In the reign1 of Henry VIII., a family of the name of Jenkin, claiming to come from York, and bearing the arms of Jenkin ap Philip of St. Melans, are found reputably settled in the county of Kent. Persons of strong genealogical pinion2 pass from William Jenkin, Mayor of Folkestone in 1555, to his contemporary ‘John Jenkin, of the Citie of York, Receiver General of the County,’ and thence, by way of Jenkin ap Philip, to the proper summit of any Cambrian pedigree — a prince; ‘Guaith Voeth, Lord of Cardigan,’ the name and style of him. It may suffice, however, for the present, that these Kentish Jenkins must have undoubtedly3 derived4 from Wales, and being a stock of some efficiency, they struck root and grew to wealth and consequence in their new home.
Of their consequence we have proof enough in the fact that not only was William Jenkin (as already mentioned) Mayor of Folkestone in 1555, but no less than twenty-three times in the succeeding century and a half, a Jenkin (William, Thomas, Henry, or Robert) sat in the same place of humble5 honour. Of their wealth we know that in the reign of Charles I., Thomas Jenkin of Eythorne was more than once in the market buying land, and notably6, in 1633, acquired the manor7 of Stowting Court. This was an estate of some 320 acres, six miles from Hythe, in the Bailiwick and Hundred of Stowting, and the Lathe8 of Shipway, held of the Crown in capite by the service of six men and a constable9 to defend the passage of the sea at Sandgate. It had a chequered history before it fell into the hands of Thomas of Eythorne, having been sold and given from one to another — to the Archbishop, to Heringods, to the Burghershes, to Pavelys, Trivets, Cliffords, Wenlocks, Beauchamps, Nevilles, Kempes, and Clarkes: a piece of Kentish ground condemned12 to see new faces and to be no man’s home. But from 1633 onward13 it became the anchor of the Jenkin family in Kent; and though passed on from brother to brother, held in shares between uncle and nephew, burthened by debts and jointures, and at least once sold and bought in again, it remains14 to this day in the hands of the direct line. It is not my design, nor have I the necessary knowledge, to give a history of this obscure family. But this is an age when genealogy15 has taken a new lease of life, and become for the first time a human science; so that we no longer study it in quest of the Guaith Voeths, but to trace out some of the secrets of descent and destiny; and as we study, we think less of Sir Bernard Burke and more of Mr. Galton. Not only do our character and talents lie upon the anvil16 and receive their temper during generations; but the very plot of our life’s story unfolds itself on a scale of centuries, and the biography of the man is only an episode in the epic17 of the family. From this point of view I ask the reader’s leave to begin this notice of a remarkable18 man who was my friend, with the accession of his great-grandfather, John Jenkin.
This John Jenkin, a grandson of Damaris Kingsley, of the family of ‘Westward Ho!’ was born in 1727, and married Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas Frewen, of Church House, Northiam. The Jenkins had now been long enough intermarrying with their Kentish neighbours to be Kentish folk themselves in all but name; and with the Frewens in particular their connection is singularly involved. John and his wife were each descended19 in the third degree from another Thomas Frewen, Vicar of Northiam, and brother to Accepted Frewen, Archbishop of York. John’s mother had married a Frewen for a second husband. And the last complication was to be added by the Bishop11 of Chichester’s brother, Charles Buckner, Vice-Admiral of the White, who was twice married, first to a paternal20 cousin of Squire21 John, and second to Anne, only sister of the Squire’s wife, and already the widow of another Frewen. The reader must bear Mrs. Buckner in mind; it was by means of that lady that Fleeming Jenkin began life as a poor man. Meanwhile, the relationship of any Frewen to any Jenkin at the end of these evolutions presents a problem almost insoluble; and we need not wonder if Mrs. John, thus exercised in her immediate22 circle, was in her old age ‘a great genealogist23 of all Sussex families, and much consulted.’ The names Frewen and Jenkin may almost seem to have been interchangeable at will; and yet Fate proceeds with such particularity that it was perhaps on the point of name that the family was ruined.
The John Jenkins had a family of one daughter and five extravagant24 and unpractical sons. The eldest25, Stephen, entered the Church and held the living of Salehurst, where he offered, we may hope, an extreme example of the clergy26 of the age. He was a handsome figure of a man; jovial27 and jocular; fond of his garden, which produced under his care the finest fruits of the neighbourhood; and like all the family, very choice in horses. He drove tandem28; like Jehu, furiously. His saddle horse, Captain (for the names of horses are piously29 preserved in the family chronicle which I follow), was trained to break into a gallop30 as soon as the vicar’s foot was thrown across its back; nor would the rein31 be drawn32 in the nine miles between Northiam and the Vicarage door. Debt was the man’s proper element; he used to skulk33 from arrest in the chancel of his church; and the speed of Captain may have come sometimes handy. At an early age this unconventional parson married his cook, and by her he had two daughters and one son. One of the daughters died unmarried; the other imitated her father, and married ‘imprudently.’ The son, still more gallantly34 continuing the tradition, entered the army, loaded himself with debt, was forced to sell out, took refuge in the Marines, and was lost on the Dogger Bank in the war-ship Minotaur. If he did not marry below him, like his father, his sister, and a certain great-uncle William, it was perhaps because he never married at all.
The second brother, Thomas, who was employed in the General Post-Office, followed in all material points the example of Stephen, married ‘not very creditably,’ and spent all the money he could lay his hands on. He died without issue; as did the fourth brother, John, who was of weak intellect and feeble health, and the fifth brother, William, whose brief career as one of Mrs. Buckner’s satellites will fall to be considered later on. So soon, then, as the Minotaur had struck upon the Dogger Bank, Stowting and the line of the Jenkin family fell on the shoulders of the third brother, Charles.
Facility and self-indulgence are the family marks; facility (to judge by these imprudent marriages) being at once their quality and their defect; but in the case of Charles, a man of exceptional beauty and sweetness both of face and disposition36, the family fault had quite grown to be a virtue37, and we find him in consequence the drudge38 and milk-cow of his relatives. Born in 1766, Charles served at sea in his youth, and smelt39 both salt water and powder. The Jenkins had inclined hitherto, as far as I can make out, to the land service. Stephen’s son had been a soldier; William (fourth of Stowting) had been an officer of the unhappy Braddock’s in America, where, by the way, he owned and afterwards sold an estate on the James River, called, after the parental40 seat; of which I should like well to hear if it still bears the name. It was probably by the influence of Captain Buckner, already connected with the family by his first marriage, that Charles Jenkin turned his mind in the direction of the navy; and it was in Buckner’s own ship, the Prothee, 64, that the lad made his only campaign. It was in the days of Rodney’s war, when the Prothee, we read, captured two large privateers to windward of Barbadoes, and was ‘materially and distinguishedly engaged’ in both the actions with De Grasse. While at sea Charles kept a journal, and made strange archaic41 pilot-book sketches42, part plan, part elevation43, some of which survive for the amusement of posterity44. He did a good deal of surveying, so that here we may perhaps lay our finger on the beginning of Fleeming’s education as an engineer. What is still more strange, among the relics45 of the handsome midshipman and his stay in the gun-room of the Prothee, I find a code of signals graphically46 represented, for all the world as it would have been done by his grandson.
On the declaration of peace, Charles, because he had suffered from scurvy47, received his mother’s orders to retire; and he was not the man to refuse a request, far less to disobey a command. Thereupon he turned farmer, a trade he was to practice on a large scale; and we find him married to a Miss Schirr, a woman of some fortune, the daughter of a London merchant. Stephen, the not very reverend, was still alive, galloping48 about the country or skulking49 in his chancel. It does not appear whether he let or sold the paternal manor to Charles; one or other, it must have been; and the sailor-farmer settled at Stowting, with his wife, his mother, his unmarried sister, and his sick brother John. Out of the six people of whom his nearest family consisted, three were in his own house, and two others (the horse-leeches, Stephen and Thomas) he appears to have continued to assist with more amiability50 than wisdom. He hunted, belonged to the Yeomanry, owned famous horses, Maggie and Lucy, the latter coveted52 by royalty53 itself. ‘Lord Rokeby, his neighbour, called him kinsman,’ writes my artless chronicler, ‘and altogether life was very cheery.’ At Stowting his three sons, John, Charles, and Thomas Frewen, and his younger daughter, Anna, were all born to him; and the reader should here be told that it is through the report of this second Charles (born 1801) that he has been looking on at these confused passages of family history.
In the year 1805 the ruin of the Jenkins was begun. It was the work of a fallacious lady already mentioned, Aunt Anne Frewen, a sister of Mrs. John. Twice married, first to her cousin Charles Frewen, clerk to the Court of Chancery, Brunswick Herald54, and Usher55 of the Black Rod, and secondly56 to Admiral Buckner, she was denied issue in both beds, and being very rich — she died worth about 60,000L., mostly in land — she was in perpetual quest of an heir. The mirage57 of this fortune hung before successive members of the Jenkin family until her death in 1825, when it dissolved and left the latest Alnaschar face to face with bankruptcy58. The grandniece, Stephen’s daughter, the one who had not ‘married imprudently,’ appears to have been the first; for she was taken abroad by the golden aunt, and died in her care at Ghent in 1792. Next she adopted William, the youngest of the five nephews; took him abroad with her — it seems as if that were in the formula; was shut up with him in Paris by the Revolution; brought him back to Windsor, and got him a place in the King’s Body-Guard, where he attracted the notice of George III. by his proficiency59 in German. In 1797, being on guard at St. James’s Palace, William took a cold which carried him off; and Aunt Anne was once more left heirless. Lastly, in 1805, perhaps moved by the Admiral, who had a kindness for his old midshipman, perhaps pleased by the good looks and the good nature of the man himself, Mrs. Buckner turned her eyes upon Charles Jenkin. He was not only to be the heir, however, he was to be the chief hand in a somewhat wild scheme of family farming. Mrs. Jenkin, the mother, contributed 164 acres of land; Mrs. Buckner, 570, some at Northiam, some farther off; Charles let one-half of Stowting to a tenant60, and threw the other and various scattered61 parcels into the common enterprise; so that the whole farm amounted to near upon a thousand acres, and was scattered over thirty miles of country. The ex-seaman of thirty-nine, on whose wisdom and ubiquity the scheme depended, was to live in the meanwhile without care or fear. He was to check himself in nothing; his two extravagances, valuable horses and worthless brothers, were to be indulged in comfort; and whether the year quite paid itself or not, whether successive years left accumulated savings62 or only a growing deficit63, the fortune of the golden aunt should in the end repair all.
On this understanding Charles Jenkin transported his family to Church House, Northiam: Charles the second, then a child of three, among the number. Through the eyes of the boy we have glimpses of the life that followed: of Admiral and Mrs. Buckner driving up from Windsor in a coach and six, two post-horses and their own four; of the house full of visitors, the great roasts at the fire, the tables in the servants’ hall laid for thirty or forty for a month together; of the daily press of neighbours, many of whom, Frewens, Lords, Bishops64, Batchellors, and Dynes, were also kinsfolk; and the parties ‘under the great spreading chestnuts65 of the old fore10 court,’ where the young people danced and made merry to the music of the village band. Or perhaps, in the depth of winter, the father would bid young Charles saddle his pony66; they would ride the thirty miles from Northiam to Stowting, with the snow to the pony’s saddle girths, and be received by the tenants67 like princes.
This life of delights, with the continual visible comings and goings of the golden aunt, was well qualified68 to relax the fibre of the lads. John, the heir, a yeoman and a fox-hunter, ‘loud and notorious with his whip and spurs,’ settled down into a kind of Tony Lumpkin, waiting for the shoes of his father and his aunt. Thomas Frewen, the youngest, is briefly69 dismissed as ‘a handsome beau’; but he had the merit or the good fortune to become a doctor of medicine, so that when the crash came he was not empty-handed for the war of life. Charles, at the day-school of Northiam, grew so well acquainted with the rod, that his floggings became matter of pleasantry and reached the ears of Admiral Buckner. Hereupon that tall, rough-voiced, formidable uncle entered with the lad into a covenant71: every time that Charles was thrashed he was to pay the Admiral a penny; everyday that he escaped, the process was to be reversed. ‘I recollect,’ writes Charles, ‘going crying to my mother to be taken to the Admiral to pay my debt.’ It would seem by these terms the speculation73 was a losing one; yet it is probable it paid indirectly74 by bringing the boy under remark. The Admiral was no enemy to dunces; he loved courage, and Charles, while yet little more than a baby, would ride the great horse into the pond. Presently it was decided75 that here was the stuff of a fine sailor; and at an early period the name of Charles Jenkin was entered on a ship’s books.
From Northiam he was sent to another school at Boonshill, near Rye, where the master took ‘infinite delight’ in strapping76 him. ‘It keeps me warm and makes you grow,’ he used to say. And the stripes were not altogether wasted, for the dunce, though still very ‘raw,’ made progress with his studies. It was known, moreover, that he was going to sea, always a ground of pre-eminence with schoolboys; and in his case the glory was not altogether future, it wore a present form when he came driving to Rye behind four horses in the same carriage with an admiral. ‘I was not a little proud, you may believe,’ says he.
In 1814, when he was thirteen years of age, he was carried by his father to Chichester to the Bishop’s Palace. The Bishop had heard from his brother the Admiral that Charles was likely to do well, and had an order from Lord Melville for the lad’s admission to the Royal Naval77 College at Portsmouth. Both the Bishop and the Admiral patted him on the head and said, ‘Charles will restore the old family’; by which I gather with some surprise that, even in these days of open house at Northiam and golden hope of my aunt’s fortune, the family was supposed to stand in need of restoration. But the past is apt to look brighter than nature, above all to those enamoured of their genealogy; and the ravages78 of Stephen and Thomas must have always given matter of alarm.
What with the flattery of bishops and admirals, the fine company in which he found himself at Portsmouth, his visits home, with their gaiety and greatness of life, his visits to Mrs. Buckner (soon a widow) at Windsor, where he had a pony kept for him, and visited at Lord Melville’s and Lord Harcourt’s and the Leveson-Gowers, he began to have ‘bumptious notions,’ and his head was ‘somewhat turned with fine people’; as to some extent it remained throughout his innocent and honourable79 life.
In this frame of mind the boy was appointed to the Conqueror80, Captain Davie, humorously known as Gentle Johnnie. The captain had earned this name by his style of discipline, which would have figured well in the pages of Marryat: ‘Put the prisoner’s head in a bag and give him another dozen!’ survives as a specimen81 of his commands; and the men were often punished twice or thrice in a week. On board the ship of this disciplinarian, Charles and his father were carried in a billy-boat from Sheerness in December, 1816: Charles with an outfit82 suitable to his pretensions83, a twenty-guinea sextant and 120 dollars in silver, which were ordered into the care of the gunner. ‘The old clerks and mates,’ he writes, ‘used to laugh and jeer84 me for joining the ship in a billy-boat, and when they found I was from Kent, vowed85 I was an old Kentish smuggler86. This to my pride, you will believe, was not a little offensive.’
The Conqueror carried the flag of Vice-Admiral Plampin, commanding at the Cape72 and St. Helena; and at that all-important islet, in July, 1817, she relieved the flagship of Sir Pulteney Malcolm. Thus it befel that Charles Jenkin, coming too late for the epic of the French wars, played a small part in the dreary87 and disgraceful afterpiece of St. Helena. Life on the guard-ship was onerous89 and irksome. The anchor was never lifted, sail never made, the great guns were silent; none was allowed on shore except on duty; all day the movements of the imperial captive were signalled to and fro; all night the boats rowed guard around the accessible portions of the coast. This prolonged stagnation90 and petty watchfulness91 in what Napoleon himself called that ‘unchristian’ climate, told cruelly on the health of the ship’s company. In eighteen months, according to O’Meara, the Conqueror had lost one hundred and ten men and invalided92 home one hundred and seven, being more than a third of her complement93. It does not seem that our young midshipman so much as once set eyes on Bonaparte; and yet in other ways Jenkin was more fortunate than some of his comrades. He drew in water-colour; not so badly as his father, yet ill enough; and this art was so rare aboard the Conqueror that even his humble proficiency marked him out and procured94 him some alleviations. Admiral Plampin had succeeded Napoleon at the Briars; and here he had young Jenkin staying with him to make sketches of the historic house. One of these is before me as I write, and gives a strange notion of the arts in our old English Navy. Yet it was again as an artist that the lad was taken for a run to Rio, and apparently95 for a second outing in a ten-gun brig. These, and a cruise of six weeks to windward of the island undertaken by the Conqueror herself in quest of health, were the only breaks in three years of murderous inaction; and at the end of that period Jenkin was invalided home, having ‘lost his health entirely96.’
As he left the deck of the guard-ship the historic part of his career came to an end. For forty-two years he continued to serve his country obscurely on the seas, sometimes thanked for inconspicuous and honourable services, but denied any opportunity of serious distinction. He was first two years in the Larne, Captain Tait, hunting pirates and keeping a watch on the Turkish and Greek squadrons in the Archipelago. Captain Tait was a favourite with Sir Thomas Maitland, High Commissioner97 of the Ionian Islands — King Tom as he was called — who frequently took passage in the Larne. King Tom knew every inch of the Mediterranean98, and was a terror to the officers of the watch. He would come on deck at night; and with his broad Scotch99 accent, ‘Well, sir,’ he would say, ‘what depth of water have ye? Well now, sound; and ye’ll just find so or so many fathoms,’ as the case might be; and the obnoxious100 passenger was generally right. On one occasion, as the ship was going into Corfu, Sir Thomas came up the hatchway and cast his eyes towards the gallows101. ‘Bangham’ — Charles Jenkin heard him say to his aide-de-camp, Lord Bangham — ‘where the devil is that other chap? I left four fellows hanging there; now I can only see three. Mind there is another there tomorrow.’ And sure enough there was another Greek dangling102 the next day. ‘Captain Hamilton, of the Cambrian, kept the Greeks in order afloat,’ writes my author, ‘and King Tom ashore103.’
From 1823 onward, the chief scene of Charles Jenkin’s activities was in the West Indies, where he was engaged off and on till 1844, now as a subaltern, now in a vessel104 of his own, hunting out pirates, ‘then very notorious’ in the Leeward105 Islands, cruising after slavers, or carrying dollars and provisions for the Government. While yet a midshipman, he accompanied Mr. Cockburn to Caraccas and had a sight of Bolivar. In the brigantine Griffon, which he commanded in his last years in the West Indies, he carried aid to Guadeloupe after the earthquake, and twice earned the thanks of Government: once for an expedition to Nicaragua to extort106, under threat of a blockade, proper apologies and a sum of money due to certain British merchants; and once during an insurrection in San Domingo, for the rescue of certain others from a perilous107 imprisonment108 and the recovery of a ‘chest of money’ of which they had been robbed. Once, on the other hand, he earned his share of public censure109. This was in 1837, when he commanded the Romney lying in the inner harbour of Havannah. The Romney was in no proper sense a man-of-war; she was a slave-hulk, the bonded110 warehouse111 of the Mixed Slave Commission; where negroes, captured out of slavers under Spanish colours, were detained provisionally, till the Commission should decide upon their case and either set them free or bind112 them to apprenticeship113. To this ship, already an eye-sore to the authorities, a Cuban slave made his escape. The position was invidious; on one side were the tradition of the British flag and the state of public sentiment at home; on the other, the certainty that if the slave were kept, the Romney would be ordered at once out of the harbour, and the object of the Mixed Commission compromised. Without consultation114 with any other officer, Captain Jenkin (then lieutenant115) returned the man to shore and took the Captain-General’s receipt. Lord Palmerston approved his course; but the zealots of the anti-slave trade movement (never to be named without respect) were much dissatisfied; and thirty-nine years later, the matter was again canvassed116 in Parliament, and Lord Palmerston and Captain Jenkin defended by Admiral Erskine in a letter to the Times (March 13, 1876).
In 1845, while still lieutenant, Charles Jenkin acted as Admiral Pigot’s flag captain in the Cove51 of Cork117, where there were some thirty pennants118; and about the same time, closed his career by an act of personal bravery. He had proceeded with his boats to the help of a merchant vessel, whose cargo119 of combustibles had taken fire and was smouldering under hatches; his sailors were in the hold, where the fumes120 were already heavy, and Jenkin was on deck directing operations, when he found his orders were no longer answered from below: he jumped down without hesitation121 and slung122 up several insensible men with his own hand. For this act, he received a letter from the Lords of the Admiralty expressing a sense of his gallantry; and pretty soon after was promoted Commander, superseded123, and could never again obtain employment.
In 1828 or 1829, Charles Jenkin was in the same watch with another midshipman, Robert Colin Campbell Jackson, who introduced him to his family in Jamaica. The father, the Honourable Robert Jackson, Custos Rotulorum of Kingston, came of a Yorkshire family, said to be originally Scotch; and on the mother’s side, counted kinship with some of the Forbeses. The mother was Susan Campbell, one of the Campbells of Auchenbreck. Her father Colin, a merchant in Greenock, is said to have been the heir to both the estate and the baronetcy; he claimed neither, which casts a doubt upon the fact, but he had pride enough himself, and taught enough pride to his family, for any station or descent in Christendom. He had four daughters. One married an Edinburgh writer, as I have it on a first account — a minister, according to another — a man at least of reasonable station, but not good enough for the Campbells of Auchenbreck; and the erring125 one was instantly discarded. Another married an actor of the name of Adcock, whom (as I receive the tale) she had seen acting126 in a barn; but the phrase should perhaps be regarded rather as a measure of the family annoyance127, than a mirror of the facts. The marriage was not in itself unhappy; Adcock was a gentleman by birth and made a good husband; the family reasonably prospered128, and one of the daughters married no less a man than Clarkson Stanfield. But by the father, and the two remaining Miss Campbells, people of fierce passions and a truly Highland129 pride, the derogation was bitterly resented. For long the sisters lived estranged130 then, Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Adcock were reconciled for a moment, only to quarrel the more fiercely; the name of Mrs. Adcock was proscribed131, nor did it again pass her sister’s lips, until the morning when she announced: ‘Mary Adcock is dead; I saw her in her shroud132 last night.’ Second sight was hereditary133 in the house; and sure enough, as I have it reported, on that very night Mrs. Adcock had passed away. Thus, of the four daughters, two had, according to the idiotic134 notions of their friends, disgraced themselves in marriage; the others supported the honour of the family with a better grace, and married West Indian magnates of whom, I believe, the world has never heard and would not care to hear: So strange a thing is this hereditary pride. Of Mr. Jackson, beyond the fact that he was Fleeming’s grandfather, I know naught135. His wife, as I have said, was a woman of fierce passions; she would tie her house slaves to the bed and lash136 them with her own hand; and her conduct to her wild and down-going sons, was a mixture of almost insane self-sacrifice and wholly insane violence of temper. She had three sons and one daughter. Two of the sons went utterly137 to ruin, and reduced their mother to poverty. The third went to India, a slim, delicate lad, and passed so wholly from the knowledge of his relatives that he was thought to be long dead. Years later, when his sister was living in Genoa, a red-bearded man of great strength and stature138, tanned by years in India, and his hands covered with barbaric gems139, entered the room unannounced, as she was playing the piano, lifted her from her seat, and kissed her. It was her brother, suddenly returned out of a past that was never very clearly understood, with the rank of general, many strange gems, many cloudy stories of adventure, and next his heart, the daguerreotype140 of an Indian prince with whom he had mixed blood.
The last of this wild family, the daughter, Henrietta Camilla, became the wife of the midshipman Charles, and the mother of the subject of this notice, Fleeming Jenkin. She was a woman of parts and courage. Not beautiful, she had a far higher gift, the art of seeming so; played the part of a belle141 in society, while far lovelier women were left unattended; and up to old age had much of both the exigency142 and the charm that mark that character. She drew naturally, for she had no training, with unusual skill; and it was from her, and not from the two naval artists, that Fleeming inherited his eye and hand. She played on the harp143 and sang with something beyond the talent of an amateur. At the age of seventeen, she heard Pasta in Paris; flew up in a fire of youthful enthusiasm; and the next morning, all alone and without introduction, found her way into the presence of the Prima Donna and begged for lessons. Pasta made her sing, kissed her when she had done, and though she refused to be her mistress, placed her in the hands of a friend. Nor was this all, for when Pasta returned to Paris, she sent for the girl (once at least) to test her progress. But Mrs. Jenkin’s talents were not so remarkable as her fortitude144 and strength of will; and it was in an art for which she had no natural taste (the art of literature) that she appeared before the public. Her novels, though they attained145 and merited a certain popularity both in France and England, are a measure only of her courage. They were a task, not a beloved task; they were written for money in days of poverty, and they served their end. In the least thing as well as in the greatest, in every province of life as well as in her novels, she displayed the same capacity of taking infinite pains, which descended to her son. When she was about forty (as near as her age was known) she lost her voice; set herself at once to learn the piano, working eight hours a day; and attained to such proficiency that her collaboration146 in chamber147 music was courted by professionals. And more than twenty years later, the old lady might have been seen dauntlessly beginning the study of Hebrew. This is the more ethereal part of courage; nor was she wanting in the more material. Once when a neighbouring groom148, a married man, had seduced149 her maid, Mrs. Jenkin mounted her horse, rode over to the stable entrance and horsewhipped the man with her own hand.
How a match came about between this talented and spirited girl and the young midshipman, is not very I easy to conceive. Charles Jenkin was one of the finest creatures breathing; loyalty150, devotion, simple natural piety151, boyish cheerfulness, tender and manly152 sentiment in the old sailor fashion, were in him inherent and inextinguishable either by age, suffering, or injustice153. He looked, as he was, every inch a gentleman; he must have been everywhere notable, even among handsome men, both for his face and his gallant35 bearing; not so much that of a sailor, you would have said, as like one of those gentle and graceful88 soldiers that, to this day, are the most pleasant of Englishmen to see. But though he was in these ways noble, the dunce scholar of Northiam was to the end no genius. Upon all points that a man must understand to be a gentleman, to be upright, gallant, affectionate and dead to self, Captain Jenkin was more knowing than one among a thousand; outside of that, his mind was very largely blank. He had indeed a simplicity154 that came near to vacancy155; and in the first forty years of his married life, this want grew more accentuated156. In both families imprudent marriages had been the rule; but neither Jenkin nor Campbell had ever entered into a more unequal union. It was the captain’s good looks, we may suppose, that gained for him this elevation; and in some ways and for many years of his life, he had to pay the penalty. His wife, impatient of his incapacity and surrounded by brilliant friends, used him with a certain contempt. She was the managing partner; the life was hers, not his; after his retirement157 they lived much abroad, where the poor captain, who could never learn any language but his own, sat in the corner mumchance; and even his son, carried away by his bright mother, did not recognise for long the treasures of simple chivalry158 that lay buried in the heart of his father. Yet it would be an error to regard this marriage as unfortunate. It not only lasted long enough to justify159 itself in a beautiful and touching160 epilogue, but it gave to the world the scientific work and what (while time was) were of far greater value, the delightful161 qualities of Fleeming Jenkin. The Kentish-Welsh family, facile, extravagant, generous to a fault and far from brilliant, had given the father, an extreme example of its humble virtues162. On the other side, the wild, cruel, proud, and somewhat blackguard stock of the Scotch Campbell-Jacksons, had put forth163, in the person of the mother all its force and courage.
The marriage fell in evil days. In 1823, the bubble of the Golden Aunt’s inheritance had burst. She died holding the hand of the nephew she had so wantonly deceived; at the last she drew him down and seemed to bless him, surely with some remorseful164 feeling; for when the will was opened, there was not found so much as the mention of his name. He was deeply in debt; in debt even to the estate of his deceiver, so that he had to sell a piece of land to clear himself. ‘My dear boy,’ he said to Charles, ‘there will be nothing left for you. I am a ruined man.’ And here follows for me the strangest part of this story. From the death of the treacherous165 aunt, Charles Jenkin, senior, had still some nine years to live; it was perhaps too late for him to turn to saving, and perhaps his affairs were past restoration. But his family at least had all this while to prepare; they were still young men, and knew what they had to look for at their father’s death; and yet when that happened in September, 1831, the heir was still apathetically166 waiting. Poor John, the days of his whips and spurs, and Yeomanry dinners, were quite over; and with that incredible softness of the Jenkin nature, he settled down for the rest of a long life, into something not far removed above a peasant. The mill farm at Stowting had been saved out of the wreck167; and here he built himself a house on the Mexican model, and made the two ends meet with rustic168 thrift169, gathering170 dung with his own hands upon the road and not at all abashed171 at his employment. In dress, voice, and manner, he fell into mere172 country plainness; lived without the least care for appearances, the least regret for the past or discontentment with the present; and when he came to die, died with Stoic173 cheerfulness, announcing that he had had a comfortable time and was yet well pleased to go. One would think there was little active virtue to be inherited from such a race; and yet in this same voluntary peasant, the special gift of Fleeming Jenkin was already half developed. The old man to the end was perpetually inventing; his strange, ill-spelled, unpunctuated correspondence is full (when he does not drop into cookery receipts) of pumps, road engines, steam-diggers, steam-ploughs, and steam-threshing machines; and I have it on Fleeming’s word that what he did was full of ingenuity174 — only, as if by some cross destiny, useless. These disappointments he not only took with imperturbable175 good humour, but rejoiced with a particular relish176 over his nephew’s success in the same field. ‘I glory in the professor,’ he wrote to his brother; and to Fleeming himself, with a touch of simple drollery177, ‘I was much pleased with your lecture, but why did you hit me so hard with Conisure’s’ (connoisseur’s, Quasi amateur’s) ‘engineering? Oh, what presumption178! — either of you or MYself!’ A quaint70, pathetic figure, this of uncle John, with his dung cart and his inventions; and the romantic fancy of his Mexican house; and his craze about the Lost Tribes which seemed to the worthy179 man the key of all perplexities; and his quiet conscience, looking back on a life not altogether vain, for he was a good son to his father while his father lived, and when evil days approached, he had proved himself a cheerful Stoic.
It followed from John’s inertia180, that the duty of winding181 up the estate fell into the hands of Charles. He managed it with no more skill than might be expected of a sailor ashore, saved a bare livelihood182 for John and nothing for the rest. Eight months later, he married Miss Jackson; and with her money, bought in some two-thirds of Stowting. In the beginning of the little family history which I have been following to so great an extent, the Captain mentions, with a delightful pride: ‘A Court Baron124 and Court Leet are regularly held by the Lady of the Manor, Mrs. Henrietta Camilla Jenkin’; and indeed the pleasure of so describing his wife, was the most solid benefit of the investment; for the purchase was heavily encumbered183 and paid them nothing till some years before their death. In the meanwhile, the Jackson family also, what with wild sons, an indulgent mother and the impending184 emancipation185 of the slaves, was moving nearer and nearer to beggary; and thus of two doomed186 and declining houses, the subject of this memoir187 was born, heir to an estate and to no money, yet with inherited qualities that were to make him known and loved.
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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pinion
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| v.束缚；n.小齿轮 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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lathe
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| n.车床，陶器，镟床 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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genealogist
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| 系谱学者 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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26
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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27
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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28
tandem
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| n.同时发生；配合；adv.一个跟着一个地；纵排地；adj.（两匹马）前后纵列的 | |
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29
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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30
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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31
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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32
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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skulk
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| v.藏匿；潜行 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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36
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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38
drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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39
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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40
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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41
archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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42
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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43
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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44
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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45
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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46
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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47
scurvy
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| adj.下流的，卑鄙的，无礼的；n.坏血病 | |
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48
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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49
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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50
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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51
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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52
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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53
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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54
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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55
usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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56
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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57
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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58
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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59
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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60
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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61
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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62
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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64
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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65
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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67
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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68
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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69
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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70
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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71
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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72
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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73
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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74
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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75
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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76
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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77
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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78
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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80
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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81
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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82
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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83
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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84
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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85
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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86
smuggler
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| n.走私者 | |
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87
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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88
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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onerous
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| adj.繁重的 | |
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90
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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91
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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92
invalided
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| 使伤残（invalid的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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93
complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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94
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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95
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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96
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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97
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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98
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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99
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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100
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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101
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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102
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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103
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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104
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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105
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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106
extort
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| v.勒索，敲诈，强要 | |
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107
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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108
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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109
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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110
bonded
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| n.有担保的，保税的，粘合的 | |
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111
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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112
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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113
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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114
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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115
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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116
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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117
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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118
pennants
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| n.校旗( pennant的名词复数 )；锦标旗；长三角旗；信号旗 | |
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119
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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120
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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121
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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122
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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123
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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124
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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125
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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126
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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127
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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128
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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130
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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131
proscribed
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| v.正式宣布（某事物）有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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133
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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134
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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135
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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136
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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137
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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138
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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139
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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140
daguerreotype
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| n.银板照相 | |
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141
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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142
exigency
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| n.紧急；迫切需要 | |
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143
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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144
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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145
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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146
collaboration
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| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
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147
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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148
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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149
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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150
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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151
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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152
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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153
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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154
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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155
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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156
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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157
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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158
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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159
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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160
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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161
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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162
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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163
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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164
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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165
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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166
apathetically
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| adv.不露感情地；无动于衷地；不感兴趣地；冷淡地 | |
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167
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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168
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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169
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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170
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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171
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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173
stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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174
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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175
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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176
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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177
drollery
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| n.开玩笑，说笑话；滑稽可笑的图画（或故事、小戏等） | |
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178
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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179
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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180
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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181
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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182
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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183
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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184
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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185
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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186
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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187
memoir
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| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
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