Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (best free ebook reader txt) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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âYes, on the present occasion I am,â replied Gildart; âdiscord suits my taste just now, and noise is pleasant to my ear.â
The band ceased to play at that moment, and Gildart, stepping up to the man who appeared to be the leader, inasmuch as he performed on the clarionet, asked him to turn aside with him for a few minutes.
The man obeyed with a look of surprise, not unmingled with suspicion.
âYou are leader of this band?â
âYes, sir, I ham.â
âHave you any objection to earn a sovereign or two?â
âNo, sir, I hanât.â
âItâs a goodish band,â observed Gildart.
âA fusâ-rater,â replied the clarionet. âNo doubt the trombone is a little cracked and brassy, so to speak, because of a hinfluenza as has wonted him for some weeks; but thereâs good stuff in âim, sir, and plenty oâ lungs. The key-bugle is a noo âand, but âeâs capital, âticklerly in the âigh notes anâ flats; besides, beinâ young, âeâll improve. As to the French âorn, there ainât his ekal in the country; wâen he does the pathetic it would make a banker weep. You like pathetic music, sir?â
âNot much,â replied the middy.
âNo! now thatâs hodd. I do. It âarmonises so with the usual state oâ my feelinâs. My feelinâs is aâmost always pathetic, sir.â
âIndeed!â
âYes, âcept at meal-times, wâen I do manage to git a little jolly. Ah! sir, music ainât wot it used to be. Thereâs a general flatness about it now, sir, anâ people donât seem to admire it âalf so much as wâen I first began. But if you donât like the pathetic, pâraps you like the bravoory style?â
âI doat on it,â said Gildart. âCome, letâs have a touch of the âbravoory.ââ
âIâve got a piece,â said the clarionet slowly, looking at the sky with a pathetic air, âa piece as I composed myself. I donât often play it, âcause, you know, sir, one doesnât âxactly like to shove oneâs-self too prominently afore the public. I calls it the âBanging-smash Polka.â But I generally charge hextra for it, for itâs dreadful hard on the lungs, and the trombone he gets cross when I mention it, for it nearly buâsts the hinstrument; besides, it kicks up sich a row that it puts the French âornâs nose out oâ jintâyou canât âear a note of him. I flatter myself that the key-bugle plays his part to parfection, but the piece was written chiefly for the trombone and clarionet; the one being deep and crashing, the other shrill and high. I had the battle oâ Waterloo in my mind wâen I wrote it.â
âWill that do?â said Gildart, putting half-a-crown into the manâs hand.
The clarionet nodded, and, turning to his comrades, winked gravely as he pronounced the magic wordââBanging-smash.â
Next moment there was a burst as if a bomb-shell had torn up the street, and this was followed up by a series of crashes so rapid, violent, and wildly intermingled, that the middyâs heart almost leapt out of him with delight!
In a few seconds three doors burst open, and three servant-girls rushed at the band with three sixpences to beseech it to go away.
âCouldnât go under a shillinâ a head,â said the clarionet gravely.
A word from Gildart, however, induced him to accept of the bribe and depart.
As they went along the street Gildart walked with the clarionet and held earnest converse with himâapparently of a persuasive nature, for the clarionet frequently shook his head and appeared to remonstrate. Presently he called on his comrades to stop, and held with them a long palaver, in which the French horn seemed to be an objector, and the trombone an assenter, while the key-bugle didnât seem to care. At last they all came to an agreement.
âNow,â said the middy, taking out his purse, âthatâs all fixed; here is five shillings in advance, and twenty shillings will follow when the performance is over. Donât forget the time and place: the village of Cove, the rear of Stephen Gaffâs cottageâeverybody knows itâand eight oâclock precisely.â
That evening Haco Barepoles was seen on the road to Cove, with his coat-skirts, his cravat-ends, and his hair streaming in the breeze.
An hour previously, however, a brass band was seen walking towards the same place, and, half an hour after that, a young midshipman was observed posting rapidly in the same direction.
It was dark when Gildart entered the village, and all the inhabitants were in their dwellings, so that he reached Gaffâs cottage unperceived.
The village was a primitive one. Locks were deemed unnecessary in most of the cottages, probably because there was nothing worth stealing within them. Gildart lifted the latch and entered. A fire, nearly out, with a large piece of coal on it, burned in the grate. The flicker of this was sufficient to illuminate the boudoir faintly.
Having surveyed the apartment, examined the closet, and looked under the bed, he went out, and, going to the back of the cottage, found the band waiting in some anxiety.
âNow, lads, come this way,â said Gildart; âand thereâs only one piece of advice Iâve got to give you: donât stir hand or foot after Haco enters the cottage. Heâs as big as an elephant, and strong as a lion. If you stir, and he finds you out, he wonât spare you.â
âBut you promise to come to the rescue, master,â said the French horn in some alarm.
âAy, that will I; but heâll have two of you floored, another strangled, and the fourth half-skinned before I can get him to stop.â
âI donât half like it,â said the clarionet anxiously.
âPooh! pooh!â exclaimed the key-bugle, âweâll be more than a match for him; come on; itâs worth riskinâ for twenty-five bob.â
âHear! hear!â cried the trombone.
âWell, then, enter,â said Gildart, pushing open the door, and holding it while the band filed into the passage. He followed them and closed the door.
In a short time Haco Barepoles made his appearance. He also passed through the village unobserved, and, entering the cottage, closed the door. Thereafter he proceeded to make himself comfortable. The âboodwarâ was emptyâat least of human beings, though there was the Dutch clock with the horrified countenance in the corner, and the new clock near it, and the portraits and the great four-poster, and all the other articles of elegance and luxury with which Mrs Gaff had filled her humble dwelling.
âA queer place,â muttered the mad skipper in a soft voice to himself, as he moved about the room, poked up the fire, and made preparations for spending the night. âGaff wouldnât know the old cabinâhumph! but itâs all done out oâ kindness; well, well, thereâs no accountinâ for women, theyâre paridoxies. Hallo! this here closet didnât use to be bolted, but itâs bolted now. Howsâever hereâs the loaf and the tea-pot anâ the kettle. Now, Mrs Gaff, youâre an attentive creetur, nevertheless youâve forgot bilinâ water, anâ, moreover, there anât no water in the house. Ah, hereâs a bucket; thatâll do; Iâll go to the well anâ help myself; itâs well that I can do it,â said Haco, chuckling at his own pun with great satisfaction as he went out to the back of the house.
There was a sudden, though not loud, sound of hollow brass chinking under the four-post bed.
âNow then, canât you keep still?â said the clarionet in a hoarse whisper.
âItâs cramp in my leg,â growled the trombone. âIâd have had to come out if he hadnât guv me this chance.â
âWonât you hold your tongues?â whispered Gildart from the closet, the door of which he opened slightly.
He shut it with a sudden clap, and there was another clanking of brass as Hacoâs footsteps were heard outside, but dead silence reigned within the hut when the skipper re-entered, and set down on the floor a large bucket full of water.
âNow then for tea,â said Haco, rubbing his hands, as he set about the preparation of that meal. Being acquainted with the ways and localities of the cottage, he speedily had the board spread, and the tea smoking thereon, while the fire flared cheerfully on the walls, casting fine effects of light and shade on the pictures, and sprinkling the prominences of the clocks, bed, and furniture with ruddy gleams.
Having devoured his meal with an appetite and gusto worthy of his size, Haco filled his much-loved German pipe, and, selecting the strongest chair in the room, sat cautiously down on it beside the fire to enjoy a smoke.
Meanwhile the brass band endured agonies unutterable. The trombone afterwards vowed that he âwouldnât for fifty sovsâ again go through what he had suffered during the hour that the mad skipper sat by that fire enjoying his evening pipe!
At last the pipe was smoked out, and Haco began to divest himself of his upper garments. Being an active man, he was soon undressed and in bed, where he lay for a long time perfectly still. Presently he gave vent to a deep sigh, and turned on his back, in which position he lay quite still for at least five minutes. At last he gave a soft puff with his lips, and followed it up with a mild snort from his nose.
This was immediately followed by a light single tap at the closet door.
Instantly the first bar of the Banging-Smash Polka burst from beneath the bed with such startling suddenness and energy that Gildart was himself rendered almost breathless. Haco awoke with a yell so dreadful that the brass band stopped for a single instant, but it burst forth again with a degree of fury that almost rent the trombone in twain!
The appalled skipper uttered another yell, and sprang up into the air. The four-poster could not stand the test. Haco went crashing through the bottom of the bed, flattened the French horn, and almost killed the trombone, while the broken ends of the planking of the bed pinned them to the floor. Escape was impossible.
Haco perceived the joke, and instantly recovered his self-possession. Springing from the bed, he seized the bucket of water which he had recently drawn, and dashed its contents on the struggling band. Thereafter he hauled the trombone out of the débris by the neck, flattened his instrument on his head, and twisted it round his neck. The key-bugle, who had struggled to his feet, fell before a well-aimed backhander, and the French horn was about to perish, when Gildart succeeded in restraining and pacifying the giant by stoutly asserting that he had won his bet, and insisted on having payment on the spot!
Haco burst into a loud laugh, flung the key-bugle from his grasp, and pulled on his nether garments.
âI confess that youâve won it, lad, so now Iâll have another pipe.â
He proceeded to fill the German pipe, and stirred up the fire while the band made good its retreat. Gildart paid the clarionet the stipulated sum of twenty shillings outside the door, after which he returned and seated himself beside the mad skipper.
Hacoâs laugh had changed into a good-humoured smile as he gazed into the fire and puffed volumes of smoke from his lips.
âIt was a risky thing to do, lad,â he observed, as Gildart sat down; âitâs well for that feller wiâ the long trumpet that the brass was so thin and his head so hard, for my blood was up, beinâ taken by surprise, you see, anâ I didnât measure my blows. Howsâever, âitâs all well that ends well,â as I once heard a play-actor say.â
âBut itâs not ended yet,â said Gildart with decision.
âHow so, lad?â
âYouâve got to pay up your bet.â
Hacoâs brow became a little clouded. The bet had been taken more than half in joke, for he was not given to betting in earnest; but he was too proud to admit this on finding that Gildart took it in earnest.
âYouâll not want it for a short while, I daresay?â he asked.
âCaptain Barepolesââ
âSkipper, lad, I donât like
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