So I took a sheet of paper and addressed a letter to Mynheer Bartholomew Tulp at his house in Amsterdam, his residence being known to me through perusal of Greaves’ papers. I stated that the brig Black Watch had arrived in the Downs on the previous day, that her voyage had been successful, that the cargo was housed ashore, and that Greaves had died during the passage home; and I begged Mr. Tulp to lose not a moment in visiting me at my uncle’s house, that he might receive what belonged to him, for peril lurked in the protracted detention of the brig in the Downs. When this letter was written I dispatched it to Sandwich by Jimmy, that it might be transmitted without delay.
“Tulp will take his dollars at his own risk,” said my uncle, blowing out a cloud of smoke; “your own dollars and the silver belonging to Greaves’ll have to be negotiated cautiously; it’s a lot of money to deal with, and it mustn’t be handled in the lump. We’ll have to work by degrees through the money changers; find out several of them in London, and deal with ’em one arter the other at intervals. Then we may make it worth the while of the smugglers, some of my own particular friends, to relieve us of a chest or two. My son-in-law’ll take some; he’s often trading Mediterranean way; but I’m afeared it won’t do, Bill, to trouble the banks; we don’t want any questions to arise. How it might work out as a matter of law I don’t know; safest to look upon these here dollars as run goods and treat ’em accordingly.”
I fully agreed with him, and it was settled that the money should be exchanged in the manner he proposed. We then talked of Greaves’ will. Indeed, we talked of many more things than I can recollect. Nothing, however, could be done until Mynheer Tulp turned up. Every day I boarded the brig and saw that all was right with the dear little ship; and I remember once that while I stood with the lady Aurora and my uncle on Deal Beach, viewing the vessel and recounting our experiences in her yet again, it occurred to me to buy her, to re-equip her, put a good sailor in command of her, and send her away to make a rich voyage for me. I smiled when I had thus thought; it had been Miss Aurora’s notion, and had she consented to marry me I daresay I should have bought the brig. But I said to myself, “No”; the brig is not Tulp’s to sell; I must deal with her owner, whose curiosity might prove inconveniently penetrating; I have my money and I’ll keep it; and so I dismissed the Black Watch as a venture out of my head.
One day—I think it was about a week after I had written to Amsterdam—I returned with my lady Aurora to my uncle’s house after a morning’s stroll about Deal. I heard voices in the parlor; Miss Aurora went upstairs.
“Who is here?” said I to the old chap who opened the door.
“Mr. Tulp, from Amsterdam, sir,” he answered.
On this I knocked upon the door and entered the parlor.
Had I lived with Mynheer Tulp a month I could not have carried in my head a more striking image of the man than my fancy had painted out of Greaves’ brief description of him.
He was a little, withered old fellow, a mere trifle of months, I daresay, on this side seventy; nose long and hooked, face hollow and yellow, eyes small, black, and down-looking, though often a leary lift of the lids sent a piercer at the person he talked to; he wore a wig, and was dressed in the fashion of the close of last century. He was the man I had dreamt of—the substance of the phantom I had beheld when I looked at poor Greaves, and wondered whether his dollar-ship was a dream or not.
My uncle was red in the face and was talking loudly when I entered.