In Limehouse Reach

"In Limehouse Reach" is a captivating collection of short stories by W.W. Jacobs, known for his vivid characterizations and varied settings. Set in the gritty, atmospheric district of Limehouse in London, the tales often weave themes of humor, adventure, and the intricacies of human relationships. Jacobs' distinctive style highlights the quirks and foibles of his characters, providing a snapshot of life along the Thames. With a mix of lighthearted moments and poignant reflections, the stories offer a snapshot of early 20th-century London life, making them both entertaining and evocative.

• Fiction

								
It was the mate’s affair all through. He began by leaving the end of a
line dangling over the stern, and the propeller, though quite
unaccustomed to that sort of work, wound it up until only a few fathoms
remained. It then stopped, and the mischief was not discovered until
the skipper had called the engineer everything that he and the mate and
three men and a boy could think of. The skipper did the interpreting
through the tube which afforded the sole means of communication between
the wheel and the engine-room, and the indignant engineer did the
listening.

The Gem was just off Limehouse at the time, and it was evident she
was going to stay there. The skipper ran her ashore and made her fast
to a roomy old schooner which was lying alongside a wharf. He was then
able to give a little attention to the real offender, and the
unfortunate mate, who had been the most inventive of them all, realised
to the full the old saying of curses coming home to roost. They brought
some strangers with them, too.

“I’m going ashore,” said the skipper at last. “We won’t get off till
next tide now. When it’s low water you’ll have to get down and cut the
line away. A new line too! I’m ashamed o’ you, Harry.”

“I’m not surprised,” said the engineer, who was a vindictive man.

“What do you mean by that?” demanded the mate fiercely.

“We don’t want any of your bad temper,” interposed the skipper
severely. “Nor bad language. The men can go ashore, and the engineer
too, provided he keeps steam up. But be ready for a start about five.
You’ll have to mind the ship.”

He looked over the stern again, shook his head sadly, and, after a
visit to the cabin, clambered over the schooner’s side and got ashore.
The men, after looking at the propeller and shaking their heads, went
ashore too, and the boy, after looking at the propeller and getting
ready to shake his, caught the mate’s eye and omitted that part of the
ceremony, from a sudden conviction that it was unhealthy.

Left alone, the mate, who was of a sensitive disposition, after a curt
nod to Captain Jansell of the schooner Aquila, who had heard of the
disaster, and was disposed to be sympathetically inquisitive, lit his
pipe and began moodily to smoke.

When he next looked up the old man had disappeared, and a girl in a
print dress and a large straw hat sat in a wicker chair reading. She
was such a pretty girl that the mate forgot his troubles at once, and,
after carefully putting his cap on straight, strolled casually up and
down the deck.

To his mortification, the girl seemed unaware of his presence, and read
steadily, occasionally looking up and chirping with a pair of ravishing
lips at a blackbird, which hung in a wicker cage from the mainmast.

“That’s a nice bird,” said the mate, leaning against the side, and
turning a look of great admiration upon it.

“Yes,” said the girl, raising a pair of dark blue eyes to the bold
brown ones, and taking him in at a glance.

“Does it sing?” inquired the mate, with a show of great interest.

“It does sometimes, when we are alone,” was the reply.

“I should have thought the sea air would have affected its throat,”
said the mate, reddening. “Are you often in the London river, miss? I
don’t remember seeing your craft before.”

“Not often,” said the girl.

“You’ve got a fine schooner here,” said the mate, eyeing it critically.
“For my part, I prefer a sailer to a steamer.”

“I should think you would,” said the girl.

“Why?” inquired the mate tenderly, pleased at this show of interest.

“No propeller,” said the girl quietly, and she left her seat and
disappeared below, leaving the mate gasping painfully.

Left to himself, he became melancholy, as he realised that the great
passion of his life had commenced, and would probably end within a few
hours. The engineer came aboard to look at the fires, and, the steamer
being now on the soft mud, good-naturedly went down and assisted him to
free the propeller before going ashore again. Then he was alone once
more, gazing ruefully at the bare deck of the Aquila.

It was past two o’clock in the afternoon before any signs of life other
than the blackbird appeared there. Then the girl came on deck again,
accompanied by a stout woman of middle age, and an appearance so
affable that the mate commenced at once.

“Fine day,” he said pleasantly, as he brought up in front of them.

“Lovely weather,” said the mother, settling herself in her chair and
putting down her work ready for a chat. “I hope the wind lasts; we
start to-morrow morning’s tide. You’ll get off this afternoon, I
s’pose.”

“About five o’clock,” said the mate.

“I should like to try a steamer for a change,” said the mother, and
waxed garrulous on sailing craft generally, and her own in particular.

“There’s five of us down there, with my husband and the two boys,” said
she, indicating the cabin with her thumb; “naturally it gets rather
stuffy.”

The mate sighed. He was thinking that under some conditions there were
worse things than stuffy cabins.

“And Nancy’s so discontented,” said the mother, looking at the girl who
was reading quietly by her side. “She doesn’t like ships or sailors.
She gets her head turned reading those penny novelettes.”

“You look after your own head,” said Nancy elegantly, without looking
up.

“Girls in those novels don’t talk to their mothers like that,” said
the elder woman severely.

“They have different sorts of mothers,” said Nancy, serenely turning
over a page. “I hate little pokey ships and sailors smelling of tar. I
never saw a sailor I liked yet.”

The mate’s face fell. “There’s sailors and sailors,” he suggested
humbly.

“It’s no good talking to her,” said the mother, with a look of fat
resignation on her face, “we can only let her go her own way; if you
talked to her twenty-four hours right off it wouldn’t do her any good.”

“I’d like to try,” said the mate, plucking up spirit.

“Would you?” said the girl, for the first time raising her head and
looking him full in the face. “Impudence!”

“Perhaps you haven’t seen many ships,” said the impressionable mate,
his eyes devouring her face. “Would you like to come and have a look at
our cabin?”

“No, thanks!” said the girl sharply. Then she smiled maliciously. “I
daresay mother would, though; she’s fond of poking her nose into other
people’s business.”

The mother regarded her irreverent offspring fixedly for a few moments.
The mate interposed.

“I should be very pleased to show you over, ma’am,” he said politely.

The mother hesitated; then she rose, and accepting the mate’s
assistance, clambered on to the side of the steamer, and, supported by
his arms, sprang to the deck and followed him below.

“Very nice,” she said, nodding approvingly, as the mate did the
honours. “Very nice.”

“It’s nice and roomy for a little craft like ours,” said the mate, as
he drew a stone bottle from a locker and poured out a couple of glasses
of stout. “Try a little beer, ma’am.”

“What you must think o’ that girl o’ mine I can’t think,” murmured the

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