“My Lord,—When I had the honour of an audience with you, in July last, your lordship’s reception was so mortifying14 to me that, from excitement and annoyance15, after I left you I ruptured a blood vessel, which has now for nearly five months laid me on a bed of sickness.
“I will pass over much that irritated and vexed16 me, and refer to one point only. When I pointed17 out to your lordship the repeated marks of approbation18 awarded to Captain Chads—and the neglect with which[151] my applications had been received by the Admiralty during so long a period of application—your reply was ‘That you could not admit such parallels to be drawn19, as Captain Chads was a highly distinguished20 officer,’ thereby21 implying that my claims were not to be considered in the same light.
“I trust to be able to prove to your lordship that I was justified22 in pointing out the difference in the treatment of Captain Chads and myself. The fact is that there are no two officers who have so completely run neck and neck in the service, if I may use the expression. If your lordship will be pleased to examine our respective services, previous to the Burmah War, I trust that you will admit that mine have been as creditable as those of that officer; and I may here take the liberty of pointing out to your lordship that Sir G. Cockburn thought proper to make a special mention relative to both our services, and of which your lordship may not be aware.
“During the Burmah War Captain Chads and I both held the command of a very large force for several months—both were promoted on the same day, and both received the honour of the Order of the Bath—and, on the thanks of Government being voted in the House of Commons to the officers, and on Sir Joseph York, who was a great friend of Captain Chads, proposing that he should be particularly mentioned by name, Sir G. Cockburn rose and said that it would be the height of injustice23 to mention that officer without mentioning me.
“I trust the above statement will satisfy your lordship that I was not so much to blame when I drew the comparison[152] between our respective treatment—Captain Chads having hoisted24 his commodore’s pennant25 in India, having been since appointed to the Excellent, and lately received the good service pension; while I have applied26 in vain for employment, and have met with a reception which I have not deserved.
“And now, my lord, apologizing for the length of this letter, allow me to state the chief cause of my addressing you. It is not to renew my applications for employment—for which my present state of health has totally unfitted me—it is, that my recovery has been much retarded27 by a feeling that your lordship could not have departed from your usual courtesy in your reception of me as you did, if it was not that some misrepresentations of my character had been made to you. This has weighed heavily upon me; and I entreat28 your lordship will let me know if such has been the case, and that you will give me an opportunity of justifying29 myself—which I feel assured that I can do—as I never yet have departed from the conduct of an officer and a gentleman. I am the more anxious upon this point, as, since the total wreck30 of West India property, I shall have little to leave my children but a good name, which, on their account, becomes doubly precious. I have the honour, &c.,
“F. Marryat.”
I have quoted this melancholy31 but not altogether unmanly letter at full for the light it throws on Marryat’s last years. It is clear that when the ruin of West Indian property had begun to embarrass him, he had striven to return to active service. The beginning of the letter[153] proves that in the middle of 1847 his nerve was already gone. At last he was no longer able to bear the strain of that passion and determination of which his daughter speaks. When crossed by a First Lord of the Admiralty, with whom he could not give way to an explosion of rage, the effort required to control himself was too much for a man worn in health, and accustomed for many years past to give his feelings unchecked course. The letter may also stand as proof that Marryat’s reputation as a naval32 officer was dear to him. As to the merits of the dispute there is no evidence to form an opinion. Lord Auckland, in a temperate33 letter, replied that he had no recollection of what had passed at the time, but that he certainly could have had no intention of wounding so distinguished an officer as Captain Marryat. The letter ended with the agreeable information that a good service pension had been conferred on him. Heat and disappointment on the one side, and perhaps a little dry official formality on the other—a thing which those who deal with Government officials should learn to take for granted—will doubtless account for the trouble.
From this time forward Marryat’s remnant of life was filled with flights in search of health, and with every sorrow. From Wimbledon he went to Hastings, in the vain hope that a milder climate would give him a chance of recovery. For a time he seemed to improve, but it was a mere34 flicker35. Whatever chance of recovery he had was utterly36 destroyed by the terrible blow which fell on him at the end of the year. His son, Lieutenant Frederick Marryat, was lost in the wreck of the Avenger37 in the Mediterranean38. The Avenger, one of the first steamers in the[154] navy, was steered39 on a reef between Galita and the mainland, during the night. She was under steam and sail at the time, and struck so heavily that in a very few minutes she was a complete wreck, with the sea breaking over her. Frederick Marryat was below when the vessel struck. In the confusion which followed, he was seen, by one of the few survivors40, in the waist of the ship, endeavouring to keep the men steady, and clear away the boats. But the Avenger broke up fast; the funnel41 and main-mast fell on the group in which Marryat stood, crushing some and hurling42 others overboard, where they were swept away in the sea that was then running. By one death or the other he perished, and the tragedy broke his father’s heart. The young man had been wild and extravagant—a source of expense and anxiety to his father. He had been a midshipman of the wild type, and as a young lieutenant had been unsettled, eager to get on shore and find some work more agreeable and more lucrative43 than a naval officer’s. But if he had the faults—or rather let us say the weaknesses—of the seaman44, he also had his finer qualities. He was a gallant45 and good-hearted young fellow. A letter of his father’s, written two years or so before the wreck, speaks of him as turning up from the China station full of life and spirit, lighting46 up the house at Langham. In his then state of weakness it must have been a killing47 blow to the father to hear of the son’s death, under circumstances of which no man was better able to appreciate the horror than himself. Marryat bore the blow stoutly48, for he too had the “qualities of his defects,” and as he was passionate49 so was he courageous50.
[155]
From Hastings, which he naturally felt had done him no good, he moved to Brighton for a month. It seemed for a moment as if the danger was past, and Dickens, among others, wrote to congratulate him on his recovery. But, in truth, the case was a hopeless one. From Brighton he returned to London for the last time to consult with the doctors. When he re-entered the outer room in which several of his family were waiting to hear the result, he had to tell them that he had been condemned51. “They say,” he reported, “that in six months I shall be numbered with my forefathers52.” He announced the decision, Mrs. Ross Church tells us, with an “undisturbed and half-smiling countenance,” and we can easily believe it, for, leaving his natural bravery out of the question, life can have had no temptation for him if it was to be lived under the constant threat of such a disease as menaced him.
From London Marryat moved to Langham, and there waited for death all through the summer of 1848. It came at last through sheer weakness, and apparently with little or no pain. Ruptures53 of blood vessels could only be prevented by rigid54 abstinence from food. He speaks in the last letter he wrote—in at least the last that is printed—of living for days on lemonade till he “was reduced to a little above nothing.” The illness and the remedy were alike fatal, and between the two he was gradually reduced to extinction55. During the summer days he lay in the drawing-room of the house at Langham, hearing his daughters read aloud to him, till his growing weakness brought on delirium56. To the last he continued to dictate57 pages of incoherent talk, much as Sir Walter[156] Scott had written mechanically long after his intellect was gone. He loved to have flowers brought him to the end. Finally, after he had long been unconscious between weakness and doses of morphia, he expired in perfect quiet just about dawn on August 9, 1848.
It ought to be unnecessary for me to add much on the character of Captain Marryat. Although our knowledge of him is fragmentary, it is my fault if enough has not been said in these pages to show what sort of man he must have been. It is tolerably clear that he was passionate, ready to think that he did well to be angry, and that anger was its own justification58. Passionately59 eager to enjoy he must have been, and not wise in seeking enjoyment60. It must be remembered, however, that he was trained in the navy in a wild time, when men repaid themselves for such hardships as the naval officer of to-day never undergoes, by excesses of which he would be incapable61. Then Marryat fell into the literary and semi-literary life of London at a time when it was partly honestly, partly out of mere silly pose, dissipated and Bohemian. His wealth was the means of throwing him among a hard living set. Among them, his friends, doubtless, helped him to get rid of his money inherited and earned. He was the fast and hard living stamp of man whom the Bohemian literary gentlemen professed62 to admire, and he paid for his genuineness. In such a world the ardent63 natures wore themselves out, while the poseur64 and the humbug65 escaped. But if Marryat wasted his substance and hastened his death by excesses, he seems to have been generous and good to those around[157] him. To his younger children he was kind, and if his wife fell out of his life (she is not mentioned as having been present at Langham), there is nothing to show that it was for reasons discreditable to him, or indeed to either of them. If he was one of those who are mainly their own enemies, at least he did not belong to the worst rank of a very noxious66 class of persons. That he was a brave man and a good officer beyond question.
As a writer Captain Marryat has never—as I began this little book by saying—been quite fairly treated. There has always been more or less a suspicion that an Athen?um writer, who described him as a quarter-deck captain who defied critics, and trifled with the public, writing carelessly, and not even good English, taking it for granted that the public was to read just what he chose to write, was stating the facts. He has never been recognized as one of the front rank of English novelists. Macaulay only mentions him as one among several writers on America. Carlyle’s savage67 “slate” of him is unjust to a degree which can only be palliated by the fact that it was founded on a hasty reading of his books in the evil days after the loss of the manuscript of the French Revolution. At that time everything was looking more spectral68 to Carlyle than usual. Thackeray was just to him indeed, but Thackeray was exceptionally large-minded and fair. Yet I do not know what reason there is to exclude Marryat from the front rank which would not also exclude some whom we habitually69 put there. To rank him with Fielding, with Jane Austen, Thackeray or Richardson, would be absurd, but I see no reason why he should not stand with Smollett. He[158] might stand a little below him for “Humphrey Clinker’s” sake, but not very far. Except Sir Walter Scott, no man can be read over a longer period of life. He may be enjoyed at school and for ever afterwards. I doubt whether many boys have delighted in “Tom Jones.” Did anybody, to take the other end of life, ever experience, on coming back to “Peter Simple” or “Mr. Midshipman Easy,” that shock which is produced by a mature re-reading of, say, “Zanoni”? I imagine not. There must be a great vitality70, a genuine truth, in the writer who can stand this test, and stand it so long. That Marryat was to some extent a boyish writer is undeniable, and it seems to me to be the secret of his enduring popularity. His books revive in one the exact kind of pleasure one felt in reading them in one’s teens. We may re-read some writers who pleased then, and remember the pleasure, and regret it can be felt no longer. Others one re-reads with ever new pleasure, but they satisfy for reasons not felt in early days. We see more in them and ever more. But with Marryat it is different. He pleases for the same causes always, which is surely as much as to say that he is unique of his kind. More than any other man he made what was written for boys and children literature. He was the best of his class, and that alone entitles him to a high place. After all, a man can do no more than be the best of his order. Whoever is that is surely fairly entitled to be called a Great Writer. Whether that title is to be grudged71 him or not, he is assuredly the friend of all who read with a simple and healthy taste. No man has given more honest pleasure, more wholesome72 stimulus73 to youth; few have[159] given more hearty74 fun to older readers. If we do not think of him as “great,” a word of which we might indeed be more chary75 than we are, at least we can think of him as kindly76, as sound, as manly—and it is possible to make a stir with one’s pen and be none of those three things.
The End.
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1 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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2 invalided | |
使伤残(invalid的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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3 rupture | |
n.破裂;(关系的)决裂;v.(使)破裂 | |
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4 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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5 certified | |
a.经证明合格的;具有证明文件的 | |
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6 prophesied | |
v.预告,预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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8 engraving | |
n.版画;雕刻(作品);雕刻艺术;镌版术v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的现在分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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9 boundless | |
adj.无限的;无边无际的;巨大的 | |
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10 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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11 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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12 ruptured | |
v.(使)破裂( rupture的过去式和过去分词 );(使体内组织等)断裂;使(友好关系)破裂;使绝交 | |
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13 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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14 mortifying | |
adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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15 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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16 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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17 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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18 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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19 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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20 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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21 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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22 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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23 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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24 hoisted | |
把…吊起,升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 pennant | |
n.三角旗;锦标旗 | |
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26 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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27 retarded | |
a.智力迟钝的,智力发育迟缓的 | |
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28 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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29 justifying | |
证明…有理( justify的现在分词 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
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30 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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31 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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32 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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33 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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34 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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35 flicker | |
vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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36 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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37 avenger | |
n. 复仇者 | |
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38 Mediterranean | |
adj.地中海的;地中海沿岸的 | |
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39 steered | |
v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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40 survivors | |
幸存者,残存者,生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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41 funnel | |
n.漏斗;烟囱;v.汇集 | |
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42 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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43 lucrative | |
adj.赚钱的,可获利的 | |
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44 seaman | |
n.海员,水手,水兵 | |
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45 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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46 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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47 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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48 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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49 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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50 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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51 condemned | |
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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52 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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53 ruptures | |
n.(体内组织等的)断裂( rupture的名词复数 );爆裂;疝气v.(使)破裂( rupture的第三人称单数 );(使体内组织等)断裂;使(友好关系)破裂;使绝交 | |
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54 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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55 extinction | |
n.熄灭,消亡,消灭,灭绝,绝种 | |
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56 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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57 dictate | |
v.口授;(使)听写;指令,指示,命令 | |
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58 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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59 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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60 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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61 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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62 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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63 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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64 poseur | |
n.装模作样的人 | |
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65 humbug | |
n.花招,谎话,欺骗 | |
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66 noxious | |
adj.有害的,有毒的;使道德败坏的,讨厌的 | |
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67 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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68 spectral | |
adj.幽灵的,鬼魂的 | |
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69 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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70 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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71 grudged | |
怀恨(grudge的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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72 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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73 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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74 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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75 chary | |
adj.谨慎的,细心的 | |
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76 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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