IN THE LIVERPOOL DOCKS.
"Yon is our quay!
Hark to the clamour in that miry road,
Bounded and narrowed by yon vessel's load;
The lumbering wealth she empties round the place,
Package and parcel, hogshead, chest and case:
While the loud seaman and the angry hind,
Mingling in business, bellow to the wind."
CRABBE.
Mary staggered into the house. Mrs. Jones placed her tenderly in a
chair, and there stood bewildered by her side.
"Oh, father! father!" muttered she, "what have you done?--What must I
do? must the innocent die?--or he--whom I fear--I fear--oh! what am I
saying?" said she, looking round affrighted, and seemingly reassured
by Mrs. Jones's countenance, "I am so helpless, so weak,--but a poor
girl after all. How can I tell what is right? Father! you have always
been so kind to me,--and you to be--never mind--never mind, all will
come right in the grave."
"Save us, and bless us!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones, "if I don't think
she's gone out of her wits!"
"No, I'm not!" said Mary, catching at the words, and with a strong
effort controlling the mind she felt to be wandering, while the red
blood flushed to scarlet the heretofore white cheek, "I'm not out of
my senses; there is so much to be done--so much--and no one but me to
do it, you know,--though I can't rightly tell what it is," looking up
with bewilderment into Mrs. Jones's face. "I must not go mad whatever
comes--at least not yet. No!" (bracing herself up) "something may yet
be done, and I must do it. Sailed! did you say? The _John Cropper_?
Sailed?"
"Ay! she went out of dock last night, to be ready for the morning's
tide."
"I thought she was not to sail till to-morrow," murmured Mary.
"So did Will (he's lodged here long, so we all call him 'Will'),"
replied Mrs. Jones. "The mate had told him so, I believe, and he
never knew different till he got to Liverpool on Friday morning; but
as soon as he heard, he gave up going to the Isle o' Man, and just
ran over to Rhyl with the mate, one John Harris, as has friends a bit
beyond Abergele; you may have heard him speak on him, for they are
great chums, though I've my own opinion of Harris."
"And he's sailed?" repeated Mary, trying by repetition to realise the
fact to herself.
"Ay, he went on board last night to be ready for the morning's tide,
as I said afore, and my boy went to see the ship go down the river,
and came back all agog with the sight. Here, Charley, Charley!" She
called out loudly for her son: but Charley was one of those boys who
are never "far to seek," as the Lancashire people say, when any thing
is going on; a mysterious conversation, an unusual event, a fire, or
a riot, any thing, in short; such boys are the little omnipresent
people of this world.
Charley had, in fact, been spectator and auditor all this time;
though for a little while he had been engaged in "dollying" and a few
other mischievous feats in the washing line, which had prevented his
attention from being fully given to his mother's conversation with
the strange girl who had entered.
"Oh, Charley! there you are! Did you not see the _John Cropper_ sail
down the river this morning? Tell the young woman about it, for I
think she hardly credits me."
"I saw her tugged down the river by a steam-boat, which comes to same
thing," replied he.
"Oh! if I had but come last night!" moaned Mary. "But I never thought
of it. I never thought but what he knew right when he said he would
be back from the Isle of Man on Monday morning, and not afore--and
now some one must die for my negligence!"
"Die!" exclaimed the lad. "How?"
"Oh! Will would have proved an _alibi_,--but he's gone,--and what am
I to do?"
"Don't give it up yet," cried the energetic boy, interested at once
in the case; "let's have a try for him. We are but where we were if
we fail."
Mary roused herself. The sympathetic "we" gave her heart and hope.
"But what can be done? You say he's sailed; what can be done?" But
she spoke louder, and in a more life-like tone.
"No! I did not say he'd sailed; mother said that, and women know
nought about such matters. You see" (proud of his office of
instructor, and insensibly influenced, as all about her were, by
Mary's sweet, earnest, lovely countenance) "there's sand-banks at the
mouth of the river, and ships can't get over them but at high-water;
especially ships of heavy burden, like the _John Cropper_. Now, she
was tugged down the river at low water, or pretty near, and will have
to lie some time before the water will be high enough to float her
over the banks. So hold up your head,--you've a chance yet, though
may be but a poor one."
"But what must I do?" asked Mary, to whom all this explanation had
been a vague mystery.
"Do!" said the boy, impatiently, "why, have not I told you? Only
women (begging your pardon) are so stupid at understanding about any
thing belonging to the sea;--you must get a boat, and make all haste,
and sail after him,--after the _John Cropper_. You may overtake her,
or you may not. It's just a chance; but she's heavy laden, and that's
in your favour. She'll draw many feet of water."
Mary had humbly and eagerly (oh, how eagerly!) listened to this young
Sir Oracle's speech; but try as she would, she could only understand
that she must make haste, and sail--somewhere--
"I beg your pardon," (and her little acknowledgment of inferiority
in this speech pleased the lad, and made him her still more zealous
friend). "I beg your pardon," said she, "but I don't know where to
get a boat. Are there boat-stands?"
The lad laughed outright.
"You're not long in Liverpool, I guess. Boat-stands! No; go down to
the pier,--any pier will do, and hire a boat,--you'll be at no loss
when once you are there. Only make haste."
"Oh, you need not tell me that, if I but knew how," said Mary,
trembling with eagerness. "But you say right,--I never was here
before, and I don't know my way to the place you speak on; only tell
me, and I'll not lose a minute."
"Mother!" said the wilful lad, "I'm going to show her the way to the
pier; I'll be back in an hour,--or so,--" he added in a lower tone.
And before the gentle Mrs. Jones could collect her scattered wits
sufficiently to understand half of the hastily formed plan, her son
was scudding down the street, closely followed by Mary's half-running
steps.
Presently he slackened his pace sufficiently to enable him to enter
into conversation with Mary, for once escaped from the reach of his
mother's recalling voice, he thought he might venture to indulge his
curiosity.
"Ahem!--What's your name? It's so awkward to be calling you young
woman."
"My name is Mary,--Mary Barton," answered she, anxious to propitiate
one who seemed so willing to exert himself in her behalf, or else
she grudged every word which caused the slightest relaxation in her
speed, although her chest seemed tightened, and her head throbbing,
from the rate at which they were walking.
"And you want Will Wilson to prove an _alibi_--is that it?"
"Yes--oh, yes--can we not cross now?"
"No, wait a minute; it's the teagle hoisting above your head I'm
afraid of;--and who is it that's to be tried?"
"Jem; oh, lad! can't we get past?"
They rushed under the great bales quivering in the air above their
heads and pressed onwards for a few minutes, till Master Charley
again saw fit to walk a little slower, and ask a few more questions.
"Mary, is Jem your brother, or your sweetheart, that you're so set
upon saving him?"
"No--no," replied she, but with something of hesitation, that made
the shrewd boy yet more anxious to clear up the mystery.
"Perhaps he's your cousin, then? Many a girl has a cousin who has not
a sweetheart."
"No, he's neither kith nor kin to me. What's the matter? What are you
stopping for?" said she, with nervous terror, as Charley turned back
a few steps, and peered up a side street.
"Oh, nothing to flurry you so, Mary. I heard you say to mother you
had never been in Liverpool before, and if you'll only look up this
street you may see the back windows of our Exchange. Such a building
as yon is! with 'natomy hiding under a blanket, and Lord Admiral
Nelson, and a few more people in the middle of the court! No! come
here," as Mary, in her eagerness, was looking at any window that
caught her eye first, to satisfy the boy. "Here, then, now you can
see it. You can say, now, you've seen Liverpool Exchange."
"Yes, to be sure--it's a beautiful window, I'm sure. But are we near
the boats? I'll stop as I come back, you know; only I think we'd
better get on now."
"Oh! if the wind's in your favour, you'll be down the river in no
time, and catch Will, I'll be bound; and if it's not, why, you know,
the minute it took you to look at the Exchange will be neither here
nor there."
Another rush onwards, till one of the long crossings near the docks
caused a stoppage, and gave Mary time for breathing, and Charley
leisure to ask another question.
"You've never said where you come from?"
"Manchester," replied she.
"Eh, then! you've a power of things to see. Liverpool beats
Manchester hollow, they say. A nasty, smoky hole, bean't it? Are you
bound to live there?"
"Oh, yes! it's my home."
"Well, I don't think I could abide a home in the middle of smoke.
Look there! now you see the river! That's something now you'd give
a deal for in Manchester. Look!"
And Mary did look, and saw down an opening made in the forest of
masts belonging to the vessels in dock, the glorious river, along
which white-sailed ships were gliding with the ensigns of all
nations, not "braving the battle," but telling of the distant lands,
spicy or frozen, that sent to that mighty mart for their comforts
or their luxuries; she saw small boats passing to and fro on that
glittering highway, but she also saw such puffs and clouds of
smoke from the countless steamers, that she wondered at Charley's
intolerance of the smoke of Manchester. Across the swing-bridge,
along the pier,--and they stood breathless by a magnificent dock,
where hundreds of ships lay motionless during the process of loading
and unloading. The cries of the sailors, the variety of languages
used by the passers-by, and the entire novelty of the sight compared
with any thing which Mary had ever seen, made her feel most helpless
and forlorn; and she clung to her young guide as to one who alone by
his superior knowledge could interpret between her and the new race
of men by whom she was surrounded,--for a new race sailors might
reasonably be considered, to a girl who had hitherto seen none but
inland dwellers, and those for the greater part factory people.
In that new world of sight and sound, she still bore one prevailing
thought, and though her eye glanced over the ships and the
wide-spreading river, her mind was full of the thought of reaching
Will.
"Why are we here?" asked she of Charley. "There are no little boats
about, and I thought I was to go in a little boat; those ships are
never meant for short distances, are they?"
"To be sure not," replied he, rather contemptuously. "But the _John
Cropper_ lay in this dock, and I know many of the sailors; and if I
could see one I knew, I'd ask him to run up the mast, and see if he
could catch a sight of her in the offing. If she's weighed her anchor
no use for your going, you know."
Mary assented quietly to this speech, as if she were as careless as
Charley seemed now to be about her overtaking Will; but in truth her
heart was sinking within her, and she no longer felt the energy which
had hitherto upheld her. Her bodily strength was giving way, and she
stood cold and shivering, although the noon-day sun beat down with
considerable power on the shadeless spot where she was standing.
"Here's Tom Bourne!" said Charley; and altering his manner from
the patronising key in which he had spoken to Mary, he addressed a
weather-beaten old sailor who came rolling along the pathway where
they stood, his hands in his pockets, and his quid in his mouth, with
very much the air of one who had nothing to do but look about him,
and spit right and left; addressing this old tar, Charley made known
to him his wish in slang, which to Mary was almost inaudible, and
quite unintelligible, and which I am too much of a land-lubber to
repeat correctly.
Mary watched looks and actions with a renovated keenness of
perception.
She saw the old man listen attentively to Charley; she saw him eye
her over from head to foot, and wind up his inspection with a little
nod of approbation (for her very shabbiness and poverty of dress were
creditable signs to the experienced old sailor); and then she watched
him leisurely swing himself on to a ship in the basin, and, borrowing
a glass, run up the mast with the speed of a monkey.
"He'll fall!" said she, in affright, clutching at Charley's arm, and
judging the sailor, from his storm-marked face and unsteady walk on
land, to be much older than he really was.
"Not he!" said Charley. "He's at the mast-head now. See! he's looking
through his glass, and using his arms as steady as if he were on
dry land. Why, I've been up the mast, many and many a time; only
don't tell mother. She thinks I'm to be a shoemaker, but I've made
up my mind to be a sailor; only there's no good arguing with a woman.
You'll not tell her, Mary?"
"Oh, see!" exclaimed she (his secret was very safe with her, for, in
fact, she had not heard it). "See! he's coming down; he's down. Speak
to him, Charley."
But unable to wait another instant she called out herself,
"Can you see the _John Cropper_? Is she there yet?"
"Ay, ay," he answered, and coming quickly up to them, he hurried them
away to seek for a boat, saying the bar was already covered, and in
an hour the ship would hoist her sails and be off. "You've the wind
right against you, and must use oars. No time to lose."
They ran to some steps leading down to the water. They beckoned to
some watermen, who, suspecting the real state of the case, appeared
in no hurry for a fare, but leisurely brought their boat alongside
the stairs, as if it were a matter of indifference to them whether
they were engaged or not, while they conversed together in few words,
and in an under-tone, respecting the charge they should make.
"Oh, pray make haste," called Mary. "I want you to take me to the
_John Cropper_. Where is she, Charley? Tell them--I don't rightly
know the words,--only make haste!"
"In the offing she is, sure enough, miss," answered one of the men,
shoving Charley on one side, regarding him as too young to be a
principal in the bargain.
"I don't think we can go, Dick," said he, with a wink to his
companion; "there's the gentleman over at New Brighton as wants us."
"But, mayhap, the young woman will pay us handsome for giving her a
last look at her sweetheart," interposed the other.
"Oh, how much do you want? Only make haste--I've enough to pay you,
but every moment is precious," said Mary.
"Ay, that it is. Less than an hour won't take us to the mouth of the
river, and she'll be off by two o'clock!"
Poor Mary's ideas of "plenty of money," however, were different to
those entertained by the boatmen. Only fourteen or fifteen shillings
remained out of the sovereign Margaret had lent her, and the boatmen,
imagining "plenty" to mean no less than several pounds, insisted
upon receiving a sovereign (an exorbitant fare, by the bye, although
reduced from their first demand of thirty shillings).
While Charley, with a boy's impatience of delay, and disregard of
money, kept urging,
"Give it 'em, Mary; they'll none of them take you for less. It's your
only chance. There's St. Nicholas ringing one!"
"I've only got fourteen and ninepence," cried she, in despair, after
counting over her money; "but I'll give you my shawl, and you can
sell it for four or five shillings,--oh! won't that much do?" asked
she, in such a tone of voice, that they must indeed have had hard
hearts who could refuse such agonised entreaty.
They took her on board.
And in less than five minutes she was rocking and tossing in a boat
for the first time in her life, alone with two rough, hard-looking
men.