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any communication with the Magistrates which the new state of things seemed to require.
Meantime Claud Halcro had exerted his utmost talents in compounding a bucketful of punch for the use of the pirates, which they drank out of large cans; the ordinary seamen, as well as Bunce and Fletcher, who acted as officers, dipping them into the bucket with very little ceremony, as they came and went upon their duty. Magnus, who was particularly i apprehensive that liquor might awaken the brutal passions of these desperadoes, was yet so much astonished at the quantities which he saw them drink, without producing any visible effect upon their reason, that he could not help expressing his surprise to Bunce himself, who, wild as he was, yet appeared by far the most civil and conversable of his party, and whom he was, perhaps, desirous to conciliate, by a compliment of which all boon topers know the value.
“Bones of Saint Magnus!” said the Udaller, “ I used to think I took off my can like a gentleman; but to see your men swallow, Captain, one would think their stomachs were as bottomless as the hole of Laifell in Foulah, which I have sounded myself with a line of an hundred fathoms. By my soul, the Bicker of Saint Magnus were but a sip to them!”
“In our way of life, sir,” answered Bunce, “ there is no stint till duty calls, or the puncheon is drunk out.”
“By my word, sir,” said Claud Halcro, “ I believe there is not one of your people but could drink out the mickle bicker of Scarpa, which was always offered to the Bishop of Orkney brimful of the best bummock that ever was brewed.”
“If drinking could make them bishops,” said Bunce, “ I should have a reverend crew of them; but as they have no other clerical qualities about them, I do not propose that they shall get drunk to-day; so we will cut our drink with a song.”
“And I’ll sing it, by!” said or swore Dick Fletcher, and instantly struck up the old ditty —
“It was a ship, and a ship of fame,
Launch’d off the stocks, bound for the main,
With an hundred and fifty brisk young men,
All pick’d and chosen every one.”
“I would sooner be keel-hauled than hear that song over again,” said Bunce; “and confound your lantern jaws, you can squeeze nothing else out of them!”
“By ,” said Fletcher, “ I will sing my song, whether you like it or no;” and again he sung, with the doleful tone of a northeaster whistling through sheet and shrouds —
“Captain Glen was our captain’s name;
A very gallant and brisk young man;
As bold a sailor as e’er went to sea,
And we were bound for High Barbary.”
“I tell you again,” said Bunce, “ we will have none of your screech-owl music here; and I’ll be d — d if you shall sit here and make that infernal noise!”
“Why, then, I’ll tell you what,” said Fletcher, getting up, “I’ll sing when I walk about, and I hope there is no harm in that, Jack Bunce.” And, so, getting up from his seat, he began to walk up and down the sloop, croaking out his long and disastrous ballad.
“You see how I manage them,” said Bunce, with a smile of self-applause — ”allow that fellow two strides on his own way, and you make a mutineer of him for life. But I tie him strict up, and he follows me as kindly as a fowler’s spaniel after he has got a good beating. — And now your toast and your song, sir,” addressing Halcro; “or rather your song without your toast. I have got a toast for myself. Here is success to all roving blades, and confusion to all honest men!”
“I should be sorry to drink that toast, if I could help it,” said Magnus Troil.
“What! you reckon yourself one of the honest folks, I warrant?” said Bunce. — ” Tell me your trade, and I’ll tell you what I think of it. As for the punch-maker here, I knew him at first glance to be a tailor, who has, therefore, no more pretensions to be honest, than he has not to be mangy. But you are some High-Dutch skipper, I warrant me, that tramples on the cross when he is in Japan, and denies his religion for a day’s gain.”
“No,” replied the Udaller, “lama gentleman of Zetland.”
“Oh, what!” retorted the satirical Mr. Bunce, “ you are come from the happy climate where gin is a groat a bottle, and where there is daylight for ever?”
“At your service, Captain,” said the Udaller, suppressing with much pain some disposition to resent these jests on his country, although under every risk, and at all disadvantage.
“At my service! “ said Bunce — ” Ay, if there was a rope stretched from the wreck to the beach, you would be at my service to cut the hawser, make floatsome and jet some of ship and cargo, and well if you did not give me a rap on the head with the back of the cutty-axe; and you call yourself honest? But never mind — here goes the aforesaid toast — and do you sing me a song, Mr. Fashioner; and look it be as good as your punch.”
Halcro, internally praying for the powers of a new Timotheus, to turn his strain and check his auditor’s pride, as glorious John had it, began a heart-soothing ditty with the following lines: —
“Maidens fresh as fairest rose,
Listen to this lay of mine.”
“I will hear nothing of maidens or roses,” said Bunce; “it puts me in mind what sort of a cargo we have got on board; and, by — , I will be true to my messmate and my captain as long as I can! — And now I think on’t, I’ll have no more punch either — that last cup made innovation, and I am not to play Cassio tonight — and if I drink not, nobody else shall.”
So saying, he manfully kicked over the bucket, which, notwithstanding the repeated applications made to it, was still half full, got up from his seat, shook himself a little to rights, as he expressed it, cocked his hat, and, walking the quarterdeck with an air of dignity, gave, by word and signal, the orders for bringing the ships to anchor, which were readily obeyed by both, Goffe being then, in all probability, past any rational state of interference.
The Udaller, in the meantime, condoled with Halcro on their situation. “ It is bad enough,” said the tough old Norseman; “for these are rank rogues — and yet, were it not for the girls, I should not fear them. That young vapouring fellow, who seems to command, is not such a born devil as he might have been.”
“He has queer humours, though,” said Halcro; “and I wish we were loose from him. To kick down a bucket half full of the best punch ever was made, and to cut me short in the sweetest song I ever wrote, — I promise you, I do not know what he may do next — it is next door to madness.”
Meanwhile, the ships being brought to anchor, the valiant Lieutenant Bunce called upon Fletcher, and, resuming his seat by his unwilling passengers, he told them they should see what message he was about to send to the wittols of Kirkwall, as they were something concerned in it. “It shall run in Dick’s name,” he said, “ as well as in mine. I love to give the poor young fellow a little countenance now and then — don’t I, Dick, you d — d stupid ass?”
“Why, yes, Jack Bunce,” said Dick, “ I can’t say but as you do — only you are always bullocking one about something or other, too — but, howsomdever, d’ye see”
“Enough said — belay your jaw, Dick,” said Bunce, and proceeded to write his epistle, which, being read aloud, proved to be of the following tenor: “ For the Mayor and Aldermen of Kirkwall — Gentlemen, As, contrary to your good faith given, you have not sent us on board a hostage for the safety of our Captain, remaining on shore at your request, these come to tell you, we are not thus to be trifled with. We have already in our possession, a brig, with a family of distinction, its owners and passengers; and as you deal with our Captain, so will we deal with them in every respect. And as this is the first, so assure yourselves it shall not be the last damage which we shall do to your town and trade, if you do not send on board our Captain, and supply us with stores