THE ADMIRAL IN A BREEZE.—A GENERAL COMMOTION, AND JACK PRINGLE MUCH
WANTED, BUT NOT TO BE FOUND.
To say that Mrs. Williams was on the tiptoe of expectation, is to say
very little that can convey a good idea of what was her real condition,
nervously speaking, as she followed Jack Pringle up, not the principal,
but a back staircase of the inn, toward the room where the admiral took
his nap, which was
“His custom always of an afternoon.”
The fact is, that Jack had a great dread of Mrs. Williams being seen by
any of the Bannerworth family, because they all knew her; and the nice
little plot he had got up for the purpose of holding out the admiral to
ridicule, while at the same time he enjoyed the immense satisfaction of
having some revenge upon Mrs. Williams.
Hence was it, that, like many a great politician, he went up the
back staircase instead of the front, in order to avoid unnecessary
observation and remark.
By good fortune, as well as good management, Jack met nobody, but
succeeded in reaching the room door, within which the admiral was
sleeping, in perfect safety.
“Now, ma’am,” said Jack, “don’t you be back’erd in going for’erd, cos,
as I tell you, the old man is dying by inches for you, and I don’t see
why you shouldn’t have his half a million of money, as well as anybody
else. Ah! and a good deal better, too, when one comes to consider all
things.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pringle, thank you. I really don’t know how to
express my obligations to you, upon my word. You are so very kind and
considerate in all you say.”
“Oh! don’t mention it, ma’am. Walk in, and there you will find the old
baby. I shouldn’t wonder but he’s disturbing his old brains by dreaming
of you now.”
Jack opened the door, and Mrs. Williams glided noiselessly into an
apartment, where, seated, sure enough, in an easy chair, with a silk
handkerchief over his face, sat the admiral, fast asleep, enjoying that
comfortable siesta, which he never for one moment imagined would be
disturbed in the manner it was about to be.
“Well,” said Mrs. Williams, “there he is, to be sure, just as Jack
Pringle said,—asleep, and no doubt dreaming of me. I must make sure of
the old fool in one interview, or he may slip through my fingers, and
that would not be at all pleasant after counting upon him, and taking
some trouble in the matter.”
But although she made up her mind that nothing should be wanting, upon
her part, to make sure of him, yet she debated whether she ought to
awaken him or not; for she well knew that many old people, especially
men, were very irascible if they are awakened suddenly, and from what
she had already seen of the admiral, she could very well imagine that
such might be the case with him.
This was getting rather a quandary, out of which Mrs. Williams did
not exactly see her way; and yet the proposition that the admiral was
to be, and must be, awakened in some way, remained as firmly as ever
fixed in her mind. And then, too, the idea—a very natural one under the
circumstances—came across her that each minute was fraught with danger,
and that, for all she knew, the yea or nay of the whole affair might
depend upon the promptitude with which it was concluded.
What, if, she asked herself, some of the odious Bannerworth people were
to come in and find her there—of course they would awaken the admiral
at once, and in consequence of their presence, she would lose all
opportunity of exercising those little blandishments which she meant to
bring to bear upon him.
This was positively alarming. The idea of all being lost, prompted
her at all events to attempt something; so Mrs. Williams thought that
the mildest way of awakening the admiral was by a loud sneeze, which
she executed without producing the least effect, as might have been
expected; for the man who had many a time slept soundly in the wildest
fury of the elements, was not likely to awaken because somebody sneezed.
“Dear me, how sound he sleeps. A—hem!—hem! A—_chew!_—a—a—hem!—A
_chewaway!_”
The admiral was proof against all this, and Mrs. Williams might just
as well have spared herself the trouble of exciting such an amount of
artificial sneezes, for the admiral slept on, and it was quite clear
that something much more sonorous would be required for the purpose of
awaking him.
“How vexatious,” she thought; “how very vexatious. But there’s no help
for it. Awakened he must be, that’s quite clear; and if fair means
won’t do it, why, foul must.”
Acting upon this resolve, Mrs. Williams hesitated no longer, but,
approaching the sleeping admiral, she dragged the handkerchief off his
face, and its passage over his nose, no doubt, produced the tickling
sensation that induced him to give that organ a very hard rub, indeed,
and start wide awake with an exclamation that was much more forcible
than elegant, and that consequently we need not transfer to our pages
at all.
“Oh! admiral,” said Mrs. Williams, assuming a look that ought at once
to have melted a heart of stone; “oh! admiral, can you, indeed, forgive
me?”
“The devil!” said the admiral.
“Can you, indeed, look over the fact, that in my anxiety to see that
face, I took from before it the envious, and yet fortunate handkerchief
that covered it? It was my act, and upon my head fall all the censure,
my dear, good, kind admiral.”
The old man rubbed his eyes very hard with his knuckles, as he said,—
“I suppose I’m awake.”
“You are awake, my dear sir. It is, indeed, no dream, let me assure
you, that disturbs you, but a living reality. You are awake, my dear
sir.”
“Why—why, what do you mean? I begin to think I am awake, with a
vengeance; but who are you? Hang me if I don’t think you are old Mother
Williams!”
“Oh! my dear admiral, you are so facetious—so very facetious; but can
you for one moment fancy, my dear sir, that I am insensible to your
merit? Can you fancy that I could look with other than indulgent eyes
upon a Bell?”
“Upon a what?”
“A Bell—an Admiral Bell. Indeed, I may say—with a slight but pardonable
alteration of a word—an admirable Bell. My dear sir, your pearl speaks
to you.”
The admiral was so amazed at this address, accompanied as it was by
most languishing looks, that, with his mouth wide open, and his eyes
preternaturally distended, he gazed upon Mrs. Williams without saying a
word; from which she inferred that he was beginning to see that she was
aware of his attachment to her, and was thinking of how he could best
express his gratitude for her taking the initiative in the matter.
Thus encouraged, then, she spoke again, saying, as she advanced close
to him,—
“Oh, my dear sir, what a thing the human heart is. Only to think
now, that from the first moment I saw you, I should whisper to
myself—there—yes, there is the only human being for whose sake I could
again enter into that holy state from which the death of Mr. Williams
released me.”
“Why, good God!” said the admiral, “the woman’s mad!”
“Oh! no—no. The world—the horrid, low, work-a-day world, may make
invidious remarks about us, but your pearl will recompense you for all
that, and, in the sweet concord of domestic life, we shall never sigh
for more than we shall have, which will be, of course, if I understand
rightly, a large income—I don’t know how much a year, and if I ask, it
is only out of curiosity, my dear sir, and nothing else. Love—absolute
and beautiful love, is all I ask.”
“Hilloa!” roared the admiral; “Charles! Henry! Jack! Where the devil
are you all? D—n it, you are all ready enough when I don’t want you;
but now, when I am going to be boarded by a mad woman, you can’t come
one of you. Hilloa! help! Charles! Jack, you lubber, where the deuce
have you taken yourself to, and why don’t you tumble up when you are
sent for?”
“But, my dear sir, why need you trouble yourself to call so many
witnesses to our happiness? Let us be privately married in some rural
church.”
“Privately d—d first, I’d be,” said the old admiral.
“Oh, then, it shall be a public alliance, if you wish it,” exclaimed
Mrs. Williams, as she made up her mind to clinch the affair at once
by a _coup de main_; and advancing to the admiral, she flung her arms
around his neck just as a door at the other end of the apartment
opened, and Charles and Henry, with Flora, made their appearance, and
looked with the most intense astonishment at the scene before them.
“Well, uncle,” said Charles, “I certainly should not have expected this
of you. I am astonished, I must confess.”
“Nor I,” said Henry; “why, admiral, I had no idea you were so dangerous
a personage.”
Mrs. Williams, when she saw what arrivals had taken place, gave a faint
scream, and released the admiral, and then she added,—
“Oh, admiral, how could you hold me so when you hear somebody coming?
How shall I ever survive such a scene as this? My character will be
gone for ever, unless I am immediately married to you, and I have no
doubt but that all your friends will at once see the propriety of such
a step.”
“I do,” said Charles.
“And I,” said Henry.
“And I,” of course, said Flora.
Mrs. Williams burst into tears when she saw this unanimity of opinion;
but the admiral’s face got the colour of a piece of beet-root, and he
was only silent for a moment or two, while he was made the subject of
these cruel remarks, until he could sufficiently recover to speak with
the energy that did characterise him when he really began.
We are not exactly in the vein to transfer to our pages the violent
expletives with which he garnished his outburst of passion, and our
readers, if they recall to their minds a large amount of nautical
oaths, can have no difficulty in supposing that the admiral uttered
every one of them with a volubility that was perfectly alarming.
“D—n it! do you mean to kill me, all of you, or to drive me mad? (Five
oaths in a string came in here.) Do you want to cut me up, you——?
(Three horrible epithets.) What do you mean by setting this old woman
upon me? Whose precious idea was this, I should like to know, to put an
elderly she-dragon upon me, whom I hate and be —— (ten oaths at least)
when I was enjoying a comfortable nap?”
“Hate!” exclaimed Mrs. Williams; “did you say hate, you old seducing
villain! when you knew you said I was your pearl, you hoary-headed
ruffian!”
“That’s a thundering crammer,” cried the admiral; “you said it
yourself; and as for hating you, d—n it, if I don’t do that with all my
heart.”
“And is this the way I’m to be treated before people? Oh! you wicked
old sinner, I understand you now. Your intentions were not honourable,
and now you find that my virtue is proof against your horrid old
fascinations, you want to pretend that it’s all a mistake.”
“Really,” said Charles, “we must confess, uncle, that we found Mrs.
Williams and you—ahem!—rather loving, you know; and the gentleman on
these occasions is usually asked to account for such things, I take it.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Williams; “I’ll bring an action against the
admiral, and I shall call upon you all to be witnesses for me. Oh! you
old sinner, I’ll make you pay for this!”
“We certainly can all be witnesses,” said Flora, “that the admiral
called for help; and when we came we found Mrs. Williams holding him
fast round the neck, to which he seemed to have the greatest possible
repugnance.”
“That’s right! hurrah! That’s the truth, Flora, my dear. That’s just
how it was. This horrid old woman come all of a sudden and laid hold of
me after awakening me, and then I called for help. That’s how it was.”
“But these gentlemen,” said Mrs. Williams, appealing to Henry and
Charles, “will swear quite different.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Williams,” said Charles; “if we are
brought forward to swear anything, we must be correct; and, therefore,
we shall have to say just what this lady has stated; and perhaps your
best plan will be to go away and say no more about it; but consider
that you have made a mistake.”
“A mistake!” screamed Mrs. Williams; “how could I make a mistake, when
Mr. John Pringle, who knows the admiral so well, told me that he was
dying to see me, and in love with me to never such an extent, only
that he was afraid I would not have anything to say to him on such a
subject.”
The admiral drew a long breath and sat down. Then, clenching his hand,
he shook it above his head, saying, in a voice of deep and concentrated
anger,—
“I thought as much. D—n it, if I did not. It’s all that infernal
scoundrel Jack Pringle’s doings, I find. It’s one of that lubberly,
mutinous thief’s tricks, and it’s the last one he shall ever play me.”
“A trick!” screamed Mrs. Williams; “a trick! You don’t mean that! Ah,
me! what compensation shall I get for the dreadful circumstance which
has made me confess the secret of my heart! What shall I do—oh, what
shall I do? When shall I hope for consolation! What sum of money, even
if you, my dear admiral, were to offer it to me, would be a sufficient
balm now to my wounded heart?”
“Madam,” said Henry, “it seems that you have been imposed upon, and
made the victim of a practical joke, which we nor the admiral can have
nothing to do with; and the only consolation we can offer to your
wounded heart, is, that we will keep the secret of your attachment most
inviolate.”
“What compensation is that to me? I’ll bring my action for breach of
promise of marriage, if I don’t get something, and that something very
handsome too. It’s all very fine to talk to me about your mistakes;
I’ll be paid—ah, and paid well, too, or I’ll make the whole country
ring again with the matter.”
“Madam,” said Charles, “I dare say the admiral don’t care one straw
whether the country rings again or not, and you can do just as you
please; but since you have commenced threatening, you will, I hope, see
the obvious propriety of at once leaving his place.”
“I will leave this place, but it shall be to go direct to my solicitor,
and see what he will say to a lone woman being treated in this way.
I’ll swear that he called me his pearl—and if that don’t get me a
verdict and most exemplary damages, I don’t know what will. We shall
see what we shall see, and, in the meantime, you wretches, I leave you
all to contempt. Yes, contempt.”
“Stop a bit, ma’am,” said the admiral. “It’s quite plain to me that you
don’t mind how you earn a trifle, so that you do get it; and now I’ll
tell you, that if you find out that rascal, Jack Pringle, and give him
a good trouncing for his share in the business, you may come to me for
a reward.”
Mrs. Williams, whatever might have been her personal feelings on this
head, did not deign to make the least reply to this intimation, but
suddenly cried—
“I want to see my daughter.”
“She is not here at present,” said Flora; “and, if she were, she is
Mrs. Anderson now, and therefore would of course decline accompanying
you to your home—and she is only waiting some arrangements of her
husband’s, prior, most probably, to going to London with him.”
This speech brought to the recollection of Mrs. Williams, that the
admiral had promised her all the expenses that she had been at
contingent upon the broken-off marriage of her daughter with the baron,
and she began to consider that her action for breach of promise of
marriage against him might fail, and that, if it succeeded, it might
not bring in half so much as the amount of the bill she could by fair
means get out of him.
These considerations were of great pith and amount, and they had their
full effect upon Mrs. Williams; so, instead of bursting out with any
further reproaches, she sat down and commenced a softening process by a
copious flood of tears which she had always at command.
“Oh,” said the old admiral, “you may well cry over it, old girl. I
suppose you really thought you had hooked the old man at last, eh? But
never do you mind, you may make a good thing of it yet, if you get hold
of that scoundrel, Pringle, and serve him out well. I’ll pay for that
job more willingly than for anything else I know of just at present.”
“Don’t speak to me of that brute, my dear sir,” sobbed Mrs. Williams.
“It’s a very cruel thing, of course, to be used in this way, and, as
it’s all a mistake on my part, I hope you will excuse and look over
what has happened. I am sure I should be the last person in the world
to trouble anybody with visits who did not want to see me; and so, I
dare say, we shall only meet once again in this world.”
“Once again, madam! What is the use of our ever meeting again?”
“It would look decidedly disrespectful on my part, if I were not to
hand you the bill myself for the little matters that you were kind
enough to say you would pay for on account of what I had expended on
Helen’s projected marriage with the vampyre baron, you know, admiral.”
“Oh, ah! I recollect now. Well, well; I don’t want to go back from my
word, and as I did promise you, why, I will pay you; but as I don’t
want, on any account, the pleasure of your company again, you will
be so kind, ma’am, as to take this twenty-pounds note, and keep the
change.”
This the admiral thought liberal enough; for his idea of matrimonial
preparations consisted of a new dress or two, or so, and which twenty
pounds ought fairly enough to cover; and he thought he would do well
enough by overpaying Mrs. Williams, as he believed, with that amount.
When Mrs. Williams recovered from her surprise, not unmingled with
indignation, into which this most audacious and, to her, extraordinary
offer threw her, she spoke with a kind of scream, that made the old
admiral jump again, as she shouted in his ears,—
“What! twenty pounds? Are you in your senses? Twenty pounds! Why, my
bill will be, at least, five hundred pounds.”
“What?” roared the admiral. “Are you in your senses? D—n it, ma’am! you
may swallow your bill; and you had better do so, for all the good it is
likely to do you; for, if I pay a farthing more, may I be hung up at
my own yard-arm. Why, you must think that a British admiral is another
name for a fool.”
“Then I tell you what,” said Mrs. Williams—“I tell you what, you
stupid, old, atrocious sinner—I tell you, I will bring my action
against you for breach of promise of marriage; and I’ll swear that,
before your gang of people here came in—who, of course, will swear
black is white, and white is crimson for you, because, I believe, you
are the father of them all—that you first asked me to live with you,
and when I refused, you said you would marry me by special licence
to-morrow.”
“Madam,” said Charles, “now that you think proper entirely to forget
that you are a lady, allow me to beg of you to retire; because it is
quite impossible, after what has happened, that I should hold any
further conversation with you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Williams,” said Henry, “I hope you will perceive the
propriety of at once leaving.”
At this moment a note was handed to Henry, who, upon opening it, read
aloud,—
“The Baron Stolmuyer, of Salzburgh, presents his compliments to Mr.
Bannerworth, and begs to state that Mrs. Williams has received from
him the sum of five hundred pounds for expenses to be incurred on
account of the wedding of her daughter; and he hereby fully empowers
Mr. Bannerworth to demand of Mrs. Williams that sum, and to devote it
to the service and uses of Mr. James Anderson, of whose existence the
baron was not aware when he made his proposal to Mrs. Williams for her
daughter, whom she sold to him, the baron, for that sum.”
“Hilloa!” cried the admiral; “what do you think of that, Mrs. Williams?
I don’t know what you will say to it; but I know very well that I
should consider it a shot between wind and water.”
“I trust,” said Henry, “that you will now still further see the
propriety of leaving here, and of letting this matter completely rest;
because it strikes me that the more you investigate it, madam, the more
it will turn out greatly to your disadvantage.”
“I don’t care a pin’s head for any of you, nor half a farthing,” cried
Mrs. Williams. “The baron gave me the money, and he has no power to get
it back again, as you know well enough. I’ll bring my action, and my
principal witness shall be Mr. Pringle, who came to my house, and who,
if put upon his oath, will be obliged to swear——”
“That it was all a lark,” said Jack, popping his head just within
the amazingly short distance that he opened the door, and then he
disappeared before a word could be said to him.
Mrs. Williams who, notwithstanding all her threats, seemed to have a
lingering impression that she was victimised in the transaction, had
all the ire of her nature aroused at once by the sight of Jack, and she
at once rushed after him, leaving the admiral and the Bannerworths not
at all lamenting her loss.
Jack had no idea that he would be followed by anybody but the admiral,
and to distance him he knew there was no occasion to run; so, when he
had got down to the hall of the hotel, he subsided into a walk, until
he heard a tremendous scuffling of feet behind him, and, upon looking
round, saw Mrs. Williams in full chase, and with an expression upon her
countenance which plainly enough indicated that her intentions were not
at all of a jocular character.
“The devil!” said Jack; “if here ain’t Mother Williams coming full
sail, and at fourteen knots an hour, too, with a fair wind, I’ll be
bound. Never mind—a stern chase is a long chase, so here goes.”
As Jack uttered these remarks, he dashed onwards at tremendous speed;
but the sight of him again, had inflamed Mrs. Williams’s wrath to
madness, and she made the most incredible exertion to come up with him,
so that it was really wonderful to see her.
But Jack, being less encumbered by apparel than the lady, would have
distanced her, but for an unlucky accident, that gave her a temporary
mastery. The fates would have it, that a baker with a tray upon his
head, containing sundry pies, was coming up the street, and as people
do sometimes, when they are mutually anxious to pass each other without
coming in contact, they dodged from side to side for a few seconds, and
then, of course, ran against each other as if they really meant it,
with such force, that down came Jack, and baker, and pies, in one grand
smash.
In another moment the enraged Mrs. Williams reached the spot.
To snatch up the only whole pie there was left, was to the lady the
work of a moment, and to reverse it upon Jack’s face, was the work
of another moment; and then, in the vindictiveness of her rage, she
stamped upon the bottom of the dish until his head was embedded in
damsons, and he was nearly smothered.
From the window of the inn the Bannerworths and the admiral saw all
this take place, and the delight of the old man was of the most
extravagant character, exceeding all bounds, while the Bannerworths,
for the life of them, could not help laughing most heartily.
“Now, you wretch!” said Mrs. Williams, “I hope this will be a lesson to
you. Take that—and that—and that, you sea-snake! you odious tar-barrel!”
[Illustration: Mrs. Williams smashes a pie dish on Jack’s head.]
As she spoke, she hammered on the dish till it broke, and that was for
Jack the best thing that could have happened, for it gave him a little
air, and by a frantic effort he scrambled to a sitting posture, and
commenced dragging the damsons out of his eyes and mouth. Mrs. Williams
then thought it was high time to leave, and so muttering threats, to
the immense amusement of a crowd of persons who had assembled, she
walked away, leaving Jack by no means delighted with the end of the
adventure, and to settle with the infuriated baker as best he might.
It was no small additional mortification to Jack to look up and see the
admiral and the Bannerworths at the window of the hotel, enjoying his
discomfiture, and laughing most heartily at his expense.