The Ocean Cat's Paw: The Story of a Strange Cruise

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER THREE.

  MRS. CHAMPERNOWNE'S PAN.

  Mr Robson, when he came up from Plymouth for a natural historyexpedition into Dartmoor, did not select a hotel for his quarters, forthe simple reason that such a house of accommodation did not exist, buttook what he could get--a couple of tiny bedrooms in the cottage of awidow whose husband had been a mining captain on the moor; and thereafter a long tramp they returned on the evening after the adventure, tofind their landlady awaiting them at the pretty rose-covered porch,eager and expectant and ready to throw up her hands in dismay.

  "Why, where are the fish?" she cried--"the trout?"

  "Eh?" said Uncle Paul.

  "The fish, sir--the fish. I've got a beautiful fire, and the lard readyin the pan. I want to go on cooking while you both have a good wash.You told me that you would be sure to bring home a lot of trout for yoursupper, and I haven't prepared anything else."

  "Bless my heart! So I did," said Uncle Paul. "Here, Pickle, where arethose trout?"

  Rodd gave his uncle a comical look, and stood rubbing one ear.

  "Ah, uncle," he cried, "where are those trout?"

  Uncle Paul screwed up one eye, and he too in unconscious imitation beganto rub one ear.

  "Ah, well; ah, well," said the landlady, "I suppose you couldn't helpit. I have had gentlemen staying here to fish before now, and it's beena basketful one day and a basket empty the next. Fish are what theScotch call very kittle cattle. Never mind, my dear," she continued toRodd. "Better luck next time. Fortunately I have got plenty of eggs,and there's the ham waiting for me to cut off some more rashers."

  As she spoke the woman hurried into her kitchen, from which sharpcrackling sounds announced that he was thrusting pieces of wood underthe kettle, and as she busied herself she went on talking aloud so thatthey could hear--

  "Did you hear the gun fire, sir, somewhere about one o'clock?"

  "Yes," grunted Uncle Paul. "Dinner-time, and we ate your sandwiches,Mrs Champernowne. They were delicious."

  "I am very glad, sir. But, oh dear no, that wasn't the dinner-bell.That meant that some of the prisoners had escaped. Poor fellows! Ialways feel sorry for them."

  "Mrs Champernowne!" cried Uncle Paul, and Rodd, who was in his roomwith his face under water, raised it up, grinning, for he knew hisuncle's peculiar ways by heart, and he went on listening to what wassaid.

  "Oh, yes, sir," cried the landlady, with her voice half-drowned by asudden flap and a sizzling noise which indicated, without the appetisingodour which soon began to rise to Rodd's nostrils, that their landladyhad vigorously slapped a thick rasher of pink-and-white ham into the hotfrying-pan; "I know what you think, sir, and what you told me only lastnight about being a loyal subject of King George, and these being ournatural enemies, whom we ought to hate."

  _Ciss_! went the ham, and Rodd felt as if he should like to shout "Hear,hear!"

  "But I can't help remembering what I hear at church about forgiving ourenemies; and I am sure you would, sir, if you knew what I do about thosepoor fellows, torn away from their own people and shut up behind prisonbars, and all for doing nothing."

  Just then there was a little spluttering noise as if the pan werechuckling.

  "For doing nothing!" shouted Uncle Paul, and a sound from his roomsuggested that he had set down the washhand jug with a bang. "Thescoundrels who invaded our shores?"

  _Ciss_! said the pan.

  "That they didn't, sir!" cried the landlady. "They didn't even try; andeven if they had there were all our brave fellows round the coasts whowould soon have stopped them."

  "Hear, hear!" cried Rodd, very softly, for he was speaking into hissweet-scented towel, whose scent was that of fresh air and wild thyme.

  "Well, well, that's right," shouted Uncle Paul; "but they wanted to."

  _Whish-ish_, went the pan, and there was a good deal more spluttering,and in his mind's eye Rodd saw the great rasher turned right over, tobegin sizzling again.

  "And I don't believe that, Dr Robson," cried the landlady sturdily."Don't you know that the poor fellows over yonder never get good honestshillings given to them and are enlisted of their own free will like ourlads at home, but they are dragged away and are obliged to fight; and itwas all owing to the angry jealousy and covetousness of that dreadfulman, Bony, who has been the cause of all the trouble."

  "Hah!" roared Uncle Paul, in a voice that almost shook the diamond-panedcasement. "Say no more, Mrs Champernowne. You are quite right, and Iadmire your sympathies. Madam, you are a lady!"

  "Oh, really, Dr Robson--"

  "I repeat it, madam, you are a lady, and I applaud everything you havesaid. But what about that gun?"

  "Oh, dear me, yes, sir; I was just going to tell you, but you put it allout of my head. It was the alarm gun to tell everybody that prisonershad escaped, so that all the people on the moor could join the soldiersin scouring the place as they called it, and hunting the poor Frenchmendown for the sake of the reward. Yes, I'd reward them if I had my way!Hunting their poor fellow-creatures, who are only trying for theirliberty!"

  "H'm! Ha!" grunted Uncle Paul, and there was a huckabacky sound abouthis words.

  There was another furious hissing from the pan, followed by a freshslap, for a second great rasher had been thrust in _vice_ number onenicely cooked and just placed in the hot dish that had been intended fortrout.

  "Did they catch them, Mrs Champernowne?" shouted Uncle Paul.

  "I haven't heard, sir," was the reply; "but dear, dear, they are prettywell sure to, for there's not much chance for the poor fellows. Oh, itmakes my heart bleed when I hear sometimes that one of them has beenshot down by the soldiers."

  Rodd went on tip-toe across the creaking floor to open his door a littlefarther, listening with strained ear, for his bright young imaginationpictured the thin pale youth, wild-eyed and breathless, out of hishiding-place and running for liberty across the open moor, and hearingagain the distant reports of the muskets.

  "But that doesn't often happen, sir, for between you and me and thepost, seeing that the prisoners are only soldiers, after all, I don'tbelieve that though they have their orders, our men ever try to hitthem; and very glad I am."

  "Ah, ah, ah, Mrs Champernowne, that isn't loyal, you know, that isn'tloyal to his Majesty the King and your country."

  "I can't help that, Dr Robson, and I am not speaking, sir, as asubject, but as a woman and a mother who has a brave stout boy in ourgood King's Guards. Now suppose, sir, that you were a mother." UnclePaul grunted audibly.

  "And had a boy the same as I have, and Bony Napolyparty had taken himprisoner. How would you like him to be shot down?"

  Rodd literally jumped in his alarm, for there was a tremendously wildcissing from the pan and a horrible suggestion therewith that MrsChampernowne had been turning the rasher with so much energy that shehad thrown the cooking slice on to the fire itself instead of into itsnative pan, while a sudden gush as of hot burning fat came up the littlestairs.

  But the pleasant sizzling sounds began again directly, and Rodd, who wasravenously hungry, consequent upon the bad part he had played over thesandwiches beneath the tor, sighed in relief as he realised that thewidow's energetic treatment had only splashed a little of the fat overthe side of the pan.

  As Rodd listened for a continuation of the political discussion, inwhich it seemed to him that Uncle Paul had got the worst of it, forneither the widow nor he spoke for the next three or four minutes, andthe pan had it all its own way, there was some creaking of the boards asthe naturalist stumped about, and when he did speak it was evident thathe thought it wise to change the subject. And it was the inner man whonow spoke--

  "Our tea-supper nearly ready, Mrs Champernowne?"

  "Oh yes, sir. The second rasher's about done. How many eggs shall Icook?"

  "Oh, one, or perhaps two, for me," shouted Uncle Paul.

  "Oh, I say!" muttered Rodd.

  "Better cook eight or ten for my nephew," cried the
doctor dryly."He'll eat like a young wolf."

  "What a shame!" muttered Rodd. "I'll serve him out for this."

  "Fried, of course, sir?" came from the kitchen.

  "Murder, woman, no!" roared Uncle Paul. "Fry! That is wildwest-country ignorance, madam! Are you not aware, madam, that theaction of boiling fat upon albumen is to produce a coagulate leatherymass of tough indigestible matter inimical to the tender sensitivelining of the most important organ of the human frame, lying as it doeswithout assimilation or absorption upon the epigastric region, andproducing an irritation that may require medical treatment to allay?"

  "Dear, dear, dear, dear me, no, sir! Really, you quite fluster me withall those long words. Who ever heard that fried ham and eggs were badfor anybody?"

  "Then I tell you now, madam," shouted the doctor, "that--"

  "Don't you take any notice, Mrs Champernowne," shouted Rodd. "It'sonly uncle's fun."

  "Wuff!" went Uncle Paul, with a snap like that of an angry dog. "Wuff!"

  "Fried, please, Mrs Champernowne; four for uncle and three for me."

  "Umph!" grunted the doctor, and a few minutes later he and his nephew,hunger-sharpened and weary-legged, were seated facing one another in thewidow's pleasant little parlour, hard at work, and risking all thedireful symptoms upon which the elder had discoursed, and thoroughlyenjoying hearty draughts of Mrs Champernowne's fragrant tea.

  There was silence in the kitchen, following the final hissings andodours emitted by the hard-worked pan, but a great deal of business wenton in the little parlour, the first words that were spoken being byUncle Paul, who growled out--

  "Here, I suppose you had better tell the old lady to put on anotherrasher of ham to fry."

  "For you, uncle?" said Rodd archly.

  "No, sir, for you. You traitorous young dog, leaving all thosebeautiful trout up on the moor to be devoured by the enemies of yourcountry!"

  "Well, they can't eat them raw, uncle."

  "Why not, sir? They are only so many ravening savages, ready to breatheout battle and slaughter if they got free."

  "That poor boy didn't seem much of a savage, uncle," said Rodd quietly;and after a sidelong glance to see whether he dared say it, the boycontinued tentatively, "I wish the poor fellow had been here to havethis ham."

  "What!" roared his uncle fiercely. "Bah! You wouldn't have left him amouthful. Wolf--raven!"

  "Yes, I would, uncle. I'd have left him all."

  "Umph!" grunted Uncle Paul, taking up a very thin, old, much-worn silvertable-spoon and looking at it with the eye of a connoisseur. "H'm! Ha!Queen Anne."

  "She's dead, uncle," said the boy.

  "Well, I know that, don't I?" growled Uncle Paul, as he tilted the emptydish, and carefully scraped all the golden brown fat and gravy to oneside, getting together sufficient to nearly fill the spoon, and thenmaking as if to put it upon his own plate, but with a quick gesturedabbing it down upon Rodd's.

  "Fair play, uncle!" shouted the boy.

  "Bah!" grunted the doctor. "Cut me a thin slice of bread, all crumb,Pickle. Thunder and lightning! I have got the best share, after all;"and then, with his face puckered up into a pleasant smile, he inserted afork into the newly-cut slice of home-made bread, and began passing itround and round the dish until it had imbibed the remains of the liquidham and the golden new-laid eggs, when he deposited it upon his ownplate with a triumphant smile which seemed to Rodd to make him lookfive-and-twenty years younger.

  "Shall I fill another cup of tea for you, uncle?" cried Rodd; and by theway, they were breakfast cups.

  "No, no, Pickle; I--I--er--well, say half."

  At that moment the door was opened, and, looking hot and out of breath,their landlady entered.

  "I hope you haven't been waiting for anything, gentlemen," she cried,giving the table a comprehensive glance. "I am so sorry. I will cookanother rasher or two directly."

  "Madam, no," said Uncle Paul didactically. "What does the great classicauthor say?"

  "Really I don't know, sir," cried Mrs Champernowne, with a perplexedlook wrinkling up her pleasant face. "But it won't take many minutes."

  "Enough, madam, is as good as a feast. This has been a banquet, eh,Pickle? I never enjoyed anything half so much before in my life. Theham was tenderness itself, the eggs new-laid--the bread--the butter--thetea--eh, Pickle?"

  "Delicious, uncle."

  "The fat of the land, Mrs Champernowne," continued the doctor; "theriches of these smiling pastures. Now if your friend Napoleon Bonapartehad come with his locusts to devastate the land, his hordes such as wehave seen safely imprisoned yonder--"

  "Yes, sir," interrupted Mrs Champernowne eagerly; "that's what I cameto tell you. I thought I might just run over to my neighbour's, whosemaster has come back from the hunt, and I thought that you would like tohear. Those two French prisoners have got right away."

  "Hooray!" shouted Rodd, springing from the chair, and to MrsChampernowne's astonishment catching her round the waist and waltzingher about the room. "Three cheers for the poor prisoners! Hurrah!Hurrah! Hurrah!"

  And Uncle Paul pushed back his chair, puckered up his forehead, staredhard at his nephew, and grunted out--

  "Humph!"

  "Oh, my dear, don't! Pray don't!" panted Mrs Champernowne, whom Naturehad made middle-aged, round and plump. "You are taking away all mybreath. But my neighbour's master says that he thinks they have madefor Salcombe, where they will perhaps get aboard one of the orange boatsand be put back in their own country."

  "Hah!" said Uncle Paul, leaning back in his chair to take hold of hisbunch of seals and haul up by the broad watered silk ribbon the bigdouble-cased gold watch that ticked away from where it reclined warm andcomfortable at the bottom of his fob.

  "Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks!"

  "That was a very fine tea, Mrs Champernowne. Now, Pickle, my boy, Ithink it would be very nice to go and sit for half-an-hour in the arbourunder the roses, while I kill the green fly--the aphides, MrsChampernowne--which increase and multiply at a rate which is absolutelymarvellous. Pickle, my boy, I hope you will never grow up as weak andself-indulgent as your uncle. Fill me my long clay pipe."