35. XXXV.
ROBERTO THE ROVER:—A TALE OF SEA AND
SHORE.
Chapter I.—France.
Our story opens in the early part of the
year 17—. France was rocking wildly
from centre to circumference. The arch
despot and unscrupulous man, Richard the
III., was trembling like an aspen leaf upon
his throne. He had been successful, through
the valuable aid of Richelieu and Sir Wm.
Donn, in destroying the Orleans Dysentery,
but still he trembled! O'Mulligan, the
snake-eater of Ireland, and Schnappsgoot of
Holland, a retired dealer in gin and sardines,
had united their forces—some nineteen
men and a brace of bull pups in all—
and were overtly at work, their object being
to oust the tyrant. O'Mulligan was a
young man between fifty-three years of age,
and was chiefly distinguished for being the
son of his aunt on his great grandfather's
side. Schnappsgoot was a man of liberal education,
having passed three weeks at Oberlin
College. He was a man of great hardihood,
also, and would frequently read an
entire column of “railway matters” in the
Cleveland Herald without shrieking with
agony.
Chapter II.—The King.
The tyrant Richard the III. (late Mr.
Gloster) sat upon his throne in the Palace
d' St. Cloud. He was dressed in his best
clothes, and gorgeous trappings surrounded
him everywhere. Courtiers, in glittering
and golden armor, stood ready at his beck.
He sat moodily for a while, when suddenly
his sword flashed from its silvern scabbard,
and he shouted—
“Slaves, some wine, ho!”
The words had scarcely escaped his lips
ere a bucket of champagne and a hoe were
placed before him.
As the king raised the bucket to his lips,
a deep voice near by, proceeding from the
mouth of the noble Count Staghisnibs,
cried—“Drink hearty, old feller.”
“Reports, traveling on lightning-wings,
whisper of strange goings on and cuttings
up throughout this kingdom. Knowest
thou aught of these things, most noble
Hellitysplit?” and the king drew from the
upper pocket of his gold-faced vest a paper
of John Anderson's solace and proceeded
to take a chaw.
“Treason stalks monster-like throughout
unhappy France, my liege!” said the noble
Hellitysplit. The ranks of the P. Q. R's
are daily swelling, and the G. R. J. A.'s are
constantly on the increase. Already the
peasantry scout at cat-fish, and demand
pickled salmon for their noonday repasts.
But, my liege,” and the brave Hellitysplit's
eyes flashed fire, “myself and sword are at
thy command!”
“Bully for you, Count,” said the king.
“But soft: methinks report—perchance
unjustly—hast spoken suspiciously of thee,
most Royal d'Sardine? How is this? Is
it a newspaper yarn?
What's up?”
D'Sardine meekly approached the throne,
knelt at the king's feet, and said: “Most
patient, gray, and red-headed skinner; my
very approved shin-plaster: that I've been
asked to drink by the P. Q. R.'s, it is most
true; true, I have imbibed sundry mugs of
lager with them. The very head and front
of my offending hath this extent, no more.”
“Tis well!” said the King, rising and
looking fiercely around. “Hadst thou
proved false I would with my own good
sword have cut off yer head, and spilled
your ber-lud all over the floor! If I
wouldn't, blow me!”
Chapter III.—The Rover.
Thrilling as the scenes depicted in the
preceding chapter indubitably were, those
of this are decidedly THRILLINGER. Again
are we in the mighty presence of the King,
and again is he surrounded by splendor
and gorgeously-mailed courtiers. A seafaring
man stands before him. It is Roberto
the Rover, disguised as a common
sailor.
“So,” said the King, “thou wouldst have
audience with me!”
“Aye, aye, yer 'onor,” said the sailor,
“just tip us yer grapplin irons and pipe all
hands on deck. Reef home yer jibpoop
and splice yer main topsuls. Man the jib-boom
and let fly yer top-gallunts. I've seen
some salt water in my days, yer landlubber,
but shiver my timbers if I hadn't rather
coast among seagulls than landsharks. My
name is Sweet William. You're old Dick
the Three! Ahoy! Awast! Dam my
eyes!” and Sweet William pawed the marble
floor and swung his tarpaulin after the
manner of sailors on the stage, and consequently,
not a bit like those on shipboard.
“Mariner,” said the King, gravely, “thy
language is exceeding lucid, and leads me
to infer that things is workin' bad.”
“Aye, aye, my hearty!” yelled Sweet
William, in dulcet strains, reminding the
King of the “voluptuous smell of physic,”
spoken of by the late Mr. Byron.
“What wouldst thou, seafaring man?”
asked the King.
“This!” cried the Rover, suddenly taking
off his maritime clothing and putting
on an expensive suit of silk, bespangled
with diamonds. “This! I am Roberto the
Rover!”
The King was thunder-struck. Cowering
back in his chair of state, he said in a
tone of mingled fear and amazement,
“Well, may I be gaul-darned!”
“Ber-lud! ber-lud! ber-lud!” shrieked
the Rover, as he drew a horse-pistol and
fired it at the King, who fell fatally killed,
his last words being, “We are governed
too much—this is the last of earth!!!”
At this exciting juncture Messrs. O'Mulligan
and Schnappsgoot (who had previously
entered into a copartnership with the Rover
for the purpose of doing a general killing
business) burst into the room and cut off
the heads and let out the inwards of all the
noblemen they encountered. They then
killed themselves and died like heroes,
wrapped up in the Star Spangled Banner,
to slow music.
The Rover fled. He was captured near
Marseilles and thrust into prison, where he
lay for sixteen weary years, all attempts to
escape being futile. One night a lucky
thought struck him. He raised the window
and got out. But he was unhappy. Remorse
and dyspepsia preyed upon his vitals.
He tried Bœrhave's Holland Bitters and
the Retired Physician's Sands of Life, and
got well. He then married the lovely
Countess D'Smith, and lived to a green
old age, being the triumph of virtue and
downfall of vice.
