by W. W. Jacobs
CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH THE BISHOP EATS JAM TART, AND MISS MATILDA HUMBLE-PIE.
"Now," remarked the Bishop to Miss Arminster, as Marchmont quitted thecabin after this last astounding remark, "Now I'm certain he's mad."
"Oh, no," replied the lady, "it's merely journalistic enterprise. Idon't blame him for being disappointed. It must be hard to find thatwe're not conspirators, after all."
"But why should he wish to make us so?"
"You dear stupid old Joe!" she exclaimed. "You haven't the remotestinkling of what American journalism means. It's sensation first, last,and altogether. Think of a bishop, and an English bishop at that, posingas an agent of the Spanish secret service, and eloping with an actresson somebody else's yacht. Why, I can shut my eyes and see theheadlines. They're almost certain to print them in red ink. There's famefor you!"
"But why should he wish to print it if it's not the truth?"
"Truth! My dear Bishop, who said anything about truth? We were speakingof news, and--journalistic enterprise."
At this moment the door again burst open, and Marchmont flung into thecabin.
"There!" he said, with a tone of triumph, "we've sighted an Americansteamer down channel, and have hoisted the Spanish flag. We're pursuingher, and very presently we shall be captured, and you'll besurrendered."
"I suppose," began the Bishop, "that, to a man so devoid of moralconsciousness as you appear to be, no arguments of mine--"
"Don't waste your breath," broke in Miss Arminster. "They wouldn't."
"Why, I'm sorry to cause you any inconvenience," said the journalistamiably, "but you see, my paper's simply panting for sensation, and whenthey hear about this little racket they'll sell extras till they can'tsee straight."
"And what, may I ask, will happen when the truth comes out?" demandedhis Lordship severely.
"Oh, the war'll probably be over by the time you reach New York, andyou'll cease to be interesting," replied Marchmont. "Besides, we'll havehad our scoop, and most likely, when the _Daily Leader_ finds there's nocase against you they'll give you a return ticket. The management'sgenerally pretty liberal."
"Well, I must say," spluttered the Bishop, "that of all thebrazen--unconscionable--!"
"Why did you raise the Spanish flag?" interrupted Miss Arminster.
"That was my idea," said the journalist, "and I'm rather proud of it.You see, we could hardly reverse the Union Jack as a sign of distress,and then go full speed ahead, but I don't think an American ship wouldresist taking a Spanish prize; and as soon as they get within firingrange we'll run up a flag of truce. By the way," he continued, becomingquite courteous, now that he felt he had them in his power, "why do youremain in this stuffy cabin? I shall be very glad to have you up ondeck, provided you'll give me your parole."
"What, not to escape?" asked Violet. "Did you think we were going tojump overboard and swim ashore?"
"No. I mean that you should give your parole not to be anything butSpaniards."
"I am afraid we couldn't manage that," she replied. "The Bishop doesn'tlook nearly ferocious enough."
"I absolutely refuse to become a party to this deception!" said hisLordship.
"Oh, I don't ask you to do that," returned Marchmont, "only to promisethat you'll not try and enlist the sympathies of the crew in yourbehalf."
"I shall not promise anything," said the Bishop, "nor shall I allow thislady to do so. I'm a man of peace, but if ever I get hold of you on dryland I'll horsewhip you, if it costs me my see; and if you don't leavethis cabin at once I'll treat you as you treated your friend. You are athorough blackguard, and not fit to associate with gentlemen!"
The journalist started to say something, but, remembering that hisaccuser was muscular, thought better of it, shrugged his shoulders, andwent out silently, locking the door behind him.
"There!" said his Lordship, "I can breathe more freely now."
Miss Arminster made no reply, for the excellent reason that her head wasout of a port-hole, and she could not hear clearly what was said.Presently she pulled it in again, crying, as she did so:
"Oh, do look! This is great sport! The American ship is running awayfrom us!"
Such was indeed the case. The vessel they were overhauling was a smalltramp steamer, which had evidently found courage, through the generalincapacity of the Spanish navy and the fancied security of neutralwaters, to flaunt the Stars and Stripes. It was therefore mostdisconcerting to find herself suddenly pursued in the English Channel bya craft which had every appearance of being a Spanish gunboat. No soonerhad she caught a glimpse of the red and yellow flag of her enemy thanshe crowded on to her yards every stitch of canvass she possessed, inthe hope of obtaining some advantage from the light breeze that wasblowing, while the black clouds of smoke which belched from her singlefunnel showed that her engines were being driven to their utmostcapacity. She having a long lead and the combined assistance of wind andsteam, the distance between the pursuer and the pursued decreasedslowly, and it soon became evident that it was to be a stern chase,which is proverbially a long chase. The yacht, therefore, turned aboutin search of some fresh enemy to whom she might surrender, and in thisfortune favored her, for down the Channel came a great liner, whosename, albeit she flew temporarily the flag of another nation, proclaimedher to be an American ship, with an American captain and crew.
Those on board the "Homing Pigeon" now adopted different tactics, and aninverted British ensign replaced the banner of the Dons.
As the yacht stood directly in the path of the oncoming ocean greyhound,and flew signals of distress which she could not disregard, the greatship was forced to heave to. Marchmont hastened to convey the news tohis prisoners in the cabin, saying that he considered them veryfortunate, as they had every prospect of a speedy and pleasant voyage,and cautioning them at the same time, as he led the way up the cabinstairs, that resistance was futile, and that any remarks of theirs tothe crew would only be so much waste of breath. To all of which neitherdeigned to answer a word, realising that in their present precariousposition silence was not only the most dignified but also the safestcourse.
As they reached the deck the great liner was almost abreast of them, andgradually came to a standstill with clouds of pent-up steam pouring fromher safety-valves.
"What do you want?" bawled her chief officer through a megaphone, hisvoice sounding very large and clear from the great height above them.
"We've two prisoners of war, Spanish spies, and we wish to hand themover!" shouted the mate in return.
"This isn't an American ship," came the reply.
"Yes, it is," howled Marchmont; "we know better! You belong to the 'PinkStar' line."
The chief officer conferred with the captain.
"It's Mason and Slidell the other way round," he said. "I wouldn'ttouch 'em with a ten-foot pole. Besides--" and here he seized themegaphone from his subordinate and yelled through it:
"You infernal idiots! don't you know the war with Spain is over? We'vedeclared a truce!"
"I don't believe it," cried Marchmont, shaking his fist at the greatsteamship in a paroxysm of disappointed rage. "It's only an excuse toshirk your duty! We've brought them out to you, and you've got to takethem! I'll report you to the government! I'll--!"
The sharp ring of the engine-room bell from the liner's bridge was theonly reply vouchsafed him, and a moment later the big ship forged ahead,her captain very red in the face and swearing like a trooper: for themost precious thing on board a racer of that class is time, and the"Homing Pigeon" had been wasting it.
The Bishop, noting the sheepish faces of the mate and his two fellowconspirators, and the lowering glances of the crew, turned to MissArminster, saying:
"We'd better return to the cabin, my dear. I think there's going to betrouble."
The little actress followed his Lordship's gaze, and descended without aword of protest. She thought so, too.
They had hardly entered the saloon, when there came a respectful knockat the do
or, and an elderly seaman entered, ducking his head.
"Well, my good man," said his Lordship, "what can I do for you?"
"Meanin' no disrespect, sir, be you really the Bishop of Blanford?"
"Certainly I am," that gentleman replied. "You see my dress, and," as ahappy thought struck him, "here's one of my cards to prove my identity."And he handed the sailor a bit of pasteboard with his title engravedthereon.
"And the lady?" asked the seaman.
"The lady is no more connected with this absurd charge than I am,"pursued the Bishop. "You've been grievously misled by your mate andthese two strangers. But if you'll take us safe to the nearest port,I'll speak a word in your favour to your master, Lord Downton, who's anintimate friend of mine. Can you read?"
"Yes, your honour."
"Then here's a letter from his Lordship, which I fortunately have by me,requesting me to join his yacht. Read it yourself, and show it to yourfellows as a proof of who I am." And he handed him the missive.
The sailor took it, ducked again, and retired silently, and there waspresently a great shuffling of feet on the deck above.
"What do you think they're doing?" asked Violet.
"I trust they're coming to their senses--and if--" But his remarks wereinterrupted by a most terrific row overhead, shouts, blows, and curses.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the Bishop. "What can be the matter?"
"They're squaring accounts with Marchmont, Friend Othniel, and the mate,I guess," she replied, "and I hope they'll half kill them."
"Fie, fie! my dear Leopard--most unchristian. I must certainly go and--"
"No, you mustn't do anything of the sort! Stay right where you are.We're in hot enough water already." And suiting the action to the word,she pushed him back on to the divan.
"Well, really--!" remarked the Bishop, and collapsed amiably.
Presently the sounds of commotion ceased, and gave way to laughter, butlaughter with a certain grim note in it that boded ill for those laughedat. After a little, there came another knock at the cabin door, and thistime quite a deputation entered the saloon, the sailor who had firstvisited them being the spokesman.
"Having disposed of those gents as you suggested--" he began.
"No, no!" the Bishop hastened to disclaim, "I suggested nothing."
"Well," said the seaman, "we've fixed 'em, anyway. And now we're headingfor the nearest port, which the same's Weymouth, and we hopes you'lloverlook what's gone before, and come on deck and take command of thisyacht."
"I will certainly come on deck," replied the Bishop. "But as to assumingcommand of the ship, I hardly feel qualified. Is there not some oneamong you--?"
"I'm bo'sn, please your honour," volunteered the speaker.
"Ah," said the Bishop blandly, "then I appoint you." And as the men fellback, he escorted Miss Arminster upstairs.
As they appeared on deck, a striking scene met their eyes. Threewretched figures were triced up to the mainmast. They had only suchremnants of clothes remaining on their persons as decency demanded, andthey had all evidently made a recent acquaintance with the ship'star-barrel and slush-bucket.
As his Lordship and Miss Arminster appeared, the crew approached,expecting a speech.
"I hardly know what to say," began the Bishop to Violet.
"Let me speak to them, will you?" she asked, her eyes sparkling. "Iunderstand human nature pretty well. I have to, in my profession."
His Lordship nodded assent, and a moment later she had sprung on to thecabin hatch, a most entrancing little figure, and instantly commandedthe attention and admiration of her audience.
"Mates!" she cried, in her clear ringing voice, "mates, I want a wordwith you."
"Speak up, and welcome!" called some one in the crowd, while theboatswain, nudging a comrade in the ribs, remarked under his breath:
"My eye, but she's a stunner!"
Silence having been obtained, she continued:
"I've only this to say. We've all been made fools of. Those gentlementied up to the mast made fools of you, and you've certainly made foolsof them."
A loud laugh greeted this sally.
"And," she resumed, "if it ever gets out that his Lordship the Bishop ofBlanford and myself were carried off as Spanish spies, we'll never hearthe last of it. Now let's all keep silence for the sake of the others.Put us ashore at Weymouth, and we'll say to Lord Downton that it was ourwish to be landed there. He won't know about the occurrences of thisday, unless some of you tell him. You might leave the journalist and thetramp at Weymouth, too. I guess they'll have had enough of the sea tolast them for some time. And oh, by the way, I suppose Mr. Marchmontintended to pay you for this. Perhaps you'll see that the division isproperly carried out."
"Ay, ay!" came from twenty throats, followed by a rousing cheer.
And so it happened that they reached _terra firma_ about six in theafternoon. But Weymouth, while it is geographically not far distant fromBlanford, is miles away by the railroad and its connections, and theydid not reach the palace till nearly midnight.
Everything was dark and still, and as they stood shivering in the porch,the Bishop remarked, producing his latch-key:
"Do you know I--I'm really afraid to open the door."
She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and they entered softly.
"Is there anything I can get for the Leopard, before she retires?" heasked apologetically, as they crossed the stone-paved floor of thepalace by the aid of a single bedroom candle, which only served toaccentuate the surrounding darkness.
"No, thank you, I'm all right," she faltered, putting her foot on thefirst step of the stairs. And then, without the slightest warning, sheburst into tears.
His Lordship, completely bewildered at this unexpected turn of affairs,patted her on the head, saying: "Dear, dear!" much as he would have doneto obstreperous babies suspicious of baptism. But the fair Violet wepton.
"What is it?" said the Bishop. "What have I done?"
"You haven't done anything," she replied between her sobs, "but I--I'mso dreadfully hungry."
"Dear me!" exclaimed his Lordship, "I forgot all about dinner."
It was quite true that, in his anxiety to catch trains and make a seriesof bewildering connections, the question of food had entirely escapedhis memory, and, now he came to think of it, he was ravenously hungryhimself.
"I'm so sorry," he said helplessly. "We must see what we can find."
It was years since he had dared to investigate his own pantries; butunder the spur of Miss Arminster's necessities he achieved prodigies ofvalour, even breaking into that holy of holies, his sister's jam-closet.The little actress aided and abetted him, creating havoc among jars ofsardines, olives, and caviare. And then, while they were in the midst oftheir midnight orgy, a figure appeared before them--a figure clad in anindescribable dressing-gown and carrying a bedroom candle.
"Josephus," said the apparition, "is that you?"
"Yes, my dear," replied the Bishop, with his mouth full of jam tart, "itis."
"I wonder you've the face to enter the house!" said his sister.
"His own house! That's good," commented Miss Arminster from the midst ofsardines.
"I admit that the circumstances are unusual," remarked the Bishop,cutting himself another large slice of the pastry, "but the trainservice is most irregular, and, as you can see, it was necessary tobring the Leopard home to-night, and so--"
"Josephus!" broke in his sister, "there are no leopards in this country,and I _can_ see that to the other sins you have undoubtedly committedyou have added the vice of--"
But she got no further, for the Bishop, casting a glance at each of thetwo women, decided that now or never was salvation at hand, and saidbrusquely:
"Matilda, go to bed at once!"
It was the first time he had ever spoken to her in tones of authority,and his sister, not believing her ears, returned to the charge.
"And as for that shameless minx--" she continued; but his Lordship againinterrupte
d, remarking severely:
"Matilda, go to bed instantly!"
But the spinster was not yet defeated.
"Josephus!" she began, in her most approved style.
"Go to bed!" repeated the Bishop sharply.
For one moment she wavered. Then, realising that under the presentconditions resistance was worse than useless, she turned slowly upon herheel, and marched upstairs with the air of a martyr going to the stake.
"You were right," said his Lordship moodily, as he disposed of the lastpiece of pie-crust.
"Right about what?" asked Violet.
"Mud-baths," returned the Bishop.
