Toms treble chimed in, handing him the pot
For breakfast a good cup of tea.
Silence, you sea-cook! how dare you shove in your penny whistle! Hows tide, Tom?
Three quarters ebb.
No, it ant, you thief; how is it Jacob?
About half, I think.
And youre right.
What water have we down here on the side?
You must give the point a wide berth, replied I; the shoals runs out.
Thanky, boy, so I thought, but wasnt sure: and then old Tom burst out in a beautiful air:
Trust not too much your own opinion,
When your vessels under weigh,
Let good advice still bear dominion;
Thats a compass will not stray.
Old Tom, is that you? hallooed a man from another barge.
Yes; whats left of me, my hearty.
Youll not fetch the bridges this tidetheres a strong breeze right up the reaches below.
Never mind, well do all we can.
If unassailed by squall or shower,
Wafted by the gentle gales
Lets not lose the favouring hour,
While success attends our sails.
Bravo, old Tom! why dont the boys get the lines out, for all the fishes are listening for you, cried the man, as the barges were parted by the wind and tide.
I did once belong to a small craft called the Anon, observed old Tom, and they say as how the story was, that that chap could make the fish follow him just when he pleased. I know that when we were in the North Sea the shoals of seals would follow the ship if you whistled; but these brutes have earsnow fish havnt got none.
Oh well do I remember that cold dreary land,
here the northern light,
In the winters night,
Shone bright on its snowy strand.
Jacob, have you finished your breakfast? Here, take the helm, while I and Tom put the craft a little into apple-pie order.
Old Tom then stumped forward, followed by his son and the Newfoundland dog, who appeared to consider himself as one of the most useful personages on board. After coiling down the ropes, and sweeping the decks, they went into the cabin to make their little arrangements.
A good lock that, Tom, cried the father, turning the key of the cupboard. (I recollected it, and that its snapping so loud was the occasion of my being tossed overboard.) Old Tom continued: I say, Tom, you wont be able to open that cupboard, so Ill put the sugar and the grog into it, you scamp. It goes too fast when youre pursers steward.
For grog is our larboard and starboard,
Our main-mast, our mizzen, our log,
On shore, or at sea, or when harbourd,
The mariners compass is grog.
But it arnt a compass to steer steady by, father, replied Tom.
Then dont you have nothing to do with it, Tom.
I only takes a little, father, because you maynt take too much.
Thanky for nothing; when do I ever take too much, you scamp?
Not too much for a man standing on his own pins, but too much for a man on two broomsticks.
Stop your jaw, Mr Tom, or Ill unscrew one of the broomsticks, and lay it over your shoulders.
Before its out of the socket, Ill give you leg-bail. What will you do then, father?
Catch you when I can, Tom, as the spider takes the fly.
Whats the good o that, when you cant 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 thats the truth of it; but whats 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 youre only half a man; you havent any legs to provide for, as I have.
Now, I tell you, Tom, thats 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 mustnt carry too much sail, or youll topple overboard some dark night. If I drink the grog, its all for your good, you see.
Youre 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 youll shake your blanket forward.
Now that I consider quite unnatural; why part father and son?
Its not that exactly, its only parting son and the grog bottle.
Thats just as cruel; why part two such good friends?
Cause, Tom, hes too strong for you, and floors you sometimes.
Well, but I forgives him; its all done in good humour.
Tom, youre a wag; but you wag your tongue to no purpose. Liquor aint good for a boy like you, and it grows upon you.
Well, dont I grow too? we grow together.
Youll grow faster without it.
Ive no wish to be a tall man cut short, like you.
If I hadnt 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 theres the grog fast, replied old Tom, turning the key, and putting it into his pocket. Thats a stopper over all; so now well 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, Ill 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 theyre 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 fellows 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 mothers death. I was telling Tom of it, because hes too fond of bowsing up his jib.
Well, father, theres 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 didnt think of what I was saying. Look ye, dye see that little house with the two chimneysthats mine, and theres my old woman.I wonder what shes about just now. Old Tom paused for a while, with his eyes fixed on the object, and then burst out: