Bruce Alexander - Smuggler's Moon

“It sounds bad,” said he.

“It is bad.”

“Well, as it happens, we’ll be leaving here on the morning tide on a run down through the Channel, to Cornwall and return, just as a test voyage, as you might say. Sir John’s asked that I bring you and a pair of his Bow Street Runners with us to Gravesend. I can do that with no trouble at all. He says that he’ll meet us there, for he has something to discuss with me which he’d prefer not to commit to paper. Do you have any idea what that’s about, Jeremy?”

“None at all,” said I.

“Hmmm, well, I’ll find out when we get there, I suppose. In the meantime, you’d like to talk to Bunkins, would you?”

“I would.”

“He’s belowdecks. Go find him. He’ll show you round the vessel. I do believe that he’s as proud of the Indian Princess as I am.”

I took my leave of him and went, as I’d been told, to search out Jimmie B.

Finding him offered no difficulty; keeping him was quite another matter. He was overseeing the finishing touches to be put upon the cabins belowdecks and seemed to be taking his responsibilities every bit as seriously as his cove. And so likewise did he use the same devices upon those doing the work. He railed at some and encouraged others, shook his finger at some and patted others upon the back. Yet it was all taken in good stead, and the work continued at the same furious pace below as on deck.

As Bunkins called the attention of one of the carpenters to a bit of indifferent sanding, I interrupted with a hand upon his shoulder. He whirled about, ready for anything (like the street boy he once had been), but then, recognizing me, he relaxed, laughing, and pushed my hat down over my face.

“Well, Jeremy, how’s my old chum?”

“Right as rain,” said I. ”The cove said you’d show me round the boat.”

“Ship, Jeremy, ship,” he instructed me. ”Vessel, you might say, but it’s never a boat. A sloop’s just too big to be called so.”

“I stand corrected,” said I. It was seldom that Bunkins had the opportunity to put me in the right on matters of proper usage, and it did seem to me that he was belaboring the matter a bit.

“That’s as the cove says, anyways.”

“Ah, yes, well … ahem,” said I, waiting.

He looked at me oddly for a moment, but then the light in his eyes rekindled, and he gave a great, loud laugh.

“You’re waiting for me to show you ‘round down here, an’t you?”

“Well … yes. That is, Mr. Bilbo said …”

”True, but he didn’t know how much more we still got to do down here.”

“Another time, then?”

“Whenever you’re next aboard.”

“That’ll be tomorrow. I’m going to passenger down to Gravesend on the Indian Princess with a couple of the Bow Street Runners.”

“We’ll do it then, I swear.”

And saying thus, he raised his right hand and placed his left over his heart, making it official.

He was as good as his word; that next day, he took me on a quick tour belowdecks immediately as I again set foot upon the Indian Princess. I had come, as I had promised, in company with constables Bailey and Patley. They, who had packed light, tossed the little they had into one of the cabins and went above to await our departure. It was then that Bunkins grabbed me by the wrist and began showing me cabin after cabin, far more than I had expected.

“We put in four extra,” he explained. ”That’s what all that work was yesterday-trying to get them done proper before we sailed.”

The gun deck, where the crew slept, was correspondingly smaller. But then, as Bunkins explained, not so many would be needed to man the sloop if it were to be used for pleasure. As it was, the crew which would take the Indian Princess on its test run was hardly more than it would take to sail a yacht.

“Just a few who sailed with Mr. Bilbo in the old days,” said Bunkins. ”They’re off together on a lark.”

It remained for me to inquire about the gun ports. I had noticed that they had not been sealed, but rather, had been fixed with hinged doors, so that they might still be put to their original use.

“That’s a sort of secret,” said he. ”Keep a dubber mum, will you, chum?”

I promised that I would indeed keep a dubber mum.

There was a bit of a creak from below, another from above, and then there was a curious feeling of floating free; we were launched-afloat in the Thames.

“Come, Jeremy, let’s up and out and watch all London go by!”

And that was what we did, hanging out over the gunwale, near the prow of the ship. A light wind touched our faces, giving to me the feeling that we were hurtling along at a very high rate of speed; whereas we were moving at little more than the speed of the current. Still and all, the buildings and roads on the shore along the way seemed absolutely to flash by at a rate much faster than that achieved by any horse-drawn conveyance.

A few watermen in their boats deigned to wave us a greeting. We waved back most enthusiastically. I know not why-perhaps it was no more than the face of one of the watermen which reminded me-but my thoughts were carried back in an instant to him I had met the day before in Mr. Bilbo’s gaming club. I decided to ask Bunkins about him.

“Jimmie B,” said I. ”I chased about a good long while, looking for you and your cove. And the last place I looked before I came to Wapping was the club in Mayfair.”

“Yes?” said he. ”What about it?”

“Well, there was a cod there, he was helpful enough, told me where to go to find you, but there was something about him …”

“Something you didn’t much care for?”

“Well … yes, that’s right.”

“That’d be Mr. Slade, and truth to tell, I don’t care for him much myself.”

“What’s he doing there? Does he work for Mr. Bilbo?”

“No. You know the cove, he don’t talk much about his business, or his plans for the future, or any such matters, but he’s let it out that this here Mr. Slade has made an offer to buy the gaming club.”

“To buy it? I didn’t know it was for sale. I mean, what’s Mr. Bilbo say about it? Does he want to sell?”

“He says he’s thinking it over.” Bunkins sighed. ”He must take it pretty seriously, though. He’s given him the run of the club whilst we’re gone, so he can see how it works.” He shook his head in a gesture of disapproval. ”I’ll tell you, Jeremy, there’s a lot going on that I don’t understand, but I’ve got the feeling that there’s some big changes coming.” He looked distinctly unhappy.

Neither of us knew his future, and that put a pall upon the present. Even though it was great fun to see London and its eastern villages scattered out along the riverbanks, it did not seem enough to raise our spirits. Yet we entertained ourselves by pointing out each to the other various oddities and curiosities viewed along the way. Thus we passed our time during the comparatively short voyage downriver to Gravesend. There the great river had widened and deepened to the extent that it was possible for Mr. Bilbo, who served as helmsman, to steer in close to shore and drop anchor. Bunkins was called upon to oversee this, and I realized what should have been clear to me yesterday: that he had picked up a good deal of maritime lore and practice and would probably learn more on this voyage and on others like it.

Along the riverbank I caught sight of a hackney coach thundering up the riverside road to meet us. The coach-or perhaps the team of horses-looked familiar to me, as indeed they should have. Yet I could only be sure of who was inside when it stopped and Mick Crawly climbed down to assist Sir John from the interior of the coach. The magistrate jumped down, as he usually did, but Mick was on hand to steady him and made sure he did not fall.