"At the masthead, sir."
"Where's Mr. Lankey?"
"At the masthead, sir."
"Mr. Briggs?"
"Masthead, too, sir."
"And the rest of the young gentlemen?" roared the enraged officer.
"All masthead, sir."
"Ah!" said Captain Boltrope, as he smiled grimly, "under thecircumstances, Mr. Breezy, you had better go to the masthead too."
CHAPTER III
At the masthead I made the acquaintance of two youngsters of about myown age, one of whom informed me that he had been there three hundredand thirty-two days out of the year.
"In rough weather, when the old cock is out of sorts, you know, we nevercome down," added a young gentleman of nine years, with a dirk nearlyas long as himself, who had been introduced to me as Mr. Briggs. "By theway, Pills," he continued, "how did you come to omit giving the captaina naval salute?"
"Why, I touched my hat," I said innocently.
"Yes, but that isn't enough, you know. That will do very well atother times. He expects the naval salute when you first come onboard--greeny!"
I began to feel alarmed, and begged him to explain.
"Why, you see, after touching your hat, you should have touched himlightly with your forefinger in his waistcoat, so, and asked, 'How's hisnibs?'--you see?"
"How's his nibs?" I repeated.
"Exactly. He would have drawn back a little, and then you shouldhave repeated the salute, remarking, 'How's his royal nibs?' askingcautiously after his wife and family, and requesting to be introduced tothe gunner's daughter."
"The gunner's daughter?"
"The same; you know she takes care of us young gentlemen; now don'tforget, Pillsy!"
When we were called down to the deck I thought it a good chance toprofit by this instruction. I approached Captain Boltrope and repeatedthe salute without conscientiously omitting a single detail. He remainedfor a moment livid and speechless. At length he gasped out,--
"Boatswain's mate!"
"If you please, sir," I asked tremulously, "I should like to beintroduced to the gunner's daughter!"
"Oh, very good, sir!" screamed Captain Boltrope, rubbing his hands andabsolutely capering about the deck with rage. "Oh, d--n you! Of courseyou shall! Oh, ho! the gunner's daughter! Oh, h--ll! this is too much!Boatswain's mate!" Before I well knew where I was, I was seized, borneto an eight-pounder, tied upon it, and flogged!
CHAPTER IV
As we sat together in the cockpit, picking the weevils out of ourbiscuit, Briggs consoled me for my late mishap, adding that the "navalsalute," as a custom, seemed just then to be honored more in the_breach_ than the observance. I joined in the hilarity occasioned by thewitticism, and in a few moments we were all friends. Presently Swizzleturned to me:--
"We have just been planning how to confiscate a keg of claret, whichNips, the purser, keeps under his bunk. The old nipcheese lies theredrunk half the day, and there's no getting at it."
"Let's get beneath the stateroom and bore through the deck, and so tapit," said Lankey.
The proposition was received with a shout of applause. A long half-inchauger and bit was procured from Chips, the carpenter's mate, andSwizzle, after a careful examination of the timbers beneath thewardroom, commenced operations. The auger at last disappeared, whensuddenly there was a slight disturbance on the deck above. Swizzlewithdrew the auger hurriedly; from its point a few bright red dropstrickled.
"Huzza! send her up again!" cried Lankey.
The auger was again applied. This time a shriek was heard from thepurser's cabin. Instantly the light was doused, and the party retreatedhurriedly to the cockpit. A sound of snoring was heard as the sentrystuck his head into the door. "All right, sir," he replied in answer tothe voice of the officer of the deck.
The next morning we heard that Nips was in the surgeon's hands, with abad wound in the fleshy part of his leg, and that the auger had _not_struck claret.
CHAPTER V
"Now, Pills, you'll have a chance to smell powder," said Briggs as heentered the cockpit and buckled around his waist an enormous cutlass."We have just sighted a French ship."
We went on deck. Captain Boltrope grinned as we touched our hats. Hehated the purser. "Come, young gentlemen, if you're boring for Frenchclaret, yonder's a good quality. Mind your con, sir," he added, turningto the quartermaster, who was grinning.
The ship was already cleared for action. The men, in their eagerness,had started the coffee from the tubs and filled them with shot.Presently the Frenchman yawed, and a shot from a long thirty-two cameskipping over the water. It killed the quartermaster and took off bothof Lankey's legs. "Tell the purser our account is squared," said thedying boy, with a feeble smile.
The fight raged fiercely for two hours. I remember killing the Frenchadmiral, as we boarded, but on looking around for Briggs, after thesmoke had cleared away, I was intensely amused at witnessing thefollowing novel sight:
Briggs had pinned the French captain against the mast with his cutlass,and was now engaged, with all the hilarity of youth, in pulling theCaptain's coat-tails between his legs, in imitation of a dancing-jack.As the Frenchman lifted his legs and arms, at each jerk of Briggs's, Icould not help participating in the general mirth.
"You young devil, what are you doing?" said a stifled voice behind me.I looked up and beheld Captain Boltrope, endeavoring to calm his sternfeatures, but the twitching around his mouth betrayed his intenseenjoyment of the scene. "Go to the masthead--up with you, sir!" herepeated sternly to Briggs.
"Very good, sir," said the boy, coolly preparing to mount the shrouds."Good-by, Johnny Crapaud. Humph!" he added, in a tone intended for myear, "a pretty way to treat a hero. The service is going to the devil!"
I thought so too.
CHAPTER VI
We were ordered to the West Indies. Although Captain Boltrope's mannertoward me was still severe, and even harsh, I understood that my namehad been favorably mentioned in the dispatches.
Reader, were you ever at Jamaica? If so, you remember the negresses, theoranges, Port Royal Tom--the yellow fever. After being two weeks atthe station, I was taken sick of the fever. In a month I was delirious.During my paroxysms, I had a wild distempered dream of a stern facebending anxiously over my pillow, a rough hand smoothing my hair, and akind voice saying:--
"B'ess his 'ittle heart! Did he have the naughty fever?" This faceseemed again changed to the well-known stern features of CaptainBoltrope.
When I was convalescent, a packet edged in black was put in my hand. Itcontained the news of my father's death, and a sealed letter which hehad requested to be given to me on his decease. I opened it tremblingly.It read thus:--
MY DEAR BOY,--I regret to inform you that in all probability you are notmy son. Your mother, I am grieved to say, was a highly improper person.Who your father may be, I really cannot say, but perhaps the HonorableHenry Boltrope, Captain R. N., may be able to inform you. Circumstancesover which I have no control have deferred this important disclosure.YOUR STRICKEN PARENT.
And so Captain Boltrope was my father. Heavens! Was it a dream?I recalled his stern manner, his observant eye, his ill-concealeduneasiness when in my presence. I longed to embrace him. Staggeringto my feet, I rushed in my scanty apparel to the deck, where CaptainBoltrope was just then engaged in receiving the Governor's wife anddaughter. The ladies shrieked; the youngest, a beautiful girl, blusheddeeply. Heeding them not, I sank at his feet, and, embracing them,cried,--
"My father!"
"Chuck him overboard!" roared Captain Boltrope.
"Stay," pleaded the soft voice of Clara Maitland, the Governor'sdaughter.
"Shave his head! he's a wretched lunatic!" continued Captain Boltrope,while his voice trembled with excitement.
"No, let me nurse and take care of him," said the lovely girl, blushingas she spoke. "Mamma, can't we take him home?"
The daughter's pleading was not without effect. In the meantime Ihad fainted. When I recovered my senses I
found myself in GovernorMaitland's mansion.
CHAPTER VII
The reader will guess what followed. I fell deeply in love with ClaraMaitland, to whom I confided the secret of my birth. The generous girlasserted that she had detected the superiority of my manner at once. Weplighted our troth, and resolved to wait upon events.
Briggs called to see me a few days afterward. He said that the purserhad insulted the whole cockpit, and all the midshipmen had called himout. But he added thoughtfully: "I don't see how we can arrange theduel. You see there are six of us to fight him."
"Very easily," I replied. "Let your fellows all stand in a row, and takehis fire; that, you see, gives him six chances to one, and he must be abad shot if he can't hit one of you; while, on the other hand, you see,he gets a volley from you six, and one of you 'll be certain to fetchhim."
"Exactly;" and away Briggs went, but soon returned to say that thepurser had declined,--"like a d--d coward," he added.
But the news of the sudden and serious illness of Captain Boltrope putoff the duel. I hastened to his bedside, but too late,--an hour previoushe had given up the ghost.
I resolved to return to England. I made known the secret of my birth,and exhibited my adopted father's letter to Lady Maitland, who at oncesuggested my marriage with her daughter, before I returned to claim theproperty. We were married, and took our departure next day.
I made no delay in posting at once, in company with my wife and myfriend Briggs, to my native village. Judge of my horror and surprisewhen my late adopted father came out of his shop to welcome me.
"Then you are not dead!" I gasped.
"No, my dear boy."
"And this letter?"
My father--as I must still call him--glanced on the paper, andpronounced it a forgery. Briggs roared with laughter. I turned to himand demanded an explanation.
"Why, don't you see, Greeny, it's all a joke,--a midshipman's joke!"
"But"--I asked.
"Don't be a fool. You've got a good wife,--be satisfied."
I turned to Clara, and was satisfied. Although Mrs. Maitland neverforgave me, the jolly old Governor laughed heartily over the joke, andso well used his influence that I soon became, dear reader, AdmiralBreezy, K. C. B.
GUY HEAVYSTONE; OR, "ENTIRE"
A MUSCULAR NOVEL
BY THE AUTHOR OF "SWORD AND GUN"
CHAPTER I
"NEREI REPANDIROSTRUM INCURVICERVICUM PECUS."
A Dingy, swashy, splashy afternoon in October; a school-yard filled witha mob of riotous boys. A lot of us standing outside.
Suddenly came a dull, crashing sound from the schoolroom. At the ominousinterruption I shuddered involuntarily, and called to Smithsye,--
"What's up, Smithums?"
"Guy's cleaning out the fourth form," he replied.
At the same moment George de Coverly passed me, holding his nose, fromwhence the bright Norman blood streamed redly. To him the plebeianSmithsye laughingly,--
"Cully! how's his nibs?"
I pushed the door of the schoolroom open. There are some spectacleswhich a man never forgets. The burning of Troy probably seemed alarge-sized conflagration to the pious Aeneas, and made an impression onhim which he carried away with the feeble Anchises.
In the centre of the room, lightly brandishing the piston-rod of asteam-engine, stood Guy Heavystone alone. I say alone, for the pile ofsmall boys on the floor in the corner could hardly be called company.
I will try and sketch him for the reader. Guy Heavystone was then onlyfifteen. His broad, deep chest, his sinewy and quivering flank, hisstraight pastern, showed him to be a thoroughbred. Perhaps he was atrifle heavy in the fetlock, but he held his head haughtily erect. Hiseyes were glittering but pitiless. There was a sternness about the lowerpart of his face,--the old Heavystone look,--a sternness heightened,perhaps, by the snaffle-bit which, in one of his strange freaks, he worein his mouth to curb his occasional ferocity. His dress was well adaptedto his square-set and herculean frame. A striped knit undershirt,close-fitting striped tights, and a few spangles set off his figure; aneat Glengarry cap adorned his head. On it was displayed the Heavystonecrest, a cock _regardant_ on a dunghill _or_, and the motto, "Devil abetter!"
I thought of Horatius on the bridge, of Hector before the walls. Ialways make it a point to think of something classical at such times.
He saw me, and his sternness partly relaxed. Something like a smilestruggled through his grim lineaments. It was like looking on theJungfrau after having seen Mont Blanc,--a trifle, only a trifle lesssublime and awful. Resting his hand lightly on the shoulder of theheadmaster, who shuddered and collapsed under his touch, he strodetoward me.
His walk was peculiar. You could not call it a stride. It was like the"crest-tossing Bellerophon,"--a kind of prancing gait. Guy Heavystonepranced toward me.
CHAPTER II
"Lord Lovel he stood at the garden gate, A-combing his milk-white steed."
It was the winter of 186- when I next met Guy Heavystone. He had leftthe university and had entered the 79th "Heavies." "I have exchanged thegown for the sword, you see," he said, grasping my hand, and fracturingthe bones of my little finger, as he shook it.
I gazed at him with unmixed admiration. He was squarer, sterner, and inevery way smarter and more remarkable than ever. I began to feel towardthis man as Phalaster felt towards Phyrgino, as somebody must have felttoward Archididasculus, as Boswell felt toward Johnson.
"Come into my den," he said; and lifting me gently by the seat of mypantaloons he carried me upstairs and deposited me, before I couldapologize, on the sofa. I looked around the room. It was a bachelor'sapartment, characteristically furnished in the taste of the proprietor.A few claymores and battleaxes were ranged against the wall, and aculverin, captured by Sir Ralph Heavystone, occupied the corner,the other end of the room being taken up by a light battery. Foils,boxing-gloves, saddles, and fishing-poles lay around carelessly. Asmall pile of billets-doux lay upon a silver salver. The man was not ananchorite, nor yet a Sir Galahad.
I never could tell what Guy thought of women. "Poor little beasts,"he would often say when the conversation turned on any of his freshconquests. Then, passing his hand over his marble brow, the old look ofstern fixedness of purpose and unflinching severity would straighten thelines of his mouth, and he would mutter, half to himself, "S'death!"
"Come with me to Heavystone Grange. The Exmoor hounds throw offto-morrow. I'll give you a mount," he said, as he amused himself byrolling up a silver candlestick between his fingers. "You shall haveCleopatra. But stay," he added thoughtfully; "now I remember, I orderedCleopatra to be shot this morning."
"And why?" I queried.
"She threw her rider yesterday and fell on him"--
"And killed him?"
"No. That's the reason why I have ordered her to be shot. I keep noanimals that are not dangerous--I should add--_deadly!_" He hissed thelast sentence between his teeth, and a gloomy frown descended over hiscalm brow.
I affected to turn over the tradesmen's bills that lay on the table,for, like all of the Heavystone race, Guy seldom paid cash, and said,--
"You remind me of the time when Leonidas"--
"Oh, bother Leonidas and your classical allusions. Come!"
We descended to dinner.
CHAPTER III
"He carries weight, he rides a race, 'Tis for a thousand pound."
"There is Flora Billingsgate, the greatest coquette and hardest riderin the country," said my companion, Ralph Mortmain, as we stood uponDingleby Common before the meet.
I looked up and beheld Guy Heavystone bending haughtily over the saddle,as he addressed a beautiful brunette. She was indeed a splendidlygroomed and high-spirited woman. We were near enough to overhear thefollowing conversation, which any high-toned reader will recognize asthe common and natural expression of the higher classes.
"When Diana takes the field the chase is not wholly confined to objectsferae nature," said Guy, darting a significan
t glance at his companion.Flora did not shrink either from the glance or the meaning implied inthe sarcasm.
"If I were looking for an Endymion, now,"--she said archly, as sheplayfully cantered over a few hounds and leaped a five-barred gate.
Guy whispered a few words, inaudible to the rest of the party, andcurveting slightly, cleverly cleared two of the huntsmen in a flyingleap, galloped up the front steps of the mansion, and, dashing at fullspeed through the hall, leaped through the drawing-room window andrejoined me, languidly, on the lawn.
"Be careful of Flora Billingsgate," he said to me, in low stern tones,while his pitiless eye shot a baleful fire. "Gardez-vous!"
"Gnothi seauton," I replied calmly, not wishing to appear to be behindhim in perception or verbal felicity.
Guy started off in high spirits. He was well carried. He and the firstwhip, a ten-stone man, were head and head at the last fence, while thehounds were rolling over their fox a hundred yards farther in the open.
But an unexpected circumstance occurred. Coming back, his chestnut marerefused a ten-foot wall. She reared and fell backward. Again he led herup to it lightly; again she refused, falling heavily from the coping.Guy started to his feet. The old pitiless fire shone in his eyes; theold stern look settled around his mouth. Seizing the mare by the tailand mane he threw her over the wall. She landed twenty feet on the otherside, erect and trembling. Lightly leaping the same obstacle himself, heremounted her. She did not refuse the wall the next time.