Home › Charles Kingsley › Charles Kingsley: Hoseason

Charles Kingsley: Hoseason

Next day my uncle spoke of a friend, Captain Elias Hoseason, of the brig Covenant, then lying off Queensferry on the Firth, proposing that I go to call there with him. I agreed, being eager to get away from that evil house; also I had knowledge that residing in Queensferry was Mr. Rankiellor, the counselor and agent, a friendly person and one who knew more than any other of my father's business in life.

We arrived at Queensferry, but I did not see Mr. Rankiellor, foreby I first allowed myself to be led into looking over the brig with Captain Hoseason and my uncle. It was so that I came to be knocked on the head and kidnapped to sea on the agreement between my uncle and Captain Hoseason that I was to be sold into slavery in the Carolines.

It was a fair wind the first day to sea, but following days were all head winds, the ship making so little way on her course to the north that Captain Hoseason made a fair wind of a foul one by heading her south back the way we had come. During this time of bad weather the cabin-boy was killed by the first officer in a drunken passion, his body cast overboard, and I pressed into his berth.

It was night, with a swell and a thick white fog, the men listening for breakers, when the brig ran over a boat; and sent all but one man to the bottom. That one, with a leap and a clutch which showed his rare agility and strength, boarded us by way of the brig's bowsprit.

He entered the cabin, or roundhouse, looking cool as you please, and called for something to eat and the drink to wash it down. He was a well-set, rather small man with a dark face and dancing bright eyes. Under his greatcoat were two silver-mounted pistols, a dirk, and a great-sword. He made his name known, Alan Stewart Breck, and without fear announced himself as on a mission for Prince Charlie. From a money-belt about him he offered the captain sixty guineas to be set ashore on Linnhe Loch.

The captain shook hands on the bargain, but at once went on deck to plot with his first officer as how best to come at the money-belt. I had no love for the captain, and also it was scurvy hospitality to a man we had all but drowned; so I warned the stranger of the plot. Surprised he was, but not put out, asking me would I stand with him. Jacobite though he was, I said I would. Two doors and a skylight furnished entrance to the roundhouse. Alan placed me with loaded pistols where I could see to shoot through at whoever might come at one closed door or through the glass skylight. The other door he left open, standing before it with dirk and sword. They came with a rush of feet and many loud cries toward Alan. I heard a shout from him and a cry as of some one hurt. Then came five men with a spare yard for a battering-ram to drive my door in. For the first time in my life I fired a pistol; and hit one of them, which drove them back. By then Alan's sword was running blood; and the first mate, he who had murdered the cabin-boy, lay dying on the floor. Another lay beside him.

They came next to my side, some to the barred door and one dropping through the skylight to the floor, where, after first closing my eyes, I shot him. He dropped with a horrible groan. Another one's legs dangled through the skylight, and him I shot, too, he dropping dead atop of his companion. Alan was then dirking one who clung to his legs, and putting the cutlass to another who was coming head on at him. A third held a cutlass over him and yet more were crowding at him through the door. He seemed lost; but he broke clear and, taking his distance, clove one, clove another, and then, his sword flashing like quicksilver, drove the others like sheep along the deck. We were masters of the brig. Alan embraced and kissed me, saying: "David, I love you like a brother. But oh, man, am I no the bonny fighter!" and sitting down by the table, sword in hand, he burst into a Gaelic song. The very next night we struck on a reef. I was thrown into the sea, thinking I would drown, but found a spar and with it kicked myself along till my feet found quiet water and dry land. Of the ship or her company I could see nothing. Later I learned that all but the wounded were safe. The ship herself was a total loss to Captain Hoseason, which I did not grieve to hear. After days of wandering and secret inquiry, for he was one with a price on his head, I found Alan. It was in the same hour that I witnessed the killing of Campbell of Glenure, the man who had been doing the King's will against the Jacobites. The shot came in such fashion that I seemed to be an accomplice. I had to flee or be hanged. It was Alan who secured my immediate escape. For two months there after, with redcoats guarding every road and glen, I followed Alan through the country of the Campbells.

It was wet and cold and slim food for us both, with now and then a little something not much better in the hut of a Jacobite. Weary I grew and full of pain, crawling the wet heather and climbing the ragged crags and hills. Posted bills promised great rewards for our capture--I saw them everywhere--and many there were who knew us for what we were; but never one, poor and miserable though they might be, to speak the word of betrayal. "Such," cried Alan, proudly, "is the loyalty of the Hielander!"

We came safe at last to Queensferry and the home of Mr. Rankiellor, who proved a shrewd, kindly friend and who at once set about retrieving my rights in the Shaw estate. "Your father," he explained, "was a good man, but weak. He loved your mother. To win your mother he let your uncle steal the estates. But he will have them back soon."

Alan aided us greatly in our plans. Half by quick wit and half by sheer boldness, he had my uncle admit his plan to have me kidnapped and sold into slavery in the Carolines, Mr. Rankiellor and his clerk all the while listening in the shadows. And so I came into my own.

And Alan, who made a man of me? All he asked was to be put on the road of his mission. As to that, let me say if I say no more, that he went safe on his way and all went well with him thereafter.

DICKENS CHARLES DICKENS did most of his writing in the morning. He usually was content with the hours between nine and one. He rarely wrote in the afternoon. In his youthful days he often composed at night, but this habit was abandoned later. He could turn off page after page at great speed and oftentimes the custom of printing his novels in parts made this necessary. He was seldom far ahead of the printer. But ordinarily he considered three pages a good day's work. If he did four and they satisfied him he thought it an unusually good day. He liked to write. He described himself as one "who writes and grins, as if he thought he were funny indeed." This was when he was well into his story. In starting a novel he was extremely slow. He could not hit upon names that satisfied him. His most loved hero was Trotfield, Trotbury, Copperboy, and Copperstone before he finally became Copperfield. But once in his stride he seldom rewrote, and he plunged ahead joyously.

For every hour given to writing he set aside another for exercise. He describes how he "walked about the black streets of London, fifteen and twenty miles many a night when all the sober folks had gone to bed." As he walked, whether in London or Paris streets or along the Kentish cliffs, he was planning his story. But he was not so absorbed as to be oblivious to the people he passed. Quaint and commonplace men and women in city streets and country lanes flashed for a moment before his eyes and the next day were made immortal in his tales.