Pearl-Fishing; Choice Stories from Dickens' Household Words; First SeriesDickens, Charles
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Pearl-Fishing; Choice Stories from Dickens' Household Words; First Series
Dickens, Charles
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
“This brought me up with a round turn, and I had sense enough to wish my
friend would vanish as he came. ‘Where shall we land you?’ I asked.
“‘Oh, any where--it don’t matter. I have got to be out every night and
all night; and the nights are plaguy long just now.’
“I could not muster a word.
“‘Ferd Fid,’ continued the voice, which now seemed about fifty fathoms
deep; and fast as we were dropping down the stream, the boat gave a heel
to starboard, as if she had been broadsided by a tremendous wave--‘Ferd
Fid, you recollect how I used to kill time; how I sang, drank, danced,
and supped all night long, and then slept and soda-watered it all day.
You remember what a happy fellow I seemed. Fools like yourself thought I
was so; but I say again, I wasn’t,’ growled the voice, letting itself
down a few fathoms deeper. ‘Often and often I would have given the
world to have been a market-gardener or a dealer in chick-weed while
roaring “He is a jolly good fellow,” and “We won’t go home till
morning!” as I emerged with a group from some tavern into Covent Garden
market. But I’m punished fearfully for my sins now. What do you think I
have got to do every night of my--never mind--what do you think is now
marked out as my dreadful punishment?’
“‘Well, to walk the earth, I suppose,’ said I.
“‘No.’
“‘To paddle about in the Thames from sunset to sun-rise?’
“‘Worse. Ha, ha!’ (his laugh sounded like the booming of a gong). ‘I
only wish my doom was merely to be a mud-lark. No, no, I’m condemned to
rush about from one evening party and public house to another. At the
former I am bound for a certain term on each night to dance all the
quadrilles, and a few of the polkas and waltzes with clumsy partners;
and then I have to eat stale pastry and tough poultry before I am let
off from _that_ place. After, I am bound to go to some cellar or singing
place to listen to “Hail smiling morn,” “Mynheer Van Dunk,” “The monks
of old,” “Happy land,” imitations of the London actors, and to hear a
whole canto of dreary extempore verses. I must also smoke a dozen of
cigars, knowing--as in my present condition I must know,--what they are
made of. The whole to end on each night with unlimited brandy (British)
and water, and eternal intoxication. Oh, F. F., be warned! Take my
advice; keep up your resolution, and don’t do it again. When afloat,
drink nothing stronger than purser’s tea. When on shore be temperate in
your pleasures; don’t turn night into day; don’t exchange wholesome
amusements for rabid debauchery, robust health for disease and--well, I
won’t mention it. When afloat, study your profession and don’t get
cashiered and cold-shouldered as I was. Promise me--nay, you must
swear!’
“At this word I thought I heard a gurgling sound in the water.
“‘If I can get six solemn pledges before the season’s over, I’m only to
go these horrid rounds during the meeting of Parliament.’
“‘_Will_ you swear?’ again urged the voice, with persuasive agony.
“I was just able to comply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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