Chapter Eight.
The press-gang.
“That’s a big thundering lie,” I heard Larry whisper.
“Come in,” said the old woman, lifting up the flap of the counter. “I’ll house yer if yer can pay for yer board and lodging.”
“No fear of that, ma’am,” I replied, showing some silver which I had ready in my pocket for the purpose.
“Come along, my boys,” she answered, her eyes twinkling at the thought of being able to fleece us, as she led us into a small room at the back of the shop.
There was no one else in the place at the time, except a boy attending to the counter, so that there was little chance of our being observed. Having lit a small lantern, the old woman drew aside a curtain at the further end of the room, which had served to conceal a strong-looking door; then taking a big key out of her pocket, she opened it, and told us to go through. Carefully closing the door behind her, she led the way along a narrow dark passage. It seemed of considerable length. At last we reached another door, and emerged into a court or alley, crossing which she opened a third door, and told us to pass through. We obeyed, and followed her past a couple of rooms, in one of which several men were sitting, drinking and smoking. Unlocking another door, she showed us into a much larger apartment than any we had as yet seen. Though low, it was spacious enough to be called a hall I took in the appearance of the place at a glance. On one side was a recess with a counter before it, at which a couple of damsels were serving out liquors and various sorts of provisions. At the further end, four large casks supported some planks which served as a platform, and on this a chair was placed,—the seat being evidently for a musician. Three doors besides the one by which we had entered opened from the room, which was occupied by a dozen or more rough-looking men, mostly sailors. Some were standing at the counter, others lounging on benches round the walls, most of them having dhudeens in their mouths. The place was redolent with the fumes of whisky and tobacco. No one took notice of us as we entered, but, seeing Mother McCleary, seemed satisfied that all was right.
“You’ll find a stair through that doorway,” she said, pointing to one near the orchestra, if so it could be called; “it will lead you to the sleeping-room, where you’ll be after finding some beds. You’ll remember that first come first served, and if you don’t be tumbling into one it will be your own fault, and you’ll have to prick for the softest plank in the corner of the room. Now, boys, you’ll be after handing me out a couple of shillings each. I don’t give credit, except to those I happen to know better than I do you.”
I paid the money at once for Larry and myself. The old woman, bidding us make ourselves at home, returned by the way she had come, locking the door behind her. I soon found that we were among as ruffianly and disreputable a set of fellows as I had ever fallen in with, but none of them interfered with us, and I began to doubt whether we should obtain the information we were in search of. To try to get into conversation with some one, we walked up to the counter, took a pork pie apiece, and called for a glass of whisky, which we prudently mixed with plenty of water. “Don’t be drinking much of it,” I said to Larry, “it’s as hot as fire.”