Ran in, and anchored under Spike Island. A line-of-battle ship, three
frigates, and a number of merchantmen at anchor-men of war lovely craft,
bands playing--a good deal of the pomp and circumstance of war. Next
forenoon, Mr Treenail, the second lieutenant, sent for me.
“Mr Cringle,” said he, “you have an uncle in Cork, I believe?”
I said I had.
“I am going there on duty to-night; I daresay, if you asked the Captain to
let you accompany me, he would do so.” This was too good an offer not to be
taken advantage of. I plucked up courage, made my bow, asked leave, and
got it; and the evening found my friend the lieutenant, and myself, after a
ride of three hours, during which I, for one, had my bottom sheathing
grievously rubbed, and a considerable botheration at crossing the Ferry at
Passage, safe in our inn at Cork. I soon found out that the object of my
superior officer was to gain information amongst the crimp shops, where ten
men, who had run from one of the West Indiamen, waiting at Cove for convoy,
were stowed away, but I was not let farther into the secret; so I set out
to pay my visit, and after passing a pleasant evening with my friends, Mr
and Mrs Job Cringle, the lieutenant dropped in upon us about nine o’clock.
He was heartily welcomed, and under the plea of our being obliged to return
to the ship early next morning, we soon took leave, and returned to the
inn. As I was turning into the public room, the door was open, and I could
see it full of blowsy-faced monsters, glimmering and jabbering, through
the mist of hot brandy grog and gin twist; with poodle Benjamins, and
greatcoats, and cloaks of all sorts and sizes, steaming on their pegs, with
Barcelonas and comforters, and damp travelling caps of seal-skin, and blue
cloth, and tartan, arranged above the same.
Nevertheless, such a society in my juvenile estimation, during my short
escapade from the middy’s berth, had its charms, and I was rolling in with
a tolerable swagger, when Mr Treenail pinched my arm.
“Mr Cringle, come here, into my room.”
From the way in which he spoke, I imagined, in my innocence, that his room
was at my elbow; but no such thing--we had to ascend a long, and not
overclean staircase, to the fourth floor, before we were shown into a
miserable little double-bedded room. So soon as we had entered, the
lieutenant shut the door.
“Tom,” said he, “I have taken a fancy to you, and therefore I applied for
leave to bring you with me; but I must expose you to some danger, and, I
will allow, not altogether in a very creditable way either. You must enact
the spy for a short space.”
I did not like the notion certainly, but I had little time for
consideration.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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