“hollo! in the lighter there—i say, you lighter boy!” were words i heard, as i was pacing the deck of the vessel in deep cogitation tom and his father were both in the cabin; there could be no doubt but that they were addressed to me. i looked up, and perceived the grinning, stupid, sneering face of the young clerk, gubbins. “why don’t you answer when you’re called to, heh?” continued the numbskull. “you’re wanted up here! come up directly.”

“who wants me?” replied i, reddening with anger.

“what’s that to you? do you mean to obey my order or not?”

“no, i do not,” replied i; “i’m not under the orders of such a fool, thank god; and if you come within my reach, i’ll try if i can’t break your head, thick as it is, as well as your master’s.”

the lout disappeared, and i continued to pace up and down.

as i afterwards discovered, the message was from mrs drummond, who requested to speak to me. sarah had communicated the real facts of my case, and mrs drummond had been convinced that what i had said was correct. she had talked with her husband; she pointed out to him that my conduct under mr tomkins had been so exemplary that there must have been some reason for so sudden a change. sarah had gone down into the counting-house, and obtained the invoice which the senior clerk had torn up. the correctness of it established the fact of one part of my assertions, and that nothing but malice could have warranted its having been destroyed. mr drummond felt more than he chose to acknowledge; he was now aware that he had been too precipitate; even my having refused the money assumed a different appearance; he was puzzled and mortified. few people like to acknowledge that they have been in error. mr drummond, therefore, left his wife to examine further into the matter, and gave her permission to send for me. the message given, and the results of it have been stated. the answer returned was that i would not come, and that i had threatened to break the clerk’s head as well as that of mr drummond; for although the scoundrel knew very well that in making use of the word “master,” i referred to the senior clerk, he thought it proper to substitute that of mr drummond. the effect of this reply may easily be imagined. sarah was astonished, mrs drummond shocked, and mr drummond was almost pleased to find that he could not have been in the wrong. thus was the breach made even wider than before, and all communication broken off. much depends in this world upon messages being correctly given.

in half-an-hour we had hauled out of the tier and dropped down to the american schooner, to take out a cargo of flour, which old tom had directions to land at the battersea wharf; so that i was, for the time, removed from the site of my misfortune. i cannot say that i felt happy, but i certainly felt glad that i was away. i was reckless to a degree that was insupportable. i had a heavy load on my mind which i could not shake off—a prey upon my spirits—a disgust at almost everything. how well do i recollect with what different feelings i looked upon the few books which mr drummond and the dominie had given me to amuse my leisure hours. i turned from them with contempt, and thought i would never open them again. i felt as if all ties were now cut off, and that i was again wedded to the thames; my ideas, my wishes, extended no farther, and i surveyed the river and its busy scene as i did before i had been taken away from it, as if all my energies, all my prospects were in future to be bounded by its shores. in the course of four-and-twenty hours a revulsion had taken place, which again put me on the confines of barbarism.

my bargemates were equally dull as i was; they were too partial to me, and had too much kindness of heart, not to feel my situation, and anger at the injustice with which i had been treated. employment, however, for a time relieved our melancholy thoughts. our cargo was on board of the lighter, and we were again tiding it through the bridges.

we dropped our anchor above putney bridge a little after twelve o’clock, and young tom, with the wish of amusing me, proposed that we should go on shore and walk. “ah! do my lads, do—it will do you good, jacob; no use moping here a whole tide. i’ll take care of the ’barkey. mind you make the boat well fast, and take the sculls into the public-house there. i’ll have the supper under weigh when you come back, and then we’ll have a night on’t. it’s a poor heart that never rejoices; and, tom, take a bottle on shore, get it filled, and bring it off with you. here’s the money. but i say, tom, honour bright.”

“honour bright, father;” and to do tom justice, he always kept his promise, especially after the word had passed of “honour bright.” had there been gallons of spirits under his charge he would not have tasted a drop after that pledge.

“haul up the boat, jacob, quick,” said tom, as his father went into the cabin to fetch an empty bottle. tom hastened down below forward and brought up an old gun, which he put under the stern sheets before his father came out on the deck. we then received the bottle from him, and tom called out for the dog tommy.

“why, you’re not going to take the dog. what’s the use of that? i want him here to keep watch with me,” said old tom.

“pooh! father; why can’t you let the poor devil have a run on shore? he wants to eat grass, i am sure, for i watched him this day or two. we shall be back before dark.”

“well, well, just as you please, tom.” tommy jumped into the boat, and away we went.

“and now, tom, what are you after?” said i, as soon as we were ten yards from the lighter.

“a’ter, jacob, going to have a little shooting on wimbledon common; but father can’t bear to see a gun in my hand, because i once shot my old mother. i did pepper her, sure enough; her old flannel petticoat was full of shot, but it was so thick that it saved her. are you anything of a shot?”

“never fired a gun in my life.”

“well, then, we’ll fire in turns, and toss up, if you like, for first shot.”

we landed, carried the sculls up to the public-house, and left the bottle to be filled, and then, with tommy bounding before us, and throwing about his bushy tail with delight, ascended putney hill, and arrived at the green man public-house, at the corner of wimbledon common. “i wonder where green men are to be found?” observed tom, laughing; “i suppose they live in the same country with the blue dogs my father speaks about sometimes. now, then, its time to load.”

the bowl of a tobacco pipe, full of powder, was then inserted, with an equal dose of shot, and all being ready we were soon among the furze. a half penny decided it was my first shot, and fate further decided that a water-wagtail should be the mark. i took good aim, as i thought, at least i took sufficient time, for i followed him with the muzzle of the gun for three or four minutes at least, as he ran to and fro; at last i fired. tommy barked with delight, and the bird flew away. “i think i must have hit it,” said i; “i saw it wag its tail.”

“more proof of a miss than a hit,” replied tom. “had you hit it he’d never have wagged his tail again.”

“never mind,” said i, “better luck next time.”

tom then knocked a blackbird off a furze bush, and loading the gun, handed it to me. i was more successful than before; a cock sparrow, three yards distant, yielded to the prowess of my arm, and i never felt more happy in my life than in this first successful attempt at murder.

gaily did we trudge over the common, sometimes falling in with gravel-pits half full of water, at others bogs and swampy plains, which obliged us to make a circuit. the gun was fired again and again; but our game-bag did not fill very fast. however, if we were not quite so well pleased when we missed as when we hit, tommy was, every shot being followed up with a dozen bounds, and half a minute’s barking. at last we began to feel tired, and agreed to repose a while in a cluster of furze bushes. we sat down, pulled out our game, and spread it in a row before us. it consisted of two sparrows, one greenfinch, one blackbird, and three tomtits. all of a sudden we heard a rustling in the furze, and then a loud squeal. it was the dog, who, scenting something, had forced its way into the bush, and had caught a hare, which having been wounded in the loins by some other sportsman, had dragged itself there to die. in a minute we had taken possession of it, much to the annoyance of tommy, who seemed to consider that there was no co-partnership in the concern, and would not surrender his prize until after sundry admonitory kicks. when we had fairly beaten him off we were in an ecstasy of delight. we laid the animal out between us, and were admiring it from the ear to the tip of his tail, when we were suddenly saluted with a voice close to us. “oh, you blam’d young poachers, so i’ve caught you, have i?” we looked up, and beheld the common-keeper. “come—come along with me; we’ve a nice clink at wandsworth to lock you up in. i’ve been looking a’rter you some time. hand your gun here.”

“i should rather think not,” replied i. “the gun belongs to us, and not to you;” and i caught up the gun, and presented the muzzle at him.

“what! do you mean to commit murder? why, you young villains!”

“do you want to commit a robbery?” retorted i, fiercely; “because if you do, i mean to commit murder. then i shoot him. tom.”

“no, jacob, no; you mustn’t shoot men,” replied tom, who perceived that i was in a humour to keep my word with the common-keeper. “indeed, you can’t,” continued he, whispering to me; “the gun’s not loaded.”

“do you mean to refuse to give me up your gun?” repeated the man.

“yes i do,” replied i, cocking the lock; “so keep off.”

“oh! you young reprobates—you’ll come to the gallows before long, that’s certain. do you refuse to come with me?”

“i should rather think we do,” replied i.

“you refuse, do you? recollect i’ve caught you in the fact, poaching, with a dead hare in your possession.”

“well, it’s no use crying about it. what’s done can’t be helped,” replied i.

“don’t you know that all the game, and all the turf, and all the bog, and all the gravel, and all the furze on this common belong to the right honourable earl spencer?”

“and all the blackbirds, and all the greenfinches, and all the sparrows, and all the tomtits too, i suppose?” replied i.

“to be sure they do—and i’m common-keeper. now you’ll give me up that hare immediately.”

“look you,” replied tom, “we didn’t kill that hare, the dog caught it, and it is his property. we sha’n’t interfere in the matter. if tommy chooses to let you have it, well and good. here, tommy, this here gentleman says,” (and tom pointed to the keeper) “that this hare,” (and tom pointed to the hare) “is not yours; now will you ‘watch it,’ or let him have it?”

at the word ‘watch it,’ tommy laid down with his fore-paws over the hare, and showing a formidable set of ivories, looked fiercely at the man, and growled.

“you see what he says; now you may do as you please,” continued tom, addressing the man.

“yes—very well—you’ll come to the gallows, i see that; but i’ll just go and fetch half-a-dozen men to help me, and then we’ll have you both in gaol.”

“then, be smart,” replied i, jumping up and levelling the gun. tommy jumped up also to fly at the man, but tom caught him by the neck and restrained him. the common-keeper took to his heels, and as soon as he was out of gun-shot, turned round, shook his fist, and then hastened away to obtain the reinforcement he desired.

“i wish the gun had been loaded,” said i.

“why, jacob, what’s come over you? would you have fired at him? the man is only doing his duty—we have no business here.”

“i think otherwise,” replied i. “a hare on a common is as much mine as lord spencer’s. a common belongs to everybody.”

“that’s my opinion, too; but, nevertheless, if he gets hold of us, he’ll have us in gaol; and therefore i propose we make off as fast as we can in the opposite way to which he is gone.”

we started accordingly, and as the keeper proceeded in the direction of wandsworth, we took the other direction; but it so happened that on turning round, after a quarter of an hour’s walk, we perceived the man coming back with three or four others. “we must run for it,” cried tom, “and then hide ourselves.” after ten minutes’ hard run we descended into a hollow and swampy place, looking round to see if they could perceive us, and finding that they were not in sight, we plunged into a thick cluster of furze bushes, which completely concealed us. tommy followed us, and there we lay. “now they never will find us,” said tom, “if i can only keep the dog quiet. lie down, tommy. watch, and lie down.” the dog appeared to understand what was required; he lay between us perfectly still.

we had remained there about half-an-hour when we heard voices. i motioned to tom to give me the powder to load the gun, but he refused. the voices came nearer; tommy gave a low growl. tom held his mouth with his hands. at last they were close to the bushes, and we heard the common-keeper say, “they never went over the hill, that’s for certain, the little wagrants; they can’t be far off—they must be down in the hollow. come along.”

“but i’m blessed if i’m not up to my knees in the bog,” cried one of the men; “i’ll go no further down, dang me!”

“well, then let’s try the side of the bog,” replied the keeper, “i’ll show you the way.” and the voices retreated, fortunately for us, for there had been a continual struggle between us and the dog for the last minute, i holding his forepaws, and tom jamming up his mouth. we were now all quiet again, but dare not leave our hiding-place.

we remained there for half-an-hour, when it became nearly dark, and the sky, which had been quite clear when we set out, clouded over. tom put up his head, looked all round, and perceiving nobody, proposed that we should return as fast as we could; to which i agreed. but we were scarcely clear of the furze in which we had been concealed when a heavy fall of snow commenced, which, with the darkness, prevented us from distinguishing our way. every minute the snow-storm increased, the wind rose, and hurled the flakes into our faces until we were blinded. still we made good way against it, and expected every minute to be on the road, after which our task would be easy. on we walked in silence, i carrying the gun, tom with the hare over his shoulder, and tommy at our heels. for upwards of an hour did we tread our way through the furze, but could find no road. above us all was dark as pitch; the wind howled; our clothes were loaded with snow; and we began to feel no inconsiderable degree of fatigue.

at last, quite tired out, we stopped. “tom,” said i, “i’m sure we’ve not kept a straight course. the wind was on our starboard side, and our clothes were flaked with snow on that side, and now you see we’ve got it in our quarter. what the devil shall we do?”

“we must go on till we fall in with something, at all events,” replied tom.

“and i expect that will be a gravel-pit,” replied i; “but never mind, ‘better luck next time.’ i only wish i had that rascal of a common-keeper here. suppose we turn back again, and keep the wind on the starboard side of us as before; we must pitch upon something at last.”

we did so, but our difficulties increased every moment; we floundered in the bogs, we tumbled over the stumps of the cut furze, and had i not caught bold of tom as he was sliding down he would have been at the bottom of a gravel-pit. this obliged us to alter our course, and we proceeded for a quarter of an hour, in another direction, until, worn out with cold and fatigue, we began to despair.

“this will never do, tom,” said i, as the wind rose and roared with double fury. “i think we had better get into the furze, and wait till the storm is over.”

tom’s teeth chattered with the cold; but before he could reply, they chattered with fear. we heard a loud scream overhead. “what was that?” cried he. i confess that i was as much alarmed as tom. the scream was repeated, and it had an unearthly sound. it was no human voice—it was between a scream and a creak. again it was repeated, and carried along with the gale. i mustered up courage sufficient to look up to where the sound proceeded from; but the darkness was so intense, and the snow blinded me so completely, that i could see nothing. again and again did the dreadful sound ring in our ears, and we remained fixed and motionless with horror; even the dog crouched at our feet trembling. we spoke not a word—neither of us moved; the gun had fallen from my hand; the hare lay at tom’s feet; we held each other’s hand in silence, and there we remained for more than a quarter of an hour, every moment more and more sinking under the effects of cold, fatigue, and horror. fortunately for us the storm, in which had it continued much longer we should, in all probability, have perished, was by that time over; the snow ceased to fall; the clouds were rolled away to leeward; and a clear sky, bespangled with a thousand twinkling lights, roused us from our state of bodily and mental suffering. the first object which caught my eye was a post within two yards of us. i looked at it, followed it up with my eyes, and, to my horror, beheld a body suspended and swinging in chains over our heads.

as soon as i recovered from the shock which the first view occasioned, i pointed it out to tom, who had not yet moved. he looked up, started back, and fell over the dog—jumped up again, and burst out into as loud a laugh as his frozen jaws would permit. “it’s old jerry abershaw,” said he, “i know him well, and now i know where we are.” this was the case; abershaw had, about three years before, been hung in chains on wimbledon common; and the unearthly sound we had heard was the creaking of the rusty iron as the body was swung to-and-fro by the gale. “all’s right, jacob,” said tom, looking up at the brilliant sky, and then taking up the hare, “we’ll be on the road in five minutes.” i shouldered the gun, and off we set. “by the lord, that rascally common-keeper was right,” continued tom, as we renewed our steps; “he prophesied we should come to the gallows before long, and so we have. well, this has been a pretty turn out. father will be in a precious stew.”

“better luck next time, tom,” replied i; “it’s all owing to that turf-and-bog rascal. i wish we had him here.”

“why, what would you do with him?”

“take down old abershaw, and hang him up in his place, as sure as my name’s jacob.”