Mr Midshipman Easy Read online

  “Well, Mr Easy, at all events then let me choose the name.”

  “That you shall, my dear, and it was with this view that I have mentioned the subject so early.”

  “I think, Mr Easy, I will call the boy after my poor father—his name shall be Robert.”

  “Very well, my dear, if you wish it, it shall be Robert. You shall have your own way. But I think, my dear, upon a little consideration, you will acknowledge that there is a decided objection.”

  “An objection, Mr Easy?”

  “Yes, my dear; Robert may be very well, but you must reflect upon the consequences; he is certain to be called Bob.”

  “Well, my dear, and suppose they do call him Bob?”

  “I cannot bear even the supposition, my dear. You forget the county in which we are residing, the downs covered with sheep.”

  “Why, Mr Easy, what can sheep have to do with a Christian name?”

  “There it is; women never look to consequences. My dear, they have a great deal to do with the name of Bob. I will appeal to any farmer in the county, if ninety-nine shepherds’ dogs out of one hundred are not called Bob. Now observe, your child is out of doors somewhere in the fields or plantations; you want and you call him. Instead of your child, what do you find? Why, a dozen curs at least, who come running up to you, all answering to the name of Bob, and wagging their stumps of tails. You see Mrs Easy, it is a dilemma not to be got over. You level your only son to the brute creation by giving him a Christian name which, from its peculiar brevity, has been monopolised by all the dogs in the county. Any other name you please, my dear, but in this one instance you must allow me to lay my positive veto.”

  “Well, then, let me see—but I’ll think of it, Mr Easy; my head aches very much just now.”

  “I will think for you, my dear. What do you say to John?”

  “O no, Mr Easy, such a common name.”

  “A proof of its popularity, my dear. It is scriptural—we have the Apostle and the Baptist—we have a dozen Popes who were all Johns. It is royal— we have plenty of kings who were Johns—and moreover, it is short, and sounds honest and manly.”

  “Yes, very true, my dear; but they will call him Jack.”

  “Well, we have had several celebrated characters who were Jacks. There was—let me see—Jack the Giant Killer, and Jack of the Bean Stalk—and Jack—Jack—”

  “Jack Spratt,” replied Mrs Easy.

  “And Jack Cade, Mrs Easy, the great rebel—and Three-fingered Jack, Mrs Easy, the celebrated negro—and, above all, Jack Falstaff, ma’am, Jack Falstaff—honest Jack Falstaff—witty Jack Falstaff—”

  “I thought, Mr Easy, that I was to be permitted to choose the name.”

  “Well, so you shall, my dear; I give it up to you. Do just as you please; but depend upon it that John is the right name. Is it not now, my dear?”

  “It’s the way you always treat me, Mr Easy; you say that you give it up, and that I shall have my own way but I never do have it. I am sure that the child will be christened John.”

  “Nay, my dear, it shall be just what you please. Now I recollect it, there were several Greek emperors who were Johns; but decide for yourself, my dear.”

  “No, no,” replied Mrs Easy, who was ill, and unable to contend any longer, “I give it up, Mr Easy. I know how it will be, as it always is: you give me my own way as people give pieces of gold to children, it’s their own money, but they must not spend it. Pray call him John.”

  “There, my dear, did not I tell you you would be of my opinion upon reflection? I knew you would. I have given you your own way, and you tell me to call him John; so now we’re both of the same mind, and that point is settled.”

  “I should like to go to sleep, Mr Easy; I feel far from well.”

  “You shall always do just as you like, my dear,” replied the husband, “and have your own way in everything. It is the greatest pleasure I have when I yield to your wishes. I will walk in the garden. Good-bye, my dear.”

  Mrs Easy made no reply, and the philosopher quitted the room. As may easily be imagined, on the following day the boy was christened John.

  CHAPTER III

  In which our hero has to wait the issue of an argument.

  THE READER may observe that, in general, all my first chapters are very short, and increase in length as the work advances. I mention this as a proof of my modesty and diffidence. At first, I am like a young bird just out of its mother’s nest, pluming my little feathers and taking short flights. By degrees I obtain more confidence, and wing my course over hill and dale.

  It is very difficult to throw any interest into a chapter on childhood. There is the same uniformity in all children until they develop. We cannot, therefore, say much relative to Jack Easy’s earliest days; he sucked and threw up his milk while the nurse blessed it for a pretty dear, slept, and sucked again. He crowed in the morning like a cock, screamed when he was washed, stared at the candle, and made wry faces with the wind. Six months passed in these innocent amusements, and then he was put into shorts. But I ought here to have remarked, that Mrs Easy did not find herself equal to nursing her own infant, and it was necessary to look out for a substitute.

  Now a common-place person would have been satisfied with the recommendation of the medical man, who looks but to the one thing needful, which is a sufficient and wholesome supply of nourishment for the child; but Mr Easy was a philosopher, and had latterly taken to craniology, and he descanted very learnedly with the Doctor upon the effect of his only son obtaining his nutriment from an unknown source. “Who knows,” observed Mr Easy, “but that my son may not imbibe with his milk the very worst passions of human nature.”

  “I have examined her,” replied the Doctor, “and can safely recommend her.”

  “That examination is only preliminary to one more important,” replied Mr Easy. “I must examine her.”

  “Examine who, Mr Easy?” exclaimed his wife, who had lain down again on the bed.

  “The nurse, my dear.”

  “Examine what, Mr Easy?” continued the lady.

  “Her head, my dear,” replied the husband. “I must ascertain what her propensities are.”

  “I think you had better leave her alone, Mr Easy. She comes this evening, and I shall question her pretty severely. Doctor Middleton, what do you know of this young person?”

  “I know, madam, that she is very healthy and strong or I should not have selected her.”

  “But is her character good?”

  “Really, madam, I know little about her character; but you can make any inquiries you please. But at the same time I ought to observe, that if you are too particular in that point, you will have some difficulty in providing yourself.”

  “Well, I shall see,” replied Mrs Easy.

  “And I shall feel,” rejoined the husband.

  This parleying was interrupted by the arrival of the very person in question, who was announced by the housemaid, and was ushered in. She was a handsome, florid, healthy-looking girl, awkward and naive in her manner, and apparently not over wise; there was more of the dove than of the serpent in her composition.

  Mr Easy, who was very anxious to make his own discoveries, was the first who spoke. “Young woman, come this way, I wish to examine your head.”

  “Oh! dear me, sir, it’s quite clean, I assure you,” cried the girl, dropping a curtsey.

  Doctor Middleton, who sat between the bed and Mr Easy’s chair, rubbed his hands and laughed.

  In the meantime, Mr Easy had untied the string and taken off the cap of the young woman, and was very busy putting his fingers through her hair, during which the face of the young woman expressed fear and astonishment.

  “I am glad to perceive that you have a large portion of benevolence.”

  “Yes,” replied the young woman, dropping a curtsey.

  “And veneration also.”

  “Thanky, sir.”

  “And the organ of modesty is strongly developed.”

  “
Yes, sir,” replied the girl with a smile.

  “That’s quite a new organ,” thought Dr Middleton.

  “Philo-progenitiveness very powerful.”

  “If you please, sir, I don’t know what that is,” answered Sarah, with a curtsey.

  “Nevertheless you have given us a practical illustration. Mrs Easy, I am satisfied. Have you any questions to ask? But it is quite unnecessary.”

  “To be sure I have, Mr Easy. Pray, young woman, what is your name?”

  “Sarah, if you please, ma’am.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Married, ma’am?”

  “Yes, married.”

  “If you please, ma’am, I had a misfortune, ma’am,” replied the girl, casting down her eyes.

  “What, have you not been married?”

  “No, ma’am, not yet.”

  “Good heavens! Dr Middleton, what can you mean by bringing this person here?” exclaimed Mrs Easy. “Not a married woman, and she has a child!”

  “If you please, ma’am,” interrupted the young woman, dropping a curtsey, “it was a very little one.”

  “A very little one!” exclaimed Mrs Easy.

  “Yes, ma’am, very small, indeed, and died soon after it was born.”

  “Oh, Dr Middleton!—what could you mean, Dr Middleton?”

  “My dear madam,” exclaimed the Doctor, rising from his chair, “this is the only person that I could find suited to the wants of your child, and if you do not take her I cannot answer for its life. It is true, that a married woman might be procured; but married women, who have a proper feeling, will not desert their own children; and as Mr Easy asserts, and you appear to imagine, the temper and disposition of your child may be affected by the nourishment it receives, I think it more likely to be injured by the milk of a married woman who will desert her own child for the sake of gain. The misfortune which has happened to this young woman is not always a proof of a bad heart, but of strong attachment, and the overweening confidence of simplicity.”

  “You are correct, Doctor,” replied Mr Easy, “and her head proves that she is a modest young woman, with strong religious feeling, kindness of disposition, and every other requisite.”

  “The head may prove it all for what I know, Mr Easy, but her conduct tells another tale.”

  “She is well fitted for the situation, ma’am,” continued the Doctor.

  “And if you please, ma’am,” rejoined Sarah, “it was such a little one.”

  “Shall I try the baby, ma’am?” said the monthly nurse, who had listened in silence. “It is fretting so, poor thing, and has its dear little fist right down its throat.”

  Dr Middleton gave the signal of assent, and in a few seconds Master John Easy was fixed to Sarah as tight as a leech.

  “Lord love it, how hungry it is!—there, there, stop it a moment, it’s choking, poor thing!”

  Mrs Easy, who was lying on her bed, rose up, and went to the child. Her first feeling was that of envy, that another should have such a pleasure which was denied to herself; the next, that of delight, at the satisfaction expressed by the infant. In a few minutes the child fell back in a deep sleep. Mrs Easy was satisfied; maternal feelings conquered all others, and Sarah was duly installed.

  To make short work of it, we have said that Jack Easy in six months was in shorts. He soon afterwards began to crawl and show his legs; indeed, so indecorously, that it was evident that he had imbibed no modesty with Sarah’s milk, neither did he appear to have gained veneration or benevolence, for he snatched at everything, squeezed the kitten to death, scratched his mother, and pulled his father by the hair; notwithstanding all which, both his father and mother and the whole household declared him to be the finest and sweetest child in the universe. But if we were to narrate all the wonderful events of Jack’s childhood from the time of his birth up to the age of seven years, as chronicled by Sarah, who continued his dry nurse after he had been weaned, it would take at least three volumes folio. Jack was brought up in the way that every only child usually is—that is, he was allowed to have his own way.

  CHAPTER IV

  In which the Doctor prescribes going to school as a remedy for a cut finger.

  “HAVE YOU no idea of putting the boy to school, Mr Easy?” said Dr Middleton, who had been summoned by a groom with his horse in a foam to attend immediately at Forest Hill, the name of Mr Easy’s mansion, and who, upon his arrival, had found that Master Easy had cut his thumb. One would have thought that he had cut his head off by the agitation pervading the whole household—Mr Easy walking up and down very uneasy, Mrs Easy with great difficulty prevented from syncope, and all the maids bustling and passing round Mrs Easy’s chair. Everybody appeared excited except Master Jack Easy himself, who, with a rag round his finger, and his pinafore spotted with blood, was playing at bob-cherry, and cared nothing about the matter.

  “Well, what’s the matter, my little man?” said Dr Middleton, on entering, addressing himself to Jack, as the most sensible of the whole party.

  “Oh, Dr Middleton,” interrupted Mrs Easy, “he has cut his hand; I’m sure that a nerve is divided, and then the lockjaw.”

  The Doctor made no reply, but examined the finger: Jack Easy continued to play bob-cherry with his right hand.

  “Have you such a thing as a piece of sticking-plaster in the house, madam?” observed the Doctor, after examination.

  “O yes:—run, Mary,—run, Sarah!” In a few seconds the maids appeared, Sarah bringing the sticking-plaster, and Mary following with the scissors.

  “Make yourself quite easy, madam,” said Dr Middleton, after he put on the plaster, “I will answer for no evil consequences.”

  “Had I not better take him upstairs, and let him lie down a little?” replied Mrs Easy, slipping a guinea into the Doctor’s hand.

  “It is not absolutely requisite, madam,” said the Doctor; “but at all events he will be kept out of more mischief.”

  “Come, my dear, you hear what Dr Middleton says.”

  “Yes, I heard,” replied Jack; “but I sha’n’t go.”

  “My dear Johnny—come, love—now do, my dear Johnny.”

  Johnny played bob-cherry, and made no answer.

  “Come, Master Johnny,” said Sarah.

  “Go away, Sarah,” said Johnny, with a back-hander.

  “Oh! fie, Master Johnny,” said Mary.

  “Johnny, my love,” said Mrs Easy in a coaxing tone, “come now—will you go?”

  “I’ll go in the garden and get some more cherries,” replied Master Johnny.

  “Come, then, love, we will go into the garden.”

  Master Johnny jumped off his chair, and took his mamma by the hand.

  “What a dear, good, obedient child it is!” exclaimed Mrs Easy; “you may lead him with a thread.”

  “Yes, to pick cherries,” thought Dr Middleton.

  Mrs Easy, and Johnny, and Sarah, and Mary, went into the garden, leaving Dr Middleton alone with Mr Easy, who had been silent during this scene. Now Dr Middleton was a clever, sensible man, who had no wish to impose upon anyone. As for his taking a guinea for putting on a piece of stickingplaster, his conscience was very easy on that score. His time was equally valuable, whether he were employed for something or nothing; and, moreover, he attended the poor gratis. Constantly in the house, he had seen much of Mr John Easy, and perceived that he was a courageous, decided boy, of a naturally good disposition; but from the idiosyncracy of the father, and the doating folly of the mother, in a sure way of being spoiled. As soon, therefore, as the lady was out of hearing, he took a chair, and made the query at the commencement of the chapter, which we shall now repeat.

  “Have you no idea of putting the boy to school, Mr Easy?”

  Mr Easy crossed his legs, and clasped his hands together over his knees, as he always did when he was about to commence an argument.

  “The great objection that I have to sending a boy to school, Dr Middleton, is, that I conceive that the d
iscipline enforced is, not only contrary to the rights of man, but also in opposition to all sound sense and common judgment. Not content with punishment, which is in itself erroneous, and an infringement of social justice, they even degrade the minds of the boys still more by applying punishment to the most degraded part, adding contumely to tyranny. Of course, it is intended that a boy who is sent to school should gain by precept and example; but is he to learn benevolence by the angry look and the flourish of the vindictive birch,—or forbearance, by the cruelty of the ushers,—or patience, when the masters over him are out of all patience,—or modesty, when his nether parts are exposed to general examination? Is he not daily reading a lesson at variance with that equality which we all possess, but of which we are unjustly deprived? Why should there be a distinction between the flogger and the floggee? Are they not both fashioned alike after God’s image, endowed with the same reason, having an equal right to what the world offers, and which was intended by Providence to be equally distributed? Is it not that the sacred inheritance of all, which has tyrannously and impiously been ravished from the many for the benefit of the few, and which ravishment, from long custom of iniquity and inculcation of false precepts, has too long been basely submitted to? Is it not the duty of a father to preserve his only son from imbibing these dangerous and debasing errors, which will render him only one of a vile herd who are content to suffer, provided that they live? And yet are not these very errors inculcated at school, and impressed upon their mind inversely by the birch? Do not they there receive their first lesson in slavery with the first lesson in A B C; and are not their minds thereby prostrated, so as never to rise again, but ever to bow to despotism, to cringe to rank, to think and act by the precepts of others, and to tacitly disavow that sacred equality which is our birthright? No, sir, until they can teach without resorting to such a fundamental error as flogging, my boy shall never go to school.”

  And Mr Easy threw himself back in his chair, imagining like all philosophers, that he had said something very clever.