The King's Own. Фредерик Марриет
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is thrown into gaol as if he were a felon. There cannot be one law for the rich and another for the poor, Debriseau. When I hear that the wives of the aristocracy have been seized by the revenue officers, and the contraband articles which they wear have been taken off their backs, and that they have been sentenced to twelve months’ imprisonment, by a committal from the magistrate, then—and not till then—will I acknowledge our profession to be dishonest.”
“Very true,” said Debriseau; “it shows the folly of men attempting to make laws for their masters.”
“Is it not shocking,” continued McElvina, “to reflect upon the conduct of the magistrate, who has just sentenced perhaps four or five unhappy wretches to a dungeon for an offence against these laws? He leaves the seat of Justice, and returns to the bosom of his family. Here his wife,” (mimicking)—“ ‘Well, my dear, you’re come at last—dinner has been put back this half-hour. I thought you would never have finished with those odious smugglers.’ ‘Why, my love, it was a very difficult case to prove; but we managed it at last, and I have signed the warrant for their committal to the county gaol. They’re sad, troublesome fellows, these smugglers.’—Now look at the lady: ‘What dress is that you put on to greet your husband?’ ‘Gros de Naples de Lyon.’—‘The lace it is trimmed with?’ ‘Valenciennes,’—‘Your gloves, madam?’ ‘Fabrique de Paris.’—‘Your ribands, your shoes, your handkerchief?’ All, all contraband.—Worthy magistrate, if you would hold the scales of Justice with an even hand, make out one more mittimus before you sit down to table. Send your wife to languish a twelvemonth in company with the poor smugglers, and then ‘to dinner with what appetite you may.’ And now, Debriseau, have I convinced you that I may follow my present calling, and still say—‘be honest?’ ”
“Why, yes, I think we both may; but would not this evil be removed by free trade?”
“Heaven forbid!” replied McElvina, laughing; “then there would be no smuggling.”
Chapter Twelve.
Love me, love my dog.
Proverb.
It is the misfortune of those who have been in constant habits of deceit that they always imagine others are attempting the same dishonest practices. For some time McElvina felt convinced that our little hero had swerved from truth in the account which he gave of himself; and it was not until after repeated catechisings, in which he found that, strange and improbable as the narrative appeared, Willy never altered from or contradicted his original statement, that he believed the boy to be as honest and ingenuous as might have been inferred from his prepossessing countenance.
To this conviction, how ever, did he arrive at last; and our hero—who seemed no sooner to have lost one protector than to have the good fortune to find another—became the favourite and companion of his new captain, instead of his domestic, as had been originally contemplated. A lad of Willy’s age, who is treated with kindness and consideration, is soon attached, and becomes reconciled to any change of circumstances. It was a matter of indifference to our hero whether he was on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war or in the cabin of a smuggling sloop. Contented with his present lot—with the happy thoughtlessness of youth, he never permitted the future to disturb his repose or affect his digestion.
Willy had been nearly a month at Cherbourg when McElvina’s sloop took in another cargo. “Willy,” said McElvina, one evening as they sat together in the apartment at the cabaret, “to-morrow I shall, in all probability, sail for the English coast. I have been thinking what I shall do with you. I do not much like parting with you; but, on reflection, I think it will be better that I should leave you behind. You can be of no use, and may be in the way if we should be obliged to take to our boat.”
Willy pleaded hard against this arrangement. “I never have a friend but I lose him directly,” said the boy, and the tears started into his eyes.
“I trust you will not lose me, my dear fellow,” replied McElvina, moved at this proof of affection; “but I must explain to you why I leave you. In the first place,” added he, laughing, “with that mark on your shoulder, it would be felony without benefit of clergy for you to be found in my possession; but of that I would run the risk. My serious reasons are as follow:—If this trip proves fortunate, I shall not return to Cherbourg. I have business of importance in London, which may require my presence for some weeks in that metropolis and its vicinity. I told you before, that I am about to take the command of a very different vessel from this paltry sloop, and upon a more dangerous service. In four or five months she will be ready to sail, and during that time I shall be constantly on the move, and shall hardly know what to do with you. Now, Willy, you are not aware of the advantages of education—I am: and as mine was given to me by strangers, so will I in return bestow as much upon you as I can afford. You must, therefore, go to school until my return. You will at least acquire the French language, and you will find that of no little use to you hereafter.”
Willy, accustomed to discipline and to breathe the air of passive obedience, submitted without raising any more objections. Debriseau joined, and they all three sallied forth to make arrangements for placing our hero “en pension,” where they had been recommended. Having effected this, they agreed to lounge on the Place d’Armes till sunset, when they took possession of one of the benches. McElvina and Debriseau lighted their cigars, and puffed away in silence, while Willy amused himself with watching the promenaders as they passed in review before him.
They had not remained there many minutes when a poodle-dog, bien tondu, and white as a sheep from the river before the day of shearing, walked up to them with an air of sagacious curiosity, and looked McElvina steadfastly in the face. McElvina, taking his cigar from his mouth, held it to the dog, who ran up to it, as if to smell it; the lighted end coming in contact with his cold nose, induced the animal to set up a loud yell, and retreat to his master much faster than he came, passing first one fore-paw and then the other over his nose, to wipe away the pain, in such a ridiculous manner as to excite loud merriment, not only from our party on the bench, but also from others who had witnessed the scene.
“So much for curiosity,” said McElvina, continuing his mirth. The proprietor of the dog, a young Frenchman, dressed very much “en calicot,” did not, however, seem quite so much amused with this practical joke; he cocked his hat fiercely on one side, raised his figure to the utmost of its height, and walking up, en grand militaire addressed McElvina, with “Comment, monsieur, vous avez fait une grande bêtise-là—vous m’insultez—”
“I think I had better not understand French,” said McElvina, aside to Debriseau; then turning to the Frenchman, with a grave face, and air of incomprehension—“What did you say, sir?”
“Ah! you are Inglishman. You not speak French?”—McElvina shook his head, and began to puff away his cigar.
“Den, sare, if you not speak de French language, I speak de Englis like von natif; and I tell you, sare, que vous m’avez insulté. Got for dam!—you burnt my dog nose; vat you mean, sare?”
“The dog burnt his own nose,” answered McElvina, mildly.
“Vat you mean? de dog burnt his own nose! How is a dog capable to burn his own nose? Sare, you put de cigar to my dog nose. I must have de satisfaction or de apology tout de suite.”
“But, sir, I have not insulted you.”
“Sare, you insult my dog—he is von and de same ting—mon chien est un chien de sentiment. He feel de affront all de same vid me—I feel de affront all de same vid him. Vous n’avez qu’à choisir, monsieur.”
“Between you and your dog,” answered McElvina—“Well, then, I’d rather fight the dog.”
“Bah! fight de dog—de dog cannot fight, sare: mais je suis son maître et son ami