o’ the seas. My eye! it is a night and a half. Just like the night we went over in the old Salanella.”
“Went over!” cried the carpenter. “What d’ye mean?”