THE THAMES PIRATES.
Moored at a wharf at the Rotherhithe side of the river Thames, nearly
opposite Execution Dock, were several lighters and barges, all lying
together.
Along the upper part of the buildings belonging to the wharf were
painted, in rude but gigantic letters, the following words:—"MOSSOP'S
WHARF, WHERE GOODS ARE RECEIVED, HOUSED, OR CARTED."
Mr. Mossop, the sole proprietor of this wharf, was by no means
particular what goods he thus received, whence they came when he housed
them, or whither they were going when he carted them. He asked no
questions, so long as his commission and charges were duly paid.
For the convenience of his numerous customers, he kept his office
constantly open; and either himself or his son Ben Mossop was in
constant attendance.
Indeed, Mr. Mossop did more business by night than by day. He was,
however, a close man: he never put impertinent questions to any one who
called to patronise him; and thus his way of doing business was vastly
convenient for all those who used his wharf or his store-houses.
If a lighter arrived at that wharf, ostensibly with a freight of hay,
but in reality with divers bales of cotton or other goods concealed
beneath the dried grass, Mr. Mossop did not seem to think that there was
any thing at all strange in this; and if next day he happened to hear
that a barge at a neighbouring wharf had been robbed of divers bales of
cotton during the night, Mr. Mossop was too much of a gentleman to
question the integrity of _his_ customers. Even if every wall in
Rotherhithe, Horselydown, and Bermondsey, were covered with placards
announcing the loss of the bales, describing them to a nicety, and
offering a reward for their recovery, Mr. Mossop never stopped to read
one of them.
On two or three occasions, when a police-officer called at his wharf and
politely requested him just to honour the nearest magistrate with a
visit, and enter into an explanation how certain goods happened to be
found in his store-rooms, the said goods having been lost by other
parties in an unpleasant manner, Mr. Mossop would put an enormous pair
of spectacles upon his nose and a good face on the matter at the same
time; and it invariably happened that he managed to convince the bench
of _his_ integrity, but without in any way compromising those persons
who might be in custody on account of the said goods.
His son Ben was equally prudent and reserved; and thus father and son
were mighty favourites with all the river pirates who patronised them.
Moreover, Mossop's Wharf was most conveniently situate: the front
looked, of course, upon the river; the back opened into Rotherhithe
Wall; and Mossop's carts were noted for the celerity with which they
would convey goods away from the warehouse to the receivers in Blue
Anchor Road or in the neighbourhood of Halfpenny Hatch.
The father and son were also famous for the regularity and dispatch with
which they executed business on pressing occasions. Thus, while Mossop
senior would superintend the landing of goods upon the wharf, Mossop
junior was stationed at the back gate, where it was his pleasing duty to
see the bales speedily carted as they were brought _through_ the
warehouses by the lumpers employed.
Mossop senior was also reputed to be a humane man; for if any of his
best customers got into trouble (which was sometimes the case) and were
short of funds, a five pound note in a blank envelop would reach them in
prison to enable them to employ counsel in their defence; and this sum
invariably appeared as "_money lent_" in Mossop's next account against
them when they were free once more, and enabled to land another cargo at
the wharf.
But to continue our narrative.
It was the evening after the one on which Morcar had called at Markham
Place; consequently the evening of that day when the gipsy was to meet
our hero on the Tower wharf.
Over the particulars of that meeting we, however, pass; as the plans
then arranged will presently develop themselves.
It was now about nine o'clock.
The evening was beautiful and moonlight.
Myriads of stars were rocked to and fro in the cradle of the river's
restless tide; and the profiles of the banks were marked with thousands
of lights, glancing through dense forests of masts belonging to the
shipping that were crowded along those shores.
At intervals those subdued murmurs which denoted that the river was as
busy and active as the great city itself, were absorbed in the noise of
some steamer ploughing its rapid way amidst the mazes of vessels that to
the inexperienced eye appear to be inextricably entangled together.
Then would arise those shouts of warning to the smaller craft,—those
rapid commands to regulate the movements of the engines,—and those
orders to the helmsman, which, emanating from the lips of the captain
posted on the paddle-box, proclaim the progress of the steamer winding
its way up the pool.
A wondrous and deeply interesting spectacle, though only dimly seen, is
that portion of the Thames on a moonlight night.
Then indeed is it that even the most callous mind is compelled to
contemplate with mingled astonishment and awe, one of the grandest
features of the sovereign city and world's emporium of trade.
The gurgling water, and the countless masts,—the vibration of mighty
engines on the stream, and the myriads of twinkling lights along the
shores,—the cheering voices of the mariners, and the dense volumes of
smoke which moving colossal chimneys vomit forth,—the metallic grating
of windlasses, and the glittering of the spray beneath revolving
wheels,—the flapping of heavy canvass, and the glare from the oval
windows of steamers,—the cries of the rowers in endangered boats, and
the flood of silver lustre which the moon pours upon the river's
bosom,—these form a wondrous complication of elements of interest for
both ear and eye.
The barge that was farthest off from Mossop's wharf, of all the lighters
moored there, and that could consequently get into the stream quicker
than any other near it, was one to which we must particularly direct our
readers' attention.
It was called the _Fairy_, and was large, decently painted, and kept in
pretty good order. It had a spacious cabin abaft, and a smaller one,
termed a cuddy, forward. The mast, with its large brown sail that seemed
as if it had been tanned, was so fitted as to be lowered at pleasure, to
enable the vessel to pass under the bridges at high water. The rudder
was of enormous size; and the tiller was as thick and long as the pole
of a carriage.
The waist, or uncovered part of the lighter in the middle, was now
empty; but it was very capacious, and adapted to contain an immense
quantity of goods.
On the evening in question two men were sitting on the windlass, smoking
their pipes, and pretty frequently applying themselves to a can of grog
which stood upon the deck near them.
One was the Resurrection Man: the other was John Wicks, better known as
the Buffer.
"Well, Jack," said the Resurrection Man, "this is precious slow work.
For the last four days we've done nothing."
"What did I tell you, when you fust come to me and proposed to take to
the river?" exclaimed the Buffer. "Didn't I say that one ought to be
bred to the business to do much good in it?"
"Oh! that be hanged!" cried the Resurrection Man. "I can soon learn any
business that's to make money. Besides, the land was too hot to hold me
till certain little things had blown over. There's that fellow Markham
who ran against me one night;—then there's Crankey Jem. The first saw
that I was still hanging about London; and the other may have learnt, by
some means or another, that I didn't die of the wound he gave me. Then
again, there's those gipsies whose money I walked off with one fine day.
All these things made the land unsafe; and so I thought it best to
embark the gold that I took from old King Zingary, in this barge, which
was to be had so cheap."
"I suppose we shall do better in time, Tony," said the Buffer, "when we
get more acquainted with them light and heavy horsemen that we must
employ, and them lumpers that gives the information."
"Of course. When you set up in a new business, you can't expect to
succeed directly," returned the Resurrection Man. "The regular pirates
won't have confidence in us at first; and as yet we don't know a single
captain or mate that will trust us with the job of robbing their ship.
How do they know but what we should peach, if we got into trouble, and
tell their employers that it was all done with their connivance? But old
Mossop begins to grow more friendly; and that, I'm sure, is a good sign
that _he_ thinks that we shall succeed."
"So it is," said the Buffer. "Besides, this barge is so good a blind,
that business _must_ come. What should you say to getting into the skiff
presently, and taking a look out amongst the shipping for ourselves?"
"Well, I've no objection," answered Tidkins. "But we've already a
connexion with several lumpers; and they have put us on to all that we
_have_ done up to the present time. P'rhaps we should do better to wait
for the information that they can give us. They begin to see that we pay
well; and so they'll only be too anxious to put things in our way."
"True enough," observed the Buffer.
At this period of the conversation, a woman's head appeared above the
cabin hatchway.
"Supper's ready," she said.
"We're coming, Moll," returned the Buffer.
The two villains then descended into the cabin, where a well-spread
table awaited them.
Scarcely had the trio concluded their repast, when a man, who had come
from the wharf and had walked across the barges until he reached the
_Fairy_, called to Tidkins, by the appellation of "Captain," from the
hatchway.
"Come below," answered the Resurrection Man.
The person thus invited was the foreman in Mr. Mossop's employment. He
was short, stout, and strongly built, with a tremendous rubicundity of
visage, small piercing grey eyes, no whiskers, and a very apoplectic
neck. His age might be about fifty; and he was dressed in a light garb
befitting the nature of his calling.
"Well, Mr. Swot," said the Resurrection Man, as the little fat foreman
descended the ladder; "this is really an unusual thing to have the
honour of your company. Sit down; and you, Moll, put the lush and the
pipes upon the table."
"That's right, Captain," returned Mr. Swot, as he seated himself. "I
came on purpose to drink a social glass and have a chat with you. In
fact, my present visit is not altogether without an object."
"I'm glad of that," said the Resurrection Man. "We want something to do.
It was only just now that I and my mate were complaining how slack
business was."
"You know that Mossop never has any thing to do with any schemes in
which chaps of your business choose to embark," continued Mr. Swot: "he
receives your goods, and either keeps them in warehouse or carts them
for you as you like; but he never knows where they come from."
"Perfectly true," observed the Resurrection Man.
"But all that's no reason why I should be equally partickler," proceeded
Swot.
"Of course not," said the Resurrection Man.
"Well, then—we are all friends here?" asked Swot, glancing around him.
"All," replied Tidkins. "This is my mate's wife; she answers to the name
of Moll, and is stanch to the back-bone."
"Well and good," said Swot. "Now I've as pretty a little idea in my head
as ever was born there; but it requires two or three daring—I may say
_desperate_ fellers to carry it out."
"You couldn't come to a better shop for them kind of chaps," remarked
the Buffer.
"And if it's necessary, I'll deuced soon dress myself up like a
lighterman and help you," added Moll.
"I am very much pleased with your pluck, ma'am," said Mr. Swot; "and I
drink to your excellent health—and our better acquaintance."
Mr. Swot emptied his mug at a draught, lighted a pipe, and then
continued thus:—
"But now, my fine fellers, s'pose I was to start some scheme which is
about as dangerous as walking slap into a house on fire to get the iron
safe that's full of gold and silver?"
"Well—we're the men to do it," said Tidkins.
"That is," observed the Buffer, "if so be the inducement is equal to the
risk."
"Of course," returned Mr. Swot. "Now one more question:—would you sleep
in the same room with a man who had the cholera or the small-pox, for
instance—supposing you got a thousand pounds each to do it?"
"I would in a minute," answered the Resurrection Man. "Nothing dare,
nothing have."
"So I say," added the Buffer.
"And you wouldn't find me flinch!" cried Moll.
"Now, then, we shall soon understand each other," resumed Swot, helping
himself to another supply of grog. "Please to listen to me for a few
minutes. A very fine schooner, the _Lady Anne_ of London, trades to the
Gold and Slave Coasts of Guinea. She takes out woollens, cottons, linen,
arms, and gunpowder, which she exchanges for gold dust, ivory, gums, and
hides. A few days since, as she was beating up the Channel, homeward
bound with a fine cargo, something occurs that makes it necessary for
her to run for the Medway, instead of coming direct up to London. But
the night before last it blew great guns, as you may recollect; and as
she was but indifferently manned, she got out in her reckoning—for it
was as dark as pitch—and ran ashore between the mouth of the Medway and
Gravesend. Now, there she lies—and there she's likely to lie. She got
stranded during spring-tide; and she does not float now even at high
water. The gold dust would be very acceptable; the gums, ivory, hides,
and such like matters, may stay where they are."
"Then the fact is the owners haven't yet moved out the cargo?" said the
Resurrection Man, interrogatively.
"No—nor don't intend to, neither—for the present," answered Swot. "And
what's more, there's a police-boat pulling about in that part of the
river all day and all night; but I can assure you that it gives the
schooner a precious wide berth."
"Well, I can't understand it yet," said the Buffer.
"The fact is," continued Swot, "the _Lady Anne_ was on its way to
Standgate Creek in the Medway, when it got ashore on the bank of the
Thames. Do you begin to take?"
"Can't say I do," answered the Resurrection Man. "Is the crew on board
still?"
"The crew consisted this morning, when I heard about it last, of three
men and a boy," returned Swot; "and one of them men is a surgeon. But
the _Lady Anne_ has got the yellow flag flying;—and now do you
comprehend me?"
"The plague!" ejaculated the Resurrection Man and the Buffer in the same
breath.
"The plague!" repeated Moll Wicks, with a shudder.
"Neither more or less," said Swot, coolly emptying his second mug of
grog.
There was a dead silence for some moments.
It seemed as if the spirits of those who had listened with deep
attention to the foreman's narrative, were suddenly damped by the
explanation that closed it.
"Well—are you afraid?" asked Swot, at length breaking silence.
"No," returned the Resurrection Man, throwing off the depression which
had fallen upon him. "But there is something awful in boarding a
plague-ship."
"Are you sure the gold dust is on board?" demanded the Buffer.
"Certain. My information is quite correct. Besides, you may get the
newspapers and read all about it for yourselves."
"The thing is tempting," said Moll.
"Then, by God, if a woman will dare it, we mustn't show the white
feather, Jack," exclaimed the Resurrection Man.
"That's speaking to the point," observed the foreman. "You see there's a
guard on land, to prevent any one from going near the vessel on that
side; and the police-boat rows about on the river. The plan would be, to
get down to Gravesend to-morrow, then to-morrow night, to drop down with
the tide close under the bank, and get alongside the vessel."
"All that can be done easy enough," said the Resurrection Man. "But we
want more hands. Of course you'll go with us?"
"Yes—I'll risk it," answered Mr. Swot. "It's too good a thing to let
slip between one's fingers. If you'll leave it to me I'll get two or
three more hands; because we must be prepared to master all that we may
meet on the deck of the schooner, the very moment we board it, so as not
to give 'em time even to cry out, or they'd alarm the police-boat."
"Well and good," said the Resurrection Man. "But you don't mean to go in
the lighter?"
"No—no: we must have a good boat with two sculls," answered Swot. "Leave
that also to me. At day-break every thing shall be ready for you; and I
shall join you in the evening at Gravesend."
"Agreed!" cried Tidkins.
Mr. Swot then took his departure; and the three persons whom he left
behind in the lighter, continued their carouse.
In this way the Resurrection Man, the Buffer, and Moll Wicks amused
themselves until nearly eleven o'clock, when, just as they were thinking
of retiring for the night,—Tidkins to his bed in the after cabin where
they were then seated, and the other two to their berth in the cuddy
forward,—the lighter was suddenly shaken from one end to the other by
some heavy object which bumped violently against it.