VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER SIX.
The Indian weed, unknown to ancient times, Nature's choice gift, whose acrimonious fume Extracts superfluous juices, and refines The blood distemper'd from its noxious salts; Friend to the spirit, which with vapours bland It gently mitigates--companion fit Of a _good pot of porter_. PHILLIPS.
There's a pot of good double beer, neighbour, Drink-- SHAKESPEARE.
The next day the remains of old Thompson were carried on shore in thelong-boat, and buried in the churchyard of the small fishing town thatwas within a mile of the port where the sloop had anchored. Newtonshipped another man, and when the gale was over, continued his voyage;which was accomplished without further adventure.
Finding no cargo ready for him, and anxious to deliver up the vessel tothe owner, who resided at Overton, he returned in ballast, andcommunicated the intelligence of Thompson's death; which in so small atown was long the theme of conversation, and the food of gossips.
Newton consulted with his father relative to the disposal of the trunk;but Nicholas could assist him but little with his advice. After many_pros_ and _cons_, like all other difficult matters, it waspostponed.--"Really, Newton, I can't say. The property certainly is notyours, but still we are not likely to find out the lawful owner. Bringthe trunk on shore, we'll nail it up, and perhaps we may hear somethingabout it by and bye. We'll make some inquiries--by and bye--when yourmother--"
"I think," interrupted Newton, "it would not be advisable to acquaint mymother with the circumstance; but how to satisfy her curiosity on thatpoint, I must leave to you."
"To me, boy! no; I think that you had better manage that, for you knowyou are only _occasionally_ at home."
"Well, father, be it so," replied Newton, laughing: "but here comes MrDragwell and Mr Hilton, to consult with us what ought to be donerelative to the effects of poor old Thompson. He has neither kith norkin, to the ninety-ninth degree, that we can find out."
Mr Dragwell was the curate of the parish; a little fat man withbow-legs, who always sat upon the edge of the chair, leaning against theback, and twiddling his thumbs before him. He was facetious andgood-tempered, but was very dilatory in every thing. His greatestpeculiarity was, that although he had a hearty laugh for every joke, hedid not take the jokes of others at the time that they were made. Hisideas seemed to have the slow and silent flow ascribed to the stream oflava (without its fire): and the consequence was, that although heeventually laughed at a good thing, it was never at the same time withother people; but in about a quarter or half a minute afterwards(according to the difficulty of the analysis), when the cause had beendismissed for other topics, he would burst out in a hearty Ha, ha, ha!
Mr Hilton was the owner of the sloop: he was a tall, corpulent man, whofor many years had charge of a similar vessel, until by "doing a littlecontraband," he had pocketed a sufficient sum to enable him to purchaseone for himself. But the profits being more than sufficient for hiswants, he had for some time remained on shore, old Thompson havingcharge of the vessel. He was a good-tempered, jolly fellow, very fondof his pipe and his pot, and much more fond of his sloop, by theemployment of which he was supplied with all his comforts. He passedmost of the day sitting at the door of his house, which looked upon theanchorage, exchanging a few words with every one that passed by, butinvariably upon one and the same topic--his sloop. If she was atanchor--"There she is," he would say, pointing to her with the stem ofhis pipe. If she was away, she had sailed on such a day;--he expectedher back at such a time. It was a fair wind--it was a foul wind for hissloop. All his ideas were engrossed by this one darling object, and itwas no easy task to divert him from it.
I ought to have mentioned that Mr Dragwell, the curate, was invariablyaccompanied by Mr Spinney, the clerk of the parish, a little spare man,with a few white hairs straggling on each side of a bald pate. Healways took his tune whether in or out of church from his superior,ejecting a small treble "He, he, he!" in response to the loud Ha, ha,ha! of the curate.
"Peace be unto this house!" observed the curate as he crossed thethreshold, for Mrs Forster's character was notorious; then laughing athis own wit with a Ha, ha, ha!
"He, he, he!"
"Good morning, Mr Forster, how is your good lady?"
"She's safe moored at last," interrupted Mr Hilton.
"Who?" demanded the curate, with surprise.
"Why, the sloop, to be sure."
"Oh! I thought you meant the lady--Ha, ha, ha!"
"He, he, he!"
"Won't you sit down, gentlemen?" said Nicholas, showing the way from theshop into the parlour, where they found Mrs Forster, who had just comein from the back premises.
"Hope you're well, Mr Curate," sharply observed the lady, who could notbe persuaded, even from respect for the cloth, to be commonlycivil--"take a chair; it's all covered with dust! but that Betsy is suchan idle slut!"
"Newton handles her, as well as any man going," observed Hilton.
"Newton!" screamed the lady, turning to her son, with an angry inquiringlook--"Newton handles Betsy!" continued she, turning round to Hilton.
"Betsy! no; the sloop I meant, ma'am."
Newton burst out into a laugh, in which he was joined by Hilton and hisfather.
"Sad business--sad indeed!" said Hilton, after the merriment hadsubsided, "such an awful death!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" roared the curate, who had but just then taken the jokeabout Betsy.
"He, he, he!"
"Nothing to laugh at, that I can see," observed Mrs Forster,snappishly.
"Capital joke, ma'am, I assure you!" rejoined the curate; "but, MrForster, we had better proceed to business. Spinney, where are thepapers?" The clerk produced an inventory of the effects of the late MrThompson, and laid them on the table.--"Melancholy thing, this, ma'am,"continued the curate, "very melancholy indeed! But we must all die."
"Yes, thank Heaven!" muttered Nicholas, in an absent manner.
"Thank Heaven, Mr Forster!" cried the lady,--"why, do you wish to die?"
"I was not exactly thinking about myself, my dear," repliedNicholas--"I--"
"Depend upon it she'll last a long while yet," interrupted Mr Hilton.
"Do you think so?" replied Nicholas, mournfully.
"Oh! sure of it; I stripped her the other day, and examined her allover; she's as sound as ever."
Nicholas started, and stared Hilton in the face; while Newton, whoperceived their separate train of thought, tittered with delight.
"What are you talking of?" at last observed Nicholas.
"Of the sloop, to be sure," replied Hilton.
"I rather imagine you were come to consult about Mr Thompson'seffects," observed Mrs Forster, angrily--"rather a solemn subject,instead of--"
"Ha, ha, ha!" ejaculated the curate, who had just _taken_ the equivoquewhich had occasioned Newton's mirth.
"He, he, he!"
This last merriment of Mr Dragwell appeared to the lady to be such apointed insult to her, that she bounded out of the room, exclaiming,"that an alehouse would have been a more suitable _rendezvous_."
The curate twiddled his thumbs, as the eyes of all the party followedthe exit of Mrs Forster; and there were a few moments of silence.
"Don't you find her a pleasant little craft, Forster?" said Hilton,addressing Newton.
Nicholas Forster, who was in a brown study about his wife, shook hishead without lifting up his eyes, while Newton nodded assent.
"Plenty of accommodation in her," continued Hilton.--Another negativeshake from Nicholas, and assentent nod from Newton.
"If I thought you could manage her, Forster," continued Hilton,--"tellme, what do you think yourself?"
"Oh, quite impossible!" replied Nicholas.
"Quite impossible, Mr Forster! well, now, I've a better opinion ofNewton--I think he _can_."
"Why, yes," replied Nicholas, "certainly better than I can; but stillshe's--"
"She's a beauty, Mr Forster."
"Mrs Forst
er a beauty," cried Nicholas, looking at Hilton withastonishment.
Newton and Hilton burst into a laugh. "No, no," said the latter, "I wastalking about the sloop; but we had better proceed to business. Supposewe have pipes, Mr Forster. Mr Dragwell, what do you say?"
"Ha, ha, ha!" roared the curate, who had just taken the last joke.
"He, he, he!"
"Why, yes," continued the curate, "I think it is a most excellentproposition; this melancholy affair requires a great deal ofconsideration. I never compose so well as I do with a pipe in my mouth:Mrs Dragwell says that she knows all my best sermons by the smell ofthem; d'ye take--Ha, ha, ha!"
"He, he, he!"
The pipes, with the addition of a couple of pots of porter, were soonprocured from the neighbouring alehouse; and while the parties arefilling them, and pushing the paper of tobacco from one to the other, Ishall digress, notwithstanding the contrary opinion of the other sex, inpraise of this most potent and delightful weed.
I love thee, whether thou appearest in the shape of a cigar, or diestaway in sweet perfume enshrined in the Mereshaum bowl; I love thee withmore than woman's love! Thou art a companion to me in solitude. I cantalk and reason with thee, avoiding loud and obstreperous argument.Thou art a friend to me when in trouble, for thou advisest in silence,and consolest with thy calm influence over the perturbed spirit.
I know not how thy power has been bestowed upon thee; yet, if toharmonise the feelings, to allow the thoughts to spring without control,rising like the white vapour from the cottage hearth, on a morning thatis sunny and serene;--if to impart that sober sadness over the spirit,which inclines us to forgive our enemy, that calm philosophy whichreconciles us to the ingratitude and knavery of the world, that heavenlycontemplation whispering to us, as we look around, that "All is good;"--if these be merits, they are thine, most potent weed.
What a quiet world would this be if every one would smoke! I suspectthat the reason why the fairer sex decry thee is, that thou art thecause of silence. The ancients knew thee not, or the lips ofHarpocrates would have been closed with a cigar, and his fore-fingerremoved from the mouth unto the temple.
Half an hour was passed without any observation from our party, as theroom gradually filled with the volumes of smoke which wreathed andcurled in graceful lines, as they ascended in obedience to theunchangeable laws of nature.
Hilton's pipe was first exhausted; he shook the ashes on the table. "Avery melancholy business, indeed!" observed he, as he refilled. Therest nodded a grand assent; the pipe was relighted; and all was silentas before.
Another pipe is empty.--"Looking at this inventory," said the curate, "Ishould imagine the articles to be of no great value. One fur cap, oneround hat, one pair of plush breeches, one ---; they are not worth acouple of pounds altogether," continued he, stuffing the tobacco intohis pipe, which he relighted, and no more was said. Nicholas was thethird in, or rather out. "It appears to me," observed he;--but whatappeared is lost, as some new idea flitted across his imagination, andhe commenced his second pipe, without further remark.
Some ten minutes after this, Mr Spinney handed the pot of porter to thecurate, and subsequently to the rest of the party. They all tooklargely, then puffed away as before.
How long this cabinet council might have continued it is impossible tosay; but Silence, who was in "the chair," was soon afterwards drivenfrom his post of honour by the most implacable of his enemies, "awoman's tongue."
"Well, Mr Forster! well, gentlemen! do you mean to poison me? Have youmade smell and dirt enough? How long is this to last, I should like toknow?" cried Mrs Forster, entering the room. "I tell you what, MrForster, you had better hang up a sign at once, and keep an alehouse.Let the sign be a Fool's Head, like your own. I wonder you are notashamed of yourself, Mr Curate; you that ought to set an example toyour parishioners!"
But Mr Dragwell did not admire such remonstrance; so taking his pipeout of his mouth, he retorted--"If your husband does put up a sign, Irecommend him to stick you up as the `Good Woman;' that would be withoutyour head--Ha, ha, ha!"
"He, he, he!"
"He, he, he! you pitiful 'natomy," cried Mrs Forster, in a rage,turning to the clerk, as she dared not revenge herself upon the curate.Take that for your He, he, he! and she swung round the empty pewter-potwhich she snatched from the table, upon the bald pericranium of MrSpinney, who tumbled off his chair, and rolled upon the sanded floor.
The remainder of the party were on their legs in an instant. Newtonjerked the weapon out of his mother's hands, and threw it in a corner ofthe room. Nicholas was aghast: he surmised that his turn would comenext; and so it proved.--"An't you ashamed of yourself, Mr Forster, tosee me treated in this way--bringing a parcel of drunken men into thehouse to insult me? Will you order them out, or not, sir?--Are we tohave quiet or not?"
"Yes, my love," replied Nicholas, confused, "yes, my dear, by and bye,as soon as you're--"
Mrs Forster darted towards her husband with the ferocity of a mad cat.Hilton perceiving the danger of his host, put out his leg so as to tripher up in her career, and she fell flat upon her face on the floor. Theviolence of the fall was so great, that she was stunned. Newton raisedher up; and, with the assistance of his father (who approached with asmuch reluctance as a horse spurred towards a dead tiger), carried her upstairs, and laid her on her bed.
Poor Mr Spinney was now raised from the floor. He still remainedstupified with the blow, although gradually recovering. Betsy came into render assistance. "O dear, Mr Curate, do you think that he'lldie?"
"No, no; bring some water, Betsy, and throw it in his face."
"Better take him home as he is," replied Betsy, "and say that he iskilled; when Missis hears it, she'll be frightened out of her life. Itwill keep her quiet for some time at least."
"An excellent idea, Betty; we will punish her for her conduct," repliedHilton. The curate was delighted at the plan. Mr Spinney was placedin an arm-chair, covered over with a table-cloth, and carried away tothe parsonage by two men, who were provided by Betsy before Nicholas orNewton had quitted the room where Mrs Forster lay in a deplorablecondition: her sharp nose broken, and twisted on one side; her eyebrowcut open to the bone, and a violent contusion on her forehead. In lessthan half an hour it was spread through the whole town that Spinney hadbeen murdered by Mrs Forster, and that his brains were bespattered allover the shop windows!
Newton Forster; Or, The Merchant Service Page 6