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Updated: June 27, 2025
Besides this Sir John carried his camp-stool and spy-glass, and in his pocket a map along with his Bible and tobacco pouch; I the wine and his spare gun: Fett the bag of provisions; and Badcock his flute and a gridiron." "Why a gridiron?" asked my uncle.
Parr had written about one-fifth part. White, writing to Parr about a passage in the manuscript of the last Lecture, said: 'I fear I did not clearly explain myself; I humbly beg the favour of you to make my meaning more intelligible. On the death of Mr. Badcock in 1788, a note for £500 from White was found in his pocket-book.
Fett lay prone on his belly, his chin propped on both hands, in discourse with Billy and Mr. Badcock, who reclined with their backs against the starboard bulwark. "Tut, man!" said Mr. Fett, cheerfully, addressing Billy.
"If you can remember one sufficiently well to rehearse it to us, I feel that it would do us all good." Mr. Badcock coughed. "Oh, sir," he protested, "I couldn't! I reelly couldn't. You'll excuse me, but I hold very strong opinions on unlicensed preaching." He hesitated; then suddenly his brow cleared. "But I can read you one, sir. Reading one is altogether another matter."
Badcock, hand me over the basket and go to the ant, thou sluggard; and thou, Rinaldo, to the kitchen, where already the sausages hiss, awaiting thee. . . ." In less than twenty minutes we were seated at table. Twice I saw Mr. Badcock, as he held a mouthful of macaroni suspended on his fork, like an angler dangling his bait over a fish, pause and roll his eyes towards me; and twice Mr.
"But there remains the question, why you did it?" Mr. Badcock rubbed his hands. "Appearances were against me, I'll allow," he answered, with a bashful chuckle; "but you may set it down to tchivalry. We all have our weaknesses, I hope, sir; and tchivalry is mine." "Chivalry?" echoed my father.
Badcock could pull an oar, and old Worthyvale had not the strength for it. The rest of us all but the captain, who steered and kept what watch he could astern took the rowing by hourly relays, pair and pair: Billy Priske and I, my father and Mike Halliday, Nat and Roger Wearne. It had come round again to Billy's turn and mine, and the hour was that darkest one which promises the near daylight.
And we shall own 'twas good to wait: No blessing ever came too late." This was written on the 4th of June; on the 8th their fishing-net was torn to pieces by blocks of drifting ice. On the 28th Badcock died, begging his comrades to sing a hymn to him in his last moments.
* Always pronounced "Badgery." Now I think that when we heard this story, and poor Kit Badcock came all around, in a sort of half-crazy manner, not looking up at any one, but dropping his eyes, and asking whether we thought he had been well-treated, and seeming void of regard for life, if this were all the style of it; then having known him a lusty man, and a fine singer in an ale-house, and much inclined to lay down the law, as show a high hand about women, I really think that it moved us more than if he had gone about ranting, and raving, and vowing revenge upon every one.
"Pardon me, gentlemen" Mr. Fett wheeled about suddenly on the road ahead of us "but it was by accident that I overheard you, and by a singular coincidence at that moment I happened to be discussing the same subject with Mr. Badcock here." "What subject?" "Missiles, sir. It appears that, when his blood is up, Mr. Badcock finds himself absolutely careless of missiles.
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