CONCLUSION.
As I had no home, and cared little where I lodged, I was easily
persuaded by Oliver to accompany him to the little beershop in the
Highway, where he had put up before. I had my misgivings, for I knew
that unsavoury neighbourhood well (it is somewhat different now); but it
was necessary to find harbourage somewhere until the ship paid off,
which was, as usual, likely to be three days longer. Bill departed unto
his own place among the purlieus of Bermondsey, and we two trudged off
to Oliver's hotel. After the glowing accounts of it I had received from
Oliver, I was dumfounded to find it a regular den; the bar filled with
loafers furtive of look and mangy of clothing, while the big taproom at
the back was just a barn of a place open to all. The fat landlord seemed
a decent fellow, but his fatter wife was a terror. She had vigour enough
to command a regiment, and woe to the loafer who crossed her. Still I
felt that it was now too late to draw back, and besides, I had little to
lose; so I had my scanty kit brought up from the ship, and saw it shoved
into a corner of the common room, where I reckoned it would be ransacked
thoroughly as soon as darkness set in. The landlord lent me a sovereign
readily enough, and, as soon as I received it, I bade good-day to
Oliver, who was fast drinking himself idiotic, and, taking the train
from Shadwell to Fenchurch Street, was whirled out of that detestable
locality. All the rest of the day I roamed about the well-known streets,
where the very buildings seemed to greet me with the air of old friends.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and, with only a couple of shillings gone
out of my sovereign, returned to my lodging shortly after ten. I found
things worse than ever. The landlady was half inclined to abuse me
because I hadn't been in to my meals, and every loafer in the place was
sponging for a drink. Outside I knew was not healthy at this time of
night for me, so I quietly asked permission to go to bed. Grumbling at
such an unreasonable request, the landlady snarled, "You'll 'ave ter
wite till yer bed's ready. 'Ow wos hi ter know as you'd wanter sleep all
day?" I said nothing, seeing it was the wisest course; but perching
myself in a corner under the big flaring kerosene-lamp, tried to read a
book I had brought in with me. I had not been thus quietly engaged for
more than five minutes, before an awfully repulsive-looking fellow came
up to me, and, pushing down my book, said, "Got enny munny in yer close,
young 'un?" I looked at him in silence for a minute, thinking hard how
best to answer him. But growing impatient he growled, "Look 'ere, giv us
the price of a drink, er I'll bash yer jor in." That settled it.
Indignation overcame prudence, and I shouted at the pitch of my voice,
"Mr. Bailey, do you allow this to go on in your house?" There was an
uproar immediately, in the midst of which Mrs. Bailey cleared the room
of the swarming loafers--my assailant escaping among them. Then, turning
indignantly to me, she abused me roundly for making a disturbance,
treating my statement as a "pack er lies." I got to bed safely, though,
and really the bed was better than I had expected, although the room was
just a bare box of a place with damp-begrimed walls, that might have
been a coal-cellar.
Rising early in the morning I went down and had an interview with
Bailey, in which I asked him to have my dunnage put away, as I was going
on a visit and should not return that night. He was pleasant enough
about it, and offered me a rum-and-milk at his expense, being greatly
amazed at my refusal. Then I escaped and took up my abode at a
lodging-house in Newman Street, Oxford Street. The time dragged rather
heavily until pay-day, as I dared not do anything costing money; but at
last I found myself once more at Green's Home, with my account of wages
in my hand, telling me that after all claims were satisfied, I was
entitled to sixteen pounds. It was a curious paying-off. Every man, as
he got his money, gave the skipper a piece of his mind; and but that a
stout grating protected the old man from his crew, I am afraid there
would have been assault and battery. I came last, with the exception of
Bill, and when I held out my account of wages to the clerk, the old
rascal said, "I've a good mind to stop yer wages as I promised yer."
What I said doesn't matter, but I never felt the poverty of language
more. And when I saw that he had given me on my certificate of discharge
an excellent character for conduct (which I didn't deserve) and a bad
character for ability (which was utterly unjust), I felt that his
malignity would pursue me long after I had seen the last of him. For
such a discharge is a millstone round a young man's neck. Captains don't
take much notice of a character for conduct--whether it be good or
bad--but they do want their men to be of some use at their work, and
will return such a discharge as mine was contemptuously. Bill took his
pay without looking at it, and, without a word passing between him and
the old man, joined me outside. We strolled away together along the East
India Dock Road, he bungling over his money all the time, till suddenly
he cried, "Why, I've got a five-pound note too much! Here, come on,
let's get out o' this, case he sends after us." And thus was I avenged.
The morality of the thing never troubled me in the least, I only felt
glad from my heart that mine enemy would have to refund all that money.
And now I have reached the limit of my book. At the outset I only
proposed to deal with the vicissitudes of my life on board ship as a
boy. And with the close of this voyage I felt that I was a boy no
longer. I was getting more confident in my ability to hold my own in the
struggle for life, and, although I saw nothing before me but a dreary
round of the drudgery of the merchant seaman's career before the mast,
the prospect did not trouble me. I had no plans, no ambitions, nobody
to work for, no one to encourage me to thrive for better things. I lived
only for the day's need, my only trouble the possible difficulty of
getting a ship. Of the future, and what it had in store for me, I
thought nothing, cared nothing. And yet I was not unhappy. If at times
there was a dull sense of want--want of something besides food and
clothing--I did not nurse it until it became a pain. Only I kept away
from sailor-town. The museums, picture galleries, and theatres kept me
fully amused, and, when I was tired, a good book was an unfailing
resource against dulness. In fact I lived in a little world of my own,
quite content with my own company and that of the creations of my fancy
or the characters of the books I devoured.
This unsatisfactory life, thank God! was soon to be entirely changed;
but that, of course, was hidden from me, nor does it come within the
scope of this book. As I write these last few words I think curiously
whether, if ever they see the light, those who read them will think
contemptuously, "This fellow seems to imagine that the commonplace
details in the life of a nobody are worth recording." Well, I have had
my doubts about that all along, and my only excuse must be that I have
been assured, upon very high authority, that a book like mine, telling
just the naked, unadorned truth about an ordinary boy's ordinary life at
sea, could not fail to be of interest as a human document. And, in spite
of the manifest shortcomings, the obvious inability to discriminate
wisely always between things that are worth the telling and things that
are not, I do confidently assert that I have here set forth the truth
impartially, as far as I have been able to do so. I feel strongly
tempted to draw a few conclusions from my experience; but I must resist
the temptation, and allow the readers to do that for themselves. In the
hope that some good may be done, some little pleasure given, by this
simple recital of a boy's experiences at sea, I now bid my readers,
respectfully,
SO LONG!
Transcriber's notes;
Italics displayed _like this_.
Small caps displayed LIKE THIS.
Bold displayed =like this=
p. 4 "were were" amended to "were"
p. 71 "ostentaiously" amended to "ostentatiously"
p. 321 "neven" amended to "never"
p. 326 "group" amended to "grouped"
p. 354 "standstone" amended to "sandstone"
End of Project Gutenberg's The Log of a Sea-Waif, by Frank T. Bullen