His face contained the rest, and, I fear, a
prophecy of the future; the hawk's nose above accorded so ill with
the pink baby's mouth below. His spirit and his pride belonged,
you might say, to the nose; while it was the general shiftlessness
expressed by the other that had thrown him from situation to
situation, and at length on board the emigrant ship. Barney ate,
so to speak, nothing from the galley; his own tea, butter, and eggs
supported him throughout the voyage; and about mealtime you might
often find him up to the elbows in amateur cookery. His was the
first voice heard singing among all the passengers; he was the
first who fell to dancing. From Loch Foyle to Sandy Hook, there
was not a piece of fun undertaken but there was Barney in the
midst.
You ought to have seen him when he stood up to sing at our
concerts - his tight little figure stepping to and fro, and his feet
shuffling to the air, his eyes seeking and bestowing encouragement-
-and to have enjoyed the bow, so nicely calculated between jest and
earnest, between grace and clumsiness, with which he brought each
song to a conclusion. He was not only a great favourite among
ourselves, but his songs attracted the lords of the saloon, who
often leaned to hear him over the rails of the hurricane-deck. He
was somewhat pleased, but not at all abashed, by this attention;
and one night, in the midst of his famous performance of 'Billy
Keogh,' I saw him spin half round in a pirouette and throw an
audacious wink to an old gentleman above.
This was the more characteristic, as, for all his daffing, he was a
modest and very polite little fellow among ourselves.
He would not have hurt the feelings of a fly, nor throughout the
passage did he give a shadow of offence; yet he was always, by his
innocent freedoms and love of fun, brought upon that narrow margin
where politeness must be natural to walk without a fall. He was
once seriously angry, and that in a grave, quiet manner, because
they supplied no fish on Friday; for Barney was a conscientious
Catholic. He had likewise strict notions of refinement; and when,
late one evening, after the women had retired, a young Scotsman
struck up an indecent song, Barney's drab clothes were immediately
missing from the group. His taste was for the society of
gentlemen, of whom, with the reader's permission, there was no lack
in our five steerages and second cabin; and he avoided the rough
and positive with a girlish shrinking. Mackay, partly from his
superior powers of mind, which rendered him incomprehensible,
partly from his extreme opinions, was especially distasteful to the
Irishman. I have seen him slink off with backward looks of terror
and offended delicacy, while the other, in his witty, ugly way, had
been professing hostility to God, and an extreme theatrical
readiness to be shipwrecked on the spot. These utterances hurt the
little coachman's modesty like a bad word.
THE SICK MAN
One night Jones, the young O'Reilly, and myself were walking arm-
in-arm and briskly up and down the deck. Six bells had rung; a
head-wind blew chill and fitful, the fog was closing in with a
sprinkle of rain, and the fog-whistle had been turned on, and now
divided time with its unwelcome outcries, loud like a bull,
thrilling and intense like a mosquito. Even the watch lay
somewhere snugly out of sight.
For some time we observed something lying black and huddled in the
scuppers, which at last heaved a little and moaned aloud. We ran
to the rails. An elderly man, but whether passenger or seaman it
was impossible in the darkness to determine, lay grovelling on his
belly in the wet scuppers, and kicking feebly with his outspread
toes. We asked him what was amiss, and he replied incoherently,
with a strange accent and in a voice unmanned by terror, that he
had cramp in the stomach, that he had been ailing all day, had seen
the doctor twice, and had walked the deck against fatigue till he
was overmastered and had fallen where we found him.
Jones remained by his side, while O'Reilly and I hurried off to
seek the doctor. We knocked in vain at the doctor's cabin; there
came no reply; nor could we find any one to guide us. It was no
time for delicacy; so we ran once more forward; and I, whipping up
a ladder and touching my hat to the officer of the watch, addressed
him as politely as I could -
'I beg your pardon, sir; but there is a man lying bad with cramp in
the lee scuppers; and I can't find the doctor.'
He looked at me peeringly in the darkness; and then, somewhat
harshly, 'Well, _I_ can't leave the bridge, my man,' said he.
'No, sir; but you can tell me what to do,' I returned.
'Is it one of the crew?' he asked.
'I believe him to be a fireman,' I replied.
I dare say officers are much annoyed by complaints and alarmist
information from their freight of human creatures; but certainly,
whether it was the idea that the sick man was one of the crew, or
from something conciliatory in my address, the officer in question
was immediately relieved and mollified; and speaking in a voice
much freer from constraint, advised me to find a steward and
despatch him in quest of the doctor, who would now be in the
smoking-room over his pipe.
One of the stewards was often enough to be found about this hour
down our companion, Steerage No.
