FullReads

“Well, I can’t miss all the fun,” said she at last: and so, having laid supper for him, and put the jug where he could find it and draw his cider, she clapped on her hat and strolled out.

He heard her shut-to the front door, and still he went on stitching. When the dusk began to fall he lit a candle, fetched himself a jugful of cider, and went back to his work. For all the notice Sal was ever likely to take of his perversity, he might just as well have stepped out into the streets and enjoyed himself: but he was wrought up into that mood in which a man will hurt himself for the sake of having a grievance. All the while he stitched he kept thinking, “Look at me here, galling my fingers to the bone, and that careless fly-by-night wife o’ mine carousin’ and gallivantin’ down at the ‘Sailor’s Return’! Maybe she’ll be sorry for it when I’m dead and gone; but at present if there’s an injured, misunderstood poor mortal in Saltash Town, I’m that man.” So he went on, until by and by, above the noise of the drum and cymbals outside the penny theatre, and the hurdy-gurdies, and the showmen bawling down by the waterside, he heard voices yelling and a rush of folks running down the street past his door. He knew they had been baiting a bull in a field at the head of the town, and, the thought coming into his head that the animal must have broken loose, he hopped off his bench, ran fore to the front door, and peeked his head out cautious-like.

What does he see coming down the street in the dusk but half a dozen sailor-men with an officer in charge! Of course he knew the meaning of it at once. ‘Twas a press-gang off one of the ships in Hamoaze or the Sound, that was choosing Regatta Night to raid the streets and had landed at the back of the town and climbed over the hill to take the crowds by surprise. They’d made but a poor fist of this, by reason of the officer letting his gang get out of hand at the start; and by their gait ’twas pretty plain they had collared a plenty of liquor up the street. But while Hancock peeped out, taking stock of them, a nasty monkey-notion crept into his head, and took hold of all his spiteful little nature; and says he, pushing the door a bit wider as the small officer–he was little taller than a midshipman–came swearing by:

“Beg your pardon, Sir!”

“You’d best take in your head and close the door upon it,” snaps the little officer. “These fools o’ mine have got their shirts out, and are liable to make mistakes to-night.”

“What, me?–a poor tailor with a hackin’ cough!” But to himself: “So much the better,” he says, and up he speaks again. “Beggin’ your pardon humbly, Commander; but I might put you in the way of the prettiest haul. There’s a gang of chaps enjoyin’ theirselves down at the ‘Sailor’s Return,’ off the Quay, and not a ‘protection’ among them. Fine lusty fellows, too! They might give your men a bit of trouble to start with–“

“Why are you telling me this?” the officer interrupts, suspicious-like.

“That’s my affair,” says Hancock boldly, seeing that he nibbled. “Put it down to love o’ my country, if you like; and take my advice or leave it, just as you please. I’m not asking for money, so you won’t be any the poorer.”

“Off the Quay, did you say? Has the house a Quay-door?”

“It has: but you needn’t to trouble about that. They can’t escape that way, I promise you, having no boat alongside.”

The little officer turned and whispered for a while with two of the soberest of his gang: and presently these whispered to two more, and the four of them marched away up the hill.