Chapter III. Of Two Friends of my Youth
I fear, my children, that you will think that the prologue is over longfor the play; but the foundations must be laid before the building iserected, and a statement of this sort is a sorry and a barren thingunless you have a knowledge of the folk concerned. Be patient, then,while I speak to you of the old friends of my youth, some of whom youmay hear more of hereafter, while others remained behind in the countryhamlet, and yet left traces of our early intercourse upon my characterwhich might still be discerned there.
Foremost for good amongst all whom I knew was Zachary Palmer, thevillage carpenter, a man whose aged and labour-warped body contained thesimplest and purest of spirits. Yet his simplicity was by no means theresult of ignorance, for from the teachings of Plato to those of Hobbesthere were few systems ever thought out by man which he had not studiedand weighed. Books were far dearer in my boyhood than they are now,and carpenters were less well paid, but old Palmer had neither wife norchild, and spent little on food or raiment. Thus it came about that onthe shelf over his bed he had a more choice collection of books--few asthey were in number--than the squire or the parson, and these books hehad read until he not only understood them himself, but could impartthem to others.
This white-bearded and venerable village philosopher would sit by hiscabin door upon a summer evening, and was never so pleased as whensome of the young fellows would slip away from their bowls and theirquoit-playing in order to lie in the grass at his feet, and ask himquestions about the great men of old, their words and their deeds. Butof all the youths I and Reuben Lockarby, the innkeeper's son, were histwo favourites, for we would come the earliest and stop the latest tohear the old man talk. No father could have loved his children betterthan he did us, and he would spare no pains to get at our callowthoughts, and to throw light upon whatever perplexed or troubled us.Like all growing things, we had run our heads against the problem ofthe universe. We had peeped and pryed with our boyish eyes into thoseprofound depths in which the keenest-sighted of the human race had seenno bottom. Yet when we looked around us in our own village world, andsaw the bitterness and rancour which pervaded every sect, we could notbut think that a tree which bore such fruit must have something amisswith it. This was one of the thoughts unspoken to our parents whichwe carried to good old Zachary, and on which he had much to say whichcheered and comforted us.
'These janglings and wranglings,' said he, 'are but on the surface,and spring from the infinite variety of the human mind, which will everadapt a creed to suit its own turn of thought. It is the solid core thatunderlies every Christian creed which is of importance. Could youbut live among the Romans or the Greeks, in the days before this newdoctrine was preached, you would then know the change that it haswrought in the world. How this or that text should be construed is amatter of no moment, however warm men may get over it. What is of thevery greatest moment is, that every man should have a good and solidreason for living a simple, cleanly life. This the Christian creed hasgiven us.'
'I would not have you be virtuous out of fear,' he said upon anotheroccasion. 'The experience of a long life has taught me, however, thatsin is always punished in this world, whatever may come in the next.There is always some penalty in health, in comfort, or in peace ofmind to be paid for every wrong. It is with nations as it is withindividuals. A book of history is a book of sermons. See how theluxurious Babylonians were destroyed by the frugal Persians, and howthese same Persians when they learned the vices of prosperity were putto the sword by the Greeks. Read on and mark how the sensual Greeks weretrodden down by the more robust and hardier Romans, and finally how theRomans, having lost their manly virtues, were subdued by the nationsof the north. Vice and destruction came ever hand in hand. Thus didProvidence use each in turn as a scourge wherewith to chastise thefollies of the other. These things do not come by chance. They are partof a great system which is at work in your own lives. The longer youlive the more you will see that sin and sadness are never far apart, andthat no true prosperity can exist away from virtue.'
A very different teacher was the sea-dog Solomon Sprent, who lived inthe second last cottage on the left-hand side of the main street of thevillage. He was one of the old tarpaulin breed, who had fought underthe red cross ensign against Frenchman, Don, Dutchman, and Moor, until around shot carried off his foot and put an end to his battles for ever.In person he was thin, and hard, and brown, as lithe and active as acat, with a short body and very long arms, each ending in a great handwhich was ever half closed as though shutting on a rope. From head tofoot he was covered with the most marvellous tattooings, done in blue,red, and green, beginning with the Creation upon his neck and winding upwith the Ascension upon his left ankle. Never have I seen such a walkingwork of art. He was wont to say that had he been owned and his body castup upon some savage land, the natives might have learned the whole ofthe blessed gospel from a contemplation of his carcass. Yet with sorrowI must say that the seaman's religion appeared to have all worked intohis skin, so that very little was left for inner use. It had broken outupon the surface, like the spotted fever, but his system was clear ofit elsewhere. He could swear in eleven languages and three-and-twentydialects, nor did he ever let his great powers rust for want ofpractice. He would swear when he was happy or when he was sad, when hewas angry or when he was loving, but this swearing was so mere a trickof speech, without malice or bitterness, that even my father couldhardly deal harshly with the sinner. As time passed, however, the oldman grew more sober and more thoughtful, until in his latter days hewent back to the simple beliefs of his childhood, and learned to fightthe devil with the same steady courage with which he had faced theenemies of his country.
Old Solomon was a never-failing source of amusement and of interest tomy friend Lockarby and myself. On gala days he would have us in to dinewith him, when he would regale us with lobscouse and salmagundi, orperhaps with an outland dish, a pillaw or olla podrida, or fish broiledafter the fashion of the Azores, for he had a famous trick of cooking,and could produce the delicacies of all nations. And all the time thatwe were with him he would tell us the most marvellous stories of Rupert,under whom he served; how he would shout from the poop to his squadronto wheel to the right, or to charge, or to halt, as the case might be,as if he were still with his regiment of horse. Of Blake, too, he hadmany stories to tell. But even the name of Blake was not so dear to ourold sailor as was that of Sir Christopher Mings. Solomon had at one timebeen his coxswain, and could talk by the hour of those gallant deedswhich had distinguished him from the day that he entered the navy as acabin boy until he fell upon his own quarter-deck, a full admiral of thered, and was borne by his weeping ship's company to his grave in Chathamchurchyard. 'If so be as there's a jasper sea up aloft,' said the oldseaman, 'I'll wager that Sir Christopher will see that the English flaghas proper respect paid to it upon it, and that we are not fooled byforeigners. I've served under him in this world, and I ask nothingbetter than to be his coxswain in the next--if so be as he should chanceto have a vacancy for such.' These remembrances would always end in thebrewing of an extra bowl of punch, and the drinking of a solemn bumperto the memory of the departed hero.
Stirring as were Solomon Sprent's accounts of his old commanders, theireffect upon us was not so great as when, about his second or thirdglass, the floodgates of his memory would be opened, and he would pourout long tales of the lands which he had visited, and the peoples whichhe had seen. Leaning forward in our seats with our chins resting uponour hands, we two youngsters would sit for hours, with our eyes fixedupon the old adventurer, drinking in his words, while he, pleased at theinterest which he excited, would puff slowly at his pipe and reel offstory after story of what he had seen or done. In those days, my dears,there was no Defoe to tell us the wonders of the world, no _Spectator_to lie upon our breakfast table, no Gulliver to satisfy our love ofadventure by telling us of such adventures as never were. Not once ina month did a common newsletter fall into our hands. Personal hazards,ther
efore, were of more value then than they are now, and the talk of aman like old Solomon was a library in itself. To us it was all real. Hishusky tones and ill-chosen words were as the voice of an angel, and oureager minds filled in the details and supplied all that was wanting inhis narratives. In one evening we have engaged a Sallee rover off thePillars of Hercules; we have coasted down the shores of the Africancontinent, and seen the great breakers of the Spanish Main foaming uponthe yellow sand; we have passed the black ivory merchants with theirhuman cargoes; we have faced the terrible storms which blow ever aroundthe Cape de Boa Esperanza; and finally, we have sailed away out over thegreat ocean beyond, amid the palm-clad coral islands, with the knowledgethat the realms of Prester John lie somewhere behind the golden hazewhich shimmers upon the horizon. After such a flight as that we wouldfeel, as we came back to the Hampshire village and the dull realitiesof country life, like wild birds who had been snared by the fowler andclapped into narrow cages. Then it was that the words of my father, 'Youwill find your wings some day and fly away,' would come back to me, andset up such a restlessness as all the wise words of Zachary Palmer couldnot allay.
Chapter IV. Of the Strange Fish that we Caught at Spithead
One evening in the month of May 1685, about the end of the first weekof the month, my friend Reuben Lockarby and I borrowed Ned Marley'spleasure boat, and went a-fishing out of Langston Bay. At that time Iwas close on one-and-twenty years of age, while my companion was oneyear younger. A great intimacy had sprung up between us, founded onmutual esteem, for he being a little undergrown man was proud of mystrength and stature, while my melancholy and somewhat heavy spirit tooka pleasure in the energy and joviality which never deserted him, andin the wit which gleamed as bright and as innocent as summer lightningthrough all that he said. In person he was short and broad, round-faced,ruddy-cheeked, and in truth a little inclined to be fat, though he wouldnever confess to more than a pleasing plumpness, which was held, hesaid, to be the acme of manly beauty amongst the ancients. The sterntest of common danger and mutual hardship entitle me to say that noman could have desired a stauncher or more trusty comrade. As he wasdestined to be with me in the sequel, it was but fitting that he shouldhave been at my side on that May evening which was the starting-point ofour adventures.
We pulled out beyond the Warner Sands to a place half-way between themand the Nab, where we usually found bass in plenty. There we cast theheavy stone which served us as an anchor overboard, and proceeded toset our lines. The sun sinking slowly behind a fog-bank had slashed thewhole western sky with scarlet streaks, against which the wooded slopesof the Isle of Wight stood out vaporous and purple. A fresh breeze wasblowing from the south-east, flecking the long green waves with crestsof foam, and filling our eyes and lips with the smack of the salt spray.Over near St. Helen's Point a King's ship was making her way down thechannel, while a single large brig was tacking about a quarter of a mileor less from where we lay. So near were we that we could catch a glimpseof the figures upon her deck as she heeled over to the breeze, and couldbear the creaking of her yards and the flapping of her weather-stainedcanvas as she prepared to go about.
'Look ye, Micah,' said my companion, looking up from his fishing-line.'That is a most weak-minded ship--a ship which will make no way in theworld. See how she hangs in the wind, neither keeping on her course nortacking. She is a trimmer of the seas--the Lord Halifax of the ocean.'
'Why, there is something amiss with her,' I replied, staring across withhand-shaded eyes. 'She yaws about as though there were no one at thehelm. Her main-yard goes aback! Now it is forward again! The folk on herdeck seem to me to be either fighting or dancing. Up with the anchor,Reuben, and let us pull to her.'
'Up with the anchor and let us get out of her way,' he answered, stillgazing at the stranger. 'Why will you ever run that meddlesome head ofyours into danger's way? She flies Dutch colours, but who can say whenceshe really comes? A pretty thing if we were snapped up by a buccaneerand sold in the Plantations!'
'A buccaneer in the Solent!' cried I derisively. 'We shall be seeing theblack flag in Emsworth Creek next. But hark! What is that?'
The crack of a musket sounded from aboard the brig. Then came a moment'ssilence and another musket shot rang out, followed by a chorus of shoutsand cries. Simultaneously the yards swung round into position, the sailscaught the breeze once more, and the vessel darted away on a coursewhich would take her past Bembridge Point out to the English Channel. Asshe flew along her helm was put hard down, a puff of smoke shot outfrom her quarter, and a cannon ball came hopping and splashing overthe waves, passing within a hundred yards of where we lay. With thisfarewell greeting she came up into the wind again and continued hercourse to the southward.
'Heart o' grace!' ejaculated Reuben in loose lipped astonishment. 'Themurdering villains!'
'I would to the Lord that King's ship would snap them up!' cried Isavagely, for the attack was so unprovoked that it stirred my bile.'What could the rogues have meant? They are surely drunk or mad!'
'Pull at the anchor, man, pull at the anchor!' my companion shouted,springing up from the seat. 'I understand it! Pull at the anchor!'
'What then?' I asked, helping him to haul the great stone up, hand overhand, until it came dripping over the side.
'They were not firing at us, lad. They were aiming at some one in thewater between us and them. Pull, Micah! Put your back into it! Some poorfellow may he drowning.'
'Why, I declare!' said I, looking over my shoulder as I rowed, 'thereis his head upon the crest of a wave. Easy, or we shall be over him! Twomore strokes and be ready to seize him! Keep up, friend! There's help athand!'
'Take help to those who need help' said a voice out of the sea. 'Zounds,man, keep a guard on your oar! I fear a pat from it very much more thanI do the water.'
These words were delivered in so calm and self-possessed a tone that allconcern for the swimmer was set at rest. Drawing in our oars we facedround to have a look at him. The drift of the boat had brought us soclose that he could have grasped the gunwale had he been so minded.
'Sapperment!' he cried in a peevish voice; 'to think of my brother Nonusserving me such a trick! What would our blessed mother have said couldshe have seen it? My whole kit gone, to say nothing of my venture inthe voyage! And now I have kicked off a pair of new jack boots thatcost sixteen rix-dollars at Vanseddar's at Amsterdam. I can't swim injack-boots, nor can I walk without them.'
'Won't you come in out of the wet, sir?' asked Reuben, who could scarcekeep serious at the stranger's appearance and address. A pair of longarms shot out of the water, and in a moment, with a lithe, snake-likemotion, the man wound himself into the boat and coiled his great lengthupon the stern-sheets. Very lanky he was and very thin, with a craggyhard face, clean-shaven and sunburned, with a thousand little wrinklesintersecting it in every direction. He had lost his hat, and his shortwiry hair, slightly flecked with grey, stood up in a bristle all overhis head. It was hard to guess at his age, but he could scarce have beenunder his fiftieth year, though the ease with which he had boarded ourboat proved that his strength and energy were unimpaired. Of all hischaracteristics, however, nothing attracted my attention so much as hiseyes, which were almost covered by their drooping lids, and yet lookedout through the thin slits which remained with marvellous brightness andkeenness. A passing glance might give the idea that he was languid andhalf asleep, but a closer one would reveal those glittering, shiftinglines of light, and warn the prudent man not to trust too much to hisfirst impressions.
'I could swim to Portsmouth,' he remarked, rummaging in the pockets ofhis sodden jacket; 'I could swim well-nigh anywhere. I once swam fromGran on the Danube to Buda, while a hundred thousand Janissariesdanced with rage on the nether bank. I did, by the keys of St. Peter!Wessenburg's Pandours would tell you whether Decimus Saxon couldswim. Take my advice, young men, and always carry your tobacco in awater-tight metal box.'
As he spoke he drew a flat box from his pocket, and several woodentubes,
which he screwed together to form a long pipe. This he stuffedwith tobacco, and having lit it by means of a flint and steel with apiece of touch-paper from the inside of his box, he curled his legsunder him in Eastern fashion, and settled down to enjoy a smoke. Therewas something so peculiar about the whole incident, and so preposterousabout the man's appearance and actions, that we both broke into a roarof laughter, which lasted until for very exhaustion we were compelledto stop. He neither joined in our merriment nor expressed offence atit, but continued to suck away at his long wooden tube with a perfectlystolid and impassive face, save that the half-covered eyes glintedrapidly backwards and forwards from one to the other of us.
'You will excuse our laughter, sir,' I said at last; 'my friend and Iare unused to such adventures, and are merry at the happy ending of it.May we ask whom it is that we have picked up?'
'Decimus Saxon is my name,' the stranger answered; 'I am the tenth childof a worthy father, as the Latin implies. There are but nine betwixt meand an inheritance. Who knows? Small-pox might do it, or the plague!'
'We heard a shot aboard of the brig,' said Reuben.
'That was my brother Nonus shooting at me,' the stranger observed,shaking his head sadly.
'But there was a second shot.'
'Ah, that was me shooting at my brother Nonus.'
'Good lack!' I cried. 'I trust that thou hast done him no hurt.'
'But a flesh wound, at the most,' he answered. 'I thought it best tocome away, however, lest the affair grow into a quarrel. I am sure thatit was he who trained the nine-pounder on me when I was in the water.It came near enough to part my hair. He was always a good shot with afalconet or a mortar-piece. He could not have been hurt, however, to getdown from the poop to the main-deck in the time.'
There was a pause after this, while the stranger drew a long knife fromhis belt, and cleaned out his pipe with it. Reuben and I took up ouroars, and having pulled up our tangled fishing-lines, which had beenstreaming behind the boat, we proceeded to pull in towards the land.
'The question now is,' said the stranger, 'where we are to go to?'
'We are going down Langston Bay,' I answered.
'Oh, we are, are we?' he cried, in a mocking voice; 'you are sure of iteh? You are certain we are not going to France? We have a mast and sailthere, I see, and water in the beaker. All we want are a few fish,which I hear are plentiful in these waters, and we might make a push forBarfleur.'
'We are going down Langston Bay,' I repeated coldly.
'You see might is right upon the waters,' he explained, with a smilewhich broke his whole face up into crinkles. 'I am an old soldier, atough fighting man, and you are two raw lads. I have a knife, and youare unarmed. D'ye see the line of argument? The question now is, Whereare we to go?'
I faced round upon him with the oar in my hand. 'You boasted that youcould swim to Portsmouth,' said I, 'and so you shall. Into the waterwith you, you sea-viper, or I'll push you in as sure as my name is MicahClarke.'
'Throw your knife down, or I'll drive the boat hook through you,' criedReuben, pushing it forward to within a few inches of the man's throat.
'Sink me, but this is most commendable!' he said, sheathing his weapon,and laughing softly to himself. 'I love to draw spirit out of the youngfellows. I am the steel, d'ye see, which knocks the valour out of yourflint. A notable simile, and one in every way worthy of that most wittyof mankind, Samuel Butler. This,' he continued, tapping a protuberancewhich I had remarked over his chest, 'is not a natural deformity, but isa copy of that inestimable "Hudibras," which combines the light touchof Horace with the broader mirth of Catullus. Heh! what think you of thecriticism?'
'Give up that knife,' said I sternly.
'Certainly,' he replied, handing it over to me with a polite bow. 'Isthere any other reasonable matter in which I can oblige ye? I willgive up anything to do ye pleasure-save only my good name and soldierlyrepute, or this same copy of "Hudibras," which, together with a Latintreatise upon the usages of war, written by a Fleming and printed inLiege in the Lowlands, I do ever bear in my bosom.'
I sat down beside him with the knife in my hand. 'You pull both oars,'I said to Reuben; 'I'll keep guard over the fellow and see that he playsus no trick. I believe that you are right, and that he is nothing betterthan a pirate. He shall be given over to the justices when we get toHavant.'
I thought that our passenger's coolness deserted him for a moment, andthat a look of annoyance passed over his face.
'Wait a bit!' he said; 'your name, I gather is Clarke, and your home isHavant. Are you a kinsman of Joseph Clarke, the old Roundhead of thattown?'
'He is my father,' I answered.
'Hark to that, now!' he cried, with a throb of laughter; 'I have atrick of falling on my feet. Look at this, lad! Look at this!' He drewa packet of letters from his inside pocket, wrapped in a bit of tarredcloth, and opening it he picked one out and placed it upon my knee.'Read!' said he, pointing at it with his long thin finger.
It was inscribed in large plain characters, 'To Joseph Clarke, leathermerchant of Havant, by the hand of Master Decimus Saxon, part-owner ofthe ship _Providence_, from Amsterdam to Portsmouth.' At each side itwas sealed with a massive red seal, and was additionally secured with abroad band of silk.
'I have three-and-twenty of them to deliver in the neighbourhood,' heremarked. 'That shows what folk think of Decimus Saxon. Three-and-twentylives and liberties are in my hands. Ah, lad, invoices and bills oflading are not done up in that fashion. It is not a cargo of Flemishskins that is coming for the old man. The skins have good English heartsin them; ay, and English swords in their fists to strike out for freedomand for conscience. I risk my life in carrying this letter to yourfather; and you, his son, threaten to hand me over to the justices! Forshame! For shame! I blush for you!'
'I don't know what you are hinting at,' I answered. 'You must speakplainer if I am to understand you.'
'Can we trust him?' he asked, jerking his head in the direction ofReuben.
'As myself.'
'How very charming!' said he, with something between a smile anda sneer. 'David and Jonathan--or, to be more classical and lessscriptural, Damon and Pythias--eh?' These papers, then, are from thefaithful abroad, the exiles in Holland, ye understand, who are thinkingof making a move and of coming over to see King James in his own countrywith their swords strapped on their thighs. The letters are to thosefrom whom they expect sympathy, and notify when and where they will makea landing. Now, my dear lad, you will perceive that instead of my beingin your power, you are so completely in mine that it needs but a wordfrom me to destroy your whole family. Decimus Saxon is staunch, though,and that word shall never be spoken.'
'If all this be true,' said I, 'and if your mission is indeed as youhave said, why did you even now propose to make for France?'
'Aptly asked, and yet the answer is clear enough,' he replied; 'sweetand ingenuous as are your faces, I could not read upon them that yewould prove to be Whigs and friends of the good old cause. Ye might havetaken me to where excisemen or others would have wanted to pry and peep,and so endangered my commission. Better a voyage to France in an openboat than that.'
'I will take you to my father,' said I, after a few moments' thought.'You can deliver your letter and make good your story to him. If youare indeed a true man, you will meet with a warm welcome; but should youprove, as I shrewdly suspect, to be a rogue, you need expect no mercy.'
'Bless the youngster! he speaks like the Lord High Chancellor ofEngland! What is it the old man says?
"He could not ope His mouth, but out there fell a trope."
But it should be a threat, which is the ware in which you are fond ofdealing.
"He could not let A minute pass without a threat."
How's that, eh? Waller himself could not have capped the coupletneater.'
All this time Reuben had been swinging away at his oars, and we had madeour way into Langston Bay, down the sheltered waters of which
we wererapidly shooting. Sitting in the sheets, I turned over in my mindall that this waif had said. I had glanced over his shoulder at theaddresses of some of the letters--Steadman of Basingstoke, Wintleof Alresford, Fortescue of Bognor, all well-known leaders of theDissenters. If they were what he represented them to be, it was noexaggeration to say that he held the fortunes and fates of these menentirely in his hands. Government would be only too glad to have a validreason for striking hard at the men whom they feared. On the whole itwas well to tread carefully in the matter, so I restored our prisoner'sknife to him, and treated him with increased consideration. It waswell-nigh dark when we beached the boat, and entirely so before wereached Havant, which was fortunate, as the bootless and hatless stateof our dripping companion could not have failed to set tongues wagging,and perhaps to excite the inquiries of the authorities. As it was, wescarce met a soul before reaching my father's door.