An Elaborate Elopement Page #2

"An Elaborate Elopement" is a humorous novella by W. W. Jacobs, known for his wit and keen observations of human nature. Set in a coastal town, the story revolves around a comically intricate scheme to elope, involving a cast of quirky characters and a series of misunderstandings. Jacobs skillfully intertwines romance and comedy, showcasing the absurdity of the characters' plans and the unexpected obstacles they face. Through his engaging narrative and sharp dialogue, Jacobs highlights themes of love, aspiration, and the folly of overcomplicating life's simplest desires.

• Fiction

								

them? Here, give me the handspike.”

Before the mate could interfere, the sailor, with thoughtless
obedience, handed it over, and Miss Rumbolt at once tried to knock him
over the head. Being thwarted in this design by the man taking flight,
she lost her temper entirely, and bore down like a hurricane on the
remaining members of the crew who were just approaching.

They scattered at once, and ran up the rigging like cats, and for a few
moments the girl held the deck; then the mate crept up behind her, and
with the air of a man whose job exactly suited him, clasped her tightly
round the waist, while one of the seamen disarmed her.

“You must both go below till we’ve settled what to do with you,” said
the mate, reluctantly releasing her.

With a wistful glance at the handspike, the girl walked to the cabin,
followed slowly by the skipper.

“This is a bad business,” said the latter, shaking his head solemnly,
as the indignant Miss Rumbolt seated herself.

“Don’t talk to me, you coward!” said the girl energetically.

The skipper started.

“I made three of ’em run,” said Miss Rumbolt, “and you did nothing.
You just stood still, and let them take the ship. I’m ashamed of you.”

The skipper’s defence was interrupted by a hoarse voice shouting to
them to come on deck, where they found the mutinous crew gathered aft
round the mate. The girl cast a look at the shore, which was now dim
and indistinct, and turned somewhat pale as the serious nature of her
position forced itself upon her.

“Lewis,” said the mate.

“Well,” growled the skipper.

“This ship’s going in the lace and brandy trade, and if so be as you’re
sensible you can go with it as mate, d’ye hear?”

“An’ s’pose I do; what about the lady?” inquired the captain.

“You and the lady’ll have to get spliced,” said the mate sternly. “Then
there’ll be no tales told. A Scotch marriage is as good as any, and
we’ll just lay off and put you ashore, and you can get tied up as right
as ninepence.”

“Marry a coward like that?” demanded Miss Rumbolt, with spirit; “not if
I know it. Why, I’d sooner marry that old man at the helm.”

“Old Bill’s got three wives a’ready to my sartin knowledge,” spoke up
one of the sailors. “The lady’s got to marry Cap’n Lewis, so don’t
let’s have no fuss about it.”

“I won’t,” said the lady, stamping violently.

The mutineers appeared to be in a dilemma, and, following the example
of the mate, scratched their heads thoughtfully.

“We thought you liked him,” said the mate, at last, feebly.

“You had no business to think,” said Miss Rumbolt. “You are bad men,
and you’ll all be hung, every one of you; I shall come and see it.”

“The cap’n’s welcome to her for me,” murmured the helmsman in a husky
whisper to the man next to him. “The vixen!”

“Very good,” said the mate. “If you won’t, you won’t. This end of the
ship’ll belong to you after eight o’clock of a night. Lewis, you must
go for’ard with the men.”

“And what are you going to do with me after?” inquired the fair
prisoner.

The seven men shrugged their shoulders helplessly, and Hezekiah,
looking depressed, lit his pipe, and went and leaned over the side.

The day passed quietly. The orders were given by the mate, and Hezekiah
lounged moodily about, a prisoner at large. At eight o’clock Miss
Rumbolt was given the key of the state-room, and the men who were not
in the watch went below.

The morning broke fine and clear with a light breeze, which, towards
mid-day, dropped entirely, and the schooner lay rocking lazily on a sea
of glassy smoothness. The sun beat fiercely down, bringing the fresh
paint on the taffrail up in blisters, and sorely trying the tempers of
the men who were doing odd jobs on deck.

The cabin, where the two victims of a mutinous crew had retired for
coolness, got more and more stuffy, until at length even the scorching
deck seemed preferable, and the girl, with a faint hope of finding a
shady corner, went languidly up the companion-ladder.

For some time the skipper sat alone, pondering gloomily over the state
of affairs as he smoked his short pipe. He was aroused at length from
his apathy by the sound of the companion being noisily closed, while
loud frightened cries and hurrying footsteps on deck announced that
something extraordinary was happening. As he rose to his feet he was
confronted by Kate Rumbolt, who, panting and excited, waved a big key
before him.

“I’ve done it,” she cried, her eyes sparkling.

“Done what?” shouted the mystified skipper.

“Let the bear loose,” said the girl. “Ha, ha! you should have seen them
run. You should have seen the fat sailor!”

“Let the—phew—let the— Good heavens! here’s a pretty kettle of fish!”
he choked.

“Listen to them shouting,” cried the exultant Kate, clapping her hands.
“Just listen.”

“Those shouts are from aloft,” said Hezekiah sternly, “where you and I
ought to be.”

“I’ve closed the companion,” said the girl reassuringly.

“Closed the companion!” repeated Hezekiah, as he drew his knife. “He
can smash it like cardboard, if the fit takes him. Go in here.”

He opened the door of his state-room.

“Shan’t!” said Miss Rumbolt politely.

“Go in at once!” cried the skipper. “Quick with you.”

“Sha—” began Miss Rumbolt again. Then she caught his eye, and went in
like a lamb. “You come too,” she said prettily.

“I’ve got to look after my ship and my men,” said the skipper. “I
suppose you thought the ship would steer itself, didn’t you?”

“Mutineers deserve to be eaten,” whimpered Miss Rumbolt piously,
somewhat taken aback by the skipper’s demeanour.

Hezekiah looked at her.

“They’re not mutineers, Kate,” he said quietly. “It was just a piece of
mad folly of mine. They’re as honest a set of old sea dogs as ever
breathed, and I only hope they are all safe up aloft. I’m going to lock
you in; but don’t be frightened, it shan’t hurt you.”

He slammed the door on her protests, and locked it, and, slipping the
key of the cage in his pocket, took a firm grip of his knife, and,
running up the steps, gained the deck. Then his breath came more
freely, for the mate, who was standing a little way up the fore
rigging, after tempting the bear with his foot, had succeeded in
dropping a noose over its head. The brute made a furious attempt to
extricate itself, but the men hurried down with other lines, and in a
short space of time the bear presented much the same appearance as the
lion in Æsop’s Fables, and was dragged and pushed, a heated and
indignant mass of fur, back to its cage.

Having locked up one prisoner the skipper went below and released the
other, who passed quickly from a somewhat hysterical condition to one
of such haughty disdain that the captain was thoroughly cowed, and
stood humbly aside to let her pass.

The fat seaman was standing in front of the cage as she reached it, and
regarding the bear with much satisfaction until Kate sidled up to him,
and begged him, as a personal favour, to go in the cage and undo it.

“Undo it! Why he’d kill me!” gasped the fat seaman, aghast at such
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