Japhet, In Search Of A Father by Frederick Marryat

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Chapter LIV

This is a strange world; I am cut by a man of no character,
because he is fearful that I should injure his character.

Timothy returned, and brought me consolation--the bleeding had not
re-commenced, and Harcourt was in tolerable spirits. An eminent surgeon
had been sent for. "Go again, my dear Timothy, and as you are intimate
with Harcourt's servant, you will be able to find out what they are
about."

Timothy departed, and was absent about an hour, during which I lay on
the sofa, and groaned with anguish. When he returned, I knew by his
face that his intelligence was favourable. "All's right," cried Timothy;
"no amputation after all. It was only one of the smaller arteries which
was severed, and they have taken it up."

I sprang up from the sofa and embraced Timothy, so happy was I with the
intelligence, and then I sat down again, and cried like a child. At last
I became more composed. I had asked Captain Atkinson to dine with me,
and was very glad when he came. He confirmed Timothy's report, and I was
so overjoyed, that I sat late at dinner, drinking very freely, and when
he again proposed that we should go to the _rouge et noir_ table, I did
not refuse--on the contrary, flushed with wine, I was anxious to go, and
took all the money that I had with me. On our arrival Atkinson played,
but finding that he was not fortunate, he very soon left off. As I had
followed his game, I also had lost considerably, and he entreated me not
to play any more--but I was a gamester it appeared, and I would not pay
attention to him, and did not quit the table until I had lost every
shilling in my pocket. I left the house in no very good humour, and
Atkinson, who had waited for me, accompanied me home.

"Newland," said he, "I don't know what you may think of me--you may have
heard that I'm a _roue_, &c. &c. &c., but this I always do, which is,
caution those who are gamesters from their hearts. I have watched you
to-night, and I tell you, that you will be ruined if you continue to
frequent that table. You have no command over yourself. I do not know
what your means may be, but this I do know, that if you were a Croesus,
you would be a beggar. I cared nothing for you while you were the Mr
Newland, the admired, and leader of the fashion, but I felt for you when
I heard that you were scouted from society, merely because it was found
out that you were not so rich as you were supposed to be. I had a
fellow-feeling, as I told you. I did not make your acquaintance to win
your money--I can win as much as I wish from the scoundrels who keep the
tables, or from those who would not scruple to plunder others; and I now
entreat you not to return to that place--and am sorry, very sorry, that
ever I took you there. To me, the excitement is nothing--to you, it is
overpowering. You are a gamester, or rather, you have it in your
disposition. Take, therefore, the advice of a friend, if I may so call
myself, and do not go there again. I hope you are not seriously
inconvenienced by what you have lost to-night."

"Not the least," replied I. "It was ready money. I thank you for your
advice, and will follow it. I have been a fool to-night, and one folly
is sufficient."

Atkinson then left me. I had lost about two hundred and fifty pounds,
which included my winnings of the night before. I was annoyed at it,
but I thought of Harcourt's safety, and felt indifferent. The reader
may recollect, that I had three thousand pounds, which Mr Masterton
had offered to put out at mortgage for me, but until he could find an
opportunity, by his advice I had bought stock in the three per cents.
Since that he had not succeeded, as mortgages in general are for larger
sums, and it had therefore remained. My rents were not yet due, and I
was obliged to have recourse to this money. I therefore went into the
city, ordered the broker to sell out two hundred pounds, intending to
replace it as soon as I could--for I would not have liked that Mr
Masterton should have known that I had lost money by gambling. When I
returned from the city, I found Captain Atkinson in my apartments
waiting for me.

"Harcourt is doing well, and you are not doing badly. I have let all
the world know that you intend to call out whoever presumes to treat
you with indifference."

"The devil you have! but that is a threat which may easier be made
than followed up by deeds."

"Shoot two or three more," replied Atkinson, coolly, "and then, depend
upon it, you'll have it all your own way. As it is, I acknowledge there
has been some show of resistance, and they talk of making a resolution
not to meet you, on the score of your being an impostor."

"And a very plausible reason, too," replied I; "nor do I think I have
any right--I am sure I have no intention of doing as you propose. Surely,
people have a right to choose their acquaintance, and to cut me, if they
think I have done wrong. I am afraid, Captain Atkinson, you have
mistaken me; I have punished Harcourt for his conduct towards
me--deserved punishment. I had claims on him; but I have not upon the
hundreds, whom, when in the zenith of my popularity, I myself, perhaps,
was not over courteous to. I cannot _run the muck_ which you propose,
nor do I consider that I shall help my character by so doing. I may
become notorious, but certainly, I shall not obtain that species of
notoriety which will be of service to me. No, no; I have done too much,
I may say, already; and, although not so much to blame as the world
imagines, yet my own conscience tells me, that by allowing it to suppose
that I was what I was not, I have, to say the least, been a party to the
fraud, and must take the consequence. My situation now is very
unpleasant, and I ought to retire, and, if possible, re-appear with real
claims upon the public favour. I have still friends, thank God! and
influential friends. I am offered a writership in India--a commission in
the army--or to study the law. Will you favour me with your opinion?"

"You pay me a compliment by asking my advice. A writership in India is
fourteen years' transportation, returning with plenty to live on but no
health to enjoy it. In the army you might do well, and moreover, as an
officer in the army, none dare refuse to go out with you. At the same
time, under your peculiar circumstances, I think if you were in a crack
regiment you would, in all probability, have to fight one half the mess,
and be put in Coventry by the other. You must then exchange on half-pay,
and your commission would be a great help to you. As for the law--I'd
sooner see a brother of mine in his coffin. There, you have my opinion."

"Not a very encouraging one, at all events," replied I, laughing; "but
there is much truth in your observations. To India I will not go, as it
will interfere with the great object of my existence."

"And pray, if it be no secret, may I ask what that is?"

"To find out _who is my father._"

Captain Atkinson looked very hard at me. "I more than once," said he,
"have thought you a little cracked, but now I perceive you are
_mad_--downright _mad_; don't be angry, I couldn't help saying so, and
if you wish me to give you satisfaction, I shall most unwillingly be
obliged."

"No, no, Atkinson, I believe you are not very far wrong, and I forgive
you--but to proceed. The army, as you say, will give me a position in
society, from my profession being that of a gentleman, but as I do not
wish to take the advantage which you have suggested from the position,
I shrink from putting myself into one which may lead to much
mortification. As for the law, although I do not exactly agree with you
in your abhorrence of the profession, yet I must say, that I do not like
the idea. I have been rendered unfit for it by my life up to the present.
But I am permitted to select any other."

"Without wishing to pry into your affairs, have you sufficient to live
upon?"

"Yes, in a moderate way; about a younger brother's portion, which will
just keep me in gloves, cigars, and eau de cologne."

"Then take my advice and be _nothing._ The only difference I can see
between a gentleman and anybody else, is that one is idle and the other
works hard. One is a useless, and the other a useful, member of society.
Such is the absurdity of the opinions of the world."

"Yes, I agree with you, and would prefer being a gentleman in that
respect, and do nothing, if they would admit me in every other; but that
they will not do. I am in an unfortunate position."

"And will be until your feelings become blunted as mine have been,"
replied Atkinson. "Had you acquiesced in my proposal, you would have done
better. As it is, I can be of no use to you; nay, without intending an
affront, I do not know if we ought to be seen together, for your decision
not to _fight_ your way is rather awkward, as I cannot back one with
my _support_ who will not do credit to it. Do not be angry at what I say;
you are your own master, and have a right to decide for yourself,--if
you think yourself not so wholly lost as to be able eventually to recover
yourself by other means, I do not blame you, as I know it is only from
an error in judgment, and not from want of courage."

"At present I am, I acknowledge, lost, Captain Atkinson; but if I succeed
in _finding my father_--"

"Good morning, Newland, good morning," replied he, hastily. "I see how it
is; of course we shall be civil to each other when we meet, for I wish
you well, but we must not be seen together, or you may injure my
character."

"Injure _your_ character, Captain Atkinson?"

"Yes, Mr Newland, injure my character. I do not mean to say but that
there are characters more respectable, but I have _a_ character which
suits me, and it has the merit of consistency. As you are not prepared,
as the Americans say, _to go the whole hog_, we will part good friends,
and if I have said anything to annoy you, I beg your pardon."

"Good-bye, then, Captain Atkinson; for the kindness you have shown me I
am grateful." He shook my hand, and walked out of the room. "And for
having thus broken up our acquaintance, more grateful still," thought I,
as he went down stairs.

Chapter LV

I cut my new acquaintance, but his company, even in so short a
time, proves my ruin--notwithstanding I part with all my
property, I retain my honesty.

In the meantime, the particulars of the duel had found their way into the
papers, with various comments, but none of them very flattering to me,
and I received a note from Mr Masterton, who, deceived by the
representations of that class of people who cater for newspapers, and who
are but too glad to pull, if they possibly can, every one to their own
level, strongly animadverted upon my conduct, and pointed out the folly
of it; adding, that Lord Windermear wholly coincided with him in opinion,
and had desired him to express his displeasure. He concluded by
observing, "I consider this to be the most serious false step which you
have hitherto made. Because you have been a party to deceiving the
public, and because one individual, who had no objection to be intimate
with a young man of fashion, station, and affluence, does not wish to
continue the acquaintance with one of unknown birth and no fortune, you
consider yourself justified in taking his life. Upon this principle, all
society is at an end, all distinctions levelled, and the rule of the
gladiator will only be overthrown by the stiletto of the assassin."

I was but ill prepared to receive this letter. I had been deeply thinking
upon the kind offers of Lord Windermear, and had felt that they would
interfere with the _primum mobile_ of my existence, and I was reflecting
by what means I could evade their kind intentions, and be at liberty to
follow my own inclinations, when this note arrived. To me it appeared to
be the height of injustice. I had been arraigned and found guilty upon
an _ex parte_ statement. I forgot, at the time, that it was my duty to
have immediately proceeded to Mr Masterton, and have fully explained
the facts of the case; and that, by not having so done, I left the
natural impression that I had no defence to offer. I forgot all this,
still I was myself to blame--I only saw that the letter in itself was
unkind and unjust--and my feelings were those of resentment. What right
have Lord Windermear and Mr Masterton thus to school and to insult me?
The right of obligations conferred. But is not Lord Windermear under
obligations to me? Have I not preserved his secret? Yes; but how did I
obtain possession of it? By so doing, I was only making reparation for
an act of treachery. Well, then, at all events, I have a right to be
independent of them, if I please--any one has a right to assert his
independence if he chooses. Their offers of service only would shackle
me, if I accepted of their assistance. I will have none of them. Such
were my reflections; and the reader must perceive that I was influenced
by a state of morbid irritability--a sense of abandonment which
prostrated me. I felt that I was an isolated being without a tie in the
whole world. I determined to spurn the world as it had spurned me. To
Timothy I would hardly speak a word. I lay with an aching head, aching
from increased circulation. I was mad, or nearly so. I opened the case
of pistols, and thought of suicide--reflection alone restrained me. I
could not abandon the search after my father.

Feverish and impatient, I wished to walk out, but I dared not meet the
public eye. I waited till dark, and then I sallied forth, hardly knowing
where I went. I passed the gaming house--I did pass it, but I returned
and lost every shilling; not, however, till the fluctuations of the game
had persuaded me, that had I had more money to carry it on, I should have
won.

I went to bed, but not to sleep; I thought of how I had been caressed and
admired, when I was supposed to be rich. Of what use then was the money
I possessed? Little or none. I made up my mind that I would either gain
a fortune, or lose that which I had. The next morning I went into the
city, and sold out all the remaining stock. To Timothy I had not
communicated my intentions. I studiously avoided speaking to him; he felt
hurt at my conduct, I perceived, but I was afraid of his advice and
expostulation.

At night-fall I returned to the hell--played with various success; at
one time was a winner of three times my capital, and I ended at last
with my pockets being empty. I was indifferent when it was all gone,
although in the highest state of excitement while the chances were
turning up.

The next day I went to a house agent, and stated my wish to sell my
house, for I was resolved to try fortune to the last. The agent
undertook to find a ready purchaser, and I begged an advance, which he
made, and continued to make, until he had advanced nearly half the value.
He then found a purchaser (himself, as I believe) at two-thirds of its
value. I did not hesitate, I had lost every advance, one after another,
and was anxious to retrieve my fortune or be a beggar. I signed the
conveyance and received the balance, fifteen hundred and fifty pounds,
and returned to the apartments, no longer mine, about an hour before
dinner. I called Timothy, and ascertaining the amount of bills due,
gave him fifty pounds, which left him about fifteen pounds as a residue.
I then sat down to my solitary meal, but just as I commenced I heard a
dispute in the passage.

"What is that, Timothy?" cried I, for I was nervous to a degree.

"It's that fellow Emmanuel, sir, who says that he will come up."

"Yesh, I vill go up, sar."

"Let him come, Timothy," replied I. Accordingly Mr Emmanuel ascended.
"Well, Emmanuel, what do you want with me?" said I, looking with contempt
at the miserable creature who entered as before, with his body bent
double, and his hand lying over his back.

"I vash a little out of breath, Mr Newland--I vash come to say dat de
monish is very scarce--dat I vill accept your offer, and vill take de
hundred pounds, and my tousand which I have lent you. You too mush
gentleman not to help a poor old man, ven he ish in distress."

"Rather say, Mr Emmanuel, that you have heard that I have not ten
thousand pounds per annum, and that you are afraid that you have lost
your money."

"Loshe my monish!--no--loshe my tousand pound! Did you not say, dat you
would pay it back to me, and give me hundred pounds for my trouble; dat
vash de last arrangement." "Yes, but you refused to take it, so it is not
my fault. You must now stick to the first, which is to receive fifteen
hundred pounds when I come into my fortune."

"Your fortune, but you av no fortune."

"I am afraid not; and recollect, Mr Emmanuel, that I never told you that
I had."

"Vill you pay me my monish, Mr Newland, or vill you go to prison?"

"You can't put me in prison for an agreement," replied I.

"No; but I can prosecute you for a swindler."

"No, you confounded old rascal, you cannot; try, and do your worst,"
cried I, enraged at the word swindler.

"Veil, Mr Newland, if you have not de ten tousand a year, you have de
house and de monish; you vill not cheat a poor man like me."

"I have sold my house."

"You have sold de house--den you have neither de house nor de monish.
Oh! my monish, my monish! Sare, Mr Newland, you are one d----d rascal;"
and the old wretch's frame quivered with emotion; his hand behind his
back shaking as much as the other which, in his rage, he shook in my face.

Enraged myself at being called such an opprobrious term, I opened the
door, twisted him round, and applying my foot to a nameless part, he
flew out and fell down the stairs, at the turning of which he lay,
groaning in pain. "Mine Got, mine Got, I am murdered!" cried he. "Fader
Abraham, receive me." My rage was appeased, and I turned pale at the
idea of having killed the poor wretch. With the assistance of Timothy,
whom I summoned, we dragged the old man upstairs, and placed him in a
chair, and found that he was not very much hurt. A glass of wine was
given to him, and then, as soon as he could speak, his ruling passion
broke out again. "Mishter Newland--ah, Mish-ter New-land, cannot you
give me my monish--cannot you give me de tousand pound, without de
interest? you are very welcome to de interest. I only lend it to oblige
you."

"How can you expect a d----d rascal to do any such thing?" replied I.

"D----d rascal! Ah! it vash I who vash a rascal, and vash a fool to say
the word. Mishter Newland, you vash a gentleman, you vill pay me my
monish. You vill pay me part of my monish. I have de agreement in my
pocket, all ready to give up."

"If I have not the money, how can I pay you?"

"Fader Abraham, if you have not de monish--you must have some monish;
den you will pay me a part. How much vill you pay me?"

"Will you take five hundred pounds, and return the agreement?"

"Five hundred pounds--lose half--oh! Mr Newland--it was all lent in
monish, not in goods; you will not make me lose so much as dat?"

"I'm not sure that I will give you five hundred pounds; your bond is not
worth two-pence, and you know it."

"Your honour, Mishter Newland, is worth more dan ten tousand pounds: but
if you have not de monish, den you shall pay me de five hundred pounds
which you offer, and I will give up de paper."

"I never offered five hundred pounds."

"Not offer; but you mention de sum, dat quite enough."

"Well then, for five hundred pounds, you will give up the paper?"

"Yes; I vash content to loshe all de rest, to please you."

I went to my desk, and took out five hundred pounds in notes. "Now,
there is the money, which you may put your hands on when you give up the
agreement." The old man pulled out the agreement and laid it on the
table, catching up the notes. I looked at the paper to see if it was all
right, and then tore it up. Emmanuel put the notes, with a heavy sigh,
into his inside coat pocket, and prepared to depart. "Now, Mr Emmanuel,
I will show that I have a little more honour than you think for. This
is all the money I have in the world," said I, taking out of my desk
the remaining thousand pounds, "and half of it I give to you, to pay you
the whole money which you lent me. Here is five hundred pounds more, and
now we are quits."

The eyes of the old man were fixed upon me in astonishment, and from my
face they glanced upon the notes; he could, to use a common expression,
neither believe his eyes nor his ears. At last he took the money, again
unbuttoned and pulled out his pocket-book, and with a trembling hand
stowed them away as before.

"You vash a very odd gentleman, Mishter Newland," said he; "you kick me
down stairs, and--but dat is noting."

"Good-bye, Mr Emmanuel," said I, "and let me eat my dinner."

Chapter LVI

I resolve to begin the world again, and to seek my fortune in the
next path--I take leave of all my old friends.

The Jew retired, and I commenced my meal, when the door again slowly
opened, and Mr Emmanuel crawled up to me.

"Mishter Newland, I vash beg your pardon, but vill you not pay me de
interest of de monish?"

I started up from my chair, with my rattan in my hand. "Begone, you old
thief," cried I; and hardly were the words out of my mouth, before Mr
Emmanuel travelled out of the room, and I never saw him afterwards. I
was pleased with myself for having done this act of honesty, and for the
first time for a long while, I ate my dinner with some zest. After I had
finished, I took a twenty pound note, and laid it in my desk, the
remainder of the five hundred pounds I put in my pocket, to try my last
chance. In an hour I quitted the hell penniless. When I returned home I
had composed myself a little after the dreadful excitement which I had
been under. I felt a calm, and a degree of negative happiness. I knew my
fate--there was no more suspense. I sat down to reflect upon what I
should do. I was to commence the world again--to sink down at once into
obscurity--into poverty--and I felt happy. I had severed the link
between myself and my former condition--I was again a beggar, but I was
independent--and I resolved so to be. I spoke kindly to Timothy, went to
bed, and having arranged in my own mind how I should act, I fell sound
asleep.

I never slept better, or awoke more refreshed. The next morning I packed
up my portmanteau, taking with me only the most necessary articles; all
the details of the toilet, further than cleanliness was concerned, I
abjured. When Timothy came in, I told him that I was going down to Lady
de Clare's, which I intended to do. Poor Timothy was overjoyed at the
change in my manner, little thinking that he was so soon to lose me--for,
reader, I had made up my mind that I would try my fortunes alone; and,
painful as I felt would be the parting with so valued a friend, I was
determined that I would no longer have even his assistance or company.
I was determined to forget all that had passed, and commence the world
anew. I sat down while Timothy went out to take a place in the Richmond
coach, and wrote to him the following letter:--

My Dear Timothy,--Do not think that I undervalue your friendship,
or shall ever forget your regard for me, when I tell you that we
shall probably never meet again. Should fortune favour me, I
trust we shall--but of that there is little prospect. I have lost
almost everything: my money is all gone, my house is sold, and
all is gambled away. I leave you, with only my clothes in my
portmanteau and twenty pounds. For yourself, there is the
furniture, which you must sell, as well as every other article
left behind. It is all yours, and I hope you will find means to
establish yourself in some way. God bless you--and believe me
always and gratefully yours,

"Japhet Newland."

This letter I reserved to put in the post when I quitted Richmond. My
next letter was to Mr Masterton.

"Sir,--Your note I received, and I am afraid that, unwittingly,
you have been the occasion of my present condition. That I did
not deserve the language addressed to me, you may satisfy
yourself by applying to Mr Harcourt. Driven to desperation, I
have lost all I had in the world, by adding gaming to my many
follies. I now am about to seek my fortune, and prosecute my
search after my father. You will, therefore, return my most
sincere acknowledgments to Lord Windermear, for his kind offers
and intentions, and assure him that my feelings towards him will
always be those of gratitude and respect. For yourself, accept my
warmest thanks for the friendly advice and kind interest which
you have shown in my welfare, and believe me, when I say, that my
earnest prayers shall be offered up for your happiness. If you
can, in any way, assist my poor friend, Timothy, who will, I have
no doubt, call upon you in his distress, you will confer an
additional favour on,"

"Yours, ever gratefully,"

"Japhet Newland."

I sealed this letter, and when Timothy returned, I told him that I
wished him, after my departure, to take it to Mr Masterton's, and not
wait for an answer. I then, as I had an hour to spare, before the coach
started, entered into a conversation with Timothy. I pointed out to him
the unfortunate condition in which I found myself, and my determination
to quit the metropolis.

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