The ship being at length as full as she could hold of all sorts of valuable things, Boldheart gave orders to weigh the anchor, and turn ‘The Beauty’s’ head towards England. These orders were obeyed with three cheers; and ere the sun went down full many a hornpipe had been danced on deck by the uncouth though agile William.
We next find Capt. Boldheart about three leagues off Madeira, surveying through his spy-glass a stranger of suspicious appearance making sail towards him. On his firing a gun ahead of her to bring her to, she ran up a flag, which he instantly recognised as the flag from the mast in the back-garden at home.
Inferring from this, that his father had put to sea to seek his long-lost son, the captain sent his own boat on board the stranger to inquire if this was so, and, if so, whether his father’s intentions were strictly honourable. The boat came back with a present of greens and fresh meat, and reported that the stranger was ‘The Family,’ of twelve hundred tons, and had not only the captain’s father on board, but also his mother, with the majority of his aunts and uncles, and all his cousins. It was further reported to Boldheart that the whole of these relations had expressed themselves in a becoming manner, and were anxious to embrace him and thank him for the glorious credit he had done them. Boldheart at once invited them to breakfast next morning on board ‘The Beauty,’ and gave orders for a brilliant ball that should last all day.
It was in the course of the night that the captain discovered the hopelessness of reclaiming the Latin-grammar master. That thankless traitor was found out, as the two ships lay near each other, communicating with ‘The Family’ by signals, and offering to give up Boldheart. He was hanged at the yard-arm the first thing in the morning, after having it impressively pointed out to him by Boldheart that this was what spiters came to.
The meeting between the captain and his parents was attended with tears. His uncles and aunts would have attended their meeting with tears too, but he wasn’t going to stand that. His cousins were very much astonished by the size of his ship and the discipline of his men, and were greatly overcome by the splendour of his uniform. He kindly conducted them round the vessel, and pointed out everything worthy of notice. He also fired his hundred guns, and found it amusing to witness their alarm.
The entertainment surpassed everything ever seen on board ship, and lasted from ten in the morning until seven the next morning. Only one disagreeable incident occurred. Capt. Boldheart found himself obliged to put his cousin Tom in irons, for being disrespectful. On the boy’s promising amendment, however, he was humanely released after a few hours’ close confinement.
Boldheart now took his mother down into the great cabin, and asked after the young lady with whom, it was well known to the world, he was in love. His mother replied that the object of his affections was then at school at Margate, for the benefit of sea-bathing (it was the month of September), but that she feared the young lady’s friends were still opposed to the union. Boldheart at once resolved, if necessary, to bombard the town.
Taking the command of his ship with this intention, and putting all but fighting men on board ‘The Family,’ with orders to that vessel to keep in company, Boldheart soon anchored in Margate Roads. Here he went ashore well-armed, and attended by his boat’s crew (at their head the faithful though ferocious William), and demanded to see the mayor, who came out of his office.
‘Dost know the name of yon ship, mayor?’ asked Boldheart fiercely.
‘No,’ said the mayor, rubbing his eyes, which he could scarce believe, when he saw the goodly vessel riding at anchor.
‘She is named “The Beauty,”’ said the captain.
‘Hah!’ exclaimed the mayor, with a start. ‘And you, then, are Capt. Boldheart?’
‘The same.’
A pause ensued. The mayor trembled.
‘Now, mayor,’ said the captain, ‘choose! Help me to my bride, or be bombarded.’
The mayor begged for two hours’ grace, in which to make inquiries respecting the young lady. Boldheart accorded him but one; and during that one placed William Boozey sentry over him, with a drawn sword, and instructions to accompany him wherever he went, and to run him through the body if he showed a sign of playing false.
At the end of the hour the mayor re-appeared more dead than alive, closely waited on by Boozey more alive than dead.
‘Captain,’ said the mayor, ‘I have ascertained that the young lady is going to bathe. Even now she waits her turn for a machine. The tide is low, though rising. I, in one of our town-boats, shall not be suspected. When she comes forth in her bathing-dress into the shallow water from behind the hood of the machine, my boat shall intercept her and prevent her return. Do you the rest.’
‘Mayor,’ returned Capt. Boldheart, ‘thou hast saved thy town.’
The captain then signalled his boat to take him off, and, steering her himself, ordered her crew to row towards the bathing-ground, and there to rest upon their oars. All happened as had been arranged. His lovely bride came forth, the mayor glided in behind her, she became confused, and had floated out of her depth, when, with one skilful touch of the rudder and one quivering stroke from the boat’s crew, her adoring Boldheart held her in his strong arms. There her shrieks of terror were changed to cries of joy.
Before ‘The Beauty’ could get under way, the hoisting of all the flags in the town and harbour, and the ringing of all the bells, announced to the brave Boldheart that he had nothing to fear. He therefore determined to be married on the spot, and signalled for a clergyman and clerk, who came off promptly in a sailing-boat named ‘The Skylark.’ Another great entertainment was then given on board ‘The Beauty,’ in the midst of which the mayor was called out by a messenger. He returned with the news that government had sent down to know whether Capt. Boldheart, in acknowledgment of the great services he had done his country by being a pirate, would consent to be made a lieutenant-colonel. For himself he would have spurned the worthless boon; but his bride wished it, and he consented.
Only one thing further happened before the good ship ‘Family’ was dismissed, with rich presents to all on board. It is painful to record (but such is human nature in some cousins) that Capt. Boldheart’s unmannerly Cousin Tom was actually tied up to receive three dozen with a rope’s end ‘for cheekiness and making game,’ when Capt. Boldheart’s lady begged for him, and he was spared. ‘The Beauty’ then refitted, and the captain and his bride departed for the Indian Ocean to enjoy themselves for evermore.
PART IV.
ROMANCE FROM THE PEN OF MISS NETTIE ASHFORD 4
There is a country, which I will show you when I get into maps, where the children have everything their own way. It is a most delightful country to live in. The grown-up people are obliged to obey the children, and are never allowed to sit up to supper, except on their birthdays. The children order them to make jam and jelly and marmalade, and tarts and pies and puddings, and all manner of pastry. If they say they won’t, they are put in the corner till they do. They are sometimes allowed to have some; but when they have some, they generally have powders given them afterwards.
One of the inhabitants of this country, a truly sweet young creature of the name of Mrs. Orange, had the misfortune to be sadly plagued by her numerous family. Her parents required a great deal of looking after, and they had connections and companions who were scarcely ever out of mischief. So Mrs. Orange said to herself, ‘I really cannot be troubled with these torments any longer: I must put them all to school.’
Mrs. Orange took off her pinafore, and dressed herself very nicely, and took up her baby, and went out to call upon another lady of the name of Mrs. Lemon, who kept a preparatory establishment. Mrs. Orange stood upon the scraper to pull at the bell, and give a ring-ting-ting.
Mrs. Lemon’s neat little housemaid, pulling up her socks as she came along the passage, answered the ring-ting-ting.
‘Good-morning,’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘Fine day. How do you do? Mrs. Lemon at home!’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Will you say Mrs. Orange and baby?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Walk in.’
Mrs. Orange’s baby was a very fine one, and real wax all over. Mrs. Lemon’s baby was leather and bran. However, when Mrs. Lemon came into the drawing-room with her baby in her arms, Mrs. Orange said politely, ‘Good-morning. Fine day. How do you do? And how is little Tootleumboots?’
‘Well, she is but poorly. Cutting her teeth, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon.
‘O, indeed, ma’am!’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘No fits, I hope?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘How many teeth has she, ma’am?’
‘Five, ma’am.’
‘My Emilia, ma’am, has eight,’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘Shall we lay them on the mantelpiece side by side, while we converse?’
‘By all means, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘Hem!’
‘The first question is, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange, ‘I don’t bore you?’
‘Not in the least, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘Far from it, I assure you.’
‘Then pray have you,’ said Mrs. Orange, – ‘have you any vacancies?’
‘Yes, ma’am. How many might you require?’
‘Why, the truth is, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange, ‘I have come to the conclusion that my children,’ – O, I forgot to say that they call the grown-up people children in that country! – ‘that my children are getting positively too much for me. Let me see. Two parents, two intimate friends of theirs, one godfather, two godmothers, and an aunt. Have you as many as eight vacancies?’
‘I have just eight, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon.
‘Most fortunate! Terms moderate, I think?’
‘Very moderate, ma’am.’
‘Diet good, I believe?’
‘Excellent, ma’am.’
‘Unlimited?’
‘Unlimited.’
‘Most satisfactory! Corporal punishment dispensed with?’
‘Why, we do occasionally shake,’ said Mrs. Lemon, ‘and we have slapped. But only in extreme cases.’
‘Could I, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange, – ‘could I see the establishment?’
‘With the greatest of pleasure, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon.
Mrs. Lemon took Mrs. Orange into the schoolroom, where there were a number of pupils. ‘Stand up, children,’ said Mrs. Lemon; and they all stood up.
Mrs. Orange whispered to Mrs. Lemon, ‘There is a pale, bald child, with red whiskers, in disgrace. Might I ask what he has done?’
‘Come here, White,’ said Mrs. Lemon, ‘and tell this lady what you have been doing.’
‘Betting on horses,’ said White sulkily.
‘Are you sorry for it, you naughty child?’ said Mrs. Lemon.
‘No,’ said White. ‘Sorry to lose, but shouldn’t be sorry to win.’
‘There’s a vicious boy for you, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘Go along with you, sir. This is Brown, Mrs. Orange. O, a sad case, Brown’s! Never knows when he has had enough. Greedy. How is your gout, sir?’
‘Bad,’ said Brown.
‘What else can you expect?’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘Your stomach is the size of two. Go and take exercise directly. Mrs. Black, come here to me. Now, here is a child, Mrs. Orange, ma’am, who is always at play. She can’t be kept at home a single day together; always gadding about and spoiling her clothes. Play, play, play, play, from morning to night, and to morning again. How can she expect to improve?’
‘Don’t expect to improve,’ sulked Mrs. Black. ‘Don’t want to.’
‘There is a specimen of her temper, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘To see her when she is tearing about, neglecting everything else, you would suppose her to be at least good-humoured. But bless you! ma’am, she is as pert and flouncing a minx as ever you met with in all your days!’
‘You must have a great deal of trouble with them, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange.
‘Ah, I have, indeed, ma’am!’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘What with their tempers, what with their quarrels, what with their never knowing what’s good for them, and what with their always wanting to domineer, deliver me from these unreasonable children!’
‘Well, I wish you good-morning, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange.
‘Well, I wish you good-morning, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon.
So Mrs. Orange took up her baby and went home, and told the family that plagued her so that they were all going to be sent to school. They said they didn’t want to go to school; but she packed up their boxes, and packed them off.
‘O dear me, dear me! Rest and be thankful!’ said Mrs. Orange, throwing herself back in her little arm-chair. ‘Those troublesome troubles are got rid of, please the pigs!’
Just then another lady, named Mrs. Alicumpaine, came calling at the street-door with a ring-ting-ting.
‘My dear Mrs. Alicumpaine,’ said Mrs. Orange, ‘how do you do? Pray stay to dinner. We have but a simple joint of sweet-stuff, followed by a plain dish of bread and treacle; but, if you will take us as you find us, it will be so kind!’
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine. ‘I shall be too glad. But what do you think I have come for, ma’am? Guess, ma’am.’
‘I really cannot guess, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange.
‘Why, I am going to have a small juvenile party to-night,’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine; ‘and if you and Mr. Orange and baby would but join us, we should be complete.’
‘More than charmed, I am sure!’ said Mrs. Orange.
‘So kind of you!’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine. ‘But I hope the children won’t bore you?’
‘Dear things! Not at all,’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘I dote upon them.’
Mr. Orange here came home from the city; and he came, too, with a ring-ting-ting.
‘James love,’ said Mrs. Orange, ‘you look tired. What has been doing in the city to-day?’