Three Men in a Boat: Chapter 19  Summary & Analysis

The group spends two days in Oxford. J. explains that many people who go boating on the Thames start at Oxford and head downstream towards London. This is the opposite of the three men’s route, and technically much easier as the current is heading that way anyway.

J. says that anyone planning on starting in Oxford should take their own boat, because the ones for hire are never in good condition and are less fashionable. Often they have names that make them sound in better condition than they are, like “The Pride of the Thames.” This was the name of the boat that J. once hired. On first seeing it, he’d thought it was some kind of Roman relic or fossilized whale. He ended up paying more in rent for the boat than if he’d wanted to buy it outright.

On their third day in Oxford, the weather takes a turn for the worse—there’s a steady drizzle of rain falling. J. compares the river on a sunny day to a rainy one: he thinks the sound of the rain is like a woman crying, and that the woods, “dark and silent, shrouded in their mists of vapor, stand like ghosts upon the margin.” When there’s no sun, says J., “Mother Earth looks at us with such dull, soulless eyes … She is a widow who has lost the husband she loved.”

The three men persevere through the rain, pretending to enjoy it though they are in fact all feeling rather melancholic. They say at least it’s a change from the sunny weather they’ve been having, and that nature is beautiful even when it’s raining. J. and Harris try especially hard to put on a brave face, singing songs about “gipsy life.” George stays under the umbrella.

With the canvas cover up, they paddle for nine miles and settle for the night. The rain keeps pouring down, making everything in the boat damp and clammy and ruining supper. They men start hankering for more luxurious food. J. wants “whitebait and a cutlet; Harris babbled of soles and white-sauce.” Even Montmorency refuses to eat the sodden leftover pie. George gets more and more downtrodden.

The three men try and pass the time by playing cards and drinking some toddies. George tells the group about a man he knew, who, having slept one night on a damp boat, contracted rheumatic fever and before too long died in agony. This reminds Harris of a friend of his, who had similarly gone to sleep somewhere damp and woke up crippled. This gets the men chatting about all sorts of diseases and medical complaints: “pleasant chat about sciatica, fevers, chills, lug diseases, and bronchitis.” Harris says it would be “awkward” if one of them were to be taken ill.

The men are so desperate to lighten the mood that J. even suggests that George gets his banjo out and plays them a comic song. He starts playing Two Lovely Black Eyes, which suddenly seems to the men like an incredibly sad song. J. and Harris hold back tears as they listen, before joining in with the choruses. They decide it best that they go to bed.

In the morning, one of the men—J. forgets which—tries to drum up enthusiasm by once again talking of gypsies and nature. It’s clear, however, that none of the men really want to spend any more time in the rain. They insist that they will stick to the full two weeks on the river even if it means they have to die. They plan to get to Pangbourne by five, and then to find some “dimly lit bar-parlor” where they can do some reading.

Harris imagines what it would be like back in London, at their favorite theatre, the Alhambra. J. adds that, if they were there, they could follow it up with dinner and wine at their favorite French restaurant. Harris thinks it’s a pity they’ve already decided to stay on their trip for the last two days, but George thinks they should get the train back to London.

Though they all feel guilty, they silently agree to cut their trip short and go back. They take their boat to Pangbourne, leaving it with the boatman who wrongly assumes that they’ll be back for it later. Within a couple of hours, they are back in their hometown. They are almost not let in to the Alhambra because of their disheveled appearance, but bribe the doorman to let them in. After watching some ballet, they head to the restaurant.

J. confesses to enjoying that supper immensely. The French sauces, the smell of the wine, the attentive waiter—all of these make the men feel at home. Harris gazes out at the window at the rain falling in the street. He proposes a toast: “we have had a pleasant trip, and my hearty thanks for it to old Father Thames—but I think we did well to chuck it when we did. Here’s to Three Men well out of a Boat!” Montmorency, in approval of the toast, gives a short bark.