CHAPTER THE SIXTH
*In which the reader becomes acquainted with William Bulger and othersailor men; and our hero as a squire of dames acquits himself withcredit.*
One warm October afternoon, some ten days after the night of his visitto the _Four Alls_, Desmond was walking along the tow-path of theThames, somewhat north of Kingston. As he came to the spot where theriver bends round towards Teddington, he met a man plodding along with arope over his shoulder, hauling a laden hoy.
"Can you tell me the way to the _Waterman's Rest_?" asked Desmond.
"Ay, that can I," replied the man without stopping. "'Tis about aquarter-mile behind me, right on waterside. And the best beer this sideo' Greenwich."
Thanking him, Desmond walked on. He had not gone many yards furtherbefore there fell upon his ear, from some point ahead, the sound ofseveral rough voices raised in chorus, trolling a tune that seemedfamiliar to him. As he came nearer to the singers, he distinguished thewords of the song, and remembered the occasion on which he had heardthem before: the evening of Clive's banquet at Market Drayton--the openwindow of the _Four Alls_, the voice of Marmaduke Diggle.
Sir William Norris, Masulipatam--
these were the first words he caught; and immediately afterwards thevoices broke into the second verse:
Says Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras, "I know what you are: an ass, an ass, An ass, an ass, an ASS, an ASS," Signed "Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras."
And at the conclusion there was a clatter of metal upon wood, and thenone voice, loud and rotund, struck up the first verse once more--
Says Billy Norris, Masulipatam--
The singer was in the middle of the stave when Desmond, rounding aprivet hedge, came upon the scene. A patch of greensward, sloping upfrom a slipway on the riverside; a low, cosy-looking inn of red brickcovered with a crimson creeper; in front of it a long deal table, andseated at the table a group of some eight or ten seamen, each with apewter tankard before him. To the left, and somewhat in the rear of thelong table, was a smaller one, at which two seamen, by their garb a cutabove the others, sat opposite each other, intent on some game.
Desmond's attention was drawn towards the larger table. Rough as was thecommon seaman of George the Second's time, the group here collectedwould have been hard to match for villainous looks. One had half histeeth knocked out, another a broken nose; all bore scars and other marksof battery.
Among them, however, there was one man marked out by his generalappearance and facial expression as superior to the rest. In dress hewas no different from his mates; he wore the loose blouse, thepantaloons, the turned-up cloth hat of the period. But he towered abovethem in height; he had a very large head, with a very small squab nose,merry eyes, and a fringe of jet-black hair round cheeks and chin. Whenhe removed his hat presently he revealed a shiny pink skull, rising fromshort wiry hair as black as his whiskers. Alone of the group, he woreno love-locks or greased pigtail. In his right hand, when Desmond firstcaught sight of him, he held a tankard, waving it to and fro in timewith his song. He had lost his left hand and forearm, which werereplaced by an iron hook projecting from a wooden socket, just visiblein his loose sleeve.
He was half-way through the second stanza when he noticed Desmondstanding at the angle of the hedge a few yards away. He fixed his merryeyes on the boy, and, beating time with his hook, went on with the songin stentorian tones--
An ass, an ass, an ASS, an ASS, Signed "Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras."
The others took up the chorus, and finally brought their tankards downupon the deal with a resounding whack.
"Ahoy, Mother Wiggs, more beer!" shouted the big man.
Desmond went forward.
"Is this the _Waterman's Rest_?"
"Ay, ay, young gen'leman, and a blamed restful place it is, too, fit forwatermen what en't naught but landlubbers, speaking by the book, but notfor the likes of us jack tars. Eh, mateys?"
His companions grunted acquiescence.
"I have a message for Mr. Toley; is he here?"
"Ay, that he is. That's him at the table yonder. Mr. Toley, sir, ayoung gen'leman to see you."
Desmond advanced to the smaller table. The two men looked up from theirgame of dominoes. One was a tall, lean fellow, with lined and sunkencheeks covered with iron-gray stubble, a very sharp nose, and colourlesseyes; the expression of his features was melancholy in the extreme. Theother was a shorter man, snub-nosed, big-mouthed; one eye was blue, theother green, and they looked in contrary directions. His hat was tiltedforward, resting on two bony prominences above his eyebrows.
"Well?" said Mr. Toley, the man of melancholy countenance.
"I have a message from Captain Barker," said Desmond. "I am to say thathe expects you and the men at Custom House Quay next Wednesday morning,high tide at five o'clock."
Mr. Toley lifted the tankard at his left hand, drained it, smacked hislips, then said in a hollow voice:
"Bulger, Custom House Quay, Wednesday morning, five o'clock."
A grunt of satisfaction and relief rolled round the company, and inresponse to repeated cries for more beer a stout woman in a mob cap anddirty apron came from the inn with a huge copper can, from which sheproceeded to fill the empty tankards.
"Is the press still hot, sir?" asked Mr. Toley.
"Yes. Four men, I was told, were hauled out of the _Good Intent_yesterday."
"And four bad bargains for the King," put in the second man, whose crossglances caused Desmond no little discomfort.
At this moment Joshua Wiggs the innkeeper came up, carrying threefowling-pieces.
"There be plenty o' ducks to-day, mister," he said.
"Then we'll try our luck," said Mr. Toley, rising. "Thank 'ee, my lad,"he added to Desmond. "You'll take a sup with the men afore you go?Bulger, see to the gentleman."
"Ay, ay, sir. Come aboard, matey."
He made a place for Desmond at his side on the bench, and called toMother Wiggs to bring a mug for the gentleman. Meanwhile, Mr. Toley andhis companion had each taken a fowling-piece and gone away with thelandlord. Bulger winked at his companions, and when the sportsmen wereout of earshot he broke into a guffaw.
"Rare sport they'll have! I wouldn't be in Mr. Toley's shoes forsomething. What's a cock-eyed man want with a gun in his hand, eh,mateys?"
Desmond felt somewhat out of his element in his present company; buthaving reasons of his own for making himself pleasant, he said, by wayof opening a conversation:
"You seem pleased at the idea of going to sea again, Mr. Bulger."
"Well, we are and we en't, eh, mateys? The _Waterman's Rest_ en'texactly the kind of place to spend shore leave; it en't a patch onWapping or Rotherhithe. And to tell 'ee true, we're dead sick of it.But there's reasons; there mostly is; and the whys and wherefores,therefores and becauses, I dessay you know, young gen'leman, a-comin'from Captain Barker."
"The press-gang?"
"Ay, the press is hot in these days. Cap'n sent us here to be out o'the way, and the orficers to look arter us. Not but what 'tis safer forthem too; for if Mr. Sunman showed his cock-eyes anywhere near the Pool,he'd be nabbed by the bailiffs, sure as he's second mate o' the _GoodIntent_. Goin' to sea's bad enough, but the _Waterman's Rest_ andholdin' on the slack here's worse, eh, mateys?"
"Ay, you're right there, Bulger."
"But why don't you like going to sea?" asked Desmond.
"Why? You're a landlubber, sir--meanin' no offence--or you wouldn't axsich a foolish question. At sea 'tis all rope's end and salt pork, withIrish horse for a tit-bit."
"Irish horse?"
"Ay. That's our name for it. 'Cos why? Explain to the gen'leman,mateys."
With a laugh the men began to chant--
Salt horse, salt horse, what brought you here? You've carried turf for many a year. From Dublin quay to Ballyack You've carried turf upon your back.
"That's the why and where
fore of it," added Bulger. "Cooks call it saltbeef, same as French mounseers don't like the sound of taters an' calls'em pummy detair; but we calls it Irish horse, which we know theflavour. Accordingly, notwithstandin' an' for that reason, if you axesthe advice of an old salt, never you go to sea, matey."
"That's unfortunate," said Desmond with a smile, "because I expect tosail next Wednesday morning, high tide at five o'clock."
"Binks and barnacles! Be you agoin' to sail with us?"
"I hope so."
"Billy come up! You've got business out East then?"
"Not yet, but I hope to have. I'm going out as supercargo."
"Oh! As supercargo!"
Bulger winked at his companions, and a hoarse titter went the round ofthe table.
"Well," continued Bulger, "the supercargo do have a better time of itthan us poor chaps. And what do Cap'n Barker say to you as supercargo,which you are very young, sir?"
"I don't know Captain Barker."
"Oho! But I thought as how you brought a message from the captain?"
"Yes, but it came through Mr. Diggle."
"Ah! Mr. Diggle?"
"A friend of mine--a friend of the captain. He has arrangedeverything."
"I believe you, matey. He's arranged everything. Supercargo! Well, tobe sure! Never a supercargo as I ever knowed but wanted a man to lookarter him, fetch and carry for him, so to say. How would I do, if Imight make so bold?"
"Thanks," said Desmond, smiling as he surveyed the man's huge form."But I think Captain Barker might object to that. You'd be of more useon deck, in spite of----"
He paused, but his glance at the iron hook had not escaped Bulger'sobservant eye.
"Spite of the curlin' tongs, you'd say. Bless you, spit 't out, I en'ttender in my feelin's."
"Besides," added Desmond, "I shall probably make use of the boy who hasbeen attending on me at the _Goat and Compasses_--a clever little blackboy of Mr. Diggle's."
"Black boys be hanged! I never knowed a Sambo as was any use on boardship. They howls when they're sick, and they're allers sick, and neverlarns to tell a marlin-spike from a belayin' pin."
"But Scipio isn't one of that sort. He's never sick, Mr. Diggle says;they've been several voyages together, and Scipio knows a ship from stemto stern."
"Scipio, which his name is? Oncommon name, that."
There was a new tone in Bulger's voice, and he gave Desmond a keen and,as it seemed, a troubled look.
"Yes, it is strange," replied the boy, vaguely aware of the change ofmanner. "But Mr. Diggle has ways of his own."
"This Mr. Diggle, now; I may be wrong, but I should say--yes, he'sshort, with bow legs and a wart on his cheek?"
"No, no; you must be thinking of some one else. He is tall, rather awell-looking man; he hasn't a wart, but there is a scar on his brow,something like yours."
"Ah! I know they sort; a fightin' sort o' feller, with a voicelike--which I say, like a nine-pounder?"
"Well, not exactly; he speaks rather quietly; he is well educated, too,to judge by the Latin he quotes."
"Sure now, a scholard. Myself, I never had no book larnin' to speak of;never got no further than pothooks an' hangers!"
He laughed as he lifted his hook. But he seemed to be disinclined forfurther conversation. He buried his face in his tankard, and when hehad taken a long pull set the vessel on the table and stared at it witha preoccupied air. He seemed to have forgotten the presence of Desmond.The other men were talking among themselves, and Desmond, having by thistime finished his mug of beer, rose to go on his way.
"Good-bye, Mr. Bulger," he said; "we shall meet again next Wednesday."
"Ay, ay, sir," returned the man.
He looked long after the boy as he walked away.
"Supercargo!" he muttered. "Diggle! I may be wrong, but----"
Desmond had come through Southwark and across Clapham and WimbledonCommon, thus approaching the _Waterman's Rest_ from the direction ofKingston. Accustomed as he was to long tramps, he felt no fatigue, andwith a boy's natural curiosity he decided to return to the city by adifferent route, following the river bank. He had not walked far beforehe came to the ferry at Twickenham. The view on the other side of theriver attracted him: meadows dotted with cows and sheep, a verdant hillwith pleasant villas here and there; and seeing the ferryman resting onhis oars, he accosted him.
"Can I get to London if I cross here?" he asked.
"Sure you can, sir. Up the hill past Mr. Walpole his house; then youcomes to Isleworth and Brentford, and a straight road throughHammersmith village--a fine walk, sir, and only a penny for theferryman."
Desmond paid his penny and crossed. He sauntered along up StrawberryHill, taking a good look at the snug little house upon which Mr. HoraceWalpole was spending much money and pains. Wandering on, and preferringby-lanes to the high road, he lost his bearings, and at length, fearingthat he was going in the wrong direction, he stopped at a waysidecottage to inquire the way. He was further out than he knew. The womanwho came to the door in answer to his knock said that, having come sofar, he had better proceed in the same direction until he reachedHounslow, and then strike into the London road and keep to it. Desmondwas nothing loth. He had heard of Hounslow and those notorious "Diana'sforesters" Plunket and James Maclean--highwaymen who a few years beforehad been the terror of night travellers across the lonely Heath. Therewas a fascination about the scene of their exploits. So he trudged on,feeling now a little tired, and hoping to get a lift in some farmer'scart that might be going towards London.
More than once as he walked his thoughts recurred to the scene at the_Waterman's Rest_. They were a rough, villainous-looking set, thesemembers of the crew of the _Good Intent_! Of course, as supercargo hewould not come into close contact with them; and Mr. Diggle had warnedhim that he would find seafaring men somewhat different from the countryfolk among whom all his life hitherto had been passed. Diggle'sfrankness had pleased him. They had left the _Four Alls_ early on themorning after that strange incident at the Squire's. Desmond had toldhis friend what had happened, and Diggle, apparently surprised to learnof Grinsell's villainy, had declared that the sooner they were out ofhis company the better. They had come by easy stages to London, andwere now lodging at a small inn near the Tower: not a very savouryneighbourhood, Diggle admitted, but convenient. Diggle had soonobtained for Desmond a berth on board the _Good Intent_ bound for theEast Indies, and from what he let drop the boy understood that he was tosail as supercargo. He had not yet seen the vessel; she was painting,and would shortly be coming up to the Pool. Nor had he seen CaptainBarker, who was very much occupied, said Diggle, and had a great deal oftrouble in keeping his crew out of the clutches of the pressgang. Someof the best of them had been sent to the _Waterman's Rest_ in charge ofthe chief and second mates. It was at Diggle's suggestion that he hadbeen deputed to convey the captain's message to the men.
It was drawing towards evening when Desmond reached Hounslow Heath, awide bare expanse of scrubby land intersected by a muddy road. A lightmist lay over the ground, and he was thankful that the road to Londonwas perfectly direct, so that there was no further risk of his losinghis way. The solitude and the dismal appearance of the country,together with its ill-repute, made him quicken his pace, though he hadno fear of molestation; having nothing to lose he would be but poor preyfor a highwayman, and he trusted to his cudgel to protect him from theattentions of any single footpad or tramp.
Striding along, in the gathering dusk he came suddenly upon a curiousscene. A heavy travelling carriage was drawn half across the road, itsforewheels perilously near the ditch. Near by was a lady, standing witharms stiff and hands clenched, stamping her foot as she addressed, in nomeasured terms, two men who were rolling over one another in a desperatetussle a few yards away on the heath. As Desmond drew nearer heperceived that a second and a younger lady stood at the horses' heads,grasping the bridles firmly with both hands.
His footsteps were unheard o
n the heavy road, and the elder lady's backbeing towards him he came up to her unawares. She started with a littlecry when she saw a stranger move towards her out of the gloom. Butperceiving at a second glance that he was only a boy, with nothingvillainous about his appearance, she turned to him impulsively and,taking him by the sleeve, said:
"There! You see them! The wretches! They are drunk and pay no heed tome! Can you part them? I do not wish to be benighted on this heath.The wretch uppermost is the coachman."
"I might part them, perhaps," said Desmond dubiously. "Of course I willtry, ma'am."
"Sure I wouldn't trust 'em, mamma," called the younger lady from thehorses' heads. "The man is too drunk to drive."
"I fear 'tis so. 'Tis not our own man, sir. As we returned to-day froma visit to Taplow our coachman was trampled by a horse at Slough, and myhusband stayed with him--an old and trusty servant--till he couldconsult a surgeon. We found a substitute at the inn to drive us home.But the wretch brought a bottle; he drank with the footman all along theroad; and now, as you see, they are at each other's throats in theirdrunken fury. Sure we shall never get home in time for the rout we arebid to."
"Shall I drive you to London, ma'am?" said Desmond. "'Twere best toleave the men to settle their differences."
"But can you drive?"
"Oh yes," replied Desmond with a smile. "I am used to horses."
"Then I beg you to oblige us. Yes, let the wretches fight themselvessober. Phyllis, this gentleman will drive us; come."
The girl--a fair, rosy-cheeked, merry-eyed damsel of fifteen orthereabouts--left the horses' heads and entered the carriage with hermother. Desmond made a rapid examination of the harness to see that allwas right; then he mounted the box and drove off. The noise of therumbling wheels penetrated the besotted intelligence of the strugglingmen; they scrambled to their feet, looked wildly about them, and set offin pursuit. But they had no command of their limbs; they staggeredclumsily this way and that, and finally found their level in the slimyditch that flanked the road.
Desmond whipped up the horses in the highest spirits. He had hoped for ahit in a farmer's cart; fortune had favoured him in giving him fourroadsters to drive himself. And no boy, certainly not one of hisromantic impulses, but would feel elated at the idea of helping ladiesin distress, and on a spot known far and wide as the scene of perilousadventure.
The carriage was heavy; the road, though level, was thick with autumnmud; and the horses made no great speed. Desmond, indeed, durst noturge them too much, for the mist was thickening, making the air evendarker than the hour warranted; and as the roadway had neither hedge norwall to define it, but was bounded on each side by a ditch, it behovedhim to go warily. He had just come to a particularly heavy part of theroad where the horses were compelled to walk, when he heard the thud ofhoofs some distance behind him. The sound made him vaguely uneasy. Itceased for a moment or two; then he heard it again, and realized that ahorse was coming at full gallop. Instinctively he whipped up thehorses. The ladies had also heard the sound; and, putting her head outof the window, the elder implored him to drive faster.
Could the two besotted knaves have put the horseman on his track, hewondered. They must believe that the carriage had been run away with,and in their tipsy rage they would seize any means of overtaking himthat offered. The horseman might be an inoffensive traveller; on theother hand, he might not. It was best to leave nothing to chance. Witha cheery word, to give the ladies confidence, he lashed at the horsesand forced the carriage on at a pace that put its clumsy springs to asevere test.
Fortunately the road was straight, and the horses instinctively kept tothe middle of the track. But fast as they were now going, Desmond feltthat if the horseman was indeed pursuing he would soon be overtaken. Hemust be prepared for the worst. Gripping the reins hard with his lefthand, he dropped the whip for a moment and felt in the box below theseat in the hope of finding a pistol; but it was empty. He whistledunder his breath at the discovery: if the pursuer was a "gentleman ofthe road" his predicament was indeed awkward. The carriage was rumblingand rattling so noisily that he had long since lost the sound of thehorse's hoofs behind. He could not pause to learn if the pursuit hadceased; his only course was to drive on. Surely he would soon reach theedge of the heath; there would be houses; every few yards must bring himnearer to the possibility of obtaining help. Thus thinking, he clenchedhis teeth and lashed the reeking flanks of the horses, which plungedalong now at a mad gallop.
Suddenly, above the noise of their hoofs and the rattling of the coachhe heard an angry shout. A scream came from the ladies. Heedingneither, Desmond quickly reversed his whip, holding it half-way down thelong handle, with the heavy iron-tipped stock outward. The horsemancame galloping up on the off side, shouted to Desmond to stop, andwithout waiting drew level with the box and fired point-blank. But therapid movement of his horse and the swaying of the carriage forbade himto take careful aim. Desmond felt the wind of the bullet as it whizzedpast him. Next moment he leaned slightly sideways, and, never looseninghis hold on the reins with his left hand, he brought the weighty butt ofhis whip with a rapid cut, half sideways, half downwards, upon thehorseman's head. The man with a cry swerved in the saddle; almostbefore Desmond could recover his balance he was amazed to see the horsedash suddenly to the right, spring across the ditch, and gallop at fullspeed across the heath.
But he had no time at the moment to speculate on this very easy victory.The horses, alarmed by the pistol shot, were plunging madly, draggingthe vehicle perilously near to the ditch on the left hand. ThenDesmond's familiarity with animals, gained at so much cost to himself onhis brother's farm, bore good fruit. He spoke to the horses soothingly,managed them with infinite tact, and coaxed them into submission. Thenhe let them have their heads, and they galloped on at speed, pausingonly when they reached the turnpike going into Brentford. They werethen in a bath of foam, their flanks heaving like to burst. Learningfrom the turnpike-man that he could obtain a change of horses at the_Bull_ inn, Desmond drove there, and was soon upon his way again.
While the change was being made, he obtained from the lady the addressin Soho Square where she was staying. The new horses were fresh; thecarriage rattled through Gunnersbury, past the turnpike at Hammersmithand through Kensington, and soon after nine o'clock Desmond had thesatisfaction of pulling up at the door of Sheriff Soames' mansion inSoho Square.
The door was already open, the rattle of wheels having brought lacqueyswith lighted torches to welcome the belated travellers. Torches flamedin the cressets on both sides of the entrance. The hall was filled withservants and members of the household, and in the bustle that ensuedwhen the ladies in their brocades and hoops had entered the house,Desmond saw an opportunity of slipping away. He felt that it wasperhaps a little ungracious to go without a word with the ladies; but hewas tired; he was unaccustomed to town society; and the service he hadbeen able to render seemed to him so slight that he was modestly eagerto efface himself. Leaving the carriage in the hands of one of thelacqueys, with a few words of explanation, he hastened on towardsHolborn and the city.