Part 61 (1/2)
”The punch-bowl!” said Fletcher; ”I say, the bucket, d----n me!--Talk of bowls in the cabin of a paltry merchantman, but not to gentlemen-strollers--rovers, I would say,” correcting himself, as he observed that Bunce looked sour at the mistake.
”And I say, these two pretty girls shall stay on deck, and fill my can,”
said Bunce; ”I deserve some attendance, at least, for all my generosity.”
”And they shall fill mine, too,” said Fletcher--”they shall fill it to the brim!--and I will have a kiss for every drop they spill--broil me if I won't!”
”Why, then, I tell you, you shan't!” said Bunce; ”for I'll be d----d if any one shall kiss Minna but one, and that's neither you nor I; and her other little bit of a consort shall 'scape for company;--there are plenty of willing wenches in Orkney.--And so, now I think on it, these girls shall go down below, and bolt themselves into the cabin; and we shall have the punch up here on deck, _al fresco_, as the old gentleman proposes.”
”Why, Jack, I wish you knew your own mind,” said Fletcher; ”I have been your messmate these two years, and I love you; and yet flay me like a wild bullock, if you have not as many humours as a monkey!--And what shall we have to make a little fun of, since you have sent the girls down below?”
”Why, we will have Master Punch-maker here,” answered Bunce, ”to give us toasts, and sing us songs.--And, in the meantime, you there, stand by sheets and tacks, and get her under way!--and you, steersman, as you would keep your brains in your skull, keep her under the stern of the sloop.--If you attempt to play us any trick, I will scuttle your sconce as if it were an old calabas.h.!.+”
The vessel was accordingly got under way, and moved slowly on in the wake of the sloop, which, as had been previously agreed upon, held her course, not to return to the Bay of Kirkwall, but for an excellent roadstead called Inganess Bay, formed by a promontory which extends to the eastward two or three miles from the Orcadian metropolis, and where the vessels might conveniently lie at anchor, while the rovers maintained any communication with the Magistrates which the new state of things seemed to require.
Meantime Claud Halcro had exerted his utmost talents in compounding a bucketful of punch for the use of the pirates, which they drank out of large cans; the ordinary seamen, as well as Bunce and Fletcher, who acted as officers, dipping them into the bucket with very little ceremony, as they came and went upon their duty. Magnus, who was particularly apprehensive that liquor might awaken the brutal pa.s.sions of these desperadoes, was yet so much astonished at the quant.i.ties which he saw them drink, without producing any visible effect upon their reason, that he could not help expressing his surprise to Bunce himself, who, wild as he was, yet appeared by far the most civil and conversable of his party, and whom he was, perhaps, desirous to conciliate, by a compliment of which all boon topers know the value.
”Bones of Saint Magnus!” said the Udaller, ”I used to think I took off my can like a gentleman; but to see your men swallow, Captain, one would think their stomachs were as bottomless as the hole of Laifell in Foula, which I have sounded myself with a line of an hundred fathoms. By my soul, the Bicker of Saint Magnus were but a sip to them!”
”In our way of life, sir,” answered Bunce, ”there is no stint till duty calls, or the puncheon is drunk out.”
”By my word, sir,” said Claud Halcro, ”I believe there is not one of your people but could drink out the mickle bicker of Scarpa, which was always offered to the Bishop of Orkney brimful of the best b.u.mmock that ever was brewed.”[38]
”If drinking could make them bishops,” said Bunce, ”I should have a reverend crew of them; but as they have no other clerical qualities about them, I do not propose that they shall get drunk to-day; so we will cut our drink with a song.”
”And I'll sing it, by ----!” said or swore d.i.c.k Fletcher, and instantly struck up the old ditty--
”It was a s.h.i.+p, and a s.h.i.+p of fame, Launch'd off the stocks, bound for the main, With an hundred and fifty brisk young men, All pick'd and chosen every one.”
”I would sooner be keel-hauled than hear that song over again,” said Bunce; ”and confound your lantern jaws, you can squeeze nothing else out of them!”
”By ----,” said Fletcher, ”I will sing my song, whether you like it or no;” and again he sung, with the doleful tone of a north-easter whistling through sheet and shrouds,--
”Captain Glen was our captain's name; A very gallant and brisk young man; As bold a sailor as e'er went to sea, And we were bound for High Barbary.”
”I tell you again,” said Bunce, ”we will have none of your screech-owl music here; and I'll be d----d if you shall sit here and make that infernal noise!”
”Why, then, I'll tell you what,” said Fletcher, getting up, ”I'll sing when I walk about, and I hope there is no harm in that, Jack Bunce.” And so, getting up from his seat, he began to walk up and down the sloop, croaking out his long and disastrous ballad.
”You see how I manage them,” said Bunce, with a smile of self-applause--”allow that fellow two strides on his own way, and you make a mutineer of him for life. But I tie him strict up, and he follows me as kindly as a fowler's spaniel after he has got a good beating.--And now your toast and your song, sir,” addressing Halcro; ”or rather your song without your toast. I have got a toast for myself. Here is success to all roving blades, and confusion to all honest men!”
”I should be sorry to drink that toast, if I could help it,” said Magnus Troil.
”What! you reckon yourself one of the honest folks, I warrant?” said Bunce.--”Tell me your trade, and I'll tell you what I think of it. As for the punch-maker here, I knew him at first glance to be a tailor, who has, therefore, no more pretensions to be honest, than he has not to be mangy. But you are some High-Dutch skipper, I warrant me, that tramples on the cross when he is in j.a.pan, and denies his religion for a day's gain.”
”No,” replied the Udaller, ”I am a gentleman of Zetland.”
”O, what!” retorted the satirical Mr. Bunce, ”you are come from the happy climate where gin is a groat a-bottle, and where there is daylight for ever?”
”At your service, Captain,” said the Udaller, suppressing with much pain some disposition to resent these jests on his country, although under every risk, and at all disadvantage.
”At _my_ service!” said Bunce--”Ay, if there was a rope stretched from the wreck to the beach, you would be at my service to cut the hawser, make _floatsome_ and _jetsome_ of s.h.i.+p and cargo, and well if you did not give me a rap on the head with the back of the cutty-axe; and you call yourself honest? But never mind--here goes the aforesaid toast--and do you sing me a song, Mr. Fas.h.i.+oner; and look it be as good as your punch.”