Фредерик Марриет
Peter Simple
Chapter Twenty Seven
Captain and Mrs To—Pork—We go to Plymouth and fall in with our old captain
I immediately took leave of my family, and set off for Portsmouth, and in two days arrived at the Fountain Inn, where O’Brien was waiting to receive me. “Peter, my boy, I feel so much obliged to you, that if your uncle won’t go out of the world by fair means, I’ll pick a quarrel with him, and shoot him, on purpose that you may be a lord, as I am determined that you shall be. Now come up into my room, where we’ll be all alone, and I’ll tell you all about the ship and our new captain. In the first place, we’ll begin with the ship, as the most important personage of the two: she’s a beauty. I forget her name before she was taken, but the French know how to build ships better than keep them. She’s now called the Sanglier, which means a wild pig, and, by the powers! a pig ship she is, as you will hear directly. The captain’s name is a very short one, and wouldn’t please Mr Chucks, consisting only of two letters, T and O, which makes, To; his whole title is Captain John To. It would almost appear as if somebody had broken off the better half of his name, and only left him the commencement of it; but, however, it’s a handy name to sign when he pays off his ship. And now I’ll tell you what sort of a looking craft he is. He’s built like a Dutch schuyt, great breadth of beam, and very square tuck. He applied to have the quarter galleries enlarged in the two last ships he commanded. He weighs about eighteen stone, rather more than less. He is a good-natured sort of a chap, amazingly ungenteel, not much of an officer, not much of a sailor, but a devilish good hand at the trencher. But he’s only a part of the concern; he has his wife on board, who is a red-herring sort of a lady, and very troublesome to boot. What makes her still more annoying is, that she has a piano on board, very much out of tune, on which she plays very much out of time. Holystoning is music compared with her playing; even the captain’s spaniel howls when she comes to the high notes; but she affects the fine lady, and always treats the officers with music when they dine in the cabin, which makes them very glad to get out of it.”
“But, O’Brien, I thought wives were not permitted on board.”
“Very true, but there’s the worst part in the man’s character: he knows that he is not allowed to take his wife to sea, and, in consequence, he never says she is his wife, or presents her on shore to anybody. If any of the other captains ask how Mrs To is to-day, ‘Why,’ he replies, ‘pretty well, I thank you,’ but at the same time he gives a kind of smirk, as if to say, ‘She is not my wife;’ and although everybody knows that she is, yet he prefers that they should think otherwise, rather than be at the expense of keeping her on shore: for you know, Peter, that although there are regulations about wives, there are none with regard to other women.”
“But does his wife know this?” inquired I.
“I believe, from my heart, that she is a party to the whole transaction, for report says, that she would skin a flint if she could. She’s always trying for presents from the officers, and, in fact, she commands the ship.”
“Really, O’Brien, this is not a very pleasant prospect.”
“Whist! wait a little; now I come to the wind-up. This Captain To is very partial to pig’s mate, and we have as many live pigs on board as we have pigs of ballast. The first lieutenant is right mad about them. At the same time he allows no pigs but his own on board, that there may be no confusion. The manger is full of pigs; there are two cow-pens between the main-deck guns, drawn from the dock-yard, and converted into pig-pens. The two sheep-pens amidships are full of pigs, and the geese and turkey-coops are divided off into apartments for four sows in the family way. Now, Peter, you see there’s little or no expense in keeping pigs on board of a large frigate, with so much pay-soup and whole peas for them to eat, and this is the reason why he keeps them, for the devil a bit of any other stock has he on board. I presume he means to milk one of the old sows for breakfast when the ship sails. The first thing that he does in the morning, is to go round to his pigs with the butcher, feeling one, scratching the dirty ears of another, and then he classes them—his bacon pigs, his porkers, his breeding sows, and so on. The old boar is still at the stables of this inn, but I hear he is to come on board with the sailing orders; but he is very savage, and is therefore left on shore to the very last moment. Now really, Peter, what with the squealing of the pigs and his wife’s piano we are almost driven mad. I don’t know which is the worst of the two; if you go aft you hear the one, if you go forward you, hear the other, by way of variety, and that, they say, is charming. But, is it not shocking that such a beautiful frigate should be turned into a pig-sty, and that her main-deck should smell worse than a muck-heap?”
“But how does his wife like the idea of living only upon hog’s flesh?”
“She! Lord bless you, Peter! why, she looks as spare as a shark, and she has just the appetite of one; for she’ll boil a four-pound piece of pork before it’s well put on her plate.”
“Have you any more such pleasant intelligence to communicate, O’Brien?”
“No, Peter, you have the worst of it. The lieutenants are good officers, and pleasant messmates; the doctor is a little queer, and the purser thinks himself a wag; the master, an old north-countryman, who knows his duty, and takes his glass of grog. The midshipmen are a very genteel set of young men, and full of fun and frolic. I’ll bet a wager, there’ll be a bobbery in the pig-sty before long, for they are ripe for mischief. Now, Peter, I hardly need say that my cabin and everything I have is at your service; and I think if we could only have a devil of a gale of wind, or a hard-fought action, to send the pigs over-board and smash the piano, we should do very well.”
The next day I went on board, and was shown down into the cabin, to report my having joined. Mrs To, a tall, thin woman, was at her piano; she rose, and asked me several questions—who my friends were—how much they allowed me a year, and many other questions, which I thought impertinent; but a captain’s wife is allowed to take liberties. She then asked me if I was fond of music? That was a difficult question, as, if I said that I was, I should in all probability be obliged to hear it; if I said that I was not, I might have created a dislike in her. So I replied that I was very fond of music on shore, when it was not interrupted by other noises. “Ah! then I perceive you are a real amateur, Mr Simple,” replied the lady.
Captain To then came out of the after-cabin, half-dressed. “Well, youngster, so you’ve joined at last. Come and dine with us to-day: and, as you go down to your berth, desire the sentry to pass the word for the butcher; I want to speak with him.”
I bowed and retired. I was met in the most friendly manner by the officers and by my own messmates, who had been prepossessed in my favour by O’Brien previous to my arrival. In our service you always find young men of the best families on board large frigates, they being considered the most eligible class of vessels; I found my messmates to be gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, but I never met so many wild young lads together. I sat down and ate some dinner with them, although I was to dine in the cabin, for the sea air made me hungry.
“Don’t you dine in the cabin, Simple?” said the caterer.
“Yes,” replied I.
“Then don’t eat any pork, my boy, now, for you’ll have plenty there. Come, gentlemen, fill your glasses; we’ll drink happiness to our new messmate, and pledging him, we pledge ourselves to try to promote it.”
“I’ll just join you in that toast,” said O’Brien, walking into the midshipmen’s berth. “What is it you’re drinking it in?”
“Some of Collier’s port, sir. Boy, bring a glass for Mr O’Brien.”
“Here’s your health, Peter, and wishing you may keep out of a French prison this cruise. Mr Montague, as caterer, I beg you will order another candle, that I may see what’s on the table, and then perhaps I may find something I should like to pick a bit off.”
“Here’s the fag end of a leg of mutton, Mr O’Brien, and there’s a piece of boiled pork.”
“Then I’ll just trouble you for a bit close to the knuckle. Peter, you dine in the cabin, so do I—the doctor refused.”
“Have you heard when we sail, Mr O’Brien?” inquired one of my messmates.
“I heard at the admiral’s office, that we were expected to be ordered round to Plymouth, and receive our orders there, either for the East or West Indies, they thought; and, indeed, the stores we have taken on board indicates that we are going foreign, but the captain’s signal is just made, and probably the admiral has intelligence to communicate.”
In about an hour afterwards the captain returned, looking very red and hot. He called the first lieutenant aside from the rest of the officers, who were on deck to receive him, and told him that we were to start for Plymouth the next morning; and the admiral had told him confidentially, that we were to proceed to the West Indies with a convoy, which was then collecting. He appeared to be very much alarmed at the idea of going to make a feast for the land crabs; and certainly his gross habit of body rendered him very unfit for the climate. This news was soon spread through the ship, and there was of course no little bustle and preparation. The doctor, who had refused to dine in the cabin upon plea of being unwell, sent up to say, that he felt himself so much better, that he should have great pleasure in attending the summons, and he joined the first lieutenant, O’Brien, and me, as we walked in. We sat down to table; the covers were removed, and, as the midshipmen prophesied, there was plenty of pork—mock-turtle soup, made out of a pig’s head—a boiled leg of pork and peas-pudding—a roast spare-rib with the crackling on—sausages and potatoes, and pig’s pettitoes. I cannot say that I disliked my dinner, and I ate very heartily; but a roast sucking-pig came on as a second course, which rather surprised me: but what surprised me more, was the quantity devoured by Mrs To. She handed her plate from the boiled pork to the roast, asked for some pettitoes, tried the sausages, and finished with a whole plateful of sucking-pig and stuffing. We had an apple-pie at the end, but as we had already eaten apple sauce with the roast pork, we did not care for it. The doctor, who abominated pork, ate pretty well, and was excessively attentive to Mrs To.
“Will you not take a piece of the roast pig, doctor?” said the captain.
“Why really, Captain To, as we are bound, by all reports, to a station where we must not venture upon pork, I think I will not refuse to take a piece, for I am very fond of it.”
“How do you mean?” inquired the captain and his lady, both in a breath.
“Perhaps I may be wrongly informed,” replied the doctor; “but I have heard that we were ordered to the West Indies; now, if so, every one knows, that although you may eat salt pork there occasionally without danger, in all tropical climates, and especially the West Indies, two or three days’ living upon this meat will immediately produce dysentery, which is always fatal in that climate.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the captain.
“You don’t say so?” rejoined the lady.
“I do indeed: and have always avoided the West Indies for that very, reason—I am so fond of pork.”
The doctor then proceeded to give nearly one hundred instances of messmates and shipmen who had been attacked with dysentery, from the eating of fresh pork in the West Indies; and O’Brien, perceiving the doctor’s drift, joined him, telling some most astonishing accounts of the dreadful effects of pork in a hot country. I think he said, that when the French were blockaded, previous to the surrender of Martinique, that having nothing but pigs to eat, thirteen hundred out of seventeen hundred soldiers and officers died in the course of three weeks, and the others were so reduced by disease, that they were obliged to capitulate. The doctor then changed the subject, and talked about the yellow fever, and other diseases of the climate; so that by his account, the West India islands were but hospitals to die in. Those most likely to be attacked were men in full strong health. The spare men stood a better chance. This conversation was carried on until it was time to leave—Mrs To at last quite silent, and the captain gulping down his wine with a sigh. When we rose from table, Mrs To did not ask us, as usual, to stay and hear a little music; she was, like her piano, not a little out of tune.
“By the powers, doctor, you did that nately,” said O’Brien, as we left the cabin.
“O’Brien,” said the doctor, “oblige me, and you, Mr Simple, oblige me also, by not saying a word in the ship about what I have said; if it once gets wind, I shall have done no good; but if you both hold your tongues for a short time, I think I may promise you to get rid of Captain To, his wife, and his pigs.” We perceived the justice of his observation, and promised secrecy. The next day the ship sailed for Plymouth, and Mrs To sent for the doctor, not being very well. The doctor prescribed for her, and I believe, on my conscience, made her worse on purpose. The illness of his wife, and his own fears, brought Captain To more than usual in contact with the doctor, of whom he frequently asked his candid opinion, as to his own chance in a hot country.
“Captain To,” said the doctor, “I never would have given my opinion, if you had not asked it, for I am aware, that, as an officer, you would never flinch from your duty, to whatever quarter of the globe you may be ordered; but as you have asked the question, I must say, with your full habit of body, I think you would not stand a chance of living for more than two months. At the same time, sir, I may be mistaken; but at all events, I must point out that Mrs To is of a very bilious habit, and I trust you will not do such an injustice to an amiable women, as to permit her to accompany you.”
“Thanky, doctor, I am much obliged to you,” replied the captain, turning round and going down the ladder to his cabin. We were then beating down the Channel; for, although we ran through the Needles with a fair wind, it fell calm, and shifted to the westward, when we were abreast of Portland. The next day the captain gave an order for a very fine pig to be killed, for he was out of provisions. Mrs To still kept her bed, and he therefore directed that a part should be salted, as he could have no company. I was in the midshipmen’s berth, when some of them proposed that we should get possession of the pig; and the plan they agreed upon was as follows:– they were to go to the pen that night, and with a needle stuck in a piece of wood, to prick the pig all over, and then rub gunpowder into the parts wounded. This was done, and although the butcher was up a dozen times during the night to ascertain what made the pigs so uneasy, the midshipmen passed the needle from watch to watch, until the pig was well tattooed in all parts. In the morning watch it was killed, and when it had been scalded in the tub, and the hair taken off, it appeared covered with blue spots. The midshipman of the morning watch, who was on the main-deck, took care to point out to the butcher, that the pork was measly, to which the man unwilling assented, stating, at the same time, that he could not imagine how it could be, for a finer pig he had never put a knife into. The circumstance was reported to the captain, who was much astonished. The doctor came in to visit Mrs To, and the captain requested the doctor to examine the pig, and give his opinion. Although this was not the doctor’s province, yet, as he had great reason for keeping intimate with the captain, he immediately consented. Going forward, he met me, and I told him the secret. “That will do,” replied he; “it all tends to what we wish.” The doctor returned to the captain, and said that “there was no doubt but that the pig was measly, which was a complaint very frequent on board ships, particularly in hot climates, where all pork became measly—one great reason for its there proving so unwholesome.” The captain sent for the first lieutenant, and, with a deep sigh, ordered him to throw the pig overboard; but the first lieutenant, who knew what had been done from O’Brien, ordered the master’s mate to throw it overboard; the master’s mate, touching his hat said, “Ay, ay, sir,” and took it down into the berth, where we cut it up, salted one half, and the other we finished before we arrived at Plymouth, which was six days from the time we left Portsmouth. On our arrival, we found part of the convoy lying there, but no orders for us; and, to my great delight, on the following day the Diomede arrived, from a cruise off the Western Islands. I obtained permission to go on board with O’Brien, and we once more greeted our messmates. Mr Falcon, the first lieutenant, went down to Captain Savage, to say we were on board, and he requested us to come into the cabin. He greeted us warmly, and gave us great credit for the manner in which we had effected our escape. When we left the cabin, I found Mr Chucks, the boatswain, waiting outside.
“My dear Mr Simple, extend your flapper to me, for I’m delighted to see you. I long to have a long talk with you.”
“And I should like it also, Mr Chucks, but I am afraid we have not time; I dine with Captain Savage to-day, and it only wants an hour of dinner-time.”
“Well, Mr Simple, I’ve been looking at your frigate, and she’s a beauty—much larger than the Diomede.”
“And she behaves quite as well,” replied I. “I think we are two hundred tons larger. You’ve no idea of her size until you are on her decks.”
“I should like to be boatswain of her, Mr Simple: that is, with Captain Savage, for I will not part with him.” I had some more conversation with Mr Chucks, but I was obliged to attend to others, who interrupted us. We had a very pleasant dinner with our old captain, to whom we gave a history of our adventures, and then we returned on board.
Chapter Twenty Eight
We get rid of the pigs and pianoforte—the last boat on shore before sailing—the first lieutenant too hasty, and the consequences to me
We waited three days, at the expiration of which, we heard that Captain To was about to exchange with Captain Savage. We could not believe such good news to be true, and we could not ascertain the truth of the report, as the captain had gone on shore with Mrs To, who recovered fast after she was out of our doctor’s hands; so fast, indeed, that a week afterwards, on questioning the steward, upon his return on board, how Mrs To was, he replied, “O charming well again, sir, she has eaten a whole pig since she left the ship.” But the report was true; Captain To, afraid to go to the West Indies, had effected an exchange with Captain Savage. Captain Savage was permitted, as was the custom of the service, to bring his first lieutenant, his boatswain, and his barge’s crew with him. He joined a day or two before we sailed, and never was there more joy on board: the only people miserable were the first lieutenant, and those belonging to the Sanglier, who were obliged to follow Captain To; who, with his wife, his pigs, and her piano, were all got rid of in the course of one forenoon.
I have already described pay-day on board of a man-of-war, but I think, that the two days before sailing are even more unpleasant; although, generally speaking, all our money being spent, we are not sorry when we once are fairly out of harbour, and find ourselves in blue water. The men never work well on those days: they are thinking of their wives and sweethearts, of the pleasure they had when at liberty on shore, where they might get drunk without punishment; and many of them are either half drunk at the time, or suffering from the effects of previous intoxication. The ship is in disorder, and crowded with the variety of stock and spare stores which are obliged to be taken on board in a hurry, and have not yet been properly secured in their places. The first lieutenant is cross, the officers are grave, and the poor midshipmen with all their own little comforts to attend to, are harassed and drive about like posthorses. “Mr Simple,” inquired the first lieutenant, “where do you come from?”
“From the gun wharf, sir, with the gunner’s spare blocks, and breechings.”
“Very well—send the marines aft to clear the boat, and pipe away the first cutter. Mr Simple, jump into the first cutter, and go to Mount Wise for the officers. Be careful that none of your men leave the boat. Come, be smart.”
Now, I had been away the whole morning, and it was then half-past one, and I had had no dinner; but I said nothing, and went into the boat. As soon as I was off, O’Brien, who stood by Mr Falcon, said, “Peter was thinking of his dinner, poor fellow!”
“I really quite forgot it,” replied the first lieutenant, “there is so much to do. He is a willing boy, and he shall dine in the gun-room when he comes back.” And so I did—so I lost nothing by not expostulating, and gained more of the favour of the first lieutenant, who never forgot what he called zeal. But the hardest trial of the whole is to the midshipman who is sent to the boat to purchase the supplies for the cabin and gun-room on the day before the ship’s sailing. It was my misfortune to be ordered upon that service this time, and that very unexpectedly. I had been ordered to dress myself to take the gig on shore for the captain’s orders, and was walking the deck with my very best uniform and sidearms, when the marine officer, who was the gun-room caterer, came up to the first lieutenant and asked him for a boat. The boat was manned, and a midshipman ordered to take charge of it; but when he came up, the first lieutenant recollecting that he had come off two days before with only half his boat’s crew, would not trust him, and calling out to me, “Here, Mr Simple, I must send you in this boat; mind you are careful that none of the men leave it; and bring off the serjeant of marines, who is on shore looking for the men who have broken their liberty.” Although I could not but feel proud of the compliment, yet I did not much like going in my very best uniform, and would have run down and changed it, but the marine officer and all the people were in the boat, and I could not keep it waiting, so down the side I went, and we shoved off. We had, besides the boat’s crew, the marine officer, the purser, the gun-room steward, the captain’s steward, and the pursers steward; so that we were pretty full. It blew hard from the S.E., and there was a sea running, but as the tide was flowing into the harbour there was not much bubble. We hoisted the foresail, flew before the wind and tide, and in quarter of an hour we were at Mutton Cove, when the marine officer expressed his wish to land. The landing-place was crowded with boats; and it was not without sundry exchanges of foul words and oaths, and the bow-men dashing the points of their boat-hooks into the shore-boats, to make them keep clear of us, that we forced our way to the beach. The marine officer and all the stewards then left the boat, and I had to look after the men. I had not been there three minutes before the bowman said that his wife was on the wharf with his clothes from the wash, and begged leave to go and fetch them. I refused, telling him that she could bring them to him. “Vy, now, Mr Simple,” said the woman, “ar’n’t you a nice lady’s man, to go for to ax me to muddle my way through all the dead dogs, cabbage-stalks, and stinking hakes’ heads, with my bran new shoes and clean stockings?” I looked at her, and sure enough she was, as they say in France, bien chaussée. “Come, Mr Simple, let him out to come for his clothes, and you’ll see that he’s back in a moment.” I did not like to refuse her, as it was very dirty and wet, and the shingle was strewed with all that she had mentioned. The bow-man made a spring out with his boat-hook, threw it back, went up to his wife, and commenced talking with her, while I watched him. “If you please, sir, there’s my young woman come down, mayn’t I speak to her?” said another of the men. I turned round, and refused him. He expostulated, and begged very hard, but I was resolute; however, when I again turned my eyes to watch the bowman, he and his wife were gone. “There,” says I to the coxswain, “I knew it would be so; you see Hickman is off.”
“Only gone to take a parting glass, sir,” replied the coxswain; “he’ll be here directly.”
“I hope so; but I’m afraid not.” After this, I refused all the solicitations of the men to be allowed to leave the boat, but I permitted them to have some beer brought down to them. The gun-boat steward then came back with a basket of soft-tack, i.e., loaves of bread, and told me that the marine officer requested I would allow two of the men to go up with him to Glencross’ shop, to bring down some of the stores. Of course I sent two of the men, and told the steward if he saw Hickman, to bring him down to the boat.
By this time many of the women belonging to the ship had assembled, and commenced a noisy conversation with the boat’s crew. One brought one article for Jim, another some clothes for Bill; some of them climbed into the boat, and sat with the men—others came and went, bringing beer and tobacco, which the men desired them to purchase. The crowd, the noise, and confusion, were so great, that it was with the utmost difficulty that I could keep my eyes on all my men, who, one after another, made an attempt to leave the boat. Just at that time came down the sergeant of marines, with three of our men whom he had picked up, roaring drunk. They were tumbled into the boat, and increased the difficulty, as in looking after those who were riotous, and would try to leave the boat by force, I was not so well able to keep my eyes on those who were sober. The sergeant then went up after another man, and I told him also about Hickman. About half-an-hour afterwards the steward came down with the two men, loaded with cabbages, baskets of eggs, strings of onions, crockery of all descriptions, paper parcels of groceries, legs and shoulders of mutton, which were crowded in, until not only the stern-sheets, but all under the thwarts of the boat was also crammed full. They told me that they had a few more things to bring down, and that the marine officer had gone to Stonehouse to see his wife, so that they should be down long before him. In half-an-hour more, during which I had the greatest difficulty to manage the boat’s crew they returned with a dozen geese, and two ducks, tied by the legs, but without the two men, who had given them the slip, so that there were now three men gone, and I knew Mr Falcon would be very angry, for they were three of the smartest men in the ship. I was now determined not to run the risk of losing more men, and I ordered the boat’s crew to shove off, that I might lie at the wharf, where they could not climb up. They were very mutinous, grumbled very much, and would hardly obey me; the fact is, they had drunk a great deal, and some of them were more than half tipsy. However, at last I was obeyed, but not without being saluted with a shower of invectives from the women, and the execrations of the men belonging to the wherries and shore boats which were washed against our sides by the swell. The weather had become much worse and looked very threatening. I waited an hour more, when the sergeant of marines came down with two more men, one of whom, to my great joy, was Hickman. This made me more comfortable, as I was not answerable for the other two; still I was in great trouble from the riotous and insolent behaviour of the boat’s crew, and the other men brought down by the sergeant of marines. One of them fell back into a basket of eggs, and smashed them all to atoms; still the marine officer did not come down and it was getting late. The tide being now at the ebb, running out against the wind, there was a very heavy sea, and I had to go off to the ship with a boat deeply laden, and most of the people in her in a state of intoxication. The coxswain, who was the only one who was sober, recommended our shoving off, as it would soon be dark, and some accident would happen. I reflected a minute, and agreeing with him, I ordered the oars to be got out, and we shoved off, the sergeant of marines and the gun-room steward perched up in the bows—drunken men, ducks and geese, lying together at the bottom of the boat—the stern sheets loaded up to the gunwale, and the other passengers and myself sitting how we could among the crockery and a variety of other articles with which the boat was crowded. It was a scene of much confusion—the half-drunken boat’s crew catching crabs, and falling forward upon the others—those who were quite drunk swearing they would pull. “Lay on your oar, Sullivan; you were doing more harm than good. You drunken rascal, I’ll report you as soon as we get on board.”
“How the devil can I pull, your honour, when there’s that fellow Jones breaking the very back o’ me with his oar, and he never touching the water all the while?”
“You lie,” cried Jones; “I’m pulling the boat by myself against the whole of the larboard oars.”
“He’s rowing dry, your honour—only making bilave.”
“Do you call this rowing dry?” cried another, as a sea swept over the boat, fore and aft, wetting every body to the skin.
“Now, your honour, just look and see if I a’n’t pulling the very arms off me?” cried Sullivan.
“Is there water enough to cross the bridge, Swinburne?” said I to the coxswain.
“Plenty, Mr Simple; it is but quarter ebb, and the sooner we are on board the better.”
We were now past Devil’s Point, and the sea was very heavy: the boat plunged in the trough, so that I was afraid that we should break her back. She was soon half full of water, and the two after oars were laid in for the men to bale. “Plase your honour, hadn’t I better cut free the legs of them ducks and geese, and allow them to swim for their lives?” cried Sullivan, resting on his oar; “the poor birds will be drowned else in their own iliment.”
