Jacob Faithful

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

  THE WARMTH OF MY GRATITUDE PROVED BY A VERY COLD TEST--THE ROAD TOFORTUNE MAY SOMETIMES LEAD OVER A BRIDGE OF ICE--MINE LAY UNDER IT--AMORVINCET EVERYTHING BUT MY OBSTINACY, WHICH YOUNG TOM AND THE OLD DOMINIEIN THE SEQUEL WILL PROVE TO THEIR COST.

  For many days the frost continued, until at last the river was frozenover, and all communication by it was stopped. Stapleton's money ranshort, our fare became very indifferent, and Mary declared that we mustall go begging with the market gardeners if it lasted much longer.

  "I must go and call upon Mr Turnbull, and ax him to help us," saidStapleton, one day, pulling his last shilling out and laying it on thetable. "I'm cleaned out; but he's a good gentleman, and will lend me atrifle." In the afternoon Stapleton returned, and I saw by his looksthat he had been successful. "Jacob," said he, "Mr Turnbull desiresthat you will breakfast with him to-morrow morning, as he wishes to seeyou."

  I set off accordingly at daylight the next morning, and was in good timefor breakfast. Mr Turnbull was as kind as ever, and began telling melong stories about the ice in the northern regions.

  "By-the-by, I hear there is an ox to be roasted whole, Jacob, a littleabove London Bridge; suppose we go and see the fun."

  I consented, and we took the Brentford coach, and were put down at thecorner of Queen Street, from thence we walked to the river. The scenewas very amusing and exciting. Booths were erected on the ice, in everydirection, with flags flying, people walking, and some skating, althoughthe ice was too rough for that pastime. The whole river was crowdedwith people, who now walked in security over where they, a month before,would have met with death. Here and there smoke ascended from variousfires, on which sausages and other eatables were cooking; but the greatattraction was the ox roasting whole, close to the centre pier of thebridge. Although the ice appeared to have fallen at the spot where somany hundreds were assembled, yet as it was now four or five feet thick,there was no danger. Here and there, indeed, were what were calledrotten places, where the ice was not sound; but these were intimated byplacards, warning people not to approach too near; and close to themwere ropes and poles for succour, if required. We amused ourselves forsome time with the gaiety of the scene, for the sun shone out brightly,and the sky was clear. The wind was fresh from the northward, andpiercing cold in the shade, the thermometer being then, it was said,twenty-eight degrees below the freezing point. We had been on the iceabout three hours, amusing ourselves, when Mr Turnbull proposed ourgoing home, and we walked up the river towards Blackfriars Bridge, wherewe proposed to land, and take the coach at Charing Cross.

  "I wonder how the tide is now," observed Mr Turnbull to me; "it wouldbe rather puzzling to find out."

  "Not if I can find a hole," replied I, looking for one. "Stop, here isone." I threw in a piece of ice, and found that it was strong ebb. Wecontinued our walk over the ice, which was now very rough, when MrTurnbull's hat fell off, and the wind catching it, it blew away,skimming across the ice at a rapid rate. Mr Turnbull and I gave chase,but could scarcely keep up with it, and, at all events, could notovertake it. Many people on the river laughed as we passed, and watchedus in our chase. Mr Turnbull was the foremost, and, heedless in thepursuit, did not observe a large surface of rotten ice before him;neither did I, until all at once I heard it break and saw Mr Turnbullfall in and disappear. Many people were close to us, and a rope waslaid across the spot to designate the danger. I did not hesitate--Iloved Mr Turnbull, and my love and my feelings of resentment wereequally potent. I seized the bight of the rope, twisted it round myarm, and plunged in after, recollecting it was ebb tide: fortunate forMr Turnbull it was that he had accidentally put the question. I sankunder the ice, and pushed down the stream, and in a few seconds feltmyself grappled by him I sought, and at almost the same time, the ropehauling in from above. As soon as they found there was resistance, theyknew that I, at least, was attached to it, and they hauled in quicker,not, however, until I had lost my recollection. Still I clung to therope with the force of a drowning man, and Mr Turnbull did the same tome, and we shortly made our appearance at the hole in which we had beenplunged. A ladder was thrown across, and two of the men of the HumaneSociety came to our assistance, pulled us out, and laid us upon it.They then drew back and hauled us on the ladder to a more securesituation. We were both still senseless; but having been taken to apublic-house on the river-side, were put to bed, and medical advicehaving been procured, were soon restored. The next morning we were ableto return in a chaise to Brentford, where our absence had created thegreatest alarm. Mr Turnbull spoke but little the whole time; but heoften pressed my hand, and when I requested him to drop me at Fulham,that I might let Stapleton and his daughter know that I was safe, heconsented, saying, "God bless you, my fine boy; I will see you soon."

  When I went up the stairs of Stapleton's lodgings, I found Mary byherself; she started up as soon as she saw me.

  "Where _have_ you been?" said she, half crying, half smiling.

  "Under the ice," I replied, "and only thawed again this morning."

  "Are you in earnest, Jacob?" said she; "now don't plague and frightenme, I've been too frightened already; I never slept a wink last night;"I then told her the circumstances which had occurred. "I was suresomething had happened," she replied. "I told my father so, but hewouldn't believe it. You promised to be at home to give me my lesson,and I know you never break your word; but my father smoked away, andsaid, that when boys are amused, they forget their promises, and that itwas nothing but human natur'. Oh, Jacob, I'm so glad you're back again,and after what has happened, I don't mind your kissing me for once."And Mary held her face towards me, and returned my kiss.

  "There, that must last you a long while, recollect," said she, laughing;"you must not think of another until you're under the ice again."

  "Then I trust it will be the last," replied I, laughing.

  "You are not in love with me, Jacob, that's clear, or you would not havemade that answer," replied Mary.

  I had seen a great deal of Mary, and though she certainly was a greatflirt, yet she had many excellent and amiable qualities. For the firstweek after her father had given us the history of his life, his remarksupon her mother appeared to have made a decided impression upon her, andher conduct was much more staid and demure; but as the remembrance woreoff, so did her conduct become coquettish and flirting as before; still,it was impossible not to be fond of her, and even with all her capricethere was such a fund of real good feeling and amiableness, which, whencalled forth, was certain to appear, that I often thought how dangerousand captivating a girl she would be when she grew up. I had againproduced the books, which I had thrown aside with disgust, to teach herto read and write. Her improvement was rapid, and would have been stillmore so if she had not been just as busy in trying to make me fond ofher as she was in surmounting the difficulties of her lessons. But shewas very young; and although, as her father declared, it was her_natur'_ to run after the men, there was every reason to hope that ayear or two would render her less volatile, and add to those sterlinggood qualities which she really possessed. In heart and feeling she wasa modest girl, although the buoyancy of her spirits often carried herbeyond the bounds prescribed by decorum, and often called forth a blushupon her own animated countenance, when her good sense, or the remarksof others, reminded her of her having committed herself. It wasimpossible to know Mary and not like her, although, at a casual meeting,a rigid person might go away with an impression by no means favourable.As for myself, I must say, that the more I was in her company the more Iwas attached to her, and the more I respected her.

  Old Stapleton came home in the evening. He had, as usual, been smoking,and thinking of human natur', at the Feathers public-house. I told himwhat had happened, and upon the strength of it he sent for an extra potof beer for Mary and me, which he insisted upon our drinking betweenus--a greater proof of good-will on his part could not have been given.Although Captain Turnbull appeared to ha
ve recovered from the effects ofthe accident, yet it seemed that such was not the case, as the morningafter his arrival he was taken ill with shivering and pains in hisloins, which ended in ague and fever, and he did not quit his bed forthree or four weeks. I, on the contrary, felt no ill effects; but theconstitution of a youth is better able to meet such violent shocks thanthat of a man of sixty years old, already sapped by exposure andfatigue. As the frost still continued, I complied with CaptainTurnbull's request to come up and stay with him, and for many days,until he was able to leave his bed, I was his constant nurse. Thegeneral theme of his conversation was on my future prospects, and a wishthat I would embark in some pursuit or profession more likely to raiseme in the world; but on this head I was positive, and also anotherpoint, which was, that I would in future put myself under an obligationto no one. I could not erase from my memory the injuries I hadreceived, and my vindictive spirit continually brooded over them. I wasresolved to be independent and free. I felt that in the company I wasin I was with my equals, or, if there were any superiority, it was on mypart, arising from education, and I never would submit to be again inthe society of those above me, in which I was admitted as a favour, andby the major part looked down upon, and at the same time liable, as Ihad once been, to be turned out with contumely on the first moment ofcaprice. Still, I was very fond of Captain Turnbull. He had alwaysbeen kind to me, spoke to me on terms of equality, and had behaved withconsistency, and my feelings towards him since the accident hadconsequently strengthened; but we always feel an increased regardtowards those to whom we have been of service, and my pride was softenedby the reflection that, whatever might be Mr Turnbull's good-willtowards me, he never could, even if I would permit it, repay me for thelife which I had preserved. Towards him I felt unbounded regard;towards those who had ill-treated me, unlimited hatred; towards theworld in general a mixture of feeling which I could hardly analyse; and,as far as regarded myself, a love of liberty and independence, whichnothing would ever have induced me to compromise. As I did not wish tohurt Captain Turnbull's feelings by a direct refusal to all his proffersof service, and remarks upon the advantages which might arise, Igenerally made an evasive answer; but when, on the day proposed for mydeparture, he at once came to the point, offering me everything, andobserving that he was childless, and, therefore, my acceptance of hisoffer would be injurious to nobody; when he took me by the hand, anddrawing me near to him, passed his arm round me, and spoke to me in thekind accents of a father, almost entreating me to consent--the tears ofgratitude coursed each other rapidly down my cheeks, but my resolutionwas no less firm--although it was with a faltering, voice that Ireplied, "You have been very kind to me, sir--very kind--and I shallnever forget it; and I hope I shall deserve it--but--Mr Drummond, andMrs Drummond, and Sarah, were also kind to me--very kind to me--youknow the rest. I will remain as I am, if you please; and if you wish todo me a kindness; if you wish me to love you, as I really do, let me beas I am--free and independent. I beg it of you as the greatest favourthat you can possibly confer on me--the only favour which I can accept,or shall be truly thankful for."

  Captain Turnbull was some minutes before he could reply. He thensaid--"I see it is useless, and I will not tease you any more; but,Jacob, do not let the fire of injustice which you have received fromyour fellow-creatures prey so much upon your mind, or induce you to formthe mistaken idea that the world is bad. As you live on, you will findmuch good; and recollect, that those who injured you, from themisrepresentation of others, have been willing, and have offered, torepair their fault. They can do no more, and I wish you could get overthis vindictive feeling. Recollect, we must forgive, as we hope to beforgiven."

  "I do sometimes," said I, "for Sarah's sake--I can't always."

  "But you ought to forgive, for other reasons, Jacob."

  "I know I ought--but if I cannot, I cannot."

  "Nay, my boy, I never heard you talk so--I was going to say--wickedly.Do you not perceive that you are now in error? You will not abandon afeeling which your own good sense and religion tell you to be wrong--youcling to it--and yet you will admit of no excuse for the errors ofothers."

  "I feel what you say--and the truth of it, sir," replied I "but I cannotcombat the feeling. I will, therefore, admit every excuse you pleasefor the faults of others; but at the same time, I am surely not to beblamed if I refuse to put myself in a situation where I am again liableto meet with mortification. Surely I am not to be censured, if I preferto work for my bread after my own fashion, and prefer the river to dryland?"

  "No, that I acknowledge; but what I dislike in the choice is, that it isdictated by feelings of resentment."

  "_What's done can't be helped_," replied I, quickly, wishing to breakoff the conversation.

  "Very true, Jacob; but I follow that up with another of your remarks,which is, `Better luck next time.' God bless you, my boy; take care ofyourself, and don't get under the ice again!"

  "For you I would to-morrow," replied I, taking the proffered hand: "butif I could only see that Hodgson near a hole--"

  "You'd not push him in?"

  "Indeed I would," replied I, bitterly.

  "Jacob, you would not, I tell you--you think so now, but if you saw himin distress you would assist him as you did me. I know you, my boy,better than you know yourself."

  Whether Captain Turnbull or I were right remains to be proved in thesequel. We then shook hands, and I hastened away to see Mary, whom Ihad often thought of during my absence.

  "Who do you think has been here?" said Mary, after our first greeting.

  "I cannot guess," replied I. "Not old Tom and his son?"

  "No; I don't think it was old Tom, but it was such an old quiz--withsuch a nose--O heavens! I thought I should have died with laughing assoon as he went downstairs. Do you know, Jacob, that I made love tohim, just to see how he'd take it. You know who it is now?"

  "O yes! you mean the Dominie, my schoolmaster."

  "Yes, he told me so; and I talked so much about you, and about yourteaching me to read and write, and how fond I was of learning, and how Ishould like to be married to an elderly man who was a great scholar, whowould teach me Latin and Greek, that the old gentleman became quitechatty, and sat for two hours talking to me. He desired me to say thathe should call here to-morrow afternoon, and I begged him to stay theevening, as you are to have two more of your friends here. Now, who doyou think are those?"

  "I have no others, except old Tom Beazeley and his son."

  "Well, it is your old Tom after all, and a nice old fellow he is,although I would not like him for a husband; but as for his son--he's alad after my own heart--I'm quite in love with him."

  "Your love will do you no harm, Mary; but, recollect, what may be a joketo you may not be so to other people. As for the Dominie meeting oldBeazeley and his son, I don't exactly know how that will suit, for Idoubt if he will like to see them."

  "Why not?" inquired Mary.

  Upon a promise never to hint at them, I briefly stated the circumstancesattending the worthy man's voyage on board of the lighter. Mary paused,and then said, "Jacob, did we not read the last time that the mostdangerous rocks to men were _wine_ and _women_?"

  "Yes, we did, if I recollect right."

  "Humph," said she; "the old gentleman has given plenty of lessons in histime, and it appears that he has received _one_."

  "We may do so to the last day of our existence, Mary."

  "Well, he is a very clever, learned man, I've no doubt, and looks downupon all of us (not you, Jacob) as silly people. I'll try if _I_ can'tgive him a lesson."

  "You, Mary, what can you teach him?"

  "Never mind, we shall see;" and Mary turned the discourse on her father."You know, I suppose, that father is gone up to Mr Turnbull's."

  "No, I did not."

  "Yes, he has; he was desired to go there this morning, and hasn't beenback since. Jacob, I hope you won't be so foolish again, for I don'twant to lose my master."

&nb
sp; "Oh, never fear; I shall teach you all you want to know before I die," Ireplied.

  "Don't be too sure of that," replied Mary; "how do you know how much Imay wish to have of your company?"

  "Well, if I walk off in a hurry, I'll make you over to young TomBeazeley. You're half in love with him already, you know," replied I,laughing.

  "Well, he is a nice fellow," replied she; "he laughs more than you do,Jacob."

  "He has suffered less," replied I, gloomily, calling to mind what hadoccurred; "but, Mary, he is a fine young man, and a good-hearted, cleverfellow to boot; and when you do know him, you will like him very much."As I said this, I heard her father coming up stairs; he came in highgood-humour with his interview with Captain Turnbull, called for hispipe and pot, and was excessively fluent upon "_human natur'_."