Chapter Eighteen.The whole of which has been fudged out of the History of England, and will therefore be quite New to the Majority of our Readers.Were we in want of materials for this eventful history, we have now a good opportunity for spinning out our volumes; but, so far from this being the case, we hardly know how to find space for what it is now absolutely necessary that the reader should be acquainted with. Our friends may probably recollect, when we remind them of the fact, that there was a certain king, James the Second, who sat upon our throne, and who was a very good Catholic—that he married his daughter, Mary, to one William of Orange, who, in return for James’s kindness in giving him his daughter, took away from him his kingdom, on the plea, that if he was a bad son-in-law, at all events, he was a sound Protestant. They may also recollect, that the exiled king was received most hospitably by the grand monarque, Louis XIV, who gave him palaces, money, and all that he required, and, moreover, gave him a fine army and fleet to go to Ireland and recover his kingdom, bidding him farewell with this equivocal sentence, “That the best thing he, Louis, could wish to him was, never to see his face again.” They may further recollect, that King James and King William met at the battle of the Boyne, in which the former was defeated, and then went back to St. Germains, and spent the rest of his life in acts of devotion, and plotting against the life of King William. Now, among other plots real and pretended, there was one laid in 1695, to assassinate King William on his way to Richmond. This plot was revealed, any of the conspirators were tried and executed, but the person who was at the head of it, a Scotchman, of the name of Sir George Barclay, escaped. In the year 1696, a bill was passed, by which Sir George Barclay and nine others who had escaped from justice, were attainted of high treason, if they did not choose to surrender themselves on or before the 26th day of March ensuing. Strange to say, these parties did not think it advisable to surrender themselves; perhaps it was because they knew that they were certain to be hung; but it is impossible to account for the actions of men: we can only lay the facts before our readers.Sir George Barclay was by birth a Scotchman, of high family, and well connected, he had been an officer in the army of King James, to whom he was strongly attached. Moreover, he was a very bigoted Catholic. Whether he ever received a commission from King James, authorising him to assassinate King William, has never been proved; but, as King James is well known to have been admitted into the order of the Jesuits, it is not at all unlikely. Certain it is, that the baronet went over to St. Germains, landed again in England, and would have made the attempt, had not the plot been discovered through some of the inferior accomplices; and it is equally sure that he escaped, although many others were hung: and few people knew what had become of him. The fact was, that when Barclay had fled to the sea-side, he was assisted over the water by a band of smugglers, who first concealed him in the cave we have described, which was their retreat. This led to a communication and arrangement with them. Sir George Barclay, who, although foiled in his attempt at assassination, never abandoned the cause, immediately perceived what advantages might be derived in keeping up a communication by means of these outlaws. For some time the smugglers were employed in carrying secret despatches to the friends of James in England and Scotland; and, as the importance of the correspondence increased, and it became necessary to have personal interviews instead of written communications, Sir George frequently passed over to the cave as a rendezvous, at which he might meet the adherents of the exiled king. In the course of time he saw the prudence of having the entire control of the band, and found little difficulty in being appointed their leader. From the means he obtained from St. Germains, the smuggling was now carried on to a great and very profitable extent; and, by the regulations which he enacted, the chance of discovery was diminished. Only one point more was requisite for safety and secrecy, which was, a person to whom he could confide the charge of the cave. Lady Barclay, who was equally warm in the cause, offered her services, and they were accepted; and at the latter end of the year 1696, about one year after the plot had failed, Lady Barclay, with her only child, took up her abode in this isolated domicile: Sir George then first making the arrangement that the men should always remain on the other side of the water, which would be an additional cause of security. For upwards of four years, Lady Barclay had remained an inmate, attending to the instruction of her little Lilly, and carrying on all the correspondence, and making all the necessary arrangements with vigour and address, satisfied with serving the good cause, and proving her devoted allegiance to her sovereign. Unfortunate and unwise as were the Stuart family, there must have been some charm about them, for they had instances of attachment and fidelity shown to them, of which no other line of kings could boast.Shortly after the tragical event recorded in the last chapter, the Jesuit came out of the cave and went up to Sir George, who coolly observed, “We have just been sending a traitor to his account, good father.”“So may they all perish,” replied the priest. “We start this evening?”“Certainly. What news have you for St. Germains?”“Much that is important. Discontent prevails throughout the country. The affair of Bishop Watson hath brought much odium on the usurper. He himself writhes under the tyrannical commands of the Commons, and is at issue with them.”“And in Scotland father?”“All is there ripe and ready—and an army once landed, would be joined by thousands. The injustice of the usurper in wishing to sacrifice the Scotch Settlement, has worked deep upon the minds of those who advanced their money upon that speculation; in the total, a larger sum than ever yet was raised in Scotland. Our emissaries have fanned the flame up to the highest pitch.”“To my thoughts, good father, there needed not further discontent. Have we not our king dethroned, and our holy religion persecuted?”“True, my son—true; but still we must lose no means by which we may increase the number of our adherents. Some are swayed by one feeling, and some by another. We have contrived to throw no small odium upon the usurper and betrayer of his wife’s father, by exposing and magnifying, indeed, the sums of money which he has lavished upon his courtesan, Mistress Villiers, now, by his heretic and unsanctified breath, raised into the peerage by the title of Countess of Orkney. All these items added together form a vast sum of discontent; and could we his Catholic majesty to rouse himself to assert once more his rights by force of arms, I should not fear for the result.”“Had I not been betrayed,” observed Sir George, musing, “before this the king would have had his own again.”“And thrice blessed would have been the arm that had laid the usurper low,” rejoined the Jesuit; “but more of this hereafter. Your lady hath had much converse with me. She thinks that the character of the man who commands that cutter is such as to warrant his services for gold—and wishes to essay him.”“The woman Corbett is of that opinion, and she is subtle. At all events, it can be tried; for he would be of much utility, and there would be no suspicion. The whole had better be left to her arrangement. We may employ, and pay, yet not trust him.”“That is exactly what Lady Alice had proposed,” replied the Jesuit. Here Lilly came out to tell her father that the morning meal was ready, and they all returned to the cave.That evening the boat was launched, and the Jesuit went over with Sir George, and landed at Cherbourg, from whence they both proceeded with all expedition to the court of King James.We have entered into this short detail, that the reader may just know the why and the wherefore these parties in the cave were introduced, and now we shall continue our most faithful and veracious history.
Were we in want of materials for this eventful history, we have now a good opportunity for spinning out our volumes; but, so far from this being the case, we hardly know how to find space for what it is now absolutely necessary that the reader should be acquainted with. Our friends may probably recollect, when we remind them of the fact, that there was a certain king, James the Second, who sat upon our throne, and who was a very good Catholic—that he married his daughter, Mary, to one William of Orange, who, in return for James’s kindness in giving him his daughter, took away from him his kingdom, on the plea, that if he was a bad son-in-law, at all events, he was a sound Protestant. They may also recollect, that the exiled king was received most hospitably by the grand monarque, Louis XIV, who gave him palaces, money, and all that he required, and, moreover, gave him a fine army and fleet to go to Ireland and recover his kingdom, bidding him farewell with this equivocal sentence, “That the best thing he, Louis, could wish to him was, never to see his face again.” They may further recollect, that King James and King William met at the battle of the Boyne, in which the former was defeated, and then went back to St. Germains, and spent the rest of his life in acts of devotion, and plotting against the life of King William. Now, among other plots real and pretended, there was one laid in 1695, to assassinate King William on his way to Richmond. This plot was revealed, any of the conspirators were tried and executed, but the person who was at the head of it, a Scotchman, of the name of Sir George Barclay, escaped. In the year 1696, a bill was passed, by which Sir George Barclay and nine others who had escaped from justice, were attainted of high treason, if they did not choose to surrender themselves on or before the 26th day of March ensuing. Strange to say, these parties did not think it advisable to surrender themselves; perhaps it was because they knew that they were certain to be hung; but it is impossible to account for the actions of men: we can only lay the facts before our readers.
Sir George Barclay was by birth a Scotchman, of high family, and well connected, he had been an officer in the army of King James, to whom he was strongly attached. Moreover, he was a very bigoted Catholic. Whether he ever received a commission from King James, authorising him to assassinate King William, has never been proved; but, as King James is well known to have been admitted into the order of the Jesuits, it is not at all unlikely. Certain it is, that the baronet went over to St. Germains, landed again in England, and would have made the attempt, had not the plot been discovered through some of the inferior accomplices; and it is equally sure that he escaped, although many others were hung: and few people knew what had become of him. The fact was, that when Barclay had fled to the sea-side, he was assisted over the water by a band of smugglers, who first concealed him in the cave we have described, which was their retreat. This led to a communication and arrangement with them. Sir George Barclay, who, although foiled in his attempt at assassination, never abandoned the cause, immediately perceived what advantages might be derived in keeping up a communication by means of these outlaws. For some time the smugglers were employed in carrying secret despatches to the friends of James in England and Scotland; and, as the importance of the correspondence increased, and it became necessary to have personal interviews instead of written communications, Sir George frequently passed over to the cave as a rendezvous, at which he might meet the adherents of the exiled king. In the course of time he saw the prudence of having the entire control of the band, and found little difficulty in being appointed their leader. From the means he obtained from St. Germains, the smuggling was now carried on to a great and very profitable extent; and, by the regulations which he enacted, the chance of discovery was diminished. Only one point more was requisite for safety and secrecy, which was, a person to whom he could confide the charge of the cave. Lady Barclay, who was equally warm in the cause, offered her services, and they were accepted; and at the latter end of the year 1696, about one year after the plot had failed, Lady Barclay, with her only child, took up her abode in this isolated domicile: Sir George then first making the arrangement that the men should always remain on the other side of the water, which would be an additional cause of security. For upwards of four years, Lady Barclay had remained an inmate, attending to the instruction of her little Lilly, and carrying on all the correspondence, and making all the necessary arrangements with vigour and address, satisfied with serving the good cause, and proving her devoted allegiance to her sovereign. Unfortunate and unwise as were the Stuart family, there must have been some charm about them, for they had instances of attachment and fidelity shown to them, of which no other line of kings could boast.
Shortly after the tragical event recorded in the last chapter, the Jesuit came out of the cave and went up to Sir George, who coolly observed, “We have just been sending a traitor to his account, good father.”
“So may they all perish,” replied the priest. “We start this evening?”
“Certainly. What news have you for St. Germains?”
“Much that is important. Discontent prevails throughout the country. The affair of Bishop Watson hath brought much odium on the usurper. He himself writhes under the tyrannical commands of the Commons, and is at issue with them.”
“And in Scotland father?”
“All is there ripe and ready—and an army once landed, would be joined by thousands. The injustice of the usurper in wishing to sacrifice the Scotch Settlement, has worked deep upon the minds of those who advanced their money upon that speculation; in the total, a larger sum than ever yet was raised in Scotland. Our emissaries have fanned the flame up to the highest pitch.”
“To my thoughts, good father, there needed not further discontent. Have we not our king dethroned, and our holy religion persecuted?”
“True, my son—true; but still we must lose no means by which we may increase the number of our adherents. Some are swayed by one feeling, and some by another. We have contrived to throw no small odium upon the usurper and betrayer of his wife’s father, by exposing and magnifying, indeed, the sums of money which he has lavished upon his courtesan, Mistress Villiers, now, by his heretic and unsanctified breath, raised into the peerage by the title of Countess of Orkney. All these items added together form a vast sum of discontent; and could we his Catholic majesty to rouse himself to assert once more his rights by force of arms, I should not fear for the result.”
“Had I not been betrayed,” observed Sir George, musing, “before this the king would have had his own again.”
“And thrice blessed would have been the arm that had laid the usurper low,” rejoined the Jesuit; “but more of this hereafter. Your lady hath had much converse with me. She thinks that the character of the man who commands that cutter is such as to warrant his services for gold—and wishes to essay him.”
“The woman Corbett is of that opinion, and she is subtle. At all events, it can be tried; for he would be of much utility, and there would be no suspicion. The whole had better be left to her arrangement. We may employ, and pay, yet not trust him.”
“That is exactly what Lady Alice had proposed,” replied the Jesuit. Here Lilly came out to tell her father that the morning meal was ready, and they all returned to the cave.
That evening the boat was launched, and the Jesuit went over with Sir George, and landed at Cherbourg, from whence they both proceeded with all expedition to the court of King James.
We have entered into this short detail, that the reader may just know the why and the wherefore these parties in the cave were introduced, and now we shall continue our most faithful and veracious history.
Chapter Nineteen.In which Smallbones is sent to look after a Pot of Black Paint.We must now return to the cutter, which still remains at anchor off the Point in Portsmouth harbour. It is a dark, murky, blowing day, with gusts of rain, and thick fog. Mr Vanslyperken is more than usually displeased, for, as he had to wait for the new boat which he had demanded, he thought this a good opportunity of enlivening the bends of the Yungfrau with a little black paint—not before it was required, most certainly, for she was as rusty in appearance as if she had been built of old iron. But paint fetched money; and as Mr Vanslyperken always sold his, it was like parting with so much of his own property, when he ordered up the paint-pots and brushes. Now the operation of beautifying the Yungfrau had been commenced the day before, and the unexpected change in the weather during the night had washed off the greater portion of the paint, and there was not only all the trouble, but all the expense, to be incurred again. No wonder that Mr Vanslyperken was in a bad humour—not only in a bad humour, but in the very worst of humours. He had made up his mind to go on shore to see his mother, and was pacing the quarter-deck in his great coat, with his umbrella under his arm, all ready to be unfurled as soon as he was on shore. He was just about to order his boat to be manned: Mr Vanslyperken looked up at the weather—the fog was still thick, and the rain fell. You could not even make out the houses on the Point. The wind had gone down considerably. Mr Vanslyperken looked over the gunwale—the damage was even greater than he thought. He looked over the stern, there was the stage still hanging where the painters had been standing or sitting, and, what was too bad, there was a pot of paint, with the brush in it, half full of rain-water, which some negligent person had left there. Mr Vanslyperken turned forward to call somebody to take the paint below, but the decks were empty, and it was growing dark. A sudden thought, instigated no doubt by the devil, filled the brain of Mr Vanslyperken. It was a glorious, golden opportunity, not to be lost. He walked forward, and went down into his cabin again, where he found Smallbones helping himself to biscuit, for the lad was hungry, as well he might be; but on this occasion Mr Vanslyperken took no notice.“Smallbones,” said he, “one of the men has left his paint-pot on the stage, under the stern: go and bring it in immediately.”“Yes, sir,” replied Smallbones, surprised at the unusually quiet style of his master’s address to him.Smallbones ran up the ladder, went aft, and slid down by the rope which held the plank used as a stage by the painters. Mr Vanslyperken seized his carving-knife, and following softly on deck, went aft. He took a hurried look forward—there was no one on deck. For a moment he hesitated at the crime: he observed the starboard rope shake, for Smallbones was just about to shin up again. The devil prevailed. Mr Vanslyperken sawed through the rope, heard the splash of the lad in the water, and, frightened at his own guilt, ran down below, and gained his cabin. There he seated himself, trembling like an aspen leaf. It was the first time that he had been amurderer. He was pale as ashes. He felt sick, and he staggered to his cupboard, poured out a tumbler of scheedam, and drank it off at a draught. This recovered him, and he again felt brave. He returned on deck, and ordered his boat to be manned, which was presently done. Mr Vanslyperken would have given the world to have gone aft, and to have looked over the stern, but he dared not; so, pushing the men into the boat, he slipped in, and was pulled on shore. Without giving any directions to the men he stepped out, and felt a relief when he found himself onterra firma. He walked away as fast as he could—he felt that he could not walk fast enough—he was anxious to arrive at his mother’s. The rain fell fast, but he thought not of his umbrella: it remained under his arm: and Mr Vanslyperken, as if he were chased by a fiend, pushed on through the fog and rain; he wanted to meet a congenial soul, one who would encourage, console him, ridicule his fears, and applaud the deed which he would just then have given the world to have recalled.Where could he seek one more fitted to his purpose than his mother? The door of the house where she lodged was common to many, and therefore opened with a latch, he went in and up-stairs, tried the door of his mother’s room, and found it fastened within. He knocked, heard the grumbling of the old woman at her being obliged to rise from her chair: she opened the door, and Vanslyperken, as soon as he was in, slammed it to, and, exhausted with his emotions, fell back in a chair.“Hey-day! and what’s the matter now?” cried the old woman, in Dutch; “one would think that you had been waylaid, robbed, and almost murdered.”“Murdered!” stammered Vanslyperken; “yes—it was murder.”“What was murder, my child?” replied the old woman reseating herself.“Did I say murder, mother?” said Vanslyperken, wiping the blended rain and perspiration from his brow with a cotton handkerchief.“Yes, you did, Cornelius Vanslyperken; not that I believe a craven like you would ever attempt such a thing.”“But I have, mother. I have done the deed,” replied Vanslyperken.“You have!” cried his mother; “then at last you have done something, and I shall respect you. Come, come, child, cheer up, and tell me all about it. There is a slight twinge the first time—but the second is nothing. Did you get gold? Heh, my son, plenty of gold?”“Gold! no, no—I got nothing—indeed, I lost by it—lost a pot full of black paint—but never mind that. He’s gone,” replied Vanslyperken, recovering himself fast.“Who is gone?”“The lad, Smallbones.”“Pish!” replied the old woman, rocking her chair. “Ay, well, never mind—it was for revenge, then—that’s sweet—very sweet. Now, Cornelius, tell me all about it.”Vanslyperken, encouraged by the sympathy, if we may use the term, shown by his mother, narrated what he had done.“Well, well, child, ’tis a beginning,” replied the old woman, “and I’ll not call you craven again.”“I must go back,” said Vanslyperken, starting up from his chair.“Go, child, it is late—and dream over it. Vengeance is sweet, even in sleep. I have had mine—and for years have I dwelt on it—and shall for years to come. I shall not die yet—no, no.”Vanslyperken quitted the house; the weather had cleared up, the breeze was fresh and piercing, and the stars twinkled every now and then, as the wild scud which flew across the heavens admitted them to view. Vanslyperken walked fast—he started at the least sound—he hurried by every one whom he met, as if fearful to be recognised—he felt relieved when he had gained the streets of Portsmouth, and he at last arrived at the Point; but there was no cutter’s boat, for he had given no orders. He was therefore obliged to hire one to go on board. The old man whom he engaged shoved into the stream; the tide was running in rapidly.“A cold night, sir,” observed the man.“Yes,” replied Vanslyperken, mechanically.“And a strong tide, with the wind to back it. He’d have but a poor chance who fell overboard such a night as this. The strongest swimmer, without help, would be soon in eternity.”Vanslyperken shuddered. Where was Smallbones at this moment? and then, the mention of eternity!“Silence, man, silence!” said Vanslyperken.“Hope no offence, Mr Lieutenant,” replied the man, who knew who his fare was.The boat pulled alongside of the Yungfrau, and Vanslyperken paid his unusual fare, and stepped on the deck. He went down below, and had the precaution to summon Smallbones to bring lights aft. The word was passed along the lower deck, and Vanslyperken sat down in the dark, awaiting the report that Smallbones could not be found.Snarleyyow went up to his master, and rubbed his cold nose against his hand, and then, for the first time, it occurred to Vanslyperken, that in his hurry to leave the vessel he had left the dog to the mercy of his enemies. During the time that Vanslyperken waited for the report of the lights, he passed over in his mind the untoward events which had taken place—the loss of the widow’s good-will, the loss of Corporal Van Spitter, who was adrift in the Zuyder Zee, the loss of five thousand pounds through the dog, and strange to say, what vexed him more, the loss of the dog’s eye; and when he thought of all these things, his heart was elated, and he rejoiced in the death of Smallbones, and no longer felt any compunction. But a light is coming aft, and Vanslyperken is waiting the anticipated report. It is a solitary purser’s dip, as they are termed at sea, emitting but feeble rays; and Vanslyperken’s eyes are directed to the door of the cabin to see who carries it. To his horror, his dismay, it is brought in by the drowned Smallbones, who, with a cadaverous, and, as he supposes, unearthly face and vacant look, drawls out, “It’s a-blowed out twice, sir, with the wind.”Vanslyperken started up, with his eyes glaring and fixed. There could be no mistake. It was the apparition of the murdered lad, and he fell back in a state of unconsciousness.“You’ve a-got it this time,” said Smallbones, chuckling as he bent over the body of the lieutenant with his purser’s dip, and perceived that he was in a state of insensibility.Had Mr Vanslyperken had the courage to look over the stern of the cutter when he re-ascended on the deck, he would have discovered Smallbones hanging on by the rudder chains; for had the fog not been so thick, Mr Vanslyperken would have perceived that at the time that he cut Smallbones adrift it was slack water, and the cutter was lying across the harbour. Smallbones was not, therefore, carried away by the tide, but being a very fair swimmer, had gained the rudder chains without difficulty; but at the time that Smallbones was climbing up again by the rope, he had perceived the blade of a carving knife working at the rope, and was assured that Vanslyperken was attempting his life. When he gained the rudder chains, he held, on. At first he thought of calling for assistance; but hearing Vanslyperken order his boat to be manned, the lad then resolved to wait a little longer, and allow his master to think that he was drowned. The result was as Smallbones intended. As soon as the lad saw the boat was out of hearing he called out most lustily, and was heard by those on board, and rescued from his cold immersion. He answered no questions which were put to him till he had changed his clothing and recovered himself, and then with great prudence summoned a council, composed of Short, Coble, and Jemmy Ducks, to whom he narrated what had taken place. A long consultation succeeded; and at last it was agreed that Smallbones should make his appearance as he did, and future arrangements to be taken according to circumstances.As soon as Smallbones had ascertained the situation of his master, he went forward and reported it to Dick Short, who with Coble came aft in the cabin. Short looked at Vanslyperken.“Conscience,” said Short.“And a damned bad un, too,” replied Coble, hitching up his trousers. “What’s to be done, Short?”“Nothing,” replied Short.“Just my idea,” replied Coble; “let him come to if he pleases, or die and be damned. Who cares?”“Nobody,” replied Short.“My eyes, but he must have been frightened,” said Smallbones; “for he has left the key in the cupboard. I’ll see what’s in it for once and away.”Snarleyyow, when Smallbones opened the cupboard, appeared to have an intuitive idea that he was trespassing, so he walked out growling from under the table: Short saluted him with a kick in the ribs, which tossed him under the feet of Coble who gave him a second with his fisherman’s boots, and the dog howled, and ran out of the cabin. O, Mr Vanslyperken! see what your favourite was brought to, because you did not come to.At this time Smallbones had his nose in the stone jar of scheedam—the olfactory examination was favourable, so he put his mouth to it—the labial essay still more so, so he took down a wine-glass, and, without any ceremony, filled a bumper, and handed it to Coble.“We’ll drink to his recovery,” said Obadiah, tossing off the contents.“Yes,” replied Short, who waited till the glass was refilled, and did the same.“Here’s bad luck to him in his own good stuff,” said Smallbones, tossing off a third glass, and, filling it again, he handed it to Coble.“Here’s reformation to him,” said Coble, draining the glass again.“Yes,” replied Short, taking the replenished vessel.“Here’s damn to him and his dog for ever and ever, Amen,” cried Smallbones, tippling off his second allowance.“Who’s there?” said Vanslyperken in a faint voice, opening his eyes with a vacant look.Smallbones replaced the bottle in the cupboard, and replied, “It’s only Smallbones, sir, and the mates, come to help you.”“Smallbones!” said Vanslyperken, still wandering. “Smallbones is drowned—and the whole pot of black paint.”“Conscience,” said Short.“Carving-knife,” rejoined Coble.“Carving-knife!” said Vanslyperken, raising himself up; “I never said a word about a carving-knife, did I? Who is it that I see? Short—and Coble—help me up. I’ve had a sad fall. Where’s Smallbones? Is he alive—really alive?”“I believe as how I bees,” replied Smallbones.Mr Vanslyperken had now recovered his perfect senses. He had been raised on a chair, and was anxious to be rid of intruders, so he told Short and Coble that he would now do very well, and they might go; upon which, without saying a word, they both quitted the cabin.Mr Vanslyperken collected himself—he wished to know how Smallbones had been saved but still dared not broach the subject, as it would be admitting his own guilt.“What has happened, Smallbones?” said Vanslyperken “I still feel very faint.”“Take a glass of this,” replied Smallbones, opening the cupboard, and bringing out the scheedam. He poured out a glass, which Vanslyperken drank, and then observed, “How did you know what was in that cupboard, sirrah?”“Because you called for it when you were in your fits,” replied Smallbones.“Called for scheedam?”“Yes, sir, and said you had lost the carving-knife.”“Did I?” replied Vanslyperken, afraid that he had committed himself. “I have been ill, very ill,” continued he, putting his hand up to his forehead. “By-the-bye, Smallbones, did you bring in that pot of paint?” said Vanslyperken adroitly.“No, sir, I didn’t, because I tumbled overboard, pot and all,” replied Smallbones.“Tumbled overboard! why, I did not leave the ship till afterwards, and I heard nothing about it.”“No, sir, how could you?” replied Smallbones, who was all prepared for this explanation, “when the tide swept me past the saluting battery in a moment.”“Past the saluting battery!” exclaimed Vanslyperken; “why, how were you saved?”“Because, thanks to somebody, I be too light to sink. I went out to the Nab buoy and a mile ayond it.”“The Nab buoy!” exclaimed Vanslyperken.“Yes, and ayond it, afore the tide turned, and then I were swept back again, and came into harbour again, just half an hour afore you come aboard.”Mr Vanslyperken looked aghast; the lad must have had a charmed life. Nine miles, at least; out to sea, and nine miles back again.“It’s as true as I stand here, sir,” continued Smallbones; “I never were so cold in all my life, a-floating about like a bit of duck-weed with the tide, this way and that way.”“As true as you stand here!” repeated Vanslyperken; “but do you stand here?” and he made a desperate grasp at the lad’s arm to ascertain whether he held substance or shadow.“Can I do anything more, sir?” continued Smallbones; “for I should like to turn in—I’m as cold as ice, even now.”“You may go,” replied Vanslyperken, whose mind was again becoming confused at what had passed. For some time the lieutenant sat in his chair, trying to recollect and reason; but it was in vain—the shocks of the day had been too great. He threw himself, dressed as he was, upon his bed—never perceived the absence of his favourite—the candle was allowed to burn itself to the socket, and Vanslyperken fell off into a trance-like sleep.
We must now return to the cutter, which still remains at anchor off the Point in Portsmouth harbour. It is a dark, murky, blowing day, with gusts of rain, and thick fog. Mr Vanslyperken is more than usually displeased, for, as he had to wait for the new boat which he had demanded, he thought this a good opportunity of enlivening the bends of the Yungfrau with a little black paint—not before it was required, most certainly, for she was as rusty in appearance as if she had been built of old iron. But paint fetched money; and as Mr Vanslyperken always sold his, it was like parting with so much of his own property, when he ordered up the paint-pots and brushes. Now the operation of beautifying the Yungfrau had been commenced the day before, and the unexpected change in the weather during the night had washed off the greater portion of the paint, and there was not only all the trouble, but all the expense, to be incurred again. No wonder that Mr Vanslyperken was in a bad humour—not only in a bad humour, but in the very worst of humours. He had made up his mind to go on shore to see his mother, and was pacing the quarter-deck in his great coat, with his umbrella under his arm, all ready to be unfurled as soon as he was on shore. He was just about to order his boat to be manned: Mr Vanslyperken looked up at the weather—the fog was still thick, and the rain fell. You could not even make out the houses on the Point. The wind had gone down considerably. Mr Vanslyperken looked over the gunwale—the damage was even greater than he thought. He looked over the stern, there was the stage still hanging where the painters had been standing or sitting, and, what was too bad, there was a pot of paint, with the brush in it, half full of rain-water, which some negligent person had left there. Mr Vanslyperken turned forward to call somebody to take the paint below, but the decks were empty, and it was growing dark. A sudden thought, instigated no doubt by the devil, filled the brain of Mr Vanslyperken. It was a glorious, golden opportunity, not to be lost. He walked forward, and went down into his cabin again, where he found Smallbones helping himself to biscuit, for the lad was hungry, as well he might be; but on this occasion Mr Vanslyperken took no notice.
“Smallbones,” said he, “one of the men has left his paint-pot on the stage, under the stern: go and bring it in immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Smallbones, surprised at the unusually quiet style of his master’s address to him.
Smallbones ran up the ladder, went aft, and slid down by the rope which held the plank used as a stage by the painters. Mr Vanslyperken seized his carving-knife, and following softly on deck, went aft. He took a hurried look forward—there was no one on deck. For a moment he hesitated at the crime: he observed the starboard rope shake, for Smallbones was just about to shin up again. The devil prevailed. Mr Vanslyperken sawed through the rope, heard the splash of the lad in the water, and, frightened at his own guilt, ran down below, and gained his cabin. There he seated himself, trembling like an aspen leaf. It was the first time that he had been amurderer. He was pale as ashes. He felt sick, and he staggered to his cupboard, poured out a tumbler of scheedam, and drank it off at a draught. This recovered him, and he again felt brave. He returned on deck, and ordered his boat to be manned, which was presently done. Mr Vanslyperken would have given the world to have gone aft, and to have looked over the stern, but he dared not; so, pushing the men into the boat, he slipped in, and was pulled on shore. Without giving any directions to the men he stepped out, and felt a relief when he found himself onterra firma. He walked away as fast as he could—he felt that he could not walk fast enough—he was anxious to arrive at his mother’s. The rain fell fast, but he thought not of his umbrella: it remained under his arm: and Mr Vanslyperken, as if he were chased by a fiend, pushed on through the fog and rain; he wanted to meet a congenial soul, one who would encourage, console him, ridicule his fears, and applaud the deed which he would just then have given the world to have recalled.
Where could he seek one more fitted to his purpose than his mother? The door of the house where she lodged was common to many, and therefore opened with a latch, he went in and up-stairs, tried the door of his mother’s room, and found it fastened within. He knocked, heard the grumbling of the old woman at her being obliged to rise from her chair: she opened the door, and Vanslyperken, as soon as he was in, slammed it to, and, exhausted with his emotions, fell back in a chair.
“Hey-day! and what’s the matter now?” cried the old woman, in Dutch; “one would think that you had been waylaid, robbed, and almost murdered.”
“Murdered!” stammered Vanslyperken; “yes—it was murder.”
“What was murder, my child?” replied the old woman reseating herself.
“Did I say murder, mother?” said Vanslyperken, wiping the blended rain and perspiration from his brow with a cotton handkerchief.
“Yes, you did, Cornelius Vanslyperken; not that I believe a craven like you would ever attempt such a thing.”
“But I have, mother. I have done the deed,” replied Vanslyperken.
“You have!” cried his mother; “then at last you have done something, and I shall respect you. Come, come, child, cheer up, and tell me all about it. There is a slight twinge the first time—but the second is nothing. Did you get gold? Heh, my son, plenty of gold?”
“Gold! no, no—I got nothing—indeed, I lost by it—lost a pot full of black paint—but never mind that. He’s gone,” replied Vanslyperken, recovering himself fast.
“Who is gone?”
“The lad, Smallbones.”
“Pish!” replied the old woman, rocking her chair. “Ay, well, never mind—it was for revenge, then—that’s sweet—very sweet. Now, Cornelius, tell me all about it.”
Vanslyperken, encouraged by the sympathy, if we may use the term, shown by his mother, narrated what he had done.
“Well, well, child, ’tis a beginning,” replied the old woman, “and I’ll not call you craven again.”
“I must go back,” said Vanslyperken, starting up from his chair.
“Go, child, it is late—and dream over it. Vengeance is sweet, even in sleep. I have had mine—and for years have I dwelt on it—and shall for years to come. I shall not die yet—no, no.”
Vanslyperken quitted the house; the weather had cleared up, the breeze was fresh and piercing, and the stars twinkled every now and then, as the wild scud which flew across the heavens admitted them to view. Vanslyperken walked fast—he started at the least sound—he hurried by every one whom he met, as if fearful to be recognised—he felt relieved when he had gained the streets of Portsmouth, and he at last arrived at the Point; but there was no cutter’s boat, for he had given no orders. He was therefore obliged to hire one to go on board. The old man whom he engaged shoved into the stream; the tide was running in rapidly.
“A cold night, sir,” observed the man.
“Yes,” replied Vanslyperken, mechanically.
“And a strong tide, with the wind to back it. He’d have but a poor chance who fell overboard such a night as this. The strongest swimmer, without help, would be soon in eternity.”
Vanslyperken shuddered. Where was Smallbones at this moment? and then, the mention of eternity!
“Silence, man, silence!” said Vanslyperken.
“Hope no offence, Mr Lieutenant,” replied the man, who knew who his fare was.
The boat pulled alongside of the Yungfrau, and Vanslyperken paid his unusual fare, and stepped on the deck. He went down below, and had the precaution to summon Smallbones to bring lights aft. The word was passed along the lower deck, and Vanslyperken sat down in the dark, awaiting the report that Smallbones could not be found.
Snarleyyow went up to his master, and rubbed his cold nose against his hand, and then, for the first time, it occurred to Vanslyperken, that in his hurry to leave the vessel he had left the dog to the mercy of his enemies. During the time that Vanslyperken waited for the report of the lights, he passed over in his mind the untoward events which had taken place—the loss of the widow’s good-will, the loss of Corporal Van Spitter, who was adrift in the Zuyder Zee, the loss of five thousand pounds through the dog, and strange to say, what vexed him more, the loss of the dog’s eye; and when he thought of all these things, his heart was elated, and he rejoiced in the death of Smallbones, and no longer felt any compunction. But a light is coming aft, and Vanslyperken is waiting the anticipated report. It is a solitary purser’s dip, as they are termed at sea, emitting but feeble rays; and Vanslyperken’s eyes are directed to the door of the cabin to see who carries it. To his horror, his dismay, it is brought in by the drowned Smallbones, who, with a cadaverous, and, as he supposes, unearthly face and vacant look, drawls out, “It’s a-blowed out twice, sir, with the wind.”
Vanslyperken started up, with his eyes glaring and fixed. There could be no mistake. It was the apparition of the murdered lad, and he fell back in a state of unconsciousness.
“You’ve a-got it this time,” said Smallbones, chuckling as he bent over the body of the lieutenant with his purser’s dip, and perceived that he was in a state of insensibility.
Had Mr Vanslyperken had the courage to look over the stern of the cutter when he re-ascended on the deck, he would have discovered Smallbones hanging on by the rudder chains; for had the fog not been so thick, Mr Vanslyperken would have perceived that at the time that he cut Smallbones adrift it was slack water, and the cutter was lying across the harbour. Smallbones was not, therefore, carried away by the tide, but being a very fair swimmer, had gained the rudder chains without difficulty; but at the time that Smallbones was climbing up again by the rope, he had perceived the blade of a carving knife working at the rope, and was assured that Vanslyperken was attempting his life. When he gained the rudder chains, he held, on. At first he thought of calling for assistance; but hearing Vanslyperken order his boat to be manned, the lad then resolved to wait a little longer, and allow his master to think that he was drowned. The result was as Smallbones intended. As soon as the lad saw the boat was out of hearing he called out most lustily, and was heard by those on board, and rescued from his cold immersion. He answered no questions which were put to him till he had changed his clothing and recovered himself, and then with great prudence summoned a council, composed of Short, Coble, and Jemmy Ducks, to whom he narrated what had taken place. A long consultation succeeded; and at last it was agreed that Smallbones should make his appearance as he did, and future arrangements to be taken according to circumstances.
As soon as Smallbones had ascertained the situation of his master, he went forward and reported it to Dick Short, who with Coble came aft in the cabin. Short looked at Vanslyperken.
“Conscience,” said Short.
“And a damned bad un, too,” replied Coble, hitching up his trousers. “What’s to be done, Short?”
“Nothing,” replied Short.
“Just my idea,” replied Coble; “let him come to if he pleases, or die and be damned. Who cares?”
“Nobody,” replied Short.
“My eyes, but he must have been frightened,” said Smallbones; “for he has left the key in the cupboard. I’ll see what’s in it for once and away.”
Snarleyyow, when Smallbones opened the cupboard, appeared to have an intuitive idea that he was trespassing, so he walked out growling from under the table: Short saluted him with a kick in the ribs, which tossed him under the feet of Coble who gave him a second with his fisherman’s boots, and the dog howled, and ran out of the cabin. O, Mr Vanslyperken! see what your favourite was brought to, because you did not come to.
At this time Smallbones had his nose in the stone jar of scheedam—the olfactory examination was favourable, so he put his mouth to it—the labial essay still more so, so he took down a wine-glass, and, without any ceremony, filled a bumper, and handed it to Coble.
“We’ll drink to his recovery,” said Obadiah, tossing off the contents.
“Yes,” replied Short, who waited till the glass was refilled, and did the same.
“Here’s bad luck to him in his own good stuff,” said Smallbones, tossing off a third glass, and, filling it again, he handed it to Coble.
“Here’s reformation to him,” said Coble, draining the glass again.
“Yes,” replied Short, taking the replenished vessel.
“Here’s damn to him and his dog for ever and ever, Amen,” cried Smallbones, tippling off his second allowance.
“Who’s there?” said Vanslyperken in a faint voice, opening his eyes with a vacant look.
Smallbones replaced the bottle in the cupboard, and replied, “It’s only Smallbones, sir, and the mates, come to help you.”
“Smallbones!” said Vanslyperken, still wandering. “Smallbones is drowned—and the whole pot of black paint.”
“Conscience,” said Short.
“Carving-knife,” rejoined Coble.
“Carving-knife!” said Vanslyperken, raising himself up; “I never said a word about a carving-knife, did I? Who is it that I see? Short—and Coble—help me up. I’ve had a sad fall. Where’s Smallbones? Is he alive—really alive?”
“I believe as how I bees,” replied Smallbones.
Mr Vanslyperken had now recovered his perfect senses. He had been raised on a chair, and was anxious to be rid of intruders, so he told Short and Coble that he would now do very well, and they might go; upon which, without saying a word, they both quitted the cabin.
Mr Vanslyperken collected himself—he wished to know how Smallbones had been saved but still dared not broach the subject, as it would be admitting his own guilt.
“What has happened, Smallbones?” said Vanslyperken “I still feel very faint.”
“Take a glass of this,” replied Smallbones, opening the cupboard, and bringing out the scheedam. He poured out a glass, which Vanslyperken drank, and then observed, “How did you know what was in that cupboard, sirrah?”
“Because you called for it when you were in your fits,” replied Smallbones.
“Called for scheedam?”
“Yes, sir, and said you had lost the carving-knife.”
“Did I?” replied Vanslyperken, afraid that he had committed himself. “I have been ill, very ill,” continued he, putting his hand up to his forehead. “By-the-bye, Smallbones, did you bring in that pot of paint?” said Vanslyperken adroitly.
“No, sir, I didn’t, because I tumbled overboard, pot and all,” replied Smallbones.
“Tumbled overboard! why, I did not leave the ship till afterwards, and I heard nothing about it.”
“No, sir, how could you?” replied Smallbones, who was all prepared for this explanation, “when the tide swept me past the saluting battery in a moment.”
“Past the saluting battery!” exclaimed Vanslyperken; “why, how were you saved?”
“Because, thanks to somebody, I be too light to sink. I went out to the Nab buoy and a mile ayond it.”
“The Nab buoy!” exclaimed Vanslyperken.
“Yes, and ayond it, afore the tide turned, and then I were swept back again, and came into harbour again, just half an hour afore you come aboard.”
Mr Vanslyperken looked aghast; the lad must have had a charmed life. Nine miles, at least; out to sea, and nine miles back again.
“It’s as true as I stand here, sir,” continued Smallbones; “I never were so cold in all my life, a-floating about like a bit of duck-weed with the tide, this way and that way.”
“As true as you stand here!” repeated Vanslyperken; “but do you stand here?” and he made a desperate grasp at the lad’s arm to ascertain whether he held substance or shadow.
“Can I do anything more, sir?” continued Smallbones; “for I should like to turn in—I’m as cold as ice, even now.”
“You may go,” replied Vanslyperken, whose mind was again becoming confused at what had passed. For some time the lieutenant sat in his chair, trying to recollect and reason; but it was in vain—the shocks of the day had been too great. He threw himself, dressed as he was, upon his bed—never perceived the absence of his favourite—the candle was allowed to burn itself to the socket, and Vanslyperken fell off into a trance-like sleep.
Chapter Twenty.In which Mr Vanslyperken proves False to the Widow Vandersloosh, and Many Strange Things take Place.Mr Vanslyperken was awakened, the next morning, by the yelping of his dog, who, having been shut out of the cabin, had ventured up the ladder in the morning when the men were washing the deck, and had a bucket shied at him by Jemmy Ducks, with such excellent precision, that it knocked him over, and nearly broke his hind leg, which he now carried high up in the air as he howled upon the other three at the cabin door. Mr Vanslyperken rose, and tried to recollect what had passed; but it was more than a minute before he could recall the circumstances of the day before. He then tried to call to mind how he had gone to bed, and by what means Snarleyyow was left outside, but he could make nothing of it. He opened the cabin door, and let in the dog, whose lame leg instantly excited his indignation, and he then rang his bell for Smallbones, who soon made his appearance.“How came the dog out of the cabin, sir?”“I’m sure I don’t know, sir; I never put him out.”“Who is it that has hurt him?”“I’m sure I don’t know, sir; I never touched him.”Vanslyperken was about to vent his anger, when Smallbones: said, “If you please, I don’t know what’s a-going on. Why here, sir, the men washing the decks have found your carving-knife abaft, by the taffrail. Somebody must have taken it there, that’s sartain.”Vanslyperken turned pale.“Who could have taken it?”“That’s what it said, sir. Who dare come in the cabin to take the knife? and what could they have taken it for, but unless it was to cut summut?” And Smallbones looked his master full in the face. And the lieutenant quailed before his boy. He could not meet his gaze, but turned away.“Very odd,” continued Smallbones, perceiving the advantage he had gained.“Leave the cabin, sir,” cried Vanslyperken.“Sha’n’t I make no inquiries how this ere knife came there, sir?” replied Smallbones.“No, sir, mind your own business. I’ve a great mind to flog you for its being found there—all your carelessness.”“That would be a pretty go,” murmured Smallbones, as he shut the cabin door.The feeling of vengeance against Smallbones was now redoubled in the breast of his master; and the only regret he felt at the transactions of the day before was, that the boy had not been drowned.“I’ll have him yet,” muttered the lieutenant; but he forgot that he was shaving himself, and the involuntary movements of his lips caused him to cut a large gash on his right cheek, from which the blood trickled fast.“Curses on the—(razor he was going to say, but he changed to)—scoundrel!”A slice with a razor is certainly a very annoying thing. After a certain time, Mr Vanslyperken finished his toilet, called for his breakfast, went on deck, and as the day was fine, ordered the paint to be renewed, and then went on shore to ascertain if there were any commands for him at the admiral’s office.As he walked up the street in a brown study, he at last observed that a very pretty woman dogged him, sometimes walking a-head and looking back, at others dropping astern, and then again ranging up alongside. He looked her in the face, and she smiled sweetly; and then turned her head coquettishly, and then looked again with eyes full of meaning. Now, although Mr Vanslyperken had always avoided amours on account of the expense entailed upon them, yet he was like a dry chip, very inflammable, and the extreme beauty of the party made him feel unusual emotions. Her perseverance too—and her whole appearance so very respectable—so superior to the class of people who generally accosted him. He thought of the widow and her money-bags, and thought also, how infinitely more desirable the widow would be, if she possessed but the beauty of the present party.“I do believe I’ve lost my way,” exclaimed the young person. “Pray, sir, can you tell me the way to Castle Street? for I’m almost a stranger. And,” (added she, laughing) “I really don’t know my way back to my own house.”Castle Street was, at that time, one of the best streets in Portsmouth, as Mr Vanslyperken well knew. This assured him of her respectability. He very gallantly offered his arm, which, after a little demur, was accepted, and Mr Vanslyperken conveyed her to her house. Of course she could do no less than to ask him to walk up, and Mr Vanslyperken, who had never been in anything approaching to good society, was in astonishment at the furniture. All appeared to denote wealth. He was soon in an interesting conversation, and by degrees found out that the lady was a young widow of the name of Malcolm, whose husband had been factor to the new company, called the East India Company; that she had come down to Portsmouth expecting him home, and that she had learnt that he had died on shore a few days before his intended embarkation for England. Since which, as she liked the place and the society, she had thoughts of remaining here.“They say that gold in India is to be had for nothing.”“It must be very plentiful,” replied the widow, “if I am to judge by the quantity my poor husband sent me home, and he was not out more than three years. He left me a week after our marriage.”Here the lovely widow put her handkerchief up to her eyes, and Mr Vanslyperken attempted to console her.“It’s so very unpleasant to be left without any one to advise you, and exposed to be cheated so dreadfully! What can a poor lone woman do? Did you ever see me before, sir?”“I never did,” replied our lieutenant. “May I ask the same question? for I thought you appeared to know me.”“O yes! I’ve seen you very often, and wished to know who you were, but I was ashamed to ask. One cannot be too particular in my situation.”Mr Vanslyperken was much pleased, but he had remained some time, and he thought it right to depart, so he rose and made his adieus.“I hope I shall see you again,” cried the widow, earnestly. “You will call again, sir, won’t you?”“Most certainly, and with the greatest pleasure,” replied Vanslyperken.The lady extended her gloved hand, and as it was closed in that of Vanslyperken, he thought he felt a slight, a very slight pressure, which made his heart leap. And then, as he shut the door, she gave him such a look—O those eyes!—they pierced right through the heart of Vanslyperken.The reader may not, perhaps, be aware who this gay widow might be. It was Nancy Corbett, who had, by the advice of Lady Alice, taken this step to entrap Mr Vanslyperken. Nancy had obtained from Moggy all the particulars of the lieutenant’s wooing of the widow Vandersloosh, and his character as a miser and a coward. Had he been a miser only, she would have attacked by gold alone, but being a coward, it was decided that he should have some further stimulus to betray his country, and enlist himself among the partisans of King James.Beauty, joined with wealth, the chance of possessing both, with the attractive arts of Nancy, were considered necessary to sway him. Indeed they were so far right, that had any one made the bold proposal to Vanslyperken of joining the other party, and offered him at the same time ample remuneration, he would have been too suspicions or too timorous to run the risk. It was necessary to win him over by means which appeared accidental rather than otherwise. The difficulty of correspondence was very great; and as the cutter constantly was dispatched to the Hague, and the French had agents there, not only letters, but even messengers, might be sent over without risk and without suspicion; for open boats being then the only means of communication, during the wintry part of the year, the correspondence was very precarious, and at long intervals.Thus was Nancy Corbett changed into a buxom widow, all for the good cause, and well did she perform her part; for there was no lack of money when such services were required. Vanslyperken left the house quite enchanted. “This will do,” thought he; “and if I succeed, Frau Vandersloosh may go to the devil.” He returned on board, unlocked his cabin, where Snarleyyow had been secured from the machinations of Smallbones and other malcontents, and sat down to enjoy the castle-building which he had commenced after he left the house. He patted his dog, and apostrophised it. “Yes, my poor brute,” said Vanslyperken, “your master will get a rich widow, without it being necessary that you should be laid dead at her porch. Damn Frau Vandersloosh.”The widow was more enchanting when Vanslyperken called on the ensuing day, than she was on the first. Her advances to the lieutenant were no longer doubtful to him. She entered freely into the state of her affairs, asked his advice upon money matters, and fully proved to his satisfaction that, independent of her beauty, she would be a much greater catch than Frau Vandersloosh. She spoke about her family; said that she expected her brother over, but that he must comeincognito, as he was attached to the court of the exiled king, lamented the difficulty of receiving letters from him, and openly expressed her adherence to the Stuart family. Vanslyperken appeared to make very little objection to her political creed; in fact, he was so fascinated that he fell blindly into the snare; he accepted an invitation to dine with her on that very day, and went on board to dress himself as fine for her as he had for the widow Vandersloosh. The lovely widow admired his uniform, and gave him many gentle hints upon which he might speak: but this did not take place until a tête-à-tête after dinner, when he was sitting on a sofa with her (not on such a fubsy sofa as that of Frau Vandersloosh, but one worked in tapestry); much in the same position as we once introduced him to the reader, to wit, with the lady’s hand in his. Vanslyperken was flushed with wine, for Nancy had pushed the bottle, and, at last, he spoke out clearly what his aspirations were. The widow blushed; laughed, wiped her eyes as if to brush away a falling tear, and eventually, with a slight pressure of the hand, stammered that she did not know what to say, the acquaintance was so short—it was so unexpected—she must reflect a little: at the same time, she could not but acknowledge that she had been taken with him when she first saw him; and then she laughed and said, that she did really begin to believe that there was such a thing as love at first sight, and then—he had better go now, she wished to be alone—she really had a headache. Oh! Nancy Corbett! you were, indeed, an adept in the art of seduction—no wonder that your name has been handed down to posterity. Mr Vanslyperken perceived his advantage, and pressed still more, until the blushing widow declared that she would really think seriously about the matter, if, on further acquaintance, she found that her good opinion of him was not overrated.Vanslyperken returned on board intoxicated with his success. On his arrival, he was informed that a messenger had been sent for him, but no one knew where to find him, and that he must be at the admiral’s early the next morning, and have all ready for immediate sailing. This was rather annoying, but there was no help for it. The next day Vanslyperken went, to the admiral’s, and received orders to sail immediately to the Hague with despatches of consequence, being no less than an answer from King William to the States General. Mr Vanslyperken proceeded from the admiral’s to the charming widow, to whom he imparted this unwelcome intelligence. She, of course, was grave, and listened to his protestations with her little finger in her mouth, and a pensive downcast eye.“How long will you be away?” inquired she.“But a week or ten days at the furthest. I shall fly back to see you again.”“But tell me the truth, have you no acquaintances there?—now, tell the truth. I don’t mean men.”“Upon my honour, fair widow, I don’t know a single woman there,” replied Vanslyperken, pleased with this little appearance of jealousy; “but I’m afraid that I must leave you, for the admiral is very severe.”“Will you do me one favour, Mr Vanslyperken?”“Anything:— ask what you will.”“I want this letter forwarded to my brother—I am very anxious about it. The French agent there will send it on;—it is enclosed to him. Will you do me that favour, my dear sir?—I’m sure you will, if—”“If what?”“If you love me,” replied the widow, laying her hand upon Vanslyperken.“I will, most certainly,” said Vanslyperken, taking the letter and putting it in his pocket.“Then I shall ask you another,” said the widow. “You will think me very foolish, but there may be an opportunity—will you write to me—just a few lines—only to tell me that you have given the letter, that’s all—and to say how you are—don’t you think me very foolish?”“I will write, dearest, since you wish it—and now, good-bye.”Vanslyperken took the widow round the waist, and after a little murmuring and reluctance, was permitted to snatch a kiss. Her eyes followed him mournfully till he shut the door and disappeared, and then Nancy Corbett gave way to unbounded mirth.“So, the fool has bit already,” thought she; “now if he only writes to me, and I get his acknowledgment of having delivered the letter, the beast is in my power, and I can hang him any day I please. Upon his honour, he did not know a single woman there:— Lord have mercy!—what liars men are!—but we can sometimes beat them with their own weapons.” And Nancy’s thoughts reverted to her former life, which she now dwelt upon with pain and sorrow.Mr Vanslyperken returned on board: the anchor was weighed immediately that the boats had been hoisted up; and the Yungfrau ran out with a fair wind, which lasted until the evening, when it fell almost calm, and the cutter made but little way through the water. Many of the men were conversing on the forecastle as usual, and the subject of their discourse was the surmising what had become of Corporal Van Spitter. In one point they all appeared to agree, which was, that they hoped he would never return to the cutter.“If he does, I owe him one,” observed Jemmy Ducks. “It’s all through him that my wife was turned out of the vessel.”“And a little bit from her tongue, Jemmy,” observed Coble.“Why, perhaps so,” replied Jemmy; “but what was it set her tongue loose but the threat ofhimto flog me, and what made him threaten that but the ’peaching of that fat marine?”“Very good arguments Jemmy. Well, I will say that for your wife, Jemmy, she does love you, and there’s no sham about it.”“Never mind Jemmy’s wife, let’s have Jemmy’s song,” said Spurey; “he hasn’t piped since he was pulled up by the corporal.”“No: he put my pipe out, the hippopotamus. Well, I’ll give it you—it shall be about what we are talking of, Obadiah.” Jemmy perched himself on the fore-end of the booms, and sang as follows:—I suppose that you think ’cause my trousers are tarry,And because that I ties my long hair in a tail,While landsmen are figged out as fine as Lord Harry,With breast-pins and cravats as white as old sail;That I’m a strange creature, a know-nothing ninny,But fit for the planks for to walk in foul weather;That I ha’n’t e’er a notion of the worth of a guinea,And that you, Poll, can twist me about as a feather—Lord love you!!I know that this life is but short at the best on’t,That time it flies fast, and that work must be done;That when danger comes ’tis as well for to jest on’t,’Twill be but the lighter felt when it do comeIf you think, then, from this, that I an’t got a notionOf a heaven above, with its mercy in store,And the devil below, for us lads of the ocean,Just the same as it be for the landsmen on shore—Lord love you!!If because I don’t splice with some true-hearted woman,Who’d doat on my presence, and sob when I sail,But put up with you, Poll, though faithful to no man,With a fist that can strike, and a tongue that can rail;’Tis because I’m not selfish, and know ’tis my dutyIf I marry to moor by my wife, and not leave her,To dandle the young ones,—watch over her beauty,D’ye think that I’d promise and vow, then deceive her?Lord love you!!I suppose that you think ’cause I’m free with my money,Which others would hoard and lock up in their chest,All your billing and cooing, and words sweet as honey,Are as gospel to me while you hang on my breast;But no, Polly, no;—you may take every guinea,They’d burn in my pocket if I took them to sea;But as for your love, Poll, I indeed were a ninny—D’ye think I don’t know you cheat others than me?Lord love you!!“Well, that’s a good song, Jemmy, and he can’t pull you up for that, any how.”Mr Vanslyperken appeared to think otherwise, for he sent a marine forward to say, that no singing would be permitted in future, and that they were immediately to desist.“I suppose we shall have a song considered as mutiny soon,” observed Coble. “Ah, well, it’s a long lane that has no turning.”“Yes,” replied Jemmy, in an under tone, “and for every rogue there’s a rope laid up. Never mind, let us go below.”Mr Vanslyperken’s dreaming thoughts of the fair widow were nevertheless occasionally interrupted by others not quite so agreeable. Strange to say, he fully believed what Smallbones had asserted about his being carried out by the tide to the Nab buoy, and he canvassed the question in his mind, whether there was not something supernatural in the affair, a sort of interposition of Providence in behalf of the lad, which was to be considered as a warning to himself not to attempt anything further. He was frightened, although his feeling for revenge was still in all its force. As for any one suspecting him of having attempted the boy’s life, he had recovered from that feeling; even if they did, who dare say a word? There was another point which also engrossed the moody Vanslyperken, which was how he should behave relative to the widow Vandersloosh. Should he call or should he not? He cared nothing for her, and provided he could succeed with the Portsmouth lady, he would pitch her to the devil; but still he remembered the old proverb, “You should never throw away dirty water before you are sure of clean.” After some cogitation he determined upon still pressing his suit, and hoped at the same time that the widow would not admit him into her presence. Such were the different resolves and decisions which occupied the mind of Mr Vanslyperken until he dropped his anchor at Amsterdam, when he ordered his boat to go on shore, and gave positive directions to Dick Short that no one was to leave the cutter on any pretence, for he was determined that as the widow would not have his company, she should not have the profits arising from his men spending their money at her house.“So,” cried Coble, after the boat shoved off, “liberty’s stopped as well as singing. What next, I wonder? I sha’n’t stand this long.”“No,” replied Short.“Stop till he makes friends with the widow,” observed Bill Spurey; “she’ll get us all leave.”“Mein Gott, he nebber say anyting before,” observed Jansen.“No; we might almost go and come as we wished. We must not stand this.”“We won’t,” replied Jemmy Ducks.“No,” replied Short.While the crew of the cutter were in this incipient state of mutiny, Vanslyperken bent his steps to deliver up to the authorities the despatches with which he was charged; and having so done, he then took out the letter entrusted to him by Nancy Corbett, and read the address. It was the same street in which lived the Frau Vandersloosh. This was awkward, as Vanslyperken did not want to be seen by her; but there was no help for it. He trusted to her not seeing him, and he proceeded thither: he ran down the numbers on the doors until he came to the right one, which was exactly opposite to the widow’s house:— this was more unfortunate. He rang the bell; it was some time before the door was opened, and while he was standing there he could not help looking round to see if any one saw him. To his annoyance there stood the widow filling up her door with her broad frame, and Babette peeping over her shoulder. Mr Vanslyperken, as there was only the canal and two narrow roads between them, could do no less than salute her, but she took no notice of him further than by continuing her stare. At last, upon a second pulling of the bell, the door opened, and on Mr Vanslyperken saying that he had a letter for such an address, he was admitted, and the door immediately closed. He was ushered into a room, the window-panes of which were painted green, so that no one outside could look in, and found himself in the presence of a tall man, in a clerical dress, who motioned to him to sit down.Vanslyperken delivered the letter, and then took a seat. The gentleman made a graceful bow, as if to ask permission to break the seal, and then opened the letter.“Sir, I am obliged to you for charging yourself with these packets—infinitely obliged to you. You are in command of a sloop here, I believe.”“A king’s cutter, sir,” replied Vanslyperken, with importance; “I am Lieutenant Vanslyperken.”“I thank you, sir. I will take down your name. You expect, I presume, to be rewarded for this small service,” continued the gentleman, with a bland smile.“Why, she must have told him,” thought Vanslyperken; who replied, with another smile, “that he certainly trusted that he should be.”Upon which reply, the other went to an escritoire, and taking out a bag, opened it and poured out a mass of gold, which made Vanslyperken’s mouth water, but why he did so Vanslyperken did not give a thought, until, having counted out fifty pieces, the gentleman very gracefully put them into his hand, observing,—“A lieutenant’s pay is not great, and we can afford to be generous. Will you oblige me by calling here before you sail for England, and I will beg you to take charge of a letter.”Vanslyperken was all amazement: he began to suspect what was the fact, but he had the gold in his hand, and for the life of him he could not have laid it down again on the table. It was too great a sacrifice, for it was his idol—his god. He therefore dropped it into his pocket, and promising to call before he sailed, bowed and took his leave. As he went out, there were the Frau Vandersloosh and Babette still watching him at the door, but Vanslyperken was in a state of agitation, and he hurried off as fast as he could. Had he known why they watched so earnestly, and what had occurred, his agitation would have been greater still. As soon as Mr Vanslyperken had arrived on board, he hastened down into his cabin, and throwing the money down on the table, feasted his eyes with it, and remained for nearly half an hour in a state of deep cogitation, during which he often asked himself the question, whether he had not been a traitor to the king and country in whose pay he was employed. The answer that he gave to himself was anything but satisfactory: but the prospect of possessing the fair Portsmouth widow, and the gold displayed upon the table, were very satisfactory, and the balance was on the latter side; so Vanslyperken gradually recovered himself and had risen from his chair to collect the gold and deposit it in a place of safety, when he was interrupted by a tap at the door. Hastily sweeping off the gold pieces, he cried, “Come in;” when who, to his surprise, should appear, in excellent condition and fresh as a peony, but the lost and almost forgotten Corporal Van Spitter, who, raising his hand to his forehead as usual, reported himself man-of-war fashion, “Vas come on board, Mynheer Vanslyperken.” But as the corporal did not tell all the facts connected with his cruise in the jolly-boat to Mr Vanslyperken, for reasons which will hereafter appear, we shall reserve the narrative of what really did take place for another chapter.
Mr Vanslyperken was awakened, the next morning, by the yelping of his dog, who, having been shut out of the cabin, had ventured up the ladder in the morning when the men were washing the deck, and had a bucket shied at him by Jemmy Ducks, with such excellent precision, that it knocked him over, and nearly broke his hind leg, which he now carried high up in the air as he howled upon the other three at the cabin door. Mr Vanslyperken rose, and tried to recollect what had passed; but it was more than a minute before he could recall the circumstances of the day before. He then tried to call to mind how he had gone to bed, and by what means Snarleyyow was left outside, but he could make nothing of it. He opened the cabin door, and let in the dog, whose lame leg instantly excited his indignation, and he then rang his bell for Smallbones, who soon made his appearance.
“How came the dog out of the cabin, sir?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir; I never put him out.”
“Who is it that has hurt him?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir; I never touched him.”
Vanslyperken was about to vent his anger, when Smallbones: said, “If you please, I don’t know what’s a-going on. Why here, sir, the men washing the decks have found your carving-knife abaft, by the taffrail. Somebody must have taken it there, that’s sartain.”
Vanslyperken turned pale.
“Who could have taken it?”
“That’s what it said, sir. Who dare come in the cabin to take the knife? and what could they have taken it for, but unless it was to cut summut?” And Smallbones looked his master full in the face. And the lieutenant quailed before his boy. He could not meet his gaze, but turned away.
“Very odd,” continued Smallbones, perceiving the advantage he had gained.
“Leave the cabin, sir,” cried Vanslyperken.
“Sha’n’t I make no inquiries how this ere knife came there, sir?” replied Smallbones.
“No, sir, mind your own business. I’ve a great mind to flog you for its being found there—all your carelessness.”
“That would be a pretty go,” murmured Smallbones, as he shut the cabin door.
The feeling of vengeance against Smallbones was now redoubled in the breast of his master; and the only regret he felt at the transactions of the day before was, that the boy had not been drowned.
“I’ll have him yet,” muttered the lieutenant; but he forgot that he was shaving himself, and the involuntary movements of his lips caused him to cut a large gash on his right cheek, from which the blood trickled fast.
“Curses on the—(razor he was going to say, but he changed to)—scoundrel!”
A slice with a razor is certainly a very annoying thing. After a certain time, Mr Vanslyperken finished his toilet, called for his breakfast, went on deck, and as the day was fine, ordered the paint to be renewed, and then went on shore to ascertain if there were any commands for him at the admiral’s office.
As he walked up the street in a brown study, he at last observed that a very pretty woman dogged him, sometimes walking a-head and looking back, at others dropping astern, and then again ranging up alongside. He looked her in the face, and she smiled sweetly; and then turned her head coquettishly, and then looked again with eyes full of meaning. Now, although Mr Vanslyperken had always avoided amours on account of the expense entailed upon them, yet he was like a dry chip, very inflammable, and the extreme beauty of the party made him feel unusual emotions. Her perseverance too—and her whole appearance so very respectable—so superior to the class of people who generally accosted him. He thought of the widow and her money-bags, and thought also, how infinitely more desirable the widow would be, if she possessed but the beauty of the present party.
“I do believe I’ve lost my way,” exclaimed the young person. “Pray, sir, can you tell me the way to Castle Street? for I’m almost a stranger. And,” (added she, laughing) “I really don’t know my way back to my own house.”
Castle Street was, at that time, one of the best streets in Portsmouth, as Mr Vanslyperken well knew. This assured him of her respectability. He very gallantly offered his arm, which, after a little demur, was accepted, and Mr Vanslyperken conveyed her to her house. Of course she could do no less than to ask him to walk up, and Mr Vanslyperken, who had never been in anything approaching to good society, was in astonishment at the furniture. All appeared to denote wealth. He was soon in an interesting conversation, and by degrees found out that the lady was a young widow of the name of Malcolm, whose husband had been factor to the new company, called the East India Company; that she had come down to Portsmouth expecting him home, and that she had learnt that he had died on shore a few days before his intended embarkation for England. Since which, as she liked the place and the society, she had thoughts of remaining here.
“They say that gold in India is to be had for nothing.”
“It must be very plentiful,” replied the widow, “if I am to judge by the quantity my poor husband sent me home, and he was not out more than three years. He left me a week after our marriage.”
Here the lovely widow put her handkerchief up to her eyes, and Mr Vanslyperken attempted to console her.
“It’s so very unpleasant to be left without any one to advise you, and exposed to be cheated so dreadfully! What can a poor lone woman do? Did you ever see me before, sir?”
“I never did,” replied our lieutenant. “May I ask the same question? for I thought you appeared to know me.”
“O yes! I’ve seen you very often, and wished to know who you were, but I was ashamed to ask. One cannot be too particular in my situation.”
Mr Vanslyperken was much pleased, but he had remained some time, and he thought it right to depart, so he rose and made his adieus.
“I hope I shall see you again,” cried the widow, earnestly. “You will call again, sir, won’t you?”
“Most certainly, and with the greatest pleasure,” replied Vanslyperken.
The lady extended her gloved hand, and as it was closed in that of Vanslyperken, he thought he felt a slight, a very slight pressure, which made his heart leap. And then, as he shut the door, she gave him such a look—O those eyes!—they pierced right through the heart of Vanslyperken.
The reader may not, perhaps, be aware who this gay widow might be. It was Nancy Corbett, who had, by the advice of Lady Alice, taken this step to entrap Mr Vanslyperken. Nancy had obtained from Moggy all the particulars of the lieutenant’s wooing of the widow Vandersloosh, and his character as a miser and a coward. Had he been a miser only, she would have attacked by gold alone, but being a coward, it was decided that he should have some further stimulus to betray his country, and enlist himself among the partisans of King James.
Beauty, joined with wealth, the chance of possessing both, with the attractive arts of Nancy, were considered necessary to sway him. Indeed they were so far right, that had any one made the bold proposal to Vanslyperken of joining the other party, and offered him at the same time ample remuneration, he would have been too suspicions or too timorous to run the risk. It was necessary to win him over by means which appeared accidental rather than otherwise. The difficulty of correspondence was very great; and as the cutter constantly was dispatched to the Hague, and the French had agents there, not only letters, but even messengers, might be sent over without risk and without suspicion; for open boats being then the only means of communication, during the wintry part of the year, the correspondence was very precarious, and at long intervals.
Thus was Nancy Corbett changed into a buxom widow, all for the good cause, and well did she perform her part; for there was no lack of money when such services were required. Vanslyperken left the house quite enchanted. “This will do,” thought he; “and if I succeed, Frau Vandersloosh may go to the devil.” He returned on board, unlocked his cabin, where Snarleyyow had been secured from the machinations of Smallbones and other malcontents, and sat down to enjoy the castle-building which he had commenced after he left the house. He patted his dog, and apostrophised it. “Yes, my poor brute,” said Vanslyperken, “your master will get a rich widow, without it being necessary that you should be laid dead at her porch. Damn Frau Vandersloosh.”
The widow was more enchanting when Vanslyperken called on the ensuing day, than she was on the first. Her advances to the lieutenant were no longer doubtful to him. She entered freely into the state of her affairs, asked his advice upon money matters, and fully proved to his satisfaction that, independent of her beauty, she would be a much greater catch than Frau Vandersloosh. She spoke about her family; said that she expected her brother over, but that he must comeincognito, as he was attached to the court of the exiled king, lamented the difficulty of receiving letters from him, and openly expressed her adherence to the Stuart family. Vanslyperken appeared to make very little objection to her political creed; in fact, he was so fascinated that he fell blindly into the snare; he accepted an invitation to dine with her on that very day, and went on board to dress himself as fine for her as he had for the widow Vandersloosh. The lovely widow admired his uniform, and gave him many gentle hints upon which he might speak: but this did not take place until a tête-à-tête after dinner, when he was sitting on a sofa with her (not on such a fubsy sofa as that of Frau Vandersloosh, but one worked in tapestry); much in the same position as we once introduced him to the reader, to wit, with the lady’s hand in his. Vanslyperken was flushed with wine, for Nancy had pushed the bottle, and, at last, he spoke out clearly what his aspirations were. The widow blushed; laughed, wiped her eyes as if to brush away a falling tear, and eventually, with a slight pressure of the hand, stammered that she did not know what to say, the acquaintance was so short—it was so unexpected—she must reflect a little: at the same time, she could not but acknowledge that she had been taken with him when she first saw him; and then she laughed and said, that she did really begin to believe that there was such a thing as love at first sight, and then—he had better go now, she wished to be alone—she really had a headache. Oh! Nancy Corbett! you were, indeed, an adept in the art of seduction—no wonder that your name has been handed down to posterity. Mr Vanslyperken perceived his advantage, and pressed still more, until the blushing widow declared that she would really think seriously about the matter, if, on further acquaintance, she found that her good opinion of him was not overrated.
Vanslyperken returned on board intoxicated with his success. On his arrival, he was informed that a messenger had been sent for him, but no one knew where to find him, and that he must be at the admiral’s early the next morning, and have all ready for immediate sailing. This was rather annoying, but there was no help for it. The next day Vanslyperken went, to the admiral’s, and received orders to sail immediately to the Hague with despatches of consequence, being no less than an answer from King William to the States General. Mr Vanslyperken proceeded from the admiral’s to the charming widow, to whom he imparted this unwelcome intelligence. She, of course, was grave, and listened to his protestations with her little finger in her mouth, and a pensive downcast eye.
“How long will you be away?” inquired she.
“But a week or ten days at the furthest. I shall fly back to see you again.”
“But tell me the truth, have you no acquaintances there?—now, tell the truth. I don’t mean men.”
“Upon my honour, fair widow, I don’t know a single woman there,” replied Vanslyperken, pleased with this little appearance of jealousy; “but I’m afraid that I must leave you, for the admiral is very severe.”
“Will you do me one favour, Mr Vanslyperken?”
“Anything:— ask what you will.”
“I want this letter forwarded to my brother—I am very anxious about it. The French agent there will send it on;—it is enclosed to him. Will you do me that favour, my dear sir?—I’m sure you will, if—”
“If what?”
“If you love me,” replied the widow, laying her hand upon Vanslyperken.
“I will, most certainly,” said Vanslyperken, taking the letter and putting it in his pocket.
“Then I shall ask you another,” said the widow. “You will think me very foolish, but there may be an opportunity—will you write to me—just a few lines—only to tell me that you have given the letter, that’s all—and to say how you are—don’t you think me very foolish?”
“I will write, dearest, since you wish it—and now, good-bye.”
Vanslyperken took the widow round the waist, and after a little murmuring and reluctance, was permitted to snatch a kiss. Her eyes followed him mournfully till he shut the door and disappeared, and then Nancy Corbett gave way to unbounded mirth.
“So, the fool has bit already,” thought she; “now if he only writes to me, and I get his acknowledgment of having delivered the letter, the beast is in my power, and I can hang him any day I please. Upon his honour, he did not know a single woman there:— Lord have mercy!—what liars men are!—but we can sometimes beat them with their own weapons.” And Nancy’s thoughts reverted to her former life, which she now dwelt upon with pain and sorrow.
Mr Vanslyperken returned on board: the anchor was weighed immediately that the boats had been hoisted up; and the Yungfrau ran out with a fair wind, which lasted until the evening, when it fell almost calm, and the cutter made but little way through the water. Many of the men were conversing on the forecastle as usual, and the subject of their discourse was the surmising what had become of Corporal Van Spitter. In one point they all appeared to agree, which was, that they hoped he would never return to the cutter.
“If he does, I owe him one,” observed Jemmy Ducks. “It’s all through him that my wife was turned out of the vessel.”
“And a little bit from her tongue, Jemmy,” observed Coble.
“Why, perhaps so,” replied Jemmy; “but what was it set her tongue loose but the threat ofhimto flog me, and what made him threaten that but the ’peaching of that fat marine?”
“Very good arguments Jemmy. Well, I will say that for your wife, Jemmy, she does love you, and there’s no sham about it.”
“Never mind Jemmy’s wife, let’s have Jemmy’s song,” said Spurey; “he hasn’t piped since he was pulled up by the corporal.”
“No: he put my pipe out, the hippopotamus. Well, I’ll give it you—it shall be about what we are talking of, Obadiah.” Jemmy perched himself on the fore-end of the booms, and sang as follows:—
I suppose that you think ’cause my trousers are tarry,And because that I ties my long hair in a tail,While landsmen are figged out as fine as Lord Harry,With breast-pins and cravats as white as old sail;That I’m a strange creature, a know-nothing ninny,But fit for the planks for to walk in foul weather;That I ha’n’t e’er a notion of the worth of a guinea,And that you, Poll, can twist me about as a feather—Lord love you!!I know that this life is but short at the best on’t,That time it flies fast, and that work must be done;That when danger comes ’tis as well for to jest on’t,’Twill be but the lighter felt when it do comeIf you think, then, from this, that I an’t got a notionOf a heaven above, with its mercy in store,And the devil below, for us lads of the ocean,Just the same as it be for the landsmen on shore—Lord love you!!If because I don’t splice with some true-hearted woman,Who’d doat on my presence, and sob when I sail,But put up with you, Poll, though faithful to no man,With a fist that can strike, and a tongue that can rail;’Tis because I’m not selfish, and know ’tis my dutyIf I marry to moor by my wife, and not leave her,To dandle the young ones,—watch over her beauty,D’ye think that I’d promise and vow, then deceive her?Lord love you!!I suppose that you think ’cause I’m free with my money,Which others would hoard and lock up in their chest,All your billing and cooing, and words sweet as honey,Are as gospel to me while you hang on my breast;But no, Polly, no;—you may take every guinea,They’d burn in my pocket if I took them to sea;But as for your love, Poll, I indeed were a ninny—D’ye think I don’t know you cheat others than me?Lord love you!!
I suppose that you think ’cause my trousers are tarry,And because that I ties my long hair in a tail,While landsmen are figged out as fine as Lord Harry,With breast-pins and cravats as white as old sail;That I’m a strange creature, a know-nothing ninny,But fit for the planks for to walk in foul weather;That I ha’n’t e’er a notion of the worth of a guinea,And that you, Poll, can twist me about as a feather—Lord love you!!I know that this life is but short at the best on’t,That time it flies fast, and that work must be done;That when danger comes ’tis as well for to jest on’t,’Twill be but the lighter felt when it do comeIf you think, then, from this, that I an’t got a notionOf a heaven above, with its mercy in store,And the devil below, for us lads of the ocean,Just the same as it be for the landsmen on shore—Lord love you!!If because I don’t splice with some true-hearted woman,Who’d doat on my presence, and sob when I sail,But put up with you, Poll, though faithful to no man,With a fist that can strike, and a tongue that can rail;’Tis because I’m not selfish, and know ’tis my dutyIf I marry to moor by my wife, and not leave her,To dandle the young ones,—watch over her beauty,D’ye think that I’d promise and vow, then deceive her?Lord love you!!I suppose that you think ’cause I’m free with my money,Which others would hoard and lock up in their chest,All your billing and cooing, and words sweet as honey,Are as gospel to me while you hang on my breast;But no, Polly, no;—you may take every guinea,They’d burn in my pocket if I took them to sea;But as for your love, Poll, I indeed were a ninny—D’ye think I don’t know you cheat others than me?Lord love you!!
“Well, that’s a good song, Jemmy, and he can’t pull you up for that, any how.”
Mr Vanslyperken appeared to think otherwise, for he sent a marine forward to say, that no singing would be permitted in future, and that they were immediately to desist.
“I suppose we shall have a song considered as mutiny soon,” observed Coble. “Ah, well, it’s a long lane that has no turning.”
“Yes,” replied Jemmy, in an under tone, “and for every rogue there’s a rope laid up. Never mind, let us go below.”
Mr Vanslyperken’s dreaming thoughts of the fair widow were nevertheless occasionally interrupted by others not quite so agreeable. Strange to say, he fully believed what Smallbones had asserted about his being carried out by the tide to the Nab buoy, and he canvassed the question in his mind, whether there was not something supernatural in the affair, a sort of interposition of Providence in behalf of the lad, which was to be considered as a warning to himself not to attempt anything further. He was frightened, although his feeling for revenge was still in all its force. As for any one suspecting him of having attempted the boy’s life, he had recovered from that feeling; even if they did, who dare say a word? There was another point which also engrossed the moody Vanslyperken, which was how he should behave relative to the widow Vandersloosh. Should he call or should he not? He cared nothing for her, and provided he could succeed with the Portsmouth lady, he would pitch her to the devil; but still he remembered the old proverb, “You should never throw away dirty water before you are sure of clean.” After some cogitation he determined upon still pressing his suit, and hoped at the same time that the widow would not admit him into her presence. Such were the different resolves and decisions which occupied the mind of Mr Vanslyperken until he dropped his anchor at Amsterdam, when he ordered his boat to go on shore, and gave positive directions to Dick Short that no one was to leave the cutter on any pretence, for he was determined that as the widow would not have his company, she should not have the profits arising from his men spending their money at her house.
“So,” cried Coble, after the boat shoved off, “liberty’s stopped as well as singing. What next, I wonder? I sha’n’t stand this long.”
“No,” replied Short.
“Stop till he makes friends with the widow,” observed Bill Spurey; “she’ll get us all leave.”
“Mein Gott, he nebber say anyting before,” observed Jansen.
“No; we might almost go and come as we wished. We must not stand this.”
“We won’t,” replied Jemmy Ducks.
“No,” replied Short.
While the crew of the cutter were in this incipient state of mutiny, Vanslyperken bent his steps to deliver up to the authorities the despatches with which he was charged; and having so done, he then took out the letter entrusted to him by Nancy Corbett, and read the address. It was the same street in which lived the Frau Vandersloosh. This was awkward, as Vanslyperken did not want to be seen by her; but there was no help for it. He trusted to her not seeing him, and he proceeded thither: he ran down the numbers on the doors until he came to the right one, which was exactly opposite to the widow’s house:— this was more unfortunate. He rang the bell; it was some time before the door was opened, and while he was standing there he could not help looking round to see if any one saw him. To his annoyance there stood the widow filling up her door with her broad frame, and Babette peeping over her shoulder. Mr Vanslyperken, as there was only the canal and two narrow roads between them, could do no less than salute her, but she took no notice of him further than by continuing her stare. At last, upon a second pulling of the bell, the door opened, and on Mr Vanslyperken saying that he had a letter for such an address, he was admitted, and the door immediately closed. He was ushered into a room, the window-panes of which were painted green, so that no one outside could look in, and found himself in the presence of a tall man, in a clerical dress, who motioned to him to sit down.
Vanslyperken delivered the letter, and then took a seat. The gentleman made a graceful bow, as if to ask permission to break the seal, and then opened the letter.
“Sir, I am obliged to you for charging yourself with these packets—infinitely obliged to you. You are in command of a sloop here, I believe.”
“A king’s cutter, sir,” replied Vanslyperken, with importance; “I am Lieutenant Vanslyperken.”
“I thank you, sir. I will take down your name. You expect, I presume, to be rewarded for this small service,” continued the gentleman, with a bland smile.
“Why, she must have told him,” thought Vanslyperken; who replied, with another smile, “that he certainly trusted that he should be.”
Upon which reply, the other went to an escritoire, and taking out a bag, opened it and poured out a mass of gold, which made Vanslyperken’s mouth water, but why he did so Vanslyperken did not give a thought, until, having counted out fifty pieces, the gentleman very gracefully put them into his hand, observing,—“A lieutenant’s pay is not great, and we can afford to be generous. Will you oblige me by calling here before you sail for England, and I will beg you to take charge of a letter.”
Vanslyperken was all amazement: he began to suspect what was the fact, but he had the gold in his hand, and for the life of him he could not have laid it down again on the table. It was too great a sacrifice, for it was his idol—his god. He therefore dropped it into his pocket, and promising to call before he sailed, bowed and took his leave. As he went out, there were the Frau Vandersloosh and Babette still watching him at the door, but Vanslyperken was in a state of agitation, and he hurried off as fast as he could. Had he known why they watched so earnestly, and what had occurred, his agitation would have been greater still. As soon as Mr Vanslyperken had arrived on board, he hastened down into his cabin, and throwing the money down on the table, feasted his eyes with it, and remained for nearly half an hour in a state of deep cogitation, during which he often asked himself the question, whether he had not been a traitor to the king and country in whose pay he was employed. The answer that he gave to himself was anything but satisfactory: but the prospect of possessing the fair Portsmouth widow, and the gold displayed upon the table, were very satisfactory, and the balance was on the latter side; so Vanslyperken gradually recovered himself and had risen from his chair to collect the gold and deposit it in a place of safety, when he was interrupted by a tap at the door. Hastily sweeping off the gold pieces, he cried, “Come in;” when who, to his surprise, should appear, in excellent condition and fresh as a peony, but the lost and almost forgotten Corporal Van Spitter, who, raising his hand to his forehead as usual, reported himself man-of-war fashion, “Vas come on board, Mynheer Vanslyperken.” But as the corporal did not tell all the facts connected with his cruise in the jolly-boat to Mr Vanslyperken, for reasons which will hereafter appear, we shall reserve the narrative of what really did take place for another chapter.