In Clive's Command: A Story of the Fight for India

by Herbert Strang

  Chapter 6: In which the reader becomes acquainted with William Bulger andother sailor men; and our hero as a squire of dames acquits himself withcredit.

  One warm October afternoon, some ten days after the night of his visit tothe Four Alls, Desmond was walking along the tow path of the Thames,somewhat north of Kingston. As he came to the spot where the river bendsround towards Teddington, he met a man plodding along with a rope overhis 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 a quartermile behind me, right on waterside. And the best beer this side o'Greenwich."

  Thanking him, Desmond walked on. He had not gone many yards fartherbefore 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 heard thembefore: the evening of Clive's banquet at Market Drayton--the open windowof the Four Alls, the voice of Marmaduke Diggle.

  "Sir William Norris, Masulipatam"--these were the first words he caught;and immediately afterwards the voices 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--"SaysBilly Norris, Masulipatam"--The singer was in the middle of the stavewhen Desmond, rounding a privet hedge, came upon the scene. A patch ofgreensward, sloping up from a slipway on the riverside; a low,cozy-looking inn of red brick covered with a crimson creeper; in front ofit a long deal table, and seated at the table a group of some eight orten seamen, each with a pewter tankard before him. To the left, andsomewhat in the rear of the long table, was a smaller one, at which twoseamen, by their garb a cut above 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 collected wouldhave been hard to match for villainous looks. One had half his teethknocked out, another a broken nose; all bore scars and other marks ofbattery.

  Among them, however, there was one man marked out by his generalappearance and facial expression as superior to the rest. In dress he wasno different from his mates; he wore the loose blouse, the pantaloons,the turned-up cloth hat of the period. But he towered above them inheight; he had a very large head, with a very small squab nose, merryeyes, and a fringe of jet-black hair round cheeks and chin.

  When he removed his hat presently he revealed a shiny pink skull, risingfrom short, wiry hair as black as his whiskers. Alone of the group, hewore no love locks or greased pigtail. In his right hand, when Desmondfirst caught sight of him, he held a tankard, waving it to and fro intime with his song. He had lost his left hand and forearm, which werereplaced by an iron hook projecting from a wooden socket, just visible inhis loose sleeve.

  He was halfway through the second stanza when he noticed Desmond standingat the angle of the hedge a few yards away. He fixed his merry eyes onthe boy, and, beating time with his hook, went on with the song instentorian 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 notfit 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 theirgame of dominoes. One was a tall, lean fellow, with lined and sunkencheeks covered with iron-gray stubble, a very sharp nose, and colorlesseyes; 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 Intentyesterday."

  "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 today, 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 menafore 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 way ofopening 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 exactlythe kind of place to spend shore leave; it en't a patch on Wapping orRotherhithe. And to tell 'ee true, we're dead sick of it. But there'sreasons; there mostly is; and the whys and wherefores, therefores andbecauses, I dessay you know, young gen'lman, acomin' from CaptainBarker."

  "The press gang?"

  "Ay, the press is hot in these days. Cap'n sent us here to be out o' theway, and the orficers to look arter us. Not but what 'tis safer for themtoo; for if Mr. Sunman showed his cock-eyes anywhere near the Pool, he'dbe 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 theslack 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 offense--or you wouldn't axesich 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'lman, 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 MallyackYou've carried turf upon your back."

  "That's the why and wherefore 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 the flavor.Accordingly, notwithstandin' an' for that reason, if you axe the adviceof 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 a-goin' 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 arranged everything."

  "I believe you, matey. He's arranged everything. Supercargo! Well, to besure! Never a supercargo as I ever knowed but wanted a man to look arterhim, fetch and carry for him, so to say. How would I do, if I might makeso bold?"

  "Thanks," said Desmond, smiling as he surveyed the man's huge form. "ButI think Captain Barker might object to that. You'd be of more use ondeck, 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 it out; I en'ttender in my feelin's."

  "Besides," added Desmond, "I shall probably make use of the boy who hasbeen attending to me at the Goat and Compasses--a clever little black boyof 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 marlinspike 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? Uncommon 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's short,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 he hadtaken a long pull, set the vessel on the table and stared at it with apreoccupied air. He seemed to have forgotten the presence of Desmond. Theother men were talking among themselves, and Desmond, having by this timefinished his mug of beer, rose to go on his way.

  "Goodby, 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 through Hammersmithvillage--a fine walk, sir, and only a penny for the ferryman."

  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 preferringbylanes to the high road, he lost his bearings, and at length, fearingthat he was going in the wrong direction, he stopped at a wayside cottageto inquire the way.

  He was farther out than he knew. The woman who came to the door in answerto his knock said that, having come so far, he had better proceed in thesame direction until he reached Hounslow, and then strike into the Londonroad and keep to it.

  Desmond was nothing loath. He had heard of Hounslow and those notorious"Diana's foresters," Plunket and James Maclean--highwaymen who a fewyears before had been the terror of night travelers across the lonelyHeath. There was a fascination about the scene of their exploits. So hetrudged on, feeling now a little tired, and hoping to get a lift in somefarmer's cart that might be going towards London.

  More than once as he walked his thoughts recurred to the scene at theWaterman's Rest. They were a rough, villainous-looking set, these membersof the crew of the Good Intent! Of course, as supercargo he would notcome into close contact with them; and Mr. Diggle had warned him that hewould find seafaring men somewhat different from the country folk amongwhom all his life hitherto had been passed.

  Diggle's frankness had pleased him. They had left the Four Alls early onthe morning 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 of hiscompany the better. They had come by easy stages to London, and were nowlodging at a small inn near the Tower: not a very savory neighborhood,Diggle admitted, but convenient. Diggle had soon obtained for Desmond aberth on board the Good Intent bound for the East Indies, and from whathe let drop, the boy understood that he was to sail as supercargo.

  He had not yet seen the vessel; she was painting, and would shortly becoming up to the Pool. Nor had he seen Captain Barker, who was very muchoccupied, said Diggle, and had a great deal of trouble in keeping hiscrew out of the clutches of the press gang. Some of the best of them hadbeen sent to the Waterman's Rest in charge of the chief and second mates.It was at Diggle's suggestion that he had been deputed to convey thecaptain'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 London wasperfectly direct, so that there was no further risk of his losing hisway. The solitude and the dismal appearance of the country, together withits ill repute, made him quicken his pace, though he had no fear ofmolestation; having nothing to lose, he would be but poor prey for ahighwayman, 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 traveling 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 he perceivedthat a second and younger lady stood at the horses' heads, grasping thebridles firmly with both hands.

  His footsteps were unheard on the heavy road, and the elder lady's backbeing towards him, he came up to he
r 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 to me!Can you part them? I do not wish to be benighted on this heath. Thewretch 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 today from avisit to Taplow our coachman was trampled by a horse at Slough, and myhusband stayed with him--an old and trusty servant--till he could consulta surgeon. We found a substitute at the inn to drive us home. But thewretch brought a bottle; he drank with the footman all along the road;and now, as you see, they are at each other's throats in their drunkenfury. Sure we shall never get home in time for the rout we are bid to."

  "Shall I drive you to London, ma'am?" said Desmond, "'Twere best to leavethe 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 alift in a farmer's cart; fortune had favored him in giving him fourroadsters to drive himself. And no boy, certainly not one of his romanticimpulses, but would feel elated at the idea of helping ladies indistress, 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 not urgethem too much, for the mist was thickening, making the air even darkerthan the hour warranted; and as the roadway had neither hedge nor wall todefine it, but was bounded on each side by a ditch, it behooved him to gowarily.

  He had just come to a particularly heavy part of the road where thehorses were compelled to walk, when he heard the thud of hoofs somedistance behind him. The sound made him vaguely uneasy. It ceased for amoment or two; then he heard it again, and realized that the horse wascoming at full gallop. Instinctively he whipped up the horses. The ladieshad also heard the sound; and, putting her head out of the window, theelder 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, andin their tipsy rage they would seize any means of overtaking him thatoffered. The horseman might be an inoffensive traveler; on the otherhand, he might not. It was best to leave nothing to chance. With a cheeryword, to give the ladies confidence, he lashed at the horses and forcedthe carriage on at a pace that put its clumsy springs to a severe 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 the seatin the hope of finding a pistol; but it was empty.

  He whistled under his breath at the discovery: if the pursuer was a"gentleman of the road" his predicament was indeed awkward. The carriagewas rumbling and rattling so noisily that he had long since lost thesound of the horse's hoofs behind. He could not pause to learn if thepursuit had ceased; his only course was to drive on. Surely he would soonreach the edge of the heath; there would be houses; every few yards mustbring him nearer to the possibility of obtaining help. Thus thinking, heclenched his teeth and lashed the reeking flanks of the horses, whichplunged along now at a mad gallop.

  Suddenly, above the noise of their hoofs and the rattling of the coach heheard an angry shout. A scream came from the ladies. Heeding neither,Desmond quickly reversed his whip, holding it halfway down the longhandle, with the heavy iron-tipped stock outward. The horseman camegalloping up on the right side, shouted to Desmond to stop, and withoutwaiting drew level with the box and fired point blank.

  But the rapid movement of his horse and the swaying of the carriageforbade him to take careful aim. Desmond felt the wind of the bullet asit whizzed past him. Next moment he leaned slightly sidewise, and, neverloosening his hold on the reins with his left hand, he brought theweighty butt of his whip with a rapid cut, half sidewise, half downwards,upon the horseman's head. The man with a cry swerved on the saddle;almost before Desmond could recover his balance he was amazed to see thehorse dash suddenly to the right, spring across the ditch, and gallop atfull speed 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, dragging thevehicle perilously near to the ditch on the left hand. Then Desmond'sfamiliarity with animals, gained at so much cost to himself on hisbrother's farm, bore good fruit. He spoke to the horses soothingly,managed them with infinite tact, and coaxed them into submission. Then helet them have their heads, and they galloped on at speed, pausing onlywhen they reached the turnpike going into Brentford. They were then in abath of foam; their flanks heaving like to burst.

  Learning from the turnpike man that he could obtain a change of horses atthe "Bull" inn, Desmond drove there, and was soon upon his way again.

  While the change was being made, he obtained from the lady the address inSoho 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 in SohoSquare.

  The door was already open, the rattle of wheels having brought lackeyswith lighted torches to welcome the belated travelers. Torches flamed inthe cressets on both sides of the entrance. The hall was filled withservants and members of the household, and in the bustle that ensued whenthe ladies in their brocades and hoops had entered the house, Desmond sawan opportunity of slipping away. He felt that it was perhaps a littleungracious to go without a word to the ladies; but he was tired; he wasunaccustomed to town society, and the service he had been able to renderseemed to him so slight that he was modestly eager to efface himself.Leaving the carriage in the hands of one of the lackeys, with a few wordsof explanation, he hastened on towards Holborn and the city.