"Cheerin'! Why, you wouldn't guess. 'Twas General Clive, matey."
"General Clive!"
"Ay, General Clive, him what chased the mounseers out o' Fort St. George with a marlin-spike. I didn't know him at fust, comin' up behind t'other chap; but when I seed that purple coat with the gold lace and the face of him above it I knowed him. In course there was no more fight for us then; 'twas hip-hip hurray and up with our hangers. Clive, he smiled and touched his hat. 'Bulger,' says he, 'you en't much fatter----'"
"Does he know you, then?"
"Know me! In course he does. Wasn't I bo'sun's mate on board the Indiaman as took him east twelve year ago or more? That was afore I got this here button-hook o' mine. Ay, I remember him well, a-trampin' up an' down deck with his hands in his pockets an' his mouth set tight an' his chin on his stock, never speakin' to a soul, in the doldrums if ever a lad was. Why, we all thought there was no more spirit in him than in the old wooden figure-head--leastways, all but me. 'I may be wrong,' says I to old Tinsley the bo'sun, 'I may be wrong,' says I, 'but I be main sure that young sad down-in-the-mouth have got a blazin' fire somewhere in his innards.' Ay, and time showed it. There was a lot of cadets aboard as poked fun at the quiet chap an' talked him over, awinkin' their eyes. From talkin' it got to doin'. One day, goin' to his bunk, he found it all topsy-versy, hair powder on his pillow, dubbin in his shavin' cup, salt pork wropt up in his dressin'-gown. Well, I seed him as he comed on deck, an' his face were a sight to remember, pale as death, but his eyes a-blazin' like live coals in the galley fire. Up he steps to the cadet as was ringleader; how he knowed it I can't tell you, but he was sure of it, same as I always am. 'Sir,' says he, quiet as a lamb, 'I want a word with you.' 'Dear me!' says the cadet, 'have Mr. Clive found his voice at last?' 'Yes, sir,' says Clive, 'behave, an' something else.' Cook happened to be passin' with a tray; a lady what was squeamish had been havin' her vittles on deck. Mr. Clive cotched up a basin o' pea soup what was too greasy for madam, and in a twink he sets it upside down on the cadet's head. Ay, 'twas a pretty pictur', the greasy yellow stuff runnin' down over his powdered hair an' lace collar an' fine blue coat. My eye! there was a rare old shindy, the cadet cursin' and splutterin', the others laughin' fit to bust 'emselves. The cadet out with his fists, but there, 'twas no manner o' use. Mr. Clive bowled him over like a ninepin till he lay along deck all pea-soup an' gore. There was no more baitin' o' Mr. Clive that voyage. 'Bo'sun,' says I, 'what did I tell you? I may be wrong, but that young Mr. Bob Clive 'll be a handful for the factors in Fort St. George.'"
While this narrative had been in progress, Desmond was walking with Bulger and his mates back towards the river.
"How was it you happened to be hereabouts so early?" asked Desmond. "I didn't expect to see you till to-morrow."
Bulger winked.
"You wouldn't ax if you wasn't a landlubber, meanin' no offence," he said. "'Tis last night ashore. We sailormen has had enough o' Waterman's Rests an' such-like. To tell you the truth, we gave Mr. Toley the slip, and now we be goin' to have a night at the Crown an' Anchor."
"What about the pressgang?"