On a certain summer morning, about the middle of the present century, a
big bluff man, of seafaring aspect, found himself sauntering in a
certain street near London Bridge. He was a man of above fifty, but
looked under forty in consequence of the healthful vigour of his frame,
the freshness of his saltwater face, and the blackness of his shaggy
hair.
Although his gait, pilot-cloth coat, and pocketed hands proclaimed him a
sailor, there were one or two contradictory points about him. A huge
beard and moustache savoured more of the diggings than the deep, and a
brown wide-awake with a prodigiously broad brim suggested the backwoods.
Pausing at the head of one of those narrow lanes which--running down
between warehouses, filthy little rag and bone shops, and low
poverty-stricken dwellings--appear to terminate their career, not
unwillingly, in the Thames, the sailor gazed before him with nautical
earnestness for a few seconds, then glanced at the corner house for a
name; found no name; cast his eyes up to the strip of blue sky overhead,
as if for inspiration; obtained none; planted his legs wide apart as if
he had observed a squall coming, and expected the lane to lurch
heavily--wrinkled his eyebrows, and pursed his lips.
"Lost yer bearin's, capp'n?" exclaimed a shrill pert voice at his side.
The seaman looked down, and beheld a small boy with a head like a
disorderly door-mat, and garments to match. He stood in what may be
styled an imitative attitude, with his hands thrust into his ragged
pockets, his little legs planted wide apart, his cap thrust well back on
his head, and his eyebrows wrinkled. He also pursed his lips to such an
extent that they resembled a rosebud in a dirty bush.
"Yes, imp," replied the seaman--he meant to have said "impudence," but
stopped at the first syllable as being sufficiently appropriate--"yes,
imp, I _have_ lost my bearings, and I'll give you a copper if you'll
help me to find 'em."
"Wot sort o' copper?" demanded the urchin, "there's three sorts of 'em,
you know, in this 'ere kingdom--which appears to be a queendom at
present--there's a farding and a ha'penny and a penny. I mention it,
capp'n," he added apologetically, "in case you don't know, for you look
as if you'd come from furrin parts."
The seaman's look of surprise melted into a broad grin of amusement
while this speech was being fluently delivered. At its conclusion he
pulled out a penny and held it up.
"Well, it ain't much," said the small boy, "and I ain't used to hire
myself out so cheap. However, as you seem to be raither poorly off, I
don't mind if I lend you a hand for that. Only, please, don't mention
it among your friends, as it would p'raps lower their opinion of you,
d'you see? Now then w'ot d'you want to know?"
To this the "capp'n," still smiling at the small boy's precocious
insolence, replied that he was in search of an old woman who dwelt in a
small court styled Grubb's Court, so he was told, which lay somewhere in
that salubrious neighbourhood, and asked if he, the imp, knew of such a
place.
"Know's of it? I should think I does. W'y, I lives there. It's right
down at the foot o' this 'ere lane, an' a wery sweet 'ristocratik spot
it is--quite a perninsular, bein' land, leastwise mud, a'most surrounded
by water, the air bein' 'ighly condoosive to the 'ealth of rats,
likewise cats. As to old women, there's raither a broad sprinklin' of
'em in the court, rangin' from the ages of seventy to a hundred an
twenty, more or less, an' you'll take some time to go over 'em all,
capp'n, if you don't know your old woman's name."
"Her name is Roby--," said the seaman.
"O, Roby? ah," returned the small boy, looking sedately at the ground,
"let me see--yes, that's the name of the old 'ooman, I think, wot 'angs
out in the cabin, right-'and stair, top floor, end of the passage, w'ere
most wisiters flattens their noses, by consekince of there bein' no
light, and a step close to the door which inwariably trips 'em up. Most
wisiters to that old 'ooman begins their acquaintance with her by
knocking at her door with their noses instead of their knuckles. We
calls her place the cabin, 'cause the windows is raither small, and
over'angs the river."
"Well then, my lad," said the seaman, "clap a stopper on your tongue, if
you can, and heave ahead."
"All right, capp'n," returned the small boy, "foller me, an' don't be
frightened. Port your helm a bit here, there's a quicksand in the
middle o' the track--so, steady!"
Avoiding a large pool of mud with which the head of the lane was
garnished, and which might have been styled the bathing, not to say
wallowing, quarters of the Grubb's Court juveniles, the small boy led
the bluff seaman towards the river without further remark, diverging
only once from the straight road for a few seconds, for the purpose of
making a furious rush at a sleeping cat with a yell worthy of a Cherokee
savage, or a locomotive whistle; a slight pleasantry which had the
double effect of shooting the cat through space in glaring convulsions,
and filling the small boy's mind with the placidity which naturally
follows a great success.
The lane presented this peculiarity, that the warehouses on its left
side became more and more solid and vast and tall as they neared the
river, while the shops and dwellings on its right became poorer, meaner,
and more diminutive in the same direction, as if there were some
mysterious connection between them, which involved the adversity of the
one in exact proportion to the prosperity of the other. Children and
cats appeared to be the chief day-population of the place, and these
disported themselves among the wheels of enormous waggons, and the legs
of elephantine horses with an impunity which could only have been the
result of life-long experience.
The seaman was evidently unaccustomed to such scenes, for more than once
during the short period of his progress down the lane, he uttered an
exclamation of alarm, and sprang to the rescue of those large babies
which are supposed to have grown sufficiently old to become nursing
mothers to smaller babies--acts which were viewed with a look of pity by
the small boy, and called from him the encouraging observations, "Keep
your mind easy, capp'n; _they're_ all right, bless you; the hosses knows
'em, and wouldn't 'urt 'em on no account."
"This is Grubb's Court," said the boy, turning sharply to the right and
passing through a low archway.
"Thank 'ee, lad," said the seaman, giving him a sixpence.
The small boy opened his eyes very wide indeed, exclaiming, "Hallo! I
say, capp'n, wot's this?" at the same time, however, putting the coin in
his pocket with an air which plainly said, "Whether you've made a
mistake or not, you needn't expect to get it back again."
Evidently the seaman entertained no such expectations, for he turned
away and became absorbed in the scene around him.
It was not cheering. Though the summer sun was high and powerful, it
failed to touch the broken pavement of Grubb's Court, or to dry up the
moisture which oozed from it and crept up the walls of the surrounding
houses. Everything was very old, very rotten, very crooked, and very
dirty. The doorways round the court were wide open--always open--in
some cases, because of there being no doors; in other cases, because the
tenements to which they led belonged to a variety of families, largely
composed of children who could not, even on tiptoe, reach or manipulate
door-handles. Nursing mothers of two feet high were numerous,
staggering about with nurslings of a foot and a half long. A few of the
nurslings, temporarily abandoned by the premature mothers, lay
sprawling--in some cases squalling--on the moist pavement, getting over
the ground like large snails, and leaving slimy tracks behind them.
Little boys, of the "City Arab" type, were sprinkled here and there, and
one or two old women sat on door-steps contemplating the scene, or
conversing with one or two younger women. Some of the latter were busy
washing garments so dirty, that the dirty water of old Father Thames
seemed quite a suitable purifier.
"Gillie," cried one of the younger women referred to, wiping the
soap-suds from her red arms, "come here, you bad, naughty boy. W'ere
'ave you bin? I want you to mind baby."
"W'y, mother," cried the small boy--who answered to the name of
Gillie--"don't you see I'm engaged? I'm a-showin' this 'ere sea-capp'n
the course he's got to steer for port. He wants to make the cabin of
old mother Roby."
"W'y don't you do it quickly, then?" demanded Gillie's mother, "you bad,
naughty, wicked boy. Beg your parding, sir," she added, to the seaman,
"the boy 'an't got no sense, besides bein' wicked and naughty--'e ain't
'ad no train', sir, that's w'ere it is, all along of my 'avin' too much
to do, an' a large family, sir, with no 'usband to speak of; right up
the stair, sir, to the top, and along the passage-door straight before
you at the hend of it. Mind the step, sir, w'en you gits up. Go up
with the gentleman, you bad, wicked, naughty boy, and show--"
The remainder of the sentence became confused in distance, as the boy
and the seaman climbed the stair; but a continuous murmuring sound, as
of a vocal torrent, conveyed the assurance that the mother of Gillie was
still holding forth.
"'Ere it is," said the young pilot, pausing at the top of the staircase,
near the entrance to a very dark passage. "Keep 'er 'ead as she goes,
but I'd recommend you to shorten sail, mind your 'elm, an 'ave the
anchor ready to let go."
Having thus accommodated his language to the supposed intelligence of
the seaman, the elfin youth stood listening with intense eagerness and
expectation as the other went into the passage, and, by sundry kicks and
bumps against wooden walls, gave evidence that he found the channel
intricate. Presently a terrible kick occurred. This was the seaman's
toe against the step, of which he had been warned, but which he had
totally forgotten; then a softer, but much heavier blow, was heard,
accompanied by a savage growl--that was the seaman's nose and forehead
against old Mrs Roby's portal.
At this, Gillie's expectations were realised, and his joy consummated.
With mischievous glee sparkling in his eyes, he hastened down to the
Court to exhibit his sixpence to his mother, and to announce to all whom
it might concern, that "the sea-capp'n had run his jib-boom slap through
the old 'ooman's cabin-door."