University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.
HOW THE CAPTAIN PROVED THAT LANKY WAS A GREAT NOBLEMAN
IN DISGUISE.

The Captain continued his way, quickly forgetting this little
incident, and soon reached the town and the shop of Mr. A.
Z. Smith.

In this history, which aims at presenting in a brief and
rapid manner, some view, however slight, of the various
classes of individuals who formed that Virginia of 1765, it
would be unjust to wholly omit, after touching upon the
peculiarities of the Crows and Lankys, all mention of the
factors as they were then called. These men were the agents
of English merchants, and their business was to arrange the
shipping of tobacco from the various wharves; to negotiate for

its purchase in London or Liverpool; and to receive and
transmit to the planters the price received for the great staple.
They willingly undertook, also, to attend to any commissions
for goods from England: and the planter had only to deposit
with his factor the measure of his person, the size of his
extremities, and the style of garments he wanted, to ensure
a suit from London direct, by the best maker. The factor
did all this, and more, for a very small percentage.

The factors were of the opinion, for the most part, that
life was an agreeable institution, the chief end of which was
to make money throughout the week, and on Saturday finish
the week with a carouse around a bowl of punch or lamb's
wool: they practised this habit at least; and one of the
most zealous advocates of this mode of life was Mr. A. Z.
Smith, who, as we have seen, kept a small shop on Gloucester-street,
not far from the “Raleigh.”

Without further digression—for this worthy will scarcely
reappear in our history—we shall proceed to follow the
Captain.

He drew up before the door of the shop, and Mr. A. Z.
Smith made his appearance, smiling and rosy as usual. The
attrition of the lamb's wool seemed to have made his countenance
red; and its owner at the same time very good-humored.
Smith took the Captain's outstretched hand with
the air of a man who feels himself greatly honored.

“Ah, Captain, you do me a great pleasure—really now,”
he said, with that polite air he had caught from the noble
aristocracy.

“Basta!” said the Captain, hitching his horse to a rack
before the door; “don't make me talk until I have tasted
your Jamaica. I'm as thirsty as a leviathan, seigneur bourgeoise.”

The factor smiled, as a man smiles when rosy visions rise
in his mind.

“Come in, come in, Captain,” he said.

And they entered the shop.

It was very small, and the goods for sale were of the
simplest description. Onions hung in strings from the
rafters—flitches of bacon kept them in countenance—buckets
and tin pans and whips were suspended in graceful and
artistic relief. On the small counter stood open boxes of

tobacco, and a number of household utensils; and beside
these smirked the round face of a single shopman. Behind
the shop was a small private room—and this was the real
counting-house—where Mr. A. Z. Smith received his noble
visitors, and where a huge safe and pile of ledgers testified
to his usefulness in the community, and his well-to-do condition
in life.

To this private room he led the Captain, smiling; and
from a secret receptacle under his desk drew out a flat black
flask, which contained his favorite Jamaica, which was excellent.
He placed this before the Captain, with some
glasses; gave his visitor the seat of honor, and without
solicitation drank to his excellent good health.

If the factor was rosy and cheerful, Captain Ralph was
moody and dispirited. He shook his head, after the first sip
of rum, and almost groaned.

“You are not unwell, Captain?” said Mr. A. Z. Smith.

“Yes, yes,” murmured the soldier.

“You are sick?”

“Mentally so, my dear fellow—I feel a sentiment of
great remorse.”

“Remorse, Captain?”

“Yes, my dear companion, real remorse, and you have
something to do with it.”

“I, Captain?”

“Yes, indeed; your rum has caused it.”

“My rum?”

“Yes, yes; do you not remember my visit the other
day?”

“In your splendid new chariot, Captain? Oh, yes! It
would not be easy to forget it; it is one of the finest in the
colony.”

“Delighted that you are pleased. Well, on that occasion
I drank some of this Jamaica.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Well, companion, now listen to the enormity I have
been guilty of. I went home, sir, after drinking some of
this nectar—yes, this liquid ambrosia, and like an ill-humored
fellow called it—what do you imagine?”

“Not bad, Captain?” said Mr. A. Z. Smith, turning
pale; “not bad?”

“I called it execrable, a much worse word than `bad,'
mon ami.”

And the soldier groaned.

“Never mind, sir,” said Mr. A. Z. Smith, affected profoundly
by the Captain's painful feeling of remorse; “never
mind, sir, you have changed your opinion; have you not?”

The Captain swallowed a mouthful, and looked rapturously
at the ceiling. That was enough—no reply was needed
—that look said more than words.

“Let us speak upon more cheerful subjects,” said the
Captain, sighing; “I have just had the pleasure of seeing
your daughter Donsy, mon ami.”

“Donsy, Captain?”

“Yes, yes, at the Old Field School yonder. A charming
little creature, ma foi!”

“She's a good girl,” said Mr. A. Z. Smith, with a cheerful
look; “the light of the house.”

“And that made me hesitate, comrade,” said the Captain,
“before visiting you to-day.”

“Hesitate?”

“Yes, indeed; you would be loth to part with her, I
know.”

“To part with her?”

“Yes.”

“With Donsy?”

“Yes, yes, companion.”

“I do not understand you, Captain,” said his host,
smiling.

“I had some idea lately of asking Miss Donsy's hand.”

“Oh, captain—a great honor!”

“Honor? Bah! I say, sir, that the man who gets
Ma'mselle Donsy will be fortunate.”

“Indeed he will, sir; I have not been twenty years at
work without laying by a plum.”

“There you are, with your eternal commercial ideas.”

“Oh, sir,” said Mr. A. Z. Smith, afraid that he had committed
something in bad taste—than which nothing horrified
him more.

“You think I mean `fortunate' in a pecuniary sense.
You cannot understand the divine sentiment, morbleu!—
really, friend Smith, I am ashamed of you!”

Mr. A. Z. Smith looked contrite, and murmured an
apology.

“I thought of applying for Ma'mselle Donsy's hand
myself,” replied the Captain, “but I am not at present in a
condition to marry—her; and besides, I am now aware of
the fact that ma'mselle's affections are engaged.”

“Engaged, Captain?”

“Yes, sir, she loves devotedly one of my best friends—
morbleu! a noble fellow.”

“Oh Captain.”

“A heart of gold—a glorious boy—you know him, or I
am mistaken.”

“Who can it be, Captain?”

“My friend Mr. Lugg.”

The factor whistled. “What! Lanky!”

“Yes, sir.”

The factor repeated that astounded noise with his lips
and said:

“He a friend of yours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He a noble fellow?”

“Nothing less, sir.”

“He a heart of gold—a gentleman—your friend?”

“Yes, he is all that.”

“Why, Captain, he's a mere country bumpkin; Donsy
shall never marry him—by George, sir, she shall not speak
to him again.”

“Friend Smith,” said the Captain.

“Sir.”

“You're a booby; permit me to make that observation
to you in a friendly and appreciative spirit, and to tell you
that, considering the length of time you have been in this
wicked and woful world, you are no better than a child,
morbleu!”

Mr. A. Z. Smith, instead of getting angry at this plain
and unmistakable charge, held down his head.

“Donsy shall not marry so much beneath her,” he said;
“that I am resolved on.”

“Beneath her?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“How is Lanky beneath Donsy?”

“Why, he's as poor as a rat.”

“He is no such thing.”

“Why sir, he is a common farm-worker—was with Mr.
Waters, your relation, I suppose.”

“Who, the bon père? Certainly, he is my relation,”
said the Captain, with great good sense.

“Well, sir, how can you say Lanky is not poor? He's
an honest fellow, I don't mind saying that, but I know that
he is as poor as a church mouse.”

“I don't believe church mice are poor,” observed the
Captain philosophically, “and if they were, I deny the application
to Lanky.”

“He not poor, sir?—Oh!—”

“Listen, mon ami: I am rich. As rich as Crœsus and
all the monarchs of antiquity put together, from Sardanapalus,
king of some land or other, down to the present time.
I roll in wealth—I don't know how to spend it. I can't find
an outlet for it—I am painfully overburdened with gold and
land.”

“Oh, my dear sir!” cried Mr. A. Z. Smith, looking
respectfully at this gigantic proprietor.

“Now, observe: Lanky is my friend—and I have taken
up the idea that he will be improved by marriage. I questioned
him—he replied that he was exceedingly willing—
having secured the affection of your daughter, Ma'mselle
Donsy.”

“He!” cried Mr. A. Z. Smith.

“Yes, indeed—Donsy is passionately in love with him—
he with her—I have determined to see them married.”

“Never, Captain!”

“Because he's poor, eh?”

“He is not only that, but his family is not good,” said
Mr. A. Z. Smith, with a self-satisfied air.

“His family!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, he came over to Virginia—his ancestors, I mean
—with your noble forefather Captain John Smith, the Chevalier.”

The factor reddened with delight: his highest ambition
was to be considered the descendant of the great soldier—
and in fact half of his liking for Captain Waters, sprung

from the fact, that that gentleman bore no bad resemblance,
with his long black moustache, to the picture of Captain
Smith, hanging up in his counting-room. So that when his
visitor said that Lanky's family came over with the conqueror—that
is to say, Captain Iohn Smythe—the factor replied
in a much calmer voice:

“Really, did they now, sir?”

“Yes, indeed, mon ami,” said his visitor; “Lanky's father
was the shield and mace-bearer of the Captain, and always
held his lance and helmet. He buckled the arms on
his charger—the Captain allowing no one else to do it—
when the worthy Smith ran a tilt with Sir Powhatan down
there upon the tournay ground near York.”

Mr. A. Z. Smith looked dubious.

“Do you doubt it, sir?” said the Captain; “here is the
herald's coat of arms of the Lugg family. Here you will
see that they spring from the great family of the Lugdunenses
who formerly owned all London, for which reason that
place was called originally Lugdunum, Sir Ernanton Lugdunensius
was the founder of the house, and the Chevalier
Villiers de Lugge was the one who came over with your ancestor,
companion—he was first cousin to George Villiers,
Duke of Buckingham.”

Mr. A. Z. Smith then saw the Captain unroll a parchment,
and hold it before his dazzled eyes.

“What is that, sir?” he murmured, overcome by the
prospect of having such a son-in-law.

“Why, the genealogical tree.”

“Lanky's?”

“To be sure.”

“I can't read it, sir.”

“No wonder, as it is written in Arabic—done when
Captain Smith and Sir Villiers were together in Bessarabia
fighting the Turks. It is further continued by another hand
—and you will observe that Lanky's immediate ancestor was
Selim Lugg, Esq.”

Mr. A. Z. Smith, as was quite natural, failed to comprehend
the pedigree of the Arabian, and the Captain soon
rolled it up again.

“Now I have disposed of that,” said the soldier; “the

family is superior, or at least equal, to your own: and now
sir, to speak of the money part.”

“Oh, Captain Waters!” said the little factor, with a
remonstrating gesture.

“Let me go on,” continued the Captain.

“Well, sir.”

“I have—or I will—put Lanky in possession of the cottage
on the river yonder.”

“A very good house, sir, and some few improvements
would make it elegant.”

“Yes: and the land—fifty acres— is not bad.”

“Excellent, sir!”

“Lanky shall have all at his own terms—and by heaven,
if he wants a thousand pounds he shall have it.”

“You are very liberal, Captain.”

“Do you be, also.”

“Hum!”

“Give him Donsy, comrade.”

“Oh—I don't think we can spare her, Captain.”

“Bah, you will not be separated, the cottage is a mere
step, companion.”

Mr. A. Z. Smith was evidently struggling between two
opposing forces.

“Do you say he shall be set up in the cottage?” at last
he said.

“Yes, morbleu!”

“And he loves Donsy?”

“Passionately, ma foi!”

“And Donsy him?”

“Donsy will have no one else in this world, companion.
The house of Smith will be extinct—for she'll be an old
maid.”

“It's hard to lose her!” sighed the factor, who really
loved his daughter exceedingly.

“She will not be the same happy sort of sunbeam, companion,”
said the Captain; “give your consent and make her
happy. Come, now, and pledge your consent in a cup of this
delightful Jamaica, and your brave ancestor up there shall
witness the compact—and if he could, I am sure he would
twirl his moustaches in the excess of his satisfaction.

This double attack finished Mr. A. Z. Smith:—his pride

in his Jamaica, his pride of family, and in addition his love
for his daughter had been brought in play, and he succumbed.

“Well, he shall have her,” he said; “Lanky's a good
boy, and though Donsy might a' looked higher, he'll make
her a good husband.”

And the factor sighed.

“That's well,” said the Captain, rising; “and I knew
you would place more stress on that honesty of Lanky, friend
Smith, than on this question of lineage, about which I have
been telling you the most unconscionable amount of lies.
Diable! sir, I honor you! and I promise that you shall have
the commissions of my whole family and estate, when I have
the former—now, bon jour, companion: I'll go see Lanky,
parbleu!”

And the Captain set down his empty glass of Jamaica,
and went out humming his old song.

In half an hour he had conquered his enemy.