With an oath the mate shouted, “Show me the thief.”
“It’s that same I’m going to do,” she replied, “Come afther me,” and she put her foot on the ladder that led into the hold. The mate shrank back as if shot. “Are you not acomin?” asked Mrs O’Flaherty. “Indade its proud we will all be to see yer bewtiful face below for ye have never been down to see us yet.”
“He’s bashful,” interjected Mrs Doolan, rising, “come wid me, if ye plaze, Mr Mate, an I’ll interjuce you.”
The mate was glaring with a look in which fear mingled with baffled rage. The crones noted his state of mind and enjoyed it. “Can ye tell me, Mrs O’Flaherty, where that fine parfume is comin from?”
“Is it the sint aff the mate, yer smellin?” remarked Mrs Finegan, who had relit her pipe and was looking on with a solemn face. “Sure it’s camfire, an he shmells av it like an ould maid’s chist o’ drawers.”
“Beggin yer pardon, Mrs Finegan,” retorted Mrs O’Flaherty, “it’s a docthur he be, an he is comin down to see thim sick wid the favor.”
With a volley of curses the mate turned away. As he went towards the poop he was followed by a chorus of cries from the old women, Wunna ye come an git the thafe? How did ye like hot say wather for tay? Remimber, an send us our tay reglar afther this, not forgittin the shuggar. There’s a favor patient wants to see ye, sir.
When he disappeared I said to Aileen “none but Irishwomen could have so settled a bully.” “And no other,” she laughingly replied, “have captured a cup of tea so neatly.” Towards noon the fog cleared, and the ship made some progress under a light breeze. There was no death today, but there are more cases of fever. The boatswain told me that the sight of the sun today showed we were 600 miles from Newfoundland. Saw the topsails of a full-rigged ship at the edge of the horizon before sunset.
28.—Rained all morning and miserably cold. The light breeze we had died away and we rolled helplessly until after dinner, when the wind came up from the south-east, which sent us bowling on our course. A huge staysail, that had been bent by the sailors two days ago between the main and foremast, was hoisted for the first time, and added perceptibly to the ship’s speed. Sickness increases and the body of a boy of 5 years of age was dropped into the ocean in the forenoon. The frequency of deaths has made the passengers callous, and, especially those of children, call out little comment. When men and women have sounded the deepest depth of wretchedness, as they have done, they seem to lose both hope and fear. Uncle’s wife is no better; so far as I can judge she is sinking. She might rally had we suitable nourishment to give her, but we have nothing. She has not even fresh air, but with every breath inhales the stench of a pestilence. Uncle, unable to do anything else for her, sits at the head of the berth, her hand clasped in his. We had a wonderful sunset. The change of wind brought warmth and dappled the sky with fleecy clouds. The forecastle being deserted Aileen went with me and we sat where, looking down, we could see the cutwater flashing the waves into foam, or, looking up, see the cloud of canvas and tracery of rope and block crimsoning in the waning sunlight. The sun was setting so directly ahead of us that it might be supposed the man at the wheel was steering for it. The glittering, burnished pathway it threw across the ocean, our ship sailed up.
“Sure,” whispered Aileen, “it is the road to the land of promise and the sun himself welcomes us as we pursue it.”