THE "SOCIETY" OF LYNN
It was about seven o'clock in the evening of early April, at the going
down of the sun that I was at last able to drop into the dingy and go
ashore. All day and all night and all the day before we had been
beating through the shallows of the Wash and the narrow channel of the
Ouse. We had laid her to her moorings off the Common Stath and made
all taut and trim: the captain had gone ashore with the papers: the
customhouse officer had been aboard: we were to begin breaking cargo
on the morrow. The ship was _The Lady of Lynn_, 380 tons, Robert
Jaggard, master marines, being captain, and I the mate or chief
officer. There was no better skipper in the port of Lynn than Captain
Jaggard: there was no better crew than that aboard _The Lady of Lynn_,
not a skulker or a lubber in the whole ship's company; and though I
say it myself, I dare affirm that the mate did credit to his ship as
much as the captain and the crew. We were in the Lisbon trade: we had
therefore come home laden with casks of the rich strong wine of the
country: the Port and Lisbon Sherry and Malaga, besides Madeira and
the wine of Teneriffe and the Grand Canary. Our people of the
Marshland and the Fens and those of Lincolnshire and Norfolk where the
strong air of the east winds kill all but the stoutest, cannot have
too much of this rich wine: they will not drink the lighter wines of
Bordeaux which neither fire the blood nor mount to the head. A
prosperous voyage we had made: the Bay of Biscay suffered us to cross
with no more than half a gale: _The Lady of Lynn_, in fact, was known
in port to be a lucky ship--as lucky as her owner--lucky in her
voyages and lucky in her cargoes.
At the stairs of the Common Stath Yard I made fast the painter and
shipped the sculls. And there, waiting for me, was none other than my
good old friend and patron, Captain Crowle.
The captain was by this time well advanced in life, being upwards of
seventy: yet he showed little touch of time: his honest face being
still round and full; his eyes still free from lines and crows'-feet;
his cheek ruddy and freckled, as if with the salt sea breeze and the
driving spray. He was also as upright as any man of thirty and walked
with as firm a step and had no need of the stout stick which he
carried in his hand, as a weapon and a cudgel for the unrighteous,
more than a staff for the bending knees of old age.
"What cheer--ahoy?" He shouted from the quay as I dropped over the
side into the dingy. "What cheer, Jack?" he repeated when I ran up the
steps. "I've seen the skipper. Come with me to the _Crown_"--but the
proper place for mates was the _Duke's Head_. "Nay, it shall be the
_Crown_. A bowl of punch shall welcome back _The Lady of Lynn_." He
turned and looked at the ship lying in the river at her moorings among
the other craft. "She's as fine a vessel as this old port can
show--and she's named after as fine a maid. Shalt see her to-morrow,
Jack, but not to-night."
"I trust, sir, that she is well and in good spirits."
"Ay--ay. Nothing ails her--nothing ails her, Jack," he pointed with
his stick. "Look how she flourishes. There are fifteen tall ships
moored two and two off the King's Stath and half a dozen more off the
Common Stath. Count them, Jack. Six of these ships belong to the
little maid. Six of them--and two more are afloat, of which one is
homeward bound and should be in port soon if all goes well. Eight
noble ships, Jack, are hers. And the income of nigh upon eighteen
years and houses and broad lands."
"She has a prudent guardian, captain."
"May be--may be. I don't deny, Jack, but I've done the best I could.
Year after year, the money mounteth up more and more. You love her,
Jack, and therefore I tell you these things. And you can keep counsel.
I talk not in the market place. No one knows her wealth but you and
me. They think that I am part owner. I let them think so, but you and
I know better, Jack." He nodded his head looking mighty cunning.
"She cannot be too wealthy or too prosperous, captain. I knew full
well that her prosperity only increases the gulf between us, but I had
long ago understood that such an heiress was not for a mate on board a
merchantman."
"She is not, Jack," the captain replied, gravely. "Already she is the
richest heiress in all Norfolk--perhaps in the whole country. Who is
to marry her? There, I confess, I am at a loss. I must find a husband
for her. There's the rub. She may marry any in the land: there is none
so high but he would desire a wife so rich and so virtuous. Where
shall I look for a husband fit for her? There are admirals, but mostly
too old for her: she ought to have a noble lord, yet, if all tales be
true, they are not fit, most of them to marry a virtuous woman. Shall
I give Molly to a man who gambles and drinks and rakes and riots? No,
Jack, no. Not for twenty coronets. I would rather marry her to an
honest sailor like yourself. Jack, my lad, find me a noble lord, as
like yourself as one pea is like another, and he shall have her. He
must be as proper a man; as strong a man; a clean liver; moderate in
his cups ... find him for me, Jack, and he shall have her."
"Well, but, captain, there are the gentlemen of Norfolk."
"Ay.... There are--as you say--the gentlemen. I have considered them,
Jack. Molly is not a gentlewoman by birth, I know that very well: but
her fortune entitles her to marry in a higher rank. Ay ... there are
the gentlemen. They are good fox hunters: they are good at horse
racing, but they are hard drinkers, Jack: they are fuddled most
evenings: my little maid must not have a husband who is put to bed
drunk every night."
"You must take her to London, captain, and let her be seen."
"Ay--ay ... if I only knew where to go and how to begin."
"She is young; there is no need for hurry: you can wait awhile,
captain."
"Ay ... we can wait a while. I shall be loth to let her go, God
knows---- Come to-morrow, Jack. She was always fond of you: she talks
about you: 'tis a loving little maid: you played with her and ran
about with her. She never forgets. The next command that falls in--but
I talk too fast. Well--when there is a ship in her fleet without a
captain---- But come, my lad."
He led the way, still talking of his ward and her perfections, through
the narrow street they call Stath Lane into the great market place,
where stands the Crown Inn.
The room appropriated to the "Society of Lynn," which met every
evening all the year round, was that on the ground floor looking upon
the market place. The "society," or club, which is never dissolved,
consists of the notables or better sort of the town: the vicar of St.
Margaret's; the curate of St. Nicholas; the master of the school--my
own father: Captain Crowle and other retired captains; the doctor;
some of the more substantial merchants; with the mayor, some of the
aldermen, the town clerk, and a justice of the peace or two. This
evening most of these gentlemen were already present.
Captain Crowle saluted the company and took his seat at the head of
the table. "Gentlemen," he said, "I wish you all a pleasant evening. I
have brought with me my young friend Jack Pentecrosse--you all know
Jack--the worthy son of his worthy father. He will take a glass with
us. Sit down beside me, Jack."
"With the permission of the society," I said.
Most of the gentlemen had already before them their pipes and their
tobacco. Some had ordered their drink--a pint of port for one: a Brown
George full of old ale for another; a flask of Canary for a third: and
so on. But the captain, looking round the room, beckoned to the girl
who waited. "Jenny," he said, "nobody calls for anything to-night
except myself. Gentlemen, it must be a bowl--or a half dozen bowls.
Tell your mistress, Jenny, a bowl of the biggest and the strongest and
the sweetest. Gentlemen, you will drink with me to the next voyage of
_The Lady of Lynn_."
But then a thing happened--news came--which drove all thoughts of
_The Lady of Lynn_ out of everybody's mind. That toast was forgotten.
The news was brought by the doctor, who was the last to arrive.
It was an indication of the importance of our town that a physician
lived among us. He was the only physician in this part of the country:
he practised among the better sort, among the noble gentlemen of the
country round about Lynn and even further afield in the northern parts
of the shire, and among the substantial merchants of the town. For the
rest there were the apothecary, the barber and blood-letter, the
bone-setter, the herbalist and the wise woman. Many there were even
among the better sort who would rather consult the woman, who knew the
powers of every herb that grows, than the physician who would write
you out the prescription of Mithridates or some other outlandish name
composed of sixty or seventy ingredients. However, there is no doubt
that learning is a fine thing and that Galen knew more than the
ancient dames who sit in a bower of dried herbs and brew them into
nauseous drinks which pretend to cure all the diseases to which
mankind is liable.
Doctor Worship was a person who habitually carried himself with
dignity. His black dress, his white silk stockings, his gold shoe
buckles, the whiteness of his lace and linen, his huge wig, his
gold-headed cane with its pomander, proclaimed his calling, while the
shortness of his stature with the roundness of his figure, his double
chin, his thick lips and his fat nose all assisted him in the
maintenance of his dignity. His voice was full and deep, like the
voice of an organ and he spoke slowly. It has, I believe, been
remarked that dignity is more easily attained by a short fat man than
by one of a greater stature and thinner person.
At the very first appearance of the doctor this evening it was
understood that something had happened. For he had assumed an
increased importance that was phenomenal: he had swollen, so to speak:
he had become rounder and fuller in front. Everybody observed the
change: yes--he was certainly broader in the shoulders: he carried
himself with more than professional dignity: his wig had risen two
inches in the foretop and had descended four inches behind his back:
his coat was not the plain cloth which he wore habitually in the town
and at the tavern, but the black velvet which was reserved for those
occasions when he was summoned by a person of quality or one of the
county gentry, and he carried the gold-headed cane with the pomander
box which also belonged to those rare occasions.
"Gentlemen," he said, looking around the room slowly and with
emphasis, so that, taking his change of manner and of stature--for men
so seldom grow after fifty--and the emphasis with which he spoke and
looked, gathering together all eyes, caused the company to understand,
without any possibility of mistake, that something had happened of
great importance. In the old town of Lynn Regis it is not often that
anything happens. Ships, it is true, come and go; their departures and
their arrivals form the staple of the conversation: but an event,
apart from the ships, a surprise, is rare. Once, ten years before this
evening, a rumour of the kind which, as the journals say, awaits
confirmation, reached the town, that the French had landed in force
and were marching upon London. The town showed its loyalty by a
resolution to die in the last ditch: the resolution was passed by the
mayor over a bowl of punch; and though the report proved without
foundation the event remained historical: the loyalty and devotion of
the borough--the king's own borough--had passed through the fire of
peril. The thing was remembered. Since that event, nothing had
happened worthy of note. And now something more was about to happen:
the doctor's face was full of importance: he clearly brought great
news.
Great news, indeed; and news forerunning a time unheard of in the
chronicles of the town.
"Gentlemen," the doctor laid his hat upon the table and his cane
beside it. Then he took his chair, adjusted his wig, put on his
spectacles, and then, laying his hand upon the arms of the chair he
once more looked round the room, and all this in the most important,
dignified, provoking, interesting manner possible. "Gentlemen, I have
news for you."
As a rule this was a grave and a serious company: there was no
singing: there was no laughing: there was no merriment. They were the
seniors of the town: responsible persons; in authority and office:
substantial, as regards their wealth: full of dignity and of
responsibility. I have observed that the possession of wealth, much
more than years, is apt to invest a man with serious views. There was
little discourse because the opinions of every one were perfectly
well-known: the wind: the weather: the crops: the ships: the health or
the ailments of the company, formed the chief subjects of
conversation. The placid evenings quietly and imperceptibly rolled
away with some sense of festivity--in a tavern every man naturally
assumes some show of cheerfulness and at nine o'clock the assembly
dispersed.
Captain Crowle made answer, speaking in the name of the society, "Sir,
we await your pleasure."
"My news, gentlemen, is of a startling character. I will epitomise or
abbreviate it. In a word, therefore, we are all about to become rich."
Everybody sat upright. Rich? all to become rich? My father, who was
the master of the Grammar school, and the curate of St. Nicholas,
shook their heads like Thomas the Doubter.
"All you who have houses or property in this town: all who are
concerned in the trade of the town: all who direct the industries of
the people--or take care of the health of the residents--will become,
I say, rich." My father and the curate who were not included within
these limits, again shook their heads expressively but kept silence.
Nobody, of course, expects the master of the Grammar school, or a
curate, to become rich.
"We await your pleasure, sir," the captain repeated.
"Rich! you said that we were all to become rich," murmured the mayor,
who was supposed to be in doubtful circumstances. "If that were
true----"
"I proceed to my narrative." The doctor pulled out a pocketbook from
which he extracted a letter. "I have received," he went on, "a letter
from a townsman--the young man named Samuel Semple--Samuel Semple," he
repeated with emphasis, because a look of disappointment fell upon
every face.
"Sam Semple," growled the captain; "once I broke my stick across his
back." He did not, however, explain why he had done so. "I wish I had
broken two. What has Sam Semple to do with the prosperity of the
town?"
"You shall hear," said the doctor.
"He would bring a book of profane verse to church instead of the
Common Prayer," said the vicar.
"An idle rogue," said the mayor; "I sent him packing out of my
countinghouse."
"A fellow afraid of the sea," said another. "He might have become a
supercargo by this time."
"Yet not without some tincture of Greek," said the schoolmaster; "to
do him justice, he loved books."
"He made us subscribe a guinea each for his poems," said the vicar.
"Trash, gentlemen, trash! My copy is uncut."
"Yet," observed the curate of St. Nicholas, "in some sort perhaps, a
child of Parnassus. One of those, so to speak, born out of wedlock,
and, I fear me, of uncertain parentage among the Muses and
unacknowledged by any. There are many such as Sam Semple on that
inhospitable hill. Is the young man starving, doctor? Doth he solicit
more subscriptions for another volume? It is the way of the distressed
poet."
The doctor looked from one to the other with patience and even
resignation. They would be sorry immediately that they had offered so
many interruptions. When it seemed as if every one had said what he
wished to say, the doctor held up his hand and so commanded silence.