Snarleyyow; or, The Dog Fiend. Фредерик МарриетЧитать онлайн книгу.
“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—
“I’ll give you a bit of my mind, fat thief;
You, corporal, may be damned.”
“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.
“Pat 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 his 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 loose thread-bare 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 shall see;” and Mr. Vanslyperken stepped into his boat and pulled on board.
On his arrival he found that a messenger had come on board during his absence, with the letters of thanks from the king’s loving cousins, and with directions that he should return with them forthwith. This suited the views of Vanslyperken; he wrote a long letter to the widow, in which he expressed his willingness to sacrifice everything for her, not only to hang his dog, but to hang himself if she wished it—lamented his immediate orders for sailing, and hinted that, on his return, he ought to find her more favourable. The widow read the letter, and tossed it into the grate with a “Pish! I was not born yesterday, as the saying is,” cried the widow Vandersloosh.
Chapter Thirteen.
In which the Ship’s Company join in a Chorus, and the Corporal goes on a Cruise.
Mr. Vanslyperken is in his cabin, with Snarleyyow at his side, sitting upon his haunches, and looking in his master’s face, which wears an air of anxiety and discomfiture; the fact is, that Mr. Vanslyperken is anything but content; he is angry with the widow, with the ship’s company, with the dog, and with himself; but his anger towards the dog is softened, for he feels that, if anything in this world loves him it is the dog—not that his affection is great, but as much as the dog’s nature will permit; and, at all events, if the animal’s attachment to him is not very strong, still he is certain that Snarleyyow hates everybody else. It is astonishing how powerful is the feeling that is derived from habit and association. Now that the life of his cur was demanded by one, and, as he was aware, sought for by many, Vanslyperken put a value upon him that was extraordinary. Snarleyyow had become a precious jewel in the eyes of his master, and what he suffered in anxiety and disappointment from the perverse disposition of the animal, only endeared him the more. “Yes, my poor dog,” apostrophised the lieutenant, “they would seek your life, nay, that hardhearted woman demands that you should be laid dead at her porch. All conspire against you, but be not afraid, my dog, your master will protect you against all.”
Vanslyperken patted the animal on the head, which was not a little swelled from the blows received from the broom of Babette, and Snarleyyow rubbed his nose against his master’s trousers, and then raised himself up, by putting his paw upon his master’s knee. This brought the dog’s head more to the light, and Vanslyperken observed that one eye was swelled and closed. He examined it, and, to his horror, found that it had been beaten out by the broom of Babette. There was no doubt of it, and Mr. Vanslyperken’s choler was extreme. “Now, may all the curses of ophthalmia seize the faggot,” cried the lieutenant; “I wish I had her here. My poor, poor dog!” and Vanslyperken kissed the os frontis of the cur, and what perhaps had never occurred since childhood, and, what nothing else could have brought about, Mr. Vanslyperken wept—actually wept over an animal, which was not, from any qualification he possessed, worth the charges of the cord which would have hanged him. Surely the affections have sometimes a bent towards insanity.
After a short time the lieutenant rang his bell, and ordered some warm water, to bathe the dog’s eye. Corporal Van Spitter, as Smallbones was in his hammock, answered the summons, and when