The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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      “Thee shalt have it truly; wait but a little while, good friend, a little while.”

      “Wait a little while and founder altogether, eh? I know you land sharks, and would I’d been born with a smack of your cunning; then had I never gone of this venture, and lost my ship and twoscore men, that money’ll ne’er replace. Look at me, a sheer hulk and no more, and all through lending ear to one prayer and another. I doubt you’re minded to turn your back on poor old Bob Evans, as t’others have, Mr. Hopkins—and why not? The poor old man’s worth nothing, and cannot help himself.” With this he fell a-snivelling like any girl.

      “I vow I’ll not quit you, Evans, till you’re hale again.”

      “Bring him with thee o’ Saturday,” urged Simon. “Surely, my mistress can never have the heart to refuse you shelter at the Court, who owes her life to ye. Come and stay there till thy wage be paid, friend Evans.”

      “What! would ye make an honest sailor play bum-bailiff, and stick in a house, willy nilly, till money’s found? Plague of your dry land! Give me a pitching ship and a rolling sea, and a gale whistling in my shrouds. Oh, my reins, my reins! give me a paper of tobacco, Mr. Hopkins, and a pipe to soothe this agony, or I shall grow desperate!”

      I left the room as if to satisfy this desire, and Simon followed, imploring me still to come on Saturday to Chislehurst; and I at length got rid of him by promising to come as soon as Evans could be left or induced to accompany me.

      I persuaded Dawson, very much against his gree, to delay our going until Monday, the better to hoodwink old Simon; and on that day we set out for Chislehurst, both clad according to our condition—he in rough frieze, and I in a very proper, seemly sort of cloth—and with more guineas in our pockets than ever before we had possessed shillings. And a very merry journey this was; for Dawson, finding himself once more at liberty, and hearty as a lark after his long confinement and under no constraint, was like a boy let loose from school. Carolling at the top of his voice, playing mad pranks with all who passed us on the road, and staying at every inn to drink twopenny ale, so that I feared he would certainly fall ill of drinking, as he had before of eating; but the exercise of riding, the fresh, wholesome air, and half an hour’s doze in a spinney, did settle his liquor, and so he reached Hurst Court quite sober, thanks be to Heaven, though very gay. And there we had need of all our self-command, to conceal our joy in finding those gates open to us, which we had looked through so fondly when we were last here, and to spy Moll, in a stately gown, on the fine terrace before this noble house, carrying herself as if she had lived here all her life, and Don Sanchez walking very deferential by her side. Especially Dawson could scarce bring himself to speak to her in an uncouth, surly manner, as befitted his character, and no sooner were we entered the house but he whips Moll behind a door, and falls a-hugging and kissing her like any sly young lover.

      Whilst he was giving way to these extravagances, which Moll had not the heart to rebuff—for in her full, warm heart she was as overjoyed to see him there as he her—Don Sanchez and I paced up and down the spacious hall, I all of a twitter lest one or other of the servants might discover the familiarity of these two (which must have been a fine matter for curious gossip in the household and elsewhere), and the Don mighty sombre and grave (as foreseeing an evil outcome of this business), so that he would make no answer to my civilities save by dumb gestures, showing he was highly displeased. But truly ’twas enough to set us all crazy, but he, with joy, to be in possession of all these riches and think that we had landed at Chatham scarce a fortnight before without decent clothes to our backs, and now, but for the success of our design, might be the penniless strolling vagabonds we were when Don Sanchez lighted on us.

      Presently Moll came out from the side room with her father, her hair all tumbled, and as rosy as a peach, and she would have us visit the house from top to bottom, showing us the rooms set apart for us, her own chamber, the state room, the dining-hall, the store closets for plate and linen, etc., all prodigious fine and in most excellent condition; for the scrupulous minute care of old Simon had suffered nothing to fall out of repair, the rooms being kept well aired, the pictures, tapestries, and magnificent furniture all preserved fresh with linen covers and the like. From the hall she led us out on to the terrace to survey the park and the gardens about the house, and here, as within doors, all was in most admirable keeping, with no wild growth or runaweeds anywhere, nor any sign of neglect. But I observed, as an indication of the steward’s thrifty, unpoetic mind, that the garden beds were planted with onions and such marketable produce, in place of flowers, and that instead of deer grazing upon the green slopes of the park there was only such profitable cattle as sheep, cows, etc. And at the sight of all this abundance of good things (and especially the well-stored buttery), Dawson declared he could live here all his life and never worry. And with that, all unthinkingly, he lays his arm about Moll’s waist.

      Then the Don, who had followed us up and down stairs, speaking never one word till this, says, “We may count ourselves lucky, Captain Evans, if we are suffered to stay here another week.”

      CHAPTER XVI.

      Prosper as well as any thieves may; but Dawson greatly tormented.

      The next morning I went to Simon at his lodge house, having writ him a note overnight to prepare him for my visit, and there I found him, with all his books and papers ready for my examination. So to it we set, casting up figures, comparing accounts, and so forth, best part of the day, and in the end I came away convinced that he was the most scrupulous, honest steward ever man had. And, truly, it appeared that by his prudent investments and careful management he had trebled the value of the estate, and more, in the last ten years. He showed me, also, that in all his valuations he had set off a large sum for loss by accident of fire, war, etc., so that actually at the present moment the estate, which he reckoned at seventy-five thousand pounds, was worth at the least one hundred and twenty-five thousand. But for better assurance on this head, I spent the remainder of the week in visiting the farms, messuages, etc., on his rent roll, and found them all in excellent condition, and held by good substantial men, nothing in any particular but what he represented it.

      Reporting on these matters privily to Don Sanchez and Dawson, I asked the Don what we should now be doing.

      “Two ways lie before us,” says he, lighting a cigarro. “Put Simon out of his house—and make an enemy of him,” adds he, betwixt two puffs of smoke, “seize his securities, sell them for what they will fetch, and get out of the country as quickly as possible. If the securities be worth one hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds, we may” (puff) “possibly” (puff) “get forty thousand for them” (puff), “about a third of their value—not more. That yields us ten thousand apiece. On ten thousand pounds a man may live like a prince—in Spain. The other way is to make a friend of Simon by restoring him to his office, suffer him to treble the worth of the estate again in the next ten years, and live like kings” (puff) “in England.”

      “Pray, which way do you incline, Señor?” says I.

      “Being a Spaniard,” answers he, gravely, “I should prefer to live like a prince in Spain.”

      “That would not I,” says Dawson, stoutly. “A year and a half of Elche have cured me of all fondness for foreign parts. Besides, ’tis a beggarly, scurvy thing to fly one’s country, as if we had done some unhandsome, dishonest trick. If I faced an Englishman, I should never dare look him straight in the eyes again. What say you, Mr. Hopkins?”

      “Why, Evans,” says I, “you know my will without telling. I will not, of my own accord, go from your choice, which way you will.”

      “Since we owe everything to Mistress Judith,” observes the Don, “and as she is no longer a child, ought not her wishes to be consulted?”

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