Murther, but I was sick. Wan time th' ship 'd be settin' on
its tail, another it 'd be standin' on its head, thin rollin' over
cow-like on th' side; an' ivry time it lurched me stummick lurched
with it, an' I was tore an' rint an' racked till, if death come, it 'd
found me willin'. An' th' Roscommon man,--glory be, but he was
disthressed. He set on th' flure, with his hands on his belt an' his
face as white as stone, an' rocked to an' fro. 'Ahoo,' he says, 'ahoo,
but me insides has torn loose,' he says, 'an' are tumblin' around,' he
says. 'Say a pather an' avy,' says I, I was that mad f'r th' big
bosthoon f'r his blatherin'. 'Say a pather an' avy,' I says; f'r ye're
near to death's dure, avick.' 'Am I?' says he, raising up. 'Thin,' he
says, 'to 'ell with the whole rile fam'ly,' he says. Oh, he was a
rebel!
"Through th' storm there was a babby cryin'. 'Twas a little wan, no
more thin a year ol'; an' 'twas owned be a Tipp'rary man who come fr'm
near Clonmel, a poor, weak, scarey-lookin' little divvle that lost his
wife, an' see th' bailiff walk off with th' cow, an' thin see him come
back again with th' process servers.
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