City and town life -- Fiction; Urban poor -- Fiction
Harry saw all this as they rode slowly on, in spite of the
pre-occupation of his thoughts, as he tried to nerve himself for the
task to come. Probably his brain was abnormally excited, and the
pictures of the panorama passing the cab-window seemed to force
themselves upon him. Now he was apparently interested in the places
where the ship-chandlers hung out their wares; the next minute, the gate
of a dock, with its scores of labourers waiting for a job, took his
attention; or low public-houses and beer-shops, with their lounging
knots of customers, half labourer, half sailor, or lighterman, with the
inevitable brazen, high-cheeked, muscular woman. A little farther on,
and he would be grazing at a clump of masts rising from behind high
walls. Then came comparatively decent dwellings with a vast display of
green paint, and to the doors brass knockers of the most dazzling
lustre. In nearly every parlour-window he saw was a parrot of grey or
gaudy hue swinging or climbing about. In front of more than one house
were oyster forts with sham cannon; while others again had flagstaff's
rigged up with halyards, vane, and pennant, looking down upon the
bruised figure-head of a ship which ornamented the neighbour's garden.
Maritime population with maritime tastes, the houses of trading skippers
and mates of small vessels. Sea-chests could be seen in baxrows at
every turn, along with the big bolster-like bag that forms the orthodox
portmanteau for a sailor's kit. Here and there he passed, in full
long-shore togs, the dwellers in the sea-savouring houses--passing along
the pavement with one eye to windward, and the true nautical roll which
told of sea-legs brought ashore.
On still, with the rattling of the wretched cab and its jangling windows
seeming to form a tune which repeated itself ever to his ears. The man,
from watching his companion, had taken to drumming the top of the door
with his hard fingers, blackened and stained with tar, while from time
to time he thrust out his head to give some direction or another to the
driver, whose eccentric course seemed as if it would never end.
At last, though, the guide seemed to grow excited, giving his orders
more frequently, the cab being slowly driven in and out of rugged,
tortuous lanes, from one of which it had to back out, so as to give
place to a waggon laden with ships' spars and cables. Narrow ways
seemed the rule, and down these the cab went jolting, till the driver
drew up short at the end of a wretched alley.
Here the guide dismounted.
"Can't get no furrer with cabs here, sir," he said; "we must walk the
rest on it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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