Yes; it was all
true. These men _had_ done evil, and they _had_ come forth
unto the Resurrection of Damnation.
And not so very long ago he had wished to be one such!--a highwayman,
a smuggler, a gentlemanly villain of some sort, very devil-may-care
and gallant, robbing the rich, helping the poor, waving a scented
handkerchief to the ladies as he rode to Tyburn, debonair to the last.
Now he was face to face with criminals in real life. And what was
their distinguishing feature?--_Filth_.
They had not shaved for days, nor washed for years. The stink of them
blew off the clean sea towards him. It seemed to his imagination that
the water curdled with disgust as the brutes slushed through it.
A phrase of his laughing mother's occurred to him--_no soap, no
soul_. True too.
He would have given all he had for a look at one clean-fleshed, clear-
eyed Englishman, smelling of earth and honest tobacco.
"Listen to im!" grumbled Red Beard. "Might be Cock o the Gang the way
he carries on."
The fat man tossed back his locks.
"All mighty fine!" he shrilled. "But if you'd follow'd me, where'd you
be now?--why back in Boulon. And cause you didn't, where are you?--why
hung up on a dead foul leeshore: Diamond dead, lugger gone, the hue-
and-cry up after you--"
"And our only ope in eaven," chimed in Bandy of the chirpy voice.
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