Cerise: A Tale of the Last CenturyWhyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
General
Cerise: A Tale of the Last Century
Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
Historical fiction
Bob thought of the seamen still drinking in his tap-room, and the
obviously low state of their finances. It would work he decided, but it
must be done under three influences, viz., beer, secrecy, and caution.
“Captain,” said he, shutting the door carefully, “I’d rather do you
a turn than any lodger I’ve had yet. If I can help you to a hand or
two, I’m the man as’ll do it. You’ll be willing to pay the expenses, I
suppose?”
The Captain did not appear totally inexperienced in such matters, for,
on asking the amount and receiving for answer a sum that would have
purchased all the stock of liquors in the house over and over again, he
showed neither indignation nor surprise, but observed quietly—
“Able seamen, of course?”
“Of course!” repeated Bob. “Honour, you know, Captain, honour!” If he had
added “among thieves,” he would none the less clearly have expressed the
situation. Reflecting for a moment, he approached his guest and whispered
in his ear, “For the account?”
“Ask me no questions,” answered the Captain, significantly. “You know as
well as I do that your price covers everything. Is it a bargain?”
“That would make a difference, you see, Captain,” urged Bob, determined
to get all he could. “It’s not what it used to be, and the Government
is uncommon hard upon a look-out man now, if he makes a mistake in the
colours of a prize. In King James’s time, I’ve seen the gentlemen-rovers
drinking at this very table with the mayor and the magistrates, ay, and
sending up their compliments and what not, maybe, to the Lord-Lieutenant
himself. Why, that very mug as you see there was given me by poor
Captain Delaval; quite the gentleman he was! An’ he made no secret
where he took it from, nor how they cut the Portuguese chap’s throat
as was drinking from it in the after-cabin. And now, it’s as likely as
not the Whigs would hang a man in chains for such a thing. I tell you,
Captain, the hands don’t fancy it. They can’t cruise a mile along-shore
without running foul of a gibbet with a pi—I mean, with a skeleton on
it, rattling and grinning as if he was alive. It makes a difference,
Captain—it makes a difference!”
“Take it or leave it,” replied the other, looking like a man who had made
his highest bid, which no consideration would induce him to increase by a
shilling.
Bob evidently thought so. “A bargain be it,” said he, with a villainous
smile on his shining face, and muttering something about his wish to
oblige a customer and the high respect he entertained for his guest’s
character, in all its relations, public, private, and nautical, he
shambled out of the room, leaving the latter to tackle once more with his
accounts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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