Фредерик Марриет
Peter Simple
“Not a small one, O’Brien, although not quite so large as Fingal’s babby that you told me the story of. My idea is this. Let us, at all hazards, go to the farmhouse. They have assisted us, and may be inclined to do so again; if they refuse, we must push on to Flushing and take our chance.”
“Well,” observed O’Brien, after a pause, “I think we can do no better, so let’s be off.” We went to the farm-house, and, as we approached the door, were met by the great mastiff. I started back, O’Brien boldly advanced. “He’s a clever dog, and may know us again. I’ll go up,” said O’Brien, not stopping while he spoke, “and pat his head; if he flies at me, I shall be no worse than I was before, for depend upon it he will not allow us to go back again.” O’Brien by this time had advanced to the dog, who looked earnestly and angrily at him. He patted his head, the dog growled, but O’Brien put his arm round his neck, and patting him again, whistled to him, and went to the door of the farm-house. The dog followed him silently but closely. O’Brien knocked, and the door was opened by the little girl: the mastiff advanced to the girl and then turned round, facing O’Brien, as much as to say—“Is he to come in?” The girl spoke to the dog, and went in-doors. During her absence the mastiff laid down at the threshold. In a few seconds the woman who had brought us from Flushing came out, and desired us to enter. She spoke very good French, and told us that fortunately her husband was absent; that the reason why we had not been supplied was, that a wolf had met her little girl returning the other day, but had been beaten off by the mastiff, and that she was afraid to allow her to go again; that she heard the wolf had been killed this evening, and had intended her girl to have gone to us early to-morrow morning. That wolves were hardly known in that country, but that the severe winter had brought them down to the lowlands, a very rare circumstance, occurring perhaps not once in twenty years. “But how did you pass the mastiff?” said she; “that has surprised my daughter and me.” O’Brien told her; upon which she said, that “the English were really ‘des braves.’ No other man had ever done the same.” So I thought, for nothing would have induced me to do it. O’Brien then told the history of the death of the wolf with all particulars, and our intention if we could not do better, of returning to Flushing.
“I heard that Pierre Eustache came home yesterday,” said the woman; “and I do think that you will be safer at Flushing than here, for they will never think of looking for you among the casernes, which join their cabaret.”
“Will you lend us your assistance to get in?”
“I will see what I can do. But are you not hungry?”
“About as hungry as men who have eaten nothing for two days.”
“Mon Dieu! c’est vrai. I never thought it was so long, but those whose stomachs are filled forget those who are empty. God make us better and more charitable!”
She spoke to the little girl in Dutch, who hastened to load the table, which we hastened to empty. The little girl stared at our voracity; but at last she laughed out, and clapped her hands at every fresh mouthful which we took, and pressed us to eat more. She allowed me to kiss her, until her mother told her that I was not a woman, when she pouted at me, and beat me off. Before midnight we were fast asleep upon the benches before the kitchen fire, and at day-break were roused up by the woman, who offered us some bread and spirits; and then we went out to the door, where we found the horse and cart all ready, and loaded with vegetables for the market. The woman, the little girl, and myself got in, O’Brien leading as before, and the mastiff following. We had learnt the dog’s name, which was Achille, and he seemed to be quite fond of us. We passed the dreaded barriers without interruption, and in ten minutes entered the cabaret of Eustache; and immediately walked into the little room through a crowd of soldiers, two of whom chucked me under the chin. Who should we find there but Eustache, the pilot himself, in conversation with his wife; and it appeared that they were talking about us, she insisting, and he unwilling to have any hand in the business.
“Well, here they are themselves, Eustache: the soldiers who have seen them come in will never believe that this is their first entry, if you give them up. I leave them to make their own bargain; but mark me, Eustache, I have slaved night and day in this cabaret for your profit; if you do not oblige me and my family, I no longer keep a cabaret for you.” Madame Eustache then quitted the room with her husband’s sister and little girl, and O’Brien immediately accosted him. “I promise you,” said he to Eustache, “one hundred louis if you put us on shore at any part of England, or on board of any English man-of-war; and if you do it within a week, I will make it twenty louis more.” O’Brien then pulled out the fifty Napoleons given us by Celeste, for our own were not yet expended, and laid them on the table. “Here is this in advance, to prove my sincerity. Say, is it a bargain or not?”
“I never yet heard of a poor man who could withstand his wife’s arguments, backed with one hundred and twenty louis,” said Eustache smiling, and sweeping the money off the table.
“I presume you have no objection to start to-night? That will be ten louis more in your favour,” replied O’Brien.
“I shall earn them,” replied Eustache: “the sooner I am off the better, for I could not long conceal you here. The young frow with you is, I suppose, your companion that my wife mentioned. He has begun to suffer hardships early. Come, now sit down and talk, for nothing can be done till dark.”
O’Brien narrated the adventures attending our escape, at which Eustache laughed heartily; the more so, at the mistake which his wife was under, as to the obligations of the family. “If I did not feel inclined to assist you before, I do now, just for the laugh I shall have at her when I come back; and if she wants any more assistance for the sake of her relations, I shall remind her of this anecdote; but she’s a good woman and a good wife to boot, only too fond of her sisters.” At dusk he equipped us both in sailor’s jackets and trowsers, and desired us to follow him boldly. He passed the guard, who knew him well. “What, to sea already?” said one. “You have quarrelled with your wife.” At which they all laughed, and we joined. We gained the beach, jumped into his little boat, pulled off to his vessel, and, in a few minutes, were under weigh. With a strong tide and a fair wind we were soon clear of the Scheldt, and the next morning a cutter hove in sight. We steered for her, ran under her lee, O’Brien hailed for a boat, and Eustache, receiving my bill for the remainder of his money, wished us success; we shook hands, and in a few minutes found ourselves once more under the British pennant.
Chapter Twenty Six
Adventures at home—I am introduced to my grandfather—he obtains employment for O’Brien and myself, and we join a frigate
As soon as we were on the deck of the cutter, the lieutenant commanding her inquired of us in a consequential manner who we were. O’Brien replied that we were English prisoners who had escaped. “Oh, midshipmen, I presume,” replied the lieutenant; “I heard that some had contrived to get away.”
“My name, sir,” said O’Brien, “is Lieutenant O’Brien; and if you’ll send for a Steel’s List, I will have the honour of pointing it out to you. This young gentleman is Mr Peter Simple, Midshipman, and grandson to the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Privilege.”
The lieutenant, who was a little snubnosed man, with a pimply face, then altered his manner towards us, and begged we would step down into the cabin, where he offered what perhaps was the greatest of all luxuries to us, some English cheese and bottled porter. “Pray,” said he, “did you see anything of one of my officers; who was taken prisoner when I was sent with despatches to the Mediterranean fleet?”
“May I first ask the name of your lively little craft?” said O’Brien.
“The Snapper,” replied the lieutenant.
“Och, murder! sure enough we met him. He was sent to Verdun, but we had the pleasure of his company en route as far as Montpelier. A remarkably genteel, well-dressed young man, was he not?”
“Why, I can’t say much about his gentility; indeed, I am not much of a judge. As for his dress, he ought to have dressed well, but he never did when on board of me. His father is my tailor, and I took him as midshipman, just to square an account between us.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” replied O’Brien.
He did not say any more, which I was glad of, as the lieutenant might not have been pleased at what had occurred.
“When do you expect to run into port?” demanded O’Brien; for we were rather anxious to put our feet ashore again in old England. The lieutenant replied that his cruise was nearly up; and he considered our arrival quite sufficient reason for him to run in directly, and that he intended to put his helm up after the people had had their dinner. We were much delighted with this intelligence, and still more to see the intention put into execution half-an-hour afterwards.
In three days we anchored at Spithead, and went on shore with the lieutenant to report ourselves to the admiral. Oh! with what joy did I first put my foot on the shingle beach at Sally Port, and then hasten to the post-office to put in a long letter which I had written to my mother! We did not go to the admiral’s but merely reported ourselves at the admiral’s office; for we had no clothes fit to appear in. But we called at Meredith the tailor’s, and he promised that, by the next morning, we should be fitted complete. We then ordered new hats, and everything we required, and went to the Fountain inn. O’Brien refused to go to the Blue Posts, as being only a receptacle for midshipmen. By eleven o’clock the next morning, we were fit to appear before the admiral, who received us very kindly, and requested our company to dinner. As I did not intend setting off for home until I had received an answer from my mother, we, of course, accepted the invitation.
There was a large party of naval officers and ladies, and O’Brien amused them very much during dinner. When the ladies left the room, the admiral’s wife told me to come up with them! and when we arrived at the drawing-room, the ladies all gathered round me, and I had to narrate the whole of my adventures, which very much entertained and interested them.
The next morning I received a letter from my mother—such a kind one! entreating me to come home as fast as I could, and bring my preserver O’Brien with me. I showed it to O’Brien, and asked him whether he would accompany me.
“Why, Peter, my boy, I have a little business of some importance to transact; which is to obtain my arrears of pay, and some prize-money which I find due. When I have settled that point I will go to town to pay my respects to the First Lord of the Admiralty, and then I think I will go and see your father and mother; for, until I know how matters stand, and whether I shall be able to go with spare cash in my pocket, I do not wish to see my own family; so write down your address here, and you’ll be sure I’ll come, if it is only to square my accounts with you, for I am not a little in your debt.”
I cashed a check sent by my father, and set off in the mail that night; the next evening I arrived safe home. But I shall leave the reader to imagine the scene: to my mother I was always dear, and circumstances had rendered me of some importance to my father, for I was now an only son, and his prospects were very different from what they were when I left home. About a week afterwards, O’Brien joined us, having got through all his business. His first act was, to account with my father for his share of the expenses; and he even insisted upon paying his half of the fifty Napoleons given me by Celeste, which had been remitted to a banker at Paris before O’Brien’s arrival, with a guarded letter of thanks from my father to Colonel O’Brien, and another from me to dear little Celeste. O’Brien had remained with us about a week, he told me that he had about one hundred and sixty pounds in his pocket, and that he intended to go and see his friends, as he was sure that he would be welcome, even to Father McGrath. “I mean to stay with them about a fortnight, and shall then return and apply for employment. Now, Peter, will you like to be again under my protection?”
“O’Brien, I will never quit you or your ship, if I can help it.”
“Spoken like a sensible Peter. Well, then, I was promised immediate employment, and I will let you know as soon as the promise is performed.”
O’Brien took his leave of my family, who were already very partial to him, and left that afternoon for Holyhead. My father no longer treated me as a child; indeed it would have been an injustice if he had. I do not mean to say that I was a clever boy; but I had seen much of the world in a short time, and could act and think for myself. He often talked to me about his prospects, which were very different from what they were when I left him. My two uncles, his elder brothers, had died, the third was married and had two daughters. If he had no son my father would succeed to the title. The death of my elder brother Tom had brought me next in succession. My grandfather, Lord Privilege, who had taken no more notice of my father than occasionally sending him a basket of game, had latterly often invited him to the house, and had even requested some day or another to see his wife and family. He had also made a handsome addition to my father’s income, which the death of my two uncles had enabled him to do. Against all this my uncle’s wife was reported to be again in the family way. I cannot say that I was pleased when my father used to speculate upon these chance so often as he did. I thought, not only as a man, but more particularly as a clergyman, he was much to blame; but I did not then know so much of the world. We had not heard from O’Brien for two months, when a letter arrived, stating that he had seen his family, and had bought a few acres of land, which had made them all quite happy, and had quitted with Father McGrath’s double blessing, with unlimited absolution; that he had now been a month in town trying for employment, but found that he could not obtain it, although one promise was backed up by another.
A few days after this, my father received a note from Lord Privilege requesting he would come and spend a few days with him, and bring his son Peter, who had escaped from the French prison. Of course this was an invitation not to be neglected, and we accepted it forthwith. I must say, I felt rather in awe of my grandfather; he had kept the family at such a distance, that I had always heard his name mentioned more with reverence than with any feeling of kindred, but I was a little wiser now. We arrived at Eagle Park, a splendid estate, where he resided, and were received by a dozen servants in and out of livery, and ushered into his presence.
He was in his library, a large room, surrounded with handsome bookcases, sitting on an easy chair. A more venerable, placid old gentleman I never beheld; his grey hairs hung down on each side of his temples, and were collected in a small queue behind. He rose and bowed, as we were announced; to my father he held out two fingers in salutation, to me only one; but there was an elegance in the manner in which it was done, which was indescribable. He waved his hand to chairs, placed by the gentleman out of livery, and requested we would be seated. I could not at the time help thinking of Mr Chucks, the boatswain, and his remarks upon high breeding, which were so true; and I laughed to myself when I recollected that Mr Chucks had once dined with him. As soon as the servants had quitted the room, the distance on the part of my grand-father appeared to wear off. He interrogated me on several points, and seemed pleased with my replies; but he always called me “child.” After a conversation of half-an-hour, my father rose, saying that his lordship must be busy, and that he would go over the grounds till dinner-time. My grandfather rose, and we took a sort of formal leave; but it was not a formal leave, after all, it was high breeding, respecting yourself and respecting others. For my part, I was pleased with the first interview, and so I told my father after we had left the room. “My dear Peter,” replied he, “your grandfather has one idea which absorbs most others—the peerage, the estate, and the descent of it in the right line. As long as your uncles were alive, we were not thought of, as not being in the line of descent; nor should we now, but that your uncle William has only daughters. Still we are not looked upon as actual, but only contingent, inheritors of the title. Were your uncle to die to-morrow, the difference in his behaviour would be manifested immediately.”
“That is to say, instead of two fingers you would receive the whole hand, and instead of one, I should obtain promotion to two.”
At this my father laughed heartily, saying, “Peter, you have exactly hit the mark. I cannot imagine how we ever could have been so blind as to call you the fool of the family.”
To this I made no reply, for it was difficult so to do without depreciating others or depreciating myself: but I changed the subject by commenting on the beauties of the park, and the splendid timber with which it was adorned. “Yes, Peter,” replied my father, with a sigh, “thirty-five thousand a year in land, money in the funds, and timber worth at least forty thousand more, are not to be despised. But God wills everything.” After this remark, my father appeared to be in deep thought, and I did not interrupt him.
We stayed ten days with my grandfather, during which he would often detain me for two hours after breakfast, listening to my adventures, and I really believe was very partial to me. The day before I went away he said, “Child, you are going to-morrow; now tell me what you would like, as I wish to give you a token of regard. Don’t be afraid; what shall it be—a watch and seals, or—anything you most fancy?”
“My lord,” replied I, “if you wish to do me a favour, it is, that you will apply to the First Lord of the Admiralty to appoint Lieutenant O’Brien to a fine frigate, and, at the same time, ask for a vacancy as midshipman for me.”
“O’Brien,” replied his lordship; “I recollect it was he who accompanied you from France, and appears, by your account, to have been a true friend. I am pleased with your request, my child, and it shall be granted.”
His lordship then desired me to hand him the paper and ink-standish, wrote by my directions, sealed the letter, and told me he would send me the answer. The next day we quitted Eagle Park, his lordship wishing my father good-bye with two fingers, and to me extending one, as before; but he said, “I am pleased with you, child; you may write occasionally.”
When we were on our route home, my father observed that “I had made more progress with my grandfather than he had known any one to do, since he could recollect. His saying that you might write to him is at least ten thousand pounds to you in his will, for he never deceives any one, or changes his mind.” My reply was that I should like to see the ten thousand pounds, but that I was not so sanguine.
A few days after our return home, I received a letter and enclosure from Lord Privilege, the contents of which were as follows:—
“My dear child,—
“I send you Lord —’s answer, which I trust will prove satisfactory. My compliments to your family.
“Yours, etc.
“Privilege.”
The enclosure was a handsome letter from the First Lord, stating that he had appointed O’Brien to the Sanglier frigate, and had ordered me to be received on board as midshipman. I was delighted to forward this letter to O’Brien’s address, who in a few days sent me an answer, thanking me, and stating that he had received his appointment, and that I need not join for a month, which was quite time enough, as the ship was refitting; but, that if my family were tired of me, which was sometimes the case in the best regulated families, why, then I should learn some thing of my duty by coming to Portsmouth. He concluded by sending his kind regards to all the family, and his love to my grandmother, which last I certainly did not forward in my letter of thanks. About a month afterwards I received a letter from O’Brien, stating that the ship was ready to go out of harbour, and would be anchored off Spithead in a few days.
