Jacob Faithful

“Well, Jacob, how do you like the Old Bailey? Never was in it but once in my life, and never mean to go again if I can help it; that was when Sam Bowles was tried for his life, but my evidence saved him. I’ll tell you how it was. Tom, look a’ter the breakfast; a bowl of tea this cold morning will be worth having. Come, jump about.”

“But I never heard the story of Sam Bowles,” answered Tom.

“What’s that to you? I’m telling it to Jacob.”

“But I want to hear it—so go on, father. I’ll start you. Well, d’ye see, Sam Bowles—”

“Master Tom, them as play with bowls may meet with rubbers. Take care I don’t rub down your hide. Off, you thief, and get breakfast.”

“No, I won’t: if I don’t have your Bowles you shall have no bowls of tea. I’ve made my mind up to that.”

“I tell you what, Tom; I shall never get any good out of you until I have both your legs ampitated. I’ve a great mind to send for the farrier.”

“Thanky, father; but I find them very useful.”

“Well,” said I, “suppose we put off the story till breakfast time; and I’ll go and help Tom to get it ready.”

“Be it so, Jacob. I suppose Tom must have his way, as I spoiled him myself. I made him so fond of yarns, so I was a fool to be vexed.

“Oh, life is a river, and man is the boatThat over its surface is destined to float;And joy is a cargo so easily stored,That he is a fool who takes sorrow on board.

“Now I’ll go on shore to master, and find out what’s to be done next. Give me my stick, boy, and I shall crawl over the planks a little safer. A safe stool must have three legs, you know.”

Old Tom then stumped away on shore. In about a quarter of an hour he returned, bringing half-a-dozen red herrings.

“Here, Tom, grill these sodgers. Jacob, who is that tall old chap, with such a devil of a cutwater, which I met just now with master? We are bound for Sheerness this trip, and I’m to land him at Greenwich.”

“What, the Dominie?” replied I, from old Tom’s description.

“His name did begin with a D, but that wasn’t it.”

“Dobbs?”

“Yes, that’s nearer; he’s to be a passenger on board of us, going down to see a friend who’s very ill. Now, Tom, my hearty, bring out the crockery, for I want a little inside lining.”

We all sat down to our breakfast, and as soon as old Tom had finished, his son called for the history of Sam Bowles.

“Well, now you shall have it. Sam Bowles was a shipmate of mine on board of the Greenlandman; he was one of our best harpooners, and a good, quiet, honest messmate as ever slung a hammock. He was spliced to as pretty a piece of flesh as ever was seen, but she wasn’t as good as she was pretty. We were fitting out for another voyage, and his wife had been living on board with him some weeks, for Sam was devilish spoony on her, and couldn’t bear her to be out of his sight. As we ’spected to sail in a few days, we were filling up our complement of men, and fresh hands came on board every day.

“One morning, a fine tall fellow, with a tail as thick as a hawser, came on board and offered himself; he was taken by the skipper, and went on shore again to get his traps. While he was still on deck I went below, and seeing Sam with his little wife on his knee playing with his love-locks, I said that there was a famous stout and good-looking fellow that we should have as a shipmate. Sam’s wife, who, like all women, was a little curious, put her head up the hatchway to look at him. She put it down again very quick, as I thought, and made some excuse to go forward in the eyes of her, where she remained some time, and then, when she came aft, told Sam that she would go on shore. Now, as it had been agreed that she should remain on board till we were clear of the river, Sam couldn’t think what the matter was; but she was positive, and go away she did, very much to Sam’s astonishment and anger. In the evening, Sam went on shore and found her out, and what d’ye think the little Jezebel told him?—why, that one of the men had been rude to her when she went forward, and that’s why she wouldn’t stay on board. Sam was in a devil of a passion at this, and wanted to know which was the man; but she fondled him, and wouldn’t tell him, because she was afraid that he’d be hurt. At last she bamboozled him, and sent him on board again quite content. Well, we remained three days longer, and then dropped down the river to Greenwich, where the captain was to come on board, and we were to sail as soon as the wind was fair. Now, this fine tall fellow was with us when we dropped down the river, and as Sam was sitting down on his chest eating a basin o’ soup, the other man takes out a ’baccy pouch of seal-skin;—it was a very curious one, made out of the white and spotted part of a young seal’s belly. ‘I say, shipmate,’ cries Sam, ‘hand me over my ’baccy pouch. Where did you pick it up?’

“‘Your pouch!’ says he to him; ‘I killed the seal, and my fancy girl made the pouch for me.’

“‘Well, if that ain’t cool! you’d swear a man out of his life, mate. Tom,’ says he to me, ‘ain’t that my pouch which my wife gave me when I came back last trip?’

“I looked at it, and knew it again, and said it was. The tall fellow denied it, and there was a devil of a bobbery. Sam called him a thief, and he pitched Sam right down the main hatchway among the casks. After that there was a regular set-to, and Sam was knocked all to shivers, and obliged to give in. When the fight was over, I took up Sam’s shirt for him to put on. ‘That’s my shirt,’ cried the tall fellow.

“‘That’s Sam’s shirt,’ replied I; ‘I know it’s his.’

“‘I tell you it’s mine,’ replied the man; ‘my lass gave it to me to put on when I got up this morning. The other is his shirt.’

“We looked at the other, and they both were Sam’s shirts. Now when Sam heard this, he put two and two together, and became very jealous and uneasy: he thought it odd that his wife was so anxious to leave the ship when this tall fellow came on board; and what with the pouch and the shirt he was puzzled. His wife had promised to come down to Greenwich and see him off. When we anchored, some of the men went on shore—among others the tall fellow. Sam, whose head was swelled up like a pumpkin, told one of his shipmates to say to his wife that he could not come on shore, and that she must come off to him. Well, it was about nine o’clock, dark, and all the stars were twinkling, when Sam says to me, ‘Tom, let’s go on shore; my black eyes can’t be seen in the dark.’ As we hauled up the boat, the second mate told Sam to take his harpoon-iron on shore for him, to have the hole for the becket punched larger. Away we went, and the first place, of course, that Sam went to, was the house where he knew that his wife put up at, as before. He went upstairs to her room, and I followed him. The door was not made fast, and in we went. There was his little devil of a wife, fast asleep in the arms of the tall fellow. Sam couldn’t command his rage, and having the harpoon-iron in his hand, he drove it right through the tall fellow’s body before I could prevent him. It was a dreadful sight: the man groaned, and his head fell over the side of the bed. Sam’s wife screamed, and made Sam more wroth by throwing herself on the man’s body, and weeping over it. Sam would have pulled out the iron to run her through with, but that was impossible. The noise brought up the people of the house, and it was soon known that murder had been committed. The constable came, Sam was thrown into prison, and I went on board and told the whole story. Well, we were just about to heave up, for we had shipped two more men in place of Sam, who was to be tried for his life, and the poor fellow he had killed, when a lawyer chap came on board with what they call a suppeny for me; all I know is, that the lawyer pressed me into his service, and I lost my voyage. I was taken on shore, and well fed till the trial came on. Poor Sam was at the bar for murder. The gentleman in his gown and wig began his yarn, stating that how the late fellow, whose name was Will Errol, was with his own wife when Sam harpooned him.

“‘That’s a lie!’ cried Sam; ‘he was with my wife. False papers! Here are mine;’ and he pulled out his tin case, and handed them to the court.

“The judge said that this was not the way to try people and that Sam must hold his tongue; so the trial went on, and at first they had it all their own way. Then our turn came, and I was called up to prove what had passed, and I stated how the man was with Sam’s wife, and how he, having the harpoon-iron in his hand, had run it through his body. Then they compared the certificates, and it was proved that the little Jezebel had married them both; but she had married Sam first, so he had the most right to her; but fancying the other man afterwards, she thought she might as well have two strings to her bow. So the judge declared that she was Sam’s wife, and that any man, even without the harpoon in his hand, would be justified in killing a man whom he found in bed with his own wife. So Sam went scot-free; but the judge wouldn’t let off Sam’s wife, as she had caused murder by her wicked conduct; he tried her a’terwards for biggery, as they call it, and sent her over the water for life. Sam never held up his head a’terwards; what with having killed an innocent man, and the ’haviour of his wife, he was always down. He went out to the fishery, and a whale cut the boat in two with her tail; Sam was stunned, and went down like a stone. So you see the mischief brought about by this little Jezebel, who must have two husbands, and be damned to her.”

“Well, that’s a good yarn, father,” said Tom, as soon as it was finished. “I was right in saying I would hear it. Wasn’t I?”

“No,” replied old Tom, putting out his large hand, and seizing his son by the collar; “and now you’ve put me in mind of it, I’ll pay you off for old scores.”

“Lord love you, father, you don’t owe me anything,” said Tom.

“Yes, I do; and now I’ll give you a receipt in full.”

“O Lord! they’ll be drowned,” screamed Tom, holding up both his hands with every symptom of terror.

Old Tom turned short round to look in the direction, letting go his hold. Tom made his escape, and burst out a-laughing. I laughed also, and so at last did his father.

I went on shore, and found that old Tom’s report was correct—the Dominie was at breakfast with Mr Drummond. The new usher had charge of the boys, and the governors had allowed him a fortnight’s holiday to visit an old friend at Greenwich. To save expense, as well as to indulge his curiosity, the old man had obtained a passage down in the lighter. “Never yet, Jacob, have I put my feet into that which floateth on the watery element,” observed he to me; “nor would I now, but that it saveth money, which thou knowest well is with me not plentiful. Many dangers I expect, many perils shall I encounter; such have I read of in books; and well might Horace exclaim—‘Ille robur et aes triplex,’ with reference to the first man who ventured afloat. Still doth Mr Drummond assure me that the lighter is of that strength as to be able to resist the force of the winds and waves; and, confiding in Providence, I intend to venture, Jacob, ‘te duce.’”

“Nay, sir,” replied I, laughing at the idea which the Dominie appeared to have formed of the dangers of river navigation, “old Tom is the Dux.”

“Old Tom; where have I seen that name? Now I do recall to mind that I have seen the name painted in large letters upon a cask at the tavern bar of the inn at Brentford; but what it did intend to signify I did not inquire. What connection is there?”

“None,” replied I; “but I rather think they are very good friends. The tide turns in half-an-hour, sir; are you ready to go on board?”

“Truly am I, and well prepared, having my habiliments in a bundle, my umbrella and my great-coat, as well as my spencer for general wear. But where I am to sleep hath not yet been made known to me. Peradventure one sleepeth not—‘tanto in periculo.’”

“Yes, sir, we do. You shall have my berth, and I’ll turn in with young Tom.”

“Hast thou, then, a young Tom as well as an old Tom on board?”

“Yes, sir; and a dog, also, of the name of Tommy.”

“Well, then, we will embark, and thou shalt make me known to this triad of Thomases. ‘Inde Tomos dictus locus est.’ (Cluck, cluck.) Ovid, I thank thee.”

Chapter Eleven

Much learning Afloat—Young Tom is very Lively upon the Dead Languages—The Dominie, after experiencing the Wonders of the Mighty Deep, prepares to revel upon Lobscouse—Though the Man of Learning gets Many Songs and some Yarns from Old Tom, he loses the Best Part of a Tale without knowing it

The old Dominie’s bundle and other paraphernalia being sent on board, he took farewell of Mr Drummond and his family in so serious a manner, that I was convinced that he considered he was about to enter upon a dangerous adventure, and then I led him down to the wharf where the lighter lay alongside. It was with some trepidation that he crossed the plank, and got on board, when he recovered himself and looked round.

“My sarvice to you, old gentleman,” said a voice behind the Dominie. It was that of old Tom, who had just come from the cabin. The Dominie turned round, and perceived old Tom.

“This is old Tom, sir,” said I to the Dominie, who stared with astonishment.

“Art thou, indeed? Jacob, thou didst not tell me that he had been curtailed of his fair proportions, and I was surprised. Art thou then Dux?” continued the Dominie, addressing old Tom.

“Yes,” interrupted young Tom, who had come from forward, “he is ducks, because he waddles on his short stumps; and I won’t say who be goose. Eh, father?”

“Take care you don’t buy goose, for your imperance, sir,” cried old Tom.

“A forward boy,” exclaimed the Dominie.

“Yes,” replied Tom “I’m generally forward.”

“Art thou forward in thy learning? Canst thou tell me Latin for goose?”

“To be sure,” replied Tom; “Brandy.”

“Brandy!” exclaimed the Dominie. “Nay, child, it is anser.”

“Then I was right,” replied Tom. “You had your answer!”

“The boy is apt.” Cluck cluck.

“He is apt to be devilish saucy, old gentleman; but never mind that, there’s no harm in him.”

“This, then, is young Tom, I presume, Jacob?” said the Dominie, referring to me.

“Yes, sir,” replied I. “You have seen old Tom, and young Tom, and you have only to see Tommy.”

“Want to see Tommy, sir?” cried Tom. “Here, Tommy, Tommy!”

But Tommy, who was rather busy with a bone forward, did not immediately answer to his call, and the Dominie turned round to survey the river. The scene was busy, barges and boats passing in every direction, others lying on shore, with waggons taking out the coals and other cargoes, men at work, shouting or laughing with each other. “‘Populus in fluviis,’ as Virgil hath it. Grand indeed is the vast river, ‘Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis aevum,’ as the generations of men are swept into eternity,” said the Dominie, musing aloud. But Tommy had now made his appearance, and Tom, in his mischief, had laid hold of the tail of the Dominie’s coat, and shown it to the dog. The dog, accustomed to seize a rope when it was shown to him, immediately seized the Dominie’s coat, making three desperate tugs at it. The Dominie, who was in one of his reveries, and probably thought it was I who wished to direct his attention elsewhere, each time waved his hand, without turning round, as much as to say, “I am busy now.”

“Haul and hold,” cried Tom to the dog, splitting his sides, and the tears running down his cheeks with laughing. Tommy made one more desperate tug, carrying away one tail of the Dominie’s coat; but the Dominie perceived it not, he was still “nubibus,” while the dog galloped forward with the fragment, and Tom chased him to recover it. The Dominie continued in his reverie, when old Tom burst out—

“O, England, dear England, bright gem of the ocean,    Thy valleys and fields look fertile and gay,The heart clings to thee with a sacred devotion,    And memory adores when in far lands away.”

The song gradually called the Dominie to his recollection; indeed, the strain was so beautiful that it would have vibrated in the ears of a dying man. The Dominie gradually turned round, and when old Tom had finished, exclaimed, “Truly it did delight mine ear, and from such—and,” continued the Dominie, looking down upon old Tom—“without legs too!”

“Why, old gentleman, I don’t sing with my legs,” answered old Tom.

“Nay, good Dux, I am not so deficient as not to be aware that a man singeth from the mouth; yet is thy voice mellifluous, sweet as the honey of Hybla, strong—”

“As the Latin for goose,” finished Tom. “Come, father, old Dictionary is in the doldrums; rouse him up with another stave.”

“I’ll rouse you up with the stave of a cask over your shoulders, Mr Tom. What have you done with the old gentleman’s swallow-tail?”

“Leave me to settle that affair, father: I know how to get out of a scrape.”

“So you ought, you scamp, considering how many you get into; but the craft are swinging and heaving up. Forward there, Jacob, and sway up the mast; there’s Tom and Tommy to help you.”

The mast was hoisted up, the sail set, and the lighter in the stream before the Dominie was out of his reverie.

“Are there whirlpools here?” said the Dominie, talking more to himself than to those about him.

“Whirlpools!” replied young Tom, who was watching and mocking him; “yes, that there are, under the bridges. I’ve watched a dozen chips go down, one after the other.”

“A dozen ships!” exclaimed the Dominie, turning to Tom; “and every soul lost?”

“Never saw them afterwards,” replied Tom, in a mournful voice.

“How little did I dream of the dangers of those so near me,” said the Dominie, turning away, and communing with himself. “‘Those who go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in great waters;’—‘Et vastas aperit Syrtes;’—‘These men see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.’—‘Alternante vorans vasta Charybdis aqua.’—‘For at his word the stormy wind ariseth, which lifteth up the waves thereof.’—‘Surgens a puppi ventus.—Ubi tempestas et caeli mobilis humor.’—‘They are carried up to the heavens, and down again to the deep.’—‘Gurgitibus miris et lactis vertice torrens.’—‘Their soul melteth away because of their troubles.’—‘Stant pavidi. Omnibus ignoiae mortis timor, omnibus hostem.’—‘They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man.’”

“So they do, father, don’t they, sometimes?” observed Tom, leering his eye at his father. “That’s all I’ve understood of his speech.”

“They are at their wit’s end,” continued the Dominie.

“Mind the end of your wit, master Tom,” answered his father, wroth at the insinuation.

“‘So when they call upon the Lord in their trouble’—‘Cujus jurare timent et fallere nomen’—‘He delivereth them out of their distress, for he makest the storm to cease, so that the waves thereof are still;’ yea, still and smooth as the peaceful water which now floweth rapidly by our anchored vessel—yet it appeareth to me that the scene hath changed. These fields met not mine eyes before. ‘Riparumque toros et prata recentia rivis.’ Surely we have moved from the wharf?”—and the Dominie turned round, and discovered, for the first time, that we were more than a mile from the place at which we had embarked.

“Pray, sir, what’s the use of speech, sir?” interrogated Tom, who had been listening to the whole of the Dominie’s long soliloquy.

“Thou asketh a foolish question, boy. We are endowed with the power of speech to enable us to communicate our ideas.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, sir. Then pray what’s the use of your talking all that gibberish, that none of us could understand?”

“I crave thy pardon, child; I spoke, I presume, in the dead languages.”

“If they’re dead, why not let them rest in their graves?”

“Good; thou hast wit.” (Cluck, cluck.) “Yet, child, know that it is pleasant to commune with the dead.”

“Is it? then we’ll put you on shore at Battersea churchyard.”

“Silence, Tom. He’s full of his sauce, sir—you must forgive it.”

“Nay, it pleaseth me to hear him talk; but it would please me more to hear thee sing.”

“Then here goes, sir, to drown Tom’s impudence:—

“Glide on my bark, the morning tideIs gently floating by thy side;Around thy prow the waters bright,In circling rounds of broken light,Are glittering, as if ocean gaveHer countless gems unto the wave.

“That’s a pretty air, and I first heard it sung by a pretty woman; but that’s all I know of the song. She sang another—

“I’d be a butterfly, born in a bower.”

“You’d be a butterfly!” said the Dominie, taking old Tom literally, and looking at his person.

Young Tom roared, “Yes, sir, he’d be a butterfly, and I don’t see why he shouldn’t very soon. His legs are gone, and his wings aren’t come: so he’s a grub now, and that, you know, is the next thing to it. What a funny old beggar it is, father—aren’t it?”

“Tom, Tom, go forward, sir; we must shoot the bridge.”

“Shoot!” exclaimed the Dominie; “shoot what?”

“You aren’t afraid of fire-arms, are ye, sir?” inquired Tom.

“Nay, I said not that I was afraid of fire-arms; but why should you shoot?”

“We never could get on without it, sir; we shall have plenty of shooting, by-and-by. You don’t know this river.”

“Indeed, I thought not of such doings; or that there were other dangers besides that of the deep waters.”

“Go forward, Tom, and don’t be playing with your betters,” cried old Tom. “Never mind him, sir, he’s only humbugging you.”

“Explain, Jacob. The language of both old Tom and young Tom are to me as incomprehensible as would be that of the dog Tommy.”

“Or as your Latin is to them, sir.”

“True, Jacob, true. I have no right to complain; nay, I do not complain, for I am amused, although at times much puzzled.”

We now shot Putney Bridge, and as a wherry passed us, old Tom carolled out—

“Did you ever hear tell of a jolly young waterman?”

“No, I never did,” said the Dominie, observing old Tom’s eyes directed towards him. Tom, amused by this naïveté on the part of the Dominie, touched him by the sleeve, on the other side, and commenced with his treble—

“Did you ne’er hear a taleOf a maid in the vale?”

“Not that I can recollect, my child,” replied the Dominie.

“Then, where have you been all your life?”

“My life has been employed, my lad, in teaching the young idea how to shoot.”

“So, you’re an old soldier, after all, and afraid of fire-arms. Why don’t you hold yourself up? I suppose it’s that enormous jib of yours that brings you down by the head.”

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