Three Men in a Boat - Chapter 11

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Chapter eleven of Three Men in a boat to say
Nothing of the Dog. This LibriVox recording is in the
public domain. Three Men in a Boat, to Say Nothing
of the Dog by Jerome K. Jerome, Chapter eleven. How George,
once upon a time got up early in the morning George,

(00:23):
Harris and Montmorency do not like the look of the
cold water heroism and determination on the part of Jay
George and his shirt story with a moral Harris as
cook historical retrospect specially inserted for the use of schools.

(00:44):
I woke at six the next morning and found George
awake too. We both turned round and tried to go
to sleep again, but we could not. Had there been
any particular reason why we should not have gone to
sleep again but have got up and dressed then and there,
we should should have dropped off while we were looking
at our watches and have slept till ten. As there

(01:05):
was no earthly necessity for our getting up under another
two hours at the very least, and our getting up
at that time was an utter absurdity. It was only
in keeping with the natural cussedness of things in general
that we should both feel that lying down for five
minutes more would be death to us. George said that
the same kind of thing, only worse, had happened to

(01:27):
him some eighteen months ago, when he was lodging by
himself in the house of a certain Missus Gippings. He
said his watch went wrong one evening and stopped at
a quarter past eight. He did not know this at
the time, because, for some reason or other he forgot
to wind it up when he went to bed, an
unusual occurrence with him, and hung it up over his

(01:48):
pillow without ever looking at the thing. It was in
the winter when this happened, very near the shortest day,
and a week of fog into the bargain, So the
fact that it was still very dark when George wore
in the morning was no guide to him as to
the time he reached up and hauled down his watch.
It was a quarter past eight.

Speaker 2 (02:08):
Angels and ministers of grace defend us, exclaimed George. And
here have I got to be in the city by nine?
Why didn't somebody call me? Oh?

Speaker 1 (02:20):
This is a shame. And he flung the watch down
and sprang out of bed, had a cold bath, and
washed himself, and dressed himself, and shaved himself in cold water,
because it was not time to wait for the hot
and then rushed and had another look at the watch.
Whether the shaking it had received and being thrown down
on the bed had started it, or how it was,

(02:41):
George could not say, but certainly it was that from
a quarter past eight it had begun to go, and
now pointed to twenty minutes to nine. George snatched it
up and rushed downstairs. In the sitting room, all it
was dark and silent. There was no fire, no breakfast.
George said it was a wicked sh aim of Missus G.
And he made up his mind to tell her what

(03:03):
he thought of her when he came home in the evening.
Then he dashed on his great coat and hat, and,
seizing his umbrella, made for the front door. The door
was not even unbolted. George anathematized Missus G for a
lazy old woman, and thought it was very strange that
people could not get up at a decent, respectable time.

(03:23):
Unlocked and unbolted the door, and ran out. He ran
hard for a quarter of a mile, and at the
end of that distance it began to be borne in
upon him as a strange and curious thing that there
were so few people about, and that there were no
shops open. It was certainly a very dark and foggy morning,
but still it seemed an unusual course to stop all

(03:45):
business on that account. He had to go to business.
Why should other people stop in bed merely because it
was dark and foggy. At length, he reached Holborn. Not
a shutter was down, not a bus was about. There
were three men in sight, one of whom was a policeman,
a market cart full of cabbages, and a dilapidated looking cab.

(04:08):
George pulled out his watch and looked at it. It
was five minutes to nine. He stood still and counted
his pulse. He stooped down and felt his legs. Then,
with his watch still in his hand, he went up
to the policeman and asked him if he knew what
the time was. What's the time? Said the man, eyeing
George up and down with evident suspicion. Why if you listen,

(04:31):
you'll hear it strike. George listened, and a neighboring clock
immediately obliged. But it's only got three, said George in
an injured tone. When it had finished, well, and how
many did you want it to go, replied the constable.
Why nine, said George, showing his watch. Do you know

(04:51):
where you live? Said the Guardian of public order severely.
George thought and gave the address. Oh that's where it is,
is it, replied the man. Well you take my advice
and go there quietly, and take that watch of viewers
with you, and don't let's have any more of it.
And George went home again, musing as he walked along

(05:13):
and let himself in. At first, when he got in
he determined to undress and go to bed again. But
when he thought of the redressing and rewashing and the
having of another bath, he determined he would not, but
would sit up and go to sleep in the easy chair.
But he could not get to sleep. He never felt
more wakeful in his life. So he lit the lamp

(05:35):
and got out the chessboard and played himself a game
of chess. But even that did not enliven him. It
seemed slow somehow, so he gave chess up and tried
to read. He did not seem able to take any
sort of interest in reading either, so he put on
his coat again and went out for a walk. It
was horribly lonesome and dismal, and all the policemen he

(05:57):
met regarded him with undisguised suspicion and turned their lanterns
on him and followed him about. And this had such
an effect upon him at last that he began to
feel as if he really had done something, and he
got to slinking down the by streets and hiding in
dark doorways when he heard the regulation flip flop approaching.

(06:17):
Of course, this conduct made the force only more distrustful
of him than ever, and they would come and rout
him out and ask him what he was doing there,
And when he answered nothing, he had merely come out
for a stroll. It was then four o'clock in the morning.
They looked as though they did not believe him, and
two plain closed constables came home with him to see

(06:38):
if he really did live where he said he did.
They saw him go in with his key, and then
they took up a position opposite and watched the house.
He thought he would light the fire when he got
inside and make himself some breakfast, just to pass away
the time. But he did not seem able to handle
anything from a scuttleful of coals to a teaspoon without

(07:00):
hopping it or falling over it and making such a
noise that he was in mortal fear that it would
wake Missus G up and that she would think it
was burglars and open the window and call police, and
then these two detectives would rush in and handcuff him
and march him off to the police court. He was
in a morbidly nervous state by this time, and he

(07:22):
pictured the trial and his trying to explain the circumstances
to the jury and nobody believing him, and his being
sentenced to twenty years penal servitude, and his mother dying
of a broken heart. So he gave up trying to
get breakfast and wrapped himself up in his overcoat and
sat in the easy chair till Missus g came down
at half past seven. He said he had never got

(07:45):
up too early since that morning. It had been such
a warning to him. We had been sitting huddled up
in our rugs while George had been telling me this
true story, and on his finishing it, I set to
work to wake up Harris with a skull. The third
prod did it, and he turned over on the other
side and said he would be down in a minute.

(08:06):
And that he would have his lace up boots. We
soon let him know where he was, however, by the
aid of the hitcher, and he sat up suddenly, sending Montmorency,
who had been sleeping the sleep of the just on
the middle of his chest, sprawling across the boat. Then
we pulled up the canvas, and all four of us

(08:27):
poked our heads out over the off side and looked
down at the water and shivered. The idea overnight had
been that we should get up early in the morning,
fling off our rugs and shawls, and throwing back the canvas,
spring into the river with a joyous shout, and revel
in a long, delicious swim. Somehow, now the morning had come,

(08:50):
the notion seemed less tempting. The water looked damp and chilly,
the wind felt cold. Well, who's going to be first in?
Said Harris. At last, there was no rush for precedence.
George settled the matter so far as he was concerned,
by retiring into the boat and pulling on his socks.

(09:11):
Montmorency gave vent to an involuntary howl, as if merely
thinking of the thing had given him the horrors, And
Harris said it would be so difficult to get into
the boat again, and went back and sorted out his trousers.
I did not altogether like to give in, though I
did not relish the plunge. There might be snags about

(09:32):
or weeds. I thought I meant to compromise matters by
going down to the edge and just throwing the water
over myself. So I took a towel and crept out
on the bank and wormed my way along onto the
branch of a tree that dipped down into the water.
It was bitterly cold, the wind cut like a knife.

(09:54):
I thought I would not throw the water over myself,
after all, I would go back into the boat and dress.
And I turned to do so. And as I turned,
the silly branch gave way, and I and the towel
went in together with a tremendous splash, and I was
out in midstream with a gallon of Thames water inside
me before I knew what had happened.

Speaker 2 (10:17):
By jove, old Jay's gone in.

Speaker 1 (10:20):
I heard Harris say as I came blowing to the surface.
I didn't think he'd have the pluck to do it,
did you?

Speaker 2 (10:28):
Is it all right?

Speaker 1 (10:29):
Sung out George lovely I sputtered back, you were duffers
not to come in. I wouldn't have missed this for worlds.
Why won't you try it? It only wants a little determination.
But I could not persuade them. Rather, an amusing thing
happened while dressing that morning. I was very cold when

(10:50):
I got back into the boat, and in my hurry
to get my shirt on, I accidentally jerked it into
the water. It made me awfully wild, especially as George
burst outlaughing. I could not see anything to laugh at,
and I told George so, and he only laughed. The
more I never saw a man laugh so much. I
quite lost my temper with him at last, and I

(11:12):
pointed out to him what the driveling maniac of an
imbecile idiot he was, But he only roared the louder.
And then, just as I was landing the shirt, I
noticed that it was not my shirt at all, but George's,
which I had mistaken from mine. Whereupon the humor of
the thing struck me for the first time, and I

(11:33):
began to laugh. And the more I looked from George's
wet shirt to George roaring with laughter, the more I
was amused. And I laughed so much that I had
to let the shirt fall back into the water again.
Aren't you you're going to get it out? Said George
between his shrieks. I could not answer him at all.

(11:53):
For a while I was laughing so but at last,
between my peals, I managed to jerk out, it isn't
my shirt, it's yours. I never saw a man's face
change from lively to severe so suddenly in all my
life before what he yelled?

Speaker 2 (12:12):
Springing up, Yes, silly cuckoo, Why can't you be more
careful what you're doing? Why the dooce? Don't you go
and dress on the bank.

Speaker 1 (12:21):
You're not fit to be in a boat.

Speaker 2 (12:23):
You're not give me the hitcher.

Speaker 1 (12:25):
I tried to make him see the fun of the thing,
but he could not. George is very dense at seeing
a joke. Sometimes. Harris proposal we should have scrambled eggs
for breakfast, he said he would cook them. It seemed
from his account that he was very good at doing
scrambled eggs. He often did them at picnics and went
out on yachts. He was quite famous for them. People

(12:49):
who had once tasted his scrambled eggs. So we gathered
from his conversation, never cared for any other food afterwards,
but pined away and died when they could not get them.
It made our mouths water to hear him talk about
the things, and we handed him out the stove and
the frying pan and all the eggs that had not smashed,
and gone over everything in the hamper, and begged him

(13:11):
to begin. He had some trouble in breaking the eggs,
or rather not so much trouble in breaking them exactly
as in getting them into the frying pan when broken,
and keeping them off his trousers and preventing them from
running up his sleeve. But he fixed some half a
dozen into the pan at last, and then squatted down

(13:32):
by the side of the stove and chivvied them about
with a fork. It seemed harassing work, so far as
George and I could judge. Whenever he went near the pan,
he burnt himself, and then he would drop everything and
dance around the stove, flicking his fingers about and cursing
the things. Indeed, every time George and I looked round

(13:53):
at him, he was sure to be performing this feat.
We thought at first that it was a necessary part
of the culinary arrangements. We did not know what scrambled
eggs were, and we fancied that it must be some
red Indian or Sandwich Islands sort of dish that required
dances and incantations for its proper cooking. Mott Moorenci went

(14:13):
and put his nose over at once, and the fat
spluttered up and scalded him, and then he began dancing
and cursing. Altogether, it was one of the most interesting
and exciting operations I have ever witnessed. George and I
were both quite sorry when it was over. The result
was not altogether the success that Harris had anticipated. There

(14:35):
seemed so little to show for the business. Six eggs
had gone into the frying pan and all that came
out was a teaspoonful of burnt and unappetizing looking mess.
Harris said it was the fault of the frying pan
and thought it would have gone better if he had
had a fish kettle and a gas stove, and we
decided not to attempt the dish again until we had

(14:58):
those aids to housekeeping us. The sun had got more
powerful by the time we had finished breakfast, and the
wind had dropped, and it was as lovely a morning
as one could desire. Little was in sight to remind
us of the nineteenth century, And as we looked out
upon the river in the morning sunlight, we could almost
fancy that the centuries between us and that ever to

(15:21):
be famous June morning of twelve fifteen had been drawn aside,
and that we English yeomen's sons in homespun cloth with
dirk at belt were waiting there to witness the writing
of that stupendous page of history. The meaning whereof was
to be translated to the common people some four hundred

(15:41):
and odd years later by one Oliver Cromwell, who had
deeply studied it. It is a fine summer morning, sunny,
soft and still, but through the air there runs a
thrill of coming stir king John has slept at Duncroft Hall,
and all the day before the little the town of
Stains has echoed to the clang of armed men, and

(16:03):
the clatter of great horses over its rough stones, and
the shouts of captains, and the grim oaths and surly
jests of bearded bowmen, billmen, pikemen, and strange speaking foreign spearmen,
gay cloaked companies of knights and squires have ridden in
all travel stained and dusty, and all the evening long,

(16:25):
the timid townsmen's doors have had to be quick opened
to let in rough groups of soldiers, for whom there
must be found both board and lodging, and the best
of both. Or woe betide the house and all within.
For the sword is judge and jury, plaintive and executioner
in these tempestuous times, and pays for what it takes

(16:47):
by sparing those from whom it takes it, if it
pleases it to do so. Round the campfire in the marketplace,
gather still more of the baron's troops, and eat and drink,
deep and bell go forth roistering, drinking songs, and gamble
and quarrel. As the evening grows and deepens into night,

(17:07):
the firelight sheds quaint shadows on their piled up arms
and on their uncouth forms. The children of the town
steal round to watch them, wondering and brawny country wenches, laughing,
draw nearer to bandy alehouse, jest and jibe with the
swaggering troopers, so unlike the village swains, who now despised,

(17:30):
stand apart behind with vacant grins upon their broad peering faces,
and out from the fields around glitter the faint lights
of more distant camps, as here some great Lord's followers
lie mustard, and there False John's French mercenaries hover like
crouching wolves without the town, And so with sentinel in

(17:52):
each dark street, and twinkling watchfires on each height around,
the night has worn away, and over this fair valley
of old tame has broken the morning of the great
day that is to close, so big with the fate
of ages yet unborn. Ever since gray dawn, in the
lower of the two islands, just above where we are standing,

(18:13):
there has been great clamor and the sound of many workmen.
The great pavilion brought there yester eve is being raised,
and carpenters are busy nailing tiers of seats, while prentices
from London Town are there with many colored stuffs and
silks and cloth of gold and silver. And now low

(18:34):
down upon the road that winds along the river's bank
from Stains, there comes towards us, laughing and talking together
in deep guttural base, a half a score of stalwart
halbert men barons men these and halt at one hundred
yards or so above us on the other bank, and
lean upon their arms and wait. And so from hour

(18:56):
to hour march up along the road. Ever fresh grew
groups and bands of armed men, their casks and breastplates
flashing back the long, low lines of morning sunlight, until
as far as eye can reach, the way seems thick
with glittering steel and prancing steeds and shouting horsemen are

(19:16):
galloping from group to group, and little banners are fluttering
lazily in the warm breeze, And every now and then
there is a deeper star as the ranks make way
on either side, and some great baron on his war horse,
with his guard of squires around him, passes along to
take his station at the head of his serfs and vassals.

(19:38):
And up the slope of Cooper's Hill just opposite are
gathering the wondering rustics and curious townfolk who have run
from stains, And none are quite sure what the bustle
is about, but each one has a different version of
the great event that they have come to see. And
some say that much good to all the people will

(19:58):
come from this day's work. But the old men shake
their heads, for they have heard such tales before, and
All the river down to Staines is dotted with small
craft in boats and tiny coracles, which last are growing
out of favor now and are used only by the
poorer folk. Over the rapids, where in after years trim

(20:21):
Bell weir Lock will stand. They have been forced or
dragged by their sturdy rowers, and now are crowding up
as near as they dare come to the great covered
barges which lie in readiness to bear King John to
where the fateful charter waits his signing. It is noon,
and we and all the people have been waiting patient

(20:41):
for many an hour, and the rumor has run round
that slippery John has again escaped from the baron's grasp
and has stolen away from Duncroft Hall, with his mercenaries
at his heels, and will soon be doing other work
than signing charters for his people's liberty. Not so this
time time the grip upon him has been one of iron,

(21:02):
and he has slid and wriggled in vain. Far down
the road, a little cloud of dust has risen and
draws nearer and grows larger, and the pattering of many
hoofs grows louder, and in and out between the scattered
groups of drawn up men, there pushes on its way
a brilliant cavalcade of gay dressed lords and knights, And

(21:23):
front and rear and either flank, there ride the yeomen
of the barons, and in the midst King John. He
rides to where the barges lie in readiness, and the
great barons step forth from their ranks to meet him.
He greets them with a smile and laugh and pleasant
honeyed words, as though it were some feast in his
honor to which he had been invited. But as he

(21:46):
rises to dismount, he casts one hurried glance from his
own French mercenaries drawn up in the rear, to the
grim ranks of the barons men that hem him in.
Is it too late? One fierce blow the unsuspecting horsemen
at his side, one cry to his French troops, one
desperate charge upon the unready lines before him, and these

(22:09):
rebellious barons might rue the day they dare to thwart
his plans. A bolder hand might have turned the game
even at that point. Had it been a Richard there,
the cup of liberty might have been dashed from England's lips,
and the taste of freedom held back for one hundred years.
But the heart of King John sinks before the stern

(22:29):
faces of the English fighting men, and the arm of
King John drops back on to his rein, and he
dismounts and takes his seat in the foremost barge, and
the barons follow in, with each mailed hand upon the
sword hilt, and the word is given to let go. Slowly,
the heavy, bright decked barges leave the shore of running

(22:52):
mead slowly against the swift current. They work their ponderous
way till with a low grumble they against the bank
of the little island that from this day shall bear
the name Magna Carta Island. And King John has stepped
upon the shore, and we wait in breathless silence till

(23:13):
a great shout cleaves the air, and the great cornerstone
at England's Temple of Liberty has now we know, been
firmly laid. End of Chapter eleven.