Captain Frederick Marryat (continued 6)

“Well, you’re right, Tom; Bramble said you would decide so. There’s nothing like being contented with what we are and what we have got.”

“I might probably become a richer man if I were to be a captain of an Indiaman,” observed I; “but I’m sure if ever I’m able to buy a little farm, as Bramble is now able to do, I shall think myself quite rich enough.”

“You see, Tom, it all depends upon what people’s ideas are. One man thinks himself rich with what another would think that he was a beggar. Now I daresay old Nanny thinks that shop of old iron and rubbish that she has got together the finest shop in all Greenwich.”

“I believe she does, and the prettiest,” replied I, laughing.

“Well now, Tom, an odd thing happened the other day while you were away, just to prove how true that is. You may recollect a little old man in our ward, Phil Nobbs they called him, who walked with his chin half a yard before him. Well, he took to the sick ward and died, since you have been gone. I went to see him, of course, and he was always talking about his property; and none of us knew where it was, but we supposed that he had it somewhere. One day, as I was sitting by his bed, he says, ‘Saunders, the doctor’s coming round, just tell him I want to make my will, for I feel as if I were slipping my wind.’ Well, the doctor and the chaplain both came to his bedside with the paper, and Nobbs raised himself on his elbow, and said, ‘Are you ready, sir? Well, then, I’ll make short work of it. This is my last will and testament: first, I wish a white pall over me when I’m buried, and that expense must be deducted, after which I bequeath to my nephews and nieces, James Strong, Walter Strong, Ellen Strong, Mary Williams, the one married, Peter Strong, all of Rotherhithe, and to Thomas Day, Henry Day, and Nicholas Day, of Eltham, the whole of my money and personal effects, share and share alike, equally divided among them all. There, sir, that will do. I can’t write, but I’ll put my cross to it.’ Well, the old fellow died that night, and notice of his will was sent to his nephews and nieces, who all came on the day of his burial dressed in their best, for they were all mechanics and labourers, poor people, to whom, I suppose, a legacy was a great object. The chaplain had asked Nobbs where his money was, and he replied that it was in the hands of Lieutenant —, who knew all about his affairs. After the funeral they all went in a body to the lieutenant, who stated that he had ten shillings belonging to Nobbs, out of which seven shillings were to be deducted for the white pall; and that as for his other effects, they must be in his cabin, as he never heard of his having anything but what was there. So we went to his cabin, and there we found five or six penny prints against the wall, two pair of old canvas trousers, and an old hat, six cups and saucers, cracked and mended; and this was all his property, altogether not worth (with the three shillings) more than seven or eight at the outside, if so much. You may guess the disappointment of his nephews and nieces, who had lost a good day’s work and come so far for nothing; and I must say they were not very dutiful in their remarks upon their old uncle as they walked off. Now you see, Tom, this old fellow had been in the hospital for more than twenty years, and had been able to save no more than what he had out of his shilling per week, and in his eyes this small property was very large, for it was the saving of twenty years. He thought so, poor fellow, because he probably had never saved so many shillings in his life. There was no joking about it, I can assure you.”

“Well, father, I hope I may be able to save more than seven shillings before I die; but no one knows. I have made my decision as I think for the best, and we must leave the rest to Providence. We never know whether we do right or wrong.”

“Never, Jack; things which promise well turn out bad, and things which look very bad often turn out just as well. I recollect an instance which was told me, which I’ll give you as a proof that we never know what is best for us in this world. A man may plan, and scheme, and think in his blindness that he has arranged everything so nicely that nothing can fail, and down he lies on his bed and goes to sleep quite satisfied that affairs must turn out well as he has ordered them, forgetting that Providence disposes as it thinks fit. There was a gentleman by birth, of the name of Seton, who lived at Greenock; he was very poor, and although he had high friends and relations well to-do, he was too proud to ask for assistance. His wife was equally proud; and at last one day he died, leaving her with hardly a penny, and two fine boys of the names of Archibald and Andrew. Well, the widow struggled on, how she lived no one knew, but she fed the boys and herself, and was just as stately as ever. Her relations did offer to educate the boys and send them to sea; but she refused all assistance. There was a foundation or chartered school at Greenock, to which she was entitled to send her children to be educated without expense, and to that school they went. I don’t know why, but they say the master had had a quarrel with their father when he was alive, and the master had not forgotten it now he was dead, and in consequence he was very severe upon these two boys, and used to beat them without mercy: at all events it did them good, for they learnt faster than any of the others who were at all favoured, and they soon proved the best boys in the school. Well, time ran on till Archibald was thirteen and Andrew twelve years old, and, being very tired of school, they asked their mother what profession they were to be of, and she answered, ‘Anything except going to sea, for there you will never get on.’ But times became harder with the widow; she had not enough to give the boys to eat, and they complained bitterly; but it was of no use, so they got on how they could, until one day Archy says to Andrew, ‘Why, brother, we have nothing but ferrule for breakfast, dinner, and supper, and I see little chance of our getting anything more. Mother, poor soul has not enough for herself to eat, and she very often gives us her dinner and goes without. I can’t stand it any longer; what shall we do? shall we seek our fortunes?’ ‘Yes,’ says Andrew, ‘and when we are gone mother will have enough for herself.’

“‘Well, they say anything is better than going to sea, but I don’t know how we can do anything else.’

“‘Well, Archy, going to sea may be the worst of all, but it’s better than taking the victuals out of poor mother’s mouth.’

“‘That’s very true, so we’ll be off, Andrew.’

“They walked down to the pier, and then they fell in with the captain of a vessel going foreign, and they asked him whether he wanted any boys on board.

“‘Why,’ says he, ‘I wouldn’t care, but you’ve never been to sea before.’

“‘No,’ said Archy; ‘but there must be a beginning to everything.’

“‘Well,’ said the captain, ‘I suppose you’ve run away from your friends, and, as I can’t get apprentices now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take you on board, and as soon as we get round to another port in the Channel, I’ll bind you as apprentices for three years. Will you agree to that?’

“The boys said ‘yes,’ and the captain told them that he should sail the next morning about daylight, and that they must be down at the pier by that time; so they went back again to their mother, and said nothing about what had passed. There was no supper that night, which confirmed them in their resolution; they kissed their mother, and went up to bed, packed up all their clothes, and before she was downstairs the next morning they were on board of the vessel.

“Well, they were duly apprenticed when the ship arrived at Weymouth, and then off they went. The other men on board were, as usual, very much afraid of being pressed, and every plan was hit upon for stowing away when they were boarded by a man-of-war. Well, time passed, and after many voyages they had both nearly served their time; they were tall stout young men, and looked older than they really were. At last, one day when off the Western Isles, they were boarded by a frigate, and the officer who came in the boat asked Archy what he was, and he replied he was an apprentice.

“‘You an apprentice!’ cried he; ‘that won’t do.’

“‘But here are the indentures.’

“‘All forged,’ cried the officer; ‘just get into the boat, my lad,’ You see that’s a very common trick of officers; if a boy’s grown up and fit for service, they don’t care about indentures. Well, Archy found it was of no use, so he gets his kit and steps into the boat, shaking hands with Andrew, who was shedding tears at the thoughts of parting with his brother.

“‘It’s no use crying, Andrew,’ says he; ‘I might have been second mate in three months, as the captain promised me when my time was up, and then I should have been protected, and might have risen from mate to captain; but now it’s all over with me. May you have better luck, and I hope the captain will give you the berth instead of me.’ Well, away went Archy on board of the man-of-war, looking very gloomy, as you may suppose. When he went aft on the quarterdeck the captain asked him his name and where he came from.

“‘Ah,’ said the captain, ‘and who are your friends?’ So Archy told him that he had only his mother left. The captain asked him a good many more questions as to whether he had been educated or not, and what he knew, and then rated him A.B., and put him into the main-top. Well, Archy remained there for about six months, and found that a man-of-war was not so bad a place after all; and he was well treated by the captain and officers, the more so as he was a good scholar. After the cruise was over the frigate ran into the Channel, and anchored in Portland Roads, where there were a great many vessels wind-bound. As usual, they sent round to press the men. Now Archy was one of those sent in the boats, and by this time, being a man-of-war’s man all over, he was just as eager to get the men as the others were. They boarded several vessels, and got some men; about dark they boarded one which laid well in the offing. The captain was not on board, and the men were turned up, but they were very few, and all protected. Now Archy, who was up to the hiding-places on board a merchant vessel, goes down with his cutlass, and crawls about in the dark, until at last he gets hold of a man by the heels. ‘Come out, you thief,’ cries he, ‘come out directly, or I’ll give you an inch of my cutlass;’ so the man, finding that he could not help himself, backs out, stern foremost. Archy collars him and takes him on deck, when who should it prove to be but his own brother Andrew!

“‘Oh, Archy, Archy, I didn’t think this of you!’

“‘Well, Andrew, I didn’t know it was you, but there’s no help for it; you must come and serve in the main-top along with me, and give up all chance of being a mate or captain of a merchant vessel. We’re in bad luck, that’s clear, but it can’t be helped.’ There was a good laugh on board of the man-of-war at Archy pressing his own brother, and the captain was very much amused. ‘I’m very sorry for it,’ said Archy.

“Now the captain was short of midshipmen, and, being obliged to sail immediately, he determined to put Archy on the quarter-deck, and so he did, while Andrew served in the main-top. But this did not last long: the captain, who liked Andrew quite as well, and who knew their family and connexions, put Andrew also on the quarterdeck; and what was the consequence? Why, they are now both post-captains, commanding fine frigates: so you see, going on board of a man-of-war, which they conceived as their ruin, was the means of their rising to rank and riches, for they have been very lucky in the service. I heard Captain Archibald tell the story himself one day as I helped at dinner in the cabin when I was coxswain with Sir Hercules.”

“Well, father, that’s a good story to the point, but I do not see that I ever have any chance of being a post-captain.”

“Don’t seem much like it, certainly; but you’ve a good chance of being a pilot.”

“Yes, that I certainly have; and a pilot is always respected, go on board what ship he may.”

“To be sure he is, because he is supposed to have more knowledge than any one on board.”

“Then I am contented, father, with the prospect of being respectable; so there’s an end of that business, except that I must write and thank the captain for his kindness.”

“Just so, Tom. Do you dine with me?”

“No, father. I promised to meet Bramble at the ‘Jolly Sailors.’ We are going up to Mr Wilson’s.”

“Ay, about the farm he wants to buy. Well, the clock is striking, so good bye till this evening.”

I must explain to the reader that Mr Wilson, having heard of Bramble’s intention to purchase the farm, very kindly interfered.

He had a son who was a solicitor at Dover, and he recommended Bramble not to appear personally, but let his son manage the affair for him, which he promised should be done without expense. The next morning Bramble and I took our leave and quitted Greenwich, taking the coach to Dover; for Bramble, having a good deal of money in his pocket, thought it better to do so, than to wait till he could take a ship down the river. On our arrival at Dover we called upon Mr Wilson’s son, who had already made inquiries, and eventually obtained the farm for Bramble for two hundred pounds less than he expected to give for it, and, very handsomely, only charged him for the stamps of the conveyance. When we arrived at Deal we found Mrs Maddox quite recovered, and sitting with little Bessy in the parlour below.

After Mrs Maddox and Bessy went upstairs to bed, Bramble said to me, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, “Tom, I’ve got this farm for Bessy for two hundred pounds less than I expected to give for it. Now, I’ve been thinking about this two hundred pounds, which I consider in a manner as her property, and what d’ye think I mean to do with it? I’ll tell you. I’ll give her education as well as money. This sum will keep her at a good school for a matter of four years, and I’ve made up my mind that she shall go. I don’t like to part with her, that’s certain; but it’s for her good, so all’s right. Don’t you think so?”

“I do, indeed, father,” replied I. “I shall miss her as much as you do; but, as you say, it’s all right, and I’m very glad that you have so decided.”

Chapter Thirty Two.

In which there is a hop, skip, and a jump.

Life has often, and with great truth, been compared to a river. In infancy a little rill, gradually increasing to the pure and limpid brook, which winds through flowery meads, “giving a gentle kiss to every ridge it overtaketh in its pilgrimage.” Next it increases in its volume and its power, now rushing rapidly, now moving along in deep and tranquil water, until it swells into a bold stream, coursing its way over the shallows, dashing through the impeding rocks, descending in rapids swift as thought, or pouring its boiling water over the cataract. And thus does it vary its velocity, its appearance, and its course, until it swells into a broad expanse, gradually checking its career as it approaches, and at last mingles with the ocean of Eternity. I have been led into this somewhat trite metaphor, to account to the reader for the contents of this chapter. As in the river, after many miles of chequered and boisterous career, you will find that its waters will for some time flow in a smooth and tranquil course as almost to render you unconscious of the never-ceasing stream; so in the life of man, after an eventful and adventurous career, it will be found that for a time he is permitted to glide gently and quietly along, as if a respite were given to his feelings preparatory to fresh scenes of excitement. Such was the case with me for some time. I had now been under Bramble’s tuition for more than a year and a half, and was consequently between fifteen and sixteen years old. The years from 1800 to the end of 1804 were of this description in my stream of life, unmarked by any peculiar or stirring events worthy of occupying the attention of my readers. It is therefore my intention, in this chapter, to play the part of the chorus in the old plays, and sum up the events in few words, so as not to break the chain of history, at the same time that I shall prepare my readers for what subsequently took place.

I will first speak of myself. Up to the age of nineteen I continued my career under the care of Bramble; we seldom remained long on shore, for neither Bramble nor I found home so agreeable since little Bessy had been sent to school, and Mrs Maddox, assisted by a little girl, had charge of the house; indeed, Bramble appeared resolved to make all the money he could, that he might the sooner be able to give up his profession. Mrs Maddox I have spoken little of, because I had seen but little of her; now that she was downstairs, I will not say I saw, but I certainly heard too much of her, for she never ceased talking; not that she talked loud or screamed out—on the contrary, she was of a mild amiable temper, but could not hold her tongue. If she could not find any one to talk, to she would talk to any thing; if she was making the fire she would apostrophise the sticks for not burning properly. I watched her one morning as she was kneeling down before the grate:—

“Now, stick, you must go in,” said she; “it’s no use your resisting, and what’s more, you must burn, and burn quickly too,—d’ye hear? or the kettle won’t boil in time for breakfast. Be quick, you little fellow—burn away and light the others, there’s a good boy.” Here she knocked down the tongs. “Tongs, be quiet; how dare you make that noise?” Then, as she replaced them, “Stand up, sir, in your place until you are wanted. Now, poker, your turn’s coming, we must have a stir directly. Bless me, smoke, what’s the matter with you now? can’t you go up the chimney? You can’t pretend to say the wind blows you down this fine morning, so none of your vagaries. Now, fender, it’s your turn—stand still till I give you a bit of a rub. There, now you’re all right. Table, you want your face washed—your master has spilt his grog last night—there now, you look as handsome as ever. Well, old chair, how are you this morning? You’re older than I am, I reckon, and yet you’re stouter on your legs. Why, candle, are you burning all this while? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have put you out long ago. Come, now, don’t be making a smell here—send it up the chimney.”

Thus would she talk to everything. We only had two animals in the house—a cat and a canary bird: of course they were not neglected, but somehow or another the cat appeared to get tired of it, for it would rise and very gently walk into the back kitchen; and as for the canary bird, like all other canary birds, as soon as he was talked to he would begin to sing, and that so loud that Mrs Maddox was beaten out of the field. Bramble bore with her very well, but at the same time he did not like it: he once said to me, “Well, if Bessy were at Deal, I think I would take a short spell now; but as for that poor good old soul, whose tongue is hung on the middle and works at both ends, she does tire one, and that’s the truth.” But she really was a good-natured, kind creature, ready to oblige in everything; and I believe that she thought that she was amusing you when she talked on in this way. Unfortunately she had no anecdote, for she had a very bad memory, and therefore there was nothing to be gained from her. By way of amusing me, she used to say, “Now, Tom, sit down here, and I’ll tell you all about my bad leg.” And then she would commence with the first symptoms, the degrees of pain, the various plasters, bandages, and poultices which had been applied, and what the doctor had said this day and that day. I bore this very patiently for four or five times; but at last, after several days of increasing impatience (somewhere about the fifteenth time, I believe), I could stand it no more, so I jumped off my chair and ran away just as she commenced the interesting detail.

“Mrs Maddox,” said I, “I cannot bear to hear of your sufferings; pray never mention them again.”

“What a kind-hearted creature you are!” said she. “Well, I won’t, then. It’s not many who have such pity in them. Cotton, where have you got to—always running away? One would think you don’t like to be knitted. Now, cotton, don’t be foolish; where have you hid yourself? You make others as bad as yourself. Scissors have got away now;—there now, sit on my lap and be quiet.”

However, if Mrs Maddox got back cotton and scissors, she did not get me back, for I bolted out of the front door, and joined the men who were lolling against the gunnel of a galley hauled up on the shingle.

During the period of which I am speaking, I continued every day to add to my knowledge of my profession, and eventually I was competent to pass my examination at the Trinity House. When I went on board a vessel with Bramble, he would often give me charge of her, never interfering with me (although he watched me carefully) unless he considered that it was absolutely necessary, which I believe took place but twice. He used to tell the masters of the vessels that I was quite as good a pilot as he was, which certainly was not quite correct; however, it was of great consequence to me, as it gave me that confidence so necessary in my profession, and in due time I passed for a river pilot at the Trinity House. Some alteration occurred at the hospital during this interval. Anderson had been promoted from boatswain of the ward to inspecting boatswain, a place of trust, with very comfortable emoluments, his weekly allowance being increased to five shillings; and on his promotion my father was made a boatswain’s mate of the Warriors’ Ward. This was at first satisfactory to my mother, who was pleased that my father should wear lace upon his pensioner’s coat; but, as she advanced in the world, she did not like the idea of my father being in the hospital, nor did she want him to be at her house—in fact, she could have done better without him; but, as that could not be, she made the best of it. It must be acknowledged that my father’s boisterous and rude manner had been softening down ever since he had been in the hospital, and that he had become a very well-behaved, quiet, and sober person, and was very respectable in his appearance; but I shall say more about him when I talk of my mother again. Old Nanny went on much as usual, but on the whole she improved. I used to pick up for her anything I could, and put it in a large bag which I occasionally brought to Greenwich, and this bag, with its multifarious contents, would give her more pleasure than if I had brought her any single object more valuable. Old Anderson used to call upon her occasionally, but he did not do her much good. She appeared to think of hardly anything but getting money. She was always glad to see me, and I believe thought more of me than anybody else in the world, and I seldom failed to pay her a visit on the first day of my arrival.

Dr Tadpole and his apprentice Tom went on pretty well together until the hundredweight of liquorice was expended, and then there was a fresh rising on the part of the injured and oppressed representative of the lower orders, which continued till a fresh supply from London appeased his radical feelings which had been called forth, and then the liquorice made everything go on smoothly as before; but two years afterwards Tom was out of his time, and then the doctor retained him as his assistant, with a salary added to his board, which enabled Tom to be independent of the shop, as far as liquorice was concerned, and to cut a very smart figure among the young men about Greenwich; for on Tom’s promotion another boy was appointed to the carrying out of the medicine as well as the drudgery, and Tom took good care that this lad should clean his boots as well as the doctor’s, and not make quite so free with the liquorice as he had done himself. I found out also that he had cut Anny Whistle.

Mrs St. Felix continued to vend her tobacco, and I never failed seeing her on my visits to Greenwich. She appeared to look just as young as she did when I first knew her, and every one said that there was no apparent alteration. She was as kind and as cheerful as ever; and I may as well here remark that during this period a great intimacy had grown up between her and my sister Virginia, very much to the annoyance of my mother, who still retained her feelings of ill-will against Mrs St. Felix—why, I do not know, except that she was so good-looking a person, and such a favourite with everybody. But my father, who, when he chose, would not be contradicted, insisted upon Virginia’s being on good terms with Mrs St. Felix, and used to take her there himself; and Virginia, who had never forgotten the widow’s kindness to me, was extremely partial to her, and was much more in her company than my mother had any idea of, for Virginia would not vex my mother unnecessarily by telling her she had been with the widow unless she was directly asked.

It was about four months after my father and I had given our money to my mother that I returned to Greenwich. A letter from Virginia had acquainted me with the street and the number of the house which my mother had taken, and I therefore walked from the beach right to it; and I must say that when I came to the new abode I was very much surprised at its neat and even handsome appearance. The ground-floor was fitted up as a shop with large panes of glass, and inside upon stands were arranged a variety of bonnets and caps, set off with looking-glass and silk curtains, in the arrangement of which no little taste was displayed. Behind the show goods was a curtain hanging on a brass rod, drawn so as to conceal the workpeople who were within. There was a private door as well as a shop door, and I hardly knew which I was to go in at: however, as the shop door required no knocking, I went into that, and found myself in the company of eight young damsels, very busy at their needles, sitting on each side of a long table covered with half-made dresses. I inquired of them whether my mother was at home, and was answered by one, who was apparently the eldest, that she was down below getting the breakfast ready.

“I suppose,” continued she, “you are Mr Tom Saunders, the pilot?”

“I suppose I am,” replied I; “and pray who are you?”

“I am Miss Amelia Gozlin, apprentice to Mrs Saunders, milliner,—at your service, sir: and, in consequence of my being so very quiet and sedate, I have charge of all these young ladies you see with me.”

Here the others burst into a laugh.

“They are in very good hands, Miss Amelia,” replied I, “and under your care, and with your example, I have no doubt but they will turn out very useful members of society.”

“Thank you, sir; but allow me to say that I cannot permit young men, especially such enchanting young men as Mr Tom Saunders, to remain here; as, if I do, your amiable mother would give me what is genteelly termed a wigging; so if you will be pleased, sir, just to remove yourself from our presence,” continued she, with a mock curtsey, “and not make your appearance here again until you are certain your mother is gone out, you will oblige us very much.”

I obeyed the wishes of Miss Amelia Gozlin, who certainly was a very handsome girl, with fine black eyes, apparently about fifteen years old. I walked into the passage, and found my way down into the kitchen, where my mother and Virginia were employed as they had told me above. My mother received me kindly, but said little, for she appeared to be fully occupied; and Virginia had no time to dedicate to me until the breakfast was ready, when she called the apprentices, and we all sat down together, Miss Amelia and her companions looking so demure, that, if I had not seen them before, I should have thought that they could not speak.

After breakfast was over Virginia showed me the house. The first floor was to let furnished, the second was occupied by my mother and Virginia, and the attics were appropriated to the apprentices. Everything appeared clean, neat, and well arranged, and I could not imagine how my mother had contrived to do so much with so little money; but Virginia told me that she thought Mr Wilson had assisted her.

When I returned, which might have been in six months; I found a great improvement, and every appearance of my mother succeeding well in her speculations. She had now a maid-servant, and her apprentices were increased to twelve, and there was every appearance of brisk and full employment. In 1803 I found that Virginia, who was then fourteen years old, had left school. She had told my mother that, during the last half-year, she had only repeated over again what she had learnt the half-year before, and that she thought she could employ her time better at home and assisting her. My mother was of the same opinion, and Virginia now superintended the cutting-out department, and was very useful. She said that the increase of business had been very great, and that my mother could hardly execute the orders which she received. There were now two servants in the house, and additional workwomen. My mother also had very much altered in appearance: before, she was usually clean and neat, now she was well if not elegantly dressed, and appeared much younger and better looking. I must do her the justice to say that prosperity had not spoiled but improved her: she was more kind and more cheerful every time that I went to see her; and I may add that, with the exception of a little necessary castigation to Miss Amelia and her companions, she never scolded, and was kind to her servants. The last year she had been even more successful, and was now considered the first milliner in the town. I believed that she deserved her reputation, for she had a great deal of taste in dress; and when she had gone upstairs to decorate previous to the hour of arrival of her customers, and came down in a handsome silk dress and an elegant morning cap, I would often look at her with surprise, and say to myself, “Who would think that this was my mother, who used to shove the broom at me in the little parlour at Fisher’s Alley?”

The reader may inquire how my father and mother got on after such an alteration in her circumstances. I can only reply that they got on better than they did before; for my mother, who did not wish my father’s company in the house, pointed out to him that, with so many young people living with her, it would be very inconvenient if he came there in the evenings to smoke his pipe, and that it would be better if he could smoke and drink his beer anywhere else. My father perceived the propriety of this, and assented with a good grace: my mother was very liberal to him, and he was now enabled, when he chose, to ask a companion or two to join him, so that it suited both parties. My father, therefore, never came to the house, except after the hospital supper, when he remained a few minutes to see Virginia, and then departed. On Sundays he spent the whole day there, and was kindly welcomed, but he always left in the evening to smoke his pipe elsewhere. As for me, when I did come I was always kindly received, and slept in a spare bed on the same floor with my mother and Virginia. Before my time was out I was too well supplied by Bramble ever to want anything, and afterwards I made plenty of money, and seldom came home without bringing a present both to my mother and Virginia.

Having thus given a general outline of affairs, I shall in the next chapter enter more minutely into some particulars, without which the detail of events will not be complete.

Chapter Thirty Three.

In which the sine qua non of all novels is, for the first time, introduced.

In the last chapter I have said in few words that Bessy Goodwin had been sent to school, and had since returned home. She had been home nearly a year before the period to which I brought up my history, but now she no longer was employed in any menial service, the girl who had been hired during her absence being still retained. Bessy now superintended the household, but did nothing more; and there was a greater degree of comfort and expenditure than had formerly been the case. Whether this was on Bessy’s account, or from Bessy’s imbibed ideas, I cannot pretend to say; but certainly there was a great change in our style of living, which Bramble appeared to sanction. Mrs Maddox remained as a mere pensioner, sitting by the fire, and perhaps finishing a pair of stockings about every five or six weeks, talking as usual at and to everybody and with everything. In another point, also, there was a change in Bramble’s house: it was much oftener filled with company; this was, I presume, to be ascribed to Bessy’s personal charms, which certainly were very great. She was of a peculiar and much admired style of beauty, a description which strikes some people at first sight, and not others—those not perceiving it at first eventually admiring it even more than the others. She was taller than the middle height, her person finely developed, yet not so much so as to take away from its grace: her complexion was pale and clear, her eyes and hair very dark; there was a coldness about her beauty when in repose, like statuary marble; but if the least excited or animated, the colour would mantle in her cheek; her eyes would beam, till they appeared as if, like bright planets, they could almost cast a shadow; and dimples, before concealed, would show themselves when indulged in her silvery laugh. Although her form was commanding, still she was very feminine: there was great attraction in her face, even when in repose—she was cold, but not chilling.

I had seen little of her for three years, during which she had sprung up to womanhood, for she was now seventeen, and appeared to be at least eighteen years old before. Before, when we were living together, we kissed as brother and sister: since we had again become inmates of the same house, we had been friends, but nothing more. Bessy certainly showed as great a preference to me as our relative situations would admit; but still it appeared as if the extreme intimacy of childhood had been broken off, and that it was necessary that a renewed intimacy under another aspect should take place, to restore us to our former relations. Here it was for me to make the first overtures; not for her, as maidenly reserve would not permit it. Bramble seemed to be most anxious that such should be the case—indeed, considered it as a matter of course: perhaps Bessy thought so too in her own bosom; and the continual raillery of Bramble did more harm than good, as it appeared to warrant her thinking that it ought to be so. Why it was not I will now explain to the reader.

I have already made mention of Mr Wilson, the lawyer, whose acquaintance we procured through Sir Hercules and his lady. This intimacy had very much increased; and a Miss Janet Wilson had come home from a finishing seminary near town. Between this young lady and my sister Virginia a certain degree of intimacy had been formed, and of course I had seen a great deal of her at the times when I was at Greenwich. She was a very pretty and very diminutive girl, but beautifully proportioned, although so very small; indeed, she was considered quite a model in figure, at least my mother used to say so, and I never heard any one disagree with her. Janet had, moreover, large eyes, pencilled eyebrows, and a dimpled chin. Now, as Bessy was away at the time when I first made her acquaintance, if all these perfections were not enough for me to fall in love with, I must have been difficult to please at the age of eighteen, when one is not so very difficult; and the consequence was, I was her most devoted slave. Mr Wilson laughed at us, and seemed either to think that it would end in nothing, or that if it did end in something he had no objection. Thus was I fixed; and with Virginia for a confidante, what was to prevent the course of true love running smooth? Janet received all my sighs, all my protestations, all my oaths, and all my presents—and many were the latter, although perhaps not equal to the former three. It was, therefore, not surprising that Bessy, who had been out of the way, had been forestalled by this diamond edition of Nature’s handiwork. Such was the state of my heart at the commencement of the year 1805.

I have mentioned that my mother had taken a house in the principal street; but I must now add that in the year 1804 she found it necessary to remove into one much larger, and had therefore shifted more to the upper part of the town. Instead of being in a row, this house was detached, with a small garden in front and a good piece of ground at the back, which looked down towards the river. The situation not being so central did no harm to my mother, as she was so well known; on the contrary, it made her even more fashionable. She now kept no shop, but a show-room; and had not only accommodation for more workpeople, but very handsome apartments to let. In another point it was advantageous, which was on account of my father. At the end of the garden there was an octangular summer-house, looking upon the river: it was a good-sized room, boarded floor, and moreover, it had a fireplace in it, and when shut up was very warm and comfortable. My mother made this house over to my father as his own, to smoke and drink beer in; and my father preferred a place in which he could sit alone with his friends, to a public house, especially as the garden had a gate at the end of it by which he could admit himself whenever he pleased. Here my father, Ben the Whaler, Anderson, and others would sit, having a commanding view of the Thames and the vessels passing and repassing—in the summer-time, with all the windows open, and enjoying the fresh air and the fresh smoke from their pipes—in winter-time surrounding the fire and telling their yarns. It was an admirable arrangement, and Virginia and I always knew where to find him.

I have said but little of my sister Virginia. I may be considered partial to her—perhaps I was; but to me she was, if not the handsomest, certainly one of the most captivating persons I ever saw: to prove that I thought so, I can only say that, deeply as I was smitten with Miss Janet Wilson, I often thought that I wished she was a facsimile of my sister. Virginia was now seventeen years old, slender and very graceful: she reminded me more of an antelope in her figure than anything I can compare her to; her head was so beautifully placed on her shoulders, that it was the first thing which attracted your notice when you saw her. Her eyes were of a deep hazel, fringed by long black eyelashes, and her arching and delicate eyebrows nearly met; her nose was perfectly straight, but rather small; and her face ended in a sharp oval, which added to the brilliancy and animation of her countenance; her mouth was small and beautifully formed, and her little teeth like seed pearl. Every one declared that she was the handsomest creature that ever they had seen; and what every one says must be true. She was so; but she was not always lively—she was only so at times: she appeared to be of a serious, reflective turn of mind, and she read a great deal; but at times she was mirth personified. To my mother she was always dutiful and attentive, and was very useful to her.

I could not at first imagine what made my mother so anxious to have lodgers in the house, as they must have proved a great nuisance to her, and her circumstances were above such an infliction. I was not long before I discovered the cause of this: it was no other but to make up some good match for my sister, whose beauty she considered would effect her purpose. Many were the applications for her lodgings, made by highly respectable gentlemen; but when she discovered, either that they were married, or that in other points they did not suit, she invariably refused, and for months her apartments continued vacant; but if anybody at all aristocratical, who was single, wished to inspect them, my mother was all smiles and eagerness. It may be supposed that she was not likely to meet with such people as she solicited at such a town as Greenwich, but such was not the case: before steamboats made Greenwich so come-at-able there were many families of distinction who resided there and in its environs—especially in the autumn of the year, when the river offered much amusement. It was just at that period that the whitebait parties became so much in vogue, and Greenwich was considered a pleasant retreat for a few months by many of the fashionable world.

Although Virginia never mentioned her surmises directly, I perceived, by her occasional remarks, that she had latterly become aware of what were my mother’s views; indeed, how could she do otherwise, when my mother would refuse her lodgings one day to a gentleman because he was married, and let them the next time merely because he was a single man? And that she was disgusted with my mother’s conduct I was convinced; at the same time, she certainly kept her thoughts to herself, merely telling me how very uncomfortable it was to have lodgers, and to be obliged to go into their rooms with messages from my mother. There was an Honourable Mr —, I really forget his name—indeed, I should not have mentioned him, except that he was the introduction of another personage—who was several months in my mother’s house, a harmless old bachelor. How old he was I cannot say, as he wore a very youthful wig and also false whiskers, but I should think about sixty. He was a great admirer of the fine arts, and a still greater admirer of his own performances in painting. He took lessons twice a day from two different masters, who came from London, and he was at it from morning to night. He came down to Greenwich, as he said, to study tints, and get up his colouring. I cannot say I thought his performances very good, but perhaps I was not a judge. My mother, who would, I believe, have sacrificed my sister to an ourang outang, provided he was an Honourable, took every opportunity of sending Virginia in to him, that he might study the delicate tints on her cheeks; but it would not do, even if Virginia had been a party to it. He looked at his palette instead of her pretty mouth, and his camel-hair pencils attracted his attention more than her pencilled eyebrows. He was wrapt up in his art, and overlooked the prettiest piece of nature in the world; and Virginia, seeing this to be the case, had no longer any objection to go into his room. But this gentleman had a nephew, a very different sort of a personage, a young heir to a marquisate, who used to pay attention to his bachelor uncle by paying him visits, at first because he was ordered so to do, and after once or twice because he had seen Virginia, and was struck with her appearance. He was a good-looking young man, about nineteen? but not very bright—indeed, I ought to say very silly, although at the same time not at all bashful. He made an acquaintance with my mother, who was delighted with his condescension, and declared that he was one of the most pleasant young men she had ever met with; and he would have been very intimate with Virginia had she not repulsed him. As soon as the leaves dropped off the trees the old bachelor declared that there were no more tints worth remaining for, and he took his departure. About a month afterwards his nephew came down, accompanied by a young man who was his tutor, and hired the apartments, much to the joy of my mother, who now had hopes, and much to the annoyance of my sister, who had fears of being persecuted.

And now, having in this chapter brought up my history to the commencement of the year 1805, I shall again enter into a more detailed narrative.

Chapter Thirty Four.

More cry than wool—Bramble would dig a pit for another and tumbles in along with him.

It was in the month of March, 1805, when the easterly winds prevailed, and vessels were detained in the Chops of the Channel, that I agreed with Bramble that we would return together and halve the pilotage. About eight leagues from the Lizard Point we boarded a small ship which had hoisted the signal, the weather at that time being fine and the wind variable. When we went on board it was but just daylight, and the captain was not yet on deck, but the mate received us: we were surprised to find that she mounted twelve brass guns, remarkably well fitted, and that everything was apparently ready for action, rammers and sponges, shot and wadding being all up and at hand.

“A prime morning, shipmate,” said Bramble; then casting his eye over the deck, “A letter of marque, I presume?”

“Yes,” replied the mate, “we have the papers, but still she has never run without convoy since I have been in her; we lost our convoy three days back, and the captain has been rather uneasy ever since.”

“Uneasy! why, I should think that you could beat off a good stout privateer with these guns of yours?”

“Well, I don’t know but what we might, but our cargo is valuable, and we might be overpowered.”

“Very true, and the captain must be anxious. Where are you from?”

“Smyrna.”

“What’s your cargo?”

“Why, we have raw silk and drysalters’ goods chiefly. D’ye think we shall have a fair wind? I don’t care how soon, for we’ve at least twenty passengers on board, and our provisions and water are running rather short. Here’s the skipper.”

The captain, who now made his appearance, was a tall good-looking young man about thirty, dressed rather fantastically, as I thought, having a laced cap on his head and a parti-coloured silk sash round his waist, such as they wear in the Mediterranean.

“Well, pilot, what do you think of the wind?”

“Well, sir, I expect we’ll have a slant which will enable us to fetch well to windward of the Lizard, at all events, and then, when the tide turns in-shore, we must stand out again.”

“Mr Stubbs, turn the hands up to make sail.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the mate.

The men came on deck, but the captain roared out for the idlers; these were the passengers who had agreed to work during the passage: at last they came up, a queer-looking set, and the captain sending down for his speaking trumpet, sail was made on the ship.

“Why, captain,” said Bramble, “you do it in man-of-war fashion.”

“Well, I’ve not served the King for seven years for nothing,” replied he, “and I hope, sir, not heard the bullets whistling about my head like hail in a hail-storm without knowing how to take care of my ship. I like everything man-of-war fashion, and then one’s always prepared. Where’s the boatswain? Pipe to breakfast.”

“You’ve plenty of hands on board, mate,” said Bramble.

“Yes, plenty of them, such as they are; we’ve twenty of the ship’s company, and twenty-five passengers from Malta.”

After breakfast the captain ordered up the small-arm men; five seamen and fifteen of the passengers made their appearance with their muskets, which were examined, and they were dismissed. At eleven o’clock, as we neared the land, the men were ordered to quarters, the guns cast loose, and they were exercised as on board of a man-of-war, the captain giving his orders with his speaking-trumpet. “Double-shot your guns! Run out! Point your guns! Fire! Repel boarders on the bow! Repel boarders on the quarter!” etcetera. This continued for more than two hours, when the guns were again secured.

“Well, pilot,” said the captain to Bramble, “what do you think? do you fancy a privateer could take us in a hurry?”

“Why, captain, if the men fight, I should say not; but, you see, these guns, handsome as they are, won’t fight of themselves.”

“I’ll answer for the men fighting; they’ll have but their choice,—fight, or the contents of my pistol through the first man’s head who quits his gun. I’ll nail the colours to the mast, and see who will be the man who will haul them down. Why, pilot, this vessel is insured at thirty thousand pounds.”

“Then she’ll be a famous prize, if they should contrive to take her, that’s all,” said Bramble. “Halloo! what vessel’s that coming down? Tom, hand your glass here.”

“I haven’t got it with me.”

“Well, give me that one on the skylight. I can’t make her out, but I don’t much like the looks of her.”

“Heh! what’s that?” said the captain. “Let me look:— oh, she’s a square-rigged vessel, ain’t she?”

“Can’t tell,” said Bramble.

The mate, who had fetched his glass from below, looked at her, and said it was a coasting schooner.

“Are you sure of that?” said the captain. “Let me see:— well, I don’t know what to say—she does look rakish. I’ll go forward and make her out.”

“Why, it’s a coaster, Bramble,” said I, as the captain walked forward.

“I know that,” replied Bramble, with a wink.

The captain returned, probably satisfied that it was only a coaster, but he did not choose to say so. “Well, I don’t know what to make of her, but at all events there’s nothing like being ready. She’s coming down fast upon us; Mr Stubbs, we’ll beat to quarters.”

Again the people were called up and the guns cast loose; the powder was handed up, and all was preparation. I did not think, however, that the passengers appeared at all zealous; but that I was not surprised at: the captain harangued them, calling them Britons, etcetera, and, hoping that they would show what stuff they were made of; talked about the honour of Old England, and a great deal more, and then examined the vessel again with his glass. “We’ll give her the starboard broadside, and then wear round his stern and give her the other. Hoist the colours!”

As soon as we hoisted the colours, the schooner hoisted English colours also.

“English colours, sir!” said the mate, grinning. “English colours, heh? Very well; but that may be a feint—keep to your guns, my lads.”

The vessel now ran by us; she was deeply laden, and as broad as she was long.

“No privateer this time, captain,” said Bramble, laughing.

“No, all’s right; secure the guns, my lads. We’d have given her a nice peppering if she’d been a French privateer.”

The captain then went down below to put away his sword and pistols, which the cabin-boy had brought on deck.

“It’s my opinion, Tom,” said Bramble, “that this skipper ain’t quite so fond of fighting as he pretends to be. I’ll see if I can’t frighten him a little.”

As soon as the captain came on deck again, Bramble said, “We’ll go about, if you please.”

“What! about already? why, we’re good three leagues from the shore.”

“Yes, sir, but the tide has made, and we must now make a long stretch-out towards the French coast. We won’t tack again till about dark.”

“Not tack till dark, pilot? surely we will do better keeping on the English coast.”

“No, no, sir; if we were not so well manned and so well armed I should do it; but, as we are a match for any privateer, why, we may as well make a long leg—we shall be up Channel sooner.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say; I’ve a heavy responsibility with such a valuable cargo.”

“Well, tack if you please, sir,” said Bramble, shortly.

“Oh, certainly. Hands, about ship.”

The vessel’s head was put off-shore, and with a smart breeze we walked away fast from the land. At twelve o’clock the captain proposed standing in-shore again, but Bramble refused. At three o’clock he became very uneasy, and expostulated with Bramble, who replied, “Well, sir, I’m doing all for the best, but if you are afraid—”

“Afraid?” cried the captain; “afraid of what, I should like to know? No, I’m not afraid, but it appears to me that we ought to make the land again before night.”

“I’ll answer for knowing where we are, sir, if that is your reason, at all events, I wish to stand out till six o’clock.”

“Well, do so, then, if you choose—I’m sure I don’t care if you stand to within gun-shot of the French coast;” and the captain, evidently very much annoyed, went down into the cabin.

About half-past four o’clock the mate came aft and took up the glass, saying that there was an awkward-looking craft on the weather bow. He came aft again, and said, “Pilot, I wish you would take a squint at that craft, for I don’t much like the look of her.”

Bramble went forward, and I followed him. “I say, Tom, that’s a French privateer, as sure as we stand here,” said he, “Look at her. Well, now we shall see what these guns are made of.”

“Don’t put too much trust in them,” said the mate. “I know what sort of people we have here. Had we only ten good men I wouldn’t care for a privateer, but I’m afraid that we have not many we can trust to. However, we’ll do our best, and we can do no more. I’ll go down and tell the captain.”

“It is a Frenchman,” replied I, “and no mistake—every rope and every sail on her are French;” for the vessel, which was a lugger, was not more than four miles from us.

“Well,” replied Bramble, “it would be odd if we were to be taken into a French port after all, wouldn’t it? not very pleasant, though.”

“We’ve men enough to beat her off, or two of her, if that’s all,” replied I.

“Yes, Tom, but I doubt the captain, and without example men don’t fight well. However, we’ll do our best, and if he flinches we won’t.”

The captain now came forward as red as a turkey-cock; he said nothing, looked at the vessel, and then turned as white as a sheet.

“She’s more than our match, if she’s an enemy,” said he.

“I should rather think not, sir,” replied Bramble. “All you have to do is to make your men fight, and nail your colours to the mast.”

“That’s very true when there’s a fair chance of success, but it’s useless sacrificing the men against so very superior a force,” replied the captain.

“But it ain’t superior, nor in guns is she your equal, if I know anything about a vessel. At all events, I suppose you’ll have a trial for it. Won’t you beat to quarters, captain?”

“Oh, to be sure. Mr Stubbs, beat to quarters. I think it would not be a bad thing to fire off our broadsides now, and let them see that we are well armed.”

The men were summoned up to quarters, and very unwillingly did they obey: some said that they did not come on board to fight, others that they had agreed to work the passage home, but not to stand to be shot at; and some were actually going down below again, when Bramble and the mate spoke to them and persuaded them to remain on deck. Still there was no willingness shown; and although Bramble told them how many privateers had been beaten off, and mentioned particularly the Leith smack having the other day fought with one an hour and a half, and knocked her all to pieces, they still appeared uneasy and wavering.

In the meantime the privateer was within a mile of us, and had hoisted French colours.

“We’ll keep away and give her the first broadside,” cried the captain.

“You’d better hoist your colours first,” observed Bramble, quietly. “Hoist the colours, Mr Stubbs! Port the helm! Look out, my men! Point the guns to the object! Fire!”

Off went all the guns, not only on the starboard side, in the direction of the privateer, but all those on the larboard side as well; and this circumstance probably gave the people on board of the privateer some idea of the state of confusion we were in. She now rounded to, and gave us her broadside of three guns: they were well directed, and did us some damage in the upper works and rigging; but still more in frightening the people, who were now running down below, notwithstanding the exertions of the mate, Bramble, one or two of the seamen, and myself; but our fate was soon decided by the captain, who cried out, “It’s useless contending against such a superior force.” With this observation he ran aft and hauled down the colours. As soon as the men perceived this they all left the guns; at another broadside from the privateer they all scampered down below, and at the same time the captain went down into his cabin. There was none but the mate, the boatswain, Bramble, and myself left on deck.

“Pleasant,” said Bramble. “I thought as much. Well, Tom, here we are, in for it. Come with me to the helm, for these French fellows will board, and they make very free with their cutlasses, even after colours are hauled down. Well,” said he, as he walked aft, “I did not think to see the English flag so disgraced. Poor Bessy, too! Well, never mind. I say, mate, just let go the weather main-braces and bowlines, and square the yards, for it’s better to be as humble as possible, now that we can’t help ourselves; and do you and the boatswain go down below, for they cut right and left, these fellows. They do pay a little more civility to pilots, as they aren’t belonging to the ship.”

This advice of Bramble’s, which was very good, was followed by the mate and boatswain.

“Shall I run down and look after our kits?” said I to Bramble.

“No, Tom, don’t have anything in your hand, or they will take it from you, and most likely give you a rap on the head with a cutlass at the same time; for privateer’s-men of all nations are little better than pirates, and don’t know how to behave in victory. Just keep where you are—look as if you had nothing to do with the ship except the steering of her. Here they come!”

As he spoke the lugger touched our weather side, at the same time lowering down her foresail and mainsail with no little noise and confusion; in a second or two there were thirty of their men on our decks, flourishing their cutlasses, and looking round with their pistols ready cocked in their left hands for somebody to let fly at. At last they came aft. “Pilot!” cried Bramble, taking off his hat. I did the same. With reiterated sacres and diables of every description, some now rushed down into the cabin, while others went down the fore-hatchway, while more of the men from the lugger poured upon our decks; but none of them molested Bramble or me, as we continued standing at the wheel. In about ten minutes order was to a certain degree restored by the captain of the privateer, who had come on board. I perceived him express his surprise to his officers who were with him at the armament of the ship, and he appeared very much pleased: it was not necessary to understand French for that. He then came up to Bramble, and spoke to him in French; but Bramble only pointed to me and then to himself, and said “Pilot.” The captain called for a young Frenchman who could speak English, and then asked Bramble what was the cargo.

Bramble, to please him, replied that it was silk and other goods to the value of thirty thousand pounds English.

“How many men?”

“Forty-five men.”

The French captain rubbed his hands with ecstasy, as well he might. Just at this moment the English captain came upon deck, followed by two of the privateer’s men, one of whom had taken possession of his laced cap, and the other of his silk sash. He brought his sword in his hand, and presented it to the captain of the privateer, saying,—“It is no disgrace for one brave man to deliver up his sword to another.”

“Que dit-il?” said the captain of the privateer to the young man who interpreted. The young man translated this fine speech, upon which the French captain called the English one by a very contemptuous title, and turned away. The privateer’s men now made their appearance from below, having helped themselves to everything they could find: the orders were then given for the prisoners to be brought upon deck; they were driven up, many of them bleeding from wounds received in attempts to rescue their personal property, and were handed over to the lugger. A prize-master with twenty men were put on board; the lugger was hauled off, the only Englishmen allowed to remain in the captured vessel being Bramble and myself. As soon as the vessels were clear they made sail, running about two points free for the French coast.

Chapter Thirty Five.

We have great hopes of not seeing the inside of a French prison, but we are disappointed.

“Well, Tom, this is a bad job,” said Bramble to me, taking his seat upon the hencoop aft. “By to-morrow at noon, unless we fall in with a cruiser—and I see little chance of that—we shall be locked-up in a French prison; ay, and Heaven knows how long we may stay there! What’s to become of poor little Bessy? I’m sure I don’t know. I must contrive to write over to lawyer Wilson, and put him in charge of everything. But I’m sorry for you, my poor lad; it’s hard for you to be locked up, perhaps for years, when you might have been making money for yourself.”

“Well, it can’t be helped, father; we must make the best of it,” replied I, with a deep sigh, for I was anything but happy at the prospect.

“If it had not been for that swaggering coward, this might not have happened,” replied Bramble. “It’s somewhat my own fault: I was so anxious to frighten him about nothing, but at last I run us into real danger, and I might have known that he never would have fought, although I certainly had no idea of falling in with a privateer. Well, Tom, we must not lose a chance.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean that if there is any possibility of getting away, I shall; and you, of course, will not stay behind. I don’t know where they are going to, but you see, Tom, our only chance of getting off is while we are on the coast; if once we are marched into the interior, why, then it will be almost hopeless. What we must try for is to get away at the port where we land. We shall see.”

“I am afraid that there’s very little chance for us,” replied I; “but I’m ready to attempt anything.”

“We shall see, Tom—where there’s a will there’s a way; however, it’s no use talking about it just now.” Here Bramble filled his pipe, took out his flint and steel, and lighted it.

After smoking for ten minutes, during which I stood by him, he said, “I wonder where they will take us to—St. Malo’s or Morlaix; for the course they are steering will fetch, I should think, thereabouts. One thing is certain—they’ve got a good prize, and they mean to keep it if they can; and, my eyes! if they won’t make a fuss about it! A ship with twelve guns taken by a lugger with only six! They’ll make the ship mount eighteen or twenty guns, and have a hundred and fifty men on board, and they’ll swear they fought us for three hours. They have something to boast of, that’s certain; and I suspect that French captain is a brave sort of chap, from the sneer he gave when our cowardly English lubber gave him so fine a speech. Well, it’s our disgrace!”

Here Bramble was silent for some time, when I said to him, “You were stating to the men how a Leith smack beat off a privateer the other day; I never heard of it.”

“Yes, I heard it when I was up above Greenwich. I met an old friend who was on board of her, for he took his passage in her from London.

“‘Why,’ says he to me, ‘Bramble, I thought we never should have got away from the river, for the old captain, who was as big round as a puncheon, and not unlike one, declared that he would not sail until the powder came up from Woolwich; for the Queen Charlotte (that was the name of the smack) carried six eighteen-pound carronades. We waited nearly a week for the powder, and many a laugh we all had about it, thinking old Nesbitt was not much of a fighter, from his making so much fuss. Well, at last we boomed her off from the wharf, and about seven that night got clear of the Thames; it was a fine breeze all night, and we ran through the Swin by the lead, which is what every one won’t attempt: next morning we were off Yarmouth Roads, with the water as yellow as pea-soup; never saw it otherwise, and I’m an old collier; reason why, the swells of the ocean thrashes up the sands off there—ay, and shifts them too occasionally, which is of more consequence. Well, Bramble,’ says he, ‘well, on we went; hauled in through Harborough Gut; then the sun had so much power—for it was in the Dog Days—that it eat up the wind, and we were obliged to content ourselves with getting four knots out of her. Just as we made the Dudgeon Light-Boat, old Nesbitt’s son comes aft to his father, who was steering the craft, and says, “Father, do you see that ’ere brig crowding all sail after us? I think it be the New Custom House brig trying his rate of sailing with us.”

“‘“Never you mind what she is, boy,” says the captain, “but away up and furl the gaff-topsail.”

“‘Meanwhile the brig overhauled us fast, and old Nesbitt kept a-looking round at her every two or three minutes. At last he says to the mate, “Take the wheel a bit,” and he goes first and looks over the quarter. “I see,” says he; “I say, you sergeant and corporal,” (for we had a recruiting party on board), “suppose now you just help us to load our guns and work them a little, for I expect this here craft will give us plenty to do.”

“‘Well, Bramble, as I stand here, if six of them lobsters didn’t say nothing, but just walk down below: but the sergeant was a trump of a fellow, and so was his wife; he threw off his coat and cap covered with ribands, tied a handkerchief round his head, and set to work with a will; and his wife backed him to the last, handing the powder and everything else. Well, we had with us ten men who all stood to guns; but the passengers went down below with the soldiers. Well, on comes the brig upon our starboard quarter as if to board; all her fore rigging, and fore-chains, and forecastle being full of men as bees in a swarm.

“‘“Are you all ready, my men?” said the captain.

“‘“Yes, all ready, sir.”

“‘“Yes, and I be ready too, massa!” cried the black cook, bringing out from the caboose the red-hot poker.

“‘“Well, then, up on the wind with her, and fire when the guns bear.”

“‘The men kept their eyes on the guns; and when they cried “fire!” the cook set them all off, one after another, with the hot poker, and no small mischief did these three guns do. His forecastle was cleared of men in no time; down came his gaff and, fore-topsail, and being now right on our beam, he put his helm up to lay us on board; but we were too quick for him—we wore round too, and gave him the three other guns, which did him no good.

“‘Well, he came after us on the other tack, and pelted us with musketry in a cruel way. The mate was hit in the head, and taken down below; and poor old Nesbitt, who was at the wheel, steering the craft beautifully, had a bullet right into his bow-window, as they call it. “Well,” the old fellow says, “here’s a shot between wind and water, I reckon—we must have a plug;” so he puts his flippers into his waistband, and stuffs his flannel jacket into the hole. Then we throws her up in the wind again, and rakes him with our three guns well into him, and carries away more of his gear, and stops his sailing—and so we goes on for a whole hour and thirty-five minutes; and, to make a long story short, we beat him off, and he turned tail and ran for it with both pumps going.’

“Now you see, Tom, that’s the account of the affair, given to me by a man who I can trust; and there you see what can be done if men are resolute and determined to fight. Some little difference between that affair and this one, Tom.”

“Did old Nesbitt die or recover?”

“I asked that question: he was doing well when my friend left; somehow or another no vital part was injured, and he has had many presents made him for his gallant conduct, and the sergeant was well rewarded also. Well, my pipe’s out, and it’s not far from midnight; I should think we may just as well try for a little sleep, Tom, for perhaps we may not get any for some time to come.”

Bramble coiled himself up under the bulwark; I did the same; and in a few minutes we both had forgotten whether we were in our beds at our house at Deal or prisoners bound for the French coast.

At daylight the next morning Bramble roused me up.

“Here we are now, Tom! here’s the French coast not four leagues from us; but it’s hazy, and I cannot make it out very clear; how ever, the sun will soon drive all this away, and we shall have a fine day; but the wind has gone down, and I think we shall have still less of it.”

And so it proved; for, as the sun rose, the wind became very light, so that we did not go through the water more than three knots. We were looking at the coast, when the report of a gun saluted our ears. It was from the privateer; we turned to that quarter, and found that there was a cutter about two miles from the privateer, crowding all sail towards us.

“Tom!” cried Bramble, “there’s a chance for us yet—that’s an English privateer, and she will try to retake us for the sake of the salvage. But here’s a boat coming from the Frenchman—what can that be for?”

The boat rowed alongside of us, and out jumped the captain of the French privateer with twenty of his best men, and the boat was then dropped astern.

The Frenchmen immediately cast loose the guns, went down for the powder, and prepared for action.

“I see, Tom,” said Bramble, “he’s a clever fellow, this skipper: he knows that this ship and cargo is worth a dozen of his little privateer, and his object is to get her in—so he’s come with all his best men on board of us, leaving his first officer to make the best fight with the privateer that he can. Well, he’s right; and if it wasn’t that I don’t like to go to prison, I wish he may succeed, for he has got sense as well as courage, I think.”

The ship was now kept away two points more, that she might go through the water as fast as she could; and in the meantime the action commenced between the English cutter and the French privateer, the latter evidently attempting to cripple the masts and rigging of the former. The cutter, however, steered right for us, and evidently came up fast; the French privateer, weak-handed as she must have been, behaved very well, throwing herself across the cutter’s bows, and doing everything she could to prevent her coming up with us: both vessels were very much cut up before the cutter came within three cables’ lengths of us, when the French captain ordered French colours to be hoisted, and, rounding to, poured in a well-directed broadside, which quite astonished the English privateer, who imagined that we were an unarmed merchantman. The action now became very warm; we standing on, and every now and then rounding to and raking the cutter, while the French privateer engaged her broadside to broadside. The French captain was abaft, giving his orders with the greatest coolness and ability, when a shot from the cutter came in on deck, and a large splinter which it tore off knocked him down on his back. Bramble and I both ran to him and helped him up—we could not help it, although he was an enemy. He was not hurt, and as soon as he was on his legs he laughed, and thanked us in French. The cutter still continued the fight until we were within three miles of the coast, when, all her spars and sails being cut to pieces, she hauled to the wind and stood out to the offing.

“Well, Tom, there’s all our hopes ended,” said Bramble; “so now I’ll light my pipe. Well, I say it’s been a good fight on both sides.”

Here the captain came up to us and said, “Bien obligé,—tank you.”

The cutter did not, however, stand out for more than a few minutes, when she hove to and repaired damages, evidently intending to renew the action. I pointed this out to Bramble. “I see, I see,” replied he; “she intends to try and cut us off from Morlaix, which is to windward, and oblige us to fight or run for St. Malo’s, which is a long way to leeward; in either case she will be able to attack us again, as she outsails us: perhaps the fight is not over yet.”

But the Frenchman also understood what he was about, and he now steered a course. When we were about two miles from the land, and about the same distance from the cutter, the latter kept away so as to oblige the ship to come to action again before she reached Morlaix; but, before she closed with us, we discovered that we were entering a small French port, which had not been visible to us, called (I think) Lanion, situated between Isle Bichat and Morlaix. When within a half a mile of the land, French over English was hoisted at our peak, and a French pennant over an English pennant at our main.

“I told you so,” said Bramble; “they have made a man-of-war out of us, and now there’ll be no end to the lies that they will tell; for though these French fellows do not fight quite so well as we do, at lying they’ll beat us hollow, any day of the week. Never mind, Tom, we must keep a sharp look-out, and there’s no saying—keep your eyes open as we go into the harbour—I never was here before, but I suspect it’s nothing better than a poor fishing town.”

In a quarter of an hour the ship and privateer were both made fast to an old stone pier which ran out from the town; but there were no other vessels in the harbour except two small coasting chasses marées, and about a dozen fishing-boats.

The harbour was formed by the mouth of a small river, which ran down through a very narrow alluvial flat, backed by precipitous rocks. On the right side of the river on entering, and on the level ground above mentioned, which extended back perhaps two hundred yards, until it was met by the rocky cliffs, was situated the village which, centuries back, must have been the town of Lanion. It consisted of perhaps one hundred to one hundred and twenty houses, few of them of any size, the major portion with walls built of mud and whitewashed over. The only remains of the former town were a stone-built market-place, the portion of the Hôtel de Ville in which the mayor resided, and the old church, which, although perfect in its walls, was sadly dilapidated in the roof. It had long been deserted, and a small chapel had been built in lieu of it, in which the only curé of the place performed the service. The massive stones of which the now neglected pier had once been built proved that at one time considerable expense had been incurred in the formation of this small harbour.

A battery mounting two guns at the end of the pier protected the mouth of the harbour; and there was a guard of a sergeant and twelve invalids, who were stationed there to man the guns upon the approach of an enemy.

It would be difficult to describe the confusion which took place as soon as the two vessels were fairly alongside the wharf, and made fast with hawsers to the massive iron rings which had for centuries been fixed in the ponderous stones of which the pier was composed. There was the mayor with his cocked hat on, but his leather apron still tied in front, for he had been working at his calling; there was the sergeant of the invalids, who, perhaps, was a greater man than the mayor, all beard and mustachios, but so thin in his person, that he looked as if a stout breeze would have blown him away; and there were the soldiers leaning on their muskets. These were the most important personages, but they were backed by the whole population of the town, amounting to about three hundred men, women, and children, all talking, jabbering, and screaming: add to them the captain of the privateer, so important that he could not attend to even the mayor or the sergeant; and the privateer’s men, dressed in every fashion, armed to the teeth, all explaining, or pushing away, or running here and there obeying orders; then the wounded men—for they had several men killed and others hurt in the conflict with the cutter—handed up one by one, bandaged here and there, and exciting the compassion and even screams of the women; the prisoners, who had been ordered to come on deck, half dressed and chapfallen; the sails of the vessels only dewed up, and still fluttering; ensigns and pennants hoisted upon every mast, and waving over the heads of the crowd assembled at the pier,—and you may have some idea of the confused and bustling scene.

At last, as there appeared no chance of anything being arranged while the people crowded round, the captain of the privateer ordered his men to draw their weapons and drive back the crowd, which was soon effected, notwithstanding many oaths, and more screaming on the part of the fairer sex; and when the crowd had been thus driven the men were stationed so as to keep them back. At first this gave offence to all parties—to the crowd, because they didn’t like to be driven away—to the mayor, who remained with the sergeant and invalids in the area which had been cleared by the privateer’s people, because he thought that they had interfered with his civil authority—and to the sergeant of invalids, because he thought that the marine force had interfered with his military authority; but the captain of the privateer having taken off his hat and bowed, first to the mayor and then to the sergeant, and saying how much he was obliged to them for their assistance, both parties were satisfied; and now a consultation was held between them how to proceed, while the privateer’s men, who kept back the crowd, amused them by giving a detail of the two desperate actions which had been fought—no two accounts agreeing, certainly, but that was of no consequence.

The first question to be canvassed was, what was to be done with the prisoners? Morlaix was the nearest town in which they would be under safe keeping, but that was twenty miles distant, and it would be necessary to send over an express, so that a sufficient force might be dispatched to Lanion to escort the prisoners there. This Mr Mayor undertook to do immediately; a boy was summoned to take over the communication, and the mayor went up to write his letter to the authorities, while the wounded men were carried away, and by the direction of the curé, who had just arrived and joined the consultation, billeted upon different houses in the town. The express having been dispatched, and the wounded safely housed and under the care of the village Aesculapius, who never had such a job in his whole life, the next point of consultation was how to dispose of the prisoners until the force should arrive from Morlaix. Here the sergeant became the principal person, being military commandant: forty-seven prisoners were a heavy charge for twelve invalids; and as for the privateer’s men, there was no dependence upon them, for, as the captain said, they had had enough to do to take them, and it was the business of the authorities to look after them now, while the privateer’s men made merry.

Chapter Thirty Six.

With those powerful agents, fire and water, we contrive to escape from a French prison.

After more than an hour of confusion and loud talking it was at last proposed and agreed to, nem con, that the prisoners should be confined in the old church; the twelve invalids to be divided into two parties, who were to be sentinels over them, relieving each other every four hours. The mayor immediately went forward with the village blacksmith to examine the state of the church doors, and ascertain how they might be secured—while the prisoners, having been summoned out of the privateer, were escorted up between two files of the privateer’s men with their swords drawn, and followed by the whole population. As soon as we arrived at the church door the name of every prisoner was taken down by the mayor, attended by a notary, and then he was passed into the church. Bramble and I of course were marched up with the others, the captain of the privateer talking with us the whole way, through the young man who interpreted, informing us that an express had been sent over to Morlaix, to which town we should be escorted the next day, and then have better accommodation. As we stood at the huge doors of the church, which were opened for our reception, we perceived that the altar and all the decorations had been removed, and that, with the exception of the large wooden screen of carved oak near the altar, the church was completely bare. Bramble spoke to the interpreter, and said that he hoped the captain would request the mayor to allow the prisoners to have straw to lie down upon, as the pavement would be very cold. Although the mayor at first demurred at this demand, yet the captain of the privateer, probably out of good-will to Bramble, insisted, and the straw was ordered to be sent in. At last the mayor became impatient, we could delay no longer, and the doors were closed.

I had surveyed the church as we were escorted up to it: it was very large, capable, I should think, of holding more than two thousand people. The walls of the church were very massive, and the windows had but very few panes of glass remaining in them, but they were so very high as to prevent our climbing out of them, even if there had not been six sentinels guarding us outside. At one corner, to the right of the end of the church where the altar-piece had been, was a narrow stone tower, apparently an addition made to the Lady’s Chapel long after the church had been originally built. When we were shut up we were enabled to survey the interior at our leisure. The whole was completely bare to the pavement until you came to the chancel part, near to which the altar had been, where the wooden screens and seats still remained, in a sad dilapidated state; but they must have once been very handsome, for the carving, where it was perfect, was very beautiful. A small thick wooden door, loaded with ironwork, communicated with the narrow tower, which had a flight of stone steps running up to the top, and narrow loopholes to give light as you ascended. While the majority of the prisoners were sitting down, here and there on the pavement, few of them entering into conversation, Bramble had, with me, taken a full survey of our locality.

“I tell you what, Tom: if we once get to Morlaix, all chance is over,” said he: “we must either get out of this church this very night, or we must make up our minds to remain in prison Heaven knows how long.”

“Have we any chance?”

“I’ll tell you more about that in a little while.”

The door of the church now opened, and the people brought in the straw for the beds, which they threw all in a heap in the centre of the church, and the doors were again closed.

“I see daylight now,” said Bramble. “Tom, find the mate and boatswain, and bring them here to me quickly.”

I did so, and Bramble asked them whether they were inclined to make an attempt to get clear.

They replied that they would join us in anything—they did not care what it was, and against any odds.

“Well, then,” said Bramble, “my idea is this. You see there are but twelve old soldiers to guard us; for you may be certain that, before long, all the privateer’s men will be as drunk as owls—that’s but natural; not that I think of coming to any fight with them, but I make the observation because, if we get out, we shall have little to fear afterwards. Now, you see, I asked for the straw because the idea came in my head that it might be useful. You see, what I propose is, as there is plenty of wood in this part of the church, that we should wait till about three hours after dark—that is, until ten or eleven o’clock—and then set fire to the church. They must come and let us out, you know; at least I take it for granted that they will before the roof comes down: if they don’t, we must force the doors ourselves—I’ve looked at them—and until we do, there is no fear of suffocating, for there are no panes to the windows; so, after all, it will only be a bonfire, without danger to anybody.”

“Well, but what shall we gain by it?” said the mate: “we shall be walked out with the other prisoners, and how shall we then escape?”

“There it is: we will not be walked out with the other prisoners; and, in the confusion and hurry of taking them away to one place or another, they will not be likely to miss us. We will all go up this narrow tower, where we may remain, till the church falls in, with perfect safety; and then, when all is quiet again, and the people have left the spot, we will make for the pier, get one of the fishing-boats and be off. How do you like the idea?”

We all agreed that the plan was very feasible, and would attempt it.

“Well, then, we must remain quiet for the present; all you have to do is to fetch as much straw this way as you can by degrees: I expect they will bring us something to eat before long.”

We removed a large portion of the straw to the chancel; in half an hour afterwards the doors were opened and rations of bread were brought in. What still more assisted our plans was, that the captain of the privateer at the same time, very good-naturedly, brought a demijohn of brandy, which he gave to Bramble.

Bramble thanked him through the interpreter, and told him that he would get well drunk that night.

“Yes, drive away care, captain says,” replied the interpreter.

Once more the doors were closed, and we had no chance of further interruption.

By Bramble’s direction, the mate, assisted by me and the boatswain, cast loose the remaining bundles of straw and shook them down as beds for the prisoners at the end of the church nearest to the door; and as soon as they had eaten their bread, Bramble gave them all a portion of the brandy, advising them to turn in soon, as we were to march very early the next morning. We remained with them at first, having taken our seats on the straw as if we also intended to repose. At last it became dusk, and then dark; the prisoners settled themselves to sleep; we left them and joined Bramble. Having arranged our straw so as to secure ignition, and leaving the mate and boatswain down below, Bramble and I, now that there was no chance of our being seen by the sentinels, ascended the tower. It commanded a view of the town and harbour: we looked down upon the main street—all was mirth and revelry; fiddling and dancing and singing were to be heard from more than one house; women in the street laughing, and now and then running and screaming when pursued by the men.

“This is all right,” observed Bramble; “in an hour or two you’ll see how quiet everything will be; but I shall not let them all go to bed before I set fire, for there may be some difficulty in waking them. I don’t see that there’s any lights down at the pier, where the vessels lie.”

We stayed up there till about eleven o’clock, Bramble watching the lights and sounds; and when he considered that they had sufficiently decreased, he said, “Now we’ll try it, Tom, and may success attend us!”