Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  BRADD (severely). Brute force ain’t no good, George. You must lead men, not drive ’em. The mind’s the thing. Will-power. When you’ve seen my friend, Cap’n Zingall, what’s coming here to-night, you’ll see my meaning. (To COOK.) Tell the crew to come down aft.

  COOK. Yessir.

  (The COOK goes off up the companion-ladder.)

  SMITH. They’ll come down without any will-power if Slushy tells ’em there is drink on the table.

  BRADD. They’re coming down to ‘ave their minds improved.

  SMITH. It wants doing — you’re always stopping me when I try it. That time you was ill and I brought the ship up they wasn’t like the same men.

  BRADD. I know they missed me. They told me so. SMITH. They did — the lazy scuts.

  (Steps are heard on the companion-ladder. COOK, BILL and JOB enter. BILL and JOE are holding their caps in their hands.)

  BRADD. Sit down.

  (He waves his hand towards the locker where SMITH is silting. SMITH scowls at them and they sit as far from him as possible, balancing on the edge of the locker.)

  I’ve had you come down ‘ere to show you something wonderful. My friend Cap’n Zingall is coming aboard to give us a display of his powers. He’s got a wonderful will and ‘e can make a man do just what ‘e wishes ‘im to.

  SMITH (glaring at them truculently). Like me.

  BRADD. Not like you, George. They obey ‘im with pleasure. Leastways, he ses so. The other night he gave a man two tumblers of water to drink. He told ‘im it was whisky and anything like the pleasure on that man’s face I ‘ave never seen.

  BILL (to JOE, aside). Easy pleased.

  BRADD. Another time he told a man he was a bantam cock and I never ‘eard anybody crow like that man. Never. Better than any cock I ever heard.

  SMITH (gruffly). Pity he didn’t tell him ‘e was a hen.

  BRADD. Hen? Why?

  SMITH. Might ha’ done something more useful than crowing.

  BRADD (sharply). That’ll do, George. That’ll do. Some people are never satisfied. (Turning to the crew.) Once he told a man he was a policeman, and, if you believe me, he seemed to grow three inches taller, and the airs he give ‘imself, you wouldn’t believe.

  BILL. I never ‘eard the likes of it.

  JOE (aside). There’s a lot you ain’t ‘eard of, Bill. (To BRADD.)’Ave you seen all this, sir?

  BRADD (impressively). All of it. He wanted to mesmerize me, and I said, all right, I ses — do it and welcome — if you can — but I expect my ‘ead’s a bit too strong.

  JOE. And it was, sir, I’ll bet.

  BRADD. He tried everything; then ‘e give it up. But you’ll see ‘im, and any of you as likes can be mesmerized for nothing.

  BILL. I shouldn’t like to be made to drink two glasses o water. It mightn’t be good for me.

  BRADD. It couldn’t ‘arm you. Still ——

  (He crosses to his state-room door, enters the state-room and returns with a bottle of whisky. The crew display a pleased interest. Shouts are heard off, “Schooner, Ahoy!”)

  There he is.

  (He goes up on deck.)

  SMITH (grimly). I shouldn’t be surprised if he mesmerized some of you chaps and made you wash yourselves — all over.

  (Voices and steps are heard. BRADD and ZINGALL enter.)

  BRADD. Cap’n Zingall, this is my mate, George Smith. These are two of my hands, what I ‘ave spoke to about your gifts.

  (ZINGALL nods and smiles — BRADD fills the glasses and hands them round. They all drink.)

  JOE AND BILL. (to BRADD). Here’s your good ‘ealth, sir.

  BILL (wiping his mouth with the hack of his hand). Ah! that’s a drop o’ good stuff. I can’t believe as ‘ow water could be made to taste like that.

  BRADD (severely). Cap’n Zingall can do more wonderful things than that.

  BILL (hopefully). I wonder whether he could make me drink two tumblers of whisky under the belief as ‘ow it was water.

  ZINGALL. Easily; if you once get under the influence. Sit down.

  (He motions them to the locker, and BILL, JOB and the COOK sit in a row. He places a disc in the right hand of each.)

  Now, keep your eye on the disc and try and make your minds a blank.

  (They all stare in an exaggerated fashion at the discs. The mate coughs and the skipper motions him to silence. The head of BILL gets closer and closer to his hand. His eyes close and the disc falls to the floor. ZINGALL goes to him and strokes his eyelids down. Then he blows in his face and makes a pass or two. BILL’S eyes open and he stares at him vacantly.)

  He’s off.

  BRADD. It’s wonderful the power you have over ’em.

  ZINGALL (with pride). At the present moment that man is my unthinking slave an’ whatever I wish him to do he does.

  COOK. Tell ‘im he’s a teetotaller, sir, and let me offer ‘im a glass of whisky.

  ZINGALL (to BILL). You’re a teetotaller. This man is going to tempt you to drink a glass of whisky, but you mustn’t.

  (The COOK pours out a liberal measure of whisky and offers it. BILL refuses it with horror.)

  COOK. It’s all right, Bill, it’s real. Look! (He takes a liberal mouthful and swallows it with gusto.) See! (He finishes the glass.) Well, I never would ‘ave believed it. Let’s try it again. P’raps he didn’t understand.

  BRADD (choking). If you put your paws on that whisky bottle again you’ll understand something, my lad. I can tell you.

  (The COOK looks away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.)

  ZINGALL. Would anybody else like to try him? JOE. Well, sir, he owes me ‘arf a dollar an’ I think it would be a ‘ighly interesting experiment if you could get ‘im to pay it to me. (Fervently.) If anything can make me believe in mesmerism, that will.

  COOK. And he’s owed me five shillings — (he gulps) — since I don’t know when.

  ZINGALL (to BILL, pointing to JOE). YOU owe that man half a crown — (pointing to the COOK) — that one, five shillings. Pay them.

  (BILL, in a most matter-of-fact way, feels in his pocket, produces coins and hands them to JOE and the COOK.)

  SMITH (staring). Well, I’m blest! I thought mesmerism was all rubbish. Now bring him to again and see what he says.

  COOK (hastily). But don’t tell ‘im wot he’s been doing.

  (ZINGALL makes a few passes. BILL blinks at him and then, in a subdued fashion, takes his place by the others.)

  JOE. What’d it feel like, Bill? Can you remember wot you did?

  BILL (staring). Did?

  COOK (feelingly). Don’t try to, Bill. You give your brain a rest.

  ZINGALL (eyeing the mate). I should like to put you under the influence.

  SMITH. YOU couldn’t.

  ZINGALL (persuasively). Let me try.

  BRADD. DO. TO oblige me, George.

  SMITH. Well, I don’t mind. But no making me give those chaps money, you know.

  ZINGALL. NO, no.

  BILL (turning in a startled fashion to the COOK). Wot does ‘e mean, “give the chaps money”?

  COOK (airily). I dunno. Just watch ‘im, Bill.

  (But BILL is busy. He feels in his pockets, and turning out what cash is left tries to balance his accounts.)

  BILL (shouting). What the — where the — who the blazes ‘as got my money? When I come down ‘ere I ‘ad —

  BRADD. Stop it! What are you making that noise about?

  BILL. When I come ——

  BRADD. Hold your tongue! What d’you mean making that noise in my cabin. Clear out!

  (BILL retires grumbling, but only as far as the door.) ZINGALL (to SMITH). Look at me!

  (He puts his face close to SMITH’S and they glare at each other for some time, BRADD and the others watch with interest. SMITH begins to nod, his eyes close, and he suddenly lurches forward into the arms of ZINGALL, who is borne to the floor. The latter extricates himself with difficulty and stands breathing hard. The others put SMITH back into his seat.)

>   (Wiping his brow.) I’m going to show you something good now if I can, but I don’t know whether it will quite come off. I’m only a beginner at this sort of thing, and I’ve never tried this before. If you don’t mind, Cap’n, I’m going to tell him he is Cap’n Bradd, and you are the mate.

  BRADD (with glee). Go ahead.

  (ZINGALL makes a few passes. SMITH eyes him in a fascinated fashion.)

  ZINGALL (very slowly). You are Cap’n Bradd.

  SMITH (earnestly). Ay, ay.

  ZINGALL (pointing to BRADD). And that’s your mate, George Smith.

  SMITH. Ay, ay.

  ZINGALL. Take command then. (He seats himself on the right locker.)

  SMITH (with an air of quiet authority). George! BRADD (with a playful glance at ZINGALL). Sir. SMITH. A friend o’ mine, Cap’n Zingall by name, is coming aboard to-night. Get a little whisky for ‘im out o’ my state-room.

  BRADD (amused). Ay, ay, sir.

  SMITH (musingly). Just a little in the bottom o’ the bottle’ll do. Don’t bring more in. He drinks like a fish.

  BRADD (in an agitated aside to ZINGALL). I never said such a thing, Cap’n. I never thought o’ such a thing. ZINGALL (staring hard at the bottle). No, o’ course not. SMITH. And don’t leave your baccy-pouch laying about, George. He smokes like a chimney.

  BRADD (to ZINGALL with an uneasy laugh). Hark at ‘im! I s’pose ‘e don’t know what ‘e’s saying.

  (ZINGALL eyes BRADD and coughs. SMITH helps himself to a stiff glass of whisky, seats himself on the left locker, drinks it and smacks his lips. The crew laugh and SMITH, looking up, suddenly seems to he aware of their presence.)

  SMITH (bawling). What are you doing down aft? What do you want?

  COOK. Nothin’, sir, only we thought —

  SMITH (rising). Clear out! At once!

  BRADD (sharply). Stay where you are.

  SMITH (angrily). George!

  BRADD. Bring him to, Zingall, I’ve ‘ad enough of this. I’ll let ‘im know who’s who.

  (ZINGALL rises with a confident smile and stares hard at SMITH, who falls hack open-mouthed.)

  SMITH. Who the devil are you staring at?

  (ZINGALL, still holding him with his gaze, claps his hands together and stepping closer to him blows strongly in his face. SMITH, with a scream of rage, picks him up by the middle, dumps him on the floor and worries him.)

  ZINGALL (in a smothered voice). Help! Help! Take him off!

  BRADD (excitedly). Why don’t you bring him round? What’s the good of playing with ‘im?

  (By this time ZINGALL is face downwards on the floor with SMITH on top of him.)

  COOK (bending down). Blow in ‘is face ag’in, sir. ZINGALL (yelling). Take him off! Take him off! He’s killing me!

  (BRADD tries to pull SMITH off. SMITH rises, and backing, crushes BRADD against the bulkhead. ZINGALL gets to his feet.)

  BRADD (panting). — Why — don’t — you — bring — him — round?

  ZINGALL (dusting himself). He’s out of my control. I’ve heard of such cases before. I’m only new at the work, you know, but I dare say in a couple o’ years’ time —

  (BRADD howls with anger, and SMITH, suddenly alive to the presence of the crew, charges them and they exit hastily with him in pursuit.)

  BRADD. This is a pretty kettle o’ fish. Why don’t you bring ‘im round?

  ZINGALL (shortly). Because I can’t. It’ll have to wear off.

  BRADD. Wear off?

  (SMITH returns unperceived and stands at the door grinning.)

  ZINGALL. He’s under a delusion now, and of course I can’t say bow long it’ll last; but whatever you do, don’t cross him in any way.

  BRADD (sarcastically). Oh, don’t cross him! And you call yourself a mesmerist.

  ZINGALL (drawing himself up). Well, see what I’ve done! The fact is, I was charged full with electricity when I come aboard, and he’s got it all now. It’s left me weak, and until my will wears off him, he’s captain of this ship.

  BRADD. And what about me?

  ZINGALL. You’re the mate, and mind, for your own sake, act up to it. If you don’t cross him or contradict him I haven’t any doubt it’ll be all right, but if you do he’ll very likely murder you in a fit of frenzy, and — he wouldn’t be responsible. Good night.

  BRADD (clutching him by the sleeve). You’re not going?

  ZINGALL. I am. He seems to have took a violent dislike to me, and if I stay here it’ll only make him worse.

  (He runs off. SMITH gives him a push as he passes and follows him. He returns after two or three shouted threats. BRADD looks around in a worried fashion as he enters.)

  SMITH. I’m going to turn in, George; I feel a bit heavy.

  (He takes up the whisky-bottle, holds it to the light, grunts and takes it to the state-room. He returns and scowls at BRADD. The latter, after a moment’s pause, throws up his hands in despair and goes off up the companion-ladder. As soon as he has gone SMITH doubles up with helpless, but silent laughter. By a supreme effort he composes his face as BRADD comes back, reluctantly followed by the crew.)

  (Ferociously.) Well! What do you want? Who told you to come prancing down into my cabin? Eh? BRADD. I did.

  SMITH. YOU? Now look here, George Smith, I know you’re one o’ the smartest mates afloat. Everybody says so and I don’t wish for a better, but while I’m master o’ this here ship it don’t become you to take things upon yourself in this way.

  BRADD (impatiently). But you don’t understand. Now, look me in the eye, George.

  SMITH (sharply). Who are you calling George? BRADD. Well, look me in the eye, then.

  SMITH (fiercely). I’ll look at you in a way you won’t like in a minute. How dare you talk to me like that? What d’you mean by it?

  BRADD (magisterially). I just want to explain the position of affairs to you. Do you remember Cap’n Zingall, what was here just now?

  SMITH. Little dirty man what kept staring at me? BRADD. Well, I don’t know about ‘is being dirty; but that’s the man. Do you know what he did to you, George?

  SMITH (sharply). Eh? What did you call me? BRADD (hastily). He — he mesmerized you. Now, keep quite calm; don’t do anything you might be sorry for afterwards. You say you are Cap’n Benjamin Bradd, master of this vessel, don’t you?

  SMITH (hotly). I do. I am. Let me hear anybody say as I ain’t. Just let me hear them, that’s all.

  BRADD (slowly and impressively). A little while ago you was only George Smith, the mate, but Cap’n Zingall mesmerized you and made you think you was me.

  SMITH (severely). I see what it is; you’ve been drinking. You’ve been up to my whisky. I wondered where it ‘ad got to.

  BRADD (irascibly). Ask the hands then, they’ll tell you.

  SMITH (truculently). Ask ’em yourself, you lunatic. Only, if anybody plays the fool with me I won’t leave a whole bone in his body, that’s all. And then I’ll knock his ‘ead off.

  (BRADD turns to the men. They nudge each other and eye him uneasily.)

  BRADD. You know me, all of you. Now, tell the mate who I am.

  BILL (very respectfully). It ain’t nothing to do with us, sir.

  JOB (mildly). We ain’t paid for that, sir.

  COOK (reasonably). Least said, soonest mended, sir; speshally broken bones.

  SMITH (in a powerful voice). I’ve had enough of this.

  (He catches BILL by the collar and draws him towards him.)

  What’s my name?

  BILL (stammering). Cap’n — Ben — Bradd, sir.

  SMITH (to JOE). What’s my name?

  JOE. Cap’n Ben Bradd, sir.

  SMITH (to COOK). NOW then, speak up. You ought to know me.

  COOK (softly). Cap’n Benjamin Bradd, sir, master of the schooner “Elizabeth Hopkins.”

  SMITH (turning to BRADD). There you are, George. You hear that? Now, look here, you listen to me. Either you’ve been drinking, or else your ‘ead’s gone a little bit off. You’d better turn in and see what a
bit o’ sleep’ll do for you, and if you don’t give me any more of your nonsense I’ll overlook it for this once.

  (BRADD turns frantically to the crew, but they ignore him and exit. Their steps are heard ascending the companion-ladder. SMITH seats himself on the left locker and shakes his head at BRADD.)

  You’ve disappointed me, George.

  BRADD. But —

  SMITH. That’ll do. I don’t want no back answers.

  (He goes into the state-room and returns with a bottle of whisky and a glass. He pours out a fair quantity and stands drinking it slowly.)

  I won’t offer you any, George, ‘cos you’ve ‘ad more than enough already. (Drinks.) If you took my advice — (drinks) — you’d turn teetotal. (He puts the glass on the table and with the bottle in his hand moves to the state-room door.) I’m going to turn in; I feel a bit heavy. Give me a call just before high water. If this wind holds we ought to ‘ave a quick passage. Goo’ night.

  BRADD (anxiously). Where are you going to sleep? SMITH (staring at him in amazement). Going to sleep? Why, in my state-room, to be sure. Where did you think I was going?

  (BRADD turns away in despair. SMITH looks at him for a moment with his hand over his mouth and his face contorted with mirth and goes into the state-room. BRADD stands, a woe-begone figure in the centre of the stage, looking helplessly about him.)

  The CURTAIN is lowered to denote a lapse of five days.

  (The COOK is discovered collecting the breakfast things and putting them on a tray. JOE enters cautiously.)

  JOE. Thank goodness, it’s all over. Another five days like this and I should go balmy too.

  COOK. He ain’t ashore yet.

  JOE. NO, but ‘e soon will be. So shall I. I stepped on the quay just now. Just for the feel of it. Wot’s going to ‘appen now?

  COOK. I dunno.

  JOE. It’s been like a blooming nightmare. I didn’t think there was so much work in the world.

  COOK. And wot about me? Two skippers and two mates all mixed up till I keep forgetting which is which. JOE. Mesmerism’s a extraordinary thing.

  COOK (darkly). Yus — so’s the mate.

  JOE. Wot d’ye mean?

  COOK. I know wot I mean. Cooks ain’t like A.B.’s. They uses their brains, and understands human natur’. (Pause.) That’s why I never got married.