Volume Two--Chapter Three.’Tis pleasing to be schooled in a strange tongueBy female lips and eyes; that is, I meanWhen both the teacher and the taught are young,As was the case, at least, where I had been.They smile so when one’s right, and when one’s wrongThey smile still more.Byron.Monsieur de Fontanges, aware of the impetuosity and caprice of his wife (at the same time that he acknowledged her many redeeming good qualities), did not further attempt to thwart her inclinations. His great objection to her plan was, the impropriety of retaining a prisoner, whom he was bound to give up to the proper authorities. He made a virtue of necessity, and having acquainted Newton with the wish of Madame de Fontanges, requested his parole of honour that he would not attempt to escape, if he was not delivered up to the authorities, and remain some time at Lieu Desiré. Newton, who had no wish to be acquainted with a Frenchcachot, sooner than it was absolutely necessary, gave the promise required by Monsieur de Fontanges, assuring him that ingratitude was not a part of his character. Monsieur de Fontanges then requested that Newton would accept of a portion of his wardrobe, which he would direct to be sent to the room that would be prepared for him. This affair being arranged, Newton made his bow to the lady, and in company with Monsieur de Fontanges, retired from the boudoir.It may be suspected by the reader, that Madame de Fontanges was one of those ladies who cared a great deal about having their own way, and very little for her husband. As to the first part of the accusation, I can only observe, that I never yet had the fortune to fall in with any lady who did not try all she could to have her own way, nor do I conceive it to be a crime. As to the second, if the reader has formed that supposition, he is much mistaken. Madame de Fontanges was very much attached to her husband, and the attachment as well as the confidence was reciprocal.It was not therefore from any feeling of jealousy that Monsieur de Fontanges had combated her resolution; but, as we have before observed, from a conviction that he was wanting in his duty, when he did not report the arrival of Newton at the plantation. The wish of Madame de Fontanges to detain Newton was, as she declared, a caprice on her part, which had entered her head, to amuse herself by teaching him French. It is true that had not Newton been remarkably prepossessing in his appearance, the idea would in all probability have never been conceived; but, observing that he was much above the common class, and wishing to relieve the general monotony of her life by any thing which would create amusement, she had formed the idea, which, when combated by her husband, was immediately strengthened to a resolution.Of this Newton received the benefit. An excellent dinner or rather supper with Monsieur de Fontanges, a comfortable bed in a room supplied with all that convenience or luxury could demand, enabled him to pass a very different night from those which we have latterly described.About twelve o’clock the ensuing day, Newton was summoned by one of the slave girls to the boudoir of Madame de Fontanges. He found her on the ottoman, as before. Newton, who had been operated upon by a black barber, and was dressed in the habiliments of Monsieur de Fontanges, made a much more respectable appearance than upon his former introduction.“Bon jour, Monsieur,” said the lady.Newton bowed respectfully.“Comment vous appelez-vous?”Newton, not understanding, answered with another bow.“Le jeun homme n’entends pas madame,” observed Mimi.“Que c’est ennuyant, monsieur,” said Madame Fontanges, pointing to herself; “Moi—Madame de Fontanges—vous,”—pointing to him.“Newton Forster.”“Nu—tong Fasta—ah, c’est bon, cela commence,” said the lady. “Allons, mes enfans répétez lui tous vous noms.”“Moi—Mimi,” said the girl bearing that name, going up to Newton, and pointing to herself.“Mimi,” repeated Newton, with a smile and nod of his head.“Moi—Charlotte.”“Moi—Louise.”“Moi—Céleste.”“Moi—Nina.”“Moi—Caroline.”“Moi—Manchette.”“Et moi—Cupidon,” finished the little black boy, running up, and then retreating as fast back into his corner.Newton repeated all the names, as the individuals respectively introduced themselves to him. Then there was a pause, during which, at the desire of Monsieur de Fontanges, Newton was offered a chair, and sat down.“Allons—dites lui les noms de toute la garniture,” said Madame de Fontanges to her attendants.“Oui, madame,” said Mimi, going up to Newton, and pointing to the fan in her hand,—”éventail.”“Eventail,” repeated Newton, who began to be amused, and who now repeated every French word after them.“Flaçon,” said Charlotte, showing him the eau de Cologne bottle.“Chaise,” cried Louise, holding up a chair.“Livre,” said Nina, pointing to a book.“Mouchoir,” said Caroline, holding up an embroidered handkerchief.“Montre” followed up Manchette, pointing to her mistress’s watch.“Canapé,” cried Céleste, pointing to the ottoman.“Joli garçon,” bawled out Cupidon, coming up to Newton, and pointing to himself.This created a laugh, and then the lesson was continued. Every article in the room was successively pointed out to Newton, and he was obliged to repeat the name; and afterwards the articles of their dress were resorted to, much to his amusement. Then there was a dead stand:— the fact is, that there is no talking with noun substantives only.“Ah! mon Dieu! il faut envoyer pour Monsieur de Fontanges,” cried the lady; “va le chercher, Louise.”Monsieur de Fontanges soon made his appearance, when the lady explained to him their dilemma, and requested his assistance. Monsieur de Fontanges laughed, and explained to Newton, and then, by means of his interpretation, connected sentences were made, according to the fancy of the lady, some of which were the cause of great merriment. After an hour, the gentlemen made their bows.“I think,” observed Monsieur de Fontanges, as they walked away, “that if you really are as anxious to learn our language as madame is to teach you, you had better come to me every morning for an hour. I shall have great pleasure in giving you any assistance in my power, and I trust that in a very short time that, with a little study of the grammar and dictionary, you will be able to hold a conversation with Madame de Fontanges, or even with her dark-complexioned page.”Newton expressed his acknowledgments, and the next day he received his first lesson; after which he was summoned to support the theory by practice in the boudoir of Madame de Fontanges. It is hardly necessary to observe that each day increased the facility of communication.For three months Newton was domiciled with Monsieur and Madame Fontanges, both of whom had gradually formed such an attachment to him, that the idea of parting never entered their head. He was now a very tolerable French scholar, and his narratives and adventures were to his benefactors a source of amusement, which amply repaid them for the trouble and kindness which they had shown to him. Newton was, in fact, a general favourite with every one on the plantation, from the highest to the lowest; and his presence received the same smile of welcome at the cottage of the slave, as at the boudoir of Madame de Fontanges.Whatever may have been the result of Newton’s observations relative to slavery in the English colonies, his feelings of dislike insensibly wore away during his residence at Lieu Desirée; there he was at least convinced that a slave might be perfectly happy. It must be acknowledged that the French have invariably proved the kindest and most considerate of masters, and the state of bondage is much mitigated in the islands which appertain to that nation. The reason is obvious: in France, there is abonhommie, a degree of equality established between the different grades of society by universal politeness. A French servant is familiar with his master at the same time that he is respectful: and the master, in return, condescends to his inferior without forgetting their relative positions. This runs through society in general, and as no one can well be polite without some good-nature (for politeness, frivolous as it may appear, is a strong check upon those feelings of selfishness, too apt to be indulged in), it leads to a general feeling of good will towards others. This has naturally been practised by Frenchmen wherever they may be; and the consequence is, that the slaves are treated with more consideration, and, in return, have warmer feelings of attachment towards their owners than are to be found in colonies belonging to other nations. Newton perceived and acknowledged this, and, comparing the condition of the people at Lieu Desirée with that of most of the peasantry of Europe, was unwillingly obliged to confess that the former were in every respect the more fortunate and the more happy of the two.One morning, soon after Newton had breakfasted with Monsieur de Fontanges, and had been summoned to the boudoir, a letter was brought in. It was from the governor to Monsieur de Fontanges, stating that he had heard with great surprise that Monsieur de Fontanges concealed an English prisoner in his house, and desiring that he might be immediately sent up to head-quarters. That there might be no delay or refusal, a corporal, accompanied by two file of men, brought down the intimation to the plantation.Newton was in the very middle of a long story, Madame de Fontanges on the ottoman, and her attendants collected round her, seated on the floor—even Cupidon had advanced from his corner to within half distance, his mouth and eyes wide open, when Monsieur de Fontanges entered the boudoir, with anxiety and chagrin expressed in his countenance.“Qu’est ce qu’il y a, mon ami?” said Madame de Fontanges, rising hastily and running up to her husband.Monsieur de Fontanges answered by putting the governor’s letter into his wife’s hands.“Ah! les barbares!” cried Madame de Fontanges, “est il possible? Pauvre Monsieur Nutong! on l’amène au cachôt.”“Au cachôt!” cried all the coloured girls at a breath, and bursting into tears—“oh ciel!”Monsieur de Fontanges then explained to Newton the order which he had received. Newton replied that he had had no right to expect otherwise on his first landing on the island; that he had incurred a heavy debt of gratitude to them for having preserved him so long from a prison; and that the remembrance of their kindness would tend to beguile the tedious hours of captivity (from which it may appear that Newton, in point of expressing himself, was half a Frenchman already). He then kissed the hand of Madame de Fontanges, tried to console the little slave girls, who were allau désespoir, patted Cupidon on the head, by way of farewell, and quitted the boudoir, in which he had passed so many happy hours. When he was outside, he again expressed his obligations to Monsieur de Fontanges, who then stated his determination to call upon his brother, the governor, and try to alleviate the hardships of his lot as much as was possible. In less than an hour Newton, in company with his host, was on the road to Basse Terre, leaving the corporal and his two file of men to walk back as fast as they could; the corporal having sufficientsavoir vivrenot to refuse the pledge of the governor’s brother for the safe delivery of the prisoner.It was not until late in the evening that they arrived at Basse Terre, when they immediately proceeded to the house of the governor, and were admitted to his presence.The governor, who had been much displeased at the circumstance of Newton having remained so long on the island, was more pacified when Monsieur de Fontanges explained to him the way in which he had been made prisoner, and the hardships which he had previously endured. Monsieur de Fontanges accounted for his long detention at Lieu Desirée by stating the real fact,viz, the pertinacity of Madame de Fontanges; which, although it might have been considered a very poor argument in England, had its due weight in a French colony.The governor entered into conversation with Newton, who detailed to him the horrors of the shipwreck which he had undergone. The narrative appeared to affect him much. He told Newton that under such circumstances he could hardly consider him as a prisoner, and would take the first opportunity of releasing him, and would accept his parole for not quitting the island. Newton returned his thanks for so much courtesy, and withdrew in company with Monsieur de Fontanges.“Monsieur le Marquis has much sympathy for those who have been shipwrecked,” observed Monsieur de Fontanges, after they had quitted the room. “Poor man! he lost his wife, a beautiful young woman, and his only child, a little girl, about seven years back, when they were proceeding home in a vessel bound to Havre. The vessel has never been heard of since, and he has never recovered the loss.”“In what year was it?” inquired Newton.“In the autumn of the year —.”“There were many vessels wrecked on our coast during that dreadful winter,” replied Newton: “I myself, when in a coaster, picked up several articles belonging to a French vessel. I have them in my possession now;—they are of some value.”“What did they consist of?” inquired Monsieur de Fontanges.“A large trunk, containing the wearing apparel of a female and a child: there were also several orders of knighthood, and some jewels; but I hardly know what they were, as it is some time since I have looked at them.”“How strange that you could find no clue to discover the names of the parties!”“There were French letters,” replied Newton, “which I could not read; they were only signed by initials, which did not correspond with the marks on the linen belonging to the lady, although the surname might have been the same as that of the child.”“Do you recollect the initials?”“Perfectly well: the marks on the lady’s apparel were LC, that on the linen of the infant JF.”“Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” cried Monsieur de Fontanges; “then it may indeed have been the apparel of the Marquise de Fontanges. The linen must have been some marked with her maiden name, which was Louise de Colmar. The child was christened Julie de Fontanges, after her grandmother. My poor brother had intended to take his passage home in the same vessel, his successor being hourly expected; but the frigate in which the new governor had embarked was taken by an English squadron, and my brother was forced to remain here.”“Then the property must undoubtedly belong to the marquis,” replied Newton: “I only wish I could have been able to assure him that his wife and child were equally safe; but that I am afraid is impossible, as there can be no doubt but that they were all lost. Do you mean to communicate what I have told you to the marquis?”“By no means; it will only tear open a wound which has but partially healed. If you will send me all the particulars when you return I shall feel much obliged, not that the effects are of any consequence. The marquise and her child are undoubtedly lost, and it could be no consolation to my brother to ascertain that a trunk of their effects had been saved.”Here the conversation dropped, and was never again renewed.Newton was heartily welcomed again at Lieu Desirée, where he remained three weeks, when a note from the governor informed him that a cartel was about to sail.It was with mutual pain that Newton and his kind friends took their farewell of each other. In this instance Monsieur de Fontanges did not accompany him to Basse Terre; but bade him adieu at his own door. Newton, soon after he was on the road, perceived that Monsieur de Fontanges had acted from a motive of delicacy, that he might not receive the thanks of Newton for two valises, well furnished, which overtook Newton about a quarter of a mile from the plantation, slung on each side of a horse, under the guidance of a little negro, perched on the middle. Newton made his acknowledgments to the governor for his kind consideration, then embarked on board of the Marie Therese schooner, and in three days he once more found himself on shore in an English colony; with which piece of information I conclude this chapter.
’Tis pleasing to be schooled in a strange tongueBy female lips and eyes; that is, I meanWhen both the teacher and the taught are young,As was the case, at least, where I had been.They smile so when one’s right, and when one’s wrongThey smile still more.Byron.
’Tis pleasing to be schooled in a strange tongueBy female lips and eyes; that is, I meanWhen both the teacher and the taught are young,As was the case, at least, where I had been.They smile so when one’s right, and when one’s wrongThey smile still more.Byron.
Monsieur de Fontanges, aware of the impetuosity and caprice of his wife (at the same time that he acknowledged her many redeeming good qualities), did not further attempt to thwart her inclinations. His great objection to her plan was, the impropriety of retaining a prisoner, whom he was bound to give up to the proper authorities. He made a virtue of necessity, and having acquainted Newton with the wish of Madame de Fontanges, requested his parole of honour that he would not attempt to escape, if he was not delivered up to the authorities, and remain some time at Lieu Desiré. Newton, who had no wish to be acquainted with a Frenchcachot, sooner than it was absolutely necessary, gave the promise required by Monsieur de Fontanges, assuring him that ingratitude was not a part of his character. Monsieur de Fontanges then requested that Newton would accept of a portion of his wardrobe, which he would direct to be sent to the room that would be prepared for him. This affair being arranged, Newton made his bow to the lady, and in company with Monsieur de Fontanges, retired from the boudoir.
It may be suspected by the reader, that Madame de Fontanges was one of those ladies who cared a great deal about having their own way, and very little for her husband. As to the first part of the accusation, I can only observe, that I never yet had the fortune to fall in with any lady who did not try all she could to have her own way, nor do I conceive it to be a crime. As to the second, if the reader has formed that supposition, he is much mistaken. Madame de Fontanges was very much attached to her husband, and the attachment as well as the confidence was reciprocal.
It was not therefore from any feeling of jealousy that Monsieur de Fontanges had combated her resolution; but, as we have before observed, from a conviction that he was wanting in his duty, when he did not report the arrival of Newton at the plantation. The wish of Madame de Fontanges to detain Newton was, as she declared, a caprice on her part, which had entered her head, to amuse herself by teaching him French. It is true that had not Newton been remarkably prepossessing in his appearance, the idea would in all probability have never been conceived; but, observing that he was much above the common class, and wishing to relieve the general monotony of her life by any thing which would create amusement, she had formed the idea, which, when combated by her husband, was immediately strengthened to a resolution.
Of this Newton received the benefit. An excellent dinner or rather supper with Monsieur de Fontanges, a comfortable bed in a room supplied with all that convenience or luxury could demand, enabled him to pass a very different night from those which we have latterly described.
About twelve o’clock the ensuing day, Newton was summoned by one of the slave girls to the boudoir of Madame de Fontanges. He found her on the ottoman, as before. Newton, who had been operated upon by a black barber, and was dressed in the habiliments of Monsieur de Fontanges, made a much more respectable appearance than upon his former introduction.
“Bon jour, Monsieur,” said the lady.
Newton bowed respectfully.
“Comment vous appelez-vous?”
Newton, not understanding, answered with another bow.
“Le jeun homme n’entends pas madame,” observed Mimi.
“Que c’est ennuyant, monsieur,” said Madame Fontanges, pointing to herself; “Moi—Madame de Fontanges—vous,”—pointing to him.
“Newton Forster.”
“Nu—tong Fasta—ah, c’est bon, cela commence,” said the lady. “Allons, mes enfans répétez lui tous vous noms.”
“Moi—Mimi,” said the girl bearing that name, going up to Newton, and pointing to herself.
“Mimi,” repeated Newton, with a smile and nod of his head.
“Moi—Charlotte.”
“Moi—Louise.”
“Moi—Céleste.”
“Moi—Nina.”
“Moi—Caroline.”
“Moi—Manchette.”
“Et moi—Cupidon,” finished the little black boy, running up, and then retreating as fast back into his corner.
Newton repeated all the names, as the individuals respectively introduced themselves to him. Then there was a pause, during which, at the desire of Monsieur de Fontanges, Newton was offered a chair, and sat down.
“Allons—dites lui les noms de toute la garniture,” said Madame de Fontanges to her attendants.
“Oui, madame,” said Mimi, going up to Newton, and pointing to the fan in her hand,—”éventail.”
“Eventail,” repeated Newton, who began to be amused, and who now repeated every French word after them.
“Flaçon,” said Charlotte, showing him the eau de Cologne bottle.
“Chaise,” cried Louise, holding up a chair.
“Livre,” said Nina, pointing to a book.
“Mouchoir,” said Caroline, holding up an embroidered handkerchief.
“Montre” followed up Manchette, pointing to her mistress’s watch.
“Canapé,” cried Céleste, pointing to the ottoman.
“Joli garçon,” bawled out Cupidon, coming up to Newton, and pointing to himself.
This created a laugh, and then the lesson was continued. Every article in the room was successively pointed out to Newton, and he was obliged to repeat the name; and afterwards the articles of their dress were resorted to, much to his amusement. Then there was a dead stand:— the fact is, that there is no talking with noun substantives only.
“Ah! mon Dieu! il faut envoyer pour Monsieur de Fontanges,” cried the lady; “va le chercher, Louise.”
Monsieur de Fontanges soon made his appearance, when the lady explained to him their dilemma, and requested his assistance. Monsieur de Fontanges laughed, and explained to Newton, and then, by means of his interpretation, connected sentences were made, according to the fancy of the lady, some of which were the cause of great merriment. After an hour, the gentlemen made their bows.
“I think,” observed Monsieur de Fontanges, as they walked away, “that if you really are as anxious to learn our language as madame is to teach you, you had better come to me every morning for an hour. I shall have great pleasure in giving you any assistance in my power, and I trust that in a very short time that, with a little study of the grammar and dictionary, you will be able to hold a conversation with Madame de Fontanges, or even with her dark-complexioned page.”
Newton expressed his acknowledgments, and the next day he received his first lesson; after which he was summoned to support the theory by practice in the boudoir of Madame de Fontanges. It is hardly necessary to observe that each day increased the facility of communication.
For three months Newton was domiciled with Monsieur and Madame Fontanges, both of whom had gradually formed such an attachment to him, that the idea of parting never entered their head. He was now a very tolerable French scholar, and his narratives and adventures were to his benefactors a source of amusement, which amply repaid them for the trouble and kindness which they had shown to him. Newton was, in fact, a general favourite with every one on the plantation, from the highest to the lowest; and his presence received the same smile of welcome at the cottage of the slave, as at the boudoir of Madame de Fontanges.
Whatever may have been the result of Newton’s observations relative to slavery in the English colonies, his feelings of dislike insensibly wore away during his residence at Lieu Desirée; there he was at least convinced that a slave might be perfectly happy. It must be acknowledged that the French have invariably proved the kindest and most considerate of masters, and the state of bondage is much mitigated in the islands which appertain to that nation. The reason is obvious: in France, there is abonhommie, a degree of equality established between the different grades of society by universal politeness. A French servant is familiar with his master at the same time that he is respectful: and the master, in return, condescends to his inferior without forgetting their relative positions. This runs through society in general, and as no one can well be polite without some good-nature (for politeness, frivolous as it may appear, is a strong check upon those feelings of selfishness, too apt to be indulged in), it leads to a general feeling of good will towards others. This has naturally been practised by Frenchmen wherever they may be; and the consequence is, that the slaves are treated with more consideration, and, in return, have warmer feelings of attachment towards their owners than are to be found in colonies belonging to other nations. Newton perceived and acknowledged this, and, comparing the condition of the people at Lieu Desirée with that of most of the peasantry of Europe, was unwillingly obliged to confess that the former were in every respect the more fortunate and the more happy of the two.
One morning, soon after Newton had breakfasted with Monsieur de Fontanges, and had been summoned to the boudoir, a letter was brought in. It was from the governor to Monsieur de Fontanges, stating that he had heard with great surprise that Monsieur de Fontanges concealed an English prisoner in his house, and desiring that he might be immediately sent up to head-quarters. That there might be no delay or refusal, a corporal, accompanied by two file of men, brought down the intimation to the plantation.
Newton was in the very middle of a long story, Madame de Fontanges on the ottoman, and her attendants collected round her, seated on the floor—even Cupidon had advanced from his corner to within half distance, his mouth and eyes wide open, when Monsieur de Fontanges entered the boudoir, with anxiety and chagrin expressed in his countenance.
“Qu’est ce qu’il y a, mon ami?” said Madame de Fontanges, rising hastily and running up to her husband.
Monsieur de Fontanges answered by putting the governor’s letter into his wife’s hands.
“Ah! les barbares!” cried Madame de Fontanges, “est il possible? Pauvre Monsieur Nutong! on l’amène au cachôt.”
“Au cachôt!” cried all the coloured girls at a breath, and bursting into tears—“oh ciel!”
Monsieur de Fontanges then explained to Newton the order which he had received. Newton replied that he had had no right to expect otherwise on his first landing on the island; that he had incurred a heavy debt of gratitude to them for having preserved him so long from a prison; and that the remembrance of their kindness would tend to beguile the tedious hours of captivity (from which it may appear that Newton, in point of expressing himself, was half a Frenchman already). He then kissed the hand of Madame de Fontanges, tried to console the little slave girls, who were allau désespoir, patted Cupidon on the head, by way of farewell, and quitted the boudoir, in which he had passed so many happy hours. When he was outside, he again expressed his obligations to Monsieur de Fontanges, who then stated his determination to call upon his brother, the governor, and try to alleviate the hardships of his lot as much as was possible. In less than an hour Newton, in company with his host, was on the road to Basse Terre, leaving the corporal and his two file of men to walk back as fast as they could; the corporal having sufficientsavoir vivrenot to refuse the pledge of the governor’s brother for the safe delivery of the prisoner.
It was not until late in the evening that they arrived at Basse Terre, when they immediately proceeded to the house of the governor, and were admitted to his presence.
The governor, who had been much displeased at the circumstance of Newton having remained so long on the island, was more pacified when Monsieur de Fontanges explained to him the way in which he had been made prisoner, and the hardships which he had previously endured. Monsieur de Fontanges accounted for his long detention at Lieu Desirée by stating the real fact,viz, the pertinacity of Madame de Fontanges; which, although it might have been considered a very poor argument in England, had its due weight in a French colony.
The governor entered into conversation with Newton, who detailed to him the horrors of the shipwreck which he had undergone. The narrative appeared to affect him much. He told Newton that under such circumstances he could hardly consider him as a prisoner, and would take the first opportunity of releasing him, and would accept his parole for not quitting the island. Newton returned his thanks for so much courtesy, and withdrew in company with Monsieur de Fontanges.
“Monsieur le Marquis has much sympathy for those who have been shipwrecked,” observed Monsieur de Fontanges, after they had quitted the room. “Poor man! he lost his wife, a beautiful young woman, and his only child, a little girl, about seven years back, when they were proceeding home in a vessel bound to Havre. The vessel has never been heard of since, and he has never recovered the loss.”
“In what year was it?” inquired Newton.
“In the autumn of the year —.”
“There were many vessels wrecked on our coast during that dreadful winter,” replied Newton: “I myself, when in a coaster, picked up several articles belonging to a French vessel. I have them in my possession now;—they are of some value.”
“What did they consist of?” inquired Monsieur de Fontanges.
“A large trunk, containing the wearing apparel of a female and a child: there were also several orders of knighthood, and some jewels; but I hardly know what they were, as it is some time since I have looked at them.”
“How strange that you could find no clue to discover the names of the parties!”
“There were French letters,” replied Newton, “which I could not read; they were only signed by initials, which did not correspond with the marks on the linen belonging to the lady, although the surname might have been the same as that of the child.”
“Do you recollect the initials?”
“Perfectly well: the marks on the lady’s apparel were LC, that on the linen of the infant JF.”
“Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” cried Monsieur de Fontanges; “then it may indeed have been the apparel of the Marquise de Fontanges. The linen must have been some marked with her maiden name, which was Louise de Colmar. The child was christened Julie de Fontanges, after her grandmother. My poor brother had intended to take his passage home in the same vessel, his successor being hourly expected; but the frigate in which the new governor had embarked was taken by an English squadron, and my brother was forced to remain here.”
“Then the property must undoubtedly belong to the marquis,” replied Newton: “I only wish I could have been able to assure him that his wife and child were equally safe; but that I am afraid is impossible, as there can be no doubt but that they were all lost. Do you mean to communicate what I have told you to the marquis?”
“By no means; it will only tear open a wound which has but partially healed. If you will send me all the particulars when you return I shall feel much obliged, not that the effects are of any consequence. The marquise and her child are undoubtedly lost, and it could be no consolation to my brother to ascertain that a trunk of their effects had been saved.”
Here the conversation dropped, and was never again renewed.
Newton was heartily welcomed again at Lieu Desirée, where he remained three weeks, when a note from the governor informed him that a cartel was about to sail.
It was with mutual pain that Newton and his kind friends took their farewell of each other. In this instance Monsieur de Fontanges did not accompany him to Basse Terre; but bade him adieu at his own door. Newton, soon after he was on the road, perceived that Monsieur de Fontanges had acted from a motive of delicacy, that he might not receive the thanks of Newton for two valises, well furnished, which overtook Newton about a quarter of a mile from the plantation, slung on each side of a horse, under the guidance of a little negro, perched on the middle. Newton made his acknowledgments to the governor for his kind consideration, then embarked on board of the Marie Therese schooner, and in three days he once more found himself on shore in an English colony; with which piece of information I conclude this chapter.
Volume Two--Chapter Four.Mercy on us! a bairn, a very pretty bairn,A boy, a child.Shakespeare.When Newton was landed from the cartel at Jamaica, he found the advantage of not being clad in the garb of a sailor, as all those who were in such costume were immediately handed over to the admiral of the station, to celebrate their restoration to liberty on board of a man-of-war; but the clothes supplied to him by the generosity of Monsieur de Fontanges had any thing but a maritime appearance, and Newton was landed with his portmanteaus by one of the man-of-war’s boats, whose crew had little idea of his being a person so peculiarly suited to their views, possessing as he did the necessary qualifications of youth, activity, and a thorough knowledge of his profession. Newton was so anxious to return home, that after a few days’ expensive sojourn at an hotel, frequented chiefly by the officers of the man-of-war in port, he resolved to apply to the captain of a frigate ordered home with despatches, to permit him to take a passage. He had formed a slight intimacy with some of the officers, who assured him that he would experience no difficulty in obtaining his request. His application was made in person, and after his statement that he had been released in the last cartel which had come from Guadaloupe, his request was immediately granted, without any farther questions being put relative to his profession, or the manner in which he had been captured. The captain very civilly gave him to understand, that he might mess with the gun-room officers, if he could arrange with them, and that he expected to sail on the evening of the ensuing day. Newton immediately repaired on board of the frigate, to ascertain if the officers would receive him as a messmate; and further, whether the amount of his mess-money would be more than he could in prudence afford. At the bottom of one of the portmanteaus he had found a bag of two hundred dollars, supplied by his generous host, and in the same bag there was also deposited a small note from Madame de Fontanges, wishing him success, and enclosing (as asouvenir) a ring, which he had often perceived on her finger; but, adequate as was this supply to his own wants, Newton did not forget that his father was, in all probability, in great distress, and would require his assistance on his return. He was therefore naturally anxious not to expend more than was absolutely necessary in defraying his passage. The old first-lieutenant, to whom, upon his arrival on board, he was introduced as commanding officer, received him with much urbanity; and when Newton stated that he had obtained the captain’s permission to make the application immediately acceded to his wishes on the part of his messmates as well as of himself. When Newton followed up his application, by requesting to know the expense which he would incur, as, in case of its being greater than his finances could meet, he would request permission to choose a less expensive mess.“I am aware,” replied the veteran, “that those who have been shipwrecked, and in a French prison, are not likely to be very flush of cash. It is, however, a point on which I must consult my messmates. Excuse me one moment, and I will bring you an answer: I have no doubt but that it will be satisfactorily arranged; but there is nothing like settling these points at once. Mr Webster, see that the lighter shoves off the moment that she is clear,” continued the first-lieutenant to one of the midshipmen as he descended the quarter-deck ladder, leaving Newton to walk the quarter-deck.In a few minutes the first-lieutenant reappeared, with one or two others of the gun-room mess, who greeted him most cordially.“I have seen all that are requisite,” said he to Newton. “Two I have not spoken to, the master and the purser; they are both poor men, with families. If, therefore, you will not be too proud to accept it, I am requested to offer you a free passage from the other officers of the mess, as we feel convinced that your company will more than repay us. The proportion of the expense of your passage to the other two will be but one or two pounds;—a trifle, indeed, but still of consequence to them; and that is the only expense which you will incur. If you can afford to pay that, any time after your arrival in England, we shall be most happy to receive you, and make the passage as comfortable and pleasant as circumstances will permit.”To this most liberal proposition Newton most gladly acceded. The officers who had come on deck with the first-lieutenant invited Newton below, where he was introduced to the remainder of the mess, who were most of them fine young men, as happy and careless as if youth was to last for ever. Having pledged each other in a glass of grog, Newton returned on shore. The next morning he made his arrangements, paid his bill at the hotel, and before twelve o’clock was again on board of the frigate, which lay with the Blue Peter hoisted, and her fore-topsail loose, waiting for her captain, who was still detained on shore while the admiral and governor made up their despatches.When Newton had applied to the captain of the frigate for a passage home, he could hardly believe it possible that the person to whom he was introduced could be entrusted with the command of so fine a vessel. He was a slight-made, fair-complexioned lad of nineteen or twenty years at the most, without an incipient mark of manhood on his chin. He appeared lively, active, and good-natured; but what were the other qualifications he possessed, to discover such a mark of confidence, were to Newton an enigma requiring solution.It was, however, to be explained in very few words. He was the son of the admiral of the station, and (as at that period there was no regulation with respect to age, to check the most rapid promotion), after he had served his time as midshipman, in less than two months he had been raised through the different ranks of lieutenant, commander, and post-captain. On receiving the latter step, he was at the same time appointed to the frigate in question, one of the finest which belonged to his majesty’s service. In order, however, that he should to a certain degree be in leading-strings, a very old and efficient officer had been selected by the admiral as his first-lieutenant. Whether, in common justice, the captain and his subordinate ought not to have changed places, I leave the reader to guess; and it was the more unfair towards the worthy old first-lieutenant, as, if the admiral had not entertained such a high opinion of his abilities and judgment, as to confide to him the charge of his son, he would long before have been promoted himself to one of the many vacancies which so repeatedly occurred.Captain Carrington had all the faults, which, if not inherent, will naturally be acquired by those who are too early intrusted with power. He was self-sufficient, arbitrary, and passionate. His good qualities consisted in a generous disposition, a kindness of heart when not irritated, a manly courage, and a frank acknowledgment of his errors. Had he been allowed to serve a proper time in the various grades of his profession,—had he been taught toobeybefore he had been permitted tocommand,—he had within him all the materials for a good officer: as it was, he was neither officer, sailor, nor any thing else, except aspoiled boy. He would often attempt to carry on the duty as captain, and as often failed from want of knowledge. He would commence manoeuvring the ship, but find himself unable to proceed. At these unfortunatebreak downs, he would be obliged to resign the speaking-trumpet to the first-lieutenant; and if, as sometimes happened, the latter (either from accident, or perhaps from a pardonable pique at having the duty taken out of his hands), was not at his elbow to prompt him when at fault—at these times the cant phrase of the officers, taken from some farce, used to be, “York, you’re wanted.”About an hour before sunset the juvenile captain made his appearance on board, ratherfreshfrom taking leave of his companions and acquaintances on shore. The frigate was got under weigh by the first-lieutenant, and before the sun had disappeared was bounding over the foaming seas in the direction of the country which had nurtured to maturity the gnarled oak selected for her beautiful frame. Newton joined his new messmates in drinking a prosperous passage to old England; and, with a heart grateful for his improved prospects, retired to the hammock which had been prepared for him.When Newton rose in the morning, he found that the wind, had shifted contrary during the night, and that the frigate was close hauled, darting through the smooth water with her royals set. At ten o’clock the master proposed tacking the ship, and the first-lieutenant went down to report his wish to the captain.“Very well, Mr Nourse,” replied the captain; “turn the hands up.”“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant, leaving the cabin.“Call the boatswain, quarter-master—all hands ’bout ship.”“All hands ’bout ship,” was now bellowed out by the boatswain, and re-echoed by his mates at the several hatchways, with a due proportion of whistling from their pipes.“Tumble up, there—tumble up smartly, my lads.”In a minute every man was on deck, and at his station; many of them, however,tumbling downin their laudable hurry totumble up.“Silence there, fore and aft—every man to his station,” cried the first-lieutenant, through his speaking trumpet. “All ready, sir,” reported the first-lieutenant to the captain, who had followed him on deck. “Shall we put the helm down?”“If you please, Mr Nourse.”“Down with the helm.”When the master reported it down, “The helm’s a-lee,” roared the first-lieutenant.But Captain Carrington, who thought light winds and smooth water a good opportunity for practice, interrupted him as he was walking towards the weather gangway: “Mr Nourse, Mr Nourse, if you please, I’ll work the ship.”“Very good, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant, handing him the speaking-trumpet. “Rise tacks and sheets, if you please, sir,” continued the first-lieutenant (sotto voce), “the sails are lifting.”“Tacks and sheets!” cried the captain.“Gather in on the lee main-tack, my lads,” said the first-lieutenant, going to the lee gangway to see the duty performed.Now Captain Carrington did know that “mainsail haul” was the next word of command; but as this order requires a degree of precision as to the exact time at which it is given, he looked over his shoulder for the first-lieutenant, who usually prompted him in this exigence. Not seeing him there, he became disconcerted; and during the few seconds that he cast his anxious eyes about the deck, to discover where the first-lieutenant was, the ship had passed head to wind.“Mainsail haul!” at last cried the captain; but it was too late; the yards would not swing round; every thing went wrong; and the ship wasin irons.“You hauled a little too late, sir,” observed the first-lieutenant, who had joined him. “You must box her off, sir, if you please.”But Captain Carrington, although he could put the ship in irons, did not know how to take her out.“The ship is certainly most cursedly out of trim,” observed he; “she’ll neither wear nor stay. Try her yourself, Mr Nourse,” continued the captain, “I’m sick of her;”—and with a heightened colour he handed the speaking-trumpet over to the first-lieutenant.“York, you’re wanted,” observed the lieutenant abaft to the marine-officer, dropping down the corners of his mouth.“York, you’re wanted,” tittered the midshipmen, in whispers, as they passed each other.“Well, I’ve won your grog, Jim,” cried one of the marines, who was standing at the forebrace; “I knew he’d never do it.”“He’s like me,” observed another, in a low tone; “he left school too arly, and lost his edication.”Such were the results of injudicious patronage. A fine ship intrusted to a boy, ignorant of his duty, laughed at, not only by the officers, but even by the men; and the honour of the country at stake, and running no small risk of being tarnished, if the frigate met with a vigorous opponent. (It is true that an officer must now serve a certain time in the various grades before promotion, which time as supposed to be sufficient for him to acquire a knowledge of his profession; but whether that knowledge is obtained, depends, as before, upon the young officer’s prospects in life. If from family interest he issureof promotion, he is not quite so sure of being a seaman.) Thank God, this is now over! Judicious regulations have put a stop to such selfish and short-sighted patronage. Selfish, because those who were guilty of it risked the honour of the nation to advance the interests of theirprotegés; short-sighted, because it is of little use making a young man a captain if you cannot make him an officer. I might here enter into a discussion which might be of some use, but it would be out of place in a work intended more for amusement than for instruction; nor would it in all probability be read. I always make it a rule myself, to skip over all those parts introduced in a light work which are of denser materials than the rest; and I cannot expect but that others will do the same. There is a time and place for all things; and like the master of Ravenscourt, “I bide my time.”The frigate dashed gallantly through the water, at one time careening to an adverse wind, at another rolling, before a favouring gale: and, to judge from her rapid motion, she was not in such very bad trim as Captain Carrington had found out. Each day rapidly brought her nearer to their cherished home, as “she walked the waters like a thing of life.” I can conceive no prouder situation in this world than being captain of a fine frigate, with a well-disciplined crew; but damn youreight-and-twenties!“We had better take in the royals, if you please, sir,” said the first-lieutenant, as he came, with his hat in his hand, into the cabin, where the captain was at dinner with several of the officers, the table crowded with a variety of decanters and French green bottles.“Pho! nonsense! Mr Nourse, we’ll carry them a little longer,” replied the captain, who had beencarrying too much sailanother way. “Sit down and take a glass of wine with us. You always cry out before you’re hurt, Nourse.”“I thank you, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant, seriously; “you will excuse me: it is time to beat to quarters.”“Well, then, do so; I had no idea it was so late. Mr Forster, you don’t pass the bottle.”“I have taken enough, I thank you, sir.”The officers present also made the same statement.“Well, then, if you won’t, gentlemen—steward, let’s have some coffee.”The coffee appeared and disappeared; and the officers made their bows and quitted the cabin as the first-lieutenant entered it to report the muster at quarters.“All present and sober, sir. I am afraid, sir,” continued he, “the masts will be over the side, if we do not clew up the royals.”“Stop a moment, if you please, Mr Nourse, until I go up and judge for myself,” replied the captain, who was inclined to be pertinacious.Captain Carrington went on deck. The men were still ranged round the decks, at their quarters; more than one pair of eyes were raised aloft to watch the masts, which were bending like coach-whips, and complaining bitterly.“Shall we beat a retreat, and pipe hands to shorten sail, sir? We had better take in the third reefs, sir? it looks, very squally to-night,” observed the first-lieutenant.“Really, Mr Nourse, I don’t exactly perceive the necessity—”But at that moment the fore and main-top-gallant-masts went over the side; and the look-out man at the fore-top-gallant-mast-head, who had been called down by the first-lieutenant, but did not hear the injunction, was hurled into the sea to leeward.“Helm down!” cried the master.“Man overboard!—man overboard!” echoed round the decks; while some of the officers and men jumped into the quarter boats, and off the gripes and lashings.Captain Carrington, who was immediately sobered by the catastrophe, which he felt had been occasioned by his own wilfulness, ran aft to the taffrail; and when he saw the poor sailor struggling in the waves, impelled by his really fine nature, he darted overboard to save him; but he was not by any means a powerful swimmer, and, encumbered with his apparel, it was soon evident that he could do no more than keep himself afloat.Newton, who perceived how matters stood, with great presence of mind caught up two of the oars from the boat hanging astern, and darted over to the assistance of both. One oar he first carried to the seaman, who was exhausted and sinking. Placing it under his arms, he then swam with the other to Captain Carrington, who could not have remained above water but a few seconds more without the timely relief. He then quietly swam by the side of Captain Carrington, without any attempt at extra exertion.The boat was soon lowered down, and in a few minutes they were all three again on board, and in safety. Captain Carrington thanked Newton for his assistance, and acknowledged his error to the first-lieutenant. The officers and men looked upon Newton with respect and increased goodwill; and the sailors declared that the captain was a prime little fellow, although he hadn’t had an “edication.”Nothing worthy of remark occurred during the remainder of the passage. The ship arrived at Plymouth, and Newton took leave of his friendly shipmates, Captain Carrington requesting that Newton would command any interest that he had, if ever it should be required. It was with a throbbing heart that Newton descended from the outside of the coach which conveyed him to Liverpool, and hastened towards the obscure street in which he left his father residing. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when Newton arrived at his father’s door. To his delight, he perceived through the shop-window that his father was sitting at his bench;—but his joy was checked when he perceived his haggard countenance. The old man appeared to be absorbed in deep thought, his cheek resting upon his hand, and his eyes cast down upon the little bench, to which the vice used to be fixed, but from which it was now removed.The door was ajar, and Newton entered with his portmanteau in his hand; but whatever noise he might have made was not sufficient to rouse Nicholas, who continued in the same position.With one glance round the shop Newton perceived that it was bare of every thing; even the glazed cases on the counter, which contained the spectacles, etcetera, had disappeared. All bespoke the same tale, as did the appearance of his father—misery and starvation.“My dearest father!” cried Newton, unable to contain himself any longer.“How!—what?” cried Nicholas, starting at the voice, but not looking round. “Pho! nonsense! he’s dead,” continued the old man, communing with himself, as he again settled into his former position.“My dearest father, I’m not dead!—look round—’tis Newton! alive and well.”“Newton!” replied the old man, rising from his stool, and tottering to the counter, which was between them, on which he laid both his hands to support himself, as he looked into his son’s face. “’Tis Newton, sure enough! My dear, dear boy!—then you an’t dead?”“No, indeed, father; I am alive and well, thank God!”“Thank God too!” said Nicholas, dropping his face on the counter, and bursting into tears.Newton sprung over to the side where his father was, and embraced him. For some time they were locked in each other’s arms; when Nicholas, who had recovered his composure, looked at Newton, and said, “Are you hungry, my dear boy?”“Yes, indeed I am,” replied Newton, smiling, as the tears coursed down his cheeks; “for I have had nothing since breakfast.”“And I have had nothing for these two days,” replied Nicholas, leaning back to the wall in evident exhaustion.“Good God! you don’t say so?” cried Newton, “where can I buy something ready cooked?”“At the shop round the corner; there’s a nice piece of boiled beef there; I saw it yesterday. I offered my improvement on the duplex for a slice; but he would not trust me, even for that.”Newton ran out, and in a few minutes re-appeared with the beef in question, some bread, and a pot of porter, with two plates and knives and forks, which the people had lent him, upon his putting down a deposit. He laid them on the counter before his father, who, without saying a word, commenced his repast: the beef disappeared—the bread vanished—the porter-pot was raised to his mouth, and in a moment it was dry!“Never made a better dinner, Newton,” observed Nicholas; “but I wish there had been a little more of it!”Newton, who had only been a spectator, immediately went out for another supply; and on his return assisted his father in its demolition.“Newton,” said Nicholas, who for a few moments had relinquished his task, “I’ve been thinking—that—I should like another slice of that beef! and Newton, as I said before—I’ll trouble you for the porter!”
Mercy on us! a bairn, a very pretty bairn,A boy, a child.Shakespeare.
Mercy on us! a bairn, a very pretty bairn,A boy, a child.Shakespeare.
When Newton was landed from the cartel at Jamaica, he found the advantage of not being clad in the garb of a sailor, as all those who were in such costume were immediately handed over to the admiral of the station, to celebrate their restoration to liberty on board of a man-of-war; but the clothes supplied to him by the generosity of Monsieur de Fontanges had any thing but a maritime appearance, and Newton was landed with his portmanteaus by one of the man-of-war’s boats, whose crew had little idea of his being a person so peculiarly suited to their views, possessing as he did the necessary qualifications of youth, activity, and a thorough knowledge of his profession. Newton was so anxious to return home, that after a few days’ expensive sojourn at an hotel, frequented chiefly by the officers of the man-of-war in port, he resolved to apply to the captain of a frigate ordered home with despatches, to permit him to take a passage. He had formed a slight intimacy with some of the officers, who assured him that he would experience no difficulty in obtaining his request. His application was made in person, and after his statement that he had been released in the last cartel which had come from Guadaloupe, his request was immediately granted, without any farther questions being put relative to his profession, or the manner in which he had been captured. The captain very civilly gave him to understand, that he might mess with the gun-room officers, if he could arrange with them, and that he expected to sail on the evening of the ensuing day. Newton immediately repaired on board of the frigate, to ascertain if the officers would receive him as a messmate; and further, whether the amount of his mess-money would be more than he could in prudence afford. At the bottom of one of the portmanteaus he had found a bag of two hundred dollars, supplied by his generous host, and in the same bag there was also deposited a small note from Madame de Fontanges, wishing him success, and enclosing (as asouvenir) a ring, which he had often perceived on her finger; but, adequate as was this supply to his own wants, Newton did not forget that his father was, in all probability, in great distress, and would require his assistance on his return. He was therefore naturally anxious not to expend more than was absolutely necessary in defraying his passage. The old first-lieutenant, to whom, upon his arrival on board, he was introduced as commanding officer, received him with much urbanity; and when Newton stated that he had obtained the captain’s permission to make the application immediately acceded to his wishes on the part of his messmates as well as of himself. When Newton followed up his application, by requesting to know the expense which he would incur, as, in case of its being greater than his finances could meet, he would request permission to choose a less expensive mess.
“I am aware,” replied the veteran, “that those who have been shipwrecked, and in a French prison, are not likely to be very flush of cash. It is, however, a point on which I must consult my messmates. Excuse me one moment, and I will bring you an answer: I have no doubt but that it will be satisfactorily arranged; but there is nothing like settling these points at once. Mr Webster, see that the lighter shoves off the moment that she is clear,” continued the first-lieutenant to one of the midshipmen as he descended the quarter-deck ladder, leaving Newton to walk the quarter-deck.
In a few minutes the first-lieutenant reappeared, with one or two others of the gun-room mess, who greeted him most cordially.
“I have seen all that are requisite,” said he to Newton. “Two I have not spoken to, the master and the purser; they are both poor men, with families. If, therefore, you will not be too proud to accept it, I am requested to offer you a free passage from the other officers of the mess, as we feel convinced that your company will more than repay us. The proportion of the expense of your passage to the other two will be but one or two pounds;—a trifle, indeed, but still of consequence to them; and that is the only expense which you will incur. If you can afford to pay that, any time after your arrival in England, we shall be most happy to receive you, and make the passage as comfortable and pleasant as circumstances will permit.”
To this most liberal proposition Newton most gladly acceded. The officers who had come on deck with the first-lieutenant invited Newton below, where he was introduced to the remainder of the mess, who were most of them fine young men, as happy and careless as if youth was to last for ever. Having pledged each other in a glass of grog, Newton returned on shore. The next morning he made his arrangements, paid his bill at the hotel, and before twelve o’clock was again on board of the frigate, which lay with the Blue Peter hoisted, and her fore-topsail loose, waiting for her captain, who was still detained on shore while the admiral and governor made up their despatches.
When Newton had applied to the captain of the frigate for a passage home, he could hardly believe it possible that the person to whom he was introduced could be entrusted with the command of so fine a vessel. He was a slight-made, fair-complexioned lad of nineteen or twenty years at the most, without an incipient mark of manhood on his chin. He appeared lively, active, and good-natured; but what were the other qualifications he possessed, to discover such a mark of confidence, were to Newton an enigma requiring solution.
It was, however, to be explained in very few words. He was the son of the admiral of the station, and (as at that period there was no regulation with respect to age, to check the most rapid promotion), after he had served his time as midshipman, in less than two months he had been raised through the different ranks of lieutenant, commander, and post-captain. On receiving the latter step, he was at the same time appointed to the frigate in question, one of the finest which belonged to his majesty’s service. In order, however, that he should to a certain degree be in leading-strings, a very old and efficient officer had been selected by the admiral as his first-lieutenant. Whether, in common justice, the captain and his subordinate ought not to have changed places, I leave the reader to guess; and it was the more unfair towards the worthy old first-lieutenant, as, if the admiral had not entertained such a high opinion of his abilities and judgment, as to confide to him the charge of his son, he would long before have been promoted himself to one of the many vacancies which so repeatedly occurred.
Captain Carrington had all the faults, which, if not inherent, will naturally be acquired by those who are too early intrusted with power. He was self-sufficient, arbitrary, and passionate. His good qualities consisted in a generous disposition, a kindness of heart when not irritated, a manly courage, and a frank acknowledgment of his errors. Had he been allowed to serve a proper time in the various grades of his profession,—had he been taught toobeybefore he had been permitted tocommand,—he had within him all the materials for a good officer: as it was, he was neither officer, sailor, nor any thing else, except aspoiled boy. He would often attempt to carry on the duty as captain, and as often failed from want of knowledge. He would commence manoeuvring the ship, but find himself unable to proceed. At these unfortunatebreak downs, he would be obliged to resign the speaking-trumpet to the first-lieutenant; and if, as sometimes happened, the latter (either from accident, or perhaps from a pardonable pique at having the duty taken out of his hands), was not at his elbow to prompt him when at fault—at these times the cant phrase of the officers, taken from some farce, used to be, “York, you’re wanted.”
About an hour before sunset the juvenile captain made his appearance on board, ratherfreshfrom taking leave of his companions and acquaintances on shore. The frigate was got under weigh by the first-lieutenant, and before the sun had disappeared was bounding over the foaming seas in the direction of the country which had nurtured to maturity the gnarled oak selected for her beautiful frame. Newton joined his new messmates in drinking a prosperous passage to old England; and, with a heart grateful for his improved prospects, retired to the hammock which had been prepared for him.
When Newton rose in the morning, he found that the wind, had shifted contrary during the night, and that the frigate was close hauled, darting through the smooth water with her royals set. At ten o’clock the master proposed tacking the ship, and the first-lieutenant went down to report his wish to the captain.
“Very well, Mr Nourse,” replied the captain; “turn the hands up.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant, leaving the cabin.
“Call the boatswain, quarter-master—all hands ’bout ship.”
“All hands ’bout ship,” was now bellowed out by the boatswain, and re-echoed by his mates at the several hatchways, with a due proportion of whistling from their pipes.
“Tumble up, there—tumble up smartly, my lads.”
In a minute every man was on deck, and at his station; many of them, however,tumbling downin their laudable hurry totumble up.
“Silence there, fore and aft—every man to his station,” cried the first-lieutenant, through his speaking trumpet. “All ready, sir,” reported the first-lieutenant to the captain, who had followed him on deck. “Shall we put the helm down?”
“If you please, Mr Nourse.”
“Down with the helm.”
When the master reported it down, “The helm’s a-lee,” roared the first-lieutenant.
But Captain Carrington, who thought light winds and smooth water a good opportunity for practice, interrupted him as he was walking towards the weather gangway: “Mr Nourse, Mr Nourse, if you please, I’ll work the ship.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant, handing him the speaking-trumpet. “Rise tacks and sheets, if you please, sir,” continued the first-lieutenant (sotto voce), “the sails are lifting.”
“Tacks and sheets!” cried the captain.
“Gather in on the lee main-tack, my lads,” said the first-lieutenant, going to the lee gangway to see the duty performed.
Now Captain Carrington did know that “mainsail haul” was the next word of command; but as this order requires a degree of precision as to the exact time at which it is given, he looked over his shoulder for the first-lieutenant, who usually prompted him in this exigence. Not seeing him there, he became disconcerted; and during the few seconds that he cast his anxious eyes about the deck, to discover where the first-lieutenant was, the ship had passed head to wind.
“Mainsail haul!” at last cried the captain; but it was too late; the yards would not swing round; every thing went wrong; and the ship wasin irons.
“You hauled a little too late, sir,” observed the first-lieutenant, who had joined him. “You must box her off, sir, if you please.”
But Captain Carrington, although he could put the ship in irons, did not know how to take her out.
“The ship is certainly most cursedly out of trim,” observed he; “she’ll neither wear nor stay. Try her yourself, Mr Nourse,” continued the captain, “I’m sick of her;”—and with a heightened colour he handed the speaking-trumpet over to the first-lieutenant.
“York, you’re wanted,” observed the lieutenant abaft to the marine-officer, dropping down the corners of his mouth.
“York, you’re wanted,” tittered the midshipmen, in whispers, as they passed each other.
“Well, I’ve won your grog, Jim,” cried one of the marines, who was standing at the forebrace; “I knew he’d never do it.”
“He’s like me,” observed another, in a low tone; “he left school too arly, and lost his edication.”
Such were the results of injudicious patronage. A fine ship intrusted to a boy, ignorant of his duty, laughed at, not only by the officers, but even by the men; and the honour of the country at stake, and running no small risk of being tarnished, if the frigate met with a vigorous opponent. (It is true that an officer must now serve a certain time in the various grades before promotion, which time as supposed to be sufficient for him to acquire a knowledge of his profession; but whether that knowledge is obtained, depends, as before, upon the young officer’s prospects in life. If from family interest he issureof promotion, he is not quite so sure of being a seaman.) Thank God, this is now over! Judicious regulations have put a stop to such selfish and short-sighted patronage. Selfish, because those who were guilty of it risked the honour of the nation to advance the interests of theirprotegés; short-sighted, because it is of little use making a young man a captain if you cannot make him an officer. I might here enter into a discussion which might be of some use, but it would be out of place in a work intended more for amusement than for instruction; nor would it in all probability be read. I always make it a rule myself, to skip over all those parts introduced in a light work which are of denser materials than the rest; and I cannot expect but that others will do the same. There is a time and place for all things; and like the master of Ravenscourt, “I bide my time.”
The frigate dashed gallantly through the water, at one time careening to an adverse wind, at another rolling, before a favouring gale: and, to judge from her rapid motion, she was not in such very bad trim as Captain Carrington had found out. Each day rapidly brought her nearer to their cherished home, as “she walked the waters like a thing of life.” I can conceive no prouder situation in this world than being captain of a fine frigate, with a well-disciplined crew; but damn youreight-and-twenties!
“We had better take in the royals, if you please, sir,” said the first-lieutenant, as he came, with his hat in his hand, into the cabin, where the captain was at dinner with several of the officers, the table crowded with a variety of decanters and French green bottles.
“Pho! nonsense! Mr Nourse, we’ll carry them a little longer,” replied the captain, who had beencarrying too much sailanother way. “Sit down and take a glass of wine with us. You always cry out before you’re hurt, Nourse.”
“I thank you, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant, seriously; “you will excuse me: it is time to beat to quarters.”
“Well, then, do so; I had no idea it was so late. Mr Forster, you don’t pass the bottle.”
“I have taken enough, I thank you, sir.”
The officers present also made the same statement.
“Well, then, if you won’t, gentlemen—steward, let’s have some coffee.”
The coffee appeared and disappeared; and the officers made their bows and quitted the cabin as the first-lieutenant entered it to report the muster at quarters.
“All present and sober, sir. I am afraid, sir,” continued he, “the masts will be over the side, if we do not clew up the royals.”
“Stop a moment, if you please, Mr Nourse, until I go up and judge for myself,” replied the captain, who was inclined to be pertinacious.
Captain Carrington went on deck. The men were still ranged round the decks, at their quarters; more than one pair of eyes were raised aloft to watch the masts, which were bending like coach-whips, and complaining bitterly.
“Shall we beat a retreat, and pipe hands to shorten sail, sir? We had better take in the third reefs, sir? it looks, very squally to-night,” observed the first-lieutenant.
“Really, Mr Nourse, I don’t exactly perceive the necessity—”
But at that moment the fore and main-top-gallant-masts went over the side; and the look-out man at the fore-top-gallant-mast-head, who had been called down by the first-lieutenant, but did not hear the injunction, was hurled into the sea to leeward.
“Helm down!” cried the master.
“Man overboard!—man overboard!” echoed round the decks; while some of the officers and men jumped into the quarter boats, and off the gripes and lashings.
Captain Carrington, who was immediately sobered by the catastrophe, which he felt had been occasioned by his own wilfulness, ran aft to the taffrail; and when he saw the poor sailor struggling in the waves, impelled by his really fine nature, he darted overboard to save him; but he was not by any means a powerful swimmer, and, encumbered with his apparel, it was soon evident that he could do no more than keep himself afloat.
Newton, who perceived how matters stood, with great presence of mind caught up two of the oars from the boat hanging astern, and darted over to the assistance of both. One oar he first carried to the seaman, who was exhausted and sinking. Placing it under his arms, he then swam with the other to Captain Carrington, who could not have remained above water but a few seconds more without the timely relief. He then quietly swam by the side of Captain Carrington, without any attempt at extra exertion.
The boat was soon lowered down, and in a few minutes they were all three again on board, and in safety. Captain Carrington thanked Newton for his assistance, and acknowledged his error to the first-lieutenant. The officers and men looked upon Newton with respect and increased goodwill; and the sailors declared that the captain was a prime little fellow, although he hadn’t had an “edication.”
Nothing worthy of remark occurred during the remainder of the passage. The ship arrived at Plymouth, and Newton took leave of his friendly shipmates, Captain Carrington requesting that Newton would command any interest that he had, if ever it should be required. It was with a throbbing heart that Newton descended from the outside of the coach which conveyed him to Liverpool, and hastened towards the obscure street in which he left his father residing. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when Newton arrived at his father’s door. To his delight, he perceived through the shop-window that his father was sitting at his bench;—but his joy was checked when he perceived his haggard countenance. The old man appeared to be absorbed in deep thought, his cheek resting upon his hand, and his eyes cast down upon the little bench, to which the vice used to be fixed, but from which it was now removed.
The door was ajar, and Newton entered with his portmanteau in his hand; but whatever noise he might have made was not sufficient to rouse Nicholas, who continued in the same position.
With one glance round the shop Newton perceived that it was bare of every thing; even the glazed cases on the counter, which contained the spectacles, etcetera, had disappeared. All bespoke the same tale, as did the appearance of his father—misery and starvation.
“My dearest father!” cried Newton, unable to contain himself any longer.
“How!—what?” cried Nicholas, starting at the voice, but not looking round. “Pho! nonsense! he’s dead,” continued the old man, communing with himself, as he again settled into his former position.
“My dearest father, I’m not dead!—look round—’tis Newton! alive and well.”
“Newton!” replied the old man, rising from his stool, and tottering to the counter, which was between them, on which he laid both his hands to support himself, as he looked into his son’s face. “’Tis Newton, sure enough! My dear, dear boy!—then you an’t dead?”
“No, indeed, father; I am alive and well, thank God!”
“Thank God too!” said Nicholas, dropping his face on the counter, and bursting into tears.
Newton sprung over to the side where his father was, and embraced him. For some time they were locked in each other’s arms; when Nicholas, who had recovered his composure, looked at Newton, and said, “Are you hungry, my dear boy?”
“Yes, indeed I am,” replied Newton, smiling, as the tears coursed down his cheeks; “for I have had nothing since breakfast.”
“And I have had nothing for these two days,” replied Nicholas, leaning back to the wall in evident exhaustion.
“Good God! you don’t say so?” cried Newton, “where can I buy something ready cooked?”
“At the shop round the corner; there’s a nice piece of boiled beef there; I saw it yesterday. I offered my improvement on the duplex for a slice; but he would not trust me, even for that.”
Newton ran out, and in a few minutes re-appeared with the beef in question, some bread, and a pot of porter, with two plates and knives and forks, which the people had lent him, upon his putting down a deposit. He laid them on the counter before his father, who, without saying a word, commenced his repast: the beef disappeared—the bread vanished—the porter-pot was raised to his mouth, and in a moment it was dry!
“Never made a better dinner, Newton,” observed Nicholas; “but I wish there had been a little more of it!”
Newton, who had only been a spectator, immediately went out for another supply; and on his return assisted his father in its demolition.
“Newton,” said Nicholas, who for a few moments had relinquished his task, “I’ve been thinking—that—I should like another slice of that beef! and Newton, as I said before—I’ll trouble you for the porter!”
Volume Two--Chapter Five.Orlando.Then forbear your food a little while,While, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,And give it food. There is a poor old roanOppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger.Shakespeare.Reader, were you ever really hungry? I do not mean the common hunger arising from health and exercise, and which you have the means of appeasing at the moment when it may be considered a source of pleasure rather than of pain:— I refer to the gnawing of starvation; because if you have not, you can form no conception of the agony of the suffering. Fortunately, but very few of my readers can have any knowledge of it; the general sympathy which it creates is from an ideal, not a practical knowledge. It has been my lot during the vicissitudes of a maritime life to have suffered hunger to extremity; and although impossible to express the corporeal agony, yet some notion of it may be conceived from the effect it had upon my mind. I felt that I hated the whole world, kin or no kin; that theft was a virtue, murder excusable, and cannibalism any thing but disgusting; from which the inference may be safely drawn, viz, that I was devilish hungry.I mention this, because Nicholas Forster, although he had been two days without food, and had disposed of every article which was saleable, was endued with so much strength of principle, as not to have thought (or if he had thought of it, immediately to have dismissed the thought) of vending the property found in the trunk by his son, and which had remained so long in their possession. That few would have been so scrupulous, I will acknowledge: whether Nicholas was over-scrupulous, is a question I leave to be debated by those who are fond of argument. I only state the fact.Until the arrival of the ship brought home by Mr Berecroft, the allotment of Newton’s wages had been regularly paid to his father; but when the owner discovered that the brig had parted company with the convoy, and had not since been heard of, the chance of capture was considered so great that the owner refused to advance any more on Newton’s account. Nicholas was thus thrown upon his own resources, which were as small as they well could be. The crew of the brig, who quitted her in the boat, were picked up by a homeward-bound vessel, and brought what was considered the certain intelligence of Jackson and Newton having perished on the wreck. Nicholas, who had frequently called at the owner’s since his allowance had been stopped, to obtain tidings of his son, was overwhelmed with the intelligence of his death. He returned to his own house, and never called there again. Mr Berecroft, who wished to find him out and relieve him, could not ascertain in what quarter of the town he resided, and shortly after was obliged to proceed upon another voyage. Thus was the poor optician left to his fate; and it is probable that, but for the fortunate return of Newton, it would soon have been miserably decided.Newton was much pleased when he learnt from his father that he had not disposed of the property which he had picked up at sea, for he now felt assured that he had discovered the owner at Guadaloupe, and intended to transmit it to Monsieur de Fontanges as soon as he could find a safe conveyance; but this at present was not practicable. As soon as his father had been re-established in his several necessaries and comforts, Newton, aware that his purse would not last for ever, applied to the owner of the brig for employment; but he was decidedly refused. The loss of the vessel had soured his temper against any one who had belonged to her. He replied that he considered Newton to be an unlucky person, and must decline his sailing in any of his vessels, even if a vacancy should occur.To every other application made elsewhere Newton met with the same ill fortune. Mr Berecroft was not there to recommend or to assist him, and months passed away in anxious expectation of his patron’s return, when the intelligence was brought home that he had been carried off by the yellow fever, which that year had been particularly malignant and fatal. The loss of his only protector was a heavy blow to poor Newton; but he bore up against his fortune, and redoubled his exertions. As before, he could always obtain employment before the mast; but this he refused, knowing that if again impressed, however well he might be off himself, and however fortunate in prize-money, his father would be left destitute, and in all probability be starved before he could return. The recollection of the situation in which he had found him on his return from the West Indies made Newton resolve not to leave his father without some surety of his being provided with the means of subsistence. He was not without some employment, and earned sufficient for their mutual maintenance by working as a rigger on board of the ships fitting for sea; and he adhered to this means of livelihood until something better should present itself. Had Newton been alone in the world, or his father able to support himself, he would have immediately applied to Captain Carrington to receive him in some capacity on board of his frigate, or have entered on board of some other man-of-war. Newton’s heart was too generous, and his mind too truly English, not to bound when he read or heard of the gallant encounters between the vessels of the rival nations, and he longed to be one of the many thousands so diligently employed in twining the wreath of laurel round their country’s brow.Nearly one year of constant fatigue, constant expectation, and constant disappointment was thus passed away; affairs grew daily worse, employment scarce, money scarcer. Newton, who had been put off from receiving his wages until the ensuing day, which, as they had no credit, was in fact putting off their dinner also to the morrow, went home, and dropped on a chair in a despondent mood, at the table, where Nicholas was already seated.“Well, Newton, what’s for dinner?” said Nicholas, drawing his chair close to the table, in preparation.“I have not been paid the money due to me,” replied Newton, “and, father, I’m afraid there’s nothing.”Nicholas backed his chair from the table again, with an air of resignation, as Newton continued—“Indeed, father, I think we must try our fortune elsewhere. What’s the use of staying where we cannot get employment? Every thing is now gone, except our wearing apparel. We might raise some money upon mine, it is true; but had we not better, before we spend it, try if fortune will be more favourable to us in some other place?”“Why, yes, Newton, I’ve been thinking that if we were to go to London, my improvement on the duplex—”“Is that our only chance there, sir?” replied Newton, half smiling.“Why no; now I think of it, I’ve a brother there, John Forster, or Jack, as we used to call him. It’s near thirty years since I heard of him; but somebody told me when you were in the West Indies, that he had become a great lawyer, and was making a large fortune. I quite forgot the circumstance till just now.”Newton had before heard his father mention that he had two brothers, but whether dead or alive he could not tell. The present intelligence appeared to hold out some prospect of relief, for Newton could not for a moment doubt that if his uncle was in such flourishing circumstances, he would not refuse assistance to his brother. He therefore resolved not to wait until their means were totally exhausted: the next day he disposed of all his clothes except one suit, and found himself richer than he had imagined. Having paid his landlord the trifle due for rent, without any other incumbrance than the packet of articles picked up in the trunk at sea, three pounds sterling in his pocket, and the ring of Madame de Fontanges on his little finger, Newton with his father set off on foot for the metropolis.
Orlando.Then forbear your food a little while,While, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,And give it food. There is a poor old roanOppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger.Shakespeare.
Orlando.Then forbear your food a little while,While, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,And give it food. There is a poor old roanOppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger.Shakespeare.
Reader, were you ever really hungry? I do not mean the common hunger arising from health and exercise, and which you have the means of appeasing at the moment when it may be considered a source of pleasure rather than of pain:— I refer to the gnawing of starvation; because if you have not, you can form no conception of the agony of the suffering. Fortunately, but very few of my readers can have any knowledge of it; the general sympathy which it creates is from an ideal, not a practical knowledge. It has been my lot during the vicissitudes of a maritime life to have suffered hunger to extremity; and although impossible to express the corporeal agony, yet some notion of it may be conceived from the effect it had upon my mind. I felt that I hated the whole world, kin or no kin; that theft was a virtue, murder excusable, and cannibalism any thing but disgusting; from which the inference may be safely drawn, viz, that I was devilish hungry.
I mention this, because Nicholas Forster, although he had been two days without food, and had disposed of every article which was saleable, was endued with so much strength of principle, as not to have thought (or if he had thought of it, immediately to have dismissed the thought) of vending the property found in the trunk by his son, and which had remained so long in their possession. That few would have been so scrupulous, I will acknowledge: whether Nicholas was over-scrupulous, is a question I leave to be debated by those who are fond of argument. I only state the fact.
Until the arrival of the ship brought home by Mr Berecroft, the allotment of Newton’s wages had been regularly paid to his father; but when the owner discovered that the brig had parted company with the convoy, and had not since been heard of, the chance of capture was considered so great that the owner refused to advance any more on Newton’s account. Nicholas was thus thrown upon his own resources, which were as small as they well could be. The crew of the brig, who quitted her in the boat, were picked up by a homeward-bound vessel, and brought what was considered the certain intelligence of Jackson and Newton having perished on the wreck. Nicholas, who had frequently called at the owner’s since his allowance had been stopped, to obtain tidings of his son, was overwhelmed with the intelligence of his death. He returned to his own house, and never called there again. Mr Berecroft, who wished to find him out and relieve him, could not ascertain in what quarter of the town he resided, and shortly after was obliged to proceed upon another voyage. Thus was the poor optician left to his fate; and it is probable that, but for the fortunate return of Newton, it would soon have been miserably decided.
Newton was much pleased when he learnt from his father that he had not disposed of the property which he had picked up at sea, for he now felt assured that he had discovered the owner at Guadaloupe, and intended to transmit it to Monsieur de Fontanges as soon as he could find a safe conveyance; but this at present was not practicable. As soon as his father had been re-established in his several necessaries and comforts, Newton, aware that his purse would not last for ever, applied to the owner of the brig for employment; but he was decidedly refused. The loss of the vessel had soured his temper against any one who had belonged to her. He replied that he considered Newton to be an unlucky person, and must decline his sailing in any of his vessels, even if a vacancy should occur.
To every other application made elsewhere Newton met with the same ill fortune. Mr Berecroft was not there to recommend or to assist him, and months passed away in anxious expectation of his patron’s return, when the intelligence was brought home that he had been carried off by the yellow fever, which that year had been particularly malignant and fatal. The loss of his only protector was a heavy blow to poor Newton; but he bore up against his fortune, and redoubled his exertions. As before, he could always obtain employment before the mast; but this he refused, knowing that if again impressed, however well he might be off himself, and however fortunate in prize-money, his father would be left destitute, and in all probability be starved before he could return. The recollection of the situation in which he had found him on his return from the West Indies made Newton resolve not to leave his father without some surety of his being provided with the means of subsistence. He was not without some employment, and earned sufficient for their mutual maintenance by working as a rigger on board of the ships fitting for sea; and he adhered to this means of livelihood until something better should present itself. Had Newton been alone in the world, or his father able to support himself, he would have immediately applied to Captain Carrington to receive him in some capacity on board of his frigate, or have entered on board of some other man-of-war. Newton’s heart was too generous, and his mind too truly English, not to bound when he read or heard of the gallant encounters between the vessels of the rival nations, and he longed to be one of the many thousands so diligently employed in twining the wreath of laurel round their country’s brow.
Nearly one year of constant fatigue, constant expectation, and constant disappointment was thus passed away; affairs grew daily worse, employment scarce, money scarcer. Newton, who had been put off from receiving his wages until the ensuing day, which, as they had no credit, was in fact putting off their dinner also to the morrow, went home, and dropped on a chair in a despondent mood, at the table, where Nicholas was already seated.
“Well, Newton, what’s for dinner?” said Nicholas, drawing his chair close to the table, in preparation.
“I have not been paid the money due to me,” replied Newton, “and, father, I’m afraid there’s nothing.”
Nicholas backed his chair from the table again, with an air of resignation, as Newton continued—
“Indeed, father, I think we must try our fortune elsewhere. What’s the use of staying where we cannot get employment? Every thing is now gone, except our wearing apparel. We might raise some money upon mine, it is true; but had we not better, before we spend it, try if fortune will be more favourable to us in some other place?”
“Why, yes, Newton, I’ve been thinking that if we were to go to London, my improvement on the duplex—”
“Is that our only chance there, sir?” replied Newton, half smiling.
“Why no; now I think of it, I’ve a brother there, John Forster, or Jack, as we used to call him. It’s near thirty years since I heard of him; but somebody told me when you were in the West Indies, that he had become a great lawyer, and was making a large fortune. I quite forgot the circumstance till just now.”
Newton had before heard his father mention that he had two brothers, but whether dead or alive he could not tell. The present intelligence appeared to hold out some prospect of relief, for Newton could not for a moment doubt that if his uncle was in such flourishing circumstances, he would not refuse assistance to his brother. He therefore resolved not to wait until their means were totally exhausted: the next day he disposed of all his clothes except one suit, and found himself richer than he had imagined. Having paid his landlord the trifle due for rent, without any other incumbrance than the packet of articles picked up in the trunk at sea, three pounds sterling in his pocket, and the ring of Madame de Fontanges on his little finger, Newton with his father set off on foot for the metropolis.
Volume Two--Chapter Six.I labour to diffuse the important goodTill this great truth by all be understood,That all the pious duty which we oweOur parents, friends, our country, and our God,The seed of every virtue here below,From discipline and early culture grow.West.The different chapters of a novel remind me of a convoy of vessels. The incidents anddramatis personaeare so many respective freights, all under the charge of the inventor, who, like a man-of-war, must see them all safely, and together, into port. And as the commanding officer, when towing one vessel which has lagged behind up to the rest, finds that in the mean time another has dropped nearly out of sight, and is obliged to cast off the one in tow, to perform the same necessary duty towards the stern-most, so am I necessitated for the present to quit Nicholas and Newton, while I run down to Edward Forster and hisprotegée.It must be recollected that during our narrative, “Time has rolled his ceaseless course,” and season has succeeded season, until the infant, in its utter helplessness to lift its little hands for succour, has sprung up into a fair blue-eyed little maiden of nearly eight years old, light as a fairy in her proportions, bounding as a fawn in her gait; her eyes beaming with joy, and her cheeks suffused with the blush of health, when tripping over the sea-girt hills; meek and attentive when listening to the precepts of her fond and adopted parent.Faithful, the Newfoundland dog is no more, but his portrait hangs over the mantle-piece in the little parlour. Mrs Beazeley, the housekeeper, has become inert and querulous from rheumatism and the burden of added years. A little girl, daughter of Robinson, the fisherman has been called in to perform her duties, while she basks in the summer’s sun or hangs over the winter’s fire. Edward Forster’s whole employment and whole delight has long been centred in his darling child, whose beauty of person, quickness of intellect, generous disposition, and affectionate heart, amply repay him for his kind protection.Of all chapters which can be ventured upon, one upon education is perhaps the most tiresome. Most willingly would I pass it over, not only for the reader’s sake, but for mine own; for his—because it cannot well be otherwise than dry and uninteresting; for mine—because I do not exactly know how to write it.But this cannot be. Amber was not brought up according to the prescribed maxims of Mesdames Appleton and Hamilton; and as effects cannot be satisfactorily comprehended without the causes are made known, so it becomes necessary, not only that the chapter should be written, but, what is still more vexatious, absolutely necessary that it should be read.Before I enter upon this most unpleasant theme—unpleasant to all parties, for no one likes to teach and no one likes to learn, I cannot help remarking how excessivelyau faitwe find most elderly maiden ladies upon every point connected with the rearing of our unprofitable species. They are erudite upon every pointab ovo, and it would appear that their peculiar knowledge of thetheorycan but arise from their attentions having never been diverted by thepractice.Let it be the teeming mother or the new-born babe—the teething infant or the fractious child—the dirty, pin-before urchin or sampler-spoiling girl—school-boy lout or sapling Miss—voice-broken, self-admiring hobby-de-hoy, or expanding conscious and blushing maiden, the whole arcana of nature and of art has been revealed to them alone.Let it be the scarlet-fever or a fit of passion, the measles or a shocking fib—whooping-cough or apple-stealing—learning too slow or eating too fast—slapping a sister or clawing a brother—let the disease be bodily or mental, they alone possess the panacea; and blooming matrons, spreading out in their pride, like the anxious chuckling hen, over their numerous encircling offspring, who have borne them with a mother’s throes, watched over them with a mother’s anxious mind, and reared them with a mother’s ardent love, are considered to be wholly incompetent, in the opinion of these desiccated and barren branches of nature’s stupendous, ever-bearing tree.Mrs Beazeley, who had lost her husband soon after marriage, was not fond of children, as they interfered with her habits of extreme neatness. As far as Amber’s education was concerned, all we can say is, that if the old housekeeper did her no good, she certainly did her no harm. As Amber increased in years and intelligence, so did her thirst for knowledge on topics upon which Mrs Beazeley was unable to give her any correct information. Under these circumstances, when applied to, Mrs Beazeley, who was too conscious to mislead the child, was accustomed to place her hand upon her back, and complain of the rheumatiz—“Such a stitch, my dear love, can’t talk now—ask your pa’ when he comes home.”Edward Forster had maturely weighed the difficulties of the charge imposed upon him, that of educating a female. The peculiarity of her situation, without a friend in the wide world except himself; and his days, in all probability, numbered to that period at which she would most require an adviser—that period, when the heart rebels against the head, and too often overthrows the legitimate dynasty of reason, determined him to give a masculine character to her education, as most likely to prove the surest safeguard through a deceitful world.Aware that more knowledge is to be imparted to a child by conversation than by any other means (for by this system education is divested of its drudgery), during the first six years of her life Amber knew little more than the letters of the alphabet. It was not until her desire of information was excited to such a degree as to render her anxious to obtain her own means of acquiring it that Amber was taught to read; and then it was at her own request. Edward Forster was aware that a child of six years old, willing to learn, would soon pass by another who had been drilled to it at an earlier age and against its will, and whose mind had been checked in its expansive powers by the weight which constantly oppressed its infant memory. Until the above age the mind of Amber had been permitted to run as unconfined through its own little regions of fancy as her active body had been allowed to spring up the adjacent hills—and both were equally beautified and strengthened by the healthy exercise.Religion was deeply impressed upon her grateful heart; but it was simplified almost to unity, that it might be clearly understood. It was conveyed to her through the glorious channel of nature, and God was loved and feared from the contemplation and admiration of his works.Did Amber fix her eyes upon the distant ocean, or watch the rolling of the surf; did they wander over the verdant hills, or settle on the beetling clift; did she raise her cherub-face to the heavens, and wonder at the studded firmament of stars, or the moon sailing in her cold beauty, or the sun blinding her in his warmth and splendour; she knew that it was God who made them all. Did she ponder over the variety of the leaf; did she admire the painting of the flower, or watch the motions of the minute insect, which, but for her casual observation, might have lived and died unseen;—she felt—she knew that all was made for man’s advantage or enjoyment, and that God was great and good. Her orisons were short, but they were sincere; unlike the child who, night and morning, stammers through a “Belief” which it cannot comprehend, and whose ideas of religion are, from injudicious treatment, too soon connected with feelings of impatience and disgust.Curiosity has been much abused. From a habit we have contracted in this world of not calling things by their right names, it has been decried as a vice, whereas it ought to have been classed as a virtue. Had Adam first discovered the forbidden fruit, he would have tasted it, without, like Eve, requiring the suggestions of the devil to urge him on to disobedience. But if by curiosity was occasioned the fall of man, it is the same passion by which he is spurred to rise again, and reappear only inferior to the Deity. The curiosity of little minds may be impertinent; but the curiosity of great minds is the thirst for knowledge—the daring of our immortal powers—the enterprise of the soul, to raise itself again to its original high estate. It was curiosity which stimulated the great Newton to search into the laws of heaven, and enabled his master-mind to translate the vast mysterious page of Nature, ever before our eyes since the creation of the world, but never till he appeared, to be read by mortal man. It is this passion which must be nurtured in our childhood, for upon its healthy growth and vigour depend the future expansion of the mind.How little money need be expended to teach a child, and yet what a quantity of books we have to pay for! Amber had hardly ever looked into a book, and yet she knew more, that is, had more general useful knowledge than others who were twice her age. How small was Edward Forster’s little parlour—how humble the furniture it contained!—a carpet, a table, a few chairs, a small China vase, as an ornament, on the mantle-piece. How few were the objects brought to Amber’s view in their small secluded home! The plates and knives for dinner, a silver spoon or two, and their articles of wearing apparel. Yet how endless, how inexhaustible was the amusement and instruction derived from these trifling sources!—for these were Forster’s books.The carpet—its hempen ground carried them to the north, from whence the material came, the inhabitants of the frozen world, their manners and their customs, the climate and their cities, their productions and their sources of wealth. Its woollen surface, with its various dyes—each dye containing an episode of an island or a state, a point of natural history, or of art and manufacture.The mahogany table, like some magic vehicle, transported them in a second to the torrid zone, where the various tropical flowers and fruit, the towering cocoa-nut, the spreading palm, the broad-leaved banana, the fragrant pine—all that was indigenous to the country, all that was peculiar in the scenery and the clime, were pictured to the imagination of the delighted Amber.The little vase upon the mantle-piece swelled into a splendid atlas of eastern geography, an inexhaustible folio, describing Indian customs, the Asiatic splendour of costume, the gorgeous thrones of the descendants of the Prophet, the history of the Prophet himself, the superior instinct and stupendous body of the elephant; all that Edward Forster had collected of nature or of art, through these extensive regions, were successively displayed, until they returned to China, from whence they had commenced their travels. Thus did the little vase, like the vessel taken up by the fisherman in the Arabian Nights, contain a giant confined by the seal of Solomon—Knowledge.The knife and spoon brought food unto the mind as well as to the body. The mines were entered, the countries pointed out in which they were to be found, the various metals, their value, and the uses to which they were applied, The dress again led them abroad; the cotton hung in pods upon the tree, the silkworm spun its yellow tomb, all the process of manufacture was explained. The loom again was worked by fancy, until the article in comment was again produced.Thus was Amber instructed and amused; and thus, with nature for his hornbook, and art for his primer, did the little parlour of Edward Forster expand into “the universe.”
I labour to diffuse the important goodTill this great truth by all be understood,That all the pious duty which we oweOur parents, friends, our country, and our God,The seed of every virtue here below,From discipline and early culture grow.West.
I labour to diffuse the important goodTill this great truth by all be understood,That all the pious duty which we oweOur parents, friends, our country, and our God,The seed of every virtue here below,From discipline and early culture grow.West.
The different chapters of a novel remind me of a convoy of vessels. The incidents anddramatis personaeare so many respective freights, all under the charge of the inventor, who, like a man-of-war, must see them all safely, and together, into port. And as the commanding officer, when towing one vessel which has lagged behind up to the rest, finds that in the mean time another has dropped nearly out of sight, and is obliged to cast off the one in tow, to perform the same necessary duty towards the stern-most, so am I necessitated for the present to quit Nicholas and Newton, while I run down to Edward Forster and hisprotegée.
It must be recollected that during our narrative, “Time has rolled his ceaseless course,” and season has succeeded season, until the infant, in its utter helplessness to lift its little hands for succour, has sprung up into a fair blue-eyed little maiden of nearly eight years old, light as a fairy in her proportions, bounding as a fawn in her gait; her eyes beaming with joy, and her cheeks suffused with the blush of health, when tripping over the sea-girt hills; meek and attentive when listening to the precepts of her fond and adopted parent.
Faithful, the Newfoundland dog is no more, but his portrait hangs over the mantle-piece in the little parlour. Mrs Beazeley, the housekeeper, has become inert and querulous from rheumatism and the burden of added years. A little girl, daughter of Robinson, the fisherman has been called in to perform her duties, while she basks in the summer’s sun or hangs over the winter’s fire. Edward Forster’s whole employment and whole delight has long been centred in his darling child, whose beauty of person, quickness of intellect, generous disposition, and affectionate heart, amply repay him for his kind protection.
Of all chapters which can be ventured upon, one upon education is perhaps the most tiresome. Most willingly would I pass it over, not only for the reader’s sake, but for mine own; for his—because it cannot well be otherwise than dry and uninteresting; for mine—because I do not exactly know how to write it.
But this cannot be. Amber was not brought up according to the prescribed maxims of Mesdames Appleton and Hamilton; and as effects cannot be satisfactorily comprehended without the causes are made known, so it becomes necessary, not only that the chapter should be written, but, what is still more vexatious, absolutely necessary that it should be read.
Before I enter upon this most unpleasant theme—unpleasant to all parties, for no one likes to teach and no one likes to learn, I cannot help remarking how excessivelyau faitwe find most elderly maiden ladies upon every point connected with the rearing of our unprofitable species. They are erudite upon every pointab ovo, and it would appear that their peculiar knowledge of thetheorycan but arise from their attentions having never been diverted by thepractice.
Let it be the teeming mother or the new-born babe—the teething infant or the fractious child—the dirty, pin-before urchin or sampler-spoiling girl—school-boy lout or sapling Miss—voice-broken, self-admiring hobby-de-hoy, or expanding conscious and blushing maiden, the whole arcana of nature and of art has been revealed to them alone.
Let it be the scarlet-fever or a fit of passion, the measles or a shocking fib—whooping-cough or apple-stealing—learning too slow or eating too fast—slapping a sister or clawing a brother—let the disease be bodily or mental, they alone possess the panacea; and blooming matrons, spreading out in their pride, like the anxious chuckling hen, over their numerous encircling offspring, who have borne them with a mother’s throes, watched over them with a mother’s anxious mind, and reared them with a mother’s ardent love, are considered to be wholly incompetent, in the opinion of these desiccated and barren branches of nature’s stupendous, ever-bearing tree.
Mrs Beazeley, who had lost her husband soon after marriage, was not fond of children, as they interfered with her habits of extreme neatness. As far as Amber’s education was concerned, all we can say is, that if the old housekeeper did her no good, she certainly did her no harm. As Amber increased in years and intelligence, so did her thirst for knowledge on topics upon which Mrs Beazeley was unable to give her any correct information. Under these circumstances, when applied to, Mrs Beazeley, who was too conscious to mislead the child, was accustomed to place her hand upon her back, and complain of the rheumatiz—“Such a stitch, my dear love, can’t talk now—ask your pa’ when he comes home.”
Edward Forster had maturely weighed the difficulties of the charge imposed upon him, that of educating a female. The peculiarity of her situation, without a friend in the wide world except himself; and his days, in all probability, numbered to that period at which she would most require an adviser—that period, when the heart rebels against the head, and too often overthrows the legitimate dynasty of reason, determined him to give a masculine character to her education, as most likely to prove the surest safeguard through a deceitful world.
Aware that more knowledge is to be imparted to a child by conversation than by any other means (for by this system education is divested of its drudgery), during the first six years of her life Amber knew little more than the letters of the alphabet. It was not until her desire of information was excited to such a degree as to render her anxious to obtain her own means of acquiring it that Amber was taught to read; and then it was at her own request. Edward Forster was aware that a child of six years old, willing to learn, would soon pass by another who had been drilled to it at an earlier age and against its will, and whose mind had been checked in its expansive powers by the weight which constantly oppressed its infant memory. Until the above age the mind of Amber had been permitted to run as unconfined through its own little regions of fancy as her active body had been allowed to spring up the adjacent hills—and both were equally beautified and strengthened by the healthy exercise.
Religion was deeply impressed upon her grateful heart; but it was simplified almost to unity, that it might be clearly understood. It was conveyed to her through the glorious channel of nature, and God was loved and feared from the contemplation and admiration of his works.
Did Amber fix her eyes upon the distant ocean, or watch the rolling of the surf; did they wander over the verdant hills, or settle on the beetling clift; did she raise her cherub-face to the heavens, and wonder at the studded firmament of stars, or the moon sailing in her cold beauty, or the sun blinding her in his warmth and splendour; she knew that it was God who made them all. Did she ponder over the variety of the leaf; did she admire the painting of the flower, or watch the motions of the minute insect, which, but for her casual observation, might have lived and died unseen;—she felt—she knew that all was made for man’s advantage or enjoyment, and that God was great and good. Her orisons were short, but they were sincere; unlike the child who, night and morning, stammers through a “Belief” which it cannot comprehend, and whose ideas of religion are, from injudicious treatment, too soon connected with feelings of impatience and disgust.
Curiosity has been much abused. From a habit we have contracted in this world of not calling things by their right names, it has been decried as a vice, whereas it ought to have been classed as a virtue. Had Adam first discovered the forbidden fruit, he would have tasted it, without, like Eve, requiring the suggestions of the devil to urge him on to disobedience. But if by curiosity was occasioned the fall of man, it is the same passion by which he is spurred to rise again, and reappear only inferior to the Deity. The curiosity of little minds may be impertinent; but the curiosity of great minds is the thirst for knowledge—the daring of our immortal powers—the enterprise of the soul, to raise itself again to its original high estate. It was curiosity which stimulated the great Newton to search into the laws of heaven, and enabled his master-mind to translate the vast mysterious page of Nature, ever before our eyes since the creation of the world, but never till he appeared, to be read by mortal man. It is this passion which must be nurtured in our childhood, for upon its healthy growth and vigour depend the future expansion of the mind.
How little money need be expended to teach a child, and yet what a quantity of books we have to pay for! Amber had hardly ever looked into a book, and yet she knew more, that is, had more general useful knowledge than others who were twice her age. How small was Edward Forster’s little parlour—how humble the furniture it contained!—a carpet, a table, a few chairs, a small China vase, as an ornament, on the mantle-piece. How few were the objects brought to Amber’s view in their small secluded home! The plates and knives for dinner, a silver spoon or two, and their articles of wearing apparel. Yet how endless, how inexhaustible was the amusement and instruction derived from these trifling sources!—for these were Forster’s books.
The carpet—its hempen ground carried them to the north, from whence the material came, the inhabitants of the frozen world, their manners and their customs, the climate and their cities, their productions and their sources of wealth. Its woollen surface, with its various dyes—each dye containing an episode of an island or a state, a point of natural history, or of art and manufacture.
The mahogany table, like some magic vehicle, transported them in a second to the torrid zone, where the various tropical flowers and fruit, the towering cocoa-nut, the spreading palm, the broad-leaved banana, the fragrant pine—all that was indigenous to the country, all that was peculiar in the scenery and the clime, were pictured to the imagination of the delighted Amber.
The little vase upon the mantle-piece swelled into a splendid atlas of eastern geography, an inexhaustible folio, describing Indian customs, the Asiatic splendour of costume, the gorgeous thrones of the descendants of the Prophet, the history of the Prophet himself, the superior instinct and stupendous body of the elephant; all that Edward Forster had collected of nature or of art, through these extensive regions, were successively displayed, until they returned to China, from whence they had commenced their travels. Thus did the little vase, like the vessel taken up by the fisherman in the Arabian Nights, contain a giant confined by the seal of Solomon—Knowledge.
The knife and spoon brought food unto the mind as well as to the body. The mines were entered, the countries pointed out in which they were to be found, the various metals, their value, and the uses to which they were applied, The dress again led them abroad; the cotton hung in pods upon the tree, the silkworm spun its yellow tomb, all the process of manufacture was explained. The loom again was worked by fancy, until the article in comment was again produced.
Thus was Amber instructed and amused; and thus, with nature for his hornbook, and art for his primer, did the little parlour of Edward Forster expand into “the universe.”