Rivers of Ice

Rivers of Ice, by R.M. Ballantyne

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Title: Rivers of Ice
Author: R.M. Ballantyne
Release Date: June 6, 2007 [EBook #21698]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIVERS OF
ICE ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

RIVERS OF ICE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE ROVER'S RETURN.
On a certain summer morning, about the middle of the present century,

a big bluff man, of seafaring aspect, found himself sauntering in a
certain street near London Bridge. He was a man of above fifty, but
looked under forty in consequence of the healthful vigour of his frame,
the freshness of his saltwater face, and the blackness of his shaggy hair.
Although his gait, pilot-cloth coat, and pocketed hands proclaimed him
a sailor, there were one or two contradictory points about him. A huge
beard and moustache savoured more of the diggings than the deep, and
a brown wide-awake with a prodigiously broad brim suggested the
backwoods.
Pausing at the head of one of those narrow lanes which--running down
between warehouses, filthy little rag and bone shops, and low
poverty-stricken dwellings--appear to terminate their career, not
unwillingly, in the Thames, the sailor gazed before him with nautical
earnestness for a few seconds, then glanced at the corner house for a
name; found no name; cast his eyes up to the strip of blue sky overhead,
as if for inspiration; obtained none; planted his legs wide apart as if he
had observed a squall coming, and expected the lane to lurch
heavily--wrinkled his eyebrows, and pursed his lips.
"Lost yer bearin's, capp'n?" exclaimed a shrill pert voice at his side.
The seaman looked down, and beheld a small boy with a head like a
disorderly door-mat, and garments to match. He stood in what may be
styled an imitative attitude, with his hands thrust into his ragged
pockets, his little legs planted wide apart, his cap thrust well back on
his head, and his eyebrows wrinkled. He also pursed his lips to such an
extent that they resembled a rosebud in a dirty bush.
"Yes, imp," replied the seaman--he meant to have said "impudence,"
but stopped at the first syllable as being sufficiently appropriate--"yes,
imp, I have lost my bearings, and I'll give you a copper if you'll help
me to find 'em."
"Wot sort o' copper?" demanded the urchin, "there's three sorts of 'em,
you know, in this 'ere kingdom--which appears to be a queendom at
present--there's a farding and a ha'penny and a penny. I mention it,

capp'n," he added apologetically, "in case you don't know, for you look
as if you'd come from furrin parts."
The seaman's look of surprise melted into a broad grin of amusement
while this speech was being fluently delivered. At its conclusion he
pulled out a penny and held it up.
"Well, it ain't much," said the small boy, "and I ain't used to hire myself
out so cheap. However, as you seem to be raither poorly off, I don't
mind if I lend you a hand for that. Only, please, don't mention it among
your friends, as it would p'raps lower their opinion of you, d'you see?
Now then w'ot d'you want to know?"
To this the "capp'n," still smiling at the small boy's precocious
insolence, replied that he was in search of an old woman who dwelt in a
small court styled Grubb's Court, so he was told, which lay somewhere
in that salubrious neighbourhood, and asked if he, the imp, knew of
such a place.
"Know's of it? I should think I does. W'y, I lives there. It's right down
at the foot o' this 'ere lane, an' a wery sweet 'ristocratik spot it is--quite
a perninsular, bein' land, leastwise mud, a'most surrounded by water,
the air bein' 'ighly condoosive to the 'ealth of rats, likewise cats. As to
old women, there's raither a broad sprinklin' of 'em in the court, rangin'
from the ages of seventy to a hundred an twenty, more or less, an' you'll
take some time to go over 'em all, capp'n, if you don't know your old
woman's name."
"Her name is Roby--," said the seaman.
"O, Roby? ah," returned the small boy, looking sedately at the ground,
"let me see--yes, that's the name of the old 'ooman, I think, wot 'angs
out in the cabin, right-'and stair, top floor, end of the passage, w'ere
most wisiters flattens their noses, by consekince of