CHAPTER III
AND HER TRUE COMMANDER
The nature of "Flapfin"--as Miss Dolly Darling and other young peoplewere pleased to call him--was to make his enemies run away, but hisfriends keep very near to him. He was one of the simplest-minded menthat ever trod the British oak. Whatever he thought he generally said;and whatever he said he meant and did. Yet of tricks and frauds he hadquick perception, whenever they were tried against him, as well as amarvellous power of seeing the shortest way to everything. He enjoyed alittle gentle piece of vanity, not vainglory, and he never could sec anyjustice in losing the credit of any of his exploits. Moreover, he wasgifted with the highest faith in the hand of the Almighty over him (tohelp him in all his righteous deeds), and over his enemies, to destroythem. Though he never insisted on any deep piety in his own behavior, hehad a good deal in his heart when time allowed, and the linstocks werewaiting the signal. His trust was supreme in the Lord and himself; andhe loved to be called "My Lord Admiral."
And a man of this noble type deserved to be met with his own nobility.But the English government, according to its lights--which appear to beeverlasting--regarded him as the right man, when wanted, but at othertimes the wrong one. They liked him to do them a very good turn, butwould not let him do himself one; and whenever he looked for some fairchance of a little snug prize-money, they took him away from the likelyplaces, and set him to hard work and hard knocks. But his sense of dutyand love of country enabled him to bear it, with grumbling.
"I don't care a rope's end," he was saying, with a truthfulness simpleand solid as beefsteak is, "whether we have peace or war; but letus have one or the other of them. I love peace--it is a very finething--and I hate to see poor fellows killed. All I want is to spend therest of my life ashore, and lay out the garden. You must come and seewhat a bridge I have made to throw across the fish-pond. I can do wellenough with what I have got, as soon as my farm begins to pay, and Ihope I may never hear another shotted cannon; but, my dear Lingo, youknow as well as I do how much chance there is of that."
"Laudo manentem. Let us praise her while we have got her. Parson Twemlowkeeps up my Latin, but you have forgotten all yours, my friend. Ibrought you down here to see the fish come in, and to choose what youlike best for dinner. In the days when you were my smallest youngster,and as proud as Punch to dine with me, your taste was the finest in theship, because your stomach was the weakest. How often I thought that thefish would eat you! and but for your wonderful spirit, my friend, thatmust have happened long ago. But your nature was to fight, and youfought through, as you always do. A drumstick for your praise of peace!"
Admiral Darling, a tall, stout man in the sixty-fifth year of his age,looked down at his welcome and famous guest as if he knew a great dealmore of his nature than the owner did. And this made that owner, whothought very highly of his own perception, look up and laugh.
"Here comes the fish!" he cried. "Come along, Darling. Never lose amoment--that's my rule. You can't get along as fast as I can. I'll goand settle all the business for you."
"Why should you be in such a hurry always? You will never come to myage if you carry on so. You ought to tow a spar astern. Thank God, theydon't know who he is, and I'll take good care not to let them know. Ifthis is what comes of quick promotion, I am glad that I got on slowly.Well, he may do as he likes for me. He always does--that's one thing."
Stoutly grumbling thus, the elder and far heavier Admiral descended thehill to the white gate slowly, as behooved the owner. And, by the timehe halted there, the other had been upon the beach five minutes, andtaken command of the fishing fleet.
"Starboard there! Brail up your gaff! Is that the way to take theground? Ease helm, Rosalie. Smartly, smartly. Have a care, you lubberthere. Fenders out! So, so. Now stand by, all! There are two smartlads among you, and no more. All the rest are no better than a packof Crappos. You want six months in a man-of-war's launch. This is whatcomes of peace already!"
The fishermen stared at this extraordinary man, who had taken all thebusiness out of Master Tugwell's hands; but without thinking twice aboutit, all obeyed him with a speed that must have robbed them of a quantityof rust. For although he was not in uniform, and bore no sword, hisdress was conspicuous, as he liked to have it, and his looks and deedskept suit with it. For he wore a blue coat (very badly made, with giltbuttons and lappets too big for him), a waistcoat of dove-colored silk,very long, coming over the place where his stomach should have been, andwhite plush breeches, made while he was blockading Boulogne in 1801, andtherefore had scarcely any flesh upon his bones. Peace having fattenedhim a little, these breeches had tightened upon him (as their way iswith a boy having six weeks' holiday); but still they could not make hislegs look big, though they showed them sharp and muscular. Below themwere brisk little sinewy calves in white silk hose, with a taper descentto ankles as fine as a lady's, and insteps bright with large silverbuckles. Yet that which surpassed all the beauty of the clothes was thevigor of the man inside them, who seemed to quicken and invigorate thewhole, even to the right sleeve, doubled up from the want of any arminside it. But the loss of the right arm, and the right eye also, seemedto be of no account to the former owner, so hard did he work with theresidue of his body, and so much did he express with it.
His noble cocked hat was in its leathern box yet, for he was only justcome from Merton; but the broad felt he wore was looped up in front,and displayed all the power of his countenance, or rather the vigor; forpower is heavy, and his face was light and quickness. Softness also, anda melancholy gift of dreaminess and reflection, enlarged and impressedthe effect of a gaze and a smile which have conquered history.
"Why don't 'ee speak up to 'un, Cap'en Zeb?" cried young Harry Shanks,of the Peggy, the smartest smack next to the Rosalie. "Whoever can 'abe, to make thee so dumb? Doth 'a know our own business afore our ownselves? If 'ee don't speak up to 'un, Cap'en Zeb, I'll never take nomore commands from thee."
"Harry Shanks, you was always a fool, and you always will be," MasterTugwell replied, with his deep chest voice, which no gale of wind couldblow away. "Whether he be wrong or right--and I won't say but what Imight have done it better--none but a fool like you would dare to sethis squeak up against Admirable Lord Nelson."
Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War Page 3