Jacob Faithful

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

  A TEN-POUND HOUSEHOLDER OCCUPIED WITH AFFAIRS OF STATE--THE ADVANTAGE OFTHE WORD "IMPLICATION"--AN UNEXPECTED MEETING AND A RECONCILIATION--RESOLUTION VERSUS BRIGHT BLACK EYES--VERDICT FOR THE DEFENDANT, WITHHEAVY DAMAGES.

  The house of old Tom Beazeley was situated on the verge of BatterseaFields, about a mile-and-a-half from the bridge bearing the same name;the river about twenty yards before it--the green grass behind it, andnot a tree within half-a-mile of it. There was nothing picturesque init but its utter loneliness; it was not only lonely, but isolated, forit was fixed upon a delta of about half-an-acre, between two creeks,which joined at about forty yards from the river, and ran up through thefields, so that the house was at high water upon an island, and at lowwater was defended by an impassable barrier of mud, so that the advancesto it could be made only from the river, where a small _hard_, edgedwith posts worn down to the conformation of decayed double-teeth,offered the only means of access. The house itself was one storey high;dark red bricks, and darker tiles upon the roof; windows very scarce andvery small, although built long before the damnable tax upon light, forit was probably built in the time of Elizabeth, to judge by thepeculiarity of the style of architecture observable in the chimneys; butit matters very little at what epoch was built a tenement which wasrented at only ten pounds per annum. The major part of the said islandwas stocked with cabbage plants; but on one side there was half a boatset upright, with a patch of green before it. At the time that oldBeazeley hired it there was a bridge rudely constructed of old shipplank, by which you could gain a path which led across the BatterseaFields; but as all the communications of old Tom were by water, and MrsBeazeley never ventured over the bridge, it was gradually knocked awayfor firewood, and when it was low-water, one old post, redolent of mud,marked the spot where the bridge had been. The interior was far moreinviting. Mrs Beazeley was a clean person and frugal housewife, andevery article in the kitchen, which was the first room you entered, wasas clean and as bright as industry could make it. There was a parlouralso, seldom used; both of the inmates, when they did meet, which wasnot above a day or two in three weeks, during the time that old Beazeleywas in charge of the lighter, preferring comfort to grandeur. In thisisolated house, upon this isolated spot, did Mrs Beazeley pass a lifeof most isolation.

  And yet, perhaps there never was a more lively or a more happy womanthan Mrs Beazeley, for she was strong and in good health, and alwaysemployed. She knew that her husband was following up his avocation onthe river, and laying by a provision for their old age, which sheherself was adding considerably to it by her own exertions. She hadmarried old Tom long before he had lost his legs, at a time when he wasa prime, active sailor, and the best man of the ship. She was anet-maker's daughter, and had been brought up to the business, at whichshe was very expert. The most difficult part of the art is that ofmaking large _seines_ for taking sea-fish; and when she had no order forthose to complete, the making of casting-nets beguiled away her time assoon as her household cares had been disposed of. She made money andhusbanded it, not only for herself and her partner, but for her son,young Tom, upon whom she doted. So accustomed was she to work hard andbe alone that it was most difficult to say whether she was most pleasedor most annoyed when her husband and son made their appearance for a dayor two, and the latter was alternately fondled and scolded during thewhole of his sojourn. Tom, as the reader may suppose from a knowledgeof his character, caring about as much for the one as the other.

  I pulled into the _hard_, and made fast my boat. There was no oneoutside the door when I landed; on entering, I found them all seated atthe table, and a grand display of fragments, in the shape ofherring-bones, etcetera. "Well, Jacob--come at last--thought you hadforgot us; piped to breakfast at eight bells--always do, you know," saidold Tom, on my making my appearance.

  "Have you had your breakfast, Jacob?" said Mrs Beazeley.

  "No," replied I; "I was obliged to go up to Mr Turnbull's, and thatdetained me."

  "No more sodgers, Jacob," said Tom; "father and I eat them all."

  "Have you?" replied Mrs Beazeley, taking two more red herrings out ofthe cupboard, and putting them on the fire to grill; "no, no, masterTom, there's some for Jacob yet."

  "Well, mother, you make nets to some purpose, for you've always a fishwhen it's wanted."

  I despatched my breakfast, and as soon as all had been cleared away byhis wife, old Tom, crossing his two timber legs, commenced business, forit appeared, what I was not aware of, that we had met on a sort ofcouncil-of-war.

  "Jacob, sit down by me; old woman, bring yourself to an anchor in thehigh chair. Tom, sit anywhere, so you sit still."

  "And leave my net alone, Tom," cried his mother, in parenthesis.--"Yousee, Jacob, the whole long and short of it is this--I feel my toes moreand more, and flannel's no longer warm. I can't tide it any longer, andI think it high time to lie up in ordinary and moor abreast of the oldwoman. Now, there's Tom, in the first place, what's to do with he? Ithink that I'll build him a wherry, and as I'm free of the river he canfinish his apprenticeship with my name on the boat; but to build him awherry would be rather a heavy pull for me."

  "If you mean to build it yourself, I think it will prove a _heavy pull_for me," replied Tom.

  "Silence, Tom; I built you, and God knows you're light enough."

  "And, Tom, leave my net alone," cried his mother.

  "Father made me light-fingered, mother."

  "Ay, and light-hearted too, boy," rejoined the dame, looking fondly ather son.

  "Well," continued old Tom, "supposing that Tom be provided for in thatway; then now I comes to myself. I've an idea that I can do a good bitof work in patching up boats; for you see I always was a bit of acarpenter, and I know how the builders extortionate the poor watermenwhen there's a trifle amiss. Now, if they knew I could do it, they'dall come to me fast enough; but then there's a puzzle. I've beenthinking this week how I can make them know it. I can't put out a boardand say, Beazeley, _Boat-builder_, because I'm no boatbuilder, but stillI want a sign."

  "Lord, father, haven't you got one already?" interrupted young Tom;"you've half a boat stuck up there, and that means that you're half aboat-builder."

  "Silence, Tom, with your frippery; what do you think. Jacob?"

  "Could you not say, `Boats repaired here?'"

  "Yes, but that won't exactly do; they like to employ a builder--andthere's the puzzle."

  "Not half so puzzling as this net," observed Tom, who had taken up theneedle, unseen by his mother, and begun to work; "I've made only tenstitches, and six of them are long ones."

  "Tom, Tom, you good-for-nothing--why don't you let my net alone?" criedMrs Beazeley; "now 'twill take me as much time to undo ten stitches asto have made fifty."

  "All right, mother."

  "No, Tom, all's wrong; look at these meshes?"

  "Well, then, all's fair, mother."

  "No, all's foul, boy; look how it's tangled."

  "Still, I say, all's fair, mother, for it is but fair to give the fishone or two chances to get away, and that's just what I've done; and now,father, I'll settle your affair to your own satisfaction, as I havemother's."

  "That will be queer satisfaction, Tom, I guess; but let's hear what youhave to say."

  "Then, father, it seems that you're no boat-builder, but you want peopleto fancy that you are--a'n't that the question?"

  "Why, 'tis something like it, Tom, but I do nobody no harm."

  "Certainly not; it's only the boats which will suffer. Now, get a largeboard, with `Boats _built to order_, and boats repaired, by TomBeazeley.' You know if any man is fool enough to order a boat, that'shis concern; you didn't say you're a boat-builder, although you have noobjection to try your hand."

  "What do you say Jacob?" said old Tom, appealing to me.

  "I think that Tom has given very good advice, and I would follow it."

  "Ah! Tom has a head," said Mrs Beazeley, fondly. "Tom, le
t go my netagain, will you? What a boy you are! Now touch it again if you dare,"and Mrs Beazeley took up a little poker from the fire-place and shookit at him.

  "Tom has a head, indeed," said young Tom, "but as he has no wish to haveit broken, Jacob, lend me your wherry for half-an-hour, and I'll beoff."

  I assented, and Tom, first tossing the cat upon his mother's back, madehis escape, crying:

  "Lord, Molly, what a fish--"

  as the animal fixed in its claws to save herself from falling, makingMrs Beazeley roar out and vow vengeance, while old Tom and I could notrefrain from laughter.

  After Tom's departure the conversation was renewed, and everything wasfinally arranged between old Tom and his wife, except the building ofthe wherry, at which the old woman shook her head. The debate would betoo long, and not sufficiently interesting to detail; one part, however,I must make the reader acquainted with. After entering into all thearrangements of the house, Mrs Beazeley took me upstairs to show me therooms, which were very neat and clean. I came down with her, and oldTom said, "Did the old woman show you the room with the white curtains,Jacob?"

  "Yes," replied I, "and a very nice one it is."

  "Well, Jacob, there's nothing sure in this world. You're well off atpresent, and `leave well alone' is a good motto; but recollect this,that room is for you when you want it, and everything else we can sharewith you. It's offered freely, and you will accept it the same. Is itnot, old lady?"

  "Yes, that it is, Jacob; but may you do better--if not, I'll be yourmother for want of a better."

  I was moved with the kindness of the old couple; the more so as I didnot know what I had done to deserve it. Old Tom gave me a heartysqueeze of the hand, and then continued--"But about this wherry--what doyou say, old woman?"

  "What will it cost?" replied she, gravely.

  "Cost; let me see--a good wherry, with sculls and oars, will be a matterof thirty pounds."

  The old woman screwed up her mouth, shook her head, and then walked awayto prepare for dinner.

  "I think she could muster the blunt, Jacob, but she don't like to partwith it. Tom must coax her. I wish he hadn't shied the cat at her.He's too full of fun."

  As old Beazeley finished, I perceived a wherry pulling in with someladies. I looked attentively, and recognised my own boat, and Tompulling. In a minute more they were at the _hard_, and who, to myastonishment, were there seated, but Mrs Drummond and Sarah. As Tomgot out of the boat and held it steady against the _hard_, he called tome; I could not do otherwise than go and assist them out; and once moredid I touch the hands of those whom I never thought to meet again. MrsDrummond retained my hand a short time after she landed, saying, "We arefriends, Jacob, are we not!"

  "Oh, yes, madam," replied I, much moved, in a faltering voice.

  "I shall not ask that question," said Sarah, gaily, "for we partedfriends."

  And as I recalled to mind her affectionate behaviour, I pressed herhand, and the tears glistened in my eyes as I looked into her sweetface. As I afterwards discovered, this was an arranged plan with oldand young Tom, to bring about a meeting without my knowledge. MrsBeazeley courtesied and stroked her apron--smiled at the ladies, lookedvery _cat_-ish at Tom, showed the ladies into the house, where old Tomassisted to do the honours after his own fashion, by asking MrsDrummond if she would like to _whet her whistle_ after her _pull_. MrsDrummond looked round to me for explanation, but young Tom thoughtproper to be interpreter. "Father wants to know, if you please, ma'am,whether, after your _pull_ in the boat, you wouldn't like to have a_pull_ at the brandy bottle?"

  "No," replied Mrs Drummond, smiling; "but I should be obliged for aglass of water. Will you get me one, Jacob?"

  I hastened to comply, and Mrs Drummond entered into conversation withMrs Beazeley. Sarah looked at me, and went to the door, turning backas inviting me to follow. I did so, and we soon found ourselves seatedon the bench in the old boat.

  "Jacob," said she, looking earnestly at me, "you surely will be friendswith _my_ father?"

  I think I should have shaken my head, but she laid an emphasis on _my_,which the little gipsy knew would have its effect. All my resolutions,all my pride, all my sense of injury vanished before the mild, beautifuleyes of Sarah, and I replied hastily, "Yes, Miss Sarah, I can refuse_you_ nothing."

  "Why _Miss_, Jacob?"

  "I am a waterman, and you are much above me."

  "That is your own fault; but say no more about it."

  "I must say something more, which is this: do not attempt to make meleave my present employment; I am happy, because I am independent; andthat I will, if possible, be for the future."

  "Any one can pull an oar, Jacob."

  "Very true, Miss Sarah, and is under no obligation to any one by soearning his livelihood. He works for all and is paid for all."

  "Will you come and see us, Jacob? Come to-morrow--now do--promise me.Will you refuse your old playmate, Jacob?"

  "I wish you would not ask that."

  "How then can you say that you are friends with my father? I will notbelieve you unless you promise to come."

  "Sarah," replied I, earnestly, "I will come; and to prove to you that weare friends, I will ask a favour of him."

  "Oh, Jacob, this is kind indeed," cried Sarah, with her eyes swimmingwith tears. "You have made me so--so very happy!"

  The meeting with Sarah humanised me, and every feeling of revenge waschased from my memory. Mrs Drummond joined us soon after, and proposedto return. "And Jacob will pull us back," cried Sarah. "Come, sir,look after your _fare_, in both senses. Since you will be a waterman,you shall work." I laughed and handed them to the boat. Tom took theother oar, and we were soon at the steps close to their house.

  "Mamma, we ought to give these poor fellows something to drink; they'veworked very hard," said Sarah, mocking. "Come up, my good men." Ihesitated. "Nay, Jacob, if tomorrow why not to-day? The sooner thesethings are over the better."

  I felt the truth of this observation, and followed her. In a fewminutes I was again in that parlour in which I had been dismissed, andin which the affectionate girl burst into tears on my shoulder, as Iheld the handle of the door. I looked at it, and looked at Sarah. MrsDrummond had gone out of the room to let Mr Drummond know that I hadcome. "How kind you were, Sarah!" said I.

  "Yes, but kind people are cross sometimes, and so am I--and so was--"

  Mr Drummond came in, and stopped her. "Jacob, I am glad to see youagain in my house; I was deceived by appearances, and did youinjustice." How true is the observation of the wise man, that a softword turneth away wrath; that Mr Drummond should personally acknowledgethat he was wrong to me--that he should confess it--every feeling ofresentment was gone, and others crowded in their place. I recollectedhow he had protected the orphan--how he had provided him withinstruction--how he had made _his_ house a home to me--how he had triedto bring me forward under his own protection I recollected--which, alas!I never should have forgotten--that he had treated me for years withkindness and affection, all of which had been obliterated from my memoryby one single act of injustice. I felt that I was a culprit, and burstinto tears; and Sarah, as before, cried in sympathy.

  "I beg your pardon, Mr Drummond," said I, as soon as I could speak; "Ihave been very wrong in being so revengeful after so much kindness fromyou."

  "We both have been wrong--but say no more on the subject, Jacob; I havean order to give, and then I will come up to you again;" and MrDrummond quitted the room.

  "You dear, good boy," said Sarah, coming up to me. "Now, I really dolove you."

  What I might have replied was put a stop to by Mrs Drummond enteringthe room. She made a few inquiries about where I at present resided,and Sarah was catechising me rather inquisitively about Mary Stapleton,when Mr Drummond re-entered the room, and shook me by the hand with awarmth which made me more ashamed of my conduct towards him. Theconversation became general, but still rather embarrassed, when Sarahwhispered to me "What is the fa
vour you would ask of my father?" I hadforgotten it at the moment, but I immediately told him that I would beobliged if he would allow me to have a part of the money belonging to mewhich he held in his possession.

  "That I will, with pleasure, and without asking what you intend to dowith it, Jacob. How much do you require?"

  "Thirty pounds, if there is so much."

  Mr Drummond went down, and in a few minutes returned with the sum innotes and guineas. I thanked him, and shortly afterwards took my leave.

  "Did not young Beazeley tell you I had something for you, Jacob?" saidSarah, as I wished her good-bye.

  "Yes; what is it?"

  "You must come and see," replied Sarah, laughing. Thus was a finale toall my revenge brought about by a little girl of fifteen years old, withlarge dark eyes.

  Tom had taken his glass of grog below, and was waiting for me at thesteps. We shoved off, and returned to his father's house, where dinnerwas just ready. After dinner old Tom recommenced the argument; "Theonly hitch," says he, "is about the wherry. What do you say, oldwoman?" The old woman shook her head.

  "As that is the only hitch," said I, "I can remove it, for here is themoney for the wherry, which I make a present to Tom," and I put themoney into young Tom's hand. Tom counted it out before his father andmother, much to their astonishment.

  "You are a good fellow, Jacob," said Tom; "but I say, do you recollectWimbledon Common?"

  "What then?" replied I.

  "Only Jerry Abershaw, that's all."

  "Do not be afraid, Tom, it is honestly mine."

  "But how did you get it, Jacob," said old Tom.

  It may appear strange, but, impelled by a wish to serve my friends, Ihad asked for the money which I knew belonged to me, but never thoughtof the manner in which it had been obtained. The question of old Tomrecalled everything to my memory, and I shuddered when I recollected thecircumstances attending it. I was confused, and did not like to reply."Be satisfied, the money is mine," replied I.

  "Yes, Jacob, but how?" replied Mrs Beazeley; "surely you ought to beable to tell how you got so large a sum."

  "Jacob has some reason for not telling, missus, depend upon it; mayhapMr Turnbull, or whoever gave it to him, told him to hold his tongue."But this answer would not satisfy Mrs Beazeley, who declared she wouldnot allow a farthing to be taken unless she knew how it was obtained.

  "Tom, give back the money directly," said she, looking at mesuspiciously.

  Tom laid it on the table before me, without saying a word.

  "Take it, Tom," said I, colouring up. "I had it from my mother."

  "From your mother, Jacob!" said old Tom. "Nay, that could not well be,if my memory sarves me right. Still it may be."

  "Deary me, I don't like this at all," cried Mrs Beazeley, getting up,and wiping her apron with a quick motion. "Oh, Jacob, that must be--notthe truth."

  I coloured up to the tips of my ears at being suspected of falsehood. Ilooked round, and saw that even Tom and his father had a melancholydoubt in their countenances; and certainly my confused appearance wouldhave caused suspicion in anybody. "I little thought," said I, at last,"when I hoped to have so much pleasure in giving, and to find that I hadmade you happy in receiving the money, that it would have proved asource of so much annoyance. I perceive that I am suspected of havingobtained it improperly, and of not having told the truth. That MrsBeazeley may think so, who does not know me, is not to be wondered at;but that you," continued I, turning to old Tom, "or you," looking at hisson, "should suspect me, is very mortifying; and I did not expect it. Itell you that the money is mine, honestly mine, and obtained from mymother. I ask you, do you believe me?"

  "I, for one, do believe you, Jacob," said young Tom, striking his fiston the table. "I can't understand it, but I know you never told a lie,or did a dishonourable act since I've known you."

  "Thank you, Tom," said I, taking his proffered hand.

  "And I would swear the same, Jacob," said old Tom; "although I have beenlonger in the world than my boy has, and have, therefore, seen more; andsorry am I to say, many a good man turned bad, from temptation being toogreat; but when I looked in your face, and saw the blood up to yourforehead, I did feel a little suspicious, I must own; but I beg yourpardon, Jacob; no one can look in your face now and not see that you areinnocent. I believe all you say, in spite of the old woman and--thedevil to boot--and there's my hand upon it."

  "Why not tell--why not tell?" muttered Mrs Beazeley, shaking her head,and working at her net faster than ever.

  But I had resolved to tell, and did so, narrating distinctly thecircumstances by which the money had been obtained. I did it, however,with feelings of mortification which I cannot express. I felthumiliation--I felt that, for my own wants, that money I never couldtouch. Still my explanation had the effect of removing the doubts evenof Mrs Beazeley, and harmony was restored. The money was accepted bythe old couple, and promised to be applied for the purpose intended.

  "As for me, Jacob," said Tom, "when I say I thank you, you know I meanit. Had I had the money, and you had wanted it, you will believe mewhen I say that I would have given it to you."

  "That I'm sure of, Tom."

  "Still, Jacob, it is a great deal of money, and I shall lay by myearnings as fast as I can, that you may have it in case you want it; butit will take many a heavy pull and many a shirt wet with labour before Ican make up a sum like that."

  I did not stay much longer after this little fracas; I was hurt--mypride was wounded by suspicion, and fortunate it was that the occurrencehad not taken place previous to my meeting with Mrs Drummond and Sarah,otherwise no reconciliation would have taken place in that quarter. Howmuch are we the sport of circumstances, and how insensibly they mark outour career in this world? With the best intentions we go wrong;instigated by unworthy motives, we fall upon our feet, and the chapterof accidents has more power over the best regulated mind than all thechapters in the Bible.