I INTERRUPT A MATRIMONIAL DUET AND CAPSIZE THE BOAT--BEING UPON DRY
LAND, NO ONE IS DROWNED--TOM LEAVES A MAN-OF-WAR BECAUSE HE DON'T LIKE
IT--I FIND THE PROFESSION OF A GENTLEMAN PREFERABLE TO THAT OF A
WATERMAN.
My first object on my return was to call upon old Tom, and assure him of
his son's welfare. My wishes certainly would have led me to Mr
Drummond's but I felt that my duty required that I should delay that
pleasure. I arrived at the hotel late in the evening, and early next
morning I went down to the steps at Westminster Bridge, and was saluted
with the usual cry of "Boat, sir!" A crowd of recollections poured into
my mind at the well-known sound; my life appeared to have passed in
review in a few seconds, as I took my seat in the stern of a wherry, and
directed the waterman to pull up the river. It was a beautiful morning,
and even at that early hour almost too warm--the sun was so powerful; I
watched every object that we passed with an interest I cannot describe;
every tree, every building, every point of land--they were all old
friends, who appeared, as the sun shone brightly on them, to rejoice in
my good fortune. I remained in a reverie too delightful to be wished to
be disturbed from it, although occasionally there were reminiscences
which were painful; but they were but as light clouds, obscuring for a
moment, as they flew past, the glorious sun of my happiness. At last
the well-known tenement of old Tom, his large board with "Boats built to
order," and the half of the boat stuck up on end, caught my sight, and I
remembered the object of my embarkation. I directed the waterman to
pull to the hard, and, paying him well, dismissed him; for I had
perceived that old Tom was at work stumping round a wherry, bottom up;
and his wife was sitting on a bench in the boat-arbour, basking in the
warm sun, and working away at her nets. I had landed so quietly, and
they both were so occupied with their respective employments, that they
had not perceived me, and I crept round by the house to surprise them.
I had gained a station behind the old boat, where I overheard the
conversation.
"It's my opinion," said old Tom, who left off hammering for a time,
"that all the nails in Birmingham won't make this boat water-tight. The
timbers are as rotten as a pear, and the nails fall through them. I
have put in one piece more than agreed for; and if I don't put in
another here she'll never swim."
"Well, then, put another piece in," replied Mrs Beazeley.
"Yes; so I will; but I've a notion I shall be out of pocket by this job.
Seven-and-sixpence won't pay for labour and all. However, never mind,"
and Tom carolled forth--
"Is not the sea
Made for the free--
Land for courts and chains alone?
There we are slaves,
But on the waves
Love and liberty's all our own."
"Now, if you do sing, sing truth, Beazeley," said the old woman. "A'n't
our boy pressed into the service? And how can you talk of liberty?"