"Mr Cringle, come here, into my room."
From the way in which he spoke, I imagined, in my innocence, that his room
was at my elbow; but no such thing--we had to ascend a long, and not
overclean staircase, to the fourth floor, before we were shown into a
miserable little double--bedded room. So soon as we had entered, the
lieutenant shut the door.
"Tom," said he, "I have taken a fancy to you, and therefore I applied for
leave to bring you with me; but I must expose you to some danger, and, I
will allow, not altogether in a very creditable way either. You must enact
the spy for a short space."
I did not like the notion certainly, but I had little time for
consideration.
"Here," he continued--"here is a bundle." He threw it on the floor. "You
must rig in the clothes it, contains, and make your way into the celebrated
crimp shop in the neighbourhood, and pick up all the information you can
regarding the haunts of the pressable men at Cove, especially with regard
to the ten seamen who have run from the West Indiaman we left below. You
know the Admiral has forbidden pressing in Cork, so you must contrive to
frighten the blue jackets down to Cove, by representing yourself as an
apprentice of one of the merchant vessels, who had run from his indentures,
and that you had narrowly escaped from a press--gang this very night here."
I made no scruples, but forthwith arrayed myself in the slops contained in
the bundle; in a pair of shag trowsers, red flannel shirt, coarse blue
cloth jacket, and no waistcoat.
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