Once Aboard the Lugger-- The History of George and his Mary

by W. W. Jacobs

  Mrs. Major drew up, that smile still upon her face, and the moon throughuncurtained window gave light upon the little joy she fetched from thedepths of her trunk.

  "Old Tom Gin."

  The neck of Old Tom's bottle clinked against a glass; Old Tom gurgledgenerously; passed away through the steady smile he had inspired.

  * * * * *

  Mrs. Major set a carafe of water upon a little table; partnered it withOld Tom; reclined beside the pair on a comfortable seat; closed hereyes.

  At intervals, as the hand crept between eleven and twelve of the clock,she would open them; when she did so diluted Old Tom in the glass felllower, full-bodied Old Tom in the bottle marched steadily behind.

  The further Old Tom crept downwards from the neck of his captivity, withthe greater circumspection did Mrs. Major open her eyes. Considerablepractice had told this masterly woman that Old Tom must be commandedwith a steady will: else he took liberties. Eyes suddenly opened annoyedOld Tom, and he would set the furniture ambulating round the room in amanner at once indecorous in stable objects and calculated to bewilderthe observer. Therefore, upon setting down her glass, this purposefulwoman would squarely fix the bureau that stood opposite her, would fora moment keep her gaze upon it with a sternness that forbade movement,then gently would close her eyes. When Old Tom must be again interviewedshe would lift the merest corner of an eyelid; catch through it themerest fraction of the bureau; determine from the behaviour of thisportion the stability of the whole.

  Thus if the corner she sighted showed indecorous propensities--as,swelling and receding, fluttering in some ghostly breeze, or altogetherdisappearing from view,--she would drop her lid and wait till she mightcatch it more seemly. This effected, she would work from that fixedpoint, inch by inch, until the whole bureau was revealed--swaying alittle, perhaps, but presently quiescent.

  When, and not until, it was firmly anchored she would slowly starther eye in review around the other objects of her apartment. Ifthe wash-stand had tendency to polka with the bed, or the wardrobeunnaturally to stretch up its head through the ceiling, Mrs. Major wouldmarch her gaze steadily back to the bureau, there to take fresh strengthand start again. When all was orderly--then Old Tom.

  Masterly in all things, this woman was most masterly in her cups.

  VII.

  Into Mr. Marrapit's dreams there came a whistle.

  He pushed at Sleep; she crooned to him and he snuggled against her.

  Upon his brain there rapped a harsh _Wow_!

  He wriggled from his bedfellow; she put an arm about him, drew him toher.

  Now there succeeded a steady wash of sound--rising, falling, murmuringpersistent against his senses.

  He turned his back upon Sleep. She crooned; he wriggled from her.Seductively she followed; he kicked a leg and jarred her, threw an armand hurt her. Disgusted, she slipped from bed and left him, leaving achilly space where she had warmly lain.

  Mr. Marrapit shivered; felt for Sleep; found her gone; with a start satupright.

  The breakwater gone, that wash of sound which had lapped around hissenses rushed in upon them. Lingering traces of the touch of Sleep stilloffered resistance--a droning hum. The wash surged over, poured abouthim--_VOICES_!

  Mr. Marrapit violently cleared his throat. The voices continued.Violently again. They still continued. Tremendously a third time. Theyyet continued. From this he argued that they could not be very close tohis door. Intently he listened, then located them--they came from thegarden. He felt for the bell-push that carried to Mr. Fletcher's room;put his thumb upon it; steadily pressed.

  Sleep toyed no tricks in Mr. Fletcher's bed. Like some wanton mistressdiscovered in the very act of betrayal, she at the first tearing clamourof the electric bell bounded from the sheets, scuttled from the room.

  "Rapine!" cried Mr. Fletcher; plunged his head beneath the bedclothesand wrestled in prayer.

  The strident gong faltered not nor failed. Steady and penetrating itdinned its hideous call. Mr. Fletcher waited for screams. None came. Hepushed the sheet between his chattering teeth, listened for cudgellingand heavy falls. None came. That bell had single possession of thenight. The possibility that only patrolling was required of him nervedhim to draw from his concealment. He lit a candle; into trousers pushedhis quivering legs; upon tottering limbs passed up the stairs to Mr.Marrapit's room.

  "Judas!" Mr. Marrapit greeted him.

  Mr. Fletcher sighed relief: "I thought it was rapine."

  "You have betrayed your trust. You are Iscariot."

  "I come when you rung."

  "Silence. I have heard voices."

  "God help us," Mr. Fletcher piously groaned; the candle in his shakinghand showered wax.

  "Blasphemer! He will not help the craven. Gird yourself."

  "I'll call Mr. George."

  "Refrain. I will attend to that. Gird yourself. Take the musket from thehall. It is loaded. Patrol!"

  "I don't want the musket."

  "Be not overbold. Outside you may be at their mercy."

  "_Outside!_"

  "Assuredly."

  "Me patrol outside!"

  "That is your task. Forward!"

  By now Mr. Marrapit had risen; swathed himself in a dressing-gown.Sternly he addressed Mr. Fletcher: "As you this night quit yourself sowill I consider the question of your dismissal. If blood is spilt thisnight it will be upon your head."

  Mr. Fletcher trembled. "That's just it. It's 'ard--damn 'ard--"

  "Forward, Iscariot." Mr. Marrapit drove Judas before him; in the halltook down the gun and pressed it into the shaking hands. He drew thebolts, impelled Iscariot outward, and essayed to close the door.

  Mr. Fletcher clutched the handle. Mr. Marrapit pushed; hissed throughthe crack: "Away! Search every nook. Penetrate each fastness. Usestealth. Track, trace, follow!"

  Discarding entreaty, Mr. Fletcher put hoarse protest through the slit ofaperture that remained: "I should like to ast if I was engaged for this,Mr. Marrapit," he panted. "I'm a gardener, I am--"

  "I recognise that. To your department. With your life forefend it."

  Mr. Marrapit fetched the door against the lintel; in the brief moment hecould hold it close slid the lock.

  VIII.

  No tremor of fear or of excitement ruffled this remarkable man. Calm inthe breezes of life he was calm also in its tempests. This is a naturalcorollary. As a man faces the smaller matters of his life so he willface its crises. Each smallest act accomplished imprints its stamp uponthe pliable mass we call character; our manner of handling each tiniestcommon-place of our routine helps mould its form; each fleeting thoughthelps shape the mould.

  The process is involuntary and we are not aware of its working.Character is not made by tremendous thumps, but by the constantpatterings of minutest touches. The athlete does not build his strengthby enormous exertions, but by consistent and gentle training. Hugestrains at spasmodic intervals, separated by periods in which he liesfallow in sloth, add nothing to his capacity for endurance; it is by thetally of each minute of his preparation that you may read how hewill acquit himself against the test. Thus also with the shaping ofcharacter, and thus was Mr. Marrapit, collected in minor affairs, mightyin this crisis.

  IX.

  Turning from the door he marched steadily across the hall towards thestairs to arouse George.

  At the lowermost step a movement on the landing above made him pause. Hewas to be spared the trouble. Placing the candle upon a table he lookedup. He spoke. "George!"

  "Wash it?" said a voice. "Wash it?"

  "Wash nothing," Mr. Marrapit commanded. "Who is this?"

  The answer, starting low, ascended a shrill scale: "Wash it? Wash it?Wash it?"

  "Silence!" Mr. Marrapit answered. "Descend!"

  He craned upwards. The curl-papered head of Mrs. Major poked at him overthe banisters.

  "Darling," breathed Mrs. Major. "Darling--_um!_"

  "Mrs. Major! What is this?"


  "Thash what _I_ want to know," said Mrs. Major coquettishly. "Wash it?Wash _ish_ it?"

  "You are distraught, Mrs. Major. Have no fear. To your room."

  The curl-papered head waggled. Mrs. Major beamed. "Darling.Darling--um!"

  "Exercise control," Mr. Marrapit told her. "Banish apprehension. Thereare thieves; but we are alert."

  The head withdrew. Mrs. Major gave a tiny scream: "Thieves!" She took abrisk little run down the short flight which gave from where she stood;flattened against the wall that checked her impulse; pressed carefullyaway from it; stood at the head of the stairs facing Mr. Marrapit.

  He gazed up. "I fear you have been walking in your sleep, Mrs. Major."

  Mrs. Major did not reply. She pointed a slippered toe at the stair belowher; swayed on one leg; dropped to the toe; steadied; beamed at Mr.Marrapit; and in a high treble coquettishly announced, "_One_!"

  Mr. Marrapit frowned: "Retire, Mrs. Major."

  Mrs. Major plumped another step, beamed again: "_Two_!"

  "You dream. Retire."

  Mrs. Major daintily lifted her skirt; poised again. The projectedslipper swayed a dangerous circle. Mrs. Major alarmingly rocked. Thatinfamous Old Tom presented three sets of banisters for her support; sheclutched at one; it failed her; "Three four five six seven eight nineten--_darling_!" she cried; at breakneck speed plunged downwards, andwith the "_Darling_!" flung her arms about Mr. Marrapit's neck.

  Back before the shock, staggering beneath the weight, Mr. Marrapit wentwith digging heels. They could not match the pace of that swift blowupon his chest. Its backward speed outstripped them. With shatteringthud he plumped heavily to his full length upon the floor; Mrs. Majorpressed him to earth.

  But that shock was a whack on the head for Old Tom that temporarilyquieted him. "What has happened?" Mrs. Major asked, clinging tightly.

  Mr. Marrapit gasped: "Release my neck. Remove your arms."

  "Where are we?"

  "You are upon my chest. I am prone beneath you. Release!"

  "It's all dark," Mrs. Major cried; gripped firmer.

  "It is not dark. I implore movement. Our juxtaposition unnaturallycompromises us. It is abhorrent."

  Mrs. Major opened the eyes she had tightly closed during that staggeringjourney and that shattering fall. She loosed her clutch; got to herknees; thence tottered to a chair. That infamous Old Tom raised his headagain; tickled her brain with misty fingers.

  Mr. Marrapit painfully rose. He put a sympathetic hand upon the seat ofhis injury; with the other took up the candle. He regarded Mrs. Major;suspiciously sniffed the air, pregnant with strange fumes; againregarded his late burden.

  Upon her face that infamous Old Tom set a beaming smile,

  "Follow me, Mrs. Major," Mr. Marrapit commanded; turned for thedining-room; from its interior faced about upon her.

  With rare dignity the masterly woman slowly arose; martially she poisedagainst the hat-rack; with stately mien marched steadily towards him.

  Temporarily she had the grip of Old Tom--was well aware, at least, ofhis designs upon her purity, and superbly she combated him.

  With proud and queenly air she drew on--Mr. Marrapit felt that the swiftsuspicion which had taken him had misjudged her.

  Mrs. Major reached the mat. Old Tom gave a playful little twitch of herlegs, and she jostled the doorpost.

  With old-world courtesy she bowed apology to the post. "Beg pardon," shegraciously murmured; stood swaying.

  X.

  Step by step with her as she had crossed the hall, Mr. Fletcher,recovering from the coward fear in which he shivered outside the door,had crept forward along the path around the house. As Mrs. Major stoodswaying upon the threshold of the dining-room he reached the angle;peered round it; in horror sighted Bill's figure pendant from Margaret'swindow.

  Thrice the bell-mouth of his gun described a shivering circle; tightlyhe squeezed his eyelids--pressed the trigger.

  BANG!

  Mr. Marrapit bounded six inches--hardly reached the earth again when,with a startled scream, Mrs. Major was upon him, again her arms abouthis neck.

  And now shriek pursued shriek, tearing upwards through her throat. OldTom had loosed the ends of all her nerves. Like bolting rabbit in youngcorn the tearing discharge of that gun went madly through them, andlacerated she gave tongue.

  Stifled by the bony shoulder that pressed against his face, Mr. Marrapitwent black. He jerked his head free, put up his face, and giving cry forcry, shrilled, "George! George! George!"

  The din reached George where from his window he leaned, crying on Abiramin the man-hunt across the garden. He drew in his head, bounded down thestairs. Over Mrs. Major's back, bent inwards from the toes to the rockabout which she clung, Mr. Marrapit's empurpled face stared at him.

  Upon George's countenance the sight struck a great grin; his legs itstruck to dead halt.

  Mrs. Major's shrieks died to moans.

  "Action!" Mr. Marrapit gasped. "Remove this creature!"

  George put a hand upon her back. It shot a fresh shriek from her; sheclung closer.

  "Pantaloon!" Mr. Marrapit strained. "Crush that grin! Action! Removethis woman! She throttles me! The pressure is insupportable. I amSinbad."

  George again laid hands. Again Mrs. Major shrieked; tighter clung.

  Mr. Marrapit, blacker, cried, "Zany!"

  "Well, what the devil can I do?" George asked, hopping about the pair;Mrs. Major's back as responsive to his touch as the keys of a piano toidle fingers.

  "You run to and fro and grin like a dog," Mr. Marrapit told him. "Eachtime you touch her she screams, grips me closer. I shall be throttled.Use discretion. Add to mine your assurance of her safety. She is notherself."

  George chuckled. "She's not. She's tight as a drum."

  "Liar!" moaned Mrs. Major.

  "Intoxicated?" Mr. Marrapit asked.

  "Blind."

  Sharp words will move where entreaty cannot stir.

  Mrs. Major relaxed her hold; spun round. "Monster" and "Perjurer" rushedheadlong to her lips. "Ponsger!" she cried; tottered back against thesofa; was struck by it at the bend of her knees; collapsed upon it. Herhead sunk sideways; she closed her eyes.

  "You can see for yourself," George said.

  Mr. Marrapit sniffed: "My nose corroborates."

  "Ponsger!" the prone figure wailed.

  Mr. Marrapit started: "Mrs. Major!"

  She opened her eyes: "Call me Lucy. Darling-_um!_" She began to snore.

  "Abhorrent!" Mr. Marrapit pronounced.

  Whisperings without made him step to the door. White figures were uponthe stairs. "To your beds!" he cried.

  "Oh, whatever is it, sir?" Mrs. Armitage panted.

  "Away! You outrage decency." Mr. Marrapit set a foot upon the stairs.The affrighted figures fled before him.

  George, when his uncle returned, was peering through the blind. "Whothe devil loosed off that gun? It is immaterial. All events are buriedbeneath this abhorrent incident. The roof of my peace has crashed aboutme." Mr. Marrapit regarded the prone figure. "Her inspirations grateupon me; her exhalations poison the air. Rouse her. Thrust her to herroom."

  "You'll never wake her now till she's slept it off."

  "Let us then essay to carry her. She cannot remain here. My shame shallnot be revealed, nor hers uncovered."

  George began: "To-morrow--"

  "To-morrow I speed her from my gates. My beloved cats have been in thecare of this swinish form. They have been in jeopardy. I tremble attheir escape. To-morrow she departs."

  A sudden tremendous idea swept over George, engulfing speech.

  With no word he moved to the sofa; grasped the prone figure; put it uponits weak legs. They gave beneath it. "You must take her feet," he said.

  Averting his gaze, Mr. Marrapit took the legs that Old Tom haddevitalised. The procession moved out; staggered up the stairs.

  Heavy was the burden; bursting with vulgar laughter was George; but thathuge idea that suddenly had come to him
swelled his muscles, lent himstrength.

  He heaved the form upon the bed.

  On the dressing-table a candle burned. By its light Mr. Marrapitdiscovered Old Tom's bottle, two fingers of the villain yet remaining.

  He beat his breast. "Extinguish that light. I to my room. Seek Fletcher.He patrols the garden for malefactors. In the morning I will see you.Before this disaster my chill is sped. You are of my flesh. Cleave untome. In our bosoms let this abhorrent sore be buried. Seek Fletcher."

  The distraught man tottered to his room.

  XI.

  George went slowly down the stairs, bathing in the delicious thrills ofunfolding the wrappings from about his great idea. He had yet had timebut to feel its shape and hug it as a child will feel and hug a dollpacked in paper. Now he stripped the coverings, and his pulses thumpedas he saw how fine was it. Almost unconscious to his actions he unbarredthe door; stepped into the thin light; was not aroused until, treadingupon Mr. Fletcher's musket, his idea was suddenly jolted from him.