Title: I, Walter
Author: Mike Hartner
Publisher: Eternity 4 Popsicle Publishing
Pages: 224
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0973356154
ISBN-13: 978-0973356151
Purchase at AMAZON
This
is the life story of Walter Crofter, an English commoner who ran from
home at the age of 11. After two years living on the street, he ended
up on a Merchant Mariners boat in the service of the Crown.
On his
first voyage, he rescued a girl from pirates. A very important girl,
who stole his heart before she was returned to her home.
This is
the story of his life. What adventures he had at sea; what took him off
the waters, and what happened to him as he lived his life and stayed
true to his character.
First Chapter:
"I, Walter
Crofter, being of sound mind...." Bah, this is garbage! I tossed my
quill on the parchment sitting in front of me. People may question my
sanity, but they should hear the whole story before judging me. I’m
sitting here, now, at the age of 67, trying to write this down and
figure out how to tell everything. I don’t know if I'll ever get it
right, though. Too many secrets to go around. However, this is my last
chance to offer the truth before I die. The doctors say it's
malaria, yet I'll be fine. Perhaps. But if the malaria doesn't kill
me, my guilt indeed will. Maybe if people know the facts surrounding
my life, everyone will have a better understanding.
I dipped the tip in the inkwell again, and wrote:
I
was born September 2, 1588, and named Walter. I didn’t belong in this
Crofter family, who were storekeepers in London and not farmers as our
surname might indicate to those who study this sort of thing. My
parents were courteous and even obsequious to our patrons. Yet they
received little or no respect. The ladies came to us to buy their
groceries or the fabric for their dresses, but as seemly as they
comported themselves, and some even called my father 'friend,' it was
not out of regard for him. I was forced to run. Well, "forced" might
put too harsh a point on it, like that of a sword, but others can judge
for themselves.
By the time I reached the age of 12, I'd found
another family that was more "me". They weren’t rich, but they were
comfortable. The parents had several children, including a girl my age
who was named Anna. Within two years, we had come to know each other
quite well, and were getting to know each other even better. Her father
caught us getting too close to knowing each other better yet, and
showed up at my parents' house with a musket in his hand, telling them
if I ever came near his daughter again, he'd use it on me--and then
on them.
I paused to dip the pen and wipe my brow. Even though I
was wearing a light cotton shirt, it was bloody hot in early August in
Cadaques. My wife, Maria, entered the room and looked at my
perspiring face and what I had just written. Between fits of laughter,
she smiled at me with wide lips and said, "You can't possibly write
this. You're not the only boy a doting father ever had to chase away.
Nobody cares about this sort of thing."
"It will at least give a
pulse to this writing," I replied. "It's too boring to say
that I left because I was mismatched with my own family, so much so that
I was positive someone had switched me at birth. Or that I thought I
was ready for more in life than what I could find at home. Nobody would
read that, not even me."
"I agree, so tell the story that really
means something. All of it." She sighed softly and placed the
parchment she had been reading on the desk in front of me and kissed my
cheek. The gleam in her eyes shed 20 years off her age and reminded me
of a much gentler time. God, how much I love her.
I said,
"Before I met you, I spent my life like a square peg trying to fit in a
round hole. I’m just trying to make my story more interesting."
"I’ve
heard the accounts of your life before you met me. Or I should say
found me. It was anything but boring. So, if you insist on including
in the story lines like those you just wrote, make sure they're the only
ones. If you don't, I'll consider adding my own material." She
winked. "You know I’ve had good sources."
She turned and walked away, laughing loudly as I called after her, "Yes, dear."
I dipped the quill and put it to parchment again.
In
my earliest days, I remember my father, Geoff, being a bit forceful
with other people. I also recall my brother Gerald, nearly five years
my senior, and myself being happy. Or at least as contented as two boys
could be who were growing up in the late 1500s in England, and working
every day since their seventh birthdays. It was a time when boys were
earning coin as soon as they could lift or carry things. The money
could never be for themselves, however, but for the parents to help pay
the bills.
Father lived as a crofter should. He was an upright
man and sold vegetables off a cart like his grandfather did, and he
also dabbled in selling fine fabric for the ladies of status.
One
afternoon, when I was eight years old, my brother came home and got into
a heated debate with my father about something. When I ran to see what
was the matter, they hushed around me, so I never got the full gist of
the argument. But whatever it was about, it was serious, and the
bickering continued behind my back for five straight days. When I awoke
on the morning of the sixth day, Gerald was no longer at home. And he
never came back.
Soon afterwards, my father lost enthusiasm for
his business and became generally passive. I assumed this was because
of Gerald's leaving, and only on occasion would I see flashes of my
dad's former self.
At the start of my tenth year, our family moved
closer to London. We rented the bottom floor of a three-story
building in which several families lived in the upper floors. My father
said we relocated because he needed to be closer to more business
opportunities. But my mom didn't believe he'd made the right decision,
since he was now selling food out of a cart and not inside a
storefront. One night, she greeted him at the door when he came home.
She was wearing a frown and a dress that had seen better days.
"Did you bring in any decent money?" she asked him before he had time to take off his coat.
"I told you, it will take some time. It's not easy to make good money these days."
"Especially when you let the ladies walk all over you."
"I know, I know. But what am I to do when they aren't running up to me to buy what I'm selling?"
"You at least bring home some food for us?" My father had carried in a bag under his arm.
"It's not much, a few carrots and some celery." He handed her the bag.
"What about meat?"
"We're not ready for meat yet."
"That’s
true enough," my mother said. "But you should at least try to feed
your family. Walter's growing, and so are our other children."
"Leave
me be, woman. I'm doing the best I can for now." He sat in his chair,
leaned his head against the wall, and fell asleep.
That same
debate played out between my parents for the next two years. Except for
the summer months, when food was plentiful; then the arguments
subsided. But for the rest of the year, especially during the winter,
the same discussions about money continued on a daily basis, and they
were often quite heated. I lost two younger siblings during those two
years. One during my tenth winter and the other during my eleventh
winter. Neither of the children was older than six months. I always
suspected hunger as the primary cause of their deaths.
Just
before my twelfth birthday, my father started taking me with him when he
went to work. My closest living sibling was nearly six and not feeling
well most of the time, and the family needed the money I could bring in
by helping my father, who was bland and wishy-washy, particularly when
selling fabrics. I had no idea what he was like before, but in my mind
his lethargy explained why our family was barely making ends meet. Our
lives had become much harder since Gerald left, and part of me blamed
him. I'm going to thrash him if I ever see him again and teach him a
lesson about family responsibility.
It took me less than a week to
realize that the people my father was dealing with, as with those in
Bristol, had no respect for him. They regularly talked down to him.
Rather than asking the price, they regularly paid what they wanted to
pay. And he took it without a quibble. And when he tried to curry
favor, he would never get it. His customers looked upon him as a
whipping board, at least that's how it seemed to me.
I remember when we got home in the dark after a long day of work in late November, and my mother started in on Dad.
"Well? Have you got the money for me to buy food tomorrow?"
"A little. Here." He fished a guinea from his pocket.
“A
guinea? That's it? That won’t feed us for a day. You've got to start
working harder. With what you earn and what I bring in sewing clothes,
we can barely pay the rent, and there is nothing left over to heat this
place. And it's going to get colder, Geoff."
"I know, Mildred, I know. I’m trying as hard as I can."
“You haven’t worked hard since Sir Walter Raleigh left favor. You can't wait for him forever."
"He'll get favor back. And when he does, I’ll be right there helping him. You’ll see, we’ll be fine again."
She
groaned. I was aware that this was not the first time my mother had
heard this from my father. It's great talk from a man trying to get
ahead. But after several years of the same song, it loses its
credibility. She had enjoyed respectability in the early days when my
father grabbed the coattails of the then revered Sir Walter Raleigh, and
it was hard not having this luxury now. She hadn’t planned to be
satisfied with being a shopkeeper’s wife, and she wasn't even that, at
present. She changed the subject, not her tone.
"I overheard the
ladies gossiping on the street today. They were talking about seeing
Gerald's likeness on a 'Wanted' poster. A 'Wanted' poster, Geoff.
There’s a warrant out for our son’s arrest. What are we going to do?
What can we do?"
My father stared at the wall. "Nothing. He's an adult. He'll have to work it out for himself."
I
watched quietly as my mother cried herself to sleep, her head on my
father's shoulder. No matter how bad things got, they loved each other
and wanted their lives to be better, the way I was often told they were
before my birth. Maybe this is why I wanted to get away from them as
soon as I could.
I didn't usually watch my parents fall asleep.
But, that night I did. And, after they were sound asleep, I left. I
had no plans. I didn't know where I was going. I just left in middle
of what was a dark, chilly night.
I could hear the dogs barking
around me as I scurried along the roadside. It felt as if they were
yelping at me and coming towards me. I began running, faster than I'd
ever sprinted in my life, my speed assisted by my sense of fear. Every
time I heard a dog, or an owl, or any other animal, or even my own heavy
breathing, my pace increased until I was exhausted and had to stop.
This continued throughout the night until the sky started to lighten and
I found a grove of overhanging bushes and crawled inside for some
sleep.
I scavenged for food during the day and swiped a few pieces
of fruit from merchants along the way. This became my means of
subsistence. I left a coin when I could, as I'd pick up an
occasional odd job, but I was always out of money. I also tried
begging, and while I did survive on the street, I found life difficult.
Yet for nearly two years I stayed with this vagabond existence before
deciding to make my way to the sea. Too bad my internal compass wasn’t
any good. Turns out I was moving more to the west than to the south.
But before long I was on the shores of Bristol. And my life changed
forever.
Amazing blog post,It is great to think about you and your exercises in England are exceptionally fascinating but you can check out click here for more for all type of thesis work. I don't know how you deal with these things since it is extremely hard to work with time.
ReplyDeleteExcellent post,Science subject is so immense and you need to demonstrate incredible enthusiasm to get familiar with this subject and get info from try this to manage all type of task. All aspects of your life is comprising on science so this subject is imperative.
ReplyDeleteWonderful post,This video is astonishing in light of the fact that in this video you will find out about the mankind and persistence and here is esy to browse https://www.paraphrasingtool.org/4-ways-to-find-the-most-reliable-resume-rewrite-service/ for unique task. The world is brimming with clashes and individuals require solace and unwinding.
ReplyDeleteIn the video they won't have the ability to constrain the laws of the overall population upon them. Guidance can not be stolen. Everybody ought to get preparing without any other https://www.rewritingservice.net/ limit and execution. Guidance is a certified wealth which can't be slighted to pass a basic life.
ReplyDeleteBetter believe it, the outcome declaring service shows the little understudies how to tolerate things visit site which you despise like negative outcome. They listen their outcome before companions, guardians and educators and make themselves more grounded to hold up under numerous things.
ReplyDelete