IN WHICH SMALLBONES CHANGES FROM A KING'S MAN INTO A SMUGGLER, AND ALSO
CHANGES HIS SEX.
If we adhered to the usual plans of historical novel writers, we should,
in this instance, leave Smallbones to what must appear to have been his
inevitable fate, and then bring him on the stage again with a _coup de
theatre_, when least expected by the reader. But that is not our
intention; we consider that the interest of this our narration of
by-gone events is quite sufficient, without condescending to what is
called clap-trap; and there are so many people in our narrative
continually labouring under deception of one kind or another, that we
need not add to it by attempting to mystify our readers; who, on the
contrary, we shall take with us familiarly by the hand, and, like a
faithful historian, lead them through the events in the order in which
they occurred, and point out to them how they all lead to one common
end. With this intention in view, we shall now follow the fortunes of
Smallbones, whom we left floundering in about seven fathoms water.
The weather was warm, even sultry, as we said before; but
notwithstanding which, and notwithstanding he was a very tolerable
swimmer, considering that he was so thin, Smallbones did not like it.
To be awoke out of a profound sleep, and all of a sudden to find
yourself floundering out of your depth about half a mile from the
nearest land, is anything but agreeable; the transition is too rapid.
Smallbones descended a few feet before he could divest himself of the
folds of the Flustring coat which he had wrapped himself up in. It
belonged to Coble; he had purchased it at a sale-shop on the Point for
seventeen shillings and sixpence, and, moreover, it was as good as new.
In consequence of this delay below watermark Smallbones had very little
breath left in his body when he rose to the surface, and he could not
inflate his lungs so as to call loud, until the cutter had walked away
from him at least one hundred yards, for she was slipping fast through
the water, and another minute plainly proved to Smallbones that he was
left to his own resources.
At first, the lad had imagined that it was an accident, and that the
rope had given way with his weight; but when he found that no attention
was paid to his cries, he then was convinced that it was the work of Mr
Vanslyperken.
"By _gum_, he's a-done for me at last. Well, I don't care, I can die
but once, that's sartin sure; and he'll go to the devil, that's sartin
sure."
And Smallbones, with this comfortable assurance, continued to strike out
for the land, which, indeed, he had but little prospect of ever making.
"A shame for to come for to go to murder a poor lad three or four times
over," sputtered Smallbones, after a time, feeling his strength fail
him. He then turned on his back, to ease his arms.
"I can't do it no how, I sees that," said Smallbones, "so I may just as
well go down like a dipsey lead."
But as he muttered this, and was making up his mind to discontinue
further exertions--not a very easy thing to do, when you are about to go
into another world--still floating on his back, with his eyes fixed on
the starry heavens, thinking, as Smallbones afterwards narrated himself,
that there wa'n't much to live for in this here world, and considering
what there could be in that 'ere, his head struck against something
hard. Smallbones immediately turned round in the water to see what it
was, and found that it was one of the large corks which supported a
heavy net laid out across the tide for the taking of shoal-fish. The
cork was barely sufficient to support his weight, but gave him a certain
relief, and time to look about him, as the saying is. The lad ran under
the net and cork with his hands until he arrived at the nearest shoal,
for it was three or four hundred yards long. When he arrived there, he
contrived to bring some of the corks together, until he had quite
sufficient for his support, and then Smallbones voted himself pretty
comfortable after all, for the water was very warm, and now quite
smooth.
Smallbones, as the reader may have observed during the narration, was a
lad of most indisputable courage and of good principles. Had it been
his fortune to have been born among the higher classes, and to have had
all the advantages of education, he might have turned out a hero; as it
was, he did his duty well in that state of life to which he had been
called, and as he said in his speech to the men on the forecastle, he
feared God, honoured the king, and was the natural enemy to the devil.
The Chevalier Bayard was nothing more, only he had a wider field for his
exertions and his talents; but the armed and accoutred Bayard did not
show more courage and conduct when leading armies to victory, than did
the unarmed Smallbones against Vanslyperken and his dog. We consider
that, _in his way_, Smallbones was quite as great a hero as the
Chevalier, for no man can do more than his best: indeed, it is
unreasonable to expect it.
While Smallbones hung on to the corks, he was calculating his chances of
being saved.
"If so be as how they comes to take up the nets in the morning, why then
I think I may hold on; but if so be they waits, why they'll then find me
dead as a fish," said Smallbones, who seldom ventured above a
monosyllable, and whose language if not considered as pure English, was
certainly amazingly Saxon; and then Smallbones began to reflect, whether
it was not necessary that he should forgive Mr Vanslyperken before he
died, and his pros and cons ended with his thinking he could, for it was
his duty; however he would not be in a hurry about it, he thought that
was the last thing that he need do; but as for the dog, he wa'n't
obliged to forgive him, that was certain--as certain as that his tail
was off; and Smallbones, up to his chin in the water, grinned so at the
remembrance, that he took in more salt water than was pleasant.
He spit it out again, and then looked up to the stars, which were
twinkling above him.
I wonder what o'clock it is, thought Smallbones, when he thought he
heard a distant sound. Smallbones pricked up his care and listened;--
yes, it was in regular cadence, and became louder and louder. It was a
boat pulling.
"Well, I am sure," thought Smallbones, "they'll think they have caught a
queer fish anyhow;" and he waited very patiently for the fisherman to
come up. At last he perceived the boat, which was very long, and pulled
many oars. "They be the smugglers," thought Smallbones.
"I wonder whether they'll pick up a poor lad. Boat ahoy!"
The boat continued to pass towards the coast, impelled at the speed of
seven or eight miles an hour, and was now nearly abreast of Smallbones,
and not fifty yards from him.
"I say, boat ahoy!" screamed Smallbones, to the extent of his voice.
He was heard this time, and there was a pause in the pulling, the boat
still driving through the water with the impulse which had been given
her, as if she required no propelling power.
"I say, you ain't a going for to come for to leave a poor lad here to be
drowned, are you?"
"That's Smallbones, I'll swear," cried Jemmy Ducks, who was steering the
boat, and who immediately shifted the helm.
But Sir Robert Barclay paused; there was too much at stake to run any
risk, even to save the life of a fellow-creature.
"You takes time for to think on it, anyhow," cried Smallbones. "You are
going for to leave a fellow-Christian stuck like a herring in a
fishing-net, are you? You would not like it yourself, anyhow."
"It is Smallbones, sir," repeated Jemmy Ducks, "and I'll vouch for him
as a lad that's good and true."