Watery Grave (22 page)

“And it is him you now seek?”

“Yes, sir, it is,” said I, as Tom seconded me.

“Well, first of all, Jimmie Bunkins, you have my permission to go and be part of this search. But mind, be back for dinner for you must go to my establishment for to make a delivery of the usual sort. Is that agreed?”

“Yes, Mr. Bilbo, ” said he most properly.

“But let me tell you, too, Jeremy and Tom, your Mr. Landon is in a right tight corner, for the way His Majesty’s Navy works is this: The captain is king aboard the ship. His word is law; his judgments as from the Almighty. Would you not agree, Tom, that that is the way of it?”

“I would, sir. No question of it.”

“I’m surprised,” said Black Jack, “thatyour fellow —Hartsell is his name?—that he did not make his accusation on shipboard before the crew, pass judgment upon him, and have him sewed up in a canvas and tossed overboard. That was the punishment for murder given in the old Black Book.”

“To that, sir,” said Tom, “I could say that he was acting captain and no more.”

“Still and all,” said Bilbo, “he was the captain.”

“And had he acted so in summary judgment, it might well have worked against him. Mr. Landon was so much the favorite of the crew that there could have been mutiny, retribution at least.”

“But your witness has not stepped forward, and he has had the chance, am I not right?”

Tom gave sober thought to that.” Yes, Mr. Bilbo, what you say is true.”

“Then he may not prove a very willing witness.”

“If so, I shall persuade him.”

“Well, I wish you all good fortune. You, Jimmie Bunkins, have your orders.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“Show them where to look. Stay with them till it be time to return. Here — ” He dipped into his pocket and tossed some coins out on the desk.” You’ll need money for a hackney coach, to and from. Take this, Jimmie. ‘

Bunkins jumped up and scooped the money from the desk.

“And for you two, a warning. Where you are headed is indeed a dangerous territory. I think you will need these.”

So saying, he opened a drawer in the desk and pulled from it a box of leather with brass strapping. He opened it, revealing a pair of what I took to be dueling pistols, each silvered and engraved like one I had myself once had occasion to fire.

“Both of these are loaded, “said he.” But I’ll not giveyou powder and balls to reload, for I don’t want them fired. To show them and threaten should be enough to get you out of any bad situation. Is that clear enough?”

“Yes sir, ” said Tom and I in chorus.

“Now, you, young Mr. Durham, have fired such in battle. You know the dangers and the precautions to be taken. About you, Jeremy, I am a httle less sure. But you proved once you could shoot. Now you must prove you know when to hold back.”

He dug the two like weapons from their resting places and, taking each by its barrel, handed them to us.

“They should fit in your pockets. Get them back to me as soon as you have found your man or given up the search. And if ever Sir John receives from you any hint that I have lent you these, I shall be your enemy for life. I make a good friend but a terrible enemy. Now be on your way.”

Dear God, this was indeed an ugly section of the city. It was all docks, wharves, keys, and storehouses, and in between them all were nestled some of the lowest dens and dives I had seen. All that made it tolerable was the bustle of the crowd and throngs of workmen at some locations along the way. When docks or wharves were empty, or ships stood empty of their cargoes, then there was no work to be done and all was deserted —except for those dark places where gin, rum, ale, and beer were sold. Such locations were far beneath any in Covent Garden. Some that we visited —and we visited quite a number—had not even tables and chairs. Patrons had their choice of standing at the bar, sitting on the floor to drink, or lying drunk upon it among their mates.

Our plan was simple enough. We would begin at Custom House Stairs and work our way westward along the river, stopping at each such place as I have described so that Tom might see were there any of the crew of the Adienture inside, that he might inquire of them the whereabouts of Tobias Trindle. Since these grog shops were nearest the anchorage of the frigate, just off Tower Wharf, they were the likeliest in which to look. We would go as far as London Bridge and no farther, for the tall-masted, seagoing ships themselves could not travel beyond it. Bunkins, who seemed to know the territory quite as well as he had boasted, had authored the scheme. Tom concurred, and I, having no preference in the matter but simply wanting to get on with our search, fell in with them.

The Gull and Anchor, with a crudely painted sign hanging above the door, was the first place in which we looked. Hard by the Custom House as it was, this one was not near so crude as others we would visit. But it was as dark as anv and smelled as bad of stale beer and ale. Jimmie Bunkins and I held back near the door and let Tom roam free through the clusters at the bar, then turn away, shaking his head in a negative. Just as he did, he was hailed by a loud voice from a table in a nearby corner.

“Avast there, Tom Durham, ain’t you the one in your suit of lubber’s clothes!”

Tom started over to the table whence the cry had come, beckoning us to follow.

“Well, if it ain’t old Bristol Beatty!” shouted Tom in a tone near as rowdy.” And Mizzen Trotter Tim and Ol’ Isaac. Imagine finding you three here.”

“They like our bobs as well as any place along the river,” said one of them. I was never sure which exactly was which.

“Just started our day’s drinkin’,” said the second.

“Seatyeselves, boys. Have one on us,” said the third, waving frantically at the serving maid, as fat as a country sow, who came waddling over to the table.

“Give these lads beer. That’s a proper drink for lads.”

“Where did you get them duds, Tom?”

“Aw,” said Tom, “from my ma. She would have me out of my seaman’s suit or know why.”

“Well, if a body must wear shore clothes, them’s the kind to wear. You look a proper gentleman.”

“Who’re these two mates of yours?” I believe the questioner was Old Isaac; he was, in any case, the eldest of the three, white-haired and near toothless.

“This here is Jimmie Bunkins. We were thieves together, but now we’re well reformed. And this is Jeremy Proctor, sort of a brother like now my ma got married again.”

There was a great deal of hand shaking all around the table. Then came the fat serving maid and banged down three tankards before us. Money changed hands. Then Tom bade the woman bring his three mates from the Ac)i’e/ititre a round of what they were having. She scampered off as quick as ever she could waddle.

“No, no, no, Tom lad, it’s us as should be treatin’you.”

“I’ve not spent a farthing all the days I’ve been in London,” said Tom. Living at home I am, eating at my stepfather’s mess. I’ve plenty to spare.”

“Always said you was a good boy, Tom,” said the one I suspected to be Old Isaac.

“Besides, ” said Tom, “I’ve something to ask that would help us if you knew the answer.”

“And what is that, lad?”

“Where is Tobias Trindle? Have you seen him? Where might we seek him?”

The three exchanged looks. Such questions seemed to disturb the seamen.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Tom.” We mean him no harm. The fact is, there may be a reward in it for him when we find him.”

A reward in heaven perhaps, thought I. That was the only possibility that I saw. But let him say what he would to them.

“A reward, is it? Well …”

Old Isaac pulled out a clay pipe and began filling it with tobacco from a pouch on the table. He tamped in the crushed leaves of the stuff as he considered.

Just then the serving maid returned with three glasses of water-clear liquid —gin from the smell of it. The trio from the
Adventure
raised their glasses as Tom paid her with a shilling and collected a whole pocketful of copper in exchange. When they set their glasses back down upon the table they were but half full. The liquor seemed to loosen their tongues.

“Well, if you’re lookin’ for Tobias in such a place as this,” said one of the other two, “then you’re lookin’ in the wrong place.”

“Why is that, sir?” I asked, at last shrugging off the burden of silence I had heretofore accepted.

“Because, lad, ” put in Old Isaac, pointing with his unlit pipe, “she’s the only woman here, and old Tobias would say, She ain’t worth bothering with.’ In fact, he said so just yesterday at this very table, didn’t he, mates?”

“He did.”

“Yes, he did so.”

“Now, some men, they get their leave tickets, and they like to take a little holiday with a bottle. Others, they might take to the drink, but if a woman comes along who’s to their liking, they might take a roll with her, as it’s a bit of pleasure a man can’t get on shipboard. But Tobias Trindle is the onliest man I know who’s got only one thing on his mind when he comes ashore — and it ain’t gin or rum. Ain’t that so?”

The last lines he delivered with a great leer, which brought guffaws from his mates.

“No, lad, ifyou re searching for Tobias, you must go where the doxies are in the greatest number, for that’s where he will surely be.”

“But where does he dorse?” put in Bunkins.

“Dorse? What language is that, boy?” Old Isaac seemed somewhat offended.

“Cant, flash-talk,” said Bunkins in his old pugnacious way.” Where does he sleep? Ain’t he got no proper lodging house?”

“None at all, just as where the whore has her crib.”

I looked at Tom across the table. He gave a slight shrug, as if to say, What more can we get from these fellows? Then I felt a nudge from Bunkins at my left side.

“You goin’ to drink that?” he asked, knowing full well I quite loathed beer and would only take coffee or wine as strong drink.

I gave the tankard a little push in his direction, and he grabbed it up. He guzzled its contents in a trice.

There was a general murmur of approbation from the three old seamen.

“Now there’s a lad knows how to drink!” exclaimed one of them, as Old Isaac at last brought out his tinderbox and made ready to light his pipe, giggling his tribute.

When Bunkins responded with a colossal belch, there was even greater merriment.

“Well done!”

“Let’s put another in front of him, see can he do it again.”

But at that Tom jumped to his feet, and I followed. Bunkins rose a bit reluctantly.

“No,” said Tom to them, “we must be off and continue our search. If you see Tobias, tell him I seek him, will you?”

“Be sure of it, lad.”

“And remember what I told you,” said Old Isaac through great billows of smoke.” Look for the doxies, and you’ll likely find Tobias Trindle.”

“Try the Ship Tavern downriver. There they got whores aplenty and rooms above. That’s where he spent his first night ashore.”

As we departed with goodbyes and thanks, I could not but wonder why they had not told us that earlier.

While Tom was all for getting on direct to the Ship Tavern, I, knowing that a proper search should be conducted in orderly fashion, insisted we stop at the places between and search through them, too. Bunkins had no opinion in the matter; he simply wanted more beer, it being a hot day and the air most heavy.

We must have stopped at six or seven dives along the way. In some there were women, and in some there were not. Yet having given in to my judgment, Tom was most thorough. He circulated through these dark dens and found other seamen from the Achrnture. All had seen Trindle at some time or other since coming ashore; none knew his present whereabouts. In the two drinking places that were without the most rudimentary comforts of table and chair, as I have previously described, Tom turned over those stretched out upon the floor —but without purpose, for even though he found two of the crew in one such place, they were in no condition to tell him anything. Bunkins, on the other hand, took advantage of these stops along the way to feed his apparently unquenchable thirst. He would bang upon the bar and call for beer as Tom moved through the room. Nor would he leave a tankard unfinished, for he prided himself on his ability to quaff one off in two or three great gulps.

By the time we reached the Ship Tavern Jimmie Bunkins was in a rather sorry condition. We had stopped thrice along the way so that he might relieve himself against a wall. But with our goal in sight, he begged our help that he might vomit into the river and give some help to his bursting belly. There was an empty wharf nearby. We supported him between us over to the edge and held him by his belt as he leaned over and let gush the brovsnish-yellow contents of his stomach in great repetitive heaves until there was no more. We pulled him back up and Tom gave him his handkerchief. Bunkins wiped the sweat from his face and the vomit from his mouth; then he spat twice into the river.

“That should help,” he said at last.

“Why did you drink so much, Jimmie B.?” asked Tom.

“Don’t know,” said he.” Start, can’t stop.”

He stood, panting a bit, swaying, looking dizzy in the head.

“Listen, chums, you’d best go on without me. The cove, he won’t like it if I’m late. But I should tell you, there’s more such as we been in beyond the Tower. They start at St. Catherine’s Stairs, but be careful, for that’s the worst part. Keep your daddies on your barking irons there.”

“I know St. Catherine’s Stairs,” said I.

“Good,” said he.” You’re a right pair of rum chums. But keep your dubber mum about this, would you? The cove wouldn’t like it, and I’m tryin’ hard to please him. Uh … Tom?”

“Yes, Jimmie B.?”

“I wonder, could I beg a bob for the hackney. I drank up my return.”

Tom quickly thrust a coin into his hand.

“I’d best shove my trunk. Goodbye to both of yez.”

And shove his trunk he did, taking each step most purposefully up Fresh Wharf in the direction of London Bridge. He would find a hackney likely enough there. Still and all, his condition troubled me.

“Will he be all right, Tom?”

“He’ll be fme. He’ll throw some water on his face, dab some cologne smell on to take away the stink of his puke, and nobody will know.”