Rivers of Ice
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But Mrs Roby had now got pretty well accustomed to her lodger’s ways. Her nerves had become strung to the ordeal, and she even came to like the galvanic battery in which she dwelt, because of its being worked by the intimate friend of her dear William; such is the power of love—we might almost say, in this case, of reflected love! The good old lady had even become so acute in her perceptions, that, without seeing the “rampadger,” she knew precisely the part of his daily programme with which he happened to be engaged. Of course the snoring told its own tale with brazen-tongued clamour, and the whole tenement trembled all night long from top to bottom. Nothing but the regardless nature of the surrounding population prevented the Captain from being indicted as a nuisance; but there were other sounds that were not so easily recognised.
On the morning in question, Mrs Roby, lying placidly in her neat white little bed, and gazing with a sweet contented face through one of her cabin windows at the bright blue sky, heard a sound as though a compound animal—hog and whale—had aroused itself and rolled over on its other side. A low whistling followed. Mrs Roby knew that the Captain was pleasantly engaged with his thoughts—planning out the proceedings of the day. Suddenly the whistling ceased and was followed by a sonorous “how-ho!” terminating in a gasp worthy of an express locomotive. The Captain had stretched himself and Mrs Roby smiled at her own thoughts, as well she might for they embraced the idea that a twentieth part of the force employed in that stretch would have rent in twain every tendon, muscle, sinew, and filament in her, Mrs Roby’s, body. Next, there descended on the floor overhead a sixteen-stone cannon ball, which caused—not the neighbours, but the boards and rafters to complain. The Captain was up! and succeeding sounds proved that he had had another stretch, for there was a bump in the middle of it which showed that, forgetting his stature, the careless man had hit the ceiling with his head. That was evidently a matter of no consequence.
From this point the boards and rafters continued to make unceasing complaint, now creaking uneasily as if under great provocation, anon groaning or yelling as though under insufferable torment. From the ceiling of Mrs Roby’s room numerous small bits of plaster, unable to stand it longer, fell and powdered Mrs Roby’s floor. The curtains of her little bed saved her face. There was a slushing and swishing and gasping and blowing now, which might have done credit to a school of porpoises. The Captain was washing. Something between the flapping of a main top-sail in a shifting squall and the currying of a hippopotamus indicated that the Captain was drying himself. The process was interrupted by an unusual, though not quite unknown, crash and a howl; he had overturned the wash-hand basin, and a double thump, followed by heavy dabs, told that the Captain was on his knees swabbing it up.
Next instant the Captain’s head, with beard and hair in a tremendously rubbed-up condition, appeared upside down at the hatchway.
“Hallo! old girl, has she sprung a leak anywhere?”
“Nowhere,” replied Mrs Roby, with a quiet smile. She felt the question to be unnecessary. “She,” that is, the roof above her, never did leak in such circumstances. If the Thames had suddenly flooded the garret, the Captain’s energy was sufficient to have swabbed it up in time to prevent a drop reaching “the lower deck.”
Soon after this catastrophe there was a prolonged silence. The Captain was reading. Mrs Roby shut her eyes and joined him in spirit. Thereafter the Captain’s feet appeared at the trap where his head had been, and he descended with a final and tremendous crash to the floor.
“See here, mother,” he cried, with a look of delight, holding up a very soiled and crumpled letter, “that’s from Willum.”
“From William,” exclaimed the old woman, eagerly; “why, when did you get it? the postman can’t have been here this morning.”
“Of course he hasn’t; I got it last night from the limb-o’-the-law that looks after my little matters. I came in late, and you were asleep, so I kep’ it to whet yer appetite for breakfast. Now listen, you must take it first; I’ll get you breakfast afterwards.”
The Captain had by this time got into the way of giving the old woman her breakfast in bed every morning.
“Go on,” said the old woman, nodding.
The Captain spread out the letter on his knee with great care, and read aloud:—
“My Dear Wopper, Got yer letter all right.
“My blissin’ to the poor widdy. Help her? ov coorse I’ll help her. You did right in advancin’ the money, though you fell short, by a long way, when you advanced so little. Hows’ever, no matter. I gave you my last will an’ testimony w’en we parted. Here’s a noo un. Inside o’ this, if I don’t forget it before I’ve done, you’ll find a cheque for thirteen thousand pounds sterling. Give three to the widdy, with my respects; give four to dear Emma Gray, with my best love and blissin’; give two to Mister Lewis, with my compliments; an’ give four to young Lawrence, with my benediction, for his father’s sake. As for the old ’ooman Roby, you don’t need to give nothin’ to her. She and I understand each other. I’ll look after her myself. I’ll make her my residooary legatee, an’ wotever else is needful; but, in the meantime, you may as well see that she’s got all that she wants. Build her a noo house too. I’m told that Grubb’s Court ain’t exactly aristocratic or clean; see to that. Wotever you advance out o’ yer own pocket, I’ll pay back with interest. That’s to begin with, tell ’em. There’s more comin’. There—I’m used up wi’ writin’ such a long screed. I’d raither dig a twenty-futt hole in clay sile any day.—Yours to command, Willum.
“P.S.—You ain’t comin’ back soon—are you?”
“Now, mother, what d’ee think o’ that?” said the Captain, folding the letter and putting it in his pocket.
“It’s a good, kind letter—just like William,” answered the old woman.
“Well, so I’m inclined to think,” rejoined the Captain, busying himself about breakfast while he spoke; “it provides for everybody in a sort o’ way, and encourages ’em to go on hopeful like—don’t it strike you so? Then, you see, that’s four to Miss Emma, and four to Dr Lawrence, which would be eight, equal to four hundred a year; and that, with the practice he’s gettin’ into, would make it six, or thereabouts—not bad to begin with, eh?”
The Captain followed his remark with a sigh.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mrs Roby.
“Why, you remember, mother, before goin’ abroad I set my heart on these two gettin’ spliced; but I fear it’s no go. Sometimes I think they looks fond o’ one another, at other times I don’t. It’s a puzzler. They’re both young an’ good-lookin’ an’ good. What more would they have?”
“Perhaps they want money,” suggested the old woman. “You say Dr Lawrence’s income just now is about two hundred; well, gentlefolks find it summat difficult to keep house on that, though it’s plenty for the likes of you an’ me.”
“That’s true. P’r’aps the Doctor is sheerin’ off for fear o’ draggin’ a young creeter into poverty. It never struck me in that light before.”
Beaming under the influence of this hopeful view of the case, the Captain proceeded to make another move in the complicated game which he had resolved to play out and win; but this move, which he had considered one of the easiest of all, proved to be the most unfortunate, or rather unmanageable.
“Now, mother,” said he, “I mean to make a proposal to ’ee, before going out for the day, so that you may have time to think over it. This cabin o’ yours ain’t just the thing, you know,—raither dirty, and too high in the clouds by a long way, so I’ve bin an’ seen a noo house on the river, not unlike this one, an’ I wants you to shift your berth. What say ’ee—eh?”
To the Captain’s surprise and dismay, the old woman shook her head decidedly, and no argument which he could bring to bear had the least effect on her. She had, in fact, got used to her humble old home, and attached to it, and could not bear the thought of leaving it. Having exhausted his powers of suasion in vain, he left her to think over it, and sallied forth crestfallen. However, he consoled himself with the hope that time and consideration would bring her to a right state of mind. Meanwhile he would go to the parties interested, and communicate the contents of Willum’s letter.
He went first to Doctor Lawrence, who was delighted as well as pleased at what it contained. The Captain at first read only the clauses which affected his friends the Stoutleys, and said nothing about that which referred to the Doctor himself.
“So you see, Doctor, I’m off to let the Stoutleys know about this little matter, and just looked in on you in passing.”
“It was very kind of you, Captain.”
“Not at all, by no means,” returned the Captain, pulling out a large clasp-knife, with which he proceeded carefully to pare his left thumb nail. “By the way, Doctor,” he said carelessly, “were you ever in love?”
Lawrence flushed, and cast a quick glance at his interrogator, who, however, was deeply engaged with the thumb nail.
“Well, I suppose men at my time of life,” he replied, with a laugh, “have had some—”
“Of course—of course,” interrupted the other, “but I mean that I wonder a strapping young fellow like you, with such a good practice, don’t get married.”
The Doctor, who had recovered himself, laughed, and said that his good practice was chiefly among the poor, and that even if he wished to marry—or rather, if any one would have him—he would never attempt to win a girl while he had nothing better than two hundred a year and prospects to offer her.
“Then I suppose you would marry if you had something better to offer,” said the Captain, finishing off the nail and shutting the clasp-knife with a snap.
Again the Doctor laughed, wondered why the Captain had touched on such a theme, and said that he couldn’t exactly say what he might or might not do if circumstances were altered.
The Captain was baffled. However, he said that circumstances were altered, and, after reading over the latter part of Willum’s letter, left Lawrence to digest it at his leisure.
We need not follow him on his mission. Suffice it to say that he carried no small amount of relief to the minds of Mrs Stoutley and her household; and, thereafter, met Gillie by appointment at Charing Cross, whence he went to Kensington to see a villa, with a view to purchasing it.
At night he again essayed to move Mrs Roby’s resolution, and many a time afterwards attacked her, but always with the same result. Although, as he said, he fought like a true-blue British seaman, and gave her broadside after broadside as fast as he could load and fire, he made no impression on her whatever. She had nailed her colours to the mast and would never give in.
Chapter Twenty Four.
In which Tremendous Forces come to the Captain’s Aid
It is probable that most people can recall occasions when “circumstances” have done for them that which they have utterly failed to effect for themselves.
Some time after the failure of Captain Wopper’s little plots and plans in regard to Mrs Roby, “circumstances” favoured him—the wind shifted round, so to speak, and blew right astern. To continue our metaphor, it blew a tremendous gale, and the Captain’s ends were gained at last only by the sinking of the ship!
This is how it happened. One afternoon the Captain was walking rather disconsolately down the Strand in company with his satellite—we might almost say, his confidant. The street was very crowded, insomuch that at one or two crossings they were obliged to stand a few minutes before venturing over,—not that the difficulty was great, many active men being seen to dodge among the carts, drays, vans, and busses with marvellous ease and safety, but the Captain was cautious. He was wont to say that he warn’t used to sail in such crowded waters—there warn’t enough o’ sea room for him—he’d rather lay-to, or stand—off-an’-on for half a day than risk being run down by them shore-goin’ crafts.
“Everything in life seems to go wrong at times,” muttered the Captain, as he and the satellite lay-to at one of these crossings.
“Yes, it’s coorious, ain’t it, sir,” said Gillie, “an’ at other times everything seems to go right—don’t it, sir?”
“True, my lad, that’s a better view to take of it,” returned the Captain, cheerfully, “come, we’ll heave ahead.”
As they were “heaving” along in silence, the rattle and noise around them being unsuited to conversation, they suddenly became aware that the ordinary din of the Strand swelled into a furious roar. Gillie was half way up a lamp-post in an instant! from which elevated position he looked down on the Captain, and said—
“A ingine!”
“What sort of a ingine, my lad?”
“A fire! hooray!” shouted Gillie, with glittering eyes and flushed countenance, “look out, Cappen, keep close ’longside o’ me, under the lee o’ the lamp-post. It’s not a bad buffer, though never quite a sure one, bein’ carried clean away sometimes by the wheels w’en there’s a bad driver.”
As he spoke, the most intense excitement was manifested in the crowded thoroughfare. Whips were flourished, cabmen shouted, horses reared, vehicles of all kinds scattered right and left even although there had seemed almost a “block” two seconds before. Timid foot passengers rushed into shops, bold ones mounted steps and kerb-stones, or stood on tip-toe, and the Captain, towering over the crowd, saw the gleam of brass helmets as the charioteer clove his way through the swaying mass.
There is something powerfully exciting to most minds in the sight of men rushing into violent action, especially when the action may possibly involve life and death. The natural excitement aroused in the Captain’s breast was increased by the deep bass nautical roar that met his ear. Every man in the London fire-brigade is, or used to be, a picked man-of-war’s-man, and the shouting necessary in such a thoroughfare to make people get out of the way was not only tremendous but unceasing. It was as though a dozen mad “bo’s’ns,” capped with brazen war-helmets, had been let loose on London society, through which they tore at full gallop behind three powerful horses on a hissing and smoking monster of brass and iron. A bomb shell from a twenty-five-ton gun could scarce have cut a lane more effectually. The Captain took off his hat and cheered in sympathy. The satellite almost dropped from the lamp-post with excess of feeling. The crash and roar increased, culminated, rushed past and gone in a moment.
Gillie dropped to the ground as if he had been shot, seized the Captain’s hand, and attempted to drag him along. He might as well have tried to drag Vesuvius from its base, but the Captain was willing. A hansom-cab chanced to be in front of them as they dashed into the road, the driver smoking and cool as a cucumber, being used to such incidents. He held up a finger.
“Quick, in with you, Cappen!”
Gillie got behind his patron, and in attempting to expedite his movements with a push, almost sent him out at the other side.
“After the ingine—slap!” yelled Gillie to the face which looked down through the conversation-hole in the roof, “double extra fare if you look sharp.”
The cabman was evidently a sympathetic soul. He followed in the wake of the fire-engine as well as he could; but it was a difficult process, for, while the world at large made way for it, nobody cared a straw for him!
“Ain’t it fun?” said Gillie, as he settled his panting little body on the cushion beside his friend and master.
“Not bad,” responded the Captain, who half laughed at the thought of being so led away by excitement and a small boy.
“I’d give up all my bright prospects of advancement in life,” continued Gillie, “to be a fireman. There’s no fun goin’ equal to a fire.”
“P’r’aps it don’t seem quite so funny to them as is bein’ burnt out,” suggested the Captain.
“Of course it don’t, but that can’t be helped, you know—can it, sir? What can’t be cured must be endoored, as the proverb says. Get along, old fellow, don’t spare his ribs—double fare, you know; we’ll lose ’em if you don’t.”
The latter part of the remark was shouted through the hole to the cabman, who however, pulled up instead of complying.
“It’s of no use, sir,” he said, looking down at the Captain, “I’ve lost sight of ’em.”
Gillie was on the pavement in a moment.
“Never mind, Cappen, give him five bob, an’ decline the change; come along. I see ’em go past the Bridge, so ten to one it’s down about the docks somewheres—the wust place in London for a fire w’ich, of course, means the best.”
The idea of its being so afforded such unalloyed pleasure to Gillie, that he found it hard to restrain himself and accommodate his pace to that of his friend.
It soon became very evident that the fire was in truth somewhere about the docks, for not only was a dense cloud of smoke seen rising in that direction, but fire-engines began to dash from side streets everywhere, and to rush towards the smoke as if they were sentient things impatient for the fray.
The cause of such unusual vigour and accumulation of power was, that a fire anywhere about the docks is deemed pre-eminently dangerous, owing to the great and crowded warehouses being stuffed from cellars to roof-trees with combustibles. The docks, in regard to fire, form the citadel of London. If the enemy gets a footing there, he must be expelled at all hazards and at any cost.
As the Captain and his protégé hurried along, they were naturally led in the direction of their home. A vague undefined fear at the same instant took possession of both, for they glanced gravely at each other without speaking, and, as if by mutual consent, began to run. Gillie had no need now to complain of his companion’s pace. He had enough to do to keep up with it. There were many runners besides themselves now, for the fire was obviously near at hand, and the entire population of the streets seemed to be pressing towards it. A few steps more brought them in sight of the head of Grubb’s Court. Here several fire-engines were standing in full play surrounded by a swaying mass of human beings. Still there was no sign of the precise locality of the fires for the tall houses hid everything from view save the dense cloud which overshadowed them all.
Even Captain Wopper’s great strength would have been neutralised in such a crowd if it had not now been seconded by an excitement and anxiety that nothing could resist. He crushed his way through as if he had been one of the steam fire-engines, Gillie holding tight to the stout tails of his monkey jacket. Several powerful roughs came in his way, and sought to check him. The Captain had hitherto merely used his shoulders and his weight. To the roughs he applied a fist—right and left—and two went down. A few seconds brought him to the cordon of policemen. They had seen him approaching, and one placed himself in front of the Captain with the quiet air of a man who is accustomed never to give way to physical force!
“I live down Grubb’s Court, my man,” said the Captain, with an eager respectful air, for he was of a law-abiding spirit.
The constable stepped aside, and nodded gravely. The Captain passed the line, but Gillie was pounced upon as if he had been a mouse and the constable a cat.
“He belongs to me,” cried the Captain, turning back on hearing Gillie’s yell of despair.
The boy was released, and both flew down the Court, on the pavement of which the snake-like water-hose lay spirting at its seams.
“It’s in the cabin,” said the Captain, in a low deep voice, as he dashed into the Court, where a crowd of firemen were toiling with cool, quiet, yet tremendous energy. No crowd interrupted them here, save the few frantic inhabitants of the Court, who were screaming advice and doing nothing; but no attention whatever was paid to them. A foreman of the brigade stood looking calmly upwards engaged in low-toned conversation with a brother fireman, as if they were discussing theories of the picturesque and beautiful with special application to chimney-cans, clouds of smoke, and leaping tongues of fire.
Immense engine power had been brought to bear, and one of the gigantic floating-engines of the Thames had got near enough to shower tons of water over the buildings, still it was a matter of uncertainty whether the fire could be confined to the Court where it had originated.
The result of the foreman’s quiet talk was that the brother-fireman suddenly seized a nozzle from a comrade, and made a dash at the door leading up to “the cabin.” Flames and smoke drove him back instantly.
It was at this moment that Captain Wopper came on the scene. Without a moment’s hesitation he rushed towards the same door. The foreman seized his arm.
“It’s of no use, sir, you can’t do it.”
The Captain shook him off and sprang in. A few seconds and he rushed out choking, scorched, and with his eyes starting almost out of their sockets.
“It is of no use, sir,” remonstrated the foreman, “besides, the people have all bin got out, I’m told.”
“No, they ’aven’t,” cried Mrs White, coming up at the moment, frantically wringing the last article of linen on which she had been professionally engaged, “Mrs Roby’s there yet.”
“All right, sir,” said the foreman, with that quiet comforting intonation which is peculiar to men of power, resource, and self-reliance, “come to the back. The escape will be up immediately. It couldn’t get down the Court, owin’ to some masonry that was piled there, and had to be sent round.”
Quick to understand, the Captain followed the fireman, and reached the back of the house, on the riverside, just as the towering head of the escape emerged from a flanking alley.
“This way. The small window on the right at the top—so.”
The ladder was barely placed when the Captain sprang upon it and ran up as, many a time before, he had run up the shrouds of his own vessel. A cheer from the crowd below greeted this display of activity, but it was changed into a laugh when the Captain, finding the window shut and bolted, want into the room head first, carrying frame and glass along with him! Divesting himself of the uncomfortable necklace, he looked hastily round. The smoke was pretty thick, but not sufficiently so to prevent his seeing poor Mrs Roby lying on the floor as if she had fallen down suffocated.
“Cheer up, old lass,” he cried, kneeling and raising her head tenderly.
“Is that you, Cappen?” said the old woman, in a weak voice.
“Come, we’ve no time to lose. Let me lift you; the place is all alight. I thought you was choked.”
“Choked! oh dear, no,” replied the old woman, “but I’ve always heard that in a fire you should keep your face close to the ground for air—Ah! gently, Cappen, dear!”
While she was speaking, the Captain was getting her tucked under his strong right arm. He could have whisked her on his shoulder in a moment, but was afraid of her poor old bones, and treated her as if she had been a fragile China tea-cup of great value.
Next moment he was out on the escape, and reached the ground amid ringing cheers. He carried her at once to the nearest place of safety, and, committing her to the care of Mrs White, rushed back to the scene of conflagration just as they were about to remove the escape.
“Stop!” shouted the Captain, springing on it.
“There’s nobody else up, is there?” cried a fireman, as the Captain ran up.
“No, nobody.”
“Come down then, directly,” roared the fireman, “the escape is wanted elsewhere. Come down, I say, or we’ll leave you.”
“You’re welcome to leave me,” roared the Captain, as he stepped into the window, “only hold your noise, an’ mind your own business.”
With a mingled feeling of amusement and indignation they hurried away with the escape. It had been urgently wanted to reach a commanding position whence to assail the fire. The order to send it was peremptory, so the Captain was left in his uncomfortable situation, with the smoke increasing around him, and the fire roaring underneath.
The actions of our seaman were now curious as well as prompt. Taking a blanket from his old friend’s bed, he spread it below the chimney-piece, and in a remarkably short time pulled down, without damaging, every object on the wall and threw it into the blanket. He then added to the heap the Chinese lantern, the Turkish scimitar, the New Zealand club, the Eastern shield, the ornamented dagger, the worsted work sampler, the sou’-wester, the oiled coat, the telescope, the framed sheet of the flags of all nations, and the small portrait of the sea-captain in his “go-to-meetin’” clothes; also the big Bible and a very small box, which latter contained Mrs Roby’s limited wardrobe. He tied all up in a tight bundle. A coil of rope hung on a peg on the wall. The bundle was fastened to the end of it and lowered to the ground, amid a fire of remarks from the crowd, which were rather caustic and humorous than complimentary.