“Oh yaes, sare!” replied the imperturbable skipper, with great apparent innocence, “de vine is von cadeau, vat you do call praisant from de marchand at Bordeaux, vid de expectation dat de squisite taste of him may make mi Lor Duc to ave mor of him pour de l’argent, and prevail on de Royal King, his broder, to ave some too also.”
“Um—aye,” said the captain of the guard, with hesitation; “likely story enough—though there be but little chance of the King drinking ought of the Duke’s providing, whatever liquor the Duke may by and bye drink of his Majesty’s brewing. But ’twas natural enow in the merchant to think so, Mooshie. As for the Duke, he is no bad customer to his own fist, when he is well set with a jolly boon companion, such as myself for instance. So thou mayest as well leave thy twin-casks in my charge, friend; and I shall see that they are properly delivered.—At least,” added he, in an under voice, aside, “I shall take care most conscientiously to deliver them in due time of their contents.”
“Tank you—very mosh tank you, sare,” replied the skipper. “Mais I not trobil you. De marchand did ordaire me to see dem in de royal hand of de Duc heemself. If I not do dat, I most take heem back again. Jean! François! il faut——”
“Um!—don’t be so hasty, man,” interrupted the captain of the guard, by no means willing to lose sight of the casks, and hesitating, and cogitating within himself, that if the wine was taken back, he would lose all chance of tasting it; whereas, if it was once lodged with the Duke, he had a fair prospect of being invited to share in it. “You Mooshies are as pestilent hasty as a bit of touch paper. Thou shalt deliver the wine thyself to the Duke. Here, Laurence—the keys of the Duke’s apartments! Now, Mooshie, do thou and three of thy fellows quickly shoulder the casks and follow me.”
The skipper immediately took up one end of the pole that swung one of the casks, and addressing Sir Walter Stewart by the name of Jean, he called to him roughly, in French, to take up the other end. Charley Stewart and a sailor hoisted up the second cask; and so they followed the captain of the guard up to the Duke’s apartments.
When the doors were opened, which gave access to the royal prisoner, they found the Duke of Albany sitting at a table in conversation with his chamberlain, his manly and somewhat stern countenance deprived of much of its wonted bloom and sunshine, from the confinement to which he had been subjected, and the melancholy anticipations which possessed his mind, though nothing had as yet been able to overpower his indomitable resolution. It was only when he arose from his chair, to ascertain what his visitors came about, that his powerful and well-proportioned person, and his broad chest, were fully exhibited.
“What is all this?” cried the Duke, somewhat impatiently.
“So please your Highness’ Grace, this French Mooshie skipper is the bearer of a present of that which he states to be very choice wine of his country’s growth,” said Captain Strang, with a low obeisance.
“Who can have thus remembered me in my misfortunes?” demanded the Duke.
“Nay,” replied Strang, “I question if either the giver of the gift, or he that hath it in charge, know ought of the position in which your Royal Highness is now placed. But stand forth, Sir Mooshie, and tell thine own tale.”