Part 3

We have no statistics of the number of vessels or men at present engaged in the southern fishery; but the exciting nature of the work being attractive to many persons, crews are never wanting when ships are being fitted out to hunt the sperm-whale. At one period in Great Britain, ‘whaling’ was an enterprise of great moment, and was encouraged by government, which awarded bounty-money to ships engaged in that particular enterprise. In the earlier years of the present century over one hundred and fifty British ships were engaged in the industry of whale-fishing; by 1828, the number had, however, fallen to eighty-nine vessels, forty-nine of these being fitted out at Scottish ports. In that season, eleven hundred and ninety-seven fish were killed, the produce being thirteen thousand nine hundred and sixty-six tuns of oil, and eight hundred and two tons of whalebone. Dundee, as already mentioned, and Peterhead are the principal centres of the British whaling industry, the number of vessels employed by the two ports being between twenty and thirty; but for many years past, some of these ships also make a voyage in the way of seal-fishing, which sometimes proves a profitable venture. The total value of the seal and whale fisheries so far as the Dundee fleet was concerned amounted last year to £108,563; in 1882 it was £110,200; while in 1881 it reached £130,900.

No recent statistics of an authentic kind of the seal-fishery have been issued other than those contained in the newspapers; but from figures before us relating to a period from 1849 to 1859, we find that over one million seals were killed within that time by Scottish sealers alone; and the success of individual crews in the killing of these animals, it may be said, comes occasionally within the realms of the marvellous. The oil obtained from the seals is as valuable as that got from the arctic whales, whilst their skins are also of some commercial importance. It was a happy circumstance that just as whale-fishing began to fall off, gas as an illuminant became common; and although train and sperm oils are still used in various manufactories, and especially in jute-mills, the mineral oils which have been found in such quantity have doubtless served many of the purposes for which whale-oil was at one time in constant demand.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The whale suckles her young, and is therefore a mammal, and not, strictly speaking, a fish. It is, however, so called by all sailors.

MR PUDSTER’S RETURN.

IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I.

Mr Solomon Pudster and Mr Gideon Maggleby were bosom friends; nor could they well be otherwise. They were both born on the 29th of May 1815, in Gower Street, Bloomsbury; Solomon entering upon the world’s stage at an early hour in the morning at No. 69, and Gideon first seeing the light about mid-day at No. 96. At the age of ten, the boys were sent to Westminster School; at the age of seventeen, they became fellow-clerks in the great West India warehouse of Ruggleton, Matta, & Co.; and at the age of four-and-twenty they went into partnership as sugar-merchants in Mincing Lane. At that period they were bachelors; and being already sincerely attached one to the other, they decided to live together in a pleasant little house in the then fashionable neighbourhood of Fitzroy Square. For years they were almost inseparable. Day after day they breakfasted and dined together at home, and worked and lunched together in the City; and but for the fact that the firm purchased a large sugar estate in Demerara, Solomon Pudster and Gideon Maggleby would probably have never been parted for more than a few hours at a time until death decreed a dissolution of their partnership. The sugar estate, unfortunately, required a great deal of looking after; and at regular intervals of two years, one of the partners was obliged to cross the Atlantic and to remain absent from his friend for five or six months. Solomon and Gideon alternately undertook these troublesome expeditions, and braved the heat and mosquitoes of the tropics; and meantime the firm of Pudster and Maggleby prospered exceedingly; and no shadow of a cloud came between the devoted friends—the former of whom, on account of his being a few hours the older, was declared senior partner in the firm.

But in the year 1865 an important event happened. Mr Pudster and Mr Maggleby ran down by train one evening to see the fireworks at the Crystal Palace; and on their return journey they found themselves in a compartment the only other occupant of which was a remarkably buxom and cheery-looking widow of about forty years of age. The two gentlemen, with their accustomed gallantry, entered into conversation with her. They discovered that she and they had several friends in common, and that she was, in fact, a certain Mrs Bunter, whose many domestic virtues and abounding good-nature had often been spoken of in their hearing. They were charmed with her; they begged, as if with one accord, to be permitted to call upon her at her house in Chelsea; and when, after putting her into a cab at Victoria Station, they started off to walk home, they simultaneously exclaimed with enthusiasm: ‘What a splendid woman!’

‘Ah, Gideon!’ ejaculated Mr Pudster sentimentally, a few moments later.

‘Ah, Solomon!’ responded Mr Maggleby with equal passion.

‘If only we had such an angel at home to welcome us!’ continued the senior partner.

‘Just what I was thinking,’ assented Mr Maggleby, who thereupon looked up at the moon and sighed profoundly.

‘No other woman ever affected us in this way, Gideon,’ said Mr Pudster; ‘and here we are at fifty’——

‘Fifty last May, Solomon.’

‘Well, we ought to know better!’ exclaimed Mr Pudster with honest warmth.

‘So we ought, Solomon.’

‘But upon my word and honour, Gideon, Mrs Bunter’s a magnificent specimen of her sex.’

‘She is, Solomon; and I don’t think we can conscientiously deny that we are in love with her.’

‘We are,’ said Mr Pudster with much humility.

Having thus ingenuously confessed their passion, the two gentlemen walked on in silence; and it was not until they were near home that they again spoke.

‘I suppose that it will be necessary as a matter of formal business,’ suggested Mr Pudster diffidently, ‘for us to call upon Mrs Bunter and apprise her of the state of our feelings. We mean, of course, to follow the matter up?’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ agreed Mr Maggleby; ‘we mean to follow the matter up.’

‘Perhaps the firm had better write to her and prepare her mind,’ proposed the senior partner, with kindly forethought.

‘The firm had better write to-morrow, Solomon; but, Solomon, it occurs to me that the firm cannot marry Mrs Bunter. You or I must be the happy man; and then, Solomon, we shall have to separate.’

‘Never!’ ejaculated Mr Pudster, who stopped and seized his friend by the hand—‘never! You shall marry Mrs Bunter, and we will all live together.’

‘Solomon, this magnanimity!’ murmured Mr Maggleby, who had tears in his eyes. ‘No; I will not accept such a sacrifice. You, as the senior partner, shall marry Mrs Bunter; and, with her permission, I will stay with you. The firm shall write to prepare her mind. Business is business. The firm shall write to-night; and I myself will take the letter to the post.’

Half an hour later, Mr Maggleby handed to Mr Pudster a letter, of which the following is a copy:

14 MINCING LANE, CITY, _August 4, 1865._

_To_ MRS FERDINAND BUNTER, _Matador Villa, Chelsea._

MADAM—Our Mr Pudster will do himself the honour of calling upon you to-morrow between twelve and one, in order to lay before you a project which is very intimately connected with the comfort and well-being of the undersigned. We beg you, therefore, to regard any proposition that may be made to you by our Mr P., as made to you on behalf of the firm and with its full authority.—We remain, madam, most devotedly yours,

PUDSTER and MAGGLEBY.

‘How will that do?’ asked Mr Maggleby with conscious pride.

‘Excellently well, Gideon,’ said Mr Pudster. ‘But don’t you think that “most devotedly yours” sounds rather too distant? What do you say to “yours admiringly,” or “yours to distraction?”’

‘“Yours to distraction” sounds best, I think,’ replied Mr Maggleby after considerable reflection. ‘I will put that in, and re-copy the letter, Solomon.’

‘We are about to take an important step in life,’ said Mr Pudster seriously. ‘Are you sure, Gideon, that we are not acting too hastily?’

‘Mr Pudster!’ exclaimed Mr Maggleby warmly, ‘we may trust these sacred promptings of our finer feelings. We have lived too long alone. The firm needs the chaste and softening influence of woman. And who in this wide world is more fitted to grace our board than Mrs Bunter?’

‘So be it, then,’ assented the senior partner.

Mr Maggleby re-copied the letter, signed it with the firm’s usual signature, and carried it to the nearest letter-box. When he returned, he found his friend waiting to go to bed, and trying to keep himself awake by studying the marriage service.

On the following forenoon, Mr Pudster, with the scrupulous punctuality that is characteristic of City men, called at Matador Villa, Chelsea, and was at once shown into the presence of Mrs Bunter, who was waiting to receive him. ‘I am quite at a loss to understand why you have done me the honour of coming to see me to-day,’ said the widow. ‘From your letter, I judge that you have some business proposal to make to me. Unfortunately, Mr Pudster, I am not prepared to speculate in sugar. I am not well off. But, perhaps, I am under a misapprehension. The letter contains an expression which I do not understand.’

‘It is true,’ replied the senior partner, ‘that we _have_ some hope of persuading you to speculate a little in sugar; and there is no reason why your want of capital should prevent your joining us.’

‘I quite fail to grasp your meaning,’ said Mrs Bunter.

‘Well, I am not very good at explanations,’ said Mr Pudster; ‘but I will explain the situation as well as I can. You see, Mrs Bunter, Mr Maggleby my partner, and myself, are bachelors and live together. We find it dull. We long for the civilising influences of woman’s society. We are, in fact, tired of single-blessedness. The firm is at present worth a clear five thousand a year. It will support a third partner, we think; and so we propose, Mrs Bunter, that you should join it, and come and take care of us in a friendly way.’

Mrs Bunter looked rather uncomfortable, and was silent for a few moments. ‘You are very good,’ she said at last; ‘but although I am not well off, I had not thought of going out as a housekeeper. The late Mr Bunter left me enough for my little needs.’

‘I hope so indeed, madam. But we don’t ask you to come to us as a housekeeper simply. Marriage is what we offer you, Mrs Bunter. In the name of Pudster and Maggleby, I have the honour of proposing for your hand.’

‘Mercy!’ exclaimed Mrs Bunter in some agitation. ‘Surely you would not have me marry the firm?’

‘I put it in that way,’ said Mr Pudster, ‘because Maggleby and I are practically one and the same. But I will be accurate. The proposition is, Mrs Bunter, that you should become the wife of—ahem!—the senior partner; and that Gideon Maggleby should live with us in his old sociable way. Excuse my blunt way of expressing myself, Mrs Bunter.’

‘Then you, Mr Pudster, are the senior partner!’ said Mrs Bunter, with a very agreeable smile. ‘I am very much flattered, I assure you; but your proposal requires consideration.’

‘No doubt,’ assented Mr Pudster. ‘The firm is willing to wait for your reply. In matters of business we are never in a hurry.—When may we look for your answer?’

‘Well, you shall have a note by to-morrow morning’s post,’ replied Mrs Bunter. ‘I may say,’ she added, ‘that I have heard a great deal of your firm, Mr Pudster; and that I am conscious that it does me great honour by thus offering me a partnership in it.’

‘Indeed, madam, the honour is ours!’ said Mr Pudster, bowing as he retired.

No sooner had he departed than the widow burst into a long and merry fit of laughter. Her first impulse was to write and refuse the ridiculous offer; but as the day wore on, she thought better of the affair; and in the evening, after dinner, she sat down quite seriously, and wrote a letter as follows:

MATADOR VILLA, CHELSEA, _August 5, 1865._

_To_ MESSRS PUDSTER and MAGGLEBY, _14 Mincing Lane, City._

GENTLEMEN—I have decided to accept the very flattering offer which was laid before me to-day on your behalf by your Mr Pudster. If he will call, I shall have much pleasure in arranging preliminaries with him.—I remain, gentlemen, very faithfully yours,

MARIA BUNTER.

‘I must fall in with their humour, I suppose,’ she reflected. ‘And really, Mr Pudster is a very nice man, and almost handsome; and I’m sure that I shall do no harm by marrying him. Besides, it is quite true that they must want some one to look after them. If they go on living by themselves, they will grow crusty and bearish.’ And Mrs Bunter sent her maid out to post the letter.

Three weeks later, the widow became Mrs Pudster; Mr Maggleby, of course, officiating as best-man at the wedding, and being the first to salute the bride in the vestry after the ceremony. Thenceforward, for a whole year, the three members of the firm lived together in complete harmony; and the pleasant history of their existence was only interrupted by Mr Pudster’s enforced departure for Demerara in September 1866. Mr Maggleby, it is true, offered to go instead of him; but Mr Pudster would not hear of it; and Mr Maggleby was obliged to confess that business was business, and that it was certainly Mr Pudster’s turn to brave the mosquitoes. And so, after confiding his wife to the care of his friend, Mr Pudster departed. During his absence, all went well; and in March 1867 he returned to England. But this time the heat had been too much for poor Mr Pudster. His wife noticed that he was looking unwell. Maggleby, with sorrow, perceived the same. Pudster laughed. Nevertheless, he soon took to his bed; and after a long and painful illness, died.

The grief of Mrs Pudster and Mr Maggleby was terrible to witness. Mrs Pudster talked of retiring from the world; and Gideon Maggleby disconsolately declared that he had no longer anything left to live for. No one, therefore, will be much surprised to hear that towards the end of March 1868, Mr Gideon Maggleby led Mrs Solomon Pudster to the altar.

‘Solomon will bless our union,’ Mr Maggleby had said, when he proposed.

‘Ah, dear sainted Solomon!’ Mrs Pudster had exclaimed as she fell weeping upon Mr Maggleby’s breast.

SUDDEN RUIN.

In a former paper (April 19, 1884), instances were cited of fortunes suddenly made, not by inheritance or industry, but by what people are pleased to call luck. Cases of sudden ruin are less frequent, for, generally speaking, the wreck of a man’s fortune is like that of a ship: some rock is touched; water flows in; frantic attempts are made to lighten the vessel or to steer it into port; and finally, the foundering is slow. The striking upon a rock, however, is commonly with fortunes, as with ships, a sudden accident. It may be the result of careless or incapable steering; or it may be caused by a combination of adverse tides and winds, which no human skill can stem, and which hurry on the ship helplessly to destruction, inevitable, though it is not always foreseen. The rock, in whatever way it may be reached, is the determining cause of ruin; and when we speak of a man having been suddenly ruined, we mean that the calamity which brought him to poverty by degrees more or less rapid, occurred at a time and in a manner which took himself and his friends by surprise.

We are happily exempt in this country from those overwhelming disasters occasioned by political convulsions. Those who witnessed the flight of French ladies and gentlemen from their country upon the downfall of the Second Empire heard tales of misfortune not easily to be forgotten. Senators and prefects who, in July 1870, were living in luxury and power, drawing large salaries, and secure of the future, were towards the middle of September huddling in lodging-houses of towns on the English south coast; and along with them were bankers who had been obliged to suspend payment, and manufacturers and landowners of the eastern provinces who had fled from the tide of invasion, after seeing their factories or fields burnt, ravaged, and overrun by the enemy.

In most of these cases, ruin had been sudden and irremediable, so much so, as to appal sympathising British minds. And yet vicissitudes quite as pitiable had been witnessed in London a few years before—that is, on the Black Friday of May 1866, when, within a single day, hundreds of fortunes were wrecked in the City. For the most part, the people who were ruined on this awful Friday had had no warning of the fate impending over them; and this must needs be so whenever banks or financial companies fail. The credit of these establishments is like a piece of glass, which must remain undamaged, or there is an end to its value. For self-preservation, banks and companies feel bound to conceal their difficulties till these are past mending; and thus it generally happens that whenever a House suspends payment, almost all its customers are utterly unprepared. What this means, we all know, if not from personal experience, at least from misfortunes which have fallen upon persons of our acquaintance. Our country neighbour who lived in such grand style, returns from town one evening with a haggard face. A few days later it is announced that his house is to let; there is a sale; a notice among the bankruptcies in the _Gazette_; the family quietly leave their home; and from that time, only intimate friends know for certain what has become of them. Perhaps, years afterwards, somebody who knew the neighbour in great wealth, finds him eking out a penurious existence in the suburbs of some large city. Among the hundreds of acres of cheap houses which form the outskirts of London, the people ‘who have seen better days’ are an unnumbered multitude. Every suburban clergyman and doctor knows some, and generally too many of them; every bachelor in quest of furnished lodgings is pretty sure to stumble upon several people in this plight. Auctioneers and brokers, however, know them best of all, for it is they who play the chief part in the closing act of the drama of Ruin, when the last waifs of former wealth—the pieces of good old furniture, the pictures, china, books, and other such long-treasured valuables, have to be sold off to buy necessaries.

One of the most frequent and deplorable agents of sudden ruin is the dishonest partner. No business can be managed without mutual confidence between those who conduct it; and though, when we hear that a commercial man has brought himself within reach of the law, we are inclined to doubt if his partner can have been unaware of his malpractices, yet it must be obvious that the dishonesty of one partner too often arises from the unsuspicious simplicity of the other. There are even instances in which no amount of sagacity will save a man from the enterprises of a roguish partner. The following is a very common case: A and B being partners, A dies, and his son succeeds to his share of the business. So long as A was alive, the speculative tendencies of B were kept in check; but young A has not the same experience as his father; he has learned to respect B; he looks to him for guidance; and if B has made up his mind to extend the business of the firm by new methods, now that he is head-partner, the junior partner will generally be a mere tool in his hands. If young A be more fond of pleasure than business, he will of course be even less than a tool—a mere cipher; and B will be left to manage matters as he pleases, until he succeeds in his schemes, and proposes to buy A out of the business; or fails, and brings A to poverty and disgrace. It is a cruel thing that if B has absconded, A will have to bear the entire brunt of creditors’ wrath, and perhaps be criminally punished for his innocence. But partners have learned this lesson so often, that it is almost a wonder how any sane man can assume responsibilities without ascertaining the nature and extent of them. It is certainly not for the public interest that the sudden ruin of an honest partner should be pleaded in extenuation for his ignorance or carelessness.

Let us take some other causes of sudden ruin. We may set aside the destruction of property by fire or flood, as offering examples too many and obvious; nor does the sudden ruin of spendthrifts by cards or betting call for notice. But the ruin which comes to a man through sudden loss of character in his trade or profession is always most lamentable, especially when the offence perpetrated was unintentional, and did not appear to call for so heavy a punishment. The chemist who asked to be discharged from serving on the jury in ‘Bardell _v._ Pickwick’ on the ground that his assistant would be selling arsenic to the customers, expressed an alarm in which there was nothing jocular at all. We know of a chemist whose assistant committed this very mistake of supplying arsenic for some other drug, and three children were poisoned in consequence. The chemist was totally ruined. A coroner’s jury having brought in a verdict of manslaughter against him, he took his trial at the assizes, and was acquitted. But doctors ceased to recommend him; the public avoided his shop; his appointment as local postmaster was taken from him, and in a short time he became bankrupt. Poisoning by inadvertence has been the ruin of many a chemist, and of not a few country doctors who supply their own medicines.

But we remember an instance of a young doctor destroying his career by means just the contrary of this—that is, by suspecting that poison had been administered, when such was not the case. One of his patients, a lady, who seemed to have nothing worse than a cold, died very suddenly. The doctor had reason to believe that this lady and her husband had been living on bad terms, so he not only refused to certify as to the causes of death, but openly hinted his suspicions that there had been foul-play. At the inquest, however, it was proved that the lady had died from heart-disease; and the reports about her having been on bad terms with her husband were shown to have proceeded from the malicious tattle of a busybody. As a result of this affair, the doctor lost almost all his patients. It was thought that he had not behaved with discretion; and his ruin was consummated by an action for slander brought against him by the widower, whom he had too hastily accused of poisoning.