John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

Ebenezer betrayed such considerable interest in this statement that to hear it glossed set him back another shilling.

"He came to St. Mary's last September or October," the waiter went on, pocketing the money, "though whence or how no man knows truly, since the fleet was come and gone some weeks before. He was dressed in the clothes ye see there, that were splendid then as a St. Paul fop's, and had a wondrous swaggering air, and declared he was the Laureate of Maryland, Eben Cooke."

"I'Christ, the fraud!" Ebenezer exclaimed. "Did no man doubt him?"

"He had his share of hecklers; that he did," the waiter conceded. "Whene'er they asked him for a verse he'd say 'The muse sings not in taverns,' or some such; and when they asked him how he was so lately come from England, he declared he'd been kidnaped by the pirates from Jim Meech's boat Poseidon ere the fleet reached the Capes, and was later cast o'erside to drown, but swam ashore and found himself in Maryland. The wags and wits had fun at his expense, but his story was borne out anon by Colonel Robotham himself, the Councillor — "

"Nay!"

The waiter nodded firmly. "The Colonel and his daughter had crossed with him on the Poseidon and had seen him kidnaped, along with his servant and three sailors, that have ne'er been heard from since. Some skeptical souls still doubt the fellow's story, for he hath spoke not a line of verse these many months, and to set him in a panic one need only mention his father Andrew's name, or the name of his father-in-law."

"Father-in-law!" Ebenezer rose from his chair. "You mean William Smith, the cooper?"

"I know no cooper named Smith," the waiter laughed, "I mean Colonel Robotham of Talbot, that was persuaded enough to take him for a son-in-law, but hath learned since of another wight that's said to be Eben Cooke! He means to file suit against the impostor, but in the meantime this fellow here so fears him — "

"No more," Ebenezer said grimly. Leaving his fresh glass of rum untouched he strode unhesitatingly to the sleeper's table, and seeing that it was in fact Bertrand Burton who slumbered there, he shook him by the shoulders with both hands.

"Wake up, wretch!"

Bertrand sat up at once, and his alarm at being awakened thus ungently turned to horror when he saw who had been shaking him.

"Base conniver!" Ebenezer whispered fiercely. "What have you done now?"

"Stay, Master Eben!" the valet whispered back, glancing miserably about to judge the peril of his position. But the other patrons, if they had observed the scene at all, were watching with the idlest curiosity and amusement: they showed no signs of understanding the confrontation. "Let's leave this place ere ye speak another word! I've much to tell ye!"

"And I thee," the poet replied unpleasantly. "So thou'rt afraid somewhat for your welfare, Master Laureate?"

"With reason," Bertrand admitted, still glancing about. "But more for your own, sir, and for your sister Anna's!"

Ebenezer gripped the man's wrists. "Curse your heart, man! What do you know of Anna?"

"Not here!" the valet pleaded. "Come to my room upstairs, where we may speak without fear."

" 'Tis yours to fear, not mine," Ebenezer said, but permitted Bertrand to lead the way upstairs. The valet was clothed from wig to slippers, he observed, with articles from his trunk, all now much the worse for wear and want of cleaning; but the man himself, though blear-eyed with sleep and trepidation, had clearly much improved his lot by playing laureate. He was well fleshed out, and dignified even in his dishevelment — unquestionably a more prepossessing figure than his master. By the time they entered Bertrand's room, the only furnishings of which were a bed, a chair, and a pitcher-stand, Ebenezer could scarcely contain his indignation.

But the valet spoke first. "How is't thou'rt here, sir? I thought ye were a prisoner at Malden."

"You knew!" Ebenezer paled. "You knew my wretched state and exploited it!" His anger so weakened him that he was obliged to take the chair.

"Pray hear my side of't," Bertrand begged. " 'Tis true I played your part at first from vanity, but anon I was obliged to — will-I, nill-I — and since I heard of your imprisonment, my only aim hath been to do ye a service."

"I know thy services!" the poet cried. " 'Twas in my service you gambled away my savings aboard the Poseidon and got me a name for seducing the ladies into the bargain!"

But Bertrand, little daunted, insisted on explaining his position more fully. "No man wishes more than I," he declared, "that I had stayed behind in London with my Betsy and let my poor cod take its chances with Ralph Birdsall — Better a shive lost than the whole loaf, as they say. But Fate would have it otherwise, and — "

"Put by thy whining preamble," his master ordered, "and get on with thy lying tale."

"What I mean to say, sir, there I was, half round the globe from my heart's desire, abused and left to drown by the cursed pirates, and farther disappointed at the loss of my ocean isle — "

"The loss of your ocean isle!"

"Aye, sir — what I mean is, 'tis not every day a man sees seven golden cities slip through his fingers, as't were, to say nothing of my fair-skinned heathen wenches, that would do whatever dev'lish naughty trick might cross my fancy, and fetch me cakes and small-beer by the hour — "

"Go to, go to, thou'rt slavering!"

"And there was my noble Drakepecker, bless his heart — big and black as a Scotland bull, and man enough to crack the Whore o' Babylon, but withal as meek a parishioner as any god could boast — that ye lightly gave away to nurse an ill-odored salvage — "

" 'Sheart, man, pass o'er the history and commence thy fabrication! I was there!"

With this assertion Bertrand declared he had no quarrel. "The sole aim of my relating it," he said, "is to help ye grasp the pity of my straits what time the swine-girl told us this was Maryland, and I was obliged to fall from Heav'n to Hell, as't were."

"Be't thy pitiful straits or thy craven neck," the poet responded, "I'll do my grasping without thy help. As for the swine-girl — " He hesitated, thought better of announcing his marriage, and demanded instead that the servant begin with his arrival in St. Mary's City nearly three months previously and account for his subsequent behavior in a fashion as brief and clear as such a concatenation of chicaneries might permit.

"My one wish is to do that very thing, sir," Bertrand protested. " 'Tis that first pose alone I beg forgiveness for, and thought to whiten by this preamble — the rest is deserving more of favor than reproof, and I shall lay it open to ye as readily as I did to your poor sister, and would to Master Andrew himself, that first sent me to ye in Pudding Lane for no other purpose in the wide, wicked world — "

"Than what?" Ebenezer cried. "Than stealing my name and office to do a Councillor out of his daughter? May the murrain carry me off if I do not flay an honest English sentence from your hide!"

"— than advising and protecting ye," Bertrand said, and when his master made as if to spring upon him he retreated to the other side of the bed and hastened to tell his story. The revelation that they were in Maryland instead of Cibola, he explained, and consequently that he was no longer a deity but only a common servant, had so filled him with dejection that when on orders from Timothy Mitchell he had gone with another servant to fetch Ebenezer's trunk, he could not resist the temptation to pose as poet laureate, only for the term of the errand. He had therefore declared to his companion that he himself was in reality Ebenezer Cooke and the man at Captain Mitchell's his servant, and that they had exchanged roles temporarily as a precautionary measure. However, he had continued, their reception in the Province had been cordial enough, and the disguise was no longer necessary. They had then fetched the trunk in the name of Ebenezer Cooke, and after securing the night's lodgings for master and man, Bertrand had struck out on his own to make the most of his short-term office.