Just before we two entered this world of troubles, the bank in which my
father had deposited his savings broke, and all were lost. The sails of
his wherry were worn out, and he had been about to buy a new suit, which
he now couldn't do; the wherry herself was getting crazy, and required
repairs, and he himself met with an accident which laid him up for
several weeks. Grandmother also, who had lost nearly her all by the
failure of the bank, though she had hitherto been hale and hearty, now
began to talk of feeling the approach of old age.
One evening, while father was laid up, she looked in on us. "Polly, my
girl, there's no use trying to beat up in the teeth of a gale with a
five-knot current against one," she exclaimed, as, dropping down into
out big arm-chair and undoing her bonnet-strings and the red
handkerchief she wore round her neck, she threw her bonnet over the back
of her head. "I'm dead beat with to-day's work, and shall be worse
to-morrow. Now, my dear, what I've got to say is this, I want you to
help me. You know the trade as well as I do. It will be a good thing
for you as well as for me; for look you, my dear, if anything should
happen to your Jack, it will help you to keep the wolf from the door."
This last argument, with her desire to help the good old lady, made
mother say that if father was agreeable she would do as grandmother
wished. She forthwith went upstairs, where father was lying in bed,
scarcely able to move for the pain his hurt caused him. They talked the
matter over, and he, knowing that something must be done for the support
of the family, gave, though unwillingly, his consent. Thus it happened
that my mother again took to bum-boating.
Trade, however, wasn't like what it used to be in the war time, I heard
grandmother say. Then seamen would have their pockets filled with
five-pound notes and golden guineas, which they were eager to spend; now
they rarely had more than a few shillings or a handful of coppers
jingling in them. Still there was an honest livelihood to be made, and
grandmother and mother contrived to make it. Poor grandmother, however,
before long fell ill, as she said she should, and then all the work fell
on mother. Father got better, and was able sometimes to go out with the
wherry, but grandmother got worse and worse, and mother had to attend on
her till she died.
When she and father were away from home, Mary and I were left to the
care of our brother Jack. He did his best to look after us, but not
being skilled as a nursemaid, while he was tending Mary, who, being a
girl--she was my twin sister, I should have said--required most of his
care, he could not always manage to prevent me from getting into
trouble. Fortunately nothing very serious happened.
Dear, kind Jack! I was very fond of him, and generally obeyed him
willingly. It would not be true to say that I always did so. He was
very fond of Mary and me too, of that I am sure, and he used to show his
fondness by spending for our benefit any coppers he picked up by running
on errands or doing odd jobs for neighbours. As his purchases were
usually brandy-balls, rock, and other sweets, it was perhaps fortunate
for us that he had not many to spend. By diligently pursuing her trade,
mother, in course of time, saved money enough to enable father to get
the wherry repaired, and to buy a new suit of sails, and when he got
plenty of employment he bade mother stay at home and look after Mary and
me, while Jack went with him. As, however, it would not have been
prudent to give up her business altogether, she hired a girl, Nancy
Fidget, to take her place, as Jack had done, when she was from home.
I don't remember that anything of importance happened after
grandmother's death till Jack went to sea. We missed him very much, and
Mary was always asking after him, wondering when he would come back.
Still, if I had gone away, she would, I think, have fretted still more.
Perhaps it was because we were twins that we were so fond of each other.
We were, however, not much alike. She was a fair, blue-eyed little
maiden, with flaxen hair and a rosy blush on her cheeks, and I was a
broad-shouldered, strongly-built chap, the hue on my cheeks and the
colour of my hair soon becoming deepened by my being constantly out of
doors, while my eyes were, I fancy, of a far darker tint than my
sister's.
After Jack went mother seemed to concentrate all her affections on us
two. I don't think, however, that any woman could have a warmer or
larger heart than hers, although many may have a wider scope for the
exercise of their feelings. She never turned a beggar away from her
door without some relief even in the worst of times, and when any of the
neighbours were in distress, she always did her best to help them.
Often when she had been out bum-boating for the best part of the day,
and had been attending to household matters for the remainder, she would
sit up the whole night with a sick acquaintance who was too poor to hire
a nurse, and had only thanks to give her, and perhaps of that not very
liberally.
I have said that my mother had as warm and generous a heart as ever beat
in woman's bosom. I repeat it. I might give numerous instances to
prove the truth of my assertion, and to show that I have reason to be
proud of being her son, whatever the world may think about the matter.
One will suffice. It had an important effect on my destinies, although
at the time no one would have supposed that such would be the case. One
evening, as my mother was returning home off the water after dark, she
found a female fallen down close to our door, in what seemed to be a
fit. Some of the neighbours had seen the poor creature, but had let her
lie there, and gone indoors, and several persons passing showed by their
remarks what they thought of her character; but mother, not stopping to
consider who she was or what she was, lifting her up in her strong arms,
carried her into the house, and placed her on the bed which used to be
Jack's.
Mother now saw by the light of the candle that the unhappy being she had
taken charge of was still young, and once had been pretty, but the life
she had led had marred her beauty and brought her to her present sad
state. After mother had undressed her and given her food and a cordial
in which she had great confidence, the girl slightly revived, but it
became more evident than before that she was fearfully ill. She sobbed
and groaned, and sometimes shrieked out in a way terrible to hear, but
would give no account of herself. At length, mother, mistrusting her
own skill, sent Nancy and me off to call Dr Rolt, the nearest medical
man we knew of. He came at once, and shaking his head as soon as he saw
the stranger, he advised that she should be removed forthwith to the
hospital.
"Not to-night, doctor, surely," said mother. "It might be the death of
her, poor young creature!"
"She may rapidly grow worse, and it may be still more dangerous to move
her afterwards," remarked Dr Rolt.
"Then, please God, I'll keep charge of her till she recovers, or He
thinks fit to take her," said mother, in her determined way.
"She will never recover, I fear," said the doctor; "but I will do the
best for her I can."
Telling mother how to act, and promising to send some medicine, he went
away. When father, who had been across to Ryde in the wherry, came
home, he approved of what mother had done.
"Why, you see, Jack, what I think is this," I heard her say; "I've no
right to point a finger at her, for if I hadn't had a good mother to
show me right and wrong, I might have been just as she is."
The next morning the doctor came again. He looked grave when he left
the stranger's room. "You are still resolved to let this poor outcast
remain in your house, Mrs Trawl?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, my good man thinks as I do, that we ought," answered mother,
positively.
Dr Rolt returned in the afternoon, accompanied by a gentleman wearing a
broad-brimmed hat and a straight-cut broadcloth coat of sombre hue. He
smiled pleasantly at mother as he took the seat she offered him without
doffing his hat, and beckoning to Mary and me, put his hands on our
heads, while he looked into our faces and smiled as he had done to
mother.
"I have brought Mr Silas Gray, a member of the Society of Friends,
knowing that I should have your leave, Mrs Trawl, as he desires to see
the poor girl you have taken care of," said Dr Rolt.
"Verily, sister, thou hast acted the part of the Good Samaritan towards
the hapless one of whom friend Rolt has told me, and I would endeavour
to minister to her spiritual necessities, the which I fear are great
indeed; also with thy leave I will help thee in supplying such creature
comforts as she may need," said Mr Gray.
"Thank you kindly, sir," answered mother. "I couldn't say much on the
matter of religion, except to tell her that God cares for her as well as
He does for the richest lady in the land, and will pardon her sins if
she will but turn to Him through Christ; and as to food, kickshaws fit
for sick folk are not much in my way, still I'll--"
"Thou knowest the very gist of the matter, sister," observed Mr Gray,
interrupting her; "but time is precious. I'll go in with friend Rolt
and speak to the wandering child." Saying this, Mr Gray accompanied
the doctor into the stranger's room.
He, after this, came again and again--never empty-handed--oftener indeed
than the doctor, whose skill failed, as he feared it would, to arrest
the poor girl's malady, while Mr Gray's ministrations were successful
in giving her the happy assurance that "though her sins were as scarlet,
she had become white as snow," so he assured mother.
"Praise the Lord," was her reply.
So the young stranger died--her name, her history, unknown. Mr Gray
paid the expenses of her funeral, and frequently after that came to see
us, to inquire, as he said, how we were getting on.
We had not heard from brother Jack since he went aboard the _Lapwing_.
Mother thought that he might have got some one to write for him, though
he was no great hand with a pen himself. All we knew was that the brig
had gone out to the East Indies, which being a long way off would have
accounted for our not often getting letters from him; but just one
father hoped he would have contrived to send after he had been a year
away; now nearly three years had passed since then. Had the _Lapwing_
been fitted out at Portsmouth, we should have got news of him from
others, but as none of her crew hailed from our town, there was no one
to whom we could go to ask about him. Father had taken lately to talk
much about Jack, and sometimes regretted that he had let him go away.
"You acted for the best, and so don't be blaming yourself," observed
mother, trying to console him. "There's One aloft looking after him
better than we can, and He'll bring our boy back to us if He thinks
fit."
Mary and I little knew all the trials father and mother had to go
through. Mother's trade was bad, and father was often out all day
without bringing a shilling home. Younger men with more gaily-painted
boats--he would not acknowledge that they were better--got fares when he
could not manage to pick up one. Sometimes also he was laid up with the
rheumatics, and was unable to go afloat. One day, while thus suffering,
mother fetched Dr Rolt to see him. Father begged the doctor to get him
well as soon as he could, seeing that he wanted to be out in the wherry
to gain his livelihood.
"All in good time, my man," answered the doctor. "You'll be about again
in a few days, never fear. By-the-bye, I saw our friend Mr Gray
lately, Mrs Trawl, and he was inquiring for you. He would have come to
see your husband had he known that he was ill, but he went away to
London yesterday, and may, I fear, be absent for some time. Many will
miss him should he be long away."
Sooner than father expected he was about again. I had gone down with
father and mother to the Hard, mother to board a ship which had just
come in, and father to look out for a fare, while Mary remained at home
with Nancy. It was blowing pretty fresh, and there was a good deal of
sea running outside, though in the harbour the water was not rough
enough to prevent mother from going off. While she was waiting for old
Tom Swatridge, who had been with grandmother and her for years to bring
along her baskets of vegetables from the market, a gentleman came
hurrying down the Hard, and seeing father getting the wherry ready,
said:
"I want you to put me aboard my ship, my man. She's lying out at
Spithead; we must be off at once."
"It's blowing uncommon fresh, sir," said father. "I don't know how
you'll like it when we get outside; still there's not a wherry in the
harbour that will take you aboard drier than mine, though there's some
risk, sir, you'll understand."
"Will a couple of guineas tempt you?" asked the stranger, thinking that
father was doubting about the payment he was to receive.
"I'll take you, sir," answered father. "Step aboard."
I was already in the boat, thinking that I was to go, and was much
disappointed when father said, "I am not going to take you, Peter, for
your mother wants you to help her; but just run up and tell Ned Dore I
want him. He's standing by the sentry-box."
As I always did as father bade me, I ran up and called Ned, who at once
came rolling along down the Hard, glad of a job. When he heard what he
was wanted for he stepped aboard.
"I hope to be back in a couple of hours, or three at furthest, Polly,"
father sang out to mother, as he shoved off the wherry. "Good-bye,
lass, and see that Peter makes himself useful."
Mother waved her hand.
"Though two guineas are not to be picked up every day, I would as lief
he had stayed in the harbour this blowing weather," she said to herself
more than to me, as on seeing old Tom coming we stepped into her boat.
When father first went to sea, Tom Swatridge had been his shipmate, and
had done him many a kind turn which he had never forgotten. Old Tom had
lost a leg at Trafalgar, of which battle he was fond of talking. He
might have borne up for Greenwich, but he preferred his liberty, though
he had to work for his daily bread, and, I am obliged to say, for his
daily quantum of rum, which always kept his pockets empty. He had
plenty of intelligence, but he could neither read nor write, and that,
with his love of grog, had prevented him from getting on in life as well
as his many good qualities would otherwise have enabled him to do. He
was a tall gaunt man, with iron-grey hair, and a countenance wrinkled,
battered, and bronzed by wind and weather.
When he first came ashore he was almost as sober a man as father, and
having plenty of prize-money he managed to purchase a small dwelling for
himself, which I shall have by-and-by to describe. Old Tom taking the
oars, we pulled aboard the _Dartmouth_, forty-two gun frigate, just come
in from the Mediterranean. Several of the men had been shipmates with
father, and all those belonging to Portsmouth knew mother. They were
very glad to see her, and she had to answer questions of all sorts about
their friends on shore. It is the business of a bumboat-woman to know
everything going forward, what ships are likely to be commissioned, the
characters of the captains and officers, when they are to sail, and
where they are going to. Among so many friends mother drove a brisker
trade than usual, and when the men heard that I was Jack Trawl's son
they gave me many a bright shilling and sixpence, and kind pats on the
head with their broad palms. "He's a chip of the old block, no doubt
about that, missus," cried one. "He'll make a smart young topman one of
these days," said another. Several gave her commissions to execute, and
many sent messages to friends on shore. Altogether, when she left the
frigate she was in better spirits than she had been for a long time.
Scarcely had we shoved off, however, when down came the rain in
torrents, well-nigh wetting us through.
"It's blowing plaguey hard, missus," observed old Tom, as he tugged away
at the oars, I helping him while mother steered. "I hope as how we
shall find your good man safe ashore when we gets in."
On reaching the Hard the wherry was not to be seen. After old Tom had
made fast the boat, wet as she was mother waited and waited in the hopes
that father would come in. Old Tom remained also. He seemed more than
usually anxious. We all stood with our hands shielding our eyes as we
looked down the harbour to try and make out the wherry, but the driving
rain greatly limited our view.
"Hast seen anything of Jack Trawl's wherry?" asked old Tom over and over
again of the men in the different boats, as they came in under their
mizens and foresails. The same answer was returned by all.
"Maybe he got a fare at Spithead for Gosport and will be coming across
soon, or he's gone ashore at the Point with some one's luggage,"
observed old Tom, trying to keep up mother's spirits; but that was a
hard matter to do, for the wind blew stronger and stronger. A few
vessels could be seen, under close-reefed canvas, running up the harbour
for shelter, but we could nowhere perceive a single boat under sail.
Still old Tom continued to suggest all sorts of reasons why father had
not come back. Perhaps he had been detained on board the ship at
Spithead to which he took the gentleman, and seeing the heavy weather
coming on would remain till it moderated. Mother clung to this notion
when hour after hour went by and she had given up all expectation of
seeing father that evening. Still she could not tear herself from the
Hard. Suddenly she remembered me.
"You must be getting wet, Peter," she said. "Run home, my child, and
tell Nancy to give you your tea and then to get supper ready. Father
and I will be coming soon, I hope."