cleaning up so well (jones_casey) wrote,
cleaning up so well

  • Music:

we're living in a / den of thieves / rummaging for answers / in the pages

very early in my life, i separated from my mother. possibly this was because, after the death of my father, she took to herself a second husband. i have few recollections of him, and they are not of the best. he was a light fellow. there was no solidity to him. he was too voluble. his infernal chattering worries me even now as i think of it. his mind was too inconsequential to permit him to possess purpose. monkeys in their cages always remind me of him. he was monkeyish. that is the best description i can give of him.

there is one puzzling thing about these prehistoric memories of mine. it is the vagueness of the time element. i do not always know the order of events;--nor can i tell, between some events, whether one, two, or four or five years have elapsed. i can only roughly tell the passage of time by judging the changes in the appearance and pursuits of my fellows.

also, i can apply the logic of events to the various happenings. for instance, there is no doubt whatever that my mother and i were treed by the wild pigs and fled and fell in the days before i made the acquaintance of lop-ear, who became what i may call my boyhood chum. and it is just as conclusive that between these two periods i must have left my mother.

i have no memory of my father than the one i have given. never, in the years that followed, did he reappear. and from my knowledge of the times, the only explanation possible lies in that he perished shortly after the adventure with the wild pigs. that it must have been an untimely end, there is no discussion. he was in full vigor, and only sudden and violent death could have taken him off. but i know not the manner of his going--whether he was drowned in the river, or was swallowed by a snake, or went into the stomach of old saber-tooth, the tiger, is beyond my knowledge.

for know that i remember only the things i saw myself, with my own eyes, in those prehistoric days. if my mother knew my father's end, she never told me. for that matter i doubt if she had a vocabulary adequate to convey such information. perhaps, all told, the folk in that day had a vocabulary of thirty or forty sounds.

robin and ben: or, the pirate and the apothecary

come, lend me an attentive ear
a startling moral tale to hear,
of pirate rob and chemist ben,
and different destinies of men.

deep in the greenest of the vales
that nestle near the coast of wales,
the heaving main but just in view,
robin and ben together grew,
together worked and played the fool,
together shunned the sunday school,
and pulled each other's youthful noses
around the cots, among the roses.

together but unlike they grew;
robin was rough, and through and through
bold, inconsiderate, and manly,
like some historic bruce or stanley.
ben had a mean and servile soul,
he robbed not, though he often stole.
he sang on sunday in the choir,
and tamely capped the passing squire.

at length, intolerant of trammels -
wild as the wild bithynian camels,
wild as the wild sea-eagles - bob
his widowed dam contrives to rob,
and thus with great originality
effectuates his personality.
thenceforth his terror-haunted flight
he follows through the starry night;
and with the early morning breeze,
behold him on the azure seas.
the master of a trading dandy
hires robin for a go of brandy;
and all the happy hills of home
vanish beyond the fields of foam.

ben, meanwhile, like a tin reflector,
attended on the worthy rector;
opened his eyes and held his breath,
and flattered to the point of death;
and was at last, by that good fairy,
apprenticed to the apothecary.

so ben, while robin chose to roam,
a rising chemist was at home,
tended his shop with learned air,
watered his drugs and oiled his hair,
and gave advice to the unwary,
like any sleek apothecary.

meanwhile upon the deep afar
robin the brave was waging war,
with other tarry desperadoes
about the latitude of barbadoes.
he knew no touch of craven fear;
his voice was thunder in the cheer;
first, from the main-to'-gallan' high,
the skulking merchantmen to spy -
the first to bound upon the deck,
the last to leave the sinking wreck.
his hand was steel, his word was law,
his mates regarded him with awe.
no pirate in the whole profession
held a more honourable position.

at length, from years of anxious toil,
bold robin seeks his native soil;
wisely arranges his affairs,
and to his native dale repairs.
the bristol swallow sets him down
beside the well-remembered town.
he sighs, he spits, he marks the scene,
proudly he treads the village green;
and, free from pettiness and rancour,
takes lodgings at the 'crown and anchor.'

strange, when a man so great and good
once more in his home-country stood,
strange that the sordid clowns should show
a dull desire to have him go.

his clinging breeks, his tarry hat,
the way he swore, the way he spat,
a certain quality of manner,
alarming like the pirate's banner -
something that did not seem to suit all -
something, o call it bluff, not brutal -
something at least, howe'er it's called,
made robin generally black-balled.

his soul was wounded; proud and glum,
alone he sat and swigged his rum,
and took a great distaste to men
till he encountered chemist ben.
bright was the hour and bright the day
that threw them in each other's way;
glad were their mutual salutations,
long their respective revelations.
before the inn in sultry weather
they talked of this and that together;
ben told the tale of his indentures,
and rob narrated his adventures.

last, as the point of greatest weight,
the pair contrasted their estate,
and robin, like a boastful sailor,
despised the other for a tailor.

'see,' he remarked, 'with envy, see
a man with such a fist as me!
bearded and ringed, and big, and brown,
i sit and toss the stingo down.
hear the gold jingle in my bag -
all won beneath the jolly flag!'

ben moralised and shook his head:
'you wanderers earn and eat your bread.
the foe is found, beats or is beaten,
and, either how, the wage is eaten.
and after all your pully-hauly
your proceeds look uncommon small-ly.
you had done better here to tarry
apprentice to the apothecary.
the silent pirates of the shore
eat and sleep soft, and pocket more

than any red, robustious ranger
who picks his farthings hot from danger.
you clank your guineas on the board;
mine are with several bankers stored.
you reckon riches on your digits,
you dash in chase of sals and bridgets,
you drink and risk delirium tremens,
your whole estate a common seaman's!
regard your friend and school companion,
soon to be wed to miss trevanion
(smooth, honourable, fat and flowery,
with heaven knows how much land in dowry),
look at me - am i in good case?
look at my hands, look at my face;
look at the cloth of my apparel;
try me and test me, lock and barrel;
and own, to give the devil his due,
i have made more of life than you.
yet i nor sought nor risked a life;
i shudder at an open knife;
the perilous seas i still avoided
and stuck to land whate'er betided.
i had no gold, no marble quarry,
i was a poor apothecary,
yet here i stand, at thirty-eight,
a man of an assured estate.'

'well,' answered robin - 'well, and how?'

the smiling chemist tapped his brow.
'rob,' he replied, 'this throbbing brain
still worked and hankered after gain.
by day and night, to work my will,
it pounded like a powder mill;
and marking how the world went round
a theory of theft it found.
here is the key to right and wrong:
steal little, but steal all day long;
and this invaluable plan
marks what is called the honest man.
when first i served with doctor pill,
my hand was ever in the till.
now that i am myself a master,
my gains come softer still and faster.
as thus: on wednesday, a maid
came to me in the way of trade.
her mother, an old farmer's wife,
required a drug to save her life.
'at once, my dear, at once,' i said,
patted the child upon the head,
bade her be still a loving daughter,
and filled the bottle up with water.'

'well, and the mother?' robin cried.

'o she!' said ben - 'i think she died.'

'battle and blood, death and disease,
upon the tainted tropic seas -
the attendant sharks that chew the cud -
the abhorred scuppers spouting blood -
the untended dead, the tropic sun -
the thunder of the murderous gun -
the cut-throat crew - the captain's curse -
the tempest blustering worse and worse -
these have i known and these can stand,
but you - i settle out of hand!'

out flashed the cutlass, down went ben
dead and rotten, there and then.

monday clvi ter

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