“Show our colours,” said the captain.
In a moment the Union Jack of Old England was waving at the mast-head in the gentle breeze, and we watched anxiously for a reply. The stranger was polite; his colours flew up a moment after, and displayed the Stripes and Stars of America.
“A Yankee!” exclaimed some of the men in a tone of slight disappointment.
I may remark, that our disappointment arose simply from the fact that there was no chance, as we supposed, of getting news from “home” out of a ship that must have sailed last from America. For the rest, we cared not whether they were Yankees or Britons—they were men who could speak the English tongue, that was enough for us.
“Never mind, boys,” cried one, “we’ll have a jolly gam; that’s a fact.”
“So we will,” said another, “and I’ll get news of my mad Irish cousin, Terrence O’Flannagan, who went out to seek his fortin in Ameriky with two shillin’s and a broken knife in his pocket, and it’s been said he’s got into a government situation o’ some sort connected with the jails,—whether as captain, or leftenant o’ police, or turnkey, I’m not rightly sure.”
“More likely as a life-tenant of one of the cells,” observed Bill Blunt, laughing.
“Don’t speak ill of a better man than yerself behind his back,” retorted the owner of the Irish cousin.
“Stand by to lower the jolly-boat,” cried the captain.
“Ay, ay, sir.”