How the Captain, even in the satisfaction of admitting such a guest, could have only shut the door, and not locked it, of which negligence he was undoubtedly guilty, is one of those questions that must for ever remain mere points of speculation, or vague charges against destiny. But by that unlocked door, at this quiet moment, did the fell Mac Stinger dash into the parlour, bringing Alexander Mac Stinger in her parental arms, and confusion and vengeance (not to mention Juliana Mac Stinger, and the sweet child’s brother, Charles Mac Stinger, popularly known about the scenes of his youthful sports, as Chowley) in her train. She came so swiftly and so silently, like a rushing air from the neighbourhood of the East India Docks, that Captain Cuttle found himself in the very act of sitting looking at her, before the calm face with which he had been meditating, changed to one of horror and dismay.
But the moment Captain Cuttle understood the full extent of his misfortune, self-preservation dictated an attempt at flight. Darting at the little door which opened from the parlour on the steep little range of cellar-steps, the Captain made a rush, head-foremost, at the latter, like a man indifferent to bruises and contusions, who only sought to hide himself in the bowels of the earth. In this gallant effort he would probably have succeeded, but for the affectionate dispositions of Juliana and Chowley, who pinning him by the legs—one of those dear children holding on to each—claimed him as their friend, with lamentable cries. In the meantime, Mrs. Mac Stinger, who never entered upon any action of importance without previously inverting Alexander Mac Stinger, to bring him within the range of a brisk battery of slaps, and then sitting him down to cool as the reader first beheld him, performed that solemn rite, as if on this occasion it were a sacrifice to the Furies; and having deposited the victim on the floor, made at the Captain with a strength of purpose that appeared to threaten scratches to the interposing Bunsby.
The cries of the two elder Mac Stingers, and the wailing of young Alexander, who may be said to have passed a piebald childhood, forasmuch as he was black in the face during one half of that fairy period of existence, combined to make this visitation the more awful. But when silence reigned again, and the Captain, in a violent perspiration, stood meekly looking at Mrs. Mac Stinger, its terrors were at their height.
"Oh, Cap’en Cuttle, Cap’en Cuttle!" said Mrs. Mac Stinger, making her chin rigid, and shaking it in unison with what, but for the weakness of her sex, might be described as her fist. "Oh, Cap’en Cuttle, Cap’en Cuttle, do you dare to look me in the face, and not be struck down in the berth!"
The Captain, who looked anything but daring, feebly muttered "Stand by!"
"Oh I was a weak and trusting Fool when I took you under my roof, Cap’en Cuttle, I was!" cried Mrs. Mac Stinger. "To think of the benefits I ’ve showered on that man, and the way in which I brought my children up to love and honour him as if he was a father to 'em, when there an’t a housekeeper, no nor a lodger in our street, don’t know that I lost money by that man, and by his guzzlings and his muzzlings"—Mrs. MacStinger used the last word for the joint sake of alliteration and aggravation, rather than for the expression of any idea—"and when they
