By Walter Besant.
Is
TO
, Whitens
IIA
br' in threa
Garden,
irs.
OOD
ilids.
The Food of the Present ancl Tuture;
Apply for Free Sample to the Inventor
and Manufactureri
G. MELLIN,Marlboro'Works,Peckham,London,S.E.
This sweetly scented Emollient Milk is supe¬
rior to every other preparation for rendering
THE SKIN
SOFT, SMOOTH & WHITE.
It entirely removes and prevents all
Roughness, Redness, Sunburn, Chaps,
And all other blemishes of the Skin caused by
SUMMER'S HEAT OR WINTER'S COLD.
It keeps the Skin Cool and Refreshed on
the Hottest Day in Summer, and Soft and
Smooth in the Coldest Winter.
Bottles, Is., Is. 9d., 2s. 6d. of all Chemists
and Perfumers. Free for 3d. extra by the
Sole Makers,
M.BEETHAM& SON, Chemists, Cheltenham.
WM WOOLLAMS & CO.
ORIGINAL MANUFACTURES,
ARTISTIC WALL-PAPERS,
Guaranteed free from Arsenic.
SHOW ROOMS:
110, High St., Manchester Sq., London, W.
Of all Decorators and Contractors, Note Trade Mark*
IS" SOLE ADDRESS.
IN' USE 100 YEA US.
Bruises.
Bums.
Cancer.
Chilblains.
Outs.
Eczema.
Eyes Inflamed
Gangrene.
Pimples.
Scorbutic
Complaints.
Skin Diseases
and
Ulcerated Legs
(even if of
20 years
standing).
A SOVEREIGN REMEDY FOR DISEASES OF THE BLOOD AND
SKIN WHEN USED TOGETHER.
Sold by the Proprietors, BRIDPORT; and by Chemists at Is. ljd. and 2s. 9d.
KEATINGS ?
POWDER
KEATING'S
COUGH
LOZENGES.
Absolutely the best-known remedy ever
made for
COUGHS, ASTHMA, BRONCHITIS
Strongly recommended by the most
eminent Doctors.
TINS ONLY. 1/1* and 2/9.
LEVESON & S0NS':Modern Perambulators, Bath Chairs and Invalids' Furniture,
90 and 92, New Oxford Street, W.C.; also 21, Park-
side, Knigbtsbrldge, two doors from Albert Gate ;
35, Piccadilly, Manchester ; 89, Bold Street, Liver¬
pool ; and 32, Bond Street, Leeds.
WHITE SEWING MACHINE Com.
48, HOLBORN VIADUCT, LONDON, E.C.
LOCK STITCH
SEWING MACHINES,
of Various Patterns,
For Families, Dressmakers,
Mantle Makers, Shirt and
Corset Makers, Tailors and
Manufacturers.
also
SPECIAL SINGLE
THREAD MACHINES.
MACHINES FOR
HAND OR TREADLE,
or both combined.
SIMPLE, EASY RUNNING
AND NOISELESS.
Prize Medals wherever
Exhibited.
Daily Sales exceed 1,000
Machines.
No other Machine can
boast of such a record.
Guaranteed for Five Years.
Prices £4 4s. to
£16 16s.
Cabinet Woodwork
of American Black Wal¬
nut, antique Oak, Maple
or Ash and Maple com¬
bined.
Solid and Artistic.
Price Lists and Samples
of Work free on applica- f
tion.
WHITE SEWING MACHINE COMPANY,
48, HOLBORN VIADUCT, LONDON, E.C.
THE WORLD WENT
VERY WELL THEN
BY
WALTER BESANT
AUTHOR OF
'ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN' 'DOROTHY FORSTER'
'CHILDREN OF GIBEON' ETC.
A NEW EDITION
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1889
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
TO
JOHN PETTIE, B.A.
I dedicate this booh, in memory of certain pleasant hours
passed in Fitzjohn's Avenue in November 1886, and in ac¬
knowledgment of the patience and skill of the Artist.
WALTER BESANT
United University Club,
Feb. 1887.
PREFACE.
I beg to express my best thanks to Mr. William Ingram, who
has most generously placed at my disposal, for reproduction,
some of the drawings made originally for the ' Illustrated
London News,' where this story first appeared. I have also
to thank Mr. Charles Eden for kindly pointing out and
correcting for me certain slips due to the fact that the writer
of this narrative, Luke Anguish, was a landsman, though a
painter of ships.
Those who wish to know the foundation of the story will
find it in the Chronicles of Deptford, and on a tombstone in
the Church of St. Nicholas.
I desire also to be allowed a word of personal ex¬
planation. Many people have written to me asking how I
can write two novels at once, because during the time that
this tale was running in the 'Illustrated London News,' the
' Children of Gribeon ' was concluding in ' Longman's Maga¬
zine.' I cannot, as a matter of fact, write two novels at once,
and I should be very much afraid to try such an experiment.
The following are the facts and dates :
vi PREFACE
In October 1883 I finished the story of 'Dorothy Forster,'
which was published in the ' Graphic,' January-June 1884,
and by Messrs. Chatto and Windus in May 1884.
On the completion of ' Dorothy Forster' I began the
' Children of Gibeon,' which occupied me until May 1885.
In the summer of 1885 I began 'The World went very Well
then.' The first half of this was sent in to Mr. Ingram in
April of 1886, and the rest in June. So far, therefore, from
writing two novels at once, the two which ran partly at the
same time were written quite separately, the first taking
eighteen months and the second about thirteen months.
W. B.
CONTENTS.
dorset '
CHAPTER
i. how jack heard talk op lands beyond the sea
ii. how jack came to deptpord
iii. how jack learned op the penman
it. how jack first went to sea
y. midshipman jack
vi. the ' countess op dorset '
vn. mr. brinjes concludes the story op his voyage
viii. the ' countess op dorset ' sails
ix. aaron fletcher .
x. how jack came home again
xl. the voyage op the ' countess op
xii. how jack thanked bess
xhi. jack ashore
xiv. the meddlesome assistant
xv. horn pair .
xvi. in the summer-house .
xvn. in butcher's row
xviii. a dark night's job
xix. in the crimp's house
xx. op jack's escape .
xxi. a rude awakening .
xxii. the privateers
xxrri. a sailor's charm
xxiv. after jack's departure
xxv. lieutenant aaron pletcher
xxvi. how mr. brinjes exercised his powers
xxvii. in command
xxviii. how bess listened for his step
xxix. ' he hath suffered a sea change '
xxx. alas ! poor bess ! ....
4GE
226
233
238
243
246
249
257
263
267
274
280
287
299
304
811
CONTENTS
AN AMBASSADOR OP LOVE
HOW THE APOTHECARY DID HIS BEST
AN INTERESTING CASE ....
HOW CASTILLA WAS BETROTHED
HOW PHILADELPHY KEPT THE SECRET .
HOW BESS WENT OUT OF HER WITS .
HOW BESS RECOVERED HER SENSES
HOW PHILADELPHY REFUSED A BRIBE
HOW BAD NEWS CAME HOME
HOW THE NEWS WAS RECEIVED
HOW THE ' CALYPSO ' CAME HOME AGAIN
OF THE COURT-MARTIAL
AFTER THE COURT-MARTIAL .
HOW BESS WENT AWAY
THE CONCLUSION . . . , . «
THE WORLD WENT VERY
WELL THEN.
CHAPTER I.
HOW JACK HEARD TALK OP LANDS BEYOND THE SEA.
!f bf
N a small back parlour, be¬
hind an apothecary's shop,
were sitting two boys and
a girl. The boys were aged
respectively twelve years
and ten ; the elder of them
was a tall and strongly-
built lad, with curling hair of a dark
brown, and eyes of much the same
colour the younger, fair-haired, and of slighter proportions. The
girl was nine; but she looked more, being tall for her age. Her
hair was so dark that it looked almost black. It hung loose,
2
THE WORLD WENT
in long curls or ripples, not being coarse and thick, as happens,
generally, with hair that is quite black, but fine in texture and
lustrous to look upon. Her eyes, too, were black and large. The
elder boy and the girl sat side-by-side in the window-seat, while
the other boy sat at the table, having a pencil in his hand and
a piece of paper before him, on which he was drawing, idly, what¬
ever came into his head. All three were silent, save that the
elder boy from time to time whispered the girl, or pinched her
ear, or pulled her hair, when she would shake her head and smile,
and point to the great chair beside the fire, as much as to say,
' If it were not for that chair, Jack, and the person in it, I would
box thy ears.'
It was not a cold day. The sun shone through the lattice
window, and fell upon the heads of the two who sat together, and
motes innumerable danced merrily in the light; yet there was a
coal fire burning in the grate. On one hob simmered a saucepan,
with some broth in it or compound of simples (while the children
sat waiting, the apothecary's assistant stepped in noiselessly, lifted
the lid, took out a spoonful, sighed, tasted it, shook his head for
the nastiness of it, and went back into the shop). On the other
hob stood a kettle, singing comfortably—kept there always, day and
night, but not for making tea, I promise you. As for the room
itself, it was exactly like a ship's cabin, being narrow and low, and
fitted with shelves and drawers. On one side was a pallet, some¬
thing like a bunk in an officer's cabin, with a flock mattress upon
it, and a pair of blankets rolled up snug. Here the apothecary
slept when the weather was cold—that is to say, nearly all the
year round. Herbs and drugs tied in bundles hung from the
rafters, as onions hang in a farm-house; the window was a lattice,
with small diamond panes set in lead; above the mantel-shelf hung
a silver watch; on the shelf itself stood a pair of brass candlesticks,
the model of a ship full rigged—her name written in red ink on
a wooden stand, ' The King Solomon, of Bristol '—a pair of ship's
pistols, a tobacco jar, and two or three long pipes. The apothe¬
cary's great wig, which he wore every evening at the club, hung
from a peg on the wall behind the elbow chair; and in the corner
of the room opposite the chair there was a very fearful and terrible
thing, until you grew accustomed to it, when you ceased to fear it.
This was nothing less than a stick painted red and black, with
bright-coloured feathers tied round it, and surmounted by a grin¬
ning human skull. It was a magic stick, called, we were told, the
Ekpenyong, or skull-stick, by the Mandingo sorcerers—a thing only
to be handled by an Obeah man, the possession of which is sup¬
posed by negroes either to confer or to proclaim wonderful powers,
and cut from a juju or holy tree. Beside it lay two musical in¬
struments, also from Africa—one a hollow block of wood covered
with a sheepskin, and the other a kind of rude guitar. This stick it
was which caused the apothecary to be greatly respected by the
Admiral's negroes, as you will presently hear. He who has such
VERY WELL THEN 3
a stick can catch the shadow, as they say—that is, the soul of
a man; and set Obi upon him—that is to say, bring suffering, sorrow,
and shame upon him. So that the possessor of a skull-stick is a
person greatly to be feared and envied.
There was an open cupboard beside the fire, in which were
household stores, such as bacon, cheese, butter, bread, strings of
onions, a two-gallon jar or firkin of rum, plates and knives, for the
room was a kitchen as well as an eating-room and a sleeping-room.
Once a week or so, if business was slack and there was nothing else
to do, the assistant might, if he thought of it, come with a broom,
and sweep the dust out into the street. But I do not remember that
the room was ever washed. And what with the tobacco, the stores
in the cupboard, the rum, the drugs hanging from the rafters, and
the contents of the shelves, the place had, to a sailor, exactly the
smell of the cockpit or orlop deck after a long voyage; for in that
part of the ship are kept the purser's stores, the bo's'n's stores, the
spirit-room, the surgeon's store-room, the midshipmen's berths and
their mess. For this reason, perhaps, its owner, who had been a
sailor, would never open the window; and always, on returning
home, sniffed the air of the room with a peculiar satisfaction.
The great chair—which might have served for the chair of a
hall-porter, having a broad, low seat and a high back with arms—
was stuffed or padded with three or four pillows, and in the midst
of the pillows lay an old man sleeping. This was Mr. Brinjes, the
famous apothecary of Deptford. He was small of stature and thin :
his face (over one eye was a black patch) was creased and lined
like a russet apple, which shrinks before it rots; his chin was
hollow ; his head, covered with a padded silk night-cap, was sunk
deep in the pillows like a child's; he lay upon his side ; his feet,
stretched out, were propped on a footstool; one hand was under his
cheek, and the other hung over the arm of the chair (you might
have noticed that the skin of his hand was wrinkled and loose, as
if the bones belonged to an occupant smaller than was at first in¬
tended). As he lay asleep there, he looked like one in extreme old
age, such as may be seen in country villages, where they take a
pride in showing the visitor, in proof of the healthiness of the
country air, some old gaffer of a hundred years and more sitting
before a fire.
Through the open door could be seen the shop. It was small,
like the parlour behind it. The rafters were hung with dried herbs ;
the shelves were full of bottles. There was a chair for the recep¬
tion of those patients who could not stand ; there was a counter,
with scales great and small; a pestle and mortar ; a box containing
surgical instruments—the pincers for pulling out teeth, the cup, the
basin, the blister, and the other horrid tools of the surgeon's craft.
The apothecary's assistant stood at the counter, rolling pills and
mixing medicines—a sallow, pasty-faced youth with a pair of
swivel eyes, which moved with independent action; a young man
.who walked about without noise, and worked all day without
b 2
THE WORLD WENT
stopping, yet looked discontented, perhaps because he was compelled
to taste the medicines, and his stomach kicked thereat. The shop
door was always open, for the window gave little light, partly
because it was never cleaned, partly because there was a shelf with
bottles before it, and partly because the glass was full of bull's-
eyes, which gave strength, no doubt, yet kept the room obscure.
At the end of the counter was the stool on which Mr. Brinjes sat
every morning, in his gown and night-cap, from eight o'clock until
half-past twelve, receiving patients. Before him, on the counter,
was a great book containing, I now suppose, a Bepertory or Collec¬
tion of Instructions concerning Symptoms of Diseases and Methods
of Treatment; but the common sort always supposed that it was a
book of Spells, and the means by which Mr. Brinjes was enabled
to communicate with a Certain Potentate, who helped him and did
his bidding, at what price and for what reward these people freely
whispered to each other. On Sunday morning (this must have
been a bitter Bolus to the Evil one) Mr. Brinjes and his assistant
let blood gratis to whoever wished for that wholesome refreshment;
and every morning he pulled out teeth at a shilling or half a crown
(according to the means of the customer), his assistant holding the
patient in his chair, and receiving those kicks and cuffs which in
the extremity of his agony the sufferer too often deals out.
In such a town as Deptford it is natural that the common
people should resort to the herb-woman for the cure of their ail¬
ments. It was not until she had failed that they came to Mr.
Brinjes, and then with doubt whether he would choose to treat
them. As for his power to cure, if he pleased, there was no doubt
about that. It was whispered that he knew of charms by which he
could constrain a person, even in the misery of toothache, to fall
sound asleep, and continue asleep while Mr. Brinjes would take
out a tooth without causing him to awaken, or to feel any pain
whatever; but these things we may not believe, however well
authenticated, unless we would seriously accuse him of magic. As
for fevers, rheumatisms, difficulty of breathing, coughs, scurvy, and
the other afflictions by which we are reminded that this is but a
transitory world, it was believed, even by the better sort of Deptford,
that there was no physician in London itself more skilful than
Mr. Brinjes, and that by certain preparations, the secret of which
he alone knew, and had learned in his voyages in foreign parts,
especially on the West Coast of Africa, where the negroes possess
many strange secrets of nature, he had acquired a singular mastery
over every kind of disease. He has been known, as I myself who
write this history can testify (it was in the case of Admiral Sayer's
great toe), to relieve a man in one hour of the gout, though he had
been roaring for a fortnight with his foot tied up in flannel. It was
also whispered of Mr. Brinjes that by magic or witchcraft he could
bring diseases upon those who offended him, and that he could
avert all the misfortunes to which mankind are liable in shipwreck
drowning, wounds, and death. But it is idle to repeat the things
VERY WELL THEN 5
which were said of him. Certain it is that he possessed wonderful
secrets for the cure of disease, however he came by them. Warts
he removed merely by looking at them, and by a prophecy that
they would be gone in so many days ; a sprained ankle he would
set at ease by simply rubbing the part with his open hand; sciatica,
lumbago, pleurisy, and other such disorders he healed in the same
way, foretelling on each occasion how long it would be before the
malady would cease. Those who were so treated declared that the
apothecary's hand became like a red-hot iron in the rubbing.
Rheumatism, it was certain, he cured by making the patient carry
a potato in his pocket; though what he did, if he did anything, to
the potato first, in order to endow it with this virtue, is not known.
As for earache, faceache, toothache, tic, and such disorders, it was
believed that he could order their removal at will. Further, it was
said of him, that he could, also at will, command these diseases to
seize upon a man and torture him. How he did this, no one can
explain; but the testimony of many, still living, proves that he did
it. I pass over the report that, in calling these pains to seize upon
a man, his one eye glowed like a red-hot coal, and sent forth flashes
of fire. Such rumours show only how much he was feared and
respected by the people. They came to him also for amulets and
charms, which he did not always refuse to give, for protecting those
who carried them from drowning, hanging, burning, the shot of
cannon, and the stroke of steel. It is true that his amulets were
simple things: we cannot understand how the tooth of a snake,
even with the poison in it, can avail against drowning if one who
cannot swim should tumble into deep water ; nor how the head of
a frog, wrapped in silk, can, without any other magic, protect a
man against the gallows. But there are many other things, which
everybody believes, quite as difficult to explain; as, for instance,
why the gall of the barbel causeth blindness ; why cock ale cureth
consumption; why an onion hung round the neck of a beast, and
the next day boiled and buried, cureth distemper in cattle; or
why the finger cut from the hand of a hanged man taketh away a
wen. Yet these are in the nature of amulets, as much as any of
those prepared by Mr. Brinjes. At this time he had been in the
town some fifteen years, having appeared one day about the year
1725. Nobody knew who he was or whence he came; his parentage,
his Christian name, his birthplace were all unknown. He never
spoke of any relations; and at his first coming he seemed to be as
old as now, so that some, when they saw the sign of the Silver
Mortar put up, and the gallipots ranged in the shop, laughed
to think of so old and decrepit a man beginning trade as an
apothecary.
"Whatever his age, he was not decrepit; but strong and hale,
though shrunken in figure, with a wrinkled skin and a face covered
with lines and crow's-feet. He suffered from no ailments, was al¬
ways brisk and active, and had, in his talk and understanding, no
apparent touch of age. Further, it soon became known that here
6
THE WORLD WENT
was a man who could effect marvellous cures, so that the people
began to flock to him, not only from Deptford and the riverside,
where he first courted custom, but also from Greenwich, on the one
hand, and Eedriff, Bermondsey, and Southwark, on the other.
He received these people every day—from eight in the morning
until half-past twelve—dressed in a ragged old gown, gone into
holes at the elbows, and well-nigh dropping to pieces; on his head,
an old night-cap; and on his feet, slippers tied with tape. _ But
slovenly as was his dress, and unworthy the dignity of a physician,
he was sharp and quick with the patients, telling them plainly,
while he gave them medicine, whether they would recover or when
they would die, and whether he could help them or no. At the
stroke of half-past twelve, he got off his stool and retired to his
parlour, where, with his own hand, he every day fried or griddled
a great piece of beef-steak, with a mess of onions, carrots, and other
vegetables, and presently devoured it, with a tankard of black beer,
choosing to do everything with his own hand, even to the filling of
his kettle and the washing of his dishes, rather than have a woman-
servant in the place. This done, he made up the fire, put away
his plates, settled himself among his pillows, and fell fast asleep.
Thus he continued for two or three hours, no one daring to disturb
him or to make the least noise. "When, on this day, he began to
move, stretching out first one leg, and then the other, turning over
on his back, and fidgeting with his hands, the elder boy nodded to
the younger, who reached a bundle of papers from the topmost
shelf, and laid them on the table as if in readiness. This done,
they waited.
The old man yawned, sighed, and opened his remaining eye—
'twas a pale blue eye of amazing keenness and brightness. Then
he sat up suddenly with a start, and looked about him with a quick
suspicious glance, as if he had been sleeping in some place where
there were wild animals to fear, or savage men. You could then
perceive that his features were sharp, and apparently not much
altered by his years; his chin being long and pointed, his lips firm,
and his nose straight, as if he was a masterful man, who would
have his way. As for his remaining eye (no one ever learned where
the sight of the other had been lost), though it was so bright, it had
a quick and watchful expression, such as may be perceived in the
eyes of those creatures who both hunt and are hunted. You will
not see this look in the eyes of Dido the Lioness of the Tower;
because the lion hunts but is never hunted. Being reassured as to
tigers or fierce Indians, Mr. Brinjes rose from the chair, and as if
not yet wholly awake, yet already conscious, he took a glass and
half filled it with rum; then, with the utmost care and nicety (your
drinkers of rum-punch care very little how much rum is in the
glass, but are greatly afraid of putting in too much of the other
components), added sugar, lemon, and water; this done, he stirred
the contents, rolled it about in the glass, and drank half of it.
' I have again returned,' he said,' to the world of life. To all of
VERY WELL THEN
7
us who are old, when we close our eyes in sleep we know not whe¬
ther we shall not keep them closed in death, which sometimes thus
surprises those who have lived long. But I have returned—aha!—
and with reasonable prospect of another evening of tobacco and
punch.' Here he sipped his liquor. ' I take this glass of punch,
boys,' he explained, ' for the good of the stomach, and the prevention
of ill-humours and vapours; otherwise these might rise to the
brain, which is a part of man's mechanism more delicate than any
other, and as easily put off the balance as the mainspring of a
watch.' Here he drank again, but slowly, and by sips, as becomes
one who loves his drink. ' I am now old; when a man is old, he
is fortunate if he can breathe free, sleep sound, walls upright, eat
his dinner, and still drink his punch. Some men there are, not so
old as myself—no, not by ten years—who fetch their breath with
difficulty, whereas I breathe freely ; others are troubled and cannot
sleep for racking pains, whereas I have none ; and others cannot
eat strong meats, and would die—poor devils !—of a bowl of punch.
Better be dead than live like that; better lie buried with a mile of
blue water over your head, and the whales flopping around your
grave on the seaweed. There can be no more comfortable and
quiet lying than the bottom of the sea.' He shook his head
solemnly. ' "When a man cannot any longer fight and make love,
there is but one thing left to rejoice his heart.' He finished the
glass. ' And when he cannot drink, let him die.'
He sat down again in his great chair; but he sat upright, look¬
ing about him, now thoroughly awake and alert.
' In sleep,' he said, ' it is as if one were already dead; awake,
it is as if one could not die. Ha ! Death is impossible. The blood
it runs as strong, the pulse it beats as steady, as when I was a boy
of thirty. • Why, I am young still! I am full of life ! Give me
fifty years more—only a poor, short fifty years—what is it when
the time is gone ?—and I will make, look you, such a medicine as
shall keep a man alive for ever 1 It will be done some day, alas !
when I am gone. It will be too late for me, and I must die. But
not yet—not yet. Oh! we are born too soon—a hundred years
and more too soon. When a man is old he is apt to feel the near
presence of Death. Not, mind you, when he is asleep, or when he
is awake, but when he is between the two. Then he sees the dart
aimed at his heart, and the scythe ready to cut him down, and the
bony fingers clutching at his throat. It is as if life were slipping
from him, just as the pirate's plank slips under the weight of the
prisoner who has to walk upon it.'
' When a man's time comes,' said Jack, with wisdom borrowed
from his friends at Trinity Hospital; ' when a man's time comes,
down he goes.'
' Ay. It's easy talking when you are young; and your time
hasn't come by many a day; the words drop out glib, and seem to
mean nothing. Wait, my lad; wait till you have had your day.
To every man his day. First the fat time, then the lean time ; or
s
THE WORLD WENT
else it's first the lean time, then the fat time. For most, old age
is the lean time. But the world is full of justice, and there is
always a fat time in every man's life. When there's peace upon
the seas, the merchantman sails free and happy, buying skins and
ivory, spices and precious woods, for glass beads and cotton. So
trade prospers. And then the King's sailors and marines and the
privateers must needs turn smugglers; and so find their way to
the gallows. Then cometh war again, and the honest fellows have
another turn with fighting and taking of prizes and cutting out of
convoys. Yes, boys; the world is full of justice, did we but rightly
consider ; and everyone doth get his chance. As for you, Bess, my
girl, it shall be a brave lover, in the days when thou shalt be a
lovely girl and a goddess. As for you, boys—well—and presently
you will become old men like unto me.' He sighed heavily. ' And
then'—he took the saucepan from the hob, stirred it about, and
smelled the stuff that was simmering in it—' I doubt if this mixture
Children, we are all born a hundred years too soon—a hundred
years, at least. Yet, if I had but fifty years before me, I think I
could find the secret to stay old age and put off natural decay.
The Coromantyns are said to have the secret, but they keep it to
themselves ; and I have questioned Philadelphy, who is a Mandingo,
in vain. Well'—again he sighed, as he put back his saucepan—' I
have slept, and I am alive again, with another evening before me,
and more punch. Let us be thankful. Jack, unroll the charts,
and let me look upon the world again.'
The charts, which the younger boy had already laid upon the
table, were stained and thumb-marked parchments, originally
drawn by some Spanish hand, for the names were all in Spanish ;
but they had been much altered and corrected by a later hand—
perhaps that of Mr. Brinjes himself. They showed the Atlantic
and the Indian Oceans, together with a map of the Eastern Islands
and the unknown Magellanica or Terra Australis. The last named
was traversed by several lines in blue ink, showing the routes of
voyagers both early and recent, each with a name written above
it; as Magellans, 1520; Francis D'Ovalle, 1582; Mendana, 1595;
Drake, 1577 ; Candish, 158G ; Oliver Noort, 1599; Le Maire, 1G15 ;
Tasman, 1642 ; John Cook, 1G83 ; Woodes Rodgers, 1708; Clipper-
ton, 1719 ; Shelvocke, at the same time. There was another route
laid down across the ocean, much more devious than any of the
others, and without name, and marked in red ink.
When these maps were spread out upon the table, Mr. Brinjes
rose and stood gazing upon them, as if, by the mere contemplation
of the coast lines, he was enabled actually to see the places which
he had visited or heard of. There was no place in the whole world
that is visited by ships (because I do not pretend that Mr. Brinjes
knew the interior of the great continents) whereof he could not
speak as from personal knowledge, describing its appearance, the
character of the people, the soundings, and the nature of the port
or roadstead.
VERY WELL THEN
9
But mostly Mr. Brinjes loved to talk of pirates, rovers, or
adventurers, whether of Queen Elizabeth's reign, when they had a
golden time indeed, or of our own time, which has seen many of
these gentry; though now, instead of receiving knighthood, as was
formerly the custom, they are generally taken ashore and hoisted
on a gibbet. Thus, Mr. Brinjes would lay his forefinger on the
island of Madagascar, and tell us of Captain Avery and his settle¬
ment on the north of this great island, where every one of his men
became like a little Sultan or King, each with a troop of slaves,
and being no better than Pagans, every man with a seraglio of
black wives. For aught anybody knows to the contrary, they or
their sons are living on the island in splendour to this day, though
their famous captain hath long since been dead. Or he would point
out the island of Providence, in the Bahamas, where there was
formerly a rendezvous, which continued for many years, of those
who combined together to prey upon the Spanish commerce. ' And
think not, boys,' said Mr. Brinjes, solemnly, ' that to sail in search
of the great Plate ships can be called piracy, for pirates are the
common enemies of all flags, and must be hanged when they are
taken prisoners; whereas, he who takes or sinks a Spanish vessel
performs a meritorious action, and one that he will remember with
gratitude upon his death-bed, since they are a nation more blood¬
thirsty, cruel, and avaricious than any other, and Papists to boot.
It is true that there were some of those who sailed from Providence,
that took other ships, of whom Major Bonnet was one. Boys, I
knew the Major well. He was a gentleman of good family from
Barbadoes, and I cannot but think that he was unlawfully hanged,
the evidence being suborned. A man of kindly and pleasing
manners, who loved the bowl and a song, and was greatly loved by
all his crew and those who knew him. But he is gone now, and
those like unto him as well, so that the Spaniard sails the Atlantic
in peace, though we have robbed him of some of his dominions.
Alas! what things the Spanish Main hath witnessed ! what deeds
of daring, and what sufferings!'
Then he pushed this chart aside, and considered that which
showed the West Coast of Africa, a part of the world which he
regarded with a particular admiration, though I have always under¬
stood that it is full of fevers and diseases of a deadly kind. He
knew, indeed, all the harbours, creeks, river mouths, and other
places from Old Calabar to the Gambia, where such notorious
desperadoes as Captain Teach, otherwise called Blackbeard, or as
Captain Bartholomew Roberts, made their rendezvous, where they
refitted, and whence they sailed to plunder the merchantmen of all
countries. These men Mr. Brinjes knew well, and spoke of them
as if they had been friends of his own, and especially the latter. I
know not in what manner he acquired this knowledge of a man
who was certainly a most profligate villain. He it was whose
squadron of three ships was destroyed by Captain Sir Chaloner
Qgle, of the ' Swallow,' in the year 1722, the pirate himself being
ro
THE WORLD WENT
killed in the first broadside, and fifty-two of his men afterwards
hung in chains along the coast near Cape Coast Castle.
' Boys,' said Mr. Brinjes, ' those who know not the "West Coast
of Africa know not what it is to live. What ? Here there are
magistrates and laws; there, every man does what he pleases.
Here, the rich take all; there, all is divided. Here, men go to law;
there, men fight it out. What do they know here of the fierce
passions which burn in men's hearts under the African sun ?
There is summer all the year round; there are fruits which you
can never taste; there are -hut you would not understand.
How long ago since I have seen those green shores and wooded
bills, and watched the black girls lying in the sun, and took my
punch with the merry blades who now are dead and gone ?
Strange that the world should be so full of fine places, and we
should be content to live in this land of fog and cold !'
Then he pushed this chart away also, and took another, that of
the great Pacific Ocean, marked, as I have said, with half a dozen
routes, and especially by a broad red line, without a name or date.
When Mr. Brinjes laid his finger on this route he became serious
and thoughtful.
' It is forty years,' he began, ' forty years since I sailed upon
these seas. Of all the crew, doth any survive save me alone ?
Forty years ! The men were not so fierce as those on the West
Coast—the air is milder—they would rest and sleep in the shade
rather than fight. Forty years ago !'
The boys were silent till he should choose to tell us more.
4 On board that ship I was rated as surgeon, and at first had
plenty to do, sewing up wounds and healing broken heads; for,
though there was a rule against fighting, it was a reckless company
of rum-drinking, quarrelsome, fighting devils as ever trod the deck.
We had music on board: two horns, till one fell overboard; two
violins, and a Welsh harp. In the evening, yKen there was no
fighting, there was music and dancing. 'Twas a happy barky.
It was a merchantman, and we shipped our crew and fitted out at
Kingston first and Providence next.'
' Where the pirates used to assemble? ' said Jack.
' True. The crew were mostly rovers. What then ? If you
venture into the Pacific you must needs carry a fighting crew. We
had plenty of arms and ammunition; and not a man on board but
had been in a dozen actions by sea and land. But only a mer¬
chantman.'
Jack shook his head, as if there were doubts in his mind ; then
he laughed. Mr. Brinjes laid his hand on the red line where it
began at Providence Island.
' Forty years ago ! It was a voyage among seas where there's
never a chart; among reefs and rocks not laid down, and along
shores no sailors knew. The end of the voyage was disastrous,
but the beginning promised well, for the men were full of heart
if ever men were, and the prize we were after was worth taking.'
VERY WELL THEN
11
' Prize ? 1 said Jack, ' for a merchantman ? '
^' Merchantman she was, this side Cape Horn. I only meant
this side. When you double the Cape that is another matter. A
man in those seas sails as happy under the Jolly Roger as under
the Union Jack. A merchantman she was, built at Bristol, chris¬
tened the "King Solomon," 400 tons; and when we sailed she
carried twenty-two long nine-pounders, and two three-pounders,
with a crew of 170 men, besides a dozen or so of negro slaves.
Don't you forget, my lad, there's only two flags in those seas—the
Spaniard and the Jolly Roger. Take your choice, therefore.' He
paused, to let that choice be taken. ' We sailed through Magellan's
Straits, taking six weeks over the job, what with contrary winds
and storms. When we got out of that place—which, I take it, is
the worst navigation in the world—we steered nearly due north for
Juan Fernandez, where the Spaniards go from the South American
ports to fish. Here it is on the chart.' His finger was following
the red track. 'A mighty pretty place it is. This is where
Woodes Rodgers set ashore one of his men and left him alone.
After watering, we sailed away, still north, to the Galapagos
Islands, where the pirates rendezvous.'
' They were pirates, then, after all ? ' Jack interrupted.
' The Spaniards call them such; whereas, if they do fly the
black flag, it is only to strike more terror into the enemy and make
them quicker to cry for quarter. Pirates, were we ? Well, pirates
or not, there was no man on board that craft but was an honest
Englishman by birth. At Galapagos Islands we laid up to scrape
and tallow the vessel, and to cure the scurvy, which had already
broken out, with the limes and oranges and bananas which grow
wild there, as well as the tobacco plant. The pigs run wild there,
too; and if the wells only ran rum as well as water, one might as
well be in Heaven at once; and there would be no need for the
sailor to put to sea any more, nor any wisdom in leaving those
islands.' He sighed, thinking of pleasant days in the Galapagos.
' But we were not cruising in these seas for pleasure, and we had
our work to do. Wherefore, we made haste and got to sea again.
What were we cruising for ? Why, my lads, in hopes of coming
across the great Spanish galleon, which goes twice every year from
Manilla to Acupulco and back laden with treasure, so that every
man on board, could we take that ship, would be made for life.
' When we left the Galapagos, every man's heart was light, and
there was nothing on board but drinking, singing, and gambling,
with a fair wind, and the ship taut and trim, and within a few days
of the Spaniard's course. He sails these seas as if they were his
own, with never a thought of trouble or meeting an enemy. We
had fair weather for ten days, making, at a guess, a hundred and
eighty knots a day on a nor'-west course; so that, after a week or
so, we were in the latitude of Acapulco, and, according to my
observations, two hundred miles west of that port—that is to say,
almost in the track of the galleons, which sail, as is well known, in
12
THE WORLD WENT
an even course about lat. 13° N. And for why ? If you set sail
from Manilla—here,' he pointed out that distant island on the
chart, ' through the Strait of Mindovo, and past Cape Espiritu
Santo, you have got, between the Ladrones and Acapulco, which is
close upon two thousand knots, nothing but blue water. If any
other nation beside the Spanish held these seas, they would have
been everywhere navigated long ago. But these lubbers care for
nothing but to keep out of danger; wherefore they sail where there
are no islands. Sometimes, by reason of contrary winds and the
compass, which veers about in these waters as if the Devil had it,
these ships are blown north and south. I have conversed with
Spanish sailors who had been thus driven north, and they reported
open seas, though the charts and maps do still lay down a con¬
tinent between Asia and America.
' It is a most terrible voyage, full of dangers on account of the
tempests which blow there, and because the crews have to live so
long on salted provisions and bad water, whereby many grievous
diseases are engendered, of which I learned something. There is,
for instance, that disease which the Spaniards call the Lobillo, which
doth commonly fall upon men who have been living at sea for
many weeks upon this diet. I do not know the remedies, if any
there be, for this affliction, whereby the body swells up like a
bladder which is blown out, and the patient falls to prattling and
babbling, until he dies. There is also what they call the Dutch
Disease, which attacks the gums, and is, I take it, nothing but
scurvy, and can only be cured by being set ashore. Then there is
an intolerable itching of the whole body, caused by the saltness of
the beef and of the air. For this there is no remedy but patience
and limes, when these can be procured. There are insects also,
which the Spaniards call Gorgojos, which are said to be bred in
the biscuit, and creep into the body, under the skin, whence they
are difficult to dislodge, and do itch intolerably, day and night;
so that some have been known to go mad with the discomfort of it
and have leaped overboard.
' When, therefore, we were in the latitude where we might
expect any day to see a sail—every sail being a Spanish ship, and
every Spanish ship a rich galleon—a reward was offered to him
who could first spy a sail. But here we were unlucky, for a hurri¬
cane fell upon us, drove us off our course, and for four days we
scudded, looking for nothing else but destruction, being too low in
the waist and too high in the stern for such weather. However,
by the Lord's help, the storm at length abated; but not before we
were driven a long way north of our course, and in sight of the
great island named California.' He covered it with his thumh.
' Nobody hath yet circumnavigated this island; but it is reported
mountainous and sterile. Yet—Lord! what a place for rovers
when they get the sense to make here a settlement for the annoy¬
ance of the Spaniard 1 Madagascar itself was not more plainly
marked out by Providence for the use of rovers. I am old now,
VERY WELL TIIEN 13
or else would I plant a colony myself, with a fleet of half a dozen
frigates and a few fast sailing-sloops, and so destroy the Spanish
trade of the Pacific. No European sail, I take it, hath gone further
north.'
Indeed, the coast line at this point was dotted to show that it
was conjectural; it ran straight across the Pacific, in the line of
latitude 35 N., to join the coast of China.
The storm then abating, we repaired damages, and set sail
again, designing to snap* our course southward, with the view of
getting once more into the enemy's course. That night, I remember,
the light of Saint Elmo showed upon the foretop, at which we greatly
rejoiced, as a certain sign and promise of fair weather, and every
man saluted it mannerly as they use in the Mediterranean. On the
sixth day after the storm, we sighted an island not laid down on
any chart; but we touched not at it. Three days later, the sea
having been as smooth as the Pool of the Thames, we made land
again. This time it was the island of Donna Maria Laxara, so
called after a Spanish lady, who here leaped overboard and
drowned herself for love. But mark the ways of Providence ! If
it had not been for that tempest, which drove us off our course—
what happened afterwards never would have happened.'
' "What did happen ? '
4 A strange thing. The strangest thing that ever you heard of.
If you want to be rich, Jack, my lad, I will some day teach you
how; and that in the easiest way you can imagine. If I live—
alas!'
' What way ? Tell me now.'
But Mr. Brinjes would tell no more. He continued gazing at
the chart, and following an imaginary course with his forefinger,
as if he loved the recollection of that voyage, even though the end
of it had been disastrous. Then he pushed it from him with a
sigh.
' Forty years ago, it was, boys. Forty years ago.'
It was in this way, among others, that Jack acquired the
knowledge of geography and the thirst which continually grew
greater for voyaging among the strange and unknown parts of the
habitable world. In the end, as you shall hear, no one went
farther afield or had more adventures.
CHAPTEE II.
how jack came to deptford.
Of these two boys, one—namely, Jack Easterbrook—was not a
native born of Deptford, but of Gosport. And since it is his history
that has to be related, it is well that the manner of his coming, and
the nature of his early life, should be first set forth.
On a certain warm summer afternoon, in the year of grace
H
THE WORLD WENT
seventeen hundred and forty-four, when I, who write this history,
was but a child of seven, and Castilla six (we are now nearing
three score years, and on the downward slope of life), there sat
beneath the shade of a great walnut-tree, on a smooth bowling-
green, two gentlemen and a lady ; the former on a rustic bench of
twisted and misshapen branches, or roots, and the latter in an
elbow-chair. The lady, who had a small lace cap on her head and
wore a laced apron, held a book in her hands; but the bnnds
and book lay in her lap, and her ey^ were closed. The two
gentlemen were taking an afternoon pipe of tobacco. One of them
—this was Eear-Admiral Sayer—was at this time some fifty-five
years of age. He wore a blue coat with gold buttons, but it was
without the famous white facings which His Majesty King George
the Second afterwards commanded for the uniform of his naval
officers; his right leg had been lost in action, and was replaced by
a wooden leg, now stuck out straight before him, as he sat on the
bench. He had also lost his left arm, and one sleeve of his coat
was empty. He wore a full wig of George the First's time; his
face was full, his cheeks red, and his eyebrows thick and fierce, yet
his eyes were kindly. There was a scar across his forehead, which
a Moorish scimitar had laid bare.
His companion wore the wig and cassock of a clergyman; he
was, in fact, the Yicar of St. Paul's, Deptford. At the back of the
bowling-green stood the house—of modern erection—with a pedi¬
ment of stone, and pilasters, and a stone porch, very fine; on
either side of the house was the garden, filled with fruit-trees and
beds for vegetables. The garden was surrounded by a brick wall,
older than the house, covered with lichen, stonecrop, wall-pellitory,
yellow wallflowers and long grasses. The house and garden were
protected by great iron gates, within which marched all day long,
an old negro in the Admiral's livery, and wearing a cockade,
armed with a cutlass. A small carronade stood beside the gates,
for the purpose of announcing sunrise and sunset; and there was
a mast, with standing gear and yards complete, at the head of
which floated the Union Jack. Two children were playing with
the bowls on the grass ; and in a chair, so placed that the hot sun¬
shine could fall with the greatest effect upon her face, there sat a
negress, already old, a red cotton handkerchief twisted round her
head, and in her lap lay some knitting. But Philadelphy, like her
mistress, was sound asleep.
It was a sleepy afternoon. The drones and the bumble-bees—
• dumbledores,' we called them—buzzed lazily about the flowers;
the doves cooed sleepily from the dovecot; there was a hen not
far off which expressed her satisfaction with the weather, and her
brood, by a continual and comfortable ' took—took—took '; the
great dog lay asleep at the Admiral's foot, the cat was asleep beside
it; from the trees there came, now and then, the contented note of
a blackbird; and the flag at the mast, which was rigged within the
iron gates, hung in folds, flapping lazily in the light air. The two
VERY WELL THEN
15
children played, for the most part, in silence, or else in whispers,
so as not to awaken Philadelphy. The two gentlemen smoked their
tobacco in silence—it was not a day for talking; besides, they saw
each other nearly every day, and therefore each knew the other's
sentiments, and there was no room for discussion.
Suddenly, there were heard footsteps outside, and, just as one
awakes out of a dream, so all started and became instantly wide¬
awake. Madame took up her book, the Admiral straightened his
back, the Vicar knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and the children
ran to the gates which Cudjo, the negro, threw wide open, a grin of
welcome on his lips. Then there appeared a boy, dressed in a blue
coat, not made for him, and too long in the sleeves, worn and
shabby, dusty with travel, with brass buttons ; his knitted stockings
were torn, showing his bare legs; he wore a common speckled
shirt like the watermen's children; on his head was a little three-
cornered hat, cocked in nautical fashion. He strutted proudly
across the grass, regardless of his rags, with as much importance
as if he had been a full-blown Midshipman. For my own part, I
have never lost, to this day, the sense of his superiority to myself
and the rest of mankind. Castilla makes the same confession.
Like myself, she owns that, child as she then was, she felt her
inferiority to a boy so masterful. He was at this time, and always,
a singularly handsome boy—tall and big for his age, his head
thrown back, his brown eyes full of fire, and his hand at all times
ready to become a fist. His hair was long, and lay in curls, and
untied, upon his shoulders. After him walked the negro who had
brought him from Gosport, and now carried on his shoulder a box
containing all the boy's worldly goods. They consisted of a toy-
ship, carved for him by some sailor at Gosport; a pistol which had
been his father's ; his mother's Bible, a Church prayer-book, and a
knife. This was all the inheritance of the poor boy. As the ser¬
vant bore this precious box through the gates, he knocked the
corner against the rails.
' Steady,' said the boy, turning sharply round, ' steady with the
kit, ye lubber ! '
The First Lieutenant himself could not have admonished a man
more haughtily. Then he halted, and took a leisurely observation
of the scene. Presently he espied the Admiral, and, recognising in
his appearance and dress something nautical—it would have been
difficult to mistake the Admiral for anything but a sailor—Jack
stepped across the lawn, lugged off his hat with a duck and a bend,
and said, ' Come aboard, Sir. With submission and dutiful respect,
Admiral.'
The Admiral laid down his pipe and leaned forward, hand on
knee, his wooden leg sticking out before him.
' So,' he said, ' this looks like the son of my old friend. What
is thy name, child ? '
'Jack Easterbrook, Sir.'
' The son of my old shipmate ? '
16
THE WORLD WENT
' The same, Sir.'
' Parson,' said the Admiral, ' forty-five years ago I was^ just
such a little shaver as this, and so was his father. Hang me if the
boy isn't a sailor already. Thy father, boy, was carried off by a
sunstroke, while his ship was lying in Kingston Harbour.'
' Yes, Sir.'
' In command of His Majesty's frigate " Bacehorse," forty-
four.'
' The same, Sir.'
' And thy mother, poor soul! is dead and gone too.'
' Yes, Sir,' said the boy, looking for a moment as if he would
cry. But it passed. The Admiral took his stick, and rose from his
chair.
' Let us,' he said, gravely,' overhaul the boy a bit. Thy father,
Jack, was the best officer in His Majesty's service—the very best
officer, whether for navigation or for fighting, which is the reason
why they kept him back, and promoted the reptiles who crawl up
the back-stairs. He was with me when 1 planted the Union Jack
on the island of Tobago. Look me in the face, sirrah—so. A tall
and proper lad. A brave and gallant lad. What shall we make
of him ?'
Jack's face became a lively crimson at this question. We were
now all gathered round him—Castilla looking shyly, and with ad¬
miring eyes ; and I, for my own part, thinking that here was the
finest and bravest boy I had ever set eyes on. «
'Well, now,' said the Admiral, holding the boy's chin in his
hand, and looking at him steadily, ' I warrant, Parson, this boy will
be all for book-learning, and we must make him a scholar, eh ?
Then, some day, he shall rise to be a Beverend Doctor of Divinity,
a Dean, or even a Bishop in lawn sleeves. What sayest thou,
Jack ? ' Here the Admiral took his hand from the boy's chin, shut
one eye, and looked mighty cunning.
Jack shook his head dolefully, and then laughed, looking up as
if he knew very well that this was a joke.
' Well, well, there are other things. We can make thee a com¬
pounder of boluses, and so thou shalt ride in a coach and wear a
great wig, and call thyself physician. 'Tis a fine trade, and a fat,
when fevers are abroad.'
But Jack again shook his head, and laughed. This was a really
fine joke, one that can be carried on a long time.
' He will not be a physician. The boy is hard to please. Well,
he can, if he likes, become a lawyer, and wear a black gown, and
argue a poor fellow to the gallows. Of such they make Lord Chan¬
cellors. At sea their name is Shark.'
' No, Sir,' said Jack with decision, because every joke hath its
due limits. ' No, Sir, I thank you. With submission, Sir, I cannot
be a lawyer.'
' Here is a boy for you. One would think he was too good for
this world. Perhaps he would like to wear His Majesty's scarlet,
VERY WELL THEN 17
and follow the drum anil fife, and fight the King's enemies on land
It is as great an honour to bear the King's commission by land as
by sea. It is a good service, too, when wars are going : though in
times of peace there is too much disbanding by half. But a lad
might do worse. Think of it, Jack !'
' Oh ! Sir,' said Jack, colouring again, ' I would not be a soldier.'
' Then, Jack, Jack, do thy looks belie thee ? What ? Would'st
not surely choose to be a sneakin' snivelling quill-driver in a mer¬
chant's office ?'
'No, Sir; I would rather starve! Sir,' said Jack, his eyes
flashing, ' I would be a sailor, if only before the mast!'
' Why, there !' cried the Admiral, laying his hand on the boy's
head. ' What else could the boy he ? He is salt all through.
Hark ye, my lad : do thy duty and thou shalt be a sailor, as thy
father was before thee. Ay, and shalt stand in good time upon thy
own quarter-deck and carry thy ship into action, as bravely as thy
father, or even good old Benbow himself.'
Thus came Jack to Deptford, being then nine years of age.
Some things there are—I mean not travellers' tales of one-
legged men, and such as have their heads between their shoulders,
and griffins and such monsters; but things which happen among
ourselves and in our midst, which are so strange that the narration
of them must be supported by whatever character of truth, honesty,
and soberness of mind may be possessed by the narrator, and those
who pretend to have been eye-witnesses. As regards the history
which follows it is proper to explain that there is, besides myself,
only one other person who knows all the particulars. Mr. Brinjes,
it is true, knew them; but he has gone away long since, and must
now, I think, certainly be dead. The Admiral, before his death,
was told the truth, which greatly comforted him in his last moments;
and I thought it right to tell all I knew to my father, who was
much moved by the strangeness of the circumstances, and quoted
certain passages from Holy Writ as regards the practice of witch¬
craft and magic. Perhaps the man, Aaron Fletcher, knew some¬
thing of the truth, but in the end he was convicted as a notorious
smuggler, and sentenced to transportation to His Majesty's plan¬
tations, where he died of a calenture, being unable to endure the
excessive and scorching heat of the sun, and his spirit broken by
the overseer's whip. Everybody, it is true, knows how Captain
Easterbrook brought his ship home and what followed. This is a
matter of notoriety. There is not a man, woman, or child but can
tell you the astonishing and wonderful story, the like of which has
never been in the history of the British Navy. They have even
made a ballad of it, very moving, which is sung in the sailors'
mug-houses, not only in Deptford itself, but in Portsmouth,
Woolwich, Sheerness, Chatham, and Plymouth. But to know one
fact is not to know the whole history.
As for me, who design to write the truth concerning this strange
0
18 THE WORLD WENT
history, it is well that you who read it should know that I take
myself to be a person of reputable life and of sober judgment, and
one who has the fear of God in his mind, and would not willingly
give circulation to lying fables. My father, the He v. Luke
Anguish, Artium Magister, formerly of St. John's College^ Cam¬
bridge, of which society he was a Fellow, was the^ first Yicar of
St. Paul's Church, Deptford; the new church, that is, in the upper
part of the town, which was completed in the year 1736. By
calling, I am a painter in oil colours; not, I dare say, a Sir Joshua
Reynolds or a Gainsborough, yet of no mean repute as a painter of
ships. It were unworthy of me to say more than that my pictures
have met with approbation from persons of rank, and that I have
been honoured by the highest patronage, even by members of the
House of Lords, not to speak of the Lord Mayor and Aldermen.
As for the contention of Castilla, that her husband is the finest
painter of ships ever known, that may be the partiality of a jealous
and tender spouse. I am contented to leave the judgment of my
work to those who shall follow after me. I do not paint ships
upon the ocean, because I have never yet gazed upon the ocean, and
know not, except from pictures, how the sea should be painted, or
a ship rolling upon the sea. My subjects are ships in harbour,
ships lying off Deptford Creek, ships in dock, ships in building,
ships in ordinary, ships ashore, ships in the Pool, ships sailing up
and down the river, and especially with the sun in the west
shining on the sails, and painting all the cordage as of gold, just as
happened when Jack brought home his prize; also ships lying in
an autumnal fog, and great barges sunk down to an inch of free¬
board with their cargoes of hay. Nothing finer can be painted, to
my mind, than the picture of such a barge lying on a still and misty
day, with the sun overhead like a plate of copper, the brown sails
half lowered, and the ropes hanging loose.
I suppose that the best place in the world for a boy who is
about to become a sailor, as well as for one who loves to paint ships,
must be Deptford, which seems to many so mean and despicable a
town. Mean and despicable to Jack and to myself it would never
be, because here our boyhood was spent, and here we played with
Castilla; here we first learned to sit by the river-side and watch
the craft go up and down, with those at anchor, and those in dock.
At Deptford, where the water is never rough enough to capsize a
tilt-boat, we are at the very gates of London, we can actually see
the Pool; we are, in a word, on the Thames.
The Thames is not, I believe, the largest river in the world.
The great Oroonoko is broader, and, I dare say, longer ; the Nile is
certainly a greater stream. Yet there is no other river which is so
majestic by reason of its shipping and its trade. For hither come
ships, laden with palm-oil and ivory, from the Guinea Coast; from
Norway and Riga, with wood and tallow; from Holland, with
stuffs and spices and provisions of all kind; from the West Indies
with rum and sugar; from the East Indies, with rice; from China',
VERY WELL THEN 19
with tea and silk; from Arabia, with coffee ; from Newcastle, with
coal. There is no kind of merchandise produced in the world which
is not carried up the Thames to the Port of London. And there is
no kind of ship or boat, built to swim in the sea, except, I suppose,
the Chinese junk, the Morisco galley, or the piratical craft of the
Eastern Seas, which does not lie at anchor in the Thames, some¬
where between Greenwich Eeach and London Bridge. East India-
men, brigs, brigantines, schooners, yachts, sloops, galliots, tenders,
colliers, hoys, barges, smacks, herring-busses, or hog-boats—all are
here. And not only these, which are peaceful ships, only armed
with carronades and muskets for defence against pirates, but also
His Majesty's men-of-war—frigates, sloops-of-war, cutters, fire-
ships, and every kind of vessel employed to beat off the enemies of
the country, who would prey upon our commerce and destroy our
merchantmen. On that very day when Jack came, was there not,
lying off Deptford Creek, the ' Redoubtable,' having received her
stores, provisions, and ammunition, and now waiting her captain
and her crew ?—and I warrant the press-gang were busy at Wapping
and at Ratcliff, Beside her lay the sloop-of-war ' Yenus,' and the
pink ' Lively '; and, off the dock-mouth, was the ' Hector,' lying in
ordinary, a broad canvas tilt or awning rigged up from stem to
stern. So that those who look up and down the river from Deptford
Stairs see not only the outward and visible proofs of England's
trade, but also those of England's greatness. Or, again—which may
be useful to the painter—one may see, not only at Deptford and at
Bedriff, but above the river—at Wapping, Shadwell, and Black wall
—every kind of sailor; they are mostly alike in manners and in
morals, and one hopes that to sailors much is pardoned, and that
from them little is expected ; but they differ in their speech and in
their dress. There is the phlegmatic Hollander, never without his
pipe; the mild Norwegian; the fiery Spaniard, ready with his
dagger; the fierce Italian equally ready with his knife ; the trea¬
cherous Greek; and the Frenchman. But the last we generally
see—since it is our lot to be often at war with his nation—as a
prisoner, when he comes to us half-starved, ragged, and in very
evil plight. Yet, give these poor French prisoners only warmth,
light, and food, and they will turn out to be most light-hearted and
merry blades, always cheerful and ready to talk, sing, and dance,
and always making ingenious things with a knife and a piece of
wood. Perhaps, if we knew this people better, and they knew us
better, we should be less ready to go to war with each other.
Those who live in such a town as Deptford, and continually
witness this procession of ships, cannot choose but be sensible
of the greatness of the country, and must perforce talk con¬
tinually with each other of foreign ports and places beyond the
ocean. Also because, they witness the coming and going of the
Kind's ships (some of them pretty well battered on their return, I
promise you); and because they hear, all day long, and never ending
save 011 Sunday, the sound of hammer and.of saw, the whistling
20
THE WORLD WENT
of the bo's'ns and foremen, the rolling of caslcs, the ringing of
bells, and all the noise which accompanies the building and the
fitting of ships ; and smell perpetually the tar and the pitch (which
some love better than the smell of roses and of violets),they cannot
refrain from talking continually of actions at sea, feats of bravery,
and the like. All the townspeople talk of these things, and of little
else. And, besides, in these years there was the more reason for
this kind of conversation, because we were always at war with
France and Spain; fighting, among other things, to drive the
French out of America, and so to enable the ungrateful colonies to
make us, shortly afterwards, follow the lead of the French. Every
day there came fresh news of actions, skirmishes, captures, wrecks,
burnings. The Channel and the Bay of Biscay swarmed with
French privateers as thick as wasps in an orchard. There was not
a lugger on the coast of Normandy but stole out of a night to pick
up some English craft; every fleet of merchantmen sailed under
convoy, and every sailor looked for death or a French prison unless
he would fight it out unto the end.
The people of London are strangely incurious—many there are
who know nothing about the very - monuments standing in their
midst—and so that they can read every day the news from France
and Spain, they care little about their own country. Therefore
Deptford, which lies at their very gates, is as little known to them
as if it were in Wales. Seme, it is true, come every year on St.
Luke's Bay, to join the rabble at Horn Fair, landing at Rother-
hithe and walking to Charlton with the procession of mad wags
who carry horns on their heads to that scene of debauchery and
riot; and once a year, on Trinity Monday, the Elders of the Trinity
House assemble at the Great Hall behind St. Nicolas', and after
business go to church, and after church dinner at the Gun Tavern
on the Green. And the ships of the Royal Navy come and go at the
Royal Yard almost daily. Some, again, and those fine ladies, come
to J3arnes Alley, where they can buy the run tea, at ten shillings
a pound, of the smugglers who swarm in that evil-smelling street.
Otherwise Deptford hath few visitors. I do not say that it is a
beautiful city, though, as for streets, we have the Green and Church
Street; and as for monuments, until late years there were the
great House and gardens of Saye's Court, now lying desolate and
miserable, partly inclosed in the King's Yard and partly given oyer
to rank weeds and puddles. Here it was that the great Peter, Czar
of Muscovy, once lived. There are also the two churches of St.
Nicolas and St. Paul, both stately buildings, and temples fit for
worship, the latter especially, which is—like its sister churches
built about the same time, of Limehouse, St. George's Ratcliff
Bethnal Green, Hackney, St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, and many
others—majestic with its vast round portico of stone, and its com¬
manding terrace. Then there are the two hospitals or almshouses
both named after the Holy Trinity, for decayed mariners and their
widows. To my own mind these monuments of benevolence
VERY WELL TL1EN
21
which stand so thickly all round London, are fairer than the most
magnificent King's palace of which we can read. Let the Great
Bashaw have as many gilded palaces as he pleases for himself and
his seraglio; let our palaces be those which are worthy of a free
people—namely, homes and places of refuge for the aged and
deserving poor, and those who are quite spent and now past work.
I suppose there are few places richer and more fortunate than
Deptford and its neighbour, Greenwich, in these foundations. At
the latter-place, there is the great and noble Naval Hospital, now
inhabited by nearly two thousand honest veterans—they will never,
be sure, be turned out of this, their stately home, until England
hath lost her pride in her sailors. There is Morden College for
decayed merchants; there is Norfolk, also called Trinity, College,
for the poor of Greenwich, and of Dersingham, in Norfolk; and
there is Queen Elizabeth's Hospital for poor women. So, at Dept¬
ford, we have those two noble foundations, both named after the
Holy Trinity, one behind St. Nicolas', and the other behind St.
Paul's, the latter especially being a goodly structure, with a fair
quadrangular court, a commodious hall, and gardens fitted for quiet
meditation and for rest in the sunshine during the latest trembling
years of life. I do not think that even Morden College itself, with
its canal in front, and its stately alleys of trees ; or Norfolk College,
with its convenient stone terrace overlooking the river, and its
spacious garden, is more beautiful than the Hospital of the Holy
Trinity beside St. Paul's Church, Deptford, especially if one con¬
siders the stormy, anxious, and harassed lives to which it offers
rest and repose. They have been lives spent on the sea; not in
the pursuit of honour won at the cannon's mouth and by boarding-
pike in fighting the King's enemies, but in the gathering of wealth
for others to enjoy, none of their gains coming to themselves. The
merchant captain brings home his cargo safe after perils many and
hardships great; but the cargo is not for him. His owners, or
those who have chartered the ship, receive the freight; it is bought
with their money and sold for their profit. For the captain and
the crew there is their bare wage, and when they can work no
longer, perhaps, if they are fortunate, a room in a hospital or alms¬
house, with the weekly dole of loaves and shillings.
The tract of land (it is not great) lying at the back of Trinity
Almshouses and the Stowage, contained by the last bend of the
Creek before it runs into the river, is rented by two or three market-
gardeners, and laid out by them for the production of fruit and
vegetables.
As these gardens lay retired and behind the houses, no one ever
came to them except the gardeners themselves, who are quiet
peaceful folk. About the orchards here and the beds of asparagus,
peas, endive, skirrett, and the rest of the vegetables grown for the
London market, lies ever an abiding sense of peace; and this,
although one cannot but hear the continual hammering of the
dockyard, the firing of salutes, and the yohoing and roaring of
22 the world went
voices which all day long come up from the ships upon the river. I
know not how we came to know these gardens, or to find them out.
I used to wander in them with Castilla, when we were little
children, with Philadelpliy for nurse ; we took Jack Easterbrook
to show him the place as soon as he came to us; we thought, I
believe—as children love to think of anything—that the gardens
were our own; though, of course, we were only there on sufferance,
and because the gardeners knew we should neither destroy nor steal.
VERY WELL THEN 23
Perhaps the chief reason why we sought the place (because we
had gardens of our own at home) was that, just beyond the last
bend of the Creek, there stood, on the very edge of the steep bank-
here twenty feet above low-water mark—an old summer-house,
built of wood. It was octagonal in shape, having a pointed roof of
shingle, with a gilded weathercock upon it. Three sides contained
windows, all looking upon the river; another side consisted of a
door; and a bench ran round the room, except on the side of the
door. It had once been painted green, but the paint was now for
the most part fallen off; the shingle roof was leaky and let in the
rain ; the weathercock was rusty, and stuck at due east; the planks
of the wall had started ; the door hardly hung upon its hinges ; the
glass of the windows was broken; and the whole structure was so
crazy that I wonder it kept together, and did not either tumble to
pieces or slip down the steep bank into the ooze of the Creek. In
this summer-house the great Czar Peter, when he was learning
how to build ships in Deptford Yard, would, it was said, sometimes
come to sit with his princes or heyducs, on a summer evening, to
drink brandy, to look at the ships, and to meditate how best to
convert his enslaved Muscovites into the likeness of free and
honest English sailors. We had small respect for the memory of
the Czar, but as for the old summer-house it was all our own,
because no one used it except ourselves. For us it was a fortress
or castle, where we could play at being besieged, the ships in the
river representing the enemy's fleet. Jack would sally forth and
perform prodigies of valour in bringing in provisions for the garri¬
son. Or it was our ship, in which we sustained imaginary broad¬
sides, and encountered shipwreck, and were cast away, Jack being
captain and Castilla the passenger, while I was alternately bo's'n,
first lieutenant, or cook, according to the exigencies of the situation.
But very soon Jack grew too big for these games, and left us to
ourselves. Then we fell to more quiet sport. It was pleasant to
watch the ships go up and down the river, and fine to see how the
tide rushed up the Creek below us, making whirlpools and eddies,
and setting upright the boats lying on their sides in the mud, and
trying to tear down the bank on which stood our rickety palace
We seemed to know every craft, from the great East Indiaman to.
the Margate hoys or the Gravesend tilt-boats, by face, so to speak,
just as we knew the faces of the naval officers who walked about
the town. And, thanks to Jack, we knew the history of every ship
of the King's Navy which came to Deptford, and all the engage¬
ments and actions in which she had ever taken part.
Across the Creek, and as far as the woods and slopes of Green¬
wich, there are more gardens, so that at spring-time it was a
beautiful thing to sit in the summer-house and look forth upon a
great forest—it seemed nothing less to our young eyes—covered
with sweet blossoms, and tender green leaves, which formed a
strange and beautiful setting for the ships in the river. I have
painted this picture several times, and always with a new pleasure,
24
THE WORLD WENT
so sweet and charming it is. "When I began first to draw, it was
in this place; but it was when Jack had ceased to play with us,
because he would only have laughed at me. I drew the ships
with trembling pencil, Castilla standing over me the while. The
dear girl could never hold a pencil in her hand ; but she could tell
me if my drawings were like. Now, to draw ships that are like
real ships is the most important thing of all. The time soon came
when I was never without a pencil in my hand and paper to draw
upon. I drew everything, just as some boys will read everything.
I drew the ships and the boats, the Creek and the bridge, the
sailors, the skeletons of half-built ships in the great sheds, and the
girl who stood beside me.
The picture of a lad who draws while a girl stands beside him
—that might stand for the picture of my life. It is a life which
has been, I thank God, free from anxiety, trouble, or calamity.
Once I painted such a picture (having Castilla and myself in my
mind). I drew a youth of eighteen seated before a window, just
such a window as that of the old summer-house. The window
showed a merchantman, or part of a merchantman, slowly making
her way up the river with wind and tide. Her fore-mast and main¬
mast were gone, and in their place two jury-masts rigged with a
stay-sail; her bowsprit was gone, and her figure-head carried away
and lost; her bulwarks were broken down. Yet she was safe, and
her crew and cargo were safe, and the evening sun was upon her,
so that she showed glorious in spite of her battered condition, and
seemed like some poor human soul which, after many troubles,
gets at last into the haven where she may lie at rest for ever. The
boy in my picture was gazing upon his sketch as if comparing it
with the original. Beside him stood a girl of the same age—be
sure that she was a very beautiful girl, gentle and composed, full of
holy thoughts—who looked down upon the lad. Thus it is always.
The man considers his work, and the woman considers the man,
loving his work because she loves the worker, yet not, like the man,
carried away by admiration for the work, as knowing that all man's
work is perishable and transitory, and that the breath of fame is
fleeting. The picture of the girl is the true portrait of Castilla as
she appeared at the age of eighteen, taken from the many drawings
which I made of her at that time, her hair a light brown, falling
in waves artlessly upon her shoulders, and her eyes a clear deep
blue, to present which, upon the canvas, would want a Reynolds or
a Raphael. Alas! if Sir Joshua had painted this picture, then,
indeed, would you have caught in those eyes the light of virtue and
goodness, and you would have seen about that brow a divine halo,
which I have always seen there, but have not the art to represent.
This it was which the ancients meant when they figured their god¬
desses wrapt about with a cloud.
And beside our quiet fives there ran the tumultuous course of a
life whose parallel I know not anywhere.
We did not, it may be supposed, stay always in the old summer-
VERY WELL THEN
25
house. As we grew older, we roamed about the country, Jack
sometimes condescending to lead the way (though he would rather
have spent his whole time in the Yard among the ships). There is
a pleasant country lying south and east of Deptford, You may, for
instance, cross the bridge over the Creek, pass the toll-gate, and so
by Limekiln Lane and London Street, a pleasant road among the
orchards, you will reach the town of Greenwich, with its great
hospital; and, if you please to leave this unvisited, you may turn
to the right, and so up the hill by Brazenface Avenue, and into the
Wilderness. Beyond the Wilderness is Blackheath, a wild and
desolate spot, with never a house upon it, covered with furze-bushes.
Gipsies camp here, and it is said that footpads and highwaymen
lurk among the caves; but we never met any. One can come
home, by way of Watersplash, along the stream, which is here no
longer Deptford Creek, but the Bavensbourne—a pretty brook of
pure water with deep holes under trees, and babbling shallows,
running between high banks, where the primroses, in March and
April, lie in thousands. The holes are full of jack, which we some¬
times caught with float and hook ; and here in spring we went
oird-nesting, and in summer we picked the wild roses, arfd in
autumn gathered nuts, sloes, and blackberries. Farther afield,
there is Woolwich Common; or Eltham, with the ruins of King
John's Palace, the walls of which still stand, and the moat may
still be seen, now dry; and the King's banqueting-hall, which is
used for a barn, stands stately with its Gothic windows. And if
one follows up the windings of the Bavensbourne, there are pre¬
sently the swelling uplands of Penge, with their hanging woods;
and Norwood, West wood Common, Sydenham Wells, and many
other rural places, pleasant for those who love the haunts of sing¬
ing bii'ds and wild flowers and the babble of brooks, and remoteness
from the walks of men.
But for such a boy as Jack, what are all the charms of Nature
compared with the ships, and the docks, and the river ? You can
get orchards everywhere, but not a seaport and a dockyard. You
can find rustics, and you may meditate in woods all over the
country, but you cannot talk everywhere, as you can at Deptford
and Greenwich, with sailors, old and young, of the merchant
service and the King's Navy. The sailors are rough of speech and
rude of manners ; they live in mean houses; but in every house
there is something strange and wonderful brought from foreign
parts. The very landsmen and those who work at mechanical
trades are half sailors, though they do not wear the sailors' petti¬
coats ; for they are shipwrights, boat-builders, fitters of state-cabins,
carvers who decorate figure-heads and ships' sterns, or are em¬
ployed in the Victualling Yard or in the carpenters' shop, or they
are ships'-painters, rope-makers, or are employed to scrape clean
and caulk ships' bottoms ; so that the whole town makes its living
by the sea. No one speaks or thinks of anything but the sea and
the things which are concerned with the sea. What, for instance,
26
THE WORLD WENT
did the people of Deptford know about the conduct of the Allies
and the King's land forces during the late war ? Yet they knew1
of every naval action that was fought, and the name of every ship
engaged ; and there were men of Deptford, both pressed and volun¬
teers, with every fleet and squadron. The streets were always full
of sailors; the officers of the ships in commission and fitting-out
were always passing in and out of the Dockyard gates ; and in sunny
weather the benches by the stairs, at the Upper and Lower Water
Gates, were crowded with the old fellows watching the craft go up
and down, and listening to the ribald jests of the watermen, and
ready to talk all day long with a certain lad of bright eyes and
brave face, who was never tired of listening to them.
What with the old men of Trinity and the pensioners of Green¬
wich, the boy heard stories enough of the sea and the ships and those
who sail therein. Some of the men were so old that they could
remember Admiral Benbow and his cowardly captains. There
was not a single action fought in the first half of this century but
was represented among the Greenwich pensioners, some of whom
were in it, and had lost an arm, a leg, an eye, or anything else that
can be shot away and leave the trunk still living. I can still see
Jack standing before some old veteran, with a hook for a hand, his
eye kindling, his cheek aflame, his fists clenched, his lips parted,
because in imagination he saw the deck knee-deep in blood, the
boarders leaping upon the enemy like tigers upon their prey, the
ship capsized or sinking, the French flag struck, and because he
heard the roaring of the great guns, the rattle of the muskets, the
clash of cutlasses, and the groans of the wounded.
There are many other things at sea besides fighting, chasing,
and boarding. J ack learned the daily life, for example, from these old
fellows, with the duties and the discipline. He heard about foreign
ports and strange lands: certainly, one would never be tired of
visiting wild and unknown countries, where there fnay remain yet
to be discovered strange races of men, with fruits and flowers as yet
unseen and undreamed. But there are also, alas! storms and
hurricanes, wrecks in mid-ocean, with, as the almsmen could tell
us, boats laden to the gunwale with sailors who have escaped the
sinking ship only to be tossed helpless on the sea with never a drop
of water to drink or a mouthful of biscuit to eat. Or there are
those who are cast away upon some desolate rock or unknown
island, where they live on sea-birds, fish, mussels, and the like, till
they die or are taken off. And some are thrown upon cold and
inhospitable coasts, such as that of Labrador, where the cruel cold
causes their hands and feet, their noses and ears, to fall off—there
was one poor wretch in the hospital thus mutilated—and where the
North American Indians (the most savage and the most ruthless
race in the world) take them prisoners, and torture them before
slow fires. Or there are treacherous pirates, who steal aboard,
murder the crew, and pillage the ship. Or there are Moors, who
make slaves of honest English sailors, and constrain them to row
in their galleys bare-backed, with the master or bo's'rn walking
VERY WELL THEN
27
above them on a kind of bridge, armed with a whip to scourge the
bare backs of those who seem to shirk their work. Or there are
French prisons, where the captives are starved on thin soup and
bread for all their diet. Or there is the accursed Inquisition, into
whose clutches many sailors have been known to fall, and, for their
endurance in the Protestant faith, have suffered the torture of the
rack, and even martyrdom at the stake. And, again, there are
such perils as falling overboard, fire at sea, scurvy, yellow jack, and
mutiny. And there is the evil—intolerable it would be to landsmen
—of the Captain's tyranny, or, which often happens, the malice,
envy, or jealousy of a First Lieutenant, with endless floggings and
rope's-ending all day long, And, again, there is the danger that,
after showing the greatest zeal, bravery, and activity in service, a
man may be passed over by the favouritism which prevails in high
quarters and the want of friends to help him. Is it not a dreadful
and a shameful thing that there should be men grown old as lieu¬
tenants—nay, even as midshipmen—who have fought in a hundred
battles and spent their lives upon salt water, only to feel a new
mortification every voyage in serving under men young enough to
be their own sons ?
As for myself, the talk of these old men filled me with a kind of
contempt for the seaman's lot. One cannot choose but admire the
intrepidity, worthy of a stoical philosopher, with which these men
face, every day, possible death ; yea, and exhibit the most wonder¬
ful constancy under pain, and the strangest insensibility to danger.
This, I say, commands our admiration. Yet the lot of the meanest
landsman seems to me easier than that of a sailor, and I would
rather be a hedger and a ditcher upon a farm than even a commis¬
sioned officer aboard the finest ship that ever floated. But we
landsmen know not the strength of that longing for the sea which
possesses some lads, and drags them as by chains or ropes to the
nearest port (thus was Jack drawn irresistibly by the hand of fate)
and so aboard—and once on the ship's books there is no other way
possible—and the lad becomes for life a sailor, to spend his days
rolling about on a wet and slippery deck, yet happier than if he
were ashore—like unto those rovers of old, the north-country men,
who could stay long in no place, but roved from port to port,
landing here and there, and devouring the substance of the people,
even to the southern coasts of Italy and the islands of Greece.
CHAPTER III.
how jack learned of the penman.
Here were materials enough to fire the imagination and awaken
the ardour of a boy about to become a sailor. But these were not
all. For at home—the Admiral's house having become this
orphan's home—there was talk all day long of fighting and foreign
28
THE WORLD WENT
seas and things nautical. Jack's patron or guardian had been
engaged in many of the actions fought during the eleven years'
war between the years 1702 and 1713. He was on board the
4 Resolution,' which carried Lord Peterborough when she was
intercepted by a French squadron, and was forced to run ashore
in order to save her from falling into the hands of the enemy.
He was in the West Indies, and was the British Captain who
planted our flag on Tobago. He was on Sir George Byng's
ship, the 4 Royal Anne,' in Sir Cloudesley Shovel's fleet, when that
hero perished off the Scilly Isles; he was a Lieutenant on
board the 4 Assurance' in that gallant action with the French
Commander Du Guai Trouin, of the 4 Achille.' In this battle he
lost his arm ; his leg he lost in the capture of a Moorish corsair
during the reduction of Morocco, in the year 1734. After this he
retired, receiving the rank of Rear-Admiral, and settled at Deptford,
then about forty-two years of age. He presently discovered that it
is not good for man to live alone, and therefore took a wife, who in
due time bore him a child, Castilla. His daughter, who, if any¬
body, ought to know, says that her father possessed in an eminent
degree, and daily in his lifetime exhibited most, if not all of, the
virtues which should adorn the Christian who is also an officer of
high rank in His Majesty's Navy. The Christian virtues, it is
sure, vary according to a man's station in life. We do not expect
certain things from Princes which are indispensable to those of
lowly and humble lot; from an Admiral of the Fleet we do not
look for meekness, patience, humility or resignation; a choleric
disposition is allowed to him ; the habit of applying sacred names
to things profane is excused in him; and if he who has commanded
a man-of-war is not to have his own way in everything, who should ?
As for obedience to the Commandments, it may be shown that the
Admiral followed them all. Thus, for honouring his parents, he
did more—he was proud of them, because they came of a good
stock—and honoured himself on their account; he killed nobody
save in battle, though he drubbed and belaboured his servants
every day; he robbed nobody, except in an honourable way—as in
taking a prize; he was envious of nothing but the Frenchman's
6hips; he freely forgave everybody, even those who transgressed
his orders on board ship and sinned against his patience, as soon as
die had soundly flogged them. To bear malice when a man had
paid for his fault with three dozen was not in the Admiral's nature.
And that he was of a truly good heart and a benevolent disposition
was clearly shown by his treatment of Jack Easterbrook.
There were also many others, formerly of the naval service,
who were contented to spend the evening of their days in this
town of Deptford, which is not on the sea, yet lives by the sea.
Among them was that famous traveller, George Shelvocke the
younger, who accompanied his father in the circumnavigation of
the globe in the year 1720, and was never tired of relating the
perils, sufferings, and adventures of that voyage, and the wonders
VERY WELL THEN
29
of the South Seas: an account of the voyage hath been published
for the curious. There were also Captain Mayne, who commanded
the 'Worcester' in Admiral Vernon's expedition; Captain Pethe-
rick, Besident Commissioner of the Yard, who had a goodly
collection of books of voyages, which he suffered Jack to borrow
and to read; Mr. Peter Mostyn, formerly Cocket-writer in His
Majesty's Custom House, and an ingenious, well-informed gentle¬
man ; Lieutenant Hepworth, late of General Powlett's Marines;
and Mr. Underhill, retired purser of the King's Navy.
To be a purser is to hold a thankless office: it is he who is
blamed for every barrel of damaged pork and for every box of
weevily biscuit; he can please none ; wherefore it is best for him
not to try. As for the pleasures of a purser's life, I know not what
they are. He must face the dangers of the deep with the rest; he
must endure tempest and shipwreck; cannon-ball and grape-shot
spare the purser no more than the first lieutenant, if he be on deck;
and when the ship is cast away the purser drowns with the captain.
Yet for all these perils he gets neither promotion nor honour.
Would any man boast of having been purser, and therefore kept be¬
low in the cockpit with the surgeons and the wounded men during
the most gallant action ever fought ? Yet there is one consolation
for the purser. He can, and does continually, by his accounts, his
purchases, his bribes, and percentages, suck so much profit out of
every voyage that he is presently able to leave the service and pur¬
chase a cottage, where, with a patch of garden to cultivate, perhaps
a wife and children to cheer him, a few companions, a pipe of
tobacco, and a glass of punch, he may forget the darkness of
the orlop deck, the stink of his store-rooms, the great tallow candls
in the glass lantern, by the light of which he had to keep hie
accounts and inspect his stores; the rolling of the ship, the thunder
of the cannon in a battle, the cries of the wounded, the crash and
wreck of the great ship on a rock, or the alarm of fire; yea, and
even the daily purgatory caused by the tricks of the midshipmen
and the gibes of the gun-room.
These gentlemen met nearly every night at the ' Sir John Fal-
staff,' by the Upper Water Gate, for punch and conversation; they
also came often to the Admiral's house, and were, one and all, kind
to the lad who was thus brought among them, and freely talked
with him ; so that, being of an inquiring mind, and thus running
about in the dockyard, and talking with old officers, common
sailors and pensioners, and with the help of the apothecary, who
from the first loved the boy, I think there was no part of the world,
as there was no action of recent times, with which Jack was not as
well acquainted as if he had been there. At the beginning he was
placed under my father, who made him begin the study of the
Latin language, which he could not stomach, and would never
willingly look into any books, except those which are concerned
with the sea, such as Captain Park's ' Defensive Wars by Sea,' a
very instructive work; ' The Practical Sea-Gunner's Companion,'
30
TIIE WORLD WENT
'Gordon's Geography,' and even the 'Rigging Tables,' over which
he would pore contentedly for hours. He was also fond of reading
voyages, and especially those volumes of Harris's and Purchas's
collections—the first of the former, and the first and fourth of the
latter—which are concerned with the South Seas, towards which
his imagination was greatly drawn by his conversation _with Mr.
Brinjes and Mr. Shelvocke. That he was always fighting other
boys, especially the rough river-side lads, and was seldom without
some external sign of combat, such as a black eye, cut lip, and
swollen nose, certainly did not lessen him in his patron's regard,
because, when all is told, the most valuable quality in a sailor is
the love of fighting.
So strong and courageous was he, so ready to fight, and so un¬
commonly backward in owning himself beaten, that none of his
age and stature dared to contend with him—save at stone-throwing
and at a distance—except one, of whom mention is here made; not
because a boy's fights are matters of serious history, but because
the fighting between these two, thus begun, was continued after
both became men, and with consequences most important. This
boy was the son of a boat-builder in the town; his name was Aaron
Fletcher. In strength, age, and stature nearly the same as Jack;
in bravery and spirit, equal to him. Yet, whenever they fought—
which was often—Aaron was defeated, because he lacked the dex¬
terity and quickness of eye which beat down mere strength, and
render courage useless. Yet Aaron would not own to inferiority;
and, whenever the boys met, they began to snarl at each other like
a pair of terriers, and the first stone was thrown, the first taunt
uttered, the first blow delivered, and then, at it again, like French
and English.
Further, that he neglected his Latin, went to sleep in church,
put powder in the negroes' tobacco, tied ropes across the road to
throw down belated wayfarers, and played a thousand pranks daily
may be admitted. These things only cost him a flogging when he
was found out, and endeared him more and more to his guardian.
When Jack was eleven years of age, the Admiral, regardless
of my father's protestations of the perils encountered by those who
are ignorant of the classics, placed him wholly in the charge of Mr.
Westmoreland, who, although only a penman by trade, had acquired
so great a proficiency in arithmetic, the rudiments of navigation,
the taking of observations, and the working of logarithms, that he
had no equal in the town, and was perfectly able to instruct a
young gentleman before he went on board. In all these branches
the boy showed and displayed an uncommon zeal and quickness.
But, I verily believe, if he had thought that the study of Hebrew
or Chaldean would have helped him forward in his profession, he
would have entreated my father to teach him.
Mr. Westmoreland, his master, was a mild and gentle creature,
who loved nothing but the study of mathematics and the art of fine
writing, so that, though he wrote letters for any who came to
VERY WELL THEN 31
him, and copied deeds for the attorney, and wrote out his sermon
large and fair for the Vicar of St. Paul's, he always turned from
these labours with joy to his books and his calculations. He was,
in appearance, short and bent, with rounded shoulders, and with a
hump (which made the boys call him My Lord). His voice was
high and squeaky; he wore round horn spectacles ; when these
were off you perceived that his eyes were soft and affectionate;
his forehead was high and square, and he wore a plain scratch wig.
He was a patient teacher, and bore an excellent character for up¬
rightness and piety, though he was despised by the rougher sort
Decause, although he was now no more than forty, or thereabouts,
he could not fight, or even defend himself.
He lived next door to the apothecary, in that row of houses on
the north side of the Trinity Almshouses where reside the better
sort of tradesmen, such as the sexton of St. Nicolas; Mr. Skip worth,
the principal barber and wigmaker, who shaved all the gentry in
the place, and kept four assistants continually employed in dress¬
ing and flouring their wigs for them ; the master measurer's
assistant, and the master shipwright's assistant. But these honest
folk did not call Mr. Brinjes their equal. He, for his part, took his
pipe nightly at the ' Sir John Falstaff' with the gentlemen, while
they used the ' Plume of Feathers.'
Under Mr. Westmoreland's instruction, Jack learned all that
the ingenious penman had to teach him, except his fine hand¬
writing and the beautiful flourishes with which a dexterous pen can
adorn a page ; and by the time he was twelve years of age he
understood the use of the compass, the sextant, the ship's charts,
all the various parts of a ship and her rigging, and a great deal of
geography and naval history.
As for the parts of a ship, he learned them chiefly in the Yard,
where he would wander among the sheds and watch the building
of the ships, the repair of those in the dry dock, and the fitting out
of those in the wet dock, the bending of the great beams by steam,
which is made to play upon them until they become soft, the
making of rope, the cutting and shaping of pulleys and blocks, the
forging of anchors, and every part of the business belonging to the
construction of ships. Then, again, he learned the names and pur¬
poses of all the ropes, running and standing gear, sails, flags, signals,
sailing rules, and rules for action, and his natural curiosity made
him inquire into, and acquaint himself with, the way in which
everything is made, and may be repaired or replaced. He learned
all these things from natural eagerness and interest in everything
concerning a ship; but in the end this knowledge stood him in
good stead, because there is no detail in the conduct and construc¬
tion of a ship which ought to be below the notice of the officers, a
fact which many commanders forget, leaving the navigation of the
ship to the master, her seaworthiness to the carpenter, and the
health of the crew to the purser. Surely if, as hath been advanced
by some, every boy is born with a clear vocation for some trade or
12
THE WORLD WENT
profession, just as Paul, though an Apostle, was also a tent-maker,
and Luke, at first a physician, and Peter a fisherman (afterwards
of men) ; then, most certainly, Jack, by right divine and special
calling of Providence, was a sailor.
While he sat every morning at work with his mild instructor,
Mr. Westmoreland, there was always present a little girl, three
years younger than himself, a child with black hair, rosy cheeks,
and big black eyes. When it was winter weather this child sat in
a little chair beside the fire ; when it was warm and sunny, she sat
in the open doorway. She was a grave child, who seldom played
with other children; she had no dolls or toys; she took great
pleasure in household things, and from a very early age was her
father's housekeeper ; when she grew older she became his ruler as
well, ordering things as seemed to her best. And though her father
was so fond of books and learning, this girl would never so much
as learn to read. One does not, to be sure, expect girls in her
station to acquire the arts of reading and writing, if only because
they have no books, and never have occasion to write. These arts
would be as useless to them as the knowledge of riding or dancing
the minuet. But it was strange that Bess should be so different in
disposition as well as in appearance to her father; and stranger
still, that so rickety a man should be the father of so strong and
stout a girl. As for her mother, no one knew whither she had gone,
or what had become of her; it was said by those who remembered
her that she was as comely as her daughter, but a termagant and
a shrew in temper, who led her mild husband a terrible life, even
sometimes taking the broomstick to him, and beating him over the
head with it, poor man !—or laying about her with the frying-pan,
as ungoverned women use towards those husbands who, like Mr.
Westmoreland, are afraid, or too weak of arm, to keep them in sub¬
mission by the same methods. She left her husband (he bore the
loss with Christian submission) a year or two after marriage, and
was reported to have been afterwards seen at Banelagh, among the
ladies and gentlemen there, dressed in a hoop, all in silk and satin,
patches, and paint, and fan in hand—very fine, and carrying a
domino, just for all the world as if a penman's wife could become
a gentlewoman.
From the very first, a singular friendship existed between Jack
and this girl. He brought her apples, comfits, and cakes, which
Pliiladelphy, Castilla's black nurse, made for him ; he played with
her, and made her kmgh ; then he teased her, and made her cry ;
then he coaxed her into good temper again. She was a child who
fell into the most violent 6torms of passion, which none but Jack
could subdue ; he took a pleasure both in exciting her wrath and
appeasing it. On the other hand, he never tried to enrage or to
tease Castilla—perhaps because she was possessed of such extra¬
ordinary calmness and sweetness that it was impossible to provoke
her, and it was waste of time, even for a boy who loves teasing to
practise upon one who regards it not. Bess, for her part, was°one
VERY WELL THEN 33
of those who would rather he teased into anger than neglected. It
was pretty to see how she would sit when he was at his lessons
with her father, watching him silently, and how she would follow
him, when he suffered her, submissive and obedient; though there
was nobody else in the world, not even her father, to whom this
wilful girl would submit. There are some men to whom women
willingly and joyfully submit themselves, and become their slaves
with a kind of pride ; but there are others to whom no woman will
submit. Of the latter kind was Mr. Westmoreland, Bess's father,
who was born to be ruled by his wife. Of the former, Jack was one;
when he was only a boy, the sailors' wives and daughters in the
street would call after him for a pretty lad, and bid him come and
be kissed ; and when he was a man grown, the maids would look
at him as he passed along the street, and would follow him with
longing eyes. But if a woman becomes the slave of a man, she
will have him to be her slave in return ; for where there is great
love there is also great jealousy ; and also where there is great love
there is also the possibility of great wrath and great revenge—as
you will presently discover.
In one word, long before he went on board as a volunteer,
young Jack Easterbrook was eager to feel the deck rolling under
his feet, and to hear the first shot of his first action; he was also
well advanced in all the knowledge of ropes and rigging that the
gunner has to teach the youngsters aboard. It is further to be
noted that at this early age, and before he went to sea, the boy had
already acquired the settled conviction that all things which the
round world contains, and the kindly earth produces, belong especi¬
ally to the sailor by right divine, and were intended by Providence
for his solace when ashore; that to provide for him, and for his
comfort, landsmen toil perpetually; that while he is fighting our
battles for us, we are gratefully devising, contriving, making, com¬
pounding, and inventing all kinds of things for his enjoyment when
he comes back to us; such, for instance, as strong wine and old
rum, music and fiddles, songs and dances, tobacco and snug
taverns ; he is to have the best of all; for him the most beautiful
women reserve their favours, and desire to win his affections before
those of any landsman whatever. Young and old, man, woman,
boy, and girl, we all loved the boy. There was not in Deptford or
in Greenwich a more gallant lad, one more brave and resolute, nor
one more handsome. For all his fortune he had but his resolution
and his sword. And he went forth to conquer the world with so
brave a heart and a carriage so sprightly that the men laughed only
for the pleasure of looking upon him, and "the women cried. I am
sure that the true soldier of fortune hath always made the women
cry.
At the age of eleven, also, the Admiral, by permission of the
Captain, was enabled to place the name of the boy on the_books
of the ' Lenox ' as a volunteer, although he did not send him yet
to sea, considerately holding that this age is too tender for the
34 THE WORLD WENT
rough usage of boys aboard ship, though many boys are sent away
so early. But, by entering him on the ship's company he secured
that his rating as midshipman should begin at thirteen and his
commission as lieutenant be obtained at nineteen. So
although the boy was still working with Mr. "Westmoreland, he
was supposed to be cruising with Captain Holmes aboard the
' Lenox.'
CHAPTER IV.
how jack first went to sea.
In the autumn of the year 1747—the last but one of the war then
raging—the Admiral judged that the time was now arrived when
the boy should join his ship. 'For,' he said,' the lad is already nearly
thirteen, and tall for his age ; and he knows more than most young¬
sters have learned after twelve months at sea. He grows masterful,
too, and will be all the better for the rope's-end which the gunner
hath in store for him, and for the mast-head, where he will spend
many pleasant horns. And as for the Captain—Dick Holmes is
not one who will skulk, or suffer his crew to skulk. "What better
can happen for a boy than to sail with a fighting Captain ? '
' 'Tis a brave lad, Admiral,' said my father—'twas at the club
or nightly assemblage at the 'Sir John Falstaff.' 'By such stuff
as this let us pray that England's fleets will always be manned.
They have never heard of Selden's " Mare clausum," and know not
his argument, which is, to my mind, conclusive. Nevertheless,
they go forth to support those arguments by a kind of blind instinct,
which I take to be in itself a clear proof of his sound reasoning.'
' I have never met any Mary Clausum,' said the Admiral,' to my
knowledge. Polly Collins, there was in my time, at Point—a black-
eyed jade. But Jack is, as yet, full young to think of any Polly of
them all.'
' Nay, 'tis the title of a learned work. I meant only that if
England is to be Queen of the seas, which France and Spain still
dispute with us, and are likely to dispute for a long while, it is
well that we have such boys, and plenty of them. There can never
be too many Britons born in the world.'
' True, Doctor; especially if we go on expending them in this
fashion.'
' We send forth this tender child, Sir,' continued the Vicar of
St. Paul's, ' to a hard and rough life. He maybe wrecked; he may
be killed in action ; he. may lose his limbs ; there are a thousand
perils in ■lis way. Yet we do not pity him, because, if his life must
needs be short, it will be honourable. And he is in the hands of
Providence.'
' That is true, Doctor. Though as to danger, hang me if I think
he is. worse off aboard ship than he woulcl be ashore, what with
VERY WELL THEN 35
sharks and lawyers, rogues and murderers, robbers and cheats, to
say nothing of the women. And on board ship they cannot get at
a man. And as for hardships—why, every youngster looks forward
to being an Admiral at least, and to lead his squadron into a vic¬
torious engagement—and sometimes he does it, too.'
' As for me, Admiral,' said Mr. Brinjes, ' I shall bid good-bye
to the lad with a vast deal of pleasure. He will go never a day
too soon. Keep a lad too long and he gets stale. As for dangers,
I think you are right. But there are dangers afloat which the
landsman does not know, and more dangers than the enemy's shot
or a gale of wind. A boy may have a bully for first lieutenant, or a
tyrant for captain.' Here his only eye flashed fire, from which
one may conjecture that he had himself experienced this accident,
and still cherished the memory; ' or a skinflint and a cheese-
scraper for a purser.'
' Nay, nay,' said Mr. Underhill, ' the purser is for ever in fault.'
' Or a lickspittle for a Master; there are rogues and scoundrels
afloat as well as ashore. Mark you, if it is bad for the midshipmen,
'tis worse for the crew; in such ships are floggings daily, and mu¬
tinous words whispered 'tween deck, with rope's-ending and con¬
tinual flogging, no matter how smart a man may be ; and yet they
wonder why men rise sometimes and murder their officers and
carry off the ship under the black flag. Pirates ? Why, even if
they knew that the gibbet was already built whereon they were to
hang in chains till they dropped to pieces, do you think they would
not have their revenge, and then a free and a merry life, if only for a
short year or two before they die?' and with that Mr. Brinjes
looked about him so fiercely that for a while no one spoke.
' These words are better said ashore than afloat,' said the
Admiral presently. ' I've tied up a man and given him six dozen—
ay, or hanged him for mutiny, for less than that, Mr. Brinjes.'
' Very like, very like,' returned Mr. Brinjes, recovering his good
temper. ' I will remember it, Admiral, if ever I ship with you.
As for the boy now—this boy of ours—he will do well, and will
turn out a credit to us all, Admiral. I have never known a more
resolute lad or one better fitted for the work before him. I have
taught him, for my own part, how the land lays as regards the
wickedness of men, both ashore and afloat. He is prepared for a
good deal; and so far, I think, never was a lad sent abroad better
prepared. He knows as much, Doctor, not to speak boastfully, as
a Roman Catholic confessor. Now, when a boy is fully acquainted
with devilry, he need fear no devils, male or female.'
The ship on whose books he was borne—namely, the ' Lenoxx-
Captain Richard Holmes—was now refitting at Sheerness, being
under orders to join the West Indian squadron of seven ships under
Rear-Admiral Knowles, at Port Royal, Jamaica. A beautiful ship
she was, nearly new, a third-rate, of seventy guns, though at this
time she carried no more than fifty-six, and a complement of six
36
THE WORLD WENT
hundred "men. You shall hear, presently, with what singular good
fortune the boy began his course. This good fortune continued
with him unbroken until the event which I have to relate, so that,
in thinking of Jack, I am reminded of that Lydian King who wag
told by the philosopher to count no man happy until the end.
Always, in every ship, he gained the good opinion of the superior
officers; always the actions in which he fought were victorious ;
promotion and distinction, prize-money, and escape from shot and
cutlass wound—what more could a sailor desire ? To be sure,
there was one voyage which proved disastrous. Even here he
escaped drowning when so many perished. Besides, this was in
time of peace.
It is generally believed that boys are shipped off to sea because
they are too loutish and stupid for the arts by which landsmen rise.
But we do not hear that such lads rise to distinction by reason of
loutishness. This is not the way with those who live in a dockyard
town. There the flower of the youth flock to the service, and there
is no lack of volunteers, even for ordinary seamen, in time of war.
There are skulkers, it is true ; but they are more common at
Wapping than at Deptford. As for officers, happy that boy who
wears the King's uniform ; envied is he among his companions.
You may judge he wants but little admonition to encourage him
in zeal.
' Boy,' said the Admiral, catechising the lad before he joined
his ship, ' what is thy first duty ? '
' Kespect for superiors, Sir,' said Jack.
' Bight; and the next ? No argument on board. And when
fighting begins don't gape about the ship to duck for any cannon-
shot that flies over head; but stand steady at quarters, eyes open,
and hands ready. What ? Many a chance comes of showing your
mettle when least expected, as when a boarding attack is repelled,
or the word is given to leap on board and at 'em. Be ever ready,
yet not too forward, lest it seem a reflection upon thy betters.
Wait till thy time comes ; when it does come—but, by the Lord,
Jack, I have no fear of thee !'
Other directions the Admiral gave the boy, which may be here
omitted, the more particularly as they referred to the conduct
which a boy should observe in port and on shore; and the Admiral's
warnings were plain and clear, and such as may be read in the
Book of Proverbs. My father also admonished the boy, particularly
on the wickedness of profane swearing. Of this he was likely to
hear only too much, and, indeed, his captain was reported to be
one who enforced his orders with a great deal of hard swearing.
My father also addressed a few words to this young sailor on the
evils of immoderate drinking, too common on land, though restricted
by wholesome discipline at sea. And he instructed the boy how he
should govern himself, keep his temper in control, guard his tongue,
fight his shipmates no more than was necessary for self-respect
and honour; and how, when the time should come when he himself
VERY WELL TLLEN 37
was to be put in authority, he should be merciful in punishment,
and err on the side of leniency, remembering that though a man's
back must sulfer for his sins, he should not be torn to pieces and
cruelly lacerated—as is the practice on board some ships—save for
the most_ heinous offences against order, morality, and discipline.
' The ancient Eomans,' added my father, ' could, if they chose, flog
a slave to death. Yet it was counted infamous to use this power.
The captain of a King's ship has this power also, seeing that he
may, if he so please, order a man as many as five hundred lashes—
a truly dreadful punishment, under which the strongest man may
succumb. Reserve this power when thou hast it, Jack. Three
dozen, or even one, in the case of young sailors, may be as efficacious
as sis dozen: a wholesome discipline is better served by modera¬
tion than by cruelty.'
I know not how far my father's admonitions produced good
fruit. In after time Jack was ready enough to rap out a profane
word; on the other hand, he was beloved by the men on accoimt
of his punishments, which were as certain after offence as the
stroke of the ship's bell, but never cruel. It were to be wished
some captains on land as well as at sea would remember that three
dozen may be sometimes as good as six dozen! It was but yester¬
day that a poor fellow, a Grenadier, under sentence to be shot for
desertion, had his punishment commuted, as they call it, to five
hundred lashes. He appealed, and the previous sentence was con¬
firmed ; therefore he went boldly to his death, thinking it better to
be shot than to be tortured by the lash until he died.
Then we all engaged upon Jack's sea-chest; and I suppose no
bride ever contemplated her new furniture and house-linen with
more pride and satisfaction than Jack bestowed upon his chest. It
was strong and stoutly made, with a till and two trays. It con¬
tained his uniform coat, his watch coat, a glazed hat for night
watch in bad weather, two hats each with a gold loop and a cockade,
his stockings, shirts (they were of the finest kind, fit for a young
gentleman, with lace ruffles), his boots, handkerchief, crimson sash,
and his hanger. Besides these things there were his log-books,
ruled and prepared for him by Mr. Westmoreland; pens cut for
him by the same hand; a quadrant, with a day and a night glass;
the ' Elements of Navigation,' the ' Sailor's Vade-Mecum,' the
' Sea Gunner's Companion,' and a book on the ' Method of Com¬
puting Observations,' so that he was amply provided with his
favourite reading. To these were added, by my father, a copy of
the Holy Bible, with the Book of Common Prayer. These things,
with a pocket compass and a tin pannikin or two, a book of songs,
and a few other trifles, made up Jack's outfit.
When all was ready and the time of departure was come, the
Admiral put into his hand a purse full of guineas, and told him
that until such time as he should be raied midshipman, an allowance
of thirty guineas a year should be given to him. This is a liberal
addition to a boy's pay, and I doubt whether any other youngster
THE WORLD WENT
on board the ' Lenox ' possessed so splendid an addition to his two
pounds a month.
On the morning of his departure our young hero appeared
dressed for the first time in his blue uniform coat, with the gold
loop in his hat, and his hanger at his side, trying to look as if he
had worn it for years, and was unconcerned about his personal
appearance. He was going down to Sheerness in a tilt-boat,
accompanied by two of the Admiral's negroes, to get his sea-chest
aboard, and provided with a letter for the captain. We all went
down to the Stairs with him—the Admiral, my father, Castilla and
myself, with Philadelphy. We found, also waiting on the Stairs,
Mr. Westmoreland and Bess, Mr. Brinjes, and the boy Aaron
Fletcher.
' Farewell, Master Jack,' said Mr. Westmoreland, in his cracked
and squeaky voice, ' farewell; I shall never have so good a pupil
again. Forget not the rules for the right placing of the decimal
point, and do not neglect practice in the Tables of Logarithms.'
' Good-bye,' said Jack, shaking his hand. ' I will remember.
Good-bye, Bess.' He laid his arm round the girl's neck—she was
now ten years of age, and as tall as Castilla, though a year younger
— and kissed her on both cheeks. ' Good-bye, my girl—give me
another.' He kissed her again. Bess said nothing ; but the tears
rolled down her cheeks, and her father drew her away to make room
for his betters.
Then Jack saw Aaron, and he laughed aloud.
' Ho! ho! Aaron Fletcher. There isn't time for a fight this
morning, Aaron,' he said; ' give us your hand.'
Aaron took the proffered hand, but doubtfully.
' I thought I'd come to see the start, Master Jack,' he said; ' and
I wanted to say '
'Well?' asked Jack; for the lad hesitated.
' To say when you come back—if it's next year or next ten
years—I'll fight you again, for all your gold loop.'
' So you shall, Aaron—so you shall,' said Jack, with another
laugh. ' That's a bargain.'
And so, with a kiss to Castilla, and a shake of the hand to me,
and after receiving the blessing of the Admiral, who needed not to
spoil its solemnity by a profane oath, he leaped into the boat, took
the strings, and ordered the men to give way. But he looked back
once, and waved his hand, crying out, ' Good-bye, Bess.' So his
last thought was of the Penman's girl.
' When he comes home, Aaron,' said Bess, wiping away her
tears, ' Jack shall beat you into a jelly.'
' I'll break every bone in hip body for him,' said Aaron. ' Oh !
I wish he would come back to-morrow. And you may be there to
see, if you like.'
' I shall tell him the first thing when he comes back. What ?
You dare ask him to fight ? You ? I wonder, for my part, that a
Midshipman should dirty his fist upon your face.'
VERY WELL THEN 39
The Admiral looked after the receding boat, his red face full of
affection and emotion. Beside him stood mv father, in wig and
cassock, as becomes a Doctor of Divinity. Mr. Brinjes, in his
brown morning coat and scratch wig, looked a strange companion
to them. But the watermen on the Stairs stood aside even more
respectfully for him than for the Admiral. He might, indeed,
knock them over the head with his gold-headed stick, but he could
not, like Mr. Brinjes, scatter rheumatic pains and toothache among
them.
And here a singular thing happened. There is no man more
free from superstitious terrors, I think, than myself. Yet I cannot
but remember that while Castilla cried, and I myself should have
liked nothing better than to cry, but for the unmanliness of the
thing, the old witch-woman—she was nothing less—this Mandingo
prophetess, whose powers were as real as those believed to belong
to Mr. Brinjes—began to shiver and to shake and her teeth to
chatter. To be sure, it was a morning in December, but mild for
the time of year, and the sun shining. No doubt some cold breath
struck her face and made her shiver. But, to Philadelphy, every¬
thing unexpected was full of prophetic warning, could she read it
aright.
' "What does it mean ? ' she murmured. ' What in the world
can it mean? I dun know what this shiver means: Mas'r Jack
come home again, I think, and. play mischief with some of us.
There's trouble sure, for somebody—trouble and crying. Dun you
be afraid, Miss Castd, ole Philadelphy know plenty words to keep
off the Devil.'
She meant that she had plenty of incantations or charms by
which to avert and ward off evil. I am sure there was never a
witch-woman or Obeah man on the African coast or in Jamaica
had more spells and secrets of magic and unholy craft than this
old negress.
CHAPTER V.
midshipman jack.
Thus was Jack fairly launched and started upon his profession.
As regards a boy's first days at sea, they are reported by all to bo
the most miserable in his whole life. For the Quarters of the
youngsters, volunteers and midshipmen, on a ship of the line, are
beneath the lower gun-deck on what they call the cock-pit or the
orlop. This is a dark and gloomy place, below the level of the
water; no daylight can ever come to it, and there can be little
access of pure air. Here the purser has his stores, the surgeon
keeps his drugs, the bo's'nand carpenter their ropes and spare gear,
so that the place smells continually of tallow, beef, pork, tar, and
LiHe-water. It swarms with rats and cockroaches; in time of
battle the wounded are brought here, near the after hatchway, as
40
THE WORLD WENT
to the safest part of the vessel. Here the youngsters hang their
hammocks and stow their chests. As for their mess, it is with the
surgeon's mate, the master's mate, the purser's mate,_ and the
captain's clerk. To boys brought up delicately, the food is coarse;
new-comers have to run the gauntlet of rough jokes, and the horse¬
play which among these lads passes for wit: it is that kind of wit
to which the only answer is by force of fist. The young sea-lions'
play is always like a fight, and generally ends in one. Therefore,
if a boy on board ship love not fighting, he had better tie a kedge-
anchor round his neck and drop overboard. But if, like Jack, he
loves and is always ready for a fight, and will engage with the first
who offers, however big and strong he may be, then the society of
the midshipmen's mess may become delightful to that boy; for the
wish of his heart will be gratified. I believe this was Jack's case ;
he hath told me how for a week or two he fought every day, and
how, at the termination of each encounter, he found reason to
thank Aaron Fletcher for his toughness and obstinacy, which had
taught him useful lessons. Further, there are tricks to be endured,
such as the stealing of a boy's breeches when he is dressing, so
that he is late on deck, and is consequently mast-headed: or the
greasing of his head with tallow while he is asleep; with many
other nauseous jokes, all of which have to be borne with good
humour until an opportunity occurs of revenge; or the little
tyranny of one who, because he is a head taller, thinks he can do
as he pleases; one such did Jack fight everyday—getting, to be
sure, the worst of it—until the big fellow had no more stomach
for the fight, and left his adversary in peace. As for the gloom of
his quarters, and their narrowness and discomfort—why, Jack had
seen them often enough, and knew what to expect, and cared not
two pins for them. As for sea-sickness, Jack never felt it. The
rough sea fare he liked; and as for the daily duty and the sharp
discipline, these were part of the profession, and designed for the
safety and government of some hundreds of lives and the accom¬
plishment of the ship's purpose. If a sailor would be happy, he
must, I take it, acquire, as soon as possible, the feeling of associa¬
tion. Everything has to be shared; if he take on board with him
and nourish the desire, common to all landsmen, of getting as much
comfort for himself as he can seize, he will never be easy. Comfort,
I suppose, and ease of body, are served out, on board a man-o'-war,
in rations and pannikins—like the rum.
Jack's good luck began, as I have mentioned, with his first
voyage—that is to say, whatever good fortune can come to one so
young fell to him, as you shall see.
The ' Lenox ' sailed on Dec. 5, 1747, and, meeting with none of
the enemy on her voyage, joined Admiral Knowles at Port Royal,
in Jamaica, on Feb. 8—a short passage—the ship being a fast sailer
and ably handled.
As this war took place when I was a child, coming happily to
an end when I was but twelve years of age, I know little about it
VERY WELL THEN
41
save that my early recollections are all of activity in the Yard, the
going and coming of ships, the building and launching of ships,
the hurry and the business of war. There were some very fine
engagements at sea, I believe, of which I know only one or two—
those, namely, in which Jack was engaged; and there were some
memorable actions fought on land, of which that of Dettingen was
one. There are in every century so many wars ; there are in every
war so many actions, every one of which in the eyes of those who
have fought on the victorious side, and especially in the eyes of the
Admiral or General, is so memorable that it will remain for ever
in the history of the world as a feat of arms never to be forgotten.
This vanity is like that of the poet, who thinks that for an ode
to 'Fame,' or to'Victory,' published in the ' European' or the
' Lady's Magazine,' he is covered with glory and crowned with an
everlasting wreath of bays. One immortal victory is succeeded by
another; one General causes his predecessor to be forgotten; one
poem is followed by another; then both are suffered to repose
between the leather binding of the volumes which contain them.
It is only the work of the painter which lives on the walls for all
men to admire in all ages to come.
I say, then, that whatever imperishable glory surrounds the
names of those who conducted for the Allies this war, I know of
none except that which belongs to one squadron in the last year
of the war. An account of it may be read in Mr. John Hill's
' History of the British Navy,' itself compiled from the papers of
the late Honourable Captain George Berkeley, B.N., which stops
short at this chapter, the book having been published at the begin¬
ning of the next war. What I know of it is taken from the de¬
scription of these affairs given me by Jack himself.
The 'Lenox,' then, arrived at Port Koyal on Feb. 8, 1748. The
captain was heartily welcomed by Admiral Knowles, who was on
the point of sailing on an expedition from which the best was hoped.
By the greatest exertions, the ship was provisioned in readiness to
join, and the squadron, Governor Trelawny accompanying the
Admiral, left Port Boyal on the 13th with design to attack Santiago,
or Saint Jago, the most important town and port of Cuba, next to
Havana. The squadron was strengthened by a detachment of 240
men of the Governor's regiment. The fleet unhappily met with
contrary winds, which were so long and persistent that the
Admiral resolved upon changing the plan of the expedition. It
was, therefore, decided to make an attack upon Port Louis, on
the south side of Hispaniola. Thither, therefore, the wind being
favourable, they sailed, and arrived in good_ order. On the 8th
of March, the ships being then almost within pistol-shot of the
walls, the attack was commenced; the cannonade lasted three
hours, at the end of which time the enemy's guns were silenced,
and the Governor proposed to capitulate. He sent an officer off
with propositions, which the Admiral refused, and sent back his
own, giving an hour for consideration. Before the end of that
42
THE WORLD WENT
time they were accepted, and the place was taken. ' I believed,'
said Jack, telling me of this, his first action, ' that every cannon-
shot that struck the ship or flew through the rigging was going to
knock my head off, not thinking that, by the time I heard the
noise of it, the danger was over. Yet I was resolved to stand at
my quarters, and do my duty as well as I could ; but for the life
of me I could not help ducking my head, till the gunner spied me
and found time to fetch me a clout on the head, saying, " You fool,
that cannon-ball was half a mile beyond the ship before you ducked.
Hold up your head, and remember that when it is knocked off you
will have no time to duck out of its way." So, with that I plucked
up, and was comforted to see the men at the guns, none of them
killed, and none of them ducking. So I was highly ashamed of
myself till they told me afterwards that, at the first engagement,
most everybody ducks. As for the Captain, he was on the quarter¬
deck, and scorned to show the least fear; and the men at their
quarters only laughed, even when a shot struck the ship and frag¬
ments of the timbers went flying about. But it was fine to see
how, one by one, we silenced the guns. Only I should like to see
fighting at close quarters. This pounding with the big guns at
long range is not to my taste.'
There was some work for the boats as well ; for the enemy set
fire to one of their ships, and endeavoured to send her alongside
the Admiral's ship ; but boats were sent off, which towed her clear,
and took possession of two more designed for the same purpose,
though the enemy's musketry fired smartly on them all the time,
Our loss in the whole action was only ten men killed, among whom
were Captain Eenton, of the ' Stafford,' and Captain Cust, a volun¬
teer, with sixty wounded. The loss of the enemy was a hundred
and twenty-eight killed. The fort contained seventy-eight cannon
and a vast quantity of ammunition and stores, the whole of which
was taken possession of and the fort blown up.
I dare say it was a small business, but it seemed a great one to
the boy, who thus took part in an action for the first time.
This affair concluded, the Admiral proceeded to put into execu¬
tion his design upon Saint Jago.
The attack, however, failed, because they found a chain across
with two large ships and two small ones filled with combustibles
and ready to be set on fire at the first attempt to break the chain.
This was mortifying, and added nothing to the Admiral's reputation.
But six months later, it was Jack's good fortune to take part in a
spirited action with the Spanish squadron between Havana and
Tortugas. It was in October, and I believe after the peace had
been signed ; but this they knew not. The Spanish fleet consisted
of the same number of ships as our own, but larger, and with
double the number of men. There was a court-martial afterwards,
and the Admiral was reprimanded for not shifting his flag when
his own ship was disabled. Therefore the action is not one of
those in which the country can take the most pride. But this had
VERY WELL THEN 43
nothing to do with a young midshipman, and no one ever denied
that the ' Lenox,' for her part, was admirably fought and handled,
seeing that when the ' Cornwall,' the Admiral's ship, was disabled,
the 'Lenox ' had to sustain the fire of the whole of the squadron
until the arrival of the ' Canterbury ' and the ' Warwick.' At sun¬
down the Spaniards began to retreat, but not before their great ship
the ' Conquestador' was taken. Admiral Ivnowles has been further
reproached with not prosecuting the pursuit with greater vigour.
However that may be, he fell in, two days afterwards, with the
Spanish Admiral's ship, the 'Africa,' and blew her up. Whatever
might have been our success it cannot, therefore, be denied that we
took two out of seven ships, and compelled the rest to run away.
As for Jack, he had learned now to receive the enemy's broadsides
without ducking; ' but what amazed me most,' he told us, ' was
that there was no shouting or crying among the men. They were
all as cool as if they were firing a salute at Spithead. When a man
was wounded and fell, he was carried below, so there was not much
of the groaning and shrieking that landsmen talk about. Why,
those fellows of ours will have a leg sawn off and never groan.
Whereas, if a man is killed, you can't expect him to groan after¬
wards. To be sure, I've never seen a fight with a boarding party.
And I say, Luke, the first time you see a man killed, when he falls
down in a heap on the deck, and his face turns quite white, and
his arms and legs lying out anyway, as if he didn't care what was
going to happen—it makes you feel sick and dizzy. But the men
only laugh, because every one takes his turn ; and you can't escape
the bullet that is bound to kill you. If it wasn't for knowing that,
nobody would be able to feel happy, and work with a will, while
the shots are flying about. Luke, there's another thing'—here his
voice dropped to a whisper—' there's a thing I never knew before,
nor suspected. There's cowardly captains, even in the King's Navy
—captains who won't crowd on the canvas in pursuit, and drop
out of action, pretending to be disabled. They never told me
that—not even Mr. Brinjes told me. And half-hearted captains.
Why, if all they say is true, we should have been inside Saint Jago,
instead of sheering off after a broadside or two. But there's more
brave captains than the other sort; and so you'll see when next
we have a brush.'
For the ' Lenox,' with Admiral Knowles's squadron, had now
returned and the ship was paid off, and Jack had made his way
home again, when you may be sure we killed the fatted calf and
gave him welcome. He was gone, on that voyage, for the best
part of two years, and was now fifteen years of age, and looked
eighteen, being so big and strong. The sun and the wind had
painted his cheeks a lively colour, his hands were brown, his
speech was rough, and his bearing was manly. Wonderful it was
to see the confidence and the manliness of one so_ young, to say
nothin0, of the pride he took in the exploits of his ship. These, we
presently discovered, lost nothing in the telling. He brought home
44
THE WORLD WENT
a most beautiful necklace of red coral which had been found in the
fort of Port Louis, belonging, no doubt, to one of the mulatto or
half-caste women, who were both the slaves and the mistresses of
the Spaniards in those parts. He showed it to me one day, and I
expected he would give it to Castilla. Fortunately, I told her
nothing about it, and presently I saw it round the neck of Bess
Westmoreland. It is so common at Deptford to see girls of her
class decorated with gold chains, coral necklaces, jewelled brooches,
and all kinds of finery (for a few days only, because they speedily
send the things to London to be sold), that no one asked who had
given the child an ornament so unsuitable for her position. As for
Castilla and myself, if Jack before he went away was going to be a
hero, he was now actually become one ; wo were fully persuaded
that when at Port Louis the boats towed off the fire-ship with the
musket-balls spattering in the water, it must have been Jack who
sat in the stern; and when the ' Conquestador' surrendered it must
have been in terror at the sight of this youthful conqueror, terrible
with his sword in his hand; and when the ' Africa' blew up it was
because the Spanish Admiral perceived that he could not hope to
contend any longer with this young sea-lion; and, considering the
Admiral's want of spirit, it was nothing but the presence of Jack
that saved the fleet from disaster. I began to draw pictures, repre¬
senting episodes in the three actions in which our hero had taken
part, such as Jack repelling boarders, laying about him with such
an intrepid air as commanded terror and admiration in all who
beheld it. Behind him stood the British tars, ready to back him
up with cutlass, pistol, and pike. Or another, in which I displayed
the two ships at close quarters, with grappling-irons, and Jack
leaping singly upon the enemy's deck, a pike in one hand and a
cutlass in the other; and there was J ack laying the gun that was
to hit the enemy between wind and water, and so sink her : he per¬
formed the operation with thoughtful face, the captain standing
by, wrapt in admiration. They were wonderful pictures. Jack
laughed at them, but did not deny that, perhaps, there might be
truth in the subjects. I gave them to Castilla, who put them away.
She hath since assured me that she hath kept them out of regard
for the hand which drew them. That is doubtless true, since she
says so. But I think there must have been, at the same time,
some admiration for the hero of those designs.
I do not describe the joy with which the Admiral received the
boy, nor the pleasure with which he listened to his account of the
actions he had witnessed. As for the manner in which Jack sought
out Mr. Brinjes, everybody knows the contempt with which the
combatant branch regards the civil branch, though the surgeon's
mate, by order of the Navy Office, is considered a gentleman, and
messes with the midshipmen; so that there was condescension in a
midshipman visiting an apothecary. Yet, as Mr. Brinjes was an
old friend, Jack could not but treat him with kindliness mingled
with superiority. Moreover, he had by this time himself visited
VERY WELL THEN 45
the places of which Mr. Brinjes loved most to speak. He had seen
the negroes of Port Royal and Spanish Town, and those of Bridge¬
town, Barbadoes ; and of St. Kitt's; though as yet he had- never
seen the Guinea Coast. One is not afloat for nearly two years
without learning and hearing things. So that for every tale which
Mr. Brinjes had to tell, Jack had now half a dozen. And I re¬
marked that, like the apothecary, Jack loved to figure as the hero
in his own stories. This is a temptation to which men are all
liable, and especially sailors; because, I suppose, they are looked
upon by the world as certain to have had adventures ; and there is
no man in Greenwich Hospital who has never been wrecked, or
cast away, or been attacked by savages and by sharks, or had a
brush with pirates.
As regards the quality of these stories and the art of making
and telling them, if there is any art in so simple a thing as the
telling of a sailor's yarn, it must be owned that the apothecary
showed himself the superior. For it is required of such a tale
that there must be fighting in it, with much bloodshed, narrow es¬
capes, starvation in boats, pirates, and desert islands. All of these
were supplied by Mr. Brinjes, whereas poor Jack had as yet no¬
thing but his three battles. Bess, you may be sure, came to sit
with us in the room behind the shop, and to hear Jack talk. She
sat in the window-seat, her hands folded in her lap, gazing at her
hero all the time, and speaking not a word save when Mr.
Brinjes or I ventured to interrupt the flow of Jack's manly con¬
versation.
Two days after Jack returned, the promised fight with Aaron
Fletcher came off in my presence, and that of Bess, who, I believe,
was the chief instigator of the combat—having a vehement desire
to see Aaron punished for certain disrespectful words spoken in
Jack's absence.
He was a little older than his adversary, and now bigger of
frame, and as hard as was to be expected of a young man who
spent his days and nights chiefly in a fishing-smack—he called it
a fishing-smack—between Ilamsgate, or Leigh in Essex, and the
coast of Holland or of France.
They fought in the gardens behind the Stowage. It is beneath
the dignity of history to describe an encounter with fists between
two boys. Sufficient it is to say that Jack took off his coat laugh¬
ing, and the other scowling; that they fought for an hour, with
some vicissitudes—Aaron, so to speak, carrying heavier metal, but
Jack handling his guns with more dexterity; that Bess stood by,
clapping her hands when Jack's fist went home, and taunting
Aaron when he fell—which made both combatants the fiercer;
that finally, Aaron was disabled, and had to retire from the con¬
flict'by the dislocation of a finger, which gave Jack the victory.
But both were so mauled and bruised, their faces so covered with
blood and swollen, that the battle must have ended in neither being
able to pee.
46
THE WORLD WENT
' I'll fight you again—and again after that,' said Aaron, mopping
his face, with dark and savage looks.
What did they fight for ? Well: one was a gentleman, and
the other a mechanic; one was a midshipman in the King's ser¬
vice, and the other was a smuggler. Surely, these things were
enough. If you want more, remember that even at sixteen a
youngster may fall in love and be jealous. Aaron was already in
love with the black eyes of Bess, who was now nearly twelve, but
like a Spanish girl in this respect, that at twelve she might have
passed for fifteen at least. And Bess, who would have none of
him, thought of nobody but our handsome Jack.
CHAPTER YI.
the ' countess of doeset.'
With the return of the fleets, and the signing of the Peace of Aix-
la-Chapelle, came a great reduction of the Naval Estimates, which,
in the year 1750, provided for no more than ten thousand men,
instead of fifty thousand. This step, although it returned thousands
of men to the merchant service, the coast service, the colliers, the
fishing trade, and the river, sent back more than were wanted, so
there was great distress with men out of work all round the coast,
and a large increase of smuggling. Many regiments of marines
were disbanded at the same time, and so men who, having been
long engaged in active service, had lost the arts of peace and for¬
gotten their former trades, were thrown upon the country seeking
employment, and, for the most part, finding none. Again, from the
dockyards were dismissed an immense number of artificers, such
as skilled shipwrights, carpenters, figurehead-carvers, painters,
decorators, and the like, besides a host of unskilled labourers, who
had been receiving good wages, and now found themselves without
work and for the most part without money. Add to this that the
trade of those who get their living out of the ships and the sailors,
and by navy contracts, was suddenly shrunk into nothing, like a
bladder which is pricked, and you will understand why, though the
country breathed and the merchants of London and Bristol rejoiced,
the seaports and dockyard towns groaned and lamented. As for
the shipwrights, there is always employment for some in one or
other of the private building-yards—such as Pett's or Taylor's, or
in the repairing-docks, as the Acorn and the Lavender; but what
are these even when working their utmost compared with the
King's yards and their continual demand in time of war ? It is
true that a large number of disbanded soldiers, marines, and arti¬
ficers, received grants of land in Nova Scotia, and were transported
thither. But there are never many in proportion to the whole
number who can suddenly become farmers, and who fear not the,
VERY WELL THEM 4?
cold of that inhospitable place. As for the unfortunate sailors, there
were, to be sure, always new hands wanted for the merchant ships;
but a man cannot look to get a berth as soon as he desires \ and
other work they can do none. No one ever heard of a sailor
following the plough, or becoming a shoemaker, or working in a
carpenter's shop. It seems as if keeping the watch, bending the
sails, and working the guns, make a man unfit for other kinds of
work. The disbanded soldier may turn his hand to anything, but
not the sailor. So that when his pay and prize-money are all
spent—which never takes the honest fellow long, so ready is the
assistance of his friends—he has nothing to do but to lean against
the posts, or to stand about the riverside, waiting for a chance.
Often for a lodging he is reduced to sleeping on the bulks in the
open street, and, for his food, to take whatever may be given him
by the charity of his fellows. And, at last, when this fails, if he
cannot ship even on a hoy or a hay-barge, what wonder if he takes
to running a fishing-smack over to France for brandy ? And then
one hears of a desperate affray with the King's officers on the
Susses coast; and these are the times when the roads become
infested with footpads—men driven desperate by poverty, who
might have remained honest fellows had they been kept to their
colours, or to their ships; and in the houses of Deptford, where
there had been plenty, and the laughter of little children, were now
crying women and hungry babes, with the dreadful temptations of
poverty and hunger. I am sure there is no more terrible temptation
than this ; let us never cease, rich and poor together, to pray in the
words commanded, ' Give us this day our daily bread.'
There are some who think that the custom of disbanding the
troops and paying off the men is an evil one, because, they argue,
first, if you would secure peace be prepared for war, as is shown in
lively fashion by the fable of fi3sop; and if you are always ready to
fight, the enemy will be less ready to give provocation; and, next,
a better plan, if the forces must be reduced, would be to diminish
them gradually, by suffering those to go who wished, and enlisting
no more, so that speedily, and without injustice, an establishment
on a peace footing could be secured. But in the Navy Office
prudent counsels have never yet prevailed (I say this not of my
own wisdom, but from general consent of those who have had
opportunity of studying things naval), and I suppose will not, until
some great calamity befall our country, and makes us call for
neither Whig nor Tory, but for those who desire the greatness and
the prosperity of these islands.
Sad, indeed, was the case of the younger officers—the midship,
men, like Jack—who had little interest, and now feared that they
mfoht never become lieutenants. The more choking it was, be¬
cause everybody had been looking for a long war, with plenty of
prize-money and quick promotion. And now, in the estimation
of many, not only was peace signed, but it was assured and would
be lasting ; because, these sagacious politicians of the coffee-house
48
THE WORLD WENT
asked, why should France wish to make war again, having received
not only so severe a lesson, but also terms of peace far more honour¬
able than she could have expected ? The events of the next few
years have shown very plainly how anxious France has been to
keep her word and to maintain peace. Perhaps, now that we have
at last happily turned her out of Canada and the East Indies, and
reduced her power in the West Indies, her turbulence may abate
for a time. But one knows not; we are nearing the end of the
eighteenth century, and we cannot tell what may happen before
that end arrives. However, the merchant adventurer naturally
desires peace, and therefore is ready to prophesy that peace will be
lasting, because we are always glad to believe what we desire. I
have heard that the activity of the French yards was never relaxed
during these years of peace ; certainly, they never commenced any
war with more magnificent fleets than those which they sent to
sea a few years later in the year 175G.
As for Jack, after being ashore for two or three months, and
finding no prospect of employment, he began to hang his head, and
to be despondent, longing to be afloat again, and seeing no chance.
In truth, there was little in a landsman's life that he cared for,
being, at this period, not much better than a sea cub, a species of
animal little loved by any except those who know that he will grow
into a lion. That is to say, he took no joy in reading, unless it was
the description of a sea action—always, to my thinking, tedious to
read. Jack, who did not think so, used to illustrate the history
with the aid of walnuts placed in position, and showing, to his
imagination, better than any drawing, how the fight was conducted.
The gentle arts of poetry, music, painting, and dancing had no
charms for him. He liked not the society of ladies, old or young,
nor the polite conversation which pleases them ; and as yet he had
not felt the passion of love. I believe he was set against the sex by
Mr. Brinjes, who loved no woman except such as had a black and
shining skin, and lived somewhere about Old Calabar. As for
Bess, she was the most congenial companion to him at this time,
because she never tired of listening to his talk about the sea, and
what he was going to do. But as for love, he had none for her at
this time. Of this I am assured.
Everybody has heard of the ' Countess of Dorset'; how she set
sail in order to navigate the great Pacific Ocean and never returned,
and how for many years nothing was known of her fate any more
than is known of the fate of Sir Cloudesley Shovel. It is matter
for regret that the single officer who was saved out of that wreck
and survived the incredible sufferings which followed should not
have been able to narrate in lively and moving fashion the par¬
ticulars of this grievous disaster. Surely, a history as instructive
as that of Commodore Anson might be made of this voyage. But
now, I suppose, it will never be written.
Soon after the peace, the ' Countess of Dorset,' which was lying
VERY WELL THEN 49
up in ordinary, was fitted out in Deptford Yard. She carried an
armament ot forty-four guns, and was a frigate well reported as a
sailer and for behaving well in heavy weather; ships being, as is
well known, capricious in this respect; so that you may construct
two vessels of exactly the same measurements, on the same lines,
and yet, while one is easily handled and is obedient to her helm,
the other shall be lubberly and difficult to steer ; and one shall sail
fast and the other slow : so that when any vessel is launched, it is
impossible to tell beforehand what she will be like, and one cannot
judge by the behaviour of a sister-ship. As for her destination, it
was as yet unknown; but some thought she was to form part of
the Jamaica fleet.
One afternoon, however, the Admiral called Jack, and held
a serious conversation with him.
' Thou art now, my lad,' he said, ' truly becalmed, and in the
Doldrums; or, worse still, in a leeward tide, and drifting on the
rocks. In a word, if a berth be not found before long, thou may'st
give up all further hopes of the King's Navy. I am sorry for thee,
lad. There is John Company, to be sure—they have a hundred
vessels, they say—but their commanders are fond of their ease;
and, besides, without interest in the India House, how can one
hope for promotion ? It would grieve me to see thee mate of a
merchantman. Yet, what help ? '
'I can ship as an able seaman, Sir, as soon as I am old
enough.'
' Ay, ay ! But we must hope for something better. Listen, my
boy. I have this morning conversed with the Commissioner of the
Yard, Captain Petherick, who has imparted to me a secret. The
" Countess of Dorset" is bound for a cruise in the Southern Seas. I
have therefore sent an application in thy name to the Navy Office.
Because, Jack, though it is not the service I could have wished for
thee, yet, seeing that there is little chance of anything better, we
must e'en make the best of it, and if we get thee billeted on her as
midshipman we shall be fortunate. The voyage will be long and
tedious. There will be no fighting, unless—which I doubt—the
captain judges it well to seek out and capture the Manila galleon.
They say there are islands out there filled with black pirates and
cannibals; but I never heard of any honour to be obtained in fight¬
ing these poor devils. When you have gotten across the Pacific
Ocean, there may be engagements with Chinese and Malay fellows.
They have stink-pots and poisoned arrows. You will have to fight
them at close quarters with pike and cutlass and boiling pitch, as
well as with guns. But where is the glory of such an action com¬
pared with an engagement, yard-arm to yard-arm, with a French¬
man or a Spaniard of equal weight ? ' .
41 should like to go, Sir,' said Jack, his eyes kindling.
'The Lord knows,' continued the Admiral, 'when you would
come back again! And meantime, while you and your company
were cruising in unknown waters, another war might break out,
50 THE WORLD WENT
and you would lose your chance, which, indeed, would he thd
Devil.'
' But if no war break out, then my chance may he lost the other
way.'
' It would so, Jack. Perhaps we might get thee a berth but of
midshipmen there are plenty, and of ships in commission there are
few. Yet the Commissioner tells me they have secret intelligence
that the French are busy in Toulon and Bochelle. "What doth this
mean if peace is to continue ? And complaints have been received
from New England of infractions by the French. Is this a sign of
peace? However, we know not. The King grows old; the young
Prince is reported to be of a pacific disposition—but talking is
vain.'
Briefly, the Admiral's application proved successful. Jack was
appointed to the ' Countess of Dorset.'
When Mr. Brinjes heard of this appointment and the sailing
orders of the ship, he showed a strange emotion.
'What?' he"asked. 'Thou, too, art going to the South Seas,
Jack ? Why, it may be that the ship—but I know not—'tis un¬
likely, or—which I doubt. Thou art young yet, Jack; but if I tell
thee my secret, though without imparting, yet, the latitude and
longitude, while in those seas, thinking of what I shall tell thee,
and mindful of the future, thou mayest take observations, and when
the ship comes home we will talk further of the matter. For look
ye, my boy, I am sure that I shall not die before I have seen again
that place—but wait until I have told thee. What ? You think I
am but a poor apothecary, admitted to sit among gentlemen because
I can cure their gout for them, and feared by the common sort be¬
cause I can bring rheumatism upon them ? You shall see. You
think I have nothing but the few guineas in my till. Why, then,
listen, and keep the secret for me; though if all the world knew, no
one would be one whit the for'arder. Yet keep the secret; and
now, boy, reach me down the chart.'
CHAPTEN VII.
mr. brinjes concludes the story of his voyage.
Those who will read this history through, and then consider the
various parts of it, will not fail to be amazed with the manner in
which Jack was prepared for the fulfilment of his fate and for the
close of his life (if that hath yet happened) by a crowd of circum¬
stances which seem to have indicated it and led him irresistibly.
For, fir&'fc, it was permitted to him—a rare thing—to make the
acquaintance of two who had voyaged upon the South Seas—I
mean as officers, and of the better sort; for of those who had set
foot on Juan Fernandez, fought the Creolian Spaniards at Payta,
Guayaquil, and Panama, and insulted their settlements in the
VERY WELL THEN 5I
Philippine Islands, there were many in Greenwich Hospital and
the Trinity Almshouses of Deptford. Of these two, one, the
apothecary, would relate his adventures in a moving manner, so as
to make a boy's cheek burn and his pulses beat. The other, it is
true, was a phlegmatic man, hut there were parts even of his narra¬
tive—as, for example, when the castaways built a crazy boat, thirty
feet long, and put to sea only forty strong, yet resolved to attack
the first Spanish vessel they sighted, though they had but three
cutlasses and half a dozen muskets and a small cannon, for which
there was no stand, so that it had to be fired from the deck; and
for all their provisions nothing but stinking conger-eel, dried in the
sun, and one cask of water, fitted with a musket-barrel, by which
each man drank in turn—I say that there were parts of his narra¬
tive which would fire the boy, and make his eyes bright. For the
hearing of such sufferings only stimulates a boy who is intended by
nature for a sailor. Next, there were the books lent to him by
Captain Petherick, all of voyages, especially in Oceanus Australis,
and Magellanica. And, thirdly, he was, while yet a boy, to sail
across the great Pacific Ocean, which is said to fill those who have
once voyaged on its waters with a strange love and desire to return
thither, if only to meet with shipwreck and starvation. What
follows, however, was the story which Mr. Brinjes now completed—
a strange story, truly.
' I told you,' he began, ' that we were driven off our course
north of the latitude in which we hoped to sight the great Manila
ship. She carried I know not how many cannon, and I know not
how many hundreds of men. But we were a hundred and twenty
strong, all well-armed resolute men; and they were Creolian
Spaniards, a cowardly crew, who when they have fired their small-
arms can do no more, and when the English lads board the craft
fall to bawling for Quarter, and strike their flag. There is but one
rule in these waters : it is to attack the Spanish flag whenever you
find it, and to look for no resistance once you come to close quarters,
unless the officers, which sometimes happens, are French; then
they will fight. Now mark what happened to us. The same tem¬
pest which drove us so far north caught the Manila ship as well,
of which we were in search, and drove her also out of her course,
treating her even more roughly than ourselves. We sighted her one
morning at daybreak. There could be no doubt about her ; there
are not many ships of her build in the North Pacific. As soon as
we were near enough to make her out all hands were called to
quarters, and we prepared for action with joyful hearts—loading the
guns and small-arms, and sharpening cutlasses and pikes. As we
drew nearer, and the daylight stronger, the sea being now quite
smooth, save for a gentle swell, we perceived a strange thing—
namely', that her mainmast and her foremast were gone by the
board, only her mizen standing; her bows and bulwarks were stove
in and her rudder was lost. She was drifting about upon the water,
helpless as a log. She had no sails set; most of her rigging was
52
THE WORLD WENT
cut away. We fired a shot by way of signal, hut received no reply
then we drew nearer. Not a man could be seen. Were they all
hiding down below, or were they hatching some treachery? We
ranged presently alongside, cautiously standing to our guns, and
expecting nothing less than a broadside. But the guns, on the
upper-deck, at least, were not manned; nor was there a soul to be
seen, or the least sign of life. However, our boarding party leaped
aboard, with a shout, expecting some trick^ of the enemy. Boys,
there was not a man left in all that great ship. How they got off—
by what boats, or on what raft—I know not, nor did I ever learn.
She was deserted; she was floating about these lonely seas, a great
treasure-ship, with all her treasure still on board! Why, she was
not ours by right of conquest; she was ours by the law of the sea,
because she was a derelict. We were pirates, if you please, or
rovers, or adventurers. Whatever we were, that ship was our own
because we picked her up.'
' What!' cried Jack,' no fighting ?'
' None, my lad. On that voyage there was no fighting with the
Spaniards from beginning to end. As for this great inheritance,
into which we came without a question or a blow, 'twas all left
undisturbed on board with the precious cargo of which it formed
a part. Strange it was to walk 'tween decks, and see them filled
with the bales of silks, the spices, the rich stuffs, that the galleon
was carrying to Acapulco. There was also a beautiful collection of
small-arms, and swords with jewelled hilts, pistols with carved
stocks, brass carronades, and such Carved work in wood, for the
state rooms and the captain's cabin, as one could sell in London for
its weight in silver, at least. There was also a great quantity of
wine, which was seasonable, for our spirits were well-nigh drunk
out, and there was no probability of our getting more. "VYe took all
the wine and the arms, and as much of the silks and embroidered
stuff as every man pleased; so that we went about as fine as so
many princes, with purple and crimson sashes. The spices we
mostly left on the ship ; but the powder we took out of her, and all
her provisions. And then we found the treasure. It was packed
in small iron-bound chests, in gold pieces-of-eight and other coins,
worth, as near as I could calculate, judging from the weight, about
two hundred and fifty thousand pounds of our money. Think of
two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to be divided among a crew
of simple rovers ! When we first found this treasure, and under¬
stood how much it was worth—namely, allowing eight shares for
the Captain, and eighteen for the officers, nearly two thousand
pounds apiece for every man, we were amazed at our wonderful
fortune, and looked at each other like stuck pigs. However, we got
the boxes on board, and laid them safe in the Captain's cabin, and
set fire to the galleon, which blazed furiously, and presently blew
up, and so an end of her. And as for us, we sailed away, and began
to feast and to drink, and to make merry. And for the first few
hours, I think there was never so happy a crew in the world.'
4 VERY WELL THEN 53
•Well,'said Jack, 'if prize-money were all they wanted. But
to have no fighting with the Spaniards—why, one would as lieve
take the money out of a till.'
' There was a great deal of fighting, I said only that there was
no fighting with the Spaniard.'
' What other fight was there, then ? '
' That evening we made a great feast on deck, all the ship's
company sitting down together to as noble a salmagundy, onions
being still plentiful, as one would wish to see. And with the
salmagundy—which is sailor's food, truly, yet 1 want no other as
long as I live, unless it be lobscouse and sea-pie—we drank the
finest wine, designed for His Excellency the Governor-General of
the Manilas, that was ever drawn from cask. Such wine one may
never hope to taste again. What ? Topers who drink strong black
port and Jamaica rum (which yet I love), what know they of the
soft and luscious drink which these Papistical Spaniards enjoy daily,
sitting in their cool and shady houses, while the negroes and the
Indians work for them in the sun ? But when the drink got into
us, the quarrelling began. When rovers quarrel, they fight. The
men were light-headed, to begin with, thinking of their great wind¬
fall ; and the Spanish wine is heady when you have taken much
more than a quart or two, and they very soon began to quarrel over
the division of the money. For some wanted to tear up the articles,
whereby the Captain took eight shares and the officers eighteen,
and all to share-and-share alike. And then swords were drawn and
pistols cocked; and those of us who had kept reasonably sober went
hastily below. Among these were the first and second mates, and
the bo's'n, and myself. But the Captain was mad with drink. We
kept below, while the trampling and the fighting went on all night
long, for they stopped only to drink, and then fought again like so
many devils, not caring with whom they fought, still less for what
cause. The men were resolute fellows, but they never showed half
so much courage against the enemy as they did against each other;
and those who had been in the morning the heartiest friends and
brothers were at night murdering each other with the utmost
ferocity.
' They stopped at last; not because they were appeased, but
because they were tired; and all slept on deck, some lying across
the dead and wounded. It was a strange sight when we ventured
on deck, the work of fighting being over, and saw them in the
moonlight all lying about among the cannon, mostly in the waist,
dead and living together, the blood still running out of the scuppers.
The man at the helm was killed, and lying over his wheel. There
was no watch; there were no lights; all sails were set, and the ship
was swiftly sailing over the smooth waters with no one to look out,
no lights n the bows, and no one to care whether we struck on a
rock or not. There were thirty wounded men, whom we carried
below and dressed their wounds; but fifteen of them died, their
blood being heated by the wine and the salt provisions.
54 THE WORLD WENT
'At sunrise most of the men woke up and shook off their
drunkenness, and ashamed they were to find the Captain ana.
twenty men killed by the night's quarrel. First they sat and looked
at each other, sorry and angry. Then they took consolation, think¬
ing there were still enough men to navigate the ship, and fight her,
if necessary, and then someone whispered that there were fewer
by twenty to share the treasure.
' So we threw the bodies overboard without any funeral service,
and I dressed the hurts of those who were wounded ; the men re¬
solved to quarrel no more, and all shook hands together.
' I suppose the thought of the money filled all the men's minds,
because in the afternoon, when the drinking began again, the
quarrelling began. The Captain being dead, they could no longer
quarrel over his eight shares ; but the officers were left, and they
began about their shares. Now, I am sorry to say that both mates,
instead of running down below again with the bo's'n and me,
stayed on deck and took part in the quarrel. That was a worse
night than the other, because it began earlier. Ten more were
killed that night, and a great many wounded. "What was worse,
the morning brought no cessation, but they fought all day long, and
for three days and three nights, drinking all the time like devils,
as if they desired that as many should be killed as possible, and as
few left to divide the treasure. In the end, when they desisted, we
were reduced to sixty men, most of whom had wounds of some
kind, and some died afterwards of. fever, so that we numbered no
more than fifty. I suppose that such a thing hath never before
happened, that a ship for four days and four nights should sail any
course she pleased, being without a steersman, or a captain, or a
watch, having all sails set, and yawing about as she pleased, just as
the breeze changed, and so sailing all the time before the wind. It
was surely a miracle that we were not all cast away and destroyed.
At last, however, the men grew tired and sobered, frightened by the
deaths of so many, and now awakened to the new danger that if we
met the Spaniard we might not be able to fight him nor to protect
our huge treasure.
' So we held a serious council. First, we were now all rich men,
and it behoved us to think of getting home safely with our money,
and to run no risks more than we could help, and not to go in search
of other ships, but to keep out of the enemy's way.
' Did one ever hear before of an English crew keeping out of the
Spaniard's way ? But the treasure made cowards of us all. • Every
man valued his own skin because he was now the owner of so much
wealth. Why, what had been before the fighting a share worth
two thousand was now worth four, at least. Not a man among us
but was worth four thousand pounds and more. Even if we had
sighted another galleon I doubt whether we should have ventured
to attack her. And the men grew moody and scowling, everyone
sitting apart, counting his gains and wishing his shipmates dead, so
that his own share should be greater. Never was a ship's crew
VERY WELL THEN 55
fuller of murderous thoughts and evil jealousies. Even the
wounded men dying of fever could not die quietly, but must shriek
and cry out for life, because they were now all made men.'
'Better have tossed the treasure overboard,' said Jack.
'As for our course, we had now sailed a good bit to the south,
but we knew not, and we never knew where we were. Look at the
chart. Here is the island of Donna Maria Laxara. We were driven
north from that island, and we presently sailed south, no man re¬
garding the navigation. The latitude I was able to calculate; but
as for the longitude, that was lost, and we knew not how to recover
it, there being no one on board except myself who could so much
as read.
' After our council, however, we appointed watches, and attended
somewhat to the sailing, keeping her course south, in hopes of
fetching Juan Fernandez or Masa Fuera. But, Lord! we were
hundreds of miles to the west, though we knew it not; and as for
Juan Fernandez, we should none of us ever see that island again.
So we sailed day after day, but slowly, because the winds were light.
The sun now grew hot; we were within the Tropics. The men had
somewhat recovered their spirits, and bragged what they would do
when we got home, and how they would fling the money about.
Some were for Kingston, but some for Portsmouth; and I have
always felt compassion for the girls of Point that they never had
the spending of this great haul. For my own part, I always knew
that something was going to happen, for surely such a crew of
murderers would never be suffered to get safely to port with so
much wealth.
' The first thing that happened was that we were becalmed. I
know not where, but I think somewhere hereabouts.' Mr. Brinjes
pointed to a spot near the middle of the Pacific, far from any other
track. ' We were becalmed so long that we drank out all the
Spaniard's wine, and now had nothing to drink except water, and
that so long in the casks that it was, so to speak, rusty. Also, we
soon found that we had not a great quantity of provisions left; and
that scurvy called the Lobillo showed itself, of which we lost two
or three men. And now, if there was no more fighting, there was
no more singing and making merry. The men amused themselves
with gambling; some of them played away all their shares, but
presently won them back, and then lost them again; or they passed
the days, which were tedious, in fishing for sharks—the sea was full
of them—sometimes they killed them for food, but one soon gets
tired of eating shark; sometimes they played with them, for they
would catch two, and put out the eyes of one, and tie their tails
together, and so drop them into the sea, when it was pretty to see
them pull different ways, and fight and bite at each other just like
Christians. Or they would catch one and tie a plank to his taifi so
that he could not dive under water or swim away without dragging
the plank with him, and so went mad, and lashed the water in his
rage. And strange things happened. One day, while we were still
56 THE WORLD WENT
becalmed, the needle began to turn all ways, as if the witches had
got hold of it—the Jamaica Obeah men know that secret and
another day the sky turned violet colour, with green clouds, very
terrifying, and in the night the sea was a blaze of light, so that we
were all alarmed, and one young fellow went mad, and cried out
that the Day of Judgment was come, and called upon the sea to
hide him from the face of an offended God; and so jumped overboard
and was drowned. I think we must have been becalmed for six
weeks. At last, however, a breeze sprung up from the nor'-west,
and so we continued our course, if that can be called a course which
was sailing blindly, on an unknown sea.
'Jack,' Mr. Brinjes cried, 'it will be thy lot—wherefore I tell
thee this history—to cruise upon these waters. Not upon the course
which the Spaniards take, but west and south of their route. There
wilt thou meet, as we did, with strange and beautiful islands filled
with kindly people, who paddle in canoes and swim like fishes, and
hold all things in common, and live naked. In those latitudes it
is always summer all the year round, with warm balmy air ; and
nobody heeds the time, and there are always rich fruits to eat and
delightful fish to catch. They have no religion, and therefore are
not afraid; they have no knowledge of the ten commandments, and
therefore know not the nature of sin, and have no conscience to
trouble them : they have learned nothing of any future world, and
therefore are not anxious; they have no property, and therefore
know not envy ; they have no diseases, except the incurable disease
of age; although their lives are happy, they fear not death, upon
which they never think ; they neither murder nor rob. What is
our modern civilisation, what is the politeness of the age, compared
with such happiness as theirs ? What is there a man can hope for
better than warmth and plenty, the love of women, and the friend¬
ship of men, with constant health, sunshine and joy? Do they
murder each other ? Do they fight duels with each other ? Do they
gamble away their fortunes ? Do they steal and rob ? Do they
entice away another's wife ? Are they clapped into prison for debt,
and kept there until they die ? Are they hanged for forging, coining,
and shop-lifting ? Are they flogged at the cart-wheel for anything
they do ? Are they made to work all day so that another man may
grow rich ? Are they teased with wars ? Must they be starved so
that priests may get fat ? Do they go in misery and anxiety all
their days for fear of the Bottomless Pit ? '—Mr. Brinjes enumerated
many other things, which are not the blessings of civilisation, yet
exist among us, and not among these savages. ' Why, for the mere
joy of living among this people, and breathing their soft air, our
men forgot even their great treasure and their jealousies, and
became, as it were, foolish ; they quarrelled no longer ; they rejoiced
to go ashore and court the friendship of these soft savages, and to
give them beads, knives, fish-hooks, or any little thing, in return for
which the people gave them everything they had; for a string of
beads, or a piece of bright-coloured silk they would bring out all
VERY WELL THEN 57
they possessed ; for a bottle of rum, they would, I verily believe,
have sold their island. Ah !' Mr. Brinjes heaved a deep sigh. ' I
have known true happiness on the African coast; but there the air
is hotter and men's passions are fiercer—well, I love the fierce
passion and the temperament which breaks suddenly into flame;
but I have never seen or heard, anywhere, of any place where the
folk are so gentle as in these seas and life is so easy and so sweet.
Heaven keep them long from the accursed Spaniard.
4 And as for wonders, I have seen strange things, indeed, which
men would not believe. Boys, I do not lie; I have seen bats as big
as rabbits, and terrible great serpents which hang from the trees
head downwards, and have power by their breath—I know not how
—by their breath alone, to draw wild beasts—nay, and man as well
—towards them, and so to break their bones and devour them;
calamaries, or squids, are there with arms ninety feet long—many
have seen them, and avow the truth—which can clutch a whole ship
and drag it under water; there are springs of water which have
virtue to turn fish into stones; there are flying cats and women fish
—yea, fish with heads and breasts like unto women, and tails like
the mermaids'; there are shell fish big enough, each one, to dine a
boat's crew, and yet leave meat to spare; there are birds'-nests so
big that six men cannot span even one; there are beautiful lizards,
of all colours, as big as calves. Am I lying to you? No, boys.
There was an island where we gathered a pannier of earth for the
cook's galley to lay under his fire. "Would you believe that, six
months afterwards, we found a bar of gold beneath it, melted out
of this little bucket-full of earth ? But we could never find that
island again. As for the people, the men mostly go naked or nearly
naked, and the women have a kind of petticoat made sometimes of
feathers, and sometimes of skins, and they have hair so long that
it trails upon the ground; their language is a jargon that no one can
understand; and if they worship anything, which I doubt, they
worship wooden images. Tasman found some of these islands, but
he has never been where I have been. No living man—the rest
being dead—has been where I have been. Tell me not of Captain
Shelvocke ! He only followed the Spaniard's track.
' We cruised about contentedly, leading a life like that of King
Solomon himself, among these islands, how long, I know not, for
we stayed sometimes for whole months off one island. Perhaps it
was fifty years, but I think it was no more than two or three.
There was no more talk of the treasure. Some of our crew died,
some refused to leave the islands even for their share of the treasure,
and preferred a black wife and a life of ease under a warm sun
with palm-wine and pandang (which is their kind of food), to any
more dangers upon the water. So at length, out of our company of
a hundred and twenty there were but five-and-twenty left, among
whom to divide the great sum of money. This would give ten
thousand pieces each. But by this time the ship, poor thing, was
fallen into disrepair, and most of our stores were now expended, so
58
THE WORLD WENT
that what with rotten cordage, which would hardly hold a sail, and
a leak which she had sprung somewhere, which gained daily, and
planks now so soft that you could put a knife into them as into a
rotten apple, and her bottom covered with green weeds, like a ditch
beside a hedgerow at home, I for one doubted whether she would
hold together at all if bad weather came. But in these islands we
never found any bad weather.
' By this time all our clothes were worn out. Stockings and
shoes we had none, but no one wanted them. For coat and shirt
and all, we had the bales of silk which we found on the galleon;
and let me tell you that, in a warm climate, there is no wear like
silk, being both soft and cool. We had suffered our beards to grow:
we had left off carrying arms, and nobody quarrelled or fought. Our
provisions were long since gone, but we had palm-wine, such as the
islanders make, and pandang, and we were dexterous at fishing.
If we left one island and sailed to another, it was only for the sake
of change, for sailors are always a restless folk; and we thought of
nothing but to continue the joyful, easy and happy life that we were
leading.
' It was I, there being no officers left, who broke up this content¬
ment, and called the men together to speak seriously. I pointed
out to them very earnestly that we must resolve, and that imme¬
diately, whether we would settle upon some friendly island and
break up the old ship, or whether we would without more delay
attempt the voyage home. I told them that we were all rich men,
and could take our ease for life, if only we succeeded in getting
home; but that we had a leaky and crazy ship, with rotten cordage,
worm-eaten planks, and foul bottom, and that we must first put her
in some kind of repair before we could think of getting round Cape
Horn, and if we did not speedily attempt these repairs the poor old
barky would founder beneath us. The men lazily replied they cared
nothing whether the ship fell to pieces or no, and were content to
live for ever upon one of these islands among the blacks, of whose
soft manner of life they were enamoured, and wanted no more
fighting or tempests. Such softness stealeth over the souls of all
who dwell in these latitudes. This is the reason why the Creolian
Spaniard—he of Mexico, Cuba, or Acapulco—is so poor a creature
as compared with the Englishman, for the heat and softness of the
air have sapped his courage, and made him a coward. One or two
among us, however, having still something left of courage, and some
recollection of home, persuaded them to consent that we should,when
we could find a convenient place, endeavour to heel the ship over
and scrape her, stop the leak if we could, and make her shipshape
for rougher weather.
' A few days afterwards, we came to a small archipelago, or col¬
lection of small islands. They were not the coral islands, which
lie low, and are surrounded by a reef of coral, but were all like hill¬
tops, rising sheer and steep out of the water, green and wooded to
the top, and apparently "uninhabited. In one of these we found a
VERY WELL THEN 59
curious natural dock or basin, deep and narrow, for all the world
like the Greenland Dock at Kedriff, and as suitable for our purpose
as if we had made it ourselves. Here we resolved to make our
dockyard, and to begin by heeling over the ship to get at her
bottom. Wherefore, in case of accident, it was first agreed that we
should put the treasure ashore in the only boat we possessed, the
great storm having stove in the others. We lowered the boxes, and
put in the boat five men, of whom I was one, with intent to row
ashore, lay the gold in some safe place, and then return to tow the
ship into this creek, or rocky natural dock. So we put off, thinking
no danger, and rowed to land.
' Now, mark what happened. The ship was lying, when we left
her, in smooth water, all sails furled. There was no wind, not a
breath of air ; if we had dropped our kedge, which we could not,
because there was no bottom, the ship would have ridden anchor
apeak. The time of day was afternoon, when air and water are at
their stillest; and she was in a kind of channel or narrow sea, with
these islands all around, which I should say were quite desolate and
uninhabited, yet full of trees and fruits, with plenty of fresh water.
We had no more than the length of a furlong to row, the water
being deep and the shore of our island shelving steep down into the
sea. We landed, hauled up the boat for fear of accident, and began
to carry ashore the boxes, in order to lay them together under the
trees. You think, perhaps, that a treasure of two hundred and fifty
thousand pieces-of-eight is a mighty great matter. So it is, yet they
may all be stowed in a few small boxes. We laid them down, then,
and left them (no one being on the island except ourselves) at the
foot of a palm.
' And there, my lads,' Mr. Brinjes added slowly, ' there they are
to this day. For sure and certain I am that no ship hath been among
these islands since. And I know that I could find the place again.'
' Why did you leave the treasure there ? '
' You shall hear. When we got down to the shore again, a
strange thing—nay, a miracle—had happened. The ship, which we
left, as I said, only a furlong from the land, was now—as near as
we could guess—two miles. She had none of her canvas spread ;
there was no breeze to speak of, and yet she was slipping through
the water away from us at six knots an hour, as near as we could
guess. Wonderful it was to see a ship, without wind or sails,
moving so fast. Whether it was witchcraft—which I sometimes
think—or a strong current, which may have been the cause, I cannot
tell; but our ship had slipped away, and left us behind. We rowed
after her; but a little boat, with one pair of oars, cannot overtake
a vessel going six knots an hour, with two miles and more between.
Then we thought to make the crew put the ship about, if they
could. We shouted and made signals ; but, so far as we could
discern, no one on board noticed. Perhaps the men were all. be¬
witched, as, I think, must have happened; perhaps they were
drinking or sleeping, because in those days they generally spent the
6o
THE WORLD WENT
time in sleep, whenever they were not drinking or fishing. She
seemed to move faster and faster, and the evening was coming on.
The sun got low ; we had only time to row ashore before the dark¬
ness was upon us; and the last we saw of the poor old ship was the
sight of her spars with the sinking sun behind them, and the red
sky above, and the water spread out before us like a sheet of copper.
' What became of that ship and her company, I know not. But
I doubt not that the craft is broken up, and the crew are all dead
long ago. For either she struck a reef and was wrecked, and the
crew drowned, having no boat; or—which may very well have hap¬
pened—the leak grew upon her, and she made so much water that
she foundered; or they may have made a raft and landed on some
island, where they lived, and, in due course, died of too much palm-
wine. And this was the best that could happen to them.
' As for us five men who were left upon the island, we hoped at
first that the ship would come back for us, but she did not; then we
made up our minds to stay there, and we built a kind of house, and
made ourselves easy, and fished, and madepandang. No man need
starve upon these islands. But, after a while, we grew tired of the
life, and so resolved to attempt escape. So we buried the treasure
at the foot of the palm where we had first laid it, and on the trunk
we cut a mark; then we rigged a sail of palm leaves, caulked the
boat with cocoa-fibre, took some water and such provisions as we
could lay up in store, and so left our island and sailed eastward. We
were still among islands, and we sailed among them for many weeks
—I know not how long. For still, when we were out of sight of
one island, we would sight another and yet another, but not all
friendly, nor all so soft and affectionate as those we had left behind
us. So we crept on, from shore to shore and from cape to cape,
until at last we reached the open sea, and no land in sight at all,
and presently no provisions.'
' And what happened then ? '
' My lads,' said Mr. Brinjes, ' it is a terrible thing to be at sea
with no provisions either to eat or to drink. Those who have water
may go on for a long time; though I have been told that the body
presently swells up and grows restless, and one must move about—■
which, in a small boat, is difficult. But to have neither food nor
water! Then the men's eyes grow fierce and eager: horrible
gnawing pains tear them to pieces. All day long they gaze upon
the water for a sail, though they know, as we knew, that there can
be no sail in those parts. At night, they sleep not; but groan and
wish it were day. Then the pains increase, and one would willingly
die but for the agony of death : and then the men cease looking
upon the ocean, but look in each other's faces—none daring to say
what is in every man's mind.'
Here he was silent for awhile.
' All this time we had a steady gentle breeze, so that we sailed
easily over smooth water, and all the time we were followed by a
shark, which never left us, and was a certain prognostication of
death—which we knew and understood. My lads, when that boat
VERY WELL THEN 61
was picked up—which was by a Spanish brig, sailing for the port of
Acapulco—there was but one man left. All the rest had parted
their cable, and the shark had eaten them—that is, some parts of
them. The survivor hath never told anyone how he kept himself
alive. PerhapS he was able to catch a few fish; perhaps he caught
a wild bird; perhaps it rained, and he caught the water as it fell.
If ever you do pray for yourself, Jack—but it is best to take your
own luck and to pray for others—pray that you be never condemned
to sail in an open boat without provisions.' I have read, in some
book of shipwrecks, that sailors have been known, in the extremity
of their hunger, to kill each other for food. Did Mr. Brinjes and
his boat's crew resort to this dreadful method ?
' As for the treasure,' he concluded, solemnly, ' I have bequeathed
62
THE WORLD WENT
it, Jack, to thee and to Bess Westmoreland, here, in equal parts.
We will sail together, some day, and dig it up. I am old; but I
shall not die until I have seen those seas again. We will go together,
Jack, and thou shalt be rich. But even now thou art going thither,
happy lad ! When thy ship comes home, we will get a brig, some¬
how, and sail away together—Captain Easterbrook in command—
and steer for those islands. I know not their longitude, but as to
latitude, I am very sure they are about the parallel of 20° S. Oh !
I shall find that archipelago. I cannot die until I have breathed
those airs again and found the treasure! Jack, thou art heir to a
greater estate than any man in England can boast. There is no
Earl or Duke who shall hold up his head beside thee. Thou shalt
be a Prince, and Bess shall be a Princess.'
He rolled up his chart, and returned to his chair and his pillows,
sinking into them with the exhausted air which made one perceive
that he was already arrived at extreme old age.
' Forty years ago !' he groaned. ' Where are they gone, those
forty years which have taken away my strength ? They made me
a slave in Acapulco—a slave to a Creolian Spanish devil, who daily
flogged and kicked me. Jack,' he sat upright, and his eye flashed
fire, ' when we have recovered the treasure \ye will burn the town
of Acapulco, and roast alive every Spaniard in it. Oh, that I could
have then got back to the island! But that I could not; and very
soon I perceived that I must somehow escape, unless I was to be a
slave for life, worse than a negro slave, and made to change my
religion or burn. This, though I have lived among the islands like
a Pagan, I was unwilling to dc. I therefore ran away, and com¬
mitted myself to the Indians, by whom I was taken across the
Isthmus of Panama, where I lived in the woods among my friends
the savages for two years and more, before I could find an English
ship among those which came trading for mahogany to the coast of
Yucatan which would take me off. So that of all that long journey
I brought back to Jamaica with me but one thing—my blue stone
for the cure of snake-bites.' He pulled it out of his pocket. 'When
you are bitten by any of the reptiles and insects of the forest, even
by the most venomous, you may apply this stone (I have tried it on
myself after a deadly snake-bite), which sticks on the place,,and
doth not fall off till it hath sucked up all the poison, when it drops
of its own weight, and must be put into milk before you can use it
again. Forty years ago! When I was young and could enjoy!
Life mocks us, Jack.- Sometimes I think that we are the sport and
the laughter of the gods; but we know nothing. It flies before
you have more than tasted of its joys. Give me fifty years more—
only fifty years—and set me on the African coast among the Coro-
mantyns, and I will find the secret which their wise women know.
It is in the African forests that the herb grows which can cure all
disease, even the disease of old age. With my treasure I could
buy it, or find it, or compel them to yield it up. Happy boy!
happy boy! Go breathe those airs of heaven, and gaze upon those
VERY WELL THE IE 63
purple islands ! If thou lightest upon an archipelago somewhere in
latitude 20° S., where the islands are like hilltops covered with
wood, search for one which has on its north side a creek like a
natural dock, then look for a palm-tree marked with a cross, and
dig beneath it for a treasure. But if thou dost not find that island,
then when thy ship comes home we will go together and seek for it,
and find the treasure—thine inheritance !'
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ' COUNTESS OF DORSET ' SAILS.
ALWAYS knew, said Jack, 'that Mr. Brinjes had
been a pirate. I believe he was surgeon to Bartho¬
lomew Roberts, who was killed by Captain Sir Ogle
Chaloner in the "Swallow." Wherefore he ought,
if he had his deserts, to be now hanging in chains
with his brother pirates on the Cape Coast. Fifty of them there
64
THE WORLD WENT
are dangling in a row. Now we know that he is a cannibal ns
well, because it is certain he must have eaten up the other four
men in the boat. I wonder how the last two determined tne
matter. And we know that he is the possessor of a great for¬
tune buried under a palm-tree, on an undiscovered island in the
South Seas. It is as useful to him as a bag of diamonds in the
moon.'
' But he says that he shall sail with you in search of it.'
'Likely, likely,' said Jack. 'Who knows what may happen?
He is, I take it, now a hundred years old. He keeps himself alive
by his craft. If he was going to die I suppose he would begin to
repent. As for his treasure, what do I care for his pieces-of-eight,
unless it were to buy a frigate and man her with a gallant crew, and
go fighting the Spaniards and the French ? '
They were prophetic words, but this we knew not. Yet you
shall hear.
Then the ' Countess of Dorset' sailed away with Jack as one of
her midshipmen, upon her long and perilous voyage. She was
under orders to sail by way of the Cape of Good Hope, and to survey
the coast of that vast unknown continent or island called in part New
Holland and in another New Guinea. This accomplished, as far as
might be possible, her captain was instructed to cross the ocean
and explore that other great island called New Zealand. She was
to search after and report upon places which might be of advantage
to the British flag. After this she was to continue her voyage of
discovery even into the antarctic fields of ice; to penetrate as near
to the South Pole as possible, and she was to return by doubling
Cape Horn. So that, had she come home in safety, her crew would
have circumnavigated the globe.
It would seem, I venture to think, consistent with the dignity as
well as with the interest of a great maritime people, such as the
English, were such voyages as this always afoot, so that, when one
exploring ship returned, another might be despatched ; undertaken
not only for the discovery of unknown continents and islands, but
also for the enlargement of commerce and the enriching of this
realm. In the old days the world was nothing but the Mediterra¬
nean with the lands lying around that great sea. Man has ex¬
tended it east and west, north and south, so that we can now boast
that we know all the islands of the Atlantic and the Indian Ocean—
navigators say that in those seas there remains no more to be
found—with the countries of Asia (even China and Japan have
been described and exactly mapped by the Eoman Catholic mission¬
aries). We know the eastern coast of North and South America
from Labrador to Cape Horn, and we are able to lay down the
harbours and river mouths of Africa, though of its interior little haa
yet been visited.
There will perhaps come a time, if the English take the matter
in hand without fear of Spain, when the whole world shall be fully
explored, so that there will be nothing left to discover, neither
VERY WELL TILEN 65
strange races nor strange creatures, nor wonderful plants. My
father, who had in his library a copy of the great ' Mappa Mundi,'
or Atlas of the late learned Mr. Senex, would often converse
seriously on the possibility of finding, in some hitherto unexplored
part of the world, the long-lost Ten Tribes, still, he would fondly
imagine, practising the Levitical Law in its Mosaic integrity, with¬
out adding to it or subtracting from it, and in ignorance of the
glosses introduced by Babbinical andTalmudie doctors. He looked
to find this people in vast numbers (in conformity with Prophecy)
somewhere between the springs of Tigris and Euphrates, or,
perhaps, more to the north, and even on the slopes and among the
valleys of the mountains called Caucasus; but, he would confess,
without crediting the idle legend of the Sambatyon river, which
seems a monstrous story, they may have wandered farther afield,
and perhaps are now on some remote island of the Black Sea, the
Bed Sea, or even the Indian Ocean. ' The recovery of these tribes,'
he said, ' would be a great consolation to pious persons, and would
doubtless prove a mighty weapon in the hands of the faithful; or,
apart from the Israelites, though this people must be ever foremost
in our thoughts, it may very well be that there exists in some
remote countries, which have had no intercourse with the outer
world for many centuries, some people who were once a branch of
the Boman Empire, and have never heard of its decline and fall,
who knew nothing of Christ or Mohammed, or of the Hindoo
superstitions, but still worship after the manner of the Greeks and
Bomans. 'Twould be strange, indeed, to witness the rites of Jove
and Venus; those of the great Sun god; of Ceres, the goddess of
fertility; of Bacchus, the god of joy and wine; and of Pan, of
whose death these people perhaps know not: or it would be strange
to see them flocking to consult the oracles: and one would willingly,
if it were allowed to a Christian, be initiated into the mysteries of
Eleusis, long since lost, though some have pretended that they are
concealed in the Sixth Book of Virgil's " iEneid," and some still
look for then in Apuleius' "Golden Ass." Again, there must be
somewhere an earth the wandering Jew, named Cartaphilus,
Ahasuerus, < r, according to others, Isaac Laquedem, who is cre¬
dibly reported to have been last seen, and that not so very long
ago, in Paris. To sit down and talk with him, if his memory is
still good, would be like finding a Fifth Gospel. Or there may be
in the interior of that great southern continent which they call
New Holland great and powerful nations, with another civilisation
than our own, and arts of which we know nothing. We have, it is
true, invented gunpowder, the use of which, to rude people, appears
a kind of magic ; and we have contrived by our wit many ingeni¬
ous mechanical devices. But there are, surely, many other secrets
which man can compel Nature to surrender; and there may be
tribes which possess these secrets—as, for example, if one may so
speak without blasphemy, the command and control of lightning,
\yhich now strikes here and there at random, as we say, if anything
66
THE WORLD WENT
in this world is suffered to be at random ; and the mastery over the
other elements of the earth— the wind, the storm, the ice, the snow,
which now only obey the word and will of the Lord. Or there
may have been discovered in these countries—who knows ? a
universal medicine for all diseases; for, since death is tho necessary
result of decay or disease, when it is not accident, there may be
races who have discovered some herb or simple by virtue of which
natural decay may be prevented, and so man may continue to live
as long as he please; which, for the devout Christian, who looks
forward to his eternal rest, would not be long. Or there may even
be found offshoots or colonies of such ancient races as the Phoeni¬
cians, of which stock came the Carthaginians; and so we may,
perhaps, at length learn by what accident this branch of the Semitic
race—a most civilised and cultivated branch—hath left no litera¬
ture at all, either of poetry or history; or of the Ethiopians, called
by Homer, for some reason unknown to us, blameless. They were
expelled from Egypt by the people whose descendants are now
called Copts. Without doubt, they were an interesting people, and
remarkable for their primitive virtue, which may have survived. I
would look for them on the western shores of the Eed Sea. Or
somewhere in the world, perhaps in the Pacific Isles, or in the un¬
known heart of Africa, or the great continent of the Southern Seas,
there may be races of giants, dwarfs, and amazons, for there must
eertainly be some foundation for the stories of such people. There
is also the far-famed kingdom of Prester John, which some will
have to be the Empire of Abyssinia, whose King and people are
known to form a branch of the Christian Church. They boast
themselves to be descended from Prince Menelek, son of King
Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, which may possibly be the case,
although Holy Writ affords no warrant for the belief. One would
be pleased to learn also, if the many strange stories narrated by
the Venetian traveller, Marco Polo, be true, or whether he hath re¬
peated things which were merely related to him, as is done by
Herodotus. And again, there is the journey of Mandeville, in
which are described men with but one leg, and hippotains, or
creatures half horse, half man ; so that there may be truth in the
legends of Centaurs, though some have thought them to have been
merely a people loving horses and addicted to riding.
'Then to descend to creatures: there are existing somewhere,
perhaps, whether in the hot and burning forests of South America;
through which the great river Oroonoko flows, or in the African
deserts, creatures like the winged dragons of which so many stories
have been told, with salamanders and other monsters ; and in the
sea, hideous monsters with bodies many fathoms long, the vast mass
floating like an island on the ocean: and great calamaries, of which
sailors have reported some with long arms capable of seizing and
dragging down to the bottom of the sea, ship, cargo, crew, and all.'
Thus my father would discourse at length; but Jack hath
assured us that in this terrible voyage of his, they encountered
VERY WELL THEM 67
uothmg bigger than a whale or more terrible than a shark ; nor any
winged dragon, or serpent more dreadful than the kinds already
known; while as for Ten Tribes, or for any men who know more
than the Europeans, or have acquired a form of civilisation worthy
our attention, he does not believe that there are any such.
We looked not for any news of the ' Countess of Dorset' for
three years at least; because, on the voyage on which she was
bound, there are no friendly ports where a vessel may receive or
send home despatches, though, doubtless, many where fruit and
water may be obtained. We did not expect, therefore, to hear any
tidings of her until she should return. It was not until fully three
years had passed away that we first began to ask ourselves when
the ship might be expected to return.
But no news came of the ship, and no letters from those aboard
her. The fourth year passed, and still there came no news; and
so the fifth, and still no news.
Then those who remembered Jack Easterbrook, and loved him,
began to misdoubt that something had happened to the ship ; and,
when the sixth year had almost gone without a word, there were
few who kept up heart, or had any hope in them. As for the
Admiral, he mourned for Jack as for his own son, believing that he
must have been cast away with all the ship's company. ' For,' he
said, ' had they not all miserably perished, some intelligence would,
ere now, have reached us. At the Navy Office they have written
off the ship as wrecked, and the officers and crew as dead men, and
the clerks have told the women who came to ask after their hus¬
bands that they may e'en look after fresh husbands; though this
proves nothing. And, though ships have been known to be delayed
and forced back by continual and contrary winds, or caught by storms
and losing their masts, yet did I never hear of a ship overdue for
three years, and then arriving safe. Long ago the underwriters,
had she been a merchant-vessel, would have paid off the insurances.
No, gentlemen, there is no hope. Our boy is drowned ! '
' We were wrecked upon the island of Juan Fernandez,' said
Mr. Shelvocke, ' where we lived, in great misery, on eels, the en¬
trails of seals, and such like for many months; and should still be
living there but for the armourer and carpenter, who built for us a
craft, thirty feet long, in which we embarked, having no other pro¬
vision than conger-eel, cut into strips, each strip dipped into the sea
and dried in the sun. A more loathsome food 'twere difficult to
find. Yet we escaped, taking the Spanish ship " The Santo Jesu,"
and so came safe home again.'
' Then,' said the Admiral, to whom this story was not new, ' the
boy may still live, or, at best, he may linger on some island among
the savages, living on shell-fish and the like ; and so is as good as
dead, since we shall never see him more—poor lad! poor lad! a
braver boy never stepped.'
'With submission, Admiral,' said Mr. Biinjes. 'That some¬
thing must have befallen the ship I do not doubt. It is a sea full
F 2
68
THE WORLD WENT
of coral reefs, sunken rocks, strange currents, and, in the northern
and southern parts, there are, it is certain, sudden storms. \Vo
cannot guess what has happened; still, I am sure that the boy will
come back to us. Ask your old negress, Admiral, who is a witch ,
ask Philadelphy if that boy's eyes when he sailed away were the
eyes of one who is going to his death. She can read the eyes of
men—ay, and has often read for me, sitting in my shop, m the
eyes of those going forth to sea whether they will come back or
no—and never once has she proved wrong. Now, Admiral, I have
examined the chart over and over again ; but can get no comfort
from it, nor any clue to what may have happened. An ocean
where there are no ports, and where there is but one vessel sailing
across it, like the South Pacific, where the " Countess of Dorset"
sailed upon — those waters can give no help. But that boy,
Admiral, has not been drowned. And he will return to us. His
fortune is long and stormy, as Philadelphy, at my request, hath
proved in many ways ; by the bowl, by the cards, by the mirror,
and by the glass bali. I have also had his nativity calculated, and
I learn the same story. And, by what small arts and knowledge
I possess, I have learned that his life will not be cut off untimely.
What, gentlemen ? Do the stars lie ? Is there no truth in the
magic of the Mandingo woman ? '
It is a consolation to know that a happy end to anxiety is
certain, even by witchcraft. Yet Jack did not return, and no news
concerning his ship.
Many of the crew were Deptford men—volunteers after the
peace. Their wives, or widows, on the advice of the clerks in the
Navy Office—who were now without hope concerning the ship—
married again. This, however, is common among seafaring folk,
and the worst that happens, should the husband come home again,
is generally no more than a fight and a cracked skull, with for¬
giveness over a bowl. Nay, there have been known cases in which
the true husband has contentedly renounced his wife, and either
married another woman or gone away to sea again; perhaps to seek
out a new wife in some other port.
These six years, as you may suppose, were not spent at home
without changes. The elders seem to stand still and suffer no
change during six years, unless it is that their locks, if they had
any to show, would grow grey; but in these days of wigs and
shaven cheek there is nothing (happily) to mark the approach of
age, save trembling limb and crowsfeet round the eyes, which
cannot be concealed. As for me, I was fourteen, or thereabouts,
when the ' Countess of Dorset' sailed away; and therefore, after
six years, I was twenty, and a man grown, though not to the
robust stature promised by Jack when he left us. Castilla was
now past seventeen, and, in my eyes, more beautiful, as they say,
than the flowers in May. Nothing surprised me more when Jack
returned (for I promise you that the black witch was right, and
Jack did return) than his coldness towards this nymph. If a fin©
VERY WELL THEN' 6g
complexion, eyes of heavenly blue, melting lips, rosy cheeks and
smiling mouth, with light hair curling naturally about her forehead,
and a figure slight and tall: in short, if Hebe herself—who was the
goddess of youthful and virginal beauty, as Venus is the goddess
of that riper beauty which is no longer ignorant of love—was
lovely, then was Castilla lovely at that time, and as sweet, gracious,
and obliging as ever was Hebe, the cup-bearer to the gods. Why,
when Jack came home, I looked to see him fall at her feet at the
mere contemplation of so much beauty. But no; he was stark
insensible. Castilla moved him not; and this for a reason that you
shall shortly learn.
It was during this six years, to speak for a moment of myself,
that I passed through the greatest trouble of my life, and touched
the highest happiness that I could hope or pray for. My father
had, as he thought, set me apart for God's sacred ministry, as
Samuel was set apart, from childhood. He had taught me from
the first to consider this the holiest vocation for man, as, doubtless,
it must be confessed by all; and he had taught me as much Latin
and Greek, with the composition of Latin verses, as I was permitted
by my natural parts, which are not great, to acquire. And while
he perceived very well that it was not in my power to become a
great scholar like himself, he comforted and encouraged me by the
consideration that piety and virtue are within the power of every
Christian man, together with the other qualities which adorn the
sacred profession of priest or minister.
When I grew to the age of sixteen or thereabouts, the time at
which a boy generally begins to bethink himself of the future,
I found, first, that I could not look forward to the cassock without
a feeling of repugnance ; and, secondly, that there was no other
manner of work in which I took any interest, save one, which for
a while was not to be thought of. Indeed, I did not myself con¬
sider it possible, though I knew very well that there were some—
nay, a good number—who live creditably by exercising the art or
painting, which was the only thing I loved.
By this time I was arrived, by continual daily practice, and by
some natural aptitude, at a certain proficiency, so that my draw¬
ings of ships and boats and the like were, if one may say so,
creditable and fit to be shown to any judge of such matters. But
when I ventured to hint, in my father's hearing, that a life spent
in this occupation, which he considered frivolous, might be hill
of delight to one who loved drawing, the thing was received with
so much displeasure that I dared not for some time to open the
subject again, but went on, under his directions, making bad Latin
verses and reading Cicero and Virgil.
I then began to consider my destined profession with such a
distaste as amounted to abhorrence, insomuch that, had I persisted
in taking those vows which my father intended and designed for
me, I should have committed a most deadly sin, if not the sin
which is unpardonable. And yet I ventured not to open my
7o
THE WORLD WENT
conscience to my father, fearing his displeasure, and knowing v®ry
well how much he had set his heart upon my following in his
footsteps. I was at length encouraged to do so, however, partly
because it smote my soul with contrition to go on pretending
acquiescence in my father's wishes, and partly by a thing which
made my project appear more likely of success, or, at least, less
likely to end in disastrous failure.
There was a certain John Brooking, of Deptford, now very well
known to painters, and to such fame as belongs to modern painters.
He was about ten years older than myself, and at first was but
a shipwright's assistant in the Yard; but had no heart for his
work, and wasted his time in drawing the workshops, the docks,
the timbers, bulkheads, anchors—everything that there is to be
drawn in the Yard, even giving up to his Art the whole of his
Sundays. He was a good-natured, harmless kind of man, who
cared little for himself, and had no ambition except to paint all
day, to earn enough for his daily wants, and to spend the evenings
drinking with his friends. He presently left the Yard, and went
away to London, designing to sell his drawings. But, before he
went, he gave me great help in teaching me, so far as he himself
knew them, the elements of perspective, with certain simple rules
of geometry, and the arrangement of lights; and showed me how
to lay on water-colours, and how to get the proper tints, and how
to produce the effects I desired. I know not how he lived for a
while ; but, one day, I met him in the streets of Deptford, and he
told me, with glee, that he had found a man—a dealer in pictures
■—in Leicester Fields, who would buy his drawings of ships, as
many as he chose to paint at a guinea a-piece (N.B.—He after¬
wards found that this honest dealer sold the same pictures for ten
guineas a-piece), and that therefore he was now a made man, and had
nothing to do but to go on with the work he loved, and paint every
day. Which he did, until he died of a consumption, brought on,
I suspect, by much strong drink. However, 1 went to London
and visited him one day at his lodging. He had a single room at
the top of a house in a court close to the Fields, where his friend
the dealer had his shop; it was a good-sized room with a large
window looking north, which is the best direction for light. This
was his painting-room and his living room, bedroom and kitchen—
all in one. Never was a room so littered and untidy and dirty.
But John Brooking cared nothing for dirt. He worked there all day
long, so long as the light lasted ; or he made sketches and studies
by the riverside, which he afterwards made into finished pictures
in this simple studio, where he stood at his easel, never tired,
a knitted night-cap on his head, and in his shirt-sleeves, and a
tobacco-pipe, broken short off, between his lips, for he loved tobacco
as much as any old gipsy woman.
Well, his success, such as it was (but indeed I thought of
nothing, then, except how just to live by my work so only that I
could do the work I desired to do), inflamed me, and I resolved to
1/U.KY WELL THEN
11
tell all to my father; which, to make a long story short, I did,
though with many misgivings.
He is dead now; and, I doubt not, hath gone to the rest
provided for the faithful. It is a place where my love and
gratitude may not reach him. I have never passed so unhappy
a time as that when it seemed as if I must continue my preparation
for the University, in order to perjure my soul by declaring falsely
that I was singled out by Heaven to follow the holy calling of
a minister; and I have never felt so truly happy as on that day
when my father, with tears in his eyes, bade me vex my soul no
longer, for it should be with me as I wished.
So I left Deptford, and went to London, to become a pupil of
the celebrated Mr. Hayman; and I hope that I have since done
justice to the instructions of that great painter. But I came home
often—partly to sketch among the ships, and partly to see Castilla.
Enough of my affairs, which concern this story but little.
CHAPTEK IX.
aaron fletcher.
The sixth year came—nay, it had run half its course and more;
yet no news of the ' Countess of Dorset.' And there was no longer
any doubt that the ship was cast away, and all the crew long since
dead. As for Jack, who had been our hope and our pride, of whom
we had said that a youth so brave and so masterful must needs
rise to greatness, and bring credit upon himself and those who had
been his friends, none now ever spoke a word. Or if they did,
it was but to say that the loss of the boy had brought age upon the
Admiral, and that 'twas great pity a youth of such goodly promise
should thus untimely perish. The stars had lied; witchcraft and
magic were proved of no avail.
Jack was dead. In the club at the ' Sir John Falstaff' his
ship was never talked of, nor was there any further speculation as
to her course, for the Admiral's sake, even by Mr. Brinjes. And,
by all the world, the boy was well-nigh forgotten. When the
greatest of living men, he whose name is most in men's mouths,
dies, the daily life of the world is no whit changed ; and his place,
even in his own work, whatever that may be, is speedily filled up.
What then can one expect in the case of a boy ?
But in Mr. Brinjes' parlour, where now Bess Westmoreland
sat every afternoon, for company, and to cheer the old man's heart,
Jack was not forgotten. These two talked about him still. More
than this—superstitiously trusting to the negress's magical prac¬
tices—they confidently expected that he would return again. Well,
in the event the forecast proved true; but, if we are to trust to
such an oracle, where is religion ? If an ignorant negro woman is
permitted to find out, by her witchcraft, the secrets of the future,
and to foretell them, what shall become of religion ? Then, fare-
72
THE WORLD WENT
well, faith; farewell, prayer ; farewell, trust in Divine Providence J
farewell, learning, since ignorance succeeds where wisdom fails !
In six years Bess had, like Castilla, grown from a child to
a woman. She was now in her seventeenth year, not yet filled
out to the fulness of her figure, but already tall and shapely. If
she had been dressed in rags, she would have commanded atten¬
tion ; but she was careful of her dress, and went always becomingly
attired, though not above her station (the coral beads that we know
of were placed away in some drawer or box out of sight). She
was so tall that she topped her father (but he was round-shouldered)
by a head and neck, and there was no girl in all the town within
her height by an inch and more ; she bore herself like a lance, so
straight and upright was she. Her nose and chin looked as if
they had been carved by a skilful sculptor out of marble, so clear
and delicate were they ; her eyes were black, as was her hair; but
rosy red her lips, and pearly white her teeth. Like many black-
haired women, her cheek was full, but somewhat pale in colour,
and her throat was white, not with such a whiteness as lent
another charm to the complexion of Castilla, which, although of
a sweet and delicate white, yet glowed with a rosy warmth. The
whiteness of Bess was a colder or deeper white—a white that does
not reflect the light, such as some Italian painters have delighted
to portray; her hands were small, and her forehead low, as the
Greeks loved it; as for her eyes, they were soft and deep, save
when she was roused, and then, indeed, they flashed fire and
flame. As became her station, she wore no hoop, and dressed her
hair in a simple knot; but she walked as if her limbs were of
springing steel; and I am sure no Princess in a hoop and patches
could have walked more like a goddess; her arms, when she was at
work, were the whitest ever seen, and the best shaped.
I have never disguised, and shall never disguise, my belief,
though Castilla will not agree with me—that is, she assents, but
without warmth—that Bess was the most beautiful girl then
living ; and this I can the more fairly say, because I was never in
love with her, any more than a painter is in love with his model.
As for love between Bess Westmoreland and myself, that was
always impossible. Yet, for suitors, she never lacked any, though
she sent all away, not with discourtesy, or with mockery, or with
mirth, as some girls will—as if it is a fine thing to dash the hopes
of an honest lad, and as if lovers can be had for the trouble of
picking them up—but with firmness and with dignity, being too
proud to encourage them, or to suffer them to believe that she
wanted their wooing. Some of them were substantial and repu¬
table men, whom the daughter of a mere Penman might have been
proud to marry. Why, if he had died, what would she have done
for her daily bread ? To my own knowledge, one of her wooers was
gunner's mate in the King's Navy ; another was a master wheel¬
wright in the King's Yard ; a third was foreman in the Greenland
Dock; and, I dare say, there were more of equally respectable
VERY WELL THEN
73
place. It became a proverb that there was no man good enough
for Bess Westmoreland ; and the other girls, who might otherwise
have been envious of her charms, regarded her with open admira¬
tion, because she was not only much more beautiful than them¬
selves, yet wished to carry away none of their sweethearts.
One lover alone, out of all, stuck by her, and refused to take
her ' No' for an answer. This was Aaron Fletcher, now grown
into a young giant, who carried on his father's business of boat-
builder, yet was of a roving disposition, and kept his smack at
Gravesend, or at Leigh, in which he went fishing. Those, however,
who spoke of those fishing voyages, were apt to laugh, and to ask
why that fishing-boat never came back by daylight.
' I have told you,' said Bess, ' I have told you a hundred times,
Aaron, that I will not listen to you. Wherefore, go away in peace,
and trouble me no longer. Why, there are dozens of other girls in
Deptford, and plenty better-looking than me would take you, and
that joyfully.'
' There are not plenty for me,' he replied. ' I want but one.
And, Bess, I shall never give up asking. There's nobody in the
world loves you better, or would do more for thee. Why am I not
good enough ? There's money in the stocking, Bess, now father is
dead—ay 1 and more than you think—and more to come. There's
as good business doing in my yard as in any boat-builder's on the
river, not to speak of the smack, which does a tidy stroke, take year
and year about. I am not a drunkard, though once a week or so
I may take my glass with the rest. I am strong, and I am young.
I wouldn't strike a woman nor treat her cruel. I'd be true and
faithful. Come, Bess, what is the matter with me, that thou canst
not say "Yea "? '
Well would it have been for her, and for another, too, if she
could have said 'Yea,' and taken him. Why did she not ? He
was tall and strong, and handsome of his kind; he was not esteemed
to be ill-tempered; he was not at that time a drinker, save of a
cheerful glass; he had a good character, save for the reputation of
these fishing voyages of his, which did him no hurt with anyone.
Did not the Admiral himself put Aaron's Nantz upon his own table?
He would have made Bess a good husband, if any could, because
such a woman, if she is to be happy, must needs have a strong man
for a husband, and one who will rule her and make her respect him.
Well, indeed, it would have been for her if she had taken this brave
fellow; but she could not.
' Bess,' he said, ' you can't be thinking still upon that midship¬
man ? Why, he was but a boy, and you were a child. He's cast away
and dead long ago ; and if he was not, he wouldn't remember you.'
But she made no reply.
' 'Tisn't for love of him, Bess, is it ? Why, I fought him half a
dozen times; and, if he were to come back, I would fight him again.'
She laughed scornfully. ' 'Tis true, Aaron, the last fight I saw ;
and where were you at the end of it ? Rubbing your head, and look-
74
THE WORLD WENT
ing ruefully at your broken finger. And where was Jack ? "Waiting
away with a laugh. But don't talk to me about J ack. Perhaps
he is dead. Living or dead, I don't suppose he would remember
or care for a poor girl like me. But I can't marry you, Aaron.
' You shall,' he said with an oath. ' You shall. I will make
you promise to marry me.'
This was a prophecy not made by an oracle. Yet, strange to
say, it came true—m a sense. To be sure, it was not the sense that
Aaron intended. It has been observed that such prophecies, toge¬
ther with all the prophecies of witches and magicians, when they
do come true, never happen in the way hoped for when the pro¬
phecy is uttered. Certainly, as you shall see, Aaron's prophecy did
turn out true—but the result was not what he had expected and
desired. In the same way, Mr. Brinjes' prediction about the
South Seas also proved true—yet not in the sense desired and
expected by him. As you shall also discover.
' Very well,' said Bess, ' I will promise to marry you, Aaron—■
when I love you. Can a girl say fairer ? Go away now, Aaron; go
away and find some other woman who wants to go marrying, and
take pity on her, if you can. But as for me, I will marry no man.'
However, he renewed his importunity: offering her presents,
which she refused—such as parcels of lace, flasks of Nantz for her
father, rolls of silk, and so forth, all got, I doubt not, in the way of
his fishing—and always declaring, in his masterful way, that sooner
or later she should promise to marry him.
CHAPTER X.
how jack came home again.
And now I have to tell how Jack was joyfully restored to us. It
was in sorry plight, and after many disasters and sore privations,
which killed his companions, but left him—to look upon—none the
worse, when he came back to good food and decent clothes again.
I think that no one had ever a more wonderful story to tell, and
yet there was never a worse hand at telling his adventures. Lucky
it was for Ulysses, and for iEneas, that they found poets to sing their
sufferings and their wanderings, for, I dare say, the former, at least,
would have made a poor hand at telling them himself. A greater
than Ulysses was here ; and no one, until now, has ever told, save
imperfectly, the story of his voyage. It will never be narrated as it
ought to be, movingly, and to the life; and the sailing of the
' Countess of Dorset' among the Pacific Islands, and the discoveries
which she made, and the dreadful calamities which befell the ship
and the crew will no more be remembered than if she had been
some poor and insignificant collier, cast away with her crew of
half a dozen men and a boy, on the Goodwin Sands.
It is also a strange circumstance that his life should have been
saved by the man who, man and boy, was his steady and constant
VERY WELL THEN
75
enemy. Nay, as you will see in the sequel, his life was once more
saved by the same hand—a thing which clearly shows the hand of
Providence, if it were only designed in mercy as a rebuke to the
man who desired and even endeavoured to compass the death of
his enemy and rival. Yet I never heard tell that Aaron Fletcher
repented of the hatred which he always bore to Jack.
One night in the month of September, and the year seventeen
hundred and fifty-six—a dark and cloudy night, the stars hidden
and no moon, a light breeze flying, but only in puffs, and hardly
enough to fill the canvas, and a soft and soaking rain falling—a
small vessel, rigged with fore-sail, sprit-sail, main-sail, and top-sail,
was slowly making her way across the German Ocean. Her name
was the ' Willing Mind,' of Sheerness ; she was manned by a crew
of five, two more than are generally taken on board a fishing-craft
of her dimensions. Of these men, the skipper sat in the stern, the
ropes in his hand, two were lying asleep beside the skipper, covered
with a tarpaulin, and two were in the bows keeping watch. She
carried no light, but she was sailing well north of the track of out¬
ward-bound vessels, and was by this time too close to the Essex
coast to fear being run down by colliers. Perhaps the watch was
on the look-out for lights on the coast, or for a King's revenue
cutter, of which there are many along the east coast, and they
greatly molest this kind of craft, overhauling them suspiciously,
and searching for brandy and the like, impressing the honest
fishermen on board, and sometimes even imprisoning them, haling
them before a magistrate, and bringing them to trial; and even, if
they show much resistance, hanging them; and by their very
appearance always obliging the crew to throw overboard, if they
have time, the whole of their cargo. It generally consists of a
strange kind of fish, in the shape of kegs, runlets, and jars, with
bungs and corks in their mouths. Perhaps the ' Willing Mind'
showed no light because the skipper and his crew dreaded being cap¬
tured by a French privateer, for we were again at war with France,
and the Channel was crowded with these hornets, though, as a rule,
they hardly ventured north of the Goodwin Sands, or off the Nore.
The boat slipped through the water slowly and silently, save for
a gentle ripple in the bows. There was little way on her, but she
kept moving.
' I take it,' said the skipper, grumbling, ' that it is already past
midnight; we ought to have made Shoeburyness by now. In three
hours it will be daylight, and perhaps the dogs upon us—and with
such a cargo 1'
' The breeze will freshen with the dawn, Master,' said one of the
men in the bow.
4 And then it may be too late. And we haven't had such a cargo
for a. ewelvemonth. What is that off the starboard bow ? '
' It looks like a buoy. But it can't be a buoy !' It was a black
object, indistinct as yet, but they were nearing it. Presently, a hoarse
cry of ' Sail ahoy!' came across the water. It was repeated twice.
76
THE WORLD WENT
' It is a boat with four men in her,' said the watch, making her out.
' A little dingy she is. Now, what the plague is she doing out here ? '
' Sail ahoy ! came across the water again. And now they could
distinguish the figures of three or four men standing up in the boat.
The skipper cursed and swore, and put up his helm.
' Sail ahoy ! for Jesus' sake ! AVe are sinking !' cried the men.
The skipper cursed and swore again, louder and deeper ; but he
altered his course, and bore down upon the boat.
There were five men in her, but one of them lay in the stern
with his head upon his arms, motionless. The boat had neither
oars, mast, nor sails ; she was half full of water, and the men were
baling her with their hats.
VERY WELL THEN 77
'For God's sake, take us aboard! ' they cried. 'It is as much
as we can do to keep afloat, and we are starving 1'
' Who are you ? ' asked the skipper.
' We have broke from a French prison,' they told him; ' and four
days out, and nothing to eat.'
Still the skipper hesitated.
' Cap'en,' said one of the men, ' we can guess, pretty easy, who
you are, and what is your business. That is nothing to us. Take
us on board. You shan't regret it. Only take us on board and give
us something to eat, and set us ashore on English soil; and if you
were laden with all the brandy there is in the world, you should
never be sorry for coming to our help.'
The skipper cursed them again for interrupting his run. But it
would have been the most shocking inhumanity to refuse; there -
fore, with a bad grace, and sulkily, he ordered them to get on board
as quickly as they could. This they did; but they had to help the
man in the stern, because he had got an open wound in his head
and had lost much blood, besides being nearly starved. So they
lifted him in and laid him on a tarpaulin, and cast off their crazy
little boat, and the smack went on her course again.
Then the skipper, who was not wanting in generosity, though he
cursed them for stopping him, pulled out of the locker such provi¬
sions as might be expected in such a craft—consisting only of bread,
mouldy Dutch cheese, and some onions. But, Lord! if these had
been the greatest dainties ever set before an Alderman the men
could not have devoured the food more greedily; even the wounded
man lifting his head and eating ravenously. When there was
nothing at all left to be eaten, the skipper passed round a bottle of
brandy and a pannikin, which were received with heartfelt gratitude
too deep for power of speech. For cold and starving men bread
and cheese and onions make a banquet, but brandy in addition—
oh! 'twas too much!
When they had eaten up everything, therefore, and drunk as
much brandy as their rescuer would give them, they began, as
sailors will, through a spokesman, to relate their story. Everybody
knows, that at the outbreak of the war the French fleet put so
many privateers to sea, and we had so few, that there was nothing
but the capture of English merchantmen going up and down the
Channel, and the French prisons were soon choked with poor devils
laid up by the heels, and waiting for a general exchange, or for the
close of the war, to be released. Three of the men had been taken
by a privateer out of a West Indiaman, and conveyed with others
up the country to a place called St. Omer, which is a fortifled town
some twenty iniles from Dunquerque, and about the same distance
from Calais, and were then clapped into prison in the citadel, or the
barracks, or the town jail, I know not which. Wherever it was,
they found there, among the other prisoners, the man who lay
wounded on the tarpaulin, not able to sit up, and saying nothing.
And he it was, they said, who had devised the plan of their escape.
78
THE WORLD WENT
Tliere were a dozen more who were in the plot, and should have
made the attempt, but at the last moment they lost heart, as always
happens in an adventure so desperate, and remained behind. As
things turned out, it was lucky that there were no more^ of them,
because there was certainly no room for any more in their rickety
little boat.
I do not rightly understand how the escape was effected, because
in the subject of fortifications I am ignorant, though Jack hath often
endeavoured to explain to me the nature of scarp, counterscarp,
bastion, and so forth. However, they surmounted all these diffi¬
culties, and in the dead of night they found themselves on the right
side of the ramparts—that is, on the outside—and with open
country all round them. Then, steering by the stars, they made due
north. Before they got half way on their journey they were sur¬
prised by dawn, and forced to seek a hiding-place, which they found
in a wood or coppice beside a river, where the shelter was good,
though the lying was wet and swampy. Here they stayed all day,
with nothing to eat except a few berries, then happily ripe. At
nightfall they started again, and, as they judged, soon after mid¬
night found themselves on a sandy coast somewhere between Calais
and Dunquerque, near a place called G-ravelines. But there was no
boat on this open and deserted coast, and they wandered up and
down for a long time seeking for one, and fearing lest they might
again have to seek a night's shelter. When, at last, they found one,
it was hauled up high and dry on the sand. This would have mat¬
tered little; but, unluckily, her owner, or a man who behaved like
her owner, was sleeping on the sand beside her. There was no
choice, but they must needs have her, and while they dragged her
down to the sea, the Frenchman woke up, and perceiving that he
was being robbed of his boat, he lugged out a knife and made at
them, and, before he could be fairly knocked on the head, gave their
leader a desperate cut across the face, from which he lost a great
deal of blood, and was much weakened. They got him safely into
the boat, however, though he was fainting from the wound, and so
put to sea, and hoped to be able to row across the Channel, if they
should have the good luck to 'scape the privateers, and make the
port of Dover, in eight or ten hours ; or, perhaps, they might be
picked up by some English ship, if they were lucky. They had
neither mast nor sail in the boat, and there were no provisions in it
of any kind. Also, as they quickly discovered, she very soon sprung
a leak, and had to be baled out continually. They rowed on, how¬
ever, taking turns, for three or four hours. Then a most unfortu¬
nate thing happened. For, while two of them were rowing lustily,
in their eagerness to lose no time, and to get across and land on
English soil again, and the oars being not only small but old and
rotten, they both snapped short off close to the rowlock, at the same
time. This accident dashed all their hopes, for, though they tore up
two of the boat's planks, thinking to row with them, it was slow
iwork ; then they tried to make a sail with a shirt and one of these
VERY WELL THEN 79
planks, there being a light breeze from the sou'-west, and they got,
as they supposed, into the current. They were carried, certainly, as
they discovered at daybreak, out of sight of the French coast, but
also, which was another misfortune, outside the track of ships, and
so, though they saw_ many sail in the distance, they passed none
near enough to be picked up, and in this miserable condition tossed
and drifted for four days and four nights, and were now well-nigh
spent, and the leak in the boat growing every moment worse, so that
she threatened to fill with water and to sink under them unless they
baled continually.
' It's easy guessing,' they repeated, after they had told their
story, ' what you've got on board : that's no concern of ours. Only
you put us ashore. Without making bold to inquire further, tell us
where we are, and how far from shore.'
' As to where we are,' said the skipper, ' the night is dark, and
I don't rightly know. But to the best of my guessing, we are not
far from Shoeburyness, which should lay right ahead; but the
shore is low, and difficult to make out.'
'Mate,' said the spokesman, 'landus as far from any port as you
can. I guess the press is hot up the river.'
The skipper said that there was a very hot press; that as to
himself, he was going to land at Shoeburyness, where he could put
them ashore, and they could then shift for themselves, and make
their way inland, if so be they had friends anywhere.
'As for this poor fellow,' said the man, pointing to the one who
was lying down, ' he say's he's an officer, though he doesn't look
like one in those rags of his. So he's got nothing to fear from a
press. Don't put him ashore, skipper. Take him to some place
where he will get his wound dressed. If what he says is true, he
will be able to pay you for the service.'
' I will take him,' said the skipper, ' to Gravesend. That is all
I can do for him. After that, he must shift for himself.'
Shortly after this, and before daybreak, they made the land
between the village of Southend and Shoeburyness. Here they
landed the four men, who, with many vows of gratitude, expressed
in sailor-like fashion—namely, with appeals to the Divine Power to
blast them and sink them if they ever forgot this service—quickly
vanished inland. It matters nothing what became of these poor
fellows; but intelligence came from Maldon, shortly afterwards,
that a gang of four men, dressed like sailors, had been apprehended
stealing a sheep. They made a desperate fight, and one of the
posse comitatus was dangerously wounded. In the end, they were
overpowered, and taken to Chelmsford Jail, where, in due course,
they were all hanged. If these were the men landed from the
' Willing Mind,' the poor wretches had better have remained in
their prison at St. Omer, where, at least, they were living a life of
innocency, although half-starved with their meagre soup and sour
bread. But perhaps the men who were hanged were another gang.
Nov/, as regards the cargo of the ' Willing Mind'—I mean that
So
THE WORLD WENT
load of fisli, all with corks and brings in their mouths—it would be
a shame for me to disclose where it was landed, and by whom it
was received, though one may know very well. I am not a spy and
an informer ; the revenue officers may find out for themselves the
secrets of the trade which they have to stop, if they can. _ I say not
whether it is such a trade as a person of tender conscience may
undertake ; but, at least, this much may be said for it—that those
who practise it know beforehand the risks they run, and the punish¬
ment which awaits them if they are captured.
Enough to say, that the landing was successful, and that about
noon that day the ' Willing Mind,' now in ballast, was running up
the Thames with full sail, wind and tide favourable, bound for
Gravesend; and the wounded man was so far recovered, that he
was now sitting up and looking about him. He was a wild creature
to look at, being, to begin with, horribly thin, as if he had had no
food for months ; he had suffered his beard to grow, and it now
covered his whole face, so that he looked like a Turk, with his hair
long and uncombed; his head was bound up with a dirty and
bloody clout, which hid one eye ; there was blood upon his cheek.
Presently, while he looked about him with lack-lustre gaze, the pam
of his wound being great, his eye fell upon the skipper, and he
started and became suddenly alive and alert.
' Aaron Fletcher, by the Lord! ' he cried.
' That is my name,' replied the skipper. ' I am not ashamed of
it. But I don't know you, mate.'
' You have forgotten me, Aaron. If you had known me, you
would have been all the more anxious to save my life. Of that I
am well assured. We should have foundered in five minutes. As
for me, I cared nothing whether we sank or swam. All is one to a
starving man. Give me another tot of brandy, Aaron. Don't you
recognise me now ? '
' Man ! I never clapped eyes on you before to my knowledge.
But since you know my name, and therefore, likely, where I live,
so that you might do mischief, let me tell you'—here he insisted or
emphasised the assurance by a dozen or two of round oaths, such
as he and his kind have always ready to hand for all purposes—
' that if you are going to turn informer, after all you have seen, it
would be better for you if we had thrown you overboard at once
with a shot to your heels. One or other of us, my lad, will have
your blood.'
The other men of the crew murmured approval of this sentiment
with additions of their own invention, about cutting the weasand,
breaking bones and limbs, gouging out eyes, and so forth.
' The same old Aaron,' said the man. ' Why, you have not
changed, save that you are stouter and bigger. The same sweet
and unsuspicious temper. I wonder if there is another such treat
in store for us both as we had when last we met ? '
' Who the devil are you ? ' asked Aaron, staring, partly because
the man knew him, and because so ragged a fellow should talk with
Buch boldness. But as yet quite unsuspecting.
VERY WELL THEN
81
• That, my friend, if you cannot guess, I shall not tell you. As
for your kegs, fear not. I care nothing where they were bestowed
nor to whom they were consigned, nor where they came from. So
far as I am concerned, you are safe. Besides, you have saved my
life. This cut in the head, d'ye see, cost me so much blood that I
do not think I could have endured another night of starvation.
Why, man, I have had to live for weeks with nothing but a taste
now and again, when the chance came, of putrid seal or rotten fish 1
I'm downright tired of starving.'
4 Who are you, then ?' Aaron looked at him hard, but could
make nothing of him.
Yet it was strange that he did not begin to suspect. This, I
take it, was because, like everybody else, he had quite made up his
mind that Jack was long since dead, and so he was gone clean out
of his mind. This is so, when a man is dead. His face goes out of
our mind because we never think to meet him again.
' Well,' he said at length,4 it don't signify a button who you are.
You've got nothing against me, even should you lay information.
But you're down on your luck, whoever you be. And you've the
cut of a sailor about you. Wherefore, mate, take my advice and
keep well in shore, for the press is hot all the way from Margate to
Chelsea, and, wounded or not, they'll have you if they can, and
three dozen or more for skulking, if you are not fit for duty in four-
and-twenty hours.'
4 Thank you, Aaron,' the man replied, and so lay down again
and went to sleep. But Aaron kept looking at him, uneasy, yet
not able to remember him.
So they made their way to Gravesend, and arrived off that port
in the afternoon.
41 thank you, Aaron,' said the passenger, waking up, and getting
to his feet. 4 The food and the brandy and the sleep have set me
up again. I believe I shall be able to walk the rest of the journey.
One more favour, Aaron. After saving my life, it is a amall thing
for you to do. I am without a single penny. Lend me a shilling,
which I will bring myself to the boathouse, and repay you when
you come home. You don't know me, Aaron I Why, man, how
goes the boat-building ? '
Aaron produced the money, still staring with all his eyes, as the
children say.
4 A shilling, Aaron, is not much. If it was six years ago, I
should say we would fight for it.' So he dashed back the hair
that hung about his face, and looked Aaron full in the face with
a laugh.
4 Good Lord ! ' cried Aaron. 4 It's Jack Easterbrook !'
4 Mr. Easterbrook, ye dog. I am in rags, but I am a King's
officer still, and you are nothing but a common smuggler.'
4 It's Mr. Jack Easterbrook,' Aaron repeated. 4 He's come back
again 1'
4 As for this shilling, Aaron, shall we fight for it now ? '
0
82
THE WORLD WENT
' But Oh, Lord! How in the world did you get in such rags
as this ? And where's the " Countess of Dorset '
' As for the rags, where I got them was in the Isle of Chiloe, on
the Patagonian coast, and if I had not got them I should h^ye come
home as naked as Adam in his innocency. And as for the " Countess
of Dorset," her timbers are where I got my rags, on the coast of
South America, and her crew are mostly beside her timbers, such
parts of them, that is, as the crabs have not been able to devour.'
' Oh, Lord!' Aaron gazed as if at a ghost, and could say no more,
' Do they think me dead, Aaron ? '
' All of them ; except, I am told, Mr. Brinjes.'
' Oh ! and the Admiral ? '
' It isn't for the likes of me to know what his honour thinks, sir,'
said Aaron. ' But he's been going heavy for a good time past, and
they do say as how he frets more than a bit about your drowning.'
Jack was silent for a bit.
'And Bess Westmoreland ? ' he asked.
' What has she got to think about you for ? You are a gentle¬
man, though in rags at this present moment. As for Bess, she is
but the daughter of a Penman. She belongs to the likes of us, not
to gentlemen officers.'
' She must he grown a big girl now. Well, Aaron, and Mr.
Brinjes ? '
' He's a devil. He's worse than ever. He gave Lance Pegg, of
Anchor Alley, the rheumatics last week, and threatens her with
worse for rope's-endin' that girl of hers. He's a devil! and never
a day older since your honour went away.'
' So, Aaron, you have saved my life, though you did not intend
it. Yet I take it kindly. I do not think you would have suffered your
old townsman and your old crony, whom you used to fight whenever
you met him, to drown, if you had known who was in the boat.'
' I would not, sir,' said Aaron, stoutly. ' Yet, to tell the truth,
I'd as lief you were at the bottom of the sea, in Davy's locker,
where we all thought you were, and where you ought to be by
rights, your ship and the crew all being there except you.'
' Give me thy hand, Aaron.'
So they shook hands.
'As for the shilling, sir,' said Aaron, ' let me make it a guinea,
and if your honour will let me pay for a decent suit of clothes, or
shoes, at least- '
' Nay, Aaron. As you found me, so shall they find me. The
shilling will be enough to pay for all I want; and I have gone so
long barefooted that my feet are as hard as leather, and feel not
the road. As for the shilling, we will, perhaps, fight for it. But not
yet. You would not, I am sure, being an honourable man, wish
me to fight until I have recovered my strength. Farewell Aaron.'
So he stepped ashore, and with such lightness of' step as
reminded Aaron of the old days when Jack stepped down the
street in his midshipman's uniform, free and careless. Ho wag
VERY WELL THEN 83
light of step because of the joy of returning home, yet he was still
somewhat dizzy and weak. However, he had a shilling to pay for
supper, and he had but twenty miles to walk, or thereabouts. A
short distance for those who are strong and well, but a long journev
to be done on foot by a man with an open wound on his forehead,
and half-starved to boot, so that it is not surprising that he did not
reach Deptford till noon next day.
The next day was Sunday.
At half-past twelve, the Vicar of St. Paul's finished a most
learned discourse upon certain philosophical systems of the Phoe¬
nicians, the Chaldeans, the Greeks, and the Egyptians, deducing
Christian truths, by the method known as analogy, from each.
Castilla, I remember, sat with folded hands, and eyes fixed upon
the preacher, as if she understood every word. And the Admiral
slept. The poorer part of the congregation behaved after their
kind; that is to say, the men slept, the women sat perfectly still,
and the boys fidgeted. When one became too noisy, he was taken
out by the beadle and caned in the churchyard among the tombs,
the other boys all listening, and counting the strokes, as if the
number administered was in itself a fine moral lesson (the same
thing may be observed both in the Army and the Navy). When I
read that the Papists attach a particular merit to mere attendance
or presence during the performance of their mass, I cannot but
think that the same indulgence might be extended to our poor
ignorant rustics and servants for their patient attendance at the
sermons of which they understand nothing.
When morning service was ended, the Vicar came down from
the pulpit and walked into the vestry, preceded by the beadle,
carrying his stick of office, and followed by the clerk. Then the
people'all stood up in respect to the Quality, who led the way out of
the church. First there walked down the aisle the Admiral, his wig
that morning combed, curled, and powdered, and with him his lady
in hoop and satin, and his daughter Castilla in hoop and sarsnet,
very beautiful to behold. After them came Mr. Pett, the ship¬
builder, with his wife and family; Mr. Underhill, the retired
purser, who was a bachelor; Mr. Mostyn, the Cocket-writer of the
Customs ; Mr. Shelvocke with his family, and others who lived in
the genteel houses beside the Bridge ; and with them I walked
down the aisle, though only a painter, and an apprentice at that.
When we had passed down the aisle, and conversed for a few
minutes standing on the great stone terrace which makes St. Paul's
Church so stately, we separated, some taking the pathway through
the churchyard to the right into Church Lane, and others to the
left into Bridge Street. I walked beside Castilla, who carried her
Book of Common Prayer, and was silent, doubtless meditating on
the spiritual truths of the Vicar's sermon. Behind us came three
out of the Admiral's four negroes, and Philadelphy, splendid in her
red silk handkerchief and a blue speckled frock. And after us
came the common sort flocking out together, the boys, for their
a 2
84 THE WORLD WENT
part, glad that the sermon was finished, and all of them longing for
the Sunday's beef and pudding. The poor do certainly exercise the
virtue of patience more than the rich, especially at a sermon, of
which, when a learned Divine, like my father, preaches it, they can
understand not one word. So that one may forgive them for the
unrestrained joy which, on every Sunday, the faces in the side
aisles manifest at the conclusion of the discourse, not only of the
boys and girls, but of the grown-up people as well. Among those
who followed after the better sort were Mr. Westmoreland, the
Penman, and his daughter—he bent and feeble, round-shouldered
and meek, leaning on his stick; and by his side, Bess, tall and
upright as a lance, dressed somewhat finer than those of her condi¬
tion are wont to go, and holding her head in the air as if she was a
Queen. Strange that her father should be so meek and humble,
and that no learning of the Catechism could teach Bess meekness
or humility. There is, I now understand, a certain quality in
beauty which prevents its owner from lowliness, however humble
be her station. The young fellows looked after Bess as she came
forth from the church; but she regarded them with proud eyes,
and passed on disdainful, as if she was too high and good for any of
them. Therefore they followed after the other girls, who were as
willing as Bess was proud, and perhaps, in these honest fellows'
eyes, not much less beautiful.
Just opposite the churchyard gate, close to the principal entrance
of Trinity Hospital, we observed, as we passed into Church Lane
and turned to the right, a fellow leaning against the posts. He
was tall and big-hmbed, but thin and wasted, as if he had been
suffering from some disease or dreadful privations. One could very
well see that he was a sailor, though in his dress, such as it was,
there was little to show it. He wore a common sailor's petticoat or
slop, he had a ragged waistcoat, buttoned up to the neck, because
he had neither shirt nor cravat; he was bareheaded and bare¬
footed ; his hair was long and matted; round his forehead was
tied a dirty clout or handkerchief, red with streaks of blood, so that
he seemed to have but one eye.
As we came out of the churchyard, I caught sight of him, and
thought, naturally, how he would look if he were drawn just so, in
those rags, and put into a picture, making one of a group. And I
saw, but suspected nothing—how could we be all so foolish and
blind as not to see, with half an eye, who it was ?—how he started
when we came forth from the churchyard, and made as if he would
move towards us, perhaps to beg, but checked himself, and waited
where he was.
But the Admiral stopped, and surveyed him leisurely from head
to foot. Then he lugged out his purse, and found a crown-piece,
which he bestowed upon the man.
' My lad,' he said, ' thou art a sailor, and thou hast fallen among
thieves, belike. I will not ask where thy wound was gotten nor in
what company; nor how thou art in such ragged plight.' Tak«
VERY IVELL Til EN 85
this crown-piece. Go into dock and refit. "When this is spent,
come to me for another. And when all is well again, volunteer
and serve the King, and so keep out of mischief.'
He shook his gold stick with admonition, and stumped away.
But the man took the coin and held it in his hand, without saying
a word of thanks. I, still watching him in my foolish way, be¬
cause so picturesque a rogue had I never seen, most of our ragged
vagabonds spoiling their beauty, so to speak, by going in an old
wig, torn in half, burned, uncombed, and dirty, that hath, perhaps,
been used by a shoeblack to rub the shoes in his trade. There is
no picturesqueness possible in an old wig. Yet, I was not so
stupid but I saw in the man's eye a look which was both wistful
and sorrowful, though I did not then interpret it in that manner.
So the Admiral went on, followed by his good lady, who held
her skirts in her hand, and stared at the man in her turn, as ladies
sometimes look at such poor wretches—namely, as if they were of
a different clay, and had another kind of Adam for their father.
But one must not expect a gentlewoman, such as the Admiral's
lady (she was by birth distantly connected with the Bight Honour¬
able the Earl of Bute, and a Scotswoman) to understand how,
beneath the most rugged exterior, there may be found admirable
qualities of courage and fidelity. So she gazed upon him, turned
her head, and went her way after the Admiral. After her came
Castilla. ' Poor man! ' she said, in her sweet way, ' I would I had
some money to give thee; but I have none. Truly thou art to
he pitied. I wish thee better fortune and a ship.'
She had been taught by her father, and fully believed it, that
the only place where these rough tarpaulins were happy and out of
mischief was on board ship. Seeing that they are so often drunk
and fighting, and in trouble on shore, perhaps she was right. But
then ashore there is no bo's'n, and there is no cat-o'-nine-tails, save
for pickpockets. So she looked at him compassionately, and he
moved his lips as if he would have spoken, but did not. And so
she passed on her way.
Then came I myself. I said nothing, but he looked at me with
a kind of sorrowful wonder. I remembered, directly afterwards,
what that eye of his said as plain as it could speak; but at the
moment I was deaf to its voice, and blind and stupid, thinking only
of a bundle of rags on a tall figure, and how the man and the rags
would look in a picture. After ourselves came the negroes and
Philadelphy. The men rolled their eyes at this poor fellow with
the contempt that a fat and well-fed negro always feels, forgetful of
his skin, for a starving white man, and if their master had been out
of hearing they would have laughed aloud and even rolled on the
ground in the enjoyment of his suffering. Nothing makes a negro
lau^h more joyfully than to see somebody hurt. That is, perhaps,
why some of their kings celebrate their most joyful festivals with
horrid murders and rivers of blood. Philadelphy followed her
young mistress, and had no eyes for anyone else, being, though
86
THE WORLD WENT
a witch and a sorceress, and an Obeah woman, faithful to Miss
Castilla.
When we had passed, the Vicar came out of the vestry and so
into Church Lane.
'Why, my friend,' he said, stopping to contemplate the scare¬
crow, 'where hast thou gotten these rags and this wound ? '
' I have escaped, sir, from a French prison, and have received a
hurt on the forehead.'
Something in his manner touched the Vicar.
' Are you a common sailor ? ' he asked.
' Do I look like aught else, sir ? Heard one ever of an officer in
such rags as mine ?'
' Yet you speak like an educated man. And your voice seems
familiar to me. Follow me to the vicarage, my poor man, where
you shall have a plate of victuals and a tankard of ale, and we will
see what can be done to replace some of these rags, which are not
proper for a Christian man and an honest man to wear.'
' How doth your Reverence know that I am an honest man ? '
' Nay, that I know not, and there are many rogues abroad. But
it is not for me—God forbid!—to attempt to separate the sheep
from the goats. Therefore, sheep or goat, follow me and be welcome,
in the name of our Saviour.'
The Vicar left him, and he turned and would have followed, but
for one thing.
We who were a few yards in advance, unthinking and un¬
suspecting, heard a cry which stopped the very beating of our hearts.
The cry was from Bess Westmoreland.
She, too, saw the ragged sailor when she passed through the
churchyard gate. But she did not, like the rest of us, pass on, and
think no more. She suddenly broke from her father, pushed the
crowd away to right and left, and fell on her knees upon the muddy
ground,catching the man by both hands, like a mad thing, and crying:
'Oh, Jack! Jack! Jack! He is home again! Jack Easter-
brook has come home again !'
Then, as we crowded round, we saw the tears run down his face.
It was the first time, and the last, that ever any man saw Jack weep ;
yet he had plenty to cry for, both before this and after. He caught
the girl by both hands, and bent over her, saying, as we all heard:
' Oh! Bess, Bess, none of them remembered me—not even
Luke; none of them thought of me! But you remembered me,
Bess ! Oh! Bess, you remembered me! '
CHAPTER XI.
the voyage of ' the countess of dorset.'
Then we all crowded round him, shaking his hand and rejoicing
and the Admiral first swore at Jack for playing a trick upon us
(but, alas! it proved to be no trick), and then at himself for his
VERY WELL THEN 87
Stupidity, and then could say nothing for the tears which drowned
his voice and ran down his cheeks. And Jack declared first that
he would never part with the Admiral's crown-piece, and next that
he would not put off his rags until he had first eaten the Vicar's
plate of victuals and drank his tankard. This he did; and the
Vicar said grace solemnly, with thanks for the safe return of the
long-lost sailor; and we all flocked round him to see him eat and
drink. A pretty sight it was, for he had not tasted honest roast
beef for six long years. Then, though it was Sunday, nothing
would do but they must ring the church bells, as if they would
bring down the tower about their heads. And Mr. Brinjes came
running in shirt-sleeves, waistcoat, and night-cap, just as he left his
shop, the lancet still in his hand with which he had been bleeding
people all the morning.
Thus we carried home our poor ragged prodigal. After the
first confusion was over I looked for Bess, but she had slipped
away, unheeded.
Then came the barber, and cut off his frightful beard, trimmed
and powdered his hair, and tied it behind with black ribbon, so that
he looked now like a Christian. More suitable clothes were found
for him, and as for his wound, Mr. Brinjes dressed it for him, and
covered it with plaister, telling him that it was an ugly gash, but in
a few days would be healed, save for the scar across his forehead,
a thing which no sailor heeds; and then he stood before us, a
proper and handsome fellow indeed. He had left us a lad, and he
came back to us a man, over six feet in height, and with broad
shoulders and stout legs to match. His cheeks, 'tis true, were
somewhat hollow and pale, because he had been on short commons
for four years, as you will presently learn.
Now, you will believe that we were eager to know what had
befallen him; but we could at first get little talk with him, for all
that afternoon there came to the house people of every kind anxious
to see and converse with this young hero, who had, it was reported
in the town, escaped from the French after six years of captivity.
The Church Service in both churches was that afternoon read to
empty pews, because all the worshippers were in the Admiral's
garden. Among them came the widows of those Deptford men who
had sailed with Jack in the ' Countess of Dorset' ; many of them
had long before this married again, and all were anxious to hear of
their late husbands, inquiring particularly into the circumstances
of their death, and appearing to find consolation in considering the
dreadful nature of their sufferings. There came all Jack's former
friends, who had not forgotten him, such as almsmen from Trinity
Hospital, and pensioners from Greenwich, old sailors from Deptford
and Kotherhithe, and even shipwrights and dockyard carpenters.
Mr. Westmoreland came, but without his daughter; and even,
though this seems incredible, some of the Thames watermen, who
had the grace to remember Jack Easter brook. All the afternoon
Cudjoe and Snowball, who ought to have been at church, trudged
8S THE WORLD WENT
about with foaming tankards and mugs, giving everybody who
desired an honest glass to drink the Lieutenant's health (he was
still only a midshipman, but they gave him promotion). And
there were a thousand questions asked one after the other, so that
long before the evening, when we were to have an account of the
voyage, we knew pretty well what had happened. And, though it
was Sunday, there was brewed a great bowl of punch for the
evening; and in the end the Admiral was carried to bed, and many
of the guests retired with a rolling gait and thick voice; while, as
for me, the next morning showed, by trembling fingers and head¬
ache, besides the memory of uncertain steps, that I, too, had
rejoiced among the rest beyond the limits of soberness. Among
the company were, first, my father, the Vicar of St. Paul's; then
Captain Petherick, the commissioner of the King's Yard; Mr.
Stephen Pett, who hath a shipbuilding yard of his own, where
many fair vessels have been built; Mr. Mostyn, Cocket-writer in
His Majesty's Custom House; Lieutenant Hepworth, formerly of
General Powlett's Begiment of Marines; Mr. Underhill; Mr.
Shelvocke (the younger), who had himself been round the world in
the year 1720, as everybody knows who has read the account of
his father's voyage, and the malicious book concerning the same
voyage written by Mr. Betagh, his Captain of Marines. There was
also Mr. Brinjes. And I, for one, presently observed with pride
that we had here assembled together in one room—a thing which
could hardly be compassed in any other town, except Portsmouth,
Plymouth, and Chatham—three men who had at three separate
times sailed upon the great unknown Pacific; and of these, two
had actually circumnavigated the globe.
I have observed, having been born and brought up among men
who delight in telling and hearing stories of battle, escapes, ship¬
wreck, and the like, that the hero of a hundred adventures is
seldom as ready to tell them as he who hath in all his life ex¬
perienced but one ; and that, often enough, not of his own seeking,
but against his own desire, and even entered upon in bodily fear.
Yet Virgil makes iEneas relate his wanderings movingly and in
the finest verse ; and Shakespeare tells how Othello would, in the
hearing of Desdemona, fight his battles over again. As for Jack,
he had encountered so many perils and met with so many adven¬
tures, and those of so extraordinary a kind, that one would not
expect the hundredth part of them to be told in one evening. They
were enough to fill a dozen books of travel, such as are generally
written, most of them with no adventures more terrible than the
Tipsetting of a coach or the appearance of a footpad; nay, I have
never seen any books which contained such wonders as Jack had
witnessed, if we except the voyages of Captain Clipperton, Captain
Shelvocke, and Commodore Anson ; and none of these commanders
ever sailed among the islands which the ' Countess of Dorset'
visited. Yet he was not able, at first, to tell us much about them ;
and it was only by continual questioning and persuading him to
talk, with the map lying open before him, that we could get him to
VERY WELL THEN 89
unburden his mind of some of the things he had seen and under¬
gone. Some men—of whom Jack was one—are so constituted
that they do not seem to understand what people want to know, or
what they should tell them. Our hero was not reticent, I am sure,
from any fear of appearing boastful, because sailors love above all
things to speak of their own adventures ; but because, first, he felt,
on this the first day of his return, new and strange to us, after six
years of absence; and next, he was never good at narrating, save
stories of fight; and, further, it is not easy for anyone to gather up
immediately, and at short notice, all the recollections of the past
six years. When a man has been two years with savages, or two
years in a Spanish or French prison, he is apt to forget some of the
things which happened before, even though they passed among the
unknown islands of the Pacific Ocean.
' As for her course, now,' he began, doubtfully. He had before
him the map of the world, on Mercator's projection, by John
Senex. It was my father's copy, and although the map is not on
so large a scale as a ship's chart, yet it was big enough to serve.
Deptford is too insignificant to be marked, and Jack's finger, when
he would indicate the ship's starting-point, covered the whole of
Kent, Middlesex, Essex, and Surrey. ' As for her course, now,' he
repeated, looking at the map doubtfully, considering how best to
begin. Perhaps he had forgotten how to use a map, since he had
not seen one for four years. Castilla was standing on one side,
looking over his shoulder, I at the other side. The Admiral sat
opposite, his red face filled with benevolence and affection. Surely,
there never was a kindlier face in the world. Behind him and
beside the fireplace was his lady, not carried away so greatly by
the general emotion, partly because she never entertained the same
love for Jack that filled her husband's breast, and partly because,
like most women, she was not in the least degree interested in
foreign lands and savage races, and partly because she knew not
the bottom of a map from the top. The gentlemen sat round the
table as they chose, and at the sideboard the two negroes had
charge of the smoking bowl. I love negroes for one thing : that is,
for their fellow-feeling when any occasion for rejoicing and feasting
arises. They would like the whole of their lives to be spent in
feasting, drinking, and laughing. For instance, I do not suppose
that these two rascals had given one single thought to Jack during
the whole of his six years' absence, yet here they were, their mouths
broad grinning, their faces shining, their eyes twinkling and
dancing, moving nimbly about with the glasses, taking care, with
the greatest zeal, that the Admiral's was kept always full, and that
none of the gentlemen should be allowed so much as to glance
inquiringly in the direction of the bowl. Had it been the return of
their own son they could not have shown a livelier joy. N.B.—
Later in the evening, when the Admiral was in bed and the guests
gone, they finished the bowl themselves ; and had it not been for
Jack, who in the morning was so good as to pump upon them, they
certainly would have incurred the wrath of the Admiral, for they
go
THE WORLD WENT
were even at eight o'clock in the morning, and after a night's sleep,
still more than half-seas over.
' Oh, Jack,' said Castilla, ' to think that you should remember
her course after all these years ! '
' Easy a bit, my lad,' said the Admiral. ' Take another glass
before we begin. Gentlemen, fill up. Fill up the gentlemen's
glasses, ye black rogues ! This is a jojTul evening—an evening out
of ten thousand. And to think that none of us knew him except
Bess, the Penman's girl! Castilla, my dear, where were your eyes ? '
r— —-———
'Indeed, Sir, I was thinking of the Vicar's discourse. Else, I
am sure I should have known Jack.'
' And where were yours, Luke, and where were mine—to treat
him like a ragamuffin tarpaulin ? Well, well! Fill up Mr. Jack's
glass, Snowball. Drink, my lad; Castilla loves a sailor who can
take his whack. Drink her health as I drink thine, dear lad.'
Castilla laughed. She loved soberness and temperance; but
Jack did not come home every day.
' As for her course, now,' said the Admiral.
'We sailed from Deptford '
VERY WELL THEN 91
' You did, my boy, and I well remember tlie day, six years ago,
when the " Countess of Dorset" dipped her ensign and fired her
salute. The boy tells me, gentlemen, that for four years he has
never tasted punch—poor lad ; nor quaffed a tankard of ale—think
of it; nor sat down to a comfortable pipe of tobacco; nor known
the comforts of a hammock in a seaworthy and weather-tight
vessel. For four years! Your Reverence, it is Sunday evening ;
but, with respect to the cloth,' the Admiral turned his face, rosy and
beaming as the setting sun, to my father, ' when the prodigal son
came home did his father ask the Chaplain, who, I suppose, was a
Levite, whether it was the Sabbath Day, before he ordered the fatted
calf to be killed and roasted ? '
'"We do not learn that he did so,'replied my father. 'Though
doubtless '
' Then, Sir, suffer us to believe, for our satisfaction at the present
juncture, that the event, like another one of later occurrence, hap¬
pened on the Sabbath Day. Then have we authority of Holy Writ
for making merry on the Sabbath Day.'
At this display of wit they all laughed without rebuke from the
Yicar.
' Go on, Jack; go on, my lad. I must still be talking, when it
is Jack we want to hear. Your health, my lad, your health. I
never thought to see thy honest phiz again. Thy hand again, Jack.
This is a joyful evening, gentlemen. Damme, I say again a joyful
evening.' Yet the tears stood in his eyes.
We were all moved, and the Admiral more than any. But Mr.
Brinjes sat in his place, his one eye, like a hall of fire, fixed on Jack.
I knew that he was recalling his own voyage in the Southern Seas,
and thinking of his treasure. It was as if some scent or fragrance
of the islands which he loved to talk about was clinging to Jack.
Then our returned prodigal went on with his narrative, and if
the interruptions of the Admiral are not set down, with his ejacula¬
tions and oaths, it is because, were everything to be told, no history
would ever come to an end. Wherefore they are omitted; nor have
I tried to set down all that Jack said, nor a tenth part, on this
evening, because half the time he was answering questions from
Mr. Shelvocke, who must needs show his knowledge of those seas,
and from Mr. Brinjes, who had also sailed upon them, and from
Captain Petherick, who was a great lover of geography. I have
also ventured to omit that part of his narrative which related to the
behaviour of the crew, the sailing qualities of the ship, and those
matters generally which concern sailors, and which would only be
understood by them. ' We sailed, as you remember, Admiral, car-
rying with us twenty-five guns, with a crew of 120 men all told,
and provisions for twenty-four months. Gentlemen, with submis¬
sion, I venture to remark that no navy provision exists which will
last twenty-four months, for the biscuit becomes weevilly, and the
pork and beef rancid; and as to the cheese and the salt butter—
but there ! '
'He is right,' said Mr. Underhill.
92
THE WORLD WENT
' We were fortunate, however, and fell in, before we suffered much
from this cause, with provisions of another kind. The last land
that we saw was the Start, and the next was Cape Finisterre. We
then stood away for the island of Teneriffe, where we designed to
take in wine, rum, and brandy, the Captain being of opinion that to
keep a merry heart in the crew—which is, above all things, desirable
on a long voyage—a double ration is often necessary ; wherefore,
we laid in at the town of Santa Cruz a great store of malmsey,
canary, and verdina, which is a greenish-coloured wine and strong
bodied, but keeps well in hot climates.
' After leaving Teneriffe, we were becalmed for three weeks,
during which, I remember, we caught two very fine sharks, off
which the men regaled. Then we touched at St. Helena. After this
we were driven off our course by the trade-wind, and sighted
Tristan d'Acunha; we put in at the Cape, and, after leaving Algoa
Bay, we steered nor'-nor'-east, passing the southern point of Mada¬
gascar, where we expected to meet with pirates.'
'I fear they are all dead,' said Mr. Brinjes. ' Their settlement
was on the north-east coast, which is not so full of fever as the south¬
west. Dead now, they must be, every man. And I doubt if their
children, darkies all, would have the spirit to carry on the business.'
' Our course was now to the coast of New Holland, the object of
the voyage being, as the Captain told us, to discover new lands, and,
if possible, countries where British settlements might rival those of
Spain in the Manillas and the Ladrones.'
'You did not visit the Manillas, then?'said Mr. Shelvocke.
' There is nothing in those seas which can surpass the Manillas in
beauty and fertility.'
' The Pope,' said my father, ' pretended, in his pride, to confer
upon the Spaniards all the lands beyond the Atlantic, including, I
suppose, Magellanica or the Pacific Ocean, which was not then dis¬
covered.'
' We had bad weather crossing this great ocean, whereon we
sailed for two months, or thereabout, with never a sight of land.
Then we began to find seaweed, with cuttle bones and bonitos, and
after two or three days we sighted land; but finding nothing except
rocks and foul ground, we stood off again.' His finger was now on
the coast of the great unknown southern island called New Hol¬
land. ' On the third or fourth day we found an opening in the land,
and anchored in two fathoms and a half of water. We called the
place Shark's Bay, and we stayed here a week. The shore is
shelving to the sea, and we saw there a kind of animal like the
West Indian maccaroon, save that it has long hind legs on which it
jumps; and I think it was there that we found an ugly kind of
guana which stinks. The natives were naked black men, some of
them painted with a kind of pigment, and their hair frizzled. They
seem to live on shell-fish, and carry lances with heads of flint.'
' I had hoped,' said my father, ' to hear of some polite and civi¬
lised nation with arts and sciences, and traditions of the patriarchal
religion, and of gentle manners.'
VERY WELL THEN 93
'Their manners,'Jack continued, 'are beastly, and their ways
are treacherous; and as for religion, we saw no sign of any. How
can savages have any religion who live on mussels ? I have lived
on them myself, and felt no promptings of religion all the time, but
only discontent and swearing. Well, gentlemen, we continued our
voyage, and I daresay we carried the coast line a good bit farther
than this map shows ; but my memory serves me not on this point,
and my own as well as the ship's log was lost when the ship was
cast away.'
' Our course,' said Mr. Shelvocke, ' was north of these latitudes.
Wherefore, I have never visited the shores of New Holland. This
I regret the less, having seen the Manillas.'
' When we reached the most southerly point, which, I dare say,
may be somewhere near to this place on the map, the Captain called
together his Lieutenants, the Master and the Captain of Marines,
and, over a cheerful glass, opened his mind to them, as we presently
heard in the gun-room. He said that his orders were general,
and that it was reported by those who had sailed on those seas,
particularly by those who thought it no sin to hoist the Jolly
lioger '
'It is not,' said Mr. Brinjes, stoutly, 'provided that it is in
Spanish waters only. I have myself sailed under the crossbones
and skull. Sin ? Why, it is a commendable action to maul and
harass the Spaniards.'
'The Captain said that it was reported,' Jack continued, 'that
there are islands in those seas of incredible wealth, compared with
which Mr. Shelvocke's Manillas are poor; but that the Spaniards
either endeavour to keep the secret of these islands to themselves,
or they have not the curiosity to seek them out. His design was,
therefore, to seek for these islands, even though we might have to
fight the Spaniards should we meet them ; and if any place should
be found to possess the wealth they are supposed to contain, then,
Spaniard or no Spaniard, to plant the flag of Great Britain upon
them; and, if Heaven should prosper our enterprise, presently to
return by the Straits of Magellan.
' So we steered a course north-west by north, across an open
sea, with fair winds, sighting no land at all until we were in
latitude 20° south, or thereabout, when we came to a great island;
indeed, if it be not a part of the great Southern Continent.
Gentlemen '
Jack broke off here. ' I cannot tell you all, nor a tenth part,
of what we saw in these seas. There are thousands of islands, all
much finer than you can imagine.'
' They are—they are,' said Mr. Brinjes. ' I have seen them
myself.'
' Our own course,' said Mr. Shelvocke, jealously, ' was in the
northern latitude, the islands of which are incomparable.'
' And of what kind are the people ? '
' For the most part we foimd them gentle and generous. No
travellers have ever visited these islands that we could learn; they
94
THE WORLD WENT
know nothing of the Spaniards; they are black, and go naked, and
they can all swim like fishes.'
' They can,' said Mr. Brinjes, ' especially the young women.'
' Of what kind is their religion ? ' asked the Vicar.
'I think, Sir, that they have none'—Mr. Brinjes shook his
head—' at least, we saw no signs of any, though, of course, we
could not talk to them in their own language. The islands are so
close together that it is impossible to sail more than a day or two
without coming in sight of a new archipelago; some there are
which we judged as big as Ireland, perhaps, and others not more
than half an acre ; some there are which are only coral reefs lying
in a circle round smooth water, no bigger than some of the West
Indian Keys; and some there are which are covered with great
mountains and volcanoes.'
' It is true—it is quite true,' said Mr. Brinjes.
4 And as for the riches of them ? ' asked one of the company.
' I know not if there be any. We made such signs as we
thought would make them understand that we wanted gold and
precious stones; but they produced none, and we believed that
they have no knowledge of gold, even if there be gold in their
mountains. Of pearls there must needs be plenty, seeing that there
are oysters in abundance. But we saw none.'
' No gold and no jewels 1' said my father. ' Happy islanders 1'
' And they seem to have all things in common.'
' Wherefore the main temptations to sin,' said my father,' are
removed. Where there is no private property there can be no
robbery, no envying, no jealousies, no overreaching. Oh, thrice
happy people, if they knew their own happiness !'
' If we had not lost the log,' Jack continued, ' we should have
covered these seas with islands never before seen, even by
Dampier, Magellan, Drake, or Rogers. Now, no one knows
where they are, and I alone of all living men, unless it be Mr.
Brinjes, have seen them. As for our gallant company'—here he
paused and looked around him solemnly. I have noticed many
sailors do the same thing; it is as if they were counting those
present to be sure that they, too, are not shipwrecked men—
'they are all dead by now, I doubt not. Unless some escaped, of
whom I know nothing, who may be living yet among the Indians.'
' Fill his glass,' said the Admiral. ' Gentlemen, let us drink
to the memory of these poor fellows, cast away, and now dead.'
' There is no such sailing,' Jack continued, ' anywhere in the
world '
'There is not,' Mr. Brinjes interrupted.
' Save for the constant temptation for the men to desert; and
live in indolence among these people. Better would it have been,
save for one who now sits here among you all, had the whole ship's
company gone ashore and stayed there, to live in the warm air
and sunshine of that climate.'
' Better to die a Christian than live a heathen,' said the Vicar.
' Well, we had the Church Service read every Sunday morning,'
VERY WELL THEN 95
said Jack, 1 which was no doubt a comfortable thing for the poor
fellows to think upon when the rocks were cracking their skulls
like eggshells. But as for the sailing, so long as we were among
the islands, it was like cruising upon a pond, with fresh fruit, and
fish of all kinds, and wild birds in plenty to be shot. Sir '—he ad¬
dressed the Vicar—' this place is surely the Garden of Eden, though
there is in Scripture no mention made of any seas. Of this, the
Captain, who was a sober and religious man, was well assured.'
' The site of the garden,' said my father, ' hath been placed in
Mesopotamia, between the Tigris and Euphrates, or in Arabia
Felix, or at the foot of the Caucasus, or near Damascus, but never,
that I know of, in Magellanica or Oceanus Australis. And I know
not how it could be there, unless the Euphrates and the Nile have
greatly changed their course.'
' It cannot be anything else but the Garden of Eden,' said
Jack; 'though, perhaps, in the Deluge much of it was swallowed
up, and only the tops of the mountains left above water.'
' Should we ever,' said the Vicar, ' find that garden, which
doubtless exists somewhere upon the earth—nay, some have pre¬
tended to have seen it—we shall also find the gate, and at the
gate the angel with a flaming sword turning in every direction to
keep the way of the Tree of Life. But it may very well be that,
when the curse of labour was imposed upon man for the sin of
Adam—in consequence of which some parts of the world were
afflicted with aridity and sand, other parts were covered with ice
and snow, others, again, became marshes, and others became hard
and unprofitable for the toilers—that some parts were left by
merciful design in their virginal and pristine beauty, just as they
left the hand of the Creator at the dawn of the first Sabbath, being
reserved for this generation to discover, so that faith might be
strengthened, and true religion revived in the world, by so striking
a proof of the Divine Narrative. But let us go on, for the hour
groweth late.'
'Alas! gentlemen, there is very little more to tell, and the rest
of the history of the ill-fated " Countess of Dorset" is all misfor¬
tune. We came, at length, to an end of these islands, which we
parted with to our great regret; and so, with open sea, steering
now east or south-east, with design to make Juan Fernandez or
the Island of Masafuera. When we were within thirty or forty
leagues, according to our reckoning, of these islands, there fell upon
us a dreadful gale, or succession of gales, which lasted a week or
more, so far as I remember, the ship driving before the wind under
bare poles. Then we lost our foremast, and presently both main¬
mast and mizenmast went by the board; and for great waves and
the force of the wind, I never experienced the like. We rigged a
jury-mast with difficulty, and a fore-sail to steady her head. By
this time our bulwarks were broken, and our boats stove in, so that
there was very little hope left us, except that the gale might abate,
in which case we might keep her afloat—for now she had sprung a
leak, and the men were kept day and night to the pump—until we
96
THE WORLD WENT
could make some kind of raft. As for our guns, we heaved them
overboard, with everything else that would lighten the ship. Gentle¬
men, the gale did not abate; on the contrary, it blew harder, if that
were possible ; and I think everybody on board had given up hope.
As for the men, some of them did their duty to the last: but some
of them became mutinous, and wanted to get to the spirit store, and
go down happy. Which is, I take it, a fool's way of dying.'
' It is,' said the Yicar.
' I have seen them die that way,' said Mr. Brinjes. ' Some men
have even walked the plank, after drinking a pint or so of rum,
dancing and laughing, and with the end of a song on their lips.
But, no doubt, 'tis better to go down sober. Besides, there is
always some hope for a sober man, but none for a drunken one.'
' I do not know, gentlemen, how long this lasted. We unshipped
our rudder, I remember, which finished our misfortunes, for now
the ship lay like a log in the trough of waves, which rolled her
about as they pleased. And how many were washed overboard I
know not; nor how many were left in the ship when at last she
struck the rocks, and was beaten to pieces. I would rather face a
dozen broadsides than wait again, for a week or more, with Death
almost certain at the end of it. To judge from the haggard faces
of those who waited with me, and to remember my own mind—
why, we died a hundred deaths in the mere apprehension and
waiting for it. Most of us died in earnest before long. For one
morning, when the daylight came, we saw before us a most dread¬
ful sight—namely, the coast of Patagonia, which is the most in¬
hospitable, I suppose, in the whole world, and the most terrible, by
reason of its rocks and precipices. We were driving right, upon
the coast. Then, indeed, we gave ourselves up for lost. When we
struck, the sea lifted her and beat her against the rocks, breaking
and grinding her timbers as if she had been nothing bigger than a
Portsmouth wherry; and the waves broke over her at the same
time, washing the men from the places where they were clinging.
As for me, I was carried off, and what happened to me afterwards
I know not, save that I lost consciousness, and when I recovered I
found myself lying on a ledge of rock, but how I get there, whether
carried thither by some great wave or upon some piece of wreck, I
know not. The first thing I did was to make sure that I had no
bones broken. I was not indeed hurt in any way, save that from
head to foot I was covered with bruises, which were of small
account. And then I turned to look at the wreck. We were surely
landed in the worst place in the world; it was a narrow creek or
bay between high cliffs, into which the sea rushed with violence
inexpressible. Already the ship was broken up save for the after
part, where there were still clinging two or three poor wretches;
below my feet in the boiling water, grinding against each other,
were pieces of wreck, and, most terrible to see, there were mangled
bodies of our poor fellows, dashed against the rocks and among the
broken timbers. It is wonderful to think that any of us escaped.
' At first I thought that I was alone, the only man saved, J3ut
VERY WELL THEN 97
there were others, and I found that most of them, like myself, could
not tell how they had got ashore, and why they were not, like their
shipmates, dashed to pieces. There were fourteen of us in number,
and no more came ashore ; wherefore, seeing the violence of the
waves and the impossibility of swimming in such a sea, we con¬
cluded that the rest were all drowned. When the wind abated,
which was the next day, we managed to get up to the rocks some
of the timber and wreck washed ashore, and made some kind of
shelter; but we could not light a fire, and it was now the winter
season in these latitudes, and cold. There were one or two casks of
provisions which reached the shore unbroken and not touched by
the sea; we lived upon them while they lasted, our drink being
rain-water, of which there was plenty. When this supply ceased
we had nothing to subsist upon at all but sheLl-fish, of which there
were at first great quantities, but we presently exhausted them, and
then we had to leave our hut, such as it was, and to move on along
the coast in order to find more. We were all the time as men in a
dream, not knowing where we were nor what to do ; all day we
gazed stupidly at each other, and all night we crouched together for
warmth. But when the time came that we must leave our rocks
we began to take counsel. My companions were common sailors,
rude and ignorant fellows; and as for me, I knew nothing except
that I was certain that we must be somewhere upon the western
shore of South America, that part of it which is called Patagonia.
Now, if we marched south, we should in time come to the Straits
of Magellan, through which there might pass some ship; but how
long we should wait, or how great the distance might be, we knew
nothing. And every day's march would bring us into colder and
more desolate regions. On the other hand, if we marched north,
we might, in the long run, reach the Spanish settlements, which
are reported to stretch southward very far. But, again, should we
reach them, it was most likely that they would murder us, or hand
us over to the Inquisition to be burned alive tor heretics. However,
we decided in the end to march north, which we did, leaving behind
four of our number who had died, partly of cold and partly of flux,
brought on by the shell-fish diet, which afflicted us all in various
ways. As for myself, it covered my whole body with an intoler¬
able itching, which flew from one part to another, so that I got
no rest day or night.'
'It is a prurigo,' said Mr. Brinjes. ' There is no cure for it but
a change of diet.'
' We were by this time in as miserable a plight as ever befell
shipwrecked sailors, for the weather was continually wet and cold;
as for our clothes, they were rags, wet through day and night; we
were pinched with hunger \ we had not a shoe to our feet j there
was not a single tool or weapon, not even a knife among us. A
man, gentlemen, without tools is in sorry case. So we began our
way'along the coast, which we durst not leave, partly for fear of
wild beasts and natives, and partly because while we kept near the
H
98 THE WORLD WENT
sea we should not starve. "We wandered in this way, seeking such
shelter as we could find, and always wet, cold and half-starved for a
month or two—I know not how long. But one day we fell in with
a tribe of Indians. By this time, I remember, there were only
eight of us left. These men came to meet us, brandishing spears
and threatening to kill us; while we, for our part, had nothing to
do except to make signs showing how helpless and harmless we
were. Bo they took us with them: and I think I never spent a
happier evening than the first, when we lay upon the ground about
a great fire, with broiled fish to eat and sealskin to cover us. "W e
had not been warm or dry for a matter of three months. As for
living with them, we soon got tired of that life, except two of our
company, who took Indian wives, and resolved to continue among
them. For, like us, they lived by the seashore, having no know¬
ledge of any agriculture, and devoured fish and mussels, oysters,
and so forth, all of which were collected for them by their wives.
I have never seen any more dexterous than these poor women in
diving and catching fish, which they would drive, by frightening,
into some small creek or inlet of the sea, whence they could not
escape and were easily captured. They also collected and ate
certain berries, which were nauseous at first, but which we pre¬
sently grew to consider as useful against the disorders caused by a
fish diet. But as for the dirt and the vermin, and the savage
nature of the life we led, I cannot so much as speak of these
things. Sometimes when, by reason of storm and gales, fish was
scarce, we were driven to live on the flesh of seals, and that putrid
and stinking. And because we depended so much upon the mussels
and oysters, we were obliged continually to shift our quarters, and
slowly drew more and more northwards, until at last we arrived at
the most southerly of the Spanish settlements, which consisted of
nothing else than a kind of convent and a church with four priests.
For my own part, I approached the place with terror, thinking that
the stake would be set up, and the flames would be consuming us as
soon as the priests should understand that we were Englishmen and
Protestants. Well, gentlemen, they never so much as asked us of
what religion we were. But these good priests—your Beverence
will forgive me '
'There are charitable hearts in every country and in every
religion,' said the Vicar. ' Why not in Magellanica ? '
' They gave us clothes to put on; they washed and dressed our
wounds, because by this time we were covered all over with sores
and bad places. They gave us good food and wine to drink, and
they heard our story—one of them could speak English—with
tears and pity. They told us that we must be sent to the nearest
Spanish port as prisoners ; but bade us be of good courage, because
we should be treated well.'
'In these remote parts,' said the Vicar, 'the Pope and the
Inquisition being so far off, there is room for the growth of human
feelings, even with priests.'
VERY WELL THEN 99
' After six months of living among them—a better and a more
charitable brotherhood I never hope to meet—there came an
opportunity of conveying us to the island of Chiloe, where there is
a Spanish Governor. Now, I reckon that the ship was cast away
two years and a half after we sailed, it being then midwinter,
which, on the coast of Patagonia, is in the month of July; and I
think that we lived with the Indians for the space of two years—
it was time enough to wear out all that were left of our rags, so that
we went into the convent with nothing but sealskin over our
shoulders, tied round the waist with a thong of sealskin leather.
We stayed at Chiloe, where we were treated more hardly than with
the priests, yet not cruelly, for three or four months, when the
Governor was able to send us on to the port of Callao.'
' He is now,' said the Admiral, ' prisoner of the Spanish, and
within reach 4of the Bloody Inquisition. Snowball, fill up Mr.
Easterbrook's glass. Keep it full, ye lubber! at such a time he
needs all the punch he can swallow.'
' Out of the whole ship's company, there remained now but six.
They put us in prison, but they gave us wine and food, chiefly
beans, bread, and onions, as good as they had themselves, and
sometimes chocolate. Presently there came a priest, and began to
talk about our heretical condition,- and the dangers we ran should
we continue in obstinacy. This made us mighty uneasy, as you
may imagine; because the Inquisition—the Holy Inquisition, as
they call it—is established at Lima, whither, the Padre informed us,
we should shortly be taken. It seemed likely that we had only
escaped drowning to suffer the rack and the stake. I hope, gentle¬
men, that I should have done my duty even to the end, had there
been no escape. Meantime, I cast about how to get out of their
clutches. We had a good deal of liberty within the prison, and
many visitors came there bringing cigarettos, which are rolls of
paper containing tobacco, to the prisoners, who were mostly half-
caste, in prison for stabbing, or sailors for mutiny, the authorities
caring little how their prisoners pass the time so long as they are
kept in limbo. In this way, I made the acquaintance of an honest
Frenchman, captain of a trading brig, who, I found, hated the
priests and all their works and took pity on me, seeing that I
must either become a convert or look to be burned. He, therefore,
brought me a disguise, and conveyed me safely out of prison on
board his own ship, where I remained stowed away in the hold
until he sailed out of harbour. As for the other men, three of them
recanted their errors, as they called it, and walked in the procession
at an Auto da Fe at Lima, where the other poor fellows, who stuck
by their guns, were burned alive.'
4 'Tis a damnable nation,' said Mr. Brinjes.
1 Say rather,' said the Vicar, ' that it is a nation under the curse
of a gloomy superstition, which prompts them to commit these
cruelties.'
' As for me, I worked before the mast, and found the French
ioo
THE WORLD WENT
sailors, when I could talk their lingo, an honest set of fellows.
But when we got to Brest, we learned that war had broken out;
and so I was a prisoner again, and marched as a common sailor,
with others in the same plight, from one strong place to another,
till we came to St. Omer.'
CHAPTER XII.
how jack thanked bess.
ably in the evening when the com¬
mon sort had all gone away, well
filled with the Admiral's best October,
and before the gentlemen arrived,
Jack left us, and stole quite unnoticed
from the house. As he left us, so he
returned, no one having observed that
he had been absent for a moment.
Yet we were all of us talking and
thinking of no one else, and believed
that he was still among us. So, in a play at the theatre, when
the mind is fully charged and occupied with the hero, so that one
VERY WELL THEN
101
can think of nothing but his adventures, we do not perceive that
he is no longer on the stage before our eyes, and, when he pre¬
sently returns, we do not remember that he has ever been out of
our sight, and all that has passed seems to have been done in his
presence.
But why Jack left us and whither he went, I have since been
told, and that, as one may say, on credible authority—namely, by
the only person who knows.
In short, he left us to go in search of Bess, his heart being,
already, inflamed by the thought of her beauty, and fired with
gratitude because, of all his old friends, she alone recognised him.
Ulysses was recognised by none but his dog. Why, Jack would
have been less than human, a mere senseless log, had he not been
moved by this circumstance. And so far from senseless his was a
heart as easily inflamed as touchwood.
Bess was sitting on the floor before the fire, her father being
somewhere abroad, I suppose, in conversation with his friends and
cronies, the sexton and the barber. It was Sunday evening, there¬
fore she had no knitting or work of other kind in her hands. She
could not read, and therefore she had not taken one of her father's
books; and she was alone, therefore she was not talking. Outside,
the night had already fallen, but she was not one of those who
waste good money by burning candle and fire at the same time,
unless for the sake of work. The red firelight played upon her
cheeks, and made them glow; and upon her eyes, and made them
red balls ; and upon the walls of the room, which were covered
with specimens of the Penman's art, pasted on the wainscot; and
on the sideboard, where stood the candlesticks of brass and the
snuffers, polished and bright; with the house pewter, which shone
like silver, so good a housewife was this girl. Her hands lay folded
in her lap, and she was leaning forwards as if reading faces in the
red coals, as children sometimes love to play. I think she saw one
face only, and that a strange wild face, with matted hair and long
beard, and a bloody clout across the forehead. As to her thoughts
—who can read the thoughts that crowd into the head of a young
girl? I would not dare to say that up to that time Bess was in
love with her old playfellow; yet it is certain, because Mr. Brinjes
spoke so much of him, that he often occupied her mind. Nor was
it, I venture to say, all on Jack's account that she would listen to
none of Aaron Fletcher's advances. Yet she must have been hard¬
hearted, indeed, had this home-coming failed to move her soul. I
have sometimes thought that if at this time Jack had made no
advances to her, she must presently have taken Aaron and thought
no more of her old playfellow, save as of a gallant gentleman be¬
longing to a class above her. No man can speak positively of a
woman's mind; but I am assured that it is seldom in the nature of
a woman to love any man—though she may greatly admire him—
until he hath first shown and proved by words and looks that ho
thinks of her and loves her. Therefore, if Jack had made no
102
THE WORLD WENT
advances however, it is idle to talk of advances : such, a man
as Jack doth not make advances: they are for cooler and more
cautious men; he lands, charges, and carries by storm the fortress
which expected to be besieged by well-known rules. _
Now, as she sat there watching the coals glowing in the fire,
Bess suddenly started and her heart ceased to beat, for at the door
she heard a step. She remembered that step after six long years ;
and the latch was lifted, and Jack himself came in—a thing she
had not so much as ventured to hope, though slm expected that he
might in a day or two call to see her father, if he should still
remember his former instructor.
She sprang to her feet, half-afraid, yet rejoicing.
' Bess 1' he cried hoarsely. ' You had not forgotten me ? '
He was dressed now, shaven, and washed; a tall and handsome
man, though pale and somewhat hollow in the cheek.
' Bess !' he repeated, holding out both hands, ' have you nothing
to say to me ? '
' Oh, Jack !' she whispered timidly. But now she was trem¬
bling, and really afraid of him, because there was a look in his eyes
which frightened her; a strange look it is, which painters, for the
most part, have failed to catch ; it is one which makes the eyes soft
and glowing; it is the look of love and longing. Bess had never
seen that look, and it frightened her.
' Jack,' she said, ' shall I go and look for father ?'
' Oh! ' he answered, ' you knew me, Bess ! ' His voice was
husky. ' All the rest had forgotten me ; but you knew me. Look
for your father ? Not yet, Bess ! Not yet! Oh, Bess 1' He said
no more, but caught her hands, drew her towards him, and kissed
her a thousand times.
Then, in a moment, all her love went out to him. She gave
him all her heart. Thenceforward she was no longer afraid of him;
yet she was his servant and his slave, though he called her mis¬
tress.
' My dear,' he said presently, ' let me look at my sweetheart.
Nay, the firelight will do to light those eyes ; no need of a candle.
Oh, the sweet face! And what a tall girl she is ! Is it the fire¬
light or her cheeks, or is she blushing because her lover hath kissed
her ? And oh, the rosy lips ! Kiss me, Bess. Kiss me, and tell
me that you love me. My dear, I had forgotten no one at home—
no one; but until you caught my hands to-day, I did not know how
much I loved you. And now, tell me, pretty, hast thou sometimes
thought of Jack ? '
' Oh, yes,' she told him. ' I have never forgotten, never; and I
knew you were not drowned, whatever they said, and Mr. Brinjes
alway declared that some day you would come home again. Often
and often have I gone to Philadelphy and inquired of her concern¬
ing a young sailor—meaning you, Jack—but I did not tell her who
it was, and always her reply was that he was safe, and would come
home again, though to be sure, she said, there were dangers in the
VERY WELL THEN 103
way. She is a proper witch, and knows. But, oh! Jack, go away;
this is foolishness ; you must not kiss me any more, because you are
a gentleman, and I am only a simple girl, and the daughter of a plain
man. You must not talk of love to me ; you must not think of me,
Jack. I know you would not laugh at me, and mock me ; but you
must not think of me, Jack. Why, there are fine ladies in plenty
who would die for love of you!'
' And could you die for love of me, Bess ? Oh ! how could I
live so long without thee ? '
' Oh, J ack! ' she murmured, laying her head upon his shoulder,
' I would rather die of love for you than live for the love of someone
else ! and oh ! if you left off loving me I should sit down and pray
to die at once.'
He kissed her again—I know not how many times he kissed
her—telling her, which was quite true, because his thoughts ran not
that way, that he cared not a fig for all the fine ladies in London
town, with their nimby-namby, piminy ways, and their hoops and
paint; but he loved an honest girl with roses of her own in her
cheeks, who would love him in return. And so their pretty love-talk
went on, with thee and thou, and kisses sweet as honey to this
girl, who knew not how or why she should conceal her joy and
her love.
' I never knew,' Bess told me afterwards, 1 no, I never knew
what happiness could be until I sat that evening with my sweet¬
heart's arms round my waist, and my face upon his shoulder, so
that he could kiss me as often as he pleased and whisper that he
loved me. Oh, why—why should he love me; he so handsome
and so splendid, and I so simple a maid ? What are a girl's good
looks compared with a man's ? And how should he be able to love
one who is not a gentlewoman—he who might, had he chosen, have
married a countess ? '
When he left her, which was all too soon, because the Admiral
would be expecting him, the girl fell upon her knees and prayed.
This was a thing (she confessed it to me herself) which she had
never done before in her life, except in church, and according to the
Forms contained in the Book of Common Prayer. If one may
venture so to speak of a Book which hath engaged the thoughts and
labours of learned and pious men since the foundation of the
Church—I mean the Book of Common Prayer—there is one
unfortunate omission in its forms: it provides, that is to say, for
all the other great events in life—namely, Birth, Baptism, Marriage,
the Arrival of Children, Sickness, and Death ; but there is no Form
of Prayer for the Betrothal of a man and a maid. Yet there are
many appropriate Lessons that might be taken for it from the Old
and New Testament; and there are many grateful and joyful
Psalms; and there are love-sick verses—better, surely, were never
written especially in the Song of Solomon; and, without doubt,
if ever there were occasion for prayer and praise, it is when a pair
of lovers promise in private what they will presently promise in the
104
THE WORLD WENT
sight of the congregation. Bess, poor child, knew no prayer fit for
the occasion ; but she knelt upon the fioor and with tears she
thanked God for the safe return of her lover, and implored Him to
extend His continual protection over him.
When Mr. Westmoreland came home at half-past eight, he was
astonished to find that his daughter had forgotten to put out the
bread and cheese and beer. Heard one ever of housewife forgetting
to lay the supper? And though he talked about nothing but Jack
Easterbrook—his unexampled sufferings and his wonderful and pro¬
vidential preservation—this strange daughter of his was so cold and
unfeeling about her old playfellow that she hardly said a word, but
made haste to go to bed, where she was removed from her father's
chatter, and could lie contentedly awake all night long, her foolish
heart beating with the joy of this great happiness.
CHAPTER XIII.
jack ashore.
The next day, accompanied by the Admiral and Captain Petherick,
Jack went to the Navy Office in Seething Lane to report himself.
And here began trouble he did not expect. For, seeing that they
had long since written off the ship as cast away, and her company
as dead, at first it appeared as if Jack had lost his seniority for
certain, even if he had not been removed from the King's service.
The latter view was stoutly maintained by the clerks, who argued
that if a man has been written off as dead, he must be dead, or
else—a thing impossible and absurd, if not treasonable—the Navy
Office must be charged with error ; so that, if he should afterwards
be so rash as to return, he must either be considered out of the
service, or must begin again at the bottom of the ladder ; otherwise
their books would have to be rewritten; very likely the Estimates
must be amended, and, perhaps, even a new audit undertaken.
There was much correspondence on this subject carried on between
the various departments; and, for aught I know, it may still be
going on. While it was still in agitation, they began to send him
. about, like a ball at the game of cricket, from one office to another.
First they sent him to the Surveyor's Department, which required
him to make a return of the ship's stores and their expenditure up
to the conclusion of the voyage ; and asked him, also, to produce
the purser's, bo's'n's, and carpenter's accounts, the muster-book and
the log-book, these books being always, by regulation, required of
the Captain on his return. The clerks in the Navy Office, who
receive fifty pounds a year, and live at ten, or even twenty, times
that rate in war time—thus showing how an honest man may
prosper merely by the handling of ship's books and the passing of
the Captain's papers—gave this young officer, from whose handling
no profit could be obtained for themselves, as much trouble as Jacks-
VERY WELL THEN 105
in-office possibly can ; and, being themselves bound and tied by all
kinds of rules, they are able to hamper grievously any oflicer who
doth not first grease their palms.
Next, when Jack expected to receive the six years' pay which
was certainly due to him, there was trouble with the Comptroller's
Department, which contended that, as he had not served for more
than two years, he was entitled to no more than so much pay, and
that only when it could be proved that he had served to the satis¬
faction of the Captain, who, we know, was dead and gone ; and that,
as regards the four years of wandering and captivity, they must not
count as service at all.
Thirdly, when Jack asked permission to pass his examination in
seamanship for Lieutenant's rank, it was objected by the clerks of
the Secretary's Department, first, that he had not, in accordance
with the regulations, put in his log-books or journals; secondly, that
he could not show the certificate of the Captain ; and, thirdly, that
he had not served for the six years required by the rules of the ser¬
vice. At all these vexatious delays Jack lost his temper, and would,
in the Navy Office itself, give the clerks, in good fo'ks'le English,
his opinion as to their motives and their honesty, which, of course,
exasperated these gentlemen, and made them stand out still more
stiffly for the letter of the law.
Now, while these things were under consideration, the Commis¬
sioners themselves, being informed of what had happened, sent for
Jack and examined him personally concerning the ship's course, the
discoveries she had made, the natural riches of the Islands among
which he had sailed, and the possibility of establishing settlements
and posts upon them which might prove effective in restraining the
insolence of the Spanish, and in preventing the establishment of the
French power in those regions. Finally, they instructed him to
draw up, without further delay, a Report upon the voyage, as full as
his memory would allow, for the information of the Commissioners
and the Government, containing all that he could remember of the
course, and what he had observed concerning those islands, and
especially on the force of the Spaniards on the South American
shores ; and, which was no doubt gall and wormwood to the clerks,
my Lords the Commissioners were gpraciously pleased to order that
the rules of the service should in this case be suspended, and that,
in consideration of Mr. Easterbrook's previous good character, and
undoubted sufferings after the wreck of his ship—for which he
could not be held in any way accountable—his seniority should be
restored to him, his years of wandering and captivity should be all
counted as years of service, and that he should therefore receive
full pay for the whole six years of service as midshipman on board
a first-rate—namely, at two pounds five shillings a month, which
made the handsome sum of one hundred and sixty-two pounds;
and, lastly, that he should be permitted, on passing his examination,
to assume the rank and uniform of Lieutenant, with the assurance
of a commission to a ship as soon as it was possible to find one for
lo6
THE WORLD WENT
him. This promise was given him so gravely, and by so great a
personage, that Jack placed the most certain trust in it.
It was easier for Jack to pass his examination in seamanship and
navigation, and to put on his new uniform, than to write the Report
asked of him; for he had never the pen of a ready writer, nor had
he the least knowledge of the art of composition; he had forgotten
how to spell even simple words, having been deprived of books for
four years ; and he had almost forgotten how to write. He there¬
fore, by the Admiral's advice, sought the help of my father, who
questioned him minutely on every point; and then, with the assist¬
ance of the charts, drew up, with his own hand, the required
Report; though, with pardonable license, it purported to be written
by none other than Mr. Easterbrook. It contained all the informa¬
tion which the author could elicit by careful and repeated examina¬
tion, and, if published, would have proved a work of the greatest
curiosity and instruction, embellished with the charm of learned
and scholarly style which was so much admired in my father's
sermons, enriched with reflections proper for the various scenes and
adventures through which the (supposed) writer passed, and made
useful for meditation by scriptural references. The Report was
accompanied by a chart showing part of the western coast of New
Holland, with that portion of the Pacific Ocean lying south of the
Equator over which the ' Countess of Dorset' had sailed. This
part of the sea was depicted, by the hand which drew the chart, as
covered with islands, on both sides of the ship's way, lying as thick
as daisies on a grass border. Mr. "Westmoreland it was who drew
the chart; but he was advised and assisted by Jack himself, and by
Mr. Brinjes. He painted the water blue, and the islands and coasts
red. Another hand—I say not whose—decorated those parts of the
ocean where no ship hath yet sailed, and nothing is yet known,
with spouting whales, dolphins at play, sea-lions sporting on rocks,
and canoes filled with black men. The same hand designed and
painted in the northern part of the ocean, off the Island of Cali¬
fornia, the lively representation of an engagement between the great
seven-decked Spanish galleon from Manila and a small English
vessel, the former striking her colours, and the latter flying the flag
of her country, and not the 'Jolly Roger,' as Mr. Brinjes desired.
In the left-hand corner Mr. Westmoreland drew the mariner's
compass, below which he wrote a respectful dedication to my Lords
the Commissioners, signed with the name of John Easterbrook,
midshipman on board the ' Countess of Dorset.' The whole was
finished and adorned with many flourishes, and in the Penman's
finest style. He was so proud of his work that, I believe, he ex¬
pected nothing less than a public commendation of it in the
' London Gazette,' with a handsome reward in money.
Strange to say, this Report, which we hoped would have been
published by order of the Admiralty, was received in silence, and
was never afterwards noticed at all. I know not what became of
it, for Jack obtained no acknowledgment of it, nor was any praise
VERY WELL THEN 107
or reward, that I ever heard of, given to the Penman, and I suspect
that the Report has never been read at all, but still lies on the
shelves of the Navy Office. But, in truth, the wreck of the
' Countess of Dorset' made little stir at the time, because this
intelligence arrived when the public mind was greatly agitated by
the depredations of the French privateers which were now sweep¬
ing the Channel and picking up our merchantmen, and with the
efforts made by the Government to protect our coasts and the seas,
so that the loss of this ship more than three years before, even in
so lamentable a manner, affected people little. All this done, how¬
ever, Jack returned to Deptford, taking up his quarters with the
Admiral, and in very good spirits, being well assured that before
long he would have his commission, and that there was going to be
a long and spirited war, the French having begun with great vigour,
and being already flushed with success, so that they would take a
great deal of beating. He had also jingling in his pocket—no
sweeter music, while it lasts—the whole of his pay for six years.
With this money he was enabled to purchase a new outfit for
himself, having landed, as we have seen, with nothing in the world
—no, not even so much as a shirt. However, he very soon pro¬
cured a sea-chest, and filled it once more with instruments, books,
and a new kit, including his Lieutenant'suniform, in which it must
be confessed he looked as gallant and handsome an officer as ever
put on the blue and white, with none of the effeminacy and affected
daintiness which too often spoil the young soldier as well as the
London beau. Rather did Jack incline to the opposite vice, being,
as his best friends must admit, quite deficient in his graces,
ignorant of polite manners and conversation, unused to the society
of ladies, and, among men, knowing but little of what some have
called the coffee-house manner—that, I mean, which one learns by
intercourse with strangers and general company, in which it is
necessary to concede as well as demand, to yield as well as to
maintain. Yet no swaggerer, or offender against the peace of quiet
men, though he certainly walked with his head in the air, as if the
whole world belonged to him, and, as if it was his right, took the
wall of everyone, unless an old man, a cripple, or a woman, and
that with so resolute an air that even the bully-captains of the
street—who are always ready to shoulder and elbow peaceful men
into the gutter, and, on a mild remonstrance, to clap hand to
sword-hilt, and swear blood and murder—these worthies, I say,
stepped meekly, and without a word, into the mud when they
beheld this young sea-lion marching towards them, over six feet in
height, with shoulders and legs like a porter's for breadth and
strength, splendid in his blue coat with gold-laced hat, his crimson
sash liis white silk stockings, and white breeches. One thing I
commended in him, that he wore his own hair, having it pow¬
dered decently, and tied in a bag with a black ribbon, a fashion
which especially becomes a sailor, first, because a wig at sea, where
everything should be taut and trim, must be troublesome; and
io8
THE WORLD WENT
secondly, because if it be blown overboard what is a man to do for
another ?
Fortunately for the street captains, Jack went seldom to
London, where the noise of the carts and the crowd in the streets
offended him. He loved not to be jostled. And the amusements
of the town pleased him not. Once we went together to see the
play at Drury Lane; the piece was a comedy, very ingenious and
witty, representing modern manners, or that part of modern
manners which belongs to the nobility, where, I suppose, there is
always intrigue, and the conversation always sparkles with epigram;
the meaner kind know not this kind of life. It is pleasant to look
on, and the house laughed and applauded. But Jack sat glum, and
presently grew impatient and went out, and would have no more of it.
' Why,' he said, ' call this a play of modern life ? If a man
were to say to me one-half of what these people continually say to
each other—one calling the other, though in fine words, ass, rogue,
liar, or clown—I would have cleared the whole stage long ago.
Where is the English spirit gone ? Let us get away.'
I asked him whether he did not think the theatre made a fine
sight, with the beautiful dresses of the ladies. But even this did
not please him.
' Dresses ?' he said, • why, they are designed for no other
purpose than to make the poor souls hideous. Hoops, powder and
paint, hair dressed up—I should like, my lad, to show you beside
them a bevy of South Sea Island girls, barefooted, with a simple
petticoat tied round them, and their long hair flying loose. Then
would you understand how a woman should look. I know a girl'
-—he checked himself—' well, put her, dressed as she is, in a box
at the theatre, and she would be like the full moon among the
twinkling stars.'
I might have replied (which is, I suppose, the truth) that women
have no thought of form, and cannot understand that curve which
Hogarth has drawn. Therefore, they understand not why men
love a woman's figure, and regard Fashion as nothing more than
an exhibition of costly and beautiful stuffs, silk, lace, and em¬
broidery, to set off which the figure serves as a frame or machine,
on which they may be hung. Otherwise women would strive for a
fashion at once becoming and fitted to the figure, which they would
then never alter, as the Greeks retained always the same simple mode.
With these views as to ladies' dress, it is easy to understand
that Jack found very little pleasure in visiting Banelagh, or Vaux-
hall, though the freedom of Bagnigge Wells was more to his taste.
Nor did he delight in the coffee-houses. I took him to the Smyrna,
where the politicians resort; and to the Rainbow, where the wits
and templars are found; and to the White Lion, Wych Street,
where they have concerts and women who sing. But he found the
conversation insipid and the manners affected.
There was only one place of public resort which he heartily
appr oved. It was the famous mughouse in Long Lane, whither
VERY WELL THEN
one evening we went, Mr. Brooking, the painter, taking us thither.
It is frequented by many brethren of the brush, who for some
reason are always more inclined to mirth and gaiety than the
sober merchant. In this room there are fiddles and a harp: the
room is divided into small tables which drink to each other; a
president calls for a song, and one song is followed by another till
midnight, the company drinking to each other from table to table,
some taking strong beer, some flip, some rumbo, and some punch.
Jack admired greatly the freedom of conversation, which had
nothing of the coffee-house stiffness; the heartiness with which
one table would drink about with another; the tobacco and the
singing, for which this mughouse was then famous, and all with so
many jokes and so much laughter, that it was a pleasure to think
there was so much happiness left in the world.
But most of his time Jack spent at Deptford: his mornings in
the Yard among the ships, and his evenings at the Sir John
Falstaff with the Admiral, or in the Officers' Boom at the Gun
Tavern, whither the Lieutenants and the Midshipmen resorted for
tobacco and punch.
There remained the afternoon, which, had he chosen, he might
have spent with the Admiral's lady and Castilla.
' Our conversation,' said that sweet girl, ' hath no attraction for
Jack. He loves sailors better than ladies, and tobacco better than
tea; and he would rather hear the fiddle than the harpsichord, and
the bawling by a brother-officer of a sea-song than a simple ditty
from me.'
I suppose that Castilla was naturally a little hurt that Jack
showed no admiration for those accomplishments, of which she
was justly proud. No one played more sweetly, or sang more
prettily, the songs which she knew than Castilla. Every girl likes
a little attention; but this young sea-bear gave Castilla none.
Every girl lilies to think that her conversation is pleasing to the
men : Jack showed no pleasure at all in Castilla's talk. He was
thinking, though this we knew not yet, of another girl, whose
charms bewitched him and made him insensible to any other
woman.
At this period of his life it is certain that Jack loved not the
conversation of ladies, finding it perhaps insipid after the fo'ks'le
talk he had lately experienced in the French prison and his savage
life among the Indians. ' If a man,' he said, ' must needs associate
with women at all, give me a woman who is not squeamish over
a damn or two, and lets a man tell his story through his own way,
without holding up her hands to her face and crying fie upon him
for naughty words ; and one who can mix him a glass of punch-
ay, and help him to drink it—and won't begin to cough directly
his pipe of tobacco is lit. As for your cards, and your music, and
your drinking of tea, it is all very well for landsmen. I dare say
you like handing about the cups for Madame and passing the cream
and sugar to the young misses.'
no
THE WORLD WENT
' You can take your tea as the Admiral takes his, Jack, with a
dram of rosa solis after it.'
' What is it at best, but a medicine ? Why not ask people to
come and drink physic together? Why not ask Mr. Brinjes to
prescribe, as he does, his tea of betony, speedwell, sago, or camo¬
mile ? Or, if you must drink messes, there is chocolate, as the
Spaniards have it. But as for tea, with the strumming of a
harpsichord, and playing at cards for counters, and ladies talking
fiddle-faddle, and Castilla asking you if you like this, or you
would rather choose the other, I confess, my lad, I cannot
endure it.'
' Castilla, Jack ? Surely, she is to your taste ? '
' Why, as for that, she is a pretty, delicate slip of a girl; she
has got soft cheeks, it is true, and brown hair. Give me a tall,
strong woman, who knows her own mind and what she lilies, and
likes it in earnest. Give me a woman with a spice of the Devil.'
'Well, Jack,' I said, surprised that he was not already in love
with Castilla, ' there are plenty of women in Deptford who are all
Devil, if they can tempt you.'
He had got already, though I knew it not, a woman who
possessed her full share of the element he so much desired.
In the afternoons, therefore, he did not court the society of
Castilla, but he went back to his old custom, and sat for the
most part in the apothecary's parlour: not so much for the pleasure
which he took in the conversation of that worthy and experienced
gentleman, as that in this way he could enjoy the company of
another person, who generally came in accidentally about the
same time, but through the garden gate and the back door, while
the Lieutenant marched in boldly, for all the world to see, through
the shop. As Mr. Brinjes slept for the greater part of the after¬
noon, these two could say what they pleased to each other without
fear of being overheard. And nobody so much as suspected that
they were in this room except the assistant, who stood all day at
the counter rolling boluses, pounding drugs, and mixing nauseous
draughts. One might have chosen a sweeter smelling place for
love-making, but then it had the look of a cabin, and something of
its smell, and Jack found no fault with it.
' We talked,' Bess told me, in the time when her only pleasure
was to think and talk about Jack, and when there was no one but
myself with whom she could speak about him, ' We talked all the
afternoon in whispers so as not to wake up Mr. Brinjes, who slept
among his pillows. We sat in the window seat, my head on his
breast, and his fingers played with my hair, and sometimes he
kissed me. Jack told me all he was going to do: he was to get
his commission, and go fighting; he would go for choice where
there were the hardest knocks; they would make a vast deal of
prize money, and he would get promoted, and made Captain, with
twelve pounds a month, and then, when he canie home, he would
marry me.'
VERY WELL TIIEN
in
_ 'And did Mr. Brinjes,' I asked, 'never wake up, and interrupt
this pastime ? '
She laughed. 'Why, when he woke up, he would say, "Kiss
her again, Jack. _ She is the best girl in Deptford. I have saved
her for thee. Kiss her again." He has always been kind to me,
and would never believe that Jack was drowned, and would still be
talking of him, which was the reason why I knew him again when
he came back. And then, Mr. Brinjes would sit up and talk about
his treasure, and how he shall some day fit out a ship, and we are
all to go sailing after the treasure, which is to be my marriage
portion, when it is recovered, so that Jack will marry, after all, the
greatest heiress in England.'
These things I heard, I say, after Jack went to sea again, and
while Bess, like so many women, sat at home waiting and praying
for her lover's safe return. All that time, no one knew, or so
much as suspected, what was going on. Otherwise, I fear, hard
things would have been said of poor Bess by those of her own sex.
Men, in such matters, judge each other more leniently, and with
less suspicion.
If, now, Jack had not been first recognised by Bess; if he had
not gone to see her the first day of his arrival; if—but what doth
it profit to say that if such and such things had not happened
other things would have turned out differently ? It is vain and
foolish talk. Our lives are not governed by blind chance ; and we
must not doubt that, for some wise end which we know not and are
not expected to know, or even to guess, all that happens to us is
ordered and settled for us beforehand.
CHAPTER XIV.
the meddlesome assistant.
The first trouble came to the lovers through the meddlesomeness
and malignity of the Apothecary's assistant. Had Jack known
what this man did, I think he would have made him swallow the
contents of every bottle in the shop. But he never knew it: nor
had he the least reason to suspect the assistant. James Hadlow
(which was his name) was a man of small stature and insignificant
aspect, made ridiculous by his leathern apron, which covered the
front of him from chin to toes, and was too long, having been made
for a taller man, his predecessor. His eyes, as has been already stated,
were, as to their movements, independent of each other. He seldom
spoke, and went about his business steadily and quietly, a man appa¬
rently without passions, who had no more compassion for a sick man
than for a log of wood; a man who never loved a woman or had
a friend, and who, when he was afterwards knocked on the head
in a waterman's house of call while dressing wounds caught in a
drunken broil, left no one to lament his loss. Neither man nor
112
THE WORLD WENT
woman in Deptford ever regarded liim at all, any more than one
regards the fellow who brings the wine at a tavern. Yet, which
is a thing we should never forget, there is no man so meek that
he cannot feel the passion of resentment, and none so weak that
he cannot do his enemy a mischief. Now, for something that was
said or done or perhaps omitted—I know not what—this man
conceived a malignant desire for revenge. I know not which of
the three had offended him: perhaps Jack, who was masterful,
and despised little and humble men ; perhaps Mr. Brinjes himself
who was hard towards his servants; perhaps Bess. But, indeed, it
a creeping thing stings one, do we stop to inquire why it hath done
us this mischief ?
Everybody in the town knew that Aaron Fletcher wanted to
marry Bess, and that, in her pride, she would have nothing to say
to him, and had refused him a dozen times. It was also known
that Aaron went about saying that he would crack the crown of
any man who ventured to make love to his girl—calling her openly
his girl—even if he were a commissioned officer of the King.
When so tall and stout a fellow promises this, young men, even
brave men, are apt to consider whether another woman may not
be found as beautiful. Therefore, for some time, those who would
willingly have courted Bess kept away from her, and, in the long
run, I am sure that Aaron would have triumphed, being constant
in his affections, as he was strong and brave. Unhappily for him,
Jack Easterbrook returned. First of all, when Aaron came up
from Gravesend, a few days later, and became a peaceful boat-
builder again, in place of a smuggler, he began to watch and to spy
upon the movements of Bess, employing a girl whose father worked
for him at his boat-building, and lived in a house nearly opposite
to that of Mr. Westmoreland. She reported that Bess stayed at
home all day long, and though Lieutenant Easterbrook had been
to the house, it was only to see her father, who came to the door
and spoke with him there, and Bess never met him. So that
although Aaron heard the story of her recognising him in his rags,
he thought little of that, and made up his mind that the Lieutenant
had quite forgotten the girl, and cared no more about her, even if
he had ever thought of her ; and when Jack, by the grace of my
Lords the Commissioners, appeared in his new uniform, he seemed
to be so much raised above Bess in rank that it was impossible he
should any longer think of her. Moreover, Aaron discovered that
the Lieutenant's mornings were spent in the Yard, his afternoons
with Mr. Brinjes, and his evenings at the tavern; so that, except
for the fact that there was no woman at all in the daily history of
the Lieutenant—a suspicious circumstance where a sailor is con¬
cerned—he felt satisfied. This officer would go away again soon;
meantime he thought no more about Bess. When the Lieutenant
was gone, his own chance would come. For my own part, I
sincerely wish that things had been exactly as Aaron wished them
to be—namely, that Jack had quite forgotten the girl, and that he
VERY WELL THEN 113
had fallen in love with Castilla or someone else, and that Bess—
weary of much importunity or softened in heart—had accepted the
hand of this great burly fellow, who loved her so constantly.
Whereas—but you shall see.
It happened, however, one evening about eight o'clock, when
Jack had been at home some three weeks, that Aaron, sitting
alone in his house, which stood on one side of his boat-building
yard, overlooking the river between the Upper and the Lower
Water Gate, heard footsteps in his yard without. He rose, and
opening the door called to know who was there at that time, and
bade the visitor come to the house without more ado.
His visitor proved to be the man Hadlow.
'What the devil do you want?' asked Aaron. Mr. Brinjes
himself was a man to be treated with the greatest respect, but his
assistant, who was not credited with any magical powers, and
could certainly not command rheumatics or give any more pain
than is caused by the drawing of a tooth, was regarded with
the contempt which attaches to the trade of mixing nauseous
medicines. ' What do you want here, at this time ? I have not
sent for any of your bottles, and I don't want any of your leeches.'
' I humbly ask your pardon, Mr. Fletcher. I have brought no
bottles and no leeches.'
' Then what are you come for ? '
' I humbly ask your pardon, again, Mr. Fletcher, seeing that I
am but a poor well-wisher and admirer '
Here Aaron discharged a volley of curses at the man, which
made his knees to tremble.
. ' I have come, Mr. Fletcher, desiring to do my duty, though but
a poor apothecary's assistant, who may one day become an apothe¬
cary myself; when, sir, if a tooth wants to be drawn, or a fever to
be reduced, or a rheumatism '
Here Mr. Fletcher gave renewed proof of impatience.
' Then, Sir, I have come to tell you a thing which you ought to
know.'
' Say it out, then, man.'
' First, I am afraid of angering you.'
Mr. Fletcher turned and went back into his room, whence he
emerged, bearing a thick rope's-end about two and a half feet long.
This, in the hands of so big and powerful a man as Aaron Fletcher,
is a fearful weapon. He used it for the correction of his 'prentices ;
and it was very well known that there was nowhere a workshop
where the 'prentices were better behaved or more industrious
Such was the wholesome terror caused by the brandishing of a
rope's-end in the hands of this giant.
' Hark ye, mate,' he said, balancing this instrument, so that
the assistant 'turned pale with terror, and his eyes rolled about all
Ways at once, ' you have angered me already, and if you anger me
more, you shall taste the rope's-end. Wherefore, lose no more time.'
' It is about Bess Westmoreland. Oh, Mr. Fletcher I ' for the
l
114
THE WORLD WENT
boat-builder raised his arm. ' Patience ! Hear me out!' The
arm went down. ' It is about Bess Westmoreland. Everybody
knows that you have '—here the arm went up again. ' And it is
about Lieutenant Easterbrook. Bess and the Lieutenant—oh, Sir 1
have patience till you hear what I have to tell you ! '
' My patience will not last much longer. Death and the Devil,
man ! what do you mean by talking about Bess W estmoreland and
Lieutenant Easterbrook ? He has seen her but once since his return.'
' By your leave, sir, he sees her every day.'
Aaron threw the rope's-end from him with an oath. Then he
caught the man by the coat-collar, and dragged him into the room.
' Come in here,' he said. ' By the Lord, if you are fooling me
I will murder you ! '
' If that is all,' the man replied, ' I have no fear. I am not
fooling you, Mr. Fletcher ; I am telling you the sober truth.'
' Man, I know how the Lieutenant spends his time. Ho is all
the morning in the Yard, looking at the ships and talking to the offi¬
cers. In the afternoon he sits with Mr. Brinjes, and in the evening
he drinks at the tavern. And as for the girl, she never sees him.''
' You are wrong, sir. But oh ! Mr. Fletcher, don't tell anyone
I told you ! The Lieutenant is the strongest man in the town-
next to you, Sir—next to you—and the master can do dreadful
things, if he chooses; and Bess herself in a rage—have you ever
seen Bess in a rage ?—oh, Sir, first promise me not to tell who gave
you the intelligence.'
VERY WELL THEN 115
•Do you want a bribe? '
' No ; I want no bribe. I hate 'em—I hate 'em. And the one
I hate most is the Lieutenant, because if I was nothing better than
the dust beneath his feet, he couldn't treat me with more con¬
tempt.'
' Go on, man. Tell me what you have to say and begone.'
• He goes every afternoon to Mr. Brinjes.'
'I know that.'
' You think he goes to talk to the old man, I suppose ? He does
not, then. My master sleeps all the afternoon. If he didn't, sleep
he would die. He says so. The Lieutenant goes there to make
love to Bess.'
Aaron turned pale.
' She comes in every day by the garden gate and the back door,
so that no one should suspect. And no one knows except me.
But I know; I have looked through the keyhole. Besides, I hea^
■them talking. Every day she comes, every day they sit together,
he with his arm round her waist, or round her neck playing with
her hair, and she with her head upon his shoulder—kissing each
other, and making love, while the master is sound asleep by the
fire.'
'Go on.'
'"When the master wakes up he laughs, and he says, "Kiss
her again, Jack." Then he laughs again, and he wishes he was
young again.'
' Is that all ?'
' That is all. For the Lord's sake, Mr. Fletcher, don't let any¬
one know who told you ! Mr. Brinjes would kill me, I think ;• and
mind you, Mr. Fletcher, whatever you do, remember that the
master is able to kill you, and will too, if you harm the Lieutenant.
He knows how to kill people by slow torture. There's a man in
the town now, covered with boils and blains from head to foot, says
> it's the Apothecary hath bewitched him. Don't offend Mr. Brinjes,
Sir.'
' My lad,' said Aaron, grimly, 'I doubt whether I ought not to
take the rope's-end to your back for interfering with me and my
concerns- Now, if you so much as dare to talk to any man in this
place about what you have seen and told me—whatever happens
afterwards-—remember, whatever happens afterwards—it is not a
rope's-end that I shall take to you, but a cudgel; and I shall not
beat you black and blue, but I shall break every_ bone in your
measly skin. Get out, ye miserable, sneakin', creepin' devil! '
That was all the thanks that the poor wretch Hadlow ever got
for the mischief he had made ; but the thought that he had made
mischief consoled him. Something was now going to happen. So
he went his way, contented with his evening's work. : r.
Then Aaron sat down, and began to think what he should best
do. He had been full of Christian charity towards the man who
was not, after all, as he feared, his rival; there would be no more
li6 THE WORLD WENT
talk of quarrelling and fighting between them; the shilling need
not be fought for; the Lieutenant belonged to a different rank ; in
course of time Bess would tire of her resistance, and would yield.
Now all was altered again. His old rival was still a rival, and
there must be fighting.
Presently he rose, and walked up the street to the Penman s
house. _ .
Mr. Westmoreland was at the tavern with his friends the
Assistant Shipwright, the Sexton, and the Barber. Bess was sit¬
ting alone, with a candle and her work.
4 Bess,' said Aaron, ' I want to have a serious talk with you;
may I come in ? '
' No, Aaron. Stand in the doorway, and talk there. I am not
going to let anybody say that I let you into the house when father
was out of it; but if you want to talk foolishness, you can go away
at once. It is high time to have done with foolishness.'
Aaron obeyed—that is to say, he remained standing at the open
door, and he said what he had to say.
' It is for your own good, Bess ; though you won't believe that
anything I say is for your own good.'
' What is it, then ? '
1 It is this. Every afternoon you go to Mr. Brinjes' parlour to
meet Lieutenant Easterbrook. You go out by your garden gate, so
that no one may see or suspect, and the Lieutenant goes in by the
shop. In the parlour, while the old man is asleep, you kiss each
other, and make love.'
She sprang to her feet.
' Aaron, you are a spy !1
41 have been told this, but I did not spy it out for myself.
Very well, then, spy or not, think, Bess. The Lieutenant has never
yet got appointed to a ship ; perhaps he never will; he has got no
money; he cannot marry you if he would; if he were to marry
you the Admiral would never forgive him ; if he doesn't want to
marry you—why—there—Bess.'
' Is that all you have to say ? ' she asked, trying not to lose her
temper, because she had the sense to perceive that it would please
her lover if she quarrelled about him with this man. 4 Is that all,
Aaron ? '
4 Why, I might say it a thousand times over; but it wouldn't
amount to much more than this. He can't marry you if he wants
to ; and if he doesn't want to, a girl of your spirit ought to be too
proud to listen to his talk.'
' Aaron, you shall pay for this,' cried Bess, with flaming eyes.
' You a lady, Bess ? You to marry a King's officer ? Know
your own station, my girl. You are the daughter of the Penman,
and you can neither read nor write. But there's a chance yet :
Bend him packing first, and then you shall see.'
4 Aaron, you shall pay,' she repeated; ' you shall pay.'
41 say, Bess, I will give you another chance. Before your name
VERY WELL THEN
117
gets dragged in the mud and you become the town talk, send him
packing, and you shall have me if you please. Bess, I love you
better than the Lieutenant, for all he wears silk stockings. I love
you in spite of yourself, Bess. You've been a fool, but you've been
carried away by your woman's vanity, and there's not much harm
done yet. Give him up, Bess, and you shall find me loving and
true.'
In his emotion his voice grew hoarse and thick. But he meant
what he said, and it would have been better if Bess had taken him
at his word on the spot. But she did not. She was carried away
by her wrath, but yet so governed that she knew what she was
saying.
' It is six years,' she said,' since I looked on while you fought
him and were beaten. I liked nothing better than to see you de¬
feated and Jack victorious. Because, even then, you pretended to
have some claim upon me, though I was but a little girl. Now,
Aaron, I should like nothing better than to see Jack beat and bang
you again until you cried for mercy.' Her eyes were flashing and
her cheek red, and she stamped her foot upon the ground. ' Oh,
I should like nothing better!'
' Should you, Bess, should you ? ' he replied, strangely, not in a
rage at all, but with a great resolution.
' To see you lying at his feet. You, his rival!—you ! "Why,
you may be bigger—so is a collier bigger than a little sloop. That
is a great matter, truly ! You his rival! To think that any woman
whom he has once kissed should ever be able so much as to look
at you—oh! Aaron ! But you don't know; you are too common
and ignorant to know the difference there is between you.'
' You would like to see him beat and bang me, would you,
Bess ? "Why, then, it is as easy as breaking eggs. You shall have
the chance. All you have to do is to tell your fine lover that, as
regards that shilling—he will know what shilling I mean—I am
waiting and ready to have that repaid, or to take it out in another
way—he will know the way I mean. And then, my girl, if you
like to be present, you can. But I promise you the beating and the
banging will be all the other way, and your fine lover, gentleman
and King's officer though he is, shall be on his knees before he
finds time to swing his staff. You tell him that about the shilling.
If you will not, I will send a message by another.'
' I will tell him. Now go away, Aaron, lest you say something
which would anger me still more.'
So he went away. But Bess told her lover, who laughed, and
said that Aaron was a greedy fellow whom there was no satisfying,
but he should do his best to let him have a good shilling's-worth,
and the full value of his money.
a8 the world went
CHAPTER XV.
horn fair.
This conversation happened in the second week of October. The
opportunity of repaying the shilling occurred on the 18th of that
mouth, which is St. Luke's Day, and consequently the first day of
Horn Fair.
All the world has heard of this fair. It is not so famous a fair
as that of St. Bartholomew's, the humours of which have been set
forth by the great Ben Jonson himself; it has never, like that fair,
been honoured by the presence of the Prince of Wales; nor has so
ingenious a gentleman as Mr. Harry Fielding ever written plays to
be acted at Horn Fair, as he hath done for Bartholomew. Nor is
it as good for trade as the ancient Stourbridge Fair. Yet for noise,
ribaldry, riot, and drunkenness it may be compared with any fair
held in the three kingdoms, even with the old May Fair, now
suppressed, which they say was the abode of all the devils while
it lasted. As for trade, there is never anything sold there—neither
horses, nor cattle, nor cloth, nor any pretence made of selling
anything, except horns and things made of horn, with booths for
children's toys, penny whistles, and the like, gingerbread, cockles,
oysters, and so forth, together with strong drink, and that the worst
that can be procured of every kind.
It is frequented by a motley crew, consisting of a noisy London
rabble: rope-makers from St. George's, Ratcliffe Highway; sail-
makers from Limehouse, shipwrights from Rotherhithe, sailors
from Wapping, all the City 'prentices who can get holiday, the
shabby gentry .of the King's Bench rules, together with a sprinkling
of beaux and gallants who come here to riot. Hither flock also
a great concourse of men and women from the country, who come
in'their smock-frocks and new white caps, to drink, dance, look on
and gape, bawl, laugh, and play upon each other those rough jokes
which commonly lead to a fight. There is not, in fact, anywhere
in the world a fair which hath a more .evil reputation than Horn
Fair. Yet I dare affirm that you shall not find a single London
citizen who hath not paid one visit at least to Horn Fair ; while
there are many London dames—ay, of the finest—who have been
tempted by the curiosity of their sex, and in order to see the
humours of famous Horn Fair, have dared the dangers of a rabble
seeking enjoyment after their kind, and in the manner which best
pleases their brutish nature.
Yet it was in such a place as this, and among such people, that
the Lieutenant was called upon by Aaron to redeem his promise
and to fight him for the shilling; and, although he might very
well have refused to answer the challenge in such a place, Jack
VERY WELL THEN
119
thought it incumbent upon his honour to fight, even though it
should be like a Roman gladiator in the arena. Had he been in¬
vited to take a glass in a booth at the fair, or to eat hot cockles
with bumpkins, he would have treated the proposition with scorn;
but because he was asked to fight, his honour, forsooth ! was con¬
cerned, and he must needs go—so sacred a thing is the law of
honour concerning the duello. No doubt in this case his delicate
sense of honour and his inclination jumped, as they say, and he
was by no means displeased to try his courage, strength, and skill
against so doughty a champion as Aaron Fletcher. Yet I do not
think there was another officer in the King's Navy who would have
done what he did.
All sorts of ridiculous stories are told of Horn Fair and its
origin, with a foolish legend about King John, which I pass over
as unworthy of credence, because every painter who hath studied
Italian and ecclesiastical art, and the symbolical figures with which
saints are represented, knows very well that Luke, the Evangelist,
was always figured in the pictures having with him the horned
head of an ox, for which reason, and no other, the Charlton Fair
was called Horn Fair, being held on St. Luke's Day. It is a pity
that the mob cannot be taught this—though, for my own part, I
know not why an ox should go with the head of St. Luke—and so
be persuaded to carry their horns soberly, in memory of the Saint
who wrote the third Gospel.
The visitors, if the day is fine, begin to come down the river
as early as eight in the morning, and for the most part they
remain where they land, at Cuckold's Point, Redriff, eating and
drinking-until the procession is formed, which starts at eleven or
thereabouts, and by thac time there is a vast crowd, indeed,
gathered together about the stairs, and the river is crowded with
boats carrying visitors from London Bridge, or even from Chelsea.
As for the quarrels of watermen and the splashing of the passen¬
gers and the exchange of scurrilous jokes, abuse, and foul language,
it passes belief. However, the passengers mostly get safe to the
stairs at last, and, after a quarrel with the waterman over the fare,
they are permitted to land. Those who join in the procession
array themselves in strange garments : some are dressed like
wolves, some like bears, some like Hons, some again like wild
savages, and some like Frenchmen, Spaniards, Russians, or the
lusty Turk, and some wear fearful masks ; but all are alike in this
respect, that they wear horns tied upon their heads in various
fashions. The women among them, however, who ought rather
to be at home, do not wear horns upon their heads, but masks and
dominoes. Those who can afford it have ribbons round their hats,
the streaming of which in the breeze greatly gratifies them; some
carry flags and banners, all together shout and bellow continually,
and the procession is followed by all the boys, to judge from their
number, who can be found between Westminster on the west and
Woolwich on the east.
120
THE WORLD WENT
This magnificent procession, which is almost as good as the
Lord Mayor's show, leaves Botherhithe, headed by drum and fife,
at eleven in the forenoon, and marches through Deptford, across
the bridge by way of the London Boad, through Greenwich to
Charlton Common.
Jack stood with me at the gate of the Admiral's house, looking
on as these Tom Fools passed, playing their antics as they went
along. It seemed to me strange that a man of his rank should
take any pleasure in witnessing the humours of the mob; but I
thought as a fool, because there is something in every sailor,
whether he be an officer or not, which makes him delight in
smging and dancing, and causes his ears to prick up at the sound
of a fiddle or a fife. Besides, as regards this sailor, it was six years
and more since he had seen any merry-making at all, unless, which
I know not, the half-starved Indians who entertained him had any
songs and dances of their own.
' I must go to the fair this afternoon, Luke,' he said; ' will you
come with me, lad ? '
4 What will you do at the fair, Jack ? It is a rude, rough place,
not fit for a gentleman.'
' Do you remember the last time we went ? It is seven years
ago. Ever since I came home I have felt constrained to visit again
the places where we used to play. There is the crazy old summer-
house in the gardens. I have been there again. The place is not
yet fallen into the Creek, though it is more crazy than ever.'
' And Mr. Brinjes' parlour ? Have you been there ? '
41 have been there,' he replied, with hesitation, 4 once or twice
—to look at his charts. His treasure is on an island in the North
Pacific, whither our ship did not sail. Yes. I have been there—
to see his charts, in the evening. In the afternoon, I find, he
sleeps, and must not be disturbed.'
4 And now, you must needs visit Horn Fair again. Well, Jack,
I am a man of peace, and, very like, there may be a fight. So take
with you a stout cudgel.'
4 There is another reason also for my going,' he said. 4 It is
because Aaron Fletcher will play all-comers at quarterstaff.'
4 Why, Jack, surely you would not play with Aaron before all this
mob of rustics and common men ? '
41 must, brave boy. For, look you, Aaron saved my life.
There is no question about that. The boat must have gone down
in half an hour, and I with it, if he had not lugged me out. There¬
fore, if he asks me to do so small a thing as to fight him, the least I
can do is to gratify him, and to fight him at 6uch place, and in such
manner, as he may appoint. I promised him this, and now he
sends me word to remind me of my promise.'
4 But the man is a giant, Jack.'
4 He is a strapping fellow. But, if he is six foot four, I am six
foot one and a half. His reach is longer than mine, it is true. But
do not be afraid. I have got back my strength, and I think I shall
VERY WELL THEM
121
give a good account of him. However, my word is passed to fight
him when he wishes; and, whatever happens, I must go. He
thinks to defeat me before all his friends. He is a braggart fellow,
and we shall see, my lad.'
We walked over to Charlton after dinner; Jack in his Lieu¬
tenant's uniform, with new laced ruffles and laced shirt and cravat,
very noble. He carried his sword, but, following my advice, he
provided himself as well with a stout cudgel, in which, I confess, I
placed more confidence than in his sword. For why ? A man
thinks twice about using a sword upon a mob as he would upon an
enemy, but an oaken cudgel does not generally kill, though it may
stun. Therefore, he lays about him lustily if he have a cudgel, and
Bpares not.
There was nq hurry about the quarterstaff play, which would
not begin until three o'clock, and we strolled about the fair among
the crowd, looking at the shows, of which there were many more
than I expected to find. But Horn Fair is happily placed in the
almanack, so that the people who live by shows, rope-dancing, and
the like, can go from Stepney Fair to Charlton, and so from Charl¬
ton to Croydon Fair. There was, to begin with, a most amazing
noise, with beating of drums, blowing of trumpets, banging of cym¬
bals, ringing of bells, dashing of great hammers upon the boards,
whistling, marrow bones and cleavers, each one thinking that the
more noise he made the more attractive would be his show. The
booths were filled with common things, but these gilded, tied with
bright ribbons and gay-coloured paper, so as to look valuable, and
with wheedling girls, in tawdry finery, to sell them. And here I
found that my companion speedily forgot the dignity of an officer
and became like a boy, buying things he did not want, because
some black-eyed gipsy girl pressed them into his hand with a ' Sure
your Honour will never regret the trifle for a fairing for your
Honour's sweetheart. A proud and happy girl she is this day, to
have her Captain home again.' And so on, he laughing and
pulling out a handful of silver and letting her take as much as she
pleased, whether for shoes, patterns, leather breeches, gingerbread,
cheap books, or toys in horn, whatever she pleased to sell him.
Jack bought enough of everything to stock a Foundling Hospital,
but mostly left his purchases on the stalls where he found them, or
gave them to the first pretty girl he met in the crowd. There cer¬
tainly is something in the air of the sea which keeps in a man for
a long time the eagerness of a boy. A London-bred young man of
three-and-twenty, which was Jack's age, is already long past the
enjoyment of things so simple as the amusements of a fair; he
despises the shows, gauds, and antics which make the rustics and
the mechanics gape and laugh. As for Jack, he must needs go
everywhere and see everything, and this j ear there were a won¬
derful number of shows.
There was, for instance, the young woman of nineteen, already
eeven feet ten inches high, and said to be still growing, so that her
122
THE WORLD WENT
well-wishers confidently expected that when she should attain her
twenty-fifth year, she would reach the stature of nine feet, or, per¬
haps, ten. We also saw the bearded woman. This lusus natures,
or sport of nature, presented for our admiration a large full beard,
a foot long and more, growing upon the whole of her face, cheeks,
chin and lip, so that her mouth was quite hidden by it. She was
•by this time, unfortunately, fully fifty years of age, and her beard
well grizzled, so that we had no opportunity of knowing how a
woman in her youth and beauty would look with such an ornament
to her face. It would then, I suppose, be soft and silky, and brown
in colour. But perhaps she would look not otherwise than a
comely young man. This woman was a great strong creature, who
might have felled an ox with her fist; she had a deep voice and a
merry laugh, and made no opposition when Jack offered her a
cheerful glass. We saw the Irish giant, also, who was a mighty
tall fellow, but weak in the knees; and the strong woman who
tossed about the heavyweights as if they had been made of paste¬
board, and lifted great stones with her hair. And, since where
there are giants there must also be dwarfs, we saw the Italian
Fairy- a girl of sixteen, no taller than eighteen inches, and said to
be a princess in her own country. It has been remarked by the
curious that whereas giants have always something in their carriage
and demeanour as if they were ashamed of themselves, so dwarfs, on
the other hand, are the most vainglorious and self-conceited persons
imaginable. This little creature, for instance, dressed in a flowered
petticoat and a frock of sarcenet, walked about her stage, carried
herself and spoke with all the airs of a Court lady or a fine city
madam, though where she learned these arts I know not. As for
other shows, there was a menagerie wherein were exhibited a casso¬
wary, a civet cat, a leopard, and a double cow—a cow, that is, with
one head and two fore legs, but four hind legs. There was a
theatre, where they performed the ' Siege of Troy' in a very bold
and moving manner, and with much shouting and clashing of swords,
though the performance was hurried, on account of the impatience
of those without. There were lotteries in plenty, where one raffled
for spoons of silver and rings of gold; but as for us, though we
essayed our fortune everywhere, we got nothing. There was a fire-
eater, who vomited flames, and put red-hot coals into his mouth;
there was excellent dancing on the slack-rope, which is .always to
me the most wonderful thing in the world to witness; there was a
woman who danced with four naked swords in her hands, tossing
and catching them, presenting them to her breast, and all with so
much fire and fury that it seemed as if she was resolved and deter¬
mined to kill herself. Jack rewarded her after the dance with a
crown and a kiss, both of which she received with modesty and
gratitude. There was also a ladder-dance, in which a young man
got upon a ladder and made it walk about, and climbed up to the
top of it and over it, and sat upon the topmost rung, and yet never
let it fall—a very dexterous fellow.
VERY WELL THEN 123
'Why,' said Jack, presently, ' what have you and I learned,
Luke, that can compare with the things which these people can do ?
Grant that I know the name and place of every bit of gear in a ship,
and that you can paint a boat to the life; what is that compared
with dancing on the slack-rope, or balancing a ladder as this fellow
does it ?'
At the time I confess I was, like Jack, somewhat carried away
by the sight of so much dexterity, and began to think that perhaps
showmen, mountebanks, and jugglers have more reason for pride
than any other class of mankind. Afterwards I reflected that the
wisdom of our ancestors has always held in contempt the occu¬
pations of buffoon and juggler, so that, though we may acknowledge
and even praise their dexterity, we are not called upon to envy or
admire them.
?■ Outside the booths, and apart from the theatres and shows,
.there was a stage, on which, at first sight, one only discerned a
fiddler, a fifer, a drummer, and a fellow dressed in yellow and black,
with a long tin trumpet. This was the stage of the great High
German Doctor; his name I have forgotten, but it was a very high
and noble sounding one. There were tables on the stage, and
beside the musicians were the Doctor's zanies, who tumbled and
postured, and danced the tight-rope ; and his shell-grinders and
compounders, every one of whom in turn harangued and bamboozled
the mob. As for the Doctor himself, he was not at first on the stage
at all: but presently the man with the tin trumpet blew a horrid
blast, and bawled out,' Room for the Doctor, Gentlemen 1 Room
for the Doctor!' and the people parted right and left, while, mounted
on a black steed, that learned person rode very slowly towards the
stage. The saddle was covered with red velvet; it was provided
with a kind of lectern, on which was a big folio volume, which the
Doctor was reading, paying no heed to the crowd, as if no moment
could be spared from study. A fellow dressed in crimson led the
horse. The Doctor was a tall and stout man, with an extraordinary
dignity of carriage, and solemn countenance, dressed in a gown of
black velvet and a crimson velvet cap, like unto the cap of a Cam¬
bridge Medicince Doctor. Then the man with the tin trumpet hung
out a placard upon the stage, on which was the great man's style
and titles, and these he bellowed forth, for the information of those
who could not read. We learned, partly from the placard, and
partly from this fellow, that the great man was Physician to the
Sophy of Persia, and to the Great Mogul, tooth-drawer to the King
of Morocco, and corn-cutter to the Emperor of Trebizonde, the
Grand Turk, and Prester John; that he was the seventh son of a
seventh son ; that it was seven days before he sucked, seven months
before he cried, and seven years before he uttered a single word—
so long was this wonderful genius in preparing for his duties. As
for his medical studies, we were told that they had occupied his
attention for five times seven years, in the cities of London, Leyden,
Ispahan, Trebizonde, and Constantinople ; and that he was at that
124
THE WORLD WENT
moment twelve times seven years of age, without a grey hair or
a missing tooth, and with children not yet three years old, so
efficacious were his own medicines as proved upon himself, while
his servants never knew an illness or even an ailment (the drum-
mer, I observed, had his face tied up for toothache). When this
fellow had done, the music began, and the zanies tumbled over
each other, and turned somersaults, while the mixers of the medi¬
cines bawled out jokes and made pretence to swallow their pills.
Finally, the Doctor himself stood before us, and made his oration.
' Gentlemen all,' he said, ' I congratulate you on your good
fortune in coming to Horn Fair this day, for it is my birthday;
and on this anniversary I give away my priceless medicines for no
greater charge than will pay for the bottles and boxes in which
they are bestowed. On all other days they are sold for their weight
in gold. I have here '—he held up a plaister—' the Cataplasma
Diabolicum, or Vulnerary Decoction of Monkshood, which heals all
wounds in twenty-four hours if applied alone; if taken with the
Electuary Pacific—show the Electuary, varlets! — it heals in a
couple of hours. I have the Detersive, Renefying, and Defecating
Ophthalmic, which will cure cataracts and blindness, and will cast
off scales as big as barnacles in less than a minute. I have, for
earache, toothache, faceache, and tic, a truly wonderful vegetable,
an infusion of peony, black hellebore, London pride, and lily root.
Here is a bottle of Orvietans, for the expulsion of poison, price one
shilling only. Here is the Balsamum Arthriticum ; here the Elixir
Cephalicum, Asthmaticum, Nephriticum et Catharticum. Gentle¬
men, there is no disease under the sun '—here the trumpeter blew
the tin trumpet—' but I can cure it. Rheumatics '—bang went the
drum —' Asthma'— bang went the drum between every word —
'Gout—Sciatica—Lumbago—Pleurisy—Melancholy: in a word,
there is nothing that I cannot cure at a quarter the cost of your
town doctors. No more disease, Gentlemen, no more pain; step
up and try the Cataplasma Diabolicum, the Electuary Pacific, the
Detersive Ophthalmic, and the Vegetable Infusion. Step up and
buy the medicines that will make you and keep you in hearty good
health so that you shall live to a hundred and fifty—ay, even, with
care, to two hundred and fifty—knowing neither age, sickness, nor
decay.'
The people laughed incredulously, and yet believed every word,
which I suppose will always be the case with the mob, and began
to push and shove each other in their eagerness to buy the wonder¬
ful medicines. For his part, Jack listened open-mouthed.
' Why,' he said, ' what fools we are, Luke, to let this foreign
fellow go, who hath so many secrets ? Why do not we keep him
and get his secrets out of him, and so let there be no more sick
lists to be kept ? '
Then he would have gone on the stage and bought everything
the Doctor had to sell, but I dissuaded him, pointing out that the
fellow was only an impudent impostor.
VERY WELL THEN T25
And before every show were ballad-singers bawling their songs.
Their principal business at fairs is not, I am told, to sell their
ballads so much as to attract a crowd and engage their attention
while the scoundrel pickpockets go about their business unwatched
(one was caught in the fair while we were there, and, for want of
a pump, was put head first into a tub of cold water, and kept there
till he was well-nigh drowned); and everywhere there were men
who grinned and postured, girls who danced, boys who walked on
stilts, gipsies who told fortunes, women bawling brandy-balls and
hot furmety; there was the hobby-horse man, with his trumpet
and his ' Troop, every one, one, one!' and a hundred more, too
numerous to mention. And for food, they had booths where they
sold hot roast pork, with bread and onions and black porter, a
banquet to which the gentry at the fair, whose stomachs are not
queasy, did infinite justice.
We saw so many shows and booths, and Jack appeared so con¬
tented and happy in looking at them, that I confess I was in hopes
he would forget his promise to fight Aaron, the prospect of which,
in this fair, crowded with the rudest and roughest men, pleased me
less every moment. But, if you please, his honour was concerned.
Therefore, when the hour approached he remembered it—to be
sure, one might be expected to remember a promise to meet and to
fight so big a man as Aaron Fletcher—and he cast about in order
to find the amphitheatre or booth where the duello was to be held.
We presently found it, on the skirts of the fair, and a little retired
from the noise. It proved to be nothing more than a square
inclosure of canvas, fastened to upright poles, with no roof. Those
who came to see the sport paid an admission fee of one penny.
Within the booth there were rough benches set along the sides, and
in the middle a broad stage two feet high. There was music play¬
ing as we went in, and on the stage a little girl of ten dancing very
prettily and merrily. The place was filled : I knew many of the
faces : those, namely, of the Deptford men, come to stand by their
champion. It appeared as if they knew what was going to take
place, for at the sight of the Lieutenant there were passed round
looks and nods and every indication of heartfelt joy. Drawers ran
about with tankards and mugs of ale, and most of the men were
accommodated with pipes of tobacco. There were also some women
present, and of what kind may be easily imagined. Sufficient to
say that they were fit companions of the men. The people did not
greatly care for the dance, which was too simple and innocent for
them. When the little girl finished and jumped down from the
sta^e, there came forward a scaramouch dressed in the Italian
fashion, who played a hundred tricks, posturing and twirling his
legs about as if they had been without bones or joints. But the
people were impatient, and bawled for him to have done. Where¬
fore he, too, retired, and then they roared for Aaron Fletcher, the
Deptford men being foremost in their desire for his appearance.
Jle leaped upon the stage, therefore, quarterstaff in hand, stripped
126
THE WORLD WENT
to his shirt, and twirling his weapon oyer his head as if it had been
a little walking-cane. Then the place became hushed, as happens
when there is going to be a fight of any kind, because fighting goes
to the heart of every man, and makes him serious and anxious at
the beginning, but full of fury as the fight goes on. Aaron was a
terrible great fellow to look at, thus stripped of his coat and stand¬
ing on the stage before us all.
' I challenge the best man among ye,'he said, looking at the
Lieutenant, ' gentleman or clown, King's officer or able seaman,
for a guinea or a groat, as ye please.'
Then he twirled his staff again, and walked round the stage,
like a gamecock before the battle.
' Shall I give him a chance with the meaner kind first, to
show his mettle and to breathe him?' said Jack. "Twould be
charitable.'
There sprang upon the stage, from the crowd, a stout and lusty
youth, not so tall as Aaron, but of good length of limb and resolute
face. 'Twas the champion of Eltham, as we learned from the
crowd. He was clad in a smock-frock, which he laid aside. -
' I will play a bout for a crown,' he said, lugging out the money,
while his friends shouted.
VERY WELL THEN
127
Then they began; but, Lord! the countryman was no match
for the Deptford player, and the shouting of our townsmen was
loud to see the play that Aaron made, and the dexterity with which
his staff, as quick as lightning, played on his adversary's head and
ribs, his legs and arms. So that very soon, throwing down his
staff, the fellow leaped from the stage, and would have no more.
' It was pretty,' said Jack. ' The rustic hath had his lesson.'
Then another: this time one who had played and won at
Bartholomew Fair, and now advanced with confidence, trusting to
his activity and the rapidity of his attack, which were, indeed,
astonishing. But, alas ! his leaps and bounds were of little avail
against the long reach and the heavy hand of the giant; and he
fell, to rise no more.
Then the mob roared and shouted again.
' This fellow is soon satisfied,' said Jack. ' It is my turn now.'
He laughed, and took off coat, waistcoat, and hat; giving them
to me for safety. Thus reduced to his shirt, he stepped forward
and mounted the stage, the crowd being overjoyed and beyond
themselves in the anticipation of a fight between their champion
and a gentleman in laced ruffles, white silk stockings, and powdered
hair. Certainly, nothing so good as this had ever before been seen
at the fair.
Then I became aware of a strange thing. There stood within
the door—not sitting down, but standing—just within the folds
of the canvas, no other than Bess Westmoreland and her father.
Who would have thought to see the Penman at Horn Fair ?
Nothing could be more out of place than this pair among the
waterside men and the ruffians in the booth. Bess stood upright*
holding her father's hand, not for her own protection but to assure
him of his safety, while he, stooping and round-shouldered, looked
about him as if fearing violence of some kind. I now perceived
that Bess was come for no other purpose than to see this fight
—to be sure, it was arranged beforehand, and there was no
reason why she should not hear of it from Aaron; but I had not
thought Bess would have come to such a place to see such a sight.
I declare I had not the least suspicion of the truth, so carefully had
the lovers kept their secret. Bess took no notice at all of the
rabble, her eyes fixed upon the stage as if the people were not
even present; no great lady waiting at the door of the theatre for
her chair could look more proudly upon the common herd—the
link-boys, chairmen, and lookers-on—as if they were beneath her
notice. Her lips were set, and her brow contracted, and her cheek
was pale ; but I knew not the cause, unless it were from terror
at: the approaching battle. Yet why did she come to see it ?
She came, as I learned soon afterwards, confident in her
lover's triumph, and anxious to increase the discomfiture of his
adversary, and her rejected suitor. Since that day I have ceased
to wonder why the Roman ladies and matrons took pleasure in
Witnessing the fights of gladiators, and why in the days of tourna-
128
THE WORLD WENT
ments gentle ladies went to see their lovers tilt. The joy of battle,
I am sure, is as great in the heart of woman as in that of man.
Certainly, no one in the crowd watched the combat with more
eagerness and interest than did Bess, whose eyes flashed, lips
parted, and bosom heaved with the passion of the fight. As for
her father, in the hush before the battle began, I heard him exclaim,
' It is the Lieutenant and Aaron ! Oh ! dear! . . . dear! they will
do each other some grievous harm. Bess, ask them to desist. Is
it for this you brought me here, wilful girl ? Grievous bodily hurt
they will do to each other.'
No one paid any heed to that poor man. Even the drawers
ceased to run about with tankards, and no man called for drink.
Jack took the quarterstaff, which had already been used twice
ineffectually, poised it in his hands, and turned a smiling face to
his adversary.
' I have kept my promise, Aaron,' he said; but this the mob
did not hear. ' We will fight for that shilling. Bess is in the
doorway, looking on. It seems as if we were fighting for more
than a shilling, does it not ? '
Aaron made no reply in words, but he laughed aloud. Perhaps
he remembered how, seven years before, when last he fought with
Jack, Bess was looking on at his defeat. This time he was confident
in his strength. She was come again, looking to see him worsted.
She should be disappointed.
There was no lack of courage about the man. Courage he had,
and plenty. He was a good three inches taller than his adversary,
which at quarterstaff gives a great advantage; he was quick of eye
and of fence; he was heavier and stronger; and his two first
combats had scarcely breathed him. On the other hand, he was
opposed to a man who for six years and more had led the hardest
life possible, with no indulgences—wine, beer, tobacco, indolence, or
anything to soften his muscles or dim the eye. Now Aaron, as
everybody knew, was fond of a glass; and though no sot, once a
week or so was drunk. And he had already begun to put on flesh.
As they stood, face to face, one might have gone a hundred miles
and never seen so fine a couple.
And then, at tap of drum, the fight began, and for awhile
everybody was mute.
Jack, I perceived, was resolved at first to stand on the defensive,
for two reasons. First, because his enemy showed wrath in his
scowling eyes, and therefore would, perhaps, spend his breath and
strength in furious onslaught. Next, because, as he told me after¬
wards, it was not until he held the weapon in his hands that he
remembered he had not played for four years and more. One
would think he might have remembered so important a fact before.
It is an admirable custom in some ships for the crew, both officers
and men, to amuse themselves daily at quarterstaff, singlestick,
and boxing; but Jack had been out of a ship for four years. Still,
if his hand was a little out, his eye was true. Aaron's game wafl
VERY WELL THEN 129
twofold. First, he would beat down and overpower his man by
superior strength and advantage in reach ; and secondly, by feints
and leaps, shifting his ground, and changing the length of his
weapon, by coming to close quarters and then retreating, to cheat
his adversary's eye and disconcert him even for a single moment,
when he would deal him a decisive stroke. This was a very good
design, and hath often served. But Jack was not to be so caught.
No man at quarterstaff, however strong, can beat down an adversary
who has learnt the art of parry, which is more than half the
battle; no man, however quick and active, can disconcert an
enemy who knows how to follow his eyes steadily. Jack, there¬
fore, lost no ground and was never touched, so that, though he
delivered no stroke, the ease with which he met Aaron's blows
presently caused the spectators to roar with admiration. In all
kinds of fighting there are two first principles, or rules, to be care¬
fully learned. The first of these is never to lose sight of your
enemy's eye, and the next is never to lose your temper. A third is
to know how to strike when the occasion comes. If a man at this
rough game chance to lose his temper, he loses the game. This is
what Aaron did. It maddened him that he could not strike his
enemy, and it maddened him still more to hear the roars of the
people at the dexterity which defeated him. Moreover, he knew
that Bess was looking on; therefore he became more furious, and
delivered his blows more rapidly, but with less precision. ' Don't
fight wild, Aaron!' shouted his friends, but too late; while the
fellows in the booth began to jeer and laugh at him, asking why he
did not strike his man with a ' Now, Aaron! now's your turn!
Hit him on the head! There's a brave stroke missed!' and so on.
foreseeing that if the Lieutenant could only keep cool, and wait
for his chance, the victory would be his.
Jack told me afterwards that, while they played, the old skill
came back to him, and his confidence ; so that he could afford to
play with his man and bide his time, receiving all the blows,
whether at full length, half length, or close quarters, with patience
and good temper.
This strange duel, in which one man struck and the other only
parried, lasted long; insomuch that the spectators left off shouting,
and looked on with open moitths. It lasted so long that Aaron
was now raging and foaming, breathing heavily, and plunging as
he struck with the staff. As for me, I wondered why Jack did not
strike. He had his reason: he wished to strike but once, and
therefore he waited. At last the chance came. Aaron left his
head exposed, and then, with a thud which might have been heard
outside the booth, the Lieutenant's staff resounded on the side
of his enemy's head, and Aaron fell prone upon the stage—sense-
leSSit is said that, when a gentleman fights a common fellow, the
mob is always pleased that the gentleman shall be victorious. I
know not if this be true, but I knew that the fellows in the booth
K
130 THE WORLD WENT
rose as one man, even the Deptford men, and cheered the victor
to the sky.
Jack stepped from the stage, a little heated by the fight, and
put on his coat, waistcoat, and hat.
' Aaron is a very pretty player,' he said,' but he should not have
challenged me until he was in better condition. There were hah
a dozen poor fellows aboard the " Countess of Dorset " who would
have beaten him. Here, my lads'—he now became again an
officer—'Aaron is a Deptford man, like me. Take care of him,
and spend this guinea in drinking the King's health.'
So the fellows tossed their greasy caps in the air, and the tap¬
sters tied their apron-strings tighter, and began to run about with
tankards and mugs while the guinea was drinking out, and Jack
strode down the booth, the men making a lane for him, and crying,
' Huzza for the noble Captain !' Meanwhile, no one took any
notice of the fallen champion, who presently recovered some of his
senses, and sat up, staring about him with distracted eyes.
' Why, Mr. Westmoreland,' said Jack, at the door, as if he had
not seen him before, ' you at Horn Fair ? I might as soon have
expected to see you at Vauxhall.'
' Nay, sir, your Honour knows I value not such merriment.
But Bess would bring me here. 'Tis a wilful girl. Nothing would
serve her but she must see the humours of the fair. Girls still
crave for mirth.'
' You ought to be at home among your books, Mr. Westmoreland.
Go home. Luke will walk with you, and I will take care of Bess—
good care, good care—and bring her safe home, after she has seen
the fair.—Come, Bess, will you see the wild beasts, or the slack-
rope dancers ?—Take him home, Luke; take him home.'
So saying, he seized Bess by the hand, and drew her away,
leaving the old man, her father, with me. I observed that, though
Bess cried,' Oh!' and' Pray, Lieutenant,' and ' Don't, Lieutenant,'
and ' Fie, Lieutenant,' she laughed and took his hand without any
reluctance, but rather a visible satisfaction, because she had cer¬
tainly got the properest man in all the fair.
'The Lieutenant,' said Mr. Westmoreland, 'is strong enough to
protect any girl—though, as for Bess, Mr. Luke, she is strong
enough to protect herself. Nevertheless'—he broke off and sighed
—' nevertheless, a motherless girl is a great charge for a peaceful
man, especially when she is strong and determined, like my Bess.
What am I to do, sir ? I cannot whip and flog her ; I cannot lay
my commands upon her if she doth not choose to obey me. I
cannot make her marry if she still says nay. And the men, they
are afraid of her pride and wilfulness. Such a headstrong girl wiil
never make an obedient wife.'
' It is a situation, Mr. Westmoreland,' I said,' full of danger.'
' What is worse, Mr. Luke,' he went on, ' what is worse is that
she scorns the man Aaron Fletcher himself—a substantial man,
though they do say he knows the coast of France. Yet he would
VERY WELL TLLEN t3l
cheerfully take tlie risk of lier masterful temper and her wilful
ways if she would but say him yea.'
4 Why, Mr. Westmoreland, as for that, I am sure there are
plenty of men ready to be fired by such charms as your daughter
Bess possesses.'
He shook his head.
4 Charms ? I know not what they are. Black hair and black
eyes may please some, but I know not whom. Let us go from
this wicked and riotous place, Mr. Luke. Peaceful men have no
place here. The Lieutenant will bring her home; though, more
likely than not, they will quarrel on the way, both of them being
masterful, and Bess will have to find her way back without hiim
Yet she ought to be proud of the honour he hath done her, and
perhaps she will be meek for once, and behave pretty.'
So we turned and made our way out of the throng, and so home.
41 am sorry,' said Mr. Westmoreland presently, ' I am very
sorry that Mr. Easterbrook hath fought and vanquished Aaron
Fletcher. I would rather have seen Aaron the conqueror.'
'Why? '
4 Because Aaron is a cruel and a vindictive man. He was
bragging among his friends of the sport they would witness at the
fair, and he has been humiliated. Now he will have his revenge,
if he can, for the disgrace put upon him in the presence of his
friends; and Bess hath been at the fair with the Lieutenant, and
I know not what will happen. He is a revengeful man, Mr. Luke ;
and, unhappily, he is in love with Bess, and wants to marry her, a
thing that, with my experience, I cannot understand. Well—it is
a terrible thing, a terrible thing, for a peaceful man like me to have
such a daughter. A humble man should pray for ugly daughters,
who are also meek and obedient. They may wait for their beauty
till they get to Heaven. I want nothing but peace, Mr. Luke, so
that I may continue my studies in algebra and logarithms, for
which end, and no other, unless it be the furtherance of goodly
writing, I was sent into this troubled world.'
The next day I learned from Jack that he had taken Bess to
every show at the fair; that he had given her as noble a supper as
the place afforded; that he had fought and overthrown three fellows
who waylaid them on the road home, and would have robbed him
of his money as well as his fair charge ; and that he safely
convoyed her, about midnight, to her fathers door. Hie Admiral
heard of the evening's adventure, and laughed, saying that Bess was
a lucky girl to get such a proper fellow to show her the fair. But I
do not think that either Jack or the Admiral related the story of
the fight, and the subsequent doings, to Madame and Castilla.
K 2
!32
THE WORLD WENT
CHAPTER XVI.
in the summer-house.
I am a dull person in suspecting or guessing, at passages of love.
Yet I had seen Bess dragging her father to Horn Fair in order to
witness the fight, and I marked the flash of triumph in her eyes
when Aaron fell, and the unconcealed pleasure with which she
accompanied the victor.
On Sunday morning, a day or two after the fair, another thing
happened which ought to have made me suspect. It was in church.
Soon after the service of Morning Prayer began I observed an
unwonted agitation among the feminine part of the congregation,
and presently discovered that the eyes of all were, with one
consent, directed upon a certain seat in the north aisle, occupied
by Bess Westmoreland and her father. The reason of this
phenomenon was that Bess had come to church attired in a
very fine new frock made of nothing less than sarcenet, with a
flowered petticoat, a lawn kerchief about her neck, and a hat
trimmed with silk ribbons, so that among the women around her
in their scarlet flannel, and the girls in their plain camblet, linsey-
woolsey, and russet, she looked like a rose among the weeds of
the hedge. Few of the gentlewomen in the church were more
finely dressed. As to them, their eyes plainly said, if eyes can
speak, ' Saw one ever such presumption ?' And as for the baser
sort, they first gazed with admiration and envy unspeakable, and
then sniffed and tossed their heads, as if nothing would have
induced them to put on such fine things : and then they looked at
each other, each with the same question trembling on her tongue,
each one longing to ask aloud, ' Who gave her the things ? ' For
there is some strange quality in the female conscience (I mean
only in a seaport town), which enables every girl to accept joyfully
and gratefully whatever a man may give her, and at the same time
to flout and scorn all other girls for doing the same thing; so that
what is a virtue in herself must be a clear sign of immodesty or
forwardness in another.
One would not deny that the girl was worthy of blame; for,
though there are no longer sumptuary laws, yet every woman
knows how far she may in decency, and with due regard to her
station, carry her love of finery. Bess, however, wore these things
not of her own will, but by desire (say, rather, command) of a
certain person. There is, again, nothing strange in a Deptford
girl suddenly appearing in the colours of a rainbow, especially
after a ship has been paid off, though very soon the silks and satins
go to the Jews who buy second-hand clothes, together with the
trinkets and the ribbons; and Madame returns to her russet frock,
her blue apron, and her speckled handkerchief. But this, which is
VERY WELL THEN 133
of daily occurrence among the common sailors' wives, one would
not expect of a respectable girl, such as Bess. It is quite certain,
and one must not excuse her conduct, that she should not have
ventured to church thus attired. Yet I, for one, was ready to
forgive her—first because she looked so marvellously beautiful in
these fine feathers, and next because she bravely bore the artillery
of these eyes, and held herself tall and upright, looking straight
before her, as if no one was gazing at her, and as if she wore what
belonged to her. Women are your true levellers: they have no
respect for rank: even a Peer is but a man to them, and a Countess
is bui a woman; they are ready to measure their own beauty
beside that of any lady in the land ; there is no girl, however lowly,
who would refuse, for conscience' sake, the honourable attentions of
a gentleman ; and the silly creatures, I am told, whisper continually
to each other tales of humble girls raised to the condition of
Princesses.
There was another person in the church, besides myself, who
seemed as if leniency and readiness to forgive this presumption
possessed his heart as well. This was the Lieutenant, who, from
his place in the Admiral's pew (the corner nearest the reading-
desk, with his back to the altar), regarded the girl steadfastly
during the whole service, insomuch that I feared lest Madame or
Castilla herself should observe it, and be offended at so indecent a
proof of admiration in Divine service. But Castilla did not discover
it, partly because she hath never been able to understand how a
gentleman can regard a common girl with admiration (she still
considers that Jack's passion for Bess was caused by the sorcery
and craft of Mr. Brinjes), and, therefore, was not likely to suspect
such a thing; and partly because Castilla's eyes in church were
always fixed upon her book, as she followed the words of the
service, or they were humbly dropped upon her lap during the
sermon, as if she closely followed the argument, and was being
convinced by my father's reasoning. Now, as hath been already
explained, the Vicar's sermons were written for the perusal of
scholars rather than for the understanding of the unlearned.
The service over, we walked out in due order, and so by the
gate into Church Lane, as we had done on that day, three weeks
before, when our prodigal came home to us in rags. And then,
after a little talk, we separated, Jack going with the Admiral's
party, and I returning to the Vicarage to dinner.
After dinner, the afternoon being warm and sunny, I took my
hat, and walked leisurely towards those gardens of which I have
already spoken, where were the orchards of plum, pear, apple, and
cherry, and where the old summer-house overlooked the Creek. It
would be, I thought, pleasant in the gardens with no one but
myself, and I could walk about among the trees, watching the grey
lichen on the bark and the sober tints of the autumnal leaves, and
perhaps find, in the view of the Greenwich Reach, something new
to observe and note. One whose profession is to paint ships of all
r u THE WORLD WENT
kinds can never grow weary of watching them, whether at anchor
or in motion ; just as one who paints figures loves to be for ever
contemplating the human figure, whether in action or in repose.
The air was still and soft, the day warm, although it was already
the twentieth day of October. The fruit was all picked now, and
the leaves beginning to dry at their stalks : because the leaves of
apple, plum, and cherry do not turn brown, but drop off while they
are yet green ; yet the green is quite another hue than that pre¬
sented in spring and summer, and I wonder that no painter has
painted the greens of autumn, as well as the yellow, red, and brown.
I have myself attempted a sketch, in April, showing parts of that
long stretch of garden all the way from these gardens to Greenwich
Hospital, which at that season look like a vast cloud of white and
pink blossom resting on the green branches which here and there
peep out.
This afternoon the tide was high. There was moored close to
the mouth of the Creek, and on the opposite bank, a barge, which,
with its brown sail lowered, its thick mast, and its hanging ropes,
formed so pretty a set-off to the trees of the orchard beyond, that I
stood awhile to gaze upon it. I have drawn many barges; below
the bridge at Wapping Stairs, and in Chelsea Keach and in other
places ; but I never drew any prettier picture than that of the barge
in the Creek at high tide, the woods behind it: only, as artists can,
I made a change. For I presently sketched the barge, and waited
until the following spring, when I painted a background of apple
and cherry orchards in blossom.
Well, when I had looked at my barge and made a note of it,
and of one or two other things, being in a leisurely mood, and
quite certain that I was alone in the garden, I lifted the latch of
the summer-house door and walked in.
I declare that I suspected nothing. If I had known who were
in the place I should have beat a drum, or blown a trumpet, or
fired a cannon to announce my approach, sooner than steal thus
unawares upon them. But I did nothing, and pushed the door
open without ceremony. Heavens ! There was Bess Westmore¬
land, her head upon Jack's shoulder, while his hand clasped her
waist, and his lips kissed her cheek! Who would have suspected
this ? I was so surprised that I stood speechless, I dare say with
mouth wide open, as one sees on the stage, where gestures of all
kinds are exaggerated. Yet not so amazed but I saw what a
pretty picture they made, he in his blue coat and crimson sash, and
his hat with the King's cockade: she in the pretty frock for which
the women were now railing at her behind her back. A young
man and a beautiful girl embracing cannot but make a pretty
picture. As for this, I made a sketch in oils six months later.
Bess stood to me for her portrait very willingly when I promised
that the picture should be given to her sweetheart when he should
return. As for the Lieutenant, I got a fellow, for a shilling or two,
to stand in the attitude I wanted, while the face I drew from
VERY WELL THEN
135
memory, with the assistance of Bess. I painted them in the sum¬
mer-house, and through the window you can see a ship slowly going
down the river. For a reason, which you will presently learn, X
never gave that picture to Jack; and, for my own reason, I have
hot sold it, hut keep it hung up at home in my studio, though
Castilla loves it not, and will never, if she can help it, look upon it
■—perhaps because the picture renders scant justice to the beauty
of Bess, whose flushed cheeks, parted lips, and heaving bosom 1
endeavoured, but perhaps with insufficient success, to portray upon
the canvas. Nor, I am aware, is justice done to the passion ex¬
pressed in the lover's eyes, in his bending head—nay, even in
the arms with which he held the nymph to his heart.
' Zounds!' cried Jack, as Bess screamed and started, and
pushed him back, and sunk upon the bench, her face in her hands.
' Zounds and fury !' He stepped forward, his fists clenched, fire
and distraction in his eyes. lie was so carried away with his
wrath that he did not at first even recognise me, and made as if he
would draw his sword and make an end of me.
' Why, Jack,' I cried, ' I knew not thou wert here 1 How should
I know ?'
Upon this he let fly a round dozen or so of sailors' oaths, such
as may be heard in Flagon Row or Anchorsmith Alley, sound and
weighty oaths, every one more profane than its predecessor. The
language of the fo'ks'le is, we know, readily and greedily acquired
by every officer, and is too often adopted as his own to the end of
his days.
' I knew not, Jack, indeed,' I repeated,' that anyone was here.
What ? Should I spy on your actions ? As for what I have
seen '
' Let me go, Jack!' cried Bess; ' oh, let me go 1 He will tell
my father, who will send me away for a servant. And perhaps he
will tell Aaron, who would murder you, if he could, without being
hanged! Oh, Jack ! what shall I do ? '
' I shall tell no one, Bess,' I said. ' Why, it is no business of
mine to go repeating what I have seen accidentally. Am X the
town barber ?'
Jack looked doubtfully; then he laughed.
' Cheer up, Bess,' he said; ' no harm is done. Luke will never
betray an old friend. He came here to draw the ships, which is
all he thinks about. He will go away, and he will forget all
about it.'
'Nay,' I said; 'I shall not forget. But I shall hold my
tongue.'
' I won't trust no one—only you, Jack,' said the girl.
' Hark ye, Luke.' Jack drew her closer to himself, and laid his
arm round her neck. ' Hark ye, lad. Thou hast discovered what
was not meant for thee—nor for anyone—to know. That signifies
nothing for a lad of honour. But for Bess's sake, swear it. Take
an oath upon it.
136 THE WORLD WENT
' I swear, Bess,' I declared to her, ' that I will speak no single
word of what 1 have seen and learned. If there were a Bible here,
I would kiss the book to please you. You may trust me, Bess.'
' You may indeed, Bess,' said Jack. ' Hands upon it, lad.'
So we shook hands, and in all that followed afterwards I told
nobody what had happened; and the thing was so managed that it
was never suspected by anyone except Aaron. It seems wonderful
that no one in Deptford found it out, because it is a place where
one half the women are continually employed in watching and
spying upon the other half, and find their chief happiness in de¬
tecting things which it was desired to keep secret, forgetting that
others are employed in exactly the same inquiry after their secrets.
Just so one hath observed a row of monkeys in cages, each thieving
from one neighbour's dish, while the other steals from his.
' Trust all or none, Luke,' said Jack. ' Thou shalt know all,
and be a witness between us. Listen. I have told Bess that I love
her, and that when I come home again I will marry her. If I had
not fallen in love with so much beauty and loveliness I should have
been a most insensate wretch, unworthy to be called a man. Was
there ever a more charming nymph ? ' He kissed her again, while
her great eyes swam with the pleasure of so much praise. ' Thou
shalt paint her for me, Luke. And as for Bess, she says that she loves
me. I believe she lies, because how such a girl, so soft and tender,
can love a rough sea-bear like me, who knows none of the ways to
please a woman, passes understanding. But she says she does, and
I will question her farther upon this point when thy great ugly
phiz is no more blocking up the gangway. And she will not believe
that I am in earnest, Luke. That is my trouble with her. She
will have that I shall go away and forget her, as many sailors do.'
' So he will,' said Bess. ' They all go away and forget the girls
who loved them. And then I shall break my heart and die; if I
don't, I shall hang myself.'
' So, Luke, listen and be a witness. WTiat do I care who her
father is ? Such a girl deserves to be the daughter of a Commo¬
dore. Talk not to me of gentlewomen born. Where is there any
woman, gentle or simple, with such eyes as Bess, such lips as Bess,
such hair as Bess ? ' I declare he kept kissing her at each sentence,
she making no manner of resistance. ' So I will swear to her, in
thy presence, Luke, to make it more solemn, and to make her
believe my word. I, Jack Easterbroolt'—he took her hand at this
point, as if he was actually marrying her in church, and by the
minister or priest—' I, Jack Easterbrook, do solemnly promise and
vow that I will never make love to any other woman and never
marry any other woman than Bess Westmoreland ; and that I will
never think of any other woman at home or in foreign parts.
First, I must get commissioned ; and then, when the war is over, I
will come back and marry my Bess.—Kiss me again, girl.—This
is my solemn promise and oath, in which I will not fail, SO HELP
^E, GOPI'
VERY WELL THEN
137
I have often, since that day, wondered at the amazing force of
the passion which could make so young a man call down upon
himself the awful vengeance of offended Omnipotence if he broke
a vow of constancy towards a girl he had seen but twice or thrice ;
for I count as nothing the time when she was a child, and he came
to her father for lessons.
As he spoke the last words his eyes grew dim with tenderness,
and he stooped and kissed the girl on her forehead, as if to seal and
consecrate the vow. As for her, she was transfigured. I could
not believe that love could so powerfully change a woman's face.
She had reason for triumph, but it was not triumph in her eyes ;
rather was it a kind of humble pride—a wondering joy that so
gallant a man should love her, with a doubt whether it was not,
after all, a passing fancy, and a fear that she should not fix his
affections.
' Oh 1' she sighed. ' Oh ! Jack!' and could find no more words.
'Bess,' I said, ' vows ought not to be all on one side. If Jack
promises so much, what hast thou to promise, in thy turn ? '
' Tell me what to say. Oh! I am only a poor girl! What can
I promise him ? I am so ignorant that I do not know what to
promise. Jack, do you want me to say that I will be faithful?
No—you cannot. Why, is there any man in the world to compare
with you ? If a woman cannot be true and constant to you, she
cannot be true to any man. As for the rest of them, I value not
one of them a brass farthing. Oh !' she laughed and clasped her
hands. ' Why, I am content to be his slave, Luke—yes, his slave,
to toil and work for him all day long—his slave—his servant.'
She fell on her knees before him. ' Oh! Jack, command me what
you please. I want nothing more than to obey your orders.'
Wonderful it was how love made this ignorant and wilful girl
at once eloquent and humble. Jack lifted her up, and held her by
both hands.
' You are a King's officer, Jack,' she went on, speaking rapidly ;
' I must, try so that you shall not be ashamed of your wife. I am
but the daughter of a Penman, I know. _ He writes letters for
sailors, and teaches mathematics to midshipmen and young sailor
officers, if there are any. But I have time to learn, and I will find
out how to bear myself like a gentlewoman, and to talk like one,
and to dress myself as a gentleman's wife ought to dress herself.
I will make my father teach me to read and to write ; and as for
manners—I will go to Mr. Brinjes. He will do anything in the
world for you, Jack, and for the woman of your choice.'
One could not choose but laugh at thinking of Mr. Brinjes as a
teacher of polite manners and conversation. He had learned the
most approved fashion, no doubt, among the Mandingoes and the
Coromantyns. Yet the earnest and serious manner in which the
girl spoke made the matter moving. However, enough was said,
and I offered to go, but she caught me by the hand.
' Stay, Luke!' she whispered. ' Jack, some of you break your
138 THE WORLD WENT
vows; but you will not, Jack—you will not ? As for me, I need
not promise : for I cannot choose but be true to mine.'
She laid her head upon his breast, and I left them, shutting the
door behind me, and going very softly.
In the evening I saw Jack again.
' Luke,' he said, ' I am the happiest man in the world, because
I have got the best girl in the world. What do I care that her
father is but a Penman? What does it signify that she cannot
read or write ? Leading does no good to any girl that ever I
heard of, but fill her head with fond desires. But one thing
sticks: when I am away, who will keep the men from her ? There
is Aaron Fletcher—him I knocked on the head; I wish I had
beaten out his brains for him. They tell me he is mad for love of
her, though she would never say a word to him. I doubt I may
have to fight him again before I go. To be sure, Mr. Brinjes pro¬
mises to protect her ; but he is old and feeble.'
' Why,' I said, ' he will protect her by the fear with which he is
regarded. One must needs respect a man who can scatter rheu¬
matics among those who offend him.'
However, I presently promised him that, in his absence, I
would sometimes visit the girl, and comfort her, and keep up her
heart; although, if it came to a fight with Aaron, he was able to
work me to an anvil, as they say, with fist or cudgel.
Then I begged him to consider seriously what he was about to
do. First, that he was a gentleman by birth and rank, who might
look to marry a gentlewoman; next, that he had no fortune, and
as yet no prize-money, and only a Lieutenant's half-pay; and
lastly, that if he married, he was likely to lose the Admiral's
favour.
' Truly,' he replied, ' I have considered all these things.' I
don't believe that he had considered one of them before that
moment. ' And I am resolved that there is no other happiness
but in marrying Bess. As for duty, it points the same way, because
I am promised to her. When duty, and inclination point the same
way, my lad, what room is there left for doubt ? Answer me that.
Why, if I lived a thousand years, I should never love any other
woman as I love my Bess. What puzzles me,' he went on,' is
why the landsmen haven't fallen in love with her long ago. None
of your mincing, mealy-mouthed, fine ladies, all patches and
powder, made up so that you know not what they are like, with
hoop and petticoat; but an honest lass, true and loyal—you can
see what she is like, for she wears neither hoop nor powder;
and she tells no lies, and you know her mind directly she speaks.
That is the girl for me, Luke. Hang me if I understand why she
wasn't, long ago, the girl for you.'
' Fortunately for me,' I said,' your inclinations and mine are
not set on the same woman.'
'Why, if I had been in your place, Luke, I would have
carried off the girl, if I could have got her in no other way.
VERY WELL THEN 139
If she were to change her mind now, and to refuse me, I would
carry her off, whether she liked it or not. There would be a
prize to tow into port, and all for myself, Luke—all for myself 1'
CHAPTEE XVII.
in butcher's row.
• Aaron,' Mr. Westmoreland said,' is a cruel and revengeful man.N
Afterwards I remembered these words. For my own part I
did not understand this judgment, though I had known Aaron
all my life, first as a great hulking boy, and then as the strongest
and biggest man in Deptford. On what grounds did Mr. West¬
moreland consider him cruel and revengeful ? The judgments of
weak and timid men, like those of women, are shrewd, and often
true. Yet Aaron had done nothing, so far as the world knew, on
account of which he could be called cruel and revengeful. Masterful
and headstrong he was, and the world accounted him a brave man,
but not revengeful. The present moment, however, was likely to
bring out whatever evil passions lay in his soul, for he had been
publicly humiliated and brought to shame by the man who had
taken from him the woman he loved ; and when he met his friends
in the street they seemed to be laughing in their sleeves at him.
Therefore Aaron conceived an act of revenge which was as auda¬
cious as it was villainous. If he was revengeful, it must be
admitted that he was also bold.
He first showed his teeth on the Monday morning after the
fight at Horn Fair. Bess was engaged in making a beef-steak
pudding for dinner, her sleeves rolled up, singing over her work.
Her father sat at his desk before the window, bent over his
work, with round spectacles on nose, undisturbed by his daughter's
singing. A sudden diminution of the light caused both to look up.
Aaron Fletcher's great body was blocking up the doorway.
' Bess,' he said, roughly, ' come out to me.'
' Good morning, Aaron,' said Mr. Westmoreland. 1 The weather
still holds up, and keeps fine for the season.'
' Come out, Bess,' he repeated, taking no notice of her father.
4 What do you want to say to me, Aaron ? If it is the old
thing '
' No; it is not the old thing. Come out, I say.'
She obeyed, rolling her apron over her bare arms, and came
out into the street; her father looking after her, apprehensive of
mischief.
4 WeH, Aaron ? '
He looked upon her with love in his eyes, had she been able to
perceive it, and to be moved by such a gaze. But she had no pity
for him, and no feeling.
' It is not the old story, Bess,' he said. 4 As for that, I've had
140
THE WORLD WENT
my answer. What I came to say was this. I asked a simple
question—twenty times I asked that question. 'Twas not only by
reason of thy good looks, Bess, though they go for something.
'Twas because, of all the Deptford girls, there was none so quiet
and so steady. Well, the time has come when no honest man will
ask thee that question again.'
' Have a care, Aaron,' she replied, with flaming cheek, because
she knew what he meant very well. ' Have a care, Aaron. You'd
best.'
'Bess, it is because I love thee still that I came to say this. No
one else will say it, though they may all think it. You were with
him at the fair all the evening. It was not till nigh upon midnight
that he brought thee home. Is that an hour for a respectable girl'?
You meet him secretly at the apothecary's every day. Therefore
I say again, Bess—beware.'
' Oh ! If I were to tell him,' she began, ' if I were only to tell
him what you have dared to say !'
'Nay . . . tell him all. I care not a brass button. Tell him
I said he is fooling thee. I will tell him that to his face. What
care I for any Lieutenant of them all ? He to marry 1 Why,
he has got nothing. He is fooling thee. Mischief will come of
it, Bess. Thou art too low for him, and yet too high.'
'Thank you for your pains,' she replied. 'As for me, I can
take care of myself, even if all the world should take to spying
through keyholes. As for trusting myself with the Lieutenant,
I think I am safer with him than with a smuggler—yes, a mere
tarpaulin smuggler. You can go, Aaron. 'Tis a fine morning
for a run down the river, and I dare say a sail across the
Channel will do you good, and cure the headache from last
Friday's cudgelling; but take care, Aaron. Some day, perhaps,
we may see thee, if thou art not prudent, dangling in chains
over there '—she pointed to the Isle of Hogs, where there were
then hanging on the gibbets three poor wretches—'or walking
after a cart-tail with the whip across your shoulders; or, maybe,
marched aboard ship in handcuffs for the plantations. Get thee
gone, meddler!'
' I have said what I came to say. As for thy fine lover, Bess,
he crows now, but it will be my turn next, and that when he
little looks for it. He has not yet done with me.'
She laughed scornfully, and returned to her pudding, tossing
her head, and murmuring with wrath that bubbled and boiled
over into broken words, insomuch that her father trembled.
As for Aaron, he stood still for a moment, looking wistfully
after the girl. I think he bore no malice on account of the joy
with which she witnessed his downfall—nay, I verily believe that
this morning he meant the best for her, and only mistrusted the
Lieutenant. Then he turned and walked slowly towards the town.
Everybody knows that there are streets in Deptford where honest
and sober people would not willingly he seen. They are the resort
VERY WELL THEN
141
of the vile creatures which infest every seaport town, and rob the
sailor of his money. Barnes Alley, French Fields, and the Stowage
are full^ of these people, the best of whom are oyster wenches,
ballad-singers, and traders in smuggled goods. The houses are
chiefly of wood, black with dirt; every other door hangs out the
chequers as a sign of what is sold within. Here and there may be
seen the lattice of the baker or the pole of the barber. The men in
these streets wear for the most part fur caps, with grey woollen
stockings, and speckled breeches. Their shoes are tied with
scarlet tape, and they are never without a cudgel. The women
have flat caps, blue aprons, and draggled petticoats. The talk of
the people corresponds to their appearance. One of these streets is
called Butcher's Bow. In the midst of it, on the north side, stands
a house superior to the rest, having an upper storey, and a sign
carved in wood over the door—that of the ' Hope and Anchor.'
There is a broad staircase within, also rich with wood carving, and
a room wainscoted with dark oak, where those sit who drink
something better than the common twopenny.
Every tavern hath its own class of frequenters: those who use
the ' Hope and Anchor' are the men whom Custom House officers,
the clerks of the Navy Offices, and police magistrates agree in
regarding with suspicion. They are, for instance, men who have
dealings with smugglers, yet never venture their skins across the
Channel; men who traffic in sailors' tickets, and defraud sailors'
wives of their pay; men who sell ship-stores of all kinds, and are
modestly reluctant to show where they got them; men who buy
up, before the Navy Office is ready to pay, sailors' prize-money;
those who live by finding recruits for the East India Company's
service, and keep crimps' houses, where, according to common
report, murder is as common as drunkenness and theft.
Into that house, therefore, Aaron walked, and without any
questions, for he knew the place, made his way into the parlour,
where was sitting a man who, to judge by his friendly greeting,
expected him. He was in an arm-chair before the fireplace, where,
though it was a sunny day and warm for the season, a great coal
fire was burning. He was provided with a tankard of small ale
and a pipe of tobacco, though it was still the forenoon, when indus¬
trious men have not begun to think of tobacco. In appearance he
was about fifty years of age ; his cheeks were purple and his eyes
were fiery ; his neck was swollen ; as for his nose, it was battered
in the bridge, so that the original shape of it could no longer be
guessed. And there was a deep red scar across his cheek, which
might be a glorious proof of valour in some great action, and might
also be a mark by which to remember some midnight brawl. He
wore a scratch wig and a brown coat with metal buttons, worsted
stockings, and a muffler about his neck.
This man was a familiar figure in Deptford, whither he came
by boat once a month or so for the transaction of business. The
nature of his business was not known for certain, and there were
142
THE WORLD WENT
different reports. It was whispered that he stood in with Aaron
Fletcher, receiving and selling for him those cargoes ot his which
he brought across the Channel and landed on the coast of Essex;
by others it was said that he ventured on his own account; and
again, it was reported that he was a Government spy, who ought
to have his ears sliced; and by others that he procured informa¬
tion for the Navy Office when there was going to be a Press, and
therefore, if justice was done, should be carbonadoed. A.11 this
might have been true. What everyone could observe with his
own eyes was—that he bought, and paid a good price for, all those
things which sailors bring with them from foreign ports, such as
embroidered cloths, brass pots, figures in china, silver ornaments
and idols, or even living creatures, as hyenas, wolves, monkeys,
parrots, mongooses, lemurs, and the like. He was liberal with his
money, and generous in the matter of drink ; yet he was not
regarded with friendly eyes, perhaps on account of that suspicion
regarding the Navy Office and the Press. As for his name, it was
Jonathan Payment.
He nodded his head when Aaron appeared at the door, and,
lifting the tankard, drank to him in silence.
' How goes business ? ' asked Aaron.
' Business,' Mr. Rayment replied, mournfully, 1 was never worse.
Honest merchants are undone. My next ship sails in a week, and
as yet I have but a poor half-dozen in the place.'
' That is bad.'
' And a sorry lot they are. One is a young parson who haft
spent his all, and, in despair, took one night to the road, and now
thinks the Hue and Cry is out after him. Another is a 'prentice
who hath robbed his master's till, and will be hanged if he is caught,
and yet snivels all day because he fears the Great Mogul's black
Spahis almost more than he fears the gallows. One hath deserted
twenty-one times from the Army, twice from the Navy, and once
from the Marines, but a dissolute fellow, and rotten with disease
and drink; the wind whistles through his bones. Yet he would
rather cross the seas and fight for the Honourable Company than
be taken, and receive the five hundred lashes which are waiting for
him. He might as well die that way as by disease, for he will cer¬
tainly drop to pieces before he reaches Calcutta. Another is a
lawyer's clerk, who, I believe, hath forged his master's name—a
rogue who will fight, though small of stature. Another is a foot¬
pad, for whose apprehension ten guineas reward is offered, and so
mean and chicken-hearted a rascal that I must e'en give up the
fellow and content myself with the reward. Sure I am that the
first smell of powder will kill him. A sorry lot, indeed. Well, if
the war continues, I am ruined. For every lusty fellow can now
find employment, either in a regiment or on board a ship, and there
will soon be no debtors or footpads. Alas ! Aaron, I remember,
not so long ago, when the peace was proclaimed, and the regiments
disbanded, and the ships paid off. Then we had for nothing our
VERY WELL THEN 143
choice of the best. Kogues are cheap when 'tis their only choice
between the gallows and the Company.'
The meaning of all this was that the respectable Mr. Rayment
was nothing more nor less than a crimp by trade : one, that is, who
seeks out and deludes, inveigles, or persuades recruits for the ser¬
vice of the East India Company, whether for their land or sea
service, keeping them snug in the house till the ship sails. As
regards their navy, the Company hath, I have been told, a fleet of
a hundred ships afloat, to man which is difficult, and requires the
service of many such men as Mr. Rayment, whose methods are, as
is well known, to decoy or persuade young men, and especially
young men who are friendless or in trouble through some folly or
crime, into their houses, and there keep them, whether they will or
no, by violence if necessary, but more often by keeping them con¬
tinually drunk, so that they know not what they have undertaken,
or what papers they have signed, until the time comes when they
can be put aboard. As for the service of the Company, the young
gentlemen who are sent out by the Honourable Council to Cal¬
cutta or Madras as writers or clerks, do frequently, as everybody
knows, arrive at great riches, and come home nabobs. But I never
yet heard that any of the poor fellows who have been decoyed into
the crimps' houses, and shipped on board an East Indiaman for
foreign service in the Company, have ever returned at all, rich or
poor.
Between Aaron and this man there was some understanding or
partnership, but of what nature, or to what extent, I have not
learned. Rayment had a shop in Leman Street (quite apart from
the houses in which he kept his recruits), where he sold many
things besides the curiosities which he bought of the sailors in
Wapping and Poplar, as well as at Deptford. Perhaps he disposed
of Aaron's cargoes for him after a run. Perhaps he arranged, with
Aaron's help, for the passage of those gentlemen, whether Jaco¬
bites or Frenchmen, who are anxious to get backwards and forwards
between England and France without the observation or the know¬
ledge of the Government of either country. There is abundant
occupation for such gentry as Mr. Rayment, whose end is often
what rogues call a dance in the air. _ And just as Aaron had his
boatbuilding yard, which is a most innocent and harmless busi¬
ness, so Mr. Rayment had his innocent shop in Leman Street, and
was to outward seeming an honest citizen, who went forth from
his shop to church on Sunday morning, dressed in black cloth,
white silk stockings, and japanned shoes, with a newly curled and
powdered wig, like the best of them, and was permitted to exchange
the time of day and the compliments of the season with gentlemen
of reputation and known piety. Thus may villains walk unsus¬
pected among honest men.
' Well,' said Aaron,' I dare say you will not starve. What do
you say, now, to a tall recruit ?'
' What do you want for him, Aaron ? '
144
THE WORLD WENT
' You shall have him for nothing.' .
Mr. Rayment looked suspicious, as one that feareth the gifts of
his friends, and shook his head.
' For nothing, Aaron ? What do you want me to do for you,
then ?' .
' Nothing. I will give you a tall and lusty recruit. That is
plain, is it not ? '
' The door is shut, Aaron. Tell me what you mean.'
' Give me the men to take him, and he is yours.'
1 To take him ? ' Mr. Rayment leaned forward and whispered,
* Is he not a willing recruit, then ? I love a fellow who is in trouble,
and desires to be put into a place of safety.'^
'I don't know about his willingness,' said Aaron, grimly.
' If he is not willing, is he a fellow to be persuaded easily ?
As far as a skinful of punch is concerned, I care not about the
expense, as long as I get a lusty fellow.'
' He is in no trouble, and he is not willing. It will take half a
dozen men to carry him along, and a week's starvation to make
him even pretend to be willing.'
' 'Tis dangerous, Aaron. I like not this kidnapping work. "We
crimps have got a bad name, though everyone knows my own
honesty. Yet we must not openly rival the Press.'
' Why, you have done it hundreds of times.'
' Ay, for the picking up of a starving rustic, or a drunken sailor,
or a disbanded soldier, and swearing, when they are sober again,
that they have enlisted : that is neither here nor there. And it is
for the good of the poor fellows. Their pay is regular, and the
climate considered by some to be wholesome. It is playing the
part of Providence to help the poor men with the service of the East
India Company.'
' No doubt,' said Aaron.
' Give me your recruit who comes red-handed, the runners after
him, and asks for nothing but to be shipped safe out of the country
as soon as possible. I care not how many rogueries he hath com¬
mitted. Give me your losty villain, who hath stolen his master's
horse; or the gallant who hath squandered all his stock. These
give no trouble. But with pressed and kidnapped men it is dif¬
ferent.'
' I doubt if you could persuade this fellow,' said Aaron, ' not if
you made him drink a cask of brandy.'
'We have had misfortunes, too,' Mr. Rayment continued.
' Only last May there was brought to my house as sweet a country
lad as you would desire to see. He was in trouble about a girl,
and desired to serve the King. Well, in the morning, when he
got sober, and learned that he was enlisted in the service of the
Company, he behaved shamefully. Nothing would do but he must
go free or fight for it. So my honest fellows tried persuasion, and
in the end there were collar-bones and ribs broken, and that country
lad was carried out and laid upon W'nitechapel Mount, stripped.
VERY WELL THEN i4S
and as dead as any gentleman can wish to be. Think of the loss it
was to me.'
'Well,' said Aaron, 'your fellows must not persuade my man
this way.'
' What does it mean, Aaron ? *
'It is a private matter. You need not have anything to do
withit. Send me half a dozen stout fellows, and you shall know
nothing at all about it, except that another recruit was enlisted,
who stayed at the house till the ship sailed, and was taken on
board drunk and speechless. You will have nothing to do with
it but to lend me your men and your house.'
' I don't like it, Aaron. It may turn out bad. Has the man
friends ?'
' He has. Yet this his friends will never suspect.'
' I don't like the job, Aaron. Kidnapping should only be
practised on strangers and rustics. Is he a tradesman ? '
'No. It is a private grudge, Jonathan. I will make it worth
your while. I must have this man put out of the way. He is a
Lieutenant in the King's Navy.'
Mr. Rayment jumped from his chair.
' A King's Lieutenant! Aaron, would you hang us all!'
' Sit down, you fool. It is a safe job. Besides, you shall have
nothing to do with it. Sit down, and listen.'
CHAPTER XVIII.
A daek night's job.
The evenings, towards the end of October, set in early; and
when there is no moon, the nights are as dark as in mid¬
winter. It is, therefore, a favourable season for the footpads who
molest the roads outside great towns, the thieves who prowl the
streets, and the highwaymen who stop the coaches. At Deptford
there are neither footpads nor street-prowlers, though robbers
enough, Lord knows ; but they rob, for the most part, on a different
plan, and within the houses. In times of peace, when a sailor can¬
not readily find a ship, or a disbanded Marine cannot find work,
there have been known cases of robbery about Deptford and Green¬
wich. But in such a year as 175G, when the sailors were all too
few for the King's ships, and they were continually enrolling new
regiments of Marines, no one in these towns gave a thought to the
dangers of footpads, and a child might have carried, by day or by
night, a bag full of guineas from the dockyard gate to the bridge,
without fear of molestation. Least of all would such a man as
Jack Easterbrook trouble his head about robbers.
He left the Gun Tavern, where he had spent the evening with
the Lieutenants and Midshipmen who used the house, at a quarter
before ten or thereabouts, carrying no other weapon than his hanger,
L
146
THE WORLD WENT
arid began leisurely to walk homo down Church Lane. The upper
part of this road, when you have passed the church and the Trinity
Almshouses, is darker than the lower part, by reason of great trees
and a high hedge on either hand. Light or dark, 'twas all the
same to Jack, who marched along the middle of the road, head in
air, his thoughts turned on Bess, as they commonly were at this
time, or else wondering how long before he should receive his pro¬
mised commission. Soon it certainly would be, even though,
through favouritism and lack of interest, he should, for the present,
be passed over, because officers and men were growing scarce, and
my Lords the Commissioners wanted all they could get. And once
afloat again, with, if kind Heaven willed, a fighting Captain, there
would be prizes and prize-money, and, perhaps, swift promotion.
And then home again, to the arms of his dear girl. This, I take it,
is the dream of every sailor ; whereas, for many, instead of return¬
ing to the arms of a fond mistress, they are lowered, with a cannon-
shot at their heels, into the cold ocean, or come home lopped of
half their limbs, only to find their inconstant mistress in another's
arms.
Now, as he was thus striding along, swinging his arms as he
went, he became suddenly aware of shuffling footsteps and whispers,
which betoken the presence of men lurking behind the trees; but
before he had time to ask himself what this might mean, a fellow
rushed out from the darkness, armed with a pistol in one hand,
which he pointed at Jack's head, and a lantern in the other, which
he turned, unsteadily in the manner of one who is afraid, upon his
face, crying, 4 Your money or your life ! '
Jack was so astonished that, for a moment, he made no reply.
Then he sprang upon the fellow, and caught him by the throat.
4 My money or my life ? Impudent dog, I will squeeze thine own
life out! ' and so shook him in his grasp—thumb on breathing-
pipe—as a terrier shakes a rat, that the man dropped pistol and
lantern, and would have experienced the fate of the rat in another
minute but for the help of his friends. As it was, he would have
cried for mercy, but he could neither cry out nor breathe, so tight
were the fingers at his throat. Indeed, when he was rescued, half
a minute later, his face was already purple, his eyes starting from
his head like a shrimp's, and his tongue swollen, so that he was
fain to sit upon the ground awhile; and, for ten minutes or so, he
knew not whether he were really dead and in the next world, and
therefore about to reap the reward of his many villainies, or whether
he were still living and ready, for his greater damnation, to swell
that long list.
When the light of the lantern fell upon Jack's face, there
followed a sharp short whistle ; and, upon that signal, half a dozen
lusty fellows sprang upon him at the same moment from both sides
of the road. He had no time to draw his sword or to make any
resistance of any kind, for one of them fetched him from behind
while the others threatened him in front, so foul a stroke with an
VEKl WELL THEN
147
oaken cudgel that he fell like a log, and without a word, senseless
upon the ground, dragging with him the man whom he held by the
throat.
Then the men all crowded over him ready with their cudgels,
and as courageous as you please, their man being down. But it is
of no use to cudgel a senseless man.
They were joined by another man—it was Aaron—a tall fellow,
truly. He seemed like a giant among these ruffians, who, after the
kind of riverside villains, were short of stature, though stout. This
man stood over the fallen Lieutenant and looked upon the prostrate
body with eyes of satisfaction.
4 He fell at once,' said Aaron, as if dissatisfied. 11 looked for
more fighting. I thought there would be much more fighting. I
hoped to see him do his best before he was overpowered. Show a
light here.' One of them—not the first villain, who was now sit-
ting on the ground slowly getting his breath and still wondering
whether he were dead or not—held the lantern before Jack's face.
The eyes were closed and his cheek white.
4 Master,' said the man, ' I doubt the gentleman is killed out¬
right. This is a bad job for all of us.'
4 Killed! Saw ever one a man killed by a stroke of a cudgel ? I
wish he was killed. I wish he was dead and buried. Yet he shall
never say that I caused him to be killed. Such a man as this does
not die of a cracked skull. Show the light again.'
This time he looked more carefully. The Lieutenant was in a
dead swoon, just as Aaron himself had fallen into at Horn Fair, but
it was a far shrewder knock and a deeper faint. Aaron raised an
eyelid, but there was no sign of life or any shrinking from the
light. And now he saw that blood was flowing from the wound.
4 He will he quiet for a while yet. Well, men, here is your new
recruit.'
The men looked at each other, and murmured that with King's
officers—for now they saw the uniform by the light of the lantern
—they would not meddle.
4 Not meddle, ye villains ? ' cried Aaron ' ' why, you have
meddled with him already, and have well-nigh murdered him,
and will very likely hang, every mother's son, for this night's job.
Wherefore take him up and carry him away; 'tis your only chance
to save your own necks. Get him across the river with all despatch,
and snug indoors.'
The men hesitated. One of them murmured, with an oath, that
they would not hang alone.
4 When he comes to his senses,' Aaron continued, taking no
notice of this threat, 4 tell him that at the least movement you will
brain him. But you are not to brain him, remember, or your
master will lose the very best recruit he ever had, and will cause
you all to swing. What? There is enough against you for every
man to swing.' This assurance was made more emphatic, by the
language which this sort most readily understood. Still the men
148
THE WORLD WENT
hesitated. The King's uniform frightened them. They had often
enough kidnapped a poor drunken sailor, but never before a Lieu¬
tenant. Then Aaron swore at them, and stamped his foot upon
the ground.
4 Quick, I say. What ? You dare to argue ? Take him up. bo.
Cover him with a jacket to hide his white stockings and breeches,
though the night is dark. That will do—now—with a will.'
They took him up, the whole six sullenly lending a hand, and
carried biin as men carry a drunken man.
4 Carry him to the Stairs, and row him across the river as
quickly as you may. Bestow him in the upper room at the back,
where you keep the chains and the bars for your unruly recruits.
Watch him by day and night. He will try to escape, that is
certain; as soon as he recovers consciousness he will try to escape.
Let him understand that he will be knocked on the head if he
makes the attempt. And, remember, he is a match for any three
of ye—ay, the whole six, I verily believe—for he is as strong as
Samson. If he succeeds in escaping he will have you all in New¬
gate. He will drag the house down, if he can, in order to escape.
You are in great danger, my friends, whatever happens. Yet I
would not have him murdered. If he is not put on board alive,
there will be a warrant out against you for highway robbery and
violence, and hanged you will be, every man. Therefore, I say,
take care of him.' Thus he spoke: now showing that he wished
the man dead, and then warning them not to kill him. ' It is but
three or four days' nursing, with chains and a watch set day and
night, and then you shall hocus his drink and put him on board,
and shove the drunken beast down the companion to the lower
deck with the recruits, and the bo's'n's rope's-end first, in case he
complains; and the triangles next, in case he is stubborn and
mutinous. I should like to see him tied up for three dozen. Now,
march.'
The men replied nothing, but slung their burden and prepared
to obey.
4 March, I say; and, look ye, the Press was last night out on
Tower Hill, and the night before they were busy at Redriff, where
there was fighting and warm work, so that the men's spirit is up
and they will brook no resistance. Perhaps—I know not—they
are out to-night at Deptford. If the Press should take you, carrying
a King's officer unconscious and with an open wound in his head,
my mates—why, you are dead men, and already little better.'
The men needed no more, but marched off at the double, as
they say, the thought of the Press lending wings to their heels.
4 To knock down,' said Aaron, when they were gone, 4 and to
kidnap a Lieutenant in the King's Navy, and to ship him, drugged
and drunk, on board an East Indiaman for a recruit, is, I should
say high treason, at the least. But none of the fellows know me
and who is to prove that I gave the orders ? If the Lieutenant is'
dead already, they will throw his body into the river. If he is not
VERY WELL THEN 149
dead, most of these poor fellows will surely hang, for one or other
of them is certain to turn King's evidence. Yet, if he tries to
escape they will kill him, being used to murder, and thinking little
of it. If they knew it, this is their best chance. If they do not
kill him—what then I He goes aboard. And then ? I know not.
He will be put on board in rags. No one will believe him if he
calls himself an officer, I doubt if the Lieutenant will come back
again to Deptford. Whether he comes back or not, they cannot
charge the thing on me.'
Certainly, there never yet was conceived a more diabolical plot,
or one of greater impudence, than to waylay and kidnap an officer
bearing His Majesty's commission, to keep him close prisoner in a
crimp's house, chained and half starved, watched day and night,
and then, as was intended, to thrust him down into the hold of an
East Indiaman, seemingly stupid with drink (but in reality bereft
of his senses by some noxious drug), and to pretend that he was a
volunteer recruit. It is very well known, and matter of common
notoriety, that many men have been thus kidnapped and kept
prisoners and then shipped under this pretence. They are carried
below, apparently drunk, and laid among the other recruits, for the
most part a most desperate, villainous company. Here they lie,
and when they partly recover they are already out to sea, in the
gloomy 'tween-decks, most likely speechless with sea-sickness,
among strange and horrible companions, and no one on board who
will so much as listen to their story. Here was revenge indeed,
if only it could be carried out! And what was to prevent ? I
have never heard that a King's officer hath been thus treated,
which makes it the more wonderful for Aaron to have devised so
bold a scheme. Yet not so bold as it seems, because, if Jack could
thus be carried on board, in rags, unwashed, unshaven, his hair
about his ears, who would believe his affirmation that he was a
commissioned officer? Why, if such a ragamuffin told this tale to
the petty officers he would be rope's-ended, and if to the First
Lieutenant or to the Captain himself, he would most likely be tied
up and accommodated with three dozen, or perhaps six dozen, for
insubordination; for the officers of the Company are said to be
ready as those of the King's service—who, Heaven knows, are
never too lenient—in dealing with refractory recruits. Yet sooner
or later, one would think, the thing would be discovered; though
not on board the ship. Then the Lieutenant would return home
and prefer his complaint, and punishment would follow. But
Aaron, only an ignorant fellow, thought of nothing but revenge.
There are some men to whom the most terrible punishment in the
future seems as nothing compared with the gratification of present
revenge.
The gang of rogues had not gone farther towards the town than
St. Paul's Church,"marchingquickly along the middle of the road,
ready at the least alarm of the Press to drop their burden and to
run in all directions, when they encountered another party, con-
THE WORLD WENT
sisting of three negroes—one carrying a lantern—and a gentleman,
with a wooden leg. The negroes were, like these villains, armed
with cudgels, but they also carried cutlasses.
• ■' Halt I' cried the gentleman, who was none other than the
Admiral. ' Turn the lantern on these men, Cudjo.'
The negro valiantly advanced and showed a light upon the party.
They wore sailors' clothes—namely, slops or petticoats, short jackets*
and hats turned up straight on all three sides: and their hair was.
long, and hung about their necks. It was, indeed, their business on
the Tower Hill, and in the neighbourhood of Ratcliffe. Shad well,
and Wapping, to pretend to be honest sailors, and therefore to wear
their dress.
' Why,' said the Admiral, ' they are sailors! "Whither bound,
my lads, and what are you carrying ? '
' By your leave, your Honour,' said one of them, ' we are carry¬
ing a comrade who is too drunk to walk, and we are fearful of
leaving him in the hedge-side by reason of the Press.'
'Ay . . . ay . . . the Press. Well—my lads, I would
that the Press could take you all, and confound you for a poor lousy
chicken-hearted crew. I wish I knew where the Press is this night,
that I might set them on to you. I wish my negroes were six
instead of three. Go your ways.—March, Cudjo.'
The men made no reply, but hurried away as quickly as they
could. The Admiral looked after them awhile.
' I doubt,' he said, ' that all was not right. They looked a
plaguey cut-throat set of rascals. Perhaps 'twas not a drunken
comrade after all.'
Then he continued his way home in the usual marching order,
but slowly, because a wooden-legged man, who has twinges of gout
in his remaining toes, does not walk fast. Presently, the man who
held the lantern spied something in the road which glittered.
He picked it up. 'Twas a gold-laced hat with the King's
cockade.
' Men,' said the Admiral, ' this is the hat of an officer. What
does this mean ? Look about you, every one.'
The road was quite dark, owing to the trees and the cloudy
night. Presently, however, the men found a pistol in the road,
and, beside it, the traces of scuffling feet and torn lace, and, worse
still, plain marks of blood upon the road.
' Here,' said the Admiral, 'hath been wild work. Torn ruffles—
a gold-laced hat—a pistol—and a gang of bloodthirsty cut-throats
carrying a body with them. A drunken comrade, forsooth 1 And
afraid of the Press; would to God the Press might take them red-
handed 1 Whom have they murdered ? For murder, surely, it is,
and nothing less. Men '—he turned to his negroes—' I am wooden-
legged, and cannot rim. Wherefore, do you leave me here, and
with what speed you may, hasten after that company, and . call
upon them to surrender ; and, if they will not, raise the town upon
them. Draw cutlasses—shoulder cutlasses—quick march—double.
VERY WELL TEEN
Run, ye black devils, as if your horny grandfather himself was
after you!'
If the Admiral had ordered his negroes to jump from London
Bridge or the Monument they would have done it, I am quite
certain, so great was the terror with which they regarded him.
Therefore, at the word, they drew their weapons, and set off run¬
ning with the greatest resolution, and at a pretty brisk pace, showing
all the outward signs of zeal and of courage.
Alas! negroes are in essentials all alike. No man ever yet
found courage in the black African, any more than industry,
patience, or honesty, unless the white man was behind him with
Father Stick for encouragement.
The night was dark. Nothing more daunts a negro than dark¬
ness, because to him the night is peopled—especially when there
is no white man present—with all kinds of fearful and terrible
creatures ; therefore, in their running, they presently began to feel
the gloomy influence of the hour, and their speed slackened gra¬
dually. Next, they were no longer young; and it would be foolish
to expect of those whose wool is grey the courage which they never
possessed when it was still black. Thirdly, the Admiral was out of
sight and out of hearing. And, again, if the enemy refused to
surrender, whom were they to alarm ? "What were they to say ?
"What road were they to take ? Lastly—a consideration which
weighed with them above all others—what if they were, unhappily,
to overtake the men? They were but three to six—and three
feeble old blacks to six lusty young whites ! Then might occur
difficulties unforeseen by the Admiral, who naturally thought that
his own crew must always gain the victory.
These doubts and difficulties suggested themselves to the brave
fellows at one and the same moment—namely, the first moment
when they thought their footsteps out of the Admiral's hearing.
They halted and looked at each other.
' Breddren,' said Snowball, ' let us stop and deliberation our¬
selves. "Where am de enemy ? Fled—flown—yah! De poo'
coward!—run clean out ob our sight!—'fraid to face brave black
man!'
' S'pose,' said Cudjo, ' we wait just quarter ob an hour ; den go
back and tell his Honour men clean gone ; run away before us, for
fear ob us ? '
This was agreed to. Nothing more was said, but all three sat
on a doorstep and waited until they thought the quarter of an
hour seemed to be passed, and so they might safely return.
Even if they had followed the party across to the Stairs, sup¬
posing they knew which direction to take, they would scarcely have
overtaken them, so expeditious were the men in getting to the river
and in pushing off, the bank being at this time quite deserted.
Therefore, when a reasonable time had elapsed, the valiant
ne°roes began to return slowly, but still brandishing their
cutlasses. Arrived within five minutes of the house, they brok6
152 THE WORLD WENT
into a quick trot, so that they reached the doors in a panting and
breathless condition, as happens to those who very earnestly and
zealously carry out instructions.
They reported that at the bottom of Church Lane they came
upon the enemy, and called upon him to surrender at discretion
or take the terrible consequences. The enemy chose the latter,
and retreated rapidly. In other words, they all vanished, but
whether down Butcher's Row or in the direction of Rogue Lane,
which leads into the open fields south of Rotherhithe, they could
not tell, and, in the darkness and uncertainty, they thought it best
to return for further orders.
' Why,' said the Admiral, ' 'tis a dark night, truly. And if they
have sailed out of sight, and we have lost them, there is no more
to be said,' and so put away the torn ruffles, the laced hat, and the
pistol, in case they might be wanted for evidence of robbery and
violence, if not of murder, and ordered the men an extra ration of
rum, and so to bed. Fortunately, he had no suspicion that the hat
and the ruffles belonged to Jack Easterbrook, otherwise his night's
rest would have been disturbed. As for the pistol, however, that,
he discovered on examination, had not been discharged.
CHAPTER XIX.
in the crimp's house.
Mr. Jonathan Rayment was not only a crimp (though at his
shop in Leman Street they knew not this, and in his houses they
knew not his name), but he was a crimp in a large way of business,
as they say of honest trades, being the possessor of half a dozen
houses in different parts of London, all kept for no other purpose
than the receiving of recruits for the East India Company. There
is no concealment about this business ; everybody knows that they
are crimps' houses. One of them was in High Street, Wapping;
one in Chancery Lane; a third in Butcher Row, at the back of
St. Clement's Church; and another in Tothill Fields. He em¬
ployed a good many men to decoy and entrap his prey. Some
among them went dressed soberly, like substantial citizens, or in
scarlet, like half-pay captains, and frequented the gaming-houses,
where they made the acquaintance of those who were driven to
despair by losing all; some haunted the coffee-houses, taverns,
theatres, and mughouses. Here they picked up young country¬
men who had run through their money, 'prentices who had robbed
their masters, and even young gentlemen of quality who had
wasted their substance in riotous living, and now saw nothing
before them but a debtors' prison. Others, again, worked chiefly
in the neighbourhood of Wapping and the town, being always
on the look-out for rustics and labouring men out of work, dis¬
banded soldiers, paid-off sailors, men discharged for misconduct,
VERY WELL THEN 153
ftnd rogues in hiding. These they either bought or entrapped ;
and sometimes, when they could not persuade, they hesitated not
to kidnap. It was from this gang that the six fellows came who
assaulted Jack.
^ When they got to the river side, still running at the double,
being horribly afraid of the Press, and knowing not whether they
might encounter the gang face to face, they made all haste to
deposit their charge in the boat, and rowed off. Presently the
cold air playing on Jack's bare head began to revive him, and he
half opened his eyes and began to collect his senses. Fortunately,
the men paid no attention to him, or it might have been all over
with him. At first he understood nothing except that he was in a
boat, but on what water he knew not. Next he understood that
the men were rowing up stream. And so, little by little, some
knowledge of what happened came to him, and he wondered
whither they were taking him, and why he was thus treated. He
understood, that is to say, that he had been attacked, and perhaps
robbed, and that he had been in a swoon. More he knew not.
' No voyage,' he told me afterwards, ' ever seemed longer to me
than this three-quarters of a mile from Deptford to King Edward's
Stairs. And I knew not whether to rejoice or to tremble when
the men shipped oars and the boat's bows struck the stairs.' The
event was doubtful, and only one thing certain—namely, that he
was in hands which meant no good to him; that he had been
knocked silly for a time, and was still incapable of making resist¬
ance ; that it was growing late, and good people were abed;
and that he had been conveyed to the other side of the river,
where honest people are scarce. For all these reasons he resolved
upon continuing senseless as long as possible. If, he thought, it
had been intended to kill him, why had they not done so right
out ? "Why had they not tumbled him into the river ? Why had
they taken all the trouble of carrying him to the river side and so
across the water if they were going to kill him ? And if not, what
were they going to do with him ?
King Edward's Stairs, whither they brought him, are the next
but one, going down the river, to Execution Dock. These stairs
are at no ,time in the day so well frequented as Wapping Old
Stairs and Wapping New Stairs, higher up, or Shadwell Stairs,
lower down. After dark, they are for the most part deserted, or
simply used by the river pirates and night plunderers for the
landing of the booty they have gotten from ships and barges. On
this night there were no watermen on the stairs, and only, at the
head, clustered together for warmth, under a penthouse, which
would keep off rain, if not wind and cold, half a dozen of the
miserable boys who pick up their living in the mud of the river,
and are called mudlarks or ratcatchers. When they grow up, they
may perhaps become lumpers or scuffle-hunters, if they are lucky,
and so get a chance of dying in their beds. But for the most part
they are destined to become what are called light horsemen (that
*54
THE WORLD WENT
is, robbers of ships lying in the river) and plunderers working for
the receivers of Wapping and Shadwell, and pretty certain to be
either knocked on the head in some brawl or hanged for robbery.
The boys looked up on hearing the steps ; but, seeing a dead
body (as it seemed) being carried by half a dozen men, they pru¬
dently observed silence, and lay snug, lest they themselves might
be put into the condition of being unable to give evidence. _ The
men carried their burden up the steps, cursing and grumbling at
the weight—a body measuring six feet one is not a light weight
even for six men to carry. Then they turned the lantern once
more upon his face.
' He is stark dead,' said one. ' Let us empty his pockets and
chuck him into the river.'
' No—no,' said another. ' Bring him along. He is not dead.'
So they lifted him up and carried him along the streets, where
by this time the taverns were closed, and the people all gone to
their beds. Jack knew very well that they must be somewhere
among those streets of sailors' houses and sailors' shops which lie
between the river side and the market gardens of Shadwell and
Wapping. But still he understood not what was intended by
carrying him here.
Presently they halted at a house—it was in the High Street,
Wapping. By this time Jack had cautiously opened his eyes.
He saw that he was in the hands of a company of six. What had
these fellows to do with him ? Why did they take all this trouble ?
Then the door was opened, and they carried him into the
house and up the stairs into a room at the back. Here they flung
him down upon the floor, and that so roughly that his wound was
opened and he swooned away once more.
When he recovered, he found that they were dragging his
clothes from him.
' Now,' said one of them, ' throw a blanket over him, Parson.
Lay them things ready for him to put on ; they're the clothes of
the poor devil who died here last week. If he wants to escape, he
will have either to rim naked or to put on these duds, instead of
his fine uniform, which will change him so as his own mother won't
know him again. Perhaps she won't get the chance of setting eyes
upon her boy for many a year to come. Now then, smart's the
word, ye lubbers; we've got our man snug and safe, and now we'll
have some supper, and watch turn about.'
Jack was now wide awake, but his head was still heavy.
Things looked black. He was in a house at Wapping, and he was
stripped naked; he had an open and bleeding wound in the head;
a bundle of rags was lying beside him in place of his own clothes;
he was guarded by half a dozen ruffians, as ugly and villainous-
looking a crew as one may desire. In looking at them, being,
perhaps, a little light-headed with his wound, he began to think
about Mr. Brinjes' piratical crew, and how they fought and killed
each other. Perhaps these gentlemen might begin to fight after
VERY WELL THEN
they had taken their supper. Perhaps they would all kill each
other. Meanwhile he lay perfectly still, with one eye half open.
Then the man they called ' Parson' came upstairs, bringing
food and drink, which he set upon, the table, and they took their
supper for the most part in silence, or, if there was any talk, it was
disguised and rendered unintelligible by the oaths and cursing
which wrapped it up. The fellows, in fact, were uneasy; they had
faithfully carried out their orders, but they knew not what might
happen in consequence to themselves. It is the punishment of such
men as these that they must needs do what their master bids
them, as much as if they were bound hand and foot to the Devil,
because they are one and all in his power, and he might cause
every man to be hanged if he chose. The Parson had now lit
the tire, which was blazing cheerfully, and there was a candle on
the table. The room was small, and the windows were barred;
the air was heavy and stinking. As for the Parson, Jack observed
that he was a young man, whose face bore the marks of deep
dejection, but not of the brutal habits which were stamped upon
the faces of his associates. And he was dressed in a cassock.
What was a clergyman doing in such a house ?
When the men had eaten their supper, they began to pass
round the pannikin. They passed it so quickly that Jack hoped
they would speedily get drunk, so that the fighting might begin.
They did get drunk, but they did not fight. One after the other, they
fell asleep, until two only were left awake. These were to take the
first watch, and had therefore been obliged to spare the pannikin.
The Parson quietly laid the four who were asleep upon the floor,
their feet to the fire. Then he took the candle and looked at Jack.
' Our new recruit,' he said, speaking with the voice of a scholar,
and not in the coarse and rude speech of his companions—' our new
recruit appears to be overcome with fatigue. Zeal for the service
hath, doubtless, laid him low.'
He laid aside the hair, and looked at the wound. ' It is more
than fatigue,' he said. ' I perceive that he hath received a hurt.
It is not uncommon with those who come to this house.'
'He fell down,' one of the men replied; 'and he fell down so
gallus hard that he knocked his head upon a stone, and hasn't
opened his eyes nor his mouth since.'
' Gentlemen, the man hath an ugly wound. 'Twere a pity—his
Honour would take it ill—if anything happened to this man, a tall
and proper fellow, for want of a little care. By your permission, I
will bring cold water and dress the wound.'
' They made no objection, and the Parson presently returned with
a clout and cold water, with which he washed the blood, and
applied plaister to the wound. As for the bleeding, it was caused
by the cutting of the ear rather than the blow on the skull. This
done, he laid a blanket over Jack's bare limbs.
' He will now,' said the Parson, ' when he recovers, lie easier.
It is long since you brought in so brave a recruit. Call me, gentle-
156 THE WOE ZD WENT
men, when he recovers; the pulse is quick and strong ; he will not
long be senseless. I am but in the next room. Shall I bring you
some more rum, gentlemen ? '
' You may, Parson. The jug is out. Fill it up. We have four
hours' watch before us. And more tobacco.'
The fire was now burning low. Through the bars of the
windows Jack could see the stars, and presently a clock hard by
struck twelve. He was a recruit, he now understood. In other
words, he had been kidnapped, and was in the house of a crimp.
Everybody has heard of such places, but they do not generally
kidnap officers of the King's Navy. However, it seemed as if
they were not going to murder him, which was a comfort. No
man, not even the bravest, likes to be knocked on the head, in
a house of crimps, while helpless and faint.
The men who were on watch filled and lit their pipes, and began
to talk in low voices.
' I'm queerly sleepy, mate,' said one. ' How hard they breathe,
don't they ? '
' There were no orders about his purse,' said the other. ' Five
guineas and a crown. That's a guinea and a shilling apiece. Little
enough, too, for our trouble. What about the clothes ? '
' There's no orders about the clothes. Let us have them too.'
'No, no. Let us burn the clothes. Guineas can't tell no tales.
But a King's uniform can. Best burn 'em.'
' Mate,' said the other, ' I don't like the job. It's no laughing
matter, I doubt. Let us cut his throat at once, while the others
are asleep. We can slash his face, and lay him naked in the fields,
so as no one won't know him again.'
' Same as we did that other fellow who tried to get away. We
took him to Whitechapel Mount, though.'
' We've knocked many on the head before.'
' But never a King's officer. This one won't order up no man
again for six dozen, will he ? '
' Perhaps he is dead already.'
The speaker rose and took the candle. Then he stooped beside
the motionless figure and slowly passed the candle across the
eyes. If you do this before a man who is sound asleep, he will
become restless and uneasy even if he is not actually awake; if
you do it to a waking man it is difficult indeed for him not to
open his eyes or wink them. But Jack made no sign.
' He is still senseless,' said the man. ' I wonder if he is really
dead ? He felt his heart.
' No; his heart is beating.'
' Mate ? ' asked the other. Jack understood, though his eyes
were closed, that there was a gesture as of a knife across the
throat.
' 'Twould make all sure,' he said; ' dead men tell no tales.
Suppose we were to ship him, what is to prevent their finding
out that they've a King's officer on board ? Suppose we finish
VERY WELL THEN 157
him off now, who will be able to split on us ? Let us take and
do it—you and me, while he's unconscious. "What is it ? One
slice of the knife, and we've done with him, in a neat and work¬
manlike manner.'
'Hold hard a bit, mate. What about the tall fellow on the
other side ? You heard what he said. Besides, the Parson knows.
We can't cut the Parson's throat as well. But it's the tall
fellow I fear, not the Parson.'
'If it comes to hanging,' said the other, swearing horribly,
• damme if I swing alone.'
' You'll have me kicking alongside of you, mate, and the rest of
us. We shall all swing in a row.'
' Ay, and he shall kick with us. Oh ! I know who he is.'
' Who is he ?'
' That's my secret. I know him. And that is enough.'
' Tell me, my hearty.'
'His name is Fletcher—Aaron Fletcher. He's a boatbuilder
by trade, but he's got a boat of his own, which he keeps some¬
times at Gravesend, and sometimes up the Medway, and some¬
times she lays off Leigh, in Essex, where I've unladen many
a cargo for him. If so be we are brought into trouble by this
night's job pass the word for a warrant to arrest Aaron Fletcher.
Don't you forget the name—Aaron Fletcher, of Deptford, him as
give the orders, and stood behind a tree, ready to whistle when
the lantern showed we'd got him.'
'I won't forget, mate. Let us leave the job till to-morrow.
If it's to be a throat job, take in the rest: make 'em all have a
hand in it—Parson and all. Every man shall have his hand in
it. What! Are we two to be hanged and the rest get off? '
They went back to their pipes and their rum.
' The ship sails next Saturday at noon,' said one. ' We've got
but ten recruits, counting the Parson, and I doubt if the Captain
will let him go. Because why ? 'Tis useful and handy to have
a man in the place like the Parson, who won't get drunk, and
does the house-work beautiful, and doesn't look outside the doors
for fear of being taken. There's the 'prentice and the footpad, and
the fellow who sits and snivels all day long. What with the war
and the new ships and the new regiments, the Company's service
will go to the dogs; and what is to become of us ? It is a poor
show after the stout fellows we used to hale on board, all so
drunk that they couldn't stand.'
' The Captain says business must get better, and he can't have
a set o' lazy rogues eating their heads off. Why did the Captain
send us to Deptford ? He must be in it as well.'
' If he is, who's to prove it ? He didn't give no orders. Pass
the pannikin.' .
Their pipes being now out, they began to drink faster, Jack
looking on, half tempted to pretend recovery and to ask for a tot of
the drink. Fortunately, he refrained. For, in a short time, he
158 THE WORLD WENT
perceived that their heads began to drop and their eyes to swim,
' Never,' thought Jack,' have I seen men get drunk in this fashion
before.' Then they caught at the table to prevent falling, and
poured more rum from the jug into the pannikin and drank it, but
with unsteady hand. Then their heads nodded heavily at each
other, with wild eyes, as if they would fain keep sober ; and then
one of them fell from his chair upon the floor, and, with a
drunken curse upon his lips, fell instantly fast asleep. ' The rum
must have the Devil in it,' Jack said to himself.
There was now only one man left of the whole six. It was
the man who was so anxious to finish off the job in workman¬
like fashion. He looked round him stupidly. His five comrades
were lying on the floor, breathing heavily. His eyes fell upon
the corner where Jack lay. He rose up, and opened the sailor's
knife which hung round his neck.
'I'll cut his throat,' he said with drunken cunning, ' while the
others are asleep. In the morning I shall say they did it, and I
looked on, but couldn't prevent, so drunk they were, and me the
only sober one. The Captain, he won't let 'em all be hanged, poor
devils! when I tell him how they got drunk, and would do it,
whatever I could say.' Here he rolled, and nearly fell. He reached
for the jug, and drank from it. Then his legs gave way beneath
him, and he fell upon his back. He tried to get up, still holding
his knife in his hand, and meditating the murder. But he fell
back, his head pillowed upon a sleeping brother's leg.
' I'll cut his throat,' he said, ' first thing in the morning, before
the others wake. If Aaron—Aaron—comes to ask—I'll cut his
throat, too—and the Parson's, too—and the Captain's. I'll cut all
their throats.'
He said no more, and then there was nothing heard but the
heavy breathing and snoring of the whole six. And Jack heard
the clock of St. John's strike two. He was not killed yet, and the
murderers were dead drunk. If only he could find the strength to
get up, and to put on the rags which lay beside him in place of his
own clothes!
CHAPTER XX.
of jack's escape.
This resolution of the doubt whether he was to be immediately
slaughtered or not naturally gave the Lieutenant considerable
satisfaction. The villain who was chiefly set upon his murder
was fast asleep, breathing heavily, the knife still in his hand with
which he had intended to carry out his diabolical design had not
the rum overmastered him.
He tried to sit up. Alas ! his head was like a heavy lump of
lead which he could not lift. That he was stripped naked would
VERY WELL THEN 159
have mattered little; he had a blanket, and the fellows had not
taken off his shoes, so that had he got out into the street, he would
have appeared bareheaded, wrapped round the body with a rug,
like a savage; yet, as to his feet, dressed in white silk stockings and
silver buckled shoes. Sailors have been turned out into the street
in even worse plight than this, and certainly one would rather
escape naked than not at all.
So he lay, listening and watching, for two hours and more. Then
the candle, which had been flickering in the socket, went out
suddenly, and there was no light except a dim red glow from the
dying embers in the fireplace, and the house seemed perfectly
quiet.
'This,' said Jack, listening, 'looks more hopeful. If only I
could sit up !'
He confessed afterwards, and was not ashamed to confess, that
he was greatly moved with fear during this uncertainty of his fate,
and that no action at sea could compare for dreadfulness with this
helpless lying in a corner, expecting at any moment to be slaughtered
like a poor silly sheep. 'For,' he said, 'if a man cannot fight, he
must needs be a coward. There is no help for him. I shall never
laugh at cowards more. I had no strength left in me to make the
least resistance—no, not so much as a girl. And I looked every'
moment to hear one of these villains stir and wake up.'
They did not stir or make the least sign of waking ; but Jack
heard footsteps on the stairs. ' Here comes another murderer,' he
thought; 'it is now all over with me, and I shall see my Bess no
more. Poor girl! Will she murder Aaron in revenge ? Or will
she never find out, and marry him ? Oh for ten minutes of my
old strength and a cudgel!'
The extremity of his agitation gave him power to lift his head
and sit upright, leaning against the wall, and looking for nothing
less than immediate death.
The footsteps were those of the man in the cassock, whom they
called the Parson. He carried in his hand a candle, with which he
surveyed the room and the sleeping men. Then he turned to the
prisoner.
' So,' he said, ' you have come to your senses, and can sit up.
Do you think you can stand and walk ? '
' If you mean to murder me,' said Jack, ' do it at once, without
nore jaw—of which we have had enough.'
' I have no such thought, sir. Murder you ? Heaven forbid!
Why should I murder you ? '
' Then hush ! or you will wake these fellows.'
' Wake tfhem ? ' The Parson kicked the man who lay nearest
lim. ' Wake them ? If the house was in flames, they would not
vak-e up till they were half burned. In this place, sir, we know
)ur business and how to doctor the drink, so as to produce as sound
1 sleep as is thought necessary. For instance, you may sing or
lance, or do anything you please, but you shall not wake up these
160 THE WORLD WENT
fellows. I have clone the job for them, and they are safe for six
hours and more to come.'
' What do you want with me, then ? ' asked Jack. ' You are
one of them, and yet '
' I am in this house for my sins and for my punishment, not for
my pleasure. Ask me no more. As for what I want with you, I
am come to set you free.'
' To set me free ? Is it possible ? '
' Sir,' said this strange creature, ' you are astonished to find
any conscience at all in such a place, which is, indeed, truly the
habitation of devils. Yet I would not have your murder added
to my guilt, and, upon my word, sir, when these villains come
to their senses, I believe there is no chance for you whatever.
For, sir, consider. The kidnapping of a King's officer, and the
shipping of him on board an East Indiaman, is a thing which
cannot fail to be discovered, and it is certainly a hanging matter.
I know not what madness possessed them to attempt it. Therefore
they are mighty uneasy, and though they have put off the matter
for the night, because you were senseless, and no man likes to kill
another in his sleep, yet to-morrow morning, when they come to
themselves and consider the dangers they are in, they will, I am
certain, resolve to despatch you in order to make all sure; and
then, after slashing your face, they will lay you in some open and
exposed spot, as Whitechapel Mount or the market gardens, or
very likely, if it seems easier done, they will tie a stone to your
feet and drop you into the river. Because, sir, the body once out of
the way, and not to be recognised, who is to prove the murder,
unless one of the villains turns informer ? '
To this Jack could make no reply, but still he marvelled greatly
that such a man should be in such a place.
' Certain I am,' the Parson continued, ' that never man had a
more narrow escape than you. And had you been conscious, or
showed any signs of life, they would have brained you. Therefore
I kept coming and going, because, though the house reeks with
murder, I think that they would not go so far as to murder you
before my eyes. But come, sir, it is close upon early morning, and
already nearly three of the clock. Rise, if you can, and dress yourself
i n these rags that are left out for you. Indeed, sir, I cannot restore
to you your clothes, which are downstairs, because I wish it to
appear that you have escaped by your own wit and daring. Quick,
then, and put on these things.'
Then, as Jack was unable of himself to stand, this Samaritan—■
for he was nothing short—brought him a chair, and helped bim to
raise himself into it, and clothed him as if he were a- child. The
things which he had to put on were so old and ragged that they
would scarce hold together; and they were so dirty that no raga¬
muffin of the street would have picked them out of the gutter ; no
scarecrow in the fields ever had such clothes. They consisted of
nothing more than a pair of corduroy breeches, and a dirty old
VERY WELL THEN 161
knitted waistcoat, both in tatters and full of holes. Nevertheless,
when Jack had them on, his courage came back to him. A man
feels stronger when he has put on his clothes. Also, perhaps, he
was already somewhat recovered of the blow.
•I feel,' he said, ' as if I could now make some fight.'
' It needs not,' the Parson replied. ' Talk not of fighting, but
lean on me, and we will try to get down the stairs. Remember, it
is your only chance to get out of the place before these fellows
awake. I have, below, something that may revive you. Try now
if you can stand.'
He could, though with great difficulty. Surely never was there
stranger figure than Jack at this moment. The ragged waistcoat
was too tight to button round his chest; the corduroy breeches
were too short for so tall a man, and showed his bare knees ; the
white silk stockings and the silver buckles ill assorted with a dress
so sordid; and, to crown all, one side of his head, where the Parson
had partly washed it, showed his natural hair, with streaks of
blood upon the neck.; but the other side was powdered and tied
back with black ribbon. But Jack thought little of his appearance.
' Good,' said the Parson. 'Now lean your hand upon my
shoulder, and we will go slowly.'
' I wish I was strong enough first to handcuff and make fast
these rogues,' said Jack.
' Come, sir, your life is at stake, and mine too—if that
mattered. Think not upon revenge.'
' Aaron,' said Jack, ' my turn will come. As for revenge, I say
not. I would not kill him ; but tit-for-tat is fair. Easy, Aaron ;
easy. You would make me prisoner, and ship me for a recruit!
Very well, Aaron, very well. I shall get my turn soon! Come,
Parson, if that is what you wish to be called.'
So this strange Parson supported him slowly and gently down
the stairs and into the kitchen, where he found a chair for him,
and set upon the table cold meat and bread, and poured from a jar
a glass of rum.
' This,' he said, ' is not drugged. You can drink it without fear.
Yet be moderate, for you are still weak. So now eat a little, but
not much, and then you shall go away in safety. But forget not to
thank God, who hath delivered you from death, and from a den
where murders and villainies call aloud for the vengeance which
will certainly fall upon it.'
Who, thought Jack, would expect an exhortation to religion in
a crimp's house ?
As he ate and drank, his strength came back to him, although
he still remained dizzy, and somewhat uncertain of step.
' Man,' he said, when he had taken his supper, ' who and what
are you, and why do you live here among these people ? '
' I came here because I am a villain, like my masters ; and I
stay here because, like them also, I have no other way of escaping
the gallows. Is that reason enough ? '
u
162
THE WORLD WENT
' They call you Parson; you wear a cassock; you talk like a
scholar. What hath brought a scholar to such a place ? '
' They may call me Bishop if they please. I am the servant of
these men. They say unto me " Go," and I go ; or " Come," and
I obey; if there be any greater degradation for a scholar than to
live as cook and servant to fetch and carry drink for a crew of cut¬
throat crimps, I would fain know what it is. Methinks I would
offer to exchange.'
' Why,' said Jack, 'for the matter of an exchange, you might
ship as purser's mate, and see how you like that; but hang me it I
understand how a clergyman should get to such a place.'
Jack now considered his rescuer more carefully. He was a
young man not more than five or six and twenty ; his cassock was
not old, but it was battered and stained with grease : his shoes had
no buckles, but were tied with string and were down at heel; his
wig was not one which consorted with his sacred calling, being
nothing better than an old 'prentice's bob minor, short in the neck,
in order to show the buckle of the stock, and as old as any of the
worn-out scratches, jemmies, and bob majors which the people fish
for at a penny a dip in Petticoat Lane, and even a boy who blacks
boots might scorn for the purposes of his trade; but his face was
delicate and handsome—a face very far from the dissolute looks of
the fellows upstairs.
' Look ye, brother,' said Jack, ' you have saved my life. "What
can I do for thee ? '
' Nothing,' the Parson replied. ' I am a lost rogue, though not,
I hope, beyond the reach of pardon, and you can do nothing, I
thank you.'
' Thou hast saved my life. Damme, rogue or not, take my hand.
Nay,' for the other hesitated, ' I will have it. Give me thy hand.
Now, then, we are brothers. What hast thou done ? '
' It is true,' he said, 'that I am an ordained clergyman of the
Church of England. Unworthy that I am, I may call myself a
clerk in holy orders.'
' I am in a very pretty rig for an officer in the King's service ;
but hang me if you are not in a worse for a parson.'
' Sir,' the poor man began, with hanging head, ' I lost my curacy
by the death of my Bector, and I could get no other, nor any prefer¬
ment at all, not even the smallest, having no interest and being
unknown to any Bishop or private patron. Then I quickly spent
my little stock—not, I can truthfully avow, in extravagance, or
waste, or vicious courses ; and I presently found that I had nothing
left but one poor shilling. This I was unwilling to spend, and I
walked about the streets, picking up crusts or turnips that had been
dropped into the gutter, until I became well-nigh desperate. Sir,
you see before you a common footpad. Dressed as I was in the
cassock of my profession, I ventured to stop a gentleman in thg
street, and to demand his money or his life.'
' Did he give you his money ? '
VERY WELL THEN ,63
No. He turned out to be a man of courage—a thing which I
had not looked for. Therefore he drew his sword, and°I fled he
running after me, crying " Stop thief! Stop thief! " I escaped,
and got home unperceived, as I thought, to my lodging. Never
again shall I hear that cry without a knife piercing my heart. The
next day I went to the nearest coffee-house, meditating death by
my own hands. It is a terrible thing to be a suicide, but worse is
it to live among these rogues. I fell in with the Captain, as they
call him, the owner of this house and another like it in Chancery
Lane. He, perceiving my trouble, accosted me, and presently
brought me here and gave me strong drink, under which I told
him all.'
' But why do you stop here against your will ? '
1 Because, alas! the Hue and Cry is out after me. In some
way—I know not how—the gentleman I thought to rob found
means to know my name. If I venture forth I shall be arrested,
and presently hanged. For that I must not complain, because the
punishment might be taken mercifully in atonement for my offence.
But there are others'—here he choked, and the tears came into
his eyes.
He drew a paper from his pocket, and gave it to Jack. It was
a piece of a Gazette.
' Last evening we hear that a robbery was attempted about ten
o'clock in Chancery Lane by a man dressed as a clergyman, who
stopped a gentleman and demanded his money or his life, but,
being confronted by a drawn sword, ran away. The villain suc¬
ceeded in escaping, but will, it is hoped, be discovered, the gentle¬
man being confident that he knows who he is, and can swear to
him.'
' How long ago was this ?'
' It is now six months. I have entreated the Captain to ship
me with the rest, but he will not, saying that he hath never before
had in the house a servant who would neither steal nor drink.'
' Six months. Why, man, a Hue and Cry that is six months
old! Courage ! Tell me thy name.'
The poor man made a clean breast of all, telling him his name,
and trusting him, in short, with his neck. But no one could con¬
verse with Jack, or look into his face, without trusting him. As
for his name, it must not be set down. For the man who had thus
sunk to the lowest ignominy was presently enabled to return to his
own station and his sacred profession, no one knowing aught of
what had happened. Not only did he resume his ministry, but he
obtained a curacy, and in time received preferment, being now the
incumbent of a London church, and greatly beloved for his devo¬
tion, eloquence, and learning; so that it is thought by many that,
if promotion goes by merit, he may soon become a Bishop. And,
since no one knows, except myself, this episode of his early manhood,
let the thing remain for ever a secret.
4 And now,' said the clergyman, ' the time is getting on. Go,
*2
164 THE WORLD WENT
while the way is clear. Go, sir. And forget this vile house and
the unhappy men that are in it.'
4 As for forgetting the house,' said Jack,4 you shall see how I will
forget the house.'
4 You must go away dressed as you are, because I would not be
suspected. Wherefore I shall leave the door unlocked and unbarred.
Here is a cudgel for you, but you will not need it. All the rogues
of Wapping—whose name is Legion—are asleep at this hour. Go,
then, and remember that never, even in battle, will you be nearer
unto death than you have been this night.'
He opened the door, which was carefully locked and bolted,
and set the prisoner free. Then leaving the door unlocked, as if it
had been left so by the escaping captive, the Parson crept upstairs
to his own pallet.
It was now past three o'clock in the morning, and still quite
dark. The cold air made Jack shiver in his rags, but it revived
and refreshed him. He looked up and down the street. There
were no passengers at that hour save the market gardeners' carts,
which were already lumbering along, filled with vegetables, to the
markets of the Fleet and Covent Garden; the rest of the world
was still sleeping. Then he surveyed the house carefully.
4 Forget this house, quoth his reverence ? I shall first forget
Aaron Fletcher.'
It was too dark to observe particularly any distinguishing
marks. There was no sign hung out. The ground-floor was lower
than the street, and the upper storey, which projected two feet
and more, and looked as if it was going to fall at any moment, had
thick bars outside the windows. 4 I shall know the house again,'
said Jack, 4 by the bars. And now, gentlemen, sleep on and dream
-—I wish you pleasant dreams—until I come back, which will be,
I take it, before you have yet awakened.'
CHAPTER XXI.
A eude awakening.
About six o'clock in the morning, when, at this time of year, it is
already daylight, there marched down the High Street of Wapping
a company seen there often enough in the evening, when they are
expected and men are prepared for them, but seldom so early.
Who, indeed, expects a Pressgang at daybreak ? The party con¬
sisted of a dozen sailors, armed each with a short cudgel, and a
Lieutenant in command, with a drawn cutlass. With the officer
walked a tall man, young, bareheaded, and strangely attired in a
ragged knitted waistcoat, tattered breeches tied up with string and
loose at the knees, and yet with white silk stockings, shoes with
silver buckles, and, on one side only, powdered hair. The streets
at this time are already full of those who are hastening to the day's
work ; most of the houses are open, and the maids are at the doors
VERY WELL THEN 165
twirling their mops, or at the windows throwing open the shutters ;
or, in the more genteel houses, they are plastering the doorsteps
with yellow ochre.
'Twas, indeed, the Pressgang, more dreaded than revenue officers
or Bow Street runners, and its appearance at this early hour caused
everywhere the liveliest curiosity and the greatest consternation.
Those who met them either stopped still to look after them, their
faces full of apprehension, or they ran into open houses, or they
fled without a word, or they turned into a side street or court, for
fear of being taken for sailors. Many of those who fled were lands¬
men, and honest mechanics, because, when the Press is hot, it does
not always respect landsmen, although the law is peremptory
against taking any but sailors. This company, however, paid no
heed to any, whether they ran or whether they stood, marching
along without attempting to seize them, though some of the men
were Thames watermen, and others were lightermen, and some
dockmen, and others mere river pirates and plunderers, or, as they
call them, receivers, copemen, ratcatchers, coopers, mudlarks, light
horsemen, and lumpers, all of whom have been held to be sailors
within the meaning of the Act.
Presently the man in rags, who seemed to be leading the party,
stopped, and looked about him.
' Ay,' he said, ' I believe this to be the house. Now, my lads,
steady all; for we have 'em, neat and tidy, just as if they were so
many rats caught in a bag.'
As soon as the people in the street understood—this took them
no long time—that the Press, out, no doubt, on some special and
unusual business of the greatest importance—was actually going to
visit the crimp's house, probably in search of the malingerers,
deserters, or cowardly skulkers often lying there, in hope to be snug
and out of the way, there was a lively curiosity. For skulkers
these people entertain a mingled curiosity and contempt—the
former on account of their cunning at disguise and hiding, and the
latter because, the sea being their trade, they will not bravely
follow it. The workman, no longer fearful of his own safety,
stopped to look on, his tools in his bag, careless if he should be late
at his shop; the waterman, who, at first sight of the party, trem-
bled for himself, stopped on his way to the Stairs where he plied,
though he might thereby lose an early fare, and stood curious to
see what might happen, blowing into his fingers to keep them warm;
the maids came out from the house doors and stood around, mop
in hand, expressing at first their opinions of the Press, without any
fear of the Lieutenant, or respect to authority—there are certainly
no such enemies of good government as the women. But when
these honest girls found that the Press was not come to carry off
their lovers, but in order to visit the house about which there was
so much mystery, and concerning which there were told so many
stories, they stopped their abuse and waited to see what would
come of it. Within those barred windows strange things were
166
THE WORLD WENT
carried on. Terrible stories are told of crimps' houses. Fearful
sounds had been heard proceeding from this house; shrieks and cries
for mercy, and the trampling of feet 1 Sometimes there was sing¬
ing, with laughter, and the noise of men making merry over drink;
sometimes there were loud quarrels, with the noise of fighting.
Those who entered this house were generally carried in; those
who came out were generally carried out. It was said that some¬
times those who were carried out were not drunk, but dead ; and
that they were not put into the boat to be shipped on board an
East Indiaman, but to be dropped into the river at mid-stream,
with a stone tied to their feet. Therefore the crowd, which in¬
creased every moment, looked on with satisfaction. They might
now be enabled to see, for themselves, what manner of house this
was.
' I think, sir,' said Jack to the Lieutenant in command,' that
if you would leave two men at the door, we can with the remainder
very easily dispose of the rogues in the house, whether they are
awake or asleep.'
The house was not astir yet; the door was not yet opened ; the
shutters of the ground-floor windows were not yet thrown back.
It looked, in the broad daylight, a dirty, disgraceftil den ; the doors
and shutters black with dirt and want of paint; the windows of the
upper storeys seemed as if they had never been cleaned since they
had first been put up, and some of the panes of glass were broken.
' If they are awake, they will fight,' said Jack. ' But they have
no pistols, so far as I could see.'
The door yielded to a push. The Parson had, therefore, left
the door as if Jack had escaped by unlocking and unbarring it.
Jack led the way upstairs, and threw open the door of the room
in which he had so nearly met a horrid and violent death. Behold !
all the men were lying just as they had fallen, some on their faces,
some on their backs, their mouths open, and breathing heavily.
The fire was out, and the air of the place was horribly close and
ill-smelling.
'Here they are,' said Jack as the Lieutenant followed him.
1 Saw one ever lustier rogues ? Here is a haul for you.'
' They are dressed like sailors,' said the Lieutenant, looking at
them with curiosity and misgiving. But I doubt it. I have never
known crimps' men to be sailors. Mostly this sort are river-side
rogues, and to take them on board would only be to put into the
fo'ks'le so many past masters in all villainy.'
' That is true,' Jack replied, ' and I doubt they will want con¬
tinual smartening from the bo's'n : and such mutinous dogs that
they will at first spend half their time triced up to the gratings.
Yet, if you refuse them, I must needs have them hanged; and this
I am not, I confess, willing to do, because there is one other who
must then hang with them. And I would not, if I could avoid it,
compass his death.'
' Then I will press them,' said the Lieutenant, making up his
VERY WELL THEN 167
mind. ' Heady with, the handcuffs! Stand by! Handcuff every
man!'
The sailors pulled them up one after the other, waking them
with kicks and cuffs, and made each man safe. Thus, Shaken
violently out of their sleep, they stood gazing stupidly at each
other, still only half awake, and not knowing what had befallen
them, or where they were, or anything at all.
'Bring them downstairs and into the open,' the Lieutenant
commanded. ' Rouse up every one of them with the pump. Now
for the rest of the house.'
' I believe there are no other sailors here,' said Jack; ' only
two or three poor devils in hiding till they can be shipped for the
East Indies.'
The men went through the house, and presently returned, bring¬
ing four or five prisoners—namely, the recruits of the Company.
A most valuable addition they would have made to the Service,
truly, for a more scarecrow, terrified crew could not be found
anywhere. As for the 'prentice, a white-faced puny wretch, who
had robbed his master's till, at the sight of the officer with a drawn
sword, and the men, their faces fierce and unrelenting, standing
around, he immediately imagined that they were all come for his
own arrest, and that this was the first step towards Newgate and
the gallows. Wherefore he fell upon his knees blubbering.
' Alas I' he cried, ' I am a miserable sinner ! I confess all. I
have robbed my master. Oh! let me have mercy. Let me live,
and I will pay all back ! Only let me live !' And so on, as if the
noose was already ready for him, and the rope hitched to the
gallows.
The next was a sturdier rogue. He would have been hanged
for coining false money had he been caught. But he understood
that a company of sailors is not sent forth to arrest men charged
with civil offences. Therefore, and in order to save his neck, he
very readily volunteered, and being a brisk, smart lad, though a
rogue from childhood, and a thief, forger, coiner, and pickpocket, I
dare say he turned out as good a sailor as can be expected of a
landsman; and if he could not go aloft to bend or reef a sail, he
could help to man a gun and carry a pike. The _ third man was
the deserter, who represented himself as a man milliner, and was
suffered to go free, because milliners are of little use on a man-o'-
war; the next was a bankrupt, once a substantial tradesman, who
had ruined himself with drink and vicious courses, and came volun¬
tarily to the crimp's to be enlisted in the Company's service, in
order to escape his creditors. But his face was so puffed and
purple with drink, his limbs so trembled beneath him, that I doubt
whether he would have lasted the voyage. There was another,
whose wife was a termagant, and extravagant to boot, and he was
flying from her and from her debts. He, too, offered to volunteer,
savin" that he would rather dwell with the Devil than with his
wife ;°but the Lieutenant would not have him. And another there
THE WORLD WENT
was who was a broken gamester, a gentleman by birth, and a
physician from Glasgow University, a native of Jamaica, where he
had at first a good fortune, but was now fallen from his former con¬
dition, without friends, estate, or money, and held no other hope
except to take service with the Company. There were one or two
others, but all of them, except the false coiner, the Lieutenant,
without inquiring further into their characters or their histories,
ordered to go about their business; but as for the 'prentice, who
still blubbered that he was a repentant sinner, and asked per¬
mission only to live, he fetched him a box o' the ears and a kick,
and bade him go his way and be hanged.
This poor wretch, who had been torn partly with terror at the
thought of going to the Indies to fight, being a desperate coward,
and partly with remorse, made haste to obey the Lieutenant, and
departed; and what became of him, whether he went to his master
and confessed and obtained pardon, or whether he was thrown into
Newgate and hanged, or whether he fell into worse courses, I know
not. ' The way of transgressors,' saith Holy Writ, 'is hard.'
There remained the Parson, who said nothing, but waited
patiently for his fate.
' As for this man,' said Jack, laying his hand upon his shoulder,
' he is my prisoner. Leave him to me.'
This, then, was Jack's revenge. He might have seen the men
swing—and they deserved nothing short of hanging—but it pleased
him better to think of these fat, tender-skinned, delicate, over-fed,
and drunken rogues, as cowardly as they were pampered, howling
under the lash, and mutinously grumbling under the discipline of
a King's ship. They were mere landsmen, who had never been to
sea at all, even if they had ever been on board a ship (if they had,
it was only to look for something to steal). But they had lived on the
river side all their lives, and knew the talk of sailors; and they
equipped themselves—a part of their trade—in slops and round
jackets, the better to decoy their victims.
The men were still so stupid with the drug they had taken that
they understood nothing of what was done until they had first had
their heads held under the pump for a quarter of an hour. Then
they began to remember what had happened ; and seeing their late
prisoner with the party of captors, they cast rueful looks at one
another, and, like the poor 'prentice, looked for nothing short of
Newgate, and for the fatal cart and the ride to Tyburn—which,
indeed, for this and many other crimes, they richly deserved.
It would have gone hard with Aaron had this been the destina¬
tion intended for them by their victim. Nothing is more distasteful
to a rogue than to hang alone, when his brother rogues have escaped.
It offends his sense of justice. Perhaps, however, the going out of
the world in so violent a manner, in company with an old friend,
is felt to be less cold and comfortless than to go alone. But Aaron,
as well as these men, was reserved for another fate.
This business despatched, and the men, now fully awake,
VERY WELL THEN 169
drawn tip two and two in readiness to march, Jack addressed them
with great courtesy, though the sailors of the Press grinned and put
tongue in cheek.
' Gentlemen,' he said, ' last night your honours were good enough
to ofler me the hospitality of your house ; you also debated very
seriously whether you should not murder me; that you did not do
so is the cause why your honours are now handcuffed. You will
go with these honest sailors, and you will thank me henceforth
every day of your lives for my goodness in getting you impressed.
Such brave lads as you will rejoice to run up aloft in a gale of
wind; and the enemy's shot you will value no more than a water¬
man's jest. You are so smart that the bo's'n's supple-jack will
never curl about your shoulders, nor his rope's-end make your fat
legs jump. As to drink, I fear there lias been more punch
served out in this house than is good for your health ; that is better
ordered aboard. And it will do your honours good to see each other
brought to the gangway for the cat-o'-nine-tails sweetly to tickle his
fat back. Perhaps you fresh-water sailors know not the tickling
of the cat. Gentlemen, you have a truly happy life before you: I
wish your honours farewell.'
It was the first speech Jack ever made. If it was not eloquent,
it was to the point, and intelligible.
I do not think that the fellows understood one word of what he
said, being fully possessed with the belief that they were going to
Newgate and afterwards to be hanged. And when they presently
found themselves taken on board the tender and shoved below deck,
and understood that they were pressed for sailors, at first they grinned
with joy. One who is threatened with death counts escape on any
conditions, even the hardest, a thing to be welcomed with joy
unspeakable. But when they discovered, after a few days' experi¬
ence on board, what was meant by service at sea—a life of little
ease, hard work and short time for sleep, and rough food, with the
kicks and contempt which all true man-of-war's men show for lubbers,
a limited ration of rum, and the necessity of immediate obedience,
some of them fell into despair, and would skulk below till they were
driven upwards by the bo's'n's supple-jack and the gunner's rattan,
and these laid on in no stinted or niggard spirit. Some became
mutinous and insubordinate: none of them knew anything of a
seaman's duties, in spite of their sailor's dress, and were useless
save for the simplest work. Therefore it naturally came to pass
that, before long, one after another, they were tied up at seven bells,
and soundly trounced, whereupon, their backs being soft and tender
and unused to the lash, and their dispositions cowardly, and being
ignorant of discipline and respect to their officers, when prayers for
pity failed, they fell to cursing the captain and the lieutenants, the
bo's'n, and the ship's crew, shrieking and screaming like mad women.
So that they stayed where they were for another six dozen, and this
admonition and instruction were repeated until they were finally
made to understand that a man-o'-war is not a crimp's house, nor
THE WORLD WENT
a tavern at Wapping, where every man can call for what he chooses,
sleep as long as he pleases, and take his pleasure; hut a place
where work has to be done, orders must he obeyed, and punish¬
ment in default is as certain as the striking of seven bells. "Whether
any of them ever returned I know not, but the house was broken
up and their old occupation was destroyed, though no doubt other
crimps' houses were soon established in its place. _ . .
When the Pressgang were gone there remained Jack, still in his
rags, and the unlucky recruits.
' As for you fellows,' he said, ' my advice is, sheer off. This
house is closed. There is no more shelter for you here. Go and
hide elsewhere.'
' Where shall we go ? ' asked the poor gamester. 1 Here at least
we got meat and drink. Whither shall we go ? '
They obeyed, however, and went out together, parting at the
door and skulking away in different directions, perhaps to be
picked up by another crimp.
' Brother,' said Jack to the Parson, ' come with me. First let
me put on my own clothes, and then we will find a lodging for
thee. Thou hast saved my life. Therefore, so long as I have a
guinea left, thou shalt have the half.'
At first the poor man refused. He burst into tears, declaring
that kindness was thrown away upon a wretch so disgraced and
degraded as himself: that it would be better for him to stay where
he was, and to receive with resignation the evils which he had brought
upon his own head. ' What,' he asked, ' can be done for a man
for whose apprehension a reward is offered and the Hue and Cry
is out ?'
' Hark ye, brother,' Jack repeated: ' thou hast saved my life.
If thou wilt not come with me willingly, hang me, but I will drag
thee along ! What! wouldst remain alone in this den ? Come, I
say, and be treated for thine own good. What! There was no
robbery, after all. As for the Hue and Cry, leave that to me. I
will tackle the Hue and Cry, which I value not an inch of rogues'
yarn.'
I do not know what he understood by the Hue and Cry, or how
he was going to tackle it; but being always a masterful man, who
would ever have his own way, he overcame the Parson's scruples,
and presently had him away and safely bestowed in a tavern at
Aldgate, where he engaged a room for him, and sent for a tailor,
making the Parson put off his tattered cassock and his old wig, and
sit in a night-cap and shirt sleeves until he was provided with
clothes suitable to his profession, and a wig such as proclaimed it.
Then Jack bade him rest quiet a day or two, and be careful how he
stirred abroad, while he himself made inquiries into his case, and
this matter of the Hue and Cry.
Now mark, if you please, the villainy of the man Jonathan
Rayment. There never had been any reward offered for the arrest
of this poor man at all; there was no Hue and Cry after him ; the
VERY WELL THEN 171
gentleman whom, in the madness of his despair, he had thought to
rob had not followed and tracked him; nothing was known about
him at all; and his friends were wondering where he was, and why
he sent no letters to them. The story of the Hue and Cry and the
reward was invented by Mr. Rayment, who was, I believe, eldest
son to the Father of Lies, in order to keep the unhappy man in his
power, so that he could use him as the servant (or a slave) of the
house as long as he pleased; or, if he thought it would be more
profitable, could ship him as a recruit at any time. And while he
Was persuading this contrite sinner that the whole town rang with
his wickedness, no one in the world knew anything about it, and
there was no reason why he should not go openly to the St. Paul's
coffee-house and sit among his fellow-divines. Briefly, Jack
shared, half and half, all the money he had with this poor man,
who presently obtained a lectureship, and afterwards a City church,
and is now, as I have already stated, a most worthy, pious, devout,
learned preacher; benevolent, eloquent, and orthodox, justly be¬
loved by all his congregation; and, I dare affirm, none the worse
because in his youth he experienced the temptation of poverty, was
even suffered to fall into sin, felt the pangs of remorse and shame,
and endured the torments of companionship with the most devilish
kind of men that dwell among us in this our town of London.
So they, too, went away, Jack being restored to his own gar¬
ments, though his purse, containing four or five guineas, was not
in his pocket. And now the house was empty. The crowd had
broken up and gone away, but the neighbours still gathered about,
talking over the strange business of the morning. Presently they
began to look in at the open door. There were no sounds or sign
of occupation. Then they opened the doors of the rooms and looked
Curiously about them. The lower rooms were furnished with
benches and tables, the wainscot walls gaping where the wood had
shrunk, and the floors made brown with soot and small-beer, to
hide the dirt. There was a kitchen, with a pot and frying-pan and
some pewter dishes, tin pannikins and some remains of food, and,
which was much more to the purpose, there was a small cask of
rum, three-fourths full. The neighbours made haste to taste the
rum provided, being curious to discover whether it was a stronger
and more generous liquor than that to which they were themselves
accustomed. In a few minutes the rumour of this cask spread
to right and left along the street, and everybody hastened to taste
the rum, and continued to taste it, until there was no more left. It
was strong enough and generous enough to send them away with
staggering legs and fuddled brains. Upstairs there were bedrooms
witlT flock mattresses laid upon the floor, and in one room there
were rings and staples and chains fixed in the wall for safely
securing mutinous recruits. But all the rooms were foul and filthy.
When the neighbours went out, the boys came in and took
possession joyfully, with no one to check or hinder their mischief.
Never before had boys such a chance. When they left the house
172
THE WORLD WENT
there was not a whole pane of glass left in the windows, nor a
bench, chair, or table that was not broken, nor any single thing left
that could be carried away. _ ...
Next day the' Captain '—that is, the worthy dealer in curiosities,
of Leman Street, Mr. Jonathan Rayment—himself walked over to
Wapping, in order to inquire into the health and welfare of his
recruits and their numbers: he was also anxious to know what
had happened in the adventure with the King's officer.
You may understand his surprise and dismay when he found
everybody gone and everything broken. They had even torn away
the wooden banisters of the stairs and ripped up the wooden steps.
Nothing was left at all—not even those poor helpless creatures, the
'prentice and the Parson Where could they be ?
He did not dare to ask. Something terrible had happened. As
for himself, he hurried home to hide himself in his shop until the
danger was over. A curse upon Aaron Fletcher, and on his own
foolishness, in suffering his men to meddle with Aaron's private
quarrels! And a good business now broken up and destroyed; for
how could the house be carried on without his men ?
He looked to hear an account of his men in the ' Gazette ;' how
they were brought before the Lord Mayor and charged with highway
robbery, and even sent to Newgate for trial. Strange! There was
nothing. Nor did this worthy tradesman ever learn what had
happened, for Aaron could tell him nothing, except that the Lieu¬
tenant had escaped; and he never dared venture to ask in Wapping.
But he lost his servants and his recruits, and for a long time the
business of crimping in those parts languished.
One thing remains to be told about this eventful day. In the
evening, work being over, Aaron Fletcher was sitting alone, his pipe
in his mouth, in the cottage where he lived, at the gates of his boat¬
building yard. He was in good spirits, because the Lieutenant was
reported missing. Perhaps he was dead. It would be the best
thing in the world if he was dead. What then ? No one could say
that he had any hand in it.
4 Aaron!' cried a voice he knew, 4 Aaron Fletcher, open the
door!'
He dropped his pipe and turned pale, and his teeth chattered.
It was the Lieutenant's voice, and he thought it sounded hollow.
He was dead, then, and this was his ghost come to plague him.
Aaron was a man of courage, but he was not prepared to tackle a
ghost.
4 Aaron,' the voice repeated,4 open the door, or I will break it
in, ye murderous villain! Open the door, I say !'
Aaron obeyed, his cheeks ashy white, and his heart in his boots.
It was no ghost, however, but the Lieutenant in the flesh, tall
and gallant, and apparently none the worse for the night's adven¬
ture, who walked in, followed by Mr. Brinjes. He was arrayed in
his great wig and velvet coat, in honour of the Club whither he was
going. This splendour added weight to the words which followed.
VERY WELL TLLEN
173
* Aaron,' said the Lieutenant,' or Cain the Murderer, if you
like the name better; there was, last night, a purse in my pocket
containing, as near as I can remember, the sum of five guineas and
a crown. Your friends have taken it from me. Give me back those
five guineas and that crown.'
_' What friends ? I know nothing about any friends or any five
guineas! What mean you ? I know nothing about the matter.
It was not I that knocked you on the head, Lieutenant.'
'Why—see—you are self-convicted and condemned! Who
spoke of knocking on the head ? How should you know what was
done unless you were one of them ? Five guineas, Aaron, and a
crown, or '—here he swore a great oath—' you go before the magis¬
trate to-morrow with your friends the crimp's men and answer
to the charge of highway robbery, and thence to Newgate. And
so, in due time, to Tyburn in a comfortable cart. Five guineas,
Aaron.'
He held out his hand inexorably, while Aaron trembled. This
man was worse than any ghost.
' Pay the money, Aaron,' said Mr. Brinjes, ' and thank your
good fortune that you have so far got off so cheap. So far, Aaron.
Not that we have done with you. Look for misfortune, friend
Aaron.' He said this so solemnly that it sounded like a prophecy.
' Men who get crimps to rob for them and kidnap for them cannot
hope to prosper. Therefore expect misfortune. You have many
irons in the fire; you can be attacked on many sides; you build
boats, you run across to the French coast, you sell your
smuggled laee and brandy. Misfortunes of all kinds may happen
to such as you. But you must pay this money, or else you will
swing; you will swing, friend Aaron ; and when you have paid it
do not think to escape more trouble. I say not that it will be
rheumatism, or sciatica, or lumbago, all of which lay a man on his
back and twist his limbs, and pinch and torture him. Perhaps
but look out for trouble.'
Aaron lugged out his purse and counted five guineas, which he
handed over to Jack without a word.
'What?' cried Mr. Brinjes, his eye like a red-hot coal, 'the
Lieutenant forgives you, and you think you are going to escape
scot-free 1 Not so, Aaron, not so ; there are many punishments for
such as you. I know not yet but you must swing for this, in spite
of this forgiveness. Many punishments there are. I know not
yet what yours shall be.—Come, Lieutenant, leave him to dream
of Newgate.''
174
THE WORLD WENT
CHAPTER XXII.
the privateers.
The time allowed to a sailor in which to make love is short, being
no more than the interval between two voyages. (He generally
makes up for brevity by the display of an ardour unknown to
landsmen.) And now the hour approached when Jack must tear
himself from the arms of his mistress, and go forth again to face
the rude blast, the angry ocean, and the roaring of the enemy's
guns. Regardless of his former sufferings, he desired nothing better
than to put to sea once more; and he was not one to go away
crying because there would be no more kisses for a spell.
Among the King's ships laid up in ordinary at Deptford, during
the seven years' peace, was a certain twenty-eight-gun frigate
called the 'Tartar.' I know not what had been her record up to
this period; but that matters nothing, because it will be allowed
that she is now very well known to all French sailors, and regarded
by them with a very peculiar terror. She was built on lines some¬
what out of the common, being sharper in the bows and narrower
in the beam than most ships. She rode deep, but she was so fast
a sailer that nothing could escape her when she crowded all her
canvas and gave chase; a beautiful ship she was, to my eyes,
even while laid up in ordinary, with the lower masts taken out of
her, and a mere hulk.
' But,' said Jack, ' you should see such a ship sailing. What
do you landsmen know of a ship, when you have never seen one
running free before the wind, every inch of canvas set—studdin'-
sails, flying jib, sky-scrapers, and all? You draw ships, Luke;
but you have never even seen a ship at sea.'
That was true; but, on the other hand, I never attempted to
draw a ship sailing on the ocean, nor have I ever painted waves or
the open sea.
' Wait till you have seen the " Tartar " in a brisk nor'-wester,
her masts bending, she sailing free, answering the least touch of
her helm like a live thing—for that matter, a ship at sea is a live
thing, as every sailor knows, and has her tempers.'
Jack became enamoured, so to speak, of this vessel from the
first day when he revisited the Yard and saw the carpenters and
painters at work upon her, and desired nothing so much as to be
commissioned to her; for it was quite certain that she would be
manned and despatched as soon as they could fit her out. (At this
time they were working extra hours, and from daybreak to sunset,
the men drawing increased pay, and all as happy as if the war was
going to last for ever.)
' She is,' he said, ' a swift and useful vessel, and wants nothing
but a fighting Captain, who will not wait for the enemy, but will
VERY WELL THEN
i7S
Fail in search of him and make him fight. I would she had such a
Captain, and I was on board with him.'
He presently got his desire, as you will hear, and the ship got
such a Captain as he wished for her.
Meanwhile the days passed by, and still his appointment was
delayed, so that, in spite of his amour, he began to fret and to
grow impatient. The great man on whose word he relied had
made him a clear and direct promise from which there could be,
one would think, no departing. ' Trust me, Lieutenant,' he said;
' I assure you that you shall be appointed to a ship with as little
delay as possible.' Yet appointments were made daily, and his
own name passed by. What should we think, I humbly ask, of a
plain merchant in the City who should thus disregard a straight¬
forward pledge ? Yet what would ruin the credit of a merchant is
not to be blamed in a great man. By the advice of the Admiral,
Jack once attended the levee of his noble patron ; but, being un¬
accustomed to courtiers' ways, ignorant of the creeping art, and
unused to push himself to the front, he got no chance of a word, or
any recognition : though he says his patron most certainly saw
him standing in the crowd; and so came away in disgust, railing
at those who rise by cringing, and swearing at the insolence of
lackeys. He then made a personal application at the Navy
Office, where the clerks treated him with so much rudeness and
contempt that it was a wonder he did not lose his temper and
chastise some of them. So that his affairs looked in evil plight,
and it seemed as if he might be kept waiting for a long time
indeed, and perhaps nevei get an appointment or promotion. For
though the Peace Estimates had reduced the Navy from the footing
of 50.000 officers and men to that of 10.000—so that, when the war
broke out again, the Admiralty were wanting officers as well as
men—yet, as always happens, the applicants for berths were more
numerous than the berths to be given away; and the favouritism
which is everywhere unhappily in vogue, at the Admiralty hath
always reigned supreme.
' Of one thing,' he declared,' I am resolved. If I do not get
my appointment before many months, I will seek the command of
a privateer, or at least the berth of Lieutenant on board of one.
There is, I know, no discipline aboard a privateer; the men are
never flogged, and are generally a company of mutinous dogs, only
kept in order by a Captain who can knock them down. But they
are sturdy rascals, and will fight. I hear they are fitting out a
whole squadron of privateers at Bristol; and there is a craft build¬
ing at Taylor's yard, in Redriff—I saw her yesterday—which is
never intended to carry ccals between Newcastle and London, or
sugar between Kingston and Bristol. She means Letters of
Marque, my lad. Perhaps I could get the command of her. I
s.yn young, but I am a King's officer: and if you come to naviga¬
tion—well, one must not boast. I will not stay at home doing
nothing—what! tyhen there is fighting ? No. I must go too, and
176
THE WORLD WENT
take my luck. If they will not have me either in the King's
service, or on board a privateer, or in the Company's navy, why,
my lad, there is nothing left but to volunteer and go before the
mast. They would not refuse me there, I warrant, and many a
poor fellow has done as much already.'
It is true that, on the reduction of the naval force, there were
many unfortunate young men, chiefly among midshipmen, who
saw no hope of employment, being without interest, and therefore
were obliged to give up the King's service, and either to get berths
on merchantmen or to take commissions in the Company's service ;
or even, as certainly happened to some, to volunteer for service
before the mast. Some became smugglers; some—but these were
chiefly officers from the disbanded regiments—became town bullies
and led captains; some strolling actors, and some highwaymen. The
fate of these poor fellows was much in the mouths of the young
officers waiting, like Jack, for a ship, who met and talked daily at
the Gun Tavern.
Fortunately, our Lieutenant was not called to embark on board
a privateer, for he found a friend who proved able and willing to
assist him. This was the Resident Commissioner of the Yard,
Captain Petherick, who took up Jack's case for him, and that so
effectually, though I know not in what way, that he presently
procured for him the appointment promised him, and which most
he desired—namely, that of third lieutenant to the frigate ' Tartar,'
to whom Captain Lockhart was now appointed. And he was a
fighting captain, indeed if ever there was one.
I am sure that on the day which brought him his commission
there was no happier man in Deptford than Lieutenant Easter-
brook. He had now been in the service for nearly ten years, and for
seven of them had been, through no fault of his own, debarred from
every opportunity of distinction. Behold him, therefore, at last
with his foot well on the ladder, albeit very near the lowest rung,
holding His Majesty's commission as Lieutenant to H.M. frigate
' Tartar.' On that day it happened that the bells were ringing and
the guns firing—to commemorate I know not what event. To Jack
and to his friends it seemed as if the bells were ringing and the
cannon were fired in his honour, and to celebrate his appointment.
' As for her orders,' said Jack, ' I care little whither we are sent,
because it is certain that there will be hot work to do, wherever we
go. The French, they say, are strong in North American waters,
and they are reported to be fitting out a great fleet at Toulon; they
are also reported to be collecting troops at Boulogne and at Havre
for embarkation, no doubt for the invasion of the English coast, if
they pluck up spirit enough. Well, Bess, we shall be among them,
never fear.'
There was, as many will^ remember, a great scare at this time
that the French were preparing to invade us, and there were some
who talked mournfully of another Battle of Hastings and of Kin»
Louis coming over to be crowned at Westminster Abbey. The
VERY WELL THEN 177
smugglers (who in times of peace are hanged, but in times of war
are courted) reported great preparations along the French coast,
though not, so far as could be learned, comparable with the gather-
ing of men and material they made in the year 1745, when they
were preparing to back up the Pretender. Nevertheless, the danger
was thought to be so pressing that everything else must be neglected
while the Government provided for the home defence; and the
'Tartar' (though this we knew not yet) was destined to join the
Channel Fleet. Meantime, as is mere matter of history, the French
very leisurely put to sea from Toulon, with the finest fleet, I think,
that the world had ever seen, and had plenty of time to take Minorca.
Then followed the unlucky Admiral Byng's famous engagement
with the Marquis de la Galissonniere, which, though we call it an
inconclusive action, the French have construed into a most glorious
victory. Never can one forget the rage of the people, and the cry
for revenge that rose up from every coffee-house, from every tavern,
from the Royal Exchange, filled with great merchants, and the
mughouse, filled with porters, and wherever men do assemble
together. A bad beginning of the war it was; and all that year,
except for the execution of the Admiral, we had nothing to cheer
us. Even this, though a sop for the rage of the nation, was a poor
consolation, because no sooner was it done than men began to ask
themselves whether, after all, the Admiral had not done his duty.
There were floods of epigrams and verses written, it is true, both
upon Byng and De la Galissonniere—if they may be considered a
consolation. In time of defeat and disgrace, the soul is soothed, at
least, when something biting has been said upon the cause or
author of the shame. This is an art greatly practised by the French,
who have always found in its exercise a peculiar satisfaction for
their many disgraces both by sea and land, and for the loss of all
their liberties. And for the sake of a good epigram they are said
to go cheerfully even to the Bastille.
At this time, besides the preparations for invasion, which were
perhaps exaggerated, the Channel swarmed with French privateers,
and these full of courage and spirit. At the first outset, and until
we had taught them a lesson or two, they were bold enough to
attack anything, without considering disparity of numbers, that
flew the English flag. Had the French King's Navy been handled
with as much resolution as these privateers, commanded and
manned often by simple fishermen, the result of the war might
have been very different. They put to sea in vessels of all kinds:
nothing came amiss for a craft of war with Letters of Marque
when these rogues first went a-privateering; nothing, in their
earliest flush of success, seemed too small or too badly armed for
a venture against the richly laden, slow-sailing English merchant-
men, which, taken by surprise, offered at the beginning of the war,
it must be confessed, but a cowardly resistance. Again, nothing
was too big to be fully manned and equipped. Every craft that
lay in the ports, from Dunquerque to Bordeaux, became a privateer,
178 THE WORLD WENT
from a simple fishing-smack, a fast-sailing schooner, an unarmed
sloop carrying two or four six-pound carronades and thirty or forty
men, to a tall frigate of thirty guns, well gunned, and manned by
three hundred sturdy devils, emboldened by the chance of plunder,
and eager to attack everything, from an East Indiaman to a potato
coaster. Very good service was done during the course of this war
by our own privateers, of whom there were presently a great many,
though it must be owned that the French beat us both for the
number of their piratical craft and their success. Certainly, they
had a better chance, since for every French merchantman there
are fifty English. We were always capturing their privateers, but
their number never seemed to lessen, however many lay in our
prisons. Why, in one year—I think it was the year 17G1—we
took no few than 117 privateers, manned by 5,000 sailors; yet, in the
same year, in spite of our conquests, we lost over 800 merchantmen,
taken from us by these hornets swarming under our very noses.
'Kiss me, Bess,' said Jack; 'we sail on Sunday, or Monday at
latest. Kiss me again, my girl. Our orders have come. We join the
Channel Fleet, where there will be rubs for some, as is quite certain.'
'Among the privateers, Jack ? ' Bess was as brave a girl as
any—yet she shuddered, thinking of this dangerous service, in
which one has not to take part in a great battle once in the cruise,
and so home again to brag about the broadsides and the grape-shot,
but to fight daily, perhaps, and always with a desperate crew,
whose only chance is victory or escape. 'Well'—for his eyes
clouded at the first appearance of fear in her face—' if thou art
happy, Jack, then I will try to be happy too. Alas ! why cannot
women go into battle with their lovers ? I could fire a pistol, and
I think I could thrust a pike with any who threatened thee, Jack.
But we must still sit at home and wait.'
'Now you talk nonsense, Bess. Do you think I could fight
with thee at my side ? Why, I should tremble the whole time,
lest a splinter should tear thy tender limbs. Nay, my dear; sit at
home and wait, for there is nothing else to do. And sometimes
think of thy lover. Let me read the future in thine eyes.' She
turned them to him obediently, and as if the future really could be
read in those great black eyes. ' I see, my dear, a sailor coming
home again, safe and sound, prize-money in his pocket, promotion
awaiting him. His girl waits for him at home. He rushes into
her arms and kisses her—thus, my dear, and thus, a thousand
times. Then he buys her a house as fine as the Admiral's, and
furnishes it for her with his prize-money ; and there is a garden for
salads and for fruit. She shall eat off china—no more pewter then.
She will have the finest pew in church and the most loving hus¬
band at home, and—what ? I see a dozen boys and girls; and
every boy in His Majesty's service, and every girl married to a
sailor. There shall be no woman in the world handsomer or
happier. Give mo a kiss again, my dear.'
VERY WELL THEN
179
CHAPTER XXIII.
A sailor's charm.
That evening Bess did a thing which is forbidden by the Church ;
in what part of the Prayer Book I do not know, but I have always
understood that it is prohibited as a grievous sin. She went to
seek the advice of a witch.
The sailors and their wives sometimes importuned Mr. Brinjes
to bestow upon them, or to sell them if he would, some kind of
charm or amulet, either to maintain constancy in separation (this
charm, though largely in request, is, if all reports are true, of small
efficacy), to prevent drowning, against incurring the wrath of the
(aptain, and punishment by the cat-o'-nine-tails, against being
killed or wounded in action, and against hanging: which may hap¬
pen to any, though there are fewer sailors hanged than landsmen.
Sometimes, if he was in good temper, or if the applicant was a
young woman of pleasing appearance, Mr. Brinjes would consent,
and send her away happy, with something in a bag which he called
a charm. Whether he himself believed in his charms I know not,
but there are still living some who declare that they have escaped
hurt or drowning wholly through the efficacy of the apothecary's
charm. Yet if a man hath this power, why should he not be so
patriotic and benevolent as to extend it over the whole of His
Majesty's Navies, so that not a sailor among them all should ever be
shot, drowned, flogged, or cast away ? It is like the arrogance of
the Papist priests, who profess to be able to forgive sins. Why not
then forgive at once, both great and small, mortal and venial, all
that the world, living or dead, hath committed, and so make man¬
kind whole ? Whatever his belief concerning his own powers, Mr.
Brinjes, without doubt, entertained a high respect of those of Cas-
tilla's black nurse Philadelphy—a true witch if ever there was one.
' I know not,' my father once said on this subject, ' whether the
practice of magic hath in it anything real, or whether the whole is
imposture and superstitious credulity. The Bible doth not teach
us clearly one way or the other. Yet, by implication, we may
understand that the arts of sorcery were in old times practised
euccessfully, otherwise there would not have been promulgated
commandments so express against those who work hidden arts,
practise divination, inquire of a familiar spirit, consult the dead, or
fabricate charms. And certainly it hath been the belief in all ages,
and among every race of whom we have knowledge, that power
may be magically obtained by men whereby they may compel the
help of demons and spirits, and in some way foretell the future.
Nebuchadnezzar divined with arrows ; the false prophets deceived
the people with amulets; the Bene Iiedem, the Chaldeans, the
Philistines, and the Chosen People in their backsliding worked
hidden arts ; Pharaoh's magicians turned their rods into serpents;
N 2
THE WORLD WENT
Rachel carried away his Teraphim from her father, Laban. "What
forbids us to believe that sorcery may still be living in our midst,
though lurking in dark corners for fear of the law and of the
righteous wrath of pious men ? '
The old negro woman knew, of a certainty, many secrets,
whether they were those of the Black Art or no. Mr. Brinjes
would talk to her in her own Mandingo language, which he had
acquired while on the West Coast of Africa. She it was who
assisted him in the compounding of those broths which used to
simmer on his hob, to be tasted by the shuddering assistant. By
these and other secrets of which he was always in search, and
forced the woman to reveal by terror of his magic stick with the
skull, he hoped to cure disease, to arrest decay, and to prolong life.
I suppose that it was by conversation with him that Bess was led
to consider Philadelphy as much wiser in witchcraft than Mr.
Brinjes. Therefore she resolved to consult her, and went to her
that very evening with all the money she had in the world—
namely, a crown-piece and a groat.
The negroes of the Admiral's household occupied quarters of
their own, built for them without the house, in West Indian
fashion, containing a common kitchen and sleeping-rooms. Here
Bess found three of the men, one of them being on guard, with the
old woman. They were squatted on the floor, in the kitchen,
round a dish containing their supper—a mess of cuscoosoo, which
is made of flour roasted by some art, in small grains, and served
with salt fish, onions, red pepper, and butter; a strong-tasting food,
but not displeasing to the palate nor unwholesome. Every race
has its own dish. The Spaniards have their olla-podrida; the
Hindoos, then rice ; the Chinese, their bird's-nest soup and dried
sea-slugs; and the Mandingoes, their cuscoosoo. There was no
other light in the room than the glow of a great coal fire, which
these negroes love to have burning all the year round, and in the
winter never willingly leave. As for candles, why should negro
servants have luxuries which poor white folk cannot afford to buy ?
Candles are for those who wish to read, play music, cards, and
practise the polite accomplishments; not for those who sit about
the fire for warmth.
' Hi!' said Philadelphy, looking up curiously, ' 'tis Bess, the
Penman's girl.'
'I want to speak with you, Philadelphy,' said Bess.
The old woman nodded, and the men rose, took up the dish of
cuscoosoo and retired, as if they were accustomed to these consulta¬
tions, and knew that their absence was expected. A witch must,
in fact, be quite alone with those who inquire of her.
When they were gone the old woman crept closer to the fire,
the light of which seemed to sink into her skin, and there to become
absorbed (the blackness of Philadelphy's cheeks not being shiny, as
is that of some negresses, but dull); while her eyes shone by the
firelight like two balls of fire.
VERY WELL THEN i8x
What is it, dearie ? ' she asked. 'Is thy lover inconstant ? '
' How do you know I have a lover ? '
• It is written on thy face and in thine eyes, dearie.'
' I have come for a charm,' she replied, blushing to think that
she carried her secret written on her face so that all could read.
' Hush ! The Admiral, he say, " No charms here, Philadelphy."
Whisper. What kind of charm ? Is it a charm to make thy sweet¬
heart love thee ?'
'He loves me already.' Bess hesitated a little. Then she
added, ' He is a sailor. I want a charm for a sailor.'
' I sell very fine charm—proper gri-gri charm. Eh! When
Massa Brinjes wants pow'ful charm for gout and toothache he
sends for Philadelphy, and puts his skull-stick on the table. Then
I give him what he wants. I got charm for 'most everything.
Massa Brinjes very good Obeah Doctor: he learn in Mandingo
country when he lived among the rovers. Hi! Fine times the
rovers had before they were all hanged up. Hi! But he dunnow
so much as old Philadelphy. When he want to learn mus' come to
de ole woman. Hi!' As she spoke, her eyes rolling about so that
the whites in the firelight were glowing red, she held out her hand
for the money, but went on talking and asking questions without
waiting for a reply. ' Mus' come to de ole woman. Everybody
come to de old woman. Some day I die—what you do then?
Hi! What kind of charm you want? I sell very fine charm.
Will you buy charm for true love ? Once your man get that
charm upon him he can't even look at another woman. That
charm make all other women ole and ugly. Hi! Tell me, dearie,
will you have that charm ? I sell charm again' drowning—no man
drown with my charm on him. Will you buy that charm ? I sell
charm again, shot and sword. No man ever killed who carry my
charm. I sell charm to bring him home again. Hi! You like
your sweetheart come home again ? How much money you got
for de ole woman, dearie ? '
' I've got a crown and a groat. Is that enough ? '
' Give it to me !' She clutched the money greedily. ' S'pose
you rich lady, too little. S'pose you poor girl, 'nuff for kind ole
Philadelphy.'
' Will the money buy all the charms ? '
' Buy all ? ' The old witch laughed scornfully. ' She think she
a queen, this girl, for sure. Buy all ? Dearie, if your crown and
your groat was a bag of golden guineas you couldn't buy but
only one charm.'
' Then, if I can only have one, which shall it be ? '
' Take the love charm, dearie. That the best for eb'ry girl.'
' No,' said Bess, proudly, ' I will not buy a love charm. If
my sweetheart cannot remain constant without a charm to keep
him, I want no more of him. Well . . . then ... he might be
drowned. But he has passed through so many dangers already
that I do not think he will ever be drowned. He ipight be killed
182
THE WORLD WENT
in action. Lot liim come home safe and sound, whether he loves
me or not. Yes; I will have the charm against killing and
wounding.'
' Most girls,' said the old woman, ' rather see their sweethearts
die than be false.'
' I will have the charm against shot and cutlass,' said Bess.
' Very well. I make fine gri-gri—pow'ful charm. Hi ! charm
to turn aside every bullet. You wait.'
Then the old woman rose slowly, being, in spite of her magic
powers, unable to charm away her own rheumatism, and fumbled
in her pocket, a vast sack hanging beneath her dress, which con¬
tained as many things, and as various, as a housewife's cupboard.
From the rubbish lying in its vast recesses she produced a small
leather bag, apparently empty, tied with a long string, which, after
securing the bag with half a dozen knots, was long enough to be
slipped round the neck. To untie these knots and to open the bag
was to destroy the whole charm. More than this, it was to invite
the very danger which was sought to be averted. Two or three
years afterwards I was present when the bag was opened. It con¬
tained nothing more than a small piece of parchment, inscribed
with certain characters, which I believe to have been Arabic, and
very likely a verse of the False Prophet Mohammed's book, the
Koran ; there was the head of a frog, dried; the leg-bone of some
animal, which may have been a cat or a rabbit; the claw of some
wild creature, a nutmeg, and a piece of clay. This was a famous
collection of weapons to interpose between a man's body and a
cannon-shot.
' Take the bag in your hand,' said the old woman. 'Now go
down on your knees and shut your eyes, and take care not to open
them whatever you hear or feel, while you say the words after
me—
Shot and bullet pass him by ;
Pike and cutlass strike in vain ;
Keep him safe though all may die;
Bring my sweetheart home again.'
Bess did as she was commanded, holding the bag in her hand,
and keeping her eyes tightly closed, while she repeated these words
on her knees. She declared afterwards that while she said the
words there was a rushing and whirling of the air about her ears
and a cold breath upon her face, and, which was strange, though
she held the bag tightly by the neck, she felt that things were being
dropped inside it.
' Now, honey,' said the old woman, ' gri-gri done made. You
open eyes and stand up.'
So Bess obeyed, looking about her, fearfully. But there was
nothing to see, and the old woman was now crouching beside
the fire again. But the bag, which had been empty when she took
it in her hand, was now filled with something.
VERY WELL THEN 183
' Give your lover,' said Philadelphy, ' this bag. Hang it round
his neck. And say the words again, with your eyes shut and his
as well. Let him never take it off or look inside it, or tell anybody
of it. Hi I you very fine girl, for sure; yet sometimes men go
away and forget. Hi! Den you fly roun' like a wild cat in a trap.
"Well, dearie, come to me s'pose he does go untrue. I make
beautiful figure for girls when sweethearts prove false : put them
fo' the fire, an' stick pins into them. Den he all over pain.' Bess
told me that she thought of Aaron, and of a way to punish him;
but, fortunately, she had no more money, else I fear that Aaron
would have passed a bad winter.
When she had the charm, the old woman offered to tell her for
nothing, by several methods, the fortune of her lover. All her
methods led to surprising results, as you shall hear; and then
Bess went away, carrying with her the precious bag. The next
thing was to persuade Jack into putting it on. Now, every sailor
is full of superstition; and the bravest man afloat is not above
carrying a charm if one is given to him. But, of course, he would
not have it known.
4 Jack,' said Bess,4 don't be angry with me for what I have
done.'
4 What have you done, child ? '
'I've been . . . I've been—Jack—to a witch. Oh I a real
witch I But she does not know your name or anything about you.
And I've got a charm for you 1 Here it is!' She lugged the
precious thing out of her bosom. ' No, Jack; don't touch it yet.
You must never try to open it or to find out the secret of what is
inside it, or else the charm will be broken. And, Jack—promise
me—promise me If you will wear this round your neck, close
to your skin, you shall never be hit by shot nor shell.'
Jack laughed: but he took the little black bag out of her hand,
and looked at it doubtfully.
' Why,' he said, ' as for such a trumpery thing as this—is it
worth the trouble of hanging it about one's neck ? '
' I might have had a charm to keep you safe from drowning,
Jack; but I thought that you have had so many dangers already
that there can be no more for you. And I might have had one to
keep you true to me ; but oh! Jack, what good would it do to me
if you are true only to be killed ? Besides, if you cannot keep true
to me without a charm, you cannot love me as you say you do—
yes, Jack, I know you do. I scorn witchery to keep my lover
true.'
' A lock of thy hair, Bess, is all I ask. I will tie that round my
wrist. 'Twill be quite enough to keep me true, and to save me
from drowning, and to turn aside the bullets.'
There is, indeed, a common superstition among sailors that a
lock of their mistress's hair tied round the wrist will carry them
eafely through the action.
4 You shall have a lock of my hair as well, Jack. Ob I you
184 THE WORLD WENT
should have it all if I thought it would keep you safe. Only let
ine hang this round your neck. There: now I take off the cravat
and unbutton the shirt, and drop it in—so. Shut your eyes, and
keep them shut, while I say—
Shot and bullet pass him by ;
Pike and cutlass strike in vain;
Keep him safe though all may die;
Bring my lover home again.'
No phenomena attended this incantation.
'And now, Jack,' Bess said, 'you can open your eyes again.
Cannon shot shall not harm thee; bullet shall turn aside; sword
and pike shall not he able to do my dearie hurt.'
'Tis woman's foolishness, Bess. Yet have I heard strange
stories about these old negresses. They are sold to the Devil, I
beheve. The charm can do no harm, if it do no good. One would
not go into action with an advantage over one's shipmates. Yet it
is well to be on the safe side; no man knows what power these
old women may have acquired; and every man has his true-love
knot for a charm. Well, Bess, to please thee, my dear, I will wear
it.'
' Then, Jack, I can let thee go with a lighter heart. When the
wind blows I shall tremble, but not when I hear of sea-fights and
the roaring cannon.'
' Some men carry a Testament,' said Jack. ' Many a bullet
has been stopped by a Testament, which is natural, as against the
Devil and all his works, of which the Frenchman and the Spaniard
are the chief. Some of them carry a caul to escape drowning.
But they commonly get shot; though why a caul should attract
the bullets, or whether it is better to be shot or drowned, I know
not. But give me a true-love knot, my girl, to keep me safe, with
a lock of thy black hair to tie about my arm, and a kiss of thy dear
lips for charm to keep me true. And tell no one about this charm
of the black witch.'
She let down her long and beautiful hair, which fell below her
waist, and cut off a lock three feet long. Then Jack bared his arm
—why, the love-sick lad had tattooed it all over with the name of
Bess. There was Bess between an anchor and a crown, Bess
between two swords, Bess under a Union Jack—well, there could
be no denying, for the rest of his life, his vows of love for Bess.
She laughed to see these signs of passion, and tied her lock of hair
round and round his arm, securing the two ends tightly with green
silk. With this, which is every woman's amulet, and the old
witch's charm, surely her Jack would be safe.
In everything that followed Jack continued to wear this charm
about his neck both by day and night. It is, we know, most certain
that this superstition concerning amulets is vain and mischievous.
How can a witch by any devilry preserve a man from lead and
steel ? How can a leopard's claw and a verse from a so-called
VERY WELL THEN
sacred book stand between a man and tbe death that is ordered
for him ? To think this is surely grievous sin and folly. Besides,
it is strictly forbidden to have any doings with witches ; and what
was forbidden to the people of old cannot be lawful among ourselves.
Yet one cannot but remark, as a singular coincidence, that in all
his fighting Jack had never a wound or a scratch. Perhaps, how¬
ever, his escape had nothing to do with the gri-gri.
' When I had gotten the charm,' the girl went on, ' I asked
Philadelphy to tell my sweetheart's fortune. So she said she would
read me his fortune for nothing, and she drew the cards from her
pocket, and spread them out upon the table, and began to arrange
them. Then she pushed all together and began again. Then she
told me she would go no further until I told her who was my sweet¬
heart, because she saw an officer with a sword.'
' Go on,' said Jack.
' Oh! It is wonderful! I told her he was a sailor; but as for
his name, that mattered nothing. So she began again, and told
me. The fortune began so well that it was marvellous ; and then
she stopped and mumbled something, and said that there was a coil
which she did not understand, but she thought she saw—she said
she thought she saw—the Devil, Jack, and herself as well. And
she could not read the fortune because she could not understand
any word of it. But it was the most surprising fortune in the
world, whether good or bad. Then she asked me to look in her
eyes, and she would read my own fortune there. Can you read my
fortune there, Jack ? '
'I see two Lieutenants of His Majesty's Navy in those eyes,
Bess. Is that fortune enough for you ? One in each eye. Is not
that enough for a girl ? '
' They are but one, my dear,' she said.
' And what was the fortune that she told you, Bess ? '
' She said, " Come what may come, thou shalt marry thy lover."
So I am, satisfied. Come what may come. What care I what
may come ?—oh ! what can come that will harm me ?—so that I
keep the man I love ? What more can I desire ? What more can
I ask? Iam so poor that I can lose nothing. Fortune cannot
hurt me. And come what may come, I shall keep the man I love.
You will come back to me, Jack, and I shall have—oh! I shall
have—my heart's desire.'
It was on Saturday morning that the ship dropped down the
river with wind and tide, her company and armament complete,
new rigged, new painted, fresh and sweet as a lady just from her
dressing-room, while the cannon roared the parting salute. I
remember that it was a misty morning in December, a light south¬
west breeze, and the sun like a great red copper pan or round
shield in the sky. And as the ship slowly slipped down Greenwich
Beach the shrouds and the sails shone like gold, and were magni.
fied by the mist.
THE WORLD WENT
The Admiral stood on the quay with Castilla, and with them
Mr. Brinjes.
' Go thy way, Jack,' said the old sailor. 1 Go thy way, and do
thy duty.—Castilla, my dear, there is only one good thing for a
man—' tis to sail away from the land of thieves and land-sharks,
out into blue water to fight the French.'
' And what is good for a woman, sir ?'
'Why, my child, to marry the man who goes to sea. Farewell,
Jack I Maybe we shall never see thee more. Let us go home,
Castilla.'
I went on board, an hour before they sailed. Jack could do no
more than whisper a word as he held me by the hand. Oh!
Heavens ! my heart leaps up within me, even now, as I remember
those eyes of his, so full of love and tenderness. ' Take care of
her, Luke '—this was what he said—' take care of her until I come
home to marry her. My pretty Bess! 'Tis a loving heart, Luke.
She is thy charge, lad. Good-bye, dear lad, good-bye !'
I knew that she must be sitting in the old summer-house wait¬
ing to see the ship go by; and there, indeed, I found her. Jack
parted with her early in the morning. I know not what passed
between them; but it was surely very moving, because no pair
loved each other more deeply than these two.
' He is gone,' she said. ' It is all over. But he loves me. Oh!
I am sure he loves me. Yet something will happen. Philadelphy
saw the Devil and herself. Between the two something is sure to
happen. Oh! we shall never be so happy again together—never
again.'
' Why,' I told her, ' people always think that the future can
never be like the past. There are plenty of happy days before you,
Bess. Jack will come home again some time, maybe a First Lieu¬
tenant—who knows ?—or a Captain in command. Then we shall
have peace, I suppose, once more, and Jack will remain ashore,
and you will be his wife.'
' Yes. What did Philadelphy say ? Come what may come,
thou shalt marry thy lover. Oh ! I am not afraid. I saw him on
the quarter-deck as the ship sailed past. Oh 1 he is the bravest
and the handsomest man in all the King's service; and who am I
that he should love me ? Luke, you know how ladies talk and
what they say. Teach me that way. Oh! Luke, teach me, so
that he shall never be ashamed of his sweetheart. My Jack I my
sailor Jack 1 Steel nor lead shall not harm him; but the ship may
wreck or sink. Oh 1 my heart, my heart 1 When shall I see thy
dear face again ? '
VERY WELL TIL EN
CHAPTER XXIV.
after jack's departure.
When Jack was gone I suppose that Deptford remained just as
full of noise and business as before. As much hammering went on
in the Yard: there was as much piping and shouting on the river;
there was as much drinking and bawling in the town. But to some of
us the place seemed to have become suddenly and strangely quiet.
Our Lieutenant had been ashore three or four months in all, yet he
filled the town with his presence, a thing which only strong and mas¬
terful men can do. Most of us when we go are not missed at all,
and our places are quickly filled up, whether we sail away to sea
upon a cruise or are carried to the grave.
Whoever is absent, the events of the days continue to follow
each other and to occupy the minds of those who wait at home.
'Twas a stirring time, and though others, and worse, have followed,
and we are even now in a great war, the issue of which no man
can predict, it seems to me that those years were more full of
interest than any which have followed. Why, one remembers even
the things that are most readily forgotten : how, for instance, the
' Speedwell' yacht moved against wind and tide, and beat four
miles an hour ; how four tradesmen of the City were in a pleasure-
boat off Margate when they were picked up by a French privateer
and ransomed for three hundred and twenty pounds; how the
wounded soldiers were brought home and carried through the town
in waggons; how the recruits quartered in the Savoy mutinied, and
were quickly shot down; how Mary Walker, of Rotherhithe, was
barbarously murdered and her niece hanged for the crime (though
there were many who wept for the poor girl, and believed her pro¬
testations of innocence, which she continued, with cries and tears,
to the very end); how seventy men of the ' Namur' walked all
the way from Portsmouth to the Admiralty to complain of their
rations, and fifteen were hanged for punishment; and how—a
thing which pleased me much—there was a great sale of pictures,
at which a Claude Lorraine fetched as much as a hundred guineas,
a Correggio £40, a Rubens £79, and a Raphael over £700. But
these are now old stories, though then they made talk for the world.
Bess, keeping mostly at home, applied herself diligently to
acquire the arts of reading and writing, so that her lover might
never be accused of marrying an illiterate woman. These arts,
mastered even in childhood with great difficulty and painful labour,
are far more difficult to acquire after one has arrived at maturity.
By great patience, however, Bess so far succeeded that, after two
years' application, she was able to make her way slowly through a
page of large and clear print, leaving out the hard words. This
achievement satisfied her, because she was not in the least degree
curious concerning the contents of books, and did not desire infor-
tS8
THE WORLD WENT
mation on any subject whatever. She also learned to write her
own name, her father teaching her; 'twas, I remember, in a fine
flowing hand, with flourishes after the Penman's style; but she
could write nothing else, nor could she ever read the written
character. To one who considers the ignorance of such a girl as
Bess, who neither reads nor writes, doth not hear the talk of
exchanges and coffee-rooms, and has never been to school, her
mind must seem a state of darkness indeed. The whole of the
world's history, except that portion of it which is connected with
our Bedeemer, is entirely unknown to her. Geography, present
politics, the exact sciences, the fine arts, poetry, and letters—all
these things are words, and nothing more, to her. Such was this
girl's ignorance, and such was her apathy as regards knowledge,
that she desired to learn nothing except what would please her
sweetheart. With this end in view she used to lay out the charts
on the apothecary's table, and would make Mr. Brinjes tell her
about all the ports at which Jack had touched and the seas over
which he had sailed. ' I love Jack,' was all the burden of her song.
He was never out of her mind: the world might go to wrack and
she would care nothing if only her lover remained in safety and
was brought back to her arms.
She begged me to tell her what other things, if any, a gentle¬
woman generally learns, so that she might teach herself these things
as well. Willingly would I have done this, but on inquiry I could
not discover anything—I mean any serious study—which was
necessary or possible for her to undertake. I knew but one gentle¬
woman with whom to compare Bess. This was Castilla. Cer¬
tainly, Castilla had commenced the study of the French language;
but 1 know not how far she advanced, and I have not learned that
she was ever able to read a book in that tongue. Then, in the
matter of arts and sciences, Castilla was certainly as ignorant as
Bess. And when I came to consider the subject, I could not dis¬
cover that she was any fonder than Bess of reading, or more desirous
to extend her knowledge by means of books. There are, it is true,
certain accomplishments in which a young gentlewoman is in¬
structed. Castilla had learned to dance, and in the Assembly there
were none who performed a minuet with more grace, though some
perhaps with more stateliness, because she was short of stature.
In a country dance she had no equal. But Bess, for her part, who
had never been taught by any dancing-master, could dance a jig, a
hay, or a hornpipe, rolling like a sailor, snapping her fingers, and
singing the while, so as to do your eyes good only to see the unstudied
grace and spirit of her movements. Then Castilla had been taught
the harpsichord, and could play at least three, if not four, tunes.
But Bess had never even seen a harpsichord, and as she did not
possess one she could not be taught to play upon it. Then, there
is singing. Nothing is more pleasant to the ear than the singing of
a beautiful woman. Castilla had a low voice, but it was sweet and
musical; she had been taught to sing by the same master who had
VERY WELL THEN 189
taught her the harpsichord, and she could silig several songs. To
please my father, she used to sing, ' Drink to me only with thine
eyes '; to please the Admiral she sang, ' To all you ladies now on
land'; to please me she sang, ' Sweet, if you love me, let me go ';
and all so charmingly, never dropping a note, making no mistakes
in word or tune, and with such grace of voice and pretty gentle
way that it ravished those who heard her. But as for Bess, she
had a full rich voice, and she sang out loud, so that she might have
been heard half-way across the river. She knew fifty songs, and
was always learning new ones. She would listen to the ballad-
singer in the street, and to the sailors bawling in the taverns, and
would then go away and practise their songs by herself till she was
perfect. She sang them all to please Jack ; but after he was gone
she sang no more—sitting mum, like a moulting canary-bird. It
was pretty to listen while she sang, sitting with one hand upon
Jack's shoulder, and the other clasped in his love-sick fingers—
The landlord he looks very big,
With his high cocked hat and his powdered wig ;
Methinks he looks both fair and fat,
But he may thank you and me for that.
For oh ! good ale, t'liou art my darling,
And my joy both night and morning.
Or, sometimes, '"Why, soldiers, why should we be melancholy,
boys ? ' or, ' Come, all ye sailors bold, lend me an ear.' Another
was a plaintive ditty, the choice of which we may believe to have
been inspired in some prophetic mood—•
Early one morning, just as the sun was rising,
I heard a maid sing in the valley below :
' Oh! don't deceive me. Oh ! never leave me.
How could you use a poor maiden so ? '
As regards housewifery, Castilla could make conserves, cakes,
puddings, and fruit pies, and she could distil strong waters for the
still-room. Bess, for her part, could make bread, pies of all kinds,
including sea-pie, onion pie, salmagundy, and lobscouse; she could
cook a savoury dish of liver, lights, and bacon, of beef-steak and
onions, of ducks stuffed : she could make tansy puddings, and many
other pleasant things for dinner. She could also brew beer, and
had many secrets in flavouring it with hops, ivy-berries, yew-berries,
and other things. As for needlework, Castilla could, it is true,
embroider flowered aprons, and do lurkey work, and tent-stitch,
work handkerchiefs in catgut, and such pretty things. But Bess
could knit stockings for her father or herself; she made her own
frocks and trimmed her own straw hats. As to playing cards,
Castilla knew a great many games, such as Quadrille, Whist, Ombre,
Pope Joan, and Speculation; but Bess, for her part, could play
All-fours, Put, Snip-snap-snorum, Laugh-and-lie-down, and Crib-
ba^e. Then—but this signified little—Castilla collected shells, which
THE WORLD WENT
were brought to the house by sailors, and made grottoes ; she could
also cut out figures, and even landscapes, in black paper; sho could
make screens by sticking pictures on paper; and she knew several
pretty girls' games, such as Draw-gloves, and Questions and Com¬
mand. Bess knew none of these little accomplishments; and as
for games, she loved best the boys' sports, such as Tagg and Thrush-
a-thrush, which she used to play with Jack and me when we were
young. The chief difference, so far as I could understand, in the
education of the two girls, was that one could carry a fan, manage
a hoop, and behave after the manner of gentlewomen, which the
other could not do. And I could not recommend Bess either to
put on a hoop, or to buy a fan, or to powder and paint, or to lay on
patches, by all of which things she would have made herself
ridiculous.
There are some things, however, which cannot be learned.
Such are sweetness of disposition, that finer kind of modesty which
belongs to gentle breeding, grace of carriage, respect to elders, and
the equal distribution of favours and smiles, so as not to show too
openly the secret preferences of the heart. In all these things Bess
was naturally inferior to Castilla, and these, unfortunately, I could
not teach her, nor could Mr. Brinjes.
I could therefore advise her nothing but to study at every
opportunity, and especially in church, the carriage and demeanour
of the quality and the fashion of their dress, which I recommended
her to adopt at such a distance as her means and station would
allow.
You may be sure that there were many at Deptford who waited
anxiously for news of the ' Tartar '—most of the crew belonging to
the town, and none of them being pressed men, but all volunteers,
who took the King's bounty. But for three or four months we
heard nothing. Then news came to the Dockyard, and was taken
to the Club in the evening by the Resident Commissioner.
' Admiral,' he said, ' and gentlemen all, I bring you good news.
'Tis of the " Tartar." '
' Good news ? ' cried the Admiral. ' Then the boy is well.
Bring more punch, ye black devil!'
'The " Tartar " has put into Spithead with a thumping prize.
Twelve men killed, and the master and mate. Twenty wounded;
but only the Second Lieutenant among the officers, and he slightly.'
' This is brave hearing, gentlemen,' said the Admiral.
' The prize is a privateer from Rochelle, 20 guns and 170 men.
She made, it is reported, a gallant resistance. No doubt, we shall
have further particulars by private despatches.'
In two days there came by the post two letters, both from Jack.
One of these was for the Admiral, which I do not transcribe,
although I was privileged to read it; and another, for me. I knew
very well that the letter was not for me, but for another. Where¬
fore I made an excuse for not opening it before the company, n.n<l
VERY WELL THEN 191
carried it off to Mr. Brinjes, where I found Bess sitting, as was her
wont in the afternoon.
' I have heard,' she said, ' that there has been fighting on board
the " Tartar." The people in the town are talking about it.'
'Jack is safe, and the " Tartar" has taken a prize, Bess; and
here is a letter.'
So_I tore it open in her presence. It was exactly as I thought.
That is to say, there were a few words directing me to give the
inclosed packet to his dear girl, the mistress of his heart; and she
very joyfully received it, snatching it out of my hands with a
strange jealousy, as if she grudged that anybody should have in
his hands, even for a minute, what belonged to her and was a gift
from her lover. It was the same with everything, down to the
smallest ribbon which Jack gave her—she could not bear that
another should so much as touch it, even a man. As for a woman
being allowed to look at her lover's gifts—well, it was a jealous
creature, but she loved him.
First, like a mad thing, she fell to kissing the letter. ' Oh!'
she cried, holding it with both hands, but kindly permitting me to
scent its fragrance, which was, to say the truth, hke a mixture of
bilge-water, lamp-oil, cheese, rum, and gunpowder. ' Oh, it actually
smells of the ship!' In fact, the letter, no doubt from having
been written on paper long kept below with the purser's stores,
smelt of that part of the ship where the stores are kept. ' It is just
like violets,' she added; but the smell of Jack's ship was better to
her than that of any violets. And so she kissed it again.
,' Shall we read it ? ' I said. ' The letter, I suppose, was meant
to be read as well as to be kissed.'
She gave it to me reluctantly. I do not think she wanted to
know the contents. Enough that Jack had written her a letter.
What greater proof of love could be given to any girl ?
' Do you think he wanted it to be read ? ' she asked. ' Wouldn't
he be contented if he knew that I had it safe and was keeping it
tiext to my heart, against his coming home ? '
'You are a fool, Bess,' said Mr. Brinjes; 'let Luke read it.
Why, the letter will tell us all about the fighting. Why else should
he take the trouble to write a letter at all ? Do you think a man
likes writing letters ? As for me, I never received a letter in my
life, and I never wrote one.'
She gave up the letter with a sigh. If she had been able to
read it herself, no one else would have seen it.
'Jack having taken so much trouble,' Mr. Brinjes continued,
'twould be disrespectful not to read it. What he writes to you, my
girl, he writes for me as well.'
' Mistress of my heart,' I began, reading the letter. ' Is that
meant for you, Mr. Brinjes? '
' Except a word or two just to show that he hasn't forgotten
you, Bess, of course. Why, as for that, such words mean nothing
except that the boy is in love. I've knowh a man so bewitched
192
THE WORLD WENT
with love as to call a half-naked black wench his goddess and las
nymph. Yet it seemed to please the girl. Go on, Luke.'
4 Mistress of my heart'—while I read, Bess sat in the window
seat, her hands clasped, her eyes soft and melting, her breath caught
short and quick, and continually interrupting with ejaculations-
such as, ' Oh, Jack !' and ' Oh, my brave boy I'—wrung from her
heart by the joy of loving and being loved. But these I onnt.
' Mistress of my heart and queen of my soul 1 My dearest
Bess,—Since I sailed from Deptford, I have thought of you every
day and every night. If I were by your side I should give you a
thousand hugs and kisses. There never was a more lovely maid
than my Bess. My dear, we have had our first tussle, and warm
work it was; but the enemy is now snug and comfortable under
hatches, where he will remain until we come to anchor in the
Solent, and carry him up Porchester Creek to rest awhile. I think
he has got a headache, Bess, after the noise of the guns; and,
perhaps, the small shot have given him a toothache, and the cannon-
balls have very likely made his legs rheumatic. "We had a fine time
the last bout ashore, hadn't we, Bess ? I sha'n't forget the room
behind the shop, nor the summer-house where Luke caught us
kissing, and you blushed crimson. Well, I dare say I shall get
ashore again some time, though not, I hope, like our poor carpenter's
mate, who has had both legs amputated, and will now for ever go
on stumps. If your Jack came home on stumps, would you send
him about his business, Bess ? We fell in with the enemy '
' Here the letter begins,' said Mr. Brinjes. ' What went before
was like the froth on a pot of stingo.'
' We fell in with the enemy on the morning of the 18th, this
being February the 20th. We should have missed her altogether,
but, by the blessing of Providence, the fog cleared away and showed
us the ship, half a mile or thereabouts on the weather-bow. 'Twas
in full Channel. She hoisted the French flag, and we returned the
compliment—such was our politeness—with a cannon-shot, pitched
a yard or two wide of her. The enemy scorned to show her heels
(wherefore I honour her, and give her what is due); perhaps because
she carried heavier weight of metal and a larger complement than
the " Tartar." As for the engagement which followed, it lasted for
an hour or thereabouts; and then, on our coming to close quarters
and preparing to board, Monsieur hauled down his colours, finding
he had no stomach for pikes and cutlasses. Which was his strata¬
gem ; and mark the treachery of this bloody villain. For, while
we prepared leisurely and unsuspecting to take possession, he bore
up suddenly and boarded us. Fortunately, he had to deal with a
well-disciplined crew; but the fighting was hand-to-hand for a while
before they gave up the job and tried to back again to their own
deck. There were fifty of them in the boarding-party, and not one
got back, nor never a prisoner made, such was the rage of our men.
So we gave them no more chance for treachery, but boarded in our
turn; and hand-to-hand it was again till all that was left of them
VERY WELL THEN 193
Vrere driven under hatches, where they now remain. There were
a hundred and seventy of them when the action began, and we've
thrown eighty bodies overboard. Consequently there are ninety
prisoners. Our master, who is as tough a sea-dog as lives, calcu¬
lates that at this rate—namely, and that is to say, every ship in
the King's service taking one French ship a week, killing or
disabling half the crew, and taking prisoner the other half—we
shall in less than a twelvemonth leave his French Majesty never a
sailor or a ship to his back, so he must surrender at discretion.
But I doubt, for my own part, whether we shall have such good
luck as this; and it may be a year and a half or even two years
before we are able to make an account of all the French fleets. We
have lost twelve, killed and wounded; the Second Lieutenant has
parted with half an ear, sliced off by a French cutlass, and the
master's mate is killed, his brains being blown out by a pistol fired
in his face. But we have revenged him, my dear Bess. When the
fight was over I drank your health in the gun-room in a tot of
rum, being, thank God, without a scratch.'
Here was a gap, as if the letter had been interrupted at this
point, and resumed later on.
4 We are now, my dearest Bess, anchored at Spithead, and about
to transfer our prisoners up the harbour to Porchester Castle, where
they are to lay by until the war is ended or they are exchanged.
'Twill be a change for them and a rest, and no doubt they will be
glad to be out of danger. 'Tis a convenient place for a prison,
having two great towers, besides a smaller one, with a high wall
all round and a ditch. And if the prisoners do escape, they will
find the country-side rejoiced of the opportunity to murder them,
being a savage people, and much incensed with all French privateers.
So, my sweetheart, no more at present from thy faithful Jack.
' Postscriptum.—Thy true-love knot is round my arm, and I
wish my arm was round thy neck. I forgot to say that the prize
is the "Mont Bozier," of La Rochelle; she is, we hope, to be
purchased for the King's Navy—a handy useful ship, well found.
Her captain was killed in the second part of the action. Otherwise
I think he would have been hanged for treachery. I love thee,
Bess—I love thee!'
There was a beautiful letter for any girl to receive; full of love
and kisses, and of gallant fighting ! When I had read it through,
she sat awhile perfectly still, the tears running down her cheeks.
Then she made me read it again, more slowly, and bade me mark
with pencil the passages which most she fancied. She could not
read the writing, but could rest her eyes on those places and
remember them. She was quick at catching up and remembering
things, and when she had heard the letter read a third time, she
knew it all by heart, and never forgot it.
This was the only letter which Jack ever wrote to his mistress.
Other letters he wrote to the Admiral, telling him of the wonderful
exploits of the ' Tartar,' and of his share in the actions, but never
194 THE WORLD WENT
a word more to Bess. The days passed on, and the girl sat, fol
the most part, in silence, waiting. So sat Penelope, expectant o
her lord. Still she spoke of him; still she carried his letter m her
bosom, wrapped in silk, and would take it out and gaze UP®1* '
the tears rolling down her cheek. If she hoped for another letter,
if she felt herself neglected, if she doubted his fidelity, I know
not; for she said nothing. _
In that interval she grew more beautiful. Her face, thus set
upon the contemplation of one thing, became pensive, and her eyes
grave. She smiled seldom, and the loud laugh which Jack loved,
but which reminded others too much of her former associates, was
no more heard. By constant endeavour, by imitation, by refraining
from her old companions, and by keeping guard over her speech,
she softened not only her manner, but also her appearance. Poor
Bess! What would she say and suffer if she should learn that her
Jack had ceased to love her ? Yet what other interpretation could
be put upon his long silence? It was at Christmas, 1756, when
the ' Tartar' sailed. It was in June, 1760, that Jack returned, and
all that time only this one letter, though there had been many
written to the Admiral.
'He will find,' said Bess, 'when he comes home, that I can
read very well And I know the charts of the seas where he has
sailed. If only he still will think me beautiful.'
' Why, Bess,' I told her, ' as to beauty, there is no doubt about
it. So if that is all there is to fear, have no pain on that score.'
There was, however, a great deal more to fear; but this one dared
not so much as to hint in her presence.
'There is a storm brewing,' said Mr. Brinjes; ' I feel it in the
air. I know not what he may think when he comes home : she is
a handsome creature, and he may be for beginning all over again.
Yet my mind misgives me. Why is there no letter, nor never a
word to you, unless he has forgotten her ? As for falhng in love
with another woman, that is hardly likely, seeing the busy life the
poor lad hath led. But he hath forgotten her, Luke. Most women
look for nothing else than to be forgotten when their husbands and
lovers go to sea; they forget and are forgotten. Well—why not?'
Better so ; then they suffer the less when one of the men is knocked
o' the head, and another goes off with someone else when his ship
is next paid off. But Bess is different; and we have encouraged
her; there will never be any other man in the world for her, except
Jack. So, my lad, look out, I say, for squalls.'
Of course, we heard news of the ' Tartar.' Did she not fill half
the Gazette ? There never was so fortunate a ship, nor one more
gallantly commanded. One cannot enumerate or remember half
the prizes that she made in her first year's cruise in the Channel.
A month after taking the ' Mont Eozier' she encountered the
' Maria Victoria,' twenty-four guns and 226 men; and, after a sharp
engagement, compelled her to strike. The ship was taken over into
the King's Navy, under the name of the ' Tartar's Prize.' Then, in
VERY WELL THEN 195
April, Captain Lockhart fought the privateer 4 Due d'Aiguillon,' of
twenty-six guns and 254 men. The French did not surrender till
they had lost upwards of fifty killed and wounded. In May the
privateer ' Penelope,'of eighteen guns and 181 men, was taken; and
in October the 4 Comtesse de Gramont,' eighteen guns and 155 men.
She also was purchased into the Navy. But the crown of the
4 Tartar's' exploits this year was the chase and capture of the
4 Melampe,' of Bayonne, one of the finest privateers ever sent out
from port. She was mounted with thirty-six guns, and had a crew
of 330 men. The 4 Tartar ' chased her for thirty hours, and fought
her for three hours before she struck. She also was added to the
King's Navy, as a thirty-six gun frigate; and a very useful vessel
she proved.
Such achievements as these greatly disheartened the French,
and raised our own spirits. They did not, it is true, quite reach the
ambitious aims of the master of the 4 Tartar'; yet they called forth
the gratitude of the nation. Therefore, at the end of the year, the
merchants of London and Bristol combined to present Captain
Lockhart with pieces of plate ; the First Lieutenant of the 4 Tartar '
was transferred to the command of the 4 Tartar's' prize, the
4 Melampe,' which was renamed, the 4 Sapphire'; Jack was trans¬
ferred to this ship with the First Lieutenant; and the master of the
4 Tartar' was promoted to be Lieutenant. As for the prize-money
due to the officers and men, that amounted to a very pretty sum ;
but I do not know how much fell to Jack as his share.
CHAPTER XXY.
lieutenant aaron fletcher.
We who are always slower than the French—4 but,' said Jack, 4 we
hold on the tighter'—now began to send out privateers on our own
account, though for the most part neither so numerous nor so well
found as the French. The men were not wanting, nor the spirit,
but the prizes were not so many, and the prospect of gain not so
attractive to our English sea-coast men as to the French. Mention
has been made of a ship building in Mr. Taylor's yard at Rother-
hithe; Jack was right when he pronounced her fit for something
better than a lubberly sugar-ship. She was, in fact, the venture of
a company of London merchants, and she was intended from the
first for Letters of Marque. A dangerous venture ; but there was
revenge in it, as well as the hope of profit; and, besides, two or
three successful cruises will sometimes cover the whole cost of ship
and crew, even if on the next voyage the ship is wrecked or taken.
As for a crew, there is not much difficulty in getting volunteers for
a privateer, where there is no flogging, and for the most part nq
discipline, and an officer has very little more authority than he can
196 THE WORLD WENT
command with fist and rope's-end. The prospect of taking some
rich merchantman from Martinique, laden with a great cargo of
spices and sugar, is attractive, to say nothing of the fighting, the
chance of which, happily, ever inflames a Briton's heart. No ™°h
desperate actions are recorded during this war, as those in which
our privateers were engaged. The best privateers-men are said to
be, not the regular seamen, to whom an action comes as part of the
day's work, but those amphibious creatures found all round our
coast, and especially about the Channel, who pretend to be engaged
in the most innocent and harmless pursuits, and may be found fol¬
lowing the plough or driving the quill, or with an apron in a barber's
shop, flouring a wig, or even behind a grocer's counter, weighing
out pounds of sugar. Yet this is but a show and pretence, and their
real trade takes them to and fro across the Channel, to the great
detriment of His Majesty's revenue. Privateering, to such as these,
is a kind of smuggling, but a finer kind, which one follows without
the necessity of sometimes fighting the King's officers, and some¬
times murdering an informer. Moreover, a fat merchantman is a
far richer prize to bring home than a boat-load of kegs. Therefore,
when the ' Porcupine ' (so they called her) was launched, and fitted,
and armed with eighteen nine-pounders and two six-pounders for
her quarter-deck, there was no difficulty in finding a crew of picked
men as good as any on board a King's ship, though lacking in dis¬
cipline—a hundred and twenty in all. The crew of the ' Porcupine,'
indeed, showed the stuff of which they were made before the ship
sailed. It was in September of the year 1757, when the hottest
Press ever known in the Thames was undertaken, and not only were
the lanes and alleys of Deptford, Wapping, and Batcliff scoured for
skulking watermen and seamen—the river being wholly deserted for
fear of the Pressgang—but also the colliers and ships in the Pool
were boarded and their men taken, leaving no more than two able
seamen for every hundred tons, according to William the Third's
Act. The gang boarded the ' Porcupine,' but the men seized their
arms and threatened to fight for their liberty, whereat the lieutenant
in command withdrew his men and sheered off, judging it prudent
not to engage his company of a dozen or twenty with sixscore reso¬
lute fellows.
Meantime, Mr. Brinjes' prediction of misfortune as regards Aaron
Fletcher came true—one knows not whether he did anything by his
own black arts to bring about the calamities which fell upon him at
this time. For, first of all, his boat, as fast a sailer as might be
found for crossing the Channel, was picked up by a French privateer,
who cared nothing for her being engaged in smuggling or in con¬
veying information or spies backwards and forwards from France
to England or from England to France. All is fish that comes to
the Frenchman's net. Therefore the ' Willing Mind' was taken in
tow, and presently sold at auction in Boulogne Harbour; and so
Aaron lost not only his boat, but also his crew of three men, who
were like rats for wariness, and could speak both French and English,
VERY WELL THEN
197
Thus went the greater part of his business; and he hung his
head, going in great heaviness, and in his cups cursing the Apothe¬
cary, whose blood he threatened to spill, for causing his boat to be
taken. But worse followed. His boatbuilding yard had become
slack of work, and most of his hands were discharged. This was
caused by his own neglect, and might have been repaired by steady
attention to business. Unhappily, one night the yard took fire, and
everything was burned except the little cottage within the gates,
where Aaron lived alone. And then, indeed, he raged like a lion,
swearing that he would kill, maim, and torture that devil of an
Apothecary, who thus pursued him. But Mr. Brinjes was no whit
terrified.
Despite these things, we were all surprised to hear that Aaron
was going on board the 'Porcupine' privateer; and still more
astonished when we learned that he was appointed Third Lieu¬
tenant, his proper place being before the mast, or, at best, bo's'n's
mate, or gunner's mate, for he was quite an illiterate fellow, who
had learned nothing of taking an observation, except how to make
it noon, and knew nothing save by rule of thumb of navigation.
However, he knew the coast of France as well as any Frenchman,
which was, I suppose, the reason why he was appointed an officer;
and besides, he had acquired (and truly deserved), in Deptford,
Greenwich, and Botherhithe, the reputation of being a brave, reck¬
less dog, who would fight like a bull-dog. For such work as was
wanted of him, no doubt he was as good as any man who had
passed his examination in Seething Lane.
Then Aaron got himself a coat of blue, like that worn by the
King's officers (but without the white facings), edged with gold—
very fine. This he put on, with white stockings, white breeches,
and a crimson sash, with a hanger—for all the world as if he were
Lieutenant of the Boyal Navy—and a hat trimmed with gold lace.
Thus attired, he strutted up the street, the boys shouting after him,
till he came to Mr. Westmoreland's shop, where Bess sat at the
door, her work in her hand. 'Well, Bess,' he said, 'nothing was
good enough for thee but an officer and a gentleman. I am an
officer now, and if any man dares to say I am not a gentleman, I
will fight him with any weapon he pleases. Since one officer has
gone away, Bess, take on with another. Don't think I bear a
grudge. Nay, I love thee still, lass, in spite of thy damned
unfriendly ways.'
'You an officer, Aaron ? ' Women like fine feathers for them-
selves, but they are never dazzled with fine feathers in others.
' You an officer ? ' She surveyed him calmly from head to foot.
'White stockings do not make a gentleman. Your clothes are
grand, to be sure. Pity you have not a better shirt to match so
fine a coat.' Aaron's linen, in truth, had neither lace nor ruffles, and
his cravat was but a speckled kerchief. ' Go change thy linen,
Aaron, before pretending to be a gentleman. Well,' she continued,
perceiving that he was, as she desired him to be, abashed by the
198
THE WORLD WENT
discovery of this deficiency, ' as for thy dress, 'twill servo for a
privateer. Go fight the French, Aaron, and bring home plenty 01
prize-money. But think not thyself a gentleman.'
So she went indoors and left him. I know not whether he
bought himself a shirt to match the coat, but I am sure that on
hoard the white stockings and the white breeches were safely
stowed away, and a homelier garb assumed.
Aaron's sea-going lasted no great while. The Captain of the
' Porcupine ' was a certain Stephen Murdon, who had commanded
an armed merchantman in the China trade, in which he had seen
fighting with the pirates, Chinese and Malay, which infest the
narrow seas. He was a very brisk, courageous fellow, skilful in
handling his ship; and she being a fast sailer, he was generally
able to choose or to decline an engagement, as suited him best.
For instance, he would not engage a French privateer if he could
avoid so doing, on the principle that it is foolish for dog to bite dog,
and because it is the business of the King's ships to clear the
Channel of privateers ; but with a merchantman, however strong,
he was like a bloodhound for the chase, and a bull-dog for fighting.
I do not know how much prize-money he would have made for
himself, but his owners were at first very much pleased with their
venture, and promised themselves great returns. Unfortunately, a
circumstance happened which brought the ' Porcupine's ' cruise to
an untimely end. There were many complaints from Holland
against the English privateers, who mistook Dutch for French
colours, and treated them accordingly. Captain Murdon was one
of those who were suspicious of Dutch colours. Unfortunately, he
one day overhauled a Dutch vessel conveying to Amsterdam no
less a personage than the Spanish Ambassador; and, on the pretence
that she was sailing under false colours, plundered the ship, taking
out of her, as the complaint of the Captain set forth, a purse con¬
taining seventeen guineas, twenty deal boxes containing valuable
stuffs, and three bales of cambric, the whole valued at two hundred
guineas. Nor was this all, for this audacious Captain Murdon
helped himself as well to His Excellency's chests and cases contain¬
ing jewels and treasure.
There was a great outcry about this affair, and Captain Murdon
(who was very well known to have done it, but it was pretended
there was no evidence) hastened to hand over the ' Porcupine' to
her owners, paid off his crew, and recommended his officers to lie
snug for a while. I know not who had the booty, but the officers
and crew had none. As for himself, he was provided with a ship
in the East India trade, so as to get more speedily out of the
country. The Government offered twenty pounds reward for the
discovery of the ship which had thus insulted a friendly Power;
but no one took the offer seriously, and war immediately afterwards
breaking out with Spain, no further trouble was taken in the matter.
But thus Aaron's chances of prize-money were lost, and he himself
returned to Deptford little richer than when he went away. Captain
VERY WELL THEN m
Murdon offered him, it is true, a berth on board his new ship; but
Aaron had no desire to go fighting Chinese pirates, and therefore
stayed at home. Then he began to pretend that he was putting up
his building-sheds again ; but, as you shall see, he had no luck: his
fortune had deserted him.
CHAPTEK XXYI.
how mr. brinjes exercised his powers.
It was on Saturday, the last day of June, in the year of grace 1760
(our Lieutenant having been away at sea two years and a half),
and on the stroke of seven, that Mr. Brinjes sallied forth from his
shop. He was dressed—being now on his way to the Club at the
Sir John Falstaff—in his black velvet coat with lace ruffles; he
carried his laced hat under his arm, and had upon his head his
vast wig, whose threatening foretop, majestic with depending knots,
before and behind the shoulders, proclaimed his calling. In his
hand he bore his gold-headed stick (not the famous skull-stick); his
stockings, which in the morning were of grey woollen, knitted by
the hands of Bess, were now of white silk; and his shoes were
adorned with silver buckles. He was no longer Apothecary to the
scum of Deptford: he was in appearance a grave and learned
Physician. Yet, if one looked more closely, it might be discerned
that the wig was ill-dressed; the ruffles at his wrist torn; that one
or two of the silver buttons had fallen from his coat-sleeves ; that
his stockings were splashed a little, and there was a rent in one ;
and that his shoes were only smeared, not brightened. These,
however, were defects which Mr. Brinjes did not heed. It was
enough for him to possess and to wear a coat and a wig which
became the company which met at the Sir John Falstaff.
He stood awhile looking up and down the street, first casting
his eye upwards to note the weather, a thing which no one who
has been a sailor neglects, whether he goes upon deck or leaves the
house. The sky was clear, the wind southerly, and the now
declining sun shone upon the houses, so that, though mean and
low, they glowed in splendour, and the Apothecary's silver pestle
showed as if it were of pure solid silver, and the Penman's golden
quill as if it were indeed of burnished gold, and the Barber's brass
vessels across the way, catching the sun by reflection, shone as if
they, too, were of gold; while the diamond panes of the upper
lattice windows were all on fire, and one's eyes could not brook to
gaze upon them; the red tiles of the gables, though they were
overgrown with moss, seemed as if they had newly left the potter's
hands * and the timber-work of the house fronts was like unto.
black marble or porphyry. No painting was ever more splendid
than those mean houses under the summer evening's sunlight. At
20O
THE WORLD WENT
the Barber's door there arose a curious cloud, which produced an
effect as of a white mist rising from the ground. It was, however,
nothing but one of the 'prentices flouring the Vicar's wig for
Sunday. Lower down the street there was leaning against a post
the tall form of Aaron Fletcher. He had nothing now, in his
appearance, of the gallant privateer, being dressed as becomes a
tradesman, in a fur cap, grey stockings, round shoes, and a drugget
waistcoat; yet there was in him something that looked like a sailor:
however you disguise him, the sailor always betrays himself. His
hands were in his waistcoat pockets, and his eyes were fixed upon
the Golden Quill, because he hungered still for a sight of the girl
who lived beneath that sign. In spite of his strength and his
courage, ^one word from Bess would have made this giant as weak
as a reed". But as for her, she would no more so much as speak
friendly with him, being angered at his importunity.
Bess sat in the open doorway, partly screened from the glare of
the evening, and partly sitting in the open sunshine, because she
was not one of those who fear to hurt her complexion. She was
working at something which lay in her lap, and sat with her back
turned to Aaron, as if she knew that he was there, and would not so
much as look at him. Through the door one might see her father
at his work, spectacles on nose.
Mr. Brinjes looked at her, still standing before his own door.
Then she raised her head, hearing his footstep, and laughed. She
always laughed at sight of Mr. Brinjes in the evening, because, in
his great wig and velvet coat, on his way to the Club, he was so
different from Mr. Brinjes in his scratch or his night-cap, sitting in
his parlour or his shop.
' Saucy baggage!' said the Apothecary. ' Stand up, Bess, and
let me see how tall thou art.'
She obeyed, and stood up, overtopping Mr. Brinjes by more than
the foretop of his wig; she was, in fact, five feet eight inches in
height, as I know, because I measured her about this time. It is a
great stature for a woman. She was now past her twenty-first
year, and therefore full grown, and no longer so slim and slender
in figure as when Jack sailed away at Christmas, in the year
seventeen hundred and fifty-six. She was now a woman fully
formed; her waist not slender, as fine ladies fondly love to have it,
but like the ancient statues for amplitude; her shoulders large and
square rather than sloping, her neck full and yet long, her skin of
the whitest, her hair and eyes of the blackest; as for the eyes, they
were large and full, and slow rather than quick of movement, a
thing which betokens an amorous or passionate disposition; her
face, as one sees in the faces of certain Italian painters, with an
ample cheek, full and rosy lips, with a straight nose and low fore¬
head. About her head she had tied a kerchief. For my own part,
I have always maintained that Bess was the most beautiful woman
I have ever looked upon in Deptford or anywhere else, though one
may admit, what Castilla insists, that, however beautiful a girl may
VERY WELL THEN
20I
be, she belongs to her own class. Truly, all poor Bess's troubles
came to her because she loved a gentleman.
Mr. Brinjes surveyed her critically. Then he sighed and said,
4 Thou art, I swear, Bess, fit for the gods themselves 1 Well, child ? '
—and then he sighed again.
' Is there news ? ' she asked.
4 I hear of none,' he replied, gravely. 4 Bess, the time goes on.
Is it well to waste thy youth on a man who comes not back ?
There are other men '
4 Talk not to me,' she cried, impatiently, 4 talk not to me of
other men. There is no other man in the world for me but Jack.
As for other men—I scorn 'em.'
She drew from her bosom half a sixpence, tied to a piece of
black ribbon. This she kissed, and put back again.
4 It is long since we had news of him,' Mr. Brinjes went on,
doubtfully, and dropping his voice, because Mr. Westmoreland sat
within, poring over his books.
4 He loves me,' she replied in a whisper. And the thought
caused her cheek to glow, and her eyes became humid. 4 He told
me he should always love me. Why, a man cannot be continually
writing letters. He wrote to me once—which is enough—to tell
me again that he loves me. And I think of him all day long.'
' Well said, girl 1 That is only what is due to so gallant a
lover.'
' I belong to him—I am all his. Why else should I desire to
live ? Why do I go to church, if not to pray for him ? '
' Good girl! Good girl! Would that all women had such
constant hearts ! I have known many women, whether at home or
at Kingston, or on the Guinea Coast. Some I have known jealous ;
some full of tricks and tempers: but never a one among them all to
be constant. Good girl, Bess! '
4 Sometimes I think—oh!—suppose he should never come back
at all! or suppose I should learn that another woman had entrapped
him with her horrid arts ? '
Mr. Brinjes smiled, as one who knows the world.
4 Sailors do sometimes fall into traps,' he said. 4 They are every¬
where laid for sailors. Perhaps in another port—nay, in half a
dozen ports, he may have found—nay, child, be not uneasy. Why '
—here he swore as roundly as if he bad been an Admiral at least—
4 a thousand girls shall be forgotten when once he sees thy hand¬
some face again. What though his thoughts may have gone a-roving
—though I say not that they have—they will come home, The
Lieutenant will be true. Gad ! There cannot be a single Jack of
all the Jacks afloat who would not joyfully come back to such a
sweetheart.'
4 Oh, yes !' She made as if she would draw something else
from her bosom, but refrained. 41 have his letter, his dear letter.
Jack is true. He swore that no one should ever come between hinj
and me.'
202
THE WORLD WENT
' There is another thing, child. He left thee, Bess, a slip of a
girl seventeen years old, with little but great black locks and
roguish tricks. When he comes back he will find another Bess.'
' Oh ! ' she cried in alarm. ' But he will expect the same.'
' And such a Bess—such a beautiful Bess—fit for a Prince's
love.'
' I want no Prince but Jack,' said Bess, her eyes soft and humid,
and her lips parted.
' He will be satisfied. Eosy lips and black eyes, shapely head
and apple-cheek, dimpled chin and smiling mouth, and such a
throat! I have seen such, Bess, in the girls of the Guinea Coast
when they are young ; just such a throat as thine—as slender and
as round, though shiny black. For my own part, I love the
colour.'
'Happy boy! happy girl!' he cried, after sighing heavily; 'I
would I were young again to fight this lover for his mistress.
Tedious it is to look on at the game which one would still be
playing.'
' There is one thing which troubles me,' she said. ' It is the
importunity of Aaron, who will never take nay for his answer. He
comes every evening—nay, sometimes in the morning—telling me
the Lieutenant has forgotten me, and offering to take his place.
And he will still be saying things of Jack (who cudgelled him so
famously). If I were a man I would beat him till he roared for
mercy.' Her eyes now flashed fire, I warrant you, sleepy and
calm as they had looked before. ' But I can do nothing; and
Luke is too small and weak to fight so great a man. He stands
there now—look at him! '
' Patience, my girl; patience I I will tackle this love-sick
shepherd.'
More he would have said, but Mr. Westmoreland himself came
to the door, his quill behind his ear, with round spectacles on his
nose, blinking in the sunshine like an owl or a bat, as if the light
was too much for him. He was dressed in a rusty brown coat, worn
so long that the sleeves had exactly assumed the shape of his arms;
the cuff of the right arm was shiny, where it had rubbed against the
table; and the back was shiny, where it had rubbed against his
chair. On his head was a nightcap of worsted. Strange it was that
so feeble a creature should be father of such a tall, strong, and lovely
girl. Yet these contrasts are not unknown.
' A fine evening, Mr. Brinjes,' he quavered, in his squeaky voice;
' a fine evening, truly.'
' Truly, Mr. Westmoreland.'
' Is there news of the Lieutenant ?'
'I have none, sir.'
' Pray Heaven he be not killed or cast away. Many brave
youths are nowadays killed or cast away at sea. You remember
Jack Easterbrook, Bess ? ' She looked at Mr. Brinjes and smiled.
' I have never had a scholar (to call a scholar) like unto him. Bolts
VERY WELL THEN
203
and blockheads are they all, compared with him. Never such a
lad—never such a lad for quickness and for parts.'
Mr. Brinjes nodded and went on his way. Mr. "Westmoreland
spread his hands out in the sunshine as one who stands before a
warm fire, and he pushed back his nightcap as if to warm his skull.
But his daughter sat still, the knitting-needles idle in her lap and
her eyes fixed as one who hath a vision, and her lips parted, as in a
dream of happiness. Poor child I It was her last.
Mr. Brinjes walked slowly down the street until he came to
Aaron Fletcher. Then he stopped and surveyed the man from head
to foot.
' Aaron,' he said, 4 have a care ; have a care. Thou hast been
warned already. A certain girl, who shall be nameless, is food for
thy betters, master boatbuilder. Food for thy betters I'
Aaron muttered something.
4 Why, it is but two years and a half agone, if thou wilt remem¬
ber, good Aaron, that a certain thing happened wherefore I warned
thee that trouble would follow. Has it followed ? Where is the
" Willing Mind " ? Captured by the French. Where is the prize-
money thou wast to get from the privateer ? Her cruise was cut
short. Where is thy building-yard ? It is burned down. W7here
is thy business ? It is gone. Thus would-be murderers are rightly
punished. Wherefore, good Aaron, again I say—Have a care.'
Aaron made no reply, but shuffled his feet.
4 And what do we here ? ' Mr. Brinjes asked sternly. 4 Do we
wait about the street in hopes of catching a look—a covetous and a
wanton look—upon a face that belongs to another man ? Aaron
Fletcher—Aaron Fletcher, I have warned thee before.'
4 With submission, sir,' said the young man, 4 the street is free
to all. As for my betters, a boatbuilder is as good as a penman, I
take it.'
4 Go home, boy; go home. Leave Bess alone, or it will be the
worst for thee.'
41 take my answer from none but Bess.'
4 She hath given thee an answer.'
Here the young man plucked up courage, and fell to railing and
cursing at Mr. Brinjes himself—a thing which no one else in the
whole town would have dared to do—not only for losing him his
boat and building-yard by wicked machinations and magic, but also
for standing, he said, between him and the girl he loved, and
keeping her mind filled with nonsense about a King's officer, who
had gone away and forgotten her ; whereas, if it had not been for
this meddlesome old Apothecary—the devil fly away with him and
all like unto him !—the girl would have been his own long ago, and
he would have made her happy.
4 Here is fine talk I ' said Mr. Brinjes, at length, and after
hearing him without the least signs of anger. 4 Here is a proper
gamecock 1 Aaron, thou must have a lesson. So ! That hollow
tooth of thine, my lad : the one at the back, the last but one in the
204
THE WORLD WENT
left-hand lower jaw !' The fellow started and turned pale. ' Go
home now, quickly.' Here Mr. Brinjes shook the gold head of his
walking-stick threateningly, while his one eye flamed up like a train
of powder. ' Go home; on thy way the tooth will begin to shoot
and prick as with fiery needles. Go, therefore, to bed immediately.
It will next feel as if a red-hot iron were clapped to it and held
there, and thy cheek will swell like a hasty pudding. The pain will
last all night. In the morning come to me ; and perhaps, if I am
merciful and thou showest signs of grace and repentance, I may
pull out the tooth. Thou canst meditate, all night long, on the
incomparable graces of the girl who can never be thy sweetheart.'
The young man received this command with awe-struck eyes
and pale cheek. Then he obeyed, going away with hanging head
and dangling hands—a gamecock with the spirit knocked out of
liim.
Strange that a doctor should be able to cause, as well as cure,
disease. As Aaron Fletcher drew near to his workshop he felt the
first sharp pang and pricking of toothache. When he reached his
bed the misery was intolerable. All night long he rolled upon his
pallet, groaning. In the morning he repaired to Mr. Brinjes,
uumbfounded, his face tied up, seeking for nothing but relief.
' Aha !' said Mr. Brinjes. ' Here is our lad of spirit—here is our
lover. Love hath its thorns, Aaron, as well as its roses. Sit down,
sit down.—The basin, James—and cold water. It is a grinder, and
will take a strong pull. Hold back his head, James—and his mouth
wide open. So—with a will, my lad. It is done.—Go no more to
the neighbourhood of Bess Westmoreland, my lad. 'Tis a brave
tooth, and might have lasted a lifetime. The neighbourhood of
Bess Westmoreland is draughty, full of toothaches and rheuma¬
tisms. I think I saw another hollow grinder on the other side.
Take great care, Aaron. Avoid Church Lane, especially in the
evening. Go thy way now, and be thankful that things are no
worse.'
CHAPTER XXVII.
in command.
When Mr. Brinjes had disposed of this importunate swain, he went
on his way, and presently entered the Blue Parlour, where some of
the gentlemen were already assembled, waiting for the arrival of
their president or chairman, the Admiral, who was not long in
coming, with his escort of negroes.
When he had taken his seat, his pipe filled, his gold-headed
stick within reach, he rapped upon the table once.
' Gentlemen,' he said, ' good evening, one and all,'
Then he rapped upon the table twice.
VERY WELL THEN
205
Immediately the landlord appeared at the door, bearing in liis
hand a great steaming bowl of punch, which he placed before the
president. One of the negroes filled a brimming glass and gave it
to his master. Then he filled for the others and passed the glasses
round; and the Admiral, standing up, shouted, ' Gentlemen, His
Majesty's health, and confusion to his enemies!'
This done, he sat down and prepared to spend a cheerful
evening.
By this time it was eight o'clock, though not yet sunset—though
the western sky was red and the sun low in the west. "With much
whistling of pipes and ringing of bells the day's work at the Yard
hard by was brought to a close. Whereupon a sudden stillness fell
upon the air, broken only by the hoarse cries and calls from the
ships in mid-river now working slowly up stream, with flow of tide
and a light breeze from the south or south-east.
' Gentlemen,' said the Admiral, with importance, ' I have this
day received despatches from Jack Easterbrook, my ward, which I
have brought with me to gladden your hearts, as they have glad¬
dened mine.' He tugged a packet out of his pocket, and laid it on
the table before him. ' He writes,' continued the Admiral, ' from
his ship, the " Sapphire " frigate, Captain John Strachan; and, to
begin with, the letter is dated November, but appears to have been
written from time to time as occasion offered. At that time he was
with Admiral Sir Edward Hawke, whose health, gentlemen, we will
drink.'
They did so. The Admiral proceeded, with the deliberation
which belongs to one-armed men, to open the letter, and, after,
calling for a candle, to read it.
'" Nov. 22, 1759."—The boy writes, gentlemen, as I said
before, from aboard the frigate " Sapphire," Captain Strachan,
then forming part of Commodore Duff's squadron, and of Sir
Edward Hawke's fleet, blockading the port of Brest. It is his
account of the action whereof intelligence reached the Admiralty
six months ago. Humph ! At the beginning the boy presents liis
duty and respect, which is as it should be. He is well and without
a scratch. But the news is six months old, and of the stalest. Yet
it is welcome. Now listen.
'" I wrote to you last when we were driven by stress of weather
to raise the blockade of Brest and put in at Torbay."—He did,
gentlemen, and you heard his letter read.—" I hope my letter
came to hand."—It did.—" By stress of weather to raise the
blockade of Brest."—This letter-reading is tedious work.' The
Admiral took another drink of punch, and proceeded, folding the
letter so as to catch the light, and reading very slowly. ' " "When
the gale abated we put to sea again, but found that the Frenchman
had slipped his cables and was off. 'Twas a fisherman of Beer,
a little village on the Devonshire coast, who saw the French fleet
under full sail, and brought the news. We found out, afterwards,
there were twenty sail of the line and five frigates that sailed out
206
THE WORLD WENT
of Brest, being bound, as was conjectured, for Quiberon Bay. But
this we could not rightly tell. However, we crowded sail and
after them, the wind blowing fresh, the water lumpy and the
weather thick, so that we made a poor reckoning, and the fleet
was much scattered. However, on the sixth day, being the morn¬
ing of the 20th, the signal was hoisted of the enemy's fleet, and
the Admiral gave his signal to close up for action.^ Well, there
they were in full sight, but apparently with mighty little stomach
for the fight; and, instead of shortening sail and accommodating
us like gentlemen, they scudded before us. However, towards
eight bells, when the men had taken their dinners and their rum,
and were in good fighting trim, and ready to meet the Devil
himself on his three-decker "—'tis a deuce of a boy, gentlemen—
" the ' Warspite ' and the ' Devastation ' had the good luck to come
up first with the French rear, and the action began. Very soon
we all drew up, and pounded away. As for the ' Sapphire,' we,
with the ' Resolution,' seventy-four, were speedily engaged with
the ' Formidable,' eighty, Rear-Admiral Yerger ; and a very brisk
engagement it was, the Frenchman being full of spirit. But he
had the sense to strike after three hours of it, and after losing 200
men killed and wounded. There was a very good account made
of the other ships, though not without misfortunes on our part.
The ' Thesee,' seventy-four, thinking to fight her lower-deck guns,
shipped a heavy sea, and foundered, with all her crew. She would
have made a splendid prize, indeed, and a magnificent addition to
His Majesty's fleet. But it was not to be."—The decrees of
Providence, gentlemen,' said the Admiral, ' are not to be questioned
or examined. But it passes human understanding to see the sense
of sinking the " Thesee," instead of letting her become a prize and
an ornament to King George's Navy, and useful for the cause of
justice.' Then he continued reading:'" The French ship ' Superbe,'
seventy, also capsized "—dear, dear, gentlemen! another loss to
us—"and went down, I think, from the same cause. So here
were two good ships thrown away, as one may say, by lubberly
handling. We had bad luck with two more noble ships: one of
them, the ' Heros,' as beautiful a seventy-four as you ever clapped
eyes on, struck; but the waves were, unluckily, running too high
for a boat to be lowered, and in the night she ran aground. So
did the ' Soleil-Royal,' eighty; and next day we had to set fire to
them, though it was enough to bring tears to the most hard¬
hearted for thinking how they would have looked sailing up the
Solent, the Union Jack at the stem, above the great white Royal.
Our misfortunes did not end here ; for H.M.S. ' Resolution' un¬
fortunately went ashore too, and now lays a total wreck, and all
her crew drowned. The ' Essex,' also, went ashore and is lost, but
her crew saved. As for us, it was stand by, load and fire, for
nearly three hours, but only two officers killed and three wounded,
with twenty men killed and thirty wounded. I think the Mounseers,
who were safe within the bar of the river, will stay there so long:
VERY WELL THEN
207
as we are in sight. For though they pounded us, we've mauled
them, as I hope you will allow. 'Tis thought that we may be
despatched in search of Thurot's squadron. So no more at present
from your obedient and humble John Easterbrook." Well,
gentlemen, there is my letter, and what do you think of it ? '
' Always without a scratch,' said Mr. Brinjes. ' Well, the lad is
as lucky as he is brave. Every bullet has its billet. Pray that the
bullet is not yet cast which will find its billet in Jack. Admiral,
let us drink the health of this gallant lad.'
And then they fell to talking of Jack's future, and how they
should all live to see him an Admiral and a Knight, and in com¬
mand of a fleet, and achieving some splendid victory over the
French. But Mr. Brinjes checked them, because he said that to
anticipate great fortune is, as the negroes of the Gold Coast know
full well, to draw down great disaster. But still they talked of the
brave boy who had grown up among them, and was now doing his
duty like a man.
Now, in the midst of this discourse, the landlord ran into the
room, crying, ' Admiral and gentlemen, here comes a French prize
up the river!' And all, leaving their pipes and punch, hurried
forth into the garden.
There is no more gallant sight than the arrival of a prize,
especially when, as then happened, she comes up the river at the
sunset of a glorious summer day, when the yellow light falls upon
her sails, and colours every rope of her rigging, and when, as then
happened, she bears about her all the marks of a long and terrible
battle—her bulwarks broken away, her mainmast gone, great rents
and holes in her side, her sails shattered, and even the beautiful
carved group which once served for a figure-head, such as the
French love, broken and mutilated.
' A French prize, truly, gentlemen,' said the Admiral. ' There
is a French cut about her lines—and look ! there is the white flag
with the Union Jack above.'
She came up Greenwich Beach, her heavy sails barely drawing,
as if she was ashamed of being seen a prisoner in an English port.
At her stern floated the flag of the French Navy, the great white
flag with the Royal arms in gold. But above this flag floated the
British Ensign. And every gentleman in the company tossed his
hat and shouted at the sight.
' Landlord,' said the Admiral, ' fetch me your glass, and quick.
The evemng falls apace.'
The landlord brought a sea telescope.
' She's a fifty-eight gun-ship, gentlemen. There has been warm
work. Mainmast gone, mizen topmast carried away, bows
smashed, rigging cut to pieces. Seems hardly worth the trouble
of bringing up the Channel. But'—here he wiped the glass with
his coat-sleeve, and applied it more curiously, ' who is that upon
the quarter-deck ? Gentlemen—gentlemen all—it is ... it is .. .
it is none other than Jack Easterbrook himself in command!
208
THE WORLD WENT
Damn that boy for luck! Cudjo, ye lubber, bring nie my Stick i
Gentlemen, we will all hasten to the Yard, and board the ship as
soon as she drops her bower. Landlord, more punch ! _ Jack s
home again, and in command of a prize ! And, landlord, if I find
my negroes sober when I come back, gad! I'll break every bone in
your body!'
In this triumphant way did Jack come home, in charge^ of
a splendid frigate, the ' Calypso,' taken after as obstinate an action
as one may desire or expect, by the 4 Sapphire,' in the Chops of the
Channel, and sent to Deptford under command of Lieutenant
John Easterbrook, to be repaired and added to His Majesty's
Navy.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
HOW BESS LISTENED FOR HIS step.
It was not until nearly midnight that Mr. Brinjes came home—A
late hour even in London, where they turn night into day; but at
Deptford there is not so much as a single drinking-house open at
that hour, and everyone, rogues and honest men, the virtuous and
the abandoned, are all alike in bed and asleep. The moon was full
and the street was as light as day. Over the Penman's shop the
lattice-window was partly open.
' It is Bess's room,' said Mr. Brinjes. ' She is asleep, and
dreaming of her Lieutenant. And he hath forgotten her. 'Tis
pity she had not listened to Aaron's voice. He hath surely for¬
gotten her, seeing that he hath well-nigh forgotten me, and asked
no questions at all concerning her. Sleep on, Bess; sleep on, my
girl. To-morrow thou wilt not sleep at all: and the next day, or the
next, will come the whirlwind ! Perhaps the sight of thy charms . . .
but I know not. Our honest lad is changed.'
He opened the door of his shop, and went into his own den.
At nine of the clock, or thereabouts, when the early chins had
been shaved, and the wigs dressed and sent round to the gentlemen,
Mr. Peter Skipworth, the Barber, found time to run across the
street to his gossip and neighbour the Penman.
' Great news, Mr. Westmoreland!' he cried. 4 Great news for
Deptford!'
' Why ? ' asked the Penman. 4Is another Czar coming here ?'
4 No—no. But the Lieutenant has come home.'
4 Lieutenant Easterbrook ? '
4 What other ? He came up the river last night, in command-
think of that! the Lieutenant in command !—of a prize sent here
to be repaired and added to His Majesty's Navy. The Admiral
ordered his negroes to get drunk, so great was the worthy gentle¬
man's joy; and now they lie like hogs at the Sir John Falstafi^
VERY WELL THEN 209
and cannot yet be awakened, though 'tis nigh twelve hours since
they rolled over.'
' Lieutenant Easterbrook, who once was Jack, whom I taught
the elements of navigation—he hath returned ? ' Mr. Westmore-
land was slow of catching news, being always wrapped in the study
of mathematics.
Bess stopped her work at the first mention of his name, and
listened—her heart beating, and her cheek now flushed, now pale.
Oh ! he was come home again !
'We have not yet seen him,' the Barber continued; 'though I
expect he will come to have his hair dressed and his chin shaven.
None other hand but mine shall touch him, I promise you. The
landlord of the Sir John Falstaff says that a more gallant gentle¬
man he hath never set eyes upon.'
'Ha! ' said Mr. Westmoreland. 'That the Lieutenant is safe
and sound, I rejoice. But the brave boy who was so good at his
figures, he, neighbour, will no more return to us. He is gone, and
will never come back again. Where is he now—that boy ? Where
are now all the boys who have since grown into men ? What has
become of them ? I doubt he will forget his humble friends and
well-wishers.' The Barber ran back to his own shop. ' Dost re¬
member the Lieutenant, Bess ? '
But Bess made no reply. He was come back—her splendid
lover! How could she answer her father's prattle, or think about
anything but Jack and love ? Already she felt his arms about her
neck, and his kisses on her cheek; and she was suffused with
blushes and the glow of happiness.
She would not, she thought, betray her eagerness and her joy.
Therefore she went about her household work as usual, yet with a
benting of her heart and expectancy, as if he might send the
Apothecary's assistant for her at any moment. When all was
done, and the whole house as neat and clean as my lady's tea-
table, Bess went upstairs to her bedroom, and began to prepare for
her sweetheart, hei; heart filled with gladness and pride that he
was come home again in a manner so glorious; and with terror,
also, lest she might have lost some of her charms. She looked in
her glass. Nay, she was more beautiful, she saw plainly, than
when he left her nigh upon three years ago : her eyes were brighter,
her figure fuller, her lips ruddier, her skin whiter, her cheeks rosier.
If Jack loved her for her beauty he must needs, she knew, and
smiled at the pleasing thought, love her now much more. Then
she drew his letter from her bosom, where it lay wrapped in its
silken bag, and read it all over again, knowing the words by heart.
' There is not,' it said, ' in all the world a more beautiful girl than
my Bess, nor a fonder lover than her Jack.'
She put on her finest and best—with the coral beads which
Jack had given her to hang round her neck, and the ribbons—also
his gift—would he remember them as well ? She dressed her hair
in the way that he used to love, and then, when all was ready, she
p
210
THE WORLD WENT
stole down the stairs, and so out by the back way to the Apothe¬
cary's parlour, that bower of love, though it was not also a bower of
roses and fragrant flowers. _ . , .
The room was empty. In the shop sat Mr. Brinjes, in his place,
the great book before him; the assistant, James Hadlow, stood at
the counter, rolling and mixing, and the shop was filled with
women who had brought sick children.
4 Mr. Brinjes,' cried Bess.
' Ay. . . . Ay, my girl,' he replied.
' He has come home,' she cried, heedless now of the women and
their gossip.
' Very like—very like—so they tell me.'
4 So they tell me !' she echoed, laughing. 4 As if it mattered
nothing. Yet he will but shake hands with the Admiral and come
here. 44 So they tell me," he says.'
' I come, Bess,' he replied, looking at her sadly; ' I come in a
few minutes. Now, you women who have had your answer and
your physic, take your brats away. This morning I am benevolently
disposed, and will cure them all. Go away, therefore, and prate no
more.—I come in a few minutes, Bess.'
So she waited, glowing with the anticipation of her lover's
welcome, her eyes soft and humid, her bosom heaving; and what
with the tumult of her soul and her finery—for, as I have said, she
had put on her coral and her ribbons—and all his gifts, looking
truly a most beautiful creature. At half-past twelve Mr. Brinjes
closed his great book, descended from his stool, and came into the
parlour.
' I have seen him, Bess,' he said. 4 I saw him last night.'
4 Oh! you have seen him, and you did not wake me up to tell
me. You have spoken to him. What did he say ? How doth he
look ? What did he ask about me ? What messages did he send ?
And is he wounded ? Is he safe and well ? Oh ! but he will be
here directly. Even now his step may be in the street—Listen!—
no—not yet—he will come to tell me 1 Why—you tell me nothing.
Once you said that my Jack might forget me. I will not tell him
that, Mr. Brinjes, because he is masterful, and I would not anger
him against you. Why, you tell me nothing. I have put on all the
things he gave me. Am I looking well ? Do you think he will find
me changed ?'
' For your questions, Bess, he looks strong and well, though
somewhat changed in manner, and colder than of old; and to some
of us he might have shown more civility. For me, I complain not,
though he gave me but a cold hand ; but Mr. Shelvocke may justly
complain, and Mr. Underhill—though one, truly, was but a super¬
cargo, and the other but the purser.'
' Jack can never_ forget his old friends,' said Bess, 4 any more
than he can forget his old love. But he is now in command of a
prize.'
' Bess, my girl,' said Mr. Brinjes, very earnestly, 4 don't buil4
VERY WELL THEN
211
hopes on the promise of a sailor. My dear, I know the breed, all
my life, being now past fourscore and ten. I have lived among
sailors. I tell thee, child, I know them. "With them, it is out of
sight out of mind. When a man goes fighting, hath he room in his
mind for a woman ? And the more a woman loves a sailor, the
less he loves her. If he hath forgotten thee, my dear, let him go
without a tear or a sigh, for there are plenty other men in Deptford
who would gladly possess thy charms.'
4 Stop ! ' she cried, flying out suddenly. 4 Why, you are talking
like a mad thing! You don't know my Jack. How should you
know him ? How should you know any men except the pirates,
your old friends, and the rough tarpaulins who come here to be
healed ? Who are you, a little common apothecary, to talk of men
like the Lieutenant ? How are you to know the ways of the King's
officers ? Why, if you have been to sea in a King's ship, 'twas only
to mess with the Midshipmen and the Purser's Mate.'
4 Well, Bess, well,' he replied, not angry, but bearing the attack
with meekness. 4 That shall be as you please. If your man is
constant he will seek thee here, in the old place. If he is not, we
will, I say, be reasonable, and expect no better than others receive.'
' Oh! If you were a young man—a man like Aaron,' cried
Bess, c Jack should beat you to a jelly for this.'
4 Ay, ay—very like, very like. You shall beat me if you like, my
girl. Bess,' said Mr. Brinjes, looking her earnestly in the face, 4 if
it would give you any pleasure, and bring your lover back, you
should beat me yourself till you could lay on no longer.'
4 My lover will come back to me,' she replied. 4 He will be here
this morning or this afternoon. Of course, he, will come as soon
as he can.'
4 Perhaps.. But he is changed. He sat among the gentlemen of
the Club last night, but it was to please the Admiral, not himself.
He wanted none of our company. I sat beside him, but he asked
me no question at all. What!—should I not know the lover's eyes ?
Bess, he hath forgotten thee.'
4 You are a liar 1' she replied, springing to her feet, as if she
would take bim at his word and lay on till she could lay on no
longer. 4 You say this because you are old and ill-tempered, and
envious of younger people's happiness. Who are you that Jack
should remember you ? Who but a common sailors' apothecary—
and he a Lieutenant in command ? '
4 Ay, ay, my girl; pay it out. I am a sailors' apothecary. I am
old and envious. Pay it out. I value not thy words—no, not even
a rope's yarn—because, Bess, I love thee, my dear, and I would not
see thee unhappy about any man. What is a man worth beside a
lovely woman ? If I were a woman, would I throw my love away
upon a single man ? Two years and more hast thou wasted upon
this fine lover, who, when he comes back, hath never a word to ask
not even, 44 How fares my Bess ? " '
'Why,' said Bess, 'how could he ask concerning me, before
212
THE WORLD WENT
those gentlemen ? Say no more, Mr. Brinjes, for I would not be
angered and show a red cheek when he comes. You know that I
am easily put out. Besides, you are only laughing at me, and I
am a fool to fly out. Jack will come to me as soon as he can
leave his ship. Very likely he will not get away until the evening.'
So she sat down on the window-seat, and recovered her spirits,
feeling no doubt at all, nor any misgivings, and began talking mer¬
rily of what she would say when he came, and what he would say
to her, and how they would brew him a glass of punch such as he
loved, before they suffered him to say a word of his own adventures,
and how she would fill for him a pipe of tobacco, thinking—poor
wretch!—that her lover was unchanged not only in his affections,
but also in his manners.
Then Mr. Brinjes made his dinner. That is to say, he fried his
beefsteak and onions, and presently ate them up, with a tankard of
black beer. After dinner he took a glass of punch, filled and
smoked a pipe of tobacco, and then, rolling himself in his pillows,
fell fast asleep, as was his wont.
Bess meantime, her wrath subdued, sat in the window-seat,
waiting. But the step she looked for came not".
So passed the afternoon.
Towards three o'clock, Mr. "Westmoreland, who had been so
much occupied with his work that he forgot his dinner, began to
feel certain pangs in the internal regions, which he at first attributed
to colic, and blamed himself for greediness at meals; but as the
pain increased and became intolerable, he pushed away his papers,
and sat up, suddenly remembering that he had not had any dinner'
at all, and that these were pangs of hunger. Three o'clock and no
dinner! Where in the world was Bess ?
He was accustomed, however, to small consideration from
women, and proceeded to rummage in the cupboard, where he
found some cold provisions, off which he made a very good dinner.
Then, as the day was fine and the sun shining, he stood in the door¬
way enjoying the warmth.
As he stood there, he saw, marching up the street, no other than
the Lieutenant himself, whom he recognised, though he was greatly
changed, having now not only filled out in figure, and become a
man, who when last seen was a stripling, but having acquired the
dignity of the quarter-deck, and the assurance which comes of
exercising authority.
However changed, Jack did not forget his old friend.
' What!' he said, ' Mr. Westmoreland 1 Thou art well, I hope,
my friend ?'
' I am better than I deserve to be, sir, and glad to see your
Honour safe home again.'
' Why, Mr. Westmoreland, the bullet that has my heart for its
billet hath not yet found me, though it may be already cast for
aught I know. Thou art still busied with logarithms ? '
'By the blessing of Heaven, sir,' said Mr. Westmoreland. 'I
VERY WELL ELLEN 213
have had much to do, both in the advancement of fine penmanship
and the calculation of the logarithmic tables.'
Jack nodded and passed on ; but he remembered something, and
laughed. Then he hesitated, and looked back into the Penman's
room.
'You had a daughter, Mr. Westmoreland-—Bess, her name was,
and a comely girl. I hope she is well. But I see her not in the
shop. No doubt she is married long ago, and the mother of thump¬
ing twins.'
He laughed, and nodded, and went on his way.
' My daughter, your Honour,' Mr. Westmoreland began, but the
Lieutenant was already out of hearing.
' Now,' said the Penman, ' saw one ever a better heart ? He
not only remembers me, which is natural, seeing that I was his in¬
structor, but he remembers my girl as well. Where is Bess ? She
will laugh when I tell her. Mother of twins! Ho, ho ! " Thumping
twins ! " he said; Bess will laugh.'
About four in the afternoon Mr. Brinjes woke up, and slowly
recovered consciousness, until he felt strong enough to take his
afternoon punch; after which he sat up, and became brisk again,
looking about the room, and remembering all that had been said.
' Bess,' he cried, ' hath your lover come ? '
She shook her head.
' Courage, my girl, courage. Perhaps when he sees thy comely
face again he will remember. What! To be loved by such a girl
would fire an Esquimaux or a Laplander. Take courage, therefore.
There is no more beautiful woman in Deptford, Bess. Take
courage.'
'I am waiting for my sweetheart,' she replied, coldly. 'Why
should I take courage ? He hath been delayed by his affairs. He
will come presently.'
'Bess,' Mr. Brinjes whispered, 'there is a way to bring him
back.'
' To bring him back ? This old man will drive me mad !'
' There is a way, Bess. The old negro woman gave thee a
charm to keep him safe from shot and steel. She will give thee
one, if I compel her, to bring him to thy knees. Nay, she will not
at thy bidding. And for why ? Because she wants Miss Castilla
to marry the Lieutenant. Yet, if I compel her, she will make thee
such a charm. Then he must needs come straight to thee, his heart
mad with love, though a hundred fine ladies tried to drag him back.'
' I know not what you mean.'
Mr. Brinjes took up his famous magic stick, the stick with the
skull upon it. ' It is by virtue of this stick, which gives its
possessor, she believes, greater Obeah wisdom than she hath her¬
self attained unto. Wherefore, if I order her to do a thing she
cannot choose but obey, else I might put Obi upon her. She hath
given me the secrets of all her drugs, by means of which, if I live
long enough, I may find out the greatest secret of all, and be like
214 THE WORLD WENT
unto the immortal angels. She shall ohey me in this as well, Bess,
Say but the word, and she shall bring him back, though Castilla die
for love of the handsome Lieutenant.'
' No, no,' said Bess. ' He has not forgotten me.'
' Child, I knoio that he has. Why, when he went away, if he
thought of you his eyes softened. He could not look upon me
without remembering his days spent in this room. Yet his eyes
softened not. Believe me, he will come here no more. It is
strange. ... I know not what will happen. . . . Sure I am that I
shall sail once more upon the Southern Seas, with Jack upon the
quarter-deck. A dozen times or more have I inquired of Phila-
delphy, and still she sees a ship with Jack—and me—and you,
Bess—you. Why, I am ninety years of age, and more, girl. Shall
I get that charm for thee ? If I could get it no other way I would
even bribe her with this stick, when all my Obi leaves me, and I
shall cause and cure diseases no better than the quacks of Horn
Fair and of Bartholomew.'
But Bess shook her head.
' I will have no charm,' she said. ' If Jack will forget me, let
him forget me. But he has got my name tattooed upon his arm,
and he has got my lock tied round his wrist. If these will not
charm him back, nothing else shall.'
So she fell into silence. But at seven in the evening, when Mr.
Brinjes put on his wig and coat for the Club, she arose and went
home.
' Why,' said her father, ' where hast been all day, girl ? There
was no dinner. Well; it matters not'—because her face warned
him not to rebuke her—' it matters not, and, indeed, I found enough
cold bits in the cupboard. But, Bess, thou hast missed a sight.'
' What sight ? '
' The sight of a gallant gentleman. I have seen the Lieutenant.
He passed by this way to the Admiral's. 'Tis a brave officer now,
no taller, perhaps, than when he left us last; but then he was a
stripling, and now he is well filled out and set up as brave and
comely as one would wish to set eyes upon.'
' And he came to the shop to see me, then ? '
'You, Bess ? Why should he wish to see you? No—no. . . .
A gentleman like that cannot be expected to remember a mere
girl. But he had not forgotten me, for when I saw him and took ofiE
my cap to him, he stopped and kindly asked me how I fared. His
Honour is not one who forgets his humble friends.'
' Did he ask after me ? '
'He did, I warrant. He said, "You had a daughter, Mr.
Westmoreland." So he looked into the room as if he would give
you, too, a greeting; but no one was there. So he said, " But she
is married long ago, I dare swear, and hath thumping twins by this
time." "Thumping twins," he said, Bess. His Honour was
always a merry lad. He remembered me directly; and he hath
not even forgotten thee, Bess. Do not think it.'
VERY WELL THEN 215
He had not, indeed. But his remembrance was worse than his
forgetfulness. Better to have been forgotten than to be thus re¬
membered.
Then her father left her, to take his pipe and have his evening
talk with his cronies; and Bess was left alone in the house. Just
so, nearly three years before, she had been left sitting by the fire,
when her lover came to her and embraced her, with words which he
had now forgotten but she remembered still! Oh, if he should
now, as then, lift the latch, and find her there alone, and she could
fall upon his breast and tell him all the things in her heart!
She listened for his footstep. Other steps passed by the house,
but not the step she looked for; and then her father came home,
cheerful and full of talk about the gallant deeds of the Lieutenant,
and she must needs give him his supper and listen and make reply.
The Apothecary was right when he said, ' Sleep on, Bess, sleep
on. Thou wilt sleep but little to-morrow night.'
CHAPTER XXIX.
'HE hath suffered a sea change.'
Our Lieutenant was engaged all the morning with the Port
Admiral and with the Navy Office, but in the after part of the day
the Admiral made a great feast for him, as he had done on his last
return, to which I was bidden with the rest. But the change which
I perceived in him greatly surprised me, and, indeed, all of us.
For the young sea-cub, rude in speech and careless of behaviour,
was quite gone. Behold in his place a gentleman of polite manners,
and as careful of his speech as if he had been all his life in St.
James's Street. This was indeed astonishing.
There are, it is certain, too many Captains in the King's ships
who have never known better company than they find in a Ports¬
mouth tavern, so that the ridicule which has been lavished upon
naval Captains is not undeserved; there are also ships which are no
better, as a school of maimers for the young officers, than Portsea
Hard, so that the Lieutenants and Midshipmen in such vessels
hear nothing but rough language with profane swearing, and, even
at the Captain's table, which is copied in the ward-room and the
gun-room, find the manners of a Newcastle collier. There are also
Captains who should never have left the polite part of town,
because they pine continually for the pleasures of the theatre and
Ranelagh, the clubs of St. James's Street, Covent Garden suppers
and gambling-houses ; who reek of bergamot, and appear daily on
the quarter-deck dressed as if for the Park, and in their hair not a
curl out of place, or a single touch of pomatum and powder abated.
These men are not those who crowd all sail in pursuit of the enemy,
and hasten to lay yard-arm to yard-arm. The sailors call them
216
THE WORLD WENT
Jacky Fal-las, and respect nothing in them but their authority over
the cat-o'-nine-tails. Other Captains again there are (under one of
them it was Jack's good fortune to serve) who possess such manners,
and in their cabins exhibit and expect such conversation and be¬
haviour, as one finds in the most polite assembly, yet are no whit
behind the most old-fashioned sea-dog in courage. What could we
expect of Jack when he came home to us, after four years spent in
wandering among savages, and in a French prison among common
sailors, but that he should be rude and rough ? What else could we
expect, after sailing under a commanding officer of good birth and
breeding, than that he should return with polished manners and
softened language ?
This fact explained part of the change which had taken place in
him. But it did not explain all, for Jack, who had formerly
avoided the society of ladies, now astonished us by his demeanour
towards Madam and Castilla, especially the latter, whose con¬
versation he courted, addressing himself to her continually, so
that she was fain to blush under his manifest and undisguised
admiration.
This would not have been wonderful in any other man, because
eyes of heavenly blue, light brown curls, delicate features, a lovely
shape, and the sweetest complexion in the world, might well call
forth admiration. But Castilla could boast the same charms,
though not so ripe, three years before, when they moved him not
a whit. Bather, he regarded them with the contempt of one who
has only eyes for the darker charms. Alas! the same look was
gathering in his eyes—the look of tenderness and of a hungry
yearning—while he gazed upon Castilla which had once been
kindled by the black eyes of our poor Bess.
' Now,' cried the Admiral, when Madam retired with Castilla,
' fore Gad! we'll make a night of it. Clean glasses, ye black
devils, and brisk about!—Jack, I hope the liquor is to your liking.
I love the Mediterranean, for my own part, because the wine is
cheap, and strong, and plenty.—Drink about, gentlemen, and when
you are tired of the port we will have in the punch. Gentlemen,
let us drink the health of the Lieutenant 1'
So the bottle began to fly, and the company presently grew
merry, and all began to talk together, every man speaking of the
glorious actions in which he had taken part; and, as is natural
when the heart is uplifted with generous wine, every man thinking
that the victory was won by his own valour. Thus, the Admiral
related how he had planted the British flag on the island of
Tobago; and before he had finished the narrative Mr. Shelvocke
interrupted in order to tell the company that it was he alone who
had, with his own hand, sacked and burned the town of Payta, and
it was he who boarded the Spanish ships on their escape from
Juan Fernandez; next, the good old Admiral struck in again to
explain who it was that had made Sir Cloudesley Shovel's victories
possible. Captain Mayne, at the same moment, remembered that
VERY WELL THEN
217
the powerful assistance he had lent to Admiral Vernon at Porto-
bello had never been properly set forth by historians ; and so on.
But our hero, who had seen already more engagements than any
man present, though he was not yet twenty-four, spoke little, and
I observed, which was indeed remarkable in a naval officer, and
would be, in this drinking age, remarkable in any man, that he did
not drink deep. Presently, when the others were flushed in the
cheeks, and some of them thick of speech—the first signs of drunken¬
ness—Jack rose, saying:
' By your leave, Admiral, I will join the ladies.'
' What ? ' said the Admiral. ' Desert the company ? Exchange
the bottle for a parcel of women ? For shame, Jack, for shame !
The punch is coming, dear lad: sit down—sit down.'
But Jack persisted, and I rose too.
' Go, then !' the Admiral roared, with a great oath. ' Go, then,
for a brace of gulpins !'
The ladies, who expected nothing but an evening to themselves,
as is generally their lot when the men are drinking together, were
greatly astonished at our appearance.
'Indeed, Jack,' said Castilla,' Luke, we know, does not disdain
a dish of tea with us. But you—oh 1 I fear you will find our
beverage as insipid as our conversation.'
Formerly, Jack would have replied to this sally that, d'ye see,
Luke was a grass comber and a land swab, but that for himself,
there was no tea aboard ship, and a glass of punch or a bowl of
flip was worth all the tea ever brought from China—or words to
that effect. Now, however, he laughed, and said, ' Nay, Castilla,
was I ever so rude as to find your conversation insipid ? As for
your tea, it will, certainly, since you make it, be more delicious
than all the Admiral's port.'
At this she blushed again, and presently made the tea and gave
him a cup with her own hands, hoping it was sweetened to his
liking; and he drank it as if he was accustomed to taking it every
day, though I know not when he had taken tea last. He would
not, however, drink a second cup, which shows that he did not
greatly admire its taste. Now, at the Bainbow, in Fleet Street,
I have seen gentlemen who will take their six or seven cups of tea
one after the other at a sitting. And the same thing may be seen
with ladies when the hissing urn has been brought in and the tea
goes round.
Then Castilla asked him a hundred questions about his cruise
and his battles, which Jack answered modestly and briefly, while
Btill in his eyes I marked that look of admiration—I knew it
Well—growing deeper and more hungry ; and Castilla, observing it
too, continually blushed and stammered, and yet went on prattling,
as if his looks fascinated her, as they say that in some countries a
snake will so charm a bird that it will sit, still singing, until he
darts upon it and swallows it up.
After this he asked her to sing. Her voice was gentle and
218
THE WORLD WENT
sweet, but of small power, and in the old days it had no charms for
him, compared with the strong full voice which was at his service
in the Apothecary's parlour. But she complied, and sang all the
songs she knew in succession.
Jack listened, enthralled. ' 'Tis well,' he said, with a deep sigh,
' that we have no Castilla on board.'
'Why, Jack?'
' Because life would be so sweet that the men would not fight,
for fear of being killed.'
' Thank you, Jack,' she said. ' I never expected so fine a com¬
pliment on my poor singing.'
' There never were any Sirens on board ship,' I said, clumsily.
' They are always on land, and sing to lure poor sailors to
destruction.'
' Fie for shame, Luke !' cried Castilla. ' That was not prettily
said. Am I trying to lure Jack to his destruction, pray ? '
We all laughed: and yet, when one comes to think of that
evening, I perceive that this innocent creature was actually and
unconsciously playing the part of the ancient Siren, because she
certainly lured the Lieutenant to the fate that awaited him.
Then Jack offered to sing, somewhat to my dismay, because. I
remembered certain songs which he had formerly bawled at the
Gun Tavern and in the Apothecary's parlour. However, he now
sang, his voice being modulated and greatly softened, an old sea-
song with a burden of ' As we ride on the tide when the stormy
winds do blow' very movingly, so that the tears stood in Castilla'a
eyes.
We heard, in the next room, the voices of the Admiral and his
guests growing louder and faster, and conjectured that the evening
would be a short one. This speedily proved true, and the negroes
wheeled every man home to his own house, except the Admiral,
whom they carried upstairs. As for us, Madam went to sleep in
a chair, and we sat down to a game of Ombre, Jack showing
himself as pleased with the simple game we played as he had been
with the tea and the singing. At the same time his eyes wandered
from his cards to Castilla's face, and he played his cards badly,
losing every game.
'I cannot remember, Jack,' said Castilla, when we finished,
' that you were fond of cards when last you were at home, unless it
were All-fours.'
' He also played,' I said, ' Cribbage, Put, Laugh-and-lie-down,
and Snip-snap-snorum'—all of these being games over which,
when played with Bess, he had shown great interest.
'Nay,'he replied, earnestly, 'I entreat you, Castilla, to forget
wholly what manner of man that was who came home to you in
rags. Think that he had been for two years among the Midship¬
men, and then for three years among the savages and the Spaniards,
and then was thrown into a French prison to mess with common
sailors. If you do not forget that rude savage, forgive him, and
VERY WELL THEN
219
understand that he has gone, and will no more he seen. As for the
things he did, I look upon them with wonder. Why, if I remember
aright, Luke, that sea-swab did not disdain to fight a smuggler
fellow at Horn Fair before all his friends.'
' He did not, Jack,' I said. ' But we loved the sea-swab.'
' We should have loved him better, Luke,' said Castilla, gently,
* if he had given more of his company to ourselves and less to the
Apothecary. I know how his afternoons were spent, sir.' She
nodded and laughed, and he changed colour and started; but, of
course, Castilla knew nothing about Bess.
' He is gone,' Jack repeated, ' and I hope that a better man has
taken his place. As for your society, Castilla, he must be an
insensate wretch indeed who would not find himself happy when
you are present.'
' Thank you, Jack;' she made him a curtsey and smiled, yet
blushed a little. ' I perceive that another man indeed has taken
his place. Poor honest Jack! He spoke his mind, and loved not
girls. Yet we loved him—perhaps.' She looked up at him, but
dropped her eyes beneath his ardent gaze. ' Perhaps, before
long '
'Perhaps, Castilla,'said Jack, earnestly, 'you maybe able to
love the new man better than the old.'
' It is late,' she said, blushing again. ' Good night, Jack.' She
gave him her hand, which he held for a moment, looking down upon
the pretty slender creature with eyes full of love. And then she
left us, and went to bed.
I declare solemnly that I had loved Castilla ever since I could
talk ; yet in one evening this sailor made fiercer and more deter¬
mined love to her than I in all those years. Indeed, as she hath
since confessed to me, she knew not, and did not even so much as
suspect, that I loved her.
' Come into the open, dear lad,' said Jack, presently, after a pro¬
found sigh. ' Let us go into the garden, and talk.'
In the garden, what with the twilight of the season and the full
moon, it was as bright as day, though eleven o'clock was striking by
St. Nicholas' Church clock. We walked upon the trim bowling-
green, and talked.
'There is her bedroom,' said Jack, looking at the light in
Castilla's chamber. ' See, she has put out the candle. She is
lying down to sleep. What—oh, lad!—what can a creature like
that, so delicate and so fragile, think of such rough, coarse animals
as ourselves ? Bo you think that she can ever forget or forgive the
rude things I have said to her? Bo you think she remembers
them, and would pay them back ?
' Jack, Castilla has nothing to remember or to forgive. Bo you
think she harbours resentment for the little rubs of her childhood? '
' She is all goodness, Luke ; of that I am convinced. She is as
good as she is truly beautiful; of that I need not to be told. As for
her beauty, there is nothing in the world more lovely than her
220
THE WORLD WENT
English blue eyes and fair hair. It is by special Providence, I
suppose, and to reward us for hating the Pope and the French, that
they are made as good as they are beautiful.' _
' Did you always prefer fair hair to dark, Jack ? ' I asked, in
wonder that a man should have so changed and should have for¬
gotten so much.
' As for what I used to say and think, dear lad, let that never be
mentioned between us. Why, it shames me to think of what an
unmannerly cur I must have seemed to all, in those days. Talk
not of them, Luke, my lad.'
Poor Bess ! She was included among the things belonging to
those days. I dared not question him further.
' It is our unhappiness,' he went on, ' that, though we would
willingly remain on shore, honour and our own interest call us to go
to sea again. Therefore I know not how far a man who is at
present only a Lieutenant might hope to win so fair a prize as
Castilla. To be sure, she is a sailor's daughter, and knows what she
would expect as a sailor's wife. Yet to leave her alone, and without
protection! She would have you, to be sure, for her protector,
while I am gone.'
Heavens! It was not yet three years since he had solemnly
committed another woman to my care. Had he quite forgotten
that ?
'In a word, Jack,' I said, with bitterness in my heart, 'you have
seen Castilla, since your return, but three or four hours, and you are
already in love with her.'
' That is true,' he replied. ' I am in love with her. Why,' he
laughed, ' you are thinking, I dare swear, of three years ago, when
you caught me in a certain summer-house, kissing another girl.'
I acknowledged that I remembered the fact. ' Is she,' I asked,
' quite forgotten ? Yet you swore that you loved her, and vowed
constancy.'
' Well, my lad, every sailor is allowed to be in love as often as he
comes ashore, for that matter. And as for the girl—what was her
name ?—I believe I did make love to her for a while. And now I
hear that she is married, and already the mother of twins.'
' Who told you that ? '
' Her father, the Penman.'
'But it is not true, Jack. How could he have told you such a
thing ? Bess hath never forgotten you.'
' True, or not true, I care not a rope's-end. I am in love with
Castilla. Already, you say ? Why, a man who did not fall in love
with this sweet creature at the very first sight of her would not be
half a man. I expect to fight my way through a hundred suitors,
to get her hand. The Admiral loves me, and I think he would
willingly make me his son-in-law. But I must go to sea once
more before I can offer to marry her. Therefore, for her sake, I
shall go to London, and turn Courtier. I shall attend the noble¬
man who once promised me an appointment. He hath now,
VERY WELL THEN
221
doubtless, forgotten both the making and the breaking of that
promise. That matters nothing. I shall pay my court to him. I
shall practise those arts by which men creep into snug places: it
needs but a supple back and an oily tongue. Come to see me in a
week or two, and I will wager that I shall be his Lordship's obe¬
dient servant, and that he will presently give me a command, if
only of a pink; and that Castilla shall be promised to me.'
All these things came to pass, indeed. Yet the result was not,
as you shall learn, what he looked for.
CHAPTER XXX.
ALAS ! POOR BESS !
Alas ! poor Bess !
You have heard how she spent the first day, and with what a
heavy heart she went to bed. In the morning she plucked up
heart a little. As for what the Lieutenant said to her father, what
matter if he did say that she was already married ? It was his
joke—Jack would ever have his joke. He had been busy all day.
The evening he must needs spend with the Admiral, his patron
and benefactor. But he would not—he could not—fail to see her
the second day. So again she dressed in her best, and repaired
early to her place in the Apothecary's parlour, where she took her
seat and waited. But she laughed no longer, nor did she prattle.
Jack came not; he was in London, taking a lodging in Ryder
Street, and buying brave things in which to wait upon his Lordship.
And the third day she went again—but now with white cheeks and
heavy eyes, and she rocked herself to and fro, replying nothing,
whatever Mr. Brinjes might say to her.
In the afternoon of that day I went in search of her, being
anxious, and dreading mischief.
'I know not,' said Mr. "Westmoreland, getting off the stool, 'I
know not, indeed, Mr. Luke, what hath happened to the girl, nor
where she is, unless she is in Mr. Brinjes' parlour, where most of
her days are spent. These three days she hath forgotten to give
me any meals, and hath left me alone all day ; while in the even¬
ing, when I come home, she either sits mum or she goes upstairs.
Nothing disturbs the mind in the midst of logarithms more than
a doubt whether there will be any dinner to eat or any supper.
At this time of the year I commonly look for soft cheese and a
cucumber. But now I have to get what I can. I know not what
ails her. If I did know I question whether I could find any remedy,
seeing that she is so headstrong. Sometimes I doubt whether there
is some love trouble on her mind. Yet I know not with whom.
It cannot be with Aaron Fletcher, because she has refused the
voung man several times. Besides, his affairs are said to be well-
pi«rh desperate, his boat being lost, his yard burned down, his boat
222
THE WORLD WENT
building business thrown away; yet, if it is not Aaron, who can it
be'? Because, sir, though my daughter hath her faults, and those
many, being as to temper equalled only by her mother, now in
Abraham's bosom, or—or—perhaps elsewhere,' he added, being a
truthful man, ' yet she is not one who courts the company of men,
nor listens willingly to the voice of love.'
Mr. Brinjes, though it was in the afternoon, was talking with
his assistant in his shop.
'You will find her,' he said, 'within. I have left her for five
minutes, for it teases me to see her thus despairing. The worst
has yet to come, because she is not a girl to sit down peaceably
under this contempt. Well, for that matter, every sailor is incon¬
stant, if you please ; and the women know it, and expect it. But
Bess is no common Poll o' the Point, who looks for nothing else
than to be forgotten. Nor did she first seek him out. Yet I knew
what would happen, because such love as his was too hot to last—
else would it burn him up. There was a Bristol man in Captain
Roberts' company was consumed for love of a young Coromantyn
girl, wasting away and crying out that he was on fire, yet never
happy unless she was at his side. It is a natural witchery which
a few women possess, by which they make men love them, and
draw the very soul out of the man they love. Bess hath this power:
she can make any man love her, and when she loves a man she
can bewitch him so that he shall never be happy but at her feet.
Why, Jack hath forgotten her. Yet it is most true that, if he
but come back to her for a single day, he would fall at her feet
again.'
' Nay,' I said, ' he is already in love with another woman.'
' Miss Castilla, the Admiral's daughter. It is a passing fancy,
because she is a pretty creature, small and slender. But to
compare her with Bess!—to think that a man can love her
as he can love Bess ! There, you know nothing of love. Go
in there, and I will follow. I have known,' he continued, being
garrulous, as old men often are, ' I have known such cases as this
of Bess—the jealous woman who hath been forgotten—ay, I have
known them by the hundred. Sometimes they take it with a
sudden rage; sometimes they cry out for a knife, and would kill
their faithless lover first and themselves next; sometimes they
throw themselves into the water; sometimes they murder the other
woman; sometimes they laugh, and lay by for a chance of revenge.
One woman I knew who concealed her wrath for twenty years, but
revenged herself in the end. Sometimes they make up their minds
that it matters little. This case is peculiar ; for the patient is not
in a rage—as yet; nor has she called for a knife—as yet; nor has
she promised to hang herself—as yet; but she sits and waits; and
all the time the humours are mounting to the brain; so that we are
only at the beginning of the disorder, and my forecast as to this
disease is, my lad, that we shall have trouble. What ? Is a fine
high-spirited girl to be shoved aside into the gutter without a worcl
VERY WELL THEN 223
said, or any cause pretended ? Not so, sir ; not so. There will be
trouble.'
I passed into the parlour with trepidation. Bess lifted her head.
Her face was pale and haggard; wildness was in her eyes.
'Where is he ? ' she cried. 'You call yourself my friend, yet
you come without him. Where is he ? '
' I do not know, Bess, where he is, unless that he is somewhere
in London.'
' I believe it is you who have kept him from me—yet you call
yourself my friend. You have set him against me. Though what
you have found to say I know not. I have not so much as looked
at another man since he went away, and I have kept his secret for
him, so that no one suspects. How dare you put yourself between
my sweetheart and me ? '
'Indeed, Bess,' I told her, 'T have said nothing against you.
I have not put myself between Jack and you. I have said nothing.'
Then she began to rail at me for my silence. Why had I not
spoken of her? Why had I not reminded him of his faith and
promised constancy ? ' And where is he,' she repeated, ' that he
does not come to me ? Is he afraid of me ? Doth he try to hide
himself out of my way ? '
I told her that he was in lodgings in town, and that his time
was taken up with his affairs. And then, because she began to
upbraid me again, I thought it was better to tell her the truth, and,
therefore, said plainly that the Lieutenant loved her no longer; that
he had, indeed, given me to understand, without the possibility of a
mistake, that the past was clean forgotten, and gone out of his mind.
I was sorry—truly, I was sorry—for the poor creature. For
every word I said was nothing less than a dagger into her heart.
A man must have been as hard-hearted as a Romish inquisitor not
to have felt sorry for her. She heard me with parted hps and
panting breath. Is there, I wonder, a more dreadful task than to
be the messenger to tell a fond woman that the man she loves now
loathes her ?
Seeing that she received my information with no more outward
symptom of wrath, I began to point out, to the best of my ability,
that Lieutenant Easterbrook, when he fell in love with her, was still
less than twenty years of age, who had been for six years separated
from his countrywomen, and had forgotten what an Englishwoman
should be ; that he might have fallen in love with one of his own
rank, but for his long wanderings among savages, and his imprison¬
ment with common sailors, which had left him rough and rude in
manners; that things were now quite changed, because he was not
only an officer of some rank, but was now a gallant gentleman,
keeping company of the best, and might, if he desired, marry an
heiress • that his long silence ought to have prepared her for the
change' in his disposition ; and that, seehig nobody except Mr.
Brinjes and myself knew of what had happened, a wise and prudent
girl would show her pride, and take her reveng6 by showing that
«4
THE WORLD WENT
she cared nothing for his neglect. In fact, I said on this occasion
all that was proper to be said. Mr. Brinjes sat silent in his chair,
but kept his eye upon Bess, as if expecting that something would
happen.
Then, long before I had finished all I had to say, Bess suddenly
sprang to her feet with a cry, and burst forth into wild and ungo-
verned wrath. I have seen fishwives fighting at Billingsgate, a ring
of men and women round them, and a truly dreadful thing it is to
see women stripped for battle and using their fists like men; never
before, or since, have I seen a young and beautiful girl thus give
way to passion uncontrolled. At first she could find no words to
express her wrath; she clutched at her heart; she tore down her
hair; she gasped for breath; she swung her arms abroad; she
swayed her body backward and forward. I looked to see Mr.
Brinjes go seek his lancet, and give her relief by breathing a vein.
But he did not. He sat looking on coldly and anxiously, as if he
was watching the progress of a fever. Presently she found words.
I will not write down what sho said, because, as regards myself
and Mr. Brinjes, her reproaches were wholly undeserved, and,
indeed, we had been throughout her best friends. Besides, the
ravings of a femina furens, or woman mad with jealousy and dis¬
appointed love, ought not to be set down, any more than those of a
man in delirium. When she came to speak of her faithless lover
she choked, and presently stopped and was silent. But, poor soul!
all the while she looked from one to the other of us as if to find hope
in our faces, but saw none. Finally, she shrieked aloud, as if she
could no longer bear this agony, and hurled herself headlong upon
the floor, and so lay, her head upon her hands, her whole body
convulsed.
'Let be, let be,' said Mr. Brinjes ; ' after this she will be better.
The storm was bound to burst. Better that it should rage in this
room than that she should go to a certain house we know of'—
he jerked his finger in the direction of the Admiral's. ' Say nothing
to her ; if you speak you will make her worse. Presently she will
come round. What ? Nature can go no farther, unless she would
wear herself to pieces. And they never go so far as that, whatever
their wrath, because the pain of the body becomes intolerable.'
He spoke as if she could not hear or was insensible, which I
take to have been the case, for in five minutes or so she sat up,
taking no notice of what had been said, and became partly rational,
and said calmly, sitting on the floor, that she should go away and kill
Jack first, and herself afterwards; and she declared that, if he
dared to address any other woman, she would tear her limb from
limb. So that I trembled for Castilla. But Mr. Brinjes looked on
without surprise or terror, murmuring, ' Let be, let be ; it will do
her good. And I have seen them worse.'
And, indeed, presently she arose from the ground and tied up
her beautiful hair, which had fallen about her shoulders, and
smoothed her disordered frock, and sat down again in the window-
VERY WELL THEN 225
seat, clasping her knees with her hands, moaning and weeping, and
rocking herself to and fro. And at this symptom of progress or
development of the ' case,' the Apothecary nodded and winked at
me, as mnch as to say that the disease was taking a favourable
turn.
He knew the symptoms, this learned physician, who had studied
woman's nature where it is the most ungovernable and the most
exposed t© observation, among the negresses, and, I suppose, applied
to more civilised women the rules he had learned among these
artless pagans. For, in fact, she speedily ceased either to weep or
to moan, but sat upright, drew a long breath, and spoke quite
gently and prettily, like a little child who has been naughty, and
now promises to be good again.
' I am sorry,' she said, 'that I have given so much trouble—I
will never do it again. Mr. Brinjes, you have not had your nap,
nor your afternoon punch, through my fault. I will mix you a
glass, and then you shall go to sleep.' She did so, and arranged
his pillows for him, and in a few minutes afterwards the old man
was sound asleep. Then Bess turned to me. ' Forgive me, Luke,'
she said, giving me her hand; 'you are my best friend—except
this poor old man, yon are my only friend. You have never been
weary of teaching me how a gentlewoman should behave, so that I
should be worthy of a gentleman : and now it has ended in this.
He has forgotten me, who have never forgotten him—no, not for a
moment, since the day when first he told me—oh ! the happy day !
He came into the room where I was sitting before the fire and took
me in his arms—oh! in his arms ! Could I ever forget him ?
No—no ; not for a moment.'
' My poor Bess 1' I said. ' What can I say—what do—for you
in this dreadful trouble ? '
The tears stood in her eyes, but she wept no longer.
' I know,' she said, after a while,' what I will do. Here is his
letter to me.' She drew it from her bosom. It went to my heart
to see the prettily worked silken bag she had made for it with her
own hands. ' First, you shall take it to him, Luke, and give it to
him yourself. Will you do so much for me ? It is not a great
thing to ask you, is it ? Give it to him and tell him that he must
read it, and then bring it baok to me. And, Luke, dear Luke, you
have always been kind to me, always my friend, though you know
nothing about love, do you ? Else you would understand that a
woman would rather die than lose her lover. Give him the letter.
When he reads it, he will remember, and then herthen, Luke !
You will tell him—oh ! tell him '—she laid her hands upon my
arm, and gazed upon me with imploring eyes—'tell him, dear
friend, that I am more beautiful than ever—Mr. Brinjes says I am
and'that I have tried to teach myself the ways of a gentlewoman,
for his sake ; and that I can read and write, a little, so that he shall
not be ashamed of me ; and that I associate no more with the other
girls, and have been true to him ever since he went away. Tell
226
THE WORLD WENT
him all, Luke, and everything else that you can think of that la
kind and friendly, and that will make him want to see me again.
Oh, if he were here in this room with me for one hour he would
love me again !'
' I will take the letter, Bess,' I told her, moved to tears ; ' and
I will give it to him myself, and tell him all that you wish; and
more—more, my poor Bess !'
' When will you give it to him ? '
' To-morrow. "Will that do ? '
So with that promise she appeared to be more contented, and
went away, though with hanging head—the poor, fond, loving girl!
' You may give the Lieutenant that letter,' said the Apothecary,
' and you may tell him what you please. But, if I know Jack
Easterbrook, you might as well try to knock him down with a
feather. As for making her his wife, it is out of the question; and
to become his mistress without being his wife, Bess would not con¬
sent ; nor, I think, would Jack ask her. Because, d'ye see, he no
longer cares a rope's yarn about her. Yet, if he would come here
for a single hour—Bess knows her power—trust a woman who has
that power. But I think he will not come. And so there will be
trouble—I know not yet of what kind—there will be trouble.'
CHAPTER XXXI.
an ambassador of love.
I readily accepted the mission; but, like many other ambassadors,
I hesitated when the time came to discharge my trust. For Jack
was like those Oriental Bashaws who cut off the heads of messen¬
gers that bring uncomfortable tidings. First, I thought it would
be best to give the letter to him at Deptford, so that, if he was
moved by pity, or by love, he might go straight to the poor girl
and offer her consolation. But I had promised to give it the very
next day. Therefore I plucked up courage, and made my way
to his lodgings, the letter in my pocket, knowing full well that he
would take my interference ill, being too masterful to brook counsel,
advice, or admonition from anyone, unless it came as an order
from a superior officer.
It was about ten o'clock in the morning when I reached his
lodging in Ryder Street. He was sitting wrapped in a sheet, while
the barber was finishing his hair with the powder puff. On the
table stood his morning chocolate and cream.
' Ho 1' he cried. ' Here is the Prince of Painters. Art come
to paint me a portrait, Luke ?' (N.B.—I did paint his portrait,
and have it still, a speaking likeness, and a better piece of work I
never did.) 'Wait a moment, my hearty, till this lubber hath
-finished the top dressing.'
Presently the man finished, and removed the sheet, showing
VERY WELL THEN 227
beneath it a full-dress Lieutenant's uniform—to my mind the
blue of the Navy is far more becoming to a handsome man than
the scarlet of the Army. Just as he rose from the barber's hands,
the man still standing before him, the implements of the trade in
his hand and I beside him—I heard a rustling of petticoats out¬
side, and the door was opened by a lady. She was wrapped from
head to foot in a hood, and wore a domino.
4 Madam !' said Jack, bowing low.
The lady removed her domino, and laughed, and threw off her
hood. Truly a most beautiful creature she was, and most richly
dressed. 'Twas the merriest, most roguish face that one ever saw,
with dancing eyes and laughing lips. I ought to have known the
face, because I had seen it several times; but I did not, because
an actress dressed for a Queen or a Sultana seems to change her
face as well as her frock. She was, indeed, an actress—very well
known to the world, as you would acknowledge did I write down
her name, which I shall not do, for many reasons.
4 I have found my hero, then,' said the lady, 1 in his own—
cabin—or is it on his own quarter-deck ? Are the decks cleared
for action ? Are you ready, sir, to engage the enemy ? '
4 Alas I madam,' said Jack, ' I haul down my colours, and give
up my sword.'
He fell upon one knee and kissed the hand which the lady
graciously extended to him. Now, observe that she took no kind
of notice of the barber or of myself, whom she mistook, doubtless,
for an assistant or some other kind of tradesman. I mean that in
what followed my presence was not the slightest restraint upon
her.
41 am a rash creature,' she said, 4 to imperil my reputation by
visiting a Lieutenant of the King's Navy alone in the morning.
Suppose I had been observed.'
' Madam'—Jack made her so fine a bow that I could not help
thinking of the Jack who had come home in rags three years
before—4 could I desire a more delightful task than the defence of
your reputation ?'
'I thank you, Lieutenant. But I have a readier defence in
my hood and domino. A woman's reputation is quite safe, I
assure you, so long as she is not seen. It is in this respect unlike
so many gentlemen's honour, which is only safe so long as they
are seen. I came not, however, for compliments. First of all, I
came to say that I shall be alone this afternoon. You can visit
me, if you please. Next, my Lord is coming to supper with me
after the theatre. He will presently call here himself, or send a
letter, and will invite you to come with him. To oblige me, Lieu¬
tenant, you will come.'
' Madam,' said Jack, with a smiling face, 'you were born, sure,
to make me the happiest of men.'
4 The happiest of men I' she repeated, merrily laughing. 4 Oh 1
what creatures we women would esteem ourselves, since, with
Q 2
228
THE WORLD WENT
Buch little trouble, we can make men happy! And how miserable
are we that it takes so much more to make us happy ! Heigho I
You are made happy with a smile, or a kind word, or a hand to
kiss, or permission to take supper with us—while we .... Oh!
we know how little these things are worth. Therefore .... No,
sir, you have kissed my hand already.' At this point the barber,
who had now gathered up his tools, retired from the room. I re«
treated to the window, and gazed upon the street, as if I was
anxious not to listen. She, however, took no notice of my presence.
' Come this afternoon, then, and this evening, after you have seen
me from the front, you can join my Lord. But that is not all I
had to say, oh, happiest of men !' She laughed again. ' This will
make you indeed a happy man, if the roar of the cannons and
the groans of wounded men are sweeter than the smiles of women.'
' Indeed, madam, I cannot understand '
' "What I have now to tell will, I dare say, make a round dozen
of women miserable, for my hero is a handsome hero. But not
me, sir. Oh, pray do not think that! An actress, everybody
knows, hath no heart. She is but a toy, to be laughed at and
played with, until the men find another which is newer, and hath
less of the gilt rubbed off. Yet I shall be sorry, Jack—do your
friends call you Jack ?—though it is but the day before yesterday
that I made your acquaintance, sir.'
' Still, madam,' he persisted, ' I know not '
'This is a very fine coat, Jack,' she went on, laying her hand,
covered with a white glove, upon his sleeve. ' I love the colour.
'Tis a new coat, too, so that 'twill be a pity to buy another.
Perhaps, however, this may be made to do, and methinks it will
be greatly improved if we put a little lace upon the lapels and
cuffs, and change the button for one with a crown instead of an
anchor.'
' Madam !' He started, and changed countenance, because
these additions mark the rank of Captain. ' Madam 1 Is it pos¬
sible ?'
' Why, Jack, when a handsome lad does a woman so great a
service, and for all his reward wants nothing but to be sent away
from her sight, I doubt whether she is not a fool for her pains if
she help him—yet ' here she sighed. 'His Majesty's frigate
" Calypso," the " Sapphire's " prize, is to be refitted without delay
and commissioned. Go, take possession of your own quarter-deck,
Captain Easterbrook. Perhaps the next lady whose jewels you
save from robbers may make you an Admiral.' With this she
curtseyed, so as to sweep the ground, as they are wont to do upon
the stage.
' Oh ! madam,' he cried, ' how can I show my gratitude ? '
' You will not set. sail for a week or two yet, I suppose. Come
to see me as often as you please. To my brave defender I am
always at home.'
She held out her hand, but Jack did pot, as I expected, stoop to
VERY WELL THEN 229
kiss it. On the contrary, he disregarded it altogether, and caught
her in his arms, kissing her lips and cheeks. I looked to see her
resent this familiarity with the greatest show of displeasure, for
here was no simple girl of the lower sort, like poor Bess, but a very
grand lady indeed, who, for all she was an actress, had all the
noblemen of London at her feet. But, to my astonishment, she
only laughed, and gently pushed him from her.
4 Jack,' she said, 4 thou hast truly a conquering way. Let me
go, sir 1'
She laughed again, in her merry, saucy way; put on her
domino, pulled the hood over her head, and suffered Jack to con¬
duct her to her chair, which waited without.
'Hang it, Luke!' cried Jack, when he came back. ' I forgot
that thou wast here; and I dare swear Madam never saw thee.
Must I never kiss a pretty woman but this virtuous fellow must
still be looking on, with open mouth ? '
' Shall I tell Castilla, J ack ? '—thinking of what might have
happened had Bess been there.
' Why, in a kiss there is no harm, surely; therefore there is no
need to tell Castilla. If this news be true—and it must be true—■
Luke, thou art a Puritan. As for a simple kiss which is snatched,
they like it, man. Every woman, except Castilla, who is a miracle
of goodness, likes such kisses.'
4 Who is the lady, Jack ? '
' Why, she is a great actress ; and the other night, by a lucky
chance—I was going home at midnight—I heard a woman's scream
and a trampling of feet. 'Twas but an attack upon a lady's chair
by footpads, whom it was nothing to drive off without more trouble
than to draw and to slash one of them across the face. Then I saw
her safe to her lodgings. 'Tis a grateful creature.'
4 She seems grateful,' I said. ' Do actresses often appoint com¬
manders to His Majesty's ships ?'
' No, Luke; no, my lad, they do not. These appointments are
given according to merit, seniority, courage, seamanship, and
patriotism. That is very well understood, and it is the reason why
everybody is so contented who wears the King's uniform. But
suppose that one of my Lords the Commissioners should take a
particular interest in a certain lady, and suppose this lady should
have eyes to see all these virtues combined in one man; and
suppose she should be able further so to persuade his Lordship, who,
we will again suppose, knows already something of this man. Con¬
fess, thent that it would be a lucky thing for this man were this
lady to single him out for the favour of recommendation.'
4 Truly, it would be lucky for him.'
4 Captain of the 44 Calypso," ' he exclaimed. 4 Why, have I done
badly to command a frigate at twenty-four ? What care I who ap¬
points me so that I get my chance ? Will the world know ? Have
I done anything dishonourable ? My Lord hath already promised
me promotion. I looked to be First Lieutenant perhaps—and
230 THE WORLD I VERT
now .... Lulce, my lad, I am so happy that I could e'en go back
to Deptford and fight Aaron Fletcher again, as I did three years
ago at Horn Fair.'
1 Yes, Jack; I could wish in my heart that you would fight him
again, if it were about the same woman.'
He changed countenance, but quickly recovered.
' Come, lad,' he said, ' ease thy mind, which is full of something.
Let me hear it.'
' Put out of your mind,' I said, ' Castilla and this actress and all
women, except one. I have been asked by one whom you should
remember to bring to you a certain letter, and to beg, first, that you
will read it, and next, that you will, with your own hand, restore it
to the owner.'
With this I took the letter from my pocket and gave it to him irt
its silk bag.
' Why,' he said, breaking into a laugh, as if the matter was not
serious at all, ' this is my own letter. I wrote it, I remember, one
afternoon, off Cape Finisterre—I remember the day very well.
Did the girl—Bess Westmoreland was her name—give it to thee,
Luke ? Oh ! I remember—I was in love with her. A devilish fine
girl she was, with eyes like sloes.'
He read the letter through. ' To think that I wrote that letter,
and that she believed it! " Most beautiful woman in the world.
. . . Fondest lover 1" Oho! I wonder how many such letters are
written aboard ship the first week after sailing ? As for this—why,
Luke, you had better give it back to the girl, if she wishes to keep
it. Tell her to show it to her friends as the work of a fool. Perhaps
her new lover or her husband might like to have the letter. But,
indeed, I think she had better burn the thing, in case of accidents.
Husbands do not like, generally, to read such letters.'
' She has had no other lovers, Jack, on your account.'
' Pretty fool! Bid her waste good time no longer.'
' She will suffer no man to speak to her, saying that she belongs
to you alone, and thinking you would come home to marry her.'
' I suppose,' said Jack, his face darkening, ' that the meddlesome
old Apothecary is at the bottom of this foolishness ? '
4 And myself too. Why, Jack, you solemnly placed her in my
charge. You begged me to take care of her. You tattooed her
name upon your arm. Look at your arm. What could we think ?
She has learned things for your sake, Jack—such as gentle manners;
and to restrain her tongue, and to govern herself—generally, that
is,' because I remembered the scene of yesterday. ' You would not
know her again.'
' Well, Luke, she has therefore been so far kept out of mischief,
which is good for every girl. And this is a wicked world, and sea¬
ports are full of traps for girls. Tell her, however, that now she
had better lose no time in looking for a husband in her own station.
The fellow Aaron Fletcher would, perhaps, make a good husband,
provided he kept decently sober.'
VERY WELL THEN 231
'Do not blame Mr. Brinjes. He hath warned her continually
that sailors go away and break their promises. But will you see
her, Jack ?'
' No. What the devil would be the use of my seeing her ? '
I told him how she had put on her best, and gone to wait for
him at the Apothecary's, and there waited for three long days. But
he was not softened a whit.
' It is their foolish way,' he said. ' We say fond things and
promise whatever will please them, and they believe it all. Why
they believe the nonsense, the Lord knows. As for the men who
say it, and make the promises, they believe it too, I dare say, at the
time. 'Tis pretty, too, to see them purr and coo whatever extrava¬
gances you tell them. I remember now'—but here he stopped
short in his recollections.
'Jack,' I said, 'will you pull up your sleeve, and show me your
arm ?'
He laughed and obeyed. It was his left arm, and, as we know,
it was tattooed all over with the once-loved name of Bess.
' 'Tis like the arm of any fo'k'sle tar,' he said. ' What was I, in
these days, better ? Yet, lad, the name hath no longer any meaning
to my eyes.'
' Meaning or not,' I insisted, ' will you give her the letter with
your own hand ? Jack, only let her tell you what is in her mind.
That is a small thing to do.'
' It would be more cruel than to refuse to see her at all. Trust
me, if this girl gives trouble I shall know how to deal with her. If
you have any regard for her, bid her spoil her market no longer,
and put maggots out of her head. She would marry me, would
she ? Kind soul, I thank her for it with all my heart. She would
marry me, would she ? I will tell thee a thing, my lad, which thou
wilt never find out for thyself with all thy paint-brushes—there is no
woman in the world more hateful to a man than a woman whom
he hath once loved and now loves no longer. It is like coming
back to a half-finished banquet when the dishes are cold and the
wine is stale. Yet the foolish women believe that once in love,
always in love. Better she should learn the truth at once, and so
an end.'
He gave me back the letter, and would say no more upon the
subject. But he said I must make a picture of him before he went
away, and he would be painted in the new uniform, which he would
order immediately ; and I must go instantly and tell Castilla of his
good fortune. Thus was I made a go-between, first to one and then
to the other. .
' And now, Luke, my fortune is made, 11 I am only moderately
lucky. He who is Captain at twenty-four may well be Rear-
Admiral at thirty, and command a fleet at thirty-five ; at forty he
is certainly a Knight, and perhaps a Viscount; and at seventy he
lies in Westminster Abbey. What could I hope for better,' he
asked, glowing with the joy and elation of his appointment,' than
232 THE WORLD WENT
to command a frigate, easy to handle, swift to sail ? _ Why, it will
be the "Tartar" over again in the Captain's cabin instead oi the
ward-room. That was warm work; but I hope to show^ warmer
work still. God knows, Luke,' he said, earnestly, ' I say it not in
boastfulness, I can handle a ship as well as the best man afloat,
and I can take her into action, I promise you, as bravely.'
So he talked; thinking no more at the time of the actress, or of
Castilla, or of Bess, for the thought of any ship was enough to turn
his mind from a woman, though he so easily fell in love with a
pretty girl. And while he was thus talking of his promotion, and
the things he hoped to do with his vessel, there drove to the house
a chariot, with footmen, and gold panels, very splendid, and two
gentlemen got down. They came to visit Jack. One of them was
a man no longer young, yet erect and tall, with aquiline nose and
proud eyes. He wore a satin coat, with a sash, and a star blazing
with diamonds. The other was in the uniform of the Army.
Jack sprang to his feet, and bowed to the ground. ' My Lord,'
he said, ' this is an extraordinary honour. Indeed, I could never
have expected it.'
' I have come, young gentleman,' said his Lordship, speaking
slowly and with the dignity which became his rank, 'to tender you
my thanks for the service which you performed the night before
last to a certain lady.'
' My services, my Lord, were trifling, though, fortunately, oppor¬
tune.'
' Had it not been for your assistance the lady would have lost
the jewels which she had worn at the theatre. "What other loss or
insult she escaped, I know not. I learn that, at her request, you
have already paid a visit upon her.'
' At her request, my Lord, I had that honour yesterday after¬
noon.'
'Believe me, sir, that in return for such a service there is
nothing that I can refuse you.' Jack bowed again very low. 'And
since nothing will please you so much as to go back as quickly as
possible to the fighting '
' Nothing so much, my Lord.'
' Then you must go. Your name, I find, is already favourably
known. I have therefore the pleasure of promoting for the sake of
merit alone, which is not always possible for a Commissioner. You
are promoted, sir, to the command of the " Calypso," the " Sap¬
phire's " prize.'
' My Lord,' said Jack, again bowing low, ' I have no words,
indeed, to express my gratitude for this great, this unexpected, and
undeserved favour.' Looking on from the corner of the room, beside
the window, I confess I could not help thinking that it would be
best for Madam to say nothing about that salute upon her lips.
' Then,' said his lordship, ' no more need be said.' He rose, and
added, smiling, ' Since you will have to go back in a few days to
ealt junk and pea-soup, Captain, make the most of your time
VERY IVELL TIIEN 233
ashore. There will be a supper after the play this evening. I will,
if you please to honour me with your company, carry you thither
in my coach.'
'1 am honoured to be one of your Lordship's guests,' said Jack.
4 A rolling deck, a wet cabin, the smell of tar everywhere, great
sea-boots, the waves flying over the ship, the enemy pitching can-
non-balls on board—that is what you like, Captain Easterbrook.
A Veil, sir, you will have plenty of it, for there will be a long war,
if all I hear is true. I shall see you, then, this evening.—Come,
Colonel.'
CHAPTER XXXII.
how the apothecary did his best.
4 Tell her plainly,' said Mr. Brinjes, 'what he said, and how he
looked while he said it. Spare her in nothing; so will she the
more quickly come to a right mind. "What? Didst ever see a
surgeon take off a man's leg ? Doth he chop here a cantle, and
there a snippet, for fear of causing pain ? IS ot he ! He ties his
bandages and takes his saw, and in five minutes off goes leg; and,
though the man may bellow, yet his life is saved.'
There was little hope in her face when I went in to her; the
trouble of it made my heart bleed. To think that a woman should
still so much love a man who had thrown her away with as little
thought as one throws away the rind of an apple. ... I thought
she would have hated him. But no ; at a word, she would have
arisen to follow and obey him like a slave.
'Bess,' I said, 'be brave.'
' Where is he ? '
' He is in London, at his lodgings.'
' Did you give him the letter ? '
' I did. He sent it back to you. Here it is. Courage, Bess.
No man is worth so much crying over. It is as I told you before.
He loves you no longer. When he thinks of the past, he wonders
at himself. When he remembers how much he was once in love,
he laughs.'
' Doth he laugh ? Oh ! Luke, can he laugh ? ' It was won¬
derful to her that the thing which destroyed all her happiness
could be to him only the cause of laughter.
' Bess, my dear, I am grieved to the soul that I must tell you
this. Alas 1 he laughs. He can never love you any more. Forget
him, therefore. Put him out of your thoughts.'
' He laughs at the girl to whom he wrote this letter—oh! this
dear letter. Why doth he laugh ? I cannot laugh, because I loved
k^She rose, and sighed heavily. ' Well,' she said, ' there needs no
more, Luke. I have lost my sweetheart. That matters nothing,
does it ? Thousands of poor women lose their sweethearts every
234
THE WORLD WENT
year, in action and in shipwreck. No one pays heed to the women.
\Vhat matters one more woman ? Oh ! I would to God that lie
was lying dead at the bottom of the sea ; and I—and I and
I ' She rushed from the room with distraction in her looks.
There was great rejoicing at the Admiral's, whither I carried
the glad news of Jack's promotion. Castilla attributed it entirely
to the extraordinary discernment of his Lordship, who deserved,
she thought, the highest credit for discovering Jack's real ability
and courage, so that he should be promoted, over hundreds of
heads, to the command of a frigate, before he was four-and-twenty
years of age. Truly, it makes one no happier to be wiser, and
Castilla knew nothing about the great lady of Drury Lane. Heaven
forbid that she should learn anything about that ravished kiss !
The day was marked at the Club in the usual manner—viz., by
an extra bowl of punch; and I sat beside the Admiral and told the
company how his Lordship, in a splendid satin coat, with a red
sash and a diamond star, had condescended in person to inform
this fortunate young Commander of his promotion. But you may
be sure that I told nothing about the actress, even to the Admiral,
who marvelled greatly at the boy's success, and wondered, being
wise by experience, by whose private interest he had been pro¬
moted.
But the woman who ought most to have rejoiced was wandering
all night long, in wind and rain, over the desolate moor called
Blackheath, raging and despairing because the man who once loved
her so tenderly had now forgotten her, and laughed to think that
he could ever have thought he loved her. In the morning she came
back, mud-stained and draggled, hollow-eyed and wan of cheek, to
the parlour behind the Apothecary's shop; and here, presently, she
fell asleep, being wholly spent with suffering and fatigue.
Now, when Mr. Brinjes came from his shop and saw her thus
asleep and so pale of cheek, he was moved with compassion, and
resolved, though he had not visited London for twenty years, that
he would himself try to move the hard heart of her lover. Accord¬
ingly, he put off his workday clothes, and reached down his great
wig and the coat in which he sat at the Club (both of which
belonged to the early years of George I.), and so, fully persuaded
that he was dressed quite in the modern fashion of a Court phy¬
sician, he took oars for Hungerford Stairs, whence he walked to
Byder Street.
On the way the boys shouted at him, for he cut the queerest
figure, his velvet coat being so old that it had turned green in
places, his lace in rags, his old-fashioned wig unkempt and shabby.
But he walked briskly, careless of the boys, and carried his gold-
headed stick with an air of majesty.
' Jack,' he said, dropping into a chair, 4 thou art now, I hear, a
Captain. Give me a glass of brandy—'tis a long journey from
Deptford—and I will drink to thy good luck. So—this is a pretty,
commodious lodging, Jack. I passed some fine women on the
VERY WELL THEN
2 35
way from Hungerford Stairs. Have a care, my boy. Do not suffer
any of the fine birds to bring their fine feathers here ; else it may
cost thee dear. Be content with some honest wench who will love
thee and not try to rob and plunder all the prize-money.'
'"Well, Mr. Brinjes '—Jack was not, I think, best pleased to see
the old man at his lodgings, and more than suspected the errand
on which he came—4 can I be of any service to my old friend ? '
4 That depends, Jack—that depends. The greatest service you
could do for me would be not to forget old friends.'
4 Indeed, I have forgotten no old friends.'
4 Or old sweethearts ? '
4 Why, as for old sweethearts, my old friend, they may go on so
long as to become stale. This you have often assured me as
matter of your own experience.'
4 It is quite true,' replied the Rover, who had not looked to
have his own maxims thrown in his face; 4 it is quite true, I say,
that woman is by nature a jealous creature—the nearer to nature
you get the more jealous you will find her. Something of the
tigress in every one. Wherefore Bess, who is as passionate as a
negro woman, is more jealous, I dare say, than a London fine lady,
who hath not the heart to be greatly jealous. Also, a woman can
never be made to understand such a simple thing as that she ought
to be contented with the half-share of a man, or the quarter-share,
or even a short six months of his life ashore. Nor doth she ever
perceive when the time arrives that she should cheerfully make
way for another. Yet—poor Bess ! I am sorry for the wench.'
4 In South America,' said Jack, talking in the same strain,
4 where they smoke the cigarro, one that hath been half smoked
and thrown away is nauseous if it be taken up and lighted again.'
'It is so,' said Mr. Brinjes. 'Everyone who hath been in
Guayaquil, which is nigh unto South America, knows that it is
so.'
4 Wherefore—' said Jack, but left the conclusions to be drawn by
the philosopher.
'The thing is so,' Mr. Brinjes repeated. 4 Jack, when thy first
letter came I knew that the fit was too hot to last. And when no
more came I understood very well what had happened. For my
own part, I never loved any woman more than four-and-twenty
hours after leaving port. Why, I have seen sailors marrying the
day before they sailed, and yet coming on board unconcerned.
This forgetfulness is a special gift of Providence, intended for
sailors alone. But as for Bess, while you thought no more upon
her, she had that letter wrapped in a silken bag, and hung about
her'neck; and every day she kissed and hugged it, thinking—poor,
fond soul'l women are fools, yet we needs must feel pity for them !
—that the writer, like herself, would never change. She began to
learn things for her lover's sake; she learned to read and write ;
she watched the ladies in church to see how they dress, and how
they carry themselves; she made Luke teach her some of their
236
THE WORLD WENT
finickin', delicate ways, which don't go down with a sea-pie and
black beer, such as you used to love in the days before your
breeches were white, and your stockings of silk, and while your
buttons carried a simple anchor. Moreover, Bess would no longer
consort with her old friends, and would suffer none of the men so
much as to have speech with her. And she made Luke tell her
what words and sayings of hers would offend the ears of gentle¬
women. In short, there she is, my lad, a woman ready for you;
as to manners, so far as I understand the matter, as fine as a
countess; as to good looks, not a countess of them all can touch
her; as to figure—Lord 1 a finer figure was never made; as to
temper, a noble temper, my lad, quick and ready to flame up.
What? One that will keep her husband alive, I warrant, and
stirring. Why, Jack, we talked of a half-burned cigarro. This
one is not yet even lighted. Try it again, dear lad. 'Tis made, I
swear, from the finest leaf of Virginia. In South America they have
none such. As for truth and constancy, I will answer for them
with my life: and for affection—why, 'tis nothing less than a mad¬
ness she hath for thee. Come, what want you with fine ladies ?
They will but play with you when you are ashore, and forget you
when you are at sea, while, as for Bess, Bess will keep your house
while you are away, and when you come home, she shall be the
tenderest wife in the world and like a faithful slave for service.
What ? You would say that by birth she is below the rank of a
Commander ? Jack, hark ye !'—here he whispered, as if impart¬
ing a great secret—'a beautiful woman hath no rank. There
must be rank for men, otherwise there would be no discipline on
board the ship. Bank was invented for that purpose; and the
pretence is necessary for order's sake, whether we call each other
Duke, Earl, and noble Lord, or Captain, Lieutenant, and Master.
Yet it is, even with men, nothing but pretence at bottom. But for
women there is no rank at all,whatever they may themselves pretend.
Which is proved, Jack, by the fact that great men do constantly
fall in love with women of the meanest origin, as witness Charles
II. and Nelly Gwynne. You may put Bess upon a throne, and, my
word, there is not a Queen among them all would outshine her
black eyes and beauteous face. Whereas you will never see a
woman of gentle birth fall in love with a clown. Bank is for the
ugly women to console themselves withal, by walking in front of
each other. Give me another tot of brandy, Jack; and think of
her again, I say. Why, I can never get out of my mind that we
shall all three—you and Bess and I—we shall all three sail to¬
gether across the broad Pacific to pick up my treasure, and to burn
the town of Guayaquil, where they made me a slave. I cannot die
until that town is burned.'
' I know nothing,' said Jack, ' about your dreams. But, for the
rest, you are too late, Mr. Bnnjes. I have forgotten the girl. All
the past foolishness is over and finished.'
• Yes,' said Mr. Brinjes, looking at him as a physician when he
VERY WELL THEN 237
feels the pulse,' yes': he spoke slowly and sadly,11 now perceive
plainly that it is all over. The symptoms are clear. Your eyes
warm no more at the thought of the girl. Her chance is gone.
The poor child hath had her time. Well—I shall go home again.
Pray Heaven, my assistant hath not already poisoned a customer
or two. Jack, keep out of her way. There will be trouble yet.'
' "Why, Mr. Brinjes,' he laughed, ' you do not think that I am
afraid of a woman ? '
' Nay—I said not that. But—well—we shall have trouble yet.
And for these Southern Seas, sure I am that I shall see them again
before I die.'
So the Apothecary went away, having done what he could, and
having failed.
' We sailors,' said Jack to me presently,' are great fools in our
love for taverns and drinking bouts and low company, so that those
are right who represent us as so many dull dogs who have no
manners, and can do nothing ashore but drink about. Why, when
I came home, three years ago, the Gun Tavern was the height of
civilisation, the Apothecary's dirty parlour was the abode of polite¬
ness, and poor Bess was the finest lady in the land.'
'We are mostly such mere tarpaulins,' he continued, after a
space, ' that landsmen do well to despise us, though we fight their
battles for them, and care not how we are treated, nor how many
hundreds they pass over when they make appointments. Then we
fall to cursing the service, instead of our own common habits.
There was on board the "Tartar" one of the lieutenants (he is
now dead) who was a gentleman—I mean by taste and education,
as well as by birth—who sometimes talked with me, saying " that
'twas a pity a lad of my appearance and figure [which he flattered]
should not study polite manners for the sake of my own advance¬
ment, because, with a little trouble, I might certainly attract
attention in high places, and so receive promotion." _ In this he
was partly right, though I now find that great men think they can
pay for the service of flattery in promises, as a merchant pays for
goods with a piece of paper. But there is a difference, because, if
the merchant do not redeem his promise when the day comes, he is
dishonoured; whereas if a nobleman doth not redeem his promise,
no one throws the fact in his teeth. And if I had not been so lucky
as to rescue a certain friend of my Lord, I doubt whether I should
have got any appointment, to say nothing of promotion.
' But, lad, consider. Here I live among the best; I am received
at a great man's table ; I sit in the coffee-house among the wits or the
fops, as I please; I go to the theatre, to Ranelagh, and to Vauxhall;
there is the gaming-table, if I choose to risk a few pieces; if I am
ever disposed for a quiet evening, there is the society of Castilla,
the sweetest girl in the world; if for a sprightly party, there are
the suppers of my friend—my patron, if you please—and this actress.
Think you that after these things I can go back to Mr. Brinjes'
ptinkinf parlour, and the Penman's daughter ? She may be as
238
THE WORLD WENT
beautiful as he says—I care not. She is certain to have coarse
hands, rude speech, and plain manners. You might as soon expect
me to go back to the cockpit, and to mess again with the midship¬
men, the volunteers, and the surgeon's mates!'
CHAPTER XXXIII.
an interesting case.
What would be done next I knew not, yet feared something
desperate, the case lying (on the one hand) between a woman
driven well-nigh mad with love and disappointment, and (on the
other) a man of great determination, inflexible to tears and en¬
treaties, and, besides, one who now regarded this poor girl, as he
himself confessed, with as much loathing as he had once felt love.
I have read in some book of travels that there are certain hot
fountains in Iceland which burst forth, from time to time with in¬
credible force, and either scald to death those upon whom they
chance to play, or, by the ground sinking beneath their footsteps,
do suddenly engulf them. We were now—that is, Mr. Brinjes and
myself, who alone knew what was threatening—like unto those
who walk upon ground where these fountains break out; for we
knew not what ruin might fall upon us at any moment, caused by
the hand of a desperate woman.
No one knows the trouble the poor girl gave us at this time,
with her changing moods, her fits, and her despair. For sometimes
she would sit for many hours swinging her body backwards and
forwards, tearing a ribbon or a handkerchief with her teeth; some¬
times she would sit quite still, her eyes fixed and glowering; then
she would suddenly spring to her feet, and cry aloud that she could
bear it no longer; sometimes she would threaten death and murder
to her false lover, and to any woman who should dare to take him
from her; sometimes she would rush from the room and wander
away, till she was forced to come back for weariness; and some¬
times she would become gentle again, acknowledge her wilfulness,
and beg forgiveness for her bad temper and her wild words. But
these occasions were rare. She spent the whole day in Mr. Brinjes'
house—that is, when she was not in one of her restless moods,
wandering over Blackheath, or farther afield, in the woods and
fields of Eltham or Norwood. More than once she spent the whole
night out, returning in the mormng spent with fatigue, her fury
only appeased for a time by the weakness of her body. As for
her father, she neglected him altogether, so that the poor man was
now obliged to provide his own meals, sweep and keep clean his room,
and make his own bed. ' Yet,' he said, ' I dare not say a word in
remonstrance or rebuke, so terrible is her temper, in which she now
seems to surpass her mother, though I confess she doth not beat
me over the head with the frying-pan, as my wife was wont to do.
VERY WELL THEN 239
Mr. Brinjes, before whom I have laid the case, advises patience.
Well, Mr. Luke, I am a patient man. Of that I am very sure.
I have been patient all my life—when I was a boy and the stronger
boys hectored it over me; and when I was a 'prentice, and my
master half starved me ; when I was a married man and my wife
scratched, beat, and cuffed me daily; and now when my daughter
is grown up. It is not recorded of the Patriarch Job that his wives
and daughters were thus ungoverned.'
_ Sometimes she would speak of her wrongs, and mostly she was
grieved because Jack laughed at her.
4 If he were dead,' she cried, 4 I could weep for him all the days
of my life, thinking he loved me to the end. Oh! I am a fool to
care for such a man or to cry over him. He laughs at me. I am
a fool. He laughs at me. Why did I not forget him the moment
his ship was out of sight, and take another sweetheart ? '
4 Pity,' said Mr. Brinjes, shaking his head. 4 A thousand pities
you did not.'
4 Hold your tongue !' she turned on him fiercely. 4 How dare
you speak ? You were all in league to mock at me. Why, 'twas
thus you beguiled the poor black negro girls, you and your pirate
crew. And then you laughed at them.'
'Faith!' said Mr. Brinjes, 4if a man desert a black girl she
generally murders him for it.'
She looked at him strangely, and rushed away, saying nothing.
41 am sorry,' said Mr. Brinjes, 4 that I told her about the
negress's revenge, for she is now capable of everything; and per¬
haps she will go away and put a knife into his heart.' This he
said calmly, as if murder was too common a thing to surprise him.
4 There was once a girl—'twas at Providence—whose lover—a
smart fellow, too, and one of our crew—deceived her. What did
she do ? Pretended to forgive him; passed the thing over ; treated
it as a joke, and played the loving sweetheart to the life, laughing
and singing while she served up the poisoned meat that was to kill
him. She put in it the herb stramonium, which there grows wild;
and the women know its properties very well. She laughed the
louder afterwards, while he twisted and rolled on the ground and
bellowed in his agony. The men burned her alive for it, because
this was an example that might affect them all; but she cared
nothing for the torture, for she had her revenge ; and, whatever
was done to her afterwards, nothing would hurt her, so long as she
could tbirik of that. Look you, Bess is such another as that negro
girl. She is as passionate and she is as jealous. There has been
murder in her mind ever since Jack came home. I have read the
thought in her eyes, and now I have put it into words for her.
Trouble will come.'_
It was not this crime that I feared, because our women know not,
happily, the use of poisons; and the worst among them shrink
from taking life. But I feared that she might rashly and in de¬
spair kill herself; or commit some act of violence towards Castilla,
240
THE WORLD WENT
if she suspected that Jack was paying her attentions ; or that she
might lose her reason altogether. And indeed, in those days, I am
sure that she was partly mad.
You shall learn what she did.
First, she would hear from her former lover's own lips the
sentence of her dismissal. She would read her fate in his eyes.
Therefore, one morning, without informing anyone of her intention,
she took boat and was carried up the river, and so made her way
to his lodging in Ryder Street. No neglect of dress could hide the
girl's wonderful beauty, but it was unfortunate, the Captain being
now daily in the society of ladies who omit no point in their attire
which may help to enhance their charms, that she came to him in
a common stuff frock, that in which she was accustomed to do the
housework, and a plain straw hat, so that she looked exactly what
she was, the daughter of some tradesman of humble station. This,
I say, was unlucky for her. Another unlucky thing was that the
Captain was not alone in his lodging; and it shamed him that a
girl, so common in her dress and appearance, should thus present
herself and call him Jack, and remind him of his broken vows.
You will expect, when you hear that Bess found a lady in the room,
a scene of mad and violent jealousy. But nothing of the kind
happened. And yet the situation was one which might very well
have caused a jealous woman to fly out, for the lady, who was none
other than the Drury Lane actress, was sitting in a chair, and Jack
was standing over her. She was looking up at him with her merry
laughing eyes, her hair curled over her forehead, and her face as if
it was always and naturally bright and joyous (this thing one con¬
stantly sees in women who play upon the stage, though I know not
why they should be happier than other folk). Her hood, in which
she had been wrapped, and her domino, lay upon the table, and
she was dressed most daintily in some flowered silk, with laced
petticoat and kid gloves. Now, like a true woman, Bess no sooner
saw this finely dressed lady than she began to think with shame of
her own common frock, her hair so rough, and her coarse hands,
and to wish that she had put on her best before she left home. I
know not what they were talking about, but though the lady was
merry, Jack was serious; to be sure he never passed jests with
women, and was not even as a boy over-fond of laughing with girls;
perhaps—some philqsopher hath remarked—women like best the
men who treat them seriously, and as if every interview with them
gave birth to what the French call a grand passion.
At sight, however, of Bess as she stood in the open doorway,
Jack started and stepped forward as if to protect his visitor, with a
round quarter-deck oath.
' Oh! my poor ears !' cried the actress, ' are we on board ship
already ?'
Then she marked the face of the woman at the open door, and
there was something in her eyes and attitude which made her
silent. There is a kind of despair which makes itself felt even by
VERY WELL THEN 541
the lightest. This woman she saw had a pale face and large black
eyes, which were fixed, steadfastly and piteously, upon the Captain.
4 Why do you come here ? ' asked Jack.
41 came to see you. Oh ! Jack !' she gasped, and caught at her
heart.
41 have sent you an answer already.'
41 have come to hear your answer from your own lips,' she
replied, with trembling voice.
4 Come, Bess,' he said coldly, but not unkindly, 4 you are a
foolish girl; the past is gone. We cannot bring back again what
has been. Forget it and me. And go away. This is no place
for you.'
'Forget it? You think I can forget? Have you forgotten,
Jack ? tell me, have you forgotten ? ' She clasped her hands and
threw them out in a gesture of pain and trouble. 4 Oh 1 have you
forgotten—you ? '
41 have quite forgotten,' he replied. 4 Everything has clean
gone out of my mind;' but, of course, his very words betrayed his
memory. 4 Of course, I remember who you are. Your father
taught me arithmetic and writing. You are Bess Westmoreland.
We used to play together when we were children. Then I went
away to sea, and I remember nothing more.'
4 Nothing more,' she murmured. 4 Oh ! he remembers nothing
more. Oh! is it possible ? Can he forget ? '
The actress looked on with grave attention. She could read the
story without being told. Partly, she was studying a delineation of
the passion of disappointed love, rendered better than anything she
had ever seen upon the stage; partly, she was filled with pity. An
ordinary gentlewoman would have felt, as Castilla feels, that such
a girl has no business to sxippose that a gentleman can love her,
the thing being, in her opinion, contrary to nature. But the actress
knew better. Besides, she understood, which ordinary gentlewomen
do not, that beauty is not altogether a matter of dress. A woman
who is always dressing herself in different fashions knows that
very well.
4 If you wish,' Jack went on, 41 will tell you something more
that I remember. But you had better not ask me to tell you that.
Best to go away now, and before harder things are said.'
4 There can be no harder things said. Tell me what you please.'
41 remember a young girl and a boy. The boy had been six
^ears at sea and among savages, and knew not one woman from
another. So he thought he was in love with the girl, who was
no proper match for him. And when he had been at sea again for
six weeks, of course he had clean forgotten her.'
4 And now you have returned, Jack '—she dragged off her hat,
and her beautiful black hair fell in long curls upon her shoulders—
4 look upon me. Am I less beautiful than I was ? You, woman'—
she turned fiercely upon the actress—' tell me, you, are you in love
with him ? No: I see it in your eyes; you do not love him.
a
242 THE WORLD WENT
Then you will speak the truth, and perhaps you will pity xne*
me, then, am I beautiful ? ' _
'You are a very beautiful girl indeed,' said the Queen of Drury
Lane. ' Upon the boards you would be a dangerous rival. Your
hair and eyes are splendid; your shape is faultless. Unfortunately,
you have not learned to dress.'
'You hear, Jack, Avhat this lady, who is not in love with you,
says of me. I have learned things, too, since you went away. I
am no longer so plain and rustic, and Oh! Jack ' She
threw herself at his feet, regardless of the other woman. She must
have known that it was a useless humiliation, yet perhaps she was
resolved to drink the cup to the dregs. ' Jack, look upon my name
printed upon thy arm; think of my hair tied about thy wrist;
think of all thy promises ! Jack,think of everything. Oh! Jack,
be not so cruel!'
Alas ! his face Avas hard and cruel. As she held up her arms in
this humility, he made as if he would push her from him, and in
his eyes, once so soft to her and full of love, she read now scorn and
loathing.
' Go !' he said. ' You have had my answer.'
Then she rose meekly, and drew from her pocket certain
presents he had given her—a necklace of red coral, a packet of
ribbons, a roll of lace, the gloves, a broken sixpence, and laid them
on the table.
' You shall have again,' she said, ' all that you have ever given
me, except one thing. I keep your letter, and your promise. That
I will never give you back so long as I live. I know not yet what
I shall do. ... I know not ' She grew giddy, and looked as if
she would fall, but presently recovered, and without another word
she left the room.
' Are there many such girls in love with you, Captain Easter-
brook ? ' asked the actress. There were tears in her eyes, but she
put up her handkerchief. ' Are there many such in the world, I
Avonder ? They come not to this end of town. Do you write the
names of all the women you love upon your arms ? Then they
Avill be a pretty sight for a jealous wife, Jack, when you marry.'
' Let her go.' He swept the poor trifles, mementoes of bygone
love, upon the floor. ' Let us talk of something else.'
' She is a very beautiful woman,' the actress continued, disre¬
garding his words. ' There is no woman now upon the boards who
would better become the part of a queen ; and most certainly none
who could better act the part she has just played. 'Twas a moving
situation, Captain, though it moved you not. I wonder how many
women's hearts thou hast broken, Jack ? '
' Why, if we come to questions, I wonder how many men would
like to make love to you, fair lady ? '
' Captain Easterbrook, it cannot escape your penetration that
there is not a pretty woman in the world to whom all men would
not Avillingly make love, if they could. As for constancy, they
VERY WELL THEN
243
laugh at it; and promises they despise; they trample upon the
hearts of the foolish women who love them; and they consider
jealousy in a woman a thing past comprehension.' She laughed,
but her eyes were not so merry as when Bess opened the door.
4 Well—I am resolved not to have my heart broken, because I have
but one, and if it chance to be broken, I doubt if I could piece it
together again. Therefore, my gallant Captain, my brave Jack, I
doubt whether it were wise of me to come here any more. You
may, if you please, come to my suppers, to meet my Lord and his
friends. Look not so glum, Captain. Well, perhaps I may see
thee once more before thy ship sails. If I do, promise to pretend
a little love for this unhappy love-sick nymph. She is a sea-
nymph, I take it—one of those whom the poets call Naiads. Com¬
fort her poor heart a little, and perhaps when thou art gone she
may very likely console herself. Alas I always one loves and one
is loved.'
41 loved her once. Can she expect '
'Women are such fond creatures, Captain Easterbrook, that
they are not even contented to be a toy for a month or two. As
for me, I make men my toys; and as for my heart, it is still mine
own. Adieu, thou conqueror of women's hearts and compeller of
women's tears. But, Jack '—she laid her hand upon his arm—
'look that this poor distracted creature doth not do a mischief to
thee or to someone. There was madness in her eyes. I now know
how the passion of jealousy should be rendered. It is to stand so,
and to look so ; and thus to use the hands.' She lost her own face,
and became Bess, so clever was she at impersonation, and, in dumb
show, went through the pantomime of a scorned and jealous woman.
Then she put on her domino, took her hood, and ran downstairs.
CHAPTER XXXIY.
how castilla was betrothed.
I do not think there is anything in this history more distasteful to
Castilla than a certain episode in it, which one cannot choose but
narrate. To omit the incident would be the concealment of a thing
which clearly shows the disposition of our hero at this juncture of
his affairs, when all seemed prosperous with him, but when his
fate was already sealed, and destruction about to fall upon him.
Castilla reproaches me with concealing from the Admiral and
her mother, first, the previous engagement with Bess, and, next, the
acquaintance of the Captain with the actress^ of whom mention has
been made; and declares that, if the Admiral had known it, he
would have forbidden the house to so gay a Lothario. Castilla's
general opinion as to her father's character is doubtless correct;
but as to her father's conduct under certain circumstances, I prefer
my own judgment. Certain I am that if the Admiral (now in
244
THE WORLD WENT
Abraham's bosom) had known both these facts—indeed, I am stirG
that he knew a good deal of the first—he would not on that account
have shut Jack out of the house, nor would he have forbidden him
to pay his addresses to Castilla.
' As for me,' she still says, indignant, even after so many years,
' had I suspected the things which you very well knew at the time,
sir, I should have spurned his proposals. I have now forgiven him,
because, poor boy! he was punished for his weakness in the matter
of that witch and her adviser, the Apothecary, whom I believe to
have been sold to the Devil! I forgive him freely, and you know,
Luke, that I have long since forgiven you for your part in the de¬
ception. But there are things which can never be forgotten, though
they be forgiven.'
As for my own conduct in the business, I know not why I should
have told the Admiral, or Castilla either, that a celebrated actress
and toast had been rescued from footpads by Jack Easterbrook;
that he supped at her house, in company with other gentlemen;
and that she visited him twice, to my knowledge, in his own lodging,
the first time in order to communicate to him the news of his pro¬
motion, and the second time—I know not why. I was not a spy
upon Jack; and, on reflection, I think that if the thing had to be
done again I should behave exactly in the same manner.
Nor do I know why I should have warned Castilla about the old
love affair. It was over and finished. Surely a woman would not
ht jealous because a lad of nineteen had made an imprudent promise
which he afterwards broke, or because he then fell in love with, and
afterwards ceased to love, a certain girl, whether below or above
his own rank in life. To be sure, I was certain that some trouble
would happen, though of what nature I knew not.
Suffice it to say, therefore, that I heard no more about the
actress, but that Jack came often, in those weeks between his ap¬
pointment and his sailing orders, to the Admiral's, and that he
made no secret to me of his passion for Castilla. Also, he took the
ladies to various fashionable places of resort which they had never
before seen, because there was no one to take them. Thus, we
went one evening to Ranelagh, where there was a very pretty con¬
cert in the round room, with dancing afterwards, and a great crowd
of ladies beautifully dressed, though none prettier than Castilla, to
my simple taste. And on another evening we went to Drury Lane,
where the actress, Jack's friend, was playing the principal part;
and a more merry, light-hearted creature one never beheld upon
the stage. I observed that Jack showed no sign of any acquaint¬
ance with her, but discussed her performance as a stranger might
be expected to do, calling her pretty well as to looks, but then, she
was painted up ; while as for beauty, give him blue eyes and light
hair, at which Castilla blushed. And so home by moonlight, when
the watermen are mostly gone to bed, and the river is comparatively
quiet. Castilla sat beside Jack in the boat, and I believe he held
her hand.
VERY WELL THEN 245
And, on the day after the play, the Admiral was asked and gave
his consent to his daughter's engagement with Jack. He gave it
with a livelier satisfaction, he said, than he had felt in any previous
event of his life. ' Castilla,' he said, ' this is the greatest day of
thy life. For thou art promised to the most gallant officer in the
King's Navy. I say, to the bravest and the comeliest lad, and to
the best heart, though he shirks the bottle and leaves me to finish
it. If thou art not proud of him, thou art no daughter of mine.'
' Indeed, sir,' said Castilla,' I am very proud of him.'
Jack threw his arms round her, and kissed her on both cheeks,
and on the forehead, and on her lips.
I say no more. Castilla declares, now, that she never really
loved him, though she confesses that she was carried away by so
much passion and by her admiration of his bravery. Yet I know
not. He was a masterful man, who compelled women to love him,
and, as the actress said, he had a conquering way with him. I
think that if events had turned out otherwise, Castilla would have
become a loving, as well as an obedient, wife. But let that pass.
They were engaged, and the club at the Sir John Falstaff had a
roaring night, in which Mr. Brinjes heartily joined, because at his
age 'twould have been a sin to suffer the fear of approaching dis¬
aster to stand between himself and a night of punch and singing
and the telling of sea stories.
CHAPTER XXXV.
how philadelphy kept the secret.
"When one reflects upon this time and upon the conduct of Jack
Easterbrook, it seems as if at each successive step the unfortunate
man advanced one step nearer to his own destruction. Surely,
knowing the grief, the resentment, and the indignation which filled
the heart of the woman he had cast aside, with no more considera¬
tion than if she had been a hedgerow weed, he might well have re¬
flected before sending her intelligence which was certain to drive her
into despair. But such as he do never reflect.
Therefore, on the very day when he was affianced to Castilla, he
took the surest steps to make Bess acquainted with this certain
proof of his desertion. For be led aside the old negro nurse, Phila-
delphy, and told her that he had a most important thing to com¬
municate, and one which very much concerned her own happiness,
and a thing which everybody would be anxious to know; but that
it was a profound secret, and must be told to no one, and especially
was not to be communicated to any person outside Madam's
household.
'I know,' he said, 'that you desire nothing in the world so
much as the happiness of your young mistress.'
That she assured him, truthfully, was the case.
246 THE WORLD WENT
' So that I am certain you will rejoice when I tell you the
Now, Philadelphy, what should you say if Miss Castilla ha a
lover ?'
' 'Pends on de young gen'leman, sah.'
' So it does. You are always wise, Philadelphy. "What should
you say, then, if she was going to he married? '
' 'Pends on de young gen'leman, sah.'
' You are indeed a wonderful woman. Philadelphy. "What
should you think, then, if I were going to be that happiest of
mortals, Miss Castilla's husband? '
The old woman looked at him admiringly. Then she began to
laugh. Negroes are easily tickled with laughter; they laugh if
anyone is hurt; they laugh if misfortunes fall upon their friends ;
and when they are pleased they laugh; Philadelphy, therefore,
laughed for satisfaction and joy; not, as Sarai of old laughed, in
derision.
' Is dat de troof, Massa Jack ?
' It is the truth, Philadelphy.'
'Ho! ho !'. she laughed again. ' Berry fine lover for Miss Castil.
Berry fine young man for my young mistress.'
' It is a secret, Philadelphy,' he told her again. ' No one knows it
except Madam, and the Admiral, and Castilla, and me. You have
been told first of all. That is a great honour for you. But it is a
secret as yet. I am to go on board in a few days, and the Lord
knows when I shall return. So while I am away do you take care
of her, and put in, every now and again, a word for me—you
understand ?'
She understood very well, and without the aid of the two guineas
which he slipped into her hand, that she was to sing the praises of a
certain young gentleman. She folded the money in the corner of her
handkerchief, and nodded and laughed again. As a secret mes¬
senger, or go-between, I think Philadelphy would have had no equal.
Her taste, as well as her genius, lay in this art; but, unfortunately,
it was not called into practice, because Castilla had but two lovers,
one of whom she lost in the manner you are going to hear, and the
other she married without any necessity for a go-between at all.
'You understand,' Jack repeated, 'that it is a secret. You are
not, therefore, on any account to tie up your head in your red
turban, and to carry the news into the town. You must not think
of telling the old fellows at the Trinity Hospital. You must not go
to Mr. Skipworth, the Barber, with it; and if you tell Mr. West¬
moreland, the Penman, or his daughter Bess, you will make me
angry. I quite depend upon your secrecy, Philadelphy.'
The old woman nodded and laughed, and laughed again,
promising that nothing should drag the secret from her. But
when the Captain left her, she hastened to tie her red handkerchief
round her head, which was her way of preparing to sally forth
from the house ; and then she began to mutter with her lips. Next
she sat down, and laughed again. While she was laughing, two of
VERY WELL THEN 247
her fellow black servants came upon her; and, being of a quick and
sympathetic mind, they sat down and laughed with her, all three
rolling about, digging their hands into their sides, and laughing in
each others' faces, while the tears ran down their cheeks. When
they were quite tired of this exercise they left off, and the two old
men went away about their own business without so much as
asking why she had set them off into these mirthful fits; and the old
woman, setting her turban right, walked off slowly in the direction
of the town.
She did, in fact, and as Jack fully expected she would do, every¬
thing that she had been carefully told not to do. First, she looked
into the gateway of Trinity Hospital. On the sunny side there
walked half a dozen of the old men warming themselves. She
exchanged a few words with them, admonishing them to keep the
secret, and then went on her way. Now, there are no more
ingrained gossips than these old almsmen, who have nothing to do
all day long except to tell each other stories, for the most part old
and well worn, and to retail news. Therefore, as soon as Phila-
delphy had gone, these veterans, one after the other, left the
hospital and made their way, some to the Stairs, and some to the
taverns in the town, and some to the Dockyard, spreading the
news, for there was no officer in the King's Navy better known than
Captain Easterbrook, whom all regarded as a Deptford man, and
greatly respected for his courage and his gallant bearing. Moreover,
he had among them all the reputation of being a lucky officer.
He had gone through so much danger, and hitherto had so miracu¬
lously escaped from every kind of peril, that he must needs be a
lucky officer to sail with. And now he was going to take command
on board as fine a frigate, the French-built ' Calypso,' as there
was afloat, and not a sailor but would have liked well to sail
with him.
When she left the hospital, Philadelphy looked into the kitchen
of St. Paul's Vicarage, just to whisper the news to the maids.
Thence she went on her way to the Barber's, and calling Mr.
Skipworth to the door, she imparted the news to him, with many
injunctions to profound secrecy, which he faithfully and joyfully
promised, and kept his promise in the way common among barbers
—namely, that he passed on the news in strict confidence and a
whisper to every customer in turn who came to be shaved.
Philadelphy next crossed the street and looked in at the Pen¬
man's. Mr. Westmoreland was in the shop, writing a letter for one
girl to her sweetheart, somewhere at sea, while another waited her
turn. In the corner of the room, beside the fire, sat Bess, her
hands folded in her lap, doing nothing and paying no heed to what
went on. The girls disputed what should be said; the scribe
listened, and from time to time put down a sentence, catching at
their meaning rather than taking down their words.
* Say I keep true and constant,' said one, ' though all the men
in Deptford are asking me to give him up. Tell him that. Tell
248
THE WORLD WENT
him I expect as much from him when he comes home—else, he
shall see. And if he dares so much as to look at . . . _
' I wouldn't tell him that,' said the other girl. ' Tell him that
nobody in the town cares a button for him or even thinks about him
but yourself. He'll think all the more of you for that. Don't never
let him think you care a rope's-end whether he goes after the other
women or not.'
Mr. Westmoreland went on writing while they talked. He
civilised, so to speak, their letters for the ladies, taking out the
threats, the ejaculations, the accusations, the protestations, and the
profane words, whereby he certainly did much to strengthen and to
sanctify the bond of affection between the sailor and his mistress,
since a lover could not but be moved at receiving a letter so mov¬
ingly and so religiously expressed. It must surely be a great thing
for a man to think of his sweetheart as a quiet, sweet-tempered, and
well-conducted woman (as always appeared from these letters),
capable of expressing the finest sentiments in the choicest language,
and full of gentle piety. Pity it was that when the men came home
their mistresses should always fail to talk and to behave up to the
standard of their letters.
Without troubling herself about the girls, Philadelphy took a
chair beside Bess, and began to whisper. Now, so carefully had
Bess kept her secret that no one in the place knew a word about it
except Aaron Fletcher, and, for reasons of his own, he spoke of it to
none. Least of all did this old negro woman suspect it. She whis¬
pered what she had to say, and then, with a hundred nods and
winks, used as signs of mystery and secrecy, she got up and went
away.
Bess sat still awhile. The two girls finished their business with
her father, and went away. Mr. Westmoreland looked timidly at
his daughter.
' Bess, my dear,' he said.
She shook her head impatiently.
' Is there any chance that you will come round soon, my dear ?
I wouldn't hurry any woman's temper on my account, though I
may say that it is a month and more since I have had any dinner.'
' If I had a knife in my hand this moment,' she cried, springing
to her feet and tossing her arms in the air—' if I had a knife, I
would drive it into my heart—or into his 1'
Her father made haste with trembling knees to return to his
writing.
That there are times when the Evil One is permitted to have
power over us we are well assured, not only from Holy Writ, but
from the teaching of learned doctors. I say not that we are to be
excused from the consequence of sins committed during such times,
because it is on account of our sins that they are permitted. This
poor girl, I am very certain, was possessed by the demons of jealousy,
rage, and despair. Else the great wickedness into which she now
fell would never have been possible to her. Heaven forbid that I
VERY WELL THEN 249
Bhould attempt to excuse her! But this day she was mad. On this
day, as you will presently confess, she must have been mad.
She continued to sit in the same place, hands clenched, with set
eyes gazing straight before her, and cheeks white. From time to
time her father looked furtively round. But seeing no change, he
went on with his work. Presently he became afraid to sit alone
with her. He thought she was mad; he feared that she might
get up suddenly and stab herself to death, or, perhaps, stab him in
the back. He was never a brave or a strong man, and besides, he had
already suffered so much from feminine wrath that he considered a
raging woman worse than a tigress, and would cheerfully have
fought a Hon in the arena rather than face his own wife in one of
her angry moods. But he had never before seen Bess so bad as
this. It wanted a good hour of his usual time of leaving off work,
but he got down from his stool, changed his coat hurriedly, and went
out to his tavern.
If he went there an hour before his usual time, it was fully an
hour after his usual time that he returned. Bess was still in her
chair, but she no longer sat upright, scowling and fierce. Her head
was buried in her hands, and she was weeping.
Mr. Westmoreland was afraid to speak to her. He crept silently
upstairs, and went to bed supperless.
For, in truth, something very strange had happened between the
time when the Penman laid down his work and the time when he
came home. The jaws of Death and the gates of Hell had been
opened.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
how bess went out of her wits.
Immediately after her father had left the house—perhaps he waited
until the Penman's departure—a man came to the door and stood
without. For a few moments he watched and listened. Then he
pushed the door open and looked in. The room was dark, and he
could see nothing.
' Bess,' he cried—it was Aaron Fletcher—1 Bess, I know you are
here, and it is no use hiding. Come out this instant and talk with
me, or I will come in.' _
There was no answer, and he stepped into the room-
• You can go out again, Aaron,' said Bess. ' I have nothing to
say to you.'
' I will go out when I have said what I came to say, and not
before,' he replied. ' If you will listen, Bess, I have a good deal
t0 8<aSay, then, what you have to say, and begone.' He hardly
knew her voice, which was hard. ' Of course, I know very well
what you have come to say. When you have said it once, you can
go. If you dare to say it twice, I think I shall have to kill you.
250
THE WORLD WENT
But before you take the trouble to say it, or anything else, I tell
you that it is no use. There is no man in the world for me now.
Don't think of trying.'
' Bess '—the man understood what she meant—' d'ye think that
I would come to crow over your trouble ? Why—but you don't
understand : you never did understand. A man as loves you true
can't choose but be sorry for your trouble. I love you that true that
I should even like to see you married to him, if he would have you.
But he won't; he won't. Don't go to think now, Bess, that I'm
glad; though I always knew what would happen, and I hoped that
you would perhaps throw him over and take a better man, and then
we might have seen him crying and lamenting, instead of you.
Pluck up spirit, Bess. Curse him. . . . With his head in the air
and his step as if he was on his quarter-deck, and us men were all
his crew, and you women were all for his own pleasure! Curse him,
I say, for a villain ! He went through the town just now dressed
as if he was a nobleman, at least, with the people crying after him
for luck, and the fools of women calling blessings on his head for a
handsome man, if ever there was one. Curse him! Bess, why
don't you curse the man who has played you false ? Hast never a
tongue in thy head ? '
It was too dark to discern her face, otherwise Aaron might have
been well pleased with the jealous madness which filled her eyes.
Then he cursed the Captain again, and with stronger words;
but she answered nothing.
11 knew what he would do. I always knew it. I hate him,
Bess! I have always hated him as much as you hate him now;
or almost as much, because you must hate him after all he has done
so that there is no evil you would not rejoice to see falling upon him.'
He paused for some effect to be produced by his words, just as
an angler throws his line and stops to watch his float. But Bess
made no sign.
' Who is he ? ' Aaron went on. ' Who is he that he should have
all the good luck and I should have the bad ? Why, when he came
to the town he was in rags. I saw him come. He was a boy in
rags. And now he is a Captain, with a gold-laced hat, and I
Well, Bess, I am a bankrupt. That is what I have come to. And
it is through him ! Yes, through him and through that one-eyed
Devil, who is Old Nick himself, or sold to him, I am a bankrupt—
I am broke! First, through him, I lost my boat, the " Willing
Mind," took by a privateer; and then, through him, I lost the
prize-money I looked to make; and then, through him, my building-
yard was burned. And now I have spent all my money, Bess, and
am broke. And all through him ! I will be even with him some
day, if I swing for it.'
' Say what you have to say, Aaron, and go away.'
' I came to say, then, Bess'—he lowered his voice—' will you
have revenge ?'
4 What revenge ? '
VERY WELL THEN
11 tried to talte it for myself three years ago. Did he never
tell you who got him knocked o' the head and carried oii to the
crimps ? 'Twas the sweetest moment of my life when he lay
senseless at my feet. I done it, Bess. 'Twas none but me. H e
got off that time. He won't this.'
' Revenge ? Do you think I will let you take revenge for me ? '
' Bess—think ! He hath deserted you, and broken his promise.
And me he has brought to beggary, with the help of his friend the
Devil with one eye.'
' I will have no revenge taken for me, I say. Go, Aaron. If that
is all you have to say, go, and leave me alone. Revenge will not
bring back his heart to me. He loathes me now as much as once
he loved me. I saw it in his eyes. Will revenge change his eyes ?
There is nothing for me but to bear it till I die.'
Aaron sat down on the table. The tempter to evil was not to
be sent away by a single word.
' What! ' he asked. ' A woman of spirit, and do nothing, though
her sweetheart proves false to her, and mocks and laughs at her!
Have they told you how he laughs everywhere about you ? ' (This
was a lie : Jack never spoke about her among his friends.) 1 Why,
the gentlemen all do it; they make bets with each other about
such girls as you; and then they go away and tell each other, and
laugh about her. Oh ! you forgive him. 'Tis sweet Christian
conduct. I suppose I should forgive him as well for the loss of the
" Willing Mind," and the burning of my boat-yard ? ' He stopped
to see if his words had produced any effect upon her: but she gave
no sign. ' You will dance at his wedding, I dare say. He is going
to marry the daughter of the Admiral—him with the wooden leg.'
' He is not married yet.'
' He is going to be married,' said Aaron—but this was also a lie
—' by special licence, and without banns, to-morrow; for his ship
is under orders, and the Captain will set sail in a few days. He
wants to be married before he goes. 'Tis a pretty little lady, and
he mil make her happy. They say he is head and ears in love
with her, and nothing too good for her. I dare say he was always
a fond lover. You found him a fond lover, didn't you, Bess, in the
old days ?'
' Are you sure ?' she asked. ' Oh ! the old woman did not tell
me this. Are you quite sure ? To-morrow ? He will marry her
to-morrow? So soon. Oh! is there no hope left at all? '
1 The negro woman went about the town to-day telling every,
body. You can ask her if it is true. What do I know ? The
Captain was not likely to tell me, was he ? Well, Bess, it must be
a pleasant thing for you to be thinking that his arms are now round
her neck, which used to be round yours._ He is kissing her red-
and-white cheek now, just as he used to kiss yours, in the old days
when he used to make a fool of you. And to-morrow he will be
happy with his bride. That is something to make you feel forgiving
and well-wishing, isn't it ?'
252 THE WORLD WENT
' Oh! I shall go mad !' she cried. ' I cannot bear it; I shall
go mad 1 '
' To be sure, there are differences. She is a gentlewoman, and
you are only a tradesman's daughter. She is soft, and has pretty
manners, I dare say, though her father is an old salt. Whatever
you are, Bess, no one ever called you soft. She is fair, and you are
dark. She loves him, I dare say, better than you ever could. She
can wear a hoop, and carry a fan, and paint her face ; and as for
you, Bess Why, what is the matter ? '
' I will kill him first!' she cried, wildly. ' Aaron, I will kill
him with my own hand!'
' Nay, Bess, why with your own hand, when there is mine
ready for your service ? And as for that, you are in such a rage
that you would surely bungle it; ten chances to one you would
botch and bungle it. Now, I am calm. If I take it in hand, I
shall make as pretty a job of it as anyone can desire. Besides,
Bess, if anyone is to swing for putting such a villain out of the
way, it shall be me, not you, my girl. For love of you, and hate
of him, I should be content to swing. But maybe .... Why,
Bess '
' Aaron'—she laid her hand upon his shoulder, catching her
breath short—' oh! I would rather see him dead and in his grave
than let him marry her.-'
' He must be dead to-night then, or he will marry her to-morrow.
Hark ye, Bess, the time has gone for crying. We must do it at
once—this very night. To-morrow he will be married. The next
day, or the day after, he takes the command of his ship. This
very evening he hath gone to the Club with the Admiral. He will
but drink a single glass of punch with the gentlemen, who will
wish him joy, and will then return to his new mistress, with whom
he thinks to spend the evening kissing and making love. Do you
mark my words ? '
' Yes .... yes .... I am listening.'
' In half an hour or so he will be returning by this road. Sup¬
pose, Bess, he should meet us on the way—the woman he has
deserted and the man he has ruined ? '
' Let us go 1' she cried. ' Let us go at once. He shall never
marry her. Let us go ! Why, Aaron, are you for hanging back ?'
"There is time enough—no hurry. See, my girl, I have
brought with me—'tis all I have left of my privateering—a pair of
ship's pistols.' He lugged them out of his pockets and laid one on
each leg, still sitting on the table. ' They are loaded; I loaded
them half an hour ago, a brace of bullets in each, and the flints
are new. No hurry, Bess. Let us consider.' She was already
more than half mad, but he thought to madden her still more.
' Let us consider. All the world knows thy history, Bess.' This,
too, was a lie, because no one knew it. ' When you go forth again
the women will point and say after you, " There goes the girl who
thought to marry the handsome Captain! There goes Bess, who
VERY WELL THEN
253
thought to be the wife of Captain Easterbrook ! Pride goes before
a fall. Now she will have to marry some honest tarpaulin, like
the rest, if any be found to have her." 'Tis a hard fate, Bess.
Whereas '
4 Aaron, let us go. Quick! quick! Give me the pistols.'
4 Nay—nay. You to have the pistols ? ' he replied, in no hurry,
and still trying to madden her. 4 Whereas, if we take care that
he shall marry no one, they cannot cry out after you, and he shall
not have another wife.'
4 I would rather he were dead,' she said. 4 Aaron, let me kill
him with my own hand 1'
4 Will you come with me ? '—he put up his pistols—' or will you
stay with me ? 'Tis but five minutes' walk to the dark place in
the road where we stopped him once before. But come with me.
If you stay here, you will know nothing till I come back, when
the job is done. If you come with me, you shall see it done. Why,
your revenge will be doubled if you stand by and see it done. And
when he falls, Bess, cry out quick that it was thy doing. So, in
his last moments, he shall feel that thou hast revenged thyself.'
' Come—quick—before I repent! Let us kill him quickly! Oh!
Aaron, I am all on fire ! I burn. Come '
Aaron nodded his head, and leisurely rose, satisfied at length with
the spirit of murder which he had called up. It made her pant
and gasp and tear at his arm to drag him along.
4 One word first,' he said. 41 am not going to do this all for
nothing. When the job is done, Bess, you will marry me ? '
4 Yes. You may marry me, or you may murder me. I care
nothing which. Oh ! he shall never marry her—never! Come,
Aaron, come! We shall be too late!'
I say that she was mad. It could not be in any other mood but
madness that Bess would become a murderess. Truly, Aaron was
a crafty and cunning man, thus to turn her thoughts to revenge, and
to make a murder done for private wrongs—but did Jack set fire to
his boat-yard, or take the 4 Willing Mind' ?—seem as if it was a
righteous act of retribution for her sake. Why could he not murder
his enemy without dragging Bess into the crime with him ? I know
not: but I suppose that he thought to bind her to him by the
guilty secret which the two would have between them; as if the
knowledge would not keep them apart: for, with such a secret, the
whole breadth of the world should not be wide enough to keep the
two asunder. But it is impossible so much as to guess at the
secrets of Aaron's mind at such a moment. One thing is certain,
that, like Bess, he was driven well-nigh desperate by his misfortunes,
which, however, he was not justified in laying on the Captain.
Perhaps he had no thought at the time, except of revenge, and no
other desire than to gratify Bess—whom still, I believe, he loved,
after his manner—and himself in the same manner, and at a single
blow.
4 Come,' he said.
254
THE WORLD WENT
Then he directed her to go on in advance, so that if anyone
should pass her on the road they might not connect him with her
as a companion, and ordered her to wait for him in that place where
the grass strip broadened into a little roadside green planted full of
trees. Here she was to await him.
'Twas the same place where, three years before, Aaron had made
his first attempt, the failure of which might have deterred him, one
would think. But it did not. Here he presently joined the girl.
' No one is abroad,' he said. ' I have passed none upon the
road. That is well. Heart up, Bess ! In a few minutes thou shalt
be happy, if revenge can make thee happy. He will kiss his fine
mistress no more.'
' Happy! There is no more happiness for me. Oh! Aaron—■
quick—do what thou hast to do quick, lest I repent and stop thee.
Oh ! Jack—my Jack—must I murder thee ? '
' Keep dark,' said Aaron. ' Why, you are losing heart already.
I am sorry you came with me. Keep dark, I say, and look not
forth until the shot is fired. As for me, I scorn to hide. I am here
to kill him if I can, or let him, if he can, kill me. He has a sword,
and I have my pistols. Let him fight it out. It is a fair battle
between us. But keep back, Bess, and keep dark. I think I can
hear his footstep.'
When, three years before, Jack Easterbrook had walked along
the same road at the same time, his head was full of love for the
very woman who now stood in the shade of the trees waiting to
see him done to death. From the madness of jealous women,
good Lord, deliver the men! And from the inconstancy of perjured
lovers, good Lord, deliver the women 1
As she stood and listened, the sound of his footstep—she could
not be mistaken in the step—fell upon Bess's ear, and immediately
the Captain himself was to be plainly seen in the twilight, walking
briskly along the road. As for Aaron, in spite of his brave words
he kept in the shade of the trees, feeling, doubtless, as is the way
with murderers, more confidence while in hiding than in the open.
Before she heard his footstep, the poor girl, the prey of all the
evil passions, stood breathing quickly, her hands clenched, burning
with rage, and mad for revenge. Yet, mark what happened. At
the very first footfall, at the first sound of the step which still she
loved, the whole of her madness fell from her as a woman's cloak
may fall from her shoulders; her heart stood still, her knees,
trembled, and her love went out again to him. Also she saw-
now, was not this a thought sent to her direct from Heaven's throne
of mercy in order to save a poor sinner from a dreadful crime ?—she
saw, I say, in imagination, her lover lying dead upon the ground,
his pale face turned up to the stars, never to come back to life
again, and she herself standing over him—who had murdered him.
Already she felt upon her forehead the seal of murder as it was
placed upon the front of Cain, Already she felt the terrible remorse
of murder. Near every crime can be atoned for, except murder.
VERY WELL THEN
255
You may rob a man; you may slander him; things stolen may be
replaced; things said may be withdrawn: but his life you cannot
restore to a man. Therefore there is no crime so dreadful as
murder, and no remorse so fearful as that of a murderer, even when
his conscience is as hardened as that of Aaron Fletcher himself.
' Oh !' Bess told me afterwards, though the poor girl knew not how
to put all these her thoughts into words, but could only speak of
them brokenly, ' I thought that if he were to die, I must die too,
and that with no hope of forgiveness, so that I should never sit
beside him in Heaven, and never ask his mercy. And I saw that
if he would leave me, he must; and, oh! how could I be so wicked ?
How could I ? No ; it was not Aaron's fault; 'twas my own mad.
jealous heart.'
There wanted but a moment when Aaron would have stepped
out and discharged his pistols. There was no relenting in him ; he
had no qualms of conscience and no forebodings of remorse. He
had lost everything—his sweetheart, his boat, his business, his
fortune—by this man, he thought; 'twas little revenge indeed, in
return for so much injury, to kill him. Perhaps, afterwards, with
the gibbet in sight and the irons on his legs, he might have felt
remorse. But one doubts, seeing how hardened are most of the
villains who go forth to Tyburn to the fatal tree, and how little
true repentance the Ordinary doth witness.
He was waiting, then, the pistol cocked. His enemy was almost
within his reach when Bess rushed out from her hiding-place, cry¬
ing, ' Jack ! Jack ! Save yourself! Save yourself 1'
He stopped, and drew his sword.
' Fly ! ' she cried; ' Aaron is among the trees with his pistols.
We came to murder thee. Oh! fly for thy life. Let him kill me
instead. He shall shoot at thee through my body 1'
She stood before him, her arms out as if to stop the pistol-
bullet.
'Stand aside, Bess,' said Jack. 'Now, Aaron, ye cowardly,
skulking dog, come out! Show yourself, man 1 Bring out your
pistols, I say! Come, ye sneaking, murdering villain 1 '
Aaron might have shot him on the spot where he stood, breast
bared, so to speak, for the pistol. But he did not, because so great
is the power of authority over such men as Aaron, when one speaks
who is in the habit of command, that he obeyed and came forth
meekly, his pistols in his hand, like a dog who comes at call to be
whipped.
' Lay down your weapons,' said Jack, sword in hand.
Aaron obeyed, saying nothing.
' So,' said the Captain, ' this is now the second time that thou
hast attempted my life. Man, if I had thee on board my ship I
would keel-haul thee, or maybe hang thee for mutiny. Know
sirrah, that the mere conspiring to murder hath brought many a
poor rogue to the gallows. Now, I know not wherefore thou didst
resolve to make this second attempt. Remember, however, that
256 THE WORLD WENT
the first score is not yet paid off. Yet I heard some talk of losses
and the burning of boat-yards, whereby it seems as if some greater
Power had interfered to punish thee. Go, now. Perhaps to-morrow
I shall determine what further may be done.'
Aaron obeyed, walking away slowly and sullenly, the pistols
lying on the ground.
Then Jack turned to the girl who had saved his life. ' So,
Bess,' he said,' you came out to murder me, did you ? '
' Yes,' she confessed.
' I was in hopes that you had laid my words to heart, and had
forgotten the past.'
'I can never forget the past. Oh, Jack! 'tis too much to ask
of any poor woman. 'Tis too much!' She burst into crying and
weeping. ' Oh ! I am an unhappy wretch, who would even murder
the man I love better than all the world.'
' Nay,' said Jack, ' there is no harm done, because—d'ye see
—I am unhurt, and you changed your intention in time. If I
did not know thee better, Bess, I might think that this was a trick
of thine. But Aaron hates me of old; and you—since I came
home.'
' I have never hated you, Jack. God knows I wish I was dead,
and out of your way.'
' My poor girl, you are already out of my way, if you would
only think so. For the sake of a few love-passages three years
ago, why waste and spoil your life ? '
' I cannot take back what I have given. To-night they told
me that you are to marry Miss Castilla. That made me mad.
But I am not mad any longer. Go to your new mistress, Jack. I
will give you no more trouble—no more trouble. Make love to her
as you did to me. Tear her heart out of her as you tore mine.
I will give you no trouble—no trouble at all. I will not try to
6tand between her and you.'
' Foolish girl! Forget me, Bess, and find another lover !'
' I have tried to curse thee, Jack, but I cannot. Oh! I cannot.
I have tried a dozen times. My lips will not form the words, nor
would my heart mean them if I could say those words. I have
tried this night to kill thee. But I could not. Therefore it is
certain that I am not to do thee any harm. This is better, because,
whatever happens, thy heart will not be thereby the more hardened
against me.'
Jack made no reply. Perhaps he was touched by what she
said.
' Go, Jack. Go to thy mistress.' This she said, not rudely or
scornfully, but quietly. ' Jack, I know now what has been lying
in my mind. It is that I have a message for thee. It is that God
Himself will punish thee, and that in the way that will touch
thee the deepest. I know not how that will be, and, for myself, I
desire no harm for thee. I will henceforth neither speak nor
think hard things of thee. But remember: no other man shall
VERY WELL THEN
257
ever kiss me, because I am thine, Jack—I belong to thee. Oh!
Jack, my sweetheart, my love, God Himself will punish thee, un¬
happy boy! and that in the way that most will touch thee ! '
Jack laughed lightly—yes, he laughed—and went his way.
This is what happened between the time when the Penman
left his daughter and the time when he returned. Said I not that
the jaws of Death and the gates of Hell were opened on this
night ?
CHAPTER XXXVII.
how bess recovered her senses.
Woman is a variable and a changeable creature. Many poets and
philosophers have insisted upon this maxim. Mr. Westmoreland,
as well as Socrates, had good reason to feel the truth of it, and
could testify to it from his own experience, under the rule of wife
first, and of daughter afterwards ; though the capricious nature of
the latter empress was a kind of heaven compared with the clapper-
clawings, rubs, and buffets which marked the reign of the former.
The next morning the Penman came downstairs meekly resigned
to do the daily necessary house-work, which his daughter should
have done—namely, to lay his desk in order for the day's work,
find something for breakfast, and, towards the hour of noon, inter¬
rupt his calculations in order to prepare dinner of some kind—
which had been his lot for the last two months: in fact, though he
had not the wit to connect the two events, ever since the return of
the Lieutenant on board the French prize. He was, therefore,
truly astonished when he saw that the room was already swept
clean and tidy, a coal fire lit, for the autumn morning was cold,
and his breakfast set out upon the table, just as he loved to have
his food, ready to his hand, without any thought or trouble about
it; both plenty as regards quantity, and pleasing as regards quality.
More than this, his daughter Bess was busy with a duster among
his papers—no one but Bess knew how to take up a sheet of paper,
dust the desk about and under it, and lay it down again in its
place. She wore a white apron, her sleeves were turned up above
her elbows, and she was going about her work steadily and quietly,
as if nothing at all had happened. More again, when she saw her
father, she smiled, and saluted him. Now, she had not smiled,
or said a single gracious thing to him for two months and more.
' Come, father,' she said, ' take your breakfast while the beer is
fresh and hath still a head. The cask is well-nigh out, and I must
have another brew. The knuckle of pork has got some good cuts
left yet; as for the bread, it is dry, because it is baker's bread, and
last week's baking. But to-morrow you shall have some new home¬
made.'
This was a very strange and remarkable change. Nothing at
all had happened to make her happier. On the contrary, her
S
258 THE WORLD WENT
lover was certainly going to marry Castilla, and he was g0"1#
away; her affairs were as hopeless as they could well be. Yet
now her soul was calm. It may be that one cannot go on lor
ever at a white heat of wrath; but some have been known to brood
over their wrongs all the days of their lives. Her soul was calm.
That was the change which had fallen upon her; her eyes were
no longer fierce, and her cheek was no more alternately flaming
red and deathly white. Nor did her lips move continually as if
she were vehemently reproaching someone. Her face was soft
again. She told me afterwards, speaking humbly and meekly,
that when she had tried to curse her unfaithful lover, her lips
refused ; and when she had tried to murder him—her heart failing
her at the last—the words that she said to him—namely, that she
would seek no more to harm him, and would think no more of him
with bitterness, feeling assured that God would bring the thing
home to him in such a way as would touch him most surely—
these words seemed as if they were whispered in her ears or put
into her mouth; and then suddenly, as she uttered them, all the
rage and madness which had torn her for two months left her, and
peace fell upon her heart. Those who please may put upon this
confession any other meaning; for my own part, I can see but
one. What that interpretation is, I leave to the reader.
Mr. Westmoreland, however, when he observed this change,
fell to shaking and shivering, betraying in his looks the most vivid
apprehensions. The reason of this phenomenon was that in the
old days before his wife ran away from him—Bess during the last
two months had in other respects greatly resembled her mother as
to temper—whenever a domestic storm of greater fury than usual
was brewing, it was always preceded by a period of unusual
activity in the house, with a strange and unnatural zeal for cleanli¬
ness and tidiness. The memory , of this fact, and of the terrible
storms which afterwards used to break over the poor Penman's
head, caused this awakening of. terror. Was Bess in this respect
also going to take after her mother ?
' Child,' he stammered, ' what—what—what in Heaven's name
hath happened to thee ? Have I wronged thee in any way ? Tell
me, Bess, only tell me, what have I done to thee ? '
'Why, father, nothing. I have been ill lately. Now I am
better. Sit down and take your breakfast. For dinner you shall
have something better than cold knuckle of pork.'
He obeyed, wondering and distrustful.
' I've been ill of late, father,' she repeated; ' and you've been
neglected and uncomfortable. It's my fault that the room was
this morning up to my ankles in dust and dirt. But I've been
very ill, and couldn't do anything but think of the pains in my
head.'
' Well, Bess,' he replied, rallying a little, ' to be sure you've been
a bit—so to speak—haughty, for the last two months. It came on
I remember, about the time when the Lieutenant came home.'
VERY WELL THEN
259
'It was about that time, father. Two months ago I first began
to have these dreadful pains in the head.'
'If it was toothache you should have gone to Mr. Brinjes, and
had it out. If it was tic, there's nothing to help it but a charm.
But why not ask Mr. Brinjes to charm it away ? '
' It was not toothache. I dare say it was tic. But now it has
almost gone.'
'Was it, Bess—was it'—he dropped his voice—' was it anything
to do with Aaron Fletcher ? Sometimes I've thought there might
have been a love disappointment. Was it Aaron Fletcher ? '
'Aaron Fletcher is nothing to me, and never will be.'
' Well, I'm glad to hear that, Bess, because Aaron is a bad man
— a man of violence; a crafty man, my dear—a headstrong man—
a man without virtue or religion—and an unforgiving man as well.
I've watched Aaron, man and boy, since he was born. Aaron will
end badly. Of late he has been drinking, and his business is broken
up. Aaron will come to a bad end.'
'Well—that's enough said about me, father. Go on with the
cold knuckle.'
' And now shall I hear thee singing about thy work again, Bess ?
and laughing again just as before ? It does my old heart good to
hear thee sing and laugh. Nay, that doth never put me out,
though I be struggling with the sine and tangent and even with the
versed sine. 'Tis when I hear thee weep and groan, and when to
all my questions I get no answer, and when thine eyes are red and
thy cheek pale, and when all day long I see thee sitting neglectful
and careless—'tis then, my dear, that the figures swim before my
eyes and the result comes all wrong. 'Tis then that if I try to
write, my flourishes are shaky, and the finials lack firmness.'
' Nay, father,' she replied, ' I fear I shall not laugh and sing
again all my life. The kind of tic which I have had takes away
the power of laughing and the desire for singing. But I hope never
again to be so troubled.'
' Alas!' said her father, ' I would I were a preacher, so that I
could exhort women to good temper. Sometimes when the learned
and pious Yicar is expounding the wisdom of the Chaldees—whicli
is, no doubt, a most useful subject for the Church to consider—I
venture to think that a word might be spared on the sins of temper
and on the hasty tongue and the striking hand. Truly, for my own
part, in all things but one have I been singularly blessed, yea, above
my fellow-creatures. For I have a house convenient and weather-
tight ; I belong to the one true Church, being neither a Papist nor
a Schismatic ; I am assured of my salvation, through no merits of
mine own; I am not of lofty station but obscure, yet not of the
vilest herd; I live sufficiently, and, when my daughter pleases to
exercise her skill of housewifery, with ^ toothsomeness; no man
envies me, and I have no enemies; 'tis,true my shoulders are
round and I am weak of arm, but what of that ? To crown all, I
have been endowed by beneficent Providence with the love of
260
THE WORLD WENT
divine mathematics and the gift of fine penmanship, so that my
work, whether I copy, or engross, or write letters, or work out
logarithms, or consider the theses, lemmas, corollaries, problems,
and curious questions advanced by ingenious professors of the
exact sciences, I live all day long in continual happiness. I would
not change my lot for any other, save and except for one thing. I
am filled with pride, which I hope is not sinful, because it is in
gratitude for the gifts of Heaven. But there is one thing, my
child. I have wanted no blessing in this life, which to many of my
fellow-creatures is, for no seeming fault of theirs, a vale of misery
and of tears. But, alas! I still found my comfort spoiled by the
temper of thy mother while she remained with me. And I feared,
Uess—J say that I feared—lest thou might also take after her, and
so the scoldings, the peevishness, the discontent, and the violence
might begin again. I am not so young as I was then, and I doubt
whether I could endure that misery again.'
' Fear nothing, father. Why, whenever did I ask or do aught to
make you think that I should upbraid you ? As for my temper, I
will try to govern myself. Fear nothing, father. To-day you shall
have as good a dinner as you can desire, to make up for the past
shortcomings. What will you have ?' She spoke so gently and
softly that her father was quite reassured, and plucked up his
courage.
' Well, child, since thou art in so happy a disposition—Lord,
grant that it continue !—I would choose, if I may, a hodge-podge,
with an onion pie. They are the two things, as thou knowest well,
which most I love. With hodge-podge, onion pie, and a merry
heart, a man may make continual feast.'
It was not a merry heart that returned to poor Bess, hut it was
the outward seeming or show of cheerfulness which not only re¬
turned but remained with her, so that she now listened to her
father's garrulous prattle with apparent interest, and gratified his
love of good feeding by toothsome dishes, of which there was no
more notable compounder than herself. This day especially she
regaled him with a most excellent hodge-podge, in itself a dish fit
for a king, and also with an onion pie, a thing counted dainty by
those of a strong digestion, though to some who have a delicate
stomach it may be thought of too coarse a flavour, being com¬
posed of potatoes, onions, apples, and eggs, disposed in layers in a
deep pie-dish, and covered over with a light crust of flour and suet.
While Bess was engaged in the preparation of this banquet, the
Barber came running across the road, as was his wont when the
morning business was completed, and he had any news of im¬
portance to communicate—for the spread of news at Deptford is in
this way. First it is whispered at the Barber's shop, then it is
whispered by the Barber to his customers and his cronies, and next
it is carried by them in all directions around the town.
4 Have you heard the news, friend Westmoreland ? ' he asked,
with the air of one who is the possessor of an important secret.
VERY WELL THEN'
1 Why,' Mr. Westmoreland replied, ' since I have not seen you
before this morning, gossip, how should I hear any news ? '
• You will be astonished,' said the Barber. 'Those who hold
their heads the highest fall the soonest. One whom you know well,
friend, and have known long, is broke. Ah, you may well look
surprised and ask who it is. He is broke, who, but a short time
ago, was master of a thriving business, and seemed as if he would
save money.'
' Who is it, then ? '
' I have myself suspected a great while what would happen.
For, thank Heaven, I can see as far as most men, and can put two
and two together, and am no babbler of secrets, but keep them to
myself, or talk of them with my friends over a pipe of tobacco and
a glass, being a discreet person. Wherefore, when I heard of certain
accidents, and saw in what a spirit they were received, I made up
my mind what would happen.'
' Who is it ?' asked Mr. Westmoreland, when this garrulous
person had partly talked himself out of breath.
'It is a man whom you know well; and Bess, here, knows him
very well, too.'
' If, Mr. Skipworth,' said Bess, ' you would tell my father your
news, we could then talk about it afterwards.'
' Why, then, Aaron Fletcher is broke. That is the first news.
Since the burning of his yard, he hath done no work, not even to
putting up some shed and carrying on the business. What were
we to think of that ? When he went privateering he made but
little prize-money, but had quickly to come home again. Thence¬
forth he hath been living on his stock, and hath now come to an
end, and is broke. This morning he was to have been arrested.
The writs are out for him, and the officers came to seek him with
intent to take him to the Marshalsea, where his case would have
been tried at the Palace Court.'
' Would have been tried ? ' asked the Penman. ' Is it not to be
tried, then ?'
' I said would, because for one thing which his creditors thought
not of—he hath escaped them. Otherwise he would have lan¬
guished in gaol until his death.'
Here the Barber wanted to be asked further what was that
happy incident which had enabled Aaron to 'scape prison; for one
who is a retailer of news loves not to expend it all at a breath, but
must still keep some back.
' His father,' he continued, ' was a substantial man, and saved
money, which the son has spent. He inherited, besides the build¬
ing-yard, a good business, and a fast smack, the "Willing Mind,"
for his trade across the Channel. Now the smack is lost, the yard
is burned, the business is ruined, and the money is spent.'
' An idle fellow,' said Mr. Westmoreland; ' a fellow who loved
pot work. But how hath he escaped his creditors ? '
' He will not go to prison; for, in the night, we now learn from
262
THE WORLD WENT
certain authority, he walked over to Woolwich, where he hat
enlisted in the Marines, and so is beyond the reach of his creditors,
who cannot now arrest him. So he escapes the prison, and ex¬
changes the Marshalsea for a man-o'-war. ^ Maybe 'tis better to be
killed by a cannon-shot than to be starved in a debtors' gaol.
So, after more reflections on the folly of young men and the
certain end of laziness and extravagance—which have been put
more concisely by King Solomon the Wise—the Barber returned
to his shop ; and before noon everyone in Deptford had heard the
surprising news of Aaron's fall.
This intelligence made Bess tremble, thinking on the madness
of the last night, when this young man was so desperate, being now
assured that he was bankrupt, that he was ready to commit a mur¬
der, caring little whether he was found out and hanged, or no;
and she herself was so desperate in her wrath and jealousy, that she
was ready to commit murder in order to prevent another woman's
happiness. Why, what would be the condition of that guilty pair
now, were Jack lying dead ? Since, however, Aaron was bankrupt it
was now certain that he had already resolved to go away and enlist
in the Marines, when he came to her and proposed the crime; and
that he intended -to leave the dreadful secret of the murder, had it
been committed, to herself alone—a burden greater than she could
bear.
For Aaron, 'twas the only way of escape, to 'list in one of His
Majesty's regiments. Naturally, he chose the Marines as the
branch belonging to the sea. To carry a musket on board a King's
ship, after being a Lieutenant in a privateer, not to speak of com¬
manding the' Willing Mind,' is to come down in the world, indeed.
Yet that he cared for little, considering the alternative of a debtors'
prison, terrible to all, but most terrible to a man who, like Aaron,
liad spent all his life in the open air, and most certainly it is better
for the country that a stout and active fellow should be fighting her
battles than that he should be laid by the heels in a prison doing
nothing. Mark, however, what followed. Aaron walked to Wool¬
wich that night, where there is a depot for Marines, which in that
war represented twenty-five companies. He enlisted in the morn¬
ing. When they began to teach him his drill it was found that he
already knew as much as is expected of any recruit when he is
passed for service. Therefore he was, with others, marched to
Chatham ready for embarkation. There are many remarkable
coincidences in this history, but there is none more remarkable
than the fact that Aaron should have been shipped as a Marine on
board the very ship, the ' Calypso,' of which the man he had tried
to murder was Commander. This circumstance, with the conse¬
quences which followed, I can regard as nothing but providentially
ordered.
When Aaron discovered who was the Captain of the ship, he
fell at first into despair, and was ready to throw himself overboard,
looking for floggings continually and on the merest pretext, with
VERY WELL THEN 263
keel-haulings and every kind of tyranny, oppression, and punish¬
ment. But he presently found that the Captain took no kind of
notice of him, even when he was on sentry duty on the quarter-deck,
and seemed not even to know that he was on board.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
how philadelphy refused a bribe.
When Bess had given her father his hodge-podge and onion pie,
which he received as some compensation due to him for all past
privations and recent neglect, she left him, and repaired to the
Apothecary's.
Mr. Brinjes was already wide awake, and in earnest conversation
with Philadelphy. On the table between them lay the famous
skull-stick, object of the deepest veneration and awe to the negro
woman.
' What will you do for me,' he was saying, ' if I give you this
stick ? I am old now, and I have no enemies to punish, nor many
friends to protect, and I want nothing for myself except that which
not even an Obeah man can procure for himself—his lost youth.
. . . What will you do for me, Philadelphy, if I give it to you ? '
' Massa Brinjes '—she clutched at the stick, and held it in her
arms, kissing the skull—horrid thing !—which grinned at Bess as if
it were alive, ' I will do everything. Ask me—tell me—I will do
everything.'
' We shall see. Those who possess this stick—it must be given,
not stolen, or the virtue vanishes—can do whatever they please.
Why, if it were your own, there would be no woman in the country
so powerful as you. If you have enemies, you could put Obi on
them, and go sit in the sun and watch them slowly dying—Ha ?
I have seen the wise women on the West Coast sitting thus, and
watching outside the hut wherein their enemy lay wasting away.
And if you have friends, think of the good fortune you could bring
them. Why, Miss Castilla you could marry to a Lord; not a
beggarly ship Captain, but a rich Lord.'
' No—no,' said Philadelphy. ' She shall marry Mas' Jack. No
one like him.'
' You could make her as rich as you could desire. If she wants
children, you could send them to her. No need, then, to consult
the cards, or to watch the birds, because you could have everything
your own way to command, once you get the skull-stick. As for
wind and rain, you could call for them when you pleased. See'—
he rose and looked up at the sky, which was covered with driving
clouds, the wind being fresh. ' See—you would like rain! 'Twould
be good for Madam's garden, would it not ? I call for rain.'
Strange ! As he spoke, the drops pattered against the windows.
Though 'twas a light and passing shower, yet it seemed to fall in
264 THE WORLD WENT
reply to his call. He might have seen it on the point of falling, and
prophesied after the event was decided: truly, Mr. Brinjes was
crafty and subtle above all other men. But Philadelphy jumped,
and kissed the stick again. ' You see, Philadelphy,' he went on,
' what you could do with this stick. It is wasted on me, because I
am too old to want anything. I am past ninety, and you, I should
think, are not much over seventy. If I die before^ I give the stick
away, it is lost: its virtue is gone. But there is still time. What
will you do for me if I give you the stick ?' He paused and con¬
sidered a little before he went on again. ' Perhaps you think it will
only compel rain, and is of no use as regards persons. W ell, here
is Bess to testify that I put Obi on Aaron Fletcher. He was
formerly a thriving man, until he offended me. What hath hap¬
pened to him since ? First, he was tortured with toothache ; next,
his smack was taken by French privateers ; then he went privateer¬
ing himself, and did no good; then his boat-building sheds were
burned, with all his tools and timber; lastly, he went bankrupt, and
hath now, I fear, enlisted in the Marines to escape a prison. I have
removed the Obi, and now leave him to his fate. What will you do
for me if I give you the stick ? '
Again the old woman clutched it and kissed it, with the unholy
light of witchcraft in her eyes. I wonder if the Sorceress of Endor
had a skull-stick.
' Stop a moment, Philadelphy. What will you do for me ? '
'Everything, Massa Brinjes. Nothing in the world that I will
not do for you.'
' There is only one thing that I cannot make my stick do for
me. Everything else in the world I can do. But this thing 1
cannot do, and you can.'
Still clinging to the stick, the old woman implored him only to
let her know what that was, in order that she might instantly go
away and do it.
' Bess hath a sweetheart, and he hath proved a rover, as many
sailors do. Bring him back to her arms and keep him constant,
and I will bestow the stick upon thee.'
' Nay,' Bess cried quickly, ' since my sweetheart loves me no
longer, I will have no charms to make him. I have promised,
besides, that I will trouble him no more.'
' Tell me his name,' cried the old woman, regardless of Bess.
' Only tell me his name, and I will do it for her.'
' Can you bewitch a man at sea ? '
' I can, I can,' she cried. ' I will make his heart soft for her, so
that he will forget every other woman, and want none but Bess.
Why,' she said, ' every negro woman knows a love charm.' This
with some wonder that a wizard of Mr. Brinjes' power, and possessed
of an Obeah stick, should not be able to do so simple a thing. ' 1
can make him love her all the same as he loved her at first. I can
make him love her so as he shall never love another woman. If that
is all, Massa Brinjes, let me carry away the stick.'
VERY WELL THEN 265
' Softly, softly. The thing is not done yet. If I give thee this
stick I shall never get it back again. Wherefore, let us have it paid
for first.'
' Tell me his name, then.' Philadelphy turned eagerly to Bess,
' Only tell me his name, girl, and I will make the charm to-day '
' Nay,' Bess repeated, ' I want no charm to bring him back.'
' Be not so proud, Bess,' said Mr. Brinjes; ' you shall have what
your friends can get you. As for you, Phiiadelphy, be not too ready.
What ? You think I would give such a stick for a trifle ? You
think Bess's lover is some common sea-swab, I dare say—a master's
mate, at best, or a gunner, or perhaps a shipwright. No, no ; her
lover is another guess kind, I promise you.'
' If he was an Admiral, he should come back to her. Tell me
his name.'
' Even if he were promised to marry your young mistress, Miss
Castilla ?'
A negro woman cannot turn pale, particularly one so black as
Philadelphy, nor can her colour come and go like that of a white
woman : yet she changes colour when she is moved. Philadelphy
not only changed colour, but she gasped and looked upon Mr.
Brinjes as one astonished and dismayed.
' To marry Miss Castilla ? ' she repeated.
' What if Bess's lover had deserted her for your young mistress ?'
' Don' say that—oh ! Massa Brinjes, I cooden do it—no—no—
I could do anything else, but I cooden do it even for the stick.'
' I say, Philadelphy, what if his name was Jack Easterbrook ?
Why, it is Jack. It is the Captain who was Bess's lover. Where
were your eyes not to discover that ? You, a witch! Where were
your eyes, I say ? '
' I cooden do it—no—I cooden do it.'
' Look at the stick again, old woman. Think of the joy of hav¬
ing the stick your own. Think of what you could do with the stick
to help you. What is the Captain to you, compared with the
possession of the stick ? '
She looked at it with yearning eyes. Suppose that the thing
which all your life you have been taught to regard as the symbol and
proof of power was to be offered you at a price. This was the old
negro woman's case—she could have the Obeah stick in return for
—what ?
'At the worst,' said Mr. Brinjes,' it would make her unhappy
for a week.'
« No—no—Miss Castilla, she dun set her heart upon the Captain.'
'Well,' the tempter continued, 'with the help of the stick you
can not only find a rich and noble lover for her, one who will make
her happy, but you can also give her a charm and make her forget
the Captain.'
< No—no,' said the old woman ' Miss Castilla will never forget
the Captain.'
' Then, when his fancy returns to his old love, which it will do
266
THE WORLD WENT
before long, your young mistress will be made unhappy. Come,
Philadelphy, think of this stick ; think of having it your own—the
great Obeah stick.'
' Who are you'—she turned fiercely upon Bess—' to take away a
young gentleman officer ? Stay with your own people, and let the
Captain stay with his. Massa Brinjes, if I give you the secret to
keep alive—ten—fifty—a hundred years if you like—will you give
me the stick ?'
' If you have that secret, old woman,' said Mr. Brinjes, 'I will
tear it out of you, if I have to rack every joint in your body with
rheumatism. If you know that secret, it is as good as mine already.
No, Philadelphy, it is the Captain or nothing. Look at the stick
again, Philadelphy. Take it in your hands.'
' Oh! I will get the girl—what a fuss about a girl! As if she
was a lady!—I will get her any other man in Deptford. Plenty
handsome men in Deptford.'
'I want none of her charms, Mr. Brinjes, for Jack or anyone
else,' Bess said again. ' Let her have the stick, if you like, and let
her go.'
' There !' Philadelphy cried, triumphantly. ' You see ? She
wants none of my charms. Why, there, take the secret instead, and
let me have the stick, and you shall live for a hundred years more.'
Here one cannot but admire the way in which these two magi-
cians believed each in the other's powers, but were uncertain about their
own. For—first—if Mr. Brinjes, by means of his skull-stick, could
draw down rain from the sky, why could he not move the Captain's
heart ? And, next, if Philadelphy could turn a faithless lover back
to his fidelity, why could she not so order Castilla's heart that she
should resign the Captain without a pang ? But this she could not
do. Yet the wizard believed in the witch, and the witch in the
wizard.
'It must be Jack,' said Mr. Brinjes, 'or nothing.'
' Then,' she replied, sorrowfully, ' it is nothing. Put away the
stick, Mr. Brinjes, lest I die of longin', and let me go.'
He replaced the stick in the corner. The skull grinned at the
old woman as if in contempt because she had missed so mag¬
nificent an opportunity.
'Very well, Philadelphy,' said Mr. Brinjes, returning to his
pillows. ' I do not believe you know any charm at all. You know
nothing. You are only an ignorant old negro woman. In Jamaica
they would laugh at you. You are not a wise woman. You only
pretend to make charms. "VVhy, anybody could make as good a
charm as you.'
She shook her head, but made no reply, still gazing at the stick.
' All your tricks are only pretence. You cannot, in reality, do
anything. As for your cards, you cannot even tell a fortune
properly. If you can, tell Bess hers.'
Philadelphy drew from her pocket a pack of cards, greasy and
well worn, and began to shuffle them and to lay them out according
VERY WELL THEN
267
to her so-called science. Bess, who would have no charms, could
not resist the sight of the cards, and looked on anxiously while the
old woman laid out her cards and muttered her conclusions.
' The dark woman is Bess,' she said—' the fair woman is Miss
Castilla—the King of Hearts is the Captain. Oh ! the dark woman
wins!' She dashed the cards aside, and would go on no further,
hut, with every sign of alarm and anxiety, rose up, and, tightening
her red turban, she hurried away.
' Always,' said Bess, ' she has told me the same fortune. Always
the same. Yet I know not.'
'These divinations by cards,' said Mr. Brinjes, ' are known by
many women even in this country, where there is so little wisdom.
I wonder if Philadelphy lied when she offered to sell me that secret.
If I thought she had such a secret—but I doubt, else why doth she
continue so old and grow so infirm? No; she hath not that know¬
ledge, which I must seek on the African coast. Bess, take courage.
We will sail to that coast—you, Jack, and I; we will be all carried
away together; and, first, I will find that secret, and, next, we will
go forth to the Southern Seas, and there dig up the treasure of the
great galleon.'
She shook her head.
' As for me,' she said,' there will be no sailing away, with you or
with Jack, nor any happiness at all; and as for you, Daddy, when
you are carried away it will be with feet first.'
' Perhaps! Yet I doubt! For I do continually dream of those
seas, and clearly discern the ship, with myself upon the poop, and
the island not far off, where at the foot of the palm-tree there lie the
boxes. All shall be thine, Bess—to dispose of as thou wilt.'
' Why,' said Bess, simply,' what should I do with it but give it
all to Jack ? '
CHAPTER XXXIX.
now bad news came home.
Nothing at all was heard of the ' Calypso' for three or four months.
It was not even certain whither she had sailed, except that she was
with Sir Edward Hawke's fleet. But it was known that M. Thurot
had got out of Dunquerque with five frigates, on board of which
were a large number of troops, with intent to make a descent
upon Ireland, and we conjectured that perhaps the ' Calypso' might
have been ordered to join the squadron in chase of that gallant
Frenchman. But that proved not to be the case.
It was in January—namely, on the evening of the 15th of January
in the year 1760—that the news arrived which filled the hearts of all
with shame and confusion. 'Twas a wild and tempestuous night,
fitting the nature of the intelligence which then arrived. The wind
blew up the river in great gusts, and the rain drove slanting into the
faces of those who were out. I remembered, afterwards, that I had
268
THE WORLD WENT
met Philadelphy in the morning. The old woman was always full
of omens and prognostications. Sometimes she had seen a ghost
in the night—surely there was never a greater ghost-seer than this
old negress—and sometimes she had been warned by one of the
many signs which terrify the superstitious. ' Hi 1 Massa Luke,'
she said, in her negro way, which it is unnecessary to imitate,'there's
bad news coming, for sure. Last night the cock crowed twice at
midnight, and an owl screeched round the chimney; there was a
dog barking all night long, and I saw a ghost. There's bad news
coming !' I asked her what the ghost was like, but she refused to
tell me. Well, it is true that on many other occasions she foretold
disaster (because to this kind of witch there are never any signs of
good luck), and her prophecies proved naught. But on this day,
alas ! she proved a true prophetess of evil.
At the Sir John Falstaff some of the company, including Mr.
Brinjes, who was never late, had already arrived, and were hanging
up their hats, the candles being lit, a great coal fire burning, pipes
laid on the table, and the chairs set.
'There hath arrived bad news,' said Captain Petherick, the
Commissioner of the Yard. ' I heard talk of it at the Navy House
this morning. It is said that we have lost a frigate. They say
also that we have lost her cowardly—a thing which one is not ready
to believe. But I have not heard the particulars, and I know not
the name of the craft. 'Tis pity, but 'tis true, that there should be
found in every war cowardly commanders, in British as well as in
French bottoms. Those of us who have memories can remember
the last war, gentlemen, Well, we must quickly build or capture
another ship, and find a better Captain. We will give the com¬
mand to Jack Easterbrook.'
So saying, he sat down and began to fill his pipe leisurely. Just
as he had finished these words, and before Mr. Brinjes had time to
do more than to open his mouth, there came running into the room
the landlord, having in his hand the ' London Post' of the evening,
brought down the river from town by some boatman. His face was
pale, and his eyes full of terror.
' Oh! gentlemen,' he cried, ' gentlemen ! Here is such news! I
cannot trust my eyes. For God's sake read the newspaper 1 But
who shall tell the Admiral ? '
' Is it news from the Fleet ? ' asked Captain Petherick.
' It is, your Honour.' The man looked as if he was afraid to
tell his news. ' Oh ! gentlemen,' he repeated, ' who shall tell the
Admiral ? '
' Is it bad news ?' asked Mr. Brinjes.
' It is the worst news possible. Gentlemen—it is—it is ... .
he looked about him to see if the Admiral was, perhaps, present
hitherto unseen. ' It is news of—of—of Captain Easterbrook
gentlemen. Of no other, indeed.'
' What J' cried the Apothecary ; ' bad news ? The worst news?
VERY WELL THEN
269
Then is our boy dead ? ' He sat down in a chair, and looked from
face to face. 4 Jack is dead.'
' It is the worst news possible,' repeated the landlord.
' Jack is dead,' said all together, looking at one another in dismay.
'Jack is dead,' repeated Mr. Brinjes. 'There hath been an
action, and Jack hath fallen. Poor Bess ! Yet, now he will never
marry the other.' The company knew not what he meant. ' Well,
every man must take his chance—I looked for other things—but
. . . . Jack is dead! Some die young, and some die old. To
those who die old it seems as if their years have been but a dream.
What matters, therefore, when a man dies ? Wherefore, devil take
all black negro witches with their lying prophecies!' Again the
company asked themselves what Mr. Brinjes might mean.
The landlord shook his head.
' No, sir. No, gentlemen. Oh ! you will not understand. Bead
the " Post." Captain Easterbrook hath lost his ship.'
'If,' said Mr. Brinjes, 'he lost his ship, of course he first lost
his life or else his limbs. He would not be taken below while
there was yet life enough left to fight his ship.'
' Gentlemen,' cried the landlord again, ' your Honours will not
listen. It is in the " London Post." '
He held out his newspaper, but no one offered to take it.
Everyone knew now that something had happened worse than
death. Then they heard the Admiral's step as he entered the
house and stumped along the passage with his escort of negroes.
' Gentlemen,' said the landlord again, ' who shall tell him ? '
Again he held out the paper. They looked at each other and held
back. No one offered to take the paper; they were afraid. It is
one kind of courage to walk up to a cannon's mouth, and another
to become a messenger of bad tidings.
Then the Admiral came in, followed by his two negroes. He
saluted the company cheerfully, and gave his hat and cloak to his
servants. This done he took his seat in his usual place. But the
other gentlemen standing about the fire did not, as was customary,
follow his example. They hesitated, looked first at the Admiral
and then at the landlord.
' Gentlemen, be seated,' said the Admiral.
' Sir '—it was Mr. Brinjes who spoke—' it appears that bad
news hath arrived.'
What news ? '
It is—news of Captain Easterbrook.'
Is the boy ... is the boy dead ? ' asked the Admiral.
' Sir, we cannot but suppose so. For he hath lost his ship.
But as yet we have not seen the " Post
< No—no,' the landlord again interposed, holding out the "Post,"
which no one would take. ' Gentlemen, stand by me, I beseech
you. Sir, the Captain is not dead.'
4 Then, poor lad,' said the Admiral, 4 he is grievously wounded,
270
THE WORLD WENT
and like to die. Our boy, gentlemen, is grievously wounded, and
like to ' Here his voice failed him.
' No, Sir, he is not wounded.'
' Then he is shipwrecked and drowned. Why is the man staring
like a stuck pig ? Alas! gentlemen, our boy is drowned.' But
the Admiral looked uncertain, because the company, now under¬
standing that something out of the common had happened, looked
at each other and at the landlord, and spoke not.
' Sirs'—the landlord again offered the newspaper to one after
the other, but no one took it—' the news is here printed. Other¬
wise, God forbid that I should dare to say such a thing. Your
Honour, it is here stated that the Captain struck his colours in the
very beginning of the action.'
' Struck his colours!' The Admiral caught the arms of his
chair, raised himself as quickly as a one-legged man may. ' Struck
his colours ! Jack struck his colours ! Ye lie, ye drunken swab !
Ye lie !' With that he delivered so shrewd a blow with his gold-
headed stick that, had not the landlord dodged, he would have been
enabled instantly to carry the news into the next world. ' Ye lie,
I say!' Here his voice failed him, and his face became purple,
and he reeled and would have fallen but Mr. Shelvocke and Captain
Petherick caught him and set him in a chair, where he gasped and
panted and looked as if he was about to have a fit of some kind.
As for the landlord, he stood in a corner, pale and trembling.
' Give me the paper,' said Mr. Brinjes, when the Admiral had
somewhat mastered his passion. ' Let us at least read what is here
stated.' He read it silently. 'Gentlemen,' he said, 'this is a strange
business. I understand it not. Here is more than meets the eye.
It is a thing hard to understand. I will read it aloud. Courage,
Admiral, the story is impossible as it stands.
'" Despatches have been received from Sir Edward Hawke.
He reports an affair which, unless later intelligence contradict it,
is more discreditable to British honour than anything which has
been done since the cowardly flight of Benbow's captains. The
frigate ' Calypso,' Captain John Easterbrook, with her consort the
' Resolute,' Captain Samuel Boys, fell in at daybreak with a squad¬
ron of the enemy, consisting of three frigates, one of them being the
' Malicieuse.' The names of the other two are not given. The
Frenchmen bore away on discovery of the Union Jack, and the
British ships gave chase. After some hours the ' Calypso' came
up with the ' Malicieuse,' the hindmost of the three, the ' Resolute'
being then a quarter of a mile or so astern, though crowding all sail.
It is reported by Captain Boys, he being then on his quarter-deck
and glass in hand, that the engagement was commenced by the
' Malicieuse' firing a shot from her stern-chaser which struck the
* Calypso '; that then he saw Captain Easterbrook strike his colours
with his own hand; that his officers ran about him, and he cut one
down; that the Frenchman immediately lowered a boat and boarded
the prize, driving the crew below; and that the other two French
VERY WELL THEN 27 \
frigates backed their sails, whereupon he withdrew from the chase,
thinking it useless to engage three vessels at once; that he was not
pursued; and that he knows no reason at all why the ship was
surrendered without firing a shot. 'Tis thought that the ' Calypso '
hath been conveyed to Brest. This account is the more extraor¬
dinary by reason of the character for gallantry possessed by Captain
Easterbrook, who was one of Captain Lockhart's Lieutenants on
board the fighting 4 Tartar.' "'
4 This is a very strange story,' said Captain Petherick. 4 By your
leave, Mr. Brinjes, I will not believe it.'
4 Thank ye, old friend,' said the Admiral, hoarsely. ' My boy
surrender ? Never, sir, never. Damme, Mr. Apothecary, wilt thou
try to persuade us that such a thing is possible ? '
4 Nay, Admiral, nay; I do but read what is printed. Lord for¬
bid that I should doubt the boy. "What is this ? Ay, they have
begun already their pestilent verses. 'Twill be just as it was with
Admiral Byng, when the journals were full of squibs. Listen now.
Oh! they care nothing about truth so long as they can turn a verse
and raise a laugh. Listen.'
4" The following lines have been picked up at the Bainbow.
'Tis thought they come from the Temple:
The Frenchman crowds all sail in fright,
The Briton crowds all sail to fight:
The brave ' Calypso's' gallant tyke
Claps on all sail in haste to strike.
And these have been recited at Dick's—
The Captain brave his ship would save,
And so this great commander
Cries, ' Heroes, I will scorn to fly
While' I can still surrender. .
Stay, Frenchman, stay: your shot may play
Too rough among my hearties ;
I fear no foe : but yet I know
To strike the better part is.'
4 Oh ! 'tis a lie—'tis a lie,' the Admiral groaned. 4 Gentlemen —
my boy, Jack 1 Gentlemen, I say. . . .'
' We cannot believe it, Admiral,' said Captain Petherick. 4 Yet
it is in the despatches.'
4 There is something we are not told,' said Mr. Brinjes. 4 But,
without doubt, the 44 Calypso " is taken prisoner, and someone on
board struck the colours.'
The Admiral stared about him with amazement and confusion
in his eyes. Then he rose slowly. 41 shall go home, gentlemen.
I wish you good-night. Someone shall swing for this lie. . . .
Someone shall swing.' He moved towards the door, forgetting
his hat and cloak, which one of the gentlemen reached for him.
4 Someone, I say, shall swing for this—this diabolical lie about my
272
THE WORLD WENT
boy Jack. We shall see—damme, I say, we shall see ! What,
sirrah, the lantern not lit ? ' Indeed, it was not the duty of the
negro to keep the candle burning through the evening; but the
Admiral belaboured him so lustily that the fellow roared, and the
company trembled lest he should be killed. But a negro's head is
hard. Then the Admiral walked away. This was his last night
with the Club; he came no more to the Sir John Falstaff.
The gentlemen, without his presence, sat awhile speechless.
But the landlord brought in the punch, and they presently filled
and lit their pipes and began to whisper.
' Do you think, sir,' asked Mr. Basil of the Apothecary, ' do you
think that the story may be in any point of it true ? '
' Why,' said Mr. Brinjes,' as for truth, I suppose that is never
got at, and this nut is hard to crack. How such a man as Jack
Easterbrook could haul down his flag before the action began passes
understanding. But then how men like Captain Boys and his
officers should be deceived, when only a quarter of a mile distant or
thereabouts, one cannot understand either. And that the ship is
taken one cannot doubt.'
' If he comes home he will be tried by court-martial, and for
cowardice,' said Mr. Shelvocke.
' That is most certain,' said Captain Petherick: ' and if he
surrendered cowardly, he will be shot. Gentlemen, this is an event
which affects our own honour. For though the boy is no blood
relation of any here, he hath been our pupil, so to speak. We have
taught him. He is our son in whom we hoped, and in whom we
believed. It is not the Admiral alone who is struck. It is this
company of honourable gentlemen who would have maintained to
their dying day that Jack Easterbrook could never turn out a
coward. Why, a more gallant lad never trod the deck, as witness
Captain Lockhart, of the " Tartar," where he served. I say, gentle¬
men, this affects us all. WTe are brought to shame by this untoward
and unexpected event.'
' Perhaps,' said one of the company, ' the Captain was shot at the
outset, and it was the First Lieutenant who hauled down the flag.'
But that seemed impossible; no one could fail to discern Captain
Easterbrook at so short a distance, if only on account of his great
stature. Besides, Captain Samuel Boys was known for a sober and
honest man, who would certainly not invent so grievous a charge
against a brother officer.
'Perhaps,' said another, 'the ship was foundering.'
Then they read the statement again, trying to extract from it, if
possible, some gleam of hope or doubt. But they found none.
' Gentlemen, said the Apothecary,' I hope I shall not be thought
to be a man over-ready to believe this monstrous thing if I submit
that it may be true, and that the act was made possible by one of
those sudden madnesses which the people believe to be tho
possession of the Devil. We read of poor women, in such fits,
.murdering their own tender children ; and of husbands beating to
VERY WELL THEN
273
death their wives, without a cause; and of learned scholars who
have gone forth from their books to hang themselves without any
reason for despair. No man is at all times master of his own actions;
and doubtless there are in the brain, as in the body, weak places, so
that just as one man falleth into an asthma, or a rheumatism, or
the gout, by reason of bodily imperfections, so may a man by mental
disorder commit acts of false judgment, foolish conclusions, and
mad acts for which there is no accounting. Nor can we anticipate
or prevent such attacks. I once knew as brave a fellow as ever
stepped, to snivel and cry for an hour together: and why ? Only
because he was sentenced to be hanged. Yet he walked manfully
to the gallows in the end. And another, who fell on his knees and
wept aloud because he was to have a tooth out, which he dreaded
more than he did the three dozen he had received a month before.'
' Then, you think, sir,' said Captain Petherick, ' that the boy
may have been mad ? '
' I know not what to think. I tell the company what I have
seen. Some acts, I declare, are not consistent with what we know
of the man's previous life. What should we think did the Reverend
Yicar of St. Paul's suddenly fall to singing a roaring tavern song of
Poll and Nan ? Yet that would be no whit the worse than for Jack
to become suddenly coward. There are some who say that men
are thus afflicted by Divine Visitation. That may be. A conges¬
tion of the liver and the mounting of vapours to the head may like¬
wise produce such effects. Yet we do not call a liver disease a
Divine Visitation. I remember once, being then on the coast of
Yucatan, a very singular thing. Landlord, the bowl is out. I say,
gentlemen, that I once witnessed a very singular thing. There was
a young fellow with us of five or six and twenty ; a daredevil dog
who had faced death so often that he feared him no longer, and
was looked to to lead the way. The enemy showed fight, and we
came to close quarters, when the word was given to board. What
happened ? He leaped upon the enemy's deck with the greatest
resolution, and then, to our surprise, he turned tail and fled like a
cur, dropping his arms and crying out for fear. We tried that man,
gentlemen, when we landed, and we shot him for cowardice, just as
Jack Easterbook will be tried and shot, if he be fool enough to come
home. 'Twas a pity, too, for after he was dead we found out the
reason of this strange behaviour. He was bewitched by an old
woman to revenge her grand-daughter, his sweetheart, who was
mad with him on account of his many infidelities. The girl came
out and laughed in his face while he was led forth to execution.
Afterwards, she confessed the crime to some of the girls; and when
they began to talk of it, she took to the woods, where, no doubt, she
presently perished. The old woman we punished. The night
before she was executed, I went privily to her and offered her poison,
if she would give me her secrets, and especially the secret by which
she knew how to prolong life as much as she pleased. But she
refused, being an obstinate old woman; and next day the men gave
T
274
THE WORLD WENT
her a bad time, being mad with her. Gentlemen, we are not on
the Spanish Main; and there is no witch among ns, except
Philadelphy, the Admiral's negro woman, who would not, if she
could, put Obi on Jack. Yet if this story be true, then I doubt not
that our boy was clean off his head, and no longer master of himself,
when he struck his flag.'
CHAPTER XL.
how the news was received.
The next despatches brought confirmation of the news. There could
now be no doubt at all that the ' Calypso' had been surrendered by
the Captain, and that without striking a blow. The consternation
and shame which fell upon us cannot be described; nay, not upon
us only, but upon the whole town of Deptford, to whom Jack waa
nothing short of a hero.
' There is nothing,' said my father in the next Sunday's sermon,
' there is nothing, my brethren, upon this earth which is stable.
Our riches make themselves wings and fly away; disease falls upon
the stoutest and strongest of us ; old age palsies our limbs; death
snatches away the youngest and brightest. Even in the very spring
and heyday of life, when promise is strongest and hope most
assured, the qualities of which we are so proud may fail us suddenly,
and without warning—so that the brave man may lose his courage,
the loyal man become a traitor, and the strong man fall into the
weakness of a girl. Remember this, my brethren, and in the day
of your strength be humble.' Those who listened applied the words
to the disgraced Captain, and hung their heads.
But the Admiral and his household were not in church. They
sat at home, the flag half-mast high, Madam and Castilla, by the
Admiral's orders, in black, as if in mourning for one who is lately
dead.
' He is dead, Luke,' said the brave old man. ' My gallant boy,
the son of my old friend, my son-in-law who was to be, is truly
dead. How he died, and where, I know not. But he is dead, and
his body is occupied by an evil spirit. What ? Shall we be
ashamed because this cowardly Devil hatli struck the colours?
'Tis not our boy. He is dead. Castilla weeps for him; but, as for
me, I always looked that he might die early, as so many others do—
being killed in action, or cast away. As yet we know not how he
died, or how the Devil was permitted to walk about in his body.
Perhaps we shall never learn.' But here he broke off, and choked.
What an ending! What • an ending is here!—truly, what an
ending! Why, if one had foreseen it, 'twould have been a Christian
act to put a knife into the boy's heart when he came here sixteen
years ago; and a joyful thing, had one only known beforehand
what would happen, to be hanged for it afterwards.'
VERY WELL TEEN
275
I said that I hoped he would be able to write us some words cf
consolation.
' Consolation ? "Why, the Captain struck his flag without firing
a shot! Consolation? There are some things, my lad, which can
never be forgiven or forgotten. Cowardly to surrender is the chie
of these. Cowardly! Oh! that it should seem possible to use thai
word of our boy!'
Then I said that it would be best for him to stay abroad, and
never to return to England.
1 Ay,' said the Admiral, ' unless he should resolve to come back
and be shot. The women say he is bewitched. But who should
bewitch him ? No: our boy is dead, and some evil spirit is in his
body.'
This was the only consolation that the poor old Admiral per¬
mitted himself. Yet it did not console. He stayed at home, being
so covered with shame that he durst not venture forth, lest the
boys should point at him. He told me so; and it went to my
heart thus to see this brave old man wounded and bleeding, yet to
know no single word of consolation.
1 Luke,' said Castilla, ' do not, if you please, mention his name
to me. "We must resign ourselves to the Heavenly Will. No doubt
this affliction hath been designed for some wise end.'
This must always be the Christian's view ; yet, in my ignorance,
I have sometimes questioned the course of events which thus
afflicted and presently destroyed a brave man in his old age, un¬
deserving of this disgrace.
I know not who first started the rumour—perhaps it was Mr.
Brinjes himself—but it was presently spread over all the town, that
the Captain was bewitched. And so great was the popular indig¬
nation that, had the people known what had passed with Bess West¬
moreland, I make no doubt they would have murdered her. For¬
tunately, there was no suspicion at all. No one had seen them
together, or knew that there had been any love-passages between
them, or any jealousy. Most certainly they would have murdered
her, the women especially being full of wrath against the unknown
author of this misfortune.
But I was uneasy—listening to the talk of these termagants, as
they gathered in the streets, and cried out what should be done to
the witch—lest someone should turn suspicion upon Bess. As for
Philadelphy, who would have been suspected, it was known that
the Captain was to marry her young mistress, and therefore she
could not be the witch. Now, of wise women, who know the pro¬
perties of simples, and can read the signs of good and bad luck, and
tell fortunes by cards, there are always plenty; but of witches there
was in Deptford only one, and of wizards only one, and both of them
known to be friends of the Captain.
' It is true, Luke,' said Bess Westmoreland, when I found her
in the Usual place. ' Do not talk as if it were not true, because I
am assured that the news is true. Why, I knew that something
x 2
276
THE WORLD WENT
•terrible was going to fall upon liim. Mr. Brinjes says there may
be some mistake in the evidence of Captain Boys ; but I know
better. It is quite true. "What will happen next, I know not. But
I shall have my lover back again, whatever happens. The fortune
always ended in the same way with love at last.'
' Whatever happens, Bess ? Why, he is now a prisoner of war,
and, unless exchanged, will remain a prisoner till the war is ended,
And if he ever return he will be tried and shot.'
' Then he will stay where he is, and send forme,' she replied, as
if the recovery of her lover, should that be brought about, would be
cheaply purchased at the cost of his honour. But women know
little of man's regard for honour. ' Tie will send for me ; and if it
were to the ends of the earth, I would go to him.'
' Bess,' I whispered, ' it is rumoured abroad in the town that he
was bewitched. Is there anyone who knows what passed between
him and you when last you saw him ? '
' No one knows except you, Luke. Aaron knows, but he is
away.'
' Then speak to no one about it. Let it not be suspected that
you predicted this disaster, or the people, I verily believe, would
burn you for a witch, Bess.'
' Why, are they such fools as to think that I would suffer a hair
of his head to be touched if I could help it ? For Jack loved me
once—how he loved me once!—three years ago ! And I—oh! I love
him always. What do I care what he has done ? Let him but
hold up his finger to me and I will go to him. I will be his slave.
Oh ! Luke, I would suffer gladly that he kicked and flogged mo
daily so that he loved me. What do I care about his disgrace ?
That touches not me. My Jack will always be the same to me,
whatever people may say of him.'
' My poor Bess,' I said. ' Indeed, he hath a constant mistress.
But, my dear, do not look to see him more. I fear we shall never
be able to set eyes on his face again, for he cannot show his face
among his fellows. The common fellow pays for his sins with a
flogging, and when his back is healed, he thinks no more of the
matter. But the Captain—look you, Bess—it is a most dreadful
thing. For, whatever happens, he can never more sit among
honourable men.'
' He shall sit with me, then,' said Bess. ' As for what I told
him, the words were put into my head—I know not how. They
were a message. I was made to tell him. They were not my
words; wherefore I knew that they would come true.'
Thus, while the rest of us were overwhelmed with shame, she
who loved him best (because now I clearly understood that Castilla
had never loved him so well, else she could not have been so
quickly and so easily resigned to her loss) thought little of the deed
and much of the man. Thus it is that a woman may love a man,
so that whatever he does, whether he suceecd or fail, even if he
VERY WELL THEN 277
does disgraceful and shameful things, she will love him steadfastly
In Bess's simple words, he is always the same man for her.
' As for me,' said Mr. Brinjes,41 am very sure that the lad was'
bewitched. I know not by whom, because Philadelphy would work
all the charms she knows for his help, for Miss Castilla's sake. But
bewitched he was. Wherefore, Luke, my lad, I shall wait until we
learn where he is at present bestowed, and then I shall send him a
letter. He must not look for a return to England at any time, unless
he joins himself with the Pretender, and hopes to return with him.
But no : he must never return at all. And as for that young man,
he is now near forty, and will never come to England again, I take
it. But though Jack cannot come back here, I see no reason why
we should not go to him; and so we might together set sail for the
Southern Seas, and there dig up my treasure, and equip and man
a stout squadron for the harassing of the Spanish fleets.'
' Why, Mr. Brinjes,' I told him, ' you are now an old man—
ninety years and more, as you have told us often. Is it for a man
of ninety years to brave the hardships of the sea once more ? '
'Hardships! Little you know of peaceful sailing among the
sunny waters of the islands. There are no hardships and no dis¬
comforts. Why, 'twould make me twenty years younger to be back
again in the Pacific Ocean and in those latitudes. I should be little
more than seventy. What is seventy? A man is still green at
seventy: he is in the full vigour of his manhood; there is nothing
that I could not do at seventy, ay, and as well as the youngest of
them all, save that my limbs were a trifle stiff, and I no longer
cared to run and jump. But that stiffness sometimes falls on a
man at six-and-thirty, wherefore I could not complain. Seventy!
Ah! To be seventy again, with thirty years more to live 1 And
then, if one were so lucky as to fall upon the great secret, another
thirty, and another thirty after that, and so on as long as one chose
to live. And that, my lad, I promise you, would be until I under¬
stood clearly what was on the other side.' Thus he went on chatter¬
ing, having almost forgotten how we began to talk: to forget the
things of the present day is ever a sign or proof of great age. ' Ah !'
he sighed, heavily, ' would to God that I could find myself once
more aboard a tight vessel on the Pacific Seas, with plenty of men
and lemons, and some music for the lads in the evenings, and, for
amusement, taking a ship now and then, and making the Spaniard
walk the plank. Jack should be our Captain, and Bess should go
with us—I could not go away from Deptford without Bess, and her
heart is always set on Jack. Yet, I do not remember any women
among the Rovers except Mary Read and Ann Bonny, and they
dressed like men, and pretended to be men. They sailed under
Captain Rackam, and a brave pair of wenches they were. I
dreamed last night that we were all three on the poop of as fine a
schooner as one could wish, bound for the South Seas, by way of
the Indian Ocean.'
278 THE WORLD WENT
So we lost our hero. At least so we thought we had lost him.
He was taken to a French prison. He would never he so mad as
to return to England, where certain death awaited him. We should
never see him again. And, as Captain Petherick truly said, we
were all ashamed by an act as truly cowardly as ever British sailor
committed. The newspapers continued to speak of it; the evidence
of Captain Boys was printed in full, and there were more epigrams.
And then other things happened; and the loss of the ' Calypso'
would have been speedily forgotten but for a surprising and un¬
expected turn, which was, so to speak, a second act in this tragedy
of Jack Easterbrook's end.
Truly surprising and unexpected it was, and the intelligence of
it threw us all into an agitation worse, if possible, than the first.
For we were assured that the worst was over. The first blow fell
upon us like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, and now we were
rising to our feet again (except the Admiral), stunned and confused,
yet in a fair way of recovery, as happens in every earthly calamity,
else 'twould be impossible to live. The child we love—nay, the
woman we love—dies, yet behold the sun rises and sets, and
presently the daily life goes on as before, and the loss is partly for¬
gotten. Suppose, however, the woman was not dead, but came to
life again, only to die with more cruel suffering and with shame I
What happened, in a word, was this.
The crew of the prize had orders to take the ' Calypso' to Brest,
which was the nearest French port. They ordered their prisoners
below to the quarters always designed for men in that unhappy
position —namely, the forward portion of the cockpit, where they
have to sit in gloom, lit only by one great ship's lantern all day and
all night, save for such times as they are allowed on deck for fresh
air, in gangs and small companies. When the Englishmen were
driven below, and the prize crew appointed, the ' Malicieuse' parted
company, and the ' Calypso ' was left to make her own way to
Brest.
' On the second day,' we read in the ' London Post,' ' the
prisoners rose, and became again masters of the ship, which was
brought into Spithead under the First Lieutenant, the Captain
being kept a prisoner in his cabin. This extraordinary reversal of
fortune, and other circumstances attending the case, have excited
the greatest interest. The Lords Commissioners have ordered the
ship to be brought to Deptford, where the court-martial on Captain
Easterbrook will be held.'
As is usual in news published by authority in the ' Gazette,' and
copied by other newspapers, there were no particulars of the
manner in which the ship was recovered, except that she was
navigated by the First Lieutenant. Had the crew, then, mutinied
against their Captain, and.confined him to his cabin ? If not, how
was he a prisoner ?
It was impossible for me, who knew the whole circumstances of
the case, not to feel that in this surprising reversal of fortune and in
VERY WELL THEN 279
the ordering of the court-martial, there was a direct interposition of
the hand of Providence, such as may well make the guilty tremble.
ITo lose life, and honour as well, which is dearer than life, as a
penalty for broken vows, seems a terrible punishment, and out of
proportion to the offence. But it is not every inconstant lover who
hath expressly called down upon his own head, as Jack did, the
wrath of God in case of his inconstancy. Man cannot with im¬
punity call upon the name of the Lord. There is a story of one who
learned how to draw the lightnings out of Heaven, but he drew
them upon himself, and so perished. Was not this the fate of Jack
Easterbrook ?
Alas! we were now wholly without hope. For needs must that
he be tried; and he was condemned already, and as good as shot.
While he was prisoner with the French, his life at least was safe;
and if he chose never to return, he could certainly never be tried ;
and so his case would be in the course of time forgotten. But now
he must be tried, and he must be condemned.
'But,' said Mr. Brinjes, 'he shall call me as a witness; and I
will prove from books and from mine own experience that there
have happened many cases of sudden madness, and that in such an
access or seizure a man is not master of himself. And those who
have travelled much in countries where the sun is hot, and espe¬
cially those who have wandered, as the boy did, among savages,
with insufficient food, and perhaps no covering for the head, are
more than others liable to such fits—instances of which I can pro¬
duce. It will also be set forth that the Captain, not long before he
sailed, received so heavy a blow upon the head that he was carried
senseless through the town and across the river. Such a blow may
of itself produce the effect of sudden madness. Men who have
proved themselves brave sailors and fond of fight do not, unless
from this cause, suddenly become cowardly. Why, he crowded all
sail to get within range of the enemy.'
' Yet he struck his flag,' I said. ' Is every man who runs away,
after marching resolutely to meet the enemy, to plead that he was
smitten with a sudden madness ? '
As for the value of such evidence, I know not what it would
have availed, but I think it would have availed nothing in the eyes
of the officers who formed the Court. But, as you will presently
see, it never was produced. Perhaps the knowledge of what he
could testify gave the Apothecary an inward assurance which com¬
forted him. For he showed no alarm, and maintained stoutly that
his own evidence, with the prisoner's previous good conduct, would
get Jack acquitted, if it did not get him reinstated in command.
' But Courts,, whether martial or civil, do not thus examine into
motives and causes. If a Judge were to hear why a pocket came to be
picked, or by what train of circumstances an honest man has been
turned into a rogue, there would be no punishment at all, but rather
general commiseration for sin, and forgiveness of all sinners, on
the score of human weakness and the strength of temptation.
THE WORLD WENT
As for Bess, wlien she heard that the Captain was a prisoner
and on his way to meet his trial, she said nothing, except that what¬
ever happened the end was certain; and she waited. Her wrath
and fierceness were all gone; she was now gentle and calm, though
her cheek was pale, and round her eyes a black ring, by which I
knew that she slept little and thought of Jack continually.
CHAPTER XLI.
HOW THE ' CALYPSO ' CAME HOME AGAIN.
Lo! when we awoke in the morning, the ' Calypso' herself was
lying in the river, moored nearly opposite to the mouth of the dock.
I made haste to the King's Yard, in order to hear the news, and
there, as I expected, I found a little knot of gentlemen, including
Captain Petherick, the chief officer of the Yard, and a few who, like
myself, were brought thither by anxiety and curiosity. They were
earnestly conversing with the First Lieutenant of the ship. He
was a man whose hair was now grown completely grey (wherefore
he no longer used powder), being some fifty-five years of age, but
for want of interest never having got any higher. By birth he
was a Scotchman; he had, like many of his countrymen, a hard
and strongly marked face, and his manner of speech was hard and
slow, so that, though he had such a tale to tell as surely never was
heard before, his manner of telling it never varied even in the most
astonishing parts of his narrative, except that now and then he
broke off to express his own opinion on the matter. We presently,
however, discovered that he felt great commiseration for the un¬
happy fate of his Captain, young enough to be his son, and that he
held much the same view as the townspeople—namely, that there
must be witchcraft at the bottom of the affair. We learned also
that the recapture of the ship would now present a very different
complexion, being due, not as had been supposed, to a general
rising of the crew, but to the most astonishing courage of the
Captain himself, and the display of reckless daring in a single-
handed attack upon the prize crew, such as one had never read of
or heard of before.
As regards the striking of the colours, there was nothing new
in what we learned. The Captain with his own hand did certainly
haul down the flag without firing a shot. Against that damning
and capital fact nothing could be said. But as for what followed,
you shall hear the First Lieutenant's story.
' When the Captain struck his colours, which he did with his
own hand, the men looking on in sheer amazement, I myself ran to
him, crying," For God's sake, Captain ! for God's sake, Sir, consider
what you do ! " But the Captain drew his hanger and slashed at
me, so that, though the flat of the sword only struck me, I fell
senseless. Then, as I have since been told, those officers whose
VERY WELL THEN
place was on deck stood back, terrified by the wild looks and
lurious gestures of the Captain. So great was the authority which
he possessed, that not a man among them all dared so much as to
murmur. Then the Frenchmen boarded us, and all, except the
Captain, who was suffered to remain on deck, and myself,
because I was senseless, were bundled below, and the hatches
clapped down. "When I presently recovered, I too was allowed to
remain above. Now, for two nights and two days, the Captain sat
on the quarter-deck upon the trunnion of a carronade, his hat off,
his hands upon his knees, his eyes blood-red, his face pale. Gen¬
tlemen,' cried the First Lieutenant, breaking off suddenly at this
point, ' 'twould have moved a heart of stone only to look upon the
Captain in this misery of shame. Despair was in his eyes as he
turned them from the sea to the ship, and from the ship to the sea.
As for what the men think, there is but one opinion : that it was
the work of the Devil. He was bewitched or possessed. I know
not if we have the right to try a man for an act done under demo¬
niac possession, which we know to be sometimes permitted. But
the madness had now left him, and he was in his right mind again.'
There was not one of those present who heard this with a dry
eye. But more moving things still were to follow.
' It was on the third day after the surrender,' the First Lieu¬
tenant told us, ' and in the forenoon, the usual guard being set, the
French officers and sailors all armed, and their Commander on the
quarter-deck. In the waist was gathered together a small party
of prisoners taking their spell of fresh air; they were lolling in the
sun, or looking over the bulwarks in the hope of discovering an
English flag. Nothing was further from their thoughts than an
attempt to recapture the " Calypso." On that point there could be
no doubt. They talked with each other in low voices, being very
much dejected at the position of their affairs, and the prospect of
a French prison, and they looked at their Captain, who sat bare¬
headed on the quarter-deck. He, too, like themselves, was unarmed,
and he sat without moving or making any sign of life.
' Suddenly he sprang to his feet and caught the French officer,
a much smaller man than himself, by the throat, tore his sword
from him, and cut him down. The two sentinels rushed upon him
with their bayonets, but he lightly leapt aside, and cut them down
too. Then, armed with the sword, he sprang into the waist, and
crying, "Men of the 'Calypso,' to the rescue of your ship!" he
attacked the Frenchmen, cutting them down and driving all before
him like a madman.
' There is a tall stout fellow aboard, one of our Marines. He
was on deck at the time, and was the first who recovered presence
of mind (the rest being clean taken aback by the suddenness of the
thing). He seized a rammer and sprang to the side of the Captain,
fighting with him and protecting him. Mark you, if it had not
been for that brave fellow the Captain would have been killed a
dozen times over—as I doubt not he wished to be, seeing the
THE WORLD WENT
reckless way in which he attacked the enemy. Nay, I wonder
that in spite of this help he was not killed, seeing that they fired
their pistols in his very face, and thrust at him with bayonets, and
cut at him with swords; but all in vain. A fine sight it was, and
such as will never be witnessed again by any of us, to see this hero
fighting the whole of the prize crew singlehanded, save for the
Marine, who seemed to have no other thought than to protect his
Captain, and laid about him with his rammer as if it had been a
quarterstaff.
'Well, gentlemen, you may be very sure it was not very long
before the rest of the English sailors on deck joined in with a true
British cheer, fighting with whatever weapons they could pick up
—namely, one with a marlingspike, one with a hammer, one with
his fist, one with a dead Frenchman's bayonet, and so on, until in
a few minutes we had the satisfaction of driving our conquerors
under hatches, calling up our crew, and running up the Union Jack.
The Captain it was who hauled it up with his own hand. His face
was black with powder, and streaked with blood, though he had not
received a scratch; his hands were red with blood, and his sword
streaming; on the deck lay a dozen dead and wounded, though
some of them only stunned with the Marine's rammer. When the
flag was up, the Captain saluted it, and called on his men to give
three cheers, which they did with a will. After that he ordered a
double ration of rum, and every man to his duty.
' Then he turned to me. " Mr. Macdonald," he said, " I would
to God your Captain was lying dead among those poor wretches,'
pointing to the slain. I told him to take courage, because it was by
this act, and his alone, that the vessel was recaptured. Then he
hesitated awhile, and fetched a sigh as if his heart was breaking.
' " Whose hand hauled down the flag? " he asked.
' I waited to hear what more he had to say.
'"Where is the man," he asked, "who fought beside me just
now ? I mean the man who interposed to save my life ? "
' I called the man, who stepped forward and saluted.
' " So," said the Captain, " 'tis my old friend. Sirrah, twice
hast thou endeavoured to take my life, out of revenge. Once hast
thou saved it. Thou hast thy revenge at last, and in full measure.
Return to duty."
' I know not, gentlemen,' continued the First Lieutenant, ' what
the Captain meant by those words, for the man saluted and stepped
back to his place, making no reply, either by look or speech. Then
the Captain gave me his last orders. " You will take the command
of this ship, Sir," he said. "You will enter in the Captain's log a
full account of the circumstances connected with the surrender and
the recapture of the ' Calypso.' Disguise nothing, Sir. Nothing
must be omitted. Write that the Captain hauled down the flag.
Write that the Captain cut down the First Lieutenant, who would
have remonstrated. Write that there was not a single shot fired,
and the enemy carried less weight of metal and a smaller crew."
VERY WELL THEN 2S3
' "\Vith respect, Sir," I told him, " I shall also write that the
Captain also retook the vessel single-handed."
'" Write further—that the Captain gave over the command to
you, with instructions to take the ship to Spithead, the whereabouts
of the Admiral not being known, there to report on what has
happened, and to await the instructions of my Lords the Com¬
missioners."
'Gentlemen,' the First Lieutenant concluded, 'I obeyed orders.
I sailed to Spithead, and reported the circumstances of the case.
The Commissioners have ordered me to bring the ship round to
Deptford, the Captain aboard her, prisoner, waiting his court-
martial. We hope that; though he certainly struck the colours, his
subsequent conduct may save his life. For most certainly he was
mad when he did it, or bewitched, or possessed of a devil. But he
is mad no longer. I forgot to say, gentlemen, that although for two
days he refused to take anything, and I verily believe he intended
to starve himself to death, he has since eaten and drunk heartily.'
This was the story as the First Lieutenant told it.
Now, when we heard it we were in a doubt what to do. For
to neglect the unhappy prisoner altogether would seem heartless,
whereas, to try and see him, unless he manifested a desire to see us,
would seem like intrusion. He sat in his cabin, we heard, all day,
and at night, when it was dark, walked upon the quarter-deck. He
spoke with no one save the First Lieutenant, and made no reference
to the approaching trial—the day for which they expected would
be fixed very shortly.
First, however, my father wrote to him, and asked if he would
wish to see him; but received a letter thanking him, indeed, and
putting off his visit until, the writer said, he should be forced to
contemplate the near approach of Death. Next, Mr. Brinjes sent a
message that he wished to see him as his physician (a title which
he assumed when he pleased) ; but the Captain returned word that
he had never been in better health.
As for myself, I waited for some days, not venturing to intrude
upon his suffering, yet desirous of seeing him. At last I wrote a
letter, begging him to tell me if I could do anything for him. To
which he replied that he would take it kindly if I would come
aboard and see him in his cabin. I obeyed with a sinking heart,
for, indeed, what consolation could I administer, or with what
countenance could I greet him, or could I pretend that he was not
overwhelmed with shame ?
When I went on board, I was astonished to find, acting as
sentry at the top of the companion, no other than Aaron Fletcher.
I knew not that he was on board the ' Calypso.' Strange, indeed,
that he should now be mounting guard as Marine over the man
whom he had many times fought, and twice tried to murder. He
made no sign of recognition as I passed him.
Jack was in his cabin, sitting at his window, leaning his head
upon his hand, and gazing upon the river, with the crowd of craft
284
THE WORLD WENT
upon it. He turned his head when I opened the door, and rose to
meet me.
' Luke,' he said, ' canst take the hand of a coward wretch who
hath surrendered his ship without a blow ? Nay—nay—lad; tears
will not help, and I am not worth a tear, or anything now but to be
shot like a cur, and rolled up in a bit of sacking, and so tossed into
the water, and forgotten.'
I asked after his health, but he put me off.
' Health ? ' he cried. ' What matters my health ? If you can
pick up a small-pox, or a galloping consumption, or a fever, and
send it to me—the worse the complaint, the better I shall like it;
or if Mr. Brinjes, who can cause all diseases, will send me one that
will suddenly tear out my heart, or stop my breath, it would be
very much to the point at the present juncture. My health ?
Why, as the Devil will have it, it was never better.' He laughed.
' Go tell Mr. Brinjes, or his swivel-eyed assistant, to make me up a
disease or two in that saucepan of his that is always on the hob.
'Tis a crafty old man, and first cousin, I verily believe, to the Devil.'
He paused awhile, thinking what next to tell me.
' Tell the Admiral ... No, not yet; after my death thou shalt
tell him all the truth, which I will tell thee directly. I cannot write
to that good old man; yet, Luke, I must send him some message.
Therefore .... but no, there are no words that I can send him.
I cannot ask his forgiveness, because he can never forgive me. I
cannot thank him for all his kindness, because I am not worthy
now so much as to send a word of gratitude. Let be, let be.
When I am dead thou shalt tell him the truth. As for Castilla,
she must forget me. Tell her that, Luke. I am certain that she
will soon console herself. She never loved me as poor Bess used
to love me. There is Mr. Brinjes—tell him—why, tell him that
he must look for another sailor to steer his ship among the islands
of the Southern Seas.'
' Jack,' I said, ' it is terrible.'
' Yes; it is terrible. It is very terrible, lad. But it must be
endured. Trust me, that I shall not stand snivelling before the
file of Marines at the end. That is, unless there be another '
Here he paused, and in his eyes there was apparent a look of such
terror as I have never since seen in any man's eyes, while his
cheeks turned white, and drops stood upon his brow. ' Unless,'
he said again, ' there come another ' Here he broke off again.
' Luke,' he said, 'if at the end I die craven, know of a surety that
I die unforgiven, and that my soul is lost. But it cannot be that
death will not atone.' So he paced his cabin once or twice, and
then, becoming more calm, he sat down again. ' Luke, dear lad, I
wished to see thee, but only thee, for the present. I have much
to say. And first—of Bess. Do you know the words she said to
me before I sailed ? '
' I know them. Bess told me herself.'
' Does any other person know them ?'
VERY WELL THEN
1 No one, I believe.'
' Let her hold her tongue, then, lest they take her for a witch.
Why, I know full well that she is no witch ; and as for those words,
they were spoken by her, but yet were not her own. I laughed
when I heard them. The second time I heard them I laughed no
longer. And now I will tell thee the whole truth, Luke; but keep
it to thyself until I am dead, when I wish thee—nay, I charge thee
—to tell the Admiral and thy father. I crowded all sail in pursuit
of the enemy; I prepared for action with as light a heart as a
man can have who has a stout ship and a lusty crew. My guns
they were loaded, and my men were at quarters, every man
stripped to the skin, a good ration of rum served round, and as
hearty a spirit as ever animated a British crew. I was as certain
of making a prize of the " Malicieuse " as I am now certain of
being tried and sentenced to death. Suddenly, we being by this
time well within range, and our men prepared to give the enemy
a broadside, a shot from the Frenchman struck our bow, and sent
the splinters flying. Then there came upon me a kind of dizzi¬
ness, and a voice shouted—yea, shouted in my ears—though none
but me heard it. . . . " Thou shalt be struck where thou shalt feel
the blow most deeply." I tell thee the truth, Luke. But tell no
one, lest they seize poor Bess for a witch. Something—I know
not what—caught my hand, and dragged me—whether I would or
no—yea, compelled me—to the mainmast, and placed the halliards
in my hand, and forced me to haul down the flag. I know not
very well what happened afterwards ; my men, I believe, were all
smitten with stupid amazement, and made no resistance; how should
they when their flag was struck ? They tell me that I cut down
the First Lieutenant. Thank God I did no more than stun him!
And presently, when I came to myself, I was sitting on a carro-
nade, and the ship was a prize, and the French Commander was
on the quarter-deck.'
' But you recaptured the ship ? '
' Why, 'twas a desperate attempt. I thought first that I would
starve myself to death. But a man does not like to kill himself.
And then, seeing the Frenchmen on the deck, and some of my lads
for'ard under the sentries, I thought to make them kill me. Alas !
they were not suffered to kill me. Some of my men were wounded,
and a good many of the Frenchmen knocked o' the head ; but I
came out of the fight without a scratch, and the ship was ours
again. That is my story, lad, in its truth.'
- What could a man say in consolation to a man thus afflicted ?
Was there ever a worse case ? My father, for his part, found the
case of Job worse, ' because,' he said, ' not only did the Patriarch
lose wife and children, and substance and health, but he also lost
that which made the patriarchal life more desirable than any
which hath followed it—namely, the daily walk with God, com¬
pared with which a man's reputation among his fellows is naught
indeed.'
286
THE WORLD WENT
' Tell Bess,' Jack went on,' what hath happened. Let her know
that she is revenged, and I am punished. She did not desire my
punishment. It will grieve the poor, tender creature, who always
loved me better than I deserved. Yet it is the punishment—nay,
I know it now—it is the punishment of GOD Himself.'^
He then told me, what indeed I knew already, the history of his
passion for Bess, which was as brief as it was violent, sparing
himself not at all.
' Never,' he swore,' was a man more madly in love with any
woman than I with Bess, and never, I am sure, did woman love
man better than she loves me. I confess, lad, that I made her a
thousand promises the most sacred I knew, even upon the Holy
Bible, that I would never forget her, but would marry her when I
returned. The man Brinjes was witness a dozen times to these pro¬
testations. As for him, he is, I think, a, devil. For he egged her on
to meet me as often as I wished in his own house ; and he laughed
when I swore constancy, telling me, when she was not present,
that I knew the lesson as well as if I were five-and-thirty, instead
of four-and-twenty, and that every sailor was the same, but I the
most fortunate of all, because I had so beautiful a girl. I meant
not, however, Luke, to deceive her. I intended when I sailed away
to keep my word. I was full of love to her. Yet, which is strange,
when we had been at sea for two or three months, I thought of her
no longer. "When I came home with the prize I declare that I had
clean forgotten her; and when I saw her, I looked upon her no
longer with love, and wondered how I could ever have loved her.'
' Poor Bess!'
' It is strange, Luke, since I took the ship again, the image of
the girl hath returned to my heart. I have thought upon her
daily, and I remember once more all the things that passed be¬
tween us while I was waiting for my appointment to the " Tartar."
Poor Bess ! She deserved a better lover. How could I ever forget
her brave black eyes ? See, Luke !' He drew up his sleeve and
showed his left arm—he had forgotten when last he exhibited that
tattoo. ' See, lad, her name is ever before me. Yes; a better lover
she deserved.'
' She desires no better lover, Jack.'
' What ? ' he asked. ' Doth she not curse my very name ? '
' Nay; she hath never cursed thee, Jack. She loves thee still:
she hath always loved thee.'
' A woman cannot love a man who is disgraced.'
' Why ? She loves the man: it is not his honour or his
reputation she loves. That I have heard, but I have never under¬
stood it, concerning women, before; but now I perceive it very
plainly. It is strange to us, because a man cannot love a woman
without thinking of her beauty; and so we believe that a woman
cannot love a man without thinking of his honour and reputation,
his strength and his name. Jack, will you see this pdor girl?—
will you let her come to you?—and tell her kindly, in your old
VERY WELL THEN
287
way, that you love again, as in the past time, and so heal her
bleeding heart ? '
4 See her ? Truly, I never thought,' said Jack,' that she would
any more come to me. I thought that she must be like Aaron
Fletcher, only anxious to see me swing. Why, if the poor child
can find any comfort or happiness in coming here, let her come, in
God's name. As for me, dear lad, there is a load upon my heart
which I thought would be with me till my death. But if she will
forgive me, I think that load will be removed, and 1 can die with
easier mind. Poor Bess ! she will but get her lover in time to see
him die. My heart bleeds for her ! Go quick—bring her to me.
Let me at least ask her forgiveness.'
You may be sure that I lost no time in "taking this fond message
to Bess.
I looked that she would burst into weeping and sobbing. But
she did not.
' I knew,' she said, ' that I should get my lover back. Now care
I for nothing more. For if he must die, so must I die also. Death
itself shall not have power—no—death shall have no power to
separate us. On the day that he dies shall I die too. Fie loves
me again. Why—do you think I care what may happen to either
of us, since he loves me still ? '
I led her on board, and took her to the Captain's cabin, but at
the door I turned away, and so left them alone.
Oh! behind that closed door what prayers and vows were
uttered! what tears were shed! what tender embraces were ex¬
changed 1 when, in the presence of Shame and Death, those hapless
lovers met again!
CHAPTEE XLII.
of the court-martial.
Nearly all that follows is matter of history, and may be read in
the gazettes and papers of the day. Yet, for the sake of completing
the history, it shall be set forth in order.
The court-martial was appointed to be held on board the
' Calypso,' on the forenoon of Monday, February 2.
On that day it was accordingly held, the Hon. John Cheveril,
Bear-Admiral of the White and Admiral of the Port, being the
President. The Court consisted of Captains Eichard Orde, Frede¬
rick Drake, Saltren Willett, Peter Denis, and Joshua Eowley.
Captain Petherick should also have sat, but he begged to be excused,
on the ground of personal friendship with the defendant. - He was
present, however, and sat at the back of the court, with as sad a
countenance as ever I beheld. (As for our Admiral, he was in his
bedroom with an attack of the gout, which even Mr. Brinjes could
not cme.) The court was thrown open to all. Few of the friends
of the accused officer were present, but there was a great throng of
aSS THE WORLD WENT
people, not only from Deptford Town, but also from London. Truly,
a court-martial, on whose decision rests the honour, if not the hie,
of a man, is a species of judicial investigation which strikes awe
upon the beholder, even more than the aspect of the judge, jury,
and counsel in a civil court, the solemnity of the occasion being
heightened and set off by the uniforms of the Judges and the naked
weapons of the sentries and guards.
The Court was opened by the Deputy Judge-Advocate. He was
only an attorney of Deptford, by name Diehard Pendlebury, but he
wore a black gown over his coat, and, being provided with a full
wig, which might have been proper even to a serjeant-at-law, and
wearing much lace to his bosom and his sleeves, and being a big
burly gentleman with a full round voice, he looked as full of
authority as a King's Counsel. He began the proceedings by read¬
ing the warrant of the Eight Honourable the Lords Commissioners
cf the Admiralty, empowering the Admiral to assemble courts-
martial. This done, the President ordered that Captain Easterbrook
should be brought before the Court. My heart beat fast and my
throat choked when he appeared, bearing himself proudly, but with
pale cheek, dressed, if one may say so, like a bride for her wedding,
wearing his best uniform, his richest lace, and white leather gloves.
Never, surely, did officer of the King's Navy bear himself more
gallantly. Once only I saw his cheek flush scarlet. 'Twas when,
in the old familiar way, he clapped his hand to his side for the
adjustment of his sword. Alas 1 he had no sword. That had been
taken from him, and was now lying on the table before the Presi¬
dent, the hilt towards the prisoner. Then he bowed to his judges
and stood upright, and, to outward show, calm and collected,
though a tempest of shame and despair was raging within.
Then the Deputy Judge-Advocate administered the oath to the
members of the Court and took it himself in the form prescribed,
after which he read the charge against the defendant, as follows:
' Gentlemen,—The charge against Captain John Easterbrook,
Commander of the " Calypso," here present before your honourable
Court, is that on the 4th day of December, 1759, he did cowardly
and treacherously surrender and yield up his ship to the enemy,
and he is here to answer this charge accordingly.'
He then read the Fifteenth of the Articles of War, as follows :
' Every person in or belonging to the fleet who shall desert to
the enemy, pirate, or rebel, or shall run away with any of His
Majesty's ships or vessels of war, or any ordnance, ammunition,
stores, or provision belonging thereto, to the weakening of the
service, or shall yield up the same, cowardly or treacherously, to
the enemy, pirate, or rebel, being convicted of any such offence by
the sentence of the court-martial, shall suffer death.'
These preliminaries being completed, the Deputy Judge-Advo¬
cate proceeded to call his witnesses, and to each in turn ad¬
ministered an oath which is more awful than that used in the civil
. courts, because it lays upon the witness an obligation to reveal
VERY WELL TIL EN 2S9
everything that he knows concerning the case. The form is
this:
' I, A. B., do most solemnly swear that in the evidence I shall
give before the Court respecting the present trial I will, whether
demanded of me by question or not, and whether favourable or
unfavourable to the prisoner, declare the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth. So help me, GOD !'
The deposition of the officers had already been taken at Ports¬
mouth for the information of the Lords Commissioners, and in
every case these were first read aloud, and then confirmed by the
witness, who added what he chose, and answered such questions
as were put to him. And in the putting of these questions it seemed
to me as if the Deputy Judge-Advocate was desirous of pressing
and dwelling upon every fact which might make the crime appear
blacker, and of concealing or passing over every fact which made
in favour of the accused.
The first witness called was Lieutenant Colin Macdonald, First
Lieutenant of the ' Calypso.'
His deposition was short, and was as follows :
' At daybreak on the morning of December the 4th, being then
in company with the frigate "Resolute," Captain Boys, we sighted
three ships, which we presently made out to be a squadron of three
French frigates, apparently of about the same armament as our¬
selves. They bore away at sight of us, as not wishing to fight.
Captain Easterbrook gave the word to crowd all sail and up ham¬
mocks, the wind being then fresh and nearly aft and the sea lively,
but the ship sailing free and not lying down, so that all her ports
could be opened and all her guns fired. We presently found that
we gained upon the Frenchmen, and about noon we were nearly
come up with the " Malicieuse," the slowest of the three, the
" Resolute " being then half a mile or so astern, and the other two
French ships about as much ahead of us. We were by this time
cleared for action, the men at their quarters, and everything re¬
ported in readiness, looking for nothing but a close engagement,
and a pretty hot one, with the three ships. The Captain's plan, he
told me, was to range alongside of the enemy, pour in his broadside,
grapple, and board, thinking that the " Resolute " would do the
like, and so we might capture the squadron. And this we could
have done, having faster vessels than the enemy, and Captain
Easterbrook being, as I take it, the smartest handler of a ship in
the service, though so young a man. But the Frenchman was not
disposed to allow of this, if he could help it. Therefore, he began
to let fly with the stern-chasers, being, like most of his nation,
amply provided with these helps to running away. His first shot
knocked away part of our figure-head, the splinters flying about the
deck * but no one harmed. Just then, to our utmost consternation,
the Captain turned pale, and ran to the mainmast, where, with his
own hands, he began to lower the colours. I ran to him, crying,
" Captain, for God's sake, consider what you are doing! " Where-
29°
THE WORLD WENT
upon lie drew his sword, and cut me down over the head, but, fortu¬
nately, with the flat of the weapon only, else I had been a dead
man. And I knew no more until the business was ended, and we
were all prisoners.'
Being asked by the Deputy Judge-Advocate what preparations
had been made for an engagement, he replied that nothing was
omitted that is customary on such an occasion ; that^ they had
ample time during the chase, and that no ship ever went into action
better prepared. Immediately on sighting the enemy the bo's'n
and his mates piped to stow hammocks; the carpenter and his
mates were ready with their mauls and plugs; the gunner and his
quarter-gunners examined and reported on all the cannon. When
the ship was within a mile of the enemy the drum beat to quarters.
Then every man stripped to the waist, and repaired to his proper
place ; a ration of rum was served out; the hatches were laid; the
Marines were drawn up on the quarter-deck and fo'ks'le; lastly,
the guns were cast loose, the tompions withdrawn, and the guns
loaded and run out at all the ports. In one word, there was no
point omitted that a Commander who knows his business would
neglect, and everything in such order as the most resolute Captain
could desire.
Being asked further, if the enemy's consorts showed an intention
of taking part in the fight, the Lieutenant replied that he was not
prepared to state positively, but he believed that one of them backed
her sails, while the other appeared to be hauling her wind; but he
repeated that it was the Captain's design to neglect these vessels
while he took the 4 Malicieuse ' by boarding, and afterwards to
engage her consorts with the help of the ' Besolute.'
Being further pressed upon the distance of the 4 Calypso' from
the 4 Malicieuse' when the Captain surrendered, he replied that, to
the best of his knowledge and belief, the 4 Calypso' was no more
than a hundred and fifty yards astern of the 4 Malicieuse,' and
gaining rapidly. Being asked what was the posture of the enemy
so far as could be discerned, he replied the men were at quarters,
and ready for action, but that all sail was crowded, and that the
Frenchman, it was quite certain, had no stomach for the fight, and
would gladly have got clear off.
At this point of the evidence, Captain Easterbrook was asked if
he had any questions to put to the witness. He replied that he had
none, and that to the best of his knowledge the evidence given by
Lieutenant Macdonald was true in every particular—a statement
which made the Court look serious, and troubled the mind of. the
Deputy Judge-Advocate, because there is nothing which these
gentlemen desire more than to fight a stubborn case; whereas,'if
an officer pleads guilty, and throws himself upon the mercy of the
Court, he has no chance to show his cleverness.
4 With permission of the Court,' said the First Lieutenant, 41
will now give evidence as to the recapture of the ship.'
41 submit to the Court,' said the Deputy Judge-Advocate, 4 that
VERY WELL THEN 291
the recapture of the ship has nothing to do with the charge against
Captain Easterbrook—namely, that he did cowardly and treacher¬
ously yield up his vessel.'
' Gentlemen,' said the Lieutenant, ' with respect. If the ship
had not been recaptured the Court could not have been held. And
if it had not been for the Captain the ship would never have been
recaptured.^ For he did a thing which I venture to maintain no
other man in the service would have done, when he engaged, single-
handed, the whole of the crew in charge of the prize.'
So the Court conferred together, whispering, and the President
ordered the witness to proceed. Whereupon the Deputy Judge-
Advocate sat down and put his hands in his pockets, and gazed
upwards as if this part of the evidence did not concern him.
The account which the Lieutenant gave of the retaking of the
ship was exactly the same which he had already given to the Com¬
missioner of the Yard, Captain Petherick. It need not, therefore,
be repeated here. Suffice it to say that at the recital there was not
a face in court which was not suffused with emotion, and as for
myself, I thought that surely after so gallant an exploit his sword
would be returned to him.
' Gentlemen,' concluded the First Lieutenant, ' 'twas the most
gallant deed I have ever witnessed. Only by a miracle, and by his
own valour, did the Captain escape death. There were on deck
thirty Frenchmen, all armed, and he with nothing but the sword
which he tore from the French Commander. And to back him only
a dozen unarmed men, who, to tell the truth, for I was among
them, were taken by surprise, and would never have plucked up
heart save for the example of the Captain. The first man to join
him was a Marine, named Aaron Fletcher, who seized a rammer,
and, armed with this weapon alone, stood by the Captain, playing a
man's part, indeed; but for him, the Captain would have been cut
down a dozen times. But, gentlemen, that the ship was recap¬
tured is due to nobody but to the desperate valour of the Captain
himself.'
The Court asked Captain Easterbrook whether he had any ques¬
tions to put on this head, but he had none. Wherefore, Lieutenant
Macdonald stepped aside, and made way for the next witness.
Then the Second Lieutenant of the ship was called, and he gave
evidence that he was at his station on the main deck when the
action began, and testified to the disgust of the men when they
learned that the ship was surrendered. This was the more asto¬
nishing to them, as their Captain had the reputation of uncommon
courage. At first the men refused to believe that the vessel was
surrendered, and called upon each other to fight it out.
The Third Lieutenant gave similar evidence, adding that, had
not the men been fully convinced of the Captain's bravery and
iud<nnent, there would have been a mutiny on board; and that they
thought the ship must be sinking at least, or dangerously on fire, or
that it was some stratagem, counterfeit, or design by which the
u 2
29a THE WORLD WENT
Captain thought to fool the enemy, and that they looked at each
other and laughed aloud, waiting for the word to lay the guns, and
fire. Further, that the enemy did not believe it possible that a
British ship should thus cowardly be yielded up, and continued to
fire upon the 'Calypso,' the shot passing through the rigging and
the sails, but doing no further mischief. Nor did the men believe,
that the ship was surrendered until the French boat came alongside
and the Captain gave the word to back the sails and lay down arms,
which they all did with a very bad grace, yet still persuaded that
something fatal had happened to the ship, and that the colours were
struck to save their lives.
The Lieutenant of Marines deposed that his men were drawn u]
in readiness on the quarter-deck and fo'lcs'le, and stated plainly tliiii
he had no doubt of the issue, because the Frenchmen had only orn
thought—namely, to get away ; and, in his opinion, it had been the
Captain's intention to attack and take all three ships, with the help
of the ' Resolute ' ; and that nothing in the world had ever sur¬
prised him more than the strange behaviour of the Captain, from
whom so much had been expected.
Captain Easterbrook declined to ask any questions of these wit¬
nesses. Was he, then, going to make no attempt at a defence ?
They called the Purser, who put in the Captain's log-book, which
is always done on these trials, I am told, but I know not why. And
then I thought we should surely proceed to the defence, because
there could be no doubt of the main fact—namely, that the Captain
had certainly struck the colours.
But they delayed the case in order to call the Master, who con¬
firmed the First Lieutenant's evidence as to the preparations for
engaging the enemy ; and the Gunner, who also confirmed the evi¬
dence ; and the bo's'n and the carpenter, who added little to the
evidence already before the Court, except the fact that when the men
were under hatches and knew what had been done, the swearing
and cursing of the crew were strong enough to lift the decks.
' Gentlemen,' said the Deputy Judge-Advocate, ' there is no other
evidence before the Court.'
' Stay,' said the President, 'call the Marine of whose conduct in
the recapture of the ship Lieutenant Macdonald hath spoken.'
So they called Aaron Fletcher.
When this witness stepped forward, looking, it must be con¬
fessed, a much smarter and finer man in his scarlet coat than he
ever looked as a landsman, Jack's face flushed. It was his fate
never to be out of reach of this man's animosity. Twice had Aaron
tried to take his life, when that was most worth having. Once he
had saved his life when he himself had most ardently desired to
lose it. Now he was present to give evidence in the hour of his
open humiliation.
' I thought,' he told me afterwards, ' that I had drained the
whole cup. But the bitterest drop was when that man stood before
me, as if Bess, poor girl! had not yet forgiven me, and had sent
VERY WELL THEN 295
her old lover to gloat over my discomfiture. She hath forgiven me,
however; therefore I need not have been troubled.'
The Court ordered the man to be sworn, and bade him relate
all that he knew concerning the affair, and particularly as to the
retaking of the ship from the French.
' I was on the fo'ks'le,' said Aaron, speaking boldly, and no whit
abashed at the solemnity of the Court and the rank of the Judges.
' I was on the fo'ks'le, with the rest of the company drawn up and
armed, the muskets being loaded and inspected, waiting for the word
to fire, which would have been in a few minutes, as we expected."
Then a shot from the enemy struck our bows and the wood went
flying; but no one, that I could see, was hurt. And then I saw the
Captain strike the flag and cut down the First Lieutenant. " Mates,"
I whispered presently, " either the ship is sinking, or the Captain
has lost his stomach for the fight. If she sinks, we go to Davy's
Locker; if he's played the coward, he will swing." ' As he said
these words, he turned his face to Jack with a look of triumph in his
eyes. 'We were all sent down below,' he continued,'when the
Frenchmen came aboard, and there we stayed with no arms and
short rations. Two days afterwards I was on deck, taking my spell
of fresh air with the others—about a dozen men in all. We were
leaning against the bulwarks, wishing the job was over, and cursing
the Captain, who was sitting on the quarter-deck on the trunnions
of a carronade, his hands on his knees, staring straight before him
as if he saw the rope dangling before his eyes, already noosed for
him. Suddenly I saw him spring from his place and catch the
French officer, who was walking the deck, by the throat, and shake
bim like a dog. Then he threw him on the deck (where the French¬
man lay stunned and half-dead) and he tore his sword from him;
then he rushed upon one of the sentries and cut him down, and
attacked the other : some of the Frenchmen, seeing what was done,
cried out in their own lingo, and ran aft, some firing pistols and
some drawing cutlasses. Whereupon I called out to my mates and
seized a rammer, which was the best thing for a weapon I could
come at, and ran after them, and so to the Captain's 6ide, for I
plainly saw that his design was to kill as many of the Frenchmen a3
he could, and to be killed himself, which I resolved to prevent if I
could. And then the other Englishmen joined me, and in a very
few minutes we had half of the prize crew killed or wounded, and
the other half crying for quarter; but the Captain was so furious
that for some time he would give none, throwing himself upon all
such as had weapons and would fight. Hard work I had to save
him. But I did. When 'twas all over there wasn't a scratch upon
him. I saved him, your Honours. With a rammer I saved his life.'
' Your courage,' said the President, ' does you credit. I shall
take care that it is duly represented to the Colonel of your regiment;
and if your conduct is reported as equal to your gallantry, you will
not go without your reward. The Captain, you think, sought for
rlpfl.t.h 9 '
294 THE WORLD WENT
* No one,' said Aaron, ' who did not want to he killed could ha\'9
behaved as he did. Before the enemy called for quarter, we had
driven them together in the waist, where they were shouting and
threatening to charge us with pikes and bayonets, but we had
weapons by this time, and were ready to receive them. But they
did not charge, because the Captain leaped into the middle of them
with nothing but his sword in his hand, laying about him like a
madman. He was sober and in his senses when he cowardly hauled
down the flag, but he was now, when he attacked the prize crew,
gone stark mad. If he hadn't been mad and not known what he
was about, we should never have taken the ship.'
' And you leaped after him ? ' asked one of the Court.
' I had my rammer, which was almost as good as a quarter-
staff ; and I'd rather have a quarterstaff than a sword any day, or a
pike either, if there's room for play.'
' And this you did out of devotion or loyalty to your Captain ? '
asked the President, astonished at the man's coolness, and the
deliberation with which he gave his evidence.
' Nay, nay,' he replied, grinning again, ' I saved his life because
I should have been sorry to see him die like a brave man. All I
wanted was to see him swing, your Honours, for striking his
colours.'
These words produced a sensation in the court; and all eyes
were turned upon this witness who (though but a simple Marine)
carried devotion to his country's honour unto so great a height.
But the officers of the ' Calypso' whispered together, and I heard
such words passed from one to the other as ' rascal,' ' six dozen,'
' the first chance,' ' not good enough for him,' and so forth, from
which I conjectured that Aaron would find a warm welcome if he
went to sea again on board this vessel. I think he must have heard
the whispers, but he cared nothing for them. He was now enjoying
a revenge sweeter far than to have murdered the Captain with his
own hand.
Therefore, he turned his ugly face to the prisoner, and grinned
with the satisfaction of his ignoble triumph. The Court, however,
seemed to take the words for an outburst of honest and patriotic
feeling which did credit to this rough and simple fellow.
Captain Easterbrook refused to ask any questions of this witness
either. It was now between three and four o'clock in the after¬
noon, when the President asked the prisoner if he designed to call
any witnesses for the defence, and proposed to adjourn the Court
until the following day.
' Sir,' said Jack, ' I have no witnesses to call.'
' Then,' said the President, ' you would doubtless wish for time
to prepare your defence. It is now late ; we will adjourn the Court
until to-morrow.'
'Sir,' said Jack, 'I thank you. But, with permission of the
Court, I will make my defence without further delay. I will not
trouble the Court to adjourn.'
VERY WELL THEN
295
^ The Court conferred, and presently said that they would hear the
prisoner at once, if he chose.
'Gentlemen,' Jack began, ' I have but a few words to say; and
as for defence, I have none. I have been at sea since my thirteenth
year, and am now four-and-twenty. During this time I have been
present in many actions, and I have never received aught but com¬
mendation from my superior officers. I served first under Captain
Holmes, of the "Lennox," and next on board the "Countess of
Dorset," when I was cast away on the coast of Patagonia, and, after
wandering among the Indians, I was prisoner first to the Spaniards,
and afterwards to the French. But I broke prison, and was
appointed Third Lieutenant to Captain Lockhart, of the " Tartar."
I submit that my character for courage was never impugned on
board any of these vessels, and Captain Lockhart hath thought fit
to bear testimony in his despatches to my conduct in the many
engagements fought by his ship. You have also heard how I was
enabled, by the help of those of my crew then on deck, to take the
ship again.'
He paused here, as if he was unwilling to say what was in his
mind.
' I submit to the Court,' said the Deputy Judge-Advocate, ' that
these facts, which I think the Court will not dispute, do not consti¬
tute any defence.'
' They are no defence,' Jack replied. ' I state them because they
form my only consolation in this hour. I have no defence. The
charge is true. My officers and crew would have taken, not only
the " Malicieuse," but the two other ships as well. Their evidence
is true in every particular. I wish to testify that no Commander
ever had better officers, a handier vessel, or a heartier crew. I
threw all away. I struck the colours. I cowardly and treacherously
surrendered my ship without firing a shot. I have but one prayer
to make of the Court. It is that this act, which was wholly my
own, may not in the least degree prejudice the future of my brave
Lieutenants. It was this shameful hand, and none other, which
hauled down the flag of the " Calypso." '
When he concluded, there was silence for a space, because the
Court and everybody present were taken by surprise, and because
the contemplation of this tall and handsome lad (he seemed no more)
thus avowing, not proudly, but shamefully, and yet hdnestly and
fully, his own dishonour, overwhelmed us with sadness. From his
officers, standing together, there were whispers, which could be heard
all over the court: ' He was mad. A madman is not answerable for
his doings. No one but a madman would have done it.' And so
forth. And I verily believe, and have been assured, that there was
not one among them all who would not gladly have put out to sea
again under Captain Easterbrook, in full confidence that he would
fight the ship "as long as a man was left alive to stand beside him.
As for me, I had looked to see him call some witnesses. He
could not, it is true, call Bess Westmoreland; nor could he tell the
296 THE WORLD WENT
whole trutli, else he would have stood before the Court and said,
' Gentlemen, this is none other than the Hand of GOD which hath
struck me for my sins, and because I broke my solemn oath, passed
to a woman. The Hand hath struck me in that way which most
deeply and most bitterly I should feel. For I never feared to die, nor
to be wounded, but always and before all things have I loved and
prized honour and been jealous for my good name, and longed to
distinguish myself and to rise in the service. Wherefore, now
have I been deprived of the thing which most of all I prized, and
stand before you all, bereft of honour, a cowardly Commander, so
that there remains for me nothing but death; and whether I am
hanged or shot, I care not, so that I may die soon. For there is no
place where I could live whither my shame would not also follow
me and be quickly brazened forth to all the folk. Sentence me,
therefore, quickly, and let me go.'
This, I say, he felt and knew to be the truth. Yet he would not
say it. But he might have called Mr. Brinjes, who would have
testified, which is the truth, though it did not perhaps touch the
case, that men who have been in places where the sun is hot,
especially such as have wandered about without any covering for
their heads, are often subject to sudden fits of madness, during which
they know not what they do ; and that peidiaps this was the case
with Captain Easterbrook. Nay, I have heard learned physicians,
disputing on such points, argue that sudden fits of madness are often
produced by exposure to the hot sun; so that a man who hath once
received a sun-stroke, as they call it, may, in such an access, commit
murder or any other crime, and not know afterwards what he hath
done.
The case being then concluded and the whole evidence com¬
pleted, with such defence as the defendant had thought fit to set
up, order was given to clear the court, which was done, the guard
of Marines taking the Captain back to his cabin, and the Judges
being left alone.
' He will die,' said Captain Petherick ; ' I see in his eyes that
there is nothing left for him to desire but death. The day of his
execution will be welcome to him. Yet I hope that they will not
hang him like a cur, but will shoot him like a brave man.'
' He was certainly mad,' said Mr. Shelvocke. ' I remember
once, being then off the Ladrone Islands '
' Ay,' said Mr. Brinjes, interrupting—I had not seen him in
court; yet he was there, dressed as if for the Club—' Ay. The boy
was mad. What ? Would a coward have resolved upon so
desperate an enterprise as to attack the prize crew single-handed ?
Death was before him—death if he failed; death if he succeeded;
for to succeed was but to throw himself into a court-martial.
Whereas, if he had suffered the ship to sail into Brest Harbour,
lie might have lived in France all his life in safety, and no one to
know what had happened. Now, what can they do but sentence
him to be hanged or shot ? Luke, my lad, if I had Aaron ashore,
VERY WELL THEN
297
t would make everyone of his teeth like a lump of red-hot iron;
rheumatic pains should grind his joints and twist his nerves; gout
should tear and rend his stomach; tic should stick sharp teeth
into his face. "Well—patience ! something will happen unto Aaron
yet. If, now, the poor boy had been suffered to have his wish, he
would have died in the moment of victory, when he had recon¬
quered the ship. As for witchcraft'—here he whispered—' but
that I know the poor wretch loves him still, and would rather die
than suffer him to come to any harm, I should believe that Bess
was at the bottom of the mischief. I say not that she is a witch ;
but no one knows what a revengeful woman can do when once she
dabbles in the forbidden art.'
Bess was, indeed, at the bottom of the mischief, but in a way
which Mr. Brinjes could not understand ; for he had not, so far as
I could discover, the fear of the Lord before his eyes, and was,
indeed, little better than a Pagan.
' There is again,' he said, ' the old black woman. But, then,
Jack was to marry her mistress, and therefore she would not harm
him. Yet there must be a girl in it, and she must have put Obi
upon him by the help of some, though I knew not that there were
any other Obeah men in this country, besides myself. If I were
younger, I would go to Portsmouth and find that woman, and
then, Luke, my lad, she should be made to feel as if it had been
better for her never to have been born.'
' Bess, at least, is no witch,' I said, for the fire of his one eye
was so bright that I feared he might have fallen upon her, or, at
least, compelled her to tell him the truth.
'This woman, whoever she may be, hath robbed the King's
service of the most gallant officer. She hath deprived a lovely
woman of her sweetheart; she hath covered us all with shame and
confusion. Wherefore, may her flesh fall rotten from her bones !
May '
' Nay, Mr. Brinjes,' I said, ' when you find her you can curse
her. Let not your curses loose upon an unknown woman.'
He stopped because at this moment a messenger came forth
from the Court, and word passed that the armourer was sent for,
and my heart sank like lead, and the women began to sob. It was
too true. That petty officer presently came on deck and was
passed within the' court. And we heard the noise of his file.
Alas I he was filing Jack's sword, and the end was now certain.
To me the filing of the sword was like the cutting of the life-threads
at once by the Fates, because—ah! Bess—Bess ! how couldst thou
survive thy lover ?
Then the court was thrown open and the prisoner was taken
back to hear his sentence. We learned afterwards that there was
a difference of opinion among the Judges, some inclining to mercy
on the ground of the Captain's conduct in recapturing the ship.
But in the end the sterner counsels prevailed; and, indeed, the
commander of a ship can on no grounds be pardoned for surrender-
298
THE WORLD WENT
ing to the enemy save in extremity. Suppose a man commits
a forgery, is it any defence that before and after this act of wicked¬
ness he led a good and virtuous life ? Suppose a boy picks a
pocket, is it any defence that he is sorry, and would fain give back
the purse and the money that was in it ?
We went back to the court. Alas ! if there had been any room
for doubt before, there was none now, because the prisoner's sword
was reversed, and lay upon the table the point towards the prisoner,
which meant Death.
' Guilty,' whispered Mr. Brinjes, not looking at the sword.
' Death is written in their faces.' It was. And yet the brave
officers who had already passed and signed the sentence of death,
showed compassion in their faces.
As for me, I cannot even now, after nearly forty years have
passed, think of that moment without the tears rising to my eyes.
The court was crowded with fine ladies, who had come from
London to see the trial. They thought, perhaps, to enjoy the
spectacle of a gallant man brought to shame, but they could not
without tears and sobbing look upon this poor fellow, tall and
manly, brought forth to hear a sentence of death.
The President arose, and read the sentence in his hand, signed
by every member of the Court.
'Captain John Easterbrook, the court-martial duly held upon
you for the loss of his Majesty's ship the " Calypso," find that you
did cowardly surrender your ship. The sentence of the Court is
that on a day to be presently appointed, according to the will of
his Gracious Majesty the King, you be placed upon the quarter¬
deck of the " Calypso " and be there shot to death. God save the
King!'
Now, before he spoke the last words, he laid down the paper
and took Jack's sword in his hands, which he held for a moment
as if loth to complete the sentence. Then, with the words, ' God
save the King,' he broke the sword—filed in readiness by the
armourer—across his knee and threw the broken pieces upon the
table. And the women shrieked and the men groaned, and the
officers who composed the Court hung their heads as if they dare
not face the prisoner. And yet their sentence was most just and
righteous.
'Gentlemen,' said Jack, in a clear firm voice, 'I thank the
Court for their patient hearing of the case. I looked for no other
verdict, and I desire no other. I acknowledge the justice of the
sentence. God save the King 1'
VERY WELL THEN
239
CHAPTER XLIII.
after the court-martial.
Thus ended the court-martial; thus was made grievous ship-
wreck of a gallant youth's ambition, his honour, and his life ; yet,
as to his honour, 'twas stoutly and steadfastly maintained by all
sailors, and especially by the officers and men of the ' Calypso,'
that the Captain's surrender (being done in a moment of madness
or by power of witchcraft) was fully atoned for by his surprising
recapture of the ship. That, too, has always been the opinion of
his friends, though, for my own part, as the only one left who
knows the whole truth, I cannot but acknowledge that the madness
was sent by Heaven, just as much as that madness which the
ancients feigned to have been inflicted on the Greek hero who
6lew cattle and sheep, thinking they were his enemies. Therefore,
no atonement for his deed was necessary, seeing that it was itself
a punishment inflicted by the hand of a justly offended Creator.
I know not who told the truth to the Admiral, but perhaps it
was Mr. Brinjes, who went daily to see him on account of an
attack of gout, brought on partly by his distress of mind and the
shame of this untoward event, and partly by the fault of the poor
old gentleman himself, who tried to drown care with port wine
and punch. This attack obstinately resisted the Apothecary's
remedies. Indeed, though for the time he presently recovered,
yet he came no more to the Sir John Falstaff, and never held up
his head again, going in great heaviness, and, I fear, still taking
more drink than is good for any man, until the disease mounted
to his stomach, where, Mr. Brinjes being no longer at hand to
assuage the pain, it speedily made an end of him.
On the evening of the court-martial the gentlemen of the Club
met as usual, though without their President. The conversation
was enlivened, if one may say so, by the extraordinary and tragical
incidents of the day. They drank not less, but rather more, in
order to sustain their spirits; they took their liquor with whispers,
and lowered voice, as is done in a house where one lies dead; and
they naturally talked much on subjects akin to what was in their
thoughts, as if seeking consolation in recalling examples resembling
the case which so much touched their hearts. Thus King Richard
the Second is represented by Shakspeare as loving, when in cap¬
tivity, to talk of the violent deaths of Princes.
41 was present,' said Captain Petherick, 4 at the execution of
Admiral Byng, two years and a half ago. If family influence could
have availed, he would have been spared. Yet he was shot, and
went to his death with a smiling countenance.'
'I remember,' said "Mr. Shelvocke—but I know not whether
this was true—'the death of Captain Kirkby and Captain Wade
3°o
THE WORLD WENT
for cowardly deserting Admiral Benbow, and that was fifty-seven
years ago.'
Another recalled the well-known case of Lieutenant Baker
Philips, shot in 1745, for surrendering the ' Anglesea' to the
' Apollon,' after the Captain and the First Lieutenant were both
killed. No mercy was shown to him, though it was proved that
he had but 200 men and forty guns (and of his crew fifty killed
and wounded), against the French crew of 500 men with fifty guns.
Yet they shot him at Spithead on board the ' Princess Royal.'
As for other courts-martial, Captain Fox, of the ' Kent,' was
dismissed his ship for neglect on duty in 1747. In 1744 Admiral
Mathers and four Captains were cashiered for neglect of duty. In
the same year the Master of the ' Northumberland,' the Captain
being mortally wounded, surrendered the ship before the Lieutenant
could get on deck. Wherefore, he was sentenced to be confined in
the Marshalsea for the remainder of his life. ' And there, gentle¬
men,' said Mr. Underhill, ' he lies to this day, and but last Monday
se'nnight I saw him, and conversed with him—a poor broken man,
who vainly prays for death.'
In short, the talk ran wholly upon trials and executions; the
unhappy young man now lying under sentence of death was, so to
speak, executed beforehand and in imagination by his friends, who
stood (for him) upon the quarter-deck, eyes bandaged, arms folded,
before the file of Marines, and hoped (for him) nothing more than
a happy shot through heart or head, which should put an instant
stop to life. Then the conversation turned upon the various
methods of violent deaths, all of which seem to be accompanied by
great, and some by prolonged, agonies—such as breaking on the
wheel, the punishment of the knout, or burning alive—and there
was much discussion as to which method of violent death seemed
the most preferable.
It was remarkable that Mr. Brinjes, generally one who talked
more than any, for the most part sat apart during this gloomy
talk, taking his pipe of tobacco without much share in the con¬
versation, whether from excess of grief or from the callous dis¬
position of old age, to which most things seem to matter little.
But he muttered to himself, as old people use, without heed to
those who are about them, and I overheard him.
' Ay . . . ay . . .' he said, ' the boy must be shot, I suppose,
and then Bess will not live. . . . She will certainly live no longer
when he is gone. So have I lost both. She will go drown herself
as soon as the shots are fired. But he is not dead yet—while
there is life there is hope—who knows what may happen ? 'Twill
be three, and perhaps six weeks before the day of execution.
Much may be done in six weeks. The lad is not shot yet, nor is
Bess drowned. And as for Aaron—but he saved the Captain's
life. Wherefore, though he did it with an ill design, I harm him
not.' Presently he recovered his spirits, and looked about him,
and began to talk in a more cheerful strain, though how he could
VERY WELL TL1EN 301
put on a show of cheerfulness, with the prospect before him of
Jack's certain execution and Bess's self-murder, passes under¬
standing. ' The lad is not shot yet!' he said. Why, what could
be done for him ? Nothing. A reprieve was past praying for.
Yet it must he acknowledged that the popular indignation which
had at first ran high against the Captain who thus cowardly
surrendered, quickly subsided and changed into compassion when
the circumstances of the recapture became known, so that perhaps
a reprieve might not have been so impossible had there been any
in high place to ask for it.
As regards the condemned man, whom I saw many times after
the sentence, I declare that I have never known any man more
cheerful and resigned to his fate than was this most unfortunate
Captain during the three weeks which passed between his sentence
and the day of his execution. Of hope, he had none ; nor did he
desire to live.
' If I were reprieved,' he said, ' whither should I go ? how live ?
I am but twenty-four years of age, and I might live for fifty years
to come, even into the next century, if the world endure so long,
with the accursed remembrance of one day always in my mind,
and among people who would never tire of pointing at the Captain
who surrendered his ship without striking a blow—one single
blow—the most cowardly surrender in the history of the British
Navy. "Why, 'twould be every day a thousand times worse than
the pains of death. My worst enemy could devise no more cruel
punishment than to send me forth free to walk the streets of an
English town. Nay, Bess '—for she was with him—' 'tis idle to
talk. I know what thou wouldst say, dear girl. For a mad act—
we know, my dear, why that madness was sent, and for what
cause permitted—no man should be held responsible. "Why, my
First Lieutenant was here yesterday, and said as much. But
even he does not know, and the world can never know, the whole
truth.'
In those last days Bess was with him always. She came at
eight in the morning, and she left him at eight in the evening.
Everybody knew by this time that she was the Captain's sweet¬
heart ; no one found it strange or wonderful, because Bess was the
finest woman in Deptford, and the Captain was the comeliest man;
and people only sometimes remembered that he had been reported
as promised to the daughter of the Admiral. _ It astonished me,
perhaps because I daily expected and feared it, that no one so
much as hinted at the possibility of Bess being engaged in witch¬
craft, though all were agreed that by foul practices the Captain
had been deprived for the moment of his courage. It is no longer
the custom to burn witches ; yet I am sure that if any woman had
been discovered, or even suspected, by the good people of Deptford,
to have been concerned in this wickedness, she would have suffered
every torture they could have devised. Burning—mere burning—
wouid have seemed too mild a punishment for a woman who could
3° 2
THE WORLD WENT
tlms by her villainous sorceries turn a brave man into a coward.
Again, if things had gone well with this poor girl, if Jack had
returned home triumphant and victorious, and had then openly
sought his humble sweetheart, there were plenty of women who
would have said hard and cruel things concerning her, as is their
way with each other. But now, when her lover lay under sentence
of death, they refrained their tongues ; nay, they even said good
things of her, reckoning it to her credit that, for the sake of the
Captain, she would receive the addresses of no other man, and
that she sent Aaron Fletcher about his business and consorted with
none of her former friends (who were beneath the notice of a
Captain's lady), and sought in the society of Mr. Brinjes to acquire
the manners and the bearing of a gentlewoman. When she went
down to the stairs in the morning, those women whom she passed
on her way stood aside for her in silence, and looked after her with
compassion in their eyes, and even with tears; and those, perhaps,
the rudest women of the place, fit companions for the rudest
sailors, abandoned in morals, sodden with drink, foul of tongue,
and ever ready to strike and to swear. So that pity may find a
home in the most savage breast.
She sat with Jack, therefore, all day long, in the cabin, which
was his condemned cell. For the first day or two she wept con¬
tinually. Then she ceased her crying altogether, and sat with dry
eyes. She said nothing, but she looked upon her sweetheart always,
as if hungering after the sight of his dear face. But from time to
time she rose and flung out her arms, as if she could not bear her¬
self. This was natural, when a woman regains her lover only to
lose him by a violent death. One evening I walked home with her
through the town, and she told me, poor girl! what was in her
mind. ' I shall not live after him,' she said; ' of that I am resolved.
"Why, if it be as he says, that Heaven hath punished him for his
inconstancy, was it not through my mouth that the punishment
was pronounced? Where he goes, I shall go. When he dies, I
shall die. In that same hour when the bullets tear his dear heart,
shall I die too; and so my soul shall join his. I know not,' she
said, wildly, ' oh ! I know not whither we shall be sent in the next
world; and I care nothing—no, nothing—so only that we go there
together. I am quite sure that he is forgiven all his sins, if ever
he committed any, though I know not that they can be worth
considering. And he dies for them. What can a man do more ?
As for me, I am not afraid, because I have always gone to church
every Sunday morning. Oh! I doubt not we shall go to Heaven
together, and sit hand-in-hand, and side-by-side; and perhaps we
shall forget the past, somehow, and then the old brave look will
come back to my boy's eyes. What would Heaven be to bhn if I
were not with him—and what to me if my Jack were not beside
me? And oh! Luke, he loves me now more tenderly than ever
he loved me before. And I am happy, though I know that we have
VERY WELL THEN
303
but a day or two more to live. They tell me that to he shot gives
110 pain. Else I could not bear it, and must die first.'
I pointed out to her the wickedness of self-destruction; but she
would not listen, crying wildly that she cared for no wickedness—
not she—so that she could join in death, as well in life, the man
she loved. Surely there never was woman who loved man with so
violent a passion; and now in these last days, when it was all too
late, there never was girl more truly loved.
' 'Tis the fondest heart, Luke !' said Jack, the tears in his eyes.
' Why, for thy sake, sweet Bess, I would be almost contented to
live, and to forget the past, if we could go somewhere together,
where no man knew or could find out my dishonour—if we could
go and live on one of the islands in the Southern Seas But
this is idle talk.'
Then the time drew near when the sentence must be carried
out. We expected from day to day to hear that the time was fixed.
About a fortnight after the sentence, a sudden and most surpris¬
ing change came over Bess. She left off crying altogether; some¬
times, even, she laughed ; she seemed not to know, or even to care,
what she said or did. She would throw herself into Jack's arms,
and kiss him passionately; at the next moment she would tear
herself free, and stand gasping and panting, and with wild eyes, as
if with impatience; so that I feared lest she should lose her reason
altogether. I have heard that persons condemned to the flames by
the accursed Inquisition (which they dare to call holy) have been
known to go mad with the terror of looking forward to that awful
torture. Sure I am that no flames of the stake could be more
dreadful to Bess than the thought of the moment when her lover
would fall dead, pierced by a dozen bullets. Jack at such times
would try to calm her, but she shook him off, crying, 'No—no.
Let me be. Oh! I am choking. Oh! Jack—my dear—if you
knew what is in my heart! Yes—Jack. I will be quiet. Oh!
what a wretch am I that should add to your trouble at such a time !'
Then she threw herself at his feet and caught his hands. ' Jack,'
she cried, ' you know that I am your servant and your slave. Oh !
if I loved you when all the world spoke well of you, think how much
more I love you now you have got no one—oh! no one but your
poor fond girl!'
He raised her and kissed her. Nothing now could move him
but the sight of her tears and suffering, which (I am not ashamed
to write this down) brought tears to my own eyes.
' Let us pretend,' she said, ' let us talk like children—oh! we
were once happy children, and we could pretend and believe what
we please. Why ... all this is only pretence. The cabin is our
old «nmmer-house; you are only twelve years of age, and I am a
little girl; and we have been playing at court-martial No,'
she shuddered, ' that is a dreadful game. We will play at some¬
thing else. We are going away—you and I together, Jack—we
304 THE WORLD WENT
shall take a ship and sail far away from England to the islands you
have seen, and Mr, Brinjes talks about—we will live there—oh! no
one will ever find us out. . . . We have long to live. I will work
for you, and you will forget all that has happened. Then we shall
grow old. . . . Do you think you would love an old woman, Jack,
who had lost her beauty, and gone grey and toothless ? And then
we would lie down and die together. Why—whatever happens,
we will die together—we must die together. J ack. ... J ack. . . .
Oh! if we could go away; oh ! if we could go away together—to
leave it all behind, and to forget it! '
' Patience, dear heart,' he said. ' Patience, Bess; it tears me
to see thee suffer.'
I was with them; and—but who could see and listen to him
without tears ? I am not a stock or stone.
' Patience ? ' she replied. ' Yes, yes ! I will have patience !
Jack, do you remember three years ago, the day we were in the
summer-house, Luke being present, you solemnly made a great
promise ? '
' I remember, Bess. God knows I have reason to remember,
not only the promise but how I kept it.'
' Make me one more promise, Jack.' She laid her hands upon
his arm. ' Make me one more promise now. Luke is here again
to witness for us.'
' Why, child, what promise can I make thee now ? A dying
man can neither make or break a promise. Shall I promise to love
thee in the next world ? '
' Nay, promise what I shall tell thee. Say, after me : I, Jack
Easterbrook '
' I, Jack Easterbrook,' he repeated.
' Do swear solemnly, before GOD ALMIGHTY '
He repeated these words.
' That I will grant to Bess Westmoreland one more request,
whatever she may ask me, before I die.'
He said after her, concluding with the words—
' Whatever she may ask me, before I die.'
She fetched a great sigh and kissed him again; and, throwing
her arms round his neck, laid her head upon his shoulder.
I could not, for the life of me, understand what she meant;
and still I thought that her brain must be wandering with her
troubles.
CHAPTEE XLIV.
how bess went away.
It was only three weeks after the sentence that the condemned man
received a summons to prepare himself for his execution, which was
fixed for Monday, February the Twenty-third. This was a shorter
VERY WELL THEN 305
space between sentence and execution than was awarded to the
unhappy Admiral Byng, who had eight weeks in which to prepare
himself for death. However, Jack complained not, and received
the announcement in a becoming spirit, and presently sent a letter
to my father, who lost no time in visiting him, and continues
daily to visit him until the day of execution.
Now, here I have to write down a strange thing, and one which
is hardly to be credited. From the day of his trial (when, as I
have said, the court was crowded with ladies) to the day before the
execution, the ship was visited every day by ladies curious to see
and, if possible, to converse with, this young and unfortunate officer.
But he would not receive any. Nay, every day letters came to him,
full of tender messages and of prayers, some of them entreating him
to grant them an interview, some openly declaring their passion for
him, some humbly asking for a lock of his hair, or a line in his
handwriting, some begging him to observe secrecy in his replies,
and some offering their services in high quarters to procure him
a pardon or a reprieve. To none of these letters did J ack reply a
word, but tore all up and threw the fragments from his cabin
window. One day, however (it was after the day had been fixed
for carrying out the sentence), there came on board a lady who
would take no denial, but wrote down her name upon the back of a
playing card and peremptorily ordered that it should be taken to the
Captain's cabin. She was so quick, however, that she followed the
messenger, and so forced her way in.
' My handsome Jack !' she cried, but stopped short, because she
found another woman with him.
' Madam,' said Jack, rising, ' this is an unexpected honour.'
' I came, Captain,' she said, ' because we are old friends, and
because I would fain help thee if I can.'
' No one can, Madam.'
' And because if I cannot, thou mayst still help me.'
' You may command me, Madam.'
'Nay,' she said, looking still at Bess, 'why so formal, Jack?
'Tis terrible to think that in a few days '
' Madam, my time is short; pray remember that and be
brief.'
' Why, Captain,' she laughed, ' 'twas but a little thing: and
perhaps this lady will grant me five minutes alone '
' It needs not,' said Jack; ' you can speak openly before her.'
' In that case it will be needless. Yet I will try. Captain, thou
"art condemned to die. 'Tis sad, indeed. Yet 'tis true. Now con¬
sider my case. I am deeply in debt. I have quarrelled with my
Lord. Marry me, and so take my debts off my back. Nay,
Madam '—for Bess sprang to her feet—' be pacified. 'Tis but an
empty form that I ask. He shall marry me, and I will retire with
the clergyman, and so he will free me at a stroke of all my debts.'
' Madam,' said Jack, before Bess could find time to speak, ' you
are unfortunately too late. It is impossible that I could gratify
x
3o6
THE WORLD WE XT
you in this request, because I am married already. This lady 19
my wife—my most unfortunate wife.'
' Oh, Madam!' said the actress, with a deep curtsey, ' I beg
humbly to be forgiven! Believe me, I did not know. Well,
Captain'—she heaved a sigh—' of all the men I have ever known
thou hast gone nearest to make me think I have a heart. My poor
Jack !' She seized his hand and kissed it. ' Oh, Madam'—she
turned to Bess—' I thought not of this. I thought I should find
him over a bowl of punch, drinking away his care. Alas! I re¬
member you now. You loved him, and. ... I remember you. .. .
Poor child ! Who shall comfort thee ? '
So she stole away, weeping, and left them alone.
It was, indeed, true. The first service which Jack had asked of
my father was to marry him to Bess Westmoreland. It was done
secretly in the cabin, with no other witnesses than myself and the
First Lieutenant, Mr. Colin Macdonald. So Bess got her heart's
desire, and the old witch's prophecy proved true, that in the midst
of troubles she should marry the man she loved. But what a mar¬
riage ! After this my father, as I have said, visited him daily, and
every morning asked the prayers of the congregation for one about
to die.
Then, as day followed day, and there wanted but two or three
more, Bess became still more strange in her manner, showing a
restlessness and impatience so that she could no longer remain
quiet for five minutes together, but must needs be pacing backwards
and forwards, not crying or lamenting, but with burning face and
eyes afire.
The sentence was to be carried out on the Monday morning.
On Sunday, with a heart as heavy as lead, I prepared to say
farewell.
I went on board about ten o'clock, at the time of morning
prayers. Bess was already in the cabin, seated at the window,
which was open, though the morning was cold, her face pressed
•against the bars. Jack was at the table, writing a letter for the
Admiral.
' It is nearly finished, dear lad,' he said, looking up with a smile.
' Courage ! The worst was over when the trial was done. To die
would be nothing—but for leaving Bess. Be kind to her, Luke;
be kind to her.'
I looked to see her burst into tears. But no—she listened
without a tear or even a sob. ' This night, after I have parted with
her, will be long, I fear. Your father hath comforted me greatly in
the matter of religion, wherefore I have now a sure and certain hbpe,
if I may humbly say so, though hitherto I have thought little of
these matters. It is a blessed thing for thoughtless sailors that we
have a Church to rule our faith, and forms of prayer to save our
souls. He will come to-morrow, for the last prayers, before seven.
At eight, the boats of the ships in port will surround the ship, the
death-signal will be displayed, a gun will be fired, the crew will be
VERY WELL THEN
3J7
drawn tip on the deck, and the prisoner will be brought out.' Bess
listened without changing her countenance. Was she, then, turned
into stone by sorrow, like Niobe ?
I cannot write down the words with which he bade me farewell,
nor my own. Suffice it that we took leave of each other with, on
my side, all that a bleeding heart could find to say, and on his, with
a message which I made haste to deliver to the Admiral, his patron
and benefactor.
Then I left him alone with Bess.
It was arranged that they should part upon the hour when she
must leave the ship and go ashore. He was peremptory that she
must not try to see him in the morning, lest the sight of her might
unman him. To stand upon the deck with eyes unbandaged,
resolute and firm, was the only duty left for him to perform.
Therefore Bess must part with him on Sunday night. She ac¬
quiesced, still without a single tear. But when the hour drew
near, instead of hanging round his neck and weeping, she took both
his hands in hers, and said—
' Jack—dear Jack—my own Jack!—you made me a promise the
other day. The time hath come to keep it.'
' A promise, dear heart ? Why, what can I do for thee now ? '
' You would grant any request that I should make. The time
hath now come.'
' 'Tis granted beforehand, dear girl.'
' My request, Jack, is, that you will live, and not die.'
'Bess?'
' That you will live, and not die. Listen ! We have arranged
everything for this evening. Mr. Brinjes hath managed all for us.
See !' She whispered him very earnestly.
He gazed at her in a sort of stupefaction.
' We shall not stay in the country. A Dutch boat waits us off
Barking Creek ; the master, a boy, and yourself, will sail her across
to Holland. If the wind is fair, we shall make a Dutch port in a
day—oh ! it is all arranged. We shall not stay in Holland, but
take ship to the Dutch East Indies, and thence to the South Seas,
where we will live—oh! my Jack—far, far away from the world;
and I will work for thee. So we shall forget the past and Deptford,
and—and—everything, and there will be a new life for us—oh ! a
new life, whether it be short or long, with no one to remind us of
what hath happened. Oh! my poor tortured dear—it is through
me—through me—that all this disgrace hath come upon thee;
yes—and it shall be through me that thy life shall be saved !'
' Bess, I cannot! They would say that it was fitting that one
who could cowardly strike the flag should also cowardly run away
from punishment.'
' What matter what they say ? Shall we care what they say,
when we are sailing together among those islands ? Will it touch
our hearts any more to think of their praise, or blame ? '
4 Bess, I cannot!—oh ! my tender heart, I cannot!'
X 2
308 THE WORLD WENT
' Then, Jack, thou SHALT. Thy promise is passed—a solemn
promise before GOD. Wilt thou break that promise too, and go
before Heaven, thy last act another broken pledge ? ' .
Well, he fought awhile, and he yielded at length; and then she
kissed him and went away; but she held her handkerchief to her
eyes, so that those who saw her might not suspect.
At the head of the gangway, which, for the convenience of the
court-martial, had been made into an. accommodation-ladder,
furnished with rails and side-ropes, stood Aaron Fletcher on guard.
' Thou art satisfied at last, Aaron ? ' said Bess.
'Not yet, but I shall be to-morrow,' he replied, whispering,
because a sentry must not talk.
She said no more, but passed down the steps and into the boat.
In the afternoon, being in great distress of heart, I went to visit
Mr. Brinjes. He was not sleeping, but was busied over a great
number of small packages arranged in order upon the table.
'I have seen the last of him,' I said.
' Ay ? Is Bess with him ? '
' I am troubled about Bess. I think she hath gone distracted.
For she weeps no more, and once I saw her laugh. She catches her
breath, too, and is impatient.'
' For her distraction I will answer. I know a remedy for it,
and that remedy she shall have. As for the catching of her breath,
that too shall be cured; as for her impatience, I cannot help it, be¬
cause it was impossible to complete the job before to-day.'
I asked him what he meant.
' Hath not Bess told you, then ? Why, she was to have told
you this morning before she broke the thing to Jack. 'Tis a good
girl who can keep a secret. It is not true, mind ye, that no woman
can keep a secret. Where their lovers are concerned, they can keep
fifty thousand basketsful of secrets, and never spill so much as a
single one.'
He began to open the packets, and to count their contents.
They contained guineas, about fifty in each packet, and there
seemed to be no end of them.
' This,' he said, 'comes of twenty years' honest industry; If a
man takes in his shop six half-crowns a day and spends only one, in
twenty years he shall be master, look you, of no less than four
thousand pounds.'
Heavens! could he really be the owner of so great a property ?
When he had counted the money he dropped it into three or four
leathern bags, which he tied to a belt below his waistcoat. ' Now,'
said he, ' if we capsize, I shall go straight to Davy's Locker. Give
me the skull-stick, my lad—so.' He looked at the horrid thing
with admiration. ' I thought at first of giving it to Philadelphy,
but now I will not, because she hath lied to me about the Great
Secret, which I find she doth not, after all, possess. So much I
suspected. She shall not have the Obeah stick. Besides, Heaven
knows whither we are going, or what powers we may want;
VERY WELL THEN
309
therefore, I shall keep the stick.' He wrapped a cloth about the
skull, and tied it up so that no one should know what it was.
Then he laid it upon the table.
I observed then that everything was ready as if for departure.
The shelves were empty; the fire was out; there were ashes of
burnt paper in the grate; the famous charts were rolled up and
lying on the table, beside the skull-stick. "What did it mean ?
' Why,' he said, ' since Bess hath not told you, I will not either.
But—I think we can trust thee, Luke—surely we can trust thee, if
anyone. Thou lovest Jack, I know, and Bess too, in thy mild and
milky way. Why, a lad of spirit would have carried the girl off
years ago, Jack, or no Jack. However—that is enough. My lad,
we want thy help. There is no other that we can trust. It is life
or death . . . life or death . . . life or death. Say that to thyself,
and forget not to be here at nine of the clock this evening.'
' What is to be done at nine ? '
' It is life or death, I say. Life or death! Now go; I have
much to do. It is life or death. Two lives or two deaths. Life or
death. Therefore, fail not.'
At nine o'clock I kept my appointment, wondering what would
happen.
Bess was there, wrapped in a cloak and hood; in her hand she
carried a small parcel. Mr. Brinjes was waiting, muffled and
cloaked, his hat tied over his ears, and a roll—containing, I suppose,
his charts and his famous skull-stick—under his arm.
'Come, lad,' he said, 'thou shalt know soon what it is we have
to do.'
It was a dark and rainy night; the wind blew in gusts; the
streets were deserted, save for some drunken fellow who rolled
along, bawling as he went. Mr. Brinjes led the way towards the
river, and we were presently at the Stairs, where the boats lay
fastened to the rings by their long painters.
' Take the outside boat of all,' said the Apothecary; ' her oars
are left in her on purpose. So, haul her to the Stairs. Step in,
Bess. She is but a dingey, but she will serve. Luke, you have to
row. You may shut your eyes, and keep them shut, if you like, for
I shall steer.'
I began to suspect that something serious was to be attempted,
but I obeyed without question or remonstrance.
'Twas then high tide, or a little on the ebb, so that at midnight
the ebb would be at its strongest. I - cast off the painter and
shoved off. Then I took my seat and the oars, and rowed while
Mr. Brinjes steered.
The river was rough and dark, save for the lights displayed by
the ships. The ' Calypso ' was moored very nearly off the mouth
of the dock, but in mid-stream. Mr. Brinjes suffered me to row
almost across the river, as if he were making for one of the Stairs
on the other side. Then he put her head up stream, and steered so
THE WORLD WENT
that the boat approached the ' Calypso,' whose lights he knew, not
as if we were boarding her, but as if we were making our way
across her bows to the Dog-and-Duck Stairs of Redriff. The pre¬
caution was not necessary, perhaps, seeing how dark it was; but
the eyes of sailors are sharper than those of landsmen; and the
watch must not allow a boat to approach a ship without a challenge.
We crossed the bows, therefore, of the ' Calypso,' I still rowing,
and the boat apparently heading to the opposite shore.
But while we were still under the shadow, so to speak, of the
great ship's bows, my coxswain whispered,' Easy rowing—ship oars.'
I could not guess what he intended. 'Twas this.
The ' Calypso ' lay pretty high out of water. The tide was
running strong. Mr. Brinjes turned the boat's head and ran her
straight under the side of the ship. He then, being as quick and
skilful in the handling of a boat as any man sixty years younger,
stepped into the bows, and with hand and boat-hook worked the
boat along the side of the vessel to the stern, where he hooked on,
and whispered that we must now wait.
' We have more than two hours still to wait. I think the watch
will have no suspicion, and 'tis better to wait here an hour or two
than to hurry at the end, and so perhaps be seen and the whole
plot spoiled. Here we lie snug.'
We might be lying snug, but we lay more than commonly cold,
and the wind and rain beat into one's face. Bess sat, however,
with her hood thrown back, careless of cold or rain; and Mr.
Brinjes lay muffled up in the bows. But in his hand he held the
boat-hook.
The ship's bells and the town clocks and the Greenwich clocks
made such a clashing in our ears every quarter of an hour, as kept
us aware of the time—never before did I understand how slowly he
crawleth. Why, there seemed to me an hour between each quarter,
and a whole night between each hour.
When the clocks began to strike midnight Bess looked up and
the old man threw off his cloak. ' Oars out,' he whispered.
' Gently. Don't splash. Here he is!'
We were immediately, though I knew it not, below the windows
of Jack's cabin, which was the Captain's state-room. Below his
window were those of the First and Second Lieutenants, and Mr.
Brinjes had chosen the time of midnight, because then the watches
would be changing, and these officers would be on deck or else fast
asleep. It was as he expected. The end of a rope fell into the
water close beside the boat, and then, hand under hand, our prisoner
came swiftly down. In a moment he was sitting in the stern.
Then Mr. Brinjes let go, and the tide, hurrying down the river as
fast as a mill race, carried us noiselessly and swiftly away.
No one spoke; but Mr. Brinjes again took the ropes, and I
began to row. We were very soon, keeping in mid stream, past
Greenwich, and past Woolwich, I rowing as hard as I could, and
the ebb-tide strong, so that we made very good way indeed.
VERY WELL THEN
3"
Presently we came alongside a small vessel lying moored off
Barking Creek, and Mr. Brinjes steered the boat alongside, and
caught a rope.
' Now, Bess,' he said, ' quick; climb up.'
She caught hold of the cleats, and ran up the rude gangway as
nimbly as any sailor. Mr. Brinjes followed.
Then Jack seized my hand, 'Farewell, dear lad,' he said, 'I
thought not to see thee again. Farewell.'
So he followed, and left me alone in the boat.
' Sheer off, Luke,' said Mr. Brinjes looking over the side; ' sheer
off, and take her back to the Stairs. Tell no one what hath been
done. Farewell. We sail for the Southern Seas.'
Then I saw that they were hoisting sail. She was a Dutch
galliot carrying a main and mizen-mast, with a large gaff mainsail.
This, with a flying topsail, and the usual fore-and-aft canvas, would
with this wind and tide take her down to the North Foreland very
quickly, after which, if the wind still continued fair, she might
expect to make the port of Rotterdam in sixteen, or perhaps twenty
hours more.
When I had painfully pulled the boat up stream and gotten her
back in her place at the Stairs, and was at last in bed, I began to
understand fully what had been done—namely, that a great crime
had been committed in the rescue of a prisoner sentenced to
death, and that, with my two accomplices, I was liable to be tried
and I fell asleep before I could remember what the punish¬
ment would be.
CHAPTER XLV.
the conclusion.
The next morning my father was astir by six ; and I, hearing him,
and remembering suddenly what had happened, could sleep no
more, but rose quickly, and dressed. He was already in wig and
cassock; his clerk in readiness with prayer-book, bible, and the
materials wherewith to administer the Supper of the Lord.
' My son,' he said,' the ministration to a dying man is the most
awful part of a clergyman's holy duties ; and yet it is that which
should most fill him with gratitude and joy. Terrible it is at all
times to watch the soul take its flight into the unknown regions:
most terrible of all when death comes violently upon one still
young and strong and in the prime of his day.'
More he would have said; but here we were interrupted by the
arrival of the Admiral himself, borne in an arm-chair by his four
ne°roes, his feet swathed in flannel, and himself wrapped in warm
cloaks, for 'twas dangerous for him to leave the warmth of his own
room.
' Doctor,' he said, when the men had set him down, ' you are
now about to comfort out boy in his last moments.' Here he
312
THE WORLD WENT
paused awhile, the tears running down his cheeks. 'His last
moments, poor lad,' he repeated. ' I could not lie still and
that he should die without a word from me. _ Therefore, though I
would not turn his thoughts away from religion, I cannot let him
die with never a word from his father's oldest friend. _ 'Twere
inhuman. Tell him, therefore, from me, that I now plainly per
ceive that he was mad. Other men besides himself have gone
mad at sea. I know one who went mad and jumped overboard, in
a storm; and another who went mad and ran amuck on the
quarter-deck with a cutlass, wounding many before he was dis¬
armed ; and another but no matter. He was mad. Tell him
that for the act of God, there is nothing but resignation. The
thing might have happened to any. We are fools to feel any shame
in it. As for all that went before and that came after his madness,
tell him we are proud of him therefore, and we shall remain proud
of him. But for his own sake, we are grieved that he was not
killed in the recapture of the vessel. Bid him, therefore, meet his
death with a calm heart—a brave heart, I know, will not fail him.
Take him my last blessing, and my undiminished love. There is
no question, tell him, of forgiveness. The act of God must not be
questioned. But the pity of it—oh! Doctor—the pity of it I' and
with that he fell to weeping like a child.
And then the two old men wept together, but I, who knew what
had happened and that there would be no execution that day, had
no tears.
They carried back the Admiral and put him to bed again, and I
accompanied my father as far as the Stairs. As I returned slowly,
my heart full of strange emotions, the bell of St. Paul's began to
toll the passing knell. No need to ask for whom that bell was
tolling. At the sound the women came to the doors and began to
cry, and to talk together, full of pity, the kind-hearted creatures,
shrews as they were, and slatterns, and drabs. The old men at the
Trinity Hospital were gathered together in their quadrangle, talking
of the boy they had known and loved. The Barber and his four
'prentices were busy shaving, the shop full, everybody talking at the
same time; and in his doorway stood Mr. Westmoreland, looking up
and down the street with troubled face.
' Where is she ?' he asked. ' Mr. Luke, where is my Bess ? '
'Indeed, Mr. Westmoreland,' I replied, ' where should she be if
not in her own bed ? '
' She hath not been home all night. I have heard talk of her
and Captain Easterbrook. But that poor young man is to be shot
this morning. Where can she be ? They tell me that she spends
the days in his cabin. Sir, you know them both: I' faith he hath
played her false. Who would have daughters ? Yet if she is all
day long with him, needs must that she come ashore in the evening,
Mr. Luke. Who, sir, I ask you, would have daughters to plague his
old age ? I thought she might have stayed at the Apothecary's,
and I have knocked, but can make no one hear. Think ygu that
VERY WELL THEN
3'3
Mr. Brinjes is dead? He is already of a great old age. This is a
terrible morning. That poor young gentleman must die ; he must
be cut off in the pride of his life and strength, the comeliest man I
have ever seen, and he hath stolen my daughter's heart away.
"Why, what shall I do with her when he is dead ? How shall I en¬
sure her despair and her grief? how find consolation to assuage
her wrath when he is gone ?'
I knew very well how that question would be answered. But I
could not tell him what had happened.
'It is his passing bell,' the Penman continued. 'Lord, have
mercy upon his soul t He is young, and hath doubtless committed
some of the sins of youth; the Lord forgive him ! He hath often
used profane language, and that in my hearing. The Lord forgive
him ! As for his striking his colours, that will not, I am sure, be
laid to his charge. Besides, he hath atoned for this sin by his
death. The Lord forgive him for an honest and brave lad ! 'Twas
once a joy to see him handle his logarithms. Will they bury him
in St. Paul's churchyard ? Poor lad! Poor lad! What shall I
say to Bess to comfort her when she comes home ? '
Thus he went on prattling; but I left him.
At the door of Mr. Brinjes' shop stood his assistant, knocking.
' Sir,' he said, ' I am afraid that something hath happened to
my master, for I have knocked and cannot make him hear.'
I advised him to wait half an hour or so, and then to knock
again.
It was impossible to rest. I went again to the Stairs, where the
watermen should be hanging about. There was not one man there,
nor'a single boat. Pound the ' Calypso ' there was a great fleet of
ships' boats, and Thames boats, all waiting for the execution.
People had come down from London—even, they said, as far as
from Chelsea—to see the sight. Why, they could see nothing from
the river. True, they might have the satisfaction of hearing the
roll of the muskets. There never was so great a concourse on the
river, even on the day of Horn Fair.
At eight o'clock—the time of execution—everybody listened to
hear the rattling of the guns. But there was silence. Presently, I
know not how it began, there sprang up a rumour—only a rumour
at first—that the sentence would not be carried out that morning;
then it became certain that there would be no execution at all; and
it was spread abroad that at the last moment the Captain had been
respited. About eleven o'clock the boats dispersed and returned
again, the people disappointed. It was not until later that it was
known—because at first no one, not even my father and his clerk,
were allowed to leave the ship—that Captain Easterbrook could not
be shot because he could not be found.
I found the Apothecary's shop open—they had broken in at the
back and the assistant was mixing medicines and prescribing.
' Sir,' he said, ' my master is gone. He hath not slept in his
bed. He hath taken his money and his charts, but nothing else,'
314 THE WORLD WENT
' His money and his charts ? How do you know that he has
taken his money ? '
' I know where he kept it and I looked to see if it was gone.
Because, I said, if my master's money is still there, he will return.
But it is gone ; therefore I know that he has gone.'
' "Whither hath he gone, sirrah ? '
' I know not, sir; any more '—here he looked mighty cunning
—' than I know whither Captain Easterbrook hath gone, or Bess
Westmoreland, or what you were doing with my master and Bess
on the Stairs last night at nine o'clock.'
Now, I have never learned if this man knew more than the fact
that we were upon the Stairs at that time. Certainly, he could not
know the whole truth.
' I think,' I said, ' that if I were you I would continue to carry
on the business without asking any questions, until your master
returns.'
' I will, sir,' he replied; and he did. His master did not return,
and this fortunate young man succeeded to a good stock and a
nourishing trade, and would doubtless have become rich but for the
accident of being killed by a drunken sailor.
When it became known that Mr. Brinjes, Bess, and the Captain
had all disappeared on the same evening, it was impossible not to
connect these three events; and all the world believed (what was
perfectly true) that the girl had run away with the Captain, and
that Mr. Brinjes had gone, too, out of pure affection for them.
The Admiral presently recovered from his attack, but he went
no more to the Sir John Falstaff, and entirely lost his former
spirits; and, as I have already said, within a year or two was
carried off by an attack of gout in the stomach. Shortly afterwards
I was so happy as to win the affections of Castilla. She informed
me that, although she was carried away by natural pride in so
gallant a wooer as Jack, she had never felt for him such an assur¬
ance in his constancy as is necessary to secure happiness, and that
when she heard of his infatuated passion for so common a creature
as Bess Westmoreland, she was thankful for her release, though
she deplored the sad cause of it. ' We no longer,' she often says,
' burn women for witchcraft, but such a girl as Bess, who can so
bewitch a gallant man as to make him invoke the curse of Heaven
upon himself if he prove inconstant, and thereby bring him to
shame and disgrace, ought to be punished in some condign and
exemplary manner.' It is not my practice to argue with my wife,
especially on points where we are not likely to agree ; and as Bess
will probably never return, and cannot, therefore, be punished,
Castilla may say anything she please about her. For my own
part, my heart has always been with that poor girl, who did not
seek for or expect the honour of Jack's affections, and whose
witchery was in her beauty and her black eyes.
On the conclusion of peace in 1762, Aaron Fletcher, with many
VERY WELL THEN 315
other Marines, was disbanded, hut he was afraid to venture back
into Deptford, where his creditors would have arrested liim. I
know not for a certainty what he did to bring the arm of the law
upon him ; but I know what became of him. For one day, being
at Limehouse, I saw going along the road on the way to the Stairs,
where were waiting several ships' boats, a dismal company of con¬
victs, for embarkation to the plantations of Jamaica, or Barbadoes,
or some other West Indian Island. There were at least a hundred
of them, walking two and two, handcuffed in pairs. Some of these
were in rags, some shaking with prison fever, some dejected, some
angry and mutinous, some were singing—there are wretches so
hardened that they will sing ribald songs on their way even to the
gallows. One there was of appearance and bearing superior to the
rest, by whose side there walked a young woman, his wife or mis¬
tress, bearing a baby, and crying bitterly; another, beside whom
walked a grave and sober citizen, the brother or cousin of the
convict, the tears in his eyes. But mostly there were no friends
or relations to mourn over this outcast crew. And at the head
marched a band of fifes and drums, playing ' Through the woods,
laddie'; and a crowd of boys followed, whooping and hallooing.
When the procession was nearly past, I was surprised to see among
the men, handcuffed together, no other than Aaron Fletcher and
Mr. Jonathan Eayment, the crimp. The latter was pale, and his
fat cheeks shook, and all his limbs trembled with fever. 'Twould
have been merciful to let him lie till death should carry him off.
But Aaron walked upright, looking about him with eyes full of
mutiny and murder. I know not if he saw me; but the procession
filed past, and the band went on playing at the head of the Stairs
while the wretches embarked on board the boats. As for the crimes
which Aaron and his companion had committed, I do not know
what they were, but I suspect kidnapping formed part. I have
never learnt what became of Mr. Bayment; but concerning Aaron
there afterwards came intelligence that he could not brook the
overseer's lash and the hot sun, and fled, with intent to join the
wild Maroons, but was followed by bloodhounds, and pursued, and,
being brought back to his master, was naturally flogged. He then
sickened of a calenture and died. He was a bad man ; but he was
punished for his sins. Indeed, it is most true that the way of
transgressors is hard.
Lastly, totcomplete this narrative, I must tell you of a message
which came to me five or six years after the court-martial. It was
brought even from the Southern Seas. Heard one ever of a
message or letter from that remote and unknown part ?
There was a certain wild fellow, Deptford born, Will Acorn by
name. This young man, for sins of his which need not delay us,
left his native town, where he had been brought up as a shipwright,
and went to sea. Nor did he come back again for several years,
when he reappeared, the old business being now blown over and
forgotten. And presently he came to my house, I then living in
316
THE WORLD WENT
Bt. Martin Street for convenience of business, and told me a strange
story.
With some other privateers of Jamaica, where these fellows are
mostly found, he must needs try his fortune in the South Seas.
Accordingly, they got possession of a brig, or barcolongo, as they
call this kind of ship in the West Indies, and they armed her with
certain carronades and peteraroes, and to the number of eighty or
ninety stout men, all fully armed, put out to sea. In short, they
proposed to go a-pirating among the Spanish settlements, as many
have done before them.
It matters not here what was the success of their voyage—Will
Acorn, at least, returned home in a very ragged and penniless
condition. This, however, was the man's story.
' We sighted one morning at daybreak, being then not far from
Masa Fuera, a large brigantine flying Spanish colours. She was
much too big for us to tackle, therefore we hoisted the Spanish
flag, too, and bore away, hoping that she would let us alone, and
go on her own course. But that would not suit her, neither, and
she fired a shot across our bows, as a signal to back sail. This we
did, expecting nothing short of hanging, for she carried thirty guns
at least, and we could see that she was well manned, and looked as
if she was handled by a French Captain, under whom even a Creo-
lian Spanish crew will fight. Well, she spoke us when she was
near enough, and ordered, in Spanish, that the Captain was to
come aboard. Now, as I was the only man who had any Spanish,
our Captain bade me come with him. So I went; and we thought
we were going to instant death, the Spaniards being born devils
when they get an English crew in their power.
' Sir,' this honest fellow continued,' think of our astonishment
when, on climbing the vessel's side, they ran up the pirate's flag;
to be sure, we were little else than pirates ourselves; but we knew
not what countrymen these were. As for the crew, they were
nearly all black negroes, and a devilish fighting lot they looked,
being armed with pistols and cutlasses, while the decks were cleared
for action, and every man to quarters, and the whole as neat and
clean as aboard a British man-o'-war. And on the quarter-deck
there stood, glass in hand, none other than Captain Easterbrook
himself, the same as was tried by court-martial, sentenced, and
escaped. He was dressed very fine, in crimson silk, with a gold
chain, and pistols in his belt. I knew him directly; but his face
is changed, for now it is the face of one who gives no quarter. A
fiercer face I never saw anywhere.
' But the strangest thing was that I saw lying in the sun, propped
up by pillows and cushions, the old Deptford Apothecary, Mr. Brinjes.
He looked no older, and no younger; his one eye twinkling and
winking, and his face covered with wrinkles.
'"Will Acorn, ahoy!" he sings out. "Will Acorn, by the
Lord!"
' When he said this there came out from the Captain's cabin a
VERY WELL THEN 317
tnofct splendid lady, dressed in all the satins and silks you can think
of, with gold chains round her neck, and jewels sparkling in her
hair. Behind her came two black women, holding a silken sun¬
shade over her head. Why, Sir, 'twas none other than Bess
Westmoreland, the Penman's daughter, and more beautiful than
ever, though her cheek was pale, and her eyes were somewhat
anxious.
* " Will Acorn ? " she cried. 44 Is that Will Acorn, of Deptford
Town ? "
4 So with that the Captain called us from the poop. " Hark ye,"
he said, " you seem to be Englishmen. What ship is yours ? "
4 So we told him who we were, and why we were cruising in
those seas. He listened—'tis a terrible fighting face—and heard us
out, and then bade us drink and go our way.
4 44 1 war not with Englishmen," he said; 44 but for French and
Spaniard I know no quarter."
4 He said no more, but his lady—Bess Westmoreland that was
—stepped out to us, and asked me many questions about Deptford
folk. And then she put into my hands this parcel, which I faith¬
fully promised to deliver into your hands, Sir, should I ever return
home again. And I was to tell you that they had found Mr.
Brinjes' island, and she was as happy as she could expect to be.
And then Mr. Brinjes lifted his head, and said, in a piping voice,
44 And tell him," he said, with his one eye like a burning coal, 44 tell
Luke Anguish, man, that we committed the town of Guayaquil to
the flames. 'Twould have done his heart good to see the town on
fire, and the Spaniards roasting like so many heretics at the
stake!"'
This was the message. The parcel contained a gold chain and
cross, set with precious stones, which I gave to Castilla, hoping
thereby to make her think less hardly of poor Bess. But in vain ;
though she wears the chain, which, she says—though this is not
the case—was sent to her by Captain Easterbrook, in token of his
repentance, and of his unliappiness with the woman who bewitched
him, and of his continual sorrow for the loss of her own hand.
It is now more than thirty years ago, and since then we have
heard nothing more. I conjecture that either they have long since
been swallowed up in a hurricane, Bess dying, as she wished, at
the same moment as Jack, or that they are still living somewhere
in those warm and sunny islands of which the Apothecary was
never wearied of discoursing.
THE END
Spottisieoode <C Co., Printers, Xeic-street Square, London,
IMPORTANT TO ALL LEAVING
i CHANGE.
"Among the most useful medi¬
cines that have been introduced
within the last century is ENO'S
'FRUIT SALT.' There is no
doubt that where it has been taken
in the earliest stage of a disease,
it has, in many instances, pre¬
vented what would otherwise have
been a severe illness. The effect
of ENO'S 'FRUIT SAM"
upon a disordered and feverish
condition of the system is marvel¬
lous. As a nursery medicine the
' FRUIT SALT' is invaluable;
instead of children disliking it,
they look upon it rather in the
light of a luxury. As a gentle
aperient and a corrective in cases
of any sort of over-indulgence in
eating or drinking, ENO'S
'FRUIT SALT' is all that is
needful to restore freshness and
vigour. In cases of Nervous Headache and Debility it is especially useful,
and should be taken in all cases where persons suffer from a sluggish condition
of the Liver."—Young Ladies' Journal.
Disordered Stomach and Bilious
Attacks.
A gentleman writes:—"Dec. 27, 1887. After twelve months' ex¬
perience of the value of the ' VEGETABLE MOTO' I unhesitatingly
recommend their use in preference to any other medicine, more particularly
in bilious attacks ; their action is so gentle, and yet so effective, that nothing
equals them in my opinion. They have never failed to give the wished-for
relief. I take them at any hour, and frequently in conjunction with a small
glass of Eno's ' Fruit Salt.'—Yours gratefully, One who Knows."
ENO'S "VEGETABLE MOTO," OF ALL CHEMISTS.
Price Is. IJd. ; post free, Is. 3d.
HOME FOR 1
PREPARED BY
ENO'S "FRUIT SALT" WORKS, LONDON, S.E.
[February, 1S89.
A List of Books
PUBLISHED BY
CHATTO & WlNDUS,
214, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
Sold by all Booksellers, or sent post-free for the published price by the Publishers.
Abbg Constantin (The). By
Ludovic Halevy, of the French
Academy. Translated into English.
With 36 Photogravure Illustrations by
Goupil & Co., after the Drawings of
Madame Madeleine Lemaire. Only
250 copies of this choice book have
been printed (in large quarto) for the
English market, each one numbered.
The price may be learned from any
Bookseller.
About.—The Fellah : An Egyp¬
tian Novel. By Edmond About.
Translated by Sir Randal Roberts.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. ; cloth
limp, 2s. 6(1.
Adams (W. Davenport), Works
by:
A Dictionary of the Drama. Being
a comprehensive Guide to the Plays,
Playwrights, Players, and Play¬
houses of the United Kingdom and
America, from the Earliest to the
Present Times. Crown 8vo, half-
bound, 12s. 6d. [Preparing.
Quips and Quiddities. Selected by
W. Davenport Adams. Post 8vo,
cloth limp, 2s. 6d,
Advertising, A History of,from
the Earliest Times. Illustrated by
Anecdotes, Curious Specimens, and
Notices of Successful Advertisers. By
Henry Sampson. WithColouredFron-
tispieceand Illustrations. Crown 8vo,
cloth gilt, 7s. 6d.
Agony Column (The) of "The
Times," from 1890 to 1870. Edited,
with an Introduction, by Alice Clay.
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Aide (Hamilton), Works by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 23. each.
Carr of Carrlyon. | Confidences.
Alexander (Mrs.), Novels by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Maid, Wife, op Widow?
Valerie's Fate.
Allen (Grant), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each.
The Evolutionist at Large.
Vignettes from Nature.
Colin Clout's Calendar.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 63. each ; post
8vo, illustrated boards., 2s. each.
Strange Stories. With a Frontispiece
by George Du Maurier.
The Beckoning Hand. With a
Frontispiece by Townley Green.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Philistia.
For Maimie's Sake.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 23. each.
Babylon : A Romance.
In all Shades.
The Devil's Die. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 3s. 6d.
This Mortal Coil. Three Vols., crown
8vo.
Architectural Styles, A Hand¬
book of. Translated from the German
of A. Rosengarten, by W. Collett-
Sandars. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, with
639 Illustrations, 7s. 6d.
Arnold.—Bird Life in England,
By Edwin Lester Arnold, Crown
bvo, cloth extra, 6s,
2
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Artemus Ward :
Artemus Ward's Works: The Works
of Charles Farrer Browne, belter
known as Artemus Ward. With
Portrait and Facsimile. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
The Genial Showman: Life and Ad¬
ventures of Artemus Ward. By
Edward P. Hingston. With a
Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 3s. 6d.
Art"(The) of Amusing : A Col¬
lection of Graceful Arts, Games, Tricks,
Puzzles, and Charades. By Frank
Bellew. With 300 Illustrations. Cr.
8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d.
Ashton (John), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
A History of the Chap-Books of the
Eighteenth Century. With nearly
400 Illustrations, engraved in fac¬
simile of the originals.
Social Life In the Reign of Queen
Anne. From Original Sources. With
nearly 100 Illustrations.
Humour, Wit, and Satire of the
Seventeenth Century. Withnearly
100 Illustrations.
English Caricature and Satire on
Napoleon the First. With ng Il¬
lustrations.
Modern Street Ballads. With 57
Illustrations.
Bacteria.—A Synopsis of the
Bacteria and Yeast Fungi and Allied
Species. By W. B. Grove, B.A. With
87 Illusts. Crown 8vo, cl. extra, 3s. 6d.
Bankers, A Handbook of Lon¬
don; together with Lists of Bankers
from 1677. By F. G. Hilton Price.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Bardsley(Rev.C.W.),Works by:
English Surnames: Their Sources
and Significations. Third Edition,
revised. Crown 8vo, cl. ex., 7s. 6d.
Curiosities of Puritan Nomencla¬
ture. Second Edition, Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s.
Beaconsfield, Lord : A Biogra-
phy. By T. P. O'Connor, M.P. Sixth
Edition, with a New Preface. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Beauchamp. — Grantley
Grange: A Novel. By Shelsley
Beauchamp. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
Beautiful Pictures by British
Artists: A Gathering of Favourites
from our Picture Galleries. All en¬
graved on Steel in the highest style of
Art. Edited, with Notices 91 the
Artists, by Sydney Armytage, M A.
Imperial 4to, cloth extra, gilt and gilt
edges 21s.
Bechstein. — As Pretty &s
Seven, and other German Stories.
Collected by Ludwig Bechstein.
With Additional Tales by the Brothers
Grimm, and 100 Illusts. by Richter.
Small 4to, green and gold, 63. 6d.;
gilt edges, 7s. 6d.
Beerbohm. — Wanderings in
Patagonia; or, Life among the Ostrich
Hunters. By Julius Beerbohm. With
Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s, 6d.
Belgravia for 1889.—One
Shilling Monthly.—A New Serial Story,
entitled Passion's Slave, by Richard
Ashe King, Author of "The Wearing
of the Green," "A Drawn Game," &c.,
began in the January Number, and
will be continued through the year.
*** Bound Volumes from the beginning
kept in stock, cloth extra, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.
each; Cases for Binding Vols., 23. each.
Belgravia Holiday Number,
published Annually in July ; and Bel¬
gravia Annual,published Annually in
November. Each Complete in itself.
Demy 8vo, with Illustrations, Is. each.
Bennett (W.C.,LL.D.),Works by:
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. each.
A Ballad History of England
Songs for Sailors.
Besant (Walter) and James
Rice, Novels by. Crown 8vo,cloth
extra, 3s. 6d. each ; post 8vo, illust.
bds., 2s. each; cl. limp, 2s.6d. each.
Ready-Money Mortlboy.
My Little Girl.
With Harp and Crown.
This Son of Vulcan.
The Golden Butterfly.
The Monks of Thelema.
By Cella's Arbour.
The Chaplain of the Fleet.
The Seamy Side.
The Case of Mr. Lucraft, &c.
'Twas In Trafalgar's Bay, &c.
The Ten Years' Tenant, &c.
Besant (Walter), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s, 6d. each ;
post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each;
cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
All Sorts and Conditions of Men:
An Impossible Story. With Illustra¬
tions by Fred. Barnard.
The Captains' Room, Sec. With
Frontispiece by E. J. Wheeler.
All In a Garden Fair. With 6 Illu>
trations by Harry Furniss.
Dorothy Forster. With Frontispiece
by Charles Green.
Uncle Jack, and other Storied
Children of Glbeon.
The World Went Very Well Th.n
With illustrations by a. Forestier!
CHATTO &< WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
Besant (Walter), continued—
Heri* Paulus: His Rise, his Great¬
ness, and his Fall. With a New
Preface. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
Fop Faith and Fpeedom. With
Illustrations by A. Forestier and F.
Waddy. Three Vols., crown 8vo.
Fifty Yeaps Ago. With 137 full-page
Plates and Woodcuts. Demy 8vo,
cloth extra, 16s.
The Eulogy of Richard Jefferies.
With Photograph Portrait. Cr. 8vo,
cloth extra, Ss.
The Apt of Fiction. Demy 8vo, Is.
New Library Edition of
Besant and Rice's Novels.
The whole iz Volumes, printed from
new type on a large crown 8vo page,
and handsomely bound in cloth, are now
ready, price Six Shillings each,
1. Ready - Money Mortiboy. With
Etched Portrait of James Rice.
2. My Little Girl.
3. With Harp and Crown.
4. This Son of Vulcan.
5. The Golden Butterfly. With Etched
Portrait of Walter Besant.
6. The Monks of Theiema.
7. By Celja's Arbour.
8. The Chaplain of the Fleet.
9. The Seamy Side.
10. The Case of Mr. Lucraft, &c.
ir. 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay, &c.
12. The Ten Years' Tenant, &c.
Betham-Edwards (M.),Novels:
Felicia. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.;
post 8vo, illust, bds., 2s.
Kitty. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
Bewick (Thomas) and his
Pupils. By AysTiN Dobson. With 95
Illusts. Square 8vo, cloth extra, 10s. 6d.
Birthday Books:—
The Starry Heavens: A Poetical
Birthday Book. Square 8vo, hand¬
somely bound in cloth, 2s. 6d.
The Lowell Birthday Book. With
Illusts. Small 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d.
Blackburn's (Henry) Art Hand¬
books. Demy 8vo, Illustrated, uni¬
form in size for binding.
Academy Notes, separate years, from
1876 to 1888, each Is.
Academy Notes, 1889. With riu-
merous Illustrations. Is. [Preparing.
Academy Notes, 1880-84 Complete
in One Volume, with about 700 Fac¬
simile Illustrations. Cloth limp, 6s.
Academy Notes, 1885-89. Complete
in One Vol., with about 600 Illustra¬
tions. Cloth limp, 7s. 6d. (Only a
few Copies for Sale.) [Preparing.
Grosvenor Notes, 1877. 6d.
Grosvenor Notes, separate years, from
1878 to 1888, each Is.
Blackburn (Henry), continued—
Demy 8vo, Illustrated, uniform in
size for binding.
Grosvenor Notes, 1889. With nu¬
merous Illusts. Is. [Preparing.
Grosvenor Notes, Vol. I., 1877-82.
With upwards of 300 Illustrations.
Demy8vo, cloth limp, 6s.
Grosvenor Notes, Vol.11., 1883-87.
With upwards of 300 Illustrations.
Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 6s.
The New Gallery, 1888. With nu¬
merous Illustrations. Is.
The New Gallery, 1889. With numer¬
ous Illustrations. Is. [Preparing.
The English Pictures at the National
Gallery. 114 Illustrations. Is.
The Old Masters at the National
Gallery. 128 Illustrations. Is. 6d.
A Complete Illustrated Catalogue
to the National Gallery. With
Notes by H, Blackburn, and 242
Illusts. Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 3s.
The Paris Salon, 1889. With 300 Fac-
simile Sketches. 3s. [Preparing.
Blake (William): Etchings from
his Works. By W. B. Scott. With
descriptive Text. Folio, half-bound
boards, India Proofs, 21s.
Boccaccio's Decameron ; or,
Ten Days' Entertainment. Translated
into English, with an Introduction by
Thomas Wright, F.S.A. With Portrait
and Stothard's beautiful Copper-
plates. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, 7s. 6d.
Bourne (H. R. Fox), Works by :
English Merchants: Memoirs in Il¬
lustration of the Progress of British
Commerce'. With numerous Illustra¬
tions. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7S. 5d. _
English Newspapers: Chapter^ in
the History of Journalism. Two
Vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, 25s.
Bowers'(G0'Huntl ng Sketches:
Oblong 4to, half-bound boards, 21s. each
Canters in Crampshire.
Leaves from a Hunting Journal.
Coloured in facsimile of the originals.
Boyle (Frederick), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Ss. 6d. each; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2S. each.
Camp Notes: Stories of Sport and
Adventure in Asia, Africa, America.
Savage Life: Adventures of a Globe-
Trotter. .
Chronicles of No-Man's Land.
Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
Brand'sObservations on Popu-
lar Antiquities, chiefly Illustrating
the Origin of our Vulgar Customs,
Ceremonies, and Superstitions. With
the Additions of Sir Henry Ellis.
Crown 8vo, with Illustrations, 7s. 6d.
BOOKS PUBLISHED B¥
Bret Harte, Works by :
Bret Harte's Collected Works. Ar¬
ranged and Revised by the Author.
Complete in Five Vols., crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s. each.
Vol. I. Complete Poetical and
Dramatic Works. With Steel Por¬
trait, and Introduction by Author.
Vol. II. Earlier Papers—Luck of
Roaring Camp,and other Sketches
—Bohemian Papers — Spanish
and American Legends.
Vol. III. Tales of the Argonauts
—Eastern Sketches.
Vol. IV. Gabriel Conroy.
Vol. V. Stories — Condensed
Novels, kc.
The Select Works of Bret Harte, in
Prose and Poetry. With Introduc¬
tory Essay by J. M. Bellew, Portrait
of the Author, and 50 Illustrations.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 7s. 6d.
Bret Harte's Complete Poetical
Works. Author's Copyright Edition.
Printed on hand-made paper and
bound in buckram. Cr. 8vo, 4s. 6d.
Gabriel Conroy: A Novel. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
An Heiresb of Red Dog, and other
Stories. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
The Twins of Table Mountain. Fcap.
8vo, picture cover, Is.
Luck of Roaring Camp, and other
Sketches. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
Jeff Brlggs's Love Story. Fcap. 8vo,
picture cover, Is.
Flip. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.; cl. 2s. 6d.
Californian Stories (including The
Twins of Table Mountain, Jeff
Briggs's Love Story, &c.) Post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Maruja: A Novel. Post 8vo, illust.
boards, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
The Queen of the Pirate Isle. With
28 original Drawings by Kate
Greenaway, Reproduced in Colours
by Edmund Evans. Sm. 4to, bds., 5s.
A Phyllis of the Sierras, &c. Post8vo,
Illust. bds., 2s. cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Brewer (Rev. Dr.), Works by :
The Reader's Handbookof Allusions,
References, Plots, and Stories.
Twelfth Thousand; With Appendix,
containing a Complete English
Bibliography. Cr. 8vo, cloth 7s. 6d.
Authors and their Works, with the
Dates: Being the Appendices to
"The Reader's Handbook," separ¬
ately printed. Cr. 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
A Dictionary of Miracles: Imitative,
Realistic, and Dogmatic, Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Brewster (SirDavid),WoPks by:
More Worlds than One: Th® Creed
of the Philosopher and the Hope of
the Christian. With Plates. Post
8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d.
The Martyrs of Science: Lives of
Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kep¬
ler. With Portraits. Post 8vo, cloth
extra, 4s. 6d.
Letters on Natural Magic. A New
Edition, with numerous Illustrations,
and Chapters on the Being and
Faculties of Man, and Additional
Phenomena of Natural Magic, by
J. A. Smith. Post 8vo, cl. ex., 4s. 6d.
BrS 11 at-Savarin.—Gastronomy
as a Fine Art. By Brillat-Savarin.
Translated by R. E. Anderson, M.A.
Post 8vo, printed on laid-paper and
half-bound, 2s. [Shortly.
Brydges. — Uncle Sam at
Home. By Harold Brydges. Post
8vo, illust. boards, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 61.
Buchanan's (Robert) Works:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each.
Ballads of Life, Love, and Humour.
With a Frontispiece by Arthur
Hughes.
Selected Poems of Robert Buohanan.
With a Frontispiece by T. Dalziel.
The Earthquake; or, Six Days and
a Sabbath.
The City of Dream: An Epic Poem.
With Two Illusts. by P. Macnab.
Second Edition.
Robert Buchanan'sComplete Poeti¬
cal Works. With Steel-plate Por¬
trait. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each;
post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each.
The Shadow of the Sword.
A Child of Nature. With a Frontis¬
piece.
God and the Man. With Illustrations
by Fred. Barnard.
The Martyrdom of Madeline. With
Frontispiece by A. W. Cooper.
Love Me for Ever. With a Frontis¬
piece by P. Macnab.
Annan Water. | The New Abelard.
Foxglove Manor.
Matt: A Story of a Caravan.
The Master of the Mine.
The Heir of Llnne-
Burnett (Mrs.), Novels by:
Surly Tim, and other Stories. Post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Fcap. 8vo, picture cover, Is. each.
Kathleen Mavourneen
Lindsay's Luck.
Pretty Polly Pemberton.
CHATtO &• WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
Burton (Captain).—The Book
of the Sword: Being a History of the
Sword and its Use in all Countries,
from the Earliest Times. By Richard
F. Burton. With over 400 Illustra¬
tions. Square 8vo, cloth extra, 32s.
Burton (Robert):
The Anatomy cf Melancholy. A
New Edition, complete, corrected
and enriched by Translations of the
Classical Extracts. Demy 8vo, cloth
extra, 7s. 6d.
Melancholy Anatomised: Being an
Abridgment, for popular use, of Bur¬
ton's Anatomy of Melancholy.
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Byron (Lord):
Byron's Letters and Journals. With
Notices of his Life. By Thomas
Moore. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Prose and Verse, Humorous, Satiri¬
cal, and Sentimental, by Thomas
Moore ; with Suppressed Passages
from the Memoirs of Lord Byron.
Edited, with Notes and Introduction,
by R. Herne Shepherd. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Caine (T. Hall), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
The Shadow of a Crime.
A Son of Hagar.
The Deemster: A Romance of the
Isle of Man.
Cameron (Commander).—
The Cruise of the "Black Prince"
Privateer, By V. Lovett Cameron,
R.N.,C.B, With Two Illustrations by
P. Macnab. Crown 8vo, cl. ex., 5s.;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Cameron (Mrs. H. Lovett),
Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d, each
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Juliet's Guardian. | Deceivers Ever.
Carlyle (Thomas):
On the Choice of Books. By Thomas
Carlyle. With a Life of the Author
by R. H. Shepherd. New and Re¬
vised Edition, post 8vo, cloth extra,
Illustrated, Is. 6d.
The Correspondence of Thomas
Carlyleand Ralph Waldo Emerson,
1814 to 1872. Edited by Charles
Eliot Norton. With Portraits. Two
Vols.i crown 8vo, cloth extra, 24s,
Chapman's (George) Works:
Vol. I. contains the Plays complete,
including the doubtful ones. Vol. II.,
the Poems and Minor Translations,
with an Introductory Essay by Alger¬
non Charles Swinburne. Vol. III.,
the Translations of the Iliad and Odys¬
sey. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 18s.; or separately, 6s. each.
Chatto& Jackson A Treatise
on Wood Engraving, Historical and
Practical. By Wm. Andrew Chatto
and John Jackson. With an Addi¬
tional Chapter by Henry G. Bohn ;
and 450 fine Illustrations. A Reprint
of the last Revised Edition. Large
4to, half-bound, 28s.
Chaucer:
Chaucer for Children: A Golden
Key. By Mrs. H.R . Haweis. With
Eight Coloured Pictures and nu¬
merous Woodcuts by the Author.
New Ed., small 4to, cloth extra, 6s.
Chaucer for Schools. By Mrs. H. R.
Haweis. Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.6d.
Chronicle (The) of the Coach :
Charing Cross to Ilfracombe. By J. D.
Champlin. With 75 Illustrations by
Edward L. Chichester. Square 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Clodd— Myths and Dreams.
By Edward Clodd, F.R.A.S., Author
of "The Story of Creation," &c.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
Cobban.—The Cure of Souls :
A Story. By J. Maclaren Cobban.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Coleman (John), Works by:
Curly: An Actor's Story. Illustrated
by J. C. Dollman. Crown 8vo, Is.;
cloth, Is. 6d.
Players and Playwrights I have
Known. Two Vols., demy 8vo, cloth
extra, 24s.
CollinF{Mortimer), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Sweet Anne Page. | Transmigration.
From Midnight to Midnight.
A Fight with Fortune. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Collins (Mortimer & Frances),
Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra,3s.6d. each; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Blacksmith and Scholar.
The Village Comedy.
You Play Me False.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Sweet and Twenty. I Francee.
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Collins (Wilkie), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6cl. each ;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each;
cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Antonina. Illust. by SirJoHNGiLBERT.
Basil. Illustrated by Sir John Gil¬
bert and J Mahoney.
Hide and Seek. Illustrated by Sir
John Gilbert and J. Mahoney.
The Dead Secret. Illustrated by Sir
John Gilbert.
Queen of Hearts, Illustrated by Sir
John Gilbert.
My Miscellanies. With a Steel-plate
Portrait of Wilkie Collins.
The Woman in White. With Illus¬
trations by Sir John Gilbert and
F. A. Fraser.
The Moonstone. With Illustrations
by G. Du MAURiERand F. A. Fraser.
Man and Wife. Illust. by W. Small.
Poor Miss Finch. Illustrated by
G. Du Maurier and Edward
Hughes.
Miss or Mrs. ? With Illustrations by
S. L. Fildes and Henry Woods.
The New Magdalen. Illustrated by
G.Du Maurier and C.S.Reinhardt.
The Frozen Deep. Illustrated by
G. Du Maurier and J. Mahoney.
The Law and the Lady. Illustrated
by S. L. Fildes and Sydney Hall.
The Two Destinies.
The Haunted Hotel. Illustrated by
Arthur Hopkins.
The Fallen Leaves.
Jezebel's Daughter.
The Black Robe.
Heart and Science: A Story of the
Present Time.
" I Say No."
The Evil Genius.
Little Novels.
The Legacy of Cain.
crown 8vo.
Three Vols.
Collins (C. Allston).—The Bar
Sinister: A Story. By C. Allston
Collins. Post 8vo, illustrated bds.,2s.
Colman's Humorous Works:
"Broad Grins," " My Nightgown and
Slippers," and other Humorous Works,
Prose and Poetical, of George Col-
man. With Life by G. B. Buckstone,
and Frontispiece by Hogarth. Crown
8vo cloth extra, gilt, 7s. 6d.
Colquhoun—Every Inch a Sol¬
dier : A Novel. By M. J. Colquhoun.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Convalescent Cookery: A
Family Handbook. By Catherine
Ryan. Crown 8vo, Is,; cloth, Is. Gd.
Conway (Moncure D.), Works
Demonology and Devil-Lore Two
Vols., royal 8vo, with 65 IllxJst®*»
A Necklace of Stories. Illustrated
by W. J. Hennessy. Square 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s. ,
Pine and Palm: A Novel. Cheaper
Edition. Post 8vo, illustrated boards,
2s. [Shortly.
Cook (Dutton), Novels by:
Leo. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Paul Foster's Daughter. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illus-
trated boards, 2s.
Copyright. —A Handbook of
English and Foreign Copyright in
Literary and Dramatic Works. By
Sidney Jerrold. Post8vo, cl., 2s. 6d.
Cornwall.—Popular Romances
of the West of England; or. The
Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions
of Old Cornwall. Collected and Edited
by Robert Hunt, F.R.S. New and
Revised Edition, with Additions, and
Two Steel-plate Illustrations by
George Cruikshank. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Craddock. — The Prophet of
the Great Smoky Mountains. By
Charles Egbert Craddock. Post
8vo illust. bds., 2s. cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Cruikshank (GeorgeJ:
The Comic Almanack. Complete in
Two Series : The First from 1835
to 1843; the Second from 1844 to
1853. A Gathering of the Best
HuMOURof Thackeray, Hood, May-
hew, Albert Smith, A'Beckett,
Robert Brough, &c. With 2,000
Woodcuts and Steel Engravings by
Cruikshank, Hine, Landells, &c.
Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, two very thick
volumes, 7s. 6d. each.
The Life of George Cruikshank. By
Blanchard Jerrold, Author of
"The Life of Napoleon III.," &c.
With 84 Illustrations. New and
Cheaper Edition, enlarged, with Ad¬
ditional Plates, and a very carefully
compiled Bibliography. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Cumming(C. F. Gordon),Works
by:
Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 8s. 6d. each.
In the Hebrides. With Autotype Fac¬
simile and numerous full-page Illusts.
Inthe Himalayas and on the Indian
Plains. With numerous Illusts.
Via Cornwall to Egypt. With'a
Photogravure Frontispiece. Demv
8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. y
CHATTO <&- WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
Cussans.—Handbook of Her¬
aldry; with Instructions for Tracing
Pedigrees and Deciphering Ancient
MSS., &c. By John E. Cussans.
Entirely New and Revised Edition,
illustrated with over 400 Weodcuts
and Coloured Plates. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Cyples.—Hearts of Gold: A
Novel. By William Cyples. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 3S. 6d.; post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2S.
Daniel. — Merrie England in
the Olden Time. By George Daniel.
With Illustrations by Robt. Cruik-
shank. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
Daudet.—The Evangelist; or,
Port Salvation. By Alphonse
Daudet. Translated by C. Harry
M.eltzer. With Portrait of the
Author. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
3s. 6(1.; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
Davenant.—Hints for Parents
on the Choice of a Profession or
Trade for their Sons. By Francis
Davenant, M.A. Post 8vo, Is.; cloth
limp, Is. 6d.
Davies (Dr. N. E.), Works by:
Crown 8vo, Is. each; cloth limp,
Is. 6d. each.
One Thousand Medical Maxims.
Nursery Hints: A Mother's Guide.
Aids to Long Life. Crown 8vo, 2s.;
cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Davies' (Sir John) Complete
Poetical Works, including Psalms I.
to L. in Verse, and other hitherto Un¬
published MSS., for the first time
Collected and Edited, with Memorial-
Introduction and Notes, by the Rev.
A. B. Grosart, D.D. Two Vols.,
crown 8vo, cloth boards, 12s.
Daylight; Land: The Adven¬
tures, Humorous and Otherwise, of
Judge John Doe,Tourist; Cephas Pep-
perell, Capitalist; Colonel Goffe,
and others, in their Excursion over
Prairie and Mountain. By W. H.
Murray. With 140 Illusts. in colours.
Small 4to, French cover, 12s. 6d.
De Maistre.—A Journey Round
My Room. By Xavier de Maistre.
Translated by Henry Attwell. Post
8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Derwent (Leith), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers.
Dickens (Charles), Novels by ;
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Sketches by Boz. I NicholasNickleby
Pickwick Papers. | Oliver Twist.
De Mille.—A Castle in Spain:
A Novel. By James De Mille. With
a Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
The Speeches of Charles Dickens,
1841-1870. With a New Bibliography,
revised and enlarged. Edited and
Prefaced by Richarp Herne Shep¬
herd. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.—Also
a Smaller Edition, in the Mayfair
Library. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
About England with Dickens. By
Alfred Rimmer. With 57 Illustra¬
tions by C. A. Vanderhoof, Alfred
Rimmer, and others. Sq. 8vo, cloth
extra, 75. 6d.
Dictionaries:
A Dictionary of Miracles: Imitative,
Realistic, and Dogmatic. By the
Rev. E. C, Brewer, LL.D. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.; hf.-bound, 9s.
The Reader's Handbook of Allu¬
sions, References, Plots, and
Stories. By the Rev. E. C. Brewer,
LL.D. With 4D Appendix, contain¬
ing a Complete English Bibliography.
Eleventh Thousand. Crown 8vo,
1,400 pages, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Authors and their Works, with the
Dates. Being the Appendices to
" The Reader's Handbook," sepa¬
rately printed. By the Rev. Dr
Brewer. Crown 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
A Dictionary of the Drama: Being
a comprehensive Guide to the Plays,
Playwrights,Players, and Playhouses
of the United Kingdom and America,
from the Earliest to the Present
Times. By W. Davenport Adams.
A thick volume, crown 8vo, half-
bound, 12s. 6d. [hi preparation.
Familiar Short Sayings of Great
Men. With Historical and Explana¬
tory Notes. By Samuel A. Bent,
M.A. Fifth Edition, revised and
enlarged. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra,7s.6d.
The Slang Dictionary: Etymological,
Historical, and Anecdotal. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 6d.
Women of the Day: A Biographical
Dictionary. ByFRANCES Hays. Cr.
8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
Words, Facts, and Phrases: A Dic¬
tionary of Curious, Quaint, and Out-
of-the-Way Matters. By Eliezer
Edwards. New and Cheaper Issue.
Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 7s. 6d.; hf.-bd., 9s.
8
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Diderot.—The Paradox of Act¬
ing. Translated, with Annotations,
from Diderot's " Le Paradoxe sur le
Comedien, " by Walter Herries
Pollock. With a Preface by Henry
Irving. Cr. 8vo, in parchment, 4s. 6d.
Dobson (W. T.), Works by :
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Literary Frivolities, Fancies, Follies,
and Frolics.
Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentri¬
cities.
Donovan (Dick), Detective
Stories by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each;
cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
The Man-hunter: Stories from the
Note-book of a Detective.
Caught at Last!
Doran. — Memories of our
Great Towns; with Anecdotic Glean¬
ings concerning their Worthies and
their Oddities. By Dr. John Doran,
F.S.A. With 38 Illusts. New and
Cheaper Edit. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 7s. 6d.
Drama, A Dictionary of the.
Being a comprehensive Guide to the
Plays, Playwrights, Players, and Play¬
houses of the United Kingdom and
America, from the Earliest to the Pre¬
sent Times. By W. Davenport
Adams. (Uniform with Brewer's
" Reader's Handbook.") Crown 8vo,
half-bound, 12s. 6d. [In preparation.
Dramatists, The Old. Cr. 8vo,
cl. ex., Vignette Portraits, 6s. per Vol.
Ben Jonson's Works. With Notes
Critical and Explanatory, and a Bio-
fraphical Memoir by Wm. Gifford.
idit. by Col. Cunningham. 3 Vols.
Chapman's Works. Complete in
Three Vols. Vol. I. contains the
Plays complete, including doubtful
ones; Vol. II., Poems and Minor
Translations, with Introductory Essay
by A. C.Swinburne; Vol.III..Trans¬
lations ot the Iliad and Odyssey.
Marlowe's Works. Including his
Translations. Edited, with Notes
and Introduction, by Col. Cunning¬
ham. One Vol.
Massinger's Plays. From the Text of
William Gifford. Edited by CoL
Cunningham. One Vol.
Dyer. — The Folk-Lore of
Plants. By Rev. T. F. Thiselton
Dyer, M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
6s.
Early English Poets. Edited,
with Introductions and Annotations,
by Rev A.B.Grosart, D.D. Crown
8vo, cloth boards, 6s. per Volume.
Fletcher's (Giles, B.D.) Complete
Poems. One Vol.
Davies' (Sir John) Complete
Poetical Works. Two Vols.
Herrick's (Robert) Complete Col¬
lected Poems. Three Vols.
Sidney's (Sir Philip) Complete
Poetical Works. Three Vols.
Edgcumbe. — Zephyrus : A
Holiday in Brazil and on the River
Plate, By E. R. Pearce Edgcumbe.
With 41 Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 5s.
Edwardes (Mrs. A.), Novels by:
A Point of Honour. Post 8vo, illus¬
trated boards, 2s.
Archie Lovell. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust. bds,, 2s.
Eggleston.—Roxy: A Novel. By
Edward Eggleston. Post 8vo, illust.
boards, 2s.
Emanuel On Diamonds and
PreciousStones: their History .Value,
and Properties ; with Simple Tests for
ascertaining their Reality. By Harry
Emanuel, F.R.G.S. With numerous
Illustrations, tinted and plain. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, gilt, 6s.
Ewald (Alex. Charles, F.S.A.),
Works by:
The Life and Times of Prince
Charles Stuart, Count of Albany,
commonly called the Young Pre¬
tender. From the State Papers and
other Sources. New and Cheaper
Edition, with a Portrait, crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Stories from the State Papers.
With an Autotype Facsimile. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Studies Re-studied: Historical
Sketches from Original Sources.
Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 12s.
Englishman's House, The: A
Practical Guide to all interested in
Selecting or Building a House; with
full Estimates of Cost, Quantities, &c.
By C. J. Richardson. Fourth Edition.
With Coloured Frontispiece and nearly
600 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 7s. 6d.
Eyes, Our: How to Preserve
Them from Infancy to Old Age. By
John Browning,F.R.A.S.,&c. Seventh
Edition (Twelfth Thousand). With
70 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, Is.
CHATTO &- WlNDtJS, PICCADILLY*
9
Familiar* Short Sayings of
Great Men. By Samuel Arthur
Bent, A.M. Fifth Edition, Revised
_ and Enlarged. Cn8vo, cl. ex., 7s. 6d.
Faraday (Michael), Works by:
Post 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. each.
The Chemical History of a Candle:
Lectures delivered before a Juvenile
Audience at the Royal Institution.
Edited by William Crookes, F.C.S.
With numerous Illustrations.
On the Various Forces of Nature,
and their Relations to each other:
Lectures delivered before a Juvenile
Audience at the Royal Institution.
Edited by William Crookes, F.C.S.
With numerous Illustrations.
Farrer (James Anson), Works
by:
Military Manners and Customs.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
War: Three Essays, Reprinted from
"Military Manners." Crown 8vo,
Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Fin-Bee. — The Cupboard
Papers: Observations on the Art of
Living and Dining. By Fin-Bec. Post
8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6cL_
Fireworks, The Complete Art
of Making; or, The Pyrotechnist's
Treasury. By Thomas Kentish. With
267 Illustrations. A New Edition, Re¬
vised throughout and greatly Enlarged.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
Fitzgerald (Percy), Works by :
The World Behind the Scenes.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
Little Essays: Passages from the
Letters of Charles Lamb. Post
8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
A Day's Tour: A Journey through
France and Belgium. With Sketches
in facsimile of the Original Draw¬
ings. Crown 4to picture cover, Is.
Fatal Zero: A Homburg Diary. Cr.
8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Bella Donna. | Never Forgotten.
The Second Mrs. Tillotson.
Seventy-five Brooke Street
Polly. I The Lady of Brantome.
Fletcher's (Giles, B.D.) Com¬
plete Poems: Christ's Victorie in
Heaven, Christ's Victorie on Earth,
Christ's Triumph over Death, and
Minor Poems. With Memorial-Intro¬
duction and Notes by the R®Y- A. •
Grosart, D-D- Cr. 8vo, cloth bds., 6s.
Fonblanque.—Filthy Lucre : A
Novel. By Albany de Fonblanque.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 23.
Francillon (R. E.), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each;
post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each.
One by One. I A Real Queen.
Queen Cophetua. |
Olympla. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 23.
Esther's Glove. Fcap. 8vo, Is.
King or Knave: A Novel. Cheaper
Edition. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
Romances of the Law. Frontispiece
by D. H. Friston. Cr.8vo, cl. ex., 6s.
Frederic. — Seth's Brother's
Wife: A Novel. By Harold Frederic.
Post 8vo, illust. bds.,2s.
French Literature, History of.
By Henry Van Laun. Complete in
3 Vols., demy 8vo, cl. bds., 7s. 6d. each.
Frenzeny.—Fifty Years on the
Trail: The Adventures of John Y.
Nelson, Scout, Guide,and Interpreter,
in the Wild West. By Harrington
O'Reilly. With over 100 Illustrations
by Paul Frenzeny. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 3s. 6d. [Preparing.
Frere.—Pandurang Hari ; or,
Memoirs of a Hindoo. With a Preface
by Sir H. Bartle Frere, G.C.S.I., &c.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Friswell—Oneof Two: ANovel.
By Hain Friswell. Post 8vo, illus-
trated boards, 2s.
Frost (Thomas), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
Circus Life and Circus Celebrities.
The Lives of the Conjurers.
Old Showmen and Old London Fairs,
Fry's (Herbert) Royal Guide
to the London Charities, 1888-9.
Showing their Name, Date of Founda¬
tion, Objects, Income, Officials, &c.
Edited by John Lane. Published An¬
nually. Crown 8vo, cloth, Is. 6d.
Gardening Books:
Post 8vo, Is. each ; cl. limp, Is. 6d. each.
A Year's Work in Garden and Green¬
house: Practical Advice to Amateur
Gardeners as to the Management of
the Flower,Fruit,andFrameGarden.
By George Glenny.
Our Kitchen Garden: The Plants we
Grosv, and How we Cook Them.
By Tom Jerrold.
Household Horticulture: A Gossip
about Flowers. By Tom and Jane
Jerrold. Illustrated.
The Garden that Paid the Rent.
By Tom Jerrold.
My Garden Wild, and What I Grew
there. ByF.G. Heath. Crown 8vo.
cloth extra, 5s.; gilt edges, 6s.
10
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Garrett.—The Capel Girls: A
Novel. By Edward Garrett. Cr. 8vo,
cl. ex., 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust, bds,, 2s.
Gentleman's Magazine (The)
for 1889.—Is. Monthly.—In addition
to the Articles upon subjects in Litera¬
ture, Science, and Art, for which this
Magazine has so high a reputation,
"Science Notes," by W. Mattieu
Willi am s.F.R.A.S., and "T able Talk,"
by Sylvanus Urban, appear monthly.
*** Bound Volumes for recent years are
kept in stock, cloth extra, price 8s. 6d.
each; Cases for binding, 2s. each.
Gentleman's Annual (The).
Published Annually in November. In
illuminated cover. Demy8vo, Is.
German Popular Stories. Col¬
lected by the Brothers Grimm, and
Translated by Edgar Taylor. Edited,
with an Introduction, by John Ruskin.
With 22 Illustrations on Steel by
George Cruikshank. Square 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s. 6d.; gilt edges, 7s- 6d.
Gibbon (Charles), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Robin Gray.
What will the
World Say ?
Queen of the
Meadow.
The Flower of the
Forest.
In Honour Bound.
Braes of Yarrow.
A Heart's Prob¬
lem.
The GoldenShaft.
Of High Degree.
Loving a Dream.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
For Lack of Gold.
For the King. | In PasturesGreen.
In Love and War.
By Mead and Stream.
Fancy Free. | A Hard Knot.
Heart's Delight.
Blood-Money, and other Stories. Two
Vols., cr. Svo, cloth, 12s. [Shortly.
Gilbert (William), Novels by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Dr. Austin's Guests.
The Wizard of the Mountain.
James Duke, Costermonger.
Gilbert (W. S.), Original Plays
by: In Two Series, each complete in
itself, price 2s. 6d. each.
The First Series contains—The
Wicked World—Pygmalion and Ga¬
latea — Charity — The Princess — The
Palace of Truth—Trial by Jurv.
The Second Series contains—Bro¬
ken Hearts—Engaged—Sweethearts—
Gretchen—Dan'l Druce—Tom Cobb—
IT M.S. Pinafore—The Sorcerer—The
Pirate; of Penzance.
Gilbert (W. S.), continued
Eight Original Comic Operas. Writ¬
ten bv W S. Gilbert. Containing i
The Sorcerer—H.M.S. "Pinafore"
-phe pirates of Penzance—Iolanthe
Patience — Princess Ida — The
Mikado—Trial by Jury. Demy 8vo,
cloth limp, 2s. 6<L
Glenny.—A Year's Work in
Garden and Greenhouse: Practical
Advice to Amateur Gardeners as to
the Management of the Flower, Fruit,
and Frame Garden. By George
Glenny. Post 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Godwin.—Lives of the Necro¬
mancers. By William Godwin.
Post 8vo, limp, 2s.
Golden Library, The:
Square i6mo (Tauchnitz size), cloth
limp, 2s. per Volume.
Bayard Taylor's Diversions of the
Echo Club.
Bennett's (Dr. W. C.) Ballad History
of England.
Bennett's (Dr.) Songs for Sailors.
Godwin's (William) Lives of the
Necromancers.
Holmes's Autocrat of the Break¬
fast Table. Introduction by Sala.
Holmes's Professor at the Break¬
fast Table.
Hood's Whims and Oddities. Com¬
plete. All the original Illustrations.
Jesse's (Edward) Scenes and Oc¬
cupations of a Country Life.
Leigh Hunt's Essays: A Tale for a
Chimney Corner, and other Pieces.
With Portrait, and Introduction by
Edmund Ollier.
Mallory's (Sir Thomas) Mort
d'Arthur: The Stories of King
Arthur and of the Knights of the
Round Table. Edited by B. Mont¬
gomery Ranking.
Square i6mo, 2s. per Volume.
Pascal's Provincial Letters. A New
Translation, with Historical Intro-
ductionand Notes,byT.M'CRiE,D.D.
Pope's Poetical Works. Complete.
Rochefoucauld's Maxims and Moral
Reflections. With Notes, and In¬
troductory Essay by Sainte-Beuve.
Golden Treasury of Thought,
The: An Encyclopedia of Quota¬
tions from Writers of all Times and
Countries. Selected and Edited by
Theodore Taylor. Crown 8vo, cloth
gilt and gilt edges, 7s. Gd.
Graham. — The Professor's
Wife : A Story. By Leonard Graham.
Fcap. 8vo, picture cover, Is.
CHATTO &- WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
ii
Greeks and Romans, The Life
of the, Described from Antique Monu¬
ments. By Ernst Guhl and W.
Koner. Translated from the Third
German Edition, and Edited by Dr.
F. Hueffer. 545 Illusts. New and
Cheaper Edition, large crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Greenaway (Kate) and Bret
Harte.—The Queen of the Pirate
Isle. By Bret Harte. With 25
original Drawings by Kate Green-
away, Reproduced in Colours by E.
Evans. Sm. 4to, bds., 5s.
Greenwood (James),Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
The Wilds of London.
Low-Life Deeps: An Account of the
Strange Fish to be Found There.
Dick Temple: A Novel. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Greville (Henri).—Nikanor : A
Novel. From the French of Henri
Greville, Author of " Dosia," &c.
With 8 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 6s. [Shortly.
Habberton (John), Author of
" Helen's Babies," Novels by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s;.each ;
cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Brueton's Bayou.
Country Luck.
Hair (The): Its Treatment in
Health, Weakness, and Disease.
Translated from the German of Dr. J.
Pincus. Crown 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Hake (Dr. Thomas Gordon),
Poems by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each.
New Symbols.
Legends of the Morrow.
The Serpent Play.
Maiden Ecstasy. Small 4to, cloth
extra, 8s.
Hall.—Sketches of Irish Cha¬
racter. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. With
numerous Illustrations on Steel and
Wood by Maclise, Gilbert, Harvey,
and G. Cruikshank. Medium 8vo,
cloth extra, gilt, 7s. 6d.
Halliday.—Every-day Papers.
By Andrew Halliday. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Hanky-Panky : A Collection of
Very EasyTricks.Very Difficult Tricks,
White Magic, Sleight of Hand, &c.
Edited by W. H. Cremer. With 200
Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,4s. 6d.
Hardy (Lady Duffus). — P#.ul
Wynter's Sacrifice: A Story. By Lady
Duffus Hardy. Post8vo, illust. bs.,2s.
Hardy (Thomas).—Under the
Greenwood Tree. By Thomas Hardy,
Author of "Far from the Madding
Crowd." With numerous Illustrations.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Harwood.—The Tenth Earl.
By J. Berwick Harwood. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2S.
Haweis (Mrs. H. R.), Works by:
The Art of Dress. With numerous
Illustrations. Small 8vo, illustrated
cover, Is.; cloth limp, Is. 6d.
The Art of Beauty. New and Cheaper
Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
Coloured Frontispiece and Illusts.6s.
The Art of Decoration. Square 9vo,
handsomely bound and profusely
Illustrated, 10s. 6d.
Chaucer for Children: A Golden
Key. With Eight Coloured Pictures
and numerous Woodcuts. New
Edition, small 4to, cloth extra, 6s.
Chaucer for Schools. Demy 8vo,
cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Haweis (Rev. H. R.).—American
Humorists: Washington Irving,
Oliver Wendell Holmes, James
Russell Lowell, Artemus Ward,
Mark Twain, and Bret Harte. By
Rev. H. R. Haweis, M.A. Cr. 8vo, 6s.
iandwriting, The Philosophy
of With over 100 Facsimiles and Ex¬
planatory Text. By Don Felix de
Salamanca. Post 8vo, cl. limp, 2s.6d.
Hawthorne(Julian), Novels by.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Garth. I Sebastian Strome
Ellice Quentln. Dust.
Fortune's Fool. | Beatrix Randolph.
David Poindexter's Disappearance.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
MissCadogna. | Love—or a Name.
Prince Saroni's Wife.
Mrs. Gainsborough's Diamonds.
Fcap. 8vo, illustrated cover. Is.
A Dream and a Forgetting. By
Julian Hawthorne. Cr. 8vo, pic¬
ture cover, Is. ; cloth, Is. 6d.
The Spectre of the Camera. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 33. 6d.
12
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Hays.—Women of the Day: A
Biographical Dictionary of Notable
Contemporaries. By Frances Hays.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
Heath (F. G.). — My Garden
Wild, and What I Grew There. By
Francis George Heath, Author of
'*The Fern World," &c. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 5s.; cl. gilt, gilt edges, 6s.
Holmes (0.Wendell),Works by:
The Autocrat cf the Breakfast-
Table. Illustrated by J. Gordon
Thomson. Post 8vo, cloth limp,
2s. 6d.—Another Edition in smaller
type, with an Introduction by G. A.
Sala. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
The Professor at the Breakfast-
Table ; with the Story of Iris. Post
8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
Helps (Sir Arthur), Works by :
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Animals and their Masters.
Social Pressure.
Holmes. — The Science of
Voice Production and Voice Preser¬
vation : A Popular Manual for the
Use of Speakers and Singers. By
Gordon Holmes, M.D. With Illus¬
trations. Crown 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Ivan de Blron: A Novel. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illus¬
trated boards, 2s.
Hood (Thomas):
Hood's Choice Works, in Prose and
Verse. Including the Cream of the
Comic Annuals. With Life of the
Author, Portrait, and 200 Illustra¬
tions. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Hood's Whims and Oddities. Com¬
plete. With all the original Illus¬
trations. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
Henderson.—Agatha Page: A
Novel. By Isaac Henderson. With
a Photograph Frontispiece from a
Picture by F. Moscheles. 2 Vols.,
crown 8vo.
Herman.—One Traveller Re¬
turns: A Romance. By Henry Her¬
man and D. Christie Murray. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Hood (Tom), Works by:
From Nowhere to the North Pole:
A Noah's Arkaeological Narrative.
With 25 Illustrations by W. Brun-
ton and E. C. Barnes. Square
crown 8vo, cl'oth extra, gilt edges, 6s.
A Golden Heart: A Novel. Post8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Hook's (Theodore) Choice Hu¬
morous Works, including his Ludi¬
crous Adventures,Bons Mots, Puns and
Hoaxes. With a New Life of the
Author, Portraits, Facsimiles, and
Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, gilt, 7s. 6d.
Hooper.—The House of Raby:
A Novel. By Mrs. George Hooper.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Horse (The) and his Rider: An
Anecdotic Medley. By " Thormanby."
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Hopkins—"'Twixt Love and
Duty:" A Novel. By Tighe Hopkins.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.; post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Home.—Orion : An Epic Poem,
in Three Books. By Richard Hen-
gist Horne. With Photographic
Portrait from a Medallion by Sum¬
mers. Tenth Edition, crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s.
Hunt (Mrs. Alfred), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each j
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each,
Thorn Icroft's Model.
The Leaden Casket.
Self-Condemned.
That other Person,
Herrick's (Robert) Hesperides,
Noble Numbers, and Complete Col¬
lected Poems. With Memorial-Intro¬
duction and Notes by the Rev. A. B.
Grosart, D.D., Steel Portrait, Index
of First Lines, and Glossarial Index,
&c. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 18s.
Hesse- Wartegg (Chevalier
Ernst von), Works by :
Tunis: The Land and the People.
With 22 Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 3s. 6d,
The New South-West: Travelling
Sketches from Kansas, New Mexico,
Arizona, and Northern Mexico.
With ioo fine Illustrations and Three
Maps. Demy 8vo, cloth extra,
14s. [7ii preparation.
Hindley (Charles), Works by:
Tavern Anecdotes and Sayings: In¬
cluding the Origin of Signs, and
Reminiscences connected with
Taverns. Coffee Houses, Clubs, &c.
With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 3s. 6d.
The Life and Adventures of a Cheap
Jack. By One of the Fraternity.
Edited by Charles Hindley. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
Hoey.—The Lover's Creed.
By Mrs. Cashel Hoey. Post 8vo, illus¬
trated fcogrds, 2s.
CHATTO &• WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
13
Hunt—Essays by Leigh Hunt.
A Tale for a Chimney Corner, and
other Pisces. With Portrait and In¬
troduction by Edmund Ollier. Post
8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
Hydrophobia: an Account of M.
Pasteur's System. Containing a
Translation of all his Communications
on the Subject, the Technique of his
Method, and the latest Statistical
Results. By Renaud Suzor, M.B.,
C.M. Edin., and M.D. Paris, Commis¬
sioned by the Government of the
Colony of Mauritius to study M,
Pasteur's new Treatment in Paris.
"With 7 Illusts. Cr. Svo, cloth extra, 8s.
Indoor Paupers. By One of
Them. Crown 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6A.
Ingelow.—Fated to be Free: A
Navel. By Jean Ingelow. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post Svo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Irish Wit and Humour, Songs
of. Collected and Edited by A. Per¬
ceval Graves. Post 8vo, cloth limp,
2s. 6d,
James.—A Romance of the
Queen's Hounds. By Charles James.
Post 8vo, picture cover, Is.; cl., Is, 6d.
Janvier.—Practical Keramics
for Students. By Catherine A.
Janvier. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Jay (Harriett), Novels by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
The Dark Colleen.
The Queen of Connaught.
JefTeries (Richard), Works by:
Nature near London. Crown 8vo,
cl. ex., 6s.; post 8vo, cl. limp, 2s. 6d.
The Life of the Fields. Post 8vo,
cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
The Open Air. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 6s.; post 8vo, cl. limp, 2s. 6d.
The Eulogy of Richard Jefferie3.
By Walter Besant. With a Photo¬
graph Portrait. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 6s.
Jennings (H. J.), Works by:
Curiosities of Criticism. Post 8vo,
cloth limp, 2S. 6d.
Lord Tennyson: A Biographical
Sketch. With a Photograph-Por-
trait. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Jerrold (Tom), Works by :
Post 8vo, Is. each; cloth, Is. 6d. each.
The Garden that Paid the Rent.
Household Horticulture: A Gossip
about Flowers. Illustrated.
Our Kitchen Garden: The Plants
vve Grow? and How we Cook Them.
j Jesse—Scenes and Occupa-
1 tlons of a Country Life. By Edward
Jesse, Post Svo, cloth limp, 2s.
Jeux d'Esprit. Collected and
Edited by Henry S. Leigh. Post8vo,
_ cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
" John Herring," Novels by
the Author of:
Red Spider. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
3s. Sd. ; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
Eve. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d,
Jones (Wm., F.S.A.), Works by.
Crown Svo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
Finger-Ring Lore: Historical, Le¬
gendary, and Anecdotal, With over
Two Hundred Illustrations.
Credulities, Past and Present; in¬
cluding the Sea and Seamen, Miners,
Talismans,Word and Letter Divina¬
tion, Exorcising and Blessing of
Animals, Birds, Eggs, Luck, &c
With an Etched Frontispiece.
Crowns and Coronations: A History
of Regalia in all Times and Coun-
tries. One Hundred Illustrations.
Jonson's (Ben) Works. With
Notes Critical and Explanatory, and
a Biographical Memoir by William
Gifford. Edited by Colonel Cun¬
ningham. Three Vols., crown Svo,
cloth extra, 18s.; or separately, Ss. each.
Josephus.TheCompleteWorks
of. Translated by Whiston. Con¬
taining both " The Antiquities of the
Jews" and "The Wars of the Jews."
Two Vols., 8vo, with 52 Illustrations
and Maps, cloth extra, gilt, 14s.
Kempt.—Pencil and Palette:
Chapters on Art and Artists. By Robert
Kempt. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Kershaw.—Colonial Facts and
Fictions: Humorous Sketches. By
Mark Kershaw. Post 8vo, illustrated
boards, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d.
King~~(R. Ashe), Novels by:
Crown Svo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
A Drawn Game.
"The Wearing of the Green."
Kingsley (Henry), Novels by:
Oakshott Castle. Post Svo, illus¬
trated boards, 2s.
Number Seventeen. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 3s. 6d.
KHlght.—The Patient's Vade
Mecum: How to get most Benefit
from Medical Advice. By William
Knight, M.R.C.S., and Edward
Knight, L.R.C.P, Crown 8vo, Jg.;
cloth, Is. 6d.
H
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Lamb (Charles):
Lamb's Complete Works, in Prose
and Verse, reprinted from the Ori¬
ginal Editions, with many Pieces
hitherto unpublished. Edited, with
Notes and Introduction, by R. H.
Shepherd. With Two Portraits and
Facsimile of Page of the " Essay on
Roast Pig." Cr.8vo, cl. extra, 7s. 6d.
The Essays of Elia. Both Series
complete. Post 8vo, laid paper,
handsomely half-bound, 2s.
Poetry for Children, and Prince
Dorus. By Charles Lamb. Care¬
fully reprinted from unique copies.
Small 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
Little Essays: Sketches and Charac¬
ters by Charles Lamb. Selected
from his Letters by Percy Fitz¬
gerald. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Lane's Arabian Nights.—The
Thousand and One Nights: com¬
monly called, in England, "The
Arabian Nights' Entertain¬
ments." A New Translation from
the Arabic with copious Notes, by
Edward Willi m Lane. Illustrated
by many hundred Engravings on
Wood, from Original Designs by
Wm. Harvey. A New Edition, from
aCopy annotated by the Translator,
edited by his Nephew, Edward
Stanley Poole. With a Preface by
Stanley Lane-Poole. Three Vols.,
demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
Larwood (Jacob), Works by:
The Story of the London Parks.
With Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 3s. 6d.
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Forensic Anecdotes.
Theatrical Anecdotes.
Leigh (Henry S.), Works by:
Carols of Cockayne. A New Edition,
printed on fcap. 8vo, hand-made
paper, and bound in buckram, 5s.
Jeux d'Esprit. Collected and Edited
by Henry S. Leigh. Post 8vo, cloth
limp, 2s. 6d.
Leys.—The Lindsays: A Ro¬
mance of Scottish Life. By John K.
Leys. Cheaper Edition. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Life in London ; or, The History
of Jerry Hawthorn and Corinthian
Tom. With the whole of Cruik-
shank's Illustrations, in Colours, after
the Originals. Cr, 8vo,cl. extra, 7s. 6d.
Linskill.—In Exchange for a
Soul. By Mary Linskill, Author of
"The Haven Under the Hill," &c.
Cheaper Edit, Post 8vo, illust. bds,, 2s.
Linton (E. Lynn), Works by :
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Witch Stories.
The True Story of Joshua Davidson.
Ourselves: Essays on Women.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Patricia Kemball.
The Atonement of Leam Dundas.
The World Well Lost.
Under which Lord ?
" My Love ! " | lone.
Paston Carew, Millionaire and
Miser.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s, each.
With a Silken Thread.
The Rebel of the Family.
Longfellow's Poetical Works.
Carefully Reprinted from the Original
Editions. With numerous fine Illustra¬
tions on Steel and Wood. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Long Life, Aids to: A Medical,
Dietetic, and General Guide in Health
and Disease. By N. E. Davies,
L.R.C.P. Cr. 8vo, 2s.; cl. limp,2s.6d.
Lucy.—Gideon Fleyce: A Novel.
By Henry W. Lucy. Crown 8vo,
cl. ex., 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
Lusiad (The) of Camoens.
Translated into English Spenserian
Verse by Robert Ffrench Duff.
Demy 8vo, with Fourteen full-page
Plates, cloth boards, 18s
Macalpirie(Avery), Novels by:
Teresa Itasca, and other Stories.
Crown 8vo, bound in canvas, 2s. 6d.
Broken Wings. With Illustrations by
W. J. Hennessy. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 6s.
McCarthy (Justin H., M.P.),
Works by:
An Outline of the History of Ireland,
from the Earliest Times to the Pre¬
sent Day. Cr. 8vo, Is. ; cloth, Is. 6d.
Ireland since the Union: Sketches
of Irish History from 1798 to 1886.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
England under Gladstone, 1880-85.
Second Edition, revised. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Doom ! An Atlantic Episode. Crown
8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Our Sensation Novel. Edited by
Justin H. McCarthy. Crown 8vo,
Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Dolly : A Sketch. Crown 8vo, picture
cover, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Haflz In London. Choicely printed.
Small 8vo, gold cloth, 3s. 6d.
CHATtO &- WINt>VS, PICCADILLY.
McCarthy (Justin, M.P.),Works
by:
A History of Our Own Times, from
the Accession ot Queen Victoria to
the General Election of 1880. Four
Vols, demy 8vo, cloth extra, 12s.
each.—Also a Popular Edition, in
Four Vols. cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 6s. each.
—And a Jubilee Edition, with an
Appendix of Events to the end of
1886, complete in Two Vols., square
8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
A Short History of Our Own Times.
One Vol., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
History of the Four Georges. Four
Vols, demy 8vo, cloth extra, 12s.
each. Yql. I. now ready.
Crown 8vo, clotfi extra, 3s. 6d. each;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 23. each.
Dear Lady Disdain.
The Waterdale Neighbours.
A Fair Saxon.
Miss Misanthrope.
Donna Quixote.
The Comet of a Season.
Maid of Athens.
Camiola: A Girl with a Fortune,
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Llnley Rochford.
My Enemy's Daughter.
"The Right Honourable:" A Ro¬
mance of Society and Politics. By
Justin McCarthy, M.P., and Mrs.
Campbell-Praed. New and Cheaper
Edition, crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
MacColl.— Mr1. Stranger's
Sealed Packet: A New Story of
Adventure. By Hugh MacColl.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.4 [Shortly.
MacDonald.—Works of Fancy
and Imagination. By George Mac-
donald, LL.D. Ten Volumes, in
handsome cloth case, 21s.— Vol. 1.
Within and Without. The Hidden
Life.— Vol. 2. The Disciple. The
Gospel Women. A Book of Sonnets,
Organ Songs.—Vol. 3. Violin Songs.
Songs of the Days and Nights.
A Book of Dreams. Roadside Poems.
Poems for Children. Vol. 4. Para¬
bles. Ballads. Scotch Songs.—
Vols. S and 6. Phantastes: A Faerie
Romance.—Vol. 7. The Portent.—
Vol. 8. The Light Princess. The
Giant's Heart. Shadows.—Vol. 9.
Cross Purposes. The Golden Key.
The Carasoyn. Little Daylight.—
Vol. 10. The Cruel Painter. The
Wowo1 Rivven. The Castle. The
Broken Swords. The Gray Wolf.
Uncle Cornelius. ... , ,
The Volumes are also sola separately
in Grolier-pattern cloth, 2s. 6d. each.
Macdonell.—Quaker Cousins:
A Novel. By Agnes Macdonell.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Macgregor. — Pastimes and
Players. Notes on Popular Games.
By Robert Macgregor. Post 8vo,
cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Mackay.—Interludes and Ur.
dertones ; or, Music at Twilight. Bj
Charles Mackay, LL.D. Crown 8vo
cloth extra, 6s.
Maclise Portrait-Gallery (The)
of Illustrious Literary Characters;
with Memoirs—Biographical, Critical,
Bibliographical, and Anecdotal—illus¬
trative of the Literature of the former
half of the Present Century. By
William Bates, B.A. _ With 8s Por¬
traits printed on an India Tint. Crown
8vo,cloth extra, 7s.6d.
Macquoid (Mrs.), Works by:
Square 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
In the Ardennes. With 50 fine Illus¬
trations by Thomas R. Macquoid.
Plotures and Legends from Nor¬
mandy and Brittany. With numer¬
ous Illusts. by Thomas R. Macquoid
Through Normandy. With 90 Illus¬
trations by T. R. Macquoid.
Through Brittany. With numerous
Illustrations by T. R. Macquoid,
About Yorkshire. With 67 Illustra¬
tions by T. R. Macquoid.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
The Evil Eye, and other Stories.
Lost Rose.
Magician's Own Book (The):
Performances with Cups and Balls,
Eggs Hats, Handkerchiefs, &c. All
from actual Experience. Edited by
W. H. Cremer. With20o Illustrations.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d.
Magic Lantern (The), and its
Management: including full Prac¬
tical Directions for producing the
Limelight, making Oxygen Gas, and
preparing Lantern Slides. By T. C.
Hepworth. With 10 Illustrations.
Crown 8vo, Is. ; cloth, Is. 6d.
Magna Charta. An exact Fac¬
simile of the Original in the British
Museum, printed on fine plate paper,
3 feet by 2 feet, with Arms and Seals
emblazoned in Gold and Colours. 6s.
i6
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Mallock (W. H.), Works by:
The New Republic; or,Culture, Faith
and Philosophy in an English Country
House. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.;
Cheap Edition, illustrated boards, 2s.
The New Paul and Virginia; or, Posi¬
tivism on an Island. Post 8vo, cloth
limp, 2s. 6d.
Poems. Small 4to, in parchment, 8s.
Is Life worth Living? Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s.
Mallory's (Sir Thomas) Mort
d'Arthur; The Stories of King Arthur
and of the Knights of the Round Table.
Edited by B. Montgomerie Ranking.
Post 8vo, cloth limp12s.
Man - Hunter (The) : Stories
from the Note-book of a Detective. By
Dick Donovan. Post 8vo, illustrated
boards, 2S.; cloth, 2s. 6d.
Mark Twain, Works by:
The Choice Works of Mark Twain.
Revised and Corrected throughout by
the Author. With Life, Portrait, and
numerous Illust. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex,7s.6d.
The Innocents Abroad ; or, The New
Pilgrim's Progress: Being some Ac¬
count of the Steamship " Quaker
City's" Pleasure Excursion to
Europe and the Holy Land. With
234 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 7s. 6d.—Cheap Edition (under
the title of" Mark Twain's Pleasure
Trip "),post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
Roughing It, and The Innocents at
Home. With 200 Illustrations by F.
A. Fraser. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 7s. 6d.
The Gilded Age. By Mark Twain
and Charles Dudley Warner.
With 212 Illustrations by T. Coppin
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
With hi Illustrations. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.—Cheap Edition
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
The Prince and the Pauper. With
nearly 200 Illustrations. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.—Cheap Edition,
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2S.
A Tramp Abroad. With 314 Illusts.
Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.—Cheap
Edition, post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
The Stolen White Elephant, &c
Cr.8vo,cl.ex, 6s.;post 8vo,illust.bs.,2s.
Life on the Mississippi. With about
300 Original Illustrations. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.—Cheap Edi¬
tion, post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
The Adventures of Huckleberry
Finn. With 174 Illustrations by
E. W. Kemble. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 7s. 6d.—Cheap Edition, post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Mark Twain's Library of Humour.
With numerous Illustrations. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 61.
Marlowe's Works. Including
his Translations. Edited, with Notes
and Introductions, by Col. Cun¬
ningham. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Marryat (Florence), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s.6d. each;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Open! Sesame! | Written in Fire.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
A Harvest of Wild Oats.
Fighting the Air.
Massinger's Plays. From the
Text of William Gifford. Edited
by Col. Cunningham. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s.
Masterman.—Half a Dozen
Daughters: A Novel. By J. Master-
man. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Matthews.—A Secret of the
Sea, &c. By Brander Matthews.
Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6(1.
Mayfair Library, The:
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. per Volume.
A Journey Round My Room. By
Xavier de Maistre. Translated
by Henry Attwell.
Quips and Quiddities. Selected by
W. Davenport Adams.
The Agony Column of "The Times,"
from 1800 to 1870. Edited, with an
Introduction, by Alice Clay.
Melancholy Anatomised: A Popular
Abridgment of "Burton's Anatomy
of Melancholy."
The Speeches of Charles Dickens.
Literary Frivolities, Fancies, Follies^
and Frolics. By W. T. Dobson.
Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentrici¬
ties. Selected and Edited by W. T.
Dobson.
The Cupboard Papers. By Fin-Bec,
Original Plays by W. S. Gilbert,
First Series. Containing: The
Wicked World — Pygmalion and
Galatea— Charity — The Princess—
The Palace of Truth—Trial by Jury
Original Plays by W. S Gilbert.
Second Series. Containing: Broken
Hearts — Engaged— Sweethearts —
Gretchen—Dan'l Druce—Tom Cobb
—H.M.S. Pinafore — The Sorcerer
—The Pirates of Penzance.
Songs of Irish Wit and Humour.
Collected and Edited by A. Perceval
Graves.
Animals and their Masters. By Sir
Arthur Helps.
Social Pressure. By Sir A. Helps.
Curiosities of Criticism By Henrv
J. Jennings,
CHATTO 6- WIN
Mayfair Library, continued—
TheAutocratofthe Breakfast-Table
By Oliver Wendell Holmes. II-
lustrated by J. Gordon Thomson.
Pencil and Palette. By r. Kempt.
Little Essays : Sketches and Charac¬
ters. By Chas. Lamb. Selected from
his Letters by Percy Fitzgerald.
Forensic Anecdotes; or, Humour and
Curiosities of the Law and Men of
Law. By Jacob Larwood.
Theatrical Anecdotes. By Jacob
Larwood, [Leigh.
Jeux d'Esprit. Edited by Henry S.
True History of Joshua Davidson.
By E, Lynn Linton,
Witch Stories. By E, Lynn Linton.
Ourselves: Essays on Women. By
E. Lynn Linton. [Macgregor.
Pastimes and Players. By Robert
The New Paul and Virginia. By
W. H. Mallock.
New Republic. By W. H. Mallock.
Puck on Pegasus. By H.Cholmonde-
ley-Pennell.
Pegasus Re-Saddled. By H. Chol-
mondeley-Pennell. Illustrated by
George Du Maurier.
Muses of Mayfair Edited by H.
Cholmondeley-Pennell.
Thoreau : His Life and Aims. By
H. A. Page.
Puniana. By the Hon. Hugh Rowley.
More Puniana. By Hon. H. Rowley.
The Philosophy of Handwriting. By
Don Felix de Salamanca.
By Stream and Sea By William
Senior.
Leaves from a Naturalist's Note-
Book. By Dr. Andrew Wilson.
Mayhew.—London Characters
and the Humorous Side of London
Life. By Henry Mayhew. With nume¬
rous Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 3s. 6A.
Medicine, Family.—One Thou¬
sand Medical Maxims and Surgical
Hints, for Infancy, Adult Life, Middle
Age, and Old Age. By N. E. Davies,
L.R.C.P.Lond. Cr. 8vo, Is,; cl., Is. 6d.
Menken.—Infelicia: Poems by
Adah Isaacs Menken. A New Edi¬
tion, with a Biographical Preface, nu¬
merous Illustrations by F. E. Lummis
and F. O. C. Darley, and Facsimile
of a Letter from Charles DIckens.
Beautifully printed on small 4to ivory
paper, with red border to each page,
and handsomely bound. Price 7s. 6a.
Mexican Mustang (On a),
through Texas, from the Gulf to the Rio
Grande. A New Book of American Hu¬
mour. By A. E. Sweet and J. Armoy.
Knox, Editors of "Texas Sittings.'
With 265 Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl.extra, 7s.6d.
us, Piccadilly. i?
Middlemass (Jean), Novels by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorilljon.
Milieu. — Physiology for the
Young; or, The House of Life: Hu¬
man Physiology, with its application
to the Preservation of Health. For
Classes and Popular Reading. With
numerous Illusts. By Mrs. F. Fenwick
Miller. Small 8vo, cloth limp. 2s. 6d.
Milton (J. L.), Works by:
Sm. 8vo, Is. each ; cloth ex., Is. 6d. each
The Hygiene of the Skin. A Concise
Set of Rules for the Management of
the Skin; with Directions for Diet,
Wines, Soaps, Baths, &c.
The Bath in Diseases of the Skin.
The Laws of Life, and their Relation
to Diseases of the Skin.
Molesworth (Mrs.), Novels by:
Hathercourt Rectory. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 4s. 6cL ; post 8vo, illus¬
trated boards, 2s.
That Girl in Black. Crown 8vo,
picture cover, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Moncrieff. — The Abdication;
or, Time Tries All. An Historical
Drama. By W. D, Scott-Moncrieff.
With Seven Etchings by John Pettie,
R.A., W. Q. Orchardson, R.A., J.
MacWhirter, A.R.A.,Colin Hunter,
A.R.A., R. Macbeth, A.R.A., and Tom
Graham, R.S.A. Large 4to, bound in
buckram, 21s.
Moore (Thomas):
Byron's Letters and Journals; with
Notices of his Life. By Thomas
Moore. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Prose and Verse, Humorous, Satiri¬
cal, and Sentimental, by Thomas
Moore; with Suppressed Passages
from the Memoirs of Lord Byron.
Edited, with Notes and Introduc¬
tion, by R. Herne Shepherd. With
a Portrait. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Murray"(D. Christie), Novels
by. Crown 8 vo,cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
A Life's Atonement. IA Model Father.
Joseph's Coat. |Cdals of Fire.
By the Gate of the Sea.
Val Strange. i Hearts.
A Bit of Human Nature.
First Person Singular.
Cynic Fortune.
The Way of the World. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Old Blazer's Hero. With Three Illus¬
trations by A. McCormick. Crown
8vo, cloth ex., 6s.—Cheaper Edition,
post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
One Traveller Returns. By D.
Christie Murray and H. Herman.
Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 63.
18
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Novelists. — Half-Hours with
the Best Novelists of the Century :
ChoiceReadingsfrom he finest Novels.
Edited, with Critical and Biographical
Notes, by H. T. Mackenzie Bell.
Crown 8vo, cl. ex., 3s. 6d. [Preparing,
Nursery Hints: A Mother's
Guide in Health and Disease. By N. E.
Davies,L.R.C.P. Cr.8vo, Is.; cl., ls.6d.
O'Connor.—LordBeaconsfield:
A Biography. By T. P.O'Connor, M.P.
Sixth Edition, with a New Preface.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
o'Hanlon (Alice), Novels by:
The Unforeseen. Post8vo,illust.bds.,2s.
Chance? or Fate? 3vols., cr^8vo
OhltetT^Doctor Rameau : A
Novel. By Georges Ohnet, Author of
"The Ironmaster," &c. Translated
by Mrs. Cashel Hoey. With 9 Illus¬
trations by E. Bayard. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s. [Preparing,
OTiphant (Mrs.) Novels by:
Whiteladies. With Illustrations by
Arthur Hopkins and H. Woods.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. each. ;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2S. each.
The Primrose Path.
The Greatest Heiress in England.
O'Reilly.—Phoebe's Fortunes:
A Novel. With Illustrations by Henry
Tuck. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
O'Shaughnessy (A.), Poems by.-
Songs of a Worker. Fcap. 8vo, cloth
extra, 7s. 6d.
Music and Moonlight. Fcap. 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Lays of France. Cr.8vo, cl.ex.,10s. 6d.
Ouida, Novels by. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Held in Bondage.
Strath more.
Chandos
Under Two Flags.
Cecil Castle-
maine's Gage.
Idalia.
T ricotrln.
Puck.
Folle Farine.
T woLlttleWooden
Shoes.
A Dog of Flanders.
Pascarel.
Signa. | Ariadne.
In a Winter City.
Friendship.
Moths. | Bimbl.
Pipistrello.
In Maremma.
A Village Com¬
mune,
Wanda.
Frescoes. Tine-
Princess Naprax-
Othmar.
Guilderoy: A Novel. 3 vols., crown
8vo. [June,
Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos, selected
from the Works ot Ouida by F.
Sydney Morris. Sm.cr.8vo,cl.ex.,5s,
Cheaper Edition, illust. bet 5., 2j.
Page (H. A.), Works by :
Thoreau: His Life and Aims: A Study.
With Portrait. Post 8vo,cl.limp, 2s.6d.
Lights on the Way: Some Tales with¬
in a Tale. By the late J. H. Alex¬
ander, B.A. Edited by H. A. Page.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Animal Anecdotes. Arranged on a
New Principle. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 5s.
Parliamentary Elections and
Electioneering in the Old Days (A
History of). Showing the State of
Political Parties and Party Warfare at
the Hustings and in the House of
Commons from the Stuarts to Queen
Victoria. Illustrated from the original
Political Squibs, Lampoons, Pictorial
Satires, and Popular Carifcatures of
the Time. By Joseph Grego, Author
of "Rowlandson and his Works,"
" The Life of Gillray," &c. A New
Edition, crown 8vo, cloth extra, with
Coloured Frontispiece and 100 Illus¬
trations, 7s. 6(1. [Preparing,
Pascal's Provincial Letters. A
New Translation, with Historical In¬
troduction and Notes, by T. M'Crie,
D.D. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
Patient's (The) Vade Mecum:
How to get most Benefit from Medical
Advice. By W. Knight, M.R.C.S.,and
E.Knight,L.R.C.P. Cr.Svo, Is.; cl. 1/6.
Paul Ferroll:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Paul Ferroll: A Novel.
Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife.
Payn (James), Novels by.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Lost Sir Massingberd.
Walter's Word.
Less Black than we're Painted.
By Proxy. | High Spirits.
Under One Roof.
A Confidential Agent.
Some Private Views.
A Grape from a Thorn.
From Exile. | The Canon's Ward.
The Talk of the Town.
Holiday Tasks. | Glow-v/orm Tale3.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Kit: A Memory. | Carlyon's Year.
A Perfect Treasure.
Bentinck's Tutor.I Murphy's Master.
The Best of Husbands.
For Cash Only.
What He Cost Her. | Cecil's Tryst.
Fallen Fortunes. I Halves.
A County Family. ] At Her Mercy.
A Woman's Vengeance.
The Clyffards of Clyffe.
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
19
Payn (James), continued—
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
The Family Scapegrace.
The Foster Brothers. | Found Dead.
Gwendoline's Harvest.
Humorous Stories.
Like Father, Like Son.
A Marine Residence.
Married Beneath Him,
Mirk Abbey. | Not Wooed, but Won.
Two Hundred Pounds Reward.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
In Peril and Privation: Stories of
Marine Adventure Re-told. With 17
Illustrations.
The Mystery of Mirbridge. With a
Frontispiece by Arthur Hopkins.
Paul.—Gentle and Simple. By
Margaret Agnes Paul. With a
Frontispiece by Helen Paterson.
Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
Pears.—The Present Depres¬
sion in Trade: Its Causes and Reme¬
dies. Being the " Pears" Prize Essays
(of One Hundred Guineas). By Edwin
Goadby and William Watt. With
an Introductory Paper by Prof. Leone
Levi, F.S.A., F.S.S. Demy 8vo, Is.
Pennell (H. Cholmondeley),
Works by:
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Puck on Pegasus. With Illustrations.
Pegasus Re-Saddled. With Ten full-
page Illusts. by G. Du Maurier.
The Muses of Mayfair. Vers de
Societe, Selected and Edited by H.
C. Pennell.
Phelps (E. Stuart), Works by:
Post 8vo, Is. each; cl. limp, Is. 6d. each.
Beyond the Gates. By the Author
of " The Gates Ajar."
An Old Maid's Paradise.
Burglars in Paradise.
Jack the Fisherman. With Twenty-
two Illustrations by C. W. Reed.
Cr. 8vo, picture cover, Is.; cl. Is. 6d.
Pirkis (C. L.), Novels by:
Trooping with Crows. Fcap. 8vo,
picture cover, Is.
Lady Lovelace. Post 8vo, illustrated
boards, 2s.
Planchg (J. R.), Works by:
The Pursuivant of Arms ; or, Her¬
aldry Founded upon Facts. With
Coloured Frontispiece and 200 Illus¬
trations. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Songs and Poems, from 1819 to 1879.
Edited, with an Introduction, by his
Daughter, Mrs. Mackarness. Crown
8vo,cloth extra, 6s.
Plutarch's Lives of Illustrious
Men. Translated from the Greek,
with Notes Critical and Historical, and
a Life of Plutarch, by John and
William Langhorne. Two Vols.,
8vo, cloth extra, with Portraits, 10s. 6d.
Poe (Edgar Allan):—
The Choice Works, in Prose and
Poetry, of Edgar Allan Poe. With
an Introductory Essay by Charles
Baudelaire, Portrait and Fac¬
similes. Crown 8vo, cl. extra, 7s. 6d.
The Mystery of Marie Roget. and
other Stories. Post 8vo. illust.bds.,2s.
Pope's Poetical Works. Com¬
plete in One Vol. Post 8vo, cl. limp, 2s.
Praed (Mrs.Campbell-)—"The
Right Honourable:" A Romance ot
Society and Politics. By Mrs. Camp-
bell-Praed and Justin McCarthy,
M.P. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Price (E. C.), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Valentina. | The Foreigners.
Mrs. Lancaster's Rival.
Gerald. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
Princess Olga—Radna; or, The
Great Conspiracy of 1881. By the
Princess Olga. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 6s.
Proctor (Rich. A.), Works by :
Flowers of the Sky. With 55 Illusts.
Small crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
Easy Star Lessons. With Star Maps
for Every Night in the Year, Draw¬
ings of the Constellations, &c.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Familiar Science Studies. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Saturn and its System. New and
Revised Edition,with 13 Steel Plates.
Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 10s. 6d.
Mysteries of Time and Space. With
Illusts. Cr. 8vo, oloth extra, 6s.
The Universe of Suns, and other
Science Gleanings. With numerous
Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Wages and Wants of Science
Workers. Crown 8vo, Is. 6d.
Rabelais' Works. Faithfully
Translated from the French, with
variorum Notes, and numerous charac¬
teristic Illustrations by Gustave
DoRk. Crown 8vo, c.loth extra, 7s. 6d.
Rambosson.—Popular Astro¬
nomy. By J. Rambosson, Laureate of
the Institute of France. Translated by
C. B. Pitman. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt,
numerous Illusts., and a beautifully
executed Chart of Spectra, 7s. 6cJ.
20
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Reade (Charles), Novels by :
Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, illustrated,3s.6d.
each ; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s. each.
Peg Wofflngton. Illustrated by S. L.
Fildes, A. R.A.
Christie Johnstone. Illustrated by
William Small.
It is Never Too Late to Mend. Il¬
lustrated by G. I. Pinwell.
The Course of True Love Never did
run Smooth. Illustrated by Helen
Paterson.
The Autobiography of a Thief; Jack
ofallTrades; and James Lambert.
Illustrated by Matt Stretch.
Love me Little, Love me Long. Il¬
lustrated by M. Ellen Edwards.
The Double Marriage. Illust. by Sir
John Gilbert. R.A., and C. Keene.
The Cloister and the Hearth. Il¬
lustrated by Charles Keene.
Hard Cash. IHust. by F. W. Lawson.
Griffith Gaunt. Illustrated by S. L.
Fildes, A.R.A., and Wm. Small.
Foul Play. Illust. by Du Maurier.
Put Yourself In His Place. Illus¬
trated by Robert Barnes.
A Terrible Temptation. Illustrated
by Edw. Hughes and A. W. Cooper.
The Wandering Heir. Illustrated by
H. Paterson, S. L. Fildes, A.R.A.,
C. Green, and H. Woods, A.R.A.
A Simpleton. Illustrated by Kate
Crauford. [Couldery.
A Woman-Hater. Illust. by Thos.
Singleheart and Doubleface: A
Matter-of-fact Romance. Illustrated
by P. Macnab.
Good Stories of Men and other
Animals. Illustrated by E. A. Abbey,
Percy Macquoid, and Joseph Nash.
The Jilt, and other Stories. Illustrated
by Joseph Nash.
Readiana. With a Steel-plate Portrait
of Charles Reade.
Bible Characters: Studies of David,
Nehemiah, Jonah, Paul, &c. Fcap.
8vo, leatherette, Is.
Reader's Handbook (The) of
Allusions, References, Plots, and
Stories. By the Rev. Dr. Brewer.
Fifth Edition, revised throughout,
with a New Appendix, containing a
Complete English Bibliography.
Cr. 8vo, 1,400 pages, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Richardson. — A Ministry of
Health, and other Papers. By Ben¬
jamin Ward Richardson, M.D., &c.
Cfown 8vo, cloth extra, §3.
Riddell (Mrs. J. H.), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Her Mother's Darling.
The Prince of Wales's Garden Party.
Weird Stories.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
The Uninhabited House.
Fairy Water.
The Mystery In Palace Gardens.
Rimmer (Alfred), Works by:
Square 8vo, cloth gilt, 7S. 6d. each.
Our Old Country Towns. With over
50 Illustrations.
Rambles Round Eton and Harrow.
With 50 Illustrations.
About England with Dickens. With
58 Illustrations by Alfred Rimmer
andC. A. Vanderhoof.
Robinson (F. W.), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Women are Strange.
The Hands of Justice.
Robinson (Phil), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
The Poets' Birds.
The Poets' Beasts.
The Poets and Nature: Reptiles,
Fishes, and Insects. [Preparing.
RochefoucauldTs Maxims and
Moral Reflections. With Notes, and
an Introductory Essay by Sainte-
Beuve. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
Roll of Battle Abbey, The; or,
A List of the Principal Warriors who
came over from Normandy with Wil¬
liam the Conqueror, and Settled in
this Country, a.d. 1066-7. With the
principal Arms emblazoned in Gold
and Colours. Handsomelyprinted,5s.
Rowley (Hon. Hugh), Works by
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Punlana: Riddles and Jokes. With
numerous Illustrations.
More Punlana. Profusely Illustrated.
Runciman (James), Stories by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each;
cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Skippers and Shellbacks.
Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart,
Schools and Schorrs.
CHATTO 6 WIND US, PICCADILLY.
Russell (W. Clark), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Round the Galley-Fire.
In the Middle Watch.
A Voyage to the Cape.
A Book for the Hammock.
On the Fo'k'sle Head. Post 8vo, illus¬
trated boards, 2s.
The Mystery of the "Ocean Star,"
&.c. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Sala Gaslight and Daylight.
By George Augustus Sala. Post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Sanson.—Seven Generations
of Executioners: Memoirs of the
Sanson Family (t588 to 1847). Edited
byHENRYSANsoN. Cr.8vo,cl.ex. 3s.Sd.
Saunders (John), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Sd. each;
post 3vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Bound to the Wheel.
Guy Waterman.| Lion in the Pathi
The Two Dreamers.
Post 8vo,
One Against the World.
illustrated boards, 2s.
Saunders (Katharine), Novels
by. Cr. Svo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Margaret and Elizabeth.
The High Mills.
Heart Salvage, j Sebastian.
Joan Merryweather. Post 8vo, illus¬
trated boards, 2s.
Gideon's Rock. Crown Svo, cloth
extra, 3s. 6d.
Science-Gossip for 1889: An
Illustrated Medium of Interchange
for Students and Lovers of Nature.
Edited by Dr. J. E.Taylor, F.L.S.,&c.
Devoted to Geology, Botany, Phy¬
siology, Chemistry, Zoology, Micros¬
copy, Telescopy, Physiography, &c.
Price 4d. Monthly ; or 5s. per year,
post free. Vols, I. to XIX. may be
had at 7s. 6d. each; and Vols. XX. to
date, at 5s. each. Cases for Binding,
Is. 6d. each.
Seguin (L. G.), Works by:
Crown 8vO, cloth extra, 6S. each.
The Country of the Passion Play,
and the Highlands and Highlanders
of Bavaria. With Map and 37 Illusts,
\/l tlks in Algiers and its Surround¬
ings. With t Maps and 16 Illusts,
"Secret Out" Series, The:
Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., Illusts., 4s. 6d. each.
The Secret Out: One Thousand
Tricks with Cards, and other Re¬
creations ; with Entertaining Experi¬
ments in Drawing-room or " White
Magic." By W.H.Cremer. 300lllusts.
The Art of Amusing: A Collection of
Graceful Arts,Games,Tricks,Puzzles,
and Charades By Frank Bellew,
With 300 Illustrations.
Hanky-Panky: Very Easy Tricks,
Very Difficult Tricks, White Magic,
Sleight of Hand. Edited by W. H.
Cremer. With 200 Illustrations.
Magician's Own Book: Performances
with Cups and Balls, Eggs, Hats,
Handkerchiefs, &c. All from actual
Experience. Edited by W. H. Cre¬
mer. 200 Illustrations.
Ssnion.—By Stream and Sea.
By W.Senior, Post 8vo,cl.limp, 2s.6d.
Seven Sagas (The) of Prehis¬
toric Man. By James H. Stoddart,
Author of " The Village Life." Crown
3vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Shakespeare:
The First Folio Shakespeare.—Mr.
William Shakespeare's Comedies,
Histories, and Tragedies. Published
according to the true Originall Copies
London, Printed by Isaac Iaggard
and Ed. Blount. 1623.—A Repro¬
duction of the extremely rare original,
in reduced facsimile, by a photogra¬
phic process—ensuring the strictest
accuracy in every detail. Small 8vo,
half-Roxburghe, 7s. 6d.
The Lansdowne Shakespeare. Beau¬
tifully printed in red and black, in
small but very clear type. With
engraved facsimile of Droeshout's
Portrait. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Shakespeare for Children: Tales
from Shakespeare. By Charles
and Mary Lamb. With numerous
Illustrations, coloured and plain, by
J. Moyr Smith. Cr. 4to, cl. gilt. 6s.
Sharp.—Sanpriel: A Novel. By
William Sharp. Crown 8vo. cloth
extra, 6s. [Shortly.
Sheridan (General).—Personal
Memoirs of General P. H. Sheridan :
The Romantic Career of a Great
Soldier, told in his Own Words. With
22 Portraits and other Illustrations, 27
Maps and numerous E'acsimiles of
Famous Letters. Two Vols, of 500
pages egch, demy 8vo? cloth extra. 24s,
22 BOOKS
Shelley.—TheCompleteWorks
in Verse and Prose of Percy Bysshe
Shelley. Edited, Prefaced and Anno¬
tated by R. Herne Shepherd. Five
Vols., cr. 8vo, cloth bds., 3s. 6d. each.
Poetical Works, in Three Vols.
Vol. I. An Introduction by the Editor; The
Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nichol¬
son; Shelley's Correspondence with Stock-
dale ; The Wandering Jew(the only complete
version); Queen Mab, with the Notes;
Alastor, and other Poems; Rosalind and
Helen ; Prometheus Unbound ; Adonais, &c.
Vol.11. Laon and Cythna (as originally pub¬
lished, instead of the emasculated "Revolt
of islam"); The Cenci; Julian and Maddalo
(from Shelley's manuscript); Swellfoot the
Tyrant (from the copy in the Dyce Library
at South Kensington); The Witch of Atlas;
Epipsychidion; Hellas.
Vol. III. Posthumous Poems, published by
Mrs. SHELLEY in 1824 and 1839; The Masque
of Anarchy (from Shelley's manuscript); and
other Pieces not brought together inthe ordi¬
nary editions.
Prose Works, in Two Vols.
Vol. I. The Two Romances of Zastrozzi and St.
Irvyne; the Dublin and Marlow Pamphlets ; A
Refutation of Deism ; Letters to Leigh Hunt,
and some Minor Writings and Fragments.
Vol. II. The Essays; Letters from Abroad;
Translations and Fragments, Edited by Mrs.
SHELLEY, and first published in 1840, with
the addition of some Minor Pieces of great
interest and rarity, including one recently
discovered by Professor DOWDEN. With a
Bibliography of Shelley, and an exhaustive
Index of the Prose Works.
*** Also a Large-Paper Edition, to
be had in Sets only, at 52s. 6d. for
the Five Volumes.
Sheridan
Sheridan's Complete Works, with
Life and Anecdotes. Including his
Dramatic Writings, printed from the
Original Editions, his Works in
Prose and Poetry, Translations,
Speeches, Jokes, Puns, &c. With a
Collection of Sheridaniana. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, gilt, with 10 full-
page Tinted Illustrations, 7s. 6d.
Sheridan's Comedies: The Rivals,
and The School for Scandal.
Edited, with an Introduction and
Notes to each Play, and a Bio¬
graphical Sketch of Sheridan, by
Brander Matthews. With Decora¬
tive Vignettes and iofull-page Illusts.
Demy 8vo, half-parchment, 12s. 6d.
Sidney's (Sir Philip) Complete
Poetical Works, including all those in
" Arcadia." With Portrait, Memorial-
Introduction, Notes, &c., by the Rev.
A. B. Grosart, D.D. Three Vols.,
crown 8vo, cloth boards, 18s.
Signboards: Their History.
With Anecdotes of Famous Taverns
and Remarkable Characters. By
Jacob Larwood and John Camden
Hotxen. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
with ioo Illustrations, 7s. 6(1.
BY
Sims (George R.), Works by :
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each;
cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
Rogues and Vagabonds.
The Ring o' Bells.
Mary Jane's Memoirs.
Mary Jane Married.
The Dagonet Reciter and Reader:
Being Readings and Recitations in
Prose and Verse, selected from his
own Works by G. R. Sims. Post
8vo, portrait cover, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Sister Dora : A Biography. By
Margaret Lonsdale. Popular Edi¬
tion, Revised, with additional Chap¬
ter, a New Dedication and Preface,
and Four Illustrations. Sq. 8vo, pic¬
ture cover, 4d.; cloth, 6d.
Sketchley.—A Match in the
Dark. By Arthur Sketshley. Post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Slang Dictionary, The: Ety¬
mological, Historical, and Anecdotal.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, 6s. 6d.
Smith (J. Moyr), Works by :
The Prince of Argolis: A Story of the
Old Greek Fairy Time. Small 8vo,
cloth extra, with 130 Illusts., 3s. 6d.
Tales of Old Thule. With numerous
Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s.
The Wooing of the Water Witch.
With Illustrations. Small 8vo, 6s.
Society in London. By A
Foreign Resident. Crown 8vo, Is.;
cloth, Is. 6d.
Society out of Town. By A
Foreign Resident, Author of " So¬
ciety in London." Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 63. [Preparing.
Society in Paris: The Upper
Ten Thousand. By Count PaulVasili.
Trans, by Raphael Ledos de Beau¬
fort. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 6s. [Preparing.
Somerset.—Songs of Adieu.
By Lord Henry Somerset. Small
4to, Japanese parchment, 6s.
Speight (T. W.), Novels by:
The Mysteries of Heron Dyke.
With a Frontispiece by M. Ellen
Edwards. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illustrated bds., 2s.
Wife or No Wife? Cr. 8vo, picture
cover, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
A Barren Title. Crown 8vo,cl., Is. 6d,
The Golden Hoop. Post 8vo, illust,
boards, 2s.
By Devious Ways; and A Barren
Title. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
CHAT TO & W INDUS, PICCADILLY.
Spalding.-Elizabethan Demon-
ology ; An Essay in Illustration of the
Belief in the Existence of Devils, and
the Powers possessed by Them. By T.
A. Spalding, LL.B. Cr. 8vo,cl. ex., 5s.
Spenser for Children. By M.
H. Towry. With Illustrations by
Walter J. Morgan. Crown 4to, with
Coloured Illustrations, cloth gilt, 6s.
Staunton.—Laws and Practice
of Chess. With an Analysis of the
Openings. By Howard Staunton.
Edited by Robert B. Wormald.
Small crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
Stedman (E. C.), Works by:
Victorian Poets. Thirteenth Edition.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 9s.
The Poets of America. Crown Bvo,
cloth extra, 9s.
Sterndale.—The Afghan Knife:
A Novel. By Robert Armitage Stern-
dale. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Stevenson (FCLouis), Works by:
Travels with a Donkey in the
Cevennes. Sixth Ed. Frontispiece by
W. Crane. Post 8vo, cl. limp, 2s. 6d.
An Inland Voyage. Third Edition.
With Frontispiece by W. Crane.
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Familiar Studies of Men and Books.
3rd Edit. Cr. 8vo, buckram extra, 6S.
New Arabian Nights. Tenth Edition.
Crown 8vo, buckram extra, 6s.; post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
The Silverado Squatters. With
Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, buckram
extra, 6s. Cheap Edition, post 8vo,
picture cover, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Prince Otto: A Romance. Sixth
Edition. Crown 8vo, buckram extra,
6S.; post8vo, illustrated boards,i2s.
The Merry Men. Second Edition.
Crown 8vo,buckram extra, 6s.
Underwoods: Poems. Fourth Edit.
Crown 8vo, buckram extra, 6s.
Memories and Portraits. Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo, buckram extra, 6s.
Virginibus Puerisque, and other
Papers. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo,
buckram extra, 6s,
St. John.—A Levantine Family.
By Bayle St. John. Post 8vo, illus¬
trated boards, 2s.
Stoddard.—Summer Cruising
In the South Seas. By Charles
Warren Stoddard. Must, by Wallis
Mackay. Crown 8vo, cl. extra. 3s. oil.
Stories f romF oreTgnNo ve I -
tets With Notices of their Lives and
Writings. By Helen and Alice Zim-
mern. Frontispiece. Crown Svo cioth
extra, 3s. 6<L; post 8vo, lllust.bds., 2s.
n
Strange Manuscript (A) found
in a Copper Cylinder. With 19 fuL-
page Illustrations by Gilbert Gaul.
Third Edition. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 5s.
Strange Secrets. Told by
Percy Fitzgerald, Florence Mar-
ryat, James Grant, A. Con an Doyle,
Dutton Cook, and others. With 8
Illustrations by Sir John Gilbert,
William Small, W. J. Hennessy,
&c. Crown 8vo, cl. ex., 6s. [Preparing.
Strutt's Sports and Pastimes
of the People cf England; including
the Rural and Domestic Recreations,
May Games, Mummeries, Shows, &c.,
from the Earliest Period to the Present
Time. With 140 Illustrations. Edited
by Wm.Hone. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 7s.6d.
Suburban Homes (The) of
London: A Residential Guide to
Favourite London Localities, their
Society, Celebrities, and Associations.
With Notes on their Rental, Rates, and
House Accommodation. With Map of
Suburban London. Cr.8vo,cl.ex.,7s.6d.
Swift's Choice Works, in Prose
and Verse. With Memoir, Portrait,
and Facsimiles of the Maps in the
Original Edition of " Gulliver's
Travels.'1 Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7S. 6d.
Swinburne (Algernon C.),
Works by:
Selections from the Poetical Works
of Algernon Charles Swinburne.
Fcap. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Atalanta in Calydon. Crown 8vo, 6s.
Chaste lard. ATragedy. Cr. 8vo, 7s
Poems and Ballads. First Series
Fcap. 8vo, 9S. Cr. 8vo, same price.
Poems and Ballads. Second Series.
Fcap. 8vo,.9s. Cr. 8vo, same price.
Poems ana Ballads. Third Series.
Crown 8vo, 9s. [Shortly.
Notes on Poems and Reviews. 8vo,ls.
Songs before Sunrise. Cr.8vo, 10s.6d,
Bothwell: ATragedy. Cr.8vo,12s.6d.
Songs of Two Nations. Cr. 8vo, 6s.
Essays and Studies. Crown 8vo, 12s.
Erechtheus : A Tragedy. Cr. 8vo, 6s.
Songsof the Springtides. Cr.8vo,6s.
Studies in Song. Crown 8vo, 7s.
Mary Stuart: ATragedy. Cr. 8vo, 8s.
Tristram of Lyonesse, and other
Poems. Crown 8vo, 9s.
ACentury of Roundels. Small4to, 8s
A Midsummer Holiday, and other
Poems. Crown 8vo, 7s.
Marino Faliero: ATragedy. Cr.8vo,6s.
A Study of Victor Hugo. Cr. 8vo, 6s.
Miscellanies. Crown 8vo, 12s.
Locrine: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo, 6S.
&OOXS PUBLISHED BV
24
Symonds.—Wine, Women, and
Song: Mediaeval Latin Students'
Songs. Now first translated into Eng¬
lish Verse, with Essay by J. Addington
Symonds. Small 8vo, parchment, 6s.
Syntax's (Dr.) Three Tours:
In Search of the Picturesque, in Search
of Consolation, and in Search of a
Wife. With the whole of Rowland-
son's droll page Illustrations in Colours
and a Life of the Author by J. C.
Hotten. Med. 8vo, cloth extra/7s. 6d.
T aine's History of English
Literature. Translated by Henry
Van Laun. Four Vols., small 8vo,
cloth boards, 30s.—Popular Edition,
Two Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 15s.
Taylor's (Bayard) Diversions
of the Echo Club: Burlesques of
Modern Writers. Post8vo, cl. limp, 2s.
Taylor (Dr. J. E., F.L.S.), Works
by. Crown 8vo, cloth ex., 7s. 6d. each.
The Sagacity and Morality of
Plants: A Sketch of the Life and
Conduct of the Vegetable Kingdom.
ColouredFrontispiece and 100 Illust.
Our Common British Fossils, and
Where to Find Them: A Hanabook
for Students. With 331 Illustrations.
The Playtime Naturalist. With 366
Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cl. ex., 5s.
Taylor's (Tom) Historical
Dramas: " Clancarty," "Jeanne
Dare,'" "Twixt Axe and Crown," " The
Fool's Revenge," " Arkwright's Wife,"
"Anne Boleyn," "Plot and Passion.1'
One Vol., cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
*** The Plays may also be had sepa-
rately, at Is. each.
Tennyson (Lorcf^l A Blogra-
phical Sketch. By H. J. Jennings.
With a Photograph-Portrait. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Thackerayana: Notes and Anec-
dotes. Illustrated by Hundreds of
Sketches by William Makepeace
Thackeray, depicting Humorous
Incidents in his School-life, and
Favourite Characters in the books of
his every-day reading. With Coloured
Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 7s. 6d.
Thames.—A New Pictorial His¬
tory of the Thames, from its Source
Downwards. A Book for all Boating
Men and for all Lovers of the River,
With over30o Illusts. Post 8vo, picture
cover, Is. ; cloth, Is. 6d. [Preparing.
Thomas (Bertha), Novels by :
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Cressida. | Proud Maisie.
The Violin Player.
Thomas (M.).—A Fight for Life.
A Novel. By W. Moy Thomas. Post
8vo, illustrated boards, 23.
Thomson's Seasons and Castle
of Indolence. With a Biographical
and Critical Introduction by Allan
Cunningham, and over 50 fine Illustra¬
tions on Steel and Wood. Crown Svo,
cloth extra, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.
Thornbury (Walter),Works by :
Crown Svo, cloth extra, 7s. fid. each.
Haunted London. Edited by Ed¬
ward Walford, M.A. With Illus¬
trations by F. W. Fairholt, F.S.A.
The Life and Correspondence of
J. M. W. Turner. Founded upon
Letters and Papers furnished by his
Friends and fellow Academicians.
With numerous Illusts. in Colours,
facsimiled from Turner's Original
Drawings.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Old Stories Re-to!d.
Tales for the Marines.
Timbs (John), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
The History of Clubs and Club Life
In London. With Anecdotes of its
Famous Coffee-houses, Hostelries,
and Taverns. With many Illusts.
English Eccentrics and Eccen¬
tricities: Stories of Wealth and
Fashion, Delusions, Impostures, and
Fanatic Missions, Strange Sights
and Sporting Scenes. Eccentric
Artists, Theatrical Folk, Men of
Letters, &c. With nearly 50 Illusts
Trollope (Anthony), Novels by:
. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
The Way We Live Now.
Kept in the Dark.
Frau Frohmann. | Marlon Fay.
Mr. Scarborough's Family.
The Land-Leaguers.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
The Golden Lion of Granpere.
John Caldlgate. [ American Senator
T rollope(FrancesE.),Novelsby
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Like Ships upon the Sea.
Mabel's Progress. [_Anne Furness.
Troilope(T. A.).—Diamond Cut
Diamond, and other Stories. By
T. Adolphus Trollope. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
T r o w b r i d ge.—F arnel PsTFoily":
A Novel. By J. T. Trowbridge. Post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
CHATTO &> WIND US, PICCADILLY.
25
TurgeniefF. — Stories from
Foreign Novelists. By Ivan Turge-
nieff, and others. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra,
3s.6d.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
Tytler (C. C. Fraser-). — Mis¬
tress Judith: A Novel, By C. C.
Fraser-Tytler. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra,
3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
Tytler (Sarah), Novels by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
What She Came Through.
The Bride's Pass. | Noblesse Oblige.
Saint Mungo's City. | Lady Bell.
Beauty and the Beast.
Citoyenne Jacqueline.
Buried Diamonds.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Disappeared.
The Huguenot Family. | Preparing.
The Blackball Ghosts: A Novel.
Crown 8vo, cl. ex., 3s. 6d. [Shortly.
Van Laun.— History of French
Literature. By H. Van Laun. Three
Vols., demy 8vo, ci. bds., 7s. 6d. each.
Villari—A Double Bond : A
Story. By Linda Villari. Fcap.
8vo, picture cover, Is.
Walford (Edw., M.A.),Works by:
The County Families of the United
Kingdom (1889). Containing Notices
of the _ Descent, Birth, Marriage,
Education, &c., of more than 12,000
distinguished Heads of Families,
their Heirs Apparent or Presump¬
tive, the Offices they hold or have
held, their Town and Country Ad¬
dresses, Clubs, &c. Twenty-ninth
Annual Edition. Cloth gilt, 50s.
The_ Shilling Peerage (1889). Con¬
taining an Alphabetical List of the
House of Lords, Dates of Creation,
Lists of Scotch and Irish Peers,
Addresses, &c. 321110, cloth, Is.
The Shilling Baronetage (1889).
Containing an Alphabetical List of
the Baronets of the United Kingdom,
short Biographical Notices, Dates of
Creation, Addresses, &c. 32mo,cl.,ls.
The Shilling Knightage (1889). Con¬
taining an Alphabetical List of the
Knights of the United Kingdom,
short Biographical Notices, Dates of
Creation, Addresses,&c. 32mo,cl.,ls.
The Shilling House of Commons
(1889). Containing a List of all the
Members of Parliament, their Town
and Country Addresses, &c. 32mo,
cloth, Is.
The Complete Peerage, Baronet¬
age, Knightage, and House of
Commons (1889). In One Volume,
royal 32mo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 5s.
Walford's (Edw.) Works, continued—
Haunted London. By Walter
Thornbury. Edited by Edward
Walford, M.A. With Illustrations
by F. W. Fairholt, F.S.A, Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 7a. 6d.
Walton andCotton'sComplete
Angler; or, The Contemplative Man's
Recreation; being a Discourse of
Rivers, Fishponds, Fish and Fishing,
written by Izaak Walton ; and In¬
structions how to Angle for a Trout or
Grayling in a clear Stream, by Charles
Cotton. With Original Memoirs and
Notes by Sir Harris Nicolas, and
61 Copperplate Illustrations. Large
crown 8vo, cloth antique, 7a. 6d.
Walt Whitman, Poems by.
Selected and edited, with an Intro¬
duction, by William M. Rossetti. A
New Edition, with a Steel Plate Por¬
trait. Crown 8vo, printed on hand¬
made paper and bound in buckram, 6s.
Wanderer's Library, The:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
Wanderings In Patagonia; or, Life
among the Ostrich-Hunters. By
Julius Beerbohm. Illustrated.
Camp Notes: Stories of Sport and
Adventure in Asia, Africa, and
America. By Frederick Boyle.
Savage Life. By Frederick Boyle.
Merrie England In the Olden Time.
By George Daniel. With Illustra¬
tions by Robt. Cruikshank.
Circus Life and Circus Celebrities.
By Thomas Frost.
The Lives of the Conjurers. By
Thomas Frost.
The Old Showmen and the Old
London Fairs. By Thomas Frost.
Low-Life Deeps. An Account of. the
Strange Fish to be found there. By
James Greenwood.
The Wilds of London. By James
Greenwood.
Tunis: The Land and the People.
By the Chevalier de Hesse-War-
tegg. With 22 Illustrations.
The Life and Adventures of a Cheap
Jack. By One of the Fraternity.
Edited by Charles Hindley.
The World Behind the Scenes By
Percy Fitzgerald.
Tavern Anecdotes and Sayings:
Including the Origin of Signs, and
Reminiscences connected with Ta¬
verns, Coffee Houses, Clubs, &c.
By Charles Hindley. With Illusts.
The Genial Showman : Life and Ad¬
ventures of Artemus Ward. By E. P.
Hingston. With a Frontispiece.
The Story of the London Parks.
By Jacob Larwood. With Illusts.
London Characters. By Henry May-
hew. Illustrated.
BOOKS
Wanderer's Library, The,
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
Seven Generations of Executioners:
Memoirs of the Sanson Family (1688
to 1847). Edited by Henry Sanson.
Summer Cruising In the s®uth
Seas. By C. Warren Stoddard.
Illustrated by Wallis Mackay.
Warner.—-A Roundabout Jour¬
ney. By Charles Dudley Warner,
Author of " My Summer in a Garden.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6S.
Warrants, &c.:—
Warrant to Execute Charles I. An
exact Facsimile, with, the Fifty-nine
Signatures, and corresponding Seals.
Carefully printed on paper to imitate
the Original, 22 in. by 14m. Price 2s.
Warrant to Execute Mary Queen of
Scots. An exact Facsimile, includ¬
ing the Signature of Queen Eliza¬
beth, and a Facsimile of the Great
Seal. Beautifully printed on paper
to imitate the Original MS. Price 2s.
Magna Charta. An exact Facsimile
of the Original Document in the
British Museum, printed on fine
plate paper, nearly 3 feet long by 2
feet wide, with the Arms and Seals
emblazoned in Gold and Colours. 5s.
The Roll of Battle Abbey; or, A List
of the Principal Warriors who came
over from Normandy with William
the Conqueror, and Settled in this
Country, a.d. 1066-7, With the
principal Arms emblazoned in Gold
and Colours. Price 5s.
Wayfarer, The: Journal of the
Society of Cyclists. Published at short
intervals. Price Is. The Numbers for
Oct., 1886, Jan., May, and Oct., 1887,
and Feb., 1888, are now ready.
WeatherTHow to Foretell the,
with the Pocket Spectroscope. By
F. W. Cory, M.R.C.S. Eng., F.R.Met.
Soc., &c. With 10 Illustrations. Crown
8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
Westropp.—Handbook of Pot-
tery and Porcelain; or, History of
those Arts from the Earliest Period.
By Hodder M. Westropp. With nu¬
merous Illustrations, and a List of
Marks. Crown 8vo, cloth limp, 4s. t>d.
Whist. — How to Play Solo
Whist: Its Method and Principles
Explained, and its Practice Demon¬
strated. With Illustrative Specimen
Hands in red and black, and a Revised
and Augmented Code of Laws. By
Abraham S. Wilks and Charles F.
Pardon Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
Whistler's (Mr.) "Ten o'clock."
Crown 8vo, hand-made and brown
paper, Is.
ASHED BY ___
Williams (W. Mattieu, F.R.A.S.),
Works by: _
Science Notes. See the Gentleman s
Magazine. Is. Monthly.
Science in Short Chapters. Ctown
8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
A Simple Treatise on Heat. Crown
8vo, cloth limp, with Illusts., 2s. 6d.
The Chemistry of Cookery. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6S.
Wilson (Dp. Andrew, F.R.S.E.),
Works by:
Chapters on Evolution: A Popular
History of Darwinian and Allied
Theories of Development. 3rd ed.
Cr. 8vo, cl. ex.,with 259 Illusts., 7s. 6d.
Leaves from a Naturalist's Note¬
book. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Leisure-Time Studies, chiefly Bio¬
logical. Third Edit., with New Pre¬
face. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., with Illusts., 6s.
Studies In Life and Sense. With
numerous Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 6s.
Common Accidents, and How to
Treat them. By Dr. Andrew Wil¬
son and others. With numerous Il¬
lusts. Cr. 8vo, Is.; cl. limp, Is. 6d.
Winter (J. S.), Stories by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Cavalry Life.
Regimental Legends.
Women of the Day: A Biogra¬
phical Dictionary of Notable Contem¬
poraries. By Frances Hays. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
Wood.—Sabina: A Novel. By
Lady Wood. Post 8vo, iilust. bds., 2s.
Wood(H. F.), Detective Stories
by:
The Passenger from Scotland Yard.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6S.; post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
The Englishman of the Rue Cain.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Words, Facts, and Phrases:
A Dictionary of Curious, Quaint, and
Out-of-the-Way Matters. By Eliezer
Edwards. New and cheaper issue,
cr. 8vo, cl. ex.,7s. 6d.; half-bound, 9s.
Wright (Thomas), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
Caricature History of the Georges.
(The House of Hanover.) With 400
Pictures, Caricatures, Squibs, Broad¬
sides, Window Pictures, &c.
History of Caricature and of the
Grotesque in Art, Literature,
Sculpture, and Painting. Profusely
Illustrated by F.W. Fairholt.F.S.A.
Yates (Edmund), Novels by
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Land at Last. 1 7 he Forlorn Hope.
CHATTO S> WINDUS, PICCADILLY,
2?
NEW NOVELS.
Blood-Money, and other Stories. By
Charles Gibbon, a Vols., crown
8vo, cloth, 12s. [Shortly.
A Strange Manuscript found In a
Copper Cylinder. Illustrated by Gil¬
bert Gaul. Third Edit. Cr. 8vo, 5s.
The Legacy of Cain. By Wilkie
Collins. 3 Vols., cr. 8vo.
For Faith and Freedom. By Walter
Besant. 3 Vols., cr. 8vo.
The Englishman of the Rue Cain.
By H. F. Wood. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 6s.
Romances of the Law. By R. E.
Francillon. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
Strange Secrets. Told by Percy Fitz-
gerald, &c. With 8 Illustrations.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. [Shortly.
Doctor Rameau. By Georges Ohnet.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. [Shortly.
This Mortal Coil. By Grant Allen.
3 Vols., crown 8vo,
Agatha Page. By Isaac Henderson.
2 Vols., crown 8vo.
Chance P or Fate P By Alice O'Han-
lon. 3 vols., crown 8V0.
Sanpriel. By William Sharp. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 6s. [Short y.
Nikanor. From the French ot H-n i
Greville. With Eight Illustration-.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. [Shortly.
Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet. Bv
Hugh MacColl. Crown bvo, cloth
extra, 5s. [Shortly.
Guilderoy. By Ouida. 3 Vols. Crown
bvo. [June.
THE PICCADILLY NOVELS.
Popular Stories by the Best Authors. Library Editions, many Illustrated,
crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN
HERRING."
Red Spider. I Eve.
BY GRANT ALLEN,
Phlllstia.
For Maimie' Sake.
The Devil's Die.
BY WALTER BESANT & J. RICE.
Ready-Money Mortiboy.
My Little Girl.
The Case of Mr. Lucraft.
This Son of Vulcan.
With Harp and Crown.
The Golden Butterfly.
By Celia's Arbour.
The Monks of Thelema.
'Twas In Trafalgar's Bay.
The Seamy Side.
The Ten Years' Tenant.
The Chaplain of the Fleet.
BY WALTER BESANT.
All Sorts and Conditions of Men.
The Captains' Room.
All in a Garden Fair.
•Dorothy Forster. | Uncle Jack.
Children of Gibeon.
The World Went Very Well Then.
Herr Paulus.
BY ROBERT BUCHANAN.
A Child of Nature.
God and the Man.
The Shadow of the Sword.
The Martyrdom of Madeline.
Love Me for Ever.
Annan Water. I The New Abelard
Matt. I Foxglove Manor.
The Master of the Mine.
The Heir of Linne.
BY HALL CAINE.
The Shadow of a Crime.
A Son of Hagar.
BY MRS. H. LOVETT CAMERON.
Juliet's Guardian. | Deceivers Ever.
BY MORTIMER COLLINS.
Sweet Anne Page. | Transmigration.
From Midnight to Midnight.
MORTIMER &■ FRANCES COLLINS.
Blacksmith and Scholar.
The Village Comedy.
You Play me False.
BY WILKIE COLLINS.
The Frozen Deep.
The Law and the
Lady.
TheTwo Destinies
Haunted Hotel.
The Fallen Leaves
Jezebel'sDaughter
The Black Robe.
Heart and Science
" I Say No."
Little Novels.
The Evil Genius.
j The Deemster.
Antonina.
Basil.
Hide and Seek.
The Dead Secret.
Queen of Hearts.
My Miscellanies.
Woman in White.
The Moonstone.
Man and Wife.
Poor Miss Finch.
Miss or Mrs. ?
New Magdalen.
BY DUTTON COOK.
Paul Foster's Daughter.
BY WILLIAM CYPLES,
Hearts of Gold.
BY ALPHONSE DAUDET.
The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation.
BY JAMES DE MILLE.
A Castle in Spain.
BY J. LEITH DERWENT.
Our Lady of Tears.
Circe's Lovers.
BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
Felicia.
BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES.
Archie Lovell.
BY PERCY FITZGERALD.
Fatal Zero.
25
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Piccadilly Novels, continued—
BY R. E. FRANC1LLON.
Queen Cophetua,
One by One.
A Real Queen.
King or Knave?
Prefaced by Sir BARTLE FRERE.
Pandurang Harl.
BY EDWARD GARRETT.
The Capel Girls.
BY CHARLES GIBBON.
Robin Gray.
What will the World Say?
In Honour Bound.
Queen of the Meadow.
The Flower of the Forest.
A Heart's Problem.
The Braes of Yarrow.
The Golden Shaft.
Of High Degree.
Loving a Dream.
BY THOMAS HARDY.
Under the Greenwood Tree.
BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE.
Garth.
E11 ice Quentin.
Sebastian Stromo.
Dust.
Fortune's Fool.
Beatrix Randolph.
David Poindexter's Disappearance
The Spectre of the Camera.
BY SIR A. HELPS.
Ivan de Biron.
BY MRS. ALFRED HUNT
Thornicroft's Model.
The Leaden Casket.
Self-Condemned.
That other Person.
BY JEAN INGELOW.
Fated to be Free.
BY R. ASHE KING.
A Drawn Game.
"The Wearing of the Green."
BY HENRY KINGS LEY.
Number Seventeen.
BY E. LYNN LINTON,
Patricia Kemball.
Atonement of Learn Dundas.
The World Well Lost.
Under which Lord?
" My Love !"
lone.
Paston Carew.
BY HENRY W. LUCY.
Gideon Fleyce.
BY JUSTIN McCAR'IHY.
The Waterdale Neighbours.
A Fair Saxon.
Dear Lady Disdain.
Miss Misanthrope.
Donna Quixote.
The Comet of a Season.
Maid of Athens.
Camiola
Quaker Cousins^ MARRYAT
Open) Sesame! I Written In Fire
BY D. CHRISTIE MURRAY
Life's Atonement. | Coals of F.pe.
Joseph's Coat. Val Strange.
A Model Father. I Hearts.
By the Gate of the Sea.
A Bit of Human Nature.
First Person Singular.
Cynic Fortune.
BY MRS. OLIPHANT.
Whiteladies.
BY QUID A.
Held In Bondage.
Strathmore.
Chandos.
Under Two Flags.
Idalia.
Cecil Castle-
maine's Gage.
T ricotrin.
Puck.
Folle Farine.
ADog of Flanders
Pascarel.
Signa. [ine.
Princess Naprax-
BY MARGARET A. PAUL.
Gentle and Simple.
BY JAMES PAYN.
TwoLittleWooden
Shoes.
In a Winter City.
Ariadne.
Friendship.
Moths.
Pipistrello.
A Village Com¬
mune.
Bimbi.
Wanda. '
Frescoes.
In Maremma.
Othmar.
Lost Sir Masslng-
berd.
Walter's Word.
Less Black than
We're Painted.
By Proxy.
High Spirits.
Under One Roof.
A Confidential
Agent.
From Exile.
A Grape from a
Thorn.
Some Private
Views.
TheCanon'sWard.
Talk of the Town.
Glow-worm Tales.
In Peril and Pri¬
vation.
Holiday Tasks.
The Mystery of
Mirbridge.
BY E. C. PRICE.
Valentina. | The Foreigners.
Mrs. Lancaster's Rival.
BY CHARLES READE.
It Is Never Too Late to Mend.
Hard Cash. | Peg Wofflngton.
Christie Johnstone.
Griffith Gaunt. | Foul Play.
The Double Marriage.
Love Me Little, Love Me Long.
The Cloister and the Hearth.
The Course of True Love.
The Autobiography of a Thief.
Rut Yourself In His Place.
A Terrible Temptation.
The Wandering Heir. I A Simpleton.
A Woman-Hater. | Readiana.
Singleheart and Doubleface.
The Jilt.
Good stories of Men and othar
Animals.
CHATTO 6* WlNDtJS, PICCADILLY.
29
Piccadilly Novels, continued—
BY MRS. J. H. RIDDELL.
Hep Mother's Darling.
Prince of Wales's Garden-Party.
Weird Stories.
BY F. W. ROBINSON.
Women are Strange.
The Hands of Justice.
BY JOHN SAUNDERS.
Bound to the Wheel.
Guy Waterman. | Two Dreamers.
The Lion in the Path.
BY KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Margaret and Elizabeth.
Gideon's Rock. I Heart Salvage.
The High Mills. | Sebastian.
BY T. W. SPEIGHT.
The Mysteries of Heron Dyke.
BY R. A. STERN DALE.
The Afghan Knife.
BY BERTHA THOMAS.
Proud Maisle. | Cressida.
The Violin-Player
Piccadilly Novels, continued—
BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
The Way we Live Now.
Frau Frohmann. | Marion Fay.
Kept In the Dark.
Mr. Scarborough's Family.
The Land-Leaguers.
BY FRANCES E. TROLLOPE.
Like Ships upon the Sea.
Anne Furness. | Mabel's Progress.
BY IVAN TURGENIEFF, &c.
Stories from Foreign Novelists.
BY SARAH TYTLER.
What She Came Through.
The Bride's Pass. | Saint Mungo's City.
Beauty and the Beast.
Noblesse Oblige.
Cltoyenne Jacqueline.
Lady Bell. | Buried Diamonds.
The Blackhall Ghosts.
BY C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.
Mistress Judith.
CHEAP EDITIONS OF
Post 8vo, illustrated
BY THE A UTHOR OF "MEHALAH."
Red Spider.
BY EDMOND ABOUT,
The Fellah.
BY HAMILTON AIDE.
Carr of Carrlyon. | Confidences.
BY MRS. ALEXANDER.
Maid, Wife, or Widow P
Valerie's Fate.
BY GRANT ALLEN.
Strange Stories.
Phillstia.
Babylon.
In all Shades.
The Beckoning Hand*
For Maimie's Sake.
BY SHELSLEY BEAU CHAMP.
Grantley Grange.
BY WALTER BESANT &■ J. RICE.
Ready-Money Mortiboy.
With Harp and Crown.
This Son of Vulcan. | My Little Girl.
The Case of Mr. Lucraft.
The Golden Butterfly.
By Cella's Arbour
The Monks of Thetema.
•Twas In Trafalgar's Bay.
The Seamy Side.
The Ten Years' Tenant.
The Chaplain of the Fleet.
BY WALTER BESANT.
All Sorts and Conditions of Men.
The Captains' Room.
All in a Garden Fair.
Dorothy Forster.
Uncle Jack.
Children of Glbeon.
The World Went Verv Well Then.
POPULAR NOVELS.
boards, 2s. each.
BY FREDERICK BOYLE.
Camp Notes. | Savage Life.
Chronicles of No-man's Land.
BY BRET HARTE.
An Heiress of Red Dog.
The Luck of Roaring Camp.
Callfornlan Stories.
Gabriel Conroy. | Flip.
Maruja. | A Phyllis of the Sierras.
BY HAROLD BRYDGES.
Uncle Sam at Home.
BY ROBERT BUCHANAN.
The Martyrdom
of Madeline.
Annan Water.
The New Abelard.
Matt.
The Heirof Linne
The Shadow of
the Sword.
A Child of Nature.
God and the Man.
Love Me for Ever.
Foxglove Manor.
The Master of the Mine.
BY MRS. BURNETT.
Surly Tim.
BY HALL CAINE.
The Shadow of a Crime.
A Son of Hagar. | The Deemster.
BY COMMANDER CAMERON.
The Cruise of the " Black Prince."
BY MRS. LOVETT CAMEROm
Deceivers Ever. | Juliet's Guardian.
BY M ACL A REN COBBAN.
The Cure of Souls.
BY C. ALLSTON COLLINS.
The Bar Sinister.
BY WILKIE COLLINS
Antonma.
Basil.
Hide and Seek.
The Dead Secret.
Queen of Hearts,
My Miscellanies.
Woman in White.
The Moonstone.
Man and Wife.
Poor Miss Finch.
30
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Cheap Popular Novels, continued—
Wilkie Collins, continued.
Miss op Mrs,? 1 The Fallen Leaves.
New Magdalen. 1 Jezebel'sDaughtep
The Frozen Deep. The Black Fiobe.
The Law and the I Heart and Science
Lady. I" I Say No."
TheTwo Destinies 1 The Evil Genius.
Haunted Hotel. | Little Novels.
BY MORTIMER COLLINS.
Sweet Anne Page. I From Midnight to
Transmigration. | Midnight.
A Fight with Fortune.
MORTIMER & FRANCES COLLINS.
Sweet and Twenty. | Frances.
Blacksmith and Scholar.
The Village Comedy.
You Play me False.
BY M. J. COLQUHOUN.
Every Inch a Soldier.
BY MONCURE D. CONWAY.
Pine and Palm.
BY DUTTON COOK.
Leo. | Paul Foster's Daughter.
BY C. EGBERT CRADDOCK.
The Prophet of the Great Smoky
Mountains.
BY WILLIAM CYPLES.
Hearts of Gold.
BY ALPHONSE DAUDET.
The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation,
BY JAMES DE MILLE„
Castle in Spain.
BY J. LEITH DERWENT.
Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
Sketohes by Boz. I Oliver Twist.
Pickwick Papers. | Nicholas Nickleby
BY DICK DONOVAN.
The Man-Hunter.
Caught at Last!
BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES.
A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovell.
BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
Felicia. | Kitty.
BY EDWARD EGGLESTON.
Roxy.
BY PERCY FITZGERALD.
Bella Donna. | Never Forgotten.
The Second Mrs. Tiilotson.
Polly. | Fatal z.ero.
Seventy-five Brooke Street.
The Lady of Brantome.
BY ALBANY DE FONBLANQVE.
Filthy Lucre.
BY R. E. FRANCILLON.
Olympia. I Queen Cophetua.
One by One. | A Real Queen.
BY HAROLD FREDERIC.
Seth's Brother's Wife.
Prefaced by Sir II. 3ARTLE FRERE.
Pandurang Hari.
BY HA IN FRISWELL.
One of Two.
BY EDWARD GARRETT,
The Capel Girls.
Cheap Popular Novels, continued—
BY CHARLES GIBBON.
Robin Gray. | The Flower of the
For Lack of Gold. 1 Forest.
What will thel Braes of Yarrow.
World Say? I The Golden Shaft.
In Honour Bound. Of High Degree.
Fancy Free.
Mead and Stream.
Loving a Dream.
A Hard Knot.
Heart's Delight.
In Love and War.
For the King.
In Pastures Green
Queen of the Mea¬
dow.
A Heart's Problem
BY WILLIAM GILBERT.
Dr. Austin's Guests. | James Duke.
The Wizard of the Mountain.
BY JAMES GREENWOOD,
Dick Temple.
BY JOHN HABBERTON.
Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck.
BY ANDREW HALLIDAY
Every-Day Papers.
BY LADY DUFFUS HARDY.
Paul Wynter's Sacrifice.
BY THOMAS HARDY.
Under the Greenwood Tree.
BY J. BERWICK HARWOOD.
The Tenth Earl.
BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE.
Garth. I Sebastian Stroma
ElliceQuentln. | Dust.
Prince Saroni'9 Wife.
Fortune's Fool. I Beatrix Randolph.
Miss Cadogna. | Love—or a Name.
David Poindexter's Disappearance.
BY SIR ARTHUR HELPS.
Ivan de Biron.
BY MRS. CASHEL HOEY.
The Lover's Creed.
BY TOM HOOD.
A Golden Heart.
BY MRS. GEORGE HOOPER.
The House of Raby.
BY TIGIIE HOPKINS.
'Twixt Love and Duty.
BY MRS. ALFRED HUNT.
Thorn Icnoft's Model.
The Leaden Casket.
Self Condemned. | That other Person
BY JEAN INGELOW.
Fated to be Free.
BY HARRIETT JAY.
The Dark Colleen.
The Queen of Connaught.
BY MARK KERSHAW.
Colonial Facts and Fictions.
BY R. ASHE KING.
A Drawn Game.
"The Wearing of the Green."
BY HENRY KINGSLEY.
Oak9hott Castle
BY JOHN LEYS.
The Lindsays.
BY MARY LINSKILL.
In Exchange for a Soul.
BY E. LYNN LINTON.
Patricia Kemball.
The Atonement of Leam Dundae,
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
31
Cheap Popular Novels, continued—
E. Lynn Linton, continued—
The World Well Lost.
Under which Lord ? | Paston Carew.
With a Silken Thread.
The Rebel of the Family.
"My Love." | lone.
by henry w. lucy.
Gideon Fleyce.
by justin McCarthy.
Dear LadyDisdajn MissMisanthrope
The Waterdale Donna Quixote.
Neighbours. The Comet of a
My Enemy's Season.
Daughter. Maid of Athens.
A Fair Saxon. Camiola.
Linley Rochford.
by mrs. macdonell.
Quaker Cousins.'
by katharine s. macquoid.
The Evil Eye. | Lost Rose.
by w. h. mallock.
The New Republic.
by florence marry at.
Open! Sesame. I Fighting the Air.
A Harvest of Wild Written in Fire.
Oats. I
BY J. MASTERMANi
Half-a-dozen Daughters.
by brander matthews.
A Secret of the Sea.
by jean middlemass.
Touch and Go. I Mr. Dorillion.
by mrs. molesworth.
Hathercourt Rectory.
by d. christie murray.
ALife'sAtonement Hearts.
A Model Father. Way of the World.
Joseph's Coat. A Bit of Human
Coals of Fire. Nature.
By the Gate of the First Person Sin-
Sea. gular.
Val Strange Cynic Fortune.
Old Blazer's Hero.
by alice o'hanlon.
The Unforeseen.
by mrs. oliphant.
Whiteladies. ] The Primrose Path.
The Greatest Heiress in England.
by mrs. robert o'reilly.
Phoebe's Fortunes.
by ouida.
Held In Bondage. TwoLlttleWooden
Shoes.
Ariadne.
Friendship.
Moths.
Piplstrello.
A Village Com¬
mune.
Bimbl. | Wanda.
Frescoes.
In Maremma.
Othmar.
Wisdom, Wit, and
Pathos.
Strathmore
Chandos.
Under Two Flags.
Idalla.
Cecil Castle-
maine's Gage.
Trlcotrin. | Puck.
Folle Farlne.
A Dog of Flanders.
Pascarel.
Slgna. L'ne.
Princess Naprax-
\n a Winter City
Cheap Popular Novels, continued—
by margaret agnes paul.
Gentle and Simple.
by james payn.
Lost Sir Massing- | Marine Residence.
Married Beneath
Him.
Mirk Abbey.
Not Wooed, but
Won."
Less Black than
We're Painted.
By Proxy.
Under One Roof.
High Spirits.
Carlyon's Year.
A Confidential
Agent.
Some Private
Views.
From Exile.
A Grape from a
Thorn.
For Cash Only.
Kit: A Memory.
The Canon's Ward
Talk of the Town
Holiday Tasks.
berd.
APerfectTreasure
Bentinck's Tutor.
Murphy's Master.
A County Family.
At Her Mercy.
A Woman's Ven¬
geance.
Cecil's Tryst.
Clyffards of Clyffe
The Family Scape¬
grace.
Foster Brothers.
Found Dead.
Best of Husbands.
Walter's Word.
Halves.
Fallen Fortunes.
Wha't He Cost Her
Humorous Stories
Gwendoline's Har¬
vest.
£206 Reward.
Like Father, Like I Glow-worm Tale
Son.
by c. l. pirkis.
Lady Lovelace.
by edgar a. poe.
The Mystery of Marie Roget.
by e. c. price.
Valentina. | The Foreigners
Mrs. Lancaster's Rival.
Gerald.
by charles reade.
It Is Never Too Late to Mend.
Hard Cash. | Peg Woffington
Christie Johnstone.
Griffith Gaunt.
Put Yourself in His Place.
The Double Marriage.
Love Me Little, Love Me Long.
Foul Play.
The Cloister and the Hearth.
The Course of True Love.
Autobiography of a Thief.
A Terrible Temptation.
The Wandering Heir.
A Simpleton. I AWoman-Ka
Readiana. | The Jilt.
Singleheart and Doubleface.
Good Stories of Men and c,
Animals.
by mrs. j. h. riddell.
Her Mother's Darling.
Prince of Wales's Garden Party.
Weird Stories. 1 Fairy Water.
The Uninhabited House.
The Mystery In Palace Gardens.
by f. w. robinson,
Women are Strange.
The Hands of Justice.
-.2
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & IVINDUS.
Cheap Popular Novels, continued—
BY JAMES RU NCI MAN.
Skippers and Shellbacks.
Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart.
Schools and Scholars.
BY W. CLARK RUSSELL
Round the Galley Fire.
On the Fo'k'sle Head.
In the Middle Watch.
A Voyage to the Cane-
A Book for the Hammock.
BY BAYLE ST. JOHN.
A Levantine Family.
BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.
Gaslight and Daylight.
BY JOHN SAUNDERS.
Bound to the Wheel.
One Against the World.
Guy Waterman. | Two Dreamers.
The Lion In the Path.
BY KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Joan Merryweather.
Margaret and Elizabeth.
The High Mills.
Heart Salvage. | Sebastian.
BY GEORGE R. SIMS.
Rogues and Vagabonds.
The Ringo' Bells|Mary Jane Married
Mary Jane's Memoirs.
BY ARTHUR SKETCHLEY.
A Match In the Dark.
BY T. W. SPEIGHT.
The Mysteries of Heron Dyke.
TheGolden Hoop. | By Devious Ways.
BY R. A. STERN DALE.
The Afghan Knife.
BY R. LOUIS STEVENSON.
New Arabian Nights. I Prince Otto.
BY BERTHA THOMAS.
Cresslda, | Proud Malsle.
The Violin-Player.
BY W. MOY THOMAS.
A Fight for Life.
BY WALTER THORNBURY.
Tales for the Marines.
Old Stories Re-told.
BY T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE.
Diamond Cut Diamond.
BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
The Way We Live Now.
The American Senator.
Frau Frohmann. | Marion Fay.
Kept in the Dark.
Mr. Scarborough's Family.
The Land-Leaguers.| John Caldigate
The Golden Lion of Granpere.
By F. ELEANOR TROLLOPE.
Like Ships upon the Sea.
Anne Furness. I Mabel's Progress.
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
Farnell's Folly.
BY IVAN TURGENIEFF, &c.
Stories'from Foreign Novelists.
BY MARK TWAIN.
Tom Sawyer. | A Tramp Abroad.
The Stolen White Elephant.
Cheap Popular Novels, continued—
M>ark Twain, continued.
A Pleasure Trip on the Continent
Huckleberry Finn. [of Europe.
Life on the Mississippi.
The Prlnoe and the Pauper.
BY C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.
Mistress Judith.
BY SARAH TYTLER.
What She Came Through.
The Bride's Pass.
Saint Mungo's City.
Beauty and the Beast.
Lady Bell- | Noblesse Oblige;
Citoyenne Jacqueline | Disappeared
The Huguenot Family.
Buried Diamonds.
BY J. S. WINTER.
Cavalry Life. I Regimental Legends.
BY H. F. WOOD.
The Passenger from Scotland Yard.
BY LADY WOOD.
Sabina.
BY EDMUND YATES.
The Forlorn Hope. | Land at Last.
ANONYMOUS.
Paul Ferroll.
Why Paul Ferroll Kljled his Wife.
POPULAR SHILLING BOOKS.
Jeff Brlggs's Love Story. By Bret
Harte. [Ditto.
The Twins of Table Mountain. By
A Day's Tour. By Percy Fitzgerald.
Mrs. Gainsborough's Diamonds. By
Julian Hawthorne.
A Dream and a Forgetting. By ditto.
A Romance of the Queen's Hounds.
By Charles James.
Kathleen Mavourneen. By Mrs.
Burnett.
Lindsay's Luck. By Mrs. Burnett.
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By Ditto.
Trooping with Crows. ByC.L. Pirkis
The Professor's Wife. By L.Graham.
A Double Bond. By Linda Villari.
Esther's Glove. By R. E. Francillon.
The Garden that Paid the Rent
By Tom Jerrold.
Curly. By John Coleman. Illus¬
trated by J. C. Dollman.
Beyond the Gates. By E. S. Phelps.
Old Maid's Paradise. By E. S. Phelps.
Burglars In Paradise. ByE.S.Phelps.
Jack the Fisherman. ByE.S.Phelps.
Doom: An Atlantic Episode. By
Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.
Our Sensation Novel. Edited by
Justin H. McCarthy, m.P.
Dolly. By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.
That Girl In Black. By Mrs. Moles-
worth.
Bible Characters. By Chas. Reade.
The Dagonet Reciter. ByG. R. Sims.
Wife or No Wife ? By T. W. Speight.
The Silverado Squatters. By R.
Louis Stevenson.
J. OGDEN AND CO. LIMITED, PRINTERS, GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.C.
"A LUXURY" no longer Unknown.
BARBER & COMPANY'S
(See that you have none other)
FRENCH COFFEE
As used in Faris, in its Highest Perfection, TEWPLITCE PEE POUftD,
This is the Choicest and most carefully selected Coffee, " Roasted on the Frencn
principle," and mixed with the finest Bruges Chicory.
2 lbs. Sample in Tins sent free for 2s. 4d.; 5 lbs., 5s. 6d.; 8 lbs , 8s. 10d., by
Parcel Post to any Post Town in the United Kingdom and Channel Islands.
FINE PURE CEYLON TEA,
2s. per lb.; 2| lbs. free by Post for 5s. 6d.
BARBER Sc COMPANY,
274, Regent Circus, Oxford Street, W.
6i Bishopsgate Street, City; II, Boro'High Street, S.E.; 102, Westbourne
' Grove, W.: 42, Great Titchfield Street, W. ; King's Cross, N.
MANCHESTER: 93, Market Street. BIRMINGHAM: Quadrant. New-
Street. HASTINGS: Robertson Street and Havelock Road. BRIGHTON :
147 North Street. BRISTOL : 38, Corn Street. LIVERPOOL: 1, Church
Street, Minster Buildings & London Road. PRESTON : 104, Fishergate.
Postal Orders from is. 6d. to 10s. 6d. can now be obtained for One Penny at all Post
Offices. Remittances to be crossed " London and Westminster Bank."
BLAIR'S
GOUT
AND
RHEUMATIC
PILLS.
THE GREAT REMEDY FOR
GOUT, RHEUMATISM, SCIATICA,
LUMBAGO and NEURALGIA.
The acute pain is quickly relieved,
and cured in a few days by this cele¬
brated Medicine.
These Pills, which are perfectly
harmlesr., require no restraint of diet
during their use, and are cert .in to
prevent; the disease T.-.acking aDy vital
part. Sold by all Chemists at is. i\d.
and 25. 9d. per box.
Established 1835.
WHELPTOIi'S
PILLS.
trade: mark < registered) i
THE BEST FAMILY MEDICINE
Recommended for Disorders of the
Head, Chest, Bowels, Liver & Kidneys ;
ALSO FCR
Rheumatism, Ulcers & Skin Diseases,
WHELPTON'S
[Spider,}
The Best Remedy for
Burns, Scalds, Ulcers & all Skin Diseases
7\d., is. 1 id. and 2s. gd.,
of all Chemists.
Free by Post in the United Kingdom for
8, 14 or 33 Stamps.
Proprietors—G. WHELPTON & SON,
3, Crane Court, Fleet Street, E.C. [S004
SPECIALTIES
FOR ALL
Sold by Druggists, Merchants, &c.,
at Home and Abroad.
THE YEAR
ROUND.
H.R.H..
Prince
Albert's
CACHOUX
Dainty Morsels in the form of Tiny
Silver Bullets, which dissolve in the
Mouth and surrender to the Breath
their hidden Fragrance.
At 6d.,
or by post
for 7d.
JACKSON'S -j
CHINESE DIAMOND J
CEMENT. ^
For mending eve
Furniture, Chit
A RE
" I have found your Chinese
china, glass, &c. &c., that I wish
will give you one instance of th
you like of my letter. In Octob
service was let fall just before b
and a few chips ; in fact, I may
lected, and at once joined them
perfect; and, wishing to test th
the tea table, and it was per-fec
since ; and has had the ordinary
get that it has been broken. I b
with equal success, and can recc
Registered
rg Article
in, Glass, Et
CENT TESTIMOt
Diamond Cement
you to send me a
e way in which it a
er, 1883, our slop b
reakfast, and broke
say broken all to pi
together with your
cement, I had the
tly water-tight, anc
reatment such basi
aveused theCemer
immend it as the b<
s Sold in Bottles at
1 6d. &1s.,
» or by post for
" 1 s. 2d.
of Ornament or
irthemvare, Ac.
UAL:
30 good for the repair of broken
naif-dozen sixpenny bottles. I
:ts, an4 you can make what use
asin belonging to the breakfast
n into four or five large pieces
eces. I had all the pieces col-
Cement, making the basin again
basin used in the afternoon at
has been in general use ever
□ s get; and, in fact, we often for-
lt in numbers of other instances
;st I have ever seen or used."
JACKSON'S
Benzine
Reet.
For taking out Grease, Oil, Paint,
Tar, &.C., from Carpets, Curtains,
Clothes, Drapery, Dresses, be the
material Cotton, Linen, Silk or Wool,
or the Texture Fine or Coarse.
It cleans admirably Kid Gloves and
Satin Slippers, Fans and Feathers,
Books, Cards or Manuscripts. It
may be freely used to rince or wash
Frail or Gilt Trifles, to which water
would be destructive.
At 6d., Is.
and 2s. 6d.
Parcel
Post 3d.
extra.
1889.
From, the Laboratory of
THOMAS JACKSON,
Strangeways, MANCHESTER.
POSTAGE
for A broad, at
LETTER
RATE.
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS.
the rose library.
WORKS BY POPULAR WRITERS.
i6mo, is. per Volume.
Alcott (L. M.) Eight Cousins, as.; cloth,
3s. 6d.
Jack and Jill, 2s.; cloth, 5s.
Jimmy's Cruise in the " Pina¬
fore," 25.; cloth, 3s. 6d.
Little Women.
Little Women Wedded, Nos. 4
and 5 in 1 vol., cloth, 3s. 6d.
- Little Men, 2s.; cl. gilt, 3s. 6d.
■ Old-fashioned Girl, 2s.; cloth,
35. 6d.
-Under the Lilacs, 2s.; cloth,
3s. 6 d.
Work: A Story of Experience,
2 vols., cloth, 3s. 6d.
Stowe (Mrs.) Pearl of Orr's Island.
Minister's Wooing.
We and Our Neighbours, 2s.
My Wife and I.
Dodge (Mrs.) Hans Brinker; or, The
Silver Skates, is.
Lowell (J. R.) My Study Windows.
Holmes (Oliver Wendell) Guardian
Angel.
Warner (C. D.) My Summer in a
Garden.
Stowe (Mrs.) Dred, 2s.; cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.
Carleton (W.) Farm Ballads) 3 vols, in 1
Farm Festivals. [■ cloth gilt,
Farm Legends. j 3s. 6d.
Clients of Dr. Bernagius, 2s.
Howells (W, D.) Undiscovered Country.
Clay (C. M.) Baby Rue.
Story of Helen Troy.
Whitney (Mrs.) Hitherto, 2 vols., cloth,
3s. 6d.
Fawcett (H.) Gentleman of Leisure.
THE ONE SHILLING EDITIONS OF
JULES VERNE'S WORKS.
Crown 8vo, Illustrated stiff covers, with Illustrations, price
is. per volume, sold separately.
" M. Verne's books are extremely clever, and deserve all imaginable success.
Their sensation is at once terribly thrilling and absolutely harmless."—Times.
Aslc for LOW'S AUTHOR'S EDITIONS in blue-gray covers.
Survivors of the "Chancellor," 2 vols.
Martin Paz.
The Child of the Cavern.
20,000 Leagues under the Sea, 2 vols.
Around the World in Eighty Days.
Hector Servadac, 2 vols.
From the Earth to the Moon and a
Trip Round it, 2 vols.
The Fur Country, 2 vols.
The Adventures of Three Englishmen
and Three Russians.
Michael Strogoflf, 2 vols.
Dick Sands, the Boy Captain, 2 vols.
Five Weeks in a Balloon.
A Floating City.
The Blockade Runners.
Dr. Ox's Experiment.
A Winter Amid the Ice.
The Mysterious Island, 3 vols.
1. Dropped from the Clouds.
2. Abandoned.
3. Secret of the Island.
A detailed List of the various Cloth Editions, from 2s. to 10s. 6d., suitable
for Presents or Prizes, post free on application.
The Begum's Fortune.
The Tribulations of a Chinaman.
The Steam House, 2 vols.
1. The Demon of Cawnpore.
2. Tigers and Traitors.
The Giant's Raft, 2 vols.
1. 800 Leagues on the Amazon.
2. The Cryptogram.
The Green Ray.
Godfrey Morgan.
Keraban, vol. 1. Captain of the
dara."
vol. 2. Scarpante the Spy.
Archipelago on Fire.
The Vanished Diamond.
Sui-
London: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGT0N Limited,
St. Dunstan's House, Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.C.
Since using Pears'
Soap I have discarded
' all others.
For preserving the Complexion, keeping the skin soft, free from
redness and roughness, and the hands in nice condition, it is
the finest Soap in the world
/ have found it
matchless for the
hands and complexion