‘I fetched out a howl of joy, and ran for him. I remember he just turned his head, and all he said was: “Haven’t got a pair of breeches to lend a chap, have you?” Seems he’d been in his berth when the ship struck, and the lower end of his pyjamas had sprung and cut adrift in swimming, and left him in pale pink above, and another kind of a pale pink below. Being a tidy sort of a cuss, he was a good piece annoyed, so I reckoned we had better get right along with the prospecting, and it might be we should run on that nether end. However, we didn’t, and presently, as we were a good bit stretched with swimming against the tide, we lay up under a sand hillock and had considerable sleep. I guess it might have been an hour or so after dawn, when I was woke by a curious screechy sort of a noise. As soon as I got my ears under weigh, I found it panned out something like, “Bedad! ye divils, begorra, be aisy, bejabbers!”--seemed kind of Irish. I rolled over from sleeping inland, and, by the holy poker, within fifty yards of where we had slept, washed up high and dry by the tide, which had turned in the night and was then about full, was a barr’l with a head on it, and out of that head was just pouring the thickest kind of Irish. A man could see that the inside of that barr’l was yearning to have some sort of consideration paid to it. I roused up Torin, and we went down quietly, and inspected the cask from behind. It was a very nice barr’l--a butter barr’l--and I judge about a third full of butter, and may be two-thirds full of Kinjan; and the funny thing was that the poor coon had been washed up stuck fast in that barr’l with his head turned out to sea, so as he couldn’t suspicion we were around, and he was waltzing into creation with the finest language, and the air was real stiff with cussing. Well, I guess we laughed some, though we were tarnation glad to see him,--that is, I laughed, and Torin stood there stroking his beard, with the nearest approach to a grin I ever saw on him. The laughing just drove Kinjan mad, and he wrenched round with a mighty wriggle, and when he saw us he fairly surpassed himself, cussing us up and down, beginning with our boot laces--which were mighty scarce, by the way. His remarks were not worth repeating. ‘When he had dried up, owing to a trickle of butter dripping from his head into his mouth,--he was buttery all over,--Torin said, “Got any bread with you?” That set him off again, but he toned down mighty quick, and ended up by saying quite quietly: ‘“Take me out of this, and be d----d to ye, ye leather-headed sons of bottle-washers!” and then he fainted. So we took him out, and hung him over the cask, and sluiced water over him, and presently he came to, ca’m, but pretty yallow.