The Tory Lover 55

The Tory Lover 55

Mary Hamilton stood by the window, to watch if the captain might be

coming. It was already so dark that she could hardly see what might

happen out of doors. She envied her companion the ease with which he

had gone out to take a look at the men in the great kitchen; but Paul

Jones would be sure to look for her when he came; there was nothing to

do but to wait for him, if one could only find proper patience. The

bleak inn parlor, scene of smugglers’ feasts and runaway weddings, was

brightened by the good fire. The alderman was soon comforted in both

mind and body, and Mary, concealing her impatience as best she could,

shared his preliminary evening meal, as she had done many a night, in

many an inn, before. She had a persistent fear that Paul Jones or his

messenger might come and go away again, and she grew very anxious as she

sat thinking about him; but as she looked up and began to speak, she saw

that the tired old man could not answer; he was sound asleep in his

chair. The good ale had warmed and soothed him so that she had not the

heart to wake him. She resigned herself to silence, but listened for

footsteps, and to the ceaseless clink of glasses and loud clatter of

voices in the room beyond. The outer door had a loud and painful creak,

and for a long time she heard nobody open it, until some one came to

give a loud shout for passengers who were intending to take the packet.

Then there was a new racket of departure, and the sound of the landlady

angrily pursuing some delinquent guest into the yard to claim her pay;

but still Mr. Davis slept soundly. The poor woman would be getting her

kitchen to rights now; presently it would be no harm to wake her

companion, and see if their business might not be furthered. It was not

late; they really had not been there much above an hour yet, only the

time was very slow in passing; and as Mary watched Mr. John Davis asleep

in his chair, his kind old face had a tired look that went to her

affectionate heart. At last she heard a new footstep coming down the

narrow stairway into the passage. She could not tell why, but there was

a sudden thrill at her heart. There was a tumult in her breast, a sense

of some great happiness that was very near to her; it was like some

magnet that worked upon her very heart itself, and set her whole frame

to quivering.

 

 

 

 

*XLIV*

 

*THE ROAD’S END*

 

"In sum, such a man as any enemy could not wish him worse than to be

himself."

 

"I found him in a lonely place:

Long nights he ruled my soul in sleep:

Long days I thought upon his face."

 

 

After the packet went there were three men left in the kitchen, who sat

by themselves at a small table. The low-storied, shadowy room was ill

lighted by a sullen, slow-burning fire, much obscured by pots and

kettles, and some tallow candles scattered on out-of-the-way shelves.

The mistress of the place scolded over her heap of clattering crockery

and heavy pewter in a far corner. The men at the table had finished

their supper, and having called for more drink, were now arguing over

it. Two of them wore coats that were well spattered with mud; the third

was a man better dressed, who seemed above his company, but wore a

plausible, persistent look on his sallow countenance. This was Dickson,

who had been set ashore in a fishing boat, and was now industriously

plying his new acquaintances with brandy, beside drinking with eagerness

himself at every round of the bottle. He forced his hospitality upon the

better looking of his two companions, who could not be made to charge

his glass to any depth, or to empty it so quickly as his mate. Now and

then they put their heads together to hear a tale which Dickson was

telling, and once burst into a roar of incredulous laughter which made

the landlady command them to keep silence.

 

She was busy now with trying to bring out of the confusion an orderly

supper for her patient guests of the parlor, and sent disapproving

glances toward the three men near the fire, as if she were ready to

speed their going. They had drunk hard, but the sallow-faced man called

for another bottle, and joked with the poor slatternly girl who went and

came serving their table. They were so busy with their own affairs that

they did not notice a man who slipped into the kitchen behind them, as

the Welshmen went out. As the three drank a toast together he crossed

to the fireside, and seated himself in the corner of the great settle,

where the high back easily concealed his slight figure from their sight.

Both the women saw him there, but he made them a warning gesture. He

was not a yard away from Dickson.

 

The talk was freer than ever; the giver of the feast, in an unwonted

outburst of generosity, flung a shilling on the flagged floor, and bade

the poor maid scramble for it and keep it for herself. Then Dickson let

his tongue run away with all his discretion. He began to brag to these

business acquaintances of the clever ways in which he had gained his own

ends on board the Ranger, and outwitted those who had too much

confidence in themselves. He even bragged that Captain John Paul Jones

was in his power, after a bold fashion that made his admiring audience

open their heavy eyes.

 

"We ’re safe enough here from that mistaken ferret," he insisted, after

briefly describing the ease with which he had carried out their evening

plans. "You might have been cooling your heels here waiting for me the

whole week long, and I waiting for my money, too, but for such a turn of

luck! If I did n’t want to get to France, and get my discharge, and go

back to America as quick as possible without suspicion, I’d tell you

just where he landed, and put him into your hands like a cat in a bag,

to be easy drowned!"

 

"He ’s in Bristol to-night, if you must know," Dickson went on, after

again refreshing himself with the brandy; "we set him ashore to ride

there over Clifton Downs. Yes, I might have missed ye. He ’s a bold

devil, but to-night the three of us here could bag him easy. I ’ve put

many a spoke in his wheel. There was a young fellow aboard us, too,

that had done me a wrong at home that I never forgave; and that night at

Whitehaven I ’ve already told ye of, when I fixed the candles, after I

got these papers that you ’ve come for, I dropped some pieces of ’em,

and things that was with ’em, in my pretty gentleman’s locker. So good

friends were parted after that, and the whole Whitehaven matter laid to

his door. I could tell ye the whole story. His name’s Wallingford,

curse him, and they say he ’s got a taste o’ your Mill Prison by this

time that’s paid off all our old scores. I hope he ’s dead and damned!"

 

"Who ’s your man Wallingford? I ’ve heard the name myself. There ’s a

reward out for him; or did I hear he was pardoned?" asked one of the

men.

 

"’T was a scurvy sort o’ way to make him pay his debts. I’d rather

ended it man fashion, if I had such a grudge," said the other listener,

the man who had been drinking least.

 

Dickson’s wits were now overcome by the brandy, hard-headed as he might

boast himself. "If you knew all I had suffered at his hands!" he

protested. "He robbed me of a good living at home, and made me fail in

my plans. I was like to be a laughingstock!"

 

The two men shrugged their shoulders when he next pushed the bottle

toward them, and said that they had had enough. "Come, now," said one

of them, "let’s finish our business! You have this document o’ one

Yankee privateersman called Paul Jones that our principal ’s bound for

to get. You ’ve set your own thieves’ price on it, and we ’re sent here

to pay it. I ’m to see it first, to be sure there’s no cheat, and then

make a finish."

 

"The paper ’s worth more than’t was a month ago," said Dickson shrewdly.

His face was paler than ever, and in strange contrast to the red faces

of his companions. "The time is come pretty near for carrying out the

North Sea scheme. He may have varied from this paper when he found the

writing gone, but I know for a fact he has the cruise still in mind, and

’t would be a hard blow to England."

 

"’T is all rot you should ask for more money," answered the first

speaker doggedly. "We have no more money with us; ’t is enough, too;

the weight of it has gallded me with every jolt of the horse. Say, will

you take it or leave it? Let me but have a look at the paper! I ’ve a

sample of their cipher here to gauge it by. Come, work smart, I tell

ye! You ’ll be too drunk to deal with soon, and we must quick begone."

 

Dickson, swearing roundly at them, got some papers out of his pocket,

and held one of them in his hand.

 

"Give me the money first!" he growled.

 

"Give us the paper," said the other; "’t is our honest right."

 

There was a heavy tramping in the room above, as if some one had risen

from sleep, and there was a grumble of voices; a door was opened and

shut, and steady footsteps came down the creaking stair and through the

dark entry; a moment more, and the tall figure of a young man stood

within the room.

 

"Well, then, and is my supper ready?" asked Wallingford, looking about

him cheerfully, but a little dazed by the light.

 

There was a smothered outcry; the table was overset, and one of the

three men sprang to his feet as if to make his escape.

 

"Stand where you are till I have done with you!" cried the lieutenant

instantly, facing him. "You have a reckoning to pay! By Heaven, I

shall kill you if you move!" and he set his back against the door by

which he had just entered. "Tell me first, for Heaven’s sake, you

murderer, is the Ranger within our reach?"

 

"She is lying in the port of Brest," answered the trapped adventurer,

with much effort. He was looking about him to see if there were any way

to get out of the kitchen, and his face was like a handful of dirty

wool. Outside the nearest window there were two honest faces from the

Roscoff boat’s crew pressed close against the glass, and looking in

delightedly at the play. Dickson saw them, and his heart sank; he had

been sure they were waiting for Paul Jones, half a dozen miles down

shore.

 

"Who are these men with you, and what is your errand here?" demanded

Wallingford, who saw no one but the two strangers and his enemy.

 

"None of your damned business!" yelled Dickson, like a man suddenly

crazed; his eyes were starting from his head. The landlady came

scolding across the kitchen to bid him pay and begone, with his company,

and Dickson turned again to Wallingford with a sneer.

 

"You ’ll excuse us, then, at this lady’s request," he said, grinning.

The brandy had come to his aid again, now the first shock of their

meeting was past, and made him overbold. "I ’ll bid you good-night, my

hero, ’less you ’ll come with us. There’s five pounds bounty on his

head, sirs!" he told the messengers, who stood by the table.

 

They looked at each other and at Dickson; it was a pretty encounter, but

they were not themselves; they were both small-sized men, moreover, and

Wallingford was a strapping great fellow to tackle in a fight. There he

stood, with his hack against the door, an easy mark for a bullet, and

Dickson’s hand went in desperation a second time to his empty pocket.

The woman, seeing this, cried that there should be no shooting, and

stepping forward stood close before Wallingford; she had parted men in a

quarrel many a time before, and the newcomer was a fine upstanding young

gentleman, of a different sort from the rest.

 

"You have no proof against me, anyway!" railed Dickson. He could not

bear Wallingford’s eyes upon him. His Dutch courage began to ebb, and

the other men took no part with him; it was nothing they saw fit to

meddle with, so far as the game had gone. He still held the paper in

his hand.

 

"You have n’t a chance against us!" he now bellowed, in despair. "We

are three to your one here. Take him, my boys, and tie him down! He’s

worth five pounds to you, and you may have it all between ye!"

 

At this moment there was a little stir behind the settle, and some one

else stepped out before them, as if he were amused by such bungling

play.

 

"I have got proof enough myself now," said Captain Paul Jones quietly,

standing there like the master of them all, "and if hanging ’s enough

proof for you, Dickson, I must say you ’ve a fair chance of it. When

you ’ve got such business on hand as this, let brandy alone till you ’ve

got it done. The lieutenant was pardoned weeks ago; the papers wait for him in Bristol. He is safer than we are in England."