John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

Embarqu'd and waiting for a Wind,

I leave this dreadful Curse behind.

May Canniballs transported o'er the Sea

Prey on these Slaves, as they have done on me;

May never Merchant's trading Sails explore

This cruel, this Inhospitable Shoar;

But left abandon'd by the World to starve,

May they sustain the Fate they well deserve:

May they turn Salvage, or as Indians wild,

From Trade, Converse, and Happiness exil'd;

Recreant to Heaven, may they adore the Sun,

And into Pagan Superstitions run

For Vengeance ripe —

May Wrath Divine then lay these Regions wast

Where no Man's Faithful, nor a Woman chast!

The heat of his sustained creative passion must have either enlarged his talent or softened his critical acumen, for never before had he felt so potent, assured, and poetic as in the composition of this satire. During the first two weeks of December he smoothed and polished it — adjusting an iamb here, tuning the clatter of a Hudibrastic there, until on St. Lucy's day, December 13, he was prepared to deem the piece truly finished. At its head he wrote: The Sot-Weed Factor: Or, a Voyage to Maryland. A Satyr. In which is describ'd, the Laws, Government, Courts and Constitutions of the Country; and also the Buildings, Feasts, Frolicks. Entertainments and Drunken Humours of the Inhabitants of that Port of America. And at the foot, with grand contempt, he affixed his full title — Ebenezer Cooke, Gentleman, Poet & Laureat of the Province of Maryland - in full recognition that with the poem's publication, should he ever send it to a printer, he would forfeit any chance of receiving that title in fact.

Publication, however, did not especially interest him at the moment. He put by his quill and surveyed the thousand and more lines of manuscript in his ledger.

"By Lucy's bloody thorn, 'tis writ!" he sighed, mocking Sowter. "And there's an end on't!"

He had not the slightest idea what would happen next, nor had he just then the smallest worry. To the bone he felt the pleasure of large and sure accomplishment, which is ever one part joy and nine relief. Indeed, he was possessed with an urge to close his eyes and sleep where he sat at his writing desk; but the early winter night had only just darkened — it was, in fact, not an hour since supper — and he felt a contrary desire to celebrate in some small way, not The Sot-Weed Factor itself, whose existence was its own festivity, but the end of the labors that had brought it to birth.

"A glass of rum's the thing," he decided, and went downstairs to where the evening's activities were just getting started. His intention was to go to the kitchen, that being the only room at Malden, other than his own chamber, where he could be reasonably confident of his reception; but on his way he encountered William Smith and Richard Sowter, who had become fast friends since the fall.

"How now, by Kenelm's dove!" the latter said on seeing him. "Here is our poet."

"Speak of the devil," Smith observed. "Thou'rt looking hale and pleased this night."

"I am both," Ebenezer admitted, "with little cause for either." The truth was, the mere sight of his undoers had cost him much of the pleasant sense of well-being with which he'd left his finished manuscript. "You were speaking of me?"

"That we were," Smith said. " 'Twas a general discussion on points o' law we were having, and I brought ye in by way of illustration."

"Mr. Smith here raised the question," Sowter joined in, "whether, in a contract made to complete a job o' work within a given time, the instrument becomes null and void directly the job is done or remains in force regardless till the designated time runs out. My answer was, it hangs altogether on the wording of the contract, whether its expiration hath a single or alternative contingency."

Ebenezer smiled uncertainly. "That seems a reasonable reply, but I am no lawyer."

"Nor am I," Smith said, "and so to get a fairer notion of the thing, I asked him to apply it to that contract drawn "twixt thee and me, regarding your ill health — "

"Go to the point," Ebenezer said stiffly. "I see your purpose."

"Ah, now, I have no wish to cheat ye of your due," Smith insisted. "It hath been an honor and a pleasure to have the Laureate Poet for house guest, and nurse him back to health. Yet the fact is, as well ye can observe, I've a thriving little hostelry in Malden, and an idle room is to an innkeeper like a fallow field to a sot-weed planter."

"In short, now I'm on my feet once more you wish me gone."

"Calm thy heat," Sowter urged. " 'Tis my opinion, as your physician, thou'rt as well a man as ever braided Catherine's tresses, and I have said farther, as Mr. Smith's attorney, his contract in the matter hath alternative contingencies for expiration; namely, the restoration of your health or six months of bed, board, and proper care."

"Say no more," Ebenezer said, "the rest is clear, and I'll not contest it. If you'll but grant me two small favors — nay, three — you will not see me on the morrow."

"Nay, hear me out — "

"Have no fear of these requests," Ebenezer went on contemptuously. "They'll not interfere in any way with your profit. The first is that you give me a pot of rum, wherewith to celebrate a poem I've written; the second is that you send the poem to a certain London printer, whose address I shall give you; and the third is that you lend me a loaded pistol, to use when the rum is gone."

"A turd upon the pistol," Smith declared. "Thou'rt no good Catholic, methinks, e'en to speak of't, and ye spring too quickly to the worst expedient. I have no wish to turn ye out at all."

"What?"

"St. Dunstan's tongs," Sowter laughed, " 'tis what I tried to tell ye! Mr. Smith must have your chamber for his business, but so far from wishing ye ill, he hath proposed to be your patron, as't were." He explained that the cooper had directed him to draw up a remarkable indenture-bond, to sign which would entitle the poet to free room and board in the servants' quarters indefinitely, and commit him only to a nominal amount of chemical work.

" 'Twill be no more than a paper to write or endorse on occasion," Smith assured him. "The balance of the time is your own, to versify or what ye will."

Ebenezer shrugged. "It matters not to me one way or the other. Draw up your bond, and I shall read it."

"I have't here this minute," Sowter said, producing a document from his coat. " 'Tis a virtual sinecure, I swear!"

The opportunity to compose more poetry was in truth attractive to Ebenezer, though at the moment he had no ideas whatever for future poems. He considered also the possibility that Burlingame's unexplained absence might have to do with some scheme for undoing Smith, though he had come rather to attribute it to another, perhaps, final, desertion. And ultimately, of course, the pistol was always there as a last resort: he could see no great loss in postponing its use for a time. Therefore, after reading it cursorily and finding its provisions to be as Sowter had described, he signed both copies of the four-year indenture with no emotion whatever.

"Now thou'rt my patron," he said to Smith, "haply you'll indulge your protégé with a pot of rum."

"No pot, but an entire rundlet," the cooper answered happily. "And hi! Yonder's your wedded wife, fresh-come from Mitchell's!"

"Ye look well chilled, St. Susie," Sowter laughed. "Warm your arse here by the fire and take a dram with our poet ere ye set to work in the curing-house: your father hath indented him to four years o' rhyming."

"I'll fetch the girls in from the kitchen," Smith declared. "We'll have a celebration ere the night's work starts!"