“We must not speak ill of our neighbours, Miss Pemberton,” answered the dame. “I know that; but if our neighbours do ill we may warn others against them. The man I mean is Miles Gaffin, the miller, as he calls himself. Now, I cannot say exactly what ill he does, except that I never heard of his doing any good or saying even a kind word, though he says many a bad one: but Adam, my husband, has a pretty strong notion of the sort of business he carries on, and that it’s not by his mill he makes his money. There are few about here who don’t stand in awe of him, and yet it would be hard for anyone to say exactly why. Only one thing is certain, that if he had a mind to do a thing he would do it, and set the law at defiance. To say the truth, I cannot tell you more against him than I have, but I am just afraid of him, and cannot help feeling as how he would work mischief to our Maiden May if he had the chance. But, Miss Pemberton, you will not repeat what I have said?”
“Certainly not, dame, certainly not,” said Miss Mary, “but after all I cannot say that you have brought any serious accusation against the miller, nor can I understand why you should fancy he is likely to injure our Maiden May.”
“That’s just it, Miss Mary, no one about here can say exactly what he does, or why they don’t like him. Still, no one does like him, and I feel a sort of tremble whenever I set my eyes on him, just as I should, begging your pardon, ladies, if I was to meet Satan himself, though I know well he cannot hurt me, for I trust in one who is able to keep evil at a distance.”
“Though I still remain in the dark as to why we should be cautious of this man Gaffin, we will always keep a careful watch over Maiden May, and when you or your son cannot come for her we will send her home with some prudent person who will take care that neither he nor anyone else runs off with her,” answered Miss Jane.
Chapter Fourteen.
At Portsmouth.
Portsmouth was a busy place in those stirring times of warfare, and as the coach, on the top of which Harry was seated, rattled and rumbled down the High Street, parties of sailors came rolling along, laughing and talking, several in their heedlessness almost running against the horses in spite of the shouts of the coachman, who had more than once to pull up to avoid driving over them. Now a pressgang passed along, dragging a number of unwilling captives to serve on board the fleet, some resigned to their fate, others with frowning brows resenting the treatment they had received, and some glancing round, hoping against hope for an opportunity to escape. Officers in cocked hats and glittering epaulets were walking quickly along, while post-chaises came driving in bringing Admiralty officials or Captains to join their ships. Groups were collected in front of the different inns, and Jews were looking out for customers, certain of obtaining a ready sale for their trumpery wares. Ballad singers, especially those who could troll forth one of Dibdin’s new songs, were collecting a good harvest from eager listeners, and the apple-stall women were driving a thriving trade; as were the shopkeepers of high and low degree, judging by their smiling countenances, while the sound of revelry which came forth from the numerous inns showed that the landlords were rejoicing in the abundance of custom: in short, there was little chance of grass growing in Portsmouth streets in those days.
As Harry leaped down from his seat he found his hand grasped by another midshipman, a handsome looking youth, somewhat taller and older than himself, who had made his way through the crowd gathered round the coach.