and he quitted the cabin. I looked at the captain, who was sitting at the table: he was a fine, stout man, with two or three ribands at his button-hole, and a large pair of moustachios. I thought that I had seen him before, but I could not recollect when: his face was certainly familiar to me, but, as I had been informed by the officers on deck, that the captain was a Count Shucksen, a person I had never heard of, I thought that I must be mistaken. I therefore addressed him in French, paying him a long compliment, with all the necessary _et ceteras_.
The captain turned round to me, took his hand away from his forehead, which it had shaded, and looking me full in the face, replied, “Mr Simple, I don’t understand but very little French. Spin your yarn in plain English.”
I started–“I thought that I knew your face,” replied I; “am I mistaken?–no, it must be–Mr Chucks!”
“You are right, my dear Mr Simple: it is your old friend, Chucks, the boatswain, whom you now see. I knew you as soon as you came up the side, and I was afraid that you would immediately recognize me, and I slipped down into the cabin (for which apparent rudeness allow me to apologise), that you might not explain before the officers.”
We shook hands heartily, and then he requested me to sit down. “But,” said I, “they told me on deck that the frigate was commanded by a Count Shucksen.”
“That is my present rank, my dear Peter,” said he; “but as you have no time to lose, I will explain all. I know I can trust to your honour. You remember that you left me, as you and I supposed, dying in the privateer, with the captain’s jacket and epaulettes on my shoulders. When the boats came out, and you left the vessel, they boarded and found me. I was still breathing; and judging of my rank by the coat, they put me into the boat, and pushed on shore. The privateer sank very shortly after. I was not expected to live, but in a few days a change took place, and I was better. They asked me my name, and I gave my own, which they lengthened into Shucksen, somehow or another. I recovered by a miracle, and am now as well as ever I was in my life. They were not a little proud of having captured a captain in the British service, as they supposed, for they never questioned me as to my real rank. After some weeks I was sent home to Denmark in a running vessel; but it so happened, that we met with a gale, and were wrecked on the Swedish coast, close to Carlscrona. The Danes were at that time at war, having joined the Russians; and they were made prisoners, while I was of course liberated, and treated with great distinction; but as I could not speak either French or their own language, I could not get on very well. However, I had a handsome allowance, and permission to go to England as soon as I pleased. The Swedes were then at war with the Russians, and were fitting out their fleet; but, Lord bless them! they didn’t know much about it. I amused myself walking in the dockyard, and looking at their motions; but they had not thirty men in the fleet who knew what they were about, and, as for a man to set them going, there wasn’t one. Well, Peter, you know I could not be idle, and so by degrees I told one, and then told another–until they went the right way to work; and the captains and officers were very much obliged to me. At last, they all came to me, and if they did not understand me entirely, I showed them how to do it with my own hands; and the fleet began to make a show with their rigging. The admiral who commanded was very much obliged, and I seemed to come as regularly to my work as if I was paid for it. At last, the admiral came with an English interpreter, and asked me whether I was anxious to go back to England, or would I like to join their service. I saw what they wanted, and I replied that I had neither wife nor child in England, and that I liked their country very much; but I must take time to consider of it, and must also know what they had to propose. I went home to my lodgings, and, to make them more anxious, I did not make my appearance at the dockyard for three or four days, when a letter came from the admiral, offering me the command of a frigate if I would join their service. I replied, (for I knew how much they wanted me,) that I would prefer an English frigate to a Swedish one, and that I would not consent unless they offered something more; and then, with the express stipulation that I should not take arms against my own country. They then waited for a week, when they offered to make me a _Count_, and give me the command of a frigate. This suited me, as you may suppose, Peter; it was the darling wish of my heart–I was to be made a gentleman. I consented, and was made Count Shucksen, and had a fine large frigate under my command. I then set to work with a will, superintended the fitting out of the whole fleet, and showed them what an Englishman could do. We sailed, and you of course know the brush we had with the Russians, which, I must say, did us no discredit. I was fortunate to distinguish myself, for I exchanged several broadsides with a Russian two-deck ship, and came off with honour. When we went into port I got this riband. I was out afterwards, and fell in with a Russian frigate, and captured her, for which I received this other riband. Since that I have been in high favour, and now that I speak the languages, I like the people very much. I am often at court when I am in harbour; and, Peter, I am _married_.”
“I wish you joy, count, with all my heart.”
“Yes, and well married too–to a Swedish countess of very high family, and I expect that I have a little boy or girl by this time. So you observe, Peter, that I am at last a gentleman, and, what is more, my children will be noble by two descents. Who would have thought that this would have been occasioned by my throwing the captain’s jacket into the boat instead of my own? And now, my dear Mr Simple, that I have made you my confidant, I need not say, do not say a word about it to anybody. They certainly could not do me much harm, but still, they might do me some; and although I am not likely to meet any one who may recognize me in this uniform and these moustachios, it’s just as well to keep the secret, which to you and O’Brien only would I have confided.”
“My dear count,” replied I, “your secret is safe with me. You have come to your title before me, at all events; and I sincerely wish you joy, for you have obtained it honourably; but, although I would like to talk with you for days, I must return on board, for I am now sailing with a very unpleasant captain.”
I then, in a few words, stated where O’Brien was; and when we parted, I went with him on deck, Count Shucksen taking my arm, and introducing me as an old shipmate to his officers. “I hope we may meet again,” said I, “but I am afraid there is little chance.”
“Who knows?” replied he; “see what chance has done for me. My dear Peter, God bless you! You are one of the very few whom I always loved. God bless you, my boy! and never forget that all I have is at your command if you come my way.”
I thanked him, and saluting the officers, went down the side. As I expected, when I came on board, the captain demanded, in an angry tone, why I had stayed so long. I replied, that I was shown down into Count Shucksen’s cabin, and he conversed so long, that I could not get away sooner, as it would not have been polite to have left him before he had finished his questions. I then gave a very civil message, and the captain said no more; the very name of a great man always silenced him.
Chapter LXI
Bad news from home, and worse on board–Notwithstanding his previous trials, Peter forced to prepare for another–Mrs Trotter again; improves as she grows old–Captain Hawkins and his twelve charges.
No other event of consequence occurred until we joined the admiral, who only detained us three hours with the fleet, and then sent us home with his despatches. We arrived, after a quiet passage, at Portsmouth, where I wrote immediately to my sister Ellen, requesting to know the state of my father’s health. I waited impatiently for an answer, and by return of post received one with a black seal. My father had died the day before from a brain fever; and Ellen conjured me to obtain leave of absence, to come to her in her state of distress. The captain came on board the next morning, and I had a letter ready written on service to the admiral, stating the circumstances, and requesting leave of absence. I presented it to him, and entreated him to forward it. At any other time I would not have condescended, but the thoughts of my poor sister, unprotected and alone, with my father lying dead in the house, made me humble and submissive. Captain Hawkins read the letter, and very coolly replied, “that it was very easy to say that my father was dead, but he required proofs.” Even this insult did not affect me; I put my sister’s letter into his hand–he read it, and as he returned it to me, he smiled maliciously. “It is impossible for me to forward your letter, Mr Simple, as I have one to deliver to you.”
He put a large folio packet into my hand, and went below. I opened it: it was a copy of a letter demanding a court-martial upon me, with a long list of the charges preferred by him. I was stupefied, not so much at his asking for a court-martial, but at the conviction of the impossibility of my now being able to go to the assistance of my poor sister. I went down into the gunroom and threw myself on a chair, at the same time tossing the letter to Thompson, the master. He read it over carefully, and folded it up.
“Upon my word, Simple, I do not see that you have much to fear. These charges are very frivolous.”
“No, no–that I care little about; but it is my poor sister. I had written for leave of absence, and now she is left, God knows how long, in such distressing circumstances.”
Thompson looked grave. “I had forgotten your father’s death, Simple: it is indeed cruel. I would offer to go myself, but you will want my evidence at the court-martial. It can’t be helped. Write to your sister, and keep up her spirits. Tell her why you cannot come, and that it will all end well.”
I did so, and went early to bed, for I was really ill. The next morning, the official letter from the port-admiral came off, acquainting me that a court-martial had been ordered upon me, and that it would take place that day week. I immediately resigned the command to the second lieutenant, and commenced an examination into the charges preferred. They were very numerous, and dated back almost to the very day that he had joined the ship. There were twelve in all. I shall not trouble the reader with the whole of them, as many were very frivolous. The principal charges were–
1. For mutinous and disrespectful conduct to Captain Hawkins, on such a date, having, in a conversation with an inferior officer on the quarter-deck, stated that Captain Hawkins was a spy, and had spies in the ship.
2. For neglect of duty, in disobeying the orders of Captain Hawkins on the night of the —- of —-.
3. For having, on the —- of —-, sent away two boats from the ship, in
direct opposition to the orders of Captain Hawkins.
4. For having again, on the morning of the —- of —-, held mutinous and disrespectful conversation relative to Captain Hawkins with the gunner of the ship, allowing the latter to accuse Captain Hawkins of cowardice, without reporting the same.
5. For insulting expressions on the quarter-deck to Captain Hawkins on his rejoining the brig on the morning of the —- of —-.
6. For not causing the orders of Captain Hawkins to be put in force on several occasions, &c. &c. &c.
And further, as Captain Hawkins’ testimony was necessary in two of the charges, the king, on _those charges, _was the prosecutor. Although most of these charges were frivolous, yet I at once perceived my danger. Some were dated back many months, to the time before our ship’s company had been changed: and I could not find the necessary witnesses. Indeed, in all but the recent charges, not expecting to be called to a court-martial, I had serious difficulties to contend with. But the most serious was the first charge, which I knew not how to get over. Swinburne had most decidedly referred to the captain when he talked of spy captains. However, with the assistance of Thompson, I made the best defence I could, ready for my trial.
Two days before my court-martial I received a letter from Ellen, who appeared in a state of distraction from this accumulation of misfortune. She told me that my father was to be buried the next day, and that the new rector had written to her, to know when it would be convenient for the vicarage to be given up. That my father’s bills had been sent in, and amounted to twelve hundred pounds already; and that she knew not the extent of the whole claims. There appeared to be nothing left but the furniture of the house; and she wanted to know whether the debts were to be paid with the money I had left in the funds for her use. I wrote immediately, requesting her to liquidate every claim, as far as my money went, sending her an order upon my agent to draw for the whole amount, and a power of attorney to him to sell out the stock.
I had just sealed the letter, when Mrs Trotter, who had attended the ship since our return to Portsmouth, begged to speak with me, and walked in after her message, without waiting for an answer. “My dear Mr Simple,” said she, “I know all that is going on, and I find that you have no lawyer to assist you. Now I know that it is necessary, and will very probably be of great service in your defence–for when people are in distress and anxiety, they have not their wits about them; so I have brought a friend of mine from Portsea, a very clever man, who, for my sake, will undertake your cause, and I hope you will not refuse him. You recollect giving me a dozen pair of stockings. I did not refuse them, nor shall you refuse me now. I always said to Mr Trotter, ‘Go to a lawyer;’ and if he had taken my advice he would have done well. I recollect, when a hackney-coachman smashed the panel of our carriage– ‘Trotter,’ says I, ‘go to a lawyer;’ and he very politely answered, ‘Go to the devil!’ But what was the consequence!–he’s dead and I’m bumming. Now, Mr Simple, will you oblige me?–it’s all free gratis for nothing–not for nothing, for it’s for my sake. You see, Mr Simple, I have admirers yet,” concluded she, smiling.
Mrs Trotter’s advice was good; and although I would not listen to receiving his services gratuitously, I agreed to employ him; and very useful did he prove against such charges, and such a man as Captain Hawkins. He came on board that afternoon, carefully examined into all the documents and the witnesses whom I could bring forward, showed me the weak side of my defence, and took the papers on shore with him. Every day he came on board to collect fresh evidence and examine into my case.
At last the day arrived. I dressed myself in my best uniform. The gun fired from the admiral’s ship, with the signal for a court-martial at nine o’clock; and I went on board in a boat, with all the witnesses. On my arrival, I was put under the custody of the provost-marshal. The captains ordered to attend pulled alongside one after another, and were received by a party of marines, presenting their arms.
At half-past nine the court was all assembled, and I was ushered in. Courts-martial are open courts, although no one is permitted to print the evidence. At the head of the long table was the admiral, as president; on his right hand, standing, was Captain Hawkins, as prosecutor. On each side of the table were six captains, sitting near to the admiral, according to their seniority. At the bottom, facing the admiral, was the judge-advocate, on whose left hand I stood, as prisoner. The witnesses called in to be examined were stationed on his right; and behind him, by the indulgence of the court, was a small table, at which sat my legal adviser, so close as to be able to communicate with me. The court were all sworn, and then took their seats. Stauncheons, with ropes covered with green baize, passed along, were behind the chairs of the captains who composed the court, so that they might not be crowded upon by those who came in to listen to what passed. The charges were then read, as well as the letters to and from the admiral, by which the court-martial was demanded and granted: and then Captain Hawkins was desired to open his prosecution. He commenced with observing his great regret that he had been forced to a measure so repugnant to his feelings; his frequent cautions to me, and the indifference with which I treated them; and, after a preamble composed of every falsity that could be devised, he commenced with the first charge, and stating himself to be the witness, gave his evidence. When it was finished, I was asked if I had any questions to put. By the advice of my lawyer, I replied, “No.” The president then asked the captains composing the court-martial, commencing according to their seniority, whether they wished to ask any questions.
“I wish,” said the second captain who was addressed, “to ask Captain Hawkins whether, when he came on deck, he came up in the usual way in which a captain of a man-of-war comes on his quarter-deck, or whether he slipped up without noise?”
Captain Hawkins declared that he came up as he _usually did._ This was true enough, for he invariably came up by stealth.
“Pray, Captain Hawkins, as you have repeated a good deal of conversation which passed between the first lieutenant and the gunner, may I ask you how long you were by their side without their perceiving you?”
“A very short time,” was the answer.
“But, Captain Hawkins, do you not think, allowing that you came up on deck in your _usual_ way, as you term it, that you would have done better to have hemmed or hawed, so as to let your officers know that you were present? I should be very sorry to hear all that might be said of me in my supposed absence.”
To this observation Captain Hawkins replied, that he was so astonished at the conversation, that he was quite breathless, having, till then, had the highest opinion of me.
No more questions were asked, and they proceeded to the second charge. This was a very trifling one–for lighting a stove, contrary to orders; the evidence brought forward was the sergeant of marines. When his evidence in favour of the charge had been given, I was asked by the president if I had any questions to put to the witness. I put the following:–
“Did you repeat to Captain Hawkins that I had ordered the stove to be lighted?”–“I did.”
“Are you not in the custom of reporting, direct to the captain, any negligence, or disobedience of orders, you may witness in the ship?”–“I am.”
“Did you ever report anything of the sort to me, as first lieutenant, or do you always report direct to the captain?”
“I always report direct to the captain.”
“By the captain’s orders?”–“Yes.”
The following questions were then put by some of the members of the court:–
“You have served in other ships before?”–“Yes.”
“Did you ever, sailing with other captains, receive an order from them to report direct to them, and not through the first lieutenant?” The witness here prevaricated.
“Answer directly, yes or no.”–“No.”
The third charge was then brought forward–for sending away boats contrary to express orders. This was substantiated by Captain Hawkins’ own evidence, the order having been verbal. By the advice of my counsel, I put no questions to Captain Hawkins, neither did the court.
The fourth charge–that of holding mutinous conversation with the gunner, and allowing him to accuse the captain of unwillingness to engage the enemy–was then again substantiated by Captain Hawkins, as the only witness. I again left my reply for my defence; and only one question was put by one of the members, which was, to inquire of Captain Hawkins, as he appeared peculiarly unfortunate in overhearing conversations, whether he walked up as usual to the taffrail, or whether he _crept up._ Captain Hawkins gave the same answer as before.
The fifth charge–for insulting expressions to Captain Hawkins, on my rejoining the brig at Carlscrona–was then brought forward, and the sergeant of marines and one of the seamen appeared as witnesses. This charge excited a great deal of amusement. In the cross-examination by the members of the court, Captain Hawkins was asked what he meant by the expression, when disposing of the clothes of an officer who was killed in action, that the men appeared to think that his trousers would instil fear.
“Nothing more, upon my honour, sir,” replied Captain Hawkins, “than an implication that they were alarmed lest they should be haunted by his ghost.”
“Then, of course, Mr Simple meant the same in his reply,” observed the captain sarcastically.
The remainder of the charges were then brought forward, but they were of little consequence. The witnesses were chiefly the sergeant of marines, and the spy-glass of Captain Hawkins, who had been watching me from the shore.
It was late in the afternoon before they were all gone through; and the president then adjourned the court, that I might bring forward my own witnesses, in my defence, on the following day, and I returned on board the _Rattlesnake_.
Chapter LXII
A good defence not always good against a bad accusation–Peter wins the heart of his judges, yet loses his cause, and is dismissed his ship.
The next day I commenced my defence, and I preferred calling my own witnesses first, and, by the advice of my counsel, and at the request of Swinburne, I called him. I put the following questions:–“When we were talking on the quarter-deck, was it fine weather?”–“Yes, it was.”
“Do you think that you might have heard any one coming on deck, in the usual way, up the companion ladder?”
“Sure of it.”
“Do you mean, then, to imply that Captain Hawkins came up stealthily?”
“I have an idea he pounced upon us as a cat does on a mouse.”
“What were the expressions made use of?”
“I said that a spy captain would always find spy followers.”
“In that remark were you and Mr Simple referring to your own captain?”–
“The remark was mine. What Mr Simple was thinking of, I can’t tell; but I _did_ refer to the captain, and he has proved that I was right.” This bold answer of Swinburne’s rather astonished the court, who commenced cross-questioning him; but he kept to his original assertion–that I had only answered generally. To repel the second charge I produced no witnesses; but to the third charge I brought forward three witnesses to prove that Captain Hawkins’s orders were that I should send no boats on shore, not that I should not send them on board of the men-of-war close to us. In answer to the fourth charge, I called Swinburne, who stated that if I did not, he would come forward. Swinburne acknowledged that he accused the captain of being shy, and that I reprimanded him for so doing. “Did he say that he would report you?” inquired one of the captains. “No, sir,” replied Swinburne, “’cause he never meant to do it.” This was an unfortunate answer.
To the fifth charge, I brought several witnesses to prove the words of Captain Hawkins, and the sense in which they were taken by the ship’s company, and the men calling out “Shame!” when he used the expression.
To refute the other charges I called one or two witnesses, and the court then adjourned, inquiring of me when I would be ready to commence my defence. I requested a day to prepare, which was readily granted; and the ensuing day the court did not sit. I hardly need say that I was busily employed, arranging my defence with my counsel. At last all was done, and I went to bed tired and unhappy; but I slept soundly, which could not be said of my counsel, for he went on shore at eleven o’clock, and sat up all night making a fair copy. After all, the fairest court of justice is a naval court-martial–no brow-beating of witnesses, an evident inclination towards the prisoner–every allowance and every favour granted him, and no legal quibbles attended to. It is a court of equity, with very few exceptions; and the humbler the individual, the greater the chance in his favour.
I was awoke the following morning by my counsel, who had not gone to bed the previous night, and who had come off at seven o’clock to read over with me my defence. At nine o’clock I again proceeded on board, and in a short time the court was sitting. I came in, handed my defence to the judge-advocate, who read it aloud to the court. I have a copy still by me, and will give the whole of it to the reader.
“Mr President and Gentlemen,–After nearly fourteen years’ service in his Majesty’s navy, during which I have been twice made prisoner, twice wounded, and once wrecked; and, as I trust I shall prove to you, by certificates and the public despatches, I have done my duty with zeal and honour; I now find myself in a situation in which I never expected to be placed–that of being arraigned before and brought to a court-martial for charges of mutiny, disaffection, and disrespect towards my superior officer. If the honourable court will examine the certificates I am about to produce, they will find that, until I sailed with Captain Hawkins, my conduct has always been supposed to have been diametrically opposite to that which is now imputed to me. I have always been diligent and obedient to command; and I have only to regret that the captains with whom I have had the honour to sail are not now present to corroborate by their oral evidence the truth of these documents. Allow me, in the first place, to point out to the court, that the charges against me are spread over a large space of time, amounting to nearly eighteen months, during the whole of which period Captain Hawkins never stated to me that it was his intention to try me by a court-martial; and, although repeatedly in the presence of a senior officer, has never preferred any charge against me. The articles of war state expressly that if any officer, soldier, or marine has any complaint to make he is to do so upon his arrival at any port or fleet where he may fall in with a superior officer. I admit that this article of war refers to complaints to be made by inferiors against superiors; but, at the same time, I venture to submit to the honourable court that a superior is equally bound to prefer a charge, or to give notice that the charge will be preferred, on the first seasonable opportunity, instead of lulling the offender into security, and disarming him in his defence, by allowing the time to run on so long as to render him incapable of bringing forward his witnesses. I take the liberty of calling this to your attention, and shall now proceed to answer the charges which have been brought against me.
“I am accused of having held a conversation with an inferior officer on the quarter-deck of his Majesty’s brig _Rattlesnake_, in which my captain was treated with contempt. That it may not be supposed that Mr Swinburne was a new acquaintance, made upon my joining the brig, I must observe that he was an old shipmate, with whom I had served many years, and with whose worth I was well acquainted. He was my instructor in my more youthful days, and has been rewarded for his merit, with the warrant which he now holds as gunner of His Majesty’s brig _Rattlesnake_. The offensive observation, in the first place, was not mine; and, in the second, it was couched in general terms. Here Mr Swinburne has pointedly confessed that _he_ did refer to the captain, although the observation was in the plural; but that does not prove the charge against me–on the contrary, adds weight to the assertion of Mr Swinburne, that I was guiltless of the present charge. That Captain Hawkins has acted as a spy, his own evidence on this charge, as well as that brought forward by other witnesses, will decidedly prove; but as the truth of the observation does not warrant the utterance, I am glad that no such expression escaped my lips.
“Upon the second charge I shall dwell but a short time. It is true that there is a general order that no stoves shall be alight after a certain hour; but I will appeal to the honourable court, whether a first lieutenant is not considered to have a degree of licence of judgment in all that concerns the interior discipline of the ship. The surgeon sent to say that a stove was required for one of the sick. I was in bed at the time, and replied immediately in the affirmative. Does Captain Hawkins mean to assert to the honourable court, that he would have refused the request of the surgeon? Most certainly not. The only error I committed, if it were an error, was not going through the form of awaking Captain Hawkins, to ask the permission, which, as first lieutenant, I thought myself authorized to give.
“The charge against me, of having sent away two boats, contrary to his order, I have already disproved by witnesses. The order of Captain Hawkins was, not to communicate with the shore. My reasons for sending away the boats”–(Here Captain Hawkins interposed, and stated to the president that my reasons were not necessary to be received. The court was cleared, and, on our return, the court had decided, that my reasons ought to be given, and I continued.) “My reasons for sending away these boats, or rather it was one boat which was despatched to the two frigates, if I remember well, were, that the brig was in a state of mutiny. The captain had tied up one of the men, and the ship’s company refused to be flogged. Captain Hawkins then went on shore to the admiral, to report the situation of his ship, and I conceived it my duty to make it known to the men-of-war anchored close to us. I shall not enter into further particulars, as they will only detain the honourable court; and I am aware that this court-martial is held upon my conduct, and not upon that of Captain Hawkins. To the charge of again holding disrespectful language on the quarter-deck, as overheard by Captain. Hawkins, I must refer the honourable court to the evidence, in which it is plainly proved that the remarks upon him were not mine, but those of Mr Swinburne, and that I remonstrated with Mr Swinburne for using such unguarded expressions. The only point of difficulty is, whether it was not my duty to have reported such language. I reply, that there is no proof that I did not intend to report it; but the presence of Captain Hawkins, who heard what was said, rendered such report unnecessary.
“On the fifth charge, I must beg that the court will be pleased to consider that some allowance ought to be made for a moment of irritation. My character was traduced by Captain Hawkins, supposing that I was dead; so much so, that even the ship’s company cried out _shame._ I am aware, that no language of a superior officer can warrant a retort from an inferior; but, as what I intended to imply by that language is not yet known, although Captain Hawkins has given an explanation to his, I shall merely say, that I meant no more by my insinuations, than Captain Hawkins did at the time, by those which he made use of with respect to me.
“Upon the other trifling charges brought forward, I lay no stress, as I consider them fully refuted by the evidence which has been already adduced; and I shall merely observe, that, for reasons best known to himself, I have been met with a most decided hostility on the part of Captain Hawkins, from the time that he first joined the ship; that, on every occasion, he has used all his efforts to render me uncomfortable, and embroil me with others; that, not content with narrowly watching my conduct on board, he has resorted to his spy-glass from the shore; and, instead of assisting me in the execution of a duty sufficiently arduous, he has thrown every obstacle in my way, placed inferior officers as spies over my conduct, and made me feel so humiliated in the presence of the ship’s company, over which I have had to superintend, and in the disciplining of which I had a right to look to him for support, that, were it not that some odium would necessarily be attached to the sentence, I should feel it as one of the happiest events of my life that I were dismissed from the situation which I now hold under his command. I now beg that the honourable court will allow the documents I lay upon the table to be read in support of my character.”
When this was over, the court was cleared, that they might decide upon the sentence. I waited about half an hour in the greatest anxiety, when I was again summoned to attend. The usual forms of reading the papers were gone through, and then came the sentence, which was read by the president, he and the whole court standing up with their cocked hats on their heads. After the preamble, it concluded with saying, “that it was the opinion of that court that the charges had been _partly_ proved, and therefore, that Lieutenant Peter Simple was dismissed his ship; but, in consideration of his good character and services, his case was strongly recommended to the consideration of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty.”
Chapter LXIII
Peter looks upon his loss as something gained–Goes on board the _Rattlesnake_ to pack up, and is ordered to pack off–Polite leave-taking between relations. Mrs Trotter better and better–Goes to London, and afterwards falls into all manner of misfortunes by the hands of robbers, and of his own uncle.
I hardly knew whether I felt glad or sorry at this sentence. On the one hand, it was almost a deathblow to my future advancement or employment in the service; on the other, the recommendation very much softened down the sentence, and I was quite happy to be quit of Captain Hawkins, and free to hasten to my poor sister. I bowed respectfully to the court, which immediately adjourned. Captain Hawkins followed the captains on the quarter-deck, but none of them would speak to him–so much to his disadvantage had come out during the trial.
About ten minutes afterwards, one of the elder captains composing the court called me into the cabin. “Mr Simple,” said he, “we are all very sorry for you. Our sentence could not be more lenient, under the circumstances: it was that conversation with the gunner at the taffrail which floored you. It must be a warning to you to be more careful in future, how you permit any one to speak of the conduct of your superiors on the quarter-deck. I am desired by the president to let you know that it is our intention to express ourselves very strongly to the admiral in your behalf; so much so, that if another captain applies for you, you will have no difficulty in being appointed to a ship; and as for leaving your present ship, under any other circumstances I should consider it a matter of congratulation.”
I returned my sincere thanks, and soon afterwards quitted the guard-ship, and went on board of the brig to pack up my clothes, and take leave of my messmates. On my arrival, I found that Captain Hawkins had preceded me, and he was on deck when I came up the side. I hastened down into the gun-room, where I received the condolements of my messmates.
“Simple, I wish you joy,” cried Thompson, loud enough for the captain to hear on deck. “I wish I had your luck; I wish somebody would try me by a court-martial.”
“As it has turned out,” replied I, in a loud voice, “and after the communication made to me by the captains composing the court, of what they intend to say to the Admiralty, I agree with you, Thompson, that it is a very kind act on the part of Captain Hawkins, and I feel quite grateful to them.”
“Steward, come–glasses,” cried Thompson, “and let us drink success to Mr Simple.”
All this was very annoying to Captain Hawkins, who overheard every word. When our glasses were filled–“Simple, your good health, and may I meet with as good a messmate,” said Thompson.
At this moment, the sergeant of marines put his head in at the gun-room door, and said, in a most insolent tone, that I was to leave the ship immediately. I was so irritated, that I threw my glass of grog in his face, and he ran up to the captain to make the complaint; but I did not belong to the ship, and even if I had, I would have resented such impertinence.
Captain Hawkins was in a great rage, and I believe would have written for another court-martial, but he had had enough of them. He inquired very particularly of the sergeant whether he had told me that I was to leave the ship directly, or whether, that Captain Hawkins desired that I should leave the ship immediately; and finding that he had not given the latter message (which I was aware of, for had he given it, I dare not have acted as I did); he then sent down again by one of the midshipmen, desiring me to leave the ship immediately. My reply was, that I should certainly obey his orders with the greatest pleasure. I hastened to pack up my clothes, reported myself ready to the second lieutenant, who went up for permission to man a boat, which was refused by Captain Hawkins, who said I might go on shore in a shore-boat. I called one alongside, shook hands with all my messmates, and when I arrived on the quarter-deck, with Swinburne, and some of the best men, who came forward; Captain Hawkins stood by the binnacle, bursting with rage. As I went over the planeshear, I took my hat off to him, and wished him good-morning very respectfully, adding, “If you have any commands for my _uncle_, Captain Hawkins, I shall be glad to execute them.”
This observation, which showed him that I knew the connection and correspondence between them, made him gasp with emotion. “Leave the ship, sir, or by God I’ll put you in irons for mutiny,” cried he. I again took off my hat, and went down the side, and shoved off.
As soon as I was a few yards distant, the men jumped on the carronades and cheered, and I perceived Captain Hawkins order them down, and before I was a cable’s length from her, the pipe “all hands to punishment;” so I presume some of the poor fellows suffered for their insubordination in showing their good will. I acknowledge that I might have left the ship in a more dignified manner, and that my conduct was not altogether correct; but still, I state what I really did do, and some allowance must be made for my feelings. This is certain, that my conduct after the court-martial, was more deserving of punishment, than that for which I had been tried. But I was in a state of feverish excitement, and hardly knew what I did.
When I arrived at Sally Port, I had my effects wheeled up to the Blue Posts, and packing up those which I most required, I threw off my uniform, and was once more a gentleman at large. I took my place in the mail for that evening, sent a letter of thanks, with a few bank notes, to my counsel, and then sat down and wrote a long letter to O’Brien, acquainting him with the events which had taken place.
I had just finished, and sealed it up, when in came Mrs Trotter. “Oh my dear Mr Simple! I’m so sorry, and I have come to console you. There’s nothing like women when men are in affliction, as poor Trotter used to say, as he laid his head in my lap. When do you go to town?”
“This evening, Mrs Trotter.”
“I hope I am to continue to attend the ship?”
“I hope so too, Mrs Trotter, I have no doubt but you will.”
“Now, Mr Simple, how are you off for money? Do you want a little? You can pay me by-and-by. Don’t be afraid. I’m not quite so poor as I was when you came down to mess with Trotter and me, and when you gave me the dozen pair of stockings. I know what it is to want money, and what it is to want friends.”
“Many thanks to you, Mrs Trotter,” replied I; “but I have sufficient to take me home, and then I can obtain more.”
“Well, I’m glad of it, but it was offered in earnest. Good-bye, God bless you! Come, Mr Simple, give me a kiss; it won’t be the first time.”
I kissed her, for I felt grateful for her kindness; and with a little smirking and ogling she quitted the room. I could not help thinking, after she was gone, how little we know the hearts of others. If I had been asked if Mrs Trotter was a person to have done a generous action, from what I had seen of her in adversity, I should have decidedly said, No. Yet in this offer she was disinterested, for she knew the service well enough to be aware that I had little chance of being a first lieutenant again, and of being of service to her. And how often does it also occur, that those who ought, from gratitude or long friendship, to do all they can to assist you, turn from you in your necessity, and prove false and treacherous! It is God alone who knows our hearts. I sent my letter to O’Brien to the admiral’s office, sat down to a dinner which I could not taste, and at seven o’clock got into the mail.
When I arrived in town I was much worse, but I did not wait more than an hour. I took my place in a coach which did not go to the town near which we resided; for I had inquired and found that coach was full, and I did not choose to wait another day. The coach in which I took my place went within forty miles of the vicarage, and I intended to post across the country. The next evening I arrived at the point of separation, and taking out my portmanteau, ordered a chaise, and set off for what had once been my home. I could hardly hold my head up, I was so ill, and I lay in a corner of the chaise in a sort of dream, kept from sleeping from intense pain in the forehead and temples. It was about nine o’clock at night, when we were in a dreadful jolting road, the shocks proceeding from which gave me agonizing pain, that the chaise was stopped by two men, who dragged me out on the grass. One stood over me, while the other rifled the chaise. The post-boy, who appeared a party to the transaction, remained quietly on his horse, and as soon as they had taken my effects, turned round and drove off. They then rifled my person, taking away everything that I had, leaving me nothing but my trousers and shirt. After a short consultation, they ordered me to walk on in the direction in which we had been proceeding in the chaise, and to hasten as fast as I could, or they would blow my brains out. I complied with their request, thinking myself fortunate to have escaped so well. I knew that I was still thirty miles at least from the vicarage; but ill as I was, I hoped to be able to reach it on foot. I walked during the remainder of the night, but I got on but slowly. I reeled from one side of the road to the other, and occasionally sat down to rest. Morning dawned, and I perceived habitations not far from me. I staggered on in my course.
The fever now raged in me, my head was splitting with agony, and I tottered to a bank near a small neat cottage, on the side of the road. I have a faint recollection of some one coming to me and taking my hand, but nothing further; and it was not till many months afterwards, that I became acquainted with the circumstances which I now relate. It appears that the owner of the cottage was a half-pay lieutenant in the army, who had sold-out on account of his wounds. I was humanely taken into his house, laid on a bed, and a surgeon requested to come to me immediately. I had now lost all recollection, and who I was they could not ascertain. My pockets were empty, and it was only by the mark on my linen that they found that my name was Simple. For three weeks I remained in a state of alternate stupor and delirium. When the latter came on, I raved of Lord Privilege, O’Brien, and Celeste. Mr Selwin, the officer who had so kindly assisted me, knew that Simple was the patronymic name of Lord Privilege, and he immediately wrote to his lordship, stating that a young man of the name of Simple, who, in his delirium called upon him and Captain O’Brien, was lying in a most dangerous state in his house, and, that as he presumed I was a relative of his lordship’s he had deemed it right to apprise him of the fact.
My uncle, who knew that it must be me, thought this too favourable an opportunity, provided I should live, not to have me in his power. He wrote to say that he would be there in a day or two; at the same time thanking Mr Selwin for his kind attention to his poor nephew, and requesting that no expense might be spared. When my uncle arrived, which he did in his own chariot, the crisis of the fever was over, but I was still in a state of stupor, arising from extreme debility. He thanked Mr Selwin for his attention, which he said he was afraid was of little avail, as I was every year becoming more deranged; and he expressed his fears that it would terminate in chronic lunacy. “His poor father died in the same state,” continued my uncle, passing his hand across his eyes, as if much affected. “I have brought my physician with me, to see if he can be moved. I shall not be satisfied unless I am with him night and day.”
The physician (who was my uncle’s valet) took me by the hand, felt my pulse, examined my eyes, and pronounced that it would be very easy to move me, and that I should recover sooner in a more airy room. Of course, Mr Selwin raised no objections, putting down all to my uncle’s regard for me; and my clothes were put on me, as I lay in a state of insensibility, and I was lifted into the chariot. It is most wonderful that I did not die from being thus taken out of my bed in such a state, but it pleased Heaven that it should be otherwise. Had such an event taken place, it would probably have pleased my uncle much better than my surviving. When I was in the carriage, supported by the pseudo-physician, my uncle again thanked Mr Selwin, begged that he would command his interest, wrote a handsome cheque for the surgeon who had attended me, and getting into the carriage, drove off with me still in a state of insensibility–that is, I was not so insensible, but I think I felt I had been removed, and I heard the rattling of the wheels; but my mind was so uncollected, and I was in a state of such weakness, that I could not feel assured of it for a minute.
For some days afterwards, for I recollect nothing about the journey, I found myself in bed in a dark room and my arms confined. I recalled my senses, and by degrees was able to recollect all that had occurred, until I laid down by the roadside. Where was I? The room was dark, I could distinguish nothing; that I had attempted to do myself some injury, I took for granted, or my arms would not have been secured. I had been in a fever and delirious, I supposed, and had now recovered. I had been in a reverie for more than an hour, wondering why I was left alone, when the door of the apartment opened. “Who is there?” inquired I.
“Oh! you’ve come to yourself again,” said a gruff voice; “then I’ll give you a little daylight.”
He took down a shutter which covered the whole of the window, and a flood of light poured in, which blinded me. I shut my eyes, and by degrees admitted the light until I could bear it. I looked at the apartment: the walls were bare and whitewashed. I was on a truckle-bed. I looked at the window–it was closed up with iron bars.–“Why, where am I?” inquired I of the man, with alarm.
“Where are you?” replied he; “why, in Bedlam!”
Chapter LXIV
As O’Brien said; it’s a long lane that has no turning–I am rescued, and happiness pours in upon me as fast as misery before overwhelmed me.
The shock was too great–I fell back on my pillow insensible. How long I laid, I know not, but when I recovered the keeper was gone, and I found a jug of water and some bread by the side of the bed, I drank the water, and the effect it had upon me was surprising. I felt that I could get up, and I rose: my arms had been unpinioned during my swoon. I got on my feet, and staggered to the window. I looked out, saw the bright sun, the passers-by, the houses opposite–all looked cheerful and gay, but I was a prisoner in a madhouse. Had I been mad? I reflected, and supposed that I had been, and had been confined by those who knew nothing of me. It never came into my head that my uncle had been a party to it. I threw myself on the bed, and relieved myself with tears. It was about noon that the medical people, attended by the keepers and others, came into my apartment. “Is he quite quiet?” “O Lord! yes, sir, as quiet as a lamb,” replied the man who had before entered. I then spoke to the medical gentleman, begging him to tell why, and how, I had been brought here. He answered mildly and soothingly, saying that I was there at the wish of my friends, and that every care would be taken of me; that he was aware that my paroxysms were only occasional, and that, during the time I was quiet, I should have every indulgence that could be granted, and that he hoped that I soon should be perfectly well, and be permitted to leave the hospital. I replied by stating who I was, and how I had been taken ill. The doctor shook his head, advised me to lie down as much as possible, and then quitted me to visit the other patients.
As I afterwards discovered, my uncle had had me confined upon the plea that I was a young man who was deranged with an idea that his name was Simple, and that he was the heir to the title and estates; that I was very troublesome at times, forcing my way into his house and insulting the servants, but in every other respect was harmless; that my paroxysms generally ended in a violent fever, and it was more from the fear of my coming to some harm, than from any ill-will towards the poor young man, that he wished me to remain in the hospital, and be taken care of. The reader may at once perceive the art of this communication: I, having no idea why I was confined, would of course continue to style myself by my true name; and as long as I did this, so long would I be considered in a deranged state. The reader must not therefore be surprised when I tell him that I remained in Bedlam for one year and eight months. The doctor called upon me for two or three days, and finding me quiet, ordered me to be allowed books, paper, and ink, to amuse myself; but every attempt at explanation was certain to be the signal for him to leave my apartment. I found, therefore, not only by him, but from the keeper, who paid no attention to anything I said, that I had no chance of being listened to, or of obtaining my release.
After the first month, the doctor came to me no more: I was a quiet patient, and he received the report of the keeper. I was sent there with every necessary document to prove that I was mad; and, although a very little may establish a case of lunacy, it requires something very strong indeed to prove that you are in your right senses. In Bedlam I found it impossible. At the same time I was well treated, was allowed all necessary comforts, and such amusement as could be obtained from books, &c. I had no reason to complain of the keeper–except that he was too much employed to waste his time in listening to what he did not believe. I wrote several letters to my sister and to O’Brien, during the first two or three months, and requested the keeper to put them in the post. This he promised to do, never refusing to take the letters; but, as I afterwards found out, they were invariably destroyed. Yet I still bore up with the hopes of release for some time; but the anxiety relative to my sister, when I thought of her situation, my thoughts of Celeste and of O’Brien, sometimes quite overcame me; then, indeed, I would almost become frantic, and the keeper would report that I had had a paroxysm. After six months I became melancholy, and I wasted away. I no longer attempted to amuse myself, but sat all day with my eyes fixed upon vacancy. I no longer attended to my person; I allowed my beard to grow– my face was never washed, unless mechanically, when ordered by the keeper; and if I was not mad, there was every prospect of my soon becoming so. Life passed away as a blank–I had become indifferent to everything–I noted time no more–the change of seasons was unperceived –even the day and the night followed without my regarding them.
I was in this unfortunate situation, when one day the door was opened, and, as had been often the custom during my imprisonment, visitors were going round the establishment, to indulge their curiosity, in witnessing the degradation of their fellow-creatures, or to offer their commiseration. I paid no heed to them, not even casting up my eyes. “This young man,” said the medical gentleman who accompanied the party, “has entertained the strange idea that his name is Simple, and that he is the rightful heir to the title and property of Lord Privilege.”
One of the visitors came up to me, and looked me in the face. “And so he is,” cried he to the doctor, who looked with astonishment. “Peter, don’t you know me?” I started up. It was General O’Brien. I flew into his arms, and burst into tears.
“Sir,” said General O’Brien, leading me to the chair, and seating me upon it, “I tell you that _is_ Mr Simple, the nephew of Lord Privilege; and I believe, the heir to the title. If, therefore, his assertion of such being the case is the only proof of his insanity, he is illegally confined. I am here, a foreigner, and a prisoner on parole; but I am not without friends. My Lord Belmore,” said he, turning to another of the visitors who had accompanied him, “I pledge you my honour that what I state is true; and I request that you will immediately demand the release of this poor young man.”
“I assure you, sir, that I have Lord Privilege’s letter,” observed the doctor.
“Lord Privilege is a scoundrel,” replied General O’Brien. “But there is justice to be obtained in this country, and he shall pay dearly for his _lettre de cachet_. My dear Peter, how fortunate was my visit to this horrid place! I had heard so much of the excellent arrangements of this establishment, that I agreed to walk round with Lord Belmore; but I find that it is abused.”
“Indeed, General O’Brien, I have been treated with kindness,” replied I; “and particularly by this gentleman. It was not his fault.”
General O’Brien and Lord Belmore then inquired of the doctor if he had any objection to my release.
“None whatever, my lord, even if he were insane; although I now see how I have been imposed upon. We allow the friends of any patient to remove him, if they think that they can pay him more attention. He may leave with you this moment.”
I now did feel my brain turn with the revulsion from despair to hope, and I fell back in my seat. The doctor, perceiving my condition, bled me copiously, and laid me on the bed, where I remained more than an hour, watched by General O’Brien. I then got up, calm and thankful. I was shaved by the barber of the establishment, washed and dressed myself, and, leaning on the general’s arm, was let out. I cast my eyes upon the two celebrated stone figures of Melancholy and Raving Madness, as I passed them; I trembled, and clung more tightly to the general’s arm, was assisted into the carriage, and bade farewell to madness and misery. The general said nothing until we approached the hotel where he resided, in Dover-street, and then he inquired, in a low voice, whether I could bear more excitement.
“It is Celeste you mean, general?”
“It is, my dear boy; she is here;” and he squeezed my hand.
“Alas!” cried I, “what hopes have I now of Celeste?”
“More than you had before,” replied the general. “She lives but for you; and if you are a beggar, I have a competence to make you sufficiently comfortable.”
I returned the general’s pressure of the hand, but could not speak. We descended, and in a minute I was led by the father into the arms of the astonished daughter.
I must pass over a few days, during which I had almost recovered my health and spirits, and had narrated my adventures to General O’Brien and Celeste. My first object was to discover my sister. What had become of poor Ellen, in the destitute condition in which she had been left I knew not; and I resolved to go down to the vicarage, and make inquiries. I did not, however, set off until a legal adviser had been sent for by General O’Brien, and due notice given to Lord Privilege of an action to be immediately brought against him for false imprisonment.
I set off in the mail, and the next evening arrived at the town of—-. I hastened to the parsonage, and the tears stood in my eyes as I thought of my mother, my poor father, and the peculiar and doubtful situation of my dear sister. I was answered by a boy in livery, and found the present incumbent at home. He received me politely, listened to my story, and then replied that my sister had set off for London on the day of his arrival, and that she had not communicated her intentions to any one. Here, then, was all clue lost, and I was in despair. I walked to the town in time to throw myself into the mail, and the next evening joined Celeste and the general, to whom I communicated the intelligence, and requested advice how to proceed.
Lord Belmore called the next morning, and the general consulted him. His lordship took great interest in my concerns, and, previous to any further steps, advised me to step into his carriage, and allow him to relate my case to the First Lord of the Admiralty. This was done immediately; and, as I had now an opportunity of speaking freely to his lordship, I explained to him the conduct of Captain Hawkins, and his connection with my uncle; also the reason of my uncle’s persecution. His lordship, finding me under such powerful protection as Lord Belmore’s, and having an eye to my future claims, which my uncle’s conduct gave him reason to suppose were well founded, was extremely gracious, and said that I should hear from him in a day or two. He kept his word, and, on the third day after my interview, I received a note, announcing my promotion to the rank of commander. I was delighted with this good fortune, as was General O’Brien and Celeste.
When at the Admiralty, I inquired about O’Brien, and found that he was expected home every day. He had gained great reputation in the East Indies, was chief in command at the taking of some of the islands, and, it was said, was to be created a baronet for his services. Everything wore a favourable aspect, excepting the disappearance of my sister. This was a weight on my mind I could not remove.
But I have forgotten to inform the reader by what means General O’Brien and Celeste arrived so opportunely in England. Martinique had been captured by our forces about six months before, and the whole of the garrison surrendered as prisoners of war. General O’Brien was sent home, and allowed to be on parole; although born a Frenchman, he had very high connections in Ireland, of whom Lord Belmore was one. When they arrived, they had made every inquiry for me without success; they knew that I had been tried by a court-martial, and dismissed my ship, but after that, no clue could be found for my discovery.
Celeste, who was fearful that some dreadful accident had occurred to me, had suffered very much in health; and General O’Brien, perceiving how much his daughter’s happiness depended upon her attachment for me, had made up his mind that if I were found we should be united. I hardly need say how delighted he was when he discovered me, though in a situation so little to be envied.
The story of my incarceration, of the action to be brought against my uncle, and the reports of foul play relative to the succession, had in the meantime been widely circulated among the nobility; and I found that every attention was paid me, and I was repeatedly invited out as an object of curiosity and speculation. The loss of my sister also was a subject of much interest, and many people, from goodwill, made every inquiry to discover her. I had returned one day from the solicitor’s, who had advertised for her in the newspapers without success, when I found a letter for me on the table, in an Admiralty enclosure. I opened it–the enclosure was one from O’Brien, who had just cast anchor at Spithead, and who had requested that the letter should be forwarded to me, if any one could tell my address. I tore it open.
“My dear Peter,–Where are, and what has become of, you? I have received no letters for these two years, and I have fretted myself to death. I received your letter about the rascally court-martial; but perhaps you have not heard that the little scoundrel is dead. Yes, Peter; he brought your letter out in his own ship, and that was his death-warrant. I met him at a private party. He brought up your name– I allowed him to abuse you, and then told him he was a liar and a scoundrel; upon which he challenged me, very much against his will; but the affront was so public, that he couldn’t help himself. Upon which I shot him, with all the good-will in the world, and could he have jumped up again twenty times, like Jack-in-the-Box, I would have shot him every time. The dirty scoundrel! but there’s an end of him. Nobody pitied him, for every one hated him; and the admiral only looked grave, and then was very much obliged to me for giving him a vacancy for his nephew. By-the-bye, from some unknown hand, but I presume from the officers of his ship, I received a packet of correspondence between him and your worthy uncle, which is about as elegant a piece of rascality as ever was carried on between two scoundrels; but that’s not all, Peter. I’ve got a young woman for you who will make your heart glad–not Mademoiselle Celeste, for I don’t know where she is–but the wet-nurse who went out to India. Her husband was sent home as an invalid, and she was allowed her passage home with him in my frigate. Finding that he belonged to the regiment, I talked to him about one O’Sullivan, who married in Ireland, and mentioned the girl’s name, and when he discovered that he was a countryman of mine he told me that his real name was O’Sullivan, sure enough, but that he had always served as O’Connell, and that his wife on board was the young woman in question. Upon which I sent to speak to her, and telling her that I knew all about it, and mentioning the names of Ella Flanagan and her mother, who had given me the information, she was quite astonished; and when I asked her what had become of the child which she took in place of her own, she told me that it had been drowned at Plymouth, and that her husband was saved at the same time by a young officer, ‘whose name I have here,’ says she; and then she pulled out of her neck your card, with Peter Simple on it. ‘Now,’ says I, ‘do you know, good woman, that in helping on the rascally exchange of children, you ruin that very young man who saved your husband, for you deprive him of his title and property?” She stared like a stuck pig, when I said so, and then cursed and blamed herself, and declared she’d right you as soon as we came home; and most anxious she is still to do so, for she loves the very name of you; so you see, Peter, a good action has its reward sometimes in this world, and a bad action also, seeing as how I’ve shot that confounded villain who dared to ill-use you. I have plenty more to say to you, Peter; but I don’t like writing what, perhaps, may never be read, so I’ll wait till I hear from you; and then, as soon as I get through my business, we will set to and trounce that scoundrel of an uncle. I have twenty thousand pounds jammed together in the Consolidated, besides the Spice Islands, which will be a pretty penny; and every farthing of it shall go to right you, Peter, and make a lord of you, as I promised you often that you should be; and if you win you shall pay, and if you don’t then d–n the luck and d–n the money too. I beg you will offer my best regards to Miss Ellen, and say how happy I shall be to hear that she is well; but it has always been on my mind, Peter, that your father did not leave too much behind him, and I wish to know how you both get on. I left you a _carte blanche _at my agent’s, and I only hope that you have taken advantage of it, if required; if not, you’re not the Peter that I left behind me. So now, farewell, and don’t forget to answer my letter in no time. Ever yours,
“Terence O’Brien.”
This was indeed joyful intelligence. I handed the letter to General O’Brien, who read it, Celeste hanging over his shoulder, and perusing it at the same time.
“This is well,” said the General. “Peter, I wish you joy, and Celeste, I ought to wish you joy also at your future prospects. It will indeed be a gratification if ever I hail you as Lady Privilege.”
“Celeste,” said I, “you did not reject me when I was pennyless, and in disgrace. O my poor sister Ellen! If I could but find you, how happy should I be!”
I sat down to write to O’Brien, acquainting him with all that had occurred, and the loss of my dear sister. The day after the receipt of my letter, O’Brien burst into the room. After the first moments of congratulation were past, he said, “My heart’s broke, Peter, about your sister Ellen: find her I must. I shall give up my ship, for I’ll never give up the search as long as I live. I must find her.”
“Do, pray, my dear O’Brien, and I only wish–”
“Wish what, Peter? shall I tell you what I wish?–that if I find her, you’ll give her to me for my trouble.”
“As far as I am concerned, O’Brien, nothing would give me greater pleasure; but God knows to what wretchedness and want may have compelled her.”
“Shame on you, Peter, to think so of your sister. I pledge my honour for her. Poor, miserable, and unhappy she may be–but no–no, Peter. You don’t know–you don’t love her as I do, if you can allow such thoughts to enter your mind.”
This conversation took place at the window: we then turned round to General O’Brien and Celeste.
“Captain O’Brien,” said the general.
“Sir Terence O’Brien, if you please, general. His Majesty has given me a handle to my name.”
“I congratulate you, Sir Terence,” said the general, shaking him by the hand: “what I was about to say is, that I hope you will take up your quarters at this hotel, and we will all live together. I trust that we shall soon find Ellen: in the meanwhile we have no time to lose, in our exposure of Lord Privilege. Is the woman in town?”
“Yes, and under lock and key; but the devil a fear of her. Millions would not bribe her to wrong him who risked his life for her husband. She’s Irish, general, to the back bone. Nevertheless, Peter, we must go to our solicitor, to give the intelligence, that he may take the necessary steps.”
For three weeks, O’Brien was diligent in his search for Ellen, employing every description of emissary without success. In the meanwhile, the general and I were prosecuting our cause against Lord Privilege. One morning, Lord Belmore called upon us, and asked the general if we would accompany him to the theatre, to see two celebrated pieces performed. In the latter, which was a musical farce, a new performer was to come out, of whom report spoke highly. Celeste consented, and after an early dinner, we joined his lordship in his private box, which was above the stage, on the first tier. The first piece was played, and Celeste, who had never seen the performance of Young, was delighted. The curtain then drew up for the second piece. In the second act, the new performer, a Miss Henderson, was led by the manager on the stage; she was apparently much frightened and excited, but three rounds of applause gave her courage, and she proceeded. At the very first notes of her voice I was startled, and O’Brien, who was behind, threw himself forward to look at her; but as we were almost directly above, and her head was turned the other way, we could not distinguish her features. As she proceeded in her song, she gained courage, and her face was turned towards us, and she cast her eyes up–saw me–the recognition was mutual–I held out my arm, but could not speak–she staggered, and fell down in a swoon.
“‘Tis Ellen!” cried O’Brien, rushing past me; and making one spring down on the stage, he carried her off, before any other person could come to her assistance. I followed him, and found him with Ellen still in his arms, and the actresses assisting in her recovery. The manager came forward to apologize, stating that the young lady was too ill to proceed, and the audience, who had witnessed the behaviour of O’Brien and myself, were satisfied with the romance in real life which had been exhibited. Her part was read by another, but the piece was little attended to, every one trying to find out the occasion of this uncommon occurrence. In the meantime, Ellen was put into a hackney-coach by O’Brien and me, and we drove to the hotel, where we were soon joined by the general and Celeste.
Chapter LXV
It never rains but it pours, whether it be good or bad news–I succeed in everything, and to everything, my wife, my title, and estate–And “All’s well that ends well.”
I shall pass over the scenes which followed, and give my sister’s history in her own words.
“I wrote to you, my dear Peter, to tell you that I considered it my duty to pay all my father’s debts with your money, and that there were but sixty pounds left when every claim had been satisfied; and I requested you to come to me as soon as you could, that I might have your counsel and assistance as to my future arrangements.”
“I received your letter, Ellen, and was hastening to you, when–but no matter, I will tell my story afterwards.”
“Day after day I waited with anxiety for a letter, and then wrote to the officers of the ship to know if any accident had occurred. I received an answer from the surgeon, informing me that you had quitted Portsmouth to join me, and had not since been heard of. You may imagine my distress at this communication, as I did not doubt but that something dreadful had occurred, as I knew, too well, that nothing would have detained you from me at such a time. The new vicar appointed had come down to look over the house, and to make arrangements for bringing in his family. The furniture he had previously agreed to take at a valuation, and the sum had been appropriated in liquidation of your father’s debts. I had already been permitted to remain longer than was usual, and had no alternative but to quit, which I did not do until the last moment. I could not leave my address, for I knew not where I was to go. I took my place in the coach, and arrived in London. My first object was to secure the means of livelihood, by offering myself as a governess; but I found great difficulties from not being able to procure a good reference, and from not having already served in that capacity. At last I was taken into a family to bring up three little girls; but I soon found out how little chance I had of comfort. The lady had objected to me as too good-looking–for this same reason the gentleman insisted upon my being engaged.
“Thus was I a source of disunion; the lady treated me with harshness, and the gentleman with too much attention. At last her ill-treatment and his persecution, were both so intolerable, that I gave notice that I should leave my situation.”
“I beg pardon, Miss Ellen, but you will oblige me with the name and residence of that gentleman?” said O’Brien.
“Indeed, Ellen, do no such thing,” replied I; “continue your story.”
“I could not obtain another situation as governess; for, as I always stated where I had been, and did not choose to give the precise reason for quitting, merely stating that I was not comfortable, whenever the lady was called upon for my character, she invariably spoke of me so as to prevent my obtaining a situation. At last I was engaged as teacher to a school. I had better have taken a situation as housemaid. I was expected to be everywhere, to do everything; was up at daylight, and never in bed till past midnight; fared very badly, and was equally ill paid; but still it was honest employment, and I remained there for more than a year; but, though as economical as possible, my salary would not maintain me in clothes and washing, which was all I required. There was a master of elocution, who came every week, and whose wife was the teacher of music. They took a great liking to me, and pointed out how much better I should be off if I could succeed on the stage, of which they had no doubt. For months I refused, hoping still to have some tidings of you; but at last my drudgery became so insupportable, and my means so decreased, that I unwillingly consented. It was then nineteen months since I had heard of you, and I mourned you as dead. I had no relations except my uncle, and I was unknown even to him. I quitted the situation, and took up my abode with the teacher of elocution and his wife, who treated me with every kindness, and prepared me for my new career. Neither at the school, which was three miles from London, nor at my new residence, which was over Westminster-bridge, did I ever see a newspaper. It was no wonder, therefore, that I did not know of your advertisements. After three months’ preparation I was recommended and introduced to the manager by my kind friends, and accepted. You know the rest.”
“Well, Miss Ellen, if any one ever tells you that you were on the stage, at all events you may reply that you wasn’t there long.”
“I trust not long enough to be recognised,” replied she. “I recollect how often I have expressed my disgust at those who would thus consent to exhibit themselves; but circumstances strangely alter our feelings. I do, however, trust that I should have been respectable, even as an actress.”
“That you would, Miss Ellen,” replied O’Brien. “What did I tell you, Peter?”
“You pledged your honour that nothing would induce Ellen to disgrace her family, I recollect, O’Brien.”
“Thank you, Sir Terence, for your good opinion,” replied Ellen.
My sister had been with us about three days, during which I had informed her of all that had taken place, when, one evening, finding myself alone with her, I candidly stated to her what were O’Brien’s feelings towards her, and pleaded his cause with all the earnestness in my power.
“My dear brother,” she replied, “I have always admired Captain O’Brien’s character, and always have felt grateful to him for his kindness and attachment to you; but I cannot say that I love him. I have never thought about him except as one to whom we are both much indebted.”
“But do you mean to say that you could not love him?”
“No, I do not; and I will do all I can, Peter–I will try. I never will, if possible, make him unhappy who has been so kind to you.”
“Depend upon it, Ellen, that with your knowledge of O’Brien, and with feelings of gratitude to him, you will soon love him, if once you accept him as a suitor. May I tell him–”
“You may tell him that he may plead his own cause, my dear brother; and, at all events, I will listen to no other until he has had fair play; but recollect that at present I only _like_ him–like him _very much, _it is true; but still I only _like_ him.”
I was quite satisfied with my success, and so was O’Brien, when I told him. “By the powers, Peter, she’s an angel, and I can’t expect her to love an inferior being like myself; but if she’ll only like me well enough to marry me, I’ll trust to after-marriage for the rest. Love comes with the children, Peter. Well, but you need not say that to her– divil a bit–they shall come upon her like old age, without her perceiving it.”
O’Brien having thus obtained permission, certainly lost no time in taking advantage of it. Celeste and I were more fondly attached every day. The solicitor declared my case so good, that he could raise fifty thousand pounds upon it. In short, all our causes were prosperous, when an event occurred, the details of which, of course, I did not obtain until some time afterwards, but which I shall narrate here.
My uncle was very much alarmed when he discovered that I had been released from Bedlam–still more so, when he had notice given him of a suit, relative to the succession to the title. His emissaries had discovered that the wet-nurse had been brought home in O’Brien’s frigate, and was kept so close that they could not communicate with her. He now felt that all his schemes would prove abortive. His legal adviser was with him, and they had been walking in the garden, talking over the contingencies, when they stopped close to the drawing-room windows of the mansion at Eagle Park.
“But, sir,” observed the lawyer, “if you will not confide in me, I cannot act for your benefit. You still assert that nothing of the kind has taken place?”
“I do,” replied his lordship. “It is a foul invention.”
“Then, my lord, may I ask you why you considered it advisable to imprison Mr Simple in Bedlam?”
“Because I hate him,” retorted his lordship,–“detest him.”
“And for what reason, my lord? his character is unimpeached, and he is your near relative.”
“I tell you, sir, that I hate him–would that he were now lying dead at my feet!”
Hardly were the words out of my uncle’s mouth, when a whizzing was heard for a second, and then something fell down within a foot of where they stood, with a heavy crash. They started–turned round–the adopted heir lay lifeless at their feet, and their legs were bespattered with his blood and his brains. The poor boy, seeing his lordship below, had leaned out of one of the upper windows to call to him, but lost his balance, and had fallen head foremost upon the wide stone pavement which surrounded the mansion. For a few seconds the lawyer and my uncle looked upon each other with horror.
“A judgment!–a judgment!” cried the lawyer, looking at his client. My uncle covered his face with his hands, and fell. Assistance now came out, but there was more than one to help up. The violence of his emotion had brought on an apoplectic fit, and my uncle, although he breathed, never spoke again.
It was in consequence of this tragical event, of which we did not know the particulars until afterwards, that the next morning my solicitor called upon me, and put a letter into my hand, saying, “Allow me to congratulate your lordship.” We were all at breakfast at the time, and the general, O’Brien, and myself jumped up, all in such astonishment at this unexpected title being so soon conferred upon me, that we had a heavy bill for damages to pay; and had not Ellen caught the tea-urn, as it was tipping over, there would, in all probability, have been a doctor’s bill into the bargain. The letter was eagerly read–it was from my uncle’s legal adviser, who had witnessed the catastrophe, informing me, that all dispute as to the succession was at an end by the tragical event that had taken place, and that he had put seals upon everything, awaiting my arrival or instructions. The solicitor, as he presented the letter, said that he would take his leave, and call again in an hour or two, when I was more composed. My first movement, when I had read the letter aloud, was to throw my arms round Celeste, and embrace her–and O’Brien, taking the hint, did the same to Ellen, and was excused in consideration of circumstances; but, as soon as she could disengage herself, her arms were entwined round my neck, while Celeste was hanging on her father’s. Having disposed of the ladies, the gentlemen now shook hands, and though we had not all appetites to finish our breakfasts, never was there a happier quintette.
In about an hour my solicitor returned, and congratulated me, and immediately set about the necessary preparations. I desired him to go down immediately to Eagle Park, attend to the funeral of my uncle, and the poor little boy who had paid so dearly for his intended advancement, and take charge from my uncle’s legal adviser, who remained in the house. The “dreadful accident in high life” found its way into the papers of the day, and before dinner time a pile of visiting cards was poured in, which covered the table. The next day a letter arrived from the First Lord, announcing that he had made out my commission as post-captain, and trusted that I would allow him the pleasure of presenting it himself at his dinner hour, at half-past seven. Very much obliged to him, the “fool of the family” might have waited a long while for it.
While I was reading this letter, the waiter came up to say that a young woman below wanted to speak to me. I desired her to be shown up. As soon as she came in, she burst into tears, knelt down, and kissed my hand.
“Sure, it’s you–oh! yes–it’s you that saved my poor husband when I was assisting to your ruin. And an’t I punished for my wicked doings–an’t my poor boy dead?”
She said no more, but remained on her knees, sobbing bitterly. Of course, the reader recognises in her the wet-nurse who had exchanged her child. I raised her up, and desired her to apply to my solicitor to pay her expenses, and leave her address.
“But do you forgive me, Mr Simple? It’s not that I have forgiven myself.”
“I do forgive you with all my heart, my good woman. You have been punished enough.”
“I have, indeed,” replied she, sobbing; “but don’t I deserve it all, and more too? God’s blessing, and all the saints’ too, upon your head, for your kind forgiveness, anyhow. My heart is lighter.” And she quitted the room.
She had scarcely quitted the hotel, when the waiter came up again. “Another lady, my lord, wishes to speak with you, but she won’t give her name.”
“Really, my lord, you seem to have an extensive female acquaintance,” said the general.
“At all events, I am not aware of any that I need be ashamed of. Show the lady up, waiter.”
In a moment entered a fat, unwieldly little mortal, very warm from walking; she sat down in a chair, threw back her tippet, and then exclaimed, “Lord bless you, how you have grown! Gemini, if I can hardly believe my eyes; and I declare he don’t know me.”
“I really cannot exactly recollect where I had the pleasure of seeing you before, madam.”
“Well, that’s what I said to Jemima, when I went down in the kitchen. ‘Jemima,’ says I, ‘I wonder if little Peter Simple will know me.’ And Jemima says, ‘I think he would the parrot, marm.'”
“Mrs Handycock, I believe,” said I, recollecting Jemima and the parrot, although, from a little thin woman, she had grown so fat as not to be recognisable.
“Oh! so you’ve found me out, Mr Simple–my lord, I ought to say. Well, I need not ask after your grandfather now, for I know he’s dead; but as I was coming this way for orders, I thought I would just step in and see how you looked.”
“I trust Mr Handycock is well, ma’am. Pray is he a bull or a bear?”
“Lord bless you, Mr Simple, my lord, I should say, he’s been neither bull nor bear for this three years. He was obliged to _waddle_. If I didn’t know much about bulls and bears, I know very well what a _lame duck_ is, to my cost. We’re off the Stock Exchange, and Mr Handycock is set up as a coal merchant.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; that is, we have no coals, but we take orders, and have half-a-crown a chaldron for our trouble. As Mr Handycock says, it’s a very good business, if you only had enough of it. Perhaps your lordship may be able to give us an order. It’s nothing out of your pocket, and something into ours.”
“I shall be very happy, when I return again to town, Mrs Handycock. I hope the parrot is quite well.”
“Oh! my lord, that’s a sore subject; only think of Mr Handycock, when we retired from the ‘Change, taking my parrot one day and selling it for five guineas, saying, five guineas were better than a nasty squalling bird. To be sure, there was nothing for dinner that day; but, as Jemima agreed with me, we’d rather have gone without a dinner for a month, than have parted with Poll. Since we’ve looked up a little in the world, I saved up five guineas, by hook or by crook, and tried to get Poll back again, but the lady said she wouldn’t take fifty guineas for him.”
Mrs Handycock then jumped from her chair, saying, “Good morning, my lord; I’ll leave one of Mr Handycock’s cards. Jemima would be so glad to see you.”
As she left the room, Celeste laughingly asked me whether I had any more such acquaintances. I replied, that I believed not; but I must acknowledge that Mrs Trotter was brought to my recollection, and I was under some alarm, lest she should also come and pay me her respects.
The next day I had another unexpected visit. We had just sat down to dinner, when we heard a disturbance below; and, shortly after, the general’s French servant came up in great haste, saying that there was a foreigner below, who wished to see me: and that he had been caning one of the waiters of the hotel, for not paying him proper respect.
“Who can that be?” thought I: and I went out of the door, and looked over the banisters, as the noise continued.
“You must not come here to beat Englishmen, I can tell you,” roared one of the waiters. “What do we care for your foreign counts?”
“Sacre, canaille?” cried the other party, in a contemptuous voice, which I well knew.
“Ay, canal!–we’ll duck you in the canal, if you don’t mind.”
“You will!” said the stranger, who had hitherto spoken French. “Allow me to observe–in the most delicate manner in the world–just to hint, that you are a d—-d trencher-scraping, napkin-carrying, shilling-seeking, up-and-down-stairs son of a bitch–and take this for your impudence!”
The noise of the cane was again heard; and I hastened downstairs, where I found Count Shucksen thrashing two or three of the waiters without mercy. At my appearance, the waiters, who were showing fight, retreated to a short distance, out of reach of the cane.
“My dear count,” exclaimed I, “is it you?”
“My dear Lord Privilege, will you excuse me? but these fellows are saucy.”
“Then I’ll have them discharged,” replied I. “If a friend of mine, and an officer of your rank and distinction, cannot come to see me without insult, I will seek another hotel.”
This threat of mine, and the reception I gave the count, put all to rights. The waiters sneaked off, and the master of the hotel apologised. It appeared that they had desired him to wait in the coffee-room until they could announce him, which had hurt the count’s dignity.
“We are just sitting down to dinner, count; will you join us?”
“As soon as I have improved my toilet, my dear lord,” replied he; “you must perceive that I am off a journey.”
The master of the hotel bowed, and proceeded to show the count to a dressing-room. When I returned upstairs–“What was the matter?” inquired O’Brien.
“Oh, nothing!–a little disturbance in consequence of a foreigner not understanding English.”
In about five minutes the waiter opened the door, and announced Count Shucksen.
“Now, O’Brien, you’ll be puzzled,” said I; and in came the count.
“My dear Lord Privilege,” said he, coming up and taking me by the hand, “let me not be the last to congratulate you upon your accession. I was running up the channel in my frigate when a pilot-boat gave me a newspaper, in which I saw your unexpected change of circumstances. I made an excuse for dropping my anchor at Spithead this morning, and I have come up post, to express how sincerely I participate in your good fortune.” Count Shucksen then politely saluted the ladies and the general, and turned round to O’Brien, who had been staring at him with astonishment. “Count Shucksen, allow me to introduce Sir Terence O’Brien.”
“By the piper that played before Moses, but it’s a puzzle,” said O’Brien. “Blood and thunder! if it a’n’t Chucks!–my dear fellow, when did you rise from your grave?”
“Fortunately,” replied the count, as they shook each other’s hands for some time, “I never went into it, Sir Terence. But now, with your permission, my lord, I’ll take some food, as I really am not a little hungry. After dinner, Captain O’Brien, you shall hear my history.”
His secret was confided to the whole party, upon my pledging myself for their keeping it locked up in their own breasts, which was a bold thing on my part, considering that two of them were ladies. The count stayed with us for some time, and was introduced everywhere. It was impossible to discover that he had not been bred up in a court, his manners were so good. He was a great favourite with the ladies; and his moustachios, bad French, and waltzing–an accomplishment he had picked up in Sweden–were quite the vogue. All the ladies were sorry when the Swedish count announced his departure by a P.P.C.
Before I left town I called upon the First Lord of the Admiralty, and procured for Swinburne a first-rate building–that is to say, ordered to be built. This he had often said he wished, as he was tired of the sea, after a service of forty-five years. Subsequently I obtained leave of absence for him every year, and he used to make himself very happy at Eagle Park. Most of his time was, however, passed on the lake, either fishing or rowing about; telling long stories to all who would join him in his water excursions.
A fortnight after my assuming my title, we set off for Eagle Park, and Celeste consented to my entreaties that the wedding should take place that day month. Upon this hint O’Brien spake; and, to oblige _me_, Ellen consented that we should be united on the same day.
O’Brien wrote to Father M’Grath; but the letter was returned by post, with “_dead_” marked upon the outside. O’Brien then wrote to one of his sisters, who informed him that Father M’Grath would cross the bog one evening when he had taken a very large proportion of whisky; and that he was seen out of the right path, and had never been heard of afterwards.
On the day appointed we were all united, and both unions have been attended with as much happiness as this world can afford. Both O’Brien and I are blessed with children, which, as O’Brien observed, have come upon us like old age, until we now can muster a large Christmas party in the two families. The general’s head is white, and he sits and smiles, happy in his daughter’s happiness, and in the gambols of his grandchildren.
Such, reader, is the history of Peter Simple, Viscount Privilege, no longer the fool, but the head of the family, who now bids you farewell.
THE END.
The Three Cutters
Chapter I
CUTTER THE FIRST
Reader, have you ever been at Plymouth? If you have, your eye must have dwelt with ecstasy upon the beautiful property of the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe: if you have not been at Plymouth, the sooner that you go there, the better. At Mount Edgcumbe you will behold the finest timber in existence, towering up to the summits of the hills, and feathering down to the shingle on the beach. And from this lovely spot you will witness one of the most splendid panoramas in the world. You will see–I hardly know what you will not see–you will see Ram Head, and Cawsand Bay; and then you will see the Breakwater, and Drake’s Island, and the Devil’s Bridge below you; and the town of Plymouth and its fortifications, and the Hoe; and then you will come to the Devil’s Point, round which the tide runs devilish strong; and then you will see the New Victualling Office,–about which Sir James Gordon used to stump all day, and take a pinch of snuff from every man who carried a box, which all were delighted to give, and he was delighted to receive, proving how much pleasure may be communicated merely by a pinch of snuff–and then you will see Mount Wise and Mutton Cove; the town of Devonport, with its magnificent dockyard and arsenals, North Corner, and the way which leads to Saltash. And you will see ships building and ships in ordinary; and ships repairing and ships fitting; and hulks and convict ships, and the guardship; ships ready to sail and ships under sail; besides lighters, men-of-war’s boats, dockyard-boats, bumboats, and shore-boats. In short, there is a great deal to see at Plymouth besides the sea itself: but what I particularly wish now, is, that you will stand at the battery of Mount Edgecumbe and look into Barn Pool below you, and there you will see, lying at single anchor, a cutter; and you may also see, by her pendant and ensign, that she is a yacht.
Of all the amusements entered into by the nobility and gentry of our island there is not one so manly, so exciting, so patriotic, or so national, as yacht-sailing. It is peculiar to England, not only from our insular position and our fine harbours, but because it requires a certain degree of energy and a certain amount of income rarely to be found elsewhere. It has been wisely fostered by our sovereigns, who have felt that the security of the kingdom is increased by every man being more or less a sailor, or connected with the nautical profession. It is an amusement of the greatest importance to the country; as it has much improved our ship-building and our ship-fitting, while it affords employment to our seamen and shipwrights. But if I were to say all that I could say in praise of yachts, I should never advance with my narrative. I shall therefore drink a bumper to the health of Admiral Lord Yarborough and the Yacht Club, and proceed.
You observe that this yacht is cutter-rigged, and that she sits gracefully on the smooth water. She is just heaving up her anchor; her foresail is loose, all ready to cast her–in a few minutes she will be under weigh. You see that there are some ladies sitting at the taffrail; and there are five haunches of venison hanging over the stern. Of all amusements, give me yachting. But we must go on board. The deck, you observe, is of narrow deal planks as white as snow; the guns are of polished brass; the bitts and binnacles of mahogany; she is painted with taste; and all the mouldings are gilded. There is nothing wanting; and yet how clear and unencumbered are her decks! Let us go below. This is the ladies’ cabin: can anything be more tasteful or elegant? is it not luxurious? and, although so small, does not its very confined space astonish you, when you view so many comforts so beautifully arranged? This is the dining-room, and where the gentlemen repair. What can be more complete or _recherche_? and just peep into their state-rooms and bed-places. Here is the steward’s room and the beaufet: the steward is squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and by the side of the pail the long-corks are ranged up, all ready. Now, let us go forwards: here are the men’s berths, not confined as in a man-of-war. No! luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost, even at the fore-peak. This is the kitchen: is it not admirably arranged? What a _multum in parvo_! And how delightful are the fumes of the turtle-soup! At sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for roughing it out, give me a _yacht_. Now that I have shown you round the vessel, I must introduce the parties on board.
You observe that florid, handsome man in white trousers and blue jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and is sipping a glass of brandy and water which he has just taken off the skylight. That is the owner of the vessel, and a member of the Yacht Club. It is Lord B–: he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet I have seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the House of Lords. The one near to him is Mr Stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. He holds on by the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed all his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing in them. He is _protege_ of Lord B., and is now on board as sailing-master of the yacht.
That handsome, well-built man who is standing by the binnacle, is a Mr Hautaine. He served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did not like it. He then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not like it. He then married, and in a much shorter probation, found that he did not like that. But he is very fond of yachts and other men’s wives, if he does not like his own; and wherever he goes, he is welcome.
That young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves, bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a Mr Vaughan. He is to be seen at Almack’s, at Crockford’s, and everywhere else. Everybody knows him, and he knows everybody. He is a little in debt, and yachting is convenient.
The one who sits by the lady is a relation of Lord B.; you see at once what he is. He apes the sailor; he has not shaved, because sailors have no time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because sailors cannot change every day. He has a cigar in his mouth, which makes him half sick and annoys his company. He talks of the pleasure of a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below–and then they will not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. He has the misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a _fool_. His name is Ossulton.
The last of the gentlemen on board whom I have to introduce, is Mr Seagrove. He is slightly made, with marked features full of intelligence. He has been brought up to the bar; and has every qualification but application. He has never had a brief, nor has he a chance of one. He is the fiddler of the company, and he has locked up his chambers, and come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board of his yacht.
I have yet to describe the ladies–perhaps I should have commenced with them–I must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the best to the last. All puppet-showmen do so: and what is this but the first scene in my puppet-show?
We will describe them according to seniority. That tall, thin, cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to Lord B. She has been persuaded very much against her will to come on board; but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark under the protection of _only_ her father. She is frightened at everything: if a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries, “Oh!” if on the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below, and there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and, if it be perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. She fidgets herself and everybody, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and ill-humour; but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices herself as a martyr. She is the Hon. Miss Ossulton.
The lady who, when she smiles, shows so many dimples in her pretty oval face, is a young widow of the name of Lascelles. She married an old man to please her father and mother, which was very dutiful on her part. She was rewarded by finding herself a widow with a large fortune. Having married the first time to please her parents, she intends now to marry to please herself; but she is very young, and is in no hurry.
The young lady with such a sweet expression of countenance is the Hon. Miss Cecilia Ossulton. She is lively, witty, and has no fear in her composition; but she is very young yet, not more than seventeen–and nobody knows what she really is–she does not know herself. These are the parties who meet in the cabin of the yacht. The crew consists of ten fine seamen, the steward, and the cook. There is also Lord B.’s valet, Mr Ossulton’s gentleman, and the lady’s maid of Miss Ossulton. There not being accommodation for them, the other servants have been left on shore.
The yacht is now under weigh, and her sails are all set. She is running between Drake’s Island and the main. Dinner has been announced. As the reader has learnt something about the preparations, I leave him to judge whether it be not very pleasant to sit down to dinner in a yacht. The air has given everybody an appetite; and it was not until the cloth was removed that the conversation became general.
“Mr Seagrove,” said his lordship, “you very nearly lost your passage; I expected you last Thursday.”
“I am sorry, my lord, that business prevented my sooner attending to your lordship’s kind summons.”
“Come, Seagrove, don’t be nonsensical,” said Hautaine; “you told me yourself, the other evening, when you were talkative, that you had never had a brief in your life.”
“And a very fortunate circumstance,” replied Seagrove; “for if I had had a brief I should not have known what to have done with it. It is not my fault; I am fit for nothing but a commissioner. But still I had business, and very important business, too; I was summoned by Ponsonby to go with him to Tattersall’s, to give my opinion about a horse he wishes to purchase, and then to attend him to Forest Wild to plead his cause with his uncle.”
“It appears, then, that you were retained,” replied Lord B.; “may I ask you whether your friend gained his cause?”
“No, my lord, he lost his cause, but he gained a suit.”
“Expound your riddle, sir,” said Cecilia Ossulton.
“The fact is, that old Ponsonby is very anxious that William should marry Miss Percival, whose estates join on to Forest Wild. Now, my friend William is about as fond of marriage as I am of law, and thereby issue was joined.”
“But why were you to be called in?” inquired Mrs Lascelles.
“Because, madam, as Ponsonby never buys a horse without consulting me–”
“I cannot see the analogy, sir,” observed Miss Ossulton, senior, bridling up.
“Pardon me, madam: the fact is,” continued Seagrove, “that, as I always have to back Ponsonby’s horses, he thought it right that, in this instance, I should back him: he required special pleading, but his uncle tried him for the capital offence, and he was not allowed counsel. As soon as we arrived, and I had bowed myself into the room, Mr Ponsonby bowed me out again–which would have been infinitely more jarring to my feelings, had not the door been left a-jar.”
“Do anything but pun, Seagrove,” interrupted Hautaine.
“Well, then, I will take a glass of wine.”
“Do so,” said his lordship; “but, recollect, the whole company are impatient for your story.”
“I can assure you, my lord, that it was equal to any scene in a comedy.”
Now be it observed that Mr Seagrove had a great deal of comic talent; he was an excellent mimic, and could alter his voice almost as he pleased. It was a custom of his to act a scene as between other people, and he performed it remarkably well. Whenever he said that anything he was going to narrate was “as good as a comedy,” it was generally understood by those who were acquainted with him, that he was to be asked so to do. Cecilia Ossulton therefore immediately said, “Pray act it, Mr Seagrove.”
Upon which, Mr Seagrove–premising that he had not only heard, but also seen all that passed–changing his voice, and suiting the action to the word, commenced.
“It may,” said he, “be called
“FIVE THOUSAND ACRES IN A RING-FENCE.”
We shall not describe Mr Seagrove’s motions; they must be inferred from his words.
“‘It will, then, William,’ observed Mr Ponsonby, stopping, and turning to his nephew, after a rapid walk up and down the room with his hands behind him under his coat, so as to allow the tails to drop their perpendicular about three inches clear of his body, ‘I may say, without contradiction, be the finest property in the county–five thousand acres in a ring-fence.’
“‘I dare say it will, uncle,’ replied William, tapping his foot as he lounged in a green morocco easy-chair; ‘and so, because you have set your fancy upon having these two estates enclosed together in a ring-fence, you wish that I should also be enclosed in a _ring_-fence.’
“‘And a beautiful property it will be,’ replied Mr Ponsonby.
“‘Which, uncle?–the estate, or the wife?’
“‘Both, nephew, both; and I expect your consent.’
“‘Uncle, I am not avaricious. Your present property is sufficient for me. With your permission, instead of doubling the property, and doubling myself, I will remain your sole heir, and single.’
“‘Observe, William, such an opportunity may not occur again for centuries. We shall restore Forest Wild to its ancient boundaries. You know it has been divided nearly two hundred years. We now have a glorious, golden opportunity of re-uniting the two properties; and when joined, the estate will be exactly what it was when granted to our ancestors by Henry the Eighth, at the period of the Reformation. This house must be pulled down, and the monastery left standing. Then we shall have our own again, and the property without encumbrance.’
“‘Without encumbrance, uncle! You forget that there will be a wife.’
“‘And you forget that there will be five thousand acres in a ring-fence.’
“‘Indeed, uncle, you ring it too often in my ears that I should forget it; but much as I should like to be the happy possessor of such a property, I do not feel inclined to be the happy possessor of Miss Percival; and the more so, as I have never seen the property.’
“‘We will ride over it to-morrow, William.”
“‘Ride over Miss Percival, uncle! That will not be very gallant. I will, however, one of these days, ride over the property with you, which, as well as Miss Percival, I have not as yet seen.’
“‘Then I can tell you, she is a very pretty property.’
“‘If she were not in a ring-fence.’
“‘In good heart, William. That is, I mean an excellent disposition.’
“‘Valuable in matrimony.’
“‘And well tilled–I should say well-educated, by her thee maiden aunts, who are the patterns of propriety.’
“‘Does any one follow the fashion?’
“‘In a high state of cultivation; that is, her mind highly cultivated, and according to the last new system–what is it?’
“‘A four-course shift, I presume,’ replied William, laughing; ‘that is, dancing, singing, music, and drawing.’
“‘And only seventeen! Capital soil, promising good crops. What would you have more?’
“‘A very pretty estate, uncle, if it were not the estate of matrimony. I am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you; but I must decline taking a lease of it for life.’
“‘Then, sir, allow me to hint to you that in my testament you are only tenant-at-will. I consider it a duty that I owe to the family, that the estate should be re-united. That can only be done by one of our family marrying Miss Percival; and, as you will not, I shall now write to your cousin James, and if he accept my proposal, shall make _him_ my heir. Probably he will more fully appreciate the advantages of five thousand acres in a ring-fence.’
“And Mr Ponsonby directed his steps towards the door.
“‘Stop, my dear uncle,’ cried William, rising up from his easy-chair; ‘we do not quite understand one another. It is very true that I would prefer half the property and remaining single to the two estates and the estate of marriage; but, at the same time I did not tell you that I would prefer beggary to a wife and five thousand acres in a ring-fence. I know you to be a man of your word;–I accept your proposal, and you need not put my cousin James to the expense of postage.’
“‘Very good, William; I require no more: and as I know you to be a man of your word, I shall consider this match as settled. It was on this account only that I sent for you, and now you may go back again as soon as you please. I will let you know when all is ready.’
“‘I must be at Tattersall’s on Monday, uncle; there is a horse I must have for next season. Pray, uncle, may I ask when you are likely to want me?’
“‘Let me see–this is May–about July, I should think.’
“‘July, uncle! Spare me–I cannot marry in the dog-days. No, hang it, not July.’
“‘Well, William, perhaps, as you must come down once or twice to see the property–Miss Percival, I should say–it may be too soon–suppose we put it off till October.’
“‘October–I shall be down at Melton.’