“Shure, ’tis no desarvin’ o’ pity yez be!” Mike informed them. “But ’tis no haythens we arre. B’gorra, Oil bet yez’ll think twoice afore yez arre afther buttin’ in an’ staylin’ o’ Yankee sailormins’ ’ile ag’in!”
It was no easy matter to extricate the barbed iron from the fellow’s thigh and Mike was no gentle surgeon and the man’s agonized howls, as the bo’sun cut away the flesh and drew out the iron must have made shivers run down the spines of those on the brig. Carrying the two wounded raiders to the shack, Mike and his men rendered rough first aid and gave no heed to what was taking place on the brig until one of the boat steerers gave a warning shout. Leaving the wounded men, all rushed out to see three boats leaving the brig and heading towards the shore.
“Glory be!” cried Mike. “’Tis more av the same med’cine they do be afther wantin’! An’ b’gorra, ’tis thot same they’ll be afther gettin’. Come on, yez spalpeens. Shure it’ll take more than twenty av yez to bate foive Yanks!”
Considering that two of his men were Portuguese, Mike’s use of the term “Yankees” was rather amusing, but no one noticed it, and indeed, the New Bedford Portuguese considered themselves as much Americans as did Mike himself.
Again seizing their weapons, the whalemen prepared to greet the invaders with a warm reception. But as they approached the water-side two of the men in the forward boat dropped their oars, sprang to their feet and, seizing rifles, fired point-blank at the advancing whalemen. It was lucky for Mike and his men that the Portuguese were poor shots and that their sudden motions rocked the boat; but as it was, the bullets sang harmlessly over the defenders’ heads.
Neither Mike nor his men were foolhardy enough to attempt to resist firearms with their weapons, and judging discretion the better part of valor, they retreated towards the hut, while the raiders maintained an intermittent fusillade of bullets. Suddenly there was a dull thud, a sharp cry from Mike and the bo’sun crumpled up and fell to the ground.
Seizing him by the arms, his men were about to drag him to safety when he jerked himself free and rose unsteadily to his feet.
“Bad cess to thim!” he roared. “’Tis me foine lig they’re afther sp’ilin’ entoirely! An’ thot costin’ av sivinty-foive bucks! B’gorra, they’ll be afther payin’ fer it or me name’s not Mike O’Malley!”