R. M. Ballantyne
The Garret and the Garden; Or, Low Life High Up
Chapter One.
The Garret And The Garden Or Low Life High Up. Sudden Friendships
In the midst of the great wildernesswe might almost say the wildsof that comparatively unknown region which lies on the Surrey side of the Thames, just above London Bridge, there sauntered one fine day a big bronzed seaman of middle age. He turned into an alley, down which, nautically speaking, he rolled into a shabby little court. There he stood still for a few seconds and looked around him as if in quest of something.
It was a miserable poverty-stricken court, with nothing to commend it to the visitor save a certain air of partial-cleanliness and semi-respectability, which did not form a feature of the courts in its neighbourhood.
I say, Capting, remarked a juvenile voice close at hand, youve bin an sailed into the wrong port.
The sailor glanced in all directions, but was unable to see the owner of the voice until a slight coughif not a suppressed laughcaused him to look up, when he perceived the sharp, knowing, and dirty face of a small boy, who calmly contemplated him from a window not more than a foot above his head. Fun, mischief, intelligence, precocity sat enthroned on the countenance of that small boy, and suffering wrinkled his young brow.
How dee know Im in the wrong portmonkey? demanded the sailor.
Cause there aint no grog-shop in itgorilla! retorted the boy.
There is a mysterious but well-known power of attraction between kindred spirits which induces them to unite, like globules of quicksilver, at the first moment of contact. Brief as was this interchange of politenesses, it sufficed to knit together the souls of the seaman and the small boy. A mutual smile, nod, and wink sealed, as it were, the sudden friendship.
Come now, younker, said the sailor, thrusting his hands into his coat-pockets, and leaning a little forward with legs well apart, as if in readiness to counteract the rolling of the court in a heavy sea, theres no occasion for you an me to go beatin aboutoff an on. Lets come to close quarters at once. I havent putt in here to look for no grog-shop
Wich I didnt say you ad, interrupted the boy.
No more you did, youngster. Well, what I dropped in here for was to look arter an old woman.
If youd said a young un, now, I might ave blieved you, returned the pert urchin.
You may believe me, then, for I wants a young un too.
Well, old salt, rejoined the boy, resting his ragged arms on the window-sill, and looking down on the weather-beaten man with an expression of patronising interest, youve come to the right shop, anyhow, for that keemodity. In Lunon weve got old women by the thousand, an young uns by the million, to say nuffin o middle-aged uns an chicks. Have ee got a partikler pattern in yer eye, now, or dee ony want samples?
Whats your name, lad? asked the sailor.
That depends, old man. If a beak axes me, Ive got a wariety o names, an gives im the first as comes to and. Wen a genleman axes me, Im more partiklerI makes a slection.
Bein neither a beak nor a gentleman, lad, what would you say your name was to me?
Tommy Splint, replied the boy promptly. Splint, cause wen I was picked up, a small babby, at the workus door, my left leg was broke, an they ad to putt it up in splints; Tommy, cause they said I was like a he-cat; wich was a lie!
Is your father alive, Tommy?
Ow should I know? Ive got no father nor mothernever had none as I knows on; an whats more, I dont want any. Im a horphing, I am, an I prefers it. Fathers an mothers is often wery aggrawatin; theyre uncommon hard to manage wen theyre bad, an a cause o much wexation an worry to childn wen theyre good; so, on the whole, I think were better without em. Chimleypot Liz is parent enough for me.
And who may chimney-pot Liz be? asked the sailor with sudden interest.
Hm! returned the boy with equally sudden caution and hesitancy. I didnt say chimney-pot but chimley-pot Liz. Wat is she? Wy, shes the ugliest old ooman in this great meetropilis, an shes got the jolliest old art in Lunon. Her skin is wrinkled equal to the ry-nossris at the ZooI seed that beast once at a Sunday-school treatan her nose has been tryin for some years past to kiss her chin, wich it would ave managed long ago, too, but for a tooth shes got in the upper jaw. Shes ony got one; but, my, that is a fang! so loose that youd expect it to be blowed out every time she coughs. Its a reglar grinder an cutter an stabber all in one; an the way it workssometimes in the mouth, sometimes outside the lip, now an then straight out like a ships bowspritis most amazin; an she drives it about like a nigger slave. Gives it no rest. I do declare I wouldnt be that there fang for ten thousand a year. Shes got two black eyes, too, has old Liz, clear an bright as beadsfit to bore holes through you wen she aint pleased; and er nose is ooked. But, I say, before I tell you more about er, I wants to know wot youve got to do with er? An wats your name? Ive gave you mine. Fair exchange, you know.
True, Tommy, thats only right an fair. But I aint used to lookin up when discoorsin. Couldnt you come down here an lay alongside?
No, old salt, I couldnt; but you may come up here if you like. Youll be the better of a rise in the world, wont you? The gangway lays just round the corner; but mind your sky-scraper for the ports low. Theres a seat in the winder here. Go ahead; starboard your helm, straight up, then ard-a-port, steady, mind your jib-boom, splice the main-brace, heave the main-deck overboard, and cast anchor longside o me!
Following these brief directions as far as was practicable, the sailor soon found himself on the landing of the stair, where Tommy was seated on a rickety packing-case awaiting him.
Now, lad, said the man, seating himself beside his new friend, from what you tells me, I think that chimney-pot
Chimley, remarked the boy, correcting.
Well, then, chimley-pot Liz, from your account of her, must be the very woman I wants. Ive sought for her far an wide, alow and aloft, an bin directed here an there an everywhere, except the right where, till now. But Ill explain. The man paused a moment as if to consider, and it became evident to the boy that his friend was labouring under some degree of excitement, which he erroneously put down to drink.
My name, continued the sailor, is Sam Blakesecond mate o the Seacow, not long in from China. I didnt ship as mate. Bein a shipwrecked seaman, you see
Shipwrecked! exclaimed the boy, with much interest expressed in his sharp countenance.
Ay, lad, shipwrecked; an not the first time neither, but I was keen to get home, havin bin kep a prisoner for an awful long spell by pirates
Pints! interrupted the boy again, as he gazed in admiration at his stalwart friend; but, he added, I dont believe you. Its all barn. There aint no pints now; an you think youve got hold of a green un.