“No sir,” said the footman—petty officer.” He waits you inside your place of business.”
Sir John chuckled at that.” I had never heard it so described, but it will do, it will do. Has he waited long?”
“No doubt longer than he would like, sir. Near half of an hour’s time, I should judge.”
“Thankyou,” said Sir John, and turned away, moving his stick about until he found the right stone, the right step, and finally the correct door of the two that stood side by side giving separate entrances to the building. His capabilities often amazed me still.
The one he had chosen led back to the strong room, where the day’s harvest of offenders awaited their appearance in court. Mr. Fuller was there, keeping order among them, and so was Mr. Marsden, who was preparing the docket for Sir John, and so, finally, was Vice-Admiral Redmond.
He was in full-dress uniform, a sword at his side, pacing in such a way that his back was to us as we entered. His manner betrayed impatience.
“If he has waited this long,” said Sir John to me, “then it must be something of importance he wished to discuss. And that, my lad, is good, for I have much that is important to discuss with him.”
Then came the admiral bustling toward us, all red-faced from his exertions.
“Jack,” said he, “where have you been? We must talk.”
“Good, Bobbie. Where I have been is one of a number of matters I wish to talk to you about. Into my chambers, shall we? It’s that door just ahead.”
Yet Sir John held back, took me aside, and whispered in my ear.
“You recall, Jeremy, that you put yourself and Tom forward to search tor our witness, Tobias Trindle? The time has come to look in earnest. Stay out as long as you must, but find him. Now get Tom and go.”
It had been over a year since I had been inside the grand house on St. James Street that had formerly been the London residence of Lord Goodhope. It had been transferred grudgingly, though out of necessity, by his widow to Mr. John Bilbo, the somewhat notorious proprietor of London’s most fashionable gaming house, in settlement of her late husband’s gambling debts. Tom Durham had been there recently, taken by Jimmie Bunkins to meet his master, the dark, black-bearded man rumored to have once been a pirate and known to one and all as Black Jack. Tom came back quite taken with the man, as all seem to be, even and including Sir John Fielding, who with some slight reluctance counts him as a friend. The house on St. James Street had awed Tom, as well. Yet his description of its interior was so inexact I could get no sense of how it had been changed —though changed I knew it surely had been.
It was none other than Jimmie Bunkins himself who answered the door when Tom, decked out in his shore duds, banged hard upon it with the brass knocker. Black Jack Bilbo kept no servants, as I knew from Bunkins, except a cooking staff, a server, and two coachmen. Instead, he housed a few of those in his employ at his gaming house; they were expected to work for their keep, so whoever was nearest when a knock came upon the door was at that moment appointed butler. Thus was Bunkins nearest.
“Well,” said he, “if it ain’t me two old rum chums! Entrez voiu! That’s Frenchie talk which I am learning from a Frenchie lady who dorses here.”
He pushed the heavy, oaken door shut after us.
“What’s the word? You two look right queer, you do.”
“It’s a queer matter, Jimmie B.,” said Tom.” We’ve got us a hard lock.”
“We’re looking for a witness, ” said I.
“Ah, Beak business! Best tell me plain and see can I help.”
And so, as shortly and quickly as I was able, I laid out before him the task given us by Sir John. I told him of Mr. Landon’s situation; that he stood accused by Mr. Hartsell, who was the only witness against him, but that we had learned of another who had seen it all and could speak in Lieutenant Landon’s defense.
“He’s an old salt sailor,” put in Tom, “and sure to be out on a tear for as long as he’s got bobstick to his name. Where would he be, my Jimmie B.?”
“Why, in some stew or dive on the river beyond London Bridge, taking a flash of lightning with his mates, t’be sure.”
“You know the where of it?”
“I know the lay near as good as I know Covent Garden. I filched many a guinea and napped many a bob from sleeping sailors in the gutter thereabouts. You know the cull by sight, Tom?”
“I know him well.”
“Then I can help —but I must first ask the cove of the ken. Come along, you two. He’d want to see you both.”
And so we followed Bunkins down the hall which I remembered well from my earlier visits to the house. How different it seemed! Walls that were painted white were now a deep gold yellow. Over the fireplace which was situated midway down the long way was a painting of a Venus, all lush and pink, with an attendant Cupid. I thought to give it closer study yet saw that this was not the proper moment.
Then to the library wherein the Goodhope affair had got its beginning. Bunkins knocked stoutly upon the door and waited right patiently until a familiar rough voice from beyond barked out an invitation to enter. Once inside, I found that it was a library no longer, though there were indeed a few books about. The shelves had been removed, the walls painted a light blue, and the room had been converted into a picture gallery of sorts. Nautical pictures and prints were everywhere the eye might look —the prints hung in sets, the paintings large upon the wall. There were more pieces of furniture about the room than I recalled, but, as before, the large desk dominated all else, perhaps Lord Goodhope’s same desk, and behind it sat the master of the house, “the cove of the ken,” Black Jack Bilbo. He rose and beckoned.
“Well, come in, come in, all of you —and if it isn’t my old friend Jeremy! Come forward and let me have a look. You’ve grown an inch or two, I swear. How long has it been?”
“Near a year, Mr. Bilbo. ‘Twas at the little wedding party when last v/e met. ‘
“So it was, ” said he.” Sir John I have seen here and about. We’ve dined together once or twice — but you … a year, you say!”
“Yes sir, nearly that.”
“And Mr. Durham, I’m glad to see you’ve returned in such good company. Always welcome here, both of you. Now, what can I do for you lads?”
“I came seekin’ permission to go with them, sir,” said Jimmie Bun-kins ever so politely.
“Go with them where, young sir?”
“Down to the places on the river where the drunken sailors is to be found.”
“What?” roared Black Jack, who could truly roar when it suited him.” Have I not spent a year of my life trying to keep you from such places? And now you wish to return to your old haunts to corrupt these two good lads?”
“Oh, no sir,” said Bunkins.” You misunderstand, sir. They’re searchin’ a witness off Tom’s ship, the Adventure. They asked me help to show them where to look. I, uh, know the territory from, uh, earlier days.”
“I see. Well … perhaps I should know a little more about this. Pull those chairs over and seat yourselves. Jeremy, suppose you tell me what you can of this matter.”
We did as he bade us, and once settled, I retold the tale and at greater length than before. At one point Tom interrupted to testify how much liked and respected was Mr. Landon by the crew. But then I went on to describe Sir John’s interrogation of Mr. MacNaughton in Portsmouth and how he had mentioned in passing the name of one who during that fearful storm had witnessed the fall of the captain into the sea and Mr. Landon s efforts to save him.
“And it is him you now seek?”
“Yes, sir, it is,” said I, as Tom seconded me.
“Well, first of all, Jimmie Bunkins, you have my permission to go and be part of this search. But mind, be back for dinner for you must go to my establishment for to make a delivery of the usual sort. Is that agreed?”
“Yes, Mr. Bilbo, ” said he most properly.
“But let me tell you, too, Jeremy and Tom, your Mr. Landon is in a right tight c
orner, for the way His Majesty’s Navy works is this: The captain is king aboard the ship. His word is law; his judgments as from the Almighty. Would you not agree, Tom, that that is the way of it?”
“I would, sir. No question of it.”
“I’m surprised,” said Black Jack, “thatyour fellow —Hartsell is his name?—that he did not make his accusation on shipboard before the crew, pass judgment upon him, and have him sewed up in a canvas and tossed overboard. That was the punishment for murder given in the old Black Book.”
“To that, sir,” said Tom, “I could say that he was acting captain and no more.”
“Still and all,” said Bilbo, “he was the captain.”
“And had he acted so in summary judgment, it might well have worked against him. Mr. Landon was so much the favorite of the crew that there could have been mutiny, retribution at least.”
“But your witness has not stepped forward, and he has had the chance, am I not right?”
Tom gave sober thought to that.” Yes, Mr. Bilbo, what you say is true.”
“Then he may not prove a very willing witness.”
“If so, I shall persuade him.”
“Well, I wish you all good fortune. You, Jimmie Bunkins, have your orders.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“Show them where to look. Stay with them till it be time to return. Here — ” He dipped into his pocket and tossed some coins out on the desk.” You’ll need money for a hackney coach, to and from. Take this, Jimmie. ‘
Bunkins jumped up and scooped the money from the desk.
“And for you two, a warning. Where you are headed is indeed a dangerous territory. I think you will need these.”
So saying, he opened a drawer in the desk and pulled from it a box of leather with brass strapping. He opened it, revealing a pair of what I took to be dueling pistols, each silvered and engraved like one I had myself once had occasion to fire.
“Both of these are loaded, “said he.” But I’ll not giveyou powder and balls to reload, for I don’t want them fired. To show them and threaten should be enough to get you out of any bad situation. Is that clear enough?”
“Yes sir, ” said Tom and I in chorus.
“Now, you, young Mr. Durham, have fired such in battle. You know the dangers and the precautions to be taken. About you, Jeremy, I am a httle less sure. But you proved once you could shoot. Now you must prove you know when to hold back.”
He dug the two like weapons from their resting places and, taking each by its barrel, handed them to us.
“They should fit in your pockets. Get them back to me as soon as you have found your man or given up the search. And if ever Sir John receives from you any hint that I have lent you these, I shall be your enemy for life. I make a good friend but a terrible enemy. Now be on your way.”
Dear God, this was indeed an ugly section of the city. It was all docks, wharves, keys, and storehouses, and in between them all were nestled some of the lowest dens and dives I had seen. All that made it tolerable was the bustle of the crowd and throngs of workmen at some locations along the way. When docks or wharves were empty, or ships stood empty of their cargoes, then there was no work to be done and all was deserted —except for those dark places where gin, rum, ale, and beer were sold. Such locations were far beneath any in Covent Garden. Some that we visited —and we visited quite a number—had not even tables and chairs. Patrons had their choice of standing at the bar, sitting on the floor to drink, or lying drunk upon it among their mates.
Our plan was simple enough. We would begin at Custom House Stairs and work our way westward along the river, stopping at each such place as I have described so that Tom might see were there any of the crew of the Adienture inside, that he might inquire of them the whereabouts of Tobias Trindle. Since these grog shops were nearest the anchorage of the frigate, just off Tower Wharf, they were the likeliest in which to look. We would go as far as London Bridge and no farther, for the tall-masted, seagoing ships themselves could not travel beyond it. Bunkins, who seemed to know the territory quite as well as he had boasted, had authored the scheme. Tom concurred, and I, having no preference in the matter but simply wanting to get on with our search, fell in with them.
The Gull and Anchor, with a crudely painted sign hanging above the door, was the first place in which we looked. Hard by the Custom House as it was, this one was not near so crude as others we would visit. But it was as dark as anv and smelled as bad of stale beer and ale. Jimmie Bunkins and I held back near the door and let Tom roam free through the clusters at the bar, then turn away, shaking his head in a negative. Just as he did, he was hailed by a loud voice from a table in a nearby corner.
“Avast there, Tom Durham, ain’t you the one in your suit of lubber’s clothes!”
Tom started over to the table whence the cry had come, beckoning us to follow.
“Well, if it ain’t old Bristol Beatty!” shouted Tom in a tone near as rowdy.” And Mizzen Trotter Tim and Ol’ Isaac. Imagine finding you three here.”
“They like our bobs as well as any place along the river,” said one of them. I was never sure which exactly was which.
“Just started our day’s drinkin’,” said the second.
“Seatyeselves, boys. Have one on us,” said the third, waving frantically at the serving maid, as fat as a country sow, who came waddling over to the table.
“Give these lads beer. That’s a proper drink for lads.”
“Where did you get them duds, Tom?”
“Aw,” said Tom, “from my ma. She would have me out of my seaman’s suit or know why.”
“Well, if a body must wear shore clothes, them’s the kind to wear. You look a proper gentleman.”
“Who’re these two mates of yours?” I believe the questioner was Old Isaac; he was, in any case, the eldest of the three, white-haired and near toothless.
“This here is Jimmie Bunkins. We were thieves together, but now we’re well reformed. And this is Jeremy Proctor, sort of a brother like now my ma got married again.”
There was a great deal of hand shaking all around the table. Then came the fat serving maid and banged down three tankards before us. Money changed hands. Then Tom bade the woman bring his three mates from the Ac)i’e/ititre a round of what they were having. She scampered off as quick as ever she could waddle.
“No, no, no, Tom lad, it’s us as should be treatin’you.”
“I’ve not spent a farthing all the days I’ve been in London,” said Tom. Living at home I am, eating at my stepfather’s mess. I’ve plenty to spare.”
“Always said you was a good boy, Tom,” said the one I suspected to be Old Isaac.
“Besides, ” said Tom, “I’ve something to ask that would help us if you knew the answer.”
“And what is that, lad?”
“Where is Tobias Trindle? Have you seen him? Where might we seek him?”
The three exchanged looks. Such questions seemed to disturb the seamen.
“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Tom.” We mean him no harm. The fact is, there may be a reward in it for him when we find him.”
A reward in heaven perhaps, thought I. That was the only possibility that I saw. But let him say what he would to them.
“A reward, is it? Well …”
Old Isaac pulled out a clay pipe and began filling it with tobacco from a pouch on the table. He tamped in the crushed leaves of the stuff as he considered.
Just then the serving maid returned with three glasses of water-clear liquid —gin from the smell of it. The trio from the Adventure raised their glasses as Tom paid her with a shilling and collected a whole pocketful of copper in exchange. When they set their glasses back down upon the table they were but half full. The liquor seemed to loosen their tongues.
“Well, if you’re lookin’ for Tobias in such a place as this,” said one of the other two, “then you’re lookin’ in the wrong place.”
“Why is that, sir?” I asked, at last shrugging off the burden of s
ilence I had heretofore accepted.
“Because, lad, ” put in Old Isaac, pointing with his unlit pipe, “she’s the only woman here, and old Tobias would say, She ain’t worth bothering with.’ In fact, he said so just yesterday at this very table, didn’t he, mates?”
“He did.”
“Yes, he did so.”
“Now, some men, they get their leave tickets, and they like to take a little holiday with a bottle. Others, they might take to the drink, but if a woman comes along who’s to their liking, they might take a roll with her, as it’s a bit of pleasure a man can’t get on shipboard. But Tobias Trindle is the onliest man I know who’s got only one thing on his mind when he comes ashore — and it ain’t gin or rum. Ain’t that so?”
The last lines he delivered with a great leer, which brought guffaws from his mates.
“No, lad, ifyou re searching for Tobias, you must go where the doxies are in the greatest number, for that’s where he will surely be.”
“But where does he dorse?” put in Bunkins.
“Dorse? What language is that, boy?” Old Isaac seemed somewhat offended.
“Cant, flash-talk,” said Bunkins in his old pugnacious way.” Where does he sleep? Ain’t he got no proper lodging house?”
“None at all, just as where the whore has her crib.”
I looked at Tom across the table. He gave a slight shrug, as if to say, What more can we get from these fellows? Then I felt a nudge from Bunkins at my left side.
“You goin’ to drink that?” he asked, knowing full well I quite loathed beer and would only take coffee or wine as strong drink.
I gave the tankard a little push in his direction, and he grabbed it up. He guzzled its contents in a trice.
There was a general murmur of approbation from the three old seamen.
“Now there’s a lad knows how to drink!” exclaimed one of them, as Old Isaac at last brought out his tinderbox and made ready to light his pipe, giggling his tribute.
When Bunkins responded with a colossal belch, there was even greater merriment.
“Well done!”
“Let’s put another in front of him, see can he do it again.”
Watery Grave Page 18
