old stapleton finished his pipe, took another swig at the porter, filled, relighted, puffed to try it, cleared his mouth, and then proceeded:—
“now, you see, bartley, her husband, was the greatest rogue on the river; he was up to everything, and stood at nothing. he fleeced as much on the water as she did on the land; for i often seed her give wrong change afterwards when people were tipsy, but i made it a rule always to walk away. as for bartley, his was always night-work, and many’s the coil of rope i have brought on shore, what, although he might have paid for, he didn’t buy it of the lawful owner, but i never seed or heard, that was my maxim; and i fared well till i served my time, and then they gave me their old wherry, and built a new one for themselves. so i set up on my own account, and then i seed, and heard, and had all my senses, just as they were before—more’s the pity, for no good came of it.” (puff, puff, puff, puff.) “the bartleys wanted me to join them, but that wouldn’t do; for though i never meddled with other people’s concerns, yet i didn’t choose to go wrong myself. i’ve seed all the world cheating each other for fifty years or more, but that’s no concern of mine; i can’t make the world better; so all i thinks about it is to keep honest myself: and if every one was to look after his own soul, and not trouble themselves about their neighbours, why, then, it would be all the better for human natur’. i plied at the swan stairs, gained my livelihood, and spent it as i got it; for i was then too young to look out a’ter a rainy day.
“one night a young woman in a cloak comes down to the stairs with a bundle in her arms, and seems in a very great taking, and asks me for a boat. i hauls out of the row alongside of the yard, and hands her in. she trips as she steps in, and i catches to save her from falling, and in catching her i puts my hand upon the bundle in her arms, and feels the warm face of a baby. ‘where am i to go, ma’am?’ says i. ‘o! pull across, and land me on the other side,’ says she; and then i hears her sobbing to herself, as if her heart would break. when we were in the middle o’ the stream, she lifts up her head, and then first she looks at the bundle and kisses it, and then she looks up at the stars which were glittering above in the sky. she kisses the child once more, jumps up, and afore i could be aware of what she was about, she tosses me her purse, throws her child into the water, and leaps in herself. i pulls sharp round immediately, and seeing her again, i made one or two good strokes, comes alongside of her, and gets hold of her clothes. a’ter much ado i gets her into the wherry, and as soon as i seed she was come to again, i pulls her back to the stairs where she had taken me from. as soon as i lands i hears a noise and talking, and several people standing about; it seems it were her relatives, who had missed her, and were axing whether she had taken a boat; and while they were describing her, and the other watermen were telling them how i had taken a fare of that description, i brings her back. well, they takes charge of her, and leads her home; and then for the first time i thinks of the purse at the bottom of the boat, which i picks up, and sure enough there were four golden guineas in it, beside some silver. well, the men who plied at the stairs axed me all about it; but i keeps my counsel, and only tells them how the poor girl threw herself into the water, and how i pulled her out again; and in a week i had almost forgot all about it, when up comes an officer, and says to me, ‘you be stapleton the waterman?’ and i says, ‘yes, i be.’ ‘then you must come along with me;’ and he takes me to the police-office, where i finds the poor young woman in custody for being accused of having murdered her infant. so they begins to tax me upon my bible oath, and i was forced to tell the whole story; for though you may loose all your senses when convenient, yet somehow or another, an oath on the bible brings them all back again. ‘did you see the child?’ said the magistrate. ‘i seed a bundle,’ said i. ‘did you hear the child cry?’ said he. ‘no,’ says i, ‘i didn’t;’ and then i thought i had got the young woman off; but the magistrate was an old fox, and had all the senses at his fingers’ ends. so says he, ‘when the young woman stepped into the boat did she give you the bundle?’ ‘no,’ says i again. ‘then you never touched it?’ ‘yes, i did, when her foot slipped.’ ‘and what did it feel like?’ ‘it felt like a piece of human natur’.’ says i, ‘and quite warm like.’ ‘how do you mean?’ says he. ‘why, i took it by the feel for a baby.’ ‘and it was quite warm, was it?’ ‘yes,’ replied i, ‘it was.’ ‘well then, what else took place?’ ‘why, when we were in the middle of the stream she and her child went overboard; i pulled her in again, but could not see the child.’ fortunately for the poor girl, they didn’t ask me which went overboard first, and that saved her from hanging. she was confined six months in prison, and then let out again; but you see, if it hadn’t been for my unfortunately feeling the child, and feeling it was warm, which proved its being alive, the poor young woman would have got off altogether, perhaps. so much for the sense of feeling, which i say is of no use to nobody, but only a vexation.” (puff—the pipe out, relighted—puff, puff.)
“but, father,” said mary, “did you ever hear the history of the poor girl?”
“yes, i heard as how it was a hard case, how she had been seduced by some fellow who had left her and her baby, upon which she determined to drown herself, poor thing; and her baby too. had she only tried to drown her baby i should have said it was quite unnatural; but as she wished to drown herself at the same time, i considers that drowning the baby to take it to heaven with her was quite natural, and all agreeable to human natur’. love’s a sense which young women should keep down as much as possible, mary; no good comes of that sense.”
“and yet, father, it appears to me to be human nature,” replied mary.
“so it is, but there’s mischief in it, girl, so do you never have anything to do with it.”
“was there mischief when you fell in love with my mother and married her?”
“you shall hear, mary,” replied old stapleton, who recommenced.
“it was ’bout two months after the poor girl threw herself into the river that i first seed your mother. she was then mayhap two years older than you may be, and much such a same sort of person in her looks. there was a young man who plied from our stairs, named ben jones; he and i were great friends, and used for to help each other, and when a fare called for oars, used to ply together. one night he says to me, ‘will, come up, and i’ll show you a devilish fine piece of stuff.’ so i walks with him, and he takes me to a shop where they dealed in marine stores, and we goes and finds your mother in the back parlour. ben sends for pipes and beer, and we sat down and made ourselves comfortable. now, mary, your mother was a very jilting kind of girl, who would put one fellow off to take another, just as her whim and fancy took her.” (i looked at mary, who cast down her eyes.) “now these women do a mint of mischief among men, and it seldom ends well; and i’d sooner see you in your coffin to-morrow, mary, than think you should be one of this flaunting sort. ben jones was quite in for it, and wanted for to marry her, and she had turned off a fine young chap for him, and he used to come there every night, and it was supposed that they would be spliced in the course of a month; but when i goes there she cuts him almost altogether, and takes to me, making such eyes at me, and drinking beer out of my pot, and refusing his’n, till poor jones was quite mad and beside himself. well, it wasn’t in human natur’ to stand those large blue eyes (just like yours, mary), darting fire at a poor fellow; and when jones got up in a surly humour, and said it was time to go away, instead of walking home arm in arm, we went side by side, like two big dogs with their tails as stiff up as a crowbar, and ready for a fight; neither he nor i saying a word, and we parted without saying good-night. well, i dreamed of your mother all that night, and the next day went to see her, and felt worser and worser each time, and she snubbed jones, and at last told him to go about his business. this was ’bout a month after i had first seen her; and then one day jones, who was a prize-fighter, says to me, ‘be you a man?’ and slaps me on the ear. so, i knowing what he’d been a’ter, pulls off my duds, and we sets to. we fights for ten minutes or so, and then i hits him a round blow on the ear, and he falls down on the hard, and couldn’t come to time. no wonder, poor fellow! for he had gone to eternity.” (here old stapleton paused for half a minute, and passed his hand across his eyes.) “i was tried for manslaughter; but it being proved that he came up and struck me first, i was acquitted, after lying two months in gaol, for i couldn’t get no bail; but it was because i had been two months in gaol that i was let off. at first, when i came out, i determined never to see your mother again; but she came to me, and wound round me, and i loved her so much that i couldn’t shake her off. as soon as she found that i was fairly hooked, she began to play with others; but i wouldn’t stand that, and every fellow that came near her was certain to have a turn out with me, and so i became a great fighter; and she, seeing that i was the best man, and that no one else would come to her, one fine morning agreed to marry me. well, we were spliced, and the very first night i thought i saw poor ben jones standing by my bedside, and, for a week or so, i was not comfortable; but, howsomever, it wore off, i plied at the stairs, and gained my money. but my pipe’s out, and i’m dry with talking. suppose i take a spell for a few minutes.”
stapleton relighted his pipe, and for nearly half-an-hour smoked in silence. what mary’s thoughts were i cannot positively assert; but i imagined that, like myself, she was thinking about her mother’s conduct and her own. i certainly was making the comparison, and we neither of us spoke a word.
“well,” continued stapleton, at last, “i married your mother, mary, and i only hope that any man who may take a fancy to you, will not have so much trouble with his wife as i had. i thought that a’ter she were settled she would give up all her nonsense, and behave herself—but i suppose it was in her natur’ and she couldn’t help it. she made eyes and gave encouragement to the men, until they became saucy and i became jealous, and i had to fight one, and then the other, until i became a noted pugilist. i will say that your mother seemed always very happy when i beat my man, which latterly i always did; but still she liked to be fit for, and i had hardly time to earn my bread. at last, some one backed me against another man in the ring for fifty pound aside, and i was to have half if i won. i was very short of blunt at the time, and i agreed; so, a’ter a little training the battle was fought, and i won easy: and the knowing ones liked my way of hitting so much that they made up another match with a better man, for two hundred pounds; and a lord and other great people came to me, and i was introduced to them at the public-house, and all was settled. so i became a regular prize-fighter, all through your mother, mary. nay, don’t cry, child, i don’t mean to say that your mother, with all her love of being stared at and talked to, would have gone wrong; but still it was almost as bad in my opinion. well, i was put into training, and after five weeks we met at mousley hurst, and a hard fight it was—but i’ve got the whole of it somewhere, mary; look in the drawer there, and you’ll see a newspaper.”
mary brought out the newspaper, which was rolled up and tied with a bit of string, and stapleton handed it over to me, telling me to read it aloud. i did so, but i shall not enter into the details.
“yes, that’s all right enough,” said stapleton, who had taken advantage of my reading to smoke furiously, to make up for lost time; “but no good came of it, for one of the gemmen took a fancy to your mother, mary, and tried to win her away from me. i found him attempting to kiss her, and she refusing him—but laughing, and, as i thought, more than half-willing; so i floored him, and put him out of the house, and after that i never would have anything more to say with lords and gemmen, nor with fighting either. i built a new wherry, and stuck to the river, and i shifted my lodgings that i mightn’t mix any more with those who knew me as a boxer. your mother was then brought to bed with you, and i hoped for a good deal of happiness, as i thought she would only think of her husband and child; and so she did until you were weaned, and then she went on just as afore. there was a captain of a vessel lying in the river, who used now and then to stop and talk with her; but i thought little about that, seeing how every one talked with her and she with everybody; and besides, she knew the captain’s wife, who was a very pretty woman, and used very often to ask mary to go and see her, which i permitted. but one morning, when i was going off to the boat—for he had come down to me to take him to his vessel—just as i was walking away with the sculls over my shoulder, i recollects my ’baccy box, which i had left, and i goes back and hears him say before i came into the door—‘recollect, i shall be here again by two o’clock, and then you promised to come on board my ship, and see—.’ i didn’t hear the rest, but she laughed and said yes, she would. i didn’t show myself, but walked away and went to the boat. he followed me, and i rowed him up the river and took my fare—and then i determined to watch them, for i felt mighty jealous. so i lays off on my oars in the middle of the stream, and sure enough i see the captain and your mother get into a small skiff belonging to his ship, and pull away; the captain had one oar and one of his men another. i pulled a’ter them as fast as i could, and at last they seed me; and not wishing me to find her out, she begged them to pull away as fast as they could, for she knew how savage i would be. still i gained upon them, every now and then looking round and vowing vengeance in my heart, when all of a sudden i heard a scream, and perceived their boat to capsize, and all hands in the water. they had not seen a warp of a vessel getting into the row, and had run over it, and, as it tautened, they capsized. your mother went down like a stone, mary, and was not found for three days a’terward; and when i seed her sink i fell down in a fit.” here old stapleton stopped, laid down his pipe, and rested his face in his hands. mary burst into tears. after a few minutes he resumed: “when i came to, i found myself on board of the ship in the captain’s cabin, with the captain and his wife watching over me—and then i came to understand that it was she who had sent for your mother, and that she was living on board, and that your mother had at first refused, because she knew that i did not like her to be on the river, but wishing to see a ship had consented. so it was not so bad a’ter all, only that a woman shouldn’t act without her husband—but you see, mary, all this would not have happened if it hadn’t been that i overheard part of what was said; and you might now have had a mother, and i a wife to comfort us, if it had not been for my unfortunate hearing—so, as i said before, there’s more harm than good that comes from these senses—at least so it has proved to me. and now you have heard my story, and how your mother died, mary; so take care you don’t fall into the same fault, and be too fond of being looked at, which it does somehow or another appear to me you have a bit of a hankering a’ter—but like mother, like child, they say, and that’s human natur’.”
when stapleton had concluded his narrative, he smoked his pipe in silence. mary sat at the table, with her hands pressed to her temples, apparently in deep thought; and i felt anything but communicative. in half-an-hour the pot of beer was finished, and stapleton rose.
“come, mary, don’t be thinking so much; let’s all go to bed. show jacob his room, and then come up.”
“jacob can find his own room, father,” replied mary, “without my showing him; he knows the kitchen, and there is but one other below.”
i took my candle, wished them good night, and went to my bed, which, although very homely, was at all events comfortable.
