"Mr and Mrs Drum-
Mond intend to come."
"Here, give Tomkins that, Jacob; it will please him better than any
formal acceptation." Mr and Mrs Turnbull were also asked; the former
accepted, but the latter indignantly refused.
When I arrived with Mr and Mrs Drummond many of the company were
there; the garden was what they called illuminated, that is, every
gooseberry-bush had one variegated lamp suspended above the centre; and,
as Mr Tomkins told me afterwards, the lamps were red and yellow,
according to the fruit they bore. It was a cold, frosty, clear night,
and the lamps twinkled as brightly among the bare boughs of the
gooseberry trees as the stars did in the heavens. The company in
general were quite charmed with the novelty. "Quite a _minor
Wauxhall_," cried one lady, whose exuberance of fat kept her warm enough
to allow her to stare about in the open air. The entrance porch had a
dozen little lamps, backed with laurel twigs, and looked very imposing.
Mrs Tomkins received her company upon the steps outside, that she might
have the pleasure of hearing their praises of her external arrangements;
still it was freezing, and she shivered not a little. The drawing-room,
fourteen feet by ten, was fitted up as a ballroom, with two fiddlers and
a fifer sitting in a corner and a country-dance was performing when we
arrived. Over the mantle-piece was a square of laurel twigs, inclosing
as a frame this couplet from the poetical brain of the master of the
house, cut out in red paper, and bespangled with blue and yellow
tinsel--
"Here we are to dance so gay,
While the fiddlers play away."
Other appropriate distichs, which I have now forgotten, were framed in
the same way on each of the other compartments. But the dining-room was
the _chef d'oeuvre_. It was formed into a bower, with evergreens, and
on the evergreen boughs were stuck real apples and oranges in all
directions, so that you could help yourself.
"Vell, I do declare, this is a paradise!" exclaimed the fat lady who
entered with me.
"In all but one thing, ma'am," replied Mr Turnbull, who, with his coat
off, was squeezing lemons for the punch--"there's no _forbidden_ fruit.
You may help yourself."
The bon-mot was repeated by Mr Tomkins to the end of his existence, not
only for its own sake, but because it gave him an opportunity of
entering into a detail of the whole _fete_--the first he had ever given
in his life. "Ah, Jacob, my boy, glad to see you--come and help here--
they'll soon be thirsty, I'll warrant," said Mr Turnbull, who was in
his glory. The company, although not so very select, were very happy;
they danced, drank punch, laughed, and danced again; and it was not till
a late hour, long after Mr and Mrs Drummond had gone home, that I
quitted the "festive scene;" Mr Turnbull, who walked away with me,
declaring that it was worth a dozen of his party, although they had not
such grand people as Mrs Tagliabue, or the Right Honourable Lord
Viscount Babbleton. I thought so too; every one was happy, and every
one at their ease; and I do believe they would have stayed much longer,
but the musicians took so much punch that one fiddler broke his fiddle,
the other broke his head in going down the steps into the garden, and
the fifer swore he could blow no longer; so, as there was an end to the
music, clogs, pattens, and lanterns were called for, the shawls were
brought out of the kitchen, and every one went away. Nothing could _go
off better_. Mrs Tomkins had a cold and rheumatism the next day; but
that was not surprising, a _minor Wauxhall_ not being seasonable in the
month of December.
A week after this party we removed to Thames Street, and I performed the
duty of warehouseman. Our quantity of lighters was now much increased,
and employed in carrying dry goods, etcetera. One morning old Tom came
under the crane to discharge his lighter, and wishing to see me, when
the fall had been overhauled down to heave up the casks with which the
lighter was laden, instead of hooking on a cask, held on by his hands,
crying, "Hoist away," intending to be hoisting himself up to the door of
the warehouse where I was presiding. Now, there was nothing unusual in
this whim of old Tom's, but still he ran a very narrow chance, in
consequence of an extra whim of young Tom's, who, as soon as his father
was suspended in the air, caught hold of his two wooden stumps, to be
hoisted up also; and as he caught hold of them, standing on tiptoe, they
both swung clear of the lighter, which could not approach to within five
feet of the buildings. The crane was on the third story of the
warehouse, and very high up. "Tom, Tom, you rascal, what the devil are
you about?" cried the old man, when he felt the weight of his son's body
hanging to him.
"Going up along with you, father--hope we shall go to heaven the same
way."
"More likely to go to the devil together, you little fool; I never can
bear your weight. Hoist away, there, quick."
Hearing the voices, I looked out of the door, and perceiving their
situation, ordered the men to hoist as fast as they could, before old
Tom's strength should be exhausted; but it was a compound moving crane,
and we could not hoist very fast, although we could hoist very great
weights. At last, as they were wound up higher and higher, old Tom's
strength was going fast. "O Tom, Tom, what must be done? I can't--I
can't hold on but a little longer, and we shall be both dashed to
pieces. My poor boy?"
"Well, then, I'll let go, father; it was all my folly, and I'll be the
sufferer."
"Let go!" cried old Tom; "no, no, Tom--don't let go, my boy; I'll try a
little longer. Don't let go, my dear boy--don't let go!"
"Well, father, how much longer can you hold on?"
"A little--very little longer," replied the old man, struggling. "Well,
hold fast now," cried young Tom, who, raising his head above his arms,
with great exertion shifted one of his hands to his father's thigh, then
the other; raising himself as before, he then caught at the seat of his
father's trousers with his teeth; old Tom groaned, for his son had taken
hold of more than the garments; he then shifted his hands round his
father's body--from thence he gained the collar of his jacket--from the
collar he climbed on his father's shoulders, from thence he seized hold
of the fall above, and relieved his father of the weight. "Now, father,
are you all right?" cried Tom, panting as he clung to the fall above
him.
"I can't hold on ten seconds more, Tom--no longer--my clutch is going
now."
"Hang on by your eyelids, father, if you love me," cried young Tom, in
agony.
It was indeed an awful moment; they were now at least sixty feet above
the lighter, suspended in the air; the men whirled round the wheel, and
I had at last the pleasure of hauling them both in on the floor of the
warehouse; the old man so exhausted that he could not speak for more
than a minute. Young Tom, as soon as all was safe, laughed
immoderately. Old Tom sat upright. "It might have been no laughing
matter, Mr Tom," said he, looking at his son.
"What's done can't be helped, father, as Jacob says. After all, you're
more frightened than hurt."
"I don't know that, you young scamp," replied the old man, putting his
hand behind him, and rubbing softly; "you've bit a piece clean out of my
_starn_. Now, let this be a warning to you, Tom. Jacob, my boy,
couldn't you say that I've met with an _accident_, and get a drop of
something from Mr Drummond?"
I thought, after his last observation, I might honestly say that he had
met with an accident, and I soon returned with a glass of brandy, which
old Tom was drinking off when his son interrupted him for a share.
"You know, father, I shared the danger."
"Yes, Tom, I know you did," replied the father; "but this was sent to me
on account of my _accident_, and as I had that all to myself, I shall
have all this too."
"But, father, you ought to give me a drop, if it were only to _take the
taste out of my mouth_."
"Your own flesh and blood, Tom," replied his father, emptying his glass.
"Well, I always heard it was quite unnatural not to like your own flesh
and blood," replied Tom; "but I see now that there may be reasons for
it."
"Be content, Tom," replied his father, putting down the glass; "we're
now just square. You've had your _raw nip_, and I've had mine."
Mr Drummond now came up, and asked what had been the matter. "Nothing,
sir--only an accident. Tom and I had a bit of a _hoist_."
As this last word had a double meaning, Mr Drummond thought that a cask
had surged, when coming out of the lighter, and struck them down. He
desired old Tom to be more careful, and walked away, while we proceeded
to unload the lighter. The new clerk was a very heavy, simple young
man, plodding and attentive certainly, but he had no other merit; he was
sent into the lighter to rake the marks and numbers of the casks as they
were hoisted up, and soon became a butt to young Tom, who gave him the
wrong marks and numbers of all the casks, to his interrogations.
"What's that, boy?" cried the pudding-faced fellow, with his pencil in
one hand and his book in the other.
"Pea soup, 13," replied Tom; "ladies' bonnets, 24. Now, then, master,
chalk again, pipe-clay for sodgers, 3; red herrings, 26." All of which
were carefully noted down by Mr Grubbins who, when the lighter was
cleared, took the memoranda to Mr Drummond.
Fortunately, we had checked the number of the casks as they were
received above--their contents were flour. Mr Drummond sent for young
Tom, and asked him how he dared play such a trick. Tom replied very
boldly, "that it was meant as a good lesson to the young man, that in
future he did his own work, and did not trust to others." To this Mr
Drummond agreed, and Master Tom was dismissed without punishment.
As the men had all gone to dinner, I went down into the lighter to have
a little chat with my old shipmates. "Well, Jacob," said old Tom,
"Tom's not a bit wiser than he was before--two scrapes to-day, already."
"Well, father, if I prove my folly by getting into scrapes, I prove my
wit by getting out of them."
"Yes, that may be true, Tom; but suppose we had both come down with a
run, what would you have thought then?"
"I suspect, father, that I should have been past thinking."
"I once did see a thing of that kind happen," said old Tom, calling to
mind former scenes in his life; "and I'll tell you a yarn about it,
boys, because they say danger makes friends."
We sat down by old Tom, who narrated as follows "When I was captain of
the main-top in the _La Minerve_, forty-four gun frigate, we were the
smartest ship up the Mediterranean; and many's the exercise we were the
means of giving to other ship's companies, because they could not beat
us--no, not even hold a candle to us. In both fore and main-top we had
eight-and-twenty as smart chaps as ever put their foot to a rattling, or
slid down by an a'ter backstay. Now, the two captains of the foretop
were both prime young men, active as monkeys, and bold as lions. One
was named Tom Herbert, from North Shields, a dark, good-looking chap,
with teeth as white as a nigger's, and a merry chap he was, always
a-showing them. The other was a cockney chap. Your Lunnuners arn't
often good seamen; but when they are seamen, there's no better; they
never allow any one to show them the way, that's for sartin, being
naturally spunky sort of chaps, and full of tricks and fun. This
fellow's name was Bill Wiggins, and between him and Herbert there was
always a jealousy who should be the smartest man. I've seen both of
them run out on the yard, in fine weather, without holding on nothing,
seize the lift, and down to their station, haul up the earing, in no
time; up by the lift again, and down on deck, by the backstay, before
half the men had time to get clear of the top. In fact, they often
risked their lives in bad weather, when there was no occasion for it,
that one might outdo the other. Now, this was all very well, and a good
example to the other men: the captain and officers appeared to like
these contests for superiority, but it ended in their hating each other,
and not being even on speaking terms, which, as the two captains of the
top, was bad. They had quarrelled often, and fought five times, neither
proving the better man; either both done up, or parted by the
master-at-arms, and reported to the first lieutenant, so that at last
they were not so much countenanced by the officers, and were out of
favour with the captain, who threatened to disrate them both if ever
they fought again. We were cruising off the Gulf of Lyons, where
sometimes it blows hard enought to blew the devil's horns off, though
the gales never last very long. We were under close reefed fore- and
main-top sails, storm stay-sail and trysail, when there was a fresh hand
at the bellows, and the captain desired the officers of the watch, just
before dinner to take in the fore-top sail. Not to disturb the watch
below, the main-top men were ordered up forward to help the fore-top men
of the watch; and I was of course aloft, ready to lie out on the lee
yard-arm--when Wiggins, who had the watch below, came up in the top, not
liking that Herbert should be at work in such weather without he being
there too.
"`Tom,' says to me, `I'll take the yard-arm.'
"`Very well,' say I, `with all my heart; then I'll look to the bunt.'
"Just at that time there came on a squall with rain, which almost
blinded us; the sail was taken in very neatly, the clew-lines,
chock-a-block, bunt-lines and leech-lines well up, reef-tackles
overhauled, rolling-tackles taut, and all as it should be. The men lied
out on the yard, the squall wore worse and worse, but they were handing
in the leech of the sail, when snap went one bunt-line, then the other;
the sail flapped and flagged, till away went the leech-lines, and the
men clung to the yards for their lives; for the sail mastered them, and
they could do nothing. At last it split like thunder, buffeting the men
on the yard-arms till they were almost senseless, until to windward it
wore away into long coach whips, and the whole of the canvas left was at
the lee yard-arm. The men laid in at last with great difficulty, quite
worn out by fatigue and clinging for their existence; all but Wiggins,
who was barred by the sail to leeward from making his footing good on
the horse, and there he was, poor fellow, completely in irons, and so
beaten by the canvas that he could hardly be said to be sensible. It
takes a long while to tell all this, but it wasn't the work of a minute.
At last he made an attempt to get up by the lift, but was struck down,
and would have been hurled overboard if it hadn't been that his leg fell
over the horse, and there he was, head downwards, hanging over a raging
sea, ready to swallow him up as soon as he dropt into it. As every one
expected he would be beat off before any assistance could be given, you
may guess that it was an awful moment to those below who were looking up
at him, watching for his fall and the roll of the ship, to see if he
fell clear into the sea, or was dashed to pieces in the fore-chains.
"I couldn't bear to see a fellow-creature, and good seaman in the
bargain, in that state, and although the captain dare not _order_ any
one to help him, yet there were one or two midshipmen hastening up the
fore-rigging, with the intent, I have no doubt, of trying to save him
(for midshipmen don't value their lives at a quid of tobacco), so I
seizes the studding sail halyards, and runs up the topmast rigging,
intending to go down by the lift, and pass a bowling knot round him
before he fell, when who should I meet at the cross-trees but Tom
Herbert, who snatched the rope out of my hand, bawling to me through the
gale, `This is my business, Tom.'
"Down he goes by the lift, the remainder of the canvas flapped over him,
and I seed no more until I heard a cry from all below, and away went
Herbert and Wiggins, both together, flying to leeward just as the ship
was taking her recovery to windward. Fortunately they both fell clear
of the ship about two feet, not more, and as their fall was expected,
they had prepared below. A master's mate, of the name of Simmonds, and
the captain of the forecastle, both went overboard in bowling knots,
with another in their hands, and in a minute or two they were all four
on board again; but Herbert and were both senseless, and a long while
coming to again. Well, now, what do you think was the upshot of it?
Why, they were the best friends in the world ever afterwards, and would
have died for one another; and if one had a glass of grog from the
officers for any little job, instead of touching his forelock and
drinking it off to the officer's health, he always took it out of the
gun-room, that he might give half of it to the other. So, d'ye see my
boys, as I said before I began my yarn, that danger makes friends.
"'Tis said we vent'rous die hard,
When we leave the shore,
Our friends may mourn, lest we return
To bless their sight no more.
But this is all a notion
Bold Jack can't understand;
Some die upon the ocean.
And some die upon dry land."
"And if we had tumbled, father, we should have just died betwixt and
between, not water enough to float us. It would have been _woolez wous
parlez wous_, plump in the mud, as you say sometimes."
"Why, yes, Tom. I've a notion that I should have been planted too deep
ever to have struck," replied the old man, looking at his wooden stumps.
"Why, yes, father, _legs_ are _legs_, when you tumble into six foot of
mud. How you would have _dibbled_ down, if your _daddles_ hadn't held
on."
"Well then, Tom, recollect that you never _sell_ your father for a
_lark_ again."
Tom laughed, and catching at the word, although used in a different
sense, sung--
"Just like the _lark_ high poised in air.
"And so were you, father, only you didn't sing as he does, and you
didn't leave your young one below in the nest."
"Ay, it is the young uns which prevent the old ones from rising in the
world--that's very true, Tom. Holla, who have we got here? My service
to you, at all events."