Part 41 (1/2)

”My flippers, cap'en,” said Rokens, thrusting out his hard, thick, enormous hands, which were stained all over with sundry streaks of tar, and were very red as well as extremely clumsy to look at--”I've bin an'

washed 'em with hot water and rubbed 'em with grease till I a'most took the skin off, but they won't come clean, and I'm not fit to sit down with ladies.”

To this speech the captain replied by seizing Tim Rokens by the collar and dragging him fairly into the parlour.

”Here's a man,” cried the captain enthusiastically, presenting him to Martha, ”who's sailed with me for nigh thirty years, and is the best harpooner I ever had, and has stuck to me through thick and thin, in fair weather and foul, in heat and cold, and was kinder to Ailie during the last voyage than all the other men put together, exceptin' Glynn, and who tells me his hands are covered with tar, and that he can't wash 'em clean nohow, and isn't fit to dine with ladies; so you will oblige me, Martha, by ordering him to leave the house.”

”I will, brother, with pleasure. I order you, Mr Rokens, to leave this house _at your peril_! And I invite you to partake of our dinner, which is now on the table in the next room.”

Saying this, Aunt Martha grasped one of the great tar-stained ”flippers”

in both of her own delicate hands, and shook it with a degree of vigour that Tim Rokens afterwards said he could not have believed possible had he not felt it.

Seeing this, Aunt Jane turned aside and blew her nose violently. Tim Rokens attempted to make a bow, failed, and grinned. The captain cried--”Now, then, heave ahead!” Glynn, in the exuberance of his spirits, uttered a miniature cheer. Ailie gave vent to a laugh, that sounded as sweet as a good song; and the whole party adjourned to the dining-room, where the servant-girl was found in the sulks because dinner was getting rapidly cold, and the cat was found:--

”Prowling round the festal board On thievish deeds intent.”

[See Milton's _Paradise Regained_, latest edition.]

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE LAW-SUIT--THE BATTLE, AND THE VICTORY.

The great case of Dunning _versus_ Dixon came on at last.

On that day Captain Dunning was in a fever; Glynn Proctor was in a fever; Tim Rokens was in a fever; the Misses Dunning were in two separate fevers--everybody, in fact, on the Dunning side of the case was in a fever of nervous anxiety and mental confusion. As witnesses in the case, they had been precognosced to such an extent by the lawyers that their intellects were almost overturned. On being told that he was to be precognosced. Tim Rokens said stoutly, ”He'd like to see the man as 'ud do it”; under the impression that that was the legal term for being kicked, or otherwise maltreated; and on being informed that the word signified merely an examination as to the extent of his knowledge of the facts of the case, he said quietly, ”Fire away!” Before they had done firing away, the gallant harpooner was so confused that he began to regard the whole case as already hopeless.

The other men were much in the same condition; but in a private meeting held among themselves the day before the trial, Rokens made the following speech, which comforted them not a little.

”Messmates and s.h.i.+pmates,” said Tim, ”I'll tell ye wot it is. I'm no lawyer--that's a fact--but I'm a man; an' wot's a man?--it ain't a bundle o' flesh an' bones on two legs, with a turnip a-top o't, is it?”

”Be no manes,” murmured Briant, with an approving nod.

”Cer'nly not,” remarked d.i.c.k Barnes. ”I second that motion.”

”Good,” continued Rokens. ”Then, bein' a man, I've got brains enough to see that, if we don't want to contred.i.c.k one another, we must stick to the truth.”

”You don't suppose I'd go fur to tell lies, do you?” said Tarquin quickly.

”In coorse not. But what I mean to say is, that we must stick to what we _knows_ to be the truth, and not be goin' for to guess at it, or _think_ that we knows it, and then swear to it as if we wos certain sure.”

”Hear! hear!” from the a.s.sembled company.

”In fact,” observed Glynn, ”let what we say be absolutely true, and say just as little as we can. That's how to manage a good case.”

”An', be all manes,” added Briant, ”don't let any of ye try for to improve matters be volunteerin' yer opinion. Volunteerin' opinions is stuff. Volunteerin' is altogether a bad look-out. I know'd a feller, I did--a strappin' young feller he was, too, more betoken--as volunteered himself to death, he did. To be sure, his wos a case o' volunteerin'

into the Louth Militia, and he wos shot, he wos, in a pop'lar riot, as the noosepapers said--a scrimmage, I calls it--so don't let any o' us be goin' for to volunteer opinions w'en n.o.body axes 'em--no, nor wants 'em.”

Briant looked so pointedly at Gurney while delivering this advice that that obese individual felt constrained to look indignant, and inquire whether ”them 'ere imperent remarks wos meant for him.” To which Briant replied that ”they wos meant for him, as well as for ivery man then present.” Whereupon Gurney started up and shook his fist across the table at Briant, and Briant made a face at Gurney, at which the a.s.sembled company of mariners laughed, and immediately thereafter the meeting was broken up.