Peter Simple. Фредерик Марриет
I’m sorry enough, but it’s no fault of mine. Father, didn’t you send me to say?’ ‘Yes, you rapparee; but didn’t you promise—or didn’t I promise for you, which is all one and the same thing—that you’d pay it all back with your prize-money—and where is it? answer that, Terence O’Brien.’ ‘Where is it, father? I’ll tell you—it’s where next Christmas is—coming, but not come yet.’
“‘Terence O’Brien,’ said Father McGrath, ‘its absolution that you’ll be wanting to-morrow, after all your sins and enormities; and the devil a bit shall you have—take that now.’
“‘Father McGrath,’ replied I very angrily, ‘it’s no absolution that I’ll want from you, any how—take that now.’
“‘Then you have had your share of heaven; for I’ll keep you out of it, you wicked monster!’ said Father McGrath—‘take that now.’
“‘If it’s no better than a midshipman’s berth,’ replied I, ‘I’d just as soon stay out; but I’ll creep in in spite of you—take that now, Father McGrath.’
“‘And who is to save your soul, and send you to heaven, if I don’t, you wicked wretch? but I’ll see you damned first—so take that now, Terence O’Brien.’
“‘Then I’ll turn Protestant and damn the Pope—take that now, Father McGrath.’
“At this last broadside of mine, my father and all my brothers and sisters raised a cry of horror, and my mother burst into tears. Father McGrath seized hold of the pot of holy water, and dipping in the little whisk, began to sprinkle the room, saying a Latin prayer, while they all went on squalling at me. At last, my father seized the stool, which he had been seated upon, and threw it at my head. I dodged, and it knocked down Father McGrath, who had just walked behind me in full song. I knew that it was all over after that, so I sprang over his carcase and gained the door. ‘Good morning to ye all, and better manners to you next time we meet,’ cried I, and off I set as fast as I could for the ship.
“I was very sorry for what I had said to the priest, for my conscience thumped me very hard at having even pretended that I’d turn Protestant, which I never intended to do, nor never will, but live and die a good Catholic, as all my posterity have done before me, and, as I trust, all my ancestors will for generations to come. Well, I arrived on board, and the first lieutenant was very savage. I hoped he would get over it, but he never did; and he continued to treat me so ill, that I determined to quit the ship, which I did as soon as we arrived in Cawsand Bay. The captain allowed me to go, for I told him the whole truth of the matter, and he saw that it was true; so he recommended me to the captain of a jackass frigate, who was in want of midshipmen.”
“What do you mean by a jackass frigate?” inquired I.
“I mean one of your twenty-eight-gun ships, so called, because there is as much difference between them and a real frigate, like the one we are sailing in, as there is between a donkey and a race-horse. Well, the ship was no sooner brought down to the dock-yard to have her ballast taken in, than our captain came down to her—a little, thin, spare man, but a man of weight nevertheless, for he brought a great pair of scales with him, and weighed everything that was put on board. I forget his real name, but the sailors christened him Captain Avoirdupois. He had a large book, and in it he inserted the weight of the ballast, and of the shot, water, provisions, coals, standing and running rigging, cables, and everything else. But I didn’t remain long; for one day I brought on board a pair of new boots, which I forgot to report, that they might be put into the scales, which swung on the gangway; and whether the captain thought that they would sink his ship, or for what I cannot tell, but he ordered me to quit her immediately—so there I was adrift again.
“One day I was in the dock-yard, looking at a two-decker in the basin, just brought forward for service, and I inquired who was to be the captain. They told me that his name was O’Connor. Then he’s a countryman of mine, thought I, and I’ll try my luck. So I called at Goud’s Hotel, where he was lodging, and requested to speak with him. I was admitted, and told him, with my best bow, that I had come as a volunteer for his ship, and that my name was O’Brien. As it happened, he had some vacancies, and liking my brogue, he asked me in what ships I had served. I told him, and also my reason for quitting my last—which was, because I was turned out of it. I explained the story of the boots, and he made inquiries, and found that it was all true: and then he gave me a vacancy as master’s mate. We were ordered to South America; and the trade winds took us there in a jiffy. I liked my captain and officers very much, and what was better, we took some good prizes. But somehow or other, I never had the luck to remain long in one ship, and that by no fault of mine; at least not in this instance. All went on as smooth as possible, until one day, the captain took us on shore to a ball, at one of the peaceable districts. We had a very merry night of it; but as luck would have it, I had the morning watch to keep, and see the decks cleaned, and, as I never neglected my duty, I set off about three o’clock in the morning, just at break of day, to go on board of the ship. I was walking along the sands, thinking of the pretty girl I’d been dancing with, and had got about half-way to the ship, when three rapparees of Spanish soldiers come from behind a rock, and attacked me with their swords and bayonets. I had only my dirk, but I was not to be run through for nothing, so I fought them as long as I could, I finished one fellow, but at last they finished me; for a bayonet passed through my body, and I forgot all about it. Well, it appears—for I can only say to the best of my knowledge and belief—that after they had killed me, they stripped me naked and buried me in the sand, carrying away with them the body of their comrade. So there I was—dead and buried.”
“But, O’Brien—” said I.
“Whist—hold your tongue—you’ve not heard the end of it. Well, I had been buried about an hour—but not very deep it appears, for they were in too great a hurry—when a fisherman and his daughter came along the beach, on their way to the boat; and the daughter, God bless her! did me the favour to tread on my nose. It was clear that she had never trod upon an Irishman’s nose before, for it surprised her, and she looked down to see what was there, and not seeing anything, she tried it again with her foot, and then she scraped off the sand, and discovered my pretty face. I was quite warm and still breathing, for the sand had stopped the blood, and prevented my bleeding to death. The fisherman pulled me out and took me on his back to the house where the captain and officers were still dancing. When he brought me in, there was a great cry from the ladies, not because I was murdered, for they are used to it in those countries, but because I was naked, which they considered a much more serious affair. I was put to bed, and a boat despatched on board for our doctor; and in a few hours I was able to speak, and tell them how it happened. But I was too ill to move when the ship sailed, which she was obliged to do in a day or two afterwards, so the captain made out my discharge, and left me there. The family were French, and I remained with them for six months before I could obtain a passage home, during which I learnt their language, and a very fair allowance of Spanish to boot. When I arrived in England, I found that the prizes had been sold, and that the money was ready for distribution. I produced my certificate, and received 167 pounds for my share. So it’s come at last, thought I.
“I had never had such a handful of money in my life. I thought of my mother, and of the cows, and the pig, and the furniture, all gone; and of my brothers and sisters wanting praties, and I made a vow that I’d send every farthing of it to them, after which Father McGrath would no longer think of not giving me absolution. So I sent them every doit, only reserving for myself the pay which I had received, amounting to about 30 pounds: and I never felt more happy in my life than when it was safe in the post-office, and fairly out of my hands. I wrote a bit of a letter to my father at the time, which was to this purpose:—
“‘Honoured Father,—Since our last pleasant meeting, at which you threw the stool at my head, missing the pigeon and hitting the crow, I have been dead and buried, but am now quite well, thank God, and want no absolution from Father McGrath, bad luck to him. And what’s more to the point, I have just received a batch of prize-money, the first I have handled since I have served His Majesty, and every farthing of which I now send to you, that you may get back your old cows, and the pig, and all the rest of the articles seized to pay for my fitting-out; I’m a true O’Brien, tell my