Chapter Thirty Four.O’Brien’s good advice—Captain Kearney again deals in the marvellous.I do not remember any circumstance in my life which, at that time, lay so heavily on my mind, as the loss of poor Mr Chucks, the boatswain, whom, of course, I took it for granted I should never see again. I believe that the chief cause was, that at the time I entered the service, and every one considered me to be the fool of the family, Mr Chucks and O’Brien were the only two who thought of and treated me differently; and it was their conduct which induced me to apply myself, and encouraged me to exertion. I believe, that many a boy, who, if properly patronised, would turn out well, is, by the injudicious system of brow-beating and ridicule, forced into the wrong path, and, in his despair, throws away all self-confidence, and allows himself to be carried away by the stream to perdition. O’Brien was not very partial to reading himself; he played the German flute remarkably well, and had a very good voice. His chief amusement was practising, or rather playing, which is a very different thing; but although he did not study himself, he always made me come into his cabin for an hour or two every day, and after I had read, repeat to him the contents of the book. By this method, he not only instructed me, but gained a great deal of information himself; for he made so many remarks upon what I had read, that it was impressed upon both our memories.“Well, Peter,” he would say, as became into the cabin, “what have you to tell me this morning? Sure it’s you that’s the schoolmaster, and not me—for I learn from you every day.”“I have not read much, O’Brien, to-day, for I have been thinking of poor Mr Chucks.”“Very right for you so to do, Peter: never forget your friends in a hurry; you’ll not find too many of them as you trot along the highway of life.”“I wonder whether he is dead?”“Why, that’s a question I cannot answer: a bullet through the chest don’t lengthen a man’s days, that’s certain; but this I know, that he’ll not die if he can help it, now that he’s got the captain’s jacket on.”“Yes; he always aspired to be a gentleman—which was absurd enough in a boatswain.”“Not at all absurd, Peter, but very absurd of you to talk without thinking: when did any one of his shipmates ever know Mr Chucks to do an unhandsome or mean action? Never—and why? because he aspired to be a gentleman, and that feeling kept him above it. Vanity’s a confounded donkey, very apt to put his head between his legs, and chuck us over; but pride’s a fine horse, who will carry us over the ground, and enable us to distance our fellow-travellers. Mr Chucks had pride, and that’s always commendable, even in a boatswain. How often have you read of people rising from nothing, and becoming great men? This was from talent, sure enough: but it was talent with pride to force it onward, not talent with vanity to cheek it.”“You are very right, O’Brien; I spoke foolishly.”“Never mind, Peter, nobody heard you but me, so it’s of no consequence. Don’t you dine in the cabin to-day?”“Yes.”“So do I. The captain is in a most marvellous humour this morning. He told me one or two yarns that quite staggered my politeness and my respect for him on the quarter-deck. What a pity it is that a man should have gained such a bad habit!”“He’s quite incurable, I’m afraid,” replied I; “but, certainly, his fibs do no harm; they are what they call white lies: I do not think he would really tell a lie, that is, a lie which would be considered to disgrace a gentleman.”“Peter,alllies disgrace a gentleman, white or black; although I grant there is a difference. To say the least of it, it is a dangerous habit, for white lies are but the gentlemen ushers to black ones. I know but of one point on which a lie is excusable, and that is, when you wish to deceive the enemy. Then your duty to your country warrants your lying till you’re black in the face; and, for the very reason that it goes against your grain, it becomes, as if were, a sort of virtue.”“What was the difference between the marine officer and Mr Phillott that occurred this morning?”“Nothing at all in itself—the marine officer is a bit of a gaby, and takes offence where none is meant. Mr Phillott has a foul tongue, but he has a good heart.”“What a pity it is!”“It is a pity, for he’s a smart officer; but the fact is, Peter, that junior officers are too apt to copy their superiors, and that makes it very important that a young gentleman should sail with a captain who is a gentleman. Now, Phillott served the best of his time with Captain Ballover, who is notorious in the service for foul and abusive language. What is the consequence?—that Phillott, and many others, who have served under him, have learnt his bad habit.”“I should think, O’Brien, that the very circumstance of having had your feelings so often wounded by such language when you were a junior officer, would make you doubly careful not to make use of it to others, when you had advanced in the service.”“Peter, that’s just thefirstfeeling, which wears away after a time; but at last, your own sense of indignation becomes blunted, and becoming indifferent to it, you forget also that you wound the feelings of others, and carry the habit with you, to the great injury and disgrace of the service. But it’s time to dress for dinner, so you’d better make yourself scarce, Peter, while I tidivate myself off a little, according to the rules and regulations of His Majesty’s service, when you are asked to dine with the skipper.”We met at the captain’s table, where we found, as usual, a great display of plate, but very little else, except the ship’s allowance. We certainly had now been cruising some time, and there was some excuse for it; but still, few captains would have been so unprovided. “I’m afraid, gentlemen, you will not have a very grand dinner,” observed the captain, as the steward removed the plated covers off the dishes; “but when on service we must rough it out how we can. Mr O’Brien, pea-soup? I recollect faring harder than this through one cruise, in a flush vessel. We were thirteen weeks up to our knees in water, and living the whole time upon raw pork—not being able to light a fire during the cruise.”“Pray, Captain Kearney, may I ask where this happened?”“To be sure. It was off Bermudas: we cruised for seven weeks before we could find the Islands, and began verily to think that the Bermudas were themselves on a cruise.”“I presume, sir, you were not sorry to have a fire to cook your provisions when you came to an anchor?” said O’Brien.“I beg your pardon,” replied Captain Kearney; “we had become so accustomed to raw provisions and wet feet, that we could not eat our meals cooked, or help dipping our legs over the side, for a long while afterwards. I saw one of the boat keepers astern catch a large barracouta, and eat it alive—indeed, if I had not given the strictest orders, and flogged half-a-dozen of them, I doubt whether they would not have eaten their victuals raw to this day. The force of habit is tremendous.”“It is, indeed,” observed Mr Phillott, dryly, and winking to us—referring to the captain’s incredible stories.“It is, indeed,” repeated O’Brien; “we see the ditch in our neighbour’s eye, and cannot observe the log of wood in our own;” and O’Brien winked at me, referring to Phillott’s habit of bad language.“I once knew a married man,” observed the captain, “who had been always accustomed to go to sleep with his hand upon his wife’s head, and would not allow her to wear a night-cap in consequence. Well, she caught cold and died, and he never could sleep at night until he took a clothes brush to bed with him, and laid his hand upon that, which answered the purpose—such was the force of habit.”“I once saw a dead body galvanised,” observed Mr Phillott: “it was the body of a man who had taken a great deal of snuff during his lifetime, and, as soon as the battery was applied to his spine, the body very gently raised its arm, and put its fingers to its nose, as if it were taking a pinch.”“You saw that yourself, Mr Phillott?” observed the captain, looking the first lieutenant earnestly in the face.“Yes, sir,” replied Mr Phillott, coolly.“Have you told that story often?”“Very often, sir.”“Because I know that some people, by constantly telling a story, at last believe it to be true; not that I refer to you, Mr Phillott, but still I should recommend you not to tell that story where you are not well known, or people may doubt your credibility.”“I make it a rule to believe everything myself,” observed Mr Phillott, “out of politeness; and I expect the same courtesy from others.”“Then, upon my soul! when you tell that story, you trespass very much upon our good manners. Talking of courtesy, you might meet a friend of mine, who has been a courtier all his life; he cannot help bowing. I have seen him bow to his horse, and thank him after he had dismounted—beg pardon of a puppy for treading on his tail; and one day, when he fell over a scraper, he took off his hat, and made it a thousand apologies for his inattention.”“Force of habit again,” said O’Brien.“Exactly so. Mr Simple, will you take a slice of this pork; and perhaps you’ll do me the honour to take a glass of wine? Lord Privilege would not much admire your dinner to-day, would he, Mr Simple?”“As a variety he might, sir, but not for a continuance.”“Very truly said. Variety is charming. The negroes here get so tired of salt fish and occra broth, that they eat dirt by way of a relish. Mr O’Brien, how remarkably well you played that sonata of Pleydel’s this morning.”“I am happy that I did not annoy you, Captain Kearney, at all events,” replied O’Brien.“On the contrary, I am very partial to good music. My mother was a great performer. I recollect once, she was performing a piece on the piano, in which she had to imitate athunder storm. So admirably did she hit it off, that when we went to tea, all the cream wasturned sour, as well as three casks ofbeerin the cellar.”At this assertion Mr Phillott could contain himself no longer; he burst out into a loud laugh, and having a glass of wine to his lips, spattered it all over the table, and over me, who unfortunately was opposite to him.“I really beg pardon, Captain Kearney, but the idea of such an expensive talent was too amusing. Will you permit me to ask you a question?—As there could not have been thunder without lightning, were any people killed at the same time by the electric fluid of the piano?”“No, sir,” replied Captain Kearney, very angrily; “but her performance electrified us, which was something like it. Perhaps, Mr Phillott, as you lost your last glass of wine, you will allow me to take another with you?”“With great pleasure,” replied the first lieutenant, who perceived that he had gone far enough.“Well, gentlemen,” said the captain, “we shall soon be in the land of plenty. I shall cruise a fortnight more, and then join the admiral at Jamaica. We must make out our despatch relative to the cutting out of theSylvia” (that was the name of the privateer brig), “and I am happy to say that I shall feel it my duty to make honourable mention of all the party present. Steward, coffee.”The first lieutenant, O’Brien, and I, bowed to this flattering avowal on the part of the captain; as for myself, I felt delighted. The idea of my name being mentioned in the Gazette, and the pleasure that it would give to my father and mother, mantled the blood in my cheeks till I was as red as a turkey-cock.“CousinSimple,” said the captain, good-naturedly, “you have no occasion to blush; your conduct deserves it; and you are indebted to Mr Phillott for having made me acquainted with your gallantry.”Coffee was soon over, and I was glad to leave the cabin and be alone, that I might compose my perturbed mind. I felt too happy. I did not however, say a word to my messmates, as it might have created feelings of envy or ill-will. O’Brien gave me a caution not to do so, when I met him afterwards, so that I was very glad that I had been so circumspect.
I do not remember any circumstance in my life which, at that time, lay so heavily on my mind, as the loss of poor Mr Chucks, the boatswain, whom, of course, I took it for granted I should never see again. I believe that the chief cause was, that at the time I entered the service, and every one considered me to be the fool of the family, Mr Chucks and O’Brien were the only two who thought of and treated me differently; and it was their conduct which induced me to apply myself, and encouraged me to exertion. I believe, that many a boy, who, if properly patronised, would turn out well, is, by the injudicious system of brow-beating and ridicule, forced into the wrong path, and, in his despair, throws away all self-confidence, and allows himself to be carried away by the stream to perdition. O’Brien was not very partial to reading himself; he played the German flute remarkably well, and had a very good voice. His chief amusement was practising, or rather playing, which is a very different thing; but although he did not study himself, he always made me come into his cabin for an hour or two every day, and after I had read, repeat to him the contents of the book. By this method, he not only instructed me, but gained a great deal of information himself; for he made so many remarks upon what I had read, that it was impressed upon both our memories.
“Well, Peter,” he would say, as became into the cabin, “what have you to tell me this morning? Sure it’s you that’s the schoolmaster, and not me—for I learn from you every day.”
“I have not read much, O’Brien, to-day, for I have been thinking of poor Mr Chucks.”
“Very right for you so to do, Peter: never forget your friends in a hurry; you’ll not find too many of them as you trot along the highway of life.”
“I wonder whether he is dead?”
“Why, that’s a question I cannot answer: a bullet through the chest don’t lengthen a man’s days, that’s certain; but this I know, that he’ll not die if he can help it, now that he’s got the captain’s jacket on.”
“Yes; he always aspired to be a gentleman—which was absurd enough in a boatswain.”
“Not at all absurd, Peter, but very absurd of you to talk without thinking: when did any one of his shipmates ever know Mr Chucks to do an unhandsome or mean action? Never—and why? because he aspired to be a gentleman, and that feeling kept him above it. Vanity’s a confounded donkey, very apt to put his head between his legs, and chuck us over; but pride’s a fine horse, who will carry us over the ground, and enable us to distance our fellow-travellers. Mr Chucks had pride, and that’s always commendable, even in a boatswain. How often have you read of people rising from nothing, and becoming great men? This was from talent, sure enough: but it was talent with pride to force it onward, not talent with vanity to cheek it.”
“You are very right, O’Brien; I spoke foolishly.”
“Never mind, Peter, nobody heard you but me, so it’s of no consequence. Don’t you dine in the cabin to-day?”
“Yes.”
“So do I. The captain is in a most marvellous humour this morning. He told me one or two yarns that quite staggered my politeness and my respect for him on the quarter-deck. What a pity it is that a man should have gained such a bad habit!”
“He’s quite incurable, I’m afraid,” replied I; “but, certainly, his fibs do no harm; they are what they call white lies: I do not think he would really tell a lie, that is, a lie which would be considered to disgrace a gentleman.”
“Peter,alllies disgrace a gentleman, white or black; although I grant there is a difference. To say the least of it, it is a dangerous habit, for white lies are but the gentlemen ushers to black ones. I know but of one point on which a lie is excusable, and that is, when you wish to deceive the enemy. Then your duty to your country warrants your lying till you’re black in the face; and, for the very reason that it goes against your grain, it becomes, as if were, a sort of virtue.”
“What was the difference between the marine officer and Mr Phillott that occurred this morning?”
“Nothing at all in itself—the marine officer is a bit of a gaby, and takes offence where none is meant. Mr Phillott has a foul tongue, but he has a good heart.”
“What a pity it is!”
“It is a pity, for he’s a smart officer; but the fact is, Peter, that junior officers are too apt to copy their superiors, and that makes it very important that a young gentleman should sail with a captain who is a gentleman. Now, Phillott served the best of his time with Captain Ballover, who is notorious in the service for foul and abusive language. What is the consequence?—that Phillott, and many others, who have served under him, have learnt his bad habit.”
“I should think, O’Brien, that the very circumstance of having had your feelings so often wounded by such language when you were a junior officer, would make you doubly careful not to make use of it to others, when you had advanced in the service.”
“Peter, that’s just thefirstfeeling, which wears away after a time; but at last, your own sense of indignation becomes blunted, and becoming indifferent to it, you forget also that you wound the feelings of others, and carry the habit with you, to the great injury and disgrace of the service. But it’s time to dress for dinner, so you’d better make yourself scarce, Peter, while I tidivate myself off a little, according to the rules and regulations of His Majesty’s service, when you are asked to dine with the skipper.”
We met at the captain’s table, where we found, as usual, a great display of plate, but very little else, except the ship’s allowance. We certainly had now been cruising some time, and there was some excuse for it; but still, few captains would have been so unprovided. “I’m afraid, gentlemen, you will not have a very grand dinner,” observed the captain, as the steward removed the plated covers off the dishes; “but when on service we must rough it out how we can. Mr O’Brien, pea-soup? I recollect faring harder than this through one cruise, in a flush vessel. We were thirteen weeks up to our knees in water, and living the whole time upon raw pork—not being able to light a fire during the cruise.”
“Pray, Captain Kearney, may I ask where this happened?”
“To be sure. It was off Bermudas: we cruised for seven weeks before we could find the Islands, and began verily to think that the Bermudas were themselves on a cruise.”
“I presume, sir, you were not sorry to have a fire to cook your provisions when you came to an anchor?” said O’Brien.
“I beg your pardon,” replied Captain Kearney; “we had become so accustomed to raw provisions and wet feet, that we could not eat our meals cooked, or help dipping our legs over the side, for a long while afterwards. I saw one of the boat keepers astern catch a large barracouta, and eat it alive—indeed, if I had not given the strictest orders, and flogged half-a-dozen of them, I doubt whether they would not have eaten their victuals raw to this day. The force of habit is tremendous.”
“It is, indeed,” observed Mr Phillott, dryly, and winking to us—referring to the captain’s incredible stories.
“It is, indeed,” repeated O’Brien; “we see the ditch in our neighbour’s eye, and cannot observe the log of wood in our own;” and O’Brien winked at me, referring to Phillott’s habit of bad language.
“I once knew a married man,” observed the captain, “who had been always accustomed to go to sleep with his hand upon his wife’s head, and would not allow her to wear a night-cap in consequence. Well, she caught cold and died, and he never could sleep at night until he took a clothes brush to bed with him, and laid his hand upon that, which answered the purpose—such was the force of habit.”
“I once saw a dead body galvanised,” observed Mr Phillott: “it was the body of a man who had taken a great deal of snuff during his lifetime, and, as soon as the battery was applied to his spine, the body very gently raised its arm, and put its fingers to its nose, as if it were taking a pinch.”
“You saw that yourself, Mr Phillott?” observed the captain, looking the first lieutenant earnestly in the face.
“Yes, sir,” replied Mr Phillott, coolly.
“Have you told that story often?”
“Very often, sir.”
“Because I know that some people, by constantly telling a story, at last believe it to be true; not that I refer to you, Mr Phillott, but still I should recommend you not to tell that story where you are not well known, or people may doubt your credibility.”
“I make it a rule to believe everything myself,” observed Mr Phillott, “out of politeness; and I expect the same courtesy from others.”
“Then, upon my soul! when you tell that story, you trespass very much upon our good manners. Talking of courtesy, you might meet a friend of mine, who has been a courtier all his life; he cannot help bowing. I have seen him bow to his horse, and thank him after he had dismounted—beg pardon of a puppy for treading on his tail; and one day, when he fell over a scraper, he took off his hat, and made it a thousand apologies for his inattention.”
“Force of habit again,” said O’Brien.
“Exactly so. Mr Simple, will you take a slice of this pork; and perhaps you’ll do me the honour to take a glass of wine? Lord Privilege would not much admire your dinner to-day, would he, Mr Simple?”
“As a variety he might, sir, but not for a continuance.”
“Very truly said. Variety is charming. The negroes here get so tired of salt fish and occra broth, that they eat dirt by way of a relish. Mr O’Brien, how remarkably well you played that sonata of Pleydel’s this morning.”
“I am happy that I did not annoy you, Captain Kearney, at all events,” replied O’Brien.
“On the contrary, I am very partial to good music. My mother was a great performer. I recollect once, she was performing a piece on the piano, in which she had to imitate athunder storm. So admirably did she hit it off, that when we went to tea, all the cream wasturned sour, as well as three casks ofbeerin the cellar.”
At this assertion Mr Phillott could contain himself no longer; he burst out into a loud laugh, and having a glass of wine to his lips, spattered it all over the table, and over me, who unfortunately was opposite to him.
“I really beg pardon, Captain Kearney, but the idea of such an expensive talent was too amusing. Will you permit me to ask you a question?—As there could not have been thunder without lightning, were any people killed at the same time by the electric fluid of the piano?”
“No, sir,” replied Captain Kearney, very angrily; “but her performance electrified us, which was something like it. Perhaps, Mr Phillott, as you lost your last glass of wine, you will allow me to take another with you?”
“With great pleasure,” replied the first lieutenant, who perceived that he had gone far enough.
“Well, gentlemen,” said the captain, “we shall soon be in the land of plenty. I shall cruise a fortnight more, and then join the admiral at Jamaica. We must make out our despatch relative to the cutting out of theSylvia” (that was the name of the privateer brig), “and I am happy to say that I shall feel it my duty to make honourable mention of all the party present. Steward, coffee.”
The first lieutenant, O’Brien, and I, bowed to this flattering avowal on the part of the captain; as for myself, I felt delighted. The idea of my name being mentioned in the Gazette, and the pleasure that it would give to my father and mother, mantled the blood in my cheeks till I was as red as a turkey-cock.
“CousinSimple,” said the captain, good-naturedly, “you have no occasion to blush; your conduct deserves it; and you are indebted to Mr Phillott for having made me acquainted with your gallantry.”
Coffee was soon over, and I was glad to leave the cabin and be alone, that I might compose my perturbed mind. I felt too happy. I did not however, say a word to my messmates, as it might have created feelings of envy or ill-will. O’Brien gave me a caution not to do so, when I met him afterwards, so that I was very glad that I had been so circumspect.
Chapter Thirty Five.Swinburne continues his narrative of the battle off Cape St. Vincent.The second night after this, we had the middle watch, and I claimed Swinburne’s promise that he would spin his yarn, relative to the battle of St. Vincent. “Well, Mr Simple, so I will; but I require a little priming, or I shall never go off.”“Will you have your glass of grog before or after?”“Before, by all means, if you please, sir. Run down and get it, and I’ll heave the log for you in the meantime, when we shall have a good hour without interruption, for the sea-breeze will be steady, and we are under easy sail.” I brought up a stiff glass of grog, which Swinburne tossed off, and as he finished it, sighed deeply as if in sorrow that there was no more. Having stowed away the tumbler in one of the cap stern holes for the present, we sat down upon a coil of ropes under the weather bulwarks, and Swinburne, replacing his quid of tobacco, commenced as follows:—“Well, Mr Simple, as I told you before, old Jervis started with all his fleet for Cape St. Vincent. We lost one of our fleet—and a three-decker, too—theSt. George; she took the ground, and was obliged to go back to Lisbon; but we soon afterwards were joined by five sail of the line, sent out from England, so that we mustered fifteen sail in all. We had like to lose another of our mess, for d’ye see, the oldCullodenandColossusfell foul of each other, and theCullodenhad the worst on it, but Troubridge, who commanded her, was not a man to shy his work, and ax to go in to refit, when there was a chance of meeting the enemy—so he patched her up somehow or another, and reported himself ready for action the very next day. Ready for action he always was, that’s sure enough, but whether his ship was in a fit state to go into action, is quite another thing. But as the sailors used to say in joking, he was atrue bridge, and you might trust to him; which meant as much as to say, that he knew how to take his ship into action, and how to fight her when he was fairly in it. I think it was the next day that Cockburn joined us in theMinerve, and he brought Nelson along with him, with the intelligence that the Dons had chased him, and that the whole Spanish fleet was out in pursuit of us. Well, Mr Simple, you may guess we were not a little happy in theCaptain, when Nelson joined us, as we knew that if we fell in with the Spaniards, our ship would cut a figure—and so she did, sure enough. That was on the morning of the 13th, and old Jervis made the signal to prepare for action, and keep close order, which means, to have your flying jib-boom in at the starn windows of the ship ahead of you; and we did keep close order, for a man might have walked right round from one ship to the other, either lee or weather line of the fleet. I shan’t forget that night, Mr Simple, as long as I live and breathe. Every now and then we heard the signal guns of the Spanish fleet booming at a distance to windward of us, and you may guess how our hearts leaped at the sound, and how we watched with all our ears for the next gun that was fired, trying to make out their bearings and distance, as we assembled in little knots upon the booms and weather gangway. It was my middle watch, and I was signalman at the time, so of course I had no time to take a caulk if I was inclined. When my watch was over, I could not go down to my hammock, so I kept the morning watch too, as did most of the men on board: as for Nelson, he walked the deck the whole night, quite in a fever. At daylight it was thick and hazy weather, and we could not make them out; but about five bells, the oldCulloden, who, if she had broke her nose, had not lost the use of her eyes, made the signal for a part of the Spanish fleet in sight. Old Jervis repeated the signal to prepare for action, but he might have saved the wear and tear of the bunting, for we were all ready, bulkheads down, screens up, guns shotted, tackles rove, yards slung, powder filled, shot on deck, and fire out—and what’s more, Mr Simple, I’ll be damned if we wer’n’t all willing too. About six bells in the forenoon, the fog and haze all cleared away at once, just like the rising of the foresail, that they lower down at the Portsmouth Theatre, and discovered the whole of the Spanish fleet. I counted them all. ‘How many, Swinburne?’ cries Nelson. ‘Twenty-six sail, sir,’ answered I. Nelson walked the quarterdeck backwards and forwards, rubbing his hands, and laughing to himself, and then he called for his glass, and went to the gangway with Captain Miller. ‘Swinburne, keep a good look upon the admiral,’ says he. ‘Ay, ay, sir,’ says I. Now, you see, Mr Simple, twenty-six sail against fifteen were great odds upon paper; but we didn’t think so, because we know’d the difference between the two fleets. There was our fifteen sail of the line all in apple-pie order, packed up as close as dominoes, and every man on board of them longing to come to the scratch; while there was their twenty-six, allsomehow nohow, two lines here, andno linethere, with a great gap of water in the middle of them. For this gap between their ships we all steered, with all the sail we could carry, because, d’ye see, Mr Simple, by getting them on both sides of us, we had the advantage of fighting both broadsides, which is just as easy as fighting one, and makes shorter work of it. Just as it struck seven bells, Troubridge opened the ball,settingto half-a-dozen of the Spaniards, and making themreel‘Tom Collins,’ whether or no. Bang-bang-bang, bang! Oh, Mr Simple, it’s a beautiful sight, to see the first guns fired, that are to bring on a general action. ‘He’s the luckiest dog, that Troubridge,’ said Nelson, stamping with impatience. Our ships were soon hard at it, hammer and tongs, (my eyes, how they did pelt it in!) and old Sir John, in theVictory, smashed the cabin windows of the Spanish admiral, with such a hell of a raking broadside, that the fellow bore up as if the devil kicked him. Lord-a-mercy! you might have drove a Portsmouth waggon into his starn—the broadside of theVictoryhad made room enough. However, they were soon all smothered up in smoke, and we could not make out how things were going on—but we made a pretty good guess. Well, Mr Simple, as they say at the play, that was act the first, scene the first; and now we had to make our appearance, and I’ll leave you to judge, after I’ve told my tale, whether the oldCaptainwasn’t principal performer, andtop sawyerover them all. But stop a moment, I’ll just look at the binnacle, for that young topman’s nodding at the wheel.—I say, Mr Smith, are you shutting your eyes to keep them warm, and letting the ship run half a point out of her course? take care I don’t send for another helmsman that’s all, and give the reason why. You’ll make a wry face upon six-water grog, to-morrow, at seven bells. Damn your eyes, keep them open—can’t you?”Swinburne, after this genteel admonition to the man at the wheel, reseated himself and continued his narrative.“All this while, Mr Simple, we in theCaptainhad not fired a gun; but were ranging up as fast as we could to where the enemy lay in a heap. There were plenty to pick and choose from; and Nelson looked out sharp for a big one, as little boys do when they have to choose an apple: and, by the piper that played before Moses! it was a big one that he ordered the master to put him alongside of. She was a four-decker, called theSantissima Trinidad. We had to pass some whoppers, which would have satisfied any reasonable man; for there was theSan Josef, andSalvador del Mondo, andSan Nicolas; but nothing would suit Nelson but this four-decked ship; so we crossed the hawse of about six of them, and as soon as we were abreast of her, and at the word ‘Fire!’ every gun went off at once, slap into her, and the oldCaptainreeled at the discharge as if she was drunk. I wish you’d only seen how we pitched it into thisHoly Trinity; she washolyenough before we had done with her, riddled like a sieve, several of her ports knocked into one, and every scupper of her running blood and water. Not but what she stood to it as bold as brass, and gave us nearly gun for gun, and made a very pretty general average in our ship’s company. Many of the old captains went to kingdom come in that business, and many more were obliged to bear up for Greenwich Hospital.“‘Fire away, my lads—steady aim!’ cries Nelson. ‘Jump down there, Mr Thomas; pass the word to reduce the cartridges, the shot go clean through her. Double shot the guns there, fore and aft.’“So we were at it for about half-an-hour, when our guns became so hot from quick firing, that they bounced up to the beams overhead, tearing away their ringbolts, and snapping the breechings like rope yarns. By this time we were almost as much unrigged as if we had been two days paying off in Portsmouth harbour. The four-decker forged ahead, and Troubridge, in the jolly oldCulloden, came between us and two other Spanish ships, who were playing into us. She was as fresh as a daisy, and gave them a dose which quite astonished them. They shook their ears, and fell astern, when theBlenheimlaid hold of them, and mauled them so that they went astern again. But it was out of the frying-pan into the fire: for theOrion,Prince George, and one or two others, were coming up, and knocked the very guts out of them. I’ll be damned if they forgot the 14th of April, and sarve them right, too. Wasn’t a four-decker enough for any two-decker, without any more coming on us? and couldn’t the beggars have matched themselves like gentlemen? Well, Mr Simple, this gave us a minute or two to fetch our breath, let the guns cool, and repair damages, and swab the blood from the decks; but we lost our four-decker, for we could not get near her again.”“What odd names the Spaniards give to their ships, Swinburne!”“Why, yes, they do; it would almost appear wicked to belabour theHoly Trinityas we did. But why they should call a four-decked ship theHoly TrinityI can’t tell. Bill Saunders said that the fourth deck was for the Pope, who was as great a parsonage as the others: but I can’t understand how that can be. Well, Mr Simple, as I was head-signalman, I was perched on the poop, and didn’t serve at a gun. I had to report all I could see, which was not much, the smoke was so thick; but now and then I could get a peep, as it were, through the holes in the blanket. Of course I was obliged to keep my eye as much as possible upon the admiral, not to make out his signals, for Commodore Nelson wouldn’t thank me for that; I knew he hated a signal when in action, so I never took no notice of the bunting, but just watched to see what he was about. So while we are repairing damages, I’ll just tell you what I saw of the rest of the fleet. As soon as old Jervis had done for the Spanish admiral, he hauled his wind on the larboard tack, and, followed by four or five other ships, weathered the Spanish line and joined Collingwood in theExcellent. Then they all dashed through the line; theExcellentwas the leading ship, and she first took the shine out of theSalvador del Mondo, and then left her to be picked up by the other ships, while she attacked a two-decker, who hauled down her colours—I forget her name just now. As soon as theVictoryran alongside of theSalvador del Mondo, down went her colours, andExcellentreasons had she for striking her flag. And now, Mr Simple, the oldCaptaincomes into play again. Having parted company with the four-decker, we had recommenced action with theSan Nicolas, a spanish eighty, and while we were hard at it, old Collingwood comes up in theExcellent. TheSan Nicolas, knowing that theExcellent’sbroadside would send her to old Nick, put her helm up to avoid being raked: in so doing, she fell foul of theSan Josefa Spanish three-decker, and we being all cut to pieces, and unmanageable—all of us indeed reeling about like drunken men—Nelson ordered his helm a star-board, and in a jiffy there we were, all three hugging each other, running in one another’s guns, smashing our chain-plates, and poking our yard arms through each other’s canvas.“‘All hands to board!’ roared Nelson, leaping on the hammocks and waving his sword.“‘Hurrah! hurrah!’ echoed through the decks, and up flew the men, like as (men) angry bees out of a bee-hive. In a moment pikes, tomahawks, cutlasses, and pistols were seized (for it was quite unexpected, Mr Simple), and our men poured into the eighty-gun ship, and in two minutes the decks were cleared, and all the Dons pitched below. I joined the boarders and was on the main-deck when Captain Miller came down, and cried out, ‘On deck again immediately.’ Up we went, and what do you think it was for, Mr Simple? Why to board a second time; for Nelson having taken the two-decker, swore that he’d have the three-decker as well. So away we went again, clambering up her lofty sides how we could, and dropping down on her decks like hailstones. We all made for the quarter-deck, beat down every Spanish beggar that showed fight, and in five minutes more we had hauled down the colours of two of the finest ships in the Spanish navy. If that wasn’t taking the shine out of the Dons, I should like to know what is. And didn’t the old captains cheer and shake hands, as Commodore Nelson stood on the deck of theSan Josef, and received the swords of the Spanish officers! There was enough of them to go right round the capstern, and plenty to spare. Now, Mr Simple, what do you think of that for a spree?”“Why, Swinburne, I can only say that I wish I had been there.”“So did every man in the fleet, Mr Simple, I can tell you.”“But what became of theSantissima Trinidad?”“Upon my word, she behaved onedeckbetter than all the others. She held out against four of our ships for a long while, and then hauled down her colours, and no disgrace to her, considering what a precious hammering she had taken first. But the lee division of the Spanish weather fleet, if I may so call it, consisting of eleven sail of the line, came up to her assistance, and surrounded her, so that they got her off. Our ships were too much cut up to commence a new action, and the admiral made the signal to secure the prizes. The Spanish fleet then did what they should have done before—got into line; and we lost no time in doing the same. But we both had had fighting enough.”“But do you think, Swinburne, that the Spaniards fought well?”“They’d have fought better, if they’d only have known how. There’s no want of courage in the Dons, Mr Simple, but they did not support each other. Only observe how Troubridge supported us. By God, Mr Simple, he was thereal fellow, and Nelson knew it well. He was Nelson’s right-hand man; but you know there wasn’t room fortwoNelsons. Their ships engaged held out well, it must be acknowledged, but why wer’n’t they all in their proper berths? Had they kept close order of sailing, and had all fought as well as those who were captured, it would not have been a very easy matter for fifteen ships to gain a victory over twenty-six. That’s long odds, even when backed by British seamen.”“Well, how did you separate?”“Why, the next morning the Spaniards had the weather-gauge, so they had the option whether to fight or not. At one time they had half a mind, for they bore down to us; upon which we hauled our wind, to show them we were all ready to meet them, and then they thought better of it, and rounded-to again. So as they wouldn’t fight, and we didn’t wish it, we parted company in the night; and two days afterwards we anchored, with our four prizes, in Lagos Bay. So now you have the whole of it, Mr Simple, and I’ve talked till I’m quite hoarse. You havn’t by chance another drop of the stuff left to clear my throat? It would be quite a charity.”“I think I have, Swinburne; and as you deserve it, I will go and fetch it.”
The second night after this, we had the middle watch, and I claimed Swinburne’s promise that he would spin his yarn, relative to the battle of St. Vincent. “Well, Mr Simple, so I will; but I require a little priming, or I shall never go off.”
“Will you have your glass of grog before or after?”
“Before, by all means, if you please, sir. Run down and get it, and I’ll heave the log for you in the meantime, when we shall have a good hour without interruption, for the sea-breeze will be steady, and we are under easy sail.” I brought up a stiff glass of grog, which Swinburne tossed off, and as he finished it, sighed deeply as if in sorrow that there was no more. Having stowed away the tumbler in one of the cap stern holes for the present, we sat down upon a coil of ropes under the weather bulwarks, and Swinburne, replacing his quid of tobacco, commenced as follows:—
“Well, Mr Simple, as I told you before, old Jervis started with all his fleet for Cape St. Vincent. We lost one of our fleet—and a three-decker, too—theSt. George; she took the ground, and was obliged to go back to Lisbon; but we soon afterwards were joined by five sail of the line, sent out from England, so that we mustered fifteen sail in all. We had like to lose another of our mess, for d’ye see, the oldCullodenandColossusfell foul of each other, and theCullodenhad the worst on it, but Troubridge, who commanded her, was not a man to shy his work, and ax to go in to refit, when there was a chance of meeting the enemy—so he patched her up somehow or another, and reported himself ready for action the very next day. Ready for action he always was, that’s sure enough, but whether his ship was in a fit state to go into action, is quite another thing. But as the sailors used to say in joking, he was atrue bridge, and you might trust to him; which meant as much as to say, that he knew how to take his ship into action, and how to fight her when he was fairly in it. I think it was the next day that Cockburn joined us in theMinerve, and he brought Nelson along with him, with the intelligence that the Dons had chased him, and that the whole Spanish fleet was out in pursuit of us. Well, Mr Simple, you may guess we were not a little happy in theCaptain, when Nelson joined us, as we knew that if we fell in with the Spaniards, our ship would cut a figure—and so she did, sure enough. That was on the morning of the 13th, and old Jervis made the signal to prepare for action, and keep close order, which means, to have your flying jib-boom in at the starn windows of the ship ahead of you; and we did keep close order, for a man might have walked right round from one ship to the other, either lee or weather line of the fleet. I shan’t forget that night, Mr Simple, as long as I live and breathe. Every now and then we heard the signal guns of the Spanish fleet booming at a distance to windward of us, and you may guess how our hearts leaped at the sound, and how we watched with all our ears for the next gun that was fired, trying to make out their bearings and distance, as we assembled in little knots upon the booms and weather gangway. It was my middle watch, and I was signalman at the time, so of course I had no time to take a caulk if I was inclined. When my watch was over, I could not go down to my hammock, so I kept the morning watch too, as did most of the men on board: as for Nelson, he walked the deck the whole night, quite in a fever. At daylight it was thick and hazy weather, and we could not make them out; but about five bells, the oldCulloden, who, if she had broke her nose, had not lost the use of her eyes, made the signal for a part of the Spanish fleet in sight. Old Jervis repeated the signal to prepare for action, but he might have saved the wear and tear of the bunting, for we were all ready, bulkheads down, screens up, guns shotted, tackles rove, yards slung, powder filled, shot on deck, and fire out—and what’s more, Mr Simple, I’ll be damned if we wer’n’t all willing too. About six bells in the forenoon, the fog and haze all cleared away at once, just like the rising of the foresail, that they lower down at the Portsmouth Theatre, and discovered the whole of the Spanish fleet. I counted them all. ‘How many, Swinburne?’ cries Nelson. ‘Twenty-six sail, sir,’ answered I. Nelson walked the quarterdeck backwards and forwards, rubbing his hands, and laughing to himself, and then he called for his glass, and went to the gangway with Captain Miller. ‘Swinburne, keep a good look upon the admiral,’ says he. ‘Ay, ay, sir,’ says I. Now, you see, Mr Simple, twenty-six sail against fifteen were great odds upon paper; but we didn’t think so, because we know’d the difference between the two fleets. There was our fifteen sail of the line all in apple-pie order, packed up as close as dominoes, and every man on board of them longing to come to the scratch; while there was their twenty-six, allsomehow nohow, two lines here, andno linethere, with a great gap of water in the middle of them. For this gap between their ships we all steered, with all the sail we could carry, because, d’ye see, Mr Simple, by getting them on both sides of us, we had the advantage of fighting both broadsides, which is just as easy as fighting one, and makes shorter work of it. Just as it struck seven bells, Troubridge opened the ball,settingto half-a-dozen of the Spaniards, and making themreel‘Tom Collins,’ whether or no. Bang-bang-bang, bang! Oh, Mr Simple, it’s a beautiful sight, to see the first guns fired, that are to bring on a general action. ‘He’s the luckiest dog, that Troubridge,’ said Nelson, stamping with impatience. Our ships were soon hard at it, hammer and tongs, (my eyes, how they did pelt it in!) and old Sir John, in theVictory, smashed the cabin windows of the Spanish admiral, with such a hell of a raking broadside, that the fellow bore up as if the devil kicked him. Lord-a-mercy! you might have drove a Portsmouth waggon into his starn—the broadside of theVictoryhad made room enough. However, they were soon all smothered up in smoke, and we could not make out how things were going on—but we made a pretty good guess. Well, Mr Simple, as they say at the play, that was act the first, scene the first; and now we had to make our appearance, and I’ll leave you to judge, after I’ve told my tale, whether the oldCaptainwasn’t principal performer, andtop sawyerover them all. But stop a moment, I’ll just look at the binnacle, for that young topman’s nodding at the wheel.—I say, Mr Smith, are you shutting your eyes to keep them warm, and letting the ship run half a point out of her course? take care I don’t send for another helmsman that’s all, and give the reason why. You’ll make a wry face upon six-water grog, to-morrow, at seven bells. Damn your eyes, keep them open—can’t you?”
Swinburne, after this genteel admonition to the man at the wheel, reseated himself and continued his narrative.
“All this while, Mr Simple, we in theCaptainhad not fired a gun; but were ranging up as fast as we could to where the enemy lay in a heap. There were plenty to pick and choose from; and Nelson looked out sharp for a big one, as little boys do when they have to choose an apple: and, by the piper that played before Moses! it was a big one that he ordered the master to put him alongside of. She was a four-decker, called theSantissima Trinidad. We had to pass some whoppers, which would have satisfied any reasonable man; for there was theSan Josef, andSalvador del Mondo, andSan Nicolas; but nothing would suit Nelson but this four-decked ship; so we crossed the hawse of about six of them, and as soon as we were abreast of her, and at the word ‘Fire!’ every gun went off at once, slap into her, and the oldCaptainreeled at the discharge as if she was drunk. I wish you’d only seen how we pitched it into thisHoly Trinity; she washolyenough before we had done with her, riddled like a sieve, several of her ports knocked into one, and every scupper of her running blood and water. Not but what she stood to it as bold as brass, and gave us nearly gun for gun, and made a very pretty general average in our ship’s company. Many of the old captains went to kingdom come in that business, and many more were obliged to bear up for Greenwich Hospital.
“‘Fire away, my lads—steady aim!’ cries Nelson. ‘Jump down there, Mr Thomas; pass the word to reduce the cartridges, the shot go clean through her. Double shot the guns there, fore and aft.’
“So we were at it for about half-an-hour, when our guns became so hot from quick firing, that they bounced up to the beams overhead, tearing away their ringbolts, and snapping the breechings like rope yarns. By this time we were almost as much unrigged as if we had been two days paying off in Portsmouth harbour. The four-decker forged ahead, and Troubridge, in the jolly oldCulloden, came between us and two other Spanish ships, who were playing into us. She was as fresh as a daisy, and gave them a dose which quite astonished them. They shook their ears, and fell astern, when theBlenheimlaid hold of them, and mauled them so that they went astern again. But it was out of the frying-pan into the fire: for theOrion,Prince George, and one or two others, were coming up, and knocked the very guts out of them. I’ll be damned if they forgot the 14th of April, and sarve them right, too. Wasn’t a four-decker enough for any two-decker, without any more coming on us? and couldn’t the beggars have matched themselves like gentlemen? Well, Mr Simple, this gave us a minute or two to fetch our breath, let the guns cool, and repair damages, and swab the blood from the decks; but we lost our four-decker, for we could not get near her again.”
“What odd names the Spaniards give to their ships, Swinburne!”
“Why, yes, they do; it would almost appear wicked to belabour theHoly Trinityas we did. But why they should call a four-decked ship theHoly TrinityI can’t tell. Bill Saunders said that the fourth deck was for the Pope, who was as great a parsonage as the others: but I can’t understand how that can be. Well, Mr Simple, as I was head-signalman, I was perched on the poop, and didn’t serve at a gun. I had to report all I could see, which was not much, the smoke was so thick; but now and then I could get a peep, as it were, through the holes in the blanket. Of course I was obliged to keep my eye as much as possible upon the admiral, not to make out his signals, for Commodore Nelson wouldn’t thank me for that; I knew he hated a signal when in action, so I never took no notice of the bunting, but just watched to see what he was about. So while we are repairing damages, I’ll just tell you what I saw of the rest of the fleet. As soon as old Jervis had done for the Spanish admiral, he hauled his wind on the larboard tack, and, followed by four or five other ships, weathered the Spanish line and joined Collingwood in theExcellent. Then they all dashed through the line; theExcellentwas the leading ship, and she first took the shine out of theSalvador del Mondo, and then left her to be picked up by the other ships, while she attacked a two-decker, who hauled down her colours—I forget her name just now. As soon as theVictoryran alongside of theSalvador del Mondo, down went her colours, andExcellentreasons had she for striking her flag. And now, Mr Simple, the oldCaptaincomes into play again. Having parted company with the four-decker, we had recommenced action with theSan Nicolas, a spanish eighty, and while we were hard at it, old Collingwood comes up in theExcellent. TheSan Nicolas, knowing that theExcellent’sbroadside would send her to old Nick, put her helm up to avoid being raked: in so doing, she fell foul of theSan Josefa Spanish three-decker, and we being all cut to pieces, and unmanageable—all of us indeed reeling about like drunken men—Nelson ordered his helm a star-board, and in a jiffy there we were, all three hugging each other, running in one another’s guns, smashing our chain-plates, and poking our yard arms through each other’s canvas.
“‘All hands to board!’ roared Nelson, leaping on the hammocks and waving his sword.
“‘Hurrah! hurrah!’ echoed through the decks, and up flew the men, like as (men) angry bees out of a bee-hive. In a moment pikes, tomahawks, cutlasses, and pistols were seized (for it was quite unexpected, Mr Simple), and our men poured into the eighty-gun ship, and in two minutes the decks were cleared, and all the Dons pitched below. I joined the boarders and was on the main-deck when Captain Miller came down, and cried out, ‘On deck again immediately.’ Up we went, and what do you think it was for, Mr Simple? Why to board a second time; for Nelson having taken the two-decker, swore that he’d have the three-decker as well. So away we went again, clambering up her lofty sides how we could, and dropping down on her decks like hailstones. We all made for the quarter-deck, beat down every Spanish beggar that showed fight, and in five minutes more we had hauled down the colours of two of the finest ships in the Spanish navy. If that wasn’t taking the shine out of the Dons, I should like to know what is. And didn’t the old captains cheer and shake hands, as Commodore Nelson stood on the deck of theSan Josef, and received the swords of the Spanish officers! There was enough of them to go right round the capstern, and plenty to spare. Now, Mr Simple, what do you think of that for a spree?”
“Why, Swinburne, I can only say that I wish I had been there.”
“So did every man in the fleet, Mr Simple, I can tell you.”
“But what became of theSantissima Trinidad?”
“Upon my word, she behaved onedeckbetter than all the others. She held out against four of our ships for a long while, and then hauled down her colours, and no disgrace to her, considering what a precious hammering she had taken first. But the lee division of the Spanish weather fleet, if I may so call it, consisting of eleven sail of the line, came up to her assistance, and surrounded her, so that they got her off. Our ships were too much cut up to commence a new action, and the admiral made the signal to secure the prizes. The Spanish fleet then did what they should have done before—got into line; and we lost no time in doing the same. But we both had had fighting enough.”
“But do you think, Swinburne, that the Spaniards fought well?”
“They’d have fought better, if they’d only have known how. There’s no want of courage in the Dons, Mr Simple, but they did not support each other. Only observe how Troubridge supported us. By God, Mr Simple, he was thereal fellow, and Nelson knew it well. He was Nelson’s right-hand man; but you know there wasn’t room fortwoNelsons. Their ships engaged held out well, it must be acknowledged, but why wer’n’t they all in their proper berths? Had they kept close order of sailing, and had all fought as well as those who were captured, it would not have been a very easy matter for fifteen ships to gain a victory over twenty-six. That’s long odds, even when backed by British seamen.”
“Well, how did you separate?”
“Why, the next morning the Spaniards had the weather-gauge, so they had the option whether to fight or not. At one time they had half a mind, for they bore down to us; upon which we hauled our wind, to show them we were all ready to meet them, and then they thought better of it, and rounded-to again. So as they wouldn’t fight, and we didn’t wish it, we parted company in the night; and two days afterwards we anchored, with our four prizes, in Lagos Bay. So now you have the whole of it, Mr Simple, and I’ve talked till I’m quite hoarse. You havn’t by chance another drop of the stuff left to clear my throat? It would be quite a charity.”
“I think I have, Swinburne; and as you deserve it, I will go and fetch it.”
Chapter Thirty Six.A letter from Father McGrath, who diplomatises—When priest meets priest, then comes the tug of war—Father O’Toole not to be made a tool of.We continued our cruise for a fortnight, and then made sail for Jamaica, where we found the admiral at anchor at Port Royal: but our signal was made to keep under weigh, and Captain Kearney, having paid his respects to the admiral, received orders to carry despatches to Halifax. Water and provisions were sent on board by the boats of the admiral’s ships, and, to our great disappointment, as the evening closed in, we were again standing out to sea, instead of, as we had anticipated, enjoying ourselves on shore; but the fact was, that orders had arrived from England to send a frigate immediately up to the admiral at Halifax, to be at his disposal.I had, however, the satisfaction to know that Captain Kearney had been true to his word in making mention of my name in the despatch, for the clerk showed me a copy of it. Nothing occurred worth mentioning during our passage, except that Captain Kearney was very unwell nearly the whole of the time, and seldom quitted his cabin. It was in October that we anchored in Halifax harbour, and the Admiralty, expecting our arrival there, had forwarded our letters. There were none for me, but there was one for O’Brien, from Father McGrath, the contents of which were as follows:—“My dear son,—“And a good son you are, and that’s the truth on it, or devil a bit should you be a son of mine. You’ve made your family quite contented and peaceable and they never fight for thepratiesnow—good reason why they shouldn’t, seeing that there’s a plenty for all of them, and the pig craturs into the bargain. Your father and your mother, and your brother, and your three sisters, send their duty to you, and their blessings too—and you may add my blessing, Terence, which is worth them all; for won’t I get you out of purgatory in the twinkling of a bed-post? Make yourself quite asy on that score, and lave it all to me; only just say apaternow and then, that when St. Peter lets you in, he mayn’t throw it in your teeth, that you’ve saved your soul by contract, which is the only way by which emperors and kings ever get to heaven. Your letter from Plymouth came safe to hand: Barney, the post-boy, having dropped it under foot close to our door, the big pig took it into his mouth and ran away with it; but I caught sight of him, andspeakingto him, he let it go, knowing (the ’cute cratur!) that I could read it better than him. As soon as I had digested the contents, which it was lucky the pig did not instead of me, I just took my meal and my big stick, and then set off for Ballycleuch.“Now, you know, Terence, if you haven’t forgot—and if you have, I’ll just remind you—that there’s a flaunty sort of young woman at the poteen shop there, who calls herself Mrs O’Rourke, wife to a corporal O’Rourke, who was kilt or died one day, I don’t know which, but that’s not of much consequence. The devil a bit do I think the priest ever gave the marriage-blessing to that same; although she swears that she was married on the rock of Gibraltar—it may be a strong rock fore I know, but it’s not the rock of salvation like the seven sacraments, of which marriage is one.Benedicite! Mrs O’Rourke is a little too apt to fleer and jeer at the priests; and if it were not that she softens down her pertinent remarks with a glass or two of the real poteen, which proves some respect for the church, I’d excommunicate her body and soul, and everybody, and every soul that put their lips to the cratur at her door. But she must leave that off, as I tell her, when she gets old and ugly, for then all the whisky in the world shan’t save her. But she’s a fine woman now, and it goes agin my conscience to help the devil to a fine woman. Now this Mrs O’Rourke knows everybody and everything that’s going on in the country about; and she has a tongue which has never had a holyday since it was let loose.“‘Good morning to ye, Mrs O’Rourke,’ says I.“‘An’ the top of the morning to you, Father McGrath,’ says she, with a smile: ‘what brings you here? Is it a journey that you’re taking to buy the true wood of the cross; or is it a purty girl that you wish to confess, Father McGrath? or is it only that you’re come for a drop of poteen, and a little bit of chat with Mrs O’Rourke?’“‘Sure it’s I who’d be glad to find the same true wood of the cross, Mrs O’Rourke, but it’s not grown, I suspect, at your town of Ballycleuch; and it’s no objection I’d have to confess a purty girl like yourself, Mrs O’Rourke, who’ll only tell me half her sins, and give me no trouble; but it’s the truth, that I’m here for nothing else but to have a bit of chat with yourself, dainty dear, and taste your poteen, just by way of keeping my mouth nate and clane.’“So Mrs O’Rourke poured out the real stuff, which I drank to her health; and then says I, putting down the bit of a glass, ‘So you’ve a stranger come, I find, in your parts, Mrs O’Rourke.’“‘I’ve heard the same,’ replied she. So you observe, Terence, I came to the fact all at once by a guess.“‘I’m tould,’ says I, ‘that he’s a Scotchman, and spakes what nobody can understand.’“‘Devil a bit,’ says she; ‘he’s an Englishman, and speaks plain enough.’“‘But what can a man mane, to come here and sit down all alone?’ says I.“‘All alone, Father McGrath!’ replied she: ‘is a man all alone when he’s got his wife and childer, and more coming, with the blessing of God?’“‘But those boys are not his own childer, I believe,’ says I.“‘There again you’re all in a mistake, Father McGrath,’ rejoins she. ‘The childer are all his own, and all girls to boot. It appears that it’s just as well that you come down, now and then, for information, to our town of Ballycleuch.’“‘Very true, Mrs O’Rourke,’ says I; ‘and who is it that knows everything so well as yourself?’ You observe, Terence, that I just said everything contrary andvice versa, as they call it, to the contents of your letter; for always recollect, my son, that if you would worm a secret out of a woman, you’ll do more by contradiction than you ever will by coaxing—so I went on: ‘Anyhow, I think it’s a burning shame, Mrs O’Rourke, for a gentleman to bring over with him here from England a parcel of lazy English servants, when there’s so many nice boys and girls here to attind upon them.’“‘Now there you’re all wrong again, Father McGrath,’ says she. ‘Devil a soul has he brought from the other country, but has hired them all here. Ain’t there Ella Flanagan for one maid, and Terence Driscol for a footman? and it’s well that he looks in his new uniform, when he comes down for the newspapers; and ar’n’t Moggy Cala there to cook the dinner, and pretty Mary Sullivan for a nurse for the babby as soon as it comes into the world.’“‘Is it Mary Sullivan, you mane?’ says I; ‘she that was married about three months back, and is so quick in child-getting, that she’s all but ready to fall to pieces in this same time?’“‘It’s exactly she,’ says Mrs O’Rourke; ‘and do you know the reason?’“‘Devil a bit,’ says I; ‘how shouldI?’“‘Then it’s just that she may send her own child away, and give her milk to the English babby that’s coming; because the lady is too much of a lady to have a child hanging to her breast.’“‘But suppose Mary Sullivan’s child ar’n’t born till afterwards, how then?’ says I. ‘Speak, Mrs O’Rourke, for you’re a sensible woman.’“‘How then?’ says she. ‘Och! that’s all arranged; for Mary says that she’ll be in bed a week before the lady, so that’s all right, you’ll perceive, Father McGrath.’“‘But don’t you perceive, sensible woman as you are, that a young woman, who is so much out of her reckoning as to have a child three months after her marriage, may make a little mistake in her lying-in arithmetic, Mrs O’Rourke?’“‘Never fear, Father McGrath, Mary Sullivan will keep her word; and sooner than disappoint the lady, and lose her place, she’ll just tumble downstairs, and won’t that put her to bed fast enough?’“‘Well, that’s what I call a faithful good servant that earns her wages,’ says I; ‘so now I’ll just take another glass, Mrs O’Rourke, and thank you too. Sure you’re the woman that knows everything, and a mighty pretty woman into the bargain.’“‘Let me alone now, Father McGrath, and don’t be pinching me that way anyhow.’“‘It was only a big flea that I perceived hopping on your gown, my darling, devil anything else.’“‘Many thanks to you, father, for that same; but the next time you’d kill my fleas, just wait until they’re in amore dacentsituation.’“‘Fleas are fleas, Mrs O’Rourke, and we must catch ’em when we can, and how we can, and as we can, so no offence. A good night’s rest to you, Mrs O’Rourke—when do you mean to confess?’“‘I’ve an idea that I’ve too many fleas about me to confess to you just now, Father McGrath, and that’s the truth on it. So a pleasant walk back to you.’“So you’ll perceive, my son, that having got all the information from Mrs O’Rourke, it’s back I went to Ballyhinch, till I heard it whispered that there were doings down at the old house at Ballycleuch. Off I set, and went to the house itself, as priests always ought to be welcomed at births and marriages, and deaths, being, as you know, of great use on such occasions—when who should open the door but Father O’Toole, the biggest rapparee of a priest in the whole of Ireland. Didn’t he steal a horse, and only save his neck by benefit of clergy? and did he ever give absolution to any young woman without making her sin over again? ‘What may be your pleasure here, Father McGrath?’ says he, holding the door with his hand.“‘Only just to call and hear what’s going on.’“‘For the matter of that,’ says he, ‘I’ll just tell you that we’re all going on very well; but ar’n’t you ashamed of yourself, Father McGrath, to come here and interfere with my flock, knowing that I confess the house altogether?’“‘That’s as may be,’ says I, ‘but I only wanted to know what the lady had brought into the world.’“‘It’s achild,’ says he.“‘Indeed!’ says I; ‘many thanks for the information, and pray what is it that Mary Sullivan has brought into the world?’“‘That’s achild, too,’ says he; ‘and now that you know all about it, good evening to you, Father McGrath.’ And the ugly brute slarnmed the door right in my face.“‘Who stole a horse?’ cries I; but he didn’t hear me—more’s the pity.“So you’ll perceive, my dear boy, that I have found out something, at all events, but not so much as I intended; for I’ll prove to Father O’Toole, that he’s no match for Father McGrath. But what I find out must be reserved for another letter, seeing that it’s not possible to tell it to you in this same. Praties look well, but somehow or anotherclothesdon’t grow upon trees in ould Ireland; and one of your half quarterly bills, or a little prize-money, if it found its way here, would add not a little to the respectability of the family appearance. Even my cassock is becoming tooholyfor a parish priest; not that I care about it so much, only Father O’Toole, the baste! had on a bran new one—not that I believe that he ever came honestly by it, as I have by mine—but, get it how you may, a new gown always looks better than an ould one, that’s certain. So no more at present from your loving friend and confessor,“Urtagh McGrath.”“Now, you’ll observe, Peter,” said O’Brien, after I had read the letter, “that, as I supposed, your uncle meant mischief when he went over to Ireland. Whether the children are both girls or both boys, or your uncle’s is a boy, and the other is a girl, there’s no knowledge at present. If an exchange was required, it’s made, that’s certain; but I will write again to Father McGrath, and insist upon his finding out the truth, if possible. Have you any letter from your father?”“None, I am sorry to say. I wish I had, for he would not have failed to speak on the subject.”“Well, never mind, it’s no use dreaming over the matter; we must do our best when we get to England ourselves, and in the meantime trust to Father McGrath. I’ll go and write to him while my mind’s full of it.” O’Brien wrote his letter, and the subject was not started again.
We continued our cruise for a fortnight, and then made sail for Jamaica, where we found the admiral at anchor at Port Royal: but our signal was made to keep under weigh, and Captain Kearney, having paid his respects to the admiral, received orders to carry despatches to Halifax. Water and provisions were sent on board by the boats of the admiral’s ships, and, to our great disappointment, as the evening closed in, we were again standing out to sea, instead of, as we had anticipated, enjoying ourselves on shore; but the fact was, that orders had arrived from England to send a frigate immediately up to the admiral at Halifax, to be at his disposal.
I had, however, the satisfaction to know that Captain Kearney had been true to his word in making mention of my name in the despatch, for the clerk showed me a copy of it. Nothing occurred worth mentioning during our passage, except that Captain Kearney was very unwell nearly the whole of the time, and seldom quitted his cabin. It was in October that we anchored in Halifax harbour, and the Admiralty, expecting our arrival there, had forwarded our letters. There were none for me, but there was one for O’Brien, from Father McGrath, the contents of which were as follows:—
“My dear son,—
“And a good son you are, and that’s the truth on it, or devil a bit should you be a son of mine. You’ve made your family quite contented and peaceable and they never fight for thepratiesnow—good reason why they shouldn’t, seeing that there’s a plenty for all of them, and the pig craturs into the bargain. Your father and your mother, and your brother, and your three sisters, send their duty to you, and their blessings too—and you may add my blessing, Terence, which is worth them all; for won’t I get you out of purgatory in the twinkling of a bed-post? Make yourself quite asy on that score, and lave it all to me; only just say apaternow and then, that when St. Peter lets you in, he mayn’t throw it in your teeth, that you’ve saved your soul by contract, which is the only way by which emperors and kings ever get to heaven. Your letter from Plymouth came safe to hand: Barney, the post-boy, having dropped it under foot close to our door, the big pig took it into his mouth and ran away with it; but I caught sight of him, andspeakingto him, he let it go, knowing (the ’cute cratur!) that I could read it better than him. As soon as I had digested the contents, which it was lucky the pig did not instead of me, I just took my meal and my big stick, and then set off for Ballycleuch.
“Now, you know, Terence, if you haven’t forgot—and if you have, I’ll just remind you—that there’s a flaunty sort of young woman at the poteen shop there, who calls herself Mrs O’Rourke, wife to a corporal O’Rourke, who was kilt or died one day, I don’t know which, but that’s not of much consequence. The devil a bit do I think the priest ever gave the marriage-blessing to that same; although she swears that she was married on the rock of Gibraltar—it may be a strong rock fore I know, but it’s not the rock of salvation like the seven sacraments, of which marriage is one.Benedicite! Mrs O’Rourke is a little too apt to fleer and jeer at the priests; and if it were not that she softens down her pertinent remarks with a glass or two of the real poteen, which proves some respect for the church, I’d excommunicate her body and soul, and everybody, and every soul that put their lips to the cratur at her door. But she must leave that off, as I tell her, when she gets old and ugly, for then all the whisky in the world shan’t save her. But she’s a fine woman now, and it goes agin my conscience to help the devil to a fine woman. Now this Mrs O’Rourke knows everybody and everything that’s going on in the country about; and she has a tongue which has never had a holyday since it was let loose.
“‘Good morning to ye, Mrs O’Rourke,’ says I.
“‘An’ the top of the morning to you, Father McGrath,’ says she, with a smile: ‘what brings you here? Is it a journey that you’re taking to buy the true wood of the cross; or is it a purty girl that you wish to confess, Father McGrath? or is it only that you’re come for a drop of poteen, and a little bit of chat with Mrs O’Rourke?’
“‘Sure it’s I who’d be glad to find the same true wood of the cross, Mrs O’Rourke, but it’s not grown, I suspect, at your town of Ballycleuch; and it’s no objection I’d have to confess a purty girl like yourself, Mrs O’Rourke, who’ll only tell me half her sins, and give me no trouble; but it’s the truth, that I’m here for nothing else but to have a bit of chat with yourself, dainty dear, and taste your poteen, just by way of keeping my mouth nate and clane.’
“So Mrs O’Rourke poured out the real stuff, which I drank to her health; and then says I, putting down the bit of a glass, ‘So you’ve a stranger come, I find, in your parts, Mrs O’Rourke.’
“‘I’ve heard the same,’ replied she. So you observe, Terence, I came to the fact all at once by a guess.
“‘I’m tould,’ says I, ‘that he’s a Scotchman, and spakes what nobody can understand.’
“‘Devil a bit,’ says she; ‘he’s an Englishman, and speaks plain enough.’
“‘But what can a man mane, to come here and sit down all alone?’ says I.
“‘All alone, Father McGrath!’ replied she: ‘is a man all alone when he’s got his wife and childer, and more coming, with the blessing of God?’
“‘But those boys are not his own childer, I believe,’ says I.
“‘There again you’re all in a mistake, Father McGrath,’ rejoins she. ‘The childer are all his own, and all girls to boot. It appears that it’s just as well that you come down, now and then, for information, to our town of Ballycleuch.’
“‘Very true, Mrs O’Rourke,’ says I; ‘and who is it that knows everything so well as yourself?’ You observe, Terence, that I just said everything contrary andvice versa, as they call it, to the contents of your letter; for always recollect, my son, that if you would worm a secret out of a woman, you’ll do more by contradiction than you ever will by coaxing—so I went on: ‘Anyhow, I think it’s a burning shame, Mrs O’Rourke, for a gentleman to bring over with him here from England a parcel of lazy English servants, when there’s so many nice boys and girls here to attind upon them.’
“‘Now there you’re all wrong again, Father McGrath,’ says she. ‘Devil a soul has he brought from the other country, but has hired them all here. Ain’t there Ella Flanagan for one maid, and Terence Driscol for a footman? and it’s well that he looks in his new uniform, when he comes down for the newspapers; and ar’n’t Moggy Cala there to cook the dinner, and pretty Mary Sullivan for a nurse for the babby as soon as it comes into the world.’
“‘Is it Mary Sullivan, you mane?’ says I; ‘she that was married about three months back, and is so quick in child-getting, that she’s all but ready to fall to pieces in this same time?’
“‘It’s exactly she,’ says Mrs O’Rourke; ‘and do you know the reason?’
“‘Devil a bit,’ says I; ‘how shouldI?’
“‘Then it’s just that she may send her own child away, and give her milk to the English babby that’s coming; because the lady is too much of a lady to have a child hanging to her breast.’
“‘But suppose Mary Sullivan’s child ar’n’t born till afterwards, how then?’ says I. ‘Speak, Mrs O’Rourke, for you’re a sensible woman.’
“‘How then?’ says she. ‘Och! that’s all arranged; for Mary says that she’ll be in bed a week before the lady, so that’s all right, you’ll perceive, Father McGrath.’
“‘But don’t you perceive, sensible woman as you are, that a young woman, who is so much out of her reckoning as to have a child three months after her marriage, may make a little mistake in her lying-in arithmetic, Mrs O’Rourke?’
“‘Never fear, Father McGrath, Mary Sullivan will keep her word; and sooner than disappoint the lady, and lose her place, she’ll just tumble downstairs, and won’t that put her to bed fast enough?’
“‘Well, that’s what I call a faithful good servant that earns her wages,’ says I; ‘so now I’ll just take another glass, Mrs O’Rourke, and thank you too. Sure you’re the woman that knows everything, and a mighty pretty woman into the bargain.’
“‘Let me alone now, Father McGrath, and don’t be pinching me that way anyhow.’
“‘It was only a big flea that I perceived hopping on your gown, my darling, devil anything else.’
“‘Many thanks to you, father, for that same; but the next time you’d kill my fleas, just wait until they’re in amore dacentsituation.’
“‘Fleas are fleas, Mrs O’Rourke, and we must catch ’em when we can, and how we can, and as we can, so no offence. A good night’s rest to you, Mrs O’Rourke—when do you mean to confess?’
“‘I’ve an idea that I’ve too many fleas about me to confess to you just now, Father McGrath, and that’s the truth on it. So a pleasant walk back to you.’
“So you’ll perceive, my son, that having got all the information from Mrs O’Rourke, it’s back I went to Ballyhinch, till I heard it whispered that there were doings down at the old house at Ballycleuch. Off I set, and went to the house itself, as priests always ought to be welcomed at births and marriages, and deaths, being, as you know, of great use on such occasions—when who should open the door but Father O’Toole, the biggest rapparee of a priest in the whole of Ireland. Didn’t he steal a horse, and only save his neck by benefit of clergy? and did he ever give absolution to any young woman without making her sin over again? ‘What may be your pleasure here, Father McGrath?’ says he, holding the door with his hand.
“‘Only just to call and hear what’s going on.’
“‘For the matter of that,’ says he, ‘I’ll just tell you that we’re all going on very well; but ar’n’t you ashamed of yourself, Father McGrath, to come here and interfere with my flock, knowing that I confess the house altogether?’
“‘That’s as may be,’ says I, ‘but I only wanted to know what the lady had brought into the world.’
“‘It’s achild,’ says he.
“‘Indeed!’ says I; ‘many thanks for the information, and pray what is it that Mary Sullivan has brought into the world?’
“‘That’s achild, too,’ says he; ‘and now that you know all about it, good evening to you, Father McGrath.’ And the ugly brute slarnmed the door right in my face.
“‘Who stole a horse?’ cries I; but he didn’t hear me—more’s the pity.
“So you’ll perceive, my dear boy, that I have found out something, at all events, but not so much as I intended; for I’ll prove to Father O’Toole, that he’s no match for Father McGrath. But what I find out must be reserved for another letter, seeing that it’s not possible to tell it to you in this same. Praties look well, but somehow or anotherclothesdon’t grow upon trees in ould Ireland; and one of your half quarterly bills, or a little prize-money, if it found its way here, would add not a little to the respectability of the family appearance. Even my cassock is becoming tooholyfor a parish priest; not that I care about it so much, only Father O’Toole, the baste! had on a bran new one—not that I believe that he ever came honestly by it, as I have by mine—but, get it how you may, a new gown always looks better than an ould one, that’s certain. So no more at present from your loving friend and confessor,
“Urtagh McGrath.”
“Now, you’ll observe, Peter,” said O’Brien, after I had read the letter, “that, as I supposed, your uncle meant mischief when he went over to Ireland. Whether the children are both girls or both boys, or your uncle’s is a boy, and the other is a girl, there’s no knowledge at present. If an exchange was required, it’s made, that’s certain; but I will write again to Father McGrath, and insist upon his finding out the truth, if possible. Have you any letter from your father?”
“None, I am sorry to say. I wish I had, for he would not have failed to speak on the subject.”
“Well, never mind, it’s no use dreaming over the matter; we must do our best when we get to England ourselves, and in the meantime trust to Father McGrath. I’ll go and write to him while my mind’s full of it.” O’Brien wrote his letter, and the subject was not started again.
Chapter Thirty Seven.Captain Kearney’s illness—He makes his will and devises sundry “chateaux en espagne,” for the benefit of those concerned—The legacy duty in this instance not ruinous—He signs, seals, and dies.The captain, as was his custom, went on shore, and took up his quarters at a friend’s house; that is to say, the house of an acquaintance, or any polite gentleman who would ask him to take a dinner and a bed. This was quite sufficient for Captain Kearney, who would fill his portmanteau, and take up his quarters without thinking of leaving them until the ship sailed, or some more advantageous invitation was given. This conduct in England would have very much trespassed upon our ideas of hospitality; but in our foreign settlements and colonies, where the society is confined and novelty is desirable, a person who could amuse like Captain Kearney was generally welcome, let him stay as long as he pleased. All sailors agree in asserting that Halifax is one of the most delightful ports in which a ship can anchor. Everybody is hospitable, cheerful, and willing to amuse and be amused. It is, therefore, a very bad place to send a ship to if you wish her to refit in a hurry, unless indeed the admiral is there to watch over your daily progress, and a sharp commissioner to expedite your motions in the dock-yard. The admiral was there when we arrived, and we should not have lain there long, had not the health of Captain Kearney, by the time that we were ready for sea, been so seriously affected, that the doctor was of opinion that he could not sail. Another frigate was sent to our intended cruising ground, and we lay idle in port. But we consoled ourselves: if we did not make prize-money, at all events, we were very happy, and the major part of the officers very much in love.We had remained in Halifax harbour about three weeks, when a very great change for the worse took place in Captain Kearney’s disease. Disease, indeed, it could hardly be called. He had been long suffering from the insidious attacks of a hot climate, and though repeatedly advised to invalid, he never would consent. His constitution appeared now to be breaking up. In a few days he was so ill, that, at the request of the naval surgeons, he consented to be removed to the hospital, where he could command more comforts than in any private house. He had not been in the hospital more than two days, when he sent for me, and stated his wish that I should remain with him. “You know, Peter, that you are a cousin of mine, and one likes to have one’s relations near one when we are sick, so bring your traps on shore. The doctor has promised me a nice little room for yourself, and you shall come and sit with me all day.” I certainly had no objection to remain with him, because I considered it my duty so to do, and I must say that there was no occasion for me to make any efforts to entertain him, as he always entertained me; but I could not help seriously reflecting, and feeling much shocked, at a man, lying in so dangerous a state—for the doctors had pronounced his recovery to be impossible—still continuing a system of falsehood during the whole day, without intermission. But it really appeared to him to be innate; and, as Swinburne said, “if he told truth, it was entirely by mistake.”“Peter,” said he, one day, “there’s a great draught. Shut the door and put on some more coals.”“The fire does not draw well, sir,” replied I, “without the door is open.”“It’s astonishing how little people understand the nature of these things. When I built my house called Welcot Abbey, there was not a chimney would draw; I sent for the architect and abused him, but he could not manage it; I was obliged to do it myself.”“Did you manage it, sir?”“Manage it—I think I did. The first time I lighted the fire, I opened the door, and the draught was so great, that my little boy William, who was standing in the current of air, would have gone right up the chimney, if I had not caught him by the petticoats; as it was, his frock was on fire.”“Why, sir, it must have been as bad as a hurricane!”“No, no, not quite so bad—but it showed what a little knowledge of philosophical arrangement could effect. We have no hurricanes in England, Peter; but I have seen a very pretty whirlwind when I was at Welcot Abbey.”“Indeed, sir.”“Yes, it cut four square haystacks quite round, and I lost twenty tons of hay; it twisted the iron lamppost at the entrance just as a porpoise twists a harpoon, and took up a sow and her litter of pigs that were about a hundred yards from the back of the house, and landed them safe over the house, to the front, with the exception of the old sow putting her shoulder out.”“Indeed, sir.”“Yes, but what was strange, there were a great many rats in the hayrick, and up they went with the hay. Now, Peter, by the laws of gravitation, they naturally came down before the hay, and I was walking with my greyhound, or rather terrier, and after one coming down close to her, which she killed, it was quite ridiculous to notice her looking up in the air, and watching for the others.”“A greyhound did you say, sir, or a terrier?”“Both, Peter: the fact is, she had been a greyhound, but breaking her fore-leg against a stump, when coursing, I had the other three amputated as well, and then she made a capital terrier. She was a great favourite of mine.”“Well,” observed I, “I have read something like that in Baron Munchausen.”“Mr Simple,” said the captain, turning on his elbow and looking me severely in the face, “what do you mean to imply?”“O nothing, sir, but I have read a story of that kind.”“Most probably; the great art of invention is to found it upon facts. There are some people who out of a mole-hill will make a mountain; and facts and fiction become so blended now-a-days, that even truth becomes a matter of doubt.”“Very true, sir,” replied I; and as he did not speak for some minutes, I ventured to bring my Bible to his bedside, as if I were reading it to myself.“What are you reading, Peter?” said he.“Only a chapter in the Bible, sir,” said I. “Would you like that I should read aloud?”“Yes, I’m very fond of the Bible—it’s the book oftruth. Peter, read me about Jacob, and his weathering Esau with a mess of pottage, and obtaining his father’s blessing.” I could not help thinking it singular that he should select a portion in which, for divine reasons, a lie was crowned with such success and reward.When I had finished it, he asked me to read something more; I turned over to the Acts of the Apostles, and commenced the chapter in which Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead. When I had finished, he observed very seriously, “That is a very good lesson for young people, Peter, and points out that you never should swerve from the truth. Recollect, as your motto, Peter, to ‘tell truth and shame the devil.’”After this observation I laid down the book, as it appeared to me that he was quite unaware of his propensity; and without a sense of your fault, how can repentance and amendment be expected? He became more feeble and exhausted every day, and at last was so weak that he could scarcely raise himself in his bed. One afternoon he said, “Peter, I shall make my will, not that I am going to kick the bucket just yet; but still it is every man’s duty to set his house in order, and it will amuse me: so fetch pen and paper, and come and sit down by me.”I did as he requested.“Write, Peter, that I, Anthony George William Charles Huskisson Kearney, (my father’s name was Anthony, Peter; I was christened George after the present Regent, William and Charles after Mr Pitt and Mr Fox, who were my sponsors; Huskisson is the name of my great uncle, whose property devolves to me; he’s eighty-three now, so he can’t last long,)—have you written down that?”“Yes, sir.”“Being in sound mind, do hereby make my last will and testament, revoking all former wills.”“Yes, sir.”“I bequeath to my dearly beloved wife, Augusta Charlotte Kearney (she was named after the Queen and Princess Augusta, who held her at the baptismal font), all my household furniture, books, pictures, plate, and houses, for her own free use and will, and to dispose of at her pleasure upon her demise. Is that down?”“Yes, sir.”“Also, the interest of all my money in the three per cents reduced, and in the long annuities, and the balance in my agent’s hands, for her natural life. At her death to be divided into equal portions between my two children, William Mohamed Potemkin Kearney, and Caroline Anastasia Kearney. Is that down?”“Yes, sir.”“Well, then, Peter, now for my real property. My estate in Kent (let me see, what is the name of it?)—Walcot Abbey, my three farms in the Vale of Aylesbury, and the marsh lands in Norfolk I bequeath to my two children aforenamed, the proceeds of the same to be laid up deducting all necessary expenses for their education, for their sole use and benefit. Is that down?”“Not yet, sir—‘use and benefit.’ Now it is, sir.”“Until they come to the age of twenty-one years; or in case of my daughter, until she marries with the consent of my executors, then to be equally and fairly valued and divided between them. You observe, Peter I never make any difference between girls and boys—a good father will leave one child as much as another. Now I’ll take my breath a little.”I was really astonished. It was well known that Captain Kearney had nothing but his pay, and that it was the hopes of prize-money to support his family, which had induced him to stay out so long in the West Indies. It was laughable; yet I could not laugh: there was a melancholy feeling at such a specimen of insanity which prevented me.“Now, Peter, we’ll go on,” said Captain Kearney, after a pause of a few minutes. “I have a few legacies to bequeath. First, to all my servants 50 pounds each, and two suits of mourning; to my nephew, Thomas Kearney, of Kearney Hall, Yorkshire, I bequeath the sword presented me by the grand Sultan. I promised it to him, and, although we have quarrelled, and not spoken for years, I always keep my word. The plate presented me by the merchants and under-writers of Lloyd’s I leave to my worthy friend the Duke of Newcastle. Is that down?”“Yes, sir.”“Well; my snuff-box, presented me by Prince Potemkin, I bequeath to Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin; and, also, I release him from the mortgage which I hold over his property of the Madeline Islands, in North America. By-the-bye, say, and further, I bequeath to him the bag of snuff presented to me by the Dey of Algiers; he may as well have the snuff as he has the snuff-box. Is that down?”“Yes, sir.”“Well then, now, Peter, I must leave you something.”“O, never mind me,” replied I.“No, no, Peter, I must not forget my cousin. Let me see, you shall have my fighting sword. A real good one, I can tell you. I once fought a duel with it at Palermo, and ran a Sicilian prince so clean through the body, and it held so tight, that we were obliged to send for a pair of post-horses to pull it out again. Put that down as a legacy for my cousin, Peter Simple. I believe that is all. Now for my executors, and I request my particular friends, the Earl of Londonderry, the Marquis of Chandos, and Mr John Lubbock, banker, to be my executors, and leave each of them the sum of one thousand pounds for their trouble, and in token of regard. That will do, Peter. Now, as I have left so much real property, it is necessary that there should be three witnesses; so call in two more, and let me sign in your presence.”This order was obeyed, and this strange will duly attested; for I hardly need say, that even the presents he had pretended to receive were purchased by himself at different times; but such was the force of his ruling passion even to the last. Mr Phillott and O’Brien used to come and see him, as did occasionally some of the other officers, and he was always cheerful and merry, and seemed to be quite indifferent about his situation, although fully aware of it. His stories, if anything, became more marvellous, as no one ventured to express a doubt as to their credibility.I had remained in the hospital about a week, when Captain Kearney was evidently dying: the doctor came, felt his pulse, and gave it as his opinion that he could not outlive the day. This was on a Friday, and there certainly was every symptom of dissolution. He was so exhausted, that he could scarcely articulate; his feet were cold, and his eyes appeared glazed, and turning upwards. The doctor remained an hour, felt his pulse again, shook his head, and said to me in a low voice, “He is quite gone.” As soon as the doctor quitted the room, Captain Kearney opened his eyes, and beckoned me to him. “He’s a confounded fool, Peter,” said he: “he thinks I am slipping my wind now—but I know better; going I am, ’tis true—but I sha’n’t die till next Thursday.” Strange to say, from that moment he rallied; and although it was reported that he was dead, and the admiral had signed the acting order for his successor, the next morning, to the astonishment of everybody, Captain Kearney was still alive. He continued in this state, between life and death, until the Thursday next, the day on which he asserted that he would die—and, on that morning, he was evidently sinking fast. Towards noon, his breathing became much oppressed and irregular, and he was evidently dying, the rattle in his throat commenced; and I watched at his bedside, waiting for his last grasp, when he again opened his eyes, and beckoning me, with an effort, to put my head close to him to hear what he had to say, he contrived in a sort of gurgling whisper, and with much difficulty, to utter—“Peter, I’m going now—not that the rattle—in my throat—is a sign of death: for I once knew a man—tolivewith—the rattle in his throat—forsixweeks.” He fell back and expired, having, perhaps, at his last gasp, told the greatest lie of his whole life.Thus died this most extraordinary character, who, in most other points, commanded respect; he was a kind man, and a good officer; but from the idiosyncrasy of his disposition, whether from habit or from nature, could not speak the truth. I say from nature, because I have witnessed the vice of stealing equally strong, and never to the eradicated. It was in a young messmate of good family, and who was supplied with money to almost any extent: he was one of the most generous, open-hearted lads that I ever knew; he would offer his purse, or the contents of his chest, to any of his messmates; and, at the same time, would steal everything that he could lay his hands upon. I have known him watch for hours, to steal what could be of no use to him, as, for instance, an odd shoe, and that much too small for his foot. What he stole he would give away the very next day; but to check it was impossible. It was so well known, that if anything were missed, we used first to apply to his chest to see if it were there, and usually found the article in question. He appeared to be wholly insensible to shame upon this subject, though in every other he showed no want of feeling or of honour; and, strange to say, he never covered his theft with a lie. After vain attempts to cure him of this propensity, he was dismissed the service as incorrigible.Captain Kearney was buried in the churchyard with the usual military honours. In his desk we found directions, in his own hand, relative to his funeral, and the engraving on his tombstone. In these, he states his age to be thirty-one years. If this were correct, Captain Kearney, from the time that he had been in the service of his country, must have entered the navy justfour months beforehe was born. It was unfortunate that he commenced the inscription with “Here lies Captain Kearney,” etcetera, etcetera. His tombstone had not been set up twenty-four hours, before somebody, who knew his character, put a dash under one word, as emphatic as it was true of the living man, “HereliesCaptain Kearney.”
The captain, as was his custom, went on shore, and took up his quarters at a friend’s house; that is to say, the house of an acquaintance, or any polite gentleman who would ask him to take a dinner and a bed. This was quite sufficient for Captain Kearney, who would fill his portmanteau, and take up his quarters without thinking of leaving them until the ship sailed, or some more advantageous invitation was given. This conduct in England would have very much trespassed upon our ideas of hospitality; but in our foreign settlements and colonies, where the society is confined and novelty is desirable, a person who could amuse like Captain Kearney was generally welcome, let him stay as long as he pleased. All sailors agree in asserting that Halifax is one of the most delightful ports in which a ship can anchor. Everybody is hospitable, cheerful, and willing to amuse and be amused. It is, therefore, a very bad place to send a ship to if you wish her to refit in a hurry, unless indeed the admiral is there to watch over your daily progress, and a sharp commissioner to expedite your motions in the dock-yard. The admiral was there when we arrived, and we should not have lain there long, had not the health of Captain Kearney, by the time that we were ready for sea, been so seriously affected, that the doctor was of opinion that he could not sail. Another frigate was sent to our intended cruising ground, and we lay idle in port. But we consoled ourselves: if we did not make prize-money, at all events, we were very happy, and the major part of the officers very much in love.
We had remained in Halifax harbour about three weeks, when a very great change for the worse took place in Captain Kearney’s disease. Disease, indeed, it could hardly be called. He had been long suffering from the insidious attacks of a hot climate, and though repeatedly advised to invalid, he never would consent. His constitution appeared now to be breaking up. In a few days he was so ill, that, at the request of the naval surgeons, he consented to be removed to the hospital, where he could command more comforts than in any private house. He had not been in the hospital more than two days, when he sent for me, and stated his wish that I should remain with him. “You know, Peter, that you are a cousin of mine, and one likes to have one’s relations near one when we are sick, so bring your traps on shore. The doctor has promised me a nice little room for yourself, and you shall come and sit with me all day.” I certainly had no objection to remain with him, because I considered it my duty so to do, and I must say that there was no occasion for me to make any efforts to entertain him, as he always entertained me; but I could not help seriously reflecting, and feeling much shocked, at a man, lying in so dangerous a state—for the doctors had pronounced his recovery to be impossible—still continuing a system of falsehood during the whole day, without intermission. But it really appeared to him to be innate; and, as Swinburne said, “if he told truth, it was entirely by mistake.”
“Peter,” said he, one day, “there’s a great draught. Shut the door and put on some more coals.”
“The fire does not draw well, sir,” replied I, “without the door is open.”
“It’s astonishing how little people understand the nature of these things. When I built my house called Welcot Abbey, there was not a chimney would draw; I sent for the architect and abused him, but he could not manage it; I was obliged to do it myself.”
“Did you manage it, sir?”
“Manage it—I think I did. The first time I lighted the fire, I opened the door, and the draught was so great, that my little boy William, who was standing in the current of air, would have gone right up the chimney, if I had not caught him by the petticoats; as it was, his frock was on fire.”
“Why, sir, it must have been as bad as a hurricane!”
“No, no, not quite so bad—but it showed what a little knowledge of philosophical arrangement could effect. We have no hurricanes in England, Peter; but I have seen a very pretty whirlwind when I was at Welcot Abbey.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Yes, it cut four square haystacks quite round, and I lost twenty tons of hay; it twisted the iron lamppost at the entrance just as a porpoise twists a harpoon, and took up a sow and her litter of pigs that were about a hundred yards from the back of the house, and landed them safe over the house, to the front, with the exception of the old sow putting her shoulder out.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Yes, but what was strange, there were a great many rats in the hayrick, and up they went with the hay. Now, Peter, by the laws of gravitation, they naturally came down before the hay, and I was walking with my greyhound, or rather terrier, and after one coming down close to her, which she killed, it was quite ridiculous to notice her looking up in the air, and watching for the others.”
“A greyhound did you say, sir, or a terrier?”
“Both, Peter: the fact is, she had been a greyhound, but breaking her fore-leg against a stump, when coursing, I had the other three amputated as well, and then she made a capital terrier. She was a great favourite of mine.”
“Well,” observed I, “I have read something like that in Baron Munchausen.”
“Mr Simple,” said the captain, turning on his elbow and looking me severely in the face, “what do you mean to imply?”
“O nothing, sir, but I have read a story of that kind.”
“Most probably; the great art of invention is to found it upon facts. There are some people who out of a mole-hill will make a mountain; and facts and fiction become so blended now-a-days, that even truth becomes a matter of doubt.”
“Very true, sir,” replied I; and as he did not speak for some minutes, I ventured to bring my Bible to his bedside, as if I were reading it to myself.
“What are you reading, Peter?” said he.
“Only a chapter in the Bible, sir,” said I. “Would you like that I should read aloud?”
“Yes, I’m very fond of the Bible—it’s the book oftruth. Peter, read me about Jacob, and his weathering Esau with a mess of pottage, and obtaining his father’s blessing.” I could not help thinking it singular that he should select a portion in which, for divine reasons, a lie was crowned with such success and reward.
When I had finished it, he asked me to read something more; I turned over to the Acts of the Apostles, and commenced the chapter in which Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead. When I had finished, he observed very seriously, “That is a very good lesson for young people, Peter, and points out that you never should swerve from the truth. Recollect, as your motto, Peter, to ‘tell truth and shame the devil.’”
After this observation I laid down the book, as it appeared to me that he was quite unaware of his propensity; and without a sense of your fault, how can repentance and amendment be expected? He became more feeble and exhausted every day, and at last was so weak that he could scarcely raise himself in his bed. One afternoon he said, “Peter, I shall make my will, not that I am going to kick the bucket just yet; but still it is every man’s duty to set his house in order, and it will amuse me: so fetch pen and paper, and come and sit down by me.”
I did as he requested.
“Write, Peter, that I, Anthony George William Charles Huskisson Kearney, (my father’s name was Anthony, Peter; I was christened George after the present Regent, William and Charles after Mr Pitt and Mr Fox, who were my sponsors; Huskisson is the name of my great uncle, whose property devolves to me; he’s eighty-three now, so he can’t last long,)—have you written down that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Being in sound mind, do hereby make my last will and testament, revoking all former wills.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I bequeath to my dearly beloved wife, Augusta Charlotte Kearney (she was named after the Queen and Princess Augusta, who held her at the baptismal font), all my household furniture, books, pictures, plate, and houses, for her own free use and will, and to dispose of at her pleasure upon her demise. Is that down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Also, the interest of all my money in the three per cents reduced, and in the long annuities, and the balance in my agent’s hands, for her natural life. At her death to be divided into equal portions between my two children, William Mohamed Potemkin Kearney, and Caroline Anastasia Kearney. Is that down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, Peter, now for my real property. My estate in Kent (let me see, what is the name of it?)—Walcot Abbey, my three farms in the Vale of Aylesbury, and the marsh lands in Norfolk I bequeath to my two children aforenamed, the proceeds of the same to be laid up deducting all necessary expenses for their education, for their sole use and benefit. Is that down?”
“Not yet, sir—‘use and benefit.’ Now it is, sir.”
“Until they come to the age of twenty-one years; or in case of my daughter, until she marries with the consent of my executors, then to be equally and fairly valued and divided between them. You observe, Peter I never make any difference between girls and boys—a good father will leave one child as much as another. Now I’ll take my breath a little.”
I was really astonished. It was well known that Captain Kearney had nothing but his pay, and that it was the hopes of prize-money to support his family, which had induced him to stay out so long in the West Indies. It was laughable; yet I could not laugh: there was a melancholy feeling at such a specimen of insanity which prevented me.
“Now, Peter, we’ll go on,” said Captain Kearney, after a pause of a few minutes. “I have a few legacies to bequeath. First, to all my servants 50 pounds each, and two suits of mourning; to my nephew, Thomas Kearney, of Kearney Hall, Yorkshire, I bequeath the sword presented me by the grand Sultan. I promised it to him, and, although we have quarrelled, and not spoken for years, I always keep my word. The plate presented me by the merchants and under-writers of Lloyd’s I leave to my worthy friend the Duke of Newcastle. Is that down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well; my snuff-box, presented me by Prince Potemkin, I bequeath to Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin; and, also, I release him from the mortgage which I hold over his property of the Madeline Islands, in North America. By-the-bye, say, and further, I bequeath to him the bag of snuff presented to me by the Dey of Algiers; he may as well have the snuff as he has the snuff-box. Is that down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well then, now, Peter, I must leave you something.”
“O, never mind me,” replied I.
“No, no, Peter, I must not forget my cousin. Let me see, you shall have my fighting sword. A real good one, I can tell you. I once fought a duel with it at Palermo, and ran a Sicilian prince so clean through the body, and it held so tight, that we were obliged to send for a pair of post-horses to pull it out again. Put that down as a legacy for my cousin, Peter Simple. I believe that is all. Now for my executors, and I request my particular friends, the Earl of Londonderry, the Marquis of Chandos, and Mr John Lubbock, banker, to be my executors, and leave each of them the sum of one thousand pounds for their trouble, and in token of regard. That will do, Peter. Now, as I have left so much real property, it is necessary that there should be three witnesses; so call in two more, and let me sign in your presence.”
This order was obeyed, and this strange will duly attested; for I hardly need say, that even the presents he had pretended to receive were purchased by himself at different times; but such was the force of his ruling passion even to the last. Mr Phillott and O’Brien used to come and see him, as did occasionally some of the other officers, and he was always cheerful and merry, and seemed to be quite indifferent about his situation, although fully aware of it. His stories, if anything, became more marvellous, as no one ventured to express a doubt as to their credibility.
I had remained in the hospital about a week, when Captain Kearney was evidently dying: the doctor came, felt his pulse, and gave it as his opinion that he could not outlive the day. This was on a Friday, and there certainly was every symptom of dissolution. He was so exhausted, that he could scarcely articulate; his feet were cold, and his eyes appeared glazed, and turning upwards. The doctor remained an hour, felt his pulse again, shook his head, and said to me in a low voice, “He is quite gone.” As soon as the doctor quitted the room, Captain Kearney opened his eyes, and beckoned me to him. “He’s a confounded fool, Peter,” said he: “he thinks I am slipping my wind now—but I know better; going I am, ’tis true—but I sha’n’t die till next Thursday.” Strange to say, from that moment he rallied; and although it was reported that he was dead, and the admiral had signed the acting order for his successor, the next morning, to the astonishment of everybody, Captain Kearney was still alive. He continued in this state, between life and death, until the Thursday next, the day on which he asserted that he would die—and, on that morning, he was evidently sinking fast. Towards noon, his breathing became much oppressed and irregular, and he was evidently dying, the rattle in his throat commenced; and I watched at his bedside, waiting for his last grasp, when he again opened his eyes, and beckoning me, with an effort, to put my head close to him to hear what he had to say, he contrived in a sort of gurgling whisper, and with much difficulty, to utter—“Peter, I’m going now—not that the rattle—in my throat—is a sign of death: for I once knew a man—tolivewith—the rattle in his throat—forsixweeks.” He fell back and expired, having, perhaps, at his last gasp, told the greatest lie of his whole life.
Thus died this most extraordinary character, who, in most other points, commanded respect; he was a kind man, and a good officer; but from the idiosyncrasy of his disposition, whether from habit or from nature, could not speak the truth. I say from nature, because I have witnessed the vice of stealing equally strong, and never to the eradicated. It was in a young messmate of good family, and who was supplied with money to almost any extent: he was one of the most generous, open-hearted lads that I ever knew; he would offer his purse, or the contents of his chest, to any of his messmates; and, at the same time, would steal everything that he could lay his hands upon. I have known him watch for hours, to steal what could be of no use to him, as, for instance, an odd shoe, and that much too small for his foot. What he stole he would give away the very next day; but to check it was impossible. It was so well known, that if anything were missed, we used first to apply to his chest to see if it were there, and usually found the article in question. He appeared to be wholly insensible to shame upon this subject, though in every other he showed no want of feeling or of honour; and, strange to say, he never covered his theft with a lie. After vain attempts to cure him of this propensity, he was dismissed the service as incorrigible.
Captain Kearney was buried in the churchyard with the usual military honours. In his desk we found directions, in his own hand, relative to his funeral, and the engraving on his tombstone. In these, he states his age to be thirty-one years. If this were correct, Captain Kearney, from the time that he had been in the service of his country, must have entered the navy justfour months beforehe was born. It was unfortunate that he commenced the inscription with “Here lies Captain Kearney,” etcetera, etcetera. His tombstone had not been set up twenty-four hours, before somebody, who knew his character, put a dash under one word, as emphatic as it was true of the living man, “HereliesCaptain Kearney.”