CHAPTER XII. A GLIMPSE OF ANOTHER OPENING IN LIFE
Although only a few hundred miles from Quebec, our voyage still continued for several days; the “Hampden” like all transport-ships, was only “great in a calm,” and the Gulf-stream being powerful enough to retard far better sailers.
To those who, like myself, were not pressed for time, or had no very pleasing vista opening to them on shore, the voyage was far from disagreeable. As the channel narrowed, the tall mountains of Vermont came into view, and gradually the villages on the shore could be detected,—small, dark clusters, in the midst of what appeared interminable pine forests. Here and there less pleasant sights presented themselves, in the shape of dismasted hulks, being the remains of vessels which had got fastened in the ice of the early “fall,” and were deserted by the crews.
On the whole, it was novelty, and novelty alone, lent any charm to the picture; for the shores of the Gulf, until you come within two days' journey of Quebec, are sadly discouraging and dreary. The Log-house is itself a mournful object; and when seen standing alone in some small clearing, with blackened stumps studding the space, through which two or three figures are seen to move, is inexpressibly sad-looking and solitary.
Now and then we would pass some little town, with a humble imitation of a harbor for shipping, and a quay; and in the midst a standard, with a flag, would denote that some Government official resided there,—the reward, doubtless, of some gallant deed, some bold achievement afloat; for I heard that they were chiefly lieutenants in the navy, who, having more intimacy with French grape and canister than with “First Lords,” were fain to spend the remnant of their days in these gloomiest of exiles.
The absence of all signs of life and movement in the picture cannot fail to depress the spectator. No team of oxen draws the loaded wagon along; not a plough is seen. There are no gatherings of people in the open places of the towns; no cattle can be descried on the hills. The settlements appear like the chance resting-places of men travelling through the dark forests, and not their homes for life. At times a single figure would be seen on some high cliff above the sea, standing motionless, and, to all seeming, watching the ship. I cannot say how deeply such a sight always affected me; and I could not help fancying him some lone emigrant, following with beating heart the track he was never again to travel.
Apparently, these things made a deeper impression on me than upon most others on board. As for the soldiers, they were occupied with getting their arms and equipments in order, to make a respectable appearance on landing. It was one eternal scene of soap and pipeclay all day long; and creatures barely able to crawl, from sea-sickness and debility, were obliged to scour and polish away as if the glory of England depended upon the show the gallant—th would make, the day we should set foot on shore. The skipper, too, was bent on making an equally imposing show to the landsmen; his weather topmasts were stowed away, and in their place were hoisted some light and taper spars, not exactly in accordance with the lubberly hull beneath. Pitch and white paint were in great requisition too; and every day saw some half-dozen of the crew suspended over the side, either scraping or painting for the very life. Many a shirt dangled from the boom, and more than one low-crowned hat received a fresh coat of glistening varnish; all were intent on the approaching landing, even to the group of lounging officers on the poop, who had begun to reduce their beards and whiskers to a more “regulation” standard, and who usually passed the morning inspecting epaulettes and sword-knots, shakos, gorgets, and such like, with the importance of men who felt what havoc among the fair Canadians they were soon about to inflict.
My services were in request among this section of the passengers, since I had become an expert hand at cleaning arms and equipments with Sir Dudley; besides that, not wearing his Majesty's cloth, the officers were at liberty to talk to me with a freedom they could not have used with their men. They were all more or less curious to hear about Sir Dudley, of whom, without transgressing Halkett's caution, I was able to relate some amusing particulars. As my hearers invariably made their comments on my narratives in French, I was often amused to hear them record their opinions of myself, expressed with perfect candor in my own presence. The senior officer was a Captain Pike, an old, keen-eyed, pock-marked man, with a nose as thin as a sheet of parchment. He seemed to read me like a book; at least, so far as I knew, his opinions perfectly divined my true character.
“Our friend Con,” he would say, “is an uncommonly shrewd varlet, but he is only telling us some of the truth; he sees that he is entertaining enough, and won't produce 'Lafitte' so long as we enjoy his 'Ordinaire.'”
“Now, what will become of such a fellow as that?” asked another. “Heaven knows! such rascals turn out consummate scoundrels, or rise to positions of eminence. Never was there a more complete lottery than the life of a young rogue like that.”
“I can't fancy,” drawled out a young subaltern, “how an ignorant cur, without education, manners, and means, can ever rise to anything.”
“Who can say whether he has not all these?” said the captain, quietly. “Trust me, Carrington, you'd cut a much poorer figure in his place than would he in yours.”
The ensign gave a haughty laugh, and the captain resumed: “I said it were not impossible that he had each of the three requisites you spoke of, and I repeat it. He may, without possessing learning, have picked up that kind of rudimentary knowledge that keenness and zeal improve on every day; and as for tact and address, such fellows possess both as a birthright. I have a plan in my head for the youngster; but you must all pledge yourselves to secrecy, or I'll not venture upon it.”
Here a very general chorus of promises and “on honors” broke forth; after the subsidence of which, Captain Pike continued, still, however, in French; and although being far from a proficient in that tongue, I was able to follow the tenor of his discourse, and divine its meaning, particularly as from time to time some of the listeners would propound a question or two in English, by the aid of which I invariably contrived to keep up with the “argument.”
“You know, lads,” said the captain, “that our old friend Mrs. Davis, who keeps the boarding-house in the Upper Town, has been always worrying us to bring her out what she calls a first-rate man-servant from England; by which she means a creature capable of subsisting on quarter rations, and who, too far from home to turn restive, must put up with any wages. The very fact that he came out special, she well knows, will be a puff for the 'Establishment' among the Canadian Members of Parliament and the small fry of officials who dine at the house; and as to qualifications, who will dare question the 'London footman '?”
“Pooh, pooh!” broke in Carrington; “that fellow don't look like a London footman.”
“Who says he does?” retorted the captain. “Who ever said brass buttons and blue beads were gold and turquoise? But they pass for the same in villages not fifty miles from where we are sailing. Mother Davis was wife of a skipper in the timber trade who died harbor-master here; she is not a very likely person to be critical about a butler or footman's accomplishments.”
“By Jove,” cried another, “Pike is all right! Go on with your plan.”
“My plan is this: we'll dress up our friend Con, here, give him a few lessons about waiting at table, delivering a message, and so forth, furnish him with a jolly set of characters, and start him on the road of life with Mother Davis.”
A merry roar of approving laughter broke forth from the party at this brief summary of Captain Pike's intentions; and indeed it was not without great difficulty I avoided joining in it.
“He looks so devilish young!” said Carrington; “he can't be fifteen.”
“Possibly not fourteen,” said Pike; “but we'll shave his head and give him a wig. I'll answer for the 'make up;' and as I have had some experience of private theatricals, rely on 't he'll pass muster.”
“How will you dress him, Pike?”
“In livery,—a full suit of snuff-brown, lined with yellow; I 'll devote a large cloak I have to the purpose, and we 'll set the tailor at work to-day.”
“Is he to have shorts?”
“Of course; some of you must 'stand' silk stockings for him, for we shall have to turn him out with a good kit.”
A very generous burst of promises here broke in, about shirts, vests, cravats, gloves, and other wearables, which, I own it, gave the whole contrivance a far brighter coloring in my eyes than when it offered to be a mere lark.
“Will the rogue consent, think you?” asked Carrington.
“Will he prefer a bed and a dinner to nothing to eat and a siesta under the planks on the quays of Quebec?” asked Pike, contemptuously. “Look at the fellow! watch his keen eyes and his humorous mouth when he's speaking to you, and say if he would n't do the thing for the fun of it? Not but a right clever chap like him will see something besides a joke in the whole contrivance.
“I foresee he 'll break down at the first go-off,” said Carrington, who through all the controversy seemed impressed with the very humblest opinion of my merits.
“I foresee exactly the reverse,” said Pike. “I've seldom met a more acute youngster, nor one readier to take up your meaning; and if the varlet does n't get spoilt by education, but simply follows out the bent of his own shrewd intelligence, he'll do well yet.”
“You rate him more highly than I do,” said Carrington, again.
“Not impossible either; we take our soundings with very dissimilar lead-lines,” said Pike, scoffingly. “My opinion is formed by hearing the boy's own observations about character and life when he was speaking of Broughton; but if you were ten times as right about him, and I twice as many times in the wrong, he 'll do for what I intend him.”
The others expressed their full concurrence in the captain's view of the matter, voted me a phoenix of all young vagabonds, and their brother-officer Carrington a downright ass,—both being my own private sentiments to the letter.
And now for an honest avowal! It was the flattery of my natural acuteness—the captain's panegyric on my aptitude and smartness—that won me over to a concurrence in the scheme; for, at heart, I neither liked the notion of “service,” nor the prospect of the abstemious living he had so pointedly alluded to. Still, to justify the favorable impression he had conceived of me, and also with some half hope that I should see “life”—the ruling passion of my mind—under a new aspect, I resolved to accept the proposition so soon as it should be made to me; nor had I long to wait that moment.
“Con, my lad,” said the captain, “you may leave that belt there; come aft here,—I want to speak to you. What are your plans when you reach Quebec? Do you mean to look after your old master, Sir Dudley, again?”
“No, sir; I have had enough of salt water for a time,—I 'll keep my feet on dry land now.”
“But what line of life do you propose to follow?”
I hesitated for the answer, and was silent.
“I mean,” resumed he, “is it your intention to become a farm-servant with some of the emigrant families, or will you seek for employment in the town?”
“Or would you like to enlist, my lad?” broke in another.
“No, thank you, sir; promotion is slow from the ranks, and I 've a notion one ought to move 'up,' as they move 'on,' in life.”
“Listen to the varlet now,” said Pike, in French; “the fellow's as cool with us as if we were exactly his equals, and no more. I 'll tell you what it is, lads,” added he, seriously, “when such rogues journey the road of life singly, they raise themselves to station and eminence; but when they herd together in masses, these are the fellows who pull others down, and effect the most disastrous social revolutions.—So you 'll not be a soldier Con?” added he, resuming the vernacular; “well, what are your ideas as to the civil service?”
“Anything to begin with, sir.”
“Quite right, lad,—well said; a fair start is all you ask?”
“Why, sir, I carry no weight, either in the shape of goods or character; and if a light equipment gives speed, I 've a chance to be placed well.”
The captain gave a side-glance at the others as though to say, “Was I correct in my opinion of this fellow?” and then went on: “I have a thought in my head for you, Con: there is a lady of my acquaintance at Quebec wants a servant; now, if you could pick up some notion of the duties, I 've no doubt you'd learn the remainder rapidly.”
“I used to wait on Sir Dudley, sir, and am therefore not entirely ignorant.”
“Very true; and as these gentlemen and myself will put you into training while the voyage lasts, I hope you 'll do us credit in the end.”
“Much will depend on my mistress, sir,” said I, determining to profit by what I had overheard, but yet not use the knowledge rashly or unadvisedly. “Should she not be very exacting and very particular, but have a little patience with me, accepting zeal for skill, I 've no doubt, sir, I 'll not discredit your recommendation.”
“That's the very point I'm coming to, Con,” said the captain, lowering his voice to a most confidential tone.
“The true state of the case is this: “—and here he entered upon an explanation which I need not trouble the reader by recapitulating, since it merely went the length I have already related, save that he added, in conclusion, this important piece of information:—
“Your golden rule, in every difficulty, will then be, to assure Mrs. Davis that you always did so, whatever it may be, when you were living with Lord George, or Sir Charles, or the Bishop of Drone. You understand me, eh?”
“I think so, sir,” said I, brightening up, and at the same time stealing an illustration from my old legal practices. “In Mrs. Davis's court there are no precedents.”
“Exactly, Con; hit the nail on the very head, my boy!”
“It will not be a very difficult game, sir, if the guests are like the mistress.”
“So they are, for the most part; now and then you'll have a military and naval officer at table, and you'll be obliged to look out sharp, and not let them detect you; but with the skippers of merchantmen, dockyard people, storekeepers, male and female, I fancy you can hold your own.”
“Why, sir, I hope they'll be satisfied with the qualification that contented my former titled masters,” said I, with a knowing twinkle of the eye he seemed to relish prodigiously, and an assumed tone of voice that suited well the part I was to play.
“Come down below, now, and we 'll write your characters for you;” and so he beckoned the others to accompany him to the cabin, whither I followed them.
An animated debate ensued as to the number and nature of the certificates I ought to possess, some being of opinion that I should have those of every kind and degree; others alleging that my age forbade the likelihood of my having served in more than two or three situations.
“What say you to this, lads?” said Pike, reading from a rough and much-corrected draft before him:—
The bearer, Cornelius Cregan, has lived in my service ten months as a page; he is scrupulously honest, active, and intelligent, well acquainted with the duties of his station, and competent to discharge them in the first families. I now dismiss him at his own request. Cecilia Mendleshaw.
“Gad! I'd rather make him start as what they call in his own country a 'Tay-boy,'” said Carrington,—“one of those bits of tarnished gold-lace and gaiters seen about the outskirts of Dublin.”
“Your honor is right, sir,” said I, glad to show myself above any absurd vanity on the score of my early beginning; “a 'Tay-boy' on the Rathmines road, able to drive a jaunting-car and wait at table.”
“That's the mark, I believe,” said Pike. “Suppose, then, we say: 'Con Cregan has served me twelve months, waited at table, and taken care of a horse and car.'”
“Ah, sir!” said I, “sure an Irish gentleman with a 'Tay-boy' would be finer spoken than that. It would be: 'I certify that Cornelius Cregan, who served in my establishment as under-butler, and occasionally assisting the coachman, is a most respectable servant, well-mannered and respectful, having always lived in high situations, and with the most distinguished individuals.'”
“Ah, that's it,” broke in Carrington; “'understands lamps, and is perfectly competent to make jellies, soups, and preserves.'”
“Confound it, man! you 're making him a cook.”
“By Jove, so I was! It's so hard to remember what the fellow is.”
“I think we may leave it to himself,” said Pike; “he seems to have a very good notion of what is necessary. So, Master Con, write your own biography, my lad, and we 'll give it all the needful currency of handwriting and seal.”
“It's a pity you're a Papist,” said another, “or you could have such a recommendation from a 'serious family' I know of in Surrey.”
“Never mind,” rejoined the captain; “one signed 'P. O. Dowdlum, Bishop of Toronia,' will do even better in the Lower Province.”
“Exactly, sir; and, as I used to serve mass once, I can 'come out strong' about my early training with 'his Grace'!”
“Very well,” said Pike; “tell the tailor to take your measure for the livery, and you'll wait on us to-day at table.” With this order I was dismissed, to con over my fictitious and speculate on my true “character.”
