Ovingdean Grange by W. Harrison Ainsworth

“Well, a bargain’s a bargain, colonel,” replied the skipper, bestowing the bag of gold in his jacket; “but if you had only spoken plainly at first, and told me who wanted a passage with me, I would have placed my vessel at his Majesty’s disposal.”

“You can’t blame me for acting cautiously in a case of such importance, captain,” Gunter replied. “And pardon me for saying that I didn’t know you so well as I do now. Besides, you richly deserve all you’ve got, and more, and I trust this matter will be the making of you.”

“I hope to Heaven it may, colonel!” replied Tattersall. “Howsomever, as I said before, if I save his Majesty it’ll be reward enough for me. I’ll have it written on my tombstone, ‘Here lies Nick Tattersall, who faithfully preserved his king.’ Moreover, if I accomplish this voyage securely, I’ll change the name of my ship, and call her the Royal Escape.”

“An excellent name,” said Gunter, filling a pipe with tobacco and lighting it, while the skipper followed his example; “and I hope your brig will earn a title to it. The wind is favourable, eh?”

“Ay, the wind is nor’-east, and if it holds where it is—and I feel pretty sure it will—we shall have a quick run across to Fécamp, near Havre-de-Grace, in Normandy, for that’s the port I mean to make for.”

“Fécamp, eh? I fancied you would have tried for Dieppe. But the port matters not, provided you land his Majesty safely in France—that’s the main point. I hope you won’t fall in with any cruisers.”

“I hope we shan’t,” rejoined the skipper, puffing away at his pipe, “but I ain’t much afeared of ’em. The Swiftsure’ll show ’em a light pair of heels; and if they do overhaul us, they’ll take the king and his lordship for part o’ the crew. What I should least like to meet would be one of them rattlin’ Ostend privateers, which, ever since the war broke out betwixt France and Spain, have been hoverin’ about the French coast, on the look-out for prizes. I shouldn’t like to meet one o’ them ugly customers, for they might plunder us, and set us ashore in England.”

“‘Sdeath! that would be a mishap indeed!” exclaimed Gunter. “But let us hope for the best. Heaven, that has preserved the king through so many dangers, won’t desert him at the last. But what’s that?” he added, as exclamations and laughter, proceeding from the hostess, were heard outside.

“I shouldn’t wonder if two of my crew have arrived, colonel,” replied Tattersall, with a wink. “I’ve been expectin’ ’em. Ay, here they come!” he cried, as the door was thrown open by the hostess, who was laughing immoderately, and two rollicking individuals, with the gait, gestures, looks, and attire of seamen of the period—that is to say, blue jackets and brown slops, Guernsey shirts and red caps, like the skipper himself—rolled, rather than walked, into the room.

“Why, they’re enough to deceive a body to one s very face!” exclaimed Mrs. Smith, holding up her hands in admiration. “If I didn’t know better, I should take ’em for real sailors.”

“Real sailors!” cried Charles, chucking her under the chin; “so we be, my pretty hostess—reg’lar jack-tars, I can promise ye. I say, capt’n, put in a word for us, will ye? How long have my messmate Tom Barlow and I sailed wi’ ye i’ the Swiftsure?”

“Ever since 1648, Will Jackson,” replied Tattersall, emitting a long puff of tobacco. “But sit down, my lads—sit down. Take a glass of grog, and smoke a pipe. Don’t mind me—I’m not partic’lar when ashore. This gentleman, I dare say, won’t mind ye.”

“Not in the least,” replied Gunter. “Sit down, my lads, I beg of you. These are two stout fellows, capt’n, especially Tom Barlow.”

“Ay, he’s big enough in all conscience,” said Tattersall, remarking that Lord Wilmot’s breadth of shoulder and athletic proportions seemed materially increased by his change of costume; “but they’re both able-bodied rascals. Harkye, hostess, give ’em each a glass of brandy, and fill a pipe for Will Jackson with this prime Spanish tobacco. He’s too bashful to help himself.”