we shall.’
However, that was days ago, and the sombre impression of it had left Peter’s mind, which tended to be volatile and to enjoy things as they came. At this moment he was enjoying his escape from the master’s inquisition, and he went forward to the fo’c’sle, where Sean awaited his appearance.
‘I have been plotting the ship’s position, Sean,’ said Peter, importantly.
‘Have you, your honour, dear? Sure and it’s grand to be learned.’
‘Yes,’ said Peter.
‘And I have been reasoning with the steward and the butcher,’ said Sean.
‘Ah now, Sean, I hope you have not hurt them,’ cried Peter anxiously.
‘I have not, Peter a gradh, though I may do so in time. Listen, your honour, while I tell you. I joined his Majesty’s noble fleet to fight; I joined it for glory, did I not?’
‘It’s as true as the sky is above us,’ said Peter, ‘and the sea is below.’
‘I did not join it to work,’ said Sean, his eyes growing dark. ‘Why would I join it to work? I have never liked work at all; nor does my father; nor did his Da, may he rest.’
‘God have his soul,’ said Peter.
‘Nor did his father, nor his, who was the Mac Dermot’s own harper and lived at Coolavin.’
‘It is a family disliking: it runs in the blood.’
‘It is very well for the women, I think,’ said Sean. ‘It keeps them busy and makes them attentive: but is it right for men? It is not.’ He paused. ‘I came for glory,’ he said again.
He stood thinking for a while, and then he said, ‘They put me to work. Well, so they may too, for a while, until we find out the enemy. But I will not mind the pigs. I will not mind any pig on the earth or below it, nor if it were the great pig of Mac Datho king of Leinster, the heathen, which three hundred cows fed for seven long years.’
‘And do they want you to mind the pigs, Sean?’
‘They do. “Mind the pigs, Sean, honey,” they say. And the steward comes and he lays a great compliment on his speech how it is the way the pigs will love me and prosper; and the butcher says, “Sean, mind the pigs, for your dear country’s honour.” But I reply, “You verminous steward and butcher, I will not mind the pigs. Did I embark in this gorgeous imperial fleet to be minding of pigs, when I could have stayed in my own country to do the same thing, with the pigs running free on every hand and at large? Your souls to the devil, you butcher and steward.”’
‘But you will mind our little sow? Sure, you will never desert our own pig now, Sean?’ cried Peter, referring to theanimal they had bought at Portsmouth together with two likely young sheep, and which now led its thoughtful existence in the bowels of the
Centurion
with the rest of the officers’ livestock and all the hens that did not live in coops on deck.
‘I will not,’ said Sean passionately. ‘I will not tend a pig by way of labour or work. As for the little sow, I will mind her for love; but only in my watches below, when I may do what I please. I will cherish her, for diversion and joy, by way of delight; but never by way of labour nor work—still less in compliment to the steward or butcher.’
‘Mr Palafox. Pass the word for Mr Palafox: to the cabin.’ The cry came forward. Peter could hear it around him and under his feet as it passed in the ’tween-decks.
‘You’ll tell the Commodore, your honour?’ cried Sean after him. ‘You’ll tell him that Sean will not mind the pigs?’
‘Oh, Mr Palafox,’ said the Commodore, ‘I had meant to have a word with you the other day—do not fidget, if you please—but there was no suitable opportunity. Mr Walter tells me that before you left home you had already heard of the expedition.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did you hear? Try to remember exactly what was said, without adding anything that you may have learnt subsequently.’
‘Aye-aye, sir.’ Peter thought for a minute. ‘The common people thought that an English fleet was going to
However, that was days ago, and the sombre impression of it had left Peter’s mind, which tended to be volatile and to enjoy things as they came. At this moment he was enjoying his escape from the master’s inquisition, and he went forward to the fo’c’sle, where Sean awaited his appearance.
‘I have been plotting the ship’s position, Sean,’ said Peter, importantly.
‘Have you, your honour, dear? Sure and it’s grand to be learned.’
‘Yes,’ said Peter.
‘And I have been reasoning with the steward and the butcher,’ said Sean.
‘Ah now, Sean, I hope you have not hurt them,’ cried Peter anxiously.
‘I have not, Peter a gradh, though I may do so in time. Listen, your honour, while I tell you. I joined his Majesty’s noble fleet to fight; I joined it for glory, did I not?’
‘It’s as true as the sky is above us,’ said Peter, ‘and the sea is below.’
‘I did not join it to work,’ said Sean, his eyes growing dark. ‘Why would I join it to work? I have never liked work at all; nor does my father; nor did his Da, may he rest.’
‘God have his soul,’ said Peter.
‘Nor did his father, nor his, who was the Mac Dermot’s own harper and lived at Coolavin.’
‘It is a family disliking: it runs in the blood.’
‘It is very well for the women, I think,’ said Sean. ‘It keeps them busy and makes them attentive: but is it right for men? It is not.’ He paused. ‘I came for glory,’ he said again.
He stood thinking for a while, and then he said, ‘They put me to work. Well, so they may too, for a while, until we find out the enemy. But I will not mind the pigs. I will not mind any pig on the earth or below it, nor if it were the great pig of Mac Datho king of Leinster, the heathen, which three hundred cows fed for seven long years.’
‘And do they want you to mind the pigs, Sean?’
‘They do. “Mind the pigs, Sean, honey,” they say. And the steward comes and he lays a great compliment on his speech how it is the way the pigs will love me and prosper; and the butcher says, “Sean, mind the pigs, for your dear country’s honour.” But I reply, “You verminous steward and butcher, I will not mind the pigs. Did I embark in this gorgeous imperial fleet to be minding of pigs, when I could have stayed in my own country to do the same thing, with the pigs running free on every hand and at large? Your souls to the devil, you butcher and steward.”’
‘But you will mind our little sow? Sure, you will never desert our own pig now, Sean?’ cried Peter, referring to theanimal they had bought at Portsmouth together with two likely young sheep, and which now led its thoughtful existence in the bowels of the
Centurion
with the rest of the officers’ livestock and all the hens that did not live in coops on deck.
‘I will not,’ said Sean passionately. ‘I will not tend a pig by way of labour or work. As for the little sow, I will mind her for love; but only in my watches below, when I may do what I please. I will cherish her, for diversion and joy, by way of delight; but never by way of labour nor work—still less in compliment to the steward or butcher.’
‘Mr Palafox. Pass the word for Mr Palafox: to the cabin.’ The cry came forward. Peter could hear it around him and under his feet as it passed in the ’tween-decks.
‘You’ll tell the Commodore, your honour?’ cried Sean after him. ‘You’ll tell him that Sean will not mind the pigs?’
‘Oh, Mr Palafox,’ said the Commodore, ‘I had meant to have a word with you the other day—do not fidget, if you please—but there was no suitable opportunity. Mr Walter tells me that before you left home you had already heard of the expedition.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did you hear? Try to remember exactly what was said, without adding anything that you may have learnt subsequently.’
‘Aye-aye, sir.’ Peter thought for a minute. ‘The common people thought that an English fleet was going to
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