“I am not quite so certain; it is said that if a lieutenant is placed in command of a small craft, he is never likely to get anything better,” observed Jack. “However, in your case it is different, as the admiral will look after your interests. Did he tell you how and where you are to be employed?”
“My duty will be chiefly to look after slaves and pirates, of whom a few occasionally appear sailing under the flags of some of the smaller South American States; he mentioned also, that I might probably be sent to the Spanish Main to protect British interests on that coast. My thoughts at once, I confess, flew to Colonel O’Regan and his daughter, and the possibility of meeting them; though I trust that they may have returned safely to Jamaica before I can get to the coast.”
“Who knows! By my faith, I should be after wishing the contrary!” exclaimed Terence. “What a romantic incident it would be now some morning just as day breaks, to make out away to leeward a brig which you have no doubt is the Sarah Jane, with a black, rakish, wicked-looking schooner close to, just opening fire. The brig fights bravely; she had, I think, a couple of two or three-pounders on board, but she will to a certainty be captured. You make all sail to her assistance, for the pirate, supposing you to be a merchantman, doesn’t up stick and run for it—but the wind drops, you take to your boats, the black schooner has ranged up alongside the brig, you arrive at the moment the brig’s crew have been overpowered—the colonel brought to the deck, and the pirate-captain, a huge ugly negro, is bearing off a fair lady in his arms. You cut him down, rescue the lady, drive the pirates overboard, place the colonel on his legs, blow up the schooner, and are duly rewarded for your gallantry.”
“Avast, Terence, with your nonsense!” exclaimed Murray, who had before been vainly endeavouring to stop the imaginative Irishman. “You make me miserable in suggesting the bare possibility of such an occurrence. The brig may be attacked, but I might not arrive in time to save my friends.”
“Now, Alick dear, you remind me mightily of Tim Doolan, the cowboy at Ballymacree,” said Terence. “I found Tim, one bright morning, looking as unhappy as his twinkling eyes and cocked-up nose would let him. ‘Tim, my beauty—what’s the matter?’ I asked.
“‘It’s a throubled drame, Mr Terence, that I have had,’ answered Tim, twisting his nose and mouth about in a curious manner, and giving a peculiar wink with his right eye.
“‘What is it, man?’ I asked. ‘Out with your dream.’
“‘Well, your honour, it was just this. I dreamt that I went to pay a visit to his holiness the Pope, and a civil old gentleman he was, for he axed me if I’d take some whisky and water, and on course I said yes. “Hot or cold, Tim?” asked the Pope. “Hot, your reverence,” says I, and bad luck to me, for by dad, while the Pope went down to the kitchen to get the kettle I awoke; and now, if I’d said cold, I’d have had time to toss off a noggin-full at laste, and it’s that throubles me.’
“Now it strikes me, Alick, that your waking imagination is as vivid as Tim’s; but don’t let it run away with you in this instance. You’ll see the Sarah Jane come safe into harbour before you leave it, and have time to wish the young lady the top of the morning, at all events.”
“You are incorrigible, Paddy,” answered Murray, laughing in spite of himself. “As I have stood all your bantering, I have the right to insist on your coming with me to inspect the Supplejack before you go up to Kingston.”