Posh says that there “were lots o’ breezes” between him and his “guv’nor,” and when the reader of this study (who should have got to know something of FitzGerald’s attitude by now) realises this he will be able to appreciate the long-suffering generosity of this cultured scholar whom fools have painted as a mere eccentric hermit. Posh, now that he was well started by the aid of his governor, began to yearn for independence. Possibly he had some reason to complain that his sleeping partner interfered in matters of which he was ignorant. On September 21st, 1869, FitzGerald wrote to Mr. Spalding (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 118):—

“Posh came up with his Lugger last Friday, with a lot of torn nets, and went off again on Sunday. I thought he was wrong to come up, and not to transmit his nets by Rail, as is often done at 6d. a net. But I did not say so to him—it is no unamiable point in him to love home: but I think he won’t make a fortune by it. However, I may be very wrong in thinking he had better not have come. He has made about the average fishing, I believe: about £250. Some boats have £600, I hear; and some few not enough to pay their way.

“He came up with a very bad cold and hoarseness; and so went off, poor fellow: he never will be long well, I do think.”

Probably Posh knew all about the best way of making a profit out of herring drifters, and FitzGerald may have been wrong in fearing that he did not. FitzGerald, with his superb culture, may not (I do not say he did not) have understood that Posh, on his native North Sea, may have been more than a match for all the culture in the world. For what I know of the old longshoreman, I am convinced that if he brought his nets home in his lugger he did so because he thought it was the most profitable way of bringing them back. But FitzGerald grew anxious, and his anxiety was not understood by the natural child of the beach, and caused friction and mutual irritation.

But this did not break out till the north voyage was over and the Meum and Tuum had been on the home fishing for more than a month. Then Posh began to have the fingering of a good deal of money, and FitzGerald had already had reason to doubt his abilities to keep his credit and debit sides of account in proper order. Moreover, the usual autumn gales had been bringing the stormy and dark nights which are as profitable as they are dangerous to the drifters. On Monday, November 1st, 1869 (one of the few letters of FitzGerald’s which I have seen completely dated), the sleeping partner wrote on a sheet of paper headed by a monogram which is “S.W. & B.” so far as I can make out. To make up for the fullness of the date there is no address.

“I cannot lay blame to myself, Posh, in this matter, though I may not have known you were so busy with the boat as you tell me. Hearing of great disasters by last week’s gale, I was, as usual, anxious about you. Hearing nothing from you, I telegram’d on Thursday Afternoon to Mr. Bradbeer: his answer reached me at 5 p.m. that you had come in on Tuesday, and were then safe in harbour. Being then afraid lest you should put off paying away the money, which, as I told you, was a positive danger to Wife and Children, I directly telegram’d to you to do what I had desired you to do the week before. Busy as you were, five minutes spent in writing me a line would have spared all this trouble and all this vexation on both sides.

“As to my telegrams telling all the world what you wish to keep secret; how did they do that? My telegrams to Mr. Bradbeer were simply to ask if you were safe. My telegram to you was simply to say, ‘Do what I bid you’; Who should know what that was, or that it had anything to do with paying the Boat’s Bills? People might guess it had something to do with the Boat: and don’t you suppose that every one knows pretty well how things are between us? And why should they not, I say, when all is honestly done between us? The Custom House people must know (and, of course, tell others) that you are at present only Half-owner; and would suppose that I, the other Half, would use some Authority in the matter.

“You say truly that, when we began together, you supposed I should leave all to you, and use no Authority (though you have always asked me about anything you wished done). Quite true. I never did wish to meddle; nor did I call on you for any Account, till I saw last year that you forgot a really important sum, and that you did not seem inclined to help your Memory (as every one else does) by writing it down in a Book. In two cases this year I have shown you the same forgetfulness (about your liabilities I mean) and I do not think I have been unjust, or unkind, in trying to make you bring yourself to Account. You know, and ought to believe, that I have perfect confidence in your honour; and have told you of the one defect I observed in you as much for your sake as mine.

“Quite as much, yes! For the anxiety I have . . . [word illegible] [? suffered] these two years about your eleven lives is but ill compensated by all these squalls between us two; which I declare I excuse myself of raising. If, in this last case, you really had not time to post me a line or two to say you were all safe, and that you had done what I desired you to do; I am very sorry for having written so sharply as I did to you: but I cannot blame myself for the mistake. No: this I will say: I am not apt to think too much of my doings, and dealings with others. But, in my whole sixty years, I can with a clear conscience say that I have dealt with one man fairly, kindly, and not ungenerously, for three good years. I may have made mistakes; but I can say I have done my best as conscientiously as he can say he has done his. And I believe he has done his best, though he has also made mistakes; and I remain his sincerely,

“E. FG.”

Mr. Bradbeer was a herring merchant, and his family is still prominent in the fishing industry of Lowestoft. Posh’s letter, to which the above is a reply, must have been very characteristic of his race, to which secrecy concerning their private affairs is a first nature. The mistrust of the privacy of the “telegrams” may possibly have had some justification. Even in these days there are East Anglian villages where the contents of private telegrams are sometimes known to the village before the actual information reaches the addressee. And in 1869 Lowestoft was not much more than a village, and telegraphy was in its infancy. Possibly Posh exaggerated the importance of secretiveness, and FitzGerald the security of privacy. But apart from all questions of “the rights of the matter,” what a letter it is! What a splendid justification for almost any action. I fear, however the matter in dispute be looked at, Posh cannot have the best of it in this case. He had fired up at an imaginary slight, wrong, whatever he chose to think it, and if he has any excuse at all, it is that, but for his unreasonableness, we should not have this letter.

One would have thought that it might have given Posh pause if even he felt disposed to show his independence again. But this “squall” between these two curious partners was not destined to be the last. For the time it blew over, and the mutual relations between Posh and his “guv’nor” were as friendly as ever.