As if impelled, against her will, to send him into the
world, Nature had done all she could to insure his being taken for
what he was. About the eyes there was no mistaking him; with a
villainous cast in one, they seemed suspicious of each other.
Glancing away from him at once, the bluff priest rested his gaze on
the good-humoured face of Pat, who, with a pleasant roguishness, was
"twigging" the enormous hats (or "Hytee Belteezers," as land beavers
are called by sailors), from under which, like a couple of snails,
peeped the two little Frenchmen.
Pat and the priest were both from the same town in Meath; and, when
this was found out, there was no end to the questions of the latter.
To him, Pat seemed a letter from home, and said a hundred times as
much.
After a long talk between these two, and a little broken English from
the Frenchmen, our visitors took leave; but Father Murphy had hardly
gone a dozen rods when back he came, inquiring whether we were in
want of anything.
"Yes," cried one, "something to eat." Upon this he promised to send us
some fresh wheat bread, of his own baking; a great luxury in Tahiti.
We all felicitated Pat upon picking up such a friend, and told him his
fortune was made.
The next morning, a French servant of the priest's made his appearance
with a small bundle of clothing for our young Hibernian; and the
promised bread for the party. Pat being out at the knees and elbows,
and, like the rest of us, not full inside, the present was acceptable
all round.
In the afternoon, Father Murphy himself came along; and, in addition
to his previous gifts, gave Pat a good deal of advice: said he was
sorry to see him in limbo, and that he would have a talk with the
consul about having him set free.
We saw nothing more of him for two or three days; at the end of which
time he paid us another call, telling Pat that Wilson was inexorable,
having refused to set him at liberty, unless to go aboard the ship.
This, the priest now besought him to do forthwith; and so escape the
punishment which, it seems, Wilson had been hinting at to his
intercessor. Pat, however, was staunch against entreaties; and, with
all the ardour of a sophomorean sailor, protested his intention to
hold out to the last. With none of the meekness of a good little boy
about him, the blunt youngster stormed away at such a rate that it
was hard to pacify him; and the priest said no more.
How it came to pass - whether from Murphy's speaking to the consul, or
otherwise, we could not tell - but the next day, Pat was sent for by
Wilson, and being escorted to the village by our good old keeper,
three days elapsed before he returned.
