Newton Forster | Page 3

a chapter without
having the slightest idea of what materials the ensuing one is to be
constructed. At times I feel so tired that I throw down the pen in
despair; but t is soon taken up again, and, like a pigmy Ant, it seems to
have imbibed fresh vigour from its prostration.
I remember when the "King's Own" was finished, I was as happy as a
pedestrian who had accomplished his thousand miles in a thousand
hours. My voluntary slavery was over, and I was emancipated. Where
was I then? I recollect; within two days' sail of the Lizard, returning
home, after a six weeks' cruise to discover a rock in the Atlantic, which
never existed except in the terrified or intoxicated noddle of some
master of a merchant vessel.
It was about half-past five in the evening, and I was alone in my
after-cabin, quite alone, as the captain of a man-of-war must be, even
when in presence of his ship's company. If being sent to sea has been
pronounced by the officers and men to be transportation, being the
captain of the ship may truly be designated as solitary confinement.
I could not send for any one to whom I could impart the
intelligence--there was no one whom I could expect to sympathise with
me, or to whom I could pour out the abundance of my joy; for that the
service prohibited. What could I do? Why, I could dance; so I sprang
from my chair, and singing the tune, commenced a quadrille
movement,--Tal de ral la, tal de ral la, lity, lity, lity, liddle-um, tal de
ral la, tal--
"Three bells, sir," cried the first lieutenant, who had opened my door
unperceived by me, and showed evident surprise at my motions; "shall
we beat to quarters?"--
"Certainly, Mr B--," replied I, and he disappeared.
But this interruption produced only a temporary cessation: I was in the
height of "Cavalier seul," when his head popped into the cabin--

"All present, and sober, sir," reported he, with a demure smile.
"Except the captain, I presume you are thinking," replied I.
"Oh! no, indeed, sir; I observed that you were very merry."
"I am, Mr B--, but not with wine; mine is a sort of intellectual
intoxication not provided for in the Articles of War."
"A what! sir?"
"Oh! something that you'll never get drunk upon, as you never look into
a book--beat a retreat."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the first lieutenant; and he disappeared.
And I also beat a retreat to my sofa; and as I threw myself upon it,
mentally vowed that, for two months at the least, I never would take up
a pen. But we seldom make a vow which we do not eventually break;
and the reason is obvious. We vow only when hurried into excesses; we
are alarmed at the dominion which has been acquired over us by our
feelings, or by our habits. Checked for a time by an adherence to our
resolutions, they gradually recover their former strength, until they
again break forth, and we yield to their overpowering influence. A few
days after I had made the resolution, I found myself, like the sailor,
rewarding it by writing more indefatigably than ever.
So now, reader, you may understand that I continue to write, as Tony
Lumpkin says, not to please my good-natured friends, "but because I
can't bear to disappoint myself;" for that which I commenced as an
amusement, and continued as a drudgery, has ended in becoming a
confirmed habit.
So much for the overture. Now let us draw up the curtain, and our
actors shall appear upon the stage.
Chapter II

"Boldly I venture on a naval scene, Nor fear the critics' frown, the
pedants' spleen. Sons of the ocean, we their rules disdain. Hark!--a
shock Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock. Down on the vale of
death, with dismal cries, The fated victims, shuddering, roll their eyes
In wild despair--while yet another stroke With deep convulsion rends
the solid oak, Till like the mine in whose infernal cell The lurking
demons of destruction dwell, At length, asunder torn, her frame divides,
And crushing, spreads in ruin o'er the tides." FALCONER.
It was in the dreary month of fog, misanthropy, and suicide--the month
during which Heaven receives a scantier tribute of gratitude from
discontented man--during which the sun rises, but shines not--gives
forth an unwilling light, but glads us not with his cheerful rays--during
which large tallow candles assist the merchant to calculate his gains or
to philosophise over his losses--in short, it was one evening in the
month of November of the year l7--, that Edward Forster, who had
served many years in his Majesty's navy, was seated in a snug armchair,
in a snug parlour, in