IN WHICH MORE IMPORTANT PERSONAGES ARE INTRODUCED, AND DISPLAY THEIR
CHARACTERS BY THEIR ACTIONS MORE OR LESS.
The "Three Jolly Tars" was one of those low taverns where seamen were
wont to congregate--not _because_ it was a low tavern, but because there
was no other sort of tavern--high or low--in that neighbourhood.
The world (that is to say, the delicately-nurtured and carefully-tended
world) is apt to form erroneous opinions in regard to low taverns, and
degradation, and sin in general,--arising from partial ignorance and
absolute inexperience, which it is important that we should correct in
order that the characters of our story may not be falsely judged. God
forbid that it should be for a moment supposed that we have a word to
say in favour of low taverns. Our aim just now is, not to consider
these, but, to convince the reader, if possible, that every man who
enters one of them is not necessarily a lost or utterly depraved
creature.
It is undoubtedly true that these low taverns are moral pig-sties. Nay,
we owe an apology to the pigs for the comparison. _Sties_ appear to be
places of abode suited to the nature and tastes of their occupants, and
the grumps who inhabit them seem not only to rejoice in them (for this
alone would be no argument, inasmuch as the same may be affirmed of men
who rejoice in low taverns), but to be utterly incapable of higher
enjoyment out of them. Let a pig out of his stye, afford him every
conceivable opportunity of intellectual and physical improvement, and he
will carefully search out the nearest mudhole--unhappy until he finds
it--will thrust not only his nose but his body into it, and will find
supreme enjoyment in wallowing in the mire; and no blame to him for
this; he is grumpish by nature. Yes, a low tavern is beneath the level
of a pig-stye!
Nevertheless, as it is possible that, _for a time_, man may, through
sin, or circumstances, or both, be reduced to such a condition as to
take shelter in a pig-stye, without exposing himself to the charge of
being a pig; so, it is possible that a man may frequent a low tavern,
_not_ without detriment, but, without becoming thereby worthy of being
classed with the lowest of the low. Do not misunderstand us, gentle
reader. We do not wish in the slightest degree to palliate the coarse
language, the debasement, the harsh villainy, which shock the virtuous
when visiting the haunts of poverty. Our simple desire is to assure the
sceptical that goodness and truth are sometimes found in strange
questionable places, although it is undoubtedly true that they do not
deliberately search out such places for an abode, but prefer a pure
atmosphere and pleasant companionship if they can get it.
It must not be supposed, then, that our friend John Bax--sometimes
called "captain," sometimes "skipper," not unfrequently "mister," but
most commonly "Bax," without any modification--was a hopeless castaway,
because he was found by his friend Guy Foster in a room full of careless
foul-mouthed seamen, eating his bread and cheese and drinking his beer
in an atmosphere so impregnated with tobacco smoke that he could
scarcely see, and so redolent of gin that he could scarcely smell the
smoke!
In those days there were not so many sailors' homes and temperance
coffee-houses as there are now. In the locality about which we write
there were none. If Jack wanted his lunch or his dinner he found the
low tavern almost the only place in which he could get it comfortably.
Tobacco smoke was no objection to him;--he rather liked it. Swearing
did not shock him;--he was used to it. Gentle folk are apt to err here
too. Being _shocked_ at gross sin does not necessarily imply goodness
of heart; it implies nothing more than the being unused to witness gross
sin. Goodness of heart _may_ go along with this capacity of being
shocked, so, equally, may badness of heart; but neither of them is
implied by it.
What a grand thing is truth--simple abstract truth! and yet how little
do we appreciate it in regard to the inconceivably important matter of
_reasoning_. We analyse our chemicals and subject them to the severest
tests in order to ascertain their true properties;--truth is all we aim
at; but how many of us can say that we analyse our thoughts and subject
our reasoning to the test of logic in order simply to ascertain _the
truth_.
"Smoke for ever! I say, Bill, open that there port a bit, else we'll be
choked," cried a stentorian voice, as Guy entered the little apartment,
where some dozen of noisy sailors were creating the cloud, which was a
little too strong for them.
For some moments Guy glanced round inquiringly, unable to pierce the dim
curtain that enshrouded everything, as with a veil of dirty gauze.
"Lost your reckoning, I guess," drawled a Yankee skipper.
"Never mind, let go your anchor, my lad," cried a voice from the densest
quarter of the smoke, "it's not a bad berth, and good holdin' ground."
"What'll you take to drink, my boy, supposin' you gits the offer?"
inquired another man, giving him a facetious poke in the ribs.
"Is John Bax here?" inquired Guy.
"Hallo, messmate--here you are, port your helm and heave a-head--steady!
rocks to leeward; starboard hard! ah, I knew you'd never clear these
rocks without touchin'," said Bax, as his young friend tripped over
three or four spittoons, and plunged into the corner from which the
sailor's deep bass voice issued. "There now, sit down; what'll you
have?"
"Nothing, Bax; what a horrible hole to feed in! Couldn't you come out
and talk with me in the fresh air?"
It must indeed have been a wonderfully impure place when Guy could
venture by contrast to speak of the air outside as being fresh.
"Couldn't do it, my lad," replied Bax, with his mouth full. "I haven't
had a bit since six o'clock this morning, and I'm only half through."
The fact was evident, for a large plate of biscuit and cheese stood on
the small table before the seaman, with a tumbler of hot gin and water.
So Guy sat down, and, observing that the waiter stood at his elbow,
ordered half a pint of stout. Guy did not drink spirits, but he had no
objection to beer, so he took occasion to remonstrate with Bax on his
tendency to drink gin, and recommended beer instead, as it would "do him
more good." It did not occur to Guy that a young man in robust health
does not require physical good to be done to him at all, beyond what
food, and rest, and exercise can achieve, and that, therefore,
artificial stimulant of any kind is unnecessary!
"Skipper ahoy!" shouted, a gruff voice in the doorway.
"Ay, ay!" cried several of the party in reply.
"Is John Bax in this here port?"
"Here you are," replied the man in request, "port your helm, old boy!
rocks on the lee bow, look out!"
"Steady, so," said a fat burly seaman, as he steered in obedience to
these sailing directions, and finally "cast anchor" beside our two
friends.
"How are ye, Captain Bluenose?" said Bax, holding out his hand.
"Same to you, lad," replied the Captain, seizing the offered hand in his
own enormous fist, which was knotty and fleshy, seamed with old cuts and
scars, and stained with tar. "Hallo! Guy, is this you?" he added,
turning suddenly to the youth. "Why, who'd 'a thought to see _you_
here? I do b'lieve I han't seen ye since the last time down at the
coast. But, I say, Guy, my boy, you han't took to drinkin', have ye?"
"No, Captain," said Guy, with a smile, "nothing stronger than beer, and
not much of that. I merely came here to meet Bax."
Captain Bluenose--whose name, by the way, had no reference to his nose,
for that was small and red--scratched his chin and stared into vacancy,
as if he were meditating.
"Why, boy," he said at length, "seems to me as if you'd as good cause to
suspec' me of drinkin' as I have to suspec' you, 'cause we're both
_here_, d'ye see? Howsever, I've been cruisin' after the same craft,
an' so we've met, d'ye see, an' that's nat'ral, so it is."
"Well, and now you have found me, what d'ye want with me?" said Bax,
finishing the bread and cheese, and applying to the gin and water.
"Shipmet, I'm goin' home, and wants a berth a-board the `Nancy,'" said
Bluenose.
"Couldn't do it, Captain," said Bax, shaking his head, "'gainst rules."
"I'll go as a hextra hand--a suppernummerary," urged the Captain.
"Why, Captain," said Guy, "is it not strange that I should have come
here to make the very same request? Come, Bax, you're a good fellow,
and will take us both. I will guarantee that my uncle will not find
fault with you."
"Ah, that alters the case," said Bax, "if you choose to take the
responsibility on your own shoulders, Guy, you're welcome to the best
berth a-board the old `Nancy.' D'ye know, I've a fondness for that old
craft, though she is about as unseaworthy a schooner as sails out o' the
port of London. You see, she's the only craft bigger than a Deal lugger
that I ever had command of. She's my first love, is the old `Nancy,'
and I hope we won't have to part for many a day."
"Quite right, young man," said Captain Bluenose, nodding his head
approvingly, and filling his pipe from a supply of tobacco he always
carried in the right pocket of his capacious blue waistcoat. The
Captain gazed with a look of grave solemnity in the manly countenance of
the young sailor, for whom he entertained feelings of unbounded
admiration. He had dandled Bax on his knee when he was a baby, had
taught him to make boats and to swim and row when he became a boy, and
had sailed with him many a time in the same lugger when they put off in
wild storms to rescue lives or property from ships wrecked on the famous
Goodwin Sands.
"Quite right, young man," repeated the Captain, as he lighted his pipe,
"your sentiments does you credit. W'en a man's got his first love, d'ye
see, an' finds as how she's all trim and ship-shape, and taut, and well
ballasted, and all that sort o' thing, stick to her to the last, through
thick and thin. That's wot _I_ say, d'ye see? There's no two ways
about it, for wot's right can't be wrong. If it can, show me how, and
then I'll knock under, but not before."
"Certainly not, Captain," cried Bax, laughing, "never give in--that's my
motto."
"There," said Bluenose, gravely, "you're wrong--'cause why? You're not
right, an' w'en a man's not right he ought always to give in."
"But how is a fellow to know when he's right and when he's wrong?" asked
Bax.
"Con-sideration," said Bluenose.
"Bravo! Captain," cried Guy, with a laugh, "if it be true that `brevity
is the soul of wit,' you must be the wittiest fellow on Deal beach."
"I dun-know," retorted the Captain, slowly, "whether it's the soul or
the body o' wit, an' wot's more, I don't care; but it's a fact, d'ye
see, that consideration'll do it; least-wise if consideration won't,
nothin' will. See now, here it is,"--(he became very earnest at this
point),--"w'en a thing puzzles people, wot does people do? why, they
begins right off to talk about it, an' state their opinions afore they
han't got no opinions to state. P'raps they takes the puzzler up by the
middle an' talks wild about that part of it; then they give a look at
the end of it, an' mayhap they'll come back and glance at the beginnin',
mayhap they won't, and then they'll tell you as grave as owls that
they've made up their minds about it, and so nail their colours to the
mast."
At this stage in the elucidation of the knotty point, Bluenose observed
that his pipe was going out, so he paused, pulled at it vigorously for a
few seconds, and then resumed his discourse.
"Now, lads, wot _ought_ you for to do w'en you've got hold of a puzzler?
Why, you ought to sit down and consider of it, which means you should
begin at the beginnin'; an' let me tell you, it's harder to find the
beginnin' of a puzzler than p'raps you suppose. Havin' found the
beginnin', you should look at it well, and then go on lookin', inch by
inch, and fut by fut, till you comes to the end of it; then look it
back, oncommon slow, to the beginnin' again, after which turn it outside
in, or inside out,--it don't much matter which way,--and go it all over
once more; after which cram your knuckles into yer two eyes, an' sit for
half-an-hour (or three-quarters, if it's tremendous deep) without
movin'. If that don't do, and you ha'nt got time to try it over again,
give in at once, an haul your colours down, but on no occasion wotiver
nail them to the mast,--'xceptin' always, w'en you're cocksure that
you're right, for then, of coorse, ye can't go far wrong."
This little touch of philosophy convinced Bax that if he did not wish to
sit there half the night, the sooner he changed the subject the better,
so he called the waiter, and paid his bill, saying to his companions
that it was time to go aboard if they wanted a snooze before tripping
the anchor.
"What have you had, sir?" said the waiter, turning to Bluenose.
The man said this with a sneer, for he knew that the captain had taken
nothing since he entered the house, and was aware, moreover, that he was
a water-drinker.
"I've had nothin'," replied the Captain, "nor don't want any, thank
'ee."
"Oh! beg pardon, sir," the waiter bowed and retired impressively.
"The house couldn't keep goin' long with _some_ customers," stammered a
rough-looking, half-tipsy fellow who had overheard these remarks.
"Might do something for the good of the house," said another, who was
equally drunk.
"Who bade _you_ put in your oar?" cried the first speaker fiercely, for
he had reached that condition of intoxication which is well known as the
fighting stage. The other man was quite ready to humour him, so, almost
before one could understand what had been said, a savage blow was given
and returned, oaths and curses followed, and in two seconds one of the
combatants had his opponent by the throat, threw him on his back, with
his neck over the fender and his head thrust into the ashes.
Instantly the room was a scene of wild confusion, as some of the friends
of both men endeavoured to separate them, while others roared in drunken
glee to "let 'em have fair play, and fight it out."
The result of this quarrel might have been serious had not Bax thrust
the yelling crowd aside, and, exerting to the utmost the extraordinary
muscular power with which he had been endowed, tore the combatants
asunder by main force, and hurled them violently to opposite sides of
the room.
"Shame on you; lads," said he, "can you not drink your grog without
quarrelling about nothing?"
The towering size and the indignant look of Bax, as he said this, were
sufficient to quell the disturbance, although some of the more irascible
spirits could not refrain from grumbling about interference, and the
Yankee roundly asserted that "before he'd go into a public, and sit down
and smoke his pipe without doin' somethin' for the good o' the 'ouse,
he'd like to see himself chawed up pretty slick, he would."
"Waiter a-hoy!" shouted Captain Bluenose sternly, on hearing this.
"Yes-sir."
"Bring me a tumbler o' gin and a pot o' _cold water_."
"Tum'ler--o'--gin--sir--an'--a--por--o'--col' wa'r, sir? Yes--sir."
The waiter stopped suddenly and turned back.
"_Mixed_, sir?"
"No, _not_ mixed, sir," replied Bluenose, with a look and tone of
withering sarcasm; "contrairywise, wery much separated."
When the gin and water were placed on the table, the Captain quietly
took up the former and cast it, glass and all, under the grate, after
which he raised the pot of water to his lips, and, looking round on the
company with a bland smile, said:--
"There, I've took somethin' for the good of the house, and now, lads,
I'll drink to your better health and happiness in my favourite tipple,
the wich I heartily recommend to _you_."
Bluenose drained the pot, flung a half-crown on the table, and swaggered
out of the house with his hands deep in the pockets of his rough
pea-jacket.
The fact was that the worthy Captain felt aggrieved, and his spirit was
somewhat ruffled at the idea of being expected to drink in a house where
he had oftentimes, for years past, regaled himself with, and expended
his money upon, bread and cheese and ginger-beer!