



Produced by David Widger




SAILORS' KNOTS

By W.W. Jacobs


1909



DESERTED


"Sailormen ain't wot you might call dandyfied as a rule," said the night-
watchman, who had just had a passage of arms with a lighterman and been
advised to let somebody else wash him and make a good job of it; "they've
got too much sense.  They leave dressing up and making eyesores of
theirselves to men wot 'ave never smelt salt water; men wot drift up and
down the river in lighters and get in everybody's way."

He glanced fiercely at the retreating figure of the lighterman, and,
turning a deaf ear to a request for a lock of his hair to patch a
favorite doormat with, resumed with much vigor his task of sweeping up
the litter.

The most dressy sailorman I ever knew, he continued, as he stood the
broom up in a corner and seated himself on a keg, was a young feller
named Rupert Brown.  His mother gave 'im the name of Rupert while his
father was away at sea, and when he came 'ome it was too late to alter
it.  All that a man could do he did do, and Mrs. Brown 'ad a black eye
till 'e went to sea agin.  She was a very obstinate woman, though--like
most of 'em--and a little over a year arterwards got pore old Brown three
months' hard by naming 'er next boy Roderick Alfonso.

Young Rupert was on a barge when I knew 'im fust, but he got tired of
always 'aving dirty hands arter a time, and went and enlisted as a
soldier.  I lost sight of 'im for a while, and then one evening he turned
up on furlough and come to see me.

O' course, by this time 'e was tired of soldiering, but wot upset 'im
more than anything was always 'aving to be dressed the same and not being
able to wear a collar and neck-tie.  He said that if it wasn't for the
sake of good old England, and the chance o' getting six months, he'd
desert.  I tried to give 'im good advice, and, if I'd only known 'ow I
was to be dragged into it, I'd ha' given 'im a lot more.

As it 'appened he deserted the very next arternoon.  He was in the Three
Widders at Aldgate, in the saloon bar--which is a place where you get a
penn'orth of ale in a glass and pay twopence for it--and, arter being
told by the barmaid that she had got one monkey at 'ome, he got into
conversation with another man wot was in there.

He was a big man with a black moustache and a red face, and 'is fingers
all smothered in di'mond rings.  He 'ad got on a gold watch-chain as
thick as a rope, and a scarf-pin the size of a large walnut, and he had
'ad a few words with the barmaid on 'is own account.  He seemed to take a
fancy to Rupert from the fust, and in a few minutes he 'ad given 'im a
big cigar out of a sealskin case and ordered 'im a glass of sherry wine.

[Illustration: He seemed to take a fancy to Rupert from the fust.]

"Have you ever thought o' going on the stage?" he ses, arter Rupert 'ad
told 'im of his dislike for the Army.

"No," ses Rupert, staring.

"You s'prise me," ses the big man; "you're wasting of your life by not
doing so."

"But I can't act," ses Rupert.

"Stuff and nonsense!" ses the big man.  "Don't tell me.  You've got an
actor's face.  I'm a manager myself, and I know.  I don't mind telling
you that I refused twenty-three men and forty-eight ladies only
yesterday."

"I wonder you don't drop down dead," ses the barmaid, lifting up 'is
glass to wipe down the counter.

The manager looked at her, and, arter she 'ad gone to talk to a gentleman
in the next bar wot was knocking double knocks on the counter with a pint
pot, he whispered to Rupert that she 'ad been one of them.

"She can't act a bit," he ses.  "Now, look 'ere; I'm a business man and
my time is valuable.  I don't know nothing, and I don't want to know
nothing; but, if a nice young feller, like yourself, for example, was
tired of the Army and wanted to escape, I've got one part left in my
company that 'ud suit 'im down to the ground."

"Wot about being reckernized?"  ses Rupert.

The manager winked at 'im.  "It's the part of a Zulu chief," he ses, in a
whisper.

Rupert started.  "But I should 'ave to black my face," he ses.

"A little," ses the manager; "but you'd soon get on to better parts--and
see wot a fine disguise it is."

He stood 'im two more glasses o' sherry wine, and, arter he' ad drunk
'em, Rupert gave way.  The manager patted 'im on the back, and said that
if he wasn't earning fifty pounds a week in a year's time he'd eat his
'ead; and the barmaid, wot 'ad come back agin, said it was the best thing
he could do with it, and she wondered he 'adn't thought of it afore.

They went out separate, as the manager said it would be better for them
not to be seen together, and Rupert, keeping about a dozen yards behind,
follered 'im down the Mile End Road.  By and by the manager stopped
outside a shop-window wot 'ad been boarded up and stuck all over with
savages dancing and killing white people and hunting elephants, and,
arter turning round and giving Rupert a nod, opened the door with a key
and went inside.

"That's all right," he ses, as Rupert follered