Bone Street/Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ILL-LUCK IS A FIEND
Limp and insensible, Jack dropped into the scuppers, his lame arm doubled under him. The skipper was at the wheel, and on seeing Jack, bawled out: “Below there. Below.” The mate and others immediately tumbled up, whilst the skipper turned over the wheel to the boatswain, hurrying to where the mate was supporting Jack. “Easy there,” said Black Jack, “I believe he has injured his arm,” and carefully feeling over the limbs, nodded his head.
“Gone above the elbow,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation shouted to the boatswain: “Swing her round for home, as quick as you can; lend a hand here, mate, we’ll have him below.” And very, very tenderly these two rough men carried Jack below, still unconscious. Into the cabin he was carried and laid on the skipper’s own bunk. They forced brandy between his clenched teeth, and gradually a convulsive shudder shook him; his lips began to draw in with pain.
“Easy now,” said Black Jack, “you’re all right.” But for a few minutes there was no recognition in Jack’s eyes. As the pain became more insistent Jack recovered full consciousness.
“Steady boy,” said the skipper, “try to bear it.” Jack nodded, biting his under lip as the skipper cut his jersey sleeve up to the shoulder, then passing his rough hands over the arm, finally found the broken part. Bidding Jack be of good courage, he reached for the medical book carried aboard all trawlers, and read up the setting of a fracture.
Then going to the medicine chest, brought out splints and bandages, and with a cheery word, set the limb to the best of his ability. This done the skipper went to the engine-room.
“Drive her like hell,” he said to the engineer, relating what had happened, and with full steam ahead they drove for home, the skipper realising that in view of Jack’s previous accident, the hospital was the best place for him.
It was many hours later before Hull was reached, where they surrendered Jack to the hospital authorities, and made their way to dock to report the accident, and engage another cook.
On admission to the hospital ward, the surgeon examined Jack’s arm, with a hand above and another below the fracture, gently twisting it to his satisfaction.
To Jack the pain was intense. At last it was set and in splints again, but poor Jack had fainted, his overtaxed strength giving out.
When he did awake he imagined himself back in Beckton, when suddenly recollection returned, and sadly he thought “another job gone.” But the nurse observing his movements, came up and bade him try to sleep. Eventually he slept again, and did not awake till next morning.
On the following day the surgeon again visited him, and after making a few enquiries said:
“That’s a nasty arm to go to sea with, it’s not worth risking yourself on a trawler with an arm like that.”
Jack smiled grimly.
“It was the sea or starve, doctor,” he replied, “and I didn’t fancy starving.”
“Haven’t you any relatives?” asked the surgeon.
“None that I know of,” was the reply.
“No friends either?” came the further question.
“A few,” said Jack, “but I am not going to sponge on them.”
“All right,” said the surgeon. “Please yourself about that, but you should never go to sea again. You may have managed before this last accident, and you might even work ashore in the future, but if you wish to keep that arm, you mustn’t risk another smash,” with which news he left Jack.
The skipper came that morning to make enquiries about Jack, and on being informed of the doctor’s verdict, showed such genuine regret that a lump came into Jack’s eyes.
“Hell,” said the skipper, “it’s a hard world for some folks; never mind, lad, perhaps something better will turn up, but I’m afraid you will never ship on the ‘Wild Boar’ again.”
Jack was allowed to leave the hospital in a few days, but had to attend for many weeks as an outpatient, until the arm was set. Again he was warned by the surgeon not to overwork it, or the result would be serious.
Wearily he started the rounds of searching for work. Day after day he tramped round the town, willing to take anything. January found him still unemployed, with only five shillings and ninepence in his pocket to start the new year with; gladly would he have accepted any kind of work, but Jack could see absolutely no prospect whatever.
Ned and Mrs. Hampton could see the look of hopeless despair on his face, and gave him their sympathy, telling him he was welcome to stay until he obtained work, trying to make him feel he was one of themselves.
The idea of returning to the West Riding was constantly in Jack’s mind. Surely, he thought, “I would be better in Beckton than a strange place.”
He had almost definitely decided on returning there, when one day he noticed a newspaper advertisement, “Wanted a storekeeper at Grimsby,” by a fishing firm, and decided to apply for the job.
Informing Mrs. Hampton where he was going, he set off at seven next morning, and taking the ferry arrived at Grimsby by early forenoon.
The post was filled. Jack realised he had been foolish to apply dressed as he was. True, he thought, his experience on the trawler would commend him for the job. But no use.
At noon he stood despondently outside the dock gates, wondering should he return to Hull, or make his way to Beckton.
He might stand a chance on the night turn; very little money was left, but he had tramped it once and could again. He couldn’t sponge on the Hamptons any longer, so deciding to make Beckton his goal, he purchased notepaper, and going into a post office, wrote the following letter to Mrs. Hampton:—
Dear Mrs. Hampton,—
That job was taken when I arrived at Grimsby, so I have decided to make my way to Beckton. I want to thank you both for your kindness, and, believe me, I appreciate your worth so much that I feel I cannot stay longer, for so far as I can see there is no immediate prospect of obtaining work, which means you having to keep me if I return, so I think it is best to go. I will write you again later, again thanking you,
- Yours gratefully,
- John Newcome Bradley.
Folding and posting the letter, Jack enquired the direction for the main road, and resolutely started on his seventy-mile journey. Fortunately the weather was dry, and although there was a slight frost, he steadily plodded on, determined to continue walking till ten o’clock.
At a few minutes to ten, Jack noticed a farm-house, and decided that were it possible he would “bed down” there for the night.
The farm-house was well back from the road, and between the road and the house Jack noticed several outbuildings. Treading lightly through the gate, and seeing a barn partly filled with hay, he climbed in, and burrowing himself down, slept. Not soundly it is true, but he was comfortably warm, and in any case, paying for a bed was out of the question.
Wakening about five in the morning, he cautiously left the barn and continued his journey down the road, but feeling dirty and unkempt after a night amongst the hay, he took the first opportunity at a wayside well to clean himself, and after washing hands and face, dried himself as well as he could on a pocket handkerchief, and continued on his way.
After walking for some considerable time, Jack commenced to realise he had missed breakfast, such an empty, sinking feeling had possession of him. Plodding on in the hope of finding a shop or somewhere at which he could purchase food, he eventually arrived at a village. Looking round he found a small shop, and enquiring what they had eatable to sell, finally purchased a currant cake out of his scanty store of money. Deciding to get out of the village before eating it, walking on for another half-mile, he came across another farm-house, with a convenient wall near by. Sitting down, Jack pulled out his tea-cake, and commenced to devour it, intending to ask for a drink of water at the farm-house.
The meagre breakfast almost gone, Jack sat wishing a fairy godmother or someone equally comforting would send another tea-cake along, when he heard a footstep immediately behind him, and on turning round found an old man leaning on a stick, looking enquiringly at him.
He was a tall, austere man, with an expression that somehow reminded Jack of his old schoolmaster, and returning glance for glance, Jack thought, “What a fine old chap,” and indeed he was a striking figure. Tall, erect, without an ounce of superfluous flesh, aye, and really handsome. A grey beard covered the mouth, the eyes were blue and piercing—cold eyes, thought Jack. A long, hooked nose perhaps added to the sternness of the face.
“Well, young man,” he asked, “hungry?”
“Rather,” answered Jack, “but I can manage for a bit now, thank you.”
“Where are you bound for?” asked the old man.
“Beckton,” was the reply.
“Beckton! that’s a long way, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s a tidy step, but I’ll get there,” said Jack.
He got up and was making his way to the farm, when the old man stopped him with another question.
“Where are you going now?”
“I thought of asking for a drink of water at the farm,” was Jack’s reply, “and then get on my way.”
The old man looked searchingly at him for a few minutes, and said, “Come on.” He marched through the gate into the farm-yard, with Jack following behind. The house was built with the back door facing the road, and walking straight into the kitchen bade Jack follow him.
Inside the kitchen everything was comfortable and cheery. A large open fire blazed a welcome, and a woman, evidently a cook or housekeeper, was preparing breakfast. Addressing the woman the old man said, “Give this lad some breakfast,” and then to Jack, “Sit down.”
Jack commenced to demur, not feeling like accepting food as a beggar would. “I only wanted a drink of water,” he commenced, but the old man’s eyes flashed.
“Sit down,” he said, commandingly this time. “And do as you are told.”
At the second time of asking Jack did as he was told, and curiously enough the old man’s dominating way did not anger him.
The farmer without any more to do departed through another door, the woman carrying his breakfast to him on a tray, after which she placed some food before Jack.
What a breakfast it was to a hungry, growing youth! Real home-fed ham and eggs; and didn’t Jack do justice to them, the cook meanwhile keeping up a flow of talk.
“My word,” she said, “I’ve never known the master to do this before.”
“Do what?” asked Jack.
“Bring a stranger in to feed him,” she replied. “There’s hundreds of tramps pass here, but he’s never allowed one even in the yard before; perhaps it’s because you’re young.”
Breakfast over, the old man re-entered the kitchen.
“Had enough?” he questioned.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Jack, making to the outer door.
The old man followed him, and while his eyes were measuring Jack, the latter was looking round him with interest noticing the appearance of prosperity about the farm.
The adjacent barns all appeared to be well filled; several stacks of hay and straw were visible, and the usual poultry were rummaging round, while a number of pigs were grunting and nosing in the yard.
Jack heaved a sigh, and turning to the farmer said, “Thank you very much, sir. This is a grand place after being in a town, and I am much obliged for your kindness.”
The old man looked at him, making no reply, though the keen old eyes gazed at him intently. He appeared about to speak, but instead walked away a few yards, then turned again as though going to speak again, but finally turned and commenced to go towards the gate, leaving nothing for Jack to do but follow him. Arriving at the road, the old man opened his lips to speak, but cut it short with a brief “Good morning.”
Jack felt himself dismissed, and once more murmuring his thanks, proceeded down the road, but for some unexplainable reason, this austere old man attracted him.
Looking back, Jack could discern his benefactor standing like a statue watching him down the road. Something moved him to sigh, made him wish for a place to call home, but he stiffened himself, feeling that whilst he may have interested the old man, it was probably nothing more than a passing interest.
The memory of that long tramp was always a nightmare to Jack, for owing to his small amount of money, he felt afraid of spending more than a copper at a time.
Usually, his meal consisted of a cake; meat, etc., being entirely absent from his dietary with just one exception, when twopence was spent on corned-meat at Doncaster.
Beckton was reached on the second day after leaving Grimsby, when again Jack was faced with another problem as to whether he should visit his old friend Marthalice. He knew she would expect him to, but realising that if he did, he would be placed in exactly the same position as he was with the Hamptons, decided to hide himself from his friends until work had been obtained, intending then to seek them out, and renew the friendship without sacrificing his independence.
If he failed to win through there were no relations to care, but Jack shuddered at the thought of what failure might mean. Only the other day, he had read of a man dying from hunger and exposure. He had never entirely been without food, although many times he had been insufficiently fed, but being short of food is very much different from being without.
Musing thus he continued walking, and at last stood on the outskirts of Beckton, and from the top of the hill looked down into the valley at the pall of smoke overhanging the city.
Hundreds of mill chimneys could be seen, pouring out smoke black and thick, almost obscuring the sun’s rays. Below the mill chimneys were thousands of workers’ cottages, contributing their share to the general gloom. The clock tower of the Town Hall was just distinguishable in the centre of the basin-like valley, while clustered round it within a radius of a quarter of a mile were the huge warehouses, which Jack knew from experience were full to overflowing with the finest cloth the world produces.
Beautiful blue serges, of which Beckton is justly proud, produced from a silky merino wool grown in Australia. Mohair lustres which shimmer and shine in the light like the rainbow’s hues. Lovely cloths in ranges of pattern designed to please the most fastidious tastes.
From these same warehouses went the commercial men, carrying those woven worsted threads which bind Beckton to every country in the world.
Jack made his way into the town, and decided that a cheap lodging-house would have to suffice, as he must economise on his lean remaining store of money. So he proceeded direct to Halfmoon Road, where many times he had observed a huge barrack-like building, on the outside of which was a notice informing travellers that this was the “Halfmoon Model Lodging-House.” Usually “The Model” was sufficient, and certainly residents near knew it as such.
Jack hesitated before entering, for he had heard all sorts of stories about lodging-houses, but needs must, so into the main entrance he went. To the left of the door was a small office which brought back memories of the pennyhole at Bramfitt’s; and inside the office sat a man in an arm-chair, with his feet propped up on a desk, smoking a clay pipe, and reading the newspaper. This was the deputy. Jack knocked at the window, the man raised himself from the chair and pulling up the window, said gruffly: “Well, what do you want?”
“Can I have a bedroom, please?” asked Jack.
Before answering the deputy carefully scrutinised him, and the scrutiny was returned by Jack with interest. He saw before him a big burly fellow, with the jaw of a prize fighter, shirt open at the throat, teeth yellow and broken, one huge cauliflower ear, and the other disfigured. The nose had been slightly pushed on one side, and withal he appeared a man well able to look after himself.
After a good look at Jack he knocked at a door leading out of the office, calling: “Here’s a chap wants a bedroom.” This brought a woman bustling into the office. She was the manageress, and the most unprepossessing female Jack had ever seen.
She peered at Jack through her puffy eyes, and asked, “What can you pay? A cubicle is sixpence a night, dormitory bed fourpence a night.”
Jack decided to pay the smaller amount, and as it was now Friday, a shilling secured his bed till Monday. After taking the money the woman’s part was done, and she retired into the other room. Jack was given three small brass discs by the deputy, each bearing the same number, and was instructed to deliver up one of these each night when going to bed. Jack fully expected the deputy to show him the way about, but after delivering the instruction he shut the window, leaving no doubt in Jack’s mind that he must become acquainted with the place on his own.
Leaving the window, Jack observed a door leading out of the lime-washed hallway, and upon opening it, saw a large stove at one end of the room something like his galley stove, but much larger. Frying-pans were hung on the wall unwashed, just as they had been used, while three long tables and a form each side occupied the remainder of the room. The floor was bare and sanded, and a number of small lockers were affixed to one side of the wall, otherwise the limewashed walls were entirely bare. On one table were small piles of basins turned upside down, as though to drain, while on the stove was a huge kettle of boiling water.
The place was empty, and Jack looking round determined to have a locker, so immediately securing one, he obtained a key, and upon opening it, said to himself, “That needs a wash”; so hunting round he found a scrubbing brush and dishcloth, straightway washing the locker clean. Having done this he decided to find his bed; so proceeding up the stone staircase, he eventually arrived at the top floor where the beds were situated, and opening the door saw the beds. Ugh! Bare wood floors, not a chair in the room, windows all closed, while they could scarcely be seen through for dirt. Up above were the rafters of the roof, which, like the walls, had been lime-washed some long time ago.
The sight of the room made Jack feel sick, for although poor, up to now he had always managed to preserve bodily cleanliness; but searching among the beds he found the one bearing his number. Not too many clothes, and certainly not clean. He wondered were the beds verminous, and learned that night that his fears were only too well founded.
“What a change from Mrs. Hampton’s,” he thought. “My God, I must get work and escape this,” and making his way downstairs he found another room. This was the common room for the lodgers, with again bare white walls, tables, forms, and a flagged sanded floor. At one end of the room was a huge fireplace, with a coke fire burning, while half of a railway waggon wheel served for a fender. The poker was securely fastened to this by a chain as a precautionary measure. Yellow gas lights illuminated the room, and sprawled about were several miserable specimens of humanity. Unclean, unshaved, their clothing in tatters, boots broken and tied with string. Tramps. Derelicts. Employable once, but unemployable now, content to lounge their way through life. Tramping. Begging. A lodging-house when they could get fourpence. A casual ward when they could not. Now sleeping in a barn; now under a hedge, they finally end their lives. Where? Occasionally one reads of a man, apparently a tramp, suffocated in a limekiln. Sometimes dead from exposure. Who knows what happens to them? Who cares?
Jack felt he would rather sleep under the stars than mingle with that crowd, but he was not desirous of getting in the hands of the police, and the law of the land takes hold of you should you be found sleeping out.
Hunger overtaking him, he decided to go out and purchase some food. Many times in his earlier days he had witnessed the men from the same lodging-house making their purchases, so he knew exactly where to go.
The shop was almost opposite, small, and not too clean. A small window filled with loaves, pale-looking pastry, strings of polony, black pudding, and other cooked meats.
A loaf, twopence halfpenny; a quarter of a pound of dripping, three-halfpence; a pennyworth each of tea and sugar. And no more.
Returning to the lodging-house, he went to the kitchen, where he found several men who looked like navvies preparing their teas, while some of the lodgers he had previously seen in the other room were lounging before the stove. Brewing himself some tea, he next proceeded to make toast. The only crockery available were a few plates and the basins Jack had noticed when first entering the place, so using a basin for a tea cup, he sat down to the table with the other men, while the loungers eyed them enviously.
Jack observed that as they nearly finished their tea, the loungers were gradually edging nearer, and finishing the toast, he was just setting his basin down on the table when it was snatched out of his hands by one of the loafers. Jack was astonished, but the other took no notice, and poured boiling water on the leaves remaining in the basin, then going into a corner pulled some bread out of his pocket and commenced to eat.
The navvy seated next to Jack, noticing his astonishment, said, “Never seen that before, lad?”
“No,” replied Jack.
“Then watch,” said the navvy, who was having a bloater for tea. He had nearly finished, only the head and backbone remaining, when Jack noticed two men edge close up to the table. The navvy pushing the plate away from him, both made a dash for the trophy, their heads banging together in their desire to capture it, and while one got the plate, the other got the basin.
Tea over, the navvy and Jack settled down away from them, the former remarking to Jack, “I reckon you’ve never lived in a common lodging-house before, lad.” Jack confessed that he had not entered one until that day.
“I thought not,” said the other. “Well, take your shirt off before you get into bed, or you’ll find some crumbs on to-morrow morning that’ll be difficult to get rid of.”
“Crumbs?” said Jack.
“Yes,” replied the other, “live crumbs.”
Jack nodded, thanking him for the advice, and, locking up the remainder of his food, went out, to renew his acquaintance with his native town.
First of all, he visited the free library to look over the advertisements, after which he walked aimlessly round the town. He was now beginning to feel tired and in need of sleep, so at nine o’clock he returned to the lodging-house. The common-room was filled with a motley crowd, and Jack, seating himself in a corner, watched the company.
Never had he seen such a collection of men. Hawkers, travelling tinkers, itinerant musicians, pedlars, cadgers, and tramps, there appeared to be representatives of all the scum of the earth; the only apparent honest ones were a sprinkling of navvies, who were easily distinguishable by reason of their clay-soiled trousers and boots, the former hitched up below the knees by straps.
A babel of conversation was being carried on in almost every kind of dialect. Jack was amazed. Cadgers were relating their day’s experience to each other, and exchanging “good lays,” while near the fire was a man busily engaged weaving wire into gridirons, toasting forks, etc.
After sitting some time Jack felt sleepy, so taking his check to the office went up to the bleak dormitory, and following the advice given him by the navvy to divest himself of all underclothing, crept into bed, shivering between the cold, soiled sheets.
The realisation that the insects were busy kept him awake for a while; but mercifully, fatigue forced him to sleep; uneasily it is true, but nevertheless asleep and dead to the troubles of life.