“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.