After listening in
vain for some response to his signal, Mr Tappertit became impatient, and
struck the grating thrice again.
A further delay ensued, but it was not of long duration. The ground
seemed to open at his feet, and a ragged head appeared.
'Is that the captain?' said a voice as ragged as the head.
'Yes,' replied Mr Tappertit haughtily, descending as he spoke, 'who
should it be?'
'It's so late, we gave you up,' returned the voice, as its owner stopped
to shut and fasten the grating. 'You're late, sir.'
'Lead on,' said Mr Tappertit, with a gloomy majesty, 'and make remarks
when I require you. Forward!'
This latter word of command was perhaps somewhat theatrical and
unnecessary, inasmuch as the descent was by a very narrow, steep, and
slippery flight of steps, and any rashness or departure from the beaten
track must have ended in a yawning water-butt. But Mr Tappertit being,
like some other great commanders, favourable to strong effects, and
personal display, cried 'Forward!' again, in the hoarsest voice he could
assume; and led the way, with folded arms and knitted brows, to the
cellar down below, where there was a small copper fixed in one corner,
a chair or two, a form and table, a glimmering fire, and a truckle-bed,
covered with a ragged patchwork rug.
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