another — became the favourite and companion of his new captain, instead of his domestic, as had been originally contemplated. A lad of Willy’s age, who is treated with kindness and consideration, is soon attached, and becomes reconciled to any change of circumstances. It was a matter of indifference to our hero whether he was on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war or in the cabin of a smuggling sloop. Contented with his present lot, — with the happy thoughtlessness of youth, he never permitted the future to disturb his repose or affect his digestion.
Willy had been nearly a month at Cherbourg when McElvina’s sloop took in another cargo. “Willy,” said McElvina, one evening as they sat together in the apartment at the cabaret, “to-morrow I shall, in all probability, sail for the English coast. I have been thinking what I shall do with you. I do not much like parting with you; but, on reflection, I think it will be better that I should leave you behind. You can be of no use, and may be in the way if we should be obliged to take to our boat.”
Willy pleaded hard against this arrangement. “I never have a friend but I lose him directly,” said the boy, and the tears started into his eyes.
“I trust you will not lose me, my dear fellow,” replied McElvina, moved at this proof of affection; “but I must explain to you why I leave you. In the first place,” added he, laughing, “with that mark on your shoulder, it would be felony without benefit of clergy for you to be found in my possession; but of that I would run the risk. My serious reasons are as follow: — If this trip proves fortunate, I shall not return to Cherbourg. I have business of importance in London, which may require my presence for some weeks in that metropolis and its vicinity. I told you before, that I am about to take the command of a very different vessel from this paltry sloop, and upon a more dangerous service. In four or five months she will be ready to sail, and during that time I shall be constantly on the move, and shall hardly know what to do with you. Now, Willy, you are not aware of the advantages of education — I am: and as mine was given to me by strangers, so will I in return bestow as much upon you as I can afford. You must, therefore, go to school until my return. You will at least acquire the French language, and you will find that of no little use to you hereafter.”
Willy, accustomed to discipline and to breathe the air of passive obedience, submitted without raising any more objections. Debriseau joined, and they all three sallied forth to make arrangements for placing our hero “en pension,” where they had been recommended. Having effected this, they agreed to lounge on the Place d’Armes till sunset, when they took possession of one of the benches. McElvina and Debriseau lighted their cigars, and puffed away in silence, while Willy amused himself with watching the promenaders as they passed in review before him.
They had not remained there many minutes when a poodle-dog, bien tondu, and white as a sheep from the river before the day of shearing, walked up to them with an air of sagacious curiosity, and looked McElvina steadfastly in the face. McElvina, taking his cigar from his mouth, held it to the dog, who ran up to it, as if to smell it; the lighted end coming in contact with his cold nose, induced the animal to set up a loud yell, and retreat to his master much faster than he came, passing first one fore-paw and then the other over his nose, to wipe away the pain, in such a ridiculous manner as to excite loud merriment, not only from our party on the bench, but also from others who had witnessed the scene.
“So much for curiosity,” said McElvina, continuing his mirth. The proprietor of the dog, a young Frenchman, dressed very much “en calicot,” did not, however, seem quite so much amused with this practical joke; he cocked his hat fiercely on one side, raised his figure to the utmost of its height, and walking up, en grand militaire addressed McElvina, with “Comment, monsieur, vous avez fait une grande bêtise-là — vous m’insultez — ”
“I think I had better not understand French,” said McElvina, aside to Debriseau; then turning to the Frenchman, with a grave face, and air of incomprehension, — “What did you say, sir?”
“Ah! you are Inglishman. You not speak French?” — McElvina shook his head, and began to puff away his cigar.
“Den, sare, if you not speak de French language, I speak de Englis like von natif; and I tell you, sare, que vous m’avez insulté. Got for dam! — you burnt my dog nose; vat you mean, sare?”
“The dog burnt his own nose,” answered McElvina, mildly.
“Vat you mean? de dog burnt his own nose! How is a dog capable to burn his own nose? Sare, you put de cigar to my dog nose. I must have de satisfaction or de apology tout de suite.”
“But, sir, I have not insulted you.”
“Sare, you insult my dog — he is von and de same ting — mon chien est un chien de sentiment. He feel de affront all de same vid me — I feel de affront all de same vid him. Vous n’avez qu’à choisir, monsieur.”
“Between you and your dog,” answered McElvina — “Well, then, I’d rather fight the dog.”
“Bah! fight de dog — de dog cannot fight, sare: mais je suis son maître et son ami and I vill fight for him.”
“Well, then, monsieur, I did insult your dog, I must acknowledge, and I will give him the satisfaction which you require.”
“And how vill you give de satisfaction to de dog?”
“Why, sir, you said just now that he was un chien de beaucoup de sentiment: — if he is so, he will accept and properly appreciate my apology.”
“Ah, sare,” replied the Frenchman, relaxing the stern wrinkles of his brow, “c’est bien dit; you will make de apology to de dog. Sans doute, he is de principal, I am only de second. C’est une affaire arrangée. Moustache, viens ici Moustache” (the dog came up to his master). Monsieur est très faché de t’avoir brulé le nez.
“Monsieur Moustache,” said McElvina, taking off his hat with mock gravity to the dog, who seemed determined to keep at a respectful distance, “je vous demande mille excuses.”
“Ah! que c’est charmant!” cried some of the fair sex, who, as well as the men, had been attracted by, and were listening to the dispute. “Que Monsieur l’Anglais est drôle: et voyez Moustache, comme il a l’air content — vraiment c’est un chien d’esprit.”
“Allez, Moustache,” said his master, who was now all smiles, “donnez la patte à monsieur — donnez donc. Ah, sare, he forgive you, I am very sure — il n’a pas de malice, but he is afraid of de cigar. De burnt shild dred de vater, as your great Shakespeare say.”
“C’est un chien de talent: il a beaucoup de sentiment. Je suis bien fâché de t’avoir blessé, monsieur.”
“Et monsieur parle Français?”
“I should esteem myself fortunate, if I spoke your language as well as you do mine,” replied McElvina, in French.
This compliment, before so many bystanders, completely won the heart of the vain and choleric Frenchman.
“Ah, sare, you are too complaisant. I hope I shall have de pleasure to make your acquaintance. Je m’appelle Monsieur Auguste de Poivre. J’ai l’honneur de vous présenter une carte d’adresse. I live on de top of my mother’s, — sur l’entresol. My mother live on de ground — rez-de-chaussée. Madame ma mère will be delighted to receive a monsieur of so much vit and adresse.” So saying, away went Monsieur Auguste de Poivre, followed by Moustache, who was “all von and de same ting.”
“Well, we live and learn,” said McElvina, laughing, as soon as the Frenchman was at a little distance; “I never thought that I should have made an apology to a dog.”
“Oh, but,” replied Debriseau, “you forget that he was Un chien de sentiment.”
“You may imagine, from my behaviour, that I consider him a wiser puppy than his master, for he ran away from fire, whereas his master tried all he could to get into it. Some of our countrymen would have humoured him, and turned a comedy into a tragedy — I set a proper value on my life, and do not choose to risk it about trifles.”
“There has been more than