Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 2).djvu/372

 "I do not see him," I exclaimed, casting my gaze around.

"Why, ye can't be so blind as all that!" cried the stout, red-faced man in a noisy, roaring, yet greasy voice, which he followed on with a succession of hearty chuckles.

"I want to see the captain," said I, feeling much too hot and tired to be made a fool of by a rough, shapeless, red-faced lump of a man such as was he who gazed at me out of a pair of little weak, moist blue eyes, set in the midst of a countenance as round and inflamed as the newly-risen November moon at its full.

"I am the captain," said he.

"What is your name?" said I, approaching him.

"Captain Timothy Punch," he answered; "what is your business, sir?"

I informed him that I had taken a passage in the Biddy McDougal for England.

"Oh, you're the gent!" he cried, and his manner immediately became respectful. "You'll excuse me for not rising. I'm full up, flush to the hatches with gout, and pain ain't going to improve the manners of a plain sailor. If I'm a bit rough in my speech, you'll excuse me. What can I offer ye, sir?"

"Nothing, I thank you."

"A ship's fok'sle was my college," he continued, giving expression to his enjoyment of the matter of his speech by a succession of oily chuckles, "and I comes from a rough stock, sir. Ye may have heard of the famous Captain John Punch, him as was a terror to all wrong-doers down in the West Indian waters. He couldn't read or write, but he was a captain in the Royal Navy for all that, as you may h'ascertain by consulting the Admiralty lists of his day. His not being able to write was nothen; but his not being able to read was a bit inconvenient now and again; as, for instance, when he was sent away under sealed orders, or when he'd get an official letter marked 'confidential,' the inside of which he was to keep strictly secret."

He was proceeding, but I cut the garrulous old gentleman short.

"I may take it," said I, "that there has been a fresh captain appointed to this ship since I visited her a few days ago?"

"You may take it," he noisily wheezed, "that the captain of this ship is Timothy Punch. He brought the Biddy McDougal out, and he's going to take the Biddy McDougal home."

I viewed him with astonishment, but held my tongue, never doubting that the "Mr. Wilson" whom I had met, and who might have happened to be on board as a guest, or as a sightseer, when I arrived, had entertained himself at my expense by a deliberate lie.

Captain Punch again apologised for not being able to rise, yet made an effort to stir in his chair for no other purpose, however, that I could see than to force a groan that sounded like an execration. He told me that my private stock of wine and the other matters I had laid in were safely housed in the berth adjoining mine, a berth that was unoccupied, and was therefore at my service, as well as the cabin I had paid for. Nevertheless, I went below to make sure. In the cabin I found a young fellow cleaning some glasses.

"Are you the steward?" said I.

"I waits upon the captain," he answered.

"The captain?" I exclaimed.

"Captain Punch, sir," said he.

"Then it is all right so far as Punch goes," thought I; "and that fellow Wilson—if I should happen to meet him!"

"Is there a regular steward?" said I.

"I does all the waiting at this here table," answered the young fellow.

On this I told him that I was the passenger, bade him see that my cabin was clean and comfortable and in readiness for me, slipped a few rupees into his hand, and, after looking at my purchases, returned on deck.

The captain told me that the ship would certainly sail on the following Wednesday, at some hour in the forenoon, and bade me be on board not later than nine.

"We ought to ha' got away three weeks ago," he exclaimed. "It's all along of the Rangoon port authorities, as they call themselves. Every snivelling creature whose dirty little soul is wropped up in a white hide is a boss in this here flaming country, and the more snivelling he is, and the dirtier the little soul what's wropped up in him is, the more aggrevatingly does he go to work in his bossing jobs. Punch knows 'em. They've got Punch's hump up often enough, and lucky it is for these here port authorities that Punch ain't no longer the man he was;" and here he looked at his immense gouty fists, then fastened his eyes significantly upon his bloated, seemingly helpless knees.

I sent my baggage to the ship on the Tuesday afternoon, and at nine o'clock on