for a glass of whisky, which we prudently mixed with plenty of
water. "Don't be drinking much of it," I said to Larry, "it's as hot as
fire."

Two seamen then came up, and I asked one of them when the fun was to
begin. Arrah, then it'll be before long, when Tim Curtin, the fiddler,
has come to himself; but he's been drunk all the blessed morning, since
last night, and they're dousing him outside with cold water to bring him
to. My new acquaintance being evidently inclined to be communicative, I
plied him with further questions, and I gained his confidence by calling
for another glass of whisky, with which I insisted on treating him. I,
however, let Larry carry on the chief part of the conversation.

"If you've run from a man-of-war, you'll have to lie snug as mice in
their holes till she sails, or there's three dozen at least for each of
you, if they don't run you up at the yard-arm, as they did at Portsmouth
the other day to a poor boy, just because he wanted to go home to his
wife and family," said the man.

This, though a fact as far as the hanging was concerned, I hadn't heard
of before. Larry didn't show that he doubted the truth of the story,
but pretended to be very frightened.

"Thin what should we be after doing?" he asked.

"Why, as I tell yer," he said, keep close; "you'll be wise not to show
your noses out of doors for a week or two to come, if you've got money
enough to pay old Mother McCleary, for she doesn't keep us boys for
nothing, you may stake yer davey."

"What should we be after doing, then, supposing the press-gang were to
come down upon us and find us out?" asked Larry.

"It will be at the end of a long day before the press-gang get in here;
but see now, there's a room overhead where you can sleep secure, either
in bed or out of it. Then there's that door in the middle of the room,
that leads to a long passage, just like the one you passed through when
you came in here. At the end of it there's a court, and on the opposite
side you'll find a door. Go through that when it opens, which it will
do when you have given three raps quick together, and you'll be in a
house with well-nigh as many rooms and cellars as there's days in the
month. It will be a hard matter if you don't stow yourselves away out
of sight in one of them. I'll be after showing you the way by and by,
when the dancing is over, and we've had a few more glasses of Mother
McCleary's whisky."

While our friend, whose