Olla Podrida

“Drink first, sar, make sure of dat,” replied Moonshine, swallowing off the brandy; “tink about it afterwards.—Eh! I ab it,” cried Moonshine, who disappeared, and Cockle and I continued in conversation over our grog, which to sailors is acceptable in any one hour in the twenty-four. About ten minutes afterwards Cockle perceived Moonshine in the little front garden. “There’s that fellow, Bob; what is he about?”

“Only picking a nosegay, I believe,” replied I, looking out of the window.

“The rascal, he must be picking all my chrysanthemums. Stop him, Bob.”

But Moonshine vaulted over the low pales, and there was no stopping him. It was nearly an hour before he returned; and when he came in, we found that he was dressed out in his best, looking quite a dandy, and with some of his master’s finest flowers, in a large nosegay, sticking in his waistcoat.

“All right, sar, all right; dat last glass grog gib me fine idee; you neber ab more trouble bout Missy O’Bottom.”

“Well, let’s hear,” said Cockle.

“I dress mysel bery ’pruce, as you see, massa. I take nosegay.”

“Yes, I see that, and be hanged to you.”

“Neber mind, Massa Cockle. I say to Missy O’Bottom, ‘Massa no able come, he very sorry, so he send me;’ ‘well,’ she say, ‘what you ab to say, sit down, Moonshine, you very nice man.’ Den I say, ‘Massa Cockle lub you very much, he tink all day how he make you appy; den he say, Missy O’Bottom very fine ’oman, make very fine wife.’ Den Missy O’Bottom say, ‘’Top a moment,’ and she bring a bottel from cupboard, and me drink something did make ’tomach feel really warm; and den she say, ‘Moonshine, what you massa say?’ den I say, massa say, ‘You fine ’oman, make good wife;’ but he shake um head, and say, ‘I very old man, no good for noting; I tink all day how I make her appy, and I find out—Moonshine, you young man, you ’andsome feller, you good servant, I not like you go away, but I tink you make Missy O’Bottom very fine ’usband; so I not care for myself, you go to Missy O’Bottom, and tell I send you, dat I part wid you, and give you to her for ’usband.’”

Cockle and I burst out laughing. “Well, and what did Mrs Rowbottom say to that?”

“She jump up, and try to catch me hair, but I bob my head, and she miss; den she say, ‘You filthy black rascal, you tell you massa, ’pose he ever come here, I break his white bald pate; and ’pose you ever come here, I smash you woolly black skull.’—Dat all, Massa Cockle; you see all right now, and I quite dry wid talking.”

“All right! do you call it. I never meant to quarrel with the old woman; what d’ye think, Bob—is it all right?”

“Why, you must either have quarrelled with her, or married her, that’s clear.”

“Well, then, I’m clear of her, and so it’s all right. It a’n’t every man who can get out of matrimony by sacrificing a nosegay and two glasses of grog.”

“Tree glasses, Massa Cockle,” said Moonshine.

“Well, three glasses; here it is, you dog, and its dog cheap, too. Thank God, next Wednesday’s quarter day. Bob, you must dine with me—cut the service for to-day.”

“With all my heart,” replied I, “and I’ll salve my conscience by walking the beach all night; but, Cockle, look here, there is but a drop in the bottle, and you have no more. I am like you, with a clean swept hold. You acknowledge the difficulty?”

“It stares me in the face, Bob; what must be done?”

“I’ll tell you—in the first place, what have you for dinner?”

“Moonshine, what have we got for dinner?”

“Dinner, sar?—me not yet tink about dinner. What you like to eat, sar?”

“What have we got in the house, Moonshine?”

“Let me see, sar? first place, we ab very fine piece picklum pork; den we have picklum pork; and den—let me tink—den we ab, we ab picklum pork, sar.”

“The long and the short of it is, Bob, that we have nothing but a piece of pickled pork; can you dine off that?”

“Can a duck swim, Cockle!”

“Please, sar, we ab plenty pea for dog baddy,” said Moonshine.

“Well, then, Cockle, as all that is required is to put the pot on the fire, you can probably spare Moonshine, after he has done that, and we will look to the cookery; start him off with a note to Mr Johns, and he can bring back a couple of bottles from my quarters.”

“Really dat very fine tought, Massa Farren; I put in pork, and den I go and come back in one hour.”

“That you never will, Mr Moonshine; what’s o’clock now? mercy on us, how time flies in your company, Cockle, it is nearly four o’clock; it will be dark at six.”

“Neber mind, sar, me always ab moonshine whereber I go,” said the black, showing his teeth.

“It will take two hours to boil the pork, Bob; that fellow has been so busy this morning that he has quite forgot the dinner.”

“All you business, Massa Cockle.”

“Very true; but now start as soon as you can, and come back as soon as you can; here’s the note.”

Moonshine took the note, looked at the direction, as if he could read it, and in a few minutes was seen to depart.

“And now, Cockle,” said I, “as Moonshine will be gone some time, suppose you spin us a yarn to pass away the time.”

“I’ll tell you what, Bob, I am not quite so good at that as I used to be. I’ve an idea that when my pate became bald, my memory oozed away by insensible perspiration.”

“Never mind, you must have something left, you can’t be quite empty.”

“No, but my tumbler is; so I’ll just fill that up, and then I’ll tell you how it was that I came to go to sea.”

“The very thing that I should like to hear, above all others.”

“Well, then, you must know that, like cockles in general, I was born on the sea-shore, just a quarter of a mile out of Dover, towards Shakespeare’s Cliff. My father was a fisherman by profession, and a smuggler by practice, all was fish that came to his net; but his cottage was small, he was supposed to be very poor, and a very bad fisherman, for he seldom brought home many; but there was a reason for that, he very seldom put his nets overboard. His chief business lay in taking out of vessels coming down Channel, goods which were shipped and bonded for exportation, and running them on shore again. You know, Bob, that there are many articles which are not permitted to enter even upon paying duty, and when these goods, such as silks, etcetera, are seized or taken in prizes, they are sold for exportation. Now, it was then the custom for vessels to take them on board in the river, and run them on shore as they went down Channel, and the fishing-boats were usually employed for this service; my father was a well-known hand for this kind of work, for not being suspected, he was always fortunate; of course, had he once been caught, they would have had their eyes upon him after he had suffered his punishment. Now the way my father used to manage was this: there was a long tunnel-drain from some houses used as manufactories, about a hundred yards above his cottage, which extended out into the sea at low-water mark, and which passed on one side of our cottage. My father had cut from a cellar in the cottage into the drain, and as it was large enough for a man to kneel down in, he used to come in at low-water with his coble, and make fast the goods, properly secured from the wet and dirt in tarpaulin bags, to a rope, which led from the cellar to the sea through the drain. When the water had flowed sufficiently to cover the mouth of the drain, he then threw the bags overboard, and, securing the boat, went to the cottage, hauled up the articles, and secured them too; d’ye understand? My father had no one to assist him but my brother, who was a stout fellow, seven years older than myself, and my mother, who used to give a helping hand when required; and thus did he keep his own counsel, and grow rich; when all was right, he got his boat over into the harbour, and having secured her, he came home as innocent as a lamb. I was then about eight or nine years old, and went with my father and brother in the coble, for she required three hands, at least, to manage her properly, and like a tin-pot, although not very big, I was very useful. Now it so happened that my father had notice that a brig, laying in Dover harbour, would sail the next day, and that she had on board of her a quantity of lace and silks, purchased at the Dover custom-house for exportation, which he was to put on shore again to be sent up to London. The sending up to London we had nothing to do with; the agent at Dover managed all that; we only left the articles at his house, and then received the money on the nail. We went to the harbour, where we found the brig hauling out, so we made all haste to get away before her. It blew fresh from the northward and eastward, and there was a good deal of sea running. As we were shoving out, the London agent, a jolly little round-faced fellow, in black clothes, and a bald white head, called to us, and said that he wanted to board a vessel in the offing, and asked whether we would take him. This was all a ruse, as he intended to go on board of the brig with us to settle matters, and then return in the pilot boat. Well, we hoisted our jib, drew aft our foresheet, and were soon clear of the harbour; but we found that there was a devil of a sea running, and more wind than we bargained for; the brig came out of the harbour with a flowing sheet, and we lowered down the foresail to reef it—father and brother busy about that, while I stood at the helm, when the agent said to me, ‘When do you mean to make a voyage?’ ‘Sooner than father thinks for,’ said I, ‘for I want to see the world.’ It was sooner than I thought for too, as you shall hear. As soon as the brig was well out, we ran down to her, and with some difficulty my father and the agent got on board, for the sea was high and cross, the tide setting against the wind; my brother and I were left in the boat to follow in the wake of the brig; but as my brother was casting off the rope forward, his leg caught in the bight, and into the sea he went; however, they hauled him on board, leaving me alone in the coble. It was not of much consequence, as I could manage to follow before the wind under easy sail, without assistance: so I kept her in the wake of the brig, both of us running nearly before it at the rate of five miles an hour, waiting till my father should have made up his packages, of a proper size to walk through the tunnel drain.

“The Channel was full of ships, for the westerly winds had detained them for a long time. I had followed the brig about an hour, when the agent went on shore in a pilot boat, and I expected my father would soon be ready; then the wind veered more towards the southward, with dirt: at last it came on foggy, and I could hardly see the brig, and as it rained hard, and blew harder, I wished that my father was ready, for my arms ached with steering the coble for so long a while. I could not leave the helm, so I steered on at a black lump, as the brig looked through the fog: at last the fog was so thick that I could not see a yard beyond the boat, and I hardly knew how to steer. I began to be frightened, tired, and cold, and hungry I certainly was. Well, I steered on for more than an hour, when the fog cleared up a little, and to my joy I saw the stern of the brig just before me. I expected that she would round-to immediately, and that my father would praise me for my conduct; and, what was still more to the purpose, that I should get something to eat and drink. But no: she steered on right down Channel, and I followed for more than an hour, when it came on to blow very hard, and I could scarcely manage the boat—she pulled my little arms off. The weather now cleared up, and I could make out the vessel plainly; when I discovered that it was not the brig, but a bark which I had got hold of in the fog, so that I did not know what to do; but I did as most boys would have done in a fright,—I sat down and cried; still, however, keeping the tiller in my hand, and steering as well as I could. At last. I could hold it no longer; I ran forward, let go the fore and jib haul-yards, and hauled down the sails; drag them into the boat I could not, and there I was, like a young bear adrift in a washing-tub. I looked around, and there were no vessels near; the bark had left me two miles astern, it was blowing a gale from the SE, with a heavy sea—the gulls and sea-birds wheeling and screaming in the storm. The boat tossed and rolled about so that I was obliged to hold on, but she shipped no water of any consequence, for the jib in the water forward had brought her head to wind, and acted as a sort of floating anchor. At last I lay down at the bottom of the boat and fell asleep. It was daylight before I awoke, and it blew harder than ever; and I could just see some vessels at a distance, scudding before the gale, but they could hardly see me. I sat very melancholy the whole day, shedding tears, surrounded by nothing but the roaring waves. I prayed very earnestly: I said the Lord’s Prayer, the Belief, and as much of the Catechism as I could recollect. I was wet, starving, and miserably cold. At night I again fell asleep from exhaustion. When morning broke, and the sun shone, the gale abated, and I felt more cheered; but I was now ravenous from hunger, as well as choking from thirst, and was so weak that I could scarcely stand. I looked round me every now and then, and in the afternoon saw a large vessel standing right for me; this gave me courage and strength. I stood up and waved my hat, and they saw me—the sea was still running very high, but the wind had gone down. She rounded-to so as to bring me under her lee. Send a boat she could not, but the sea bore her down upon me, and I was soon close to her. Men in the chains were ready with ropes, and I knew that this was my only chance. At last, a very heavy sea bore her right down upon the boat, lurching over on her beam ends, her main chains struck the boat and sent her down, while I was seized by the scruff of the neck by two of the seamen, and borne aloft by them as the vessel returned to the weather-roll. I was safe. And, as soon as they had given me something to eat, I told my story. It appeared that she was an East India-man running down Channel, and not likely to meet with anything to scud me back again. The passengers, especially the ladies, were very kind to me: and as there was no help for it, why, I took my first voyage to the East Indies.”

“And your father and your brother?”

“Why, when I met them, which I did about six years afterwards, I found that they had been in much the same predicament, having lost the coble, and the weather being so bad that they could not get on shore again. As there was no help for it, they took their first voyage to the West Indies; so there was a dispersion of an united family—two went west, one went east, coble went down, and mother, after waiting a month or two, and supposing father dead, went off with a soldier. All dispersed by one confounded gale of wind from the northward and eastward, so that’s the way that I went to sea, Bob. And now it’s time that Moonshine was back.”

But Moonshine kept us waiting for some time: when he returned it was then quite dark, and we had lighted candles, anxiously waiting for him; for not only was the bottle empty, but we were very hungry. At last we heard a conversation at the gate, and Moonshine made his appearance with the two bottles of spirits, and appeared himself to be also in high spirits. The pork and peas-pudding soon were on the table. We dined heartily, and were sitting over the latter part of the first bottle in conversation, it being near upon the eleventh hour, when we heard a noise, at the gate—observed some figures of men, who stayed a short time and then disappeared. The door opened, and Moonshine went out. In a few seconds he returned, bringing in his arms an anker of spirits, which he laid on the floor, grinning so wide that his head appeared half off. Without saying a word, he left the room and returned with another.

“Why, what the devil’s this?” cried Cockle.

Moonshine made no answer, but went out and in until he had brought six ankers in, one after another, which he placed in a row on the floor. He then shut the outside door, bolted it, came in, and seating himself on one of the tubs, laughed to an excess which compelled him to hold his sides; Cockle and I looking on in a state of astonishment.

“Where the devil did all this come from?” cried Cockle, getting out of his easy chair. “Tell me, sir, or by—”

“I tell you all, Massa Cockle:– you find me better friend dan Missy O’Bottom. Now you hab plenty, and neber need scold Moonshine ’pose he take lilly drap. I get all dis present to you, Massa Cockle.”

Feeling anxious, I pressed Moonshine to tell his story.

“I tell you all, sar. When I come back wid de two bottle I meet plenty men wid de tubs: dey say, ‘Hollo there, who be you?’ I say, ‘I come from station: bring massa two bottel, and I show um.’ Den dey say, ‘Where you massa?’ and I say, ‘At um house at Ryde’—(den dey tink dat you my massa, Massa Farren)—so dey say, ‘Yes, we know dat, we watch him dere, but now you tell, so we beat you dead.’ Den I say, ‘What for dat; massa like drink, why you no gib massa some tub, and den he neber say noting, only make fuss some time, ’cause of Admirality.’ Den dey say, ‘You sure of dat?’ and I say, ‘Quite sure massa neber say one word.’ Den dey talk long while; last, dey come and say, ‘You come wid us and show massa house.’ So two men come wid me, and when dey come to gate I say, ‘Dis massa house when he live at Ryde, and dere you see massa;’—and I point to Massa Cockle, but dey see Massa Ferran—so dey say. ‘All very good; tree, four hour more, you find six tub here; tell you massa dat every time run tub, he alway hab six;’ den dey go way, den dey come back, leave tub; dat all, massa.”