Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas. Lever Charles James

to success, and with a certain air of confidence in all he said that to me seemed quite oracular. “What a fellow am I,” said he at last, “to discourse in this strain to a street urchin whose highest ambition is to outrun his ragged competitors, and be first ‘in,’ for the sixpence of some cantering cornet! Pull ahead, lad, there’s the light at last; and hang me if they’re not two miles out.”

      The contemptuous tone of the last few words effectually repressed any desire I might have had for further colloquy; and I rowed away in silence, putting forth all my strength and skill, so that the light skiff darted rapidly and steadily through the water.

      CHAPTER IX. SIR DUDLEY BROUGHTON

      Steadily, and with all the vigor I could command, I pulled towards the light. My companion sat quietly watching the stars, and apparently following out some chain of thought to himself; at last he said, “There, boy, breathe a bit; there’s no need to blow yourself; we ‘re all safe long since; the ‘Firefly’ is right ahead of us, and not far off either. Have you never heard of the yacht?”

      “Never, sir.”

      “Nor of its owner, Sir Dudley Broughton?”

      “No, sir, I never heard the name.”

      “Well, come,” cried he, laughing, “that is consolatory. I ‘m not half so great a reprobate as I thought myself! I did not believe till now that there was an urchin of your stamp living who could not have furnished at least some anecdotes for a memoir of me! Well, my lad, yonder, where you see the blue light at the peak, is the ‘Firefly,’ and here, where I sit, is Sir Dudley Broughton. Ten minutes more will put us alongside, so, if you’re not tired, pull away.”

      “No, Sir Dudley,” said I, for I was well versed in the popular tact of catching up a name quickly, “I am able to row twice as far.”

      “And now, Master Con,” said he, “we are going to part. Are you too young a disciple of your craft for a glass of grog; or are you a follower of that new-fangled notion of pale-faced politicians, who like bad coffee and reason better than whiskey and fun?”

      “I’ll take nothing to drink, Sir Dudley,” said I. “I have dined and drunk well to-day, and I’ll not venture further.”

      “As you please; only I say you ‘re wrong not to victual the ship whenever you stand in-shore. No matter; put your hand into this vest pocket, – you ‘ll find some shillings there: take them, whatever they be. You’ll row the boat back with one of my people; and all I have to say is, if you do speak of me, as no doubt you will and must, don’t say anything about these smashed fingers; I suppose they’ll get right one of these days, and I ‘d rather there was no gossip about them.”

      “I ‘ll never speak of it – I – ”

      “There, now, that’s enough; no swearing, or I know you’ll break your promise. Back water a little; pull the starboard oar, – so; here we are alongside.”

      Sir Dudley had scarce done speaking when a hoarse voice from the yacht challenged us. This was replied to by a terrific volley of imprecations on the stupidity of not sooner showing the light, amid which Sir Dudley ascended the side and stood upon the deck. “Where’s Halkett?” cried he, imperiously. “Here, sir,” replied a short, thickset man, with a sailor-like shuffle in his walk. “Send one of the men back with the gig, and land that boy. Tell the fellow, too, he’s not to fetch Waters aboard, if he meets him: the scoundrel went off and left me to my fate this evening; and it might have been no pleasant one, if I had not found that lad yonder.”

      “We have all Sam Waters’ kit on board, Sir Dudley,” said Halkett; “shall we send it ashore?”

      “No. Tell him I’ll leave it at Demerara for him; and he may catch the yellow fever in looking after it,” said he, laughing.

      While listening to this short dialogue I had contrived to approach a light which gleamed from the cabin window, and then took the opportunity to count over my wealth, amounting, as I supposed, to some seven or eight shillings. Guess my surprise to see that the pieces were all bright yellow gold, – eight shining sovereigns!

      I had but that instant made the discovery, when the sailor who was to put me on shore jumped into the boat and seated himself.

      “Wait one instant,” cried I. “Sir Dudley – Sir Dudley Broughton!”

      “Well, what’s the matter?” said he, leaning over the side.

      “This money you gave me – ”

      “Not enough, of course! I ought to have known that,” said he, scornfully. “Give the whelp a couple of half-crowns, Halkett, and send him adrift.”

      “You ‘re wrong, sir,” cried I, with passionate eagerness; “they are gold pieces, – sovereigns.”

      “The devil they are!” cried he, laughing; “the better luck yours. Why did n’t you hold your tongue about it?”

      “You bid me take some shillings, sir,” answered I.

      “How d – d honest you must be! Do you hear that, Halkett? The fellow had scruples about taking his prize-money! Never mind, boy, I must pay for my blunder, – you may keep them now.”

      “I have pride, too,” cried I; “and hang me if I touch them.”

      He stared at me, without speaking, for a few minutes, and then said, in a low, flat voice, “Come on deck, lad.” I obeyed; and he took a lighted lantern from the binnacle, and held it up close to my face, and then moved it so that he made a careful examination of my whole figure.

      “I ‘d give a crown to know who was your father,” said he, dryly.

      “Con Cregan, of Kilbeggan, sir.”

      “Oh, of course, I know all that. Come, now, what say you to try a bit of life afloat? Will you stay here?”

      “Will you take me, sir?” cried I, in ecstasy.

      “Halkett, rig him out,” said he, shortly. “Nip the anchor with the ebb, and keep your course down channel.” With this he descended the cabin stairs and disappeared, while I, at a signal from Halkett, stepped down the ladder into the steerage. In the mean while it will not be deemed digressionary if I devote a few words to the singular character into whose society I was now thrown, inasmuch as to convey any candid narrative of my own career I must speak of those who, without influencing the main current of my life, yet certainly gave some impulse and direction to its first meanderings.

      Sir Dudley Broughton was the only son of a wealthy baronet, who, not from affection or overkindness, but out of downright indolent indifference, permitted him, first as an Eton boy, and afterwards as a gentleman commoner of Christ Church, to indulge in every dissipation that suited his fancy. An unlimited indulgence, a free command of whatever money he asked for, added to a temper constitutionally headstrong and impetuous, soon developed what might have been expected from the combination. He led a life of wild insubordination at school, and was expelled from Oxford. With faculties above rather than beneath mediocrity, and a certain aptitude for acquiring the knowledge most in request in society, he had the reputation of being one who, if he had not unhappily so addicted himself to dissipation, would have made a favorable figure in the world. After trying in vain to interest himself in the pursuits of a country life, of which the sporting was the only thing he found attractive, he joined a well-known light cavalry regiment, celebrated for numbering among its officers more fast men than any other corps in the service. His father, dying about the same time, left him in possession of a large fortune, which, with all his extravagance, was but slightly encumbered. This fact, coupled with his well-known reputation, made him popular with his brother officers, most of whom, having run through nearly all they possessed, saw with pleasure a new Croesus arrive in the regiment. Such a man as Broughton was just wanted. One had a charger to get off; another wanted a purchaser for his four-in-hand drag. The senior captain was skilful at billiards; and every one played “lansquenet” and hazard.

      Besides various schemes against his purse, the colonel had a still more serious one against his person. He had a daughter, a handsome, fashionable-looking girl, with all the manners of