John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

"Yet you speak as one who loves the place," said Ebenezer, "and that alone, for me, is warrant I shall too."

Burlingame shrugged. "Haply so, haply no. There is a freedom there that's both a blessing and a curse. 'Tis more than just political and religious liberty — they come and go from one year to the next. 'Tis philosophic liberty I speak of, that comes from want of history. It makes every man an orphan like myself, that freedom, and can as well demoralize as elevate. But no more: I see the masts and spires of Plymouth yonder. You'll know the Province soon enough and how it strikes you!"

Even as Burlingame spoke the smell of the sea blew into the carriage, stirring Ebenezer to the depths of his being, and when a short while later he saw it for the first time, spread out before him to the far horizon, he shivered twice or thrice all over and came near to passing water.

"Remember," Burlingame said as the carriage rolled into Plymouth, "I am not Henry Burlingame, nor Peter Sayer either, for the real Sayer's somewhere on the fleet. You'd best not give me any name at all, I think, till I see how lays the land."

Accordingly, as soon as their chests and trunks were put down they inquired after the Poseidon at the wharves and were told it had already joined the fleet.

"What!" cried Ebenezer. "Then we have missed it after all!"

"Nay," Burlingame smiled, " 'tis not unusual. The fleet assembles yonder in the Downs off The Lizard; you can see't from here on a clear day."

Inquiring further he found a shallop doing ferry-service between the Downs and the harbor, and arranged for passage aboard it in the afternoon.

"We'd as well take one last meal ashore," he explained to Ebenezer. "Moreover I must change clothing, for I've resolved to pose as your servant — What was his name?"

"Bertrand," Ebenezer murmured. "But must you be a servant?"

"Aye, or else invent an entire gentleman as your companion. As Bertrand I can pass unnoticed in your company and hear more news as well of your fellow travelers."

So saying he led the way across the street from the wharves to a tavern advertising itself by two capital letter Cs, face to face and interlocking, the figure surmounted by a three-lobed crown.

"Here's the King o' the Seas," said Burlingame. "I know it of old. 'Twas here I got my first wee clap, while still a hand on Captain Salmon's ship. A bony Welsh tart gave it me, that had made the best of my inexperience to charge me a clean girl's price, and by the time the fraud came clear I was many a day's sail from Plymouth, bound for Lisbon. The clap soon left me, but I ne'er forgot the wench. When in Lisbon I found a vessel bound for Plymouth and made enquiries amongst the crew, till at length I hit upon a one-eyed Portugee that was like to perish of a miserable clap from Africa, beside which our English sort was but a fleabite. This frightful wight I gave my fine new quadrant to, that Captain Salmon had bought me to practice navigation with, on condition he share his clap with the Welsh whore at the King o' the Seas directly he made port. But no man e'er died of the food here."

It being midmorning, the tavern was deserted except for a young serving maid scrubbing the flagstone floor. She was short and plump, coarse-haired and befreckled, but her eyes had a merry light and her nose a pertness. Leaving Ebenezer to select a table, Burlingame approached her familiarly and engaged her in conversation which, though spoken in voices too low for Ebenezer to hear distinctly, soon had her laughing and wagging a finger.

"The duckling swore she'd naught but fish in the larder," he said when presently he returned, "but when I told her 'twas a laureate she was feeding, that could lay the place low with Hudibrastics, she agreed to stay your pen with roast of beef. 'Twill be here anon."

"You twit me," Ebenezer said modestly.

Burlingame shrugged. "Methinks I'll change costume the while it's fixing."

"But our baggage is on the wharf."

"No matter. Scotch cloth to silk is oft a life-time's journey, but silk to Scotch cloth can be traversed in a minute." He went again to the serving maid, who smiled at his approach, and spoke softly to her, at the same time pinching her smartly. She squealed and, one hand on her hip, pointed laughing to a door beside the fireplace. Burlingame then took her arm as though to lead her along with him; when she drew back he whispered seriously in her ear and whispered again when she gasped and shook her head. She glanced towards Ebenezer, who blushed at once and feigned preoccupation with the set of his cravat; Burlingame whispered a third message that turned her bright eyes coyly, and left the room through the indicated door. The girl lingered for two minutes in the room. Then she took another sharp look at Ebenezer, sniffed, and flounced through the same door.

Though he was not a little embarrassed by the small drama, the poet was pleased enough to be alone for a short while, not only to ponder the wondrous adventures of his friend, but also to take stock of his own position.

"I have been so occupied gaping and gasping at Henry," said he to himself, "I have near forgot who I am, and what business I'm embarked upon. Not a line have I writ since London, nor thought at all of logging my journey."

He forthwith spread before him on the table his double-entry ledger, open to that page whereon was transcribed the first quatrain of his official career, and fetching quill and ink from a stand on the wall next the serving-bar, considered what should grace the facing-page.

"I can say naught whate'er of my journey hither, in the Marylandiad," he reflected, "for I saw but little of't. Moreover, 'twere fitter I commenced the poem from Plymouth, where most who sail to Maryland take their leave of Albion's rocks; 'twill pitch the reader straightway on his voyage." Pursuing farther this line of thought, he resolved to write his epic Maryiandiad in the form of an imaginary voyage, thinking thereby to discover to the reader the delights of the Province with the same freshness and surprise wherewith they would discover themselves to the voyager-poet. It was with pleasure and a kind of awe, therefore, that he recalled the name of his ship.

"Poseidon!" he thought. "It bodes well, i'faith! A very Virgil for companion, and the Earth-Shaker himself for ferry-master to this Elysium!"

And turning the happy figure some minutes in his mind, at length he wrote:

Let Ocean roar his damn'dest Gale:

Our Planks shan't leak; our Masts shan't fail.

With great Poseidon at our Side

He seemeth neither wild nor wide.

At the foot he appended E.C., G ent, P t& L tof M d, and beamed with satisfaction. While he was thus engaged, two men came into the tavern and noisily closed the door. They were sailors, by the look of them — but not ordinary seamen — and like enough for twins in manner and appearance: both were short and heavy, red-nosed, squint-eyed, and black-whiskered, and wore their natural hair; both were dressed in black breeches and coats, and sported twin-peaked hats of the same color. Each wore a brace of pistols at his right, stuck down through his sash, and a cutlass at his left, and carried besides a heavy black cane.

"Thou'rt my guest for beer, Captain Scurry," growled one.

"Nay, Captain Slye," growled the other, "for thou'rt mine."

With that, still standing, they both commenced to bang their sticks upon a table for service. "Beer!" one cried, and "Beer!" cried the other, and they glowered, scowled, and grumbled when their cries brought no response. So fearsome was their aspect, and fierce their manner, Ebenezer decided they were pirate captains, but he had not the courage to flee the room.