Sir John Constantine Part 14

Nevertheless I would not obey her until I had sent Nat Fiennes upstairs to look; who within a minute called over the stair-head that the woman told the truth and I had my father's leave to open.

Thereupon I pulled open the upper flap of the door, and stood blinking at a tall officer in gorgeous regimentals.

"Hullo!" said he. "Good morning!"

"Good morning!" said I. "And forgive me that I kept you waiting."

"Don't mention it," said he very affably. "My fault entirely, for coming late; or rather the Mayor's, who sent word that we weren't needed. I took the liberty to doubt this as soon as my sentries reported that a couple of boats' crews were putting ash.o.r.e from the _Townshend_ packet: and here we are in consequence. Got him safe?"

"The Mayor?" said I. "Yes, I believe he is upstairs at this moment, drinking brandy-and-water and pulling himself together."

The Captain grinned amiably. "Sorry to disturb him," said he; "but the mob is threatening to burn his house, and I'd best take him along to read the Riot Act and put things s.h.i.+p-shape."

"He has read it already, or some part of it."

"Some part of it won't do. He must read the whole proclamation, not forgetting 'G.o.d save the King.'"

"If you can find the paper," said I, "there's a lump of mud on it, marking the place where he left off."

The Captain grinned again. "I doubt he'll have to begin afresh after breaking off to drink brandy-and-water with Moll Whiteaway. For a chief magistrate that will need some explaining. And yet," mused the Captain, as he stepped into the pa.s.sage, "you may have done him a better turn than ever you guessed; for, when the mob sees the humour of it, belike it'll be more for laughing than setting fire to his house."

"But who is Moll Whiteaway?" I asked.

He stared at me. "You mean to say you didn't know?" he asked slowly.

"You didn't bring him here for a joke?"

"A joke?" I echoed. "A mighty queer joke, sir, you'd have thought it, if your men had been five minutes earlier."

He leaned back against the wall of the pa.s.sage. "And you brought him here _by accident?_ Well, if this don't beat c.o.c.k-fighting!"

"But who is this Moll Whiteaway?" I repeated.

The question again seemed to take his breath away. For answer he could only point to a small bra.s.s plate in the lower flap of the door; and, stooping, I read: _Miss Whiteaway, Milliner, Modes and Robes_.

"Oh!" said I. "That accounts for the band-box of flowers."

"Does it?" he asked.

"She flung them out of window to the packet-men."

"Which, doubtless, seemed to you an everyday proceeding--just a milliner's usual way of getting rid of her summer stock. My good young sir, did you ever hear tell of a 'troacher'? Nay, spare that ingenuous blush: Moll is a loose fish, but I mean less than your modesty suspects. A 'troacher' is a kind of female smuggler that disposes of the goods the packet-men bring home in their bunks; and Moll Whiteaway is the head of the profession in Falmouth. Now, our worthy Mayor took oath the other day to put down this smuggling on board the packets; and he began yesterday with the _Townshend_.

He and the Port Searcher swept the s.h.i.+p, sir. They dug Portuguese brandy in kegs out of the seamen's beds and parcels of silk out of the very beams. They shook two case-bottles out of the chaplain's breeches, which must have galled him sorely in his devotions.

They netted close on two hundred pounds' worth of contraband in the fo'c's'le alone--"

"Good Heavens!" I interjected. "And as the riot began he was calling himself short-sighted!"

Captain Bright laughed, clapped me on the shoulder and led the way upstairs, where (strange to say) we found the Mayor again deploring his defective vision. He lay in an easy-chair amid an army of band-boxes, bonnet stands, and dummies representing the female figure; and sipped Miss Whiteaway's brandy while he discoursed in broken sentences to an audience consisting of that lady, my father, Nat Fiennes, Mr. Fett, and the little man in black (who, by the way, did not appear to be listening, but stood and pondered the borough mace, which he held in his hands, turning it over and examining the dents).

"It is a great drawback, Sir John--a great drawback," his Wors.h.i.+p lamented. "A man in my position, sir, should have the eye of an eagle; instead of which on all public occasions I have to rely on John Sprott. My good woman"--he turned to Miss Whiteaway--"would you mind taking a glance out of window and telling me what has become of John Sprott?"

"He's down below under protection of the soldiers," announced Miss Whiteaway; "and no harm done but his hat lost and his gown split up the back."

"I shall never have the same confidence in John Sprott. He takes altogether too sanguine a view of human nature. Why, only last November--you remember the great gale of November the 1st, Sir John?

I was very active in burying the poor bodies brought ash.o.r.e next day and for several days after; for, as you remember, a couple of Indymen dragged their anchors and broke up under Pendennis Battery: and John Sprott said to me in the most a.s.sured way, 'The town'll never forget your kindness, sir. You mark my words,' he said, 'this here action will stand you upon the pinnacles of honour till you and me, if I may respectfully say it, sit down together in the land of marrow and fatness.' After that you'd have thought a man might count on some popularity. But what happened? A day or two later--that is to say, on November the 5th--I was sitting in my shop with a magnifying gla.s.s in my eye, cleaning out a customer's watch, when in walked half a dozen boys carrying a man's body between 'em.

You could tell that life was extinct by the way his head hung back and his legs trailed limp on the floor as they brought him in, and his face looked to me terribly swollen and discoloured.

'Dear, dear!' said I. 'What? Another poor soul? Take him up to the mortewary, that's good boys,' I said; 'and you shall have twopence apiece out of the poor-box.' How d'ye think they answered me?

They bust out a-laughing, and cries one: 'If you please, sir, 'tis meant for _you!_ 'Tis the fifth of November, and we'm goin' to burn you in effigy.' I chased 'em out of the shop, and later on in the day I spoke to John Sprott about it. 'Well now,' said John Sprott,'

I pa.s.sed a lot of boys just now, burning a guy at the top of the Moor, and I had my suspicions; but the thing hadn't a feature of yours to take hold on, barrin' the size of its feet.' And that's what you call popularity!" wound up the Mayor with bitterness.

"That's what a man gets for rising early and lying down late to serve his country!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Mayor," put in Captain Bright, "but they are threatening to burn worse than your effigy fact I heard some talk of setting fire to your house and shop. Nay," he went on as the Mayor bounced up to his feet, "there's no real cause for alarm. I have sent on my lieutenant with fifty men to keep the mob on the move, and have stationed a dozen outside here to escort you home."

"The Riot Act--where's my Riot Act?" cried his Wors.h.i.+p, searching his pockets. "I never read out 'G.o.d save the King,' and without 'G.o.d save the King' a man may burn all my valybles and make turbulent gestures and show of arms, and harry and murder to the detriment of the public peace, and refuse to move on when requested, and all the time in the eyes of the law be a babe unborn. Where's the Riot Act, I say? for without it I'm a lost man and good-bye to Falmouth!"

"Then 'tis lucky that I came provided with a copy." Captain Bright produced a paper from the breast of his tunic.

The Mayor took it with trembling hands. "Why, 'tis a duplicity!" he cried. "A very duplicity! and, what's more, printed in the same language word for word." He caught the mace from the little man in black. "Lead the way, Captain!"

CHAPTER IX.

I ENLIST AN ARMY.

"If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet."

_Sir John Falstaff_.

My father turned to me as they descended the stair. "This is all very well, lad," said he, "but we have yet to find our army.

After the murder of Julius Caesar, now--"

"I did enact Julius Caesar once," quoted Mr. Fett, in parenthesis.

"I was killed i' the capitol; Brutus killed me."

My father frowned. "After the murder of Julius Caesar, when the mob for two days had Rome at their mercy, I have read somewhere that two men appeared out of nowhere, and put themselves at the head of the rioters. None knew them; but so boldly they comported themselves, heading the charges, marshalling the ranks, here throwing up barricades, there plucking down doors and gates, breaking open the prisons and setting fire to private houses, that presently the whisper spread they were Castor and Pollux; till, at length, falling into the hands of the aediles, these _dioscuri_ were found to be two poor lunatics escaped from a house of detention. If we could discover another such pair among the mob, now!"

"We are wasting time here for certain," said I. "And where, by the way, is Billy Priske?"

"If you waste your time upstairs here, gentlemen," said Miss Whiteaway, "belike you may do better in the parlour, where I had prepared for some friends of mine with two-three chickens and a ham."

"Ah, to be sure," said I; "the packet-men!"

"Never you worry, young sir," she answered tartly, "so long as they don't mind eating after their betters. And as for your man Priske, I saw him twenty minutes ago escape towards Church Street with the Methodists."

"Hang it!" put in Nat Fiennes, "if I hadn't clean forgotten the Methodists!"

"We left them scurvily," said I; "every Jack and Jill of them but our friend here." I nodded toward the little man in black. "And he not only saved himself, but was half the battle."