My supposition that Sir John Falstaff was indebted for his knowledge of
Mr. Shallow’s existence, whereabouts, and prosperous condition, to
some such accidental renewal of his acquaintance with Mr. Doit, of
Staffordshire, as I have imagined, is strengthened in probability by
the certainty that our knight really did meet with the latter-named
gentleman, and at Coventry, within a few days anterior to the date which
my historical calculations have decided me in assigning to the battle
of Gualtree Forest. This is proved by a letter from Mr. Doit, discovered
among the Falstaff papers on the knight’s decease, apparently one of a
numerous series, in which the writer somewhat sharply requests
payment of a certain “obligacion” which he has held for some time in
acknowledgment of monies advanced by him to Sir John on the occasion
of their happy “reknitting of their old fellowship” at Coventry, “which
honour,” Master Doit sarcastically observes, “albeit of great price, is
one I had not been so prodigal as to purchase with fore-knowledge that
it would cost me the sum it is like to,” to wit, fifteen pounds eight
shillings, the amount of the said “obligacion,” which is mentioned as
bearing the date of the 7th of June, 1410.
Be the origin of the event as it may, Sir John’s visit to the domain of
Justice Shallow is matter of public history. The Falstaff troops marched
from Coventry to Stratford-on-Avon, between which town and Evesham the
justiciary seat of the Shallows was situate,--and there halted.
It may be thought that an event so suggestive as a visit from Sir John
Falstaff to Stratford-on-Avon--the future birthplace of his greatest
historian, but for whose genius it is possible that the name and
achievements of our knight would have lapsed into an oblivion from which
not even these affectionate pages (which, of course, would have been
written under any circumstances) could have rescued them--might be made
the text for much instructive and entertaining reflection. But _cui
bono?_ It is to be hoped that the character and objects of this work are
now sufficiently understood to acquit the writer of any suspicion of a
tendency to digress from the iron road of facts into the flowery groves
of fanciful speculation. The fact, that Sir John Falstaff passed through
Stratford-on-Avon, more than a hundred years before the birth of William
Shakspeare, can scarcely have had any influence upon the dramatist’s
after labours in connection with the warrior’s history. It is true, that
Sir John Falstaff was in the habit of leaving his mark wherever he went;
and in any town where he may have sojourned, if only for the space of
a day or two, there would be no likelihood of his being speedily
forgotten. But a century is a long time. And I am disposed to think
that any interest or value attached to such Inn Memoriams of Sir John’s
progress through Stratford as that city might be expected to possess
at the date of his departure, would cease with the announcement of the
knight’s death without heirs or estate. On the whole, I have decided to
dismiss the question and resume my narrative.
It was no part of our hero’s plan to take Mr. Shallow by surprise. His
designs upon that rural potentate were not of a nature to be carried by
a _coup de main_. He prepared for his appearance in Gloucestershire by
sending on an _avant courier_, with the following dispatch. *
* The preservation of this important document is probably
due to the hereditary vanity of the race of Shallows--who
from the time of John of Gaunt down to the last presentation
of the Freedom of the City of London to a foreign prince,--
have never been known to lose an opportunity of claiming
acquaintance with persons of rank and celebrity. The letter
was preserved for many years in the family. The original
Gloucestershire branch becoming extinct, it passed into the
hands of some collateral descendants (through the Slenders
and Aguecheeks, both nearly allied by blood and marriage to
the Shallows), domiciled in the vicinity of Chepstow, in
whose possession it remained _perdu_ until the early part of
the present century, when the head of the family having
providentially taken to drinking, and his goods being sold
by auction, the treasure was discovered by his county
neighbour, Mr. Roderick Bolton, F. S. A., and by him
purchased for incorporation with the Strongate Collection.
“_Unto the right worshipful my good friend Master Robert Shallow, be
this delivered in haste._
“Right trusty and well-beloved. Master Shallow, I commend me to you by
our ancient friendship; and please you to wete that being armed with
the King’s press for the raising of soldiers in the counties, I shall
require at your hands the pick of half-a-dozen good and sufficient men.
Thus much for business. Being sore pressed for time, and our General,
the Prince of Lancaster, crying out for me, I would fain depute the
choosing of the men to one of my lieutenants or ancients,--had it not
reached me that the justice with whom I have to deal is no other than
mine old friend Master Shallow. Knowing this, I cannot but play traitor
to my duty and forfeit a day of the King’s service, to ride over in my
own person, that I may once more say I have taken Master Shallow by the
hand.
“I pray you detain me not, and betray me not--that I give up to
friendship that time which is the King’s. But I have no fear, as we
have stood by each other ere now. Disturb not your household to make us
welcome, as we may not unsaddle, and I bring none with me but a simple
following befitting my rank as the King’s poor officer. The main force
of my army I leave here, in camp, hard by Stratford, and I must back in
haste lest the knaves run riot, and embroil me with the townsfolk.
“Pick me good men, I pray, for the rebels wax insolent. Have them of the
better class of yeomen if it may be--men whose lives are worth fighting
for the care of. Your starveling hinds and villains are rank naught for
march or battle-field.
“Written at Stratford-on-the-Avon, the 8th day of June, in the year of
Grace 1410.
“John Falstaff (Knight).” *
* The biographer--or, as he perhaps ought to be styled in
connection with this department of his labours, the editor,
is again called on to defend the course he has adopted with
reference to such ancient manuscripts as he has found
necessary to transfer to his pages. Objections have been
made--which the periodical form of publication adopted in
this work affords an opportunity of meeting--to the plan of
modernising the orthography, and in some cases the
phraseology, of these compositions, whereby it is asserted
their interest is materially weakened. There can be no
defence so adequate to the emergency as the plea of an
illustrious example. Sir John Fenn, the learned and
ingenious editor of the _Paston letters_, vindicates a
similar line of conduct with regard to his treatment of that
inestimable collection, in the following language;--
“The thought of transcribing (or rather translating) each
letter according to the rules of modern orthography and
punctuation arose from a hint which the editor received from
an antiquary, respectable for his knowledge and
publications; whose opinion was, that many would be induced
to read these letters for the sake of the various matters
they contain, for their style, and for their curiosity, who
not having paid attention to ancient modes of writing and
abbreviations, would be deterred from attempting such a task
by their uncouth appearance in their original garb.”
The present editor has not, like Sir John Fenn, enjoyed the
advantage of a special hint from any antiquary, respectable
for his knowledge and publications or otherwise. But he
trusts that the learned baronet’s own valuable precedent
will be sufficient excuse for his conduct under similar
circumstances. If not, he can only say that if the letters
relating to the history of Sir John Falstaff, quoted in the
course of this biography, had not appeared in their present
form, _it would have been a matter of downright
impossibility for the British public to have read them at
all._
The receipt of this letter threw Master Shallow into an ecstasy of
excitement.
Here was the renowned courtier, Sir John Falstaff, the “friend of the
mad prince and Poins,” the conqueror of Shrewsbury, the great wit,
traveller, and leader of the fashion, writing to him, plain Robert
Shallow, Esquire, in terms of familiarity, and promising a speedy visit.
There was only one drawback to the justice’s delight. There was no time
to make adequate preparations for so important an event, or to ensure
such an attendance of influential neighbours as Master Shallow would
have wished to overwhelm with the sight of his distinguished guest. The
worthy Justice would have liked triumpha arches, rustic festivities, and
bands of music. He would have gladly kept open house to all the gentry
of the county for the occasion. Not that he was in the least degree a
liberal man, or that he cared two pins for Sir John Falstaff personally.
He was rather niggardly than otherwise; and fifty intervening years had
not one whit blunted his recollection of one or two sound drubbings and
many slights and sarcasms inflicted on him in youth by our knight.
But, to compare lesser things with great, it is not to be supposed that
noblemen and gentlemen who impoverish their exchequers and turn their
country seats topsy-turvy for the reception of royal and princely
visitors, on their triumphal progresses through a land, are actuated by
a mere spirit of loyalty. A year’s rent-roll of the Carabas estates is
not consumed in decorating the state chamber that His gracious Majesty
or Her Serene Highness may enjoy a comfortable night’s rest; but that
the satin hangings, the golden cornices, the encrusted bed-posts and the
jewelled coal-scuttles, may be enumerated in the fashionable journals,
and engraved in the Illustrated News; and remain in their integrity, to
prove, to the envy of contemporaries and the admiration of posterity,
that king or prince once honoured Carabas Castle by going to bed in
it. The great Baron Reginald de Bouf does not marshal his eight hundred
retainers in new scarlet surcoats with enormous badges displaying the
ancestral device of the calf’s head richly embroidered in gold on the
left arm, merely that King Richard Cour de Lion (who happens to be
passing Torquilstone Castle on his way to York to negotiate a national
loan with the great commercial house of Isaacs Brothers) shall be
flattered by a delicate attention from a faithful subject. This
consideration may have entered into the baron’s calculations; his
lordship having daughters growing up whom he would like to place in
posts of distinction about the person of Queen Berengaria, and a son
in the church who can hardly aspire to a mitred abbacy without his
majesty’s countenance. But the real and paramount motive is that Cedric
the wealthy thane of Rotherwood, the haughty Templar Sir Brian de Bois
Guilbert, (that conceited eastern traveller who is stopping at the
Castle, and turns up his nose at all its primitive arrangements), Sir
Philip de Malvoisin, the very reverend Prior Aymer, and indeed all
the baron’s acquaintances and neighbours, down to the very woodland
ragamuffins of Barnsdale and Sherwood, shall be impressed with the fact
that the Torquilstone estates can muster an array of eight hundred men,
and afford to clothe them in new scarlet and gold lace. If a man were
to propose to present me with a piece of plate in consideration of
my distinguished services to literature, I should accept the plate
of course, and immediately turn it to some useful purpose. But my
gratitude,--which I would be careful to express in the most glowing
terms at my command,--would never blind me to the fact that my friend
had been actuated less by a sense of my great merits as poet, historian
and moral philosopher, than by a wish to see his name at the head of a
subscription list, and to take the chair at a public dinner, ostensibly
in my honour. Much as I hate digression, I will illustrate my meaning
by a personal anecdote. I once found myself--Heaven knows how I got
there!--in a little out-of-the-way Flemish village, which had been
thrown into a state of commotion by the prospective opening of a
partially completed line of railway, the first train of which was
expected to stop at a little toy station in the vicinity. A peer of
the realm, one of the directors of the company, and representative of a
noble line of great antiquity, dating, in fact, from the very foundation
of the Belgian monarchy, had signified his intention of assisting at the
inaugural ceremony. The inhabitants of Tiddliwinckx resolved to greet
him with an appropriate address. This was prepared by the Vicaire (with
the kind permission of the Curé, who was himself, nevertheless, opposed
to railways in the abstract as somewhat smacking of Protestantism),
and carefully studied for delivery by the Bourgmestre. The station was
tastefully decorated with flags, and the inhabitants mustered in large
numbers in the stiffest of dark blue blouses and the snowiest of caps.
The thrilling moment approached. The Bourgmestre paper in hand, was
all trepidation, where indeed he was not trousers and shirt collar. The
train signal was awaited with breathless anxiety. It was not given. A
quarter of an hour--a second--another elapsed, and no train made its
appearance. At length a pedestrian messenger arrived at an easy pace up
the line, with the unwelcome tidings that an accident to the rails,
some six miles distant, had brought the engine to a standstill, and
the distinguished visitors had been compelled to retrace their way
to Brussels. The Bourgmestre and his colleagues were in despair. The
suspension of railway traffic was a matter of utter indifference to
them: but they had missed the pleasure of talking to a count, and
an eloquent address had been composed, and the difficulties of its
orthography mastered, for nothing. The friends of the heartbroken
Bourgmestre attempted to lead him away from the scene of his
disappointment. But he refused to be moved or comforted. He had come
there to read the address, and read it to somebody he would. I think
rather than have gone home without delivering it he would have read it
to the gend’arme on duty, or to the one Flemish railway porter who did
not understand a word of the French language, in which the oration was
supposed to be written. In a fortunate moment his eye fell upon me. A
ray of hope illumined the previously sad bourgmestral countenance. After
a brief conference with his colleagues, he approached me politely
and inquired if “Monsieur was connected with the Railway Interest?” I
replied that I had not that advantage. He expressed his regret that I
should have been implicated in the common disappointment, and suggested,
as some compensation, that I would perhaps like to hear the address
which it had been his intention to deliver, had not unforeseen
circumstances prevented. I declared that nothing would give me greater
pleasure. The address was accordingly _read to me._ I replied in a neat
speech, setting forth the advantages of railway communication, and the
high position which, through its means, the enlightened community of
Tiddliwinckx was destined to occupy in the civilised world; concluding
by a compliment to the magistrate on his eloquence, and expressing
my high sense of the honour he had done me in selecting me for its
recipient. The bourgmestre was perfectly satisfied, and invited me to
dinner.
To return to Master Shallow. Immediately on the receipt of Sir
John Falstaff’s letter, he sent messengers to his most influential
neighbours, praying them on various pretexts to visit him in the
morning. But he was singularly unfortunate. Justice Aguecheek (related
to the Shallows through the Slender family) was gone to London on law
business. Justice Greedye was invited to a great dinner on the following
day, and was preparing for the event in the hands of his apothecary.
Justice Trulliber was gone to attend the hog market at Taunton, and
would be three days absent. Masters Woodcock and Westerne were on ill
terms with each other, and with Master Shallow, on some business of
litigation. It would be useless to invite either, especially the latter,
who would be certain to receive any civil message with foul language
and possible ill treatment of the bearer. It seemed likely that Sir
John Falstaff’s visit would be wasted, like a rare dish prepared for
an honoured guest who does not arrive, and which the family are fain to
consume in dudgeon. Utter disappointment was prevented by the arrival of
one Justice Silence--Master Shallow’s own cousin by marriage, who
made his appearance punctually, at the hour appointed on the eventful
morning. Master Silence was a dull man, and not given to converse
or tale-bearing. But he would serve as a witness to his kinsman’s
familiarity with the coming man. And while he would be able to confirm
the heads of any narrative Master Shallow might choose to frame on the
subject, his natural taciturnity would prevent him from contradicting
any superadded details which his imaginative relation might choose to
furnish for its embellishment.
Sir John Falstaff arrived attended by that “simple following” he
had spoken of; which, it is needless to say, consisted of his entire
army--properly bribed and instructed to declare that they were backed
by countless legions in camp at Stratford. Master Shallow received our
knight with the joy with which an ambitious spider of small dimensions
may be supposed to regard the approach to his web of a gigantic
blue-bottle. Master Shallow--simple man--imagined that he was going
to turn Sir John Falstaff to his advantage. “Friend at court” was
the justice’s maxim, “is better than penny in purse.” Sir John’s own
feelings, on entering the cosy, well-stocked domain of the ancient
race of Shallow, may be compared to those of a majestic fox entering an
unprotected poultry yard.
As I have stated that this preliminary visit of the Falstaff forces to
the stronghold of Shallow was only one of reconnoitre, to enable
the general to plan his great assault for a future occasion, and as
circumstances rendered it necessarily of short duration, I will pass
over it briefly. Sir John’s treatment of his host was affable, but
dignified. He suffered Master Shallow to refer to their past
intimacy, and lie to his heart’s content on the score of his youthful
achievements.
Sir John selected such men as he considered desirable for the King’s
service from the levies provided for him; accepted a brief repast, and
departed, having promised Master Shallow to renew their acquaintance
on the termination of the wars, in a second visit to that gentleman’s
hospitable mansion, extracting in return a half-promise from its owner
to accompany him to court. It is strange that Justice Shallow, gifted,
as we have seen him, with a remarkably retentive memory, should have
forgotten how costly a luxury he had found the honour of Sir John
Falstaff’s patronage in early youth. But it is the constant failing of
very foolish old gentlemen to imagine they have grown wiser with age.
In the present day, when so much of the public attention is directed to
the question of raising recruits for the British army, a glance at the
way in which such matters were regulated in the fifteenth century
may not prove uninstructive. It will be seen that the modes of actual
levying differed materially from those at present in vogue. But it may
silence cavillers to learn that our ancestors--whose wisdom may not be
disputed--were fully in accord with the opinion of modern rulers as to
the class of men to whom the fighting of their country’s battles might
be with the greatest propriety entrusted.
I will show you how Sir John Falstaff, with the assistance of Justice
Shallow, recruited the diminished armies of King Henry the Fourth.
Sir John on his arrival at the justice’s mansion, having exchanged a
few hasty civilities and remarks on the weather with his host and the
scarcely audible, visible, or tangible Master Silence, proceeded to
business.
“Gentlemen,” he inquired, “have you provided me here half a dozen of
sufficient men?”
Master Shallow replied in the affirmative, and requested his guest to be
seated.
Sir John took a chair, and begged that the recruits might be brought
before him.
[Illustration: 210]
Five miserable-looking individuals were marshalled into the courtyard,
officered by the valiant Bardolph. Whether Master Shallow’s arithmetic
had been at fault, and he had calculated erroneously as to the
addition of two and three; whether there was a scarcity of men in the
neighbourhood; or whether one of the original number had deserted,
is doubtful. However, it is certain that of the half-dozen recruits
asserted to be in readiness only five made their appearance.
Master Shallow proceeded to call over the muster roll--not appearing to
notice the deficiency.
“Ralph Mouldy--let me see. Where is Ralph Mouldy?”
“Here, if it please you.”
Mr. Mouldy’s voice and expression of countenance declared plainly that
it didn’t please _him_.
Mouldy was in all probability a dangerous poacher, so anxious was the
worthy magistrate to recommend him for military service.
“What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow; young, strong, and of
_good friends_.”
The last recommendation decided Sir John at once. Mouldy would do.
“Is thy name Mouldy?”
“Yea, if it please you.”
“‘Tis the more time thou wert used.”
Master Shallow was in ecstacies. The practical joke of sending a man to
the wars against his will had already tickled the excellent justice’s
sense of humour. But to make a verbal jest on his calamity to his very
face, and on his own name, was irresistible.
“Ha! ha! ha! most excellent i’ faith! Things that are mouldy lack use.
Very singular, good. Well said, Sir John. Very well said.”
“Prick him,” said Sir John.
And down went a mark against Mouldy’s name, making him as much the
King’s property as though he had been honestly bought by a sergeant’s
shilling.
Mouldy grumbled like a malcontent as he was. He thought that he might
have been let alone.
“My old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and her
drudgery. You need not to have pricked me: there are other men fitter to
go than I.”
As if that were a reason for your not going! For shame, Mouldy!
Simon Shadow was the next called.
“Aye, marry, let me have him to sit under,” said Sir John, “he’s like to
be a cold soldier.”
Shadow was approved and pricked.
“Thomas Wart!”
“Where’s he?”
“Here, sir!”
“Is thy name Wart.” (Sir John Falstaff was the questioner.)
“Yes, Sir?”
“Thou art a very ragged Wart.”
“Shall I prick him down, Sir John?”
“It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his back, and the
whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no more.”
Renewed ecstacies of Mr. Justice Shallow. His worship had always
considered a ragged man a most laughable object. But the matter had
never been represented to him in such a truly ridiculous light as by his
facetious guest.
“Ha! ha! ha! You can do it, Sir, you can do it. I commend you well.
Francis Feeble.”
“Here, Sir.”
“What trade art thou, Feeble?” Sir John asked.
“A woman’s tailor, Sir.”
“Shall I prick him. Sir?”
“You may; but if he had been a man’s tailor, he would have pricked you.”
Feeble was approved and pricked. He was the only one who appeared to
submit to the operation without wincing. Feeble proved the most valiant
ninth part of a recruit on record. He appeared delighted with his
prospects. The only drawback to his military ardour and satisfaction was
a regret that Wart could not be permitted to accompany him. This makes
it difficult to decide whether Wart was his bosom friend or his mortal
enemy.
“I would Wart might have gone, Sir,” quoth Feeble.
“I would thou wert a man’s tailor,” replied the Captain, “that thou
might’st mend him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private
soldier that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that suffice, most
forcible Feeble.”
Feeble was satisfied. So, no doubt, was Wart.
“Peter Bullcalf of the Green,” was the next called.
“Trust me, a likely fellow,” said the Knight: “prick me Bullcalf till he
roar again.”
“Oh good my lord Captain----” Bullcalf roared without waiting for the
operation.
“What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?”
“Oh! Sir, I am a diseased man.” Bullcalf bellowed, proving that his
lungs were at all events not yet affected.
“What disease hast thou?”
“A villainous cold, Sir--a cough, Sir--which I caught with ringing in
the King’s affairs on his coronation day, Sir.”
“Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; we will have away thy cold;
and I will take such order that thy friends shall ring for thee.”
It was fortunate that with this sally Sir John Falstaff desisted for the
present, or he would in all probability have been the death of Master
Robert Shallow. That gentleman repeated the words, “And I will take
such order that thy friends shall ring for thee,” to himself, many times
over, that he might be able to retail the jest to his admiring friends.
He circulated it at first as one of the many brilliant things Sir John
Falstaff had said on the occasion of his first visit to Shallow Hall.
But in the course of time the worthy magistrate appropriated it to his
own service, and never missed an opportunity of bringing it forward
(with the point carefully omitted) as an original witticism from the
inexhaustible _repertoire_ of himself, Master Robert Shallow.
Bullcalf was pricked. The justices and their military friend withdrew to
luncheon.
“Good Master Corporate Bardolph,” said Bullcalf when the troops were
left alone with that warlike personage, “stand my friend, and here is
four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you.”
Bullcalf urged his plea by further arguments. They were unnecessary. The
first was more than sufficient.
“Go to: stand aside,” said Bardolph, pocketing the money.
Mouldy quitted the ranks and motioned his superior to grant him also a
private conference.
“And good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame’s sake, stand my
friend: she has nobody to do anything about her, when I am gone: and she
is old and cannot help herself. You shall have forty, Sir.”
Chink! Chink!
“Go to: stand aside.”
“Sir, a word with you,” said Bardolph when his Captain reappeared with
the two justices. “I have _three_ pound to free Mouldy and Bullcalf.”
It should be observed that four ten shilling pieces added to forty
shillings at that period, as now, made a total of _four_ pounds
sterling. Bardolph’s education had been neglected--and let us hope that
his miscalculation was merely the result of a total ignorance of the
rules of compound addition.
A word to the wise is sufficient for them. Sir John Falstaff at once
decided that Mouldy should stay at home until past service, and Bullcalf
be left to grow till he should be fit for it. Sir John would have none
of them.
“Sir John, Sir John,” urged Master Shallow. “Do not yourself wrong: they
are your likeliest men, and I would have you served with the best.”
It is not improbable that Bullcalf was a poacher too.
Sir John Falstaff was indignant.
“Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man? Care I for the
limb, the thewes, the stature, bulk and big assemblance of a man?
Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here’s Wart. You see what a ragged
appearance it is. He shall charge you and discharge you with the motion
of a pewterer’s hammer: come off and on swifter than he that gibbets
on the brewer’s bucket. And this same half-faced fellow Shadow, give me
this man--he presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great
aim level at the edge of a penknife. And for a retreat--how swiftly will
this Feeble, the woman’s tailor, run off?”
Briefly, Feeble, Wart, and Shadow were enrolled among the king’s
soldiers serving under Sir John Falstaff. Bullcalf and Mouldy were
allowed to go about their business.
It will be seen from the above that the ancient manner of choosing
soldiers differed not materially from the modern one. The better class
of men were rejected, and the ranks supplied from the dregs of the
population. Any charge of venality against Sir John Falstaff and his
lieutenant for suffering Mouldy and Bullcalf to buy off their services,
I hope I can meet, by calling attention to the fact that there are even
now certain favoured persons--whole regiments in fact--ostensibly in
her Majesty’s service, who are invariably privileged to stop at home in
times of danger. Or I can dispose of the matter more simply by stating
that Sir John Falstaff merely gave permission to the two warriors elect,
Mouldy and Bullcalf--to return to their homes on urgent private affairs.
It may be objected that Sir John Falstaff observed an unjustifiable
tone of levity in transacting a business of such gravity as the forcible
abduction of poor men from their homes--to risk their lives in a
quarrel, the issue of which could not personally interest them. But Sir
John’s jests on the names, wardrobes, and personal appearance of
his recruits, were at all events harmless. I have heard of much more
practical jokes being passed on the British soldier by the authorities
engaging him in my time; such as promising him certain sums of money for
his services, and deducting nearly the whole amount for the expenses
of his outfit; sending him to fight under a broiling sun, weighted with
half a horse load of useless accoutrements; supplying him with firelocks
that burst in his hands; shipping him on board crazy old vessels that go
to pieces in still water; and a thousand others.