When a ship runs down more than two degrees of longitude in an hour, it does not take her long to go half round the world. The Flying Dutchman, as she flew along, was pursued by the demons of the stormvisible to the crew on board, although not to mortal eyes: some, with puffed-out cheeks, were urging her through the water; others mouthed and yelled; some kicked her stern in derision; others tumbled and curveted in the air above her—ever keeping pace with the vessel, jibing and jeering at their victory; for the Flying Dutchman no longer battled against the adverse elements, but at last had yielded to them. The Dutchmen cared little for the imps, they were used to them, and they smoked their pipes in silence, all but Vanderdecken; the mutiny of the men had put his pipe out.
On the second day they had passed Cape Horn without perceiving it; the wind veered more to the east, and they steered more to the northward. On the fourth evening, the sailor on the look-out at the bow called out "Land, hoh!" They steered right for it and entered a large bay; the anchor, in many parts not thicker than a pipe-stem, was dropped, the foresail clued up, and having first armed themselves, the seamen let the captain loose. Vanderdecken was as savage as a bear. He ran out with a pistol in each hand, but a pea-jacket was thrown over his head, and he was disarmed.
"Cowardly villains!" exclaimed the captain, as soon as the jacket was removed; "mutinous scoundrels—"
"We return to our duty, Captain Vanderdecken," replied the crew, "we will obey your orders. What shall we do first? Shall we mend the sails, or mend our clothes? Shall we darn our stockings, or go on shore for fresh water? Shall we caulk the ship, or set up the rigging? Speak, Captain Vanderdecken, you shall order us as you please."
"Tousend tyfels!" replied Vanderdecken, "go to——, all of you."
"Show us the way, captain, and we will follow you," replied the crew.
Gradually the captain's wrath was appeased; the ship required refitting and watering; he never could have doubled the Cape in the state she was in; the mutiny had prevented his breaking his oath—and now the seamen were obedient.
"Shall we take possession of the land, in the name of his most Christian Majesty?" said Jansen.
"Take possession in the name of his Satanic Majesty," replied Vanderdecken, turning sulkily away.
The captain had not quite recovered his good-humour—he returned to his cabin, mixed a tumbler of brandy and gunpowder, set fire to it, and drank it off—this tisane cooled him down, and when he came out, the crew perceived that all was right, so they went aft and touched their hats.
"Liberty on shore for an hour or two if you please," said they; "it's a long while that we've been treading the planks."
"Yes, you may go; but I'll keelhaul every man who's not off to his work by daylight—recollect that," replied Vanderdecken.
Donder und blitzen—we will all be on board, captain.
"They be queer sort of people in this country," observed Jansen, who had been surveying the shore of the bay with his telescope. "I can't make them out at all. I see them put their heads down close to the ground, and then they stand up again; they wear their breeches very low, and yet they jump remarkably well—Hundred tousend tyfels!" continuedhe, as he looked through the telescope again; "there's one of them six feet high at least, and he has jumped twenty yards. It can't be a woman—if she is, what a springy partner she would make in a dance!"
"We'll take the fiddle and schnapps on shore, and have a dance with the natives," cried the boatswain.
"Mind you behave civilly and make friends with them," said Vanderdecken; "don't be rude to the women."
"Nein, Mynheer," replied the crew, who now lowered the boats and were very soon pulling for the shore—every man with his pipe in his mouth.
The spectre-crew gained the beach—quitted the boat, and took up a position under a high rock. The pipes were refilled—the schnapps handed round, and very soon they were as jolly as ghosts could be.
"Come, Jansen, give us a song," cried Spielman; "and you, Dirk Spattrel, keep company with your fiddle."
"My windpipe is not quite so fresh as it was once," said Jansen, putting his bony fingers up to his neck, "but here goes:—
"In spite of wind and weather,In spite of mountain waves,If our timbers hold togetherAnd we sink not to our graves;The Cape we still will double, boys,The stormy Cape we'll clear,—Who cares for toil or trouble, boys,Who thinks of watery bier?"We left our wives behind us,Bright India's realms to gain,Let nothing then remind usOf them and home again;Close luff'd with well-set sails, lads,We still our course will steer,And beaten back by adverse gales, lads,Cry 'Thus, boys, and so near.'"Who cares for mocking billows,Or demons of the deep?One half sleep on our pillows,While t'others deck-watch keep;Who cares for lightning's flashing, boys,Or noisy thunder's roar?We laugh at wild spray dashing, boys,And clouds that torrents pour."The ocean is the seaman's slave,Though mutiny it may;Our beast of burden is the waveAs well by night as day;To round the Cape we'll reckon, lads,For so our captain will'd;Three cheers for Vanderdecken, lads,His vow shall be fulfill'd."
"In spite of wind and weather,In spite of mountain waves,If our timbers hold togetherAnd we sink not to our graves;The Cape we still will double, boys,The stormy Cape we'll clear,—Who cares for toil or trouble, boys,Who thinks of watery bier?"We left our wives behind us,Bright India's realms to gain,Let nothing then remind usOf them and home again;Close luff'd with well-set sails, lads,We still our course will steer,And beaten back by adverse gales, lads,Cry 'Thus, boys, and so near.'"Who cares for mocking billows,Or demons of the deep?One half sleep on our pillows,While t'others deck-watch keep;Who cares for lightning's flashing, boys,Or noisy thunder's roar?We laugh at wild spray dashing, boys,And clouds that torrents pour."The ocean is the seaman's slave,Though mutiny it may;Our beast of burden is the waveAs well by night as day;To round the Cape we'll reckon, lads,For so our captain will'd;Three cheers for Vanderdecken, lads,His vow shall be fulfill'd."
"In spite of wind and weather,In spite of mountain waves,If our timbers hold togetherAnd we sink not to our graves;The Cape we still will double, boys,The stormy Cape we'll clear,—Who cares for toil or trouble, boys,Who thinks of watery bier?
"In spite of wind and weather,
In spite of mountain waves,
If our timbers hold together
And we sink not to our graves;
The Cape we still will double, boys,
The stormy Cape we'll clear,—
Who cares for toil or trouble, boys,
Who thinks of watery bier?
"We left our wives behind us,Bright India's realms to gain,Let nothing then remind usOf them and home again;Close luff'd with well-set sails, lads,We still our course will steer,And beaten back by adverse gales, lads,Cry 'Thus, boys, and so near.'
"We left our wives behind us,
Bright India's realms to gain,
Let nothing then remind us
Of them and home again;
Close luff'd with well-set sails, lads,
We still our course will steer,
And beaten back by adverse gales, lads,
Cry 'Thus, boys, and so near.'
"Who cares for mocking billows,Or demons of the deep?One half sleep on our pillows,While t'others deck-watch keep;Who cares for lightning's flashing, boys,Or noisy thunder's roar?We laugh at wild spray dashing, boys,And clouds that torrents pour.
"Who cares for mocking billows,
Or demons of the deep?
One half sleep on our pillows,
While t'others deck-watch keep;
Who cares for lightning's flashing, boys,
Or noisy thunder's roar?
We laugh at wild spray dashing, boys,
And clouds that torrents pour.
"The ocean is the seaman's slave,Though mutiny it may;Our beast of burden is the waveAs well by night as day;To round the Cape we'll reckon, lads,For so our captain will'd;Three cheers for Vanderdecken, lads,His vow shall be fulfill'd."
"The ocean is the seaman's slave,
Though mutiny it may;
Our beast of burden is the wave
As well by night as day;
To round the Cape we'll reckon, lads,
For so our captain will'd;
Three cheers for Vanderdecken, lads,
His vow shall be fulfill'd."
"Yaw—yaw," cried the crew, "we'll round the Cape yet. Drink, boys, drink—three cheers for Vanderdecken! We'll caulk the old ship; we'll repair our old sail; we'll mend our old clothes; we'll darn our old stockings, and then to sea again. Hurrah!—hurrah!"
Thus did they continue to drink and carouse until, if they had had any eyes left in their head, they never could have seen visually; but ghosts see mentally, and in the midst of their mirth and jollity, they saw some tall objects coming down gradually and peeping over the rocks, probably attracted by the fiddle of Dirk Spattrel.
"The natives!"—cried Jansen, "the natives!—now, my men, recollect the captain's orders—don't be rude to the women."
"Yaw—nein—yaw!" replied the reeling spectres; "oh, nein, but we'll get them down here and have a dance; that's civility all over the world."
"But I say," hiccupped Spielman, "what rum beggars these islanders be! only look, they are coming down to us, all of their own accord!"
This was true enough; a herd of kangaroos, attracted by the sound of the music, but of course not able to distinguish the spectre seamen, who, like all others of a similar nature, were invisible to mortal and to kangaroo eyes, had come down fearlessly to the foot of the rock where the crew were carousing.
The Dutchmen had never seen an animal so tall which stood erect like a man, and they were all very drunk; it is not therefore surprising that they mistook the kangaroos for natives clothed in skins, and as the broadest part of their dress was down on the ground, of course they fancied they were the women belonging to the island.
"Strike up, Dirk Spattrel," cried Jansen, taking hold of the paws of one of the kangaroos. "Wel sie valtz, Fraulein?"
The kangaroo started back, although it saw nothing, and of course said nothing.
"Don't be shamming modest, Fraulein. Now then, strike up, Dirk;" and Jansen passed his arm round the kangaroo, which appeared very much alarmed, but, seeing nothing, did not hop away. The rest of the seamen seized the other kangaroos by the paws or round the body, and in a short time such a dance was seen as never took place before. Some of the kangaroos stood upon their thick tails and kicked at their invisible partners with their hind feet, so as to send their ghostships many yards distant; others hopped and jumped in their fright many feet from the ground, taking their partners with them; others struggled violently to disengage themselves from their unseen assailants. Shouts, laughter, and shrieks resounded from the drunken crew at this strange junketting; at last, in their struggling to detain the animals, and the attempts of thefrightened kangaroos to escape, the Dutchmen found themselves all mounted on the backs of the kangaroos, who, frightened out of their senses, bounded away in every direction. Thus did the ball break up, every kangaroo carrying off its partner in a different direction. Dirk Spattrel was the only one left, but there was a kangaroo also unemployed; determined not to be left behind, the fiddler jumped on its back, and clinging fast by his legs, commenced such a furious screeching upon his instrument that the animal made a bound of nearly forty yards every time, Dirk Spattrel playing on like one possessed, until he had not only gained, but was far in advance of his brother riders. Away they all went over hill and dale, the fiddle still shrieking in advance, until the exhausted animals fell down panting, and the Dutchmen, tired with their own exertions, and overcome with liquor, dropped asleep where they fell,—for ghosts do sleep as well as mortal men.
The next morning there was no one on board at eight o'clock, and Vanderdecken was full of wrath.
At last Dirk Spattrel, the fiddler, made his appearance with the remains of his instrument in his hand.
"Donder und vind—where are the crew?" cried Vanderdecken.
"All gone off with the natives," replied the fiddler.
"I thought as much," roared Vanderdecken, "and now I'll give you something for your good news."
Vanderdecken seized the end of the fore-brace and commenced a most furious attack upon the shoulders of Dirk Spattrel. The blows were given with great apparent force, but there was no sound, it was like buffeting a bag of wind; notwithstanding Dirk worked round and round, twisting and wincing, and crying, "Ah, yaw, ah!"
"Take that, scoundrel!" cried Vanderdecken, as much out of breath as a ghost could be.
"They're coming off now, captain," said Dirk Spattrel, rubbing his shoulders.
Jansen and the rest of the crew now made their appearance, looking very sheepish.
"Where have you been, scoundrels?"
"Mynheer Vanderdecken," replied Jansen, "the island is peopled with ghosts and goblins, and demons and devils; one of them seized upon each of us and carried us off the Lord knows where."
"Fools!—do you believe in such nonsense as ghosts and spectres?" replied Vanderdecken, "or do you think me such an ass as to credit you? Who ever saw a ghost or spectre! Stuff, Jansen, stuff—you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"It's all true, captain; they came down and ran away with us. Is it not so, men?"
"Yaw, yaw," said the crew, "it's all true, Captain Vanderdecken; they leaped with us as high as the moon."
"Much higher," cried Dirk Spattrel.
"You're a parcel of lying drunken dogs," roared Vanderdecken; "I stop all your leaves—you sha'nt go on shore again."
"We don't want," replied Jansen, "we will never go on shore at sucha place—full of devils—it is really Van Demon's Land;—we will have the fiddle on the forecastle."
"Nein," replied Dirk Spattrel, mournfully showing the fragments.
"De tyfel," exclaimed Jansen, "dat is the worst of all;—now, men, we will work hard and get away from this horrid place."
"Yaw, yaw," exclaimed the crew.
They did work hard; the sails were repaired, the ship was caulked, their clothes were mended, their stockings were darned, and all was ready.
The wind blew fiercely from off shore, roaring through the woods, and breaking down heavy branches.
Vanderdecken held his hand up—"I think there is a light air coming off the land, Jansen—Man the capstan."
"Only a cat's paw; it will not fill our sails, Captain Vanderdecken," replied the mate.
The gale increased until it was at the height of its fury. The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain came down in torrents. The wind howled in its rage.
"I think we shall have a light pleasant breeze soon," said Vanderdecken. "Heave round, my lads, a little more of it and we shall do. Hoist blue Peter and fire a gun." A colourless flag, thin as a cobweb, went to the mast-head; the match was applied to the gun, which was so honeycombed and worn out, that the smoke came out of it in every direction as if it had been a sieve. The anchor was hove up by the spectre crew; the sails were set, and once more the phantom-ship was under weigh, once more bounding through the waves to regain her position, and fulfil her everlasting doom. And as she flew before the hurricane, the crew, gathered together on the forecastle, broke out in the following chorus:—
Away, away! once more away,To beat about by night and day;With joy, the Demons' land we leave,Again the mountain waves to cleave.With a Ha—Ha—Ha!Once more the stormy Cape we'll view,Again our fearless toil pursue;Defy the spirits of the air,Who scoffing bid us to despair.With their Yaw—Yaw—Yaw!Ha—Ha—Ha!
Away, away! once more away,To beat about by night and day;With joy, the Demons' land we leave,Again the mountain waves to cleave.With a Ha—Ha—Ha!Once more the stormy Cape we'll view,Again our fearless toil pursue;Defy the spirits of the air,Who scoffing bid us to despair.With their Yaw—Yaw—Yaw!Ha—Ha—Ha!
Away, away! once more away,To beat about by night and day;With joy, the Demons' land we leave,Again the mountain waves to cleave.With a Ha—Ha—Ha!
Away, away! once more away,
To beat about by night and day;
With joy, the Demons' land we leave,
Again the mountain waves to cleave.
With a Ha—Ha—Ha!
Once more the stormy Cape we'll view,Again our fearless toil pursue;Defy the spirits of the air,Who scoffing bid us to despair.With their Yaw—Yaw—Yaw!Ha—Ha—Ha!
Once more the stormy Cape we'll view,
Again our fearless toil pursue;
Defy the spirits of the air,
Who scoffing bid us to despair.
With their Yaw—Yaw—Yaw!
Ha—Ha—Ha!
BY BOWMAN TILLER.
CHAPTER V.
Ben Brailsford lost not a moment in raising the insensible Frank in his arms, and was about to quit the ground, when he caught sight of the prostrate lieutenant, who now began to recover something like consciousness. He hesitated to depart, and that hesitation was fatal to their freedom, for the enemy had rallied, and receiving a strong reinforcement, became in turn the assailants. The allies were beaten back, and in a few minutes Ben and his young charge were prisoners of war under the guard of the very soldier who had so shortly before been defeated by the seaman. In their progress to the rear they stopped at a dilapidated house near Alcoule, which was occupied as an hospital, and Frank's wound, which was not very serious, was dressed by a surgeon, and the youth recovered.
In the same apartment were several wounded officers, amongst whom were General O'Hara and the man who subsequently ruled the destinies of France—Napoleon Buonaparte. But the young midshipman and his gallant protector were not suffered to remain; they were placed with a number of other prisoners under an escort, and proceeded on towards Paris. At Louviers they were joined by another detachment from Toulon, and amongst them was their old acquaintance Sambo. But the negro was not a prisoner: with the cunning of his race, he had no sooner been captured than he declared himself the servant of Monsieur Polverel, and that being forced into the English service, he was endeavouring to escape. His story was not at first credited; but being recognised by the younger Robespierre (then acting as the chief of the commissariat before Toulon), who had seen him in Paris, he was released. A plausible tale deceived the Frenchman, and Sambo was sent round to join his master.
Ben hailed the black with great glee, and Frank addressed him, expressing regret at his capture; but the wary negro pretended not to know them, though when they halted for the night, he found means to supply them with provisions, and clean straw to sleep upon.
At length they entered Paris, and were met by a revolutionary mob which had just been witnessing the feeding of the guillotine with victims from their own body. The appearance of the prisoners was hailed with loud shouts, and numbers of both sexes rushed forward to wreak their still unsatiated vengeance. Sambo had stood aloof; but when he saw the extreme danger which his old friends were in, he joined them, fully determined to afford all the protection in his power. The sight of a black seemed to awaken a still greater degree of excitement amongst the rabble, especially as the negro by his position manifested opposition to their designs. Yells and shouts arose. "A bas les noirs!" "à la lanterne!" "à la place de Grève!" "let us see what colour his blood is!" "an experiment! an experiment!" "away with him to the guillotine!" "we have had no negro yet! an experiment! an experiment!" A desperate rush was made upon them, and both Sambo and the young midshipman were separated from the rest and borne away by the mob.
It was perhaps well for Frank that he had been plundered of his uniform soon after his capture; for such was the demoniac hatred of the English, that, as an officer, he probably might have been torn to pieces. The negro addressed them in their own language, announcing himself a native of San Domingo, employed by Monsieur Polverel, but his voice was drowned in the universal outcry, and then he joined in their shouts of "Vive la Nation!" sung snatches of revolutionary songs, danced as they danced, and tried by every means to appease their fury. But the wretches wanted to see a black man die; it promised a new sensation.
The mob approached the Hôtel de Ville, when their progress was arrested by a tall man who was supported on a post that elevated him so as to be distinctly conspicuous to all. His dress was shabby in the extreme, and on his head he wore the revolutionary cap, but both Frank and the negro instantly recognised Monsieur Polverel. He spoke to the rabble, and in a vehement address that drew down loud applause he approved of their excesses, whilst the mob, to show that they had fresh victims to immolate, thrust forward the negro and the youth, so that he might see them. Polverel instantly descended, and, rushing amongst the throng, clasped the negro in his arms.
"What do you?" exclaimed he; "in your just fury the eye of reason is dimmed—is he not a man and a brother?" and again he embraced him, to the great surprise of the black. "Cease, my friends," continued Polverel; "know ye not that deputies have arrived from San Domingo to sit in the great council of the nation? This is one of them; I am a member of the Society of 'Les Amis des Noirs,' and know him well." He turned to Sambo, "Pardon, citizen deputy, the zeal of the people." He took the arm of the astonished negro, and pinching it most unmercifully, shouted "Vive le peuple, vive la nation;" theimpressivehint was not lost, for Sambo's voice rose high in chorus.
In an instant the scene was changed, the merciless wretches were diverted from their purpose, and the negro whom they would have murdered in pastime but for this fortunate intervention was raised upon the shoulders of two stout men and greeted with cheers of welcome; they bore him along to the Hôtel de Ville. In his joy for deliverance Sambo forgot his young master, but it was only for the moment; and in turning to look for him, he saw that Monsieur Polverel had taken him under his protection, and was leading him away from the throng; for the Frenchman had not forgotten the obligation he was under to Frank for saving him from the fury of an English mob; he withdrew him cautiously from the dangerous company he was in, and placing the youth under the charge of a friend, followed the rabble in order to perfect the rescue of his servant.
The person to whose care Frank was entrusted was an elderly man apparently verging upon sixty years of age, but there was a keenness in his eye and a vivacity in his manner that manifested an active and intelligent mind; his dress was slovenly, but he wore a handsome tri-color sash round his loins, and carried a red cap in his hand. At first he spoke to Frank in French, but something occurring to displease him, he broke out into broad English, and muttered his anathemas against the cause.
"You are an Englishman, then," said Frank, with symptoms of disgust which did not escape the other's notice.
"Thou art right," returned the man; "I am an Englishman by birth, but a citizen of the world—a friend to the whole human race on the principles of universal liberty. Expatriated and driven from my country, this noble and enlightened nation has adopted me; and here in brotherly affection I can carry out into practice my theory of the rights of man. What is life, my young friend, without the blessings of freedom!"
At this moment a municipal officer, attended by three or four subordinates, stepped up to Frank's companion, and, grasping him by the arm, uttered "Citizen Paine, you are our prisoner."
"By whose authority?" demanded the Englishman, his face assuming a deadly paleness.
"The authority is here," returned the officer, showing a paper with the signature of Robespierre attached to it, and, a fiacre immediately stopping by their side, citizen Paine was hurried into it and driven off to the Luxembourg, where, in the chamber which had been occupied by many a victim to the revolutionary mania, he contemplated the paternal regard of the nation that had adopted him, and sighed for the blessing of that freedom of which he had so vainly boasted. He had sat in judgment on the mock trial of the unfortunate Louis, but had given his vote against the monarch's death. This had rendered the ambitious dictator his enemy, and an opportunity was soon sought to take his life. The egotistical boasting of Thomas Paine afforded a pretext for arresting him; he was sent to prison, and would have been sacrificed by "his friends" but for an accident which saved him.
Frank, hungry and thirsty, destitute of money, and but with few rags to cover him, now stood alone in one of the by-streets of Paris. As evening came on, he crept into the cellar-way of an uninhabited house. At daylight he emerged from his concealment, and proceeded in the same direction in which he had been going when parted from his guide. It was yet early when, on turning a corner, he beheld a well-looking young man, accompanied by a stout Amazonian female, who were hurrying forward, but, on seeing the youth, suddenly stopped, and Frank felt his arm grasped by the woman, whilst a chuckle of delight escaped from the young man, who uttered in a whisper—
"Yah no for peak-a me, Massa Frank, hearee? Dere him, massa, for me behind—tan lilly bit become for you."
Frank stared with astonishment—the voice was that of Sambo, but the skin was fair. "How—what is this?" demanded he.
"Oh, it's all ship-shape enough, Master Frank," said the woman in a masculine tone, and hitching up her petticoats in true nautical style. "I'm bless'd, young gentleman, but you do shake a cloth or two in the wind—but there, what's the odds so as you're happy? Mountseer Pulthebell is coming up astarn, and a precious cruise they've had arter you."
"Yah no for tand palaver here, Missy Ben," muttered Sambo, with a grin of mirth. "Golly me black deputy now, and dem debbil take off white head at 'em gullemtine, no sabby de citizen nigger," and he pushed forward with his companion.
In spite of all his mishaps Frank could not refrain from laughing at the awkwardness of the pretended female, who straddled along with swinging arms, the petticoats evidently embarrassing the wearer. In a few minutes the youth was joined by Monsieur Polverel, who cautioned him to preserve silence and follow his movements. Shortly afterwards he stopped before the entrance of a mean-looking building, and knocking at the door, was immediately admitted. Frank followed, and was ushered into an apartment poorly furnished, where he found Sambo and the seaman, and learned that Polverel, by means of his influence and some little intrigue, had procured Ben's release, and disguised in woman's clothes, under the guidance of Sambo, whose face was concealed beneath a mask, had got him clear away from present danger.
Refreshment was ordered, and Polverel led Frank through the house to some back premises, where the apartments were fitted up in the most elegant style, everything displaying an air of luxury which strongly contrasted with the appearance of the front building, which served as a blind to the populace, who had declared a lasting enmity to all things beyond their own sphere of enjoyment, though themselves were the principal sufferers through the want of demand for their manufactures and the consequent stoppage of industrious labour.
Here Frank and Ben remained, and Polverel renewed his attempts to undermine the youth's loyalty; he took him with him to the clubs; offers of lucrative appointments were made, powerful inducements were held out, but all were firmly rejected. He loved his country too well to swerve from his allegiance; his heart yearned to see his mother once again; but had there not been these incentives, the horrible atrocities he had witnessed were too deeply impressed upon his mind to permit a willing companionship with the wretches who perpetrated and sanctioned them.
In his evening excursions Frank had frequently encountered a tall man whose features were familiar to him, and more than once or twice he had observed him enter the house of Monsieur Polverel. An indefinable curiosity induced him to watch this man, and being on one occasion in a remote part of the room, when he and the deputy came in, he remained perfectly still and undiscovered, and was not long in ascertaining by their conversation that the stranger was an Englishman in the pay of the Jacobins, and had brought over some important intelligence relative to the designs of the English government, which he was now in a traitorous manner betraying to the enemy.
Frank scarcely suppressed an indignant exclamation, but fortunately he did suppress it, and rose to quit the room. This was the first intimation they had of his presence, and as he passed the spy the youth looked boldly in his face. In an instant the man's countenance underwent a change; there was the peculiar rolling of the eye which Frank had never forgotten, and lawyer Brady was revealed before him.
The young midshipman now resolved to attempt an escape, and Polverel finding that all his endeavours to detain him were useless, at last furnished him with the means. Stores were about to be forwarded to the Army of the North, and it was proposed that the seaman and his young officer should accompany them; the former habited as a Dutchwoman,the latter as a volunteer, taking their chance to slip away wherever and whenever they could; but the very night these arrangements were completed, Polverel was seized by order of hisfriend, Robespierre, a sham trial was hurried over, and the next day he was consigned to the guillotine.
Frank did not delay another instant (for he was aware that the property of the deputy would be plundered by the populace), and being provided with the papers furnished by Polverel, set out on his journey, accompanied by Ben in short petticoats, wooden shoes, and a large hat; his whiskers were shaved off, but he would not part with his tail, and it was therefore braided up round his head, and a fine buxom vrow he made. Sambo had no inducement to remain behind; so securing what money he could find, and taking his fiddle, he joined his young master, and all three proceeded on their way. The stores for the army were not ready, and they, therefore, resolved to travel as "independent" characters.
In the evening they stopped at a small village, about thirty miles from Paris, and entering the kitchen of a cabaret, they ordered supper; but finding they were objects of notice, Frank directed Sambo to tune his violin, and he chanted forth a chansonette with much taste and feeling, to the great gratification of several young demoiselles, who honoured the performance with applause, and pronounced it "bien bon!"
Sambo next struck up a lively tune, and footing it first to one and then to another, the company caught up the humour, and to dancing they went with great glee. Frank, selecting a pretty little girl for a partner, joined in the sport; and Ben, in short, quilted, red petticoats, nearly up to his knees—his stout sustainers covered with blue worsted stockings and heavy sabots—with a tight-fitting woman's jacket and red neckerchief as a body-dress, and his pipe raised in the air, footed it merrily enough to Sambo and his violin. Frank, in a jacket with silver lace on the collar and cuffs, and diminutive worsted epaulettes on the shoulders—striped gingham trousers, and a tri-color sash round his loins, wheeled with grace and agility through the mazy figures with his beautiful little partner. She was tastefully arrayed in a white frock, embroidered with flowers, (for it was the festival of her tutelar saint,) and her hair was wreathed with vine-leaves, jasmine, and roses. Several young females, who had come to visit her on the occasion, were clad in their best attire, and, as a matter of course, the youths of the neighbourhood had joined them after their day's labour; and now they were all in motion, till dark night put an end to the revelry; and the trio, accommodated in a barn, soon forgot their cares and their pleasures in sweet, refreshing sleep.
The next morning the three quitted the cabaret—at the door they were accosted by a gendarme; but the youth told his ready tale, showed his papers, and they received no further molestation. Numerous were their adventures as they progressed—sometimes in extreme danger of detection—at others, enjoying themselves in perfect confidence. Two days they passed in the woods without food, journeying only by night.
Frank, Ben, and Sambo, amusing the Natives.London, Tilt & Bogue, 86 Fleet Street.
Frank, Ben, and Sambo, amusing the Natives.London, Tilt & Bogue, 86 Fleet Street.
Frank, Ben, and Sambo, amusing the Natives.
London, Tilt & Bogue, 86 Fleet Street.
At length they abandoned the direct road, and kept away to the left for the coast; hoping to reach some place in the neighbourhood of Blankenberg, a fishing village on the sea-shore. This they accomplished, and arrived about midnight on the beach, which they crept along, at somedistance from the vessels, lest they should be detected. Not a boat to suit their purpose could they find at liberty—all were fast secured by chains, and their oars removed, as if some such visitation as the present had been feared. In this dilemma they cautiously returned to the village, and searched amongst the cottages; but here they were again doomed to disappointment, and were about to retreat to some place of concealment till the following night, when the sound of voices was heard in a small cabin, and Frank, stealthily approaching to listen, at length got near enough to a chink in the window to see the interior, and ascertained that an Englishman, with two females, was endeavouring, by the offer of a considerable sum, to bribe three or four fishermen to convey them either to Holland or to England. The men at first seemed disinclined to listen to any proposals that might bring upon them the vengeance of the police, and they talked of surrendering them to the authorities.
"That will at once seal my doom!" exclaimed the Englishman, in agony. "Have not the wretches denounced me, because of the money they owed me, and their base designs upon my child? Oh, God! do thou appear for me in this trying moment!"
The fishermen consulted together in whispers, whilst the females clung to the Englishman; and Frank ascertained by their discourse that the elder lady was the wife, and the younger the daughter, of the man. Again the latter earnestly urged his appeal to their generosity, their humanity, and every better principle of human nature—the ladies, too, joined their entreaties. Frank was half-tempted to the hazardous experiment of bringing up his companions and forcing them into compliance.
At length the fishermen consented to embark them for Holland, or any place occupied by the Allies, on condition that they gave up all the money and every valuable in their possession previously to their departure, and insured a still further sum on reaching a place of safety. Elated at the prospect of escape, the terms were immediately complied with; and now Frank became aware of the extreme danger he should have incurred had he attempted to attack them, for whilst the Englishman and the females were divesting themselves of their cash and every valuable they had, three other athletic men came from an inner apartment—making seven in all—to claim their share of the spoil.
As soon as the division had taken place, they departed to launch their boat, commanding the Englishman and the ladies to remain quietly in the cottage till they were sent for. Frank concealed himself in an adjacent shed, occupied by his companions, till they were gone.
"It's all plain enough, young gen'l'man," whispered Ben; "they will get the great vessel afloat—come ashore in the punt for the passengers—we must seize on her, shove off, and capture the big craft—then take the ladies on board, and make sail for the North Foreland—though the wind is dead again us; but what's the odds—"
"That," interrupted Frank, "could only be effected by leaving our countryman and the ladies behind; an idea I will not for one moment entertain. Remain here—if I want you, I will whistle—then come without delay."
The youth returned to the cottage, and addressing the gentleman in French, he acknowledged that he had overheard their scheme, and earnestlyimplored him to permit himself, a female servant, and a negro, to embark in the same vessel, provided they could gain the consent of the crew. The gentleman steadfastly refused—"he would not endanger his own safety by acceding to it."
Rather mortified at being thus harshly treated—especially as he knew that he might ensure his own safety by leaving them behind—Frank would have answered indignantly, but he preferred remonstrance, avowed himself a royalist desirous of joining the Allies, and assured him that no danger could occur by giving his consent. The man continued inflexible, till the ladies, won by the youth's earnestness, interceded, and an unwilling assent was obtained.
The light of coming day had become visible when one of the fishermen returned, and great was his apparent vexation to find other suppliants for a passage in the vessel. However, he offered but slight objection, and in a few minutes they were all down on the beach. Here a difficulty arose as to their embarkation. The punt would carry no more than two passengers beside the men that pulled, and the gentleman was unwilling to leave either his wife or his daughter behind, nor would the females consent to go without him.
"Do not fear," said one of the fishermen. "Time is precious with us—we ought to be all on board now; and rely upon it we are not such fools as to leave any one behind to betray our movements."
The latter argument was the most conclusive, and the gentleman embarked with his wife, leaving his daughter to the care of Frank, who spoke soothingly to her, and tried to allay her alarm; he took off his jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders, as a protection from the cold air, and in her fear she clung to his arm whilst he supported her.
The punt was not long away—all were soon aboard—the anchor was weighed, and they hauled off from the shore. The father with the females took up his station abaft, whilst Frank and his party occupied the midships, and the seaman and the negro were soon fast asleep; but the young midshipman's thoughts were too pleasantly occupied by his escape, and the prospects of an interview with his mother, to compose himself to slumber. Another object too now presented itself; it was the fair young creature who had so confidingly clung to him on the beach. However, to prevent observation, and the better to indulge in meditation, he closed his eyes, and pretended to be oblivious to all that passed. Whilst thus reclining, he overheard a sort of muttered conversation between two of the fishermen which, though he could only catch disjointed sentences, apprised him that treachery was at work; and he now readily understood the reason that greater obstruction had not been offered to the embarkation. The crew doubted the promise to receive further recompense, and expecting to be rewarded for delivering them up as prisoners, had come to the determination of making for a French port. Frank's ears tingled whilst listening to this avowal of abominable treachery, but he cautiously abstained from exciting any suspicion that he was aware of their designs. He determined to watch them narrowly, and when opportunity offered, he got close to Ben, who, on making a tack to windward, had roused up, and without mentioning particulars, told him "they were betrayed unless they could master the crew, and directed him to be ready for an attack ata moment's warning." He then briefly conveyed a similar communication to Sambo, and vainly tried to catch the eye of the gentleman abaft for the purpose of inciting him to wariness.
The breeze was to the northward, with a lee tide running, so that, though apparently working to windward between the sands and the shore, they were rapidly drifting down towards Ostend, which was then in the hands of the French. Ben comprehended the whole of this in an instant, and saw, what the others, from their want of nautical knowledge, did not observe, that the helmsman frequently edged off from the wind, so as to facilitate their approach to Ostend, which was soon upon their lee-bow, and the boat standing for the harbour.
The gentleman, wholly insensible to the danger which threatened them, sat between his wife and daughter, and was speaking words of cheering import, relative to their being rescued from the enemy, and the prospect of soon enjoying the comforts of their native land. Everything was perfectly tranquil in the vessel, which was lightly dancing over the smooth waters and breaking the sun-light upon its surface. He also remarked upon the quietude of their fellow-passengers, and even ventured a joke upon the apparently solid countenance of the Dutchwoman, when suddenly—in an instant, as if madness ruled the moment, they saw her spring to her feet, and, grasping the pump-brake in her hand, she flourished it right and left, laying a fisherman prostrate at every blow. Sambo also grappled an opponent, whom he lifted over the gunwale, hurled into the sea and then attacked another, whilst Frank rushed aft to the steersman, shouting to the gentleman, "We are Englishmen, it is a French port under our lee, and we are betrayed; for the sake of those you love—hurrah!—do not remain inactive."
Nothing could exceed the amazement of the gentleman at this wholly unexpected occurrence, and his astonishment was still more increased when the supposed Dutchwoman, came bounding aft, flourishing her weapon, and shouting in the nautical language of his native land, as he hurled the steersman from his place,—"Ware hause, you lubber—what's the odds, so as you're happy?" and taking the tiller, he put the vessel right before the wind. "Bear a hand, Master Frank," continued Ben, "and keep her as she goes: and I'm saying, ould gentleman, jist you show yourself smart, and let 'em know as you've a little English blood in your veins. Hurrah!—what's the odds?"—and again he rushed forward to assist Sambo, who was stoutly contesting it with his foes.
British prowess triumphed—the struggle, though severe, did not last long—the Blankenbergers were conquered; the punt was cast adrift for those who were swimming—the remainder were bound hand and foot; the sails were trimmed to stand off from the land; and great indeed was the gratitude of the husband and the father, and still more delightful were the acknowledgments of the ladies, when they ascertained the great service that had been rendered to them. Mutual explanations ensued—hearty congratulations were given; and in the afternoon they fell in with an English brig which received them all on board. The fishermen, after a sound rope's-ending for their treachery, had their vessel restored; and the rescued party were the next morning gratified by entering the river Thames.
A little man who muffins sold,When I was little too,Carried a face of giant mould,But tall he never grew.His arms were legs for strength and size,His coat-tail touch'd his heels;His brows were forests o'er his eyes,His voice like waggon-wheels.When fallen leaves together flock,And gusts begin to squall,And suns go down at six o'clock,You heard his muffin call.Born in the equinoctial blast,He came and shook his bell;And with the equinox he pass'd,But whither none could tell.Some thought the monster turn'd to dew,When muffins ceased to reign,And lay in buds the summer throughTill muffin-time again.Or Satyr, used the woods to rove,Or ev'n old Caliban;Drawn by the lure of oven-stoveTo be a muffin-man.The dwarf was not a churlish elf,Who thought folks stared to scoff;But used deformity itselfTo set his muffins off.He stood at doors, and talk'd with cooks,While strangers took his span,And grimly smiled with childhood's looksAt him, the muffin-man.When others fled from nipping frost,And fled from drenching skies,And when in fogs the street was lost,You saw his figure rise.One night his tinkle did not sound,He fail'd each 'custom'd door;'Twas first of an eternal roundOf nights he walk'd no more.When, borne in arms, my infant eyeThe restless search began,The nursery-maid was wont to cry,"See John, the muffin-man!"My path, with things familiar spread,Death's foot had seldom cross'd;And when they said that John was dead,I stood in wonder lost.New muffin-men from lamp to lamp,With careless glance I scan;For none can ever raze thy stamp,Oh John, thou muffin-man!Thou standest snatch'd from time and storm,A statue of the soul;And round thy carved and goblin form,Past days—past days unroll.We will not part—Affection dimThis song shall help to fan;And Memory, firmer bound to him,Shall keep her Muffin-man.
A little man who muffins sold,When I was little too,Carried a face of giant mould,But tall he never grew.His arms were legs for strength and size,His coat-tail touch'd his heels;His brows were forests o'er his eyes,His voice like waggon-wheels.When fallen leaves together flock,And gusts begin to squall,And suns go down at six o'clock,You heard his muffin call.Born in the equinoctial blast,He came and shook his bell;And with the equinox he pass'd,But whither none could tell.Some thought the monster turn'd to dew,When muffins ceased to reign,And lay in buds the summer throughTill muffin-time again.Or Satyr, used the woods to rove,Or ev'n old Caliban;Drawn by the lure of oven-stoveTo be a muffin-man.The dwarf was not a churlish elf,Who thought folks stared to scoff;But used deformity itselfTo set his muffins off.He stood at doors, and talk'd with cooks,While strangers took his span,And grimly smiled with childhood's looksAt him, the muffin-man.When others fled from nipping frost,And fled from drenching skies,And when in fogs the street was lost,You saw his figure rise.One night his tinkle did not sound,He fail'd each 'custom'd door;'Twas first of an eternal roundOf nights he walk'd no more.When, borne in arms, my infant eyeThe restless search began,The nursery-maid was wont to cry,"See John, the muffin-man!"My path, with things familiar spread,Death's foot had seldom cross'd;And when they said that John was dead,I stood in wonder lost.New muffin-men from lamp to lamp,With careless glance I scan;For none can ever raze thy stamp,Oh John, thou muffin-man!Thou standest snatch'd from time and storm,A statue of the soul;And round thy carved and goblin form,Past days—past days unroll.We will not part—Affection dimThis song shall help to fan;And Memory, firmer bound to him,Shall keep her Muffin-man.
A little man who muffins sold,When I was little too,Carried a face of giant mould,But tall he never grew.
A little man who muffins sold,
When I was little too,
Carried a face of giant mould,
But tall he never grew.
His arms were legs for strength and size,His coat-tail touch'd his heels;His brows were forests o'er his eyes,His voice like waggon-wheels.
His arms were legs for strength and size,
His coat-tail touch'd his heels;
His brows were forests o'er his eyes,
His voice like waggon-wheels.
When fallen leaves together flock,And gusts begin to squall,And suns go down at six o'clock,You heard his muffin call.
When fallen leaves together flock,
And gusts begin to squall,
And suns go down at six o'clock,
You heard his muffin call.
Born in the equinoctial blast,He came and shook his bell;And with the equinox he pass'd,But whither none could tell.
Born in the equinoctial blast,
He came and shook his bell;
And with the equinox he pass'd,
But whither none could tell.
Some thought the monster turn'd to dew,When muffins ceased to reign,And lay in buds the summer throughTill muffin-time again.
Some thought the monster turn'd to dew,
When muffins ceased to reign,
And lay in buds the summer through
Till muffin-time again.
Or Satyr, used the woods to rove,Or ev'n old Caliban;Drawn by the lure of oven-stoveTo be a muffin-man.
Or Satyr, used the woods to rove,
Or ev'n old Caliban;
Drawn by the lure of oven-stove
To be a muffin-man.
The dwarf was not a churlish elf,Who thought folks stared to scoff;But used deformity itselfTo set his muffins off.
The dwarf was not a churlish elf,
Who thought folks stared to scoff;
But used deformity itself
To set his muffins off.
He stood at doors, and talk'd with cooks,While strangers took his span,And grimly smiled with childhood's looksAt him, the muffin-man.
He stood at doors, and talk'd with cooks,
While strangers took his span,
And grimly smiled with childhood's looks
At him, the muffin-man.
When others fled from nipping frost,And fled from drenching skies,And when in fogs the street was lost,You saw his figure rise.
When others fled from nipping frost,
And fled from drenching skies,
And when in fogs the street was lost,
You saw his figure rise.
One night his tinkle did not sound,He fail'd each 'custom'd door;'Twas first of an eternal roundOf nights he walk'd no more.
One night his tinkle did not sound,
He fail'd each 'custom'd door;
'Twas first of an eternal round
Of nights he walk'd no more.
When, borne in arms, my infant eyeThe restless search began,The nursery-maid was wont to cry,"See John, the muffin-man!"
When, borne in arms, my infant eye
The restless search began,
The nursery-maid was wont to cry,
"See John, the muffin-man!"
My path, with things familiar spread,Death's foot had seldom cross'd;And when they said that John was dead,I stood in wonder lost.
My path, with things familiar spread,
Death's foot had seldom cross'd;
And when they said that John was dead,
I stood in wonder lost.
New muffin-men from lamp to lamp,With careless glance I scan;For none can ever raze thy stamp,Oh John, thou muffin-man!
New muffin-men from lamp to lamp,
With careless glance I scan;
For none can ever raze thy stamp,
Oh John, thou muffin-man!
Thou standest snatch'd from time and storm,A statue of the soul;And round thy carved and goblin form,Past days—past days unroll.
Thou standest snatch'd from time and storm,
A statue of the soul;
And round thy carved and goblin form,
Past days—past days unroll.
We will not part—Affection dimThis song shall help to fan;And Memory, firmer bound to him,Shall keep her Muffin-man.
We will not part—Affection dim
This song shall help to fan;
And Memory, firmer bound to him,
Shall keep her Muffin-man.
"Who has let loose my tiger?" demanded Sir Pimpleton Pettibones of his butler, whom he had summoned to the breakfast parlour by the sound of the bell in a manner that indicated great impatience. "Who has dared to let him loose? I locked him up last night for robbing the larder, and this morning he is missing; where is he?"
The butler obsequiously bowed. "Extremely sorry, Sir Pimpleton; but really, Sir Pimpleton, I am ignorant and innocent of the whole affair."
"Somebody must have let him out," responded the irascible baronet, "and I shall be too late for the meet. Let search be instantly made—such a tiger as that is not to be caught every day."
The butler bowed and withdrew; whilst his master, arrayed in a scarlet hunting-coat, sat down to his repast, venting imprecations upon the tiger, whom he declared it was his determination to catch before he should accomplish further mischief. This happened at a beautiful mansion in Kent, whither Sir Pimpleton had gone down for the hunting season, taking his tiger (who was a great favourite) with him. Whilst the search was still in progress, word was brought to the baronet that the "creature" had been seen early that morning in the stable-yard, and a beautiful swift-footed pony was missing, which—as the tiger had shown great partiality to horse-flesh—it was supposed he had made away with.
"Hillio—hillio!—quick—saddle every horse in the stables," shouted the baronet, "we'll scour the country—the game is up—hark forward—hark forward!—yoicks, tally ho!" and away he went with grooms and keepers down to the stalls, where he himself saddled his best hunter, and in a few minutes he was flying away across the park, with a long straggling tail like a comet after him, towards the village.
"Have you seen my tiger?" demanded the baronet, reining up his gallant steed in front of the Pettibones Arms, and addressing the landlord—a red, platter-faced man of some seventeen stone; "have you seen him? he broke cover and stole away this morning—he must be prowling somewhere about—have you seen him?"
"Lor love yer honour, no," responded mine host, with a grin of astonishment and stupidity. "Them tigers are thirsty sowls; but he's never been here to drink."
"Hillio, hillio!" shouted Sir Pimpleton, as his attendants came riding up, "handle your whips and follow me;" and dismounting, he entered the hostelry, where the good dame was busy in culinary operations. "Where's my tiger?" was again the cry. "He's crouching somewhere here."
"Now laws ha' mercy upon us, I hope not, yer honour!" exclaimed the old dame in dreadful alarm. "What, a real tiger, yer honour? Be em a live un or a stuffed un?"
"Fool!" vociferated the baronet, "a live one to be sure, with large goggle eyes and a fang tooth. I must find his lair." The entire premises were examined, but the tiger was not there.
"To horse, to horse," commanded the baronet, to the great relief of theold lady; "and hark ye, dame, if he should come here, shut him up directly, and let me know. Away, my men, away." Sir Pimpleton rushed forth, mounted his horse, and away he scoured like a madman, or what is next of kin to a madman, a break-neck squire.
"Jeames, Jeames," called the hostess as soon as the cavalcade had departed, "come in, Jeames, fasten the door, and get thees blunderbusk, and load un wi' bullocks" (bullets probably), "and if so be the crittur comes this way, shoot un, Jeames—shoot un without benefit of clargy."
On rode the baronet full pelt, and tailing after him followed half-a-dozen attendants in scarlet coats and black velvet caps. The coverts were tried, every nook was searched, but without effect, and they soon afterwards entered another village.
"My tiger! my tiger!" exclaimed the baronet as he burst into the first cottage, which contained a female with five or six children playing and sprawling about the floor. "Have you seen the tiger? he has broke loose, and cannot be far off."
"The tiger!" repeated the woman, terribly alarmed for the safety of her infants, which she speedily gathered up and thrust into a capacious closet. "Oh dear, what shall we do!" The cottage was searched, as were also several others, to the great consternation of the villagers. Then arose the cries of mothers for "Johnnies" and "Billies" and "Kitties" and "Sukies" and "Tommies," to collect the stray lambs of the fold, or, in other words, the toddling children that were playing on the green; and in a few minutes not a soul of that population was to be seen.
A turnpike was close at hand, and thither Sir Pimpleton galloped; and after a few words with the 'pikeman, his sonorous voice was heard. "Hillio—hillio!—stole away—hark forward—hark forward!" and clapping spurs to his steed, onwards they pressed, flying over hedges and ditches to make a short cut.
Now it so happened that the hounds of a neighbouring squire were out, and as the muster at the meet was pretty strong, and Sir Pimpleton was well known for an eccentric, several members of the hunt rode up and inquired "what game they had started?"
"A tiger! a tiger!" shouted the baronet; "we're hard upon him—hark forward—yoicks—tally ho!"
A tiger-hunt in England was something new in the annals of sporting; and though they thought it strange to chase the animal without dogs, yet they were aware that Sir Pimpleton had passed many years in the East Indies, and probably accustomed to the sport, they concluded it was "all right;" and desirous of witnessing the novelty, many joined in the pursuit, amongst whom was the master of the hounds and his pack.
The cavalcade drew near a large town, and in they dashed, the baronet still shouting, out of breath, "The tiger!—the tiger! Have you seen my Ben—g-g-gal?" The words were quickly caught up; and the announcement that a fierce Bengal tiger was adrift in the town spread like wildfire. The tradesmen shut up their shops; the inhabitants fastened their doors; there was a brief running to and fro in terror, but the streets were speedily cleared; and from many an up-stairs window was protruded a blunderbuss, a fowling-piece, or a pistol, the proprietors of which wereeagerly intent upon destroying the furious animal, though some few even thus elevated scarcely considered themselves safe from his bound. The cry of the hounds, the shouting of the hunters, the rattling of horses' hoofs upon the stones, and the wailings of women, with the cheers of the men, produced a clamour such as had never before been heard in that place. Mothers clasped their children and concealed them in beaufets, or turned them up in press-bedsteads—fathers armed themselves with defensive weapons, and a body of volunteers mustered in the inn yard with loaded muskets, taking good care however to keep the gates shut.
"Have you seen the tiger?" was still the cry; and Sir Pimpleton having obtained some information, "Stole away—hark forward," was again the word.
They shot up Shooter's-hill without stopping to breathe, and when on the brow, an animal, with apparently a blood-red back, was seen scouring towards Blackheath. The baronet, with the lungs of a northerly gale, uttered the "view halloo," which was caught up and repeated by the rest. The hounds gave tongue and made play. It was a beautiful burst. The whip and spur were plied. The steeds, though jaded, knew well by instinct that the "warmint" was in sight, and kept up their speed, and down the hill they swept like a mountain torrent.
But the tiger was not to be easily caught. There was no jungle or hollow to hide in, and away he scudded over the heath with great velocity, as if sensible that the enemy was behind him. Once he was missed, and it was supposed had run to earth in a sand-pit; but the next moment he was seen on the other side climbing the bank to shorten his distance, and in a few minutes he was over the brow of the hill past the Green Man, and descending at a tremendous rate. The hunters followed hard upon him, the hounds in full cry, and again rose the shout from a dozen voices—"The tiger! the tiger!" But the tiger had disappeared amongst the horses, and they had now no clue to his advance, except from the amazed spectators, who hastily cleared the road at the novel and somewhat alarming spectacle. "The tiger! the chase!" exclaimed Sir Pimpleton. Three or four hands were extended to point out the direction he had taken; and those who had not "dropped off" still followed the hounds. Away they rattled through the Broadway, Deptford, amidst cries and cheers of "Go it, you'll catch him directly. Hurrah!" And they once more caught sight of the tiger on the line of road towards New Cross. Cheerily again sounded the "view halloo,"—the animal seemed to be sensible that his pursuers were spurring in hot haste after him—the turnpike-men enjoyed the sport and threw open their gates—hounds and horses, and men rattled through—the Bricklayers' Arms, the Elephant and Castle, Westminster-bridge, saw them rush past like a whirlwind, the tiger still in advance; nor did the chase cease till the baronet's town mansion, close to St. James's Park, was reached. A reeking pony stood at the door, which was open. Sir Pimpleton dismounted, cheering the hunters on—the game was all alive; the whole threw themselves from their horses, and hounds and men following, the baronet bounced into the drawing-room, where Lady Pettibones was receiving morning visits from dashing young spinsters and elderly dowagers.
"The tiger—my tiger," exclaimed Sir Pimpleton, in a wild and loud voice, "he has broke loose, and is now in the house."
Dreadful was the consternation at this announcement—a mouse crossing the floor would have been terrific, but to have a savage and sanguinary tiger ranging about, the thought was horrible. Shrieks and screams abounded—some ladies threw themselves into the arms of the gentlemen, others ran hurriedly about, and many, in their terror, could not distinguish between the ferocious animal and a hound, so as to tell "vich vos the tiger and vich vos the dog." At length, one of the whippers-in rushed through the door-way, exclaiming "We've got him, your honour, they're bringing him along." The confusion grew tenfold. Screams and shrieks mingled with the loud cheers of the hunters, and the mouthing of the hounds, when a couple of grooms appeared, dragging in a diminutive being in a scarlet jacket, buckskin tights, and white top-boots, with several dirty and ragged fish hanging by a long string in his hand; they placed him in the middle of the floor right before the baronet, and it was with difficulty that the hounds could be kept off.
"You rascal," vociferated Sir Pimpleton, raising his whip, "what do you mean by leading me such a dance! Didn't I lock you up for thieving—didn't I?"
"Vy yes, your honour," responded this perfect miniature of man; "but afore that, you ordered me to carry a bundle o' red-herrings to town, and give this here letter to deliver to her ladyship, and, when I came back, to bring down the cab; so I only obeyed orders." He held up the letter, and whilst trying to conceal the tattered fish, he looked smirkingly in the baronet's face, and added, "I say, your honour, that 'ere pony's worth his weight in gowld."
"Be off then, and take every care of him," said the more appeased baronet, looking at the fish and laughing. The lad, winking at the grooms, waited for no further orders. "And now, ladies and gentlemen," continued Sir Pimpleton, "that is Ben Gall, my tiger. Men, take off the hounds; we have had a capital run, gentlemen, which, no doubt, must have given you good appetites. Your horses shall have every attention—refreshment shall be immediately brought up for yourselves—a bumper of brandy round shall open the entertainment, and since we are all here together, why we'll wind up the day like true sons of Nimrod after an EnglishTiger Hunt."
Our monthly chat commences with a short dissertation on a very ample topic—
INGENIOUS ROGUERIES.
It may be remarked by any one who chooses to note the fact, that the most ingenious rogueries are seldom those which succeed best. The deep-laid scheme will often explode of itself; the right hand that never lost its cunning will sometimes miss its reward; the genius of knavery will walk barefoot, with an appetite as keen as itself; while the common bungler, the blundering rascal, the scoundrel who is idiot also, shall succeed in all his stupid, shallow, contemptible designs, andride home to dinner quite convinced that, though not strictly honest, he is astonishingly clever, ortalented—for that is, in these cases, the more orthodox word.
It is not the most skilful burglar that safely worms his way to the butler's pantry, or insinuates with most success his hand into the plate-chest; nor is it the most dexterous picker of pockets who is permitted longest to ply his art, or earliest retires upon a Pelion of purses piled upon an Ossa of bandannas. The blockheads in this, as in some other professions, often carry off the palm. "Whom the gods love die young." The thief of high and cultivated talent, the swindler of fine taste and exquisite discernment, is frequently destined to suffer early the fate which considerably later overtakes the fool. Somehow the world does not do justice even to its rogues. It refuses to be taken in by the profound rascal, while it readily falls a victim to the veriest dunce in the great School for Scoundrels.
While we see so many expert horsemen breaking the necks of their nags, or throwing involuntary summersets;—while we observe how extremely careful, and how eminently well skilled, is every captain of every steamer that happens to figure in a horrible collision in broad daylight;—while we are called upon to bear witness to the excessive caution and singular scientific proficiency of every soul associated with a railway; and have to notice besides that all their care, and all their science, has invariably been exercised whenever a frightful accident may have happened upon their beat;—these failures of roguish talent, and misfortunes of accomplished knavery, cease to be peculiarly wonderful.
This remark has been suggested by observing the signal failure of a rather ingenious device, put forth in the form of an advertisement in some of the daily papers. It is an invitation to everybody who may chance to possess "unstamped receipts" for sums above £5, to communicate with the advertiser, who is, of course, to reward the production of such documents! Any simple person would suppose—as there are very droll specimens of collectors yet alive—more curious by far than any of the curiosities they collect—collectors of turnpike tickets, and of complete sets of checks for readmission to the Opera for eleven successive seasons!—that here was a gentleman who had taken a fancy for collecting a perfect set of unstamped receipts from the year 1800 to the present time. A little reflection, however, would show that his objectmightbe to lay informations against the parties who had signed them. The design has been penetrated into still further; for it appears that all parties showing such receipts put themselves in the power of the advertiser, as being equally liable with the signers for accepting them unstamped!
Yes, we are bound to say that here was considerable ingenuity exercised. Here was a stone flung that seemed sure to kill two birds. The possessor of such a document was more than likely to be tempted to show it, by the reward of one sovereign; which the other party could well afford to pay out of the many sovereigns extracted in the shape of penalty from the said producer's pocket—to say nothing of the same amount drawn from the signer of the receipt. Since the coaxing cry of "Biddy, come and be killed" was first raised, no more seductive snare has been conceived. "I have assembled you," said the considerate proprietor of live stock in the story, "I have assembled you, my pretty birds, to learn from you what sauce you would like to be eaten with." "But we don't want to be eaten," said the birds with one voice. "You wander from the point," was the answer. So, perhaps, would the collector of unstamped receipts have said to the producers. "I have assembled you here to know what you would like to pay me in lieu of the penalty you have incurred." "But we don't want to pay any penalty." "You wander from the point."
We have all heard the most scandalous and groundless stories about lawyers;—of opinions delivered concerning the genuineness of a half sovereign, followed by the deduction of six-and-eightpence for the advice;—of thirteen-and-fourpence charged for "attending, consulting, and advising," when the occasion was a splendid dinner given by the client—followed by a demand on the angry client's part for wine had and consumed—and this succeeded in turn by an information against the said client for selling wine without a licence. These, and a thousand such libels, we can all remember; but the reality above recorded is at least as striking as the most ingenious of such fictions.
To contrast with the non-success of this wily experiment upon a grand scale, we may cite an instance of equal ingenuity, exercised in a much humbler walk, and taking the form of knavery in its mixed character. We distinctly remember it to have happened. The scene may be a seaport, or the banks of the Thames below bridge. A seaman, bearing a huge stone bottle, applies at the Nelson's Head for a gallon of whisky for Captain Rope of the Matilda, lying off shore—to fill up the bottle already half full. The spirit is duly poured in, and the cash demanded. "Oh! the capp'n said nothen about that"—the whisky was to be added to his account, and that was all he knew. But "mine host" did not know the captain well enough, and couldn't let the whisky go. The gallon was therefore poured back again into the landlord's measure, and set aside to be called for. So far there appeared to be no knavery at all; but the spirit so poured back, presently turned out to be, not whisky, but excellentone-water grog; for the two-gallon bottle of the sailor contained exactly one gallon of pure water when it was brought in, and one gallon of pure whisky and water when it was taken out.
The means in this, as in myriads of cases, are curiously disproportioned to the end. How miserably poor is the prize, considered in reference to the risk; to the cleverness in the invention of the stratagem; to the address demanded for the due execution of it, to the time consumed, the trouble taken, the agencies employed! But the truth is, that the very cleverest rascals are rarely more than half-cunning. The ablest of knaves must be at best half a blockhead. When we remember how the great Bardolph, having stolen a lute-case, "carried it twelve miles and sold it for three half-pence," the perilous, profitless, toilsome, half-witted nature of roguery needs no illustration. One would like to have seen him walking back, thirsty and way-wearied, under a broiling sun, and never sure but that the lady who once owned the lute-case might be walking that way too!
That famous exploit of Master Bardolph's ought to be registered in large letters over every judgment-seat, and on the door of every police-office. The record would save much judicial breath, and supersede volumes of admonition.
Shakspeare's illustrations of Vice might possibly have led us into a dissertation at least as long upon Shakspeare's illustrations of Virtue, but that the learned Dr. Bulgardo here honoured our humble vehicle with his presence, and called general attention to a contrast equally striking, under the following title:—