Newton Forster

Newton Forster, by Frederick Marryat

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Newton Forster, by Frederick Marryat This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Newton Forster
Author: Frederick Marryat
Release Date: July 20, 2004 [EBook #12959]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEWTON FORSTER ***

Produced by Ted Garvin, Celsus Clark, Elaine Wilson and PG Distributed Proofreaders

NEWTON FORSTER OR, THE MERCHANT SERVICE
BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT
LONDON J.M. DENT AND CO. BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND CO. MDCCCXCV 1832, 1895
[Illustration]
Contents
CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI

CHAPTER XXXII

CHAPTER XXXIII

CHAPTER XXXIV

CHAPTER XXXV

CHAPTER XXXVI

CHAPTER XXXVII

CHAPTER XXXVIII

CHAPTER XXXIX

CHAPTER XL

CHAPTER XLI

CHAPTER XLII

CHAPTER XLIII

CHAPTER XLIV

CHAPTER XLV

CHAPTER XLVI

CHAPTER XLVII

CHAPTER XLVIII

CHAPTER XLIX

CHAPTER L

CHAPTER LI

CHAPTER LII

CHAPTER LIII

Prefatory Note
Newton Forster, or the Merchant Service, first appeared in the Metropolitan Magazine, 1832. It is one of the novels which specially suggests a comparison between Marryat and Smollett, both authors having described acts of impressment with vigour and indignation.
Jeffrey, of the Edinburgh Review, wrote to Mrs Marryat, January 1832:----
"That I have read it [Newton Forster] all through in the week I have to finish the preparation of our Scotch Reform Bill (if you will forgive me for mentioning such a thing) is proof enough, I think, that my opinion is very favourable. It is certainly very entertaining, which I take to be the first virtue of a work of this description; but it is interesting as well as entertaining, and not only shows great power of invention, but a very amiable nature and a kind heart."
The Editor quoted on page 23 is presumably Marryat himself. At least the footnote occurs in the first edition, and was probably reprinted from the magazine, where the identity of editor and author was not so patent.
It is here printed from the first edition, in three volumes; motto: Honesty is the best policy. James Cochrane & Co., 1832.[1] R.B.J. [Footnote 1: Thompson has been changed to Johnson and, in another place, Robinson to Robertson, in order to let the same characters act under one name throughout the book.]

Newton Forster;
OR,
The Merchant Service
* * * * *
Chapter I
"And what is this new book the whole world makes such a rout about? ----Oh! 'tis out of all plumb, my lord,----quite an irregular thing; not one of the angles at the four corners was a right angle. I had my rule and compasses, my lord, in my pocket----Excellent critic!
"Grant me patience, just Heaven! Of all the cants which are canted in this canting world----though the cant of hypocrites may be the worst, the cant of criticism is the most tormenting!"----Sterne.
What authors in general may feel upon the subject I know not, but I have discovered, since I so rashly took up my pen, that there are three portions of a novel which are extremely difficult to arrange to the satisfaction of a fastidious public.
The first is the beginning, the second the middle, and the third is the end.
The painter who, in times of yore, exposed his canvas to universal criticism, and found, to his mortification, that there was not a particle of his composition which had not been pronounced defective by one pseudo-critic or another, did not receive severer castigation than I have experienced from the unsolicited remarks of "d----d good-natured friends."
"I like your first and second volume," said a tall, long-chinned, short-sighted blue, dressed in yellow, peering into my face, as if her eyes were magnifying glasses, and she was obtaining the true focus of vision, "but you fall off in your last, which is all about that nasty line-of-battle ship."
"I don't like your plot, sir," bawls out in a stentorian voice an elderly gentleman; "I don't like your plot, sir," repeated he with an air of authority, which he had long assumed, from supposing because people would not be at the trouble of contradicting his opinions, that they were incontrovertible--"there is nothing but death."
"Death, my dear sir," replied I, as if I was hailing the lookout man at the mast-head, and hoping to soften him with my intentional bull; "is not death, sir, a true picture of human life?"
"Ay, ay," growled he, either not hearing or not taking; "it's all very well, but--there's too much killing in it."
"In a novel, sir, killing's no murder, you surely will admit; and you must also allow something for professional feeling--''tis my occupation;' and after five-and-twenty years of constant practice, whether I wield the sword or the pen, the force of habit----"
"It won't do, sir," interrupted he; "the public don't like it. Otherwise," continued this hypercritic, softening