Monmouth, James Scott, Duke of, 1649-1685 -- Fiction
“One cannot be too careful in this town. I won't allow you in the
streets, Martin. No matter who has his pockets picked. I told you that
before.”
“Please, uncle, may I go on the river, then, if I'm not to go into the
street? I'm used to boats.”
“Yes. You may do that. But you're not to go on board the ships, mind.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” Ephraim put in. “The fall at the Bridge is very
risky, sir.”
“It is?” said my uncle, testily. “Then of course you can't go in a boat,
Martin. You must play in the garden, or read.”
CHAPTER II. I LEAVE HOME AGAIN
I thought Ephraim a pig for putting in that word about the fall. Though
I had only known Ephraim for a few days I disliked him perhaps as much
as he disliked me. He was angry (I could feel it) at having a boy in the
house, after many years of quiet alone with my uncle. I know that when
he had occasion to speak to me, he always went away muttering about my
being a charity brat who ought to be in the poor-house. Still, like most
servants, he vented most of his malice indirectly, as in this hint of
his about the river. I rose up from the dinner-table full of rebellion.
I would go on the river, I said to myself, fall or no fall. I would see
more of Mr. Jermyn, too. I would find out what went on in that house. I
would find out everything. In all this, of course, I was very wrong,
but having made sure that I was being treated unjustly I felt that I was
only doing right in rebelling. So after waiting till Ephraim was in the
pantry, washing up the dinner-things with the housemaid, I slipped down
the garden to the boat-house. The door was padlocked, as I had feared;
but with an old hammer-head I managed to pry off the staple. I felt like
a burglar when the lock came off in my hand. I felt that I was acting
deceitfully. Then the thought of Ephraim came over me, making me
rebellious to my finger-tips. I would go on the river, I said to myself,
I would go aboard all the ships in the Pool. I would show them all that
I could handle a boat anywhere. So in a moment my good angel was beaten.
I was in the boat-house, prying at the staple of the outer door, like
the young rogue that I was. Well, I paid a heavy price for that day of
disobedience. It was the most dearly bought day's row I ever heard of.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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