The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle | Page 6

under the direction of one Mr. Hatchway, who had one of his legs shot
away while he acted as lieutenant on board the commodore's ship; and
now, being on half-pay, lives with him as his companion. The

lieutenant is a very brave man, a great joker, and, as the saying is, hath
got the length of his commander's foot--though he has another favourite
in the house called Tom Pipes, that was his boatswain's mate, and now
keeps the servants in order. Tom is a man of few words, but an
excellent hand at a song concerning the boatswain's whistle, hustle-cap,
and chuck-farthing--there is not such another pipe in the county--so that
the commodore lives very happy in his own manner; though he be
sometimes thrown into perilous passions and quandaries, by the
application of his poor kinsmen, whom he can't abide, because as how
some of them were the first occasion of his going to sea. Then he
sweats with agony at the sight of an attorney, just, for all the world, as
some people have an antipathy to a cat: for it seems he was once at law,
for striking one of his officers, and cast in a swinging sum. He is,
moreover, exceedingly afflicted with goblins that disturb his rest, and
keep such a racket in his house, that you would think (God bless us!)
all the devils in hell had broke loose upon him. It was no longer ago
than last year about this time, that he was tormented the livelong night
by the mischievous spirits that got into his chamber, and played a
thousand pranks about his hammock, for there is not one bed within his
walls. Well, sir, he rang his bell, called up all his servants, got lights,
and made a thorough search; but the devil a goblin was to be found. He
had no sooner turned in again, and the rest of the family gone to sleep,
than the foul fiends began their game anew. The commodore got up in
the dark, drew his cutlass, and attacked them both so manfully, that in
five minutes everything in the apartment went to pieces, The lieutenant,
hearing the noise, came to his assistance. Tom Pipes, being told what
was the matter, lighted his match, and going down to the yard, fired all
the patereroes as signals of distress. Well, to be sure the whole parish
was in a pucker: some thought the French had landed; others imagined
the commodore's house was beset by thieves; for my own part, I called
up two dragoons that are quartered upon me, and they swore, with
deadly oaths, it was a gang of smugglers engaged with a party of their
regiment that lies in the next village; and mounting their horses like
lusty fellows, rode up into the country as fast as their beasts could carry
them. Ah, master! These are hard times, when an industrious body
cannot earn his bread without fear of the gallows. Your worship's father
(God rest his soul!) was a good gentleman, and as well respected in this

parish as e'er a he that walks upon neat's leather; and if your honour
should want a small parcel of fine tea, or a few ankers of right Nantes,
I'll be bound you shall be furnished to your heart's content. But, as I
was saying, the hubbub continued till morning, when the parson being
sent for, conjured the spirits into the Red Sea; and the house has been
pretty quiet ever since. True it is, Mr. Hatchway makes a mock of the
whole affair; and told his commander, in this very blessed spot, that the
two goblins were no other than a couple of jackdaws which had fallen
down the chimney, and made a flapping with their wings up and down
the apartment. But the commodore, who is very choleric, and does not
like to be jeered, fell into a main high passion, and stormed like a
perfect hurricane, swearing that he knew a devil from a jackdaw as well
as e'er a man in the three kingdoms. He owned, indeed, that the birds
were found, but denied that they were the occasion of the uproar. For
my own part, master, I believe much may be said on both sides of the
question; though to be sure, the devil is always going about, as the
saying is."
This circumstantial account, extraordinary as it was, never altered one
feature in the countenance of Mr. Pickle, who, having heard it to an end,
took the pipe from his mouth, saying, with a look of infinite sagacity
and deliberation, "I do suppose he is of the Cornish Trunnions. What
sort of a woman is his spouse?" "Spouse!" cried the other; "odds-heart!
I don't think he would marry the queen of Sheba.