Dealing with a man, said the night-watchman, thoughtfully, is as easy
as a teetotaller walking along a nice wide pavement; dealing with a
woman is like the same teetotaller, arter four or five whiskies, trying
to get up a step that ain’t there. If a man can’t get ’is own way he
eases ’is mind with a little nasty language, and then forgets all about
it; if a woman can’t get ’er own way she flies into a temper and
reminds you of something you oughtn’t to ha’ done ten years ago. Wot a
woman would do whose ’usband had never done anything wrong I can’t
think.
I remember a young feller telling me about a row he ’ad with ’is wife
once. He ’adn’t been married long and he talked as if the way she
carried on was unusual. Fust of all, he said, she spoke to ’im in a
cooing sort o’ voice and pulled his moustache, then when he wouldn’t
give way she worked herself up into a temper and said things about ’is
sister. Arter which she went out o’ the room and banged the door so
hard it blew down a vase off the fireplace. Four times she came back to
tell ’im other things she ’ad thought of, and then she got so upset she
’ad to go up to bed and lay down instead of getting his tea. When that
didn’t do no good she refused her food, and when ’e took her up toast
and tea she wouldn’t look at it. Said she wanted to die. He got quite
uneasy till ’e came ’ome the next night and found the best part of a
loaf o’ bread, a quarter o’ butter, and a couple o’ chops he ’ad got in
for ’is supper had gorn; and then when he said ’e was glad she ’ad got
’er appetite back she turned round and said that he grudged ’er the
food she ate.
And no woman ever owned up as ’ow she was wrong; and the more you try
and prove it to ’em the louder they talk about something else. I know
wot I’m talking about because a woman made a mistake about me once, and
though she was proved to be in the wrong, and it was years ago, my
missus shakes her ’ead about it to this day.
It was about eight years arter I ’ad left off going to sea and took up
night-watching. A beautiful summer evening it was, and I was sitting by
the gate smoking a pipe till it should be time to light up, when I
noticed a woman who ’ad just passed turn back and stand staring at me.
I’ve ’ad that sort o’ thing before, and I went on smoking and looking
straight in front of me. Fat middle-aged woman she was, wot ’ad lost
her good looks and found others. She stood there staring and staring,
and by and by she tries a little cough.
I got up very slow then, and, arter looking all round at the evening,
without seeing ’er, I was just going to step inside and shut the
wicket, when she came closer.
“Bill!” she ses, in a choking sort o’ voice. “Bill!”
I gave her a look that made her catch ’er breath, and I was just
stepping through the wicket, when she laid hold of my coat and tried to
hold me back.
“Do you know wot you’re a-doing of?” I ses, turning on her.
“Oh, Bill dear,” she ses, “don’t talk to me like that. Do you want to
break my ’art? Arter all these years!”
She pulled out a dirt-coloured pocket-’ankercher and stood there
dabbing her eyes with it. One eye at a time she dabbed, while she
looked at me reproachful with the other. And arter eight dabs, four to
each eye, she began to sob as if her ’art would break.
“Go away,” I ses, very slow. “You can’t stand making that noise outside
my wharf. Go away and give somebody else a treat.”
Afore she could say anything the potman from the Tiger, a nasty
ginger-’aired little chap that nobody liked, come by and stopped to pat
her on the back.
“There, there, don’t take on, mother,” he ses. “Wot’s he been a-doing
to you?”
“You get off ’ome,” I ses, losing my temper. “Wot d’ye mean trying to
drag me into it? I’ve never seen the woman afore in my life.”
“Oh, Bill!” ses the woman, sobbing louder than ever. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
“’Ow does she know your name, then?” ses the little beast of a potman.
I didn’t answer him. I might have told ’im that there’s about five
million Bills in England, but I didn’t. I stood there with my arms
folded acrost my chest, and looked at him, superior.
“Where ’ave you been all this long, long time?” she ses, between her
sobs. “Why did you leave your happy ’ome and your children wot loved
you?”
The potman let off a whistle that you could have ’eard acrost the
river, and as for me, I thought I should ha’ dropped. To have a woman
standing sobbing and taking my character away like that was a’most more
than I could bear.
“Did he run away from you?” ses the potman.
“Ye-ye-yes,” she ses. “He went off on a vy’ge to China over nine years
ago, and that’s the last I saw of ’im till to-night. A lady friend o’
mine thought she reckernized ’im yesterday, and told me.”
“I shouldn’t cry over ’im,” ses the potman, shaking his ’ead: “he ain’t
worth it. If I was you I should just give ’im a bang or two over the
’ead with my umberella, and then give ’im in charge.”
I stepped inside the wicket—backwards—and then I slammed it in their
faces, and putting the key in my pocket, walked up the wharf. I knew it
was no good standing out there argufying. I felt sorry for the pore
thing in a way. If she really thought I was her ’usband, and she ’ad
lost me—— I put one or two things straight and then, for the sake of
distracting my mind, I ’ad a word or two with the skipper of the John
Henry, who was leaning against the side of his ship, smoking.
“Wot’s that tapping noise?” he ses, all of a sudden. “’Ark!”
I knew wot it was. It was the handle of that umberella ’ammering on the
gate. I went cold all over, and then when I thought that the potman
was most likely encouraging ’er to do it I began to boil.
“Somebody at the gate,” ses the skipper.
“Aye, aye,” I ses. “I know all about it.”
I went on talking until at last the skipper asked me whether he was
wandering in ’is mind, or whether I was. The mate came up from the
cabin just then, and o’ course he ’ad to tell me there was somebody
knocking at the gate.
“Ain’t you going to open it?” ses the skipper, staring at me.
“Let ’em ring,” I ses, off-hand.
The words was ’ardly out of my mouth afore they did ring, and if they
’ad been selling muffins they couldn’t ha’ kept it up harder. And all
the time the umberella was doing rat-a-tat-tats on the gate, while a
voice—much too loud for the potman’s—started calling out: “Watchman
ahoy!”
“They’re calling you, Bill,” ses the skipper.
“I ain’t deaf,” I ses, very cold.
“Well, I wish I was,” ses the skipper. “It’s fair making my ear ache.
Why the blazes don’t you do your dooty, and open the gate?”
“You mind your bisness and I’ll mind mine,” I ses. “I know wot I’m
doing. It’s just some silly fools ’aving a game with me, and I’m not
going to encourage ’em.”
“Game with you?” ses the skipper. “Ain’t they got anything better than
that to play with? Look ’ere, if you don’t open that gate, I will.”
“It’s nothing to do with you,” I ses. “You look arter your ship and
I’ll look arter my wharf. See? If you don’t like the noise, go down in
the cabin and stick your ’ead in a biscuit-bag.”
To my surprise he took the mate by the arm and went, and I was just
thinking wot a good thing it was to be a bit firm with people
sometimes, when they came back dressed up in their coats and
bowler-hats and climbed on to the wharf.
“Watchman!” ses the skipper, in a hoity-toity sort o’ voice, “me and
the mate is going as far as Aldgate for a breath o’ fresh air. Open the
gate.”
I gave him a look that might ha’ melted a ’art of stone, and all it
done to ’im was to make ’im laugh.
“Hurry up,” he ses. “It a’most seems to me that there’s somebody
ringing the bell, and you can let them in same time as you let us out.
Is it the bell, or is it my fancy, Joe?” he ses, turning to the mate.
They marched on in front of me with their noses cocked in the air, and
all the time the noise at the gate got worse and worse. So far as I
could make out, there was quite a crowd outside, and I stood there with
the key in the lock, trembling all over. Then I unlocked it very
careful, and put my hand on the skipper’s arm.
“Nip out quick,” I ses, in a whisper.
“I’m in no hurry,” ses the skipper. “Here! Halloa, wot’s up?”
It was like opening the door at a theatre, and the fust one through was
that woman, shoved behind by the potman. Arter ’im came a car-man, two
big ’ulking brewers’ draymen, a little scrap of a woman with ’er bonnet
cocked over one eye, and a couple of dirty little boys.
“Wot is it?” ses the skipper, shutting the wicket behind ’em. “A
beanfeast?”
“This lady wants her ’usband,” ses the potman, pointing at me. “He run
away from her nine years ago, and now he says he ’as never seen ’er
before. He ought to be ’ung.”
“Bill,” ses the skipper, shaking his silly ’ead at me. “I can ’ardly
believe it.”
“It’s all a pack o’ silly lies,” I ses, firing up. “She’s made a
mistake.”
“She made a mistake when she married you,” ses the thin little woman.
“If I was in ’er shoes I’d take ’old of you and tear you limb from
limb.”
“I don’t want to hurt ’im, ma’am,” ses the other woman. “I on’y want
him to come ’ome to me and my five. Why, he’s never seen the youngest,
little Annie. She’s as like ’im as two peas.”
“Pore little devil,” ses the carman.
“Look here!” I ses, “you clear off. All of you. ’Ow dare you come on to
my wharf? If you aren’t gone in two minutes I’ll give you all in
charge.”
“Who to?” ses one of the draymen, sticking his face into mine. “You go
’ome to your wife and kids. Go on now, afore I put up my ’ands to you.”
“That’s the way to talk to ’im,” ses the potman, nodding at ’em.
They all began to talk to me then and tell me wot I was to do, and wot
they would do if I didn’t. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. When I
reminded the mate that when he was up in London ’e always passed
himself off as a single man, ’e wouldn’t listen; and when I asked the
skipper whether ’is pore missus was blind, he on’y went on shouting at
the top of ’is voice. It on’y showed me ’ow anxious most people are
that everybody else should be good.
I thought they was never going to stop, and, if it ’adn’t been for a
fit of coughing, I don’t believe that the scraggy little woman could
ha’ stopped. Arter one o’ the draymen ’ad saved her life and spoilt ’er
temper by patting ’er on the back with a hand the size of a leg o’
mutton, the carman turned to me and told me to tell the truth, if it
choked me.
“I have told you the truth,” I ses. “She ses I’m her ’usband and I say
I ain’t. Ow’s she going to prove it? Why should you believe her, and
not me?”
“She’s got a truthful face,” ses the carman.
“Look here!” ses the skipper, speaking very slow, “I’ve got an idea,
wot’ll settle it p’raps. You get outside,” he ses, turning sharp on the
two little boys.
One o’ the draymen ’elped ’em to go out, and ’arf a minute arterwards a
stone came over the gate and cut the potman’s lip open. Boys will be
boys.
“Now!” ses the skipper, turning to the woman, and smiling with
conceitedness. “Had your ’usband got any marks on ’im? Birth-mark, or
moles, or anything of that sort?”
“I’m sure he is my ’usband,” ses the woman, dabbing her eyes.
“Yes, yes,” ses the skipper, “but answer my question. If you can tell
us any marks your ’usband had, we can take Bill down into my cabin
and——”
“You’ll do WOT?” I ses, in a loud voice.
“You speak when you’re spoke to,” ses the carman. “It’s got nothing to
do with you.”
“No, he ain’t got no birthmarks,” ses the woman, speaking very slow—and
I could see she was afraid of making a mistake and losing me—“but he’s
got tattoo marks. He’s got a mermaid tattooed on ’im.”
“Where?” ses the skipper, a’most jumping.
I ’eld my breath. Five sailormen out of ten have been tattooed with
mermaids, and I was one of ’em. When she spoke agin I thought I should
ha’ dropped.
“On ’is right arm,” she ses, “unless he’s ’ad it rubbed off.”
“You can’t rub out tattoo marks,” ses the skipper.
They all stood looking at me as if they was waiting for something. I
folded my arms—tight—and stared back at ’em.
“If you ain’t this lady’s ’usband,” ses the skipper, turning to me,
“you can take off your coat and prove it.”
“And if you don’t we’ll take it off for you,” ses the carman, coming a
bit closer.
Arter that things ’appened so quick, I hardly knew whether I was
standing on my ’ead or my heels. Both, I think. They was all on top o’
me at once, and the next thing I can remember is sitting on the ground
in my shirt-sleeves listening to the potman, who was making a fearful
fuss because somebody ’ad bit his ear ’arf off. My coat was ripped up
the back, and one of the draymen was holding up my arm and showing them
all the mermaid, while the other struck matches so as they could see
better.
“That’s your ’usband right enough,” he ses to the woman. “Take ’im.”
“P’raps she’ll carry ’im ’ome,” I ses, very fierce and sarcastic.
“And we don’t want none of your lip,” ses the carman, who was in a bad
temper because he ’ad got a fearful kick on the shin from somewhere.
I got up very slow and began to put my coat on again, and twice I ’ad
to tell that silly woman that when I wanted her ’elp I’d let ’er know.
Then I ’eard slow, heavy footsteps in the road outside, and, afore any
of ’em could stop me, I was calling for the police.
I don’t like policemen as a rule; they’re too inquisitive, but when the
wicket was pushed open and I saw a face with a helmet on it peeping in,
I felt quite a liking for ’em.
“Wot’s up?” ses the policeman, staring ’ard at my little party.
They all started telling ’im at once, and I should think if the potman
showed him ’is ear once he showed it to ’im twenty times. He lost his
temper and pushed it away at last, and the potman gave a ’owl that set
my teeth on edge. I waited till they was all finished, and the
policeman trying to get ’is hearing back, and then I spoke up in a
quiet way and told ’im to clear them all off of my wharf.
“They’re trespassing,” I ses, “all except the skipper and mate here.
They belong to a little wash-tub that’s laying alongside, and they’re
both as ’armless as they look.”
It’s wonderful wot a uniform will do. The policeman just jerked his
’ead and said “outside,” and the men went out like a flock of sheep.
The on’y man that said a word was the carman, who was in such a hurry
that ’e knocked his bad shin against my foot as ’e went by. The thin
little woman was passed out by the policeman in the middle of a speech
she was making, and he was just going for the other, when the skipper
stopped ’im.
“This lady is coming on my ship,” he ses, puffing out ’is chest.
I looked at ’im, and then I turned to the policeman. “So long as she
goes off my wharf, I don’t mind where she goes,” I ses. “The skipper’s
goings-on ’ave got nothing to do with me.”
“Then she can foller him ’ome in the morning,” ses the skipper. “Good
night, watchman.”
Him and the mate ’elped the silly old thing to the ship, and, arter I
’ad been round to the Bear’s Head and fetched a pint for the policeman,
I locked up and sat down to think things out; and the more I thought
the worse they seemed. I’ve ’eard people say that if you have a clear
conscience nothing can hurt you. They didn’t know my missus.
I got up at last and walked on to the jetty, and the woman, wot was
sitting on the deck of the John Henry, kept calling out: “Bill!” like a
sick baa-lamb crying for its ma. I went back, and ’ad four pints at the
Bear’s Head, but it didn’t seem to do me any good, and at last I went
and sat down in the office to wait for morning.
It came at last, a lovely morning with a beautiful sunrise; and that
woman sitting up wide awake, waiting to foller me ’ome. When I opened
the gate at six o’clock she was there with the mate and the skipper,
waiting, and when I left at five minutes past she was trotting along
beside me.
Twice I stopped and spoke to ’er, but it was no good. Other people
stopped too, and I ’ad to move on agin; and every step was bringing me
nearer to my house and the missus.
I turned into our street, arter passing it three times, and the first
thing I saw was my missus standing on the doorstep ’aving a few words
with the lady next door. Then she ’appened to look up and see us, just
as that silly woman was trying to walk arm-in-arm.
Twice I knocked her ’and away, and then, right afore my wife and the
party next door, she put her arm round my waist. By the time I got to
the ’ouse my legs was trembling so I could hardly stand, and when I got
into the passage I ’ad to lean up against the wall for a bit.
[Illustration: Right afore my wife and the party next door, she put
her arm round my waist.]
“Keep ’er out,” I ses.
“Wot do you want?” ses my missus, trembling with passion. “Wot do you
think you’re doing?”
“I want my ’usband, Bill,” ses the woman.
My missus put her ’and to her throat and came in without a word, and
the woman follered ’er. If I hadn’t kept my presence o’ mind and shut
the door two or three more would ’ave come in too.
I went into the kitchen about ten minutes arterwards to see ’ow they
was getting on. Besides which they was both calling for me.
“Now then!” ses my missus, who was leaning up against the dresser with
’er arms folded, “wot ’ave you got to say for yourself walking in as
bold as brass with this hussy?”
“Bill!” ses the woman, “did you hear wot she called me?”
She spoke to me like that afore my wife, and in two minutes they was at
it, hammer and tongs.
Fust of all they spoke about each other, and then my missus started
speaking about me. She’s got a better memory than most people, because
she can remember things that never ’appened, and every time I coughed
she turned on me like a tiger.
“And as for you,” she ses, turning to the woman, “if you did marry ’im
you should ha’ made sure that he ’adn’t got a wife already.”
“He married me fust,” ses the woman.
“When?” ses my wife. “Wot was the date?”
“Wot was the date you married ’im?” ses the other one.
They stood looking at each other like a couple o’ game-cocks, and I
could see as plain as a pike-staff ’ow frightened both of ’em was o’
losing me.
“Look here!” I ses at last, to my missus, “talk sense. ’Ow could I be
married to ’er? When I was at sea I was at sea, and when I was ashore I
was with you.”
“Did you use to go down to the ship to see ’im off?” ses the woman.
“No,” ses my wife. “I’d something better to do.”
“Neither did I,” ses the woman. “P’raps that’s where we both made a
mistake.”
“You get out of my ’ouse!” ses my missus, very sudden. “Go on, afore I
put you out.”
“Not without my Bill,” ses the woman. “If you lay a finger on me I’ll
scream the house down.”
“You brought her ’ere,” ses my wife, turning to me, “now you can take
’er away.”
“I didn’t bring ’er,” I ses. “She follered me.”
“Well, she can foller you agin,” she ses. “Go on!” she ses, trembling
all over. “Git out afore I start on you.”
I was in such a temper that I daren’t trust myself to stop. I just gave
’er one look, and then I drew myself up and went out. ’Alf the fools in
our street was standing in front of the ’ouse, ’umming like bees, but I
took no notice. I held my ’ead up and walked through them with that
woman trailing arter me.
I was in such a state of mind that I went on like a man in a dream. If
it had ha’ been a dream I should ha’ pushed ’er under an omnibus, but
you can’t do things like that in real life.
“Penny for your thoughts, Bill,” she ses. I didn’t answer her.
“Why don’t you speak to me?” she ses.
“You don’t know wot you’re asking for,” I ses.
I was hungry and sleepy, and ’ow I was going to get through the day I
couldn’t think. I went into a pub and ’ad a couple o’ pints o’ stout
and a crust o’ bread and cheese for brekfuss. I don’t know wot she ’ad,
but when the barman tried to take for it out o’ my money, I surprised
’im.
We walked about till I was ready to drop. Then we got to Victoria Park,
and I ’ad no sooner got on to the grass than I laid down and went
straight off to sleep. It was two o’clock when I woke, and, arter a
couple o’ pork-pies and a pint or two, I sat on a seat in the Park
smoking, while she kep’ dabbing ’er eyes agin and asking me to come
’ome.
At five o’clock I got up to go back to the wharf, and, taking no notice
of ’er, I walked into the street and jumped on a ’bus that was passing.
She jumped too, and, arter the conductor had ’elped ’er up off of ’er
knees and taken her arms away from his waist, I’m blest if he didn’t
turn on me and ask me why I ’adn’t left her at ’ome.
We got to the wharf just afore six. The John Henry ’ad gorn, but the
skipper ’ad done all the ’arm he could afore he sailed, and, if I
’adn’t kept my temper, I should ha’ murdered arf a dozen of ’em.
The woman wanted to come on to the wharf, but I ’ad a word or two with
one o’ the foremen, who owed me arf-a-dollar, and he made that all
right.
“We all ’ave our faults, Bill,” he ses as ’e went out, “and I suppose
she was better looking once upon a time?”
I didn’t answer ’im. I shut the wicket arter ’im, quick, and turned the
key, and then I went on with my work. For a long time everything was as
quiet as the grave, and then there came just one little pull at the
bell. Five minutes arterwards there was another.
I thought it was that woman, but I ’ad to make sure. When it came the
third time I crept up to the gate.
“Halloa!” I ses. “Who is it?”
“Me, darling,” ses a voice I reckernized as the potman’s. “Your missus
wants to come in and sit down.”
I could ’ear several people talking, and it seemed to me there was
quite a crowd out there, and by and by that bell was going like mad.
Then people started kicking the gate, and shouting, but I took no
notice until, presently, it left off all of a sudden, and I ’eard a
loud voice asking what it was all about. I suppose there was about
fifty of ’em all telling it at once, and then there was the sound of a
fist on the gate.
“Who is it?” I ses.
“Police,” ses the voice.
I opened the wicket then and looked out. A couple o’ policemen was
standing by the gate and arf the riff-raff of Wapping behind ’em.
“Wot’s all this about?” ses one o’ the policemen.