SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S SEPARATE OPPONENTS.—THE INTERPOSITION OF FLORA.
The old admiral so completely overcame the family of the Bannerworths
by his generosity and evident single-mindedness of his behaviour, that
although not one, except Flora, approved of his conduct towards Mr.
Marchdale, yet they could not help liking him; and had they been placed
in a position to choose which of the two they would have had remain
with them, the admiral or Marchdale, there can be no question they
would have made choice of the former.
Still, however, it was not pleasant to find a man like Marchdale
virtually driven from the house, because he presumed to differ in
opinion upon a very doubtful matter with another of its inmates. But as
it was the nature of the Bannerworth family always to incline to the
most generous view of subjects, the frank, hearty confidence of the
old admiral in Charles Holland pleased them better than the calm and
serious doubting of Marchdale.
His ruse of hiring the house of them, and paying the rent in advance,
for the purpose of placing ample funds in their hands for any
contingency, was not the less amiable because it was so easily seen
through; and they could not make up their minds to hurt the feelings of
the old man by the rejection of his generous offer.
When he had left, this subject was canvassed among them, and it was
agreed that he should have his own way in the matter for the present,
although they hoped to hear something from Marchdale, which should make
his departure appear less abrupt and uncomfortable to the whole of the
family.
During the course of this conversation, it was made known to Flora with
more distinctness than under any other circumstances it would have
been, that George Holland had been on the eve of fighting a duel with
Sir Francis Varney, previous to his mysterious disappearance.
When she became fully aware of this fact, to her mind it seemed
materially to add to the suspicions previously to then entertained,
that foul means had been used in order to put Charles out of the way.
“Who knows,” she said, “that this Varney may not shrink with the
greatest terror from a conflict with any human being, and feeling
one was inevitable with Charles Holland, unless interrupted by some
vigorous act of his own, he or some myrmidons of his may have taken
Charles’s life!”
“I do not think, Flora,” said Henry, “that he would have ventured upon
so desperate an act; I cannot well believe such a thing possible. But
fear not; he will find, if he have really committed any such atrocity,
that it will not save him.”
These words of Henry, though it made no impression at the time upon
Flora, beyond what they carried upon their surface, they really,
however, as concerned Henry himself, implied a settled resolution,
which he immediately set about reducing to practice.
When the conference broke up, night, as it still was, he, without
saying anything to any one, took his hat and cloak, and left the
Hall, proceeding by the nearest practicable route to the residence of
Sir Francis Varney, where he arrived without any interruption of any
character.
Varney was at first denied to him, but before he could leave the house,
a servant came down the great staircase, to say it was a mistake; and
that Sir Francis was at home, and would be happy to see him.
He was ushered into the same apartment where Sir Francis Varney
had before received his visitors; and there sat the now declared
vampyre, looking pale and ghastly by the dim light which burned in the
apartment, and, indeed, more like some spectre of the tomb, than one of
the great family of man.
“Be seated, sir,” said Varney; “although my eyes have seldom the
pleasure of beholding you within these walls, be assured you are a
honoured guest.”
“Sir Francis Varney,” said Henry, “I came not here to bandy compliments
with you; I have none to pay to you, nor do I wish to hear any of them
from your lips.”
“An excellent sentiment, young man,” said Varney, “and well delivered.
May I presume, then, without infringing too far upon your extreme
courtesy, to inquire, to what circumstances I am indebted for your
visit?”
“To one, Sir Francis, that I believe you are better acquainted with
than you will have the candour to admit.”
“Indeed, sir,” said Varney, coldly; “you measure my candour, probably,
by a standard of your own; in which case I fear, I may be no gainer;
and yet that may be of itself a circumstance that should afford little
food for surprise, but proceed, sir—since we have so few compliments to
stand between us and our purpose, we shall in all due time arrive at
it.”
“Yes, in due time, Sir Francis Varney, and that due time has arrived.
Know you anything of my friend, Mr. Charles Holland?” said Henry, in
marked accents; and he gazed on Sir Francis Varney with earnestness,
that seemed to say not even a look should escape his observation.
Varney, however, returned the gaze as steadily, but coldly, as he
replied in his measured accents,—
“I have heard of the young gentleman.”
“And seen him?”
“And seen him too, as you, Mr. Bannerworth, must be well aware. Surely
you have not come all this way, merely to make such an inquiry; but,
sir, you are welcome to the answer.”
Henry had something of a struggle to keep down the rising anger, at
these cool taunts of Varney; but he succeeded—and then he said,—
“I suspect Charles Holland, Sir Francis Varney, has met with unfair
treatment, and that he has been unfairly dealt with, for an unworthy
purpose.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Varney, “if the gentleman you allude to, has been
unfairly dealt with, it was for a foul purpose; for no good or generous
object, my young sir, could be so obtained—you acknowledge so much, I
doubt not?”
“I do, Sir Francis Varney; and hence the purpose of my visit here—for
this reason I apply to you——”
“A singular object, supported by a singular reason. I cannot see the
connection, young sir; pray proceed to enlighten me upon this matter,
and when you have done that, may I presume upon your consideration, to
inquire in what way I can be of any service to you?”
“Sir Francis,” said Henry, his anger raising his tones—“this will not
serve you—I have come to exact an account of how you have disposed of
my friend; and I will have it.”
“Gently, my good sir; you are aware I know nothing of your friend; his
motions are his own; and as to what I have done with him; my only
answer is, that he would permit me to do nothing with him, had I been
so inclined to have taken the liberty.”
“You are suspected, Sir Francis Varney, of having made an attempt upon
the life or liberty of Charles Holland; you, in fact, are suspected of
being his murderer—and, so help me Heaven! if I have not justice, I
will have vengeance!”
“Young sir, your words are of grave import, and ought to be coolly
considered before they are uttered. With regard to justice and
vengeance, Mr. Bannerworth, you may have both; but I tell you, of
Charles Holland, or what has become of him, I know nothing. But
wherefore do you come to so unlikely a quarter to learn something of an
individual of whom I know nothing?”
“Because Charles Holland was to have fought a duel with you; but before
that had time to take place, he has suddenly become missing. I suspect
that you are the author of his disappearance, because you fear an
encounter with a mortal man.”
“Mr. Bannerworth, permit me to say, in my own defence, that I do not
fear any man, however foolish he may be; and wisdom is not an attribute
I find, from experience in all men, of your friend. However, you must
be dreaming, sir—a kind of vivid insanity has taken possession of your
mind, which distorts——”
“Sir Francis Varney!” exclaimed Henry, now perfectly uncontrollable.
“Sir,” said Varney, as he filled up the pause, “proceed; I am all
attention. You do me honour.”
“If,” resumed Henry, “such was your object in putting Mr. Holland
aside, by becoming personally or by proxy an assassin, you are mistaken
in supposing you have accomplished your object.”
“Go on, sir,” said Sir Francis Varney, in a bland and sweet tone; “I am
all attention; pray proceed.”
“You have failed; for I now here, on this spot, defy you to mortal
combat. Coward, assassin as you are, I challenge you to fight.”
“You don’t mean on the carpet here?” said Varney, deliberately.
“No, sir; but beneath the canopy of heaven, in the light of the day.
And then, Sir Francis, we shall see who will shrink from the conflict.”
“It is remarkably good, Mr. Bannerworth, and, begging your pardon, for
I do not wish to give any offence, my honoured sir, it would rehearse
before an audience; in short, sir, it is highly dramatic.”
“You shrink from the combat, do you? Now, indeed, I know you.”
“Young man—young man,” said Sir Francis, calmly, and shaking his head
very deliberately, and the shadows passed across his pale face, “you
know me not, if you think Sir Francis Varney shrinks from any man, much
less one like yourself.”
“You are a coward, and worse, if you refuse my challenge.”
“I do not refuse it; I accept it,” said Varney, calmly, and in a
dignified manner; and then, with a sneer, he added,—“You are well
acquainted with the mode in which gentlemen generally manage these
matters, Mr. Bannerworth, and perhaps I am somewhat confined in my
knowledge in the ways of the world, because you are your own principal
and second. In all my experience, I never met with a similar case.”
“The circumstances under which it is given are as unexampled, and will
excuse the mode of the challenge,” said Henry, with much warmth.
“Singular coincidence—the challenge and mode of it is most singular!
They are well matched in that respect. Singular, did I say? The more
I think of it, Mr. Bannerworth, the more I am inclined to think this
positively odd.”
“Early to-morrow, Sir Francis, you shall hear from me.”
“In that case, you will not arrange preliminaries now? Well, well; it
is very unusual for the principals themselves to do so; and yet, excuse
my freedom, I presumed, as you had so far deserted the beaten track,
that I had no idea how far you might be disposed to lead the same
route.”
“I have said all I intended to say, Sir Francis Varney; we shall see
each other again.”
“I may not detain you, I presume, to taste aught in the way of
refreshment?”
Henry made no reply, but turned towards the door, without even making
an attempt to return the grave and formal bow that Sir Francis Varney
made as he saw him about to quit the apartment; for Henry saw that his
pale features were lighted up with a sarcastic smile, most disagreeable
to look upon as well as irritating to Henry Bannerworth.
He now quitted Sir Francis Varney’s abode, being let out by a servant
who had been rung for for that purpose by his master.
Henry walked homeward, satisfied that he had now done all that he could
under the circumstances.
“I will send Chillingworth to him in the morning, and then I shall see
what all this will end in. He must meet me, and then Charles Holland,
if not discovered, shall be, at least, revenged.”
There was another person in Bannerworth Hall who had formed a similar
resolution. That person was a very different sort of person to Henry
Bannerworth, though quite as estimable in his way.
This was no other than the old admiral. It was singular that two such
very different persons should deem the same steps necessary, and
both keep the secret from each other; but so it was, and, after some
internal swearing, he determined upon challenging Varney in person.
“I’d send Jack Pringle, but the swab would settle the matter as
shortly as if a youngster was making an entry in a log, and heard the
boatswain’s whistle summoning the hands to a mess, and feared he would
lose his grog.
“D—n my quarters! but Sir Francis Varney, as he styles himself, sha’n’t
make any way against old Admiral Bell. He’s as tough as a hawser, and
just the sort of blade for a vampyre to come athwart. I’ll pitch him
end-long, and make a plank of him afore long. Cus my windpipe! what a
long, lanky swab he is, with teeth fit to unpick a splice; but let me
alone, I’ll see if I can’t make a hull of his carcass, vampyre or no
vampyre.
“My nevy, Charles Holland, can’t be allowed to cut away without
nobody’s leave or licence. No, no; I’ll not stand that anyhow. ‘Never
desert a messmate in the time of need,’ is the first maxim of a seaman,
and I ain’t the one as ’ll do so.”
Thus self-communing, the old admiral marched along until he came to Sir
Francis Varney’s house, at the gate of which he gave the bell what he
called a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether, that set it
ringing with a fury, the like of which had never certainly been heard
by the household.
A minute or two scarcely elapsed before the domestics hurried to answer
so urgent a summons; and when the gate was opened, the servant who
answered it inquired his business.
“What’s that to you, snob? Is your master, Sir Francis Varney, in?
because, if he be, let him know old Admiral Bell wants to speak to him.
D’ye hear?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the servant, who had paused a few moments to
examine the individual who gave this odd kind of address.
In another minute word was brought to him that Sir Francis Varney would
be very happy to see Admiral Bell.
“Ay, ay,” he muttered; “just as the devil likes to meet with holy
water, or as I like any water save salt water.”
He was speedily introduced to Sir Francis Varney, who was seated in the
same posture as he had been left by Henry Bannerworth not many minutes
before.
“Admiral Bell,” said Sir Francis, rising, and bowing to that individual
in the most polite, calm, and dignified manner imaginable, “permit me
to express the honour I feel at this unexpected visit.”
“None of your gammon.”
“Will you be seated. Allow me to offer you such refreshments as this
poor house affords.”
“D—n all this! You know, Sir Francis, I don’t want none o’ this
palaver. It’s for all the world like a Frenchman, when you are going to
give him a broadside; he makes grimaces, throws dust in your eyes, and
tries to stab you in the back. Oh, no! none of that for me.”
“I should say not, Admiral Bell. I should not like it myself, and I
dare say you are a man of too much experience not to perceive when you
are or are not imposed upon.”
“Well, what is that to you? D—n me, I didn’t come here to talk to you
about myself.”
“Then may I presume upon your courtesy so far as to beg that you will
enlighten me upon the object of your visit!”
“Yes; in pretty quick time. Just tell me where you have stowed away my
nephew, Charles Holland?”
“Really, I——”
“Hold your slack, will you, and hear me out; if he’s living, let him
out, and I’ll say no more about it; that’s liberal, you know; it ain’t
terms everybody would offer you.”
“I must, in truth, admit they are not; and, moreover, they quite
surprise even me, and I have learned not to be surprised at almost
anything.”
“Well, will you give him up alive? but, hark ye, you mustn’t have made
very queer fish of him, do ye see?”
“I hear you,” said Sir Francis, with a bland smile, passing one hand
gently over the other, and showing his front teeth in a peculiar
manner; “but I really cannot comprehend all this; but I may say,
generally, that Mr. Holland is no acquaintance of mine, and I have no
sort of knowledge where he may be.”
“That won’t do for me,” said the admiral, positively, shaking his head.
“I am particularly sorry, Admiral Bell, that it will not, seeing that I
have nothing else to say.”
“I see how it is; you’ve put him out of the way, and I’m d—d if you
shan’t bring him to life, whole and sound, or I’ll know the reason why.”
“With that I have already furnished you, Admiral Bell,” quietly
rejoined Varney; “anything more on that head is out of my power,
though my willingness to oblige a person of such consideration as
yourself, is very great; but, permit me to add, this is a very strange
and odd communication from one gentleman to another. You have lost a
relative, who has, very probably, taken some offence, or some notion
into his head, of which nobody but himself knows anything, and you come
to one yet more unlikely to know anything of him, than even yourself.”
“Gammon again, now, Sir Francis Varney, or Blarney.”
“Varney, if you please, Admiral Bell; I was christened Varney.”
“Christened, eh?”
“Yes, christened—were you not christened? If not, I dare say you
understand the ceremony well enough.”
“I should think I did; but, as for christening, a——”
“Go on, sir.”
“A vampyre! why I should as soon think of reading the burial service of
a pig.”
“Very possible; but what has all this to do with your visit to me?”
“This much, you lubber. Now, d—n my carcass from head to stern, if I
don’t call you out.”
“Well, Admiral Bell,” said Varney, mildly, “in that case, I suppose I
must come out; but why do you insist that I have any knowledge of your
nephew, Mr. Charles Holland?”
“You were to have fought a duel with him, and now he’s gone.”
“I am here,” said Varney.
“Ay,” said the admiral, “that’s as plain as a purser’s shirt upon a
handspike; but that’s the very reason why my nevey ain’t here, and
that’s all about it.”
“And that’s marvellous little, so far as the sense is concerned,” said
Varney, without the movement of a muscle.
“It is said that people of your class don’t like fighting mortal men;
now you have disposed of him, lest he should dispose of you.”
“That is explicit, but it is to no purpose, since the gentleman in
question hasn’t placed himself at my disposal.”
“Then, d——e, I will; fish, flesh, or fowl, I don’t care; all’s one to
Admiral Bell. Come fair or fowl, I’m a tar for all men; a seaman ever
ready to face a foe, so here goes, you lubberly moon manufactured calf.”
“I hear, admiral, but it is scarcely civil, to say the least of it;
however, as you are somewhat eccentric, and do not, I dare say, mean
all your words imply, I am quite willing to make every allowance.”
“I don’t want any allowance; d—n you and your allowance, too; nothing
but allowance of grog, and a pretty good allowance, too, will do for
me, and I tell you, Sir Francis Varney,” said the admiral, with much
wrath, “that you are a d—d lubberly hound, and I’ll fight you; yes, I’m
ready to hammer away, or with anything from a pop-gun to a ship’s gun;
you don’t come over me with your gammon, I tell you. You’ve murdered
Charles Holland because you couldn’t face him—that’s the truth of it.”
“With the other part of your speech, Admiral Bell, allow me to say, you
have mixed up a serious accusation—one I cannot permit to pass lightly.”
“Will you or not fight?”
“Oh, yes; I shall be happy to serve you any way that I can. I hope this
will be an answer to your accusation, also.”
“That’s settled, then.”
“Why, I am not captious, Admiral Bell, but it is not generally usual
for the principals to settle the preliminaries themselves; doubtless
you, in your career of fame and glory, know something of the manner in
which gentlemen demean themselves on these occasions.”
“Oh, d—n you! Yes, I’ll send some one to do all this. Yes, yes, Jack
Pringle will be the man, though Jack ain’t a holiday, shore-going,
smooth-spoken swab, but as good a seaman as ever trod deck or handled a
boarding-pike.”
“Any friend of yours,” said Varney, blandly, “will be received and
treated as such upon an errand of such consequence; and now our
conference has, I presume, concluded.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve done—d—e, no—yes—no. I will keel haul you but I’ll know
something of my neavy, Charles Holland.”
“Good day, Admiral Bell.” As Varney spoke, he placed his hand upon
the bell which he had near him, to summon an attendant to conduct the
admiral out. The latter, who had said a vast deal more than he ever
intended, left the room in a great rage, protesting to himself that he
would amply avenge his nephew, Charles Holland.
He proceeded homeward, considerably vexed and annoyed that he had been
treated with so much calmness, and all knowledge of his nephew denied.
When he got back, he quarrelled heartily with Jack Pringle—made it
up—drank grog—quarrelled—made it up, and finished with grog again—until
he went to bed swearing he should like to fire a broadside at the whole
of the French army, and annihilate it at once.
With this wish, he fell asleep.
Early next morning, Henry Bannerworth sought Mr. Chillingworth, and
having found him, he said in a serious tone,—
“Mr. Chillingworth, I have rather a serious favour to ask you, and one
which you may hesitate in granting.”
“It must be very serious indeed,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “that I
should hesitate to grant it to you; but pray inform me what it is that
you deem so serious?”
“Sir Francis Varney and I must have a meeting,” said Henry.
“Have you really determined upon such a course?” said Mr.
Chillingworth; “you know the character of your adversary?”
“That is all settled,—I have given a challenge, and he has accepted it;
so all other considerations verge themselves into one—and that is the
when, where, and how.”
“I see,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “Well, since it cannot be helped on
your part, I will do what is requisite for you—do you wish anything to
be done or insisted on in particular in this affair.”
“Nothing with regard to Sir Francis Varney that I may not leave to
your discretion. I feel convinced that he is the assassin of Charles
Holland, whom he feared to fight in duel.”
“Then there remains but little else to do, but to arrange
preliminaries, I believe. Are you prepared on every other point?”
“I am—you will see that I am the challenger, and that he must now
fight. What accident may turn up to save him, I fear not, but sure I
am, that he will endeavour to take every advantage that may arise, and
so escape the encounter.”
“And what do you imagine he will do now he has accepted your
challenge?” said Mr. Chillingworth; “one would imagine he could not
very well escape.”
“No—but he accepted the challenge which Charles Holland sent him—a duel
was inevitable, and it seems to me to be a necessary consequence that
he disappeared from amongst us, for Mr. Holland would never have shrunk
from the encounter.”
“There can be no sort of suspicion about that,” remarked Chillingworth;
“but allow me to advise you that you take care of yourself, and keep a
watchful eye upon every one—do not be seen out alone.”
“I fear not.”
“Nay, the gentleman who has disappeared was, I am sure, fearless
enough; but yet that has not saved him. I would not advise you to be
fearful, only watchful; you have now an event awaiting upon you, which
it is well you should go through with, unless circumstances should
so turn out, that it is needless; therefore I say, when you have the
suspicions you do entertain of this man’s conduct, beware, be cautious,
and vigilant.”
“I will do so—in the mean time, I trust myself confidently in your
hands—you know all that is necessary.”
“This affair is quite a secret from all of the family?”
“Most certainly so, and will remain so—I shall be at the Hall.”
“And there I will see you—but be careful not to be drawn into any
adventure of any kind—it is best to be on the safe side under all
circumstances.”
“I will be especially careful, be assured, but farewell; see Sir
Francis Varney as early as you can, and let the meeting be as early as
you can, and thus diminish the chance of accident.”
“That I will attend to. Farewell for the present.”
Mr. Chillingworth immediately set about the conducting of the affair
thus confided to him; and that no time might be lost, he determined to
set out at once for Sir Francis Varney’s residence.
“Things with regard to this family seem to have gone on wild of late,”
thought Mr. Chillingworth; “this may bring affairs to a conclusion,
though I had much rather they had come to some other. My life for it,
there is a juggle or a mystery somewhere; I will do this, and then
we shall see what will come of it; if this Sir Francis Varney meets
him—and at this moment I can see no reason why he should not do so—it
will tend much to deprive him of the mystery about him; but if, on
the other hand, he refuse—but then that’s all improbable, because he
has agreed to do so. I fear, however, that such a man as Varney is a
dreadful enemy to encounter—he is cool and unruffled—and that gives
him all the advantage in such affairs; but Henry’s nerves are not bad,
though shaken by these untowards events; but time will show—I would it
were all over.”
With these thoughts and feelings strangely intermixed, Mr.
Chillingworth set forward for Sir Francis Varney’s house.
• • • • •
Admiral Bell slept soundly enough, though, towards morning, he fell
into a strange dream, and thought he was yard arm and yard arm with a
strange fish—something of the mermaid species.
“Well,” exclaimed the admiral, after a customary benediction, of his
eyes and limbs, “what’s to come next? may I be spliced to a shark if I
understand what this is all about. I had some grog last night, but then
grog, d’y’see, is—is—a seaman’s native element, as the newspapers say,
though I never read ’em now, it’s such a plague.”
He lay quiet for a short time, considering in his own mind what was
best to be done, and what was the proper course to pursue, and why he
should dream.
“Hilloa, hilloa, hil—loa! Jack a-hoy! a-hoy!” shouted the admiral, as
a sudden recollection of his challenge came across his memory; “Jack
Pringle a-hoy? d—n you, where are you?—you’re never at hand when you
are wanted. Oh, you lubber,—a-hoy!”
“A-hoy!” shouted a voice, as the door opened, and Jack thrust his head
in; “what cheer, messmate? what ship is this?”
“Oh, you lubberly——”
The door was shut in a minute, and Jack Pringle disappeared.
“Hilloa, Jack Pringle, you don’t mean to say you’ll desert your
colours, do you, you dumb dog?”
“Who says I’ll desert the ship as she’s sea-worthy!”
“Then why do you go away?”
“Because I won’t be called lubberly. I’m as good a man as ever swabbed
a deck, and don’t care who says to the contrary. I’ll stick to the
ship as long as she’s sea-worthy,” said Jack.
“Well, come here, and just listen to the log, and be d——d to you.”
“What’s the orders now, admiral?” said Jack, “though, as we are paid
off——”
“There, take that, will you?” said Admiral Bell, as he flung a pillow
at Jack, being the only thing in the shape of a missile within reach.
Jack ducked, and the pillow produced a clatter in the washhand-stand
among the crockery, as Jack said,—
“There’s a mutiny in the ship, and hark how the cargo clatters; will
you have it back again?”
“Come, will you? I’ve been dreaming, Jack.”
“Dreaming! what’s that?”
“Thinking of something when you are asleep, you swab.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Jack; “never did such a thing in my life—ha, ha,
ha! what’s the matter now?”
“I’ll tell you what’s the matter. Jack Pringle, you are becoming
mutinous, and I won’t have it; if you don’t hold your jaw and draw in
your slacks, I’ll have another second.”
“Another second! what’s in the wind, now?” said Jack. “Is this the
dream?”
“If ever I dream when I’m alongside a strange craft, then it is a
dream; but old Admiral Bell ain’t the man to sleep when there’s any
work to be done.”
“That’s uncommon true,” said Jack, turning a quid.
“Well, then, I’m going to fight.”
“Fight!” exclaimed Jack. “Avast, there, I don’t see where’s the
enemy—none o’ that gammon; Jack Pringle can fight, too, and will lay
alongside his admiral, but he don’t see the enemy anywhere.”
“You don’t understand these things, so I’ll tell you. I have had a bit
of talk with Sir Francis Varney, and I am going to fight him.”
“What the _wamphigher?_” remarked Jack, parenthetically.
“Yes.”
“Well, then,” resumed Jack, “then we shall see another blaze, at least
afore we die; but he’s an odd fish—one of Davy Jones’s sort.”
“I don’t care about that; he may be anything he likes; but Admiral Bell
ain’t a-going to have his nephew burned and eaten, and sucked like I
don’t know what, by a vampyre, or by any other confounded land-shark.”
“In course,” said Jack, “we ain’t a-going to put up with nothing of
that sort, and if so be as how he has put him out of the way, why it’s
our duty to send him after him, and square the board.”
“That’s the thing, Jack; now you know you must go to Sir Francis Varney
and tell him you come from me.”
“I don’t care if I goes on my own account,” said Jack.
“That won’t do; I’ve challenged him and I must fight him.”
“In course you will,” returned Jack, “and, if he blows you away, why
I’ll take your place, and have a blaze myself.”
The admiral gave a look at Jack of great admiration, and then said,—
“You are a d—d good seaman, Jack, but he’s a knight, and might say no
to that, but do you go to him, and tell him that you come from me to
settle the when and the where this duel is to be fought.”
“Single fight?” said Jack.
“Yes; consent to any thing that is fair,” said the admiral, “but let it
be as soon as you can. Now, do you understand what I have said?”
“Yes, to be sure; I ain’t lived all these years without knowing your
lingo.”
“Then go at once; and don’t let the honour of Admiral Bell and old
England suffer, Jack. I’m his man, you know, at any price.”
“Never fear,” said Jack; “you shall fight him, at any rate. I’ll go and
see he don’t back out, the warmint.”
“Then go along, Jack; and mind don’t you go blazing away like a fire
ship, and letting everybody know what’s going on, or it’ll be stopped.”
“I’ll not spoil sport,” said Jack, as he left the room, to go at once
to Sir Francis Varney, charged with the conducting of the important
cartel of the admiral. Jack made the best of his way with becoming
gravity and expedition until he reached the gate of the admiral’s enemy.
Jack rang loudly at the gate; there seemed, if one might judge by his
countenance, a something on his mind, that Jack was almost another man.
The gate was opened by the servant, who inquired what he wanted there.
“The wamphigher.”
“Who?”
“The wamphigher.”
The servant frowned, and was about to say something uncivil to Jack,
who winked at him very hard, and then said,—
“Oh, may be you don’t know him, or won’t know him by that name; I wants
to see Sir Francis Varney.”
“He’s at home,” said the servant; “who are you?”
“Show me up, then. I’m Jack Pringle, and I’m come from Admiral Bell;
I’m the admiral’s friend, you see, so none of your black looks.”
The servant seemed amazed, as well as rather daunted, at Jack’s
address; he showed him, however, into the hall, where Mr. Chillingworth
had just that moment arrived, and was waiting for an interview with
Varney.