STEPHEN'S TALE
Many small matters of my first few hours at the Hole in the Wall were
impressed on me by later events. In particular I remember the innocent
curiosity with which I asked: "Did you ever kill a man, Gran'fa' Nat?"
There was a twitch and a frown on my grandfather's face, and he sat back
as one at a moment's disadvantage. I thought that perhaps he was trying
to remember. But he only said, gruffly, and with a quick sound like a
snort: "Very nigh killed myself once or twice, Stevy, in my time," and
rose hastily from his chair to reach a picture of a ship that was
standing on a shelf. "There," he said, "that's a new 'un, just done;
pretty picter, ain't it? An' that there," pointing to another hanging on
the wall, "that's the _Juno_, what your father's on now."
I had noticed that the walls, both of the bar and of the bar-parlour,
were plentifully hung with paintings of ships; ships becalmed, ships in
full sail, ships under bare spars; all with painful blue skies over
them, and very even-waved seas beneath; and ships in storms, with torn
sails, pursued by rumbustious piles of sooty cloud, and pelted with
lengths of scarlet lightning. I fear I should not have recognised my
father's ship without help, but that was probably because I had only
seen it, months before, lying in dock, battered and dingy, with a
confusion of casks and bales about the deck, and naked yards dangling
above; whereas in the picture (which was a mile too small for the brig)
it was booming along under a flatulent mountain of clean white sail, and
bulwarks and deck-fittings were gay with lively and diversified colour.
I said something about its being a fine ship, or a fine picture, and
that there were a lot of them.
"Ah," he said, "they do mount up, one arter another. It's one gentleman
as did 'em all--him out in the bar now, with the long hair. Sometimes I
think I'd rather a-had money; but it's a talent, that's what it is!"
The artist beyond the outer bar had been talking to the potman. Now he
coughed and said: "Ha--um! Cap'en Kemp, sir! Cap'en Kemp! No doubt as
you've 'eard the noos to-day?"
"No," said Grandfather Nat, finishing the rolling of his shirt-sleeves
as he stepped down into the bar; "not as I know on. What is it?"
"Not about Viney and Marr?"
"No. What about 'em?"
Mr. Cripps rose on his toes with the importance of his information, and
his eyes widened to a moment's rivalry with his nose. "Gone wrong," he
said, in a shrill whisper that was as loud as his natural voice. "Gone
wrong. Unsolvent. Cracked up. Broke. Busted, in a common way o'
speakin'." And he gave a violent nod with each synonym.
"No," said Grandfather Nat; "surely not Viney and Marr?"
"Fact, Cap'en; I can assure you, on 'igh a'thority. It's what I might
call the universal topic in neighbourin' circles, an' a gen'ral subjick
o' local discussion. You'd 'a 'eard it 'fore this if you'd bin at 'ome."
My grandfather whistled, and rested a hand on a beer-pull.
"Not a stiver for nobody, they say," Mr. Cripps pursued, "not till they
can sell the wessels. What there was loose Marr's bolted with; or, as
you might put it, absconded; absconded with the proceeds. An' gone
abroad, it's said."
"I see the servant gal bringin' out her box from Viney's just now," said
Grandfather Nat. "An' Crooks the ship-chandler was on the steps, very
white in the gills, with a paper. Well, well! An' you say Marr's
bolted?"
"Absconded, Cap'en Kemp; absconded with the proceeds; 'opped the twig.
Viney says 'e's robbed 'im as well as the creditors, but I 'ear some o'
the creditors' observation is 'gammon.' An' they say the wessels is
pawned up to their r'yals. Up to their r'yals!"
"Well," commented my grandfather, "I wouldn't ha' thought it. The _Juno_
was that badly found, an' they did everything that cheap, I thought they
made money hand over fist."
"Flyin' too 'igh, Cap'en Kemp, flyin' too 'igh. You knowed Viney long
'fore 'e elevated hisself into a owner, didn't you? What was he then?
Why, 'e was your mate one voy'ge, wasn't he?"
"Ay, an' more."
"So I've 'eard tell. Well, arter that surely 'e was flyin' too 'igh! An'
now Marr's absconded with the proceeds!"
The talk in the bar went on, being almost entirely the talk of Mr.
Cripps; who valued himself on the unwonted importance his news gave him,
and aimed at increasing it by saying the same thing a great many times;
by saying it, too, when he could, in terms and phrases that had a strong
flavour of the Sunday paper. But as for me, I soon ceased to hear, for I
discovered something of greater interest on the shelf that skirted the
bar-parlour. It was a little model of a ship in a glass case, and it was
a great marvel to me, with all its standing and running rigging
complete, and a most ingenious and tumultuous sea about it, made of
stiff calico cockled up into lumps and ridges, and painted the proper
colour. Much better than either of the two we had at home, for these
latter were only half-models, each nothing but one-half of a little ship
split from stem to stern, and stuck against a board, on which were
painted sky, clouds, seagulls, and (in one case) a lighthouse; an
exasperating make-believe that had been my continual disappointment.
But this was altogether so charming and delightful and real, and the
little hatches and cuddy-houses so thrilled my fancy, that I resolved to
beg of my grandfather to let me call the model my own, and sometimes
have the glass case off. So I was absorbed while the conversation in the
bar ranged from the ships and their owners to my father, and from him to
me; as was plain when my grandfather called me.
"Here he is," said my grandfather, with a deal of pride in his voice,
putting his foot on a stool and lifting me on his knee. "Here he is, an'
a plucked 'un; ain't ye, Stevy?" He rubbed his hand over my head, as he
was fond of doing. "Plucked? Ah! Why, he was agoin' to keep house all by
hisself, with all the pluck in life, till his father come home! Warn't
ye, Stevy boy? But he's come along o' me instead, an' him an' me's goin'
to keep the Hole in the Wall together, ain't we? Pardners: eh, Stevy?"
I think I never afterwards saw my grandfather talking so familiarly with
his customers. I perceived now that there was another in the bar in
addition to Mr. Cripps; a pale, quiet, and rather ragged man who sat in
an obscure corner with an untouched glass of liquor by him.
"Come," said my grandfather, "have one with me, Mr. Cripps, an' drink
the new pardner's health. What is it? An' you--you drink up too, an'
have another." This last order Grandfather Nat flung at the man in the
corner, just in the tones in which I had heard a skipper on a ship tell
a man to "get forrard lively" with a rope fender, opposite our quay at
Blackwall.
"I'm sure 'ere's wishin' the young master every 'ealth an' 'appiness,"
said Mr. Cripps, beaming on me with a grin that rather frightened than
pleased me, it twisted the nose so. "Every 'ealth and 'appiness, I'm
sure!"
The pale man in the corner only looked up quickly, as if fearful of
obtruding himself, gulped the drink that had been standing by him, and
receiving another, put it down untasted where the first had stood.
"That ain't drinkin' a health," said my grandfather, angrily.
"There--that's it!" and he pointed to the new drink with the hand that
held his own.
The pale man lifted it hurriedly, stood up, looked at me and said
something indistinct, gulped the liquor and returned the glass to the
counter; whereupon the potman, without orders, instantly refilled it,
and the man carried it back to his corner and put it down beside him, as
before.
I began to wonder if the pale man suffered from some complaint that made
it dangerous to leave him without a drink close at hand, ready to be
swallowed at a moment's notice. But Mr. Cripps blinked, first at his own
glass and then at the pale man's; and I fancy he thought himself
unfairly treated.
Howbeit his affability was unconquerable. He grinned and snapped his
fingers playfully at me, provoking my secret indignation; since that was
what people did to please babies.
"An' a pretty young gent 'e is too," said Mr. Cripps, "of considerable
personal attractions. Goin' to bring 'im up to the trade, I s'pose,
Cap'en Kemp?"
"Why, no," said Grandfather Nat, with some dignity. "No. Something
better than that, I'm hopin'. Pardners is all very well for a bit, but
Stevy's goin' to be a cut above his poor old gran'father, if I can do
it. Eh, boy?" He rubbed my head again, and I was too shy, sitting there
in the bar, to answer. "Eh, boy? Boardin' school an' a gentleman's job
for this one, if the old man has his way."
Mr. Cripps shook his head sagaciously, and could plainly see that I was
cut out for a statesman. He also lifted his empty glass, looked at it
abstractedly, and put it down again. Nothing coming of this, he
complimented my personal appearance once more, and thought that my
portrait should certainly be painted, as a memorial in my future days of
greatness.
This notion seemed to strike my grandfather rather favourably, and he
forthwith consulted a slate which dangled by a string; during his
contemplation of which, with its long rows of strokes, Mr. Cripps
betrayed a certain anxious discomfort. "Well," said Grandfather Nat at
length, "you are pretty deep in, you know, an' it might as well be that
as anything else. But what about that sign? Ain't I ever goin' to get
that?"
Mr. Cripps knitted his brows and his nose, turned up his eyes and shook
his head. "It ain't come to me yet, Cap'en Kemp," he said; "not yet. I'm
still waiting for what you might call an inspiration. But when it comes,
Cap'en Kemp--when it comes! Ah! you'll 'ave a sign then! Sich a sign!
You'll 'ave sich a sign as'll attract the 'ole artistic feelin' of
Wapping an' surroundin' districks of the metropolis, I assure you. An'
the signs on the other 'ouses--phoo!" Mr. Cripps made a sweep of the
hand, which I took to indicate generally that all other publicans,
overwhelmed with humiliation, would have no choice but straightway to
tear down their own signs and bury them.
"Umph! but meanwhile I haven't got one at all," objected Grandfather
Nat; "an' they have."
"Ah, yes, sir--some sort o' signs. But done by mere jobbers, and poor
enough too. My hart, Cap'en Kemp--I respect my hart, an' I don't rush at
a job like that. It wants conception, sir, a job like that--conception.
The common sort o' sign's easy enough. You go at it, an' you do it or
hexicute it, an' when it's done or hexicuted--why there it is. A ship,
maybe, or a crown, or a Turk's 'ed or three cats an' a fryin' pan.
Simple enough--no plannin', no composition, no invention. But a 'ole in
a wall, Cap'en Kemp--it takes a hartist to make a picter o' that; an' it
takes study, an' meditation, an' invention!"
"Simplest thing o' the lot," said Captain Nat. "A wall, an' a hole in
it. Simplest thing o' the lot!"
"As you observe, Cap'en Kemp, it may seem simple enough; that's because
you're thinkin' o' subjick, instead o' treatment. A common jobber, if
you'll excuse my sayin' it, 'ud look at it just in that light--a wall
with a 'ole in it, an' 'e'd give it you, an' p'rhaps you'd be satisfied
with it. But I soar 'igher, sir, 'igher. What I shall give you'll be a
'ole in the wall to charm the heye and delight the intelleck, sir. A
dramatic 'ole in the wall, sir, a hepic 'ole in the wall; a 'ole in the
wall as will elevate the mind and stimilate the noblest instinks of the
be'older. Cap'en Kemp, I don't 'esitate to say that my 'ole in the wall,
when you get it, will be--ah! it'll be the moral palladium of Wapping!"
"_When_ I get it," my grandfather replied with a chuckle, "anything
might happen without surprisin' me. I think p'rhaps I might be so
startled as to forget the bit you've had on account, an' pay full cash."
Mr. Cripps's eyes brightened at the hint. "You're always very 'andsome
in matters o' business, Cap'en Kemp," he said, "an' I always say so.
Which reminds me, speakin' of 'andsome things. This morning goin' to see
my friend as keeps the mortuary, I see as 'andsome a bit o' panel for to
paint a sign as ever I come across. A lovely bit o' stuff to be
sure--enough to stimulate anybody's artistic invention to look at it,
that it was. Not dear neither--particular moderate in fact. I'm afraid
it may be gone now; but if I'd 'a 'ad the money----"
A noise of trampling and singing without neared the door, and with a
bang and a stagger a party of fresh customers burst in and swept Mr.
Cripps out of his exposition. Two were sun-browned sailors, shouting and
jovial, but the rest, men and women, sober and villainous in their mock
jollity, were land-sharks plain to see. The foremost sailor drove
against Mr. Cripps, and having almost knocked him down, took him by the
shoulders and involved him in his flounderings; apologising, meanwhile,
at the top of his voice, and demanding to know what Mr. Cripps would
drink. Whereupon Grandfather Nat sent me back to the bar-parlour and the
little ship, and addressed himself to business and the order of the bar.
And so he was occupied for the most of the evening. Sometimes he sat
with me and taught me the spars and rigging of the model, sometimes I
peeped through the glass at the business of the house. The bar remained
pretty full throughout the evening, in its main part, and my grandfather
ruled its frequenters with a strong voice and an iron hand.
But there was one little space partitioned off, as it might be for the
better company: which space was nearly always empty. Into this quieter
compartment I saw a man come, rather late in the evening, furtive and a
little flustered. He was an ugly ruffian with a broken nose; and he was
noticeable as being the one man I had seen in my grandfather's house who
had no marks of seafaring or riverside life about him, but seemed merely
an ordinary London blackguard from some unmaritime neighbourhood. He
beckoned silently to Grandfather Nat, who walked across and conferred
with him. Presently my grandfather left the counter and came into the
bar-parlour. He had something in his closed hand, which he carried to
the lamp to examine, so that I could see it was a silver watch; while
the furtive man waited expectantly in the little compartment. The watch
interested me, for the inward part swung clean out from the case, and
hung by a single hinge, in a way I had never seen before. I noticed,
also, that a large capital letter M was engraved on the back.
Grandfather Nat shut the watch and strode into the bar.
"Here you are," he said aloud, handing it to the broken-nosed man. "Here
you are. It seems all right--good enough watch, I should say."
The man was plainly disconcerted--frightened, indeed--by this public
observation; and answered with an eager whisper.
"What?" my grandfather replied, louder than ever; "want me to buy it?
Not me. This ain't a pawnshop. I don't want a watch; an' if I did, how
do I know where you got it?"
Much discomposed by this rebuff, the fellow hurried off. Whereupon I was
surprised to see the pale man rise from the corner of the bar, put his
drink, still untasted, in a safe place on the counter, beyond the edge
of the partition, and hurry out also. Cogitating this matter in my
grandfather's arm-chair, presently I fell asleep.
What woke me at length was the loud voice of Grandfather Nat, and I
found that it was late, and he was clearing the bar before shutting up.
I rubbed my eyes and looked out, and was interested to see that the pale
man had come back, and was now swallowing his drink at last before going
out after the rest. Whereat I turned again, drowsily enough, to the
model ship.
But a little later, when Grandfather Nat and I were at supper in the
bar-parlour, and I was dropping to sleep again, I was amazed to see my
grandfather pull the broken-nosed man's watch out of his pocket and put
it in a tin cash-box. At that I rubbed my eyes, and opened them so wide
on the cash-box, that Grandfather Nat said, "Hullo, Stevy! Woke up with
a jump? Time you was in bed."