“‘Do you mean to say,’ bawls Bill, ‘that we’ve got to be black all the rest of our life?’
“‘Cert’nly not,’ ses the carpenter, indignantly, ‘it’ll wear off in time; shaving every morning ‘ll ‘elp it, I should say.’
“‘I’ll get my razor now,’ ses Bill, in a awful voice; ‘don’t let ‘im go, Bob. I’ll ‘ack ‘is head orf.’
“He actually went off an’ got his razor, but, o’ course, we jumped out o’ our bunks and got between ’em and told him plainly that it was not to be, and then we set ’em down and tried everything we could think of, from butter and linseed oil to cold tea-leaves used as a poultice, and all it did was to make ’em shinier an’ shinier.
“‘It’s no good, I tell you,’ ses the carpenter, ‘it’s the most lasting black I know. If I told you how much that stuff is a can, you wouldn’t believe me.’
“‘Well, you’re in it,’ ses Bill, his voice all of a tremble; ‘you done it so as we could knock the mate about. Whatever’s done to us’ll be done to you too.’
“‘I don’t think turps’ll touch it,’ ses the carpenter, getting up, ‘but we’ll ‘ave a try.’
“He went and fetched the can and poured some out on a bit o’ rag and told Bill to dab his face with it. Bill give a dab, and the next moment he rushed over with a scream and buried his head in a shirt what Simmons was wearing at the time and began to wipe his face with it. Then he left the flustered Simmons an’ shoved another chap away from the bucket and buried his face in it and kicked and carried on like a madman. Then ‘e jumped into his bunk again and buried ‘is face in the clothes and rocked hisself and moaned as if he was dying.
“‘Don’t you use it, Bob,’ he ses, at last
“‘‘Tain’t likely,’ ses Bob. ‘It’s a good thing you tried it fust, Bill.’
“‘‘Ave they tried holy-stone?’ ses a voice from a bunk.
“‘No, they ain’t,’ ses Bob, snappishly, ‘and, what’s more, they ain’t goin’ to.’
“Both o’ their tempers was so bad that we let the subject drop while we was at breakfast. The orkard persition of affairs could no longer be disregarded. Fust one chap threw out a ‘int and then another, gradually getting a little stronger and stronger, until Bill turned round in a uncomfortable way and requested of us to leave off talking with our mouths full and speak up like Englishmen wot we meant.
“‘You see, it’s this way, Bill,’ ses Joe, soft-like. ‘As soon as the mate sees you there’ll be trouble for all of us.’
“‘For all of us,’ repeats Bill, nodding.
“‘Whereas,’ ses Joe, looking round for support, ‘if we gets up a little collection for you and you should find it convenient to desart.’
“‘‘Ear, ‘ear,’ ses a lot o’ voices. ‘Bravo, Joe.’
“‘Oh, desart is it?’ ses Bill; ‘an’ where are we goin’ to desart to?’
“‘Well, that we leave to you,’ ses Joe; ‘there’s many a ship short-’anded as would be glad to pick up sich a couple of prime sailor-men as you an’ Bob.’
“‘Ah, an’ wot about our black faces?’ ses Bill, still in the same sneering, ungrateful sort o’ voice.
“‘That can be got over,’ ses Joe.
“‘Ow?’ ses Bill and Bob together.
“‘Ship as nigger cooks,’ ses Joe, slapping his knee and looking round triumphant.
“It’s no good trying to do some people a kindness. Joe was perfectly sincere, and nobody could say but wot it wasn’t a good idea, but o’ course Mr. Bill Cousins must consider hisself insulted, and I can only suppose that the trouble he’d gone through ‘ad affected his brain. Likewise Bob Pullin’s. Anyway, that’s the only excuse I can make for ’em. To cut a long story short, nobody ‘ad any more breakfast, and no time to do anything until them two men was scrouged up in a corner an’ ‘eld there unable to move.
“‘I’d never ‘ave done ’em,’ ses the carpenter, arter it was all over, ‘if I’d know they was goin’ to carry on like this. They wanted to be done.’
“The mate’ll half murder ’em,’ ses Ted Hill.
“‘He’ll ‘ave ’em sent to gaol, that’s wot he’ll do,’ ses Smith. ‘It’s a serious matter to go ashore and commit assault and battery on the mate.’
“‘You’re all in it,’ ses the voice o’ Bill from the floor. ‘I’m going to make a clean breast of it. Joe Smith put us up to it, the carpenter blacked us, and the others encouraged us.’
“‘Joe got the clothes for us,’ ses Bob. ‘I know the place he got ’em from, too.’
“The ingratitude o’ these two men was sich that at first we decided to have no more to do with them, but better feelings prevailed, and we held a sort o’ meeting to consider what was best to be done. An’ everything that was suggested one o’ them two voices from the floor found fault with and wouldn’t ‘ave, and at last we ‘ad to go up on deck with nothing decided upon, except to swear ‘ard and fast as we knew nothing about it.
“The only advice we can give you,’ ses Joe, looking back at ’em, ‘is to stay down ‘ere as long as you can.’
“A’most the fust person we see on deck was the mate, an’ a pretty sight he was. He’d got a bandage round ‘is left eye, and a black ring round the other. His nose was swelled and his lip cut, but the other officers were making sich a fuss over ‘im, that I think he rather gloried in it than otherwise.
“‘Where’s them other two ‘ands?’ he ses, by and by, glaring out of ‘is black eye.
“‘Down below, sir, I b’lieve,’ ses the carpenter, all of a tremble.
“‘Go an’ send ’em up,’ ses the mate to Smith.
“‘Yessir,’ ses Joe, without moving.
“‘Well, go on then,’ roars the mate.
“‘They ain’t over and above well, sir, this morning,’ ses Joe.
“‘Send ’em up, confound you,’ ses the mate, limping towards ‘im.
“Well, Joe give ‘is shoulders a ‘elpless sort o’ shrug and walked forward and bawled down the fo’c’s’le.
“‘They’re coming, sir,’ he ses, walking bade to the mate just as the skipper came out of ‘is cabin.
“We all went on with our work as ‘ard as we knew ‘ow. The skipper was talking to the mate about ‘is injuries, and saying unkind things about Germans, when he give a sort of a shout and staggered back staring. We just looked round, and there was them two blackamoors coming slowly towards us.
“‘Good heavens, Mr. Fingall,’ ses the old man. ‘What’s this?’
“I never see sich a look on any man’s face as I saw on the mate’s then. Three times ‘e opened ‘is mouth to speak, and shut it agin without saying anything. The veins on ‘is forehead swelled up tremendous and ‘is cheeks was all blown out purple.
“That’s Bill Cousins’s hair,’ ses the skipper to himself. ‘It’s Bill Cousins’s hair. It’s Bill Cous—’
“Bob walked up to him, with Bill lagging a little way behind, and then he stops just in front of ‘im and fetches up a sort o’ little smile.
“‘Don’t you make those faces at me, sir?’ roars the skipper. ‘What do you mean by it? What have you been doing to yourselves?’
“‘Nothin’, sir,’ ses Bill, ‘umbly; ‘it was done to us.’
“The carpenter, who was just going to cooper up a cask which ‘ad started a bit, shook like a leaf, and gave Bill a look that would ha’ melted a stone.
“‘Who did it?’ ses the skipper.
“‘We’ve been the wictims of a cruel outrage, sir,’ ses Bill, doing all ‘e could to avoid the mate’s eye, which wouldn’t be avoided.
“‘So I should think,’ ses the skipper. ‘You’ve been knocked about, too.’
“‘Yessir,’ ses Bill, very respectful; ‘me and Bob was ashore last night, sir, just for a quiet look round, when we was set on to by five furriners.’
“‘What?’ ses the skipper; and I won’t repeat what the mate said.
“‘We fought ’em as long as we could, s
ir,’ ses Bill, ‘then we was both knocked senseless, and when we came to ourselves we was messed up like this ‘ere.’
“What sort o’ men were they?’ asked the skipper, getting excited.
“‘Sailor-men, sir,’ ses Bob, putting in his spoke. ‘Dutchies or Germans, or something o’ that sort.’
“‘Was there one tall man, with a fair beard,’ ses the skipper, getting more and more excited.
“‘Yessir,’ ses Bill, in a surprised sort o’ voice.
“‘Same gang,’ ses the skipper. ‘Same gang as knocked Mr. Fingall about, you may depend upon it. Mr. Fingall, it’s a mercy for you you didn’t get your face blacked too.’
“I thought the mate would ha’ burst. I can’t understand how any man could swell as he swelled without bursting.
“‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ he ses, at last.
“‘Why not?’ ses the skipper, sharply.
“‘Well, I don’t,’ ses the mate, his voice trembling with passion. ‘I ‘ave my reasons.’
“‘I s’pose you don’t think these two poor fellows went and blacked themselves for fun, do you?’ ses the skipper.
“The mate couldn’t answer.
“‘And then went and knocked themselves about for more fun?’ ses the skipper, very sarcastic.
“The mate didn’t answer. He looked round helpless like, and see the third officer swopping glances with the second, and all the men looking sly and amused, and I think if ever a man saw ‘e was done ‘e did at that moment.
“He turned away and went below, and the skipper arter reading us all a little lecture on getting into fights without reason, sent the two chaps below agin and told ’em to turn in and rest. He was so good to ’em all the way ‘ome, and took sich a interest in seeing ’em change from black to brown and from light brown to spotted lemon, that the mate daren’t do nothing to them, but gave us their share of what he owed them, as well as an extra dose of our own.”
THE LADY OF THE BARGE
This story collection was published in 1902 and offers a mixed collection of short tales, but is notable for containing Jacobs’ most famous story – ‘The Monkey’s Paw’ concerning a good-luck charm, which grants its owner three wishes; but at a terrible price…
The story has been adapted for stage, screen, radio and even opera and is one of the most celebrated supernatural stories of all time. The collection also includes a number of other macabre tales, including ‘Captain Rogers’, ‘In the Library’ and ‘The Well’.
Cover of the first edition
CONTENTS
THE LADY OF THE BARGE
THE MONKEY’S PAW
BILL’S PAPER CHASE
THE WELL
CUPBOARD LOVE
IN THE LIBRARY
CAPTAIN ROGERS
A TIGER’S SKIN
A MIXED PROPOSAL
AN ADULTERATION ACT
A GOLDEN VENTURE
THREE AT TABLE
Illustration for ‘The Monkey’s Paw’
Poster for the 1933 film version of ‘The Monkey’s Paw’
THE LADY OF THE BARGE
The master of the barge Arabella sat in the stern of his craft with his right arm leaning on the tiller. A desultory conversation with the mate of a schooner, who was hanging over the side of his craft a few yards off, had come to a conclusion owing to a difference of opinion on the subject of religion. The skipper had argued so warmly that he almost fancied he must have inherited the tenets of the Seventh-day Baptists from his mother while the mate had surprised himself by the warmth of his advocacy of a form of Wesleyanism which would have made the members of that sect open their eyes with horror. He had, moreover, confirmed the skipper in the error of his ways by calling him a bargee, the ranks of the Baptists receiving a defender if not a recruit from that hour.
With the influence of the religious argument still upon him, the skipper, as the long summer’s day gave place to night, fell to wondering where his own mate, who was also his brother-in-law, had got to. Lights which had been struggling with the twilight now burnt bright and strong, and the skipper, moving from the shadow to where a band of light fell across the deck, took out a worn silver watch and saw that it was ten o’clock.
Almost at the same moment a dark figure appeared on the jetty above and began to descend the ladder, and a strongly built young man of twenty-two sprang nimbly to the deck.
“Ten o’clock, Ted,” said the skipper, slowly. “It ‘ll be eleven in an hour’s time,” said the mate, calmly.
“That ‘ll do,” said the skipper, in a somewhat loud voice, as he noticed that his late adversary still occupied his favourite strained position, and a fortuitous expression of his mother’s occurred to him: “Don’t talk to me; I’ve been arguing with a son of Belial for the last half-hour.”
“Bargee,” said the son of Belial, in a dispassionate voice.
“Don’t take no notice of him, Ted,” said the skipper, pityingly.
“He wasn’t talking to me,” said Ted. “But never mind about him; I want to speak to you in private.”
“Fire away, my lad,” said the other, in a patronizing voice.
“Speak up,” said the voice from the schooner, encouragingly. “I’m listening.”
There was no reply from the bargee. The master led the way to the cabin, and lighting a lamp, which appealed to more senses than one, took a seat on a locker, and again requested the other to fire away.
“Well, you see, it’s this way,” began the mate, with a preliminary wriggle: “there’s a certain young woman—”
“A certain young what?” shouted the master of the Arabella.
“Woman,” repeated the mate, snappishly; “you’ve heard of a woman afore, haven’t you? Well, there’s a certain young woman I’m walking out with I—”
“Walking out?” gasped the skipper. “Why, I never ‘eard o’ such a thing.”
“You would ha’ done if you’d been better looking, p’raps,” retorted the other. “Well, I’ve offered this young woman to come for a trip with us.”
“Oh, you have, ‘ave you!” said the skipper, sharply. “And what do you think Louisa will say to it?”
“That’s your look out,” said Louisa’s brother, cheerfully. “I’ll make her up a bed for’ard, and we’ll all be as happy as you please.”
He started suddenly. The mate of the schooner was indulging in a series of whistles of the most amatory description.
“There she is,” he said. “I told her to wait outside.”
He ran upon deck, and his perturbed brother-in-law, following at his leisure, was just in time to see him descending the ladder with a young woman and a small handbag.
“This is my brother-in-law, Cap’n Gibbs,” said Ted, introducing the new arrival; “smartest man at a barge on the river.”
The girl extended a neatly gloved hand, shook the skipper’s affably, and looked wonderingly about her.
“It’s very close to the water, Ted,” she said, dubiously.
The skipper coughed. “We don’t take passengers as a rule,” he said, awkwardly; “we ‘ain’t got much convenience for them.”
“Never mind,” said the girl, kindly; “I sha’nt expect too much.”
She turned away, and following the mate down to the cabin, went into ecstasies over the space-saving contrivances she found there. The drawers fitted in the skipper’s bunk were a source of particular interest, and the owner watched with strong disapprobation through the skylight her efforts to make him an apple-pie bed with the limited means at her disposal. He went down below at once as a wet blanket.
“I was just shaking your bed up a bit,” said Miss Harris, reddening.
“I see you was,” said the skipper, briefly.
He tried to pluck up courage to tell her that he couldn’t take her, but only succeeded in giving vent to an inhospitable cough.
“I’ll get the supper,” said the mate, suddenly; “you sit down, old man, and talk to Lucy.”
In
honour of the visitor he spread a small cloth, and then proceeded to produce cold beef, pickles, and accessories in a manner which reminded Miss Harris of white rabbits from a conjurer’s hat. Captain Gibbs, accepting the inevitable, ate his supper in silence and left them to their glances.
“We must make you up a bed, for’ard, Lucy,” said the mate, when they had finished.
Miss Harris started. “Where’s that?” she inquired.
“Other end o’ the boat,” replied the mate, gathering up some bedding under his arm. “You might bring a lantern, John.”
The skipper, who was feeling more sociable after a couple of glasses of beer, complied, and accompanied the couple to the tiny forecastle. A smell compounded of bilge, tar, paint, and other healthy disinfectants emerged as the scuttle was pushed back. The skipper dangled the lantern down and almost smiled.
“I can’t sleep there,” said the girl, with decision. “I shall die o’ fright.”
“You’ll get used to it,” said Ted, encouragingly, as he helped her down; “it’s quite dry and comfortable.”
He put his arm round her waist and squeezed her hand, and aided by this moral support, Miss Harris not only consented to remain, but found various advantages in the forecastle over the cabin, which had escaped the notice of previous voyagers.
“I’ll leave you the lantern,” said the mate, making it fast, “and we shall be on deck most o’ the night. We get under way at two.”
He quitted the forecastle, followed by the skipper, after a polite but futile attempt to give him precedence, and made his way to the cabin for two or three hours’ sleep.
“There’ll be a row at the other end, Ted,” said the skipper, nervously, as he got into his bunk. “Louisa’s sure to blame me for letting you keep company with a gal like this. We was talking about you only the other day, and she said if you was married five years from now, it ‘ud be quite soon enough.”
“Let Loo mind her own business,” said the mate, sharply; “she’s not going to nag me. She’s not my wife, thank goodness!”
Works of W. W. Jacobs Page 163