Mr. Midshipman Easy. Фредерик Марриет

replied John, nodding his head very significantly.

      “One would think that the devil had broke loose to-day. What is it, John? Have you seen him, and has Susan seen him?”

      “Aw-yaw.”

      “He’s stopped your jaw, then, at all events, and I thought the devil himself wouldn’t have done that—we shall get nothing of you. Is that wench coming to her senses?”

      “Yes, yes, she’s better now.—Susan, what’s the matter?”

      “Oh, oh, ma’am! the well, the well—”

      “The well! Something wrong there, I suppose: well, I will go and see.”

      The farmer trotted off to the well; he perceived the bucket was at the bottom and all the rope out; he looked about him, and then he looked into the well. Jack, who had become very impatient, had been looking up some time for the assistance which he expected would have come sooner; the round face of the farmer occasioned a partial eclipse of the round disc which bounded his view, just as one of the satellites of Jupiter sometimes obscures the face of the planet round which he revolves.

      “Here I am,” cried 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 get a bull out of a saw-pit, so I’ll go 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 the 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 down upon the ground, for Jack’s strength had failed him.

      “Dang it, if it bean’t that 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 narrated all that had happened, “What may be your name?” inquired the farmer.

      “My name is Easy,” replied Jack.

      “What, be you the son of Mr. Easy, of Forest Hill?”

      “Yes.”

      “Dang it, he be my landlord, and a right good landlord too—why didn’t you say so when you were up in the apple-tree? You might have picked the whole orchard and welcome.”

      “My dear sir,” replied Jack, who had taken a second glass of brandy, and was quite talkative again, “let this be a warning to you, and when a man proposes to argue the point, always, in future, listen. Had you waited, I would have proved to you most incontestably that you had no more right to the apples than I had; but you would not listen to argument, and without discussion we can never arrive at truth. You send for your dog, who is ripped up by the bull—the bull breaks his leg in a saw-pit—the bee-hives are overturned and you lose all your honey—your man John breaks his jaw—your maid Susan spoils all the bread—and why? because you would not allow me to argue the point.”

      “Well, Mr. Easy, it be all true that all these mishaps have happened because I would not allow you to argue the point, perhaps, although, as I rent the orchard from your father, I cannot imagine how you could have proved to me that the apples were not mine; but now, let’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 souse into a well, and are nearly killed a dozen times, and all for a few apples not worth twopence.”

      “All very 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 larceny in the indictments; and as for your rights of man, I cannot see how they can be defended by doing what’s wrong.”

      “You do not comprehend the matter, farmer.”

      “No, I don’t—and I be too old to learn, Master Easy. All I have to say is this, you are welcome to all the apples in the orchard if you please, and if you prefers, as it seems you do, to steal them, instead of asking for them, which I only can account for by the reason that they say, that ‘stolen fruit be sweetest,’ I’ve only to say that I shall give orders that you be not interfered 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 tumbled into our well.”

      As Jack was much more inclined for bed than argument, he wished the farmer good-night, and allowed himself to be driven home.

      The pain from the sting of the bees, now that his circulation 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, and had been severely stung. He deferred the whole story till another 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 be 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.

      But we must explain a circumstance which had occurred, which was probably the cause of Jack’s decision. When 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 distance; and having a wife and large family, with nothing but his half-pay for their support, he could not afford to expend even shoe-leather in compliments. The object of this visit on the part of Captain Wilson was to request the aid of Mr. Easy. He had succeeded in obtaining his appointment to a sloop of war (for he was in the king’s service), but was without the means of fitting himself out, without leaving his wife and family penniless. He 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 for a thousand pounds, which he gave to Captain Wilson, requesting that he would only repay it at his convenience. Captain Wilson wrote an acknowledgment of the debt, promising to pay upon his first prize-money, which receipt, however binding it may be to a man of honour, 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 Captain Wilson had returned into the parlour with Mr. Easy, when Jack returned from his expedition.

      Jack greeted Captain Wilson, whom he had long known; but, as we before observed, he suffered so much pain, that he soon retired with Dr. Middleton, and went to bed.

      During a week there is room for much reflection, even in a lad of fourteen, although at that age we are not much inclined to think. But Jack was in bed; his eyes were so swollen with the stings of the bees that he could neither read nor otherwise amuse himself; and he preferred his own thoughts to the gabble of Sarah, who attended him. So Jack thought, and the result of his cogitations we shall soon bring forward.

      It 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