It Is Only In The Farce
And For Dramatic Purposes That Scapin Enlarges On His Peculiar
Talents To The World At Large.
Scapin is perhaps a good name for this clever, unfortunate Alick;
for at the bottom of all his misconduct there was a guiding sense
of humour that moved you to forgive him.
It was more than half a
jest that he conducted his existence. 'Oh, man,' he said to me
once with unusual emotion, like a man thinking of his mistress, 'I
would give up anything for a lark.'
It was in relation to his fellow-stowaway that Alick showed the
best, or perhaps I should say the only good, points of his nature.
'Mind you,' he said suddenly, changing his tone, 'mind you that's a
good boy. He wouldn't tell you a lie. A lot of them think he is a
scamp because his clothes are ragged, but he isn't; he's as good as
gold.' To hear him, you become aware that Alick himself had a
taste for virtue. He thought his own idleness and the other's
industry equally becoming. He was no more anxious to insure his
own reputation as a liar than to uphold the truthfulness of his
companion; and he seemed unaware of what was incongruous in his
attitude, and was plainly sincere in both characters.
It was not surprising that he should take an interest in the
Devonian, for the lad worshipped and served him in love and wonder.
Busy as he was, he would find time to warn Alick of an approaching
officer, or even to tell him that the coast was clear, and he might
slip off and smoke a pipe in safety. 'Tom,' he once said to him,
for that was the name which Alick ordered him to use, 'if you don't
like going to the galley, I'll go for you. You ain't used to this
kind of thing, you ain't. But I'm a sailor; and I can understand
the feelings of any fellow, I can.' Again, he was hard up, and
casting about for some tobacco, for he was not so liberally used in
this respect as others perhaps less worthy, when Alick offered him
the half of one of his fifteen sticks. I think, for my part, he
might have increased the offer to a whole one, or perhaps a pair of
them, and not lived to regret his liberality. But the Devonian
refused. 'No,' he said, 'you're a stowaway like me; I won't take
it from you, I'll take it from some one who's not down on his
luck.'
It was notable in this generous lad that he was strongly under the
influence of sex. If a woman passed near where he was working, his
eyes lit up, his hand paused, and his mind wandered instantly to
other thoughts. It was natural that he should exercise a
fascination proportionally strong upon women. He begged, you will
remember, from women only, and was never refused. Without wishing
to explain away the charity of those who helped him, I cannot but
fancy he may have owed a little to his handsome face, and to that
quick, responsive nature, formed for love, which speaks eloquently
through all disguises, and can stamp an impression in ten minutes'
talk or an exchange of glances. He was the more dangerous in that
he was far from bold, but seemed to woo in spite of himself, and
with a soft and pleading eye. Ragged as he was, and many a
scarecrow is in that respect more comfortably furnished, even on
board he was not without some curious admirers.
There was a girl among the passengers, a tall, blonde, handsome,
strapping Irishwoman, with a wild, accommodating eye, whom Alick
had dubbed Tommy, with that transcendental appropriateness that
defies analysis. One day the Devonian was lying for warmth in the
upper stoke-hole, which stands open on the deck, when Irish Tommy
came past, very neatly attired, as was her custom.
'Poor fellow,' she said, stopping, 'you haven't a vest.'
'No,' he said; 'I wish I 'ad.'
Then she stood and gazed on him in silence, until, in his
embarrassment, for he knew not how to look under this scrutiny, he
pulled out his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco.
'Do you want a match?' she asked. And before he had time to reply,
she ran off and presently returned with more than one.
That was the beginning and the end, as far as our passage is
concerned, of what I will make bold to call this love-affair.
There are many relations which go on to marriage and last during a
lifetime, in which less human feeling is engaged than in this scene
of five minutes at the stoke-hole.
Rigidly speaking, this would end the chapter of the stowaways; but
in a larger sense of the word I have yet more to add. Jones had
discovered and pointed out to me a young woman who was remarkable
among her fellows for a pleasing and interesting air. She was
poorly clad, to the verge, if not over the line, of
disrespectability, with a ragged old jacket and a bit of a sealskin
cap no bigger than your fist; but her eyes, her whole expression,
and her manner, even in ordinary moments, told of a true womanly
nature, capable of love, anger, and devotion. She had a look, too,
of refinement, like one who might have been a better lady than
most, had she been allowed the opportunity. When alone she seemed
preoccupied and sad; but she was not often alone; there was usually
by her side a heavy, dull, gross man in rough clothes, chary of
speech and gesture - not from caution, but poverty of disposition; a
man like a ditcher, unlovely and uninteresting; whom she petted and
tended and waited on with her eyes as if he had been Amadis of
Gaul.
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