Jem (and Sam)

by Ferdinand Mount

  I knocked upon the vestry door and there as I surmised was Mr Hignell brushing and rubbing the mud off the books and scrolls. Mr Hignell, I said, don’t you think that Fluffy Ralph – I mean Ralph – will be much distressed to hear of all this? Why, you are right, boy, he says, you must go tell him, he loves these old things. But perhaps he knows already, I said. Why, what do you mean? How should he know? Oh I meant nothing, I said, with seeming innocence, nothing at all, news travels fast across the marsh. Why so it does, he said, and then fell to cleaning books again.

  Five minutes later I asked: Who do you think stole these articles, Mr Hignell? I do not know, he said. It’s a strange thing, I said, an ordinary thief would not guess their value, it must have been a fanatic for books, some person who has an incurable passion for old papers, don’t you think so? That’s possible, he said pretending to be engrossed in his work, but I could see he was beginning to ponder. The thief must have been a young man, I said (the sport was coming a little near home here), an old man would not have the strength or the audacity for such a game. A young man . . . yes, you are probably right. And someone who is learned? Yes perhaps, he said. Perhaps Ralph would know of such a person, he goes to school in Canterbury and is hugger-mugger with scholars and booksellers. Perhaps, Mr Hignell replied.

  I could see coursing through his brain as plainly as if it had been written in letters of fire on his forehead the thought: Ralph is the villain, I have been gulled, my trust has been betrayed. The jest was all the finer because he had no evidence to support his suspicion. He could only boil with impotent rancour, while Fluff would be much offended that his old patron was now so cold to him.

  But that estrangement did not last long, for soon Ralph was to go up to London to be apprenticed to a bookseller on Tower Hill and Mr Hignell was mighty sorry, for who would listen to his tedious discourses now? Certainly not Jeremiah. I had other fish to fry. There was Mary Court, Tommy’s sister, who was tall as a lily, but she was too young and cried out when I tried to kiss her, and Tabitha, who was unwilling also but smelled of pickled herring so that I did not mind, and then there was Emma, darling Emm who had great bubbies and threw her skirts up as cheerfully as if she was hanging out her washing and laughed and groaned and had her pleasure so freely that I thought paradise had come. There was nobody to match Emm. She was the nonpareille. My mother called her a slut and said she would lead me to perdition, but she led me to Heaven – or Heaven’s gate. We would go down the path to the Drain and a little way along, where there was a field hidden by the hawthorns, she would plump herself down and say come on slow-worm and I would be down upon her and feeling her soft velvet and calling her chuck while she lay back shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. And away beyond the fair forest of her hair across the marshes I saw the ships joggling at anchor in the bay. Or was it me joggling? Oh Jemmy, Jemmy, she would say so that it sounded like a catch such as dull morris men might dance to, but she would not admit me to the ultimate delight for fear of being got with child.

  As we were thus engaged, two old men came along the path beside the field. We could see their heads above the cow parsley stalks but they could not see us. ’Tis the Dutch, says one. ’Taint, says the other. I warrant you those are Dutch bottoms, says the first. That’s good English oak, says the other. And so they went on, and we smothered our laughter, for we cared not at all whether the enemy was in the Thames or not.

  When I see ships at anchor in a swell, when they rise and fall, and their masts clash and clink, I think of Emma, although she is long dead.

  By the autumn, for all her protestations to me, she was with child and I was disgraced, for everyone loved Emm and blamed me for seducing her. It turned out the true criminal was Jack Scott, but he was already gone to New England to seek his fortune, and everyone knew that I had been walking with Emm. My reputation was sliding. I have forgot to say that when I pirated the papers from the muniment chest, a glint of gold caught my eye. Mr Hignell kept in the chest a gold seal with which he liked to seal his own papers and make believe he was Lord High Chancellor of Churn. This little bauble I snatched up and put in my pocket. I found it a pleasant sport to roll it around secretly in my fingers while playing the innocent in front of Mr Hignell.

  Unfortunately, my mother made search of my pockets before my breeches were washed and she found the seal which she hastened to return to the greasy old parson. This is a serious matter, he grunted, you’ve brought shame upon your family, Jeremiah, you have betrayed my trust, the crime is too heinous to be atoned for by corporal chastisement (well, there was that much to be said for it, then), there is nothing for it but to take you before the magistrate and yet – he raised his hand to his heart with a grand gesture as though he were Burbage himself – ties of friendship may bind the strong arm of justice, I am a man of compassion, I am not blind to your mother’s tears. There had been no such tears, my mother repeating in much the same words how I had brought shame upon her family and how she ought never to have married my father, for he had bad blood which had issued in me – a gross untruth, there being no more respectable family in Kent than his, while her brother was a sot and her uncle had been transported for false coinage.

  The upshot: Jem is to be sent apprentice to uncle John Elmstead, the fair village of Churn is to know him no more, and the Man of Compassion, the Rev. Mr Hignell, is to dine with my parents once a week, a barrel of oysters and a fine piece of beef to be of the party. I did not then know that our farm was half-mortgaged to Mr Hignell, and the other half was to go the same way within the year. Nor would I have cared to know. My father’s failing was a theme that I shut my ears to, for it made sour music. Besides, I was impatient to quit Churn and seek the horizon, having resolved to be a voyager in life, though to be bound to my uncle John were but a dull beginning for a Meteor.

  Thus in my ignorance I was very merry my last night in Churn. When the stars came out, I went up Beggars Lane to Emm’s house and threw small stones at her window. She put her head out and bade me hush, but I kissed her before she could put her head back in. Let me in, I asked. I daren’t and besides you know my condition. You wouldn’t want me to go away without a last embrace. She opened the window a little wider, and I slithered through it like an eel as I had done so often before and my stockings snagged on the roses as they always did. She was already plump but was as much to my liking as ever. We must be very careful, she said, for I would not lose the baby. Even though he’s to be a bastard? You’re too round, Jem, and besides it’s in your power to make him honest. Or her, I said. It will be a boy, I’m sure of it, she said, wouldn’t you like him to be yours? Not Jack Scott’s boy, I said, besides I’m too young to marry. My uncle Potter was but seventeen when he wed, she said. And wasn’t he a fool to marry your aunt, I’d rather marry a hedgehog, Emm you’re a goddess, let me in, let me in. Very well, but we must make shift like this, so, and very gently.

  On the morrow I was off on the road to Canterbury and then beyond on the high road over the downs which the Romans built. It was a vile morning, rain and wind, and my coat too thin for the weather. As I came up on to the crest, I perceived a band of men ahead of me. They were marching in step and when I came up abreast of them I realised that they were soldiers, but a more bedraggled bunch of knaves I never saw in my life. Where are you bound? I asked. We are off to Dover to beat the Dutch, they said. When I heard this, I laughed and one of the men swore oaths at me. Will the Dutch step ashore for the privilege of getting a beating from you? Get off, you impudent little shit, we’re trained men, at Dover we’ll go aboard the Daring, which is a first-rater. Oh, sir, I’m a little simple and I’ve been walking this road since dawn.

  And in truth I looked so like a whipped dog in my wet coat and my hair filled with rain that they took pity on me and gave me a crust of bread and a mouthful of ale and invited me to march on with them to the next tavern, the Crooked Billet at Halfway Street. As we were shaking the wet off ourselves in the tavern, a dismal hovel in the trees with moss
growing in the tiles, the wench came up to inquire our pleasure and I saw that it was my old acquaintance, Tabitha who had been unwilling. She was grown tall and amazing handsome, a veritable bella figura, and when I approached she no longer smelled of pickled herring but of beer. She knew me at once. Why, Jem, you’re as wet as a minnow. Didn’t you know, Tabby, I’m a soldier now, we’re off to beat the Dutch at Dover, but first I need a quart of ale. My fellow milites laughed heartily at this, but they did not peach against me. Tabby installed me in the seat of honour next the fire, and brought me ale in her best tankard and permitted me all manner of familiarities which had been forbidden at Churn.

  When the soldiers gathered their baggage and made off, I stayed in the ingle to finish my ale. Tabby who had been busy in the back room came forth to bid them farewell. As she shut the door behind them, she saw that I was still at my tankard. Jem, why didn’t you go with the others? You’ve been gulling me, you’re no soldier, you’re a cheat. Madame, I said rising from my chair and drawing myself up to my full two yards, you do me an injustice, I am the rearguard.

  Why aren’t you dressed as a soldier? (My clothes had dried and she could see that I wore country garb.) If you reflected, I riposted, you would see that it were folly to advertise my presence. So long as I am the rearguard, I must travel incognito. Incog what, she said.

  Let’s not talk of war and these unpleasant matters, I said, you’re grown too beautiful for such talk. Oh, Jem, I was quite in the right, you are a cheat! You mustn’t be so distrustful, Tabby, distrust turns the best wine to vinegar. A maid in my position must protect herself. A maid? I whispered. What do you mean, she said, but she was smiling, and I was already caressing her thigh and looking forward to the contest. Will you show me your bedchamber? I asked. But she said the landlord was ill in bed upstairs and his chamber was next to hers, and so we embraced where we stood by the fire. But before embarking on the voyage, I had not stopped to think whether I was fully armed, and as we came close to the harbour, I realised that my pen had no more ink in it since my joust with Emm the night before. I was entirely downcast and began buttoning my breeches. I wonder you trouble to button up, she said, for there is so little to hide.

  She made a sucking noise with her lips which I ignored. Injured dignity had best make itself scarce, and my clothes were dry, so I shut the door of the Crooked Billet behind me and took off for Dover, observing to my displeasure that the storm and wind had not abated. After half an hour I wearied of the trudging and turned aside to shelter under the broad oaks. I sat down beside a little weedy pond which was full of marsh-mallows, or blobgoblins as we call them in Kent. The rain poured down upon the pond, breaking up my reflection in its weedy mirror. I was a shattered man. This was my first great reverse in an engagement with the fair sex, and the humiliation was sore. But then a wanton thought came upon me and I began to avail myself of that faculty which Dame Nature in her bounty has provided for the solitary. To my surprise and delight I observed that the infirmity which had afflicted me in the tavern had gone and I was once again in possession of the full vigour of my youth. It is not often that I am moved to pray but on this occasion the moment of ecstasy brought from me an exclamation of gratitude to my Redeemer.

  Ah ’tis thee, Jem, I thought I knew the voice.

  I was greatly alarmed to see the plump figure of my uncle John Elmstead coming through the trees in his plain brown coat and broad hat.

  ’Tis a pleasure to hear thee give thanks to Our Lord, your father had not told me thou wast so pious. We’ve stood in much need of the rain in these parts and this downpour indeed deserves our utmost gratitude to the boundless generosity of Divine Providence.

  He shuffled on in this vein whilst I ordered my clothing. The old fool meant no harm. He was as garrulous as a magpie and he had brought his cart to meet me with a sailor’s tarpaulin to cover us. He was a country stationer who sold sermons and law-books and charts to all the nobility and gentry and as he geed on the old nag that was taking us along the straight road, he instructed me in his trade and its mysteries. Never sell books in the lump, Jem, when you can sell them singly, for no one will believe that a book is scarce if you sell it in the lump. And always let them off the packing penny, for then they will think they have a bargain though the books may cost five shillings. And set great store by personal acquaintance. Madam, thou must say, I can vouch personally for this book, for the binder is well known to me, an honest man, and pious too, and adept with calf leather and sheep leathers alike. Never keep open shop, Jem, thou mayst starve behind thy shop-board for want of custom. There is no certainty in a dropping trade. Thou needst only a convenient warehouse and a good acquaintance among the booksellers and thy fortune will rise as surely as the sun doth in the morning.

  I quickly saw that I could not endure this patter as a continuo to my life. Our connection must be brief if it was not to end in tears. I resolved that it should also be profitable to myself. Patience must be my motto.

  Uncle John showed me my quarters, a miserable attic only lately vacated of books and with mouldy book odours in every corner of the chamber. The smell infected even my bed – as though it had been lavender or some delicate herb put there a-purpose. The attic had one little window, duodecimo, such as a sparrow might look out of. The window gave upon a miserable alley which was so narrow I doubt my uncle could have got along it, for he was a portly fellow. We dined early upon stale bread and old mutton with small beer. These be good Kentish hops in this beer, my uncle would say, the finest beer in all England, sayst thou not so, Nephew? Yes, Uncle, I never drank beer like it. This was the truth, for the beer was so sour nobody but Uncle would have drunk it. It was good only for pouring upon runner beans to make them grow.

  Dover is a fine town, my uncle said, there’s no place to match it for the marine trade. I have had sea-captains from the seven seas vying for my charts.

  But this was a phantasm. I never once saw a sea-captain knock upon his door, and I soon discovered that, when we called upon them at the harbour, we received but dusty answers. I wheeled the handcart behind him over the cobbles and up the gangway whilst he raised his hat to the ships’ officers who gave him dull looks as much as to say we would rather be flogged or hanged at the yardarm than read one of your books. When we went down into the captain’s cabin for a glass of canary, my uncle tried to sell him one of the fine new charts he had had sent from St Paul’s Churchyard, but the captain slapped his rusty chart-box and said I’ve sailed the world with these old shipmates, I need no fresh instructions. I looked at the chart on his table, all greasy, foxed and torn as it was, and wondered how he navigated beyond the Needles let alone in the South Seas. Then my master pressed upon him some edifying book of sermons or some obscure law-book and the captain went harrumph, Archbishop Duguid’s Discourses, well here’s one shilling and ninepence, ’twill do to prop up a table-leg. And I wheeled the handcart back to my master’s lodgings with the sweat running down inside my shirt. Yet I own I was much pleased to step aboard these barques (though they were but shabby coastal craft for the most part) and smell the ropes and the tar and feel the tide shift the deck beneath my feet.

  And while he was talking to the captains – this is excellent Madeira, sir, upon my word it is – I observed these master mariners with a prospective eye. They were rough men of ruddy complexion. I could see from the manner in which they dispatched the canary that they were no flinchers from the glass. I hazarded therefore that they might not be immune from other pleasures of the flesh. Throughout the long months at sea, they would pine for female company (for these old tarpaulins of the Dover patrol did not take their wives with them as would a Lord High Admiral) and so I formed an ingenious design.

  Uncle, I said, you wish me to learn the trade thoroughly, do you not? Indeed, that is my dearest wish, Jeremiah, thorough is my motto, just as it was that of the late accursed traitor Strafford, though my diligence is directed towards the Lord’s work and not that of the Antichrist. Quite so, I said, wouldn�
�t it be useful for me then to save your legs (he suffered much from the gout) and fetch the goods from Canterbury? Mr Billingsley is an honest man and you say yourself a rare judge of books, and Mr Coggan ditto of charts. They will send you only fair parcels which shall prove to your taste, and as for the price, I have heard you say of each gentleman that should a child be sent to his shop he would not take a farthing more than his due.

  True, Nephew. I perceive thou art a brisk industrious lad, and not the wild spark thy cousin Ralph painted thee (I treasured up this intelligence for future revenge). And I am resolved to try thee, and if the experiment should fail, then we must put the bill down to Experience, for Experience worketh Hope, as St Paul teacheth us. I would not send thee to a pirate like Mr Dancer, he is a Cormorant among booksellers, and a trader in lewd books moreover. But Mr Coggan is a paragon and so is Mr Billingsley.

  So I set off in my uncle’s cart with his blessing and a multitude of instructions and a loaf of bread and a mutton pie and, a true blessing among so many godly words, £25 sterling for the purchase of the merchandise. Three shillings I spent straightaway in the Crooked Billet, in the hope that I might return the blow Tabby had dealt my pride, but she was absent, being gone back to her friends at Churn, and I sat alone in the inn.