The Orange Girl

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER I

  I AM TURNED OUT INTO THE WORLD

  In the year 1760 or thereabouts, everybody knew the name of Sir PeterHalliday, Merchant. The House in which Sir Peter was the Senior Partnerpossessed a fleet of West Indiamen which traded between the Port ofLondon and Jamaica, Barbadoes, and the other English Islands, taking outall kinds of stuffs, weapons, implements, clothing, wine, silks, gloves,and everything else that the planters could want, and returning ladenwith sugar in bags, mahogany, arrack, and whatever else the islandsproduce. Our wharf was that which stands next to the Tower stairs: thecounting-house was on the wharf: there the clerks worked daily fromseven in the morning till eight at night. As a boy it was my delight togo on board the ships when they arrived. There I ran up and down thecompanion: into the dark lower deck where the midshipmen messed andslept among the flying cockroaches, which buzzed into their faces andthe rats which ran over them and the creatures which infest a ship inhot latitudes and come on board with the gunny-bags, such as centipedes,scorpions, and great spiders. And I would stand and watch the bargeswhen they came alongside to receive the cargo. Then with a yeo-heave-oh!and a chantey of the sailors, mostly meaningless, yet pleasant to hear,they tossed the bags of sugar into the barge as if they were loaves ofbread, and the casks of rum as if they had been pint pots. Or I wouldtalk to the sailors and hear stories of maroon niggers and how theplanters engaged the sailors to go ashore in search of these fiercerunaways and shoot them down in the mountains: and stories of shark andbarra coota: of hurricanos and islands where men had been put ashore tostarve and die miserably: of pirates, of whom there have always beenplenty in the Caribbean Sea since that ocean was first discovered.Strange things these sailors brought home with them: coral, pink andwhite: preserved flying-fish: creatures put in spirits: carvedcocoanuts: everybody knows the treasures of the sailor arrived in port.

  This, I say, was my delight as a boy: thus I learned to think of thingsoutside the narrow bounds of the counting-house and the City walls.Marvellous it is to mark how while the Pool is crammed with ships fromall parts of the world, the Londoner will go on in ignorance of anyworld beyond the walls of the City or the boundaries of his parish.Therefore, I say, it was better for me than the study of Moll'sGeography to converse with these sailors and to listen to theiradventures.

  Another thing they taught me. It is well known that on board every shipthere is one, at least, who can play the fiddle. A ship without afiddler is robbed of the sailors' chief joy. Now, ever since I rememberanything I was always making music: out of the whistle pipe: thetwanging Jews' harp: the comb and paper: but above all out of thefiddle. I had a fiddle: I found it in a garret of our house in GreatCollege Street. I made a sailor tell me how to practise upon it:whenever one of our ships put into port I made friends with the fiddleron board and got more lessons; so that I was under instruction, in thisrude manner for the greater part of the year, and before I was twelve Icould play anything readily and after the fashion, rough and vigorous,of the sailors with whom strength of arm reckons before style.

  I belong to a family which for nearly two hundred years have beenPuritans. Some of them were preachers and divines under Cromwell. Theirdescendants retained the strict observance of opinions which forbidmirth and merriment, even among young people. Although they conformed tothe Church of England, they held that music of all kinds: the theatre:dancing at the Assembly: reading poetry and tales: and wearing of finedress must be sinful, because they call attention from the salvation ofthe soul, the only thing about which the sinner ought to think. Why itwas worse to let the mind dwell upon music than upon money-getting Iknow not, nor have I ever been able to discover. It will be understood,however, that ours was a strict household. It consisted of my father,myself, a housekeeper and five servants, all godly. We had long prayers,morning and evening; we attended the Church of St. Stephen Walbrook,instead of our own parish church of St. Michael Paternoster, becausethere was no organ in it: we went to church on Sundays twice: and twicein the week to the Gift Lectures, of which there were two. My father wasa stern man, of great dignity. When he was Lord Mayor he was greatlyfeared by malefactors. He was of a full habit of body, with a large redface, his neck swollen into rolls. Like all merchants in his position hedrank a great deal of port, of which he possessed a noble cellar.

  I have often wondered why it was never discovered that I practised thefiddle in the garret. To be sure, it was only at those hours when myfather was on the wharf. When I had the door shut and the windows openthe maids below thought, I suppose, that the sounds came from the nexthouse. However that may be, I was never found out.

  Now this fondness for music produced an unfortunate result. The sight ofa book of arithmetic always filled me with a disgust unspeakable. Thesight of a book of accounts inspired me with loathing. The daily aspectof my father's clerks all sitting in a row on high stools, and alldriving the quill with heads bending over the paper, made me, even as achild, believe theirs to be the most miserable lot that Fortune has tooffer her most unhappy victims. I still think so. Give me any other kindof life: make me a bargee: a coal-heaver: a sailor before the mast: anapothecary: a schoolmaster's usher: in all these occupations there willbe something to redeem the position: but for the accountant there isnothing. All day long he sits within four walls: his pay is miserable:his food is insufficient: when in the evening he crawls away, there isonly time left for him to take a little supper and go to his miserablebed.

  Imagine, therefore, my loathing when I understood that at the age ofsixteen I was to take my place among these unfortunates, and to work myway towards the succession which awaited me--the partnership held by myfather--by becoming a clerk like unto these others whom I had alwayspitied and generally despised. From that lot, however, there was noescape. All the partners, from father to son, had so worked their way.The reason of this rule was that the young men in this way acquired aknowledge of the business in all its branches before they were calledupon to direct its enterprise, and to enter upon new ventures. I daresaythat it was a good practical rule. But in my own case I found it almostintolerable.

  I was unlike the clerks in one or two respects: I had good food andplenty of it. And I received no salary.

  I had a cousin, named Matthew, son of my father's younger brother andpartner, Alderman Paul Halliday, Citizen and Lorimer, who had not yetpassed the chair. Matthew, though his father was the younger son, wasthree or four years older than myself. He, therefore, mounted theclerks' stool so many years before me. He was a young man with a faceand carriage serious and thoughtful (to all appearance) beyond hisyears. He had a trick of dropping his eyes while he talked: his face wasalways pale and his hands were always clammy. Other young men who hadbeen at school with him spoke of him with disrespect and even hatred,but I know not why. In a word, Matthew had no friends among those of hisown age. On the other hand, the older people thought highly of him. Myfather spoke with praise of his capacity for business and of hisindustry, and of the grasp of detail which he had already begun to show.As for me, I could never like my cousin, and what happened when I wasabout eighteen years of age gave me no reason to like him any better.

  I had been in the counting-house for two years, each day feeling like aweek for duration. But the question of rebellion had so far neveroccurred to me. I could no longer practise in the garret while my fatherwas in the counting-house. But I could get away, on pretence of businessto the ships, and snatch an hour below with the fiddler. And in theevening sometimes, when my father was feasting with a City Company orengaged in other business out of the house, I could take boat across theriver and run over to St. George's Fields, there to have half an hour ofplay with a musician, of whom you shall learn more, called Tom Shirley.After the manner of youths I never asked myself how long this would goon without discovery: or what would be the result when it wasdiscovered. Yet I knew very well that no Quaker could be more decidedas to the sinfulness of music than my father and my uncle. Had not thegreat and Reverend Samuel Halliday, D. D., preac
hed before the Protectoron the subject of the snares spread by the devil to catch souls by meansof music?

  Now, one afternoon in the month of June, when the counting-house is morethan commonly terrible, a message came to me that my father wished tospeak with me.

  I found him in his own room, his brother Paul sitting with him. His faceshowed astonishment and anger; that of his brother presented someappearance of sorrow--real or not, I cannot say. My uncle Paul was, asoften happens in a family, a reduced copy of his elder brother. He wasnot so tall: not so portly: not so red in the face: not so swollen inthe neck: yet he was tall and portly and red and swollen. He was shakinghis head as I entered saying, 'Dear! dear! dear! And in our familytoo--in our family!'

  'Son William,' said my father, 'I have heard a serious thing.'

  'What is that, Sir, if I may ask?'

  'I learn from my brother, who had it from Matthew----'

  'From Matthew,' my uncle interposed solemnly.

  'That you lose no opportunity of getting away from your desk to go onboard our ships in the Pool, there to play the fiddle with the commonsailors--to play the fiddle--the common fiddle--like a fellow with abear--with the common sailors. I hear that our Captains and officers areall acquainted with this unworthy pastime of yours! I hear, further,that you have formed an acquaintance with a certain fellow namedShirley, now a prisoner in the Rules of the King's Bench, one who makesa sinful living by playing wanton music for lewd and wicked persons atwhat are called Pleasure Gardens, whither resort such company as nogodly youth should meet. And I hear that you spend such time as you canspare under the tuition of this person.'

  He stopped. My uncle took up the word.

  'All these things I am assured by my son Matthew to be the case. I haveinformed Matthew that in my opinion it was right and even necessary thatthey should be brought before the notice of my brother.'

  'I wait thy reply, Will,' said my father.

  'It is all quite true, Sir.'

  'Quite true.' I felt a little sinking of the heart because of thedisappointment and sadness in his voice. 'But,' he went on, 'what is themeaning of it? For my own part I see no good purpose to be gained bymusic. On the other hand my grandfather, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Halliday,hath clearly shown in his book of godly discourses, that music,especially music with dancing, is the surest bait by which the devildraws souls to destruction. People, I am aware, will have music. At ourCompany's feasts music attends: at the Lord Mayor's banquets there ismusic: at the Lord Mayor's Show there is music: at many churches thereis an organ: but what hast thou to do with music, Will? It is thy partto become a merchant, bent on serious work: and outside thecounting-house to become a magistrate. What hast thou to do with music?'

  He spoke, being much moved, kindly--because--alas! he loved his son.

  'Sir,' I said, 'it is all most true. There is nothing that I love somuch as music.'

  'Consider,' he went on. 'There is no place for music in the life beforethee. All day long learning thy work in the counting-house: some time tosucceed me in this room. How is it possible for a young man who stoopsto make music on catgut with a bow to become a serious merchant,respected in the City?'

  'Indeed, Sir, I do not know,'

  'How will it be possible for you to advance the interests of theHouse--nay, to maintain the interests of the House, when it is knownthat you are a common scraper in a crowd like a one-legged man with aJack in the Green?'

  Now I might even then have submitted and promised and given up my fiddleand so pleased my father and remained in his favour. But this was one ofthose moments which are turning-points in a man's life. Besides I wasyoung; I was inexperienced. And an overwhelming disgust fell upon mysoul as I thought of the counting-house and the ledgers and the longhours in the dingy place driving the quill all day long. So withoutunderstanding what the words meant, I broke out impatiently:

  'Sir,' I said, 'with submission, I would ask your leave to give up myplace in this office.'

  'Give up? Give up?' he cried, growing purple in the face. 'Does the boyknow what he means?'

  "'GIVE UP!' HE CRIED, GROWING PURPLE IN THE FACE."]

  'Give up?' cried my uncle. 'Is the boy mad? Give up his prospects inthis House--this--the soundest House in the whole City? Nephew Will,wouldst starve?'

  'I will make a living by music.'

  'Make a living--a living--make a living--by music? What? To play thefiddle in a tavern? To play in the gallery while your father is feastingbelow?'

  'Nay, sir; but there are other ways.'

  'Hark ye, Will; let this stop. Back to thy desk lest something happen.'My father spoke with sudden sternness.

  'Nay, sir; but I am serious.'

  'Ay--ay? Serious? Then I am serious, too. Understand, then, that I ownno son who disgraces the City family to which he belongs by becoming acommon musician. Choose. Take thy fiddle and give up me--thisoffice--thine inheritance--thine inheritance, mind, or lay down thefiddle and go back to thy desk. There, sir, I am, I hope, seriousenough.'

  He was. My father was a masterful man at all times; he was perfectlyserious. Now the sons of masterful men are themselves often masterful. Iwalked out of the counting-house without a word.

  I am conscious that there is no excuse for a disobedient son. I ought tohave accepted any orders that my father might choose to lay upon me. Butto part with my fiddle, to give up music: to abandon that sweetrefreshment of the soul: oh! it was too much.

  Moreover, no one knew better than myself the inveterate hatred withwhich my father and the whole of my family regarded what they called thetinkling cymbal which they thought leads souls to destruction. Had Iseen any gleam of hope that there would be a relenting, I would havewaited. But there was none. Therefore I cast obedience to the winds, andleft the room without a word.

  Had I known what awaited me: the misfortunes which were to drag me downalmost unto a shameful death, in consequence of this act ofdisobedience, I might have given way.

  But perhaps not: for in all my troubles there were two things whichcheered and sustained me, I enjoyed at all times, so you shall learn,the support of love and the refreshment of music.

  Had my father known of these misfortunes would he have given way? Idoubt it. Misfortune does not destroy the soul, but music does. So hewould say and so think, and conduct his relations with his ownaccordingly.

  I walked out of the counting-house. At the door I met, face to face, theinformer, my cousin Matthew, who had caused all this trouble.

  He was attired as becomes a responsible merchant, though as yet only aclerk or factor with the other clerks. He wore a brown coat with silverbuttons: white silk stockings: silver buckles in his shoes: silver braidupon his hat: a silver chain with seals hanging from his fob: with whitelace ruffles and neckerchief as fine as those of his father, or of anymerchant on Change.

  He met me, I say, face to face, and for the first time within myknowledge, he grinned when he met me. For he knew what had been said tome. He grinned with a look of such devilish glee that I understood forthe first time how much he hated me. Why? I had never crossed him.Because I was the son of the senior partner whose place I was to takeand of the richer man of the two Partners. His would be the subordinateposition with a third only of the profits. Therefore my cousin hated me.He, I say, noted my discomfiture. Now, at that moment, I was in no moodfor mockery.

  Something in my face stopped his grinning. He became suddenly grave: hedropped his eyes: he made as if he would pass by me and so into thehouse.

  'Villain and maker of mischief!' I cried. Then I fell upon him. I hadbut fists: he had a stick: I was eighteen: he was five-and-twenty: hewas heavier and taller: well; there is little credit, because he was apoor fighter: in two minutes I had his stick from him, and in three moreI had broken it over his head and his shoulders. However, had his windand his strength equalled his hatred and desire that the stick should bebroken over my shoulders instead of his, the result would have beendifferent.

  'You shall pay--you shall pay--you sha
ll pay for this,' he gasped, lyingprostrate.

  I kicked him out of my way as if he had been a dog and strode off, mycheek aflame, my hand trembling and my limbs stiffened with the joy ofthe fight and the victory. Come what might, I had whipped my cousin,like the cur he was. A thing to remember.

  I have never repented that act of justice. The memory of it brought manywoes upon me, but I have never repented or regretted it. And certain Iam that to the day of his miserable death Matthew never forgot it. Nordid I.