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1Eight o'clock had struck before I got into the air, that was scented, not disagreeably, by the chips and shavings of the
2long-shore boat-builders, and mast, oar, and block makers. All that water-side region of the upper and lower Pool below
3Bridge was unknown ground to me; and when I struck down by the river, I found that the spot I wanted was not where I had
4supposed it to be, and was anything but easy to find. It was called Mill Pond Bank, Chinks's Basin; and I had no other
5guide to Chinks's Basin than the Old Green Copper Rope-walk. It matters not what stranded ships repairing in dry docks I
6lost myself among, what old hulls of ships in course of being knocked to pieces, what ooze and slime and other dregs of
7tide, what yards of ship-builders and ship-breakers, what rusty anchors blindly biting into the ground, though for years
8off duty, what mountainous country of accumulated casks and timber, how many rope-walks that were not the Old Green
9Copper. After several times falling short of my destination and as often overshooting it, I came unexpectedly round a
10corner, upon Mill Pond Bank. It was a fresh kind of place, all circumstances considered, where the wind from the river
11had room to turn itself round; and there were two or three trees in it, and there was the stump of a ruined windmill,
12and there was the Old Green Copper Rope-walk,--whose long and narrow vista I could trace in the moonlight, along a
13series of wooden frames set in the ground, that looked like superannuated haymaking-rakes which had grown old and lost
14most of their teeth. Selecting from the few queer houses upon Mill Pond Bank a house with a wooden front and three
15stories of bow-window (not bay-window, which is another thing), I looked at the plate upon the door, and read there,
16Mrs. Whimple. That being the name I wanted, I knocked, and an elderly woman of a pleasant and thriving appearance
17responded. She was immediately deposed, however, by Herbert, who silently led me into the parlour and shut the door. It
18was an odd sensation to see his very familiar face established quite at home in that very unfamiliar room and region;
19and I found myself looking at him, much as I looked at the corner-cupboard with the glass and china, the shells upon the
20chimney-piece, and the coloured engravings on the wall, representing the death of Captain Cook, a ship-launch, and his
21Majesty King George the Third in a state coachman's wig, leather-breeches, and top-boots, on the terrace at Windsor.
22"All is well, Handel," said Herbert, "and he is quite satisfied, though eager to see you. My dear girl is with her
23father; and if you'll wait till she comes down, I'll make you known to her, and then we'll go upstairs. That's her
24father." I had become aware of an alarming growling overhead, and had probably expressed the fact in my countenance. "I
25am afraid he is a sad old rascal," said Herbert, smiling, "but I have never seen him. Don't you smell rum? He is always
26at it." "At rum?" said I. "Yes," returned Herbert, "and you may suppose how mild it makes his gout. He persists, too, in
27keeping all the provisions upstairs in his room, and serving them out. He keeps them on shelves over his head, and will
28weigh them all. His room must be like a chandler's shop." While he thus spoke, the growling noise became a prolonged
29roar, and then died away. "What else can be the consequence," said Herbert, in explanation, "if he will cut the cheese?
30A man with the gout in his right hand--and everywhere else--can't expect to get through a Double Gloucester without
31hurting himself." He seemed to have hurt himself very much, for he gave another furious roar. "To have Provis for an
32upper lodger is quite a godsend to Mrs. Whimple," said Herbert, "for of course people in general won't stand that noise.
33A curious place, Handel; isn't it?" It was a curious place, indeed; but remarkably well kept and clean. "Mrs. Whimple,"
34said Herbert, when I told him so, "is the best of housewives, and I really do not know what my Clara would do without
35her motherly help. For, Clara has no mother of her own, Handel, and no relation in the world but old Gruffandgrim."
36"Surely that's not his name, Herbert?" "No, no," said Herbert, "that's my name for him. His name is Mr. Barley. But what
37a blessing it is for the son of my father and mother to love a girl who has no relations, and who can never bother
38herself or anybody else about her family!" Herbert had told me on former occasions, and now reminded me, that he first
39knew Miss Clara Barley when she was completing her education at an establishment at Hammersmith, and that on her being
40recalled home to nurse her father, he and she had confided their affection to the motherly Mrs. Whimple, by whom it had
41been fostered and regulated with equal kindness and discretion, ever since. It was understood that nothing of a tender
42nature could possibly be confided to old Barley, by reason of his being totally unequal to the consideration of any
43subject more psychological than Gout, Rum, and Purser's stores. As we were thus conversing in a low tone while Old
44Barley's sustained growl vibrated in the beam that crossed the ceiling, the room door opened, and a very pretty, slight,
45dark-eyed girl of twenty or so came in with a basket in her hand: whom Herbert tenderly relieved of the basket, and
46presented, blushing, as "Clara." She really was a most charming girl, and might have passed for a captive fairy, whom
47that truculent Ogre, Old Barley, had pressed into his service. "Look here," said Herbert, showing me the basket, with a
48compassionate and tender smile, after we had talked a little; "here's poor Clara's supper, served out every night.
49Here's her allowance of bread, and here's her slice of cheese, and here's her rum,--which I drink. This is Mr. Barley's
50breakfast for to-morrow, served out to be cooked. Two mutton-chops, three potatoes, some split peas, a little flour, two
51ounces of butter, a pinch of salt, and all this black pepper. It's stewed up together, and taken hot, and it's a nice
52thing for the gout, I should think!" There was something so natural and winning in Clara's resigned way of looking at
53these stores in detail, as Herbert pointed them out; and something so confiding, loving, and innocent in her modest
54manner of yielding herself to Herbert's embracing arm; and something so gentle in her, so much needing protection on
55Mill Pond Bank, by Chinks's Basin, and the Old Green Copper Rope-walk, with Old Barley growling in the beam,--that I
56would not have undone the engagement between her and Herbert for all the money in the pocket-book I had never opened. I
57was looking at her with pleasure and admiration, when suddenly the growl swelled into a roar again, and a frightful
58bumping noise was heard above, as if a giant with a wooden leg were trying to bore it through the ceiling to come at us.
59Upon this Clara said to Herbert, "Papa wants me, darling!" and ran away. "There is an unconscionable old shark for you!"
60said Herbert. "What do you suppose he wants now, Handel?" "I don't know," said I. "Something to drink?" "That's it!"
61cried Herbert, as if I had made a guess of extraordinary merit. "He keeps his grog ready mixed in a little tub on the
62table. Wait a moment, and you'll hear Clara lift him up to take some. There he goes!" Another roar, with a prolonged
63shake at the end. "Now," said Herbert, as it was succeeded by silence, "he's drinking. Now," said Herbert, as the growl
64resounded in the beam once more, "he's down again on his back!" Clara returned soon afterwards, and Herbert accompanied
65me upstairs to see our charge. As we passed Mr. Barley's door, he was heard hoarsely muttering within, in a strain that
66rose and fell like wind, the following Refrain, in which I substitute good wishes for something quite the reverse:--
67"Ahoy! Bless your eyes, here's old Bill Barley. Here's old Bill Barley, bless your eyes. Here's old Bill Barley on the
68flat of his back, by the Lord. Lying on the flat of his back like a drifting old dead flounder, here's your old Bill
69Barley, bless your eyes. Ahoy! Bless you." In this strain of consolation, Herbert informed me the invisible Barley would
70commune with himself by the day and night together; Often, while it was light, having, at the same time, one eye at a
71telescope which was fitted on his bed for the convenience of sweeping the river.
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