Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Three Cutters, by Captain Marryat.
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Captain Frederick Marryat was born July 10 1792, and died August 8 1848.
He retired from the British navy in 1828 in order to devote himself to
writing. In the following 20 years he wrote 26 books, many of which are
among the very best of English literature, and some of which are still
in print.
Marryat had an extraordinary gift for the invention of episodes in his
stories. He says somewhere that when he sat down for the day's work, he
never knew what he was going to write. He certainly was a literary
genius.
"The Three Cutters" was published in 1836, the tenth book to flow from
Marryat's pen.
This e-book was transcribed in 1998 by Nick Hodson, and was reformatted
in 2003, and again in 2005.
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THE THREE CUTTERS, BY CAPTAIN FREDERICK MARRYAT.
CHAPTER ONE.
CUTTER THE FIRST.
Reader, have you ever been at Plymouth? If you have, your eye must have
dwelt with ecstasy upon the beautiful property of the Earl of Mount
Edgcumbe: if you have not been at Plymouth, the sooner that you go there
the better. At Mount Edgcumbe you will behold the finest timber in
existence, towering up to the summits of the hills, and feathering down
to the shingle on the beach. And from this lovely spot you will witness
one of the most splendid panoramas in the world. You will see--I hardly
know what you will not see--you will see Ram Head, and Cawsand Bay; and
then you will see the Breakwater, and Drake's Island, and the Devil's
Bridge below you; and the town of Plymouth and its fortifications, and
the Hoe; and then you will come to the Devil's Point, round which the
tide runs devilish strong; and then you will see the New Victualling
Office,--about which Sir James Gordon used to stump all day, and take a
pinch of snuff from every man who carried a box, which all were
delighted to give, and he was delighted to receive, proving how much
pleasure may be communicated merely by a pinch of snuff; and then you
will see Mount Wise and Mutton Cove; the town of Devonport; with its
magnificent dockyard and arsenals, North Corner, and the way which leads
to Saltash. And you will see ships building and ships in ordinary; and
ships repairing and ships fitting; and hulks and convict ships, and the
guard-ship; ships ready to sail and ships under sail; besides lighters,
men-of-war's boats, dockyard-boats, bum-boats, and shore-boats. In
short, there is a great deal to see at Plymouth besides the sea itself:
but what I particularly wish now is, that you will stand at the battery
of Mount Edgcumbe and look into Barn Pool below you, and there you will
see, lying at single anchor, a cutter; and you may also see, by her
pendant and ensign, that she is a yacht.
Of all the amusements entered into by the nobility and gentry of our
island there is not one so manly, so exciting, so patriotic, or so
national, as yacht-sailing. It is peculiar to England, not only for our
insular position and our fine harbours, but because it requires a
certain degree of energy and a certain amount of income rarely to be
found elsewhere. It has been wisely fostered by our sovereigns, who
have felt that the security of the kingdom is increased by every man
being more or less a sailor, or connected with the nautical profession.
It is an amusement of the greatest importance to the country, as it has
much improved our ship-building and our ship-fitting, while it affords
employment to our seamen and shipwrights. But if I were to say all that
I could say in praise of yachts, I should never advance with my
narrative. I shall therefore drink a bumper to the health of Admiral
Lord Yarborough and the Yacht Club, and proceed.
You observe that this yacht is cutter-rigged, and that she sits
gracefully on the smooth water. She is just heaving up her anchor; her
foresail is loose, all ready to cast her--in a few minutes she will be
under way. You see that there are ladies sitting at the taffrail; and
there are five haunches of venison hanging over the stern. Of all
amusements, give me yachting. But we must go on board. The deck, you
observe, is of narrow deal planks as white as snow; the guns are of
polished brass; the bitts and binnacles of mahogany: she is painted with
taste; and all the mouldings are gilded. There is nothing wanting; and
yet how clear and unencumbered are her decks! Let us go below. There
is the ladies' cabin: can anything be more tasteful or elegant? Is it
not luxurious? And, although so small, does not its very confined space
astonish you, when you view so many comforts so beautifully arranged?
This is the dining-room, and where the gentlemen repair. What can be
more complete or _recherche_? And just peep into their state-rooms and
bed-places. Here is the steward's room and the beaufet: the steward is
squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and
by the side of the pail the long-corks are ranged up, all ready. Now,
let us go forwards: here are, the men's berths, not confined as in a
man-of-war. No! Luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost, even
at the fore-peak. This is the kitchen; is it not admirably arranged?
What a _multum in parvo_! And how delightful are the fumes of the
turtle-soup! At sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for
roughing it out, give me a _yacht_. Now that I have shown you round the
vessel, I must introduce the parties on board.
You observe that florid, handsome man, in white trousers and blue
jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and is sipping a glass of
brandy and water which he has just taken off the skylight. That is the
owner of the vessel, and a member of the Yacht Club. It is Lord B---:
he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet I have
seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the House of Lords.
The one near to him is Mr Stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. He holds
on by the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed
all his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing
in them. He is a _protege_ of Lord B---, and is now on board as
sailing-master of the yacht.
That handsome, well-built man, who is standing by the binnacle, is a Mr
Hautaine. He served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did not
like it. He then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not
like it. He then married, and in a much shorter probation found that he
did not like that. But he is very fond of yachts and other men's wives,
if he does not like his own; and wherever he goes, he is welcome.
That young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves,
bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a Mr Vaughan. He is to be
seen at Almack's, at Crockford's, and everywhere else. Everybody knows
him, and he knows everybody. He is a little in debt, and yachting is
convenient.
The one who sits by the lady is a relation of Lord B---; you see at once
what he is. He apes the sailor; he has not shaved, because sailors have
no time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because
sailors cannot change every day. He has a cigar in his mouth, which
makes him half sick and annoys his company. He talks of the pleasure of
a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below--and then they will
not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. He has the
misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a _fool_. His name
is Ossulton.
The last of the gentlemen on board whom I have to introduce is Mr
Seagrove. He is slightly made, with marked features full of
intelligence. He has been brought up to the bar; and has every
qualification but application. He has never had a brief, nor has he a
chance of one. He is the fiddler of the company, and he has locked up
his chambers and come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board
of his yacht.
I have yet to describe the ladies--perhaps I should have commenced with
them--I must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the best to
the last. All puppet-showmen do so: and what is this but the first
scene in my puppet-show?
We will describe them according to seniority. That tall, thin,
cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to Lord B---.
She has been persuaded, very much against her will, to come on board;
but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark under
the protection of only her father. She is frightened at everything: if
a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries, "Oh!" if on
the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below, and
there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and if it be
perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. She fidgets
herself and everybody, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and
ill-humour; but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices
herself as a martyr. She is the Hon. Miss Ossulton.
The lady who, when she smiles, shows so many dimples in her pretty oval
face, is a young widow of the name of Lascelles. She married an old man
to please her father and mother, which was very dutiful on her part.
She was rewarded by finding herself a widow with a large fortune.
Having married the first time to please her parents, she intends now to
marry to please herself; but she is very young, and is in no hurry.
That young lady with such a sweet expression of countenance is the Hon.
Miss Cecilia Ossulton. She is lively, witty, and has no fear in her
composition; but she is very young yet, not more than seventeen--and
nobody knows what she really is--she does not know herself. These are
the parties who meet in the cabin of the yacht. The crew consist of ten
fine seamen, the steward and the cook. There is also Lord B---'s valet,
Mr Ossulton's gentleman, and the lady's-maid of Miss Ossulton. There
not being accommodation for them, the other servants have been left on
shore.
The yacht is now under way, and her sails are all set. She is running
between Drake's Island and the main. Dinner has been announced. As the
reader has learnt something about the preparations, I leave him to judge
whether it be not very pleasant to sit down to dinner in a yacht. The
air has given everybody an appetite; and it was not until the cloth was
removed that the conversation became general.
"Mr Seagrove," said his lordship, "you very nearly lost your passage; I
expected you last Thursday."
"I am sorry, my lord, that business prevented my sooner attending to
your lordship's kind summons."
"Come, Seagrove, don't be nonsensical," said Hautaine; "you told me
yourself, the other evening, when you were talkative, that you had never
had a brief in your life."
"And a very fortunate circumstance," replied Seagrove; "for if I had had
a brief I should not have known what to have done with it. It is not my
fault; I am fit for nothing but a commissioner. But still I had
business, and very important business, too. I was summoned by Ponsonby
to go with him to Tattersall's, to give my opinion about a horse he
wishes to purchase, and then to attend him to Forest Wild to plead his
cause with his uncle."
"It appears, then, that you were retained," replied Lord B---; "may I
ask you whether your friend gained his cause?"
"No, my lord, he lost his cause, but he gained a suit."
"Expound your riddle, sir," said Cecilia Ossulton.
"The fact is, that old Ponsonby is very anxious that William should
marry Miss Percival, whose estates join on to Forest Wild. Now, my
friend William is about as fond of marriage as I am of law, and thereby
issue was joined."
"But why were you to be called in?" inquired Mrs Lascelles.
"Because, madam, as Ponsonby never buys a horse without consulting me--"
"I cannot see the analogy, sir," observed Miss Ossulton, senior,
bridling up.
"Pardon me, madam: the fact is," continued Seagrove, "that, as I always
have to back Ponsonby's horses, he thought it right that, in this
instance, I should back him; he required special pleading, but his uncle
tried him for the capital offence, and he was not allowed counsel. As
soon as we arrived, and I had bowed myself into the room, Mr Ponsonby
bowed me out again--which would have been infinitely more jarring to my
feelings, had not the door been left a-jar."
"Do anything but pun, Seagrove," interrupted Hautaine.
"Well, then, I will take a glass of wine."
"Do so," said his lordship; "but recollect the whole company are
impatient for your story."
"I can assure you, my lord, that it was equal to any scene in a comedy."
Now be it observed that Mr Seagrove had a great deal of comic talent;
he was an excellent mimic, and could alter his voice almost as he
pleased. It was a custom of his to act a scene as between other people,
and he performed it remarkably well. Whenever he said that anything he
was going to narrate was "as good as a comedy," it was generally
understood by those who were acquainted with him that he was to be asked
so to do. Cecilia Ossulton therefore immediately said, "Pray act it,
Mr Seagrove."
Upon which, Mr Seagrove--premising that he had not only heard, but also
seen all that passed--changing his voice, and suiting the action to the
word, commenced.
"It may," said he, "be called:--
"FIVE THOUSAND ACRES IN A RING-FENCE."
We shall not describe Mr Seagrove's motions; they must be inferred from
his words.
"`It will, then, William,' observed Mr Ponsonby, stopping, and turning
to his nephew, after a rapid walk up and down the room with his hands
behind him under his coat, so as to allow the tails to drop their
perpendicular about three inches clear of his body, `I may say, without
contradiction, be the finest property in the country--five thousand
acres in a ring-fence.'
"`I dare say it will, uncle,' replied William, tapping his foot as he
lounged in a green morocco easy-chair; `and so, because you have set
your fancy upon having these two estates enclosed together in a
ring-fence, you wish that I should also be enclosed in a ring-fence.'
"`And a beautiful property it will be,' replied Mr Ponsonby.
"`Which, uncle? The estate or the wife?'
"`Both, nephew, both; and I expect your consent.'
"`Uncle, I am not avaricious. Your present property is sufficient for
me. With your permission, instead of doubling the property, and
doubling myself, I will remain your sole heir, and single.'
"`Observe, William, such an opportunity may not occur again for
centuries. We shall restore Forest Wild to its ancient boundaries. You
know it has been divided nearly two hundred years. We now have a
glorious, golden opportunity of re-uniting the two properties; and when
joined, the estate will be exactly what it was when granted to our
ancestors by Henry the Eighth, at the period of the Reformation. This
house must be pulled down, and the monastery left standing. Then we
shall have our own again, and the property without encumbrance.'
"`Without encumbrance, uncle! You forget that, there will be a wife.'
"`And you forget that there will be five thousand acres in a
ring-fence.'
"`Indeed, uncle, you ring it too often in my ears that I should forget
it. But, much as I should like to be the happy possessor of such a
property, I do not feel inclined to be the happy possessor of Miss
Percival; and the more so, as I have never seen the property.'
"`We will ride over it to-morrow, William.'
"`Ride over Miss Percival, uncle! That will not be very gallant. I
will, however, one of these days ride over the property with you, which,
as well as Miss Percival, I have not as yet seen.'
"`Then I can tell you she is a very pretty property.'
"`If she were not in a ring-fence.'
"`In good heart, William. That is, I mean an excellent disposition.'
"`Valuable in matrimony.'
"`And well tilled--I should say well educated--by her three maiden
aunts, who are the patterns of propriety.'
"`Does any one follow the fashion?'
"`In a high state of cultivation; that is, her mind highly cultivated,
and according to the last new system--what is it?'
"`A four-course shift, I presume,' replied William, laughing; `that is,
dancing, singing, music, and drawing.'
"`And only seventeen! Capital soil, promising good crops. What would
you have more?'
"`A very pretty estate, uncle, if it were not the estate of matrimony.
I am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you; but I must decline taking a
lease of it for life.'
"`Then, sir, allow me to hint to you that in my testament you are only a
tenant-at-will. I consider it a duty that I owe to the family that the
estate should be re-united. That can only be done by one of our family
marrying Miss Percival; and as you will not, I shall now write to your
cousin James, and if he accept my proposal, shall make _him_ my heir.
Probably he will more fully appreciate the advantages of five thousand
acres in a ring-fence.'
"And Mr Ponsonby directed his steps towards the door.
"`Stop, my dear uncle,' cried William, rising up from his easy-chair;
`we do not quite understand one another. It is very true that I would
prefer half the property and remaining single, to the two estates and
the estate of marriage; but at the same time I did not tell you that I
would prefer beggary to a wife and five thousand acres in a ring-fence.
I know you to be a man of your word. I accept your proposal, and you
need not put my cousin James to the expense of postage.'
"`Very good, William; I require no more: and as I know you to be a man
of your word, I shall consider this match as settled. It was on this
account only that I sent for you, and now you may go back again as soon
as you please. I will let you know when all is ready.'
"`I must be at Tattersall's on Monday, uncle; there is a horse I must
have for next season. Pray, uncle, may I ask when you are likely to
want me?'
"`Let me see--this is May--about July, I should think.'
"`July, uncle! Spare me--I cannot marry in the dog-days. No, hang it!
Not July.'
"`Well, William, perhaps, as you must come down once or twice to see the
property--Miss Percival, I should say--it may be too soon--suppose we
put it off till October.'
"`October--I shall be down at Melton.'
"`Pray, sir, may I then inquire what portion of the year is not, with
you, _dog_-days?'
"`Why, uncle, next April, now--I think that would do.'
"`Next April! Eleven months, and a winter between. Suppose Miss
Percival was to take a cold and die.'
"`I should be excessively obliged to her,' thought William.
"`No! No!' continued Mr Ponsonby: `there is nothing certain in this
world, William.'
"`Well, then, uncle, suppose we arrange it for the first _hard frost_.'
"`We have had no hard frosts, lately, William. We may wait for years.
The sooner it is over the better. Go back to town, buy your horse, and
then come down here, my dear William, to oblige your uncle--never mind
the dog-days.'
"`Well, sir, if I am to make a sacrifice, it shall not be done by
halves; out of respect for you I will even marry in July, without any
regard to the thermometer.'
"`You are a good boy, William. Do you want a cheque?'
"`I have had one to-day,' thought William, and was almost at fault. `I
shall be most thankful, sir--they sell horse-flesh by the ounce
now-a-days.'
"`And you pay in pounds. There, William.'
"`Thank you, sir, I'm all obedience; and I'll keep my word, even if
there should be a comet. I'll go and buy the horse, and then I shall be
ready to take the ring-fence as soon as you please.'
"`Yes, and you'll get over it cleverly, I've no doubt. Five thousand
acres, William, and--a pretty wife!'
"`Have you any further commands, uncle?' said William, depositing the
cheque in his pocket-book.
"`None, my dear boy: are you going?'
"`Yes, sir; I dine at the Clarendon.'
"`Well, then, good-bye. Make my compliments and excuses to your friend
Seagrove. You will come on Tuesday or Wednesday.'
"Thus was concluded the marriage between William Ponsonby and Emily
Percival, and the junction of the two estates, which formed together the
great desideratum--_five thousand acres in a ring-fence_."
Mr Seagrove finished, and he looked round for approbation.
"Very good, indeed, Seagrove," said his lordship; "you must take a glass
of wine after that."
"I would not give much for Miss Percival's chance of happiness,"
observed the elder Miss Ossulton.
"Of two evils choose the least, they say," observed Mr Hautaine. "Poor
Ponsonby could not help himself."
"That's a very polite observation of yours, Mr Hautaine--I thank you in
the name of the sex," replied Cecilia Ossulton.
"Nay, Miss Ossulton; would you like to marry a person whom you never
saw?"
"Most certainly not; but when you mentioned the two evils, Mr Hautaine,
I appeal to your honour, did you not refer to marriage or beggary?"
"I must confess it, Miss Ossulton; but it is hardly fair to call on my
honour to get me into a scrape."
"I only wish that the offer had been made to me," observed Vaughan; "I
should not have hesitated as Ponsonby did."
"Then I beg you will not think of proposing for me," said Mrs
Lascelles, laughing; for Mr Vaughan had been excessively attentive.
"It appears to me, Vaughan," observed Seagrove, "that you have slightly
committed yourself by that remark."
Vaughan, who thought so too, replied: "Mrs Lascelles must be aware that
I was only joking."
"Fie! Mr Vaughan," cried Cecilia Ossulton; "you know it came from your
heart."
"My dear Cecilia," said the elder Miss Ossulton, "you forget yourself--
what can you possibly know about gentlemen's hearts?"
"The Bible says that they are `deceitful and desperately wicked,' aunt."
"And cannot we also quote the Bible against your sex, Miss Ossulton?"
replied Seagrove.
"Yes, you could, perhaps, if any of you had ever read it," replied Miss
Ossulton, carelessly.
"Upon my word, Cissy, you are throwing the gauntlet down to the
gentlemen," observed Lord B---; "but I shall throw my warder down, and
not permit this combat _a l'outrance_.--I perceive you drink no more
wine, gentlemen, we will take our coffee on deck."
"We were just about to retire, my lord," observed the elder Miss
Ossulton, with great asperity: "I have been trying to catch the eye of
Mrs Lascelles for some time, but--"
"I was looking another way, I presume," interrupted Mrs Lascelles,
smiling.
"I am afraid that I am the unfortunate culprit," said Mr Seagrove. "I
was telling a little anecdote to Mrs Lascelles--"
"Which, of course, from its being communicated in an undertone, was not
proper for all the company to hear," replied the elder Miss Ossulton;
"but if Mrs Lascelles is now ready," continued she, bridling up, as she
rose from her chair.
"At all events, I can hear the remainder of it on deck," replied Mrs
Lascelles. The ladies rose and went into the cabin, Cecilia and Mrs
Lascelles exchanging very significant smiles as they followed the
precise spinster, who did not choose that Mrs Lascelles should take the
lead merely because she had once happened to have been married. The
gentlemen also broke up, and went on deck.
"We have a nice breeze now, my lord," observed Mr Stewart, who had
remained on deck, "and we lie right up Channel."
"So much the better," replied his lordship; "we ought to have been
anchored at Cowes a week ago. They will all be there before us."
"Tell Mr Simpson to bring me a light for my cigar," said Mr Ossulton
to one of the men.
Mr Stewart went down to his dinner; the ladies and the coffee came on
deck: the breeze was fine, the weather (it was April) almost warm; and
the yacht, whose name was the _Arrow_, assisted by the tide, soon left
the Mewstone far astern.
CHAPTER TWO.
CUTTER THE SECOND.
Reader, have you ever been at Portsmouth? If you have, you must have
been delighted with the view from the saluting battery; and if you have
not you had better go there as soon as you can. From the saluting
battery you may look up the harbour, and see much of what I have
described at Plymouth; the scenery is different, but similar arsenals
and dockyards, and an equal portion of our stupendous navy are to be
found there; and you will see Gosport on the other side of the harbour,
and Sallyport close to you; besides a great many other places, which,
from the saluting battery, you cannot see. And then there is Southsea
Beach to your left. Before you, Spithead, with the men-of-war, and the
Motherbank crowded with merchant vessels; and there is the buoy where
the _Royal George_ was wrecked and where she still lies, the fish
swimming in and out of her cabin windows but that is not all; you can
also see the Isle of Wight,--Ryde with its long wooden pier, and Cowes,
where the yachts lie. In fact there is a great deal to be seen at
Portsmouth as well as at Plymouth; but what I wish you particularly to
see just now is a vessel holding fast to the buoy just off the saluting
battery. She is a cutter; and you may know that she belongs to the
Preventive Service by the number of gigs and galleys which she has
hoisted up all round her. She looks like a vessel that was about to
sail with a cargo of boats; two on deck, one astern, one on each side of
her. You observe that she is painted black, and all her boats are
white. She is not such an elegant vessel as the yacht, and she is much
more lumbered up. She has no haunches of venison hanging over the
stern! But I think there is a leg of mutton and some cabbages hanging
by their stalks. But revenue-cutters are not yachts. You will find no
turtle or champagne; but, nevertheless, you will, perhaps, find a joint
to carve at, a good glass of grog, and a hearty welcome.
Let us go on board. You observe the guns are iron, and painted black,
and her bulwarks are painted red; it is not a very becoming colour, but
then it lasts a long while, and the dockyard is not very generous on the
score of paint--or lieutenants of the navy troubled with much spare
cash. She has plenty of men, and fine men they are; all dressed in red
flannel shirts and blue trousers; some of them have not taken off their
canvas or tarpaulin petticoats, which are very useful to them, as they
are in the boats night and day, and in all weathers. But we will at
once go down into the cabin, where we shall find the lieutenant who
commands her, a master's mate, and a midshipman. They have each their
tumbler before them, and are drinking gin-toddy, hot, with sugar--
capital gin, too, 'bove proof; it is from that small anker standing
under the table. It was one that they forgot to return to the
custom-house when they made their last seizure. We must introduce them.
The elderly personage, with grizzly hair and whiskers, a round pale
face, and a somewhat red nose (being too much in the wind will make the
nose red, and this old officer is very often "in the wind," of course,
from the very nature of his profession), is a Lieutenant Appleboy. He
has served in every class of vessel in the service, and done the duty of
first-lieutenant for twenty years; he is now on promotion--that is to
say, after he has taken a certain number of tubs of gin, he will be
rewarded with his rank as commander. It is a pity that what he takes
inside of him does not count, for he takes it morning, noon, and night.
He is just filling his fourteenth glass; he always keeps a regular
account, as he never exceeds his limited number, which is seventeen;
then he is exactly down to his bearings.
The master's mate's name is Tomkins; he has served his six years three
times over, and has now outgrown his ambition; which is fortunate for
him, as his chances of promotion are small. He prefers a small vessel
to a large one, because he is not obliged to be so particular in his
dress--and looks for his lieutenancy whenever there shall be another
charity promotion. He is fond of soft bread, for his teeth are all
absent without leave; he prefers porter to any other liquor, but he can
drink his glass of grog, whether it be based upon rum, brandy or the
liquor now before him.
Mr Smith is the name of that young gentleman whose jacket is so out at
the elbows; he has been intending to mend it these last two months; but
is too lazy to go to his chest for another. He has been turned out of
half the ships in the service for laziness; but he was born so--and
therefore it is not his fault. A revenue-cutter suits him, she is half
her time hove to; and he has no objection to boat-service, as he sits
down always in the stern-sheets, which is not fatiguing. Creeping for
tubs is his delight, as he gets over so little ground. He is fond of
grog, but there is some trouble in carrying the tumbler so often to his
mouth; so he looks at it, and lets it stand. He says little because he
is too lazy to speak. He has served more than _eight years_; but as for
passing--it has never come into his head. Such are the three persons
who are now sitting in the cabin of the revenue-cutter, drinking hot
gin-toddy.
"Let me see, it was, I think, in ninety-three or ninety-four. Before
you were in the service, Tomkins--"
"Maybe, sir; it's so long ago since I entered, that I can't recollect
dates--but this I know, that my aunt died three days before."
"Then the question is, when did your aunt die?"
"Oh! She died about a year after my uncle."
"And when did your uncle die?"
"I'll be hanged if I know!"
"Then, d'ye see, you've no departure to work from. However, I think you
cannot have been in the service at that time. We were not quite so
particular about uniform as we are now."
"Then I think the service was all the better for it. Now-a-days, in
your crack ships, a mate has to go down in the hold or spirit-room, and
after whipping up fifty empty casks, and breaking out twenty full ones,
he is expected to come on quarter-deck as clean as if he was just come
out of a band-box."
"Well, there's plenty of water alongside, as far as the outward man
goes, and iron dust is soon brushed off. However, as you say, perhaps a
little too much is expected; at least, in five of the ships in which I
was first-lieutenant, the captain was always hauling me over the coals
about the midshipmen not dressing properly, as if I was their dry-nurse.
I wonder what Captain Prigg would have said if he had seen such a
turn-out as you, Mr Smith, on his quarter-deck."
"I should have had one turn-out more," drawled Smith.
"With your out-at-elbows jacket, there, eh!" continued Mr Appleboy.
Smith turned up his elbows, looked at one and then at the other; after
so fatiguing an operation, he was silent.
"Well, where was I? Oh! It was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as I
said that it happened--Tomkins, fill your glass and hand me the sugar--
how do I get on? This is Number 15," said Appleboy, counting some white
lines on the table by him; and taking up a piece of chalk, he marked one
more line on his tally. "I don't think this is so good a tub as the
last, Tomkins, there's a twang about it--a want of juniper; however, I
hope, we shall have better luck this time. Of course you know we sail
to-morrow?"
"I presume so, by the leg of mutton coming on board."
"True--true; I'm regular--as clock-work. After being twenty years a
first-lieutenant one gets a little method. I like regularity. Now the
admiral has never omitted asking me to dinner once, every time I have
come into harbour, except this time. I was so certain of it, that I
never expected to sail; and I have but two shirts clean in consequence."
"That's odd, isn't it?--and the more so, because he has had such great
people down here, and has been giving large parties every day."
"And yet I made three seizures, besides sweeping up those thirty-seven
tubs."
"I swept them up," observed Smith.
"That's all the same thing, _younker_. When you've been a little longer
in the service, you'll find out that the commanding officer has the
merit of all that is done; but you're _green_ yet. Let me see, where
was I? Oh!--It was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as I said. At
that time I was in the Channel fleet--Tomkins, I'll trouble you for the
hot water; this water's cold. Mr Smith, do me the favour to ring the
bell.--Jem, some more hot water."
"Please, sir," said Jem, who was bare-footed as well as bare-headed,
touching his lock of hair on his forehead, "the cook had capsized the
kettle--but he has put more on."
"Capsized the kettle! Hah!--very well--we'll talk about that to-morrow.
Mr Tomkins, do me the favour to put him in the report: I may forget
it. And pray, sir, how long is it since he has put more on?"
"Just this moment, sir, as I came aft."
"Very well, we'll see to that to-morrow. You bring the kettle aft as
soon as it is ready. I say, Mr Jem, is that fellow sober?"
"Yees, sir, he be sober as you be."
"It's quite astonishing what a propensity the common sailors have to
liquor. Forty odd years have I been in the service, and I've never
found any difference. I only wish I had a guinea for every time that I
have given a fellow seven-water grog during my servitude as
first-lieutenant, I wouldn't call the king my cousin. Well, if there's
no hot water, we must take lukewarm; it won't do to heave-to. By the
Lord Harry! Who would have thought it?--I'm at number sixteen! Let me
count, yes!--surely I must have made a mistake. A fact, by Heaven!"
continued Mr Appleboy, throwing the chalk down on the table. "Only one
more glass, after this; that is, if I have counted right--I may have
seen double."
"Yes," drawled Smith.
"Well, never mind. Let's go on with my story. It was either in the
year ninety-three or ninety-four that I was in the Channel fleet: we
were then abreast of Torbay--"
"Here be the hot water, sir," cried Jem, putting the kettle down on the
deck.
"Very well, boy. By-the-bye, has the jar of butter come on board?"
"Yes, but it broke all down the middle. I tied him up with a ropeyarn."
"Who broke it, sir?"
"Coxswain says as how he didn't."
"But who did, sir."
"Coxswain handed it up to Bill Jones, and he says as how he didn't."
"But who did, sir."
"Bill Jones gave it to me, and I'm sure as how I didn't."
"Then who did, sir, I ask you."
"I think it be Bill Jones, sir, 'cause he's fond of butter, I know, and
there be very little left in the jar."
"Very well, we'll see to that to-morrow morning. Mr Tomkins, you'll
oblige me by putting the butter-jar down in the report, in case it
should slip my memory. Bill Jones, indeed, looks as if butter wouldn't
melt in his mouth. Never mind. Well, it was, as I said before--it was
in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, when I was in the Channel
fleet; we were then off Torbay, and had just taken two reefs in the
top-sails. Stop--before I go on with my story, I'll take my last glass;
I think it's the last--let me count. Yes, by heavens! I make out
sixteen, all told. Never mind, it shall be a stiff one. Boy, bring the
kettle, and mind you don't pour the hot water into my shoes, as you did
the other night. There, that will do. Now, Tomkins, fill up yours; and
you, Mr Smith. Let us all start fair, and then you shall have my
story--and a very curious one it is, I can tell you, I wouldn't have
believed it myself, if I hadn't seen it. Hilloa! What's this?
Confound it! What's the matter with the toddy? Heh, Mr Tomkins?"
Mr Tomkins tasted; but, like the lieutenant, he had made it very stiff;
and, as he had also taken largely before, he was, like him, not quite so
clear in his discrimination. "It has a queer _twang_, sir: Smith, what
is it?"
Smith took up his glass, tasted the contents.
"_Salt-water_," drawled the midshipman.
"Salt-water! So it is by heavens!" cried Mr Appleboy.
"Salt as Lot's wife! By all that's infamous!" cried the master's mate.
"Salt-water, sir!" cried Jem in a fright, expecting a _salt_ eel for
supper.
"Yes, sir," replied Mr Appleboy, tossing the contents of the tumbler in
the boy's face, "salt-water. Very well, sir,--very well!"
"It warn't me, sir," replied the boy, making up a piteous look.
"No, sir, but you said the cook was sober."
"He was not so _very_ much disguised, sir," replied Jem.
"Oh! Very well--never mind. Mr Tomkins, in case I should forget it,
do me the favour to put the kettle of salt-water down in the report.
The scoundrel! I'm very sorry, gentlemen, but there's no means of
having any more gin-toddy. But never mind, we'll see to this to-morrow.
Two can play at this; and if I don't salt-water their grog, and make
them drink it too, I have been twenty years a first-lieutenant for
nothing, that's all. Good night, gentlemen; and," continued the
lieutenant, in a severe tone, "you'll keep a sharp look-out, Mr Smith--
do you hear, sir?"
"Yes," drawled Smith, "but it's not my watch: it was my first watch:
and, just now, it struck one bell."
"You'll keep the middle watch, then, Mr Smith," said Mr Appleboy, who
was not a little put out; "and, Mr Tomkins, let me know as soon as it's
daylight. Boy, get my bed made. Salt-water, by all that's blue!
However, we'll see to that to-morrow morning."
Mr Appleboy then turned in; so did Mr Tomkins; and so did Mr Smith,
who had no idea of keeping the middle watch because the cook was drunk
and had filled up the kettle with salt-water. As for what happened in
ninety-three or ninety-four, I really would inform the reader if I knew;
but I am afraid that that most curious story is never to be handed down
to posterity.
The next morning Mr Tomkins, as usual, forgot to report the cook, the
jar of butter and the kettle of salt-water; and Mr Appleboy's wrath had
long been appeased before he remembered them. At daylight, the
lieutenant came on deck, having only slept away half of the sixteen, and
a taste of the seventeenth salt-water glass of gin-toddy. He rubbed his
grey eyes, that he might peer through the grey of the morning; the fresh
breeze blew about his grizzly locks, and cooled his rubicund nose. The
revenue-cutter, whose name was the _Active_, cast off from the buoy,
and, with a fresh breeze, steered her course for the Needles' passage.
CHAPTER THREE.
CUTTER THE THIRD.
Reader! Have you been to Saint Malo? If you have, you were glad enough
to leave the hole; and if you have not, take my advice, and do not give
yourself the trouble to go and see that or any other French port in the
Channel. There is not one worth looking at. They have made one or two
artificial ports, and they are no great things; there is no getting out
or getting in. In fact, they have no harbours in the Channel, while we
have the finest in the world; a peculiar dispensation of Providence,
because it knew that we should want them, and France would not. In
France, what are called ports are all alike,--nasty, narrow holes, only
to be entered at certain times of tide and certain winds; made up of
basins and backwaters, custom-houses, and cabarets; just fit for
smugglers to run into, and nothing more; and, therefore they are used
for very little else.
Now, in the dog-hole called Saint Malo there is some pretty land,
although a great deficiency of marine scenery. But never mind that.
Stay at home, and don't go abroad to drink sour wine, because they call
it Bordeaux, and eat villainous trash, so disguised by cooking that you
cannot possibly tell which of the birds of the air, or beasts of the
field, or fishes of the sea, you are cramming down your throat. "If all
is right, there is no occasion for disguise," is an old saying; so
depend upon it that there is something wrong, and that you are eating
offal, under a grand French name. They eat everything in France, and
would serve you up the head of a monkey who has died of the smallpox, as
_singe a la petite verole_--that is, if you did not understand French;
if you did, they would call it, _tete d'amour a l'Ethiopique_, and then
you would be even more puzzled. As for their wine, there is no disguise
in that; it's half vinegar. No, no! Stay at home; you can live just as
cheaply, if you choose; and then you will have good meat, good
vegetables, good ale, good beer, and a good glass of grog; and, what is
of more importance, you will be in good company. Live with your
friends, and don't make a fool of yourself.
I would not have condescended to have noticed this place, had it not
been that I wish you to observe a vessel which is lying along the
pier-wharf, with a plank from the shore to her gunwale. It is low
water, and she is aground, and the plank dips down at such an angle that
it is a work of danger to go either in or out of her. You observe that
there is nothing very remarkable in her. She is a cutter, and a good
sea-boat, and sails well before the wind. She is short for her breadth
of beam, and is not armed. Smugglers do not arm now--the service is too
dangerous; they effect their purpose by cunning, not by force.
Nevertheless, it requires that smugglers should be good seamen, smart
active fellows, and keen-witted, or they can do nothing. This vessel
has not a large cargo in her, but it is valuable. She has some thousand
yards of lace, a few hundred pounds of tea, a few bales of silk, and
about forty ankers of brandy--just as much as they can land in one boat.
All they ask is a heavy gale or a thick fog, and they trust to
themselves for success.
There is nobody on board except a boy; the crew are all up at the
cabaret, settling their little accounts of every description--for they
smuggle both ways, and every man has his own private venture. There
they are all, fifteen of them, and fine-looking fellows, too, sitting at
that long table. They are very merry, but quite sober, as they are to
sail to-night.
The captain of the vessel (whose name, by-the-bye, is the
_Happy-go-lucky_,--the captain christened her himself) is that
fine-looking young man, with dark whiskers meeting under his throat.
His name is Jack Pickersgill. You perceive at once that he is much
above a common sailor in appearance. His manners are good, he is
remarkably handsome, very clean, and rather a dandy in his dress.
Observe how very politely he takes off his hat to that Frenchman, with
whom he had just settled accounts; he beats Johnny Crapeau at his own
weapons. And then there is an air of command, a feeling of conscious
superiority, about Jack; see how he treats the landlord, _de haut en
bas_, at the same time that he is very civil. The fact is, that Jack is
of a very good, old family, and received a very excellent education; but
he was an orphan, his friends were poor, and could do but little for
him: he went out to India as a cadet, ran away, and served in a schooner
which smuggled opium into China, and then came home. He took a liking
to the employment, and is now laying up a very pretty little sum: not
that he intends to stop: no, as soon as he has enough to fit out a
vessel for himself, he intends to start again for India, and with two
cargoes of opium he will return, he trusts, with a handsome fortune, and
re-assume his family name. Such are Jack's intentions; and, as he
eventually means to reappear as a gentleman, he preserves his
gentlemanly habits: he neither drinks, nor chews, nor smokes. He keeps
his hands clean, wears rings, and sports a gold snuff-box;
notwithstanding which, Jack is one of the boldest and best of sailors,
and the men know it. He is full of fun, and as keen as a razor. Jack
has a very heavy venture this time--all the lace is his own speculation,
and if he gets it in safe, he will clear some thousands of pounds. A
certain fashionable shop in London has already agreed to take the whole
off his hands.
That short, neatly-made young man is the second in command, and the
companion of the captain. He is clever, and always has a remedy to
propose when there is a difficulty, which is a great quality in a second
in command. His name is Corbett. He is always merry--half-sailor,
half-tradesman; knows the markets, runs up to London, and does business
as well as a chapman--lives for the day and laughs at to-morrow.
That little punchy old man, with long grey hair and fat face, with a
nose like a note of interrogation, is the next personage of importance.
He ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shore
in France, off the English coast he never quits the vessel. When they
leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found
off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position
in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs; as for the revenue-vessels,
they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in
ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage.
He knows every creek, and hole, and corner of the coast; how the tide
runs in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. That is his value. His
name is Morrison.
You observe that Jack Pickersgill has two excellent supporters in
Corbett and Morrison; his other men are good seamen, active, and
obedient, which is all that he requires. I shall not particularly
introduce them.
"Now you may call for another _litre_, my lads, and that, must be the
last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour,
and we have just the breeze we want. What d'ye think, Morrison, shall
we have dirt?"
"I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year
I should say, yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever,
if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards."
"That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?"
"Yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the Stock
Exchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour,
and I found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled
the affair."
"What did you let him off?"
"Seventeen sous," replied Corbett, laughing.
"And that satisfied him?" inquired Pickersgill.
"Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives
were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could
not be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide if he
had to pay a bill without a deduction."
"Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay of
1811, and three glasses."
Jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle
of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the
_Happy-go-lucky_.
"You sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him.
Pickersgill nodded his head.
"I had a strange dream," said Jeannette; "I thought you were all taken
by a revenue-cutter, and put in a _cachot_. I went to see you, and I
did not know one of you again--you were all changed."
"Very likely, Jeannette; you would not be the first who did not know
their friends again when in misfortune. There was nothing strange in
your dream."
"_Mais, mon Dieu! Je ne suis pas comme ca, moi_."
"No, that you are not, Jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these
fine days I'll marry you," said Corbett.
"_Doit etre bien beau ce jour la, par exemple_," replied Jeannette,
laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in
these last three years."
"Well, that proves I keep to my promise, anyhow."
"Yes; but you never go any further."
"I can't spare him, Jeannette, that is the real truth," said the
captain: "but wait a little,--in the meantime, here is a five-franc
piece to add to your _petite fortune_."
"_Merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage_!" Jeannette held her
finger up to Corbett, saying, with a smile, "_mechant_!" and then
quitted the room.
"Come, Morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go
on board."
"I wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams," said
Morrison, taking his seat; "I don't like it. When she said that we
should be taken by a revenue-cutter, I was looking at a blue and a white
pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and I said to myself, Now, if that
be a warning, I will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, I shall
be in jail in a week; if the _white_, I shall be back here."
"Well?" said Pickersgill, laughing.
"It wasn't well," answered Morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting
the glass down with a deep sigh; "for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew away
immediately."
"Why, Morrison, you must have a chicken-heart to be frightened at a blue
pigeon!" said Corbett, laughing and looking out of the window; "at all
events, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the white
one."
"It's the first time that ever I was called chicken-hearted," replied
Morrison, in wrath.
"Nor do you deserve it, Morrison," replied Pickersgill; "but Corbett is
only joking."
"Well, at all events, I'll try my luck in the same way, and see whether
I am to be in jail: I shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as you
did."