Kitabı oxu: «Jan the IcelanderOr Home Sweet Home»

Chapter 1

Table of Contents

The scene of our story is the little town of Sixoaks, in Kent, (and the period at which we begin is the year I8—, before the telegraph was invented, and when the railway had scarcely begun to exist.

Lawrence Clough lives in Sixoaks. He is a Kentish squireen, about five and thirty years of age. His house fronts to the market-square, and is a picturesque old place of the half-timbered kind that is common in southern counties. At another angle of the square there is an old inn with a suspended sign, and a little beyond it stands the ancient church, green with ivy to the top of its tower.

Clough's father, who is dead, had been the saint and philanthropist of the county, and a monument to his memory stands in the middle of the market-place. It is a statue representing the venerable figure of an old man, in the long coat and knee-breeches of the time.

But Lawrence Clough himself, commonly called Larry, has gone to the bad. He is one of those genial souls whom all the world conspires to ruin. Fond of good liquor, good sport, and a good story, he has given up to company what was due to work, and reaped, of course, the usual reward.

Larry is to be sold up. Even the house he lives in is to go in the general sweep. That is the more pitiable because it had belonged to his wife, and was the place she had been born in.

The poor girl has stuck to him in spite of his failings, having married him in the face of the opposition of her people, and notwithstanding more reputable suitors. She has one child, a girl six years of age, of the same name as herself—Lucy.

It is the day of the public auction, a bright day in summer. The cryer is going through the town crying the sale of the "last remaining lots of the stock and estate of Lawrence Clough, Esquire." In the afternoon the auctioneer, old John Cuthbert, landlord of the Red Lion, in the market-place, mounts the market cross, under the monument, and reads out the conditions of sale. Among those who are standing about him is a man dressed as a sailor of the superior class. This is an old resident of the district, who has been ten years abroad and is newly returned home. His name is Crowe. He has been away at the whale fishing on the Greenland seas, and is understood to have brought back a fortune. He may be 35 to 40 years of age. His bronzed face is hard-featured and forbidding.

While the preliminaries of the auction are being gone through, an upper window in Larry's house opens, and a young woman looks out. She is pale and careworn. It is Larry's wife, Lucy. Larry himself is nowhere to be seen.

The auction begins, According to custom, every lot is sold on the spot, and the auctioneer and his company leave the market place. They are to return to it for the last lot, and the final squaring up. The last lot is to be the house.

When they are gone and the market-place is empty, a child's voice is heard approaching, mingled with the laughter of a man, and the face at the window shows signs of recognition. At the next moment a man comes up holding a child by the hand. It is Larry. He has a game bag across his back and a gun over his shoulder, and is dressed in the long coat, knee-breeches, flowered waistcoat, and broad-brimmed hat of the period.

Larry is merry, but by no means intoxicated. He takes the birds out of the bag, gives them to the child to carry home, then flings himself on a seat outside the inn and shouts to the potboy for something to drink.

As the potboy appears with a pewter Lucy comes out of the house opposite. At the sight of his wife Larry looks ashamed. Their home and all that belongs to them is under the hammer, yet here he is drinking and idling. The serious thoughts only last a moment and he is laughing again.

"You promised to be back by 12," says Lucy.

"Ah! so I did, my dear; but I'm like the man with the reliable clock," said he.

"When it strikes 10 it points to 12, and then I know it's half-past 1. . . . But never mind, Lucy, I'm back in time for the last lot any way, and that's all I care about. We are not stone broke yet, dear. There's that thousand-pound legacy my mother left in trust, you know. It'll buy in the house at all events. Old John promises me to knock it down to me quick, and they say nobody will bid against us, so we'll not be houseless anyhow. Good health, my dear! Another pot, my boy! By the way, Lucy, who do you think I met coming this way when I was going into the fields this morning? Harry Crow, of all men. They call him Captain Crow now, and he has come back from the whaling a rich man, I hear. Well, riches have wings—prodigious ones seemingly. He has a bright little boy they tell me, about the age of our Lucy, but his wife is dead, and his wealth is no good to him. Well, I forgive him, poor devil. I am happier than he is, in spite of my duns and debts. But what a funny world it is though!"

Larry laughs and calls for more drink. At that moment an old man carrying a lantern, a spade, and a pick crosses the market-place. It is the sexton. Larry hails him and laughs. Is he a Diogenes that he needs a lantern in the sunlight? The old man answers that he has a job of work to do, and must work late that night, as he did on the night when Larry's father died.

At the mention of his father Larry's laughter suddenly stops. The sexton goes into the churchyard, and the potboy in his sleeved waistcoat returns with a glass. Larry is about to pick it up when Lucy takes hold of it.

"Give it up," she says, "for your father's sake, Larry."

Larry is sobered. For a moment he feels the reproach of his father's well-spent life contrasted with his own ill-spent existence.

"No, give it to me," he says, and taking the glass out of her hand he goes up to the foot of the statue. " See, now; I'll never touch it again—— never!" and he lets the glass fall and break.

Half an hour later the auctioneer returns to the market-place and mounts the steps of the cross to sell the last lot, the house. Larry is on the outskirts of the crowd, saluting everybody.

"What am I offered?" says the auctioneer.

"Five hundred pounds," cries Larry.

"Five hundred pounds. I'm offered five hundred pounds. Any advance on five hundred?"

There is a pause, and the auctioneer raises his hammer. Then a cold voice says:

"Six hundred."

Everybody looks about in surprise. It is Captain Crow. Larry laughs, and thinks he understands.

"Seven hundred," he cries.

"Eight hundred," says the cold voice again,

Larry grows excited, and says:—

"That's as much us the old house is worth, auctioneer, but I want it. If anybody wishes to know why I want it he can easily find out for himself But I will go one better than the gentleman's bid, and it will be the last penny I have in the world—one thousand pounds."

The crowd is tingling with excitement when Captain Crow's cold is heard again.

"Two thousand pounds," he says. Larry laughs wildly, and cries:

"It's yours, sir—and damn you."

The contest has been fierce and exciting. Larry turns to the company and says, " And now that It's all over, boys, though I didn't particularly want your company on this business, you know, I thank you for it all the same. It isn't my fault that you are here, but you are welcome. I have sworn off the drink myself, but that's no reason why you should go home dry. So give the company what they want at my expense, landlord, and thank you. Go in, boys, and I'll join you presently."

They all go into the inn except Larry and Captain Crow. Captain Crow is sitting on the seat by the porch of the inn filling his pipe.

"I dare say you think I have done you a bad turn?" he says.

"You can't suppose you've done me a good one," says Larry.

"I have though," said Crow, "a very good turn. If you had bought the house you would have gone on living in this place, and that would be the ruin of you for life. Take the advice of a friend who wishes you well; do as I have done."

Larry laughs. "What, go whaling?"

Crow answers, "Why not? You'll have as good a chance as I had, and if you like I'll help you to a better. Listen to me. When I came home I left two of my boats at Whitby getting ready for the next cruise. Now, if you want to start afresh I will send you back in one of them."

"There's something in that," thinks Larry,

"How long does a whaling cruise last?"

"Two years, three years, four years—depends on your luck."

"Four years! That's a long time for a man to be separated from his wife and child."

"Many a man has been longer. And isn't it better to go out there and provide for them than to stay here and see things go to rack and ruin?"

"It's a wild life out yonder, isn't it?"

"A bit rough maybe, but nothing a man ought to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid of work, though I have not done much of it—more shame for me to say so, but my poor old father thought of something better than blubber hunting when he sent me to Oxford ten years ago."

"If you're ashamed of your job nobody need know where you're going."

"When could I start?"

"To-morrow—the next day—next week—when you like."

At that moment the post-boy goes by in his red uniform, with his bugle in hand. Crow hails him, and asks when the North Coach passes through the town. The post-boy answers:

"Two o'clock in the morning."

"There you are," says Crow, "you can get off at any time."

"I'll speak to Lucy," says Larry. "If she says 'Yes' I'll go."

"She'll be a foolish woman if she stands in your way."

"I'll keep my word with the boys and pay my score, and then go in and speak to her."

Larry is going into the inn when Crow says:—

And if you want a little money for your journey come to my house about midnight; I'll not be in bed before that."

"But tell me," says Larry, "why are you doing this for me, who have never done anything for you?"

Crow hesitates, then says: "I was gardener's boy at your good old father's once, wasn't I? Don't you think I may do a good turn for your father's son?"

Larry bends his head, as if ashamed at the mention of his father's name, and goes into the inn.

Time passes. The evening begins to close in. Larry has not yet come out of the inn. From time to time his voice can lie heard telling stories amid peals of laughter. Meantime Captain Crow has been smoking on the seat outside the porch, thinking bitterly of the days when Larry Clough was a rich man's son and he himself was a gardener's boy.