john ingerfield and other stories-第11部分

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support；　he　proceeded　to　adopt　sterner　measures。　　He　addressed

himself　personally　to　the　ringleader　of　the　rioters；　the　man　who　had

first　championed　the　cause　of　the　absent　Joss。　　This　person　was　a

brawny　individual；　who；　judging　from　appearances；　followed　in　his

business　hours　the　calling　of　a　coalheaver。　　〃Yes；　sir；〃　said　the

chairman；　pointing　a　finger　towards　him；　where　he　sat　in　the　front

row　of　the　gallery；　〃you；　sir；　in　the　flannel　shirt。　　I　can　see　you。

Will　you　allow　this　lady　to　give　her　entertainment？〃



〃No；〃　answered　he　of　the　coalheaving　profession；　in　stentorian　tones。



〃Then；　sir；〃　said　the　little　chairman；　working　himself　up　into　a

state　suggestive　of　Jove　about　to　launch　a　thunderbolt〃then；　sir；

all　I　can　say　is　that　you　are　no　gentleman。〃



This　was　a　little　too　much；　or　rather　a　good　deal　too　little；　for　the

Signora　Ballatino。　　She　had　hitherto　been　standing　in　a　meek　attitude

of　pathetic　appeal；　wearing　a　fixed　smile　of　ineffable　sweetness　but

she　evidently　felt　that　she　could　go　a　bit　farther　than　that　herself；

even　if　she　was　a　lady。　　Calling　the　chairman　〃an　old　messer；〃　and

telling　him　for　Gawd's　sake　to　shut　up　if　that　was　all　he　could　do

for　his　living；　she　came　down　to　the　front；　and　took　the　case　into

her　own　hands。



She　did　not　waste　time　on　the　rest　of　the　audience。　　She　went　direct

for　that　coalheaver；　and　thereupon　ensued　a　slanging　match　the　memory

of　which　sends　a　trill　of　admiration　through　me　even　to　this　day。　　It

was　a　battle　worthy　of　the　gods。　　He　was　a　heaver　of　coals；　quick　and

ready　beyond　his　kind。　　During　many　years　sojourn　East　and　South；　in

the　course　of　many　wanderings　from　Billingsgate　to　Limehouse　Hole；

from　Petticoat　Lane　to　White…chapel　Road；　out　of　eel…pie　shop　and

penny　gaff；　out　of　tavern　and　street；　and　court　and　doss…house；　he

had　gathered　together　slang　words　and　terms　and　phrases；　and　they

came　back　to　him　now；　and　he　stood　up　against　her　manfully。



But　as　well　might　the　lamb　stand　up　against　the　eagle；　when　the

shadow　of　its　wings　falls　across　the　green　pastures；　and　the　wind

flies　before　its　dark　oncoming。　　At　the　end　of　two　minutes　he　lay

gasping；　dazed；　and　speechless。



Then　she　began。



She　announced　her　intention　of　〃wiping　down　the　bloomin'　'all〃　with

him；　and　making　it　respectable；　and；　metaphorically　speaking；　that　is

what　she　did。　　Her　tongue　hit　him　between　the　eyes；　and　knocked　him

down　and　trampled　on　him。　　It　curled　round　and　round　him　like　a　whip；

and　then　it　uncurled　and　wound　the　other　way。　　It　seized　him　by　the

scruff　of　his　neck；　and　tossed　him　up　into　the　air；　and　caught　him　as

he　descended；　and　flung　him　to　the　ground；　and　rolled　him　on　it。　　It

played　around　him　like　forked　lightning；　and　blinded　him。　　It　danced

and　shrieked　about　him　like　a　host　of　whirling　fiends；　and　he　tried

to　remember　a　prayer；　and　could　not。　　It　touched　him　lightly　on　the

sole　of　his　foot　and　the　crown　of　his　head；　and　his　hair　stood　up

straight；　and　his　limbs　grew　stiff。　　The　people　sitting　near　him　drew

away；　not　feeling　it　safe　to　be　near；　and　left　him　alone；　surrounded

by　space；　and　language。



It　was　the　most　artistic　piece　of　work　of　its　kind　that　I　have　ever

heard。　　Every　phrase　she　flung　at　him　seemed　to　have　been　woven　on

purpose　to　entangle　him　and　to　embrace　in　its　choking　folds　his

people　and　his　gods；　to　strangle　with　its　threads　his　every　hope；

ambition；　and　belief。　　Each　term　she　put　upon　him　clung　to　him　like　a

garment；　and　fitted　him　without　a　crease。　　The　last　name　that　she

called　him　one　felt　to　be；　until　one　heard　the　next；　the　one　name

that　he　ought　to　have　been　christened　by。



For　five　and　three…quarter　minutes　by　the　clock　she　spoke；　and　never

for　one　instant　did　she　pause　or　falter；　and　in　the　whole　of　that

onslaught　there　was　only　one　weak　spot。



That　was　when　she　offered　to　make　a　better　man　than　he　was　out　of　a

Guy　Fawkes　and　a　lump　of　coal。　　You　felt　that　one　lump　of　coal　would

not　have　been　sufficient。



At　the　end；　she　gathered　herself　together　for　one　supreme　effort；　and

hurled　at　him　an　insult　so　bitter　with　scorn　so　sharp　with　insight

into　his　career　and　character；　so　heavy　with　prophetic　curse；　that

strong　men　drew　and　held　their　breath　while　it　passed　over　them；　and

women　hid　their　faces　and　shivered。



Then　she　folded　her　arms；　and　stood　silent；　and　the　house；　from　floor

to　ceiling；　rose　and　cheered　her　until　there　was　no　more　breath　left

in　its　lungs。



In　that　one　night　she　stepped　from　oblivion　into　success。　　She　is　now

a　famous　〃artiste。〃



But　she　does　not　call　herself　Signora　Ballatino；　and　she　does　not

play　upon　the　zithern。　　Her　name　has　a　homelier　sound；　and　her

speciality　is　the　delineation　of　coster　character。







SILHOUETTES。







I　fear　I　must　be　of　a　somewhat　gruesome　turn　of　mind。　　My　sympathies

are　always　with　the　melancholy　side　of　life　and　nature。　　I　love　the

chill　October　days；　when　the　brown　leaves　lie　thick　and　sodden

underneath　your　feet；　and　a　low　sound　as　of　stifled　sobbing　is　heard

in　the　damp　woodsthe　evenings　in　late　autumn　time；　when　the　white

mist　creeps　across　the　fields；　making　it　seem　as　though　old　Earth；

feeling　the　night　air　cold　to　its　poor　bones；　were　drawing　ghostly

bedclothes　round　its　withered　limbs。　　I　like　the　twilight　of　the　long

grey　street；　sad　with　the　wailing　cry　of　the　distant　muffin　man。　　One

thinks　of　him；　as；　strangely　mitred；　he　glides　by　through　the　gloom；

jangling　his　harsh　bell；　as　the　High　Priest　of　the　pale　spirit　of

Indigestion；　summoning　the　devout　to　come　forth　and　worship。　　I　find

a　sweetness　in　the　aching　dreariness　of　Sabbath　afternoons　in　genteel

suburbsin　the　evil…laden　desolateness　of　waste　places　by　the　river；

when　the　yellow　fog　is　stealing　inland　across　the　ooze　and　mud；　and

the　black　tide　gurgles　softly　round　worm…eaten　piles。



I　love　the　bleak　moor；　when　the　thin　long　line　of　the　winding　road

lies　white　on　the　darkening　heath；　while　overhead　some　belated　bird；

vexed　with　itself　for　being　out　so　late；　scurries　across　the　dusky

sky；　screaming　angrily。　　I　love　the　lonely；　sullen　lake；　hidden　away

in　mountain　solitudes。　　I　suppose　it　was　my　childhood's　surroundings

that　instilled　in　me　this　affection　for　sombre　hues。　　One　of　my

earliest　recollections　is　of　a　dreary　marshland　by　the　sea。　　By　day；

the　water　stood　there　in　wide；　shallow　pools。　　But　when　one　looked　in

the　evening　they　were　pools　of　blood　that　lay　there。



It　was　a　wild；　dismal　stretch　of　coast。　　One　day；　I　found　myself

there　all　aloneI　forget　how　it　came　aboutand；　oh；　how　small　I

felt　amid　the　sky　and　the　sea　and　the　sandhills！　　I　ran；　and　ran；　and

ran；　but　I　never　seemed　to　move；　and　then　I　cried；　and　screamed；

louder　and　louder；　and　the　circling　seagulls　screamed　back　mockingly

at　me。　　It　was　an　〃unken〃　spot；　as　they　say　up　North。



In　the　far　back　days　of　the　building　of　the　world；　a　long；　high　ridge

of　stones　had　been　reared　up　by　the　sea；　dividing　the　swampy

grassland　from　the　sand。　　Some　of　these　stones〃pebbles；〃　so　they

called　them　round　aboutwere　as　big　as　a　man；　and　many　as　big　as　a

fair…sized　house；　and　when　the　sea　was　angryand　very　prone　he　was

to　anger　by　that　lonely　shore；　and　very　quick　to　wrath；　often　have　I

known　him　sink　to　sleep　with　a　peaceful　smile　on　his　rippling　waves；

to　wake　in　fierce　fury　before　the　night　was　spenthe　would　snatch　up

giant　handfuls　of　these　pebbles　and　fling　and　toss　them　here　and

there；　till　the　noise　of　their　rolling　and　crashing　could　be　heard　by

the　watchers　in　the　village　afar　off。



〃Old　Nick's　playing　at　marbles　to…night；〃　they　would　say　to　one

another；　pausing　to　listen。　　And　then　the　women　would　close　tight

their　doors；　and　try　not　to　hear　the　sound。



Far　out　to　sea；　by　where　the　muddy　mouth　of　the　river　yawned　wide；

there　rose　ever　a　thin　white　line　of　surf；　and　underneath　those

crested　waves　there　dwelt　a　very　fearsome　thing；　called　the　Bar。　　I

grew　to　hate　and　be　afraid　of　this　mysterious　Bar；　for　I　heard　it

spoken　of　always　with　bated　breath；　and　I　knew　that　it　was　very　cruel

to　fisher　folk；　and　hurt　them　so　sometimes　that　they　would　cry　whole

days　and　nights　together　with　the　pain；　or　would　sit　with　white

scared　faces；　rocking　themselves　to　and　fro。



Once　when　I　was　playing　among　the　sandhills；　there　came　by　a　tall；

grey　woman；　bending　beneath　a　load　of　driftwood。　　She　paused　when

nearly　opposite　to　me；　and；　facing　seaward；　fixed　her　eyes　upon　the

breaking　surf　above　the　Bar。　　〃Ah；　how　I　hate　the　sight　of　your　white

teeth！〃　she　muttered；　then　turned　and　passed　on。



Another　morning；　walking　through　the　village；　I　heard　a　low　wailing

come　from　one　of　the　cottages；　while　a　little　farther　on　a　group　of

women　were　gathered　in　the　roadway；　talking。　　〃Ay；〃　said　one　of　them；

〃I　thought　the　Bar　was　looking　hungry　last　night。〃



So；　putting　one　and　the　other　together；　I　concluded　that　the　〃Bar〃

must　be　an　ogre；　such　as　a　body　reads　of　in　books；　who　lived　in　a

coral　castle　deep　below　the　river's　mouth；　and　fed　upon　the　fishermen

as　he　caught　them　going　down　to　the　sea　or　coming　home。



From　my　bedroom　window；　on　moonlight　nights；　I　could　watch　the

silvery　foam；　marking　the　spot　beneath　where　he　lay　hid；　and　I　would

stand　on　tip…toe；　peering　out；　until　at　length　I　would　come　to　fancy

I　could　see　his　hideous　form　floating　below　the　waters。　　Then；　as　the

little　white…sailed　boats　stole　by　him；　tremblingly；　I　used　to

tremble　too；　lest　he　should　suddenly　open　his　grim　jaws　and　gulp　them

down；　and　when　they　had　all　safely　reached　the　dark；　soft　sea　beyond；

I　would　steal　back　to　the　bedside；　and　pray　to　God　to　make　the　Bar

good；　so　that　he　would　give　up　eating　the　poor　fishermen。



Another　incident　connected　with　that　coast　lives　in　my　mind。　　It　was

the　morning　after　a　great　stormgreat　even　for　that　stormy　coast

and　the　passion…worn　waters　were　still　heaving　with