Snarleyyow, or, the Dog Fiend. Фредерик Марриет

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      At the admiral's house looked she,

      To thoughts that were in limbo,

      She now a vent gave free.

      You've got a roaring fire I'll bet,

      In it your toes are jammed,

      Let's give him a piece of our mind, my Bet,

      Port Admiral, you be d–d.

      "Mein Gott! but dat is rank mutiny, Mynheer Shemmy Tucks," observed Corporal Van Spitter, who had come upon the deck unperceived by Jemmy, and had listened to the song.

      "Mutiny, is it?" replied Jemmy, "and report this also.

      "Dat is better and better–I mean to say, worser and worser," replied the corporal.

      "Take care I don't pitch you overboard," replied Jemmy, in wrath.

      "Dat is most worse still," said the corporal, stalking aft, and leaving Jemmy Ducks to follow up the train of his own thoughts.

      Jemmy, who had been roused by the corporal, and felt the snow insinuating itself into the nape of the neck, thought he might as well go down below.

      The corporal made his report, and Mr Vanslyperken made his comments, but he did no more, for he was aware that a mere trifle would cause a general mutiny. The recovery of Snarleyyow consoled him, and little thinking what had been the events of the preceding night, he thought he might as well prove his devotion to the widow, by paying his respects in a snow-storm–but not in the attire of the day before–Mr Vanslyperken was too economical for that; so he remained in his long threadbare great-coat and foul-weather hat. Having first locked up his dog in the cabin, and entrusted the key to the corporal, he went on shore, and presented himself at the widow's door, which was opened by Babette, who with her person barred entrance: she did not wait for Vanslyperken to speak first.

      "Mynheer Vanslyperken, you can't come in. Frau Vandersloosh is very ill in bed–the doctor says it's a bad case–she cannot be seen."

      "Ill!" exclaimed Vanslyperken; "your dear, charming mistress ill! Good heavens! what is the matter, my dear Babette?" replied Vanslyperken, with all the pretended interest of a devoted lover.

      "All through you, Mr Vanslyperken," replied Babette.

      "Me!" exclaimed Vanslyperken.

      "Well, all through your nasty cur, which is the same thing."

      "My dog! I little thought that he was left here," replied the lieutenant; "but, Babette, let me in, if you please, for the snow falls fast, and–"

      "And you must not come in, Mr Vanslyperken," replied Babette, pushing him back.

      "Good heavens! what is the matter?"

      Babette then narrated what had passed, and as she was very prolix, Mr Vanslyperken was a mass of snow on the windward side of him before she had finished, which she did, by pulling down her worsted stockings, and showing the wounds which she had received as her portion in the last night's affray. Having thus given ocular evidence of the truth of what she had asserted, Babette then delivered the message of her mistress; to wit, "that until the dead body of Snarleyyow was laid at the porch where they now stood, he, Mr Vanslyperken, would never gain re-admission." So saying, and not feeling it very pleasant to continue a conversation in a snow-storm, Babette very unceremoniously slammed the door in Mr Vanslyperken's face, and left him to digest the communication with what appetite he might. Mr Vanslyperken, notwithstanding the cold weather, hastened from the door in a towering passion. The perspiration actually ran down his face, and mingled with the melting snow. "To be or not to be"–give up the widow or give up his darling Snarleyyow–a dog whom he loved the more, the more he was, through him, entangled in scrapes and vexations–a dog whom every one hated, and therefore he loved–a dog which had not a single recommendation, and therefore was highly prized–a dog assailed by all, and especially by that scarecrow Smallbones, to whom his death would be a victory–it was impossible. But then the widow–with such lots of guilders in the bank, and such a good income from the Lust Haus, he had long made up his mind to settle in possession. It was the haven which, in the vista of his mind, he had been so long accustomed to dwell upon, and he could not give up the hope.

      Yet one must be sacrificed. No, he could part with neither. "I have it," thought he; "I will make the widow believe that I have sacrificed the dog, and then, when I am once in possession, the dog shall come back again, and let her say a word if she dares; I'll tame her; and pay her off for old scores."

      Such was the determination of Mr Vanslyperken, as he walked back to the boat. His reverie was, however, broken by his breaking his nose against a lamp-post, which did not contribute to his good-humour. "Yes, yes, Frau Vandersloosh, we will see," muttered Vanslyperken; "you would kill my dog, would you? It's a dog's life I'll lead you when I'm once secure of you, Madame Vandersloosh. You cheated me out of my biscuit–we СКАЧАТЬ