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Page 9
Our work went on merrily, nevertheless, and the Christopher
Columbus, hauled up, lay helpless on her side like a great fish out
of water. While she was in that state, there was a feast, or a
ball, or an entertainment, or more properly all three together,
given us in honour of the ship, and the ship's company, and the
other visitors. At that assembly, I believe, I saw all the
inhabitants then upon the Island, without any exception. I took no
particular notice of more than a few, but I found it very agreeable
in that little corner of the world to see the children, who were of
all ages, and mostly very pretty--as they mostly are. There was one
handsome elderly lady, with very dark eyes and gray hair, that I
inquired about. I was told that her name was Mrs. Venning; and her
married daughter, a fair slight thing, was pointed out to me by the
name of Fanny Fisher. Quite a child she looked, with a little copy
of herself holding to her dress; and her husband, just come back
from the mine, exceeding proud of her. They were a good-looking set
of people on the whole, but I didn't like them. I was out of sorts;
in conversation with Charker, I found fault with all of them. I
said of Mrs. Venning, she was proud; of Mrs. Fisher, she was a
delicate little baby-fool. What did I think of this one? Why, he
was a fine gentleman. What did I say to that one? Why, she was a
fine lady. What could you expect them to be (I asked Charker),
nursed in that climate, with the tropical night shining for them,
musical instruments playing to them, great trees bending over them,
soft lamps lighting them, fire-flies sparkling in among them, bright
flowers and birds brought into existence to please their eyes,
delicious drinks to be had for the pouring out, delicious fruits to
be got for the picking, and every one dancing and murmuring happily
in the scented air, with the sea breaking low on the reef for a
pleasant chorus.
"Fine gentlemen and fine ladies, Harry?" I says to Charker. "Yes, I
think so! Dolls! Dolls! Not the sort of stuff for wear, that
comes of poor private soldiering in the Royal Marines!"
However, I could not gainsay that they were very hospitable people,
and that they treated us uncommonly well. Every man of us was at
the entertainment, and Mrs. Belltott had more partners than she
could dance with: though she danced all night, too. As to Jack
(whether of the Christopher Columbus, or of the Pirate pursuit
party, it made no difference), he danced with his brother Jack,
danced with himself, danced with the moon, the stars, the trees, the
prospect, anything. I didn't greatly take to the chief-officer of
that party, with his bright eyes, brown face, and easy figure. I
didn't much like his way when he first happened to come where we
were, with Miss Maryon on his arm. "O, Captain Carton," she says,
"here are two friends of mine!" He says, "Indeed? These two
Marines?"--meaning Charker and self. "Yes," says she, "I showed
these two friends of mine when they first came, all the wonders of
Silver-Store." He gave us a laughing look, and says he, "You are in
luck, men. I would be disrated and go before the mast to-morrow, to
be shown the way upward again by such a guide. You are in luck,
men." When we had saluted, and he and the lady had waltzed away, I
said, "You are a pretty follow, too, to talk of luck. You may go to
the Devil!"
Mr. Commissioner Pordage and Mrs. Commissioner, showed among the
company on that occasion like the King and Queen of a much Greater
Britain than Great Britain. Only two other circumstances in that
jovial night made much separate impression on me. One was this. A
man in our draft of marines, named Tom Packer, a wild unsteady young
fellow, but the son of a respectable shipwright in Portsmouth Yard,
and a good scholar who had been well brought up, comes to me after a
spell of dancing, and takes me aside by the elbow, and says,
swearing angrily:
"Gill Davis, I hope I may not be the death of Sergeant Drooce one
day!"
Now, I knew Drooce had always borne particularly hard on this man,
and I knew this man to be of a very hot temper: so, I said:
"Tut, nonsense! don't talk so to me! If there's a man in the corps
who scorns the name of an assassin, that man and Tom Packer are
one."
Tom wipes his head, being in a mortal sweat, and says he:
"I hope so, but I can't answer for myself when he lords it over me,
as he has just now done, before a woman. I tell you what, Gill!
Mark my words! It will go hard with Sergeant Drooce, if ever we are
in an engagement together, and he has to look to me to save him.
Let him say a prayer then, if he knows one, for it's all over with
him, and he is on his Death-bed. Mark my words!"
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