THE TOLL-KEEPERS AND OTHER STORIES FOR THE YOUNG

BY BENJAMIN CLARKE AUTHOR OF “MY FIRST AND LAST VOYAGE,” ETC. ETC.

EDINBURGH W. P. NIMMO, HAY, & MITCHELL

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CONTENTS.

The “Chips from a Naval Officer’s Log” are all strictly true, having been related to the Writer by officers who bore witness to the truth of their statements.

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THE TOLL-KEEPERS.

Bushgrove farm-house was a right snug homestead, and the farm-yard, and the rick-yard, and the out-buildings said very plainly that Farmer Cousens was a well-to-do man. To spend one fine summer’s day at Bushgrove would furnish you children with enough to talk about for a month. There would be something to suit the tastes of all of you. Some of the boys would make for the stable at once, and very likely would get a chance of a ride in one of the carts to some part of the farm; others would venture up in the loft above, and perform some daring somersaults on the soft hay; some of the girls would get [6]permission to feed the poultry, and be delighted when the different sorts came half running, half flying at the sight of the well-known bowl; others would only be too glad to help Mrs Cousens in the house, especially if they were entrusted with the important duty of going up to the apple room and selecting the nicest, rosiest apples for the pie. But none, either of the boys or girls, would be far away when the cows were milked just before tea, for a draught of new

milk warm from the cow is a treat that Londoners do not easily forget.

I will undertake, however, to say that not one of you when thinking over your day’s pleasure, but would decide that the most enjoyable part of your visit was your introduction to little Sophy and Nelly Cousens.

Oh! their father would not think much of his farm or his ricks if he had not these little rogues about him, and their mother would consider Bushgrove a very dismal home without these little feet trotting about it: it was hard to say who was the farmer’s favourite. Sophy was the elder and the [7]prettier, so strangers said, but “Bless you,” he would say, “folks may talk, but they won’t persuade me which is the prettier, for I don’t want to know: ’tis just like this with cows—some like ’em all roan, others like ’em spotted, but Betty doesn’t care which way ’tis as long as they are quiet and well-behaved when she milks ’em; so I say, as long as the dear children are good, what’s the use of comparing ’em feature by feature?” But friends could not help comparing their manner. Nelly, though only four,—more than a year younger than her sister—was by far the sturdier child, and far less shy and bashful. She would hold up her dear honest face for any one to kiss that spoke kindly to her, while Sophy needed to be persuaded

that you loved her before she would raise her drooping eyes, much less her plump cheeks.

Now Farmer Cousens used to grumble—all farmers have some cause, they say; and his was, that he could not take his corn, or his hay, or his vegetables to market without paying a heavy toll. But when most inclined to complain, he would think of the other [8]toll gate nearer home, and then his face would lighten up with a smile.

I wonder who kept that other gate, and what the toll was for passing through.

It was very strictly kept by two little keepers, who were very partial indeed in deciding who were to pay, and who were to go free; and, strange to say, those they loved best had to pay the most. Why, they let their toll gate take care of itself till just as they knew their father would be coming home; then they would take up their places—Sophy on her feet, ready to catch him if he should try to run through; and Nelly sitting up on the bars, to get a ride when the gate was opened, as well as her toll. Sometimes her father pretended he could not open it with such a great heavy weight on it, but she was not to be done in that way. If anything delayed him longer than usual, Sophy would soon begin to get anxious and fear he would not come before it was time for her to go to bed, but little Nelly rested her heels on the bar, and planted her hands so firmly, as much as to say, “Here I sit till he does come.”

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All right, Sophy; cheer up, little woman; I hear old Bob’s steady trot, your father is coming, and you won’t care about our society just now; so good-bye both of you, and save some kisses for us when we next go through—we shall want lots of change for our money.

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CHIPS FROM A NAVAL OFFICER’S LOG.

I hardly know whether I ought to call the short story I am going to tell you “a chip” from my log, or not; for this reason, that it did not occur in my own experience, but was related to me. However, like all my other chips, you may rely on its truth. I can vouch for the fact that I am going to mention, and you may rely on whatever you find in my log, for old sailors have seen too many wonderful things that have really happened to go out of their way to take in their listeners by trying to impose upon them.

If you want wonderful things that never [12]happened; if you want frightful scenes that never could have occurred; if you want battles written by people that scarcely know the stem from the stern of a ship; that know nothing of the Queen’s service, and precious little of the Queen’s English, then you must go to “Admiral Dick; or, the Death Calm;” or, “Stick-at-nothing Tom; or, the Gory Capstan,” or some such rubbish as you see advertised, and alas! see read. Now, I won’t say more about this now, except that the boys and girls who care for my chips, and take any interest in them, will find them truthful and harmless, neither of which qualities do those exciting and absurd tales possess.

Well, when I was serving in the “Conqueror” frigate, there was a midshipman who was a Turk by birth. He was the only Turk I ever knew in Her Majesty’s service; but this youngster was not a bad sort of a fellow in his way. ’Twas from him I heard this short story, with which he was personally familiar. In a former ship in which he sailed, there was a passenger who had made some money as a milkman at Constantinople, [13]which he kept in a bag in his cabin, and was very fond of retiring there and counting it over. Now, the captain had a pet monkey that used to watch this man, and seeing him so often going to this bag, he thought there must be something in it worth examining; so one day he watched his opportunity, ran into the man’s cabin, seized the bag, and climbed with it up to the mainsail-yard. The man soon missed his bag, and soon found out where it was gone, for the monkey began taking out the gold coins, and throwing them alternately on the deck and into the sea.

Those that fell on the deck the poor man greedily picked up, but the half of them that went overboard, of course, were lost. He did not intend putting up with his loss so quietly, for he held the captain responsible, as it was his monkey that had robbed him.

Nothing could be done until the vessel got into port, when the man had the captain brought before the Kadi, or magistrate, to recover the value of the coins lost.

“You were a milkman?” said the Kadi.

“I was, sir,” replied the man.

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“And, pray, will you tell me how much water you used to put with your milk?”

The man was much confused, and replied, he would rather not tell; but as he saw the magistrate was determined to know, he at last confessed he used to mix one-half.

“Very well, then,” said the Kadi, “it appears to me that only one-half of what you earned was honestly yours. You have got, therefore, all that was your due, and this monkey has only thrown into the water the amount of profit you dishonestly got out of the water.”

Thus, judgment was given against the man, and every one but he felt how just it was.

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A SHORT ACCOUNT OF GIBRALTAR. FROM NOTES OF A PERSONAL VISIT.

The rock, the town, the bay, and the strait of Gibraltar lie, as you know, at the southern extremity of Spain, but I dare say if you have been at all interested in the place, you have fallen into the same mistake that many have who are older than you. They have thought the town was near the mouth of the strait which its artillery is supposed to command.

But this is not the case, the town is more than twenty miles from the Atlantic, and its guns, instead of pointing southward to the straits, which are here no less than fifteen miles across, point towards the bay on the west, where alone it is accessible, and to the Spanish mainland on the north.

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Looking at Gibraltar from the sea, it is indeed a grand sight. The rock is formed of marble and limestone, and rises to three points, the loftiest of which, Sugar Loaf Point, is 1439 feet from the sea. Europa Point is on the south, and here, on an oval platform, stands the governor’s cottage.

One of the most dreadful tragedies I ever heard of in the way of duelling came off at Europa Point. One evening an American officer was going through the guard-room—where were a number of English officers—on the way to his ship, when as he passed he overheard the Englishmen mention, in no insulting manner, the word “Yankee.” He returned, boiling over with rage, and told them they should repent the insult, which they declared was never intended. However, the American returned next day with a challenge from as many officers of his ship as there were English officers of our army in the guard-room, to fight duels.

The English took up the challenge, but stipulated that they would none of them fight with Americans of inferior rank. This threw out some of the Americans, so that then there [17]were more English than necessary, and they arranged amongst themselves that no married men, but only single ones, should go forth to this mad encounter. The morning came, and at Europa Point there stood up in deadly combat four English against four American officers, of whom two were killed and three or four wounded. Now I cannot be quite exact as to the number; I know however I am rather under the mark than over—but the main incident I had from most reliable authority at Gibraltar.

On landing, one is disappointed with the town itself, which is situated at the base of the rock. It is a miserable place, with small dirty-looking houses and straggling irregular streets. The inhabitants themselves—some 20,000 of them—are not very attractive, such a mixture of English, Spanish, Moors, and Turks, with but little in the fair sex to warrant their being called so. But if you are not struck with the beauty of the people, you will be with the strength of the place. All the descriptions you may have read will not prepare you for the reality, so that I do not expect my account of it will bring you much [18]nearer. I will merely say, therefore, that there are four or five tiers of galleries rising one above another on one side of the rock, in which are placed guns of immense power and weight. Smaller batteries are placed in every possible direction, and altogether there can be stowed away ammunition and provisions sufficient for a very long siege. Ordinarily, there are about seven thousand soldiers on the rock, of whom about three

thousand belong to the artillery, but these are not enough to work all the guns, so that in case of war many more would be sent out.

Ah! in case of war; that reminds us that it has often been the scene of warfare, and perhaps a short sketch of its past history would not be uninteresting to our young readers.

When William III. assisted Charles III. of Spain against Philip V. it was agreed that Gibraltar was to be given to England, but as the agreement was not kept, and Gibraltar was not handed over to us, Sir G. Rooke took forcible possession of it in the year 1704. An attempt was made by the Spaniards to recover it, but it was formally ceded to us in July 1713.

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In the year 1779, during the war with America, Gibraltar was blockaded by the French and Spanish squadrons. The garrison, under Governor-General Elliott, made a brave resistance, but was subject to great privations by reason of the provisions running scarce through the long siege. At last a vessel hove in sight which proved to be the forerunner of Admiral Rodney’s squadron of twenty ships, who, having defeated the enemy, came to the relief of the garrison.

Since then the Spaniards have often desired to be again in possession of Gibraltar, and have made some attempts, but always unsuccessful. They now see the value and importance of it, and so do we. It is the key to the Mediterranean, and though England has a good many keys on her bunch, she is not likely to give up this one.

And now with an anecdote nearer our own time, I must close. You know that William IV. was in the navy when young, and once, when he was a midshipman, he served under Admiral Digby in the Prince George.

When the Spanish Admiral Langara was a prisoner of the English, he visited Admiral [20]Digby, and was introduced to His Royal Highness, who retired during the conference, but reappeared at its conclusion as the midshipman on duty, respectfully informing the Spanish Admiral that the boat was manned ready for him. “Well does Great Britain merit the empire of the sea,” exclaimed the Spaniard, “when the humblest stations in her navy are occupied by princes of the blood.”

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A GENEROUS ENEMY.

In 1815 I was a “younker,” or midshipman, on board His Majesty’s ship “Swinger,” a twelve-gun brig.

I remember one day, soon after we left Surinam, our captain hobbled upon deck—for he had a wooden leg—and as his custom was, he stood up near one of the guns, and looked over the ship’s side.

“Beat to quarters,” shouted the captain; and sure enough ’twas no false alarm, for bearing right down upon us was a ship much larger than our own, which we soon made out to be an American. Nothing daunted by her size or her superior armament, and consequently larger ship’s company, we prepared for action, and soon gave the enemy a [22]taste of our metal. Nothing could have been better than the manner in which our guns were served, for although we had but sixty men and boys, and twelve guns, whilst the enemy had 145 men and boys, and fifteen guns, we kept up a galling fire for two hours and a-half, until the American, finding she had had as much as she cared for, and not wanting a closer acquaintance, made off and left us.

We gave chase for the remainder of the day, but as she was a much faster ship than ours she made good her escape.

Soon after, we returned to Surinam; but on the way we painted our ports, so that we were not at first recognised.

I had better explain that when we left we were painted entirely black, but on our return we were black and white, something like a chess-board.

When we asked “what news,” we were told that a little black brig, that had recently left, had been licked by an American. We had a good laugh, of course, and we were able to give a much better account of the little black brig than that.

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Well, six years after, in 1821, a friend of mine was in the West Indies, and was thrown into contact with the captain of the American vessel that encountered the “Swinger.” He often spoke of the engagement, and declared “he would give anything to see her captain, for he was the smartest man he’d ever came across.”

“Why,” said my friend, “the officer who commanded the ‘Swinger’ is now here, and is an old friend of mine. I shall be delighted to introduce you.”

Accordingly it was arranged, and a friendly meeting took place between the two former enemies. The American rushed up to his old opponent, and shook him by the hand in such a hearty manner, that it was some minutes before he relinquished his grasp. “I’m delighted to see you, sir,” he said; “you’re the cleverest man I ever saw, by a long chalk. Why, I expected to chaw you up in about half-an-hour, and instead of that, in about two you gave me such a walloping that I ran into port and didn’t venture out again. We had nine killed and fifteen wounded; how many had you?”

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“Only five killed and wounded.”

“Well done! give us your hand again, captain!”

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THIRSTY JACK.

This little story I am going to tell you is a very small chip, so small, indeed, that it might be almost called a shaving, but it comes into my mind just now, and is such a trifling occurrence, that unless I tell you now I may forget it at another time. It will just do to fill up a spare moment or two while your candle is being got ready for bed, or after you have finished your dinner, and have a minute to spare, or while you are waiting to be attended to in a shop.

It is about Jack Fraser, one of our lieutenants in the ——. Well, on second thoughts, I won’t tell you the name of the ship, or some of my fair young friends may be [26]ingenious enough to look through old Navy Lists, and by seeing when my ship was at the station I am going to mention, may discover that I must be getting very old, whereas I want you all to fancy I’m very young. At all events, though my timbers are creaking, and my skylights getting dim, and my figure-head rather grey, I am still fond of boys and girls, and like to have them about me.

Well, about Jack Fraser. We were at Jamaica, which is, as you know, rather a warm climate. Fraser was what they call “a thirsty soul,” that is, one very fond of his glass; not his spyglass for looking abroad, or his looking-glass for looking at home, but his wine glass and grog-tumbler. He had always some excuse, though I can’t call it a reason. When here, he used to say it was so hot we could only keep cool by drinking; when farther north in colder climates, he declared the only way to keep warm was by drinking; and when on any home station on half-pay, he used to say that this was such a wretched climate that he could only keep off “the blues” by his glass regular. I always think when I hear any one finding excuses like this [27]for drinking, that he is rather ashamed of it himself, and that he indulges far more than is generally supposed.

Well, one afternoon he went ashore at Port Royal, and had not returned when we all turned in, and when all lights were turned out. By and by Jack came on board and began fumbling about for something to drink. The steward had retired, so he knew he could not get supplied. My cabin opened in the mess-room, so I heard him talking to himself about his misfortune in being so thirsty and in not getting anything to drink. Presently I found out he had discovered some, which he soon drank off, for in a few seconds I heard such a spitting and spluttering that I laughed right out, for I at once guessed what had happened. He had got hold of the jug which contained a decoction for enticing mosquitoes and other insects to it, and which had done its work pretty well that day. It was this liquid Fraser had drunk, and it was these mosquitoes that he had spit out, except such as had been swallowed past recovery.

I wish this had taught him a lesson; but this bad habit, even more than others, though [28]it may receive many checks, is with the greatest difficulty given up.

Take care, young friends, that you do not form them.

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A VISIT TO MALTA.

The view of Malta did not quite equal my expectations, though the I harbour certainly is very fine, and the number of gay and picturesque-looking boats makes it a lively scene. The fortifications are of great extent, but so different from Gibraltar, being all artificial. I need hardly say that Malta is an island in the Mediterranean, between Africa and Sicily, but perhaps it may be necessary to mention that it is about 20 miles long by 12 broad.

By the way, Malta is not unlike some human beings—naturally barren and of no use, but by culture and application and diligence, and with help from others, how very fertile they become?

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