The new Lugger was, of course, the _Henrietta_. The portrait was, according to Posh, painted during the summer at Little Grange, the house which FitzGerald built for himself, or rather altered for himself, at Woodbridge. Dr. Aldis Wright was under the impression that the portrait was never finished; but Posh is very certain about it. "I mind settin'

as still as a cat at a mouse-hole," says he, "for ten min't or a quarter of an hour at a time, on and off, and then a stretchin' o' my legs in the yard. Ah! I was somethin' glad when that wuz finished, that I was!

Tired! Lor! I niver knowed as dewin' narthen' would tire ye like that.

The picter was sold at Mr. FitzGerald's sale, and bought by Billy Hynes o' Bury St. Edmunds. He kep' a public there. I reckon he's dead by now."

Up to the date of going to press I have been unable to trace this portrait, and it is, of course, possible, that in spite of Posh's vivid recollection, Dr. Aldis Wright's impression may be the right one.

A letter to Laurence of August 2nd, 1870, corroborates Posh to the extent of proving that the painter had certainly seen the fisherman. On that date FitzGerald wrote (_Letters_, II, 118, Eversley Edition):--

". . . The Lugger is now preparing in the Harbour beside me; the Captain here, there, and everywhere; with a word for no one but on business; the other side of the Man you saw looking for Birds' Nests: all things in their season. I am sure the Man is fit to be King of a Kingdom as well as of a Lugger. . . .

"I declare, you and I have seen A Man! Have we not? Made in the mould of what Humanity should be, Body and Soul, a poor Fisherman. The proud Fellow had better have kept me for a Partner in some of his responsibilities. But no; he must rule alone, as is right he should too. . . ."

Yes. It would certainly have been better for Posh if he had kept his "guv'nor" for a partner. But the "squalls," the occasional beer bouts (or "settin' ins," as they call them in East Anglia), had excited the spirit of independence of my gentleman. Possibly FitzGerald himself had, by too open a display of his admiration for his partner, this typical longsh.o.r.eman, contributed to the personal self-satisfaction which must have been at the bottom of the man's reasons for wishing to be free of one who had befriended him so delicately and so generously. Posh himself admits, or rather boasts, that the "break" was owing to his own action.

From first to last it seems that FitzGerald, the cultured gentleman, the scholar, the poet of perfect language and profound philosophy, regarded Posh as almost more than man--certainly as more than average man--and there can be no greater token of the sweet simplicity of the scholar.

CHAPTER XV A DROP O' BARE

In September, 1870 (which would be just before the home voyage began and after the Northern voyage was over), Posh seems to have "celebrated" more than his whilome partner and then mortgagee thought proper. On the 8th of the month FitzGerald wrote to Mr. Spalding (_Two Suffolk Friends_, p.

119):--

". . . I had a letter from Posh yesterday, telling me he was sorry we had not 'parted Friends.' That he had been indeed '_a little the worse_ for Drink'--which means being at a Public-house half the Day, and having to sleep it off the remainder: having been duly warned by his Father at Noon that all had been ready for sailing 2 hours before, and all the other Luggers gone. As Posh could _walk_, I suppose he only acknowledges a _little_ Drink; but, judging by what followed on that little Drink, I wish he had simply acknowledged his Fault. He begs me to write: if I do so I must speak very plainly to him: that, with all his n.o.ble Qualities, I doubt I can never again have Confidence in his Promise to break this one bad Habit, seeing that He has broken it so soon, when there was no occasion or excuse: unless it were the thought of leaving his Wife so ill at home. The Man is so beyond others, as I think, that I have come to feel that I must not condemn him by general rule; nevertheless, if he ask me, I can refer him to no other. I must send him back his own written Promise of Sobriety, signed only a month before he broke it so needlessly: and I must even tell him that I know not yet if he can be left with the Mortgage as we settled it in May. . . .

"P.S.--I enclose Posh's letter, and the answer I propose to give to it. I am sure it makes me sad and ashamed to be setting up for Judge on a much n.o.bler Creature than myself. . . . I had thought of returning him his written Promise as worthless: desiring back my direction to my Heirs that he should keep on the Lugger in case of my Death. . . . I think Posh ought to be made to feel this severely: and, as his Wife is better I do not mind making him feel it if I can.

On the other hand, I do not wish to drive Him, by Despair, into the very fault which I have so tried to cure him of. . . ."

His mother did not try to excuse him at all: his father would not even see him go off. She merely told me parenthetically, "I tell him he seem to do it when the Governor is here."

If FitzGerald had not set poor Posh (for in a way I am sorry for the old fellow) on a pedestal, he would have understood that to a longsh.o.r.eman or herring fisher who drinks it (there are many teetotallers now), "bare"

can never be regarded as an enemy. Posh did not think any excuse was necessary for having had, perhaps, more than he could conveniently carry.

It was his last day ash.o.r.e (though I can't quite understand what fishing he was going on unless the herring came down earlier than they do now), and he was "injyin' of hisself." In the old days they took a cask or so aboard. This is never done now, and the chief drink aboard is cocoa (p.r.o.nounced, as FitzGerald writes, "cuckoo"). Posh no doubt thought himself hard done by that such a fuss should have been made about a "drarp o' bare." He doubtless wished that FitzGerald should forgive him.

For, despite his conduct, he did, I truly believe, love his "guv'nor." As for the father and mother, well, they smoothed down the "gennleman" and sympathised with their son according to their kind and to mother nature.

The Direction to FitzGerald's Heirs, which he refers to, is still in existence, and reads as follows:--

"LOWESTOFT, _January_ 20_th_, 1870.

"I hereby desire my Heirs executors and a.s.signs not to call in the Princ.i.p.al of any Mortgage by which Joseph Fletcher the younger of Lowestoft stands indebted to me; provided he duly pays the Interest thereon; does his best to pay off the Princ.i.p.al; and does his best also to keep up the value of the Property so mortgaged until he pays it off.

"This I hereby desire and enjoin on my heirs executors or a.s.signs solemnly as any provision made by Word or Deed while . . . [word missing] any other legal doc.u.ment.

"EDWARD FITZGERALD."

This solemn injunction was written on a sheet of note-paper, and in the fold, over a sixpenny stamp, FitzGerald wrote: "This paper I now endorse again on legal stamp, so as to give it the authority I can. Edward FitzGerald, July 31, 1870."

Surely never man had so kind and considerate a friend as Posh had in FitzGerald!

CHAPTER XVI THE SALE OF THE _SCANDAL_

Though the partnership was over, FitzGerald by no means gave up his friendship for Posh. From time to time he saw him, and from time to time he wrote to him, and always he retained the affection for the longsh.o.r.eman which had sprung up in him so suddenly and (I fear) so unaccountably.

On February 5th, 1871, FitzGerald wrote to Mr. Spalding (_Two Suffolk Friends_, p. 121):--

". . . Posh and his Father are very busy getting the _Meum and Tuum_ ready for the West; Jemmy, who goes Captain, is just now in France with a _Cargoe_ of salt Herrings. I suppose the Lugger will start in a fortnight or so. . . . All-fours at night."

In April of the same year FitzGerald wrote to Posh:--

"WOODBRIDGE, _Monday_.

"DEAR POSH,

"Come any day you please. The Horse Fair is on Friday, you had better come, at any rate; by Thursday, so as to catch the Market. For I think your Lugger must have got away before that.

"A letter written by Ablett Pasefield [otherwise called Percival]

yesterday tells me there are four Lowestoft Luggers in Weymouth. I fancy that even if they were on the Fishing ground, the wind must be too strong to be at work.

"It was Mr. Kerrich who died suddenly this day week--and I suppose is being buried this very day.

"Yours, E. FG.

"Mr. Berry tells me that the Poultry Show here is on Thursday. You can, as I say, come any Day you please. I see the Wind is got West, after the squalls of Hail."

{Geldeston Hall, the Norfolk seat of the Kerrich Family: p173.jpg}

Ablett Pasefield (or Percival), the fisherman and yacht hand, has been mentioned before, and will be mentioned again. He was one of FitzGerald's favourites. Mr. Kerrich was FitzGerald's brother-in-law, the husband of the poet's favourite sister, who had predeceased him in 1863. On August 5th in that year FitzGerald wrote to Professor Cowell (_Letters_, II, 46, Eversley Edition): ". . . I have lost my sister Kerrich, the only one of my family I much cared for, or who much cared for me."

Mr. Kerrich lived at Geldeston Hall, near Beccles, which is still in possession of the same family.

Mr. Berry (as we know) was FitzGerald's landlord at Markethill, Woodbridge.

At this time Posh was a man of means, and drove his smart gig and mare, and it was with some idea of buying a new horse that he was to go to Woodbridge Horse Fair. In the seventies the horse fairs of Norwich and other East Anglian towns were important functions. The Rommany gryengroes had not then all gone to America, and those who know their George Borrow will remember with delight his description of the scene at the horse fair on Norwich Castle Hill, when Jasper Petulengro first brought himself to the recollection of Lavengro (or the "sap-engro") as his "pal"--that memorable day when George Borrow saw the famous entire Norfolk cob Marshland Shales led amongst bared heads, blind and grey with age, but triumphant in his unequalled fame (_Lavengro_, p. 74, Minerva Edition).

But Posh bought no new horse. And his recollection does not permit of any trustworthy account of his visit.

Perhaps it was during this trip to Woodbridge (and the carping reader will be justified in saying "and perhaps it wasn't") that Posh witnessed the curious and characteristic meeting between FitzGerald and his wife.

If this meeting were characteristic, still more so was the history of the marriage.

FitzGerald had been a great friend of Bernard Barton, the Woodbridge quaker poet, and on the death of his friend he wished to save Miss Barton from being thrown on the world almost dest.i.tute and almost friendless.

The only way of doing it without creating scandal (and he changed the name of his yacht from the _Shamrock_ to the _Scandal_ because he said that scandal was the princ.i.p.al commodity of Woodbridge) was to make her his wife. This he did. But there were many reasons why the marriage was not likely to prove a happy one. It did not, and both parties recognised that the wisest thing to do was to separate without any unnecessary fuss.