“Peter Simple,” published in 1833, is in many respects the best of all Marryat’s novels.  Largely drawn from Marryat’s own professional experiences, the story, with its vivid portraiture and richness of incident, is told with rare atmosphere and style.  Hogg placed the character of “Peter Simple” on a level with Fielding’s “Parson Adams;” Edgar Allan Poe, on the other hand, found Marryat’s works “essentially mediocre.”

I.—­I am Sacrificed to the Navy

I think that had I been permitted to select my own profession in childhood, I should in all probability have bound myself apprentice to a tailor, for I always envied the comfortable seat which they appeared to enjoy upon the shopboard.  But my father, who was a clergyman of the Church of England and the youngest brother of a noble family, had a lucrative living, and a “soul above buttons,” if his son had not.  It has been from time immemorial the custom to sacrifice the greatest fool of the family to the prosperity and naval superiority of the country, and at the age of fourteen, I was selected as the victim.

My father, who lived in the North of England, forwarded me by coach to London, and from London I set out by coach for Portsmouth.

A gentleman in a plaid cloak sat by me, and at the Elephant and Castle a drunken sailor climbed up by the wheel of the coach and sat down on the other side.

I commenced a conversation with the gentleman in the plaid cloak relative to my profession, and asked him whether it was not very difficult to learn.

“Larn,” cried the sailor, interrupting us, “no; it may be difficult for such chaps as me before the mast to larn; but you, I presume, is a reefer, and they ain’t not much to larn, ’cause why, they pipe-clays their weekly accounts, and walks up and down with their hands in their pockets.  You must larn to chaw baccy and drink grog, and then you knows all a midshipman’s expected to know nowadays.  Ar’n’t I right, sir?” said the sailor, appealing to the gentleman in a plaid cloak.  “I axes you, because I see you’re a sailor by the cut of your jib.  Beg pardon, sir,” continued he, touching his hat; “hope no offence.”

“I am afraid that you have nearly hit the mark, my good fellow,” replied the gentleman.

At the bottom of Portsdown Hill I inquired how soon we should be at Portsmouth.  He answered that we were passing the lines; but I saw no lines, and I was ashamed to show my ignorance.  The gentleman in a plaid cloak asked me what ship I was going to join, and whether I had a letter of introduction to the captain.

“Yes, I have,” replied I. And I pulled out my pocket-book, in which the letter was.  “Captain Savage, H.M. ship Diomede,” I read.

To my surprise, he very coolly took the letter and proceeded to open it, which occasioned me immediately to snatch the letter from him, stating my opinion at the same time that it was a breach of honour, and that in my opinion he was no gentleman.