Mr. Midshipman Easy. Фредерик Марриет
I am the first-lieutenant of the Harpy. Now, sir, you have your answer.”
Mr. Sawbridge, who imagined that the name of the first-lieutenant would strike terror to a culprit midshipman, threw himself back in the chair, and assumed an air of importance.
“Really, sir,” replied Jack, “what may be your exact situation on board, my ignorance of the service will not allow me to guess, but if I may judge from your behaviour, you have no small opinion of yourself.”
“Look ye, young man, you may not know what a first-lieutenant is, and I take it for granted that you do not, by your behaviour; but depend upon it, I’ll let you know very soon. In the meantime, sir, I insist upon it, that you go immediately on board.”
“I’m sorry that I cannot comply with your very moderate request,” replied Jack coolly. “I shall go on board when it suits my convenience, and I beg that you will give yourself no further trouble on my account.”
Jack then rang the bell; the waiter, who had been listening outside, immediately entered, and before Mr. Sawbridge, who was dumb with astonishment at Jack’s impertinence, could have time to reply:
“Waiter,” said Jack, “show this gentleman downstairs.”
“By the god of war!” exclaimed the first-lieutenant, “but I’ll soon show you down to the boat, my young bantam; and when once I get you safe on board, I’ll make you know the difference between a midshipman and a first-lieutenant.”
“I can only admit of equality, sir,” replied Jack; “we are all born equal—I trust you’ll allow that.”
“Equality—damn it, I suppose you’ll take the command of the ship. However, sir, your ignorance will be a little enlightened by-and-by. I shall now go and report your conduct to Captain Wilson; and I tell you plainly, that if you are not on board this evening, to-morrow morning, at daylight, I shall send a sergeant, and a file of marines, to fetch you.”
“You may depend upon it, sir,” replied Jack, “that I also shall not fail to mention to Captain Wilson that I consider you a very quarrelsome, impertinent fellow, and recommend him not to allow you to remain on board. It will be quite uncomfortable to be in the same ship with such an ungentlemanly bear.”
“He must be mad—quite mad,” exclaimed Sawbridge, whose astonishment even mastered his indignation. “Mad as a March hare—by God.”
“No, sir,” replied Jack, “I am not mad, but I am a philosopher.”
“A what?” exclaimed Sawbridge, “damme, what next?—well, my joker, all the better for you; I shall put your philosophy to the proof.”
“It is for that very reason, sir,” replied Jack, “that I have decided upon going to sea: and if you do remain on board, I hope to argue the point with you, and make you a convert to the truth of equality and the rights of man.”
“By the Lord that made us both, I’ll soon make you a convert to the thirty-six articles of war—that is, if you remain on board; but I shall now go to the captain, and report your conduct, sir, and leave you to your dinner with what appetite you may.”
“Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you; but you need not be afraid of my appetite; I am only sorry, as you happen to belong to the same ship, that I cannot, in justice to the gentlemanly young men whom I expect, ask you to join them. I wish you a very good morning, sir.”
“Twenty years have I been in the service,” roared Sawbridge, “and, damme—but he’s mad—downright, stark, staring mad.” And the first-lieutenant bounced out of the room.
Jack was a little astonished himself. Had Mr. Sawbridge made his appearance in uniform it might have been different, but that a plain-looking man, with black whiskers, shaggy hair, and old blue frock-coat and yellow casimere waistcoat, should venture to address him in such a manner, was quite incomprehensible;—he calls me mad, thought Jack, I shall tell Captain Wilson what is my opinion about his lieutenant. Shortly afterwards, the company arrived, and Jack soon forgot all about it.
In the meantime, Sawbridge called at the captain’s lodgings, and found him at home: he made a very faithful report of all that had happened, and concluded his requests by demanding, in great wrath, either an instant dismissal or a court-martial on our hero, Jack.
“Stop, Sawbridge,” replied Captain Wilson, “take a chair. As Mr. Easy says, we must argue the point, and then I will leave it to your better feelings. As for the court-martial, it will not hold good, for Mr. Easy, in the first place, has not yet joined the ship, and in the next place, could not be supposed to know that you were the first-lieutenant, or even an officer, for you went to him out of uniform.”
“Very true, sir,” replied Sawbridge, “I had forgotten that.”
“Then, as for his dismissal, or rather, not allowing him to join, Mr. Easy has been brought up in the country, and has never seen anything aquatic larger than a fish-pond, perhaps, in his life; and as for the service, or the nature of it, I believe he is as ignorant of it as a child not a year old—I doubt whether he knows the rank of a lieutenant; certainly, he can have no idea of the power of a first-lieutenant, by his treatment of you.”
“I should think not,” replied Sawbridge dryly.
“I do not think, therefore, that conduct which must have proceeded from sheer ignorance, should be so severely punished—I appeal to you, Sawbridge.”
“Well, sir, perhaps you are right—but still he told me he was a philosopher, and talked about equality and rights of man. Told me that he could only admit of equality between us, and begged to argue the point. Now, sir, if a midshipman is to argue the point every time that an order is given, the service will come to a pretty pass.”
“That is all very true, Sawbridge; and now you remind me of what never occurred to me at the time that I promised to take Mr. Easy in the ship. I now recollect that his father, who is a distant relation of mine, has some very wild notions in his head, just like what have been repeated by his son on your interview with him. I have occasionally dined there, and Mr. Easy has always been upholding the principles of natural equality and of the rights of man, much to the amusement of his guests, and I confess, at the time, of mine also. I recollect telling him that I trusted he would never be able to disseminate his opinions in the service to which I belonged, as we should have an end of all discipline. I little thought, at the time, that his only son, who has no more occasion to go to sea than the Archbishop of Canterbury, for his father has a very handsome property—I believe seven or eight thousand a year—would ever have sailed with me, and have brought these opinions with him into any ship that I commanded. It is a pity, a great pity—”
“He never could have brought his pigs to a worse market,” observed Sawbridge.
“I agree with you, and, as a father myself, I cannot but help feeling how careful we should be how we inculcate anything like abstract and philosophical idea to youth. Allowing them to be in themselves correct, still they are dangerous as sharp instruments are in the hands of a child; allowing them to be erroneous, they are seized upon with an avidity by young and ardent minds, and are not to be eradicated without the greatest difficulty, and very often not until they have accomplished their ruin.”
“Then you think, sir, that these ideas have taken deep root in this young man, and we shall not easily rid him of them.”
“I do not say so; but still, recollect they have been instilled, perhaps, from the earliest period, by one from whom they must have been received with all confidence—from a father to a son; and that son has never yet been sufficiently in the world to have proved their fallacy.”
“Well sir,” replied Sawbridge, “if I may venture to offer an opinion on the subject, and in so doing I assure you that I only shall from a feeling for the service—if, as you say, these opinions will not easily be eradicated, as the young man is independent, would it not be both better for himself, as well as for the service, that he is sent home again? As an officer he