The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

  HOW I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF AN OLD FRIEND.

  Boys may imagine with what astonishment Jim Halliday discovered, onreceiving the legacy bequeathed him by his dead friend, that I was thevery watch which years before he had known so familiarly as the propertyof Charlie Newcome. At first he could not believe it, and marvelled howany two watches could be so much alike. Then he discovered the "C.N."scratched long ago inside, which he well remembered. And furtherinquiries enabling him to trace me back to the Muggerbridge silversmith,and from him to the pawnbroker's sale in London, he had no doubt leftthat I was actually the watch of which nothing had been heard since TomDrift owned me.

  My new master did not long remain in Cambridge after the death of hisfriend. He left the University in many respects a more thoughtful andearnest man than he had entered it, and in leaving it set himselfhonestly and faithfully to the work for which he had prepared, and onwhich his heart was fixed.

  I shall not follow him through all the labours of his first villagecuracy, which lasted a year, during which time many people learned tolove the manly, open-hearted young clergyman, and to bless the day whenhe had been sent among them.

  At the end of a year he was removed to the charge of a church in adistant large seaport, where everything was in strangest contrast withthe scenes he had just left. Instead of simple villagers and rustics,his work now lay amongst labourers and artisans of the poorest andlowest class. Instead of fresh country air he had now to breathe thevitiated air of close courts and ill-kept streets; and instead of anatmosphere of repose and innocence, he had now to move in an atmosphereof vice and disorder, from which very often his soul turned with a deepdisgust. Still he worked manfully at his post with a bold heart, readyto face any hardship in the service of his Master, and never weary ofstriving by the Spirit's help to bring into the hard lives around himthe elevating joys which they alone know who can call Christ the Saviourtheirs. One day an adventure befell him which had a strange bearing onmy own fortunes, and the fortunes of more than one of my severalmasters.

  The gaol chaplain at Seatown had recently died, and during the intervalnecessary for appointing a successor Jim was asked and undertook to addto his other labours that of visiting the prisoners confined there. Itwas melancholy, and on the whole monotonous work, for the persons whomhe thus attended, were mostly stupid, ignorant beings on whose hardenedsouls it was difficult indeed to make the slightest impression. Theylistened sulkily to what the chaplain had to say, but to all appearanceneither understood nor cared about a single word, and he had thedisappointment of noticing, week after week, and month after month,scarcely a sign of good rising out of his labours in the case of any oneof them.

  One day the governor met him as he was about to pay his customaryvisits.

  "Oh, good-morning, sir. You'll find a new customer to-day."

  The gaol governor, you will observe, spoke about his prisoners in a verycommercial sort of way.

  "Yes, and a queer one too," he added; "he doesn't look like one of ourregular customers."

  "What is he imprisoned for?"

  "He was drunk, and quarrelled with a sailor on the quay, and pushed himinto the water, I believe."

  "Was the sailor drowned?"

  "No, they fished him out, but this gentleman has got six months for it.He seems very down about it, so I'd like you to see him."

  "All right; I will make a point of visiting his cell. Good-morning."

  And Jim went on his round, thinking very little about the governor'scommunication.

  Presently he came to the gallery in which the new prisoner's cell was,and asked the turnkey to show him the door.

  "No use you a-going in there," muttered that functionary.

  "Why?" asked Jim.

  "He do swear so as I never hear a cove swear afore."

  "Ah," said Jim, "and I suppose you've heard a good deal too in yourtime."

  "So you may say, but this here young fellow comes out with it as if he'dskin you alive."

  "Well, I must see him. Let me in, please."

  When the door was opened the prisoner's back was turned, nor did healter his position as Jim entered the cell.

  There was undoubtedly something unusual about the man. His figure wasnot that of a labourer or a rough, nor was his attitude one of stolidbrutishness, such as the chaplain had grown only too familiar with.

  Jim stood a moment irresolute, and then said,--

  "May I speak to you, friend?"

  The man turned himself, and without raising his eyes from the stonefloor, poured out a volley of curses which fully justified the turnkey'sdescription.

  Jim started, and uttered a quick exclamation. But it was not at thecurses, terrible as they were. No, his amazement was of another kindaltogether; for in the face and voice of this unhappy speaker he wasforcibly reminded of one he once knew in very different scenes. As theman went on he watched him keenly and earnestly. He heeded not theoaths, or the taunts, or the threats which flowed from his lips; but asword followed word, and gesture gesture, and look look, he becamegradually convinced that the resemblance was more than imaginary--that,indeed, this blaspheming convict was one whom he had once known andstill remembered.

  Walking up to him, and laying his hand on his shoulder, Jim said,quietly,--

  "Tom Drift, do you remember me?"

  The man started as for an instant he raised his eyes. Then, lettingthem drop once more, he growled,--

  "That's not my name; I don't know you. Let me alone!"

  Jim, more convinced than ever, now did the wisest thing he could inleaving the cell without another word.

  "Well," said the turnkey, with a half-triumphant grin, as they turned toleave the gallery, "wasn't I right? Didn't he give you half a dozen aspretty bits of language as you ever heard?"

  "Do not speak to me about it, please," replied Jim, more tartly than hehad been ever known to speak to any one.

  He did not return to the gaol for a week; and then the first visit hepaid was to the new prisoner's cell.

  He entered it anxiously, and not without misgivings. Tom Drift wassitting on his little bench with his head in his hands.

  "May I come in?" said Jim, nervously.

  Tom neither spoke nor raised his head; and Jim quietly stepped in. Itwas evident the interview of a week ago had had its effect on Tom Drift.He seemed as he sat there like a man who would fain lose himself if heonly knew how. He never once raised his head from his hands or uttereda syllable while Jim sat and talked to him. The latter knew better thanto return to the topic which had so startled the prisoner a week ago,and contented himself with mere kindly talk and the reading of a shortpassage of Scripture. All this Tom suffered without interruption,stirring neither head nor foot all the time.

  "Now, good-bye," said Jim, rising; "don't get to think you have nofriends."

  The man fidgeted impatiently, and next moment Jim was out in thegallery.

  "What's that man's name?" he inquired of the turnkey.

  "Dykes; and I tell you what, Mr Halliday, he--"

  "Open this door, please, my man," interrupted Jim, by way of cutting himshort.

  During the week which followed Jim was restless and out of spirits. Heseemed unable to settle down to anything, and it was evident his heartwas ill at ease--why, it was easy to guess. He had found Tom Drift, andthere was a chance of rescuing him. But how to do it? How to approachone who was ashamed of his own name, and who repelled with an oath everyoffer of help?

  Long and earnestly did my master think over the matter. He also wrote along letter to Charlie, telling him all, and promising to do all thatcould be done for the poor prodigal. During the days that intervenedbefore his next visit, too, he made as careful and full inquiries aboutTom as it was possible to do.

  The poor fellow had come to Seatown a month before, and very shortlybecame a familiar loafer on the quays. No one knew where he came fromor why he was in Seatown, unless indeed he expected to be
able toconceal himself on some vessel going abroad. Jim found out the lodging-house where he he had lived, but was unable to hear anything there tothrow light on what he had been doing, or whence he had come. One mansaid he had found him once down by the water's edge, looking as thoughhe intended to throw himself in--and the man who gave him drink at thepublic-house remembered him--and the man whom he had assaulted--but thatwas all.

  Wretched enough was the picture it presented of a hopeless, friendlessvagabond, weary of life, yet not daring to die, and finding his onlysolace in deeper degradation.

  Tom was walking to and fro in his cell the next time Jim called. It wasalmost the first time I had been able to get a view of his face. Andoh! how changed it was. Not merely that it looked pale and worn, withbloodshot eyes and hectic cheeks, but there was a scared despairing lookthere which fairly shocked me. Dissipation, and shame, and want, hadall set their mark there. Alas! how soon may the likeness of God bedegraded and defaced! He continued to walk to and fro as Jim sat downand began to read, but I could see he more than once darted a quickglance from under his clouded eyebrows at my master. I could tell bythe beating of the latter's heart that he had made up his mind not toleave this morning without an effort to speak to Tom of old times, and Itrembled for the result of his venture.

  It seemed impossible to say a word while Tom continued to walk up anddown his cell like a caged beast in his den, and Jim saw that everymoment his opportunity was becoming less likely.

  "Will you stand still and listen to me a moment?" he said at last.

  Tom growled out an oath, and halted in front of him.

  "Be quick," said he.

  "I'm not going to preach," said Jim, "I want you to look at something."

  "I want to look at nothing," muttered Tom, beginning to walk again.

  "But you must, you shall look at it!" exclaimed Jim, starting at once tohis feet.

  Tom stopped short, suddenly, and turned upon him like a hunted animal.But Jim neither faltered nor quailed. He walked resolutely up to thepoor fellow, and suddenly drawing me from his pocket, held me outtowards him, saying,--

  "Look at this, Tom Drift!"

  Tom knew me at once, and I never saw a man change as he did that moment.The savage scowl vanished from his face, and a sudden pallor came tohis hollow cheeks. A trembling seized him as he held out his hand totake me, and but for Jim's support he would hardly have remainedstanding. My master led him gently to the bench, and putting me intohis hand, said,--

  "I'll leave it with you till to-morrow, old fellow; good-bye."

  I heard the key turn in the door behind him, and counted his retreatingfootsteps down the gallery, and then became fully conscious where and inwhose charge I was.

  And now an old familiar sound rang in my ears once more, "Be good to TomDrift!" Long, long had I ceased to believe it possible that the chanceof obeying my dear first master's request would ever again come to me;but here it was. I lay in the prodigal's trembling hands, and looked upinto his troubled face, and heard his deep-drawn sigh, and felt thatthere was still something left for me to do.

  No one disturbed Tom Drift and me that night, Jim had explained enoughto the governor to gain permission for me to remain in the poor fellow'scompany till next day, and I need hardly say I never left his hand.Memories of better days, of noble friends, of broken vows, crowded inupon him as he sat bending over me that night.

  Daylight faded, but still he never stirred; the governor made hisnightly round, but he never took his eyes off me; and when it was toodark to see me he held me clasped between his hands as tenderly as if Ihad been a child.

  I cannot, and would not if I could, describe all that passed through TomDrift's soul that night. What struggles, what remorse, what penitence.Once he murmured Charlie Newcome's name, and once he whispered tohimself, in the words of the parable he had so lately heard, "No moreworthy, no more worthy!" Save for this he neither spoke nor moved, tillan early streak of dawn shot through the grated window and fell upon us.

  Then he turned and knelt, with me still clasped in his hands. And sothat night, and with it the crisis of Tom Drift's life, was passed.

  There was no more difficulty now for Jim Halliday. Tom even gave me upwhen he heard how I had come into my master's possession.

  Then he asked about Charlie, and Jim told him all he knew. And so theweeks went on, and hope once more lit up Tom Drift's face. How could Ihelp rejoicing in the share I had had in this blessed work ofrestoration?

  Alas! how fleeting is this world's satisfaction!

  A short time afterwards, only a week or so before the termination of TomDrift's imprisonment, my master was returning home from the gaol, tired-out after his day's work. His way lay over a place half brickfield,half common, across which a narrow footpath went. We had got half wayover when suddenly a dreadful sensation seized me. I was slippingthrough the bottom of my pocket! Though I had a watered ribbon attachedto me my master always carried me loose in his waistcoat pocket, withnever a suspicion of the hole that was there. But now that hole seemedsuddenly to expand in order to let me through.

  Lower and lower I slipped. I tried to scream, I endeavoured to attractmy master's attention. But all in vain. He strode unconsciously on,never giving a thought to me or my peril. I held on as long as I could.Then I dropped. If only I could have fallen on his foot, or struck hisknee as I descended! But no. I slid quietly down, scarcely grazing histrousers, and just out of the reach of his boot. For a moment I hopedwildly he would see me as I lay at his feet. Alas! he walked heedlesslyon, leaving me on my back on the footpath, powerless to cry after him,and not daring to guess what would become of me.

  In fact, reader, I was lost.