Jacob Faithful. Фредерик Марриет
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in the kennel. Now, Jacob, this is the last time that thou triflest with me; what does h-a-t spell?”
“Fur cap,” replied I, after some hesitation.
“Jacob, I feel the wrath rising within me, yet would I fain spare thee; if h-a-t spell fur-cap, pray advise me, what doth c-a-p spell, then?”
“Capstern.”
“Indeed, Jacob, thy stern as well as thy head are in danger; and I suppose, then, w-i-n-d spells windlass, does it not?”
“Yes, sir,” replied I, pleased to find that he agreed with me.
“Upon the same principle, what does r-a-t spell?”
“Rat, sir,” replied I.
“Nay, Jacob, r-a-t must spell rattan, and as thou hast missed thine own mode of spelling, thou shalt not miss the cane.” The Dominie then applied it to my shoulders with considerable unction, much to the delight of Mr. Knapps, who thought the punishment was much too small for the offence. But I soon extricated myself from these associations as my ideas extended, and was considered by the Dominie as the cleverest boy in the school. Whether it were from natural intellect, or from my brain having lain fallow, as it were, for so many years, or probably from the two causes combined, I certainly learned almost by instinct. I read my lessons once over and laid my book aside, for I knew it all. I had not been six months at the school before I discovered that, in a thousand instances, the affection of a father appeared towards me under the rough crust of the Dominie. I think it was on the third day of the seventh month that I afforded him a day of triumph and warming of his heart, when he took me for the first time into his little study, and put the Latin Accidence into my hands. I learnt my first lesson in a quarter of an hour; and I remember well how that unsmiling, grave man looked into my smiling eyes, parting the chestnut curls, which the matron would not cut off, from my brows, and saying, “Bene fecisti, Jacobe.” Many times afterwards, when the lesson was over, he would fix his eyes upon me, fall back on his chair, and make me recount all I could remember of my former life, which was really nothing but a record of perceptions and feelings. He could attend to me, and as I related some early and singular impression, some conjecture of what I saw, yet could not comprehend, on the shore which I had never touched, he would rub his hands with enthusiasm, and exclaim, “I have found a new book—an album, whereon I may write the deeds of heroes and the words of sages. Carissime Jacobe! how happy shall we be when we get into Virgil!” I hardly need say that I loved him—I did so from my heart, and learned with avidity to please him. I felt that I was of consequence—my confidence in myself was unbounded. I walked proudly, yet I was not vain. My school-fellows hated me, but they feared me as much for my own prowess as my interest with the master; but still many were the bitter gibes and innuendoes which I was obliged to hear as I sat down with them to our meals. At other times I held communion with the Dominie, the worthy old matron, and my books. We walked out every day, at first attended by Mr. Knapps the usher. The boys would not walk with me without they were ordered, and if ordered, most unwillingly. Yet I had given no cause of offence. The matron found it out, told the Dominie, and after that the Dominie attended the boys and led me by the hand.
This was of the greatest advantage to me, as he answered all my questions, which were not few, and each day I advanced in every variety of knowledge. Before I had been eighteen months at school, the Dominie was unhappy without my company, and I was equally anxious for his presence. He was a father to me, and I loved him as a son should love a father, and as it will hereafter prove, he was my guide through life.
But although the victory over Barnaby Bracegirdle, and the idea of my prowess procured me an enforced respect, still the Dominie’s goodwill towards me was the occasion of a settled hostility. Affront me, or attack me openly, they dare not; but supported as the boys were by Mr. Knapps the usher, who was equally jealous of my favour, and equally mean in spirit, they caballed to ruin me, if possible, in the good opinion of my master. Barnaby Bracegirdle had a talent for caricature, which was well-known to all but the Dominie. His first attempt against me was a caricature of my mother’s death, in which she was represented as a lamp supplied from a gin-bottle, and giving flame out of her mouth. This was told to me, but I did not see it. It was given by Barnaby to Mr. Knapps, who highly commended it, and put it into his desk. After which, Barnaby made an oft-repeated caricature of the Dominie, with a vast nose, which he shewed to the usher as my performance. The usher understood what Barnaby was at, and put it into his desk without comment. Several other ludicrous caricatures were made of the Dominie and of the matron, all of which were consigned to Mr. Knapps by the boys as being the productions of my pencil; but this was not sufficient—it was necessary I should be more clearly identified. It so happened that one evening, when sitting with the Dominie at my Latin, the matron and Mr. Knapps being in the adjoining room, the light, which had burned close down, fell in the socket and went out. The Dominie rose to get another; the matron also got up to fetch away the candlestick with the same intent. They met in the dark, and ran their heads together pretty hard. As this event was only known to Mr. Knapps and myself, he communicated it to Barnaby, wondering whether I should not make it a subject of one of my caricatures. Barnaby took the hint; in the course of a few hours this caricature was added to the others. Mr. Knapps, to further his views, took an opportunity to mention with encomium my talent for drawing, added that he had seen several of my performances. “The boy hath talent,” replied the Dominie; “he is a rich mine, from which much precious metal is to be obtained.”
“I hear that thou hast the talent for drawing, Jacob,” said he to me, a day or two afterwards.
“I never had in my life, sir,” replied I.
“Nay, Jacob; I like modesty but modesty should never lead to a denial of the truth. Remember, Jacob, that thou do not repeat the fault.”
I made no answer, as I felt convinced that I was not in fault; but that evening I requested the Dominie to lend me a pencil, as I wished to try and draw. For some days, various scraps of my performances were produced, and received commendation. “The boy draweth well,” observed the Dominie to Mr. Knapps, as he examined my performance through his spectacles.
“Why should he have denied his being able to draw?” observed the usher.
“It was a fault arising from modesty or want of confidence—even a virtue, carried to excess, may lead us into error.”
The next attempt of Barnaby was to obtain the Cornelius Nepos which I then studied. This was effected by Mr. Knapps, who took it out of the Dominie’s study, and put it into Barnaby’s possession, who drew on the fly-leaf, on which was my name, a caricature head of the Dominie; and under my own name, which I had written on the leaf, added, in my hand, fecit, so that it appeared, Jacob Faithful fecit. Having done this, the leaf was torn out of the book, and consigned to the usher with the rest. The plot was now ripe; and the explosion soon ensued. Mr. Knapps told the Dominie that I drew caricatures of my school-fellows. The Dominie taxed me, and I denied it. “So you denied drawing,” observed the usher.
A few days passed away, when Mr. Knapps informed the Dominie that I had been caricaturing him and Mrs. Bately, the matron, and that he had proofs of it. I had then gone to bed; the Dominie was much surprised, and thought it impossible that I could be so ungrateful. Mr. Knapps said that should make the charge openly, and prove it the next morning in the school-room; and wound up the wrong by describing me in several points, as a cunning, good-for-nothing, although clever boy.
Chapter Five.
Mr. Knapps thinks to catch me napping, but the Plot is discovered, and Barnaby Bracegirdle is obliged to loosen his Braces for the Second Time on my Account—Drawing Caricatures ends in drawing Blood—The Usher is ushered out of the School, and I am nearly ushered into the next World, but instead of being bound on so long a Journey, I am bound “ ’Prentice to a Waterman.”
Ignorant