Africa -- Fiction; Businessmen -- Fiction; Crime -- England -- Fiction; Criminals -- England -- Fiction
"Jim Hudson as was, sir, he was my husband, the bo'sun for many a year
o' your ship the _Black Eagle_. He went out to try and earn a bit for
me and the child, sir, but he's dead o' fever, poor dear, and lying in
Bonny river, wi' a cannon ball at his feet, as the carpenter himself
told me who sewed him up, and I wish I was dead and with him, so I do."
She began sobbing in her shawl and moaning, while the child, suddenly
awakened by the sound, rubbed its eyes with its wrinkled mottled hands,
and then proceeded to take stock of Mr. Girdlestone and his office with
the critical philosophy of infancy.
"Calm yourself, my good woman, calm yourself," said the senior partner.
He perceived that the evil prophesied by his son had come upon him, and
he made a mental note of this fresh instance of Ezra's powers of
foresight.
"It was hard, so it was," said Mrs. Hudson, drying her eyes, but still
giving vent to an occasional tempestuous sob. "I heard as the _Black
Eagle_ was comin' up the river, so I spent all I had in my pocket in
makin' Jim a nice little supper--ham an' eggs, which was always his
favourite, an' a pint o' bitter, an' a quartern o' whiskey that he could
take hot after, bein' naturally o' a cold turn, and him comin' from a
warm country, too. Then out I goes, and down the river, until I sees
the _Black Eagle_ a-comin' up wi' a tug in front of her. Well I knowed
the two streaks o' white paint, let alone the screechin' o' the parrots
which I could hear from the bank. I could see the heads o' some of the
men peepin' over the side, so I waves my handkercher, and one o' them he
waves back. 'Trust Jim for knowin' his little wife,' says I, proud like
to myself, and I runs round to where I knew as they'd dock her.
What with me being that excited that I couldn't rightly see where I was
going, and what with the crowd, for the men was comin' from work, I
didn't get there till the ship was alongside. Then I jumps aboard, and
the first man I seed was Sandy McPherson, who I knowed when we lived in
Binnacle Lane. 'Where's Jim?' I cried, running forward, eager like, to
the forecastle, but he caught me by the arm as I passed him.
'Steady, lass, steady!' Then I looked up at him, and his face was very
grave, and my knees got kind o' weak. 'Where's Jim?' says I.
'Don't ask,' says he. 'Where is he, Sandy?' I screeches; and then,
'Don't say the word, Sandy, don't you say it.' But, Lor' bless ye, sir,
it didn't much matter what he said nor what he didn't, for I knowed all,
an' down I flops on the deck in a dead faint. The mate, he took me home
in a cab, and when I come to there was the supper lying, sir, and the
beer, and the things a-shinin', and all so cosy, an' the child askin'
where her father was, for I told her he'd bring her some things from
Africa. Then, to think of him a-lyin' dead in Bonny river, why, sir, it
nigh broke my heart."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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