So absorbed was I in the reflections of which my last chapter is the
record, that I utterly forgot how time was speeding, and perceived
at last, to my great surprise, that I had strayed miles away from the
Rosary, and that evening was already near. The spires and roofs of a
town were distant about a mile at a bend of the river, and for this I
now made, determined on no account to turn back, for how could I ever
again face those who had read the terrible narrative of the priest's
letter, and before whom I could only present myself as a cheat and
impostor?
“No,” thought I, “my destiny points onward,--and to Blondel; nothing
shall turn me from my path.” Less than an hour's walking brought me to
the town, of which I had but time to learn the name,--New Ross. I left
it in a small steamer for Waterford, a little vessel in correspondence
with the mail packet for Milford, and which I learned would sail that
evening at nine.
The same night saw me seated on the deck, bound for England. On the
deck, I say, for I had need to husband my resources, and travel with
every imaginable economy, not only because my resources were small in
themselves, but that, having left all that I possessed of clothes and
baggage at the Rosary, I should be obliged to acquire a complete outfit
on reaching England.
It was a calm night, with a starry sky and a tranquil sea; and, when
the cabin passengers had gone down to their berths, the captain did not
oppose my stealing “aft” to the quarter-deck, where I could separate
myself from the somewhat riotous company of the harvest laborers that
thronged the forepart of the vessel. He saw, with that instinct a sailor
is eminently gifted with, that I was not of that class by which I was
surrounded, and with a ready courtesy he admitted me to the privilege of
isolation.
“You are going to enlist, I 'll be bound,” said he, as he passed me in
his short deck walk. “Ain't I right?”
“No,” said I; “I'm going to seek my fortune.”
“Seek your fortune!” he repeated, with a slighting sort of laugh. “One
used to read about fellows doing that in story books when a child, but
it's rather strange to hear of it nowadays.”
“And may I presume to ask why should it be more strange now than
formerly? Is not the world pretty much what it used to be? Is not the
drama of life the same stock piece our forefathers played ages ago? Are
not the actors and the actresses made up of the precise materials their
ancestors were? Can you tell me of a new sentiment, a new emotion, or
even a new crime? Why, therefore, should there be a seeming incongruity
in reviving any feature of the past?”
“Just because it won't do, my good friend,” said he, bluntly. “If the
law catches a fellow lounging about the world in these times, it takes
him up for a vagabond.”
“And what can be finer, grander, or freer than a vagabond?” I cried,
with enthusiasm. “Who, I would ask you, sees life with such philosophy?
Who views the wiles, the snares, the petty conflicts of the world with
such a reflective calm as his? Caring little for personal indulgence,
not solicitous for self-gratification, he has both the spirit and the
leisure for observation. Diogenes was the type of the vagabond, and see
how successive ages have acknowledged his wisdom.”
“If I had lived in _his_ day, I'd have set him picking oakum, for all
that!” he replied.
“And probably, too, would have sent the 'blind old bard to the crank,'”
said I.
“I'm not quite sure of whom you are talking,” said he; “but if he was a
good ballad-singer, I'd not be hard on him.”
“O! Menin aeide Thea Peleiadeo Achilleos!” spouted I out, in rapture.
“That ain't high Dutch,” asked he, “is it?”
“No,” said I, proudly. “It is ancient Greek,--the godlike tongue of an
immortal race.”
“Immortal rascals!” he broke in. “I was in the fruit trade up in the
Levant there, and such scoundrels as these Greek fellows I never met in
my life.”
“By what and whom made so?” I exclaimed eagerly. “Can you point to a
people in the world who have so long resisted the barbarizing influence
of a base oppression? Was there ever a nation so imbued with high
civilization as to be enabled for centuries of slavery to preserve the
traditions of its greatness? Have we the record of any race but this,
who could rise from the slough of degradation to the dignity of a
people?”
“You 've been a play-actor, I take it?” asked he, dryly.
“No, sir, never!” replied I, with some indignation.
“Well, then, in the Methody line? You've done a stroke of preaching, I
'll be sworn.”
“You would be perjured in that case, sir,” I rejoined, as haughtily.
“At all events, an auctioneer,” said he, fairly puzzled in his
speculations.
“Equally mistaken there,” said I, calmly; “bred in the midst of
abundance, nurtured in affluence, and educated with all the solicitous
care that a fond parent could bestow--”
“Gammon!” said he, bluntly. “You are one of the swell mob in distress!”
“Is this like distress?” said I, drawing forth my purse in which were
seventy-five sovereigns, and handing it to him. “Count over that, and
say how just and how generous are your suspicions.”
He gravely took the purse from me, and, stooping down to the binnacle
light, counted over the money, scrutinizing carefully the pieces as he
went.
“And who is to say this isn't 'swag'?” said he, as he closed the purse.
“The easiest answer to that,” said I, “is, would it be likely for a
thief to show his booty, not merely to a stranger, but to a stranger who
suspected him?”
“Well, that is something, I confess,” said he, slowly.
“It ought to be more,--it ought to be everything. If distrust were not
a debasing sentiment, obstructing the impulses of generosity, and even
invading the precincts of justice, you would see far more reason to
confide in than to disbelieve me.”
“I 've been done pretty often afore now,” he muttered, half to himself.
“What a fallacy that is!” cried I, contemptuously. “Was not the pittance
that some crafty impostor wrung from your compassion well repaid to you
in the noble self-consciousness of your generosity? Did not your venison
on that day taste better when you thought of his pork chop? Had not
your Burgundy gained flavor by the memory of the glass of beer that was
warming the half-chilled heart in his breast? Oh, the narrow mockery of
fancying that we are not better by being deceived!”
“How long is it since you had your head shaved?” he asked dryly.
“I have never been the inmate of an asylum for lunatics,” said I,
divining and answering the impertinent insinuation.
“Well, I own you are a rum un,” said he, half musingly.
“I accept even this humble tribute to my originality,” said I, with a
sort of proud defiance. “I am well aware how _he_ must be regarded who
dares to assert his own individuality.”
“I'd be very curious to know,” said he, after a pause of several
minutes, “how a fellow of your stamp sets to work about gaining his
livelihood? What's his first step? how does he go about it?”
I gave no other answer than a smile of scornful meaning.
“I meant nothing offensive,” resumed he, “but I really have a strong
desire to be enlightened on this point.”
“You are doubtless impressed with the notion,” said I, boldly, “that men
possessed of some distinct craft or especial profession are alone needed
by the world of their fellows. That one must be doctor or lawyer or
baker or shoemaker, to gain his living, as if life had no other wants
than to be clothed and fed and physicked and litigated. As if humanity
had not its thousand emotional moods, its wayward impulses, its trials
and temptations, all of them more needing guidance, support, direction,
and counsel, than the sickest patient needs a physician. It is on this
world that I throw myself; I devote myself to guide infancy, to console
age, to succor the orphan, and support the widow,--morally, I mean.”
“I begin to suspect you are a most artful vagabond,” said he half
angrily.
“I have long since reconciled myself to the thought of an unjust
appreciation,” said I. “It is the consolation dull men accept when
confronted with those of original genius. You can't help confessing that
all your distrust of me has grown out of the superiority of my powers,
and the humble figure you have presented in comparison with me.”
“Do you rank modesty amongst these same powers?” he asked slyly.
“Modesty I reject,” said I, “as being a conventional form of hypocrisy.”
“Come down below,” said he, “and take a glass of brandy and water. It
's growing chilly here, and we shall be the better of something to cheer
us.”
Seated in his comfortable little cabin, and with a goodly array of
liquors before me to choose from, I really felt a self-confidence in the
fact that, if I were not something out of the common, I could not then
be there. “There must be in my nature,” thought I, “that element which
begets success, or I could not always find myself in situations so
palpably beyond the accidents of my condition.”
My host was courtesy itself; no sooner was I his guest than he adopted
towards me a manner of perfect politeness. No more allusions to my
precarious mode of life, never once a reference to my adventurous
future. Indeed, with an almost artful exercise of good breeding, he
turned the conversation towards himself, and gave me a sketch of his own
life.
It was not in any respects a remarkable one; though it had its share of
those mishaps and misfortunes which every sailor must have confronted.
He was wrecked in the Pacific, and robbed in the Havannah; had his crew
desert him at San Francisco, and was boarded by Riff pirates, and sold
in Barbary just as every other blue jacket used to be; and I listened
to the story, only marvelling what a dreary sameness pervades all these
narratives. Why, for one trait of the truthful to prove his tale, I
could have invented fifty. There were no little touches of sentiment
or feeling, no relieving lights of human emotion, in his story. I never
felt, as I listened, any wish that he should be saved from shipwreck,
baffle his persecutors, or escape his captors; and I thought to myself,
“This fellow has certainly got no narrative gusto.” Now for _my_ turn:
we had each of us partaken freely of the good liquor before us. The
Captain in his quality of talker, I in my capacity of listener,
had filled and refilled several times. There was not anything like
inebriety, but there was that amount of exultation, a stage higher than
mere excitement, which prompts men, at least men of temperaments like
mine, not to suffer themselves to occupy rear rank positions, but at any
cost to become foreground and prominent figures.
“You have heard of the M'Gillicuddys, I suppose?” asked I. He nodded,
and I went on. “You see, then, at this moment before you, the last of
the race. I mean, of course, of the elder branch, for there are swarms
of the others, well to do and prosperous also, and with fine estated
properties. I 'll not weary you with family history. I 'll not refer to
that remote time when my ancestors wore the crown, and ruled the fair
kingdom of Kerry. In the Annals of the Four Masters, and also in the
Chronicles of Thealbogh O'Faudlemh, you 'll find a detailed account of
our house. I 'll simply narrate for you the immediate incident which has
made me what you see me,--an outcast and a beggar.
“My father was the tried and trusted friend of that noble-hearted but
mistaken man, Lord Edward Fitzgerald. The famous attempt of the year
'eight was concerted between them; and all the causes of its failure,
secret as they are and forever must be, are known to him who now
addresses you. I dare not trust myself to talk of these times or
things, lest I should by accident let drop what might prove strictly
confidential. I will but recount one incident, and that a personal one,
of the period. On the night of Lord Edward's capture, my father, who had
invited a friend--deep himself in the conspiracy--to dine with him,
met his guest on the steps of his hall door. Mr. Hammond--this was his
name--was pale and horror-struck, and could scarcely speak, as my father
shook his hand. 'Do you know what has happened, Mac?' said he to my
father. 'Lord Edward is taken, Major Sirr and his party have tracked him
to his hiding-place; they have got hold of all our papers, and we are
lost By this time to-morrow every man of us will be within the walls of
Newgate.'
“'Don't look so gloomily, Tom,' said my father. 'Lord Edward will escape
them yet; he's not a bird to be snared so easily; and, after all, we
shall find means to slip our cables too. Come in, and enjoy your sirloin
and a good glass of port, and you'll view the world more pleasantly.'
With a little encouragement of this sort he cheered him up, and the
dinner passed off agreeably enough; but still my father could see that
his friend was by no means at his ease, and at every time the door
opened he would start with a degree of surprise that augured anxiety
of some coming event. From these and other signs of uneasiness in
his manner, my father drew his own conclusions, and with a quick
intelligence of look communicated his suspicions to my mother, who was
herself a keen and shrewd observer.
“'Do you think, Matty,' said he, as they sat over their wine, that I
could find a bottle of the old green seal if I was to look for it in the
cellar? It has been upwards of forty years there, and I never touch it
save on especial occasions; but an old friend like Hammond deserves such
a treat.'
“My father fancied that Hammond grew paler as he thus alluded to their
old friendship, and he gave my mother a rapid glance of his sharp eye,
and, taking the cellar key, he left the room. Immediately outside the
door, he hastened to the stable, and saddled and bridled a horse, and,
slipping quietly out, he rode for the sea-coast, near the Skerries. It
was sixteen miles from Dublin, but he did the distance within the hour.
And well was it for him that he employed such speed! With a liberal
offer of money and the gold watch he wore, he secured a small
fishing-smack to convey him over to France, for which he sailed
immediately. I have said it was well that he employed such speed; for,
after waiting with suppressed impatience for my father's return from the
cellar, Hammond expressed to my mother his fears lest my father might
have been taken ill. She tried to quiet his apprehensions, but the very
calmness of her manner served only to increase them. 'I can bear this no
longer,' cried he, at last, rising, in much excitement, from his chair;
'I must see what has become of him!' At the same moment the door
was suddenly flung open, and an officer of police, in full uniform,
presented himself. 'He has got away, sir,' said he, addressing Hammond;
'the stable-door is open, and one of the horses missing.'
“My mother, from whom I heard the story, had only time to utter a 'Thank
God!' before she fainted. On recovering her senses, she found herself
alone in the room. The traitor Hammond and the police had left her
without even calling the servants to her aid.”
“And your father,--what became of him?” asked the skipper, eagerly.
“He arrived in Paris in sorry plight enough; but, fortunately, Clarke,
whose influence with the Emperor was unbounded, was a distant connection
of our family. By his intervention my father obtained an interview with
his Majesty, who was greatly struck by the adventurous spirit and daring
character of the man; not the less so because he had the courage to
disabuse the Emperor of many notions and impressions he had conceived
about the readiness of Ireland to accept French assistance.
“Though my father would much have preferred taking service in the army,
the Emperor, who had strong prejudices against men becoming soldiers
who had not served in every grade from the ranks upwards, opposed
this intention, and employed him in a civil capacity. In fact, to his
management were intrusted some of the most delicate and difficult secret
negotiations; and he gained a high name for acuteness and honorable
dealing. In recognition of his services, his name was inscribed in the
Grand Livre for a considerable pension; but at the fall of the dynasty,
this, with hundreds of others equally meritorious, was annulled; and my
father, worn out with age and disappointment together, sank at last, and
died at Dinant, where my mother was buried but a few years previously.
Meanwhile he was tried and found guilty of high treason in Ireland, and
all his lands and other property forfeited to the Crown. My present
journey was simply a pilgrimage to see the old possessions that once
belonged to our race. It was my father's last wish that I should visit
the ancient home of our family, and stand upon the hills that once
acknowledged us as their ruler. He never desired that I should remain a
French subject; a lingering love for his own country mingled in his
heart with a certain resentment towards France, who had certainly
treated him with ingratitude; and almost his last words to me were,
'Distrust the Gaul.' When I told you awhile back that I was nurtured in
affluence, it was so to all appearance; for my father had spent every
shilling of his-capital on my education, and I was under the firm
conviction that I was born to a very great fortune. You may judge the
terrible revulsion of my feelings when I learned that I had to face the
world almost, if not actually, a beggar.
“I could easily have attached myself as a hanger-on of some of my
well-to-do relations. Indeed, I will say for them, that they showed
the kindest disposition to befriend me; but the position of a dependant
would have destroyed every chance of happiness for me, and so I resolved
that I would fearlessly throw myself upon the broad ocean of life, and
trust that some sea current or favoring wind would bear me at last into
a harbor of safety.”
“What can you do?” asked the skipper, curtly.
“Everything, and nothing! I have, so to say, the 'sentiment' of all
things in my heart, but am not capable of executing one of them. With
the most correct ear, I know not a note of music; and though I could
not cook you a chop, I have the most excellent appreciation of a
well-dressed dinner.”
“Well,” said he, laughing, “I must confess I don't suspect these to be
exactly the sort of gifts to benefit your fellow-man.”
“And yet,” said I, “it is exactly to individuals of this stamp that the
world accords its prizes. The impresario that provides the opera could
not sing nor dance. The general who directs the campaign might be sorely
puzzled how to clean his musket or pipeclay his belt. The great minister
who imposes a tax might be totally unequal to the duty of applying its
provisions. Ask him to gauge a hogshead of spirits, for instance. _My_
position is like _theirs_. I tell you, once more, the world wants men of
wide conceptions and far-ranging ideas,--men who look to great results
and grand combinations.”
“But, to be practical, how do you mean to breakfast to-morrow morning?”
“At a moderate cost, but comfortably: tea, rolls, two eggs, and a
rumpsteak with fried potatoes.”
“What's your name?” said he, taking out his note-book. “I mustn't forget
you when I hear of you next.”
“For the present, I call myself Potts,--Mr. Potts, if you please.”
“Write it here yourself,” said he, handing me the pencil. And I wrote in
a bold, vigorous hand, “Algernon Sydney-Potts,” with the date.
“Preserve that autograph, Captain,” said I; “it is in no-spirit of
vanity I say it, but the day will come you 'll refuse a ten-pound note
for it.”
“Well, I'd take a trifle less just now,” said he, smiling.
He sat for some time gravely contemplating the writing, and at length,
in a sort of half soliloquy, said, “Bob would like him,--he would suit
Bob.” Then, lifting his head, he addressed me: “I have a brother in
command of one of the P. and O. steamers,--just the fellow for _you_. He
has got ideas pretty much like your own about success in life, and won't
be persuaded that he isn't the first seaman in the English navy; or
that he hasn't a plan to send Cherbourg and its breakwater sky-high, at
twenty-four hours' warning.”
“An enthusiast,--a visionary, I have no doubt,” said I, contemptuously.
“Well, I think you might be more merciful in your judgment of a man of
your own stamp,” retorted he, laughing. “At all events, it would be as
good as a play to see you together. If you should chance to be at Malta,
or Marseilles, when the _Clarence_ touches there, just ask for Captain
Rogers; tell him you know me, that will be enough.”
“Why not give me a line of introduction to him?” said I, with an easy
indifference. “These things serve to clear away the awkwardness of a
self-presentation.”
“I don't care if I do,” said he, taking a sheet of paper, and beginning
'Dear Bob,'--after which he paused and deliberated, muttering the words
'Dear Bob' three or four times over below his breath.
“'Dear Bob,'” said I aloud, in the tone of one dictating to an
amanuensis,--“'This brief note will be handed to you by a very valued
friend of mine, Algernon Sydney Potts, a man so completely after
your own heart that I feel a downright satisfaction in bringing you
together.'”
“Well, that ain't so bad,” said he, as he uttered the last words which
fell from his pen--“'in bringing you together.'”
“Go on,” said I dictatorially, and continued: “'Thrown by a mere
accident myself into his society, I was so struck by his attainments,
the originality of his views, and the wide extent of his knowledge of
life----' Have you _that_ down?”
“No,” said he, in some confusion; “I am only at 'entertainments.'”
“I said 'attainments,' sir,” said I rebukingly, and then repeating the
passage word for word, till he had written it--“'that I conceived for
him a regard and an esteem rarely accorded to others than our oldest
friends.' One word more: 'Potts, from certain circumstances, which
I cannot here enter upon, may appear to you in some temporary
inconvenience as regards money----'”
Here the captain stopped, and gave me a most significant look: it was at
once an appreciation and an expression of drollery.
“Go on,” said I dryly. “'If so,'” resumed I, “'be guardedly cautious
neither to notice his embarrassment nor allude to it; above all, take
especial care that you make no offer to remove the inconvenience, for he
is one of those whose sensibilities are so fine, and whose sentiments sa
fastidious, that he could never recover, in his own esteem, the dignity
compromised by such an incident.'”
“Very neatly turned,” said he, as he re-read the passage. “I think
that's quite enough.”
“Ample. You have nothing more to do than sign your name to it.”
He did this, with a verificatory flourish at foot, folded and sealed the
letter, and handed it to me, saying--
“If it weren't for the handwriting, Bob would never believe all that
fine stuff came from _me_; but you 'll tell him it was after three
glasses of brandy-and-water that I dashed it off--that will explain
everything.”
I promised faithfully to make the required explanation, and then
proceeded to make some inquiries about this brother Bob, whose nature
was in such a close affinity with my own. I could learn, however, but
little beyond the muttered acknowledgment that Bob was a “queer 'un,”
and that there was never his equal for “falling upon good-luck,
and spending it after,” a description which, when applied to my own
conscience, told an amount of truth that was actually painful.
“There's no saying,” said I, as I pocketed the letter, “if this epistle
should ever reach your brother's hand, my course in life is too wayward
and uncertain for me to say in what corner of the earth fate may find
me; but if we _are_ to meet, you shall hear of it. Rogers”--I said,
“this you extended to me, at a time that, to all seeming, I needed
such attentions--at a time, I say, when none but myself could know how
independently I stood as regarded means; and of one thing be assured,
Rogers, he whose caprice it now is to call himself Potts, is your
friend, your fast friend, for life.”
He wrung my hand cordially--perhaps it was the easiest way for an honest
sailor, as he was, to acknowledge the patronising tone of my speech--but
I could plainly see that he was sorely puzzled by the situation,
and possibly very well pleased that there was no third party to be a
spectator of it.
“Throw yourself there on that sofa,” said he, “and take a sleep.” And
with that piece of counsel he left me, and went up on deck.