The Poacher; Or, Joseph RushbrookMarryat, Frederick
General
The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook
Marryat, Frederick
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Murder -- Fiction; Poachers -- Fiction
"Poor fellow!" continued Mrs Chopper, with a sigh, "he went to his long
account without paying me my short one. Never mind; I wish he was
alive, and twice as much in my debt. There's another--I recollect that
well, Peter, for it's a proof that sailors are honest; and I do believe
that, if they don't pay, it's more from thoughtlessness than anything
else; and then the women coax all their money from them, for sailors
don't care for money when they do get it--and then those Jews are such
shocking fellows; but look you, Peter, this is almost the first bill run
up after I took up the business. He was a nice fair-haired lad from
Shields; and the boy was cast away, and he was picked up by another
vessel, and brought here; and I let him have things and lent him money
to the amount of a matter of 20 pounds, and he said he would save all
and pay me, and he sailed away again, and I never heard of him for nine
years. I thought that he was drowned, or that he was not an honest lad;
I didn't know which, and it was a deal of money to lose; but I gave it
up; when one day a tall, stout fellow, with great red whiskers, called
upon me, and said, `Do you know me?' `No,' said I, half-frightened;
`how should I know you? I never see'd you before.'--`Yes, you did,'
says he, `and here's a proof of it;' and he put down on the table a lot
of money, and said, `Now, missus, help yourself: better late than never.
I'm Jim Sparling, who was cast away, and who you were as good as a
mother to; but I've never been able to get leave to come to you since.
I'm boatswain's mate of a man-of-war, and have just received my pay, and
now I've come to pay my debts.' He would make me take 5 pounds more
than his bill, to buy a new silk gown for his sake. Poor fellow! he's
dead now. Here's another, that was run up by one of your tall, lanky
sailors, who wear their knives in a sheath, and not with a lanyard round
their waists; those fellows never pay, but they swear dreadfully. Let
me see, what can this one be? Read it, Peter; how much is it?"
"4 pounds, 2 shillings, 4 pence," replied our hero.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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