"What are we to do with our foreign relations?" asked the carpenter's mate.

"Ah! Chisel, my lad, you are coming to the front," said the carpenter.

"What have we to do with foreign relations?" the cook asked. "Let them mind their own business, and we will mind ours."

"The unfortunate thing is," said the butcher, "that they won't mind their own business; no people will." The butcher gave another start and declared he heard the mysterious sound at the back of the galley.

"Well, Billy!" the carpenter exclaimed, "for a big man, you have about the smallest heart of any man I ever met."

Thus did the conspirators settle the affairs of the Buccaneer's nation.

But now another and most unmistakable sound saluted their ears. A c.o.c.k crowed loud and long. It is a well-known fact that neither spirits nor conspirators can stand this sort of thing. "Ah!" cried the carpenter, "there goes the shrill herald of the morn." Conspirators generally speak in this florid manner. "The day has returned too soon. You have much to answer for, Billy; for by your incessant interruptions you have squandered our precious time. But no matter. My lads, one little thing before we part. We shall want money. We cannot get on without the needful. It is money that makes the old mare go."

"I have a scheme here," cried the cook, "of raising the necessary wind."

"Quick, Pepper, my man, where is that lamp of yours you are so fond of flaunting before the eyes of people in the broad light of day. The torch of Truth you call it."

"Ah! Master Chips, the light of that lamp is only shed on other people's business. It would never do here."

It could never for a moment be supposed that these conspirators had not their dark lanterns; and presently one was produced from the ample folds of somebody's cloak, and they all stooped down as the cook unrolled his plan and the light from the dark lantern fell upon the eager faces of Billy Cheeks, the carpenter, his mate, and the cook.

"Time, mates, is short, so I come to the point. This is a bill of sale."

"So, so, a bill of sale," they all said in a low tone as they eyed the piece of paper.

"We will have an auction," said the cook; "our foreign relations we have decided to let go; for we get more kicks than half-pence from them; but our colonies we will sell."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the butcher, hoa.r.s.ely; "mind they don't sell you."

"At it again, Billy," said the cook; "but it shows you're recovering from your nervous attack. Lot No. 1. The Buccaneer's well-known property of India. A rich possession comprizing over 200,000,000 of faithful subjects, together with forts and garrisons fully armed and equipped, and a most lucrative trade."

"The Eastern Bandit no doubt will bid for that lot or perhaps he'll take it," said the carpenter's mate.

"Proceed, Pepper," cried the carpenter.

"That c.o.c.k won't fight," remarked the butcher. "You don't suppose our master will allow his dusky princess to be bought or taken by his old enemy, the Bandit."

"Go on, Pepper," cried the carpenter; "Billy's state of health is rapidly improving. Haste, my lad, for the silver foot of day is advancing. In a short time his eye will be over yonder house-tops, and if he looks upon us plotting in the cook's caboose, then farewell to our plan and perhaps to our liberty as well."

"Lot 2. Egypt. We may expect bidders for that country and 'caveat emptor' say I. That is a country replete with articles of virtu, the only thing is to find them. It is the proud possessor of an ancient history. With this lot will go a discontented, hara.s.sed and poverty-stricken people, and one or more high military reputations, and may the devil fly away with the whole lot, say I. There are a few others--things scarcely worth mentioning--such as the royal robes, crown jewels, and other court paraphernalia."

Here the discussion was suddenly put a stop to by the butcher, who gave such a start that he knocked the carpenter's mate up against the cook, who in turn nearly overturned Chips. The lantern was upset and the light was put out.

"What the devil is up now!" cried the cook, recovering himself.

"I saw it again," said the butcher, in a terrified whisper. They all pitied the butcher and declared that he was, without exception, about as uncomfortable a member of a conspiracy as could possibly be found. There was something almost uncanny about his behaviour, and no doubt less doughty men would have been scared. It was now too late to continue with their plans. They one and all said that the scheme was good and wanted scarcely for anything except the carrying of it out, which they agreed was a mere matter of detail. They complimented the cook upon his suggested method of raising the necessary wind. They were all very well pleased one with another, and as the carpenter dismissed them, he said: "Bless ye, my lads! Away to your bunks, my honest fellows. The silver king treads close upon the heels of the sable queen, so away and s.n.a.t.c.h a few hours of repose. Then arise and buckle to your work. Mix well amongst the people ash.o.r.e. Sow broadcast the seeds of discontent, and so prepare the way for action. The womb of time is big with great events.

Be civil, my mates, to the wild Ojabberaways, for at times it is necessary to hold the candle to the devil himself. If we do not square them, the other watch will."

"The greedy office grabbers," cried the cook, "will leave no stone unturned to get the helm; but we must dish them. For my part I have always found the Ojabberaways a merry and clever lot of gentlemanly devils."

"To their many wants then," exclaimed the carpenter, "lend a kindly ear; but keep your own counsel. Be thrifty of your words unless you use them as our n.o.ble captain does, to conceal your thoughts. Away then, my lads!

What, does no one move? It is too late for ghosts to prowl about, and of other things what have you to fear?"

"Who is afraid, Master Chips?" the cook asked indignantly, "I was only thinking."

"Vast heaving, my hearties, while the cook thinks," cried the carpenter.

"In the meantime I will take a look round, the watchman may be about."

Chips drew his cloak round him and pulled his slouched hat well down over his eyes; then with the stealthy walk peculiar to conspirators he took a look round. Just as he reached the back of the cook's galley, he heard what sounded like a splash in the water. It made him start; and his heart beat hard against his side, his hair stood on end, and he had to lean against the water-b.u.t.t for support. "Pshaw!" he cried as he s.h.i.+vered in the chill morning air, "I am getting as bad as Billy Cheeks." The look-out man from aloft cried out, "All's well." Thus rea.s.sured, the carpenter told his companions that the coast was clear, so with cloaks well wrapped round them and hats well slouched they sneaked away to their beds.

CHAPTER XXIII.

It was but a narrow strip of water that separated the old Sea King, or Buccaneer, from his neighbours on the mainland. But narrow as the strip was it had been and it was of the greatest service to him; for it kept from his sh.o.r.es the numerous bands of robbers that infested the mainland. Of course things had very much improved of recent years, but still occasional robberies took place even now, and when an opportunity offered it was not allowed to pa.s.s by. Since the world began it has been said that honest men are few and rogues are many.

There can be very little doubt that the veneer called civilisation has done much for the world. It would appear, however, that when people are collected together into a nation, they cannot even now look upon the richness of a neighbour, without having some feelings of envy, and experiencing a slight itching sensation at the ends of the fingers.

Indeed, the study of history, and human nature generally, would lead us to believe that man is not only a very lazy fellow by nature, never working unless necessity compels him to; but that he is also a thief, and is only honest by compulsion, or by learning that it is to his personal advantage to be so. This much we may have hinted before. For mankind in general we have the highest admiration and consideration; but we cannot hide from ourselves the fact that it has with many virtues, also very many faults, and love of other people's property seems to be one.

Man we will not run down or decry. Look you at the savage! There is a great n.o.bility about him, and in some things he compares most favourably with his highly cultivated and civilised brother. The latter is perhaps the proud possessor of a great intellect, of rank, of high position, having a long line of ancestors to decorate the walls of his ancestral hall. He may be the proud possessor of vast wealth, in fact, of everything that leads to human greatness, and yet see how he sneaks into a room as if he were some mean thing and thoroughly well ashamed of himself. Contrast with this man the n.o.ble bearing of the savage, every movement is as full of dignity, as, in all probability, his only blanket is of insects. This man feels himself a lord of creation. His mantle above alluded to he throws over his shoulders with an easy grace. His only possession perhaps is his spear or tomahawk which he is ever ready to bury in the stomach of an enemy or in the friendly earth. Then the savage is silent, and when he does speak, he does not prove himself a wind bag, but he speaks in measured tones, and with dignity and very much to the point. There is none of that senseless gabbling which is such a mark of Western civilisation, and which at times is so extremely confusing and even distressing. He does not wash, you say? Good people all, here the peculiar and special prejudice of civilisation presents itself. Yes, the tub crowns your Western edifice; but did your Saint James ever use the bath? The platter is well washed without, but within?

The savage is a n.o.ble being, though perhaps the rain that falls from a generous heaven is the only was.h.i.+ng he ever gets.

The imagination loves to dwell upon the ideal. It peoples the garden of Eden with beautiful and naked innocence. It loves to sing of the gentle shepherd, who, decked in ribbons and becoming fancy pastoral garments, pipes and dances to his flocks all day long, and in other ways wastes his employer's time. Strip the gentle shepherd of the clothing generously given him by the imagination and you find him a very rough fellow indeed, not given to singing so much as to cursing, and instead of dancing, is more ready to knock anyone on the head who interferes with his sheep-stealing propensities. We speak, good people all, of early pastoral times, of what we may call the ancient shepherd period.

Heaven forbid! that we should say one word against civilisation. Do we wish to live in a state of society which was so easily excited that if a man but sneezed some fiery fellow would fancy himself insulted and out with his bodkin and put it through one? Heaven forbid! we say again.

But, good people all, the struggle for existence is great. The weakest at all times go to the wall. The n.o.ble savage allows his weakly and sickly offspring to die; perhaps even at times he a.s.sists nature, occasionally knocking an aged parent on the head, saving thereby much pain and suffering on the one side, and trouble and anxiety on the other. But see what your civilisation does. See how far superior it is; how supremely human. It calls in that eminent physician Dr. Science, and with his help your sickly human weeds are nourished and reared until they are old enough and strong enough to marry and multiply. Weeds produce weeds and quickly. A sickly body can only sustain a sickly mind, and so the world wags and whole peoples become undermined. What would we do? Nothing. We sit and watch things taking their course, and note the many advantages that civilisation has over barbarism.

It is an old, old tale, yet in the telling of it nature alone is not prosy. She has such a way of telling the same story over and over again and ever varying it some little in the telling. What wonderful powers of variation has our mother! Take a million faces and by some subtle combination of the same features she gives an individuality to each. But to return to our n.o.ble savage. In a rough and ready fas.h.i.+on he surmounts the difficulty of his useless members of society. By an extensive and well-organised system, civilisation finds out the exact amount of sustenance it takes to keep the body and soul together in an aged broken-down pauper. Then separating an aged couple, who perhaps have borne the brunt of many a misfortune together, it allows them to drain to the last drop the dregs of life, holding up to them as a consolation the plenty that lies in paradise. Civilisation justly condemns the inhuman custom of the otherwise n.o.ble savage; but does not deny itself the inward satisfaction of a sigh of relief when some person who, having lingered perhaps a trifle too long over his or her exit, eventually goes. "Poor soul," they say, "it is a happy release. Gone to a better and a happier world, no doubt." A pauper's funeral brightens a district and carries, if not joy, at least no sorrow to the hearts of the guardians of the poor.

We never said that civilisation was a gigantic workshop where hypocrites and humbugs are turned out by the thousands every day, whilst its religion occupies itself in manufacturing Pharisees. We have pointed out, if we have not demonstrated, the admirable laws by which civilisation works as regards the welfare of the poor, and we have shown the care that it takes of its sickly weeds, given to them such eminent advantages and allowing them to contaminate a whole community with their sickliness. We have acknowledged how in all respects, with the sole exception of grace and bearing, civilisation is superior to the savage state. But this much we will say, many savages we have seen who are very much more gentle in their manners; very much more honourable and even refined in their feelings, and very much more humane, than the roughs of civilisation. No doubt every civilised family has its extremely black sheep. The Buccaneer certainly had his, and compared with them, the gentle savage is a well-bred gentleman.

Then look at your pale-faced drudge of civilisation. With bent back and emaciated face and smarting eyes, her thin but nimble fingers st.i.tch on from early morning, till after the weary sun has sunk to rest. On, on, she works with scanty food, and in an impure atmosphere. Poor soul, has civilisation done much for her? Has it b.u.t.tered her bread more thickly or sweetened more her tea? Is her lot any better than that of her sister who toils and slaves out in the open, while her brave lies and basks in the sun of idleness?

But we have wandered far from that narrow strip of water that divided the Buccaneer from his neighbours on the mainland. It had been to him as a magic belt, and worth more than thousands of men. His neighbours had to look on and long and wonder perhaps how it was that such a man had been allowed to prosper. But all have heard of the row in the kitchen, between the pot and the kettle. His neighbours, however, repudiated with scorn any evil intentions and they only kept themselves armed to the teeth to keep wicked robbers and cut-throats away; but it was a wonder to many people where they could be, because, if asked, all declared that all they wished for was to be allowed to live in peace, and quietude, so that they might enjoy the reward of their honest, industrious, and highly respectable lives, and fit themselves for heaven.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Arriving on the sh.o.r.es of his nearest neighbour, Madame France, the Buccaneer landed, and as he intended to make a few calls inland, he sent his yacht round to the Golden Horn with orders to await there his arrival.

The Buccaneer took off his hat and made his politest bow; but his reception was by no means as cordial as he had expected. As is well known by all those who have experienced it, there is nothing so freezing as the cold politeness of a haughty beauty. It requires more brazen effrontery than even old Dogvane had, to carry it off with a high handed dignity as if nothing was wrong. That Madame France was beautiful there could be no doubt, and she would have made the blood quicken in the veins of the most eminent saint, and as for a sinner! well, there is no use going into particulars.

It is more than probable that the charms of this lady were not lost upon either the Buccaneer or his trusty captain William Dogvane. Then, as if the devil was in it, Madame had added to her natural beauty, by calling in the a.s.sistance of every art. Her figure was neat and most attractive, and her dress left nothing to be desired. In her display of charms she was generous without being coa.r.s.e and vulgar, and her short kirtle discovered the prettiest of ankles, and just enough of a well-shaped leg to be peculiarly attractive. Even old Bill felt young again and his eyes glistened with delight, and he was no less inclined to be gallant than his master, who for the time forgot the precept taught him by his religion about coveting other people's goods.