“‘Oh, boys, we are out of sight of land now,’ sais I, ‘and what is wus, may be we go so far we get out sight of de sun too, where is dark like down cellar. Oh, it’s a shocking ting to be lost at sea. Oh, people lose deir way dere so bad, sometimes dey nevare return no more. People that’s lost in de wood dey come back if dey live, but them that’s lost at sea nevare. Oh, I was damn scared. Oh, mon Dieu! what is 44° 40′ north and 63° 40′ west? Is dat de conetry were people who are lost at sea go to? Boys, is there any rum on board?’ and they said there was a bottle for the old lady’s rheumatis. ‘Well, hand it up,’ sais I, ‘and if ever you get back tell her it was lost at sea, and has gone to 44° 40′ north and 63° 40′ west. Oh, dear, dis all comes from going out of sight of land.’
“Oh, I was vary dry you may depend; I was so scared at being lost at sea that way, my lips stuck together like the sole and upper-leather of a shoe. And when I took down the bottle to draw breath, the boys took it away, as it was all we had. Oh, it set my mouth afire, it was made to warm outside and not inside. Dere was brimstone, and camphor, and eetle red pepper, and turpentene in it. Vary hot, vary nasty, and vary trong, and it made me sea-sick, and I gave up my dinner, for I could not hole him no longer, he jump so in de stomach, and what was wus, I had so little for anoder meal. Fust I lose my way, den I lose my sense, den I lose my dinner, and what is wus I lose myself to sea. Oh, I repent vary mush of my sin in going out of sight of land. Well, I lights my pipe and walks up and down, and presently the sun comes out quite bright.
“‘Well, dat sun,’ sais I, ‘boys, sets every night behind my barn in the big swamp, somewhere about the Hemlock Grove. Well, dat is 63° 40′ west I suppose. And it rises a few miles to the eastward of that barn, sometimes out of a fog bank, and sometimes out o’ the water; well that is 44° 40′ north, which is all but east I suppose. Now, if we steer west we will see our barn, but steering east is being lost at sea, for in time you would be behind de sun.’
“Well, we didn’t sleep much dat night, you may depend, but we prayed a great deal, and we talked a great deal, and I was so cussed scared I did not know what to do. Well, morning came and still no land, and I began to get diablement feared again. Every two or tree minutes I run up de riggin’ and look out, but couldn’t see notin’. At last I went down to my trunk, for I had bottle there for my rheumatics too, only no nasty stuff in it, that the boys didn’t know of, and I took very long draught, I was so scared; and then I went on deck and up de riggin’ again.
“‘Boys,’ sais I, ‘there’s the barn. That’s 63° 40′ west. I tole you so.’ Well, when I came down I went on my knees, and I vowed as long as I lived I would hug as tight and close as ever I could.”
“Your wife?” sais I.
“Pooh, no,” said he, turning round contemptuously towards her; “hug her, eh! why, she has got the rheumatiz, and her tongue is in mourning for her teeth. No, hug the shore, man, hug it so close as posseeble, and nevare lose sight of land for fear of being lost at sea.”
The old woman perceiving that Jerry had been making some joke at her expense, asked the girl the meaning of it, when she rose, and seizing his cap and boxing his ears with it, right and left, asked what he meant by wearing it before gentlemen, and then poured out a torrent of abuse on him, with such volubility I was unable to follow it.
Jerry sneaked off, and set in the corner near his daughter, afraid to speak, and the old woman took her chair again, unable to do so. There was a truce and a calm, so to change the conversation, sais I:
“Sorrow, take the rifle and go and see if there is a Jesuit-priest about here, and if there is shoot him, and take him on board and cook him.”