THE PROPOSAL OF JACK PRINGLE TO TAKE ANDERSON TO THE WEDDING.
A circumstance now occurred which soon enabled Jack Pringle to console
himself for the misadventure he had had, which he was delighted
to think was not known to any of those persons with whom he came
ordinarily into contact.
The pleasant circumstance to which we allude, was the reception of a
letter from the admiral, and by the mere fact of his writing such an
epistle to Jack, it would seem to be perfectly true that he really felt
unhappy without the companionship of that worthy.
The letter was to the following effect:—
“Jack, you mutinous rascal, your leave of absence has expired, and you
know you ought to have a round dozen when you come back to your ship;
but as it turns out you may stay where you are, for a reason that I am
going to tell you.
“There is to be a wedding at the very place where you are staying,
between some odd fish, a Baron Something, I don’t know who; but as we
have been all invited, we are coming down the whole lot of us, and
shall arrive on Thursday, so that you may look out from the mast-head
as soon as you like, and you will see us coming with all sails set.
“No more at present from, you vagabond, you know who.”
“What an affectionate letter,” said Jack; “I knew the old fellow
couldn’t do without me long—he is quite an old baby, that’s what he
is; and if I wasn’t to take a little notice of him, he would be as
miserable as possible. Hilloa! What cheer? have you come back?”
These last words were addressed to James Anderson, who at that moment
made his appearance in the cottage of the old seaman, he having just
left the house of the Williamses, after the painful interview which we
have recorded took place between him and Mrs. Williams, during which
she had succeeded in convincing him that all his hopes, as regarded
Helen, were crushed completely.
The appearance of deep dejection that was upon his countenance was
such, as to convince Jack Pringle the nature of the business he had
been upon, and he cried,—
“Come, come—cheer up, man. I guess, now, you have been looking after
that sweetheart of yours, who is no better than she should be.”
“I have, indeed,” said James Anderson, “been to extinguish all
hope—nothing now lives in my breast but despair. I shall proceed to
London at once, to make my report to the Admiralty, as it is my duty to
do so; and, after that, I care not what becomes of me.”
“Stuff, stuff,” said Jack; “I have got some news for you. My old
admiral, that I take care of, has had an invitation to the very
wedding, as I take it to be, of your old sweetheart.”
“What! is it possible—do you mean an invitation to Helen Williams’s
wedding with the Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh?”
“Yes, I do; that’s just what I do mean, and no mistake. Here is his
letter which he has written to me to go, and I think I shall let the
old fellow, for it will amuse him. Just read that.”
Jack handed the admiral’s letter to James Anderson, which he read with
a great deal of interest, and when he had concluded, he said,—
“Mr. Pringle, a sudden thought strikes me——”
“About ship,” said Jack, “and begin again. I told you before not to
call me Mr. Pringle—I cannot stand it. Call me Jack, and then go on
telling me what your sudden thought is.”
“Well, then, Jack, my sudden thought is this, that your friend the
admiral might be induced, upon your representation, to let me join
his party, and I would take care to conceal my features and general
appearance so that I should not be known, while I had the mournful
satisfaction of taking a last look upon that occasion of her who I have
loved, before she becomes irrecoverably the wife of another.”
“If you wish it,” said Jack, “it shall be done. I’ll undertake there
shall be no objection on the part of the admiral; and as for the
Bannerworths, they are good sort of people, and would do all they can
for anybody, I am sure.”
“I should take it as a peculiar favour; for although I feel now that my
hopes are blasted, and I can have no possible expectation of beholding
her with eyes of pleasure, I still wish to look upon her, that I may
see if anything of regret is upon her countenance, or if she has quite
forgotten the past.”
“Say no more,” said Jack, “but consider it as done. I’d take care
though, if I were you, that she did not find me out; for I wouldn’t let
the finest woman that ever breathed—no, not if she was seven feet high,
and as big as a hogshead—fancy that I cared so much for her as to go
to her wedding after she had jilted me.”
“She shall not see me,” said James Anderson; “she shall not see me,
you may depend; for, without doubt, the guests will be very numerous,
so that I can easily keep myself in the back-ground, and look upon her
face without her being at all aware of the presence of such a person at
the ceremony.”
“Yes, you can manage that; and, if I were you, just as I was going
away, I’d give the baron a jolly good kick, and tell him you wished him
joy of his bargain. I wouldn’t do anything violent, you know, but a
little quiet thing like that would just show them all what you thought
of the business.”
“A sense of my wrongs,” said James Anderson, “should not extinguish a
sense of justice; and I have no means of knowing that the baron is at
all in fault in this matter.”
“Oh, you are too nice by one half. If a fellow takes away my
sweetheart, hang me if I care who is at fault.”
“Oh, but it is necessary that we should be just at all events; but
still, Jack, accept my sincerest thanks for placing me in the way of
looking upon Helen. I’d rather see that she was happy and contented
with her lot, than I would observe evidences upon her face of any
passionate regret. The former would reconcile me, by making me think
I had made a great mistake in the object of my attachment; while the
latter would leave in my heart a never ceasing pain.”
“Gammon,” said Jack.
“I fear I tax your patience, Jack Pringle, when I talk in such a strain
as this.”
“I’ll be hanged if you don’t. What do you mean by it? There is lots
of women in the world. I have no patience with a fellow that, because
one girl uses him ill, goes snivelling and crying about his feelings,
and his agony, and his chest, and all that sort of thing. I should
recommend a bottle of rum.”
“Well, well, Jack, it may happen some day with even you, and then you
may feel some of the mental agony of knowing that another has possessed
himself of her whom you thought all your own.”
This was hitting Jack rather hard, although James Anderson did not know
it; so he said,—
“Ah, well, to be sure, there is something in that, after all, and I
don’t mean to say there ain’t; but, however, keep up your heart, my
boy, and there is no saying what may happen yet.”
“Alas! there can nothing happen that can give me pleasure; all is lost
now, and the only hope I can have, is to forget.”
Jack would have written a letter back to the admiral in reply to the
one which he had received, only that somehow or other he was not a
first-rate penman; and as he said it was such a bother to know where
to begin, and when you did begin, it was such a bother to know where
to leave off, that, taking all things into consideration, he rather on
the whole declined writing at all; and, as the appointed day was near
at hand, on which the wedding was to take place, he thought it would do
quite as well if he kept the look out which the admiral had suggested
for the arrival of the Bannerworths.
As for the scheme of James Anderson to be present at the wedding, the
more Jack thought of it, the more he liked it, because he considered
that it afforded a chance, at all events, if not a good prospect, of as
general a disturbance as any that had ever existed.
“Lor! what fun,” he said, “if he would but kick the baron, and then
if the baron would but fall foul of him, and the girl scream, and old
mother Williams go into hysterics. That would be a lark, and no doubt
about it; shouldn’t I enjoy it above a bit. I’d give them a helping
hand somehow or another; and then, who knows but the girl may have been
regularly badgered by the old cat of a mother into the match, and may
wish for all the world to get out of it.”
There can be no doubt but that if Helen Williams, even at that last
moment, chose to make any appeal, it would not be made in vain to Jack
Pringle, who, with all his faults, and they were numerous enough, had
in his heart a chivalrous love of right, and a hatred of anything in
the shape of oppression, which nothing could subdue; and such qualities
as these surely are amply sufficient to atone for a multitude of minor
errors, which were more those of habit and defective education, than
anything else.
It very much delighted him to think that the admiral and the
Bannerworths were coming down to Anderbury, because such a fact not
only prolonged his stay there, which he was pleased it should do,
because he was really very much delighted with the place, but it at the
same time threw him again into the company he so much liked; and his
attachment to the Bannerworth family had really become quite a strong
feeling.
He waited quite with impatience until the Thursday came on which the
admiral had announced his arrival; and instead of being in the town,
or on the outskirts, to watch for him, which would have been but a
tiresome operation, Jack walked boldly on to meet them by the high
road, which he knew they must traverse.
After he had gone about four miles, he had the satisfaction of seeing,
in the distance, a travelling-carriage, manned, as he called it, with
four horses, rapidly approaching, and Jack immediately produced a large
silk handkerchief that he had purchased, which was a representation of
the national flag of Great Britain. This he fastened to the end of a
stick, and commenced waving it about as a signal to the admiral of his
presence in the road.
At this moment, too, it happened, fortunately for Jack Pringle, as he
considered, that a man came across a stile in the immediate vicinity
where he was with a gun in his hand.
“Hilloa, friend,” said Jack Pringle, “just let me look at that gun a
minute.”
“I’ll see you further first,” said the man; “you seem to me as if you
were out of your mind.”
So saying, he levelled the piece at some birds which were flying
over-head, and fired first one barrel and then the other in rapid
succession.
“Thank ye,” said Jack, “that was all I wanted; and it will answer my
purpose exactly; there is nothing like, when you display your flag,
firing a gun or two. It’s all right—he sees me, he sees me.”
The admiral had actually been looking from the window of the carriage,
although he had not expected to see Jack quite so soon; but the
appearance of the handkerchief, which was made so much to resemble
a flag, convinced him of the fact that Jack had come that distance
to meet them; and when he heard the gun fired twice, he was quite
delighted, and leaning back in the carriage, he cried,—
“Ah, Flora, my dear, it is a great pity that Jack is so given to rum,
for he is a remarkably clever fellow. You would hardly believe it, now,
but he has contrived to hoist a flag just because he sees me coming.”
“Indeed, uncle.”
“Yes, my dear, he has; and didn’t you hear that he actually managed to
fire a couple of guns, some way or another?”
“I certainly did hear the report, but had no idea that we were indebted
to Jack Pringle’s management for them.”
“Oh, yes, I can see him a short distance ahead. He is lying to, now;
and, if the wind wasn’t against us, we should be up to him in a few
minutes, but don’t you feel it blowing in your face?”
Notwithstanding the admiral considered, which he certainly did, that
the wind was a real impediment to the progress of the carriage, they
did in a few moments reach to where Jack Pringle was waiting, when the
admiral called out from the window in a loud voice,—
“Hilloa! what ship, and where are you bound to?”
“The Jack Pringle,” was the reply, “from Anderbury, and to fall in with
the Admiral Bell, convoy of the pretty Flora.”
“There now,” said the admiral; “didn’t I tell you what a clever fellow
Jack was? What shore-going humbug, who had never been to sea, would
have thought of such a thing?”
“Well,” said Jack, as he walked up to the coach window, for the
postillions had been ordered to halt, or, as the admiral had expressed
it, “to heave to,” “well, here you are, all of you.”
“Yes, Jack,” said the admiral; “and I was just saying I thought you a
very clever fellow.”
“I am sorry I can’t return the compliment, you poor old creature,” said
Jack; “I hope you haven’t got yourself into any trouble since I have
been away from you. What a miserable old hulk you do look, to be sure.
There you go, again; now you are getting into a passion, as usual; what
a dreadful thing temper is, to be sure, when you can’t manage it.”
Jack scrambled up behind into the rumble before the admiral could make
any reply to him, for indignation stopped his utterance a moment or
two; and, when he did speak, it was to Flora he addressed himself more
particularly, saying,—
“Now, did you ever know a more ungrateful son-of-a-gun than that? After
I had just told him that I thought him a clever fellow, for him to
burst out abusing me at that rate! Now I have done with him.”
“Oh, you may depend, Admiral Bell,” said Flora, “that he don’t at all
mean what he says; and I am convinced that he entertains for you the
highest possible respect, and that he is only jesting when he uses
those expressions which would seem as if it were otherwise.”
“Let’s just wait,” said the admiral, “till the wedding is over, and
then I’ll let him know whether a boatswain is to make a joke of an
admiral of the fleet.