Jacob Faithful

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

  THE DOMINIE'S BOSOM GROWS TOO WARM; SO THE PARTY AND THE FROST BREAKUP--I GO WITH THE STREAM AND AGAINST IT; MAKE MONEY BOTH WAYS--COOLNESSBETWEEN MARY AND ME--NO CHANCE OF A THAMES' EDITION OF ABELARD ANDELOISE--LOVE, LEARNING, AND LATIN ALL LOST IN A FIT OF THE SULKS.

  "I say, Master Stapleton, suppose we were to knock out half a port,"observed old Tom, after a silence of two minutes; "for the old gentlemanblows a devil of a cloud: that is, if no one has an objection."Stapleton gave a nod of assent, and I rose and put the upper window downa few inches. "Ay, that's right, Jacob; now we shall see what Miss Maryand he are about. You've been enjoying the lady all to yourself,master," continued Tom, addressing the Dominie.

  "Verily and truly," replied the Dominie, "even as a second Jupiter."

  "Never heard of him."

  "I presume not; still, Jacob will tell thee that the history is to befound in Ovid's Metamorphoses."

  "Never heard of the country, master."

  "Nay, friend Dux, it is a book, not a country, in which thou may'st readhow Jupiter at first descended unto Semele in a cloud."

  "And pray, where did he come from, master?"

  "He came from heaven."

  "The devil he did. Well, if ever I gets there, I mean to stay."

  "It was love, all-powerful love, which induced him, maiden," replied theDominie, turning, with a smiling eye, to Mary.

  "'Bove my comprehension altogether," replied old Tom.

  "Human natur'," muttered Stapleton, with the pipe still between hislips.

  "Not the first vessels that have run foul in a fog," observed young Tom.

  "No, boy; but generally there ar'n't much love between them at thosetimes. But, come, now that we can breathe again, suppose I give you asong. What shall it be, young woman, a sea ditty, or something_spooney_?"

  "Oh, something about love, if you've no objection, sir," said Mary,appealing to the Dominie.

  "Nay, it pleaseth me maiden, and I am of thy mind. Friend Dux, let itbe Anacreontic."

  "What the devil's that?" cried old Tom, lifting up his eyes, and takingthe pipe out of his mouth.

  "Nothing of your own, father, that's clear; but something to borrow, forit's to be _on tick_," replied Tom.

  "Nay, boy, I would have been understood that the song should refer towomen or wine."

  "Both of which are to his fancy," observed young Tom to me, aside.

  "_Human natur'_," quaintly observed Stapleton.

  "Well, then, you shall have your wish. I'll give you one that might bewarbled in a lady's chamber without stirring the silk curtains:--

  "Oh! the days are gone when beauty bright My heart's chain wove, When my dream of life from morn to night Was Love--still Love. New hope may bloom, and days may come, Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet in life As Love's young dream; Oh! there's nothing half so sweet in life, As Love's young dream."

  The melody of the song, added to the spirits he had drunk and Mary'seyes beaming on him, had a great effect upon the Dominie. As old Tomwarbled out, so did the pedagogue gradually approach the chair of Mary;and as gradually entwine her waist with his own arm, his eyes twinklingbrightly on her. Old Tom, who perceived it, had given me and Tom awink, as he repeated the two last lines; and then we saw what was goingon, we burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Boys! boys!" saidthe Dominie, starting up, "thou hast awakened me, by thy boisterousmirth, from a sweet musing created by the harmony of friend Dux's voice.Neither do I discover the source of thy cachinnation, seeing that thesong is amatory and not comic. Still, it may not be supposed, at thyearly age, that thou canst be affected with what thou art too young tofeel. Pr'ythee continue, friend Dux, and, boys, restrain thy mirth."

  "Though the bard to a purer fame may soar When wild youth's past, Though he win the wise, who frowned before, To smile at last, He'll never meet a joy so sweet In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman's ear His soul-felt flame; And at every close she blush'd to hear The once-lov'd name."

  At the commencement of this verse the Dominie appeared to be on hisguard; but gradually moved by the power of song, he dropped his elbow onthe table, and his pipe underneath it; his forehead sank into his broadpalm, and he remained motionless. The verse ended, and the Dominie,forgetting all around him, softly ejaculated, without looking up, "Eheu!Mary."

  "Did you speak to me, sir?" said Mary, who, perceiving us tittering,addressed the Dominie with a half-serious, half-mocking air.

  "Speak, maiden? nay, I spoke not; yet thou mayest give me my pipe, whichapparently hath been abducted while I was listening to the song."

  "Abducted! that's a new word; but it means smashed into twenty pieces, Isuppose," observed young Tom. "At all events, your pipe is, for you letit fall between your legs."

  "Never mind," said Mary, rising from her chair, and going to thecupboard; "here's another, sir."

  "Well, master, am I to finish, or have you had enough of it?"

  "Proceed, friend Dux, proceed; and believe that I am all attention."

  "Oh, that hallowed form is ne'er forgot Which first love trac'd, Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot On memory's waste. 'Twas odour fled as soon as shed, 'Twas memory's winged dream, 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream; Oh, 'twas light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream."

  "Nay," said the Dominie, again abstracted, "the metaphor is not just.`_Life's_ dull stream.' `_Lethe tacitus amnis_,' as Lucan hath it; butthe stream of life flows--ay, flows rapidly--even in my veins. Doth notthe heart throb and beat--yea, strongly--peradventure too forciblyagainst my better judgment? `_Confiteor misere molle cor esse mihi_,'as Ovid saith. Yet must it not prevail! Shall one girl be victoriousover seventy boys? Shall I, Dominie Dobbs, desert my post?--Againsuccumb to--I will even depart, that I may be at my desk at matutinalhours."

  "You don't mean to leave us, sir?" said Mary, taking the Dominie's arm.

  "Even so, fair maiden, for it waxeth late, and I have my duties toperform," said the Dominie, rising from his chair.

  "Then you will promise to come again."

  "Peradventure I may."

  "If you do not promise me that you will, I will not let you go now."

  "Verily, maiden--"

  "Promise," interrupted Mary.

  "Truly, maiden--"

  "Promise," cried Mary.

  "In good sooth, maiden--"

  "Promise," reiterated Mary, pulling the Dominie towards her chair.

  "Nay, then, I do promise, since thou wilt have it so," replied theDominie.

  "And when will you come?"

  "I will not tarry," replied the Dominie; "and now good night to all."

  The Dominie shook hands with us, and Mary lighted him downstairs. I wasmuch pleased with the resolution and sense of his danger thus shown bymy worthy preceptor, and hoped that he would have avoided Mary infuture, who evidently wished to make a conquest of him for her ownamusement and love of admiration; but still I felt that the promiseexacted would be fulfilled, and I was afraid that a second meeting, andthat perhaps not before witnesses, would prove mischievous. I made upmy mind to speak to Mary on the subject as soon as I had an opportunity,and insist upon her not making a fool of the worthy old man. Maryremained below a much longer time than was necessary, and when shere-appeared and looked at me, as if for a smile of approval, I turnedfrom her with a contemptuous air. She sat down, and looked confused.Tom was also silent, and paid her no attention. A quarter of an hourpassed, when he proposed to his father that they should be off, and theparty broke up. Leaving Mary silent and thoughtful, and old Stapletonfinishing his pipe, I took my candle and went to bed.

  The next day the moon changed, the weather changed, and a rapid thawtook place. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," observed oldStapleton; "we watermen will have the river to ourselves again, and thehucksters must carry their gingerbread-nuts to another market." It was,howeve
r, three or four days before the river was clear of the ice, so asto permit the navigation to proceed; and during that time, I may as wellobserve, that there was dissension between Mary and me. I showed herthat I resented her conduct, and at first she tried to pacify me; butfinding that I held out longer than she expected, she turned round, andwas affronted in return. Short words and no lessons were the order ofthe day; and as each party seemed determined to hold out, there waslittle prospect of a reconciliation. In this she was the greatestsufferer, as I quitted the house after breakfast, and did not returnuntil dinner time. At first old Stapleton plied very regularly, andtook all the fares; but about a fortnight after we had worked together,he used to leave me to look after employment, and remain at thepublic-house. The weather was now fine, and, after the severe frost, itchanged so rapidly that most of the trees were in leaf, and thehorse-chestnuts in full blossom. The wherry was in constant demand, andevery evening I handed from four to six shillings over to old Stapleton.I was delighted with my life, and should have been perfectly happy ifit had not been for my quarrel with Mary still continuing, she asresolutely refraining from making advances as I. How much may life beembittered by dissension with those you live with, even when there is novery warm attachment; the constant grating together worries and annoys,and although you may despise the atoms, the aggregate becomesinsupportable. I had no pleasure in the house; and the evenings, whichformerly passed so agreeably, were now a source of vexation, from beingforced to sit in company with one with whom I was not on good terms.Old Stapleton was seldom at home till late, and this made it stillworse. I was communing with myself one night, as I had my eyes fixed onmy book, whether I should make the first advances, when Mary, who hadbeen quietly at work, broke the silence by asking me what I was reading.I replied in a quiet tone.

  "Jacob," said she, in continuation, "I think you have used me very illto humble me in this manner. It was your business to make it up first."

  "I am not aware that I have been in the wrong," replied I.

  "I do not say that you have; but what matter does that make? You oughtto give way to a woman."

  "Why so?"

  "Why so! don't the whole world do so? Do you not offer everything firstto a woman? Is it not her right?"

  "Not when she is in the wrong, Mary."

  "Yes, when she's in the wrong, Jacob; there's no merit in doing it whenshe's in the right."

  "I think otherwise; at all events, it depends on how much she has beenin the wrong, and I consider you have shown a bad heart, Mary."

  "A bad heart! in what way, Jacob?"

  "In realising the fable of the boys and the frogs with the poor oldDominie, forgetting that what may be sport to you is death to him."

  "You don't mean to say that he'll die of love," replied Mary, laughing.

  "I should hope not: but you may contrive, and you have tried all in yourpower, to make him very wretched."

  "And, pray, how do you know that I do not like the old gentleman, Jacob?You appear to think that a girl is to fall in love with nobody butyourself. Why should I not love an old man with so much learning? Ihave been told that old husbands are much prouder of their wives thanyoung ones, and pay them more attention, and don't run after otherwomen. How do you know that I am not serious?"

  "Because I know your character, Mary, and am not to be deceived. If youmean to defend yourself in that way, we had better not talk any more."

  "Lord, how savage you are! then, suppose I did pay the old gentleman anyattention. Did the young ones pay me any? Did either you, or yourprecious friend, Mr Tom, even speak to me?"

  "No; we saw how you were employed, and we both hate a jilt."

  "Oh, you do. Very well, sir; just as you please. I may make both yourhearts ache for this some day or another."

  "Forewarned, forearmed, Mary; and I shall take care that they are bothforewarned as well as myself. As I perceive that you are so decided, Ishall say no more. Only, for your own sake, and your own happiness, Icaution you. Recollect your mother, Mary, and recollect your mother'sdeath."

  Mary covered her face and burst into tears. She sobbed for a fewminutes, and then came to me. "You are right, Jacob; and I am afoolish--perhaps wicked--girl; but forgive me, and indeed I will try tobehave better. But, as father says, it is human nature in me, and it'shard to conquer our natures, Jacob."

  "Will you promise me not to continue your advances to the Dominie,Mary?"

  "I will not, if I can help it, Jacob. I may forget for the moment, butI'll do all I can. It's not very easy to look grave when one is merry,or sour when one is pleased."

  "But what can induce you, Mary, to practise upon an old man like him?If it were young Tom, I could understand it. There might be somecredit, and your pride might be flattered by the victory; but an oldman--"

  "Still, Jacob, old or young, it's much the same. I would like to havethem all at my feet, and that's the truth. I can't help it. And Ithought it a great victory to bring there a wise old man, who was sofull of Latin and learning, and who ought to know better. Tell meJacob, if old men a how themselves to be caught, as well as young, whereis the crime of catching them? Isn't there as much vanity in an oldman, in his supposing that I really could love him, as there is in me,who am but a young, foolish girl, in trying to make him fond of me?"

  "That may be; but still recollect that he is in earnest, and you areonly joking, which makes a great difference; and recollect further, thatin trying at all, we very often lose all."

  "That I would take my chance of, Jacob," replied Mary, proudly throwingher curly ringlets back with her hand from her white forehead; "but whatI now want is to make friends with you. Come, Jacob, you have mypromise to do my best."

  "Yes, Mary, and I believe you, so there's my hand."

  "You don't know how miserable I have been, Jacob, since we quarrelled,"said Mary, wiping the tears away, which again commenced flowing; "andyet I don't know why, for I'm sure I have almost hated you this lastweek--that I have; but the fact is, I like quarrelling very well for thepleasure of making it up again; but not for the quarrel to last so longas this has done."

  "It has annoyed me too, Mary, for I like you very much in general."

  "Well, then, now it's all over; but Jacob, are you sure you are friendswith me?"

  "Yes, Mary."

  Mary looked archly at me. "You know the old saw, and I feel the truthof it."

  "What, `kiss and make friends?'" replied I; "with all my heart," and Ikissed her, without any resistance on her part.

  "No, I didn't mean that, Jacob."

  "What then?"

  "Oh! 'twas another."

  "Well, then, what was the other?"

  "Never mind, I forget it now," said she laughing, and rising from thechair. "Now, I must go to my work again, and you must tell me whatyou've been doing this last fortnight."

  Mary and I entered into a long and amicable conversation till her fathercame home, when we retired to bed. "I think," said old Stapleton, thenext morning, "that I've had work enough; and I've belonged to twobenefit clubs for so long as to 'title me to an allowance. I think,Jacob, I shall give up the wherry to you, and you shall in future giveme one-third of your earnings, and keep the rest to yourself. I don'tsee why you're to work hard all day for nothing." I remonstratedagainst this excess of liberality; but old Stapleton was positive, andthe arrangement was made. I afterwards discovered, what may probablyoccur to the reader, that Captain Turnbull was at the bottom of allthis. He had pensioned old Stapleton that I might become independent bymy own exertions before I had served my apprenticeship; and afterbreakfast, old Stapleton walked down with me to the beach, and welaunched the boat. "Recollect, Jacob," said he, "one-third, and honourbright;" so saying, he adjourned to his old quarters, the public-house,to smoke his pipe and think of human natur'. I do not recollect any dayof my life on which I felt more happy than on this: I was working formyself, and independent. I jumped into my wherry, and, without waitingfor a fare, I pushed
off, and, gaining the stream, cleaved through thewater with delight as my reward; but after a quarter of an hour Isobered down with the recollection that, although I might pull about fornothing for my own amusement, that as Stapleton was entitled toone-third, I had no right to neglect his interest; and I shot my wherryinto the row, and stood with my hand and fore-finger raised, watchingthe eye of every one who came towards the hard. I was fortunate thatday, and when I returned, was proceeding to give Stapleton his share,when he stopped me. "Jacob, it's no use dividing now; once a-week willbe better. I likes things to come in a lump; cause, d'ye see--it's--it's--_human natur'_."