Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 11 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

_ | poems, and soon afterward he mounted up t ’ his immersion, and seized the rope to which the chain | oceasioned a partial eclipse of the round disk which | of the bucket was made fast—it had all of it been un- wound from the windlass, and therefore it enabled Jack to keep his head above water. After a few sec- onds, Jack felt something against his legs, it was the bucket, about two feet under the water; Jack oo his feet into it and found himself pretty comfortable, for the water, after the sting of the bees and the heat he had been put into by the race with the bull, was quite cool and refreshing. for the bull, I should have been watched by the dog and then thrashed by the farmer; but then again, if it had not been for the bull, I should not have tumbltd among the bees; and if it had not been for the bees, I should not have tumbled into the well; and if it had not been for the chain, I should have been drowned. Such has been the chain of events, all because I wanted to eat an apple. ‘* However, I got rid of the farmer, and the dog, and the bull, and the bees—all’s well that ends well; but how the devil am I to get out of the well?—All creation appear to have conspired against the rights of man. As my father said, this is an iron age, and here I am swinging to an iron chain.” We have given the whole of Jack's soliloquy, as it will prove that Jack was no fool, although he was a bit of a philosopher; and a man who could reason so well upon cause and effect, at the bottom of a well, up to mind. Butif Jack's mind had been a little twisted b his father’s philosophy, it had still sufficient strengt and elasticity to recover itself in due time. lected him for our hero. CHAPTER VIL. fX¥ WHICH JACK MAKES SOME VERY SAGE REFLECTIONS, AND COMES TO A VERY UNWISE DECISION, Arter all, it must be acknowledged that although there are cases of distress in which a well may become a place of refuge, a well is not at all calculated for a wolonged residence—so thought Jack. After he had ere some fifteen minutes, his teeth chatte and his ms trembled; he felt a numbness all over, an he thought first he would not, as he was afraid he should be pulled up to encounter the indignation of the farmer and his . Jack was arranging his jaws for a halloo, when he felt the chain pulled up, and he slowly emerg- from the water. At first he heard complaimts of the then he heard a tittering and laughing on two gayly. his head appeared above the low w f about to extend his arms so as to secure a position on it, when those who were working at the windlass be- held him. It was a heavy farming man and a maid servant. “Thank you,” said Jack. One never should be too quick in returning thanks; the girl screamed and let go the winch, the man, ‘rightened, did not hold it fast; it slipped from his p, whirled round, struck him under the chin, and ioree him over it headlong, and before the ‘Thank ou’ was fairly out of Jack's lips, down he went again e lightning to the bottom. Fortunately for Jack, he had not yet let go the chain, or he might have struck the sides and have been killed; as it was, he was merely ‘soused a second time, and in a minute or two regained his former position. “This is mighty pleasant,” thought Jack, as he ra his wet hat once more on his head; “at all events, they can’t now plead ignorance, they must know that lm ” || In the meantime the girl ran into the kitchen, threw ~—- = herself down on a stool, from which she reeled off im a fit upon sundry heaps of dough waiting to be baked in bm oven, which were laid to rise on the floor before the “* Mercy on me, what is the matter with Susan?” ex- claimed the farmer's wife. ‘“ Here!—where’s Mary— where's John’—Deary me, if the bread won't all be urned to pancakes.”’ John soon followed, holding his under-jaw in his . hand, looking very dismal and very frightened, for. two | _ | yeagons; one, because he thought that his jaw was_ broken, and the other, because he thought he seen the devil.”’ “Mercy on us, what 1s the matter?” exclaimed the farmer's wife again. “‘ Mary, Mary, Ma to be frightened efforts she could not remove Susan from the bed of dough, where she lay senseless and heavy as lead. answered to her mistress’ loud appeal, and with | ut as for the | ber assistance they raised up Susan; but | bread, there was no hopes of it ever rising again. wey don't you come here and help Susan, John?" cried 4 Lneiwaws'" was all the reply of John, who had | had enough of helping Susan, and who continued to hold his head, as it were, in his hand. “What's the matter here, missus?” exclaimed the farmer, coming in. “ Highty-tighty, what ails Susan? and what ails you?” continued the farmer, turning to John. “Dang it, but everything seems to go wrong this day. First, there be all the apples stolen— then there be all the hives turned topsy-turvy in the n there be Ceesar with his flank opened by bull—then there be the bull broken through the hedge and tumbled into the saw-pit—and now I come to ae help to drag him out, I find one woman dead , and John looks as if he had seen the devil.” “ Aw-yaw-aw!"’ replied John, nodding his head very tl . f One would think that the devil had broke loose to- day. What is it, John? Have you seen him, and has seen himy’’ * Aweyaw.”’ * He's somes our jaw, then, at all events, and I thought the devil wouldn't have done that—we shall get nothing of you. Is that wench coming to her bei yes, she’s better now. Susan, what's the mat- “Oh, oh, ma'am! the well, the well——”’ The well! cert rte bead there, I suppose: well, will go and see.”’ The farmer trotted off to the well; he perceived the “at the bottom and all the rope out; he , and then he looked into the well. oO f pucket w kama Obes me very impatient, been look- some time for the assistance whith he expected was AE up time for Yuld have come sooner; the round tace of the te ‘* At all events,’’ thought Jack, “if it had not been | neck in water, showed a good deal of presence of | Had Jack | been a common personage, we should never have se- | it high time to call for assistance, which at | weight of the bucket, at which Jack was not surprised; | ry, Mary!’’ screamed | herself, for with all her | sion. Midshipman Easy. | bounded his view, just as one of the satellites of Jupi- ‘ter sametimes obscures the face of the planet round which he revolves. | “Here I am,” cned Jack; “get me up quick, or I shall be dead; and what Jack said was true, for he | Was quite done up by having been so long down, although his courage had not failed him. ‘“* Dang it, but there be somebody fallen into the well,” cried the farmer; “no end to mishaps this day. Well, we must get a Christian out of a well afore we geta bull out of a cy ap so ['l go and call the men.”’ In a very short time the men who were assembled round the saw-pit were brought to the well. ‘*Down below there, hold on now.” ‘* Never fear,” cried Jack. Away went th» winch, and once more Jack had an extended horizon to survey. As soon as he was at the top, the men hauled him over the bricks and laid him vor upon the ground, for Jack’s strength had failed im “Dang it, if it bean’t the chap who was on my apple- | tree,”’ cried the farmer—** howsomever, he must not die for stealing a few apples: lift him up, lads, and take him in—he is dead with cold— no wonder.” The farmer led the way, and the men carried Jack into the house, when the farmer gave him a glass of brandy; this restored Jack’s circulation, and in a short time he was all right again. After some previous conversation, in which Jack nar- rated all that had happened, “What may be your name?” inquired the farmer. name is Easy,”’ replied Jack. t! be you the son of Mr. Easy, of Forest Hill?” Yes.’ “ Dang it, he be my landlord, and a right good land- lord too—why didn’t you say so when you were up in the ped pes You might have picked the whole orchard and welcome.” | “My dear sir,” replied Jack, who had t~ken a second ep of brandy, and was quite talkative again, “let be a warning to you; and when a man proposes to argue the point, always, in future, listen. ad you _ waited, I would have proved to you most incontestabl that you had no more right to the apples than I had; _ but you would not listen to argument, and without dis- on we can never arrive at truth. You send for dog, who is ripped up by the bull—the bull breaks ** “ “ _jaw—your maid Susan spoils all the bread—and why, use you would not allow me to argue the point.” *'Wel!, Mr. Kasy, it be all true that all these mishaps jaw ose all your honey—your man John breaks his the point, perhaps, although, as I rent the, orchard from your father, I cannot imagine how you could | ney to me that the apres were not mine; but now, _tet’s take your side of the question, and I don’t see how /you be much better off; you get up in a tree for a few apples, with plenty of money to buy them if you like— you are kept there by a_dog—you are nearly gored by a bull—you are stung by the bees, and you tumble | Souseanto a well, and are nearly killed a dozen times, | and all for a few apples not worth propence.. | “Allvery true my good man,” replied Jack ; “but you forget that I, as a philosopher, was defending the rights of man. / “Well, I never knew before that a lad who stole apples was called a philosopher—we calls it petty lar-_ _ceny in the indictments ; and as for your pete of man, I cannot see how they can be defended by doing what’s wrong.”’ | *“ You do not comprehend the matter, farmer.” res Ho, I don’t—and I be too old to learn, Master Easy. | have to say is this, you are welcome to all the | apples in the orchard if you please ; and if you pre- | fers, as it seems you do, to steal them instead of asking for them, which only can account for by the reason that they say, that “stolen fruits be sweetest,” I’ve only to say that I shall give orders that you be uot in- _terfered with. My chaise be at the door, Master Easy, | and the man will drive you to your father’s—make my compliments to him, and say that I’m very sorry that ' you tuinbled into our well.” | As Jack was much more inclined for bed than argu- ment, he wished the farmer good-night, and allowed himself to be driven home. The pain from the sting of the bees, now that his cir- culation had fully returned, was so great, that he was not sorry to find Dr. Middleton taking his tea with his father and mother. Jack merely said that he had been so unfortunate as to upset a hive severely stung. He deferred the whole story till an- other Opportunity. Dr. Middleton prescribed for Jack, but on taking his hand found that he was in a high | fever, which, after the events of the day, was not to wondered at. Jack was bled, and kept his bed for a week, by which time he was restored ; but during that time Jack had been thinking very seriously, and had made up his mind. pred which was probably the cause of Jack's deci- Vhen Jack returned on the evening in question, he found seated with his father and Dr. Middleton, a Captain Wilson, a sort of cousin to the family, who but occasionally paid them a visit, for he lived at some who lived upon distance ; and having a wife and large family, with | nothing but his half-pay for their support, he could not aiford to cay ytae even shoe-leather in compliments, The object of this visit on the part of Captain Wilson cu his I leg in a saw-pit—the bee-hives are overturned, and — 0 rt have happened because I would not allow you to argue | . and he was | and had been | But we must explain a circumstance which had oc- | 5 — -_-_- -— not much inclined to think. But Jack was in bed; his eves were so swollen with the stings of the bees that he could neither read or otherwise amuse himself; and he preferred his own thougiits to the gabble of Sarah, who attended him; so Jack thought, and the result of his cogitations we shal! soon bring forward. a was on the eighth day that Jack left his bed and came down into the drawing-room. He then detailed to his father the adventures which had taken place, which had obliged him to take to his bed. “You see, Jack,” replied his father, “it’s just what I told you: the world is so utterly demoralized by what is called social compact, and the phalanx supporting it, by contributing a portion of their unjust possessions for the security of the remainder, is so powerful, that any one who opposes it must expect to pass the life of a martyr; but martyrs are always required previous to any truth, however sublime, being received; d like Abraham, whom I have always considered as a great philosopher, I am willing to sacrifice my only son in so noble a cause.” “That's all very good on your part, father, but we must argue the point a little. If you are as great a philosopher as Abraham, I am not quite so dutiful a son as fanac. whose blind obedience, in my opinion, is very contrary to your rights of man: but the fact, in few words, is simply this. In promulgating your phil- osophy, in the short space of two days, I have been robbed of the fish I caught, and my rod and line -l have been soused into a fish-pond—I have been fright- ened out of my wits by a bull-dog—being nearly killed by a bull—being stung to death by bees, and _ twice tumbled into a well. Now, if all that happened in two days, what must I expect to suffer ina whole year? It appears to be very unwise to attempt making further converts, for people on shore seem determined not to listen to reason or argument. But it has occurred to me, that ‘although the whole earth has been so nefa- riously divided among the few, that the waters at least are the property of all. No man claims his share of the sea—every one may there plow as he pleases, with- out being taken up fora trespasser. Even war makes no difference; every one may go on as he pleases, and if they meet, it is nothing but a neutral ground on which the parties contend. Itis, then, only upon the ocean that I am likely to find that equality and rights of man which we are so anxious to establish on shore; and, therefore, I have resolved not to goto school again, which I detest, but to go to sea, and propagate our opinions as much as I can.” ‘**T cannot listen to that, Jack. In the first place, you _must return to school; in the next place, you shall not to sea, “Then, father, allI have to say is, that I swear by the rights of man I will not go back to school, and vhat I will go to sea. Who and what is to prevent me? Was not I born my own master’—has any one a right to dic- tate to me as if I were not his equal? Have I not as much right to my share of the sea as any other mortal? I stand upon tein equality,’ continued Jack, stamp- ing his right foot on the floor, Vhat had Mr, Easy to offer in reply? He must either, as a philosopher, have sacrificed his hypothesis, or, as a father, have sacrificed his son. Like all philosophers, he preferred what he considered as the less important of the two, he sacrificed his son; but—we will do him _justice—he did it with a sigh. ** Jack, you shall, if you wish it, go to sea.” “That of course,” replied Jack, with the air of a con- queror; “ but the question 1s, with whom? Now it has occurred to me, that Captain Wilson has just been ap- pointed to a ship, and I should like to sail with him,” “T will write to him,” said Mr. Easy, mournfully _“but I should have liked to have felt his head first;” and thus was the matter arranged. The answer from. Captain Wilson was, of course, in the affirmative, and he promised that he would treat Jack as his own son, Our hero mounted his father’s horse, and rode off to Mr. Bonnycastie. é' ‘‘l am going to sea, Mr. Bonnycastle.”’ . very best thing for you,’ replied Mr. Bonny- castle Our hero met Dr. Middleton. | “T am going to sea, Dr, Middleton.” | “ The ver st thing for you,” replied the doctor, | “Tam going to sea, mother,” said John. “To sea, John, to sea? no, no, dear John, you are not going to sea,” replied Mrs. Easy, with horror. “Y¥es,Iam; father has agreed, and says he will ob- tain your consent.” ‘““My consent! Oh, my dear, dear boy!”—and Mrs, Easy wept bitterly, as ‘hel mourning for her child- ren. CHAPTER VIII. IN WHICH MR. EASY HAS HIS FIRST LESSON AS TO ZEAL IN HIS MAJESTY’S SERVICE. | As there was no time to lose, our hero very soon bade adieu to his paternal roof, as the phrase is, and found his way down to Portsmouth. As Jack had plenty of money, and was very much pleased at finding himself his own master, he was in no hurry to joim his ship, | and five or six companions, not very creditable, whom either Jack had picked up, or had picked up Jack, and ) im, strongly advised him to pup it off until the very last moment. As this advice ha ed to comcide with Jack's opinion, our hero was thr weeks at Portsmouth before any one Knew of ar- rival, but at last Captain Wilson received a letter fre was to request the aid of Mr. Easy. He had succeeded | Mr. Kasy, by which he found that Jack had left home | #2 once, Sa appointment to a — of war, (for he | at the period we have mentioned, and he desired the was in the king’s service), but was w | of fitting himself out, witnout leaving his wife and fam- ily — ess. Hé therefore came to request Mr. Easy to lend him a few hundred pounds, until he should be able, _by his prize-money, to repay them. Mr. Easy was not a man to refuse such a request; and always having plenty of spare cash at his banker's, he drew a cheque tor a thousand pounds, whieh he gave to Captain Wil- son, requesting that he would only repay it at his con- of the debt, promising to pay upon his first prize-money, | which receipt, however binding it may be to a man of honor, was, in point of law, about as valuable as if he had agreed to pay as soon “as the cows came home.” | The affair had been just concluded, and a Wilson had returned into the parlor with Mr y, when Jack returned from his ex tion. Jack Captain _ known; but, as we before observed -much pain, that he soon retired with Dr. Middleton, and weut to bed. : _ During a week there is room for much reflection, er even ina lad of fourteen, although at that age we are by Mr, Sawbridge, and threw open the door. | a person arrived as Mr, Easy. ilson, whom he had long the w he suffered so | out the means | first lieutenant to make inquiries, as he was afraid that some accident might have + degen to him. Sawbridge, the first lieutenant, 'on shore on the sameevening forthe last time previous As Mr 1appened to be going to the ship's sailing, he looked into the Blue’ Posts, orge, and Fountain Inns, toinguire if there was such “Oh yes,” replied the waiter of the Fountain, *‘ Mr. Easy has been here these with all _ three weeks.” venience. Captain Wilson wrote an acknowledgment | ‘The devil he has,"’ roared Mr, Sawbridge the indignation of a first lieutenant def rauded three | room?” the front weeks of a midshipman; where is he; in the coffee- ‘* Oh dear no, sir,” replied the waiter, “ Mr. Easy has ang ote on the first floor.”’ “ Well, then, show me up to the first floor.” “ ay a request the pleasure of your name, sir?” said r. ** First lieutenants don’t send up their names t» mid- shipmen,”™ replied Mr. Sawbridge; ‘he shall soon know who I ain.” At this reply, the waiter walked up-stairs, followed S) Eboo <€om