Our limits will not permit us to relate all that passed during our
hero's stay of a fortnight at Don Rebiera's. He and Gascoigne were
treated as if they were his own sons, and the kindness of the female
part of the family was equally remarkable. Agnes, naturally perhaps,
showed a preference or partiality for Jack: to which Gascoigne willingly
submitted, as he felt that our hero had a prior and stronger claim, and
during the time that they remained a feeling of attachment was created
between Agnes and the philosopher, which, if not love, was at least
something very near akin to it; but the fact was, that they were both
much too young to think of marriage; and, although they walked and
talked, and laughed, and played together, they were always at home in
time for their dinner. Still, the young lady thought she preferred our
hero even to her brothers, and Jack thought that the young lady was the
prettiest and kindest girl that he had ever met with. At the end of the
fortnight our two midshipmen took their leave, furnished with letters of
recommendation to many of the first nobility in Palermo, and mounted on
two fine mules with bell bridles. The old Donna kissed them both--the
Don showered down his blessings of good wishes, and Donna Agnes's lips
trembled as she bade them adieu; and, as soon as they were gone, she
went up to her chamber and wept. Jack also was very grave, and his eyes
moistened at the thoughts of leaving Agnes. Neither of them were aware,
until the hour of parting, how much they had wound themselves together.
The first quarter of an hour our two midshipmen followed their guide in
silence. Jack wished to be left to his own thoughts, and Gascoigne
perceived it.
"Well, Easy," said Gascoigne, at last, "if I had been in your place,
constantly in company of, and loved by, that charming girl, I could
never have torn myself away."
"Loved by her, Ned!" replied Jack; "what makes you say that?"
"Because I am sure it was the case; she lived but in your presence.
Why, if you were out of the room, she never spoke a word, but sat there
as melancholy as a sick monkey--the moment you came in again she beamed
out as glorious as the sun, and was all life and spirit."
"I thought people were always melancholy when they were in love,"
replied Jack.
"When those that they love are out of their presence."
"Well, then, I am out of her presence, and I feel very melancholy, so I
suppose, by your argument, I am in love. Can a man be in love without
knowing it?"
"I really cannot say, Jack, I never was in love myself, but I've seen
many others _spooney_. My time will come, I suppose, by-and-bye. They
say that for every man made there is a woman also made to fit him, if he
could only find her. Now, it's my opinion that you have found yours--
I'll lay my life she's crying at this moment."
"Do you really think so, Ned? let's go back--poor little Agnes--let's go
back; I feel I do love her, and I'll tell her so."
"Pooh, nonsense! it's too late now; you should have told her that
before, when you walked with her in the garden."
"But I did not know it, Ned. However, as you say, it would be foolish
to turn back, so I'll write to her from Palermo."
Here an argument ensued upon love, which we shall not trouble the reader
with, as it was not very profound, both sides knowing very little on the
subject. It did, however, end with our hero being convinced that he was
desperately in love, and he talked about giving up the service as soon
as he arrived at Malta. It is astonishing what sacrifices midshipmen
will make for the objects of their adoration.
It was not until late in the evening that our adventurers arrived at
Palermo. As soon as they were lodged at the hotel, Gascoigne sat down
and wrote a letter in their joint names to Don Rebiera, returning him
many thanks for his great kindness, informing him of their safe arrival,
and trusting that they should soon meet again: and Jack took up his pen,
and indited a letter in Spanish to Agnes, in which he swore that neither
tide nor time, nor water, nor air, nor heaven, nor earth, nor the first
lieutenant, nor his father, nor absence, nor death itself, should
prevent him from coming back and marrying her, the first convenient
opportunity, begging her to refuse a thousand offers, as come back he
would, although there was no saying when. It was a perfect love-letter,
that is to say, it was the essence of nonsense, but that made it
perfect, for the greater the love the greater the folly.
These letters were consigned to the man who was sent as their guide, and
also had to return with the mules. He was liberally rewarded; and, as
Jack told him to be very careful of his letter, the Italian naturally
concluded that it was to be delivered clandestinely, and he delivered it
accordingly, at a time when Agnes was walking in the garden thinking of
our hero. Nothing was more opportune than the arrival of the letter;
Agnes ran to the pavilion, read it over twenty times, kissed it twenty
times, and hid it in her bosom; sat for a few minutes in deep and placid
thought, took the letter out of its receptacle, and read it over and
over again. It was very bad Spanish and very absurd, but she thought it
delightful, poetical, classical, sentimental, argumentative, convincing,
incontrovertible, imaginative, and even grammatical, for if it was not
good Spanish, there was no Spanish half so good. Alas! Agnes was,
indeed, unsophisticated, to be in such ecstasies with a midshipman's
love-letter. Once more she hastened to her room to weep, but it was
from excess of joy and delight. The reader may think Agnes silly, but
he must take into consideration the climate, and that she was not yet
fifteen.
Our young gentlemen sent for a tailor and each ordered a new suit of
clothes; they delivered their letters of recommendation, and went to the
banker to whom they were addressed by Don Rebiera.
"I shall draw for ten pounds, Jack," said Gascoigne, "on the strength of
the shipwreck; I shall tell the truth, all except that we forgot to ask
for leave, which I shall leave out; and I am sure the story will be
worth ten pounds. What shall you draw for, Jack?"
"I shall draw for two hundred pounds," replied Jack; "I mean to have a
good cruise while I can."
"But will your governor stand that, Easy?"
"To be sure he will."
"Then you're right--he is a philosopher--I wish he'd teach mine, for he
hates the sight of a bill."
"Then don't you draw, Ned--I have plenty for both. If every man had his
equal share and rights in the world, you would be as able to draw as
much as I; and, as you cannot, upon the principles of equality, you
shall have half."
"I really shall become a convert to your philosophy, Jack; it does not
appear to be so nonsensical as I thought it. At all events it has saved
my old governor ten pounds, which he can ill afford, as a colonel on
half-pay."
On their return to the inn, they found Don Philip and Don Martin, to
whom Don Rebiera had written, who welcomed them with open arms. They
were two very fine young men of eighteen and nineteen, who were
finishing their education in the army. Jack asked them to dinner, and
they and our hero soon became inseparable. They took him to all the
theatres, the conversaziones of all the nobility, and, as Jack lost his
money with good humour, and was a very handsome fellow, he was
everywhere well received and was made much of: many ladies made love to
him, but Jack was only very polite, because he thought more and more of
Agnes every day. Three weeks passed away like lightning, and neither
Jack nor Gascoigne thought of going back. At last, one fine day, H.M.
frigate _Aurora_ anchored in the bay, and Jack and Gascoigne, who were
at a party at the Duke of Pentaro's, met with the captain of the
_Aurora_, who was also invited. The duchess introduced them to Captain
Tartar, who, imagining them, from their being in plain clothes, to be
young Englishmen of fortune on their travels, was very gracious and
condescending. Jack was so pleased with his urbanity that he requested
the pleasure of his company to dinner the next day: Captain Tartar
accepted the invitation, and they parted, shaking hands, with many
expressions of pleasure in having made his acquaintance. Jack's party
was rather large, and the dinner sumptuous. The Sicilian gentlemen did
not drink much wine, but Captain Tartar liked his bottle, and although
the rest of the company quitted the table to go to a ball given that
evening by the Marquesa Novara, Jack was too polite not to sit it out
with the captain: Gascoigne closed his chair to Jack's, who, he was
afraid, being a little affected with the wine, would "let the cat out of
the bag."
The captain was amazingly entertaining. Jack told him how happy he
should be to see him at Forest Hill, which property the captain
discovered to contain six thousand acres of land, and also that Jack was
an only son; and Captain Tartar was quite respectful when he found that
he was in such very excellent company. The captain of the frigate
inquired of Jack what brought him out here, and Jack, whose prudence was
departing, told him that he came in his Majesty's ship _Harpy_.
Gascoigne gave Jack a nudge, but was of no use, for as the wine got into
Jack's brain, so did his notions of equality.
"Oh! Wilson gave you a passage; he's an old friend of mine."
"So he is of ours," replied Jack; "he's a devilish good sort of a
fellow, Wilson."
"But where have you been since you came out?" inquired Captain Tartar.
"In the _Harpy_," replied Jack, "to be sure, I belong to her."
"You belong to her! in what capacity may I ask?" inquired Captain
Tartar, in a much less respectful and confidential tone.
"Midshipman," replied Jack; "so is Mr Gascoigne."
"Umph! you are on leave then."
"No, indeed," replied Jack; "I'll tell you how it is, my dear fellow."
"Excuse me for one moment," replied Captain Tartar, rising up; "I must
give some directions to my servant which I forgot."
Captain Tartar hailed his coxswain out of the window, gave orders just
outside of the door, and then returned to the table. In the meantime,
Gascoigne, who expected a breeze, had been cautioning Jack, in a low
tone, at intervals, when Captain Tartar's back was turned; but it was
useless, the extra quantity of wine had got into Jack's head, and he
cared nothing for Gascoigne's remonstrance. When the captain resumed
his seat at the table, Jack gave him the true narrative of all that had
passed, to which his guest paid the greatest attention. Jack wound up
his confidence by saying that in a week or so he should go back to Don
Rebiera and propose for Donna Agnes.
"Ah!" exclaimed Captain Tartar, drawing his breath with astonishment and
compressing his lips.
"Tartar, the wine stands with you," said Jack, "allow me to help you."
Captain Tartar threw himself back in his chair, and let all the air out
of his chest with a sort of whistle, as if he could hardly contain
himself.
"Have you had wine enough?" said Jack, very politely; "if so, we will go
to the Marquesa's."
The coxswain came to the door, touched his hat to the captain, and
looked significantly.
"And so, sir," cried Captain Tartar, in a voice of thunder, rising from
his chair, "you're a damned runaway midshipman, who, if you belonged to
my ship, instead of marrying Donna Agnes, I would marry you to the
gunner's daughter, by God! Two midshipmen sporting plain clothes in the
best society in Palermo, and having the impudence to ask a post-captain
to dine with them! To ask me, and address me as _Tartar_, and _my dear
fellow_! you infernal young scamps!" continued Captain Tartar, now
boiling with rage, and striking his fist on the table so as to set all
the glasses waltzing.
"Allow me to observe, sir," said Jack, who was completely sobered by the
address, "that we do not belong to your ship, and that we are in plain
clothes."
"In plain clothes--midshipmen in mufti--yes, you are so: a couple of
young swindlers, without a sixpence in your pocket, passing yourselves
off as young men of fortune, and walking off through the window without
paying your bill."
"Do you mean to call me a swindler, sir?" replied Jack.
"Yes, sir, you--"
"Then you lie," exclaimed our hero, in a rage. "I am a gentleman, sir--
I am sorry I cannot pay you the same compliment."
The astonishment and rage of Captain Tartar took away his breath. He
tried to speak, but could not--he gasped and gasped, and then sat or
almost fell down in his chair--at last he recovered himself.
"Matthews--Matthews!"
"Sir," replied the coxswain, who had remained at the door.
"The sergeant of marines."
"Here he is, sir."
The sergeant entered, and raised the back of his hand to his hat.
"Bring your marines in--take charge of these two. Direct you are on
board, put them both legs in irons."
The marines with their bayonets walked in and took possession of our
hero and Gascoigne.
"Perhaps, sir," replied Jack, who was now cool again, "you will permit
us to pay our bill before we go on board. We are no swindlers, and it
is rather a heavy one--or, as you have taken possession of our persons,
you will, perhaps, do us the favour to discharge it yourself;" and Jack
threw on the table a heavy purse of dollars. "I have only to observe,
Captain Tartar, that I wish to be very liberal to the waiters."
"Sergeant, let them pay their bill," said Captain Tartar, in a more
subdued tone--taking his hat and sword, and walking out of the room.
"By heavens, Easy, what have you done?--you will be tried by a
court-martial, and turned out of the service."
"I hope so," replied Jack; "I was a fool to come into it. But he called
me a swindler, and I would give the same answer to-morrow."
"If you are ready, gentlemen," said the sergeant, who had been long
enough with Captain Tartar to be aware that to be punished by him was no
proof of fault having been committed.
"I will go and pack up our things, Easy, while you pay the bill," said
Gascoigne. "Marine, you had better come with me."
In less than half an hour, our hero and his comrade, instead of finding
themselves at the Marquesa's ball, found themselves very comfortably in
irons under the half-deck of H.M. frigate _Aurora_.
We shall leave them, and return to Captain Tartar, who had proceeded to
the ball, to which he had been invited. On his entering he was accosted
by Don Martin and Don Philip, who inquired what had become of our hero
and his friend. Captain Tartar, who was in no very good humour, replied
briskly, "that they were on board his ship in irons."
"In irons! for what?" exclaimed Don Philip.
"Because, sir, they are a couple of young scamps who have introduced
themselves into the best company, passing themselves off as people of
consequence, when they are only a couple of midshipmen who have run away
from their ship."
Now the Rebieras knew very well that Jack and his friend were
midshipmen; but this did not appear to them any reason why they should
not be considered as gentlemen, and treated accordingly.
"Do you mean to say, signor," said Don Philip, "that you have accepted
their hospitality, laughed, talked, walked arm in arm with them, pledged
them in wine, as we have seen you this evening, and after they have
confided in you that you have put them in irons?"
"Yes, sir, I do," replied Captain Tartar.
"Then, by Heaven, you have my defiance, and you are no gentleman!"
replied Don Philip, the elder.
"And I repeat my brother's words, sir," cried Don Martin.
The two brothers felt so much attachment for our hero, who had twice
rendered such signal service to their family, that their anger was
without bounds.
In every other service but the English navy there is not that power of
grossly insulting and then sheltering yourself under your rank; nor is
it necessary for the discipline of any service. To these young
officers, if the power did exist, the use of such power under such
circumstances appeared monstrous, and they were determined, at all
events, to show to Captain Tartar, that in society, at least, it could
be resented. They collected their friends, told them what had passed,
and begged them to circulate it through the room. This was soon done,
and Captain Tartar found himself avoided. He went up to the Marquesa
and spoke to her--she turned her head the other way. He addressed a
count he had been conversing with the night before--he turned short
round upon his heel, while Don Philip and Don Martin walked up and down
talking, so that he might hear what they said, and looking at him with
eyes flashing with indignation. Captain Tartar left the ball-room and
returned to the inn, more indignant than ever. When he rose the next
morning he was informed that a gentleman wished to speak with him; he
sent up his card as Don Ignatio Verez, colonel commanding the fourth
regiment of infantry. On being admitted, he informed Captain Tartar
that Don Philip de Rebiera wished to have the pleasure of crossing
swords with him, and requested to know when it would be convenient for
Captain Tartar to meet him.
It was not in Captain Tartar's nature to refuse a challenge; his courage
was unquestionable, but he felt indignant that a midshipman should be
the cause of his getting into such a scrape. He accepted the challenge,
but having no knowledge of the small-sword, refused to fight unless with
pistols. To this the colonel raised no objections, and Captain Tartar
despatched his coxswain with a note to his second lieutenant, for he was
not on good terms with his first. The meeting took place--at the first
fire the ball of Don Philip passed through Captain Tartar's brain, and
he instantly fell dead. The second lieutenant hastened on board to
report the fatal result of the meeting, and shortly after, Don Philip
and his brother, with many of their friends, went off in the Governor's
barge to condole with our hero.
The first lieutenant, now captain _pro tempore_, received them
graciously, and listened to their remonstrances relative to our hero and
Gascoigne.
"I have never been informed by the captain of the grounds of complaint
against the young gentlemen," replied he, "and have therefore no change
to prefer against them. I shall therefore order them to be liberated.
But, as I learn that they are officers belonging to one of his Majesty's
ships lying at Malta, I feel it my duty, as I sail immediately, to take
them there and send them on board of their own ship."
Jack and Gascoigne were then taken out of irons and permitted to see Don
Philip, who informed him that he had revenged the insult, but Jack and
Gascoigne did not wish to go on shore again after what had passed.
After an hour's conversation, and assurances of continued friendship,
Don Philip, his brother, and their friends, took leave of our two
midshipmen, and rowed on shore.
And now we must be serious.
We do not write these novels merely to amuse,--we have always had it in
our view to instruct, and it must not be supposed that we have no other
end in view than to make the reader laugh. If we were to write an
elaborate work, telling truths, and plain truths, confining ourselves
only to point out errors and to demand reform, it would not be read; we
have therefore selected this light and trifling species of writing, as
it is by many denominated, as a channel through which we may convey
wholesome advice a palatable shape. If we would point out an error, we
draw a character, and although that character appears to weave naturally
into the tale of fiction, it becomes as much a beacon, as is a vehicle
of amusement. We consider this to be the true art of novel-writing, and
that crime and folly and error can be as severely lashed, as virtue and
morality can be upheld, by a series of amusing causes and effects, that
entice the reader to take a medicine, which, although rendered agreeable
to the palate, still produces the same internal benefit as if it had
been presented to him in its crude state, in which it would either be
refused or nauseated.
In our naval novels, we have often pointed out the errors which have
existed, and still do exist, in a service which an honour to its
country; for what institution is there on earth that is perfect, or into
which, if it once was perfect, abuses will not creep? Unfortunately,
others have written to decry the service, and many have raised up their
voices against our writings, because they felt that, in exposing error,
we were exposing them. But to this we have been indifferent; we felt
that we were doing good, and we have continued. To prove that we are
correct in asserting that we have done good, we will, out of several,
state one single case.
In "The King's Own," a captain, when requested to punish a man
_instanter_ for a fault committed, replies that he never has and never
will punish a man until twenty-four hours after the offence, that he may
not be induced by the anger of the moment to award a severer punishment
than in his cooler moments he might think commensurate--and that he
wished that the Admiralty would give out an order to that effect.
Some time after the publication of that work, the order was given by the
Admiralty, forbidding the punishment until a certain time had elapsed
after the offence; and we had the pleasure of knowing from the First
Lord of the Admiralty of the time, that it was in consequence of the
suggestion in the novel.
If our writings had effected nothing else, we might still lay down our
pen with pride and satisfaction; but they have done more, much more, and
while they have amused the reader, they have improved the service; they
have held up in their characters a mirror, in which those who have been
in error may see their own deformity, and many hints which have been
given, have afterwards returned to the thoughts of those who have had
influence, have been considered as their own ideas, and have been acted
upon. The conduct of Captain Tartar may be considered as a libel on the
service--is it not? The fault of Captain Tartar was not in sending them
on board, or even putting them in irons as deserters, although, under
the circumstances, he might have shown more delicacy. The fault was in
stigmatising a young man as a swindler, and the punishment awarded to
the error is intended to point out the moral, that such an abuse of
power should be severely visited. The greatest error now in our
service, is the disregard shown to the feelings of the junior officers
in the language of their superiors: that an improvement has taken place
I grant, but that it still exists, to a degree injurious to the service,
I know too well. The articles of war, as our hero was informed by his
captain, were equally binding on officers and crew; but what a dead
letter do they become if officers are permitted to break them with
impunity! The captain of a ship will turn the hands up to punishment,
read the article of war for the transgressing of which the punishment is
inflicted, and to show at that time their high respect for the articles
of war, the captain and every officer take off their hats. The moment
the hands are piped down, the second article of war, which forbids all
swearing, etcetera, in derogation of God's honour, is immediately
disregarded. We are not strait-laced,--we care little about an oath as
a mere _expletive_; we refer now to swearing at _others_, to insulting
their feelings grossly by coarse and intemperate language. We would
never interfere with a man for damning his _own_ eyes, but we deny the
right of his damning those of _another_.
The rank of a master in the service is above that of a midshipman, but
still the midshipman is a gentleman by birth, and the master, generally
speaking, is not. Even at this moment, in the service, if the master
were to damn the eyes of a midshipman, and tell him that he was a liar,
would there be any redress, or if so, would it be commensurate to the
insult? If a midshipman were to request a court-martial, would it be
granted?--certainly not: and yet this is a point of more importance than
may be conceived. Our service has been wonderfully improved since the
peace, and those who are now permitted to enter it must be gentlemen.
We know that even now there are many who cry out against this as
dangerous and injurious to the service; as if education spoiled an
officer, and the scion of an illustrious house would not be more careful
to uphold an escutcheon without blemish for centuries, than one who has
little more than brute courage; but those who argue thus are the very
people who are injurious to the service, for they can have no other
reason, except that they wish that the juniors may be tyrannised over
with impunity.
But it remembered that these are not the observations of a junior
officer smarting under insult--they are the result of deep and calm
reflection. We have arrived to that grade, that, although we have the
power to inflict, we are too high to receive insult, but we have not
forgotten how our young blood has boiled when wanton, reckless, and
cruel torture has been heaped upon our feelings, merely because, as a
junior officer, we were not in a position to retaliate, or even to
reply. And another evil is, that this _great error_ is _disseminated_.
In observing on it, in one of our works, called _Peter Simple_, we have
put the following true observation in the mouth of O'Brien. Peter
observes, in his simple, right-minded way:
"I should think, O'Brien, that the very circumstance of having had your
feelings so often wounded by such language when you were a junior
officer would make you doubly careful not to use it towards others, when
you had advanced in the service?"
"Peter, that's just the first feeling, which wears away after a time,
till at last, your own sense of indignation becomes blunted, and becomes
indifferent to it; you forget, also, that you wound the feelings of
others, and carry the habit with, you, to the great injury and disgrace
of the service."
Let it not be supposed that in making these remarks we want to cause
litigation, or insubordination. On the contrary, we assert that this
error is the cause, and eventually will be much more the cause, of
insubordination; for as the junior officers who enter the service are
improved, so will they resist it. The complaint here is more against
the officers, than the captains, whose power has been perhaps already
too much curtailed by late regulations: that power must remain, for
although there may be some few who are so perverted as to make those
whom they command uncomfortable, in justice to the service we are proud
to assert that the majority acknowledge, by their conduct, that the
greatest charm attached to power is to be able to make so many people
happy.