of the plots, characters, and treatment of his three stories; and her
remarks, strange to say, pretty closely agreed with those expressed by
the ignorant London editors! Nan had verily profited by her old lover’s
literary conversations; but Alfred knew nothing at all of that. She was
then graciously pleased to say a few words of commendation.
‘Your style of composition is far too even for that sort of work. It
lacks eccentricity’——
‘Pardon, Nan!’ he interrupted; ‘but are you serious? I have hitherto
understood eccentricity was considered a blemish in any author’s style.’
‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘If not overdone, it lends a piquancy to writings
that without it would attract no attention and be passed by as prosy.
When an author happens to hit on a good original phrase, he should
“ring the changes” on it. The reader recognises it as an old friend met
under new circumstances, and is not at all displeased. An author who
can originate a few phrases, put them in his mental kaleidoscope, so
to speak, and sprinkle the resulting combinations through his book, is
said to have acquired “a style,” and his books are sought after.’
‘By Jove, Nan, but you surprise me!’ he cried, looking at her with a
puzzled air. ‘What, then, would you advise me to do?’
She was prepared for this question, and had been framing an answer
to it in her mind for some days past. Obviously, the most sensible
advice was for him to abandon his literary dreams, and settle down
to the pursuit of his profession. But then sensible advice is rarely
palatable, and still more rarely adopted. That he was determined to
make a mark of some kind in literature, was evident, and she rather
admired her lover’s indomitable pluck, in refusing to accept as final
the unfavourable criticisms of London editors. If he hadn’t been her
lover, she would probably have called it ‘stupid obstinacy.’ She
therefore determined to urge him on in his literary projects; he was
undoubtedly clever, and was certain, sooner or later, to see his
productions in print. When he reached that goal, the glamour which
possessed him would probably vanish; and he would then most likely
return to his profession, as a surer road to success and distinction.
‘Did you ever try the _Olympic_, Alfred?’ she said.
‘O no,’ he rejoined. ‘You see, it is more of a review. Besides, it is
a very high-class, exclusive magazine, and one not at all likely to
encourage beginners like me.’
‘I know they don’t publish stories,’ continued Nan; ‘but they have
often short descriptive articles. Now, I was thinking if you were to
send the editor a short sketch of some kind in your very best style, he
might perhaps put it in.’
‘And what kind of sketch would you propose?’ he inquired.
‘What would you think of “A Summer Ramble in Kirkcudbright?” she
replied. ‘The editor belongs to that quarter; and if the description of
the scenery and folks were well done, I think he might put it in.’
‘A capital idea, Nan. Why, I’ll set about it at once,’ he said
impetuously.
Alfred went to work with renewed hope and vigour. After ten days’
alternate rambling and writing, he one evening announced that his paper
was finished, and read it over to Nan in the parlour. On the whole
she gave a favourable verdict on its merits; and it was sealed up and
duly addressed to the editor of the _Olympic_. She had insisted on him
using a _nom de plume_. He chose that of ‘Ariel;’ and the address was:
‘Post-office, Glenluce.—To lie till called for.’
The evening passed pleasantly in chat and song; and when Nan rose to
bid good-bye for the night, she said: ‘By-the-bye, Alfred, you had
better give me your letter with the manuscript. I will see the postman
as he passes in the morning, and hand it to him.’
‘Nonsense, Nan!’ he returned. ‘Why, the mail-gig passes before six
o’clock. There’s no use in disturbing you so early. I will hand it to
him myself.’
She was inexorable in her request, however, and ended the dispute by
playfully seizing the letter, and tripping up-stairs before he could
prevent her. Once in the privacy of her own room, a strange change
came over her. With knitted brow and compressed lips, she slowly paced
the apartment. Evidently, she was making up her mind on some important
resolve. At last she clasped her hands and whispered to herself: ‘Yes;
I’ll do it—but is it fair?’
She had a tired and drowsy look next day; and when Alfred asked if
she had been in time to give the postman the all-important letter,
she answered somewhat petulantly in the affirmative. After a time he
took to walking to Glenluce daily to see if there were any letters for
‘Ariel.’ For ten days he came back empty-handed and dispirited; on
the eleventh he bounced into Nan’s private parlour in a state of wild
delight.
‘I knew it—I was sure of it, Nan!’ he cried, ‘that the moment my
writings came before a competent judge they would be fully appreciated.
Look! here is a bank draft for twenty pounds. It only took me ten days
to write the sketch. Why, it is payment at the rate of six hundred a
year!’
‘Was there a note with it?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yes; a precious short one, though. “The editor of the _Olympic_
acknowledges receipt of Ariel’s manuscript, which he accepts, and begs
to inclose bank draft for twenty pounds as an honorarium.” That is all.’
‘The editor has remunerated you very handsomely, I think,’ she said,
continuing her sewing. ‘But mind that one swallow does not make a
summer. Don’t be too sanguine. Other editors may not be so generous to
you.’
‘Stuff!’ he replied loftily. ‘Do you mean to say he would have sent so
much unless he knew he had got value, good value for it too? Do you
know, Nan, I made up my mind, after getting the letter, to start for
London to-morrow? I’ll call on the editor of the _Olympic_—perhaps he
may’——
‘On no account must you do that, Alfred!’ she cried, dropping her
sewing, and with a terrified look in her face. ‘Go to London, if you
think proper; though I think you would be foolishly spending money in
doing so. But you mustn’t call on the editor.’
‘And why mustn’t I call on him?’ he said in a displeased tone of voice.
‘I have reasons—private reasons of my own, Alfred, to wish you to
refrain from doing so,’ she replied a little awkwardly. ‘I cannot
explain them to you just yet; perhaps I may again. Meantime, you
must promise me solemnly not to call on him, or send him any more
contributions, unless you choose to do so in your own name. On no
account must he be made aware that you are “Ariel.” Remember, it was
through my advice you scored this first success; continue to follow it,
for I can assure you it is for your own good.’
He grumbled a good deal, but in the end agreed to the restriction
imposed on him. He held firm, however, to his intention of going to
London; and Anne did not press her objections further. He could not
understand why she was not more elated at this auspicious beginning of
his literary career. In fact, he fancied he saw a pained expression
passing over her countenance, when, in the exuberance of his spirits,
he enlarged on the brilliancy of his prospects in the metropolis.
Somehow or another, the success of ‘A Summer Ramble in Kirkcudbright’
detracted from rather than added to the happiness of the lovers. The
slightest possible degree of coldness sprung up between them. He
was annoyed, and even felt some distrust at the prohibition put on
him regarding the _Olympic_. That Nan was annoyed at something, was
apparent; but whether it was his anxiety to leave her and be off to the
scene of his future triumphs, or what it was, was not very apparent.
The only one who enjoyed unalloyed satisfaction from the event was
old Mr Porteous. The bank draft convinced him more than a thousand
arguments that there was money in literature, and that his proposed
son-in-law possessed the Open Sesame to its stores. He had far too high
an opinion of his old friend the editor’s sense than to suppose he
would have given twenty pounds for a short sketch unless it was of real
merit. These reflections made him a trifle more cordial to Alfred than
he had yet been; and when he and Nan drove him to the railway station,
they all parted the best of friends, the lovers promising to correspond
punctually as before.
A HUMBLE SPRIG OF NOBILITY.
A RED RIVER STORY.
Towards the close of the last century, Mr Beauchamp, a young Englishman
of good family—a friend of Pitt, Fox, Burke, and Sheridan—entered
a large mercantile house in London with a view, it was supposed,
of ultimately becoming a partner therein. With this firm he passed
the earlier years of his manhood. With the single exception of
having lost both his parents in his youth, he was regarded as a
singularly fortunate individual; and at the age of nineteen he
formed a matrimonial engagement with Julia Middleton, a young lady
of considerable prospective wealth, and of remarkable personal
attractions. But just at the time when an announcement of the marriage
was expected by the friends on both sides, Mr Beauchamp disappeared in
a mysterious manner; and neither the parents nor Miss Middleton had
any explanation of the cause of his disappearance, or whither he had
gone. It was, however, but a nine days’ wonder; and all minds, but one,
ceased to trouble themselves further about the matter. _That_ one was
the poor girl herself, who was deeply attached to her lover. Whenever
any hint was thrown out which cast a doubt over the moral rectitude of
Henry Beauchamp’s character, she indignantly repudiated the idea, and
would believe no evil concerning him that originated in mere conjecture
on the part of the speaker.
It must be borne in mind that at the period of which we are writing,
international communication was not carried on with the same speed
and facility as in these days, and a considerable time elapsed ere it
became known that Henry Beauchamp had embarked for Canada. But of his
real whereabouts nothing was known for years. The facts we are about to
record were divulged to us by a lady to whom we shall hereafter refer.
He had, it appeared, entered into business with a Fur Trading Company,
and with them he passed many years in a country called ‘The Kepigong,’
between Lake Superior and James Bay. Half a century ago, traders were
often men of low type, who led lax and vicious lives. As ill-luck would
have it, it was amongst such a class that the young adventurer chanced
to fall. Out in that wild territory, with no sort of restraint on his
actions, in the midst of lawless and strange companions, he often fell
a victim to their evil influence and example, and his very weakness
and ignorance made him an easy prey to their wiles and cupidity. If he
made money, they cheated him out of it. He was often reduced to the
brink of starvation; and at one period he subsisted for two months on a
miserable species of fish called ‘suckers.’
After countless trials and vicissitudes, he obtained employment at
Lake Winnipeg, where he passed another decade; but even there his evil
genius seemed to pursue him, for he received accidentally the contents
of a loaded gun in his leg, which wound caused him at times great
suffering throughout his whole life. But he was a man of pluck and
courage, and would never yield to any obstacle which perseverance could
overcome. Having resolved to try his fortunes on his own account in a
district involving several hundred miles of travel, he provided himself
with a couple of horses, and set out attended by one serving-man. On
they went till nightfall through a wild uninhabited region, where
nature asserted her right to repose in their wearied limbs and failing
spirits. So, having first picketed their horses, they lay down to
rest in the best shelter they could find. Feeling amply refreshed by
daybreak, they determined to continue their journey with no further
halt till eventide. But alas for their horses! The animals had either
decamped or been stolen, probably the former. After some cogitation as
to the next step to be taken, Mr Beauchamp decided to send his servant
in quest of the animals, whilst he remained at his post. The day
passed, the night pressed onwards, and morning dawned without either
horses or man having appeared. Unprovided with a compass, chart, or
guide of any description, Mr Beauchamp then felt how futile his hopes
must prove—that the poor man had probably lost his way, and that there
would be no more meeting between them.
For a while utterly disconsolate, the solitary traveller bethought him
of retracing his steps; but when he attempted to walk, he found himself
so broken down by fatigue and over-exertion that he could only limp
along, or drag his wearied body on all-fours. Finally, ‘worn out,’ as
he himself expressed it, ‘both in body and mind,’ and when within but
ten miles of his trading-post, he lay down with the fervent hope that
death would put an end to such torture; but not liking the idea of his
body being devoured by wild animals, he crawled about to get together
branches of trees wherewith to cover himself. But in spite of all the
man had suffered, death was still to be balked of its prey. Some Red
Indians fortunately came upon him, and by his discoverers he was kindly
cared for and nourished, and taken to his post, where, after some
weeks, he gradually recovered.
Was it retribution or destiny, or what, that made him again such a
cruel martyr to circumstances in the next episode of his career? After
Lord Selkirk began to colonise the Red River, Mr Beauchamp gave up
his prospects in the Fur Company and turned settler. In opposition
to the Hudson’s Bay Company, another had been formed, called the
North-West Company. Between the two there was great rivalry and
jealousy. At the instigation of some of its people, Mr Beauchamp was
made prisoner, thrown into a dungeon in Fort-William, and from thence
taken to Montese, where his alleged trial was to take place, without
his ever having been told of the crime whereof he was accused. After
weeks of weary waiting and dread expectation, he was set at liberty
without a single question having been put to him, the sole object of
his oppressors having been to detach him from Lord Selkirk’s interest,
which they considered was synonymous with that of the Hudson’s Bay
Company.
Lord Selkirk’s agents having meanwhile discovered that a plot was
hatching at M‘Gillivray’s house in Montreal—and the nucleus of the
North-West Company—to upset altogether the infant settlement at Red
River, Mr Beauchamp volunteered to set off at once and convey the first
intelligence of this Guy Fawkes business to the poor unsuspecting
colonists. To this end, he started for Moose Factory, in James Bay, in
an Indian canoe. When about midway, he was overtaken by the rigours
of a Canadian winter, with all its impediments to continued and safe
travel. He had to walk to the above-named Factory, and thence along the
coast of Hudson’s Bay to Albury, Severn, and York factories, and on to
Red River—a journey of two thousand miles, a feat which only a nature
inured to privation and hardship such as we have described, together
with the substratum of an iron constitution, could possibly have
performed.
On the night of Mr Beauchamp’s arrival at his destination, there
happened to be some kind of bacchanalian revelries going on in true
military style, got up by the commandant at Fort Douglas, Red River.
In these our adventurer took part, but in a way that did not greatly
redound to his credit. Nothing, it may be presumed, was known there of
his antecedents, and as he was heart and soul devoted to Red River,
he was advised to find a wife amongst the native women of Caledonia
residing on the spot. The choice was soon made of a widow, and in the
absence of any clergyman, the knot was tied by the civil magistrate.
Shortly after, his pecuniary affairs being now in a satisfactory
condition, he resolved to return to England. Whilst there, a longing
came over him to see once more the love of his youth and to ask
her forgiveness for the past and the boon of her friendship in his
declining years. More than thirty years had elapsed since they parted,
but the lady had never married. After the death of her parents, she had
come into possession of a fortune, and had a handsome establishment
in Portman Square. There she resided for the rest of her life, and
there, too, she saw again the friend of her youth, and received his
explanation. What that explanation was, never passed her lips. We may
be sure that no man of birth, fortune, and social position would have
sacrificed all for a trifle, and become to all intents and purposes an
outlaw.
It was during this sojourn in England that he formed the plan of a
‘Buffalo Wool Company,’ making himself the managing partner. It turned
out a miniature South Sea Bubble, for it left Mr Beauchamp minus six
thousand pounds. He had returned to Canada in 1820, and an occasional
interchange of letters with Miss Middleton followed. In his perfect
diction and finished phrases there was still much to remind her of
the fascinating polished friend of her youth, from whose pen she had
received an unvarnished account of his strange career. In testimony of
this, a touching record was found amongst her papers at her decease,
which took place some years after that of Mr Beauchamp. When the news
reached him in 1826 of the failure of his last venture, the shock it
gave him reduced his fine athletic form in a few weeks to a shadow. He
was first attacked by delirium, and then fell into a state of absolute
despondency. But his mental faculties completely recovered their power;
and just at the most critical period of his illness, he was received
and cared for by the English chaplain and his wife. When sufficiently
restored, he sought some new means of employment which involved neither
risk nor outlay. His last occupation was the mastership of a private
boarding-school for the families of the Company’s officers at the Red
River. In this way he managed to support himself and his family until
his death. He used to speak of himself to the clergyman’s wife as ‘a
humble sprig of nobility,’ and had ingeniously drawn out a genealogical
tree—still in the possession of this lady’s family—tracing his descent
from Richard Cœur-de-Lion.
A1 AT LLOYD’S.
A1 at Lloyd’s is a sufficiently familiar expression; it meets our eye
in the newspaper paragraph; it stares at us from the wall-placard; and
it haunts us in Fenchurch Street, E.C., Water Street, Liverpool, and
other chosen homes of shipowners. Every one recognises in it a nautical
equivalent for ‘first quality;’ but here information on the subject
usually ends. As Lloyd’s Register of British and Foreign Shipping,
the institution granting the title in question, has not long since
celebrated its jubilee, we believe a short account of the origin of
that undertaking and of the work in which it is engaged may prove of
interest.
The business of underwriting or insuring against marine risks is of
very ancient date; to say that it existed among the Phœnicians takes us
back a long way in the world’s history; and as a necessary preliminary
to legitimate underwriting, as distinguished from mere chance-work,
lies, and must ever have lain, in knowing that the vessel proposed to
be insured is seaworthy, we may also claim for the business of the
ship-surveyor a respectable antiquity.
The primitive underwriter was probably a man with a practical knowledge
of ships, and who, when asked to insure a certain vessel, surveyed it
himself. As business increased, however the inconvenience attending
this system would soon make itself felt, and the obvious expedient of
the underwriter employing a skilled man to make the survey for him
and send in a report, would be adopted. From an underwriter receiving
reports of the condition of individual ships, to his arranging these in
tabular form, is but a step; and from individual underwriters drawing
up such lists for their own guidance, to their agreeing generally to
place them at the service of their brothers in the business, is but
another, although the length of time that elapsed ere this latter
result was reached was doubtless considerable. The oldest classified
list of shipping extant dates only from the beginning of the reign of
George III.; but this document—of which more anon—bears unmistakable
internal evidence of being at the time no novelty.
Our story opens during the early years of the reign of Charles II.;
English colonies across the sea were beginning to prosper; English
commerce, notwithstanding oppressive fiscal laws, was on the increase,
and the business of the underwriter naturally followed. London was
then, as now, the headquarters of the marine insurance business of the
country; and the city coffee-houses, then but of recent origin, were
the common meeting-places of all connected with the shipping interest:
it is the name of the proprietor of one of these establishments that
now lives in that of the great corporation of Lloyd’s.
Edward Lloyd is one of those men of whom we would gladly know more
than history has brought down to us, but of whose personality apart
from his work we know practically nothing, even his proper name having
been lost, until recovered by the researches of a recent writer.
Finding his house in Tower Street regularly frequented by underwriters,
Lloyd—who must have been a man of great ability and foresight—appears
to have formed the resolution of making it the headquarters of the
business; and to this end, gave facilities for meetings, arranged for
sales of vessels and cargoes, started a newspaper, and practically
identified his interests with those of his patrons. The newspaper was
short-lived, being suppressed by government; but his labours were
rewarded by his seeing his establishment—latterly removed to Lombard
Street—the centre of marine insurance business not only for London but
for the kingdom. Three generations of underwriters met at the Lombard
Street coffee-house, and when, in 1770, having formed an association,
they removed to premises of their own, and shortly after to the Royal
Exchange, they took the name of their old headquarters with them; and
thus it has come about that the greatest marine insurance corporation
the world has seen owes its name, and to a certain extent its origin,
to a London coffee-house keeper at the time of the Restoration, to
whose memory the foreign shipowning Companies’ titles of ‘Austrian
Lloyd’s,’ ‘North German Lloyd’s,’ ‘Argentine Lloyd’s,’ &c. are
additional tributes. The classified list of shipping already referred
to as the oldest extant is dated 1764, but is, unfortunately, somewhat
mutilated. The work is arranged in a form very similar to that of
the register books of to-day, giving in parallel columns the name
of the vessel, tonnage, date of building, owner, &c.; and also what
is evidently intended for a character or class, one or other of the
vowels A, E, &c., in conjunction with the letters G, M, or B. The
key to this system of classification is missing; but Mr Martin, the
historian of Lloyd’s, has surmised, with every appearance of justice,
that the vowels refer to the character of the hull of the vessel; and
the accompanying letters, being the initials of the words _good_,
_middling_, and _bad_, to the character of the equipment; AG being thus
a good, well-equipped ship, and UB the reverse.