His meditations were here interrupted by Jack Bunce, who, hailing him noble Captain, said they were ready to sail when he pleased.
“When you please, Bunce; for I shall leave the command with you, and go ashore at Stromness,” said Cleveland.
“You shall do no such matter, by Heaven!” answered Bunce. “The command with me, truly! and how the devil am I to get the crew to obey me? Why, even Dick Fletcher rides rusty on me now and then. You know well enough that, without you, we shall be all at each other’s throats in half an hour; and, if you desert us, what a rope’s end does it signify whether we are destroyed by the king’s cruisers, or by each other? Come, come, noble Captain, there are black-eyed girls enough in the world, but where will you find so tight a sea-boat as the little Favourite here, manned as she is with a set of tearing lads,
“You are a precious fool, Jack Bunce,” said Cleveland, half angry, and, in despite of himself, half diverted, by the false tones and exaggerated gesture of the stage-struck pirate.
“It may be so, noble Captain,” answered Bunce, “and it may be that I have my comrades in my folly. Here are you, now, going to play All for Love, and the World well Lost, and yet you cannot bear a harmless bounce in blank verse—Well, I can talk prose for the matter, for I have news enough to tell—and strange news, too—ay, and stirring news to boot.”
“Well, prithee deliver them (to speak thy own cant) like a man of this world.”
“The Stromness fishers will accept nothing for their provisions and trouble,” said Bunce—“there is a wonder for you!”
“And for what reason, I pray?” said Cleveland; “it is the first time I have ever heard of cash being refused at a seaport.”
“True—they commonly lay the charges on as thick as if they were caulking. But here is the matter. The owner of the brig yonder, the father of your fair Imoinda, stands paymaster, by way of thanks for the civility with which we treated his daughters, and that we may not meet our due, as he calls it, on these shores.”
“It is like the frank-hearted old Udaller!” said Cleveland; “but is he at Stromness? I thought he was to have crossed the island for Kirkwall.”
“He did so purpose,” said Bunce; “but more folks than King Duncan change the course of their voyage. He was no sooner ashore than he was met with by a meddling old witch of these parts, who has her finger in every man’s pie, and by her counsel he changed his purpose of going to Kirkwall, and lies at anchor for the present in yonder white house, that you may see with your glass up the lake yonder. I am told the old woman clubbed also to pay for the sloop’s stores. Why she should shell out the boards I cannot conceive an idea, except that she is said to be a witch, and may befriend us as so many devils.”
“But who told you all this?” said Cleveland, without using his spy-glass, or seeming so much interested in the news as his comrade had expected.
“Why,” replied Bunce, “I made a trip ashore this morning to the village, and had a can with an old acquaintance, who had been sent by Master Troil to look after matters, and I fished it all out of him, and more, too, than I am desirous of telling you, noble Captain.”
“And who is your intelligencer?” said Cleveland; “has he got no name?”
“Why, he is an old, fiddling, foppish acquaintance of mine, called Halcro, if you must know,” said Bunce.
“Halcro!” echoed Cleveland, his eyes sparkling with surprise—“Claud Halcro?—why, he went ashore at Inganess with Minna and her sister—Where are they?”
“Why, that is just what I did not want to tell you,” replied the confidant—“yet hang me if I can help it, for I cannot baulk a fine situation.—That start had a fine effect—O ay, and the spy-glass is turned on the House of Stennis now!—Well, yonder they are, it must be confessed—indifferently well guarded, too. Some of the old witch’s people are come over from that mountain of an island—Hoy, as they call it; and the old gentleman has got some fellows under arms himself. But what of all that, noble Captain!—give you but the word, and we snap up the wenches to-night—clap them under hatches—man the capstern by daybreak—up topsails—and sail with the morning tide.”
“You sicken me with your villainy,” said Cleveland, turning away from him.
“Umph!—villainy, and sicken you!” said Bunce—“Now, pray, what have I said but what has been done a thousand times by gentlemen of fortune like ourselves?”
“Mention it not again,” said Cleveland; then took a turn along the deck, in deep meditation, and, coming back to Bunce, took him by the hand, and said, “Jack, I will see her once more.”
“With all my heart,” said Bunce, sullenly.
“Once more will I see her, and it may be to abjure at her feet this cursed trade, and expiate my offences”——
“At the gallows!” said Bunce, completing the sentence—“With all my heart!—confess and be hanged is a most reverend proverb.”
“Nay—but, dear Jack!” said Cleveland.
“Dear Jack!” answered Bunce, in the same sullen tone—“a dear sight you have been to dear Jack. But hold your own course—I have done with caring for you for ever—I should but sicken you with my villainous counsels.”
“Now, must I soothe this silly fellow as if he were a spoiled child,” said Cleveland, speaking at Bunce, but not to him; “and yet he has sense enough, and bravery enough, too; and, one would think, kindness enough to know that men don’t pick their words during a gale of wind.”
“Why, that’s true, Clement,” said Bunce, “and there is my hand upon it—And, now I think upon’t, you shall have your last interview, for it’s out of my line to prevent a parting scene; and what signifies a tide—we can sail by to-morrow’s ebb as well as by this.”
Cleveland sighed, for Norna’s prediction rushed on his mind; but the opportunity of a last meeting with Minna was too tempting to be resigned either for presentiment or prediction.
“I will go presently ashore to the place where they all are,” said Bunce; “and the payment of these stores shall serve me for a pretext; and I will carry any letters or message from you to Minna with the dexterity of a valet de chambre.”
“But they have armed men—you may be in danger,” said Cleveland.
“Not a whit—not a whit,” replied Bunce. “I protected the wenches when they were in my power; I warrant their father will neither wrong me, nor see me wronged.”
“You say true,” said Cleveland, “it is not in his nature. I will instantly write a note to Minna.” And he ran down to the cabin for that purpose, where he wasted much paper, ere, with a trembling hand, and throbbing heart, he achieved such a letter as he hoped might prevail on Minna to permit him a farewell meeting on the succeeding morning.
His adherent, Bunce, in the meanwhile, sought out Fletcher, of whose support to second any motion whatever, he accounted himself perfectly sure; and, followed by this trusty satellite, he intruded himself on the awful presence of Hawkins the boatswain, and Derrick the quarter-master, who were regaling themselves with a can of rumbo, after the fatiguing duty of the day.