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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (best free ebook reader txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“Well, Skipper Barepoles,” said the middy with much solemnity, “I always pay my debts of honour on the spot, and I expect gentlemen who bet with me to do the same.”
Haco grinned. “But I an’t a gentleman,” said he, “an’ I don’t set up for one.”
“Still, as a man of honour you must feel bound—”
“No, lad, not as a man of honour,” interrupted the skipper, “but as a British seaman I’ll hold the debt due; only, not bein’ in the habit o’ carrying the Bank of England in my weskit-pocket, you see, I must ask you to wait till to-morrow mornin’.”
Haco said this with a slightly disappointed look, for he thought the middy rather sharp, and had formed a better opinion of him than his conduct on this occasion seemed to bear out.
“Now, skipper, I’ll tell you what it is. I am not fond of betting, and this bet of mine was taken in jest; in fact my usual bet is ten thousand pounds, sometimes a million! Nevertheless, you have admitted the debt as due, and although I do not mean to claim payment in the usual way, I don’t intend to forego my rights altogether. I’ll only ask you to do me a favour.”
“What may it be, lad?”
“Will you grant it?”
“Well, that depends—”
“No, it doesn’t; say Yes, or I’ll claim the ten pounds.”
“Well, yes, if it’s right and proper for me to do it. Now, what d’ye want?”
“Humph! Well then,” said Gildart, “I want you to let your daughter Susan get spliced to Dan Horsey.”
Haco frowned, and said, “Unpossible.”
“Come now, don’t be hard on them, skipper; Dan is a good fellow and a first-rate groom.”
“He’s an Irish blackguard,” said Haco, “and not worth a pinch of his namesake.”
“You’re quite mistaken,” said Gildart, who went on to speak so highly of the groom, that Haco, if not made to change his opinion, was so much impressed as to agree at least to take the whole subject once again into consideration.
“Another thing I wish you to do, skipper, which is to give me a passage in your sloop to Athenbury. You spoke of running round there for repairs soon, and I would rather go by sea than by that snorting railway. Will you do it?”
“With pleasure, lad.”
“Thank’ee; now I’ll bid you good-night. You may depend upon it that you won’t be disturbed again by a band,” said Gildart, laughing.
“I know that,” replied Haco with a grin; “it’s my opinion they’ve had enough of me for one night. But won’t ye stop an’ share the four-poster, lad? It’s big enough, an’ we’ll soon repair the damage to its bottom-timbers. There’s a knuckle o’ ham too, an’ a flask o’ claret. I brought it with me, ’cause I never drink nothin’ stronger than claret—vang ordinair they calls it in France. What say you; you’ll stop?”
“No, thank’ee, skipper, much obliged, but I’ve business on hand elsewhere. Good-night, old boy.”
One day, not long after his arrival at Athenbury, Kenneth Stuart was seated in Colonel Crusty’s drawing-room, awaiting the summons to dinner.
Pretty Bella sat beside him, endeavouring to get up a flirtation—for Bella was an inveterate flirt. Besides being pretty, she was sprightly and full of life—a giddy gay thing, much addicted to that dangerous practice of fluttering round improprieties with cheerful recklessness. She was one of those human moths whose wings, alas! are being constantly singed, sometimes burned off altogether.
Kenneth was not so stern as to object to a little of what the world calls innocent flirtation, but he did not like Bella’s style of procedure; for that charming piece of wickedness made it her aim in life to bring as many lovers to her feet as she could, and keep them there. She never had too many of them, never tired of conquering them. In the language of pugilists, “One down another come on,” was her motto.
She had just floored a captain of dragoons, who was expected that day to dinner, and was now engaged at her fortieth round with Kenneth; but he was too strong for her—at least she began to suspect so, and felt nettled.
“I never met with such a provoking man as you,” said Bella, pouting; “you promised to go round by Simpson’s and bring me a bouquet, and now you tell me you had not time. That is not what I would have expected of you. Sir Kenneth.”
Bella had knighted him with the poker the evening before!
“Well, really, I am sorry,” said Kenneth in a deprecating tone, “but I’m sure you will forgive me when I tell you that—”
“I won’t forgive you,” interrupted Bella pettishly. “You are a false man. Nothing should have prevented you from walking round by Simpson’s, as you said you would do.”
“Indeed!” said Kenneth, smiling, “suppose I had broken my leg, now, would that not have—”
“No, it wouldn’t have been any excuse at all. You would have hopped there if you had been a good and true man, like the knights of the olden time. Oh! how I love that olden time, and wish that I had been born in it.”
Captain Bowels was announced at this moment. He was a tall handsome man, with a heavy dark moustache and a set of brilliant teeth. Bella instantly put the question to him whether, in the event of his being interrupted in the fulfilment of a promise to a lady by the accident of having his leg broken, he would not deem it his duty, as a man of honour, to hop out the engagement.
The captain expressed his earnest belief that that would be his duty, and added that if both legs happened to be broken, he would deem it his duty to walk out the engagement on his hands and knees, always assuming that the lady to whom the promise was made should be young and beautiful, and that the engagement did not involve dancing!
From this point Bella and the captain of dragoons cantered off into a region of small-talk whither it is not necessary that we should follow them. They were interrupted by the entrance of Colonel Crusty and Miss Peppy.
The former shook hands with the captain somewhat stiffly, and introduced him to Miss Peppy.
“Dinner late as usual, Bella,” said the colonel, taking out his watch.
“Now, papa, don’t begin,” cried Bella, running up to her father and kissing his cheek, “because when you do begin to scold you never stop, and it takes away your appetite. Dinners were meant to be late—it’s the nature of such meals. No dinner that is ready at the appointed time can be good; it must be underdone.”
The colonel was prevented from replying by the entrance of the footman with a letter, which he presented to Kenneth.
“No letters for me!” cried Miss Peppy, with a slight look of disappointment; “but, to be sure, I’m not at home, though, after all, letters might come to me when I’m away if they were only rightly addressed, but letters are never legible on the back; it is a perfect mystery to me how the postmen ever find out where to go to with letters, and they are such illiterate men too! But what can one expect in a world of inconsistencies, where things are all topsy-turvy, so to speak, though I don’t like slang, and never use it except when there is a want of a proper what-d’ye-call-it to express one’s thingumy-jigs. Don’t you think so, Captain Bowels?”
“Certainly; I think your observations are very just, and much to the point.”
Kenneth Stuart retired to a window and read his letter, which ran as follows:—
“Wreckumoft, etcetera.
“My Dear Kenneth—Since you left I have been thinking over your affairs, and our last conversation, (which you must allow me to style disagreeable), in regard to Miss Gordon. I trust that you have now seen the impropriety of thinking of that portionless girl as your wife. At all events, you may rest assured that on the day you marry her you shall be disinherited. You know me well enough to be aware that this is not an idle threat.
“In the hope and expectation that you will agree with me in this matter, I venture to suggest to you the propriety of trying to win the affections of Miss Crusty. You already know that her fortune will be a large one. I recommend this subject to your earnest consideration.
“Your affectionate father, George Stuart.”
“Deary me, Kennie,” said Miss Peppy, in some alarm, “I hope that nothing has happened! You seem so troubled that—”
“Oh! nothing of any consequence,” said Kenneth with a laugh, as he folded the letter and put it in his pocket.
“Ha! your lady-love is unkind,” cried Bella; “I know it is from her.”
“The writing is not lady-like,” replied Kenneth, holding up the back of the letter for inspection. “It is a gentleman’s hand, you see.”
“Ladies sometimes write what I may call a masculine hand,” observed the captain.
“You are quite right, Captain Bowels,” said Miss Peppy; “some write all angles and some all rounds. One never knows how one is to expect one’s correspondents to write. Not that I have many, but one of them writes square, a most extraordinary hand, and quite illegible. Most people seem to be proud of not being able to write, except schoolboys and girls. There is no accounting for the surprising things that are scratched on paper with a pen and called writing. But in a world of things of that sort what is one to expect? It is just like all the rest, and I have given up thinking about it altogether. I hope you have, Captain Bowels?”
“Not quite, but very nearly,” replied the gallant captain.
“Dinner at last,” said Colonel Crusty, as the gong sounded its hideous though welcome alarm. “Captain Bowels, will you take my daughter? Miss Stuart, allow me. Sorry we’ve got no one for you, Mr Stuart.”
Kenneth fancied there was a touch of irony in the last observation, but he did not feel jealous, for two reasons—first, he knew, (from Miss Peppy), that the captain was no favourite with Colonel Crusty, and was only tolerated because of having been introduced by an intimate friend and old school companion of the former; and, second, being already in love with another, he did not wish to have the honour of handing Bella down to dinner at all.
During dinner Miss Peppy reminded Kenneth that he had promised to go to the Sailors’ Home that evening with the parcel which Mrs Gaff wished to be delivered to her cousin George Dollins. Bella remarked, in a sweet voice, that Sir Kenneth’s promises were not to be relied on, and that it would be wiser to transfer the trust to Captain Bowels, a proposal which the gallant captain received with a laugh and a sotto voce remark to Bella that his fidelity to promises depended on the youth and beauty of the lady to whom they were made.
Soon after the ladies retired Kenneth rose, and, apologising for leaving the table so early, set forth on his mission.
The night was calm and pleasant, but dark—a few stars alone rendering the darkness visible. Kenneth had to pass through the garden of the colonel’s house before reaching the road that led to the heart of the town where the Sailors’ Home was situated. He felt sad that evening, unusually so, and wandered in the grounds for some time in a meditative mood.
There was a bower at the extremity of the garden to which, during the few days of his visit, he had frequently repaired with the volatile Bella. He entered it now, and sat down. Presently there was a rustle among the leaves behind him, and a light hand was laid on his shoulder.
“Faithless man!” said Bella in a tremulous voice, “I have been expecting you for half-an-hour at least. My portmanteau is packed, and I only await the word from you, dearest Charles—”
“Charles!” exclaimed Kenneth, starting up.
Bella uttered a suppressed scream.
“Oh! Mr Stuart, you won’t tell
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