CAPTAIN KEARNEY'S ILLNESS--HE MAKES HIS WILL AND DEVISES SUNDRY
"CHATEAUX EN ESPAGNE," FOR THE BENEFIT OF THOSE CONCERNED--THE LEGACY
DUTY IN THIS INSTANCE NOT RUINOUS--HE SIGNS, SEALS, AND DIES.
The captain, as was his custom, went on shore, and took up his quarters
at a friend's house; that is to say, the house of an acquaintance, or
any polite gentleman who would ask him to take a dinner and a bed. This
was quite sufficient for Captain Kearney, who would fill his
portmanteau, and take up his quarters without thinking of leaving them
until the ship sailed, or some more advantageous invitation was given.
This conduct in England would have very much trespassed upon our ideas
of hospitality; but in our foreign settlements and colonies, where the
society is confined and novelty is desirable, a person who could amuse
like Captain Kearney was generally welcome, let him stay as long as he
pleased. All sailors agree in asserting that Halifax is one of the most
delightful ports in which a ship can anchor. Everybody is hospitable,
cheerful, and willing to amuse and be amused. It is, therefore, a very
bad place to send a ship to if you wish her to refit in a hurry, unless
indeed the admiral is there to watch over your daily progress, and a
sharp commissioner to expedite your motions in the dock-yard. The
admiral was there when we arrived, and we should not have lain there
long, had not the health of Captain Kearney, by the time that we were
ready for sea, been so seriously affected, that the doctor was of
opinion that he could not sail. Another frigate was sent to our
intended cruising ground, and we lay idle in port. But we consoled
ourselves: if we did not make prize-money, at all events, we were very
happy, and the major part of the officers very much in love.
We had remained in Halifax harbour about three weeks, when a very great
change for the worse took place in Captain Kearney's disease. Disease,
indeed, it could hardly be called. He had been long suffering from the
insidious attacks of a hot climate, and though repeatedly advised to
invalid, he never would consent. His constitution appeared now to be
breaking up. In a few days he was so ill, that, at the request of the
naval surgeons, he consented to be removed to the hospital, where he
could command more comforts than in any private house. He had not been
in the hospital more than two days, when he sent for me, and stated his
wish that I should remain with him. "You know, Peter, that you are a
cousin of mine, and one likes to have one's relations near one when we
are sick, so bring your traps on shore. The doctor has promised me a
nice little room for yourself, and you shall come and sit with me all
day." I certainly had no objection to remain with him, because I
considered it my duty so to do, and I must say that there was no
occasion for me to make any efforts to entertain him, as he always
entertained me; but I could not help seriously reflecting, and feeling
much shocked, at a man, lying in so dangerous a state--for the doctors
had pronounced his recovery to be impossible--still continuing a system
of falsehood during the whole day, without intermission. But it really
appeared to him to be innate; and, as Swinburne said, "if he told truth,
it was entirely by mistake."
"Peter," said he, one day, "there's a great draught. Shut the door and
put on some more coals."
"The fire does not draw well, sir," replied I, "without the door is
open."
"It's astonishing how little people understand the nature of these
things. When I built my house called Welcot Abbey, there was not a
chimney would draw; I sent for the architect and abused him, but he
could not manage it; I was obliged to do it myself."
"Did you manage it, sir?"
"Manage it--I think I did. The first time I lighted the fire, I opened
the door, and the draught was so great, that my little boy William, who
was standing in the current of air, would have gone right up the
chimney, if I had not caught him by the petticoats; as it was, his frock
was on fire."
"Why, sir, it must have been as bad as a hurricane!"
"No, no, not quite so bad--but it showed what a little knowledge of
philosophical arrangement could effect. We have no hurricanes in
England, Peter; but I have seen a very pretty whirlwind when I was at
Welcot Abbey."
"Indeed, sir."
"Yes, it cut four square haystacks quite round, and I lost twenty tons
of hay; it twisted the iron lamppost at the entrance just as a porpoise
twists a harpoon, and took up a sow and her litter of pigs that were
about a hundred yards from the back of the house, and landed them safe
over the house, to the front, with the exception of the old sow putting
her shoulder out."
"Indeed, sir."
"Yes, but what was strange, there were a great many rats in the hayrick,
and up they went with the hay. Now, Peter, by the laws of gravitation,
they naturally came down before the hay, and I was walking with my
greyhound, or rather terrier, and after one coming down close to her,
which she killed, it was quite ridiculous to notice her looking up in
the air, and watching for the others."
"A greyhound did you say, sir, or a terrier?"
"Both, Peter: the fact is, she had been a greyhound, but breaking her
fore-leg against a stump, when coursing, I had the other three amputated
as well, and then she made a capital terrier. She was a great favourite
of mine."
"Well," observed I, "I have read something like that in Baron
Munchausen."
"Mr Simple," said the captain, turning on his elbow and looking me
severely in the face, "what do you mean to imply?"
"O nothing, sir, but I have read a story of that kind."
"Most probably; the great art of invention is to found it upon facts.
There are some people who out of a mole-hill will make a mountain; and
facts and fiction become so blended now-a-days, that even truth becomes
a matter of doubt."
"Very true, sir," replied I; and as he did not speak for some minutes, I
ventured to bring my Bible to his bedside, as if I were reading it to
myself.
"What are you reading, Peter?" said he.
"Only a chapter in the Bible, sir," said I. "Would you like that I
should read aloud?"
"Yes, I'm very fond of the Bible--it's the book of _truth_. Peter, read
me about Jacob, and his weathering Esau with a mess of pottage, and
obtaining his father's blessing." I could not help thinking it singular
that he should select a portion in which, for divine reasons, a lie was
crowned with such success and reward.
When I had finished it, he asked me to read something more; I turned
over to the Acts of the Apostles, and commenced the chapter in which
Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead. When I had finished, he observed
very seriously, "That is a very good lesson for young people, Peter, and
points out that you never should swerve from the truth. Recollect, as
your motto, Peter, to `tell truth and shame the devil.'"
After this observation I laid down the book, as it appeared to me that
he was quite unaware of his propensity; and without a sense of your
fault, how can repentance and amendment be expected? He became more
feeble and exhausted every day, and at last was so weak that he could
scarcely raise himself in his bed. One afternoon he said, "Peter, I
shall make my will, not that I am going to kick the bucket just yet; but
still it is every man's duty to set his house in order, and it will
amuse me: so fetch pen and paper, and come and sit down by me."