Peter Simple

A few days after this, my father received a note from Lord Privilege requesting he would come and spend a few days with him, and bring his son Peter, who had escaped from the French prison. Of course this was an invitation not to be neglected, and we accepted it forthwith. I must say, I felt rather in awe of my grandfather; he had kept the family at such a distance, that I had always heard his name mentioned more with reverence than with any feeling of kindred, but I was a little wiser now. We arrived at Eagle Park, a splendid estate, where he resided, and were received by a dozen servants in and out of livery, and ushered into his presence.

He was in his library, a large room, surrounded with handsome bookcases, sitting on an easy chair. A more venerable, placid old gentleman I never beheld; his grey hairs hung down on each side of his temples, and were collected in a small queue behind. He rose and bowed, as we were announced; to my father he held out two fingers in salutation, to me only one; but there was an elegance in the manner in which it was done, which was indescribable. He waved his hand to chairs, placed by the gentleman out of livery, and requested we would be seated. I could not at the time help thinking of Mr Chucks, the boatswain, and his remarks upon high breeding, which were so true; and I laughed to myself when I recollected that Mr Chucks had once dined with him. As soon as the servants had quitted the room, the distance on the part of my grand-father appeared to wear off. He interrogated me on several points, and seemed pleased with my replies; but he always called me “child.” After a conversation of half-an-hour, my father rose, saying that his lordship must be busy, and that he would go over the grounds till dinner-time. My grandfather rose, and we took a sort of formal leave; but it was not a formal leave, after all, it was high breeding, respecting yourself and respecting others. For my part, I was pleased with the first interview, and so I told my father after we had left the room. “My dear Peter,” replied he, “your grandfather has one idea which absorbs most others—the peerage, the estate, and the descent of it in the right line. As long as your uncles were alive, we were not thought of, as not being in the line of descent; nor should we now, but that your uncle William has only daughters. Still we are not looked upon as actual, but only contingent, inheritors of the title. Were your uncle to die to-morrow, the difference in his behaviour would be manifested immediately.”

“That is to say, instead of two fingers you would receive the whole hand, and instead of one, I should obtain promotion to two.”

At this my father laughed heartily, saying, “Peter, you have exactly hit the mark. I cannot imagine how we ever could have been so blind as to call you the fool of the family.”

To this I made no reply, for it was difficult so to do without depreciating others or depreciating myself: but I changed the subject by commenting on the beauties of the park, and the splendid timber with which it was adorned. “Yes, Peter,” replied my father, with a sigh, “thirty-five thousand a year in land, money in the funds, and timber worth at least forty thousand more, are not to be despised. But God wills everything.” After this remark, my father appeared to be in deep thought, and I did not interrupt him.

We stayed ten days with my grandfather, during which he would often detain me for two hours after breakfast, listening to my adventures, and I really believe was very partial to me. The day before I went away he said, “Child, you are going to-morrow; now tell me what you would like, as I wish to give you a token of regard. Don’t be afraid; what shall it be—a watch and seals, or—anything you most fancy?”

“My lord,” replied I, “if you wish to do me a favour, it is, that you will apply to the First Lord of the Admiralty to appoint Lieutenant O’Brien to a fine frigate, and, at the same time, ask for a vacancy as midshipman for me.”

“O’Brien,” replied his lordship; “I recollect it was he who accompanied you from France, and appears, by your account, to have been a true friend. I am pleased with your request, my child, and it shall be granted.”

His lordship then desired me to hand him the paper and ink-standish, wrote by my directions, sealed the letter, and told me he would send me the answer. The next day we quitted Eagle Park, his lordship wishing my father good-bye with two fingers, and to me extending one, as before; but he said, “I am pleased with you, child; you may write occasionally.”

When we were on our route home, my father observed that “I had made more progress with my grandfather than he had known any one to do, since he could recollect. His saying that you might write to him is at least ten thousand pounds to you in his will, for he never deceives any one, or changes his mind.” My reply was that I should like to see the ten thousand pounds, but that I was not so sanguine.

A few days after our return home, I received a letter and enclosure from Lord Privilege, the contents of which were as follows:—

“My dear child,—

“I send you Lord —’s answer, which I trust will prove satisfactory. My compliments to your family.

“Yours, etc.

“Privilege.”

The enclosure was a handsome letter from the First Lord, stating that he had appointed O’Brien to the Sanglier frigate, and had ordered me to be received on board as midshipman. I was delighted to forward this letter to O’Brien’s address, who in a few days sent me an answer, thanking me, and stating that he had received his appointment, and that I need not join for a month, which was quite time enough, as the ship was refitting; but, that if my family were tired of me, which was sometimes the case in the best regulated families, why, then I should learn some thing of my duty by coming to Portsmouth. He concluded by sending his kind regards to all the family, and his love to my grandmother, which last I certainly did not forward in my letter of thanks. About a month afterwards I received a letter from O’Brien, stating that the ship was ready to go out of harbour, and would be anchored off Spithead in a few days.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Captain and Mrs To—Pork—We go to Plymouth and fall in with our old captain

I immediately took leave of my family, and set off for Portsmouth, and in two days arrived at the Fountain Inn, where O’Brien was waiting to receive me. “Peter, my boy, I feel so much obliged to you, that if your uncle won’t go out of the world by fair means, I’ll pick a quarrel with him, and shoot him, on purpose that you may be a lord, as I am determined that you shall be. Now come up into my room, where we’ll be all alone, and I’ll tell you all about the ship and our new captain. In the first place, we’ll begin with the ship, as the most important personage of the two: she’s a beauty. I forget her name before she was taken, but the French know how to build ships better than keep them. She’s now called the Sanglier, which means a wild pig, and, by the powers! a pig ship she is, as you will hear directly. The captain’s name is a very short one, and wouldn’t please Mr Chucks, consisting only of two letters, T and O, which makes, To; his whole title is Captain John To. It would almost appear as if somebody had broken off the better half of his name, and only left him the commencement of it; but, however, it’s a handy name to sign when he pays off his ship. And now I’ll tell you what sort of a looking craft he is. He’s built like a Dutch schuyt, great breadth of beam, and very square tuck. He applied to have the quarter galleries enlarged in the two last ships he commanded. He weighs about eighteen stone, rather more than less. He is a good-natured sort of a chap, amazingly ungenteel, not much of an officer, not much of a sailor, but a devilish good hand at the trencher. But he’s only a part of the concern; he has his wife on board, who is a red-herring sort of a lady, and very troublesome to boot. What makes her still more annoying is, that she has a piano on board, very much out of tune, on which she plays very much out of time. Holystoning is music compared with her playing; even the captain’s spaniel howls when she comes to the high notes; but she affects the fine lady, and always treats the officers with music when they dine in the cabin, which makes them very glad to get out of it.”

“But, O’Brien, I thought wives were not permitted on board.”

“Very true, but there’s the worst part in the man’s character: he knows that he is not allowed to take his wife to sea, and, in consequence, he never says she is his wife, or presents her on shore to anybody. If any of the other captains ask how Mrs To is to-day, ‘Why,’ he replies, ‘pretty well, I thank you,’ but at the same time he gives a kind of smirk, as if to say, ‘She is not my wife;’ and although everybody knows that she is, yet he prefers that they should think otherwise, rather than be at the expense of keeping her on shore: for you know, Peter, that although there are regulations about wives, there are none with regard to other women.”

“But does his wife know this?” inquired I.

“I believe, from my heart, that she is a party to the whole transaction, for report says, that she would skin a flint if she could. She’s always trying for presents from the officers, and, in fact, she commands the ship.”

“Really, O’Brien, this is not a very pleasant prospect.”

“Whist! wait a little; now I come to the wind-up. This Captain To is very partial to pig’s mate, and we have as many live pigs on board as we have pigs of ballast. The first lieutenant is right mad about them. At the same time he allows no pigs but his own on board, that there may be no confusion. The manger is full of pigs; there are two cow-pens between the main-deck guns, drawn from the dock-yard, and converted into pig-pens. The two sheep-pens amidships are full of pigs, and the geese and turkey-coops are divided off into apartments for four sows in the family way. Now, Peter, you see there’s little or no expense in keeping pigs on board of a large frigate, with so much pay-soup and whole peas for them to eat, and this is the reason why he keeps them, for the devil a bit of any other stock has he on board. I presume he means to milk one of the old sows for breakfast when the ship sails. The first thing that he does in the morning, is to go round to his pigs with the butcher, feeling one, scratching the dirty ears of another, and then he classes them—his bacon pigs, his porkers, his breeding sows, and so on. The old boar is still at the stables of this inn, but I hear he is to come on board with the sailing orders; but he is very savage, and is therefore left on shore to the very last moment. Now really, Peter, what with the squealing of the pigs and his wife’s piano we are almost driven mad. I don’t know which is the worst of the two; if you go aft you hear the one, if you go forward you, hear the other, by way of variety, and that, they say, is charming. But, is it not shocking that such a beautiful frigate should be turned into a pig-sty, and that her main-deck should smell worse than a muck-heap?”

“But how does his wife like the idea of living only upon hog’s flesh?”

“She! Lord bless you, Peter! why, she looks as spare as a shark, and she has just the appetite of one; for she’ll boil a four-pound piece of pork before it’s well put on her plate.”

“Have you any more such pleasant intelligence to communicate, O’Brien?”

“No, Peter, you have the worst of it. The lieutenants are good officers, and pleasant messmates; the doctor is a little queer, and the purser thinks himself a wag; the master, an old north-countryman, who knows his duty, and takes his glass of grog. The midshipmen are a very genteel set of young men, and full of fun and frolic. I’ll bet a wager, there’ll be a bobbery in the pig-sty before long, for they are ripe for mischief. Now, Peter, I hardly need say that my cabin and everything I have is at your service; and I think if we could only have a devil of a gale of wind, or a hard-fought action, to send the pigs over-board and smash the piano, we should do very well.”

The next day I went on board, and was shown down into the cabin, to report my having joined. Mrs To, a tall, thin woman, was at her piano; she rose, and asked me several questions—who my friends were—how much they allowed me a year, and many other questions, which I thought impertinent; but a captain’s wife is allowed to take liberties. She then asked me if I was fond of music? That was a difficult question, as, if I said that I was, I should in all probability be obliged to hear it; if I said that I was not, I might have created a dislike in her. So I replied that I was very fond of music on shore, when it was not interrupted by other noises. “Ah! then I perceive you are a real amateur, Mr Simple,” replied the lady.

Captain To then came out of the after-cabin, half-dressed. “Well, youngster, so you’ve joined at last. Come and dine with us to-day: and, as you go down to your berth, desire the sentry to pass the word for the butcher; I want to speak with him.”

I bowed and retired. I was met in the most friendly manner by the officers and by my own messmates, who had been prepossessed in my favour by O’Brien previous to my arrival. In our service you always find young men of the best families on board large frigates, they being considered the most eligible class of vessels; I found my messmates to be gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, but I never met so many wild young lads together. I sat down and ate some dinner with them, although I was to dine in the cabin, for the sea air made me hungry.

“Don’t you dine in the cabin, Simple?” said the caterer.

“Yes,” replied I.

“Then don’t eat any pork, my boy, now, for you’ll have plenty there. Come, gentlemen, fill your glasses; we’ll drink happiness to our new messmate, and pledging him, we pledge ourselves to try to promote it.”

“I’ll just join you in that toast,” said O’Brien, walking into the midshipmen’s berth. “What is it you’re drinking it in?”

“Some of Collier’s port, sir. Boy, bring a glass for Mr O’Brien.”

“Here’s your health, Peter, and wishing you may keep out of a French prison this cruise. Mr Montague, as caterer, I beg you will order another candle, that I may see what’s on the table, and then perhaps I may find something I should like to pick a bit off.”

“Here’s the fag end of a leg of mutton, Mr O’Brien, and there’s a piece of boiled pork.”

“Then I’ll just trouble you for a bit close to the knuckle. Peter, you dine in the cabin, so do I—the doctor refused.”

“Have you heard when we sail, Mr O’Brien?” inquired one of my messmates.

“I heard at the admiral’s office, that we were expected to be ordered round to Plymouth, and receive our orders there, either for the East or West Indies, they thought; and, indeed, the stores we have taken on board indicates that we are going foreign, but the captain’s signal is just made, and probably the admiral has intelligence to communicate.”

In about an hour afterwards the captain returned, looking very red and hot. He called the first lieutenant aside from the rest of the officers, who were on deck to receive him, and told him that we were to start for Plymouth the next morning; and the admiral had told him confidentially, that we were to proceed to the West Indies with a convoy, which was then collecting. He appeared to be very much alarmed at the idea of going to make a feast for the land crabs; and certainly his gross habit of body rendered him very unfit for the climate. This news was soon spread through the ship, and there was of course no little bustle and preparation. The doctor, who had refused to dine in the cabin upon plea of being unwell, sent up to say, that he felt himself so much better, that he should have great pleasure in attending the summons, and he joined the first lieutenant, O’Brien, and me, as we walked in. We sat down to table; the covers were removed, and, as the midshipmen prophesied, there was plenty of pork—mock-turtle soup, made out of a pig’s head—a boiled leg of pork and peas-pudding—a roast spare-rib with the crackling on—sausages and potatoes, and pig’s pettitoes. I cannot say that I disliked my dinner, and I ate very heartily; but a roast sucking-pig came on as a second course, which rather surprised me: but what surprised me more, was the quantity devoured by Mrs To. She handed her plate from the boiled pork to the roast, asked for some pettitoes, tried the sausages, and finished with a whole plateful of sucking-pig and stuffing. We had an apple-pie at the end, but as we had already eaten apple sauce with the roast pork, we did not care for it. The doctor, who abominated pork, ate pretty well, and was excessively attentive to Mrs To.

“Will you not take a piece of the roast pig, doctor?” said the captain.

“Why really, Captain To, as we are bound, by all reports, to a station where we must not venture upon pork, I think I will not refuse to take a piece, for I am very fond of it.”

“How do you mean?” inquired the captain and his lady, both in a breath.

“Perhaps I may be wrongly informed,” replied the doctor; “but I have heard that we were ordered to the West Indies; now, if so, every one knows, that although you may eat salt pork there occasionally without danger, in all tropical climates, and especially the West Indies, two or three days’ living upon this meat will immediately produce dysentery, which is always fatal in that climate.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the captain.

“You don’t say so?” rejoined the lady.

“I do indeed: and have always avoided the West Indies for that very, reason—I am so fond of pork.”