A CHAPTER OF LOSSES TO ALL BUT THE READER, THOUGH AT FIRST TOM WORKS
WITH HIS WIT, AND RECEIVES THE FULL VALUE OF HIS EXERTIONS--WE MAKE THE
VERY WORST BARGAIN WE EVER MADE IN OUR LIVES--WE LOSE OUR FARE, WE LOSE
OUR BOAT, AND WE LOSE OUR LIBERTY--ALL LOSS AND NO PROFIT--FAIR VERY
UNFAIR--TWO GUINEAS WORTH OF ARGUMENT NOT WORTH TWOPENCE, EXCEPT ON THE
QUARTER-DECK OF A MAN-OF-WAR.
"Jacob," said Tom to me, pulling his wherry into the _hard_, alongside
of mine, in which I was sitting with one of Mr Turnbull's books in my
hand; "Jacob, do you recollect that my time is up to-morrow? I shall
have run off my seven years, and when the sun rises I shall be free of
the river. How much more have you to serve?"
"About fifteen months, as near as I can recollect, Tom.--Boat, sir?"
"Yes; oars, my lad; be smart, for I am in a hurry. How's tide?"
"Down, sir, very soon; but it's now slack water. Tom, see if you can
find Stapleton."
"Pooh! never mind him, Jacob, I'll go with you. I say, Jones, tell old
`_human natur'_' to look after my boat," continued Tom, addressing a
waterman of our acquaintance.
"I thought you had come up to see _her_," said I to Tom, as we shoved
off.
"See _her_ at Jericho first," replied Tom "she's worse than a dog vane."
"What, are you _two_ again?"
"Two indeed--it's all two--we are two fools. She is too fanciful; I am
too fond; she behaves too ill, and I put up with too much. However,
it's all _one_."
"I thought it was all _two_ just now, Tom."
"But two may be made one, Jacob, you know."
"Yes, by the parson: but you are no parson."
"Anyhow, I am something like one just now," replied Tom, who was pulling
the foremost oar; "for you are a good clerk, and I am sitting behind
you."
"That's not so bad," observed the gentleman in the stern-sheets, whom we
had forgotten in the colloquy.
"A waterman would make but a bad parson, sir," replied Tom.
"Why so?"
"He's not likely to practice as he preaches."
"Again, why so?"
"Because all his life he looks one way and pulls another."
"Very good--very good, indeed."
"Nay, sir, good in practice, but still not good _in deed_--there's a
puzzle."
"A puzzle, indeed, to find such a regular chain of repartee in a
wherry."
"Well, sir, if I'm a regular chain to-day, I shall be like an irregular
watch to-morrow."
"Why so, my lad?"
"Because I shall be _out of my time_."
"Take that, my lad," said the gentleman, tossing half-a-crown to Tom.
"Thanky, sir; when we meet again may you have no more wit than you have
now."
"How do you mean?"
"Not wit enough to keep your money, sir--that's all!"
"I presume you think that I have not got much."
"Which, sir; wit or money?"
"Wit, my lad."
"Nay, sir, I think you have both: the first you purchased just now; and
you would hardly have bought it, if you had not money to spare."
"But I mean wit of my own."
"No man has wit of his own; if he borrows it, it's not his own; if he
has it in himself, it's _mother_ wit, so it's not his."
We pulled into the stairs near London Bridge, and the gentleman paid me
his fare. "Good-bye, my lad," said he to Tom.
"Fare-you-well, for well you've paid your fare," replied Tom, holding
out his arm to assist him out of the boat. "Well, Jacob, I've made more
by my head than by my hands this morning. I wonder, in the long run,
which gains most in the world."
"Head, Tom, depend upon it; but they work best together."
Here we were interrupted--"I say, you watermen, have you a mind for a
good fare?" cried a dark-looking, not over clean, square-built, short
young man, standing on the top of the flight of steps.
"Where to, sir?"
"Gravesend, my jokers, if you ain't afraid of salt water."
"That's a long way, sir," replied Tom; "and for salt water, we must have
salt to our porridge."
"So you shall, my lads, and a glass of grog into the bargain."
"Yes; but the bargain a'n't made yet, sir. Jacob, will you go?"
"Yes, but not under a guinea."
"Not under two guineas," replied Tom, aside. "Are you in a great hurry,
sir?" continued he, addressing the young man.
"Yes, in a devil of a hurry; I shall lose my ship. What will you take
me for?"
"Two guineas, sir."
"Very well. Just come up to the public-house here, and put in my
traps."
We brought down his luggage, put it into the wherry, and started down
the river with the tide. Our fare was very communicative, and we found
out that he was the master's mate of the _Immortalite_, forty-gun
frigate, lying off Gravesend, which was to drop down next morning and
wait for sailing orders at the Downs. We carried the tide with us, and
in the afternoon were close to the frigate, whose blue ensign waved
proudly over the taffrail. There was a considerable sea arising from
the wind meeting the tide, and before we arrived close to her we had
shipped a great deal of water; and when we were alongside, the wherry,
with the chest in her bows, pitched so heavily that we were afraid of
being swamped. Just as a rope had been made fast to the chest, and they
were weighing it out of the wherry, the ship's launch with water came
alongside, and, whether from accident or wilfully, I know not, although
I suspect the latter, the midshipman who steered her shot her against
the wherry, which was crushed in, and immediately filled, leaving Tom
and me in the water, and in danger of being jammed to death between the
launch and the side of the frigate. The seamen in the boat, however,
forced her off with their oars, and hauled us in, while our wherry sank
with her gunwale even with the water's edge, and floated away astern.
As soon as we had shaken ourselves a little, we went up the side, and
asked one of the officers to send a boat to pick up our wherry.
"Speak to the first lieutenant--there he is," was the reply.