Peter Simple. Фредерик Марриет
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I was very hungry. I hastened to dress myself before O’Brien came to me, and did not see him until we met at breakfast.
“Pater,” said he, “let me feel your pulse.”
“O no!” replied I, “indeed I’m quite well.”
“Quite well! Can you eat biscuit and salt butter?”
“Yes, I can.”
“And a piece of fat pork?”
“Yes, that I can.”
“It’s thanks to me then, Pater,” replied he, “so you’ll have no more of my medicine until you fall sick again.”
“I hope not,” replied I, “for it was not very pleasant.”
“Pleasant! you simple Simon, when did you ever hear of physic being pleasant, unless a man prescribe for himself? I suppose you’d be after lollipops for the yellow fever. Live and larn, boy, and thank Heaven that you’ve found somebody who loves you well enough to baste you when it’s good for your health.”
I held my tongue and ate a very hearty breakfast. From that day I returned to my duty, and was put into the same watch with O’Brien, who spoke to the first lieutenant, and told him that he had taken me under his charge.
Chapter Twelve
New theory of Mr Muddle remarkable for having no end to it—Novel practice of Mr Chucks—O’Brien commences his history—I bring up the master’s night-glass
As I have already mentioned sufficient of the captain and the first lieutenant to enable the reader to gain an insight into their characters, I shall now mention two very odd personages who were my shipmates, the carpenter and the boatswain. The carpenter, whose name was Muddle, used to go by the appellation of Philosopher Chips; not that he followed any particular school, but had formed a theory of his own, from which he was not to be dissuaded. This was, that the universe had its cycle of events which turned round, so that in a certain period of time everything was to happen over again. I never could make him explain upon what data his calculations were founded; he said, that if he explained it, I was too young to comprehend it; but the fact was this, that “in 27,672 years everything that was going on now would be going on again, with the same people as were existing at this present time.” He very seldom ventured to make the remark to Captain Savage, but to the first lieutenant he did very often. “I’ve been as close to it as possible, sir, I do assure you, although you find fault; but 27,672 years ago you were first lieutenant of this ship, and I was carpenter, although we recollect nothing about it; and 27,672 years hence we shall both be standing by this boat, talking about the repairs, as we are now.”
“I do not doubt it, Mr Muddle,” replied the first lieutenant; “I dare say that it is all very true, but the repairs must be finished this night, and 27,672 years hence you will have the order just as positive as you have it now, so let it be done.”
But the boatswain was a more amusing personage. He was considered to be the taughtest (that is, the most active and severe) boatswain in the service. He went by the name of “Gentleman Chucks”—the latter was his surname. He appeared to have received half an education; sometimes his language was for a few sentences remarkably well chosen, but, all of a sudden, he would break down at a hard word; but I shall be able to let the reader into more of his history as I go on with my adventures. He had a very handsome person, inclined to be stout, keen eyes, and hair curling in ringlets. He held his head up, and strutted as he walked. He declared that “an officer should look like an officer, and comport himself accordingly.” In his person he was very clean, wore rings on his great fingers, and a large frill to his bosom, which stuck out like the back fin of a perch, and the collar of his shirt was always pulled up to a level with his cheek bones. He never appeared on deck without his “persuader,” which was three rattans twisted into one, like a cable; sometimes he called it his Order of the Bath, or his Trio juncto in uno; and this persuader was seldom idle. He attempted to be very polite, even when addressing the common seamen, and, certainly, he always commenced his observations to them in a very gracious manner, but, as he continued, he became less choice in his phraseology. As a specimen of them, he would say to the man on the forecastle, “Allow me to observe, my dear man, in the most delicate way in the world, that you are spilling that tar upon the deck—a deck, sir, if I may venture to make the observation, I had the duty of seeing holystoned this morning. You understand me, sir, you have defiled His Majesty’s forecastle. I must do my duty, sir, if you neglect yours; so take that—and that—and that,”—(thrashing the man with his rattan)—“you damned haymaking son of a seacook. Do it again, damn your eyes, and I’ll cut your liver out.”
The master was the officer who had charge of the watch to which I was stationed; he was a very rough sailor, who had been brought up in the merchant service, not much of a gentleman in his appearance, very good-tempered, and very fond of grog. He always quarrelled with the boatswain, and declared that the service was going to the devil, now that warrant officers put on white shirts, and wore frills to them. But the boatswain did not care for him; he knew his duty, he did his duty, and if the captain was satisfied, he said that the whole ship’s company might grumble. The master was very kind to me, and used to send me down to my hammock before my watch was half over. Until that time, I walked the deck with O’Brien, who was a very pleasant companion, and taught me everything that he could, connected with my profession. One night, when he had the middle watch, I told him I should like very much if he would give me the history of his life. “That I will, my honey,” replied he, “all that I can remember of it, though I have no doubt but that I’ve forgotten the best part of it. It’s now within five minutes of two bells, so we’ll heave the log and mark the board, and then I’ll spin you a yarn, which will keep us both from going to sleep.” O’Brien reported the rate of sailing to the master, marked it down on the log-board, and then returned.
“So now, my boy, I’ll come to an anchor on the top-sail halyard rack, and you may squeeze your thread-paper little carcass under my lee, and then I’ll tell you all about it. First and foremost, you must know that I am descended from the great O’Brien Borru, who was a king in his time, but that time’s past. I suppose, as the world turns round, my children’s children’s posterity may be kings again, although there seems but little chance of it just now; but there’s ups and downs on a grand scale, as well as in a man’s own history, and the wheel of fortune keeps turning for the comfort of those who are at the lowest spoke, as I may be just now. To cut the story a little shorter, I skip down to my great-grandfather, who lived like a real gentleman, as he was, upon his ten thousand a year. At last he died, and eight thousand of the ten was buried with him. My grandfather followed his father all in good course of time, and only left my father about one hundred acres of bog to keep up the dignity of the family. I am the youngest of ten, and devil a copper have I but my pay, or am I likely to have. You may talk about descent, but a more descending family than mine was never in existence, for here am I with twenty-five pounds a-year, and a half-pay of ‘nothing a-day, and find myself,’ when my great ancestor did just what he pleased with all Ireland, and everybody in it. Father McGrath, the priest, who lived with my father, taught me the elements, as they call them. I thought I had enough of the elements then, but I’ve seen a deal more of them since. ‘Terence,’ says my father to me one day, ‘what do you mane to do?’ ‘To get my dinner, sure,’ replied I, for I was not a little hungry. ‘And so you shall to-day, my vourneen,’ replied my father, ‘but in future you must do something to get your own dinner; there’s not praties enow for the whole of ye. Will you go to the say?’ ‘I’ll just step down and look at it,’ says I, for we lived but sixteen Irish miles from the coast; so when I had finished my meal, which did not take long, for want of ammunition, I trotted down to the Cove to see what a ship might be like, and I happened upon a large one sure enough, for there lay a three-decker with an admiral’s flag at the fore. ‘Maybe you’ll be so civil as to tell me what ship that is,’ said I to a sailor on the pier. ‘It’s the Queen Charlotte,’ replied he, ‘of one hundred and twenty guns.’ Now when I looked at her size, and compared her with all the little smacks and hoys lying about her, I very naturally asked how old she was; he replied, that she was no more than three years old. ‘But three years old,’ thought I to myself; ‘it’s