The Pirate, and The Three Cutters Part 4

'And there is a story there, sir, about a s.h.i.+pwreck.'

'A s.h.i.+pwreck! where, William? G.o.d bless me! where is it?'

'I am afraid it is the same s.h.i.+p you are so anxious about, sir--the----I forget the name, sir.'

Mr. Witherington took the newspaper, and his eye soon caught the paragraph in which the rescue of the two negroes and child from the wreck of the _Circa.s.sian_ was fully detailed.

'It is indeed!' exclaimed Mr. Witherington. 'My poor Cecilia in an open boat! one of the boats was seen to go down--perhaps she's dead--merciful G.o.d! one boy saved. Mercy on me! where's Jonathan?'

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Found his green morocco easy-chair already tenanted by William the footman._]

'Here, sir,' replied Jonathan, very solemnly, who had just brought in the eggs, and now stood erect as a mute behind his master's chair, for it was a case of danger, if not of death.

'I must go to Portsmouth immediately after breakfast--shan't eat, though--appet.i.te all gone.'

'People seldom do, sir, on these melancholy occasions,' replied Jonathan. 'Will you take your own carriage, sir, or a mourning coach?'

'A mourning coach at fourteen miles an hour, with two pair of horses!

Jonathan, you're crazy.'

'Will you please to have black silk hatbands and gloves for the coachman and servants who attend you, sir?'

'Confound your shop! no; this is a resurrection, not a death: it appears that the negro thinks only one of the boats went down.'

'_Mors omnia vincit_,' quoth Jonathan, casting up his eyes.

'Never you mind that; mind your own business. That's the postman's knock--see if there are any letters.'

There were several; and amongst the others there was one from Captain Maxwell, of the _Eurydice_, detailing the circ.u.mstances already known, and informing Mr. Witherington that he had despatched the two negroes and the child to his address by that day's coach, and that one of the officers, who was going to town by the same conveyance, would see them safe to his house.

Captain Maxwell was an old acquaintance of Mr. Witherington--had dined at his house in company with the Templemores, and therefore had extracted quite enough information from the negroes to know where to direct them.

'By the blood of my ancestors! they'll be here to-night,' cried Mr.

Witherington; 'and I have saved my journey. What is to be done? better tell Mary to get rooms ready: d'ye hear, William; beds for one little boy and two n.i.g.g.e.rs.'

'Yes, sir,' replied William; 'but where are the black people to be put?'

'Put! I don't care; one may sleep with cook, the other with Mary.'

'Very well, sir, I'll tell them,' replied William, hastening away, delighted at the row which he antic.i.p.ated in the kitchen.

'If you please, sir,' observed Jonathan, 'one of the negroes is, I believe, a man.'

'Well, what then?'

'Only, sir, the maids may object to sleep with him.'

'By all the plagues of the Witheringtons! this is true; well, you may take him, Jonathan--you like that colour.'

'Not in the dark, sir,' replied Jonathan, with a bow.

'Well then, let them sleep together; so that affair is settled.'

'Are they man and wife, sir?' said the butler.

'The devil take them both! how should I know? Let me have my breakfast, and we'll talk over the matter by and by.'

Mr. Witherington applied to his eggs and m.u.f.fin, eating his breakfast as fast as he could, without knowing why; but the reason was that he was puzzled and perplexed with the antic.i.p.ated arrival, and longed to think quietly over the dilemma, for it was a dilemma to an old bachelor. As soon as he had swallowed his second cup of tea he put himself into his easy-chair, in an easy att.i.tude, and was very soon soliloquising as follows:--

'By the blood of the Witheringtons! what am I, an old bachelor, to do with a baby, and a wet-nurse as black as the ace of spades, and another black fellow in the bargain? Send him back again! yes, that's best? but the child--woke every morning at five o'clock with its squalling--obliged to kiss it three times a day--pleasant!--and then that n.i.g.g.e.r of a nurse--thick lips--kissing child all day, and then holding it out to me--ignorant as a cow--if the child has the stomach-ache she'll cram a pepper-pod down its throat--West India fas.h.i.+on--children never without the stomach-ache--my poor, poor cousin!--what has become of her and the other child, too?--wish they may pick her up, poor dear! and then she will come and take care of her own children--don't know what to do--great mind to send for sister Moggy--but she's so _fussy_--won't be in a hurry. Think again.'

Here Mr. Witherington was interrupted by two taps at the door.

'Come in,' said he; and the cook, with her face as red as if she had been dressing a dinner for eighteen, made her appearance without the usual clean ap.r.o.n.

'If you please, sir,' said she, curtseying, 'I will thank you to suit yourself with another cook.'

'Oh, very well,' replied Mr. Witherington, angry at the interruption.

'And if you please, sir, I should like to go this very day--indeed, sir, I shall not stay.'

'Go to the devil! if you please,' replied Mr. Witherington angrily; 'but first go out and shut the door after you.'

The cook retired, and Mr. Witherington was again alone.

'Confound the old woman--what a huff she is in! won't cook for black people, I suppose--yes, that's it.'

Here Mr. Witherington was again interrupted by a second double tap at the door.

'Oh! thought better of it, I suppose. Come in.'

It was not the cook, but Mary, the housemaid, that entered.

'If you please, sir,' said she, whimpering, 'I should wish to leave my situation.'

'A conspiracy, by heavens! Well, you may go.'

'To-night, sir, if you please,' answered the woman.

'This moment, for all I care!' exclaimed Mr. Witherington in his wrath.

The housemaid retired; and Mr. Witherington took some time to compose himself.

'Servants all going to the devil in this country,' said he at last; 'proud fools--won't clean rooms after black people, I suppose--yes, that's it, confound them all, black and white! here's my whole establishment upset by the arrival of a baby. Well, it is very uncomfortable--what shall I do?--send for sister Moggy?--no, I'll send for Jonathan.'

Mr. Witherington rang the bell, and Jonathan made his appearance.

'What is all this, Jonathan?' said he; 'cook angry--Mary crying--both going away--what's it all about?'