The Golden Ocean. Patrick O’Brian

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СКАЧАТЬ then more slowly through the real business of the fair, the long lines where grooms led and ran horses up and down before the gaze of knowing, horse-faced men; and so, forgetting his vexation, he drifted on to the blue booth where a shanachy was telling a story, accompanying himself with twangs on a harp, fierce or pathetic as the matter required.

      He had seen everything, and two races more, including the last, when it occurred to him that he might find Sean over where the dancing was, and the pipes. But though he scanned the rings of dancers in the ceilidhe, admiring their steps, he saw nothing of Sean; nor did he find him at the big enclosure for the wrestling; and now that the main events of the day were done the shebeens with their whiskey were beginning their trade and already there were men drunk on the ground. Yet it would have been strange if Peter had not been used to that; and tranquilly avoiding two fights and a small riot he made his way slowly back to the inn.

      It took him some time to find it, for there were more people than he had ever seen in the world quite filling the streets, and everywhere there was the confusing babble of voices, English and all the accents of Irish and even the dark speech of some horse-dealing strangers; but suddenly he was facing the open door of the courtyard, and right in front of him were his two missing followers.

      ‘Listen, Peter a gradh,’ said Sean, much agitated; ‘listen, you’ll not be angry now?’

      ‘Why would I be angry, Sean?’ asked Peter, frowning and staring after Liam’s hurrying back.

      ‘Sure my uncle’s the great judge of a horse,’ said Sean. ‘It is in his nature to judge them with skill.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Peter, doubting the worst.

      ‘And there was this grand spotted horse as tall as a church,’ said Sean, ‘and he, regarding its legs and considering their strength, said the horse could run faster than the others. And sure it ran like the wind.’

      ‘Did it, Sean?’ cried Peter, brightening. ‘But there was another ran faster, maybe?’

      ‘Not at all, not at all. My uncle Liam was right and the great spotted horse ran—it flew, never touching the earth. The other horses, you would have said it was assess they were, barely creeping along.’

      ‘Well then?’

      ‘But—you’ll never be furious now, nor wicked?—they crept in the right direction, while the great spotted horse went away through the crowd to the river, for he scorned to compete with them, and the little jockey-boy sawing at the bridle in vain in vain. They are probably in the County Tyrone by now.’

      ‘Did he lose a great deal, Sean?’ asked Peter.

      ‘He did not,’ said Sean: but from something in his manner Peter took no comfort from his words, and after a second Sean went on, ‘He could not, indeed: at that time he lost nothing at all, the way he had—but you’ll not grow outrageous? Sure you’ll be kind to my uncle and he brokenhearted?’

      ‘Sean,’ said Peter, laying his hand on his arm, ‘you’ll not tell me that they had his pocket picked?’ In that moment Peter had divined the fact; and as if Sean had replied he went on, ‘And yet it was hung round his neck.’

      ‘He had brought it out to be flashing the gold,’ said Sean.

      ‘Well—’ said Peter; but instead of finishing his remark he took a turn up and down the yard.

      ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘there is only the one thing to do. On the eighteenth day of this month I must be in Cork: there is no time to go back, and besides my poor dear father—no, what we must do is to sell Liam’s horse; and I believe that if we find the right man and you ride with care to show him to his best advantage, the creature, we may get two guineas perhaps. It is a grave step to take—why, Sean, what’s the matter?’

      ‘Gone,’ whispered Sean. ‘Pawned.’

      ‘And Placidus too?’

      Sean nodded. ‘With the gombeen-man of Athy,’ he said. ‘But not sold.’

      Peter opened his mouth; but closed it again and paced up and down in the yard.

      ‘And the baggage too, I suppose?’ he asked after a dozen turns.

      Sean nodded. ‘It was his last stroke to win it all back,’ he said.

      Peter renewed his pacing. ‘Well,’ he said, pausing on a turn, ‘at least Placidus is not sold: that would have wounded my father’s heart.’

      Three turns later he said, ‘And with the luck of the world—thanks be to God—’

      ‘Thanks on high,’ said Sean.

      ‘I had shifted into my best clothes, so they are not lost, and I can face the Commodore.’

      And after another three turns he suddenly cried, ‘I have it, Sean: I have our salvation. This Mr FitzGerald I am to meet in the evening; he’s sure to be rich—I’ll ask him to lend me five guineas or six. That will bear our charges and unpawn Placidus. Ha ha, Sean—that’s the way of it,’ he exclaimed, clapping Sean on the shoulder.

      ‘Hoo hoo,’ cried Sean, with a hoot of triumph and relief, his spirits mounting directly. ‘Sure he’ll be delighted to oblige a companion and he the richest man’s son in the West, no doubt, if not close kin to the Deputy.’

      ‘You have not seen him come to the inn?’ asked Peter, reflecting.

      ‘I have not,’ replied Sean, ‘but will I ask of the grooms? He’ll surely have servants before and behind, and his horses may be filling the stables at this very minute, the valuable beasts.’

      ‘Do that thing,’ said Peter, ‘and if you have news of him come and whisper to me privately. I will sit in the great room of the inn.’

       Chapter Two

      HOPE HAD DIED BY SIX O’CLOCK; BUT STILL PETER SAT ON IN HIS corner seat, watching the continual coming and going through the wide-open door. There were farmers and graziers of the richer sort, gentlemen of all sizes and shapes and of every age but his own, red-coated officers, periwigged medical men, black lawyers, snuff-coloured merchants and the clergy in cassocks; footmen in liveries of every colour hurried on errands; parties of young men roared through the windows to their acquaintances within; indeed, half Ireland seemed to be in the great room of the Royal George and Harp. But alas it was the half that did not include the one person he really wanted to see; this person, Mr Peregrine FitzGerald, was unknown to Peter except by reputation and name, but he had a clear notion of what to expect and for hours and hours he had been looking for the arrival of a young fellow about his own age and size, a midshipman in the Royal Navy, who would, Peter supposed, come in and gaze about to find his travelling companion, and who, by his looking about and searching, would advertise his presence.

      It would have been easier, Peter reflected when first he took his seat, if they had both been in the land service, for a red coat would show up at once: but in the Navy the officers wore what they chose, and apart from the King’s cockade there was no way of recognising them at all. But that reflection had taken place a long while ago. The sad change from lively expectation to no hope at all had taken place by six in the afternoon, when СКАЧАТЬ