The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 41

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--brus.h.i.+n' hes clothes, an' s.h.i.+nin' 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 s.h.i.+p 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 gla.s.s, 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 s.h.i.+p's carpenter, an' a tin case to s.h.i.+p 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 sh.e.l.lin' 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-cla.s.s 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?'