Sir Thomas Branston

Chapter I. The School-mistress

"VTEVER was the patience of a much enduring -^ ' teacher more sorely tried than was that of Mrs. Watson, the mistress of a girl's charity school, of the pretty village of Baxford, some few miles distant from a station on the London and Birmingham Railway, on the morning of the 24th December, 183 — . Her pupils gener ally were as well disciplined a body of children as could be found in the whole county ; but on this morning when she especially wished them to be on thenbest behaviour, they were refrac tory and inattentive in the extreme, nor could all the persuasions and threats uttered by her self and her prime-minister, Martha, a pretty girl some thirteen years of age, reduce them to VOL. I. B SLR THOMAS BRANSTON. anything hke order. And this was the more annoying, as on that morning the pupils were to be inspected by the vicar and his wife, as well as a party of ladies and gentlemen resident in the neighbourhood, when the progress the children had made in their studies during the last six months was to be ascertained.

Prizes were to be given to those who by then diligence had earned them, while the idle and inattentive were to be suitably admonished. The solemni ties were to terminate with an address from the vicar. The children were then to be con signed to the custody of their respective parents, who were invited to be present on the occasion, and the school was to be closed for the fortnight of the Christmas holidays. The children, dressed in their best, had ar rived at the school at the usual hour, though the ceremony was notto commence till noon, and poor Mrs. Watson had resolved on employing the in terim in " coaching " her prize pupils in answers to questions which might be put to them, and other little deceptions of a like description, known perfectly well to the teachers of National and British Schools ; but the state of excitement they were all in rendered her tactics abortive.

In vain did she implore them, and almost with tears in her eyes, to pay attention to her ; for though, out of love for their teacher, many of them attempted to rivet their attention to her remarks and answer her questions, their minds again wandered, and she was obliged to go over the same ground as before to have even less attention paid to her. As noon approached, one by one the parents of the children arrived, and on the occasion of each fresh arrival the insubordination of the children increased, till at last the poor woman gave over the attempt of reducing her pupils to a state of discipline. She now philosophically seated herself in the chair, determined to let af fairs take their own course, hoping for the best, yet at the same time almost dreading the worst. The village clock had scarcely ceased striking twelve, when the vicar, his wife, and several ladies resident in the village were seen making their way towards the school-house.

No sooner was Mrs. Watson aware of the fact than she arose from her mistress's chair, in which she had seated herself, and after giving a hasty glance at a small mirror which was suspended over the chimney-piece, to see that her cap and B its strings were in order, she commenced mar shalling the children into their proper classes and places. This was effected with so much celerity, that before the vicar and his party had arrived at the door, not only were the children in order t< > receive them, but their parents were ranged round the room, and against the walls, forming on the whole as good a picture of an English village school, on a state occasion, as could well be imagined. The vicar and Iris party were received on then entrance with great respect by Mrs. Wat son, who was attended by her assistant and maid of all work, little Martha, who stood by her side with an expression of solemnity on her countenance, in admirable keeping with the whole scene.

As for the children, they, with the exception of a few of the seniors, appeared perfectly awestruck, many of them evidently breathing with great difficulty, so profound was the impression the solemnity of the whole pro ceeding seemed to make on them. The vicar, in respect to his clerical dignity, was placed in the chair of state. His wife was seated at his left hand, Mrs. Watson standing at his right, while the visitors seated themselves on the benches and chairs at the rear. The pro ceedings of the day commenced, and were carried on in a far more satisfactory manner than Mrs. Watson had anticipated. The different classes were brought up and interrogated, first by the vicar, then by bis wife ; and then the visitors, according to the established custom, were invited to ask any questions they pleased.

As a rule, the questions asked were answered with promptitude, and many were the compliments paid to the children and the mistress on the progress they had made since the last half yearly inspection. Slates and copy-books were then brought forward for examination, and, of course, much praised. The needle-work was also examined, and found to be satisfactory. The prizes were then distributed, and as each child received hers, the vicar addressed her with some little compliment, which was received by the audience, parents, children, and all, with a com plimentary clapping of hands and stamping of feet. The ceremony of inspection being now over, the vicar gave an appropriate address to the meeting, both adults and children, and after wishing them all a merry Christmas and a happy new year, the children were consigned to their parents.

With a feeling of mingled gratitude and relief Mrs. Watson closed her door on her visi tors, her pupils, and their parents, but the duties and anxieties of the day were still far from being terminated. In the first place, she had to superintend the packing up of the very modest outfit of her assistant little Martha, who had now obtained a situation in the nursery of a lady resident in the neighbourhood. She did so with great regret, as she entertained an affection for the child scarcely less than if she had been her own daughter. Martha had been left an orphan when scarcely more than four years of age. Her parents, though very poor, had been persons of respectability, and well known to Mrs. Watson, and the kind-hearted school mistress could not bear the idea of allowing the helpless little creature to be handed over to the tender mercies of the parish authorities.

Al though her own means were of the slenderest, she determined on making an inroad on them, and bringing up the orphan as her own child. After all, the expense she feared she should in cur was greatly lightened by the kindness shown her by the ladies in the neighbourhood, who, pleased with the respect she displayed to her deceased friend's memory, as well as sympathis ing "with the destitute little orphan, made Mrs. Watson many small presents, which diminished considerably the cost she might otherwise have been put to ; in fact, during the years Martha had been with Mrs. Watson, her dress had not cost the good woman a shilling. Nor was the affection and attention she bestowed upon the child thrown away ; on the contrary, it bore ample fruits, and of a quality especially grati fying to a woman of Mrs. Watson's tempera ment.

Martha was docile, affectionate, and in telligent, and the love she bore her protectress could not have been exceeded had she been her real instead of her adopted mother. The child had already attained her eighth year, when she became of some use to Mrs. Wat son, and before she had terminated her ninth, she was not only able to undertake a considerable portion of the school-mistress's household duties, but was of great use to her in the classes as well. To Martha was especially assigned the care of the infants, of whom there were at least a dozen in the school. The manner she performed the duties entrusted to her, while yet of a very tender age, was satisfactory in the extreme. In one corner of the school-room was a sort of small pen, boarded round to the height of some eighteen inches or two feet.

In this the infants, when they fell asleep, were placed. so that they might be out of all danger of being either hurt or disturbed by the other children. It was Martha's task to watch the infants, and as soon as one fell asleep, she would, without awaking it, snatch it from the others, and place it hi the pen with a care and dexterity that was quite a treat to behold. When school was over Mrs. Watson would attend to Martha's own education, teaching her with patience and care ; and as the child learned rapidly, she was soon able to assist in teaching other pupils, even some older than herself. She remained with Mrs. Watson till she was old enough to take a sub ordinate situation in a family. One was easily found for her, and she was to enter on her new duties that afternoon. The ceremony of packing little Martha's box, trifling as it may appear, was at the same tune a very affecting one.

Both the mistress and her assistant were employed in it. The poor child wept with all the heart-felt effusion natural to her age. In vain did Mrs. Watson at tempt to soothe her. On each occasion, as she tried to show Martha that there was no cause for grief — that they would meet very often, and always be friends — the poor woman's own eyes told the child that she felt a sorrow scarcely less than her own, although she had a somewhat greater power in repressing it. Finding her inability to reason with Martha on the point, with great tact she attempted to draw off her attention to another subject, viz., the different articles of clothing she was putting into her box. We may state, possibly at the risk of committing an indiscretion, that no inconsider able portion of Martha's wardrobe had been manufactured from old garments of Mrs. Wat son's, assisted by ladies in the neighboiuhood, many of whom had forwarded contributions of linen, &c, for the occasion.

Mrs. Watson now attempted to give the his tory of the different articles from which Martha's clothing had been formed, and the probable ori ginal cost of the stuff. She pointed out the thinner portions of each article, which would require the more care hi the mending, as they were already the most worn, as well as her own tact and ingenuity in re-adapting the material so that the weaker parts, should be the least exposed to wear. Although Mrs. Watson talked with great fluency, and apparently with much interest in her subject, she kept her eyes studiously away from Martha, who stood sob bing by her side, her grief not hi any way relieved by Mrs. Watson's discourse. The truth was, the good woman felt that if she glanced on Martha's sorrowful countenance, her own determination of purpose might give way, so she wisely avoided the danger.

It was all in vain, however. A particularly heartfelt sob of Martha's caught her ear, and she involuntarily turned round. The grief she saw expressed on the countenance of the poor child fairly over came her philosophy, and catching her in her arms, she kissed her affectionately, and wept scarcely less unrestrainedly than did Martha herself. The box was at length packed, and when all was in readiness it was placed in the custody of a labouring man, whom Mrs. Watson had en gaged to carry it to Martha's new situation. A short but heartfelt embrace now took place between the schoolmistress and her assistant, and Martha quitted the school-house, leaving Mrs. AVatson the sole occupant. No sooner did the kind-hearted woman find herself alone than a feeling of depression came over her. She seated herself in her official chair, and in womanly fashion indulged hi a good cry, which in a short time seemed to relieve her greatly.

Suddenly she made an effort, and rising from her chair, hurriedly wiped her eyes and prepared herself for action. She was about undertaking a feat she had not performed for many years — a journey |to the metropolis, where she had an only daughter living. Mrs. Watson had been many years a widow, her hus band having died young, leaving her with two children, a girl and a boy, and in very poor circumstances. He had been bailiff to a gentleman in the neighbourhood, and was much esteemed by Iris employer — indeed, it was through respect for him that his widow re ceived the appointment as mistress to the vil lage school, which she had kept till the open ing of our narrative, giving unqualified satisfaction during the whole of the time. In fact, she was admirably suited for a position of the khid.

Her father had been an usher in a good school, and the education he had given bis daughter was in every way superior to the general run of the bailiffs' wives of that day. She was, moreover, amiable and patient, and had an excellent manner of imparting instruc tion to the somewhat stolid imaginations of the class of pupils she habitually had confided to her. Her own son and daughter she trained up with great care. The boy was a good lad, though somewhat of an unsettled disposition. She wished, if possible, to get him an appointment in some house of business, a mode of life to wirich she considered him admirably adapted, though perhaps only from the fact that he wrote a good hand. The boy, however, wished to go to sea, nor could all the good advice and per suasions of his mother drive the wish from him.

True, at last, out of affection for her, he con sented to enter a house of business, but she could easily perceive that his submission to her desire caused him so much sorrow, that she at last gave way, and consented to his becoming a sailor. Shortly afterwards a gentleman in the neighbourhood, a retired merchant, found a ship for him, and he left his mother ; his outfit causing a terrible inroad on her very slender resources. She, however, never saw him again. The ship on wirich he served as an apprentice was bound for the coast of Africa, where he caught a fever and died. The daughter received a good sound education. Not only did her mother bestow on it all the care in her power, but the vicar, whose wife had taken a great fancy to the girl, assisted in teaching her as well. She remained with her mother till she was about seventeen years of age, when a situation was found for her as under-governess in a ladies' school, where she remained for some years.

The school, however, was then broken up, and she returned to her mother, with whom she stayed for a year, when an appointment was procured for her in a parish school near Walworth, where she afterwards remained, visitingher mother regularly during her vacations. This winter, however, it was resolved that Mrs. Watson should visit her daughter, and it was for that purpose that she was now on the point of starting for London. The arrangements Mrs. Watson had made for her journey were somewhat as follows. The parish clerk, who was also the village farrier, was to call for her at two o'clock, to take her in a small cart he kept to the railway station, about six miles distant. In his hands was also to be confided the key of the school-house during the mistress's holiday. Her luggage was of the lightest description — in fact, a large band-box was to hold the whole.

This, how ever, was rather from choice than absolute ne cessity, for she possessed more than one good trunk wirich had been her own in more prosper ous times ; but as the distance from the Euston Square station to her daughter's house was great, and coach hire expensive, she calculated that by travelling in " light marching order," she should be able to walk the distance, and thereby save the money she must pay if she hired a cab. Although she was to take but few things with her, to choose the best method of packing them in her band-box, puzzled her extremely. To say the truth, how to make them travel com fortably together, was a problem that would have puzzled a first-class stevedore to solve. There was certainly to be stowed away in a very small compass a very miscellaneous codection of articles.

There were a pahof fine fowls she had purchased as a present for her daughter, as well as a pound of fresh butter and some new-laid eggs — the latter was a present which she was aware would be greatly appreciated in London at that season of the year — her Bible and prayer-book, her combs and brushes, night gear, best gown, shoes, &c. ; and the whole to be crowned by a smart cap she had made up to do honour to any guests of her daughter's whom she might happen to see during her stay in London. There were also the ribbons and best strings she had taken off her bonnet, that they might not be injured on the journey, which she intended putting on again after her arrival, as she reasonably calculated she should meet on her road with no one of any importance who knew her. At last, after much thought, anxiety, and labour — in fact all the things had been packed and unpacked several times before she had ar ranged them to her liking — the work was com pleted.

The band-box was securely fastened with cord, and placed upon the table in the school-room, beside her umbrella, and Mrs. Wat son then seated herself, with an assumed expression of calmness on her face, to wait the parish clerk's arrival with his pony and cart. In spite of all her endeavours to keep up an appearance of tranquillity of mind, she could not succeed, and during the space of ten minutes she had risen several times to go to the window to ascertain if he were coming. At last, just as she was on the point of finding another cause for anxiety in the probability that she might be too late for the train, she saw Mr. Macron, the parish clerk, driving rapidly up the road leading to the school-house.

Chapter II. The Parish Clerk

ATO sooner did Mrs. Watson see the parish clerk -*-* approaching, than she snatched up her bonnet-box and umbrella, and having locked the door carefully, advanced to meet him, and placing the key in his hand, entered the cart. The first question she was about to put to him was, what had caused him to be so late, but a glance at his dress induced her to be silent on the occasion. She had an instinctive idea that his tardiness in keeping his appointment had been caused by an excessive attention to his dress ; and there was strong reason for her coming to a conclusion of the kind, for on no holiday occasion, not even at a wedding in any of the best families in the neighbourhood, had he dressed himself with greater care and attention than he had done that day. And it appeared, moreover, that he was determined the good effect of the pains VOL. I. C he had taken should not be lost on the beholder.

Although the day was bitterly cold he wore no great-coat, and he had altogether the air and manner he might have been expected to assume had he been going with a holiday party on a fine summer's morning. It must not be imagined that the parish clerk was in any way given to be over-particular in hLs dress and appearance, except when his church duties necessitated it. On the contrary, he was habitually, after the fashion of farriers, rather slovenly in his attire than otherwise; but the fact was that he was a widower, and Mrs. Wat son, as we have before stated, was a widow, and it was generally imagined that he was dis posed to make her an offer of marriage. Nor was the widow herself ignorant of his intentions. Although he had never openly declared himself, she had httle difficulty in perceiving the good effect she had made upon him.

Whether she in any way whatever reciprocated the feeling it is impossible to say, certain it is she gave him no encouragement, although this might have arisen from the fact that the clerk had a large family of young children, and was, moreover, well known to be in embarrassed circumstances. It may, therefore, easily be imagined that although Mrs. Watson might not be altogether insensible to the compliment her admirer was paying her, all things considered, it was not to be supposed that she, as an experienced matron, would ever dream of accepting an offer of marriage from such a suitor. Although Mrs. Watson refrained from asking the question as she had originally planned it, she put it in a somewhat modified form. " I was almost afraid you had forgotten me," she said. " I hope we shall not be too late for the train."

" As for that," he replied, " I will go bail that you will not only be in time, but have a quarter of an hour to spare as well. As for forgetting you, why, you are the last person in the world I should be like to do that to." From the affectionate tone of the clerk's voice Mrs Watson thought it desirable to change the conversation, and she abruptly inquired if he thought she should have fine weather for her journey. " Well," said the clerk in reply to her question, after having taken a sweeping glance at the heavens above and around him, " if it holds up till C2 you get to London it's about as much as it will do. There is a good deal of snow up there, and it must come down sooner or later. I should say you'd have it after nightfall." " I hope not," said Mrs. Watson, " for I have a long way to walk after I arrive in London, and it will be very .unpleasant if it snows at the time."

" I sincerely trust that it will not, I am sure," he continued, with an expression of great ten derness in his tone. " It would be fine enough for you if I was the clerk of the weather histead of the parish." They now drove rapidly along towards the station, the clerk evidently attempthig to wear a fascinating expression of countenance, and from time to time glancing in an affectionate manner at the widow. Mrs. Watson, dreading that he was again on the point of approaching a disagreeable subject, thought for a moment into what channel she would change the conversation, without being able to come to a conclusion on the subject. Good fortune, however, favour ed her, for on raising her eyes she saw advancing towards them a handsome carriage drawn by two magnificent horses. " Is not that Sir Thomas Branston's carriage coming this way ?" inquired Mrs. Watson.

" Yes, it is," said the clerk, placing the whip in his left hand so that he might touch his hat with more convenience ; and I suspect his lady is with him." "Why so?" " Because they have got out the best carriage. When he is alone he only drievs one horse." The carriage containing a lady and gentle man, both under middle age, now rapidly passed, the gentleman scarcely noticing the clerk's salutation, while the lady seemed utterly indifferent to it. " That is what I call a comfortable way of travelling," said Mr. Macron to his companion — " a great deal better than jogging along in the cold as we are." " Still, we have nothing to complain of," said the widow. " If we have not a handsome car riage to ride in, we are not obliged, Like a good many others, to go on foot. I daresay they have in their splendid carriage quite as many troubles as we have, if the whole truth were known."

" If that man had as many as he deserves," said the clerk, " he would have more than both of us put together. Poor as I am, I would not change places with him, with all his money." " Oh ! you ought not to judge harshly of him," said the widow. " He may be proud and disagreeable, but after all that may only be a habit he has acquired ; and he don't mean any tiring by it. You know nothing against him. He subscribes liberally to the schools, and is not unkind to the poor — at least, I never heard that he was." " You are not quite right in saying that I know nothing against him. Perhaps I do not know much from my own experience, but what I do know is enough to set me tolerably against him. When I was his servant I saw a good deal, though, wirich was little to his credit." " I did not know you had ever been his ser vant," said Mrs. Watson.

" I was only his servant for a few months, and I had quite enough of him in that time. It was before I was married to my poor wife, now a matter of some twelve years ago. I had been to Madras with a gentleman who was re turning to India, whose servant I was. I was not then in the farrier line, but a valet. Well, I did not like the country, and I determined to return to England. I gave my master warning, and then looked out for a situation with some gentleman going back, so that I might save my passage-money ; but for some time none could I find. At last I heard that the servant of Captain Branston (he had not his title then) had died. I offered for the place, and as my master gave me an excellent character, I was accepted, and a few days afterwards his ship set sail for China to take in a cargo of tea.

Afterwards it was to return with the other ships in the Company's service to England." " But you surely do not mean to say that the proud Sir Thomas Branston was ever captain of a trading vessel ?" said Mrs. Watson, much astonished. "Well, you could hardly call it a trading vessel," said the clerk. " He commanded a ship in the East India Company's fleet, and a precious proud set of fellows those captains were, a dozen or fifteen years ago. Why, they used to make thousands and thousands of pounds every voyage, and always took a coach and four from Gravesend to London when they arrived hi the Thames. They were quite like little kings on the other side of the Cape, I can tell you. But to go on with my story : I had not been at sea more than a couple of days before I found out what a tyrant I had got for a master.

Two men were flogged with three dozen each for having let a couple of fowls be longing to the cuddy mess fly away when they were cleaning out the hen-coops." " What do you mean by the cuddy mess V inquired the widow, puzzled at the expression. " Well, it's perhaps what you would call the captain's table." " Why do they call it by such a disagreeable name, then ?" said Mrs. Watson. " I do not know at all. That's the name they call it by, at any rate. I said to one of the sailors who was standing by me when the men were flogged, that I thought it a great shame men should be treated so cruelly for a trifle of the kind. He said I was quite right to think so, if I pleased ; but unless I wished to have my back treated in a similar manner, he would advise me not to tell anyone of it, or if I did, to say it in a whisper, and to be certain that the person, I was speaking to was my friend, or I should certainly be flogged in my turn.

In the Captain's last voyage, he told me that every man be fore the mast had been flogged, and some of them three times over." " He must indeed have been a tyrant," said Mrs. Watson, " I wonder people about here speak to him." " Ah ! he is rich, and besides that, he is merely looked upon as having been a strict disciplina rian. Among the men there were two or three that he seemed to have taken a particular spite against, and one of them, a poor, inoffensive creature, who was one of the after-guard. I don't suppose you know what the after-guard means. It is a lot of landsmen, who are hired to pull ropes, and assist the regular sailors with their work both upon deck and below. Well, this man, who was about thirty years of age, had evidently been respectable formerly. His name was Lucking, I remember it as the sailors used to call him ' Lucky,' in joke, hi conse quence of his getting his grog stopped almost every day.