Rivers of Ice. Robert Michael Ballantyne

she added, to the seaman, “the boy ’an’t got no sense, besides bein’ wicked and naughty—’e ain’t ’ad no train’, sir, that’s w’ere it is, all along of my ’avin’ too much to do, an’ a large family, sir, with no ’usband to speak of; right up the stair, sir, to the top, and along the passage-door straight before you at the hend of it. Mind the step, sir, w’en you gits up. Go up with the gentleman, you bad, wicked, naughty boy, and show—”

      The remainder of the sentence became confused in distance, as the boy and the seaman climbed the stair; but a continuous murmuring sound, as of a vocal torrent, conveyed the assurance that the mother of Gillie was still holding forth.

      “’Ere it is,” said the young pilot, pausing at the top of the staircase, near the entrance to a very dark passage. “Keep ’er ’ead as she goes, but I’d recommend you to shorten sail, mind your ’elm, an ’ave the anchor ready to let go.”

      Having thus accommodated his language to the supposed intelligence of the seaman, the elfin youth stood listening with intense eagerness and expectation as the other went into the passage, and, by sundry kicks and bumps against wooden walls, gave evidence that he found the channel intricate. Presently a terrible kick occurred. This was the seaman’s toe against the step, of which he had been warned, but which he had totally forgotten; then a softer, but much heavier blow, was heard, accompanied by a savage growl—that was the seaman’s nose and forehead against old Mrs Roby’s portal.

      At this, Gillie’s expectations were realised, and his joy consummated. With mischievous glee sparkling in his eyes, he hastened down to the Court to exhibit his sixpence to his mother, and to announce to all whom it might concern, that “the sea-capp’n had run his jib-boom slap through the old ’ooman’s cabin-door.”

      Chapter Two.

      The Seaman Takes the “Cabin” by Surprise and Storm

      Without having done precisely what Gillie had asserted of him, our seaman had in truth made his way into the presence of the little old woman who inhabited “the cabin,” and stood there gazing round him as if lost in wonder; and well he might be, for the woman and cabin, besides being extremely old, were exceedingly curious, quaint, and small.

      The former was wrinkled to such an extent, that you could not have found a patch of smooth skin large enough for a pea to rest on. Her teeth were all gone, back and front, and her nose, which was straight and well-formed, made almost successful attempts to meet a chin which had once been dimpled, but was now turned up. The mouth between them wore a benignant and a slightly humorous expression; the eyes, which were bright, black, and twinkling, seemed to have defied the ravages of time. Her body was much bent as she sat in her chair, and a pair of crutches leaning against the chimney-piece suggested the idea that it would not be much straighter if she stood up. She was wrapped in a large, warm shawl, and wore a high cap, which fitted so close round her little visage, that hair, if any, was undistinguishable.

      The room in which she sat resembled the cabin of a ship in more respects than one. It was particularly low in the root so low that the seaman’s hair touched it as he stood there looking round him; and across this roof ran a great beam, from which hung a variety of curious ornaments, such as a Chinese lantern, a Turkish scimitar, a New Zealand club, an Eastern shield, and the model of a full-rigged ship. Elsewhere on the walls were, an ornamented dagger, a worsted-work sampler, a framed sheet of the flags of all nations, a sou’-wester cap and oiled coat, a telescope, and a small staring portrait of a sea-captain in his “go-to-meeting” clothes, which looked very much out of keeping with his staring sunburnt face, and were a bad fit. It might have been a good likeness, and was certainly the work of one who might have raised himself to the rank of a Royal Academician if he had possessed sufficient talent and who might have painted well if he had understood the principles of drawing and colour.

      The windows of the apartment, of which there were two very small square ones, looked out upon the river, and, to some extent overhung it, so that a man of sanguine temperament might have enjoyed fishing from them, if he could have been content to catch live rats and dead cats. The prospect from these windows was, however, the best of them, being a wide reach of the noble river, crowded with its stately craft, and cut up by its ever-bustling steamers. But the most noteworthy part of this room, or “cabin,” was the space between the two windows immediately over the chimney-piece, which the eccentric old woman had covered with a large, and, in some cases, inappropriate assortment of objects, by way of ornament, each article being cleaned and polished to the highest possible condition of which it was susceptible. A group of five photographs of children—three girls and two boys, looking amazed—formed the centrepiece of the design; around these were five other photographs of three young ladies and two young gentlemen, looking conscious, but pleased. The spaces between these, and every available space around them, were occupied by pot-lids of various sizes, old and battered, but shining like little suns; small looking-glasses, also of various sizes, some square and others round; little strings of beads; heads of meerschaums that had been much used in former days; pin-cushions, shell-baskets, one or two horse-shoes, and iron-heels of boots; several flat irons belonging to doll’s houses, with a couple of dolls, much the worse for wear, mounting guard over them; besides a host of other nick-nacks, for which it were impossible to find names or imagine uses. Everything—from the old woman’s cap to the uncarpeted floor, and the little grate in which a little fire was making feeble efforts to warm a little tea-kettle with a defiant spout—was scrupulously neat, and fresh, and clean, very much the reverse of what one might have expected to find in connection with a poverty-stricken population, a dirty lane, a filthy court, a rickety stair, and a dark passage. Possibly the cause might have been found in a large and much-worn family Bible, which lay on a small table in company with a pair of tortoiseshell spectacles, at the old woman’s elbow.

      On this scene the nautical man stood gazing, as we have said, with much interest; but he was too polite to gaze long.

      “Your servant, missis,” he said with a somewhat clumsy bow.

      “Good morning, sir,” said the little old woman, returning the bow with the air of one who had once seen better society than that of Grubb’s Court.

      “Your name is Roby, I believe,” continued the seaman, advancing, and looking so large in comparison with the little room that he seemed almost to fill it.

      The little old woman admitted that that was her name.

      “My name,” said the seaman, “is Wopper, tho’ I’m oftener called Skipper, also Capp’n, by those who know me.”

      Mrs Roby pointed to a chair and begged Captain Wopper to sit down, which he did after bestowing a somewhat pointed glance at the chair, as if to make sure that it could bear him.

      “You was a nuss once, I’m told,” continued the seaman, looking steadily at Mrs Roby as he sat down.

      “I was,” answered the old woman, glancing at the photographs over the chimney-piece, “in the same family for many years.”

      “You’ll excuse me, ma’am,” continued the seaman, “if I appear something inquisitive, I want to make sure that I’ve boarded the right craft d’ee see—I mean, that you are the right ’ooman.”

      A look of surprise, not unmingled with humour, beamed from Mrs Roby’s twinkling black eyes as she gazed steadily in the seaman’s face, but she made no other acknowledgment of his speech than a slight inclination of her head, which caused her tall cap to quiver. Captain Wopper, regarding this as a favourable sign, went on.

      “You was once, ma’am, I’m told, before bein’ a nuss in the family of which you’ve made mention, a matron, or somethin’ o’ that sort, in a foundlin’ hospital—in your young days, ma’am?”

      Again Mrs Roby admitted the charge, and demanded to know, “what then?”

      “Ah, jus’ so—that’s what I’m comin’ to,” said Captain Wopper, drawing his large hand over his beard. “You was present in that hospital, ma’am, was you not, one dark November morning, when a porter-cask was left at the door by some person unknown, who cut his cable and cleared off before the door was opened,—which cask, havin’ on its head two X’s,