DEEP WATERS

By W.W. JACOBS




SAM'S GHOST

Yes, I know, said the night-watchman, thoughtfully, as he sat with a cold
pipe in his mouth gazing across the river. I've 'eard it afore. People
tell me they don't believe in ghosts and make a laugh of 'em, and all I
say is: let them take on a night-watchman's job. Let 'em sit 'ere all
alone of a night with the water lapping against the posts and the wind
moaning in the corners; especially if a pal of theirs has slipped
overboard, and there is little nasty bills stuck up just outside in the
High Street offering a reward for the body. Twice men 'ave fallen
overboard from this jetty, and I've 'ad to stand my watch here the same
night, and not a farthing more for it.

One of the worst and artfullest ghosts I ever 'ad anything to do with was
Sam Bullet. He was a waterman at the stairs near by 'ere; the sort o'
man that 'ud get you to pay for drinks, and drink yours up by mistake
arter he 'ad finished his own. The sort of man that 'ad always left his
baccy-box at 'ome, but always 'ad a big pipe in 'is pocket.

He fell overboard off of a lighter one evening, and all that his mates
could save was 'is cap. It was on'y two nights afore that he 'ad knocked
down an old man and bit a policeman's little finger to the bone, so that,
as they pointed out to the widder, p'r'aps he was taken for a wise