"Six of 'em," replied Ned; "every one purtier and better nor
another."

"Is it a long way to Galway?" continued Joe.

"Not long; but it's a coorious thing that Englishmen never come back
from them parts whin they wance ventur' into them."

Joe was about to retort when the men called for another song.

"Come, Jamie Dove, let's have 'Rule, Britannia'."

Dove was by this time quite yellow in the face, and felt more
inclined to go to bed than to sing; but he braced himself up,
resolved to struggle manfully against the demon that oppressed him.

It was in vain! Poor Dove had just reached that point in the chorus
where Britons stoutly affirm that they "never, never, never shall be
slaves", when a tremendous roll of the vessel caused him to spring
from the locker, on which he sat, and rush to his berth.

There were several of the others whose self-restraint was demolished
by this example; these likewise fled, amid the laughter of their
companions, who broke up the meeting and went on deck.

The prospect of things there proved, beyond all doubt, that Britons
never did, and never will, rule the waves.

The storm, which had been brewing for some time past, was gathering