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Humour
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Peter Simple
Frederick Marryat
· Humour · 18 章
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Puzzled with very common words—Mrs Trotter takes care of my wardrobe—A matrimonial duet, ending “con strepito.”
O’Brien takes me under his protection—The ship’s company are paid, so are the bumboat-women, the Jews, and the emancipationist after a fashion—We go to sea—“Doctor” O’Brien’s cure for sea-sickness—One pill of the doctor’s more than a dose.
The first lieutenant has more patients—Mr Chucks the boatswain lets me into the secret of his gentility.
Mr Chucks’ opinion of proper names—He finishes his Spanish talk—March of intellect among the warrant officers.
O’Brien receives his commission as lieutenant and then we take french leave of Givet.
O’Brien parts company to hunt for provisions, and I have other company in consequence of another hunt—O’Brien pathetically mourns my death and finds me alive—We escape.
We get rid of the pigs and pianoforte—the last boat on shore before sailing—the first lieutenant too hasty, and the consequences to me.
Captain Kearney—The Dignity ball.
Another set-to between the captain and first lieutenant—Cutting-out expedition—Mr Chucks mistaken—He dies like a gentleman—Swinburne begins his account of the battle of St. Vincent.
Captain Kearney’s illness—He makes his will and devises sundry “chateaux en espagne,” for the benefit of those concerned—The legacy duty in this instance not ruinous—He signs, seals, and dies.
O’Brien and myself take a step each, “pari passu”—A family reunion, productive of anything but unity—My uncle, not always the best friend.
Money can purchase anything in the new country—American information not always to be depended upon—A night attack; we are beaten off—It proves a “cut up,” instead of a “cut out”—After all, we save something out of the fire.
Broken ribs not likely to produce broken hearts—O’Brien makes something like a declaration of peace—Peter Simple actually makes a declaration of love—Rash proceedings on all sides.
I am pleased with my new captain—Obtain leave to go home—Find my father afflicted with a very strange disease, and prove myself a very good doctor, although the disorder always breaks out in a fresh place.
News from home not very agreeable, although the reader may laugh—We arrive at Portsmouth, where I fall in with my old acquaintance, Mrs Trotter—We sail with a convoy for the Baltic.
Peter looks upon his loss as something gained—Goes on board the “Rattlesnake” to pack up, and is ordered to pack off—Polite leave-taking between relations—Mrs Trotter better and better—Goes to London, and afterwards falls into all manner of misfortunes by the hands of robbers, and of his own uncle.
It never rains but it pours, whether it be good or bad news—I succeed in everything, and to everything, my wife, my title, and estate—And “all’s well that ends well.”
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