Chapter Two.
Fitting out on the shortest notice—Fortunately for me this day Mr. Handycock is not a bear, and I fare very well—I set off for Portsmouth—Behind the coach I meet a man before the mast—He is disguised with liquor, but is not the only disguise I fall in with in my journey.
The next morning Mr. Handycock appeared to be in somewhat better humour. One of the linendrapers who fitted out cadets, etcetera, “on the shortest notice,” was sent for, and orders given for my equipment, which Mr. Handycock insisted should be ready on the day afterwards, or the articles would be left on his hands; adding, that my place was already taken in the Portsmouth coach.
The man made his promise, took my measure, and departed; and soon afterwards Mr. Handycock also quitted the house.
At four o’clock Mr. Handycock rapped at the door, and was let in—but not by me. He ascended the stairs with three bounds, and coming into the parlour, cried, “Well, Nancy, my love, how are you?” Then stooping over her, “Give me a kiss, old girl. I’m as hungry as a hunter. Mr. Simple, how do you do? I hope you have passed the morning agreeably. I must wash my hands and change my boots, my love; I am not fit to sit down to table with you in this pickle. Well, Polly, how are you?”
“I’m glad you’re hungry, my dear, I’ve such a nice dinner for you,” replied the wife, all smiles. “Jemima, be quick, and dish up—Mr. Handycock is so hungry.”
“Yes, marm,” replied the cook; and Mrs. Handycock followed her husband into his bedroom on the same floor, to assist him at his toilet.
“By Jove, Nancy, the bulls have been nicely taken in,” said Mr. Handycock, as we sat down to dinner.
“O I am so glad!” replied his wife, giggling; and so I believe she was, but why I did not understand.
We both had our share to-day, and I never saw a man more polite than Mr. Handycock. He joked with his wife, asked me to drink wine with him two or three times, talked about my grandfather; and, in short, we had a very pleasant evening.
The next morning all my clothes came home, but Mr. Handycock, who still continued in good humour, said that he would not allow me to travel by night, that I should sleep there and set off the next morning; which I did at six o’clock, and before eight I had arrived at the Elephant and Castle, where we stopped for a quarter of an hour. I observed a crowd assembled at the corner; and asking a gentleman who sat by me in a plaid cloak, whether there was not something very uncommon to attract so many people, he replied, “Not very, for it is only a drunken sailor.”
I rose from my seat, which was on the hinder part of the coach, that I might see him, for it was a new sight to me, and excited my curiosity; when, to my astonishment, he staggered from the crowd, and swore that he’d go to Portsmouth. He climbed up by the wheel of the coach and sat down by me. I believe that I stared at him very much, for he said to me, “What are you gaping at, you young sculping? Do you want to catch flies? or did you never see a chap half seas over before?”
I replied, that “I had never been at sea in my life, but that I was going.”
“Well then, you’re like a young bear, all your sorrows to come—that’s all, my hearty,” replied he. “When you get on board, you’ll find monkey’s allowance—more kicks than half-pence. I say, you pewter-carrier, bring us another pint of ale.”
The waiter of the inn, who was attending the coach, brought out the ale, half of which the sailor drank, and the other half threw into the waiter’s face, telling him, “that was his allowance; and now,” said he, “what’s to pay?” The waiter, who looked very angry, but appeared too much afraid of the sailor to say anything, answered fourpence; and the sailor pulled out a handful of bank-notes, mixed up with gold, silver, and coppers, and was picking out the money to pay for his beer, when the coachman, who was impatient, drove off.
“There’s cut and run,” cried the sailor, thrusting all the money into his breeches pocket. “That’s what you’ll learn to do, my joker, before you have been two cruises to sea.”
In the meantime the gentleman in the plaid cloak, who was seated by me, smoked his cigar without saying a word. I commenced a conversation with him relative to my profession, and asked him whether it was not very difficult to learn. “Larn,” cried the sailor, interrupting us, no, it may be difficult for such chaps as me before the mast to larn, but you, I presume, is a reefer, and they an’t got much to larn, “cause why, they pipe-clays their weekly accounts, and walks up and down with their hands in their pockets. You must larn to chaw baccy, drink grog, and call the cat a beggar, and then you knows all a midshipman’s expected to know now-a-days. Arn’t I right, sir?” said the sailor, appealing to the gentleman in a plaid cloak. “I axes you, because I see you’re a sailor by the cut of your jib. Beg pardon, sir,” continued he, touching his hat, “hope no offence.”
“I am afraid that you have nearly hit the mark, my good fellow,” replied the gentleman.
Whenever the coach stopped, the sailor called for more ale, and always threw the remainder which he could not drink into the face of the man who brought it out for him, just as the coach was starting off, and then tossed the pewter pot on the ground for him to pick up. He became more tipsy every stage, and the last from Portsmouth, when he pulled out his money he could find no silver, so he handed down a note, and desired the waiter to change it. The waiter crumpled it up and put it into his pocket, and then returned the sailor the change for a one-pound note: but the gentleman in the plaid had observed that it was a five-pound note which the sailor had given, and insisted upon the waiter producing it, and giving the proper change. The sailor took his money, which the waiter handed to him, begging pardon for the mistake, although he coloured up very much at being detected. “I really beg your pardon,” said he again, “it was quite a mistake:” whereupon the sailor threw the pewter pot at the waiter, saying “I really beg your pardon too,”—and with such force, that it flattened upon the man’s head, who fell senseless on the road. The coachman drove off, and I never heard whether the man was killed or not.
I inquired of the gentleman how soon we should be at Portsmouth; he answered that we were passing the lines; but I saw no lines, and I was ashamed to show my ignorance. He asked me what ship I was going to join. I could not recollect her name, but I told him it was painted on the outside of my chest, which was coming down by the waggon: all that I could recollect was that it was a French name.
“Have you no letter of introduction to the captain?” said he.
“Yes, I have,” replied I; and I pulled out my pocketbook in which the letter was. “Captain Savage, H.M.S. Diomede,” continued I, reading to him.
To my surprise he very coolly proceeded to open the letter,