THE OLD CAPTAIN IN PERSON.
"Mrs. Lyndsay, my dear; that nurse of yours is going to hang out your
clothes in front of the sea. Now, it's hardly _decent_ of her, to expose
female garments to every boat that may be passing."
The Captain's delicacy threw poor Flora nearly into convulsions of
laughter--while he continued, rather pettishly--
"She knows no more how to handle a rope than a pig. If you will just
tell her to wait a bit, until I have overhauled my vessel, I will put up
the ropes for you myself."
"And hang out the clothes for you, Mrs. Lyndsay, if you will only give
him the treat--and then, he will not shock the sensitive nerves of the
sailors, by hanging them near the sea," sneered the handsome old lady.
"I hate to see things done in a lubberly manner," muttered the old tar.
"Oh, pray oblige him, Mrs. Lyndsay. He is such an old woman. I wonder he
does not ask your permission to let him wash the clothes."
"Fresh water is not my element, Mrs. Kitson, though I have long known
that _hot_ water is yours. I never suffer a woman to touch my ropes, and
Mrs. Lyndsay borrowed those ropes this morning of me. Don't interrupt
me, Mrs. K.; attend to your business, and leave me to mine. Put a
stopper upon that clapper of yours; which goes at the rate of ten knots
an hour--or look out for squalls."
In the hope of averting the storm, which Flora saw was gathering on the
old man's brow, and which in all probability had been brewing all the
morning, she assured the Captain, that he might take the command of her
nurse, ropes, clothes, and all.
"Mrs. Lyndsay,--you are a sensible woman,--which is more than I can say
of some folks," glancing at his wife; "and I hope that you mean to
submit patiently to the yoke of matrimony; and not pull one way, while
your husband pulls the other. To sail well together on the sea of life,
you must hold fast to the right end of the rope and haul in the same
direction."
His hand was upon the lock of the door, and the old lady had made
herself sure of his exit, and was comfortably settling herself for a
fresh spell of gossip at his expense, when he suddenly returned to the
sofa on which Flora was seated; and putting his mouth quite close to her
ear, while his little inquisitive grey eyes sparkled with intense
curiosity, said, in a mysterious whisper, "How is this, my dear--I hear
that you are going to leave us?"
Flora started with surprise. Not a word had transpired of the
conversation she had lately held with her husband. Did the old Captain
possess the gift of second-sight? "Captain Kitson," she said, in rather
an excited tone; while the colour flushed up into her face, "Who told
you so?"
"Then it is true?" and the old fox rubbed his hands and nodded his head,
at the success of his stratagem. "Who told me?--why I can't say, who
told me. You know, where there are servants living in the house, and
walls are thin--news travels fast."
"And when people have sharp ears to listen to what is passing in their
neighbours' houses," muttered the old lady, in a provoking aside, "news
travels faster still."
Flora was annoyed beyond measure at the impertinent curiosity of the
inquisitive old man. She felt certain that her conversation with her
husband had been overheard. She knew that Captain Kitson and his wife
were notable gossips, and it was mortifying to know that their secret
plans in a few hours would be made public. She replied coldly, "Captain
Kitson, you have been misinformed; we may have talked over such a thing
in private as a matter of speculation, but nothing at present has been
determined."
"Now, my dear, that won't do; leave an old sailor to find out a rat. I
tell you that 'tis the common report of the day. Besides, is not the
_Leaftenant_ gone this morning with that scapegrace, Tom W----, to hear
some lying land-shark preach about Canada."
"Lecture! Kitson," said the old lady, who was not a whit behind her
spouse in wishing to extract the news, though she suffered him to be the
active agent in the matter.
"Lecture or preach, it's all one; only the parson takes his text from
the Bible to hold forth upon, and these agents, employed by the Canada
Company, say what they can out of their own heads. The object in both is
to make money. I thought the _Leaftenant_ had been too long in a colony
to be caught by chaff."
"My husband can judge for himself, Captain Kitson. He does not need the
advice, or the interference of a third person," said Flora, colouring
again. And this time she felt really angry; but there was no shaking the
old man off.
"To be sure--to be sure," said her tormentor, without taking the
smallest notice of her displeasure; "people are all wise in their own
eyes. But what is Canada to you, my dear? A fine settler's wife you will
make; nervous and delicate, half the time confined to your bed with some
complaint or other. And then, when you are well, the whole blessed day
is wasted in reading and writing, and coddling up the babby. I tell you
that sort of business will not answer in a rough country like Canada. I
was there often enough during the American war, and I know that the
country won't suit you,--no, nor you won't suit the country."
Finding that Mrs. Lyndsay made no answer to this burst of eloquence, he
continued, in a coaxing tone--
"Now, just for once in your life, my dear, be guided by older and wiser
heads than your own, and give up this foolish project altogether. Let
well alone. You are happy and comfortable where you are. This is a nice
cottage, quite large enough for your small family. Fine view of the sea
from these front windows, and all ready furnished to your hand,--nothing
to find of your own but plate and linen; a pump, wood-house and
coal-bin, and other conveniences,--all under one roof. An oven--"
"Stop," cried the old lady, "you need say nothing about that, Kitson.
The oven is good for nothing. It has no draught; and you cannot put a
fire into it without filling the house with smoke."
"Pshaw!" muttered the old man. "A little contrivance would soon put that
to rights."
"I tried my best," retorted the wife, "and I could never bake a loaf of
bread in it, fit to eat."
"We all know what bad bread you make, Mrs. Kitson," said the captain. "I
know that it can be baked in; so hold your tongue, Madam! and don't
contradict me again. At any rate, there's not a smoky chimney in the
house, which after all is a less evil than a cross wife. The house, I
say, is complete from the cellar to the garret. And then, the rent--why,
what is it? A mere trifle--too cheap by one half,--only twenty-five
pounds per annum. I don't know what possessed me, to let it so low; and
then, my dear, the privilege you enjoy in my beautiful flower-garden and
lawn. There is not many lodging-houses in the town could offer such
advantages, and all for the _paltry_ consideration of twenty-five pounds
a-year."
"The cottage is pretty, and the rent moderate, Captain," said Flora. "We
have no fault to find, and you have not found us difficult to please."
"Oh, I am quite contented with my tenants; I only want them to know when
they are well off. Look twice before you leap once--that's my maxim; and
give up this mad Canadian project, which I am certain will end in
disappointment."
And with this piece of disinterested advice, away toddled our gallant
naval commander, to finish with Kelly the arrangement of his pots and
kettles, and superintend the right adjustment of the clothes-lines, and
the hanging out of Mrs. Lyndsay's clothes.
Do not imagine, gentle reader, that this picture is over-charged.
Captain Kitson is no creature of romance, (or was not, we should rather
say; for he has long since been gathered to his fathers); but a brave,
uneducated man; who during the war had risen from before the mast to the
rank of Post Captain. He had fought at Copenhagen and Trafalgar, and
distinguished himself in many a severe contest on the main during those
stirring times, and bore the reputation of a dashing naval officer. At
the advanced age of eighty, he retained all his original ignorance and
vulgarity; and was never admitted into the society which his rank in the
service entitled him to claim.
The restless activity which in the vigour of manhood had rendered him a
useful and enterprising seaman, was now displayed in the most ridiculous
interference in his own domestic affairs, and those of his neighbours.
With a great deal of low cunning, he mingled the most insatiable
curiosity; while his habits were so penurious, that he would stoop to
any meanness to gain a trifling pecuniary advantage for himself or his
family.
He speculated largely in old ropes, condemned boats and sea-tackle of
all description, whilst as consul for the port, he had many
opportunities of purchasing wrecks of the sea, and the damaged cargoes
of foreign vessels, at a cheap rate; and not a stone was left unturned
by old Kitson, if by the turning a copper could be secured.
The meddling disposition of the old Captain, rendered him the terror of
all the fishermen on the coast, over whom his sway was despotic. He
superintended and ordered all their proceedings, with an authority as
absolute as though he were still upon the deck of his war-ship, and they
were subjected to his imperious commands. Not a boat could be put off,
or a flag hoisted, without he was duly consulted and apprised of the
fact. Not a funeral could take place in the town, without Kitson calling
upon the bereaved family, and offering his services on the mournful
occasion, securing to himself by this simple manoeuvre, an abundant
supply of black silk cravats and kid gloves.
"Never lose anything, my dear, for the want of _asking_," he would say.
"A refusal breaks no bones, and there is always a chance of getting what
you ask."
Acting upon this principle, he had begged favours of all the great men
in power; and had solicited the interest of every influential person who
had visited the town, during the bathing season, for the last twenty
years, on his behalf. His favourite maxim practically carried out, had
been very successful. He had obtained, for the mere trouble of asking,
commissions in the army and navy for all his sons, and had got all his
grandsons comfortably placed in the Greenwich or Christ Church schools.
He had a garden too, which was at once his torment and his pride. During
the spring and summer months, the beds were dug up and remodelled,
three or four times during the season, to suit the caprice of the owner,
while the poor drooping flowers were ranged along the grass-plot to
wither in the sun during the process, and
"Waste their sweetness on the desert air."
This he termed putting his borders into ship-shape.
The flower-beds which skirted the lawn, a pretty grass plot containing
about an acre of ground, surrounded by tall poplar trees, were regularly
sown with a succession of annuals, all for the time being of one sort
and colour. For several weeks, innumerable quantities of double crimson
stocks flaunted before your eyes, so densely packed, that scarcely a
shade of green relieved the brilliant monotony. These were succeeded by
larkspurs, and lastly by poppies, that reared their tall, gorgeous heads
above the low, white railing, and looked defiance on all beholders.
Year after year presented the same spectacle, and pounds of stocks,
larkspur and poppy seeds, were annually saved by the eccentric old man,
to renew his floral show.
Tom W----, who was enchanted with the Captain's oddities, had nick-named
the marine cottage _Larkspur Lodge_.