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

by Herbert Strang

  Chapter 7: In which Colonel Clive suffers an unrecorded defeat; andour hero finds food for reflection.

  It was four o'clock, and Tuesday afternoon--the day before the GoodIntent was to sail from the Pool. Desmond was kicking his heels in hisinn, longing for the morrow. Even now he had not seen the vessel on whichhe was to set forth in quest of his fortune. She lay in the Pool, butDiggle had found innumerable reasons why Desmond should not visit heruntil he embarked for good and all. She was loading her cargo; he wouldbe in the way. Captain Barker was in a bad temper; better not see him inhis tantrums. The press gangs were active; they thought nothing ofboarding a vessel and seizing on any active young fellow who looked alikely subject for his Majesty's navy. Such were the reasons alleged.

  And so Desmond had to swallow his impatience and fill in his time as besthe might; reading the newspapers, going to see Mr. Garrick and MistressKitty Clive at Drury Lane, spending an odd evening at Ranelagh Gardens.

  On this Tuesday afternoon he had nothing to do. Diggle was out; Desmondhad read the newspapers and glanced at the last number of the World; hehad written to his mother--the third letter since his arrival in London;he could not settle to anything. He resolved to go for a walk as far asSt. Paul's, perhaps, and take a last look at the busy streets he was notlikely to see again for many a day.

  Forth then he issued. The streets were muddy; a mist was creeping up fromthe river, promising to thicken into a London fog, and the link boys werealready preparing their tow and looking for a rich harvest of coppers erethe night was old. Desmond picked his way through the quagmires of JohnStreet, crossed Crutched Friars, and went up Mark Lane into FenchurchStreet, intending to go by Leadenhall Street and Cornhill into Cheapside.

  He had just reached the lower end of Billiter Street, the narrowthoroughfare leading into Leadenhall, when he saw Diggle's tall figurerunning amain towards him, with another man close behind, apparently inhot pursuit. Diggle caught sight of Desmond at the same moment, and hiseyes gleamed as with relief. He quickened his pace.

  "Hold this fellow behind me," he panted as he passed, and before Desmondcould put a question he was gone.

  There was no time for deliberation. Desmond had but just perceived thatthe pursuer was in the garb of a gentleman and had a broad patch ofplaster stretched across his left temple, when the moment for actionarrived. Stooping low, he suddenly caught at the man's knees. Down hecame heavily, mouthing hearty abuse, and man and boy were on the groundtogether.

  Desmond was up first. He now saw that a second figure was hurrying onfrom the other end of the street. He was not sure what Diggle demanded ofhim; whether it was sufficient to have tripped up the pursuer, or whetherhe must hold him still in play. But by this time the man was also on hisfeet; his hat was off, his silk breeches and brown coat with lace ruffleswere all bemired. Puffing and blowing, uttering many a round oath such ascame freely to the lips of the Englishman of King George the Second'stime, he shouted to his friend behind to come on, and, disregardingDesmond, made to continue his pursuit.

  Desmond could but grapple with him.

  "Let go, villain!" cried the man, striving to free himself.

  Desmond clung on; there was a brief struggle, but he was no match in sizeor strength for his opponent, who was thick-set and of considerablegirth. He fell backwards, overborne by the man's weight. His head struckon the road; dazed by the blow he loosened his clutch, and lay for amoment in semi-consciousness while the man sprang away.

  But he was not so far gone as not to hear a loud shout behind him andnear at hand, followed by the tramp of feet.

  "Avast there!" The voice was familiar: surely it was Bulger's. "Fairplay! Fourteen stone against seven en't odds. Show a leg, mateys."

  The big sailor with a dozen of his mates stood full in the path of theirate gentleman, who, seeing himself beset, drew his rapier and preparedto fight his way through. A moment later he was joined by his companion,who had also drawn his rapier. Together the gentlemen stood facing thesailors.

  "This is check, Merriman," said the last comer, as the seamen,flourishing their hangers menacingly, pressed forward past the prostratebody of Desmond. "The fellow has escaped you; best withdraw atdiscretion."

  "Come on," shouted Bulger, waving his hook. "Bill Bulger en't the man tosheer off from a couple of landlubbers."

  As with his mates in line he steadily advanced, the two gentlemen, theirlips set, their eyes fixed on the assailants, their rapiers pointed,backed slowly up the street. The noise had brought clerks and merchantsto the doors; someone sprang a rattle; there were cries for the watchmen;but no one actively interfered.

  Meanwhile Desmond had regained his senses, and, still feeling somewhatdizzy, had sat down upon a doorstep, wondering not a little at thepursuit and flight of Diggle and the opportune arrival of the sailors.Everything had happened very rapidly; scarcely two minutes had elapsedsince the first onset.

  He was still resting when there was a sudden change in the quality of theshouts up street. Hitherto they had been boisterous rallying cries; nowthey were unmistakably hearty British cheers, expressing nothing butapproval and admiration. And they came not merely from the throats of thesailors, but from the now considerable crowd that filled the street. Afew moments afterwards he saw the throng part, and through it Bulgermarching at the head of his mates, singing lustily. They came opposite tothe step on which he sat, and Bulger caught sight of him.

  "Blest if it en't our supercargo!" he cried, stopping short.

  A shout of laughter broke from the sailors. One of them struck up a song.

  "Oho! we says goodby,But never pipes our eye,Tho' we leaves Sue, Poll, and Kitty all behind us;And if we drops our bonesDown along o' Davy Jones,Why, they'll come and axe the mermaids for to find us."

  "And what took ye, Mister Supercargo, to try a fall with the fourteenstoner?"

  "Oh, I was helping a friend."

  "Ay, an' a friend was helpin' him, an' here's a dozen of us a-helpin' ofone supercargo."

  "And I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Bulger. But what were you cheeringfor?"

  "Cheerin'! Why, you wouldn't guess. 'Twas General Clive, matey."

  "General Clive!"

  "Ay, General Clive, him what chased the mounseers out o' Fort St. Georgewith a marlinspike. I didn't know him at fust, comin' up behind t'otherchap; but when I seed that purple coat with the gold lace and the face ofhim above it I knowed him. In course there was no more fight for us then;'twas hip-hip hurray and up with our hangers. Clive, he smiled andtouched his hat. 'Bulger,' says he, 'you en't much fatter--'"

  "Does he know you, then?"

  "Know me! In course he does. Wasn't I bo'sun's mate on board the Indiamanas took him east twelve year ago or more? That was afore I got this herebutton hook o' mine. Ay, I remember him well, a-trampin' up an' down deckwith his hands in his pockets an' his mouth set tight an' his chin on hisstock, never speakin' to a soul, in the doldrums if ever a lad was. Why,we all thought there was no more spirit in him than in the old woodenfigurehead--leastways, all but me.

  "'I may be wrong,' says I to old Tinsley the bo'sun, 'I may be wrong,'says I, 'but I be main sure that young sad down-in-the-mouth have got ablazin' fire somewhere in his innards.'

  "Ay, and time showed it. There was a lot of cadets aboard as poked fun atthe quiet chap an' talked him over, a-winkin' their eyes. From talkin' itgot to doin'. One day, goin' to his bunk, he found it all topsyversy,hair powder on his pillow, dubbin in his shavin' cup, salt pork wropt upin his dressin' gown. Well, I seed him as he comed on deck, an' his facewere a sight to remember, pale as death, but his eyes a-blazin' like livecoals in the galley fire. Up he steps to the cadet as was ringleader; howhe knowed it I can't tell you, but he was sure of it, same as I alwaysam.

  "'Sir,' says he, quiet as a lamb, 'I want a word with you.'

  "'Dear me!' says the cadet, 'have Mr. Clive found his voice at last?'

  "'Yes, sir,' says Clive, 'he has, an' something else.'

  "Cook happene
d to be passin' with a tray; a lady what was squeamish hadbeen having her vittles on deck. Mr. Clive cotched up a basin o' pea soupwhat was too greasy for madam, and in a twink he sets it upside down onthe cadet's head. Ay, 'twas a pretty pictur', the greasy yellow stuffrunnin' down over his powdered hair an' lace collar an' fine blue coat.My eye! there was a rare old shindy, the cadet cursin' and splutterin',the others laughin' fit to bust 'emselves. The cadet out with his fists,but there, 'twas no manner o' use. Mr. Clive bowled him over like aninepin till he lay along deck all pea soup an' gore. There was no morebaitin' o' Mr. Clive that voyage.

  "'Bo'sun,' says I, 'what did I tell you? I may be wrong, but that youngMr. Bob Clive'll be a handful for the factors in Fort St. George.'"

  While this narrative had been in progress, Desmond was walking withBulger and his mates back towards the river.

  "How was it you happened to be hereabouts so early?" asked Desmond. "Ididn't expect to see you till tomorrow."

  Bulger winked.

  "You wouldn't axe if you wasn't a landlubber, meanin' no offense," hesaid. "'Tis last night ashore. We sailor men has had enough o' Waterman'sRests an' such like. To tell you the truth, we gave Mr. Toley the slip,and now we be goin' to have a night at the Crown an' Anchor."

  "What about the press gang?"

  "We takes our chance. They won't press me, sartin sure, 'cos o' mytenterhook here, and I'll keep my weather eye open, trust me for that."

  Here they parted company. Desmond watched the jolly crew as they turnedinto the Minories, and heard their rollicking chorus:

  "Ho! when the cargo's shipped,An the anchor's neatly tripped,An' the gals are weepin' bucketfuls o' sorrer,Why, there's the decks to swab,An' we en't a-goin' to sob,S'pose the sharks do make a meal of us tomorrer."

  At the Goat and Compasses Diggle was awaiting him.

  "Ha! my friend, you did it as prettily as a man could wish. Solitudoaliquid adjuvat, as Tully somewhere hath it, not foreseeing my case,when solitude would have been my undoing. I thank thee."

  "Was the fellow attacking you?" asked Desmond.

  "That to be sure was his intention. I was in truth in the very article ofperil; I was blown; my breath was near gone, when at the critical momentup comes a gallant youth--subvenisti homini jam perdito--and withdexterous hand stays the enemy in his course."

  "But what was it all about? Do you know the man?"

  "Ods my life! 'twas a complete stranger, a man, I should guess, of hastypassions and tetchy temper. By the merest accident, at a somewhat crowdedpart, I unluckily elbowed the man into the kennel, and though Iapologized in the handsomest way, he must take offense and seek to cutoff my life, to extinguish me in primo aevo, as Naso would say. ButAtropos was forestalled, my thread of life still falls uncut fromClotho's shuttle; still, still, my boy, I bear on the torch of lifeunextinguished."

  Desmond felt that all this fine phrasing, this copious draft fromclassical sources, was intended to quench the ardor of his curiosity.Diggle's explanation was very lame; the fury depicted on the pursuer'sface could scarcely be due to a mere accidental jostling in the street.And Diggle was certainly not the man to take to his heels on slightoccasion. But, after all, Diggle's quarrels were his own concern. Thathis past life included secrets Desmond had long suspected, but he was notthe first man of birth and education who had fallen into misfortune, andat all events he had always treated Desmond with kindness. So the boy putthe matter from his thoughts.

  The incident, however, left a sting of vexation behind it. In agreeing toaccompany Diggle to the East, Desmond had harbored a vague hope offalling in with Clive and taking service, in however humble a capacity,with him. It vexed him sorely to think that Clive, whose memory forfaces, as his recognition of Bulger after twelve years had shown, wasvery good, might recognize him, should they meet, as the boy who hadplayed a part in what was almost a street brawl. Still, it could not behelped. Desmond comforted himself with the hope that Clive had taken noparticular note of him, and, if they should ever encounter, wouldprobably meet him as a stranger.