Soon afterward Ben the Whaler came in to inquire after my father, and I told him what had occurred. He was very indignant at my mother's conduct, and, as soon as the affair was known, so were all the tenants of Fisher's Alley. When my mother went out, or had words with any of her neighbors, the retort was invariably, "Who sent the press-gang after her own husband?" or "Who cut off the tail from her husband's back? Wasn't that a _genteel_ trick?" All this worried my mother, and she became very morose and ill-tempered. I believe she would have left the alley if she had not taken a long lease of the house. She had now imbibed a decided hatred for me, which she never failed to show upon every occasion, for she knew that it was I who had roused my father, and prevented her escape from his wrath. The consequence was that I was seldom at home, except to sleep. I sauntered to the beach, ran into the water, sometimes rowed in the wherries, at others hauling them in and holding them steady for the passengers to land. I was beginning to be useful to the watermen, and was very often rewarded with a piece of bread and cheese, or a drink of beer out of their pots. The first year after my father's visit I was seldom given a meal, and continually beaten--indeed, sometimes cruelly so--but as I grew stronger, I rebelled and fought, and with such success that, although I was hated more, I was punished less. One scene between my mother and me may serve as a specimen for all. I would come home with my trousers tucked up, and my _high-lows_ unlaced and full of water, sucking every time that I lifted up my leg, and marking the white sanded floor of the front room, as I proceeded through it to the back kitchen. My mother would come downstairs, and perceiving the marks I had left, would get angry, and as usual commence singing-- "'A frog he would a-wooing go, Heigho, says Rowly.' "I see here's that little wretch been here-- "'Whether his mother would let him or no, Heigho, says Rowly.' "I'll rowly him with the rolling-pin when I get hold of him. He's worse than that beastly water-spaniel of Sir Hercules', who used to shake himself over my best cambric muslin. Well, we'll see. He'll be wanting his dinner; I only wish he may get it. "'Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, Eating his Christmas pie; He put in his thumb and pull'd out a plum, And cried, What a good boy am I!' "'Good boy am I!' good-for-nothing brat, just like his father. Oh, dear!--if I could but get rid of him! "'There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She'd so many children she didn't know what to do; She gave them some broth without any bread, She whipped them all round, and sent them to bed.'