Athelstane Ford. Upward Allen
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It was, as I learned, above a week afterwards when I fully came to myself, and discovered that I was lying in my former garret at the “Three-decker.” There was an old woman coming into the room to wait upon me, who told me that I had been brought ashore on the night of the duel by men wearing masks; and one of them, whom she knew by his voice and carriage to be the boatswain of the Fair Maid, had given money out of his pocket for me to be taken care of till such time as I should recover.
In the state of weakness to which I was reduced I shed tears at hearing of this kindness on the part of that rough man, who was, I sadly feared, a great scoundrel, of most villainous evil life. My next business was to ask what had become of him and the rest of the Fair Maid’s crew.
“The Fair Maid sailed yesterday,” the crone answered. “They warped her out on the afternoon ebb. ’Tis said she sails under a privateer’s commission against the French.”
I scarce knew whether to be glad of this news, or sorry. I told myself that I could hardly have looked for a welcome among those men after being the means of their lieutenant’s death; and, moreover, I had learnt enough of their character to feel strongly averse to a cruise in such company. Yet they were the only friends I had, and I was grown used to them; and the thought that I was left there, as it were, alone, with nothing to turn to, made me very dismal after all.
It seemed somewhat strange to me, during the rest of that day, that Marian had never once come to inquire for me; but I put off speaking about it to the morrow. In the morning I awoke greatly refreshed, and feeling well enough to leave my bed, which I did, and came down into the bar of the house to look for her.
I found only her uncle, a weazened, peevish man, who had showed himself very little while the privateersmen were about his house. I bade him a courteous good morrow.
“Good morrow t’ye,” he snapped out churlishly. “I’m glad to see you’re about again, as I daresay you know your reckoning has run out.”
This I did not believe, but thought it beneath me to pick a quarrel with such a man. Besides, he was Marian’s uncle.
“Any charges you may have against me shall be fairly met,” I answered proudly. “But where is Mistress Marian? I have not seen her these two days.”
“And you’re not like to see her again, I take it,” he returned disagreeably. “At least, not in my house; I’ve had enough of the impudent baggage.”
“What are you saying, man?” I demanded, much dismayed. “You need not miscall your own niece, I should think. But what of her? Do you mean she has left you?”
“Aye, what else should I mean? And right glad I am to be rid of such a trollop, drawing all the rapscallions of the port in here, and bringing my tavern into disrepute.”
He spoke so bitterly that I believe he was trying to talk himself into thinking he had profited by her departure. For in reality she had brought him the chief part of his custom, and there was at that moment, as I could perceive, not a soul in the tavern beside ourselves. But I did not stop to reflect on this.
“Where has she gone? What has happened?” I questioned breathlessly, with a terrible fear in my heart.
“Nay, whither she has gone is more than I can tell you, for as likely as not the jade has lied to me. But she left this place two days ago, in the afternoon, and all the account she gave me was that she had taken her passage in the Fair Maid for her father’s house in Calcutta.”
I fell down on a bench, like a man stunned, and groaned aloud. Then I sprang to my feet again and made for the door.
“I will follow her!” I cried out madly. “If she has gone to the end of the world I will go after her, and all the devils in hell shall not hold me back!”
And leaving the man there, staring at me as if he thought I was crazed, I ran out of the house, and so stumbled right into the arms of a pressgang come ashore off a king’s ship which had that morning dropped anchor in Yarmouth Roads.
CHAPTER V
ON BOARD THE KING’S SHIP
The license of these pressgangs was so well known, and had been made familiar to me by so many tales, that I had little hope from the first of escaping their clutches. It is true they were only authorised to impress seamen and fishermen, and that after proving their commission before justices of the peace. But if report did not belie them, they looked not too closely into a man’s seamanship; but, if they found a likely fellow, regarded all as fish which came into their net.
There was a lieutenant set above the fellows into whose hands I had fallen, a tall, lantern-jawed, middle-aged man, with a most abominable squint, and to him I addressed myself:
“Sir, I am not in a condition to be pressed by you, I am not a mariner by calling; and, moreover, I am but just risen from a bed of sickness.”
He glanced over my dress before he answered, with something of a smile. And, indeed, for a landsman, my costume was something out of the way, for during the time since I had signed articles to Captain Sims I had done my best to equip myself in true sea-dog fashion.
“You surprise me, young sir,” the lieutenant said presently, when he had surveyed me. “Your dress tallies but ill with your professions. If you wore but a cutlass, and had a pistol to your belt, I could have sworn you to be a smuggler at the least.”
I hung my head at this, for it was my own vanity that had led me into the mess. I could only fall back on my second excuse.
“Nevertheless, you are mistaken, sir,” I said. “But however that may be, be pleased to believe me when I tell you that I am scarce yet recovered from several severe wounds.”
“Indeed! I thought I had seen you coming out of yonder tavern at a marvellous nimble gait. But my eyes are indifferent bad. Here, Master Veale, what say you, does this young man look too sick for our purpose? He says he is not recovered of his wounds.”
The man he applied to, who was master of the ship’s cutter, answered him in the same jesting manner.
“I see nothing the matter with un, your honour. But perhaps we had best carry un aboard and let the ship’s doctor feel his pulse.”
“I protest against this treatment,” I said angrily. “In the name of his Majesty, I say, unhandle me.”
“Nay,” quoth the lieutenant, “my hearing is as indifferent as my eyesight, and I follow you not. Master Veale, if this youngster uses any blasphemy or indecency let him be gagged till we come aboard again.”
This threat was enough to silence me, if I had not been otherwise afraid to make a stir. For though I might have got some of the passers-by to succour me, it being broad daylight, and these impressments most unpopular among seafaring men, yet I foresaw that it would quickly come to a question of who I was, and if my name once became bruited abroad there were friends of my father’s in the town who would have made short work of sending me back to him. And sooner than face the disgrace of this, as I considered it,