“Cool and deliciously impudent that same, (hiccup,)” quoth the skipper.
“But hand us back little Whiffle,” continued Fyall, “and we shall be off.”
Here Whiffie’s voice was heard from the drawing room. “Here, Fyall!— Tom Cringle!—Here, here, or I shall be murdered!”
“Ah! I see,” said Mr H. “this way, gentlemen. Come, I will deliver the culprit to you;” and we followed him into the drawing room, a most magnificent saloon, at least forty feet by thirty, brilliantly lit up with crystal lamps, and massive silver candelabra, and filled with elegant furniture, which was reflected, along with the chandeliers that hung from the centre of the coach roof, by several large mirrors, in rich frames, as well as in the highly polished mahogany floor.
There, in the middle of the room, the other end of it being occupied by a bevy of twelve or fifteen richly-dressed females, visitors, as we conjectured, sat our friend Peregrine, pinioned into a large easy chair, with shawls and scarfs, amidst a sea of silk cushions, by four beautiful young women, black hair and eyes, clear white skins, fine figures, and little clothing. A young Jewess is a beautiful animal, although, like the unclean—confound the metaphor—which they abhor—they don’t improve by age.
When we entered, the blushing girls, who had been beating Whiffle over his spindle shins, with their large garden fans, dashed through a side door, unable to contain their laughter, which we heard long after they had vanished, echoing through the lofty galleries of the house. Our captive knight being restored to us, we made our bows to the other ladies, who were expiring with laughter, and took our leave, with little Whiffle on our shoulders—the worthy Hebrew, whom I afterwards knew in London, sending his servant and gig with Captain Transom and myself to the wharf. There we tumbled ourselves into the boat, and got on board the Firebrand about three in the morning. We were by this time pretty well sobered; at four a gun was fired, the topsails were let fall, and sheeted home, and topgallant-sails set over them, the ship having previously been hove short; at half-past, the cable being right up and down—another gun the drums and fifes beat merrily, spin flew the capstan, tramp went the men that manned it. We were under weigh— Eastward, ho!—for Santiago de Cuba.
CHAPTER XII.—The Cruise o the Firebrand
Shewing, amongst other pleasant matters well worthy of being
recorded, how Thomas communed with his two Consciences.
“Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o’er the waters wide,
The exulting sense, the pulse’s maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?”
Byron, The Corsair, 1.9—16.