Фредерик Марриет
The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook
Such was the position of his parents, when Joey was proceeding to their abode.
Chapter Thirty Six
Our Hero falls in with an old Acquaintance, and is not very much Delighted
We left our hero rolling his knife-grinder’s wheel towards his father’s house. It must be confessed that he did it very unwillingly. He was never very fond of it at any time; but, since he had taken possession of Spikeman’s property, and had received from Mary the intelligence that he was worth 350 pounds more, he had taken a positive aversion to it. It retarded his movements, and it was hard work when he had not to get his livelihood by it. More than once he thought of rolling it into a horsepond, and leaving it below low-water mark; but then he thought it a sort of protection against inquiry, and against assault, for it told of poverty and honest employment; so Joey rolled on, but not with any feelings of regard towards his companion.
How many castles did our hero build as he went along the road! The sum of money left to him appeared to be enormous. He planned and planned again; and, like most people, at the close of the day, he was just as undetermined as at the commencement. Nevertheless, he was very happy, as people always are, in anticipation; unfortunately, more so than when they grasp what they have been seeking. Time rolled on, as well as the grindstone, and at last Joey found himself at the ale-house where he and Mary had put up previously to her obtaining a situation at the Hall. He immediately wrote a letter to her, acquainting her with his arrival. He would have taken the letter himself, only he recollected the treatment he had received, and found another messenger in the butcher’s boy, who was going up to the Hall for orders. The answer returned by the same party was, that Mary would come down and see him that evening. When Mary came down Joey was astonished at the improvement in her appearance. She looked much younger than she did when they had parted, and her dress was so very different that our hero could with difficulty imagine that it was the same person who had been his companion from Gravesend. The careless air and manner had disappeared; there was a retenue—a dignity about her which astonished him and he felt a sort of respect, mingled with his regard, for her, of which he could not divest himself. But, if she looked younger (as may well be imagined) from her change of life, she also looked more sedate, except when she smiled, or when occasionally, but very rarely, her merry laughter reminded him of the careless, good-tempered Nancy of former times. That the greeting was warm need hardly be said. It was the greeting of a sister and younger brother who loved each other dearly.
“You are very much grown, Joey,” said Mary. “Dear boy, how happy I am to see you!”
“And you, Mary, you’re younger in the face, but older in your manners. Are you as happy in your situation as you have told me in your letters?”
“Quite happy; more happy than ever I deserve to be, my dear boy; and now tell me, Joey, what do you think of doing? You have now the means of establishing yourself.”
“Yes, I have been thinking of it; but I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, you must look out, and do not be in too great a hurry. Recollect, Joey, that if anything offers which you have any reason to believe will suit you, you shall have my money as well as your own.”
“Nay, Mary, why should I take that?”
“Because, as it is of no use to me, it must be idle; besides, you know, if you succeed, you will be able to pay me interest for it; so I shall gain as well as you. You must not refuse your sister, my dear boy.”
“Dear Mary, how I wish we could live in the same house!”
“That cannot be now, Joey; you are above my situation at the Hall, even allowing that you would ever enter it.”
“That I never will, if I can help it; not that I feel angry now, but I like to be independent.”
“Of course you do.”
“And as for that grindstone, I hate the sight of it; it has made Spikeman’s fortune, but it never shall make mine.”
“You don’t agree then with your former companion,” rejoined Mary, “that a tinker’s is the nearest profession to that of a gentleman which you know of.”
“I certainly do not,” replied our hero; “and as soon as I can get rid of it I will; I have rolled it here, but I will not roll it much farther. I only wish I knew where to go.”
“I have something in my pocket which puts me in mind of a piece of news which I received the other day, since my return. First let me give you what I have in my pocket,”—and Mary pulled out the pencil-case sent to Joey by Emma Phillips. “There you know already who that is from.”
“Yes, and I shall value it very much, for she was a dear, kind little creature; and when I was very, very miserable, she comforted me.”
“Well, Joey, Miss Phillips requested me to write when I came back, as she wished to hear that I had arrived safe at the Hall. It was very kind of her, and I did so, of course. Since that I have received a letter from her, stating that her grandmother is dead, and that her mother is going to quit Gravesend for Portsmouth, to reside with her brother, who is now a widower.”
“I will go to Portsmouth,” replied our hero.
“I was thinking that, as her brother is a navy agent, and Mrs Phillips is interested about you, you could not do better. If anything turns up, then you will have good advice, and your money is not so likely to be thrown away. I think, therefore, you had better go to Portsmouth, and try your fortune.”
“I am very glad you have mentioned this, Mary, for, till now, one place was as indifferent to me as another; but now it is otherwise, and to Portsmouth I will certainly go.”
Our hero remained two or three days longer at the village, during which time Mary was with him every evening, and once she obtained leave to go to the banker’s about her money. She then turned over to Joey’s account the sum due to him, and arrangements were made with the bank so that Joey could draw his capital out whenever he pleased.
After which our hero took leave of Mary, promising to correspond more freely than before; and once more putting the strap of his knife-grinder’s wheel over his shoulders, he set off on his journey to Portsmouth.
Joey had not gained two miles from the village when he asked himself the question, “What shall I do with my grindstone?” He did not like to leave it on the road; he did not know to whom he could give it away. He rolled it on for about six miles farther, and then, quite tired, he resolved to follow the plan formerly adopted by Spikeman, and repose a little upon the turf on the road-side. The sun was very warm, and after a time Joey retreated to the other side of the hedge, which was shaded; and having taken his bundle from the side of the wheel where it hung, he first made his dinner of the provender he had brought with him, and then, laying his head on the bundle, was soon in a sound sleep, from which he was awakened by hearing voices on the other side of the hedge. He turned round, and perceived two men on the side of the road, close to his knife-grinder’s wheel. They were in their shirts and trousers only and sitting down on the turf.
“It would be a very good plan,” observed one of them; “we should then travel without suspicion.”
“Yes; if we could get off with it without being discovered. Where can the owner of it be.”
“Well, I dare say he is away upon some business or another, and has left the wheel here till he comes back. Now, suppose we were to take it—how should we manage?”
“Why, we cannot go along this road with it. We must get over the gates and hedges till we get across the country into another road; and then by travelling all night, we might be quite clear.”
“Yes, and then we should do well; for even if our description as deserters was sent out from Portsmouth, we should be considered as travelling tinkers and there would be no suspicion.”
“Well, I’m ready for it. If we can only get it off the road, and conceal it till night, we may then easily manage it. But first let’s see if the fellow it belongs to may not be somewhere about here.”
As the man said this, he rose up and turned his face towards the hedge, and our hero immediately perceived that it was his old acquaintance, Furness, the schoolmaster and marine. What to do he hardly knew. At last he perceived Furness advancing towards the gate of the field, which was close to where he was lying, and, as escape was impossible, our hero covered his face with his arms, and pretended to be fast asleep. He soon heard a “Hush!” given, as a signal to the other man, and, after a while, footsteps close to him. Joey pretended to snore loudly, and a whispering then took place. At last he heard Furness say—
“Do you watch by him while I wheel away the grindstone.”
“But if he wakes, what shall I do?”
“Brain him with that big stone. If he does not wake up when I am past the second field, follow me.”
That our hero had no inclination to wake after this notice may be easily imagined; he heard the gate opened, and the wheel trundled away, much to his delight, as Furness was the party who had it in charge; and Joey continued to snore hard, until at last he heard the departing footsteps of Furness’s comrade, who had watched him. He thought it prudent to continue motionless for some time longer, to give them time to be well away from him, and then he gradually turned round and looked in the direction in which they had gone; he could see nothing of them, and it was not until he had risen up, and climbed up on the gate, that he perceived them two or three fields off running away at a rapid pace. Thanking heaven that he had escaped the danger that he was in, and delighted with the loss of his property, our hero recommenced his journey with his bundle over his shoulder, and before night he was safe outside one of the stages which took him to a town, from which there was another which would carry him to Portsmouth, at which sea-port he arrived the next evening without further adventure.
As our hero sat on the outside of the coach and reflected upon his last adventure, the more he felt he had reason to congratulate himself. That Furness had deserted from the Marine Barracks at Portsmouth was evident; and if he had not, that he would have recognised Joey some time or other was almost certain. Now, he felt sure that he was safe at Portsmouth, as it would be the last place at which Furness would make his appearance; and he also felt that his knife-grinder’s wheel, in supplying Furness with the ostensible means of livelihood, and thereby preventing his being taken up as a deserter, had proved the best friend to him, and could not have been disposed of better. Another piece of good fortune was his having secured his bundle and money; for had he left it with the wheel, it would have, of course, shared its fate. “Besides,” thought Joey, “if I should chance to fall, in with Furness again, and he attempts to approach me, I can threaten to have him taken as a deserter, and this may deter him from so doing.” It was with a grateful heart that our hero laid his head upon his pillow, in the humble inn at which he had taken up his quarters.
Chapter Thirty Seven
In which our Hero returns to his Former Employment, but on a Grander Scale of Operation
Our hero had received from Mary the name and address of Mrs Phillips’s brother, and, on inquiry, found that he was known by everybody. Joey dressed himself in his best suit, and presented himself at the door about ten o’clock in the morning, as Joseph O’Donahue, the name which he had taken when he went to Gravesend, and by which name he had been known to Mrs Phillips and her daughter Emma, when he made occasional visits to their house. He was admitted, and found himself once more in company with his friend Emma, who was now fast growing up into womanhood. After the first congratulations and inquiries, he stated his intentions in coming down to Portsmouth, and their assistance was immediately promised. They then requested a detail of his adventures since he quitted Gravesend, of which Joey told everything that he safely could; passing over his meeting with Furness, by simply stating that, while he was asleep, his knife-grinder’s wheel had been stolen by two men, and that when he awoke he dared not offer an opposition. Mrs Phillips and her daughter both knew that there was some mystery about our hero, which had induced him to come to, and also to leave Gravesend; but, being assured by Mary and himself; that he was not to blame, they did not press him to say more than he wished; and, as soon as he finished his history, they proposed introducing him to Mr Small, the brother of Mrs Phillips, in whose house they were then residing, and who was then in his office.
“But, perhaps, mamma, it will be better to wait till tomorrow, and in the meantime you will be able to tell my uncle all about Joey,” observed Emma.
“I think it will be better, my dear,” replied Mrs Phillips; “but there is Marianne’s tap at the door, for the second time; she wants me downstairs, so I must leave you for a little while; but you need not go away, O’Donahue; I will be back soon.”
Mrs Phillips left the room, and our hero found himself alone with Emma.
“You have grown very much, Joey,” said Emma; “and so have I, too, they tell me.”
“Yes, you have indeed,” replied Joey; “you are no longer the little girl who comforted me when I was so unhappy. Do you recollect that day?”
“Yes, indeed I do, as if it were but yesterday. But you have never told me why you lead so wandering a life; you won’t trust me.”
“I would trust you with anything but that which is not mine to trust, as I told you four years ago; it is not my secret; as soon as I can I will tell you everything; but I hope not to lead a wandering life any longer, for I have come down here to settle, if I can.”
“What made you think of coming down here?” asked Emma.
“Because you were here; Mary told me so. I have not yet thanked you for your present, but I have not forgotten your kindness in thinking of a poor boy like me, when he was far away; here it is,” continued Joey, taking out the pencil-case, “and I have loved it dearly,” added he, kissing it, “ever since I have had it in my possession. I very often have taken it out and thought of you.”
“Now you are so rich a man, you should give me something to keep for your sake,” replied Emma; “and I will be very careful of it, for old acquaintance’ sake.”
“What can I offer to you? you are a young lady; I would give you all I had in the world, if I dared, but—”
“When I first saw you,” rejoined Emma, “you were dressed as a young gentleman.”
“Yes, I was,” replied Joey, with a sigh; and as the observation of Emma recalled to his mind the kindness of the McShanes, he passed his hand across his eyes to brush away a tear or two that started.
“I did not mean to make you unhappy,” said Emma, taking our hero’s hand.
“I am sure you did not,” replied Joey, smiling. “Yes, I was then as you say; but recollect that lately I have been a knife-grinder.”
“Well, you know, your friend said, that it was the nearest thing to a gentleman; and now I hope you will be quite a gentleman again.”
“Not a gentleman, for I must turn to some business or another,” replied Joey.
“I did not mean an idle gentleman; I meant a respectable profession,” said Emma. “My uncle is a very odd man, but very good-hearted; you must not mind his way towards you. He is very fond of mamma and me, and I have no doubt will interest himself about you, and see that your money is not thrown away. Perhaps you would like to set up a bumboat on your own account?” added Emma, laughing.
“No, I thank you; I had enough of that. Poor Mrs Chopper! what a kind creature she was! I’m sure I ought to be very grateful to her for thinking of me as she did.”
“I believe,” said Emma, “that she was a very good woman, and so does mamma. Recollect Joey, when you speak to my uncle, you must not contradict him.”
“I am sure I shall not,” replied Joey; “why should I contradict a person so far my superior in years and everything else?”
“Certainly not; and as he is fond of argument, you had better give up to him at once; and, indeed,” continued Emma, laughing, “everybody else does in the end. I hope you will find a nice situation, and that we shall see a great deal of you.”
“I am sure I do,” replied Joey, “for I have no friends that I may see, except you. How I wish that you did know everything!”
A silence ensued between the young people, which was not interrupted until by the appearance of Mrs Phillips, who had seen Mr Small, and had made an engagement for our hero to present himself at nine o’clock on the following morning, after which communication our hero took his leave. He amused himself during the remainder of that day in walking over the town, which at that time presented a most bustling appearance, as an expedition was fitting out; the streets were crowded with officers of the army, navy, and marines, in their uniforms; soldiers and sailors, more or less tipsy; flaunting ribbons and gaudy colours, and every variety of noise was to be heard that could be well imagined, from the quacking of a duck, with its head out of the basket in which it was confined to be taken on board, to the martial music, the rolling of the drums, and the occasional salutes of artillery, to let the world know that some great man had put his foot on board of a ship, or had again deigned to tread upon terra firma. All was bustle and excitement, hurrying, jostling, cursing, and swearing; and Joey found himself, by the manner in which he was shoved about right and left, to be in the way of everybody.
At the time appointed our hero made his appearance at the door, and, having given his name, was asked into the counting-house of the establishment, where sat Mr Small and his factotum, Mr Sleek. It may be as well here to describe the persons and peculiarities of these two gentlemen.
Mr Small certainly did not accord with his name, for he was a man full six feet high, and stout in proportion; he was in face extremely plain, with a turned-up nose; but, at the same time, there was a lurking good-humour in his countenance, and a twinkle in his eye, which immediately prepossessed you, and in a few minutes you forgot that he was not well-favoured. Mr Small was very fond of an argument and a joke, and he had such a forcible way of maintaining his argument when he happened to be near you, that, as Emma had told our hero, few people after a time ventured to contradict him. This mode of argument was nothing more than digging the hard knuckles of his large hand into the ribs of his opponent—we should rather say gradually gimleting, as it were, a hole in your side—as he heated in his illustrations. He was the last person in the world in his disposition to inflict pain, even upon an insect—and yet, from this habit, no one perhaps gave more, or appeared to do so with more malice, as his countenance was radiant with good-humour, at the very time when his knuckles were taking away your breath. What made it worse, was, that he had a knack of seizing the coat lappet with the other hand, so that escape was difficult; and when he had exhausted all his reasoning, he would follow it up with a pressure of his knuckles under the fifth rib, saying, “Now you feel the force of my argument, don’t you?” Everybody did, and no one would oppose him unless the table was between them. It was much the same with his jokes: he would utter them, and then with a loud laugh, and the insidious insertion of his knuckles, say, “Do you take that, eh?” Mr Sleek had also his peculiarity, and was not an agreeable person to argue with, for he had learnt to argue from his many years’ constant companionship with the head of the firm. Mr Sleek was a spare man, deeply pock-marked in the face, and with a very large mouth; and, when speaking, he sputtered to such a degree, that a quarter of an hour’s conversation with him was as good as a shower-bath. At long range Mr Sleek could heat his superior out of the field; but if Mr Small approached once to close quarters, Mr Sleek gave in immediately. The captains of the navy used to assert that this fibbing enforcement of his truths, on the part of Small, was quite contrary to all the rules of modern warfare, and never would stand it, unless they required an advance of money; and then, by submitting to a certain quantity of digs in the ribs in proportion to the unreasonableness of their demand, they usually obtained their object; as they said he “knuckled down” in the end. As for Mr Sleek, although the best man in the world, he was their abhorrence; he was nothing but a watering-pot, and they were not plants which required his aid to add to their vigour. Mr Sleek, even in the largest company, invariably found himself alone, and could never imagine why. Still he was an important personage; and when stock is to be got on board in a hurry, officers in his Majesty’s service do not care about a little spray.
Mr Small was, as we have observed, a navy agent—that is to say, he was a general provider of the officers and captains of his Majesty’s service. He obtained their agency on any captures which they might send in, or he cashed their bills, advanced them money, supplied them with their wine, and every variety of stock which might be required; and in consequence was reported to be accumulating a fortune. As is usually the case, he kept open house for the captains who were his clients, and occasionally invited the junior officers to the hospitalities of his table, so that Mrs Phillips and Emma were of great use to him, and had quite sufficient to do in superintending such an establishment. Having thus made our readers better acquainted with our new characters, we shall proceed.
“Well, young man, I’ve heard all about you from my sister. So you wish to leave off vagabondising, do you?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Joey.
“How old are you? can you keep books?”
“I am seventeen, and have kept books,” replied our hero, in innocence; for he considered Mrs Chopper’s day-books to come under that denomination.
“And you have some money—how much?”
Joey replied that he had so much of his own, and that his sister had so much more.
“Seven hundred pounds; eh, youngster? I began business with 100 pounds less; and here I am. Money breeds money; do you understand that?” and here Joey received a knuckle in his ribs, which almost took his breath away, but which he bore without flinching, as he presumed it was a mark of good will.
“What can we do with this lad, Sleek?” said Mr Small; “and what can we do with his money?”
“Let him stay in the counting-house here for a week,” replied Mr Sleek, “and we shall see what he can do; and, as for his money, it will be as safe here as in a country bank, until we know how to employ it, and we can allow five per cent for it.” All this was said in a shower of spray, which induced Joey to wipe his face with his pocket-handkerchief.
“Yes, I think that will do for the present,” rejoined Mr Small; “but you observe, Sleek, that this young lad has very powerful interest, and we shall be expected to do something for him, or we shall have the worst of it. You understand that?” continued he, giving Joey a knuckle again. “The ladies! no standing against them!”
Joey thought there was no standing such digs in the ribs, but he said nothing.
“I leave him to you, Sleek. I must be off to call upon Captain James. See to the lad’s food and lodging. There’s an order from the gun-room of the Hecate.” So saying, Mr Small departed.
Mr Sleek asked our hero where he was stopping; recommended him another lodging close to the house, with directions how to proceed, and what arrangements to make; told him to haste as much as he could, and then come back to the counting-house.
In a couple of hours our hero was back again.
“Look on this list; do you understand it?” said Mr Sleek to Joey; “it is sea-stock for the Hecate which sails in a day or two. If I send a porter with you to the people we deal with, would you be able to get all these things which are marked with a cross? the wine and the others we have here.”
Joey looked over it, and was quite at home; it was only bumboating on a large scale. “O, yes; and I know the prices of all these things,” replied he; “I have been used to the supplying of ships at Gravesend.”
“Why then,” said Mr Sleek, “you are the very person I want; for I have no time to attend to out-door work now.”
The porter was sent for, and our hero soon executed his task, not only with a precision but with a rapidity that was highly satisfactory to Mr Sleek. As soon as the articles were all collected, Joey asked whether he should take them on board—“I understand the work, Mr Sleek, and not even an egg shall be broke, I promise you.” The second part of the commission was executed with the same precision by our hero, who returned with a receipt of every article having been delivered safe and in good condition. Mr Sleek was delighted with our hero, and told Mr Small so when they met in the evening. Mr Sleek’s opinion was given in the presence of Mrs Phillips and Emma, who exchanged glances of satisfaction at Joey’s fortunate débût.
