Many a woman’s knee was on the ground, and many a woman’s soul spent itself in joy and thankfulness when the news came with the fall of the leaf in 1801 that the preliminaries of peace had been settled. All England waved her gladness by day and twinkled it by night. Even in little Friar’s Oak we had our flags flying bravely, and a candle in every window, with a big G.R. guttering1 in the wind over the door of the inn. Folk were weary of the war, for we had been at it for eight years, taking Holland, and Spain, and France each in turn and all together. All that we had learned during that time was that our little army was no match for the French on land, and that our large navy was more than a match for them upon the water. We had gained some credit, which we were sorely in need of after the American business; and a few Colonies, which were welcome also for the same reason; but our debt had gone on rising and our consols sinking, until even Pitt stood aghast. Still, if we had known that there never could be peace between Napoleon and ourselves, and that this was only the end of a round and not of the battle, we should have been better advised had we fought it out without a break. As it was, the French got back the twenty thousand good seamen2 whom we had captured, and a fine dance they led us with their Boulogne flotillas and fleets of invasion before we were able to catch them again.
My father, as I remember him best, was a tough, strong little man, of no great breadth, but solid and well put together. His face was burned of a reddish colour, as bright as a flower-pot, and in spite of his age (for he was only forty at the time of which I speak) it was shot with lines, which deepened if he were in any way perturbed3, so that I have seen him turn on the instant from a youngish man to an elderly. His eyes especially were meshed4 round with wrinkles, as is natural for one who had puckered5 them all his life in facing foul6 wind and bitter weather. These eyes were, perhaps, his strangest feature, for they were of a very clear and beautiful blue, which shone the brighter out of that ruddy setting. By nature he must have been a fair-skinned man, for his upper brow, where his cap came over it, was as white as mine, and his close-cropped hair was tawny7.
He had served, as he was proud to say, in the last of our ships which had been chased out of the Mediterranean8 in ’97, and in the first which had re-entered it in ’98. He was under Miller9, as third lieutenant10 of the Theseus, when our fleet, like a pack of eager fox hounds in a covert11, was dashing from Sicily to Syria and back again to Naples, trying to pick up the lost scent12. With the same good fighting man he served at the Nile, where the men of his command sponged and rammed13 and trained until, when the last tricolour had come down, they hove up the sheet anchor and fell dead asleep upon the top of each other under the capstan bars. Then, as a second lieutenant, he was in one of those grim three-deckers with powder-blackened hulls15 and crimson16 scupper-holes, their spare cables tied round their keels and over their bulwarks17 to hold them together, which carried the news into the Bay of Naples. From thence, as a reward for his services, he was transferred as first lieutenant to the Aurora18 frigate19, engaged in cutting off supplies from Genoa, and in her he still remained until long after peace was declared.
How well I can remember his home-coming! Though it is now eight-and-forty years ago, it is clearer to me than the doings of last week, for the memory of an old man is like one of those glasses which shows out what is at a distance and blurs20 all that is near.
My mother had been in a tremble ever since the first rumour21 of the preliminaries came to our ears, for she knew that he might come as soon as his message. She said little, but she saddened my life by insisting that I should be for ever clean and tidy. With every rumble22 of wheels, too, her eyes would glance towards the door, and her hands steal up to smooth her pretty black hair. She had embroidered23 a white “Welcome” upon a blue ground, with an anchor in red upon each side, and a border of laurel leaves; and this was to hang upon the two lilac bushes which flanked the cottage door. He could not have left the Mediterranean before we had this finished, and every morning she looked to see if it were in its place and ready to be hanged.
But it was a weary time before the peace was ratified24, and it was April of next year before our great day came round to us. It had been raining all morning, I remember—a soft spring rain, which sent up a rich smell from the brown earth and pattered pleasantly upon the budding chestnuts25 behind our cottage. The sun had shone out in the evening, and I had come down with my fishing-rod (for I had promised Boy Jim to go with him to the mill-stream), when what should I see but a post-chaise with two smoking horses at the gate, and there in the open door of it were my mother’s black skirt and her little feet jutting27 out, with two blue arms for a waist-belt, and all the rest of her buried in the chaise. Away I ran for the motto, and I pinned it up on the bushes as we had agreed, but when I had finished there were the skirts and the feet and the blue arms just the same as before.
“Here’s Rod,” said my mother at last, struggling down on to the ground again. “Roddy, darling, here’s your father!”
“Why, Roddy, lad, you were but a child and we kissed good-bye when last we met; but I suppose we must put you on a different rating now. I’m right glad from my heart to see you, dear lad; and as to you, sweetheart—”
“Here are the folk coming, Anson,” said my mother, blushing. “Won’t you get out and come in with us?”
And then suddenly it came home to us both that for all his cheery face he had never moved more than his arms, and that his leg was resting on the opposite seat of the chaise.
“Oh, Anson, Anson!” she cried.
“Tut, ’tis but the bone of my leg,” said he, taking his knee between his hands and lifting it round. “I got it broke in the Bay, but the surgeon has fished it and spliced30 it, though it’s a bit crank yet. Why, bless her kindly heart, if I haven’t turned her from pink to white. You can see for yourself that it’s nothing.”
He sprang out as he spoke31, and with one leg and a staff he hopped32 swiftly up the path, and under the laurel-bordered motto, and so over his own threshold for the first time for five years. When the post-boy and I had carried up the sea-chest and the two canvas bags, there he was sitting in his armchair by the window in his old weather-stained blue coat. My mother was weeping over his poor leg, and he patting her hair with one brown hand. His other he threw round my waist, and drew me to the side of his chair.
“Now that we have peace, I can lie up and refit until King George needs me again,” said he. “’Twas a carronade that came adrift in the Bay when it was blowing a top-gallant breeze with a beam sea. Ere we could make it fast it had me jammed against the mast. Well, well,” he added, looking round at the walls of the room, “here are all my old curios, the same as ever: the narwhal’s horn from the Arctic, and the blowfish from the Moluccas, and the paddles from Fiji, and the picture of the Ca Ira with Lord Hotham in chase. And here you are, Mary, and you also, Roddy, and good luck to the carronade which has sent me into so snug33 a harbour without fear of sailing orders.”
My mother had his long pipe and his tobacco all ready for him, so that he was able now to light it and to sit looking from one of us to the other and then back again, as if he could never see enough of us. Young as I was, I could still understand that this was the moment which he had thought of during many a lonely watch, and that the expectation of it had cheered his heart in many a dark hour. Sometimes he would touch one of us with his hand, and sometimes the other, and so he sat, with his soul too satiated for words, whilst the shadows gathered in the little room and the lights of the inn windows glimmered34 through the gloom. And then, after my mother had lit our own lamp, she slipped suddenly down upon her knees, and he got one knee to the ground also, so that, hand-in-hand, they joined their thanks to Heaven for manifold mercies. When I look back at my parents as they were in those days, it is at that very moment that I can picture them most clearly: her sweet face with the wet shining upon her cheeks, and his blue eyes upturned to the smoke-blackened ceiling. I remember that he swayed his reeking35 pipe in the earnestness of his prayer, so that I was half tears and half smiles as I watched him.
“Roddy, lad,” said he, after supper was over, “you’re getting a man now, and I suppose you will go afloat like the rest of us. You’re old enough to strap36 a dirk to your thigh37.”
“And leave me without a child as well as without a husband!” cried my mother.
“Well, there’s time enough yet,” said he, “for they are more inclined to empty berths38 than to fill them, now that peace has come. But I’ve never tried what all this schooling39 has done for you, Rodney. You have had a great deal more than ever I had, but I dare say I can make shift to test it. Have you learned history?”
“Yes, father,” said I, with some confidence.
“Then how many sail of the line were at the Battle of Camperdown?”
He shook his head gravely when he found that I could not answer him.
“Why, there are men in the fleet who never had any schooling at all who could tell you that we had seven 74’s, seven 64’s, and two 50-gun ships in the action. There’s a picture on the wall of the chase of the Ca Ira. Which were the ships that laid her aboard?”
Again I had to confess that he had beaten me.
“Well, your dad can teach you something in history yet,” he cried, looking in triumph at my mother. “Have you learned geography?”
“Yes, father,” said I, though with less confidence than before.
“Well, how far is it from Port Mahon to Algeciras?”
I could only shake my head.
“If Ushant lay three leagues upon your starboard quarter, what would be your nearest English port?”
Again I had to give it up.
“Well, I don’t see that your geography is much better than your history,” said he. “You’d never get your certificate at this rate. Can you do addition? Well, then, let us see if you can tot up my prize-money.”
He shot a mischievous40 glance at my mother as he spoke, and she laid down her knitting on her lap and looked very earnestly at him.
“You never asked me about that, Mary,” said he.
“The Mediterranean is not the station for it, Anson. I have heard you say that it is the Atlantic for prize-money, and the Mediterranean for honour.”
“I had a share of both last cruise, which comes from changing a line-of-battleship for a frigate. Now, Rodney, there are two pounds in every hundred due to me when the prize-courts have done with them. When we were watching Massena, off Genoa, we got a matter of seventy schooners41, brigs, and tartans, with wine, food, and powder. Lord Keith will want his finger in the pie, but that’s for the Courts to settle. Put them at four pounds apiece to me, and what will the seventy bring?”
“Two hundred and eighty pounds,” I answered.
“Why, Anson, it is a fortune!” cried my mother, clapping her hands.
“Try you again, Roddy!” said he, shaking his pipe at me. “There was the Xebec frigate out of Barcelona with twenty thousand Spanish dollars aboard, which make four thousand of our pounds. Her hull14 should be worth another thousand. What’s my share of that?”
“A hundred pounds.”
“Why, the purser couldn’t work it out quicker,” he cried in his delight. “Here’s for you again! We passed the Straits and worked up to the Azores, where we fell in with the La Sabina from the Mauritius with sugar and spices. Twelve hundred pounds she’s worth to me, Mary, my darling, and never again shall you soil your pretty fingers or pinch upon my beggarly pay.”
My dear mother had borne her long struggle without a sign all these years, but now that she was so suddenly eased of it she fell sobbing42 upon his neck. It was a long time before my father had a thought to spare upon my examination in arithmetic.
“It’s all in your lap, Mary,” said he, dashing his own hand across his eyes. “By George, lass, when this leg of mine is sound we’ll bear down for a spell to Brighton, and if there is a smarter frock than yours upon the Steyne, may I never tread a poop again. But how is it that you are so quick at figures, Rodney, when you know nothing of history or geography?”
I tried to explain that addition was the same upon sea or land, but that history and geography were not.
“Well,” he concluded, “you need figures to take a reckoning, and you need nothing else save what your mother wit will teach you. There never was one of our breed who did not take to salt water like a young gull43. Lord Nelson has promised me a vacancy44 for you, and he’ll be as good as his word.”
So it was that my father came home to us, and a better or kinder no lad could wish for. Though my parents had been married so long, they had really seen very little of each other, and their affection was as warm and as fresh as if they were two newly-wedded lovers. I have learned since that sailors can be coarse and foul, but never did I know it from my father; for, although he had seen as much rough work as the wildest could wish for, he was always the same patient, good-humoured man, with a smile and a jolly word for all the village. He could suit himself to his company, too, for on the one hand he could take his wine with the vicar, or with Sir James Ovington, the squire45 of the parish; while on the other he would sit by the hour amongst my humble46 friends down in the smithy, with Champion Harrison, Boy Jim, and the rest of them, telling them such stories of Nelson and his men that I have seen the Champion knot his great hands together, while Jim’s eyes have smouldered like the forge embers as he listened.
My father had been placed on half-pay, like so many others of the old war officers, and so, for nearly two years, he was able to remain with us. During all this time I can only once remember that there was the slightest disagreement between him and my mother. It chanced that I was the cause of it, and as great events sprang out of it, I must tell you how it came about. It was indeed the first of a series of events which affected47 not only my fortunes, but those of very much more important people.
The spring of 1803 was an early one, and the middle of April saw the leaves thick upon the chestnut26 trees. One evening we were all seated together over a dish of tea when we heard the scrunch48 of steps outside our door, and there was the postman with a letter in his hand.
“I think it is for me,” said my mother, and sure enough it was addressed in the most beautiful writing to Mrs. Mary Stone, of Friar’s Oak, and there was a red seal the size of a half-crown upon the outside of it with a flying dragon in the middle.
“Whom think you that it is from, Anson?” she asked.
“I had hoped that it was from Lord Nelson,” answered my father. “It is time the boy had his commission. But if it be for you, then it cannot be from any one of much importance.”
“Can it not!” she cried, pretending to be offended. “You will ask my pardon for that speech, sir, for it is from no less a person than Sir Charles Tregellis, my own brother.”
My mother seemed to speak with a hushed voice when she mentioned this wonderful brother of hers, and always had done as long as I can remember, so that I had learned also to have a subdued50 and reverent51 feeling when I heard his name. And indeed it was no wonder, for that name was never mentioned unless it were in connection with something brilliant and extraordinary. Once we heard that he was at Windsor with the King. Often he was at Brighton with the Prince. Sometimes it was as a sportsman that his reputation reached us, as when his Meteor beat the Duke of Queensberry’s Egham, at Newmarket, or when he brought Jim Belcher up from Bristol, and sprang him upon the London fancy. But usually it was as the friend of the great, the arbiter52 of fashions, the king of bucks53, and the best-dressed man in town that his reputation reached us. My father, however, did not appear to be elated at my mother’s triumphant54 rejoinder.
“I wrote to him, Anson, and told him that Rodney was growing a man now, thinking, since he had no wife or child of his own, he might be disposed to advance him.”
“We can do very well without him,” growled56 my father. “He sheered off from us when the weather was foul, and we have no need of him now that the sun is shining.”
“Nay, you misjudge him, Anson,” said my mother, warmly. “There is no one with a better heart than Charles; but his own life moves so smoothly57 that he cannot understand that others may have trouble. During all these years I have known that I had but to say the word to receive as much as I wished from him.”
“Thank God that you never had to stoop to it, Mary. I want none of his help.”
“But we must think of Rodney.”
“But Charles has great power and influence in London. He could make Rodney known to all the great people. Surely you would not stand in the way of his advancement59.”
“Let us hear what he says, then,” said my father; and this was the letter which she read to him—
14, Jermyn Street, St. James’s,
“April 15th, 1803.
“My dear Sister Mary,
“In answer to your letter, I can assure you that you must not conceive me to be wanting in those finer feelings which are the chief adornment60 of humanity. It is true that for some years, absorbed as I have been in affairs of the highest importance, I have seldom taken a pen in hand, for which I can assure you that I have been reproached by many des plus charmantes of your charming sex. At the present moment I lie abed (having stayed late in order to pay a compliment to the Marchioness of Dover at her ball last night), and this is writ49 to my dictation by Ambrose, my clever rascal61 of a valet. I am interested to hear of my nephew Rodney (Mon dieu, quel nom!), and as I shall be on my way to visit the Prince at Brighton next week, I shall break my journey at Friar’s Oak for the sake of seeing both you and him. Make my compliments to your husband.
“I am ever, my dear sister Mary,
“Your brother,
“Charles Tregellis.”
“What do you think of that?” cried my mother in triumph when she had finished.
“I think it is the letter of a fop,” said my father, bluntly.
“You are too hard on him, Anson. You will think better of him when you know him. But he says that he will be here next week, and this is Thursday, and the best curtains unhung, and no lavender in the sheets!”
Away she bustled62, half distracted, while my father sat moody63, with his chin upon his hands, and I remained lost in wonder at the thought of this grand new relative from London, and of all that his coming might mean to us.
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1
guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meshed
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| 有孔的，有孔眼的，啮合的 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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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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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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hulls
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| 船体( hull的名词复数 )； 船身； 外壳； 豆荚 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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aurora
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| n.极光 | |
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frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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blurs
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| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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ratified
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| v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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spliced
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| adj.（针织品）加固的n.叠接v.绞接( splice的过去式和过去分词 )；捻接（两段绳子）；胶接；粘接（胶片、磁带等） | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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46
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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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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48
scrunch
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| v.压，挤压；扭曲（面部） | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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53
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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54
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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