Japhet, In Search Of A Father by Frederick Marryat

F >> Frederick Marryat >> Japhet, In Search Of A Father

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER

BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT

LONDON
J.M. DENT AND CO.
BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND CO.

MDCCCXCVI

Contents

CHAPTER I 1

CHAPTER II 7

CHAPTER III 14

CHAPTER IV 18

CHAPTER V 24

CHAPTER VI 29

CHAPTER VII 37

CHAPTER VIII 41

CHAPTER IX 47

CHAPTER X 53

CHAPTER XI 60

CHAPTER XII 67

CHAPTER XIII 73

CHAPTER XIV 79

CHAPTER XV 84

CHAPTER XVI 91

CHAPTER XVII 98

CHAPTER XVIII 104

CHAPTER XIX 110

CHAPTER XX 113

CHAPTER XXI 118

CHAPTER XXII 123

CHAPTER XXIII 130

CHAPTER XXIV 134

CHAPTER XXV 139

CHAPTER XXVI 144

CHAPTER XXVII 147

CHAPTER XXVIII 152

CHAPTER XXIX 156

CHAPTER XXX 160

CHAPTER XXXI 165

CHAPTER XXXII 169

CHAPTER XXXIII 173

CHAPTER XXXIV 176

CHAPTER XXXV 182

CHAPTER XXXVI 187

CHAPTER XXXVII 192

CHAPTER XXXVIII 196

CHAPTER XXXIX 201

CHAPTER XL 206

CHAPTER XLI 211

CHAPTER XLII 216

CHAPTER XLIII 220

CHAPTER XLIV 224

CHAPTER XLV 229

CHAPTER XLVI 234

CHAPTER XLVII 237

CHAPTER XLVIII 241

CHAPTER XLIX 247

CHAPTER L 251

CHAPTER LI 254

CHAPTER LII 259

CHAPTER LIII 265

CHAPTER LIV 268

CHAPTER LV 273

CHAPTER LVI 279

CHAPTER LVII 285

CHAPTER LVIII 290

CHAPTER LIX 294

CHAPTER LX 299

CHAPTER LXI 305

CHAPTER LXII 310

CHAPTER LXIII 314

CHAPTER LXIV 319

CHAPTER LXV 322

CHAPTER LXVI 327

CHAPTER LXVII 333

CHAPTER LXVIII 338

CHAPTER LXIX 344

CHAPTER LXX 349

CHAPTER LXXI 355

CHAPTER LXXII 362

CHAPTER LXXIII 259

CHAPTER LXXIV 378

CHAPTER LXXV 387

CHAPTER LXXVI 394

CHAPTER LXXVII 400

CHAPTER LXXVIII 408

CHAPTER LXXIX 414

Prefatory Note

In the _Metropolitan Magazine_, where this novel originally appeared
(Sep. 1834-Jan. 1836), Marryat prepared his readers for its reception in
the following words:--

"And having now completed 'Jacob Faithful,' we trust to the satisfaction
of our readers, we will make a few remarks. We commenced writing on our
own profession, and having completed four tales, novels, or whatever you
may please to call them" (viz., Frank Mildmay, The King's Own, Newton
Forster, Peter Simple), "in 'Jacob Faithful' we quitted the _salt_ water
for the _fresh_. From the wherry we shall now step on shore, and in our
next number we shall introduce to our readers 'The Adventures of
_Japhet_, in search of his Father.'"

The promise was faithfully kept, and Japhet, with all his varied
experience, never went to sea. There were indeed few companies on land
to which he did not penetrate. Reared in a foundling hospital, and
apprenticed to a Smithfield apothecary, his good looks, impulsive
self-confidence, and unbounded talent for lying, carried him with eclat
through the professions of quack doctor, juggler, and mountebank,
gentleman about town, tramp, and quaker: to emerge triumphantly at last
as the only son of a wealthy Anglo-Indian general, or "Bengal tiger," as
his friends preferred to call him.

Japhet's "adventures," of course, are shared by a faithful friend and
ally, Timothy Oldmixon, the Sancho to his Quixote, originally an orphan
pauper like himself, composed of two qualities--fun and affection. He
encounters villains, lawyers, kind-hearted peers, "rooks" and "pigeons,"
gipsies, leaders of fashion, fair maidens--enough and to spare. In a
word, Marryat here makes use of well-worn material, and uses it well. He
has constructed a tale of private adventure on the old familiar lines,
in which the local colour--acquired from other books--is admirably laid
on, and the interest sustained to the end. The story is well told,
enlivened by humour, and very respectably constructed.

The reader will find _Japhet_ thoroughly exciting, and will have no
difficulty in believing that, while it was running in the pages of the
_Metropolitan_, "an American vessel meeting an English one in the broad
Atlantic, instead of a demand for water or supplies, ran up the question
to her mast-head, 'Has Japhet found his father yet?'"

_Japhet, in search of a Father_, is here re-printed, with a few
corrections, from the first edition in 3 vols. Saunders & Otley, 1836.
On page 360 a few words, enclosed in square brackets, have been
inserted from the magazine version, as the abbreviated sentence, always
hitherto reproduced from the first edition, is unintelligible.

R.B.J.

* * * * *

Japhet, in Search of a Father

Chapter I

Like most other children, who should be my godfather is decided by
Mammon--So precocious as to make some noise in the world and be
hung a few days after I was born--Cut down in time and produce a
scene of bloodshed--My early propensities fully developed by the
choice of my profession

Those who may be pleased to honour these pages with a perusal, will not
be detained with a long introductory history of my birth, parentage, and
education. The very title implies that, at this period of my memoirs, I
was ignorant of the two first; and it will be necessary for the due
development of my narrative, that I allow them to remain in the same
state of bliss; for in the perusal of a tale, as well as in the
pilgrimage of life, ignorance of the future may truly be considered as
the greatest source of happiness. The little that was known of me at
this time I will however narrate as concisely, and as correctly, as I am
able. It was on the--I really forget the date, and must rise from my
chair, look for a key, open a closet, and then open an iron safe to hunt
over a pile of papers--it will detain you too long--it will be
sufficient to say that it was on _a_ night--but whether the night was
dark or moonlit, or rainy or foggy, or cloudy or fine, or starlight, I
really cannot tell; but it is of no very great consequence. Well, it was
on a night about the hour--there again I'm puzzled, it might have been
ten, or eleven, or twelve, or between any of these hours; nay it might
have been past midnight, and far advancing to the morning, for what I
know to the contrary. The reader must excuse an infant of--there again
I am at a nonplus; but we will assume of some days old--if, when wrapped
up in flannel and in a covered basket, and, moreover, fast asleep at the
time, he does not exactly observe the state of the weather, and the time
by the church clock. I never before was aware of the great importance of
dates in telling a story; but it is now too late to recover these facts,
which have been swept away into oblivion by the broad wing of Time. I
must therefore just tell the little I do know, trusting to the reader's
good nature, and to blanks. It is as follows:--that, at the hour--of
the night--the state of the weather being also--I, an infant of a
certain age--was suspended by somebody or somebodies--at the knocker
of the Foundling Hospital. Having made me fast, the said somebody or
somebodies rang a peal upon the bell which made the old porter start up
in so great a hurry, that, with the back of his hand he hit his better
half a blow on the nose, occasioning a great suffusion of blood from
that organ, and a still greater pouring forth of invectives from the
organ immediately below it.

All this having been effected by the said peal on the bell, the said
somebody or somebodies did incontinently take to their heels, and
disappear long before the old porter could pull his legs through his
nether garments and obey the rude summons. At last the old man swung
open the gate, and the basket swung across his nose; he went in again
for a knife and cut me down, for it was cruel to hang a baby of a few
days old; carried me into the lodge, lighted a candle, and opened the
basket. Thus did I metaphorically first come to light.

When he opened the basket I opened my eyes, and although I did not
observe it, the old woman was standing at the table in very light
attire, sponging her nose over a basin.

"Verily, a pretty babe with black eyes!" exclaimed the old man in a
tremulous voice.

"Black eyes indeed," muttered the old woman. "I shall have two
to-morrow."

"Beautiful black eyes indeed!" continued the old man.

"Terrible black eyes, for sartain," continued the old woman, as she
sponged away.

"Poor thing, it must be cold," murmured the old porter.

"Warrant I catch my death a-cold," muttered the wife.

"But, dear me, here's a paper!" exclaimed the old man.

"Vinegar and brown paper," echoed the old woman.

"Addressed to the governors of the hospital," continued the porter.

"Apply to the dispenser of the hospital," continued his wife.

"And sealed," said he.

"Get it healed," said she.

"The linen is good; it must be the child of no poor people. Who
knows?"--soliloquised the old man.

"My poor nose!" exclaimed the old woman.

"I must take it to the nurses, and the letter I will give to-morrow,"
said the old porter, winding up his portion of this double soliloquy,
and tottering away with the basket and your humble servant across the
courtyard.

"There, it will do now," said the old wife, wiping her face on a towel,
and regaining her bed, in which she was soon joined by her husband, and
they finished their nap without any further interruption during that
night.

The next morning I was reported and examined, and the letter addressed
to the governors was opened and read. It was laconic, but still, as most
things laconic are, very much to the point.

"This child was born in wedlock--he is to be named Japhet. When
circumstances permit, he will be reclaimed."

But there was a postscript by Abraham Newlands, Esq., promising to pay
the bearer, on demand, the sum of fifty pounds. In plainer terms, there
was a bank note to that amount inclosed in the letter. As in general,
the parties who suspend children in baskets, have long before suspended
cash payments, or, at all events, forget to suspend them with the
baskets, my arrival created no little noise, to which I added my share,
until I obtained a share of the breast of a young woman, who, like
Charity, suckled two or three babies at one time.

We have preparatory schools all over the kingdom; for young gentlemen,
from three to five years of age, under ladies, and from four to seven,
under either, or both sexes, as it may happen; but the most preparatory
of all preparatory schools, is certainly the Foundling Hospital, which
takes in its pupils, if they are sent, from one to three days old, or
even hours, if the parents are in such extreme anxiety about their
education. Here it commences with their weaning, when they are
instructed in the mystery of devouring pap; next, they are taught to
walk--and as soon as they can walk--to sit still; to talk--and as soon
as they can talk--to hold their tongues; thus are they instructed and
passed on from one part of the establishment to another, until they
finally are passed out of its gates, to get on in the world, with the
advantages of some education, and the still further advantage of having
no father or mother to provide for, or relatives to pester them with
their necessities. It was so with me: I arrived at the age of fourteen,
and notwithstanding the promise contained in the letter, it appeared
that circumstances did _not_ permit of my being reclaimed. But I had a
great advantage over the other inmates of the hospital; the fifty pounds
sent with me were not added to the funds of the establishment, but
generously employed for my benefit by the governors, who were pleased
with my conduct, and thought highly of my abilities. Instead of being
bound 'prentice to a cordwainer or some other mechanic, by the influence
of the governors, added to the fifty pounds and interest, as a premium,
I was taken by an apothecary, who engaged to bring me up to the
profession. And now, that I am out of the Foundling, we must not travel
quite so fast.

The practitioner who thus took me by the hand was a Mr Phineas Cophagus,
whose house was most conveniently situated for business, one side of
the shop looking upon Smithfield Market, the other presenting a surface
of glass to the principal street leading out of the same market. It was
a _corner_ house, but not in a _corner_. On each side of the shop were
two gin establishments, and next to them were two public-houses and then
two eating-houses, frequented by graziers, butchers, and drovers. Did
the men drink so much as to quarrel in their cups, who was so handy to
plaister up the broken heads as Mr Cophagus? Did a fat grazier eat
himself into an apoplexy, how very convenient was the ready lancet of Mr
Cophagus. Did a bull gore a man, Mr Cophagus appeared with his diachylon
and lint. Did an ox frighten a lady, it was in the back parlour of Mr
Cophagus that she was recovered from her syncope. Market days were a
sure market to my master; and if an overdriven beast knocked down
others, it only helped to set him on his legs. Our windows suffered
occasionally; but whether it were broken heads, or broken limbs, or
broken windows, they were well paid for. Every one suffered but Mr
Phineas Cophagus, who never suffered a patient to escape him. The shop
had the usual allowance of green, yellow, and blue bottles; and in hot
weather, from our vicinity, we were visited by no small proportion of
bluebottle flies. We had a white horse in one window, and a brown horse
in the other, to announce to the drovers that we supplied
horse-medicines. And we had all the patent medicines in the known world,
even to the "all-sufficient medicine for mankind" of Mr Enouy; having
which, I wondered, on my first arrival, why we troubled ourselves about
any others. The shop was large, and at the back part there was a most
capacious iron mortar, with a pestle to correspond. The first floor was
tenanted by Mr Cophagus, who was a bachelor; the second floor was let;
the others were appropriated to the housekeeper, and to those who formed
the establishment. In this well-situated tenement, Mr Cophagus got on
swimmingly. I will therefore, for the present, sink the shop, that my
master may rise in the estimation of the reader, when I describe his
person and his qualifications.

Mr Phineas Cophagus might have been about forty-five years of age when I
first had the honour of an introduction to him in the receiving room of
the Foundling Hospital. He was of the middle height, his face was thin,
his nose very much hooked, his eyes small and peering, with a
good-humoured twinkle in them, his mouth large, and drawn down at one
corner. He was stout in his body, and carried a considerable
protuberance before him, which he was in the habit of patting with his
left hand very complacently; but although stout in his body, his legs
were mere spindles, so that, in his appearance, he reminded you of some
bird of the crane genus. Indeed, I may say, that his whole figure gave
you just such an impression as an orange might do, had it taken to
itself a couple of pieces of tobacco pipes as vehicles of locomotion. He
was dressed in a black coat and waistcoat, white cravat and high collar
to his shirt, blue cotton net pantaloons and Hessian boots, both fitting
so tight, that it appeared as if he was proud of his spindle shanks. His
hat was broad-brimmed and low, and he carried a stout black cane with a
gold top in his right hand, almost always raising the gold top to his
nose when he spoke, just as we see doctors represented at a consultation
in the caricature prints. But if his figure was strange, his language
and manners were still more so. He spoke, as some birds fly, in jerks,
intermixing his words, for he never completed a whole sentence, with
_um--um--_and ending it with "_so on,_" leaving his hearers to supply
the context from the heads of his discourse. Almost always in motion, he
generally changed his position as soon as he had finished speaking,
walking to any other part of the room, with his cane to his nose, and
his head cocked on one side, with a self-sufficient tiptoe gait. When I
was ushered into his presence, he was standing with two of the
governors. "This is the lad," said one of them, "his name is _Japhet_."

"Japhet," replied Mr Cophagus; "um, scriptural--Shem, Ham, _um_--and so
on. Boy reads?"

"Very well, and writes a very good hand. He is a very good boy, Mr
Cophagus."

"Read--write--spell--good, and _so on_. Bring him
up--rudiments--spatula--write labels--um--M.D. one of these days--make a
man of him--and so on," said this strange personage, walking round and
round me with his cane to his nose, and scrutinising my person with his
twinkling eyes. I was dismissed after this examination and approval, and
the next day, dressed in a plain suit of clothes, was delivered by the
porter at the shop of Mr Phineas Cophagus, who was not at home when I
arrived.

Chapter II

Like all Tyros, I find the rudiments of learning extremely
difficult and laborious, but advance so rapidly than I can do
without my Master.

A tall, fresh-coloured, but hectic looking young man, stood behind the
counter, making up prescriptions, and a dirty lad, about thirteen years
old, was standing near with his basket to deliver the medicines to the
several addresses, as soon as they were ready. The young man behind the
counter, whose name was Brookes, was within eighteen months of serving
his time, when his friends intended to establish him on his own account,
and this was the reason which induced Mr Cophagus to take me, that I
might learn the business, and supply his place when he left. Mr Brookes
was a very quiet, amiable person, kind to me and the other boy who
carried out the medicines, and who had been taken by Mr Cophagus, for
his food and raiment. The porter told Mr Brookes who I was, and left me.
"Do you think that you will like to be an apothecary?" said Mr Brookes
to me, with a benevolent smile.

"Yes; I do not see why I should not," replied I.

"Stop a moment," said the lad who was waiting with the basket, lookly
archly at me, "you hav'n't got through your _rudimans_ yet."

"Hold your tongue, Timothy," said Mr Brookes. "That you are not very
fond of the rudiments, as Mr Cophagus calls them, is very clear. Now
walk off as fast as you can with these medicines, sir--14, Spring
Street; 16, Cleaver Street, as before; and then to John Street, 55, Mrs
Smith's. Do you understand?"

"To be sure I do--can't I read? I reads all the directions, and all your
Latin stuff into the bargain--all your summen dusses, horez, diez,
cockly hairy. I mean to set up for myself one of these days."

"I'll knock you down one of these days, Mr Timothy, if you stay so long
as you do, looking at the print shops; that you may depend upon."

"I keep up all my learning that way," replied Timothy, walking off with
his load, turning his head round and laughing at me, as he quitted the
shop. Mr Brookes smiled, but said nothing.

As Timothy went out, in came Mr Cophagus. "Heh! Japhet--I see," said he,
putting up his cane, "nothing to do--bad--must work--um--and so on. Mr
Brookes--boy learn rudiments--good--and so on." Hereupon Mr Cophagus
took his cane from his nose, pointed to the large iron mortar, and then
walked away into the back parlour. Mr Brookes understood his master, if
I did not. He wiped out the mortar, threw in some drugs, and, showing me
how to use the pestle, left me to my work. In half an hour I discovered
why it was that Timothy had such an objection to what Mr Cophagus
facetiously termed the _rudiments_ of the profession. It was dreadful
hard work for a boy; the perspiration ran down me in streams, and I
could hardly lift my arms. When Mr Cophagus passed through the shop and
looked at me, as I continued to thump away with the heavy iron pestle.
"Good,"--said he, "by-and-bye--M.D.--and so on." I thought it was a very
rough road to such preferment, and I stopped to take a little breath.
"By-the-by--Japhet--Christian name--and so on--sirname--heh!"

"Mr Cophagus wishes to know your other name," said Mr Brookes,
interpreting.

I have omitted to acquaint the reader that sirnames as well as Christian
names, are always given to the children at the Foundling, and in
consequence of the bank note found in my basket, I had been named after
the celebrated personage whose signature it bore. "Newland is my other
name, sir," replied I.

"Newland--heh!--very good name--every body likes to see that name--and
have plenty of them in his pockets too--um--very comfortable--and so
on," replied Mr Cophagus, leaving the shop.

I resumed my thumping occupation, when Timothy returned with his empty
basket. He laughed when he saw me at work. "Well, how do you like the
rudimans?--and so on--heh?" said he, mimicking Mr Cophagus.

"Not overmuch," replied I, wiping my face.

"That was my job before you came. I have been more than a year, and
never have got out of those rudimans yet, and I suppose I never shall."

Mr Brookes, perceiving that I was tired, desired me to leave off, an
order which I gladly obeyed, and I took my seat in a corner of the shop.

"There," said Timothy, laying down his basket; "no more work for me
_hanty prandium,_ is there, Mr Brookes?"

"No, Tim; but _post prandium,_ you'll _post_ off again."

Dinner being ready, and Mr Cophagus having returned, he and Mr Brookes
went into the back parlour, leaving Timothy and me in the shop to
announce customers. And I shall take this opportunity of introducing Mr
Timothy more particularly, as he will play a very conspicuous part in
this narrative. Timothy was short in stature for his age, but very
strongly built. He had an oval face, with a very dark complexion, grey
eyes flashing from under their long eyelashes, and eyebrows nearly
meeting each other. He was marked with the small-pox, not so much as to
disfigure him, but still it was very perceptible when near to him. His
countenance was always lighted up with merriment; there was such a
happy, devil-may-care expression in his face, that you liked him the
first minute that you were in his company, and I was intimate with him
immediately.

"I say, Japhet," said he, "where did you come from?"

"The Foundling," replied I.

"Then you have no friends or relations."

"If I have, I do not know where to find them," replied I, very gravely.

"Pooh! don't be grave upon it. I haven't any either. I was brought up by
the parish, in the workhouse. I was found at the door of a gentleman's
house, who sent me to the overseers--I was about a year old then. They
call me a foundling, but I don't care what they call me, so long as they
don't call me too late for dinner. Father and mother, whoever they were,
when they ran away from me, didn't run away with my appetite. I wonder
how long master means to play with his knife and fork. As for Mr
Brookes, what he eats wouldn't physic a snipe. What's your other name,
Japhet?"

"Newland."

"Newland--now you shall have mine in exchange: Timothy Oldmixon at your
service. They christened me after the workhouse pump, which had 'Timothy
Oldmixon fecit' on it; and the overseers thought it as good a name to
give me as any other; so I was christened after the pump-maker with some
of the pump water. As soon as I was big enough, they employed me to pump
all the water for the use of the workhouse. I worked at my _papa_, as I
called the pump, all day long. Few sons worked their father more, or
disliked him so much: and now, Japhet, you see, from habit, I'm pumping
you."

"You'll soon pump dry, then, for I've very little to tell you," replied
I; "but, tell me, what sort of a person is our master?"

"He's just what you see him, never alters, hardly ever out of humour,
and when he is, he is just as odd as ever. He very often threatens me,
but I have never had a blow yet, although Mr Brookes has complained once
or twice."

"But surely Mr Brookes is not cross?"

"No, he is a very good gentleman; but sometimes I carry on my rigs a
little too far, I must say that. For as Mr Brookes says, people may die
for want of the medicines, because I put down my basket to play. It's
very true; but I can't give up 'peg in the ring' on that account. But
then I only get a box of the ear from Mr Brookes, and that goes for
nothing. Mr Cophagus shakes his stick, and says, 'Bad boy--big
stick--_um_--won't forget--next time--and so on,'" continued Timothy,
laughing; "and it is _so on_, to the end of the chapter."

By this time Mr Cophagus and his assistant had finished their dinner,
and came into the shop. The former looked at me, put his stick to his
nose, "Little boys--always hungry--um--like good dinner--roast
beef--Yorkshire pudding--and so on," and he pointed with the stick to
the back parlour. Timothy and I understood him very well this time: we
went into the parlour, when the housekeeper sat down with us and helped
us. She was a terribly cross, little old woman, but as honest as she was
cross, which is all that I shall say in her favour. Timothy was no
favourite, because he had such a good appetite; and it appeared that I
was not very likely to stand well in her good opinion, for I also ate a
great deal, and every extra mouthful I took I sank in her estimation,
till I was nearly at the zero, where Timothy had long been for the same
offence; but Mr Cophagus would not allow her to stint him, saying,
"Little boys must eat--or won't grow--and so on."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32