'D'ye take me fer a dialect?
Thirty-five mile from Cape Clear, an' fourteen days from Boston Light.
Sufferin' Christianity, 'tis a record, an' by the same token I've a mother to Skibbereen!' Think av ut! The gall av um! But ye see he could niver keep things sep'rate.
"The crew was mostly Cork an' Kerry men, barrin' one Marylander that wanted to go back, but they called him a mutineer, an' they ran the ould _Marilla_ into Skibbereen, an' they had an illigant time visitin' around with frinds on the ould sod fer a week.

Thin they wint back, an' it cost 'em two an' thirty days to beat to the Banks again.

'Twas gettin' on towards fall, and grub was low, so Counahan ran her back to Boston, wid no more bones to ut." "And what did the firm say ?" Harvey demanded.
"Fwhat could they?
The fish was on the Banks, an' Counahan was at T-wharf talkin' av his record trip east! They tuk their satisfaction out av that, an' ut all came av not keepin' the crew and the rum sep'rate in the first place; an' confusin' Skibbereen wid 'Queereau, in the second.

Counahan the Navigator, rest his sowl! He was an imprompju citizen!" "Once I was in the Lucy Holmes," said Manuel, in his gentle voice.
"They not want any of her feesh in Gloucester.

Eh, wha-at?
Give us no price.