Part 39 (2/2)

”But what _is_ the affair?” inquired Ned, eagerly.

”Ah! my dear boy, do try to exercise patience. If I tell you everything before we go down to our comrades, I fear we shall have to send a message to say that we are not coming till to-morrow morning.”

Tom rose as he spoke, and led the way to the parlour, where bread and cheese were spread out for them.

”The only drawback to my felicity,” whispered Tom to Sinton, as they entered, ”is that I find Thompson's affairs far worse than he himself was aware of; and it's a fact, that at this moment I can scarcely draw enough out of the business to supply the necessaries of life.”

There was a slight bitterness in Tom's tone as he said this, but the next moment he was jesting with his old companions as lightheartedly as ever. During the meal he refused, however, to talk business, and, when it was concluded, he proposed that they should go out for a stroll through the town.

”By the way,” remarked Ned, as they walked along, ”what of Captain Bunting's old s.h.i.+p?”

”Ay!” echoed the captain, ”that's the uppermost thing in _my_ mind; but master Tom seems determined to keep us in the dark. I do believe the _Roving Bess_ has been burned, an' he's afraid to tell us.”

”You're a desperately inquisitive set,” cried Tom Collins, laughing.

”Could you not suppose that I wanted to give you a surprise, by shewing you how curiously she has been surrounded by houses since you last saw her. You'll think nothing of it, now that I have told you.”

”Why, where are ye goin'?” cried Larry, as Tom turned up a street that led a little away from the sh.o.r.e, towards which they had been walking!

Tom made no reply, but led on. They were now in that densely-crowded part of the town where shops were less numerous, warehouses more plentiful, and disagreeable odours more abundant, than elsewhere. A dense ma.s.s of buildings lay between them and the sea, and in the centre of these was a square or plaza, on one side of which stood a large hotel, out of the roof of which rose a gigantic flag-staff. A broad and magnificent flight of wooden steps led up to the door of this house of entertainment, over which, on a large board, was written its name--”The Roving Bess Tavern.”

”Dear me! that's a strange coincidence,” exclaimed the captain, as his eye caught the name.

”Tare an' ages!” yelled Larry, ”av it isn't the owld s.h.i.+p! Don't I know the mizzen-mast as well as I know me right leg?”

”The _Roving Bess_ Tavern!” muttered Captain Bunting, while his eyes stared incredulously at the remarkable edifice before him.

Bill Jones, who, up to this point, had walked beside his comrades in silent meditation, here lost presence of mind and, putting both hands to his mouth, sang out, in true stentorian boatswain tones, ”All hands ahoy! tumble up there--tumble up!”

”Ay, ay, sir!” roared half-a-dozen jack tars, who chanced to be regaling themselves within, and who rushed out, hat in hand, ready for a spree, at the unexpected but well-known summons.

”Major Whitlaw,” said Tom Collins, springing up the steps, and addressing a tall, cadaverous-looking Yankee, ”allow me to introduce to you your landlord, Captain Bunting--your tenant, captain. I dare say you have almost forgotten each other.”

The captain held out his hand mechanically and gazed at his tenant unbelievingly, while the major said--

”Glad to see ye, cap'n, I guess. Wanted to for a long time. Couldn't come to terms with old Thompson. Won't you step in and take a c.o.c.ktail or a gin-sling? I'd like to have a private talk--this way.”

The landlord of the _Roving Bess_ Tavern led the captain to what was once his own cabin, and begged him to be seated on his own locker at the head of his own table. He accepted these civilities, staring round him in mute wonder all the time, as if he thought it was a dream, out of which he should wake in due course, while, from all parts of the tavern, came sounds of mirth, and clatter of knives and forks and dishes, and odours of gin-slings and bear-steaks and pork-pies.

”Jist sit there a minute,” said the Yankee, ”till I see to your friends bein' fixed off comfortable; of course, Mr Collins may stay, for he knows all about it.”

When he was gone, the captain rose and looked into his old berth. It had been converted into a pantry, so he shut the door quickly and returned to his seat.

”Tom,” said he, in a low whisper, as if he feared to break the spell, ”how _did_ they get her up here!”

”She's never been moved since you left her,” answered Tom, laughing; ”the town has gradually surrounded her, as you see, and crept out upon the sh.o.r.e, filling up the sea with rubbish, till it has left her nearly a quarter of a mile inland.”

The captain's eyes opened wider than ever, but before he could find words again to speak, Major Whitlaw returned.

”They're all square now, gentlemen, so, if you please, we'll proceed to business. I suppose your friend has told you how the land lies?”

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