CAPTAIN DUNNING ASTONISHES THE STRANGER--SURPRISING NEWS, AND DESPERATE
RESOLVES.
Still keeping his hands in his pockets and the free-and-easy expression
on his countenance, the sailor swaggered through the streets of the town
with Captain Dunning at his side, until he arrived at a very dirty
little street, near the harbour, the chief characteristics of which were
noise, compound smells, and little shops with sea-stores hung out in
front. At the farther end of this street the sailor paused before a
small public-house.
"Here we are," said he; "this is the place w'ere I puts up w'en I'm
ashore--w'ich ain't often--that's a fact. After you, sir."
The captain hesitated.
"You ain't afraid, air you?" asked the sailor, in an incredulous tone.
"No, I'm not, my man; but I have an objection to enter a public-house,
unless I cannot help it. Have you had a glass this morning?"
The sailor looked puzzled, as if he did not see very clearly what the
question had to do with the captain's difficulty.
"Well, for the matter o' that, I've had three glasses this mornin'."
"Then I suppose you have no objection to try a glass of my favourite
tipple, have you?"
The man smiled, and wiping his mouth with the cuff of his jacket, as if
he expected the captain was, then and there, about to hand him a glass
of the tipple referred to, said--
"No objection wotsomediver."
"Then follow me; I'll take you to the place where _I_ put up sometimes
when I'm ashore. It's not far off."
Five minutes sufficed to transport them from the dirty little street
near the harbour to the back-parlour of the identical coffee-house in
which the captain was first introduced to the reader. Here, having
whispered something to the waiter, he proceeded to question his
companion on the mysterious business for which he had brought him there.
"Couldn't we have the tipple first?" suggested the sailor.
"It will be here directly. Have you breakfasted?"
"'Xceptin' the three glasses I told ye of--no."
Well, now, what have you to tell me about the _Termagant_? You have
already said that you are one of her crew, and that you were in the boat
that day when we had a row about the whale. What more can you tell me?
The sailor sat down on a chair, stretched out his legs quite straight,
and very wide apart, and thrust his hands, if possible, deeper into his
pockets than they even were thrust before--so deep, in fact, as to
suggest the idea that there were no pockets there at all--merely holes.
Then he looked at Captain Dunning with a peculiarly sly expression of
countenance and winked.
"Well, that's not much. Anything more?" inquired the captain.
"Ho, yes; lots more. The _Termagant's_ in this yere port--at--this--
yere--moment."
The latter part of this was said in a hoarse emphatic whisper, and the
man raising up both legs to a horizontal position, let them fall so that
his heels came with a crash upon the wooden floor.
"Is she?" cried the captain, with lively interest; "and her captain?"
"He's--yere--too!"
Captain Dunning took one or two hasty strides across the floor, as if he
were pacing his own quarterdeck--then stopped suddenly and said--
"Can you get hold of any more of that boat's crew?"
"I can do nothin' more wotiver, nor say nothin' more wotsomediver, till
I've tasted that 'ere tipple of yourn."
The captain rang the bell, and the waiter entered with ham and eggs,
buttered toast, and hot coffee for two.
The sailor opened his eyes to their utmost possible width, and made an
effort to thrust his hands still deeper into his unfathomable trousers
pockets; then he sat bolt upright, and gathering his legs as close under
his chair as possible, clasped his knees with his hands, hugged himself,
and grinned from ear to ear. After sitting a second or two in that
position, he jumped up, and going forward to the table, took up the
plate of ham and eggs, as if to make sure that it was a reality, and
smelt it.
"Is _this_ your favourite tipple?" he said, on being quite satisfied of
the reality of what he saw.
"Coffee is my favourite drink," replied the captain, laughing. "I never
take anything stronger."
"Ho! you're a to-teetler?"
"I am. Now, my man, as you have not yet had breakfast, and as you
interrupted me in the middle of mine, suppose we sit down and discuss
the matter of the whale over this."
"Well, this is the rummiest way of offerin' to give a fellow a glass as
I ever did come across since I was a tadpole, as sure as my name's Dick
Jones," remarked the sailor, sitting down opposite the captain, and
turning up the cuffs of his coat.
Having filled his mouth to its utmost possible extent, the astonished
seaman proceeded, at one and the same time, to masticate and to relate
all that he knew in regard to the _Termagant_.
He said that not only was that vessel in port at that time, but that the
same men were still aboard; that the captain--Dixon by name--was still
in command, and that the whale which had been seized from the crew of
the _Red Eric_ had been sold along with the rest of the cargo. He
related; moreover, how that he and his comrades had been very
ill-treated by Captain Dixon during the voyage, and that he (Captain D)
was, in the opinion of himself and his shipmates, the greatest
blackguard afloat, and had made them so miserable by his brutality and
tyranny, that they all hoped they might never meet with his like again--
not to mention the hopes and wishes of a very unfeeling nature which
they one and all expressed in regard to that captain's future career.
Besides all this, he stated that he (Dick Jones) had recognised Captain
Dunning when he landed that morning, and had followed him to the cottage
with the yellow face and the green door; after which he had taken a turn
of half-an-hour or so up and down the street to think what he ought to
do, and had at last resolved to tell all that he knew, and offer to
stand witness against his captain, which he was then and there prepared
to do, at that time or at any future period, wherever he (Captain
Dunning) liked, and whenever he pleased, and that there was an end of
the whole matter, and that was a fact.
Having unburdened his mind, and eaten all the ham, and eggs, and toast,
and drunk all the coffee, and asked for more and got it, Dick Jones
proceeded to make himself supremely happy by filling his pipe and
lighting it.
"I'll take him to law," said Captain Dunning firmly, smiting the table
with his fist.
"I know'd a feller," said Jones, "wot always said, w'en he heard a
feller say that, `You'll come for to wish that ye hadn't;' but I think
ye're right, cap'en; for it's a clear case, clear as daylight; an' we'll
all swear to a'most anything as'll go fur to prove it."
"But are you sure your messmates are as willing as you are to witness
against the captain?"
"Sure? In coorse I is--sartin sure. Didn't he lamp two on 'em with a
rope's-end once till they wos fit to bust, and all for nothin' but
skylarkin'? They'll all go in the same boat with me, 'cept perhaps the
cook, who is named Baldwin. He's a cross-grained critter, an'll stan'
by the cap'en through thick an thin, an' so will the carpenter--Box they
call him--he's dead agin us; but that's all."
"Then I'll do it at once," cried Captain Dunning, rising and putting on
his hat firmly, as a man does when he has made a great resolve, which he
more than half suspects will get him into a world of difficulties and
trouble.
"I s'pose I may set here till ye come back?" inquired Dick Jones, who
now wore a dim mysterious aspect, in consequence of the cloud of smoke
in which he had enveloped himself.
"You may sit there till they turn you out; but come and take breakfast
with me at the same hour to-morrow, will ye?"
"Won't I?"
"Then good-day."
So saying, the captain left the coffee-house, and hurried to his
sisters' cottage, where he rightly conjectured he should find Glynn
Proctor. Without telling his sisters the result of the interview with
the "rude seaman," he took Glynn's arm and sallied forth in search of
Tim Rokens and Mr Millons, both of whom they discovered enjoying their
pipes, after a hearty breakfast, in a small, unpretending, but excellent
and comfortable "sailors' home," in the dirty little street before
referred to.
The greater part of the crew of the late _Red Eric_ (now "sticks and
stivers") were found in the same place, engaged in much the same
occupation, and to these, in solemn conclave assembled, Captain Dunning
announced his intention of opening a law-suit against the captain of the
_Termagant_ for the unlawful appropriation of the whale harpooned by
Glynn. The men highly approved of what they called a "shore-going
scrimmage," and advised the captain to go and have the captain and crew
of the _Termagant_ "put in limbo right off."
Thus advised and encouraged, Captain Dunning went to a lawyer, who,
after hearing the case, stated it as his opinion that it was a good one,
and forthwith set about taking the needful preliminary steps to
commencing the action.
Thereafter Captain Dunning walked rapidly home, wiping his hot brow as
he went, and entering the parlour of the cottage--the yellow-faced
cottage--flung himself on the sofa with a reckless air, and said, "I've
done it!"
"Horror!" cried Aunt Martha.
"Misery!" gasped Aunt Jane, who happened to be fondling Ailie at the
time of her brother's entrance.
"Is he dead?"
"_Quite_ dead?" added Martha.
"Is _who_ dead?" inquired the captain, in surprise.
"The man--the rude sailor!"
"Dead! No."
"You said just now that you had done it."
"So I have. I've done the deed. I've gone to law."
Had the captain said that he had gone to "sticks and stivers," his
sisters could not have been more startled and horrified. They dreaded
the law, and hated it with a great and intense hatred, and not without
reason; for their father had been ruined in a law-suit, and his father
had broken the law, in some political manner they could never clearly
understand, and had been condemned by the law to perpetual banishment.
"Will it do you much harm, dear, papa?" inquired Ailie, in great
concern.
"Harm? Of course not. I hope it'll do me, and you too, a great deal of
good."
"I'm _so_ glad to hear that; for I've heard people say that when you
once go into it you never get out of it again."
"So have I," said Aunt Martha, with a deep sigh.
"And so have I," added Aunt Jane, with a deeper sigh, "and I believe
it's true."
"It's false!" cried the captain, laughing, "and you are all silly geese;
the law is--"
"A bright and glorious institution! A desirable investment for the
talents of able men! A machine for justice usually--injustice
occasionally--and, like all other good things, often misused, abused,
and spoken against!" said Glynn Proctor, at that moment entering the
room, and throwing his hat on one chair, and himself on another. "I've
had enough of the sea, captain, and have come to resign my situation,
and beg for dinner."
"You shall have it immediately, dear Glynn," said Martha, whose heart
warmed at the sight of one who had been so kind to her little niece.
"Nay, I'm in no hurry," said Glynn, quickly; "I did but jest, dear
madam, as Shakespeare has it. Perhaps it was Milton who said it; one
can't be sure; but whenever a truly grand remark escapes you, you're
safe to clap it down to Shakespeare."
At this point the servant-girl announced dinner. At the same instant a
heavy foot was heard in the passage, and Tim Rokens announced himself,
saying that he had just seen the captain's lawyer, and had been sent to
say that he wished to see Captain Dunning in the course of the evening.
"Then let him go on wishing till I'm ready to go to him. Meanwhile do
you come and dine with us, Rokens, my lad."
Rokens looked awkward, and shuffled a little with his feet, and shook
his head.
"Why, what's the matter, man?"
Rokens looked as if he wished to speak, but hesitated.
"If ye please, cap'en, I'd raither not, axin' the ladies' parding. I'd
like a word with you in the passage."
"By all means," replied the captain, going out of the room with the
sailor. "Now, what's wrong?"
"My flippers, cap'en," said Rokens, thrusting out his hard, thick,
enormous hands, which were stained all over with sundry streaks of tar,
and were very red as well as extremely clumsy to look at--"I've bin an'
washed 'em with hot water and rubbed 'em with grease till I a'most took
the skin off, but they won't come clean, and I'm not fit to sit down
with ladies."
To this speech the captain replied by seizing Tim Rokens by the collar
and dragging him fairly into the parlour.
"Here's a man," cried the captain enthusiastically, presenting him to
Martha, "who's sailed with me for nigh thirty years, and is the best
harpooner I ever had, and has stuck to me through thick and thin, in
fair weather and foul, in heat and cold, and was kinder to Ailie during
the last voyage than all the other men put together, exceptin' Glynn,
and who tells me his hands are covered with tar, and that he can't wash
'em clean nohow, and isn't fit to dine with ladies; so you will oblige
me, Martha, by ordering him to leave the house."
"I will, brother, with pleasure. I order you, Mr Rokens, to leave this
house _at your peril_! And I invite you to partake of our dinner, which
is now on the table in the next room."
Saying this, Aunt Martha grasped one of the great tar-stained "flippers"
in both of her own delicate hands, and shook it with a degree of vigour
that Tim Rokens afterwards said he could not have believed possible had
he not felt it.
Seeing this, Aunt Jane turned aside and blew her nose violently. Tim
Rokens attempted to make a bow, failed, and grinned. The captain
cried--"Now, then, heave ahead!" Glynn, in the exuberance of his
spirits, uttered a miniature cheer. Ailie gave vent to a laugh, that
sounded as sweet as a good song; and the whole party adjourned to the
dining-room, where the servant-girl was found in the sulks because
dinner was getting rapidly cold, and the cat was found:--
"Prowling round the festal board
On thievish deeds intent."
[See Milton's _Paradise Regained_, latest edition.]