Sailor's Knots (Entire Collection)

by W. W. Jacobs

  SELF-HELP

  The night-watchman sat brooding darkly over life and its troubles. Ashooting corn on the little toe of his left foot, and a touch of liver,due, he was convinced, to the unlawful cellar work of the landlord ofthe Queen’s Head, had induced in him a vein of profound depression. Adiscarded boot stood by his side, and his gray-stockinged foot protrudedover the edge of the jetty until a passing waterman gave it a playfulrap with his oar. A subsequent inquiry as to the price of pigs’ trottersfell on ears rendered deaf by suffering.

  “I might ‘ave expected it,” said the watchman, at last. “I done thatman—if you can call him a man—a kindness once, and this is my reward forit. Do a man a kindness, and years arterwards ‘e comes along and hitsyou over your tenderest corn with a oar.”

  ‘E Comes Along and Hits You over Your Tenderest Corn With a Oar.‘’

  He took up his boot, and, inserting his foot with loving care, stoopeddown and fastened the laces.

  Do a man a kindness, he continued, assuming a safer posture, and ‘etries to borrow money off of you; do a woman a kindness and she thinksyou want tr marry ‘er; do an animal a kindness and it tries to biteyou—same as a horse bit a sailorman I knew once, when ‘e sat on its headto ‘elp it get up. He sat too far for’ard, pore chap.

  Kindness never gets any thanks. I remember a man whose pal broke ‘is legwhile they was working together unloading a barge; and he went off tobreak the news to ‘is pal’s wife. A kind-’earted man ‘e was as ever yousee, and, knowing ‘ow she would take on when she ‘eard the news, hetold her fust of all that ‘er husband was killed. She took on like a madthing, and at last, when she couldn’t do anything more and ‘ad quieteddown a bit, he told ‘er that it was on’y a case of a broken leg,thinking that ‘er joy would be so great that she wouldn’t think anythingof that. He ‘ad to tell her three times afore she understood ‘im, andthen, instead of being thankful to ‘im for ‘is thoughtfulness, shechased him ‘arf over Wapping with a chopper, screaming with temper.

  I remember Ginger Dick and Peter Russet trying to do old Sam Small akindness one time when they was ‘aving a rest ashore arter a v’y’ge.They ‘ad took a room together as usual, and for the fust two or threedays they was like brothers. That couldn’t last, o’ course, and Samwas so annoyed one evening at Ginger’s suspiciousness by biting a‘arf-dollar Sam owed ‘im and finding it was a bad ‘un, that ‘e went offto spend the evening all alone by himself.

  He felt a bit dull at fust, but arter he had ‘ad two or three ‘arf-pints‘e began to take a brighter view of things. He found a very nice, coseylittle public-’ouse he hadn’t been in before, and, arter getting two andthreepence and a pint for the ‘arf-dollar with Ginger’s tooth-marks on,he began to think that the world wasn’t ‘arf as bad a place as peopletried to make out.

  There was on’y one other man in the little bar Sam was in—a tall, darkchap, with black side-whiskers and spectacles, wot kept peeping roundthe partition and looking very ‘ard at everybody that came in.

  “I’m just keeping my eye on ‘em, cap’n,” he ses to Sam, in a low voice.

  “Ho!” ses Sam.

  “They don’t know me in this disguise,” ses the dark man, “but I seeas ‘ow you spotted me at once. Anybody ‘ud have a ‘ard time of it todeceive you; and then they wouldn’t gain nothing by it.”

  “Nobody ever ‘as yet,” ses Sam, smiling at ‘im.

  “And nobody ever will,” ses the dark man, shaking his ‘cad; “if they wasall as fly as you, I might as well put the shutters up. How did you twigI was a detective officer, cap’n?”

  Sam, wot was taking a drink, got some beer up ‘is nose with surprise.

  “That’s my secret,” he ses, arter the tec ‘ad patted ‘im on the back andbrought ‘im round.

  “You’re a marvel, that’s wot you are,” ses the tec, shaking his ‘ead.“Have one with me.”

  Sam said he didn’t mind if ‘e did, and arter drinking each other’shealths very perlite ‘e ordered a couple o’ twopenny smokes, and by wayof showing off paid for ‘em with ‘arf a quid.

  “That’s right, ain’t it?” ses the barmaid, as he stood staring very ‘ardat the change. “I ain’t sure about that ‘arf-crown, now I come to lookat it; but it’s the one you gave me.”

  Pore Sam, with a tec standing alongside of ‘im, said it was quite right,and put it into ‘is pocket in a hurry and began to talk to the tec asfast as he could about a murder he ‘ad been reading about in the paperthat morning. They went and sat down by a comfortable little fire thatwas burning in the bar, and the tec told ‘im about a lot o’ murder caseshe ‘ad been on himself.

  “I’m down ‘ere now on special work,” he ses, “looking arter sailormen.”

  “Wot ha’ they been doing?” ses Sam.

  “When I say looking arter, I mean protecting ‘em,” ses the tec. “Overand over agin some pore feller, arter working ‘ard for months at sea,comes ‘ome with a few pounds in ‘is pocket and gets robbed of the lot.There’s a couple o’ chaps down ‘ere I’m told off to look arter special,but it’s no good unless I can catch ‘em red-’anded.”

  “Red-’anded?” ses Sam.

  “With their hands in the chap’s pockets, I mean,” ses the tec.

  Sam gave a shiver. “Somebody had their ‘ands in my pockets once,” heses. “Four pun ten and some coppers they got.”

  “Wot was they like?” ses the tee, starting.

  Sam shook his ‘ead. “They seemed to me to be all hands, that’s all Iknow about ‘em,” he ses. “Arter they ‘ad finished they leaned me up aginthe dock wall an’ went off.”

  “It sounds like ‘em,” ses the tec, thoughtfully. “It was Long Pete andFair Alf, for a quid; that’s the two I’m arter.”

  He put his finger in ‘is weskit-pocket. “That’s who I am,” he ses,‘anding Sam a card; “Detective-Sergeant Cubbins. If you ever get intoany trouble at any time, you come to me.”

  Sam said ‘e would, and arter they had ‘ad another drink together the tecshifted ‘is seat alongside of ‘im and talked in his ear.

  “If I can nab them two chaps I shall get promotion,” he ses; “and it’s afi’-pun note to anybody that helps me. I wish I could persuade you to.”

  “‘Ow’s it to be done?” ses Sam, looking at ‘im.

  “I want a respectable-looking seafaring man,” ses the tec, speakingvery slow; “that’s you. He goes up Tower Hill to-morrow night at nineo’clock, walking very slow and very unsteady on ‘is pins, and giving mytwo beauties the idea that ‘e is three sheets in the wind. They come upand rob ‘im, and I catch them red-’anded. I get promotion, and you get afiver.”

  “But ‘ow do you know they’ll be there?” ses Sam, staring at ‘im.

  Mr. Cubbins winked at ‘im and tapped ‘is nose.

  ‘Mr. Cubbins Winked at ‘im and Tapped ‘is Nose.’

  “We ‘ave to know a good deal in our line o’ business,” he ses.

  “Still,” ses Sam, “I don’t see——”

  “Narks,” says the tec; “coppers’ narks. You’ve ‘eard of them, cap’n?Now, look ‘ere. Have you got any money?”

  “I got a matter o’ twelve quid or so,” ses Sam, in a of hand way.

  “The very thing,” says the tec. “Well, to-morrow night you put thatin your pocket, and be walking up Tower Hill just as the clock strikesnine. I promise you you’ll be robbed afore two minutes past, and by twoand a ‘arf past I shall ‘ave my hands on both of ‘em. Have all the moneyin one pocket, so as they can get it neat and quick, in case they getinterrupted. Better still, ‘ave it in a purse; that makes it easier tobring it ‘ome to ‘em.”

  “Wouldn’t it be enough if they stole the purse?” ses Sam. “I should feelsafer that way, too.”

  Mr. Cubbins shook his ‘ead, very slow and solemn. “That wouldn’t do atall,” he ses. “The more money they steal, the longer they’ll get; youknow that, cap’n, without me telling you. If you could put fifty quidin it would be so much the better.
And, what-ever you do, don’t makea noise. I don’t want a lot o’ clumsy policemen interfering in mybusiness.”

  “Still, s’pose you didn’t catch ‘em,” ses Sam, “where should I be?”

  “You needn’t be afraid o’ that,” ses the tec, with a laugh. “Here, I’lltell you wot I’ll do, and that’ll show you the trust I put in you.”

  He drew a big di’mond ring off of ‘is finger and handed it to Sam.

  “Put that on your finger,” he ses, “and keep it there till I give youyour money back and the fi’-pun note reward. It’s worth seventy quidif it’s worth a farthing, and was given to me by a lady of title forgetting back ‘er jewellery for ‘er. Put it on, and wotever you do, don’tlose it!”

  He sat and watched while Sam forced it on is finger.

  “You don’t need to flash it about too much,” he ses, looking at ‘imrather anxious. “There’s men I know as ‘ud cut your finger off to getthat.”

  Sam shoved his ‘and in his pocket, but he kept taking it out every nowand then and ‘olding his finger up to the light to look at the di’mond.Mr. Cubbins got up to go at last, saying that he ‘ad got a call to makeat the police-station, and they went out together.

  “Nine o’clock sharp,” he ses, as they shook hands, “on Tower Hill.”

  “I’ll be there,” ses Sam.

  “And, wotever you do, no noise, no calling out,” ses the tec, “and don’tmention a word of this to a living soul.”

  Sam shook ‘ands with ‘im agin, and then, hiding his ‘and in his pocket,went off ‘ome, and, finding Ginger and Peter Russet wasn’t back, wentoff to bed.

  He ‘eard ‘em coming upstairs in the dark in about an hour’s time, and,putting the ‘and with the ring on it on the counterpane, shut ‘is eyesand pretended to be fast asleep. Ginger lit the candle, and they wasboth beginning to undress when Peter made a noise and pointed to Sam’s‘and.

  “Wot’s up?” ses Ginger, taking the candle and going over to Sam’s bed.“Who’ve you been robbing, you fat pirate?”

  Sam kept ‘is eyes shut and ‘eard ‘em whispering; then he felt ‘em take‘is hand up and look at it. “Where did you get it, Sam?” ses Peter.

  “He’s asleep,” ses Ginger, “sound asleep. I b’lieve if I was to put ‘isfinger in the candle he wouldn’t wake up.”

  “You try it,” ses Sam, sitting up in bed very sharp and snatching his‘and away. “Wot d’ye mean coming ‘ome at all hours and waking me up?”“Where did you get that ring?” ses Ginger. “Friend o’ mine,” ses Sam,very short.

  “Who was it?” ses Peter.

  “It’s a secret,” ses Sam.

  “You wouldn’t ‘ave a secret from your old pal Ginger, Sam, would you?”ses Ginger.

  “Old wot?” ses Sam. “Wot did you call me this arternoon?”

  “I called you a lot o’ things I’m sorry for,” ses Ginger, who wasbursting with curiosity, “and I beg your pardin, Sam.”

  “Shake ‘ands on it,” ses Peter, who was nearly as curious as Ginger.

  They shook hands, but Sam said he couldn’t tell ‘em about the ring; andseveral times Ginger was on the point of calling ‘im the names he ‘adcalled ‘im in the arternoon, on’y Peter trod on ‘is foot and stoppedhim. They wouldn’t let ‘im go to sleep for talking, and at last, when ‘ewas pretty near tired out, he told ‘em all about it.

  “Going—to ‘ave your—pocket picked?” ses Ginger, staring at ‘im, when ‘ehad finished.

  “I shall be watched over,” ses Sam.

  “He’s gorn stark, staring mad,” ses Ginger. “Wot a good job it is he’sgot me and you to look arter ‘im, Peter.”

  “Wot d’ye mean?” ses Sam.

  “Mean?” ses Ginger. “Why, it’s a put-up job to rob you, o’ course. Ishould ha’ thought even your fat ‘ead could ha’ seen that’:”

  “When I want your advice I’ll ask you for it,” ses Sam, losing ‘istemper. “Wot about the di’mond ring—eh?”

  “You stick to it,” ses Ginger, “and keep out o’ Mr. Cubbins’s way.That’s my advice to you. ‘Sides, p’r’aps it ain’t a real one.”

  Sam told ‘im agin he didn’t want none of ‘is advice, and, as Gingerwouldn’t leave off talking, he pretended to go to sleep. Ginger woke ‘imup three times to tell ‘im wot a fool ‘e was, but ‘e got so fierce thathe gave it up at last and told ‘im to go ‘is own way.

  Sam wouldn’t speak to either of ‘em next morning, and arter breakfasthe went off on ‘is own. He came back while Peter and Ginger was out, andthey wasted best part o’ the day trying to find ‘im.

  “We’ll be on Tower Hill just afore nine and keep ‘im out o’ mischief,any way,” ses Peter.

  Ginger nodded. “And be called names for our pains,” he ses. “I’ve a goodmind to let ‘im be robbed.”

  “It ‘ud serve ‘im right,” ses Peter, “on’y then he’d want to borrer offof us. Look here! Why not—why not rob ‘im ourselves?”

  “Wot?” ses Ginger, starting.

  “Walk up behind ‘im and rob ‘im,” ses Peter. “He’ll think it’s them twochaps he spoke about, and when ‘e comes ‘ome complaining to us we’lltell ‘im it serves ‘im right. Arter we’ve ‘ad a game with ‘im for a dayor two we’ll give ‘im ‘is money back.”

  “But he’d reckernize us,” ses Ginger.

  “We must disguise ourselves,” ses Peter, in a whisper. “There’s abarber’s shop in Cable Street, where I’ve seen beards in the winder. Youhook ‘em on over your ears. Get one o’ them each, pull our caps over oureyes and turn our collars up, and there you are.”

  Ginger made a lot of objections, not because he didn’t think it was agood idea, but because he didn’t like Peter thinking of it instead of‘im; but he gave way at last, and, arter he ‘ad got the beard, he stoodfor a long time in front o’ the glass thinking wot a difference it wouldha’ made to his looks if he had ‘ad black ‘air instead o’ red.

  Waiting for the evening made the day seem very long to ‘em; but it cameat last, and, with the beards in their pockets, they slipped out andwent for a walk round. They ‘ad ‘arf a pint each at a public-’ouse atthe top of the Minories, just to steady themselves, and then they cameout and hooked on their beards; and wot with them, and pulling theircaps down and turning their coat-collars up, there wasn’t much of theirfaces to be seen by anybody.

  It was just five minutes to nine when they got to Tower Hill, and theywalked down the middle of the road, keeping a bright lookout for oldSam. A little way down they saw a couple o’ chaps leaning up agin aclosed gate in the dock wall lighting their pipes, and Peter and Gingerboth nudged each other with their elbows at the same time. They ‘ad justgot to the bottom of the Hill when Sam turned the corner.

  Peter wouldn’t believe at fust that the old man wasn’t really the worsefor liquor, ‘e was so lifelike. Many a drunken man would ha’ been proudto ha’ done it ‘arf so well, and it made ‘im pleased to think that Samwas a pal of ‘is. Him and Ginger turned and crept up behind the old manon tiptoe, and then all of a sudden he tilted Sam’s cap over ‘is eyesand flung his arms round ‘im, while Ginger felt in ‘is coat-pockets andtook out a leather purse chock full o’ money.

  It was all done and over in a moment, and then, to Ginger’s greatsurprise, Sam suddenly lifted ‘is foot and gave ‘im a fearful kick onthe shin of ‘is leg, and at the same time let drive with all his mightin ‘is face. Ginger went down as if he ‘ad been shot, and as Peter wentto ‘elp him up he got a bang over the ‘cad that put ‘im alongside o’Ginger, arter which Sam turned and trotted off down the Hill like adancing-bear.

  ‘Let Drive With All his Might in ‘is Face. ‘

  For ‘arf a minute Ginger didn’t know where ‘e was, and afore he foundout the two men they’d seen in the gateway came up, and one of ‘em puthis knee in Ginger’s back and ‘eld him, while the other caught hold ofhis ‘and and dragged the purse out of it. Arter which they both madeoff up the Hill as ‘ard as they could go, while Peter Russet in a
faintvoice called “Police!” arter them.

  He got up presently and helped Ginger up, and they both stood therepitying themselves, and ‘elping each other to think of names to callSam.

  “Well, the money’s gorn, and it’s ‘is own silly fault,” ses Ginger. “Butwotever ‘appens, he mustn’t know that we had a ‘and in it, mind that.”

  “He can starve for all I care,” ses Peter, feeling his ‘ead. “I won’tlend ‘im a ha’penny—not a single, blessed ha’penny.”

  “Who’d ha’ thought ‘e could ha’ hit like that?” says Ginger. “That’swot gets over me. I never ‘ad such a bang in my life—never. I’m going to‘ave a little drop o’ brandy—my ‘ead is fair swimming.”

  Peter ‘ad one, too; but though they went into the private bar, it wasn’tprivate enough for them; and when the landlady asked Ginger who’d beenkissing ‘im, he put ‘is glass down with a bang and walked straight off‘ome.

  Sam ‘adn’t turned up by the time they got there, and pore Ginger tookadvantage of it to put a little warm candle-grease on ‘is bad leg. Thenhe bathed ‘is face very careful and ‘elped Peter bathe his ‘ead. They‘ad just finished when they heard Sam coming upstairs, and Ginger satdown on ‘is bed and began to whistle, while Peter took up a bit o’newspaper and stood by the candle reading it.

  “Lor’ lumme, Ginger!” ses Sam, staring at ‘im. “What ha’ you beena-doing to your face?”

  “Me?” ses Ginger, careless-like. “Oh, we ‘ad a bit of a scrap downLimehouse way with some Scotchies. Peter got a crack over the ‘ead atthe same time.”

  “Ah, I’ve ‘ad a bit of a scrap, too,” ses Sam, smiling all over, “but Ididn’t get marked.”

  “Oh!” ses Peter, without looking up from ‘is paper. “Was it a littleboy, then?” ses Ginger.

  “No, it wasn’t a little boy neither, Ginger,” ses Sam; “it was a coupleo’ men twice the size of you and Peter here, and I licked ‘em both. Itwas the two men I spoke to you about last night.”

  “Oh!” ses Peter agin, yawning.

  “I did a bit o’ thinking this morning,” ses Sam, nodding at ‘em, “and Idon’t mind owning up that it was owing to wot you said. You was right,Ginger, arter all.”

  “Fust thing I did arter breakfast,” ses Sam, “I took that di’mond ringto a pawnshop and found out it wasn’t a di’mond ring. Then I did a bitmore thinking, and I went round to a shop I know and bought a couple o’knuckle-dusters.”

  “Couple o’ wot?” ses Ginger, in a choking voice.

  “Knuckle-dusters,” ses Sam, “and I turned up to-night at Tower Hillwith one on each ‘and just as the clock was striking nine. I see ‘emthe moment I turned the corner—two enormous big chaps, a yard acrostthe shoulders, coming down the middle of the road—You’ve got a cold,Ginger!”

  “No, I ain’t,” ses Ginger.

  “I pretended to be drunk, same as the tec told me,” ses Sam, “and thenI felt ‘em turn round and creep up behind me. One of ‘em come up behindand put ‘is knee in my back and caught me by the throat, and the othergave me a punch in the chest, and while I was gasping for breath took mypurse away. Then I started on ‘em.”

  “Lor’!” ses Ginger, very nasty.

  “I fought like a lion,” ses Sam. “Twice they ‘ad me down, and twice Igot up agin and hammered ‘em. They both of ‘em ‘ad knives, but my bloodwas up, and I didn’t take no more notice of ‘em than if they was madeof paper. I knocked ‘em both out o’ their hands, and if I hit ‘em in theface once I did a dozen times. I surprised myself.”

  “You surprise me,” ses Ginger.

  “All of a sudden,” ses Sam, “they see they ‘ad got to do with a man wotdidn’t know wot fear was, and they turned round and ran off as hard asthey could run. You ought to ha’ been there, Ginger. You’d ‘ave enjoyedit.”

  Ginger Dick didn’t answer ‘im. Having to sit still and listen to allthem lies without being able to say anything nearly choked ‘im. He satthere gasping for breath.

  “O’ course, you got your purse back in the fight, Sam?” ses Peter.

  “No, mate,” ses Sam. “I ain’t going to tell you no lies—I did not.”

  “And ‘ow are you going to live, then, till you get a ship, Sam?” sesGinger, in a nasty voice. “You won’t get nothing out o’ me, so youneedn’t think it.”

  “Wot on earth’s the matter, Ginger?”

  “Nor me,” ses Peter. “Not a brass farthing.”

  “There’s no call to be nasty about it, mates,” ses Sam. “I ‘ad the bestfight I ever ‘ad in my life, and I must put up with the loss. A mancan’t ‘ave it all his own way.”

  “‘Ow much was it?” ses Peter.

  “Ten brace-buttons, three French ha’pennies, and a bit o’ tin,” ses Sam.“Wot on earth’s the matter, Ginger?”

  ‘Wot on Earth’s the Matter, Ginger?’’

  Ginger didn’t answer him.