Peter Simple; and, The Three Cutters, Vol. 1-2

by Frederick Marryat

  Chapter III

  CUTTER THE THIRD

  Reader! have you been to St Maloes? If you have, you were glad enough toleave the hole; and, if you have not, take my advice, and do not giveyourself the trouble to go and see that, or any other French port in theChannel. There is not one worth looking at. They have made one or twoartificial ports, and they are no great things; there is no getting out,or getting in. In fact, they have no harbours in the Channel, while wehave the finest in the world; a peculiar dispensation of Providence,because it knew that we should want them, and France would not. InFrance, what are called ports are all alike, nasty narrow holes, only tobe entered at certain times of tide and certain winds; made up of basinsand back-waters, custom-houses, and cabarets; just fit for smugglers torun into, and nothing more; and, therefore, they are used for verylittle else.

  Now, in the dog-hole called St Maloes there is some pretty land,although a great deficiency of marine scenery. But never mind that: stayat home, and don't go abroad to drink sour wine, because they call itBordeaux, and eat villanous trash, so disguised by cooking that youcannot possibly tell which of the birds of the air, or beasts of thefield, or fishes of the sea, you are cramming down your throat. "If allis right, there is no occasion for disguise," is an old saying; sodepend upon it, that there is something wrong, and that you are eatingoffal, under a grand French name. They eat everything in France, andwould serve you up the head of a monkey who has died of the smallpox, as_singe au petite verole_--that is, if you did not understand French; ifyou did, they would call it, _Tete d'amour a l'Ethiopique,_ and then youwould be even more puzzled. As for their wine, there is no disguise inthat--it's half vinegar. No, no! stay at home; you can live just ascheaply, if you choose; and then you will have good meat, goodvegetables, good ale, good beer, and a good glass of grog--and what isof more importance, you will be in good company. Live with your friends,and don't make a fool of yourself.

  I would not have condescended to have noticed this place, had it notbeen that I wish you to observe a vessel which is lying along thepier-wharf, with a plank from the shore to her gunnel. It is low water,and she is aground, and the plank dips down at such an angle that it isa work of danger to go either in or out of her. You observe that thereis nothing very remarkable in her. She is a cutter, and a good sea-boat,and sails well before the wind. She is short for her breadth of beam,and is not armed. Smugglers do not arm now--the service is toodangerous; they effect their purpose by cunning, not by force.Nevertheless, it requires that smugglers should be good seamen, smart,active fellows, and keen-witted, or they can do nothing. This vessel hasnot a large cargo in her, but it is valuable. She has some thousandyards of lace, a few hundred pounds of tea, a few bales of silk, andabout forty ankers of brandy--just as much as they can land in one boat.All they ask is a heavy gale or a thick fog, and they trust tothemselves for success.

  There is nobody on board except a boy; the crew are all up at thecabaret, settling their little accounts of every description--for theysmuggle both ways, and every man has his own private venture. There theyare all, fifteen of them, and fine-looking fellows, too, sitting at thatlong table. They are very merry, but quite sober, as they are to sailto-night.

  The captain of the vessel (whose name, by-the-bye is the"_Happy-go-lucky_,"--the captain christened her himself) is thatfine-looking young man, with dark whiskers, meeting under his throat.His name is Jack Pickersgill. You perceive, at once, that he is muchabove a common sailor in appearance. His manners are good, he isremarkably handsome, very clean, and rather a dandy in his dress.Observe, how very politely he takes off his hat to that Frenchman, withwhom he has just settled accounts; he beats Johnny Crapeau at his ownweapons. And then there is an air of command, a feeling of conscioussuperiority about Jack; see how he treats the landlord, _de haut enbas_, at the same time that he is very civil. The fact is, that Jack isof a very good, old family, and received a very excellent education; buthe was an orphan, his friends were poor, and could do but little forhim: he went out to India as a cadet, ran away, and served in a schoonerwhich smuggled opium into China, and then came home. He took a liking tothe employment, and is now laying up a very pretty little sum: not thathe intends to stop: no, as soon as he has enough to fit out a vessel forhimself, he intends to start again for India, and with two cargoes ofopium, he will return, he trusts, with a handsome fortune, and re-assumehis family name. Such are Jack's intentions; and, as he eventually meansto reappear as a gentleman, he preserves his gentlemanly habits: heneither drinks, nor chews, nor smokes. He keeps his hands clean, wearsrings, and sports a gold snuff-box; notwithstanding which, Jack is oneof the boldest and best of sailors, and the men know it. He is full offun, and as keen as a razor. Jack has a very heavy venture this time--all the lace is his own speculation, and if he gets it in safe, he willclear some thousands of pounds. A certain fashionable shop in London hasalready agreed to take the whole off his hands.

  That short, neatly-made young man is the second in command, and thecompanion of the captain. He is clever, and always has a remedy topropose when there is a difficulty, which is a great quality in a secondin command. His name is Corbett. He is always merry--half-sailor,half-tradesman; knows the markets, runs up to London, and does businessas well as a chapman--lives for the day, and laughs at to-morrow.

  That little punchy old man, with long gray hair and fat face, with anose like a note of interrogation, is the next personage of importance.He ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shorein France, off the English coast he never quits the vessel. When theyleave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be foundoff any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his positionin defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs: as for the revenue-vessels,they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel inballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage. Heknows every creek, and hole, and corner, of the coast; how the tide runsin--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. That is his value. His name isMorrison.

  You observe that Jack Pickersgill has two excellent supporters inCorbett and Morrison; his other men are good seamen, active, andobedient, which is all that he requires. I shall not particularlyintroduce them.

  "Now you may call for another _litre_, my lads, and that must be thelast; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour,and we have just the breeze we want. What d'ye think, Morrison, shall wehave dirt?"

  "I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the yearI should say, yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever,if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards."

  "That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?"

  "Yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the StockExchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour, andI found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled theaffair."

  "What did you let him off?"

  "Seventeen sous," replied Corbett, laughing.

  "And that satisfied him?" inquired Pickersgill.

  "Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the kniveswere a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could notbe happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide, if he hadto pay a bill without a deduction."

  "Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay, of1811, and three glasses."

  Jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottleof wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the_Happy-go-lucky_.

  "You sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him.

  Pickersgill nodded his head.

  "I had a strange dream," said Jeannette; "I thought you were all takenby a revenue cutter, and put in a _cachot_. I went to see you, and I didnot know one of you again--you were all changed."

  "Very likely, Jeannette--you would not be the first who did not knowtheir friends again when in misfortune. There was nothing strange iny
our dream."

  "_Mais, mon Dieu! je ne suis pas comme ca moi_."

  "No, that you are not, Jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of thesefine days I'll marry you," said Corbett.

  "_Doit etre bien beau ce jour la, par exemple_," replied Jeannette,laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in,these last three years."

  "Well, that proves I keep to my promise, any how."

  "Yes; but you never go any further."

  "I can't spare him, Jeannette, that is the real truth," said thecaptain: "but wait a little--in the meantime, here is a five-franc pieceto add to your _petite fortune_."

  "_Merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage!_" Jeannette held herfinger up to Corbett, saying, with a smile, "_mechant!_" and thenquitted the room.

  "Come, Morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all goon board."

  "I wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams," saidMorrison, taking his seat; "I don't like it. When she said that weshould be taken by a revenue cutter, I was looking at a blue and a whitepigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and I said to myself, now, if thatbe a warning, I will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, I shallbe in jail in a week; if the _white,_ I shall be back here."

  "Well?" said Pickersgill, laughing.

  "It wasn't well," answered Morrison, tossing off his wine, and puttingthe glass down with a deep sigh; "for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew awayimmediately."

  "Why, Morrison, you must have a chicken-heart to be frightened at a bluepigeon," said Corbett, laughing, and looking out of the window; "at allevents, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the whiteone."

  "It's the first time that ever I was called chicken-hearted," repliedMorrison, in wrath.

  "Nor do you deserve it, Morrison," replied Pickersgill; "but Corbett isonly joking."

  "Well, at all events, I'll try my luck in the same way, and see whetherI am to be in jail: I shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as youdid."

  The sailors and Captain Pickersgill all rose and went to the window, toascertain Corbett's fortune by this new species of augury. The bluepigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; atlast, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of theadjacent house. "Bravo, white pigeon!" said Corbett; "I shall be hereagain in a week." The whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats;and Morrison's countenance brightened up. As he took the glass of winepoured out by Pickersgill, he said, "Here's your health, Corbett; it wasall nonsense, after all--for, d'ye see, I can't be put in jail withoutyou are. We all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me, you takewith you everything that can condemn the vessel--so here's success toour trip."

  "We will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board," said thecaptain; "here's success to our trip."

  The captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned downthe drinking-vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and, in halfan hour, the _Happy-go-lucky_ was clear of the port of St Maloes.