CHAPTER VIII

AND CAGED

As we thus drew near to what Oliver said was the _Dove_--he having been down to reconnoitre her the day before from the shore--our burden gave some signs of coming to, or rather of awakening from his drunken slumbers. First he rolled his head about under the cloak, then he got it free from the folds, and, when he had done this, he opened his bloodshot eyes and stared at us with a look of tipsy amazement. Yet, so strong was the unhappy youth's ruling passion, that he exclaimed:

"If you have a taste of that spirit left in the flask, I pray you give it me."

"Feel in the pocket over by your left shoulder," replied Quin, "and you may yet find a drop or so--'twill warm you." Then, turning to me as the wretched Roderick did as he was bidden, Quin said over his shoulder, in a whisper, "'Tis a charity to give it him. It is the last he will taste for many a day. The skippers do not give their prisoners aught else but water on these cruises, and as for the planters--if all accounts be true!---they treat their white slaves no better." After saying which he bent to his oar again.

For a moment the draught seemed to arouse Roderick and even to put sense into his muddled pate, since, as he gazed on the shore on either side, he muttered, "This is not the way home. Not the way I know of"; but, even as he did so, the fumes of the overnight's liquor, stirred up perhaps by the new accession of drink, got the better of him again and once more he closed his eyes.

"'Tis thy way home at any rate," I heard Oliver mutter; "the way to the only home you will know of for some years. And may it be as happy a one to thee as thou destined it for thy cousin." Then turning swiftly to me, he said, "Pull two strokes, Gerald; we are alongside the _Dove_."

As we slewed round to run alongside the gangway, there stood at the top of it as villainous a looking old man as ever it was my lot to see. An old man clad in a dirty plush suit with, on his head, a hat covered with tarnished, or rather blackened, silver lace; one who squinted hideously down at us.

"Whence come you, friends?" he asked. "From the noble Captain O'Rourke," replied Oliver, "and we bring you his parting gift. The youth is not well, having partaken freely over night, doubting, perhaps, of your hospitality. Now, sir, if you will produce the price named to the Captain and send down a man or so to haul him on board, he is very much at your service."

"Ay, ay," said the captain, "let's see him though, first. I don't want to buy a dead man--as I did up at Glasgow not long ago--or one who has lost his limbs. Here, Jabez, and you, Peter, jump down and haul him up," while, as he spoke, he produced a filthy skin bag from his pocket and began counting out some guineas into his palm.

Those called Jabez and Peter--one of whom was a negro--did as they were bidden, and, shoving our boat a little forward so as to bring the stern, where Roderick lay, up to the platform of the gangway, they quickly threw off the cloak, and, seizing his limbs, began to lift them up and let them fall, to see that they were not broken nor he dead. But such treatment even this poor bemused and sodden creature could not bear without protest, so, as the men seized him and swiftly bore him up the gangway until he stood upon the deck of the _Dove_--a filthy, dirty-looking craft, with, however, a great, high poop much ornamented with brass and gilding--he began to strike out right and left, and to scream and ejaculate.

"Hands off, you ruffians, hands off you wretches, I say! What! do you know who I am; do you know that I am the son of the Viscount St. Amande and his heir? Let me go, you dogs!" and putting his hand to where his sword should have been and not finding it there, he struck at the negro, who, instantly striking back at him, fetched him such a blow on the cheek as sent him reeling against the rough-tree rail, where he glowered and muttered at all around.

"Hark ye, young sir," said the villainous looking skipper, "we have been informed before this by the gallant Captain O'Rourke that it pleases you to style yourself a son of Lord St. Amande." Here Quin nodded up to the speaker, saying, "'Tis so, I have even at this moment a paper in my pocket saying that he does so claim that position." "But let me tell you," the captain went on, "'twill avail you nothing on board this craft. I am, like the honest man in the boat below, in possession of a paper from his lordship saying you will try this tack with me, and, as I tell you, 'twill profit you nothing. You may call yourself what you will but you must accustom yourself to this ship for some weeks, at least, and take your part with these your companions till you reach your destination. While, if you do not do so, I will have you brained with a marling-spike or flung into the sea, or, since I cannot afford to lose you, have you put in irons in the hold," after which he turned away from Roderick, handed the twenty guineas to Oliver, and bellowed out his orders for getting the ship under weigh at once.

But now, as I glanced at those whom the man spoke of as his companions, my heart went out to my cousin, and, cruelly as he had ever used me, and even remembering that he had chuckled over the doom which now was his having been planned for me, I could not but pity him. Nay, I think, had it been possible, that I would have saved him, would have had him set on shore free again, and would have trusted to Heaven to soften his heart and make him grow into a better man. His companions! The creatures with whom he was to live and herd until he reached Virginia, and even afterwards, maybe. Oh! 'twas dreadful to reflect upon. They stood upon the deck of that horrid-looking craft, surrounding him, jeering at him, mocking at him, but not one with a look of pity in his or her face--as, indeed, 'twas not likely they should have since his fate was theirs. Amongst them there were convicted felons with chains to their legs and arms, who were being sent out so as to ease the jails which were always full to overflowing; there were women who were coin clippers and coiners, and some who--for I learnt their histories afterwards--had been traffickers in their own sex, or ensnarers of drunken men, or even murderesses--though some of them were fair enough in looks and some, also, quite young. And there were youths, nay, lads, younger than I was, who had been sold to the captain (to be again re-sold by him at the end of his voyage) by their own unnatural parents, so that, as they became lost, the parents' shame might become forgotten. There, too, lying about, were drunken lads and girls who had been picked up in the streets and brought on board and kept drunk until the ship should sail; there were some who looked like peasants who had been enticed in from the country, since they wore scarce any clothes, and--horror of horrors!--sitting weeping on a cask was a clergyman, still with his cassock on and with a red blotchy face. He--I afterwards learnt also--had forged to obtain money for drink, and this was his doom. And those who were not drunk, or sleeping off the effects of drink, came near that other drunkard, my cousin, and, approaching as close as possible to him until the mate and sailors kicked them, men and women, indiscriminately away, jeered at and derided him and made him welcome, and asked him if he had any money, or what he thought of the prospects of a sea voyage, and with what feelings he looked forward to a sojourn in Virginia as a slave.

"As a slave! In Virginia!" he screamed, taking in his situation at last. "As a slave in Virginia! Oh, God! spare me, spare me! 'Tis a mistake, I tell you. A mistake. Another one was meant, not I. 'Tis he who should go. 'Tis he! Send for him and set me free!"

And then they all laughed again, while the captain, seizing him roughly by the collar, threw him amidst the others, telling him he would do very well for him; and then they hauled up the gangway and gradually the ship wore round.

She had commenced her voyage.

So he went forth a slave and, as he went, the pity that had welled up into my heart for him became stifled and I felt it no more. For, think! As he screamed in his desperation for mercy he asked for it only for himself, he would at that moment, in spite of the horrors which he saw, have cheerfully sent me in his place. Nay, in his place or not, he had meant that I should go. Why, I asked myself, should I pity him?

The _Dove_ had quickly caught the north wind that was blowing now; she had slipped away so easily from us when once her anchor was up and her sails set, that, as she went heeling over down the river, we saw but little of her but her stern and her poop lantern swinging aft. And so we turned our boat's nose back to the city and prepared to return.

Oliver was himself silent; I think because in his noble heart there was the same conflict going on that there was in mine--the regret for having been concerned in such a deed fighting with the pleasant conviction that he had foiled a most wicked plot against me and thus defeated two utter villains, my uncle and Considine, while, on a third one, the punishment had fallen. And now that years have passed it pleasures me to think that it was so with him, and that that brave heart of his could, even at this moment of triumph, feel sorrow for what he had thought it best to do. A brave heart, I have called it; a noble heart--and so it was. A heart ever entendered to me from the first when, God He knows, there was none else to show me kindness; a heart that so long as it beat was ever loyal, good, and true.

"Will you put back to the bridge?" I asked him, seeing that he still kept the boat's course headed up river. "Surely it would be best to make straight for the packet and go on board at once. Suppose O'Rourke has recovered by now and informed my uncle. What may he not do to us?"

"Nothing," replied Oliver, as he still set a fast stroke, "nothing. To begin with--which is the most important thing--he cannot catch the _Dove_, no, not even if he could persuade the captain of one of His Majesty's sloops now lying in the river to put out in chase of her,--such vessels as she is can show their heels to anything they have a few hours' start of. And as for what he can do to us--why, what can he attempt? We have been employed on his service, I hold in my pocket a letter from him justifying me in kidnapping the youth who claims to be Lord St. Amande. Well! that is what thy cousin claims to be in succession, and, even if he did not do so, how can thy uncle make any stir, or announce himself, as he needs must do if he blows on me; he, a participator in what I have done? While for O'Rourke--the noble Captain O'Rourke, Hanoverian spy, Jacobite plotter, white or black cockade wearer as the time serves and the wind shifts, crimp and bully,--think you he will come within a hundred leagues of Mr. Robert St. Amande after having failed so damnably? Nay! more likely are we to meet him in the streets of London when we get there than in those of Dublin! So bend thy back to it, Gerald, and pull hard for Essex Bridge. The tide runs out apace."

As we passed up through the shipping lying in the river and on to our destination, Quin did utter one more remark to the effect that, if he had in very fact slain O'Rourke, or injured him so badly that he could not rise from the spot where he fell, it was possible we might still find him there, but that he did not think such a thing was very likely to come about.

"The fellow has as many lives as a cat," he said,--"he was nigh hanged at Carlisle for a Jacobite in the last rising, and almost shot at St. Germain for a Hanoverian, yet he escaped these and countless other dangers somehow--and he has also as many holes as a rat in this city into which he can creep and lie hid, to say nought of his den farther up the river, of which you know well, since you escaped from it. 'Tis not like we shall find him when we land."

To land it was now time since we had reached the bridge, though by this the river had run so low that we were forced to get out and drag the boat up through the slime and ooze of the bank to get her high and dry. And as we were doing so, I, who was lifting her with my face turned towards the shore, saw a sight that had quite as terrible an effect on me as the sight of O'Rourke standing over us a couple of hours before had had. For, wrapped in long horsemen's cloaks and with their hats pulled down well over their eyes, I observed upon the river's brink my uncle and his friend and creature, Wolfe Considine, both of whom were regarding us fixedly. But, when I whispered this news to Oliver as I bent over the bows of the boat, he whispered back to me, "No matter; fear nothing. Courage. Courage!"

"Well, fellow," said my uncle to Quin, as we approached them, I walking behind my companion and with my own hat drawn down as low as possible so as to evade observation if I could do so. "Well, fellow, so thou hast determined to change thy song and serve Lord St. Amande, instead of vomiting forth abuse on him and doing thy best to thwart him. Is't not so?" and he let his cloak fall so that his features were visible, and his fierce, piercing eyes shone forth.

"To serve Lord St. Amande is my wish," Quin replied gruffly, returning his glance boldly.

"And have done so this morning, as I understand, though where that tosspot, O'Rourke, is, who should be here to settle matters, I know not."

"Ay," Quin replied in the same tone as before, "I have done good service to his lordship this morning."

"And the fellow is away to sea? The _Dove_ has sailed?"

"Ay, away to sea on the road to Virginia! The _Dove_ has sailed."

But while this discourse was taking place I was trembling in my wet boots--remember, I was still but a youth to whom tremblings and fears may be forgiven--for fixed on me were the eyes of Considine, and I knew that, disguised as I was in handsome apparel, if he had not yet recognised me he would do so ere long.

"Yet," my uncle went on, "I should have thought you would have chosen a somewhat different style of companion for a helpmate in the affair than such a dandy youth as this. Wigs and laces and riding-boots, to say nought of roquelaures and swords by the side, are scarcely the kit of those who assist in carrying youths off for shipment to the King's colonies!" and he bent those piercing eyes on me while I saw that other pair, those of Considine, looking me through and through.

"But," went on my uncle, "doubtless you know your own business best, and I suppose the youth is some young cogger, or decoy, whom thou can'st trust and who finds his account in the affair."

"Nay," said Considine, springing at me, "'tis the whelp himself, and we are undone; some other has gone to sea, if any, in his place. Look! Look, my lord, you should know him well," and, tearing off my wig, he left me standing exposed to my uncle's regard and that of a few shore-side denizens who had been idly gazing upon us, and who now testified great interest in what was taking place.

"What!" exclaimed my uncle, rushing forward. "What! 'Tis Gerald, as I live, and still safe on shore. Thou villain!" he said, turning to Oliver, "what hast thou done?"

"The duty I was paid for and the duty I love. My duty to Lord St. Amande."

"Scoundrel," the other said, lugging out his rapier, "this is too much. I will slay you and the boy as you stand here. Considine, draw."

"Ay," exclaimed Oliver, "Considine draw--though you could not have bade him do an thing he fears more. But so will I. Let's see whether steel or a blue plum shall get the best of this fray"; with which he produced his two great pistols and pointed one at each of his opponents, while the knot of people who had now gathered together on the bank cheered him to the echo. And especially they did so when they learnt the circumstances of the dispute, and that, in me, they beheld the real Lord St. Amande, the youth deprived of his rights, and, in Robert St. Amande, the usurper whose misdeeds were now the talk of the lower parts of Dublin, if no other.

"Bah!" the latter exclaimed, thrusting his rapier back into the scabbard with a clash, "put up thy pistols, fellow. This is no place for such an encounter. Nor will I stain my sword with thy base blood. But remember," he said, coming a pace or two closer, as he saw Oliver return the pistols to his belt, "remember, you shall not escape. You have my writing in your pocket to hold you free of this morning's work, but"--and he looked terrible as he hissed forth the words--"think not that I will fail to yet be avenged. Even though you should go to the other end of the known world I will follow you or have you followed, while as for you," turning to me, "I will never know peace night nor day till I have blotted your life out of existence. And if you have not gone forth to the plantations this morning, 'tis but a short reprieve. If I do not have thy life, as I will, as I will"--and here he opened and clenched both his hands as he repeated himself, so that he looked as though trying to clutch at me and tear me to pieces--"as I will, why then still shalt thou be transported to the colonies, thou devil's brat!"

"Ay to the colonies," struck in Quin, "to the colonies, whereunto now the _Dove_ is taking the false usurper, or the future false usurper of the title of St. Amande, while the real owner remains here safe and sound for the present at least. To the colonies. Right!"

"The _Dove_. The false usurper," exclaimed Considine and my uncle together, while their faces became blanched with fear and rising apprehension. "The _Dove_ taking the false usurper. Villain!" said my uncle, "what mean you? Speak!"

"I mean, _villain_," replied Oliver, "that on board the _Dove_, now well out to sea, is one of the false claimants of the title of St. Amande, one of those who were concerned in the plot to ship this, the rightful lord, off to Virginia. I mean that, amongst the convicts and the scum of Dublin who have been bought for slavery, there goes Roderick St. Amande, your son, sold also into slavery like the rest."

From my uncle's lips there came a cry terrible to hear, a cry which mingled with the shouts of those who could catch Oliver's words; then with another and a shorter cry, more resembling a gasp, he fell fainting into the arms of Considine.