The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 338: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Perhaps at that moment she reflected that she had trusted herself with all her sins on board that little boat amid the wild rush of waters; but if she did, she said nothing. Neither by word nor by action did she give indication of the fear that was tugging at her heart. And now the little wherry was floating in the boiling surge that flew towards the arch, and made when it got there such a battle to get through. There was no occasion for pulling. The only good they could now do with their oars was to steady the little craft, and so far as was possible to keep her head to the current. That this was done by the two watermen with admirable and practised skill, every one who watched the progress of the party from the bridge or elsewhere could perceive; and now the critical moment was at hand, and the boat being caught like a reed, was swept under the bridge by the rapid current. “Easy, Bill,” cried one of the men. “Easy it is,” said the other. “You will upset us, my dear madam,” said Todd, “if you move;” and then, while the two men were fully engaged with the boat, and by far too much occupied with the necessary movements for the preservation of themselves and their little craft, Todd, with one blow upon the head, struck Mrs. Lovett overboard. She uttered a piercing shriek. “What’s that?-—what’s that?” cried the boatmen. The boat scraped against the side of the arch for a moment, and then shot through it with a terrific bound into the comparatively still water on the other side of the bridge. “T’m afraid,” said Todd, “that the lady has fallen overboard.” “Afraid!” cried one of the watermen. “Why, good God! don’t you see she has; and there she goes, along with the stream. Pull away. Bill; don’t you see her? There she goes!” “Alas, poor thing!” said Todd. He affected to be overcome by his feelings, and to be compelled to rest his head upon his hands, while he kept his hot-looking blood-shot eyes fixed upon the form of Mrs. Lovett in the water. And now a scene ensued of deep interest to Todd—a scene which he watched with the greatest attention. It was a scene upon the issue of which he felt that his life depended. If Mrs. Lovett were saved, his life would not be worth an hour’s purchase. If she were drowned, he was, so he fancied, a free man; and he saw that from the shore several boats put off after her, while the two men in his wherry pulled as though their lives depended upon hers. Todd could have struck them for the exertions that they were making, but he dared not even speak one deprecating word to make them pause. He was condemned only to watch what was going on; and truly a most interesting scene it was. Mrs. Lovett had on a large cloak, and it was by the aid of that, as well as by the strength of the current, that she floated so long as to make it quite remarkable, and to induce the opinion in the minds of some of the spectators that she was swimming. Suddenly, just as a boat that had put off from the stairs by the Custom House reached her, down she went. “Gone!” said Todd. “Yes, she’s gone,” said one of the watermen. “She’s gone, poor thing, whoever she was, and no one will get her now.” “Are you sure of that?” “Ah, master, as sure as may be; but you are a witness that it was no fault of ours, master.” “Certainly,” said Todd, “The fact is, that she got alarmed the moment the boat shot under the arch, and rose up. I tried to catch her, but she toppled over into the water.” “Natural enough, sir. If she did get up, over she was sure to go. Did you hear what a shriek she gave, Bill? My eye, if I don’t dream of that, I’m a Dutchman! I fancy it is ringing in my ears. Yet I have heard a few odd sounds on the river in my time, but that was the very worst.” “And she is gone,” said Todd. “Why does that boat linger there upon the spot where she went down? Stay—stay, I cannot see if you pull into shore so quick. Now that barge is between me and the boat.” “There’s nothing to see now, sir.” “Well—well. That will do—that will do. Poor creature! Viewing it in one way, my friends, it’s a happy release, for she was a little touched in her intellect, poor thing; but it’s dreadful to lose one to whom you are much attached; notwithstanding, I shall shed many a tear over her loss, and of the two I had really much rather it had been myself. Alas! alas! you see how deeply affected I am!” “It’s no use grieving, sir.” “Not a whit—not a whit. I know that, but I can’t help it. Take that and divide it between you. I give it to you as a kind of assurance that it is not your fault the poor thing fell overboard.” “Thank your honour,” said the man in whose huge palm Todd had placed a guinea. “We may be asked who you are possibly, sir, if the body should be found.” “Oh, certainly—certainly,” said Todd, “that is well thought of. I am the Rev. Silas Mugginthorpe, preacher at the new chapel in Little Britain. Will you remember?” “Oh, yes sir. All’s right.” Todd ascended the slippery steps of the little landing-place with an awfully demoniac chuckle upon his face, and when he reached CORniclooo S CO)