Pill Lane he described as a street mostly inhabited by fish-women who displayed their stock in trade on a tray on the head of a barrel, These ladies, like their sisters in Billingsgate, London, bad a great reputation for their vigorous use of the English language and the choice epithets that they often hurled at the heads of passers by who did not purchase from them. Pat explained that his method was to drive down the Lane at a good gait and by picking out two or three of the star performers he would arouse them by a method peculiarly his own. That consisted in driving quite close to these barrels and so near some of them that the step projecting from the side of the jaunting car would send the barrel and fish flying all over the sidewalk. Of coarse this was presumably quite accidental.
Paul consented to try the experiment, being assured that there was no danger in it. As they drove into the head of the Lane, he soon discovered that Pat was well known in that locally. The cries of:
"There's the the dirtily blaguard agin. Look out there, Mrs. Murphy, etc."
All these salutations were received by the imperturbable Pat with smiles and bows and a cheery remark, as he dodged a dead fish or some other missile aimed at his head. When little farther down the Lane, Pat said: "Look out now, Captain, do ye see the fat woman down there? She's a beauty an' Oi'n goin' to shtir her up. Ye'll hear a flow av iloquence such as ye niver heard in yure loife, sur. Oi'm sorry she's on yure side as the car, sur. Droivin' up, sur, ye wud not be so liable to get hit."
At this moment, by a dexterous twist of the horse's head, the iron step struck the barrel and scattered the contents, while Pat leaned across and said:
"Ye'll excuse me, Mrs. Olahan, that was an accident."
"Oh it's ye," exclaimed the lady addressed, as she hurled the cup that she was drinking tea out of at Pat. Then a torrent of language burst forth which could be heard far down the Lane as they drove quickly through; but not fast enough to escape the fusillade of decayed fish and every other missile, even to the head of a barrel, which could be hurled by Mrs. Olahan and her sympathizing friends. When they emerged from the Lane, Pat turned around and said:
"Air ye bruised, Captain?"
"No," said Paul, "but I don't want any more of that kind of diversion."
A long time afterwards, while in London, Paul read of a Dublin driver who was taking a party of women home one night and either through accident or design drove them all into the middle of the canal. Their loud outcries attracted people to the rescue and when they arrived on the scene, they found the driver seated high up on the seat trying to control the mad struggles of his steed, while he calmly requested the rescuers to "niver moind the women but to save the harse."