It was a little before the dawn of a July mornin’ many year ago, when Jimmy Murphy, a thin, spare man that kept the enthrance gates of the bridge of Watherford, at the County Kilkenny side, was roused out of a sound sleep by a terrible clatther.

He jumped up off his bed an’ came out of the toll-house rubbin’ his eyes, an’ the first thing he caught a glimpse of was the flash of steel. There wasn’t much light in the sky, an’ it tuk little Jimmy the best part of a minute before he spied a horseman outside, who was runnin’ his swoord back and for’a’d along the bars of the gates just like a little scamp of a boy when he’s passin’ a set of railin’s wud a stick in his hand.

“Howld your row, will you?” shouts Jimmy at the horseman.

“Open! open! quick!” shouts the horseman back at him. “I’m in a desperate hurry, my good man.”

“Take it aisy!” says Jimmy. “I’m not hard of hearin’, thanks be to Heaven! What’s your business at this time of night?”

“I’m James the Second,” says the man on the horse, “an’ King Billy’s sogers are hot fut afther me.”

“Ah thin,” says Jimmy, undher his breath, “so ’tis to ‘dirty Shamus’ I’m spaykin’!”

“What’s that you’re muttherin’?” says King James.

“Naboclish!” says Jimmy Murphy.

“Thranslate that,” says King James, “for I’m a poor hand at the Irish.”

“So I’ve heard,” says Jimmy. “It manes God save the King.”

“Which King?” axes James the Second.

“Yerself, of coorse,” says Jimmy.

“If that’s your mind,” says King James, “you’d betther let me through at wance, for if the Orangemen catches me ’tis mince-mate they’ll make of me.”

“I’ll turn the lock for you,” says Jimmy, “wud a heart an’ a half; but what am I to say to the sogers when they comes up an’ axes me if you passed through these gates?”

“Tell ’em a lie, of coorse,” says King James.

“’Deed an’ I won’t, my good man,” says Jimmy.

“What!” says James the Second. “Not tell a lie to save a king!”

“No,” says Jimmy; “nor to save my own immortal sowl would I say a word that wasn’t gospel thruth, on the face of it.”

“Thin what’s to be done?” says King James. “Couldn’t you tell ’em a white lie if your conscience won’t stretch to a black wan?”

“Well,” says Jimmy, “I might tell a weeny wan on a pinch. I have it!” says he, for the little man had as many twists an’ turns in him as a corkscrew. “There’s a small private enthrance at the side of the gate here, wud just room enough for a man to pass through, an’ if you gets off your horse I’ll let you in by this private enthry, an’ then I can go outside meself an’ lade the baste in by the big gate, an’, of coorse, I can tell the Orangemen wud an aisy conscience that you didn’t come through the main enthrance.”

“Begor,” says King James, “if I had a hundhred ginerals as full of sthrategy as yerself ’tisn’t here I’d be this blessed an’ holy night. What’s your name?” says he.

“Jimmy Murphy,” says the little man, puttin’ the kay to his mouth an’ blowin’ some crumbs of dirt out of it.

“I’ll not forget it,” says King James; an’ wud that he jumps off his horse an ties the reins to wan of the bars.

Then Jimmy went to the little wicket an began to feel for the kayhole in the darkness. “You’ll have to stoop here,” says he, “or you’ll knock the crown off your head.”

“Begor,” says King James, “’tis wudout a crown I am. I rode away in such a hurry that I clane forgot it, an’ I have no doubt the Orangemen have made a futball of it by this an’ kicked it into the Boyne water.”

“An’ is it from the Boyne you’re afther comin’?” axes Jimmy, humourin’ the kay in the lock.

“’Tis,” says King James. “I’m afther ridin’ at a full gallop straight from the battle of the Boyne.”

“An’ are you afther losing the battle?” axes Jimmy.

“I am, bad luck to it!” says King James.

“I’m sorry for your throuble,” says Jimmy, for although he wasn’t over partial to James the Second, still he couldn’t help feelin’ for him because of his belongin’ to the ould faith, an’ moreover bein’ a namesake.

“Well you’d best come through, anyhow,” says he, openin’ the little gate by main force, for the hinges wor mighty rusty.

“You ought to put a dhrop of sweet oil on them hinges,” says King James, settin’ his teeth an’ entherin’ on the bridge. “They’re in want of moisture,” says he, wud a laugh, “as much as my own throat, an’ that’s rusty enough this minute. Have you a taste of anything handy, Jimmy?”

“Well,” says the little man, “I think there’s a small dhrop of rum in a bottle in the toll-house—if that’s to your likin’.”

“Anything is in saison now,” says the King, smackin’ his lips, “though I’m partly a teetotaller.”

So Jimmy went into the toll-house and brought out a small black bottle an’ handed it to King James.

“I’ll go out an’ lade in the horse,” says he, “while you’re clearin’ the cobwebs out of your throat,” an’ sayin’ the words he went out to the horse, which was all covered wud foam an’ sweat, an’ he led the poor baste in by the big enthrance-gate. Then he closed the gate afther him, an’ King James walked over to the horse an’ handed Jimmy back his bottle.

“Good-bye now, Jimmy,” says the King, mountin’ into the saddle, “an’ I’ll laive it to yerself how to put King Billy’s sogers off the scent; an’ if ever I comes into my rights again I’ll make a mimber of Parlyment of you.”

“I’ll do my best, you may depind,” says Jimmy.

“Good-bye, again,” says King James, “for the best of frinds must part.”

“Stop a minute, my good man!” says Jimmy. “You’re forgettin’ something.”

“I know what you’re dhrivin’ at,” says King James, “but I haven’t got any small change about me.”

“Is it a bribe you think I wants?” says Jimmy, nearly losin’ his temper, for ’tis a proud little man in his way he was, though his wages worn’t very handsome. “Do you think,” says he, catchin’ a grip of the bridle, “that I’d soil my hands wud your dirty money except what was due to me in a way of business?”

“An’ what is it you requires?” axes King James.

“The toll,” says Jimmy, as short as you plaize.

“Is this a toll-bridge?” says King James.

“You know well it is,” says Jimmy.

“An’ what would you say, my fine man,” says King James, “if I wor to give your fist a smack of my swoord an’ gallop across the bridge?”

“I’d say you worn’t the first king that broke the law,” says Jimmy.

Begor, that answer staggered James the Second, an’ says he, “How much is the toll?”

“Sixpence ha’penny to you,” says Jimmy, “an’ a good riddance at the money.”

“How dar’ you spake like that, you bla’guard?” says the King, hotly.

“Oh don’t let us be argufyin’ or squabblin’,” says Jimmy, “or ’tis down atop of you King Billy’ll be.”

Faix, James the Second cooled down all of a sudden at the mention of King Billy, so he puts his hand in his throuser’s pocket and says he,—

“How do you make it sixpence ha’penny?—’tis a most onnathural charge!”

“Sixpence for the horse, an’ a ha’penny for the man,” says Jimmy. “That’s the rate by special Act of Parlyment.”

“I thought ye passed man an’ horse for sixpence,” says King James.

“So we do,” says Jimmy, “if the rider sticks to his saddle.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no use in hagglin’ about it,” says King James, “though I regard the ha’penny as extortion.”

“Divil a use of arguin’,” says Jimmy, “an’ I despises your slandhers.”

So the King hands over the sixpence ha’penny, copper by copper, as if he wor partin’ wud his life’s blood, for ’tis very near in his daylin’s he was.

“Maybe you’d like a resate for this,” says Jimmy, who was fairly disgusted wud the way the King grumbled an’ growled over a few ha’pence.

“You can send it afther me to France,” says James the Second, not seein’ it was humbuggin’ him Jimmy was, an’ wud that he dug his spurs into his horse an’ away he galloped over the bridge.

“Ah!” says Jimmy, lookin’ afther him as he rethrated, “’tis no wondher they call you ‘dirty Shamus’! However,” says he, “I’ve passed my word to put King Billy off the scent, an’ Jimmy Murphy never broke a promise to man or mortial.”

An’ puttin’ King James’s coppers into his pocket, Jimmy went back into the toll-house, an’ was soon fast asleep.

About four o’clock—broad daylight, of coorse—he was started out of a dhrame of himself sittin’ in Parlyment wud a crown on his head, by a tunderin’ rattle of horse hoofs; an’ goin’ out from the toll-house he saw a great sighth of horse-sogers, all dhressed in yellow clothes, pressin’ up to the gates.

“Open, quick!” cried a big man, wud a crown on the back of his poll, givin’ the bars a backhanded wipe of his swoord.

“What’s your business, if you plaize?” says Jimmy. “We don’t open here till six o’clock, unless on an emergency.”

“Do you know who I am?” says the big chap on the horse.

“I partly guess you’re King William the Orangeman,” says Jimmy.

“That’s a good guess,” says the horseman, “for that’s my name an’ occupation sure enough, an’ I give you my word it’s a rale case of emergency that brings me here. Tell me,” says he, “did James the Second pass through this gate this mornin’ or last night?”

“He did not,” says Jimmy.

“Maybe,” says King William, “he climbed over it.”

“No, nor undher it aither,” says Jimmy.

“Well, that puzzles me,” says King William, “for ’twas only at Kilmacow beyant we lost the scent of him, an’ I made sure ’twas for Watherford he was flyin’.”

“Perhaps,” says little Jimmy, “’tis to New Ross he went.”

“Perhaps,” says King William, “but I have my doubts of it. Are you sure he didn’t pass through this gate?”

“Sartin,” says Jimmy.

“Well then,” says King William, “he must aither have gone on to New Ross or swum across the river.”

“Wisha!” says Jimmy, fearin’ King James’s fat would be in the fire if the Orangemen tuk it into their heads to hunt for him in Watherford. “Wisha! how could an exhausted man swim three-quarthers of a mile in the cowld of the airly mornin’?”

“Maybe,” says King William, “he made a raft an’ crossed on it.”

“A raft!” says Jimmy. “I suppose you think he’s a descindant of Robinson Crusoe?”

“There’s no knowin’ what thricks he’d be up to,” says King Billy. “Anyhow, I have my notions that ’tis in the city of Watherford we’ll nab him; but to be on the safe side, I’ll divide my min.”

Begor, Jimmy feared it was all over with King James thin, an’ he was sore vexed to think that all his sthrategy had gone for nothing so far, an’ ’twas more aiger than ever he was now to put the sogers off the thrack.

“Come here, Rawhead!” says King William to a big lump of an Orange throoper. “Take a hundhred min wud you into the city, an’ I’ll go on to New Ross wud the rest. Search every public-house for him,” says he, “an’ every ship at the quay.”

Then King William blew a few blasts out of a silver-mounted bugle, an’ the min divided themselves into two lots.

“Now thin,” says he to Jimmy Murphy, “throw open the gates, an’ let Captain Rawhead an’ his throopers pass!”

“You must pay full toll, you know, before I puts a kay in the lock,” says Jimmy, thinkin’ that the big sum of money might frighten the Orangemen off.

“How much do you make it?” says King William.

“It’s sixpence a horse,” says Jimmy—“a heavy charge, but there’s a special Act of Parlyment for it.”

“That’s two pound ten,” says King William. “Will you take my note of hand for the amount?”

“I won’t,” says Jimmy, “for I’m not allowed to dale in anything but coin of the realm.”

“You can charge it agen the Naational Debt,” says King William. “I’m rather short of change at the moment.”

“That seems to be a general complaint,” says Jimmy.

“’Tis,” says King William. “Are you agreeable? I give you my word we charges everything agen the Naational Debt.”

“I’m only a sarvint,” says Jimmy, “an’ my ordhers are to take nothing but money, an’ good money too.”

“’Tis a rock of obstinacy you are,” says King William; “but I’ll thry what I can do” says he, for he was a perseverin’ man at any rate, an’ had his mind fixed on gettin’ his follyers through the gates at any sacrifice.

So he rode his horse about through the sogers, an’ between ’em all they made up the two pound ten, an’ King William passed the money through the bars of the gate into Jimmy’s fist.

Of coorse poor Jimmy hadn’t a word more to say then, so he tuk his kays out of his pocket, an’ wud a sore heart he opened the gates for Captain Rawhead an’ his hundhred min.

“At any rate,” says he to himself, “I’ve dodged King Billy about for a long spell, an’ if poor James the Second has any gumption in him he’ll be half-way down the river by the time the sogers gets into the city.”

Well, when King William had galloped away on the road to New Ross an’ Captain Rawhead had started to cross the bridge, poor Jimmy went back into the toll-house an’ fell fast asleep again. He was awoke this time by a man shoutin’ into his ear,—

“Jimmy! Jimmy, avic! get up!”

Little Jimmy started off the stretcher he was dozin’ on, an’ rubbed his eyes, an’ who did he see standin’ alongside him but an ould frind of his, Mick Gorman by name, that kept the “Royal Oak” in the city of Watherford!

“Good morra, Mick,” says Jimmy; “an’ what brings you here at this time of day?”

“Begor, wan ’ud think ’twas a dormouse you wor,” says Mick, “for ’tis bawlin’ at you I’ve been for the past five minutes, an’ every minute is worth its weight in goold now.”

“What time is it?” axes Jimmy, yawnin’.

“On the sthroke of five,” says Mick Gorman.

“Thin ’tis about an hour since the sogers went over the bridge. Did you see any Orangemen in the city?”

“Indeed an’ I did,” says Mick; “an’ ’tis by raison of that I’ve made such an airly visit to yerself.”

“Is that so?” says Jimmy.

“’Tis,” says Mick Gorman. “I must tell you,” says he, “how matthers stand, an’ then we’ll howld a council of war.”

“All right,” says Jimmy, “fire ahead, an I’ll keep listenin’.”

“Well,” says Mick, “about two hour ago I was woke out of bed by a double knock at the hall door, an’ puttin’ on my throwsers, I went downstairs an’ opened the premises. ‘I wants refreshment for man an’ baste,’ says a sthranger that was standin’ outside howldin’ a horse by the bridle. ‘Are you a bony fidy?’ says I. ‘I am,’ says he. ‘I’ve thravelled hundhreds of miles since I went to bed last.’ ‘All right,’ says I. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘I must ax you a queshthion first.’ ‘What’s that,’ says I. ‘Are you an Orangeman?’ says he. ‘Is it jokin’ you are?’ says I. ‘No,’ says he, ‘I’m in fair airnist.’ ‘Arrah! my good man,’ says I, ‘there was never wan of my breed or generation that ’ud have inthercourse wud an Orangeman except to take his money.’ ‘Very well,’ says the sthranger. ‘Thin I’ll tell you my name, if you’ll promise to keep it to yerself.’ ‘I’ll pass my word so far,’ says I. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘my name is King James the Second.’

“Begor, Jimmy,” says Mick Gorman, “I was sthruck all of a heap when I found ’twas the King of all England I was spaykin’ to, so says I, ‘If you’ll step into the parlour, Sir, I’ll attend to you meself as soon as I’ve put up the royal horse.’ So King James came in, an’ as soon as I’d given the horse a mash of bran and a few dabs of a wisp, I went into the parlour to the King. ‘I hope you’ll pardon me for keepin’ your Majesty standin’ at the door,’ says I. ‘Hush!’ says he. ‘Call me plain Misther Stuart, if you plaize, for no wan must know who I am at all. An’ if you’ll cook me a rasher an’ some eggs at wance I’ll feel obliged.’ So I makes off for the kitchen an’ got the fire lit an’ the rasher an’ the eggs cooked in a quarther of an hour, which is quick work I can tell you, Jimmy Murphy. Then I takes the male in to King James, an’ as soon as he had swallyed the grub he says: ‘Now I’m placin’ myself in your hands complately. I see you’re an honest man,’ says he.”

“How did he see that?” says Jimmy, intherruptin’ Mick.

“I suppose most kings is judges of characther,” says Mick Gorman.

“I hope he’s not a judge of noses,” says Jimmy, wud a grin; “for there’s ‘twenty per sint over proof’ marked on yours as plain as print.”

“Do you mane to insult me?” says Mick, lookin’ as black as a hearse-horse.

“Ah! it’s only my joke,” says Jimmy. “Sure there isn’t much to choose, from a gauger’s point of view, between your nose an’ my own.”

“Begor, I believe not,” says Mick Gorman, rubbin’ a brand new grog blossom on the left side of his nostril. “At any rate ’tis King James’s own words I’m afther tellin’ you, an’ you can believe me or not just as you like. ‘I see you’re an honest man,’ says the King of all England to me; ‘an’ the likes of you is as scarce as blackberries at this time of year. What I want you to do,’ says he, ‘is to get me aboord of a ship that’s sailin’ for France immajertly, an’ not to let a sowl know who I am. Can you do that?’ says he! ‘I think I can,’ says I, ‘for there’s a brother of mine the captain of a lugger, an’ he’ll be startin’ from the quay on the high wather.’ ‘When is that?’ says King James. ‘A thrifle before seven o’clock,’ says I. ‘That’ll do,’ says he, ‘an’ if you manages the job for me, I’ll make a Mimber of Parlyment of you when I comes into my rights again!’”

“Is that what he promised you?” says Jimmy.

“’Tis,” says Mick. “It’s his Majesty’s own words I’m tellin’ you. What makes you ax the queshtion?”

“Just for information,” says Jimmy—“but go on wud your story, Mick Gorman, M.P.”

“Well,” says Mick, “I tould King James I’d start for the quay at wance an’ make things right wud my brother Pat. So I put on my hat an’ I left the house. I walked up the quay a bit an’ what did I see but a whole parcel of Orange throopers comin’ through the gates of the bridge. They dhrew themselves up outside the gates, an’ I heard a big man that was at the head of ’em shout out: ‘Now boys, you know King William’s ordhers. Sarch every public-house for the vagabone an’ every ship at the quays.’ My heart went down into my boots at the words, for I knew who the ‘vagabone’ was. The big horse soger then shouts out again: ‘Now there are a hundhred of you here. Let fifty of you take the ships an’ fifty more the public-houses, an’ to save time, divide yourselves wance more into fives, for that’ll hasten matthers a dale. An’ to the fifty of ye that’s goin’ to sarch the ships, this is my ordhers: If ye don’t find him aboord any wan of ’em, line the ditches from top to bottom, an’ see that he doesn’t pass ye laither on!’”

“Line the ditches!” says Jimmy. “What did he mane by that?”

“I suppose he meant to line the quays,” says Mick Gorman; “but being an ignorant man that wasn’t brought up in a sayfarin’ place he thought a quay was a ditch.”

“Like enough,” says Jimmy. “What did you do then?”

“Begor,” says Mick, “I was nonplushed for a short spell, but I thought I’d best go aboord my brother’s lugger an’ arrange matthers there in case we could hit on a plan for smugglin’ King James aboord. So I walks aboord by the plank to my brother’s ship and roused him out of his bunk, and settled it all wud him about Misther Stuart in case we could pilot the cargo in safety through the town, an’ then I wint back to the ‘Royal Oak’ and towld everything to his Majesty.”

“Poor man, he was mighty sorrowful to hear the news I had for him about the Orangemen. ‘What’ll I do at all at all?’ he axes me. ‘I thought I could depind my life on Jimmy Murphy.’ ‘Jimmy Murphy!’ says I—a dacenter man never broke bread.” ‘So I thought meself,’ says King James, an’ with that he towld me all about you, an’ of coorse I blew a horn for you. ‘Poor Jimmy,’ says I, ‘never went back of his word, I’ll go bail; an’ ’tis the clever little man he is too.’ ‘What’ll we do at all at all?’ says King James, wringin’ his hands. ‘Can’t you think of any plan to get me safe aboord your brother’s boat?’ ‘Worse luck,’ says I, ‘’tis a poor hand I am on an emergency like this. I’m fairly bet.’ ‘How long do you think ’twill be,’ says King James, ‘before the sogers will make their way here?’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘there are at laiste thirty public-houses between this an’ the bridge, an’ ’tis like enough they’ll have a dhrop in aich house. It’s now about half-past four,’ says I. ‘I think we might safely calculate on them not gettin’ this far until about half-past six.’ ‘That’ll be just on the high wather,’ says King James. ‘I think the tide’ll run till seven,’ says I, ‘for my brother promised he wouldn’t take the stage off until the town clock sthruck seven.’ ‘I’ll tell you what you’ll do,’ says King James. ‘Run over as quick as you can to the other side of the bridge an’ send Jimmy Murphy here, for I have great confidence in the little man, an’ wud the help of goodness he’ll hit upon some plan to smuggle me through the sogers on the quay.’ ‘You’re right,’ says I to the King. ‘Jimmy is the man.’

“So that’s why you see me here now,” says Mick Gorman, fairly out of breath.

“Faix,” says Jimmy, “you’ve lost a dale of time as it is wud your rigmarole story; but no matther! I have a plan in my head already.”

“What is it?” axes Mick Gorman.

“That’s my business,” says Jimmy. “Now,” says he, “let you take charge of the bridge an’ open the big gate at six o’clock to the minute, an’ I’ll put my best fut forward for the ‘Royal Oak.’ Tell me, Mick,” says he, “does the big whisky puncheon stand in the middle of the shop still?”

“It does,” says Mick Gorman.

“How is it inside?” says Jimmy.

“There’s only about three gallon left in it.”

“Only three gallon!” says Jimmy, smackin’ his lips. “But that’s not I meant at all. I want to know what sort of a thing the inside of this whisky puncheon is.”

“It’s made to howld a hundhred and twenty gallon inside, of coorse,” says Mick Gorman.

“A hundhred and twenty gallon of whisky!” says Jimmy, liftin’ his hands an’ lookin’ spacheless. “Glory be to goodness! Why ’twould keep a man in the horrors for a year at laiste.”

“That depends!” says Mick Gorman, laughin’ hearty. “But between yerself an’ meself, Jimmy,” says he, “’tisn’t all whisky, of coorse, we gives ’em, or ’twould play the mischief wud their livers.”

“I know,” says Jimmy. “Eighty gallon of sperits an’ forty gallon of boilin’ wather an’ sugar-o’-candy makes the best public-house whisky, I’m tould.”

“Begor, wan ’ud think you wor in the public line all your life,” says Mick. “Who towld you we boiled the wather?”

“Sure it’s only naatural you would,” says Jimmy, “in ordher to melt the sugar-o’-candy. But you don’t seem to undherstand in the laiste what I mane about the big puncheon of yours. What I want to know is if there are any nails stickin’ out the ribs of it inside?”

“Nails stickin’ out!” says Mick. “’Tis aisy known now you worn’t born in the public business. Do you think ’tis like an empty sugar hogshead it is?”

“I didn’t think anything,” says Jimmy, a thrifle vexed. “I only axed for information.”

“Well,” says Mick Gorman, “the inside of it is as smooth as the barrel of a gun, if that’s what you’re dhrivin’ at.”

“That’ll do,” says Jimmy. “Now,” says he, “where do you keep your tool-chest?”

“You’ll find it undher the counther near the till,” says Mick. “The till is locked, of coorse.”

“I’ll remember that,” says Jimmy; an’ off he starts at a throt for the “Royal Oak,” leavin’ the landlord lookin’ afther him wud his mouth wide open like the slit of a post-office letther-box.

When he arrived at the “Royal Oak” he found King James sittin’ in the back parlour partly disthracted. Every noise the poor man heard he thought ’twas the Orangemen; but when his eyes fell on Jimmy Murphy he seemed greatly relieved in his mind.

“How was it at all, Jimmy,” says he, “that you let the vagabones through the gate?”

“There’s no use frettin’ over spilt milk,” says Jimmy. “The sogers are in the city, an’ the thing is to get you out of their grip, an’ not to be axin why I let ’em pass, isn’t it? Do you think I’m a match single-handed for a whole pack of dhragoons in full cry?”

“Of coorse not,” says King James. “Don’t heed my temper, Jimmy; for it’s in a bad state of mind altogether I am. Only save my life whatever you do, an’ I’ll not forget you when I come into my rights wance more.”

“I’ll do my best for you,” says Jimmy; “for I passed my word to you this mornin’—”

“An’ you wor never known to go back of your promise,” says King James, takin’ the words out of little Jimmy’s mouth.

“Never!” says Jimmy; “but there’s no time to be lost, blowin’ our own thrumpets.”

“I know that,” says King James; “an’ I’ll do anything you ordher me, Misther Murphy.”

“Very well,” says Jimmy. “Is there any wan up in the house yet?”

“Divil a wan,” says King James. “At laiste I didn’t hear a stir inside the house since Misther Gorman went out last.”

“’Tis the mischief to rouse servants in the mornin’,” says Jimmy; “but that’s all in our favour now. Come into the shop wud me an’ I’ll thry an’ thransmogrify you.”

“You won’t hurt me, I hope?” says King James, “for I was tendherly reared.”

“Naither hurt nor harm will come to you at my hands,” says Jimmy; “so thry and look a bit cheerful. Begor, ’twould frighten a horse from his oats if he saw what a long face you’re pullin’. Have heart, man! Have heart!”

“I will, Jimmy, I will,” says the King.

The pair of ’em then crossed the hall an’ went into the shop. There wor square holes cut in the top of aich shutther so there was a fair share of light in the shop.

“What’s that mystayrious bundle you have in your hands?” says King James to Jimmy, as they passed through the flap of the counther.

“A pair of pillows,” says Jimmy. “Haven’t you the sighth of your eyes?”

“Maybe ’tis goin’ to smother me you are,” says King James.

“Look here,” says Jimmy, “if you give me any annoyance wud foolish remarks like that I’ll throw up the job altogether. Do what I tell you and keep your tongue in your cheek, for time and tide waits for no man.”

“It’ll be high wather at seven,” says King James.

“Ay,” says Jimmy; “an’ for all the Kings in Europe it wouldn’t run a minute laither. Doesn’t that make you feel very small in yourself?”

“It does,” says King James.

“Well, sing small now an’ fetch me out a big tool-chest you’ll find undher the counther near the till,” says Jimmy. “I’m not puttin’ temptation in your road, for the till is double-locked.”

So the King did as he was towld, an’ Jimmy picked out a saw wud a taperin’ point, an’ mountin’ a high stool that stood alongside the big whisky puncheon he set to work. Bein’ a handy man it wasn’t long until he had sawn the lid off the puncheon. Then he threw the lid on the ground an’ jumped down afther it, King James gazin’ at him all the time as if he was in a dhrame.

“Hand me over that big copper measure there,” says he to King James, pointin’ to a three-gallon measure standin’ on the counther.

Of coorse the King did as he was towld, but he looked mighty onaisey, an’ says he, “What is it you’re up to at all, Misther Murphy?”

“I’ll tell you when I’m done,” says Jimmy; “but I can’t spake when I’m busy, so howld your whisht, if you plaize, James,” says he.

It tuk nearly ten minutes to dhraw off the whisky from the puncheon, an’ when the measure was full Jimmy turned to the King,—

“Now get up on the stool there and jump into the puncheon,” says he.

“Man alive!” says King James, “sure the fumes of it would knock me off my head complately.”

“Betther be knocked off your head than have your head knocked off,” says Jimmy. “Do what I tell you at wance if you have sense. Come look alive, James the Second,” says he, “or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.”

So the King never said a word, but mounted the stool and scrambled into the puncheon.

“It’s just about your height, isn’t it?” says Jimmy, workin’ away wud an auger on the lid of the puncheon.

“’Tis,” says King James, standin’ on his tip toes an’ lookin’ over the top the same as a cow peepin’ over a fence.

“Now,” says Jimmy, “make yourself comfortable about the head with these pillows, an’ you’ll be aboord ship in due time. I’m afther borin’ a lot of air-holes in the head of the puncheon so that you’ll be able to have plenty fresh air on the journey.”

An’ sayin’ the words Jimmy got up on the stool an’ dhragged the lid of the puncheon up wud him. He was a sthrong little man for his build, but it tuke a few heavy sighs out of him before he could fix the lid in its place.

“Mind your sconce now,” says he to King James; “for I’m going to hammer over your head.”

“Oh murdher!” says the King. “Did any one ever hear of the likes of this? ’Tis choke I will between want of air an’ the smell of the whisky.”

“’Tis thankful to Heaven you ought to be to have the chance of gettin’ dhrunk so chape,” says Jimmy.

“How do you feel when you’re gettin’ drunk?” says the King, his voice soundin’ very hollow from the puncheon.

“Grand!” says Jimmy. “Grand intirely; but gettin’ sober is the mischiefs own job.”

“I can’t hear you wud the noise of your hammer,” says the King, for Jimmy was hard at work fixin’ the lid nately in its place wud some nails.

“Howld your tongue!” says Jimmy. “I think I hear the thramp of horse-sogers in the sthreet outside. Now wan last word to you,” says the little man. “Whatever happens, or whatever inconvaynience you feel, don’t let there be a whimper out of you. ’Tis like enough you’ll soon be dead dhrunk an’ then you won’t feel any onaisiness until you’re gettin’ betther, but if you makes the slightest noise ’tis all up wud you. Good-bye now, James, an’ mind, not a stir or a word out of you!”

Just as Jimmy was done spaykin’, there was a thundherin’ knock at the hall door. “Bad scran to it!” says he, “they’ll be atop of us before the job is finished.” So he whips a lump of chalk out of his pocket, an’ he prents in big letthers on the puncheon,

“Pickled Pork for Ship’s Use only.”

Then he runs out to the door an’ opens it, rubbin’ his eyes as if he was just afther gettin’ out of bed.

There wor five men at the door, aich of ’em howldin’ a horse by the bridle, an’ Jimmy soon saw they wor about three parts screwed.

“What can I do for ye, gentlemen?” says he, bowin’ very politely.

“Is there any sthrangers lodgin’ in the house?” axes wan of the sogers that had a sthripe on the sleeve of his jacket.

“None lodgin’ here, worse luck!” says Jimmy. “Business is shockin’ bad. But won’t you step inside, sargeant?” says he. “Who is it you’re lookin’ for?”

“James the Second,” says the sargeant.

“Murdher!” says Jimmy. “Is he in these parts?”

“We’re towld so,” says the sargeant, steppin’ into the hall; “an’ me an’ my min is searchin’ the public-houses for him.”

“Dhry work, I’m sure,” says Jimmy, grinnin’ to himself.

“’Tis,” says the sargeant, though, poor man ’twas as much as he could do to stand study on his legs. “Do you keep a good dhrop here? I’m sick an’ tired of this wild-goose chase, an’ I’ll take your word for it that King James isn’t here, if the dhrink’s to my likin’.”

“Don’t take my word for anything,” says Jimmy; “but obey ordhers, an’ search the premises. Call in your men now an’ let ’em prod the beds an’ look up the chimbleys an’ down into the cellars, for I wouldn’t have it said that any man disobeyed ordhers on my account in this house.”

The fact of it was poor Jimmy was afeard to tell a downright lie, an’ of coorse he knew they’d never think of lookin’ for a King in a whisky puncheon.

Well, the sargeant called in two of his min an’ towld ’em to search the house from top to bottom, an’ when the min had started to go down into the cellar Jimmy took the sargeant into the shop an’ says he,—

“Do you see that three-gallon measure of malt there?” pointin’ to the copper standin’ on the flure near the big puncheon. “I’ll make yourself an’ your comrades a present of it if you does me a bit of a favour. Take a sniff of it before you makes up your mind,” says Jimmy, dhrawin’ the poor man to the measure just like the sarpint drew Eve to the apple-three.

“Great stuff intirely!” says the sargeant, suckin’ in his stomachful of the fumes. “I’ll do anything in raison for three gallon of that. What is it you want?”

“Well, you see that big cask of salt pork there?” puttin’ his hand agen the side of the puncheon. “I’ve sowld it to the captain of a little ship, an’ he sent me up word last night that it should be aboord before seven o’clock this mornin’. It’s just twenty minutes to the hour now, an’ I clane forgot last night to give ordhers about the cask, an’ all I wants your min to do is to take it down to the little ship for me. Is it a bargain?”

“It is,” says the sargeant. “Let us wet the conthract this minute.”

So Jimmy dipped a tumbler into the measure an’ passed it to the sargeant, who swallowed it as if it wor so much wather he was pourin’ down his throat.

Just as he was dhrainin’ the last dhrop in comes the sogers to the shop, an’ of course they had to confess they couldn’t find King James on the premises. The sargeant tould ’em of his bargain wud Jimmy, an’ ’twas right glad they wor when they heard of it; an’ they all sampled the stuff wud as much aise as the sargeant.

“Now,” says Jimmy, “we must lower the cask on to this little throlly here; an’ go to work gently, boys, or maybe some of the brine would find its way through the pores of the puncheon, an’ you’d have the captain of the vessel dockin’ me for short delivery.”

Well, the four men got the cask safely mounted on the little throlly an’ Jimmy opened the shop door.

“Here,” says he, “let wan of you stand at aich side of the cask to study it, an’ two more of you take howld of the rope.”

“I’ll tell you a betther an’ a quicker way,” says the sargeant. “Two of us can stand at aich side of the barrel an’ we’ll harness four horses on to the throlly. The other two men can remain here to keep shop for you, Misther Landlord, an’ we’ll be at the ship an’ back again for the three gallons before the clock will sthrike seven.”

“A great idaya!” says Jimmy, “an’ I’ll lock up the whisky while ye’re harnessin’ the horses.”

It was about a quarther to seven when they started from the “Royal Oak,” an’ in less than five minutes they were gallopin’ along the quay in grand style, until Jimmy cried “Halt!” as they came abreast of Pat Gorman’s lugger.

The fifty horse-sogers were by this time linein’ the quays, an’ wan of ’em had planted himself just outside Pat Gorman’s craft.

“Make way there for pickled pork!” shouted the sargeant, as the throlly dhrew up alongside the sentinel.

“Aisy a bit!” says the sentinel. “We have ordhers to examine everything that comes aboord.”

“This is only pork, man,” says the sargeant. “I’m afther examinin’ it meself;” for ’tis in dhread he was of any delay that would keep him from hurryin’ back to the three-gallon measure.

“In that case,” says the sentinel, “we’ll pass it along, sargeant; an’ what’s the manein’ of your convartin’ yourself into a thransport?”

“I’d think you’d best promise him a share of the whisky,” whispers Jimmy to the sargeant; “for ’tis a dacent man he is not to be delayin’ us wud the usual red-tape regulations.”

“All right,” says the sargeant “I’m agreeable.” An’ then he towld the sentinel all about the bargain he sthruck wid Jimmy Murphy.

“Here’s a sample of the stuff,” says Jimmy, offerin’ a flask of it to the sentinel. “An’ now, boys,” says he, turning to the sogers that wor on fut, “unload the pork and rowl the barrel aboord by the stage, for ’tis as near high wather as it well can be.”

Poor James the Second was in a dead sleep by this time, as Jimmy partly guessed he would be, so the unloadin’ of the cask from the throlly and the rowlin’ of it aboord the ship didn’t inconvaynience him in the laiste.

Of coorse Jimmy went aboord an’ whispered a few words on the quiet into Pat Gorman’s ears, an’ when the cask was safe an’ snug on the ship’s deck he shuk the skipper by the hand, an’ says he,—

“Don’t broach the pork until ye’re outside the harbour, for ’tis a tendher piece of mate.”

Thin, Jimmy and the sogers walked ashore and in no time the stage was taken off the lugger; an’ as the town clock was sthrikin’ seven Pat Gorman’s ship started out into the sthrame an’ was soon out of sighth behind Crummle’s Rock.

An’, wudout a word of a lie, that’s the way poor James the Second escaped from Watherford to France.