his couch is Thames ballast?
Sloper's eyes were bloodshot, and his countenance haggard. He looked
inconceivably grimy and forlorn, and Bob Robins felt sorry for the
little creature till he recollected on a sudden the man's reason for
letting off his cannons. Tuck took the helm, and old Joe with a solemn
countenance and slow gait rolled forward to where the apparatus was
stationed.

"Now, you see your fate," he exclaimed, lifting up his eyes as though
he beheld a rope with a noose dangling from the masthead, "and since
no good can come of cautioning a corpse, why then, sorry I am that
there are n't a company of people arter your kind assembled aboard
this craft to witness the hexecution of my sentence upon ye. Last
night I heard that the reason of your firing off your guns were to
celebrate the hanniversary of your wife's death. I dunno, I'm sure,
whether such a practice wouldn't be considered as more criminal and
worthy of a fearfuller punishment than even the shooting at a man's
flag and degrading the honour of it. But to say more 'ud only be
a-wasting of breath. My lads, do your duty."

Robins, with powerful arms, grasped the tailor, who shrieked murder
and struggled hard. His struggles were as the throes and convulsions
of a mouse in the teeth of a cat. He was dumped down on the
three-legged stool. In an instant Plum lathered his jaws with the
tar-brush, and picking up the piece of broken iron hoop scraped little
Sloper's cheeks till the lather was as much blood as tar. Then, lifting
his leg, he tilted the stool and Mr. Sloper fell backwards on to the
tarpaulin, which, yielding to his weight, soused him into the water
They left him to kick and splash awhile, then pulled him out and ran
him forward into the head, where they secured him to the windlass till
the sun should have somewhat dried him.

But long before the sun had had time to comfort the shivering little
creature Herne Bay had hove into sight. The helm was shifted, and the
cutter ran close into the land, where they hove her to whilst Plum and
Robins got the boat over.

Mr. Sloper was then dropped over the side into the boat, which pulled
ashore, landed him, and returned; and a few minutes later the cutter
was standing for the mouth of the river, leaving the tailor on the
Herne Bay beach, forty miles from home without a farthing in his
pocket.

This is the historic incident of the Thames which I desire to rescue
from the oblivion that has overtaken ma