A Circular Tour
Illness? said the night watchman, slowly. Yes, sailormen get illsometimes, but not 'aving the time for it that other people have, andthere being no doctors at sea, they soon pick up agin. Ashore, if aman's ill he goes to a horse-pittle and 'as a nice nurse to wait on 'im;at sea the mate comes down and tells 'im that there is nothing thematter with 'im, and asks 'im if he ain't ashamed of 'imself. The onlymate I ever knew that showed any feeling was one who 'ad been a doctorand 'ad gone to sea to better 'imself. He didn't believe in medicine;his idea was to cut things out, and he was so kind and tender, and sofond of 'is little box of knives and saws, that you wouldn't ha' thoughtanybody could 'ave had the 'art to say "no" to him. But they did. Iremember 'im getting up at four o'clock one morning to cut a man's legoff, and at ha'-past three the chap was sitting up aloft with four pairso' trousers on and a belaying-pin in his 'and.One chap I knew, Joe Summers by name, got so sick o' work one v'y'gethat he went mad. Not dangerous mad, mind you. Just silly. One thing hedid was to pretend that the skipper was 'is little boy, and foller 'imup unbeknown and pat his 'ead. At last, to pacify him, the old manpretended that he was 'is little boy, and a precious handful of a boy hewas too, I can tell you. Fust of all he showed 'is father 'ow theywrestled at school, and arter that he showed 'im 'ow he 'arf killedanother boy in fifteen rounds. Leastways he was going to, but arterseven rounds Joe's madness left 'im all of a sudden and he was as rightas ever he was.Sailormen are more frequent ill ashore than at sea; they've got moretime for it, I s'pose. Old Sam Small, a man you may remember by name asa pal o' mine, got ill once, and, like most 'ealthy men who get a littlesomething the matter with 'em, he made sure 'e was dying. He was sharinga bedroom with Ginger Dick and Peter Russet at the time, and early onemorning he woke up groaning with a chill or something which he couldn'taccount for, but which Ginger thought might ha' been partly causedthrough 'im sleeping in the fireplace."Is that you, Sam?" ses Ginger, waking up with the noise and rubbing hiseyes. "Wot's the matter?""I'm dying," ses Sam, with another awful groan. "Good-by, Ginger.""Goo'-by," ses Ginger, turning over and falling fast asleep agin.Old Sam picked 'imself up arter two or three tries, and then hestaggered over to Peter Russet's bed and sat on the foot of it,groaning, until Peter woke up very cross and tried to push 'im off withhis feet."I'm dying, Peter," ses Sam, and 'e rolled over and buried his face inthe bed-clo'es and kicked. Peter Russet, who was a bit scared, sat up inbed and called for Ginger, and arter he 'ad called pretty near a dozentimes Ginger 'arf woke up and asked 'im wot was the matter."Poor old Sam's dying," ses Peter."I know," ses Ginger, laying down and cuddling into the piller agin. "Hetold me just now. I've bid 'im good-by."Peter Russet asked 'im where his 'art was, but Ginger was asleep agin.Then Peter sat up in bed and tried to comfort Sam, and listened while 'etold 'im wot it felt like to die. How 'e was 'ot and cold all over,burning and shivering, with pains in his inside that he couldn'tdescribe if 'e tried."It'll soon be over, Sam," ses Peter, kindly, "and all your troubleswill be at an end. While me and Ginger are knocking about at sea tryingto earn a crust o' bread to keep ourselves alive, you'll be quiet and atpeace."Sam groaned. "I don't like being too quiet," he ses. "I was always onefor a bit o' fun--innercent fun."Peter coughed."You and Ginger 'av been good pals," ses Sam; "it's hard to go and leaveyou.""We've all got to go some time or other, Sam," ses Peter, soothing-like."It's a wonder to me, with your habits, that you've lasted as long asyou 'ave.""My habits?" ses Sam, sitting up all of a sudden. "Why, youmonkey-faced son of a sea-cook, for two pins I'd chuck you out of thewinder.""Don't talk like that on your death-bed," ses Peter, very shocked.Sam was going to answer 'im sharp agin, but just then 'e got a painwhich made 'im roll about on the bed and groan to such an extent thatGinger woke up agin and got out o' bed."Pore old Sam!" he ses, walking across the room and looking at 'im."'Ave you got any pain anywhere?""Pain?" ses Sam. "Pain? I'm a mask o' pains all over."Ginger and Peter looked at 'im and shook their 'eds, and then they wenta little way off and talked about 'im in whispers."He looks 'arf dead now," ses Peter, coming back and staring at 'im."Let's take 'is clothes off, Ginger; it's more decent to die with 'emoff.""I think I'll 'ave a doctor," ses Sam, in a faint voice."You're past doctors, Sam," ses Ginger, in a kind voice."Better 'ave your last moments in peace," ses Peter, "and keep yourmoney in your trouser-pockets.""You go and fetch a doctor, you murderers," ses Sam, groaning, as Peterstarted to undress 'im. "Go on, else I'll haunt you with my ghost."Ginger tried to talk to 'im about the sin o' wasting money, but it wasall no good, and arter telling Peter wot to do in case Sam died afore hecome back, he went off. He was gone about 'arf an hour, and then he comeback with a sandy-'aired young man with red eyelids and a black bag."Am I dying, sir?" ses Sam, arter the doctor 'ad listened to his lungsand his 'art and prodded 'im all over."We're all dying," ses the doctor, "only some of us'll go sooner thanothers.""Will he last the day, sir?" ses Ginger.The doctor looked at Sam agin, and Sam held 'is breath while 'e waitedfor him to answer. "Yes," ses the doctor at last, "if he does just wot Itell him and takes the medicine I send 'im."He wasn't in the room 'arf an hour altogether, and he charged pore Sam ashilling; but wot 'urt Sam even more than that was to hear 'im go offdownstairs whistling as cheerful as if there wasn't a dying man within a'undred miles.Peter and Ginger Dick took turns to be with Sam that morning, but in thearternoon the landlady's mother, an old lady who was almost as fat asSam 'imself, came up to look arter 'im a bit. She sat on a chair by theside of 'is bed and tried to amuse 'im by telling 'im of all the death-beds she'd been at, and partikler of one man, the living image of Sam,who passed away in his sleep. It was past ten o'clock when Peter andGinger came 'ome, but they found pore Sam still awake and sitting up inbed holding 'is eyes open with his fingers.Sam had another shilling's-worth the next day, and 'is medicine waschanged for the worse. If anything he seemed a trifle better, but thelandlady's mother, wot came up to nurse 'im agin, said it was a badsign, and that people often brightened up just afore the end. She asked'im whether 'e'd got a fancy for any partikler spot to be buried in,and, talking about wot a lot o' people 'ad been buried alive, said she'dask the doctor to cut Sam's 'ead off to prevent mistakes. She got quiteannoyed with Sam for saying, supposing there was a mistake and hecame round in the middle of it, how'd he feel? and said there was nosatisfying some people, do wot you would.At the end o' six days Sam was still alive and losing a shilling a day,to say nothing of buying 'is own beef-tea and such-like. Ginger said itwas fair highway robbery, and tried to persuade Sam to go to a'orsepittle, where he'd 'ave lovely nurses to wait on 'im hand and foot,and wouldn't keep 'is best friends awake of a night making 'orriblenoises.Sam didn't take kindly to the idea at fust, but as the doctor forbid 'imto get up, although he felt much better, and his money was wasting away,he gave way at last, and at seven o'clock one evening he sent Ginger offto fetch a cab to take 'im to the London Horsepittle. Sam said somethingabout putting 'is clothes on, but Peter Russet said the horsepittlewould be more likely to take him in if he went in the blanket andcounterpane, and at last Sam gave way. Ginger and Peter helped 'imdownstairs, and the cabman laid hold o' one end o' the blanket as theygot to the street-door, under the idea that he was helping, and verynear gave Sam another chill."Keep your hair on," he ses, as Sam started on 'im. "It'll be three-and-six for the fare, and I'll take the money now.""You'll 'ave it when you get there," ses Ginger."I'll 'ave it now," ses the cabman. "I 'ad a fare die on the way onceafore."Ginger--who was minding Sam's money for 'im because there wasn't apocket in the counterpane--paid 'im, and the cab started. It jolted andrattled over the stones, but Sam said the air was doing 'im good. Hekept 'is pluck up until they got close to the horsepittle, and then 'egot nervous. And 'e got more nervous when the cabman got down off 'isbox and put his 'ed in at the winder and spoke to 'im."'Ave you got any partikler fancy for the London Horsepittle?" he ses."No," ses Sam. "Why?""Well, I s'pose it don't matter, if wot your mate ses is true--thatyou're dying," ses the cabman."Wot d'ye mean?" says Sam."Nothing," ses the cabman; "only, fust and last, I s'pose I've drivenfive 'undred people to that 'orsepittle, and only one ever came outagin--and he was smuggled out in a bread-basket."Sam's flesh began to creep all over."It's a pity they don't 'ave the same rules as Charing CrossHorsepittle," ses the cabman. "The doctors 'ave five pounds apiece forevery patient that gets well there, and the consequence is they ain't'ad the blinds down for over five months.""Drive me there," ses Sam."It's a long way," ses the cabman, shaking his 'ed, "and it 'ud cost youanother 'arf dollar. S'pose you give the London a try?""You drive to Charing Cross," ses Sam, telling Ginger to give 'im the'arf-dollar. "And look sharp; these things ain't as warm as they mightbe."The cabman turned his 'orse round and set off agin, singing. The cabstopped once or twice for a little while, and then it stopped for quitea long time, and the cabman climbed down off 'is box and came to thewinder agin."I'm sorry, mate," he ses, "but did you see me speak to that party justnow?""The one you flicked with your whip?" ses Ginger."No; he was speaking to me," ses the cabman. "The last one, I mean.""Wot about it?" ses Peter."He's the under-porter at the horsepittle," ses the cabman, spitting;"and he tells me that every bed is bung full, and two patients apiece insome of 'em.""I don't mind sleeping two in a bed," ses Sam, who was very tired andcold."No," ses the cabman, looking at 'im; "but wot about the other one?""Well, what's to be done?" ses Peter."You might go to Guy's," ses the cabman; "that's as good as CharingCross.""I b'lieve you're telling a pack o' lies," ses Ginger."Come out o' my cab," ses the cabman, very fierce. "Come on, all of you.Out you get."Ginger and Peter was for getting out, but Sam wouldn't 'ear of it. Itwas bad enough being wrapped up in a blanket in a cab, without beingturned out in 'is bare feet on the pavement, and at last Gingerapologized to the cabman by saying 'e supposed if he was a liar hecouldn't 'elp it. The cabman collected three shillings more to go toGuy's 'orsepittle, and, arter a few words with Ginger, climbed up on 'isbox and drove off agin.They were all rather tired of the cab by this time, and, going overWaterloo Bridge, Ginger began to feel uncommon thirsty, and, leaning outof the winder, he told the cabman to pull up for a drink. He was so longabout it that Ginger began to think he was bearing malice, but just ashe was going to tell 'im agin, the cab pulled up in a quiet littlestreet opposite a small pub. Ginger Dick and Peter went in and 'adsomething and brought one out for Sam. They 'ad another arter that, andGinger, getting 'is good temper back agin, asked the cabman to 'ave one."Look lively about it, Ginger," ses Sam, very sharp. "You forget 'ow illI am."Ginger said they wouldn't be two seconds, and, the cabman calling a boyto mind his 'orse, they went inside. It was a quiet little place, butvery cosey, and Sam, peeping out of the winder, could see all three of'em leaning against the bar and making themselves comfortable. Twice hemade the boy go in to hurry them up, and all the notice they took was togo on at the boy for leaving the horse.Pore old Sam sat there hugging 'imself in the bed-clo'es, and gettingwilder and wilder. He couldn't get out of the cab, and 'e couldn't callto them for fear of people coming up and staring at 'im. Ginger, smilingall over with 'appiness, had got a big cigar on and was pretending topinch the barmaid's flowers, and Peter and the cabman was talking tosome other chaps there. The only change Sam 'ad was when the boy walkedthe 'orse up and down the road.He sat there for an hour and then 'e sent the boy in agin. This time thecabman lost 'is temper, and, arter chasing the boy up the road, gave ayoung feller twopence to take 'is place and promised 'im anothertwopence when he came out. Sam tried to get a word with 'im as 'epassed, but he wouldn't listen, and it was pretty near 'arf an hourlater afore they all came out, talking and laughing."Now for the 'orsepittle," ses Ginger, opening the door. "Come on,Peter; don't keep pore old Sam waiting all night.""'Arf a tic," ses the cabman, "'arf a tic; there's five shillings forwaiting, fust.""Wot?" ses Ginger, staring at 'im. "Arter giving you all themdrinks?""Five shillings," ses the cabman; "two hours' waiting at half a crown anhour. That's the proper charge."Ginger thought 'e was joking at fust, and when he found 'e wasn't hecalled 'im all the names he could think of, while Peter Russet stood bysmiling and trying to think where 'e was and wot it was all about."Pay 'im the five bob, Ginger, and 'ave done with it," ses pore Sam, atlast. "I shall never get to the horsepittle at this rate.""Cert'inly not," ses Ginger, "not if we stay 'ere all night.""Pay 'im the five bob," ses Sam, raising 'is voice; "it's my money.""You keep quiet," ses Ginger, "and speak when your spoke to. Get inside,Peter."Peter, wot was standing by blinking and smiling, misunderstood 'im, andwent back inside the pub. Ginger went arter 'im to fetch 'im back, andhearing a noise turned round and saw the cabman pulling Sam out o' thecab. He was just in time to shove 'im back agin, and for the next two orthree minutes 'im and the cabman was 'ard at it. Sam was too busyholding 'is clothes on to do much, and twice the cabman got 'im 'arfout, and twice Ginger got him back agin and bumped 'im back in 'is seatand shut the door. Then they both stopped and took breath."We'll see which gets tired fust," ses Ginger. "Hold the door inside,Sam."The cabman looked at 'im, and then 'e climbed up on to 'is seat and,just as Ginger ran back for Peter Russet, drove off at full speed.Pore Sam leaned back in 'is seat panting and trying to wrap 'imself upbetter in the counterpane, which 'ad got torn in the struggle. They wentthrough street arter street, and 'e was just thinking of a nice warm bedand a kind nurse listening to all 'is troubles when 'e found they wasgoing over London Bridge."You've passed it," he ses, putting his 'ead out of the winder.The cabman took no notice, and afore Sam could think wot to make of itthey was in the Whitechapel Road, and arter that, although Sam keptputting his 'ead out of the winder and asking 'im questions, they keptgoing through a lot o' little back streets until 'e began to think thecabman 'ad lost 'is way. They stopped at last in a dark little road, infront of a brick wall, and then the cabman got down and opened a doorand led his 'orse and cab into a yard."Do you call this Guy's Horsepittle?" ses Sam."Hullo!" ses the cabman. "Why, I thought I put you out o' my cab once.""I'll give you five minutes to drive me to the 'orsepittle," ses Sam."Arter that I shall go for the police.""All right," ses the cabman, taking his 'orse out and leading it into astable. "Mind you don't catch cold."He lighted a lantern and began to look arter the 'orse, and pore Sam satthere getting colder and colder and wondering wot 'e was going to do."I shall give you in charge for kidnapping me," he calls out very loud."Kidnapping?" ses the cabman. "Who do you think wants to kidnap you? Thegate's open, and you can go as soon as you like."Sam climbed out of the cab, and holding up the counterpane walked acrossthe yard in 'is bare feet to the stable. "Well, will you drive me 'ome?"he ses."Cert'inly not," ses the cabman; "I'm going 'ome myself now. It's timeyou went, 'cos I'm going to lock up.""'Ow can I go like this?" ses Sam, bursting with passion. "Ain't you gotany sense?""Well, wot are you going to do?" ses the cabman, picking 'is teeth witha bit o' straw."Wot would you do if you was me?" ses Sam, calming down a bit and tryingto speak civil."Well, if I was you," said the cabman, speaking very slow, "I should bemore perlite to begin with; you accused me just now--me, a 'ard-workingman--o' kidnapping you.""It was only my fun," ses Sam, very quick."I ain't kidnapping you, am I?" ses the cabman."Cert'inly not," ses Sam."Well, then," ses the cabman, "if I was you I should pay 'arf a crownfor a night's lodging in this nice warm stable, and in the morning Ishould ask the man it belongs to--that's me--to go up to my lodging witha letter, asking for a suit o' clothes and eleven-and-six.""Eleven-and-six?" ses Sam, staring."Five bob for two hours' wait," ses the cabman, "four shillings for thedrive here, and 'arf a crown for the stable. That's fair, ain't it?"Sam said it was--as soon as he was able to speak--and then the cabmangave 'im a truss of straw to lay on and a rug to cover 'im up with.And then, calling 'imself a fool for being so tender-'earted, he leftSam the lantern, and locked the stable-door and went off.It seemed like a 'orrid dream to Sam, and the only thing that comforted'im was the fact that he felt much better. His illness seemed to 'avegone, and arter hunting round the stable to see whether 'e could findanything to eat, 'e pulled the rug over him and went to sleep.He was woke up at six o'clock in the morning by the cabman opening thedoor. There was a lovely smell o' hot tea from a tin he 'ad in one 'and,and a lovelier smell still from a plate o' bread and butter and bloatersin the other. Sam sniffed so 'ard that at last the cabman noticed it,and asked 'im whether he 'ad got a cold. When Sam explained he seemed tothink a minute or two, and then 'e said that it was 'is breakfast, butSam could 'ave it if 'e liked to make up the money to a pound."Take it or leave it," he ses, as Sam began to grumble.Poor Sam was so 'ungry he took it, and it done him good. By the time he'ad eaten it he felt as right as ninepence, and 'e took such a disliketo the cabman 'e could hardly be civil to 'im. And when the cabman spokeabout the letter to Ginger Dick he spoke up and tried to bate 'im downto seven-and-six."You write that letter for a pound," ses the cabman, looking at 'im veryfierce, "or else you can walk 'ome in your counterpane, with 'arf theboys in London follering you and trying to pull it off."Sam rose 'im to seventeen-and-six, but it was all no good, and at last'e wrote a letter to Ginger Dick, telling 'im to give the cabman a suitof clothes and a pound."And look sharp about it," he ses. "I shall expect 'em in 'arf an hour.""You'll 'ave 'em, if you're lucky, when I come back to change 'orses atfour o'clock," ses the cabman. "D'ye think I've got nothing to do butfuss about arter you?""Why not drive me back in the cab?" ses Sam."'Cos I wasn't born yesterday," ses the cabman.He winked at Sam, and then, whistling very cheerful, took his 'orse outand put it in the cab. He was so good-tempered that 'e got quiteplayful, and Sam 'ad to tell him that when 'e wanted to 'ave his legstickled with a straw he'd let 'im know.Some people can't take a 'int, and, as the cabman wouldn't be'ave'imself, Sam walked into a shed that was handy and pulled the door to,and he stayed there until he 'eard 'im go back to the stable for 'isrug. It was only a yard or two from the shed to the cab, and, 'ardlythinking wot he was doing, Sam nipped out and got into it and sathuddled up on the floor.He sat there holding 'is breath and not daring to move until the cabman'ad shut the gate and was driving off up the road, and then 'e got up onthe seat and lolled back out of sight. The shops were just opening, thesun was shining, and Sam felt so well that 'e was thankful that 'ehadn't got to the horsepittle arter all.The cab was going very slow, and two or three times the cabman 'arfpulled up and waved his whip at people wot he thought wanted a cab, butat last an old lady and gentleman, standing on the edge of the curb witha big bag, held up their 'ands to 'im. The cab pulled in to the curb,and the old gentleman 'ad just got hold of the door and was trying toopen it when he caught sight of Sam."Why, you've got a fare," he ses."No, sir," ses the cabman."But I say you 'ave," ses the old gentleman.The cabman climbed down off 'is box and looked in at the winder, and forover two minutes he couldn't speak a word. He just stood there lookingat Sam and getting purpler and purpler about the face."Drive on, cabby," ses Sam, "Wot are you stopping for?"The cabman tried to tell 'im, but just then a policeman came walking upto see wot was the matter, and 'e got on the box agin and drove off.Cabmen love policemen just about as much as cats love dogs, and he drovedown two streets afore he stopped and got down agin to finish 'isremarks."Not so much talk, cabman," ses Sam, who was beginning to enjoy 'imself,"else I shall call the police.""Are you coming out o' my cab?" ses the cabman, "or 'ave I got to putyou out?""You put me out!" ses Sam, who 'ad tied 'is clothes up with string while'e was in the stable, and 'ad got his arms free.The cabman looked at 'im 'elpless for a moment, and then he got up anddrove off agin. At fust Sam thought 'e was going to drive back to thestable, and he clinched 'is teeth and made up 'is mind to 'ave a fightfor it. Then he saw that 'e was really being driven 'ome, and at lastthe cab pulled up in the next street to 'is lodgings, and the cabman,asking a man to give an eye to his 'orse, walked on with the letter. Hewas back agin in a few minutes, and Sam could see by 'is face thatsomething had 'appened."They ain't been 'ome all night," he ses, sulky-like."Well, I shall 'ave to send the money on to you," ses Sam, in a off-handway. "Unless you like to call for it.""I'll call for it, matey," ses the cabman, with a kind smile, as he took'old of his 'orse and led it up to Sam's lodgings. "I know I can trustyou, but it'll save you trouble. But s'pose he's been on the drink andlost the money?"Sam got out and made a dash for the door, which 'appened to be open. "Itwon't make no difference," he ses."No difference?" ses the cabman, staring."Not to you, I mean," ses Sam, shutting the door very slow. "So long."
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