THE LAUNCH.
I was sitting in the study one morning busily writing, when sounds of
an altercation in the hall were followed by the door opening and the
appearance of our parlour-maid, with indignation expressed in every
line of her expressive and superior person. She had always been very
superior, so much so that I frequently wondered why she continued
to grace our quiet house, but now, as I glanced at her, I thought I
perceived signs of her removing the light of her presence from us at no
distant date.
“What is it, Jane?” I inquired mildly.
“If you please, miss,” she replied, with an evident effort, “there’s a
young—pusson ’as come, what says she must see you at once, which I told
her you never saw no one in the mornin’, an’ ast ’er ’er bizness, which
she says as it’s ’ers an’ not mine!” Here her emotion choked her, and
enabled me to get in a word edgeways.
“What is she like?” I asked, rising hastily.
“Tall an’ brazen-faced, with a fringe down to ’er eyes, an’——”
But I heard no more, for I was already in the hall, where I discovered
Belinda Ann standing on the mat in an aggressive attitude, bristling
all over, and with her arms akimbo.
At sight of her old enemy, the parlour-maid, who had followed me down,
she gave an expressive snort, which was replied to by that functionary
by a toss of her head and the uplifting of an already “tip-tilted”
nose. Fearful of the renewal of the “few words” they had evidently
already had, I hurriedly greeted Belinda Ann, and drew her after me to
a room at the top of the house, which at this time of day was always
secure from interruption. Here I set to work to soothe her ruffled
temper and hurt dignity, which had evidently been seriously upset, as
for a long time all I could get out of her was, “What call ’ad she to
give ’erself airs? Set ’er rup indeed! _I_ don’t ’ave ter ’ire soldiers
ter walk out with me o’ Sundys!” and suchlike unprofitable exclamations.
By-and-by, however, she became more cheerful, and when I produced some
refreshments in the shape of lemonade, biscuits and bananas, she had
regained her usual serenity. I may as well say here that there was a
curious point of resemblance between Belinda Ann, a daughter of the
people, and the highest in the land, and that was, that no matter how
strange her surroundings might be to her, she adapted herself to them
at once, and never exhibited vulgar curiosity or “gave herself away,”
as she would have put it, by expressing surprise or admiration.
Thus, if I had expected her to be impressed by the size of the house
or elegance of the furniture, I should have been disappointed. Like
the thorough woman of the world that she was, she lounged in a velvet
arm-chair as if she had been accustomed to it from babyhood, and though
her bright, dark eyes glanced into every corner, not a word or a look
escaped her to prove that it was all new to her. As a rule one finds
this calm _sang-froid_ and _savoir faire_ only at the extreme ends of
the social scale, though of course there are exceptions.
All this time I was quite in the dark still as to why she had honoured
me with a visit, but when she had eaten her third banana, swept all the
biscuit crumbs in her lap into her mouth, and finished the lemonade,
she remarked, with her usual abruptness, “Want ter see a launch?”
“Certainly!” I replied, with commendable presence of mind. “When, and
where?”
“Now!” she returned with equal brevity. “There’s one on to-day down at
Victoria Docks at three o’clock, an’ I think we can just abaht do it.”
“But it isn’t Bank Holiday! How is it you are able to leave your work?”
I injudiciously asked, for Belinda Ann stiffened and froze at once, and
looked for a minute as if she repented of having come.
She thought better of it, however, for presently she remarked briefly,
“Don’t often get a launch, when we do we tyke a holiday. If they don’t
like it at the factry, they ken lump it. Needn’t come if yer don’t
want!” I was getting used by this time to her curious way of talking
like a sixpenny telegram, so I hastened to assure her I wanted to come
very much, and as it was obviously now or never, I left a hurried note
for my absent family to say where I had gone, dressed in frantic haste,
and was soon ready to accompany Belinda Ann.
There were two ways of getting to the docks, by Underground or omnibus.
The latter took much longer, but as I have a constitutional dislike to
the Underground, I proposed the alternative route, and my companion
politely assented.
“We must take a Blackwall from Piccadilly,” I remarked, as I stepped
briskly out, “but when we get there, I’ll put myself into your hands,
Belinda.”
Again she agreed, having become unusually quiet, and not till we
turned into Regent Street did she regain her cheerfulness. I did not
particularly notice it at the time, but long afterwards I found out
the reason, which was briefly this. There were two ways of reaching
Piccadilly from our house, one being down Regent Street, crowded at
that time of day, and the other down deserted back streets.
Luckily I chose the former, and Belinda had been watching to see which
I should take, being quite ready to assume that I was ashamed of her if
I had gone the quiet way.
I certainly had no idea of minding being seen with her, as the worst
thing that could happen would be that my friends might think me rather
eccentric in my choice of society, but as I was doing nothing wrong,
their opinion troubled me little.
Belinda Ann had evidently got herself up with a special eye to my
company. A well-worn but neat black serge skirt was surmounted by
the inevitable blouse, evidently picked up cheap at some second-hand
clothes shop. It had once been handsome, being of shot pink and blue
_glacé_ silk trimmed lavishly with iridescent trimming and quantities
of cheap lace, but now most of its glories had departed, and personally
I should have preferred their absence altogether, but still it suited
her in a bizarre, picturesque way, although it attracted more attention
than was quite desirable. It was surmounted by her old black straw hat,
from which, however, she had removed the dirty white flowers.
She looked better in her workaday dress and apron, but it would be
difficult to tell her so, and I was still busy revolving plans in my
mind for her education in taste, when we arrived in Piccadilly, and in
the wild excitement of “boarding” the Blackwall omnibus, my thoughts
were reduced to chaos. Belinda Ann, with rare delicacy, climbed on the
top, leaving me to sit inside alone, so I had plenty of leisure for
thinking during the long hot drive.
Oh, it was long and it was hot! Many times during our progress I
thought regretfully of my favourite window-seat at home, with its usual
accompaniments of an interesting book or a little languid work.
I was in for it now, however, as I realised more fully when the omnibus
stopped and we got out. Belinda Ann indicated another very small
specimen of the same vehicle round which a surging crowd was having a
sort of free fight, at sight of which I basely deserted my colours.
“Let’s take a cab, Belinda!” I suggested weakly, but this proved easier
said than done. Not a single cab was to be had for love or money, and
it really looked as if we should get no further.
At last a small but sympathetic bystander volunteered the information
that the omnibus yard was not far off, and if we went there we should
have the first choice. Cheered by this idea we hastened thither,
and though our joy was rather damped by finding that the same happy
thought had struck about twenty other people, we dashed recklessly
into the thick of the fray, and after a breathless struggle, landed in
a triumphant heap on the floor inside. Someone trod on my skirt and
nearly tore it off, but Belinda Ann did such noble execution with her
sharp elbows and sharper tongue that this was my only mishap, and we
subsided into seats with just elation.
Belinda Ann especially was so pleased at our success that it made
her unusually “chirpy,” which state of mind led up to a regrettable
incident. A gentleman in corduroy mounting to the roof discovered that
his “young lydy” was seated inside the omnibus. Pausing therefore
half-way up the staircase, regardless of the impatient throng behind
him, he poked his head under the lamp and tried to persuade her to come
outside with him. The lady was coy and the gentleman urgent, which
somewhat prolonged matters, until at last a West-Ender immediately
behind the impatient lover lost his temper and observed irritably—
“Now then, my good fellow, don’t keep us here all day! If you’re going
up, get on!”
The “good fellow” turned on him at once, his “young lydy” of course
sided with her _fiancé_, and Belinda Ann stuck loyally to her class by
remarking in her peculiarly penetrating voice—
“Ho, yuss! ’Cause ’e’s got on a nigh ’at, ’e thinks the ’ole bloomin’
’bus berlongs ter rim! Yuss hindeed.”
I was covered with confusion, and vainly tried to quiet her, but the
unlucky young “toff” made matters worse by defending himself.
“Well,” he said fiercely, “he has no right to block the whole
staircase!”
“No, in course not!” agreed Belinda Ann, with dangerous politeness and
withering sarcasm. “Most inconsidrate I calls it. Boo—hoo—hoo—oo!”
The war-cry was taken up all round till its unfortunate victim was only
too glad to hide his diminished head in its despised “topper” anywhere
“out of the four-mile radius” of the savage whoops with which the
neighbourhood fairly rang.
As for me, I sat in my corner scarlet with embarrassment and an
hysterical desire to laugh, and was thankful when at last the omnibus
moved off.
The rest of the journey was accomplished in peace, but we still had
some distance to walk when we got out and joined the throng of happy,
careless, jovial holiday-makers trudging along in the sun.
The crowd was a queer mixture of West and East, grand ladies in the
most fashionable toilettes being obliged to elbow their way through the
friendly costers and merry factory girls amid a chorus of “What ho!
What price me? ’Ow’s thet fur style?” and so on.
I was thankful that so far I had escaped their embarrassing notice,
and kept close to Belinda as we streamed over a level crossing and
approached the water’s edge.
Do not suppose she was dumb all this while. Far from it, for she it was
who led the various war-cries, and, as she would have termed it, “kept
her end up”; but in the midst of her wildest sallies, she never forgot
me, and more than once when some rough girls and men jostled against me
unnecessarily, she gave them “what for!” vigorously.
At last she landed me, flushed, panting and dishevelled, but
triumphant, in a cosy nook on the wharf formed by huge piles of timber
on three sides and the water on the fourth. The planks were so arranged
as to form a seat below and a little pent-house roof above, while I
enjoyed an uninterrupted view of the beautiful battleship which was to
be launched presently.
There was just room for one and no more, so Belinda Ann stood at the
entrance and surveyed me as if I were her invention and she had just
taken out a patent for me! I was less amused by this than usual as I
was lost in admiration at the sight before me.
I had always heard that a launch at the docks is made a general holiday
in the neighbourhood, which accounted for the dense crowds around.
I am not now alluding to the stands erected for the aristocratic
spectators—though these were packed—but to the uninvited guests, who
literally swarmed everywhere, so that you might have walked on their
heads. Every roof, bridge, hole and corner was thick with sightseers,
and the water was black with boats. The ships being built in various
other parts of the docks had also been “boarded,” and not a square inch
of ground or water was uncovered.
I recognised many of the girls I had seen at the Club, some with
a bashful-looking young man in attendance, with whom they were
evidently “walking out,” but most of them arm-in-arm with four or five
girl-friends, all in a state of innocent high spirits, shrieking with
laughter at nothing at all and indulging in practical jokes at each
other’s expense.
Presently a flourish of music from various bands in the vicinity
announced the arrival of the Royal personages who were to launch the
boat, and a long string of firemen came hurriedly through the crowd to
form a guard of honour.
Each man had to bend under a rope which was stretched across the path,
and this formed fine sport for Belinda Ann’s irrepressible friends, who
knocked off their helmets, tripped them up, and otherwise harassed them
as long as they were within reach.
I thought Belinda Ann looked on rather regretfully, but she would not
desert her self-imposed sentry duty, and turned a deaf ear to her
“pals’” invitations to join them.
From my place I could not see distinctly what happened, although I knew
the Royal duchess was to strike away the supporting posts with a mallet
which would launch the ship, and then smash a bottle of champagne
against its side to name it; but all I actually saw was its huge bulk
gliding majestically at first and then more quickly down and away,
while a chorus of shouts, bells, and indiscriminate noises arose as it
went.
Then Belinda Ann bent down to me and whispered, almost savagely, “Let’s
get out o’ this, d’yer ’ear? Somethin’s bound ter ’appen!”
“Why? What?” I gasped, rather taken aback by her manner and words,
and disposed to remain in my comfortable corner until the crowd had
dispersed a little.
She vouchsafed no reply, but, clutching my arm, dragged me
unceremoniously to my feet and piloted me back the way we had come,
clearing a path through the throng as if by magic, interposing her
broad person between me and the rough element, and forging ahead as
if pursued by wild beasts. I could not understand her sudden haste,
and, being quite breathless, tried to stop and rest, but she pulled me
relentlessly on.
Once, near the level crossing, I saw a girl being led past, as if ill,
followed by someone carrying a bundle of wet clothes, and I tried
to draw Belinda Ann’s attention to it, but she chose that identical
moment to dash across the rails in face of the warning shout, “Express
coming!” and I had to fly after her. She never stopped or spoke till we
got to the Underground Railway Station, when, for the first time, she
looked at me and said shortly—
“What next?”
Then I noticed that she was white and looked strangely scared, and
concluding she was faint, I replied, “We’ll go home by train!” and
diving into the station I committed the extravagance of buying two
first-class tickets, as the crush in the third class was not to be
thought of.
A train came in five minutes afterwards, and we secured two seats so
that the journey home was quickly accomplished, rather to my relief,
for Belinda Ann really looked ill.
As we drew near home I heard boys shouting, “Haccident at a Launch!
Horful Scenes!” but somehow I did not associate it with what I had
just come from, and Belinda Ann never said a word till I had landed her
in the upstairs room at home which we had left so gaily that morning.
I plied her with tea and cake and bread-and-butter until the colour
began to come back to her face, and then I said—
“Why, Belinda, what has come over you, and why were you in such a
tearing hurry, and what did you mean by saying something would happen?”
“What I said,” she replied shortly; “and I was right too. That ship’ll
be unlucky, you see if ’taint, and what’s more, they’ll ’ave trouble in
gettin’ sailors to man ’er, you mark my words!”
“I don’t understand you one bit,” I said impatiently.
“Then you didn’t ’ear as the bottle was filled with seltzer or some
such stuff ’stead o’ champagne?” she asked excitedly.
“No,” I answered, “but I don’t see what difference that could make.”
“Sailors would,” she returned darkly. “An’ besides, the bottle didn’t
break an’ ’ad ter be smashed afterwards.”
“Belinda Ann,” I exclaimed severely, “how can you be so wicked? Don’t
you know that it’s very wrong to take notice of omens and to be
superstitious and to believe in luck and chance?”
She screwed up her mouth and pouted her lips in a way she had when not
convinced and too polite to say so (which latter was not often!), and
then said doggedly, “Then why was it all those people were thrown into
the water by the back-wash, an’ lots on ’em drownded?” which was the
first intimation I had of what turned out to be a terrible accident.
I regret to say that on this occasion (the first time I had tried to
get in “a word in season”) Belinda apparently got the best of it,
but for once she bore her victory modestly, being too subdued by the
catastrophe and the danger which had approached me to be very jubilant
or to triumph openly.
Now I understood her flight, for she was afraid lest more horrors were
to come, and, regarding me as a precious piece of costly treasure in
her care, she had never rested till I was landed in comparative safety.
She had even shielded me from the sight of it all, and the chivalrous
soul, who would never have known fear on her own account, had yielded
to panic for my sake.
Thus I was made aware of another characteristic of my East-Ender,
namely, the vein of superstition which underlay the practical
matter-of-fact front she presented to the workaday world.
There was a deep-seated belief in her mind in such things as luck and
chance, as I now found out, and when she left me that night she was
still firmly convinced that the ship we had seen launched that day
would never come to any good!
“OUR HERO.”
A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.
BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the
Dower House,” etc.