We got fresh food and water from the Irishmen, paying for them at the same high rate; and finding that after five or six days the sick men began to pluck up, we declared the dividend of plunder, and left them to go whither they would; the captain, Mr Dawkins, and myself taking passage in a fishing-boat for Bristol.
XVIII
Hooky Gamaliel pays the Score
We fetched up at Bristol docks in twilight and a flurry of snow. Let the darkness blacken and the snow fall thick and fast, the night could not be too dark and too foul for three broken buccaneers, who only wanted to slink unregarded through the blinded streets. Dawkins headed straight for John Gamaliel’s tavern. “Hooky Gamaliel,” growled Mr Dawkins, “owes this here ship’s company three months’ provisions, and I reckon he’s going to pay. I’ll burn his house over his skulking head for a noggin of rum. It’s going to be hot for Hooky John—damned hot, by the bones of the deep!”
Pomfrett had no desire to face his uncle—and his aunt—on an empty stomach, and so, wrapped in boat-cloaks, we followed Mr Dawkins. With his great head and shoulders bowed, the old pirate forged ahead, ploughing through the snow and leaving great formless footprints, like some monstrous beast of prey. When we came into the narrow alley and saw the red firelight gleam in the tavern windows, Dawkins stopped and turned. “Shipmates,” says he, “you follow old Dawkins’s lead, will you? He knows how to deal with a Jew, does Dawkins. You put your trust in him once more, will you, shipmates?”
“Carry on, old gentleman,” says Pomfrett. “Don’t bring the constables on us, that’s all.”
“Never fear for that. I reckon Gamaliel would scuttle his ship sooner than see the janissaries a-boarding her. Ho! never fear for that.” With a chuckle, he began to chant, in a hoarse whisper:
“Ye fancy men, now turn again,
For we’re out on the chase to-night.”
So three cloaked figures, white with snow, entered the room, where seamen were sitting at their drink, in the warmth and light, Gamaliel, in shirt-sleeves and clean apron, attending upon them. We sat down in a corner, a low partition fencing us from the company, and Gamaliel stepped briskly to us. Our faces were hidden by hat and cloak, so that he should not recognise us at once.
“Give you good-evening, Mr Gamaliel,” says Dawkins, thrusting forth a huge hand, which the other must needs grasp. “A word in your ear, shipmate.” Gamaliel cried out as Dawkins drew him downward with a single powerful wrench, so that the Jew’s distorted and staring face was close to his own.