r.
Cantwell is one of the same crew, a specious hypocrite. I would attend
to the fellow no more than to that red-headed rector--every priest
is a rector now--who often held my horse at his father's forge, when
T happened to throw a shoe hunting,--and would half break his back
bowing, if I handed him now and then a sixpence. Would I believe
the dictum of that low-born dog, when he told me that in
head-quarters"--and my father elevated his hand toward heaven--"they
cared this pinch of snuff, whether upon a Friday I ate a rasher or
red-herring?"

Two episodes interrupted the polemical disquisition. In character none
could be more different--the one eventuated in a clean knock down--the
other decided indirectly my future fortunes--and, in the next chapter,
both shall be detailed.

* * * * *

CHAPTER II.

"_Antonio_. Thou knowest that all my fortunes are at sea;
Nor have I money or commodity,
To raise a present sum."

_Merchant of Venice_.

The _Boheeil Kistanaugh_, called in plain English, the kitchen boy,
had entered, not like Caliban, "bearing a log," but with a basket
full. He deposited the supply, and was directed by the commander
to replenish the fire. I believe that Petereeine's allegiance to my
father originated in fear rather than affection. He dreaded

"the deep damnation of his 'Bah!'"

but what was a still more formidable consideration, was a black-thorn
stick which the colonel had carried since he gave up the sword; it
was a beauty, upon which every fellow that came for law, in or out of
custody, lavished his admiration--a clean crop, with three inches of
an iron ferule on the extremity. My father was, "good easy man," a
true Milesian philosopher--his arguments were those impressive ones,
called _ad hominem_, and after he had _grassed_ his man, he explained
the reason at his leisure.

_Petereeine_ (little Peter), as he was called, to distinguish him from
another of that apostolic name--who was six feet two--approached the
colonel in his best state of health with much alarm; but, when a fit
of the gout was on--when a foot swathed in flannel, or slippered and
rested on a hassock, announced the anthritic visitation, Petereeine
would hold strong doubts whether, had the choice been allowed, he
should not have preferred entering one of Van Amburgh's dens, to
facing the commander in the dining-room.

Petereeine was nervous--he had overheard his master blowing to the