The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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      Don Sanchez and I expressed our agreement to this proposal, and Moll, turning to the poor, unhappy steward, says in her high tone of authority:

      “You hear how this matter is ordered, Simon. Take up that purse for your own uses. Go into the town and send such tradesmen hither as may supply us with proper clothing. Then to your goldsmith in Lombard Street and bring me back six hundred pounds.”

      “Six—hundred—pounds!” cries he, hardly above his breath, and with a pause between each word as if to gain strength to speak ’em.

      “Six hundred. Three for these gentlemen and three for my own needs; when that is done, hasten to Chislehurst and prepare my house; and, as you value my favour, see that nothing is wanting when I come there.”

      And here, lest it should be thought that Moll could not possibly play her part so admirably in this business, despite the many secret instructions given by the longheaded Don, I do protest that I have set down no more than I recollect, and that without exaggeration. Further, it must be observed that in our common experience many things happen which would seem incredible but for the evidence of our senses, and which no poet would have the hardihood to represent. ’Tis true that in this, as in other more surprising particulars to follow, Moll did surpass all common women; but ’tis only such extraordinary persons that furnish material for any history. And I will add that anything is possible to one who hath the element of greatness in her composition, and that it depends merely on the accident of circumstances whether a Moll Dawson becomes a great saint or a great sinner—a blessing or a curse to humanity.

      CHAPTER XV.

      Lay our hands on six hundred pounds and quarter ourselves in Hurst Court, but stand in a fair way to be undone by Dawson, his folly.

      The next day comes Simon with a bag of six hundred pounds, which he tells over with infinite care, groaning and mopping his eyes betwixt each four or five pieces with a most rueful visage, so that it seemed he was weeping over this great expenditure, and then he goes to prepare the Court and get servants against Moll’s arrival. By the end of the week, being furnished with suitable clothing and equipment, Moll and Don Sanchez leave us, though Dawson was now as hale and hearty as ever he had been, we being persuaded to rest at Chatham yet another week, to give countenance to Jack’s late distemper, and also that we might appear less like a gang of thieves.

      Before going, Don Sanchez warned us that very likely Simon would pay us a visit suddenly, to satisfy any doubts that might yet crop up in his suspicious mind; and so, to be prepared for him, I got in a good store of paper and books, such as a merchant might require in seeking to reestablish himself in business, and Dawson held himself in readiness to do his share of this knavish business.

      Sure enough, about three days after this, the drawer, who had been instructed to admit no one to my chamber without my consent, comes up to say that the little old man in leather, with the weak eyes, would see me; so I bade him in a high voice bid Mr. Simon step up, and setting myself before my table of paper, engage in writing a letter (already half writ), while Dawson slips out into the next room.

      “Take a seat, Mr. Steward,” says I, when Simon entered, cap in hand, and casting a very prying, curious look around. “I must keep you a minute or two”; and so I feign to be mighty busy, and give him scope for observation.

      “Well, sir,” says I, finishing my letter with a flourish, and setting it aside. “How do you fare?”

      He raised his hands, and dropped them like so much lead on his knees, casting up his eyes and giving a doleful shake of his head for a reply.

      “Nothing is amiss at the Court, I pray—your lady Mistress Godwin is well?”

      “I know not, friend,” says he. “She hath taken my keys, denied me entrance to her house, and left me no privilege of my office save the use of the lodge house. Thus am I treated like a faithless servant, after toiling night and day all these years, and for her advantage, rather than mine own.”

      “That has to be proved, Mr. Steward,” says I, severely; “for you must admit that up to this present she has had no reason to love you, seeing that, had her fate been left in your hands, she would now be in Barbary, and like to end her days there. How, then, can she think but that you had some selfish, wicked end in denying her the service we, who are strangers, have rendered her?”

      “Thee speakest truth, friend, and yet thee knowest that I observed only the righteous prudence of an honest servant.”

      “We will say no more on that head, but you may rest assured on my promise—knowing as I do the noble, generous nature of your mistress—that if she has done you wrong in suspecting you of base purpose, she will be the first to admit her fault and offer you reparation.”

      “I seek no reparation, no reward, nothing in the world but the right to cherish this estate,” cries he, in passion; and, upon my looking at him very curiously, as not understanding the motive of such devotion, he continues: “Thee canst not believe me, and yet truly I am neither a liar nor a madman. What do others toil for? A wife—children—friends—the gratification of ambition or lust! I have no kith or kin, no ambition, no lust; but this estate is wife, child, everything, to me. ’Tis like some work of vanity—a carved image that a man may give his whole life to making, and yet die content if he achieves but some approach to the creation of his soul. I have made this estate out of nothing; it hath grown larger and larger, richer and more rich, in answer to my skill; why should I not love it, and put my whole heart in the accomplishment of my design, with the same devotion that you admire in the maker of graven images?”

      Despite his natural infirmities, Simon delivered this astonishing rhapsody with a certain sort of vehemence that made it eloquent; and indeed, strange as his passion was, I could not deny that it was as reasonable in its way as any nobler act of self-sacrifice.

      “I begin to understand you, Mr. Steward,” says I.

      “Then, good friend, as thee wouldst help the man in peril of being torn from his child, render me this estate to govern; save it from the hands of usurers and lawyers, men of no conscience, to whom this Spanish Don would deliver it for the speedy satisfaction of his greed.”

      “Nay, my claim’s as great as his,” says I, “and my affairs more pressing” (with a glance at my papers), “I am undone, my credit lost, my occupation gone.”

      “Thee shalt be paid to the last farthing. Examine my books, enquire into the value of my securities, and thee wilt find full assurance.”

      “Well, one of these days mayhap,” says I, as if to put him off.

      “Nay, come at once, I implore thee; for until I am justified to my mistress, I stand like one betwixt life and death.”

      “For one thing,” says I, still shuffling, “I can do nothing, nor you either, to the payment of our just claim, before the inheritance is safely settled upon Mistress Godwin.”

      “That shall be done forthwith. I understand the intricacies of the law, and know my way” (tapping his head and then his pocket), “to get a seal, with ten times the despatch of any attorney. I promise by Saturday thee shalt have assurance to thy utmost requirement. Say, good friend, thee wilt be at my lodge house on that day.”

      “I’ll promise nothing,” says I. “Our poor Captain Evans is still a prisoner in his room.”

      “Aye,” says Dawson, coming in from the СКАЧАТЬ