"Peter Simple," published in 1833, is in many respects the
best of all Marryat's novels. Largely drawn from Marryat's own
professional experiences, the story, with its vivid
portraiture and richness of incident, is told with rare
atmosphere and style. Hogg placed the character of "Peter
Simple" on a level with Fielding's "Parson Adams;" Edgar Allan
Poe, on the other hand, found Marryat's works "essentially
mediocre."
_I.--I am Sacrificed to the Navy_
I think that had I been permitted to select my own profession in
childhood, I should in all probability have bound myself apprentice to a
tailor, for I always envied the comfortable seat which they appeared to
enjoy upon the shopboard. But my father, who was a clergyman of the
Church of England and the youngest brother of a noble family, had a
lucrative living, and a "soul above buttons," if his son had not. It has
been from time immemorial the custom to sacrifice the greatest fool of
the family to the prosperity and naval superiority of the country, and
at the age of fourteen, I was selected as the victim.
My father, who lived in the North of England, forwarded me by coach to
London, and from London I set out by coach for Portsmouth.
A gentleman in a plaid cloak sat by me, and at the Elephant and Castle a
drunken sailor climbed up by the wheel of the coach and sat down on the
other side.
I commenced a conversation with the gentleman in the plaid cloak
relative to my profession, and asked him whether it was not very
difficult to learn.
"Larn," cried the sailor, interrupting us, "no; it may be difficult for
such chaps as me before the mast to larn; but you, I presume, is a
reefer, and they ain't not much to larn, 'cause why, they pipe-clays
their weekly accounts, and walks up and down with their hands in their
pockets. You must larn to chaw baccy and drink grog, and then you knows
all a midshipman's expected to know nowadays. Ar'n't I right, sir?" said
the sailor, appealing to the gentleman in a plaid cloak. "I axes you,
because I see you're a sailor by the cut of your jib. Beg pardon, sir,"
continued he, touching his hat; "hope no offence."
"I am afraid that you have nearly hit the mark, my good fellow," replied
the gentleman.
At the bottom of Portsdown Hill I inquired how soon we should be at
Portsmouth. He answered that we were passing the lines; but I saw no
lines, and I was ashamed to show my ignorance. The gentleman in a plaid
cloak asked me what ship I was going to join, and whether I had a letter
of introduction to the captain.
"Yes, I have," replied I. And I pulled out my pocket-book, in which the
letter was. "Captain Savage, H.M. ship Diomede," I read.
To my surprise, he very coolly took the letter and proceeded to open it,
which occasioned me immediately to snatch the letter from him, stating
my opinion at the same time that it was a breach of honour, and that in
my opinion he was no gentleman.
"Just as you please, youngster," replied he. "Recollect, you have told
me I am no gentleman."
He wrapped his plaid around him and said no more, and I was not a little
pleased at having silenced him by my resolute behaviour.
I stayed at the Blue Posts, where all the midshipmen put up, that night,
and next morning presented myself at the George Inn with my letter of
introduction to Captain Savage.
"Mr. Simple, I am glad to see you," said a voice. And there sat, with
his uniform and epaulets, and his sword by his side, the passenger in
the plaid cloak who wanted to open my letter and whom I had told to his
face that he was "no gentleman!"
I thought I should have died, and was just sinking down upon my knees to
beg for mercy, when the captain, perceiving my confusion, burst out into
a laugh, and said, "So you know me again, Mr. Simple? Well, don't be
alarmed. You did your duty in not permitting me to open the letter,
supposing me, as you did, to be some other person, and you were
perfectly right, under that supposition, to tell me that I was not a
gentleman. I give you credit for your conduct. Now, I think the sooner
you go on board the better."
On my arrival on board, the first lieutenant, after looking at me
closely, said, "Now, Mr. Simple, I have looked attentively at your face,
and I see at once that you are very clever, and if you do not prove so
in a _very_ short time, why--you had better jump overboard, that's all."
I was very much terrified at this speech, but at the same time I was
pleased to hear that he thought me clever. My unexpected reputation was
shortly afterwards strengthened, when, noticing the first lieutenant in
consultation with the gunner, the former, on my approaching, said,
"Youngster hand me that _monkey's tail_."
I saw nothing like a monkey's tail, but I was so frightened that I
snatched up the first thing that I saw, which was a short bar of iron,
and it so happened that it was the very article which he wanted.
"So you know what a monkey's tail is already, do you?" said the first
lieutenant. "Now don't you ever sham stupid after that."
A fortnight later, at daylight, a signal from the flagship in harbour
was made for us to unmoor; our orders had come to cruise in the Bay of
Biscay. The captain came on board, the anchor weighed, and we ran
through the Needles with a fine breeze. Presently I felt so very ill
that I went down below. What occurred for the next six days I cannot
tell. I thought I should die every moment, and lay in my hammock,
incapable of eating, drinking, or walking about.
O'Brien, the senior midshipman and master's mate, who had been very kind
to me, came to me on the seventh, morning and said that if I did not
exert myself I never should get well; that he had taken me under his
protection, and to prove his regard would give me a good basting, which
was a sovereign remedy for sea-sickness. He suited the action to the
word, and drubbed me on the ribs without mercy until I thought the
breath was out of my body; but I obeyed his orders to go on deck
immediately, and somehow or other did contrive to crawl up the ladder to
the main deck, where I sat down and cried bitterly. What would I have
given to have been at home again! It was not my fault that I was the
greatest fool of the family, yet how was I punished for it! But, by
degrees, I recovered myself, and certainly that night I slept very
soundly.
The next morning O'Brien came to me again.
"It's a nasty slow fever, that sea-sickness, my Peter, and we must drive
it out of you."
And then he commenced a repetition of yesterday's remedy until I was
almost a jelly. Whether the fear of being thrashed drove away my
sickness, I do not know, but this is certain, that I felt no more of it
after the second beating, and the next morning when I awoke I was very
hungry.
_II.--I am Taken Prisoner_
One morning at daybreak we found ourselves about four miles from the
town of Cette, and a large convoy of vessels coming round a point. We
made all sail in chase, and they anchored close in shore under a
battery, which we did not discover until it opened fire upon us. The
captain tacked the ship, and stood out again, until the boats were
hoisted out, and all ready to pull on shore and storm the battery.
O'Brien, who was the officer commanding the first cutter on service, was
in his boat, and I obtained permission from him to smuggle myself into
it.
We ran ashore, amidst the fire of the gunboats which protected the
convoy, by which we lost three men, and made for the battery, which we
took without opposition, the French artillerymen running out as we ran
in. The directions of the captain were very positive not to remain in
the battery a minute after it was taken, but to board the gunboats,
leaving only one of the small boats, with the armourer, to spike the
guns, for the captain was aware that there were troops stationed along
the coast who might come down upon us and beat us off.
The first lieutenant, who commanded, desired O'Brien to remain with the
first cutter, and after the armourer had spiked the guns, as officer of
the boat he was to shove off immediately. O'Brien and I remained in the
battery with the armourer, the boat's crew being ordered down to the
boat to keep her afloat and ready to shove off at a moment's warning. We
had spiked all the guns but one, when all of a sudden a volley of
musketry was poured upon us, which killed the armourer, and wounded me
in the leg above the knee. I fell down by O'Brien, who cried out, "By
the powers, here they are, and one gun not spiked!" He jumped down,
wrenched the hammer from the armourer's hand, and seizing a nail from
the bag, in a few moments he had spiked the gun.
At this time I heard the tramping of the French soldiers advancing, when
O'Brien threw away the hammer and lifting me upon his shoulders cried,
"Come along, Peter, my boy," and made for the boat as fast as he could.
But he was too late; he had not got half-way to the boat before he was
collared by two French soldiers and dragged back into the battery. The
French troops then advanced and kept up a smart fire; our cutter escaped
and joined the other boat, who had captured the gunboats and convoy with
little opposition.
In the meantime, O'Brien had been taken into the battery with me on his
back; but as soon as he was there he laid me gently down, saying,
"Peter, my boy, as long as you were under my charge, I'd carry you
through thick and thin; but now that you are under the charge of these
French beggars, why, let them carry you."
When the troops ceased firing (and if O'Brien had left one gun unspiked
they must have done a great deal of mischief to our boats), the
commanding officer came up to O'Brien, and looking at him, said,
"Officer?" to which O'Brien nodded his head. He then pointed to
me--"Officer?" O'Brien nodded his head again, at which the French troops
laughed, and called me an _enfant_.
Then, as I was very faint and could not walk, I was carried on three
muskets, O'Brien walking by my side, till we reached the town of Cette;
there we were taken to the commanding officer's house. It turned out
that this officer's name was also O'Brien, and that he was of Irish
descent. He and his daughter Celeste, a little girl of twelve, treated
us both with every kindness. Celeste was my little nurse, and we became
very intimate, as might be expected. Our chief employment was teaching
each other French and English.
Before two months were over, I was quite recovered, and soon the time
came when we were to leave our comfortable quarters for a French prison.
Captain Savage had sent our clothes and two hundred dollars to us under
a flag of truce, and I had taken advantage of this to send a letter off
which I dictated to Colonel O'Brien, containing my statement of the
affair, in which I mentioned O'Brien's bravery in spiking the gun and in
looking after me. I knew that he would never tell if I didn't.
At last the day came for us to leave, and my parting with Celeste was
very painful. I promised to write to her, and she promised to answer my
letters if it were permitted. We shook hands with Colonel O'Brien,
thanking him for his kindness, and much to his regret we were taken in
charge by two French cuirassiers, and so set off, on parole, on
horseback for Toulon.
From Toulon we were moved to Montpelier, and from Montpelier to Givet, a
fortified town in the department of Ardennes, where we arrived exactly
four months after our capture.
_III.--We Make Our Escape_
O'Brien had decided at once that we should make our escape from the
prison at Givet.
First he procured a plan of the fortress from a gendarme, and then, when
we were shown into the room allotted to us, and our baggage was
examined, the false bottom of his trunk was not noticed, and by this
means various instruments he had bought on the road escaped detection.
Round his body O'Brien had also wound a rope of silk, sixty feet long,
with knots at every two feet.
The practicability of escape from Givet seemed to me impossible. The
yard of the fortress was surrounded by a high wall; the buildings
appropriated for the prisoners were built with lean-to roofs on one
side, and at each side of the square was a sentry looking down upon us.
We had no parole, and but little communication with the towns-people.
But O'Brien, who often examined the map he had procured from the
gendarme, said to me one day, "Peter, can you swim?"
"No," replied I; "but never mind that."
"But I must mind it, Peter; for observe we shall have to cross the River
Meuse, and boats are not always to be had. This fortress is washed by
the river on one side; and as it is the strongest side it is the least
guarded--we must escape by it. I can see my way clear enough till we get
to the second rampart on the river, but when we drop into the river, if
you cannot swim, I must contrive to hold you up somehow or other. But
first tell me, do you intend to try your luck with me?"
"Yes," replied I, "most certainly, if you have sufficient confidence in
me to take me as your companion."
"To tell you the truth, Peter, I would not give a farthing to escape
without you. We were taken together, and, please God, we'll take
ourselves off together, directly we get the dark nights and foul
weather."
We had been about two months in Givet when letters arrived. My father
wrote requesting me to draw for whatever money I might require, and also
informing me that as my Uncle William was dead, there was now only one
between him and the title, but that my grandfather, Lord Privilege, was
in good health. O'Brien's letter was from Captain Savage; the frigate
had been sent home with despatches, and O'Brien's conduct represented to
the Admiralty, which had, in consequence, promoted him to the rank of
lieutenant. We read each other's letters, and O'Brien said, "I see your
uncle is dead. How many more uncles have you?"
"My Uncle John, who is married, and has already two daughters."
"Blessings on him! Peter, my boy, you shall be a lord before you die."
"Nonsense, O'Brien; I have no chance."
"What chance had I of being lieutenant, and am I not one? And now, my
boy, prepare yourself to quit this cursed hole in a week, wind and
weather permitting. But, Peter, do me one favour. As I am really a
lieutenant, just touch your hat to me, only once, that's all; but I wish
the compliment, just to see how it looks."
"Lieutenant O'Brien," said I, touching my hat, "have you any further
orders?"
"Yes, sir," replied he; "that you never presume to touch your hat to me
again, unless we sail together, and then that's a different sort of
thing."
A week later, O'Brien's preparations were complete. I had bought a new
umbrella on his advice, and this he had painted with a preparation of
oil and beeswax. He had also managed to procure a considerable amount of
twine, which he had turned into a sort of strong cord, or square plait.
At twelve o'clock on a dark November night we left our room and went
down into the yard. By means of pieces of iron, which he drove into the
interstices of the stone, we scaled a high wall, and dropped down on the
other side by a drawbridge. Here the sentry was asleep, but O'Brien
gagged him, and I threw open the pan of his musket to prevent him from
firing.
Then I followed O'Brien into the river. The umbrella was opened and
turned upwards, and I had only to hold on to it at arm's-length. O'Brien
had a tow line, and taking this in his teeth, he towed me down with the
stream to about a hundred yards clear of the fortress, where we landed.
O'Brien was so exhausted that for a few minutes he remained quite
motionless. I also was benumbed with the cold.
"Peter," said he, "thank God we have succeeded so far. Now we must push
on as far as we can, for we shall have daylight in two hours."
It was not till some months later that, after many adventures, we
reached Flushing, and procured the services of a pilot. With a strong
tide and a fair wind we were soon clear of the Scheldt, and next morning
a cutter hove in sight, and in a few minutes we found ourselves once
more under the British pennant.
_IV.--In Bedlam_
Once, in the West Indies, O'Brien and I had again come across our good
friend Colonel O'Brien and his daughter Celeste. He was now General
O'Brien, Governor of Martinique; and Celeste was nineteen, and I
one-and-twenty. And though France and England were still at war, before
we parted Celeste and I were lovers, engaged to be married; and the
general raised no objection to our attachment.
On our return from that voyage a series of troubles overtook me. My
grandfather, Lord Privilege, had begun to take some interest in me; but
before he died my uncle went to live with him, and so poisoned his mind
against me that when the old lord's will was read it was found that
£10,000 bequeathed to me had been cancelled by a codicil. As both my
brothers and my other uncle were dead, my uncle was enraged at the
possibility of my succeeding to the title.
The loss of £10,000 was too much for my father's reason, and from lunacy
he went quietly to his grave, leaving my only sister, Ellen, to find a
home among strangers.
In the meantime, O'Brien had been made a captain, and had sailed for the
East Indies. I was to have accompanied him, but my uncle, who had now
succeeded to the title, had sufficient influence at the Admiralty to
prevent this, and I was appointed first lieutenant to a ship whose
captain, an illegitimate son of Lord Privilege, was determined to ruin
me. Captain Hawkins was a cowardly, mean, tyrannical man, and, although
I kept my temper under all his petty persecutions, he managed at last to
string together a number of accusations and, on our return, send me to a
court-martial.
The verdict of the court-martial was that "the charges of
insubordination had been partly proved, and therefore that Lieutenant
Peter Simple was dismissed his ship; but in consideration of his good
character and services his case was strongly recommended to the
consideration of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty."
I hardly knew whether I felt glad or sorry at this sentence. On the one
hand, in spite of the fourteen years I had served, it was almost a
death-blow to my future advancement or employment in the service; on the
other, the recommendation very much softened down the sentence, and I
was quite happy to be quit of Captain Hawkins and free to hasten to my
poor sister.
I hurried on shore, but on my journey north fell ill with fever, and for
three weeks was in a state of alternate stupor and delirium, lying in a
cottage by the roadside.
My uncle, learning of my condition, thought this too favourable an
opportunity, provided I should live, not to have me in his power. He
sent to have me removed, and some days afterwards--for I recollect
nothing about the journey--I found myself in bed in a dark room, and my
arms confined. Where was I? Presently the door opened, and a man entered
who took down a shutter, and the light streamed in. The walls were bare
and whitewashed. I looked at the window; it was closed up with two iron
bars.
"Why, where am I?" I inquired, with alarm.
"Where are you?" replied he. "Why, in Bedlam!"
As I afterwards discovered, my uncle had had me confined upon the plea
that I was a young man who was deranged with an idea that his name was
Simple, and that he was the heir to the title and estates, and that it
was more from the fear of my coming to some harm than from any ill-will
toward the poor young man that he wished me to remain in the hospital
and be taken care of. Under these circumstances, I remained in Bedlam
for one year and eight months.
A chance visit from General O'Brien, a prisoner on parole, who was
accompanied by his friend, Lord Belmore, secured my release; and shortly
afterwards I commenced an action for false imprisonment against Lord
Privilege. But the sudden death of my uncle stopped the action, and gave
me the title and estates. The return of my old messmate, Captain
O'Brien, who had just been made Sir Terence O'Brien, in consequence of
his successes in the East Indies, added to my happiness.
I found that Sir Terence had been in love with my sister Ellen from the
day I had first taken him home, and that Ellen was equally in love with
him; so when Celeste consented to my entreaties that our wedding should
take place six weeks after my assuming the title, O'Brien took the hint
and spoke.
Both unions have been attended with as much happiness as this world can
afford. O'Brien and I are blessed with children, until we can now muster
a large Christmas party in the two families.
Such is the history of Peter Simple, Viscount Privilege, no longer the
fool, but the head, of the family.
* * * * *