Foster's Letter Of Marque

“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 Swiftdid 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.”