It was a scene of much confusion--the half-drunken boat's
crew _catching crabs_, and falling forward upon the others--those who
were quite drunk swearing they _would_ pull. "Lay on your oar, Sullivan;
you are doing more harm than good. You drunken rascal, I'll report you
as soon as we get on board."
"How the divil can I pull, your honour, when there's that fellow Jones
breaking the very back o' me with his oar, and he never touching the
water all the while?"
"You lie," cried Jones; "I'm pulling the boat by myself against the
whole of the larbard oars."
"He's rowing _dry_, your honour--only making bilave."
"Do you call this rowing dry?" cried another, as a sea swept over the
boat, fore and aft, wetting everybody to the skin.
"Now, your honour, just look and see if I ain't pulling the very arms
off me?" cried Sullivan.
"Is there water enough to cross the bridge, Swinburne?" said I to the
coxswain.
"Plenty, Mr Simple; it is but quarter ebb, and the sooner we are on
board the better."
We were now past Devil's Point, and the sea was very heavy: the boat
plunged in the trough, so that I was afraid that she would break her
back. She was soon half full of water, and the two after-oars were laid
in for the men to bale. "Plase your honour, hadn't I better cut free the
legs of them ducks and geese, and allow them to swim for their lives?"
cried Sullivan, resting on his oar; "the poor birds will be drowned else
in their own _iliment_."
"No, no--pull away as hard as you can.
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