“Some of ’em goes like that,” said the skipper. “I’ve seen it afore. Just as you think they’re pulling round they slip their cable.”
“We must keep him warm,” said the mate. “I don’t see as we can do any more.”
“We’ll get under weigh again,” said the other; and pausing to heap some more clothes over the sailor he went on deck, followed by the mate; and in a short time the Swallow was once more moving through the water. Then the skipper, leaving the mate at the helm, went below.
Half an hour passed.
“Go and see what you can make of him,” said the skipper as he re-appeared and took the helm. “He keeps coming round a bit, and then just drifts back. Seems like as if he can’t hook on to life. Don’t seem to take no interest in it.”
The mate obeyed in silence; and for the remainder of the day the two men relieved each other at the bedside of the sailor. Towards evening, as they were entering the river which runs up to Littleport, he made decided progress under the skipper’s ministrations; and the latter thrust his huge head up the hatchway and grinned in excusable triumph at the mate as he imparted the news. Then he suddenly remembered himself and the smile faded. The light, too, faded from the mate’s face.
“‘Bout that mutiny and attempted murder,” said the skipper, and paused as though waiting for the mate to contradict or qualify the terms, but he made no reply.
“I give you in charge as soon as we get to port,” continued the other. “Soon as the ship’s berthed, you go below.”
“Ay, ay,” said the mate, but without looking at him.
“Nice thing it’ll be for your wife,” said the skipper sternly. “You’ll get no mercy from me.”
“I don’t expect none,” said the mate huskily. “What I’ve done I’ll stand to.”
The reply on the skipper’s lips merged into a grunt, and he went below. The sailor was asleep, and breathing gently and regularly; and after regarding him for some time the watcher returned to the deck and busied himself with certain small duties preparatory to landing.
Slowly the light faded out of the sky, and the banks of the river grew indistinct; and one by one the lights of Littleport came into view as they rounded the last bend of the river, and saw the little town lying behind its veil of masts and rigging. The skipper came aft and took the helm from the mate, and looked at him out of the corner of his eye, as he stood silently waiting with his hands by his side.
“Take in sail,” said the skipper shortly; and leaving the helm a bit, ran to assist him. Five minutes later the Swallow was alongside of the wharf, and then, everything made fast and snug, the two men turned and faced each other.
“Go below,” said the skipper sternly. The mate walked off. “And take care of that chap. I’m going ashore. If anybody asks you about these scratches, I got ’em in a row down Wapping — D’ye hear?”
The mate heard, but there was a thickness in his throat which prevented him from replying promptly. By the time he had recovered his voice the other had disappeared over the edge of the wharf, and the sound of his retreating footsteps rang over the cobblestone quay. The mate in a bewildered fashion stood for a short time motionless; then he turned, and drawing a deep breath, went below.
THE GREY PARROT
The Chief Engineer and the Third sat at tea on the S.S. Curlew in the East India Docks. The small and not over-clean steward having placed everything he could think of upon the table, and then added everything the Chief could think of, had assiduously poured out two cups of tea and withdraw by request. The two men ate steadily, conversing between bites, and interrupted occasionally by a hoarse and sepulchral voice, the owner of which, being much exercised by the sight of the food, asked for it, prettily at first, and afterwards in a way which at least compelled attention.
“That’s pretty good for a parrot,” said the Third critically. “Seems to know what he’s saying too. No, don’t give it anything. It’ll stop if you do.”
“There’s no pleasure to me in listening to coarse language,” said the Chief with dignity.
He absently dipped a piece of bread and butter in the Third’s tea, and losing it chased it round and round the bottom of the cup with his finger, the Third regarding the operation with an interest and emotion which he was at first unable to understand.
“You’d better pour yourself out another cup,” he said thoughtfully as he caught the Third’s eye.
“I’m going to,” said the other dryly.
“The man I bought it of,” said the Chief, giving the bird the sop, “said that it was a perfectly respectable parrot and wouldn’t know a bad word if it heard it. I hardly like to give it to my wife now.”
“It’s no good being too particular,” said the Third, regarding the other with an ill-concealed grin, “that’s the worst of all you young married fellows. Seem to think your wife has got to be wrapped up in brown paper. Ten chances to one she’ll be amused.”
The Chief shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “I bought the bird to be company for her,” he said slowly, “she’ll be very lonesome without me, Rogers.”
“How do you know?” inquired the other.
“She said so,” was the reply.
“When you’ve been married as long as I have,” said the Third, who having been married some fifteen years felt that their usual positions were somewhat reversed, “you’ll know that generally speaking they’re glad to get rid of you.”
“What for?” demanded the Chief in a voice that Othello might have envied.
“Well, you get in the way a bit,” said Rogers with secret enjoyment, “you see you upset the arrangements. House-cleaning and all that sort of thing get interrupted. They’re glad to see you back at first, and then glad to see the back of you.”
“There’s wives and wives,” said the bridegroom tenderly.
“And mine’s good one,” said the Third, “registered A 1 at Lloyds’, but she don’t worry about me going away. Your Wife’s thirty years younger than you, isn’t she?”
“Twenty-five,” corrected the other shortly. “You see what I’m afraid of is, that she’ll get too much attention.”
“Well, women like that,” remarked the Third.
“But I don’t, damn it,” cried the Chief hotly. “When I think of it I get hot all over. Boiling hot.”
“That won’t last,” said the other reassuringly, “you won’t care twopence this time next year.”
“We’re not all alike,” growled the Chief, “some of us have got finer feelings than others have. I saw the chap next door looking at her as we passed him this morning.”
“Lor’,” said the Third
“I don’t want any of your damned impudence,” said the Chief sharply. “He put his hat on straighter when he passed us. What do you think of that?”
“Can’t say,” replied the other with commendable gravity, “it might mean anything.”
“If he has any of his nonsense while I’m away I’ll break his neck,” said the Chief passionately. “I shall know of it.”
The other raised his eyebrows.
“I’ve asked the landlady to keep her eyes open a bit,” said the Chief. “My wife was brought up in the country and she’s very young and simple, so that it is quite right and proper for her to have a motherly old body to look after her.”
“Told your wife?” queried Rogers.
“No,” said the other. “Fact is, I’ve got an idea about that parrot. I’m going to tell her it’s a magic bird, and will tell me everything she does while I’m away. Anything the landlady tells me I shall tell her I got from the parrot. For one thing, I don’t want her to go out after seven of an evening, and she’s promised me she won’t. If she does I shall know, and pretend that I know through the parrot. What do you think of it?”
“Think of it?” said the Third, staring at him. “Think of it? Fancy a man telling a grown-up woman a yarn like that!”
“She believes in warnings and death-watches, and all that sort of thing,” said
the Chief, “so why shouldn’t she?”
“Well, you’ll know whether she believes in it or not when you come back,” said Rogers, “and it’ll be a great pity, because it’s a beautiful talker.”
“What do you mean?” said the other.
“I mean it’ll get its little neck wrung,” said the Third.
“Well, we’ll see,” said Gannett. “I shall know what to think if it does die.”
“I shall never see that bird again,” said Rogers, shaking his head as the Chief took up the cage and handed it to the steward, who was to accompany him home with it.
The couple left the ship and proceeded down the East India Dock Road side by side, the only incident being a hot argument between a constable and the engineer as to whether he could or could not be held responsible for the language in which the parrot saw fit to indulge when the steward happened to drop it.
The engineer took the cage at his door, and, not without some misgivings, took it upstairs into the parlour and set it on the table. Mrs. Gannett, a simple-looking woman, with sleepy brown eyes and a docile manner, clapped her hands with joy.
“Isn’t it a beauty?” said Mr. Gannett, looking at it; “I bought it to be company for you while I’m away.”
“You’re too good to me, Jem,” said his wife. She walked all round the cage admiring it, and the parrot, which was of a hugely suspicious and nervous disposition, having had boys at its last place, turning with her. After she had walked round him five times he got sick of it, and in a simple sailorly fashion said so.
“Oh, Jem,” said his wife.
“It’s a beautiful talker,” said Gannett hastily, “and it’s so clever that it picks up everything it hears, but it’ll soon forget it.”
“It looks as though it knows what you are saying,” said his wife. “Just look at it, the artful thing.”
The opportunity was too good to be missed, and in a few straightforward lies the engineer acquainted Mrs. Gannett of the miraculous powers with which he had chosen to endow it.
“But you don’t believe it?” said his wife, staring at him open-mouthed.
“I do,” said the engineer firmly.
“But how can it know what I’m doing when I’m away?” persisted Mrs. Gannett.
“Ah, that’s its secret,” said the engineer; “a good many people would like to know that, but nobody has found out yet. It’s a magic bird, and when you’ve said that you’ve said all there is to say about it.”
Mrs. Gannett, wrinkling her forehead, eyed the marvellous bird curiously.
“You’ll find it’s quite true,” said Gannett; “when I come back that bird’ll be able to tell me how you’ve been and all about you. Everything you’ve done during my absence.”
“Good gracious,” said the astonished Mrs. Gannett.
“If you stay out after seven of an evening, or do anything else that I shouldn’t like, that bird’ll tell me,” continued the engineer impressively. “It’ll tell me who comes to see you, and in fact it will tell me everything you do while I’m away.”
“Well, it won’t have anything bad to tell of me,” said Mrs. Gannett composedly, “unless it tells lies.”
“It can’t tell lies,” said her husband confidently, “and now, if you go and put your bonnet on, we’ll drop in at the theatre for half an hour.”
It was a prophetic utterance, for he made such a fuss over the man next to his wife, offering her his opera-glasses, that they left, at the urgent request of the management, in almost exactly that space of time.
“You’d better carry me about in a band-box,” said Mrs. Gannett wearily as the outraged engineer stalked home beside her. “What harm was the man doing?”
“You must have given him some encouragement,” said Mr. Gannett fiercely— “made eyes at him or something. A man wouldn’t offer to lend a lady his opera-glasses without.”
Mrs. Gannett tossed her head — and that so decidedly, that a passing stranger turned his head and looked at her. Mr. Gannett accelerated his pace, and taking his wife’s arm, led her swiftly home with a passion too great for words.
By the morning his anger had evaporated, but his misgivings remained. He left after breakfast for the Curlew, which was to sail in the afternoon, leaving behind him copious instructions, by following which his wife would be enabled to come down and see him off with the minimum exposure of her fatal charms.
Left to herself Mrs. Gannett dusted the room, until coming to the parrot’s cage she put down the duster and eyed its eerie occupant curiously, She fancied that she saw an evil glitter in the creature’s eye, and the knowing way in which it drew the film over it was as near an approach to a wink as a bird could get.
She was still looking at it when there was a knock at the door, and a bright little woman — rather smartly dressed — bustled into the room, and greeted her effusively.
“I just come to see you, my dear, because I thought a little outing would do me good,” she said briskly; “and if you’ve no objection I’ll come down to the docks with you to see the boat off.”
Mrs. Gannett assented readily. It would ease the engineer’s mind, she thought, if he saw her with a chaperon.
“Nice bird,” said Mrs. Cluffins, mechanically, bringing her parasol to the charge.
“Don’t do that,” said her friend hastily.
“Why not?” said the other.
“Language!” said Mrs. Gannett solemnly.
“Well, I must do something to it,” said Mrs. Cluffins restlessly.
She held the parasol near the cage and suddenly opened it. It was a flaming scarlet, and for the moment the shock took the parrot’s breath away.
“He don’t mind that,” said Mrs. Gannett.
The parrot, hopping to the farthest corner of the bottom of his cage, said something feebly. Finding that nothing dreadful happened, he repeated his remark somewhat more boldly, and, being convinced after all that the apparition was quite harmless and that he had displayed his craven spirit for nothing, hopped back on his perch and raved wickedly.
“If that was my bird,” said Mrs. Cluflins, almost as scarlet as her parasol, “I should wring its neck.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Gannett solemnly. And having quieted the bird by throwing a cloth over its cage, she explained its properties.
“What!” said Mrs. Cluffins, unable to sit still in her chair. “You mean to tell me your husband said that!”
Mrs. Gannett nodded, “He’s awfully jealous of me,” she said with a slight simper.
“I wish he was my husband,” said Mrs. Cluflins in a thin, hard voice. “I wish C. would talk to me like that. I wish somebody would try and persuade C. to talk to me like that.”
“It shows he’s fond of me,” said Mrs. Gannett, looking down.
Mrs. Cluffins jumped up and snatched the cover off the cage; endeavoured, but in vain, to get the parasol through the bars.
“And you believe that rubbish!” she said scathingly. “Bosh, you wretch!”
“I don’t believe it,” said her friend, taking her gently away and covering the cage hastily just as the bird was recovering, “but I let him think I do.”
“I call it an outrage,” said Mrs. Cluffins, waving the parasol wildly. “I never heard of such a thing; I’d like to give Mr. Gannett a piece of my mind. Just about half an hour of it He wouldn’t be the same man afterwards — I’d parrot him.”
Mrs. Gannett, soothing her agitated friend as well as she was able, led her gently to a chair and removed her bonnet, and finding that complete recovery was impossible while the parrot remained in the room, took that wonder-working bird outside.
By the time they had reached the docks and boarded the Curlew Mrs. Cluffins had quite recovered her spirits. She roamed about the steamer asking questions, which savoured more of idle curiosity than a genuine thirst for knowledge, and was at no pains to conceal her opinion of those who were unable to furnish her with satisfactory replies.
“I shall think of you every day,
Jem,” said Mrs. Gannett tenderly.
“I shall think of you every minute,” said the engineer reproachfully.
He sighed gently and gazed in a scandalised fashion at Mrs. Cluflins, who was carrying on a desperate flirtation with one of the apprentices.
“She’s very light-hearted,” said his wife, following the direction of his eyes.
“She is,” said Mr. Gannett curtly, as the unconscious Mrs. Cluffins shut her parasol and rapped the apprentice playfully with the handle. “She seems to be on very good terms with Jenkins, laughing and carrying on. I don’t suppose she’s ever seen him before.”
“Poor young things,” said Mrs. Cluflins solemnly, as she came up to them. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Gannett; I’ll look after her and keep her from moping.”
“You’re very kind,” said the engineer slowly.
“We’ll have a jolly time,” said Mrs. Cluflins. “I often wish my husband was a seafaring man. A wife does have more freedom, doesn’t she?”
“More what?” inquired Mr. Gannett huskily.
“More freedom,” said Mrs. Cluflins gravely. “I always envy sailors’ wives. They can do as they like. No husband to look after them for nine or ten months in the year.”
Before the unhappy engineer could put his indignant thoughts into words there was a warning cry from the gangway, and, with a hasty farewell, he hurried below. The visitors went ashore, the gangway was shipped, and in response to the clang of the telegraph, the Curlew drifted slowly away from the quay and headed for the spring bridge slowly opening in front of her.
The two ladies hurried to the pier-head and watched the steamer down the river until a bend hid it from view. Then Mrs. Gannett, with a sensation of having lost something, due, so her friend assured her, to the want of a cup of tea, went slowly back to her lonely home.
In the period of grass widowhood which ensued, Mrs. Cluffins’ visits formed almost the sole relief to the bare monotony of existence. As a companion the parrot was an utter failure, its language being so irredeemably bad that it spent most of its time in the spare room with a cloth over its cage, wondering when the days were going to lengthen a bit. Mrs. Cluffins suggested selling it, but her friend repelled the suggestion with horror, and refused to entertain it at any price, even that of the publican at the corner, who had heard of the bird’s command of language, and was bent upon buying it.
Works of W. W. Jacobs Page 146
