The builders were at work on Little Grange, which FitzGerald predicted he would never live in but would die in. However, he falsified both predictions, for he lived in the house ten years and died in Norfolk.

Mr. Durrant was still in default. I doubt if FitzGerald ever got those flowers. They were plants, Posh tells me, which FitzGerald wished to plant out at Little Grange.

I can find no record of the principal, the Martinmas or Autumn, fishing of 1868. But in the spring of 1869 the Meum and Tuum went to the "West Fishing" for mackerel, even as a large number of our modern steam drifters go now, to the indignation of the pious fishermen of Penzance, Newlyn, and St. Ives. These good fellows of the west have, I think, some reason to complain that it is unfair that they should suffer for righteousness' sake. Looking at the point in dispute impartially, it does seem hard that the men of the locality should see Easterlings bringing in good catches of fish as the result of what the Cornishmen regard as a desecration of "the Lord's Day." The religious sentiment which prevents the western and southern men from putting off on Sunday is genuine and sincere enough. The Scotch herring boats, which come in their thousands to Yarmouth and Lowestoft for the autumn fishing, are always in harbour from Saturday night to Monday morning, though the local boats fish all days and nights. But by keeping in harbour the Scotchmen offend the sensibilities of no one, whereas there is much bitterness caused in the west by the refusal of the Easterlings to fall in with local custom.

On March 1st, 1869, FitzGerald wrote to Professor Cowell (Letters, II, 107, Eversley Edition):—

"MY DEAR COWELL,

". . . My lugger Captain has just left me to go on his Mackerel Voyage to the Western Coast; and I don't know when I shall see him again. . . . You can't think what a grand, tender Soul this is, lodged in a suitable carcase."

FitzGerald thought very highly of that "carcase" of Posh's, as will be seen from the story of the Laurence portrait, set forth hereinafter, as the lawyers, whom Posh hates so much, would say.

The sleeping partner throughout seems to have had more anxiety on account of Posh's sea hazards than on account of business losses. How the mackerel paid I do not know, but Posh was in time to go north for the beginning of the herring fishing in July.



CHAPTER IX ECCENTRICITIES OF A GOOD HEART

There must always be an interval ashore between the return of the drifters from the western voyage and their sailing north to follow the herring down from Aberdeen to Yarmouth. And during this interval, in 1869, FitzGerald wrote one or two letters to Posh which have survived that wholesale destruction of which their recipient speaks.

"WOODBRIDGE, Friday.

"Newson is up here with the Yacht, Posh; and we shall start to-morrow with the Tide about 10.30. I doubt if we shall get out of the harbour: or, even if we do that, get to Lowestoft in the Day. But you can just give a look to the Southward to-morrow evening, or Sunday. I write this, because we may not have more than a day to stay at Lowestoft.

"E. FG."

Despite his silk hat and his boa, FitzGerald was a keen and genuine lover of yachting. Even in the way in which he took his enjoyment of this he was original. Posh asserts that he has seen his "guv'nor" lying in the lee scuppers while the Scandal was heeling over in a stiff breeze, and permitting the wash of the sea to run over him till he was drenched to the skin. Indeed, although his long lean body looked frail, he was reckless in the way in which he treated it. Posh tells one story which I give in his words. He vouches for its truth, and I give it on his authority and not as vouching for its accuracy myself. Personally I believe the tale is true enough, but I admit that it requires a power of assimilation which is not given to all.

"He! he!" says Posh. "He was a rum un sometimes, was my guv'nor! I remember one day when the Scandal was a layin' agin' the wharf where the trawl market is now. Mr. Sims Reeves, the lawyer [this was a prominent counsel on the Norwich circuit, not the famous tenor], and some other friends came over for a sail, and they and Tom [Newson] was below while me and Jack and the guv'nor was on deck, astarn. The mains'l was h'isted, but there wasn't no heads'l on her, and we lay theer riddy to get unner way. There was a fresh o' wind blowin' from the eastard, not wery stiddy, and as we lay theer the boom kep' a wamblin' and a jerkin' from side to side, a wrenchin' the mainsheet block a rum un. The guv'nor was a readin' of a letter as had just been brought down by the poost. 'Posh,' he say, 'here's a letter with some money I niver expected to git,' he say. 'That's a good job,' when just then the boom come over wallop and caught him fair on the side of his hid, and knocked him oover into the harbour like one o'clock. He was a wearin' of his topper same as us'al, and all of a sudden up he come agin just as Jack an' me was raychin' oover arter him. His topper come up aisy like, as though 'twas a life-buoy if I may say soo, and unnerneath it come the fur boa, and then the guv'nor. And as true as I set here he was still a holdin' that letter out in front of him in both hands. Well, I couldn't help it. I bust out a laughin', and soo did Jack an' all, and then we rayched down and copped hold on him and h'isted him aboord all right and tight, but as wet as a soused harrin'. He come up a laughin', playsed as Punch, an' give orders to cast off and git up headsail ta oncet. And would yew believe me, he wouldn't goo below ta shift afore we got right out to the Corton light, though Mr. Reeves axed him tew time and time agin! Not he. That was blowin' a fresh o' wind, an' he jest lay down in the lee scuppers, and 'I can't get no wetter, Posh,' he say, and let the lipper slosh oover him. Ah! He was a master rum un, was my ole guv'nor!"

The northern herring voyage of the Meum and Tuum in 1869, that is to say, the eight weeks' fishing down the east coast from Aberdeen to Lowestoft from the beginning of August to the end of September, seems to have been about up to what FitzGerald might have called "Neighbour's fare." He wrote to Mrs. W. H. Thompson (the wife of the Master of Trinity): "My lugger has had (along with her neighbours) such a Season hitherto of Winds as no one remembers. We made 450 pounds in the North Sea" (that is to say, in the north fishing before the home Martinmas fishing began); "and (just for fun) I did wish to realise 5 pounds in my pocket. But my Captain would take it all to pay Bills. But if he makes another 400 pounds this Home Voyage! Oh, then we shall have money in our pockets. I do wish this. For the anxiety about all these people's lives has been so much more to me than all the amusement I have got from the Business, that I think I will draw out of it if I can see my Captain sufficiently firm on his legs to carry it on alone. True, there will still be the same risk to him and his ten men, but they don't care; only I sit here listening to the Winds in the Chimney, and always thinking of the eleven hanging at my own finger ends" (Letters, II, 110, Eversley Edition).

{A Lowestoft "Dandy": p116.jpg}

The number of hands on a herring drifter used to be eleven, which seemed excessive till the labour of hauling nearly two miles of nets by hand is remembered. Now that almost every drifter which goes into the North Sea has a donkey engine to do the hardest work of the hauling the number aboard the dandies is lessened to nine.

This letter to Mrs. Thompson is the first suggestion that FitzGerald has any idea of ending the partnership, a suggestion which became fully developed in 1870.

But before Posh was hard at it every day, fishing off the Norfolk coast, his "guv'nor" wrote him a note in a much more cheerful strain. Indeed, this is a letter by itself, unlike any other of the writer's which I have seen, though (as Dr. Aldis Wright says) "FitzGerald never wrote a letter like any one else." The power of throwing himself "into the picture," the humour of conscious imitation, were never more brilliantly illustrated than by this hail-fellow-well-met letter, written by the scholar and poet:—

"MARKETHILL, WOODBRIDGE, Wednesday.

"Now then, Posh, here is a letter for you, sooner than you looked for, and moreover you will have to answer it as soon as you can.

"I want you to learn from your friend Dan Fuller what particulars you can about that Lugger we saw at Mutford Bridge. Draft of Water, Length of Keel, What sails and Stores; and what Price; and any other Questions you may think necessary to ask. If the man here who has a notion of buying such a Vessel to make a Yacht of on this river sees any hope of doing so at a reasonable rate, and with a reasonable hope of Success, he will go over next week to look at the Vessel. He of course knows he would have to alter all her inside: but I told him your Opinion that she would do well cutter rigged.

"So now, Poshy, do go down as soon as is convenient, to Dan, and stand him half a pint and don't tell him what you are come about, but just turn the conversation (in a Salvaging sort of way) to the old Lugger and get me the particulars I ask for. Perhaps Dan's heart will open—over Half a Pint—as yours has been known to do. And if you write to me as soon as you can what you can learn, why I take my Blessed Oath that I'll be d—-d if I don't stand you Half a Pint, so help me Bob, the next time I go to Lowestoft. I hope I make myself understood.

"The Elsie is being gutted, and new timbered, and Mr. Silver has bought a new dandy of forty tons, and Ablett Percival" (cf. spelling in other letters) "is to be Captain. I think of going down the river soon to see Captain Newson. I have been on the River To-day and thought that I should have been with you on the way to Yarmouth or Southwold if I had stayed at Lowestoft. Instead of which I have been to the Lawyer here.

"Good-bye, Poshy, and believe me always yours to the last Half Pint.

"E. FG.

"I enclose a paper with my questions marked, to which you can add short answers."

Dan Fuller was the builder of the Meum and Tuum. His son is still living, and a well-known mechanic in Lowestoft. Mutford Bridge will be better recognised as the bridge at Oulton Broad.

Once again FitzGerald chuckles at the morality of the "salwagers," and chuckles again at the expansiveness of the East Anglian "half a pint," which may mean anything between its nominal measure and the full holding capacity of the drinker—which is as vague as "half a pint," itself.

The Elsie was a yacht which belonged to a syndicate of Woodbridge yachtsmen, of whom Mr. Silver (a Woodbridge friend of FitzGerald's) was one and Mr. Manby was another. The two friends who went to Mutford Bridge to look at the lugger were (so far as Posh can remember) Mr. Silver and Mr. Cobbold, of Cobbold's Bank. Posh says that the lugger was a beauty. But nothing came of the visit, and the Woodbridge man did not buy her.

As yet the warning which FitzGerald had given Posh in his sermon had (so far as the letters tell us) served its purpose. But the letters appear to be deceitful in this, and the next chapter must deal with a painful phase of the partnership.



CHAPTER X POSH'S SPIRIT OF INDEPENDENCE

The hopes for the home fishing of 1869 should have been good. On August 30th, 1869 (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 114), FitzGerald wrote to Mr. Spalding from Lowestoft: "You will see by the enclosed that Posh has had a little better luck than hitherto. One reason for my not going to Woodbridge is, that I think it possible that this N.E. wind may blow him hither to tan his nets. Only please God it don't tan him and his people first."

Herring are, as our East Anglian fishermen say, "ondependable" in their travels. They come south along the coast from the north of Scotland till they are in their prime (full-roed, fat fish) off Yarmouth in October. But their arrival at the various ports along the east coast can never be fixed for a certain date. This year, for instance (1907), owing to the warm August and September they have been late in coming south from Hull. Generally "longshores" are caught off Lowestoft late in August or early in September, and by the end of September the home and Scotch fleets are congesting the herring basins. This year, however, I had my first longshores brought me yesterday, the 1st of October, and there are not a dozen Scotch craft to be seen in the basins.

FitzGerald stayed at Lowestoft till the north-easters did blow Posh home. And perhaps he would have been happier had he gone back to Woodbridge before the return of the Meum and Tuum. As it was, Posh had "some bare" on regatta day (very late that year), and this upset his "guv'nor." He wrote to Mr. Spalding on the 4th September (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 115): "I would not meddle with the Regatta. . . . And the Day ended by vexing me more than it did him [Newson]. . . . Posh drove in here the day before to tan his nets: could not help making one with some old friends in a Boat-race on the Monday, and getting very fuddled with them on the Suffolk Green (where I was) at night. After all the pains I have taken, and all the real anxiety I have had. And worst of all after the repeated promises he had made! I said there must be an end of Confidence between us, so far as that was concerned, and I would so far trouble myself about him no more. But when I came to reflect that this was but an outbreak among old friends, on an old occasion, after (I do believe) months of sobriety; that there was no concealment about it; and that though obstinate at first as to how little drunk, etc., he was very repentant afterwards—I cannot let this one flaw weigh against the general good of the man. I cannot if I would: what then is the use of trying? But my confidence in that respect must be so far shaken, and it vexes me to think that I can never be sure of his not being overtaken so. I declare that it makes me feel ashamed very much to play the judge on one who stands immeasurably above me in the scale, whose faults are better than so many virtues. Was not this very outbreak that of a great genial Boy among his old Fellows? True, a Promise was broken. Yes, but if the Whole Man be of the Royal Blood of Humanity, and do Justice in the Main, what are the people to say? He thought, if he thought at all, that he kept his promise in the main. But there is no use talking, unless I part company wholly, I suppose I must take the evil with the good. . . ."

FitzGerald probably got to the very heart of the misunderstanding between himself and Posh as to the merits and demerits of "bare" when he wrote that Posh was a little obstinate as to "how little drunk," etc. Moreover he understood the nature of the man—"a great genial boy"—but he did not understand that these "great genial boys" have all the mischievous tendencies, and all the irresponsibility of real boys. He was kind and forbearing enough, God knows. But he had set up his Posh on such a pinnacle of pre-eminence over all his fellow-men that it is possible that his bitterness in discovering that after all his protege was merely a well-built, handsome, ordinary longshoreman caused a greater revulsion than would have occurred had his first estimate of Posh's character been less exalted.

It is to the credit of the great heart of the man that he never lost his love of Posh (Posh is certain about this), though he undoubtedly did lose his confidence in and respect for him.

And Posh did not give way to his "guv'nor" as he might have done. That fine old East Anglian spirit of independence (which is so generally admirable) was in this particular instance sheer brutal ingratitude when shown by Posh to FitzGerald. No one has a greater admiration than I for this magnificent claim of a MAN to be MAN'S equal. It kept the race of Norfolk and Suffolk longshoremen worthy of their traditions until the cockney visitors, with their tips and their hunger for longshore lies, ruined the nature of many of our beach folk. But with FitzGerald, that kind, solicitous gentleman who never asserted the claims of his station in life before an inferior, the obtrusive display of this spirit of independence was as unnecessary as it was cruel. And I think Posh understands this now. He certainly never meant to hurt the feelings of his old governor. But he chafed at the care which his friend took of him. He said to me the other day that he wished his old master were alive now to take such care. "Ah!" he said, "he'd take hold o' me like this here" (and here, as I have described on a previous page, Posh pinched up his blue knitted jersey), "and say, 'Oh, my dear Poshy! Oh dear! Oh dear! To think you should be like this! Oh dear! Oh dear!'"

And Posh's old eyes will water. Indeed, I have noticed a likeness between the thoughts of Posh in reference to FitzGerald and the remorse of the son of a loving father who had tried his sire hard in lifetime and understood that he had done so after his father's death. Even now, this old man of sixty-nine leans, metaphorically, on the recollection of the man who loved him so. Even now he says, "Ah! that would ha' upset him if he'd known I should ha' come to this!"

But in 1869 Posh thought that he was a very fine fellow indeed, and was not going to be "put upon" by any "guv'nor," no matter how kind the "guv'nor" had been to him. He was half owner of a fine drifter and skipper as well, to say nothing of having designed the boat. He would assert himself.

He did.



CHAPTER XI POSH SHOWS TEMPER

Posh says that there "were lots o' breezes" between him and his "guv'nor," and when the reader of this study (who should have got to know something of FitzGerald's attitude by now) realises this he will be able to appreciate the long-suffering generosity of this cultured scholar whom fools have painted as a mere eccentric hermit. Posh, now that he was well started by the aid of his governor, began to yearn for independence. Possibly he had some reason to complain that his sleeping partner interfered in matters of which he was ignorant. On September 21st, 1869, FitzGerald wrote to Mr. Spalding (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 118):—

"Posh came up with his Lugger last Friday, with a lot of torn nets, and went off again on Sunday. I thought he was wrong to come up, and not to transmit his nets by Rail, as is often done at 6d. a net. But I did not say so to him—it is no unamiable point in him to love home: but I think he won't make a fortune by it. However, I may be very wrong in thinking he had better not have come. He has made about the average fishing, I believe: about 250 pounds. Some boats have 600 pounds, I hear; and some few not enough to pay their way.

"He came up with a very bad cold and hoarseness; and so went off, poor fellow: he never will be long well, I do think."

Probably Posh knew all about the best way of making a profit out of herring drifters, and FitzGerald may have been wrong in fearing that he did not. FitzGerald, with his superb culture, may not (I do not say he did not) have understood that Posh, on his native North Sea, may have been more than a match for all the culture in the world. For what I know of the old longshoreman, I am convinced that if he brought his nets home in his lugger he did so because he thought it was the most profitable way of bringing them back. But FitzGerald grew anxious, and his anxiety was not understood by the natural child of the beach, and caused friction and mutual irritation.

But this did not break out till the north voyage was over and the Meum and Tuum had been on the home fishing for more than a month. Then Posh began to have the fingering of a good deal of money, and FitzGerald had already had reason to doubt his abilities to keep his credit and debit sides of account in proper order. Moreover, the usual autumn gales had been bringing the stormy and dark nights which are as profitable as they are dangerous to the drifters. On Monday, November 1st, 1869 (one of the few letters of FitzGerald's which I have seen completely dated), the sleeping partner wrote on a sheet of paper headed by a monogram which is "S.W. & B." so far as I can make out. To make up for the fullness of the date there is no address.

"I cannot lay blame to myself, Posh, in this matter, though I may not have known you were so busy with the boat as you tell me. Hearing of great disasters by last week's gale, I was, as usual, anxious about you. Hearing nothing from you, I telegram'd on Thursday Afternoon to Mr. Bradbeer: his answer reached me at 5 p.m. that you had come in on Tuesday, and were then safe in harbour. Being then afraid lest you should put off paying away the money, which, as I told you, was a positive danger to Wife and Children, I directly telegram'd to you to do what I had desired you to do the week before. Busy as you were, five minutes spent in writing me a line would have spared all this trouble and all this vexation on both sides.

"As to my telegrams telling all the world what you wish to keep secret; how did they do that? My telegrams to Mr. Bradbeer were simply to ask if you were safe. My telegram to you was simply to say, 'Do what I bid you'; Who should know what that was, or that it had anything to do with paying the Boat's Bills? People might guess it had something to do with the Boat: and don't you suppose that every one knows pretty well how things are between us? And why should they not, I say, when all is honestly done between us? The Custom House people must know (and, of course, tell others) that you are at present only Half-owner; and would suppose that I, the other Half, would use some Authority in the matter.

"You say truly that, when we began together, you supposed I should leave all to you, and use no Authority (though you have always asked me about anything you wished done). Quite true. I never did wish to meddle; nor did I call on you for any Account, till I saw last year that you forgot a really important sum, and that you did not seem inclined to help your Memory (as every one else does) by writing it down in a Book. In two cases this year I have shown you the same forgetfulness (about your liabilities I mean) and I do not think I have been unjust, or unkind, in trying to make you bring yourself to Account. You know, and ought to believe, that I have perfect confidence in your honour; and have told you of the one defect I observed in you as much for your sake as mine.

"Quite as much, yes! For the anxiety I have . . . [word illegible] [? suffered] these two years about your eleven lives is but ill compensated by all these squalls between us two; which I declare I excuse myself of raising. If, in this last case, you really had not time to post me a line or two to say you were all safe, and that you had done what I desired you to do; I am very sorry for having written so sharply as I did to you: but I cannot blame myself for the mistake. No: this I will say: I am not apt to think too much of my doings, and dealings with others. But, in my whole sixty years, I can with a clear conscience say that I have dealt with one man fairly, kindly, and not ungenerously, for three good years. I may have made mistakes; but I can say I have done my best as conscientiously as he can say he has done his. And I believe he has done his best, though he has also made mistakes; and I remain his sincerely,

"E. FG."

Mr. Bradbeer was a herring merchant, and his family is still prominent in the fishing industry of Lowestoft. Posh's letter, to which the above is a reply, must have been very characteristic of his race, to which secrecy concerning their private affairs is a first nature. The mistrust of the privacy of the "telegrams" may possibly have had some justification. Even in these days there are East Anglian villages where the contents of private telegrams are sometimes known to the village before the actual information reaches the addressee. And in 1869 Lowestoft was not much more than a village, and telegraphy was in its infancy. Possibly Posh exaggerated the importance of secretiveness, and FitzGerald the security of privacy. But apart from all questions of "the rights of the matter," what a letter it is! What a splendid justification for almost any action. I fear, however the matter in dispute be looked at, Posh cannot have the best of it in this case. He had fired up at an imaginary slight, wrong, whatever he chose to think it, and if he has any excuse at all, it is that, but for his unreasonableness, we should not have this letter.

One would have thought that it might have given Posh pause if even he felt disposed to show his independence again. But this "squall" between these two curious partners was not destined to be the last. For the time it blew over, and the mutual relations between Posh and his "guv'nor" were as friendly as ever.



CHAPTER XII THE HENRIETTA

During the winter of 1869-70 it seems that Posh conceived the idea that the capital of the firm of FitzGerald and Fletcher justified the working partner in increasing the stock-in-trade. A boat-building company at Southwold put up some craft at auction, and among them was one which had already seen a good deal of sea service named the Henrietta. This Posh bought for about 100 pounds without consulting his partner. It transpired afterwards that the sale was not acceptable to all the shareholders of the company that owned the boat, especially to a Jerry Cole, one of the principal shareholders, and there was a good deal of bother for Posh in obtaining delivery of his purchase. It may be as well to include all the letters relating to this transaction in one chapter without regard to dates.

The first is dated February 1st—that is to say, February 1st, 1870—and was written at Woodbridge by FitzGerald to his partner. The letter, as handed to me by Posh, was incomplete, and lacked signature. No doubt the second sheet had been lost with those "sackfuls."

"WOODBRIDGE, February 1st.

"MY DEAR POSH,

"Mr. Spalding was with me last night; and I asked him if I was justified in the scolding I gave you about buying the Lugger and Nets too; telling him the particulars. He would not go so far as to say I was wrong; but he thought that you were not to blame either. Therefore I consider that I was wrong; and, as I told you, I am very glad to find myself wrong, though very sorry to have been so: and I cannot let a day pass without writing to say so. You may think that I had better have said nothing to anybody about it: but I always do ask of another if I am right. If Mr. Spalding had been at Lowestoft at the time all this would not have happened: as it has happened, I wish to take all the blame on myself.

"All this will make you wish the more to be quit of such a Partner. I am sure, however, that I thought myself right: and am glad to recant. Perhaps another Partner would not do so much: but you say you will not have another.

"Mr. Spalding thinks you would have done better to stick to one Lugger, considering the double trouble of two. But he says he is not a proper judge. I think the chief evil is that this new Boat will keep you ashore in the Net-room, which I am persuaded hurts you. I told you I was sure the Dust of the nets hurt you: and (oddly enough) the first thing I saw, on opening a Paper here on my return, was a Report on the influence of Dust in causing Disease. I hope you have seen the Doctor and told him all—about last Summer's Illness. Let me hear what he says. I should have advised Worthington, but he is very expensive. One thing I am sure of: the more you eat, and the less you drink, the better."

Even here, when Posh had obviously gone beyond his rights and bought another boat without consultation with his capitalist partner, FitzGerald shows his anxiety and solicitude for the man.

There is a good deal of dust flying about the net chambers; for the cutch and oil and thread all shred off and poison the air. "Why," said Posh the other day, "he bought me one o' them things that goo oover the mouth" (a respirator), "but lor! I should ha' been ashamed ta be seed a wearin' on it!"

Dr. Worthington referred to in the letter is one of a long line of medical practitioners, and was the Lowestoft medical attendant of FitzGerald himself. I have experienced great kindness from both this Dr. Worthington and his son Dr. Dick Worthington. The former tells me that FitzGerald would never enter his house, but would stand on the doorstep to consult. He had no objection to the doctor entering his (FitzGerald's) lodgings, and on one occasion when Dr. Worthington called on him at 12 Marine Terrace the doctor saw all his medicine bottles unopened in a row. "You know this isn't fair to me," said the justly irritated doctor. "I do what I can for you, and you won't take my medicines." "My dear doctor," said FitzGerald, "it does me good to see you."

Dr. Aldis Wright says that this is merely an instance of FitzGerald's rule that he would never enter the house of his equal. Of course his "social" equal is inferred, for the rule would have been unnecessary if the "equal" bore another significance. His inferiors in station he would visit and charm by his manner and speech. But the house of a society equal he avoided, lest he should be compelled, for mere courtesy, to go where he would not.

I have, of course, chuckled over the opinion that Dr. Worthington senior was "very expensive." But I believe that FitzGerald was one of those (I might almost say "of us") who regarded all doctor's bills as luxuries! At all events, if FitzGerald was right, I can say that Dr. Dick Worthington is not atavistic in this particular!

Mr. Spalding's opinion inclined FitzGerald to make no difficulty about finding the money for the Henrietta. He lodged it at his bankers' for Posh to draw when occasion required. But Posh seems to have been a little in advance. There is no heading whatever to the following letter.

"DEAR POSH,

"I don't understand your letter. That which I had on Friday, enclosing Mr. Craigie's, said that you had not drawn the money, your letter of To-day tells me that you had drawn the money, before the Letter from Southwold came. Was not that letter Mr. Craigie's letter?

"Anyhow, I think you ought not (after all I have said) to have drawn the money (to keep in your house) till you wanted it. And you could have got it at the Bank any morning on which you got another letter from Southwold, telling you the business was to be settled.

"Moreover, I think you should have written me on Saturday, in answer to my letter. You are very good in attending to any letters of mine about stores, or fish, which I don't care about. But you somehow do not attend so regularly to things which I do care about, such as gales of wind in which you are out, and such directions as I have given over and over again about money matters.

"However, I don't mean to kick up another row; provided you now do, and at once, what I positively desire.

"Which is; to take the money directly to Mr. Barnard, and ask him, as from me, to pay it to my account at Messrs. Bacon and Cobbold's Bank at Woodbridge. Then if you tell me the address of the Auctioneer or Agent, at Southwold who manage [sic] the business, Bacon and Cobbold will write to them at once that the money is ready for them directly the Lugger is ready for you. And, write me a line to-morrow to say that this is done.

"This makes a trouble to you, and to me, and to Bankers, but I think you must blame yourself for not attending to my directions. But I am yours not the less.

"E. FG.

Mr. Craigie was an old Southwold friend of the Fletcher family, with whom Fletcher senior (Posh's father) had spent Christmas for over forty years. The criticism of Posh's system appears, to the impartial critic, to be both painful and true. But Posh, in this case, was not altogether to blame. This Mr. Jerry Cole, before mentioned, was keeping things back. He had a preponderating interest in that Southwold company, and he thought that the Henrietta had been sold too cheap, and that hung up the delivery. At least that's what Posh tells me, and at this date I can't get any better evidence than his.

Shortly after the last letter FitzGerald wrote again. Now his kind anxiety about this man, whom he still loved, outweighed all thought of money. It was a bitter winter, and Posh, he thought, was not over-hale.

"WOODBRIDGE, Saturday.

"DEAR CAPTAIN,

"Whatever is to be done about the money, do not you go over to Southwold while this weather lasts. I think it is colder than I ever knew. Don't go, I say—there can be no hurry for the boat (even if you can get it) for a a [sic] week or so. Perhaps it may be as well at Southwold as at Lowestoft.

"I wish you were here to play Allfours with me To-night.

"Yours, "E. FG."

Posh got the lugger in March, 1870, and on March 2nd FitzGerald wrote to Mr. Spalding (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 118): "Posh has, I believe, gone off to Southwold in hope to bring his Lugger home. I advised him last night to ascertain first by letter whether she were ready for his hands; but you know he will go his own way, and that generally is as good as anybody's. He now works all day in his Net-loft: and I wonder how he keeps as well as he is, shut up there from fresh air and among frowsy Nets. . . . I think he has mistaken in not sending the Meum and Tuum to the West this spring. . . . But I have not meddled, nor indeed is it my Business to meddle now. . . ."

I think this must have been written about the date of the letter with which I commence the next chapter, or possibly a little later. It would, almost certainly, be after the catches of mackerel mentioned by "Mr. Manby" as hereinafter appears, and, very likely, after the termination of the partnership.



CHAPTER XIII THE END OF THE PARTNERSHIP

Either in March or April, 1870, FitzGerald wrote to Posh the quaint letter which follows:—

"DEAR POSH,

"I never wanted you to puzzle yourself about the Accounts any more, but only to tell me at a rough estimate what the chief expenses were—as, for instance, Shares, &c.—I beg to say that I never had asked you—nor had you told me this at Lowestoft: if you had I should not have wanted to ask again. And my reason for asking, was simply that, on Monday Mr. Moor here was asking me about what a Lugger's expenses were, and I felt it silly not to be able to tell him the least about it: and I have felt so when some one asked me before: and that is why I asked you. I neither have, nor ever had, any doubt of your doing your best: and you ought not to think so.

"You must please yourself entirely about Plymouth: I only wish to say that I had not spoken as if I wanted you to go. Go by all means if you like.

"When I paid the Landlady of the Boat Inn for Newson and Jack she asked me if you had explained to me about the Grog business. I said that you could not understand it at first, but afterwards supposed that others might have been treated at night. She said—Yes; drinking rum-flip till two in the morning. She says it was Newson's doing, but I think you should have told me at once, particularly as your not doing so left me with some suspicion of the Landlady's fair dealing. You did not choose to leave the blame to Newson, I suppose, but I think I deserve the truth at your hands as much as he does the concealment of it.

"Yours, "E. FG."

{The "Boat Inn," Quay Lane, Woodbridge: p151.jpg}

Mr. Moor was FitzGerald's Woodbridge lawyer, and no doubt he and other friends of FitzGerald thought that the affairs of the partnership of FitzGerald and Fletcher were not carried on with such precision as was desirable. Possibly they were right. But then, Posh couldn't be precise. I have failed to get any intelligible account out of Posh as to that rum-flip orgy. All he could do was to chuckle. The question of loyalty raised in the letter is a nice one. But Posh and his kind would only answer it in one way. They would regard it as treachery to their order to betray each other to a "gennleman," however kind the "gennleman," may have been.

On April 4th FitzGerald wrote to Posh from Woodbridge:—

"DEAR POSH,

"I may be at Lowestoft some time next week. As it is I have still some engagements here; and, moreover, I have not been quite well.

"If you want to see me, you have only to come over here any day you choose. To-morrow (Sunday) there is a Train from Lowestoft which reaches Woodbridge at about 3 in the afternoon. I tell you this in case you might want to see or speak to me.

"Mr. Manby told me yesterday that there was a wonderful catch of Mackerel down in the West. I have no doubt that this warm weather and fine nights has to do with it. I believe that we are in for a spell of such weather:—but I suppose you have no thought of going Westward now.

"I have desired that a . . . [word missing] of the Green Paint which Mr. Silver used should be sent to you. But do not you wait for it, if you want to be about the Lugger at once. The paint will keep for another time: and I suppose that the sooner the Lugger is afloat this hot and dry weather the better.

"Remember me to your Family.

"Yours always, "E. FG."

Mr. Manby has been already mentioned, and we have previously heard of the excellence of Mr. Silver's green paint. But this letter must have been almost the last written by the sleeping partner before the termination of the partnership; for on April the 12th Mr. W. T. Balls, of Lowestoft, valued the Meum and Tuum, and "Herring and Mackerel Nets, Bowls, Warpropes, Ballast, and miscellaneous Fishing Stock belonging jointly to Edward FitzGerald and Joseph Fletcher."

FitzGerald had started Posh, put him on his legs, and, as he believed, given him a chance to become a successful "owner." But the poet was weary of the partnership. He had found it impossible to persuade Posh to keep accounts such as should be kept in every business, and had been disappointed more than once by the intemperance of the man. But as yet the kindly, generous-hearted gentleman had no thought of breaking with his protege altogether, or of depriving him of the use of the Meum and Tuum or Henrietta, both of which had been bought with his, FitzGerald's, money. But he would no longer be a partner. So Mr. Balls was called in to value the stock-in-trade, with a view to arranging that a bill of sale for the half-value to which FitzGerald was entitled should be given him, and that Posh should thereafter carry on the business of a herring-boat owner by himself, subject to the charge in favour of his old "guv'nor."

Despite the various "squalls," there had, as yet, been no serious quarrel between these two. Indeed, FitzGerald's kind heart never forgot Posh, and the fascination of the man. But for the future FitzGerald and Posh were no longer partners. FitzGerald's experience as a "herring merchant" was at an end.



CHAPTER XIV POSH'S PORTRAIT

Previously to the termination of the partnership FitzGerald had commissioned S. Laurence to paint a portrait of Posh. On the 13th January, 1870, he wrote to Laurence from Woodbridge (Letters, II, 113, Eversley Edition):—

". . . If you were down here, I think I should make you take a life- size Oil Sketch of the Head and Shoulders of my Captain of the Lugger. You see by the enclosed" (a copy of the photograph of 1870, no doubt) "that these are neither of them a bad sort: and the Man's Soul is every way as well proportioned, missing in nothing that may become a Man, as I believe. He and I will, I doubt, part Company; well as he likes me, which is perhaps as well as a sailor cares for any one but Wife and Children: he likes to be, what he is born to be, his own sole Master, of himself, and of other men. So now I have got him a fair start, I think he will carry on the Lugger alone: I shall miss my Hobby, which is no doubt the last I shall ride in this world: but I shall also get eased of some Anxiety about the lives of a Crew for which I now feel responsible. . . ."

On January 20th FitzGerald wrote another letter to Laurence on the same subject.

". . . I should certainly like a large Oil-sketch like Thackeray's, done in your most hasty, and worst, style, to hang up with Thackeray and Tennyson, with whom he shares a certain Grandeur of Soul and Body. As you guess, the colouring is (when the Man is all well) the finest Saxon type: with that complexion which Montaigne calls 'vif, Male, et flamboyant'; blue eyes; and strictly auburn hair, that any woman might sigh to possess. He says it is coming off, as it sometimes does from those who are constantly wearing the close, hot Sou'-westers. We must see what can be done about a Sketch" (Letters, II, 115, Eversley Edition).

In February of the same year FitzGerald went down to Lowestoft, and wrote another letter from there with reference to the proposed portrait (Letters, II, 115, Eversley Edition). It is obvious from these letters that there was no bitterness on his side which led to the ending of the partnership. His long-suffering endured to the last.

"MY DEAR LAURENCE,

". . . I came here a few days ago, for the benefit of my old Doctor, The Sea, and my Captain's Company, which is as good. He has not yet got his new Lugger home; but will do so this week, I hope; and then the way for us will be somewhat clearer.

"If you sketch a head, you might send it down to me to look at, so as I might be able to guess if there were any likelihood in that way of proceeding. Merely the Lines of Feature indicated, even by Chalk, might do. As I told you, the Head is of the large type, or size, the proper Capital of a six-foot Body, of the broad dimensions you see in the Photograph. The fine shape of the Nose, less than Roman, and more than Greek, scarce appears in the Photograph; the Eye, and its delicate Eyelash, of course will remain to be made out; and I think you excel in the Eye.

"When I get home (which I shall do this week) I will send you two little Papers about the Sea words and Phrases used hereabout, for which this Man (quite unconsciously) is my main Authority. You will see in them a little of his simplicity of Soul; but not the Justice of Thought, Tenderness of Nature, and all other good Gifts which make him a Gentleman of Nature's grandest Type."

{Little Grange: p161.jpg}

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 longshoreman, 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 noble 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 nobler 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 longshoreman 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 ashore (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 (pronounced, 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 20th, 1870.

"I hereby desire my Heirs executors and Assigns not to call in the Principal 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 Principal; 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 assigns solemnly as any provision made by Word or Deed while . . . [word missing] any other legal document.

"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 longshoreman 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 destitute 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 principal 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. They did so. And no doubt their action proved to be for the happiness of each of them.

Posh was walking with FitzGerald on one occasion down Quay Lane, Woodbridge, when Mrs. FitzGerald (who was living at Gorleston at the time, but had gone over to Woodbridge, possibly to see some old friends) appeared walking towards them. FitzGerald removed the glove he was wearing on his right hand. Mrs. FitzGerald removed the glove she was wearing on her right hand. There was a momentary hesitation as the husband passed the wife. But Posh thinks that the two hands did not meet. FitzGerald bowed with all his courtesy, and passed on.

Posh says that Mrs. FitzGerald was a "fine figure of a woman." And I believe that she was, indeed, so fine a figure of a woman that the length of her stride excited the admiration of the local schoolboys when she was still Miss Barton. She was older than FitzGerald when he married her, and both were nearer fifty than forty.

In this context I give the following letter from FitzGerald to Posh, though I have been unable to fix its date with any certainty.

"WOODBRIDGE, Tuesday.

"DEAR POSH,

"I find that I may very likely have to go to London on Thursday—not to be home till Friday perhaps. If I do this it will be scarce worth while your coming over here to-morrow, so far as I am concerned; though you will perhaps see Newson.

"Poor young Smith of the Sportsman was brought home ill last week, and died of the very worst Small Pox in a Day or two. There have been three Deaths from it here: all from London. As young Smith died in Quay Lane leading down to the Boat Inn, I should not like you to be about there with any chance of Danger, though I have been up and down several times myself.

"Ever yours, "E. FG."

"The Sportsman" was a public-house at Woodbridge, and it is probable that FitzGerald had helped "poor young Smith" substantially. His anxiety lest Posh should contract smallpox, and his indifference as to himself, are admirably illustrative of the man's unselfishness.

But now that the partnership was at an end he began to frequent Lowestoft less. During 1871 he sold the Scandal, and on September 4th he wrote to Dr. Aldis Wright from Woodbridge (Letters, II, p. 126, Eversley Edition): "I run over to Lowestoft occasionally for a few days, but do not abide there long: no longer having my dear little Ship for company. . . ."

Who bought the Scandal I do not know. Posh has no recollection, and Dr. Aldis Wright has been unable to trace with certainty the subsequent owner of her, though he has reason to think that she was sold to Sir Cuthbert Quilter. She had served her purpose. She was, as Posh assures me, a "fast and handy little schooner."

After her sale FitzGerald still remained the mortgagee of the Meum and Tuum and the Henrietta. But this was not to last indefinitely. Posh's spirit of independence and love of "bare" were fated to put an end to all business relations between his old "guv'nor" and him.



CHAPTER XVII BY ORDER OF THE MORTGAGEE

Matters were still progressing fairly satisfactorily when FitzGerald visited Lowestoft in September, 1872. On the 29th of that month he wrote to Mr. Spalding (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 122):—

". . . Posh—after no fish caught for 3 weeks—has had his boat come home with nearly all her fleet of nets torn to pieces in last week's winds. . . . he . . . went with me to the theatre afterwards, where he admired the 'Gays,' as he called the Scenes; but fell asleep before Shylock had whetted his knife in the Merchant of Venice. . . ."

"Gays" is East Anglian for pictures.

* * * * *

Towards the end of 1873 relations began to be severely strained between mortgagor and mortgagee. On December the 31st FitzGerald wrote from 12 Marine Terrace, Lowestoft:—

"12 MARINE TERRACE, "December 31.

"JOSEPH FLETCHER,

"As you cannot talk with me without confusion, I write a few words to you on the subject of the two grievances which you began about this morning.

"1st. As to your being under your Father: I said no such thing: but wrote that he was to be either Partner, or (with your Mother) constantly employed, and consulted with as to the Boats. It is indeed for their sakes, and that of your own Family, that I have come to take all this trouble

"2ndly. As to the Bill of Sale to me. If you could be calm enough, you would see that this would be a Protection to yourself. You do not pay your different Creditors all their Bill at the year's end. Now, if any one of these should happen to want all his Money; he might, by filing a Bankruptcy against you, seize upon your Nets and everything else you have to pay his Debt.

"As to your supposing that I should use the Bill of Sale except in the last necessity (which I do not calculate upon), you prove that you can have but little remembrance of what I have hitherto done for you and am still willing to do for your Family's sake quite as much as for your own.

"The Nets were included in the Valuation which Mr. Balls made of the whole Property; which valuation (as you ought to remember) I reduced even lower than Mr. Balls' Valuation; which you yourself thought too low at the time. Therefore (however much the Nets, &c. may have been added to since) surely I have the first claim on them in Justice, if not by the Mortgage. I repeat, however, that I proposed the Bill of Sale quite as much as a Protection to yourself and yours as to myself.

"If you cannot see all this on reflection, there is no use my talking or writing more about it. You may ask Mr. Barnard, if you please, or any such competent person, if they object to the Bill of Sale, I shall not insist. But you had better let me know what you decide on before the end of the week when I shall be going home, that I may arrange accordingly.

"EDWARD FITZGERALD."

Mr. Barnard was a Lowestoft lawyer for whom Posh had no great love. It is hardly necessary to say that he did not "ask" him. He still raises his voice and gets excited when he discusses the grievances of which he made complaint in the winter of 1873. "He wouldn't leave me alone," says Posh. "It was 'yew must ax yar faa'er this, an' yew must let yar mother that, and yew mustn't dew this here, nor yit that theer.' At last I up an' says, 'Theer! I ha' paid ivery farden o' debts. Look a here. Here be the receipts. Now I'll ha'e no more on it.' And I slammed my fist down like this here."

(Posh's fist came down on my Remington's table till the bell jangled!)

"'Oh dear! oh dear, Posh!' says he. 'That it should ever come ta this! And hev yew anything left oover?'

"'Yes,' I say. 'I've got a matter of a hunnerd an' four pound clear arter payin' ivery farden owin', an' the stock an' nets an' gear and tew boots {184} an' all wha'ss mortgaged ta yew. Now I'll ha'e no more on't. Ayther I'm master or I ha' done wi't.'

"'Oh dear! oh dear! Posh,' he say, 'I din't think as yew'd made so much.'"

That is Posh's account of the final disagreement which led to the sale of the boats in 1874. Even if it be true one cannot say that the bluff independence came off with flying colours in this particular instance. But FitzGerald could have told another story, if one may judge from his letter to Mr. Spalding of the 9th January, 1874, written from Lowestoft (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 123):—

". . . I have seen no more of Fletcher since I wrote, though he called once when I was out. . . . I only hope he has taken no desperate step. I hope so for his Family's sake, including Father and Mother. People here have asked me if he is not going to give up the business, &c. Yet there is Greatness about the Man. I believe his want of Conscience in some particulars is to be referred to his Salwaging Ethics; and your Cromwells, Caesars, and Napoleons have not been more scrupulous. But I shall part Company with him if I can do so without Injury to his Family. If not I must let him go on under some 'Surveillance': he must wish to get rid of me also, and (I believe, though he says not) of the Boat, if he could better himself."

Posh's story is that after the letter of December 31st, 1873, FitzGerald tried to find him. He went to his father's house, and (says Posh, which we are at liberty to doubt) "cried like a child." He sent Posh a paper of conditions which must be agreed to if he, Posh, were to continue to have the use of the Meum and Tuum and the Henrietta. The last one was (Posh says, with a roar of indignation), "that the said Joseph Fletcher the younger shall be a teetotaller!"

"Lor'!" says Posh, "how my father did swear at him when I told him o' that!"

No doubt he did. And no doubt in the presence of FitzGerald the "slim" old Lowestoft longshoreman raised his mighty voice in wrath and indignation that he should have begotten a son to disgrace him so cruelly! FitzGerald was too open a man, too honest-hearted, too straightforward to understand that a father could encourage his son insidiously, and swear at him, FitzGerald, at the same time as he deprecated that son's conduct. But FitzGerald's eyes, long closed by kindness, were partly open at last. He would not go on without some better guarantee of conduct, some better security that the boats' debts would be paid. On January 19th, 1874, he wrote to Posh (and the handwriting of the letter suggests disturbance of mind) from Woodbridge:—

"I forgot to say, Fletcher, that I shall pay for any work done to my two Boats, in case that you get another Boat to employ the Nets in. That you should get such another Boat, is, I am quite sure, the best plan for you and for me also. As I wrote you before, I shall make over to you all my Right to the Nets on condition that you use them, or change them for others to be used, in the Herring Fishing, in any other Boat which you may buy or hire. I certainly shall not let you have the use of my Boats, unless under some conditions, none of which which [sic] you seemed resolved to submit to. It will save all trouble if you take the offer I have made you, and the sooner it is settled the better.

"EDWARD FITZGERALD."

But Posh "worn't a goin' ta hev his faa'er put oover him, nor he worn't a goin' ta take no pledge. Did ye iver hear o' sich a thing?"

So in due course, on the 17th February, 1874, Mr. W. T. Balls, of Lowestoft, sold by auction the "Lugger Meum and Tuum" (she had been converted into a dandy-rigged craft about 1872) "and the Henrietta by direction of Edward FitzGerald as mortgagee."

{Edward FitzGerald's gravestone in Boulge churchyard; at the head of the grave is a rose bush raised from seed brought from Omar's tomb: p200.jpg}

So Mr. Balls writes me. But he has no letters from FitzGerald, and was kind enough to look up the valuation and sale transactions in his books at my request.

The Meum and Tuum was a favourite of Posh's and he tried to buy her for himself. But although she had only cost 360 pounds to build in 1867, in 1874 she fetched over 300 pounds, and Posh could not go so high as that. So he made other arrangements, and his fishing interests with FitzGerald were finally ended.

One would have thought that there would be no more letters beginning "Dear Posh." But though FitzGerald had found himself obliged to end his association with Posh in the herring fishing, he never ended his friendship, even if, during the last years of his life, he neither saw nor wrote to his former partner.

The Meum and Tuum made several more voyages in the North Sea and to the west, and, when she was no longer strictly seaworthy, was sold to a Mr. Crisp, of Beccles, a maltster and general provision merchant, who turned her into a storeship, and anchored her off his wharf in the river Waveney. When she became so rotten as to be unfit even for a storage ship she was broken up, and her name-board was bought by Captain Kerrich, of Geldeston Hall (the son of FitzGerald's favourite sister), who was kind enough to present it to the Omar Khayyam Club. But as the club has no "local habitation"—only a name—it now remains in the charge of Mr. Frederic Hudson, one of the founders of the club.



CHAPTER XVIII UNTO THIS LAST

Posh does not remember the last occasion on which he spoke to his old "guv'nor," but he says that whenever he did see him he, FitzGerald, would take him by the blue woollen jersey and pinch him, and say, "Oh dear, oh dear, Posh! To think it should ha' come to this." Well, this may possibly have been the case. There is no doubt that FitzGerald resumed friendly relations with the fisherman, for on August 29th, 1875, he wrote from Woodbridge to his former partner:—

"WOODBRIDGE, August 29.

"DEAR POSH,

"I have posted you a Lowestoft Paper telling you something of the Regatta there. But as you say you like to hear from me also, I write to supply what the Paper does not tell: though I wonder you can care to hear of such things in the midst of your Fishing.

"I, and every one else, made sure that the little Sapphire would do well when it came on to blow on Thursday: she went to her moorings as none of the others did except the Red Rover. But, directly the Gun fired, the Otter (an awkward thing) drove down upon, and broke up her Chain-plates, or stenctions [sic], to which the wire rigging holds: so she could not sail at all: and the Red Rover got the Prize, after going only two rounds instead of three: which is odd work, I think. Major Leathes' mast went over in the first round, as it did a year ago. At Evening, the Otter grounded as she lay by the South Pier: and would have knocked her bottom out had not Ablett Pasifull gone off to her and made them hoist their main-sail.

"Ablett and Jack got more and more uncomfortable with their new Owner, who is a Fool as well as a Screw. At last Ablett told him that he himself and Jack had almost been on the point of leaving him, and that, I think, will bring him to his senses, if anything can.

"On Friday we saw Mushell coming in deeply laden, and we heard how he had just missed putting three lasts on board of you. I sent off a Telegram to you that same evening, as Mushell knew you would be anxious to know that he had come in safe through the wind and Sea of Thursday night. He was to have started away again on Sunday: but one of his men who had gone home had not returned by one o'clock, when I came away. This, I always say, is one of the Dangers of coming home, but, as Things were, Mushell could scarce help it, though he had better have gone to Yarmouth to sell his Fish. He seems a good Fellow.

"All these mishaps—I wonder any man can carry on the trade! I think I would rather be in my own little Punt again. But, while you will go on, you know I will stand by you. Your mare is well, and the sore on her Shoulder nearly gone. Mr. and Mrs. Howe send their Regards. Cowell is gone off to Devonshire instead of coming to meet me at Lowestoft: but I dare say I shall run over there again before long.

"Yours always, "E. FG."

{Boulge church: p201.jpg}

The "little Sapphire" I cannot identify. One gentleman has been kind enough to try to help me, and thinks that she was the Scandal. But this cannot be so, for the Scandal was built for FitzGerald at Wyvenhoe in 1863, was first called the Shamrock and then the Scandal. Personally, I remember the names of a good many of the yachts of the Norfolk and Suffolk coast of the period, but I can't identify the Sapphire. The Red Rover was a river craft, a cutter, with the one big jib of our river craft instead of jib and foresail, belonging to the late Mr. Sam Nightingale, of Lacon's Brewery. She was originally about twelve tons, but by improvements and additions, when Mr. Nightingale died in the eighties, was eighteen tons. For many years she was the fastest yacht in the Norfolk and Suffolk Yacht Club, and though she was occasionally beaten on fluky days she never lost possession of the challenge cup for long. Fred Baldry, who steered her with extraordinary skill, is, I believe, still alive, and lives on Cobholm Island, Yarmouth.

The Red Rover was not only successful on the rivers and Broads, but in the Yarmouth Roads. I was on her when she was beating the famous Thames twenty-tonner Vanessa, when the Red Rover carried away her bowsprit (a new stick) as she was beating on the sands to dodge the tide, and I remember how we were hooted all the way up Gorleston Harbour when Mr. William Hall's steam launch towed us in.

I believe that when the little ten-ton Buttercup (unbeaten at her best) came down and gave the poor old Red Rover the worst dressing down she had ever experienced it broke Mr. Nightingale's heart. He died soon after, and he left a direction in his will that the Red Rover should be broken up and burnt. It would, I think, have been a kinder and better direction to have left the yacht to Fred Baldry, who had steered her to victory so often.

Although I have described her as a river yacht, she was purely a racing machine, and used to be accompanied (in the home waters at all events) by a wherry, with all spare spars and sails, on which everything unnecessary for sailing was stowed before the starting gun was fired.

Once a year she carried a picnic party over Breydon Water, on which occasion, I believe, Mrs. Nightingale was invariably seasick going over to Breydon. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Nightingale ever used her for pleasure except on that one annual excursion up to Reedham.

Well, well! There are no Red Rovers now, and no Fred Baldrys coming on. But there are plenty of stinking black tugs and filthy coal barges embellishing the lovely Norfolk waters. I do not wonder that Colonel Leathes, mentioned in the last quoted letter, has taken his yacht off the public waters and confined her to the beautiful wooded reaches of Fritton Mere.

The Otter was a rival of the Red Rover in the early days of the latter yacht, and was a clumsy, rather ugly, ketch-rigged craft belonging to Sir Arthur Preston. Major Leathes' (now Colonel Leathes) boat was a yawl named the Waveney Queen, and the Colonel tells me that he carried away his mast twice, each time because he would "carry on" too long.

I can't ascertain who was the "new owner" of Ablett Percival and Jack—and if I could I suppose it wouldn't do to name him, in view of FitzGerald's stringent criticism of him. Subsequently Jack Newson went on the Mars, the sea-going craft belonging to the late J. J. Colman, M.P., but this was later than 1875.

"Mushell" was the nickname of Joe Butcher, the former skipper of the Henrietta, under Posh, as owner.

I must admit that this letter is hard to fit in with the year 1875, when the Meum and Tuum and the Henrietta had been sold, and the separation between Posh and his "guv'nor" final, so far as herring fishing was concerned. The last paragraph, in which FitzGerald writes that so long as Posh goes on he will stand by him, seems in flat contradiction to what happened in 1874. But Colonel Leathes puts the date as 1875, and Dr. Aldis Wright has been kind enough to look up old almanacs in his possession and corroborates this view. It speaks with extraordinary eloquence of FitzGerald's affection for Posh, of his patience with the man, that after the want of recognition of his kindness shown in 1874 he should have written to him in such a manner in 1875.

"Mr. and Mrs. Howe" were, as I have stated before, the caretakers at Little Grange. "Cowell" was, no doubt, Professor Cowell, though it seems strange that FitzGerald should have mentioned him to Posh without any prefix to his name.

That is the last letter in which I can find any reference to Posh, and the last letter in Posh's possession which was written to him. I dare say there were later letters, but if so they have been destroyed.

FitzGerald had tried a new experiment, and it was ended.

Myself, when young, did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument About it and about: but evermore Came out by the same door wherein I went.

He had found a new love, a new interest, and believed that he had found a new trustworthiness. But he returned through the same door by which he entered; and he was an old man for disillusionment.

Posh was, no doubt, rude, harsh, overbearing with the old gentleman, but his eyes grow moist now when he speaks of him. I think he would surrender a good deal of his boasted independence if only he could have FitzGerald for his friend again.

The last time he was with me I read him

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

"Well tha'ss a rum un!" said Posh.

THE END

WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH



Footnotes:

{184} In East Anglia "boat" is pronounced to rhyme with "foot."