Читать книгу The Pirate, and The Three Cutters - Фредерик Марриет - Страница 3

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Among the few subjects which are still left at the disposal of the duly-gifted writer of romance is the Pirate. Not but that many have written of pirates. Defoe, after preparing the ground by a pamphlet story on the historic Captain Avery, wrote The Life, Adventures, and Piracies of Captain Singleton. Sir Walter Scott made use in somewhat the same fashion of the equally historic Gow—that is to say, his pirate bears about the same relation to the marauder who was suppressed by James Laing, that Captain Singleton does to Captain Avery. Michael Scott had much to say of pirates, and he had heard much of them during his life in the West Indies, for they were then making their last fight against law and order. The pirate could not escape the eye of Mr. R. L. Stevenson, and accordingly we have an episode of pirates in the episode of the Master of Ballantrae. Balsac, too, wrote Argow le Pirate among the stories which belong to the years when he was exhausting all the ways in which a novel ought not to be written. Also the pirate is a commonplace in boys' books. Yet for as much as he figures in stories for old and young, it may be modestly maintained that nobody has ever yet done him quite right.

Defoe's Captain Singleton is a harmless, thrifty, and ever moral pirate, of whom it is impossible to disapprove. Sir Walter's is a mild gentleman, concerning whom one wonders how he ever came to be in such company. Michael Scott's pirate is a bloodthirsty ruffian enough, and yet it is difficult to feel that a person who dressed in such a highly picturesque manner, and who was commonly either a Don or a Scotch gentleman of ancient descent, was quite the real thing. Mr. Stevenson's pirate is nearer what one knows must have been the life. He is a cowardly, lurking, petty scoundrel. John Silver is certainly something very different, but then when Mr. Stevenson drew the commanding figure in Treasure Island he was not making a portrait of a pirate, but was only making play with the well-established puppet of boys' books. Yet, after all, the pirate, if he was not such an agreeable rascal as John Silver, was not always the greedy, spiritless rogue drawn in the Master of Ballantrae. To do him properly and as he was, he ought to be approached with a mixture of humour and morality, and also with a knowledge of the facts concerning him, which to the best of my knowledge have never been combined in any writer.

Captain Johnson, in his valuable General History of the Pirates from their First Rise and Settlement in the Island of Providence to the present time, begins with antiquity. He mounts up the dark backward abyss of time till he meets with the pirates who captured Julius Caesar, and were suppressed by Pompey. This is not necessary. Our pirate was a very different fellow from those broken men of the ancient world, the wrecks of States shattered by Rome and the victims of the usury of the Knights who collected in the creeks of Cilicia. It is not quite easy to say what he was, but we know well enough what he was not. He was not for many generations the recognised enemy of the human race. On the contrary, he was often a comparative respectable person, who was disposed to render service to his king and country at a crisis, even if he did not see his advantage in virtuous conduct. To begin with, he was only a seafaring man who carried on the universal practice of the Middle Ages after they had ceased to be recognised as legitimate. Then for a long time a pirate was not thought worthy of hanging until he had shown a hopelessly contumacious disposition by refusing the king's pardon several times. Sir William Monson, who was admiral to James I., saw no harm in recruiting well-known pirates for His Majesty's service. On the coast of Ireland he found Irish country gentlemen of respectable position, and the agents of London trading firms, engaged in friendly business transactions with these skimmers of the sea. The redoubted Captain Bartholomew Roberts, to skip over a century, went about the world recruiting for a well-organised piratical business, and there were many among his followers who would have been honest men if temptation had not come in their way, and who hastened to leave a life of vice so soon as the neighbourhood of one of His Majesty's cruisers made it dangerous. We ought not to speak of these men with harsh contempt. The king's government was largely responsible for their existence, by promising pardon to all who would come in before a given date. They came in and brought their booty with them. Captain Johnson had the pleasure of the personal acquaintance of several who were living in comfortable retirement at Rotherhithe or at Limehouse, and in the enjoyment, for aught we know to the contrary, of the respect of their neighbours. They had come in on a proclamation, and there was nothing more to be said against them. In many cases, no doubt, when the booty was spent they drifted back to the old irregular courses, and on that road those of them who did not get shot when boarding a galleon, or go down at sea, or die of starvation among the keys of the West Indies, did sooner or later contrive to overtake the gallows. But these men, if they were not quite so moral and orderly as Captain Singleton, or so romantic as the pirates of Michael Scott, were not altogether bloodthirsty, merciless scoundrels. Many of them had every intention of returning to their country upon the appearance of the next proclamation, and as they saw the prospect of a safe return for themselves they were not under the necessity of acting on the rule that dead men tell no tales. They did not make their prisoners walk the plank. They did not even burn their prizes, but were often content with taking out such provisions and portable property as their immediate occasions made desirable, and then allowing the plundered merchant-ship to continue her voyage. They were by no means so thoroughly hated as they ought to have been, to judge by the more recent opinion held of the pirate.

In fact, till towards the end of the pirate's existence he was nearly as much the product of the Government's management as of his own sins. During Charles II.'s reign, his governors in Jamaica gave what they were pleased to term commissions to all who would plunder the Spaniard. The Spaniards retaliated by giving commissions to all who would plunder anyone else. The marauder who victimised the Spaniard was sure of a market, and a refuge in Jamaica. The other marauder who was prepared to feed upon English, Dutch, or French, was sure of a welcome in Cuba. When Governments suddenly took to being virtuous, a sense of wrong inflamed the minds of the men who had hitherto been allowed to live in recognised lawlessness. Captain Kidd, for example, manifestly thought that Lord Bellomont and the other gentleman who sent him out to Madagascar to cruise against the pirates, were only assuming a decent excuse for a little speculation in piracy on their own account. The freebooters who settled at Providence, in the Bahamas, were really to be pardoned for not realising that the happy days of Governor Moddiford at Jamaica were over. When they were made to understand that there were to be no more of these cakes and ale, the majority, under the command of Captain Jennings, promptly came in. Captain Jennings was the owner of an estate in Jamaica, and he brought a comfortable little sum back with him from his piratical adventures. The residue, who probably had no comfortable sum to bring with them, did not come in, and as they were given to understand that they would certainly be hanged if caught, they took in self-defence to giving no quarter. So at the end of the great war, the powers who had encouraged privateering while the fighting lasted, without inquiring too closely how far the privateer confined his operations to the enemy only without plundering the neutral, became suddenly very strict. Then the men whom they had allowed to become hardened to a life of pillage took refuge in downright piracy. These men were the Pescadores del Puerto Escondido who enlightened the pages of Michael Scott. The Spaniards tolerated them as the English Governors of Jamaica had once encouraged the Buccaneers. It was not until a combined vigorous effort of the English and the United States navies had driven them off the sea, and till they had begun to support themselves by plundering plantations, that the Captains-General of Cuba took them in hand.

Now, in all this life, floating as it did between the honest and the dishonest, there was room for something more human than the be-sashed, velvet-jacketed, crimson-capped, and long-knifed heroes of Michael Scott, or than the mere rogue and floating footpad we meet in The Master of Ballantrae. There was also room, it must be candidly allowed, for something better than Captain Cain of the Avenger. The Pirate is not among the books which one most willingly re-reads out of Marryat's very respectably lengthy list of stories. Yet it is not without gaiety, and, as is ever the case with him, the man-of-war scenes are all alive. Captain Plumpton, and Mr. Markital the first lieutenant, and Edward Templemore the midshipman, are credible. Whenever Marryat has to introduce us to a man-of-war, he could draw on inexhaustible treasure of reminiscences, or of what is for the story-writer's purpose quite as good, of types and incidents which his imagination had made out of incidents supplied by his memory. The naval parts of the Pirate are no doubt variations on what he had recently written in Midshipman Easy, but they are not mere repetitions, and they have the one saving quality of life, which will make even a poorly constructed story readable.

It is impossible to say as much for the captain and crew of the Avenger. Cain is not only not a pirate, but he is not a human being. He is a Byronic or even a Michael Scottish hero—an impossible monster, compounded of one virtue and a thousand crimes. There never was any such person, and even on paper he is not tolerable for more than a paragraph or two without the help of verse. The crew of the Avenger is an inconceivable ship's complement for any pirate. Credulity itself cannot even in early life accept the capture of the Portuguese carrack. Marryat drew on his recollections of the time when he was a midshipman with Cochrane in the Impèrieuse, for the figure of the old steersman, who sticks to his post under the fire of the Avenger. He had seen the mate of a Spanish trading ship behaving in just that way when attacked by boats from the Impèrieuse. When he was asked why he did not surrender, though he was mortally wounded and had no chance of escape, he answered that he was an 'old Christian.' The term, which by the way only means a pure-blooded Spaniard, puzzled Marryat and his shipmates. It is not wonderful that he did not understand its meaning, since in spite of campaigning in Spain, and many visits to Spanish ports, he never learnt to avoid the absurd blunder of putting the title Don before a surname. But if the steersman is drawn from life, so are not either the carrack, which is a fragment of the sixteenth century, out of its place, nor 'Don' Ribiera and his sons, nor the bishop, nor anybody else in that ill-fated ship, nor the stilted, transpontine style of their conversation. Francisco and his bible are no more credible than the carrack and the bishop. Francisco's brother and his love affairs are not more credible, though they are decidedly more tolerable. The daughters of Spanish Governors who carry on flirtations on the sea-shore with the captains of English men-of-war, who are carried off by pirates and rescued in the nick of time, whose papas not only consent to their marriage with the heretical object of their affections but send boxes full of gold doubloons, together with their blessing, are so much better than life that we need not quarrel when invited to meet any number of them. The sea adventures in Marryat are always good, and so are the fights. The storms and wrecks, the rafts and wonderful escapes, the defences of houses, and the escapes of pirates and smugglers from under the very guns of His Majesty's frigates, are as welcome as, and are much more credible than, the lovely daughters of benevolent Spanish governors. Of them there is no want, and for their sake the Pirate can be read; but it is not what Marryat might have made it if he had written it in the spirit in which he was to write Snarley-Yow.

In The Three Cutters Marryat allowed himself to take a little holiday in company with another kind of sea malefactor whom he knew intimately well. He had already played with the smuggler in The King's Own. In this little story he reintroduces us to M'Elvina, somewhat disguised, and in altered circumstances, but essentially the same.

The Three Cutters may be supposed to have been written to fill out the volume containing The Pirate and those twenty engravings from drawings by Clarkson Stanfield, which still make the first edition a desirable possession. This function, whether it was originally designed or not, is very agreeably fulfilled by the history of the Arrow, the Active, and Happy-go-lucky. Although he wrote very few of them, Marryat had a happy hand with a short story. The S. W. and by W. and ¼ W. Wind and Moonshine are very happy examples of the magazine story. The Three Cutters is somewhat longer than either, but the difference in bulk is due less to any greater amount of pure story there is than to the care with which Marryat introduces his three vessels, and sketches their respective starting-places—Plymouth, Portsmouth, and St. Malo. Here again it is to be noted that Marryat is far more at home in the man-of-war than in the smuggler or the yacht. Mr. Appleboy, with his forty-five years' service, and the interesting story which remains untold of the something which took place in '93 or '94, his seventeen daily tumblers of gin-toddy, his mate and his midshipman, is a part, and not an inferior one, of Marryat's inimitable naval gallery. The Happy-go-lucky is perhaps rather a smuggler of the Pays Bleu than of the British Channel, but she is sufficiently in place in a story not intended to be too slavishly faithful to life. Morrison, the sailing-master, with his augury of the blue pigeon, is real, and nothing can be more consistent with human nature than that he should have cursed the bird when he did finally find himself in prison. As for the adventures, they belong to the region of the fantastic, which does not pretend to be anything else. The idea of a yacht which endeavours the capture of a smuggler, and is herself made prize by him, is of course a motive for farce.

The scenes on board the captive yacht are not exactly horse-play. There are too many ladies concerned, and Marryat, in spite of occasional lapses of taste, preferred to write like a gentleman. But if there is no horse-play there is a great deal of what I hope it is permissible to describe as 'lark.' The sour old maid Miss Ossulton, her niece Cecilia, who, if she has not much character, is still a very nice girl, the frisky widow Mrs. Lascelles, make a capital trio. Given a gallant dashing smuggler, who is really a gentleman in disguise, in possession of the yacht, and determined to revenge himself on the owner by taking a little harmless amusement, it follows that lively incidents are to be expected. Marryat did not work the situation out at any length, probably because he felt that the stuff would not bear much handling. If he cut his story short for this reason he was undoubtedly right. It is so difficult as to be quite impossible for the majority of writers to hang just on the border of the outrageously impossible for more than a few pages. While it lasts it is very good fun. The reformation of Pickersgill through the influence of Mrs. Lascelles is quite in Marryat's manner. His heroes, when they need reformation, are commonly brought into the right path by the combined influence of a pretty woman and a round sum of money. Mrs. Lascelles, too, was unquestionably just the woman to marry Pickersgill. Having married an old man to please her parents, and having inherited his money, she had decided both to marry again and to please herself in her second husband. Experience shows that the Mrs. Lascelles of real life not uncommonly fall into the hands of a ruffian or an adventurer. Marryat was not making a study of real life, and he was too fond of his puppets; and besides that would have been another story, which would have been superfluous, considering that Marryat wanted to end this one. So Mrs. Lascelles had her fine dashing seaman, who stood six feet odd in his stockings, and was also a gentleman in disguise. Of course she was happy ever after. One has a haunting suspicion that the story was not only written to fill out the volume, but also to accompany Clarkson Stanfield's three very pretty plates of Plymouth, Portsmouth, and St. Malo. If so, that only proves that when a man is a born storyteller he can write good stories for very humble business reasons.