The Yarn of Old Harbour TownRussell, William Clark
General
The Yarn of Old Harbour Town
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 20th century; Historical fiction; Sea stories
The cabin breakfast was served at half-past eight. A tray for Lucy was
placed at the side of Mr Lawrence, who with his own hand furnished it.
He then directed Paul, whilst giving him the key, to leave the door
unlocked on quitting the berth, and, turning in his chair, he watched
the hunchback enter. But the door, as before, was closed by the swing
of the ship, and he caught but a glimpse of the interior, which did
not frame its inmate.
This time Paul was for some minutes in the berth. He came out, leaving
the door unlocked as ordered, though shut, and stood beside Mr Lawrence
to make his report.
"How does the lady seem?" said Mr Lawrence.
"She made me put the tray on the deck, sir," answered Paul, "and I see
her running her eyes over it, and she says, 'Where's the knife, you man
of the forest?' I says, 'I don't know, mum.'"
He paused.
"Nothing but a slice or two of tongue was sent to her," said Mr
Lawrence, "that requires a knife to cut it with. Go on! Tell me what
followed."
"After she told me to put the tray on the deck, and looked at it and
asked about the knife, she stares at me just as I was about to go, and
then, your honour, her face changes as if she'd pulled off a mask. She
smiled with so cunning a look, such a trembling of the eyelids, that
I reckoned she'd got something hidden and was going to stab me with
it, and she lifts her shoulders all the while, a-looking at me with a
cunning smile and trembling eyes, till I supposed she was a-imitating
of my figure; and then she whispers so soft that I could just hear
what she said, whilst she beckons to me, smiling: 'If I show it, swear
you'll keep it a secret.' 'I don't know what you mean, ma'am,' I says.
'Here,' she says, with her cunning smile, and still a-beckoning. 'But
if you don't keep the secret I'll kill you as sartin as that you was
born in a forest.'"
Here again the fellow paused, apparently striving to find words to
produce his picture.
"Go on!" said Mr Lawrence fiercely. "What did she show you?"
Paul started, and answered: "She took me to the locker that's under the
window, and, lifting the lid, pointed down into the inside, and began
to laugh with a strange, crying noise, like a cat quarrelling, and then
says she, 'Do you see it?' There was nothing in the locker, saving
that in one end of it she'd made a sort of bird's nest out of the bed
feathers which I 'adn't swept away, and in it was her rings, a piece
of soap, a salt-cellar which I hadn't missed from the tray, and what I
took for a ball, but which, I allow, was her gloves rolled up tight.
'Do you see it?' she said, looking so cunning and a-whispering so
mysterious, it was more like dreaming than living to see and watch her.
'That's my secret!' and then she slams the lid of the locker to, with
a noise which I thought your honour would believe was a pistol-shot,
and says, frownin' and starin' at me with eyes that seemed to be in a
blaze, 'If you says a word about what you've seen I'll kill you.'"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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