Olla Podrida

“You won’t see so much of me soon, dearest,” said she one morning, gravely.

“Why not, my soft one?” replied Jack.

“Don’t you recollect that the winter months are coming on?”

“So they are,” replied Jack. “Well, I shall long for you back.”

And Jack did long, and long very much, for he loved his dear wind and the fine weather which accompanied her. Winter came on and heavy gales and rain, and thunder and lightning; nothing but double-reefed top-sails, and wearing in succession; and our hero walked the forecastle, and thought of his favourite wind. The North East winds came down furiously, and the weather was bitter cold. The officers shook the rain and spray off their garments when their watch was over, and called for grog.

“Steward, a glass of grog,” cried one; “and let it be strong.”

“The same for me,” said Jack; “only, I’ll mix it myself.”

Jack poured out the rum till the tumbler was half full.

“Why, Littlebrain,” said his messmate, “that is a dose; that’s what we call a regular Nor-wester.”

“Is it?” replied Jack. “Well then, Nor-westers suit me exactly, and I shall stick to them like cobblers’ wax.”

And during the whole of the winter months our hero showed a great predilection for Nor-westers.

It was in the latter end of February that there was a heavy gale; it had blown furiously from the northward for three days, and then it paused and panted as if out of breath—no wonder! And then the wind shifted, and shifted again, with squalls and heavy rain, until it blew from every quarter of the compass.

Our hero’s watch was over, and he came down and called for a “Nor-wester” as usual.

“How is the wind now?” asked the first lieutenant the master, who came down dripping wet.

“South South West, but drawing now fast to the Westward,” said old Spunyarn.

And so it was; and it veered round until “South West and by West three-quarters West,” with an angry gust, came down the sky-light, and blowing strongly into our hero’s ear, cried,—

“Oh, you false one!”

“False!” exclaimed Jack. “What! you here, and so angry too? What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter!—do you think I don’t know? What have you been doing over since I was away, comforting yourself during my absence with Nor-westers?”

“Why, you an’t jealous of a Nor-wester, are you?” replied Littlebrain. “I confess, I’m rather partial to them.”

“What! this to my face!—I’ll never come again, without you promise me that you will have nothing to do with them, and never call for one again. Be quick—I cannot stay more than two minutes; for it is hard work now, and we relieve quick—say the word.”

“Well, then,” replied Littlebrain, “you’ve no objection to half-and-half?”

“None in the world; that’s quite another thing, and has nothing to do with the wind.”

“It has, though,” thought Jack, “for it gets a man in the wind; but I won’t tell her so; and,” continued he, “you don’t mind a raw nip, do you?”

“No—I care for nothing except a Nor-wester.”

“I’ll never call for one again,” replied Jack; “it is but making my grog a little stronger; in future it shall be half-and-half.”

“That’s a dear! Now I’m off—don’t forget me;” and away went the wind in a great hurry.

It was about three months after this short visit, the fleet being off Corsica, that our hero was walking the deck, thinking that he soon should see the object of his affections, when a privateer brig was discovered at anchor a few miles from Bastia. The signal was made for the boats of the fleet to cut her out; and the Admiral, wishing that his nephew should distinguish himself somehow, gave him the command of one of the finest boats. Now Jack was as brave as brave could be; he did not know what danger was; he hadn’t wit enough to perceive it, and there was no doubt but he would distinguish himself. The boats went on the service. Jack was the very first on board, cheering his men as he darted into the closed ranks of his opponents. Whether it was that he did not think that his head was worth defending, or that he was too busy in breaking the heads of others to look after his own this is certain, that a tomahawk descended upon it with such force as to bury itself in his skull (and his was a thick skull too). The privateer’s men were overpowered by numbers, and then our hero was discovered, under a pile of bodies, still breathing heavily. He was hoisted on board, and taken into his uncle’s cabin: the surgeon shook his head when he had examined that of our hero.

“It must have been a most tremendous blow,” said he to the Admiral, “to have penetrated—”

“It must have been, indeed,” replied the Admiral, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; for he loved his nephew.

The surgeon having done all that his art would enable him, left the cabin to attend to the others who were hurt; the Admiral also went on the quarter-deck, walking to and fro for an hour in a melancholy mood. He returned to the cabin, and bent over his nephew; Jack opened his eyes.

“My dear fellow,” said the Admiral, “how’s your head now?”

“South West and by West three-quarters West,” faintly exclaimed our hero, constant in death, as he turned a little on one side and expired.

It was three days afterwards, as the fleet were on a wind, making for Malta, that the bell of the ship tolled, and a body, sewed up in a hammock and covered with the Union Jack, was carried to the gangway by the Admiral’s bargemen. It had been a dull cloudy day, with little wind; the hands were turned up, the officers and men stood uncovered; the Admiral in advance with his arms folded, as the chaplain read the funeral service over the body of our hero,—and as the service proceeded, the sails flapped, for the wind had shifted a little; a motion was made, by the hand of the officer of the watch, to the man at the helm to let the ship go off the wind, that the service might not be disturbed, and a mizzling soft rain descended. The wind had shifted to our hero’s much loved point, his fond mistress had come to mourn over the loss of her dearest, and the rain that descended were the tears which she shed at the death of her handsome but not over-gifted lover.

Chapter Forty Three

Ill-Will

Dramatis Personae.

Mr Cadaverous , An old miser, very rich and very ill.

Edward , A young lawyer without a brief.

Mr Haustus Gumarabic , Apothecary.

Seedy , Solicitor.

Thomas Montague, John Montague , Nephews to Mr Cadaverous.

James Sterling, William Sterling , nephews twice removed to Mr Cadaverous.

Clementina Montagu , Niece to Mr Cadaverous.

Mrs Jellybags, Housekeeper and nurse.

Act One

Scene.—A sick room.—Mr Cadaverous in an easy chair asleep, supported by cushions, wrapped up in his dressing-gown, a night-cap on his head.—A small table with phials, gallipots, etcetera.—Mrs Jellybags seated on a chair close to the table.

(Mrs Jellybags looks at Mr Cadaverous, and then comes forward.) He sleeps yet—the odious old miser! Mercy on me, how I do hate him,—almost as much as he loves his money! there’s one comfort, he cannot take his money-bags with him, and the doctor says that he cannot last much longer. Ten years have I been his slave—ten years have I been engaged to be married to Sergeant Major O’Callaghan of the Blues—ten years has he kept me waiting at the porch of Hymen,—and what thousands of couples have I seen enter during the time! Oh dear! its enough to drive a widow mad. I think I have managed it;—he has now quarrelled with all his relations, and Dr Gumarabic intends this day to suggest the propriety of his making his last will and testament. (Mr Cadaverous, still asleep, coughs.) He is waking, (Looks at him.) No, he is not. Well, then, I shall wake him, and give him a draught, for, after such a comfortable sleep as he is now in, he might last a whole week longer. (Goes up to Mr Cadaverous, and shakes him.)

Mr Cad. (starting up.) Ugh ugh! ugh! (coughs violently.) Oh! Mrs Jellybags, I’m so ill. Ugh! ugh!

Jel. My dear, dear sir! now don’t say so. I was in hopes, after such a nice long sleep you would have found yourself so much better.

Cad. Long sleep! oh dear!—I’m sure I’ve not slept ten minutes.

Jel. (aside.) I know that. (Aloud.) Indeed, my dear sir, you are mistaken. Time passes very quick when we are fast asleep. I have been watching you and keeping the flies off. But you must now take your draught, my dear sir, and your pill first.

Cad. What! more pills and more draughts! Why, there’s no end to them.

Jel. Yes, there will be, by and by, my dear sir. You know Doctor Gumarabic has ordered you take one pill and one draught every half hour.

Cad. And so I have—never missed one for the last six weeks—woke up for them day and night. I feel very weak—very weak, indeed! Don’t you think I might eat something, my dear Mrs Jellybags?

Jel. Eat, my dear Mr Cadaverous!—how can you ask me, when you know that Doctor Gumarabic says that it would be the death of you?

Cad. Only the wing of a chicken,—or a bit of the breast—

Jel. Impossible!

Cad. A bit of dry toast, then; any thing, my dear Mrs Jellybags. I’ve such a gnawing—Ugh! ugh!

Jel. My dear sir, you would die if you swallowed the least thing that’s nourishing.

Cad. I’m sure I shall die if I do not. Well, then, a little soup—I should like that very much indeed.

Jel. Soup! it would be poison, my dear sir! No, no. You must take your pill and your draught.

Cad. Oh dear! oh dear!—Forty-eight pills and forty-eight draughts every twenty-four hours!—not a wink of sleep day or night.

Jel. (soothingly.) But it’s to make you well, you know, my dear Mr Cadaverous. Come, now. (Hands him a pill and some water in a tumbler.)

Cad. The last one is hardly down yet;—I feel it sticking half-way. Ugh! ugh!

Jel. Then wash them both down at once. Come, now, ’tis to make you well, you know.

Cadaverous takes the pill with a wry face, and coughs it up again.

Cad. Ugh! ugh! There—it’s up again. Oh dear! oh dear!

Jel. You must take it, my dear sir. Come, now, try again.

Cad. (coughing.) My cough is so bad. (Takes the pill.) Oh, my poor head! Now I’ll lie down again.

Jel. Not yet, my dear Mr Cadaverous. You must take your draught;—it’s to make you well, you know.

Cad. What! another draught? I’m sure I must have twenty draughts in my inside, besides two boxes of pills!

Jel. Come, now—it will be down in a minute.

(Cadaverous takes the wine-glass in his hand, and looks at it with abhorrence.)

Jel. Come, now.

(Cadaverous swallows the draught, and feels very sick, puts his handkerchief to his mouth, and, after a time, sinks back in the chair quite exhausted, and shuts his eyes.)

Jel. (aside.) I wish the doctor would come. It’s high time that he made his will.

Cad. (drawing up his leg.) Oh! oh! oh!

Jel. What’s the matter, my dear Mr Cadaverous.

Cad. Oh! such pain!—oh! rub it, Mrs Jellybags.

Jel. What, here, my dear sir? (Rubs his knee.)

Cad. No, no!—Not there!—Oh, my hip!

Jel. What, here? (Rubs his hip.)

Cad. No, no!—higher—higher! Oh, my side!

Jel. What, here? (Rubs his side.)

Cad. No!—lower!

Jel. Here? (Rubbing.)

Cad. No!—higher!—Oh, my chest!—my stomach! Oh dear!—oh dear!

Jel. Are you better now, my dear sir?

Cad. Oh dear! oh! I do believe that I shall die! I’ve been a very wicked man, I’m afraid.

Jel. Don’t say so, Mr Cadaverous. Every one but your nephews and nieces say that you are the best man in the world.

Cad. Do they? I was afraid that I had not been quite so good as they think I am.

Jel. I’d like to hear any one say to the contrary. I’d tear their eyes out,—that I would.

Cad. You are a good woman, Mrs Jellybags; and I shall not forget you in my will.

Jel. Don’t mention wills, my dear sir. You make me so miserable. (Puts her handkerchief to her eyes.)

Cad. Don’t cry, Mrs Jellybags. I won’t talk any more about it. (Sinks back exhausted.)

Jel. (wiping her eyes.) Here comes Dr Gumarabic.

Enter Gumarabic

Gum. Good morning, Mistress Jellybags. Well, how’s our patient?—better?—heh?

(Mrs Jellybags shakes her head.)

Gum. No: well, that’s odd. (Goes up to Mr Cadaverous.) Not better, my dear sir?—don’t you feel stronger?

Cad. (faintly.) Oh, no!

Gum. Not stronger! Let us feel the pulse. (Mrs Jellybags hands a chair, and Gumarabic sits down, pulls out his watch, and counts.) Intermittent—135—well, now—that’s very odd! Mrs Jellybags, have you adhered punctually to my prescriptions?

Jel. Oh yes, sir, exactly.

Gum. He has eaten nothing?

Cad. Nothing at all.

Gum. And don’t feel stronger? Odd—very odd! Pray, has he had any thing in the way of drink? Come, Mrs Jellybags, no disguise,—tell the truth;—no soup—warm jelly—heh?

Jel. No, sir; upon my word, he has had nothing.

Gum. Humph?—and yet feels no stronger? Well, that’s odd!—Has he taken the pill every half-hour?

Jel. Yes, sir, regularly.

Gum. And feels no better! Are you sure that he has had his draught with his pill?

Jel. Every time, sir.

Gum. And feels no better! Well, that’s odd!—very odd, indeed! (Rises and comes forward with Mrs Jellybags.) We must throw in some more draughts, Mrs Jellybags; there is no time to be lost.

Jel. I am afraid he’s much worse, sir.

Gum. I am not at all afraid of it, Mrs Jellybags,—I am sure of it;—it’s very odd,—but the fact is, that all the physic in the world won’t save him; but still he must take it,—because—physic was made to be taken.

Jel. Very true, sir. (Whispers to Gumarabic.)

Gum. Ah! yes;—very proper. (Going to Mr Cadaverous.) My dear sir, I have done my best; nevertheless, you are ill,—very ill,—which is odd,—very odd! It is not pleasant,—I may say, very unpleasant,—but if you have any little worldly affairs to settle,—will to make,—or a codocil to add, in favour of your good nurse, your doctor, or so on,—it might be as well to send for your lawyer;—there is no saying, but, during my practice, I have sometimes found that people die. After all the physic you have taken, it certainly is odd—very odd—very odd, indeed;—but you might die to-morrow.

Cad. Oh dear!—I’m very ill.

Jel. (sobbing.) Oh dear! oh dear!—he’s very ill.

Gum. (comes forward, shrugging up his shoulders.) Yes; he is ill—very ill;—to-morrow, dead as mutton! At all events he has not died for want of physic. We must throw in some more draughts immediately;—no time to be lost. Life is short,—but my bill will be long—very long!

(Exit as scene closes.)Act 2

Scene 1 .—Enter Clementina, with a letter in her hand.

Clem. I have just received a letter from my dear Edward: he knows of my uncle’s danger, and is anxious to see me. I expect him immediately. I hope he will not be seen by Mrs Jellybags as he comes in, for she would try to make more mischief than than she has already. Dear Edward! how he loves me! (Kisses the letter.)

Enter Edward

Edw. My lovely, my beautiful, my adored Clementina! I have called upon Mr Gumarabic, who tells me that your uncle cannot live through the twenty-four hours, and I have flown here, my sweetest, dearest, to—to—

Clem. To see me, Edward: surely there needs no excuse for coming?

Edw. To reiterate my ardent, pure, and unchangeable affection, my dearest Clementina to assure you, that in sickness or in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, as they say in the marriage ceremony, I am yours till death us do part.

Clem. I accept the vow, dearest Edward. You know too well my heart for me to say more.

Edw. I do know your heart, Clementina, as it is,—nor do I think it possible that you could change;—still, sometimes—that is for a moment when I call to mind that, by your uncle’s death, as his favourite niece, living with him for so many years, you may soon find yourself in possession of thousands,—and that titled men may lay their coronets at your feet,—then, Clementina—

Clem. Ungenerous and unkind!—Edward, I almost hate you. Is a little money, then, to sway my affections? Shame, Edward, shame on you! Is such your opinion of my constancy? (Weeps.) You must judge me by your own heart.

Edw. Clementina! dearest Clementina!—I did!—but rather—that is,—I was not in earnest;—but when we value any object as I value you,—it may be forgiven, if I feel at times a little jealous;—yes, dearest, jealous!

Clem. ’Twas jealousy then, Edward, which made you so unkind? Well, then, I can forgive that.

Edw. Nothing but jealousy, dearest! I cannot help, at times, representing you surrounded by noble admirers,—all of them suing to you,—not for yourself, but for your money, tempting you with their rank;—and it makes me jealous, horribly jealous! I cannot compete with lords, Clementina,—a poor barrister without a brief.

Clem. I have loved you for yourself, Edward. I trust you have done the same toward me.

Edw. Yes; upon my soul, my Clementina!

Clem. Then my uncle’s disposition of his property will make no difference in me. For your sake, my dear Edward, I hope he will not forget me. What’s that? Mrs Jellybags is coming out of the room. Haste, Edward;—you must not be seen here. Away, dearest!—and may God bless you.

Edw. (kisses her hand.) Heaven preserve my adored, my matchless, ever-to-be-loved Clementina.

(Exeunt separately.)

Scene 2 .—The sick room—Mr Cadaverous, lying on sofa-bed—Mr Seedy, the lawyer, sitting by his side, with papers on the table before him.

Seedy . I believe now, sir, that every thing is arranged in your will according to your instructions. Shall I read it over again; for although signed and witnessed, you may make any alteration you please by a codicil.

Cad. No, no. You have read it twice, Mr Seedy, and you may leave me now. I am ill, very ill, and wish to be alone.

Seedy (folds up his papers and rises.) I take my leave, Mr Cadaverous, trusting to be long employed as your solicitor.

Cad. Afraid not, Mr Seedy. Lawyers have no great interest in heaven. Your being my solicitor will not help me there.

Seedy (coming forward as he goes out.) Not a sixpence to his legal adviser! Well, well! I know how to make out a bill for the executors.

(Exit Seedy, and enter Mrs Jellybags.)

Jel. (with her handkerchief to her eyes.) Oh dear! oh dear! oh, Mr Cadaverous, how can you fatigue and annoy yourself with such things as wills?

Cad. (faintly.) Don’t cry, Mrs Jellybags. I’ve not forgotten you.

Jel. (sobbing.) I can’t—help—crying. And there’s Miss Clementina,—now that you are dying,—who insists upon coming in to see you.

Cad. Clementina, my niece, let her come in, Mrs Jellybags; I feel I’m going fast,—I may as well take leave of every body.

Jel. (sobbing.) Oh dear! oh dear! You may come in, Miss.

Enter Clementina

Clem. My dear uncle, why have you, for so many days, refused me admittance? Every morning have I asked to be allowed to come and nurse you, and for more than three weeks have received a positive refusal.

Cad. Refusal! Why I never had a message from you.

Clem. No message! Every day I have sent, and every day did Mrs Jellybags reply that you would not see me.

Cad. (faintly.) Mrs Jellybags,—Mrs Jellybags—

Clem. Yes, uncle; it is true as I stand here;—and my brother Thomas has called almost every day, and John every Sunday, the only day he can leave the banking-house; and cousins William and James have both been here very often.

Cad. Nobody told me! I thought every one had forgotten me. Why was I not informed, Mrs Jellybags?

Jel. (in a rage.) Why, you little, story-telling creature, coming here to impose upon your good uncle! You know that no one has been here—not a soul;—and as for yourself, you have been too busy looking after a certain gentleman ever to think of your poor uncle;—that you have;—taking advantage of his illness to behave in so indecorous a manner. I would have told him every thing, but I was afraid of making him worse.

Clem. You are a false, wicked woman!

Jel. Little impudent creature,—trying to make mischief between me and my kind master, but it won’t do. (To Clementina aside.) The will is signed, and I’ll take care he does not alter it;—so do your worst.

Cad. (faintly.) Give me the mixture, Mrs —