It was nearly high-water, and the night-watchman, who had stepped
aboard a lighter lying alongside the wharf to smoke a pipe, sat with
half-closed eyes enjoying the summer evening. The bustle of the day was
over, the wharves were deserted, and hardly a craft moved on the river.
Perfumed clouds of shag, hovering for a time over the lighter, floated
lazily towards the Surrey shore.
“There’s one thing about my job,” said the night-watchman, slowly,
“it’s done all alone by yourself. There’s no foreman a-hollering at you
and offering you a penny for your thoughts, and no mates to run into
you from behind with a loaded truck and then ask you why you didn’t
look where you’re going to. From six o’clock in the evening to six
o’clock next morning I’m my own master.”
He rammed down the tobacco with an experienced forefinger and puffed
contentedly.
People like you ’ud find it lonely (he continued, after a pause); I did
at fust. I used to let people come and sit ’ere with me of an evening
talking, but I got tired of it arter a time, and when one chap fell
overboard while ’e was showing me ’ow he put his wife’s mother in ’er
place, I gave it up altogether. There was three foot o’ mud in the dock
at the time, and arter I ’ad got ’im out, he fainted in my arms.
Arter that I kept myself to myself. Say wot you like, a man’s best
friend is ’imself. There’s nobody else’ll do as much for ’im, or let
’im off easier when he makes a mistake. If I felt a bit lonely I used
to open the wicket in the gate and sit there watching the road, and
p’r’aps pass a word or two with the policeman. Then something ’appened
one night that made me take quite a dislike to it for a time.
I was sitting there with my feet outside, smoking a quiet pipe, when I
’eard a bit of a noise in the distance. Then I ’eard people running and
shouts of “Stop, thief!” A man came along round the corner full pelt,
and, just as I got up, dashed through the wicket and ran on to the
wharf. I was arter ’im like a shot and got up to ’im just in time to
see him throw something into the dock. And at the same moment I ’eard
the other people run past the gate.
“Wot’s up?” I ses, collaring ’im.
“Nothing,” he ses, breathing ’ard and struggling. “Let me go.”
He was a little wisp of a man, and I shook ’im like a dog shakes a rat.
I remembered my own pocket being picked, and I nearly shook the breath
out of ’im.
“And now I’m going to give you in charge,” I ses, pushing ’im along
towards the gate.
“Wot for?” he ses, purtending to be surprised.
“Stealing,” I ses.
“You’ve made a mistake,” he ses; “you can search me if you like.”
“More use to search the dock,” I ses. “I see you throw it in. Now you
keep quiet, else you’ll get ’urt. If you get five years I shall be all
the more pleased.”
I don’t know ’ow he did it, but ’e did. He seemed to sink away between
my legs, and afore I knew wot was ’appening, I was standing upside down
with all the blood rushing to my ’ead. As I rolled over he bolted
through the wicket, and was off like a flash of lightning.
A couple o’ minutes arterwards the people wot I ’ad ’eard run past came
back agin. There was a big fat policeman with ’em—a man I’d seen afore
on the beat—and, when they ’ad gorn on, he stopped to ’ave a word with
me.
“’Ot work,” he ses, taking off his ’elmet and wiping his bald ’ead with
a large red handkerchief. “I’ve lost all my puff.”
“Been running?” I ses, very perlite.
“Arter a pickpocket,” he ses. “He snatched a lady’s purse just as she
was stepping aboard the French boat with her ’usband. ‘Twelve pounds in
it in gold, two peppermint lozenges, and a postage stamp.’”
He shook his ’ead, and put his ’elmet on agin.
“Holding it in her little ’and as usual,” he ses. “Asking for trouble,
I call it. I believe if a woman ’ad one hand off and only a finger and
thumb left on the other, she’d carry ’er purse in it.”
He knew a’most as much about wimmen as I do. When ’is fust wife died,
she said ’er only wish was that she could take ’im with her, and she
made ’im promise her faithful that ’e’d never marry agin. His second
wife, arter a long illness, passed away while he was playing hymns on
the concertina to her, and ’er mother, arter looking at ’er very hard,
went to the doctor and said she wanted an inquest.
He went on talking for a long time, but I was busy doing a bit of
’ead-work and didn’t pay much attention to ’im. I was thinking o’
twelve pounds, two lozenges, and a postage stamp laying in the mud at
the bottom of my dock, and arter a time ’e said ’e see as ’ow I was
waiting to get back to my night’s rest, and went off—stamping.
I locked the wicket when he ’ad gorn away, and then I went to the edge
of the dock and stood looking down at the spot where the purse ’ad been
chucked in. The tide was on the ebb, but there was still a foot or two
of water atop of the mud. I walked up and down, thinking.
I thought for a long time, and then I made up my mind. If I got the
purse and took it to the police-station, the police would share the
money out between ’em, and tell me they ’ad given it back to the lady.
If I found it and put a notice in the newspaper—which would cost
money—very likely a dozen or two ladies would come and see me and say
it was theirs. Then if I gave it to the best-looking one and the one it
belonged to turned up, there’d be trouble. My idea was to keep it—for a
time—and then if the lady who lost it came to me and asked me for it I
would give it to ’er.
Once I had made up my mind to do wot was right I felt quite ’appy, and
arter a look up and down, I stepped round to the Bear’s Head and ’ad a
couple o’ goes o’ rum to keep the cold out. There was nobody in there
but the landlord, and ’e started at once talking about the thief, and
’ow he ’ad run arter him in ’is shirt-sleeves.
“My opinion is,” he ses, “that ’e bolted on one of the wharves and ’id
’imself. He disappeared like magic. Was that little gate o’ yours
open?”
“I was on the wharf,” I ses, very cold.
“You might ha’ been on the wharf and yet not ’ave seen anybody come
on,” he ses, nodding.
“Wot d’ye mean?” I ses, very sharp.
“Nothing,” he ses. “Nothing.”
“Are you trying to take my character away?” I ses, fixing ’im with my
eye.
“Lo’ bless me, no!” he ses, staring at me. “It’s no good to me.”
He sat down in ’is chair behind the bar and went straight off to sleep
with his eyes screwed up as tight as they would go. Then ’e opened his
mouth and snored till the glasses shook. I suppose I’ve been one of the
best customers he ever ’ad, and that’s the way he treated me. For two
pins I’d ha’ knocked ’is ugly ’ead off, but arter waking him up very
sudden by dropping my glass on the floor I went off back to the wharf.
I locked up agin, and ’ad another look at the dock. The water ’ad
nearly gone and the mud was showing in patches. My mind went back to a
sailorman wot had dropped ’is watch over-board two years before, and
found it by walking about in the dock in ’is bare feet. He found it
more easy because the glass broke when he trod on it.
The evening was a trifle chilly for June, but I’ve been used to
roughing it all my life, especially when I was afloat, and I went into
the office and began to take my clothes off. I took off everything but
my pants, and I made sure o’ them by making braces for ’em out of a bit
of string. Then I turned the gas low, and, arter slipping on my boots,
went outside.
It was so cold that at fust I thought I’d give up the idea. The longer
I stood on the edge looking at the mud the colder it looked, but at
last I turned round and went slowly down the ladder. I waited a moment
at the bottom, and was just going to step off when I remembered that I
’ad got my boots on, and I ’ad to go up agin and take ’em off.
I went down very slow the next time, and anybody who ’as been down an
iron ladder with thin, cold rungs, in their bare feet, will know why,
and I had just dipped my left foot in, when the wharf-bell rang.
I ’oped at fust that it was a runaway-ring, but it kept on, and the
longer it kept on, the worse it got. I went up that ladder agin and
called out that I was coming, and then I went into the office and just
slipped on my coat and trousers and went to the gate.
“Wot d’you want?” I ses, opening the wicket three or four inches and
looking out at a man wot was standing there.
“Are you old Bill?” he ses.
“I’m the watchman,” I ses, sharp-like. “Wot d’you want?”
“Don’t bite me!” he ses, purtending to draw back. “I ain’t done no
’arm. I’ve come round about that glass you smashed at the Bear’s Head.”
“Glass!” I ses, ’ardly able to speak.
“Yes, glass,” he ses—“thing wot yer drink out of. The landlord says
it’ll cost you a tanner, and ’e wants it now in case you pass away in
your sleep. He couldn’t come ’imself ’cos he’s got nobody to mind the
bar, so ’e sent me. Why! Halloa! Where’s your boots? Ain’t you afraid
o’ ketching cold?”
“You clear off,” I ses, shouting at him. “D’ye ’ear me? Clear off while
you’re safe, and you tell the landlord that next time ’e insults me
I’ll smash every glass in ’is place and then sit ’im on top of ’em!
Tell ’im if ’e wants a tanner out o’ me, to come round ’imself, and see
wot he gets.”
It was a silly thing to say, and I saw it arterwards, but I was in such
a temper I ’ardly knew wot I was saying. I slammed the wicket in ’is
face and turned the key and then I took off my clothes and went down
that ladder agin.
It seemed colder than ever, and the mud when I got fairly into it was
worse than I thought it could ha’ been. It stuck to me like glue, and
every step I took seemed colder than the one before. ’Owever, when I
make up my mind to do a thing, I do it. I fixed my eyes on the place
where I thought the purse was, and every time I felt anything under my
foot I reached down and picked it up—and then chucked it away as far as
I could so as not to pick it up agin. Dirty job it was, too, and in
five minutes I was mud up to the neck, a’most. And I ’ad just got to
wot I thought was the right place, and feeling about very careful, when
the bell rang agin.
I thought I should ha’ gorn out o’ my mind. It was just a little tinkle
at first, then another tinkle, but, as I stood there all in the dark
and cold trying to make up my mind to take no notice of it, it began to
ring like mad. I ’ad to go—I’ve known men climb over the gate afore
now—and I didn’t want to be caught in that dock.
The mud seemed stickier than ever, but I got out at last, and, arter
scraping some of it off with a bit o’ stick, I put on my coat and
trousers and boots just as I was and went to the gate, with the bell
going its ’ardest all the time.
When I opened the gate and see the landlord of the Bear’s Head standing
there I turned quite dizzy, and there was a noise in my ears like the
roaring of the sea. I should think I stood there for a couple o’
minutes without being able to say a word. I could think of ’em.
“Don’t be frightened, Bill,” ses the landlord. “I’m not going to eat
you.”
“He looks as if he’s walking in ’is sleep,” ses the fat policeman, wot
was standing near by. “Don’t startle ’im.”
“He always looks like that,” ses the landlord.
I stood looking at ’im. I could speak then, but I couldn’t think of any
words good enough; not with a policeman standing by with a note-book in
’is pocket.
“Wot was you ringing my bell for?” I ses, at last.
“Why didn’t you answer it before?” ses the landlord. “D’you think I’ve
got nothing better to do than to stand ringing your bell for
three-quarters of an hour? Some people would report you.”
“I know my dooty,” I ses; “there’s no craft up to-night, and no reason
for anybody to come to my bell. If I was to open the gate every time a
parcel of overgrown boys rang my bell I should ’ave enough to do.”
“Well, I’ll overlook it this time, seeing as you’re an old man and
couldn’t get another sleeping-in job,” he ses, looking at the policeman
for him to see ’ow clever ’e was. “Wot about that tanner? That’s wot
I’ve come for.”
“You be off,” I ses, starting to shut the wicket. “You won’t get no
tanner out of me.”
“All right,” he ses, “I shall stand here and go on ringing the bell
till you pay up, that’s all.”
He gave it another tug, and the policeman instead of locking ’im up for
it stood there laughing.
I gave ’im the tanner. It was no use standing there arguing over a
tanner, with a purse of twelve quid waiting for me in the dock, but I
told ’im wot people thought of ’im.
“Arf a second, watchman,” ses the policeman, as I started to shut the
wicket agin. “You didn’t see anything of that pickpocket, did you?”
“I did not,” I ses.
“’Cos this gentleman thought he might ’ave come in here,” ses the
policeman.
“’Ow could he ’ave come in here without me knowing it?” I ses, firing
up.
“Easy,” ses the landlord, “and stole your boots into the bargain!”
“He might ’ave come when your back was turned,” ses the policeman, “and
if so, he might be ’iding there now. I wonder whether you’d mind me
having a look round?”
“I tell you he ain’t ’ere,” I ses, very short, “but, to ease your mind,
I’ll ’ave a look round myself arter you’ve gorn.”
The policeman shook his ’ead. “Well, o’ course, I can’t come in without
your permission,” he ses, with a little cough, “but I ’ave an idea,
that if it was your guv’nor ’ere instead of you he’d ha’ been on’y too
pleased to do anything ’e could to help the law. I’ll beg his pardon
tomorrow for asking you, in case he might object.”
That settled it. That’s the police all over, and that’s ’ow they get
their way and do as they like. I could see ’im in my mind’s eye talking
to the guv’nor, and letting out little things about broken glasses and
such-like by accident. I drew back to let ’im pass, and I was so upset
that when that little rat of a landlord follered ’im I didn’t say a
word.
I stood and watched them poking and prying about the wharf as if it
belonged to ’em, with the light from the policeman’s lantern flashing
about all over the place. I was shivering with cold and temper. The mud
was drying on me.
“If you’ve finished ’unting for the pickpocket I’ll let you out and get
on with my work,” I ses, drawing myself up.
“Good night,” ses the policeman, moving off. “Good night, dear,” ses
the landlord. “Mind you tuck yourself up warm.”
I lost my temper for the moment and afore I knew wot I was doing I ’ad
got hold of him and was shoving ’im towards the gate as ’ard as I could
shove. He pretty near got my coat off in the struggle, and next moment
the policeman ’ad turned his lantern on me and they was both staring
at me as if they couldn’t believe their eyesight.
“He—he’s turning black!” ses the landlord.
“He’s turned black!” ses the policeman.
They both stood there looking at me with their mouths open, and then
afore I knew wot he was up to, the policeman came close up to me and
scratched my chest with his finger-nail.
“It’s mud!” he ses.
“You keep your nails to yourself,” I ses. “It’s nothing to do with
you.” and I couldn’t ’elp noticing the smell of it. Nobody could. And
wot was worse than all was, that the tide ’ad turned and was creeping
over the mud in the dock.
They got tired of it at last and came back to where I was and stood
there shaking their ’eads at me.
“If he was on the wharf ’e must ’ave made his escape while you was in
the Bear’s Head,” ses the policeman.
“He was in my place a long time,” ses the landlord.
“Well, it’s no use crying over spilt milk,” ses the policeman. “Funny
smell about ’ere, ain’t there?” he ses, sniffing, and turning to the
landlord. “Wot is it?”
“I dunno,” ses the landlord. “I noticed it while we was talking to ’im
at the gate. It seems to foller ’im about.”
“I’ve smelt things I like better,” ses the policeman, sniffing agin.
“It’s just like the foreshore when somebody ’as been stirring the mud
up a bit.”
“Unless it’s a case of ’tempted suicide,” he ses, looking at me very
’ard.
“Ah!” ses the landlord.
“There’s no mud on ’is clothes,” ses the policeman, looking me over
with his lantern agin.
“He must ’ave gone in naked, but I should like to see ’is legs to make—
All right! All right! Keep your ’air on.”
“You look arter your own legs, then,” I ses, very sharp, “and mind your
own business.”
“It is my business,” he ses, turning to the landlord. “Was ’e strange
in his manner at all when ’e was in your place to-night?”
“He smashed one o’ my best glasses,” ses the landlord.
“So he did,” ses the policeman. “So he did. I’d forgot that. Do you
know ’im well?”
“Not more than I can ’elp,” ses the landlord. “He’s been in my place a
good bit, but I never knew of any reason why ’e should try and do away
with ’imself. If he’s been disappointed in love, he ain’t told me
anything about it.”
I suppose that couple o’ fools ’ud ’ave stood there talking about me
all night if I’d ha’ let ’em, but I had about enough of it.
“Look ’ere,” I ses, “you’re very clever, both of you, but you needn’t
worry your ’eads about me. I’ve just been having a mud-bath, that’s
all.”
“A mud-bath!” ses both of ’em, squeaking like a couple o’ silly
parrots.
“For rheumatics,” I ses. “I ’ad it something cruel to-night, and I
thought that p’r’aps the mud ’ud do it good. I read about it in the
papers. There’s places where you pay pounds and pounds for ’em, but,
being a pore man, I ’ad to ’ave mine on the cheap.”
The policeman stood there looking at me for a moment, and then ’e began
to laugh till he couldn’t stop ’imself.
“Love-a-duck!” he ses, at last, wiping his eyes. “I wish I’d seen it.”
“Must ha’ looked like a fat mermaid,” ses the landlord, wagging his
silly ’ead at me. “I can just see old Bill sitting in the mud a-combing
his ’air and singing.”
They ’ad some more talk o’ that sort, just to show each other ’ow funny
they was, but they went off at last, and I fastened up the gate and
went into the office to clean myself up as well as I could. One comfort
was they ’adn’t got the least idea of wot I was arter, and I ’ad a
fancy that the one as laughed last would be the one as got that twelve
quid.
I was so tired that I slept nearly all day arter I ’ad got ’ome, and I
’ad no sooner got back to the wharf in the evening than I see that the
landlord ’ad been busy. If there was one silly fool that asked me the
best way of making mud-pies, I should think there was fifty. Little
things please little minds, and the silly way some of ’em went on made
me feel sorry for my sects.
By eight o’clock, ’owever, they ’ad all sheered off, and I got a broom
and began to sweep up to ’elp pass the time away until low-water. On’y
one craft ’ad come up that day—a ketch called the Peewit—and as she was
berthed at the end of the jetty she wasn’t in my way at all.
Her skipper came on to the wharf just afore ten. Fat, silly old man ’e
was, named Fogg. Always talking about ’is ’ealth and taking medicine to
do it good. He came up to me slow like, and, when ’e stopped and asked
me about the rheumatics, the broom shook in my ’and.
“Look here,” I ses, “if you want to be funny, go and be funny with them
as likes it. I’m fair sick of it, so I give you warning.”
“Funny?” he ses, staring at me with eyes like a cow. “Wot d’ye mean?
There’s nothing funny about rheumatics; I ought to know; I’m a martyr
to it. Did you find as ’ow the mud did you any good?”
I looked at ’im hard, but ’e stood there looking at me with his fat
baby-face, and I knew he didn’t mean any harm; so I answered ’im
perlite and wished ’im good night.
“I’ve ’ad pretty near everything a man can have,” he ses, casting
anchor on a empty box, “but I think the rheumatics was about the worst
of ’em all. I even tried bees for it once.”
“Bees!” I ses. “Bees!”
“Bee-stings,” he ses. “A man told me that if I could on’y persuade a
few bees to sting me, that ’ud cure me. I don’t know what ’e meant by
persuading! they didn’t want no persuading. I took off my coat and
shirt and went and rocked one of my neighbour’s bee-hives next door,
and I thought my last hour ’ad come.”
He sat on that box and shivered at the memory of it.
“Now I take Dr. Pepper’s pellets instead,” he ses. “I’ve got a box in
my state-room, and if you’d like to try ’em you’re welcome.”
He sat there talking about the complaints he had ’ad and wot he ’ad
done for them till I thought I should never have got rid of ’im. He got
up at last, though, and, arter telling me to always wear flannel next
to my skin, climbed aboard and went below.
I knew the hands was aboard, and arter watching ’is cabin-skylight
until the light was out, I went and undressed. Then I crept back on to
the jetty, and arter listening by the Peewit to make sure that they was
all asleep, I went back and climbed down the ladder.
It was colder than ever. The cold seemed to get into my bones, but I
made up my mind to ’ave that twelve quid if I died for it. I trod round
and round the place where I ’ad seen that purse chucked in until I was
tired, and the rubbish I picked up by mistake you wouldn’t believe.
I suppose I ’ad been in there arf an hour, and I was standing up with
my teeth clenched to keep them from chattering, when I ’appened to look
round and see something like a white ball coming down the ladder. My
’art seemed to stand still for a moment, and then it began to beat as
though it would burst. The white thing came down lower and lower, and
then all of a sudden it stood in the mud and said, “Ow!”
“Who is it?” I ses. “Who are you?” “Halloa, Bill!” it ses. “Ain’t it
perishing cold?”
It was the voice o’ Cap’n Fogg, and if ever I wanted to kill a
fellow-creetur, I wanted to then.
“’Ave you been in long, Bill?” he ses. “About ten minutes,” I ses,
grinding my teeth.
“Is it doing you good?” he ses.