Watery Grave Read online

  “Well, sirs,” said the spokesman, “you’re right, I’m sure. And beggin’ your forgiveness, we will be on our way, sirs.” He capped his head, and pointed down at the lieutenant’s body, which, unattended, had toppled prostrate once again.” Hurley,” said he to the man who had saluted and had helpfully supplied the name of their ship, “you take the poor, dear lieutenant under the arms and somebody else take him by the feet.”

  Without a word of argument. Hurley handed off the bottle for another to carry and did as he was bade. Another took up the lieutenant’s feet, and our procession was once more under way. Those who had gathered —and their number had grown — made room to let us pass, and we left quieter than we had come.

  As we traversed Fish Street Hill and the approach to London Bridge, I took a long look to my left and attempted to image how it might have looked with houses and shops built upon its length. They had been removed not long before my arrival in London. How curious it must have been to live upon a bridge! Why should anyone wish to do so? I whispered to Tom of this.

  The seaman known as Hurley took great abuse from his fellows. His drunken impudence had put them all in jeopardy, and they did not take it kindly.

  “Well done,” said the big fellow who had spoken for the rest.” Let me tell you. Hurley, if I had Mr. Boone’s bamboo stick, I’d give you a blow on the backside with it each step you take.”

  “Aw,” said Hurley, “he will do naught about it. ‘Twas but an Mle threat.”

  “We had best hope so.”

  “Why did ye not give him our names while you was about it, Hurley?”

  Et cetera. Hurley grumbled his responses. Yet when, at Graves’s Wharf, I signaled that we should turn left again and another was designated to carry the lieutenant’s feet. Hurley made no complaint at being made to struggle without relief supporting the trunk as we continued on our way.

  “Is that it there? ” Tom asked me.” Why, ‘tis like a little farm.”

  “Indeed, ” said I, “and the field in front is where the bodies of the unknown and unclaimed are buried.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” said he, “is that strong odor what I think it is?”

  “Probably,” said I, “though they situated the Raker in a space near the Fishmonger’s Hall to disguise the stink — or perhaps to mingle the two.”

  Thus there were further exclamations voiced by those to our rear. Yet all seemed relieved that we had at last reached our destination. We entered through the little gate and made our approach across the field.

  “This is a burial ground, then?”

  “Indeed it is.”

  “But there are no markers. How can he tell where to dig?”

  “He has it measured off in ways only he knows, says Jimmie Bun-kins, so that none but he can tell. He digs deep and stacks the bodies. ‘

  Tom sniffed.” This place stinks too.”

  “Some are buried quite shallow. Watch you do not trip on a nose or a toe.”

  He looked down in a sudden panic — then up at me in annoyance.

  “Was that a joke, Jeremy?”

  “Not the sort to laugh at,” said I.

  I brought them round the little house in which the Raker and his ugly sister dwelt and up to the rail fence behind which were the two ghostly, sick and spavined horses he kept for his wagon. They moved not a muscle but stood, as they always seemed to, with heads bowed.

  “Are them animals alive? ” asked one of the crewmen.

  “I saw an eye move on one of them,” said another.

  Though I doubted that, I would not argue the point. Instead, I summoned all my strength to shout the Raker out of his grisly barn.

  “Halloo! Raker! Are you in there? Come out if you are! ” I waited, then shouted again: “Halloo in there!”

  We waited. There were stirrings within, and at last the man himself appeared. He was as I remembered; there was none like him, after all. His arms dangled as an ape s and seemed near as long as he made his way across the barnyard on his bandy legs. As he came nearer, I heard whispers behind me remarking upon his queer shape, his ill-matched eyes (one much smaller than its mate), his labored walk. Yet they were silent and respectful when at last he arrived.

  “I remembers you,” said the Raker, fixing me with his full-sized eye.” You’re the Blind Beak’s young helper. Brought me a lodger, have you?”

  “Yes sir, a drowned man,” said I, “an officer of the Royal Navy.”

  “Well, you did right to bring him here, even though I ain’t likely to put him under. Why don’t you have your chums hand him over the fence. I can take him from here.”

  Without a word, they complied, even lending a hand to Hurley. They seemed somewhat in awe of the Raker. He took their burden from them and, in a practiced manner, threw the lieutenant’s body over his shoulder in a single motion. He then grinned at them in a way meant to be friendly.

  “It’s right hot today,” said he.” You’d be welcome to come into the barn to get out of the sun if you brings your bottles along.” He ended that with a mirthless laugh that I found quite chilling.

  The six mates from the Adventure exchanged glances, then nodded to each other in a sign of assent. A vote had been taken.

  “Come along then, ” said he.” Though I must ask you to come in over the fence, as your friend did. I fear if I threw open the gate, the horses would be gone in the very wink of an eye.”

  It seemed to me he overestimated their capabilities.

  But one by one, the crewmen vaulted the fence, leaving only Tom and me behind.

  “Come along, ‘ said I to him.” We must go too.”

  “But why?” he responded in a whisper.” I do not like the man, and I have no wish to see what he has there in the barn.”

  “Nor do I. But we have a task to perform there.”

  “And what is that?”

  “We must undress Mr. Grimsby and examine him for wounds or other marks.”

  “Why must we do that?”

  “Because it is the first question Sir John will put to me when I report the lieutenant’s death to him. ‘Had he wounds?’ he will say. And I must have an answer ready for him.”

  “Right enough. As you say then.”

  And so we, too, cHmbed the rail fence and followed the rest.

  “A4ind the horse droppings,” said I.

  They were inside at my next look, near disappeared, it seemed. Yet when we two entered the barn we found that all had gathered to take their ease upon the huge mound of clothing I recalled from previous visits to this unholy place. The bottles had been uncorked and were now making the rounds. I saw that the Raker had dumped Mr. Grimsby’s body near the door. There would be sufficient light for us to perform the task that must be done. Conversation had begun as the bottles were uncorked. The seamen from the Adventure were naturally (or perhaps morbidly) curious about the Raker’s enterprise. They had questions, and he seemed happy to answer them.

  “Women on that side, men on this side,” he was saying.” Though I vow, it’s sometimes a difficult question to settle. I’ve had men come in who was wearin’ women’s clothes, and t’other way around, as well.”

  “You don’t mean it!”

  “God’s truth, I swear. Ah, ye see all in a business such as mine.”

  Having taken a second swig from the bottle he had been given, he passed it on to the man nearest.

  “What’s the peculiarest thing ever you seen?” asked the one known as Hurley.

  “Oh, well, that,” said the Raker.” That’s easy enough to answer. That would be one night I was workin’ late, puttin’ things in order, so to speak, and of a sudden one of me lodgers rises up, throws off the canvas I covered him with, and he says, ‘Where is me clothes?’ I’d taken them off him, you see, as I do with all me lodgers. You’re sittin’ on the pile of them.”

  “Well, was he alive or dead?”

  “Oh, he was alive, quite certain. He gave me a start but nothing more. Ye’ve nicks to fear from the dead. He’d been
hit on the head and robbed, showed all signs of bein’ dead, but he was just sleepin’, so to speak. I fixed him up with a suit of clothes he liked better’n the one he wore in, and I give him a shilling for his trouble and sent him on his way. He seemed well content.”

  “My God and sweet Jesus,” groaned Hurley, “a regular Lazarus.”

  “A Lazarus he was,” the Raker agreed.” Yet if he’d slept a day longer he’d a woken underground.”

  A hush fell over the troupe of seamen: the unthinkable had been mentioned.

  Then spoke up the big fellow who had led the rest on this expedition I had proposed: “Well, that’s where us lads got it over the landlubbers. I’ll take my watery grave, which I know awaits me, for it’s cleaner and it’s … It’s certain.”

  There was a general chorus of agreement. Bottles were lifted to that brave declaration. One was drained and cast aside.

  “Does the stink never bother you?” one wanted to know —or perhaps all wanted to know, for all were alike breathing the same foul air.

  “God’s truth, I never give it no notice. Ye custom yeself to it.”

  Of one thing I was certain: Neither Tom nor I would accustom ourselves to the smell of the place. It was the worst I had known in the three visits I had made to the Raker’s barn —never before on a day as warm as this one. An effluvium of putrefaction hung over the interior, like a murky cloud of death. If Tom had run from it, I myself would have followed.

  Yet we worked as swift as we -were able while they talked on in the manner I have described. We stripped Mr. Grimsby’s body clean, yet none took but the most casual interest in what we were about. As we went on to the business of inspecting his parts, their colloquy continued.

  “Who pays you to do this work?”

  “The Cities of London and Westminster, ” said the Raker.

  “How come you by the job?”

  “It was passed down in me family. From me father it went, from his father, and from his father before him. Twas in recognition of service done in the Great Plague of a hundred year past.”

  There were no wounds nor marks worth noting on the body’s anterior portions, and so we turned him over. Legs, buttocks, and back were clean, but Tom beckoned me forward, and showed me that I must feel his head. Mr. Grimsby’s hair was his own, and he had worn it long. It covered a place the size of a guinea that had been crushed in at the base of his skull. I nodded and realized as I did so that not a word had passed between us.

  “Indeed ye may give a look to my lodgers ifye’ve a wish to, though some ain’t so prett) I warns ye. The dead is curious folk, ” said the Raker.” But it will cost you the little rum that’s left in that bottle.”

  The bottle was stoppered and carelessly tossed to him as the party of seamen rose from their bed of clothing and ambled down the line of canvas-covered corpuses, talking in low tones amongst themselves. The Raker drank from the bottle, giggled to himself, and pushed himself up with a great grunt to his feet. He came over to us and stood staring for a moment at Lieutenant Grimsby.

  “Leave him as he is, ” said he.” You saved me a bit of trouble, you did.”

  “The Navy will bury him,” said Tom.” And a Navy surgeon will visit tomorrow to view the remains. Have his uniform brushed proper, if you would, sir.”

  “Oh,” said the Raker, “aye-aye.” He giggled again.” Ain’t that how it’s said? Aye-aye, sir?”

  “We’ll be leaving you now, ” said I to him.” Sir John will be told of this. Though it is a naval matter, he himself has an interest in it.”

  “Remember me kindly to the Beak, young sir. Tell him I am his good and faithful servant, I am. Oh, yes, indeed I am.”

  It was going toward dark by the time we reached Number 4 Bow Street, near ten o’clock it was. And we, having eaten nothing since breakfast, were two hungry young lads. As we charged up the stairs, Tom suddenly stopped me and whispered urgent in my ear:

  “Jeremy, you go into the kitchen first, and if Annie is not there, beckon me, and I shall follow.”

  “And what will you do if she u there?”

  He frowned.” Dear God, I know not.”

  “Oh, come along. You must.”

  “All right,” said he, sighing, “I suppose I must.”

  I had noted that relations were most awkward between the two of them since Annie’s return to our household. Tom, in his chagrin, had little to say in her presence and near nothing to say direct to her. He avoided her eyes with his own, which indeed must have been difficult, for hers never seemed to leave him. They followed him around the room, stared at him tenderly across the table; at times they seemed to glisten with tears. During last night’s dinner Annie’s attention to Tom had become so obvious that Lady Fielding found it necessary to speak to her sharply.” Annie, please!” said my lady—yet more in exasperation than reproof. Only then did the young cook lower her eyes to her plate. Yet it was but a short time until they were raised again to the object of her fascination.

  Thus had it been between them. Hence did Tom now shy at the door, like a colt at a gate, sensing trouble beyond it. In the event, there was none to speak of. We continued up the stairs at a more cautious pace. I heard Annie’s voice, deeper and more womanly than one would suppose from one of her years, just beyond the door as we approached; it was raised in song, a sad ballad then popular in the streets. Yet she ceased as we drew near, and as I turned the knob and stepped inside the kitchen she was just rising from the table. Tom followed me.

  “Hello, Annie,” said I as cheerfully as I might.

  “Hello to you, Jeremy, and to you, Tom.”

  He mumbled a greeting of sorts and kept his place behind me, as if in hiding.

  Something had altered in her. A change had been made, or at least begun. Her eyes met mine and did not stray to him who cowered at my rear. She even managed a smile, albeit a sad one.

  “You both must be quite famished,” said she.

  “Oh, we are,” said I.” Bread and cheese will do —even bread alone.”

  “I can give you better than that. I’ve kept your dinner on a low fire, if stew will do you.”

  “That would do us remarkable well. But could you hold it a bit longer? We must talk with Sir John.”

  “I could, and I would. You’ll find him in his little room up the stairs.”

  And so saying, she turned to the stove and gave the pot a stir.

  “Thank you, Annie, ‘ said I as we made our way across the kitchen.” Mrs. Gredge never treated me so well.”

  “And I’m a better cook than she was,” said she proudly.” Sir John told me so himself tonight.”

  We left her there at the stove. Halfway up the stairs, Tom stopped me.

  “She seems better, don’t you think? ” he whispered.” Perhaps my mother talked to her.”

  “Or perhaps,” said I, “she’s put you out of her mind.”

  The thought seemed to trouble him.” Oh,” said he, “perhaps she has.”

  We found Sir John sitting in the fading light. The door to his little study was open, yet I rapped lightly upon it.

  “Ah, lads, IS that you? Come in,” said he.” Tell me, did you locate our witness, Trindle?”

  “No, Sir John, we did not, ” said I, as we took our chairs, “but we made a terrible discovery.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Lieutenant Grimsby, ” said Tom.

  “What of him?”

  “He is dead, ‘ said I.

  “You must tell me the story entire.”

  And between us we did —from our searches through the low Thames-side dens, to the finding of the body the boatman had pulled out of the water at London Bridge, then on at last to the delivery of the remains to the Raker.

  “We examined his body there.”

  “Had he wounds?”

  “Well, there were marks upon it, scrapes and such. But as the boatman said, there was no telling how long he had been bumping against the bridge. Yet Tom found something that —”
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  “Yes sir,” Tom put in, “his skull was badly battered in the rear at just the point it attached to the neck. Crushed, you might say, but only at that one spot.”

  “Just here?”

  Sir John turned and touched his head at just the right spot.

  Then, remembering, he asked, “Or can you see? Are we in the dark? Light a candle, if you like.”

  “No sir, we can see,” said I.

  “Yes, just there where you have touched,” said Tom.

  “How large a wound then?”

  “About the size of a guinea,” said I.

  “Ah, so large! Would you say, Tom, that it might have been inflicted by a bump against the bridge support?”

  “Well, it is possible, I suppose.”

  “But you do not think so?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What would you say then?”

  “A belaying pin,” declared Tom with remarkable certainty.

  “Ah, well …” And so saying. Sir John fell into a protracted silence, musing with bowed head there in the near-vanished light. Tom looked at me, frowning, as if to ask if the magistrate had suddenly nodded off to sleep. I knew he had not. I shook my head firmly. And at last Sir John roused himself.

  “Do you recall, Jeremy,” said he, “that Admiral Sir Robert was waiting for my return down below when I sent you and Tom off on your search?”

  “I do indeed, sir. He seemed most agitated.”

  “He was. He brought news that Mr. Grimsby had deserted —left the ship in contradiction of Lieutenant Hartsell’s orders and his own. He said Grimsby would be hunted down and court-martialed. Then he demanded to know if the lieutenant had been in communication with me.

  I told him he had, by letter, and that he had invited us aboard the Adventure. The admiral then said he had no right to do that, and henceforward we were not to go aboard unless in his company. All this, of course, we expected, having been lectured by Lieutenant Hartsell upon our departure.”

  He sighed and lapsed once more into silence for a moment.

  “If Mr. Grimsby was indeed given a knock and dumped overboard,” said Tom, “then there was a fair chance he would not be found.”

  “Except for London Bridge,” Sir John responded, “he might be floating on still. Yet he told me what he had to tell, poor man, and it could not have been easy.” He paused.” His death makes one thing certain.”