“‘Thrue for you, Captain darlint,’ says I--I called him darlint, and made free with him, you see, bekase disthress makes us all equal--’thrue for you, Captain jewel--God betune uz and harm, I own no man any spite’--and, throth, that was only thruth. Well, the last bishkit was sarved out, and, by gor, the _wather itself_ was all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowld. Well, at the brake o’ day the sun riz most beautifully out o’ the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as chrystal. But it was only the more cruel upon us, for we wor beginnin’ to feel _terrible_ hungry; when all at wanst I thought I spied the land. By gor, I thought I felt my heart up in my throat in a minit, and ‘Thunder an’ turf, Captain,’ says I, ‘look to leeward,’ says I. “‘What for?’ says he. “‘I think I see the land,’ says I. “So hes ups with his bring-’em-near (that’s what the sailors call a spy-glass, sir), and looks out, and, sure enough, it was. “‘Hurrah!’ says he, ‘we’re all right now; pull away, my boys,’ says he. “‘Take care you’re not mistaken,’ says I; ‘maybe it’s only a fog-bank, Captain darlint,’ says I. “‘Oh no,’ says he; ‘it’s the land in airnest.’ “‘Oh, then, whereaboats in the wide world are we, Captain?’ says I; ‘maybe it id be in _Roosia_, or _Proosia_, the Garmant Oceant,’ says I. “‘Tut, you fool,’ says he, for he had that consaited way wid him, thinkin’ himself cleverer nor any one else--‘tut, you fool,’ says he, ‘that’s _France_,’ says he. “‘Tare an ouns,’ says I, ‘do you tell me so? and how do you know it’s France it is, Captain dear?’ says I. “‘Bekase this is the Bay o’ Bishky we’re in now,’ says he. “‘Throth, I was thinkin’ so myself,’ says I, ‘by the rowl it has; for I often heerd av it in regard of that same; and, throth, the likes av it I never seen before nor since, and, with the help of God, never will.’ “Well, with that, my heart began to grow light; and when I seen my life was safe, I began to grow twice hungrier nor ever; so says I, ‘Captain jewel, I wish we had a gridiron.’ “‘Why, then,’ says he, ‘thunder an’ turf,’ says he, ‘what puts a gridiron into your head?’ “‘Bekase I’m starvin’ with the hunger,’ says I. “‘And, sure, bad luck to you,’ says he, ‘you couldn’t eat a gridiron,’ says he, ‘barrin’ you were a _pelican_ O’ _the wildherness_,’ says he. “‘Ate a gridiron!’ says I. ‘Och, in throth, I’m not such a gommoch all out as that, anyhow. But, sure, if we had a gridiron we could dress a beefstake,’ says I. “‘Arrah! but where’s the beefstake?’ says he. “‘Sure, couldn’t we cut a slice aff the pork?’ says I. “‘By gor, I never thought o’ that,’ says the captain. ‘You’re a clever fellow, Paddy,’ says he, laughin’. “‘Oh, there’s many a true word said in joke,’ says I. “‘Thrue for you, Paddy,’ says he. “‘Well, then,’ says I, ‘if you put me ashore there beyant (for we were nearin’ the land all the time), ‘and, sure, I can ax them for to lind me the loan of a gridiron,’ says I.