two Irish sailors were standing
and bandying the harshest of brogues with such vehemence that I drew
near, hoping at least to hear something of what I could not see. It was
a spirited, and one would have guessed an angry dialogue, so like did it
sound to the yapping and snapping of two peppery-tempered terriers. But
it was only vehement, and this was the sum of it.

"Bedad! but it's quare ye must have felt at the time."

"I did not, unless it would be when Tom stepped out into the water, GOD
bless him! with the rope aisy round his waist, and the waves drowning
him intirely, and the corpse holding on to the boat's bottom for the
dear life."

"Pat!" said the other in mysterious tones, "would that that's hanging
round his neck be the presarving of him, what?"

"And why wouldn't it? But isn't he the big fool to be having it dangling
where the wash of a wave, or a pickpocket, or a worse timptation than
either might be staling it away from him?"

"And where else would he put it?"

"Did ye ever git the sight of mine?"

"I did not."

"On the back of me?"

"What?"

"Look here, now!" cried Pat, in the tones of one whose patience was
entirely exhausted. His friend drew nearer, and I also ventured to
accept an invitation not intended for me, so greatly was my curiosity
roused by what the men said.

Pat turned his back to us as rapidly as he had spoken, and stooping at
about half-leap-frog-angle, whipped his wet shirt upwards out of his
loosely-strapped trousers, baring his back from his waist to his
shoulder-blades. The moon was somewhat overcast, but there was light
enough for us to see a grotesque semblance of the Crucifixion tattooed
upon his flesh in more than one colour, and some accompanying symbols
and initials which we could hardly distinguish.

"Now am I safe for Christian burial or not, in the case I'd be
misfortunate enough to be washed up on the shores of a haythen
counthry?"

"Ye are so!"

I never saw a funnier sight than Pat craning and twisting his head in
futile efforts to look at it under his own arm.

"It's a foin piece of work, I'm told," said he.

"They tould ye no less than the truth that said that, Pat. It's a mighty
foin piece of work."

"They all say so that see it," sighed Pat, tucking his shirt in again,
"and that'll be ivry soul but meself, worse luck!"

"Shaughnessey!"

"Sir!"

Pat ran off, and as I turned I saw that the crew of the whaleboat were
going below with a crowd of