them ashore myself before we sailed; and I knew of good friends in New York who would see to the little waifs, although I did not propose that any of the emigrants should know that an old bachelor purser was fool enough to pay for the passage of a couple of unknown Irish children.
We landed our cabin passengers, and the tender came alongside to take the steerage passengers to Castle Garden. I got the stewardess to bring out the children, and the two stood and watched every one get aboard the tender.
Just as the tender moved away, there was a wild shriek among the crowded passengers, and Mrs. O'Donnell flung her arms above her head and cried in the most heart-rending tone I ever heard:
"Oh, my babies! my babies!"
"Kape quiet, ye divil," hissed O'Donnell, grasping her by the arm. The terrible ten days' strain had been broken at last, and the poor woman sank in a heap at his feet.
"Bring back that boat," I shouted, and the tender came back.
"Come aboard here, O'Donnell."
"I'll not!" he yelled, shaking his fist at me.
"Bring that man aboard."
They soon brought him back, and I gave his wife over to the care of the stewardess. She speedily
