Фредерик Марриет
Poor Jack
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I get into very doubtful Company—I am tempted, and, like a true Son of Adam, I fall.
The reader must have observed that, under the tuition of Anderson, I promised to follow the right path, and, provided his good offices were not interfered with, there appeared little doubt but that such would be the case. But I was little aware, nor was he, that the humble profession which I had chosen for myself was beset with danger, and that the majority of those with whom I was associating were the most likely of all others to lead me into evil. Why I had not hitherto been tempted can only be ascribed to my tender years. In fact, I had not been considered strong enough, or of an age to be useful to them, but now that I was more than thirteen years old—being, moreover, very tall and strong for my age—the hour of temptation arrived; and fortunate was it for me that, previous to this epoch, I had been taken under the protection of Peter Anderson.
I have said in a former chapter that I was a regular mudlarker. So I was, as far as the ostensible occupation of those who are so denominated went; to wit, "picking up pieces of old rope, wood, etc." But the mudlarkers, properly speaking, at that time composed a very extensive body on the river, and were a more humble portion of the numerous river depredators, of which I may hereafter speak. A mudlarker was a man who had an old boat, generally sold by some merchant vessel, furnished with an iron bar full of hooks, which was lowered down by a rope to catch pieces of cordage, oakum, canvas or other articles, which might fall overboard from the numerous vessels in the river; these were sold to the marine stores, such as were kept by old Nanny. But, as I observed, this was the ostensible mode of livelihood; they had other resources, to which I shall presently refer. An old man of the name of Jones, who resided at Greenwich, was one of these mudlarkers by profession. He was a surly old fellow, his sharp nose and chin nearly meeting, and he usually went by the name of Old Grumble. I had occasionally assisted him with his boat, but without receiving money, or indeed thanks, for my pains, but for this I cared little. He was a very old man, and when he came on shore and went up to old Nanny with the few things he had collected during the day, I almost wondered how he could manage to subsist, and thought myself infinitely better off than he was.
One evening he said to me, "Jack, I'm going up the river, I wish you'd come in the boat and help me, and if I make anything I will give you something for your trouble, but if I don't you can't expect it."
As he was very infirm I went with him, more out of charity than with any hopes of profit. We pulled with the tide till we arrived a little above Deptford, where several ships were lying, and he went close to one and lowered down his grapnels. He dragged for a short time.
"Just you make a little further off, old fellow," cried the mate of the vessel.
"Won't allow a poor old man to earn a few pence, I suppose," replied Old Grumble, hauling up his grapnel and directing me to pull under the bows, where he dropped it down again. I now perceived, as I thought, some signs passing between him and one of the men in the head; but if so, they were soon over, and Old Grumble continued his avocation till the sun set.
"How long do you intend to remain here?" inquired I.
"Oh, not much longer, but I must wait a bit."
At last it was quite dark, and then Grumble pulled up his grapnel and dropped down nearer to the cutwater of the vessel. I soon distinguished a tinkling, as it were, of metal; and Old Grumble, holding up his hands, received some sheets of copper, which were lowered down by a rope-yarn. As soon as they were quietly landed in the stern of the boat, down came a bag, which he cast off and laid beside the copper. I was all astonishment, but still more so when a large bag of something weighing very heavy was lowered down by a rope after the small bag. A low whistle was then given, and the words "Monday night" pronounced in a whisper. Grumble whistled in return, and then, hauling up the grapnel, he told me to put out the oars and pull, while he took his grapnel on board. We then pulled down the river again, for the tide had turned, and as soon as we were clear of the shipping I began to interrogate him.
"Who gave you all these things?"
"Who? Why, that man."
"But what did he give them you for?"
"Why, out of charity, to be sure! But I can't talk now, I've no breath to spare. Let's pull ashore, and then I'll talk to you."
As we pulled down I observed that a lighter had broken adrift from her moorings, and was sweeping down the river with the ebb tide.
"There's a lighter adrift," said I.
"Yes," replied Grumble. "I'm too old for that work now; time was. There'll be pretty pickings as soon as she gets down a little lower. The Light Horsemen have cut her adrift."
"Light Horsemen! Who are they?"
"Bah! you know nothing. I tell ye again, I haven't no breath to spare; I can't pull and talk too."
I was convinced in my own mind that Old Grumble had not obtained the articles in the boat by fair means, and, annoyed that I should have been made a participator in any dishonest dealings, I was resolved to question him closely as soon as we landed. There was no one at the steps, and when we beached the boat I asked him whether he was going to take the things up to old Nanny's.
"Old Nanny! no. She's no fence now; she used to be a good one, but she was overhauled once or twice, and nearly sent on the other side of the water, and, since that, she's satisfied with little articles, sure profit and no risk."
"What do you mean by a fence?" inquired I.
"Why, don't you know that yet, boy? Well, a fence is one who receives things that are brought for sale, and never asks no questions."
"Well, but if these things were given you out of charity, as you say, why should you want to take them up to a fence, as you call it?"
"I tell you what, Jack, I can't be answering all these questions here, where there may be twenty pair of ears a-listening."
"Well, and if they do listen, what is the harm, if we are doing what is right?"
"It won't do to argufy here, I tell you. In my opinion, a poor man who works hard to get some victuals to keep body and soul together is doing what is right."
"Yes, if he works at an honest livelihood."
"Don't talk so loud about honesty; the very word is enough to make people suspect something not right. I'll tell you all when you come up to my house; for you see, Jack, you must help me to carry these things up. D'ye think you can manage this bag of pease? Let's try." Between us we contrived to get the bag, which weighed about half a hundredweight, on my back, and I walked off with it, Grumble following me with the copper and the other small bag, which I afterward found contained copper nails. When we arrived at his dwelling, which was as dilapidated and miserable as old Nanny's, he took out his key and fumbled a long while at the lock; at last he opened it. "You had better stay till I get a light," said he. In a minute he came with one to the door, and told me to follow him. I went in, put down the bag, and, some grains falling out, I took them up.
"Why, this is coffee, Grumble!"
"Well, pease is our name for coffee, sand for sugar, and vinegar for rum, when we get any."
"Well, but, Grumble, I wish to know how you came by these things?"
"I'll tell you, Jack, if you ask everybody how they come by things, you will have enough to do; but the fact is, the man wants me to sell them for him."
"Why, you said he gave them to you out of charity!"
"Oh, that was only because I couldn't spare breath to tell you all about it."
"But why should he lower them down in the dark, if they are his own property?"
"Jack, I don't ask whose property it is; all I know is that I come by it honestly. I don't steal it, and I can't prove that the man does. Why, Jack, if one is to be so nice as that, you can't go into a grocer's shop to buy sugar, or coffee, or pepper, or indeed into almost any shop, if you first want to know whether the people have come by the goods honestly before you buy of them."
"Still, it is so plain that the man must have stolen them."
"Suppose it is; how are so many poor people to find their livelihood and support their families, if they refuse to get a shilling or two when it is offered? If we were only to live upon what we get honestly, why, we should starve; the rich take good care of that by grinding us down so close. Why, Jack, how many thousands get their living on this river! and do you think they could all get their living honestly, as you call it? No; we all plunder one another in this world4. You asked me who were Light Horsemen?—that's a name for one set of people who live by plunder. That lighter will have a good slice of her cargo out to-night; for those who cut her adrift know what's on board of her. Then we have the Heavy Horsemen—they do their work in the daytime, when they go on board as lumpers to clear the ships. And then we've the Coopers and Bumboat men, and the Ratcatchers and the Scuffle Hunters, and the River Pirates; and, last of all, we have the Mudlarkers: all different professions, Jack; never interfering with each other, and all living by their wits. I'm too old now; I was a flash pirate once, but I'm now nearly eighty, and am only fit for a mudlarker."
"But," exclaimed I, with astonishment, "are they not discovered and punished?"
"That's very seldom, Jack; for you see we have receivers all down the river; some of them great men, and dining with the mayor and common council; others in a small way—all sorts, Jack: and then we have what we call Jew Carts, always ready to take goods inland, where they will not be looked after. Old Nanny was a receiver and fence in a large way once."
"Then the only honest people on the river are the watermen."
Here old Grumble chuckled. "Why, Jack, they be the worst of all, for they be both receivers and thieves. Do you think the watermen live by their fares? If you do, just wait on the steps one night, and you'll find that their night work is worth more than the day work is. We all must live, Jack; and now I've shown you a way by which you can earn more money in a night than you can in a fortnight by asking for halfpence. Here's five shillings for you, my boy; and when I want you again I'll let you know."
Alas! the five shillings, so easily and so unexpectedly earned, did, for the time, satisfy all my scruples: so easily are we bribed into what is wrong. I wished Old Grumble a good-night and left him. As I returned home, I thought of what he had said about night work, and, instead of making my way to Fisher's Alley, I returned to the landing-steps, resolving to watch for a time and see what occurred.
I thought of what had passed. I was not satisfied with myself. I thought of what Anderson would say, and I felt that I had done wrong. And then I attempted to exculpate myself. I could not prove that the things were stolen. I did not go with any intent to help in such a business. Old Grumble had only paid me for my work; but then, why did he pay me so much money? My conscience told me that it was because the dealings were unfair. I could not persuade myself that I was right. I looked up at the heavens—for it was a clear night, and there was a very bright star just above me; and as I looked at it it appeared as if it were an eye beaming down upon me, and piercing into my breast. I turned away from it, and then looked at it again—still it had the same appearance. I thought it was the eye of God—I trembled, and I resolved to reveal the whole to Anderson the next day, when I heard the sound of oars. I looked in the direction, and perceived a wherry with two men pulling in. I was down on the steps, under the shadow of the wall, and they did not see me. They landed, and handed out of the wherry three large and full canvas bags. "It's more than we can carry," said the voice of a waterman I well knew; "we must leave one in the boat; and be quick, for they are on our scent. Hollo! who's that? what are you doing here? Poor Jack, I declare."
"Well, mayn't I have a little night work as well as you?"
"Oh! you've come to that, have you?" replied he. "Well, as you're waiting for something else, I suppose you could not help us with one of these bags?"
"Yes, I can," replied I, forgetting all my resolutions; "put it on my back, if it's not too heavy."
"No, no; you're stout enough to carry it. I say, Jack, can you tell us, does old Nanny fence again, or has she given it up?"
"I believe she does not," replied I.
"Well," said he, "just put the question to her to-morrow morning, for she used to be a good 'un; now follow us."
I walked after them with my load until we came to a by-street; at the shutters of a shop they rapped three times on the iron bar outside which fixed them up; the door was opened, and we put the bags down in the passage, walked out again without a word, and the door was immediately closed.
"Well, Jack," said the waterman, "I suppose we must tip handsome for the first time: here's ten shillings for you, and we'll let you know when we want you to be on the lookout for us."
Ten shillings! and five before—fifteen shillings! I felt as I were a rich man; all scruples of conscience were, for the time, driven away. I hurried home rattling the silver in my pocket, and opening the door softly, I crept to bed. Did I say my prayers that night? No!!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I am tempted again—My Pride is roused, and my Course of Life is changed in consequence.
I passed a dreaming restless night, and woke early. I recalled all that had passed, and I felt very much dissatisfied with myself; the fifteen shillings, with the added prospect of receiving more, did not yield me the satisfaction I had anticipated. From what the men had said about old Nanny I thought that I would go and see her; and why? because I wished support against my own convictions. If I had not been actuated by such a feeling I should, as usual, have gone to old Anderson. When I went down to breakfast I felt confused, and I hardly dared to meet the clear bright eye of my little sister, and I wished the fifteen shillings out of my pocket. That I might appear to her and my mother as if I were not guilty, I swaggered; my sister was surprised, and my mother justifiably angry. As soon as breakfast was over, I hastened to old Nanny's.
"Well, Jack," said she, "what brings you here so early?"
"Why, mother, I was desired to ask you a question last night—between ourselves."
"Well, why don't you ask it, since it's between ourselves?" replied she, with surprise.
"Some of the people want to know if you fence now?"
"Jack," said old Nanny, harshly, "who asked you that question, and how did you fall into their company? Tell me directly; I will know."
"Why, mother, is there any harm in it?" replied I, confused and holding down my head.
"Harm in it! Ask your own conscience, Jack, whether there's harm in it. Why do you not look me in the face like an honest boy? Would they have dared to put that question to you, if you had not been a party to their evil deeds, Jack?" continued she, shaking her head. "I thought better of you; now you have filled me full of sorrow."
I was smitten to the heart at this rebuke from a quarter whence I did not expect it; but my heart was still rebellious, and I would not acknowledge what I felt. I thought to turn the tables, and replied, "Why, mother, at all events they say that once you were a real good one."
"Is it indeed gone so far?" replied she. "Poor boy! poor boy! Yes, Jack, to my shame be it spoken, I once did receive things and buy them when they were not honestly come by, and now I'm rebuked by a child. But, Jack, I was almost mad then; I had that which would have turned any one's brain—I was reckless, wretched; but I don't do so any more. Even now I am a poor sinful wretch—I know it; but I'm not so crazy as I was then. I have done so, Jack, more's the shame for me, and I wish I could recall it; but, Jack, we can't recall the past. Oh, that we could!"
Here old Nanny pressed her hands to her temples, and for some time was silent. At last she continued, "Why did I love you, Jack?—Because you were honest. Why did I lend you money—I, an old miserly wretch, who have been made to dote on money; I, who have never spent a shilling for my own comfort for these ten years?—But because you were honest. Why have I longed the whole day to see you, and have cared only for you?—Because I thought you honest, Jack. I don't care how soon I die now. I thought the world too bad to live in; you made me think better of it. Oh! Jack, Jack, how has this come to pass? How long have you known these bad people?"
"Why, mother," replied I, much affected, "only last night."
"Only last night? Tell me all about it; tell the truth, dear boy, do."
I could hold out no longer, and I told her everything that had passed.
"Jack," said she, "I'm not fit to talk to you; I'm a bad old woman, and you may say I don't practice what I preach; but, Jack, if you love me, go to Peter Anderson and tell him everything. Don't be afraid; only be afraid of doing what is wrong. Now, Jack, you must go."
"I will, I will," replied I, bursting into tears.
"Do, do, dear Jack! God bless your heart, I wish I could cry that way."
I walked away quite humiliated; at last I ran, I was so eager to go to Anderson and confess everything. I found him in his cabin—I attempted to speak, but I could not—I pulled out the money, put it on the table, and then I knelt down and sobbed on his knee.
"What is all this, Jack?" said Anderson, calmly; but I did not reply. "I think I know, Jack," said he, after a pause. "You have been doing wrong."
"Yes, yes," replied I, sobbing.
"Well, my dear boy, wait till you can speak, and then tell me all about it."
As soon as I could I did. Anderson heard me without interruption.
"Jack," said he, when I had done speaking, "the temptation" (pointing to the money) "has been very great; you did not resist at the moment, but you have, fortunately, seen you*r error in good time, for the money is still here. I have little to say to you, for your own feelings convince me that it is needless. Do you think that you can read a little? Then read this." Anderson turned to the parable of the Prodigal Son, which I read to him. "And now," said he, turning over the leaves, "here is one verse more." I read it: "There is more joy over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine that need no repentance." "Be careful, therefore, my dear boy, let this be a warning to you; think well of it, for you have escaped a great danger. The money shall be returned. Go now, my child, to your employment; and if you do receive only halfpence, you will have the satisfaction of feeling that they are honestly obtained."
I can assure the reader that this was a lesson which I never forgot; it was, however, succeeded by another variety of temptation, which might have proved more dangerous to a young and ardent spirit, had it not ended as it did, in changing the course of my destiny and throwing me into a new path of action. To this I shall now refer.
Hardly a month passed but we received additional pensioners into the hospital. Among others, a man was sent to the hospital who went by the name of Sam Spicer. I say went by the name, as it was not the custom for the seamen to give their real names when they were entered or pressed into the service, and of course they were discharged into the hospital by the same name which they bore on the ship's books. Spicer was upward of six feet in height, very large boned, and must, when he was in his prime, have been a man of prodigious strength. When he was admitted to the hospital he was nearly sixty years of age; his hair was black and gray mixed, his complexion very dark, and his countenance fierce and unprepossessing. He went by the name of Black Sam, on account of his appearance. He had lost his right hand in a frigate action, and to the stump he had fixed a sort of socket, into which he screwed his knife and the various articles which he wished to make use of—sometimes a file, sometimes a saw—having had every article made to fit into the socket, for he had been an armorer on board ship, and was very handy at such work. He was, generally speaking, very morose and savage to everybody, seldom entered into conversation, but sat apart, as if thinking, with a frown upon his countenance, and his eyes, surmounted with bushy eyebrows, fixed upon the ground. The pensioners who belonged to the same ward said that he talked in his sleep, and from what they could collect at those times he must have been a pirate; but no one dared to speak to him on the subject, for more than once he had been punished for striking those who had offended him; indeed, he nearly killed one old man who was jesting with him when he was at work, having made a stab at him with his knife screwed in his socket, but his foot slipped and the blow missed. Spicer was brought up before the council for this offense, and would have been discharged had he not declared that he had done it only by way of a joke to frighten the man; and, as no one else was present, it could not be proved to the contrary. For some reason or another, which I could not comprehend, Spicer appeared to have taken a liking to me; he would call me to him, and tell me stories about the West Indies and the Spanish Main, which I listened to very eagerly, for they were to me very interesting. But he seldom, if ever, spoke to me inside of the hospital; it was always when I was at the steps minding my vocation, where he would come down and lean over the rail at the top of the wharf. He made and gave me a boat-hook, which I found very convenient. He had a great deal of information, and as the ships came up the river he would point out the flags of the different nations, tell me where they traded from, and what their cargoes probably consisted of. If they had no ensign he would tell by their build and the cut of their sails what nation they belonged to, pointing out to me the differences, which I soon began to perceive. He had been in every part of the world, and scarcely a day passed in which I did not gain from him some amusing or useful information. Indeed, I became so fond of his company that Peter Anderson spoke to me on the subject, and asked me what Spicer talked about. I told him, and he replied:
"Well, Jack, I daresay that he is a very pleasant companion to one who, like you, is so anxious for information, and I have nothing to say against him, for we have no right to listen to foolish reports which may probably have been raised from his savage appearance. Still, I confess I do not like the man, as he is decidedly of a violent temper. As long as he talks to you about what you say he does, there is no harm done; but when once he says anything which you think is wrong, promise me to let me know; and even now, if you will take my advice, you will not be so intimate with him."
A little while afterward my father and Ben the Whaler both spoke to me on the same subject, but with much less reservation.
My father said, "Jack, I don't like to see you always in company with that old pirate, no good can come of it; so haul off a little further for the future."
And Ben told me, "That a man who couldn't sleep o' nights without talking of killing people must have a bad conscience, and something lying heavy on his soul. There's an old saying, Jack, 'Tell me whose company you keeps, and I'll tell you what sort of a chap you be.' You've the character of a good honest boy; steer clear of Sam Spicer, or you'll lose it."
Admonitions from all those whom I loved were not without their effect, and I made a resolution to be less intimate with Spicer. But it was difficult to do so, as I was obliged to be at the landing-steps, and could not prevent his coming there.
I acknowledge that it was a severe privation to me to follow the injunctions given to me, for I would listen for hours to the thrilling narratives, the strange and almost incredible accounts of battles, incidents, and wild adventures, which this man Spicer would relate to me; and when I thought over them I felt that the desire to rove was becoming more strong within me every day. One morning I said to him that "I had a great mind to go on board of a man-of-war."
"On board of a man-of-war?" replied Spicer; "you'd soon be sick enough of that. Why, who would be at the beck and nod of others, ordered here, called there, by boy midshipmen; bullied by lieutenants, flogged by captains; have all the work and little of the pay, all the fighting and less of the prize-money; and, after having worn out your life in hard service, be sent here as a great favor, to wear a cocked hat and get a shilling a week for your 'baccy? Pshaw, boy! that's not life."
"Then, what is life?' inquired I.
"What is life? Why, to sail in a clipper with a jolly crew and a roving commission; take your prizes, share and share alike, of gold-dust and doubloons."
"But what sort of vessel must that be, Spicer?"
"What sort? why—a letter of marque—a privateer—a cruise on the Spanish Main—that's life. Many's the jolly day I've seen in those latitudes, where men-of-war do not bring vessels to and press the best men out of them. There the sun's warm, and the sky and the sea are deep blue, and the corals grow like forests underneath, and there are sandy coves and cool caves for retreat—and where you may hide your gold till you want it—ay, and your sweethearts too, if you have any."
"I thought privateers always sent their prizes into port, to be condemned?"
"Yes, in the Channel and these seas they do, but not down there—it's too far off. We condemn the vessels ourselves, and share the money on the capstan-head."
"But is that lawful?"
"Lawful! to be sure it is. Could we spare men to send prizes home to England, and put them into the hands of a rascally agent, who would rob us of three-fourths at least? No, no; that would never do. If I could have escaped from the man-of-war which picked up me and four others who were adrift in an open boat, I would now have been on the Coast. But when I lost my fin, I knew that all was over with me, so I came to the hospital; but I often think of old times, and the life of a rover. Now, if you have any thoughts of going to sea, look out for some vessel bound to the Gold Coast, and then you'll soon get in the right way."
"The Gold Coast! Is not that to where the slavers go?"
"Yes, slavers and other vessels besides. Some traffic for ivory and gold-dust; however, that's as may happen. You'd soon find yourself in good company, and wouldn't that be better than begging here for halfpence? I would be above that, at all events."
This remark, the first of the kind ever made to me, stung me to the quick. Strange, I had never before considered myself in the light of a beggar; and yet, was I not so, just as much as a sweeper of a crossing?"
"A beggar?" replied I.
"Yes, a beggar. Don't you beg for halfpence, and say, 'Thank your honor; a copper for poor Jack, your honor'?" rejoined Spicer, mimicking me. "When I see that pretty sister of yours, that looks so like a real lady, I often thinks to myself, 'Fine and smart as you are, miss, your brother's only a beggar.' Now, would you not like to return from a cruise with a bag of doubloons to throw into her lap, proving that you were a gentleman, and above coppers thrown to you out of charity? Well, old as I am, and maimed, I'd sooner starve where I now stand.—But I must be off, so good-by, Jack; look sharp after the halfpence."
As Spicer walked away my young blood boiled. A beggar! It was but too true; and yet I had never thought it a disgrace before. I sat down on the steps, and was soon in deep thought. Boat after boat came to the stairs, and yet I stirred not. Not one halfpenny did I take during the remainder of that day, for I could not, would not, ask for one. My pride, hitherto latent, was roused, and before I rose from where I had been seated I made a resolution that I would earn my livelihood in some other way. What hurt me most was his observations about Virginia and her beggar brother. I was so proud of Virginia, I felt that her brother ought not to be a beggar. Such was the effect produced in so short a time by the insidious discourse of this man. Had he still remained at the steps, I do believe that I should have asked, probably have followed, his advice. Fortunately he had left, and, after a little reflection, I had the wisdom to go and seek Peter Anderson, and consult him as to what I could do, for to change my mode of obtaining my livelihood I was determined upon.
I found Anderson, as usual, seated under the colonnade, reading, and I went up to him.
"Well, Jack, my-boy, you are home early," said he.
"Yes," replied I gravely, and then I was silent.
After a pause of about a minute, Peter Anderson said, "Jack, I see there's something the matter. Now, tell me what it is. Can I help you?"
"I did wish to speak to you," replied I. "I've been thinking—about going to sea."
"And how long have you thought of that, Jack?"
"I've thought more of it lately," replied I.
"Yes, since Spicer has been talking to you. Now, is that not the case?"
"Yes, it is."
"I knew that, Jack. I'm at your service for as long as you please; now sit down and tell me all he has said to you that you can remember. I shan't interrupt you."
I did so; and before I had half finished, Anderson replied, "That is quite enough, Jack. One thing is evident to me—that Spicer has led a bad and lawless life, and would even now continue it, old as he is, only that he is prevented by being crippled. Jack, he has talked to you about privateers! God forgive me if I wrong him; but I think, had he said pirates, he would have told the truth. But say nothing about that observation of mine; I wish from my heart that you had never known him. But here comes your father. He has a right to know what we are talking about, for you owe duty to him as his son, and nothing can be done without his permission."
