“As he spoke, Master Bridger entered with the oysters and a flask of wine, and as he was placing them on the table, Clavering said:
“Tell me, worthy host, who was the tall man who looked into the room just now? He had the air of a preacher of the gospel.”
“And such he is,” Bridger replied. “I dare not mention his name, for he is in some trouble with the authorities. It may be that he mistook the door, for he occupies the adjoining chamber.”
“What! he is in the next room!” exclaimed Colonel Gunter, glancing significantly at Clavering. “Bring clean pipes, Absolom, and a paper of thy best Spanish tobacco.”
“Anon, anon! worshipful sirs. I have done your bidding as regards Captain Tattersall. A messenger has been dispatched for him.”
“Show him in on his arrival,” said Colonel Gunter.
“You shall not have long to wait, then,” answered Bridger with a laugh. “I hear his lusty voice outside. Walk in, Captain Tattersall—walk in,” he added, opening the door. “These are the gentlemen who desire to speak with you.”
The shipmaster who was thus introduced seemed a very good specimen of his class, and his looks by no means belied the favourable description of him given by the host. Apparently, he was turned forty, but his features were so brown and weather-beaten that it was difficult to determine his age precisely. Squarely built, and somewhat under the middle size, he had a broad, good-humoured, honest-looking physiognomy, by no means destitute of shrewdness, and seemed every inch a seaman. He was rather roughly attired, his apparel consisting of a Guernsey shirt, a loose jacket of stout blue cloth, ample galligaskins, or slops of brown flannel, nether hose of the same colour, and square-toed shoes. On his head he had a cap, originally bright scarlet, though now somewhat weather-stained; but this he doffed on entering the room.
“This is Captain Nicholas Tattersall, worthy sirs,” said Bridger, slapping the skipper familiarly on the back as he spoke; “as honest a shipmaster—I will say it to his face—as ever sailed.”
“A truce to compliments, friend Absolom,” said Tattersall, bluntly—his voice was deep and hoarse, as might be expected from such a broad-chested personage. “You know I like them not. Your servant, gentlemen,” he added to the others. “You desire to speak to me, as I understand?”
“We do,” Colonel Gunter replied. “Pray be seated, Captain Tattersall. Happy to make your acquaintance, sir. Bring another glass, Absolom. Will it please you to taste this sack, captain?”
“The captain prefers brandy, worthy sir,” hastily interposed Bridger, “I have a runlet of rare old Nantz, given me by a French skipper, which I keep for his special drinking.”
“Bring the brandy at once, then,” said Colonel Gunter, “and take care we be not interrupted.”
Upon this the host departed, but almost immediately reappeared with a very promising-looking square-shaped bottle, the contents of which having been tasted by Tattersall, were pronounced by him to be the right sort. Having thus attended to all the requirements of his guests, Bridger left them and closed the door. As he went forth, Clavering satisfied himself that no eavesdropper was without. Pipes were next lighted, and glasses filled. After a few preliminary whiffs, Tattersall said,
“Now, gentlemen, what may be your business with me?” adding, with rather a droll expression of countenance, “Nothing against the Republic, I hope?”
“Oh no—nothing treasonable,” Colonel Gunter replied, with a laugh. Take another glass of brandy, captain, and then we’ll enter upon the business.”
“Much obliged, but I’ve had enough for the present,” Tattersall rejoined, dryly. “Come, masters, speak out! You needn’t be palavering with me. Something’s in the wind, I can see plainly enough. What is it? You make believe to be Roundheads, but I know on which side your swords would be drawn if it came to a fight.”
“And on which side, in your apprehension, would it be, Captain Tattersall?” demanded Clavering.
“On the king’s, Master Clavering Maunsel,” the skipper replied, with a wink. “Lord bless me! though you have cropped your locks, and put on the raiments of the sanctified, do you think I don’t know you? Here’s your father’s health, young sir,” he proceeded, filling his glass from the square-shaped bottle, “and somebody else’s,” he added, in a whisper. “We understand each other now, gentlemen, I fancy.”