“About two miles.”
“Pulling or sailing?”
“Pulling, sir; we stand right for them.”
But Mr. Vanslyperken was in no pleasant humour, and ordered the cutter to be hove-to.
“I tink de men have pull enough all night,” said Jansen, who had just been relieved at the wheel, to Obadiah Coble, who was standing by him on the forecastle.
“I think so too: but there’ll be a breeze, depend upon it—never mind, the devil will have his own all in good time.”
“Got for dam,” said Jansen, looking at Beachy Head, and shaking his own.
“Why, what’s the matter now, old Schnapps?” said Coble.
“Schnapps—yes—the tyfel—Schnapps, I think how the French schnapped us Dutchmen here when you Englishment wouldn’t fight.”
“Mind what you say, old twenty breeches—wouldn’t fight—when wouldn’t we fight?”
“Here, where we were now, by Got, you leave us all in the lurch, and not come down.”
“Why, we couldn’t come down.”
“Bah!” replied Jansen, who referred to the defeat of the combined Dutch and English fleet by the French off Beachy Head in 1690.
“We wouldn’t fight, eh?” exclaimed Obadiah in scorn—“what do you say to the Hogue?”
“Yes, den you fought well—dat was good.”
“And shall I tell you why we fought well at the Hogue, you Dutch porpoise—just because we had no Dutchmen to help us.”
“And shall I tell you why the Dutch were beat off this Head?—because the English wouldn’t come down to help us.”
Here Obadiah put his tongue into his right cheek. Jansen in return threw his into his left, and thus the argument was finished. These disputes were constant at the time, but seldom proceeded further than words—certainly not between Coble and Jansen, who were great friends.
The boats were soon on board; from the time that the cutter had been hove-to, every stroke of their oars having been accompanied with a nautical anathema from the crews upon the head of their commander. The steersman and first officer, who had charge of the boats, came over the gangway and went up to Vanslyperken. He was a thick-set, stout man, about five feet four inches high, and, wrapped up in Flushing garments, looked very much like a bear in shape as well as in skin. His name was Dick Short, and in every respect he answered to his name, for he was short in stature, short in speech, and short in decision and action.
Now when Short came up to the lieutenant, he did not consider it at all necessary to say as usual, “Come on board, sir,” for it was self-evident that he had come on board. He therefore said nothing. So abrupt was he in his speech, that he never even said “Sir” when he spoke to his superior, which it may be imagined was very offensive to Mr. Vanslyperken; so it was, but Mr. Vanslyperken was afraid of Short, and Short was not the least afraid of Vanslyperken.
“Well, what have you done, Short?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you see anything of the boat?”
“No.”
“Did you gain any information?”
“No.”
“What have you been doing all night?”
“Pulling.”
“Did you land to obtain information?”
“Yes.”
“And you got none?”
“No.”
Here Short hitched up the waistband of his second pair of trousers, turned short round, and was going below, when Snarleyyow smelt at his heels. The man gave him a back kick with the heel of his heavy boot, which sent the dog off yelping and barking, and put Mr. Vanslyperken in a great rage. Not venturing to resent this affront upon his first officer, he was reminded of Smallbones, and immediately sent for Corporal Van Spitter to appear on deck.
Chapter Four.
In which there is a Desperate Combat.
Even at this period of the English history, it was the custom to put a few soldiers on board of the vessels of war, and the Yungfrau cutter had been supplied with a corporal and six men, all of whom were belonging to the Dutch marine. To a person who was so unpopular as Mr. Vanslyperken, this little force was a great protection, and both corporal Van Spitter and his corps were well treated by him. The corporal was his purser and purveyor, and had a very good berth of it, for he could cheat as well as his commandant. He was, moreover, his prime minister, and an obedient executer of all his tyranny, for Corporal Van Spitter was without a shadow of feeling—on the contrary, he had pleasure in administering punishment; and if Vanslyperken had told him to blow any man’s brains out belonging to the vessel, Van Spitter would have immediately obeyed the order without the change of a muscle in his fat, florid countenance. The corporal was an enormous man; tall, and so corpulent, that he weighed nearly twenty stone. Jansen was the only one who could rival him; he was quite as tall as the corporal, and as powerful, but he had not the extra weight of his carcase.
About five minutes after the summons, the huge form of Corporal Van Spitter was seen to emerge slowly from the hatchway, which appeared barely wide enough to admit the egress of his broad shoulders. He had a flat foraging cap on his head, which was as large as a buffalo’s and his person was clothed in blue pantaloons, tight at the ankle, rapidly increasing in width as they ascended, until they diverged at the hips to an expanse which was something between the sublime and the ridiculous. The upper part of his body was cased in a blue jacket, with leaden buttons, stamped with the rampant lion, with a little tail behind, which was shoved up in the air by the protuberance of the parts. Having gained the deck, he walked to Vanslyperken, and raised the back of his right hand to his forehead.
“Corporal Van Spitter, get your cats up for punishment, and when you are ready fetch up Smallbones.”
Whereupon, without reply, Corporal Van Spitter put his left foot behind the heel of his right, and by this manoeuvre turned his body round like a capstan, so as to bring his face forward and then walked off in that direction. He soon re-appeared with all the necessary implements of torture, laid them down on one of the lee guns, and again departed to seek out his victim.
After a short time, a scuffle was heard below, but it was soon over, and once more appeared the corporal with the spare, tall body of Smallbones under his arm. He held him, grasped by the middle part, about where Smallbones’ stomach ought to have been, and the head and heels of the poor wretch both hung down perpendicularly, and knocked together as the corporal proceeded aft.
As soon as Van Spitter had arrived at the gun, he laid down his charge, who neither moved nor spoke. He appeared to have resigned himself to the fate which awaited him, and made no resistance when he was stripped by one of the marines, and stretched over the gun. The men, who were on deck, said nothing; they looked at each other expressively as the preparations were made. Flogging a lad like Smallbones was too usual an occurrence to excite surprise, and to show their disgust would have been dangerous. Smallbones’ back was now bared, and miserable was the spectacle; the shoulder-blades protruded, so that you might put your hand sideways under the scapula, and every bone of the vertebrae and every process was clearly defined through the skin of the poor skeleton. The punishment commenced, and the lad received his three dozen without a murmur, the measured sound of the lash only being broken in upon by the baying of Snarleyyow, who occasionally