Foggerty's Fairy and Other Tales

Front matter

Foggerty's Fairy

AND OTHER TALES

BY

Foggerty's Fairy

FOGGERTY'S FAIRY.

CHAPTER I.

"Oh, dash it all!" said Freddy Foggerty, "he knows me, and I shall be tried for desertion!"

Freddy Foggerty was a confectioner on a small scale in the Borough Road. He did not begin by being a confectioner, for his career had been a chequered one, and his ups and downs had been many. He began life as a Gentleman's Baby, a situation which he filled for about three years with much credit, when he found himself promoted to the rank and standing of a Gentleman's Little Boy—a position which carried with it an improved scale of dietary, and an emolument of twopence per week, on a Judge's tenure, that is to say, dum se bene gesserit. He passed through the various grades of boyhood and adolescence without having distinguished himself, except as a remarkable and exceptionally ordinary kind of boy, with this one distinguishing feature—that he had developed no prominent characteristic of any kind whatever. At nineteen, he became a Government clerk in the Bitter Beer branch of the Malt and Hops Department of the Inland Revenue Office. In this capacity he distinguished himself by the invention of a new system of cooking accounts, but the Heads of his Department looked coldly and indeed suspiciously on his discovery, and, treating him with the jealous brutality that usually characterises Government officials in dealing with humble inventors, required him to send in his papers without further delay. Too proud to discuss the question with his blinded superiors, he retired at once, and, finding himself penniless, enlisted in a regiment of Highlanders. He served with some distinction as a soldier for nearly three days, but the brutality of the regimental barber, who cut his hair so short as to be absolutely unbecoming (and this in spite of his earnest remonstrance), disgusted him with the service, which he quitted abruptly, to the surprise and consternation of his Colonel, and the bitter disappointment of the Field-Marshal Commanding-in-Chief. Feeling that a life of comparative seclusion in some distant region would best harmonise with his then state of mind, he shipped himself as a stowaway on board the Rattan (A 1), 800 tons, Captain Gilgal P. Bonesetter, then loading in the London Docks, and to sail for New York forthwith. After a dignified seclusion of eleven days behind a pork cask, he was discovered by the boatswain, who introduced him to Captain Bonesetter, who received him with open arms and closed fists. The Captain's big dog Jupiter, had just been washed overboard, and Captain Bonesetter, with the unaffected hospitality of a true sailor, immediately placed the animal's kennel at Mr. Foggerty's disposal. The dog's spare collar was found to fit him admirably, and the dog's daily rations were quite as much as Mr. Foggerty's stomach could digest. It was the Captain's whim to treat him as if he had really been a dog, and Mr. Foggerty, entering fully into the spirit of the joke, barked, ran about on all fours, sat up on his haunches, and caught a biscuit off his nose, for all the world as if he had been trained to do so. The joke lasted nine weeks and five days, by which time the ship had sighted the American continent, and Mr. Foggerty, having been comfortably provided at the Captain's expense with an entirely new and perfectly well-fitting suit of tar and feathers, was placed ashore at Sandy Hook, with a roving commission to go just wherever he pleased, and do just whatever he liked.

Delighted with his newly-acquired liberty (for a long sea voyage, even under the most agreeable circumstances, is a cramping thing), Mr. Foggerty set off in the direction of New York, the singularity of his appearance in the Captain's suit evoking some amusement, and not a few comments, from the ladies and gentlemen of Port Monmouth. But Mr. Foggerty set all conjecture at rest by explaining that he was the Duke of Northumberland doing it for a wager–adding that the feat he had undertaken was accomplished, and he would feel much obliged if somebody would kindly scrape him down and “loan” him a suit or two of clothes, a gold watch, and an eye-glass, until he could communicate with his solicitor in London. He further stated that the wager was made with a certain Royal Personage of the very highest possible rank, and that he was prepared to settle the amount won (£37,000 and Balmoral) on trustees in trust to build a cathedral and found a bishopric for Port Monmouth. Upon hearing of this pious resolve the clergyman of the parish, the Rev. Hicks K. Plappy (who liked the idea of the bishopric), scraped him down and provided him with everything he could possibly require, including a marble bust of himself, and a cow with five legs, for many years the surprise and glory of the state of New Jersey. To these gifts he superadded his daughter Louisa, a beautiful young lady of twenty–marrying them himself that His Grace might not have a chance of changing his mind. The wedding was magnificent, and His Grace (who had stipulated, as the only condition upon which he could consent to marry Miss Plappy, that his incognito should be strictly preserved for ever) started with his blushing bride from New York, per Cuba, for England the same evening. On his arrival at Liverpool, his wife, who was anxious to assume her real station, urged upon her husband the propriety of immediately throwing off his incognito, a course which appeared particularly advisable as she had read of another Duke of Northumberland, then in England, and she was anxious to know which of the two was the right one. But Foggerty explained that the other Duke was an impostor who had taken advantage of his absence to assume his name and rank, and that he proposed to remain in obscurity for the present, just in order to see how far the sham Duke would carry his pretentions. His wife objected, naturally enough, to this course; but Foggerty was firm, and there was nothing more to be said. He proposed that while they were watching the movements of the sham Duke, they should amuse themselves by purchasing the goodwill of a confectioner's shop in the Borough Road, and play at being tradespeople. To this course Her Grace was obliged to consent. The game had lasted about twelve years, and was still going on, when our story commenced, for Foggerty (as he preferred to be called) had not yet done watching the movements of the sham Duke, who was now dealing with Northumberland House as if it really belonged to him. These are Freddy Foggerty's antecedents, which we have set out at some length because it is essential to a proper appreciation of his astonishing adventures that these details should be clearly understood.

Freddy Foggerty was seated on his counter in a very uncomfortable frame of mind. A sergeant of Highlanders had that morning entered his shop to purchase some acidulated drops. On seeing Mr. Foggerty it was observed that the sergeant stared at him in a very remarkable manner–so much so that Mr. Foggerty had said to him, “It's lucky for you, sergeant, that it's me, and not my wife, you are staring at so rudely, for she is strong and stands no nonsense.” Upon which the sergeant remarked that it was a fine day (which it was not, for it was snowing heavily), and went out of the shop, leaving the acidulated drops behind him in his nervous agitation. This little incident served to set Freddy in a roar, until he suddenly recollected that this very sergeant was very like the very sergeant who had enlisted him some thirteen years before, and it was this sudden recollection that caused him to use the exclamation with which this story opens–“Oh, dash it all, he knows me, and I shall be tried for desertion!”

He was terribly agitated, for he was really prosperous as a confectioner; moreover, he was extremely fond of his wife, and he had two children. The thought of his being torn away from his business and from them, with the shop going to rack and ruin while he served his time in the ranks, was too much for him, and he burst into tears.

“Cheer up, Mr. Foggerty,” said a pipy little voice.

He looked up, but could see no one. At last his eye rested on a small twelfth-cake in the window, and he was surprised to see the little plaster-of-Paris fairy which had crowned the top of it hop off her box of sugar-plums, and pick her way carefully through the tracery that decorated the surface of the cake. She travelled on slowly, tumbling over a harlequin, and getting her skirt entangled in the fringe of a gelatine “cracker,” until she reached the edge of the cake. She looked over the edge of the little parapet that ran round it, and said:

“I'm afraid, Mr. Foggerty, it's too high to jump, and I shall tear my clothes if I try to scramble down. Will you kindly let me step on to your hand?”

Freddy, who had never seen anything of the kind before, was much interested in her movements, and helped her down at once with the utmost propriety, like a man of gallantry as he was.

“What is troubling you, Mr. Foggerty?”

“Why, miss, thirteen years ago I enlisted, and three days afterwards I deserted, and I have just been discovered, and now I shall be taken up, tried, and imprisoned, and then, perhaps, have to serve out my time as a soldier.”

“Indeed,” said the young lady, “that will be a pity, for from what I have seen of Mrs. Foggerty I don't think she will do the shop justice. She's a respectable young woman, but with no taste for business.”

“Louisa is quite the lady, though,” said Freddy.

“Oh, a perfect lady, but I see things from my position in the shop that you don't see. Take my word for it, Mrs. Foggerty is no business woman. Only the other day a little girl came in for three-pen'north of chocolate cream. Well, Mrs. Foggerty not only gave her the chocolate for nothing, but added a Bath bun and a penny ice, and told her to come in again whenever she liked, and bring all her young friends. Now that's all very nice, but it's not business,” said the fairy, with decision.

“Mrs. Foggerty is all heart,” said Freddy; “besides, she is a born lady, and can't bear the idea of selling anything.”

“I wish you would tell me your history,” said the fairy.

“Oh, with great pleasure,” said Freddy. And he told her his history, just as I have been telling it to you.

“It seems to me, Mr. Foggerty, that your career has been a very discreditable one,” said the fairy, when Mr. Foggerty had finished.

“I'm not proud of it, miss. I've done many things in my time that I've had reason to regret. There are many incidents in my career that I'd give anything to blot out.”

“Oh, indeed,” said the fairy. “Now I think I can help you to do that. First of all, how many ornaments are there on that twelfth-cake?”

“Three large ones,” said Freddy; "a Ship, a Harlequin, and a Policeman, besides crackers and other unimportant trifles.”

“Very good,” said the fairy; “take these ornaments off the cake, and whenever you wish to obliterate any one deed of your life and all its consequences, eat one of those ornaments.”

“And the deed will be obliterated from my history?”

“Entirely,” said the fairy; “you will be as though it had never been committed.”

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Freddy.

“Not at all,” said the fairy, “I'm very glad to have had it in my power to assist you.”

And so saying she made her way back to the bon-bon box on the top of the cake, and became plaster-of-Paris once more.

Freddy scarcely knew what to make of his adventure. He was not so foolish as to believe in fairies, but still, without committing himself to a belief, there she was. As to his being able to obliterate an event of his life by eating one of the ornaments on the cake, why that was preposterous. He could understand that he might obliterate his life altogether by so doing, for they were coloured, for the most part, with arsenite of copper and chromate of lead, but any one event–it was out of the question.

As these ideas floated through his head he looked down the street, and saw a corporal's guard in the distance. It was marching straight towards his shop. A crisis was about to take place. It was too awful. To be torn away from his beloved wife and adored children—no, no! Drowning men catch at straws, and Freddy crunched the Ship, ejaculating at the same time a sincere wish that his return to England from New York, and all its consequences might be obliterated from his history for ever!

CHAPTER II.

The fairy was as good as her word. A remarkable change took place in Mr. Freddy Foggerty's condition. The confectioner's shop, the twelfth-cake, the house, the street, the corporal's guard, all vanished in a moment, and Freddy found himself lying in a comfortable cot in a ship's stern-cabin.

Freddy was wondering where he was, and how he got there, when the cabin-door opened, and a black man put his head in.

"Seven bells, Massa Foggerty."

"Oh!" said Freddy; "how's her head?"

"S.S.W. and by S.—light breeze freshenin', Massa Foggerty."

"Oh! then I'll tumble up."

Freddy felt it incumbent upon him to appear to know exactly where he was, and to be surprised at nothing. He determined to make no inquiries, but to leave it to time and accident to enlighten him as to the circumstances in which he found himself, and proceeded to dress himself in a pair of blue serge trousers (in the pockets of which were the Policeman and the Harlequin), a pea-jacket with gilt buttons, and a cap with a gold band. He completed his toilet and went on deck. He then saw that the ship was a fine bark, with raking masts, and perhaps a tonnage of 800. She carried two long carronades.

"Mornin', cap'en," said a tall wiry Yankee mate. "With a breeze like this I reckon we shall take tarnation snakes out of yon Britisher."

"No doubt of it," said Freddy. "Where is the Britisher?"

"About three miles off the starboard quarter," said the mate, pointing in the named direction with a telescope.

"I see him—that is her," said Freddy.

"If this breeze lasts she'll never overhaul the Flying Clam."

"And if she should," said Freddy, "who cares?"

He looked anxiously at the mate, to see if he cared.

"Wal, I du for one. The crew du for another. And the cargo du for a third."

"The cargo? I don't see how it can concern the cargo?"

"Wal," said the mate; Ho! ho! ho! that is a good'un. Don't see how it can consarn the cargo! No, no—you'll never beat that if you tries a year, cap'en! Bully for you, old man! Ho! ho! ho!"

"Ho! ho! ho!" laughed Freddy, mechanically; "Bully for me, as you say."

"You du make me larf, you bet!" said the mate. "Can't consarn the cargo! No, not at all. Ho! ho! ho!"

"I think," said Freddy, "I should like to have another look at the cargo." For he began to wonder what it consisted of.

"Whelps! " shouted the mate to the boatswain, who was serving out grog to five-and-twenty skulking-looking ruffians, "the cap'en wants another look at the cargo. Take the cap'en into the hold."

"Ay, ay," cried the boatswain. He handed the pannikin to his mate, and went down the main hatch. Freddy followed him. On the main deck he lighted a lantern, and then descended a second "companion," and so reached the lower deck. He then raised a bolted and barred trap-door, and prepared to descend a third ladder. At this point Freddy perceived that the atmosphere in the neighbourhood of the cargo had a distinct and recognisable flavour of its own.

He descended the third ladder. The boatswain held up the lantern, and Freddy formed his first impression of the cargo, and his first impression was that it was cocoa-nuts. But a closer inspection showed that each cocoa-nut had two white glaring eyeballs, and he then formed his second (and right) impression, which was "niggers." As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he saw that the hold contained from forty to fifty black people, of both sexes, huddled together in a dreadfully uncomfortable manner.

They were chained two and two, the chain of communication running through a staple in the deck. It flashed upon Freddy that he must be the captain of a slaver, at that moment hotly pursued by one of Her Britannic Majesty's ships of war.

It now becomes necessary to explain the circumstances under which Mr. Foggerty came to fill such a position. They are shortly as follows:

If Mr. Foggerty had not returned from New York to England, his career would have taken an entirely different course. He would have lived for some months on the speculative bounty of the Rev. Hicks K. Plappy, who would have secured himself from ultimate loss by taking bills at twelve months for his son-in-law's keep. Eventually, however, the reverend pastor's suspicions would have been aroused, and Freddy's pretentions to the dukedom would have undergone a thorough investigation before a magistrate. He would then have been tried, and convicted of obtaining money and goods under false pretences, and sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment, with hard labour, in the “Tombs.” In this retreat he would have formed a bowing acquaintance with a seafaring man of evil countenance, and their sentences expiring on the same day, Freddy and the seafaring man would have set forth “on the tramp,” to take whatever good or ill luck might turn up for them. At length the sailor would have found work on board a blockade-runner, and Freddy, who would have known very well that there was no chance of his being engaged as one of the crew, would have shipped himself once more in his old and favourite character as a “stowaway.” A certain smartness and activity which characterised all of Freddy's movements would have recommended him to the skipper, and he would eventually have formed one of the ship's crew. In this capacity he would have distinguished himself so remarkably that he would in a couple of years, have been promoted to the rank of boatswain's mate. On the cessation of the American War his ship would have traded to the east coast of Africa in ivory and gold dust, and Freddy, who by this time would have saved about two thousand dollars, would have purchased a sixteenth share in her. From this point his promotion would have been rapid, and in six years he would have saved money enough to purchase her out and out, and trade with her on his own account. He would have discovered that the slave trade was still more profitable than that in gold and ivory, and (keeping it secret from Louisa, who would be living luxuriously somewhere in Florida, under the impression that her husband was a blameless merchant) he would have devoted himself to its prosecution with an energy which might with equal profit, and less risk, have been expended upon a more legitimate speculation.

However, Freddy knew nothing of what would have happened, if his return to England and all its consequences had been blotted out of his career, and felt himself somewhat at a loss to account for his position.

“Great heavens,” said Freddy, on realising the exact character of the cargo, “these must be slaves!”

“The cap'en will be the death o' me one day!” roared the boatswain in the middle of an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“How horrible! how awful!” said Freddy. “Torn from the bosom of their families–cramped and crippled in a filthy hold, and in an atmosphere in which a candle will hardly burn–it's horrible, it's appalling!”

“The cap'en's joke agin all others, I allers say!” screamed the boatswain, who in the excess of his merriment had to hold on by the ladder to save himself from falling. “He acts it all to the life, that's sartin!”

Freddy recollected himself and forced a grim smile. “Shut the devils up again,” said he.

“This yere's the slow match,” said the boatswain, pointing to the end of a piece of yarn which lay on the lower deck. “It's in beautiful order, and burns two minutes.”

“Oh, to be sure,” said Freddy, “that is the slow match. Quite right. Of course the other end communicates with—“

“With an open barrel of powder in the magazine, 'cordin' to your own orders, cap'en.”

“Quite correct. And now let me see whether you fully understand my instructions. When are you to set light to it?”

“As soon as the Britisher's first shot strikes our hull. Then up we goes, and there's an end of the Flying Clam, crew, cargo, cap'en and all.”

“Admirable!” said Freddy, white with terror, “only—I've been thinking that—perhaps on the whole there is something rather contemptible, not to say downright cowardly, in this summary and comparatively painless way of evading the punishment our captors may have in store for us.”

“Wot!” yelled the boatswain.

“Why, reflect,” said Freddy. “If we blow ourselves up they may say that we do so because we are afraid of them! The thought is unendurable! No, no—let us evince a truer and a nobler courage than that of the mere suicide. Let us rather express our indifference to penal servitude by submitting with sullen contempt to whatever punishment these bloodhounds may think proper to inflict upon us!”

And Freddy's nostrils dilated with a noble scorn that would have fitted a Protestant martyr in the reign of Queen Mary.

“Wal!” roared the boatswain, as he clutched at Freddy's collar. “Of all the yelping cocktails—but stop a bit—stop a bit!”

He put his pipe to his mouth and blew shrilly upon it—“Tweet! tweet! tweet! twilly, twilly, twilly,—twee-e-e–twip, twip, twip—twee-e-e-e! All hands on upper deck!” He ran fore and aft along the main deck, piping and shouting down each hatchway.

The crew tumbled up in all haste—men of all nations—many black and brown—all scowling and tigerish. They stood on both sides of the upper deck according to their watches.

“Mr. Slip!” shouted the boatswain, foaming at the mouth. “Mr. Slip, and men all. Lookee yere. This yere cap'en of ourn—this yere lanky cocktail—this white-livered devil's chicken—he's showing the white feather—he's a cur—a slinkin' coward—a shiverin' cocktail! He won't fight, and he won't sink—he's going to give in—if you'll let him, mates, if you'll let him!”

The boatswain's fury had almost exhausted him, and he lolloped on to a carronade from sheer weakness.

“Shame! shame!” yelled the men, who seemed to contemplate a general rush at Freddy.

“Wot's this?” said Slip, taking Freddy by the collar and presenting a six-shooter at his head. “Now, lookee yere, cap'en. Wot's your programme? What do you purpose to du?” Freddy recollected himself, for he felt that a crisis was at hand, and that his only chance lay in carrying it off with a high hand.

“To fight till the last drop of my blood shall trickle on these snowy decks, and then, mingling with the blue ocean beneath our feet, proclaim to all who may chance to see it that Rule Columbia, Columbia rules the waves, Yankee traders never, never, never will be done out of their slaves!"

A yell of joy rang through the air as the confused metaphors of their beloved captain sank into the souls of the crew. He perceived his advantage, and lost no time in following it up.

“Now, my men,” said he, “what shall we do with these lying mutineers, who for ends of their own have endeavoured to stir you up against your captain?”

“Overboard!” was the universal verdict, and a hundred hands clutched at the mate and the boatswain. In another moment they were hurled, gurgling, into the deep.

In the meanwhile, the wind had freshened considerably, and the British frigate (to whom no one paid any attention during the excitement of this scene) came up, hand over hand.

“Here you,” said Freddy to a middle-aged person, who had been foremost in throwing over the first mate—and whom he concluded on that account to be the second mate—“take charge of the slow match on the lower deck, and when I give the word 'go,' set light to it.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” said the second mate. And he slowly and reluctantly disappeared (with a very pale face) down the main-hatch. “Bang!” from the Britisher. The shot, a thirty-two, flew high over their heads, carrying away one of the main topsail lifts.

“Carpenter!” shouted Freddy.

“Ay, ay, sir!”

“Stave in the boats.”

“But—“

“Not a word, or I'll blow your head off.”

The carpenter took an axe and sullenly obeyed orders.

“Boatswain's mate!”

“Sir!”

“Can she carry any more sail?”

“Not an inch, sir.”

The chase lasted half-an-hour, in the course of which the Britisher rapidly overhauled the slaver, for the breeze had increased to half a gale. At length a round shot carried away the mizzen about two feet below the necklace, and with a fearful crash the mast and its cumbrous gear fell over the ship's quarter. Two men were carried overboard with it.

“Go!” shouted Foggerty down the hatch. He took out his watch; the crew held their breath, and each man nervously clutched at something.

“Go it is!” replied the muffled voice of the pale mate, as he obeyed the order from the lower deck. In another moment he rushed up the companion.

“The match is fired!” screamed he, “and in two minutes we shall be blown to feathers!” And so saying he flung himself overboard—an example which was followed by the greater part of the crew.

Freddy looked at his watch for a minute and a half.

"I now wish," said he, very deliberately and distinctly as he masticated the Policeman, "I now wish that my tarring and feathering and all its consequences may be blotted out of my history for ever!"

CHAPTER III.

With the muffled sound of a distant explosion ringing in his head, Freddy found himself sitting in a comfortable room fitted up partly as an office, and partly as a luxurious study. He was seated at a handsome mahogany writing-table, furnished with every little luxury that can reduce the toil and enhance the pleasures of pen-work. Above a handsome statuary marble mantelpiece hung a portrait of himself in the act of addressing society at large on the subject of a scroll of parchment with a pendent seal, and regardless of the threatening appearance of a raging thunderstorm, from which a pillar and a crimson curtain afforded an inadequate protection. Beneath his feet was an Axminster carpet of astonishing pile, and two or three easy-chairs, with a comfortable welcoming "come along, old man" sort of expression, stood about the room.

"It is quite clear," said Freddy, "that I'm a banker's clerk of some kind. I wonder what Bank I belong to. Rather a prosperous concern apparently—or, what is still more likely, a flashy and unsubstantial one."

He took some paper from a stand in front of him, and found it headed “Royal Indelible Bank, 142, Threadneedle Street, E.C.” He then noticed that all the books on his desk were stamped “Royal Indelible Bank,” and the official seal, which stood ready to his hand, bore a similar inscription.

He walked to the door and opened it. He found that it communicated with a very large room, in which forty or fifty clerks were at work.

“By Jove!” thought he, as he contrasted their apartment with his own luxurious private room, “banker's clerk be hanged! I'm a banker, or something very like it, and on a large scale too!”

At this moment the clock struck five, and all the clerks rose simultaneously, and began to wash their hands at little stands provided for the purpose. When they had completed their toilettes they went out in twos and threes, passing his door as they did so, and saying, “Good evening, sir,” very respectfully, as they went by.

“I suppose,” thought Freddy, “I ought to go too. I wonder where I live.” So he took down his hat from a peg and followed the last clerk out. He saw the porter (a stout responsible-looking person in a quiet business-like livery), at the end of a passage, holding the door open for him.

“Now,” thought Freddy, “how the deuce am I to find out where I live? I can't ask the porter, he'll think I've been drinking.” He felt in his pockets for some cards, but he could not find any. “I'll go back,” thought he, “and look in the Directory. I'm sure to be a householder.”

But just as he was turning back the porter said to him, “Your carriage is here, sir,” and as he spoke a quiet brougham, drawn by a pair of handsome greys, pulled up at the door. This relieved him of all anxiety. He stepped in, saying “Home!” to the groom, just as if he knew where Home was.

He leant back on the soft cushions as the brougham drove off.

“Come,” thought he, “this is better—this is something like. A good berth—secretary or manager perhaps—in a substantial Bank—at least we'll hope it's substantial—and a brougham and pair to drive me home to some snug little villa in the Regent's Park; or perhaps a good house in Bedford Square, and Louisa and the children waiting for me at home. I wonder how Louisa's looking. Dear Louisa! I'm glad she wasn't on board the slaver!”