John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

"By merest chance my way led to the posthouse, at sight of which I could not but weep to think of your straits, that were but little happier than my own. 'Twas here I hit upon my plan, sir, whereof the substance was, that though 'twas past my power to help ye, yet in your misery ye might ransom me. That is to say, ye'd bought your passage to Maryland and could not sail; who knew but what ye'd bought your seat to Plymouth as well? Think not I planned to cheat thee, sir! 'Twas but to Plymouth I meant to go, to save my life, and vowed to make ye restitution when I could. I did not doubt I could play the poet, though de'il the bit I know of verse, for I've a gift for mime, sir, if I may say so. Aye, many's the hour at St. Giles I've kept the folk in stitches by 'personating old Mrs. Twigg, with her crooked walk and her voice like an ironmonger's! And once in Pudding Lane, sir, I did Ralph Birdsall to such a turn, my Betsy wept a-laughing, nor could contain herself but let fly on the sheets for very mirth. The only rub was, should someone challenge me I'd naught wherewith to prove my case. For that reason, though I need not say how much I loathed to do't, I called for quill and paper in the posthouse, sir, and as best my memory would serve me I writ a copy of your commission, the which ye'd showed me ere ye left — "

At this point, Ebenezer, who had with the greatest difficulty contained his mounting astonishment and wrath as Bertrand's tale unfolded, cried out, "Devil take it, man, is there aught of infamy you'd stop at? Steal passage, take name and rank, and even forge commission! Let me see it!"

" 'Tis but a miserable approximation, sir," the servant said. "I've little wit in the matter of language and had no seal to seal it with." He drew a paper from his coat and proffered it reluctantly. " 'Twould fool no man, I'm certain."

" 'Tis not Lord Baltimore's hand," Ebenezer admitted, scanning the paper. "But i'faith!" he added on reading it. "The wording is the same, from first to last! And you say 'twas done from memory? Recite it for me, then!"

"Marry, sir, I cannot; 'twas some time past."

"The first line, then. Surely you recall the first line of't? No? Then thou'rt an arrant liar!" He flung the paper to the floor. "Where is my commission, that you copied this from?"

" 'Fore God, sir, I do not know."

"And yet you copied from it in the posthouse?"

"Ye force the truth from me, sir," Bertrand said, shamefaced. " 'Twas indeed from the original I copied, and not from memory; neither was it in the posthouse I did the deed, but in your room, sir, the day ye left. The commission was on your writing table, where ye'd forgot it: I found it there as I was packing your trunk, and so moved was I by the grandness of't I made a copy, thinking to show my Betsy what a master I'd lost. The original I put in your trunk and carried to the posthouse."

"Then why this sneak and subterfuge?" the poet demanded. "Why did you not admit it from the start? Thank Heav'n the thing's not lost!"

Bertrand made no reply, but scowled more miserably than ever.

"Well? Surely 'tis in my trunk this instant, is't not? Why did you lie?"

"I put the paper in your trunk, sir," Bertrand said, "on the very top of all, and fetched your baggage to the posthouse; nor thought I more of't till the hour I've told of, when, to save my life, I vowed to 'personate my way to Plymouth. Then I recalled my copy and luckily found it where it had been since the hour I forged it — folded in quarters in my pocket. To try myself I marched into the posthouse, and to the first wight I met I said, 'I'm Ebenezer Cooke, my man, Poet and Laureate of the Province of Maryland: please direct me to the Plymouth coach.' "

"The brass!"

Bertrand shrugged: the Burlingamelike gesture was the more startling performed as it was in Burlingame's port-purple coat. " 'Twas daring enough," he admitted. "The fellow only stared and mumbled something about the coach being gone. I feared he saw through my imposture, and the more when a stout fierce fellow in black came up behind and said, 'Thou'rt the poet Cooke, ye say? Thou'rt a knave and liar, for the poet Cooke they fetched to jail not two hours past.' "

"To jail!" Ebenezer cried. "What is this talk of jail, man, that ye return to here again?"

" 'Twas what I'd feared, sir: that wretch named Bragg, that would have the law on ye for some false matter of a ledger-book. 'Twas only inasmuch as I knew ye were past rescue, as I say, sir, that I presumed to use your passage — "

"Stay! Stay! One moment, now!" Ebenezer protested. "There is a marvelous discrepancy here!"

"A discrepancy, sir?"

"It wants no barrister to see it," the poet said. " 'Twas you set Bragg on my trail, was't not, when you found him in my room? And 'twas only that you knew I'd be long gone, you said. How is't then — "

"Prithee let me finish, sir," Bertrand pleaded, coloring noticeably. "Tales are like tarts, that may be ugly on the face of 'em and yet have a worthwhile end. This man, I say, declared ye were in jail — a fearsome fellow, he was, dressed all in black, with a great black beard, and pistols in his waist. And not far behind him was another, as like as any twin, which, when he joined the first, the man I'd queried took fright and ran. As would have I, but for access of fear."

"They sound like Slye and Scurry!"

"The very same, sir, they called each other: a pair of sharks as may I never meet again! Yet little I knew of 'em then but that they'd challenged me, and so I said straight out, the man who'd gone to jail was an impostor, and jailed for his imposture, and I was the real Ebenezer Cooke. To prove it I displayed my false commission, scarce daring to hope they'd be persuaded. Yet persuaded they were, and even humbled, as I thought; they whispered together for a while and then insisted I ride to Plymouth with them, inasmuch as the regular coach was gone. I took the boon right readily, fearing any minute to see Ralph Birdsall and his sword — "

"And fell into their hands," Ebenezer said with relish. "By Heav'n, 'tis no more than your desert!"

Bertrand shuddered. "Say not so, sir! Hi, what a pair of fiends! No sooner were we on the road than their intent came clear: they were lieutenants of one Colonel Coode of Maryland, that hath designs upon the government, and had been sent by him to waylay Eben Cooke — which quarry fearing bagged by other hunters, they were the more ready to believe me him. What designs they had on you, sir, I could not guess, but certain 'twas not to beg a verse of ye, for they held each a pistol ready and left no doubt I was their prisoner. 'Twas not till Plymouth I escaped; one of the twain went to see how fared their ship, and the other wandering some yards off to rouse the stableboy at the King o' the Seas, I leaped round a corner and burrowed into a pile of hay, where I hid till they gave o'er the search and went inside for rum."

"Take them no farther," Ebenezer said; "I know the rest of their history. 'Twas in the hay, then, that Burlingame found you?"

"Aye, sir. I heard the sound of people and trembled for my life, the more for that their footsteps came toward me. Anon I felt a great thrashing weight upon me, and thinking I was jumped by Slye or Scurry, I gave a great hollow and grappled as best I could to save my life. 'Twas the barmaid from the tavern I found opposing me — coats high, drawers low, and ripe for rogering — and Miss Anna's beau stood by, laughing mightily at the combat."

"Enough, enough! How is't you did not know each other, if as you say you'd seen him at the posthouse?"

"Not know him? I knew him at once, sir, and he me, and 'twere hard to tell which was the more amazed. Yet he asked me nothing of my business there, but straightway offered to change clothes with me — I daresay he feared my telling tales to his Miss Anna — "