“No cloven Hoof as yet! It was his Birthday (yesterday), and we all had a walk to the new Lugger, and then to Mutford, where we had a fresh-water Sail on the
Broad: Ale at the Inn, and Punch in the ‘Suffolk’ Bowling-green at night. Oh! ’tis a pleasant Time. But it passes, passes. I have not been out to Sea once since we’ve been here; only loitering about on shore.
“Lowestoft, April 14/68.
[‘Letters,’ p. 316.]
“. . . Meanwhile the Crews loiter about the Town: A. Percival, Frost, and Jack in his Kingfisher Guernsey: to whom Posh does the honours of the place. He is still busy with his Gear: his hands of a fine Mahogany, from Stockholm tar, but I see he has some return of hoseness. I believe that he and I shall now sign the Mortgage Papers that make him owner of Half Meum and Tuum. I only get out of him that he can’t say he sees anything much amiss in the Deed. He is delightful with his Babe, whose name is Clara—‘Hallo, Clara!’ etc. . . .”
“Lowestoft, Tuesday, June 16, 1868. [Ib.]
“. . . Thank you for the Books, which were all right: except in so far that they were anointed by the oozings of some Rhubarb Jam which Mrs Berry very kindly introduced among them. I am at my Don Quixote again; and really only sorry that I can read it so much more easily this year than last that I shall be all the sooner
done with it. Mackerel still come in very slow, sometimes none at all: the dead-calm nights play the deuce with the Fishing, and I see no prospect of change in the weather till the Mackerel shall be changing their Quarters. I am vexed to see the Lugger come in Day after day so poorly stored after all the Labour and Time and Anxiety given to the work by her Crew; but I can do no more, and at any-rate take my own share of the Loss very lightly. I can afford it better than they can. I have told Newson to set sail and run home any Day, Hour, or Minute, when he wishes to see his Wife and Family. But at present he seems contented to eat Fish here: whether some of the few ‘Stulls’ [113] which Posh brings in, or what his now innumerable friends the Trawlers are always offering. In fact, I think Newson looks to Lowestoft as a Summer Pasture, and is in no hurry to leave it. He lives here well for nothing, except Bread, Cheese, and Tea and Sugar. He has now taken to Cocoa, however, which he calls ‘Cuckoo’ to my hearing; having become enamoured of that Beverage in the Lugger, where it is the order of the day. . . .”
“Lowestoft, Monday, July 13, ’68. [Ib.]
“. . . Posh made up and paid off on Saturday. I have not yet asked him, but I suppose he has just paid his way:
I mean, so far as Grub goes. The Brother of one of his Crew was killed the night we got here, in a Lugger next to Posh’s, by a Barque running into her, and knocking him—or, I doubt, crushing him—overboard.