i shook hands with tom, who perceiving that i was vexed, had accompanied me down to the boat, with his usual sympathy, and had offered to pull with me to fulham, and walk back; which offer i declined, as i wished to be alone. it was a fine moonlight night, and the broad light and shadow, with the stillness of all around, were peculiarly adapted to my feelings. i continued my way up the river, revolving in my mind the scenes of the day; the reconciliation with one whom i never intended to have spoken to again; the little quarrel with those whom i never expected to have been at variance with, and that at the time when i was only exerting myself to serve them; and then i thought of sarah, as an oasis of real happiness in this contemplated desert, and dwelt upon the thought of her as the most pleasant and calming to my still agitated mind. thus did i ruminate till i had passed putney bridge, forgetting that i was close to my landing place, and continuing, in my reverie, to pull up the river, when my cogitations were disturbed by a noise of men laughing and talking, apparently in a state of intoxication. they were in a four-oared wherry, coming down the river, after a party of pleasure, as it is termed, generally one ending in intoxication, i listened.
“i tell you i can spin an oar with any man in the king’s service,” said the man in the bow, “now look.”
he threw his oar out of the rowlocks, spun it in the air, but unfortunately did not catch it when it fell, and consequently it went through the bottom, starting two of the planks of the fragile-built boat, which immediately filled with water.
“hilloa! waterman!” cried another, perceiving me, “quick, or we shall sink.” but the boat was nearly up to the thwarts in water before i could reach her, and just as i was nearly alongside she filled and turned over.
“help, waterman; help me first; i’m senior clerk,” cried a voice which i well knew. i put out my oar to him as he struggled in the water, and soon had him clinging to the wherry. i then tried to catch hold of the man who had sunk the boat by his attempt to toss the oar, but he very quietly said, “no, damn it, there’s too many; we shall swamp the wherry; i’ll swim on shore”—and suiting the action to the word, he made for the shore with perfect self-possession, swimming in his clothes with great ease and dexterity.
i picked up two more, and thought that all were saved, when turning round, and looking towards the bridge, i saw resplendent in the bright beams of the moon, and “round as its orb,” the well-remembered face of the stupid young clerk who had been so inimical to me, struggling with all his might. i pulled to him, and putting out my oar over the bow, he seized it after rising from his first sink, and was, with the other three, soon clinging to the side of the wherry.
“pull me in—pull me in, waterman!” cried the head clerk, whose voice i had recognised.
“no; you will swamp the boat.”
“well, but pull me in, if not the others. i’m the senior clerk.”
“can’t help that; you must hold on,” replied i, “while i pull you on shore; we shall soon be there.” i must say that i felt a pleasure in allowing him thus to hang in the water. i might have taken them all in certainly, although at some risk, from their want of presence of mind and hurry, arising from the feeling of self-preservation; but i desired them to hold on, and pulled for the landing-place; which we soon gained. the person who had preferred swimming had arrived before us, and was waiting on the beach.
“have you got them all, waterman?” said he.
“yes, sir, i believe so; i have four.”
“the tally is right,” replied he, “and four greater galloots were never picked up; but never mind that. it was my nonsense that nearly drowned them; and, therefore, i’m very glad you’ve managed so well. my jacket went down in the boat, and i must reward you another time.”
“thank you, sir, no occasion for that, it’s not a regular fare.”
“nevertheless, give us your name.”
“oh, you may ask mr hodgson, the senior clerk, or that full-moon-faced fellow—they know my name.”
“waterman, what do you mean?” replied mr hodgson, shivering with cold.
“very impudent fellow,” said the junior of the round face.
“if they know your name, they won’t tell it,” replied the other. “now, i’ll first tell you mine, which is lieutenant wilson, of the navy; and now let’s have yours, that i may ask for it; and tell me what stairs you ply from.”
“my name is jacob faithful, sir,” replied i; “and you may ask your friends whether they know it or not when their teeth don’t chatter quite so much.”
at the mention of my name the senior and junior clerk walked off, and the lieutenant, telling me that i should hear from him again, was about to leave. “if you mean to give me money, sir, i tell you candidly i shall not take it. i hate these two men for the injuries they have heaped on me; but i don’t know how it is, i feel a degree of pleasure in having saved them, that i wish for no better revenge. so farewell, sir.”
“spoken as you ought, my lad—that’s glorious revenge. well, then, i will not come; but if ever we meet again i shall never forget this night and jacob faithful.” he held out his hand, shook mine warmly, and walked away.
when they were gone, i remained for some little time quite stupified at the events of the day. the reconciliation—the quarrel—the revenge. i was still in thought when i heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs. this recalled me, and i was hauling up my boat, intending to go home to stapleton’s; but with no great eagerness. i felt a sort of dislike to mary stapleton, which i could not account for; but the fact was i had been in company with sarah drummond. the horse stopped at the foot of the bridge; and the rider giving it to his servant, who was mounted on another, to hold, came down to where i was hauling up my boat. “my lad, is it too late for you to launch your boat? i will pay you well.”
“where do you wish to go to, sir? it is now past ten o’clock.”
“i know it is, and i hardly expected to find a waterman here; but i took the chance. will you take me about two miles up the river?”
i looked at the person who addressed me, and was delighted to recognise in him the young man who had hired mr turnbull and me to take him to the garden, and who had been captured when we escaped with the tin box; but i did not make myself known. “well, sir, if you wish it, i’ve no objection,” replied i, putting my shoulder to the bow of my wherry, and launching her again into the water. at all events, this has been a day of adventure, thought i, as i threw my sculls again into the water, and commenced pulling up the stream. i was some little while in meditation whether i should make myself known to the young man; but i decided that i would not. let me see, thought i, what sort of a person this is—whether he is as deserving as the young lady appeared to consider. “which side, sir?” inquired i.
“the left,” was the reply.
i knew that well enough, and i pulled in silence until nearly up to the wall of the garden which ran down to the band of the river. “now pull in to that wall, and make no noise,” was the injunction; which i obeyed, securing the boat to the very part where the coping bricks had been displaced. he stood up, and whistled the two bars of the tune as before, waited five minutes, repeated it, and watched the windows of the house; but there was no reply, or signs of anybody being up or stirring. “it is too late; she is gone to rest.”
“i thought there was a lady in the case, sir,” observed i. “if you wish to communicate with her, i think i could manage it.”
“could you?” replied he. “stop a moment; i’ll speak to you by-and-by.” he whistled the tune once more, and after waiting another ten minutes, dropped himself down on the stern sheets, and told me to pull back again. after a minute’s silence he said to me, “you think you could communicate with her, you say. pray, how do you propose?”
“if you will write a letter, sir, i’ll try to let it come to her hand.”
“how?”
“that, sir, you must leave me to find out, and trust to opportunity; but you must tell me what sort of a person she is, that i may not give it to another; and also, who there is in the house that i must be careful does not see me.”
“very true,” replied he. “i can only say that if you do succeed, i will reward you handsomely; but she is so strictly watched that i am afraid it will be impossible. however, a despairing, like a drowning man, will catch at a straw; and i will see whether you will be able to assist me.”
he then informed me that there was no one in the house except her uncle and his servants, all of whom were spies upon her; that my only chance was watching if she were permitted to walk in the garden alone, which might be the case; and perhaps, by concealing myself from eight o’clock in the morning till the evening under the parapet wall, i might find an opportunity. he directed me to be at the foot of the bridge next morning at seven o’clock, when he would come with a letter written for me to deliver, if possible. we had then arrived at fulham. he landed, and putting a guinea in my hand, mounted his horse, which his servant (had) walked up and down, waiting for him, and rode off. i hauled up my boat and went home, tired with the manifold events of the day. mary stapleton who had sat up for me, was very inquisitive to know what had occasioned my coming home so late; but i evaded her questions, and she left me in anything but good-humour; but about that i never felt so indifferent.
the next morning the servant made his appearance with the letter, telling me that he had orders to wait till the evening; and i pulled up the river. i placed it under the loose brick, as agreed upon with the young lady, and then shoved off to the other side of the river, where i had a full view of the garden, and could notice all that passed. in half-an-hour the young lady came out, accompanied by another female, and sauntered up and down the gravel-walk. after a while she stopped, and looked on the river, her companion continuing her promenade. as if without hoping to find anything there, she moved the brick aside with her foot; perceiving the letter, she snatched it up eagerly, and concealed it in her dress, and then cast her eyes on the river. it was calm, and i whistled the bar of music. she heard it, and turning away, hastened into the house. in about half-an-hour she returned, and watching her opportunity, stooped down to the brick. i waited a few minutes, when both she and her companion went into the house. i then pulled in under the wall, lifted up the brick, took the letter, and hastened back to fulham; when i delivered the letter to the servant, who rode off with it as fast as he could; and i returned home quite pleased at the successful issue of my attempt, and not a little curious to learn the real facts of this extraordinary affair.
