"Is it jokin' you are, Ned?" siz I; "shure you the hoarseness of a brayin' ass—“ A man in the tould me to leave it all to you." "Ah, Darby," siz he, "you're for takin' a rise out o' me; shure enough ye were the lad that was never without a joke-the very priest himself couldn't get over ye. But, Darby, there's no joke like the thrue one. I'll stick to my promise; but, Darby, you must pay your way." sea-a man in the sea." Every man, woman, an' child came running up out of the holes, the captain among the rest, who put a long red barrel like a gun to his eye-an' so, thinkin' he was intint on shootin' me, down I dived. When I got my head over the wather agen, what shou'd I see but a boat rowin' to me as fast as a throut afther a pinkeen. When it came up close enough to be heard, I roared out, "Bad scran to yees, for a set ov spal peen rascals, did ye hear me at last ?" The boat now run 'pon the top ov me; down I dived again like a duck afther a frog, but the minnit my skull came over the wather, I was gript by the scruff ov "An' where, Ned, is the place I saw you comin' the neck, and dhrag'd into the boat. To be sure, I up out ov?" didn't kick up a row. "Let go my hair, ye blue "Och, Darby, that was the hould, where the devils, " I roared, 'it's well ye have me in your cargo's stow'd." marcy in this dissilute place, or be the powers I'd make you feel the strinth ov my bones. What "Oh, Ned," siz I, "is this the way your goin' to threat me afther all? I'm a rooin'd man; all I could scrape together I spint on you. If you don't do something for me, I'm lost. Is there no place where you could hide me from the captain ?" "Not a place," siz Ned. "An' is there no other place?" siz I. "Oh, yes," siz he, "where we keep the wather hard look I had to follow ye's at all, at all; which casks." ov ye is the masther ?" As I said this, every "An' Ned," siz I, "does any one live down mother's son began to stare at me, with my bag there?" "Not a mother's sowl," siz he. "An' Ned," siz I, "can't you cram me down there, and give me a lock ov straw an' a bit ? " "Why, Darby," siz he, an' he look'd mighty pittyful, "I must thry. But mind, Darby, you'll have to hide all day in an empty barrel, an' when it comes to my watch, I'll bring you down some prog; but if you're discover'd, it's all over wid me, an' you'll be put on a dissilute island to starve." round my neck, an' my bottle by my side, an' the bare bone in my fist. There he is," siz they, pointing to a little yallow man in a corner of the boat. "May bad weather rise blisthers on your rapin-hook shins," siz I, "you yallow-looking monkey; but it's amost time for you to think of lettin' me into your ship-I'm here plowin' and plungin' this month afther ye; shure I didn't care a thrawneen, was it not that you have my best Sunday clothes in your ship, and my name in your books. For three straws, as I don't know "Oh, Ned," siz I," leave it all to me-never fear how to write, I'd leave my mark, an' that on Darby-I'll mind my eye." When night cum on, I got down into the dark cellar, among the barrels; poor Ned fixed a place in a corner for me to sleep, an' every night he brought me down hard black cakes an' salt meat. There I lay snug for a whole month. At last, one night, siz he to me-- "Now, Darby, what's to be done? We're within three days sail ov Quebec; the ship will be overhaul'd, an' all the passengers' names call'd over; if you are found, you'll be sould as a slave for your passage money." "An' is that all that frets you, my jewel?" siz I; "can't you leave it all to me? Why, I'll tell ye, Ned: get me an empty meal bag, a bottle, an' a bare ham-bone, an' that's all I'll ax." your skull;" so saying, I made a lick at him with the ham-bone, but I was near tumblin' into the sae agen. "An' pray what is your name, my lad?" siz the captain. "What's my name! What 'id you give to know ?" siz I, "ye unmanerly spalpeen-it might be what's your name, Darby Doyle, out ov your mouth-ay, Darby Doyle, that was never afeard or ashamed to own it at home or abroad !” "An', Mr. Darby Doyle," siz he, “do you mean to persuade us that you swum from Cork to this afther us?" "That's more of your ignorance," siz I; "ay, an' if ye sted three days longer, and not take me up, I'd be in Quebec before ye, only my purvisions So Ned look'd very quare at me; but he got were out, and the few rags of bank-notes I had all them for me anyhow. "Well, Ned," siz I, "you know I'm a great shwimmer; your watch will be early in the mornin'; I'll jist slip down into the sae; do you cry out, 'There's a man in the wather,' as loud as you can, an' leave all the rest to me." Well, to be sure, down into the sae I dropt without as much as a splash. Ned roar'd out with melted into paste in my pocket, for I hadn't time to get them changed. But stay, wait till I get my foot on shore, there's never a corroner in Cork iv you don't pay for leaving me to the marcy of the waves." All this time the blue chaps were pushing the boat with sticks through the wather, till at last we came close to the ship. Every one on board saw DARBY DOYLE'S VOYAGE TO QUEBEC. me at the Cove, but didn't see me on the voyage; to be sure, every one's mouth was wide open, crying out "Darby Doyle." "The sorra stop your throats," siz I; "it's now ye can call me loud enough; ye wouldn't shout that way when ye saw me rowling like a tub in a mill-race the other day fornenst your faces." The captain does no more but runs to the book, and calls out the names that paid, and them that wasn't paid-to be shure I was one ov them that didn't pay. If the captain looked at me before with wondherment, he now looked with astonishment. Nothing was tawk'd ov for the other three days but Darby Doyle's great shwim from the Cove to Quebeck. At last we got to Amerrykey. I was now in a quare way; the captain wouldn't let me go till a friend of his would see me. By this time, my jewel, not only his friends came, but swarms upon swarms, staring at poor Darby. At last I called Ned. Siz I "What's the meanin' ov the boords acrass the stick the people walk on, and the big white boord up there ?" "Why, come over and read," siz Ned. But, my jewel, I didn't know whether I was stannin' on my head or on my heels when I saw in great big black letters THE GREATEST WONDHER IN THE WORLD!!! TO BE SEEN HERE, A Man that beats out Nicholas the Diver ! "Arrah, Ned, jewel," siz I, "does this mane your humble sarvint ? " "Sorra one else," siz he. So I makes no more ado, than with a hop, skip, and jump, gets over to the captain, who was now talkin' to a yallow fellow that was afther starin' me out ov counte "And what is it, avick ?" siz İ. 66 115 Why, Darby," siz he, "I'm after houldin' a wager last night with this gintleman, for all the worth ov my ship, that you'll shwim against any shwimmer in the world; and, Darby, if you don't do that I'm a gone man.' "Augh, give us your fist," siz I; "did you ever hear ov the sons ov the sod desavin' any man in the European world yet-barrin' themselves? "Well, Darby," siz he, "I'll give you a hundred dollars; but, Darby, you must be to your word, and you shall have another hundred." So saying, he brought me down into the cellar; but, my jewel, I didn't think for the life ov me to see such a wondherful place; nothin' but goold every way I turned, and Darby's own sweet face in twenty places. I was amost ashamed to ax the gintleman for the dollars. But siz I to myself agen, "The gintleman has too much money; I suppose he does be throwin' it into the sae, for I often I heard the sae was richer than the land, so well take it, anyhow." may as "Now, Darby," siz he, "here's the dollars for ye." But, my jewel, it was only a bit ov paper he was handin' me. 66 Arrah, none of thricks upon thravellers," siz I; "I had betther nor that, and many more of them, melted in the sae; give me what won't wash out of my pocket." "Why, Darby," siz he, "this is an ordher on a marchant for the amount." 66 Captain," siz he, "the deck is crowded; I had to block up the gangway to prevint any more from coming in to see Darby. Bring him up, or as sure as a gun the ship 'ill be sunk." "Come up, Darby," siz the captain, smilin' wonderful pleasant at myself. When I got up, sure enough, I couldn't help starin'; such crowds ov fine ladies and yallow gintlemen never was seen before in any ship. At last the day came that I was to stand the tug. I saw the captain lookin' very often at me. At last "Darby," siz he, "are you any way cow'd? The fellow you have to shwim agenst can shwim down watherfalls an' cathharacts." "Can he, avick?" siz I; "but can he shwim up agenst them ? An' who shou'd come up while I was tawkin' to the captain but the chap I was to shwin with, and heard all I sed. Och! his eyes grew as big as two oysther shells. Then the captain called me aside. "Darby," siz he, "do you put on this green jacket an' white throusers, that the people may betther extinguish you from the other chap." With all hearts, avick," siz I, "green for everDarby's own favourite colour the world over; but where am I goin' to, captain." "To the shwimmin' place, to be shure," siz he. "Here's at you, my hearty," siz I," and the de'il take the hindmost." I was then inthroduced in due form to the shwimmer. I looked at him from head to foot. He was so tall that he could eat bread and butther over my head-with a face as yallow as a kite's foot." "Where are we goin' to shwim to?" siz I, though, if all was known, I felt myself rightly nonplushed at the same time. But never a word he answered. "Are you bothered, neighbour?" siz I to him again, mighty stiff. "I reckon I'm not," siz he, as chuff as a bear. "Well, then," siz I," why didn't you answer your betthers? What id ye think iv we swum to Keep Cleer or the Keep ov Good Hope? "I reckon neither," siz he, agen, eyein' me as iv I was goin' to pick his pockets. So off we set through the crowds ov ladies and gintlemen. Such cheerin' an' wavin' ov hats never was seen even at Dan's enthry into Dublin; an' then the row of purty girls laughin'. To be shure, no one cou'd be lookin' to the ground, an' not be lookin' at them, till at last I was thript up by a big lump ov iron stuck fast in the ground, with a big ring to it. "Whoo! Darby," siz I, makin' a hop an' a crack o' my fingers, "you're not down yet." I turned round to look at what thript me. "What d'ye call that?" siz I to the captain, who was at my elbow. 66 "Not in the laste," siz he; "it's only to fasten boats to." "Maybee, you'd give it to a body," siz I. An' welkim, Darby," siz he, " it's yours." "Good luck to your honour, sir," siz I, "it's my poor father that will pray for you. When I left home, the crathur hadn't as much as an anvil but what was sthreeled away by the agint-bad look to him. This will be jist the thing that'll match him; he can tie the horse to the ring, while he forges on the other part. Now, will ye obleege me by gettin' a couple ov chaps to lay it on my shouldher when I get into the wather, and I won't have to be comin' back for it afther I shake hands with this fellow." Bedad, the chap turned from yallow to white when he heard me say this; an' siz he to the gintleman that was walkin' by his side"I reckon I'm not fit for the shwimmin' to-day -I don't feel myself." "An' murdher in Irish, if you're yer brother, can't you send him for yourself, an' I'll wait here till he comes. Here man, take a dhrop of this before ye go. Here's to your betther health, an' your brother's into the bargain." So I took off my glass, and handed him another; but the never a dhrop ov it he'd take. No force, avick," siz I, "maybee you think there's poison in it"-an' takin' another glass myself-" well, here's good look to us once more. An' when will ye be able for the shwim, avick?" siz 1, mighty complisant. "I reckon in another week,” siz he. So we shook hands and parted. The poor fellow went home-took the fever-then began to rave— "Shwim up catharacts!-shwim to the Keep of Good Hope!-shwim to Keep Clear!-shwim with an anchor on his back! never do for me." Oh! oh! oh! that'll I now thought it best to be on the move; so I gathered up my winners, and here I sit under Why, Darby," says he, "that's half an anchor." my own hickory threes, as indepindent as any ye any use for it ? "siz I. "Have Yankee. AND IVANHOE. REBECCA (SIR WALTER SCOTT, born at Edinburgh, August 15, 1771. Educated at High School and College. Best known as author of the "Waverley Novels." After a life of much vicissitude he expired at Abbotsford, September 21, 1832.] FOLLOWING With wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protec tion of the large ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could witness part of what was passing without the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were making for the storm. "The skirts of tho wood seem lined with archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark shadow." "Under what banner?" asked Ivanhoe. "Under no ensign of war which I can observe," answered Rebecca. "A singular novelty," muttered the knight, "to advance to storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed! Seest thou who they be that act as leaders ?" "A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most conspicuous," said the Jewess; "he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to assume the direction of all around him." "Something resembling a bar of iron, and a doubtless, the other side of the castle is also padlock painted blue on the black shield." assailed. They appear even now preparing to advance." "A fetterlock and shacklebolt azure," said Ivanhoe; "I know not who may bear the device, but well I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thou not see the motto ?" "Scarce the device itself at this distance," replied Rebecca; "but when the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as I tell you." Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements. "And I must lie here like a bedridden monk," "Seem there no other leaders ?" exclaimed the exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while the game that gives anxious inquirer. me freedom or death is played out by the hand of others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked by the archers beneath-look out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to the storm." With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath. fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his single arm-his sword is broken-he snatches an axe from a yeoman-he presses Front-de-Bœuf with blow on blow-the giant stoops and totters, like an oak under the steel of the woodman—he falls-he falls!” "Front-de-Boeuf ?" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "Front-de-Boeuf!" answered the Jewess; "his men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty "What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again de- Templar; their united force compels the champion to manded the wounded knight. pause-they drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls." The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" said Ivanhoe. Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them." "That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers be." "I see him not," said Rebecca. "Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; " does he blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?" "He blenches not! he blenches not!" said Rebecca. "I see him now; he leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbacan, They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers-they rush in-they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. It is the meeting of two fierce tides-the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse winds!" She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a sight so terrible. "Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. Look again; there is now less danger." Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, "Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife-Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, "He is down!-he is down!" 66 They have-they have!" exclaimed Rebecca, "and they press the besieged hard upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavour to ascend upon the shoulders of each other-down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads; and as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the assault. Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren?" 'Think not of that," said Ivanhoe; "this is no time for such thoughts. Who yield?-who push their way ?" "The ladders are thrown down," replied Rebecca, shuddering; "the soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed reptiles—the besieged have the better." "Saint George strike for us!" exclaimed the knight; "do the false yeomen give way?" "No!" exclaimed Rebecca, "they bear themselves right yeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge axe-the thundering blows which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of the battlestones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion—he regards them no more than if they were thistledown or feathers." "By Saint John of Acre," said Ivanhoe, rising himself joyfully on his couch, "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed!" "The postern gate shakes," continued Rebecca; "it crashes-it is splintered by his blows-they rush in-the outwork is won-they hurl the defenders from the battlements-they throw them into the moat! Oh, men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer!" "The bridge—the bridge which communicates with the castle-have they won that pass?" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "No," replied Rebecca; "the Templar has "Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear destroyed the plank on which they crossed-few lady's sake, tell me which has fallen? "The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again shouted with joyful eager ness-" But no-but no!-he is on foot again, and of the defenders escaped with him into the castlethe shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the others. Alas! I see it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle." |