Jacob Faithful

“I should rather think not,” replied I. “The gun belongs to us, and not to you;” and I caught up the gun, and presented the muzzle at him.

“What! do you mean to commit murder? Why, you young villains!”

“Do you want to commit a robbery?” retorted I, fiercely; “because if you do, I mean to commit murder. Then I shoot him. Tom.”

“No, Jacob, no; you mustn’t shoot men,” replied Tom, who perceived that I was in a humour to keep my word with the common-keeper. “Indeed, you can’t,” continued he, whispering to me; “the gun’s not loaded.”

“Do you mean to refuse to give me up your gun?” repeated the man.

“Yes I do,” replied I, cocking the lock; “so keep off.”

“Oh! you young reprobates—you’ll come to the gallows before long, that’s certain. Do you refuse to come with me?”

“I should rather think we do,” replied I.

“You refuse, do you? Recollect I’ve caught you in the fact, poaching, with a dead hare in your possession.”

“Well, it’s no use crying about it. What’s done can’t be helped,” replied I.

“Don’t you know that all the game, and all the turf, and all the bog, and all the gravel, and all the furze on this common belong to the Right Honourable Earl Spencer?”

“And all the blackbirds, and all the greenfinches, and all the sparrows, and all the tomtits too, I suppose?” replied I.

“To be sure they do—and I’m common-keeper. Now you’ll give me up that hare immediately.”

“Look you,” replied Tom, “we didn’t kill that hare, the dog caught it, and it is his property. We sha’n’t interfere in the matter. If Tommy chooses to let you have it, well and good. Here, Tommy, this here gentleman says,” (and Tom pointed to the keeper) “that this hare,” (and Tom pointed to the hare) “is not yours; now will you ‘watch it,’ or let him have it?”

At the word ‘watch it,’ Tommy laid down with his fore-paws over the hare, and showing a formidable set of ivories, looked fiercely at the man, and growled.

“You see what he says; now you may do as you please,” continued Tom, addressing the man.

“Yes—very well—you’ll come to the gallows, I see that; but I’ll just go and fetch half-a-dozen men to help me, and then we’ll have you both in gaol.”

“Then, be smart,” replied I, jumping up and levelling the gun. Tommy jumped up also to fly at the man, but Tom caught him by the neck and restrained him. The common-keeper took to his heels, and as soon as he was out of gun-shot, turned round, shook his fist, and then hastened away to obtain the reinforcement he desired.

“I wish the gun had been loaded,” said I.

“Why, Jacob, what’s come over you? Would you have fired at him? The man is only doing his duty—we have no business here.”

“I think otherwise,” replied I. “A hare on a common is as much mine as Lord Spencer’s. A common belongs to everybody.”

“That’s my opinion, too; but, nevertheless, if he gets hold of us, he’ll have us in gaol; and therefore I propose we make off as fast as we can in the opposite way to which he is gone.”

We started accordingly, and as the keeper proceeded in the direction of Wandsworth, we took the other direction; but it so happened that on turning round, after a quarter of an hour’s walk, we perceived the man coming back with three or four others. “We must run for it,” cried Tom, “and then hide ourselves.” After ten minutes’ hard run we descended into a hollow and swampy place, looking round to see if they could perceive us, and finding that they were not in sight, we plunged into a thick cluster of furze bushes, which completely concealed us. Tommy followed us, and there we lay. “Now they never will find us,” said Tom, “if I can only keep the dog quiet. Lie down, Tommy. Watch, and lie down.” The dog appeared to understand what was required; he lay between us perfectly still.

We had remained there about half-an-hour when we heard voices. I motioned to Tom to give me the powder to load the gun, but he refused. The voices came nearer; Tommy gave a low growl. Tom held his mouth with his hands. At last they were close to the bushes, and we heard the common-keeper say, “They never went over the hill, that’s for certain, the little wagrants; they can’t be far off—they must be down in the hollow. Come along.”

“But I’m blessed if I’m not up to my knees in the bog,” cried one of the men; “I’ll go no further down, dang me!”

“Well, then let’s try the side of the bog,” replied the keeper, “I’ll show you the way.” And the voices retreated, fortunately for us, for there had been a continual struggle between us and the dog for the last minute, I holding his forepaws, and Tom jamming up his mouth. We were now all quiet again, but dare not leave our hiding-place.

We remained there for half-an-hour, when it became nearly dark, and the sky, which had been quite clear when we set out, clouded over. Tom put up his head, looked all round, and perceiving nobody, proposed that we should return as fast as we could; to which I agreed. But we were scarcely clear of the furze in which we had been concealed when a heavy fall of snow commenced, which, with the darkness, prevented us from distinguishing our way. Every minute the snow-storm increased, the wind rose, and hurled the flakes into our faces until we were blinded. Still we made good way against it, and expected every minute to be on the road, after which our task would be easy. On we walked in silence, I carrying the gun, Tom with the hare over his shoulder, and Tommy at our heels. For upwards of an hour did we tread our way through the furze, but could find no road. Above us all was dark as pitch; the wind howled; our clothes were loaded with snow; and we began to feel no inconsiderable degree of fatigue.

At last, quite tired out, we stopped. “Tom,” said I, “I’m sure we’ve not kept a straight course. The wind was on our starboard side, and our clothes were flaked with snow on that side, and now you see we’ve got it in our quarter. What the devil shall we do?”

“We must go on till we fall in with something, at all events,” replied Tom.

“And I expect that will be a gravel-pit,” replied I; “but never mind, ‘better luck next time.’ I only wish I had that rascal of a common-keeper here. Suppose we turn back again, and keep the wind on the starboard side of us as before; we must pitch upon something at last.”

We did so, but our difficulties increased every moment; we floundered in the bogs, we tumbled over the stumps of the cut furze, and had I not caught bold of Tom as he was sliding down he would have been at the bottom of a gravel-pit. This obliged us to alter our course, and we proceeded for a quarter of an hour, in another direction, until, worn out with cold and fatigue, we began to despair.

“This will never do, Tom,” said I, as the wind rose and roared with double fury. “I think we had better get into the furze, and wait till the storm is over.”

Tom’s teeth chattered with the cold; but before he could reply, they chattered with fear. We heard a loud scream overhead. “What was that?” cried he. I confess that I was as much alarmed as Tom. The scream was repeated, and it had an unearthly sound. It was no human voice—it was between a scream and a creak. Again it was repeated, and carried along with the gale. I mustered up courage sufficient to look up to where the sound proceeded from; but the darkness was so intense, and the snow blinded me so completely, that I could see nothing. Again and again did the dreadful sound ring in our ears, and we remained fixed and motionless with horror; even the dog crouched at our feet trembling. We spoke not a word—neither of us moved; the gun had fallen from my hand; the hare lay at Tom’s feet; we held each other’s hand in silence, and there we remained for more than a quarter of an hour, every moment more and more sinking under the effects of cold, fatigue, and horror. Fortunately for us the storm, in which had it continued much longer we should, in all probability, have perished, was by that time over; the snow ceased to fall; the clouds were rolled away to leeward; and a clear sky, bespangled with a thousand twinkling lights, roused us from our state of bodily and mental suffering. The first object which caught my eye was a post within two yards of us. I looked at it, followed it up with my eyes, and, to my horror, beheld a body suspended and swinging in chains over our heads.

As soon as I recovered from the shock which the first view occasioned, I pointed it out to Tom, who had not yet moved. He looked up, started back, and fell over the dog—jumped up again, and burst out into as loud a laugh as his frozen jaws would permit. “It’s old Jerry Abershaw,” said he, “I know him well, and now I know where we are.” This was the case; Abershaw had, about three years before, been hung in chains on Wimbledon Common; and the unearthly sound we had heard was the creaking of the rusty iron as the body was swung to-and-fro by the gale. “All’s right, Jacob,” said Tom, looking up at the brilliant sky, and then taking up the hare, “we’ll be on the road in five minutes.” I shouldered the gun, and off we set. “By the Lord, that rascally common-keeper was right,” continued Tom, as we renewed our steps; “he prophesied we should come to the gallows before long, and so we have. Well, this has been a pretty turn out. Father will be in a precious stew.”

“Better luck next time, Tom,” replied I; “it’s all owing to that turf-and-bog rascal. I wish we had him here.”

“Why, what would you do with him?”

“Take down old Abershaw, and hang him up in his place, as sure as my name’s Jacob.”

Chapter Twenty

Our last adventure not fatal—Take to my grog kindly—Grog makes me a very unkind return—Old Tom at his yarns again—How to put your foot in a mischief, without having a hand in it—Candidates for the cat-o’-nine-tails

We soon recovered the road, and in half-an-hour we were at Putney Bridge; cold, wet, and tired, but not so bad as when we were stationary under the gallows; the quick walking restored the circulation. Tom went in for the bottle of spirits, while I went for the sculls and carried them down to the boat, which was high and dry, and nearly up to the thwarts with snow. When Tom joined me, he appeared with two bottles under his arms. “I have taken another upon tick, Jacob,” said he, “for I’m sure we want it, and so will father say, when he hears our story.” We launched our boat, and in a couple of minutes were close to the lighter, on the deck of which stood old Tom.

“Boat ahoy! is that you, lads?” cried he.

“Yes, father, all’s right,” replied Tom, as we laid in our oars.

“Thank God!” replied the old man. “Boys, boys, how you frightened me? where have you been? I thought you had met with some disaster. How have I been peeping through the snow-storm these last two hours, watching for the boat, and I’m as wet as a shag and as cold as charity. What has been the matter? Did you bring the bottle, Tom?”

“Yes, father; brought two, for we shall want them to-night if we go without for a week; but we must all get on dry rigging as fast as possible, and then you shall have the story of our cruise.”

In a few minutes we had changed our wet clothes and were seated at the cabin-table, eating our supper, and narrating our adventures to the old man. Tommy, poor fellow, had his share, and now lay snoring at our feet, as the bottles and pannikins were placed upon the little table.

“Come, Jacob, a drop will do you good,” said old Tom, filling me one of the pannikins. “A’ter all, it’s much better being snug here in this little cabin than shivering with fear and cold under old Abershaw’s gallows; and Tom, you scamp, if ever you go gunning again I’ll disinherit you.”

“What have you got to leave, father, except your wooden legs?” replied Tom. “Your’s would be but a wooden-leg-acy.”

“How do you know but what I can ‘post the coal?’”

“So you will, if I boil a pot o’ ’tatoes with your legacy—but it will only be char-coal.”

“Well, I believe you are about right, Tom; still, somehow or other, the old woman always picks out a piece or two of gold when I’m rather puzzled how to raise the wind. I never keeps no ’count with her. If I follow my legs before she, I hope the old soul will have saved something; for you know when a man goes to kingdom come, his pension goes with him. However, let me only hold on another five years, and then you’ll not see her want; will you, Tom?”

“No, father; I’ll sell myself to the king, and stand to be shot at, at a shilling a day, and give the old woman half.”

“Well, Tom, ’tis but natural for a man to wish to serve his country; so here’s to you, my lad, and may you never do worse! Jacob, do you think of going on board of a man-of-war?”

“I’d like to serve my apprenticeship first, and then I don’t care how soon.”

“Well, my boy, you’ll meet more fair play on board of a king’s ship than you have from those on shore.”

“I should hope so,” replied I, bitterly.

“I hope to see you a man before I die, yet, Jacob. I shall very soon be laid up in ordinary—my toes pain me a good deal lately!”

“Your toes!” cried Tom and I both at once.

“Yes, boys; you may think it odd, but sometimes I feel them just as plain as if they were now on, instead of being long ago in some shark’s maw. At nights I has the cramp in them till it almost makes me halloo out with pain. It’s a hard thing, when one has lost the sarvice of his legs, that all the feelings should remain. The doctor says as how it’s narvous. Come, Jacob, shove in your pannikin. You seem to take it more kindly than you did.”

“Yes,” replied I, “I begin to like grog now.” The now, however, might be comprehended within the space of the last twenty-four hours. My depressed spirits were raised with the stimulus, and for a time I got rid of the eternal current of thought which pressed upon my brain.

“I wonder what your old gentleman, the Dominie, as you call him, thought, after he got on shore again,” said old Tom. “He seemed to be mighty cut up. I suppose you’ll give him a hail, Jacob?”

“No,” replied I, “I shall not go near him, nor any one else, if I can help it. Mr Drummond may think I wish to make it up again. I’ve done with the shore. I only wish I knew what is to become of me; for you know I am not to serve in the lighter with you.”

“Suppose Tom and I look out for another craft, Jacob? I care nothing for Mr Drummond. He said t’other day I was a drunken old swab—for which, with my sarvice to him, he lies. A drunken fellow is one who can’t, for the soul of him, keep from liquor when he can get it, and who’s overtaken before he is aware of it. Now that’s not the case with me; I keep sober when there’s work to be done; and when I knows that everything is safe under hatches, and no fear of nothing, why then I gets drunk like a rational being, with my eyes open—’cause why?—’cause I chooses.”

“That’s exactly my notion of the thing,” observed Tom, draining his pannikin, and handing it over to his father for a fresh supply.

“Mind you keep to that notion, Tom, when you gets in the king’s sarvice, that’s all; or you’ll be sure to have your back scratched, which I understand is no joke after all. Yet I do remember once, in a ship I was in, when half-a-dozen fellows were all fighting who should be flogged.”

“Pray give us that yarn, father; but before you begin just fill my pannikin. I shoved it over half-an-hour ago, just by way of a hint.”

“Well then,” said old Tom, pouring out some spirits into Tom’s pannikin, “it was just as follows. It was when the ship was lying at anchor in Bermuda harbour, that the purser sent a breaker of spirits on shore to be taken up to some lady’s house whom he was very anxious to splice, and I suppose that he found a glass of grog helped the matter. Now, there were about twenty of the men who had liberty to go on shore, to stretch their limbs—little else could they do, poor fellows for the first lieutenant looked sharp after their kits to see that they did not sell any of their rigging; and as for money, we had been five years without touching a farthing of pay, and I don’t suppose there was a matter of threepence among the men before the mast. However, liberty’s liberty after all; and if they couldn’t go ashore and get glorious, rather than not go on shore at all, they went ashore and kept sober perforce. I do think, myself, it’s a very bad thing to keep the seamen without a farthing for so long—for you see a man who will be very honest with a few shillings in his pocket is often tempted to help himself, just for the sake of getting a glass or two of grog, and the temptation’s very great, that’s sartain, ’ticularly in a hot climate, when the sun scorches you, and the very ground itself is so heated that you can hardly bear the naked foot to it. (This has been corrected; the men have for some time received a portion of their pay on foreign stations, and this portion has been greatly increased during Sir James Graham’s administration.) But to go on. The yawl was ordered on shore for the liberty men, and the purser gives this breaker, which was at least half full, and I dare say there might be three gallons in it, under my charge as coxswain, to deliver to madam at the house. Well, as soon as we landed, I shoulders the breaker, and starts with it up the hill.

“‘What have you there, Tom?’ said Bill Short.

“‘What I wish I could share with you, Bill,’ says I; ‘it’s some of old Nipcheese’s eights, that he has sent on shore to bowse his jib up with, with his sweetheart.’

“‘I’ve seen the madam,’ said Holmes to me—for you see all the liberty men were walking up the hill at the same time—‘and I’d rather make love to the breaker than to her. She’s as fat as an ox, as broad as she’s long, built like a Dutch schuyt, and as yellow as a nabob.’

“‘But old Tummings knows what he’s about,’ said a Scotch lad of the name of M’Alpine; ‘they say she has lots of gold dust, more ducks and ingons, and more inches of water in her tank than any on the island.’

“You see, boys, Bermuda be a queer sort of place, and water very scarce; all they get there is a Godsend, as it comes from Heaven; and they look sharp for the rain, which is collected in large tanks, and an inch or two more of water in the tank is considered a great catch. I’ve often heard the ladies there talking for a shower:—

“‘Good morning, marm. How do you do this fine morning?’

“‘Pretty well, I tank you, marm. Charming shower hab last night.’

“‘Yes, so all say; but me not very lucky. Cloud not come over my tank. How many inches of water you get last night, marm?’

“‘I get good seven inches, and I tink a little bit more, which make me very happy.’

“‘Me no so lucky, marm; so help me God, me only get four inches of water in my tank; and dat nothing.’

“Well, but I’ve been yawing again, so now to keep my course. As soon as I came to the house I knocked at the door, and a little black girl opens the jalousies, and put her finger to her thick lips.

“‘No make noise; missy sleep.’

“‘Where am I to put this?’

“‘Put down there; by-and-by I come fetch it;’ and then she closed the jalousies, for fear her mistress should be woke up, and she get a hiding, poor devil. So I puts the breaker down at the door, and walks back to the boat again. Now, you see, these liberty men were all by when I spoke to the girl, and seeing the liquor left with no one to guard it, the temptation was too strong for them. So they looked all about them, and then at one another, and caught one another’s meaning by the eye; but they said nothing. ‘I’ll have no hand in it,’ at last says one, and walked away. ‘Nor I,’ said another, and walked away too. At last all of them walked away except eight, and then Bill Short walks up to the breaker and says—

“‘I won’t have no hand in it, either;’ but he gave the breaker a kick, which rolls it away two or three yards from the door.

“‘Nor more will I,’ said Holmes, giving the breaker another kick, which rolled it out in the road. So they all went on, without having a hand in it, sure enough, till they had kicked the breaker down the hill to the beach. Then they were at a dead stand, as no one would spile the breaker. At last a black carpenter came by, and they offered him a glass if he would bore a hole with his gimlet, for they were determined to be able to swear, every one of them; that they had no hand in it. Well, as soon as the hole was bored, one of them borrowed a couple of little mugs from a black woman, who sold beer, and then they let it run, the black carpenter shoving one mug under as soon as the other was full, and they drinking as fast as they could. Before they had half finished, more of the liberty men came down; I suppose they scented the good stuff from above as a shark does anything in the water, and they soon made a finish of it; and when it was all finished, they were all drunk, and made sail for a cruise, that they might not be found too near the empty breaker. Well, a little before sunset I was sent on shore with the boat to fetch off the liberty men, and the purser takes this opportunity of getting ashore to see his madam, and the first thing he falls athwart of is his own empty breaker.

“‘How’s this?’ says he; ‘didn’t you take this breaker up as I ordered you?’

“‘Yes, sir,’ replied I, ‘I did, and gave it in charge to the little back thing; but madam was asleep, and the girl did not allow me to put it inside the door.’ At that he began to storm, and swore that he’d find out the malefactors, as he termed the liberty men, who had emptied his breaker; and away he went to the house. As soon as he was gone we got hold of the breaker, and made a bull of it.”

“How did you manage that?” inquired I.

“Why, Jacob, a bull means putting a quart or two of water into a cask which has had spirits in it; and what with the little that may be left, and what has soaked in the wood, if you roll it and shake it well, it generally turns out pretty fair grog. At all events its always better than nothing. Well, to go on—but suppose we fill up again and take a fresh departure, as this is a tolerably long yarn, and I must wet the threads, or they may chance to break.”

Our pannikins, which had been empty, were all replenished, and then old Tom proceeded.

“It was a long while before we could pick up the liberty men, who were reeling about every corner of the town, and quite dark before I came on board. The first lieutenant was on deck, and had no occasion to ask me why I waited so long, when he found they were all lying in the stern sheets. ‘Where the devil could they have picked up the liquor?’ said he, and then he ordered the master-at-arms to keep them under the half-deck till they were sober. The next morning the purser comes off, and makes his complaint on the quarter-deck as how somebody had stolen his liquor. The first lieutenant reports to the captain, and the captain orders up all the men who came off tipsy.

“‘Which of you took the liquor?’ said he. They all swore that they had no hand in it. ‘Then how did you get tipsy? Come now, Mr Short, answer me; you came off beastly drunk—who gave you the liquor?’

“‘A black fellow, sir,’ replied Short; which was true enough, as the mugs were filled by the black carpenter, and handed by him.

“Well, they all swore the same, and then the captain got into a rage, and ordered them all to be put down on the report. The next day the hands were turned up for punishment, and the captain said, ‘Now, my lads, if you won’t tell who stole the purser’s grog, I will flog you all round. I only want to flog those who committed the theft, for it is too much to expect of seamen that they would refuse a glass of grog when offered to them.’

“Now, Short and the others had a parley together, and they had agreed how to act. They knew that the captain could not bear flogging, and was a very kind-hearted man. So Bill Short steps out, and says, touching his forelock to the captain, ‘If you please, sir, if all must be flogged if nobody will peach, I think it better to tell the truth at once. It was I who took the liquor.’

“‘Very well, then,’ said the captain; ‘strip, sir.’ So Bill Short pulls off his shirt, and is seized up. ‘Boatswain’s mate,’ said the captain, ‘give him a dozen.’

“‘Beg your honour’s pardon,’ said Jack Holmes, stepping out of the row of men brought out for punishment; ‘but I can’t bear to see an innocent man punished, and since one must be flogged, it must be the right one. It warn’t Bill Short that took the liquor; it was I.’

“‘Why, how’s this?’ said the captain; ‘didn’t you own that you took the liquor, Mr Short?’