The Cruise of the Frolic Part 28

I thought I heard a shout of derisive laughter in return. The next moment, as she came beam on, I distinctly made her out to be a Greek polacca-brig.

"The pirate--the pirate!" shouted all hands.

"We had a near chance of being run down by the rascal," cried Porpoise; "but we must be after him as soon as we can let the 'Zebra' know in what direction to make chase."

To do this we had to edge away to the southward, firing our guns to call the attention of the man-of-war brig. This was not so easy to do as might be supposed. We stood on and on, blazing away to no effect. We reached the track of the brig, but still we did not find her.

It was difficult to say what we should do next. Daylight came, and we had the satisfaction--a very poor one, thought I--of seeing her hull down to the eastward, while we had every reason to believe that the chase was merrily bowling away to the westward. There was no use going after the pirate brig by ourselves, so that all that we could do was to make sail in the hopes of catching up our friend.

Porpoise bit his nails with vexation. Hearty wanted to get the matter over to return to Malta.

It was noon before we came up with the "Zebra." This we should not have done had she not hove-to for us. We then had to wait for the "Trident,"

which appeared to the northward, standing towards us.

We were all so confident that the polacca-brig which pa.s.sed us in the night was the pirate, that our naval friends were obliged to be convinced, so we all hove about, and stood back the way we had come in chase.

I think it better to make a long story short. We crowded every thing we could carry, and the little "Frolic" behaved beautifully alongside her big companions, shooting somewhat ahead of them in light winds, and keeping well up with them when there was a sea on.

We scarcely expected that the pirate would attempt to get through the Gut, and therefore we might hope to pick him up inside it. I could not help suspecting, however, that all the time Mr Sandgate was laughing at us in his sleeve, and that we should see no more of him. So it proved.

Ten days were fruitlessly expended in the search, and at the end of that time we were all once more at anchor in Malta Harbour.

Hearty very speedily reconciled himself to the disappointment in the society of Miss Mizen. Carstairs was soon at the feet of Mrs Skysc.r.a.per, while I went to inquire for Miss Seton; but as I found Sir Lloyd Snowdon occupying her entire attention, I paid a short visit, and went to dine with Piper on board the "Trident."

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

LADIES ABOARD--OUR CREW'S DREAD OF THE CONSEQUENCES.

We had not been many days in harbour, when Rullock received orders to take a cruise to the westward to practise his crew, who, being mostly raw hands quickly raised at Plymouth, required no little practice to turn them into men-of-war's men.

As plenty of sea-air had been prescribed for Miss Mizen, and change of scene--not that I think she now required either--it was arranged that she and her mother should take a cruise in the "Zebra." Had Mrs Mizen been his wife instead of his sister, Captain Rullock could not have taken her, as the rules of the service do not allow a captain to take his wife to sea with him, though he may any other man's wife, or any relative, or any lady whatever.

Under such circ.u.mstances, it was not to be supposed that the "Frolic"

would remain at anchor. Accordingly she put to sea with the brig-of-war. Carstairs, however, had metal more attractive to his taste at Valetta, so decided on remaining on sh.o.r.e. We did not fail to miss him, and to wish for his quaint, dry, comic remarks, and apt quotations from Shakespeare. Never, certainly, was a party better const.i.tuted than ours for amusing each other, all of us having that indispensable ingredient of harmony, perfect good humour; and had not that arch mischief-maker Cupid found his way among us, we should have continued in united brotherhood till the yacht was laid up.

A light breeze brought off faintly the sound of the evening gun from the castle of St. Elmo, as, in company with the "Zebra," we stood away from Malta to the westward. Hearty walked his deck with a prouder air and firmer step than was his wont. Nothing so much gives dignity to a man as the consciousness of having won the affections of a true, good girl.

His eye was seldom or never off the brig, even after the shades of night prevented the possibility of distinguishing much more than her mere outline, as her taut masts and square yards, and the tracery of her rigging appeared against the starlit sky. He had charged Porpoise to have a very sharp look-out kept that we might run no chance of parting from our consort; but, not content with that, he was on deck every half-hour during the night to ascertain that his directions were obeyed.

"I say, Bill, the gov'nor seems to fancy that no one has got any eyes in his head worth two farthing rushlights but hisself, this here cruise," I heard old Sleet remark to his chum, Frost. "What can a come over him?"

"What, don't you know, Bo?" answered Bill; "I thought any one with half an eye could have seen that. Why, he's been and courted the niece of the skipper of the brig there, and soon they'll be going and getting spliced, and then good-bye to the 'Frolic.' She'll be laid up to a certainty. It's always so. The young gentlemen as soon as they comes into their fortunes goes and buys a yacht. We'll always be living at sea, say they. It goes on at first very well while they've only friends comes aboard, but soon they takes to asking ladies, and soon its all up with them. Either they takes to boxing about in the Channel, between the Wight and the main; for ever up and down anchor, running into harbour to dine, and spending the day pulling on sh.o.r.e, waiting alongside the yacht-house slip for hours, and coming aboard with a cargo of boat-cloaks and shawls, or else, as I have said, they goes and gives up the yacht altogether." Old Sleet gave a munch at his grub and then replied,--"But if I don't judge altogether wrong by the cut of this here young lady's jib, I don't think she's one of those who'd be for wishing her husband to do any such thing. When she came aboard of us, t'other day, she stepped along the thwarts just as if she'd been born at sea.

Says I to myself, when I saw her, she's a sailor's daughter, and a sailor's niece, and should be a sailor's wife; but if what you say is true, Bo, she's going to be next door to it, as a chap may say, and that's the wife of a true, honest yachtsman. No, no, there's no fear, she won't let him lay up the 'Frolic,' depend on't."

"Well, I hope so," observed Frost; "I should just like to have a fine young girl like she aboard, they keeps things alive somehow, when they are good, though when they are t'other they are worse than one of old Nick's imps for playing tricks and doing mischief."

"You are right there again, and no mistake, Bo," answered Sleet. "I once sailed with a skipper who had his wife aboard: I never seed such goings on before nor since. The poor man couldn't call his soul his own, or his sleep his own. She was a downright double-fisted woman, a regular white sergeant. She wouldn't allow a drop of grog to be served out without she did it, nor a candle end to be burned without logging it down; she almost starved the poor skipper--she used to tell him it was for his spirit's welfare. He never put the ship about without consulting her. One day, when it was blowing big guns and small-arms, she was out of sorts, and says he--

"'Molly, love, I think we ought for to be shortening sail, or we may chance to have the masts going over the sides.'

"'Shorten sail?' she sings out, 'let the masts go, and you go with them, for what I care. Let the ship drive, she'll bring up somewhere as well without you as with you.'

"The poor skipper hadn't a word to say, but for his life he daren't take the canvas off the ship.

"'My love, it blows very hard,' says he again, in a mild, gentle voice.

"'Let it blow harder,' answers the lady; and you might have supposed it was a boatswain's mate who'd swallowed a marlinspike who spoke.

"Presently down came the gale heavier than ever on us. Crack, crack, went the masts, and in another second we hadn't a stick standing.

"'Where's the ship going to drive to, now?' asks the skipper, turning to his wife. 'I've been a fool a long time, but I don't mean to be a fool any longer; just you get the ship put to rights, or overboard you go.'

"'How am I to do that same?' asks Mrs Molly, very considerably mollified; 'I don't know how.'

"'Then overboard you goes,' says the skipper, quite coolly, but firmly.

'If the wind shifts three or four points only we shall have an ugly sh.o.r.e under our lee, which will knock every timber of the ship into ten thousand atoms in no time, and you may thank yourself for being the cause of the wreck.'

"'Oh, spare my life, spare my life, and I'll never more interfere with the duty of the ship,' cries the lady, in an agony of fear.

"The captain pretended to be softened. 'Well,' says he, 'take the oaths and go below, and I'll think about it.'

"Mrs Molly, as we always called her, sneaked to her cabin without saying another word. All hands set to work with a will, and obeyed the skipper much more willingly than we had ever done before. We got jury-masts up, and carried the ship safely into port, but from that time to this I've always fought shy of a ship with petticoats in the cabin, and so I always shall, except I happen to know the sort of woman who wears them."

I was much amused with old Sleet's remarks, and in most respects I agreed, with him.

A day or two afterwards the crew had their suspicions confirmed by the appearance of Mrs and Miss Mizen on the deck of the cutter. In the mean time Hearty had been constantly on board the brig-of-war. He dined on board every day, as indeed we all did, only we dined in the gun-room, and he with the captain and ladies. The accommodation, however, on board the brig was rather confined, and as the weather promised to continue fine, he became naturally anxious to get them on board the yacht. At last he broached the subject. Old Rullock did not object; the ladies finding that there was nothing incorrect in the proceeding were very willing; and to give them more accommodation, an exchange was effected between them and Bubble, who took up his quarters on board the brig. I should have gone also, but Porpoise begged I would remain and keep him company, so I doubled up in his cabin to give the ladies more accommodation. Hearty took Snow's berth, and the old man was very glad on such an occasion to swing in a hammock forward. The thought of those days are truly sunny memories of foreign seas.

Miss Mizen, by her kind and lively manners, her readiness to converse with the crew, her wish to pick up information about the sea and the places they had visited, and their own histories, and her unwillingness to give trouble, soon won the love of all on board; while her mother, whose character was very similar to her daughter's, was a general favourite, and I heard old Sleet declare to Frost that the old lady wasn't a bit like Mrs Molly Magrath, and as for the young girl she was an angel, and old as he was he'd be ready to go round the world to serve her, that he would.

"Now don't you think Mr Hearty, that you could find some one who can spin a regular sea matter-of-fact yarn about things which really have been?" said Miss Mizen, one fine afternoon, with one of those sweet smiles which would have been irresistible, even if a far more important request had been made.

The owner of the "Frolic" thought a little. "Yes, by the by, I have it," he exclaimed; "one of the men I have on board is a first-rate yarn-spinner. Once set his tongue a going, it is difficult to stop it, and yet there is very little romance about the old man. He has, I conclude, a first-rate memory, and just tells what he has seen and heard. I'll call him aft, and will try what we can get out of him."

Hearty on this went forward, and after a little confab with the crew, returned with old Sleet, who, instead of being bashful, was looking as pleased as Punch in his most frolicsome humour, at the honour about to be done him. Without hesitation he doffed his hat, threw his quid overboard, smoothed down his hair, and began his tale. I must confess that I have not given it in his language, which was somewhat a departure from the orthodox vernacular, and might weary my readers.

"Now, gentlemen and ladies all, I'm going to tell you--"

HOW JOE BUNTIN DID THE REVENUE.

The "Pretty Polly" was the fastest, the smartest, and the sweetest craft that sailed out of Fairport; so said Joe Buntin, and n.o.body had better right to say it, or better reason to know it, he being part owner of her, and having been master of her from the day her keel first touched the water. She was a cutter of no great size, for she measured only something between thirty and forty tons; she had great beam for her length, was sharp in the bows, rising slightly forward, and with a clean run; she was, in fact, a capital sea-boat, fit to go round the world if needs be--weatherly in a heavy sea, and very fast in smooth water, though the nautical critics p.r.o.nounced her counter too short for beauty; but Joe did not consider that point a defect, as it made her all the better for running in foul weather, which was what he very frequently wanted her to do. She carried a whacking big mainsail, with immense hoist in it, and the boom well over the taffrail. Her big jib was a whopper with a vengeance, and her foresail hoisted chock up to the block. She had a swinging gaff-topsail very broad in the head, and a square-sail to set for running, with prodigious spread in it; so that, give the "Pretty Polly" a good breeze, few were the craft of anything like her own size she couldn't walk away from. In fact, anybody might have taken her for some dandified yacht, rather than for a humble pilot-boat, which the number on her mainsail proclaimed her to be. Now the "Pretty Polly," like other beauties, had her fair weather and her foul weather looks, her winter as well as her summer suit. She had her second, and third, and storm-jibs, a trysail of heavy canvas, and even a second mainsail, with a shorter boom to ship at times, while her standing and running rigging was as good as the best hemp and the greatest care could keep it, for every inch of it was turned in under Joe's inspection, if not with his own hand. Joe Buntin loved his craft, as does every good sailor; she was his care, his pride, his delight, mistress, wife, and friend. He would talk to her and talk of her by the hour together; he was never tired of praising her, of expatiating on her qualities, of boasting of her achievements, how she walked away from such a cutter--how she weathered such a gale--how she clawed off a lee-sh.o.r.e on such an occasion; there was no end to what she had done and was to do. She was, in truth, all in all to Joe; he was worthy of her, and she was worthy of him, which reminds us that he himself claims a word or two of description. He had little beauty, nor did he boast of it, for in figure he was nearly as broad as high, with a short, thick neck, and a turn-up nose in the centre of his round, fresh-coloured visage; but he had black, sparkling eyes, full of fun and humour, and a well-formed mouth, with strong white teeth, which rescued his countenance from being ugly, while an expression of firmness and boldness, with great good nature, made him respected by all, and gained him plenty of friends. Joe sported a love-lock on each side of his face, with a little tarpaulin hat stuck on the top of his head, a neat blue jacket, or a simple blue guernsey frock, and an enormously large pair of flushing trousers, with low shoes; indeed, he was very natty in his dress, and although many people called him a smuggler--nor is there any use in denying that he was one--he did not look a bit like those cut-throat characters represented on the stage or in print-shops, with high boots, and red caps, and cloaks, and pistols, and hangers. Indeed, so far from there being any thing of the ruffian about him, he looked and considered himself a very honest fellow. He cheated n.o.body, for though he broke the revenue laws systematically and regularly, he had, perhaps, persuaded himself, by a course of reasoning not at all peculiar to himself, that there was no harm in so doing; possibly he had no idea that those laws were bad laws, and injurious to the country; so out of the evil, as he could not remedy it, he determined to pluck that rosebud--profit--to his own pocket. Remember that we are not at all certain that he actually did reason as we have suggested; we are, we confess, rather inclined to suspect that he found the occupation profitable; that he had been engaged in it from his earliest days, and therefore followed it without further troubling his head about its lawfulness or unlawfulness. So much for Joe Buntin and his cutter the "Pretty Polly."

His crew were a bold set of fellows, stanch to him, and true to each other; indeed, most of them, as is usual, had a share in the vessel, and all were interested in the success of her undertakings; they were quiet, peaceable, and orderly men; their rule was never to fight, the times were too tranquil for such work, and a running noose before their eyes was not a pleasant prospect. They trusted entirely to their wit and their heels for success, and provided one cargo in three could be safely landed, they calculated on making a remunerating profit.

The days when armed smuggling craft, with a hundred hands on board bid defiance to royal cruisers, had long pa.s.sed by, for we are referring to a period within the last six or eight years only, during the last days of smuggling. Now the contraband trade is chiefly carried on in small open boats, or fishing craft, affording a very precarious subsistence to those who still engage in it. After what has been said it may be confessed that the "Pretty Polly" was chiefly employed in smuggling, though her ostensible, and, indeed, very frequent occupation, was that of a pilot-vessel.

Now we must own that in those days we did not feel a proper and correct hatred of smugglers and their doings; the dangers they experienced, the daring and talent they displayed in their calling, used, in spite of our better reason, to attract our admiration, and to raise them to the dignity of petty heroes in our imagination. The dishonest merchant, the dealer in contraband goods, the encourager of crime, was the man who received the full measure of our contempt and dislike--he who, skulking quietly on sh.o.r.e, without fear or danger, reaped the profits of the bold seaman's toil.

Fairport, to which the "Pretty Polly" belonged, is a neat little town at the mouth of a small river on the southern coast of England. The entrance to the harbour is guarded by an old castle, with a few cannon on the top of it, and was garrisoned by a superannuated gunner, his old wife and his pretty grand-daughter, who performed most efficiently all the duties in the fortress, such as sweeping it clean, mopping out the guns, and shutting the gates at night. Sergeant Ramrod was a good specimen of a fine old soldier, and certainly when seeing his portly figure and upright carriage, and listening to his conversation, one might suppose that he held a higher rank than it had ever been his fate to reach. He had seen much service, been engaged in numerous expeditions in various parts of the world, and went through the whole Peninsular war; indeed, had merit its due reward, he should, he a.s.sured his friends, be a general instead of a sergeant, and so being rather an admirer of his, we are also apt to think--but then when has merit its due reward? What an extraordinary hoisting up and hauling down there would be to give every man his due! Sergeant Ramrod always went by the name of the Governor of Fairport Castle, and we suspect rather liked the t.i.tle. He was, in truth, much better off than the governors of half the castles in the world, though he did not think so himself; he had no troops, certainly, to marshal or drill, but then he had no rounds to make or complaints to hear, and his little garrison, composed of his wife and grandchild, never gave him a moment's uneasiness, while he might consider himself almost an independent ruler, so few and far between were the visits of his superior officers.