Tom Cringle's Log

by Michael Scott

  Whereupon, away trudged Charley to Mr Steady’s warehouse, and, pulling off his hat with a formal salaam, “Good Massa Onyx—sweet Massa Teady— pray give me de bell.” Here the sable clerigo gathered himself up, and leant composedly on his long staff, hat still in hand, and ear turned towards Mr Steady, awaiting his answer.

  “Bell?” ejaculated Steady, in great amazement—”bell! what bell?”

  “Oh, good, sweet Massa Onyx, dear Massa Onyx Teady, everybody know you good person—quiet, wise somebody you is—all person sabe dat,” whined Charley; then slipping near our friend, he whispered to him—”But de best of we lob bit of fun now and den—de best of we lef to himshef sometime.”

  “Confound the fellow!” quoth Onyx, rather pushed off his balance by such an unlooked-for attack before his clerks; “get out of my house, sir; what the mischief do I know of you or your infernal bell?—l wish the tongue of it was in your stomach—get out, sir, away with you.”

  Charley could stand this no longer, and losing patience, “D——n me eye, you is de tief, sir—so give me de bell, Massa Teady, or I sall pull you go before de Mayor, Massa Teady, and you sall be shame, Massa Teady; and, it may be, you sall be export to de Bay of Honduras, Massa Teady. Aha, how you will like dat, Massa Teady? you shall be export, maybe, for break into chapel during sarvice, and teal bell—aha, teal bell—whoever yeerie one crime equal to dat?”

  “My good man,” quoth Onyx, who now felt the absurdity of the affair, “I know nothing of all this—believe me, there is a mistake.—Who sent you here?”

  “Massa Smoothpate,” roared Charley—”Massa Smoothpate he who neber tell lie to nobody. Massa Smoothpate sent me, sir; so de debil if you no give up de bell, I sall—”

  “Mr Smoothpate—oh ho!” sang out Steady, “I see, I see—.” Finally, the affair was cleared up; a little hush-money made all snug, and Charley, having got back his instrument, bore no malice; so he and Steady resumed their former friendly footing—the “statu quo ante bellum.”

  Another story, and I have done—

  About a week after this several of the same party again met at dinner, when my excellent friend Mr Nicodemus amused us exceedingly by the following story, which, for want of a better title, I shall relate under the head of

  A SLIPPERY YOUTH.

  “We all know,” quoth old Nic, “that house robberies have been very rife of late, and on peril even of having the laugh against me, I will tell you how I suffered, no longer than three nights ago; so, Tom Cringle, will you and Bang have the charity to hold your tongues, and be instructed?

  “Old Gelid, Longtram, Steady, and myself, had been eating ratoons, at the former’s domicile, and it was about nine in the evening when I got home. We had taken next to no wine, a pint of madeira a-piece during dinner, and six bottles of claret between us afterwards, so I went to bed as cool as a cucumber, and slept soundly for several hours, until awakened by my old gander—now, do be quiet, Cringle—by my old watchman of a gander, cackling like a hero. I struck my repeater—half-past one—so I turned myself, and was once more falling over into the arms of Morpheus, when I thought I saw some dark object flit silently across the open window that looks into the piazza, between me and the deep blue and as yet moonless sky. This somewhat startled me, but it might have been one of the servants. Still I got up and looked out, but I could see nothing. It did certainly strike me once or twice that there was some dark object cowering in the deep gloom caused by the shade of the orange-tree at the end of the piazza, but I persuaded myself it was fancy, and once more slipped into my nest. However, the circumstance had put sleep to flight. Half an hour might have passed, and the deep dark purity of the eastern sky was rapidly quickening into a greenish azure, the forerunner of the rising moon”—(“Oh, confound your poetry,” said Rubiochico)—”which was fast swamping the sparkling stars, like a bright river flowing over diamonds, when the old gander again set up his gabblement and trumpeted more loudly than before. ‘If you were not so tough, my noisy old cock,’ thought I, ‘next Michaelmas should be your last.’ So I now resolutely shut my eyes and tried to sleep perforce, in which usually fruitless attempt I was actually beginning to succeed, do you know, when a strong odour of palm oil came through the window, and, on opening my eyes, I saw by the increasing light a naked negro standing at it, with his head and shoulders in sharp relief against the pale broad disc of the moon, at that moment just peering over the dark summit of the Long Mountain.

  “I rubbed my eyes and looked again; the dark figure was still there; but, as if aware that some one was on the watch, it gradually sank down, until nothing but the round bullet head appeared above the window-sill. This was trying enough, but I made an effort and lay still. The stratagem succeeded: the figure, deceived by my feigned snoring and quietude, slowly rose, and once more stood erect. Presently it slipped one foot into the room, and then another, but so noiselessly that, when I saw the black figure standing before me on the floor, I had some misgivings as to whether or not it was really a being of this world. However, I had small space for speculation, when it slid past the foot of the bed towards my open bureau; I seized the opportunity—started up—turned the key of the door, and planted myself right between the thief and the open window. ‘Now, you scoundrel, surrender, or I will murder you on the spot.’ I had scarcely spoken the words when, with the speed of light, the fellow threw himself on me—we closed—I fell—when, clip, he slipped through my fingers like an eel—bolted through the window, cleared the balcony at a bound, and disappeared. The thief had stripped himself as naked as he was born, and soaped his woolly skull, and smeared his whole corpus with palm oil, so that in the struggle I was charmingly lubricated.”

  Nicodemus here lay back on his chair, evidently desirous of our considering this the whole of the story, but he was not to be let off so easily, for presently Longtram, with a wicked twinkle of his eye, chimed in—

  “Ay, and what happened next, old Nic—did nothing follow, eh?”

  Nic’s countenance assumed an irresolute expression; he saw he was jammed up in the wind, so at a venture he determined to sham deafness—

  “Take wine, Lucifer—a glass of hermitage?”

  “With great pleasure,” said his Satanic majesty. The propitiatory libation, however, did not work, for no sooner had his glass touched the mahogany again than he returned to the charge.

  “Now, Mr Nicodemus, since you won’t, I will tell the company the reason of so nice an old gentleman wearing Baltimore flour in his hair instead of perfumed Mareschale powder, and none of the freshest either, let me tell you; why, I have seen three weavels take flight from your august pate since we sat down to dinner.”

  Old Nic, seeing he was caught, met the attack with the greatest good-humour—

  “Why, I will tell the whole truth, Lucifer, if you don’t bother.”—(“The devil thank you,” said Longtram.)—”So you must know,” continued Nicodemus, “that I immediately roused the servants, searched the premises in every direction without success—nothing could be seen; but, at the suggestion of my valet, I lit a small spirit-lamp, and placed it on the table at my bedside, on which it pleased him to place my brace of Mantons, loaded with slug, and my naked small sword, so that, thought I, if the thief ventures back, he shall not slip through my fingers again so easily. I do confess that these imposing preparations did appear to me somewhat preposterous, even at the time, as it was not, to say the least of it, very probable that my slippery gentleman would return the same night. However, my servant in his zeal was not to be denied, and I was not so fit to judge as usual, from having missed my customary quantity of wine after dinner the previous day; so, seeing all right, I turned in, thus bristling like a porcupine, and slept soundly until daylight, when I bethought me of getting up. I then rose, slipped on my nightgown, and,”—here Nicodemus laughed more loudly than ever,—”as I am a gentleman, my spirit-lamp, naked sword, loaded pistols, my diamond breast-pin, and all my clothes, even unto my unmentionables, had disappeared; but wha
t was the cruelest cut of all, my box of Mareschale powder, my patent puff, and all my pomade divine, had also vanished; and, true enough, as Lucifer says, it so happened that, from the delay in the arrival of the running ships, there was not an ounce of either powder or pomatum to be had in the whole town, so I have been driven in my extremity— oh most horrible declension!—to keep my tail on hog’s lard and Baltimore flour ever since.”

  “Well, but,” persisted Lucifer, “who the deuce was the man in the moon? Come, tell us. And what has become of the queue you so tenderly nourished, for you sport a crop, Master Nic, now, I perceive?”

  Here Nicodemus was neither to hold nor to bind; he was absolutely suffocating with laughter, as he shrieked out, with long intervals between—

  “Why the robber was my own favourite body-servant, Crabclaw, after all, and be d——d to him—the identical man who advised the warlike demonstrations; and as for the pigtail, why, on the very second night of the flour and grease, it was so cruelly damaged by a rat while I slept, that I had to amputate the whole affair, stoop and roop, this very morning.” And, so saying, the excellent creature fell back in his chair, like to choke from the uproariousness of his mirth, while the tears streamed down his cheeks, and washed channels in the flour, as if he had been a tatooed Mandingo.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  THE LAST OF THE LOG—TOM CRINGLE’S FAREWELL

  “And whether we shall meet again, I know not.”

  Brutus to Cassius, in Julius Caesar.

  ONE FINE morning about this time we had just anchored on our return from a cruise, when I received, as I was dressing, a letter from the secretary, desiring me instantly to wait on the Admiral, as I was promoted to the rank of commander (how I did dance and sing, my eye!), and appointed to the Lotus-Leaf, of eighteen guns, then refitting at the dockyard, and under orders for England.

  I accordingly, after calling and making my bow, proceeded to the dockyard to enter on my new command, and I was happy in being able to get Tailtackle and Reefpoint once more removed along with me.

  The gunner of Lotus-Leaf having died, Timotheus got an acting warrant, which I rejoice to say was ultimately confirmed, and little Reefy, now a commander in the service, weathered it many a day with me afterwards, both as midshipman and lieutenant.

  After seeing everything in a fair train on board, I applied for a fortnight’s leave, which I got, as the trade which I was to convoy had not yet congregated, nor were they likely to do so before the expiry of this period.

  Having paid my respects at the Admiral’s pen, I returned to Kingston. Most of the houses in the lower part of the town are surmounted by a small look-out, as it is called, like a little belfry fitted with green blinds, and usually furnished with one or more good telescopes. It is the habit of the Kingstonians to resort in great numbers to those gardemange-looking boxes whenever a strange sail appears in the offing, or any circumstance takes place at sea worth reconnoitring. It was about nine o’clock on a fine morning, and I had taken my stand in one of them, peering out towards the east, but no white speck on the verge of the horizon indicated an approaching sail; so I slewed round the glass to the westward, to have a squint at the goings-on amongst the squadron, lying at anchor at Port Royal, about six miles off, then mustering no fewer than eighteen pennants; viz., one line-of-battle ship, one fifty, five frigates, two corvettes, one ship-sloop, four eighteen-gun brigs, three schooners, and a cutter. All was quiet, not even one solitary signal making amongst them; so I again scoured the horizon towards the east, when I noticed a very dashing schooner, which had sailed that morning, as she crept along the Palisadoes. She was lying up the inner channel, taking advantage of the land-wind, in place of staggering away to the southward through the ship-channel, already within the influence of the sea-breeze, but which was as yet neutralised close in-shore where she was by the terral. The speed of the craft—the rapidity with which she slid along the land with the light air—riveted my attention. On inquiry I found she was the Carthaginian schooner Josefa. At this moment the splash of oars was heard right below where we stood, and a very roguish-looking craft, also schooner-rigged, about a hundred tons burden apparently, passed rapidly beneath us, tearing up the shining surface of the sleeping harbour with no fewer than fourteen sweeps. She was very heavily rigged, with her mainmast raking over the taffrail, and full of men. I noticed she had a long gun on a pivot, and several carronades mounted. Presently there was a good deal of whispering amongst the group of half-a-dozen gentlemen who were with me in the look-out, who, from their conversation, I soon found were underwriters on the schooner outside.

  “Heyday,” said one, “the Antonio is off somewhat suddenly this morning.”

  “Where may that schooner that is sweeping so handsomely down harbour belong to?” said I to the gentleman who had spoken.

  “To Havanna,” was the answer; “but I fear he intends to overhaul the Josefa there, and she would be a good prize to him, now since Carthagena has thrown off allegiance to Spain.”

  “But he will never venture to infract the neutrality of the waters, surely,” rejoined I, “within sight of the squadron too?”

  The gentleman I spoke to smiled incredulously; and as I had nothing particular to do for a couple of hours, I resolved to remain and see the issue. In a few minutes the sea-breeze came thundering down, in half a gale of wind, singing through the rigging of the ships alongside of the wharfs, and making the wooden blinds rattle again. The Antonio laid in her sweeps, spread her canvass in an instant, and was lying-to, off the fort at Port Royal, to land her pass, in little in more than half an hour from the time she passed us, a distance of no less than seven miles, as she had to sail it. In a minute the jibsheet was again hauled over to leeward, and away she was like an arrow, crowding all sail. I had seldom seen a vessel so weatherly before. In an hour more she was abreast of the town and abeam of the Josefa, who, from being cooped up in the narrow inner channel, had, ever since the sea-breeze set down, been bothering with short tacks, about and about, every minute. Presently the Antonio dashed in through a streak of blue water in the reef, so narrow, that, to look at it, I did not think a boat could have passed, and got between the Josefa and Port Royal, when he took in his gaff-topsail and hauled down his flying-jib, but made no hostile demonstration, beyond keeping dead to leeward, tack for tack with the Josefa; and once, when the latter seemed about to bear up and run past him, I noticed the foot of his foresail lift, and his sails shiver as he came to the wind, as much as to say, “Luff again, my lady, or I’ll fire at you.” It was now clear Josefa did not like her playmate, for she cracked on all the canvass she could carry; and having tried every other manoeuvre to escape without effect, she at length, with reckless desperation, edged away a point, and flew like smoke through another gap, even smaller and shallower than the one the Antonio had entered by. We all held our breath until she got into blue water again, expecting every moment to see her stick fast, and her masts tumble over the side; but she scraped clear very cleverly, and the next moment was tearing and plunging through the tumbling waves outside of the reefs. Antonio, as I expected, followed her, but all very quietly, still keeping well to leeward, however. Thus they continued for half an hour, running to the southward and eastward, when I noticed the Havanero, who had gradually crept up under the Josefa’s lee-quarter, hoist his colours and pennant, and fire a gun at her. She immediately tacked in great confusion, and made all sail to get back through the canal into the inner channel, with the other schooner close at her heels, blazing away from his long gun as fast as he could load. A Spaniard, who was one of the principal owners of the Josefa’s cargo, happened to be standing beside me in the lookout; at every shot, he would, with a face of the most intense anxiety, while the perspiration hailed off his brow, slap his hands on his thighs, and shrink down on his hams, cowering his head at the same time, as if the shot had, been aimed at him and he was trying to shun it, apostrophising himself, with an agitated voice, as follows:

  “Valga me Dios, que dem
onio, que demonio! Ah, Pancho Roque, tu es ruina-do, mi amigo.” Another shot. “Tu es ruinado, chicatico, tan çierto como navos no son coles.” A third flash. “Oh, rabo de lechon de Sail Antonio, que es eso, que es eso!”*

  Neck and neck, however, in came the Josefa, staggering right through the narrow channel once more, persecuted by the Antonio, with the white breakers foaming and flashing close to on each side of her; but by this time there was a third party in the game. I had noticed a lot of signals made in the flag-ship. Presently one of the sloops of war fired a gun, and before the smoke blew off she was under weigh, with her topsails, foresail, spanker, and foretopmast-stay-sail set. This was his Majesty’s sloop-of-war Seaflower, which had slipped from her moorings, and was now crowding all sail in chase of the arrogant Don, who had dared to fire a shot in anger in the sanctuary of British waters. All this while the Antonio had been so intent on hooking the Carthaginian, that the sloop was nearly up to him before he hove about and gave up the chase; and now the tables were beautifully turned on him, for the Seaflower’s shot was flying over and over him in whole broadsides, and he must have been taken, when, crack! away went the sloop’s foretop-gallant-mast, which gave the rogue a start. In an hour he was away to windward as far as you could see, and his pursuer and the Josefa were once more at anchor in Port Royal.

  That evening I returned to the dockyard, where I found everything going on with Lotus-Leaf as I could wish. So I returned, after a three days’ sojourn on board, to Kingston, and next afternoon mounted my horse, or rather a horse that a friend was fool enough to lend me, at the agent’s wharf, with the thermometer at ninety-five in the shade, and, cantering off, landed at my aunt Mrs Palma’s mountain residence, where the mercury stood at sixty-two at nightfall, just in time to dress for dinner. I need not say that we had a pleasant party, as Mary was there; so, having rigged very killingly, as I thought, I made my appearance at dinner, a mighty man, indeed, with my two epaulets; but, to my great disappointment, when I walked into the piazza, not a soul seemed to acknowledge my promotion. “How blind people are!” thought I. Even my cousins, little creole urchins, dressed in small transparent cambric shifts tied into a knot over their tails, and with devil the thing else on, seemed to perceive no difference, as they pulled me about, with a volley of “Cousin Taam, what you bring we?”