Jacob Faithful

Chapter Thirty One

We pulled leisurely up the stream, talking, and every now and then resting on our oars to take breath; for, as the old captain said, “Why should we make a toil of pleasure? I like the upper part of the river best, Jacob, because the water is clear, and I love clear water. How many hours have I, when a boy on board ship, hung over the gunwale of a boat, lowered down in a calm, and watch the little floating objects in the dark blue unfathomable water beneath me; objects of all sizes, of all colours, and of all shapes—all of them beautiful and to be admired; yet of them, perhaps, not one in a hundred millions ever meet the eye of man. You know, Jacob, that the North Seas are full of these animals—you cannot imagine the quantity of them; the sailors call them blubbers, because they are composed of a sort of transparent jelly but the real name I am told is Medusae, that is the learned name. The whale feeds on them, and that is the reason why the whale is found where they are.”

“I should like very much to go a voyage to the whale fishery,” replied I; “I’ve heard so much about it from you.”

“It is a stirring life, and a hard life, Jacob; still it is an exciting one. Some voyages will turn out very pleasant, but others are dreadful, from their anxiety. If the weather continues fine, it is all very well; but sometimes when there is a continuance of bad weather, it is dreadful. I recollect one voyage which made me show more grey hairs than all the others, and I think I have been twenty-two in all. We were in the drift ice, forcing our way to the northward, when it came on to blow—the sea rose, and after a week’s gale it was tremendous. We had little daylight, and when it was daylight, the fog was so thick that we could see but little; there we were tossing among the large drift ice, meeting immense icebergs which bore down with all the force of the gale, and each time we narrowly escaped perishing: the rigging was loaded with ice; the bows of the ship were cased with it; the men were more than half frozen, and we could not move a rope through a block without pouring boiling water through it first, to clear it out. But then the long, dreary, dreadful nights, when we were rising on the mountain wave, and then pitching down into the trough, not knowing but that at each send we might strike upon the ice below, and go to the bottom immediately afterwards. All pitchy dark—the wind howling, and as it struck you, cutting you to the back-bone with its cold, searching power, the waves dancing all black around you, and every now and then perceiving by its white colour and the foam encircling it a huge mass of ice borne upon you, and hurled against you as if there were a demon, who was using it as an engine for your destruction. I never shall forget the turning of an iceberg during the dreadful gale which lasted for a month and three days.”

“I don’t know what that means, sir.”

“Why, you must know, Jacob, that the icebergs are all fresh water, and are supposed to have been detached from the land by the force of the weather and other causes. Now, although ice floats, yet it floats deep: that is, if an iceberg is five hundred feet high above the water, it is generally six times as deep below the water—do you understand?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Now, Jacob, the water is much warmer than the air, and in consequence, the ice under the water melts away much faster; so that if the iceberg has been some time afloat, at last the part that is below is not so heavy as that which is above; then it turns, that is, it upsets and floats in another position.”

“I understand you, sir.”

“Well, we were close to an iceberg, which was to windward of us, a very tall one, indeed, and we reckoned that we should get clear of it, for we were carrying a press of sail to effect it. Still, all hands were eagerly watching the iceberg, as it came down very fast before the storm. All of a sudden it blew twice as hard as before, and then one of the men shouted out—‘Turning, turning!’—and sure enough it was. There was its towering summit gradually bowing towards us, until it almost appeared as if the peak was over our heads. Our fate appeared inevitable, as the whole mountain of ice was descending on the vessel, and would, of course, have crushed us into atoms. We all fell on our knees, praying mentally, and watching its awful descent; even the man at the helm did the same, although he did not let go the spokes of the wheel. It had nearly half turned over, right for us, when the ice below, being heavier on one side than on the other, gave it a more slanting impetus, and shifting the direction of its fall, it plunged into the sea about a cable’s length astern of us, throwing up the water to the heavens in foam, and blinding us all with the violence with which it dashed into our faces. For a minute the run of the waves was checked, and the sea appeared to boil and dance, throwing up peaked, pointed masses of water in all directions, one sinking, another rising, the ship rocked and reeled as if she were drunk; even the current of the gale was checked for a moment, and the heavy sails flapped and cleared themselves of their icy varnishing—then all was over. There was an iceberg of another shape astern of us, the gale recommenced, the waves pressed each other on as before, and we felt the return of the gale, awful as it was, as a reprieve. That was a dreadful voyage, Jacob, and turned one-third of my hair grey; and what made it worse was, that we had only three fish on board on our return. However, we had reason to be thankful, for eighteen of our vessels were lost altogether, and it was the mercy of God that we were not among the number.”

“Well, I suppose you told me that story to prevent my going a voyage?”

“Not a bit, Jacob; if it should chance that you find it your interest to go to the North Pole, or anywhere else, I would say go, by all means; let neither difficulty nor danger deter you; but do not go merely from curiosity; that I consider foolish. It’s all very well for those who come back to have the satisfaction to talk of such things, and it is but fair that they should have it; but when you consider how many there are who never come back at all, why, then, it’s very foolish to push yourself into needless danger and privation. You are amused with my recollections of Arctic voyages; but just call to mind how many years of hardship, of danger, cold, and starvation I have undergone to collect all these anecdotes, and then judge whether it be worth any man’s while to go for the sake of mere curiosity.”

I then amused Mr Turnbull with the description of the picnic party, which lasted until we had pulled far beyond Kew Bridge. We thrust the bow of the wherry into a bunch of sedges, and then we sat down to our meal, surrounded by hundreds of blue dragon-flies, that flitted about as if to inquire what we meant by intruding upon their domiciles. We continued there chatting and amusing ourselves till it was late, and then shoved off and pulled down with the stream. The sun had set, and we had yet six or seven miles to return to Mr Turnbull’s house, when we perceived a slight, handsome young man in a skiff, who pulled towards us.

“I say, my lads,” said he, taking us both for watermen, “have you a mind to earn a couple of guineas with very little trouble?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Mr Turnbull, “if you can show us how. A fine chance for you, Jacob,” continued he, aside.

“Well, then, I shall want your services, perhaps, for not more than an hour; it may be a little longer, as there is a lady in question, and we may have to wait. All I ask is, that you pull well and do your best. Are you agreed?”

We consented; and he requested us to follow him, and then pulled for the shore.

“This is to be an adventure, sir,” said I.

“So it seems,” replied Mr Turnbull; “all the better. I’m old now, but I’m fond of a spree.”

The gentleman pulled into a little boat-house by the river’s side, belonging to one of the villas on the bank, made fast his boat, and then stepped into ours.

“Now, we’ve plenty of time; just pull quietly for the present.” We continued down the river, and after we had passed Kew Bridge, he directed us in shore, on the right side, till we came to a garden sweeping down to the river from a cottage ornée, of large dimensions, about fifty yards from the bank. The water was up to the brick-wall, which rose from the river about four or five feet. “That will do, st—, st—, not a word,” said he, rising in the stern sheets, and looking over. After a minute or two reconnoitring, he climbed from the boat on to the parapet of the wall, and whistled two bars of an air which I had till then never heard. All was silent. He crouched behind a lilac bush, and in a minute he repeated the same air in a whistle as before; still there was no appearance of movement at the cottage. He continued at intervals to whistle the portion of the air, and at last a light appeared at an upper window: it was removed, and re-appeared three times. “Be ready now, my lads,” said he. In about two minutes afterwards, a female, in a cloak, appeared, coming down the lawn, with a box in her hand, panting with excitement.

“Oh, William, I heard your first signal, but I could not get into my uncle’s room for the box; at last he went out, and here it is.”

The gentleman seized the box from her, and handed it to us in the boat.

“Take great care of that, my lads,” said he; “and now, Cecilia, we have no time to lose; the sooner you are in the boat the better.”

“How am I to get down there, William?” replied she.

“Oh, nothing more easy. Stop, throw your cloak into the boat, and then all you have to do is, first to get upon the top of the wall, and then trust to the watermen below and to me above for helping you.”

It was not, however, quite so easy a matter; the wall was four feet high above the boat, and moreover, there was a trellised work of iron, above a foot high, which ran along the wall. Still, she made every effort on her own part, and we considered that we had arranged so as to conquer the difficulty, when the young lady gave a scream. We looked up and beheld a third party on the wall. It was a stout, tall, elderly man, as far as we could perceive in the dark, who immediately seized hold of the lady by the arm, and was dragging her away. This was resisted by the young gentleman, and the lady was relinquished by the other, to defend himself; at the same time that he called out—“Help, help! Thieves, thieves!”

“Shall I go to his assistance?” said I to Mr Turnbull. “One must stay in the boat.”

“Jump up, then, Jacob, for I never could get up that wall.”

I was up in a moment, and gaining my feet, was about to spring to the help of the young man, when four servants, with lights and with arms in their hands, made their appearance, hastening down the lawn. The lady had fainted on the grass; the elderly gentleman and his antagonist were down together, but the elderly gentleman had the mastery, for he was uppermost. Perceiving the assistance coming, he called out “Look to the watermen, secure them.” I perceived that not a moment was to be lost. I could be of no service, and Mr Turnbull might be in an awkward scrape. I sprang into the boat, shoved off, and we were in the stream and at thirty yards’ distance before they looked over the wall to see where we were.

“Stop, in that boat! stop!” they cried.

“Fire, if they don’t,” cried their master.

We pulled as hard as we could. A musquetoon was discharged, but the shot dropped short; the only person who fell was the man who fired it. To see us he had stood upon the coping bricks of the wall, and the recoil tumbled him over into the river: we saw him fall, and heard the splash; but we pulled on as hard as we could, and in a few minutes the scene of action was far behind us. We then struck across to the other side of the river, and when we had gained close to the shore we took breath.

“Well,” said Mr Turnbull, “this is a spree I little looked for; to have a blunderbuss full of shot sent after me.”

“No,” replied I, laughing, “that’s carrying the joke rather too far on the river Thames.”

“Well, but what a pretty mess we are in: here we have property belonging to God knows whom; and what are we to do with it?”

“I think, sir, the best thing we can do is, for you to land at your own house with the property, and take care of it until we find out what all this is about; and I will continue on with the sculls to the hard. I shall hear or find out something about it in a day or two; they may still follow up the pursuit and trace us.”

“The advice is good,” replied Mr Turnbull, “and the sooner we cut over again the better, for we are nearly abreast of my place.”

We did so. Mr Turnbull landed in his garden, taking with him the tin-box (it was what they call a deed-box) and the lady’s cloak. I did not wait, but boating the oars, took my sculls and pulled down to Fulham as fast as I could. I had arrived, and was pulling gently in, not to injure the other boats, when a man with a lantern came into the wherry.

“Have you anything in your boat, my man?” said he. “Nothing, sir,” replied I. The man examined the boat, and was satisfied.

“Tell me, did you see a boat with two men in it as you came along?”

“No, sir,” replied I, “nothing has passed me.”

“Where do you come from now?”

“From a gentleman’s place near Brentford.”

“Brentford? Oh, then, you were far below them. They are not down yet.”

“Have you a job for me, sir?” said I, not wishing to appear anxious to go away.

“No, my man, no; nothing to-night. We are on the lookout, but we have two boats in the stream, and a man at each landing-place.”

I made fast my boat, shouldered my oars and sculls, and departed, not at all sorry to get away. It appeared that as soon as it was ascertained that we were not to be stopped by being fired at, they saddled horses, and the distance by the road being so much shorter, had, by galloping as hard as they could, arrived at Fulham some ten minutes before me. It was, therefore, most fortunate that the box had been landed, or I should have been discovered. That the contents were of value was evident, from the anxiety to secure them; but the mystery was still to be solved. I was quite tired with exertion and excitement when I arrived at Stapleton’s. Mary was there to give me my supper, which I ate in silence, complained of a headache, and went to bed.