Фредерик Марриет
Peter Simple
Three days afterwards, O’Brien’s orders came down. I accompanied him on board; and it was not until the ship was under weigh, and running towards the Needles with a fair wind, that I shook hands with him, and shoved off. Parting with O’Brien was a heavy blow to me; but I little knew how much I was to suffer before I saw him again.
Chapter Fifty Three
I am pleased with my new captain—Obtain leave to go home—Find my father afflicted with a very strange disease, and prove myself a very good doctor, although the disorder always breaks out in a fresh place
The day after O’Brien had sailed for the East Indies, the dock-yard men came on board to survey the brig, and she was found so defective, as to be ordered into dock. I had received letters from my sister, who was overjoyed at the intelligence of my safe return, and the anticipation of seeing me. The accounts of my father were, however, very unsatisfactory. My sister wrote, that disappointment and anxiety had had such an effect upon him that he was deranged in his intellect. Our new captain came down to join us. He was a very young man, and had never before commanded a ship. His character as lieutenant was well known, and not very satisfactory, being that of a harsh, unpleasant officer; but, as he had never been first lieutenant, it was impossible to say what he might prove when in command of a ship. Still we were a little anxious about it, and severely regretted the loss of O’Brien.
He came on board the hulk to which the ship’s company had been turned over, and read his commission. He proved to be all affability, condescension, and good-nature. To me he was particularly polite, stating that he should not interfere with me in carrying on the duty, as I must be so well acquainted with the ship’s company. We thought that those who gave us the information must have been prejudiced or mistaken in his character. During the half-hour that he remained on board, I stated that now that the brig was in dock, I should like very much to have an opportunity of seeing my friends, if he would sanction my asking for leave.
To this he cheerfully consented, adding, that he would extend it upon his own responsibility. My letter to the Admiralty was therefore forwarded through him, and was answered in the affirmative. The day afterwards, I set off by the coach, and once more embraced my dear sister.
After the first congratulations were over, I inquired about my father; she replied, that he was so wild that nobody could manage him. That he was melancholy and irritable at the same time, and was certainly deranged, fancying himself to be made of various substances, or to be in a certain trade or capacity. That he generally remained in this way four or five days, when he went to bed, and slept for twenty-four hours, or more, and awoke with some new strange imagination in his head. His language was violent, but that, in other respects, he seemed to be more afraid of other people than inclined to be mischievous; and that every day he was getting more strange and ridiculous. He had now just risen from one of his long naps, and was in his study; that before he had fallen asleep he had fancied himself to be a carpenter, and had sawed and chopped up several articles of furniture in the house.
I quitted my sister to see my father, whom I found in his easy-chair. I was much shocked at his appearance. He was thin and haggard his eyes were wild, and he remained with his mouth constantly open. A sick nurse, who had been hired by my sister, was standing by him.
“Pish, pish, pish, pish!” cried my father; “what can you, a stupid old woman, know about my inside? I tell you the gas is generating fast, and even now I can hardly keep on my chair. I’m lifting—lifting now; and if you don’t tie me down with cords, I shall go up like a balloon.”
“Indeed, sir,” replied the woman, “it’s only the wind in your stomach. You’ll break it off directly.”
“It’s inflammable gas, you old hecate!—I know it is. Tell me will you get a cord, or will you not? Hah! who’s that—Peter? Why you’ve dropped from the clouds, just in time to see me mount up to them.”
“I hope you feel yourself better, sir,” said I.
“I fell myself a great deal lighter every minute. Get a cord, Peter, and tie me to the leg of the table.”
I tried to persuade him that he was under a mistake; but it was useless. He became excessively violent, and said I wished him in heaven. As I had heard that it was better to humour people afflicted with hypochondriacism, which was evidently the disease under which my father laboured, I tried that method. “It appears to me, sir,” said I, “that if we could remove the gas every ten minutes, it would be a very good plan.”
“Yes—but how?” replied he, shaking his head mournfully.
“Why, with a syringe, sir,” said I; “which will, if empty, of course draw out the gas, when inserted into your mouth.”
“My dear Peter, you have saved my life,” replied my father; “be quick though, or I shall go up, right through the ceiling.” Fortunately, there was an instrument of that description in the house. I applied it to his mouth, drew up the piston, and then ejected the air, and re-applied it. In two minutes he pronounced himself better, and I left the old nurse hard at work, and my father very considerably pacified. I returned to my sister, to whom I recounted what had passed; but it was no source of mirth to us, although had it happened to an indifferent person, I might have been amused. The idea of leaving her, as I must soon do—having only a fortnight’s leave—to be worried by my father’s unfortunate malady, was very distressing. But we entered into a long conversation, in which I recounted the adventures that had taken place since I had left her, and for the time forgot our source of annoyance and regret. For three days my father insisted upon the old woman pumping the gas out of his body; after that he again fell into one of his sound sleeps, which lasted nearly thirty hours.
When he arose, I went again to see him. It was eight o’clock in the evening, and I entered with a candle. “Take it away—quick, take it away; put it out carefully.”
“Why, what’s the matter, sir?”
“Don’t come near me, if you love me; don’t come near me. Put it out, I say—put it out.”
I obeyed his orders, and then asked him the reason. “Reason!” said he, now that we were in the dark; “can’t you see?”
“No, father; I can see nothing in the dark.”
“Well, then, Peter, I’m a magazine, full of gun-powder; the least spark in the world, and I am blown up. Consider the danger. You surely would not be the destruction of your father, Peter;” and the poor old gentleman burst into tears, and wept like a child.
I knew that it was in vain to reason with him. “My dear father,” said I, “on board ship, when there is any danger of this kind, we always float the magazine. Now, if you were to drink a good deal of water, the powder would be spoiled, and there would be no danger.”
My father was satisfied with my proposal, and drank a tumbler of water every half-hour, which the old nurse was obliged to supply as fast as he called for it, and this satisfied him for three or four days, and I was again left to the company of my dear Ellen, when my father again fell into his stupor, and we wondered what would be his next fancy. I was hastily summoned by the nurse; and found my poor father lying in bed, and breathing in a very strange manner.
“What is the matter, my dear sir?” inquired I.
“Why, don’t you see what is the matter? How is a poor little infant, just born, to live, unless its mother is near to suckle it, and take care of it?”
“Indeed, sir, do you mean to say that you are just born?”
“To be sure I do. I’m dying for the breast.”
This was almost too absurd; but I gravely observed, “That it was all very true, but unfortunately his mother had died in child-birth, and that the only remedy was to bring him up by hand.”
He agreed with me. I desired the nurse to make some gruel, with brandy, and feed him: which she did, and he took the gruel just as if he were a baby.
This fit lasted about six days; for he went to sleep, because a baby always slept much; and I was in hopes it would last much longer: but he again went off into his lethargic fit, and after a long sleep awoke with a new fancy. My time had nearly expired, and I had written to my new captain, requesting an extension of leave, but I received an answer stating that it could not be granted, and requesting me to join the brig immediately.
I was rather surprised at this, but of course was compelled to obey and, embracing my dear sister once more, set off for Portsmouth. I advised her to humour my father, and this advice she followed; but his fancies were such, occasionally, as would have puzzled the most inventive genius to combat, or to find the remedy which he might acknowledge to be requisite. His health became certainly worse and worse, and his constitution was evidently destroyed by a slow, undermining bodily and mental fever. The situation of my poor sister was very distressing; and I must say that I quitted her with melancholy forebodings.
I ought here to observe, that I received all my prize-money amounting to 1560 pounds, a large sum for a lieutenant. I put it into the funds, and gave a power of attorney to Ellen, requesting her to use it as her own. We consulted as to what she should do if my father should die, and agreed that all his debts, which we knew to amount to three or four hundred pounds, should be paid, and that she should manage how she could upon what was left of my father’s property, and the interest of my prize-money.
Chapter Fifty Four
We receive our sailing orders, and orders of every description—A quarter-deck conversation—Listeners never hear any good of themselves
When I arrived at Portsmouth, I reported myself to the captain, who lived at the hotel. I was ushered into his room to wait for him, as he was dressing to dine with the admiral. My eyes naturally turned to what lay on the table, merely from the feeling which one has to pass away the time, not from curiosity; and I was much surprised to see a pile of letters the uppermost of which was franked by Lord Privilege. This, however, might be merely accidental; but my curiosity was excited, and I lifted up the letter, and found that the second, the third, and indeed at least ten of them were franked by my uncle. I could not imagine how there could be any intimacy between him and my uncle, and was reflecting upon it when Captain Hawkins, for that was his name, entered the room. He was very kind and civil, apologised for not being able to extend my leave, which, he said, was because he had consulted the admiral, who would not sanction the absence of the first lieutenant, and had very peremptorily desired he would recall me immediately. I was satisfied: he shook my hand, and we parted. On, my arrival on board the hulk, for the brig was still in dock, I was warmly received by my messmates. They told me that the captain had, generally speaking, been very civil, but that, occasionally, the marks of the cloven foot appeared.
“Webster,” said I to the second lieutenant, “do you know anything about his family or connections?”
“It is a question I have asked of those who have sailed with him, and they all say that he never speaks of his own family, but very often boasts of his intimacy with the nobility. Some say that he is a bye-blow of some great man.”
I reflected very much upon this, and connecting it with the numerous franks of Lord Privilege which I saw on the table, had my misgivings; but then I knew that I could do my duty, and had no reason to fear any man. I resolved, in my own mind, to be very correct, and put it out of the power of any one to lay hold of me, and then dismissed the subject. The brig was repaired and out of dock, and for some days I was very busy getting her ready for sea. I never quitted her; in fact, I had no wish. I never had any taste for bad company and midnight orgies, and I had no acquaintance with the respectable portion of the inhabitants of Portsmouth. At last the ship’s company were removed into the brig: we went out of the harbour, and anchored at Spithead.
Captain Hawkins came on board and gave me an order-book, saying, “Mr Simple, I have a great objection to written orders, as I consider that the articles of war are quite sufficient to regulate any ship. Still, a captain is in a very responsible situation, and if any accident occurs he is held amenable. I therefore have framed a few orders of my own for the interior discipline of the vessel, which may probably save me harmless, in case of being hauled over the coals; but not with any wish that they should interfere with the comforts of the officers, only to guard against any mischance, of which the onus may fall upon myself.”
I received the order-book, and the captain went ashore. When I went down into the gun-room, to look through it, I at once perceived that if rigidly conformed to, every officer in the ship would be rendered uncomfortable; and if not conformed to, I should be the party that was answerable. I showed it to Webster, who agreed with me, and gave it as his opinion that the captain’s good nature and amiability were all a blind, and that he was intending to lay hold of us as soon as it was in his power. I therefore called all the officers together, and told them my opinion. Webster supported me, and it was unanimously agreed that the orders should be obeyed, although not without remonstrance.
The major part of the orders, however, only referred to the time that the brig was in harbour; and, as we were about to proceed to sea, it was hardly worth while saying anything at present. The orders for the sailing of the brig came down, and by the same post I received a letter from my sister Ellen, stating that they had heard from Captain Fielding, who had immediately written to Bombay, where the regiment was stationed, and had received an answer, informing him that there was no married man in the regiment of the name of Sullivan, and no woman who had followed that regiment of that name. This at once put an end to all our researches after the wet-nurse, who had been confined in my uncle’s house. Where she had been sent, it was of course impossible to say; but I gave up all chance of discovering my uncle’s treachery; and, as I thought of Celeste, sighed at the little hope I had of ever being united to her. I wrote a long letter to O’Brien, and the next day we sailed for our station in the North Sea.
The captain added a night order-book to the other, and sent it up every evening, to be returned in the morning, with the signature of every officer of the night watches. He also required all our signatures to his general order-book, that we might not say we had not read them. I had the first watch, when Swinburne came up to me.
“Well, Mr Simple, I do not think we have made much by our exchange of captains; and I have a shrewd suspicion we shall have squalls ere long.”
“We must not judge too hastily, Swinburne,” replied I.
“No, no—I don’t say that we should; but still, one must go a little by looks in the world, and I’m sure his looks wouldn’t help him much. He is just like a winter’s day, short and dirty; and he walks the decks as if plank were not good enough for his feet. Mr William says, he looks as if he were ‘big with the fate of Cato and of Rome:’ what that means I don’t know—some joke, I suppose, for the youngsters are always joking. Were you ever up the Baltic, Mr Simple? Now I think of it I know you never were. I’ve seen some tight work up there with the gun-boats; and so we should now, with Captain O’Brien; but as for this little man, I’ve an idea ’twill be more talk than work.”
“You appear to have taken a great dislike to the captain, Swinburne. I do not know whether, as first lieutenant, I ought to listen to you.”
“It’s because you’re first lieutenant that I tell it you, Mr Simple. I never was mistaken, in the main, of an officer’s character, when I could look him in the face, and hear him talk for half-an-hour; and I came up on purpose to put you on your guard: for I feel convinced, that towards you he means mischief. What does he mean by having the greasy-faced sergeant of marines in his cabin for half-an-hour every morning? His reports as master-of-arms ought to come through you, as first lieutenant; but he means him as a spy upon all, and upon you in particular. The fellow has began to give himself airs already, and speaks to the young gentlemen as if they were beneath him. I thought you might not know it, Mr Simple, so I thought it right to tell you.”
“I am much obliged to you, Swinburne, for your good wishes; but I can do my duty, and why should I fear anything?”
“A man may do his duty, Mr Simple; but if a captain is determined to ruin him, he has the power. I have been longer in the service than you have, and have been wide awake: only be careful of one thing Mr Simple; I beg your pardon for being so free, but in no case lose your temper.”
“No fear of that, Swinburne,” replied I.
“It’s very easy to say ‘no fear of that,’ Mr Simple: but recollect you have not yet had your temper tried as some officers have. You have always been treated like a gentleman; but should you find yourself treated otherwise, you have too good blood in your veins not to speak—I am sure of that. I’ve seen officers insulted and irritated, till no angel could put up with the treatment—and then for an unguarded word, which they would have been swabs not to have made use of, sent out of the service to the devil.”
“But you forget, Swinburne, that the articles of war are made for the captain as well as for everybody else in the ship.”
“I know that; but still, at court-martials captains make a great distinction between what a superior says to an inferior, and what an inferior says to a superior.”
“True,” replied I, quoting Shakespeare:—
“‘That’s in the captain but a choleric word,
Which in the soldier is rank blasphemy.’”
“Exactly my meaning—I rather think,” said Swinburne, “if a captain calls you no gentleman, you mustn’t say the same to him.”
“Certainly not,” replied I; “but I can demand a court-martial.”
“Yes; and it will be granted; but what do you gain by that? It’s like beating against a heavy gale and a lee tide—thousand to one if you fetch your port; and if you do, your vessel is strained to pieces, sails worn as thin as a newspaper, and rigging chafed half through, wanting fresh serving: no orders for a refit, and laid up in ordinary for the rest of your life. No, no, Mr Simple; the best plan is to grin and bear it, and keep a sharp look-out; for depend upon it, Mr Simple, in the best ship’s company in the world, a spy captain will always find spy followers.”
“Do you refer that observation to me, Mr Swinburne?” said a voice from under the bulwark. I started round, and found the captain, who had crept upon deck, unperceived by us, during our conversation.
Swinburne made no reply, but touched his hat, and walked over to leeward.
“I presume, Mr Simple,” said the captain, turning to me, “that you consider yourself justified in finding fault, and abusing your captain, to an inferior officer, on His Majesty’s quarter-deck.”
“If you heard the previous conversation, sir,” replied I, “you must be aware that we were speaking generally about court-martials. I do not imagine that I have been guilty of any impropriety in conversing with an officer upon points connected with the service.”
“You mean then to assert, sir, that the gunner did not refer to me when he said the words, ‘spy captain.’”
“I acknowledge, sir, that as you were listening unperceived, the term might appear to refer to you; but the gunner had no idea, at the time, that you were listening. His observation was, that a spy captain would always find spy followers. This I take to be a general observation; and I am sorry that you think otherwise.”
“Very well, Mr Simple,” said Captain Hawkins—and he walked down the companion ladder into his cabin.
“Now a’n’t it odd, Mr Simple, that I should come with the intention of being of service to you, and yet get you into such a scrape? However, perhaps, it is all for the best; open war is preferable to watching in the dark, and stabbing in the back. He never meant to have shown his colours; but I hit him so hard that he forgot himself.”
“I suspect that to be the case, Swinburne; But I think that you had better not talk any more with me to-night.”
“Wish I hadn’t talked quite so much, as things have turned out,” replied Swinburne. “Good night, sir.”
I reflected upon what had passed, and felt convinced that Swinburne was right in saying that it was better this had occurred than otherwise. I now knew the ground which I stood upon; and forewarned was being forearmed.
