D K. A K I OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS J . '1 AW J The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN JUl 3 1 198ii MW 26 1<87 *IPR02 ; 'fyl a. PREFACE, HE chief beauty of this book lies not so much in its literary style, or in the extent and usefulness of the information it conveys, as in its simple truth- fulness. Its pages form the record of events that really happened. All that has been done is to color them ; and, for this, no extra charge has been made. George and Harris and Montmorency are not poetic ideals, but things of flesh and blood — especially George, who weighs about twelve stone. Other works may excel this in depth of thought and knowledge of human nature ; other books may rival it in originality and size ; but, for hopeless and incu- rable veracity, nothing yet discovered can surpass it. This, mora than all its other charms, will, it is felt, make the volume precious in the eye of the earnest reader, and will lend additional weight to the lesson that the story teaches. London, August, 1889. THREE MEN IN A BOAT (TO SAY NOTHING OF THE DOG). CHAPTER L Three Invalids.— Sufferings of George and Harris.— A victim to one hundred and seven fatal maladies.— Useful prescriptions. — Cure for liver complaint in children.— We agree that we are overworked, and need rest.— A week on the rolling deep ? — George suggests the Eiver.— Montmorency lodges an objec- tion. — Original motion carried by majority of three to one. HERE were four of us — George and William Samuel Harris, and myself, and Montmorency. We were sitting in my room, smoking and talking about how bad we were — ^bad from a medical point of view I mean, of course. We were all feeling seedy, and we were getting quite nervous about it. Harris said he felt such extraordi- nary fits of giddiness come over him at times, that he hardly knew what he was doing ; and then George said that he had fits of giddiness too, and hardly knew what he was doing. With me, it was my liver that was out of order. I knew it was my liver that was out of order, because I had just been reading a patent liver-pill circular, in which were detailed the various symptoms by which a man could tell when his liver was out of order. I had them all. Three Men in a Boat. it is a most extraordinary thing, but I never read a patent medicine advertisement without being impelled to the conclusion that I am suffering from the par- ticular disease therein dealt with in its most virulent form. The diagnosis seems in every case to corre- spond exactly with all the sensations that I have ever felt. I remember going to the British Museum one day to read up the treatment for some slight ailment of which I had a touch — hay fever, I fancy it was. I got down the book, and read all I came to read ; and then, in an unthinking moment, I idly turned the leaves, and began to indolently study diseases gen- erally. I forget which was the first distemper I plunged into — some fearful, devastating scourge, I know — and, before I had glanced half down the list of premonitory symptoms,’’ it was borne in upon me that I had fairly got it. I sat for a while, frozen with horror ; and then, in the listlessness of despair, I again turned over the pages. I came to typhoid fever — read the symptoms — discovered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for months — without knowing it — wondered what else I had got; turned up St. Vitus’ dance — found, as I expected, that I had that too — began to get interested m my case, and determined to sift it to the bottom, il l so started alphabetically — read up ague, and learned that I was sickening for it, and that the acute stage would commence in about another fortnight. Bright’s disease, I was relieved to find, I had only in 6 Three Men in a Eoal. a modified form, and, so far as that was concerned, 1 might live for years. Cholera I had, with severe com- plications; and diphtheria I seemed to have been born with. I plodded conscientiously through the twenty-six letters, and the only malady I could con- clude I had not got was house-maid’s knee. I felt rather hurt about this at first; it seemed somehow to be a sort of slight. Why hadn’t I got house-maid’s knee? Why this invidious reservation? After awhile, however, less grasping feelings prevailed. I reflected that I had every other known malady in the pharmacology, and I grew less selfish, and deter- mined to do without house-maid’s knee. Gout, in its most malignant stage, it would appear, had seized me without my being aware of it; and zymosis I had evidently been suffering with from boyhood. There were no more diseases after zymosis, so I concluded there was nothing else the matter with me. I sat and pondered. I thought what an interesting case I must be from a medical point of view, what an acquisition I should be to a class I Students would have no need to ‘‘walk the hospitals,” if they had me. I was a hospital in myself. All they need do would be to walk round me, and, after that, take their diploma. Then I wondered how long I had to live. I tried to examine myself. I felt my pulse. I could not at first feel any pulse at all. Then, all of a sudden, it seemed to start off. I pulled out my watch and timed it. I made it a hundred and forty-seven to the minute. 7 Three Men in a Boat. I tried to feel my heart. I could not feel my heart. It had stopped beating. 1 have since been induced to come to the opinion that it must have been there all the time, and must have been beating, but I can- not account for it. I patted myself all over my front, from what I call my waist up to my head, and I went a bit round each side, and a little way up the back. But I could not feel or hear anything. I tried to look at my tongue. I stuck it out as far as ever it would go, and shut one eye, and tried to examine it with the other. I could only see the tip, and the only thing that I could gain from that was to feel more certain than before that I had scarlet fever. I had walked into that reading-room a happy, healthy man. I crawled out a decrepit wreck. I went to my medical man. He is an old chum of mine, and feels my pulse, and looks at my tongue, and talks about the weather, all for nothing, when I fancy I^m ill ; so I thought I would do him a good turn by going to him now. What a doctor wants,” I said, ‘4s practice. He shall have me. He will get more practice out of me than out of seventeen hun- dred of your ordinary, commonplace patients, with only one or two diseases each.” So I went straight up and saw him, and he said : “ Well, what’s the matter with you ? ” I said : “I will not take up your time, dear boy, with telling you what is the matter with me. Life is brief, and you might pass away before I had finished. 8 Three Men in a Boat. But I will tell you what is not the matter with me. I have not got house-maid’s knee. Why I have not got house-maid’s knee, I cannot tell you; but the fact remains that I have not got it. Everything else, however, I have got.” And I told him how I came to discover it all. Then he opened me and looked down me, and clutched hold of my wrist, and then he hit me over the chest when I wasn’t expecting it — a cowardly thing to do, I call it — and immediately afterward butted me with the side of his head. After that, he sat down and wrote out a prescription and folded it up and gave it to me, and I put it in my pocket and went out. I did not open it. I took it to the nearest chem- iax’s, and handed it in. The man read it, and then handed it back. He said he didn’t keep it. I said : You are a chemist? He said : I am a chemist. If I was a co-operative store and family hotel combined, I might be able to oblige you. Being only a chemist hampers me.” I read the prescription. It ran : “ 1 lb. beefsteak, with 1 pt. bitter beer every 6 hours. 1 ten-mile walk every morning. 1 bed at 11 sharp every night. And don’t stuff up your head with things you don’t understand.” Three Men in a Boat. I followed the directions, with the happy result — speaking for myself— that my life was preserved, and is still going on. In the present instance, going back to the liver- pill circular, I had the symptoms, beyond all mis- take, the chief among them being a general disinclination to work of any kind.’^ What I suffer in that way no tongue can tell. From my earliest infancy I have been a martyr to it. As a boy, the disease hardly ever left me for a day. They did not know, then, that it was my liver. Medical science was in a far less advanced state than now, and they used to put it down to laziness. Why, you skulking little devil, you,” they would say, ^^get up and do something for your living, can’t you ? ” — not knowing, of course, that I was ill. And they didn’t give me pills; they gave me clumps on the side of the head. And, strange as it may appear, those clumps on the head often cured me — for the time being. I have known one clump on the head to have more effect upon my liver, and make me feel more anxious to go straight away then and there, and do what was wanted to be done, without further loss of time, than a whole box of pills does now. You know, it often is so — those simple, old- fashioned remedies are sometimes more efficacious than all the dispensary stuff. 10 Three Men in a Boat. We sat there for half an hour, describing to each other our maladies. I explained to George and William Harris how I felt when I got up in the morning, and William Harris told us how he felt when he went to bed; and George stood on the hearth-rug, and gave us a clever and powerful piece of acting, illustrative of how he felt in the night. George fancies he is ill; but there’s never any- thing really the matter with him, you know. At this point Mrs. Poppets knocked at the door to know if we were ready for supper. We smiled sadly at one another, and said we supposed we had better try to swallow a bit. Harris said a little something in one’s stomach often kept the disease in check; and Mrs. Poppets brought the tray in, and we drew up to the table, and toyed with a little steak and onions, and some rhubarb tart. I must have been very weak at the time, because 1 know, after the first half hour or so, I seemed to take no interest whatever in my food — an unusual thing for me — and I didn’t want any cheese. This duty done, we refilled our glasses, lighted our pipes, and resumed the discussion upon our state of health. What it was that was actually the matter with us, we none of us could be sure of ; but the unanimous opinion was that it — whatever it was — had been brought on by overwork. “ What we want is rest,” said Harris. Best and a complete change,” said George. ^‘The overstrain upon our brains has produced a IX Three Men in a Boat. general depression throughout the system. Change of scene, and absence of the necessity for thought, will restore the mental equilibrium.’^ George has a cousin, who is usually described in the charge-sheet as a medical student, so that he naturally has a somewhat family-physicianary way of putting things. I agreed with George, and suggested that we should seek out some retired and old-world spot, far from the madding crowd, and dream away a sunny week among its drowsy lanes — some half-forgotten nook, hidden away by the fairies, out of reach of the noisy world — some quaint-perched eyrie on the cliifs of Time, from whence the surging waves of the nineteenth century would sound far off and faint. Harris said he thought it would be humpy. He said he knew the sort of place I meant; where everybody went to bed at eight o'clock, and you couldn’t get a ^^Eeferee’’ for love or money, and had to walk ten miles to get your baccy. No,” said Harris, if you want rest and change, you can’t beat a sea trip.’’ I objected to the sea trip strongly. A sea trip does you '‘good when you are going to have a couple of months of it, but for a week, it is wicked. You start on Monday with the idea implanted in your bosom that you are going to enjoy yourself. You waive an aiiy adieu to the boys on shore, light your biggest pipe, and swagger about the deck as if you were Captain Cook. Sir Francis Drake, and U Men in a Boat. Christoplier Columbus all rolled into one. On Tues- day, you wish you hadnT come. On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, you wish you were dead. On Saturday, you are able to swallow a little beef tea, and to sit up on deck and answer with a wan, sweet smile, when kind-hearted people ask you how you feel now. On Sunday, you begin to walk about again, and take solid food. And on Monday morning, as, with your bag and umbrella in your hand, you stand by the gunwale, waiting to step ashore, you begin to thoroughly like it. I remember my brother-in-law going for a short sea trip once, for the benefit of his health. He took a return berth from London to Liverpool ; and when he got to Liverpool the only thing he was anxious about was to sell that return ticket. It was offered round the town at a tremendous reduction, so I am told ; and was eventually sold for eighteen 'pence to a bilious-looking youth who had just been advised by his medical men to go to the seaside and take exercise. ‘^Seaside I said my brother-in-law, pressing the ticket affectionately into his hand ; why you’ll have enough to last you a lifetime ; and as for exercise i why, you’ll get more exercise, sitting, down on that ship, than you would turning somersaults on dry land.” He himself — my brother-in-law — came back by train. He said the Northwestern Eailway was healthy enough for him. 13 Three Men in a Boat. Another fellow I knew went for a week’s voyage round the coast, and before they started, the steward came to him to ask whether he would pay for each meal as he had it, or arrange before-hand for the whole series. The steward recommended the latter course, as it would come so much cheaper. He said they would do him for the whole week at two pounds five. He said for breakfast there would be fish, followed by a grill. Lunch was at one, and consisted of four courses. Dinner at six— soup, fish, entree, joint, poultry, salad, sweets, cheese, and dessert. And a light meat supper at ten. My friend thought he would close on the two- pound-five job (he is a hearty eater), and did so. Lunch came just as they were off Sheemess. He didn’t feel so hungry as he thought he should, and so contented himself with a bit of boiled beef and some ' strawberries and cream. He pondered a good deal during the afternoon, and at one time it seemed tr* that he had been eating nothing but boiled k for weeks^ ^r^d at other times it seemed that he r^nst have been living stra?*^rries and cream for 7?ars. Neither the beef nor the strawbb^^'e: ^xeam '^''Ued happy, either — seemed disconteo.ted likb. Av six, they came and told him dinner was read^ TW announcement aroused no enthusiasm within him, but he felt that there was some of that two- pound-five to be worked off, and he held on to ropes 14 Three Men in a Boat. and things and went down. A pleasant odor ot onions and hot ham, mingled with fried fish and greens greeted him at the bottom of the ladder; and then the steward came up with an oily smile, and said : What can I get you, sir?” Get me out of this,” was the feeble reply. And they ran him up quick, and propped him ove: to leeward and left him. For the next four days he lived a simple and blame- less life on thin captain^s biscuits (I mean that the biscuits were thin, not the captain) and soda water ; but toward Saturday he got uppish and went in for weak tea and dry toast, and on Monday he was gorg- ing himself on chicken broth.*" He left the ship on Tuesday, and as it steamed away from the landing stage, he gazed after it regretfully. There she goes,” he said, there she goes, with two pounds^ worth of food on board that belongs to me, and that I haven’t had.” He said that if they had given him another day he thought he could have put it straight. So I set my face against the sea trip. Not, as I explained, upon my own account. I was never queer. But I was afraid for George. George said he should be all right, and would rather like it, but he would advise Harris and me not to think of it, as he felt sure we should both be ill. Harris said that, to him- self, it was always a mystery how people managed to get sick at sea — said he thought people must do it on 15 Three Men in a Boat. purpose, from affectation — said he had often wished to be, but had never been able. Then he told us anecdotes of how he had gone across the channel when it was so rough that the passengers had to be tied into their berths, and he and the captain were the only two living souls on board who were not ill. Sometimes it was he and the second mate who were not ill ; but it was generally he and one other man. If not he and another man, then it was he by himself. It is a curious fact, but nobody ever is seasick — on land. At sea you come across plenty of people very bad indeed, whole boat-loads of them; but I never met a man yet, on land, who had ever known at all what it was to be seasick. Where the thousands upon thousands of bad sailors that swarm in every ship hide themselves when they are on land is a mystery. If most men were like a fellow I saw on the Yar- mouth boat one day, I could account for the seeming enigma easily enough. It was just off Southend Pier, I recollect, and he was leaning out through one of the portholes in a very dangerous position. I went up to him to try and save him. Hi I come further in,’’ I said, shaking him by the shoulder. You‘11 be overboard.” Oh, my I I wish I was,” was the only answer I could get; and here I had to leave him. Three weeks afterward I met him in the coffee- room of a Bath hotel, talking about his voyages, 16 Three Men in a Boat. and explaining, with enthusiasm, how he loved the sea. Good sailor I he replied, in answer to a mild young man’s envious query ; “well, I did feel a little queer o/ice, I confess. It was off Cape Horn. The vessel was wrecked the next morning.” I said : “ Weren’t you a little shaky by Southend Pier one day, and wanted to be thrown overboard ? ” “Southend Fieri” he replied, with a puzzled ex- pression. “ Yes ; going down to Yarmouth, last Friday three weeks.” “ Oh, ah — yes,” he answered, brightening up ; “I remember now. I did have a headache that after- noon. It was the pickles, yoa know. They were the most disgraceful pickles I ever tasted in a respectable boat. Did yoM have any ?” For myself, I have discovered an excellent pre- ventive against seasickness, in balancing myself. You stand in the centre of the deck, and as the ship heaves and pitches, you move your body about, so as to keep it always straight. When the front of the ship rises, you lean forward, till the deck almost touches your nose ; and when its back end gets up, you lean backward. This is all very well for an hour or two ; but you can’t balance yourself for a week. George said : Let’s go up the river.” 17 Three Men in a Boat. He said we should have fresh air, exercise and quiet; the constant change of scene would occupy our minds (including what there was of Harris’); and the hard work would give us a good £tppetite, and make us sleep well. Harris said he didn’t think George ought to do anything that would have a tendency to make him sleepier than he always was, as it might be danger- ous. He said he didn’t very well understand how George was going to sleep any more than he did now, seeing that there were only twenty-four hours in each day, summer and winter alike ; but thought that if he did sleep any more, he might just as well be dead, and so save his board and lodging. Harris said, however, that the river would suit him to a T.” I don't know what a T ” is (except a sixpenny one, which includes bread and butter and cake ad lih.y and is cheap at the price, if you haven’t had any dinner). It seems to suit everybody, how- ever, which is greatly to its credit. It suited me to a “ T ” too, and Harris and I both said it was a good idea of George’s ; and we said it in a tone cnat seemed to somehow imply that we were surprised that George should have come out so sensible. The only one who was not struck with the sugges- tion was Montmorency. He never did care for the river, did Montmorency. It’s all very well for you fellows,” he says ; you like it, but I don’t. There’s nothing for me to do. 18 Three Men in a Boat Scenery is not in my line, and I don’t smoke. If I see a rat, you won’t stop ; and if I go to sleep, you get fooling about with the boat, and slop me over- board. If you ask me, I call the whole thing bally foolishness.” We were three to one, however, and the motion was carried, / Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTER II, Plans discussed.— Pleasures of “camping out,” on fine nights** Ditto, wet nights.— Compromise decided on.— Montmorencj first impressions of. — Fears lest he is too good for this world fear subsequently dismissed as groundless.— Meeting adjourns. E pulled out the maps and discussed plans. We arranged to start on the following Satur- day from Kingston. Harris and I would go down in the morning and take the boat up to Chertsey, and George, who would not be able to get away from the City till the afternoon (George goes to sleep at a bank from ten to four each day, except Saturdays, when they wake him up and put him outside at two), would meet us there. Should we camp out,’’ or sleep at inns? George and I were for camping out. We ss#>id it would be so wild and free, so patriarchal like. Slowly the golden memory of the dead sun fades from the hearts of the cold, sad clouds. Silent^ like sorrowing children, the birds have ceased their song, and only the moor-hen’s plaintive cry and the harsh croak of the corncrake stirs the awed hush around the couch of waters, where the dying day breathes cut her last. From the dim woods on either bank, Night’s ghostly army, the gray shadows, crept out with noiseless tread to chase away the lingering rear-guard of the light, and pass with noiseless, unseen fee^ Three Men in a Boat, above the waving river-grass, and through the sigh- ing rushes; and Night, upon her somber throne, folds her black wings above the darkening world, and, from her phantom palace, lighted by the pale stars, reigns in stillness. Then we run our little boat into some quiet nook, and the tent is pitched, and the frugal supper cooked and eaten. Then the big pipes are filled and lighted, and the pleasant chat goes round in musical under- tone; while, in the pauses of our talk, the river playing round the boat, prattles strange old tales and secrets, sings low the old child’s song that it has sung so many thousand years — will sing so many thousand years to come, before its voice grows harsh and cold — a song that we, who have learned to love its changing face, who have so often nestled on its yielding bosom, think, somehow, we under- stand, though we could not tell you in mere words, the story that we listen to. And we sit there, by its margin, while the moon^ who loves it, too, stoops down to kiss it with a sister s kiss, and throws her silver arms around it clingingly; and we watch it as it flows, ever sing- ing, ever whispering, out to meet its king, the sea — till our voices die away in silence, and the pipes go out, till we, commonplace, everyday young men enough, feel strangely full of thoughts, half sad, half sweet, and do not care or want to speak — till we laugh, and, rising, knock the ashes from our biMed-out pipes, and say Good-night,” and, lulled m Three Men in a Boat. by the lapping water and the rustling trees, we fall asleep beneath the great, still stars, and dream that the world is young again — young and sweet as she used to be ere the centuries of fret and care had furrowed her fair face, ere her children’s sins and follies had made old her loving heart — sweet as she was in those bygone days when, a new-made mother, she nursed us, her children, upon her own deep breast — ere the wiles of painted civilization had lured us away from her fond arms, and the poisoned sneers of artificiality had made us ashamed the simple life we led with her, and the simple stately home where mankind was born so many thousand years ago. / Harris said : “ How about when it rained ? ’’ You can never rouse Harris. There is no poetry about Harris — no wild yearning for the unattain- able. Harris never “weeps, he knows not why.” If Harris’ eyes fill with tears, you can bet it is be- cause Harris has been eating raw onions, or has put too much Worcester over his chop. If you were to stand at night by the seashore with Harris, and say : “ Hark I do you not hear ? Is it but the mermaids singing deep below the waving waters ; or sad spirits, chanting dirges for white corpses, held by seaweed ? ” Harris would take you by the arm and say : ^ I kiiow what it is, old man ; you’ve got a chilL 22 Three Men in a Boat. Now, you come along with me. I know a place round the corner here, where you can get a drop of the finest Scotch whiskey you ever tasted— put you right in less than no time.’^ Harris always does know a place round the corner ,vhere you can get something brilliant in the drink- ing line. I believe that if you met Harris up in paradise (supposing such a thing likely), he would immediately greet you with : '^So glad you’ve come, old fellow; I’ve found a nice place round the corner here, where you can get some really first-class nectar.” In the present instance, however, as regarded the camping out, his practical view of the matter came as a very timely hint. Camping out in rainy weather is not pleasant. It is evening. You are wet through, and there is a good two inches of water in the boat, and all the things are damp. You find a place on the banks that is not quite so puddly as other places you have seen, and you land and lug out the tent, and two of you proceed to fix it. ' Ic is soaked and heavy, and it flops about, and tumbles down on you, and clings round your head and makes you mad. The rain is pouring steadily down all the time. It is difficult enough to fix a tent in dry weather ; in wet, the task becomes herculean. Instead of helping you it seems to you that the other man is simply play- ing the fool. Just as you get your side beauti- 23 Three Men in a Boat. fiilly fixed, he gives it a hoist from his end and spoils it all. “ Here I what are you up to ? ’’ you call out. What are you up to ? he retorts ; leggo, can’t you ? ” Don’t pull it ; you’ve got it all wrong, you stupid as^; I ” you shout. No, I haven’t,” he yells ; let go your side I ” “I tell you you’ve got it all wrong I” you roar, wishing that you could get at him; and you give your ropes a lug that pulls all his pegs out. ‘‘ Ah, the bally idiot ! ” you hear him mutter to himself; and then comes a savage haul, and away goes your side. You lay down the mallet and start to go round to tell him what you think of the whole business, and at the same time he starts round in the same direction to come and explain his views to you. And you follow each other round and round, swearing at each other until the tent tumbles down in a heap, and leaves you looking at each other across its ruins, when you both indignantly exclaim in the same breath : There you are I what did I tell you ? ” Meanwhile the third man, who has been bailing out the boat, and who has spilled the water down his sleeve, and has been cursing away to himself steadily for the last ten minutes, wants to know what the thundering blazes you’re playing at, and why the blarmed tent isn’t up yet. At last, somehow or other, it does get up, and you 24 Three Men in a Boat. land the things. It is hopeless attempting to make a wood fire, so you light the methylated spirit stove, and crowd round that. Eain water is the chief article of diet at supper. The bread is two-thirds rain water, the beefsteak pie is exceedingly rich in it; and the jam, and the but- ter, and the salt, and the wfiee, have all combined with it to make soup. After supper, you find ;5r7ur tobacco is damp, and you cannot smoke. LuciJ'ily you have a bottle of the stuff that cheers and inebriates, if taken in proper quantity, and this restores to you sufficient interest in life to induce you to go to bed. There you dream that an elephant has suddenly sat down on your chest, and that the volcano has exploded and thrown you down to the bottom of the sea — the elephant still sleeping peacefully on your bosom. You wake up and grasp the idea that some - thing terrible really has happened. Your first im- pression is that the end of the world has come ; and then you think that this cannot be, and that it is thieves and murderers, or else fire, and this opinion you express in the usual method. No help comes, however, and all you know is that thousands of people are kicking you, and you are being smothered Somebody else seems in trouble too. You can hear his faint cries coming from underneath your bed. Determining, at all events, to sell your life dearly, you struggle frantically, hitting out right and left with arms and legs, and yelling lustily the while, and 25 Three Men in a Boat. at last something gives way and you find your head in the fresh nir. Two feet off, you dimly observe a half-dressed rufnan waiting to kill you, and you are preparing for a life-and-death struggle with him, when it begins to dawn upon you that it*s Jim. ‘‘Oh, it’s you, is it?*’ he says, recognizing you at the same moment. “Yes,” you answer, rubbing your eyes; “what’s happened?” “Bally tent’s blown down, I think,” he says. “Where’s Bill?” Then you both raise up your voices and shout for “ Bill ! ” and the ground beneath you heaves and rocks, and the muffled voice that you heard before replies from out the ruin : “Get off my head, can’t you ? ” And Bill struggles out, a muddy, trampled wreck, and in an unnecessarily aggressive mood —he being under the evident belief that the whole thing has been done on purpose. In the morning you are all three speechless, owing to having caught severe colds in the night; you also feel very quarrelsome, and you swear at each other in hoarse whispers during the whole of breakfast-time. We therefore decide that we should sleep out ob fine nights ; and hotel it, and inn it, and pub. it, like respectable folks, when it was wet, or when v;o felt inclined for a change. Montmorency hailed this compromise with much 26 Huee Meo iii d. Boau approval. He does not revel in romantic solitude. Give him something noisy; and if a trifle low, so much the jollier. To look at Montmorency you would imagine that he was an angel sent upon the earth, for some reason withheld from mankind, in the shape of a small fox-terrier. There is a sort of Oh- what-a-wicked-world-this-is -and-how-I-wish-I-could- do-something-to-make-it-better-and-nobler expression about Montmorency that has been known to bring the tears into the eyes of pious old ladies and gentle- men. When first he came to live at my expense, I never thought I should be able to get him to stop long. I used to sit down and look at him, as he sat on the rug and looked up at me, and think : Oh, that dog will never live. He will be snatched up to the bright skies in a chariot, that is what will happen to him.” But, when I had paid for about a dozen chickens that he had killed ; and had dragged him, growling and kicking, by the scrufl* of his neck, out of a hundred and fourteen street fights ; and had had a dead cat brought round for my inspection by an irate female, who called me a murderer; and had been summoned by the man next door but one for having a ferocious dog at large, that had kept him pinned up in his own tool-shed, afraid to venture his nose outside the door, for over two hours on a cold night ; and had learned that the gardener, unknown to myself, had won thirty shillings by backing him to kill rats against time, then I began to think that sa Three Men in a Boat. maybe they’d let him remain on earth for a bit longer, after all. To hang about a stable, and collect a gang of the most disreputable dogs to be found in the town, and lead them out to march round the slums to fight other disreputable dogs, is Montmorency’s idea of “ life and so, as I before observed, he gave to the suggestion of inns, and pubs., and hotels his most emphatic approbation. Having thus settled the sleeping arrangements to the satisfaction of all four of us, the only thing left to discuss was what we should take with us ; and this we had begun to argue, when Harris said he’d had enough oratory for one night, and proposed that we should go out and have a smile, saying that he had found a place, round by the square, where you could really get a drop of Irish worth drinking. George said he felt thirsty (I never knew George when he didn’t) ; and, as I had a presentiment that a little whiskey, warm, with a slice of lemon, would do my complaint good, the debate was, by common assent, adjourned to the following night; and the assembly put on its hats and went out. Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTER in. Arrangements settled. — Harris’ method of doing work. — How the elderly family man puts up a picture.— George makes a sensible remark. — Delights of early morning bathing.— Provisions for getting upset. S O, on the following evening, we again assembled to discuss and arrange our plans. Harris said : ‘‘Now, the first thing to settle is what to take with us. Now, you get a bit of paper and write down, J., and you get the grocery catalogue, George, and somebody give me a bit of pencil, and then I’ll make out a list.” That^s Harris all over — so ready to take the burden of everything himself, and put it on the backs of other people. He always reminds me of my poor Uncle Podger. You never saw such a commotion up and down a house in all your life as when my Uncle Podger undertook to do a job. A picture would have come home from the framemakers and be standing in the dining-room, waiting to be put up, and Aunt Podger would ask what was to be done with it, and Uncle Podger would say : “Oh, you leave that to me. Don’t you, any of you, worry yourselves about that. Fll do all that.” And then he would take off his coat and begin. He would send the girl out for sixpen’grth of nails, 29 jrtiree Men in a Boat, and bhen on© of the boys after her to tell her what size to get; and, from that, he would gradually worl?. ilown, and start the whole house. Now you go and get me my hammer. Will,” he would shout; ^‘and you bring me the rule, Tom; and I shall want the step-ladder, and I had better have a kitchen-chair, too; and, Jim! you run round to Mr. Goggles, and tell him ‘Pa's kind regards, and hopes his leg’s better ; and will he lend him his spirit-level?' And don’t you go, Maria, because I shall want somebody to hold me the light; and when the girl comes back, she must go out /igain for a bit of picture-cord; and Tom — where's Tom? — Tom, you come here; I shall want you to hand me up the picture.” And then he would lift up the picture, and drop it, and it would come out of the frame, and he would try to save the glass, and cut himself; and then he would spring round the room, looking for his handkerchief. He could not find his handker- chief, because it was in the pocket of the coat he had taken off, and he did not know where he had put the coat, and all the house had to leave off looking for his tools, and start looking for his coat while he would dance round and hinder them. “ Doesn’t anybody in the whole house know where my coat is ? I never came across such a set in all my life — upon my word I didn’t. Six of you I — and you can’t find a coat that I put down not fire lointltes sago. Wdl, of all the — — 80 Three Men in a Boat. Then he’d get up, and find that he had been ting on it, and would call out: ‘‘Oh, you can give it up I I’ve found it myself now. Might just as well ask the cat to find anything as expect you people to find it.” And, when half an hour had been spent in tying up his finger, and a new glass had been got, and the tools, and the ladder, and the chair, and the candle had been brought, he would have another go, the whole family including the girl and the charwoman, standing round in a semi-circle, ready to help. Two people would have to hold the chair, and a third would help him up on it, ‘and hold him there, and a fourth would hand him a nail, and a fifth would pass him up the hammer, and he would take hold of the nail, and drop it. “ There I ” he would say, in an injured tone, “ now the nail’s gone,” And we weu-d all have to go down on our knees and grovel for it, while he would stand on the chair, and grunt, and want to know if he was to be kept there all the evening. The nail would be found at last, and by that time he would have lost the hammer. “Where’s the hammer? What did I do with the hammer? Great Heavens I Seven of you, gaping round there, and you don’t know what I did with the hammer I ” We would find the hammer for him, and then he would have lost sight of the mark he had made on the 81 Three Men in a Boat. wall, where the nail was to go in, and each of us had to get up on a chair, beside him, and see if he could find it ; and we would each discover it in a different place, and he would call us all fools, one after another, and tell us to get down. And he would take the rule, and re-measure, and find that he wanted half thirty- one and three-eighths inches from the corner, and would try to do it in his head, and go mad. And we would all try to do it in our heads, and all arrive at different results, and sneer at one another. And in the general row, the original number would be forgotten, and Uncle Podger would have to meas- ure it again. He would use a bit of string this time, and at the critical moment, when the old fool was leaning over the chair at an angle of forty -five, and trying to reach a point three inches beyond what was possible for him to reach, the string would slip, and down he would slide on to the piano, a really fine musical effect being produced by the suddenness with which his head and body struck all the notes at the same time. And Aunt Maria would say that she would not allow the children to stand round and hear such language. At last. Uncle Podger would get the spot fixed again, and put the point of the nail on it with his left hand, and take the hammer in his right hand. And, with the first blow, he would smash his thumb, and drop the hammer, with a yell, on somebody^s toea Aunt Maria would mildly observe that, next time 82 Three Men in a Boat, Uncle Podger was going to hammer a nail into the wall, she hoped he’d let her know in time, so that she could make arrangements to go and spend a week with her mother while it was being done. ^'Ohl you women, you make such a fiiss over everything,” Uncle Podger would reply, picking him- self up, Why, I like doing a little job of this sort.” And then he would have another try, and at the second blow the nail would go clean through the plaster, and half the hammer after it, and Uncle Podger be precipitated against the wall with force nearly sufficient to flatten his nose. Then we had to find the rule and the string again, and a new hole was made ; and about midnight, the picture would be up — very crooked and insecure, the wall for yards round looking as if it had been smoothed down with a rake, and everybody dead beat and wretched — except Uncle Podger. There you are,” he would say, stepping heavily offi the chair on to the charwoman’s corns, and sur* veying the mess he had made with evident pride. '‘Why, some people would have had a man in to do a little thing like that I” Harris will be just that sort of man when he grows up, I know, and I told him so. I said I could not permit him to take so much labor upon himself. I said: " No; you get the paper, and the pencil, and the cat- alogue, and George write down, and I’ll do the work.” The first list we made out had to be discarded. It 8 83 Three Men in a Be at. was clear that the upper reaches of the Thames would not allow of the navigation of a boat suffi ciently large to take the things we had set down as indispensable ; so we tore the list up, and looked at one another. George said; You know we are on a wrong track altogether. We must not think of the things we could do with, but only of the things that we can’t do without.’^ George comes out really quite sensible at times. You’d be surprised. I call that downright wisdom, not merely as regards the present case, but with reference to our trip up the river of life, generally. How many people, on that voyage, load up the boat till it is ever in danger of swamping with a store of foolish things which they think essential to the pleas- ure and comfort of the trip, but which are really only useless lumber. How they pile the poor little craft mast-high wkh fine clothes and big houses; with useless servants, and a host of swell friends that do r\ot care twopence for them, and that they do not cai‘e three ha’pence for; with expensive entertainments that nobody en- joys, with formalities and fashions, with pretense and ostentation, and with — oh, heaviest, maddest lumber of all I— the dread of what will my neighbor think, with luxuries that only cloy, with pleasures that bore, with empty show that, like the criminal’s iron crown of yore, makes to bleed and swoon the aching head that wears it I 84 Three Men in a Boat. It is lumber, man — all lumber I Throw it over- board. It makes the boat so heavy to pull, you nearly faint at the oars. It makes it so cumbersome and dangerous to manage, you never know a mo- ment’s freedom from anxiety and care, never gain a moment’s rest for dreamy laziness — no time to watch the windy shadows skimming lightly o’er the shal- lows, or the glittering sunbeams flitting in and out among the ripples, or the great trees by the margin looking down at their own image-; or the woods all green and golden, or the lilies white ana yellow, or the somber-waving rushes, c? the sedges, or the or- chids, or the blue forget-me-nots. Throw the lumber over, man! Let your boat of life bft light, packed with only what you need — a homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends, worth the name, some one to love and some one to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink; for thirst is a dangerous thing. You will find the boat easier to pull then, and it will not be so liable to upset, and it will not matter so much if it does upset; good, plain merchandise will stand water. You will have time to think as well to work. Time to drink in life’s sunshine — time to listen to the JEolian music that the wind ol God draws from the human heartstrings around us — time to I beg your pardon, really. I quite forgot. Wfell, 'We left tho Ti)^to Gbctrge, and h» began it 85 Three Men in a Boat. ^We won’t take a tent/’ suggested George; will have a boat with a cover. It is ever so much simpler, and more comfortable.” It seemed a good thought, and we adopted it. I do not know whether you have ever seen the thing I mean. You fix iron hoops up over the boat, and stretch a huge canvas over them, and fasten it down all round, from stem to stern, and it converts the boat into a sort of little house, and it is beautifully cozy, though a trifle stufly ; but there, everything has its drawbacks, as the man said when his mother-indaw died, and they came down upon him for the fimeral expenses. George said that in that case we must take a rug each, a lamp, some soap, a brush and comb (between us), a toothbrush (each), a basin, some tooth-powder, some shaving tackle (sounds like a French exercise, doesn’t it?) and a couple of big towels for bathing. I notice that people always make gigantic arrange- ments for bathing when they are going anywhere near the water, but that they don’t bathe much when they are there. It is the same when you go to the seaside. I always determine — ^when thinking over the matter in London — that I’ll get up early every morning, and go and have a dip before breakfast, and I religiously pack up a pair of drawers and a bath towel. I always get red bathing-drawers. I rather fancy my- self in red drawers. They suit my complexion so. But when I get to the sea I don’t feel somehow f hnt 8$ Three Men in a Boat I want that early morning bath nearly so much as I did when I was in town. On the contrary, I feel more that I want to stop in bed till the last moment, and then come down and have my breakfast. Once or twice virtue has tri- umphed, and I ha VO got out at six and half-dressed myself, and have taken my drawers and towel, and stumbled dismally off. But I haven^t enjoyed it. They seem to keep a specially cutting east wind waiting for me, when I go to bathe in the early morning; and they pick out all the three-cornered stones, and put them on the top, and they sharpen up the rocks and cover the points over with a bit of sand so that I can’t see them, and they take the sea and put it two miles out, so that I have to huddle myself up in my arms and hop, shivering, through six inches of water. And when I do get to the sea, it is rough and quite insulting. One huge wave catches me up and chucks me in a sitting posture, as hard as ever it can, down on to a rock which has been put there for me. And, before I’ve said ^‘Ohl Ugh I” and found out what has gone, the wave comes back and carries me out to mid-ocean. I begin to strike out frantically for the shore, and wonder if I shall ever see home and friends again, and wish I’d been kinder to my little sister when a boy (when / was a boy, I mean). Just when I have given up all hope, a wave retires and leaves me sprawling like a star-fish on the sand, and I get up and look back and find that I’ve been Three Men in n Boat. swimming for my life in two feet of water. I hop back and dress, and crawl home, where I have to pretend I liked it. In the present instance, we all talked as if wa were going to have a long swim every morning, George said it was so pleasant to wake up in the boav in the fresh morning, and plunge into the limpine like him. He said : Don’t be absurd. How can I go into the City like this?’’ It was certainly rather rough on the City, but what cared we for human suffering ? As Harris said, in his common, vulgar way, the City would have to lump it. We went downstairs to breakfast. Montmorency had invited two other dogs to come and see him ofi and they were whiling away the time by fighting on the doorstep. We calmed them with an umbrella, and sat down to chops and cold beef. Harris said: '^The great thing is to make a good breakfast,” and he started with a couple of chops, saying that he would take these while they were hot, as the beef could wait. George got hold of the paper, and read us out the boating fatalities, and the weather forecast, which latter prophesied rain, cold, wet to fine ” (whatever more than usually ghastly thing in weather that may 67 Three Men in a Boat. be), “occasional local thunder-storms, east wind, with general depression over the Midland Counties (London and Channel), “ Bar. falling.’^ I do think that, of all the silly, irritating tomfool- ishness by which we are plagued, this “weather- forecast’^ fraud is about the most aggravating. It “forecasts’’ precisely what happened yesterday or the day before, and precisely the opposite of what is going to happen to-day. I remember a holiday of mine being completely ruined one late autumn by our paying attention to the weather report of the local newspaper. “ Heavy showers, with thunder-storms, may be expected to- day,” it would say on Monday, and so we would give up our picnic, and stop indoors all day, waiting for the rain. And people would pass the house, going off in wagonettes and coaches as jolly and merry as could be, the sun shining out, and not a cloud to be seen. “ Ah I ” we said, as we stood looking out at them through the window, “ won’t they come home soaked ? ” And we chuckled to think how wet they were going to get, and came back and stirred the fire, and got our books, and arranged our specimens of seaweed and cockle shells. By twelve o’clock, with the sun pouring into the room, the heat became quite oppressive, and we wondered when those heavy showers and occasional thunder-storms were going to begin. 58 Three Men in a Boat. ‘‘ Ah I they’ll come in the afternoon, you’ll find,” we said to each other. Oh, won't those people get wet ? What a lark I ” At one o’clock the landlady would come in to ask if we weren’t going out, as it seemed such a lovely day. ‘^No, no,” we replied, with a knowing chuckle, ‘‘ not we. We don’t mean to get wet — no, no.” And when the afternoon was nearly gone, and still there was no sign of rain, we tried to cheer our- selves up with the idea that it would come down all at once, just as the people had started for home, and were out of the reach of any shelter, and that they would thus get more drenched than ever. But not a drop ever fell, and it finished a grand day, and a lovely night after it. The next morning we would read that it was going to be a ‘‘warm, fine to set-fair day; much heat ; ” and we would dress ourselves in flimsy things, and go out, and half an hour after we had started it would commence to rain hard, and a bitterly cold wind would spring up, and both would keep on steadily for the whole day, and we would come home with colds and rheumatism all over us, and go to bed. The weather is a thing that is beyond me alto- gether. I never can understand it. The barometer is useless: it is as misleading as the newspaper forecast. There was one hanging up in a hotel at Oxford at which I was staying last spring, and when I got there it was pointing to “ set fair.” It was simply 58 Three Men in a Boat. pouring with rain outside, and had been all day; and I couldn’t quite make matters out. I tapped the barometer, and it jumped and pointed to ^^very dry.” The Boots stopped as he was passing and said he expected it meant to-morrow. I fancied that maybe it was thinking of the week before last, but Boots said no, he thought not. I tapped it again the next morning, and it went up still higher, and the r^' i came down faster than ever. On Wednesday I went and hit it again, and the pointer went round toward ^'set fair,” ^‘very dry,” and much heat,” until it was stopped by the peg and couldn’t go any further. It tried its best, but the instrument was built so that it couldn’t prophesy fine weather any harder than it did without breaking itself. It evidently wanted to go on, and prognosti- cate drought, and water famine, and sunstroke, and simooms, and such things, but the peg prevented it, and it had to be content with pointing to the mere commonplace “very dry.” Meanwhile the rain came down in a steady torrent, and the lower part of the town was under water, owing to the river having overflowed. Boots said it was evident that we were going to have a prolonged spell of grand weather some time^ and read out a poem which was printed over the top of the oracle, about “ Long foretold, long last ; Short notice, soon past.” The fine weather never came that summer. I 60 Three Men in a Boat. expect that machine must have been referring to the following spring. Then there are those new styles of barometers, the long straight ones. I never can make head or tail of those. There is one side for 10 A. M. yesterday, and one side for 10 A. M. to-day ; but you canT always get there as early as ten, you know. It rises or falls for rain and fine, with much or less wind, and one end is ^^Nly’^ and the other ‘‘Ely’’ (what’s Ely got to do with it?), and if you tap it, it doesn’t tell you anything. And you’ve got to correct it to sea-level, and reduce it to Fahrenheit, and even then I don’t know the answer. But who wants to be foretold the weather? It is bad enough when it comes, without our having the misery of knowing about it beforehand. The prophet we like is the old man who, on the particu- larly gloomy-looking morning of some day when we particularly want it to be fine, looks round the hori- zon with a particularly knowing eye, and says : “ Oh, no, sir, I think it will clear up all right. It will break all right enough, sir.” “Ah, he knows,” we say, as we wish him good- morning, and start oflT; “wonderful how these old fellows can tell I ” And we feel an affection for that man which is not at all lessened by the circumstances of its not clearing up, but continuing to rain steadily all day. “Ah, well,” we feel, “he did his best.” For the man that prophesies ^us bad weather, on 61 Three Men in a Boat the contrary, we entertain only hitter and revengeful thoughts. ''Going to clear up, d’ye think we shout cheerily, as we pass. "Well, no, sir; Tm afraid it^s settled down for the day,” he replies, shaking his head. "Stupid old fool,” we mutter, "what’s he know about it ? ” And, if his portent proves correct, we come back feeling still more angry against him, and with a vague notion that, somehow or other, he has had something to do with it. It was too bright and sunny on rms especial morning for George’s blood-curdling readings about "Bar. falling,” "atmospheric disturbance, passing in an oblique line over Southern Europe,” and "pres- sure increasing,” to very much upset us; and so, finding that he could not make us wretched, and was only wasting his time, he sneaked the cigarette that I had carefully rolled up for myself, and went. Then Harris - and I, having finished up the few things left on the table, carted out our luggage on to the doorstep, and waited for a cabc There seemed a good deal of luggage, when we put it all together. There was the Gladstone and the small hand-bag, and the two hampers, and a large roll of rugs, and some four or five overcoats and mackintoshes, and a few umbrellas, and then there was a melon by itself in a bag, because it was too btilky to go in anywhere, and a dcfaple of pOtfnds Three Men in a Boat. of grapes in another bag, and a Japanese paper um- brella, and a frying-pan, which, being too long to pack, he had wrapped round with brown paper. It did look a lot, and Harris and I began to feel rather ashamed of it, though why we should be, I can’t see. No cab came by, but the street boys did, and got interested in the show, apparently, and stopped. Biggs’ boy was the first to come round. Biggs is our green-grocer, and his chief talent lies in securing the services of the most abandoned and unprincipled errand boys that civilization has as yet produced. If anything more than usually villainous in the boy line crops up in our neighborhood, we know that it is Biggs’ latest. I was told that, at the time of the Great Coram Street murder, it was promptly con- cluded by our street that Biggs’ boy (for that period) was at the bottom of it, and had he not been able, in reply to the severe cross-examination to which he was subjected by No. 19, when he called there for orders the morning after the crime (assisted by No. 21, who happened to be on the step at the time), to prove a complete alibi, it would have gone hard with him. I didn’t know Biggs’ boy at that time, but from what I have seen of him since, I should not have attached much importance to that alibi myself. Biggs’ boy, as I have said, came round the corner. He was evidently in a great hurry when he first dawned upon the vision, but on catching sight of Harris and me, and Montmorency, and the things, he eased up and stared. Harris and I frowned at 68 Three Men in a Boat. him. This might have wounded a more sensitive nature, but Biggs' boys are not, as a rule, touchy. He came to a dead stop, a yard from our step, and leaning up against the railings, and selecting a straw to chew, fixed us with his eye. He evidently meant to see this thing out. In another moment, the grocer's boy passed on the opposite side of the street. Biggs' boy hailed him. Hi I ground floor o' 42's a-moving.’' The grocer's boy came across, and took up a posi- tion on the other side of the step. Then the young gentleman from the boot-shop stopped, and joined Biggs' boy; when the empty-can superintendent from “The Blue Posts" took up an independent position on the curb. “ They ain't a-going to starve, are they ? " said the gentleman from the boot-shop. “Ah ! you'd want to take a thing or two with yow," retorted “ The Blue Posts," “ if you was a-going to cross the Atlantic in a small boat." “ They ain't a-going to cross the Atlantic," struck in Biggs' boy ; “ they’re a-going to find Stanley." By this time quite a small crowd had collected, and people were asking each other what was the matter. One party (the young and giddy portion of the crowd) held that it was a wedding, and pointed out Harris as the bridegroom; while the elder and more thoughtful among the populace in- clined to the idea that it was a funeral, and that I was probably the corpse's brother. 64 Three Men in a Boat. At last an empty cab turned up (it is a street where, as a rule, and when they are not wanted, empty cabs pass at the rate of three a minute, and hang about, and get in your way), and packing our- selves and our belongings into it, and shooting out a couple of Montmorency’s friends, who had evi- dently sworn never to forsake him, we drove away mid the cheers of the crowd, Biggs’ boy shying a carrot after us for luck. We got to Waterloo at eleven, and asked where the eleven-five started from. Of ccume, nobody knew; nobody at Waterloo ever does know where a train is going to start from, or where a train when it does start is going to, or anything about it. The porter who took our things thought it would go from number two platform, while another porter, with whom he discussed the question, had heard a rumor that it would go from number one. The station- master, on the other hand, was convinced it would start from the local. To put an end to the matter, we went upstairs, and asked the traffic superintendent, and he told us that he had just met a man, who said he had seen it at number three platform. We went to number three platform, but the authorities there said that they rather thought that train was the Southampton express, or else the Windsor loop. But they were sure it wasn’t the Kingston train, though why they were sure it wasn’t they couldn’t say. Then our porter said he thought that must be it 6 65 Three Men in a Boat. on the high-level platform; said he thought he knew the train. So we went to the high-level platform, and saw the engine-driver, and asked him if he was going to Kingston. He said he couldn’t say for certain, of course, but that he rather thought he was. Anyhow, if he wasn’t the 11.05 for Kingston, he said he was pretty confident he was the 9.32 for A^rginia Water, or the ten A. M. express for the Isle of Wight, or somewhere in that direction, and we should all know when we got there. We slipped half a crown into his hand, and begged him to be the 11.05 for Kingston. Nobody will ever know on this line,” we said, ^^what you are, or where you’re going. You know the way, you slip off quietly and go to Kingston,” ‘'Well, I don’t know, gents,” replied the noble fellow, “but I suppose some train’s got to go to Kingston ; and I’ll do it. Gimme the half crown.’' Thus we got to Kingston by the London and Southwestern Kailway. We learned afterward that the train we had come by was really the Exeter mail, and that they had spent hours at Waterloo looking for it, and nobody knew what had become of it. Our boat was v/aiting for us at Kingston just below the bridge, and to it we wended our way, and round it we stored our luggage, and into it we stepped. “Are you all right, sir?” said the man. “Right it is,” we answered; and with Harris at 66 Three Men in a Boat. the sculls and I at the tiller-lines, and Montmorency, unhappy and deeply suspicious, in the prow, out we shot on to the waters, which for a fortnight were to be our home. Three Men in a Boat. CHABTEB VI. Kingston. —Instructive remarks on earlj English history. — In- structive observations on carved oak and life in general. — Sad case of Sti wings, junior. — Musings on antiquity.— I forget that I am steering. — Interesting result. — Hampton Court Maze. —Harris as a guide. I T was a glorious morning, late spring or early sum- mer, as you care to take it, when the dainty sheen of grass and leaf is blushing to a deeper green ; and the year seems like a fair young maid, trembling with strange, wakening pulses on the brink of womanhood. The quaint back streets of Kingston, where they came down to the water’s edge, looked quite pictur- esque in the flashing sunlight, the glinting river with its drifting barges, the wooded towpath, the trim-kept villas on the other side, Harris, in a red and orange blazer, grunting away at the sculls, the distant glimpses of the gray old palace of the Tudors, all made a sunny picture, so bright but calm, so full of life, and yet so peaceful, that, early in the day though it was, I felt myself being dreamily lulled ofl* into a Dausing fit. I mused on Kingston, or “ Kyningestiyi,’^ as it was once called in the days when Saxon “ kinges were crowned there. Great Caesar crossed the river there, and the Eoman legions camped upon its slop- 68 Three Men in a Boat. ing upiauafe. Cae?fii, like, in later years, Elizabeth, seems to have stopped everywhere; only he was more respectable than good Queen Bess; he didn’t put up at the public-houses. She was nuts on public-houses, was England’s virgin queen. There’s scarcely a pub. of any attrac- tions within ten miles of London that she does not ieem to have looked in at, or stopped at, or slept at, some time or other. I wonder now, supposing Harris, say, turned over a new leaf, and became a great and good man, and got to be prime minister, and died, if they would put up signs over the puhlic-houses that he had patronized : Harris had a glass of bitter in this house ; ” Harris had two of Scotch cold here in the summer of ’88 ; ” Harris was chucked from here in December, 1886.” No, there would be too many of them I It would be the houses that he had never entered that would become famous. “ Only hou^e in South London that Harris never had a drink in!” The people would flock to it to see what could have been the matter with it. How poor weak-minded King Edwy must have hated Kyningestun I The coronation feast had been too much for him. Maybe boar’s head stuffed with sugar-plums did not agree with him (it wouldn’t with me, I know), and he had had enough of sack and mead ; so he slipped from the noisy revel to steal a quiet moonlight hour with his beloved Elgiva. Perhaps, from the casement, standing hand in I'hree Men in a Boat. hand, they were watching the calm moonlight on the river, while from the distant halls the boisterous revelry floated in broken bursts of faint-heard din and tumult. Then brutal Odo and St. Dunstan force their rude way into the quiet room, and hurl coarse insults at the sweet-faced queen, and drag poor Edwy back to the loud clamor of the drunken brawl. Years later, to the crash of battle-music, Saxon kings and Saxon revelry were buried side by side, and Kingston’s greatness passed away for a time, to rise once more when Hampton Court became a palace cf the Tudors and the Stuarts, and the royal barges strained at their moorings on the river’s bank, and bright-cloaked gallants swaggered down the water-steps to cry: “What ferry, hoi Gadzooks, gramercy I ” Many of the old houses round about speak very plainly of those days when Kingston was a royal borough, and nobles and courtiers lived there, near their king, and the long road to the palace gates was gay all day with clanking steel and prancing palfreys, and rustling silks and velvets, and fair faces. The large and spacious houses, with their iel, latticed windows, their huge fireplaces, and V ir gabled roofs, breathe of the days of hose and sublet, of pearl-embroidered stomachers, and com- f>liv;ated oaths. They were upraised in the days “ when men knew how to build.” The hard red bricks have only grown more firmly set with time. 70 Three Men in a Boat. and their oak stairs do not creak and grunt when you try to go down them quietly. Speaking of oak staircases reminds me that there is a magnificent carved oak staircase in one of the houses in Kingston. It is a shop now, in the market- place, but it was evidently once the mansion of some great personage. A friend of mine, who lives at Kingston, went in there to buy a hat one day, and, in a thoughtless moment, put his hand in his pocket and paid for it then and there. The shopman (he knows my friend) was naturally a little staggered at first; but quickly recovering himself, and feeling that something ought to be done to encourage this sort of thing, asked our hero if he would like to see some fine old carved oak. My friend said he would; and the shopman thereupon took him through tne shop, and up the staircase of the house. The balusters were a superb piece ol: workmanship, and the wall all the way up was oak- paneled, with carving that would have done credit to a palace. From the stairs they went into the drawing-room, which was a large, bright room, dec- orated with a somewhat startling though cheerful paper of a blue ground. There was nothing, how- ever, remarkable about the apartment, and my friend wondered why he had been brought there. The proprietor went up to the paper, and tapped it. It gave forth a wooden sound. ‘‘Oak,” he explained. “All carved oak, right up to the ceiling, just the same as you saw on the staircas<^ ” 71 Three Men in a Boat. “But, great Caesar! man,’’ expostulated my friend; “you don’t mean to say you have covered over oak with blue wall-paper? ” “Yes,” was the reply; “it was expensive work. Had to match-board it all over first, of course. But the room looks cheerful now. It was awful gloomy before.” I can’t say I altogether blame the man (which is doubtless a great relief to his mind). From his point of view, which would be that of the average house- holder, desiring to take life as lightly as possible, and pot that of the old curiosity-shop maniac, there is reason on his side. Carved oak is very pleasant to look at, and to have a little of, but it is no doubt somewhat depressing to live in, for those whose fancy does not lie that way. It would be like living in a church. No, what was sad in his case was that he, who didn’t care for carved oak, should have his drawing- room paneled with it, while people who do care for it have to pay enormous prices to get it. It seems to be the rule of this world. Each person has what he doesn’t want, and other people have what he does want. Married men have wives, and don’t seem to want them; and young single fellows cry out that they can’t get them. Poor people who can hardly keep themselves have eight hearty children. Kich old couples, with no one to leave their money to, die childless. 72 lliree Men in a Boat. Then there are girls with lovers. The girls that have lovers never want them. They say they would rather be without them, that they bother them, and why don’t they go and make love to Miss Smith and Miss Brown, who are plain and elderly, and haven't got any lovers? They themselves don^t want lovers. They never mean to marry. It does not do to dwell on these things ; it makes one so sad. There was a boy at our school, we used to call him Sandford and Merton. His real name was Stivvings. He was the most extraordinary lad I ever came across. I believe he really liked study. He used to get into awful rows for sitting up in bed and reading Greek; and as for French irregular verbs there was simply no keeping him away from iiem. He was fall of weird and unnatural notions about being a credit to his parents and an honor to the school ; and he yearned to win prizes, and grow up and be a clever man, and had all those sorts of weak-minded ideas. I never knew such a strange creature, yet harmless, mind you, as the babe unborn. Well, that boy used to get ill about twice a week, so that he couldn^t go to school. There never was such a boy to get ill as that Sandford and Merton. If there was any known disease going within ten miles of him, he had it and had it badly. He would take bronchitis in the dog-days, and have hay fever at Christmas. After a six weeks’ period of drought, he would be stricken down v/ith rheumatic 73 Three Men in a Boat. fever; and he would go out in a November fog and come home with a sunstroke. They put him under laughing-gas one year, poor lad, and drew all his teeth, and gave him a false set, because he suffered so terribly with toothache ; and then it turned to neuralgia and earache. He was never without a cold, except once for nine weeks while he had scarlet fever ; and he always had chil- blains. During the great cholera scare of 1871, our neighborhood was singularly free from it. There was only one reputed case in the whole parish : that case was young Stivvings. He had to stop in bed when he was ill, and eat chicken and custards and hot-house grapes ; and he would lie there and sob, because they wouldnT let him do Latin exercises, and took his German gram- mar away from him. And we other boys, who would have sacrificed ten terms of our school life for the sake of being ill for a day, and had no desire whatever to give our parents any excuse for being stuck-up about us, couldn’t catch so much as a stiff neck. We fooled about in draughts, and it did us good, and freshened us up; and we took things to make us sick, and they made us fat, and gave us an appetite. Noth- ing we could think of seemed to make us ill until the holidays began. Then, on the breaking-up day, we caught colds, and whooping-cough, and all kinds of disorders, which lasted till the term recommenced; when, in spite of everything we could maneuver 74 Three Men in a Boat. the contrary, we would get suddenly well again and be better than ever. Such is life ; and we are but as grass that is cut down, and put into the oven and baked. To go back to the carved-oak question they must have had very fair notions of the artistic and the beautiful, our great-great-grandfathers. Why, all our art treasures of to-day are only the dug-up com- monplaces of three or four hundred years ago. I wonder if there is real intrinsic beauty in the old soup-plates, beer-mugs, and candle-snuffers that we prize so now, or if it is only the halo of age glow- ing around them that gives them their charms in our eyes. The old blue ” that we hang about our walls as ornaments were the common everyday household utensils of a few centuries ago , and the pink shepherds and the yellow shepherdesses that we hand round now for all our friends to gush over, and pretend they understand, were the unvalued mantel ornaments that the mother of the eighteenth century would have given the baby to suck when he cried. Will it be the same in the future ? Will the prized treasures of to-day always be the cheap trifles of the day before ? Will rows of our willow-pattern dinner- plates be ranged above the chimney-pieces of the great in the years 2000 and odd ? Will the white cups with the gold rim and the beautiful gold flower inside (species unknown), that our Sarah Janes now break in sheer light-heartedness of spirit, be care- 76 Three Men in a Boat. fully mended, and stood upon a bracket, and dusted only by the lady of the bouse ? That china dog that ornaments the bedroom of my furnished lodgings. It is a white dog. Its eyes are blue. Its nose is a delicate red, with black spots. Its head is painfully erect, and its expression is amiability carried to the verge of imbecility. I do not admire it myself. Considered as a work of art, I may say it irritates me. Thoughtless friends jeer at it, and even my landlady herself has no admira- tion for it, and excuses its presence by the circum- stance that her aunt gave it to her. But in two hundred years’ time it is more than probable that that dog will be dug up from some- where or other, minus its legs, and with its tail broken, and will be sold for old china, and put in a glass cabinet. And people will pass it round, and admire it. They will be struck by the wonderful depth of the color on the nose, and speculate as to how beautiful the bit of the tail that is lost no doubt was. We, in this age, do not see the beauty of that dog. We are too familiar with it. It is like the sunset and the stars: we are not awed by their loveliness because they are common to our eyes. So it is with that china dog. In 2288 people will gush over it. The making of such dogs will have become a lost art. Our descendants will wonder how we did it, and say how clever we were. We shall be referred to lovingly as those grand old 75 Three Men in a Boat. artists that flourished in the nineteenth century, and produced those china dogs,’' The ‘‘sampler” that the oldest daughter did at school will be spoken of as “ tapestry of the Victo- rian era,” and be also priceless. The blue-and-white mugs of the present day road-side inn will be hunted up, all cracked and chipped, and sold for their weight in gold, and rich people will use them for claret cups; and travelers from Japan will buy up all the “Presents from Eamsgate,” and “Souvenirs of Mar- gate,” that may have escaped destruction, and take them back to Jedo as ancient English curios. At this point Harris threw away the sculls, got up and left his seat, and sat on his back, and stuck his legs in the air. Montmorency howled, and turned a somersault, and the top hamper jumped up, a^^d all the things came out. I was somewhat surprised, but I did not lose my temper. I said, pleasantly enough : “Halloo! what’s that for?” “ What’s that for? Why ” No, on second thoughts, I will not repeat what Harris said. I may have been to blame, I admit it ; but nothing excuses violence of language and coarse- ness of expression, especially in a man r "^as been carefully brought up, as I know Harris has been. I was thinking of other things, and forgot, as any one might easily understand, that I was steering, and the consequence was that we had got mixed up a good 77 Three Men in a Boat. deal with the tow-path. It was difficult to say, for the moment, which was us and which was the Mid- dlesex bank of the river; but we found out after awhile, and separated ourselves. Harris, however, said he had done enough for a bit, and proposed that I should take a turn ; so, as we were in, I got out and took the tow-line, and ran the boat on past Hampton Court. What a dear old wall that is that runs along by the river there I I never pass it without feeling better for the sight of it. Such a mellow, bright, sweet old wall ; what a charming picture it would make, with the lichen creeping here, and the moss growing there, a shy young vine peeping over the top at this spot, to see what is going on upon the busy river, and the sober old ivy clustering a little further down. There are fifty shades and tints and hues in every ten yards of that old wall. If I could only draw, and knew how to paint, I could make a lovely sketch of that old wall, I’m sure. I’ve often thought I should like to live at Hampton Court. It looks so peaceful and so quiet, and is such a dear old place to ramble round in the early morning before many people are about. But there, I don’t suppose I should really care for it when it came to actual practice. It would be so ghastly dull and depressing in the evening when your lamp cast uncanny shadows on the paneled walls, and the echo of distant feet rang through the cold stone corridors, and now drew nearer, and now died 78 Three Men in a Boat. away, and all was deathlike silence, save the beating of one’s own heart. We are creatures of tfie sun, we men ana women. We love light and life. That is why we crowd into the towns and cities, and the country grows more and more deserted every year. In the sunlight — in the daytime, when Nature is alive and busy all around us, we like the open hillsides and the deep woods well enough: but in the night, when our Mother Earth has gone to sleep, and left us waking, oh I the world seems so lonesome, and we get frightened, like children in a silent house. Then we sit and sob and long for the gas-lit streets, and the sound of human voices, and the answering throb of human life. We feel so helpless and so little in the great stillness, when the dark trees rustle in the night wind. There are so many ghosts about, and their silent sighs make us feel so sad. Let us gather together in the great cities, and light huge bonfires of a million gas jets, and shout and sing together, and feel brave. Harris asked me if I’d ever been in the maze at Hampton Court. He said he went in once to show somebody else the way. He had studied it up in a map, and it was so simple that it seemed foolish — hardly worth the twopence charged for admission. Harris said he thought that map must have been got up as a practical joke, because it wasn’t a bit like the real thing, and only misleading. It 79 Three Men in a Boat. was a country cousin that Harris took in. He said : We^ll just go in there, so that you can say youVe been, but it’s very simple. It’s absurd to call it a maze. You keep on taking the first turning to the right. We’ll just walk round for ten minutes, and then go and get some lunch.” They met some people soon after they had got inside, who said they had been there for three- quarters of an hour, and had had about enough of it. Harris told them they could follow him, if they liked ; he was just going in, and then should turn round and come out again. They said it was very kind of him, and fell behind and followed. They picked up various other people who wanted to get it over, as they went along, until they had absorbed all the persons in the maze. People who had given up all hopes of ever getting either in or out, or of ever seeing their home and friends again, plucked up courage at the sight of Harris and his party, and joined the procession, blessing him. Harris said he should judge there must have been twenty people following him, in all ; and one woman with a baby, who had been there all the morning, insisted on taking his arm, for fear of losing him. Harris kept on turning to the right, but it seemed a long way, and his cousin said he supposed it was a very big maze. Oh, one of the largest in Europe,” said Harris. 8 Three Men in a Boat. ^^Yes, it must be/’ replied the cousin, '^because we’ve walked a good two miles already.” Harris began to think it rather strange himself, but he held on until, at last, they passed the half of a penny bun on the ground that Harris’ cousin swore he had noticed there' seven minutes ago. Harris said : Oh, impossible I ” but the woman with the baby said, Not at all,” as she herself had taken it from the child, and thrown it down there, just before she met Harris. She also added that she wished she never had met Harris, and expressed an opinion that he was an impostor. That made Harris mad, and he produced his map, and explained his theory. The map may be all right enough,” said one of the party, if you know whereabouts in it we are now.” Harris didn’t know, and suggested that the best thing to do would be to go back to the entrance, and begin again. For the beginning again part of it there was not much enthusiasm ; but with regard to the advisability of going back to the entrance there was complete unanimity, and so they turned, and trailed after Harris again, in the opposite direction. About ten minutes more passed, and then they found themselves in the center. Harris thought at first of pretending that that was what he had been aiming at ; but the crowd looked dangerous, and he decided to treat it as an accident. Anyhow, they had got something to start from then. They did know where they were and the map 6 81 Three Men in a Boat was once more consulted, and the thing seemed simpler than ever, and off they started for the third time. And three minutes later they were back in the centre again. After that they simply couldnft get anywhere else. Whatever way they turned brought them back to the middle. It became so regular at length, that some of the people stopped there, and waited for the others to take a walk round, and come back to them. Harris drew out his map again, after awhile, but the sight of it only inftiriated the mob, and they told him to go and curl his hair with it. Harris said that he couldn’t help feeling that, to a certain extent, he had become unpopular. They all got crazy at last, and sung out for the keeper, and the man came and climbed up the ladder outside, and shouted out directions to them. But all their heads were, by this time, in such a confused whirl that they were incapable of grasping anything, and so the man told them to stop where they were, and he would come to them. They huddled together and waited ; and he climbed down, and came in. He was a young keeper, as luck would have it, and new to the business; and when he got in, he couldn’t find them, and he wandered about, trying to get to them, and then he got lost. They caught sight of him, every now and then, rushing about the other side of the hedge, and he would see them, 82 Three Men in a Boat. and rush to get to them, and they would wait there for about five minutes, and then he would reappear again in exactly the same spot, and ask them where they had been. They had to wait till one of the old keepers came back from his dinner before they got out. Harris said he thought it was a very fine maze, so far as he was a judge ; and we agreed that we would try to get George to go into it, on our way back. S3 Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTER VII. The river in its Sunday garb.— Dress on the river. — A chance for the men.— Absence of taste in Harris.— George’s blazer.— A day with the fashion-plate young lady. — Mrs. Thomas’ tomb.— The man who loves not graves and coffins and skulls.— Harris mad.— His views on George and Banks and lemonade.— He performs tricks. I T WAS while passing through Moulsey Lock that Harris told me about his maze experience. It took us some time to pass through as we were the only boat, and it is a big lock. I don^t think I ever remember to have seen Moulsey Lock before with only one boat in it. It is, I suppose Boulter’s not even excepted, the busiest lock on the river. I have stood and watched it sometimes when you could not see any water at all, but only a brilliant tangle of bright blazers, and gay caps, and saucy hats, and many colored parasols, and silken rugs, and cloaks, and streaming ribbons, and dainty whites ; when looking down into the lock from the quay, you might fancy it was a huge box into which flowers of every hue and shade had been thrown pell-mell, and lay piled up in a rainbow heap, that covered every corner. On a fine Sunday it presents this appearance nearly all day long, while up the stream, and down the stream, lie, waiting their turn, outside the gates, long lines of still more boats ; and boats are drawing 84 Three Men in a Boat. near and passing away, so that the sunny river, from the Palace up to Hampton Church, is dotted and decked with yellow, and blue, and orange, and white, and red, and pink. All the inhabitants of Hampton and Moulsey dress themselves up in boating costume, and come and mouch round the lock with their dogs, and flirt, and smoke, and watch the boats ; and, alto- gether, what with the caps and jackets of the men, the pretty colored dresses of the women, the excited dogs, the moving boats, the white sails, the pleasant landscape, and the sparkling water, it is one of the gayest sights I know of near this dull old London town. The river affords a good opportunity for dress. For once in a way, we men are able to show our taste in colors, and I think we come out very natty, if you ask me. I always like a little red in my things — red and black. You know my hair is a sort of golden brown, rather a pretty shade IVe been told, and a dark-red matches it beautifully ; and then I always think a light-blue necktie goes so well with it, and a pair of those Eussian-leather shoes and a red silk handkerchief round the waist — a handkerchief looks so much better than a belt. Harris always keeps to shades or mixtures of orange or yellow, but I don’t think he is at all wise in this. His complexion is too dark for yellows. Yellows don’t suit him; there can be no question about it. I want him to take to blue as a back- ground, with white or cream for relief ; but. there ! 85 Tlir<^p Men in a Boat. the less taste a person has in dress, the mere obsti- nate he always seems to be. It is a great pity, because he will never be a success as it is, while there are one or two colors in which he might not really look so bad, with his hat on. George has bought some new things for this trip, and I^m rather vexed about them. The blazer is loud. I should not like George to know that I thought so, but there really is no other word for it. He brought it home and showed it to us on Thursday evening. We asked him what color he called it, and he said he didn’t know. He didn’t think there was a name for the color. The man had told him it was an Oriental design. George put it on, and asked us what we thought of it. Harris said that, as an object to hang over a flower-bed in early spring to frighten the birds away, he should respect it ; but that, con- sidered as an article of dress for any human being, except a Margate nigger, it made him ill. George got quite hufly ; but, as Harris said, if he didn’t want his opinion, why did he ask for it ? What troubles Harris and myself, with regard to it, is that we are afraid it will attract attention to the boat. Girls also don’t look half bad in a boat, if prettily dressed. Nothing is more fetching, to my thinking, than a tasteful boating costume. But a “boating costume,” it would be as well if all ladies would understand, ought to be a costume that can be worn in a boat, and not merely under a glass case. It S6 Three Men in a Boat. utterly spoils an excursion if you have folk in the boat who are thinking all the time a good deal more of their dress than of the trip. It w^as my misfortune once to go for a water picnic with two ladies of this kind. We did have a lively time. They were both beautifully got up — all lace aud silky stuff, and flowers, and ribbons, and dainty shoes, and light gloves. But they were dressed for a photographic studio, not for a river picnic. They were the “ boating costumes ’’ of a French fashion- plate. It was ridiculous, fooling about in them any- where near real earth, air, and water. The first thing was that they thought the boat was not clean. We dusted all the seats for them, and then assured them that it was, but they didn’t believe us. One of them rubbed the cushion with the forefinger of her glove, and showed the result to the other, and they both sighed, and sat down, with the air of early Christian martyrs trying to make themselves comfortable up against the stake. You are liable to occasionally splash a little when scull- ing, and it appeared that a drop of water ruined those costumes. The mark never came out, and a stain was left on the dress forever. I was stroke. I did my best. I feathered some two feet high, and I paused at the end of each stroke to let the blades drip before returning them, and I picked out a smooth bit of water to drop them into again each time. (Bow said, after awhile, that he did not feel himself a sufficiently accomplished 87 Three Men in a Boat. oarsman io pull with me, but that he would sit still if I would allow him, and study my stroke. He said it interested him.) But notwithstanding all this, and try as I would, I could not help an occasional flicker of water from going over those dresses. The girls did not complain, but they huddled up close together and set their lips Arm, and every time a drop touched them they visibly shrunk and shuddered. It was a noble sight to see them sufler- ing thus in silence, but it unnerved me altogether. I am too sensitive. I got wild and fitful in my rowing, and splashed more and more, the harder I tried not to. I gave it up at last; I said Td row bow. Bow thought the arrangement would be better, too, and we changed places. The ladies gave an involuntary sigh of relief when they saw me go, and quite brightened up for a moment. Poor girls I they had better have put up with me. The man they had got now was a jolly, light-hearted, thick-headed sort of a chap, with about as much sensitiveness in him as there might be in a Newfoundland puppy. You might look daggers at him for an hour and he would not notice it, and it would not trouble him if he did. He set a good rollicking dashing stroke that sent the spray playing all over the boat like a fountain, and made the whole crowd sit up straight in no time. When he spread more than a pint of water over one of those dresses, he would give a pleasant little laugh, and say: Three Men in a Boat. * I beg your pardon, I’m sure ; and offer them Ms handkerchief to wipe it off with. “ Oh, it’s of no consequence,*’ the poor girls would murmur in reply, and covertly draw rugs and coats over themselves, and try and protect themselves with their lace parasols. At lunch they had a very bad time of it. People wanted them to sit on the grass, and the grass was dusty ; and the tree trunks, against which they were invited to lean, did not appear to have been brushed for weeks; so they spread their handkerchiefs on the ground and sat on those, bolt upright. Somebody, in walking about with a plate of beefsteak pie, tripped up over a root, and sent the pie flying. None of it went over them, fortunately, but the accident suggested a fresh danger to them, and agitated them; and, whenever anybody moved about, after that, with anything in his hand that could fall and make a mess, they watched that person with grow- ing anxiety until he sat down again. “Now, then, you girls,” said our friend Bow to them cheerily, after it was all over, “come along you’ve got to wash up I ” They didn’t understand him at first. When they grasped the idea, they said they feared they did no>. know how to wash up. “Oh, I’ll soon show you,” he cried, “it’s rare fun ! You lie down on your — I mean you lean over the bank, you know, and sloush the things about in the water.” 89 Three Men in a Boat. The eldest sister said that she was afraid that they hadn’t got on dresses suited to the work. Oh, they’ll be all right,” said he light-heartedly; ‘Hack ’em up.” And he made them do it, too. He told them that that sort of thing was half the fun of a picnic. They said it was very interesting. Now I come to think it over, was that young man as dense-headed as we thought ? or was he — no, im- possible! there was such a simple, childlike ex- pression about him I Harris wanted to get out at Hampton Church, to go and see Mrs. Thomas’ tomb. ‘‘ Who is Mrs. Thomas ? ” I asked. How should I know ? ” replied Harris. She’s a lady that’s got a funny tomb, and I want to see it.” I objected. I don’t know whether it is that I am built wrong, but I never did seem to hanker after tombstones myself. I know that the proper thing to do, when you get to a village or town, is to rush off to the churchyard, and enjoy the graves; but it is a recreation that I always deny myself. I take no interest in creeping round dim and chilly churches behind wheezy old men, and reading epitaphs. Not even the sight of a bit of cracked brass let into g stone affords me what I call real happiness. I shock respectable sextons by the imperturba bility I am able to assume before exciting inscrip' tions, and by my lack of enthusiasm fo” *he ioc^ 90 Three Hen in n Boat family history, while my ill concealed anxiety to get outside wounds their feelings. One golden morning of a sunny day I leaned against the low stone wall that guarded a little vil- lage church, and I smoked, and drank in deep, cahn gladness from the sweet, restful scene — the gray old church with its clustering ivy and its quaint carved wooden porch, the white lane winding down the hill between tall rows of elms, the thatched-roof cottages peeping above their trim-kept hedges, the silver river in the hollow, the wooded hills beyond I It was a lovely landscape. It was idyllic, poetical, and it inspired me. I felt good and noble. I felt I didn’t want to be sinful and wicked any more. I would come and live here, and never do any more wrong, and lead a blameless, beautiful life, and have silver hair when I got old, and all that sort of thing. In that moment I forgave all my friends and rela- tions for their wickedness and cussedness, and I blessed them. They did not know that I blessed them. They went their abandoned way all uncon- scious of what I, far away in that peaceful village, was doing for them ; but I did it, and I wished that I could let them know that I had done it, because I wanted to make them happy. I was going on think- ing away all these grand, tender thoughts, when my reverie was broken in upon by a shrill, piping voice crying out : ‘‘All right, sur, I’m a-coming, I’m a-coming. It’» all right, sur; don’t you be in a hurry.’' 91 Three Men in a Boat. f looked up, and saw an old bald-headed maa hobbling ijcross the churchyard toward me carrying a bunch of keys in his hand that shook and jingled at every step. I motioned him away with silent dignity, but he still advanced, screeching out the while : ‘‘I'm a-comin’, sur, I’m a-comin. I’m a little lame. I ain’t as spry as I used to be. This way, sur.” Go away, you miserable old man,” I said. '^IVe come as soon as I could, sur,” he replied. “ My missis never see you till just thi^ minute. You follow me, sur.” ''Go away,” I repeated; 'Ueave me before I get over the wall and slay you.’* He seemed surprised. Don’t you want to see the tombs ?” he said. No,” I answered, “ I don’t. I want to stop here, leaning up against this gritty old wall. Go away, and don’t disturb me. I am chock-full of beautiful and noble thoughts, and I want to stop like it, because it feels nice and good. Don’t you come fooling about, making me mad, chivvying away all my better feelings with this silly tombstone nonsense of yours. Go away, and get somebody to bury you cheap, and I’ll pay half the expense.” He was bewildered for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, and looked hard at me. I seemed hu- man enough on the outside; he couldn’t make it out 92 Three Men in a Boat. He said : Yuise a stranger in these parts ? You don^t live here ? No,” I said, I don’t. You wouldn’t if I did.” ‘^Well, then,” he said, ^'you want to see the tombs — graves — folks been buried, you know — coffins I ” You are an untruther,” I replied, getting roused ; I do not want to see tombs — not your tombs. Why should I? We have graves of our own, our family has. Why, my Uncle Podger has a tomb in Kensal Green Cemetery, that is the pride of all that country-side ; and my grandfather’s vault at Bow is capable of accommodating eight visitors, while my great-aunt Susan has a brick grave in Finchley Churchyard, with a headstone with a coffee-pot sort of thing in bas-relief upon it, and a six-inch best white stone coping all the way round, that cost pounds. When I want graves, it is to those places that I go and revel. I do not want other folks’. When you yourself are buried, I will come and see yours. That is all I can do for you.” He burst into tears. He said that one of the tombs had a bit of stone upon the top of it that had been said by some to be probably part of the re- mains of a figure of a man, and that another had some words carved upon it, that nobody had ever been able to decipher. I still remained obdurate, and, in broken-heaxted ^nes, he said : Three Men in a Boat. ''Well, won’t you come and see the memorial window ? ” I would not even see that, so he fired his last shot. He drew near, and whispered hoarsely : " I’ve got a couple of skulls down in the crypt,” he said; "come and see those. Oh, do come and see the skulls I You are a young man out for a holiday, and you want to enjoy yourself. Come and see the skulls I ” Then I turned and fled, and as I sped I heard him calling to me: " Oh, come and see the skulls; come back and see the skulls I” Harris, however, revels in tombs, and graves, and epitaphs, and monumental inscriptions, and the thought of not seeing Mrs. Thomas’ grave made him crazy. He said he had looked forward to seeing Mrs. Thomas’ grave from the first moment that the trip was proposed — said he wouldn’t have joined if it hadn’t been for the idea of seeing Mrs. Thomas’ tomb. I reminded him of George, and how we had to get the boat up to Shepperton by five o’clock to meet him, and then he went for George. Why was George to fool about all day, and leave us to lug this lumbering old top-heavy barge up and down the river by ourselves to meet him ? Why couldn’t George come and do some work? Why couldn't he have got the day off, and come down with us? Bank be blowed I *\^^at good was he at the bank ? Three Men in a l^at. never see him doing any work there,” con- tinued Harris, “ whenever I go in. He sits behind a bit of glass all day, trying to look as if he were doing something. What’s the good of a man be« hind a bit of glass ? I have to work for my living. 'Why can’t he work? What use is he there and what’s the good of their banks? They take your money, and then, when you draw a check, they send it back smeared all over with ^No effects,’ ‘Eefer to drawer.’ What’s the good of that? That’s the sort of trick they served me twice last week. I'm not going to stand it much longer. I shall withdraw my account. If he was here, we could go and see that tomb. I don’t believe he*s at the bank at all. He’s larking about somewhere, that’s what he’s doing, leaving us to do all the work. I’m going to get out, and have a drink.” I pointed out to him that we were miles away from a pub. ; and then he went on about the river, and what was the good of the river, and was every one who came on the river to die of thirst ? It is always best to let Harris have his head when he gets like this. Then he pmnps himself out, and is quiet afterward. I reminded him that there was concentrated lemonade in the hamper, and a gallon jar of water in the nose of the boat, and that the two only wanted mixing to make a cool and refreshing beverage. Then he flew off about lemonade, and “ such like Bunday-school slops,” as he termed them, ginger <^5 I'hree Men in a Boat. beer, raspberry syrup, etc., etc. He said they all produced dyspepsia, and ruined body and soul alike, and were the cause of half the crime in England. He said he must drink something, however, and climbed upon the seat, and leaned over to get the bottle. It was right at the bottom of the hamper, and seemed difficult to find, and he had to lean over further and further, and in trying to steer at the same time, from a topsy-turvy point of view, he pulled the wrong line, and sent the boat into the bank, and the shock upset him, and he dived down right into the hamper, and stood there on his head, holding on to the sides of the boat like grim death, his legs sticking up into the air. He dared not move for fear of going over, and had to stay there till I could get hold of his legs, and haul him back, and that made him madder than ever. 96 Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTER VIII. Blackmailing. — The proper course to pursue.— Selfish boorishness of river-side landowner. — “Notice” boards. — Unchristianlike feelings of H«.,rris. — How Harris sings a comic song.- A high- class party.— Shameful conduct of two abandoned young men. —Some useless information.— George buys a banjo. E stopped under the willows by Kempton Park, and lunched. It is a pretty little spot there : a pleasant grass plateau, running along by the water’s edge, and overhung with willows. We had just commenced the third course — the bread and jam — when a gentleman in shirt-sleeves and a short pipe cam along, and wanted to know if we knew that we were trespassing. We said we hadn’t given the matter sufficient consideration as yet to enable us to arrive at a definite conclusion on that point, but that, if he assured us on his word as a gentleman that we were trespassing, we would, without further hesitation, believe it. He gave us the required assurance, and we thanked him, but he still hung about, and seemed to be dis- satisfied, so we asked him if there was anything further that we could do for him ; and Harris who is of a chummy disposition, offered him a bit of bread and jam. I fancy he must have belonged to some society sworn to abstain from bread and jam; for he declined it quite gruffly, as if he were vexed at being tempted 7 97 Three Men in a Boat. with it, and he added that it was his duty to turn us off, Harris said that if it was a duty it ought to be done, and asked the man what was his idea with regard to the best means for accomplishing it. Harris is t\^hat you would call a well-made man of about number one size, and looks hard and bony, and the man measured him up and down, and said he would go and consult his master, and then come back and chuck us both into the river. Of course, we never seen him any more, and, of course, all he really wanted was a shilling. There are a certain amount of river-side roughs who make quite an income, during the summer, by slouching about the banks and blackmailing weak-minded noodles in this way. They represent themselves as sent by the proprietor. The proper course to pur- sue is to offer your name and address, and leave the owner, if he really has anything to do with the matter, to summon you, and prove what damage you have done to his land by sitting down on a bit of it. But the majority of people are so intensely lazy and timid, that they prefer to encourage the imposition by giving into it rather than put an end to it by the exertion of a little firmness. Where it is really the owners that are to blame, they ought to be shown up. The selfishness of the riparian proprietor grows with every year. If these men had their way they would close the Eiver Thames altogether. They actually do this along the minor tributary streams 98 Three Men in a Boat, and in the backwaters. They drive posts into the bed of the stream, and draw chains across from bank to bank, and nail huge notice-boards on every tree. The sight of those notice-boards ro^'^ses every evil instinct in my nature. I feel I want to tear each one down, and hammer it over the head of the man who put it up, until I have killed him, and then I would bury him, and put the board up over the grave as a tombstone. I mentioned these feelings of mine to Harris, and he said he had them worse than that. He said he not only felt he wanted to kill the man who caused the board to be put up, but that he should like to slaughter the whole of his family and all his friends and relations, and then burn down his house. This seemed to me to be going too far, and I said so to Harris ; but he answered : “Not a bit of it. Serve ’em all jolly well right, and I’d go and sing comic songs on the ruins.” I was vexed to hear Harris go on in this blood- thirsty strain. We never ought to allow our instincts :>f justice to degenerate into mere vindictiveness. It was a long while before I could get Harris to take a more Christian view of the subject, but I succeeded at last, and he promised me that he would spare the friends and relations at all events, and would not sing comic songs on the ruins. You have never heard Harris sing a comic song, or you would understand the service I had rendered to mankind. It was one of Httnlfe’ fixed ideas that 99 Three Men in a Boat. he can sing a comic song ; the fixed idea on the con- trary among those of Harris’ friends who have heard him try, is that he canH, and never will be able to. and that he ought not to be allowed to try. When Harris is at a party, and is asked to sing, he replies: “Well, I can only sing a comic song, you know ; ” and he says it in a tone that implies that his singing of that, however, is a thing that you ought to hear at once, and then die. “Oh, that is nice,” says the hostess. “Do sing one, Mr. Harris ; ” and Harris gets up and makes for the piano, with the beaming cheeriness of a generous- minded man who is just about to give somebody something. “ Now, silence, please, everybody,” says the hostess, turning round ; “ Mr. Harris is going to sing a comic song I ” “ Oh, how jolly I ” they murmur ; and they hurry in from the conservatory, and come up from the stairs, and go and fetch each other from all over the house, and crowd into the drawing-room, and sit round, all smirking in anticipation. Then Harris begins. Well, you don’t look for much of a voice in a comic song. You don’t expect correct phrasing or vocalization. You don’t mind if a man does find out, when in the middle of a note, that he is too high, and comes down with a jerk. You don’t bother about time. You don’t mind a man being a few bars in fiont of the accompaniment, and easing up 100 Three Men in a Boat. in the middle of a line to argue it out with the pianist, and then starting the verse afresh. But you do expect the words. You don't expect a man to never remember more than the first three lines of the first verse, and to keep on repeating these until it is time to begin the chorus. You don’t expect a man to break off in the middle of a line, and snigger, and say it’s very fiinny, but he’s blest if he can think of the rest of it, and then try and make it up for himself, and afterward suddenly recollect it, when he has got to an entirely different part of the song, and break off, without a word of warning, to go back and let you have it then and there. You don’t — well, I will just give you an idea of Harris’ comic singing, and then you can judge of it for yourself. Harris {standing up in front of the piano and addressing the expectant mob): ^H’m afraid it’s a very old thing, you know. I expect you all know it, you know. But it’s the only thing I know. It’s the Judge’s song out of 'Pinafore’ — no, I don’t mean 'Pinafore’ — I mean — you know what I mean — the other thing, you know. You must all join in the chorus, you know.” {^Murmurs of delight and anxiety to join in the chorus. Brilliant performance of prelude to the Judge^s song in Trial by Jury^^ by nervms pianist. Moment arrives for Harris to join in, Harris takes no notice of it. Nervous pianist commences prelude over again^ and Harris, commencing singing at the 101 I'hree Men in a fioat. lame time^ dashes off the first two lines of the First hordes song out of “ PinaforeJ^ Nervous pianist tries to push on with prelude^ gives it up, and tries to follow Harris with accompaniment to Judgds song out of “ Trial hy Juryf^ finds that doesnH answer, and tries to recollect what he is doing, and where he is, feels his mind giving way, and stops short~\ Hakris {with kindly encouragement): all right. You’re doing it very well, indeed — go on.” Nervous Pianist : I’m afraid there’s a mistake somewhere. What are you singing ? ” Harris {promptly) : ‘‘Why, the Judge’s song out of ‘ Trial by Jury.’ Don’t you know it? ” Some Friend of Harris’ {from the bach of the room) : “ No, you’re not, you chuckle-head, you’re singing the Admiral’s song from ‘ Pinafore.’ ” [Long argument between Harris and Harris* friend ^ to what Harris is really singing. Friend finally suggests that it doesnH maHer what Harris is singing so long as Harris gets on and sings it, and Harris, with an evident sense of injustice rankling inside him requests pianist to begin again. Pianist, thereupon, starts prelude to the AdmiraVs song, and Harris, seizing what he considers to be a favorable opening in the musiCj begins^ Harris : “ ‘ When I was young and called to the Bar,” [General roar of laughter, taken by Harris as a eompliment. Pianist, thinking of his wife and family, 102 Three Men in a Boat. up the unequal contest and retiree ; hii place being taken by a stronger-nerved man']. The New Pianist {cheerily): ‘‘Now then, old man, you start off, and I’ll follow. We won’t bother about any prelude.” Harris [upon whom the explanation of matters has slowly dawned — laughing): “By Jove! I beg your pardon. Of course — I’ve been mixing up the two songs. It was Jenkins confused me, you know. Now then.” \Singing ; his voice appearing to come from the cellar^ and suggesting the first low warnings of an approaching earthquake,] ■^‘ When I was young I served a temp As ottice-boy to an attorney’s firm.’ ** (Aside to Pianist ] : “ It’s too low, old man ; we’ll have that over again, if you don’t mind.” \Sings first two lines over again in a high fdsctto this time. Great surprise on the part of the audience. Nervous old lady near the fire begins to cry^ and has to be led out,\ Harris {co n ti nuing) : 1 swept the windows and I swept the door. And I ’ No — no, I cleaned the vdndows of the big from door. And I polished up the floor — no, dash it — 1 Deg your pardon — fiinny thing. I can’t think oi 103 Three Men in a Boat. that line. And T — and I — oh, well, we’ll get on to the chorus, and chance it ” [sings) : “*And I diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-de» Till now I am the ruler of the Queen’s navee ; ' Now then, chorus — it’s the last two lines repeated, /^ou know.” General Chorus: ** *And he diddie-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-dee’d, Till now he is the ruler of the Queen’s navee.’ ” And Harris never sees what an ass he is making of himself, and how he is annoying a lot of people who never did him any harm. He honestly imagines that he has given them a treat, and says he will sing another comic song after supper. Speaking of comic songs and parties, reminds me of a rather curious incident at which I once assisted; which, as it throws much light upon the inner mental working of human nature in general, ought, I think, to be recorded in these pages. We were a fashionable and highly cultured party. We had on our best clothes, and we talked pretty, and were very happy — all except two young fellows, students, just returned from Germany, commonplace young men, who seemed restless and uncomfortable, as if they found the proceedings slow. The truth was, we were too clever for them. Our brilliant but polished conversation, and our high-class tastes, were beyond tbexn. They were out of place among us. Three Men in a Boat. They never ought to have been there at all. Every- body agreed upon that, later on. We played morceaux from the old German masters. We discussed philosophy and ethics. We flirted with graceful dignity. We were even humorous — in a high-class way. Somebody recited a French poem after supper, and we said it was beautiful; and then a lady sung a sentimental ballad in Spanish and it made one or two of us weep — it was so pathetic. And then those two young men got up, and asked if we had ever heard Herr Slossenn Boschen (who had just arrived, and was then down in the supper- room) sing his great German comic song. None of us had heard it, that we could remember. The young men said it was the funniest song that had ever been written, and that, if we liked, they would get Herr Slossenn Boschen, whom they knew very well, to sing it. They said it was so funny that, when Herr Slossenn Boschen had sung it once before the German Emperor, he (the German Emperor), had had to be carried off to bed. They said nobody could sing it like Herr Slossenn Boschen ; he was so intensely serious all through it that you might fancy he was reciting a tragedy, and that, of course, made it all the funnier. They said he never once suggested by his tone or manner that he was singing anything fiinny — that would spoil it. It was his air of seriousness, almost of pathos, that made it so irresistibly amusing. 105 Three Men in a Boat. We said we yearned to hear it, that we wanted a good laugh ; and they went downstairs, and fetched Herr Slossenn Boschen. He appeared to be quite pleased to sing it, for he came up at once, and sat down to the piano without another word. Oh, it will amuse you. You will laugh,’ ^ whis- pered the two young men, as they passed through the room and took up an unobtrusive position be- hind the professor’s back. Herr Slossenn Boschen accompanied himself. The prelude did not suggest a comic song exactly. It was a weird, soulful air. It quite made one’s flesh creep f but we murmured to one another that it was the German method, and prepared to enjoy it. I don’t understand German myself. I learned it at school, but forgot every word of it two years after I had left, and have felt much better ever since. Still, I did not want the people there to guess my ignorance; so I hit upon what I thought to be rather a good idea. I kept my eye on the two young students, and followed them. When they tittered, I tittered; when they roared, I roared; and I also threw in a little snigger all by myself now and then, as if I had seen a bit of humor that had escaped the others. I considered this particularly artfiil on my part. I noticed, as the song progressed, that a good many other people seemed to have their eye fixed on the two young men, as well as myself. These 106 Three Men in a Boat. other people also tittered when the young men tittered, and . j*ed when the young men roared; and, as the two young men tittered and roared and exploded with laughter pretty continuously all through the song, it went exceedingly well. And yet that German professor did not seem happy. At first, when we began to laugh, the ex- pression of his face was one of intense surprise, as if laughter were the very last thing he had expected to be greeted with. We thought this very funny: we said his earnest manner was half the humor. The slightest hint on his part that he knew how fiinny he was would have completely ruined it all. As we continued to laugh, his surprise gave way to an air of annoyance and indignation, and he scowled fiercely round upon us all (except upon the two young men, who, being behind him, he could not see). That sent us into convulsions. We told each other it would be the death of us, this thing. The words alone, we said, were enough to send us into fits, but added to his mock seriousness — oh, it was too much ! In the last verse, he surpassed himself. He glow- ered round upon us with a look of such concentrated ferocity that, but for our being forewarned as to the German method of comic singing, we should have been nervous ; and he threw such a wailing note of agony into the weird music that, if we had not known it was a funny song, we might have wept. He finished amid a perfect shriek of Hatightpr. We 107 Three Men in a Boat. said it was the funniest thing we had ever heard in all our lives. We said how strange it was that, in the face of things like these, there should be a pop- ular notion that the Germans hadn’t any sense of humor. And we asked the professor why he didn’t translate the song into English, so that the common people could understand it, and hear what a real comic song was like. Then Herr Slossenn Boschen got up, and went on awful. He swore at us in German (vfhich I should judge to be a singularly effective language for that purpose), and he danced and shook his fists, and called us all the English he knew. He said he had never been so insulted in all his life. It appeared that the song was not a comic song at all. It was about a young girl who lived in the Hartz Mountains, and who had given up her life to save her lover’s soul ; and he died, and met her spirit in the air; and then, in the last verse, he jilted her spirit, and went on with another spirit— I’m not quite sure of the details, but it was something very sad, I know. Herr Boschen said he had sung it once before the German Emperor, and he (the Ger- man Emperor) had sobbed like a little child. He (Herr Boschen) said it was generally acknowledged to be one of the most tragic and pathetic songs in the German language. It was a trying situation for us — very trying. There seemed to be no answer. We looked around for the two young men who had done this thing, but 108 Three Men in a Boat. they had left the house in an unostentatious manner immediately after the end of the song. That was the end of that party. I never saw a party break up so quietly, and with so little fuss. We never said good-night even to one another. We came downstairs one at a time, walking softly, and keeping the shady side. We asked the servant for our hats and coats in whispers, and opened the door for ourselves, and slipped out, and got round the corner quickly, avoiding each other as much as possible. I have never taken much interest in German songs since then. We reached Sunbury Lock at half-past three. The river is sweetly pretty just there before you come to the gates, and the backwater is charming; but don’t attempt to row up it. I tried to do so once. I was sculling, and asked the fellows ^vho were steering if they thought it could be done, and they said, oh yes I they thought so, if I pulled hard. We were just under the little foot-bridge that crosses it between the two wears, when they said this, and I bent down over the sculls, and set myself up, and pulled. I pulled splendidly. I got well into a steady, rhythmical swing. I put my arms, and my legs, and my back into it. I set myself a good, quick, dashing stroke, and worked in really grand style. My two friends said it was a pleasure to watch me. At the end of five minutes I thought we ought to be pretty 109 Three Men in a Boat. near the wear, and looked up. We were under the bridge, in exactly the same spot that we were when I began, and there v/ere those two idiots, injuring themselves by violent laughing. I had been grind- ing away like mad to keep that boat stuck still under that bridge. I let other people pull up backwaters against strong streams now. We sculled up to Walton, a rather large place for a river-side town. As with all river-side places, only the tiniest corner of it comes down to the water, so that from the boat you might fancy it was a village of some half dozen houses, all told. Windsor and Abingdon are the only towns between London and Oxford that you can really see anything of from the stream. All the others hide round corners, and merely peep at the river down one street; my thanks to them for being so considerate, and leav- ing the river-banks to woods and fields and water- works. Even Beading, though it does its best to spoil and sully and make hideous as much of the river as it can reach, is good-natured enough to keep its ugly face a good deal out of sight. Caesar, of course, had a little place at Walton — a camp, or an intrenchment, or something of that sort. Caesar was a regular up-river man. Also Queen Elizabeth, she was there, too. You can never get away from that woman, go where you will. Crom- well and Bradshaw (not the guide man, but King Charles^ head man) likewise sojourned here. They no Three Men in a Boat, must have been quite a pleasant little party, alto« gether. There is an iron “ scold’s bridle ” in Walton Church. They used these things in ancient days for curbing women’s tongues. They have given up the attempt now. I suppose iron was getting scarce, and nothing else would be strong enough. There are also tombs of note in the church, and I was afraid I should never get Harris past them ; but he didn’t seem to think of them, and we went on. Above the bridge the river winds tremendously. This makes it look picturesque ; but it irritates you from a towing or sculling point of view, and causes argument between the man who is pulling and the man who is steering. You pass Oatlands Park on the right bank here. It is a famous old place. Henry VIII. stole it from some one or the other, I forget whom now, and lived in it. There is a grotto in the park which you can see for a fee, and which is supposed to be very won- derful; but I cannot see much in it myself. The late Duchess of York, who lived at Oatlands, was very fond of dogs, and kept an immense number. She had a special graveyard made, in which to bury them when they died, and there they lie, about fifty of them, with a tombstone over each, and an epitaph inscribed thereon. Well, I dare say they deserve it quite as much as the average Christian does. At “Corway Stakes” — the first bend above Walton ' Bridge — was fought a battle between Caesar and 111 Three Men in a Boat. Cassivelaunus. Cassivelaunus had prepared the river for Caesar, by planting it full of stakes (and had, no doubt, put up a notice-board). But Caesar crossed in spite of this. You couldn’t choke Caesar off that river. He is the sort of man we want round the backwaters now. Halliford and Shepperton are both pretty little spots where they touch the river; but there is nothing remarkable about either of them. There is a tomb in Shepperton Churchyard, however, with a poem on it, and I was nervous lest Harris should want to get out and fool round it. I saw him fix a longing eye on the landing-stage as we drew near it, so I managed, by an adroit movement, to jerk his cap into the water, and in the excitement of recovering that, and his indignation at my clumsiness, he forgot all about his beloved graves. At Weybridge, the Wey (a pretty little stream, navigable for small boats up to Guildford, and one which I have always been making up my mind to explore, and never have), the Bourne, and the Basingstroke Canal all enter the Thames together. The lock is just opposite the town, and the first thing we saw, when we came in view of it, was George’s blazer on one of the lock gates, closer inspection showing that George was inside it. Montmorency set up a furious barking, I shrieked, Harris roared; George waved his hat, and yelled back. The lock-keeper rushed out with a drag, under the impression that somebody had fallen into the 112 Three Men in a Boat. lock, and appeared annoyed at finding that no one had. George had rather a curious oilskin-covered parcel in his hand. It was round and flat at one end, with a long straight handle sticking out of it. " What^s that?” said Harris — ‘‘a frying-pan?” No,” said George, with a strange, wild look glii> tering in his eyes; ^Hhey are all the rage this season; everybody has got them up the river. It’s a banjo.” ^‘I never knew you played the banjo I” cried Harris and I, in one breath. ‘‘Not exactly,” replied George; “but it’s very easy, they tell me; and I’ve got the instruction book I ” S IIS Three Men in a Boat CHAPTER IX. George is introduced to work. — Heathenish instincts of tow- lines.— Ungrateful conduct of a double-sculling skiff.— Towers and towed.— A use discovered for lovers.— Strange disappear- ance of an elderly lady.— Much haste, less speed.— Being towed by girls : exciting sensation.— The missing lock, or the haunted river. — Music. — Saved ! E made George work, now we had got him. He did not want to work, of course; that goes without saying. He had had a hard time in the City, so he exclaimed. Harris, who is callous in his nature, and not prone to pity, said : Ah I and now you are going to have a hard time on the river for a change ; change is good for every one. Out you get I ” He could not in conscience — not even George^s conscience — object, though he did suggest that, per- haps, it would be better for him to stop in the boat, and get tea ready, while Harris and I towed, because getting tea was such a worrying work, and Harris and I looked tired. The only reply we made to this, however, was to pass him over the tow line, and he took it and stepped out. There is something very strange and unaccount- able about a tow-line. You roll it up with as much patience and care as you would take to fold up a new pair of trousers, and five minutes afterward. il4 Three Men in a Boat. when you pick it up, it is one ghastly, soul revolts ing tangle. I do not wish to be insulting, but I firmly believe that if you took an average tow-line, and stretched it out straight across the middle of a field, and then turned your back on it for thirty seconds, that, when you looked around again, you would find that it bad got itself altogether in a heap in the middle of the field, and had twisted itself up, and tied itself into knots, and lost its two ends, and become all loops ; and it would take you a good half-hour, sitting down there on the grass and swearing all the while, to disentangle it again. That is my opinion of tow-lines in general. Of course, there may be honorable exceptions ; I do not say that there are not. There may be tow-lines that are a credit to their p:"ofession— conscientious, respectable tow-lines — tow-lines that do not imagine they are crochet work, and try to knit themselves Up into antimacassars the instant they are left to themselves. I say there may be such tow-lines; I sincerely hope there are. But I have not met with tJiem. This tow-line I had taken in myself just before we had got to the lock. I would not let Harris touch it because he is careless. I had looped it round slowly and cautiously, and tied it up in the middle, and folded it in two, and laid it down gently at the bottom of the boat. Harris had lifted it up scientifically, and had put it into George^a hand, 115 Three Men in a Boat. George had taken it firmly, and held it away from him, and had begun to unravel it as if he were taking the swaddling clothes off a new-born infant ; and before he had unwound a dozen yards, the thing was more like a badly made door-mat than anything else. It is always the same, and the same sort of thing always goes on in connection with it. The man on the bank, who is trying to disentangle it, thinks all the fault lies with the man who rolled it up; and when a man up the river thinks a thing, he says it. What have you been trying to do with it, make a fishing net of it? You’ve made a nice mess, you have ; why could’t you wind it up properly, you silly dummy? he grunts from time to time as he strug- gles wildly with it, and lays it out fiat on the tow- path, and runs round and round it, trying to find the end. On the other hand, the man who wound it up thinks the whole cause of the muddle rests with the man who is trying to unwind it. “ It was all right when you took it I he exclaims indignantly. Why don’t you think what you are doing? You go about things in such a slap-dash slyle. You’d get a scaffolding pole entangled, you would I And then they feel so angry with one another that they would like to hang each other with the thing. Ten minutes go by, and the first man gives a yell and goes mad, and dances on the rope, and tries to iia Three Men In a Boa& pull it straight by seizing hold of the first piece that comes to his hand and hauling at it. Of course this only gets it into a tighter tangle than ever. Then the second man climbs out of the boat and comes to help him, and then they get in each other^s way and hinder one another. They both get hold of the same bit of line, and pull at it in opposite directions, and wonder where it is caught. In the end, they do get it clear, and then turn round and find that the boat has drifted ofi*, and is making straight for the wear. This really happened once to my own knowledge. It was up by Boveney, one rather windy morning. We were pulling down stream, and, as we came round the bend, wo noticed a couple of men on the bank. They were looking at each other with as be- wildered and helplessly miserable an expression as I have ever witnessed on any human countenance before or since, and they held a long tow-line between them. It was clear that something had happened, so we eased up and asked them what was the matter. ‘‘Why, our boat’s gone ofifl ” they replied, in an indignant tone. “We just got out to disentangle the tow-line, and when we looked round, it was gone ! ** And they seemed hurt at what they evidently i^arded as a mean and ungrateful act on the part of the boat. We found the truant for them half a mile further down, held by some rushes, and we brought it back to them. I bet they did not give that boat another 117 Three Men in a Sioat. chance for a week. I shall never forget the picture of those two men walking up and down *he bank with a tow-line looking for their boat. One sees a good many funny incidt^^cd ^ the river in connection with towing. One of tu^, most common is the sight of a couple of towers, walking briskly along, deep in an animated discussion, while the man in the boat, a hundred yards behind them, is vainly shrieking to them to stop, and making frantic signs of distress with a scull. Something has gone wrong; the rudder has come off, or the boat-hook has slipped overboard, or his hat has dropped into the water and is Seating rapidly down stream. He calls to them to stop, quite gently and politely at first. “Hi I stop a minute, will he shouts cheer- ily. “ IVe dropped my hat overboard.^’ Then: “Hi! Tom— Dick I canT you hear?’^ not quite so afiably this time. Then: “Hi I Confound yow, you dunder-headed idiots I Hi I stop 1 Oh, you ! ” After that he springs up, and dances about, and roars himself red in the face, and curses everything he knows. And the small boys on the bank stop and jeer at him, and pitch stones at him as he is pulled along pa^^t them, at the rate of four miles an hour, and he can’t get out. Much of this sort of trouble would be saved if those who are towing would keep remembering that they are towing, and give a pretty frequent look ns Three Men in a Boat. round to see how their man is getting on. It is best to let one person tow. When two are doing it they get chattering, and forget, and the boat itself, offer- ing, as it does, but little resistance, is of no real service in reminding them of the fact. As an example of how utterly oblivious a pair of towers can be to their work, George told us, later on in the evening, when we were discussing the subject after supper, of a very curious instance. He and three other men, so he said, were sculling a very heavily laden boat up from Maidenhead one evening, and a little above Cookham Lock they noticed a fellow and a girl walking along the tow- path, both deep in an apparently interesting and absorbing conversation. They were carrying a boat- hook between them, and attached to the boat-hook was a tow-line, which trailed behind them, its end in the water. No boat was near, no boat was in sight. There must have been a boat attached to that tow-line at some time or other, that was cer- tain ; but what had become of it, what ghastly fate, had overtaken it, and those who had been left in it was buried in mystery. Whatever the accident may have been, however, it had in no way disturbed the young lady and gentleman who were towing. They had the boat-hook and they had the line, and that seemed to be all that they thought necessary to their work. George was about to call out and wake them up, but at that moment a bright idea flashed across him 119 Three Men in a Boat. and he didn^t. He got the hitcher instead, and reached over, and drew in the end of the tow-line ; and they made a loop in it, and put it over their mast, and then they tidied up the sculls, and went and sat down in the stern, and lighted their pipes. And that young man and young woman towed those four hulking chaps and a heavy boat up to Marlow. George said he never saw so much thoughtful sadness concentrated into one glance before, as when, at the lock, that young couple grasped the idea that, for the last two miles, they had been towing the wrong boat. George fancied that, if it had not been for the restraining influence of the sweet woman at his side, the young man might have given way to violent language. The maiden was the first to recover from her sur- prise, and when she did, she clasped her hands, and said wildly : Oh, Henry, then where is auntie?” *^Did they ever recover the old lady?” asked Harris. George replied he did not know. Another example of the dangerous want of sym- pathy between the tower and towed was witnessed by George and myself once up near Walton. It was where the tow-path shelves gently down into the water, and we were camping on the opposite bank, \oticing things in general. By and by a small boat 120 Three Men in a Boai^ came in sight, towed through the water at a tr<^- mendous pace by a powerful barge horse, on which sat a very small boy. Scattered about the boat, in dreamy and reposeful attitudes, lay five fellows, the man who was steering having a particularly restfu- appearance. should like to see him pull the wrong line,” murmured George, as they passed. And at that precise moment the man did it, and the boat rushed up the bank with a noise like the ripping up of forty thousand linen sheets. Two men, a hamper, and three oars immediately left the boat on the larboard side, and reclined on the bank, and one and a half moments afterward, two other men disembarked from the starboard, and sat down among boat-hooks and sails and carpet-bags and bottles. The last man went on twenty yards further, and then got out on his head. This seemed to sort of lighten the boat, and it went on much easier, the small boy shouting at the top of his voice, and urging his steed into a gallop. The fellows sat up and stared at one another. It was some seconds before they realized what had hap- pened to them, but, when they did, they began to shout lustily for the boy to stop. He, however, was too much occupied with the horse to hear them, and we watched them, flying after him, until the distance hid them from view. I cannot say I was sorry at their mishap. Indeed, I only wish that all the young fools who have their m Three Men in a Boat. boats towed in this fashion — and 'plenty do — could meet with similar misfortunes. Besides the risk they run themselves, they become a danger and an annoyance to every other boat they pass. Going at the pace they do, it is impossible for them to get out of anybody else’s way, or for anybody else to get out of theirs. Their line gets hitched across your mast, and overturns you, or it catches somebody in the boat, and either throws them into the water, or cuts their face open. The best plan is to stand your ground, and be prepared to keep them off with the butt-end of a mast. Of all experiences in connection with towing, the most exciting is being towed by girls. It is a sensa- tion that nobody ought to miss. It takes three girls to tow always ; two hold the rope, and the other one runs round and round, and giggles. They generally begin by getting themselves tied up. They get the line round their legs, and have to sit down on the path and undo each other, and then they twist it round their necks, and are nearly strangled. They fix it straight, however, at last, and start off at a run, pulling the boat along at quite a dangerous pace. At the end of a hundred yards they are naturally breathless, and suddenly stop, and all sit down on the grass and laugh, and your boat drifts out to midstream and turns round, before you know what has happened, or can ge hold of a scull. Then they stand up, and are surpr e^ Oh, look I they say ; “ he’s gone right out ip "‘ the middle.’^ 122 Three Men in a Boat. They pull on pretty steadily for a bit '^ffcer this, and then it all at once occurs to one of .nem that she will pin up her frock, and they ease up for the purpose, and the boat runs aground. You jump up, and push it off, and you jhout to them not to stop. Yes. What’s the matter ? ” they shout back. “ Don’t stop,” you roar. " Don’t what?” “ Don’t stop — go on — go on I ” ‘‘ Go back, Emily, and see what it is they want,’^ says one ; and Emily comes back, and asks what it is. ^‘What do you want?” she says; anything happened ? ” “No,” you reply, “:”s all right; only go on, you know — don’t stop.” “Why not?” “ Why, we can’t steer, if you keep stopping. You must keep some way on the boat.” “ Keep some what ? ” “ Some way — you must keep the boat moving.’^ “ Oh, all right. I’ll tell ’em. Are we doing it all right? ” “ Oh, yes, very nicely indeed, only don’t stop.” “ It doesn’t seem difficult at all. I thought it was so hard.” “ Oh, no, it’s simple enough. You want to keep on steady at it, that’s all.” “ I see. Give me out my red shawl, it’s under the tushion.” 123 Three Men in a Boat. You find the shawl, and hand it out, and by this time another one has come back and thinks she will have hers too, and they take Mary’s on chance, and Mary does not want it, so they bring it back and have a pocket-comb instead. It is about twenty minutes before they get off again, and at the next corner they see a cow, and you have to leave the boat to chivvy the cow out of their way. There is never a dull moment in the boat, while girls are tewing it. George got the line right after awhile, and towed us steadily on to Penton Hook. There we discussed the important question of camping. We had de- cided to sleep on board that night, and we had either to lay up just about there, or go on past Staines. It seemed early to think about shutting up then, however, with the sun still in the heavens, and we settled to push straight on for Runnymead, three and a half miles further, a quiet wooded part of the river, and where there is good shelter. We all wished, however, afterward, that we had stopped at Penton Hook. Three or four miles up stream is a trifle, early in the morning, but it is a v/eary pull at the end of a long day. You take no interest in the scenery during these last few miles. Zou do not chat and laugh. Every half mile you cover seems like two. You can hardly believe you are only where you are, and you are convinced that the map must be wrong; and, when you have trudged 124 Three Men in a Boat. along for what seems to you at least ten miles, and still the lock is not in sight, you begin to seriously fear that somebody must have sneaked it, and run off with it. I remember being terribly upset once up the river (in a figurative sense, I mean). I was out with a young lady — cousin on my mother^s side — and we were pulling down to Goring. It was rather late, and we were anxious to get in— at least sAe was anxi- ous to get in. It was half-past six when we reached Benson’s Lock, and dusk was drawing on, and she began to get excited then. She said she must be in to supper. I said it was a thing I felt I wanted to be in at, too ; and I drew out a map I had with me to see exactly how far it was. I saw it was just a mile and a half to the next lock — Wallingford — and five on from there to Cleeve. Oh, it’s all right I” I said. We’ll be through the next lock before seven, and then there is only one more;’’ and I settled down and pulled steadily away. We passed the bridge, and soon after that I asked if she saw the lock. She said no, she did not see any lock; and I said, “Oh I” and pulled on. Another five minutes went by, and then I asked her to look again. “No,” she said ; “ I can’t see any signs of a lock.” “ You — you are sure you know a lock when you do see one?” I asked hesitatingly, not wishing to offend her. 125 Three Men in a Boat. The question did oiFend her, however, and she sug- gested that I had better look for myself ; so I laid down the sculls, and took a view. The river stretched out straight before us in the twilight for about a mile ; not a ghost of a lock was to be seen. You donT think we have lost our way, do you? asked my companion. I did not see how that was possible; though, as I suggested, we might have somehow get into the wear stream, and be making for the falls. This idea did not comfort her in the least, and she began to cry. She said we should both be drowned, and that it was a judgment on her for coming out with me. It seemed an excessive punishment, I thought; but my cousin thought not, and hoped it would all soon be over. I tried to reassure her, and to make light of the whole affair. I said that the fact evidently was that I was not rowing as fast as I fancied I was, but that we should soon reach the lock now ; and I pulled on for another mile. Then I began tc get nervous myself. I looked again at the map. There was Wallingford Lock, clearly marked, a mile and a half below Benson^s, It was a good, reliable map; and, besides, I recol- lected the lock myself. I had been through it twice. Where were we? What had happened to us ? I began to think it must be all a dream, and that I was really asleep in bed, and should wake in a minute, and be told it wa& past ten, 126 Tliree Men in a Boat. I asked my cousin if ske thought it could be a dream, and she replied that she was just about to ask me the same question ; and then we both won- dered if we were both asleep ; and if so, who was the real one that was dreaming, and who was the one that was only a dream ; it got quite interesting. I still went on pulling, however, and still no lock came in sight, and the river grew more and more gloomy and mysterious under the gathering shadows of night, and things seemed to be getting weird and uncanny. I thought of hobgoblins and banshees, and will-o’-the-wisps, and those wicked girls who sit up all night on rocks, and lure people into whirl- pools and things ; and I wished I had been a better man, and knew more hymns ; and in the middle of these reflections I heard the blessed strains of “ He’s got ’em on,” played badly on a concertina, and knew that we were saved. I do not admire the tones of a concertina, as a rule ; but oh I how beautiful the music seemed to us both then — far, far more beautiful than the voice of Orpheus or the lute of Apollo, or anything of that sort could have sounded. Heavenly melody, in our then state of mind, would only have still further harrowed us. A soul-moving harmony, correctly performed, we should have taken as a spirit- warning, and have given up all hope. But about the strains of He’s got ’em on,” jerked spasmodically, and with involuntary variations, out of a wheezy accordion, there was something singularly human and reassuring. 127 Three Men in a Boat. The sweet sounds drew nearer, and soon the boat from which they were worked lay alongside us. It contained a party of provincial ’Arrys and Arriets, out for a moonlight sail. (There was not any moon, but that was not their fault.) I never saw more attractive, lovable people in all my life. I hailed them, and asked if they could tell me the way to Wallingford Lock; and I explained that I had been looking for it for the last two hours. ‘‘Wallingford Lock I’’ they answered. “Lor’ love you, sir, that’s been done away with for over a year. There ain’t no Wallingford Lock now, sir. You’re close to Cleeve now. Blow me tight if ’ere ain’t a gentleman been looking for Wallingford Lock, Bill !” I had never thought of that. I wanted to fall upon all their necks and bless them ; but the stream was running too strong just there to allow of this, so I had to content myself with mere cold-sounding words of gratitude. We thanked them over and over again, and we said it was a lovely night, and we wished them a pleasant trip, and, I think, I invited them all to come and spend a week with me, and my cousin said her mother would be pleased to see them. And we sung the soldier’s chorus out of “ Faust ” and got home in time for supper after all. 128 Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTER X. ^>ur first night. — Under canvas. — An appeal for help. — Contrark ness of teakettles, how to overcome.— Supper.— How to feel virtuous. — Wanted! a comfortably-appointed, well-drained desert island, neighborhood of South Pacific Ocean preferred. —Funny thing that happened to George’s father.— A restlesa night. H AEEIS and I began to think that Bell Wear Lock must have been done away with after the same manner. George had towed us up to Staines, and we had taken the boat from there, and it seemed that we were dragging fifty tons after us, and were walking forty miles. It was half-past seven when we were through ; and we all got in and sculled up close to the left bank, looking out for a spot to haul up in. We had originally intended to go on to Magna Charta Island, a sweetly pretty part of the river, where it winds through a soft, green valley, and to camp in one of the many picturesque inlets to bo found round that tiny shore. But somehow, we did not feel that we yearned for the picturesque nearly so much now as we had earlier in the day. A, bit of water between a coal barge and a gas- works would have quite satisfied us for that night. We did not want scenery. We wanted to have our supper and go to bed. However, we did pull up to the point — Picnic Point it is called— and dropped Three Men in a Boat into a very pleasant nook under a great elm tree, to the spreading roots of which we fastened the boat. Then we thought we were going to have supper (we had dispensed with tea, so as to save time), Wt George said no ; that we had better get the canvas up first, before it got quite dark, and while we could see what we were doing. Then, he said, all our work would be done, and we could sit down to eat with an easy mind. That canvas wanted more putting up than I think any of us had bargained for. It looked so simple in the abstract. You took five iron arches, like gigantic croquet hoops, and fitted them up over the boat, and then stretched the canvas over them, and fastened it down : it would take quite ten minutes we thought. That was an underestimate. We took up the hoops, and began to drop them into the sockets placed for them. You would not imagine this to be dangerous work; but, looking back now, the wonder to me is that any of us are alive to tell the tale. They w^ere not hoops, they were demons. First they would not fit into their sockets at all, and we had to jump on them, and kick them, and ham- mer at them with the boat-hook; and, when they were in, it turned out that they were the wrong hoops for those particular sockets, and they had to come out again. But they would not come out, until two of us had gone and struggled with them for five minutes, "hen they v/ould jump up suddenly and try and throw us 130 Three Men in a Boat into th^ water and drown us. They had hinges in the middle, and, when we were not looking, they nipped us with these hinges in delicate parts of the body ; and, while we were wrestling with one side of the hoop, and endeavoring to persuade it to do its duty, the other side would come behind us in a cowardly manner, and hit us over the head. We got fhem fixed at last, and then all that waa to be done was to arrange the covering over them. George unrolled it, and fastened one end over the nose of the boat. Harris stood in the middle to take it from George and roll it on to me, and I kept by the stern to receive it. It was a long time coming down to me. George did his part all right, but it was new work to Harris, and he bungled it. How he managed it I do not know, he could not explain himself ; but by some mysterious process or other he succeeded, after ten minutes of superhuman efibrt. in getting himself completely rolled up in it. He was so firmly wrapped round and tucked in and folded over, that he could not get out. He, of course, made frantic struggles for freedom — the birthright of every Englishman — and, in doing so (I learned this afterward), knocked over George; and then George, swearing at Harris, began to struggle too, and got himself entangled and rolled up. I knew nothing about all this at the time. I did not understand the business at all myself. I had been told to stand where I was, and wait till the canv^ came tp me, and Montmoreiicjr^ tmd I stp\ ) iii Three Men in a Boat, there and waited, both as good as gold. We could see the canvas being violently jerked and tossed about pretty considerably ; but we supposed this was part of the method, and did not interfere. We also heard much smothered language coming from underneath it, and we guessed that they were finding the job rather troublesome, and concluded that we would wait until things had got a little simpler before we joined in. We waited some time, but matters seemed to get only more and more involved, until, at last, George’s head came wriggling out over the side of the boat, and spoke up. It said : ‘‘Give us a hand here, can’t you, you cuckoo; standing there like a stuffed mummy, when you seo we are both being suffocated, you dummy I ” I never could withstand an appeal for help, so I went and undid them ; not before it was time, either, for Harris was nearly black in the face. It took us half an hour’s hard labor, after that, before it was properly up, and then we cleared iht decks, and got our supper. We put the kettle on to boil, up in the nose of the boat, and went down to the stern and pretended to take no notice of it, but set to work to get the other things out. That is the only way to get a kettle to boil up the river. If it sees that you are waiting for it and are anxious, it will never even sing. You have to go away and begin your meal, as if you were not goin^ 13 ^ ihree Men in a Boat. to have any tea at all. You must not even look round at it. Then you will soon hear it sputtering away, mad to be made into tea. It is a good plan, too, if you are in a great hurry, to talk very loudly to each other about how you donT need any tea, and are not going to have any. You get near the kettle, so that it can overhear you, and then you shout out, I don’t want any tea ; do you, George?’’ to which George shouts back, ^^Oh, no, I don’t like tea ; we’ll have lemonade instead — tea’s so indigestible.” Upon which the kettle boils over, and puts the stove out. We adopted this harmless bit of trickery, and the result was that, by the time everything else was ready, the tea was waiting. Then we lighted the lantern, and squatted down to supper. We wanted that supper. For five and thirty minutes not a sound was heard throughout the length and breadth of that boat, save the clank of cutlery and crockery, and the steady grinding of four sets of molars. At the end of five and thirty minutes, Harris said, Ah I ” and took his left leg out from under him, and put his right one there instead. Five minutes afterward, George said, Ah I” too, nd threw his plate out on the bank ; and, three iiiinutes later than that, Montmorency gave the first sign of contentment he had exhibited since we had started, and rolled over on his side, and spread his legs out ; and then I said, ‘‘ Ah I ” and bent my head 133 Three Men in a Boat. back, and bumped it against one of the hoops, but I did not mind it. I did not even swear. How good one feels when one is Ml — how satis* ded with ourselves and with the world I People who have tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a Ml :jtomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained. One feels so forgiving and generous after a substantial and well- digested meal — so noble-minded, so kindly-hearted. It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we can- not think, unless our stomachs will so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions. After eggs and bacon it says “ Work I After beefsteak and porter it says “ Sleep I After a cup of tea (two spoonMs for each cup, and don’t let it stand more than three minutes), it says to the brain, “Now rise and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tender*, see, with a clear eye, into nature and into life; spread your white wings of quivering thought, and soar, a god-like spirit, over the whirling world be- neath you, up through long lanes of flaming stars to the gates of eternity I ’’ After hot muffins it says “ Be dull and soulless, ^k:e a beast of the field— a brainless animal, with : liess eye, unlighted by any ray of fancy, or of a ope, or fear, or love, or life.” And after brandy, Uiken in sufficient quantity, it says, “ Now come, fool, grin and tumble, that your fellow-men may 134 Three Men in a Boat. laugh — drivel in folly, and splutter in senseless sounds, and show what a helpless ninny is poor man whose wit and will are drowned, like kittens, side by side, in half an inch of alcohol/’ We are but the veriest, sorriest slaves of our stomach. Reach not after morality and righteous- ness, my friends; watch vigilantly your stomach, and diet it with care and judgment. Then virtue and contentment will come and reign within your heart, unsought by any effort of your own ; and you will be a good citizen, a loving husband, and a tender father — a noble, pious man. Before our supper Harris and George and I were quarrelsome and snappy and ill-tempered ; after our supper we sat and beamed on one another, and we beamed upon the dog, too. We loved one another, we loved everyboay. Harris, in moving about, trod on George’s corn. Had this happened before supper, George would have expressed wishes and desires concerning Harris’ fate in this world and the next that would have made a thoughtful man shudder. As it was, he said: ‘‘Steady, old man; ’ware wheat.” And Harris, instead of merely observing, in his most unplcasi ^t tones, that a fellow could hardly help treading on -^me bit of George’s foot, if he had to move about at all within ten yards of where George was sitting, suggesting that George never ought to come in to an ordinary-sized boat with feet that length, and advising him to hang them over 185 Three Men in a Boat. the side, as he would have done before supper, now said ; “ Oh, I’m so sorry^ old chap ; I hope I haven’t hurt you.’' And George said : Not at all ; ” that it was his fault ; and Harris said no, it was his. It was quite pretty to hear them. We lighted our pipes, and sat looking out on the quiet night, and talked. George said why could we not be always like this — away from the world, with its sin and temptation, leading sober, peaceful lives, and doing good. I said it was the sort of thing I had often longed for my- self; and we discussed the possibility of our going away, we four, to some handy, well-fitted desert island, and living there in the woods. Harris said that the danger about desert islands, as far as he had heard, was that they were so damp ; but George said no, not if properly drained. And then we got on to drains, and that put George in mind of a very funny thing that happened to his father once. He said his father was traveling with another fellow through Wales, and one night they stopped at a little inn where there were some other fellows, and they joined the other fellows, and spent the evening v/ith them. They had a very jolly evening, and sat up late, and by the time they came to go to bed, they (this was when George’s father was a very young man) were slightly jolly, too. They (George’s father and George’s father’s friend) were to sleep in the same 136 V Three Men in a Boat, room, but in different beds. They took the candle, and went up. The candle lurched up against the wall when they got into the room, and went out, and they had to undress and grope into bed in the dark. This they did; but, instead of getting into separate beds, as they thought they were doing, they both climbed into the same one without know- ing it — one getting in with his head at the top, and the other crawling in from the other side of the com-: pass, and lying with his feet on the pillow. There was silence for a moment, and then George^s father said : ‘^Joel” ^‘What’s the matter Tom?” replied Joe^s voice from the other end of the bed. ‘‘Why there^s a man in my bed,” said George^s father ; “ here’s his feet on my pillow.” “ Well, it’s an extraordinary thing, Tom,” answered the other ; “ but I’m blessed if there isn’t a man in my bed, too I ” “What are you going to do?” asked George’s father. “ Well, I’m going to chuck him out,” replied Joe. “ So am I,” said George’s father valiantly. There was a brief struggle followed by two heavy bumps on the floor, and then a rather doleful voice said: “ I say Tom I ” “Yes I” “ How have you got on ? 137 Three Men in a Boat. "Well, to tell you the truth, my man’s chucked me out.” "So’s mine I I say, I don’t think much of this inn, do you ? ” "What was the name of that inn?” said Harris. "The Pig and Whistle,” said George. "Why?” "Ah, no, then it isn’t the same,” replied Harris. " What do you mean ? ” queried George. "Why it’s so curious,” murmured Harris, "but precisely that very same thing happened to my father once at a country inn. IVe often heard him tell the tale. I thought it might have been the same inn.” We turned in at ten that night, and I thought I should sleep well, being tired ; but I didn’t. As a rule, I undress and put my head on the pillow, and then somebody bangs at the door, and says it is half- past eight; but to-night everything seemed against me ; the novelty of it all, the hardness of the boat, the cramped position (I was lying with my feet under one seat, and my head on another), the sound of the lapping water round the boat, and the wind among the branches, kept me restless and disturbed. I did get to sleep for a few hours, and then some part of the boat which seemed to have grown up in the night — for it certainly was not there when we started, and it had disappeared by the morning — kept digging into my spine. I slept through it for awhile, dreaming that 1 had swallowed a sovereign, and that they were cutting a whole in my back with 138 Three Men in a Boat. a gimlet, so as to try and get it out. I thought it very unkind of them, and I told them I would owe them the money, and they should have it at the end of the month. But they would not hear of that, and said it would be much better if they had it then, because otherwise the interest would accumu- late so. I got quite cross with them after a bit, and told them what I thought of them, and then they gave the gimlet such an excruciating wrench that I woke up. The boat seemed stuffy, and my head ached ? so I thought I would step out into the cool night an. I slipped on what clothes I could find about — some of my own, and some of George’s and Harris’ — and crept under the canvas on to the bank. It was a glorious night. The moon had sunk and left the earth quite alone with the stars. It seemed as if, in the silence and the hush, while we her chil- dren slept, they were talking with her, their sister — conversing of mighty mysteries in voices too vast and deep for childish human ears to catch the sound. They awe us, these strange stars, so cold, so clear. We are as children whose small feet have strayed into some dim-lighted temple of the god they have been taught to worship, but know not ; and, stand- ing where the echoing dome spans the long vista of the shadowy light, glance up, half hoping, half afraid to see some awful vision hovering fhere. And yet it seems so full of comfort and of strength, night. In its great presence our small sorrows m Three Men in a Boat. creep away ashamed. The day has been so full of fret and care, and our hearts have been so full of evil and of bitter thoughts, and the world has seemed so hard and wrong to us. Then night, like some great loving mother, gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and turns our little tear- stained faces up to hers and smiles ; and, though she does not speak, we know what she would say, and lay our hot flushed cheek against her bosom, and the pai n is gone. Sometimes our pain is very deep and real, and we stand before her very silent, because there is no language for our pain, only a moan. Night’s heart is full of pity for us; she cannot ease our aching; she takes our hand in hers, and the little world grows very small and very far away beneath us, and borne on her dark wings, we pass for a moment into a mightier Presence than her own, and in the wondrous light of that great Presence, all human life lies like a book before us, and all know that Pain and Sorrow are but the angels of God. Only those who have worn the crown of suflering can look upon that wondrous light ; and they, when they return, may not speak of it. or tell the mystery they know. Once upon a time, through a strange country there rode some goodly knights, and their path lay by a deep wood, where tangled briers grew very thick and strong, and tore the flesh of them that lost their way therein. And the leaves of the trees that grew in Three Men in a Boat, the wood were very dark and thick, so that no ray of light came through the branches to lighten the gloom and sadness. And, as they passed by that dark wood, one knight of those that rode, missing his comrades, wandered far away, and returned to them no more ; and they, sorely grieving, rode on without him, mourning him as one dead. Now, when they reached the fair castle toward which they had been journeying, they stayed there many days, and made merry; and one night, as they sat in cheerful ease around the logs that burned in the great hall, and drank a loving measure, there came the comrade they had lost, and greeted them. His clothes were ragged, like a beggar’s, and many sad wounds were on his sweet flesh, but upon his face there shone a great radiance of deep joy. And they questioned him, asking him what had befallen him; and he told them how in the dark wood he had lost his way, and had wandered many days and nights, till, torn and bleeding, he had lain him down to die. Then, when he was nigh unto death, lo ! through the savage gloom there came to him a stately maiden, and took him by the hand and led him on through devious paths, unknown to any man, until upon the darkness of the wood there dawned a light such as the light of day was unto but as a little lamp unto the sun ; and, in that wondrous light, our wayworn knight saw, as in a dream, a vision, and so glorious, m Three Men in a Boat. so fair the vision seemed, that of his bleeding wounds he thought no more, but stood as one entranced, whose joy is deep as is the sea, whereof no man can tell the depth. And the vision faded, and the knight, kneeling upon the ground, thanked the good saint who into that sad wood had strayed his steps, so he had seen the vision that lay there hid. And the name of the dark forest was Sorrow ; but of the vision that the good knight saw therein we may not speak nor tell. m Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTER XI. How George, once upon a time, got up early in the morning.— George, Harris and Montmorency do not like the look of the cold water. — Heroism and determination on the part of J. — George and his shirt : story with a moral. — Harris as cook.— Historical retrospect, specially inserted for the use of schools. J WOKE at six the next morning, and found George awake too. We both turned round and tried to go to sleep again, but we could not. Had there been any particular reason why we should not have gone to sleep again but have got up and dressed then and there we should have dropped off while we were looking at our watches and have slept till ten. As there was no earthly necessity for our getting up under another two hours at the very least, and our getting up at that time was an utter absurdity, it was only in keeping with the natural cussedness of things in general that we should both feel that lying down for five minutes more would be death to us. George said that the same kind of thing, only worse, had happened to him some eighteen months ago, when he was lodging by himself in the house of a certain Mrs. Gippings. He said his watch went wrong one evening and stopped at a quarter past eight. He did not know this at the time, because, for some reason or other, he forgot to wind it up when he went to bed (an unusual occurrence with him) 143 Three Men in a Boat. and hung it up over his pillow without ever looking at the thing. It was in the winter when this happened, very near the shortest day, and a week of fog into the bargain, so the fact that it was still very dark when George woke in the morning was no guide to him as to the time. He reached up, and hauled down his watch. It was a quarter past eight. ‘^Angels and ministers of grace defend us I” ex- claimed George; ‘^and here have I got to be in the City by nine. Why didn’t somebody call me? Oh, this is a shame!” And he flung the watch down, and sprung out of bed, and had a cold bath, and washed himself, and dressed himself, and shaved himself in cold water because there was not time to wait for the hot, and then rushed and had another look at the watch. Whether the shaking it had received in being thrown down on the bed had started it, or how it was, George could not say, but certain it was that from a quarter past eight it had begun to go, and now pointed to twenty minutes to nine. George snatched it up and rushed downstairs. In the sitting-room all was dark and silent; there was no fire, no breakfast. George said it was a wicked shame ef Mrs. G., and he made up his mind to tell her what he thought of her when he came home in the evening. Then he dashed on his great-coat and hat, and seizing his umbrella made for the front door. The door was not even unbolted. George 144 Three Men in a Boat. anathematized Mrs. G. for a lazy old woman, and thought it was very strange that people could not get up at a decent, respectable time, unlocked and un- bolted the door and ran out. He ran hard for a quarter of a mile, and at the end of that distance it began to be borne in upon him as a strange and curious thing that there were so few people about, and that there were no shops open. It was certainly a very dark and foggy morning, but still it seemed an unusual course to stop all business on that account. He had to go to business; why should other people stop in bed merely because it was dark and foggy I At length he reached Holborn. Not a shutter was down I not a bus was about I There were three men in sight, one of whom was a policeman ; a market- cart full of cabbages, and a dilapidated-looking cab. George pulled out his watch and looked at it ; it was five minutes to nine I He stood still and counted his pulse. He stooped down and felt his legs. Then, with his watch still in his hand, he went up to the policeman, and asked him if he knew what the time was. “ What^s the time ? said the man, eying George up and down with evident suspicion ; why, if you listen you will hear it strike.’^ George listened, and a neighboring clock imme- diately obliged. But it’s only gone three I ” said George, in an injured tone, when it had finished. 10 145 Three Men in a Boat. •'Well, and how many did you want it to go?’* replied the constable. " Why, nine,” said George, showing his watch. "Bo you know where you live?” said the guardian of public order severely. George thought, and gave the address. "Oh I that’s where it is, is it?” replied the man; " well, you take my advice and go there quietly, and take that watch of yours with you ; and don’t let’s have any more of it.” And George went home again, musing as he walked along, and let himself in. At first, when he got in, he determined to undress and go to bed again; but when he thought of the re-dressing and re-washing, and the having of another bath, he determined he would not, but would sit up and go to sleep in the easy-chair. But he could not get to sleep ; he never felt more wakeful in his life ; so he lighted the lamp and got out the chess-board, and played himself a game of chess. But even that did not enliven him ; it seemed slow somehow ; so he gave chess up and tried to read. He did not seem able to take any sort of interest in reading either, so he put on his coat again and went out for a walk. It was horribly lonesome and dismal, and all the policemen he met regarded him with undisguised suspicion, and turned their lanterns on him and followed him about, and this had such an effect upon him at last that he began to feel as if he really 146 Three Men in a Boat. had done something, and he got to slinking down the by-streets and hiding in dark doorways when he heard the regulation flip-flop approaching. Of course, this conduct made the force only more distrustful of him than ever, and they would come and rout him out and ask him what he was doing there; and when he answered, ‘^Nothing,” he had merely come out for a stroll (it was then four o^clock ill the morning), they looked as though they did not believe him, and two plain-clothes constables came home with him to see if he really did live where he had said he did. They saw him go in with his key, and then they took up a position opposite and watched the house. He thought he would light the fire when he got inside, and make himself some breakfast, just to pass away the time ; but he did not seem able to handle anything from a scuttleful of coals to a teaspoon without dropping it or falling over it, and making such a noise that he was in mortal fear that it would wake Mrs. G. up, and that she would think it was burglars and open the window and call ‘‘Police!” and then these two detectives would rush in and handcuff him, and march him ofi* to the police court. He was in a morbidly nervous state by this time, and he pictured the trial, and his trying to explain the circumstances to the jury, and nobody believing him, and his being sentenced to twenty years’ penal servitude, and his mother dying of a broken heart. So he gave up trying to get breakfast, and wrapped 147 Threnjf 196 Three Men in a Boat. worth speaking of. George came and had a look at it — it was about the size of a peanut. He said : Oh, that won’t do I You’re wasting them. You must scrape them.” So we scraped them, and that was harder work than peeling. They are such an extraordinary shape, potatoes — all bumps and warts and hollows. We worked steadily for five-and-twenty minutes, and did four potatoes. Then we struck. We said we should require the rest of the evening for scraping our- selves. I never saw such a thing as potato-scraping for making a fellow in a mess. It seemed difficult to believe that the potato-scrapings in which Harris and I stood, half smothered, could have come off four potatoes. It shows you what can be done with economy and care. George said it was absurd to have only four pota- toes in an Irish stew, so we washed half a dozen or so more, and put them in without peeling. We also put in a cabbage and about half a peck of peas. George stirred it all up, and then he said that there seemed to be a lot of room to spare, so we overhauled both the hampers, and picked out all the odds and ends and the remnants, and added them to the stew. There were half a pork pie and a bit of cold boiled bacon left, aud we put them in. Then George found half a tin of potted salmon, and he emptied that into the pot. He said that was the advantage of Irish stew ; you 197 Three Men in a Boat. got rid of such a lot of things. I fished out a couple of eggs that had got cracked, and we put those in. George said they would thicken the gravy. I forget the other ingredients, but I know nothing was wasted ; and I remember that, toward the end, Montmorency, who had evinced great interest in the proceedings throughout, strolled away with an earnest and thoughtful air, reappearing, a few minutes after- ward, with a dead water-rat in his mouth, which he evidently wished to present as his contribution to the dinner : whether in a sarcastic spirit, or with a genu- ine desire to assist, I cannot say. We had a discussion as to whether the rat should go in or not. Harris said that he thought it would be all right, mixed up with the other things, and that every little helped ; but George stood up for prece- dent. He said he had never heard of water-rats in Irish stew, and he would rather be on the safe side, and not try experiments. Harris said : “ If you never try a new thing, how can you tell what it's like ? It’s men such as you that hamper the world’s progress. Think of the man who first tried German sausage I ” It was a great success, that Irish stew. I don’t amk I ever enjoyed a meal more. There was some- iiing so fresh and piquant about it. One’s palate gets so tired of the old hackneyed things : here was a dish with a new flavor, with a taste like nothing else on earth. 198 Three Men in a Boat. And it was nourishing too. As George said, there was good stuff in it. The peas and potatoes might have been a bit softer, but we all had good teeth, so that did not matter much : and as for the gravy, it was a poem — a little too rich, perhaps, for a weak stomach, but nutritious. We finished up with tea and cherry tart. Mont- morency had a fight with the kettle during tea-time, and came off a poor second. Throughout the trip, he had manifested great curi- osity concerning the kettle. He would sit and watch it, as it boiled, with a puzzled expression, and would try and rouse it every now and then by growling at it. When it began to splutter and steam, he regarded it as a challenge, and would want to fight it, only, at that precise moment, some one would always dash up and bear off his prey before he could get at it. To-day he determined he would be beforehand. At the first sound the kettle made, he rose, growling, and advanced toward it in a threatening attitude. It was only a little kettle, but it was full of pluck, and it up and spit at him. Ah I would ye I growled Montmorency, showing his teeth; “I’ll teach ye to cheek a hard-working, respectable dog; ye miserable, long-nosed, dirty- looking scoundrel ye. Come on I ” And he rushed at the poor little kettle, and seized it by the spout. Then, across the evening stillness, broke a blood- curdling yelp, and Montmorency left the boat, and 199 Three Men in a Boat. did a constitutional three times around the island at the rate of thirty-five miles an hour, stopping every now and then to bury his nose in a bit of cool mud. From that day Montmorency regarded the kettle with a mixture of awe, suspicion, and hate. When- ever he saw it he would growl and back at a rapid rate, with his tail shut down, and the moment it was put upon the stove he would promptly climb out of the boat and sit on the bank, till the whole tea business was over. George got out his banjo after supper and wanted to play it, but Harris objected ; he said he had got a headache, and did not feel strong enough to stand it. George thought the music might do him good — said music often soothed the nerves and took away a headache; and he twanged two or three notes, just to show Harris what it was like. Harris said he would rather have the headache. George has never learned to play the banjo to this day. He has had too much all-round discouragement to meet. He tried on two or three evenings, while we were up the river to get a little practice, but it was never a success. Harris’ language used to be enough to unnerve any man ; added to which, Motit- morency would sit and howl steadily, right through the performance. It was not giving the man a fair chance. “ What’s he want to howl like that for when I’m playing?” George would exclaim indignantly . while taking aim at him with a boot. 200 Three Men in a Boat. ‘‘What do you want to play like that for when he is howling?” Harris would retort, catching the boot. “ You let him alone. He can't help howling. He’s got a musical ear, and youhe playing makes him howl.” So George determined to postpone study of the banjo until he reached home. But he did not get much opportunity even there. Mrs. P. used to come up and say she was very sorry — for herself, she liked to hear him — but the lady upstairs was in a very delicate state, and the doctor was afraid it might injure the child. Then George tried taking it out with him late at night, and practicing round the square. But the inhabitants complained to the police about it, and a watch was set for him one night, and he was captured. The evidence against him was very clear, and he was bound over to keep the peace for six months. He seemed to lose heart in the business after that. He did make one or two feeble efforts to take up the work again when the six months had elapsed, but there was always the same coldness — the same want of sympathy on the part of the world to fight against ; and, after awhile, he despaired altogether, and ad- vertised the instrument for sale at a great sacrifice — “ owner having no further use for same ” — and took to learning card tricks instead. It must be disheartening work learning 3 musical instrument. You would think that Society, for its own sake, would do all it could to assist a man to ^01 Three Men in a Boat. acquire the art of playing a musical instrument. But it doesn^t i I knew a young fellow once, who was studying to play the bagpipes, and you would be surprised at the amount of opposition he had to contend with. Why, not even from the members of his own family did he receive what you could call active encouragement. His father was dead against the business from the beginning, and spoke quite unfeelingly on the sub- ject. My friend used to get up early in the morning to practice, but he had to give that plan up, because of his sister. She was somewhat religiously inclined, and she said it seemed such an awful thing to begin the day like that. So he sat up at night instead, and played after the family had gone to bed, but that did not do, as it got the house such a bad name. People, going home late, would stop outside to listen, and then put it about all over the town, the next morning, that a fearful murder had been committed at Mr. Jeffer- son’s the night before ; and would describe how they had heard the victim’s shrieks and the brutal oaths and curses of the murderer, followed by the prayer for mercy, and the last dying gurgle of the corpse. So they let him practice in the daytime, in the back kitchen, with all the doors shut ; but his more successful passages could generally be heard in the sitting-room, in spite of these precautions, and would affect his mother almost to tears. She said it put her in mind of her poor father (he 202 Three Men in a Boat. had been swallowed by a shark, poor man, while bathing off the coast of New Guinea — where the con- nection came in, she could not explain.) Then they knocked up a little place for him at the bottom of the garden, about quarter of a mile from the house, and made him take the machine down there when he wanted to work it; and sometimes a visitor would come to the house who knew nothing of the matter, and they would forget to tell him all about it, and caution him, and he would go out for a stroll round the garden and suddenly get within ear-shot of those bagpipes, without being prepared for it, or knowing what it was. If he were a man of strong mind, it only gave him fits ; but a person of mere average intellect it usually sent mad. There is, it must be confessed, something very sad about the early efforts of an amateur in bagpipes. I have felt that myself when listening to my young friend. They appear to be a trying instrument to perform upon. You have to get enough breath for the whole tune before you start — at least, so I gath- ered from watching Jefferson. He would begin magnificently with a wild, full, come-to-the-battle sort of a note that quite roused you. But he would get more and more piano as he went on, and the last verse generally collapsed in the middle with a splutter and a hiss. You want to be in good health to play the bag- pipes. Young Jefferson only learned to play one tune on m Three Men in a Boat. those bagpipes; but I never heard any complaints about the insufficiency of his repertoire — none what- ever. His tune was '^The Campbells are Coming, Hooray — Hooray I so he said, though his father always held that it was ‘'The Blue Bells of Scot- land.” Nobody seemed quite sure what it was ex- actly, but they all agreed that it sounded Scotch. Strangers were allowed three guesses, and most of them guessed a different tune each time. Harris was disagreeable after supper — I think it must have been the stew that had upset him ; he is not used to high living — so George and I left him in the boat, and settled to go for a mouch round Hen- ley. He said he should have a glass of whisky and a pipe, and fix things up for the night. We were to shout when we returned, and he would row over from the island and fetch us. “Don't go to sleep, old man,” we said as we started. “ Not much fear of that while this stew’s on,” he grunted, as he pulled back to the island. Henley was getting ready for the regatta, and was full of bustle. We met a goodish number of men we knew about the town, and in their pleasant company the time slipped by somewhat quickly; so that it was nearly eleven o’clock before we set off on our four-mile walk home— as we had learned to call onr little craft by this time. It was a dismal night, coldish, with a thin rain 204 Three Men in a Boat. falling ; and as we trudged through the dark, silent fields talking low to each other, and wondering if we were going right or not, we thought of the cozy boat, with the bright light streaming through the tight- drawn canvas ; of Harris and Montmorency, and the whisky, and wished that we were there. We conjured up the picture of ourselves inside, tired and a little hungry* of the gloomy river and the shapeless trees; and, like a giant glow-worm underneath them, our dear old boat, so snug and warm and cheerful. We could see ourselves at supper there, pecking away at cold meat, and pass- ing each other chunks of bread ; we could hear the cheery clatter of our knives, the laughing voices, filling all the space, and overflowing through the opening out into the night. And we hurried on to realize the vision. We struck the tow-path at length, and that made us happy; because prior to this we had not been sure whether we were walking toward the river or away from it, and when you are tired and want to go to bed uncertainties like that worry you. We passed Shiplake as the clock ’was striking the quarter to twelve ; and then George said thoughtfully : “ You don’t happen to remember which of the islands it was, do you? ” ‘‘ No,” I replied, beginning to grow thoughtful too, ‘‘ I don’t. How many are there ? ” '^Only four,” answered George. “It will be all right if he’s awake.” 205 Three Men in a Boat. ^^And if not?” I queried; but we dismissed that train of thought. We shouted when we came opposite the first island, but there was no response ; so we went to the second, and tried there, and obtained the same result. Oh I I remember now,” said George ; ‘‘ It was the third one.” And we ran on hopefully to the third one, and hallooed. No answer I The case was becoming serious. It was now past midnight. The hotels at Shiplake and Henley would be crammed ; and we could not go round, knocking up cottagers and householders in the middle of the night, to know if they let apartments ! George sug- gested walking back to Henley and assaulting a policeman, and so getting a night’s lodging in the station-house. But then there was the thought. Suppose he only hits us back and refuses to lock us up ! ” We could not pass the whole night fighting police- men. Besides, we did not want to overdo the thing and get six months. We despairingly tried what seemed in the dark- ness to be the fourth island, but met with no better success. The rain was coming down fast now, and evidently meant to last. We were wet to the skin, and cold and miserable. We began to wonder whether there were only four islands or more, or whether we were near the islands at all, or whether 206 Three Men in a Boat. we were anywhere within a mile of where we ought to be, or in the wrong part of the river altogether, everything looked so strange and different in the darkness. We began to understand the sufferings of the Babes in the Wood. Just when we had given up all hope — yes, I know that is always the time that things do happen in novels and tales ; but I can’t help it. I resolved, when I began to write this book, that I would be strictly truthful in all things ; and so I will be, even if I have to employ hackneyed phrases for the purpose. It woA just when we had given up all hope, and I must therefore say so. Just when we had given up all hope, then, I suddenly caught sight, a little way below us, of a strange, weird sort of glimmer flicker- ing among the trees on the opposite bank. For an instant I thought of ghosts ; it was such a shadowy, mysterious light. The next moment it flashed across me that it was our boat, and I sent up such a yell across the water that made the night seem to shake in its bed. We waited breathless for a minute, and then — oh I divinest music of the darkness— we heard the answering bark of Montmorency. We shouted back loud enough to wake the Seven Sleepers — I never could understand myself why it should take more noise to wake seven sleepers than one — and, after what seemed an hour, but what was really, I suppose, about five minutes, we saw the lighted boat creep- 207 Three Men in a Boat. 'ng slowly over the blackness, and heard Harris’ wleepy voice asking where we were. There was an unaccountable strangeness about Harris. It was something more than mere ordinary tiredness. He pulled the boat against a part of the bank from which it was quite impossible for us to get into it, and immediately went to sleep. It took us an immense amount of screaming and roaring to wake him up again and put some sense into him; but we succeeded at last, and got safely on board. Harris had a sad expression on him, so we noticed, when we got into the boat. He gave you the idea of a man who had been through trouble. We asked if anything had happened, and he said : Swans ! It seemed we had moored close to a swan’s nest, and soon after George and I had gone, the female swan came back, and kicked up a row about it. Harris had chivvied her off, and she had gone away, and fetched up her old man. Harris said he had had quite a fight with these two swans ; but courage and skill had prevailed in the end, and he had defeated them. Half an hour afterward they returned with eight- een other swans ! It must have been a fearful battle, so far as we could understand Harris’ account of it. The swans had tried to drag him and Montmorency out of the boat and drown them; and he had defended himself like a hero for four hours, and had killed the lot, and they had all paddled away to die. 208 Three Men in a Boat. “How many swans did you say there were?'* asked George. “ Thirty-two/’ replied Harris sleepily. “ You said eighteen just now/’ said George. “ No, I didn’t/’ grunted Harris ; “ I said twelve Think I can’t count? ” What were the real facts about these swans we never found out. We questioned Harris on the subject in the morning, and he said, “ What swans ? ” and seemed to think that George and I had been dreaming. Oh, how delightful it was to be safe in the boat after our trials and fears ! We ate a hearty supper, George and I, and we should have had some toddy after it if we could have found the whisky, but we could not. We examined Harris as to what he had done with it, but he did not seem to know what we meant by “ whisky,” or what we were talking about at all. Montmorency looked as if he knew some- thing, but said nothing. I slept well that night, and should have slept better if it had not been for Harris. I have a vague recollection of having been woke up at least a dozen times during the night by Harris wandering about the boat with a lantern, looking for his clothes. He seemed to be worrying about his clothes all night. Twice he routed up George and myself to see if we were lying on his trousers. George got quite wild the second time. “What the thunder do you want your trousers 14 Three Men in a Boat. or in the middle of the night he asked indig- nantly. Why don’t you lie down and go to sleep ? ” I found him in trouble the next time I awoke be- cause he could not find his socks, and my last hazy remembrance is of being rolled over on my side and of hearing Harris muttering something about its being an extraordinary thing where his umbrella could have got to. SIO ^ree Men In a !^at. CHAPTER XV. Household duties.—Love of work.— The old river hand, what he does, and what he tells you he has done. — Skepticism of the new generation.— Early boating recollections. — Rafting. — George does the thing in style.— The old boatman, his method. — So calm, so full of peace. — The beginner.— Punting.— A sad accident —Pleasures of friendship. — Sailing, my first exper- ience.— Possible reason why we were not drowned. E woke late the next morning, and, at Harris’ earnest desire, partook of a plain breakfast, with ‘‘ non dainties.’’ Then we cleaned up, and put everything straight (a continual labor, which was beginning to afford me a pretty clear insight into a question that had often posed me— namely, how a woman with the work of only one house on her hands manages to pass away her time), and at about ten, set out on what we had determined should be a good day's journey. We agreed that we would pull this morning, as a change from towing; and Harris thought the best arrangement would be that George and I should scull, and he steer. I did not chime in with this idea at all ; I said I thought Harris would have been showing a more proper spirit if he had suggested that he and George should work, and let me rest a bit. It seemed to me that I was doing more than fair share of the work on this trip, and I was fcrcginnmg to feel strongly on the subject. 211 I’hree Men in a Boat. It always does seem to me that I am doing more work than I should do. It is not that I object to the work, mind you ; I like work ; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. I love to keep it by me ; the idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart. You cannot give me too much work ; to accumu- late work has almost become a passion with me ; my study is so full of it now, that there is hardly an inch of room for any more. I shall have to throw out a wing soon. And I am careful of my work, too. Why, some of the work that I have by me now has been in my pos- session for years and years, and there isn’t a finger- mark on it. I take a great pride in my work ; I take it down now and then and dust it. No man keeps bis work in a better state of preservation than I do. But though I crave for work, I still like to be fair. I do not ask for more than my proper share. But I get it without asking for it — at least, so it appears to me — and this worries me. George says he does not think I need trouble my- self on the subject. He thinks it is only my over- scrupulous nature that makes me fear I am having more than my due ; and that, as a matter of fact, I don’t have half as much as I ought. But I expect he only says this to comfort me. In a boat, I have always noticed that it is the fixed idea of each member of the crew that he is doing everything. Harris’ notion was, that it was he alone 212 Three Men in a Boat. who had been working, and that both George and I had been imposing upon him. George, on the other hand, ridiculed the idea of Harris^ having done any- thing more than eat and sleep, and had a cast-iron opinion that it was he— George himself— who had done all the labor worth speaking of. He said he had never been out with such a couple of lazy skulks as Harris and L That amused Harris. “ Fancy old George talking about work I ” he laughed ; why, about half an hour of it would kill him. Have you ever seen George work?^' he added, turning to me. I agreed with Harris that I never had — most cer- tainly not since we had started on this trip. '‘Well, I don’t see how you can know much about it, one way or the other,” Gevge retorted on Harris ; "for I’m blest if you haven’t been asleep half the time. Have you ever seen Harris fully awake except at meal time ? ” asked George, addressing me. Truth compelled me to support George. Harris had been very little good in the boat, so far as help- ing was concerned, from the beginning. "Well, hang it all, I’ve done more than old J., anyhow,” rejoined Harris. "Well, you couldn’t very well have done less,” added George. "I suppose J. thinks he is the passenger,” con- tinued Harris. 4nd that was their gratitude to me for having 2ia Three Men in a Boat brought them and their wretched old boat all the way up from Kingston, and for having superintended and managed everything for them, and taken care of them, and slaved for them. It is the way of the world. We settled the present difficulty by arranging that Harris and George should scull up past Reading, and that I should tow the boat on from there. Pulling a heavy boat against a strong stream has few attrac- tions for me now. There was a time, long ago, when I used to clamor for the hard work : now I like to give the youngsters a chance. I notice that most of the old river hands are simi- larly retiring, whenever there is any stiff pulling to be done. You can always tell the old river hand by the way in which he stretches himself out upon the cushions at the bottom of the boat, and encourages the rowers by telling them anecdotes about the mar* velous feats he performed last season. ** Call what youTe doing hard work I ’’ he drawls, between his contented whiffs, addressing the two perspiring novices, who have been grinding away steadily up stream for the last hour and a half; ''why, Jim Biffies and Jack and I, last season, pulled up from Marlow to Goring in one afternoon — never stopped once. You remember that, Jack?’^ Jack, who has made himself a bed up in the prow of all the rugs and coats he can collect, and who has been lying there asleep for the last two hours, partially wakes up on being thus appealed to^ and . 214 . Three Men in a Boat. , recollects all about the matter, and also remembers that there was an unusually strong stream against them all the way— likewise a stiff wind. About thirty-four miles, I suppose, it must have been,'’ adds the first speaker, reaching down another cushion to put under his head. No— no ; don’t exaggerate, Tom,” murmurs Jack reprovingly ; thirty -three at the outside.” And Jack and Tom, quite exhausted by this con- versational effort, drop off to sleep once more. And the two simple-minded youngsters at the sculls feel quite proud of being allowed to row such wonderful oarsmen as Jack and Tom, and strain away harder than ever. When I was a young man. I used to listen to these tales from my elders, and ta^e them in, and swallow them, and digest every word of them, and then come up for more ; but the new generation do not seem to have the simple faith of the old times. We — George, Harris and myself— took a ‘‘raw ’un” up with us once last season, and we plied him with the customary stretchers about the wonderful things we had done all the way up. We gave him all the regular ones — the time honored lies that have done duty up the river with every boating man for years past — and added seven entirely original ones that we had invented for our- selves, including a really quite likely story, founded, to a certain extent, on an all but true episode, which had actually happened in a modified degree some 215 Three Men in a Boat. years ago to friends of ours — a story that a mere child could have believed without injuring itself much. And that young man mocked at them all, and wanted us to repeat the feats then and there, and to bet us ten to one that we didn^t. We got to chatting about our rowing experiences this morning, and to recounting stories of our first efforts in the art of oarsmanship. My own earliest boating recollection is of five of us contributing threepence each and taking out a curiously con- structed craft on the Eegent’s Park lake, drying our- selves subsequently in the park-keeper^s lodge. After that, having acquired a taste for the water, I did a good deal of rafting in various suburban brick-fields — an exercise providing more interest and excitement than might be imagined, especially when you are in the middle of the pond and the proprietor of the materials of which the craft is constructed suddenly appears on the bank, with a big stick in his hand. Your first sensation on seeing this gentleman is that, somehow or other, you don’t feel equal to company and conversation, and that, if you could do so without appearing rude, you would rather avoid meeting him; and your object is, therefore, to get off on the opposite side of the pond to which he is, and to go home quietly and quickly, pretending not to see him. He, on the contrary, is yearning to take you by the hand, and talk to you. It appears that he knows your father, and is inti- . 216 Thrco Men in a Boat. rcatoly acquainted with yourself, but this does not draw you toward him. He says he'll teach you to take his boards and make a raft of them ; but, seeing that you know how to do this pretty well already, the offer, though doubtless kindly meant, seems a super- fluous one on his part, and you are reluctant to put him to any trouble by accepting it. His anxiety to meet you, however, is proof against all your coolness, and the energetic manner in which he dodges up and down the pond so as to be on the spot to greet you when you land is really quite flattering. If he be of a stout and short-winded build, you can easily avoid his advances; but, w^hen he is of tlio youthful and long-legged type, a meeting is inevita- ble. The interview is, however, extremely brief, most of the conversation being on his part, your remarks being mostly of an exclamatory and monosyllabi ic order, and as soon as you can tear yourself away you do so. I devoted some three months to rafting, and, being then as proficient as there was any need to be at that branch of the art, I determined to go in for rowing proper, and joined one of the Lea boating clubs. Being out in a boat on the Kiver Lea, especially on Saturday afternoons, soon makes you smart at handling a craft, and spry at escaping being ran down by roughs or swamped by barges ; and it also affords plenty of opportunity for acquiring the most prompt and graceful method of lying down flat at the 217 Three Men in a Boat. bottom of the boat so as to avoid being chucked out into the river by passing tow-lines. But it does not give you style. It was not till I came to the Thames that I got style. My style of rowing is very much admired now. People say it is so quaint. George never went near the water until he was six- teen. Then he and eight other gentlemen of about the same age went down in a body to Kew one Saturday, with the idea of hiring a boat there, and pulling to Richmond and back ; one of their number, a shock-headed youth, named Joskins, who had once or twice taken out a boat on the Serpentine, told them it was jolly fun, boating ! The tide was running out pretty rapidly when they reached the landing-stage, and there was a stiff breeze blowing across the river, but this did not trouble them at all, and they proceeded to select their boat. There was an eight-oared racing outrigger drawn up on the stage ; that was the one that took their fancy. They said they’d have that one, please. The boatman was away, and only his boy was in charge. The boy tried to damp their ardor for the outrigger, and showed them two or three very comfortable-looking boats of the family party build, but those would not do at all ; the outrigger was the boat they thought they would look best in. So the boy launched it, and they took off* liieir coats and prepared to take their seats. The boy suggested that George, who, even in those days, was 218 iliree Men in a Boat. always the heavy man of any party, should be number four. George said he should be happy to be number four, and promptly stepped into bow’s place, and sat down with his back to the stern. They got him into his proper position at last, and then the others fol- lowed. A particularly nervous boy was appointed cox, and the steering principle explained to him by Joskins. Joskins himself took stroke. He told the others that it was simple enough ; all they had to do was to follow him. They said they were ready, and the boy on the landing-stage took a boat-hook and shoved him off. What then followed George is unable to describe in detail. He has a confused recollection of having, immediately on starting, received a violent blow in the small of the back from the butt-end of number five’s scull, at the same time that his own seat seemed to disappear from under him by magic, and leave him sitting on the boards. He also noticed, as a curious circumstance, that number two was at the same instant lying on his back at the bottom of the boat, with his legs in the air, apparently in a fit. They passed under Kew Bridge, broadside, at the rate of eight miles an hour. Joskins being the only one who was rowing. George, on recovering his seat, tried to help him, but, on dipping his oar into the water, it immediately, to his intense surprise, disappeared under the boat, and nearly took him with it. 219 l^hree Men in a And then threw both rudder lines over* board, and burst into tears. How they got back George never knew, but it took them just forty minutes. A dense crowd watched the entertainment from Kew Bridge with much in- terest, and everybody shouted out to them different directions. Three times they managed to get their boat back through the arch, and three times they were carried under it again, and every time ^‘cox looked up and saw the bridge above him he broke out into renewed sobs. George said he little thought that afternoon that he should ever come to really like boating. Harris is more accustomed to sea rowing than to river work, and says that, as an exercise, he prefers it. I donT. I remember taking a small boat out at Eastbourne last summer ; I used to do a good deal of sea rowing years ago, and I thought I should be all right ; but I found I had forgotten the art entirely. When one scull was deep down underneath the water, the other would be flourishing wildly about in the air. To get a grip of the water with both at the same time I had to stand up. The Parade was crowded with nobility and gentry, and I had to pull past them in this ridiculous fashion. I landed half- way down the beach, and secured the services of an old boatman to take me back. I like to watch an old boatman rowing, especially one who has been hired by the hour. There is something so beautifully calm and restful about his 220 Three Men in a Boat. method. It is so free from that fretful haste, that vehement striving, that is every day becoming more and more the bane of nineteenth-century life. He is not forever straining himself to pass all the other boats. If another boat overtakes him and passes him it does not annoy him ; as a matter of fact, they all do overtake him and pass him— all those that are going his way. This would trouble and irritate some people; the sublime equanimity of the hired boat- man under the ordeal affords us a beautiful lesson against ambition and uppishness. Plain practical rowing of the get-the-boat-along order is not a very difficult art to acquire, but it takes a good deal of practice before a man feels comfort- able when rowing past girls. It is the “ time ” that worries a youngster. It^s jolly funny,” he says, as for the twentieth time within five minutes he disen- tangles his sculls from yours : “ I can get on all right when I^m by myself.” To see two novices try to keep time with each other is very amusing. Bow finds it impossible to keep pace with stroke, because stroke rows in such an extraordinary fashion. Stroke is intensely indignant at this, and explains that what he has been endeav- oring to do for the last ten minutes is to adapt his method to bow’s limited capacity. Bow, in turn, then becomes insulted, and requests stroke not to trouble his head about him (bow), but to devote his ijaind to setting a sensible stroke. Or, shall I take strcrke?” he adde, with thfe evi- 22X Three Men in a Boat. dent idea that that would at once put the whole matter right. They splash along for another hundred yards with still moderate success, and then the whole secret of their trouble bursts upon stroke like a flash of inspiration. “ I tell you what it is : youVe got my sculls,” he cries, turning to bow ; pass yours over.” Well, do you know. I’ve been wondering how it was I couldn’t get on with these,” answers bow, quite brightening up, and most willingly assisting in the exchange. “ Now we shall be all right.” But they are not— not even then. Stroke has to stretch his arms nearly out of their sockets to reach his sculls now; while bow’s pair, at each recovery, hit him a violent blow in the chest. So they change back again, and come to the conclusion that the man has given them the wrong set altogether ; and over their mutual abuse of this man they become quite friendly and sympathetic. George said he had often longed to take to punting for a change. Punting is not as easy as it looks. As in rowing, you soon learn how to get along and handle the craft, but it takes long practice before you can do this with dignity and without getting the water all up your sleeve. One young man I knew had a very sad accident happen to him the first time he went punting. He had been getting on so well that he had grown quite cheeky over the bu^ness, arid was walking up arid 222 Three Men in a Boat. down the punt, working his pole with a careless grace that was quite fascinating to watch. Up he would march to the head of the punt, plant his pole, and then run along right to the other end, just like an old punter. Oh I it was grand. And it would all have gone on being grand if he had not, unfortunately, while looking round to enjoy the scenery, taken just one step more than there was any necessity for, and walked off the punt altogether. The pole was firmly fixed in the mud, and he was left clinging to it w^hile the punt drifted away. It was an undignified position for him. A rude boy on the bank immediately yelled out to a lagging chum to hurry up and see a real monkey on a stick.’^ I could not go to his assistance, because, as ill-luck would have it, we had not taken the proper precau- tion to bring out a spare pole with us. I could only sit and look at him. His expression as the pole slowly sunk with him I shall never forget; there was so much thought in it. I watched him gently let down into the water, and saw him scramble out, sad and wet. I could not help laughing, he looked such a ridiculous figure. I continued to chuckle to myself about it for some time, and then it was suddenly forced in upon me that really I had got very little to laugh at when I came to think of it. Here was I alone in a punt, without a pole, drifting helplessly down midstream — possibly toward a wear. I began to feel very indignant with my friend for m Three Men in a Boatx haying stepped overboard and gone off in that way. He might, at all events, have left me the pole. I drifted on for about a quarter of a mile, and then I came in sight of a fishing-punt moored in mid- stream, in which sat two old fishermen. They saw me bearing down upon them, and they called out to me to keep out of their way. “ I can’t,” I shouted back. But you don’t try,” they answered. I explained the matter to them when I got nearer, and they caught me and lent me a pole. The wear was just fifty yards below. I am glad they happened to be there. The first time I went punting was in company with three other fellows ; they were going to show me how to do it. We could not all start together, so I said I would go down first and get out the punt, and then I could potter about and practice a bit until they came. I could not get a punt out that afternoon, they were all engaged ; so I had nothing else to do but to sit down on the bank, watching the river, and wait- ing for my friends. I had not been sitting there long before my atten- tion became attracted to a man in a punt who, I noticed with some surprise, wore a jacket and cap exactly like mine. He was evidently a novice at punting, and his performance was most interesting. You never knew what was going to happen when he put the pole in ; he evidently did not know himself! 224 Three Men in-*a Boat. Sometimes he shot up stream, and sometimes he shot down stream, and at other times he simply spun round and came up the other side of the pole. And with every result he seemed equally surprised and annoyed. The people about the river began to get quite ab- sorbed in him after a while, and to make bets with one another as to what would be the outcome of his next push. In the course of time my friends arrived on the opposite bank, and they stopped and watched him . 00 . His back was toward them, and they only saw his jacket and cap. From this they immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was I, their beloved companion, who was making an exhibition of him- self, and their delight knew no bounds. They com- menced to chaff him unmercifully. I did not grasp their mistake at first, and 1 thought '' How rude of them to go on like that, with a perfect stranger, tool^^ But before 1 could call out and reprove them, the explanation of the matter occurred to me, and I withdrew behind a tree. Oh, how they enjoyed themselves, ridiculing that young man I For five good minutes they stood therei shouting ribaldry at him, deriding him, mocking him, jeering at him. They peppered him with stale jokes, they even made a few new ones and threw at him. They hurled at him all the private family jokes belonging to our set, and which must have been per^ fectly unintelligible to him. And then, unable to 15 225 Three Men in a Boat, stand their brutal jibes any longer, he turned round on them, and they saw his face. I was glad to notice that they had sufficient decency left in them to look very foolish. They ex- plained to him that they had thought he was some one they knew. They said they hoped he would not deem them capable of so insulting any one except a personal friend of their own. Of course their having mistaken him for a friend excused it. I remember Harris telling me once of a bathing experience he had at Boulogne. He was swimming about there near the beach, when he felt himself suddenly seized by the neck from behind, and forcibly plunged under water. He struggled violently, but whoever had got hold of him seemed to be a perfect Hercules in strength, and all his efforts to escape were unavailing. He had given up kicking, and was trying to turn his thoughts upon solemn things, when his captor released him. He regained his feet, and looked round for his would-be murderer. The assassin was standing close by him, laughing heartily; but the moment he caught sight of Harris^ face, as it emerged from the water, he started back and seemed quite concerned. "I really beg your pardon,'^ he stammered con- fusedly, but I took you for a friend of mine I '' Harris thought it was lucky for him the man had not mistaken him for a relation, or he would prob- ably have been drowned outright. Sailing is a thing that wants knowledge and Three Men in a Boat. practice too — though, as a boy, I did not think so, I had an idea it came natural to a body, like rounders and touch. I knew another boy who held this view likewise, and so, one windy day, we thought we would try the sport. We were stopping down at Yarmouth, and we decided we would go for a trip up the Yare. We hired a sailing boat at the yard by the bridge, and started off. “ It’s rather a rough day,” said the man to us, as we put off: “better take in a reef and luff sharp when you get round the bend.” We said we would make a point of it, and left him with a cheery “ Gc od-morning,” wondering to ourselves how you “luffed,” and where we were to get a “reef” from, and what we were to do with it when we had got it. We rowed until we were out of sight of the town and then, with a wide stretch of water in front of us, and the wind blowing a perfect hurricane across it, we felt that the time had come to commence opera- tions. Hector — I think that was his name — went on pulling while I unrolled the sail. It seemed a com- plicated job, but I accomplished it at length, and then came the question, which was the top end ? By a sort of natural instinct, we, of course, even- tually decided that the bottom was the top, and set to work to fix it upside down. But it was a long time before we could get it up, either that way or eny other way. The impression on the mind bf the 227 Three Men in a Boat. sail seemed to be that we were playing at funerala^ and that I was the corpse and itself was the wind- ing-sheet. When it found that this was not fhe idea, it hit me over the head with the boom, and refused to do anything. ** Wet it,’’ said Hector ; drop it over and get it wet.” He said people in ships always wetted their sails before they put them up. So I wetted it ; but that only made matters worse than they were before. A dry sail clinging to your legs and wrapping itself round your head is not pleasant, but when the sail is sopping wet, it becomes quite vexing. We did get the thing up at last, the two of us to- gether. We fixed it, not exactly upside down — more sideways like— and we tied it up to the mast with the painter, which we cut off for the purpose. That the boat did not upset I simply state as a fact. Why did not upset I am unable to offer any reason. I have often thought about the matter since, but I have never succeeded in arriving at any satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon. Possibly the result may have been brought about by the natural obstinacy of all things in this world. The boat may possibly have come to the conclusion, judging from a cursory view of our behavior, that we had come out for a morning’s suicide, and had there- upon determined to disappoint us. That is the only suggestion I cm 238 liiree Men in a jloaii By clinging like grim death to the gunwale, we just managed to keep inside the boat, but it was ex- hausting work. Hector said that pirates and other seafaring people generally lashed the rudder to some- thing or other, and hauled in the main top-jib during severe squalls, and thought we ought to try to do something of the kind; but I was for letting her have her head to the wind. As my advice was by far the easiest to follow, we ended by adopting it, and contrived to embrace the gunwhale and give her her head. The boat traveled up stream for about a mile at a pace I have never sailed at since, and don^t want to again. Then at a bend she heeled over till half her sail was under water. Then she righted herself by a miracle and flew for a long, low bank of soft mud. That mud-bank saved us. The boat plowed its way into the middle of it and then stuck. Finding that we were once more able to move according to our ideas, instead of being pitched and thrown about like peas in a bladder, we crept forward and cut down the sail. We had enough sailing. We did not want to overdo the thing and get a surfeit of it. We had had a sail— a good, all-round, exciting, interesting sail — and now we thought we would have a row, just for a change like. We took the sculls and tried to push the boat off the mud, and, in doing so, we broke one of the sculls. 229 liiree Men la a fioai After that we proceeded with great caution, but they were a wretched old pair, and the second one cracked almost easier than the first, and left us helpless. The mud stretched out for about a hundred yards in front of us, and behind us was the water. The only thing to be done was to sit and wait until some one came by. It was not the sort of day to attract people out on the river, and it was three hours before a soul came in sight. It was an old fisherman who, with immense difficulty, at last rescued us, and we were towed back in an ignominious fashion to the boatyard. What between tipping the man who had brought us home, and paying for the broken sculls, and for having been out four hours and a half, it cost us a pretty considerable number of weeks^ pocket-money, that sail. But we learned experience, and they say that is always cheap at any price. 230 Three Men in a Boat, CHAPTER XVL Beading.— We are towed by steam launch.— Irritating behavior of small boats.— How they get in the way of steam launches.— George and Harris again shirk their work.— Rather a hack- neyed story.— Streatley and Goring. E came in sight of Eeading about eleven. The river is dirty and dismal here. One does not linger in the neighborhood of Eeading. The town itself is a famous old place, dating from the dim days of King Ethelred, when the Danes anchored their warships in the Kennet, and started from Eeading to ravage all the land of Wessex; and here Ethelred and his brother Alfred fought and defeated theni^ Ethelred doing the praying and Alfred the fighting. It later years, Eeading seems to have been regarded as a handy place to run down to, when matters were becoming unpleasant in London. Parliament gen- erally rushed off to Eeading whenever there was a plague on at Westminster; and in 1625 the Law fol- lowed suit, and all the courts were held at Eeading. It must have been worth while having a mere ordi- nary plague now and then in London to get rid of both the lawyers and the Parliament. During the Parliamentary struggle, Eeading was besieged by the Earl of Essex, and a quarter of a century later, the Prince of Orange routed King James^ troops there. 28X iliree Men in a Boat. Henry I. lies buried at Reading, in the Benedictine abbey founded by him there, the ruins of which may still be seen; and, in this same abbey, great John of Gaunt was married to the Lady Blanche. At Reading Lock we came up with a steam launch, belonging to some friends of mine, and they towed ^s up to within about a mile of Streatley. It is very delightful being towed up by a launch. I prefer it myself to rowing. The run would have been more delightful still, if it had not been for a lot of wretched small boats that were continually getting in the way of our launch, and, to avoid running down which, we had to be continually easing and stopping. It is really most annoying, the manner in which these rowing boats get in the way of one^s launch up the river ; something ought to be done to stop it. And they are so confoundedly impertinent, too, over it. You can whistle till you nearly burst your boiler before they will trouble themselves to hurry. I would have one or two of them run down now and then, if I had my way, just to teach them all a lesson. The river becomes very lovely from a little above Reading. The railway rather spoils it near Tile- hurst, but from Mapledurham up to Streatley it is glorious. A little above Mapledurham Lock you pass Hardwick House, where Charles I. played bowls. The neighborhood of Pangbourne, where the quaint little Swan Inn stands, must be as famil- iar to the habitues of the Art Exhibitions as it is to its own inhabitants. 232 Three Men in a Boat. My friend’s launcn cast us loose just helow the grotto, and then Harris wanted to make out that it was my turn to pull. This seemed to me most un- reasonable. It had been arranged in the morning that I should bring the boat up to three miles above Reading. Well, here we were, ten miles above Reading I Surely it was now their turn again. I could not get either George or Harris to see the matter in its proper light, however ; so to save argu- ment, I took the sculls. I had not been pulling for more than a minute or so, when George noticed something black floating on the water, and we drew up to it. George leaned over, as we neared it, and laid hold of it. And then he drew back with a cry, and blanched face. It was the dead body of a woman. It lay very lightly on the water, and the face was sweet and calm. It was not a beautiful face ; it was too pre- maturely aged-looking, too thin and drawn, to be that ; but it was a gentle, lovable face, in spite of its stamp of pinch and poverty, and upon it was that look of restful peace that comes to the faces of the sick sometimes when at last the pain has left them. Fortunately for us — we having no desire to be kept hanging about coroner’s courts — some men on the bank had seen the body, too, and now took charge of it from us. We found out the woman’s story afterward. Of course it was the old, old vulgar tragedy. She had 233 Three Men in a Boat. loved and been deceived — or had deceived herselt Anyhow, she had sinned — some of us do now and then — and her family and friends, naturally shocked and indignant, had closed their doors against her. Left to fight the world alone, with the mill-stone of her shame around her neck, she had sunk ever lower and lower. For awhile she had kept both herself and the child on the twelve shillings a week that twelve hours’ drudgery a day procured her, paying six shillings out of it for the child, and keeping her own body and soul together on the remainder. Six shillings a week does not keep body and soul together very unitedly. They want to get away from each other when there is only such a very slight bond as that between them ; and one day, I suppose, the pain and the dull monotony of it all had stood before her eyes plainer than usual, and the mocking specter had frightened her. She had made one last appeal to friends, but, against the chill wall of their respectability, the voice of the erring outcast fell un- heeded ; and then she had gone to see her child — had held it in her arms and kissed it, in a weary, dull sort of way, and without betraying any particular emotion of any kind, and had left it, after putting into its hand a penny box of chocolate she had bought it, and afterward, with her last few shillings, had taken a ticket and come down to Goring. It seemed that the bitterest thoughts of her life must have centered about the wooded reaches and the bright green meadows around Goring; but women 234 Three Men in a Boat. strangely hug the knife that stabs them, and per- haps, amid the gall, there may have mingled also sunny memories of sweetest hours, spent upon those shadowed deeps over which the great trees bend their branches down so low. She had wandered about the woods by the river^s brink all day, and then, when evening fell and the gray twilight spread its dusky robe upon the waters, she stretched her arms out to the silent river that had known her sorrow and her joy. And the old river had taken her into its gentle arms, and had laid her weary head upon its bosom, and had hushed away the pain. Thus had she sinned in all things — sinned in living and in dying. God help her I and all other sinners, if any more there be. Goring on the left bank and Streatley on the right are both or either charming places to stay at for a few days. The reaches down to Pangbourne woo one for a sunny sail or for a moonlight row, and the country round about is fiill of beauty. We had in- tended to push on to Wallingford that day, but the sweet smiling face of the river here lured us to linger for awhile ; and so we left our boat at the bridge, and went up into Streatley, and lunched at the Bull, much to Montmorency’s satisfaction. They say that the hills on each side of the stream here once joined and formed a barrier across what is now the Thames, and that then the river ended there g-bove Goring in one vast lake. I am not ir, ^ ^35 Three Men in a Boat. position either to contradict or affirm this statement, I simply offer it. It is an ancient place, Streatley, dating back, like most riverside town and villages to British and Saxon times. Goring is not nearly so pretty a little spot to stop at as Streatley, if you have your choice ; but it is passing fair enough in its way, and is nearer the railway in case you want to slip off without paying your hotel bill. m Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTER XVIL Wasbing-day. — Fish and fishers.— On the art of angling.— >A conscientious fly-fisher.— A fishy story. W E stayed two days at Streatley, and got our clothes washed. We had tried washing them ourselves in the river, under George’s superintend- ence, and it had been a failure. Indeed, it had been more than a failure, because we were worse off after we had washed our clothes than we were before. Before we had washed them, they had been very, very dirty, it is true ; but they were just wearable. After we had washed them — well, the river between Beading and Henley was much cleaner, after we had washed our clothes in it than it was before. All the dirt contained in the river between Beading and Henley we collected during that wash, and worked it into our clothes. The washerwoman at Streatley said she felt she owed it to herself to charge us just three times the usual prices for that wash. She said it had not been like washing, it had been more in the nature of excavating. We paid the bill without a murmur. The neighborhood of Streatley and Goring is a great fishing center. There is some excellent fish- ing to be had there. The river abounds in pik^ 237 Three Men in a Boat, roach^ dace, gudgeon, and eels, just here; and 70U can sit and fish for them all day. Some people do. They never catch them, I never knew anybody catch anything up the Thames, except minnows and dead cats, but that has nothing to do, of course, with fishing I The local fisherman’s guide doesn’t say a word about catching anything. All it says is the place is “a good station for fishing;” and from what I have seen of the district, I am quite pre- pared to bear out this statement. There is no spot in the world where you can get more fishing, or where you can fish for a longer period. Some fishermen come here and fish for a day, and others stop and fish for a month. You can hang on and fish for a year, if you want to ; it will be all the same. The “ Angler’s Guide to the Thames ” says that ^^jack and perch are also to he had about here,” but there the “Angler’s Guide” is wrong. Jack and perch may he about there. Indeed, I know for a fact that they are. You can ue them there in shoals, when you are out for a walk along the banks ; they come and stand half out of the water with their mouths open for biscuits. And if you go for a bathe, they crowd round, and get in your way, and irritate you. But they are not to be “had” by a bit of worm on the end of a hook, nor anything like it— not they I I am not a good fisherman myself. I devoted a considerable amount of attention to the subject at one time, and was getting on, as I thought, fairly 238 Three Men in a Boat. well ; but the old hands told me that I should never be any real good at it, and advised me to give it up. They said that I was an extremely neat thrower, and that I seemed to have plenty of gumption for the thing, and quite enough constitutional laziness. But they were sure I should never make anything of a fisherman. I had not got sufficient imagination. They said that as a poet, or a shilling shocker, or a reporter, or anything of that kind, I might be satis- factory, but that, to gain any position as a Thames angler, would require more play of fancy, more power of invention than I appeared to possess. Some people are under the impression that all that is required to make a good fisherman is the ability to tell lies easily and without blushing ; but this is a mistake. Here bald fabrication is useless ; the veriest tyro can manage that. It is in the circumstantial detail, the embellishing touches of probability, the general air of scrupulous — almost of pedantic — veracity, that the experienced angler is seen. Anybody can coijae in and say, ‘‘Oh, I caught fifteen dozen perch yesterday evening;’^ or “Last Monday I landed a gudgeon, weighing eighteen pounds, and measuring three feet from the tip to the tail.^^ There is no art, no skill, required for that sort of thing. It shows pluck, but that is all. No ; your accomplished angler would scorn to tell a that way. His method is a study in itself. 239 Three Men in a Boat. He comes in quietly with his hat on, appropriates the most comfortable chair, lights his pipe, and com- mences to puff in silence. He lets the youngsters brag away for awhile, and then, during a momentary lull, he removes the pipe from his mouth, and re- marks, as he knocks the ashes out against the bars : “Well, I had a haul on Tuesday evening that it’s not much good my telling anybody about.” “ Oh I why’s that ? ” they ask. “Because I don’t expect anybody would believe me if I did,” replies the old fellow calmly, and with- out even a tinge of bitterness in his tone, as he refills his pipe, and requests the landlord to bring him three of Scotch, cold. There is a pause after this, nobody feeling suffi- ciently sure of himself to contradict the old gentle- man, So he has to go on by himself without any encouragement. “No,” he continues thoughtfully; “I shouldn’t believe it myself if anybody told it to me, but it’s a fact, for all that. I had been sitting there all the afternoon and had caught literally nothing— except a few dozen dace and a score of jack ; and I was just about giving it up as a bad job when I suddenly felt a rather smart pull at the line. I thought it was another little one, and I went to jerk it up. Hang me, if I could move the rod I It took me half an hour — half an hour sir I— to land that fish; and every moment I thought the line was going to snap I I reached him at last, and what do you think it was? 240 Three Men in a Boat, \ A sturgeon I a forty-pound sturgeon I taken on a line, sir I Yes, you may well look surprised — 1^11 have another three of Scotch, landlord, please.” And then he goes on to tell of the astonishment of everybody who saw it ; and what his wife said, when he got home, and of what Joe Buggies thought about it. I asked the landlord of an inn up the river once, if it did not injure him, sometimes, listening to the tales that the fishermen about there told him ; and he said : ‘‘ Oh, no ; not now, sir. It did used to knock me over a bit at first, but. Lor’ love you I me and the missus we listens to ’em all day now. It’s what you’re used to, you know. It’s what you’re used to.” I knew a young man once, he was a most con- scientious fellow, and when he took to fly-fishing, he determined never to exaggerate his hauls by more than twenty-five per cent. When I have caught forty fish,” said he, then I will tell people that I have caught fifty, and so on. But I will not lie any more than that, because it is sinful to lie.” But the twenty-five per cent, plan did not work well at all. He never was able to use it. The greatest number of fish he ever caught in one day was three, and you can’t add twenty-five per cent, to three — at least, not in fish. So he increased his percentage to thirty-three-and- a-third ; but that, again, was awkward, when he ^ad 16 241 Three Men in a Boato only caught one or two ; so, to simplify matters, he made up his mind to just double the quantity. He stuck to this arrangement for a conple of months, and then he grew dissatisfied with it. No- body believed him when he told them that he only doubled, and he, therefore, gained no credit that way whatever, while his moderation put him at a disad- vantage among the other anglers. When he had really caught three small fish, and said he had caught six, it used to make him quite jealous to hear a man, who he knew for a fact had only caught one, going about telling people he had landed two dozen. So, eventually, he made one final arrangement with himself, which he has religiously held to ever since, and that was to count each fish that he caught as ten, and to assume ten to begin with. For ex- ample, if he did not catch any fish at all, then he said he had caught ten fish — you could never catch less than ten fish by his system ; that was the founda- tion of it. Then, if by any chance he really did catch one fish, he called it twenty, while two fish would count thirty, three forty, and so on. It is a simple and easily worked plan, and there has been some talk lately of its being made use of by the angling fraternity in general. Indeed, the committee of the Thames Anglers’ Association did recommend its adoption about two years ago, but some of the older members opposed it. They said they would consider the idea if the number were doubled, and each fish counted as twenty, 2a Three Men in a Boat, If ever you have an evening to spare, up the river, I should advise you to drop into one of the little village inns, and take a seat in the taproom. You will be nearly sure to meet one or two old rodmen, sipping their toddy there, and they will tell you enough fishy stories in half an hour to give you indigestion for a month. George and I — I don’t know what had become of Harris ; he had gone out and had a shave, early in the afternoon, and had then come back and spent full forty minutes in pipe-claying his shoes, we had not seen him since — George and I, therefore, and the dog, left to ourselves, went for a walk to Wal- lingford on the second evening, and, coming home, we called in at a little river-side inn, for a rest, and other things. We went into the parlor and sat down. There was an old fellow there, smoking a long clay pipe, and we naturally began chatting. He told us that it had been a fine day to-day, and we told him that it had been a fine day yesterday, and then we all told each other that we thought it would be a fine day to-morrow ; and George said the crops seemed to be coming up nicely. After that it came out, somehow or other, that we were strangers in the neighborhood, and that we were going away the next morning. Then a pause ensued in the conversation, during which our eyes wandered round the room. They finally rested upon a dusty old glass case, fixed very 243 Three Men in a Boat. high up above the chimney-piece, and containing a trout. It rather fascinated me, that trout; it was such a monstrous fish. In fact, at first glance I thought it was a cod. said the old gentleman, following the direc- tion of my gaze, “ fine fellow that, ain’t he ? ” Quite uncommon,” I murmured; and George asked the old man how much he thought it weighed. Eighteen pounds six ounces,” said our friend, rising and taking down his coat. ‘‘Yes,” he con- tinued, “ it wur sixteen year ago, come the third o’ next month, that I landed him. I caught him just below the bridge with a minnow. They told me he wur in the river, and I said I’d have him, and so I did. You don’t see many fish that size about here now, I’m thinking. Good-night, gentlemen, good-night.” And out he went, and left us alone. We could not take our eyes off the fish after that It really was a remarkably fine fish. We were still looking at it when the local carrier, who had just stopped at the inn, came to the door of the room with a pot of beer in his hand, and he also looked at the fish. “Good-sized trout that,” said George, turning round to him. “ Ah I you may well say that, sir,” replied the man; and then, after a pull at his beer, he added : “ Maybe you wasn’t here, sir, when that fish was caught ? ” “No,” we told him. We were strangers in the neighborhood. 244 Three Men in a Boat said the carrier, ^Hhen, of course, how should you? It was nearly five years ago that I caught that trout/ ^ Oh ! was it you who caught it, then? said I. *'Yes, sir,” replied the genial old fellow. “I caught him just below the lock — leastways, what was the lock then — one Friday afternoon ; and the remarkable thing about it is that I caught him with a fly. I’d gone out pike-fishing, bless you, never thinking of a trout, and when I saw that whopper at the end of my line, blest if it didn’t quite take me aback. Well, you see, he weighed twenty-six pound. Good-night, gentlemen, good-night.” Five minutes afterward a third man came in, and described how he had caught it early one morning, with bleak ; and then he left, and a stolid, solemn- looking, middle-aged individual came in, and sat down over by the window. None of us spoke for awhile ; but at length George turned to the newcomer and said : I beg your pardon, I hope you will forgive the liberty that we — perfect strangers in the neighbor- hood— are taking, but my friend and myself would be so much obliged if you would tell us how you caught that trout up there.” ^‘Why, who told you I caught that trout?” was the surprised query. We said that nobody had told us so, but somehow or other we felt instinctively that it was he who had done it. 245 Three Men in a Boat. ‘‘Well, it's a most remarkable thing — most re^ markable,’’ answered the stolid stranger, laughing; because, as a matter of fact, you are quite right. I did catch it. But fancy your guessing it like that. Dear me, it’s really a most remarkable thing.” And then he went on and told us, how it had taken him half an hour to land it, and how it had broken his rod. He said te had weighed it carefully when he reached home, and it had turned the scale at thirty-four pounds. He went in his turn, and when he was gone, the landlord came in to us. We told him the various histories we had heard about his trout, and he was immensely amused, and we all laughed very heartily. “Fancy Jim Bates and Joe Muggles and Mr. Jones and old Billy Maunders all telling you that they had caught it. Hal ha I ha I Well, that is good,” said the honest old fellow, laughing heartily. “ Yes, they are the sort to give it to to put up in my parlor, if they had caught it, they are I Hal ha! ha!” And then he told us the real history of the fish It seemed that he had caught it himself, years ago,, when he was quite a lad ; not by any art or skill, but by that unaccountable luck that appears to always wait upon a boy when he plays the wag from school, and goes out fishing on a sunny afternoon, with a bit of string tied on to the end of a tree. He said that bringing home that trout had saved him from a whacking, and that even bis school* Three Men in a Boat. master had said it was worth the rule of three and practice put together. He was called out of the room at this point, and George and I again turned our gaze upon the fish. It really was a most astonishing trout. The more we looked at it, the more we marvelled at it. It excited George so much that he climbed up on the back of a chair to get a better view of it. And then the chair slipped, and George clutched wildly at the trout case to save himself, and down it came with a crash, George and the chair on top of it. ^‘You havenT injured the fish, have you?^^ I cried in alarm, rushing up. ** I hope not,’^ said George, rising cautiously and looking about. But he had. That trout lay shattered into a thou- sand fragments — I say a thousand, but they may have only been nine hundred. I did not count them. We thought it strange 'and unaccountable that a stuffed trout should break up into little pieces like that. And so it would have been strange and unaccount- able, if it had been a stuffed trout, but it was net. That trout was plaster of Paris. 247 Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTEB XVIIL Locks.— George and I are photographed.— Wallingford.— Dor- Chester.— Abingdon.— A family man.— A good spot for drown- ing. — A difficult bit of water. — Demoralizing effect of river air. E left Streatley early tlie next morning, and pulled up to Culham, and slept under the can- vas, in the backwater there. The river is not extraordinarily interesting between Streatley and Wallingford, From Cleve you get a stretch of six and a half miles without a lock. I believe this is the longest uninterrupted stretch any- where above Teddington, and the Oxford Club make use of it for their trial eights. But however satisfactory this absence of locks may be to rowing-men, it is to be regretted by the mere pleasure-seeker. For myself, I am fond of locks. They pleasantly break the monotony of the pull. I like sitting in the boat and slowly rising out of the cool depths up into new reaches and fresh views ; or sinking down, as it were, out of the world, and then waiting, while the gloomy gates creak, and the narrow strip of daylight between them widens till the fair smiling river lies full before you, and you push your little boat out from its brief prison on to the welcoming waters once again. They are picturesque little spots, these locks. The 248 Three Men in a Boat, stout old lock-keeper, or his cheerful-looking wife, or bright-eyed daughter, are pleasant folk to have a passing chat mth.* You meet other boats there, and river gossip is exchanged. The Thames would not be the fairy-land it is without its flower-decked locks. Talking of locks reminds me of an accident George and I very nearly had one summer’s morning at Hampton Court. It was a glorious day, and the lock was crowded ; and, as is a common practice up the river, a specu- lative photographer was taking a picture of us all as we lay upon the rising waters. I did not catch what was going on at flrst, and was, therefore, extremely surprised at noticing George hurriedly smooth out his trousers, ruffle up his hair, and stick his cap on in a rakish manner at the back of his head, and then, assuming an expression of mingled afiability and sadness, sit down in a graceful attitude, and try to hide his feet. My flrst idea was that he had suddenly caught sight of some girl he knew, and I looked about to see who it was. Everybody in the lock seemed to have been suddenly struck wooden. They were all stand- ing or sitting about in the most quaint and curious * Or rather were. The Conservancy of late seems to have con- stituted itself into a society for the employment of idiots. A good many of the new lock-keepers, especially in the more crowded portions of the river, are excitable, nervous old men, quite unfitted for their post. 249 Three Men in a Boat. attitudes I have ever seen off a Japanese fan. All the girls were smiling. Oh, they did look so sweet! And all the fellows were frowning, and looking stem and noble. And then, at last, the tmth flashed across me, and I wondered if I should be in time. Ours was the first boat, and it would be unkind of me to spoil the man’s picture, I thought. So I faced round quickly, and took up a position in the prow, where I leaned with careless grace upon the hitcher, in an attitude suggestive of agility and strength. I arranged my hair with a curl over the forehead, and threw an air of tender wistfulness into my expression, mingled with a touch of cynicism, which I am told suits me. As we stood, waiting for the eventful moment, I heard some one behind call out : Hi I look at your nose.’’ I could not turn round to see what was the matter, and whose nose it was that was to be looked at. I stole a side glance at George’s nose I It was aU right — at all events, there was nothing wrong with it that could be altered. I squinted down at my own, and that seemed all that could be expected also, ‘^Look at your nose, you stupid ass I” came the same voice again, louder. And then another voice cried : ‘‘Push your nose out, can’t you, you — ^you two with the dog I ” Neither George nor I dared to turn round. The 250 'three Men in a ]^at. man's hand was on the cap, and the picture might be taken any moment. Was it us they were calling to? What was the matter with our noses? Why were they to be pushed out? But now the whole lock started yelling, and a stentorian voice shouted : “ Look at your boat, sir : you in the red and black caps. It's your two corpses that will get taken in that photo if you ain't quick." We looked then, and saw that the nose of our boat had got fixed under the woodwork of the lock, while the incoming water was rising all round it and tilting it up. In another moment we should be over. Quick as thought we each seized an oar, and a vigorous blow against the side of the lock with the butt- ends released the boat and sent us sprawling on our backs. We did not come out well in that photograph, George and I. Of course, as was to be expected, our luck ordained it that the man should set his wretched machine in motion at the precise moment that we were both lying on our backs with a wild expression of ‘‘Where am I? and what is it?" on our faces and our four feet waving madly in the air. Our feet were undoubtedly the leading article in that photograph. Indeed, very little else was to be seen. They filled up the foreground entirely. Behind them you caught glimpses of the other boats and bits of the surrounding scenery, but everything and everybody else in the lock looked so utterly insignifi- 261 lliree Men in a Boat. cant and paltry compared with our feet that all the other people felt quite ashamed of themselves and refused to subscribe to the picture. The owner of one steam launch, who had bespoke six copies, rescinded the order on seeing the nega- tive. He said he would take them if anybody could show him his launch, but nobody could. It was somewhere behind George’s right foot. There was a good deal of unpleasantness over the business. The photographer thought we ought to take a dozen copies each, seeing that the photo was about nine-tenths us, but we declined. We said we had no objection to being photo’d full length, but we preferred being taken the right way up. Wallingford, six miles above Streatley, is a very ancient town, and has been an active center for the making of English history. It was a rude, mud- built town in the time of the Britons, who squatted there until the Eoman legions evicted them and replaced their clay-baked walls by mighty fortifica- tions, the trace of which Time has not yet succeeded in sweeping away, so well those old-world masons knew how to build. But Time, though he halted at Eoman walls, soon rumbled Eomans to dust, and on the ground in •ater years fought savage Saxons and huge Danes until the Normans came. It was a walled and fortified town up to the time of the Parliamentary War, when it suffered a long 252 Three Men in a Boat. and bitter siege from Fairfax. It fell at last, and then the walls were razed. From Wallingford up to Dorchester the neighbor- hood of the river grows more hilly, varied, and picturesque. Dorchester stands half a mile from the river. It can be reached by paddling up the Thames, if you have a small boat ; but the best way is to leave the river at Day^s Lock, and take a walk across the field. Dorchester is a delightfully peace- ful old place, nestling in stillness, and silence and drowsiness. Dorchester, like Wallingford, was a city in ancient British times ; it was then called Caer Doren, the city on the water. In more recent times the Komans formed a great camp here, the fortifications surrounding which now seem like low even hills. In Saxon days it was the capital of Wessex. It is very old, and it was very strong and great once. Now it sits aside from the stirring world, and nods and dreams. Bound Clifton Hampden, itself a wonderfully pretty village, old-fashioned, peaceful, and dainty with flowers, the river scenery is rich and beautiful. If you stay the night on land at Clifton, you can- not do better than put up at the Barley Mow. It is, without exception, I should say, the quaintest, most old-world inn up the river. It stands on the right of the bridge, quite away from the village. Its low pitched gables and thatched roof and latticed windows give it quite a story-book appearance, while inside it is even still more once-upon-£t-timeyfied, m Three Men in a Boat. would not be a good place for a heroine of a modern novel to stay at. The heroine of a modem novel is always ^‘divinely tall,” and she is ever “drawing herself up to her full height.” At the Barley Mow she would bump her head against the ceiling each time she did this. It would also be a bad house for a drunken man to put up at. There are too many surprises in the way of unexpected steps down into this room and up into that; and as for getting upstairs to his bed- room, or ever finding his bed when he got up, either operation would be an utter impossibility to him. We were up early the next morning, as we wanted to be in Oxford by the afternoon. It is surprising how early one can get up, when camping out. One does not yearn for “just another five minutes” nearly so much, lying wrapped up in a rug on the boards of a boat, with a Gladstone bag for a pillow, as one does in a featherbed. We had finished breakfast and were through Clifton Lock by half-past eight. From Clifton to Culham the river banks are flat, monotonous, and uninteresting, but, after you get through Culham lock — the coldest and deepest lock on the river — ^the landscape improves. At Abingdon, the river passes by the streets. Abingdon is a typical country town of the smaller order— quiet, eminently respectable, clean, and des- perately dull. It prides itself on being old, but whether it can compare in this respect with Walling- ford and Dorchester seems doubtful, A faihdiu^ 254 Three Men in a Boat. abbey stood here once, and within what is left of its sanctified walls they brew bitter ale nowadays. In St. Nicholas’ Church, at Abingdon, there is a monument to John Black wall and his wife Jane, who both, after leading a happy married life, died on the very same day, August 21, 1625; and in St. Helen’s Church, it is recorded that W. Lee, who died in 1637, had in his lifetime issue from his loins two hundred lacking but three.” If you work this out you will find that Mr. W. Lee’s family numbered one hundred and ninety-seven. Mr. W. Lee — five times mayor of Abingdon — was, no doubt, a benefactor to his generation, but I hope there are not many of his kind about in this overcrowded nineteenth century. From Abingdon to Nuneham Courteney is a lovely stretch. Nuneham Park is well worth a visit. It can be viewed on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The house contains a fine collection of pictures and curi- osities, and the grounds are very beautiful. The pool under Sandford lasher, just behind the lock, is a very good place to drown yourself in. The undercurrent is terribly strong, and if you once get down into it you are all right. An obelisk marks the spot where two men have already been drowned, while bathing there ; and the steps of the obelisk are generally used as a diving-board by young men now who wish to see if the place really is dangerous. Iffley Lock and Mill, a mile before you reach Oxford, is a favorite subject with the river-loving brethren of the brush. The real article, however, 255 I Three Men in a Boat. is rather disappointing, after the pictures. Few things, I have noticed, come quite up to the pictures of them, in this world. We passed through Iffley Lock at about half-past twelve, and then, having tidied up the boat and made all ready for landing, we set to work on our last mile. Between Iffley and Oxford is the most difficult bit of the river I know. You want to be born on that bit of water to understand it. I have been over it a fairish number of times, but I have never been able to get the hang of it. The man who could row a straight course from Oxford to Iffley ought to be able to live comfortably under one roof with his wife, his mother-in-law, his elder sister, and the old servant who was in the family when he was a baby. First the current drives you on to the right bank, and then on the left, then it takes you out into the middle, turns round three times, and carries you up stream again, and always ends by trying to smash you up against a college barge. Of course, as a consequence of this, we got in the way of a good many other boats, during the mile^ and they in ours, and, of course, as a consequence of that, a good deal of bad language occurred. I don’t know why it should be, but everybody is always so exceptionally irritable on the river. Little mishaps, that you would hardly notice on dry land, drive you nearly frantic with rage when they occur on the water. When Harris or George makes an ass of himself on dry land, I smile indulgently ; when 256 Three Men in a Boat. they behave in a chuckle-head way on the river, I use the most blood-curdling language to them. When another boat gets in my way, I feel I want to take an oar and kill all the people in it. The mildest-tempered people, when on land, be- come violent and bloodthirsty when in a boat. I did a little boating once with a sweet young lady. She Was naturally of the sweetest and gentlest disposition imaginable, but on the river it was quite awful to hear her. ^^Oh, drat the manl^^ she would exclaim when some unfortunate sculler would get in her way; 'Vhy don^t he look where he’s going ? ” And, Oh, bother the silly old thing I ” she would say indignantly, when tho sail would not go up properly. And she would catch hold of it and shake it quite brutally. Yet, as I have said, when on shore she was kind- hearted and amiable enough. The air of the river has a demoralizing effect upon one’s temper, and this it is, I suppose, which causes even bargemen to be sometimes rude to one another, and to use language which, no doubt, in their calmer moments they r^et. 17 357 Three Men in a Boat. CHAPTER XIX. Oxford.— Montmorency’s idea of heaven.— The hired up-rivef boat, its beauties and advantages.— The “Pride of the Thames.”— The weather changes. — The river under different aspects.— Not a cheerful evening. — Yearnings for the unattain- able. — The cheery chat goes round.— George performs upon the banjo.— A mournful melody.— Another wet day.— Flight. — A little supper and a toast. E spent two very pleasant days at Oxford, There are plenty of dogs in the town of Oxford. Montmorency had eleven fights on the first day, and fourteen on the second, and evidently thought he had got to heaven. Among folk too constitutionally weak, or too con- stitutionally lazy, whichever it may be, to relish up-stream work, it is a common practice to get a boat at Oxford and row down. For the energetic, however, the up-stream journey is certainly to be preferred. It does not seem good to be always going with the current. There is more satisfaction in squaring one’s back, and fighting against it, and winning one’s way forward in spite of it — at least, so I feel, when Harris and George are sculling and I am steering. To those who do contemplate making Oxford their starting-place, I would say, take your own boat — unless, of course, you can take some one else’s with- out any possible danger of being ibandi The m Three Men in a Boat boats that, as a rule, are let for hire on the Thames above Marlow are very good boats. They are fairly water-tight; and so long as they are handled with care, they rarely come to pieces or sink. There are places in them to sit down on, and they are complete with all the necessary arrangements — or nearly all — to enable you to row them and steer them. But they are not ornamental. The boat you hire up the river above Marlow is not the sort of boat in which you can flasl.i about and give yourself airs. The hired up-river boat very soon puts a stop to any nonsense of that sort on the part of its occupants. That is its chief — one may say, its only recommenda- tion. The man in the hired up-river boat is modest and retiring. He likes to ^:*.eep on the shady side under- neath the trees, and to do most of his traveling early in the morning or late at night, when there are not many people about on the river to look at him. When the man in the hired up-river boat sees any one he knows, he gets out on the bank, and hides behind a tree. I was one of a party who hired an up-river boat one summer for a few days^ trip. We had none of us ever seen the hired up-river boat before ; and we did not know what it was when we did see it. We had written for a boat — a double-sculling skiff; and when we went down with our bags to the yard, find ga\’o our names, the man said : " Oh, yds ; 3Tchi Ve the party ttiat wfote for a <|dq[bl^ Three Men in a Boat. sculling skiff. Ifs all right. Jim, fetch round ‘The Pride of the Thames.' ” The boy went, and reappeared five minutes after- ward, struggling with an antediluvian chunk of wood, that looked as though it had been recently dug out of somewhere, and dug out carelessly, so as to have been unnecessarily damaged in the process. My own idea on first catching sight of the object, was that it was a Eoman relic of some sort — relic of what I do not know, possibly of a coffin. The neighborhood of the upper Thames is rich in Roman relics, and my surmise seemed to me a very probable one ; but our serious young man, who is a bit of a geologist, pooh-poohed my Eoman relic theory, and said it was clear to the meanest intellect (in which category he seemed to be grieved that he could not conscientiously include mine) that the thing the boy had found was the fossil of a whale ; and he pointed out to us various evidences proving that it must have belonged to the pre-glacial period. To settle the dispute, we appealed to the boy. We told him not to be afraid, but to speak the plain truth : Was it the fossil of a pre- Adamite whale, oi* was it an early Eoman coffin ? The boy said it was ‘‘ The Pride of the Thames.” We thought this a very humorous answer on the part of the boy at first, and somebody gave him two- pence as a reward for his ready wit ; but when he pwsisted in keeping up the joke, as we thought, tpo long, we T€^ed with him. 369 Three Men in a Boat. ^ Come, come, my lad I ’’ said our captain sharply; "don’t let us have any nonsense. You take your mother's washing-tub home again, and bring ua a boat.” The boat-builder himself came up then, and ae- sured us, on his word, as a practical man, that the thing really was a boat — was, in fact, boat, the * double-sculling skiff” selected to take us on our trip down the river. We grumbled a good deal. We thought he might at least have had it whitewashed or tarred — had iomething done to it to distinguish it from a bit of a vn-eck ; but he could not see any fault in it. He even seemed offended at our remarks. He said he had picked us out the best boat in all his stock, and he thought we might have been more grateful. He said it, " The Pride of the Thames,” had been in use, just as it now stood (or rather as it now hung together) for the last forty years, to his knowledge, and nobody had complained of it before, and he did not see why we should be the first to begin. We argued no more. We fastened the so-called boat together with some pieces of string, got a bit of wall-paper and pasted over the shabbier places, said our prayers, and stepped on board. They charged us thirty-five shillings fo^' vhe loan of the remnant for six days; and we couid have bought the thing out and out for four-and-sixpenca at any sale of driftwood round the coaat. 261 lluree Men in a Boat The weather changed on the third day — oh! I am talking about our present trip now — and we started fix)m Oxford upon our homeward journey in the midst of a steady drizzle. The river — with the sunlight flashing from ita dancing rivulets, gilding gold the gray-green beech trunks, glinting through the dark, cool wood paths, chasing shadows o’er the shallows, flinging diamonds from the mill-wheels, throwing kisses to the lilies, wantoning with the wear’s white waters, silvering moss-grown walls and bridges, brightening every tiny townlet, making sweet each lane and meadow, lying tangled in the rushes, peeping, laughing from each inlet, gleaming gay on many a far sail, making soft the air with glory — is a golden fairy stream. But the river — chill and weary, with the ceaseless rain-drops falling on its brown and sluggish waters, with a sound as of a woman weeping low in some dark chamber ; while the woods, all dark and silent, shrouded in their mists of vapor, stand like ghosts upon the margin ; silent ghosts with eyes reproach- ful, like the ghosts of evil actions, like the ghosts of friends neglected — is a spirit-haunted water through the land of vain regrets. Sunlight is the life-blood of Nature. Mother Earth looks at us with such dull, soulless eyes when the sunli'^ht has died away from out of her.- It makes us sad to be with her then ; she does not .seem to know us or to care for us. She is as a widow who has lost the husband she loved, and her children 2G2 Three Men in a Boat. touch her hand, and look up into her eyes, but gain no smile from her. We rowed on all that day through the rain, and very melancholy work it was. We pretended, at first, that we enjoyed it. We said it was a change, that we liked to see the river under all its different aspects. We said we could not expect to have it all sunshine, nor should we wish it. We told each other that Nature was beautiful, even in her tears. Indeed, Harris and I were quite enthusiastic about the business, for the first few hours. And we sung a song about a gypsy’s life^ and how delightfiil a gypsy^s existence was I free to storm and sunshine, and to every wind that blew I — and how he enjoyed the rain, and what a lot of good it did him; anrf how he laughed at people who didn^t like it. George took the fiin more soberly and stuck to the umbrella. We hoisted the cover before we had lunch and kept it up all the afternoon, just leaving a little space in the bow, from which one of us could paddle and keep a lookout. In this way we made nine miles and pulled up for the night a little below Day’s Lock. I cannot honestly say that we had a merry even- ing. The rain poured down with quiet persistency. Everything in the boat was damp and clammy. Supper was not a success. Cold veal pie, when you don’t feel hungry, is apt, to cloy. I felt I wanted whitebait and a cutlet ; Harris babbled of soles and m Three Men In a Boat white-sauce and passed the remains of his pie to Montmorency, who declined it, and, apparently in- sulted by the offer, went and sat over at the other end of the boat by himself. George requested that we would not talk about these things, at all events until he had finished hi® cold boiled beef without mustard. We played penny nap after supper. We played for about an hour and a half, by the end of which time George had won foui-pence —George always is lucky at cards — and Harris and I had lost exactly twopence each. He thought we would give up gambling then. As Harris said, it breeds an unhealthy excitement when carried too far. George offered to go on and give us our revenge, but Harris and I decided not to battle any further against Fate. After that we mixed ourselves some toddy, and sat round and talked. George told us about a man ha had known who had come up the river two years ago, and who had slept out in a damp boat on just such another night as that was, and it had given him rheumatic fever, and nothing was able to save him, and he had died in great agony ten days afterward. George said he was quite a young man, and was engaged to be married. He said it was one of the saddest things he had ever known. And that put Harris in mind of a friend of his who had been in the Volunteers, and who had slept out under canvas one wet night down at Aldershot^ 264 Three Men In a Boat. •on just such another night as this/’ said Harris, and he had woke up in the morning a cripple for life. Harris said he would introduce us both to the man when he got back to town ; it would make our hearts bleed to see him. This naturally led to some pleasant chat about sciatica, fevers, chills, lung diseases and bronchitis, and Harris said how very awkward it would be if one of us were taken seriously ill in the night, seeing how far away we were from a doctor. There seemed to be a desire for something frolic- some to follow upon this conversation, and in a weak moment I suggested that George should get out his banjo and see if he could not give us a comic song. I will say for George that he did not want any pressing. There was no nonsense about having left his music at home or anything of that sort. He at once fished out his instrument and commenced to play ** Two Lovely Black Eyes.” I had always regarded Two Lovely Black Eyes ” as rather a commonplace tune until that evening. The rich vein of sadness that George extracted from it quite surprised me. The desire that grew upon Harris and myself, as the mournful strains progressed, was to fall upon each other^s neck and weep ; but by great effort we kept back the rising tears, and listened to the wild, yeamful melody in silence. When the chorus came we even made a desperate 265 l^hree Men In a Boat. effort to be merry. We refilled our glasses and joined in ; Harris, in a voice trembling with emotion, leading, and George and I following a taw words behind : “Two loTely black eyes; Ok I what a lurpriM t Only for telling a man he waa wrong, Two »» There we broke down. The unutterable pathos of George’s accompaniment to that two ” we were, in our then state of depression, unable to bear. Harris sobbed like a little child, and the dog howled till I thought his heart or his jaw must surely break. Greorge wanted to go on with another verse. He thought that when he had got a little more into the tune, and could throw more abandon ” as it were, into the rendering, it might not seem so s^. The feeling of the majority, however, was opposed to the experiment. There being nothing else to do, we went to bed — that is, we undressed ourselves, and tossed about at the bottom of the boat for some three or four hours. After which, we managed to get some fitful slumber imtil five A. M., when we all got up and had breakfast The second day was exactly like the first. The rain continued to pour down, and we sat, wrapped up in our mackintoshes, underneath the canvas, and drifted slowly down. One of us — I forget which one now, but I rather think it was myself— made a few feeble attempts during the course of the morning to work up the old 266 Three Men in a Boat. gypsy foolishness about being children of Nature and enjoying the wet; but it did not go down well at all. That— “ I cannot for the rain, not I ! ” was so painfully evident, as expressing the senti- ments of each of us, that to sing it seemed unneces- sary. On one point we were all agreed, and that was that, come what might, we would go through with this job to the bitter end. We had come out for a fortnight’s enjoyment on the river, and a fortnight’s enjoyment on the river we meant to have. If it killed us I well, that would be a sad thing for our friends and relations, but it could not be helped. We felt that to give in to the weather in a climate such as ours would be a most disastrous precedent. It’s only two days more,” said Harris, and we are young and strong. We may get over it all right, after all.” At about four o’clock we began to discuss our arrangements for the evening. We were a little past Goring then, and we decided to paddle on to Pang- boume, and put up there for the night. ‘‘Another jolly evening I’* murmured George. We sat and mused on the prospect. We should be in at Pangbourne by five. We should finish dinner at, say half-past six. After that we could walk about the village in the pouring rain until bed- time ; or we could sit in a dimly lighted bar-parlor end read the almanac. 267 Three Men in a Boat. ^'Why, the Alhambra would be almost more lively,” said Harris, venturing his head outside the cover for a moment and taking a survey of the sky. ^^With a little supper at the * to follow,” I added, half unconsciously. “ Yes, it’s almost a pity we^ve made up our minds to stick to this boat,” answered Harris; and then there was silence for awhile. “ If we hadnH made up our minds to contract our certain deaths in this bally old coffin,” observed George, casting a glance of intense malevolence over the boat, “ it might be worth while to mention that there’s a train leaves Pangbourne, I know, soon after five, which would just land us in town in comfortable time to get a chop, and then go on to the place you mentioned afterward.” Nobody spoke. We looked at one another, and each one seemed to see his own mean and guilty thoughts reflected in the faces of the others. In silence we dragged out and overhauled the Glad- stone. We looked up the river and down the river; not a soul was in sight I Twenty minutes later, three figures, followed by " shamed-looking dog, might have been seen creeping ealthily from the boat-house at the Swan toward *A capital little out-of-the-vray restaurant, in the neighbor- hood of , where you can get oue of the best-cooked and cheapest little French dinners or suppers that I know of, with an excellent bottle of Beaune, for three-and-six ; and which I am not going to be idiot enough to adyertise. 263 Three Men in a Boat. the railway station, dressed in the following neither neat nor gaudy costume : Black leather shoes, dirty ; suit of boating flan- nels, very dirty; brown felt hat, much battered; mackintosh, very wet ; umbrella. We had deceived the boatman at Pangbourne. We had not had the face to tell him that we were running away from the rain. We had left the boat^ and all it contained, in his charge, with instructions that it was to be ready for us at nine the next morn- ing. If, we said if anything unforeseen should hap- pen, preventing our return, we would write to him. We reached Paddington at seven, and drove direct to the restaurant I have before described, where we partook of a light meal, left Montmorency, together with suggestions for a supper to be ready at half-past ten, and then continued our way to Leicester Square. We attracted a good deal of attention at the Alhambra. On our presenting ourselves at the pay- box we were gruffly directed to go round to Castle Street, and were informed that we were half an hour behind our time. We convinced the man, with some difficulty, that we were not ^Hhe world-renowned contortionists from the Himalaya Mountains,'^ and he took our money and let us pass. Inside we were still a greater success. Our fine bronzed countenances and picturesque clothes were followed round the place with admiring gaze. Wo were the cynosure of every eye. 2^9 Three Mei^ in a Boat, It was a proud moment for us all. We adjourned soon after the first ballet, and wended our way back to the restaurant, where supper was already awaiting us. I must confess to enjoying that supper. For about ten days we seemed to have been living, more or less, on nothing but cold meat, cake, and bread and jam. It had been a simple, a nutritious diet, but there had been nothing exciting about it, and the odor of Burgundy, and the smell of French sauces, and the sight of clean napkins and long loaves knocked as a very welcome visitor at the door of our inner man. We pegged and quaffed away in silence for awhile, until the time came when, instead of sitting bolt upright, and grasping the knife and fork firmly, we leaned back in our chairs and worked slowly and carelessly — when we stretched out our legs beneath the table, let our napkins fall, unheeded, to the floor, and found time to more critically examine the smoky ceiling than we had hitherto been able to do — when we rested our glasses at arm’s-length upon the table, and felt good, and thoughtful, and forgiving. Then Harris, who was sitting next to the window, drew aside the curtain and looked out upon the street. It glistened darkly in the wet, the dim lamps flickered with each gust, the rain splashed steadily into the puddles and trickled down the water-spouts into the running gutters. A few soaked wayfarers hurried past, crouching beneath their dripping urn- bi'ellas, the women holding Up their skirts. 270 Three Men in a Boat. Well/’ said Harris, reaching his hand out for his glass, “we have had a pleasant trip, and my hearty thanks for it to old Father Thames — ^but I think we did well to chuck it when we did. Here’s to Three Men well out of a Boat I ” And Montmorency, standing on his hind legs before the window, peering out into the night, gave a short bark of decided concurrence with the toast. ‘'ri PRESERVATION REVIEW