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A Tiger's Skin · The Lady of the Barge and other Stort Stories

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Section eight of the Lady of the Barge. This is a LibriVox recording.
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All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,
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please visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Melissa Marie. The Lady of
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the Barge by W. W. Jacobs A tiger's Skin. The traveling sign
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painter, who was repainting the sign of the Coliflower, was enjoying a well
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earned respite from his labors on the old table under the shade of the elms.
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Mammoth sandwiches and a large slice of cheese waited in an untied handkerchief until
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such time as his thirst should be satisfied. At the other side of the
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table, the oldest man in clayberry, drawing gently at a long clay pipe,
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turned a dim and regretful eye up at the old sign board. I've
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drunk my beer under it for pretty near seventy years, he said, with
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a sigh. It's a pity it couldn't have lasted my time. The painter,
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slowly pushing a wedge of sand which into his mouth, regarded him indulgently.
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It's all through two young gentlemen, as was passin through ere a month
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or two ago, continued the old man. They told Smith the landlord,
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they've been lookin all over the place for the coliflower, And when Smith showed
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em the sign, they said they thought it was the George the fourth,
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and a very good likeness too. The painter laughed and took another look at
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the old sign. Then, with the nervousness of the true artist, he
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took a look at his own one or two shadows. He flung his legs
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over the bench and took up his brushes. In ten minutes, the most
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fervent loyalist would have looked in vain for any resemblance. And with a sigh
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of the pitfalls which beset the artist, he returned to his interrupted meal and
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hailed the house for more beer. There's nobody could mistake your sign for anything
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but a coliflower, said the old man. It looks good enough to eat.
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The painter smiled and pushed his mug across the table. He was a
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tender hearted man, and once, when painting the sign of the Sir Wilfrid
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Lawson, knew himself what it was to lack beer. He began to discourse
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on art and spoke somewhat disparagingly of the cauliflower as a subject. With a
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shake of his head, he spoke of the possibilities of a spotted cow or
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a blue lion. Talkin of lions, said the ancient musingly. I s'pose
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as you never heard tell of the Clayberry tiger. It was a four year
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time in these parts, I expect. The painter admitted his ignorance, and,
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finding that the illusion had no reference to an inn, pulled out his
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pipe and prepared to listen. It's a while ago now, said the old
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man slowly. And the circus the tiger belonged to was going through Clayberry to
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get to Wickham, when just as they was passing Gill's farm, a steam
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engine they'd add to draw. Some of the vans broke down and they had
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to stop while the blacksmith mended it. That being so, they put up
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a big tent an had the circus ear. I was one of them as
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when, and I must say it was worth the money. Though Henry Walker
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was disappointed at the man who put his head in the lion's mouth, he
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said that the man frightened the lion first before he did it. It was
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a great night for Clayberry, and for about a week nothing else was talked
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of. All the children was playing at bein' lions, an tigers and such
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like. A young Roberts pretty near broke his back trying to see if he
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could ride horseback standin up. It was about two weeks after the circus had
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gone when a strange thing happened. The big Tiger broke loose. Bill Chambers
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brought the news first, having read it in the newspaper while he was havin
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his tea. He brought out the paper and showed us, and soon after
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weired all sorts of tales of its doings. At first we thought the tiger
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was a long way off, and we was rather amused at it. Fred
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Rick Scott laughed himself silly, almost up beer one night, thinking I surprised
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a man would be if he come home one night and found the tiger sitting
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in his armchair eating the baby. It didn't seem much of a laughing matter
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to me, and I said so. None of us liked it, and
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even Sam Jones, as ad got twins for the second time, said shame.
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But Frederick Scott was a man as would laugh at anything. When we
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heard that the tiger had been seen within three miles of Clayburry. Things began
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to look serious, and Peter Gubbins said that something ought to be done.
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But before we could think of anything to do, something happened. We was
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sittin up beer one evening, having a mugg, a beer and a pipe,
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same as I might be now if i'd got any backy left, and
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talking about it when we heard a shout and saw ragged looking tramp running toward
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us as hard as he could run. Every now and then he'd look over
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his shoulder and give a shout, and then run an arder than Afore it's
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the tiger, says Bill Chambers, and afore you could wink. Almost he
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was inside the house, having first upset Smith and a pot of beer in
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the doorway. Before he could get up. Smith had to wait till we
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was all in. His language was awful, for a man is at a
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license to lose, and everybody's shouting tiger as they tried on him didn't ease
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his mind. He was inside almost as soon as the last man, though,
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and in a flash he had the door bolted, just as the tramp
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flung himself again. It all out of breath and sobbing his artist to be
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let in. Open the door, he says, banging on it. Go
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away, says Smith, it's the tiger, screams the tramp. Open the
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door. You go away, says Smith. You're attracting it to my place.
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Run up the road and draw it off. Just at that moment,
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John Biggs, the blacksmith, coming from the tap room, and as soon
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as he heard what was the matter, he took down Smith's gun from behind
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the bar and said he was going out to look after the women and children.
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Open the door, he says, he was trying to get out,
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and the tramp outside was trying to get in, but Smith held on to
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that door like a Briton. Then John Biggs lost his temper, an he
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ups with the gun, Smith's own gun, mind you, an fetches him
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a bang over the head with it. Smith fell down at once, and
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afore we could help ourselves. The door was opened, the tramp was inside,
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and John Biggs was runnin up the road shouting his hardest. We had
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the door closed afore you could wink almost an Then, while the tramp lay
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in a corner, having brandy missus, Smith got a bowl of water and
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a sponge and knelt down, bathing her husband's head with it. Did you
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see the tiger, says Bill Chambers. See it, says the tramp with
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the shiver. Oh lord, he made signs for more brandy and henery Walker
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what was actin as landlord, without being asked, gave it to him.
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It chased me for over a mile, says the tramp. My art's breakin'.
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He gave a groan an fainted right off, a terrible faint. It
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was too and for some time we thought he'd never come round again. First
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they poured brandy down his throat, then gin an, then beer an.
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Still he didn't come round, but lay quiet with his eyes closed, in
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a horrible smile on his face. He come round at last, and with
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nothing stronger than water, which missus Smith kept pouring into his mouth. First
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thing we noticed was that the smile went. Then his eyes opened, and
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suddenly he sat up with a shiver and gave such a dreadful scream that we
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thought at first the tiger was on top of us. Then he told us
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how he was sittin washin his shirt in a ditch when he heard a snuffling
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noise and saw the head of a big tiger sticking through the hedge the other
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side. He left his shirt and ran an He said that fortunately the tiger
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stopped to tear the shirt to pieces, else his last hour would have arrived.
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When he had finished, Smith went upstairs and looked out of the bedroom
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windows, but he couldn't see any signs of the tiger, and he said,
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no doubt it had gone down to the village to see what it could
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pick up, or perhaps it had eaten John Biggs. However that might be.
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Nobody cared to go outside to sea, and after it got dark we
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like goin' on less than ever. Up to ten o'clock we did very well,
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and then Smith began to talk about his license. He said it was
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all rubbish being afraid to go home, and that at any rate the tiger
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couldn't eat more than one of us, and while he was doing that,
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there was the chance for the others to get home safe. Two or three
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of'em took a dislike to Smith that night and told him so. The
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end of it was. We all slept in the tap room that night.
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It seemed strange at first, but anything was better than going home in the
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dark, and we all slept till about four next morning, when we woke
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up and found the tramp had gone and left the front door standing wide open.
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We took a careful look out an by and by first one started off
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and then another to see whether their wives and children had been eaten or not.
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Not a soul had been touched, but the women and children was that
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scared there was no doing anything with them. None of the children would go
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to school, and they sat at home all day with the front winder blocked
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up with the mattress to keep the tiger out. Nobody liked going to work,
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but it had to be done, and as Farmer Gill said that tigers
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went to sleep all day and only came out toward evening, we was a
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bit comforted. Not a soul went up to the coliflower that evening for fear
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of coming home in the dark. But as nothing appen that night, we
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began to ope as the tiger had traveled further on. Bob Pretty laughed at
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the whole thing and said he didn't believe there was a tiger, but nobody
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minded what he said. Bob Pretty, being as I've often told people,
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the black sheep of Clayberry, what with poaching, and what was worse is
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artfulness. But the very next morning something happened that made Bob pretty look silly
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on wish he hadn't talked quite so fast. For at five o'clock, Frederick
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Scott, going down to feed his hens, found as the tiger had been
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there afore him and had eaten no less than seven of'em. The side
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of the hen house was all broke in. There was a few feathers lying
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on the ground, and two little chicks smashed and dead beside him. The
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way Frederick Scott went on about it, you'd hardly believe. He said that
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government would I have to make it up to him, And instead of going
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to work, he put the two little chicks in the feathers into a puddin'
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basin and walked to Cudford, four miles off, where they at a policeman.
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He saw the policeman, William White by name, standin at the back
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door of the foxin' Hounds public house, throwing a an full of corn to
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the landlord's files. And the first thing mister White says was it's off my
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beat. He says, but you might do it in your spare time.
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Mister White says Frederick Scott. It's very likely that the tig girl'll come back
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to my hen house for the rest of'em. An he'd be very surprised
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if he popped his head in an see you they're waitin for him. He'd
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have reason to be, says Policeman White, starin at him. Think of
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the praise you'd get, said Frederick Scott, coaxin like. Look here,
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says Policeman White. If you don't take yourself in that puddin' basin off pretty
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quick, you'll come along a me. D'ye see, you've been drinkin' and
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you're in an excited state. He gave Frederick Scott a push, an followed
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him along the road, and every time Frederick stopped to ask him what he
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was doing of he gave him another push to show him. Frederick Scott told
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us all about it that evening, and some of the bravest of us went
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up to the coliflower to talk over what was to be done, though we
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took care to get home while it was quite light that night. Peter Gubbins
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two pigs went. They were two of the likeliest pigs I ever seed,
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and all Peter Gubbins could do was to sit up in bed, shivering and
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listening to their squeals as the tiger dragged him off. Pretty near all Claybury
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was round that stye next morning looking at the broken fence. Some of them
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looked for the tiger's footmarks, but it was dry weather and they couldn't see
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any Nobody knew whose turn it would be next, and the most sensible man
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there, Sam Jones, went straight off home and killed his pigs afore he
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went to work. Nobody knew what to do. Farmer Hall said, as
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it was a soldier's job, and he drove over to Wickham to tell the
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police so. But nothing came of it, and that night, at ten
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minutes to twelve, Bill Chambers pig went. It was one of the biggest
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pigs ever raised in Claybury, but the tiger got it off as easy as
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possible. Bill had the bravery to look out of the winder when he heard
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the pig squall, but there was such an awful snarling noise that he daresn't
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move and or foot. Dicky Weed's idea was for people with pigs and such
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like to keep them in the house of a night, but Peter Gubbins and
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Bill Chambers both pointed out that the tiger could break a back door with one
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blow of his paw, and that if he got inside he might take something
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else instead a pig, and they said that it was no worse for other
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people to lose pigs than what it was for them. The odd thing about
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it was that all this time nobody had ever seen the tiger except the tramp,
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and people sent their children back to school again and felt safe going about
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in the daytime till little Charlie Gubbins came running home crying and saying that he'd
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seen it. Next mornin a lot more children see it. An was afraid
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to go to school, and people began to wonder what had happened when all
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the pigs and poultry was eatin. Then Henry Walker see it. We was
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sittin inside ere with scithes and pitchforks and such like things handy when we see
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him come in without his hat. His eyes were staring and his hair was
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all rumpled. He called for a pot of ale and drank it nearly off
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an. Then he sat gasping and holding the mug between his legs and shakin
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his head at the floor till everybody had left off talking to look at him.
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What's the matter, Henry says one of'em. Don't ask me,
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says Henry Walker, with a shiver. You don't mean to say as how
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you've seen the tiger, says Bill Chambers. Henry Walker didn't answer him.
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He got up and walked backwards and forwards, still with that frightened look in
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his eyes. And once or twice he gives such a terrible start that he
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frightened us our fight of our wits. Then Bill Chambers took and forced him
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into a chair and give him to a gin an patted him on the back,
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and at last Henry Walker got his senses back again and told us how
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the tiger had chased him all round and round the trees and plashed its wood
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until he managed to climb up a tree and escape it. He said the
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tiger had kept him there for over an hour, and then suddenly turned round
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and bolted off up the road to wick him. It was a merciful escape,
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And everybody said so except Sam Jones. And he asked so many questions
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that at last Henry Walker asked him outright if he disbelieved his word it's all
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right, Sam, says Bob Pretty, as he had come in just after
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Henry Walker. I see him with the tiger after him, what, says
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Henry, stamping at him. I see it all, Henry, says Bob
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Pretty, and I see your pluck. It was all you could do to
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make up your mind to run from it. I believe if you'd add a
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fork in your hand, you'd have made a fight for it. Everybody said
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Brivo. But Henry Walker didn't seem to like it at all. He sat
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still looking at Bob Pretty, and at last he says, where was you?
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He says, up another tree, Henry, where you couldn't see me,
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says Bob Pretty, smiling at him. Henry Walker, what was drinking
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some beer? Choked a bit, and then he put the mug down and
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went straight off on without saying a word to anybody. I knew he didn't
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like Bob Pretty, but I couldn't see why he should be cross about his
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speaking up for him as he had done. But Bob said as it was
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his modesty, and he thought more of him for it. After that,
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things got worse than ever. The women and children stayed indoors and kept the
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doors shut, and the men never knew when they went out to work whether
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they'd come home again. They used to kiss their children afore they went out
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of a mornin', and their wives too, some of em, even men
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who'd been married for years, did, and several more of'em see the
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tiger while they was at work and came running home to tell about it.
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The tiger had been making free with clayberry pigs and such like for pretty near
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a week, and nothing had been done to try and catch it. And
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what made clayvery men madder than anything else was folks at Wickham saying it was
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all a mistake, and the tiger I hadn't escaped at all. Even Parson,
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who'd been away for a holiday, said so. And Henry Walker told
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his wife that if she ever set foot inside the church again, he'd ask
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his old mother to come and live with them. It was all very well
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for Parson to talk, but the very night he'd come back, Henery Walker's
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pig went, and at the same time George Kettle lost five or six ducks.
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He was a quiet man, was George, But when his temper was
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up, he didn't care for anything. Before he came to Claybury he had
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been in the militia, and that evening at the Coliflower he turned up with
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the gun over his shoulder and made a speech and asked who was game to
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go with him and hunt the tiger. Bill Chambers, who was still grieving
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after his pig, said he would. Then another man offered, until at
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last there was seventeen of'em. Some of em had skiths, and some
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pitchforks, and one or two of them guns. And it was one of
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the finest sights I ever seed when George Kettle stood him in rows of four
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and marched him off. They went straight up the road, then across Farmer
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Gill's fields to get to flash Its Wood, where they thought the tiger had
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most likely beat. And the nearer they got to the wood, the slower
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they walked. The sun had just gone down, and the wood looked very
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quiet and dark. But John Biggs, the blacksmith, and George Kettle walked
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in first, and the others followed, keeping so close together that Sam Jones
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had a few words over his shoulder with Bill Chambers about the way he was
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carrying his pitchfork. Ever, and now and then somebody'd say, what's that
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and they'd all stop and crowed together and think the time had come, but
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it hadn't, And then they'd go on again, trembling, until they'd walk
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all round the wood without seeing anything but one or two rabbits. John Biggs
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and George Kettle wanted for to stay there till it was dark, but the
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others wouldn't near of it for fear of frightening their wives. And just as
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it was getting dark they all come tramp back to the coliflower again. Smith
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stood a Marfa pine apiece, and they was all outside here, fancying theirselves
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a bit for what they'd done. And we see old man Parsley coming along
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on two sticks as fast as he could come. Are you, brave lads
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a lookin' for the tiger? He asks, Yes, says John Biggs.
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Then hurry up for the sake of mercy, says old mister Parsley, putting
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his hand on the table and going off into a fit of Coughin it's just
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gone into Bob Pretty's cottage. I was passing and saw it. George Kettle
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snatches up his gun and shouts out to his men to come along. Some
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of em was frangin back at first, some because they didn't like the tiger,
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and some because they didn't like Bob Pretty. But John Biggs drove him
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in front of him like a flock of sheep, and then they gave a
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cheer and ran after George Kettle full pelt up the road. A few women
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and children was at their doors as they passed, but they took fright and
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went indoor screaming. There was a lamp in Bob Pretty's front room, but
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the door was closed and the ice was silent as the gray George Kettle and
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the men with the guns went first, Then came the pitchforks, and last
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of all the Skies. Just as George Kettle put his hand on the door,
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he heard something moving inside, and the next moment the door opened and
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there stood Bob Pretty. What the dickens, he says, starting back as
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he sees the guns and pitchforks pointing at him. Have you killed it,
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Bob says? George Kettle killed? What, says Bob Pretty? Be careful
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of them guns. Take your fingers off the triggers. The tigers in your
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ouse, Bob says George Kettle in a whisper. Have you only just come
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in? Look here? Says Bob Pretty. I don't want any of your
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games. You go and play him somewhere else. It ain't a game,
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says John Biggs. The tiger's in your eyes and we're goin to kill it
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now. Then, lads, they all went in and I ate pushin Bob
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Pretty out in front of'em till the room was full. Only one man
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with the scythe got in, and they wouldn't have let him in if they'd
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known. It almost made him forget the tiger for the time. George Kettle
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opened the door what led into the kitchen, and then he sprang back with
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such a shout that the man with the scythe tried to escape, taking Henry
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Walker along with him. George Kettle tried to speak, but couldn't. All
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he could do was to point with his finger at Bob Pretty's kitchen. And
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Bob Pretty's kitchen was for all the world like a pork butcher's shop. There
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was joints of pork gangin from the ceiling, two brine tubs as full as
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they could be, and quite a string of files and ducks all ready for
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market. What do you mean by coming into my euse, says Bob pretty
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blusterin'. If you don't clear out pretty quick, I'll make you Nobody answered
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him. They was all examining. Anne's a pork and files and such like.
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There's the tiger, says Henry Walker, pointing Bob Pretty. That's old
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man Parsley meant somebody go and fetch policemen, white, says a voice.
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I wish they would, says Bob Pretty. I'll have the law on you
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all for breaking into my eyes like this. See if I don't where'd you
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get all this pork from? Says the Blacksmith. An them ducks an hens,
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says George Kettle. That's my business, says Bob Pretty, staring them
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full in the face. I just had an excellent opportunity offered me of going
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into the pork and poultry line, and I took it. Now, all
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them as doesn't want to buy any pork or files, go out of my
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house. You're a thief, Bob Pretty, says Henry Walker. You stole
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it all. Take care what you're saying, Henry, says Bob Pretty.
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Else I'll make you prove your words. You stole my pig, says Herbert
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Smith. Oh a, I, says Bob reaching down and a pork.
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Is this your pig? He says. It's just about the size of my
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poor pig, says Herbert Smith. Very usual size, I call it,
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says Bob Pretty An them ducks and hens, very usual looking hens an ducks,
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I call them, except that they don't grow them so fat in these
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parts. It's a fine thing when a man's doing an honest business to have
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these charges brought again him disart'ning, I call it. I don't mind telling
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you that the tiger got in at my back winder the other night and took
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our for behind a sausage. But you don't hear me complaining and going on
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about calling other people thieves. Tiger be hanged, says Henry Walker, who
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was almost certain that a loin of pork on the table was off his pig.
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You're the only tiger in these parts, why, Henry says Bob Pretty
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What are you a thinking of? Where's your memory? Why it's only two
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or three days ago you see it and had to get up a tree out
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of its way. He smiled and shook his said Adam. But Henry Walker
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only kept opening and shutting his mouth, and at last he went outside without
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saying a word. And Sam Jones see it too, says Bob Pretty,
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didn't you, Sam? Sam didn't answer him, And Charlie Hall, and
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Jack Min's and a lot more, says Bob. Besides, I see it
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myself. I can believe my own eyes. I suppose we'll have the law
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on you, says Sam Jones. As you like, says Bob Pretty.
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But I tell you plain, I've got all the bills for this properly made
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out upstairs. And there's pretty near a dozen of you as a laugh to
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go in the box and swear as you saw the tiger. Now, can
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I sell any of you a bit of pork before you go? It's delicious
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eating, and as soon as you taste it you'll know it wasn't grown in
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Claybury, Or a pair of ducks would have come from two hundred miles off
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and yet look as fresh as if they was only killed last night. George
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Kettle, whose ducks had gone the night afore, went into the front room
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and walked up and down, fighting for his breath. But it was all
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no good. Nobody ever got the better of Bob Pretty. None of em
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could swear to their property, and even when it became known a month later
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that Bob pretty An the Tramp knew each other. Nothing was done, but
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nobody ever heard any more of the Tiger from that day to this and of Section eight