THE WARMTH OF MY GRATITUDE PROVED BY A VERY COLD TEST--THE ROAD TO
FORTUNE MAY SOMETIMES LEAD OVER A BRIDGE OF ICE--MINE LAY UNDER IT--AMOR
VINCET EVERYTHING BUT MY OBSTINACY, WHICH YOUNG TOM AND THE OLD DOMINIE
IN THE SEQUEL WILL PROVE TO THEIR COST.
For many days the frost continued, until at last the river was frozen
over, and all communication by it was stopped. Stapleton's money ran
short, our fare became very indifferent, and Mary declared that we must
all 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," said
Stapleton, one day, pulling his last shilling out and laying it on the
table. "I'm cleaned out; but he's a good gentleman, and will lend me a
trifle." In the afternoon Stapleton returned, and I saw by his looks
that he had been successful. "Jacob," said he, "Mr Turnbull desires
that you will breakfast with him to-morrow morning, as he wishes to see
you."
I set off accordingly at daylight the next morning, and was in good time
for breakfast. Mr Turnbull was as kind as ever, and began telling me
long stories about the ice in the northern regions.
"By-the-by, I hear there is an ox to be roasted whole, Jacob, a little
above London Bridge; suppose we go and see the fun."
I consented, and we took the Brentford coach, and were put down at the
corner of Queen Street, from thence we walked to the river. The scene
was very amusing and exciting. Booths were erected on the ice, in every
direction, with flags flying, people walking, and some skating, although
the ice was too rough for that pastime. The whole river was crowded
with people, who now walked in security over where they, a month before,
would have met with death. Here and there smoke ascended from various
fires, on which sausages and other eatables were cooking; but the great
attraction was the ox roasting whole, close to the centre pier of the
bridge. Although the ice appeared to have fallen at the spot where so
many hundreds were assembled, yet as it was now four or five feet thick,
there was no danger. Here and there, indeed, were what were called
rotten places, where the ice was not sound; but these were intimated by
placards, warning people not to approach too near; and close to them
were ropes and poles for succour, if required. We amused ourselves for
some 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, and
piercing cold in the shade, the thermometer being then, it was said,
twenty-eight degrees below the freezing point. We had been on the ice
about three hours, amusing ourselves, when Mr Turnbull proposed our
going home, and we walked up the river towards Blackfriars Bridge, where
we proposed to land, and take the coach at Charing Cross.
"I wonder how the tide is now," observed Mr Turnbull to me; "it would
be rather puzzling to find out."
"Not if I can find a hole," replied I, looking for one. "Stop, here is
one." I threw in a piece of ice, and found that it was strong ebb. We
continued our walk over the ice, which was now very rough, when Mr
Turnbull'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 not
overtake it. Many people on the river laughed as we passed, and watched
us in our chase. Mr Turnbull was the foremost, and, heedless in the
pursuit, 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 Turnbull
fall in and disappear. Many people were close to us, and a rope was
laid across the spot to designate the danger. I did not hesitate--I
loved Mr Turnbull, and my love and my feelings of resentment were
equally potent. I seized the bight of the rope, twisted it round my
arm, and plunged in after, recollecting it was ebb tide: fortunate for
Mr Turnbull it was that he had accidentally put the question. I sank
under the ice, and pushed down the stream, and in a few seconds felt
myself grappled by him I sought, and at almost the same time, the rope
hauling in from above. As soon as they found there was resistance, they
knew 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 the
rope with the force of a drowning man, and Mr Turnbull did the same to
me, and we shortly made our appearance at the hole in which we had been
plunged. A ladder was thrown across, and two of the men of the Humane
Society 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 secure
situation. We were both still senseless; but having been taken to a
public-house on the river-side, were put to bed, and medical advice
having been procured, were soon restored. The next morning we were able
to return in a chaise to Brentford, where our absence had created the
greatest alarm. Mr Turnbull spoke but little the whole time; but he
often 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, he
consented, 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 by
herself; 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 frighten
me, I've been too frightened already; I never slept a wink last night;"
I then told her the circumstances which had occurred. "I was sure
something had happened," she replied. "I told my father so, but he
wouldn'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, and
said, that when boys are amused, they forget their promises, and that it
was 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 have
made that answer," replied Mary.
I had seen a great deal of Mary, and though she certainly was a great
flirt, yet she had many excellent and amiable qualities. For the first
week after her father had given us the history of his life, his remarks
upon her mother appeared to have made a decided impression upon her, and
her conduct was much more staid and demure; but as the remembrance wore
off, 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 caprice
there was such a fund of real good feeling and amiableness, which, when
called forth, was certain to appear, that I often thought how dangerous
and captivating a girl she would be when she grew up. I had again
produced the books, which I had thrown aside with disgust, to teach her
to read and write. Her improvement was rapid, and would have been still
more so if she had not been just as busy in trying to make me fond of
her as she was in surmounting the difficulties of her lessons. But she
was very young; and although, as her father declared, it was her
_natur'_ to run after the men, there was every reason to hope that a
year or two would render her less volatile, and add to those sterling
good qualities which she really possessed. In heart and feeling she was
a modest girl, although the buoyancy of her spirits often carried her
beyond the bounds prescribed by decorum, and often called forth a blush
upon her own animated countenance, when her good sense, or the remarks
of others, reminded her of her having committed herself. It was
impossible 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 I
was 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 him
what had happened, and upon the strength of it he sent for an extra pot
of beer for Mary and me, which he insisted upon our drinking between
us--a greater proof of good-will on his part could not have been given.
Although Captain Turnbull appeared to have recovered from the effects of
the accident, yet it seemed that such was not the case, as the morning
after his arrival he was taken ill with shivering and pains in his
loins, which ended in ague and fever, and he did not quit his bed for
three or four weeks. I, on the contrary, felt no ill effects; but the
constitution of a youth is better able to meet such violent shocks than
that of a man of sixty years old, already sapped by exposure and
fatigue. As the frost still continued, I complied with Captain
Turnbull'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. The
general theme of his conversation was on my future prospects, and a wish
that I would embark in some pursuit or profession more likely to raise
me in the world; but on this head I was positive, and also another
point, which was, that I would in future put myself under an obligation
to no one. I could not erase from my memory the injuries I had
received, and my vindictive spirit continually brooded over them. I was
resolved to be independent and free. I felt that in the company I was
in I was with my equals, or, if there were any superiority, it was on my
part, arising from education, and I never would submit to be again in
the society of those above me, in which I was admitted as a favour, and
by the major part looked down upon, and at the same time liable, as I
had once been, to be turned out with contumely on the first moment of
caprice. Still, I was very fond of Captain Turnbull. He had always
been kind to me, spoke to me on terms of equality, and had behaved with
consistency, and my feelings towards him since the accident had
consequently strengthened; but we always feel an increased regard
towards those to whom we have been of service, and my pride was softened
by the reflection that, whatever might be Mr Turnbull's good-will
towards me, he never could, even if I would permit it, repay me for the
life which I had preserved. Towards him I felt unbounded regard;
towards those who had ill-treated me, unlimited hatred; towards the
world in general a mixture of feeling which I could hardly analyse; and,
as far as regarded myself, a love of liberty and independence, which
nothing would ever have induced me to compromise. As I did not wish to
hurt Captain Turnbull's feelings by a direct refusal to all his proffers
of service, and remarks upon the advantages which might arise, I
generally made an evasive answer; but when, on the day proposed for my
departure, he at once came to the point, offering me everything, and
observing that he was childless, and, therefore, my acceptance of his
offer would be injurious to nobody; when he took me by the hand, and
drawing me near to him, passed his arm round me, and spoke to me in the
kind accents of a father, almost entreating me to consent--the tears of
gratitude coursed each other rapidly down my cheeks, but my resolution
was no less firm--although it was with a faltering, voice that I
replied, "You have been very kind to me, sir--very kind--and I shall
never forget it; and I hope I shall deserve it--but--Mr Drummond, and
Mrs Drummond, and Sarah, were also kind to me--very kind to me--you
know the rest. I will remain as I am, if you please; and if you wish to
do me a kindness; if you wish me to love you, as I really do, let me be
as I am--free and independent. I beg it of you as the greatest favour
that 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 then
said--"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 from
your fellow-creatures prey so much upon your mind, or induce you to form
the mistaken idea that the world is bad. As you live on, you will find
much good; and recollect, that those who injured you, from the
misrepresentation of others, have been willing, and have offered, to
repair their fault. They can do no more, and I wish you could get over
this vindictive feeling. Recollect, we must forgive, as we hope to be
forgiven."
"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 a
feeling which your own good sense and religion tell you to be wrong--you
cling to it--and yet you will admit of no excuse for the errors of
others."
"I feel what you say--and the truth of it, sir," replied I "but I cannot
combat the feeling. I will, therefore, admit every excuse you please
for the faults of others; but at the same time, I am surely not to be
blamed if I refuse to put myself in a situation where I am again liable
to meet with mortification. Surely I am not to be censured, if I prefer
to work for my bread after my own fashion, and prefer the river to dry
land?"
"No, that I acknowledge; but what I dislike in the choice is, that it is
dictated by feelings of resentment."
"_What's done can't be helped_," replied I, quickly, wishing to break
off 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 of
yourself, and don't get under the ice again!"
"For you I would to-morrow," replied I, taking the proffered hand: "but
if 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 him
in 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 the
sequel. We then shook hands, and I hastened away to see Mary, whom I
had 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--with
such a nose--O heavens! I thought I should have died with laughing as
soon as he went downstairs. Do you know, Jacob, that I made love to
him, 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 your
teaching me to read and write, and how fond I was of learning, and how I
should like to be married to an elderly man who was a great scholar, who
would teach me Latin and Greek, that the old gentleman became quite
chatty, and sat for two hours talking to me. He desired me to say that
he should call here to-morrow afternoon, and I begged him to stay the
evening, as you are to have two more of your friends here. Now, who do
you 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 a
lad 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 joke
to you may not be so to other people. As for the Dominie meeting old
Beazeley and his son, I don't exactly know how that will suit, for I
doubt if he will like to see them."
"Why not?" inquired Mary.
Upon a promise never to hint at them, I briefly stated the circumstances
attending 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 most
dangerous 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 his
time, 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 down
upon all of us (not you, Jacob) as silly people. I'll try if _I_ can't
give 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 been
back since. Jacob, I hope you won't be so foolish again, for I don't
want to lose my master."
"Oh, never fear; I shall teach you all you want to know before I die," I
replied.
"Don't be too sure of that," replied Mary; "how do you know how much I
may wish to have of your company?"
"Well, if I walk off in a hurry, I'll make you over to young Tom
Beazeley. 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 had
occurred; "but, Mary, he is a fine young man, and a good-hearted, clever
fellow 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 high
good-humour with his interview with Captain Turnbull, called for his
pipe and pot, and was excessively fluent upon "_human natur'_."