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Astonishing History of Troy Town

<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> <h3>THAT A SILVER BULLET HAS VIRTUE: WITH A WARNING TO COMMODORES.</h3> "Well, sir," remarked Caleb at ten o'clock that evening, after an hour's watching had passed and brought no sign of a ghost, "I wish this 'ere sperrit, ef sperrit et be, wud put hissel' out to be punkshal. They do say as the Queen must wait while her beer's a-drawin'; but et strikes me ghost-seein' es apt to be like Boscas'le Fair, which begins twelve an' ends at noon." Caleb caressed a huge blunderbuss which lay across his knee, and caused Mr. Fogo no slight apprehension. "Et puts me i' mind," he went on, as his master was silent, "o' th' ould lidden [1] as us used to sing when us was tiny mites:—" <blockquote><blockquote> Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me right, Where was I last Sat'rday night? I seed a chimp-champ champin' at his bridle, I seed an ould fox workin' hissel' idle. The trees did shever, an' I did shake, To see what a hole thic' fox did make. </blockquote></blockquote> "Now I comes to think 'pon et, 'tes Sat'rday night too; an' that's odd, as Martha said by her glove." Still Mr. Fogo was silent. "As for the blunderbust, sir, there's no call to be afeard. Tes on'y loaded wi' shot an' a silver shillin'. I heerd tell that over to Tresawsen, wan time, they had purty trouble wi' a lerrupin' big hare, sir. Neither man nor hound cud cotch her; an' as for bullets, her tuk in bullets like so much ballast. Well, sir, th' ould Squire were out wi' his gun wan day, an' 'way to track thicky hare, roun' an' roun', for up ten mile; an' the more lead he fired, the better plaised her seemed. 'Darn et!' says the old Squire at las'. ''Tes witchcraf; I'll try a silver bullet.' So he pulls out a crown-piece an' hammers 'un into a slug to fit hes gun. He'd no sooner loaded than out pops the hare agen, not twenty yards off, an' right 'cross the path. Th' ould man blazed away, an' this time hit her sure 'nuff: hows'ever, her warn't too badly wounded to nip roun' the knap o' the hill an' out o' sight. 'I'll ha' 'ee!' cries the Squire; an' wi' that pulls hot foot roun' the hill. An' there, sir, clucked in under a bit o' rock, an' pantin' for dear life, were ould Mally Skegg. I tell 'ee, sir, the Squire made no more to do, but 'way to run, an' niver stopped till he were safe home to Tresawsen. That's so. Mally were a witch, like her mother afore her; an' the best proof es, her wore a limp arter this to the day o' her death." Mr. Fogo roused himself from his abstraction to ask— "Do you seriously believe it was a ghost that I saw last night?" "That's as may be. Ef 'taint, 'tes folks as has no bus'ness hereabouts. I've heerd tell as you'm wi'in the law ef you hails mun dree times afore firin'. That's what I means to do, anyway. As for ghostes, I do believe, an' I don't believe." "What? That a man's spirit comes back after death to trouble folks?" "I dunno 'bout sperrit: but I heerd a tale wance 'bout a man's remains as gi'ed a peck o' trouble arter death. 'Twas ould Commodore Trounce as the remains belonged to, an' 'tes a queer yarn, ef you niver heerd et afore." Caleb looked at his master. Mr. Fogo had not yet told the story of his call at "The Bower"; but Caleb saw that he was suffering, and had planned this story as a diversion. The bait took. Mr. Fogo looked up expectant, and lit a fresh pipe. So Caleb settled himself in his corner of the window-seat, and, still keeping an eye on the old schooner, began— <center> "THE COMMODORE'S PROGRESS. </center> "You've heerd me spake, sir, o' Joe Bonaday, him as made poetry 'long wi' me wan time when lying becalmed off Ilfrycombe?" "Certainly." "Well, this Joe were a Barnstaple man, bred an' born. But he had a brother—Sam were hes name—as came an' settled out Carne way; 'Ould These-an'-Thicky,' us used to call 'n. Sam was a crowder, [2] you must knaw, an' used to play the fiddle over to Tregarrick Fair; but he cudn' niver play more'n two tunes. 'Which'll 'ee ha',' he used to say, 'which'll 'ee ha'—these or thicky?' That's why, tho' he was christened Sam, us used to call 'n These-an'-Thicky for short." "I see." "This 'ere Sam Bonaday, tho' he came an' settled down i' these parts, was a bettermost body i' some ways, an' had a-seen a heap o' life 'long wi' ould Commodore Trounce. Sam was teetotum to the Commodore, an' acted currier when th' ould man travelled, which he did a brave bit—brushin' hes clothes, an' shinin' hes boots, an' takin' the tickets, an' the res'. The Commodore were mighty fond o' Sam: an' as for Sam, he used to say he mou't ha' been the Commodore's brother— on'y, you see, he warn't." "I think I understand," said Mr. Fogo. "Iss, sir. Well, t'ward the end o' hes days the Commodore were stashuned out at Gibraltar, an' o' cou'se takes Sam. He'd a-been ailin' for a tidy spell, had the Commodore, an' I reckon that place finished 'un; for he hadn' been there a month afore he tuk a chill, purty soon Sam saw 'twas on'y a matter o' time afore th' ould man wud go dead. "Sam kep' hes maaster goin' 'pon brandy an' milk for a while; but wan day he comes in an' finds 'un settin' up in bed an' starin'. The Commodore was a little purgy, [3] bustious [4] sort o' man, sir, wi' a squinny eye an' mottles upon hes face pretty near so thick as the Milky Way; an' he skeered Sam a bit, settin' up there an' glazin'. "Th' ould man had no more sproil [5] nor a babby, an' had pretty nigh lost hes mouth-speech, but he beckons Sam to the bed, and whispers— "' Sam, you've a-been a gude sarvent to me.' "'Gude maasters makes gude sarvents,' says Sam, an' falls to cryin' bitterly. "'You'm down i' my will,' says the Commodore, 'so you've no call to take on so. But look 'ee here, Sam; there's wan thing more I wants 'ee to do for your old maaster. I've a-been a Wanderin' Jewel all my life,' says he, '—wanderer 'pon the face o' the earth, like—like—' "'Cain,' says Sam. "'Well, not azackly. Hows'ever, you an' me, Sam, have a-been like Jan Tresize's geese, never happy unless they be where they bain't, an' that's the truth. An' now,' says he, 'I've a-tuk a consait I'd like my ould bones to be carr'd home to Carne, an' laid to rest 'long wi' my haveage. [6] All the Trounces have a-been berried in Carne Churchyard, Sam, an' I'm thinkin' I'd like to go back to mun, like the Prodigious Son. So what I wants 'ee to do es this:—When I be dead an' gone, you mus' get a handy box made, so's I shall carry aisy, an' take me back to England. You'll find plenty o' money for the way i' the skivet [7] o' my chest there, i' the corner.' "''Tes a brave long way from here to England,' says Sam. "'I knaws what you be thinkin' 'bout,' says the Commodore. 'You'm reckonin' I'll spile on the way. But I don't mean 'ee to go by say. You mus' take me 'cross the bay an' then ship aboard a train, as'll take 'ee dro Seville, an' Madrid, an' Paris, to Dover. 'Tes a fast train,' says he, 'as trains go i' these parts; but I'm doubtin' ef et starts ivery day or only dree times a week. I reckon, tho', ef you finds out, I can manage so's my dyin' shan't interfere wi' that.' "Well, Sam was forced to promise, an' the Commodore seemed mighty relieved, an' lay still while Sam read to 'n out o' the books that th' ould man had by 'n. There was the Bible, and the Pellican's Progress, an' Philip Quarles, an' Hannah Snell, the female sodger. Sam read a bit from each, an' when he comes to that part about Christ'n crossing the river, th' ould man sets up sudden an' calls, 'Land, Sam, land! Fetch a glass, lad!'—just like that, sir; an' wi' that falls back dead. "Well, sir, Sam was 'most out o' hes wits, fust along, for grief to lose hes maaster; but he warn't the man to go back 'pon hes word. So he loses no time, but, bein' a handy man, rigs up a wooden chest wi' the help o' a ship's carpenter, an' a tin case to ship into this, an' dresses up the Commodore inside, an' nails 'un down proper; an' wi'in twenty-four hours puts across in a boat, 'long wi' hes charge, for to catch the train. "He hadn' barely set foot on shore, an' was givin' orders about carryin' the chest up to the stashun, un' thinkin' 'pon the hollerness o' earthly ways, as was nat'ral, when up steps a chap in highly-coloured breeches an' axes 'un ef he'd anything to declare. "Sam had disremembered all 'bout the Customs, you see, sir. "Hows'ever, et mou't ha' been all right, on'y Sam, though he could tackle the lingo a bit—just enough to get along wi' on a journey, that es—suddenly found that he disknowledged the Spanish for 'corpse.' He found out, sir, afore the day was out; but just now he looks at the chap i' the colour'd breeches and says— "'No, I ha'nt.' "'What's i' that box?' says the chap. "Now this was azackly what Sam cudn' tell 'un; so, for lack of anything better, he says— "'What's that to you?' "'I reckon I must ha' that chest open,' says the chap. "'I reckon you'll be sorry ef you do,' says Sam. "'Tell me what's inside, then.' "'Why, darn your Spanish eyes!' cries Sam, 'can't 'ee see I be tryin' to think 'pon the word for corpse?' "But the chap cudn', of cou'se; so he called another in breeches just as gay as hes own, on'y stripier; and then for up ten minutes 'twas Dover to pay, all talkers an' no listeners. I reckon 'twas as Sal said to the Frenchman, 'The less you talks, the better I understands 'ee.' But Sam's blud were up by this time. Hows'ever, nat'rally he was forced to gi'e way, and they tuk the box into the Custom House, an' sent for hammer an' screw-driver. "'Seems to me,' says the chap, prizin' the lid open a bit, an' snifnn', 'et smells oncommon like sperrits.' "'I'm thinkin',' says Sam, ef you'd been kep' goin' on brandy-an'-milk for a week an' more, you'd smell like sperrits.' "'I guess 'tes sperrits,' says wan. "'Or 'baccy,' says anuther. "'Or furrin fruits,' says a third. "'Well, you'm wrong,' says Sam, ''cos 'tes a plain British Commodore; an' I reckon ef you taxes that sort o' import, you dunno what's good for 'ee.' "At las', sir, they prizes open the chest an' the tin case, an' there, o' cou'se, lay th' ould man, sleepin' an' smilin' so paiceful-like he looked ha'f a Commodore an' ha'f a cherry-bun." "I suppose you mean 'cherubim,' Caleb?" corrected Mr. Fogo. "I s'pose I do, sir; tho' I reckon th' ould man seemed happier than he were, havin' been a 'nation scamp in hes young days, an' able to swear to the las' so's t'wud pretty nigh fetch the mortar out'n a brick wall. Hows'ever, that's not to the p'int here. "Aw, sir, you may fancy how them poor ign'rant furriners left that Custom House. Sam told me arterwards 'twere like shellin' peas— spakin' in pinafores—" "Metaphors," said Mr. Fogo. "That's et—met-afores. Anyway, they jest fetched a yell, an' then went, sir. I guess Sam knawed the Spanish for 'corpse' afore they was gone. In less 'n a minnit not a pair o' coloured breeches cud you find, not ef you wanted them fancy articles ever so. Sam chuckles a bit to hissel', fas'ens down the lid so well as he cud, h'ists the Commodore aboard a wheelbarrer, an' trundles 'un off to the train. "He cotches the train jest as 'twere startin', an' sails away in a fust-class carr'ge all to hissel', wi' the Commodore laid 'long the seat opposite; 'for,' said Sam, 'drat expense when a fun'ral's goin'!' An' all the way he chuckles an' grins to hissel', to think o' the start he'd gi'ed they Custom House rascals; an' at las' he gets that tickled he's bound to lie back an' fairly hurt hissel' wi' laffin'. "I reckon, tho', he laffed a bit too early; for jest then the train slowed down, and pulled up at a stashun. Sam looked out an' saw a dapper little man a-bustlin' up an' down the platform, like a bee in a bottle, an' pryin' into the carr'ge windeys same as ef the train were a peep-show. Presently he opens the door of Sam's compartment, an' axes, holdin' up a tellygram— "'Be you the party as es travellin' wi' a dead man?' "He spoke i' Spanish, o' cou'se, sir; but, not knowin' the tongue, I tells et to you in English." "I had guessed that to be the reason," replied Mr. Fogo. "Well, Sam were a bit tuk aback, but he answers— "'Iss, I be. Why?' "'Want 'un berried?' "'Why, no, not partic'lar. Sooner or later, o' cou'se; but, thank'ee all the same, I'm thinkin' to do et a bit furder on.' "'Then,' says the dapper man, 'I'll trouble you to hand over the berryin' fees for this parish.' "'But I baint goin' to berry deceased i' this parish.' "'That don't matter. Ef a corpse has use o' this parish, he's got to pay fees.' "'How's that?' "'Why, a corpse es dead,' says the chap; 'you'll allow that, I s'pose?' "'Iss,' says Sam, 'I reckon I'll allow that.' "'An' ef a corpse es i' this parish, he's dead i' this parish?' "'Likely he es,' admits Sam. "'Well, 'cordin' to law, anybody dead i' this parish es boun' to be berried i' this parish, an' therefore to pay fees,' says the man; 'and now I hopes you'll hand over the money, 'cos the train's waitin'.' "Sam was for a raisin' a rumpus, an' gathered a crowd roun' the door; but they all sided wi' the dapper man, and said 'twas Spaniards' law, an' ef he wudn' pay, he must get out an' berry the Commodore there an' then. So he gi'ed in and pulled out the money, an' off they starts, the dapper man standin' an' bowin' 'pon the platform. "Well, Sam leant back an' ciphered et out, an' cudn' see the sense o't. 'But,' says he, 'when you'm in Turkey you do as the Turkeys do, 'cordin' to the proverb, so I guess 'tes all right; an' ef et 'pears wrong, 'tes on'y that I bain't used to travellin' wi' corpses;' an' wi' that he settles down an' goes to sleep. "He hadn' been long sleepin' when the train pulls up agen, an' arter a minnit in comes anuther chap wi' a tellygram. "'Deceased?' axes the chap, pointin' to the chest. "'Mod'rately,' says Sam. "'Wants berryin' p'raps?' says the chap. "'I reckon he'll hold on a bit longer.' "'Next parish, likely?' "'Why, iss,' says Sam, 'or next arter that.' "'Ah, what et es to be rich!' says the man, kind o' envious-like. "'What do 'ee mean by that?' Sam axes. "'Niver mind,' answers the man. ''Twarn't no bus'ness o' mines. Wud 'ee kindly hand me the fees for this parish?' "Well, Sam argeys the matter agen, but i' the end he pays up: 'Tho',' says he, 'I'd a notion travellin' were costly afore this, but darn me! you've got to be dead afore you sizes et. I've heerd as a man can't take nuthin' out o' this world, but blest ef I iver got the grip o' that tex' till I travelled i' Spain.' "Well, sir, purty soon the same thing happened agen, an', to shorten the yarn, ivery time they got into a new parish an' pulled up, in walked a chap wi' a tellygram an' axed for berryin'-fees. Luckily, there was money to pay mun, for the Commodore had left a bravish sum for travellin' expenses, and by-'m-by Sam begins to take a sort o' pride in pullin' out hes purse. "'Talk 'bout fun'rals!' says he, 'I reckon this es suthin' like. Adm'ral Nelson! why, Adm'ral Nelson didn' cost ha'f so much! An' you ain't but a Commodore,' says he. 'Devil fly away wi' 'ee, maaster, but so long as the coin lasts Sam won't cry 'Woa!'' "The words warn't fairly out o' hes mouth, sir, when the train draws up, an' in steps another man. He comed in so quiet that Sam didn' see 'un at first; but when he turned roun', there was the man standin' an' starin' at 'un. 'Twas a strange-looking party, dressed i' black—a better-most body, like. "'Aw, good eveling!' says Sam. "'Good eveling,' says the man i' black, an' nods t'wards the chest. 'How's deceased?' "'Gettin' a bit costly,' answers Sam, 'but doin' purty well, consederin'. You'm wantin' more fees, I reckon'; an' wi' that he dives hes hand into hes trowsy-pocket. "'I don't want no fees,' says the man. "Sam was knacked 'pon a heap wi' this. "'Well, then, you'm the fust man I've a-met in Spain as doesn',' he says. "That ain't onlikely,' says the man; and Sam noticed for the fust time that he'd a-been speakin' English all along. 'I be a-travellin', same as you,' he adds. "'You'll 'scuse me, sir, but this compartment es resarved.' "'That's a pity,' says the stranger, ''cos the train's a-started.' "So 'twas. Sam hadn' a-noticed et, but they was movin' on. Hows'ever, he detarmined to make the best o't; so he ups and says, perlite-like— "'Terrable hot weather this, ain't et, sir?' Somehow et seemed to Sam as ef et had got hotter sence the stranger comed in. "'I don't feel so mighty hot,' says the man. 'But there, I've a-been a gude deal in hot countries. How's deceased takin' the journey?' says he. "'He ain't complainin'; but, then, in life he warn't a complainin' sort. Aw, sir, but a man must be over-nice ef a fun'ral like thes don't satisfy 'n. Phew! but 'tes awful!' "'What's awful?' "'The heat,' answers Sam, moppin' his forehead; 'but I s'pose you'm a traveller, an' 'customed to heat.' "'Why, iss,' says t'other, 'I do travel a purty passel to an' fro 'pon th' earth. Few folks travels more'n me.' "Well, et kep' gettin' hotter an' hotter; an' Sam cussed an' mopped, an' mopped an' cussed, an' all the time the stranger were cool an' aisy. He kep' axin', too, 'bout th' ould Commodore an' hes past life, an' 'peared to take interes' in Sam, an' altogither seemed a proper gen'l'm'n. An' all the time et kep' gettin' hotter an' hotter, till Sam were fairly runnin' to waste wi' sweatin'. At las' he pops hes head out'n the windey for fresh air, an' cries out— "'Hulloa! here's a stashun.' "Well, the train pulls up, an' Sam says to the stranger— "'Look 'ee here. Wud 'ee mind keepin' your eye 'pon th' ould man while I runs out to get a drink? I reckoned I knawed thirst afore this,' he says, 'but I were mistook.' "The stranger was very willin', and away Sam goes. "He warn't away more'n a minnit; but when he comes back an' takes a look at the platform, my! Sir! there warn't no trace of the train to be seen—not a vestment. You see, they don't blaw no whissle in Spain when the train goes; an' there was poor Sam left stranded. "Well, he tellygrafs o' cou'se to the nex' stashun, an' in less 'n an hour back comes an answer to say as they searched the train when et stopped, an' there warn't no corpse there, nor chest, nor nuthin'. An' ef you'll believe me, sir," concluded Caleb, bending forward and touching his master's knee, "th' ould Commodore ha'n't niver been found fro' that day to this. Et 'most broke Sam's heart; an', as he said to me wan time, 'For all I knaws 'twas the devil; and for all I knaws th' ould maaster be travellin' roun' Spain to this day; but ef so,' says he, 'I reckon by this time he's like Patty Ward's pig—no lavender.'" "That's a very curious tale," said Mr. Fogo, as Caleb leant back in the window-seat and awaited its effect. "'Tes so true, sir, as I'm here—or so Sam used to say. An' the moral goes agen talkin' lightly o' what a man don't understand," he added reflectively. "But forebodin' es so bad as witch-craf', an' 'tes more'n likely they won't come to-night; but if they does, 'tes on'y fair to ax mun who they be dree times afore firin'. What's fair for man es fair—" He broke off and clutched his master by the arm. "Look, sir—look!" About the deck of the old schooner a shaft of light was dancing fitfully—now here, now there, up and down—and all without visible source or guidance. The two watchers leapt to their feet and peered out at the window. The strange brilliance flickered to and fro, falling even on the further bank, and threading with a line of yellow the silver-grey of the moonlight. Then it ceased suddenly. Caleb and his master waited breathlessly. Half a minute passed without further sign. Then they heard a light splash or two, and Mr. Fogo pointed frantically at the line of the moon's reflection on the creek. "There! Look—the boat!" Caleb whipped the blunderbuss up to his shoulder and shouted— "Who be 'ee? Darn 'ee, here goes—wan, two, dree, all to wanst!" He pulled the trigger. A tongue of flame leapt forth and burst upon the night with a terrific explosion; and as Caleb fell backwards with the shock, the clumsy engine slipped from his fingers and fell with a clatter upon Mr. Fogo's instep. When the pair recovered and looked forth again, the echoes had died away, and once more the night was tranquil. <blockquote class="footnote"> [1] A monotonous chant or burthen. (return) [2] A fiddler. (return) [3] Thick-set. (return) [4] Stout. (return) [5] Strength. (return) [6] Kin. (return) [7] A concealed compartment or drawer. (return) </blockquote>   <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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