The Hole in the Wall Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  STEPHEN'S TALE

  We walked first to the head of the stairs, where opened a wide pictureof the Thames and all its traffic, and where the walls were plasteredwith a dozen little bills, each headed "Found Drowned," and each withthe tale of some nameless corpse under the heading.

  "That's my boat, Stevy," said my grandfather, pointing to a littledinghy with a pair of sculls in her; "our boat, if you like, seeing aswe're pardners. Now you shall do which you like; walk along to the dock,where the sugar is, or come out in our boat."

  It was a hard choice to make. The glory and delight of the partownership of a real boat dazzled me like another sun in the sky; but Ihad promised myself the docks and the sugar for such a long time. So wecompromised; the docks to-day and the boat to-morrow.

  Out in the street everybody seemed to know Grandfather Nat. Those whospoke with him commonly called him Captain Kemp, except a few oldacquaintances to whom he was Captain Nat. Loafers and crimps gazed afterhim and nodded together; and small ship-chandlers gave him good morningfrom their shop-doors.

  A hundred yards from the Hole in the Wall, at a turn, there was a swingbridge and a lock, such as we had by the old house in Blackwall. At themoment we came in hail the men were at the winch, and the bridge beganto part in the middle; for a ship was about to change berth to the innerdock. "Come, Stevy," said my grandfather, "we'll take the lock 'forethey open that. Not afraid if I'm with you, are you?"

  No, I was not afraid with Grandfather Nat, and would not even becarried. Though the top of the lock was not two feet wide, and wasknotted, broken and treacherous in surface and wholly unguarded on oneside, where one looked plump down into the foul dock-water; and thoughon the other side there was but a slack chain strung through loose ironstanchions that staggered in their sockets. Grandfather Nat gripped meby the collar and walked me before him; but relief tempered my triumphwhen I was safe across; my feet never seemed to have twisted and slippedand stumbled so much before in so short a distance--perhaps because inthat same distance I had never before recollected so many tales of mendrowned in the docks by falling off just such locks, in fog, or byaccidental slips.

  A little farther along, and we came upon Ratcliff Highway. I saw thestreet then for the first time, and in truth it was very wonderful. Ithink there could never have been another street in this country at onceso foul and so picturesque as Ratcliff Highway at the time I speak of.Much that I saw I could not understand, child as I was; and by so muchthe more was I pleased with it all, when perhaps I should have beenshocked. From end to end of the Highway and beyond, and through all itstributaries and purlieus everything and everybody was for, by, and of,the sailor ashore; every house and shop was devoted to his convenienceand inconvenience; in the Highway it seemed to me that every other housewas a tavern, and in several places two stood together. There were shopsfull of slops, sou'westers, pilot-coats, sea-boots, tin pannikins, andcanvas kit-bags like giants' bolsters; and rows of big knives anddaggers, often engraved with suggestive maxims. A flash of memoryrecalls the favourite: "Never draw me without cause, never sheathe mewithout honour." I have since seen the words "cause" and "honour" put touses less respectable.

  The pawn-shops had nothing in them that had not come straight from aship--sextants and boatswain's pipes being the choice of the stock. Andpawn-shops, slop-shops, tobacco-shops--every shop almost--had somewherein its window a selection of those curiosities that sailors make abroadand bring home: little ship-models mysteriously erected inside bottles,shells, albatross heads, saw-fish snouts, and bottles full of sand ofdifferent colours, ingeniously packed so as to present a figure or apicture when viewed from without.

  Men of a dozen nations were coming or going in every score of yards. Thebest dressed, and the worst, were the negroes; for the black cook whowas flush went in for adornments that no other sailor-man would havedreamed of: a white shirt, a flaming tie, a black coat with satinfacings--even a white waistcoat and a top hat. While the cleaned-out andshipless nigger was a sad spectacle indeed. Then there were Spaniards,swart, long-haired, bloodshot-looking fellows, whose entire shore outfitconsisted commonly of a red shirt, blue trousers, anklejacks with thebrown feet visible over them, a belt, a big knife, and a pair of largegold ear-rings. Big, yellow-haired, blue-eyed Swedes, who were full pinkwith sea and sun, and not brown or mahogany-coloured, like the rest;slight, wicked-looking Malays; lean, spitting Yankees, with stripes, andfelt hats, and sing-song oaths; sometimes a Chinaman, petticoated,dignified, jeered at; a Lascar, a Greek, a Russian; and everywhere theEnglish Jack, rolling of gait--sometimes from habit alone, sometimes formixed reasons--hard, red-necked, waistcoatless, with his knife at hisbelt, like the rest: but more commonly a clasp-knife than one in asheath. To me all these strangely bedight men were matter of delight andwonder; and I guessed my hardest whence each had come last, what he hadbrought in his ship, and what strange and desperate adventures he hadencountered on the way. And wherever I saw bare, hairy skin, whether anarm, or the chest under an open shirt, there were blue devices of ships,of flags, of women, of letters and names. Grandfather Nat was tattooedlike that, as I had discovered in the morning, when he washed. He hadbeen a fool to have it done, he said, as he flung the soapy water out ofwindow into the river, and he warned me that I must be careful never tomake such a mistake myself; which made me sorry, because it seemed sogallant an embellishment. But my grandfather explained that you could beidentified by tattoo-marks, at any length of time, which might causetrouble. I remembered that my own father was tattooed with an anchor andmy mother's name; and I hoped he would never be identified, if it wereas bad as that.

  In the street oyster-stalls stood, and baked-potato cans; one or twosailors were buying, and one or two fiddlers, but mostly the customerswere the gaudy women, who seemed to make a late breakfast in this way.Some had not stayed to perform a greater toilet than to fling clothes onthemselves unhooked and awry, and to make a straggling knot of theirhair; but the most were brilliant enough in violet or scarlet or blue,with hair oiled and crimped and hung in thick nets, and with brighthandkerchiefs over their shoulders--belcher yellows and kingsmen andblue billies. And presently we came on one who was dancing with a sailoron the pavement, to the music of one of the many fiddlers who picked upa living hereabouts; and she wore the regular dancing rig of theHighway--short skirts and high red morocco boots with brass heels. Shecovered the buckle and grape-vined with great precision, too, a contrastwith her partner, whose hornpipe was unsteady and vague in the figures,for indeed he seemed to have "begun early"--perhaps had not left off allnight. Two more pairs of these red morocco boots we saw at a place nexta public house, where a shop front had been cleared out to make adancing room, with a sort of buttery-hatch communicating with thetavern; and where a flushed sailor now stood with a pot in each hand,roaring for a fiddler.

  But if the life and the picturesqueness of the Highway in some sortdisguised its squalor, they made the more hideously apparent theabomination of the by-streets: which opened, filthy and menacing, atevery fifty yards as we went. The light seemed greyer, the very airthicker and fouler in these passages; though indeed they formed theresidential part whereof the Highway was the market-place. The childrenwho ran and tumbled in these places, the boy of nine equally with theinfant crawling from doorstep to gutter, were half naked, shoeless, anddisguised in crusted foulness; so that I remember them with a certainsickening, even in these latter days; when I see no such pitiablyneglected little wretches, though I know the dark parts of London wellenough.

  At the mouth of one of these narrow streets, almost at the beginning ofthe Highway, Grandfather Nat stopped and pointed.

  It was a forbidding lane, with forbidding men and women hanging aboutthe entrance; and far up toward the end there appeared to be a crowd anda fight; in the midst whereof a half-naked man seemed to be rushing fromside to side of the street.

  "That's the Blue Gate," said my grandfather, and resumed his walk. "It'sdangerous," he went on, "the worst place
hereabout--perhaps anywhere.Wuss'n Tiger Bay, a mile. You must never go near Blue Gate. People getmurdered there, Stevy--murdered--many's a man; sailor-men mostly; an'nobody never knows. Pitch them in the Dock sometimes, sometimes in theriver, so's they're washed away. I've known 'em taken toHole-in-the-Wall Stairs at night."

  I gripped my grandfather's hand tighter, and asked, in all innocence, ifwe should see any, if we kept watch out of window that night. Helaughed, thought the chance scarce worth a sleepless night, and went onto tell me of something else. But I overheard later in a barconversation a ghastly tale of years before; of a murdered man's bodythat had been dragged dripping through the streets at night by two menwho supported its arms, staggering and shouting and singing, as thoughthe three were merely drunk; and how it was dropped in panic ere it wasbrought to the waterside, because of a collision with three live sailorswho really were drunk.

  One or two crimps' carts came through from the docks as we walked, drawnby sorry animals, and piled high with shouting sailors and theirbelongings--chief among these the giant bolster-bags. The victims wentto their fate gloriously enough, hailing and chaffing the populace onthe way, and singing, each man as he list. Also we saw a shop with awindow full of parrots and monkeys; and a very sick kangaroo in a woodencage being carried in from a van.

  And so we came to the London Dock at last. And there, in thesugar-sheds, stood more sugar than ever I had dreamed of in my wildestvisions--thousands of barrels, mountains of sacks. And so many of thebags were rat-bitten, or had got a slit by accidentally running upagainst a jack-knife; and so many of the barrels were defective, or hadstove themselves by perverse complications with a crowbar; that theheavy, brown, moist stuff was lying in heaps and lumps everywhere; and Isupposed that it must be called "foot-sugar" because you couldn't helptreading on it.

  It was while I was absorbed in this delectable spectacle, that I heard astrained little voice behind me, and turned to behold Mr. Crippsgreeting my grandfather.

  "Good mornin', Cap'en Kemp, sir," said Mr. Cripps. "I been a-lookin' atthe noo Blue Crosser--the _Emily Riggs_. She ought to be done, ye know,an' a han'some picter she'd make; but the skipper seems busy. Why, an'there's young master Stephen, I do declare; 'ow are ye, sir?"

  As he bent and the nose neared, I was seized with a horrid fear that hewas going to kiss me. But he only shook hands, after all--though it wasnot at all a clean hand that he gave.

  "Why, Cap'en Kemp," he went on, "this is what I say a phenomenalcoincidence; rather unique, in fact. Why, you'll 'ardly believe as I wasa thinkin' o' you not 'arf an hour ago, scarcely! Now you wouldn't 'a'thought that, would ye?"

  There was a twinkle in Grandfather Nat's eye. "All depends," he said.

  "Comin' along from the mortuary, I see somethink----"

  "Ah, something in the mortuary, no doubt," my grandfather interrupted,quizzically. "Well, what was in the mortuary? I bet there was a corpsein the mortuary."

  "Quite correct, Cap'en Kemp, so there was; three of 'em, an' a very sadsight; decimated, Cap'en Kemp, by the watery element. But it wasn't themI was----"

  "What! It wasn't a corpse as reminded you of me? That's rum. Then Iexpect somebody told you some more about Viney and Marr. Come, what'sthe latest about Viney an' Marr? Tell us about that."

  Grandfather Nat was humorously bent on driving Mr. Cripps from his mark,and Mr. Cripps deferred. "Well, it's certainly a topic," he said, "auniversal topic. Crooks the ship-chandler's done for, theysay--unsolvent. The _Minerva's_ reported off Prawle Point in to-day'slist, an' they say as she'll be sold up as soon as she's moored. Butthere--she's hypotenused, Cap'en Kemp; pawned, as you might say; up theflue. It's a matter o' gen'ral information that she's pawned up to 'err'yals--up to 'er main r'yals, sir. Which reminds me, speakin' o'r'yals, there's a timber-shop just along by the mortuary----"

  "Ah, no doubt," Grandfather Nat interrupted, "they must put 'emsomewhere. Any news o' the _Juno_?"

  "No, sir, she ain't reported; not doo Barbadoes yet, or mail not in,any'ow. They'll sell 'er too, but the creditors won't get none of it.She's hypotenused as deep as the other--up to her r'yals; an' there'snothin' else to sell. So it's the gen'ral opinion there won't be much todivide, Marr 'avin' absconded with the proceeds. An' as regards what Iwas agoin' to----"

  "Yes, you was goin' to tell me some more about Marr, I expect," mygrandfather persisted. "Heard where he's gone?"

  Mr. Cripps shook his head. "They don't seem likely to ketch 'im, Cap'enNat. Some says 'e's absconded out o' the country, others says 'e's'idin' in it. Nobody knows 'im much, consequence o' Viney doin' all theoutdoor business--I on'y see 'im once myself. Viney, 'e thinks 'e's goneabroad, they say; an' 'e swears Marr's the party as 'as caused theunsolvency, 'avin' bin a-doin' of 'im all along; 'im bein' in charge o'the books. An' it's a fact, Cap'en Kemp, as you never know what themchaps may get up to with the proceeds as 'as charge o' books. Thepaper's full of 'em every week--always absconding with somebody'sproceeds! An' by the way, speakin' o' proceeds----"

  This time Captain Nat made no interruption, but listened with an amusedresignation.

  "Speakin' o' proceeds," said Mr. Cripps, "it was bein' temp'ry out o'proceeds as made me think o' you as I come along from the mortuary. ForI see as 'andsome a bit o' panel for to paint a sign on as ever I comeacross. It was----"

  "Yes, I know. Enough to stimilate you to paint it fine, only to look atit, wasn't it?"

  "Well, yes, Cap'n Kemp, so it was."

  "Not dear, neither?"

  "No--not to say dear, seein' 'ow prices is up. If I'd 'ad----"

  "Well, well, p'raps prices'll be down a bit soon," said Grandfather Nat,grinning and pulling out a sixpence. "I ain't good for no more than thatnow, anyhow!" And having passed over the coin he took my hand and turnedaway, laughing and shaking his head.

  Seeing that my grandfather wanted his sign, it seemed to me that he waslosing an opportunity, and I said so.

  "What!" he said, "let him buy the board? Why, he's had half a dozenboards for that sign a'ready!"

  "Half a dozen?" I said. "Six boards? What did he do with them?"

  "Ate 'em!" said Grandfather Nat, and laughed the louder when I stared.