Jacob Faithful

“Come, master, you’re a cup too low,” said Tom, who, although in high spirits, was not at all intoxicated; indeed, as I afterwards found, he could carry more than his father. “Come, shall I give you a song?”

“That’s right, Tom; a volunteer’s worth two pressed men. Open your mouth wide, an’ let your whistle fly away with the gale. You whistles in tune, at all events.”

Tom then struck up, the Dominie see-sawing as he sat, and getting very sleepy—

“Luck in life, or good or bad,    Ne’er could make me melancholy;Seldom rich, yet never sad,    Sometimes poor, yet always jolly.Fortune’s in my scale, that’s poz,    Of mischance put more than half in;Yet I don’t know how it was,    I could never cry for laughing—        Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!    I could never cry for laughing.

“Now for chorus, father—

“Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!I could never cry for laughing.

“That’s all I know; and that’s enough, for it won’t wake up the old gentleman.”

But it did. “Ha, ha, ha—ha, ha, ha! I could never die for laughing,” bawled out the Dominie, feeling for his pannikin; but this was his last effort. He stared round him. “Verily, verily, we are in a whirlpool—how everything turneth round and round! Who cares? Am I not an ancient mariner—‘Qui videt mare turgidum—et infames scopulos.’ Friend Dux, listen to me—favet linguis.”

“Well,” hiccuped old Tom, “so I will—but speak—plain English—as I do.”

“That I’ll be hanged if he does,” said Tom to me. “In half an hour more I shall understand old Nosey’s Latin just as well as his—plain English, as he calls it.”

“I will discuss in any language—that is—in any tongue—be it in the Greek or the Latin—nay, even—(hiccups)—friend Dux—hast thou not partaken too freely—of—dear me! Quo me, Bacche, rapis tui—plenum—truly I shall be tipsy—and will but finish my pattypan—dulce periculum est—Jacob—can there be two Jacobs?—and two old Toms?—nay—mirabile dictu—there are two young Toms, and two dog Tommies—each with—two tails. Bacche, parce—precor—precor—Jacob, where art thou?—Ego sum tu es—thou art—sumus, we are—where am I? Procumbit humi bos—for Bos—read Dobbs—amo, amas—I loved a lass. Tityre, tu patulae sub teg-mine—nay—I quote wrong—then must I be—I do believe that—I’m drunk.”

“And I’m cock sure of it,” cried Tom, laughing, as the Dominie fell back in a state of insensibility.

“And I’m cock sure of it,” said old Tom, rolling himself along the deck to the cabin hatch “that I’ve as much—as I can stagger—under, at all events—so I’ll sing myself to sleep—’cause why—I’m happy. Jacob—mind you keep all the watches to-night—and Tom may keep the rest.” Old Tom then sat up, leaning his back against the cabin hatch, and commenced one of those doleful ditties which are sometimes heard on the forecastle of a man-of-war; he had one or two of the songs that he always reserved for such occasions. While Tom and I dragged the Dominie to bed, old Tom drawled out his ditty—

“Oh! we sailed to Virgi-ni-a, and thence to Fy-al,Where we water’d our shipping, and so then weigh-ed all,Full in view, on the seas—boys—seven sail we did es-py,O! we man-ned our capstern, and weighed spee-di-ly.

“That’s right, my boys, haul and hold—stow the old Dictionary away—for he can’t command the parts of speech.

“The very next morning—the engagement proved—hot,And brave Admiral Benbow received a chain-shot.O when he was wounded to his merry men—he—did—say,Take me up in your arms, boys, and car-ry me a-way.

“Now, boys, come and help me—Tom—none of your foolery—for your poor old father is—drunk—.”

We assisted old Tom into the other “bed-place” in the cabin. “Thanky, lads—one little bit more, and then I’m done—as the auctioneer says—going—going—

“O the guns they did rattle, and the bul-lets—did—fly,When brave Benbow—for help loud—did cry,Carry me down to the cock-pit—there is ease for my smarts,If my merry men should see me—’twill sure—break—their—hearts.

“Going,—old swan-hopper—as I am—going—gone.”

Tom and I were left on deck.

“Now, Jacob, if you have a mind to turn in. I’m not sleepy—you shall keep the morning watch.”

“No, Tom, you’d better sleep first. I’ll call you at four o’clock. We can’t weigh till tide serves; and I shall have plenty of sleep before that.”

Tom went to bed, and I walked the deck till the morning, thinking over the events of the day, and wondering what the Dominie would say when he came to his senses. At four o’clock, as agreed, I roused Tom out, and turned into his bed, and was soon as fast asleep as old Tom and the Dominie, whose responsive snores had rung in my ears during the whole time that I had walked the deck.

Chapter Fourteen

Cold water and repentance—the two Toms almost moral, and myself full of wise reflections—The chapter, being full of grave saws, is luckily very short; and though a very sensible one, I would not advise it to be skipped

About half-past eight the next morning, I was called up by Tom to assist in getting the lighter under weigh. When on deck I found old Tom as fresh as if he had not drunk a drop the night before, very busily stumping about the windlass, with which we hove up first the anchor, and then the mast. “Well, Jacob, my boy, had sleep enough? Not too much, I dare say; but a bout like last night don’t come often, Jacob—only once in a way; now, and then I do believe it’s good for my health. It’s a great comfort to me, my lad, to have you on board with me, because as you never drinks, I may now indulge a little oftener. As for Tom, I can’t trust him—too much like his father—had nobody to trust to for the look-out, except the dog Tommy, till you came with us. I can trust Tommy as far as keeping off the river sharks; he’ll never let them take a rope-yarn off the deck, night or day; but a dog’s but a dog, after all. Now we’re brought to; so clap on, my boy, and let’s heave up with a will.”

“How’s the old gentleman, father?” said Tom, as we paused a moment from our labour at the windlass.

“Oh! he’s got a good deal more to sleep off yet. There he lies, flat on his back, blowing as hard as a grampus. Better leave him as long as we can. We’ll rouse him as soon as we turn Greenwich reach. Tom, didn’t you think his nose loomed devilish large yesterday?”

“Never seed such a devil of a cutwater in my life, father.”

“Well, then, you’ll see a larger when he gets up, for it’s swelled bigger than the brandy bottle. Heave and haul! Now bring to the fall, and up with the mast, boys, while I goes aft and takes the helm.”

Old Tom went aft. During the night the wind had veered to the north, and the frost had set in sharp, the rime covered the deck of the barge, and here and there floating ice was to be seen coming down with the tide. The banks of the river and fields adjacent were white with hoar frost, and would have presented but a cheerless aspect, had not the sun shone out clear and bright. Tom went aft to light the fire, while I coiled away and made all snug forward. Old Tom as usual carolled forth—

“Oh! for a soft and gentle wind,    I heard a fair one cryBut give to me the roaring breeze,    And white waves beating high,And white waves beating high, my boys,    The good ship tight and free,The world of waters is our own,    And merry men are we.”

“A nice morning this for cooling a hot head, that’s sartain. Tommy, you rascal, you’re like a court lady, with her velvet gownd, covered all over with diamonds,” continued old Tom, looking at the Newfoundland dog, whose glossy black hair was besprinkled with little icicles, which glittered in the sun.

“You and Jacob were the only sensible ones of the party last night, for you both were sober.”

“So was I, father. I was as sober as a judge,” observed Tom, who was blowing up the fire.

“May be, Tom, as a judge a’ter dinner; but a judge on the bench be one thing, and a judge over a bottle be another, and not bad judges in that way either. At all events, if you warn’t sewed up, it wasn’t your fault.”

“And I suppose,” replied Tom, “it was only your misfortune that you were.”

“No, I don’t say that; but still, when I look at the dog, who’s but a beast by nature, and thinks of myself, who wasn’t meant to be a beast, why, I blushes, that’s all.”

“Jacob, look at father—now, does he blush?” cried Tom.

“I can’t say that I perceive it,” replied I, smiling.

“Well, then, if I don’t it’s the fault of my having no legs. I’m sure when they were knocked off I lost half the blood in my body, and that’s the reason, I suppose. At all events, I meant to blush, so we’ll take the will for the deed.”

“But do you mean to keep sober in future, father?” said Tom.

“Never do you mind that—mind your own business, Mr Tom. At all events, I sha’n’t get tipsy till next time, and that’s all I can say with safety, ’cause, d’ye see, I knows my failing. Jacob, did you ever see that old gentleman sail too close to the wind before?”

“I never did—I do not think that he was ever tipsy before last night.”

“Then I pities him—his headache, and his repentance. Moreover, there be his nose and the swallow-tail of his coat to make him unhappy. We shall be down abreast of the Hospital in half-an-hour. Suppose you go and give him a shake, Jacob. Not you, Tom; I won’t trust you—you’ll be doing him a mischief; you haven’t got no fellow-feeling, not even for dumb brutes.”

“I’ll thank you not to take away my character that way, father,” replied Tom. “Didn’t I put you to bed last night when you were speechless?”

“Suppose you did—what then?”

“Why, then, I had a feeling for a dumb brute. I only say that, father, for the joke of it, you know,” continued Tom, going up to his father and patting his rough cheek.

“I know that, my boy; you never were unkind, that’s sartain; but you must have your joke—

“Merry thoughts are link’d with laughter,    Why should we bury them?Sighs and tears may come hereafter,    No need to hurry them.They who through a spying-glass,    View the minutes as they pass,Make the sun a gloomy mass,    But the fault’s their own, Tom.”

In the meantime I was vainly attempting to rouse the Dominie. After many fruitless attempts, I put a large quantity off snuff on his upper lip, and then blew it up his nose. But, merciful powers! what a nose it had become—larger than the largest pear that I ever saw in my life. The whole weight of old Tom had fallen on it, and instead of being crushed by the blow, it appeared as if, on the contrary, it had swelled up, indignant at the injury and affront which it had received. The skin was as tight as the parchment of a drum, and shining as if it had been oiled, while the colour was a bright purple. Verily, it was the Dominie’s nose in a rage.

The snuff had the effect of partially awakening him from his lethargy. “Six o’clock—did you say, Mrs Bately? Are the boys washed—and in the schoolroom? I will rise speedily—yet I am overcome with much heaviness. Delapsus somnus ab—” and the Dominie snored again. I renewed my attempts, and gradually succeeded. The Dominie opened his eyes, stared at the deck and carlines above him, then at the cupboard by his side; lastly, he looked at and recognised me.

“Eheu, Jacobe!—where am I? And what is that which presses upon my brain? What is it so loadeth my cerebellum, even as if it were lead? My memory—where is it? Let me recall my scattered senses.” Here the Dominie was silent for some time. “Ah me! yea, and verily, I do recollect—with pain of head and more pain of heart—that which I would fain forget, which is, that I did forget myself; and indeed have forgotten all that passed the latter portion of the night. Friend Dux hath proved no friend, but hath led me into the wrong path: and as or the potation called Grog—Eheu, Jacobe! how have I fallen—fallen in my own opinion—fallen in thine—how can I look thee in the face! O, Jacob! what must thou think of him who hath hitherto been thy preceptor and thy guide!” Here the Dominie fell back on the pillow, and turned away his head.

“It is not your fault, sir,” replied I, to comfort him; “you were not aware of what you were drinking—you did not know that the liquor was so strong. Old Tom deceived you.”

“Nay, Jacob, I cannot lay that flattering unction to my wounded heart. I ought to have known, nay, now I recall to mind, that thou wouldst have warned me—even to the pulling off of the tail of my coat—yet I heeded thee not, and I am humbled—even I, the master over seventy boys!”

“Nay, sir, it was not I who pulled off the tail of your coat; it was the dog.”

“Jacob, I have heard of the wonderful sagacity of the canine species, yet could not I ever have believed that a dumb brute would have perceived my folly, and warned me from intoxication. Mirabile dictu! Tell me, Jacob, thou who hast profited by these lessons which thy master could give—although he could not follow up his precept by example—tell me, what did take place? Let me know the full extent of my backsliding.”

“You fell asleep, sir, and we put you to bed.”

“Who did me that office, Jacob?”

“Young Tom and I, sir; as for old Tom, he was not in a state to help anybody.”

“I am humbled, Jacob—”

“Nonsense, old gentleman; why make a fuss about nothing?” said old Tom, who, overhearing our conversation came into the cabin. “You had a drop too much, that’s all, and what o’ that? It’s a poor heart that never rejoiceth. Rouse a bit, wash your face with old Thames water, and in half-an-hour you’ll be as fresh as a daisy.”

“My head acheth!” exclaimed the Dominie, “even as if there were a ball of lead rolling from one temple to the other; but my punishment is just.”

“That is the punishment of making too free with the bottle, for sartain; but if it is an offence, then it carries its own punishment and that’s quite sufficient. Every man knows that when the heart’s over light at night, that the head’s over heavy in the morning. I have known and proved it a thousand times. Well, what then? I puts the good against the bad, and I takes my punishment like a man.”

“Friend Dux, for so I will still call thee, thou lookest not at the offence in a moral point of vision.”

“What’s moral?” replied old Tom.

“I would point out that intoxication is sinful.”

“Intoxication sinful! I suppose that means that it’s a sin to get drunk. Now, master, it’s my opinion that as God Almighty has given us good liquor, it was for no other purpose than to drink it; and therefore it would be ungrateful to him, and a sin, not to get drunk—that is, with discretion.”

“How canst thou reconcile getting drunk with discretion, good Dux?”

“I mean, master, when there’s work to be done, the work should be done; but when there’s plenty of time, and everything is safe, and all ready for a start the next morning, I can see no possible objection to a jollification. Come, master, rouse out; the lighter’s abreast of the Hospital almost by this time, and we must put you on shore.”

The Dominie, whose clothes were all on, turned out of his bed-place and went with us on deck. Young Tom, who was at the helm, as soon as we made our appearance, wished him a good-morning very respectfully. Indeed, I always observed that Tom, with all his impudence and waggery, had a great deal of consideration and kindness. He had overheard the Dominie’s conversation with me, and would not further wound his feelings with a jest. Old Tom resumed his place at the helm, while his son prepared the breakfast, and I drew a bucket of water for the Dominie to wash his face and hands. Of his nose not a word was said; and the Dominie made no remarks to me on the subject, although I am persuaded it must have been very painful, from the comfort he appeared to derive in bathing it with the freezing water. A bowl of tea was a great solace to him, and he had hardly finished it when the lighter was abreast the Hospital stairs. Tom jumped into the boat and hauled it alongside. I took the other oar, and the Dominie, shaking hands with old Tom, said, “Thou didst mean kindly, and therefore I wish thee a kind farewell, good Dux.”

“God be with you, master,” replied old Tom; “shall we call for you as we come back?”

“Nay, nay,” replied the Dominie, “the travelling by land is more expensive, but less dangerous. I thank thee for thy songs, and—for all thy kindness, good Dux. Are my paraphernalia in the boat, Jacob?”

I replied in the affirmative. The Dominie stepped in, and we pulled him on shore. He landed, took his bundle and umbrella under his arm, shook hands with Tom and then with me, without speaking, and I perceived the tears start in his eyes as he turned and walked away.

“Well, now,” said Tom, looking after the Dominie, “I wish I had been drunk instead of he. He does so take it to heart, poor old gentleman!”

“He has lost his self-esteem, Tom,” replied I. “It should be a warning to you. Come, get your oar to pass.”

“Well, some people he fashioned one way and some another. I’ve been tipsy more than once, and I never lost anything but my reason, and that came back as soon as the grog left my head. I can’t understand that fretting about having had a glass too much. I only frets when I can’t get enough. Well, of all the noses I ever saw, his bests them by chalks; I did so want to laugh at it, but I knew it would pain him.”

“It is very kind of you, Tom, to hold your tongue, and I thank you very much.”

“And yet that old dad of mine swears I’ve got no fellow-feeling, which I consider a very undutiful thing for him to say. What’s the reason, Jacob, that sons be always cleverer than their fathers?”

“I didn’t know that was the case, Tom.”

“But it is so now, if it wasn’t in olden time. The proverb says, ‘Young people think old people to be fools, but old people know young people to be fools.’ We must alter that, for I says, ‘Old people think young people to be fools, but young people know old people to be fools.’”

“Have it your own way, Tom, that will do, rowed of all.”

We tossed in our oars, made the boat fast, and gained the deck, where old Tom still remained at the helm. “Well,” said he, “Jacob, I never thought I should be glad to see the old gentleman clear of the lighter, but I was—devilish glad; he was like a load on my conscience this morning; he was trusted to my charge by Mr Drummond, and I had no right to persuade him to make a fool of himself. But, however, what’s done can’t be helped, as you say sometimes; and it’s no use crying; still it was a pity, for he be, for all the world, like a child. There’s a fancy kind of lass in that wherry, crossing our bows; look at the streamers from her top-gallant.

        “Come o’er the sea,        Maiden, to me,Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows,        Seasons may roll,        But the true soulBurns the same wherever it goes        Then come o’er the sea,        Maiden, with me.”

“See you hanged first, you underpinned old hulk!” replied the female in the boat, which was then close under our bows.

“Well, that be civil, for certain,” said old Tom, laughing.

Chapter Fifteen

I am unshipped for a short time, in order to record shipments and engross invoices—Form a new acquaintance, what is called in the world “A Warm Man,” though he passed the best part of his life among icebergs, and one whole night within the ribs of death—His wife works hard at gentility

We arrived at Sheerness the next morning, landed the bricks, which were for the Government buildings, and returned in ballast to the wharf. My first inquiry was for the Dominie; but he had not yet returned; and Mr Drummond further informed me that he had been obliged to send away his under-clerk and wished me to simply take his place until he could procure another. The lighter therefore took in her cargo, and sailed without me, which was of consequence, as my apprenticeship still went on. I now lived with Mr Drummond as one of his own family, and wanted for nothing. His continual kindness to me made me strive all I could to please him by diligence and attention, and I soon became very expert at accounts, and, as he said, very useful. The advantages to me, I hardly need observe were considerable, and I gained information every day. Still, although I was glad to be of any use to Mr Drummond, the confinement at the desk was irksome, and I anxiously looked for the arrival of the new clerk to take my place and leave me free to join the lighter. Mr Drummond did not appear to me to be in any hurry; indeed, I believe that he would have retained me altogether, had he not perceived that I still wished to be on the river.

“At all events, Jacob, I shall keep you here until you are master of your work; it will be useful to you hereafter,” he said to me one day; “and you do not gain much by sailing up and down the river.”

This was true; and I also derived much advantage from the evenings spent with Mrs Drummond, who was a very sensible good woman, and would make me read aloud to her and little Sarah as they sat at their needle. I had no idea, until I was employed posting up the book, that Mr Drummond’s concern was so extensive, or that there was so much capital employed in the business. The Dominie returned a few days after my arrival. When we met his nose had resumed its former appearance, and he never brought up the subject of the evening on board of the lighter. I saw him frequently, mostly on Sundays after I had been to church with the family; and half-an-hour, at least, was certain to be dedicated to our reading together one of the classics.

As I was on shore several months, I became acquainted with many families, one or two of which were worth noticing. Among the foremost was Captain Turnbull, at least such was his appellation until within the last two months previous to my making his acquaintance, when Mr Turnbull sent out his cards, George Turnbull, Esquire. The history of Captain Turnbull was as follows:– He had, with his twin brother, been hung up at the knocker, and afterwards had been educated at the Foundling Hospital; they had both been apprenticed to the sea; grown up thorough-bred, capital, seamen in the Greenland fishery; rose to be mates then captains; had been very successful, owned part, then the whole of the ship, afterwards two or three ships; and had wound up with handsome fortunes. Captain Turnbull was a married man without a family; his wife, fine in person, vulgar in speech, a would-be fashionable lady, against which fashion Captain T had for years pleaded poverty; but his brother, who had remained a bachelor, died, leaving him forty thousand pounds—a fact which could not be concealed. Captain Turnbull had not allowed his wife to be aware of the extent of his own fortune, more from a wish to live quietly and happily than from any motive of parsimony, for he was liberal to excess; but now he had no further excuse to plead, and Mrs Turnbull insisted upon fashion. The house they had lived in was given up, and a marine villa on the borders of the Thames to a certain degree met the views of both parties; Mrs Turnbull anticipating dinners and fêtes, and the captain content to watch what was going on in the river, and amuse himself in a wherry. They had long been acquaintances of Mr and Mrs Drummond; and Captain Turnbull’s character was such as always to command the respect of Mr Drummond, as he was an honest, friendly man. Mrs Turnbull had now set up her carriage, and she was, in her own opinion, a very great personage. She would have cut all her former acquaintance; but on that point the captain was inflexible, particularly as regarded the Drummonds. As far as they were concerned, Mrs Turnbull gave way, Mrs Drummond being a lady-like woman, and Mr Drummond universally respected as a man of talent and information. Captain, or rather, Mr Turnbull, was a constant visitor at our house, and very partial to me. He used to scold Mr Drummond for keeping me so close to my desk, and would often persuade him to give me a couple of hours’ run. When this was obtained, he would call a waterman, throw him a crown, and tell him to get out of his wherry as fast as he could. We then embarked, and amused ourselves pulling up and down the river, while Mrs Turnbull, dressed in the extremity of the fashion, rode out in the carriage and left her cards in every direction.

One day Mr Turnbull called upon the Drummonds, and asked them to dine with him on the following Saturday; they accepted the invitation. “By-the-by,” said he, “I got what my wife calls a remind in my pocket;” and he pulled out of his coat-pocket a large card, “with Mr and Mrs Turnbull’s compliments,” etcetera, which card he had doubled in two by his sitting down upon it, shortly after he came in. Mr Turnbull straightened it again as well as he could, and laid it on the table. “And Jacob,” said he, “you’ll come too. You don’t want a remind; but if you do, my wife will send you one.”