“My dear Cowell,

“. . . My lugger Captain has just left me to go on his Mackerel Voyage to the Western Coast; and I don’t know when I shall see him again. . . . You can’t think what a grand, tender Soul this is, lodged in a suitable carcase.”

FitzGerald thought very highly of that “carcase” of Posh’s, as will be seen from the story of the Laurence portrait, set forth hereinafter, as the lawyers, whom Posh hates so much, would say.

The sleeping partner throughout seems to have had more anxiety on account of Posh’s sea hazards than on account of business losses. How the mackerel paid I do not know, but Posh was in time to go north for the beginning of the herring fishing in July.

CHAPTER IX
ECCENTRICITIES OF A GOOD HEART

There must always be an interval ashore between the return of the drifters from the western voyage and their sailing north to follow the herring down from Aberdeen to Yarmouth. And during this interval, in 1869, FitzGerald wrote one or two letters to Posh which have survived that wholesale destruction of which their recipient speaks.

“Woodbridge, Friday.

“Newson is up here with the Yacht, Posh; and we shall start to-morrow with the Tide about 10½. I doubt if we shall get out of the harbour: or, even if we do that, get to Lowestoft in the Day. But you can just give a look to the Southward to-morrow evening, or Sunday. I write this, because we may not have more than a day to stay at Lowestoft.

“E. FG.”

Despite his silk hat and his boa, FitzGerald was a keen and genuine lover of yachting. Even in the way in which he took his enjoyment of this he was original. Posh asserts that he has seen his “guv’nor” lying in the lee scuppers while the Scandal was heeling over in a stiff breeze, and permitting the wash of the sea to run over him till he was drenched to the skin. Indeed, although his long lean body looked frail, he was reckless in the way in which he treated it. Posh tells one story which I give in his words. He vouches for its truth, and I give it on his authority and not as vouching for its accuracy myself. Personally I believe the tale is true enough, but I admit that it requires a power of assimilation which is not given to all.

“He! he!” says Posh. “He was a rum un sometimes, was my guv’nor! I remember one day when the Scandal was a layin’ agin’ the wharf where the trawl market is now. Mr. Sims Reeves, the lawyer [this was a prominent counsel on the Norwich circuit, not the famous tenor], and some other friends came over for a sail, and they and Tom [Newson] was below while me and Jack and the guv’nor was on deck, astarn. The mains’l was h’isted, but there wasn’t no heads’l on her, and we lay theer riddy to get unner way. There was a fresh o’ wind blowin’ from the eastard, not wery stiddy, and as we lay theer the boom kep’ a wamblin’ and a jerkin’ from side to side, a wrenchin’ the mainsheet block a rum un. The guv’nor was a readin’ of a letter as had just been brought down by the poost. ‘Posh,’ he say, ‘here’s a letter with some money I niver expected to git,’ he say. ‘That’s a good job,’ when just then the boom come over wallop and caught him fair on the side of his hid, and knocked him oover into the harbour like one o’clock. He was a wearin’ of his topper same as us’al, and all of a sudden up he come agin just as Jack an’ me was raychin’ oover arter him. His topper come up aisy like, as though ’twas a life-buoy if I may say soo, and unnerneath it come the fur boa, and then the guv’nor. And as true as I set here he was still a holdin’ that letter out in front of him in both hands. Well, I couldn’t help it. I bust out a laughin’, and soo did Jack an’ all, and then we rayched down and copped hold on him and h’isted him aboord all right and tight, but as wet as a soused harrin’. He come up a laughin’, playsed as Punch, an’ give orders to cast off and git up headsail ta oncet. And would yew believe me, he wouldn’t goo below ta shift afore we got right out to the Corton light, though Mr. Reeves axed him tew time and time agin! Not he. That was blowin’ a fresh o’ wind, an’ he jest lay down in the lee scuppers, and ‘I can’t get no wetter, Posh,’ he say, and let the lipper slosh oover him. Ah! He was a master rum un, was my ole guv’nor!”

The northern herring voyage of the Meum and Tuum in 1869, that is to say, the eight weeks’ fishing down the east coast from Aberdeen to Lowestoft from the beginning of August to the end of September, seems to have been about up to what FitzGerald might have called “Neighbour’s fare.” He wrote to Mrs. W. H. Thompson (the wife of the Master of Trinity): “My lugger has had (along with her neighbours) such a Season hitherto of Winds as no one remembers. We made £450 in the North Sea” (that is to say, in the north fishing before the home Martinmas fishing began); “and (just for fun) I did wish to realise £5 in my pocket. But my Captain would take it all to pay Bills. But if he makes another £400 this Home

Voyage! Oh, then we shall have money in our pockets. I do wish this. For the anxiety about all these people’s lives has been so much more to me than all the amusement I have got from the Business, that I think I will draw out of it if I can see my Captain sufficiently firm on his legs to carry it on alone. True, there will still be the same risk to him and his ten men, but they don’t care; only I sit here listening to the Winds in the Chimney, and always thinking of the eleven hanging at my own finger ends” (Letters, II, 110, Eversley Edition).