第 二十二 章 · Of the News from Havant

Having given my orders that Covenant should be saddled and bridled by

daybreak, I had gone to my room and was preparing for a long night’s

rest, when Sir Gervas, who slept in the same apartment, came dancing in

with a bundle of papers waving over his head.

‘Three guesses, Clarke!’ he cried. ‘What would you most desire?’

‘Letters from Havant,’ said I eagerly.

‘Right,’ he answered, throwing them into my lap. ‘Three of them, and not

a woman’s hand among them. Sink me, if I can understand what you have

been doing all your life.

“How can youthful heart resign

Lovely woman, sparkling wine?”

But you are so lost in your news that you have not observed my

transformation.’

‘Why, wherever did you get these?’ I asked in astonishment, for he

was attired in a delicate plum-coloured suit with gold buttons and

trimmings, set off by silken hosen and Spanish leather shoes with roses

on the instep.

‘It smacks more of the court than of the camp,’ quoth Sir Gervas,

rubbing his hands and glancing down at himself with some satisfaction.

‘I am also revictualled in the matter of ratafia and orange-flower

water, together with two new wigs, a bob and a court, a pound of the

Imperial snuff from the sign of the Black Man, a box of De Crepigny’s

hair powder, my foxskin muff, and several other necessaries. But I

hinder you in your reading.’

‘I have seen enough to tell me that all is well at home,’ I answered,

glancing over my father’s letter. ‘But how came these things?’

‘Some horsemen have come in from Petersfield, bearing them with them. As

to my little box, which a fair friend of mine in town packed for me,

it was to be forwarded to Bristol, where I am now supposed to be, and

should be were it not for my good fortune in meeting your party. It

chanced to find its way, however, to the Bruton inn, and the good woman

there, whom I had conciliated, found means to send it after me. It is a

good rule to go upon, Clarke, in this earthly pilgrimage, always to

kiss the landlady. It may seem a small thing, and yet life is made up

of small things. I have few fixed principles, I fear, but two there are

which I can say from my heart that I never transgress. I always carry a

corkscrew, and I never forget to kiss the landlady.’

‘From what I have seen of you,’ said I, laughing, ‘I could be warranty

that those two duties are ever fulfilled.’

‘I have letters, too,’ said he, sitting on the side of the bed and

turning over a sheaf of papers. ‘“Your broken-hearted Araminta.” Hum!

The wench cannot know that I am ruined or her heart would speedily be

restored. What’s this? A challenge to match my bird Julius against my

Lord Dorchester’s cockerel for a hundred guineas. Faith! I am too busy

backing the Monmouth rooster for the champion stakes. Another asking me

to chase the stag at Epping. Zounds! had I not cleared off I should

have been run down myself, with a pack of bandog bailiffs at my heels.

A dunning letter from my clothier. He can afford to lose this bill.

He hath had many a long one out of me. An offer of three thousand from

little Dicky Chichester. No, no, Dicky, it won’t do. A gentleman can’t

live upon his friends. None the less grateful. How now? From Mrs.

Butterworth! No money for three weeks! Bailiffs in the house! Now, curse

me, if this is not too bad!’

‘What is the matter?’ I asked, glancing up from my own letters. The

baronet’s pale face had taken a tinge of red, and he was striding

furiously up and down the bedroom with a letter crumpled up in his hand.

‘It is a burning shame, Clarke,’ he cried. ‘Hang it, she shall have my

watch. It is by Tompion, of the sign of the Three Crowns in Paul’s

Yard, and cost a hundred when new. It should keep her for a few months.

Mortimer shall measure swords with me for this. I shall write villain

upon him with my rapier’s point.’

‘I have never seen you ruffled before,’ said I.

‘No,’ he answered, laughing. ‘Many have lived with me for years and

would give me a certificate for temper. But this is too much. Sir Edward

Mortimer is my mother’s younger brother, Clarke, but he is not many

years older than myself. A proper, strait-laced, soft-voiced lad he has

ever been, and, as a consequence, he throve in the world, and joined

land to land after the scriptural fashion. I had befriended him from my

purse in the old days, but he soon came to be a richer man than I, for

all that he gained he kept, whereas all I got--well, it went off like

the smoke of the pipe which you are lighting. When I found that all was

up with me I received from Mortimer an advance, which was sufficient to

take me according to my wish over to Virginia, together with a horse and

a personal outfit. There was some chance, Clarke, of the Jerome acres

going to him should aught befall me, so that he was not averse to

helping me off to a land of fevers and scalping knives. Nay, never shake

your head, my dear country lad, you little know the wiles of the world.’

‘Give him credit for the best until the worst is proved,’ said I,

sitting up in bed smoking, with my letters littered about in front of

me.

‘The worst _is_ proved,’ said Sir Gervas, with a darkening face. ‘I

have, as I said, done Mortimer some turns which he might remember,

though it did not become me to remind him of them. This Mistress

Butterworth is mine old wet-nurse, and it hath been the custom of the

family to provide for her. I could not bear the thought that in the ruin

of my fortune she should lose the paltry guinea or so a week which stood

between her and hunger. My only request to Mortimer, therefore, made on

the score of old friendship, was that he should continue this pittance,

I promising that should I prosper I would return whatever he should

disburse. The mean-hearted villain wrung my hand and swore that it

should be so. How vile a thing is human nature, Clarke! For the sake of

this paltry sum he, a rich man, hath broken his pledge, and left this

poor woman to starve. But he shall answer to me for it. He thinks that

I am on the Atlantic. If I march back to London with these brave boys

I shall disturb the tenor of his sainted existence. Meanwhile I shall

trust to sun-dials, and off goes my watch to Mother Butterworth. Bless

her ample bosoms! I have tried many liquors, but I dare bet that the

first was the most healthy. But how of your own letters? You have been

frowning and smiling like an April day.’

‘There is one from my father, with a few words attached from my mother,’

said I. ‘The second is from an old friend of mine, Zachariah Palmer, the

village carpenter. The third is from Solomon Sprent, a retired seaman,

for whom I have an affection and respect.’

‘You have a rare trio of newsmen. I would I knew your father, Clarke, he

must, from what you say, be a stout bit of British oak. I spoke even now

of your knowing little of the world, but indeed it may be that in your

village you can see mankind without the varnish, and so come to learn

more of the good of human nature. Varnish or none, the bad will ever

peep through. Now this carpenter and seaman show themselves no doubt for

what they are. A man might know my friends of the court for a lifetime,

and never come upon their real selves, nor would it perhaps repay the

search when you had come across it. Sink me, but I wax philosophical,

which is the old refuge of the ruined man. Give me a tub, and I shall

set up in the Piazza of Covent Garden, and be the Diogenes of London. I

would not be wealthy again, Micah! How goes the old lilt?--

“Our money shall never indite us

Or drag us to Goldsmith Hall,

No pirates or wrecks can affright us.

We that have no estates

Fear no plunder or rates,

Nor care to lock gates.

He that lies on the ground cannot fall!”

That last would make a good motto for an almshouse.’

‘You will have Sir Stephen up,’ said I warningly, for he was carolling

away at the pitch of his lungs.

‘Never fear! He and his ‘prentices were all at the broad-sword exercise

in the hall as I came by. It is worth something to see the old fellow

stamp, and swing his sword, and cry, “Ha!” on the down-cut. Mistress

Ruth and friend Lockarby are in the tapestried room, she spinning and he

reading aloud one of those entertaining volumes which she would have me

read. Methinks she hath taken his conversion in hand, which may end in

his converting her from a maid into a wife. And so you go to the Duke of

Beaufort! Well, I would that I could travel with you, but Saxon will not

hear of it, and my musqueteers must be my first care. God send you safe

back! Where is my jasmine powder and the patch-box? Read me your letters

if there be aught in them of interest. I have been splitting a flask

with our gallant Colonel at his inn, and he hath told me enough of your

home at Havant to make me wish to know more.’

‘This one is somewhat grave,’ said I.

‘Nay, I am in the humour for grave things. Have at it, if it contain the

whole Platonic philosophy.’

‘’Tis from the venerable carpenter who hath for many years been my

adviser and friend. He is one who is religious without being sectarian,

philosophic without being a partisan, and loving without being weak.’

‘A paragon, truly!’ exclaimed Sir Gervas, who was busy with his eyebrow

brush.

‘This is what he saith,’ I continued, and proceeded to read the very

letter which I now read to you.

‘“Having heard from your father, my dear lad, that there was some chance

of being able to send a letter to you, I have written this, and am

now sending it under the charge of the worthy John Packingham, of

Chichester, who is bound for the West. I trust that you are now safe

with Monmouth’s army, and that you have received honourable appointment

therein. I doubt not that you will find among your comrades some who

are extreme sectaries, and others who are scoffers and disbelievers.

Be advised by me, friend, and avoid both the one and the other. For the

zealot is a man who not only defends his own right of worship, wherein

he hath justice, but wishes to impose upon the consciences of others,

by which he falls into the very error against which he fights. The mere

brainless scoffer is, on the other hand, lower than the beast of

the field, since he lacks the animal’s self-respect and humble

resignation.”’

‘My faith!’ cried the Baronet, ‘the old gentleman hath a rough side to

his tongue.’

‘“Let us take religion upon its broadest base, for the truth must be

broader than aught which we can conceive. The presence of a table doth

prove the existence of a carpenter, and so the presence of a universe

proves the existence of a universe Maker, call Him by what name

you will. So far the ground is very firm beneath us, without either

inspiration, teaching, or any aid whatever. Since, then, there _must_ be

a world Maker, let us judge of His nature by His work. We cannot observe

the glories of the firmament, its infinite extent, its beauty, and the

Divine skill wherewith every plant and animal hath its wants cared for,

without seeing that He is full of wisdom, intelligence, and power. We

are still, you will perceive, upon solid ground, without having to call

to our aid aught save pure reason.”’

‘“Having got so far, let us inquire to what end the universe was made,

and we put upon it. The teaching of all nature shows that it must be to

the end of improvement and upward growth, the increase in real virtue,

in knowledge, and in wisdom. Nature is a silent preacher which holds

forth upon week-days as on Sabbaths. We see the acorn grow into the oak,

the egg into the bird, the maggot into the butterfly. Shall we doubt,

then, that the human soul, the most precious of all things, is also

upon the upward path? And how can the soul progress save through the

cultivation of virtue and self-mastery? What other way is there? There

is none. We may say with confidence, then, that we are placed here to

increase in knowledge and in virtue.”’

‘“This is the core of all religion, and this much needs no faith in

the acceptance. It is as true and as capable of proof as one of those

exercises of Euclid which we have gone over together. On this common

ground men have raised many different buildings. Christianity, the creed

of Mahomet, the creed of the Easterns, have all the same essence. The

difference lies in the forms and the details. Let us hold to our own

Christian creed, the beautiful, often-professed, and seldom-practised

doctrine of love, but let us not despise our fellow-men, for we are all

branches from the common root of truth.”’

‘“Man comes out of darkness into light. He tarries awhile and then

passes into darkness again. Micah, lad, the days are passing, mine as

well as thine. Let them not be wasted. They are few in number. What says

Petrarch?’ To him that enters, life seems infinite; to him that

departs, nothing.’ Let every day, every hour, be spent in furthering the

Creator’s end--in getting out whatever power for good there is in you.

What is pain, or work, or trouble? The cloud that passes over the sun.

But the result of work well done is everything. It is eternal. It lives

and waxes stronger through the centuries. Pause not for rest. The rest

will come when the hour of work is past.”’

‘“May God protect and guard you! There is no great news. The Portsmouth

garrison hath marched to the West. Sir John Lawson, the magistrate, hath

been down here threatening your father and others, but he can do little

for want of proofs. Church and Dissent are at each other’s throats as

ever. Truly the stern law of Moses is more enduring than the sweet words

of Christ. Adieu, my dear lad! All good wishes from your grey-headed

friend, ZACHARIAH PALMER.”’

‘Od’s fish!’ cried Sir Gervas, as I folded up the letter, ‘I have heard

Stillingfleet and Tenison, but I never listened to a better sermon. This

is a bishop disguised as a carpenter. The crozier would suit his hand

better than the plane. But how of our seaman friend? Is he a tarpaulin

theologian--a divine among the tarry-breeks?’

‘Solomon Sprent is a very different man, though good enough in his way,’

said I. ‘But you shall judge him from his letter.’

‘“Master Clarke. Sir,--When last we was in company I had run in under

the batteries on cutting-out service, while you did stand on and off in

the channel and wait signals. Having stopped to refit and to overhaul my

prize, which proved to be in proper trim alow and aloft--“’

‘What the devil doth he mean?’ asked Sir Gervas.

‘It is a maid of whom he talks--Phoebe Dawson, the sister of the

blacksmith. He hath scarce put foot on land for nigh forty years, and

can as a consequence only speak in this sea jargon, though he fancies

that he uses as pure King’s English as any man in Hampshire.’

‘Proceed, then,’ quoth the Baronet.

‘“Having also read her the articles of war, I explained to her the

conditions under which we were to sail in company on life’s voyage,

namely:”’

‘“First. She to obey signals without question as soon as received.”’

‘“Second. She to steer by my reckoning.”’

‘“Third. She to stand by me as true consort in foul weather, battle, or

shipwreck.”’

‘“Fourth. She to run under my guns if assailed by picaroons,

privateeros, or garda-costas.”’

‘“Fifth. Me to keep her in due repair, dry-dock her at intervals,

and see that she hath her allowance of coats of paint, streamers, and

bunting, as befits a saucy pleasure boat.”’

‘“Sixth. Me to take no other craft in tow, and if any be now attached,

to cut their hawsers.”’

‘“Seventh. Me to revictual her day by day.”’

‘“Eighth. Should she chance to spring a leak, or be blown on her beam

ends by the winds of misfortune, to stand by her and see her pumped out

or righted.”’

‘“Ninth. To fly the Protestant ensign at the peak during life’s voyage,

and to lay our course for the great harbour, in the hope that moorings

and ground to swing may be found for two British-built crafts when laid

up for eternity.”’

‘“‘Twas close on eight-bells before these articles were signed and

sealed. When I headed after you I could not so much as catch a glimpse

of your topsail. Soon after I heard as you had gone a-soldiering,

together with that lean, rakish, long-sparred, picaroon-like craft which

I have seen of late in the village. I take it unkind of you that you

have not so much as dipped ensign to me on leaving. But perchance

the tide was favourable, and you could not tarry. Had I not been

jury-rigged, with one of my spars shot away, I should have dearly loved

to have strapped on my hanger and come with you to smell gunpowder once

more. I would do it now, timber-toe and all, were it not for my consort,

who might claim it as a breach of the articles, and so sheer off. I must

follow the light on her poop until we are fairly joined.”’

‘“Farewell, mate! In action, take an old sailor’s advice. Keep the

weather-gauge and board! Tell that to your admiral on the day of battle.

Whisper it in his ear. Say to him, ‘Keep the weather-gauge and board!’

Tell him also to strike quick, strike hard, and keep on striking. That’s

the word of Christopher Mings, and a better man has not been launched,

though he did climb in through the hawse-pipe.--Yours to command,

SOLOMON SPRENT.”’

Sir Gervas had been chuckling to himself during the reading of this

epistle, but at the last part we both broke out a-laughing.

‘Land or sea, he will have it that battles are fought in ships,’

said the Baronet. ‘You should have had that sage piece of advice for

Monmouth’s council to-day. Should he ever ask your opinion it must be,

“Keep the weather-gauge and board!”’

‘I must to sleep,’ said I, laying aside my pipe. ‘I should be on the

road by daybreak.’

‘Nay, I prythee, complete your kindness by letting me have a glimpse of

your respected parent, the Roundhead.’

‘’Tis but a few lines,’ I answered. ‘He was ever short of speech. But

if they interest you, you shall hear them. “I am sending this by a godly

man, my dear son, to say that I trust that you are bearing yourself as

becomes you. In all danger and difficulty trust not to yourself, but

ask help from on high. If you are in authority, teach your men to sing

psalms when they fall on, as is the good old custom. In action give

point rather than edge. A thrust must beat a cut. Your mother and the

others send their affection to you. Sir John Lawson hath been down

here like a ravening wolf, but could find no proof against me. John

Marchbank, of Bedhampton, is cast into prison. Truly Antichrist reigns

in the land, but the kingdom of light is at hand. Strike lustily for

truth and conscience.--Your loving father, JOSEPH CLARKE.”’

‘“Postscriptum (from my mother).--I trust that you will remember what I

have said concerning your hosen and also the broad linen collars, which

you will find in the bag. It is little over a week since you left, yet

it seems a year. When cold or wet, take ten drops of Daffy’s elixir in a

small glass of strong waters. Should your feet chafe, rub tallow on the

inside of your boots. Commend me to Master Saxon and to Master Lockarby,

if he be with you. His father was mad at his going, for he hath a great

brewing going forward, and none to mind the mash-tub. Ruth hath baked a

cake, but the oven hath played her false, and it is lumpy in the inside.

A thousand kisses, dear heart, from your loving mother, M. C.”’

‘A right sensible couple,’ quoth Sir Gervas, who, having completed his

toilet, had betaken him to his couch. ‘I now begin to understand your

manufacture, Clarke. I see the threads that are used in the weaving of

you. Your father looks to your spiritual wants. Your mother concerns

herself with the material. Yet the old carpenter’s preaching is,

methinks, more to your taste. You are a rank latitudinarian, man. Sir

Stephen would cry fie upon you, and Joshua Pettigrue abjure you! Well,

out with the light, for we should both be stirring at cock-crow. That is

our religion at present.’

‘Early Christians,’ I suggested, and we both laughed as we settled down

to sleep.