And now, having made an end of reading, Barnabas sighed and smiled, and squared his stooping shoulders, and threw up his curly head, and turning, found the Bo'sun still standing, hat in fist, lost in contemplation of the gilded ceiling. Hereupon Barnabas caught his hand, and shook it again, and laughed for very happiness.
"Bo'sun, how can I thank you!" said he, "these letters have given me new hope—new life! and—and here I leave you to stand, dolt that I am! And with nothing to drink, careless fool that I am. Sit down, man, sit down—what will you take, wine? brandy?"
"Mr. Beverley, sir," replied the Bo'sun diffidently, accepting the chair that Barnabas dragged forward, "you're very kind, sir, but if I might make so bold,—a glass of ale, sir—?"
"Ale!" cried Barnabas. "A barrel if you wish!" and he tugged at the bell, at whose imperious summons the Gentleman-in-Powder appearing with leg-quivering promptitude, Barnabas forthwith demanded "Ale,—the best, and plenty of it! And pray ask Mr. Peterby to come here at once!" he added.
"Sir," said the Bo'sun as the door closed, "you'll be for steering a course for Hawkhurst, p'r'aps?"
"We shall start almost immediately," said Barnabas, busily collecting those scattered sheets of paper that littered floor and table; thus he was wholly unaware of the look that clouded the sailor's honest visage.
"Sir," said the Bo'sun, pegging thoughtfully at a rose in the carpet with his wooden leg, "by your good leave, I'd like to ax 'ee a question."
"Certainly, Bo'sun, what is it?" inquired Barnabas, looking up from the destruction of the many attempts of his first letter to Cleone.
"Mr. Beverley, sir," said the Bo'sun, pegging away at the carpet as he spoke, "is it—meaning no offence, and axing your pardon,—but are you hauling your wind and standing away for Hawkhurst so prompt on 'account o' my Lady Cleone?"
"Yes, Bo'sun, on account of our Lady Cleone."
"Why, then, sir," said the Bo'sun, fixing his eyes on the ceiling again, "by your leave—but,—why, sir?"
"Because, Bo'sun, you and I have this in common, that we both—love her."
Here the Bo'sun dropped his glazed hat, and picking it up, sat turning it this way and that, in his big, brown fingers.
"Why, then, sir," said he, looking up at Barnabas suddenly, "what of Master Horatio, his Lordship?"
"Why, Bo'sun, I told him about it weeks ago. I had to. You see, he honors me with his friendship."
The Bo'sun nodded, and broke into his slow smile:
"Ah, that alters things, sir," said he. "As for loving my lady—why? who could help it?"
"Who, indeed, Bo'sun!"
"Though I'd beg to remind you, sir, as orders is orders, and consequently she's bound to marry 'is Lordship—some day—"
"Or—become a mutineer!" said Barnabas, as the door opened to admit
Peterby, who (to the horror of the Gentleman-in-Powder, and despite
his mutely protesting legs), actually brought in the ale himself; yet,
as he set it before the Bo'sun, his sharp eyes were quick to notice
his young master's changed air, and brightened as if in sympathy.
"I want you, John, to know my good friend Bo'sun Jerry," said
Barnabas, "a Trafalgar man—"
"'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four!" added the Bo'sun, rising and extending his huge hand.
"We are all going to Hawkhurst, at once, John," continued Barnabas, "so pack up whatever you think necessary—a couple of valises will do, and tell Martin I'll have the phaeton,—it's roomier; and I'll drive the bays. And hurry things, will you, John?"
So John Peterby bowed, solemn and sedate as ever, and went upon his errand. But it is to be remarked that as he hastened downstairs, his lips had taken on their humorous curve, and the twinkle was back in his eyes; also he nodded his head, as who would say:
"I thought so! The Lady Cleone Meredith, eh? Well,—the sooner the better!"
Thus the Bo'sun had barely finished his ale, when the
Gentleman-in-Powder appeared to say the phaeton was at the door.
And a fine, dashing turn-out it was, too, with its yellow wheels, its gleaming harness, and the handsome thorough-breds pawing impatient hoofs.
Then, the Bo'sun having duly ensconced himself, with Peterby in the rumble as calm and expressionless as the three leather valises under the seat, Barnabas sprang in, caught up the reins, nodded to Martin the gray-haired head groom, and giving the bays their heads, they were off and away for Hawkhurst and the Lady Cleone Meredith, whirling round corners and threading their way through traffic at a speed that caused the Bo'sun to clutch the seat with one hand, and the glazed hat with the other, and to remark in his diffident way that:
"These here wheeled craft might suit some, but for comfort and
safety give me an eight-oared galley!"
CHAPTER XLV
HOW BARNABAS SOUGHT COUNSEL OF THE DUCHESS "BO'SUN?"
"Sir?"
"Do you know the Duchess of Camberhurst well?"
"Know her, sir?" repeated the Bo'sun, giving a dubious pull at his starboard whisker; "why, Mr. Beverley, sir, there's two things as I knows on, as no man never did know on, nor never will know on,—and one on 'em's a ship and t' other's a woman."
"But do you know her well enough to like and—trust?"
"Why, Mr. Beverley, sir, since you ax me, I'll tell you—plain and to the p'int. We'll take 'er Grace the Duchess and say, clap her helm a-lee to tack up ag'in a beam wind, a wind, mind you, as ain't strong enough to lift her pennant,—and yet she'll fall off and miss her stays, d'ye see, or get took a-back and yaw to port or starboard, though, if you ax me why or wherefore, I'll tell you as how,—her being a woman and me only a man,—I don't know. Then, again, on the contrary, let it blow up foul—a roaring hurricane say, wi' the seas running high, ah! wi' the scud flying over her top-s'l yard, and she'll rise to it like a bird, answer to a spoke, and come up into the wind as sweet as ever you see. The Duchess ain't no fair-weather craft, I'll allow, but in 'owling, raging tempest she's staunch, sir, —ah, that she is,—from truck to keelson! And there y'are, Mr. Beverley, sir!"
"Do you mean," inquired Barnabas, puzzled of look, "that she is to be depended on—in an emergency?"
"Ay, sir—that she is!"
