Jacob Faithful. Фредерик Марриет

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СКАЧАТЬ you when I can, Tom, as the spider takes the fly.”

      “What’s the good o’ that, when you can’t bear malice for ten minutes?”

      “Very true, Tom? then thank your stars that you have two good legs, and that your poor father has none.”

      “I very often do thank my stars, and that’s the truth of it; but what’s the use of being angry about a drop of rum, or a handful of sugar?”

      “Because you takes more than your allowance.”

      “Well, do you take less, then all will be right.”

      “And why should I take less, pray?”

      “Because you’re only half a man; you haven’t any legs to provide for, as I have.”

      “Now, I tell you, Tom, that’s the very reason why I should have more to comfort my old body for the loss of them.”

      “When you lost your legs you lost your ballast, father, and, therefore, you mustn’t carry too much sail, or you’ll topple overboard some dark night. If I drink the grog, it’s all for your good, you see.”

      “You’re a dutiful son in that way, at all events; and a sweet child, as far as sugar goes; but Jacob is to sleep in the cabin with me, and you’ll shake your blanket forward.”

      “Now that I consider quite unnatural; why part father and son?”

      “It’s not that exactly, it’s only parting son and the grog bottle.”

      “That’s just as cruel; why part two such good friends?”

      “’Cause, Tom, he’s too strong for you, and floors you sometimes.”

      “Well, but I forgives him; it’s all done in good humour.”

      “Tom, you’re a wag; but you wag your tongue to no purpose. Liquor ain’t good for a boy like you, and it grows upon you.”

      “Well, don’t I grow too? we grow together.”

      “You’ll grow faster without it.”

      “I’ve no wish to be a tall man cut short, like you.”

      “If I hadn’t been a tall man, my breath would have been cut short for ever; the ball which took my legs would have cut you right in half.”

      “And the ball that would take your head off, would whistle over mine; so there we are equal again.”

      “And there’s the grog fast,” replied old Tom, turning the key, and putting it into his pocket. “That’s a stopper over all; so now we’ll go on deck.”

      I have narrated this conversation, as it will give the reader a better idea of Tom, and his way of treating his father. Tom was fond of his father, and although mischievous, and too fond of drinking when he could obtain liquor, was not disobedient or vicious. We had nearly reached Battersea Fields when they returned on deck.

      “Do you know, Jacob, how the parish of Battersea came into the possession of those fields?”

      “No, I do not.”

      “Well, then, I’ll tell you; it was because the Battersea people were more humane and charitable than their neighbours. There was a time when those fields were of no value; now they’re worth a mint of money, they say. The body of a poor devil, who was drowned in the river, was washed on shore on those banks, and none of the parishes would be at the expense of burying it. The Battersea people, though they had least right to be called upon, would not allow the poor fellow’s corpse to be lying on the mud, and they went to the expense. Now, when the fields became of value, the other parishes were ready enough to claim them; but the case was tried, and as it was proved that Battersea had buried the body, the fields were decided to belong to that parish. So they were well paid for their humanity, and they deserved it. Mr Drummond says you know the river well, Jacob.”

      “I was born on it.”

      “Yes, so I heard, and all about your father and mother’s death. I was telling Tom of it, because he’s too fond of bowsing up his jib.”

      “Well, father, there’s no occasion to remind Jacob; the tear is in his eye already,” replied Tom, with consideration.

      “I wish you never had any other drop in your eye,—but never mind, Jacob, I didn’t think of what I was saying. Look ye, d’ye see that little house with the two chimneys—that’s mine, and there’s my old woman.—I wonder what she’s about just now.” Old Tom paused for a while, with his eyes fixed on the object, and then burst out:—

      “I’ve crossed the wide waters, I’ve trod the lone strand,

      I’ve triumphed in battle, I’ve lighted the brand,

      I’ve borne the loud thunder of death o’er the foam;

      Fame, riches, ne’er found them,—yet still found a home.

      “Tom, boy, haul up the skiff and paddle on shore with the bundle; ask the old woman how she is, and tell her I’m hearty.” Tom was in the boat in a moment, and pulling lustily for the shore. “That makes me recollect when I returned to my mother, a’ter the first three years of my sea service. I borrowed the skiff from the skipper.—I was in a Greenland-man, my first ship, and pulled ashore to my mother’s cottage under the cliff. I thought the old soul would have died with joy.” Here old Tom was silent, brushed a tear from his eye, and, as usual, commenced a strain, sotto voce:—

      “Why, what’s that to you if my eyes I’m a wiping?

      A tear is a pleasure, d’ye see, in its way.

      “How, miserable,” continued he, after another pause, “the poor thing was when I would go to sea—how she begged and prayed—boys have no feeling, that’s sartin.”

      “O bairn, dinna leave me, to gang far away,

      O bairn, dinna leave me, ye’re a’ that I hae,

      Think on a mither, the wind and the wave,

      A mither set on ye, her feet in the grave.

      “However, she got used to it at last, as the woman said when she skinned the ells. Tom’s a good boy, Jacob, but not steady, as they say you are. His mother spoils him, and I can’t bear to be cross to him neither; for his heart’s in the right place, after all. There’s the old woman shaking her dish-clout at us as a signal. I wish I had gone on shore myself, but I can’t step into these paper-built little boats without my timber toes going through at the bottom.”

      Chapter Nine

The two Toms take to protocolling—Treaty of Peace ratified between the belligerent parties—Lots of songs and supper—The largest mess of roast meat upon record

      Tom then shoved off the skiff. When half-way between the lighter and the shore, while his mother stood watching us, he lay on his oars. “Tom, Tom!” cried his mother, shaking her fist at him, as he stooped down his head; “if you do, Tom!”

      “Tom, Tom!” cried his father, shaking his fist also; “if you dare, Tom!”

      But Tom was not within reach of either party; and he dragged a bottle out of the basket which his mother had entrusted to him, and putting it to his mouth, took a long swig.

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ