Chapter Fifty Four.
A new character introduced, who claimeth old acquaintanceship—Not very honest by his own account, which giveth him more the appearance of honesty than he deserveth—He proveth to be a steward not inclined to hide his talent in a napkin.
During all the time that these West Indian events had been occurring, that is, nearly three years, I had no other communication with England than regularly and repeatedly sending there various pieces of paper thus headed, “This, my first of exchange, my second and third not paid;” or for variety’s sake, “This, my second of exchange, my first and third,” etcetera; or, to be more various still, “This, my third, my first and second,”—all of which received more attention than their strange phraseology seemed to entitle them to.
But I must now introduce a new character; one that attended me for years, like an evil shadow, nor left me until the “beginning of the end.”
The ship had been hove down, the wound in her forefoot healed, that is to say, the huge rent stopped up; and we were beginning to get water and stores on board, and I was walking on the quay of the dockyard, when I was civilly accosted by a man having the appearance of a captain’s steward. He was pale and handsome, with small white hands; and, if not actually genteel in his deportment, had that metropolitan refinement of look that indicated contact with genteel society. Though dressed in the blue jacket and white duck trousers of the sailor’s Sunday best, at a glance you would pronounce him to be no seaman. Before he spoke to me, he had looked attentively at several other midshipmen, some belonging to my own ship, others, young gentlemen who were on shore on dockyard duty. At length, after a scrutiny sufficient to make me rather angry, he took off his hat very respectfully, and said:
“Have I the honour of speaking to Mr Ralph Rattlin?”
“You have: well, my man?”
“Ah, sir, you forget me, and no wonder. My name, sir, is Daunton—Joshua Daunton.”
“Never heard the name before in my life.”
“Oh yes, you have, sir, begging your pardon, very often indeed. Why, you used to call me Jossey; little Jossey, come here you little vagabond, and let me ride you pick-aback.”
“The devil I did!”
“Why, Mr Rattlin, I was your fag at Mr Roots’ school.”
Now I knew this to be a lie; for, under that very respectable pedagogue, and in that very respectable seminary, as the reader well knows, I was the fagged, and not the fagger.
“Now, really, Joshua Daunton,” said I, “I am inclined to think that you may be Joshua, the little vagabond, still; for, upon my honour, I remember nothing about you. Seeing there were so many hundred boys under Mr Roots, my schoolfellow you might have been; but may I be vexed, if ever I fagged you or any one else! Now, my good man, prove to me that you have been my schoolfellow first, and then let me know what I can do for you afterwards, for I suppose that you have some favour to ask, or some motive in seeking me.”
“I have, indeed,” he replied, with a peculiar intonation of voice, that might have been construed in many ways. He then proceeded to give me many details of the school at Islington, which convinced me, if there he had never been, he had conversed with some one who had. Still, he evaded all my attempts at cross-examination, with a skill which gave me a much higher opinion of his intellect than of his honesty. With the utmost efforts of my recollection, I could not call him to mind, and I bluntly told him so. I then bade him tell me who he was and what he wanted.
“I am the only son of an honest pawnbroker of Shoreditch. He was tolerably rich, and determined to give me a good education. He sent me to Mr Roots’ school. It was there that I had the happiness of being honoured by your friendship. Now, sir, you perceive that, though I am not so tall as you by some inches, I am at least seven or eight years older. Shortly after, you left school to go to another at Stickenham. I also left, with my education, as my father fondly supposed, finished. Sir, I turned out bad. I confess it with shame—I was a rascal. My father turned me out of doors. I have had several ups and downs in the world since, and I am now steward on board of the London, the West Indiaman that arrived here the day before yesterday.”
“Very well, Joshua; but how came you to know that I went to school at Stickenham?”
“Because, in my tramping about the country, I saw you with the other young gentlemen in the playground on the common.”
“Hum! but how, in the name of all that is curious, came you to know that I was here at Port Royal dockyard, and a young gentleman belonging to the Eos?”
“Oh! very naturally, sir. About two years ago, I passed again over the same common with my associates. I could not resist the wish to see if you were still in the playground. I did not see you among the rest, and I made bold to inquire of one of the elder boys where you were. He told me the name of the ship, and of your captain. The first thing on coming into the harbour that struck my eye was your very frigate alongside the dockyard. I got leave to come on shore, and I knew you directly that I saw you.”
“But why examine so many before you spoke to me? However, I have no reason to be suspicious, for time makes great changes. Now, what shall I do for you?”
“Give me your protection, and as much of your friendliness as is compatible with our different stations.”
“But, Daunton, according to your own words, you have been a sad fellow. Before I extend to you what you require, I ought to know what you really have done. You spoke of tramping—have you been a tramper—a gipsy?”
“I have.”
“Have you ever committed theft?”
“Only in a small way.”
“Ah! and swindled—only in a small way, of course?”
“The temptations were great.”
“Where will this fellow stop?” thought I; “let us see, however, how far he will go;” and then, giving utterance to my thoughts, I continued, “The step between swindling and forgery is but very short,” and I paused—for even I had not the confidence to ask him, “Are you a forger?”
“Very,” was the short, dry answer. I was astonished. Perhaps he will confess to the commission of murder.
“Oh! as you were just saying to yourself, we are the mere passive tools of fate—we are drawn on, in spite of ourselves. If a man comes in our way, why, you know, in self-defence—hey?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“A little prick under the ribs in a quiet way. The wanderings and jerkings of the angry hand will happen. You understand me?”
“Too well, I am afraid, sir. I have never yet shed man’s blood—I never will. Perhaps, sir, you would not depend upon my virtue for this—you may upon my cowardice. I tremble—I sicken at the sight of blood. I have endeavoured to win your confidence by candour—I have not succeeded. May I be permitted to wish you a good day?”
“Stop, Daunton; this is a singular encounter, and a still more singular conference. As an old schoolfellow, you ask me to give you my protection. The protection of a reefer is, in itself, something laughable; and then, as an inducement, you confess to me that you are a villain, only in guilt just short of murder. Perhaps, by this bravado sort of confession, you have endeavoured to give me a worse impression of your character than it really deserves, that you might give me the better opinion of your sincerity. Is it not so?”
“In a great measure, it is.”
“I thought so. Now let me tell you, Daunton, that that very circumstance makes me afraid of you. But, still, I will not cast aside the appeal of an old schoolfellow. What can I do for you?”
“Give me the protection afforded me by a man-of-war, by taking me as your servant.”
“Utterly impossible! I can press you directly, or give the hint to any of the many men-of-war here to do so. But the rules of the service do not permit a midshipman to have a separate servant. Do you wish to enter?”
“Only on board of your ship, and with the privilege of waiting upon you, and being constantly near your person.”
“Thank you; but what prevents my impressing you, even as you stand there?”
“These very ample protections.” And he produced them.
“Yes! I see that you are well provided. But why give up your good berth on board the London?”
“Mr Rattlin, I have my reasons. Permit them, as yet, to remain secret. There is no guilt attached to them. May I sail with you in the capacity of your servant?”
“I have told you before that you cannot be my servant solely; you must be the servant of the midshipmen’s berth.”
“Yes, with all my heart, provided that you pledge me your honour that I shall never be put to any other duty.”
I was astonished at this perseverance, and very honestly told him all the miseries of the situation for which he seemed so ambitious. They did not shake his resolution. I then left him, and spoke to Mr Farmer. “Let the fool enter,” was the laconic reply.
“But he will not enter but on the conditions I have mentioned, and his protections are too good to be violated.”
“Then I authorise you to make them. We are short of men.”
But Joshua would not enter; he required to be pressed; so I went on board his own merchant-ship, according to previous arrangement, and pressed him. He made no resistance and produced no documents; he only called the master of the ship, and the first and second officer, to witness that he was a pressed man, and then, taking his kit with him, he even cheerfully tripped down the side into the boat; and thus, for nearly an eventful year, I was the instrument of placing my evil genius near me.