Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil BlasLever, Charles
General
Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas
Lever, Charles
Ireland -- Fiction
They continued to converse as they moved away, but their words only
reached me in broken, unconnected sentences. From all I could glean,
however, I was in company with one of enormous personal strength and
a most reckless intrepidity. At last, all was still; not a sound to be
heard on any side; and my companion, leaning forward, said, "Come, my
lad, pull me out a short distance into the offing; we shall soon see a
light to guide us!"
In calm, still water I could row well. I had been boat-boy to the priest
at all his autumn fishing excursions on the Westmeath lakes, so that I
acquitted myself creditably, urged on, I am free to confess, by a very
profound fear of the large figure who loomed so mysteriously in the
stern. For a time we proceeded in deep silence, when at last he said,
"What vessel do you belong to, boy?"
"I was never at sea, sir," replied I.
"Not a sailor! How comes it, then, you can row so well?"
"I learned to row in fresh water, sir."
"What are you? How came you to be here to-night?"
"By merest chance, sir. I had no money to pay for a bed. I have neither
home nor friends. I have lived, by holding horses, and running errands,
in the streets."
"Picking pockets occasionally, I suppose, too, when regular business was
dull!"
"Never!" said I, indignantly.
"Don't be shocked, my fine fellow," said he, jeeringly; "better men than
ever you 'll be have done a little that way. I have made some lighter
this evening myself, for the matter of that!"
This confession, if very frank, was not very reassuring; and so I made
no answer, but rowed away with all my might.
"Well!" said he, after a pause, "luck has befriended me twice to-night;
and sending you to sleep under that wall was not the worst turn of the
two. Ship your oars there, boy, and let us see if you are as handy a
surgeon as you are a sailor! Try and bind up these wounded fingers of
mine, for they begin to smart with the cold night air."
"Wait an instant," cried he; "we are safe now, so you may light this
lantern;" and he took from his pocket a small and most elegantly
fashioned lantern, which he immediately lighted.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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