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.

Bent upon reclaiming him, they had taken him on board the ship;
feasted him in the cabin; and, finding that of no avail, down they
thrust him into the hold, in double irons, and on bread and water.
All would not do; and so he was sent back to the Calabooza. Boy that
he was, they must have counted upon his being more susceptible to
discipline than the rest.

The interest felt in Pat's welfare, by his benevolent countryman, was
very serviceable to the rest of us; especially as we all turned
Catholics, and went to mass every morning, much to Captain Bob's
consternation. Upon finding it out, he threatened to keep us in the
stocks if we did not desist. He went no farther than this, though;
and so, every few days, we strolled down to the priest's residence,
and had a mouthful to eat, and something generous to drink. In
particular, Dr. Long Ghost and myself became huge favourites with
Pat's friend; and many a time he regaled us from a quaint-looking
travelling case for spirits, stowed away in one corner of his
dwelling. It held four square flasks, which, somehow or other, always
contained just enough to need emptying. In truth, the fine old
Irishman was a rosy fellow in canonicals. His countenance and his
soul were always in a glow. It may be ungenerous to reveal his
failings, but he often talked thick, and sometimes was perceptibly
eccentric in his gait.

I never drink French brandy but I pledge Father Murphy. His health
again! And many jolly proselytes may he make in Polynesia!