Chapter Forty.Idiots only will be cozened twice.Dryden.Seymour did not fail to profit by the invitation extended by Mrs Rainscourt, and soon became the inseparable companion of Emily. His attentions to her were a source of amusement to the McElvinas and her mother, who thought little of a flirtation between a midshipman of sixteen and a girl that was two years his junior. The two months’ leave of absence having expired, Seymour was obliged to return to the guard-ship, on the books of which his name had been enrolled. It was with a heavy heart that he bade farewell to the McElvinas. He had kissed away the tears of separation from the cheeks of Emily, and their young love, unalloyed as that between a brother and sister, created an uneasy sensation in either heart which absence could not remove.When our hero reported himself to the commanding officer of the guard-ship, he was astonished at his expressing a total ignorance of his belonging to her, and sent down for the clerk, to know if his name was on the books.The clerk, a spare, middle-sized personage, remarkably spruce and neat in his attire, and apparently about forty years of age, made his appearance, with the open list under his arm, and, with a humble bow to the first-lieutenant, laid it upon the cap-stern-head, and running over several pages, from the top to the bottom, with his finger, at last discovered our hero’s name.“It’s all right, young gentleman,” said the first-lieutenant. “Take him down to the berth, Mr Skrimmage, and introduce him. You’ve brought your hammock, of course, and it is to be hoped that your chest has a good lock upon it; if not, I can tell you you’ll not find all your clothes tally with your division list by to-morrow morning. But we cannot help these things here. We are but a sort of a ‘thoroughfare,’ and every man must take care of himself.”Seymour thanked the first-lieutenant for his caution, and descended with the clerk, who requested him to step into his private cabin, previous to being ushered into the gun-room, where the midshipmen’s mess was held—and of which Mr Skrimmage filled the important post of caterer. “Mrs Skrimmage, my dear,” said Seymour’s conductor, “allow me to introduce to you Mr Seymour.” The lady courtesied with great affectation, and an air of condescension, and requested our hero to take a chair—soon after which Mr Skrimmage commenced—“It is the custom, my dear sir, in this ship, for every gentleman who joins the midshipmen’s berth to put down one guinea as entrance money, after which the subscription is restricted to the sum of five shillings per week, which is always paid in advance. You will therefore oblige me by the trifling sum of six-and-twenty shillings, previous to my introducing you to your new messmates. You will excuse my requesting the money to be paid now, which, I assure you, does not arise from any doubt of your honour; but the fact is, being the only member of the mess who can be considered as stationary, the unpleasant duty of caterer has devolved upon me, and I have lost so much money by young gentlemen leaving the ship in a hurry, and forgetting to settle their accounts, that it has now become a rule, which is never broken through.”As soon as Mr Skrimmage had finished his oration, which he delivered in the softest and most persuasive manner, Seymour laid down the sum required, and having waited, at the clerk’s request, to see his name, and sum paid, entered in the mess-book by Mrs Skrimmage, he was shown into the gun-room, which he found crowded with between thirty and forty midshipmen, whose vociferations and laughter created such a din as to drown the voice of his conductor, who cried out, “Mr Seymour, gentlemen, to join the mess,” and then quitted the noisy abode, which gave our hero the idea of bedlam broke loose.On one side of the gun-room a party of fifteen or twenty were seated cross-legged on the deck in a circle, stripped to their shirts, with their handkerchiefs laid up like ropes in their hands. A great coat and a sleeve-board, which they had borrowed from the marine tailor, who was working on the main-deck, lay in the centre, and they pretended to be at work with their needles on the coat. It was the game of goose, the whole amusement of which consisted in giving and receiving blows. Every person in the circle had a name to which he was obliged to answer immediately when it was called, in default of which he was severely punished by all the rest. The names were distinguished by colours, as Black Cap, Red Cap; and the elegant conversation, commenced by the master tailor, ran as follows; observing that it was carried on with the greatest rapidity of utterance.“That’s a false stitch—whose was it?”“Black Cap.”“No, sir, not mine, sir.”“Who then, sir?”“Red Cap.”“You lie, sir.”“Who, then, sir?”“Blue Cap, Blue Cap.”“You lie, sir.”“Who, then, sir?”“Yellow Cap, Yellow Cap.”Yellow Cap unfortunately did not give the lie in time, for which he was severely punished, and the game then continued.But the part of the game which created the most mirth was providing a goose for the tailors, which was accomplished by some of their confederates throwing into the circle any bystander who was not on his guard, and who, immediately that he was thrown in, was thrashed and kicked by the whole circle until he could make his escape. An attempt of this kind was soon made upon Seymour, who, being well acquainted with the game, and perceiving the party rushing on him to push him in, dropped on his hands and knees, so that the other was caught in his own trap, by tumbling over Seymour into the circle himself; from which he at last escaped, as much mortified by the laugh raised against him as with the blows which he had received.Seymour, who was ready to join in any fun, applied for work, and was admitted among the journeymen.“What’s your name?”“Dandy Grey Russet Cap,” replied Seymour, selecting a colour which would give him ample time for answering to his call.“Oh, I’ll be damned but you’re an old hand,” observed one of the party, and the game continued with as much noise as ever.But we must leave it, and return to Mr Skrimmage, who was a singular, if not solitary instance of a person in one of the lowest grades of the service having amassed a large fortune. He had served his time under an attorney, and from that situation, why or wherefore the deponent sayeth not, shipped on board a man-of-war in the capacity of a ship’s clerk. The vessel which first received him on board was an old fifty-gun ship of two decks, a few of which remained in the service at that time, although they have long been dismissed and broken up. Being a dull sailer, and fit for nothing else, she was constantly employed in protecting large convoys of merchant vessels to America and the West Indies. Although other men-of-war occasionally assisted her in her employ, the captain of the fifty-gun ship, from long standing, was invariably the senior officer, and the masters of the merchant vessels were obliged to go on board his ship to receive their convoy instructions, and a distinguishing pennant, which is always given without any fee.But Skrimmage, who had never been accustomed to deliver up any paper without a fee when he was in his former profession, did not feel inclined to do so in his present. Make a direct charge he dare not—he, therefore, hit upon aruse de guerrewhich effected his purpose. He borrowed from different parties seven or eight guineas, and when the masters of merchant vessels came on board for their instructions, he desired them to be shown down into his cabin, where he received them with great formality and very nicely dressed. The guineas were spread upon the desk, so that they might be easily reckoned.“Sit down, captain; if you please, favour me with your name, and that of your ship.” As he took these down, he carelessly observed, “I have delivered but seven copies of the instructions to-day as yet.”The captain, having nothing to do in the meantime, naturally cast his eyes round the cabin and was attracted by the guineas, the number of which exactly tallied with the number of instructions delivered. It naturally occurred to him that they were the clerk’s perquisites of office.“What is the fee, sir?”“Whatever you please—some give a guinea, some two.”A guinea was deposited; and thus with his nest-eggs, Mr Skrimmage, without making a direct charge, contrived to pocket a hundred guineas, or more, for every convoy that was put under his captain’s charge. After four years, during which he had saved a considerable sum, the ship was declared unserviceable, and broken up, and Mr Skrimmage was sent on board of the guard-ship, where his ready wit immediately pointed out to him the advantages which might be reaped by permanently belonging to her, as clerk of the ship, and caterer of the midshipmen’s berth. After serving in her for eight years, he was offered his rank as purser, which he refused, upon the plea of being a married man, and preferring poverty with Mrs S— to rank and money without her. At this the reader will not be astonished when he is acquainted, that the situation which he held was, by his dexterous plans, rendered so lucrative, that in the course of twelve years, with principal and accumulating interest, he had amassed the sum of 15,000 pounds.A guard-ship is a receiving-ship for officers and men, until they are enabled to join, or are drafted to their respective ships. The consequence is, that an incessant change is taking place,—a midshipman sometimes not remaining on board of her for more than three days before an opportunity offers of joining his ship. In fact, when we state that, during the war, upwards of one thousand midshipmen were received and sent away from a guard-ship, in the course of twelve months, we are considerably within the mark. Now, as Mr Skrimmage always received one guinea as entrance to the mess, and a week’s subscription in advance, and, moreover, never spent even the latter, or had his accounts examined, it is easy to conceive what a profitable situation he had created for himself. Mrs Skrimmage, also, was a useful helpmate: she lived on board, at little expense, and, by her attention to the dear little middies and their wearing apparel, who were sent on board to join some ship for the first time, added very considerably to his profits.Her history was as follows. It had three eras:— she had been a lady’s-maid, in town; and, in this situation, acquiring a few of the practices of “high life,” she had become something else on the town; and, finally, Mrs Skrimmage. With a view of awing his unruly associates into respect, Mr Skrimmage (as well as his wife) was particularly nice in his dress and his conversation, and affected the gentleman, as she did the lady—this generally answered pretty well; but sometimes unpleasant circumstances would occur, to which his interest compelled Mr Skrimmage to submit. It may be as well here to add, that, at the end of the war, Mr Skrimmage applied for his promotion for long service, and, obtaining it, added his purser’s half-pay to the interest of his accumulated capital, and retired from active service.The steward and his boy entering the gun-room with two enormous black tea-kettles, put an end to the boisterous amusement. It was the signal for tea.“Hurrah for Scaldchops!” cried the master tailor, rising from the game, which was now abandoned. A regiment of cups and saucers lined the two sides of the long table, and a general scramble ensued for seats.“I say, MrCribbage,” cried an old master’s-mate, to the caterer, who had entered shortly after the tea-kettles, and assumed his place at the end of the table, “what sort of stuff do you call this?”“What do you mean to imply, sir?” replied Mr Skrimmage, with a pompous air.“Mean to ply?—why, I mean to ply, that there’s damned little tea in this here water; why, I’ve seen gin as dark a colour as this.”“Steward,” said Mr Skrimmage, turning his head over his shoulder towards him, “have you not put the established allowance into the tea-pot?”“Yes, sir,” replied the steward; “a tea-spoonful for every gentleman, and one for coming up.”“You hear, gentlemen,” said Mr Skrimmage.“Hear!—yes, but we don’t taste. I should like to see it sarved out,” continued the master’s-mate.“Sir,” replied Mr Skrimmage, “I must take the liberty to observe to you, that that is a responsibility never intrusted to the steward. The established allowance is always portioned out by Mrs Skrimmage herself.”“Damn Mrs Skrimmage,” said a voice from the other end of the table.“What!” cried the indignant husband; “what did I hear? Who was that?”“’Twas this young gentleman, Mr Caterer,” said a malicious lad, pointing to one opposite.“Me, sir!” replied the youngster, recollecting the game they had just been playing; “you lie, sir.”“Who then, sir?”“Black Cap—Black Cap,” pointing to another.“I damn Mrs Skrimmage! You lie, sir.”“Who then, sir?”“Red Cap—Red Cap.”“I damn Mrs Skrimmage? You lie, sir.”And thus was the accusation bandied about the table, to the great amusement of the whole party, except the caterer, who regretted having taken any notice of what had been said.“Really, gentlemen, this behaviour is such as cannot be tolerated,” observed Mr Skrimmage, who invariably preferred thesuaviter in modo. “As caterer of this berth—”“It is your duty to give us something to eat,” added one of the midshipmen.“Gentlemen, you see what there is on the table; there are rules and regulations laid down, which cannot be deviated from, and—”“And those are, to starve us. I’ve paid six-and-twenty shillings, and have not had six-and-twenty mouthfuls in the three days that I have been here. I should like to see your accounts, Mr Caterer.”“Bravo! let’s have his accounts,” roared out several of the party.“Gentlemen, my accounts are ready for inspection, and will bear, I will venture to assert, the most minute investigation; but it must be from those who have a right to demand it, and I cannot consider that a person who has only been in the ship for three days has any pretence to examine them.”“But I have been in the ship three weeks,” said another, “and have paid you one pound sixteen shillings. I have a right, and now I demand them—so let us have the accounts on the table, since we can get nothing else.”“The accounts—the accounts!” were now vociferated for by such a threatening multitude of angry voices, that Mr Skrimmage turned pale with alarm, and thought it advisable to bend to the threatening storm.“Steward, present the gentlemen’s respects to Mrs Skrimmage, and request that she will oblige them by sending in the mess account-book. You understand—the gentlemen’s respects to Mrs Skrimmage.”“Damn Mrs Skrimmage,” again cried out one of the midshipmen, and the game of goose was renewed with the phrase, until the steward returned with the book.“Mrs Skrimmage’s compliments to the gentlemen of the gun-room mess, and she has great pleasure in complying with their request: but, in consequence of her late indisposition, the accounts are not made up further than to the end of last month.”This was the plan upon which the wily clerk invariably acted, as it put an end to all inquiry; but the indignation of the midshipmen was not to be controlled, and as they could not give it vent in one way, they did in another.“Gentlemen,” said one of the oldest of the fraternity, imitating Mr Skrimmage’s style, “I must request that you will be pleased not to kick up such a damned row, because I wish to make a speech: and I request that two of you will be pleased to stand sentries at the door, permitting neither ingress nor egress, that I may ‘spin my yarn’ without interruption.“Gentlemen, we have paid our mess-money, and we have nothing to eat. We have asked for the accounts, and we are put off with ‘indisposition.’ Now, gentlemen, as there can be no doubt of the caterer’s honour, I propose that we give him a receipt in full.”“And here’s a pen to write it with,” cried out another, holding up the sleeve-board, with which they had been playing the game.“Then, gentlemen, are you all agreed—to cobb the caterer?”The shouts of assent frightened Mr Skrimmage, who attempted to make his escape by the gun-room door, but was prevented by the two sentries, who had been placed there on purpose. He then requested to be heard—to be allowed to explain; but it was useless. He was dragged to the table, amidst an uproar of laughter and shouting. “Extreme bad headaches”—“Mrs Skrimmage”—“nervous”—“ample satisfaction”—“conduct like gentlemen”—“complain to first-lieutenant”—were the unconnected parts of his expostulation, which could be distinguished. He was extended across the table, face downwards; the lapels of his coat thrown up, and two dozen blows, with the sleeve-board, were administered with such force, that his shrieks were even louder than the laughter and vociferation of his assailants.During the infliction, the noise within was so great that they did not pay attention to that which was outside, but as soon as Mr Skrimmage had been put on his legs again, and the tumult had partially subsided, the voice of the master-at-arms requesting admittance, and the screaming of Mrs Skrimmage, were heard at the door, which continued locked and guarded. The door was opened, and in flew the lady.“My Skrimmage! my Skrimmage!—what have the brutes been doing to you? Oh, the wretches!” continued the lady, panting for breath, and turning to the midshipmen, who had retreated from her;—“you shall all be turned out of the service—you shall—that you shall. We’ll see—we’ll write for a court-martial—ay, you may laugh, but we will. Contempt to a superior officer—clerk and caterer, indeed! The service has come to a pretty pass—you villains! You may grin—I’ll tear the eyes out of some of you, that I will. Come, Mr Skrimmage, let us go on the quarter-deck, and see if the service is to be trifled with. Dirty scum, indeed—” and the lady stopped for want of breath occasioned by the rapidity of her utterance.“Gentlemen,” said the master-at-arms, as soon as he could obtain hearing,—“the first-lieutenant wishes to know the reason why you are making such a noise?”“Our compliments to Mr Phillips, and we have been settling the mess-account, and taking the change out of the caterer.”“Yes,” continued Mrs Skrimmage, “you villains, you have, you paltry cheats—you blackguards—you warmin—you scum of the earth—you grinning monkeys—you!—don’t put your tongue into your cheek at me, you—you beast—you ill-looking imp, or I’ll write the ten commandments on your face—I will—ay, that I will—cowardly set of beggars—” (No more breath.)“I’ll tell you what, marm,” rejoined the old master’s-mate, “if you don’t clap a stopper on that jaw of yours, by George, we’llcobbyou.”“Cobb me!—you will, will you? I should like to see you. I dare you to cobb me, you wretches!”“Cobb her, cobb her!” roared out all the midshipmen, who were irritated at her language; and in a moment she was seized by a dozen of them, who dragged her to the table. Mrs Skrimmage struggled in vain, and there appeared every chance of the threat being put in force.“Oh,—is this the way to treat a lady?—Skrimmage! help, help!”Skrimmage who had been battered almost to stupefaction, roused by the call of his frightened wife, darted to her, and throwing his arm round her waist,—“Spare her, gentlemen, spare her for mercy’s sake, spare her,—or,” continued he, in a faltering voice, “if you will cobb her, let it beover all.”The appeal in favour of modesty and humanity had its due weight; and Mr and Mrs Skrimmage were permitted to leave the gun-room without further molestation. The lady, however, as soon as she had obtained the outside of the gun-room door, forgetting her assumed gentility, turned back, and shaking her fist at her persecutors, made use of language, with a repetition of which we will not offend our readers,—and then, arm-in-arm with her husband quitted the gun-room.“‘Mrs Skrimmage’s compliments to the gentlemen of the gun-room mess,’” cried one of the midshipmen, mimicking, which was followed by a roar of laughter, when the quarter-master again made his appearance.“Gentlemen, the first-lieutenant says, that all those who are waiting for a passage round to Plymouth, are to be on deck with their traps immediately. There’s a frigate ordered round—she has the blue-peter up, and her top-sails are sheeted home.”This put an end to further mischief, as there were at least twenty of them whose respective ships were on that station. In the meantime, while they were getting ready, Mr Skrimmage having restored the precision of his apparel, proceeded to the quarter-deck and made his complaint to the first-lieutenant; but these complaints had been repeatedly made before, and Mr Phillips was tired of hearing them, and was aware that he deserved his fate. Mr Skrimmage was therefore silenced with the usual remark—“How can I punish these young men, if they are in the wrong, who slip through my fingers immediately?—the parties you complain of are now going down the side.Why don’t you give up the caterership?”But this, for the reasons before stated, did not suit Mr Skrimmage, who returned below. For a day or two, the mess was better supplied, from fear of a repetition of the dose; after that, it went on again as before.
Idiots only will be cozened twice.Dryden.
Idiots only will be cozened twice.Dryden.
Seymour did not fail to profit by the invitation extended by Mrs Rainscourt, and soon became the inseparable companion of Emily. His attentions to her were a source of amusement to the McElvinas and her mother, who thought little of a flirtation between a midshipman of sixteen and a girl that was two years his junior. The two months’ leave of absence having expired, Seymour was obliged to return to the guard-ship, on the books of which his name had been enrolled. It was with a heavy heart that he bade farewell to the McElvinas. He had kissed away the tears of separation from the cheeks of Emily, and their young love, unalloyed as that between a brother and sister, created an uneasy sensation in either heart which absence could not remove.
When our hero reported himself to the commanding officer of the guard-ship, he was astonished at his expressing a total ignorance of his belonging to her, and sent down for the clerk, to know if his name was on the books.
The clerk, a spare, middle-sized personage, remarkably spruce and neat in his attire, and apparently about forty years of age, made his appearance, with the open list under his arm, and, with a humble bow to the first-lieutenant, laid it upon the cap-stern-head, and running over several pages, from the top to the bottom, with his finger, at last discovered our hero’s name.
“It’s all right, young gentleman,” said the first-lieutenant. “Take him down to the berth, Mr Skrimmage, and introduce him. You’ve brought your hammock, of course, and it is to be hoped that your chest has a good lock upon it; if not, I can tell you you’ll not find all your clothes tally with your division list by to-morrow morning. But we cannot help these things here. We are but a sort of a ‘thoroughfare,’ and every man must take care of himself.”
Seymour thanked the first-lieutenant for his caution, and descended with the clerk, who requested him to step into his private cabin, previous to being ushered into the gun-room, where the midshipmen’s mess was held—and of which Mr Skrimmage filled the important post of caterer. “Mrs Skrimmage, my dear,” said Seymour’s conductor, “allow me to introduce to you Mr Seymour.” The lady courtesied with great affectation, and an air of condescension, and requested our hero to take a chair—soon after which Mr Skrimmage commenced—“It is the custom, my dear sir, in this ship, for every gentleman who joins the midshipmen’s berth to put down one guinea as entrance money, after which the subscription is restricted to the sum of five shillings per week, which is always paid in advance. You will therefore oblige me by the trifling sum of six-and-twenty shillings, previous to my introducing you to your new messmates. You will excuse my requesting the money to be paid now, which, I assure you, does not arise from any doubt of your honour; but the fact is, being the only member of the mess who can be considered as stationary, the unpleasant duty of caterer has devolved upon me, and I have lost so much money by young gentlemen leaving the ship in a hurry, and forgetting to settle their accounts, that it has now become a rule, which is never broken through.”
As soon as Mr Skrimmage had finished his oration, which he delivered in the softest and most persuasive manner, Seymour laid down the sum required, and having waited, at the clerk’s request, to see his name, and sum paid, entered in the mess-book by Mrs Skrimmage, he was shown into the gun-room, which he found crowded with between thirty and forty midshipmen, whose vociferations and laughter created such a din as to drown the voice of his conductor, who cried out, “Mr Seymour, gentlemen, to join the mess,” and then quitted the noisy abode, which gave our hero the idea of bedlam broke loose.
On one side of the gun-room a party of fifteen or twenty were seated cross-legged on the deck in a circle, stripped to their shirts, with their handkerchiefs laid up like ropes in their hands. A great coat and a sleeve-board, which they had borrowed from the marine tailor, who was working on the main-deck, lay in the centre, and they pretended to be at work with their needles on the coat. It was the game of goose, the whole amusement of which consisted in giving and receiving blows. Every person in the circle had a name to which he was obliged to answer immediately when it was called, in default of which he was severely punished by all the rest. The names were distinguished by colours, as Black Cap, Red Cap; and the elegant conversation, commenced by the master tailor, ran as follows; observing that it was carried on with the greatest rapidity of utterance.
“That’s a false stitch—whose was it?”
“Black Cap.”
“No, sir, not mine, sir.”
“Who then, sir?”
“Red Cap.”
“You lie, sir.”
“Who, then, sir?”
“Blue Cap, Blue Cap.”
“You lie, sir.”
“Who, then, sir?”
“Yellow Cap, Yellow Cap.”
Yellow Cap unfortunately did not give the lie in time, for which he was severely punished, and the game then continued.
But the part of the game which created the most mirth was providing a goose for the tailors, which was accomplished by some of their confederates throwing into the circle any bystander who was not on his guard, and who, immediately that he was thrown in, was thrashed and kicked by the whole circle until he could make his escape. An attempt of this kind was soon made upon Seymour, who, being well acquainted with the game, and perceiving the party rushing on him to push him in, dropped on his hands and knees, so that the other was caught in his own trap, by tumbling over Seymour into the circle himself; from which he at last escaped, as much mortified by the laugh raised against him as with the blows which he had received.
Seymour, who was ready to join in any fun, applied for work, and was admitted among the journeymen.
“What’s your name?”
“Dandy Grey Russet Cap,” replied Seymour, selecting a colour which would give him ample time for answering to his call.
“Oh, I’ll be damned but you’re an old hand,” observed one of the party, and the game continued with as much noise as ever.
But we must leave it, and return to Mr Skrimmage, who was a singular, if not solitary instance of a person in one of the lowest grades of the service having amassed a large fortune. He had served his time under an attorney, and from that situation, why or wherefore the deponent sayeth not, shipped on board a man-of-war in the capacity of a ship’s clerk. The vessel which first received him on board was an old fifty-gun ship of two decks, a few of which remained in the service at that time, although they have long been dismissed and broken up. Being a dull sailer, and fit for nothing else, she was constantly employed in protecting large convoys of merchant vessels to America and the West Indies. Although other men-of-war occasionally assisted her in her employ, the captain of the fifty-gun ship, from long standing, was invariably the senior officer, and the masters of the merchant vessels were obliged to go on board his ship to receive their convoy instructions, and a distinguishing pennant, which is always given without any fee.
But Skrimmage, who had never been accustomed to deliver up any paper without a fee when he was in his former profession, did not feel inclined to do so in his present. Make a direct charge he dare not—he, therefore, hit upon aruse de guerrewhich effected his purpose. He borrowed from different parties seven or eight guineas, and when the masters of merchant vessels came on board for their instructions, he desired them to be shown down into his cabin, where he received them with great formality and very nicely dressed. The guineas were spread upon the desk, so that they might be easily reckoned.
“Sit down, captain; if you please, favour me with your name, and that of your ship.” As he took these down, he carelessly observed, “I have delivered but seven copies of the instructions to-day as yet.”
The captain, having nothing to do in the meantime, naturally cast his eyes round the cabin and was attracted by the guineas, the number of which exactly tallied with the number of instructions delivered. It naturally occurred to him that they were the clerk’s perquisites of office.
“What is the fee, sir?”
“Whatever you please—some give a guinea, some two.”
A guinea was deposited; and thus with his nest-eggs, Mr Skrimmage, without making a direct charge, contrived to pocket a hundred guineas, or more, for every convoy that was put under his captain’s charge. After four years, during which he had saved a considerable sum, the ship was declared unserviceable, and broken up, and Mr Skrimmage was sent on board of the guard-ship, where his ready wit immediately pointed out to him the advantages which might be reaped by permanently belonging to her, as clerk of the ship, and caterer of the midshipmen’s berth. After serving in her for eight years, he was offered his rank as purser, which he refused, upon the plea of being a married man, and preferring poverty with Mrs S— to rank and money without her. At this the reader will not be astonished when he is acquainted, that the situation which he held was, by his dexterous plans, rendered so lucrative, that in the course of twelve years, with principal and accumulating interest, he had amassed the sum of 15,000 pounds.
A guard-ship is a receiving-ship for officers and men, until they are enabled to join, or are drafted to their respective ships. The consequence is, that an incessant change is taking place,—a midshipman sometimes not remaining on board of her for more than three days before an opportunity offers of joining his ship. In fact, when we state that, during the war, upwards of one thousand midshipmen were received and sent away from a guard-ship, in the course of twelve months, we are considerably within the mark. Now, as Mr Skrimmage always received one guinea as entrance to the mess, and a week’s subscription in advance, and, moreover, never spent even the latter, or had his accounts examined, it is easy to conceive what a profitable situation he had created for himself. Mrs Skrimmage, also, was a useful helpmate: she lived on board, at little expense, and, by her attention to the dear little middies and their wearing apparel, who were sent on board to join some ship for the first time, added very considerably to his profits.
Her history was as follows. It had three eras:— she had been a lady’s-maid, in town; and, in this situation, acquiring a few of the practices of “high life,” she had become something else on the town; and, finally, Mrs Skrimmage. With a view of awing his unruly associates into respect, Mr Skrimmage (as well as his wife) was particularly nice in his dress and his conversation, and affected the gentleman, as she did the lady—this generally answered pretty well; but sometimes unpleasant circumstances would occur, to which his interest compelled Mr Skrimmage to submit. It may be as well here to add, that, at the end of the war, Mr Skrimmage applied for his promotion for long service, and, obtaining it, added his purser’s half-pay to the interest of his accumulated capital, and retired from active service.
The steward and his boy entering the gun-room with two enormous black tea-kettles, put an end to the boisterous amusement. It was the signal for tea.
“Hurrah for Scaldchops!” cried the master tailor, rising from the game, which was now abandoned. A regiment of cups and saucers lined the two sides of the long table, and a general scramble ensued for seats.
“I say, MrCribbage,” cried an old master’s-mate, to the caterer, who had entered shortly after the tea-kettles, and assumed his place at the end of the table, “what sort of stuff do you call this?”
“What do you mean to imply, sir?” replied Mr Skrimmage, with a pompous air.
“Mean to ply?—why, I mean to ply, that there’s damned little tea in this here water; why, I’ve seen gin as dark a colour as this.”
“Steward,” said Mr Skrimmage, turning his head over his shoulder towards him, “have you not put the established allowance into the tea-pot?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the steward; “a tea-spoonful for every gentleman, and one for coming up.”
“You hear, gentlemen,” said Mr Skrimmage.
“Hear!—yes, but we don’t taste. I should like to see it sarved out,” continued the master’s-mate.
“Sir,” replied Mr Skrimmage, “I must take the liberty to observe to you, that that is a responsibility never intrusted to the steward. The established allowance is always portioned out by Mrs Skrimmage herself.”
“Damn Mrs Skrimmage,” said a voice from the other end of the table.
“What!” cried the indignant husband; “what did I hear? Who was that?”
“’Twas this young gentleman, Mr Caterer,” said a malicious lad, pointing to one opposite.
“Me, sir!” replied the youngster, recollecting the game they had just been playing; “you lie, sir.”
“Who then, sir?”
“Black Cap—Black Cap,” pointing to another.
“I damn Mrs Skrimmage! You lie, sir.”
“Who then, sir?”
“Red Cap—Red Cap.”
“I damn Mrs Skrimmage? You lie, sir.”
And thus was the accusation bandied about the table, to the great amusement of the whole party, except the caterer, who regretted having taken any notice of what had been said.
“Really, gentlemen, this behaviour is such as cannot be tolerated,” observed Mr Skrimmage, who invariably preferred thesuaviter in modo. “As caterer of this berth—”
“It is your duty to give us something to eat,” added one of the midshipmen.
“Gentlemen, you see what there is on the table; there are rules and regulations laid down, which cannot be deviated from, and—”
“And those are, to starve us. I’ve paid six-and-twenty shillings, and have not had six-and-twenty mouthfuls in the three days that I have been here. I should like to see your accounts, Mr Caterer.”
“Bravo! let’s have his accounts,” roared out several of the party.
“Gentlemen, my accounts are ready for inspection, and will bear, I will venture to assert, the most minute investigation; but it must be from those who have a right to demand it, and I cannot consider that a person who has only been in the ship for three days has any pretence to examine them.”
“But I have been in the ship three weeks,” said another, “and have paid you one pound sixteen shillings. I have a right, and now I demand them—so let us have the accounts on the table, since we can get nothing else.”
“The accounts—the accounts!” were now vociferated for by such a threatening multitude of angry voices, that Mr Skrimmage turned pale with alarm, and thought it advisable to bend to the threatening storm.
“Steward, present the gentlemen’s respects to Mrs Skrimmage, and request that she will oblige them by sending in the mess account-book. You understand—the gentlemen’s respects to Mrs Skrimmage.”
“Damn Mrs Skrimmage,” again cried out one of the midshipmen, and the game of goose was renewed with the phrase, until the steward returned with the book.
“Mrs Skrimmage’s compliments to the gentlemen of the gun-room mess, and she has great pleasure in complying with their request: but, in consequence of her late indisposition, the accounts are not made up further than to the end of last month.”
This was the plan upon which the wily clerk invariably acted, as it put an end to all inquiry; but the indignation of the midshipmen was not to be controlled, and as they could not give it vent in one way, they did in another.
“Gentlemen,” said one of the oldest of the fraternity, imitating Mr Skrimmage’s style, “I must request that you will be pleased not to kick up such a damned row, because I wish to make a speech: and I request that two of you will be pleased to stand sentries at the door, permitting neither ingress nor egress, that I may ‘spin my yarn’ without interruption.
“Gentlemen, we have paid our mess-money, and we have nothing to eat. We have asked for the accounts, and we are put off with ‘indisposition.’ Now, gentlemen, as there can be no doubt of the caterer’s honour, I propose that we give him a receipt in full.”
“And here’s a pen to write it with,” cried out another, holding up the sleeve-board, with which they had been playing the game.
“Then, gentlemen, are you all agreed—to cobb the caterer?”
The shouts of assent frightened Mr Skrimmage, who attempted to make his escape by the gun-room door, but was prevented by the two sentries, who had been placed there on purpose. He then requested to be heard—to be allowed to explain; but it was useless. He was dragged to the table, amidst an uproar of laughter and shouting. “Extreme bad headaches”—“Mrs Skrimmage”—“nervous”—“ample satisfaction”—“conduct like gentlemen”—“complain to first-lieutenant”—were the unconnected parts of his expostulation, which could be distinguished. He was extended across the table, face downwards; the lapels of his coat thrown up, and two dozen blows, with the sleeve-board, were administered with such force, that his shrieks were even louder than the laughter and vociferation of his assailants.
During the infliction, the noise within was so great that they did not pay attention to that which was outside, but as soon as Mr Skrimmage had been put on his legs again, and the tumult had partially subsided, the voice of the master-at-arms requesting admittance, and the screaming of Mrs Skrimmage, were heard at the door, which continued locked and guarded. The door was opened, and in flew the lady.
“My Skrimmage! my Skrimmage!—what have the brutes been doing to you? Oh, the wretches!” continued the lady, panting for breath, and turning to the midshipmen, who had retreated from her;—“you shall all be turned out of the service—you shall—that you shall. We’ll see—we’ll write for a court-martial—ay, you may laugh, but we will. Contempt to a superior officer—clerk and caterer, indeed! The service has come to a pretty pass—you villains! You may grin—I’ll tear the eyes out of some of you, that I will. Come, Mr Skrimmage, let us go on the quarter-deck, and see if the service is to be trifled with. Dirty scum, indeed—” and the lady stopped for want of breath occasioned by the rapidity of her utterance.
“Gentlemen,” said the master-at-arms, as soon as he could obtain hearing,—“the first-lieutenant wishes to know the reason why you are making such a noise?”
“Our compliments to Mr Phillips, and we have been settling the mess-account, and taking the change out of the caterer.”
“Yes,” continued Mrs Skrimmage, “you villains, you have, you paltry cheats—you blackguards—you warmin—you scum of the earth—you grinning monkeys—you!—don’t put your tongue into your cheek at me, you—you beast—you ill-looking imp, or I’ll write the ten commandments on your face—I will—ay, that I will—cowardly set of beggars—” (No more breath.)
“I’ll tell you what, marm,” rejoined the old master’s-mate, “if you don’t clap a stopper on that jaw of yours, by George, we’llcobbyou.”
“Cobb me!—you will, will you? I should like to see you. I dare you to cobb me, you wretches!”
“Cobb her, cobb her!” roared out all the midshipmen, who were irritated at her language; and in a moment she was seized by a dozen of them, who dragged her to the table. Mrs Skrimmage struggled in vain, and there appeared every chance of the threat being put in force.
“Oh,—is this the way to treat a lady?—Skrimmage! help, help!”
Skrimmage who had been battered almost to stupefaction, roused by the call of his frightened wife, darted to her, and throwing his arm round her waist,—“Spare her, gentlemen, spare her for mercy’s sake, spare her,—or,” continued he, in a faltering voice, “if you will cobb her, let it beover all.”
The appeal in favour of modesty and humanity had its due weight; and Mr and Mrs Skrimmage were permitted to leave the gun-room without further molestation. The lady, however, as soon as she had obtained the outside of the gun-room door, forgetting her assumed gentility, turned back, and shaking her fist at her persecutors, made use of language, with a repetition of which we will not offend our readers,—and then, arm-in-arm with her husband quitted the gun-room.
“‘Mrs Skrimmage’s compliments to the gentlemen of the gun-room mess,’” cried one of the midshipmen, mimicking, which was followed by a roar of laughter, when the quarter-master again made his appearance.
“Gentlemen, the first-lieutenant says, that all those who are waiting for a passage round to Plymouth, are to be on deck with their traps immediately. There’s a frigate ordered round—she has the blue-peter up, and her top-sails are sheeted home.”
This put an end to further mischief, as there were at least twenty of them whose respective ships were on that station. In the meantime, while they were getting ready, Mr Skrimmage having restored the precision of his apparel, proceeded to the quarter-deck and made his complaint to the first-lieutenant; but these complaints had been repeatedly made before, and Mr Phillips was tired of hearing them, and was aware that he deserved his fate. Mr Skrimmage was therefore silenced with the usual remark—“How can I punish these young men, if they are in the wrong, who slip through my fingers immediately?—the parties you complain of are now going down the side.Why don’t you give up the caterership?”
But this, for the reasons before stated, did not suit Mr Skrimmage, who returned below. For a day or two, the mess was better supplied, from fear of a repetition of the dose; after that, it went on again as before.
Chapter Forty One.All desperate hazards courage do create,As he plays frankly who has least estate.Dryden.It were all one,That I should love a bright particular star,And think to wed it.Shakespeare.Seymour was soon weary of the endless noise and confusion to which he was subjected on board of the guard-ship, and he wrote to Captain M—, requesting that he might be permitted to join some vessel on active service, until the period should arrive when the former would be enabled to resume the command of his ship. The answer from his patron informed him, that the time of his renewal of his professional duties would be uncertain, not having hitherto derived much benefit from his return to England; that as theAspasiawas daily expected to arrive from the mission on which she had been despatched, and would then remain on Channel service, ready to be made over to him as soon as his health should be re-established, he would procure an order for him to join her as soon as she arrived. He pointed out to him that he would be more comfortable on board a ship in which he had many old messmates and friends than in any other, to the officers of which he would be a perfect stranger. That, in the meantime, he had procured leave of absence for him, and requested that he would pay him a visit at his cottage near Richmond, to the vicinity of which place he had removed, by the advice of his medical attendants.Seymour gladly availed himself of this opportunity of seeing his protector, and after a sojourn of three weeks, returned to Portsmouth, to join theAspasia, which had, for some days, been lying at Spithead. Most of the commissioned, and many of the junior officers, who had served in the West Indies, were still on board of her anxiously waiting for the return of Captain M—, whose value as a commanding officer was more appreciated for the change which had taken place. Seymour was cordially greeted by his former shipmates, not only for his own sake, but from the idea that his having rejoined the frigate was but a precursor of the reappearance of Captain M— himself.There is, perhaps, no quality in man partaking of such variety, and so difficult to analyse, ascourage, whether it be physical or mental, both of which are not only innate, but to be acquired. The former, and the most universal, is most capriciously bestowed; sometimes, although rarely, Nature has denied it altogether. We have, therefore, in the latter instance, courage nil as a zero, courage negative, halfway up, and courage positive, at the top, which may be considered as “blood heat;” and upon this thermometrical scale the animal courage of every individual may be placed. Couragenilor cowardice, needs no explanation. Courage negative, which is the most common, is that degree of firmness which will enable a person to do his duty when dangercomes to him; he will not avoid danger, but he will not exactly seek it. Courage positive, when implanted in a man, will induce him to seek danger, and find opportunities of distinguishing himself where others can see none. Courage negative is a passive feeling, and requires to be roused. Courage positive is an active and restless feeling, always on the look-out.An extreme susceptibility, and a phlegmatic indifference of disposition, although diametrically in opposition to each other, will produce the same results: in the former, it is mental, in the latter, animal courage. Paradoxical as it may appear, the most certain and most valuable description ofcourageis that which is acquired from thefear of shame. Further, there is no talent which returns more fold than courage, when constantly in exercise: for habit will soon raise the individual, whose index is near to zero, to the degree in the scale opposite to courage negative; and the possessor of courage negative will rise up to that of courage positive; although, from desuetude, theywill again sink to their former position.It is generally considered that men arenaturally brave; but as, without some incentive, there would be no courage, I doubt the position. I should rather say that we were naturally cowards. Without incitement, courage of every description would gradually descend to the zero of the scale; the necessity of some incentive to produce it, proves that it is “against nature.” As the ferocity of brutes is occasioned by hunger, so is that of man by “hungering” after the coveted enjoyments of life, and in proportion as this appetite is appeased, so is his courage decreased. If you wish animals to fight, they must not be over-fed; and if a nation wishes to have good officers, it must swell their pride by decorations, and keep them poor. There are few who do not recollect the answer of the soldier to his general, who had presented him with a purse of gold, in reward of a remarkable instance of gallantry, and who, a short time afterwards, requiring something extremely hazardous to be attempted, sent for the man, and expressed his wish that he would volunteer. “General,” said he, “send a man who hasnot gota purse of gold.”The strongest incitement to courage is withdrawn by the possession of wealth. Other worldly possessions also affect it. Lord St. Vincent, when he heard that any captain had married, used to observe, emphatically, “that he was damned for the service,”—no compliment to the officer, but a very handsome one to the sex, as it implied that their attractions were so great, that we could not disengage ourselves from our thraldom, or, in fact, that there were no such things as bad or scolding wives.Finally, thisquality, which is considered as avirtue, and to entitle us to the rewards bestowed upon it by the fair sex, who value it above all others, is so wholly out of our control, that when suffering under sickness or disease, it deserts us; nay, for the time being, a violent stomach-ache will turn a hero into a poltroon.So much for a dissertation on courage, which I should not have ventured to force upon the reader, had it not been to prepare him for the character which I am about to introduce; and when it is pointed out how many thousands of officers were employed during the last war, I trust it will not be considered an imputation upon the service, by asserting that there were some few whomistook their profession.The acting captain of theAspasia, during the early part of his career in the service (had there been such a thermometer as I have described, by which the heat of temperament in the party would have been precisely ascertained), on placing its bulb upon the palm of his hand, would have forced the mercury something between the zero and courage negative, towards the zero—“more yes than no,” as the Italian said; but now that he was a married man, above fifty years of age, with a large family, he had descended in the scale to the absolute zero.It may, then, be inquired, why he requested to be employed during the war? Because he liked full pay and prize-money when it could be obtained without risk, and because his wife and family were living on shore in a very snug little cottage at Ryde, in the Isle of Wight, which cottage required nothing but furniture and a few other trifles to render it complete. Marriage had not only subtracted from the courage of this worthy officer, but, moreover, a little from his honesty. Captain Capperbar (for such was his name) should have been brought up as a missionary, for he couldcanvertanything, andexpendmore profusely than any Bible Society. The name by which he had christened his domicile was probably given as a sort of salvo to his conscience. He called it the “Ship;” and when he signed his name to the expense books of the different warrant officers, without specifying the exact use to which the materials were applied, the larger proportions were invariably expended, by the general term, for “Ship’suse.” He came into harbour as often as he could, always had a demand for stores to complete, and a defect or two for the dockyard to make good, and the admiral, who was aware of Mr Capperbar being a near resident, made every reasonable allowance for his partiality to Spithead. But we had better introduce the captain, sitting at his table in the fore-cabin, on the day of his arrival in port, the carpenter having obeyed his summons.“Well, Mr Cheeks, what are the carpenters about?”“Weston and Smallbridge are going on with the chairs—the whole of them will be finished tomorrow.”“Well?”“Smith is about the chest of drawers, to match the one in my Lady Capperbar’s bed-room.”“Very good. And what is Hilton about?”“He has finished the spare-leaf of the dining-table, sir; he is now about a little job for the second-lieutenant.”“A job for the second-lieutenant, sir? How often have I told you, Mr Cheeks, that the carpenters are not to be employed, except on ship’s duty, without my special permission.”“His standing bed-place is broke, sir; he is only getting out a chock or two.”“Mr Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders.—By the bye, sir, I understand you were not sober last night.”“Please your honour,” replied the carpenter, “I wasn’t drunk—I was only a little fresh.”“Take you care, Mr Cheeks. Well, now, what are the rest of your crew about?”“Why, Thompson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden, out of the jib-booms; I’ve saved the heel to return.”“Very well, but there won’t be enough, will there?”“No, sir, it will take a hand-mast to finish the whole.”“Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away a topmast, and make a new one out of the hand-mast at sea. In the meantime, if the sawyers have nothing to do, they may as well cut the palings at once. And now, let me see—oh! the painters must go on shore, to finish the attics.”“Yes, sir, but my Lady Capperbar wishes thejealowseesto be painted vermilion: she says, it will look more rural.”“Mrs Capperbar ought toknow enoughabout ship’s stores, by this time, to be aware that we are only allowed three colours. She may choose or mix them as she pleases; but as for going to the expense of buying paint, I can’t afford it. What are the rest of the men about?”“Repairing, the second cutter, and making a new mast for the pinnace.”“By the bye—that puts me in mind of it—have you expended any boat’s masts?”“Only the one carried away, sir.”“Then you must expend two more. Mrs C— has just sent me off a list of a few things that she wishes made, while we are at anchor, and I see two poles for clothes-lines. Saw off the sheave-holes, and put two pegs through at right angles—you know how I mean.”“Yes, sir. What am I to do, sir, about the cucumber frame? My Lady Capperbar says that she must have it, and I haven’t glass enough—they grumbled at the yard last time.”“Mrs C— must wait a little. What are the armourers’ about?”“They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms are in a very bad condition. The first-lieutenant said yesterday that they were a disgrace to the ship.”“Who dared say that?”“The first-lieutenant, sir.”“Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know when they are done, and we’ll get the forge up.”“The armourer has made six rakes, and six hoes, and the two little hoes for the children; but he says he can’t make a spade.”“Then I’ll take his warrant away, by Heaven! since he does not know his duty. That will do, Mr Cheeks. I shall overlook your being in liquor, this time; but take care—send the boatswain to me.”“Yes sir,” and the carpenter quitted the cabin.“Well, Mr Hurley,” said the Captain, as the boatswain stroked down his hair, as a mark of respect, when he entered the cabin, “are the cots all finished?”“All finished, your honour, and slung, except the one for thebabby. Had not I better get a piece of duck for that?”“No, no—number seven will do as well; Mrs C— wants somefearnought, to put down in the entrance hall.”“Yes, your honour.”“And some cod-lines laid up for clothes-lines.”“Yes, your honour.”“Stop, let me look at my list—‘Knife-tray, meat-screen, leads for window-sashes,’—Ah! have you any hand-leads not on charge?”“Yes, your honour, four or five.”“Give them to my steward.—‘Small chair for Ellen—canvas for veranda.’—Oh! here’s something else—have you any painted canvas?”“Only a waist-hammock-cloth, sir, ready fitted.”“We must expend that; ‘no old on charge.’ Send it on shore to the cottage, and I shall want some pitch.”“We’ve lots of that, your honour.”“That will do, Mr Hurley; desire the sentry to tell my steward to come here.”“Yes, your honour.” (Exit boatswain, and enter steward.)This personage belonged to the party of marines, who had been drafted into the ship—for Captain Capperbar’s economical propensities would not allow him to hire a servant brought up to the situation, who would have demanded wages independent of the ship’s pay. Having been well drilled at barracks, he never answered any question put to him by an officer, without recovering himself from his usual “stand-at-ease” position—throwing shoulders back, his nose up in the air, his arms down his sides, and the palms of his hands flattened on his thighs. His replies were given with all the brevity that the question would admit, or rapid articulation on his own part would enable him to confer.“Thomas, are the sugar and cocoa ready to go on shore?”“Yes, sir.”“Don’t forget to send that letter to Mr Gibson for the ten dozen port and sherry.”“No, sir.”“When it comes on board, you’ll bring it on shore a dozen at a time, in the hair trunk.”“Yes, sir.”“Mind you don’t let any of the hay peep outside.”“No, sir.”“Has the cooper finished the washing-tubs?”“Yes, sir.”“And the small kids?”“No, sir.”“Have you inquired among the ship’s company for a gardener?”“Yes, sir; there’s a marine kept the garden of the major in the barracks.”“Don’t forget to bring him on shore.”“No, sir.”“Recollect, too, that Mrs Capperbar wants some vinegar—the boatswain’s is the best—and a gallon or two of rum—and you must corn some beef. The harness cask may remain on shore, and the cooper must make me another.”“Yes, sir.”“Master Henry’s trousers—are they finished yet?”“No, sir; Spriggs is at them now. Bailly and James are making Miss Ellen’s petticoats.”“And the shoes for Master John—are they finished?”“Yes, sir.”“And Master Henry’s?”“No, sir. Wilson says that he has lost Master Henry’s measure.”“Careless scoundrel! he shall have four-water grog for a week; and, steward, take three bags of bread on shore, and forty pounds of flour.”“Yes, sir.”“That’s all. Oh, no—don’t forget to send some peas on shore for the pig.”“No, sir,” and the steward departed to execute his variety of commissions.The present first-lieutenant of theAspasia, who, upon the promotion of the former, had been selected by Captain M— previous to his quitting the ship, was an excellent officer and a pleasant, light-hearted messmate, very superior in talent and information to the many.The conduct of Captain Capperbar was a source of annoyance to him, as he frequently could not command the services of the different artificers when they were required for the ship. He had, however, been long enough in the service to be aware that it was better to make the best of it than to create enemies by impeaching the conduct of his superior officer. As the command of Captain Capperbar was but temporary, he allowed him to proceed without expostulation, contenting himself with turning his conduct into a source of conversation and amusement.“Well, Prose, how do you like the new skipper?” inquired Seymour, soon after his arrival on board.“Why—I do declare, I can hardly tell. He’s a very good-tempered man, but he don’t exactly treat us midshipmen as if we were officers or gentlemen; and as for his wife, she is really too bad. I am sent every day on shore to the cottage, because I belong to the captain’s gig. They never ask me to sit down, but set me to work somehow or another. The other day he had a boat’s crew on shore digging up a piece of ground for planting potatoes, and he first showed me how to cut theeyes, and then gave me a knife, and ordered me tofinish the whole bagwhich lay in the field, and to see that the men worked properly at the same time. I never cut potatoes into little bits before, except at table after they were boiled.”“Well, that was too bad; but however, you’ll know how to plant potatoes in future—there’s nothing like knowledge.”“And then he sends the nurse and children for an airing, as he calls it, on the water, and I am obliged to take them. I don’t like pulling maid-servants about.”“That’s quite a matter of taste, Prose; some midshipmen do.”“What do you think Mrs Capperbar asked me to do the other day?”“I’m sure I can’t guess.”“Why, to shell peas.”“Well, did you oblige her?”“Why, yes, I did; but I did not like it,—and the other day the captain sent me out to walk with the nurse and children, that I might carry Master Henry if he was tired.”“They have observed the versatility of your genius.”“She made me hunt the hedges for a whole morning after eggs because she was convinced that one of the hens laid astray.”“Did you find any?”“No; and when I came back to tell her so, she got into a rage, and threatened to make the captain flog me.”“The devil she did!”“A devil she is,” continued Prose. “She runs about the house—‘Captain Capperbar’ this,—‘Captain Capperbar’ that—‘I will’—‘I will not’—‘I insist’—‘I am determined.’ But,” continued Prose, “as you belonged to the captain’s gig before, you will of course take her again, and I shall be very glad to give the charge up to you.”“Not for the world, my dear Prose: what may insure your promotion would be my ruin. I never nursed a child or shelled a pea in my life; the first I should certainly let fall, and the second I probably should eat for my trouble. So pray continue at your post of honour, and I will go for the fresh beef every morning as you were accustomed to do when we we were last in port.”Captain M— did not receive the immediate benefit which he had anticipated from a return to his native land. Bath, Cheltenham, Devonshire, and other places were recommended one after the other by the physicians, until he was tired of moving from place to place. It was nearly two years before he felt his health sufficiently re-established to resume the command of theAspasia, during which period the patience of officers was nearly exhausted; and not only was all the furniture and fitting up of the cottage complete but Captain Capperbar had provided himself with a considerable stock of materials for repairs and alterations. At last a letter from the captain to Macallan gave the welcome intelligence that he was to be down at Portsmouth in a few days, and that the ship was ordered to fit for foreign service.We must not omit to mention here, that during these two years Seymour had been able to procure frequent leave of absence, which was invariably passed at the McElvinas; and that the terms of intimacy on which he was received at the hall and his constant intercourse with Emily, produced an effect which a more careful mother would have guarded against. The youth of eighteen and the girl of sixteen had feelings very different from those which had actuated them on their first acquaintance; and Seymour, who was staying at the McElvinas when the expected arrival of Captain M— was announced, now felt what pain it would be to part with Emily. The intelligence was communicated in a letter from Prose, when he was sitting alone with McElvina, and the bare idea of separation struck him to the heart.McElvina, who had often expressed his opinion on the subject to his wife, had been anxious that our hero should be sent on a foreign station, before he had allowed a passion to take so deep a root in his heart that, to eradicate it, would be a task of great effort and greater pain. Aware, from the flushed face of Seymour, of what was passing within, he quietly introduced the subject, by observing that in all probability, his favourite, Emily, would be married previous to his return—pointing out that an heiress of so large a property would have a right to expect to unite herself with one in the highest rank of society.Seymour covered his face with his hands, as he leant over the table. He had no secrets from McElvina, and acknowledged the truth of the observation. “I have brought up the subject, my dear boy,” continued McElvina, “because I have not been blind, and I am afraid that you will cherish a feeling which can only end in disappointment. She is a sweet girl; but you must, if possible, forget her. Reflect a moment. You are an orphan, without money and without family, although not without friends, which you have secured by your own merit; and you have only your courage and your abilities to advance you in the service. Can it, then, be expected, that her parents would consent to an union—or would it be honourable in you to take any advantage of her youthful prepossession in your favour, and prevent her from reaping those advantages that her fortune and family entitle her to?”Seymour felt bitterly the justice of the remark; a few tears trickled through his fingers, but his mind was resolved. He had thought to have declared his love before his departure, and have obtained an acknowledgment on her part; but he now made a firm resolution to avoid and to forget her. “I shall follow your advice, my dear sir, for it is that of a friend who is careful of my honour; but if you knew the state of mind that I am in!—How foolish and inconsiderate have I been!—I will not see her again.”“Nay, that would be acting wrongly; it would be quite unpardonable, after the kindness which you have received from Mrs Rainscourt, not to call and wish them farewell. You must do it, Seymour. It will be an exertion, I acknowledge; but, if I mistake not his character, not too great a one for William Seymour. Good night, my dear boy.”On the ensuing morning, Seymour, who had fortified himself in his good resolutions, walked to the hall to announce his approaching departure on foreign service, and to take his farewell, his last farewell, of Emily. He found the carriage at the door, and Mrs Rainscourt in her pelisse and bonnet, about to pay a visit at some distance. She was sorry at the information, for Seymour was a great favourite, and delayed her departure for a quarter of an hour to converse with him; at the end of which, Emily, who had been walking, came into the library. Communicating the intelligence to her daughter, Mrs Rainscourt then bade him farewell, and expressing many wishes for his health and happiness, was handed by him into the carriage, and drove off; leaving Seymour to return to the library, and find himself—the very position he had wished to avoid—alone with Emily.Emily Rainscourt was, at this period, little more than sixteen years old; but it is well known that, in some families, as in some countries, the advance to maturity is much more rapid than in others. Such was the case with our heroine, who, from her appearance, was generally supposed to be at least two years older than she really was, and in her mind she was even more advanced than in her person.Seymour returned to the library, where he found Emily upon the sofa. Her bonnet had been thrown off; and the tears that were coursing down her cheeks were hastily brushed away at his entrance. He perceived it, and felt his case to be still more embarrassing.“When do you go, William?” said Emily, first breaking silence.“To-morrow morning. I have called to return my thanks to your mother, and to you, for your kindness to me;—I shall ever remember it with gratitude.”Emily made no answer, but a deep sigh escaped.“I shall,” continued Seymour, “be away perhaps for years, and it is doubtful if ever we meet again. Our tracks in life are widely different. I am an orphan, without name or connection—or even home, except through the kindness of my friends: they were right when, in my childhood, they christened me the ‘King’s Own,’ for I belong to nobody else. You, Miss Rainscourt,” (Emily started, for it was the first time that he had ever called her so, after the first week of their acquaintance), “with every advantage which this world can afford, will soon be called into society, in which I never can have any pretence to enter. You will, in all probability, form a splendid connection before (if ever) we meet again. You have my prayers, and shall have them when seas divide us, for your happiness.”Seymour was so choked by his feelings, that he could say no more—and Emily burst into tears.“Farewell, Emily! God in Heaven bless you,” said Seymour, recovering his self-possession.Emily, who could not speak, offered her hand. Seymour could not control himself; he pressed her lips with fervour, and darted out of the room. Emily watched him, until he disappeared at the winding of the avenue, and then sat down and wept bitterly. She thought that he was unkind, when he ought to have been most fond—on the eve of a protracted absence. He might have stayed a little longer. He had never behaved so before; and she retired to her room, with her heart panting with anguish and disappointment. She felt how much she loved him, and the acknowledgment was embittered by the idea that this feeling was not reciprocal.The next morning, when the hour had passed at which Seymour had stated that he was to leave the spot, Emily bent her steps to the cottage, that she might, by conversation with her friend Mrs McElvina, obtain, if possible, some clue to the motives which had induced our hero to behave as we have narrated.Susan was equally anxious to know in what manner Seymour had conducted himself, and soon obtained from Emily the information which she required. She then pointed out to her, as her husband had done to Seymour, the improbability, if not impossibility, of any happy result to their intimacy, and explained the honourable motives by which Seymour had been actuated,—the more commendable, as his feelings on the subject were even more acute than her own. The weeping girl felt the truth of her remarks, as far as the justification of Seymour was attempted. Satisfied with the knowledge that he loved her, she paid little attention to the more prudent part of the advice, and made a resolution in his favour, which, as well as her attachment (unlike most others formed during the freshness of the heart), through time and circumstance, absence on his part, temptations on hers, continued stedfast and immovable to the last.
All desperate hazards courage do create,As he plays frankly who has least estate.Dryden.It were all one,That I should love a bright particular star,And think to wed it.Shakespeare.
All desperate hazards courage do create,As he plays frankly who has least estate.Dryden.It were all one,That I should love a bright particular star,And think to wed it.Shakespeare.
Seymour was soon weary of the endless noise and confusion to which he was subjected on board of the guard-ship, and he wrote to Captain M—, requesting that he might be permitted to join some vessel on active service, until the period should arrive when the former would be enabled to resume the command of his ship. The answer from his patron informed him, that the time of his renewal of his professional duties would be uncertain, not having hitherto derived much benefit from his return to England; that as theAspasiawas daily expected to arrive from the mission on which she had been despatched, and would then remain on Channel service, ready to be made over to him as soon as his health should be re-established, he would procure an order for him to join her as soon as she arrived. He pointed out to him that he would be more comfortable on board a ship in which he had many old messmates and friends than in any other, to the officers of which he would be a perfect stranger. That, in the meantime, he had procured leave of absence for him, and requested that he would pay him a visit at his cottage near Richmond, to the vicinity of which place he had removed, by the advice of his medical attendants.
Seymour gladly availed himself of this opportunity of seeing his protector, and after a sojourn of three weeks, returned to Portsmouth, to join theAspasia, which had, for some days, been lying at Spithead. Most of the commissioned, and many of the junior officers, who had served in the West Indies, were still on board of her anxiously waiting for the return of Captain M—, whose value as a commanding officer was more appreciated for the change which had taken place. Seymour was cordially greeted by his former shipmates, not only for his own sake, but from the idea that his having rejoined the frigate was but a precursor of the reappearance of Captain M— himself.
There is, perhaps, no quality in man partaking of such variety, and so difficult to analyse, ascourage, whether it be physical or mental, both of which are not only innate, but to be acquired. The former, and the most universal, is most capriciously bestowed; sometimes, although rarely, Nature has denied it altogether. We have, therefore, in the latter instance, courage nil as a zero, courage negative, halfway up, and courage positive, at the top, which may be considered as “blood heat;” and upon this thermometrical scale the animal courage of every individual may be placed. Couragenilor cowardice, needs no explanation. Courage negative, which is the most common, is that degree of firmness which will enable a person to do his duty when dangercomes to him; he will not avoid danger, but he will not exactly seek it. Courage positive, when implanted in a man, will induce him to seek danger, and find opportunities of distinguishing himself where others can see none. Courage negative is a passive feeling, and requires to be roused. Courage positive is an active and restless feeling, always on the look-out.
An extreme susceptibility, and a phlegmatic indifference of disposition, although diametrically in opposition to each other, will produce the same results: in the former, it is mental, in the latter, animal courage. Paradoxical as it may appear, the most certain and most valuable description ofcourageis that which is acquired from thefear of shame. Further, there is no talent which returns more fold than courage, when constantly in exercise: for habit will soon raise the individual, whose index is near to zero, to the degree in the scale opposite to courage negative; and the possessor of courage negative will rise up to that of courage positive; although, from desuetude, theywill again sink to their former position.
It is generally considered that men arenaturally brave; but as, without some incentive, there would be no courage, I doubt the position. I should rather say that we were naturally cowards. Without incitement, courage of every description would gradually descend to the zero of the scale; the necessity of some incentive to produce it, proves that it is “against nature.” As the ferocity of brutes is occasioned by hunger, so is that of man by “hungering” after the coveted enjoyments of life, and in proportion as this appetite is appeased, so is his courage decreased. If you wish animals to fight, they must not be over-fed; and if a nation wishes to have good officers, it must swell their pride by decorations, and keep them poor. There are few who do not recollect the answer of the soldier to his general, who had presented him with a purse of gold, in reward of a remarkable instance of gallantry, and who, a short time afterwards, requiring something extremely hazardous to be attempted, sent for the man, and expressed his wish that he would volunteer. “General,” said he, “send a man who hasnot gota purse of gold.”
The strongest incitement to courage is withdrawn by the possession of wealth. Other worldly possessions also affect it. Lord St. Vincent, when he heard that any captain had married, used to observe, emphatically, “that he was damned for the service,”—no compliment to the officer, but a very handsome one to the sex, as it implied that their attractions were so great, that we could not disengage ourselves from our thraldom, or, in fact, that there were no such things as bad or scolding wives.
Finally, thisquality, which is considered as avirtue, and to entitle us to the rewards bestowed upon it by the fair sex, who value it above all others, is so wholly out of our control, that when suffering under sickness or disease, it deserts us; nay, for the time being, a violent stomach-ache will turn a hero into a poltroon.
So much for a dissertation on courage, which I should not have ventured to force upon the reader, had it not been to prepare him for the character which I am about to introduce; and when it is pointed out how many thousands of officers were employed during the last war, I trust it will not be considered an imputation upon the service, by asserting that there were some few whomistook their profession.
The acting captain of theAspasia, during the early part of his career in the service (had there been such a thermometer as I have described, by which the heat of temperament in the party would have been precisely ascertained), on placing its bulb upon the palm of his hand, would have forced the mercury something between the zero and courage negative, towards the zero—“more yes than no,” as the Italian said; but now that he was a married man, above fifty years of age, with a large family, he had descended in the scale to the absolute zero.
It may, then, be inquired, why he requested to be employed during the war? Because he liked full pay and prize-money when it could be obtained without risk, and because his wife and family were living on shore in a very snug little cottage at Ryde, in the Isle of Wight, which cottage required nothing but furniture and a few other trifles to render it complete. Marriage had not only subtracted from the courage of this worthy officer, but, moreover, a little from his honesty. Captain Capperbar (for such was his name) should have been brought up as a missionary, for he couldcanvertanything, andexpendmore profusely than any Bible Society. The name by which he had christened his domicile was probably given as a sort of salvo to his conscience. He called it the “Ship;” and when he signed his name to the expense books of the different warrant officers, without specifying the exact use to which the materials were applied, the larger proportions were invariably expended, by the general term, for “Ship’suse.” He came into harbour as often as he could, always had a demand for stores to complete, and a defect or two for the dockyard to make good, and the admiral, who was aware of Mr Capperbar being a near resident, made every reasonable allowance for his partiality to Spithead. But we had better introduce the captain, sitting at his table in the fore-cabin, on the day of his arrival in port, the carpenter having obeyed his summons.
“Well, Mr Cheeks, what are the carpenters about?”
“Weston and Smallbridge are going on with the chairs—the whole of them will be finished tomorrow.”
“Well?”
“Smith is about the chest of drawers, to match the one in my Lady Capperbar’s bed-room.”
“Very good. And what is Hilton about?”
“He has finished the spare-leaf of the dining-table, sir; he is now about a little job for the second-lieutenant.”
“A job for the second-lieutenant, sir? How often have I told you, Mr Cheeks, that the carpenters are not to be employed, except on ship’s duty, without my special permission.”
“His standing bed-place is broke, sir; he is only getting out a chock or two.”
“Mr Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders.—By the bye, sir, I understand you were not sober last night.”
“Please your honour,” replied the carpenter, “I wasn’t drunk—I was only a little fresh.”
“Take you care, Mr Cheeks. Well, now, what are the rest of your crew about?”
“Why, Thompson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden, out of the jib-booms; I’ve saved the heel to return.”
“Very well, but there won’t be enough, will there?”
“No, sir, it will take a hand-mast to finish the whole.”
“Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away a topmast, and make a new one out of the hand-mast at sea. In the meantime, if the sawyers have nothing to do, they may as well cut the palings at once. And now, let me see—oh! the painters must go on shore, to finish the attics.”
“Yes, sir, but my Lady Capperbar wishes thejealowseesto be painted vermilion: she says, it will look more rural.”
“Mrs Capperbar ought toknow enoughabout ship’s stores, by this time, to be aware that we are only allowed three colours. She may choose or mix them as she pleases; but as for going to the expense of buying paint, I can’t afford it. What are the rest of the men about?”
“Repairing, the second cutter, and making a new mast for the pinnace.”
“By the bye—that puts me in mind of it—have you expended any boat’s masts?”
“Only the one carried away, sir.”
“Then you must expend two more. Mrs C— has just sent me off a list of a few things that she wishes made, while we are at anchor, and I see two poles for clothes-lines. Saw off the sheave-holes, and put two pegs through at right angles—you know how I mean.”
“Yes, sir. What am I to do, sir, about the cucumber frame? My Lady Capperbar says that she must have it, and I haven’t glass enough—they grumbled at the yard last time.”
“Mrs C— must wait a little. What are the armourers’ about?”
“They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms are in a very bad condition. The first-lieutenant said yesterday that they were a disgrace to the ship.”
“Who dared say that?”
“The first-lieutenant, sir.”
“Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know when they are done, and we’ll get the forge up.”
“The armourer has made six rakes, and six hoes, and the two little hoes for the children; but he says he can’t make a spade.”
“Then I’ll take his warrant away, by Heaven! since he does not know his duty. That will do, Mr Cheeks. I shall overlook your being in liquor, this time; but take care—send the boatswain to me.”
“Yes sir,” and the carpenter quitted the cabin.
“Well, Mr Hurley,” said the Captain, as the boatswain stroked down his hair, as a mark of respect, when he entered the cabin, “are the cots all finished?”
“All finished, your honour, and slung, except the one for thebabby. Had not I better get a piece of duck for that?”
“No, no—number seven will do as well; Mrs C— wants somefearnought, to put down in the entrance hall.”
“Yes, your honour.”
“And some cod-lines laid up for clothes-lines.”
“Yes, your honour.”
“Stop, let me look at my list—‘Knife-tray, meat-screen, leads for window-sashes,’—Ah! have you any hand-leads not on charge?”
“Yes, your honour, four or five.”
“Give them to my steward.—‘Small chair for Ellen—canvas for veranda.’—Oh! here’s something else—have you any painted canvas?”
“Only a waist-hammock-cloth, sir, ready fitted.”
“We must expend that; ‘no old on charge.’ Send it on shore to the cottage, and I shall want some pitch.”
“We’ve lots of that, your honour.”
“That will do, Mr Hurley; desire the sentry to tell my steward to come here.”
“Yes, your honour.” (Exit boatswain, and enter steward.)
This personage belonged to the party of marines, who had been drafted into the ship—for Captain Capperbar’s economical propensities would not allow him to hire a servant brought up to the situation, who would have demanded wages independent of the ship’s pay. Having been well drilled at barracks, he never answered any question put to him by an officer, without recovering himself from his usual “stand-at-ease” position—throwing shoulders back, his nose up in the air, his arms down his sides, and the palms of his hands flattened on his thighs. His replies were given with all the brevity that the question would admit, or rapid articulation on his own part would enable him to confer.
“Thomas, are the sugar and cocoa ready to go on shore?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t forget to send that letter to Mr Gibson for the ten dozen port and sherry.”
“No, sir.”
“When it comes on board, you’ll bring it on shore a dozen at a time, in the hair trunk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mind you don’t let any of the hay peep outside.”
“No, sir.”
“Has the cooper finished the washing-tubs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the small kids?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you inquired among the ship’s company for a gardener?”
“Yes, sir; there’s a marine kept the garden of the major in the barracks.”
“Don’t forget to bring him on shore.”
“No, sir.”
“Recollect, too, that Mrs Capperbar wants some vinegar—the boatswain’s is the best—and a gallon or two of rum—and you must corn some beef. The harness cask may remain on shore, and the cooper must make me another.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Master Henry’s trousers—are they finished yet?”
“No, sir; Spriggs is at them now. Bailly and James are making Miss Ellen’s petticoats.”
“And the shoes for Master John—are they finished?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Master Henry’s?”
“No, sir. Wilson says that he has lost Master Henry’s measure.”
“Careless scoundrel! he shall have four-water grog for a week; and, steward, take three bags of bread on shore, and forty pounds of flour.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s all. Oh, no—don’t forget to send some peas on shore for the pig.”
“No, sir,” and the steward departed to execute his variety of commissions.
The present first-lieutenant of theAspasia, who, upon the promotion of the former, had been selected by Captain M— previous to his quitting the ship, was an excellent officer and a pleasant, light-hearted messmate, very superior in talent and information to the many.
The conduct of Captain Capperbar was a source of annoyance to him, as he frequently could not command the services of the different artificers when they were required for the ship. He had, however, been long enough in the service to be aware that it was better to make the best of it than to create enemies by impeaching the conduct of his superior officer. As the command of Captain Capperbar was but temporary, he allowed him to proceed without expostulation, contenting himself with turning his conduct into a source of conversation and amusement.
“Well, Prose, how do you like the new skipper?” inquired Seymour, soon after his arrival on board.
“Why—I do declare, I can hardly tell. He’s a very good-tempered man, but he don’t exactly treat us midshipmen as if we were officers or gentlemen; and as for his wife, she is really too bad. I am sent every day on shore to the cottage, because I belong to the captain’s gig. They never ask me to sit down, but set me to work somehow or another. The other day he had a boat’s crew on shore digging up a piece of ground for planting potatoes, and he first showed me how to cut theeyes, and then gave me a knife, and ordered me tofinish the whole bagwhich lay in the field, and to see that the men worked properly at the same time. I never cut potatoes into little bits before, except at table after they were boiled.”
“Well, that was too bad; but however, you’ll know how to plant potatoes in future—there’s nothing like knowledge.”
“And then he sends the nurse and children for an airing, as he calls it, on the water, and I am obliged to take them. I don’t like pulling maid-servants about.”
“That’s quite a matter of taste, Prose; some midshipmen do.”
“What do you think Mrs Capperbar asked me to do the other day?”
“I’m sure I can’t guess.”
“Why, to shell peas.”
“Well, did you oblige her?”
“Why, yes, I did; but I did not like it,—and the other day the captain sent me out to walk with the nurse and children, that I might carry Master Henry if he was tired.”
“They have observed the versatility of your genius.”
“She made me hunt the hedges for a whole morning after eggs because she was convinced that one of the hens laid astray.”
“Did you find any?”
“No; and when I came back to tell her so, she got into a rage, and threatened to make the captain flog me.”
“The devil she did!”
“A devil she is,” continued Prose. “She runs about the house—‘Captain Capperbar’ this,—‘Captain Capperbar’ that—‘I will’—‘I will not’—‘I insist’—‘I am determined.’ But,” continued Prose, “as you belonged to the captain’s gig before, you will of course take her again, and I shall be very glad to give the charge up to you.”
“Not for the world, my dear Prose: what may insure your promotion would be my ruin. I never nursed a child or shelled a pea in my life; the first I should certainly let fall, and the second I probably should eat for my trouble. So pray continue at your post of honour, and I will go for the fresh beef every morning as you were accustomed to do when we we were last in port.”
Captain M— did not receive the immediate benefit which he had anticipated from a return to his native land. Bath, Cheltenham, Devonshire, and other places were recommended one after the other by the physicians, until he was tired of moving from place to place. It was nearly two years before he felt his health sufficiently re-established to resume the command of theAspasia, during which period the patience of officers was nearly exhausted; and not only was all the furniture and fitting up of the cottage complete but Captain Capperbar had provided himself with a considerable stock of materials for repairs and alterations. At last a letter from the captain to Macallan gave the welcome intelligence that he was to be down at Portsmouth in a few days, and that the ship was ordered to fit for foreign service.
We must not omit to mention here, that during these two years Seymour had been able to procure frequent leave of absence, which was invariably passed at the McElvinas; and that the terms of intimacy on which he was received at the hall and his constant intercourse with Emily, produced an effect which a more careful mother would have guarded against. The youth of eighteen and the girl of sixteen had feelings very different from those which had actuated them on their first acquaintance; and Seymour, who was staying at the McElvinas when the expected arrival of Captain M— was announced, now felt what pain it would be to part with Emily. The intelligence was communicated in a letter from Prose, when he was sitting alone with McElvina, and the bare idea of separation struck him to the heart.
McElvina, who had often expressed his opinion on the subject to his wife, had been anxious that our hero should be sent on a foreign station, before he had allowed a passion to take so deep a root in his heart that, to eradicate it, would be a task of great effort and greater pain. Aware, from the flushed face of Seymour, of what was passing within, he quietly introduced the subject, by observing that in all probability, his favourite, Emily, would be married previous to his return—pointing out that an heiress of so large a property would have a right to expect to unite herself with one in the highest rank of society.
Seymour covered his face with his hands, as he leant over the table. He had no secrets from McElvina, and acknowledged the truth of the observation. “I have brought up the subject, my dear boy,” continued McElvina, “because I have not been blind, and I am afraid that you will cherish a feeling which can only end in disappointment. She is a sweet girl; but you must, if possible, forget her. Reflect a moment. You are an orphan, without money and without family, although not without friends, which you have secured by your own merit; and you have only your courage and your abilities to advance you in the service. Can it, then, be expected, that her parents would consent to an union—or would it be honourable in you to take any advantage of her youthful prepossession in your favour, and prevent her from reaping those advantages that her fortune and family entitle her to?”
Seymour felt bitterly the justice of the remark; a few tears trickled through his fingers, but his mind was resolved. He had thought to have declared his love before his departure, and have obtained an acknowledgment on her part; but he now made a firm resolution to avoid and to forget her. “I shall follow your advice, my dear sir, for it is that of a friend who is careful of my honour; but if you knew the state of mind that I am in!—How foolish and inconsiderate have I been!—I will not see her again.”
“Nay, that would be acting wrongly; it would be quite unpardonable, after the kindness which you have received from Mrs Rainscourt, not to call and wish them farewell. You must do it, Seymour. It will be an exertion, I acknowledge; but, if I mistake not his character, not too great a one for William Seymour. Good night, my dear boy.”
On the ensuing morning, Seymour, who had fortified himself in his good resolutions, walked to the hall to announce his approaching departure on foreign service, and to take his farewell, his last farewell, of Emily. He found the carriage at the door, and Mrs Rainscourt in her pelisse and bonnet, about to pay a visit at some distance. She was sorry at the information, for Seymour was a great favourite, and delayed her departure for a quarter of an hour to converse with him; at the end of which, Emily, who had been walking, came into the library. Communicating the intelligence to her daughter, Mrs Rainscourt then bade him farewell, and expressing many wishes for his health and happiness, was handed by him into the carriage, and drove off; leaving Seymour to return to the library, and find himself—the very position he had wished to avoid—alone with Emily.
Emily Rainscourt was, at this period, little more than sixteen years old; but it is well known that, in some families, as in some countries, the advance to maturity is much more rapid than in others. Such was the case with our heroine, who, from her appearance, was generally supposed to be at least two years older than she really was, and in her mind she was even more advanced than in her person.
Seymour returned to the library, where he found Emily upon the sofa. Her bonnet had been thrown off; and the tears that were coursing down her cheeks were hastily brushed away at his entrance. He perceived it, and felt his case to be still more embarrassing.
“When do you go, William?” said Emily, first breaking silence.
“To-morrow morning. I have called to return my thanks to your mother, and to you, for your kindness to me;—I shall ever remember it with gratitude.”
Emily made no answer, but a deep sigh escaped.
“I shall,” continued Seymour, “be away perhaps for years, and it is doubtful if ever we meet again. Our tracks in life are widely different. I am an orphan, without name or connection—or even home, except through the kindness of my friends: they were right when, in my childhood, they christened me the ‘King’s Own,’ for I belong to nobody else. You, Miss Rainscourt,” (Emily started, for it was the first time that he had ever called her so, after the first week of their acquaintance), “with every advantage which this world can afford, will soon be called into society, in which I never can have any pretence to enter. You will, in all probability, form a splendid connection before (if ever) we meet again. You have my prayers, and shall have them when seas divide us, for your happiness.”
Seymour was so choked by his feelings, that he could say no more—and Emily burst into tears.
“Farewell, Emily! God in Heaven bless you,” said Seymour, recovering his self-possession.
Emily, who could not speak, offered her hand. Seymour could not control himself; he pressed her lips with fervour, and darted out of the room. Emily watched him, until he disappeared at the winding of the avenue, and then sat down and wept bitterly. She thought that he was unkind, when he ought to have been most fond—on the eve of a protracted absence. He might have stayed a little longer. He had never behaved so before; and she retired to her room, with her heart panting with anguish and disappointment. She felt how much she loved him, and the acknowledgment was embittered by the idea that this feeling was not reciprocal.
The next morning, when the hour had passed at which Seymour had stated that he was to leave the spot, Emily bent her steps to the cottage, that she might, by conversation with her friend Mrs McElvina, obtain, if possible, some clue to the motives which had induced our hero to behave as we have narrated.
Susan was equally anxious to know in what manner Seymour had conducted himself, and soon obtained from Emily the information which she required. She then pointed out to her, as her husband had done to Seymour, the improbability, if not impossibility, of any happy result to their intimacy, and explained the honourable motives by which Seymour had been actuated,—the more commendable, as his feelings on the subject were even more acute than her own. The weeping girl felt the truth of her remarks, as far as the justification of Seymour was attempted. Satisfied with the knowledge that he loved her, she paid little attention to the more prudent part of the advice, and made a resolution in his favour, which, as well as her attachment (unlike most others formed during the freshness of the heart), through time and circumstance, absence on his part, temptations on hers, continued stedfast and immovable to the last.