CHAPTER VIII

THE CRUISE OF H.M.S. _GALATEA_ (_Continued_)

II. MY TWO FAITHFUL SERVANTS

They came to me first in the _Galatea_, so that their story may fitly

be related in this place. Tom Fat the China boy came to me at Kowloon.

He was brought to me by his uncle, who desired to dispose of his

nephew, for a consideration. The consideration was £5. Lest I should

be accused of Chinese slavery--and anything is possible in these

days--I should explain that the fiver was not the price of Tom Fat, but

was in the nature of a delicate compliment paid to his uncle. Tom was

a free boy; he was entered in the ship's books as my servant, at so

much wages per month. Not that he valued his wages particularly; he

had wider views. He was an invaluable servant, clever, orderly,

indefatigable and devoted. I attired him in gorgeous silks, and he

bore my crest with perfect unassuming dignity. He kept my purse, and

expended my money with prudence, even with generosity. When I wanted

money, Tom Fat had plenty of ready cash. I sometimes wondered how it

was that he always seemed to be provided with a margin, for I was not

conscious of practising economy. The fact was, I was careless in those

days, and kept no accounts. It was not until he had been in my service

for some years, that I discovered the secret of his wealth. It was

simple enough. He was in the habit of forging cheques. Altogether, he

forged cheques for nearly twelve hundred pounds. How much of that

amount he kept for himself I {83} never knew; but it is certain that a

great deal of it he spent upon me. Nor do I know why he did not ask

for a cheque instead of forging it. Apparently it was a point of

honour with Tom not to ask for money. When I asked him if he wanted a

cheque to defray expenses, he usually replied cheerfully that he had no

need of it. Certainly he acquired a reputation for economy by these

means.

His methods were subtle. He was well aware that I kept no private

account book of my own, and that my bankers did not enter the names of

payees in my pass-book, but only the numbers of the cheques cashed, and

also that the bank returned cashed cheques from time to time. On these

occasions, Tom, finding pass-book and cashed cheques among my papers,

would abstract both the counterfoils and the cheques which he had

forged, knowing that as I should not take the trouble to compare the

numbers of the cheques with the numbers in the pass-book, I should not

notice that some cheques were missing. He was always careful to

arrange that the last counterfoil filled up--at which one naturally

looks--should be that of my cheque and not that of his; and he never

drew large sums, varying his amounts between £5 and £20, except on one

occasion, when he forged a cheque for £50. The Oriental mind is

inscrutable; but whether or no Tom considered that he was robbing me;

whether, if he considered that he was robbing me, he believed he was

justified in so doing; he took the most sedulous care that no one else

should enjoy that privilege.

Tom was universally popular. I took him everywhere with me. In his

way, he was a sportsman. One day, hunting with the Duke of Beaufort's

hounds, I mounted him on a skewbald pony. We came to a nasty slippery

place, a bad take-off, a wall to jump, and the road beyond. Tom's pony

took it safely. A big, hard-riding guardsman who was coming up behind

us, not liking the look of the place, shouted to me, "Is it all right?"

"That hideous Chinaman has just done it!" I shouted back. Not to be

outdone by a Chinaman, the guardsman {84} rode at the fence, his horse

went down, and he got a dreadful toss. When he got up, he was

furiously angry with me.

When Tom had been with me for some years, he came to me and said,

"Master, you never give me leave! You give others leave but not me

leave. I want leave."

The request was reasonable enough, and I sent Tom to my house in town,

there to amuse himself for a week. At the end of the week he did not

return. He was reported missing. I advertised for him, offering a

reward. The next day he was arrested at the Criterion Restaurant,

being one of a party of thirteen (of whom twelve were ladies) to whom

Tom was about to play the host.

It turned out that during his week in town, my faithful servant had

spent £70. He had also raised money at one of my clubs.

"Lord Charles want twenty-five pounds," he said to the porter, who took

him to the cashier.

"His lordship must give me his I.O.U.," says the cashier.

"What thing that?" says Tom.

The cashier explained.

"All-light," says the man of resource, and promptly forged my I.O.U.

for thirty-five pounds.

"You said twenty-five," remarked the cashier.

"I tink Lord Charles like little more," Tom replied.

Of course, the cashier sent me the document. When I investigated Tom's

transactions, I found a few of his forged cheques in the bank, and I

could hardly tell the difference between my signature and his

forgeries. The cheque-books were compared with the pass-book, and

counterfoils were found to be missing. I took legal action against

him, and he was sentenced to five years. Shortly afterwards, when I

was in Scotland, I received a letter from the hapless Tom, saying he

was dying, and asking me to come and see him. I went at once. I found

him in the infirmary, a dying man indeed, with his face to the wall. A

Chinaman dies at will. He simply lies down and dies; but by the same

{85} token, he can continue to live. So I determined to rouse him. I

hailed him in a loud and cheerful voice.

"Tom! Cheer up, Tom! What's the matter? You're not ill. Rouse up."

"Me die, master," said Tom.

"Not you," I said. "Come! Cheer up, and I'll try to get you out of

this."

And sure enough, he turned back, became quite well, and I secured his

release after he had served a short term. I found him a place in

China, sent him East, and never saw him again. When I went to China

subsequently, I failed to find him. After his interval of Western

service, China took him and swallowed him up. And that was the end of

Tom Fat.

He was in my service when, upon the return voyage to Australia of the

_Galatea_, we touched at Mauritius. In that strange island I came

across a youthful negro savage. I learned his history from his master,

an amiable French gentleman. Punch, as I named him, had been brought

to Mauritius by a British cruiser. The warship had chased a slaver,

whose crew jettisoned the slaves. They were fettered in chains and

hove over the side. When the British seamen boarded the vessel they

found her holds empty, except for the odour. In a dark corner was

stowed a bundle of rags, into which a bluejacket thrust his cutlass.

The rags sprang to life with a yell, and there was Punch with a wound

in his thigh, of which he carried the scar to his end.

It occurred to me that Punch would serve me for a groom, and I said so

to his master.

"_Tiens!_" said that gentleman pleasantly. "You shall have him for

five shilling."

"Done!" said I, and paid him the money. He did not think I was

serious; but he made no bones about ridding himself of his garden-boy.

Punch was the most hideous savage I have ever viewed. He was black as

a boot; even his lips were black; his face was seamed with the

cicatrices which were the totem marks {86} of his tribe, whatever that

may have been; and his countenance was exactly like the countenance of

a bull-dog. The scars wrinkled his cheeks, like a bull-dog's jowl. He

was densely stupid, and wild of temper. He attacked one of the men on

board with his teeth. But he was utterly fearless, and although he

knew nothing about horses, he was never afraid of them. He was

apparently constructed of india-rubber. Nothing hurt him. When I

drove a tandem, it was his duty as tiger to spring up behind as we

started. But as my horses started at speed, Punch had not always time

to run from their heads to the back of the vehicle. I have known him

catch a spoke of the wheel and be whirled into the air, and the wheel

to pass over him, without harming him in the least.

At a race meeting in Australia, Punch begged for a mount, and I

borrowed a horse, which galloped away down the course, Punch clinging

to him with arms and legs exactly like a monkey. He took two big

fences like a bird; but at the third, the horse breasted it, fell

backwards and rolled over upon his rider. I thought he was killed, but

he wasn't. He was not even damaged.

When I went on half-pay, I placed Punch in the stables. The women

servants took a fancy to him; but Punch, whatever he may have thought

of the women, had no love for the head groom, in whose arm he made his

teeth meet. So I found him a billet in a hairdresser's shop, which

bore the legend, "Hairbrushing by machinery." Punch was the machinery.

I saw him at it, turning a wheel in the window. I never saw him again,

and know not what became of him.

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