Arthur D Howden & Robert Louis Stevenson Porto Bello Gold (pdf)

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come along wi me, and I ll make ye all as comf table as if ye was in
a Bristol packet.
He prodded a muscular forefinger into my chest.
You mind that, Master Ormerod. You mind that Long John was
your friend. Cause why, says you? Cause there s never a man could
see through the sand in the hourglass, could he now? And we ll ha
queer times ahead o us aye, queer times. How queer, says you? Ah,
how m I to know? All I says, and I stands on my words, is there ll be
queer times and you mind Long John was kindly and stood your
friend, hearty and free. D ye see?
He plainly desired an answer, although I was not very certain of
what he was driving at with this rigmarole.
I m afraid I don t, I said shortly.
He cocked his head on one side.
Ye don t? Humph, there s things best left unsaid, but I ll put this
to ye. Here s the Walrus, and here s a treasure, and here s Flint, and
here s maybe twelvescore lads as don t all think alike, and here s Bill
Bones and here s me. A goodish bit might happen, my master. And
who s to say what will start it a-happenin ? Not me! Nor who might
come out on top a terwards.
And with a parting wink he stumped aft, crooking his finger in
sign that we should follow him across the untidy deck.
Glory! sniffed Moira, her nose in air. This will be more the like
of a stable than a ship.
She did not exaggerate.The Walrus was dirtier than she had been
the night Peter and I were committed to her as hostages. Her decks
were foul with grease and all manner of filth; her paint was cracked
and peeling; a cloud of flies buzzed around a tub of fish-guts which
nobody would take the trouble to cast overside; from an open hatch
poured a sour, acrid stench.A strange contrast with the Royal James!
Inside the companionway under the poop we tripped over the
256 PORTO BELLO GOLD
usual litter of broken bottles, pistol-flints and odds and ends of cast-
off clothing. Silver balanced himself on his crutch against the wall,
struck flint and steel to a slowmatch and ignited the wick of a whale-
oil lanthorn which depended from a hook. Holding this above his
head, he surveyed the double line of stateroom doors, very similar to
the plan of the cabin quarters of the James.
Room for all, he pronounced. This here to larboard is Flint s, and
Bones berth s opposite.T others are full o junk, but ye can soon clear
em out.
Inspection revealed that the junk was mostly Jamaica rum and
other strong liquors, which we removed to the main cabin. But the
crusted dirt of years was not so easily dispossessed. Silver, to do him
justice, was tolerant of our initial efforts, and went so far as to pro-
cure us a bucket on a rope which we could lower over the side for
water; but he wearied of such fruitless work after a time and hopped
away to his hammock with admonitions to us to be satisfied there
ain t no nipper-bugs in them bunks.
We did the best we could, which was very little, and then per-
suaded Moira to risk lying in the cleaner of the two rooms we had
chosen it for her because it had a bolt on the inside of the door and
offered her a degree of privacy while Peter and I berthed across the
companionway, Peter on the floor by reason of his bulk, and I in the
one cramped bunk.And I marvel to say that we went promptly asleep
and did not waken until the noon sun was flooding through the grimy
panes of the cabin windows.
A rumble of snores assured us that Flint and Bones were in their
berths, but the sound of a familiar brogue drew us aft to the main
cabin.
And what way will ye ha cause for complaint that ha seen men
walk the plank and been to Madygascar and the East Indies and Afriky
where the naygurs come from? On me soul, ye sicken me with your
whining! Holy , man, do but look to me that am a pirate these
many months, and all the fighting they will ha throwed in me way
was with other pirates and them great, powerful rogues that give as
good as we sent. Sure, I haven t been at the scuttling of any wan
But ye had a cutlass to your hand and a musket on your shoul-
der, protested another familiar voice. And ye walk the deck wi out
PORTO BELLO GOLD 257
shoes to your feet, and ye ha a fine bright kerchief to the head o ye,
and if ye seek to haul on a rope or hold to the wheel there s no man
will say ye nay, Darby. But wi me it s been lackey s work an livery-
shuits since the first day I went to sea. It s Ben, clear the table! or
Fill up the glasses, Ben Gunn! or Fetch me the backy, Gunn! I m no
more a pirate than the Irish maid
Don t ye be naming her, or I ll lay the end o a rope to ye! I won t
ha ye talkin the way ye were betther nor ye are. Didn t the cap n
give ye to me for me sarvant? Sure, he did! me, says he when
we took ye, Darby, you re a good cabin boy and main lucky. I ll give
ye the feller to be doin your work for ye.
Well, there was one promised to take me out o livery-shuits,
answered Gunn doggedly, and if he
He broke off as we entered from the companionway, writhing with
the excess of embarrassment which visited him when in the pres-
ence of several persons. Darby McGraw was no less surprized and
leaped up from the chair in which he had been lounging, bobbing
his head to Moira with the vigor of a heathen kowtowing to an idol.
All the boy wore was a pair of canvas trousers belted about his waist
and a kerchief from which straggled his carroty locks.A cutlass slapped
his thighs, and three pistols were stuck through his belt.
Master Bob! he exclaimed. And Master Peter, too! And and
Misthress O Donnell sure, there s a harp within me does be strum-
min pretty music this instant!
He grinned; and for all his months aboard the Walrus, his grin was
as sunny as in the counting-room in Pearl Street.
Ye ll be forgivin me, ma am, that am Irish meself, and must think
o the lakes o Wicklow when I look to your eyes.
Moira clasped her hands.
Wicklow! she cried. Twas in Wicklow I was born, and my mother
before me.
Ah, then, tis glad I will be I met ye this side o the world, he
answered, clapping his hand to his cutlass-hilt very hardily. For if we d
come on each other in Wicklow I d be no more nor a gossoon of a
bog-trotter and ye one o the grand gentry-folk.
Moira s laugh had the note of fairy chimes I had not heard since
her father fell on the James deck.
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