Poor Tom! when I
called to mind what tricks he used to play me--how he used to borrow my
money and never pay me--and how he used to thrash me and make me obey
him, because he was my eldest brother--I shed a torrent of tears at his
loss; and then I reflected how miserable my poor mother must be, and I
cried still more.
"What's the matter, spooney?" said O'Brien, coming up to me. "Who has
been licking you now?"
"O, nobody," replied I; "but my eldest brother Tom is dead, and I have
no other."
"Well, Peter, I dare say that your brother was a very good brother; but
I'll tell you a secret. When you've lived long enough to have a beard to
scrape at, you'll know better than to make a fuss about an elder
brother. But you're a good, innocent boy just now, so I won't thrash you
for it. Come, dry your eyes, Peter, and never mind it. We'll drink his
health and long life to him, after supper, and then never think any more
about it."
I was very melancholy for a few days; but it was so delightful running
down the Portuguese and Spanish coasts, the weather was so warm, and the
sea so smooth, that I am afraid I forgot my brother's death sooner than
I ought to have done; but my spirits were cheered up, and the novelty of
the scene prevented me from thinking. Every one, too, was so gay and
happy, that I could not well be otherwise. In a fortnight, we anchored
in Gibraltar Bay, and the ship was stripped to refit. There was so much
duty to be done, that I did not like to go on shore.
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