Picked up Adrift / Illustrated

by James De Mille

“Bully for you! and thank you kindly, marm!”

With a shriek of terror the startled old woman sprang up and fell backward. The chair on which she had been sitting, a rather rickety affair, gave way and went down. The old lady fell with the chair upon the ground, and lay for a moment motionless. Pat, horror-struck, stood confounded, and stared in silence at the ruin he had wrought. The bystanders, alarmed at the shout and shriek, crowded around, and for a moment there was universal confusion. Among the bystanders was the priest. To him Pat turned in his despair, and tried to explain. The priest listened, and then went to see about the old woman. Fortunately she had fallen on the soft turf, and was not at all hurt. She was soon on her feet, and another chair was procured, in which she seated herself. The priest then explained the whole affair. Pat was fully forgiven, and the harmony of the festival was perfectly restored. But Pat’s laudable efforts at maintaining a conversation had received so severe a check that he did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.

The festival went on. Fun and hilarity prevailed all around. The dancing grew more and more vigorous. At length the contagion spread to the elder ones of the party, and the boys were astonished to see old men stepping forth to skip and dance about the green; then old women came forward to take a part, until, at length, all were dancing. The boys stood as spectators, until at length Bart determined to throw himself into the spirit of the scene. He therefore found a partner, and plunged into the dance. The others followed. Captain Corbet alone remained, seated near a table, viewing the scene with his usual benevolent glance.

In the midst of this festive scene the skipper approached. He walked with rapid steps, and, without hesitating an instant, seized a partner and flung himself, with all the energy of his race, into the mazy dance.

“I don’t often dance, boys,” he remarked, afterwards, “but when I do, I mean business.”

It was evident that on this occasion the skipper did mean business. He danced more vigorously than any. He jumped higher; he whirled his partner round faster; he danced with more partners than any other, for he went through the whole assemblage, and led out every female there, from the oldest woman down to the smallest girl.

Most of the time he chatted volubly, and flung out remarks which excited roars of laughter. He won all hearts. He was, in fact, an immense success. The boys wondered, for they had not imagined that he could speak French.

He alluded to this afterwards.

“We have a natral affinity with the French down in New England,” said he. “When America was first colonized, our forefathers had to fight the French all the time. The two races were thus brought into connection. Our forefathers thus caught from the French that nasal twang with which the uneducated still speak English. You find that twang among the uneducated classes all over the British provinces and New England. It’s French—that’s what it is. Corbet and I are both uneducated men, and we both speak English with the French twang. I speak French first rate; and Corbet there could speak it first rate also, if he only knew the language perfectly.”

These remarks the boys did not quite know how to take. The skipper seemed to have a bantering way with him, and spoke so oddly that it was impossible for them to make out half of the time whether he was in earnest or only in jest.