Фредерик Марриет
The King's Own

Chapter Twenty Four.

He was a shrewd philosopher,

And had read every text and gloss over,

Whatever sceptic could inquire for,

For every why he had a wherefore.

He could reduce all things to acts,

And knew their nature by abstracts.

Hudibras.

Captain M — was not unmindful of the promise which he had made to McElvina relative to our hero; and when he returned to the ship he sent for Macallan, the surgeon, and requested as a personal favour that he would superintend Willy’s education, and direct his studies.

Macallan was too partial to Captain M — to refuse, and fortunately had imbibed a strong regard for Willy, whose romantic history, early courage, and amiability of disposition, had made him a general favourite. Macallan, therefore, willingly undertook the tuition of a boy who combined energy or mind with docility of disposition and sweetness of temper. There could not have been selected a person better qualified than the surgeon for imparting that general knowledge so valuable in after-life; and, under his guidance, Willy soon proved that strong intellectual powers were among the other advantages which he had received from nature.

The Aspasia flew before the trade winds, and in a few weeks arrived at Barbadoes, where Captain M — found orders left by the admiral of the station, directing him to survey a dangerous reef of rocks to the northward of Porto Rico, and to continue to cruise for some weeks in that quarter, after the service had been performed. In three days the frigate was revictualled and watered; and the officers had barely time to have their sea arrangements completed, before the frigate again expanded her canvas to a favourable breeze. In a few hours the island was left so far astern as to appear like the blue mist which so often deceives the expectant scanner of the horizon.

“You Billy Pitt! is all my linen come on board?”

“Yes, sar,” replied Billy, who was in Courtenay’s cabin; “I make bill out; just now cast up multerpication of whole.”

“I’m afraid you very often use multiplication in your addition, Mr Billy.”

“True bill, sar,” replied Billy, coming out of the cabin, and handing a paper to Courtenay.

“What’s this? — nineteen tarts! Why, you black thief, I never had any tarts.”

“Please let me see, sar,” said Billy, peering over his shoulder. “Yes, sar, all right — I count em. Tell washerwoman put plenty of tarch in collar.”

“Shirts, you nigger — why don’t you learn to spell with that dictionary of yours?”

“Know how to spell very well, sar,” replied Billy, haughtily; “that my way spell ‘tarts.’”

“‘Fourteen tockin, seventeen toul.’ — You do know how to spell to a T.”

“Massa Courtenay, doctor not write same way you write.”

“Well, Mr Billy.”

“You not write same way me — ebery gentleman write different hand. Now, if ebery gentleman write his own way, why not ebery gentleman spell his own way? Dat my way to spell, sar,” continued Billy, very much affronted.

“I can’t argue with you now, Mr Billy — there’s one bell after four striking, and I have hardly had a glass of wine, from your bothering me. Upon my soul, its excessively annoying.”

“One bell, Mr Courtenay!” cried Jerry at the gun-room door; “Mr Price will thank you to relieve him.”

“I say, Mr Prose,” continued Jerry, as he passed through the steerage to return on deck, “I’ll just trouble you to hand your carcase up as soon as convenient.”

“Directly, Jerry, — I — will — but my tea — is so hot.”

“Well, then leave it, and I’ll drink it for you,” replied Jerry, ascending the ladder.

“Well, Mr G — , did you tell Mr Courtenay?” inquired Price.

“Yes, sir,” replied Jerry.

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Pass the bottle, sir,’” replied Jerry, touching his hat, and not changing a muscle of his countenance, although delighted with the vexation that appeared in that of the tired lieutenant, as he walked away forward.

For two or three days the frigate sailed between the islands, which reared their lofty crests abruptly from the ocean, like the embattlements of some vast castle which had been submerged to the water’s edge. Her progress was slow, as she was only indebted to the land or sea breezes as they alternately blew, and was becalmed at the close of the day, during the pause between their relieving each other from their never-ceasing duty. Such was the situation of the Aspasia on the evening of the third day. The scene was one of those splendid panoramas which are only to be gazed upon in tropical climes. The sun was near setting: and as he passed through the horizontal streaks of vapour, fringed their narrow edges with a blaze of glory, strongly in contrast with the deep blue of the zenith, reflected by the still wave in every quarter, except where the descending orb poured down his volume of rays, which changed the sea into an element of molten gold. The frigate was lying motionless in the narrow channel between two of the islands, the high mountains of which, in deep and solemn shade, were reflected in lengthened shadows, extending to the vessel’s sides, and, looking downwards, you beheld the “mountains bowed.” Many of the officers were standing abaft admiring the beauty of the scene; but not giving vent to their feelings, from an inward consciousness of inability to do justice to it in their expressions.

Macallan first broke the silence. “Who would imagine, Courtenay, that, ere yonder sun shall rise again, a hurricane may exhaust its rage upon a spot so calm, so beautiful, as this, where all now seems to whisper peace?”

The remark was followed by a noise like that proceeding from a distant gun. “Is it pace you mane, doctor?” said one of the midshipmen, from the sister kingdom. “By the powers, there’s ‘war to the knife,’ already. Look,” continued he, pointing with his finger in a direction under the land, “there’s a battle between the whale and the thrasher.”

The remark of the midshipman was correct, and the whole party congregated on the taffrail to witness the struggle which had already commenced. The blows of the thrasher, a large fish, of the same species as the whale, given with incredible force and noise on the back of the whale, were now answered by his more unwieldy antagonist, who lashed the sea with fury in his attempts to retaliate upon his more active assailant; and while the contention lasted, the water was in a foam.

In a few minutes, the whale plunged, and disappeared.

“He has had enough of it,” observed the master; “but the thrasher will not let him off so easily. He must come up to breathe directly, and you’ll find the thrasher yard-arm and yard-arm with him again.”

As the master observed, the whale soon reappeared, and the thrasher, who had closely pursued him, as if determined to make up for lost time, threw himself out of the water, and came down upon the whale, striking him with tremendous force upon the shoulder. The whale plunged so perpendicularly, that his broad tail was many feet upraised in the air, and the persecuted animal was seen no more.

“That last broadside settled him,” said Courtenay.

“Sunk him too, I think,” cried Jerry.

“Strange,” observed Courtenay, addressing Macallan, “that there should be such an antipathy between the animals. The West Indians assert, that at the same time the thrasher attacks him above, the sword-fish pierces him underneath — if so, it must be very annoying.”

“I have heard the same story, but have never myself seen the sword-fish,” replied Macallan: “it is, however, very possible, as there is no animal in the creation that has so many enemies as the whale.”

“A tax on greatness,” observed Jerry; “I’m glad it goes by bulk. Mr Macallan,” continued he, “you’re a philosopher, and I have heard you argue that whatever is, is right — will you explain to my consummate ignorance, upon what just grounds the thrasher attacks that unoffending mass of blubber?”

“I’ll explain it to you,” said Courtenay, laughing. “The whale, who has just come from the northward, finds himself in very comfortable quarters here, and has no wish to heave up his anchor, and proceed on his voyage round Cape Horn. The thrasher is the port-admiral of the station, and his blows are so many guns to enforce his orders to sail forthwith.”

“Thank you, sir,” answered Jerry, sarcastically, “for your very ingenious explanation; but I do not see why his guns should be shotted. Perhaps Mr Macallan will now oblige me by his ideas on the subject.”

“How far these islands may be the Capua to the whale, which Mr Courtenay presumes, I cannot say,” answered the surgeon, pompously; “but I have observed that all the cetaceous tribe are very much annoyed by vermin, which adhere to their skins. You often see the porpoises, and smaller fish of this class, throw themselves into the air, and fall flat on the water, to detach the barnacles and other parasitical insects, which distress them. May it not be that the whale, being so enormous an animal, and not able to employ the same means of relief, receives it from the blows of the thrasher?”

“Bravo, doctor! Why, then, the thrasher may be considered as a medical attendant to the whale; and, from the specimen we have witnessed of his humanity, a naval practitioner, I have no doubt,” added Jerry.

“Very well, Mr Jerry; if ever you come under my hands, you shall smart for that.”

“Very little chance, doctor: I’m such a miserable object, that even disease passes by me with contempt. If I ever am in your list, I presume it will be for a case of plethora,” replied Jerry, spanning his thin waist.

“Young gentlemen, get down directly. What are you all doing there on the taffrail?” bawled out the first-lieutenant, who had just come up the ladder.

“We’ve been looking at a sea-bully,” said Jerry in a tone of voice sufficiently loud to excite the merriment of those about him, without being heard by the first-lieutenant.

“What’s the joke?” observed Mr Bully, coming aft, as the midshipmen were dispersing.

“Some of Mr J — ’s nonsense,” replied the surgeon.

This answer not being satisfactory, the first-lieutenant took it for granted, as people usually do, that the laugh was against himself, and his choler was raised against the offending party.

“Mr J — ! Ay, that young man thinks of anything but his duty. There he is, playing with the captain’s dog; and his watch, I’ll answer for it, or he would not be on deck. Mr J — ,” continued the first-lieutenant to Jerry, who was walking up and down to leeward, followed by a large Newfoundland dog, “is it your watch?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jerry, touching his hat.

“Then why are you skylarking with that dog?”

“I am not skylarking with the dog, sir. He follows me up and down. I believe he takes me for a bone.”

“I am not surprised at it,” replied the first-lieutenant, laughing.

The surgeon, who remained abaft, was now accosted by Willy, who had been amusing himself, leaning over the side of a boat which had been lowered down, by the first-lieutenant, to examine the staying of the masts, and catching in a tin pot the various minute objects of natural history which passed by, as the frigate glided slowly along.

“What shell is this, Mr Macallan, which I have picked up? It floated on the surface of the water by means of these air-bladders, which are attached to it.”

“That shell, Willy,” replied Macallan, who, mounting his favourite hobby, immediately spouted his pompous truths, “is called by naturalists the Ianthina fragilis, perhaps the weakest and most delicate in its texture which exists, and yet the only one (see note 1) which ventures to contend with the stormy ocean. The varieties of the nautili have the same property of floating on the surface of the water, but they seldom are found many miles from land. They are only coasters in comparison with this adventurous little navigator, which alone braves the Atlantic, and floats about in the same fathomless deep which is ranged by the devouring shark, and lashed by the stupendous whale. I have picked up these little sailors nearly one thousand miles from the land. Yet observe, it is his security — his tenement, of such thin texture to enable him to float with greater ease, would not be able to encounter the rippling of the wave upon the smoothest beach.”

“What use are they of?”

“Of no direct use that I know of, William; but if it has no other use than to induce you to reflect a little, it has not been made in vain. All created things are not applicable to the wants or the enjoyment of man; but their examination will always tend to his improvement. When you analyse this little creature in its domicile, and see how wonderfully it is provided with all means necessary for its existence, — when you compare it with the thousand varieties upon the beach, in all of which you will perceive the same Master-hand visible, the same attention in providing for their wants, the same minute and endless beauty of colour and of form, — you cannot but acknowledge the vastness and the magnificence of the Maker. In the same manner the flowers and shrubs, which embellish, as they cover the earth, are not all so much for use, as they are for ornament. What human ingenuity can approach to the perfection of the meanest effort of the Almighty hand? Has it not been pointed out in the Scriptures, ‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these.’ Never debate in your mind, Willy, of what use are these things which God has made — for of what use, then, is man, the most endowed and the most perverse of all creation, except to show the goodness and the forbearance of the Almighty! You may, hereafter, be inclined to debate why noxious reptiles and ferocious beasts, that not only are useless to man, but a source of dread and of danger, have been created. They have their inheritance upon earth, as well as man, and combine with the rest of animated nature to show the power, and the wisdom, and the endless variety of the Creator. It is true that all animals were made for our use; but recollect, that when man fell from his perfect state, it was declared, ‘In the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat bread.’ Are trackless forests and yet unexplored regions to remain without living creatures to enjoy them, until they shall be required by man? And is man, in his fallen state, to possess all the earth and its advantages, without labour, — without fulfilling his destiny? No. Ferocious and noxious animals disappear only before cultivation. It is part of the labour to which he has been sentenced, that he should rend them out as the ‘thistle and the thorn;’ or drive them to those regions, which are not yet required by him, and of which they may continue to have possession undisturbed.”

Such was the language of Macallan to our hero, whose thirst for knowledge constantly made fresh demands upon the surgeon’s fund of information; and, pedantic as his language may appear, it contained important truths, which were treasured up by the retentive memory of his pupil.

Note 1. I am aware that there are two or three other pelagic shells, but at the time of this narrative they were not known.

Chapter Twenty Five.

How frail, how cowardly is woman’s mind!

Yet when strong jealousy inflames the soul,

The weak will roar, and calms to tempests roll.

Lee’s Rival Queens.

But we must now follow up the motions of Mr Rainscourt, who quitted the castle, and travelling with great diligence, once more trod the pavement of the metropolis, which he had quitted in equal haste, but under very different circumstances. The news of his good fortune had preceded him, and he received all that homage which is invariably shown to a man who has many creditors, and the means of satisfying all their demands. As he had prophesied, the little gentleman in black was as obsequious as could be desired, and threw out many indirect hints of the pleasure he should have in superintending Mr Rainscourt’s future arrangements; and by way of reinstating himself in his good graces, acquainted him with a plan for reducing the amount of the demands that were made upon him. Rainscourt, who never forgave, so far acceded to the lawyer’s wishes, as to permit him to take that part of the arrangements into his hands; and after Mr J — had succeeded in bringing the usurers to reasonable terms — when all had been duly signed and sealed, not only were his services declined for the future, but the servants were desired to show him the street-door.

As his wife had remarked, Rainscourt found no difficulty in making friends of all sorts, and of both sexes — and he had launched into a routine of gaiety and dissipation, in which he continued for several months, without allowing his wife and daughter to interrupt his amusements, or to enter his thoughts. He had enclosed an order upon the banker at — soon after his arrival in London, and he considered that he had done all that was requisite. Such was not, however, the opinion of his wife — to be immured in a lonely castle in Ireland, was neither her intention nor her taste. Finding that repeated letters were unanswered, in which she requested permission to join him, and pointed out the necessity that Emily, who was now nearly twelve years old, should have the advantages of tuition which his fortune could command, she packed up a slender wardrobe, and in a week arrived in London with Emily, and drove up to the door of the hotel, to which Rainscourt had directed that his letters should be addressed.

Rainscourt was not at home when she arrived; announcing herself as his wife, she was shown upstairs into his apartments, a minute survey of which, with their contents, was immediately made; and the notes and letters, which were carelessly strewed upon the tables, and all of which she took the liberty to peruse, had the effect of throwing Mrs Rainscourt into a transport of jealousy and indignation. The minutes appeared hours, and the hours months, until he made his appearance, which he at last did, accompanied by two fashionable roués with whom he associated.

The waiters, who happened not to be in the way as he ascended the stairs, had not announced to him the arrival of his wife, who was sitting on the sofa in her bonnet and shawl, one hand full of notes and letters, the superscriptions of which were evidently in a female hand — and the other holding her handkerchief, as if prepared for a scene. One leg was crossed over the other, and the foot of the one that was above worked in the air, up and down, with the force of a piston of a steam-engine, indicative of the propelling power within — when Rainscourt, whose voice was heard all the way upstairs, arrived at the landing-place, and, in answer to a question of one of his companions, replied —

“Go and see her! Not I — I’m quite tired of her — By Jove, I’d as soon see my wife;” and as he finished the sentence, entered the apartment, where the unexpected appearance of Mrs Rainscourt made him involuntarily exclaim, “Talk of the devil — ”

“And she appears, sir,” replied the lady, rising, and making a profound courtesy.

“Pooh, my dear,” replied Rainscourt, embarrassed, and unwilling that a scene should take place before his companions — “I was only joking.”

“Good morning, Rainscourt,” said one of his friends — “I’m afraid that I shall be de trop.”

“And I’m off too, my dear fellow, for there’s no saying how the joke may be taken,” added the other, following his companion out of the room.

Emily ran up to her father, and took his hand; and Rainscourt, who was as much attached to his daughter as his selfish character would permit, kissed her forehead. Both parties were for a short time silent. Both preferred to await the attack, rather than commence it; but in a trial of forbearance of this description, it may easily be supposed that the gentleman gained the victory. Mrs Rainscourt waited until she found that she must either give vent to her feelings by words, or that her whole frame would explode; and the action commenced on her side with a shower of tears, which ended in violent hysterics. The first were unheeded by her husband, who always considered them as a kind of scaling her guns previous to an engagement; but the hysterics rather baffled him. In his own house, he would have rung for the servants and left them to repair damages; but at an hotel, an éclat was to be avoided, if possible.

“Emily, my dear, go to your mother — you know how to help her.”

“No, I do not, papa,” said the child, crying; “but Norah used to open her hands.”

Rainscourt’s eyes were naturally directed to the fingers of his wife, in which he perceived a collection of notes and letters. He thought it might be advisable to open her hand, if it were only to recover these out of her possession. What affection would not have induced him to do, interest accomplished. He advanced to the sofa, and attempted to open her clenched hands; but whether Mrs Rainscourt’s hysterics were only feigned, or of such violence as to defy the strength of her husband, all his efforts to extract the letters proved ineffectual, and, after several unavailing attempts, he desisted from his exertions.

“What else is good for her, Emily?”

“Water, papa, thrown in her face — shall I ring for some?”

“No, my dear — is there nothing else we can do?”

“Oh, yes, papa, unlace her stays.”

Rainscourt, who was not very expert as a lady’s maid, had some difficulty in arriving at the stays through the folds of the gown, et cetera, the more so as Mrs Rainscourt was very violent in her movements, and he was not a little irritated by sundry pricks which he received from those indispensable articles of dress, which the fair sex are necessitated to use, pointing out to us that there are no roses without thorns. When he did arrive at the desired encasement, he was just as much puzzled to find an end to what appeared, like the Gordian knot, to have neither beginning nor end. Giving way to the natural impatience of his temper, he seized a penknife from the table, to divide it à l’Alexandre. Unfortunately, in his hurry, instead of inserting the knife on the inside of the lace, so as to cut to him, he cut down upon it, and not meeting with the resistance which he expected, the point of the knife entered with no trifling force into the back of Mrs Rainscourt, who, to his astonishment, immediately started on her legs, crying, “Would you murder me, Mr Rainscourt? — help, help!”

“It was quite accidental, my dear,” said Rainscourt, in a soothing tone, for he was afraid of her bringing the whole house about her ears. “I really am quite shocked at my own awkwardness.”

“It quite recovered you though, mamma,” observed Emily, with great simplicity, and for which remark, to her astonishment, she was saluted with a smart box on the ear.

“Why should you be shocked, Mr Rainscourt?” said the lady, who, as her daughter had remarked, seemed wonderfully recovered from the phle-back-omy which had been administered, — “why should you be shocked at stabbing me in the back? Have I not wherewithal in my hand to stab me a thousand times in the heart? Look at these letters, all of which I have read! You had, indeed, reason to leave me in Galway; but I will submit to it no longer. Mr Rainscourt, I insist upon an immediate separation.”

“Why should we quarrel, then, my dear, when we are both of one mind? Now do me the favour to sit down, and talk the matter over quietly. What is it that you require?”

“First, then, Mr Rainscourt, an acknowledgment on your part, that I am a most injured, and most ill-treated woman.”

“Granted, my dear, if that will add to your happiness; I certainly have never known your value.”

“Don’t sneer, sir, if you please. Secondly, a handsome allowance, commensurate with your fortune.”

“Granted, with pleasure, Mrs Rainscourt.”

“Thirdly, Mr Rainscourt, an extra allowance for the education and expenses of my daughter, who will remain under my care.”

“Granted, also.”

“Further, Mr Rainscourt, to keep up appearances, I wish one of the mansions on your different estates in England to be appropriated for our use. Your daughter ought to be known, and reside on the property of which she is the future heiress.”

“A reasonable demand, which I accede to. Is there anything further?”

“Nothing of moment; but, for Emily’s sake, I should wish that you should pay us an occasional visit, and, generally speaking, keep up appearances before the world.”

“That I shall be most happy to do, my dear, and shall always speak of you, as I feel, with respect and esteem. Is there anything more, Mrs Rainscourt?”

“There is not; but I believe that if I had been ten times more exorbitant in my demands,” replied the lady, with pique, “that you would have granted them — for the pleasure of getting rid of me.”

“I would, indeed, my dear,” replied Rainscourt; “you may command me in anything, except my own person.”

“I require no other partition, sir, than that of your fortune.”

“And of that, my dear, you shall, as I have declared, have a liberal share. So now, Mrs Rainscourt, I think we can have no further occasion for disagreement. The property in Norfolk, where Admiral De Courcy resided, is a beautiful spot, and I request you will consider it as your head-quarters. Of course you will be your own mistress when you feel inclined to change the scene. And now, as all may be considered as settled, let us shake hands, and henceforward be good friends.”

Mrs Rainscourt gave her hand and sealed the new contract, but, ill-treated as she had been, — at variance with her husband for years, — and now convinced that she had been outraged in the tenderest point, still her heart leaned towards the father of her child. The hand that now was extended in earnest of future separation, reminded her of the day when she had offered it in pledge of future fidelity and love, and had listened with rapture to his reciprocal obligation. She covered her face with her handkerchief, which was soon moistened with her tears.

Such is woman! To the last moment she cherishes her love, pure as an emanation from the Deity. In the happy days of confidence and truth, it sheds a halo round her existence; — in those of sorrow and desertion, memory, guided by its resistless power, like the gnomon of the dial, marks but those hours which were sunny and serene.

However, Mrs Rainscourt soon found out that an unlimited credit upon the banker was no bad substitute for a worthless husband; and, assisted by her pride, she enjoyed more real happiness and peace of mind than she had done for many years. During her stay in London, Rainscourt occasionally paid his respects, behaved with great kindness and propriety, and appeared not a little proud of the expanding beauty of his daughter. Mrs Rainscourt not only recovered her spirits, but her personal attractions; and their numerous acquaintance wondered what could possess Mr Rainscourt to be indifferent to so lively and so charming a woman. In a few weeks the mansion was ready to receive them, and Mrs Rainscourt, with Emily, and a numerous establishment, quitted the metropolis, to take up their abode in it for the ensuing summer.