“And by all accounts, it 's the devil to ride,” resumed the old fellow;
“now it's the head down and the loins up, and then a roll to one side,
and then to the other, and a twist in the small of your back, as if it
were coming in two. Oh, by the good day! Dick gave me as bad as a stitch
in the side just telling me about it.”
“But where did he get his experience, Martin? I never heard of it
before,” said Daly.
“He was a fortnight in Egypt, sir,” said the old farmer. “He was in a
frigate, or a man-of-war of one kind or another, off--the devil a one o'
me knows well where it was, but there was a consul there, a son of one
of his father's tenants--indeed, ould French got him the place from the
Government--and when he found out that Dick was on board the ship, what
does he do but writes him an invitation to pass a week or ten days with
him at his house, and that he 'd show him some sport. 'We 've elegant
hunting,' says he; 'not foxes or hares, but a big bird, bigger nor a
goose, they call--'By my conscience, I 'll forget my own name next, for
I heard Dick tell the story at least twenty times.”
“Was it an ostrich?” said Tom.
“No; nor an oyster either, Mr. Conolly,” said the old fellow, who
thought the question was meant to quiz him.
“'T was an ibis, Martin,” cried Daly,--“an ibis.”
“The devil a doubt of it,--that's the name. A crayture with legs as
long as Mr. Beecham O'Reilly's, and a way of going--half-flying,
half-walking--almost impossible to catch; and they hunt him on
dromedaries. Dick liked the notion well, and as he was a favorite on
board, he got lave for three days to go on shore and have his fun;
though the captain said, at parting, 'It's not many dromedaries you'll
see, Dick, for the Pasha has them all up the country at this time.' This
was true enough; sorra a bit of a camel or dromedary could be seen for
miles round. But however it was, the consul kept his word, and had one
for Dick the next morning,--a great strapping baste, all covered with
trappings of one kind or other; elegant shawls and little hearthrugs all
over him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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