When Bridget dragged Andy back and insisted on his going to bed—

No—I will not be too good natured and tell my story in that way; besides, it would be a very difficult matter to tell it; and why should an author, merely to oblige people, get himself involved in a labyrinth of difficulties, and rack his unfortunate brain to pick and choose words properly to tell his story, yet at the same time to lead his readers through the mazes of this very ticklish adventure, without a single thorn scratching their delicate feelings, or as much as making the smallest rent in the white muslin robe of propriety? So, not to run unnecessary risks, the story must go on another way.

When Shan More and the rest of the “big blackguards” began to wake, the morning after the abduction, and gave a turn or two under their heather coverlid, and rubbed their eyes as the sun peeped through the “curtains of the east”—for these were the only bed-curtains Shan More and his companions ever had—they stretched themselves and yawned, and felt very thirsty, for they had all been blind drunk the night before, be it remembered; and Shan More, to use his own expressive and poetic imagery, swore that his tongue was “as rough as a rat's back,” while his companions went no further than saying theirs were as “dry as a lime-burner's wig.” We should not be so particular in those minute details but for that desire of truth which has guided us all through this veracious history and as in this scene, in particular, we feel ourselves sure to be held seriously responsible for every word, we are determined to be accurate to a nicety, and set down every syllable with stenographic strictness.

“Where's the girl?” cried Shan, not yet sober.

“She's asleep with your sisther,” was the answer.

“Down-stairs?” inquired Shan.

“Yes,” said the other, who now knew that Big Jack was more drunk than he at first thought him, by his using the words stairs; for Jack when he was drunk was very grand, and called down the ladder “down-stairs.”

“Get me a drink o' wather,” said Jack, “for I'm thundherin' thirsty, and can't deludher that girl with soft words till I wet my mouth.”

His attendant vagabond obeyed the order, and a large pitcher full of water was handed to the master, who heaved it upwards to his head and drank as audibly and nearly as much as a horse. Then holding his hands to receive the remaining contents of the pitcher, which his followers poured into his monstrous palms, he soused his face, which he afterwards wiped in a wisp of grass—the only towel of Jack's which was not then at the wash.

Having thus made his toilet, Big Jack went downstairs, and as soon as his great bull-head had disappeared beneath the trap, one of the men above said, “We'll have a shilloe soon, boys.”

And sure enough they did before long hear an extraordinary row. Jack first roared for Bridget, and no answer was returned; the call was repeated with as little effect, and at last a most tremendous roar was heard above, but not from a female voice. Jack was heard below, swearing like a trooper, and, in a minute or two, back he rushed “up-stairs” and began cursing his myrmidons most awfully, and foaming at the mouth with rage.

“What's the matther?” cried the men.

“Matther!” roared Jack; “oh, you 'tarnal villains! You're a purty set to carry off a girl for a man—a purty job you've made of it!”

“Arrah, didn't we bring her to you?”

“Her, indeed—bring her—much good what you brought is to me!”

“Tare an' ouns! what's the matther at all? We dunna what you mane!” shouted the men, returning rage for rage.

“Come down, and you'll see what's the matther,” said Jack, descending the ladder; and the men hastened after him.

He led the way to the further end of the cabin, where a small glimmering of light was permitted to enter from the top, and lifting a tattered piece of canvas, which served as a screen to the bed, he exclaimed, with a curse, “Look there, you blackguards!”

The men gave a shout of surprise, for—what do you think they saw?—An empty bed!