One of Our Conquerors - World eBook Library

One of Our Conquerors
‘It would upset his bumboat of epigrams. He rises at ten
o’clock to a queasy breakfast by candlelight, and proceeds to
composition. His picture of the country is a portrait of himself
by the artist.’
‘But, sir, Captain Dartrey, you don’t think as Mr. Durance
does of England!’
‘There are lots to flatter her, Skepsey! A drilling can’t do
her harm. You’re down to see Miss Nesta. Ladies don’t receive
quite so early. And have you breakfasted? Come on
with me quick.’ Dartrey led him on, saying: ‘You have an
eye at my stick. It was a legacy to me, by word of mouth,
from a seaman of a ship I sailed in, who thought I had done
him a service; and he died after all. He fell overboard drunk.
He perished of the villain stuff. One of his messmates handed
me the stick in Cape Town, sworn to deliver it. A good knot
to grasp; and it ‘s flexible and strong; stick or rattan, whichever
you please; it gives point or caresses the shoulder; there’s
no break in it, whack as you may. They call it a Demerara
supple-jack. I’ll leave it to you.’
Skepsey declared his intention to be the first to depart. He
tried the temper of the stick, bent it a bit, and admired the
prompt straightening.
‘It would give a good blow, sir.’
‘Does its business without braining.’
Perhaps for the reason, that it was not a handsome instrument
for display on fashionable promenades, Dartrey chose
it among his collection by preference; as ugly dogs of a known
fidelity are chosen for companions. The Demerara supplejack
surpasses bull-dogs in its fashion of assisting the master;
for when once at it, the clownish-looking thing reflects upon
him creditably, by developing a refined courtliness of style,
while in no way showing a diminution of jolly ardour for the
fray. It will deal you the stroke of a bludgeon with the playfulness
of a cane. It bears resemblance to those accomplished
natural actors, who conversationally present a dramatic situation
in two or three spontaneous flourishes, and are themselves
again, men of the world, the next minute.
Skepsey handed it back. He spoke of a new French rifle. He
mentioned, in the form of query for no answer, the translation
of the barking little volume he had shown to Mr. Barmby:
he slapped at his breast-pocket, where it was. Not a ship was
on the sea-line; and he seemed to deplore that vacancy.
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