The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook

“They’re not soldiers, after all,” replied Nancy; “they are jollies—a sergeant and two privates.”

“Jollies! what are they?”

“Why, marines, to be sure.”

Joey continued looking at them until they passed under the window, when Nancy, who had a great disgust at anything like arbitrary power, could not refrain from speaking.

“I say, master sergeant, you’re a nice brave fellow, with your two jollies. D’ye think the young man will kill you all three, that you must put the darbies on so tight?”

At this appeal, the sergeant and privates looked up at the window, and laughed when they saw such a pretty girl as Nancy. The eyes of one of the privates were, however, soon fixed on our hero’s face, and deeply scrutinising it, when Joey looked at him. As soon as Joey recognised him, he drew back from the window, pale as death, the private still remaining staring at the window.

“Why, what’s the matter, Peter?” said Nancy; “what makes you look so pale? do you know that man?”

“Yes,” replied Joey, drawing his breath, “and he knows me, I’m afraid.”

“Why do you fear?” replied Nancy.

“See if he’s gone,” said Joey.

“Yes, he has; he has gone up the street with the sergeant; but every now and then he looks back at this window; but perhaps that’s to see me.”

“Why, Peter, what harm can that marine do you?” inquired Mrs Chopper.

“A great deal; he will never be quiet until he has me taken up, and then what will become of my poor father?” continued Joey, with the tears running down his cheeks.

“Give me my bonnet, Peter. I’ll soon find out what he is after,” said Nancy, leaving the window. She threw her bonnet on her head, and ran downstairs.

Mrs Chopper in vain endeavoured to console our hero, or make him explain—he did nothing but sit mournfully by her side, thinking what he had best do, and expecting every minute to hear the tramp of Furness (for it was he who had recognised Joey) coming up the stairs.

“Mrs Chopper,” at last said Joey, “I must leave you, I’m afraid; I was obliged to leave my former friends on this man’s account.”

“Leave me, boy! no, no, you must not leave me—how could I get on without you?”

“If I don’t leave you myself, I shall be taken up, that is certain; but indeed I have not done wrong—don’t think that I have.”

“I’m sure of it, child; you’ve only to say so, and I’ll believe you; but why should he care about you?”

“He lived in our village, and knows all about it; he gave evidence at—”

“At what, boy?”

“At the time that I ran away from home; he proved that I had the gun and bag which were found.”

“Well, and suppose you had; what then?”

“Mrs Chopper, there was a reward offered, and he wants to get the money.”

“Oh, I see now—a reward offered; then it must be as Nancy said, there was blood shed,” and Mrs Chopper put her apron up to her eyes.

Joey made no answer. After a few minutes’ silence he rose, and went to his room where he slept, and put his clothes up in a bundle. Having so done, he sat down on the side of his bed and reflected what was the course he ought to pursue.

Our hero was now sixteen, and much increased in stature; he was no longer a child, although, in heart, almost as innocent. His thoughts wandered—he yearned to see his father and mother, and reflected whether he might not venture back to the village, and meet them by stealth; he thought of the McShanes, and imagined that he might in the same way return to them; then little Emma Phillips rose in his imagination, and his fear that he should never see her again; Captain O’Donahue was at last brought to his recollection, and he longed to be once more with him in Russia; and, lastly, he reviewed the happy and contented life he had lately led with his good friend Mrs Chopper, and how sorry he should be to part with her. After a time he threw himself on his bed and hid his face in the pillow; and, overcome with the excess of his feelings, he at last fell asleep.

In the mean time Nancy had followed the marines up the street, and saw them enter, with their prisoner, into a small public-house, where she was well known; she followed them, spoke a few kind words to the seaman who had been apprehended, and with whom she was acquainted, and then sat down by Furness to attract his attention.

Furness had certainly much improved in his appearance since he had (much against his will) been serving his Majesty. Being a tall man, he had, by drilling, become perfectly erect, and the punishment awarded to drunkenness, as well as the difficulty of procuring liquor, had kept him from his former intemperance, and his health had in consequence improved. He had been more than once brought up to the gangway upon his first embarkation, but latterly had conducted himself properly, and was in expectation of being made a corporal, for which situation his education certainly qualified him. On the whole, he was now a fine-looking marine, although just as unprincipled a scoundrel as ever.

“Well, my pretty lass, didn’t I see you looking out of a window just now?”

“To be sure you did, and you might have heard me too,” replied Nancy; “and when I saw such a handsome fellow as you, didn’t I put on my bonnet in a hurry, and come after you? What ship do you belong to?”

“The Mars, at the Nore.”

“Well, I should like to go on board of a man-of-war. Will you take me?”

“To be sure I will; come, have a drink of beer.”

“Here’s to the jollies,” said Nancy, putting the pewter pot to her lips. “When do you go on board again?”

“Not till to-morrow; we’ve caught our bird, and now we’ll amuse ourselves a little. Do you belong to this place?”

“Yes, bred and born here; but we hardly ever see a man-of-war; they stay at the Nore, or go higher up.”

Nancy did all she could to make Furness believe she had taken a fancy to him, and knew too well how to succeed. Before an hour had passed, Furness had, as he thought, made every arrangement with her, and congratulated himself on his good fortune. In the mean time the beer and brandy went round; even the unfortunate captive was persuaded to drink with them, and drown reflection. At last, Furness said to Nancy, “Who was that lad that was looking out of the window with you? Was it your brother?”

“My brother! bless you, no. You mean that scamp, Peter, who goes in the bumboat with old Mother Chopper.”

“Does he?—well, I have either seen him before, or some one like him.”

“He’s not of our town,” replied Nancy; “he came here about two years ago, nobody knows where from, and has been with Mrs Chopper ever since.”

“Two years ago,” muttered Furness, “that’s just the time. Come, girl, take some more beer.”

Nancy drank a little, and put down the pot.

“Where does Mrs Chopper live?” inquired Furness.

“Where you saw me looking out of the window,” replied Nancy.

“And the boy lives with her? I will call upon Mrs Chopper by-and-bye.”

“Yes, to be sure he does; but why are you talking so about the boy? Why don’t you talk to me, and tell me what a pretty girl I am, for I like to be told that.”

Furness and his comrades continued the carouse, and were getting fast into a state of intoxication; the sergeant only was prudent; but Furness could not let pass this opportunity of indulging without fear of punishment. He became more loving towards Nancy as he became more tipsy; when Nancy, who cajoled him to the utmost of her power, again mentioned our hero; and then it was that Furness, who, when inebriated, could never hold a secret, first told her there was a reward offered for his apprehension, and that if she would remain with him they would spend the money together. To this Nancy immediately consented, and offered to assist him as much as she could, as she had the entrance into Mrs Chopper’s house, and knew where the lad slept. But Nancy was determined to gain more from Furness, and as he was now pretty far gone, she proposed that they should take a walk out, for it was a beautiful evening. Furness gladly consented. Nancy again explained to him how she should manage to get Joey into her power, and appeared quite delighted at the idea of there being a reward, which they were to obtain; and finding that Furness was completely deceived, and that the fresh air had increased his inebriety, she then persuaded him to confide to her all the circumstances connected with the reward offered for our hero’s apprehension. She then learned what had occurred at the inquest—Joey’s escape—his being again discovered by Furness—and his second escape from the school, to which he had been put by the McShanes.

“And his father and mother, where are they? When I think of them I must say that I do not much like to assist in taking up the boy. Poor people, how they will suffer when they hear of it? Really I don’t know what to say,” continued Nancy, biting the tip of her finger, as if hesitating.

“Don’t let them stop you,” said Furness; “they will not be likely even to hear of it; they left the village before me, and no one knows where they are gone. I tried to find out myself, but could not. It’s very clear that they are gone to America.”