Kitabı oku: «Rivers of Ice», sayfa 4
Chapter Five.
In which Several Important Matters are arranged, and Gillie White undergoes some Remarkable and hitherto Unknown Experiences
It is not necessary to inflict on the reader Mrs Stoutley’s dinner in detail; suffice it to say, that Captain Wopper conducted himself, on the whole, much more creditably than his hostess had anticipated, and made himself so entertaining, especially to Lewis, that that young gentleman invited him to accompany the family to Switzerland, much to the amusement of his cousin Emma and the horror of his mother, who, although she enjoyed a private visit of the Captain, did not relish the thought of his becoming a travelling companion of the family. She pretended not to hear the invitation given, but when Lewis, knowing full well the state of her mind, pressed the invitation, she shook her head at him covertly and frowned. This by-play her son pretended not to see, and continued his entreaties, the Captain not having replied.
“Now, do come with us, Captain Wopper,” he said; “it will be such fun, and we should all enjoy you so much—wouldn’t we, Emma?” (“Yes, indeed,” from Emma); “and it would just be suited to your tastes and habits, for the fine, fresh air of the mountains bears a wonderful resemblance to that of the sea. You’ve been accustomed no doubt to climb up the shrouds to the crosstrees; well, in Switzerland, you may climb up the hills to any sort of trees you like, and get shrouded in mist, or tumble over a precipice and get put into your shroud altogether; and—”
“Really, Lewie, you ought to be ashamed of making such bad puns,” interrupted his mother. “Doubtless it would be very agreeable to have Captain Wopper with us, but I am quite sure it would be anything but pleasant for him to travel through such a wild country with such a wild goose as you for a companion.”
“You have modestly forgotten yourself and Emma,” said Lewis; “but come, let the Captain answer for himself. You know, mother, it has been your wish, if not your intention, to get a companion for me on this trip—a fellow older than myself—a sort of travelling tutor, who could teach me something of the geology and botany of the country as we went along. Well, the Captain is older than me, I think, which is one of the requisites, and he could teach me astronomy, no doubt, and show me how to box the compass; in return for which, I could show him how to box an adversary’s nose, as practised by the best authorities of the ring. As to geology and botany, I know a little of these sciences already, and could impart my knowledge to the Captain, which would have the effect of fixing it more firmly in my own memory; and every one knows that it is of far greater importance to lay a good, solid groundwork of education, than to build a showy, superficial structure, on a bad foundation. Come, then, Captain, you see your advantages. This is the last time of asking. If you don’t speak now, henceforth and for ever hold your tongue.”
“Well, my lad,” said the Captain, with much gravity, “I’ve turned the thing over in my mind, and since Mrs Stoutley is so good as to say it would be agreeable to her, I think I’ll accept your invitation!”
“Bravo! Captain, you’re a true blue; come, have another glass of wine on the strength of it.”
“No wine, thank ’ee,” said the Captain, placing his hand over his glass, “I’ve had my beer; and I make it a rule never to mix my liquor. Excuse me, ma’am,” he continued, addressing his hostess, “your son made mention of a tooter—a travellin’ tooter; may I ask if you’ve provided yourself with one yet!”
“Not yet,” answered Mrs Stoutley, feeling, but not looking, a little surprised at the question, “I have no young friend at present quite suited for the position, and at short notice it is not easy to find a youth of talent willing to go, and on whom one can depend. Can you recommend one?”
Mrs Stoutley accompanied the question with a smile, for she put it in jest. She was, therefore, not a little surprised when the Captain said promptly that he could—that he knew a young man—a doctor—who was just the very ticket (these were his exact words), a regular clipper, with everything about him trim, taut, and ship-shape, who would suit every member of the family to a tee!
A hearty laugh from every member of the family greeted the Captain’s enthusiastic recommendation, and Emma exclaimed that he must be a most charming youth, while Lewis pulled out pencil and note-book to take down his name and address.
“You are a most valuable friend at this crisis in our affairs,” said Lewis, “I’ll make mother write to him immediately.”
“But have a care,” said the Captain, “that you never mention who it was that recommended him. I’m not sure that he would regard it as a compliment. You must promise me that.”
“I promise,” said Lewis, “and whatever I promise mother will fulfil, so make your mind easy on that head. Now, mother, I shouldn’t wonder if Captain Wopper could provide you with that other little inexpensive luxury you mentioned this morning. D’you think you could recommend a page?”
“What’s a page, lad?”
“What! have you never heard of a page—a page in buttons?” asked Lewis in surprise.
“Never,” replied the Captain, shaking his head.
“Why, a page is a small boy, usually clad in blue tights, to make him look as like a spider as possible, with three rows of brass buttons up the front of his jacket—two of the rows being merely ornamental, and going over his shoulders. He usually wears a man’s hat for the sake of congruity, and is invariably as full of mischief as an egg is of meat. Can you find such an article?”
“Ha!” exclaimed the Captain. “What is he used for?”
“Chiefly for ornament, doing messages, being in the way when not wanted, and out of the way when required.”
“Yes,” said the Captain, meditatively, “I’ve got my eye—”
“Your weather eye?” asked Lewis.
“Yes, my weather eye, on a lad who’ll fit you.”
“To a tee?” inquired Emma, archly.
“To a tee, miss,” assented the Captain, with a bland smile.
Lewis again pulled out his note-book to enter the name and address, but the Captain assured him that he would manage this case himself; and it was finally settled—for Lewis carried everything his own way, as a matter of course—that Dr George Lawrence was to be written to next day, and Captain Wopper was to provide a page.
“And you’ll have to get him and yourself ready as fast as possible,” said the youth in conclusion, “for we shall set off as soon as my mother’s trunks are packed.”
Next morning, while Captain Wopper was seated conversing with his old landlady at the breakfast-table—the morning meal having been just concluded—he heard the voice of Gillie White in the court. Going to the end of the passage, he ordered that imp to “come aloft.”
Gillie appeared in a few seconds, nodded patronisingly to old Mrs Roby, hoped she was salubrious, and demanded to know what was up.
“My lad,” said the Captain—and as he spoke, the urchin assumed an awful look of mock solemnity.
“I want to know if you think you could behave yourself if you was to try?”
“Ah!” said Gillie, with the air of a cross-examining advocate, “the keewestion is not w’ether I could behave myself if I wos to try, but, w’ether I think I could. Well, ahem! that depends. I think I could, now, if there was offered a very strong indoocement.”
“Just so, my lad,” returned the Captain, nodding, “that’s exactly what I mean to offer. What d’ee say to a noo suit of blue tights, with three rows brass buttons; a situation in a respectable family; a fair wage; as much as you can eat and drink; and a trip to Switzerland to begin with?”
While the Captain spoke, the small boy’s eyes opened wider and wider, and his month followed suit, until he stood the very picture of astonishment.
“You don’t mean it?” he exclaimed.
“Indeed I do, my lad.”
“Then I’m your man,” returned the small boy emphatically, “putt me down for that sitooation; send for a lawyer, draw up the articles, I’ll sign ’em right off, and—”
“Gillie, my boy,” interrupted the Captain, “one o’ the very first things you have to do in larnin’ to behave yourself is to clap a stopper on your tongue—it’s far too long.”
“All right, Capp’n,” answered the imp, “I’ll go to Guy’s Hospital d’rectly and ’ave three-fourths of it ampitated.”
“Do,” said the Captain, somewhat sternly, “an’ ask ’em to attach a brake to the bit that’s left.
“Now, lad,” he continued, “you’ve got a very dirty face.”
Gillie nodded, with his lips tightly compressed to check utterance.
“And a very ragged head of hair,” he added.
Again Gillie nodded.
The Captain pointed to a basin of water which stood on a chair in a corner of the room, beside which lay a lump of yellow soap, a comb, and a rough jack-towel.
“There,” said he, “go to work.”
Gillie went to work with a will, and scrubbed himself to such an extent, that his skin must undoubtedly have been thinner after the operation. The washing, however, was easy compared with the combing. The boy’s mop was such a tangled web, that the comb at first refused to pass through it; and when, encouraged by the Captain, the urchin did at last succeed in rending its masses apart various inextricable bunches came away bodily, and sundry teeth of the comb were left behind. At last, however, it was reduced to something like order, to the immense satisfaction of Mrs Roby and the Captain.
“Now,” said the latter, “did you ever have a Turkish bath?”
“No—never.”
“Well, then, come with me and have one. Have you got a cap?”
“Hm—never mind, come along; you’re not cleaned up yet by a long way; but we’ll manage it in course of time.”
As the Captain and his small protégé passed along the streets, the former took occasion to explain that a Turkish bath was a species of mild torture, in which a man was stewed alive, and baked in an oven, and par-boiled, and scrubbed, and pinched, and thumped (sometimes black and blue), and lathered with soap till he couldn’t see, and heated up to seven thousand and ten, Fahrenheit and soused with half-boiling water, and shot at with cold water—or shot into it, as the case might be—and rolled in a sheet like a mummy, and stretched out a like corpse to cool. “Most men,” he said, “felt gaspy in Turkish baths, and weak ones were alarmed lest they should get suffocated beyond recovery; but strong men rather enjoy themselves in ’em than otherwise.”
“Hah!” exclaimed the imp, “may I wentur’ to ax, Capp’n, wot’s the effect on boys?”
To this the Captain replied that he didn’t exactly know, never having heard of boys taking Turkish baths. Whereupon Gillie suggested, that if possible he might have himself cleaned in an ordinary bath.
“Impossible, my lad,” said the Captain, decidedly. “No or’nary bath would clean you under a week, unless black soap and scrubbin’ brushes was used.
“But don’t be alarmed, Gillie,” he added, looking down with a twinkle in his eyes, “I’ll go into the bath along with you. We’ll sink or swim together, my boy, and I’ll see that you’re not overdone. I’m rather fond of them myself, d’ee see, so I can recommend ’em from experience.”
Somewhat reassured by this, though still a little uneasy in his mind, the imp followed his patron to the baths.
It would have been a sight worth seeing, the entrance of these two into the temple of soap-and-water. To see Gillie’s well-made, but very meagre and dirty little limbs unrobed; to see him decked out with the scrimpest possible little kilt, such as would, perhaps, have suited the fancy of a Fiji islander; to see his gaze of undisguised admiration on beholding his companion’s towering and massive frame in the same unwonted costume, if we may so style it; to see the intensifying of his astonishment when ushered into the first room, at beholding six or seven naked, and apparently dead men, laid round the walls, as if ready for dissection; to see the monkey-like leap, accompanied by a squeal, with which he sprang from a hot stone-bench, having sat down thereon before it had been covered with a cloth for his reception; to see the rapid return of his self-possession in these unusual circumstances, and the ready manner in which he submitted himself to the various operations, as if he had been accustomed to Turkish baths from a period long prior to infancy; to see his horror on being introduced to the hottest room, and his furtive glance at the door, as though he meditated a rush into the open air, but was restrained by a sense of personal dignity; to see the ruling passion strong as ever in this (he firmly believed) his nearest approach to death, when, observing that the man next to him (who, as it were, turned the corner from him) had raised himself for a moment to arrange his pillow, he (Gillie) tipped up the corner of the man’s sheet, which hung close to his face in such a manner that he (the man), on lying down again, placed his bare shoulder on the hot stone, and sprang up with a yell that startled into life the whole of the half-sleeping establishment with the exception of the youth on the opposite bench, who, having noticed the act, was thrown into convulsions of laughter, much to the alarm of Gillie, who had thought he was asleep and feared that he might “tell;”—to see him laid down like a little pink-roll to be kneaded, and to hear him remark, in a calm voice, to the stalwart attendant that he might go in and win and needn’t be afraid of hurting him; to observe his delight when put under the warm “douche,” his gasping shriek when unexpectedly assailed with the “cold-shower,” and his placid air of supreme felicity when wrapped up like a ghost in a white sheet, and left to dry in the cooling-room—to see and hear all this, we say, would have amply repaid a special journey to London from any reasonable distance. The event, however, being a thing of the past and language being unequal to the description, we are compelled to leave it all to the reader’s imagination.
Chapter Six.
A Lesson Taught and Learned
Two days after the events narrated in the last chapter, rather late in the evening, Dr George Lawrence called at “the cabin” in Grubb’s Court, and found the Captain taking what he called a quiet pipe.
“I have been visiting poor Mrs Leven,” he said to Mrs Roby, sitting down beside her, “and I fear she is a good deal worse to-night. That kind little woman, Netta White, has agreed to sit by her. I’m sorry that I shall be obliged to leave her at such a critical stage of her illness, but I am obliged to go abroad for some time.”
“Goin’ abroad, sir!” exclaimed Mrs Roby in surprise, for the Captain had not yet told her that Lawrence was to be of the party, although he had mentioned about himself and Gillie White.
“Yes, I’m going with Mrs Stoutley’s family for some weeks to Switzerland.”
Captain Wopper felt that his share in the arrangements was in danger of being found out. He therefore boldly took the lead.
“Ah! I know all about that, sir.”
“Indeed?” said Lawrence.
“Yes, I dined the other day with Mrs Stoutley; she asked me also to be of the party, and I’m going.”
Lawrence again exclaimed, “Indeed!” with increasing surprise, and added, “Well, now, that is a strange coincidence.”
“Well, d’ee know,” said the Captain, in an argumentative tone, “it don’t seem to me much of a coincidence. You know she had to git some one to go with her son, and why not you, sir, as well as any of the other young sawbones in London? If she hadn’t got you she’d have got another, and that would have been a coincidence to him, d’ee see? Then, as to me, it wasn’t unnatural that she should take a fancy to the man that nussed her dyin’ husband, an’ was chum to her brother-in-law; so, you see, that’s how it came about and I’m very glad to find, sir, that we are to sail in company for a short time.”
Lawrence returned this compliment heartily, and was about to make some further remark, when little Netta White rushed into the room with a frightened look and pale cheeks, exclaiming, “Oh, Dr Lawrence, sir, she’s very ill. I think she’s dying.”
Without waiting for a reply, the child ran out of the room followed by Lawrence and Mrs Roby, who was assisted by the Captain—for she walked with great difficulty even when aided by her crutches. In a few seconds they stood beside Mrs Leven’s bed. It was a lowly bed, with scant and threadbare coverings, and she who lay on it was of a lowly spirit—one who for many years had laid her head on the bosom of Jesus, and had found Him, through a long course of poverty and mental distress, “a very present help in trouble.”
“I fear that I’m very ill,” she said, faintly.
“No doubt you feel rather low just now,” said the doctor, “but that is very much owing to your having lived so long on insufficient diet. I will give you something, however, which will soon pull you up a bit. Come, cheer up. Don’t let your spirits get so low.”
“Yes,” she murmured, “I am brought very low, but the Lord will lift me up. He is my strength and my Redeemer.”
She clasped her hands with difficulty, and shut her eyes.
A silence followed, during which Captain Wopper drew Lawrence into the passage.
“D’you think she is near her end, doctor?”
“She looks very like it,” replied the doctor. “There is a possibility that she might recover if the right medicine could be found, namely, ease of mind; but her dissipated son has robbed her of that, and is the only one who can give it back to her—if indeed he has the power left now. She is dying of what is unprofessionally styled a broken heart. It is unfortunate that her son is not with her at present.”
“Does no one know where to find him?” asked the Captain.
“I fear not,” replied the doctor.
“Please, sir, I think I know,” said a subdued voice behind them.
It was that of Gillie White, who had drawn near very silently, being overawed by the sad scene in the sick-room.
“Do you, my lad? then get along as fast as you can and show me the way,” said the Captain, buttoning up his pilot-coat. “I’ll bring him here before long, doctor, if he’s to be found.”
In a few minutes the Captain and Gillie were at the head of the lane, where the former hailed a passing cab, bade the boy jump in, and followed him.
“Now, my lad, give the address,” said the Captain.
“The Strand,” said the boy, promptly.
“What number, sir?” asked the cabman, looking at the Captain.
“Right on till I stop you,” said Gillie, with the air of a commander-in-chief—whom in some faint manner he now resembled, for he was in livery, being clothed in blue tights and brass buttons.
In a short time Gillie gave the order to pull up, and they got out in front of a brilliantly-lighted and open door with a lamp above it, on which was written the word Billiards. The Captain observed that it was the same door as that at which he had parted from Lewis Stoutley some days before.
Dismissing the cab and entering, they quickly found themselves in a large and well-lighted billiard-room, which was crowded with men of all ages and aspects, some of whom played, others looked on and betted, a good many drank brandy and water, and nearly all smoked. It was a bright scene of dissipation, where many young men, deceiving themselves with the idea that they went merely to practise or to enjoy a noble game of skill, were taking their first steps on the road to ruin.
The Captain, closely attended by Gillie, moved slowly through the room, looking anxiously for Fred Leven. For some time they failed to find him. At last a loud curse, uttered in the midst of a knot of on-lookers, attracted their attention. It was followed by a general laugh, as a young man, whose dishevelled hair and flushed face showed that he had been drinking hard, burst from among them and staggered towards the door.
“Never mind, Fred,” shouted a voice that seemed familiar to the Captain, “you’ll win it back from me next time.”
Ere the youth had passed, the Captain stepped forward and laid his hand on his arm.
Fred uttered a savage growl, and drew back his clenched hand as if to strike, but Captain Wopper’s size and calm look of decision induced him to hold his hand.
“What d’you mean by interrupting me?” he demanded, sternly.
“My lad,” said the Captain, in a low, solemn voice, “your mother is dying, come with me. You’ve no time to lose.”
The youth’s face turned ashy pale, and he passed his hand hastily across his brow.
“What’s wrong?” exclaimed Lewis Stoutley, who had recognised the Captain, and come forward at the moment.
“Did he lose his money to you?” asked the Captain, abruptly.
“Well, yes, he did,” retorted Lewis, with a look of offended dignity.
“Come along, then, my lad. I want you too. It’s a case of life an’ death. Ask no questions, but come along.”
The Captain said this with such an air of authority, that Lewis felt constrained to obey. Fred Leven seemed to follow like one in a dream. They all got into a cab, and were driven back to Grubb’s Court.
As they ascended the stair, the Captain whispered to Lewis, “Keep in the background, my lad. Do nothing but look and listen.”
Another moment and they were in the passage, where Lawrence stopped them.
“You’re almost too late, sir,” he said to Fred, sternly. “If you had fed and clothed your mother better in time past, she might have got over this. Fortunately for her, poor soul, some people, who don’t gamble away their own and their parents’ means, have given her the help that you have refused. Go in, sir, and try to speak words of comfort to her now.”
He went in, and fell on his knees beside the bed.
“Mother!” he said.
Fain would he have said more, but no word could he utter. His tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. Mrs Leven opened her eyes on hearing the single word, and her cheek flushed slightly as she seized one of his hands, kissed it and held it to her breast. Then she looked earnestly, and oh! so anxiously, into his face, and said in a low tone:—
“Fred, dear, are you so—”
She stopped abruptly.
“Yes, yes,” cried her son, passionately; “yes, mother, I’m sober now! Oh mother, dearest, darling mother, I am guilty, guilty; I have sinned. Oh forgive, forgive me! Listen, listen! I am in earnest now, my mother. Think of me as I used to be long ago. Don’t shut your eyes. Look at me, mother, look at Fred.”
The poor woman looked at him with tears of gladness in her eyes.
“God bless you, Fred!” she murmured. “It is long, long, since you spoke like that. But I knew you would. I have always expected that you would. Praise the Lord!”
Fred tried to speak, and again found that he could not, but the fountain of his soul was opened. He laid his face on his mother’s hand and sobbed bitterly.
Those who witnessed this scene stood as if spellbound. As far as sound or motion went these two might have been in the room alone. Presently the sound of sobbing ceased, and Fred, raising his head, began gently to stroke the hand he held in his. Sometime in his wild career, he knew not when or where, he had heard it said that this slight action had often a wonderful power to soothe the sick. He continued it for some time. Then the doctor advanced and gazed into the invalid’s countenance.
“She sleeps,” he said, in a low tone.
“May I stay beside her?” whispered Fred.
Lawrence nodded assent, and then motioning to the others to withdraw, followed them into Mrs Roby’s room, where he told them that her sleeping was a good sign, and that they must do their best to prevent her being disturbed.
“It won’t be necessary for any one to watch. Her son will prove her best attendant just now; but it may be as well that some one should sit up in this room, and look in now and then to see that the candle doesn’t burn out, and that all is right. I will go now, and will make this my first visit in the morning.”
“Captain Wopper,” said Lewis Stoutley, in a subdued voice, when Lawrence had left, “I won this ten-pound note to-night from Fred. I—I robbed him of it. Will you give it to him in the morning?”
“Yes, my lad, I will,” said the Captain.
“And will you let me sit up and watch here tonight?”
“No, my lad, I won’t. I mean to do that myself.”
“But do let me stay an hour or so with you, in case anything is wanted,” pleaded Lewis.
“Well, you may.”
They sat down together by the fireside, Mrs Roby having lain down on her bed with her clothes on, but they spoke never a word; and as they sat there, the young man’s busy brain arrayed before him many and many a scene of death, and sickness, and suffering, and sorrow, and madness, and despair, which, he knew well from hearsay (and he now believed it), had been the terrible result of gambling and drink.
When the hour was past, the Captain rose and said, “Now, Lewis, you’ll go, and I’ll take a look at the next room.”
He put off his shoes and went on tiptoe. Lewis followed, and took a peep before parting.
Fred had drawn three chairs to the bedside and lain down on them, with his shoulders resting on the edge of the bed, so that he could continue to stroke his mother’s hand without disturbing her. He had continued doing so until his head had slowly drooped upon the pillow; and there they now lay, the dissipated son and the humble Christian mother, sleeping quietly together.
