A Cornishman, of some repute
Down where the good man dwelt,
Took thought, and courage into boot,—
At length so eager felt—
Set bravely out, at last, to see
What he could hear in “Town;”
[35]And, to repair his memory,
Took pen to scribble down
The marv’lous things he might espy,
Or aught that he might learn.
(This wisdom’d man, most verily,
Had mused o’er his return.) * * *
’Tis said—that sixteen weeks, or more,
The plans had been devised
For Captain
[36] Joseph’s “foreign tour,”
And sixteen times revised—
Regarding his habiliment,
The quantity of cash—
The necessary complement,
To cut a Cornish dash.* * *
Now, be it known, when Captain Joe
First plann’d it in his head
To go to London, half Westlooe
[37]Determined he was mad:
Some said to him, “Insure your life—
You’ll sure to come to woe;”
And others, “If I were your wife,
I’d never let you go.”
But “By the stars in heav’n,” he said,
“The man that tampers me
Shall have his passport to the dead,
Besides his passage free.”
The first beam of th’ eventful day
Found Captain up betimes:
His wife persuaded him to pray,
If ’twere but twenty lines:
And so he did (both kneeling down);
But quickly after this,
Joe, like a boy, was up and gone
Upon the road to bliss.
[38] * * *
Away they went—for she went too,
To see him safely off;
And whilst she’s on the platform—lo!
The engine ’gins to cough,
And cough, and cough; and Joe, to see
His dear, popp’d out his head—
Ejaculating, “God bless thee,”
When (what?) his hat had fled!
Of course, Joe bawl’d to get it back,
The more he bawl’d he might—
For ’twixt the wheels it got a crack,
Which smash’d it left and right:
His dear wife saw! and cried in vain,
“D’ye see the mischief done?”
But onward steam’d the “Wicked Train,”
And he, dear fellow, gone!
So all the way to “London Town,”
Bare-headed Joseph goes,
Save on his head the silken one
On service to his nose.
Although possess’d of “means” whereby
Another might be got,
Still Joe could not prevent a sigh
On losing his best hat:
Yet cheerful, and apparently
A king in his rough mode,
He pass’d the hours agreeably
Upon the iron road,—
Took out his sandwiches and beer,
And then would have a smoke,
Drew closer to a lady near,
And (gravely) pass’d this joke—
“This fire-horse, ma’am, breathes very hard;
I don’t much like the brute;
We’d best, I think, be on our guard,”
(She trembles head to foot,)
“For fear the beast should break his chains,
And gallop off the line;
The devil seems to have the reins,
And driving down some mine.”
[39]
Then Captain wonder’d at the pace
The hedgerows seem to fly;
“The trees,” says he, “appear to chase
The clouds along the sky.”
Again the sandwiches and beer
Were called into request—
Such homely sandwiches, ’twas clear
His wife had done her best—
But quite inadequate these were,
Ere half the day was done;
So when they arriv’d at Exeter,
[40]He got a lad to run
Across the platform to the “inn,”
[41]To get a cake or bun,
A quartern of best “Plymouth gin,”
And gave the boy a crown:
[42]But ere the lad came back again,
[43]The engine ’gan to “cough;”
And when he felt the moving train
Had really started off,
Joe curs’d and swore most terribly,
Got in a dreadful rage:—
(The passengers who sat close by
Attempted to assuage
The Captain’s wrath, but ’twas in vain,
He swore and curs’d the more.)
At last, appeased, he slept, and then,
Of course, his rage was o’er.
For many hours asleep he sat,—
Until the sun went down,—
Then ’woke deficient of his hat,
And also of his crown;—
And, to his great astonishment,
Arrived at the “great town,”
Where,
[44] in his haste to get away,
He tumbles o’er a trunk! * * *
(Now, whilst he’s down, he hears some say
“The man is mad, or drunk.”)
Springs up again, laughs out, “All right!”
And bounds for Edgware Road,
Where (the first “public-house” in sight)
Joe takes up his abode;
Makes free with some refreshments, and
Tells how his hat was lost;
Remarks—the landlord’s house was grand,
And what the gas must cost,
And such-like things; then goes to rest,
But devil-a-bit could sleep,
For something saunter’d round his waist,
Then lodged upon his hip * * *
Fatigued, at last his eyelids close:—
Thus, happy for a time,
He gets into a solid doze,
And
[45] mutters forth in rhyme—
“Where is my hat? where is my crown?”
And, “Where, oh! where is London Town?”
(A gent—in bed adjoining him,
In the same room—o’erheard
The purport of the Captain’s dream—
Remember’d every word.)
At length Joe rises, and prepares
For the forthcoming day,
Fresh as a rose, and full of airs,—
In sooth, quite prim and gay,
With the exception of a hat;
So he plung’d in the street,
Found out a shop, and righted that:
Thus made himself complete—
Whilst, on his countenance, a smile
Told plainly how he prized his “tile.”
As this
[46] was all Joe’s broken cash,
Nought better he desired,—
Quite good enough, he thought, to smash,
And so, replete attired,
Went back and ordered breakfast in;
Reclined upon the chair;
Made up his mind not to be mean,
Now all seem’d—straight and fair. * * *
To breakfast; but, so hearty, Joe
Soon rang the bell again.
The waiter he came in tip-toe:
Said Joe, in language plain—
“Dost thou call this a breakfast, John?”
(With a derisive laugh.)—
“Bring in another steak well done;
For this I call but half * * *
No wonder Londoners look pale,
And look so mighty thin,—
I s’pose ye chiefly live on ale,
Or what ye sell for gin.”
Obey’d, and satisfied to full,
He ’t once sought for his cash:
But lo—’twas gone!——a tedious lull:
Joe’s teeth began to clash.
He’d hair scarce none, tho’ h’ seem’d to have
Abundance on his pate.
[47]Now, he exclaimed upon the knave;
Then, murmur’d o’er his fate.
(Oh! ’twas a piteous sight to see
So brave a man in misery—
Confused, confounded, as was he.)
With watch in hand, Joe ’gan to moan—
While tears stole from his eye—
“Is this enough, John, as a loan?”
“Yes,” was the man’s reply.
“Ah! John,” said Captain, “this old jew’l
Belong’d to my grandsire;
To take it from me ’tis, ’tis cruel.” * * *
With cheeks flushed up like fire
The Captain rushed into the street—
A labyrinth of beings—
In hopes somewhere a friend to meet.
He scans all sorts of things,
And prays to Providence he may
(His eyes bedimm’d with tears,)
Detect the rogue this very day:
“That I might ring the ears
Of him, the wretch! that plunder’d me,
And brought me to such grief,—
Could I the rascal only see,
’Twould be, O! Lord, relief:
I’d thrust him madly in the muck,
Him trundle to a toad:—
O! heaven, pray change this direful luck,
And let the devils goad” * * *
Joe almost swoon’d: he bent his head,
And press’d his aching sides;
A hundred times wish’d he was dead,
And that d——’d rogue besides:
Search’d all his pockets o’er and o’er,
But not a mite could find;
Scratch’d his poor temples till so sore
It worried his poor mind:—
Again he felt!—rais’d up his face!
“What’s this? what’s this?” exclaim’d.
“A button? no!—they’re all in place,”—
A “godsend!” (’tis reclaim’d).
Now in Joe’s coat’s abyss
[48] had gone
A fourp’ny silver piece;
He found it, and a smile then shone;
He damp’d it with a kiss,
And sought the nearest paper shop,
[49]With pen and ink there drew,
Or wrote, or rudely tried to drop—
A few lines to Westlooe,
And told his dear wife, “Agnes-Ann,”
To send him by first post
Some money. Thus the letter ran—
“Dear Agnes-Ann,—I’ve lost,
I’ve lost, my dear, my leathern pouch,
I’ve not a copper left;
I’ve been oblig’d to leave my watch
To pay——, so do be swift.” (etc.)
’Twas done: his wife took pen in hand
And sent a “P.O.O.,”
To pay, she said, at “Saint-le-Grand,”
Five pounds in gold to Joe.
The Captain not a friend could see
To help him in this need,
So in the depths of misery,
And dreadf’lly hungerèd,
He wander’d to and fro by day,
By night he did the same,
And every now and then would pray,
Until the letter came.—
Then Captain went to “Saint-le-Grand,”
And found the “order” right,
And soon five sovereigns in his hand,—
A welcome, welcome sight:
Thought on his watch immediately,
Intent, turn’d round to go
Back to the inn; but suddenly
Stopp’d short, and sighed; for, lo!
He’d never thought (poor simple man)
Of taking its address. * * *
So here was Captain Joe again
Once more in great distress;
In such distress of mind was he,
He turn’d his eyes to earth,
And cried, “My watch!” and instantly
He curs’d his very birth.
Now recollecting Edgware Road,
Joe thought if he went there
He might find out that grand abode—
Where all seem’d “straight and fair.”
Direct he goes; and if in one
Almost in every inn
Steps Joe, but could not find the John
Who look’d so pale and thin.
So vex’d, indeed, was Captain now,
That he resolv’d to go
And take the Train, and made this vow—
“Ne’er more to leave Westlooe.”
Throughout the journey he never smil’d,
And sat as though in grief,
Breath’d not a sound to man nor child,
Thought every one a thief. * * *
But there was one
[50] look’d straight at Joe,
Who thought it very strange
That “only just a day or two
Had wrought this wondrous change!”
Now (which augmented Captain’s cares)
He’d left at home the “lines”
Which told where liv’d those Londoners—
Advent’rers in the mines. * * *
Fast flew the train, and Joe got home,
Where flock’d his friends to see
(As customary in the town),
And list’ attentively
To Captain Joseph’s great account;
But they were much surpris’d
To find he’d nothing to recount
Save his being modernis’d;
For what Joe thought to have in store,
[51]When first he started out,
Had vanish’d like a metaphor,
And he
[52] turn’d inside out.
Next day, as Captain “went to mine,”
Alone, he did not care
How he his vengeance did combine
With an alternate prayer;
Thus:—“Where is that long-cherish’d gem,
That only legacy
My grandsire left me? Woe to him
Who brought this misery!” * * *
That night poor Joe thought (in a dream)
His watch might still be found,
And when he ’woke retain’d the scheme,
Resolv’d the plan sound;
Made up his mind what he should do,
Arose and went forthwith
Upon his pony to Westlooe,
There found out old John Smith
The Schoolmaster, and earnestly
Urg’d him at once t’invent
A “vertisement,” which cleverly
To the “Great Town” was sent.
’T ran thus: “One night slept at an Inn,
Near the Great West—— Railway,
A Cornishman, and then was seen
At breakfast the next day,
In waistcoat, coat, and trowsers, black;
Who’d lost his leathern purse,
And left his watch: he wants it back,
And would not care a curse
’Bout the expense if that kind Gent,
Who took it for his bill,
Would pack it safe and have it sent
Right down into Cornwall,—
Address’d to Captain Joseph James,
At Westlooe Copper Mine,—
And send his own address and names,
With just a word or line,—
John Smith, of Westlooe Grammar School.
Will send by the next mail,
In postage-stamps, the cost in full,
And something for some ale.” * * *
This done, the Captain bade farewell,
And trotted home with speed,—
Told his dear Agnes-Ann—the tale,
Took tea and went to bed;
And rose again, delighted with
The plan; then went to mine;
Thought all day long of old John Smith,
And of th’ expected line
From “John” the Gent. At length there came
A note, wrote plain and neat,
Sign’d with a “Russian-looking name,”
At “16, Cuthbert Street.” * * *
Then Joe exclaimed, “My watch, my dear;
My dear, my watch:” and he,
To make her understand it clear,
Read out thus (smilingly)—
“If Captain Joseph James will send
In postage-stamps One pound,
His trouble shall be at an end;
The watch is safe and sound.”
“Is safe and sound,” quoth Joe thrice o’er;
“Oh! thank the Lord for this,”
Said he; then read it through once more,
And gave his wife a kiss;
Put on his best, and trotted down
(The stamps got on the way)
To see his old friend “Maseter” John;
Shook hands, and ’gan to say—
“Dear Maseter john, once more I will
Just trouble you to write.” * * *
“With pleasure, Captain;” took his quill,
And penn’d with all his might
An answer to the honest sir,
Who saw the “vertisement;”
Enclosed the stamps, and sixpence o’er.
[53]
So great was Joe’s content,
He went straight home and said his pray’rs;
Became an alter’d man:
When bed-time ’rriv’d he went up-stairs,
And bless’d dear Agnes-Ann.
Next morning like a lark he ’rose,
And merrily tripp’d along
Towards the mine, and as he goes,
Hums o’er his old lov’d song.
Three days pass’d by: Joe doubted (what?)
If all was strictly true;
And thought t’himself—hath “John” forgot
Joe James of, of Westlooe? * * *
Another day pass’d o’er his head;
His fears now ’gan t’increase;
He reckon’d up what he had paid,—
The sum disturb’d his peace!
“Oh! sinner that I am,” quoth he,
“To put such faith in man;”
And paus’d: then bawl’d out savagely,
“Oh! may the rogue be d——n’.” * * *
Now, when poor Captain Joseph felt
That watch and all was lost,
He grumbled something, sigh’d, and knelt,
And counted up the cost,—
Which ’mounted to twelve sterling-pounds,
Eight shillings, and odd pence!
[54]Enough. His anger knew no bounds,
His rage became intense,
(With whom poor Captain Joe knew not)
And e’en the beard he bore
He turn’d aside—aim’d at his throat!
But failing this—he swore
That all but him
[55] were rogues and thieves;
That every living soul,
From parish-paupers to state-chiefs,
Would surely go to ——.
“Come neighbours, drop a tear for Joe!”
The sexton quaintly said,
When Captain Joseph was laid low
Into his last lone bed.
[56]And so they did. And even now
Dull records prove the fact—
That never a man in all Westlooe
Possess’d such mining tact
Before or since old Joseph died;
Or bore three prouder names—
If heav’n and earth were both allied—
Than Captain Joseph James.
[57]