THE TRACE.
In order to avoid unnecessary details we shall now concisely state that
Smithers and his son paid the visit agreed upon to Katherine Wilmot.
Smithers communicated to her, when they were alone together for half an
hour, so much of his own history as involved all the particulars with
which he was acquainted concerning her parentage.
The grateful girl expressed a deeper sense of obligation than she had
ever yet experienced towards the individual who had supported her for so
many years, although she had no claims of relationship upon him.
After one of the most agreeable days which the _late_ executioner and
his son had ever passed in their lives, they took leave of Katherine and
the worthy people of the farm, and returned to London.
Poor Katherine Wilmot! she had that day learnt more concerning her
parentage than she had ever known before; but she would have been
happier, perhaps, had her original impressions on that subject never
been disturbed!
Still Markham had conceived it to be a duty which was owing to the young
maiden, to permit Smithers thus to reveal to her those circumstances
which seemed to fix her with the stigma of illegitimacy.
That night her pillow was moistened with abundant tears, as she lay and
reflected upon her lamented mother!
On the appointed evening Smithers and his son called at Markham Place.
They were conducted by Whittingham to a parlour, where the table was
spread with a handsome collation, places being arranged for three
persons.
"Sit down, my friends," said Richard Markham, who received them with a
warmth far more encouraging than mere courtesy: "after supper we will
transact the business for which I have requested your presence here."
"What, sir!" ejaculated Smithers; "can you condescend to have _me_ at
your table?"
"Not as you lately were," answered Richard: "I receive you as a
regenerated man."
John Smithers (for we shall suppress his nickname of _Gibbet_, as his
father had already done so) cast a glance of profound gratitude upon our
hero, in acknowledgment of a behaviour that could not do otherwise than
confirm his father in his anxious endeavours to adopt a course of mental
improvement.
Smithers' confidence increased, when he had imbibed a glass or two of
generous wine; and he related to Markham the particulars of his
interview with Katharine.
Then was it for the first time the hump-back learnt that Katherine was
not his cousin.
He said nothing; but, as he drank in all that fell from his father's
lips, two large tears rolled down his cheeks.
When the supper was over, Richard addressed Smithers in the following
manner:—
"The narrative which you revealed to me the day before yesterday
materially alters the position in which Katherine stands with respect to
you. When I first proposed that she should advance you at once a small
sum, I believed her to be your near relative. But as she is in no way
akin to you, it results that you have for years supported one who had no
claim upon you. Accident has made her rich; and it is but fair and just
that you should be adequately rewarded for your generosity. I have
communicated with Katherine's trustee upon the subject; and we have
agreed to furnish you with five hundred pounds at once, to enable you to
embark in a respectable and substantial line of business. This
pocket-book," proceeded Markham, "contains that sum. Take it, my worthy
friend—it is your due; and, should you succeed in the career that you
are now about to enter upon, you can with satisfaction trace your
prosperity to the humanity which you showed to a friendless orphan."
After some hesitation, Smithers received the pocket-book. He and his son
then took leave of Richard Markham, with the most sincerely felt
expressions of gratitude, and with a promise from the father to write to
him soon to state where and how they had settled themselves.
Scarcely had those two individuals, now both made happy, taken their
departure, when Whittingham informed his master that a person with a
dark complexion, and who gave the name of Morcar, requested to speak to
him.
Richard ordered the gipsy to be instantly admitted to his presence.
Morcar was accordingly shown into the parlour.
The moment he found himself alone with Markham, he said in a low and
somewhat solemn tone, "We have traced him!"
"I expected as much, the moment your name was announced," said Richard.
"Where is he?"
"He has taken refuge in a barge on the river," answered Morcar. "That is
all I have been able to learn; but I am confident he is there."
"And do you know where the barge is moored?" asked Richard.
"Close by Rotherhithe. But there are several other barges off the same
wharf; and I cannot single out which he is in. I, however, know that he
_is_ concealed in one of them."
"It is important to discover which," said Markham. "Were we to make our
appearance in that vicinity with a body of police, he might escape us
altogether."
"And therefore it will be better to take him by means of stratagem,"
observed Morcar.
"What can have induced him to seek refuge there?" said Richard, in a
musing tone. "Some new crime, perhaps?"
"Or else some fresh scheme of villany," returned Morcar. "But perhaps
you are not aware, sir, that river piracy still flourishes to some
extent?"
"I certainly imagined that with our system of Thames police, that
species of depredation was completely ruined."
"No such thing, sir!" exclaimed Morcar. "The man who gave me the
information about Tidkins, told me more than ever I knew before on that
subject."
"You may as well acquaint me with those particulars, Morcar," said our
hero. "They may assist me in devising some scheme to entrap the
Resurrection Man, and enable justice to receive its due."
"River piracy, sir," continued Morcar, "is carried on by a set of
vagabonds who for the most part have been sailors, or in some shape or
another engaged amongst barges and lighters. They are all leagued with
the marine-store dealers and people that keep old iron and junk shops on
both sides of the river below London bridge. The river pirates usually
possess a barge or lighter, which every now and then makes a trip up and
down the river between Greenwich and Putney, but with no other freight
than bales of sawdust, old rags, or even dung. This they do to keep up
appearances and avoid suspicion. But all day long they maintain a good
look out in the pool, and take notice of particular ships which they
think can be easily robbed. For instance, sometimes a steamer is left
with only a boy on board to take care of it; or else a lighter has only
one man to look after it. Then these pirates go on board in the night,
master the boy or the man, and plunder the steamer or lighter of any
thing worth carrying away."
"I begin to understand how these villains may reap a profitable harvest
in this manner," observed Richard.
"Oh! you don't know half their pranks, yet," said Morcar. "Sometimes two
or three of the gang will go and hire themselves as bargemen or
lightermen; and then they easily arrange with their pals how to plunder
the vessels thus entrusted to them, while the owners never suspect that
their own men are at the bottom of the robbery. When times are bad, and
these fellows are driven to desperation, they think nothing of cutting
away great pieces of ships' cables, or even weighing the anchors of
small craft; and with these heavy materials they will get clean off in
their boats to their own barge; and next morning they convey them as
coolly as possible to the marine store dealers. Sometimes they cut
lighters adrift, when the tide is running out, and follow them in their
boat; then, under pretence of helping those on board, they cut away
bales of cotton or any other goods that are easily thrown into their
boats in dark nights."
"The villain Tidkins has no doubt transferred his operations from the
land to the river," observed Markham; "seeing that, by means of a little
address and a great deal of courage, such depredations can be effected."
"These river-pirates are of several kinds," continued Morcar. "There's
the _light-horsemen_, or men who board the unprotected vessels in the
night. Then there's the _heavy-horsemen_, who wear an under-dress,
called a _jemmy_, which is covered by their smocks: these fellows obtain
employment as _lumpers_,—that is, to load or discharge ships in the
pool, during which they contrive to stow away every thing portable in
the large pouches or pockets of their under-dress. Afterwards, the
_heavy-horsemen_, give information to their pals, and put them on the
scent which ships to rob at night. Next there's the _mud-larks_, who get
on board stranded lighters at low water, and carry off what they can
when the vessels are unprotected, or ask some question to lull suspicion
if they find any one on board. This mode of river-piracy is very
profitable, because numbers of lighters and barges are often left for
hours alongside the banks, without a soul on board. _Game lightermen_
are those pirates that are in league with dishonest mates and sailors
belonging to vessels that come up the river to discharge: and they
receive at night from their pals on board, through the port-holes or
over the quarter, any thing that's easy to move away in this manner.
Last of all there's the _scuffle-hunters_, who put on smocks, and obtain
work as porters on the wharfs where a ship is loading: then, if they
can't contrive to steal any thing by those means, they can at all events
carry some useful information to their pals—so that the ship is
generally robbed in one way or another."
[Illustration]
"With so well organised a fraternity and such means of operation," said
Markham, who had listened with interest and astonishment to these
details, "Tidkins is capable of amassing a fortune in a very short time.
But we must stop him in his criminal career. At the same time, let us do
nothing without mature consideration. Are you willing to assist? Your
reward shall be liberal."
"The Zingaree may not of his own accord deliver up any one to justice,"
answered Morcar; "but he is allowed to serve an employer who pays him.
Moreover," he added, as if ashamed of that sophistical compromise with
the rules of his fraternity, "I shall gladly help to punish the
miscreant who treated us with such base ingratitude."
"Then you consent to serve me?" said Richard.
"I do, sir," was the reply.
"To-morrow, at mid-day, I will meet you somewhere in the eastern part of
London," continued Richard. "I have already a project in my head; but I
must consider it more maturely."
"Where shall we meet, sir?" asked Morcar.
Markham reflected for a moment, and then said, "On the Tower wharf."
"I will be punctual, sir," answered the gipsy; and he took his
departure.