One of Clive's Heroes Part 8

An a.s.s, an a.s.s, an a.s.s, an a.s.s, Signed "Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras."

The others took up the chorus, and finally brought their tankards down upon 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 for watermen what en't naught but landlubbers, speaking by the book, but not for 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, a young gen'leman to see you."

Desmond advanced to the smaller table. The two men looked up from their game of dominoes. One was a tall, lean fellow, with lined and sunken cheeks covered with iron-gray stubble, a very sharp nose, and colourless eyes; the expression of his features was melancholy in the extreme. The other was a shorter man, snub-nosed, big-mouthed; one eye was blue, the other green, and they looked in contrary directions. His hat was tilted forward, 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 that he 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 his lips, 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 in response to repeated cries for more beer a stout woman in a mob cap and dirty ap.r.o.n came from the inn with a huge copper can, from which she proceeded 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 cross glances caused Desmond no little discomfort.

At this moment Joshua Wiggs the innkeeper came up, carrying three fowling-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 to Mother Wiggs to bring a mug for the gentleman. Meanwhile, Mr. Toley and his companion had each taken a fowling-piece and gone away with the landlord. Bulger winked at his companions, and when the sportsmen were out of earshot he broke into a guffaw.

"Rare sport they'll have! I wouldn't be in Mr. Toley's shoes for something. What's a c.o.c.k-eyed man want with a gun in his hand, eh, mateys?"

Desmond felt somewhat out of his element in his present company; but having reasons of his own for making himself pleasant, he said, by way of 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't exactly the kind of place to spend sh.o.r.e leave; it en't a patch on Wapping 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 for them too; for if Mr. Sunman showed his c.o.c.k-eyes anywhere near the Pool, he'd be nabbed by the bailiffs, sure as he's second mate o' the _Good Intent_. Goin' to sea's bad enough, but the _Waterman's Rest_ and holdin' 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 ax sich a foolish question. At sea 'tis all rope's end and salt pork, with Irish horse for a t.i.t-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 wherefore of it," added Bulger. "Cooks call it salt beef, 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 the flavour. Accordingly, notwithstandin' an' for that reason, if you axes the advice of an old salt, never you go to sea, matey."

"That's unfortunate," said Desmond with a smile, "because I expect to sail 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 hoa.r.s.e t.i.tter went the round of the table.

"Well," continued Bulger, "the supercargo do have a better time of it than 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."