My 1838 edition of Captain Marryat's Japhet in Search of a Father, with two frontispiece illustrations drawn and engraved by John Cawse and William Greatbatch.
On the title page, a dramatic scene finds Japhet trapped in the castle of a villainous aristocrat and facing certain doom—but a mysterious benefactor saves him at the last minute.
The key was again turned in the door, and a light appeared, carried by one of two men armed with large sledge hammers.
"It is then all over with me," cried I; "and I never shall find out who is my father. Come on, murderers, and do your work. Do it quickly."
The two men advanced without speaking a word; the foremost, who carried the lantern, laid it down at his feet, and raised his hammer with both hands, when the other behind him raised his weapon—and the foremost fell dead at his feet.
Another antique book for my collection: an 1838 edition of Marryat's Jacob Faithful—the book he called his personal favourite of all his works—from publisher Richard Bentley with illustrations by John Cawse, engraved by William Greatbatch. This copy has beautifully marbeled endpapers and cover. I am trying to put together the publisher's whole Marryat series: rare contemporary illustrations executed in Captain Marryat's own lifetime.
The frontispiece has a nice group of many of the major characters together in the waterman Tom Stapleton's house, with Jacob at far right. He is recognisably the same character, with his friend Tom Beazeley, in the title page illustration, which is a much darker scene.
In this chapter, Jacob and Tom have gone shooting on Wimbledon Common. No sooner do they finally bag a hare, but they run into the common-keeper, who demands both their gun and their illegal meal:
“I should rather think not,” replied I. “The gun belongs to us, and not to you;” and I caught up the gun, and presented the muzzle at him.
“What! do you mean to commit murder? Why, you young villains!”
“Do you want to commit a robbery?” retorted I, fiercely; “because if you do, I mean to commit murder. Shall I shoot him, Tom?”
“No, Jacob, no; you mustn’t shoot men,” replied Tom, who perceived that I was in a humour to keep my word with the common-keeper. “Indeed, you can’t,” continued he, whispering to me; “the gun’s not loaded.”
“Do you mean to refuse to give me up your gun?” repeated the man.
“Yes I do,” replied I, cocking the lock; “so keep off.”
“Oh! you young reprobates — you’ll come to the gallows before long, that’s certain. Do you refuse to come with me?”
“I should rather think we do,” replied I.
“You refuse, do you? Recollect I’ve caught you in the fact, poaching, with a dead hare in your possession.”
“Well, it’s no use crying about it. What’s done can’t be helped,” replied I.
“Don’t you know that all the game, and all the turf, and all the bog, and all the gravel, and all the furze on this common belong to the Right Honourable Earl Spencer?”
The young men barely escape from the common-keeper and a group of his henchmen. Captain Marryat has a lot of sympathy in his stories for both smugglers and poachers—as much as he also supported the society that created them. Jacob, the hero, retorts, "A hare on a common is as much mine as Lord Spencer's. A common belongs to every body."
Darkness, stormy weather, and snow beset the boys as they hide from the angry common-keeper, and then Jacob sees a horrifying sight: a dead body, swinging in chains overhead.
As soon as I recovered from the shock which the first view occasioned, I pointed it out to Tom, who had not yet moved. He looked up, started back, and fell over the dog — jumped up again, and burst out into as loud a laugh as his frozen jaws would permit. “It’s old Jerry Abershaw,” said he, “I know him well, and now I know where we are.” This was the case; Abershaw had, about three years before, been hung in chains on Wimbledon Common; and the unearthly sound we had heard was the creaking of the rusty iron as the body was swung to-and-fro by the gale. “All’s right, Jacob,” said Tom, looking up at the brilliant sky, and then taking up the hare, “we’ll be on the road in five minutes.”
— Frederick Marryat, Jacob Faithful. 1838 illustrations by J. Cawse and W. Greatbatch.
Good afternoon especially to the crack artist and engraver team of J. Cawse and W. Greatbatch, who came up with this depiction of Captain Marryat in 1838.
You may have noticed I have posted less than was usual. I’ve gone back to school after being out of school for a long time and so I have less time to find things to put in the queue. yay!
In the mean time, here is a correction to one attribution that’s kind of interesting! Or maybe it’s not interesting and I’m just a weird nerd! Who knows!
I bought Devoney Looser’s The Making of Jane Austen for its section on Austen illustration a while back and I’ve just started reading it. It explains the first English illustrations and engravings are from the Bentley editions published in the 1830′s, and the names of the artists are listed as Pickering and Greatbatch, usually attributed to George Pickering and William Greatbatch.
The attribution to George Pickering was based on a presumption by critic David Gilson and no one ever questioned it (including me!). But Looser argues that Pickering is actually Ferdinand Pickering. No spoilers! but I’m completely convinced.
Looser has kindly posted all of the Bentley illustrations on her website. If you are like me and are charmed by stories of critics dramatically writing their relatives about how Pickering’s illustrations are The Worst Thing They’ve Ever Seen and how Henry Tilney is not sufficiently adorable enough then this is a book for you.
William Greatbatch: Elizabeth Bennet le dice a su padre, el señor Bennet, lo que el señor Darcy ha hecho voluntariamente por Lydia, ilustración para el capítulo 59 de “Orgullo y prejuicio” de Jane Austen (grabado, 1833).
