There was a tradition amongst sailors, which I am inclined to give some credence to, that a certain barber who had a shop in the Highway availed himself of the opportunity, while cutting the hair or shaving his sailor customers—­mainly, it was thought, those who were sodden with drink—­to sever their wind-pipe, rob them of all they had, and then pull the bolt of a carefully concealed trap-door which communicated with the Thames, and drop their weighted bodies out of sight!  This system of sanguinary murder is supposed to have been carried on for some years, until a sailor of great physical power, suspecting foul play to some of his pals, went boldly in, was politely asked to take his seat, and assumed a drunken attitude which caused the barber to think he had an easy victim.  The barber wormed his way into Jack’s confidence, who was very communicative as to the length of his voyage and the amount of money he had been paid off with.  He flattered him with loving profusion, and was about to take the razor up and commence his deadly work, when the sailor, who had discerned the secret trap, jumped up, pulled a revolver from his pocket, and demanded that the trap-door should be shown to him, or his brains would be scattered all over the place!  The barber implored that his life should be spared, and piteously denied the existence of a secret communication with the river.  Jack’s attitude was threatening; the supplicant pleaded that if his life was spared he would do what was asked of him.  The condition was agreed on, and the trap opened.  It disclosed a liquid vault.  The sailor accused the panic-stricken villain of foul murder, and of having this place as a repository for his unsuspecting victims, and the man shrieked alternate incoherent denials and confessions.  The sailor suspected the awful truth all along, but now he became satisfied of it, and forcing the barber towards the vault, he ordered him to jump down; he had to choose between this and being shot.  He preferred the former mode of extinction, so plunged in.  The hatch was then covered over him, and there were no more murders.

Another of the many instances of the resourceful mariner’s irrepressible gaiety even under most embarrassing conditions is contained in a story which I heard related aboard ship in the early days of my sea-life many times, and the veracity of it was always vouched for by the narrator whose personal acquaintance with the gentlemen concerned was an indispensable factor in the interest of the tale, and a distinction he was proud of to a degree.  I have said that Ratcliffe Highway was the rendezvous of seafaring men.  It provided them with a wealth of facilities for the expeditious disposal of money that had been earned at great hazard, and not infrequently by the sweat of anguish.  One chilly November morning a sailor was walking down the Highway.  His step was jerky and uncertain, for his feet were bare; his sole articles of dress consisted of a cotton shirt and a pair of trousers that seemed large enough to take another person inside of them.  These were kept from dropping off by what is known as a soul-and-body lashing—­that is, a piece of cord or rope-yarn tied round the waist.  His manner indicated that he felt satisfied with himself and at peace with all creation, as he chanted with a husky voice the following song:—­