Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Jacob Faithful, by Captain Marryat.
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Captain Frederick Marryat was born July 10 1792, and died August 8 1848.He retired from the British navy in 1828 in order to devote himself towriting. In the following 20 years he wrote 26 books, many of which areamong the very best of English literature, and some of which are stillin print.
Marryat had an extraordinary gift for the invention of episodes in hisstories. He says somewhere that when he sat down for the day's work, henever knew what he was going to write. He certainly was a literarygenius.
"Jacob Faithful" was published in 1834, the fifth book to flow fromMarryat's pen. The story tells the life and adventures of a boy who wasborn and brought up on a lighter (small river-barge) on the RiverThames as it flows through London. It gives an extremely interestingcontemporary picture of life in London and on the river in the earlypart of the nineteenth century.
This e-text was transcribed in 1998 by Nick Hodson, and was reformattedin 2003, and again in 2005.
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JACOB FAITHFUL, BY CAPTAIN FREDERICK MARRYAT.
CHAPTER ONE.
MY BIRTH, PARENTAGE, AND FAMILY PRETENSIONS--UNFORTUNATELY I PROVE TO BEA DETRIMENTAL OR YOUNGER SON, WHICH IS REMEDIED BY A TRIFLING ACCIDENT--I HARDLY RECEIVE THE FIRST ELEMENTS OF SCIENCE FROM MY FATHER, WHEN THEELEMENTS CONSPIRE AGAINST ME, AND I AM LEFT AN ORPHAN.
Gentle reader, I was born upon the water--not upon the salt and angryocean, but upon the fresh and rapid-flowing river. It was in a floatingsort of box, called a lighter, and upon the river Thames, at low water,when I first smelt the mud. This lighter was manned (an expressionamounting to bullism, if not construed _kind_-ly) by my father, mymother, and your humble servant. My father had the sole charge--he wasmonarch of the deck: my mother, of course, was queen, and I was theheir-apparent.
Before I say one word about myself, allow me dutifully to describe myparents. First, then, I will portray my queen mother. Report says,that when she first came on board of the lighter, a lighter figure and alighter step never pressed a plank; but as far as I can tax myrecollection, she was always a fat, unwieldy woman. Locomotion was notto her taste--gin was. She seldom quitted the cabin--never quitted thelighter: a pair of shoes may have lasted her for five years for the wearand tear she took out of them. Being of this domestic habit, as allmarried women ought to be, she was always to be found when wanted; butalthough always at hand, she was not always on her feet. Towards theclose of the day, she lay down upon her bed--a wise precaution when aperson can no longer stand. The fact was, that my honoured mother,although her virtue was unimpeachable, was frequently seduced by liquor;and although constant to my father, was debauched and to be found in bedwith that insidious assailer of female uprightness--_gin_. The lighter,which might have been compared to another garden of Eden, of which mymother was the Eve, and my father the Adam to consort with, was enteredby this serpent who tempted her; and if she did not eat, she drank,which was even worse. At first, indeed--and I may mention it to provehow the enemy always gains admittance under a specious form--she drankit only to keep the cold out of her stomach, which the humid atmospherefrom the surrounding water appeared to warrant. My father took his pipefor the same reason; but, at the time that I was born, he smoked and shedrank from morning to night, because habit had rendered it almostnecessary to their existence. The pipe was always to his lip, the glassincessantly to hers. I would have defied any cold ever to havepenetrated into their stomachs;--but I have said enough of my mother forthe present; I will now pass on to my father.
My father was a puffy, round-bellied, long-armed, little man, admirablycalculated for his station in, or rather out of, society. He couldmanage a lighter as well as anybody; but he could do no more. He hadbeen brought up to it from his infancy. He went on shore for my mother,and came on board again--the only remarkable event in his life. Hiswhole amusement was his pipe; and, as there is a certain indefinablelink between smoking and philosophy, my father, by dint of smoking, hadbecome a perfect philosopher. It is no less strange than true, that wecan puff away our cares with tobacco, when, without it, they remain aburden to existence. There is no composing draught like the draughtthrough the tube of a pipe. The savage warriors of North Americaenjoyed the blessing before we did; and to the pipe is to be ascribedthe wisdom of their councils and the laconic delivery of theirsentiments. It would be well introduced into our own legislativeassembly. Ladies, indeed, would no longer peep down through theventilator; but we should have more sense and fewer words. It is alsoto tobacco that is to be ascribed the stoical firmness of those Americanwarriors, who, satisfied with the pipes in their mouths, submitted withperfect indifference to the torture of their enemies. From thewell-known virtues of this weed arose that peculiar expression when youirritate another, that you "put his pipe out."
My father's pipe, literally and metaphorically, was never put out. Hehad a few apophthegms which brought every disaster to a happyconclusion; and as he seldom or never indulged in words, these sayingswere deeply impressed upon my infant memory. One was, "_It's no usecrying; what's done can't be helped_." When once these words escapedhis lips, the subject was never renewed. Nothing appeared to move him:the abjurations of those employed in the other lighters, barges,vessels, and boats of every description, who were contending with us forthe extra foot of water, as we drifted up or down with the tide,affected him not, further than an extra column or two of smoke risingfrom the bowl of his pipe. To my mother he used but one expression,"_Take it coolly_;" but it always had the contrary effect with mymother, as it put her more in a passion. It was like pouring oil uponflame; nevertheless, the advice was good, had it ever been followed.Another favourite expression of my father's when anything went wrong,and which was of the same pattern as the rest of his philosophy, was,"_Better luck next time_." These aphorisms were deeply impressed uponmy memory; I continually recalled them to mind, and thus I became aphilosopher long before my wise teeth were in embryo, or I had even shedthe first set with which kind Nature presents us, that in the petticoatage we may fearlessly indulge in lollipop.
My father's education had been neglected. He could neither write norread; but although he did not exactly, like Cadmus, invent letters, hehad accustomed himself to certain hieroglyphics, generally speakingsufficient for his purposes, and which might be considered as anartificial memory. "I can't write nor read, Jacob," he would say; "Iwish I could; but look, boy, I means this mark for three quarters of abushel. Mind you recollects it when I axes you, or I'll be blowed if Idon't wallop you." But it was only a case of peculiar difficulty whichwould require a new hieroglyphic, or extract such a long speech from myfather. I was well acquainted with his usual scratches and dots, andhaving a good memory, could put him right when he was puzzled with somemisshapen _x_ or _z_, representing some unknown quantity, like the sameletters in algebra.
I have said that I was heir-apparent, but I did not say that I was theonly child born to my father in his wedlock. My honoured mother had hadtwo more children; but the first, who was a girl, had been provided forby a fit of the measles; and the second, my elder brother, by stumblingover the stern of the lighter when he was three years old. At the timeof the accident my mother had retired to her bed, a little the worse forliquor; my father was on deck forward, leaning against the windlass,soberly smoking his evening pipe. "What was that?" exclaimed my father,taking his pipe out of his mouth, and listening; "I shouldn't wonder ifthat wasn't Joe." And my father put in his pipe again, and smoked awayas before.
My father was correct in his surmises. It _was_
Joe who had made thesplash which roused him from his meditations, for the next morning Joewas nowhere to be found. He was, however, found some days afterwards;but, as the newspapers say, and as may well be imagined, the vital sparkwas extinct; and, moreover, the eels and chubs had eaten off his noseand a portion of his chubby face, so that, as my father said, "he was ofno use to nobody." The morning after the accident my father was upearly, and had missed poor little Joe. He went into the cabin, smokedhis pipe, and said nothing. As my brother did not appear as usual forhis breakfast, my mother called out for him in a harsh voice; but Joewas out of hearing, and as mute as a fish. Joe opened not his mouth inreply, neither did my father. My mother then quitted the cabin, andwalked round the lighter, looked into the dog-kennel to ascertain if hewas asleep with the great mastiff--but Joe was nowhere to be found.
"Why, what can have become of Joe?" cried my mother, with maternal alarmin her countenance, appealing to my father, as she hastened back to thecabin. My father spoke not, but taking the pipe out of his mouth,dropped the bowl of it in a perpendicular direction till it landedsoftly on the deck, then put it into his mouth again, and puffedmournfully. "Why, you don't mean to say he is overboard?" screamed mymother.
My father nodded his head, and puffed away at an accumulated rate. Atorrent of tears, exclamations, and revilings succeeded to thischaracteristic announcement. My father allowed my mother to exhaustherself. By the time when she had finished, so was his pipe; he thenknocked out the ashes, and quietly observed, "It's no use crying; what'sdone can't be helped," and proceeded to refill the bowl.
"Can't be helped!" cried my mother; "but it might have been helped."
"Take it coolly," replied my father.
"Take it coolly!" replied my mother in a rage--"take it coolly! Yes,you're for taking everything coolly: I presume, if I fell overboard youwould be taking it coolly."
"You would be taking it coolly, at all events," replied my imperturbablefather.
"O dear! O dear!" cried my poor mother; "two poor children, and lostthem both!"
"Better luck next time," rejoined my father; "so, Sall, say no moreabout it."
My father continued for some time to smoke his pipe, and my mother topipe her eye, until at last my father, who was really a kind-heartedman, rose from the chest upon which he was seated, went to the cupboard,poured out a teacupful of _gin_, and handed it to my mother. It waskindly done of him, and my mother was to be won by kindness. It was apure offering in the spirit, and taken in the spirit in which it wasoffered. After a few repetitions, which were rendered necessary fromits potency being diluted with her tears, grief and recollection weredrowned together, and disappeared like two lovers who sink down entwinedin each other's arms.
With this beautiful metaphor, I shall wind up the episode of myunfortunate brother Joe.
It was about a year after the loss of my brother that I was ushered intothe world, without any other assistants or spectators than my father andDame Nature, who I believe to be a very clever midwife if not interferedwith. My father, who had some faint ideas of Christianity, performedthe baptismal rites by crossing me on the forehead with the end of hispipe, and calling me Jacob: as for my mother being churched, she hadnever been but once to church in her life. In fact, my father andmother never quitted the lighter, unless when the former was called outby the superintendent or proprietor, at the delivery or shipment of acargo, or was once a month for a few minutes on shore to purchasenecessaries. I cannot recall much of my infancy; but I recollect thatthe lighter was often very brilliant with blue and red paint, and thatmy mother used to point it out to me as "so pretty," to keep me quiet.I shall therefore pass it over, and commence at the age of five years,at which early period I was of some little use to my father. Indeed Iwas almost as forward as some boys at ten. This may appear strange; butthe fact is, that my ideas although bounded, were concentrated. Thelighter, its equipments, and its destination were the microcosm of myinfant imagination; and my ideas and thoughts being directed to so fewobjects, these objects were deeply impressed, and their value fullyunderstood. Up to the time that I quitted the lighter, at eleven yearsold, the banks of the river were the boundaries of my speculations. Icertainly comprehended something of the nature of trees and houses; butI do not think that I was aware that the former _grew_. From the timethat I could recollect them on the banks of the river, they appeared tobe exactly of the same size as they were when first I saw them, and Iasked no questions. But by the time that I was ten years old, I knewthe name of the reach of the river, and every point--the depth of water,and the shallows, the drift of the current, and the ebb and flow of thetide itself. I was able to manage the lighter as it floated down withthe tide; for what I lacked in strength I made up with dexterity arisingfrom constant practice.
It was at the age of eleven years that a catastrophe took place whichchanged my prospects in life, and I must, therefore, say a little moreabout my father and mother, bringing up their history to that period.The propensity of my mother to ardent spirits had, as always is thecase, greatly increased upon her, and her corpulence had increased inthe same ratio. She was now a most unwieldy, bloated mountain of flesh,such a form as I have never since beheld, although, at the time, she didnot appear to me to be disgusting, accustomed to witness imperceptiblyher increase, and not seeing any other females, except at a distance.For the last two years she had seldom quitted her bed--certainly she didnot crawl out of the cabin more than five minutes during the week--indeed, her obesity and habitual intoxication rendered her incapable.My father went on shore for a quarter of an hour once a month, topurchase gin, tobacco, red herrings, and decayed ship-biscuits;--thelatter was my principal fare, except when I could catch a fish over thesides, as we lay at anchor. I was, therefore, a great water-drinker,not altogether from choice, but from the salt nature of my food, andbecause my mother had still sense enough left to discern that "Ginwasn't good for little boys." But a great change had taken place in myfather. I was now left almost altogether in charge of the deck, myfather seldom coming up except to assist me in shooting the bridges, orwhen it required more than my exertions to steer clear of the crowds ofvessels which we encountered when between them. In fact, as I grew morecapable, my father became more incapable, and passed most of his time inthe cabin, assisting my mother in emptying the great stone bottle. Thewoman had prevailed upon the man, and now both were guilty in partakingof the forbidden fruit of the Juniper Tree. Such was the state ofaffairs in our little kingdom when the catastrophe occurred which I amnow about to relate.
One fine summer's evening we were floating up with the tide, deeplyladen with coals, to be delivered at the proprietor's wharf, somedistance above Putney Bridge; a strong breeze sprang up and checked ourprogress, and we could not, as we expected, gain the wharf that night.We were about a mile and a half above the bridge when the tide turnedagainst us, and we dropped our anchor. My father who, expecting toarrive that evening, had very unwillingly remained sober, waiting untilthe lighter had swung to the stream, and then saying to me, "Remember,Jacob, we must be at the wharf early tomorrow morning, so keep alive,"went into the cabin to indulge in his potations, leaving me inpossession of the deck, and also of my supper, which I never ate below,the little cabin being so unpleasantly close. Indeed, I took all mymeals _al fresco_, and, unless the nights were intensely cold, slept ondeck, in the capacious dog-kennel abaft, which had once been tenanted bythe large mastiff; but he had been dead some years, was thrownoverboard, and, in all probability, had been converted into savourysausages at 1 shilling per pound weight. Some time after his decease, Ihad taken possession of his apartment and had performed his duty. I hadfinished my supper, which was washed down with a considerable portion ofThames water, for I always drank more when above the bridges, having anidea that it tasted more pure and fresh. I had walked forward andlooked at the cable to see if all was right, and then, having nothingmore to do, I lay down on the deck, and indulged in the profoundspeculations of a boy of ele
ven years old. I was watching the starsabove me, which twinkled faintly, and appeared to me ever and anon to beextinguished and then relighted. I was wondering what they could bemade of, and how they came there, when of a sudden I was interrupted inmy reveries by a loud shriek, and perceived a strong smell of somethingburning. The shrieks were renewed again and again, and I had hardlytime to get upon my legs when my father burst up from the cabin, rushedover the side of the lighter, and disappeared under the water. I caughta glimpse of his features as he passed me, and observed fright andintoxication blended together. I ran to the side where he haddisappeared, but could see nothing but a few eddying circles as the tiderushed quickly past. For a few seconds I remained staggered andstupefied at his sudden disappearance and evident death, but I wasrecalled to recollection by the smoke which encompassed me, and theshrieks of my mother, which were now fainter and fainter, and I hastenedto her assistance.
A strong, empyreumatic, thick smoke ascended from the hatchway of thecabin, and, as it had now fallen calm, it mounted straight up the air ina dense column. I attempted to go in, but so soon as I encountered thesmoke I found that it was impossible; it would have suffocated me inhalf a minute. I did what most children would have done in such asituation of excitement and distress--I sat down and cried bitterly. Inabout ten minutes I moved my hands, with which I had covered up my face,and looked at the cabin hatch. The smoke had disappeared, and all wassilent. I went to the hatchway, and although the smell was stilloverpowering, I found that I could bear it. I descended the littleladder of three steps, and called "Mother!" but there was no answer.The lamp fixed against the after bulk-head, with a glass before it, wasstill alight, and I could see plainly to every corner of the cabin.Nothing was burning--not even the curtains to my mother's bed appearedto be singed. I was astonished--breathless with fear, with a tremblingvoice, I again called out "Mother!" I remained more than a minutepanting for breath, and then ventured to draw back the curtains of thebed--my mother was not there! but there appeared to be a black mass inthe centre of the bed. I put my hand fearfully upon it--it was a sortof unctuous, pitchy cinder. I screamed with horror--my little sensesreeled--I staggered from the cabin and fell down on the deck in a stateamounting almost to insanity: it was followed by a sort of stupor, whichlasted for many hours.
As the reader may be in some doubt as to the occasion of my mother'sdeath, I must inform him that she perished in that very peculiar anddreadful manner, which does sometimes, although rarely, occur, to thosewho indulge in an immoderate use of spirituous liquors. Cases of thiskind do, indeed, present themselves but once in a century, but theoccurrence of them is too well authenticated. She perished from what istermed _spontaneous combustion_, an inflammation of the gases generatedfrom the spirits absorbed into the system. It is to be presumed thatthe flames issuing from my mother's body completely frightened out ofhis senses my father, who had been drinking freely; and thus did I loseboth my parents, one by fire and the other by water, at one and the sametime.