CHAPTER FORTY ONE.
All desperate hazards courage do create, As he plays frankly who has least estate. DRYDEN.
It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it. SHAKESPEARE.
Seymour was soon weary of the endless noise and confusion to which hewas subjected on board of the guard-ship, and he wrote to Captain M---,requesting that he might be permitted to join some vessel on activeservice, until the period should arrive when the former would be enabledto resume the command of his ship. The answer from his patron informedhim, that the time of his renewal of his professional duties would beuncertain, not having hitherto derived much benefit from his return toEngland; that as the _Aspasia_ was daily expected to arrive from themission on which she had been despatched, and would then remain onChannel service, ready to be made over to him as soon as his healthshould be re-established, he would procure an order for him to join heras soon as she arrived. He pointed out to him that he would be morecomfortable on board a ship in which he had many old messmates andfriends than in any other, to the officers of which he would be aperfect stranger. That, in the meantime, he had procured leave ofabsence for him, and requested that he would pay him a visit at hiscottage near Richmond, to the vicinity of which place he had removed, bythe advice of his medical attendants.
Seymour gladly availed himself of this opportunity of seeing hisprotector, and after a sojourn of three weeks, returned to Portsmouth,to join the _Aspasia_, which had, for some days, been lying at Spithead.Most of the commissioned, and many of the junior officers, who hadserved in the West Indies, were still on board of her anxiously waitingfor the return of Captain M---, whose value as a commanding officer wasmore appreciated for the change which had taken place. Seymour wascordially greeted by his former shipmates, not only for his own sake,but from the idea that his having rejoined the frigate was but aprecursor of the reappearance of Captain M--- himself.
There is, perhaps, no quality in man partaking of such variety, and sodifficult to analyse, as _courage_, whether it be physical or mental,both of which are not only innate, but to be acquired. The former, andthe most universal, is most capriciously bestowed; sometimes, althoughrarely, Nature has denied it altogether. We have, therefore, in thelatter instance, courage nil as a zero, courage negative, halfway up,and courage positive, at the top, which may be considered as "bloodheat;" and upon this thermometrical scale the animal courage of everyindividual may be placed. Courage _nil_ or cowardice, needs noexplanation. Courage negative, which is the most common, is that degreeof firmness which will enable a person to do his duty when danger _comesto him_; he will not avoid danger, but he will not exactly seek it.Courage positive, when implanted in a man, will induce him to seekdanger, and find opportunities of distinguishing himself where otherscan see none. Courage negative is a passive feeling, and requires to beroused. Courage positive is an active and restless feeling, always onthe look-out.
An extreme susceptibility, and a phlegmatic indifference of disposition,although diametrically in opposition to each other, will produce thesame results: in the former, it is mental, in the latter, animalcourage. Paradoxical as it may appear, the most certain and mostvaluable description of _courage_ is that which is acquired from the_fear of shame_. Further, there is no talent which returns more foldthan courage, when constantly in exercise: for habit will soon raise theindividual, whose index is near to zero, to the degree in the scaleopposite to courage negative; and the possessor of courage negative willrise up to that of courage positive; although, from desuetude, they_will again sink to their former position_.
It is generally considered that men are _naturally brave_; but as,without some incentive, there would be no courage, I doubt the position.I should rather say that we were naturally cowards. Withoutincitement, courage of every description would gradually descend to thezero of the scale; the necessity of some incentive to produce it, provesthat it is "against nature." As the ferocity of brutes is occasioned byhunger, so is that of man by "hungering" after the coveted enjoyments oflife, and in proportion as this appetite is appeased, so is his couragedecreased. If you wish animals to fight, they must not be over-fed; andif a nation wishes to have good officers, it must swell their pride bydecorations, and keep them poor. There are few who do not recollect theanswer of the soldier to his general, who had presented him with a purseof gold, in reward of a remarkable instance of gallantry, and who, ashort time afterwards, requiring something extremely hazardous to beattempted, sent for the man, and expressed his wish that he wouldvolunteer. "General," said he, "send a man who has NOT GOT a purse ofgold."
The strongest incitement to courage is withdrawn by the possession ofwealth. Other worldly possessions also affect it. Lord St. Vincent,when he heard that any captain had married, used to observe,emphatically, "that he was damned for the service,"--no compliment tothe officer, but a very handsome one to the sex, as it implied thattheir attractions were so great, that we could not disengage ourselvesfrom our thraldom, or, in fact, that there were no such things as bad orscolding wives.
Finally, this _quality_, which is considered as a _virtue_, and toentitle us to the rewards bestowed upon it by the fair sex, who value itabove all others, is so wholly out of our control, that when sufferingunder sickness or disease, it deserts us; nay, for the time being, aviolent stomach-ache will turn a hero into a poltroon.
So much for a dissertation on courage, which I should not have venturedto force upon the reader, had it not been to prepare him for thecharacter which I am about to introduce; and when it is pointed out howmany thousands of officers were employed during the last war, I trust itwill not be considered an imputation upon the service, by asserting thatthere were some few who _mistook their profession_.
The acting captain of the _Aspasia_, during the early part of his careerin the service (had there been such a thermometer as I have described,by which the heat of temperament in the party would have been preciselyascertained), on placing its bulb upon the palm of his hand, would haveforced the mercury something between the zero and courage negative,towards the zero--"more yes than no," as the Italian said; but now thathe was a married man, above fifty years of age, with a large family, hehad descended in the scale to the absolute zero.
It may, then, be inquired, why he requested to be employed during thewar? Because he liked full pay and prize-money when it could beobtained without risk, and because his wife and family were living onshore in a very snug little cottage at Ryde, in the Isle of Wight, whichcottage required nothing but furniture and a few other trifles to renderit complete. Marriage had not only subtracted from the courage of thisworthy officer, but, moreover, a little from his honesty. CaptainCapperbar (for such was his name) should have been brought up as amissionary, for he could _canvert_ anything, and _expend_ more profuselythan any Bible Society. The name by which he had christened hisdomicile was probably given as a sort of salvo to his conscience. Hecalled it the "_Ship_;" and when he signed his name to the expense booksof the different warrant officers, without specifying the exact use towhich the materials were applied, the larger proportions were invariablyexpended, by the general term, for "_Ship's_ use." He came into harbouras often as he could, always had a demand for stores to complete, and adefect or two for the dockyard to make good, and the admiral, who wasaware of Mr Capperbar being a near resident, made every reasonableallowance for his partiality to Spithead. But we had better introducethe captain, sitting at his table in the fore-cabin, on the day of hisarrival in port, the carpenter having obeyed his summons.
"Well, Mr Cheeks, what are the carpenters about?"
"Weston and Smallbridge are going on with the chairs--the whole of themwill be finished tomorrow."
"Well?"
"Smith is about the chest of drawers, to match the one in my LadyCapperbar's bed-room."
"Very good. And what is Hilton about?"
"He has finished the spare-leaf of the dining-table, sir; he is nowabout a little job for
the second-lieutenant."
"A job for the second-lieutenant, sir? How often have I told you, MrCheeks, that the carpenters are not to be employed, except on ship'sduty, without my special permission."
"His standing bed-place is broke, sir; he is only getting out a chock ortwo."
"Mr Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders.--By the bye,sir, I understand you were not sober last night."
"Please your honour," replied the carpenter, "I wasn't drunk--I was onlya little fresh."
"Take you care, Mr Cheeks. Well, now, what are the rest of your crewabout?"
"Why, Thompson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden, outof the jib-booms; I've saved the heel to return."
"Very well, but there won't be enough, will there?"
"No, sir, it will take a hand-mast to finish the whole."
"Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away atopmast, and make a new one out of the hand-mast at sea. In themeantime, if the sawyers have nothing to do, they may as well cut thepalings at once. And now, let me see--oh! the painters must go onshore, to finish the attics."
"Yes, sir, but my Lady Capperbar wishes the _jealowsees_ to be paintedvermilion: she says, it will look more rural."
"Mrs Capperbar ought to _know enough_ about ship's stores, by thistime, to be aware that we are only allowed three colours. She maychoose or mix them as she pleases; but as for going to the expense ofbuying paint, I can't afford it. What are the rest of the men about?"
"Repairing, the second cutter, and making a new mast for the pinnace."
"By the bye--that puts me in mind of it--have you expended any boat'smasts?"
"Only the one carried away, sir."
"Then you must expend two more. Mrs C--- has just sent me off a listof a few things that she wishes made, while we are at anchor, and I seetwo poles for clothes-lines. Saw off the sheave-holes, and put two pegsthrough at right angles--you know how I mean."
"Yes, sir. What am I to do, sir, about the cucumber frame? My LadyCapperbar says that she must have it, and I haven't glass enough--theygrumbled at the yard last time."
"Mrs C--- must wait a little. What are the armourers' about?"
"They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms are in a verybad condition. The first-lieutenant said yesterday that they were adisgrace to the ship."
"Who dared say that?"
"The first-lieutenant, sir."
"Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know when they aredone, and we'll get the forge up."
"The armourer has made six rakes, and six hoes, and the two little hoesfor the children; but he says he can't make a spade."
"Then I'll take his warrant away, by Heaven! since he does not know hisduty. That will do, Mr Cheeks. I shall overlook your being in liquor,this time; but take care--send the boatswain to me."
"Yes sir," and the carpenter quitted the cabin.
"Well, Mr Hurley," said the Captain, as the boatswain stroked down hishair, as a mark of respect, when he entered the cabin, "are the cots allfinished?"
"All finished, your honour, and slung, except the one for the _babby_.Had not I better get a piece of duck for that?"
"No, no--number seven will do as well; Mrs C--- wants some_fearnought_, to put down in the entrance hall."
"Yes, your honour."
"And some cod-lines laid up for clothes-lines."
"Yes, your honour."
"Stop, let me look at my list--`Knife-tray, meat-screen, leads forwindow-sashes,'--Ah! have you any hand-leads not on charge?"
"Yes, your honour, four or five."
"Give them to my steward.--`Small chair for Ellen--canvas forveranda.'--Oh! here's something else--have you any painted canvas?"
"Only a waist-hammock-cloth, sir, ready fitted."
"We must expend that; `no old on charge.' Send it on shore to thecottage, and I shall want some pitch."
"We've lots of that, your honour."
"That will do, Mr Hurley; desire the sentry to tell my steward to comehere."
"Yes, your honour." (Exit boatswain, and enter steward.)
This personage belonged to the party of marines, who had been draftedinto the ship--for Captain Capperbar's economical propensities would notallow him to hire a servant brought up to the situation, who would havedemanded wages independent of the ship's pay. Having been well drilledat barracks, he never answered any question put to him by an officer,without recovering himself from his usual "stand-at-ease" position--throwing shoulders back, his nose up in the air, his arms down hissides, and the palms of his hands flattened on his thighs. His replieswere given with all the brevity that the question would admit, or rapidarticulation on his own part would enable him to confer.
"Thomas, are the sugar and cocoa ready to go on shore?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't forget to send that letter to Mr Gibson for the ten dozen portand sherry."
"No, sir."
"When it comes on board, you'll bring it on shore a dozen at a time, inthe hair trunk."
"Yes, sir."
"Mind you don't let any of the hay peep outside."
"No, sir."
"Has the cooper finished the washing-tubs?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the small kids?"
"No, sir."
"Have you inquired among the ship's company for a gardener?"
"Yes, sir; there's a marine kept the garden of the major in thebarracks."
"Don't forget to bring him on shore."
"No, sir."
"Recollect, too, that Mrs Capperbar wants some vinegar--the boatswain'sis the best--and a gallon or two of rum--and you must corn some beef.The harness cask may remain on shore, and the cooper must make meanother."
"Yes, sir."
"Master Henry's trousers--are they finished yet?"
"No, sir; Spriggs is at them now. Bailly and James are making MissEllen's petticoats."
"And the shoes for Master John--are they finished?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Master Henry's?"
"No, sir. Wilson says that he has lost Master Henry's measure."
"Careless scoundrel! he shall have four-water grog for a week; and,steward, take three bags of bread on shore, and forty pounds of flour."
"Yes, sir."
"That's all. Oh, no--don't forget to send some peas on shore for thepig."
"No, sir," and the steward departed to execute his variety ofcommissions.
The present first-lieutenant of the _Aspasia_, who, upon the promotionof the former, had been selected by Captain M--- previous to hisquitting the ship, was an excellent officer and a pleasant,light-hearted messmate, very superior in talent and information to themany.
The conduct of Captain Capperbar was a source of annoyance to him, as hefrequently could not command the services of the different artificerswhen they were required for the ship. He had, however, been long enoughin the service to be aware that it was better to make the best of itthan to create enemies by impeaching the conduct of his superiorofficer. As the command of Captain Capperbar was but temporary, heallowed him to proceed without expostulation, contenting himself withturning his conduct into a source of conversation and amusement.
"Well, Prose, how do you like the new skipper?" inquired Seymour, soonafter his arrival on board.
"Why--I do declare, I can hardly tell. He's a very good-tempered man,but he don't exactly treat us midshipmen as if we were officers orgentlemen; and as for his wife, she is really too bad. I am sent everyday on shore to the cottage, because I belong to the captain's gig.They never ask me to sit down, but set me to work somehow or another.The other day he had a boat's crew on shore digging up a piece of groundfor planting potatoes, and he first showed me how to cut the _eyes_, andthen gave me a knife, and ordered me to _finish the whole bag_ which layin the field, and to see that the men worked properly at the same time.I never cut potatoes into little bits before, except at table after theywere boiled."
/> "Well, that was too bad; but however, you'll know how to plant potatoesin future--there's nothing like knowledge."
"And then he sends the nurse and children for an airing, as he calls it,on the water, and I am obliged to take them. I don't like pullingmaid-servants about."
"That's quite a matter of taste, Prose; some midshipmen do."
"What do you think Mrs Capperbar asked me to do the other day?"
"I'm sure I can't guess."
"Why, to shell peas."
"Well, did you oblige her?"
"Why, yes, I did; but I did not like it,--and the other day the captainsent me out to walk with the nurse and children, that I might carryMaster Henry if he was tired."
"They have observed the versatility of your genius."
"She made me hunt the hedges for a whole morning after eggs because shewas convinced that one of the hens laid astray."
"Did you find any?"
"No; and when I came back to tell her so, she got into a rage, andthreatened to make the captain flog me."
"The devil she did!"
"A devil she is," continued Prose. "She runs about the house--`CaptainCapperbar' this,--`Captain Capperbar' that--`I will'--`I will not'--`Iinsist'--`I am determined.' But," continued Prose, "as you belonged tothe captain's gig before, you will of course take her again, and I shallbe very glad to give the charge up to you."
"Not for the world, my dear Prose: what may insure your promotion wouldbe my ruin. I never nursed a child or shelled a pea in my life; thefirst I should certainly let fall, and the second I probably should eatfor my trouble. So pray continue at your post of honour, and I will gofor the fresh beef every morning as you were accustomed to do when we wewere last in port."
Captain M--- did not receive the immediate benefit which he hadanticipated from a return to his native land. Bath, Cheltenham,Devonshire, and other places were recommended one after the other by thephysicians, until he was tired of moving from place to place. It wasnearly two years before he felt his health sufficiently re-establishedto resume the command of the _Aspasia_, during which period the patienceof officers was nearly exhausted; and not only was all the furniture andfitting up of the cottage complete but Captain Capperbar had providedhimself with a considerable stock of materials for repairs andalterations. At last a letter from the captain to Macallan gave thewelcome intelligence that he was to be down at Portsmouth in a few days,and that the ship was ordered to fit for foreign service.
We must not omit to mention here, that during these two years Seymourhad been able to procure frequent leave of absence, which was invariablypassed at the McElvinas; and that the terms of intimacy on which he wasreceived at the hall and his constant intercourse with Emily, producedan effect which a more careful mother would have guarded against. Theyouth of eighteen and the girl of sixteen had feelings very differentfrom those which had actuated them on their first acquaintance; andSeymour, who was staying at the McElvinas when the expected arrival ofCaptain M--- was announced, now felt what pain it would be to part withEmily. The intelligence was communicated in a letter from Prose, whenhe was sitting alone with McElvina, and the bare idea of separationstruck him to the heart.
McElvina, who had often expressed his opinion on the subject to hiswife, had been anxious that our hero should be sent on a foreignstation, before he had allowed a passion to take so deep a root in hisheart that, to eradicate it, would be a task of great effort and greaterpain. Aware, from the flushed face of Seymour, of what was passingwithin, he quietly introduced the subject, by observing that in allprobability, his favourite, Emily, would be married previous to hisreturn--pointing out that an heiress of so large a property would have aright to expect to unite herself with one in the highest rank ofsociety.
Seymour covered his face with his hands, as he leant over the table. Hehad no secrets from McElvina, and acknowledged the truth of theobservation. "I have brought up the subject, my dear boy," continuedMcElvina, "because I have not been blind, and I am afraid that you willcherish a feeling which can only end in disappointment. She is a sweetgirl; but you must, if possible, forget her. Reflect a moment. You arean orphan, without money and without family, although not withoutfriends, which you have secured by your own merit; and you have onlyyour courage and your abilities to advance you in the service. Can it,then, be expected, that her parents would consent to an union--or wouldit be honourable in you to take any advantage of her youthfulprepossession in your favour, and prevent her from reaping thoseadvantages that her fortune and family entitle her to?"
Seymour felt bitterly the justice of the remark; a few tears trickledthrough his fingers, but his mind was resolved. He had thought to havedeclared his love before his departure, and have obtained anacknowledgment on her part; but he now made a firm resolution to avoidand to forget her. "I shall follow your advice, my dear sir, for it isthat of a friend who is careful of my honour; but if you knew the stateof mind that I am in!--How foolish and inconsiderate have I been!--Iwill not see her again."
"Nay, that would be acting wrongly; it would be quite unpardonable,after the kindness which you have received from Mrs Rainscourt, not tocall and wish them farewell. You must do it, Seymour. It will be anexertion, I acknowledge; but, if I mistake not his character, not toogreat a one for William Seymour. Good night, my dear boy."
On the ensuing morning, Seymour, who had fortified himself in his goodresolutions, walked to the hall to announce his approaching departure onforeign service, and to take his farewell, his last farewell, of Emily.He found the carriage at the door, and Mrs Rainscourt in her pelisseand bonnet, about to pay a visit at some distance. She was sorry at theinformation, for Seymour was a great favourite, and delayed herdeparture for a quarter of an hour to converse with him; at the end ofwhich, Emily, who had been walking, came into the library.Communicating the intelligence to her daughter, Mrs Rainscourt thenbade him farewell, and expressing many wishes for his health andhappiness, was handed by him into the carriage, and drove off; leavingSeymour to return to the library, and find himself--the very position hehad wished to avoid--alone with Emily.
Emily Rainscourt was, at this period, little more than sixteen yearsold; but it is well known that, in some families, as in some countries,the advance to maturity is much more rapid than in others. Such was thecase with our heroine, who, from her appearance, was generally supposedto be at least two years older than she really was, and in her mind shewas even more advanced than in her person.
Seymour returned to the library, where he found Emily upon the sofa.Her bonnet had been thrown off; and the tears that were coursing downher cheeks were hastily brushed away at his entrance. He perceived it,and felt his case to be still more embarrassing.
"When do you go, William?" said Emily, first breaking silence.
"To-morrow morning. I have called to return my thanks to your mother,and to you, for your kindness to me;--I shall ever remember it withgratitude."
Emily made no answer, but a deep sigh escaped.
"I shall," continued Seymour, "be away perhaps for years, and it isdoubtful if ever we meet again. Our tracks in life are widelydifferent. I am an orphan, without name or connection--or even home,except through the kindness of my friends: they were right when, in mychildhood, they christened me the `King's Own,' for I belong to nobodyelse. You, Miss Rainscourt," (Emily started, for it was the first timethat he had ever called her so, after the first week of theiracquaintance), "with every advantage which this world can afford, willsoon be called into society, in which I never can have any pretence toenter. You will, in all probability, form a splendid connection before(if ever) we meet again. You have my prayers, and shall have them whenseas divide us, for your happiness."
Seymour was so choked by his feelings, that he could say no more--andEmily burst into tears.
"Farewell, Emily! God in Heaven bless you," said Seymour, recoveringhis self-possession.
Emily, who could not speak, offered her hand. Seymour could not controlhimsel
f; he pressed her lips with fervour, and darted out of the room.Emily watched him, until he disappeared at the winding of the avenue,and then sat down and wept bitterly. She thought that he was unkind,when he ought to have been most fond--on the eve of a protractedabsence. He might have stayed a little longer. He had never behaved sobefore; and she retired to her room, with her heart panting with anguishand disappointment. She felt how much she loved him, and theacknowledgment was embittered by the idea that this feeling was notreciprocal.
The next morning, when the hour had passed at which Seymour had statedthat he was to leave the spot, Emily bent her steps to the cottage, thatshe might, by conversation with her friend Mrs McElvina, obtain, ifpossible, some clue to the motives which had induced our hero to behaveas we have narrated.
Susan was equally anxious to know in what manner Seymour had conductedhimself, and soon obtained from Emily the information which sherequired. She then pointed out to her, as her husband had done toSeymour, the improbability, if not impossibility, of any happy result totheir intimacy, and explained the honourable motives by which Seymourhad been actuated,--the more commendable, as his feelings on the subjectwere even more acute than her own. The weeping girl felt the truth ofher remarks, as far as the justification of Seymour was attempted.Satisfied with the knowledge that he loved her, she paid littleattention to the more prudent part of the advice, and made a resolutionin his favour, which, as well as her attachment (unlike most othersformed during the freshness of the heart), through time andcircumstance, absence on his part, temptations on hers, continuedstedfast and immovable to the last.