CHAPTER FORTY.
I INTERRUPT A MATRIMONIAL DUET AND CAPSIZE THE BOAT--BEING UPON DRYLAND, NO ONE IS DROWNED--TOM LEAVES A MAN-OF-WAR BECAUSE HE DON'T LIKEIT--I FIND THE PROFESSION OF A GENTLEMAN PREFERABLE TO THAT OF AWATERMAN.
My first object on my return was to call upon old Tom, and assure him ofhis son's welfare. My wishes certainly would have led me to MrDrummond's but I felt that my duty required that I should delay thatpleasure. I arrived at the hotel late in the evening, and early nextmorning I went down to the steps at Westminster Bridge, and was salutedwith the usual cry of "Boat, sir!" A crowd of recollections poured intomy mind at the well-known sound; my life appeared to have passed inreview in a few seconds, as I took my seat in the stern of a wherry, anddirected the waterman to pull up the river. It was a beautiful morning,and even at that early hour almost too warm--the sun was so powerful; Iwatched every object that we passed with an interest I cannot describe;every tree, every building, every point of land--they were all oldfriends, who appeared, as the sun shone brightly on them, to rejoice inmy good fortune. I remained in a reverie too delightful to be wished tobe disturbed from it, although occasionally there were reminiscenceswhich were painful; but they were but as light clouds, obscuring for amoment, as they flew past, the glorious sun of my happiness. At lastthe well-known tenement of old Tom, his large board with "Boats built toorder," and the half of the boat stuck up on end, caught my sight, and Iremembered the object of my embarkation. I directed the waterman topull to the hard, and, paying him well, dismissed him; for I hadperceived that old Tom was at work stumping round a wherry, bottom up;and his wife was sitting on a bench in the boat-arbour, basking in thewarm sun, and working away at her nets. I had landed so quietly, andthey both were so occupied with their respective employments, that theyhad not perceived me, and I crept round by the house to surprise them.I had gained a station behind the old boat, where I overheard theconversation.
"It's my opinion," said old Tom, who left off hammering for a time,"that all the nails in Birmingham won't make this boat water-tight. Thetimbers are as rotten as a pear, and the nails fall through them. Ihave put in one piece more than agreed for; and if I don't put inanother here she'll never swim."
"Well, then, put another piece in," replied Mrs Beazeley.
"Yes; so I will; but I've a notion I shall be out of pocket by this job.Seven-and-sixpence won't pay for labour and all. However, never mind,"and Tom carolled forth--
"Is not the sea Made for the free-- Land for courts and chains alone? There we are slaves, But on the waves Love and liberty's all our own."
"Now, if you do sing, sing truth, Beazeley," said the old woman. "A'n'tour boy pressed into the service? And how can you talk of liberty?"
Old Tom answered by continuing his song--
"No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us; All earth forgot, and all heaven around us."
"Yes, yes," replied the old woman; "no eye to watch, indeed. He may bein sickness and in sorrow; he may be wounded, or dying of a fever; andthere's no mother's eye to watch over him. As to all the earth beingforgot, I won't believe that Tom has forgotten his mother."
Old Tom replied--
"Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same wherever it goes."
"So it does, Tom--so it does; and he's thinking this moment of hisfather and mother, I do verily believe, and he loves us more than ever."
"So I believe," replied old Tom--"that is, if he hasn't anything betterto do. But there's a time for all things; and when a man is doing hisduty as a seaman, he mustn't let his thoughts wander. Never fear, oldwoman: he'll be back again.
"There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, To take care of the life of poor Jack."
"God grant it! God grant it!" replied the old woman, wiping her eyeswith her apron, and then resuming her netting.
"He seems," continued she, "by his letters, to be over-fond of thatgirl, Mary Stapleton--and I sometimes think that she cares not a littlefor him; but she's never of one mind long. I didn't like to see herflaunting and flirting so with the soldiers, and at the same time Tomsays that she writes that she cares for nobody but him."
"Women are--women! that's sartin," replied old Tom, musing for a time,and then showing that his thoughts were running on his son, by burstingout--
"Mary, when yonder boundless sea Shall part us, and perchance for ever, Think not my heart can stray from thee, Or cease to mourn thine absence--never! And when in distant climes I roam, Forlorn, unfriended, broken-hearted--"
"Don't say so, Tom--don't say so," interrupted the old woman.
Tom continued--
"Oft shall I sigh for thee and home, And all those joys from which I parted."
"Aye, so he does, poor fellow, I'll be bound to say. What would I giveto see his dear, smiling face!" said Mrs Beazeley.
"And I'd give no little, missus, myself. But still, it's the duty forevery man to serve his country; and so ought Tom, as his father didbefore him. I shall be glad to see him back: but I'm not sorry thathe's gone. Our ships must be manned, old woman; and if they take men byforce, it's only because they won't volunteer--that's all. When they'reonce on board they don't mind it. You women require pressing just asmuch as the men, and it's all much of a muchness."
"How's that Tom?"
"Why, when we make love, and ask you to marry, don't you always pout,and say, `No!' You like being kissed, but we must take it by force. Soit is with manning a ship. The men all say, `No;' but when they areonce there, they like the service very much--only, you see, like you,they want pressing. Don't Tom write and say that he's quite happy, anddon't care where he is so long as he's with Jacob?"
"Yes; that's true; but they say Jacob is to be discharged and come home,now that he's come to a fortune; and what will Tom say then?"
"Why, that _is_ the worst of it. I believe that Jacob's heart is in theright place; but still, riches spoil a man. But we shall see. If Jacobdon't prove `true blue,' I'll never put faith in man again. But therebe changes in this world, that's sartin.
"We all have our taste of the ups and the downs, As Fortune dispenses her smiles and her frowns; But may we not hope, if she's frowning to-day, That to-morrow she'll lend us the light of her ray.
"I only wish Jacob was here--that's all."
"Then you have your wish, my good old friend," cried I, running up toTom and seizing his hand. But old Tom was so taken by surprise that hestarted back and lost his equilibrium, dragging me after him, and werolled on the turf together. Nor was this the only accident, for oldMrs Beazeley was so alarmed that she also sprang from the bench fixedin the half of the old boat stuck on end, and threw herself back againstit. The boat, rotten when first put up, and with the disadvantage ofexposure to the elements for many years, could no longer stand suchpressure. It gave way to the sudden force applied by the old woman, andshe and the boat went down together, she screaming and scuffling amongthe rotten planks, which now, after so many years close intimacy, wereinduced to part company. I was first on my legs, and ran to theassistance of Mrs Beazeley, who was half smothered with dust and flakesof dry pitch; and old Tom coming to my assistance, we put the old womanon her legs again.
"O deary me!" cried the old woman--"O deary me! I do believe my hip isout! Lord, Mr Jacob, how you frightened me!"
"Yes," said old Tom, shaking me warmly by the hand, "we were all takenaback, old boat and all. What a shindy you have made, bowling us alldown like ninepins! Well, my boy, I'm glad to see you, andnotwithstanding your gear, you're Jacob Faithful still."
"I hope so," replied I; and we then adjourned to the house, where I madethem acquainted with all that had passed, and what I intended to dorelative to obtaining Tom's discharge. I then left them, promising toreturn soon, and, hailing a wherry going up the river, proceeded to myold friend the Dominie, of whose welfare, as well as Stapleton's andMary's, I had been already assured.
But as I passed through Putney Brid
ge I thought I might as well callfirst upon old Stapleton; and I desired the waterman to pull in. Ihastened to Stapleton's lodgings, and went upstairs, where I found Maryin earnest conversation with a very good-looking young man, in asergeant's uniform of the 93rd Regiment. Mary, who was even handsomerthan when I had left her, starting up, at first did not appear torecognise me, then coloured up to the forehead, as she welcomed me witha constraint I had never witnessed before. The sergeant appearedinclined to keep his ground; but on my taking her hand and telling herthat I brought a message from a person whom I trusted she had notforgotten, he gave her a nod and walked downstairs. Perhaps there was aseverity in my countenance as I said, "Mary, I do not know whether,after what I have seen, I ought to give the message; and the pleasure Ianticipated in meeting you again is destroyed by what I have nowwitnessed. How disgraceful is it thus to play with a man's feelings--towrite to him, assuring him of your regard and constancy, and at the sametime encouraging another."
Mary hung down her head. "If I have done wrong, Mr Faithful," saidshe, after a pause, "I have not wronged Tom; what I have written Ifelt."
"If that is the case, why do you wrong another person? why encourageanother young man only to make him unhappy?"
"I have promised him nothing; but why does not Tom come back and lookafter me? I can't mope here by myself; I have no one to keep companywith; my father is always away at the alehouse, and I must have somebodyto talk to. Besides, Tom is away, and may be away a long while, andabsence cures love in men, although it does not in women."
"It appears then, Mary, that you wish to have two strings to your bow,in case of accident."
"Should the first string break, a second would be very acceptable,"replied Mary. "But it is always this way," continued she, withincreasing warmth; "I never can be in a situation which is not right;whenever I do anything which may appear improper, so certain do _you_make your appearance when least expected and least wished for--as if youwere born to be my constant accuser."
"Does not your own conscience accuse you, Mary?"
"Mr Faithful," repeated she, very warmly, "you are not my fatherconfessor; but do as you please--write to Tom if you please, and tellhim all you have seen, and anything you may think--make him and make memiserable and unhappy--do it, I pray. It will be a friendly act; and asyou are now a great man, you may persuade Tom that I am a jilt and agood-for-nothing."
Here Mary laid her hands on the table and buried her face in them.
"I did not come here to be your censor, Mary; you are certainly atliberty to act as you please, without my having any right to interfere;but as Tom is my earliest and best friend, so far as his interests andhappiness are concerned, I shall carefully watch over them. We havebeen so long together, and I am so well acquainted with all hisfeelings, that I really believe that if ever there was a young mansincerely and devotedly attached to a woman, he is so to you; and I willadd, that if ever there was a young man who deserved love in return, itis Tom. When I left, not a month back, he desired me to call upon youas soon as I could, and assure you of his unalterable attachment; and Iam now about to procure his discharge, that he may be able to return.All his thoughts are upon this point, and he is now waiting with theutmost impatience the arrival of it, that he may again be in yourcompany; you can best judge whether his return will or will not be asource of happiness."
Mary raised her head--her face was wet with tears.
"Then he will soon be back again, and I shall see him. Indeed, hisreturn will be no source of unhappiness, if I can make him happy--indeed, it shall not, Mr Faithful; but pray don't tell him of myfoolish conduct, pray don't--why make him unhappy?--I entreat you not todo it. I will not do so again. Promise me, Jacob, will you?" continuedMary, taking me by the arm, and looking beseechingly in my face.
"Mary, I will never be a mischief-maker; but recollect I exact theperformance of your promise."
"Oh, and I will keep it, now that I know he will soon be home. I can, Ithink I can--I'm sure I can wait a month or two without flirting. But Ido wish that I was not left so much alone. I wish Tom was at home totake care of me, for there is no one else. I can't take care ofmyself."
I saw by Mary's countenance that she was in earnest, and I thereforemade friends with her, and we conversed for two hours, chiefly aboutTom. When I left her she had recovered her usual spirits, and said atparting, looking archly at me, "Now, you will see how wise and prudent Ishall be."
I shook my head, and left her that I might find out [my] old friendStapleton, who, as usual, was at the door of the public-house, smokinghis pipe. At first he did not recognise me, for when I accosted him heput his open hand to his ear as usual, and desired me to speak a littlelouder, but I answered, "Nonsense, Stapleton, that won't do with me."He then took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked me full in the face.
"Jacob, as I'm alive! Didn't know you in your long togs--thought youwas a gentleman wanting a boat. Well, I hardly need say how glad I amto see you after so long; that's no more than human natur'. And how'sTom? Have you seen Mary?"
These two questions enabled me to introduce the subject that I wished.I told him of the attachment and troth pledged between the two, and howwrong it was for him to leave her so much alone. The old man agreedwith me, and said, that as to talking to the men, that was on Mary'spart nothing but "human natur'"; and that as for Tom wishing to be athome and seeing her again, that also was nothing but "human natur'"; butthat he would smoke his pipe at home in future, and keep the soldiersout of the house. Satisfied with this assurance I left him, and takinganother wherry went up to Brentford to see the Dominie.