A Drake By George!
By
John Trevena
New York
Alfred A Knopf
MCMXVI
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. SOMETHING ABOUT THE FAMILY
II. EXHIBITION DAY AT WINDWARD HOUSE
III. THE CAPTAIN MAKES HISTORY
IV. CHANGES IN THE ESTABLISHMENT
V. GEORGE TACKLES THE LABOUR PROBLEM
VI. HONOURABLE INTENTIONS
VII. SCANDAL AND EXPOSURE
VIII. A TANGLED INHERITANCE
IX. A SUBTLE SINNER'S SUCCESS
X. THE FIRST PERSON SINGULAR PARAMOUNT
XI. SOME LEADING INCIDENTS
XII. A SPLENDID BARGAIN
XIII. WASPS AND OTHER WORRIES
XIV. THE GRABBERS
XV. A NEW HOUSE AND THE SAME OLD FURNITURE
XVI. GEORGE TAKES CONTROL
XVII. PLOUGHING THE GROUND
XVIII. SOWING THE SEED
XIX. REAPING THE HARVEST
XX. THE GLEANERS
CHAPTER I
SOMETHING ABOUT THE FAMILY
Rumour, introducing the newcomer as a celebrity, began to fly about
immediately Captain Drake appeared upon the scene and distinguished
himself not only by blocking the single narrow street of Highfield with
a presence weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, but by addressing
passing men, women, and children in a voice which sounded from the
church at the top of the hill to the post office at the bottom; top,
middle, and bottom being comparative terms when applied to the great
hills of Highfield. Rumour provoked excitement when it suggested legal
influences were at work about a couple of old semi-detached cottages
belonging to an absentee landlord. The man who found it necessary, on
account of his bulk and stentorian voice, to acquire two cottages would
have plenty of money; and wealth was much the shortest cut to fame that
Highfield knew of. Rumour passed into a condition almost hysterical when
builders arrived, demolished the two old cottages, erected a gabled
villa of suburban type, and set up against the street a massive
noticeboard, which looked as if it had been designed for some important
railway station; but instead of yielding such information as "Mazeworthy
Junction. Change for the Asylum," it bore the inscription, "Windward
House. Captain Francis Drake, Master."
Finally, three vanloads of furniture were dragged up the hill, and the
family arrived to take possession of the parish; for it became at once
evident that Captain Drake regarded himself as "old man" of the place,
the vicar as his sky pilot, and the male inhabitants as crushers,
jollies, flatfeet, and shellbacks, all of whom were amenable to his
discipline.
In any case the Captain was respected by everybody, whether they had the
privilege of knowing him or not--he was one of those men who had to be
known thoroughly and at once--when those vanloads of furniture drew up
alongside Windward House. Such fumed oak had never been seen before in
Highfield. There were vases from China, ivory images from India, living
trees of the forest in flower-pots from Japan, with curiosities from all
corners of the earth. There was also a large cage full of cats, another
cage of monkeys, yet another of parrots, and a giant tortoise, its
carapace completely covered with newspaper cuttings relating to the
numerous voyages of the old sailor who, in hours of leisure, had
committed to the Press columns of adventures wherein fiction was once
more proved to be far more interesting and instructive than truth. Birds
and beasts are not usually classed as furniture, but they were announced
as such in "the inventory of my possessions" duly posted upon the
noticeboard by the worthy Captain whose capacity for self-advertisement
was much too great for a little country parish.
The first visitor to step aboard Windward House was the Dismal Gibcat,
and he came as usual with a scowl and a grievance. The Dismal Gibcat
occupied a house about a mile from the village in the company of a wife
who was more dismal than himself; he called himself a gentleman in
reduced circumstances, and could spell the word embarrassed with ease;
he ruled the parish with his scowl, and spent all the money he could get
in enjoying lawsuits with his neighbours. This gentleman inquired for
Mister Drake with a fearful emphasis, and received the information that
the Admiral was shaving. But a door at the top of the stairs stood open,
and a moment later the master himself appeared in a state of fury, half
clothed and shouting tremendously, "Captain, you rascal! Captain Francis
Drake, late of the Mercantile Marine, descendant of the immortal
Admiral, author of 'Tortoises: and how to treat them,' 'Comments on
Cats,' part owner of the sailing ship _Topper_, now unfortunately lying
at the bottom of the Persian Gulf. Captain Francis Drake, always at the
service of the Admiralty, but never at the beck and call of geese and
asses."
"Willie, dear, you knew your name never was really Francis," called the
troubled voice of Mrs. Drake from somewhere in the parlour.
"Stand off the bridge, Maria. Don't argue with your superior officer,"
roared the Captain.
He carried a shaving brush which might have been mistaken for a mop;
and, as he brandished it, flakes of lather fell around like surf from a
tidal wave. His immense face resembled the Bay of Biscay in a gale; dark
and lowering above, masses of foam below. Removing the field of stubble
was a tempestuous operation at the best of times: members of the crew
kept apart from the quarterdeck, where the Captain gasped and struggled,
scattering lather upon pictures, cats, and furniture. The Dismal Gibcat
could not have pronounced his insult at a more unfavourable moment.
"I have called to tell you that board must be removed," he said rather
nervously; for he had begun to realize that his scowl was directed
against an individual who was not going to be reduced by it.
"You give sailing orders to me--tell me to hoist Blue Peter on my board!
How long have you been harbour-master?" the Captain shouted as he
crashed downstairs.
"We are proud of our scenery," continued the Dismal Gibcat. "That board
is an eyesore. It can be seen a mile away. It completely destroys the
local amenities, and, in my capacity as Chairman of the Parish Council,
I advise you to remove it at once."
"Local amenities are pretty little things, but they aren't half as good
as Englishmen's rights. It's a pity you didn't make a few inquiries
about Captain Francis Drake, at places where's he's known, before you
started on this little voyage of piracy. If you had found out something
about him, and his way with mutineers, you might ha' tossed up, heads I
don't go, tails I stay away. It's no use trying to scare me with rocks
what aren't marked upon the chart. I've cast anchor here, I've paid my
harbour dues. I've got notions about landscape what perhaps don't agree
with yours; but I reckon most passengers would rather find a moorage
opposite my signal station than sail half a knot with a face like yours.
You can drop overboard, Mister Jolly Roger--and take my local amenity
with you!"
So saying the Captain plunged his shaving brush full into the face of
the Dismal Gibcat and drove him discomfited from the premises. The same
evening he posted the following notice:
"Captain Francis Drake will be pleased to receive the names of all
parishioners who desire him to remove this board, in order that he may
attend to each grievance personally. He begs to notify friends and
neighbours that the parrots are shedding their feathers just now, also
that he possesses a barrel of tar. _Verbum sap._, and God save the
King!" The hint was sufficient, for the Dismal Gibcat had been seen upon
the road with his scowl so thoroughly lathered that it looked almost
like a grin. Not a complaint was received. Indeed the vicar went so far
as to declare the noticeboard was a distinct acquisition to Highfield.
Such was the beginning of the absolute monarchy of Captain William
Drake. He dethroned the Dismal Gibcat from his chairmanship and
converted the Parish Council into a monologue. He became vicar's
churchwarden, and kept the key of the church in his pocket. He
introduced a flower show, at which only vegetables were shown, judged
the exhibits himself with a tape measure, and awarded prizes according
to length and circumference. He collected money for the building of a
Parish Hall, where the inhabitants might assemble upon winter evenings,
to drink gassy liquors and listen to his yarns. His voice stormed
continually. Even when darkness had fallen, a muffled roar sounded from
Windward House, where Captain Drake would be reading the newspaper
aloud, denouncing every form of government, and declaring that nothing
sailed between the British Empire and disaster except the ships of the
mercantile marine. And during the night his snores sounded like distant
traffic, except when unable to sleep; and then he would sit up in bed
and sing hymns for those at sea, until cattle ran about the fields, and
cocks began to crow, and dogs set up a howl in every farmyard.
His untruthfulness, which harmed nobody, was due entirely to a powerful
imagination. Voice and body, alike tremendous, made him conceited to
such an extent that, had he been ushered into the presence of any
sovereign, except the King of England--whom he regarded as an equal--he
would perhaps have given Majesty permission to be seated, and might even
have encouraged him to speak with a certain amount of familiarity. After
having commanded a ship for a number of years, he was intolerant of even
the mildest form of opposition; while the knowledge that he had
succeeded in this life supplied him with an extra personality of
self-confidence.
His tyranny was quite a good thing for Highfield. It caused the
inhabitants to remember--and some to discover--there were other places
on the map no less important. It was responsible for certain
improvements, such as the introduction of telegrams and an evening post.
But it did not succeed in impressing upon the people the fairly obvious
fact that some other country would in time become so jealous of their
territory as to lay siege to the church, general store, and post office,
with the idea of breaking open poor-box and till, and escaping with
loose cash and stamps; for Highfield, being in the middle of Devonshire,
therefore at the centre of the universe, evinced a fine contempt for
foreign countries. Captain Drake was fond of his joke, but he simply
made a braying ass of himself when he declared other countries beside
England possessed a mighty army, although the same listeners were well
able to accept the statement that he had once adopted a mermaid.
On this single matter the Captain was a pessimist; and, as he believed
in appealing to the eye when the appeal to the ear failed, he prepared
and set up another noticeboard, upon which he had painted in large
letters with his own hand, "The enemy will be in Highfield tomorrow;"
and he whipped small boys who threw stones at it; and, when their
parents grumbled, he threatened to whip them too. The mild vicar
entirely lost his temper upon this occasion, and told the Captain
plainly he was stirring up evil passions in the parish and corrupting
the morals of the young.
"That board may tell a lie for a good many years; but it will speak the
truth at last," came the answer.
The family at Windward House consisted of the Captain and his wife,
their nephew George, with the two servants, Kezia and Bessie. Mrs. Drake
was a lady of substance, having spent by far the greater part of her
life in a position which, when not recumbent, had been sedentary: when
travelling with her husband the compartment they occupied had a
singularly crowded appearance. She and the Captain were devoted to each
other, in spite of the fact that he had not fallen in love with her
until he had made sure she did possess a comfortable income, even though
it was derived from trust funds in which she enjoyed a life interest
only.
"You commenced, my love, as the loadstone of my career," remarked the
Captain upon the occasion of their silver wedding, "and have continued
as the pole star of my existence."
Having no children, they adopted the son of the Captain's younger
brother, who had died at an early age, after having attempted almost
every form of livelihood, and trying none which did not make him poorer.
George was apparently making it his business in life to defeat this
record. He had occupied thirty years in seeking to discover the most
restful method of leaning against a wall, and the least embarrassing
manner of keeping the hands at ease within his trouser pockets. He had
been sent to school, but ran away. He had been exiled to Canada, but had
returned as a stowaway. He had been placed in business, but dismissed
at the end of a week. Mrs. Drake often wondered why George had been
created. Most human pegs can find a hole somewhere, but George was
neither square nor round; and shapeless holes are somehow not provided.
Kezia had entered Mrs. Drake's service at a very early age, and was
determined upon remaining with the family until the end. She knew
nothing about herself, except that she was a respectable person and
belonged to the Church of England. She did not know her age, but
believed she had been born in Exeter since the building of the
cathedral; for she recalled, as her earliest experience, falling upon
her face beside the west front of that building on a cold winter's day,
and being picked up by no less a person than the Dean, who had made a
joke about the ungodly and slippery places, which was published in a
local paper, quoted in the Press of the country as a witticism of the
Duke of Wellington, and translated into most of the European languages
in consequence. At all events, Kezia had belonged to the Church of
England ever since. She was not sure of her Christian name, but felt
certain it was Biblical, and rather fancied, "'twur one of Job's young
ladies;" and she did not oppose Mrs. Drake's preference for Kezia. Nor
did she know her surname, but had an idea her father had been called Tom
by his wives, of whom he had two; and, as she could remember two Mrs.
Toms, it seemed probable that the first had been her mother. She had
always got along very nicely without a surname, which was not nearly so
necessary to a woman as to a man: she really did not want one, unless
the man who belonged to it had a voice and figure like her dear admiral.
She had looked with enthusiasm upon that massive form, and had listened
in admiration to that mighty voice, until she felt that an ordinary man
with a normal voice would quickly make her dull and peevish.
Bessie had not yet become a person of importance. She was quite young,
fairly good looking, and still growing, which was alarming since she was
already out of proportion with the doors of Windward House. Neither she
nor her master made a dignified entry into the parlour; for Bessie had
to stoop, while the Captain was forced to turn sideways. Mrs. Drake just
fitted when nobody flustered her. Bessie knew the whole history of
herself and family; and was proud of the fact that her father owned a
fishing smack, while both her brothers would have entered the Navy had
they not suffered from an incurable tendency to reject rations at the
first rolling of the ship.
Now that the Captain was settled in the haven of Highfield, he had
solved all his difficulties except the one problem of finding a place in
the world for George. About twice a week he created a thunderstorm
about his nephew, who remained in the attitude of an admiring listener
until the tempest of tangled metaphor concerning starvation ahead,
rudderless vessels, and vagabonds begging their bread, had died away
along the village street; and then the cunning rascal would either place
a trembling hand to his forehead declaring he had not much longer to
live, or shuffle towards the door with the announcement that it might
just as well happen at once, and drowning was the best way he could
think of, as he could not afford to purchase fire-arms or poison;
besides, a watery grave was the proper ending for a Drake. He generally
added it was the man whom he venerated, the man who was content to
remain in a humble position when he should have been First Lord of the
Admiralty, the man who was the British Empire's principal asset--his
uncle--who had driven him to this. Then the Captain, who was a
soft-hearted old simpleton where his family was concerned, would take
George by the shoulders, press him into a chair, give him money to buy
tobacco which might ease his nerves, beg for his forgiveness, and behave
like a beneficent Providence until wind and weather were favourable for
the next thunderstorm.
As a matter of fact, the Captain loved his nephew, who supported his
opinions and flattered him continually. Besides, George was fond of
cats, and respected the monkeys, and would frequently take the tortoise
for a stroll. Mrs. Drake, on the other hand, made no secret of her
contempt for an able-bodied man who seemed to regard Windward House as
an hotel where he could receive board and lodging without payment. She
reminded George constantly she had no money to leave, and when she was
gone he would find himself dependent upon charity; but George would beg
her not to worry, as he had no intention of outliving anyone who was so
good to him. Mrs. Drake then stated that, in her opinion, he would in a
future state of existence be separated from his uncle and herself, and
for that alone he ought to feel ashamed. And George admitted he was
ashamed, but even an ever present sense of shame was better, he thought,
than a separation from his uncle and aunt in this life.
Mrs. Drake had a good reason for not insisting upon George's departure.
Doctors had warned her that the Captain's immense size was not a healthy
symptom: upon his last voyage he had been discovered unconscious in his
cabin; and although he declared subsequently this was nothing more than
a fit of exhaustion easily to be explained by his first mate's habit of
answering back, it was nevertheless accepted as a danger signal which
made retirement necessary. Even the unprofitable George might be of
service should a similar fit of exhaustion seize upon the Captain in his
house.