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

by W. W. Jacobs

  But the whistling prevailed. This ridiculous buoyancy of youth! Whatluckless pigs are we who moon and fret and grow besodden with the watersof our misfortunes! This cheeky corkiness of youth! Shove it under thefretted sea of trouble, and free it will twist, up it will bob. Weightit and drop it into the deepest pool; just when it should be drowned,pop! and it is again merrily bobbing upon the surface.

  It is a sight to make us solemn-souled folk disgustingly irritated. Weare the Marthas--trudging our daily rounds, oppressed with sense of theduties that must be done, with the righteous feeling of the hardness ofour lot; and these light-hearts, these trouble-shirkers, this corkinessof youth, exasperate us enormously. But the grin is on their side.

  The whistling prevailed. By the time George was dressed he had put hisposition into these words--these feather-brained, corky, preposterouswords: "By gum!" said George, brushing his hair, "by gum! I'm in a devilof a hole!"

  The decision summed up a cogitation that showed him to be in a holeindeed, but not in so fearsome a pit as he had at first imagined. He hadat first supposed that within a few minutes the earth would be shovelledin on him and be buried. Review of events showed the danger not to beso acute. On arrival the previous night, after brief parley with Mrs.Pinner he had gone straight to his room, bearing the Rose tight hid inher basket. No reason, then, for suspicion yet to have fallen upon him.He must continue to keep the Rose hid. It would be difficult, infernallydifficult; but so long as he could effect it he might remain heresecure. The beastly cat must of course be let out for a run. That was achief difficulty. Well, he must think out some fearful story that wouldgive him escape with the basket every morning.

  V.

  Breakfast was laid in a little sitting-room over the porch, adjoininghis bedroom. George pressed the poor Rose into her basket; carried itin.

  Mrs. Pinner was setting flowers on the table. George carried the basketto the window; placed it on a chair; sat upon it. With his right handhe drummed upon the lid. It was his purpose to inspire the Rose with atimid wonder at this drubbing that should prevent her voicing a protestagainst cramped limbs.

  "Some nice tea and a bit of fish I'm going to bring you up, mister,"Mrs. Pinner told him.

  Recollecting her deafness, and in fear lest she should approach thebasket, George from the window bellowed: "Thank you, Mrs. Pinner. But Iwon't have tea, if you please. Won't have tea. I drink milk--_milk_. Alot of milk. I'm a great milk-drinker."

  The Rose wriggled. George thumped the basket. "As soon as you like, Mrs.Pinner. As quick as you like!"

  Mrs. Pinner closed the door; the Rose advertised her feelings in a long,penetrating mi-aow. In an agony of strained listening George held hisbreath. But Mrs. Pinner heard nothing; moved steadily downstairs. Hewiped his brow. This was the beginning of it.

  When Mrs. Pinner reappeared, jug of milk and covered dish on a tray,George's plan, after desperate searchings, had come to him.

  He gave it speech. "I want to arrange, Mrs. Pinner--"

  "If you wait till I've settled the tray, mister, I'll come close to you.I'm that hard of hearing you wouldn't believe."

  George sprang from the basket; approached the table. His life dependedupon keeping a distance between basket and Pinner.

  "I want to arrange to have this room as a private sitting-room."

  It had never been so used before, but it could be arranged, Mrs. Pinnertold him. She would speak to her 'usband about terms.

  "And I want to keep it very private indeed, I don't want anyone to enterit unless I am here." George mounted his lie and galloped it, blushingfor shame of his steed. "The fact is, Mrs. Pinner, I'm an inventor. Yes,an inventor. Oh, yes, an inventor." The wretched steed was stumbling,but he clung on; spurred afresh. "An inventor. And I have to leavethings lying about--delicate instruments that mustn't be disturbed.Awfully delicate. I shall be out all day. I shall be taking my inventioninto the open air to experiment with it. My invention--" He waved hishand at the basket.

  Mrs. Pinner quite understood; was impressed. "Oh, dear, yes, mister. Tobe sure. An inventor; fancy that, now!" She gazed at the basket. "Andthe invention is in there?"

  "Right in there," George assured her.

  "You'll parding my asking, mister; but your saying you have to take itin the open hair--is it one of them hairships, mister?"

  "Well, it _is,_" George said frankly. This was a useful idea and heapproved it. "It _is._ It's an airship."

  "Well, I never did!" Mrs. Pinner admired, gazing at the basket. "Ahairship in there!"

  "_Mi-aow!_" spoke the Rose--penetrating, piercing.

  Mrs. Pinner cocked her head on one side; looked under the table. "Ideclare I thought I heard a cat," she puzzled. "In this very room."

  George felt perfectly certain that his hair was standing bolt upright onthe top of his head, thrusting at right angles to the sides. He forcedhis alarmed face to smile: "A cock crowing in the yard, I think, Mrs.Pinner."

  Mrs. Pinner took the explanation with an apologetic laugh. "I'm thathard o' hearing you never would believe. But I could ha' sworn. Ill notkeep you chattering, sir." She raised the dish cover.

  A haddock was revealed. A fine, large, solid haddock from which a cloudof strongly savoured vapour arose.

  George foresaw disaster. That smell! that hungry cat! Almost he pushedMrs. Pinner to the door. "That you, thank you. I have everything now. Iwill ring if--"

  "_Mi-aow!_"

  "Bless my soul!" Mrs. Pinner exclaimed. "There is a cat"; dropped onhands and knees; pushed her head beneath the sofa.

  George rushed for the basket. Wreaking his craven alarm upon the haplessprisoner, he shook it; with a horrible bump slammed it upon the floor;placed his foot upon it.

  Mrs. Pinner drew up, panting laboriously. "Didn't you hear a cat,mister?"

  George grappled the crisis. "I did not hear a cat. If there were a catI should have heard it. I should have felt it. I abominate cats. I canalways tell when a cat is near me. There is no cat. Kindly leave me tomy breakfast."

  Poor Mrs. Pinner was ashamed. "I'm sure I do beg you parding, mister.The fact is we've all got cats fair on the brain this morning. In thishere new paper, mister, as perhaps you've seen, and they're giving usa free copy every day for a week, there's a cat been stole, mister. Ahundred pounds reward, and as the paper says, the cat may be under yourvery nose. We're all a 'unting for it, mister."

  She withdrew. George crossed the room; pressed his head, against thecold marble of the mantelpiece. His brows were burning; in the pit ofhis stomach a sinking sensation gave him pain. "All a 'unting for it!all a 'unting for it!"

  When the Rose had bulged her flanks with the complete haddock, when,responsive to a "Stuff your head in that, you brute," the patientcreature had lapped a slop-bowl full of milk, George again imprisonedher; rushed, basket under arm, for open country.

  Mr. Pinner in the bar-parlour, as George fled through, was reading froma paper to a stable hand, a servant girl, and a small red-headed Pinnerboy: "It may be in John o' Groats," he read, "or it may be in Land'sEnd." He thumped the bar. "'Ear that! Well, it may be in DipplefordAdmiral."

  It was precisely because it was in Dippleford Admiral that his younginventor lodger fled through the bar without so much as a civil "goodmorning."

  * * * * *

  At the post-office, keeping a drumming foot on the terrified Rose,George sent a telegram to Mr. Marrapit.

  _"Think on track. Must be cautious. Don't tell Brunger."_

  He flung down eightpence halfpenny; fled in the direction of a wood thatplumed a distant hill. Fear had this man.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Panic At Dippleford Admiral.

  I.

  George left Dippleford Admiral that night.

  He left at great speed. There was no sadness of farewell. There was nofarewell.

  Returning at seven o'clock to his sitting-room at the inn, melancholybeneath a hungry and brooding day in the woods with the Rose tetheredto a tree by the le
ngth of two handkerchiefs, he ordered supper--milk,fish, and chops.

  Mrs. Pinner asked him if that would be all. She and 'usband were goingto a chapel meeting; the servant girl was out; there would only be ayoung man in the bar.

  George took the news gratefully. His nerves had been upon the stretchall day. It was comforting to think that for a few hours he and thisvile cat would have the house to themselves.

  Immediately Mrs. Pinner left the room he greedily fell to upon thechops. All day he had eaten nothing: the Rose must wait. Three parts ofa tankard of ale was sliding at a long and delectable draught down uponhis meal when the slam of a door, footsteps and a bawling voice inthe yard told him that Mrs. Pinner and 'usband had started, chattingpleasantly, for their chapel meeting.

  The dish cleared, George arranged his prisoner's supper; stepped to thebasket to fetch her to it. As he lifted her splendid form there camefrom behind him an exclamation, an agitated scuffling.

  In heart-stopping panic George dropped the cat, jumped around. Thered-headed Pinner boy, whom that morning he had seen in the bar-parlour,was scrambling from beneath the sofa, arms and legs thrusting hisflaming pate at full-speed for the door.

  "Stop!" George cried, rooted in alarm.

  The red-headed Pinner boy got to Ms feet, hurled himself at the doorhandle.

  "Stop!" roared George, struggling with the stupefaction that grippedhim. "Stop, you young devil!"

  The red-headed Pinner boy twisted the handle; was half through the dooras George bounded for him.

  "Par-par!" screamed the flaming head, travelling at immense speed downthe passage. "Par-par! It ain't a hairship. It's a cat!"

  George dashed.

  "Par-par! Par-par! It's a cat!" The redheaded Pinner boy took the firstshort flight of stairs in a jump; rounded for the second.

  George lunged over the banisters; gripped close in the flaming hair;held fast.

  For a full minute in silence they poised--red-headed Pinner boy, ontip-toe as much as possible to ease the pain, in acute agony and greatfear; George wildly seeking the plan that must be followed when heshould release this fateful head.

  Presently, with a backward pull that most horribly twisted thered-headed face: "If you speak a word I'll pull your head off," Georgesaid. "Come up here."

  The pitiful procession reached the sitting-room. "Sit down there,"George commanded. "If you make a sound I shall probably cut your headclean off. What do you mean by hiding in my room?"

  Between gusty pain and terror: "I thought it was a hairship."

  "Oh!" George paced the room. What did the vile boy think now? "Oh, well,what do you think it is now?"

  "I believe it's the cat wot's in the piper."

  "Oh, you do, do you?" Yes, this was a very horrible position indeed."Oh, you do, do you? Now, you listen to me, my lad: unless you want yourhead cut right off you sit still without a sound."

  The red-headed Pinner boy sat quite still; wept softly. Life, at themoment, was a bitter affair for this boy.

  II.

  George paced. The hideous nightmares of the morning had returnednow--snorting, neighing, trampling iron-shod; stampeding in hideousirresistible rushes. This was the beginning of the end. He wasdiscovered--his' secret out.

  Flight--immediate flight--that was the essential course. Par-par, thanksto sweet heaven, was at a chapel meeting. The thing could be done.A timetable upon the mantelpiece told him that a down-train left thestation at 8.35. It was now eight. Better a down-train than an up. Thefurther from London the less chance of this infernal _Daily_ with itsCountry House Outrage. Examining the time-table he determined uponTemple Colney--an hour's run. He had been there once with Bill.

  But what of this infernal red-headed Pinner boy? In agony wrestling withthe question, George every way ran into the brick wall fact that therewas no method of stopping the vile boy's mouth. The red head must beleft behind to shriek its discovery to par-par. All that could be donewas to delay that shriek as long as possible.

  George packed his small hand-bag; placed upon the table money to pay hisbill; lifted the crime-stained basket; addressed the red-headed Pinnerboy:

  "Stop that sniffling. Take that bag. You are to come with me. If youmake a sound or try to run away you know what will happen to you. Whatdid I tell you would happen?"

  "Cut me 'ead off."

  "Right off. Right off--_slish_! Give me your hand; come on."

  Through a side door, avoiding the bar, they passed into the street.Kind night gave them cloaks of invisibility; no one was about. In a fewminutes they had left the bold village street, were in timid lanes thatturned and twisted hurrying through the high hedges.

  Half a mile upon the further side of the station George that morning hadpassed a line of haystacks. Now he made for it, skirting the railway bya considerable distance.

  The red-headed Pinner boy, exhausted by the pace of their walk, notunnaturally nervous, spoke for the first time: "Ain't you going to thestation, mister?"

  "Station? Certainly not. Do you think I am running away?"

  The red-headed Pinner boy did not answer. This boy was recalling inevery detail the gruesome story, read in a paper, of a bright young ladwho had been foully done to death in a wood.

  George continued: "I shall be back with you at the inn this evening, andI shall ask your father to give you a good thrashing for hiding in myroom."

  In an earnest prayer the red-headed Pinner boy besought God that hemight indeed be spared to receive that thrashing.

  III.

  They reached the haystack. George struck a match; looked at his watch.In seven minutes the train was due.

  The ladder George had noticed that morning was lying along the foot ofa stack. Uprearing it against one partially demolished, "Put down thatbag," he commanded. "Up with you!"

  Gustily sniffing in the huge sighs that advertised his terror, thered-headed Pinner boy obeyed. George drew down the ladder. "Stop upthere; I shall be back in five minutes. If you move before then--"

  He left the trembling boy out of his own agitated fear to fill theunspoken doom. He walked slowly away in the direction opposite from thestation until the haystack was merged and lost in the blackness thatsurrounded it. Then, doubling back, he made for the road; pounded alongit at desperate speed.

  Most satisfactorily did that bounding, lurching, stumbling run along thedark, uneven lane punish this crime-steeped George. Well he realised,before he had sped a hundred yards, that guilt lashes with a doublethong. She had scourged him mentally; now with scorpions she physicallylashed him. As it had been racked throbbed that left arm encirclingthe basket wherein in wild fear the Rose clung to ease the dreadfulbruisings that each oscillation gave her; as it were a ton-weight didthat hand-bag drag his right arm, thud his thigh; as he were breathingfire did his tearing respirations sear his throat; as a great pistonwere driving in his skull did the blood hammer his temples.

  Topping a low rise he sighted the station lights below. Simultaneously,from behind a distant whistle there sprang to his ears the low rumble ofthe coming train.

  This history is not to be soiled with what George said at the sound.With the swiftness and the scorching of flame his dreadful comminationleapt from the tortured Rose, terrified in her basket, to the red-headedPinner boy wrestling in prayer upon the haystack--from the roughness ofthe lane that laboured his passage to the speed of the oncoming trainthat hammered at his fate.

  He hurled himself down the rise; with his last breath gasped for aticket; upon a final effort projected himself into the train; went proneupon a seat. He was away!

  * * * * *

  It was when George was some fifteen minutes from Temple Colney that thered-headed Pinner boy, bolstered up with prayer, commended his soul toGod; slipped with painful thud from the haystack; pelted for Par-par.

  CHAPTER IX.

  Disaster At Temple Colney.

  I.

  Three days have passed.

  That somewhat pale and haggard-looking
young man striding, a basketbeneath his arm, up the main street of Temple Colney is George. Thevillagers stop to stare after him; grin, and nudge into one anotherresponsive grins, at his curious mannerisms. He walks in the exactcentre of the roadway, as far as he can keep from passers-by on eitherside. Approached by anyone, he takes a wide circle to avoid that person.Sometimes a spasm as of fear will cross his face and he will violentlyshake the basket he carries. Always he walks with giant strides. Everymorning he shoots out of the inn where he is staying as though sped onthe blast of some ghostly current of air; every evening, returning, hegives the impression of gathering himself together on the threshold,then goes bolting in at whirlwind speed. He is a somewhat pale andhaggard young man.

  The villagers know him well. He is the young hairship inventor who hasa private sitting-room at the Colney Arms. Certain of them, agog to pryhis secret, followed him as he set out one day. They discovered nothing.For hours they followed; but he, glancing ever over his shoulder,pounded steadily on, mile upon mile--field, lane, high road, hill anddale. He never shook them off though he ran; they never brought himto standstill though indomitably they pursued. Towards evening theexhausted procession came thundering up the village street.

  It was a very pale and haggard young man that bolted into the ColneyArms that night.

  II.

  Three days had passed.