Underhand Conduct
Brisk action was a characteristic of Mr. Septimus Clifford, though
his portly frame gave one the impression that he might very well
be a sluggard. However, the bustle in those offices and warehouses
beside the river, the numerous clerks poring over ledgers and papers,
and the hands at work in the vaults amidst the huge butts of wine
told a tale there was no mistaking. Order and method pervaded the
establishment, and the master of the business was the creator of that
order and method. As we have said, too, he was a man of action.
"I'll send Tom off this day two weeks," he told the respectful
Huggins on the evening of that very day on which our hero was
introduced. "That will put a stop to all fighting, and no doubt
separation will wipe out old enmities, and in time to come the two,
Tom and José, will be capital friends. There's a boat sailing on
Friday fortnight."
"The _Mary Anne_," agreed Huggins. "Takes hardware from us, consigned
to the supply department of Wellington's army. There'll be no
difficulty in obtaining a passage."
"Then make all arrangements, please," said Mr. Septimus briskly.
"I'll have a chat with the lad, and tell him what we expect of him.
Send him to me."
The interview between father and son took place beneath the mulberry,
in the quaint and picturesque garden before the house in which the
firm transacted business, and there, seated in his basket chair,
Septimus discussed affairs with Tom.
"You'll make every effort to improve and perfect your Portuguese and
Spanish," he said, "and your French will be of the utmost use; for
once the Peninsula War is ended, and the French are driven out, it
will be one of your duties to arrange for wines to come from their
country. Of course, at Oporto you will place yourself in the hands
of your uncle, Dom Juan de Esteros, and will learn the business from
him. Put your back into it, boy, for Dom Juan will, I fear, not be
long with us. His health, always indifferent, has been much broken
by the anxieties of the past few years. And now you'd best get your
things together. Take a good stock of clothing, and perhaps a good
pistol is advisable, seeing that the country of Portugal is still in
a condition of disorder."
It may be imagined that the following two weeks were filled with
moments of interest for our hero. He was going abroad for the first
time in his life. He was about to make a start in the world, and that
world at this moment looked exceedingly rosy, so rosy that Tom's face
shone, his eyes flashed, he carried himself jauntily, and one and all
could see that he was full of good spirits to overflowing, and was
eagerly awaiting the voyage.
"That Master José'd give his boots to be in his place," reflected
Huggins one afternoon, as Tom went racing across the flower-decked
courtyard, and Marguerite after him. "It was a bad day, Emmott, for
this house when Mr. Septimus took him in and gave him a home. Not
that I say that of the young lady. She's different; she's like Master
Tom. We all love her."
"And dislike the brother--yes," agreed the junior clerk; "and I too
have a feeling that Master José bodes no good to his cousin. See his
face--he's watching the two going off down the river."
José was, in fact, lounging in the forecourt, one hand resting on
the boundary wall, while his lean, lanky body and thin limbs twisted
and writhed, as if to keep still were with him an impossibility. But
it was not those twisting limbs that repelled the two old clerks
watching him from the window--it was José's face. The brows were
drawn close together, the lips were half-parted, while there was an
intense look in the eyes which there was no fathoming.
"Bodes his cousin no good," Emmott ventured in low tones. "There's
no love lost between 'em. Not that Master Tom isn't ready to be
friendly. He is; for he's one of the easygoing sort. Still, he's a
stickler for what's proper, and he's stood by Miss Marguerite as if
he were her own brother. That José's scowling."
The lanky youth was actually doing that. No one could doubt the fact;
but nevertheless it was impossible to read the thoughts passing
through his brain. Could they have done so, both Huggins and Emmott
would have found ample reason for their feelings of uneasiness. For
José was scheming. Jealous of his cousin, as we have said already,
he had been envious of Tom almost from the day when Mr. Septimus had
brought his orphaned nephew and niece to his house. The children of
Mr. Septimus's sister, José and Marguerite, had been born in Oporto,
and had had the misfortune to lose first their mother and then their
father, brother of Dom Juan de Esteros. Thereafter they had lived
with Mr. Septimus as if they were his own children. And here was
José scheming to wreck his cousin's chances in the world, whereas
gratitude towards his Uncle Septimus should have made of him a fast
friend, and one ready to help Tom to the utmost.
"Going to Oporto, there to lord it over the office," he was muttering
between his teeth, as he watched Tom and Marguerite departing along
the river bank. "That leaves me here to slave over musty ledgers and
to learn the business from that old slowcoach Huggins. Suppose I'll
always be a clerk. One of these days Tom will come back as master,
and then he'll order me about."
It was a petty, childish manner in which to look at the matter, and
showed the narrow-minded view which José took of life. Contrary from
his cradle almost, he was mean in thought and act, and here was one
of his mean thoughts muttered beneath his breath, while his scowling
eyes followed the retreating figure of his cousin. José writhed his
way back into the house, and appeared again with a cap. Huggins,
watching from the office, saw him go away along the bank of the river
after the retreating figures of the other two.
"He's not up to any good, I'd lay," he told his fellow clerk, the
white-haired Emmott. "What's he following for, I'd like to know."
"Then let me go after him?" asked the other. "There's a message to be
taken along to the people who should have delivered goods to us this
morning, and I may just as well take it as George, the office boy."
The matter was arranged on the instant, and within five minutes
Emmott sauntered away in the wake of José. He followed him at a
discreet distance along the river bank, till José dived in amongst a
number of houses which clambered down to the water's edge. He caught
sight of him again beyond them, and half an hour later watched him in
converse with a ruffianly looking fellow whom he had accosted.
"Don't know the man," Emmott told himself. "Never saw him in my life
before, so far as I am aware. José seems to know him. He's--he's
giving him money."
Half-hidden behind the wall surrounding a warehouse, one of the
many erected there--for this was a busy part of the city, and huge
barges found deep water when the tide was up, and could load right
alongside the bank--Emmott watched as José passed something to the
hand of the man he was conversing with. The latter, a huge fellow,
dressed somewhat like a seaman, and bearded, might have been a sailor
from one of the many ships lying in the river, or he might have been
employed at one of the warehouses. He touched his forehead as José
put something into his hand, while the lad himself looked craftily
about him to make sure that no one was watching.
"What's he paying him for, that's what I'd like to know," Emmott
asked himself. "He's up to no good; but how can one say that his talk
with that rascal and the giving of money has anything to do with
Master Tom? Mr. Septimus would laugh at the very idea, and tell us to
mind our own business; but I for one shall keep my eyes on this José."
If the clerk imagined that he was thereby to catch José out in some
underhand act he was very much mistaken, for the young fellow was as
crafty as he was clever. More than that, though in his heart he hated
Tom, he was wise enough to know that scowls and bad temper would not
help him. From that very moment, indeed, he put on a smile whenever
Tom came near, was urbane and friendly with all, and appeared to be
genuinely sorry that his cousin was about to leave them.
"How'd you like to be a soldier, Tom?" he asked his cousin two
evenings later, when our hero's preparations for departure were
almost complete. "They're embarking troops this afternoon down the
river, all bound for Wellington's army."
It was information which was bound to tempt the light-hearted Tom.
For years, indeed, he had longed to be a soldier, and even now, when
his prospects with the firm of Septimus John Clifford & Son were so
apparently good, the old longing still assailed him. But if he could
not be a soldier in fact, Tom could vastly enjoy the sight of troops
embarking. He leaped at the opportunity, and that very afternoon saw
him making his way down the bank to the spot, some two miles distant,
where a sloop lay off in the river. Boats were passing to and from
her when Tom arrived upon the scene, and for two hours at least he
watched party on party of men embark, while his eyes feasted on
others drawn up in stiff lines on the bank. The bright uniforms, the
bustle, and the rattle of accoutrements and drums fascinated him. His
eyes were wide open with envy as he noticed that two at least of the
ensigns were no older than himself.
"And no stronger either," he told himself. "I'm as tall as they are,
and though they repeat orders splendidly, and don't seem afraid to
make their voices heard, I reckon I could do the same. What luck if
the French drove the English back and got as far as Oporto. Then I'd
see some of the fun. There's been terrific fighting in the Peninsula,
and folks say that there will be a heap more. Ah, there goes the
colonel's horse aboard! I never saw a horse embarked in my life
before."
Company after company of men descended to the boats and took their
places. Tom's eyes followed with almost childish eagerness the figure
of another youthful ensign. He was envious of his scarlet uniform, of
his belts and sword, and of the gaudy headdress he was wearing.
"If only I were a soldier," he sighed. "I'd enjoy a few years'
marching and fighting, and then settle down to the business. Ugh! An
office stool hardly compares with the life those fellows are leading."
He forgot the hardships inseparable from a soldier's life. Tom failed
to remember the reports he had read of the terrible plight of our men
and officers in the Peninsula. He knew nothing of wounds, terrible
wounds often enough, of disease which swept whole companies away,
or sent them back home helpless and useless for the reminder of
their lives. He saw only the glamour of a soldier's lot, the gallant
uniforms, the jolly comrades, the bustle and movement of the life.
So entranced was he, in fact, that he could have remained there
for hours an interested and envious spectator. But the evening was
drawing in, while only one company remained to be embarked. With a
sigh, therefore, Tom turned about and began to retrace his steps
along the bank in the direction of the premises of Septimus John
Clifford & Son.
"I'm a fool to let the wish to be a soldier upset my keenness for
office work," he reflected after a while. "There are lots of chaps
who would give their eyes for the opportunities I have. Yes, I'm a
fool. I must settle to the thing I've got, and--all the same I hope
there'll be some fighting round about Oporto."
"Hello, my sport!" he suddenly heard, as he was passing down a narrow
street between two of the many warehouses in that district. "Just
hold hard, and give us a pipe of 'bacca."
A huge individual came rolling towards him out of the darkness of a
passage cutting into the street, and was followed by a second man,
smaller than the first, but, if anything, more forbidding. Not that
Tom could see them clearly, for it was very dark in that narrow
street, the walls and roofs of the warehouses shutting the place in
completely.
"Hold hard, shipmate," the big man exclaimed again, rolling forward.
"A fill o' 'bacca ain't too much to ask from a man that follows the
sea."
He was close beside Tom by then, while his shorter companion was
immediately behind him. Even in that dark place one could see enough
of the couple to feel sure that they were anything but desirable, and
for a moment Tom considered the advisability of taking to his heels.
But then, reflecting that here in the neighbourhood of the docks and
quays there must be many seamen ashore on leave, and all perhaps
hilarious, he turned to the strangers and answered them pleasantly:
"Sorry I can't oblige," he said. "I haven't started smoking yet."
"What, my lively! ain't started smokin' yet?" came from the bigger
man. "Strike me, Bob, but here's a lubber as don't even chew, let
alone take hold of a pipe!"
There came a giggle from the smaller man, who sidled forward, and
coming from behind his companion, edged up to Tom's side.
"Don't smoke nor chew," he giggled in a queerly deep, gruff voice.
"Most like he's a young gent that has got out o' nights without his
mother knowing."
He dropped a parcel which he was carrying beneath one arm, and then
stooped at once to pick it up. A moment later he had sprung up behind
Tom, and with a quick movement had swung his parcel above our hero's
head. What followed took the young fellow so utterly by surprise that
he was completely dumbfounded; for a sack was drawn down over his
head and shoulders, and long before he could lift his arms the bigger
man had flung a coil of rope around him, pinning Tom's arms to his
side. But still he could fight, and, seized with desperation and with
anger, Tom lurched this way and that, kicking out in all directions,
hustling his captors from side to side till what appeared to them at
first a game began to annoy them. The bigger man clenched a huge fist
and drove hard at the centre of the sack with it.
"That's silenced him and made him quit foolin'," he grunted brutally,
for Tom dropped instantly and lay inert on the ground. "Jest get a
lift on to his toes, Bob; I'll take his head. We'll have him in
chokey afore he's shook the stars out of his eyes."
Without the smallest show of haste the two ruffians picked up
their burden and went off down the narrow alley leading from the
street. There was no need for them to fear interference, for police
hardly existed in those days, while respectable individuals did not
patronize the neighbourhood of the docks once night had fallen.
Business men, living as they did in the early years of the nineteenth
century above their premises, sat in the candlelight behind their
shutters once evening had come, and if they ventured forth at all,
took some sort of guard with them. It followed, therefore, that no
one even observed the two men strolling away with their burden. Even
had they been seen, the observer would in all likelihood have hurried
away in the opposite direction, for drunken sailors were inclined to
be more than rough. Robbery was not by any means unknown, while even
murder was now and again committed in the slums adjacent to the river.
In less than ten minutes from the moment when Tom had been so hardly
treated the two men came to a halt at a low doorway, the bigger of
the two beating upon it heavily.
"Open!" he shouted, as if there were no need for concealment, and he
had no reason to fear being overheard. "Open quick, or Sam here'll
want to know the reason why there's delay."
"Comin'," ejaculated his small companion in that same strangely deep
and wheezing voice, a voice which by rights should have belonged to
a man of double his proportions. "I can hear the lass a-comin', Sam.
Here she is. This is one more to add to the boys we're collecting."
At that moment, while the little man was in the act of stuffing some
hard black cuttings of tobacco into a short pipe, the door of the
house they had come to was opened noiselessly, and there appeared
a frowsy-headed woman bearing a smoking oil lamp. She stood aside
without a word and waited for the two men to carry in their burden.
The door closed, and the procession passed through a passage into
a large room, just within the doorway of which sat a man as big as
he who had been called Sam, armed with pistol and cutlass. Half a
dozen other men were in the place, breathing an atmosphere that was
almost stifling. A dangling lamp shed a feeble light on every hand,
while in one corner stood a bottle, in the neck of which was secured
a lighted candle, with the aid of which another armed individual was
laboriously spelling out the print on a piece of torn newspaper.
"What ho!" he cried, looking up, and disclosing a countenance which
was distinctly brutal. A towsled head of hair, which would appear
to have been innocent of receiving any attention for a long while,
covered forehead and ears and neck, and was inseparably joined to a
pair of side whiskers that might have been combed a year before. One
cheek was deeply seamed by a long, straggling scar, while the eye
above was covered by a patch of black material.
"What ho!" he cried again, leering at the newcomers, and drawing his
clay from between his teeth. "You've had luck to-night. I can see as
you've nobbled the one as you was after."
"And gets double pay," growled the man who sat at the door with
cutlass and pistol in his lap. "Pay from them as has need for lads
aboard, and pay from t'others as wants to get rid of a friend. You've
bagged the sum from the covey, Sam?"
Sam made no answer for the moment, but got rid of his burden by
the simple and easy method of dropping Tom's person heavily on the
floor. Standing over him, he proceeded to fill his pipe, and, having
completed the task to his liking, stretched across, snatched the
bottle in which the candle was fixed, and sucked the flame into the
bowl of his pipe. Then his eyes went slowly round the room, and,
passing the wretch at the door and the one against the far wall, he
let them fall upon the six individuals who also tenanted the room. He
counted them carefully, and then jerked his head in the direction of
our hero.
"Pull the sack off, Bob," he said, "and jest you two keep yer tongues
close in between yer teeth--hear that, Jem, and you too, Sandy? Tight
in between yer teeth. This here business has to be conducted with
caution and discretion; and if we does trade with others besides the
folks that pays for the men, why there ain't no need to cry it out
for everyone to hear--eh?"
The last exclamation was almost in the nature of a threat. Evidently
the individual with the patch over one eye, who boasted of the
towsled head of hair and the unkempt whiskers, was known as Sandy,
and Sam's words, and the scowl he directed at the man, had the
instant effect of causing him once more to busy himself with his
reading. The other, the man who sat fully armed at the door, and was
known as Jem, coloured under his tan, looked as fierce as Sam for a
moment, and then laughed uproariously.
"You do work yourself up, Sam," he laughed. "Who's there here to let
on what business we do? These?" pointing at the six other inmates
of the room. "Not much, me hearty. They'll be aboard come midnight,
and to-morrow they'll be that sick they'll have forgotten you and me
and everything almost. But you've drawn the stuff; been paid by that
young spark as hired you to work it?"
Sam answered him with a snort and with a violent shake of his head.
"Presently," he said, meanwhile watching as the rascal Bob removed
the sack from Tom's head. "All in good time. The young nobleman's
coming here to make sure as there's no mistake, and once the lad
there's aboard, the rest of it'll be paid. But it won't end there."
"Eh?" asked Jem quickly, while Sandy and Bob looked up keenly,
avarice and rascality written on their faces. "Don't end there,"
said Jem; "how's that?"
"Blood money ain't all we gets," lisped Sam, allowing a cruel smile
to cross his face. "I'll tell you why. I know the young spark as got
us to work this business. Well, when this lad's gone aboard, and is
away, I'll be axing for more of his gold. Supposing he can't pay,
then----"
A hideous grin wrinkled Sandy's face, throwing into greater
prominence the scar that seamed it. Bob dragged the sack from
Tom's head and then turned to smile at his leader. Jem brought a
massive fist down with a bang on the table, and once more burst into
uproarious laughter. It was obvious, in fact, to each one of these
rascals that Sam had at hand a ready means with which to force more
money from the man who had bribed him to capture our hero. Let us put
the matter clearly. José had met the ruffian Sam some time before,
and had discovered him to be one of those infamous crimps who earned
a rich living by snatching men from their employment ashore and
passing them over to ships' captains. The impressment of men in those
days was not illegal, and since crews were often enough hard to come
by, and these rascally crimps were more or less a necessary evil,
they flourished unmolested, and many a poor lad was suddenly torn
from his home to be smuggled aboard ship, and never heard of again
by his own people. Also many a private grudge was wiped out in this
manner. Tom was not the first youth by a great many who had been
suddenly spirited away at the bidding of, and with the aid of gold
paid by, a relative.
As for the others in the room, they were prisoners like Tom. Four
were young men of twenty-two or three, while the others were almost
middle-aged, and undoubtedly sailors. These two sat at the table,
smoking heavily and helping themselves to spirits contained in a
square jar set upon it. The other men sat despondently upon a form,
eyeing their captors resentfully, and yet in a manner which showed
clearly that all the fight was knocked out of them. Like the two at
the table they were becoming resigned to the position, and no doubt
would settle down in time and become good seamen.
"Just throw a pail of water over his head," Sam ordered, pointing
the stem of his pipe at Tom, who lay senseless where they had
dropped him, his face pale in the feeble light of the lamp, his hair
dishevelled, while a thin trickle of blood oozed from the corner of
his mouth. "Then pull his duds off and let him have a suit that'll
do for him aboard. Ah! He's coming round. Trust Sam to strike a blow
that won't do no harm and spoil trade for him. Sit him up, Bob, and
when he's feeling more hisself, give him a go of spirits and a smoke."
The whole affair was a horrible exhibition of the brutality and the
lawlessness of those times--times even now designated by some as
the good ones. The ruffians who plied this human traffic were as
utterly devoid of feeling as they well could be, and looked upon
each one of their captures, not as a fellow being, but as so much
value in gold, silver, and pence, so much profit in their business.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that Tom's forlorn appearance
had no effect upon them. The heartless and rascally Bob procured a
pail of water and tossed the contents over him, drenching the lad
from head to foot. He shook him violently, and when our hero feebly
opened his eyes, the wretch placed a pannikin of strong spirits to
his lips, dragged his head backwards--for he had placed his captive
in a sitting posture, his back resting against a form--and roughly
poured the contents into his mouth. The effect was magical. Tom sat
forward with a gasp, spluttering and choking. The colour rushed to
his cheeks, and in a twinkling he seemed to gather his wits and his
memory together. How he got into that room, who the people were, he
had no idea. But Bob's grinning face was within his reach, and he
was undoubtedly the rascal who had dealt with him so roughly but a
few seconds before. In any case Tom waited for no explanation. He
launched himself at Bob, struck him heavily with his fist, and then
closed with him.
"The young tiger," growled Sam, stretching out a huge hand and
catching him firmly by the shoulder. "Blest if he isn't the boy to
fight them Frenchies. Avast there, me hearty! Bob ain't used to
violent assaults."
Bob evidently was not accustomed to hard knocks himself, though he
might often enough have cause to give them to others while plying his
nauseous trade. In any case he was furious, and but for Sam, once the
latter had torn Tom away from him, the smaller man would have vented
his wrath by striking his almost fainting prisoner in the face.
"Avast there!" shouted Sam, keeping him off. "Ain't I axed you to
bring him round quick, seeing as how the pressgang'll be along in a
winking? Ain't we got to change his duds, and you there trying to
make things wuss? Get off for the togs! Sandy, jest mix another go o'
grog. It'll pull him round lively. Jem, I leaves him in your charge
while I goes into the other room to do a little business."
Let the reader imagine a pale-faced and frightened youth cringing in
the squalid den to which the rascal Sam made his way. There, beneath
the same smoky lamp which the woman had borne to the door, sat José,
writhing this way and that, his limbs never at rest for a moment,
his fingers twining, his eyes shifting to every quarter, his lips
twisting this way and that. José would have run from his own shadow
on that occasion. The enormity of the crime he was perpetrating
had frightened him intensely. Not that he thought of Tom; he was
considering himself entirely. What if the whole foul scheme were
discovered? What if Septimus were to learn of his action?
"Ho!" shouted Sam, bursting in upon him. "Come to see as all's well?"
José could not answer; his knees positively shook beneath him, while
his bloodless lips would not frame the words he wished to utter. He
lifted squirming, trembling fingers to his lips and mouthed at Sam.
And then, with a huge effort, he managed to blurt out a few words.
"You--you've done it?" he asked.
"In chokey nice enough, master. Jest come along and take a squint at
him. If he's the bird--and I don't doubt it--why, the trick's done,
the money's earned, or mighty near it."
He led the trembling youth to the door of the other room, now closed
upon the poor fellows placed there, and sliding a shutter to one side
bade José look in.
"Eh?" he growled in his ear. "The right bird? No mistake, my hearty?"
Yes, there was Tom, pale and worn and sorrowful-looking, and more
than a little dazed if the truth be spoken. José recognized him at
once, and in place of feeling compassion for his cousin let all
the old feelings of envy and resentment have full sway. The eyes
looking through the shutter scowled at poor Tom. José's pallid cheeks
suddenly reddened at the thought of an approaching triumph. He backed
away, stepped into the smaller room again, and sat down with a
swagger.
"He goes to-night?" he asked, with an attempt at firmness.
"To-night! Almost this blessed minute."
"And all his things are taken from him--clothes, letters, and
anything likely to let others identify him?"
"Everything, on my davy!" came the answer.
"Then here is the money--take it."
José handed over twenty sovereigns, and as if the act had sealed his
guilt promptly began to tremble and writhe again. It was with a grin
of triumph that Sam saw him off the doorstep.
"You'll take more golden coins from the same till as you took that
from," he gurgled, chinking the money in his pocket. "It ain't hard
to read that you stole it. Well, Sam'll have his eyes on you, and ef
you don't like to hand out the cash, why, he's always got a way by
which he'll make you."
An hour later there was the tramp of many feet in the street outside,
and a hoarse command was given. By then Tom was feeling more himself,
and indeed was disposed to show fight at any moment. But he was one
against many, and in spite of protests had been compelled to change
his clothing. Now the door was thrown open, and a dozen seamen
marched in, each armed with a cutlass. The impressed men were placed
in the centre of their guard, and were marched off down the river.
A little later they embarked in a big cutter, a sail was hoisted,
and presently they were bowling down stream at a pace which soon
left the neighbourhood of London Bridge behind it, and with it the
good-hearted Septimus, together with the sneaking nephew who had this
very night done him such a mischief.
In the early hours Tom was hustled up the high side of a huge vessel,
and was as promptly driven down a steep flight of steps into a dark
hole, almost as noisome and unpleasant as the one in which Sam and
his gang had first received him. The rattle of ropes and blocks upon
the deck reached his ears, and soon the vessel rolled and heaved
uneasily. They were off, leaving behind them some few distracted
people; for Tom's sudden disappearance caused a commotion. He had
disappeared as completely as if the earth had covered him. Nor was
that his father's only loss; the cash drawer in his private office
had been rifled, and some twenty-five pounds were missing.
"Master Tom steal! Never!" exclaimed Huggins, when all the facts were
before him.
Mr. Septimus, as may be imagined, was heartbroken. When days had gone
by, and more than a week had passed without even a word from our
hero, the head of the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son became
despondent.
"Dead!" he almost blubbered, as Huggins stood before him in the
forecourt.
"Not a bit, sir," came the brisk answer. "Alive and kicking. Emmott
and I have been looking into the matter. Master Tom's at sea; it
won't be long before we hear from him."