“About fifteen months, as near as I can recollect, Tom.—Boat, sir?”
“Down, sir, very soon; but it’s now slack water. Tom, see if you can find Stapleton.”
“Pooh! never mind him, Jacob, I’ll go with you. I say, Jones, tell old ‘human natur’’ to look after my boat,” continued Tom, addressing a waterman of our acquaintance.
“I thought you had come up to see her,” said I to Tom, as we shoved off.
“See her at Jericho first,” replied Tom “she’s worse than a dog vane.”
“What, are you two again?”
“Two indeed—it’s all two—we are two fools. She is too fanciful; I am too fond; she behaves too ill, and I put up with too much. However, it’s all one.”
“I thought it was all two just now, Tom.”
“But two may be made one, Jacob, you know.”
“Yes, by the parson: but you are no parson.”
“Anyhow, I am something like one just now,” replied Tom, who was pulling the foremost oar2; “for you are a good clerk, and I am sitting behind you.”
“That’s not so bad,” observed the gentleman in the stern-sheets, whom we had forgotten in the colloquy4.
“A waterman would make but a bad parson, sir,” replied Tom.
“Why so?”
“He’s not likely to practice as he preaches.”
“Again, why so?”
“Because all his life he looks one way and pulls another.”
“Very good—very good, indeed.”
“Nay, sir, good in practice, but still not good in deed—there’s a puzzle.”
“Well, sir, if I’m a regular chain to-day, I shall be like an irregular watch to-morrow.”
“Why so, my lad?”
“Because I shall be out of my time.”
“Take that, my lad,” said the gentleman, tossing half-a-crown to Tom.
“Thanky, sir; when we meet again may you have no more wit than you have now.”
“How do you mean?”
“Not wit enough to keep your money, sir—that’s all!”
“I presume you think that I have not got much.”
“Which, sir; wit or money?”
“Wit, my lad.”
“Nay, sir, I think you have both: the first you purchased just now; and you would hardly have bought it, if you had not money to spare.”
“But I mean wit of my own.”
“No man has wit of his own; if he borrows it, it’s not his own; if he has it in himself, it’s mother wit, so it’s not his.”
We pulled into the stairs near London Bridge, and the gentleman paid me his fare. “Good-bye, my lad,” said he to Tom.
“Fare-you-well, for well you’ve paid your fare,” replied Tom, holding out his arm to assist him out of the boat. “Well, Jacob, I’ve made more by my head than by my hands this morning. I wonder, in the long run, which gains most in the world.”
“Head, Tom, depend upon it; but they work best together.”
Here we were interrupted—“I say, you watermen, have you a mind for a good fare?” cried a dark-looking, not over clean, square-built, short young man, standing6 on the top of the flight of steps.
“Where to, sir?”
“Gravesend, my jokers, if you ain’t afraid of salt water.”
“That’s a long way, sir,” replied Tom; “and for salt water, we must have salt to our porridge.”
“So you shall, my lads, and a glass of grog into the bargain.”
“Yes; but the bargain a’n’t made yet, sir. Jacob, will you go?”
“Yes, but not under a guinea.”
“Not under two guineas,” replied Tom, aside. “Are you in a great hurry, sir?” continued he, addressing the young man.
“Yes, in a devil of a hurry; I shall lose my ship. What will you take me for?”
“Two guineas, sir.”
“Very well. Just come up to the public-house here, and put in my traps.”
We brought down his luggage, put it into the wherry, and started down the river with the tide. Our fare was very communicative, and we found out that he was the master’s mate of the Immortalité, forty-gun frigate7, lying off Gravesend, which was to drop down next morning and wait for sailing orders at the Downs. We carried the tide with us, and in the afternoon were close to the frigate, whose blue ensign waved proudly over the taffrail. There was a considerable sea arising from the wind meeting the tide, and before we arrived close to her we had shipped a great deal of water; and when we were alongside, the wherry, with the chest in her bows, pitched so heavily that we were afraid of being swamped. Just as a rope had been made fast to the chest, and they were weighing it out of the wherry, the ship’s launch with water came alongside, and, whether from accident or wilfully8, I know not, although I suspect the latter, the midshipman who steered9 her shot her against the wherry, which was crushed in, and immediately filled, leaving Tom and me in the water, and in danger of being jammed to death between the launch and the side of the frigate. The seamen10 in the boat, however, forced her off with their oars, and hauled us in, while our wherry sank with her gunwale even with the water’s edge, and floated away astern.
As soon as we had shaken ourselves a little, we went up the side, and asked one of the officers to send a boat to pick up our wherry.
“Speak to the first lieutenant11—there he is,” was the reply.
“What the devil do you want?”
“A boat, sir, to—”
“A boat! the devil you do!”
“To pick up our wherry, sir,” interrupted Tom.
“Pick it up yourself,” said the first lieutenant, passing us, and hailing the men aloft. “Maintop, there, hook on your stays. Be smart. Lower away the yards. Marines and after-guard, clear launch. Boatswain’s mate.”
“Here, sir.”
“Pipe marines and after-guard to clear launch.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“But we shall lose our boat, Jacob,” said Tom to me. “They stove it in, and they ought to pick it up.” Tom then went up to the master’s mate, which he had brought on board, and explained our difficulty.
“Upon my soul, I dar’n’t say a word. I’m in a scrape for breaking my leave. Why the devil didn’t you take care of your wherry, and haul a-head when you saw the launch coming?”
“Very true. Well, I am very sorry for you, but I must look after my chest.” So saying, he disappeared down the gangway ladder.
“I’ll try it again, anyhow,” said Tom, going up to the first lieutenant. “Hard case to lose our boat and our bread, sir,” said Tom touching14 his hat.
The first lieutenant, now that the marines and after-guard were at a regular stamp and go, had, unfortunately more leisure to attend to us. He looked at us earnestly, and walked aft to see if the wherry was yet in sight. At that moment up came the master’s mate, who had not yet reported himself to the first lieutenant.
“Tom,” said I, “there is a wherry close to, let us get into it, and go after our boat ourselves.”
“Wait one moment to see if they will help us—and get our money, at all events,” replied Tom; and we both walked aft.
“You’ve broke your leave, sir,” replied the first lieutenant, “and now I’ve to send a boat to pick up the wherry through your carelessness.”
“If you please, they are two very fine young men,” observed the mate. “Make capital foretopmen. Boat’s not worth sending for, sir.”
This hint, given by the mate to the first lieutenant, to regain16 his favour, was not lost. “Who are you, my lads?” said the first lieutenant to us.
“Watermen, sir.”
“Watermen, heh? was that your own boat?”
“No, sir,” replied I; “it belongs to the man that I serve with.”
“Oh, not your own boat? Are you an apprentice17, then?”
“Yes, sir, both apprentices18.”
“Show me your indentures19.”
“We don’t carry them about with us.”
“Then how am I to know that you are apprentices?”
“We can prove it, sir, if you wish it.”
“I do wish it; at all events, the captain will wish it.”
“Will you please to send for the boat, sir? she’s almost out of sight.”
“No, my lads, I can’t find king’s boats for such service.”
“Then we had better go ourselves, Tom,” said I, and we went forward to call the waterman, who was lying on his oars close to the frigate.
“Stop—stop—not so fast. Where are you going, my lads?”
“To pick up our boat, sir.”
“Without my leave, heh?”
“We don’t belong to the frigate, sir.”
“No; but I think it very likely that you will, for you have no protections.”
“We can send for them, and have them down by to-morrow morning.”
“Well, you may do so if you please, my lads; but you can not expect me to believe everything that is told me. Now, for instance, how long have you to serve, my lad?” said he, addressing Tom.
“My time is up to-morrow, sir.”
“Up to-morrow. Why, then, I shall detain you until tomorrow, and then I shall press you.”
“If you detain me now, sir, I am pressed to-day.”
“Oh, no! you are only detained until you prove your apprenticeship20, that’s all.”
“Nay, sir, I certainly am pressed during my apprenticeship.”
“Not at all, and I’ll prove it to you. You don’t belong to the ship until you are victualled on her books. Now I sha’n’t victual you to-day, and therefore you won’t be pressed.”
“I shall be pressed with hunger at all events,” replied Tom, who never could lose a joke.
“No you sha’n’t; for I’ll send you both a good dinner out of the gun-room. So you won’t be pressed at all,” replied the lieutenant, laughing at Tom’s reply.
“You will allow me to go, sir, at all events,” replied I; for I knew that the only chance of getting Tom and myself clear was my hastening to Mr Drummond for assistance.
“Pooh! nonsense; you must both row in the same boat as you have done. The fact is, my lads, I’ve taken a great fancy to you both, and I can’t make up my mind to part with you.”
“It’s hard to lose our bread this way,” replied I.
“We will find you bread, and hard enough you will find it,” replied the lieutenant, laughing; “it’s like a flint.”
“Very true, my lad; but the fact is, all the scriptures22 in the world won’t man the frigate. Men we must have, and get them how we can, and where we can, and when we can. Necessity has no law; at least it obliges us to break through all laws. After all, there’s no great hardship in serving the king for a year or two, and filling your pockets with prize-money. Suppose you volunteer?”
“Will you allow us to go on shore for half-an-hour to think about it?” replied I.
“No. I’m afraid of the crimps dissuading23 you. But I’ll give you till to-morrow morning, and then I shall be sure of one at all events.”
“Thanky for me,” replied Tom.
“You’re very welcome,” replied the first lieutenant, as, laughing at us, he went down the companion-ladder to his dinner.
“Well, Jacob, we are in for it,” said Tom, as soon as we were alone. “Depend upon it there’s no mistake this time.”
“I am afraid not,” replied I, “unless we can get a letter to your father, or Mr Drummond, who, I am sure, would help us. But that dirty fellow, who gave the lieutenant the hint, said the frigate sailed to-morrow morning; there he is, let us speak to him.”
“When does the frigate sail!” said Tom to the master’s mate, who was walking the deck.
“My good fellow, it’s not the custom on board of a man-of-war for men to ask officers to answer such impertinent questions. It’s quite sufficient for you to know that when the frigate sails you will have the pleasure of sailing in her.”
“Well, sir,” replied I, nettled24 at his answer, “at all events you will have the goodness to pay us our fare. We have lost our wherry, and our liberty, perhaps, through you; we may as well have our two guineas.”
“Two guineas! It’s two guineas you want, heh.”
“Yes, sir, that was the fare we agreed upon.”
“Why you must observe, my men,” said the master’s mate, hooking a thumb into each armhole of his waistcoat, “there must be a little explanation as to that affair. I promised you two guineas as watermen; but now that you belong to a man-of-war, you are no longer watermen. I always pay my debts honourably25 when I can find the lawful26 creditors27; but where are the watermen?”
“Here we are sir.”
“No, my lads, you are men-of-war’s men now, and that quite alters the case.”
“But we are not so yet, sir; even if it did alter the case, we are not pressed yet.”
“Well, then, you’ll be to-morrow, perhaps; at all events we shall see. If you are allowed to go on shore again, I owe you two guineas as watermen; and if you are detained as men-of-war’s men, why then you will only have done your duty in pulling down one of your officers. You see, my lads, I say nothing but what’s fair.”
“Well, sir, but when you hired us we were watermen,” replied Tom.
“Very true, so you were; but recollect the two guineas were not due until you had completed your task, which was not until you came on board. When you came on board you were pressed, and became men-of-war’s men. You should have asked for your fare before the first lieutenant got hold of you. Don’t you perceive the justice of my remarks?”
“Can’t say I do, sir; but I perceive there’s very little chance of our being paid,” said Tom.
“You are a lad of discrimination,” replied the master’s mate. “And now I advise you to drop the subject, or you may induce me to pay you ‘man-of-war fashion.’”
“How’s that, sir?”
“Over the face and eyes, as the cat paid the monkey,” replied the master’s mate, walking leisurely28 away.
“I’m afraid it’s no go in every way, Jacob. However, I don’t care much about it. I have had a little hankering after seeing the world, and perhaps now’s as well as an other time; but I’m sorry for you, Jacob.”
“It’s all my own fault,” replied I; and I fell into one of those reveries so often indulged in of late, as to the folly30 of my conduct in asserting my independence, which had now ended in my losing my liberty. But we were cold from the ducking we had received, and moreover, very hungry. The first lieutenant did not forget his promise: he sent us a good dinner, and a glass of grog each, which we discussed under the half-deck, between two of the guns. We had some money in our pockets, and we purchased some sheets of paper from the bum-boat people, who were on the main-deck supplying the seamen, and I wrote to Mr Drummond and Mr Turnbull, as well as to Mary and old Tom, requesting the two latter to forward our clothes to Deal, in case of our being detained. Tom also wrote to comfort his mother, and the greatest comfort which he could give was, as he said, to promise to keep sober. Having entrusted31 these letters to the bumboat woman, who promised faithfully to put them into the post-office, we had then nothing else to do but to look out for some place to sleep. Our clothes had dried on us, and we were walking under the half-deck: but not a soul spoke32 to, or even took the least notice of us. In a newly-manned ship just ready to sail there is a universal feeling of selfishness prevailing33 among the ship’s company. Some, if not most, had, like us, been pressed, and their thoughts were occupied with their situation and the change in their prospects34. Others were busy making their little arrangements with their wives or relations; while the mass of the seamen, not yet organised by discipline or known to each other, were in a state of disunion and individuality, which naturally induced every man to look after himself without caring for his neighbour. We therefore could not expect, nor did we receive, any sympathy; we were in a scene of bustle35 and noise, yet alone. A spare topsail, which had been stowed for the present between two of the guns, was the best accommodation which offered itself. We took possession of it, and, tired with exertion36 of mind and body, were soon fast asleep.
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收听单词发音
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1
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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2
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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3
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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4
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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5
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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6
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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7
frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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8
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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9
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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10
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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11
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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12
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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13
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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14
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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15
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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16
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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17
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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18
apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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19
indentures
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| vt.以契约束缚（indenture的第三人称单数形式） | |
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20
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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21
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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22
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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23
dissuading
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| 劝（某人）勿做某事，劝阻( dissuade的现在分词 ) | |
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24
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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25
honourably
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| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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29
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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30
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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31
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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33
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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34
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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35
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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36
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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