Peter Simple and The Three Cutters, Vol 1 by Captain Frederick Marryat (page 5)

apron up to her eyes.

“But one hundred louis may have,” replied O’Brien.

“There is truth in that,” observed the woman, after a pause, “but what am I to do, if they come to search the house?”

“Send us out of it, until you can find an opportunity to send us to England. I leave it all to you–your sister expects it from you.”

“And she shall not be disappointed, if God helps us,” replied the woman, after a short pause: “but I fear you must leave this house and the town also to-night.”

“How are we to leave the town?”

“I will arrange that; be ready at four o’clock, for the gates are shut at dusk. I must go now, for there is no time to be lost.”

“We are in a nice mess now, O’Brien,” observed I, after the woman had quitted the room.

“Devil a bit, Peter; I feel no anxiety whatever, except at leaving such good quarters.”

We packed up all our effects, not forgetting our two blankets, and waited the return of the hostess. In about an hour she entered the room. “I have spoken to my husband’s sister, who lives about two miles on the road to Middelburg. She is in town now, for it is market-day, and you will be safe where she hides you. I told her, it was by my husband’s request, or she would not have consented. Here, boy, put on these clothes; I will assist you.” Once more I was dressed as a girl, and when my clothes were on, O’Brien burst out into laughter at my blue stockings and short petticoats. “_Il n’est pas mal_,” observed the hostess, as she fixed a small cap on my head, and then tied a kerchief under my chin, which partly hid my face. O’Brien put on a greatcoat, which the woman handed to him, with a wide-brimmed hat. “Now follow me!” She led us into the street, which was thronged, till we arrived at the market-place, when she met another woman, who joined her. At the end of the market-place stood a small horse and cart, into which the strange woman and I mounted, while O’Brien, by the directions of the landlady, led the horse through the crowd until we arrived at the barriers, when she wished us good day in a loud voice before the guard. The guard took no notice of us, and we passed safely through, and found ourselves upon a neatly-paved road, as straight as an arrow, and lined on each side with high trees and a ditch. In about an hour, we stopped near to the farmhouse of the woman who was in charge of us. “Do you observe that wood?” said she to O’Brien, pointing to one about half a mile from the road. “I dare not take you into the house, my husband is so violent against the English, who captured his schuyt, and made him a poor man, that he would inform against you immediately; but go you there, make yourselves as comfortable as you can to-night, and to-morrow I will send you what you want. _Adieu! Je vous plains, pauvre enfant_.” said she, looking at me, as she drove off in the cart towards her own house.

“Peter,” said O’Brien, “I think that her kicking us out of her house is a proof of her sincerity, and therefore I say no more about it; we have the brandy-flask to keep up our spirits. Now then for the wood, though, by the powers, I shall have no relish for any of your pic-nic parties, as they call them, for the next twelve years.”

“But, O’Brien, how can I get over this ditch in petticoats? I could hardly leap it in my own clothes.”

“You must tie your petticoats round your waist and make a good run; get over as far as you can, and I will drag you through the rest.”

“But you forget that we are to sleep in the wood, and that it’s no laughing matter to get wet through, freezing so hard as it does now.”

“Very true, Peter; but as the snow lies so deep upon the ditch, perhaps the ice may bear. I’ll try; if it bears me, it will not condescend to bend at your shrimp of a carcass.”

O’Brien tried the ice, which was firm, and we both walked over, and making all the haste we could, arrived at the wood, as the woman called it, but which was not more than a clump of trees of about half an acre. We cleared away the snow for about six feet round a very hollow part, and then O’Brien cut stakes and fixed them in the earth, to which we stretched one blanket. The snow being about two feet deep, there was plenty of room to creep underneath the blanket. We then collected all the leaves we could, beating the snow off them, and laid them at the bottom of the hole; over the leaves we spread the other blanket, and taking our bundles in, we then stopped up with snow every side of the upper blanket, except the hole to creep in at. It was quite astonishing what a warm place this became in a short time after we had remained in it. It was almost too warm, although the weather outside was piercingly cold. After a good meal and a dose of brandy, we both fell fast asleep, but not until I had taken off my woman’s attire and resumed my own clothes. We never slept better or more warmly than we did in this hole which we had made on the ground, covered with ice and snow.

Chapter XXV

O’Brien parts company to hunt for provisions, and I have other company in consequence of another hunt–O’Brien pathetically mourns my death and finds me alive–We escape.

The ensuing morning we looked out anxiously for the promised assistance, for we were not very rich in provisions, although what we had were of a very good quality. It was not until three o’clock in the afternoon that we perceived a little girl coming towards us, escorted by a large mastiff. When she arrived at the copse of trees where we lay concealed, she cried out to the dog in Dutch, who immediately scoured the wood until he came to our hiding-place, when he crouched down at the entrance, barking furiously, and putting us in no small dread, lest he should attack us; but the little girl spoke to him again, and he remained in the same position, looking at us, wagging his tail, with his under jaw lying on the snow. She soon came up, and looking underneath, put a basket in, and nodded her head. We emptied the basket. O’Brien took out a napoleon and offered it to her; she refused it, but O’Brien forced it into her hand, upon which she again spoke to the dog, who commenced barking so furiously at us, that we expected every moment he would fly upon us. The girl at the same time presented the napoleon, and pointing to the dog, I went forward and took the napoleon from her, at which she immediately silenced the enormous brute, and laughing at us, hastened away.

“By the powers, that’s a fine little girl!” said O’Brien; “I’ll back her and her dog against any man. Well, I never had a dog set at me for giving money before, but we live and learn, Peter; now let’s see what she brought in the basket.” We found hard-boiled eggs, bread, and a smoked mutton ham, with a large bottle of gin. “What a nice little girl! I hope she will often favour us with her company. I’ve been thinking, Peter, that we’re quite as well off here, as in a midshipman’s berth.”

“You forget you are a lieutenant.”

“Well, so I did, Peter, and that’s the truth, but it’s the force of habit. Now let’s make our dinner. It’s a new-fashioned way though, of making a meal, lying down; but however, it’s economical, for it must take longer to swallow the victuals.”

“The Romans used to eat their meals lying down, so I have read, O’Brien.”

“I can’t say that I ever heard it mentioned in Ireland, but that don’t prove that it was not the case; so, Peter, I’ll take your word for it. Murder! how fast it snows again! I wonder what my father’s thinking on just at this moment.”

This observation of O’Brien induced us to talk about our friends and relations in England, and after much conversation we fell fast asleep. The next morning we found the snow had fallen about eight inches, and weighed down our upper blanket so much, that we were obliged to go out and cut stakes to support it up from the inside. While we were thus employed, we heard a loud noise and shouting, and perceived several men, apparently armed and accompanied with dogs, running straight in the direction of the wood where we were encamped. We were much alarmed, thinking that they were in search of us, but on a sudden they turned off in another direction, continuing with the same speed as before. “What could it be?” said I, to O’Brien. “I can’t exactly say, Peter; but I should think that they were hunting something, and the only game that I think likely to be in such a place as this are otters.” I was of the same opinion. We expected the little girl, but she did not come, and after looking out for her till dark, we crawled into our hole and supped upon the remainder of our provisions.

The next day, as may be supposed, we were very anxious for her arrival, but she did not appear at the time expected. Night again came on, and we went to bed without having any sustenance, except a small piece of bread that was left, and some gin which was remaining in the flask. “Peter,” said O’Brien, “if she don’t come again to-morrow, I’ll try what I can do; for I’ve no idea of our dying of hunger here, like the two babes in the wood, and being found covered up with dead leaves. If she does not appear at three o’clock, I’m off for provisions, and I don’t see much danger, for in this dress I look as much of a boor as any man in Holland.”

We passed an uneasy night, as we felt convinced, either that the danger was so great that they dared not venture to assist us, or, that being over-ruled, they had betrayed us, and left us to manage how we could. The next morning I climbed up the only large tree in the copse and looked round, especially in the direction of the farm-house belonging to the woman who had pointed out to us our place of concealment; but nothing was to be seen but one vast tract of flat country covered with snow, and now and then a vehicle passing at a distance on the Middelburg road. I descended, and found O’Brien preparing for a start. He was very melancholy, and said to me, “Peter, if I am taken, you must, at all risks, put on your girl’s clothes and go to Flushing to the cabaret. The women there, I am sure, will protect you, and send you back to England. I only want two napoleons; take all the rest, you will require them. If I am not back by to-night, set off for Flushing to-morrow morning.” O’Brien waited some time longer, talking with me, and it then being past four o’clock, he shook me by the hand, and, without speaking, left the wood. I never felt more miserable during the whole time since we were first put into prison at Toulon, till that moment, and, when he was a hundred yards off, I knelt down and prayed. He had been absent two hours, and it was quite dusk, when I heard a noise at a distance: it advanced every moment nearer and nearer. On a sudden, I heard a rustling of the bushes, and hastened under the blanket, which was covered with snow, in hopes that they might not perceive the entrance; but I was hardly there before in dashed after me an enormous wolf. I cried out, expecting to be torn to pieces every moment, but the creature lay on his belly, his mouth wide open, his eyes glaring, and his long tongue hanging out of his mouth, and although he touched me, he was so exhausted that he did not attack me. The noise increased, and I immediately perceived that it was the hunters in pursuit of him. I had crawled in feet first, the wolf ran in head foremost, so that we lay head and tail. I crept out as fast as I could, and perceived men and dogs not two hundred yards off in full chase. I hastened to the large tree, and had not ascended six feet when they came up; the dogs flew to the hole, and in a very short time the wolf was killed. The hunters being too busy to observe me, I had in the meantime climbed up the trunk of the tree, and hidden myself as well as I could. Being not fifteen yards from them, I heard their expressions of surprise as they lifted up the blanket and dragged out the dead wolf, which they carried away with them; their conversation being in Dutch, I could not understand it, but I was certain that they made use of the word “_English_.” The hunters and dogs quitted the copse, and I was about to descend, when one of them returned, and pulling up the blankets, rolled them together and walked away with them. Fortunately he did not perceive our bundles by the little light given by the moon. I waited a short time and then came down. What to do I knew not. If I did not remain and O’Brien returned, what would he think? If I did, I should be dead with cold before the morning. I looked for our bundles, and found that in the conflict between the dogs and the wolf, they had been buried among the leaves. I recollected O’Brien’s advice, and dressed myself in the girl’s clothes, but I could not make up my mind to go to Flushing. So I resolved to walk towards the farmhouse, which, being close to the road, would give me a chance of meeting with O’Brien. I soon arrived there and prowled round it for some time, but the doors and windows were all fast, and I dared not knock, after what the woman had said about her husband’s inveteracy to the English. At last, as I looked round and round, quite at a loss what to do, I thought I saw a figure at a distance proceeding in the direction of the copse. I hastened after it and saw it enter. I then advanced very cautiously, for although I thought it might be O’Brien, yet it was possible that it was one of the men who chased the wolf in search of more plunder. But I soon heard O’Brien’s voice, and I hastened towards him. I was close to him without his perceiving me, and found him sitting down with his face covered up in his two hands. At last he cried, “O Pater! my poor Pater! are you taken at last? Could I not leave you for one hour in safety? Ochone! why did I leave you? My poor, poor Pater! simple you were, sure enough, and that’s why I loved you; but, Pater, I would have made a man of you, for you’d all the materials, that’s the truth–and a fine man, too. Where am I to look for you, Pater? Where am I to find you, Pater? You’re fast locked up by this time, and all my trouble’s gone for nothing. But I’ll be locked up too, Pater. Where you are, will I be; and if we can’t go to England together, why then we’ll go back to that blackguard hole at Givet together. Ochone! Ochone!” O’Brien spoke no more, but burst into tears. I was much affected with this proof of O’Brien’s sincere regard, and I came to his side and clasped him in my arms. O’Brien stared at me, “Who are you, you ugly Dutch frow?” (for he had quite forgotten the woman’s dress at the moment), but recollecting himself, he hugged me in his arms. “Pater, you come as near to an angel’s shape as you can, for you come in that of a woman, to comfort me; for, to tell the truth, I was very much distressed at not finding you here; and all the blankets gone to boot. What has been the matter?” I explained in as few words as I could.

“Well, Peter, I’m happy to find you all safe, and much happier to find that you can be trusted when I leave you, for you could not have behaved more prudently; now I’ll tell you what I did, which was not much, as it happened. I knew that there was no cabaret between us and Flushing, for I took particular notice as I came along; so I took the road to Middelburg, and found but one, which was full of soldiers. I passed it, and found no other. As I came back past the same cabaret, one of the soldiers came out to me, but I walked along the road. He quickened his pace, and so did I mine, for I expected mischief. At last he came up to me, and spoke to me in Dutch, to which I gave him no answer. He collared me, and then I thought it convenient to pretend that I was deaf and dumb. I pointed to my mouth with an Au–au–and then to my ears, and shook my head; but he would not be convinced, and I heard him say something about English. I then knew that there was no time to be lost, so I first burst out into a loud laugh and stopped; and on his attempting to force me, I kicked up his heels, and he fell on the ice with such a rap on the pate, that I doubt if he has recovered it by this time. There I left him, and have run back as hard as I could, without anything for Peter to fill his little hungry inside with. Now, Peter, what’s your opinion? for they say that out of the mouth of babes there is wisdom; and although I never saw anything come out of their mouths but sour milk, yet perhaps I may be more fortunate this time, for, Peter, you’re but a baby.”

“Not a small one, O’Brien, although not quite so large as Fingal’s _babby_ that you told me the story of. My idea is this.–Let us, at all hazards, go to the farmhouse. They have assisted us, and may be inclined to do so again; if they refuse, we must push on to Flushing and take our chance.”

“Well,” observed O’Brien, after a pause, “I think we can do no better, so let’s be off.” We went to the farmhouse, and, as we approached the door, were met by the great mastiff. I started back, O’Brien boldly advanced. “He’s a clever dog, and may know us again. I’ll go up,” said O’Brien, not stopping while he spoke, “and pat his head: if he flies at me, I shall be no worse than I was before, for depend upon it he will not allow us to go back again.” O’Brien by this time had advanced to the dog, who looked earnestly and angrily at him. He patted his head, the dog growled, but O’Brien put his arm round his neck, and patting him again, whistled to him, and went to the door of the farmhouse. The dog followed him silently but closely. O’Brien knocked, and the door was opened by the little girl: the mastiff advanced to the girl, and then turned round, facing O’Brien, as much as to say, “Is he to come in?” The girl spoke to the dog, and went indoors. During her absence the mastiff lay down at the threshold. In a few seconds the woman who had brought us from Flushing, came out, and desired us to enter. She spoke very good French, and told us that fortunately her husband was absent; that the reason why we had not been supplied was, that a wolf had met her little girl returning the other day, but had been beaten off by the mastiff, and that she was afraid to allow her to go again; that she heard the wolf had been killed this evening, and had intended her girl to have gone to us early to-morrow morning; that wolves were hardly known in that country, but that the severe winter had brought them down to the lowlands, a very rare circumstance, occurring perhaps not once in twenty years. “But how did you pass the mastiff?” said she; “that has surprised my daughter and me.” O’Brien told her, upon which she said “that the English were really ‘_des braves_.’ No other man had ever done the same.” So I thought, for nothing would have induced me to do it. O’Brien then told the history of the death of the wolf, with all particulars, and our intention, if we could not do better, of returning to Flushing.

“I heard that Pierre Eustache came home yesterday,” replied the woman; “and I do think that you will be safer there than here, for they will never think of looking for you among the _casernes_, which join their cabaret.”

“Will you lend us your assistance to get in?”

“I will see what I can do. But are you not hungry?”

“About as hungry as men who have eaten nothing for two days.”

“_Mon Dieu! c’est vrai._ I never thought it was so long, but those whose stomachs are filled forget those who are empty. God make us better and more charitable!”

She spoke to the little girl in Dutch, who hastened to load the table, which we hastened to empty. The little girl stared at our voracity; but at last she laughed out, and clapped her hands at every fresh mouthful which we took, and pressed us to eat more. She allowed me to kiss her, until her mother told her that I was not a woman, when she pouted at me, and beat me off. Before midnight we were fast asleep upon the benches before the kitchen fire, and at daybreak were roused up by the woman, who offered us some bread and spirits, and then we went out to the door, where we found the horse and cart all ready, and loaded with vegetables for the market. The woman, the little girl, and myself got in, O’Brien leading as before, and the mastiff following. We had learnt the dog’s name, which was “_Achille_,” and he seemed to be quite fond of us. We passed the dreaded barriers without interruption, and in ten minutes entered the cabaret of Eustache; and immediately walked into the little room through a crowd of soldiers, two of whom chucked me under the chin. Whom should we find there but Eustache, the pilot himself, in conversation with his wife, and it appeared that they were talking about us, she insisting, and he unwilling to have any hand in the business. “Well, here they are themselves, Eustache; the soldiers who have seen them come in will never believe that this is their first entry if you give them up. I leave them to make their own bargain; but mark me, Eustache, I have slaved night and day in this cabaret for your profit; if you do not oblige me and my family, I no longer keep a cabaret for you.”

Madame Eustache then quitted the room with her husband’s sister and little girl, and O’Brien immediately accosted him. “I promise you,” said he to Eustache, “one hundred louis if you put us on shore at any part of England, or on board of any English man-of-war; and if you do it within a week, I will make it twenty louis more.” O’Brien then pulled out the fifty napoleons given us by Celeste, for our own were not yet expended, and laid them on the table. “Here is this in advance, to prove my sincerity. Say, is it a bargain or not?”

“I never yet heard of a poor man who could withstand his wife’s arguments, backed with one hundred and twenty louis,” said Eustache smiling, and sweeping the money off the table.

“I presume you have no objection to start to-night? That will be ten louis more in your favour,” replied O’Brien.

“I shall earn them,” replied Eustache. “The sooner I am off the better, for I could not long conceal you here. The young frow with you is, I suppose, your companion that my wife mentioned. He has begun to suffer hardships early. Come, now, sit down and talk, for nothing can be done till dark.”

O’Brien narrated the adventures attending our escape, at which Eustache laughed heartily; the more so, at the mistake which his wife was under, as to the obligations of the family. “If I did not feel inclined to assist you before, I do now, just for the laugh I shall have at her when I come back, and if she wants any more assistance for the sake of her relations, I shall remind her of this anecdote; but she’s a good woman and a good wife to boot, only too fond of her sisters.” At dusk he equipped us both in sailor’s jackets and trowsers, and desired us to follow him boldly. He passed the guard, who knew him well. “What, to sea already?” said one. “You have quarrelled with your wife.” At which they all laughed, and we joined. We gained the beach, jumped into his little boat, pulled off to his vessel, and, in a few minutes, were under weigh. With a strong tide and a fair wind we were soon clear of the Scheldt, and the next morning a cutter hove in sight. We steered for her, ran under her lee, O’Brien hailed for a boat, and Eustache, receiving my bill for the remainder of his money, wished us success; we shook hands, and in a few minutes found ourselves once more under the British pennant.

Chapter XXVI

Adventures at home–I am introduced to my grandfather–He obtains employment for O’Brien and myself, and we join a frigate.

As soon as we were on the deck of the cutter, the lieutenant commanding her inquired of us, in a consequential manner, who we were. O’Brien replied that we were English prisoners who had escaped. “Oh, midshipmen, I presume,” replied the lieutenant; “I heard that some had contrived to get away.”

“My name, sir,” said O’Brien, “is Lieutenant O’Brien; and if you’ll send for a ‘Steel’s List,’ I will have the honour of pointing it out to you. This young gentleman is Mr Peter Simple, midshipman, and grandson to the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Privilege.”

The lieutenant, who was a little snub-nosed man, with a pimply face, then altered his manner towards us, and begged we would step down into the cabin, where he offered, what perhaps was the greatest of all luxuries to us, some English cheese and bottled porter. “Pray,” said he, “did you see anything of one of my officers, who was taken prisoner when I was sent with despatches to the Mediterranean fleet?”

“May I first ask the name of your lively little craft?” said O’Brien.

“‘The Snapper,'” replied the lieutenant.

“Och, murder; sure enough we met him. He was sent to Verdun, but we had the pleasure of his company _en route_ as far as Montpelier. A remarkably genteel, well-dressed young man, was he not?”

“Why, I can’t say much about his gentility; indeed, I am not much of a judge. As for his dress, he ought to have dressed well, but he never did when on board of me. His father is my tailor, and I took him as midshipman, just to square an account between us.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” replied O’Brien.

He did not say any more, which I was glad of, as the lieutenant might not have been pleased at what had occurred.

“When do you expect to run into port?” demanded O’Brien; for we were rather anxious to put our feet ashore again in old England. The lieutenant replied that his cruise was nearly up; and he considered our arrival quite sufficient reason for him to run in directly, and that he intended to put his helm up after the people had had their dinner. We were much delighted with this intelligence, and still more to see the intention put into execution half an hour afterwards.

In three days we anchored at Spithead, and went on shore with the lieutenant to report ourselves to the admiral. Oh! with what joy did I first put my foot on the shingle beach at Sallyport, and then hasten to the post-office to put in a long letter which I had written to my mother. We did not go to the admiral’s, but merely reported ourselves at the admiral’s office; for we had no clothes fit to appear in. But we called at Meredith’s the tailor, and he promised that, by the next morning, we should be fitted complete. We then ordered new hats, and everything we required, and went to the Fountain inn. O’Brien refused to go to the Blue Posts, as being only a receptacle for midshipmen. By eleven o’clock the next morning, we were fit to appear before the admiral, who received us very kindly, and requested our company to dinner. As I did not intend setting off for home until I had received an answer from my mother, we, of course, accepted the invitation.

There was a large party of naval officers and ladies, and O’Brien amused them very much during dinner. When the ladies left the room, the admiral’s wife told me to come up with them; and when we arrived at the drawing-room, the ladies all gathered round me, and I had to narrate the whole of my adventures, which very much entertained and interested them. The next morning I received a letter from my mother–such a kind one! entreating me to come home as fast as I could, and bring my _preserver_ O’Brien with me. I showed it to O’Brien, and asked him whether he would accompany me.

“Why, Peter, my boy, I have a little business of some importance to transact; which is, to obtain my arrears of pay, and some prize-money which I find due. When I have settled that point, I will go to town to pay my respects to the First Lord of the Admiralty, and then I think I will go and see your father and mother: for, until I know how matters stand, and whether I shall be able to go with spare cash in my pocket, I do not wish to see my own family; so write down your address here, and you’ll be sure I’ll come, if it is only to square my accounts with you, for I am not a little in your debt.”

I cashed a cheque sent by my father, and set off in the mail that night; the next evening I arrived safe home. But I shall leave the reader to imagine the scene: to my mother I was always dear, and circumstances had rendered me of some importance to my father; for I was now an only son, and his prospects were very different from what they were when I left home. About a week afterwards, O’Brien joined us, having got through all his business. His first act was to account with my father for his share of the expenses; and he even insisted upon paying his half of the fifty napoleons given me by Celeste, which had been remitted to a banker at Paris before O’Brien’s arrival, with a guarded letter of thanks from my father to Colonel O’Brien, and another from me to dear little Celeste. When O’Brien had remained with us about a week, he told me that he had about one hundred and sixty pounds in his pocket, and that he intended to go and see his friends, as he was sure that he would be welcome even to Father M’Grath. “I mean to stay with them about a fortnight, and shall then return and apply for employment. Now, Peter, will you like to be again under my protection?”

“O’Brien, I will never quit you or your ship, if I can help it.”

“Spoken like a sensible Peter. Well, then, I was promised immediate employment, and I will let you know as soon as the promise is performed.”

O’Brien took his leave of my family, who were already very partial to him, and left that afternoon for Holyhead. My father no longer treated me as a child; indeed, it would have been an injustice if he had. I do not mean to say that I was a clever boy; but I had seen much of the world in a short time, and could act and think for myself. He often talked to me about his prospects, which were very different from what they were when I left him. My two uncles, his elder brothers, had died, the third was married and had two daughters. If he had no son, my father would succeed to the title. The death of my elder brother Tom had brought me next in succession. My grandfather, Lord Privilege, who had taken no more notice of my father than occasionally sending him a basket of game, had latterly often invited him to the house, and had even requested, _some day or another_, to see his wife and family. He had also made a handsome addition to my father’s income, which the death of my two uncles had enabled him to do. Against all this, my uncle’s wife was reported to be again in the family way. I cannot say that I was pleased when my father used to speculate upon these chances so often as he did. I thought, not only as a man, but more particularly as a clergyman, he was much to blame; but I did not know then so much of the world. We had not heard from O’Brien for two months, when a letter arrived, stating that he had seen his family, and bought a few acres of land, which had made them all quite happy, and had quitted with Father M’Grath’s double blessing, with unlimited absolution; that he had now been a month in town trying for employment, but found that he could not obtain it, although one promise was backed up by another.

A few days after this, my father received a note from Lord Privilege, requesting he would come and spend a few days with him, and bring his son Peter who had escaped from the French prison. Of course this was an invitation not to be neglected, and we accepted it forthwith. I must say, I felt rather in awe of my grandfather; he had kept the family at such a distance, that I had always heard his name mentioned more with reverence than with any feeling of kindred, but I was a little wiser now. We arrived at Eagle Park, a splendid estate, where he resided, and were received by a dozen servants in and out of livery, and ushered into his presence. He was in his library, a large room, surrounded with handsome bookcases, sitting on an easy chair. A more venerable, placid old gentleman I never beheld; his grey hairs hung down on each side of his temples, and were collected in a small _queue_ behind. He rose and bowed, as we were announced; to my father he held out _two_ fingers in salutation, to me only _one_, but there was an elegance in the manner in which it was done which was indescribable. He waved his hand to chairs, placed by the _gentleman_ out of livery, and requested we would be seated. I could not, at the time, help thinking of Mr Chucks, the boatswain, and his remarks upon high breeding, which were so true: and I laughed to myself when I recollected that Mr Chucks had once dined with him. As soon as the servants had quitted the room, the distance on the part of my grandfather appeared to wear off. He interrogated me on several points, and seemed pleased with my replies; but he always called me “child.” After a conversation of half an hour, my father rose, saying that his lordship must be busy, and that we would go over the grounds till dinner-time. My grandfather rose, and we took a sort of formal leave; but it was not a formal leave, after all, it was high breeding, respecting yourself and respecting others. For my part, I was pleased with the first interview, and so I told my father after we had left the room. “My dear Peter,” replied he, “your grandfather has one idea which absorbs most others–the peerage, the estate, and the descent of it in the right line. As long as your uncles were alive, we were not thought of, as not being in the line of descent; nor should we now, but that your uncle William has only daughters. Still we are not looked upon as actual, but only contingent, inheritors of the title. Were your uncle to die to-morrow, the difference in his behaviour would be manifested immediately.”

“That is to say, instead of _two fingers_ you would receive the _whole_ hand, and instead of _one_ finger, I should obtain promotion to _two_.”

At this my father laughed heartily, saying, “Peter, you have exactly hit the mark. I cannot imagine how we ever could have been so blind as to call you the fool of the family.”

To this I made no reply, for it was difficult so to do without depreciating others or depreciating myself; but I changed the subject by commenting on the beauties of the park, and the splendid timber with which it was adorned. “Yes, Peter,” replied my father, with a sigh, “thirty-five thousand a year in land, money in the funds, and timber worth at least forty thousand more, are not to be despised. But God wills everything.” After this remark, my father appeared to be in deep thought, and I did not interrupt him.

We stayed ten days with my grandfather, during which he would often detain me for two hours after breakfast, listening to my adventures, and I really believe was very partial to me. The day before I went away he said, “Child, you are going to-morrow; now tell me what you would like, as I wish to give you a token of regard. Don’t be afraid; what shall it be–a watch and seals, or–anything you most fancy?”

“My lord,” replied I, “if you wish to do me a favour, it is, that you will apply to the First Lord of the Admiralty to appoint Lieutenant O’Brien to a fine frigate, and, at the same time, ask for a vacancy as midshipman for me.”

“O’Brien!” replied his lordship; “I recollect it was he who accompanied you from France, and appears, by your account, to have been a true friend. I am pleased with your request, my child, and it shall be granted.”

His lordship then desired me to hand him the paper and ink-standish, wrote by my directions, sealed the letter, and told me he would send me the answer. The next day we quitted Eagle Park, his lordship wishing my father good-bye with _two_ fingers, and to me extending _one_, as before; but he said, “I am pleased with you, child; you may write occasionally.”

When we were on our route home, my father observed that “I had made more progress with my grandfather than he had known anyone to do, since he could recollect. His saying that you might write to him is at least ten thousand pounds to you in his will, for he never deceives any one, or changes his mind.” My reply was, that I should like to see the ten thousand pounds, but that I was not so sanguine.

A few days after our return home, I received a letter and enclosure from Lord Privilege, the contents of which were as follow:–

“My dear Child,–I send you Lord—-‘s answer, which I trust will prove satisfactory. My compliments to your family.–Yours, &c., PRIVILEGE.”

The inclosure was a handsome letter from the First Lord, stating that he had appointed O’Brien to the _Sanglier_ frigate, and had ordered me to be received on board as midshipman. I was delighted to forward this letter to O’Brien’s address, who, in a few days sent me an answer, thanking me, and stating that he had received his ‘appointment, and that I need not join for a month, which was quite time enough, as the ship was refitting; but, that if my family were tired of me, which was sometimes the case in the best regulated families, why, then I should learn something of my duty by coming to Portsmouth. He concluded by sending his kind regards to all the family, and his _love_ to my grandfather, which last I certainly did not forward in my letter of thanks. About a month afterwards I received a letter from O’Brien, stating that the ship was ready to go out of harbour, and would be anchored off Spithead in a few days.

Chapter XXVII

Captain and Mrs To–Pork–We go to Plymouth, and fall in with our old Captain.

I immediately took leave of my family, and set off for Portsmouth, and in two days arrived at the Fountain inn, where O’Brien was waiting to receive me. “Peter, my boy, I feel so much obliged to you, that if your uncle won’t go out of the world by fair means, I’ll pick a quarrel with him, and shoot him, on purpose that you may be a lord, as I am determined you shall be. Now come up into my room, where we’ll be all alone, and I’ll tell you all about the ship and our new captain. In the first place, we’ll begin with the ship, as the most important personage of the two: she’s a beauty, I forget her name before she was taken, but the French know how to build ships better than keep them. She’s now called the _Sanglier_, which means a wild pig, and, by the powers! a _pig_ ship she is, as you will hear directly. The captain’s name is a very short one, and wouldn’t please Mr Chucks, consisting only of two letters, T and O, which makes To; his whole title is Captain John To. It would almost appear as if somebody had broken off the better half of his name, and only left him the commencement of it; but, however, it’s a handy name to sign when he pays off his ship. And now I’ll tell you what sort of a looking craft he is. He’s built like a Dutch schuyt, great breadth of beam, and very square tuck. He applied to have the quarter galleries enlarged in the two last ships he commanded. He weighs about eighteen stone, rather more than less. He is a good-natured sort of a chap, amazingly ungenteel, not much of an officer, not much of a sailor, but a devilish good hand at the trencher. But he’s only part of the concern; he has his wife on board, who is a red-herring sort of a lady, and very troublesome to boot. What makes her still more annoying is, that she has a _piano_ on board, very much out of _tune_, on which she plays very much out of _time_. Holystoning is music compared with her playing: even the captain’s spaniel howls when she comes to the high notes; but she affects the fine lady, and always treats the officers with music when they dine in the cabin, which makes them very glad to get out of it.”

“But, O’Brien, I thought wives were not permitted on board.”

“Very true, but there’s the worst part in the man’s character: he knows that he is not allowed to take his wife to sea, and, in consequence, he never says she _is_ his wife, or presents her on shore to anybody. If any of the other captains ask how Mrs To is to-day? ‘Why,’ he replies, ‘pretty well, I thank you;’ but at the same time he gives a kind of smirk, as if to say, ‘She is not my wife;’ and although everybody knows that she is, yet he prefers that they should think otherwise, rather than be at the expense of keeping her on shore; for you know, Peter, that although there are regulations about wives, there are none with regard to other women.”

“But does his wife know this?” inquired I.

“I believe, from my heart, she is a party to the whole transaction, for report says, that she would skin a flint if she could. She’s always trying for presents from the officers, and, in fact, she commands the ship.”

“Really, O’Brien, this is not a very pleasant prospect.”

“Whist! wait a little; now I come to the wind-up. This Captain To is very partial to pig’s _mate_, and we have as many live pigs on board as we have pigs of ballast. The first lieutenant is right mad about them. At the same time he allows no pigs but his own on board, that there may be no confusion. The manger is full of pigs; there are two cow-pens between the main-deck guns, drawn from the dock-yard, and converted into pig-pens. The two sheep-pens amidships are full of pigs, and the geese and turkey-coops are divided off into apartments for four _sows_ in the _family way_. Now, Peter, you see there’s little or no expense in keeping pigs on board of a large frigate, with so much _pay_-soup and whole peas for them to eat, and this is the reason why he keeps them, for the devil a bit of any other stock has he on board. I presume he means to _milk_ one of the _old sows_ for breakfast when the ship sails. The first thing that he does in the morning, is to go round to his pigs with the butcher, feeling one, scratching the dirty ears of another, and then he classes them–his _bacon_ pigs, his _porkers_, his _breeding_ sows, and so on. The old boar is still at the stables of this inn, but I hear he is to come on board with the sailing orders: but he is very savage, and is therefore left on shore to the very last moment. Now really, Peter, what with the squealing of the pigs and his wife’s piano, we are almost driven mad. I don’t know which is the worse of the two; if you go aft you hear the one, if you go forward you hear the other, by way of variety, and that, they say, is charming. But, is it not shocking that such a beautiful frigate should be turned into a pig-sty, and that her main-deck should smell worse than a muckheap?”

“But how does his wife like the idea of living only upon hog’s flesh?”

“She! Lord bless you, Peter! why, she looks as spare as a shark, and she has just the appetite of one, for she’ll _bolt_ a four-pound piece of pork before it’s well put on her plate.”

“Have you any more such pleasant intelligence to communicate, O’Brien?”

“No, Peter; you have the worst of it. The lieutenants are good officers and pleasant messmates: the doctor is a little queer, and the purser thinks himself a wag; the master, an old north-countryman, who knows his duty, and takes his glass of grog. The midshipmen are a very genteel set of young men, and full of fun and frolic. I’ll bet a wager there’ll be a bobbery in the pig-sty before long, for they are ripe for mischief. Now, Peter, I hardly need say that my cabin and everything I have is at your service; and I think if we could only have a devil of a gale of wind, or a hard-fought action, to send the _pigs_ overboard and smash the _piano_, we should do very well.”

The next day I went on board, and was shown down into the cabin, to report my having joined. Mrs To, a tall thin woman, was at her piano; she rose, and asked me several questions–who my friends were–how much they allowed me a year, and many other questions, which I thought impertinent: but a captain’s wife is allowed to take liberties. She then asked me if I was fond of music? That was a difficult question, as, if I said that I was, I should in all probability be obliged to hear it: if I said that I was not, I might have created a dislike in her. So I replied, that I was very fond of music on shore, when it was not interrupted by other noise. “Ah! then I perceive you are a real amateur, Mr Simple,” replied the lady.

Captain To then came out of the after-cabin, half-dressed. “Well, youngster, so you’ve joined us at last. Come and dine with us to-day? and, as you go down to your berth, desire the sentry to pass the word for the butcher; I want to speak with him.”

I bowed and retired. I was met in the most friendly manner by the officers and by my own messmates, who had been prepossessed in my favour by O’Brien, previous to my arrival. In our service you always find young men of the best families on board large frigates, they being considered the most eligible class of vessels; I found my messmates to be gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, but I never met so many wild young lads together. I sat down and ate some dinner with them, although I was to dine in the cabin, for the sea air made me hungry.

“Don’t you dine in the cabin, Simple?” said the caterer.

“Yes,” replied I.

“Then don’t eat any pork, my boy, now, for you’ll have plenty there. Come, gentlemen, fill your glasses; we’ll drink happiness to our new messmate, and pledging him, we pledge ourselves to try to promote it.”

“I’ll just join you in that toast,” said O’Brien, walking into the midshipmen’s berth. “What is it you’re drinking it in?”

“Some of Collier’s port, sir. Boy, bring a glass for Mr O’Brien.”

“Here’s your health, Peter, and wishing you may keep out of a French prison this cruise. Mr Montague, as caterer, I will beg you will order another candle, that I may see what’s on the table, and then perhaps I may find something I should like to pick a bit off.”

“Here’s the fag end of a leg of mutton, Mr O’Brien, and there’s a piece of boiled pork.”

“Then I’ll just trouble you for a bit close to the knuckle. Peter, you dine in the cabin, so do I–the doctor refused.”

“Have you heard when we sail, Mr O’Brien?” inquired one of my messmates.

“I heard at the admiral’s office, that we were expected to be ordered round to Plymouth, and receive our orders there, either for the East or West Indies, they thought; and, indeed, the stores we have taken on board indicate that we are going foreign, but the captain’s signal is just made, and probably the admiral has intelligence to communicate.”

In about an hour afterwards, the captain returned, looking very red and hot. He called the first lieutenant aside from the rest of the officers, who were on deck to receive him, and told him, that we were to start for Plymouth next morning; and the admiral had told him confidentially, that we were to proceed to the West Indies with a convoy, which was then collecting. He appeared to be very much alarmed at the idea of going to make a feast for the land crabs; and certainly, his gross habit of body rendered him very unfit for the climate. This news was soon spread through the ship, and there was of course no little bustle and preparation. The doctor, who had refused to dine in the cabin upon plea of being unwell, sent up to say, that he felt himself so much better, that he should have great pleasure to attend the summons, and he joined the first lieutenant, O’Brien, and me, as we walked in. We sat down to table; the covers were removed, and as the midshipmen prophesied, there was plenty of _pork_–mock-turtle soup, made out of a pig’s head–a boiled leg of pork and peas-pudding–a roast spare-rib, with the crackling on–sausages and potatoes, and pig’s pettitoes. I cannot say that I disliked my dinner, and I ate very heartily; but a roast sucking-pig came on as a second course, which rather surprised me; but what surprised me more, was the quantity devoured by Mrs To. She handed her plate from the boiled pork to the roast, asked for some pettitoes, tried the sausages, and finished with a whole plateful of sucking-pig and stuffing. We had an apple pie at the end, but as we had already eaten apple sauce with the roast pork, we did not care for it. The doctor, who abominated pork, ate pretty well, and was excessively attentive to Mrs To.

“Will you not take a piece of the roast pig, doctor?” said the captain.

“Why, really Captain To, as we are bound, by all reports, to a station where we must not venture upon pork, I think I will not refuse to take a piece, for I am very fond of it.”

“How do you mean?” inquired the captain and his lady, both in a breath.

“Perhaps I may be wrongly informed,” replied the doctor, “but I have heard that we were ordered to the West Indies; now, if so, everyone knows, that although you may eat salt pork there occasionally without danger, in all tropical climates, and especially the West Indies, two or three days’ living upon this meat will immediately produce dysentery, which is always fatal in that climate.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the captain.

“You don’t say so!” rejoined the lady.

“I do indeed: and have always avoided the West Indies for that very reason–I am so fond of pork.”

The doctor then proceeded to give nearly one hundred instances of messmates and shipmen who had been attacked with dysentery, from the eating of fresh pork in the West Indies; and O’Brien, perceiving the doctor’s drift, joined him, telling some most astonishing accounts of the dreadful effects of pork in a hot country. I think he said, that when the French were blockaded, previous to the surrender of Martinique, that, having nothing but pigs to eat, thirteen hundred out of seventeen hundred soldiers and officers died in the course of three weeks, and the others were so reduced by disease, that they were obliged to capitulate. The doctor then changed the subject, and talked about the yellow fever, and other diseases of the climate, so that, by his account, the West India islands were but hospitals to die in. Those most likely to be attacked, were men in full strong health. The spare men stood a better chance. This conversation was carried on until it was time to leave–Mrs To at last quite silent, and the captain gulping down his wine with a sigh. When we rose from the table, Mrs To did not ask us, as usual, to stay and hear a little music; she was, like her piano, not a little out of tune.

“By the powers, doctor, you did that nately,” said O’Brien, as we left the cabin.

“O’Brien,” said the doctor, “oblige me, and you, Mr Simple, oblige me also, by not saying a word in the ship about what I have said; if it once gets wind, I shall have done no good, but if you both hold your tongues for a short time, I think I may promise you to get rid of Captain To, his wife, and his pigs.” We perceived the justice of his observation, and promised secrecy. The next morning the ship sailed for Plymouth, and Mrs To sent for the doctor, not being very well. The doctor prescribed for her, and I believe, on my conscience, made her worse on purpose. The illness of his wife, and his own fears, brought Captain To more than usual in contact with the doctor, of whom he frequently asked his candid opinion, as to his own chance in a hot country.

“Captain To,” said the doctor, “_I_ never would have given my opinion, if you had not asked it, for I am aware, that, as an officer, you would never flinch from your duty, to whatever quarter of the globe you may be ordered; but, as you have asked the question, I must say, with your full habit of body, I think you would not stand a chance of living for more than two months. At the same time, sir, I may be mistaken; but, at all events, I must point out that Mrs To is of a very bilious habit, and I trust you will not do such an injustice to an amiable woman, as to permit her to accompany you.”

“Thanky, doctor, I’m much obliged to you,” replied the captain, turning round and going down the ladder to his cabin. We were then beating down the channel; for, although we ran through the Needles with a fair wind, it fell calm, and shifted to the westward, when we were abreast of Portland. The next day the captain gave an order for a very fine pig to be killed, for he was out of provisions. Mrs To still kept her bed, and he therefore directed that a part should be salted, as he could have no company. I was in the midshipman’s berth, when some of them proposed that we should get possession of the pig; and the plan they agreed upon was as follows:–they were to go to the pen that night, and with a needle stuck in a piece of wood, to prick the pig all over, and then rub gunpowder into the parts wounded. This was done, and although the butcher was up a dozen times during the night to ascertain what made the pigs so uneasy, the midshipmen passed the needle from watch to watch, until the pig was well tattooed in all parts. In the morning watch it was killed, and when it had been scalded in the tub, and the hair taken off, it appeared covered with blue spots. The midshipman of the morning watch, who was on the main-deck, took care to point out to the butcher, that the pork was _measly_, to which the man unwillingly assented, stating, at the same time, that he could not imagine how it could be, for a finer pig he had never put a knife into. The circumstance was reported to the captain, who was much astonished. The doctor came in to visit Mrs To, and the captain requested the doctor to examine the pig, and give his opinion. Although this was not the doctor’s province, yet, as he had great reason for keeping intimate with the captain, he immediately consented. Going forward, he met me, and I told him the secret. “That will do,” replied he; “it all tends to what we wish.” The doctor returned to the captain, and said, “that there was no doubt but that the pig was measly, which was a complaint very frequent on board ships, particularly in hot climates, where all pork became _measly_–one great reason for its there proving so unwholesome.” The captain sent for the first lieutenant, and, with a deep sigh, ordered him to throw the pig overboard; but the first lieutenant, who knew what had been done from O’Brien, ordered the _master’s mate_ to throw it overboard: the master’s mate, touching his hat, said, “Ay, ay, sir,” and took it down into the berth, where we cut it up, salted one half, and the other we finished before we arrived at Plymouth, which was six days from the time we left Portsmouth. On our arrival, we found part of the convoy lying there, but no orders for us; and, to my great delight, on the following day the _Diomede_ arrived, from a cruise off the Western Islands. I obtained permission to go on board with O’Brien, and we once more greeted our messmates. Mr Falcon, the first lieutenant, went down to Captain Savage, to say we were on board, and he requested us to come into the cabin. He greeted us warmly, and gave us great credit for the manner in which we had effected our escape. When we left the cabin, I found Mr Chucks, the boatswain, waiting outside.

“My dear Mr Simple, extend your flapper to me, for I’m delighted to see you. I long to have a long talk with you.”

“And I should like it also, Mr Chucks, but I’m afraid we have not time; I dine with Captain Savage to-day, and it only wants an hour of dinner-time.”

“Well, Mr Simple, I’ve been looking at your frigate, and she’s a beauty –much larger than the _Diomede_.”

“And she behaves quite as well,” replied I. “I think we are two hundred tons larger. You’ve no idea of her size until you are on her decks.”

“I should like to be boatswain of her, Mr Simple; that is, with Captain Savage, for I will not part with him.” I had some more conversation with Mr Chucks, but I was obliged to attend to others, who interrupted us. We had a very pleasant dinner with our old captain, to whom we gave a history of our adventures, and then we returned on board.

Chapter XXVIII

We get rid of the pigs and piano-forte–The last boat on shore before sailing–The First Lieutenant too hasty, and the consequences to me.

We waited three days, at the expiration of which, we heard that Captain To was about to exchange with Captain Savage. We could not believe such good news to be true, and we could not ascertain the truth of the report, as the captain had gone on shore with Mrs To, who recovered fast after she was out of our doctor’s hands; so fast, indeed, that a week afterwards, on questioning the steward, upon his return on board, how Mrs To was, he replied, “O charming well again, sir, she has eaten a _whole pig_, since she left the ship.” But the report was true: Captain To, afraid to go to the West Indies, had effected an exchange with Captain Savage. Captain Savage was permitted, as was the custom of the service, to bring his first lieutenant, his boatswain, and his barge’s crew with him. He joined a day or two before we sailed, and never was there more joy on board: the only people miserable were the first lieutenant, and those belonging to the _Sanglier_ who were obliged to follow Captain To; who, with his wife, his pigs, and her piano, were all got rid of in the course of one forenoon.

I have already described pay-day on board of a man-of-war, but I think that the two days before sailing are even more unpleasant; although, generally speaking, all our money being spent, we are not sorry when we once are fairly out of harbour, and find ourselves in _blue water_. The men never work well on those days: they are thinking of their wives and sweethearts, of the pleasure they had when at liberty on shore, where they might get drunk without punishment; and many of them are either half drunk at the time, or suffering from the effects of previous intoxication. The ship is in disorder, and crowded with the variety of stock and spare stores which are obliged to be taken on board in a hurry, and have not yet been properly secured in their places. The first lieutenant is cross, the officers are grave, and the poor midshipmen, with all their own little comforts to attend to, are harassed and driven about like post-horses. “Mr Simple,” inquired the first lieutenant, “where do you come from?”

“From the gun wharf, sir, with the gunner’s spare blocks, and breechings.”

“Very well–send the marines aft to clear the boat, and pipe away the first putter. Mr Simple, jump into the first cutter, and go to Mount Wise for the officers. Be careful that none of your men leave the boat. Come, be smart.”

Now, I had been away the whole morning, and it was then half-past one, and I had had no dinner: but I said nothing, and went into the boat. As soon as I was off, O’Brien, who stood by Mr Falcon, said, “Peter was thinking of his dinner, poor fellow!”

“I really quite forgot it,” replied the first lieutenant, “there is so much to do. He is a willing boy, and he shall dine in the gun-room when he comes back.” And so I did–so I lost nothing by not expostulating, and gained more of the favour of the first lieutenant, who never forgot what he called _zeal_. But the hardest trial of the whole, is to the midshipman who is sent with the boat to purchase the supplies for the cabin and gun-room on the day before the ship’s sailing. It was my misfortune to be ordered upon that service this time, and that very unexpectedly. I had been ordered to dress myself to take the gig on shore for the captain’s orders, and was walking the deck with my very best uniform and side arms, when the marine officer, who was the gun-room caterer, came up to the first lieutenant, and asked him for a boat. The boat was manned, and a midshipman ordered to take charge of it; but when he came up, the first lieutenant recollecting that he had come off two days before with only half his boat’s crew, would not trust him, and called out to me, “Here, Mr Simple, I must send you in this boat; mind you are careful that none of the men leave it; and bring off the sergeant of marines, who is on shore looking for the men who have broken their liberty.” Although I could not but feel proud of the compliment, yet I did not much like going in my very best uniform, and would have run down and changed it, but the marine officer and all the people were in the boat, and I could not keep it waiting, so down the side I went, and we shoved off. We had, besides the boat’s crew, the marine officer, the purser, the gun-room steward, the captain’s steward, and the purser’s steward; so that we were pretty full. It blew hard from the S.E., and there was a sea running, but as the tide was flowing into the harbour there was not much bubble. We hoisted the foresail, flew before the wind and tide, and in a quarter of an hour we were at Mutton Cove, when the marine officer expressed his wish to land. The landing-place was crowded with boats, and it was not without sundry exchanges of foul words and oaths, and the bow-men dashing the point of their boat-hooks into the shore-boats, to make them keep clear of us, that we forced our way to the beach. The marine officer and all the stewards then left the boat, and I had to look after the men. I had not been there three minutes before the bow-man said that his wife was on the wharf with his clothes from the wash, and begged leave to go and fetch them. I refused, telling him that she could bring them to him. “Vy now, Mr Simple,” said the woman, “ar’n’t you a nice lady’s man, to go for to ax me to muddle my way through all the dead dogs, cabbage-stalks, and stinking hakes’ heads, with my bran new shoes and clean stockings?” I looked at her, and sure enough she was, as they say in France, _bien chaussee_. “Come, Mr Simple, let him out to come for his clothes, and you’ll see that he’s back in a moment.” I did not like to refuse her, as it was very dirty and wet, and the shingle was strewed with all that she had mentioned. The bow-man made a spring out with his boat-hook, threw it back, went up to his wife, and commenced talking with her, while I watched him. “If you please, sir, there’s my young woman come down, mayn’t I speak to her?” said another of the men. I turned round, and refused him. He expostulated, and begged very hard, but I was resolute; however, when I again turned my eyes to watch the bow-man, he and his wife were gone. “There,” says I to the coxswain, “I knew it would be so; you see Hickman is off.”

“Only gone to take a parting glass, sir,” replied the coxswain; “he’ll be here directly.”

“I hope so; but I’m afraid not.” After this, I refused all the solicitations of the men to be allowed to leave the boat, but I permitted them to have some beer brought down to them. The gun-room steward then came back with a basket of _soft-tack_, _i.e._ loaves of bread, and told me that the marine officer requested I would allow two of the men to go up with him to Glencross’s shop, to bring down some of the stores. Of course, I sent two of the men, and told the steward if he saw Hickman, to bring him down to the boat.

By this time many of the women belonging to the ship had assembled, and commenced a noisy conversation with the boat’s crew. One brought an article for Jim, another some clothes for Bill; some of them climbed into the boat, and sat with the men; others came and went, bringing beer and tobacco, which the men desired them to purchase. The crowd, the noise, and confusion were so great, that it was with the utmost difficulty that I could keep my eyes on all my men, who, one after another, made an attempt to leave the boat. Just at that time came down the sergeant of the marines, with three of our men whom he had picked up, _roaring drunk_. They were tumbled into the boat, and increased the difficulty, as in looking after those who were riotous, and would try to leave the boat by force, I was not so well able to keep my eyes on those who were sober. The sergeant then went up after another man, and I told him also about Hickman. About half an hour afterwards the steward came down with the two men, loaded with cabbages, baskets of eggs, strings of onions, crockery of all descriptions, paper parcels of groceries, legs and shoulders of mutton, which were crowded in, until not only the stern-sheets, but all under the thwarts of the boat were also crammed full. They told me that they had a few more things to bring down, and that the marine officer had gone to Stonehouse to see his wife, so that they should be down long before him. In half an hour more, during which I had the greatest difficulty to manage the boat’s crew, they returned with a dozen geese and two ducks, tied by the legs, but without the two men, who had given them the slip, so that there were now three men gone, and I knew Mr Falcon would be very angry, for they were three of the smartest men in the ship. I was now determined not to run the risk of losing more men, and I ordered the boat’s crew to shove off, that I might lie at the wharf, where they could not climb up. They were very mutinous, grumbled very much, and would hardly obey me; the fact is, they had drunk a great deal, and some of them were more than half tipsy. However, at last I was obeyed, but not without being saluted with a shower of invectives from the women, and the execrations of the men belonging to the wherries and _shore_ boats which were washed against our sides by the swell. The weather had become much worse, and looked very threatening. I waited an hour more, when the sergeant of marines came down with two more men, one of whom, to my great joy, was Hickman. This made me more comfortable, as I was not answerable for the other two; still I was in great trouble from the riotous and insolent behaviour of the boat’s crew, and the other men brought down by the sergeant of marines. One of them fell back into a basket of eggs, and smashed them all to atoms; still the marine officer did not come down, and it was getting late. The tide being now at the ebb, running out against the wind, there was a heavy sea, and I had to go off to the ship with a boat deeply laden, and most of the people in her in a state of intoxication. The coxswain, who was the only one who was sober, recommended our shoving off, as it would soon be dark, and some accident would happen. I reflected a minute, and agreeing with him, I ordered the oars to be got out, and we shoved off, the sergeant of marines and the gun-room steward perched up in the bows–drunken men, ducks and geese, lying together at the bottom of the boat–the stern sheets loaded up to the gunwale, and the other passengers and myself sitting how we could among the crockery and a variety of other articles with which the boat was crowded. It was a scene of much confusion–the half-drunken boat’s crew _catching crabs_, and falling forward upon the others–those who were quite drunk swearing they _would_ pull. “Lay on your oar, Sullivan; you are doing more harm than good. You drunken rascal, I’ll report you as soon as we get on board.”

“How the divil can I pull, your honour, when there’s that fellow Jones breaking the very back o’ me with his oar, and he never touching the water all the while?”

“You lie,” cried Jones; “I’m pulling the boat by myself against the whole of the larbard oars.”

“He’s rowing _dry_, your honour–only making bilave.”

“Do you call this rowing dry?” cried another, as a sea swept over the boat, fore and aft, wetting everybody to the skin.

“Now, your honour, just look and see if I ain’t pulling the very arms off me?” cried Sullivan.

“Is there water enough to cross the bridge, Swinburne?” said I to the coxswain.

“Plenty, Mr Simple; it is but quarter ebb, and the sooner we are on board the better.”

We were now past Devil’s Point, and the sea was very heavy: the boat plunged in the trough, so that I was afraid that she would break her back. She was soon half full of water, and the two after-oars were laid in for the men to bale. “Plase your honour, hadn’t I better cut free the legs of them ducks and geese, and allow them to swim for their lives?” cried Sullivan, resting on his oar; “the poor birds will be drowned else in their own _iliment_.”

“No, no–pull away as hard as you can.”

By this time the drunken men in the bottom of the boat began to be very uneasy, from the quantity of water which washed about them, and made several staggering attempts to get on their legs. They fell down again upon the ducks and geese, the major part of which were saved from being drowned by being suffocated. The sea on the bridge was very heavy; and although the tide swept us out, we were nearly swamped. Soft bread was washing about the bottom of the boat; the parcels of sugar, pepper, and salt, were wet through with the salt water, and a sudden jerk threw the captain’s steward, who was seated upon the gunwale close to the after-oar, right upon the whole of the crockery and eggs, which added to the mass of destruction. A few more seas shipped completed the job, and the gun-room steward was in despair. “That’s a darling,” cried Sullivan: “the politest boat in the whole fleet. She makes more bows and curtseys than the finest couple in the land. Give way, my lads, and work the crater stuff out of your elbows, and the first lieutenant will see us all so sober, and so wet in the bargain, and think we’re all so dry, that perhaps he’ll be after giving us a raw nip when we get on board.”

In a quarter of an hour we were nearly alongside, but the men pulled so badly, and the sea was so great, that we missed the ship and went astern. They veered out a buoy with a line, which we got hold of, and were hauled up by the marines and after-guard, the boat plunging bows under, and drenching us through and through. At last we got under the counter, and I climbed up by the stern ladder. Mr Falcon was on deck, and very angry at the boat not coming alongside properly. “I thought, Mr Simple, that you knew by this time how to bring a boat alongside.”

“So I do, sir, I hope,” replied I; “but the boat was so full of water, and the men would not give way.”

“What men has the sergeant brought on board?”

“Three, sir,” replied I, shivering with the cold, and unhappy at my very best uniform being spoiled.

“Are all your boat’s crew with you, sir?”

“No sir; there are two left on shore; they–”

“Not a word, sir. Up to the mast-head, and stay there till I call you down. If it were not so late, I would send you on shore, and not receive you on board again without the men. Up, sir, immediately.”

I did not venture to explain, but up I went. It was very cold, blowing hard from the S.E., with heavy squalls; I was so wet that the wind appeared to blow through me, and it was now nearly dark. I reached the cross-trees, and when I was seated there, I felt that I had done my duty, and had not been fairly treated. During this time, the boat had been hauled up alongside to clear, and a pretty clearance there was. All the ducks and geese were dead, the eggs and crockery all broke, the grocery almost all washed away; in short, as O’Brien observed, there was “a very pretty general average.” Mr Falcon was still very angry. “Who are the men missing?” inquired he, of Swinburne, the coxswain, as he came up the side.

“Williams and Sweetman, sir.”

“Two of the smartest topmen, I am told. It really is too provoking; there is not a midshipman in the ship I can trust. I must work all day, and get no assistance. The service is really going to the devil now, with the young men who are sent on board to be brought up as officers, and who are above doing their duty. What made you so late, Swinburne?”

“Waiting for the marine officer, who went to Stonehouse to see his wife; but Mr Simple would not wait any longer, as it was getting dark, and we had so many drunken men in the boat.”

“Mr Simple did right. I wish Mr Harrison would stay on shore with his wife altogether–it’s really trifling with the service. Pray, Mr Swinburne, why had you not your eyes about you if Mr Simple was so careless? How came you to allow these men to leave the boat?”

“The men were ordered up by the marine officer to bring down your stores, sir, and they gave the steward the slip. It was no fault of Mr Simple’s, nor of mine either. We lay off at the wharf for two hours before we started, or we should have lost more; for what can a poor lad do, when he has charge of drunken men who _will not_ obey orders?” And the coxswain looked up at the mast-head, as much as to say, Why is he sent there? “I’ll take my oath, sir,” continued Swinburne, “that Mr Simple never put his foot out of the boat, from the time that he went over the side until he came on board, and that no young gentleman could have done his duty more strictly.”

Mr Falcon looked very angry at first at the coxswain speaking so freely, but he said nothing. He took one or two turns on the deck, and then hailing the mast-head, desired me to come down. But I _could not_; my limbs were so cramped with the wind blowing upon my wet clothes, that I could not move. He hailed again; I heard him, but was not able to answer. One of the topmen then came up, and perceiving my condition, hailed the deck, and said he believed I was dying, for I could not move, and that he dared not leave me for fear I should fall. O’Brien, who had been on deck all the while, jumped up the rigging, and was soon at the cross-trees where I was. He sent the topman down into the top for a tail-block and the studding-sail haulyards, made a whip, and lowered me on deck. I was immediately put into my hammock; and the surgeon ordering me some hot brandy-and-water, and plenty of blankets, in a few hours I was quite restored.

O’Brien, who was at my bedside, said, “Never mind, Peter, and don’t be angry with Mr Falcon, for he is very sorry.”

“I am not angry, O’Brien; for Mr Falcon has been too kind to me not to make me forgive him for being once hasty.”

The surgeon came to my hammock, gave me some more hot drink, desired me to go to sleep, and I woke the next morning quite well.

When I came into the berth, my messmates asked me how I was, and many of them railed against the tyranny of Mr Falcon; but I took his part, saying, that he was hasty in this instance, perhaps, but that, generally speaking, he was an excellent and very just officer. Some agreed with me, but others did not. One of them, who was always in disgrace, sneered at me, and said, “Peter reads the Bible, and knows that if you smite one cheek, he must offer the other. Now, I’ll answer for it, if I pull his right ear he will offer me his left.” So saying, he lugged me by the ear, upon which I knocked him down for his trouble. The berth was then cleared away for a fight, and in a quarter of an hour my opponent gave in; but I suffered a little, and had a very black eye. I had hardly time to wash myself and change my shirt, which was bloody, when I was summoned on the quarter-deck. When I arrived, I found Mr Falcon walking up and down. He looked very hard at me, but did not ask me any questions as to the cause of my unusual appearance.

“Mr Simple,” said he, “I sent for you to beg your pardon for my behaviour to you last night, which was not only very hasty but very unjust. I find that you were not to blame for the loss of the men.”

I felt very sorry for him when I heard him speak so handsomely; and, to make his mind more easy, I told him that, although I certainly was not to blame for the loss of those two men, still I had done wrong in permitting Hickman to leave the boat; and that had not the sergeant picked him up, I should have come off without him, and therefore I _did_ deserve the punishment which I had received.

“Mr Simple,” replied Mr Falcon, “I respect you, and admire your feelings; still, I was to blame, and it is my duty to apologise. Now go down below. I would have requested the pleasure of your company to dinner, but I perceive that something else has occurred, which, under any other circumstances, I would have inquired into, but at present I shall not.”

I touched my hat and went below. In the meantime, O’Brien had been made acquainted with the occasion of the quarrel, which he did not fail to explain to Mr Falcon, who, O’Brien declared, “was not the least bit in the world angry with me for what had occurred.” Indeed, after that, Mr Falcon always treated me with the greatest kindness, and employed me on every duty which he considered of consequence. He was a sincere friend; for he did not allow me to neglect my duty, but, at the same time, treated me with consideration and confidence.

The marine officer came on board very angry at being left behind, and talked about a court-martial on me for disrespect, and neglect of stores entrusted to my charge; but O’Brien told me not to mind him, or what he said. “It’s my opinion, Peter, that the gentleman has eaten no small quantity of _flap-doodle_ in his lifetime.”

“What’s that, O’Brien?” replied I; “I never heard of it.”

“Why, Peter,” rejoined he, “it’s the stuff they _feed fools on_.”

Chapter XXIX

A long conversation with Mr Chucks–The advantage of having a prayer-book in your pocket–We run down the trades–Swinburne, the quartermaster, and his yarns–The Captain falls sick.

The next day the captain came on board with sealed orders, with directions not to open them until off Ushant. In the afternoon, we weighed and made sail. It was a fine northerly wind, and the Bay of Biscay was smooth. We bore up, set all the studding-sails, and ran along at the rate of eleven miles an hour. As I could not appear on the quarter-deck, I was put down on the sick-list. Captain Savage, who was very particular, asked what was the matter with me. The surgeon replied, “An inflamed eye.” The captain asked no more questions; and I took care to keep out of his way. I walked in the evening on the forecastle, when I renewed my intimacy with Mr Chucks, the boatswain, to whom I gave a full narrative of all my adventures in France. “I have been ruminating, Mr Simple,” said he, “how such a stripling as you could have gone through so much fatigue, and now I know how it is. It is _blood_, Mr Simple–all blood–you are descended from good blood; and there’s as much difference between nobility and the lower classes, as there is between a racer and a cart-horse.”

“I cannot agree with you, Mr Chucks. Common people are quite as brave as those who are well-born. You do not mean to say that you are not brave– that the seamen on board this ship are not brave?”

“No, no, Mr Simple; but as I observed about myself, my mother was a woman who could not be trusted, and there is no saying who was my father; and she was a very pretty woman to boot, which levels all distinctions for the moment. As for the seamen, God knows, I should do them an injustice if I did not acknowledge that they were as brave as lions. But there are two kinds of bravery, Mr Simple–the bravery of the moment, and the courage of bearing up for a long while. Do you understand me?”

“I think I do; but still do not agree with you. Who will bear more fatigue than our sailors?”

“Yes, yes, Mr Simple, that is because they are _endured_ to it from their hard life: but if the common sailors were all such little thread-papers as you, and had been brought up so carefully, they would not have gone through all you have. That’s my opinion, Mr Simple– there’s nothing like _blood_.”

“I think, Mr Chucks, you carry your ideas on that subject too far.”

“I do not, Mr Simple; and I think, moreover, that he who has more to lose than another will always strive more. Now a common man only fights for his own credit; but when a man is descended from a long line of people famous in history, and has a coat _in_ arms, criss-crossed, and stuck all over with lions and unicorns to support the dignity of–why, has he not to fight for the credit of all his ancestors, whose names would be disgraced if he didn’t behave well?”

“I agree with you, Mr Chucks, in the latter remark, to a certain extent.”

“Ah! Mr Simple, we never know the value of good descent when we have it, but it’s when we cannot get it that we can _’preciate_ it. I wish I had been born a nobleman–I do, by heavens!” and Mr Chucks slapped his fist against the funnel, so as to make it ring again. “Well, Mr Simple,” continued he, after a pause, “it is, however, a great comfort to me that I have parted company with that fool, Mr Muddle, with his twenty-six thousand and odd years, and that old woman, Dispart, the gunner. You don’t know how those two men used to fret me; it was very silly, but I couldn’t help it. Now the warrant officers of this ship appear to be very respectable, quiet men, who know their duty and attend to it, and are not too familiar, which I hate and detest. You went home to your friends, of course, when you arrived in England?”

“I did, Mr Chucks, and spent some days with my grandfather, Lord Privilege, whom you say you once met at dinner.”

“Well, and how was the old gentleman?” inquired the boatswain, with a sigh.

“Very well, considering his age.”

“Now do, pray, Mr Simple, tell me all about it; from the time that the servants met you at the door until you went away. Describe to me the house and all the rooms, for I like to hear of all these things, although I can never see them again.”

To please Mr Chucks, I entered into a full detail, which he listened to very attentively, until it was late, and then with difficulty would he permit me to leave off, and go down to my hammock. The next day, rather a singular circumstance occurred. One of the midshipmen was mast-headed by the second lieutenant, for not waiting on deck until he was relieved. He was down below when he was sent for, and expecting to be punished from what the quarter-master told him, he thrust the first book into his jacket-pocket which he could lay his hand on, to amuse himself at the mast-head, and then ran on deck. As he surmised, he was immediately ordered aloft. He had not been there more than five minutes, when a sudden squall carried away the main-top-gallant mast, and away he went flying over to leeward (for the wind had shifted, and the yards were now braced up). Had he gone overboard, as he could not swim, he would, in all probability, have been drowned; but the book in his pocket brought him up in the jaws of the fore-brace block, where he hung until taken out by the main-topmen. Now it so happened that it was a prayer-book which he had laid hold of in his hurry, and those who were superstitious declared it was all owing to his having taken a religious book with him. I did not think so, as any other book would have answered the purpose quite as well: still the midshipman himself thought so, and it was productive of good, as he was a sad scamp, and behaved much better afterwards. But I had nearly forgotten to mention a circumstance which occurred on the day of our sailing, which will be eventually found to have had a great influence upon my after life. It was this. I received a letter from my father, evidently written in great vexation and annoyance, informing me that my uncle, whose wife I have already mentioned had two daughters, and was again expected to be confined, had suddenly broken up his housekeeping, discharged every servant, and proceeded to Ireland under an assumed name. No reason had been given for this unaccountable proceeding; and not even my grandfather, or any of the members of the family, had had notice of his intention. Indeed, it was by mere accident that his departure was discovered, about a fortnight after it had taken place. My father had taken a great deal of pains to find out where he was residing; but although my uncle was traced to Cork, from that town all clue was lost, but still it was supposed, from inquiries, that he was not very far from thence. “Now,” observed my father, in his letter, “I cannot help surmising, that my brother, in his anxiety to retain the advantages of the title to his own family, has resolved to produce to the world a spurious child as his own, by some contrivance or other. His wife’s health is very bad, and she is not likely to have a large family. Should the one now expected prove a daughter, there is little chance of his ever having another; and I have no hesitation in declaring my conviction that the measure has been taken with a view of defrauding you of your chance of eventually being called to the House of Lords.”

I showed this letter to O’Brien, who, after reading it over two or three times, gave his opinion that my father was right in his conjectures “Depend upon it, Peter, there’s foul play intended, that is, if foul play is rendered necessary.”

“But, O’Brien, I cannot imagine why, if my uncle has no son of his own, he should prefer acknowledging a son of any other person’s, instead of his own nephew.”

“But I can, Peter: your uncle is not a man likely to live very long, as you know. The doctors say that, with his short neck, his life is not worth two years’ purchase. Now if he had a son, consider that his daughters would be much better off, and much more likely to get married; besides, there are many reasons which I won’t talk about now, because it’s no use making you think your uncle to be a scoundrel. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go down to my cabin directly, and write to Father M’Grath, telling him the whole affair, and desiring him to ferret him out, and watch him narrowly, and I’ll bet you a dozen of claret, that in less than a week he’ll find him out, and will dog him to the last. He’ll get hold of his Irish servants, and you little know the power that a priest has in our country. Now give the description as well as you can of your uncle’s appearance, also of that of his wife, and the number of their family, and their ages. Father M’Grath must have all particulars, and then let him alone for doing what is needful.”

I complied with O’Brien’s directions as well as I could, and he wrote a very long letter to Father M’Grath, which was sent on shore by a careful hand. I answered my father’s letter, and then thought no more about the matter.

Our sealed orders were opened, and proved our destination to be the West Indies, as we expected. We touched at Madeira to take in some wine for the ship’s company; but as we only remained one day, we were not permitted to go on shore. Fortunate indeed would it have been if we had never gone there; for the day after, our captain, who had dined with the consul, was taken alarmingly ill. From the symptoms, the surgeon dreaded that he had been poisoned by something which he had eaten, and which most probably had been cooked in a copper vessel not properly tinned. We were all very anxious that he should recover; but, on the contrary, he appeared to grow worse and worse every day, wasting away, and dying, as they say, by inches. At last he was put into his cot, and never rose from it again. This melancholy circumstance, added to the knowledge that we were proceeding to an unhealthy climate, caused a gloom throughout the ship; and, although the trade wind carried us along bounding over the bright blue sea–although the weather was now warm, yet not too warm–although the sun rose in splendour, and all was beautiful and cheering, the state of the captain’s health was a check to all mirth. Every one trod the deck softly, and spoke in a low voice, that he might not be disturbed; all were anxious to have the morning report of the surgeon, and our conversation was generally upon the sickly climate, the yellow fever, of death, and the palisades where they buried us. Swinburne, the quarter-master, was in my watch, and as he had been long in the West Indies, I used to obtain all the information from him that I could. The old fellow had a secret pleasure in frightening me as much as he could. “Really, Mr Simple, you ax so many questions,” he would say, as I accosted him while he was at his station at the _conn_, “I wish you wouldn’t ax so many questions, and make yourself uncomfortable –‘steady so’–‘steady it is;’–with regard to Yellow Jack, as we calls the yellow fever, it’s a devil incarnate, that’s sartain–you’re well and able to take your allowance in the morning, and dead as a herring ‘fore night. First comes a bit of a head-ache–you goes to the doctor, who bleeds you like a pig–then you go out of your senses–then up comes the black vomit, and then it’s all over with you, and you go to the land crabs, who pick your bones as clean and as white as a sea elephant’s tooth. But there be one thing to be said in favour of Yellow Jack, a’ter all. You dies _straight,_ like a gentleman–not cribbled up like a snow-fish, chucked out on the ice of the river St Lawrence, with your knees up to your nose, or your toes stuck into your arm-pits, as does take place in some of your foreign complaints; but straight, quite straight, and limber, like a _gentleman_. Still Jack is a little mischievous, that’s sartain. In the Euridiscy we had as fine a ship’s company as was ever piped aloft–‘Steady, starboard, my man, you’re half-a-pint off your course;’–we dropped our anchor in Port Royal, and we thought that there was mischief brewing, for thirty-eight sharks followed the ship into the harbour, and played about us day and night. I used to watch them during the night watch, as their fins, above water, skimmed along, leaving a trail of light behind them; and the second night I said to the sentry abaft, as I was looking at them smelling under the counter–‘Soldier,’ says I, ‘them sharks are mustering under the orders of Yellow Jack,’ and I no sooner mentioned Yellow Jack, than the sharks gave a frisky plunge, every one of them, as much as to say, ‘Yes, so we are, d—-n your eyes.’ The soldier was so frightened that he would have fallen overboard, if I hadn’t caught him by the scruff of the neck, for he was standing on the top of the taffrail. As it was, he dropped his musket over the stern, which the sharks dashed at from every quarter, making the sea look like fire–and he had it charged to his wages, L1 16s. I think. However, the fate of his musket gave him an idea of what would have happened to him if he had fallen in instead of it– and he never got on the taffrail again. ‘Steady, port–mind your helm, Smith–you can listen to my yarn all the same.’ Well, Mr Simple, Yellow Jack came, sure enough. First the purser was called to account for all his roguery. We didn’t care much about the land crabs eating him, who had made so many poor dead men chew tobacco, cheating their wives and relations, or Greenwich Hospital, as it might happen. Then went two of the middies, just about your age, Mr Simple: they, poor fellows, went off in a sad hurry; then went the master–and so it went on, till at last we had no more nor sixty men left in the ship. The captain died last, and then Yellow Jack had filled his maw, and left the rest of us alone. As soon as the captain died, all the sharks left the ship, and we never saw any more of them.”

Such were the yarns told to me and the other midshipmen during the night watches; and I can assure the reader, that they gave us no small alarm. Every day that we worked our day’s work, and found ourselves so much nearer to the islands, did we feel as if we were so much nearer to our graves. I once spoke to O’Brien about it, and he laughed. “Peter,” says he, “fear kills more people than the yellow fever, or any other complaint, in the West Indies. Swinburne is an old rogue, and only laughing at you. The devil’s not half so black as he’s painted–nor the yellow fever half so yellow, I presume.” We were now fast nearing the island of Barbadoes, the weather was beautiful, the wind always fair; the flying fish rose in shoals, startled by the foaming seas, which rolled away, and roared from the bows as our swift frigate cleaved through the water; the porpoises played about us in thousands–the bonetas and dolphins at one time chased the flying fish, and at others, appeared to be delighted in keeping company with the rapid vessel. Everything was beautiful, and we all should have been happy, had it not been for the state of Captain Savage, in the first place, who daily became worse and worse, and from the dread of the hell, which we were about to enter through such a watery paradise. Mr Falcon, who was in command, was grave and thoughtful; he appeared indeed to be quite miserable at the chance which would insure his own promotion. In every attention, and every care that could be taken to insure quiet and afford relief to the captain, he was unremitting; the offence of making a noise was now, with him, a greater crime than drunkenness, or even mutiny. When within three days’ sail of Barbadoes, it fell almost calm, and the captain became much worse; and now for the first time did we behold the great white shark of the Atlantic. There are several kinds of sharks, but the most dangerous are the great white shark and the ground shark. The former grows to an enormous length–the latter is seldom very long, not more than twelve feet, but spreads to a great breadth. We could not hook the sharks as they played around us, for Mr Falcon would not permit it, lest the noise of hauling them on board should disturb the captain. A breeze again sprang up. In two days we were close to the island, and the men were desired to look out for the land.

Chapter XXX

Death of Captain Savage–His funeral–Specimen of true Barbadian born– Sucking the monkey–Effects of a hurricane.

The next morning, having hove-to part of the night, land was discovered on the bow, and was reported by the mast-head man at the same moment that the surgeon came up and announced the death of our noble captain. Although it had been expected for the last two or three days, the intelligence created a heavy gloom throughout the ship; the men worked in silence, and spoke to one another in whispers. Mr Falcon was deeply affected, and so were we all. In the course of the morning, we ran in to the island, and unhappy as I was, I never can forget the sensation of admiration which I felt on closing with Needham Point to enter Carlisle Bay. The beach of such a pure dazzling white, backed by the tall, green cocoa-nut trees, waving their spreading heads to the fresh breeze, the dark blue of the sky, and the deeper blue of the transparent sea, occasionally varied into green as we passed by the coral rocks which threw their branches out from the bottom–the town opening to our view by degrees, houses after houses, so neat, with their green jalousies, dotting the landscape, the fort with the colours flying, troops of officers riding down, a busy population of all colours, relieved by the whiteness of their dress. Altogether the scene realised my first ideas of Fairyland, for I thought I had never witnessed anything so beautiful. “And can this be such a dreadful place as it is described?” thought I. The sails were clewed up, the anchor was dropped to the bottom, and a salute from the ship, answered by the forts, added to the effect of the scene. The sails were furled, the boats lowered down, the boatswain squared the yards from the jolly-boat ahead. Mr Falcon dressed, and his boat being manned, went on shore with the despatches. Then, as soon as the work was over, a new scene of delight presented itself to the sight of midshipmen who had been so long upon his Majesty’s allowance. These were the boats, which crowded round the ship, loaded with baskets of bananas, oranges, shaddocks, soursops, and every other kind of tropical fruit, fried flying fish, eggs, fowls, milk, and everything which could tempt a poor boy after a long sea voyage. The watch being called, down we all hastened into the boats, and returned loaded with treasures, which we soon contrived to make disappear. After stowing away as much fruit as would have sufficed for a dessert to a dinner given to twenty people in England, I returned on deck.

There was no other man-of-war in the bay; but my attention was directed to a beautiful little vessel, a schooner, whose fairy form contrasted strongly with a West India trader which lay close to her. All of a sudden, as I was looking at her beautiful outline, a yell rose from her which quite startled me, and immediately afterwards her deck was covered with nearly two hundred naked figures with woolly heads, chattering and grinning at each other. She was a Spanish slaver, which had been captured, and had arrived the evening before. The slaves were still on board, waiting the orders of the governor. They had been on deck about ten minutes, when three or four men, with large panama straw hats on their heads, and long rattans in their hands, jumped upon the gunnel, and in a few seconds drove them all down below. I then turned round, and observed a black woman who had just climbed up the side of the frigate. O’Brien was on deck, and she walked up to him in the most consequential manner.

“How do you do, sar? Very happy you com back again,” said she to O’Brien.

“I’m very well, I thank you, ma’am,” replied O’Brien, “and I hope to go back the same; but never having put my foot into this bay before, you have the advantage of me.”

“Nebber here before, so help me Gad! me tink I know you–me tink I recollect your handsome face–I Lady Rodney, sar. Ah, piccaninny buccra! how you do?” said she, turning round to me. “Me hope to hab the honour to wash for you, sar,” courtesying to O’Brien.

“What do you charge in this place?”

“All the same price, one bit a piece.”

“What do you call a bit?” inquired I.

“A bit, lilly massa?–what you call um _bit_? Dem four _sharp shins _to a pictareen.”

Our deck was now enlivened by several army officers, besides gentlemen residents, who came off to hear the news. Invitations to the mess and to the houses of the gentlemen followed, and as they departed Mr Falcon returned on board. He told O’Brien and the other officers, that the admiral and squadron were expected in a few days, and that we were to remain in Carlisle Bay and refit immediately. But although the fright about the yellow fever had considerably subsided in our breasts, the remembrance that our poor captain was lying dead in the cabin was constantly obtruding. All that night the carpenters were up making up his coffin, for he was to be buried the next day. The body is never allowed to remain many hours unburied in the tropical climates, where putrefaction is so rapid. The following morning the men were up at daylight, washing the decks and putting the ship in order; they worked willingly, and yet with a silent decorum which showed what their feelings were. Never were the decks better cleaned, never were the ropes more carefully _flemished_ down; the hammocks were stowed in their white cloths, the yards carefully squared, and the ropes hauled taut. At eight o’clock, the colours and pennant were hoisted half-mast high. The men were then ordered down to breakfast, and to clean themselves. During the time that the men were at breakfast, all the officers went into the cabin to take a last farewell look at our gallant captain. He appeared to have died without pain, and there was a beautiful tranquillity in his face; but even already a change had taken place, and we perceived the necessity of his being buried so soon. We saw him placed in his coffin, and then quitted the cabin without speaking to each other. When the coffin was nailed down, it was brought up by the barge’s crew to the quarter-deck, and laid upon the gratings amidships, covered over with the Union Jack. The men came up from below without waiting for the pipe, and a solemnity appeared to pervade every motion. Order and quiet were universal, out of respect to the deceased. When the boats were ordered to be manned, the men almost appeared to steal into them. The barge received the coffin, which was placed in the stern sheets. The other boats then hauled up, and received the officers, marines, and sailors, who were to follow the procession. When all was ready, the barge was shoved off by the bow-men, the crew dropped their oars into the water without a splash and pulled the _minute stroke: _the other boats followed, and as soon as they were clear of the ship, the minute guns boomed along the smooth surface of the bay from the opposite side of the ship, while the yards were topped to starboard and to port, the ropes were slackened and hung in bights, so as to give the idea of distress and neglect. At the same time, a dozen or more of the men who had been ready, dropped over the sides of the ship in differents [sic] parts, and with their cans of paint and brushes in a few minutes effaced the whole of the broad white riband which marked the beautiful run of the frigate, and left her all black and in deep mourning. The guns from the forts now responded to our own. The merchant ships lowered their colours, and the men stood up respectfully with their hats off, as the procession moved slowly to the landing-place. The coffin was borne to the burial-ground by the crew of the barge, followed by Mr Falcon as chief mourner, all the officers of the ship who could be spared, one hundred of the seamen walking two and two, and the marines with their arms reversed. The _cortege_ was joined by the army officers, while the troops lined the streets, and the bands played the Dead March. The service was read, the volleys were fired over the grave, and with oppressed feelings we returned to the boats, and pulled on board. It then appeared to me, and to a certain degree I was correct, that as soon as we had paid our last respect to his remains, we had also forgotten our grief. The yards were again squared, the ropes hauled taut, working dresses resumed, and all was activity and bustle. The fact is, that sailors and soldiers have no time for lamentation, and running as they do from clime to clime, so does scene follow scene in the same variety and quickness. In a day or two, the captain appeared to be, although he was not, forgotten. Our first business was to _water_ the ship by rafting and towing off the casks. I was in charge of the boat again, with Swinburne as coxswain. As we pulled in, there were a number of negroes bathing in the surf, bobbing their woolly heads under it, as it rolled into the beach. “Now, Mr Simple,” said Swinburne, “see how I’ll make them _niggers_ scamper.” He then stood up in the stern sheets, and pointing with his finger, roared out, “A shark! a shark!” Away started all the bathers for the beach, puffing and blowing, from their dreaded enemy; nor did they stop to look for him until they were high and dry out of his reach. Then, when we all laughed, they called us “_all the hangman tiefs_,” and every other opprobrious name which they could select from their vocabulary. I was very much amused with this scene, and as much afterwards with the negroes who crowded round us when we landed. They appeared such merry fellows, always laughing, chattering, singing, and showing their white teeth. One fellow danced round us, snapping his fingers, and singing songs without beginning or end. “Eh, massa, what you say now? Me no slave–true Barbadian born, sir. Eh!

“Nebba see de day
Dat Rodney run away,
Nebba see um night
Dat Rodney cannot fight.

Massa me free man, sar. Suppose you give me pictareen, drink massa health.

“Nebba see de day, boy,
Pompey lickum de Caesar.

Eh! and you nebba see de day dat de Grasshopper run on de Warrington.”

“Out of the way, you nigger,” cried one of the men who was rolling down a cask.

“Eh! who you call nigger? Me free man, and true Barbadian born. Go along you man-of-war man.

“Man-of-war, buccra,
Man-of-war, buccra,
He de boy for me;
Sodger, buccra,
Sodger, buccra,
Nebba, nebba do,
Nebba, nebba do for me;
Sodger give me one shilling,
Sailor give me two.

Massa, now suppose you give me only one pictareen now. You really handsome young gentleman.”

“Now, just walk off,” said Swinburne, lifting up a stick he found on the beach.

“Eh! walk off.

“Nebba see de day, boy,
‘Badian run away, boy.

Go, do your work, sar. Why you talk to me? Go, work, sar. I free man, and real Barbadian born.

“Negro on de shore
See de ship come in,
De buccra come on shore,
Wid de hand up to the chin;
Man-of-war buccra,
Man-of-war buccra,
He de boy for me,
Man-of-war, buccra,
Man-of-war, buccra,
Gib pictareen to me.”

At this moment my attention was directed to another negro, who lay on the beach rolling and foaming at the mouth, apparently in a fit. “What’s the matter with that fellow?” said I to the same negro who continued close to me, notwithstanding Swinburne’s stick. “Eh! call him Sam Slack, massa. He ab um _tic tic_ fit.” And such was apparently the case. “Stop, me cure him;” and he snatched the stick out of Swinburne’s hand, and running up to the man, who continued to roll on the beach, commenced belabouring him without mercy. “Eh, Sambo!” cried he at last, quite out of breath, “you no better yet–try again.” He recommenced, until at last the man got up and ran away as fast as he could. Now, whether the man was shamming, or whether it was real _tic tic_, or epileptic fit, I know not; but I never heard of such a cure for it before. I threw the fellow half a pictareen, as much for the amusement he had afforded me as to get rid of him. “Tanky, massa; now man-of-war man, here de tick for you again to keep off all the dam niggers.” So saying, he handed the stick to Swinburne, made a polite bow, and departed. We were, however, soon surrounded by others, particularly some dingy ladies with baskets of fruit, and who, as they said, “sell ebery ting.” I perceived that my sailors were very fond of cocoa-nut milk, which, being a harmless beverage, I did not object to their purchasing from these ladies, who had chiefly cocoa-nuts in their baskets. As I had never tasted it, I asked them what it was, and bought a cocoa-nut. I selected the largest. “No, massa, dat not good for you. Better one for buccra officer.” I then selected another, but the same objection was made. “No, massa, dis very fine milk. Very good for de tomac.” I drank off the milk from the holes on the top of the cocoa-nut, and found it very refreshing. As for the sailors, they appeared very fond of it indeed. But I very soon found that if good for de tomac, it was not very good for the head, as my men, instead of rolling the casks, began to roll themselves in all directions, and when it was time to go off to dinner, most of them were dead drunk at the bottom of the boat. They insisted that it was the _sun_ which affected them. Very hot it certainly was, and I believed them at first, when they were only giddy; but I was convinced to the contrary when I found that they became insensible; yet how they had procured the liquor was to me a mystery. When I came on board, Mr Falcon, who, although acting captain, continued his duties as first lieutenant almost as punctually as before, asked how it was that I had allowed my men to get so tipsy. I assured him that I could not tell, that I had never allowed one to leave the watering-place, or to buy any liquor: the only thing that they had to drink was a little cocoa-nut milk, which, as it was so very hot, I thought there could be no objection to. Mr Falcon smiled and said, “Mr Simple, I’m an old stager in the West Indies, and I’ll let you into a secret. Do you know what ‘_sucking the monkey_’ means?” “No, sir.” “Well, then, I’ll tell you; it is a term used among seamen for drinking _rum_ out of _cocoa-nuts, _the milk having been poured out, and the liquor substituted. Now do you comprehend why your men are tipsy?” I stared with all my eyes, for it never would have entered into my head; and I then perceived why it was that the black woman would not give me the first cocoa-nuts which I selected. I told Mr Falcon of this circumstance, who replied, “Well, it was not your fault, only you must not forget it another time.”

It was my first watch that night, and Swinburne was quarter-master on deck. “Swinburne,” said I, “you have often been in the West Indies before, why did you not tell me that the men were ‘_sucking the monkey_’ when I thought that they were only drinking cocoa-nut milk?”

Swinburne chuckled, and answered, “Why, Mr Simple, d’ye see, it didn’t become me as a ship-mate to peach. It’s but seldom that a poor fellow has an opportunity of making himself a ‘little happy,’ and it would not be fair to take away the chance. I suppose you’ll never let them have cocoa-nut milk again?”

“No, that I will not; but I cannot imagine what pleasure they can find in getting so tipsy.”

“It’s merely because they are not allowed to be so, sir. That’s the whole story in few words.”

“Well, I think I could cure them if I were permitted to try.”

“I should like to hear how you’d manage that, Mr Simple.”

“Why, I would oblige a man to drink off a half pint of liquor, and then put him by himself. I would not allow him companions to make merry with so as to make a pleasure of intoxication. I would then wait until next morning when he was sober, and leave him alone with a racking headache until the evening, when I would give him another dose, and so on, forcing him to get drunk until he hated the smell of liquor.”

“Well, Mr Simple, it might do with some, but many of our chaps would require the dose you mention to be repeated pretty often before it would effect a cure; and what’s more, they’d be very willing patients, and make no wry faces at their physic.”

“Well, that might be, but it would cure them at last. But tell me, Swinburne, were you ever in a hurricane?”

“I’ve been in everything, Mr Simple, I believe, except at school, and I never had no time to go there. Do you see that battery at Needham Point? Well, in the hurricane of ’82, them same guns were whirled away by the wind, right over to this point here on the opposite side, the sentries in their sentry-boxes after them. Some of the soldiers who faced the wind had their teeth blown down their throats like broken ‘baccy-pipes, others had their heads turned round like dog vanes, ’cause they waited for orders to the ‘_right about face_,’ and the whole air was full of young _niggers_ blowing about like peelings of _ingons_.”

“You don’t suppose I believe all this, Swinburne?”

“That’s as may be, Mr Simple, but I’ve told the story so often, that I believe it myself.”

“What ship were you in?”

“In the _Blanche_, Captain Faulkner, who was as fine a fellow as poor Captain Savage, whom we buried yesterday; there could not be a finer than either of them. I was at the taking of the Pique, and carried him down below after he had received his mortal wound. We did a pretty thing out here when we took Fort Royal by a coup-de-_main_, which means, boarding from the _main_-yard of the frigate, and dropping from it into the fort. But what’s that under the moon?–there’s a sail in the offing.”

Swinburne fetched the glass and directed it to the spot. “One, two, three, four. It’s the admiral, sir, and the squadron hove-to for the night. One’s a line-of-battle ship, I’ll swear.” I examined the vessels, and agreeing with Swinburne, reported them to Mr Falcon. My watch was then over, and as soon as I was released I went to my hammock.

END OF VOL. I.

TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

PETER SIMPLE

AND

THE THREE CUTTERS

BY

CAPTAIN MARRYAT

VOL. II.

LONDON

J.M. DENT AND CO.

BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND CO.

MDCCCXCV

Contents

VOLUME II

PETER SIMPLE

CHAPTER XXXI 1

CHAPTER XXXII 12

CHAPTER XXXIII 24

CHAPTER XXXIV 38

CHAPTER XXXV 45

CHAPTER XXXVI 53

CHAPTER XXXVII 59

CHAPTER XXXVIII 68

CHAPTER XXXIX 80

CHAPTER XL 87