Jan Vedder's Wife by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (i wanna iguana read aloud .txt) 📖

put before him a piece of bread and a slice of broiled mutton. As for himself he could not eat, he only looked at the doctor with eyes of pathetic anxiety.

"Snorro, dost thou understand that to go to Jan now is to leave, forever perhaps, thy native land?"

"Wherever Jan is, that land is best of all."

"He will be in Portsmouth ere thou arrive there. First, thou must sail to Wick; there, thou wilt get a boat to Leith, and at Leith take one for London. What wilt thou do in London?"

"Well, then, I have a tongue in my head; I will ask my way to Portsmouth. When I am there it will be easy to find Jan's ship, and then Jan. What help can thou give me in the matter?"

"That I will look to. Jan hath sent thee L100."

Snorro's face brightened like sunrise. "I am glad that he thought of me; but I will not touch the money. I have already more than L20. Thou shalt keep the L100 for little Jan."

"Snorro, he hath also sent the L600 he took from his wife, that and the interest."

"But how? How could he do that already?"

"He has won it from the men who coin life into gold; it is mostly prize money."

"Good luck to Jan's hands! That is much to my mind."

"I will tell thee one instance, and that will make thee understand it better. Thou must know that it is not a very easy matter to blockade over three thousand miles of African coast, especially as the slave ships are very swift, and buoyant. Indeed the Spanish and Portuguese make theirs of very small timbers and beams which they screw together. When chased the screws are loosened, and this process gives the vessel amazing play. Their sails are low, and bent broad. Jan tells me that the fore-yard of a brig of one hundred and forty tons, taken by 'The Retribution' was seventy-six feet long, and her ropes so beautifully racked aloft, that after a cannonade of sixty shot, in which upward of fifty took effect, not one sail was lowered. Now thou must perceive that a chase in the open sea would mostly be in favor of vessels built so carefully for escape."

"Why, then, do not the Government build the same kind of vessels?"

"That is another matter. I will go into no guesses about it. But they do not build them, and therefore captures are mostly made by the boats which are sent up the rivers to lie in wait for the slavers putting out to sea. Sometimes these boats are away for days, sometimes even for weeks; and an African river is a dreadful place for British sailors, Snorro: the night air is loaded with fever, the days are terrible with a scorching sun."

"I can believe that; but what of Jan?"

"One morning Jan, with a four-oared gig, chased a slave brig. They had been at the river mouth all night watching for her. Thou knows, Snorro, what a fine shot our Jan is. When she came in sight he picked off five of her crew, and compelled her to run on shore to avoid being boarded. Then her crew abandoned her, in order to save their own lives, and 'The Retribution' hove her off. She proved to be a vessel of two hundred tons, and she carried one thousand slaves. She was taken as a prize into Sierra Leone, and sold, and then Jan got his share of her."

"But why did not the slavers fight?"

"Bad men are not always brave men; and sometimes they fly when no man pursues them. Portuguese slavers are proverbial cowards, yet sometimes Jan did have a hard fight with the villains."

"I am right glad of that."

"About a year ago, he heard of a brigantine of great size and speed lying in the old Calabar river with a cargo of slaves destined for Cuba. She carried five eighteen-pounder guns, and a crew of eighty men; and her captain had vowed vengeance upon 'The Retribution' and upon Jan, for the slavers he had already taken. Jan went down to the old Calabar, but he could not enter it, so he kept out of sight, waiting for the slaver to put to sea.

"At length she was seen coming down the river under all sail. Then 'The Retribution' lowered her canvas in order to keep out of sight as long as possible. When she hoisted it again, the slaver in spite of her boasts endeavored to escape, and then Jan, setting all the canvas his schooner could carry, stood after her in chase. The slaver was the faster of the two, and Jan feared he would lose her; but fortunately a calm came on and both vessels got out their sweeps. Jan's vessel, being the smaller, had now the advantage, and his men sent her flying through the water.

"All night they kept up the chase, and the next morning Jan got within range."

"Oh," cried Snorro, "if I had only been there! Why did no one tell me there was such work for strong men to do?"

"Now I will tell thee a grand thing that our Jan did. Though the slaver was cutting his rigging to pieces with her shot, Jan would not fire till he was close enough to aim only at her decks. Why, Snorro? Because below her decks there was packed in helpless misery five hundred black men, besides many women and little children."

"That was like Jan. He has a good heart."

"But when he was close enough, he loaded his guns with grape, and ordered two men to be ready to lash the slaver to 'The Retribution,' the moment they touched. Under cover of the smoke, Jan and ten men boarded the slaver, but unfortunately, the force of the collision drove 'The Retribution' off, and Jan and his little party found themselves opposed to the eighty villains who formed the slaver's crew.

"For a moment it seemed as if they must be overpowered, but a gallant little midshipman, only fourteen years old, Snorro, think of that, gave an instant order to get out the sweeps, and almost immediately 'The Retribution,' was alongside, and securely lashed to her enemy. Then calling on the sailors to follow him the brave little lad boarded her, and a desperate hand to hand fight followed. After fifteen Spaniards had been killed and near forty wounded, the rest leaped below and cried for quarter."

"Snorro would have given them just ten minutes to say a prayer, no more. It is a sin to be merciful to the wicked, it is that; and the kindness done to them is unblessed, and brings forth sin and trouble. I have seen it."

"What thinkest thou? When Jan flung open the hatches under which the poor slaves were fastened, sixty were dead, one hundred and twenty dying. During the twenty-eight hours' chase and fight in that terrible climate they had not been given a drop of water, and the air was putrid and hot as an oven. Most of them had to be carried out in the arms of Jan's sailors. There were seven babies in this hell, and thirty-three children between the ages of two years and seven. Many more died before Jan could reach Sierra Leone with them. This is the work Jan has been doing, Snorro; almost I wish I was a young man again, and had been with him."

The doctor's eyes were full; Snorro's head was in his hands upon the table. When the doctor ceased, he stood up quivering with anger, and said, "If God would please Michael Snorro, he would send him to chase and fight such devils. He would give them the measure they gave to others, little air and less water, and a rope's end to finish them. That would be good enough for them; it would that."

"Well, then, thou wilt go to Jan?"

"I must go to-morrow. How can I wait longer? Is there a mail boat in the harbor?"

"It was Lord Lynne brought me the news and the money. He will carry thee as far as Wick. The tide serves at five o'clock to-morrow morning, can thou be ready?"

"Ay, surely. Great joy hath come to me, but I can be ready to meet it."

"Lean on me in this matter as much as thou likest; what is there I can do for thee?"

"Wilt thou care for what I have in my house, especially the picture?"

"I will do that."

"Then I have but to see Margaret Vedder and little Jan. I will be on 'The Lapwing,' ere she lift her anchor. God bless thee for all the good words thou hast said to me!"

"Snorro!"

"What then?"

"When thou sees Jan, say what will make peace between him and Margaret."

Snorro's brow clouded. "I like not to meddle in the matter. What must be is sure to happen, whether I speak or speak not."

"But mind this--it will be thy duty to speak well of Margaret Vedder. The whole town do that now."

"She was ever a good woman some way. There is not now a name too good for her. It hath become the fashion to praise Jan Vedder's wife, and also to pity her. If thou heard the talk, thou would think that Jan was wholly to blame. For all that, I do not think she is worthy of Jan. Why does she not talk to her son of his father? Who ever saw her weep at Jan's name? I had liked her better if she had wept more."

"It is little men know of women; their smiles and their tears alike are seldom what they seem. I think Margaret loves her husband and mourns his loss sincerely; but she is not a woman to go into the market-place to weep. Do what is right and just to her, I counsel thee to do that. Now I will say 'Farewell, brave Snorro.' We may not meet again, for I am growing old."

"We shall anchor in the same harbor at last. If thou go first, whatever sea I am on, speak me on thy way, if thou can do so."

"Perhaps so. Who can tell? Farewell, mate."

"Farewell."

Snorro watched him across the moor, and then going to a locked box, he took out of it a bundle in a spotted blue handkerchief. He untied it, and for a moment looked over the contents. They were a bracelet set with sapphires, a ring to match it, a gold brooch, an amber comb and necklace, a gold locket on a chain of singular beauty, a few ribbons and lace collars, and a baby coral set with silver bells; the latter had been in Jan's pocket when he was shipwrecked, and it was bruised and tarnished. The sight of it made Snorro's eyes fill, and he hastily knotted the whole of the trinkets together and went down to Margaret's home.

It was near nine o'clock and Margaret was tired and not very glad to see him coming, for she feared his voice would awake little Jan who was sleeping in his father's chair. Rather wearily she said, "What is the matter, Snorro? Is any one sick? Speak low, for little Jan is asleep, and he has been very tiresome to-night."

"Nothing much is the matter, to thee. As for me, I am going away in the morning to the mainland. I may not be back very soon, and I want to kiss Jan, and to give