The Tale of a Derelict Boy, or a Sea Tossed Mariner.

Poverty Bay Independent, Volume II, Issue 171, 10 July 1886, Page 3

The Tale of a Derelict Boy, or a Sea Tossed Mariner.

(By the well-known author “ Fiz.”) I hate a long tale badly told and published in fragments, after the manner of ** Laudamus Brass.” It reminds one of a dog returning to its vomit, besides there is no known authority worth a rap who countenances so frequent a use of the name of the hero of the tale. So if I err in the same respect, may I be consigned to the obscurity that the author of “ Laudamus Brass” deserves. Without seeking an excuse for this short preface, allow me to introduce your kind reader to my hero, Tom St. Crispian of sole notoriety, I don’t mean the fish of that name, or the soulless one who runs a catchpenny “rag.” But please wait a minute, I am getting near the end of my tale before I have made a beginning. I won’t trouble you with his pedigree, for that can be found by any painstaking student of De Breet or Burke. On a cold, cheerless and wintry night, about December, of the memorable year 1848, a bluff, but honest and withall kind hearted London Bargee found himself in the neighborhood of the Seven Dials, groping his way to some rendezvous he had previously arranged, when he was suddenly startled by a loud moan, emenating from what, on striking a match, appeared to be an animated heap of rags, but which, on further exploration, to his astonishment, turned out to be a small light haired boy of 10 or 12 years old, shivering and benumbed with cold, and want of food. Rough, but unlike our hero, Bargee was kind hearted to the core, and accosted the youngster after this manner,

“ Why, damn it, boy, if you be staying here much longer you’ll be breaking your flukes. No father or no mother ; ha ! a real water-logged one.” “O, yes, sir, my father and mother are alive, but kicked me out and told me to refer all enquirers after them to Bourke and Deßrett, but I don’t know them. My name is Tom St. Crispian.” Well, boy, you have the cut of a bargee about you. Get up and come along with me ; I’ll knock you into shape.” We pass over a number of years in which Tom learnt something about a barge, and without regard to distance, or apparent impossibility, transfer our readers to New Zealand, where, to the astonishment of all Tom’s previous acquaintances, he bad somehow become the skipper of a small coasting craft and is styled “ captain,” of which title he is very proud.

A small digression here, reflection if you like. Why every master of every small steamer or coasting craft should have the misnomer of captain prefixed to their names is beyond conception, excepting to please their vanity. But, dear me, it seems like an impudent assumption. But, Tom, if possible spurn men who call you names, and stick to the good old English name of skipper, which you may be entitled to ; but don’t wear borrowed plumes, they don’t become you. Another lapse of years and the kaleidoscope a much more startling change. Our hero actually (don’t laugh and call me a second Baron Munchausen) becomes proprietor, reporter, and accountant of a newspaper, and yet a more miraculous change, hon. secretary to a real live club. Readers, if you don’t believe me ask Archibald Forbes, the once famous war correspondent, who said it was a real u club.” Did not Tom stagger more than ever and black ball everyone who was 0 put up.” One spiteful old lady acquaintance with whom he had fallen out said it was because their names did not appear in Deßrett. But old ladies are given to make unkind remarks of that sort.

Still another startling change. Tom has been superseded as secretary to the “club.” You bet he made a fight for it. It is said some of the uppish members were getting ashamed of Tom, but it is very doubtful if they have not gone from bad to worse. Tom does not say so, but hints as much. It was ingratitude, because the new secretary’ does not appear in Deßrett or Bourke.

Readers—for I must suppose there will be some—if you find a moral in this story please don't proclaim it from the housetops, but reflect upon the ups and downs of this mortal lite and have charity towards all men.