The Life of a Celebrated Buccaneer

by Richard Clynton

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  It was but a narrow strip of water that separated the old Sea King, orBuccaneer, from his neighbours on the mainland. But narrow as the stripwas it had been and it was of the greatest service to him; for it keptfrom his shores the numerous bands of robbers that infested themainland. Of course things had very much improved of recent years, butstill occasional robberies took place even now, and when an opportunityoffered it was not allowed to pass by. Since the world began it has beensaid that honest men are few and rogues are many.

  There can be very little doubt that the veneer called civilisation hasdone much for the world. It would appear, however, that when people arecollected together into a nation, they cannot even now look upon therichness of a neighbour, without having some feelings of envy, andexperiencing a slight itching sensation at the ends of the fingers.

  Indeed, the study of history, and human nature generally, would lead usto believe that man is not only a very lazy fellow by nature, neverworking unless necessity compels him to; but that he is also a thief,and is only honest by compulsion, or by learning that it is to hispersonal advantage to be so. This much we may have hinted before. Formankind in general we have the highest admiration and consideration; butwe cannot hide from ourselves the fact that it has with many virtues,also very many faults, and love of other people's property seems to beone.

  Man we will not run down or decry. Look you at the savage! There is agreat nobility about him, and in some things he compares most favourablywith his highly cultivated and civilised brother. The latter is perhapsthe proud possessor of a great intellect, of rank, of high position,having a long line of ancestors to decorate the walls of his ancestralhall. He may be the proud possessor of vast wealth, in fact, ofeverything that leads to human greatness, and yet see how he sneaks intoa room as if he were some mean thing and thoroughly well ashamed ofhimself. Contrast with this man the noble bearing of the savage, everymovement is as full of dignity, as, in all probability, his only blanketis of insects. This man feels himself a lord of creation. His mantleabove alluded to he throws over his shoulders with an easy grace. Hisonly possession perhaps is his spear or tomahawk which he is ever readyto bury in the stomach of an enemy or in the friendly earth. Then thesavage is silent, and when he does speak, he does not prove himself awind bag, but he speaks in measured tones, and with dignity and verymuch to the point. There is none of that senseless gabbling which issuch a mark of Western civilisation, and which at times is so extremelyconfusing and even distressing. He does not wash, you say? Good peopleall, here the peculiar and special prejudice of civilisation presentsitself. Yes, the tub crowns your Western edifice; but did your SaintJames ever use the bath? The platter is well washed without, but within?The savage is a noble being, though perhaps the rain that falls from agenerous heaven is the only washing he ever gets.

  The imagination loves to dwell upon the ideal. It peoples the garden ofEden with beautiful and naked innocence. It loves to sing of the gentleshepherd, who, decked in ribbons and becoming fancy pastoral garments,pipes and dances to his flocks all day long, and in other ways wasteshis employer's time. Strip the gentle shepherd of the clothinggenerously given him by the imagination and you find him a very roughfellow indeed, not given to singing so much as to cursing, and insteadof dancing, is more ready to knock anyone on the head who interfereswith his sheep-stealing propensities. We speak, good people all, ofearly pastoral times, of what we may call the ancient shepherd period.

  Heaven forbid! that we should say one word against civilisation. Do wewish to live in a state of society which was so easily excited that if aman but sneezed some fiery fellow would fancy himself insulted and outwith his bodkin and put it through one? Heaven forbid! we say again.But, good people all, the struggle for existence is great. The weakestat all times go to the wall. The noble savage allows his weakly andsickly offspring to die; perhaps even at times he assists nature,occasionally knocking an aged parent on the head, saving thereby muchpain and suffering on the one side, and trouble and anxiety on theother. But see what your civilisation does. See how far superior it is;how supremely human. It calls in that eminent physician Dr. Science, andwith his help your sickly human weeds are nourished and reared untilthey are old enough and strong enough to marry and multiply. Weedsproduce weeds and quickly. A sickly body can only sustain a sickly mind,and so the world wags and whole peoples become undermined. What would wedo? Nothing. We sit and watch things taking their course, and note themany advantages that civilisation has over barbarism.

  It is an old, old tale, yet in the telling of it nature alone is notprosy. She has such a way of telling the same story over and over againand ever varying it some little in the telling. What wonderful powers ofvariation has our mother! Take a million faces and by some subtlecombination of the same features she gives an individuality to each. Butto return to our noble savage. In a rough and ready fashion he surmountsthe difficulty of his useless members of society. By an extensive andwell-organised system, civilisation finds out the exact amount ofsustenance it takes to keep the body and soul together in an agedbroken-down pauper. Then separating an aged couple, who perhaps haveborne the brunt of many a misfortune together, it allows them to drainto the last drop the dregs of life, holding up to them as a consolationthe plenty that lies in paradise. Civilisation justly condemns theinhuman custom of the otherwise noble savage; but does not deny itselfthe inward satisfaction of a sigh of relief when some person who, havinglingered perhaps a trifle too long over his or her exit, eventuallygoes. "Poor soul," they say, "it is a happy release. Gone to a betterand a happier world, no doubt." A pauper's funeral brightens a districtand carries, if not joy, at least no sorrow to the hearts of theguardians of the poor.

  We never said that civilisation was a gigantic workshop where hypocritesand humbugs are turned out by the thousands every day, whilst itsreligion occupies itself in manufacturing Pharisees. We have pointedout, if we have not demonstrated, the admirable laws by whichcivilisation works as regards the welfare of the poor, and we have shownthe care that it takes of its sickly weeds, given to them such eminentadvantages and allowing them to contaminate a whole community with theirsickliness. We have acknowledged how in all respects, with the soleexception of grace and bearing, civilisation is superior to the savagestate. But this much we will say, many savages we have seen who are verymuch more gentle in their manners; very much more honourable and evenrefined in their feelings, and very much more humane, than the roughs ofcivilisation. No doubt every civilised family has its extremely blacksheep. The Buccaneer certainly had his, and compared with them, thegentle savage is a well-bred gentleman.

  Then look at your pale-faced drudge of civilisation. With bent back andemaciated face and smarting eyes, her thin but nimble fingers stitch onfrom early morning, till after the weary sun has sunk to rest. On, on,she works with scanty food, and in an impure atmosphere. Poor soul, hascivilisation done much for her? Has it buttered her bread more thicklyor sweetened more her tea? Is her lot any better than that of her sisterwho toils and slaves out in the open, while her brave lies and basks inthe sun of idleness?

  But we have wandered far from that narrow strip of water that dividedthe Buccaneer from his neighbours on the mainland. It had been to him asa magic belt, and worth more than thousands of men. His neighbours hadto look on and long and wonder perhaps how it was that such a man hadbeen allowed to prosper. But all have heard of the row in the kitchen,between the pot and the kettle. His neighbours, however, repudiated withscorn any evil intentions and they only kept themselves armed to theteeth to keep wicked robbers and cut-throats away; but it was a wonderto many people where they could be, because, if asked, all declared thatall they wished for was to be allowed to live in peace, and quietude, sothat they might enjoy the reward of their honest, industrious, andhighly respectable lives, and fit themselves for heaven.