The Golden Ocean Read Online Free Page A

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
    H OPE 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 beenlooking 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 the rain began: but when the tall clock coughed and said eight, Peter was still looking earnestly at the door; he was still spinning out his mug of tepid porter and making it last, and he was still assuring himself that clocks in public places were very often made to run fast on purpose.
    ‘Mr Palafox?’ asked a voice at his side, and the dregs of the porter splashed on the floor as Peter jumped up. ‘Your servant, sir,’ said the thin figure before him, with an elegant bow. ‘My name is FitzGerald.’
    ‘Servant,’ cried Peter, making a leg, and quite red with pleasure. ‘May I beg you to sit down and take—and take—’He had meant to add, ‘a glass of wine,’ but the sudden recollection that he was quite unable to pay for a small pot of ale, let alone a bottle of claret, pierced into his mind, and he finished with a wave of his hand to an empty chair.
    ‘You are very good, sir,’ said FitzGerald, sitting down. ‘But first I must make my excuses …’ And while he explained why he was so late—no idea the time had been running so fast—much taken up with seeing the races, the town, various friends—Peter gazed at him with the utmost attention that civility would permit. FitzGerald was nothing like what he had expected: for one thing he was wearing a bottle-green coat, and for another