CHAPTER IX.
SALTASH FERRY.
Apparently the hackney coachman was accustomed to difficulties withthe toll-gate; for he rested on the box in profoundest slumber,recumbent, with his chin sunk on his chest; and only woke up--with astart which shook the vehicle--when a black hearse with plumes wavingwent rattling by us and back towards Plymouth.
A minute later Mr. Jope reappeared at the coach door, perspiringcopiously, but triumphant.
"Oh, it's been heavinly!" he announced. "Why, hallo! Where's hisReverence?"
"He couldn't wait, sir. He--he preferred to walk."
"Eh? I didn't see 'en pass the toll-bar. That's a pity, too; forI wanted to take his opinion. Oh, my son, it's been heavinly!First of all I tried argyment and called the toll-man a son of abitch; and then he fetched up a constable, and, as luck would haveit, Nan--she's in the second coach--knew all about _him_; leastways,she talked as if she did. Well, the toll-man stuck to his card ofcharges and said he hadn't made the law, but it was threepence foreverything on four wheels. 'Four wheels?' I said. 'Don't talk soweak! We brought nothing into the world and we can't take it out;but you'd take the breeches off a Highlander,' I says. 'He's on fourwheels,' says the fellow, stubborn as ever. 'So was Elijah,' says I;'but if you're so mighty particular, we'll try ye another way.'I paid off the crew of the hearse, gave the word to cast loose, anddown we dumped poor Bill slap in the middle of the roadway.'Now,' says I, 'we'll leave talking of wheels. What's your chargefor 'en on the flat?' 'Eight bearers at a ha'penny makes fourpence,'he says. 'No, no, my son,' I says, 'there ain't a-going to be nobearers. _He's_ happy enough if he stops here all night. You maycharge 'en as a covered conveyance, as I see you've a right to; butthe card says nothing about rate of drivin', except that it mustn'tbe reckless; and, you may lay to it, Bill won't be that.' At firstthe constable talked big about obstructing the traffic: but Nan wastelling the crowd such terrible things about his past that for veryshame he grew quiet, and the pair agreed that, by lashin' Bill a-topof the first coach, we might pass him through _gratis_ as personalluggage--Why, what's the boy cryin' for? It's all over now; and aprinciple's a principle."
But still, as the squadron got under way again and moved on amid thecheers of the populace, I sat speechless, dry-eyed, shaken withdreadful sobs.
"Easy, my lad--don't start the timbers. In trouble--hey?"
I nodded.
"I thought as much, when I shipped ye. Sit up, and tell me; butfirst listen to this. All trouble's big to a boy, but one o' yourage don't often do what's past mendin', if he takes it honest.That's comfort, hey? Very well: now haul up and inspect damages, andwe'll see what's to be done."
"It's about a Jew, sir," I stammered at length.
He nodded. "Now we're making headway."
"He--he was murdered. I saw him--"
"Look here," said Mr. Jope, very grave but seemingly not astonished:"hadn't you best get under the seat?"
"I--I didn't do it, sir. Really, I didn't."
"I'm not suggestin' it," said Mr. Jope. "Still, all circumstancesconsidered, I'd get under the seat."
"If you wish it, sir."
"I wouldn't go so far as to say _that_: but 'tis my advice." Andunder the seat I crawled obediently. "Now, then," said he, with anabsurd air of one addressing vacancy; "if you didn' do it, who did?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Then where's your difficulty?"
"But I saw a man staring in at the window--it was upstairs in a roomclose to the roof; and afterwards I found him on the roof, and he wasall of a tremble, and in two minds, so he said, about pitching meover. I showed him the way down. If you please, sir," I broke off,"you're not to tell anyone about this, whatever happens!"
"Eh? Why not?"
"Because--" I hesitated.
"Friend of yours?"
"Not a friend, sir. He's a young man, in the Army; and his aunt--sheused to be very kind to me. I ran away at first because I wasafraid: but they can't do anything to me, can they? I didn't findthe--the--the--Mr. Rodriguez, I mean--until he was dead. But if theycatch me I shall have to give evidence, and Mr. Archie--though Idon't believe he did it--"
"Belay there!" commanded Mr. Jope! "I'm beginning to see thingsclearer, though I won't say 'tis altogether easy to follow ye yet.Far as I can make out, you're not a bad boy. You ran away becauseyou were scared. Well, I don't blame ye for that. I never seen adead Jew myself, though I often wanted to. You won't go back if youcan help it, 'cos why? 'Cos you don't want to tell on a man: 'coshis aunt's a friend o' yourn: and 'cos you don't believe he's guilty.What's your name?"
"Harry, sir: Harry Revel."
"Well, then, my name's Ben Jope, and as such you'll call me.I'm sorry, in a way, that it rhymes with 'rope,' which it neverstruck me before in all these years, and wouldn't now but forthinkin' 'pon that ghastly godson o' mine and how much better Istomach ye. I promise nothing, mind: but if you'll keep quiet underthat seat, I'll think it over."
Certainly, having made my confession, I felt easier in mind as I layhuddled under the seat, though it seemed to me that Mr. Jope tookmatters lightly. For the squadron ahead had resumed the singing of_Tom Bowling_ and he sat humming a bar or two here and there withevident pleasure, and paused only to bow out of window andacknowledge the cheers of the passers-by.
At the end of five minutes, however, he spoke aloud again.
"The first thing," he announced, "is to stay where you are.Let me think, now--Who seen you? There's the parson: he's gone.And there's the jarvey: he's drunk as a lord. Anyone else?"
"There was one of the young ladies that looked out of window."
"True: then 'tis too risky. When the company gets out, you'll haveto get out. Let the jarvey see you do it: the rest don't matter.You can pretend to walk with us a little way, then slip back andunder the seat again--takin' care that this time the jarvey _don't_see you. That's easy enough, eh?"
I assured him I could manage it.
"Then leave the rest to me, and bide still. I got to think of Bill,now; and more by token here's the graveyard gate!"
He thrust the door open and motioned me to tumble out ahead of him.As the rest of the funeral guests alighted, he worked me veryskilfully before him into the driver's view, having taken care to setthe coach door wide on the off side.
"It's understood that you wait, all o' ye?" said Mr. Jope to thedriver.
The man lifted a lazy eye. "Take your time," he said: "don't mindme. I hope "--he stiffened himself suddenly--"I knows a gentlemanwhen I sees one."
Mr. Jope turned away and from that moment ignored my existence.The coffin was unlashed and lowered from the leading coach; theclergyman at the gate began to recite the sacred office, and thefuneral train, reduced to decorum by his voice, followed him as heturned, and trooped along the path towards the mortuary chapel.I moved with the crowd to its porch, drew aside to make way for alady in rouge and sprigged muslin, and slipped behind the chapelwall. The far end of it hid me from the view of the coaches, andfrom it a pretty direct path led to a gap in the hedge, and a stile.Reaching and crossing this, I found myself in a by-lane leading backinto the high road. There were no houses with windows to overlookme. I sauntered around at leisure, took the line of coaches in therear, and crawled back to my hiding-place--it astonished me with whatease. Every driver sat on his box, and every driver slumbered.
The mystery of this was resolved when--it seemed an hour later; butactually, I dare say, Bill's obsequies took but the normal twentyminutes or so--Mr. Jope shepherded his flock back through the gatesand, red-eyed, addressed them while he distributed largess along theline of jarveys.
"I thank ye, friends," said he in a muffled voice which at first Iattributed to emotion. "The fare home is paid to the foot of GeorgeStreet--I arranged that with the jobmaster, and this here little giftis private, between me and the drivers, to drink Bill's health. Andnow I'll shake hands." Here followed sounds of coughing and choking,and he resumed
in feeble gasping sentences, "Thank ye, my dear; I'vebrought up the two guineas, but you've a-made me swallow my quid o'baccy. Hows'ever, you meant it for the best. And that's what I hada mind to say to ye all." His voice grew firmer--"You're a pleasantlot, and we've spent the time very lively and sociable, and you donethis here last service to Bill in a way that brings tears to my eyes.Still, if you won't mind my saying it, a little of ye lasts a longtime, and I'm going home to live clean. So here's wishing all well,and good-bye!"
Not one of the party seemed to resent this dismissal. The womenlaughed hilariously and called him a darling. There was a smackingexchange of kisses; and the coaches, having been packed at length,started for home to the strains of the cornet and a chorus of cheers.Mr. Jope sprang in beside me, and leaning out of the farther window,waved his neckerchief for a while, then pensively readjusted it, andcalled to the driver--
"St. Budeaux!"
The driver, after a moment, turned heavily in his seat, and answered,"Nonsense!"
"I tell ye, I want to drive to St. Budeaux, by Saltash Ferry."
"And _I_ tell _you_, 'Get out!' St. Budeaux? The idea!"
"Why, what's wrong with St. Budeaux?"
"Oh, I'm not goin' to _argue_ with you," said the driver. "I'm goin'home."
And he began to turn his horse's head. Mr. Jope sprang out upon theroadway. The driver, with sudden and unexpected agility, droppedoff--on the other side.
"Look here, it's grindin' the faces of the poor!" he pleaded,breathing hard.
"It _will_ be," assented Mr. Jope grimly.
"I been up all night: at a ball."
"If it comes to that, so've I: at Symonds's."
"Mine was at Admiralty House," said the driver. "I wasn' dancin'."
"What about the horse?"
"The horse? the ho--Oh, I take your meanin'! The horse is all right:he's a fresh one. Poor I may be," he announced inconsecutively,"but I wouldn' live the life of one of them there women of fashion,not for a million of money." He ruminated for a moment. "Did Isay a million?"
"You did."
"Well I don't wishaggerate. I don't, if you understand me,wish--to--exaggerate: so we'll put it at half a million."
"All right: jump up!"
To my astonishment, no less than to Mr. Jope's (who had scarcely timeto skip back into the coach), the man scrambled up to his seatwithout more ado, flicked his whip, and began to urge the horseforward. At the end of five minutes or so, however, he pulled upjust as abruptly.
"Eh?" Mr. Jope put forth his head. "Ah, I see--public-house!"
He alighted, and entered; returned with a pot of porter in one handand a glass of brandy in the other; dexterously tipped half thebrandy into the porter, and handed up the mixture. The driver tookit down at one steady draught.
The pot and glass were returned and we jogged on again. We were nowwell beyond the outskirts of Stoke and between dusty hedges overwhich the honeysuckle trailed. Butterflies poised themselves andflickered beside us, and the sun, as it climbed, drew up from theland the fragrance of freshly mown hay and mingled it with the stuffyodour of the coach. By and by we halted again, by another roadsideinn, and again Mr. Jope fetched forth and administered insidiousdrink.
"If this is going to last," said the charioteer dreamily, "may I havestrength to see the end o't!"
I did not catch this prayer, but Mr. Jope reported it to me as heresumed his seat, with an ill-timed laugh. The fellow, who had beengathering up his reins, lurched round suddenly and gazed in throughthe glass front.
"You was sayin'?" he demanded.
"Nothing," answered Mr. Jope hastily. "I was talking to myself,that's all."
"The point is, Am I, or am I not, an objic of derision?"
"If you don't drive on this moment, I'll step around and punch yourhead."
"Tha's all right. Tha's right as ninepence. It's not much I arsk--only to have things clear." He drove on.
We halted at yet another public-house--I remember its name, the Halfa Face--and must have journeyed a mile or so beyond it when the endcame. We had locked wheels in the clumsiest fashion with ahay-wagon; and the wagoner, who had quartered to give us room and tospare, was pardonably wroth. Mr. Jope descended, pacified him, andstepped around to the back of the coach, the hinder axle of which, amoment later, I felt gently lifted beneath me and slewed clear of theobstruction.
"My word, mister, but you've a tidy strength!" exclaimed the wagoner.
"No more than you, my son--if so much: 'tain't the strength, but theapplication. That's 'Nelson's touch.' Ever heard of it?"
"I've heard of _him_, I should hope. Look y' here, mister, did youever know him? Honour bright, now!"
"Friends, my son: dear, dear friends! And the gentleman 'pon thebox, there, drunk some of the very rum he was brought home in.He's never recovered it."
"And to think of my meeting you!"
"Ay, 'tis a small world," agreed Mr. Jope cheerfully: "like a cook'sgalley, small and cosy and no time to chat in it. Now then, myslumb'ring ogre!"
The driver, who from the moment of the mishap had remained comatose,shook his reins feebly and we jogged forward. But this was his lasteffort. At the next sharp bend in the road he lurched suddenly,swayed for a moment, and toppled to earth with a thud. The horsecame to a halt.
Mr. Jope was out in a moment. He glanced up and down the road.
"Tumble out, youngster! There's no one in sight."
"Is--is he hurt?"
"Blest if _I_ know." He stooped over the prostrate body. "Hurt?" heasked, and after a moment reported, "No, I reckon not: talkin' in hissleep, more like--for the only word I can make out is 'Jezebel.'That don't help us much, do it?" He scanned the road again."There's only one thing to do. I can't drive ye: I never steered yetwith the tiller lines in front--it al'ays seemed to me un-Christian.We must take to the fields. I used to know these parts, and by thebearings we can't be half a mile above the ferry. Here, through thatgate to the left!"
We left the man lying and his horse cropping the hedgerow a few pacesahead; and struck off to the left, down across a field of young corninterspersed with poppies. The broad estuary shone at our feet, withits beaches uncovered--for the tide was low--and across its crowdedshipping I marked and recognised (for Mr. Trapp had often describedthem to me) a line of dismal prison-hulks, now disused, moored headto stern off a mudbank on the farther shore.
"Plain sailing, my lad," panted Mr. Jope, as the cornfield threw upits heat in our faces. "See, yonder's Saltash!" He pointed up theriver to a small town which seemed to run toppling down a steep hilland spread itself like a landslip at the base. "I got a sisterliving there, if we can only fetch across; a very powerful woman;widowed, and sells fish."
We took an oblique line down the hillside, and descended, some two orthree hundred yards below the ferry, upon a foreshore firm for themost part and strewn with flat stones, but melting into mud by thewater's edge. A small trading ketch lay there, careened as the tidehad left her; but at no great angle, thanks to her flat-bottomedbuild. A line of tattered flags, with no wind to stir them, led downfrom the truck of either mast, and as we drew near I called Mr.Jope's attention to an immense bunch of foxgloves and pink valerianon her bowsprit end.
"Looks like a wedding, don't it?" said he; and turning up his cleanwhite trousers he strolled down to the water's edge for a closerlook. "Scandalous," he added, examining her timbers.
"What's scandalous?"
He pointed with his finger. "Rotten as touch"; and he pensively drewout an enormous clasp-knife. "A man ought to be fined for treatinghuman life so careless. See here!"
He drove the knife at a selected spot, and the blade sank in to thehilt.
From the interior, prompt on the stroke, arose a faint scream.