When I recovered my senses, I found myself in bed, and Captain Turnbull sitting by my side. I had been removed to his house when the had arrived at the . Captain Turnbull was then talking with Mr Tomkins, the former head clerk, now in charge. Old Tom came on shore and stated the condition I was in, and Mr Tomkins having no spare bed in his house, Captain Turnbull immediately ordered me to be taken to his residence, and sent for medical advice. During the time I had remained in this state old Tom had informed Captain Turnbull, the Dominie, and Mr Tomkins of the circumstances which had occurred, and how much I had been misrepresented to Mr Drummond; and not saying a word about the affair of Wimbledon Common, or my subsequent , had given it as his opinion that ill-treatment had produced the fever. In this, I believe, he was nearly correct, although my disease might certainly have been and hastened by those two unmentioned causes. They all of them took my part, and Mr Turnbull went to London to state my condition to Mr Drummond, and also to at his . Circumstances had since occurred which induced Mr Drummond to lend a ready ear to my ; but the message I had sent was still an obstacle. This, however, was partly removed by the of the young clerk, when he was by Captain Turnbull and Mr Drummond; and wholly so by the evidence of young and old Tom, who, although in the cabin, had overheard the whole of the conversation; and Mr Drummond desired Captain Turnbull to inform me, as soon as I recovered, that all was forgotten and forgiven. It might have been on his part, but not on mine; and when Captain Turnbull told me so, with the view of raising my spirits, I shook my head as I lay on the pillow. As the reader will have observed, the feeling roused in me by the ill-usage I had received was a one—one that must have been deeply implanted in my heart, although, till then, it had never been roused into action, and now, once roused, was not to be suppressed. That it was based on pride was evident, and with it my pride was raised in proportion. To the intimation of Captain Turnbull, I, therefore, gave a . “No, sir, I cannot return to Mr Drummond: that he was kind to me, and that I owe much to his kindness, I readily admit; and now that he has acknowledged his error in supposing me capable of such , I forgive him; but I cannot, and will not, receive any more favours from him. I cannot put myself in a situation to be again as I have been. I feel I should no longer have the same pleasure in doing my duty as I once had, and I never could live under the same roof with those who at present serve him. Tell him all this, and pray tell little Sarah how grateful I feel no her for all her kindness to me, and that I shall always think of her with regret, at being obliged to leave her.” And at the remembrance of little Sarah I burst into tears, and on my pillow. Captain Turnbull, whether he rightly estimated my character, or fell convinced that I had made up my mind, did not renew the subject.
“Well, Jacob,” replied he, “we’ll not talk of that any more. I’ll give your messages just in your own words. Now, take your , and try to get a little sleep.”
I complied with this request, and nothing but weakness now remaining, I rapidly my strength, and with my strength, my feelings of increased in proportion. Nothing but the very weak state that I was in when Captain Turnbull to me would have me down to give the kind message that I did; but my vindictive mind was by disease, and better feelings predominated. The only effect this had was to increase my animosity against the other parties who were the cause of my ill-treatment, and I that they, at least, should one day their conduct.
The Dominie called upon me the following Sunday. I was dressed and looking through the window when he arrived. The frost was now intense, and the river was covered with large masses of ice, and my greatest pleasure was to watch them as they floated down with the tide; “Thou hast had a second narrow escape, my Jacob,” said he, after some preliminary observations. “Once again did death (pallida mors) over thy couch; but thou hast arisen, and thy fair fame is again established. When thou be able to visit Mr Drummond, and be able to thank him for his kindness?”
“Never, sir,” replied I; “I will never again enter Mr Drummond’s house.”
“Nay, Jacob, this savoureth of enmity. Are not we all likely to be deceived—all likely to do wrong? Did not I, even I, in thy presence, backslide into intemperance and ? Did not I disgrace myself before my pupil—and shalt thou, in thy tender years, harbour ill-will against one who had cherished thee when thou wert , and who was deceived with regard to thee by the base and evil-speaking?”
“I am obliged to Mr Drummond for all his kindness, sir,” replied I; “but I never wish to enter his house. I was turned out of it, and never will again go into it.”
“Eheu! Jacobe, thou art in error; it is our duty to forgive as we hope to be forgiven.”
“I do forgive, sir, if that is what is requested: but I cannot, and will not, accept of further favours.”
The Dominie urged in vain, and left me. Mr Tomkins also came, and argued the point without success. I was resolved. I was to be independent; and I looked to the river as my father, mother, home, and everything. As soon as my health was reinstated, Captain Turnbull one day came to me. “Jacob,” said he, “the lighter has returned: and I wish to know if you intend to go on board again, and afterwards go into the into which Mr Drummond proposes to send you.”
“I will go into no vessel through Mr Drummond’s means or interest,” replied I.
“What will you do then?” replied he.
“I can always enter on board a man-of-war,” replied I, “if the worst comes to the worst; but if I can serve out my on the river, I should prefer it.”
“I rather expected this answer, Jacob, from what you have said to me already; and I have been trying if I cannot help you to something which may suit you. You don’t mind being obliged to me?”
“O, no; but promise you will never doubt me—never accuse me.” My voice , and I could say no more.
“No, my lad, that I will not; I know you, as I think, pretty well; and the heart that feels a false as yours does is sure to guard against committing what you are so angry at being accused of. Now, Jacob, listen to me. You know old deaf Stapleton, whose wherry we have so often pulled up and down the river? I have spoken to him to take you as his help, and he has consented. Will you like to go? He has served his time, and has a right to take a ’prentice.”
“Yes,” replied I, “with pleasure; and with more pleasure, from expecting to see you often.”
“O, I promise you all my custom, Jacob,” replied he, laughing. “We’ll often turn old Stapleton out, and have a row together. Is it agreed?”
“It is,” replied I; “and many thanks to you.”
“Well, then, consider it settled. Stapleton has a very good room, and all that’s on shore, at Fulham. I have seen his place, and I think you will be comfortable.”
I did not know at the time how much Captain Turnbull had been my friend—that he had made Stapleton take better , and had made up the difference to him, besides allowing him a trifle per week, and him a occasionally, if I were content with my situation. In a few days I had removed all my clothes to Stapleton’s, had taken my leave of Mr Turnbull, and was established as an to a waterman on the Thames. The lighter was still at the wharf when I left, and my parting with old Tom and his son was equally and sincerely felt on both sides.
“Jacob,” said old Tom, “I likes your pride after all, ’cause why, I think you have some right to be proud; and the man who only asks fair play, and no favour always will rise in this world. But look you, Jacob, there’s sometimes a current ’gainst a man that no one can make head against; and if so be that should be your case for a time, the old house, the old woman, and old Tom, and there you’ll always find a welcome, and a hearty old couple who’ll share with you what they have, be it good, bad, or indifferent. Here’s luck to you, my boy; and recollect, I means to go to the expense of painting the sides of my craft blue, and then you’ll always know her as she creeps up and down the river.”
“And Jacob,” said young Tom;—“I may be a wild one, but I’m a true one; if ever you want me in fair weather and in foul—good or bad—for fun or for mischief—for a help, or for a friend in need, through thick or thin, I’m yours, even to the ; and here’s my hand upon it.”
“Just like you, Tom,” observed his father; “but I know what you mean, and all’s right.”
I shook hands with them both, and we parted.
Thus did I remove from the lighter, and at once take up the profession of a waterman; I walked down to the Fulham side, where I found Stapleton at the door of the public-house, with two or three others, smoking his pipe. “Well, lad, so you’re chained to my wherry for two or three years; and I’m to you into all the rules and regulations of the company. Now, I’ll tell you one thing, which is, d’ye see, when the river’s covered with ice, as it is just now, haul your wherry up high and dry, and smoke your pipe till the river is clear, as I do now.”
“I might have guessed that,” replied I, in his ear, “without you telling me.”
“Very true; but don’t in my ear quite so loud, I hears none the better for it; my ears require , that’s all.”
“Why, I thought you were as deaf as a post.”
“Yes, so I be with strangers, ’cause I don’t know the pitch of their voice; but with those about me I hear better when they speak quietly—that’s human nature. Come, let’s go home, my pipe is finished, and as there’s nothing to be done on the river, we may just as well make all tidy there.”
Stapleton had lost his wife; but he had a daughter, fifteen years old, who kept his lodgings, and did for him, as he termed it. He lived in part of some buildings leased by a boat-builder; his windows looked out on the river; and, on the first floor, a bay-window was thrown out, so that at high water the river ran under it. As for the rooms, consisting of five, I can only say that they could not be spoken of as large and small, but as small and smaller. The was eight feet square, the two bed-rooms at the back, for himself and his daughter, just held a small bed each, and the kitchen and my room below were to match; neither were the in the very best repair, the parlour especially, hanging over the river, being lop-sided, and giving you the uncomfortable idea that it would every minute fall into the stream below. Still, the builder declared that it would last many years without sinking further, and that was sufficient. At all events, they were very respectable accommodations for a waterman, and Stapleton paid for them 10 pounds per annum. Stapleton’s daughter was certainly a very well-favoured girl. She had rather a large mouth; but her teeth were very fine, and beautifully white. Her hair was auburn—her very fair, her eyes were large, and of a deep blue, and from her figure, which was very good, I should have supposed her to have been eighteen, although she was not past fifteen, as I found out afterwards. There was a frankness and honesty of about her, and an intellectual smile, which was very agreeable.
“Well, Mary, how do you get on?” said Stapleton, as we to the sitting-room. “Here’s young Faithful come to take up with us.”
“Well, father, his bed’s all ready; and I have taken so much dirt from the room that I expect we shall be for filling up the river. I wonder what nasty people lived in this house before us.”
“Very nice rooms, nevertheless; ain’t they, boy?”
“O yes, very nice for idle people; you may amuse yourself looking out on the river, or watching what floats past, or fishing with a pin at high water,” replied Mary, looking at me.
“I like the river,” replied I, gravely; “I was born on it, and hope to get my bread on it.”
“And I like this sitting-room,” rejoined Stapleton; “how comfortable it will be to sit at the open window, and smoke in the summer time, with one’s jacket off!”
“At all events you’ll have no excuse for dirtying the room, father; and as for the lad, I suppose his smoking days have not come yet.”
“No,&rdq............