Foster's Letter Of Marque

I

One by one the riding-lights of the few store-ships and whalers lying in Sydney Harbour on an evening in January, 1802, were lit, and as the clear notes of a bugle from the barracks pealed over the bay, followed by the hoarse calls and shrill whistles of the boatswains’ mates on a frigate that lay in Sydney Cove, the mate of the Policy whaler jumped up from the skylight where he had been lying smoking, and began to pace the deck.

The Policy was anchored between the Cove and Pinchgut, ready for sea. The north-easter, which for three days had blown strongly, had now died away, and the placid waters of the harbour shimmered under the starlight of an almost cloudless sky. As the old mate tramped to and fro on the deserted poop, his keen seaman’s eye caught sight of some faint grey clouds rising low down in the westward—signs of a south-easterly coming before the morning.

Stepping to the break of the poop, the officer hailed the look-out forward, and asked if he could see the captain’s boat coming.

“No, sir,” the man replied. “I did see a boat a while ago, and thought it was ours, but it turned out to be one from that Batavian Dutchman anchored below Pinchgut. Her captain always goes ashore about this time.”

Swinging round on his heel with an angry exclamation, the mate resumed his walk, muttering and growling to himself as elderly mates do mutter and growl when a captain promises to be on board at five in the afternoon and is not in evidence at half-past seven. Perhaps, too, the knowledge of the particular cause of the captain’s delay somewhat added to his chief officer’s ill-temper—that cause being a pretty girl; for the mate was a crusty old bachelor, and had but little sympathy with such “tomfoolery.”

“Why the devil couldn’t he say goodbye to her and be done with it and come aboard,” he grumbled, “instead of wasting half a day over it?”

But Mr. Stevenson did not consider that in those days pretty women were not plentiful in Sydney, and virtue was even scarcer than good looks, and Dorothy Gilbert, only daughter of the Deputy Acting Assistant Commissary-General of the penal settlement, possessed all the qualifications of a lovable woman, and therefore it was not wonderful that Captain Charles Foster had fallen very much in love with her.

Dorothy, of course, had her faults, and her chief one was the rather too great store she set upon being the daughter of an official. Pretty nearly every one in those days of the settlement was either an official or a prisoner or an ex-convict, and the D.A.A.C.G. was of no small importance among the other officials in Sydney. The girl’s acquaintance with the young master of the Policy began in a very ordinary manner. His ship had been chartered by the Government to take out a cargo of stores to the settlement, and the owners, who were personally acquainted with her father, had given Foster a letter of introduction. This he had used somewhat sooner than he had at first intended, for on presenting himself at the Commissary’s office he had caught sight of Dolly’s charming face as she stood talking to a young man in the uniform of a sergeant of the New South Wales Regiment who had brought a letter to her father. .

“Thank you, Sergeant,” the young lady said with a gracious smile. “Will you present my father’s compliments to the Major and say we shall be sure to come. He is not here at present, but cannot delay long, as he will have much business to transact with the master of the ship just come in, and who will doubtless be here very soon.”

Just at that moment Foster appeared at the open door, and the young lady, divining at once that he was the person of whom she had just spoken, bowed very prettily, and begging him to be seated whilst she had search made for her father, left the office and disappeared in the living portion of the house, followed by a look of very great interest from Captain Foster. A minute later the Commissary entered the room, and Foster was soon deep in business with Dolly’s father, to whom he made himself very agreeable—having a certain object in view.

Their business concluded, the young man rose to go, and not till then—being wise in his generation—did he allude to the fact of his having a private letter of introduction from his owners—Messrs. Hurry Brothers, of London—to Mr. Scars-brook. The stiff, official manner of the D.A.A.C.G. at once thawed, and being at heart a genial old fellow, he expressed his pleasure, shook hands again with the young man, and inquired why he had not presented the letter or made allusion to it before.

Foster, who had pretty well gauged Mr. Scarsbrook mentally, modestly replied that he did not care to obtrude private affairs at an inopportune time. He knew that weighty affairs doubtless occupied Mr. Scarsbrook’s mind during his business hours, but had intended to do himself the honour of presenting his letter later on, &c.

This at once impressed the D.A.A.C.G., who asked him to dinner that evening.

“A most intelligent young man, my dear,” he told Dolly shortly after. “His attention to business before all else has given me a very favourable impression of him.”

Dolly tossed her head. “I hope I shall not be disappointed in him. Is he young?” she asked indifferently.

“Quite; and in manners and appearance much above his position.”

Dolly did like him very much—‘much more than she cared to confess to herself—and their first meeting at dinner led to many of a less formal character, and ere a week had passed Captain Charles Foster was very much in love with his host’s daughter, and not being a man who wasted time, was only awaiting an opportunity to tell her so.

Now Dolly, who had first flirted with and then flouted every one of the bachelor officials in Sydney, military or civilian, who visited the Commissary’s abode, was, to do her justice, a girl of sense at heart, and she felt that Captain Foster meant to ask her an all-important question—to every woman—and that her answer would be “Yes.” For not only was he young, handsome, and highly thought of by his owners, but he came of a good family, and had such prospects for his future as seldom came in the way of men in the merchant service even in those days of lucky South-Seamen and East India traders, who made fortunes rapidly. And then ‘twas evident he was very much in love with her, and this latter fact considerably and naturally influenced her.

The first week passed pleasantly enough, then, to his anger and disgust, Foster found he had a rival; and before the end of the second week he realised, or imagined so, that he was beaten in the field of love—by a Dutchman!

Sergeant Harry Burt was the first to give him warning, for he was often on duty at or near the Commissary’s quarters, and, indeed, had often taken notes from Foster to the fair Dolly. He showed a warm interest in the matter, for Foster was always polite to the sergeant, and did not turn up his nose at “soldier men,” as other masters of ships were but too ready to do.

It had so happened that the work of discharging his ship had kept Foster very busy during the second week of his stay, and he had paid but one evening visit to Dolly and her father, and was hurrying the cargo ashore with feverish eagerness. Once that was accomplished, he meant to devote himself (1)to proposing to the young lady, (2) gaining her father’s consent, and (3) getting to sea again as soon as possible, making a good cruise at the whale fishery, and returning to Sydney within two years as master and owner of a ship of his own. Consequently, Burt’s news gave him considerable disquietude.

“Who did you say he was, Sergeant?” he asked gloomily; “a Dutchman?”

“Yes, sir; he’s the master of that Dutch Batavian ship that has brought stores from Batavia. Mr. Scarsbrook seems to make a lot of him of late, and he’s always coming up to the Commissary’s place. And if he sees Miss Scarsbrook out in the garden he swaggers in after her as if he were an admiral of the fleet Portveldt’s his name, and—and–”

“And what, Sergeant?”

“Well, I think Miss Scarsbrook rather likes him, that’s all. You see, sir, you haven’t been there for a week, and this young Dutchman is by no means bad-looking, and even our Major says he’s a jolly fine fellow—and all that goes a long way with women, you know. Then you only visit the house once in a week; the Dutchman goes there every day, and every time he comes he brings his boatswain with him—a big, greasy-faced chap. Last night he followed his master, carrying a cheese—a present for the Commissary, I suppose.”

“Well, I shall soon see how the land lies, Sergeant I’m going ashore presently, and I can promise you it won’t be my fault if I let this fellow get to windward of me.”

But Miss Dolly was not to be seen that day, nor yet on the following one. She was vexed at Foster having thought of his work before herself, and she had determined to punish him by not meeting him for some little time, and amuse herself with the handsome young Dutch sailor meanwhile. So, in no very amiable mood, Foster went back to his ship, finished discharging, and delighted his old mate by telling him to get ready for sea as quickly as possible. And on this particular evening when our story opens the Policy only waited for her captain—who had gone ashore—so he told Stevenson—to say goodbye to the Commissary, with parting instructions to the mate to begin to heave up as soon as he saw his (Foster’s) boat leave the Cove.

After spending half an hour with the Commissary, Foster asked to see Miss Dorothy, and was soon ushered into the sitting-room, where the young lady welcomed him effusively, and her manner soon drove all suspicious thoughts of his rival out of his mind. Her mother, a placid lady, who was absolutely ruled by Dolly and her father, smiled approval when Foster asked her daughter to accompany him to the garden and take a look at the harbour. She liked him, and had previously given him much assistance by getting out of the way whenever she suspected he wanted to see Dolly alone.

As soon as they had gained the screen of the shaded path leading to the water’s edge, Foster came to the point at once.

“Dolly,” he said, “you know why I have asked you to come with me here. My ship is ready for sea, and it may be quite two years before I shall have the happiness of seeing you again.”

“‘Tis very kind of you to pay me so pretty a compliment, Captain Foster—or I should say Mr. Foster,” said Dolly, concealing a smile; “but surely you need not have brought me out to the garden to tell me this.”

Her pretended forgetfulness of some past passages in their brief acquaintance, as her speech implied, ruffled him.

“You are very particular with your Mr. Foster, Miss Dolly; and why not ‘Captain’?”

Dolly raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Captains hold the King’s commission and fight for their country,” she said demurely. “The master of a horrid ship that goes catching whales has no right to the title.” Then she laughed and shook her long, fair curls.

“Upon my word, young lady, you are very complimentary; but, Dolly, no more of this banter. My boat is waiting, and I have but a few minutes to ask you to give me your answer. In all seriousness remember that my future depends upon it. Will you marry me? Will you try to love me? May I go away with the hope that you will look forward to my return, and–”

“In all seriousness, Mr. Foster, I will not.”

“Why, what have I done to offend you? I thought you—I thought that I–” and then, getting somewhat confused and angry at the same time at Dolly’s nonchalant manner, he wound up with, “I believe that damned Dutchman has come between us!”

“How dare you swear at me, sir? I suppose, though, it is the custom for captains in the merchant service to swear at ladies. And what right have you to assume that I should marry you? Because I rather liked to talk to you when I felt dull, is that any reason why you should be so very rude to me? And once for all, sir, I shall never marry a mere merchant sailor—a common whaling master. I shall marry, when I do marry, an officer and a gentleman in the King’s service.”

“Ah!” Foster snapped, “and what about the Dutchman?”

Now up to this point Dolly had been making mere pretence. She honestly loved the young seaman, and meant to tell him so plainly before he left the garden, but at this last question the merriment he had failed to see in her eyes gave place to an angry sparkle, and she quickly retorted—

“Mr. Portveldt, sir, is a Dutch gentleman, and he would never talk to me in such a way as you have done. How dare you, sir!”

Foster was really angry now, and smiled sarcastically. “He’s but the master of a merchantman, and an infernal Dutchman at that.”

“He is a gentleman, which you are not!” snapped Dolly fiercely; “and if he is but a merchant skipper, he commands his own ship. He is a shipowner, and a well-known Batavian merchant as well, sir; so there!”

“So I believe,” said Foster wrathfully; “sells Dutch cheeses and brings them ashore with him.”

“You’re a spy,” said Dolly contemptuously.

“Very well, Miss Scarsbrook, call me what you please. I can see your cheese merchant waddling this way now, attended by his ugly pirate of a boatswain. Doubtless he has some stock-fish on this occasion, and as stock-fish are very much like Dutchmen in one respect and I like neither, I wish you joy of him. Goodbye!” And Captain Foster swung on his heel and walked quickly out of the garden gate. As he strode down the narrow path he brushed past the Batavian merchant, who was on his way to the Commissary’s office.

“Goot tay to you, Captain Foster,” said Port-veldt, grinning amiably.

“Go to the devil!” replied the Englishman promptly, turning round and facing the Dutchman to give due emphasis to his remark.

Portveldt, a tall, well-made fellow, and handsomely dressed, stared at Foster’s retreating figure in angry astonishment, then changing his mind about first visiting the Commissary, he opened the garden gate, and came suddenly upon Dorothy Scarsbrook seated upon a rustic bench, weeping bitterly.

“My tear yong lady, vat is de matter? I beg you to led me gomfort you.”

“There is nothing the matter, Mr. Portveldt I thank you, but you cannot be of any service to me,” and Dolly buried her face in her handkerchief again.

“I am sorry ferry mooch to hear you say dat, Mees Dorotee, vor it vas mein hop dot you would dake kindtly to me.”

Dolly made no answer, and then Captain Portveldt sat down beside her, his huge figure quite filling up all the remaining space.

“Mees Dorotee,” he began ponderously, “de trood is dot I vas goming to see you to dell you I vas ferry mooch in loaf mid you, und to ask you to be mein vifes; but now dot you do veep so mooch, I–”

“Say no more if you please, Mr. Portveldt,” said Dolly, hastily drying her eyes. Then, rising with great dignity, she bowed and went on: “Of course I am deeply sensible of the great honour that you do me, but I can never be your wife.” And then to herself: “I fancy that I have replied in a very proper manner.”

“Vy, vat vas der wrong aboud me, Mees Dorotee?” pleaded Portveldt “I vas feery yoyful in mein mind tinking dot you did loaf me some liddle bid. I have mooch money; mein haus in Batavia is mosd peautiful, und you shall have plendy servands to do all dot you vish. Oh, Mees Dorotee! vat can be wrong mid me?”

“There is nothing that I object to in you, sir, except that I do not love you. Really you cannot expect me to marry you because I have seen you half a dozen times and have treated you with politeness.”

“I do hobe, Mees Dorotee, dot id is not because of dot yong mans who vas so oncivil to me yoost now dot you vill not haf me. He vas dell me to go to der tuyvel ven I did say ‘goot morning’ yoost now.”

“It is no young man, sir. Mr. Foster is a person for whom I have a great regard, but I do not intend to marry him. I will only marry a gentleman.

“Oh, bud, Mees Dorotee, am I not a yentle-mans?”

“I do not consider masters of merchantmen gentlemen,” replied Dolly with a slight sniff. “My father is an officer in the King’s service, and I have been taught to–”

“Ha, ha! Mees Dorotee,” laughed Portveldt good-humouredly, “dot is nod so. Your baba is but a gommissary who puys de goots vich I bring me from Batavia to sell.”

“How dare you talk like that, sir? My father is a King’s officer, and before he came here he fought for his country.”

“Veil, Mees Dorotee, I do beg your pardon mooch, and I vill vight vor mein country if you vil learn to loaf me on dot account.”

But Miss Dolly would listen no more, and, with a ceremonious bow, walked away. Then the Dutch merchant went to the Commissary’s office to talk the matter over with her father, who told him that he would not interfere in his daughter’s choice; if he could not make himself agreeable to her, neither her father nor mother could help him.

Just after sunrise next morning, Dolly, who had spent the night in tears and repentance, woke, feeling very miserable. From her opened window she could see the morning mists hanging over the placid waters of the harbour disappearing before the first breaths of the coming south-easter. The Policy, she thought, could not have sailed yet, and she meant to send her lover a note, asking him to come and see her again before he left. Then she gave a little cry and sob, and her eyes filled with tears. Far down the harbour she could see the sails of the Policy just disappearing round a wooded headland.

An hour or so after breakfast, as Dolly was at work among her flowers, the tall figure of Sergeant Burt stood before her, and saluted—

“The Policy has sailed, Miss Scarsbrook,” said the Sergeant, “and I have brought you a letter.”

“Indeed!” said Dolly, with an air of icy indifference, turning her back upon the soldier, and digging her trowel into a little heap of soil. “I do not take any interest in merchant ships, and do not want the letter.” When she glanced round again she was just in time to see Sergeant Burt standing in the roadway with a lot of tiny pieces of paper fluttering about his feet.

Something impelled her to ask: “What are you doing, Burt?”

“Mr. Foster’s orders, Miss. Told me if you would not take the letter I was to destroy it.”

Dolly laid her trowel down and slowly went to her room “with a bad headache,” as she told her mother.

II

Nearly two years went by, and then one morning the look-out at the South Head of Sydney Harbour signalled a vessel to the north-east, and a few hours later the Policy was again at anchor in Sydney Cove, and Captain Foster was being warmly welcomed by the residents generally and Dolly’s father in particular, who pressed him to come ashore that evening to dinner.

Among the first to board the Policy was Sergeant Burt, who, as soon as the others had left, was in deep converse with Captain Foster. “I’m sure she meant to take your letter, Mr. Foster,” he said finally, “and that I was too quick in tearing it up.”

“I’ll soon know, Burt; I’ll try again this evening.”

At the Commissary’s dinner that evening Dolly met him with a charming smile and cheeks suffused; and then, after Captain Foster had narrated the incidents of his successful whaling voyage, her parents discreetly left them to themselves in the garden.

“Dolly! I am a rough, uncultured sailor. Will you therefore forgive me my rudeness when we last parted?”

“Of course. I have forgotten it long ago, and I am very sorry we parted bad friends.”

“You make me very happy, Dolly. I have been speaking to your mother, and she has told me that she thinks you do care for me, Is it so? May I again–”

“Now, Captain Foster, why cannot we be friends without—without anything else. I will not pretend that I do not understand your meaning, but I tell you, once and for all, I don’t want to be married. Really,” and she smiled brightly, “you are as bad as Mr. Portveldt.”

“Very well, Miss Dorothy,” said Foster with annoying equanimity, “I won’t allude to the subject again. But what has the Dutchman been doing? Where is he now?”

Dolly laughed merrily. “Oh, Captain Foster, I really have no right to show you this letter, but it is so very amusing that I cannot help doing so,” and she took a letter from her pocket.

“Oh, he has been writing to you, has he?”

“Now don’t speak in that bullying manner, sir, or I shall not let you hear its contents.”

“Very well, Dolly; but how came you to get the letter? We are at war with the Dutch Settlements now, you know.”

“That is the amusing part of it. Now listen, and I will read it to you;” and Dolly spread out a large sheet of paper, and read aloud in mimicking tones—

“Mein dear Mees Dolly,—You did vant ein loafer who could vight vor his coundry, and vould haf no man who vas yoost ein merchant. Very goot. I mineself now command the privateer Swift, vich vas used to be sailing in gompany mit La Brave und La Mouche in der service of der French Republic, und did den vight und beat all der Anglische ships in der Anglische Channel. Id is drue dot your La Minerve did by shance von tay capture der Swift, and sold her to the American beoples, but our Batavian merchants did buy her from them, und now I haf god de command. Und now dot your goundrymens do annoys der Deutsche Settlements in our Easd Indies, ve do mean to beat dem every dimes ve cadgh dem in dese zees. Und I do send mein ledder to you, mein tear Mees Dorotee, by der greasy old vale-ship Mary Ann, yoost to led you know dot I haf not vorgotten you mid your bride eye. Und ven I haf gaptured all der Anglische ships in der East Indies I vill sail mein Swift to Sydney and claim you vor mein vrau, und do you nod be vrightened. I vill dake care dot you und your beople shall not be hurt, because I do loaf you ferry mooch. Der master of der Mary Ann vill dell you I vas ferry goot to him for your sake. I did but take his gargo, and did give him und his grew liberdy to go to Sydney und dake this letter to you, mein vrau, in der dime to gom, as I did dell him.—I remain your loafing Richard Portveldt.”

Foster jumped to his feet “The rascally Dutch swab, to dare to–”

“To dare to write to me,” said Dolly laughingly.

“To dare to write to you! To suppose for one moment that you—oh, d– the fellow! If I come across him, I’ll–”

“But all the same, he’s very brave,” said Dolly demurely; “he is fighting for his country, you know.”

“The boasting fool!” ejaculated Foster contemptuously.

“But he is captain of the Swift, and the Swift did beat some of the English ships. I have heard my father say that.”

“Oh, yes. Three privateers did manage to cut off some of our little despatch vessels in the Channel; but this fat Dutchman, Portveldt, had no hand in it.”

“But this ‘fat Duchman, Portveldt, did capture the Mary Ann, and her master did give me this letter, and—and I was so angry.”

“The master of the Mary Ann must have been a fool.”

“Why so—for merely executing a commission? But wait, there is a postscript that will interest you particularly. Now listen while I read it,” and Dolly, again mimicking Portveldt’s English, read—

“Dell dot oncivil yong mans Voster who vas dell me to go to ter tuyvel, dot I vill sendt der Bolicy und her master mit der grew to der tuyvel if he gomes mein vay mit his zeep.”

“Now, Captain Foster, what do you think of that, pray?”

“Very pretty talk; what do you think of it?”

“Well, I’m only a poor little woman; but if I were a man I would–”

“Exactly so, Dolly. Well, I am a man, and the Policy has brought a letter of marque with her from England this time, and so I may meet–”

“Oh, Captain Foster!” and Dolly’s eyes brightened, “I am glad; but—but—please, for my sake, don’t get killed.”

A fortnight later, when Foster bade Dolly goodbye for another six months, she told him softly that she would be glad—oh, so very glad!—to hear news of him. A whaling voyage was so very dangerous, and he might get hurt or killed.

And this time, as the Policy sailed and Foster saw Dolly waving to him from the steps of the Commissary’s office, he felt pretty sure that the letter of marque had advanced his suit considerably.