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The Everlasting Mercy

by John Masefield

INTRODUCTION

Thy place is biggyd above the sterrys cleer,

Noon erthely paleys wrouhte in so statly wyse,

Com on my freend, my brothir moost enteer,

For the I offryd my blood in sacrifise.

John Lydgate.

FROM '41 to '51

I was folk's contrary son;

I bit my father's hand right through

And broke my mother's heart in two.

I sometimes go without my dinner

Now that I know the times I've gi'n her.

From '51 to '61

I cut my teeth and took to fun.

I learned what not to be afraid of

And what stuff women's lips are made of;

I learned with what a rosy feeling

Good ale makes floors seem like the ceiling,

And how the moon give shiny light

To lads as roll home singing by't.

My blood did leap, my flesh did revel,

Saul Kane was tokened to the devil.

From '61 to'71

I lived in disbelief of Heaven.

I drunk, I fought, I poached, I whored,

I did despite unto the Lord.

I cursed, 'would make a man look pale,

And nineteen times I went to gaol

Now, friends, observe and look upon me,

Mark how the Lord took pity on me.

By Dead Man's Thorn, while setting wires,

Who should come up but Billy Myers,

A friend of mine, who used to be

As black a sprig of hell as me,

With whom I'd planned, to save encroachin',

Which fields and coverts each should poach in.

Now when he saw me set my snare,

He tells me "Get to hell from there.

This field is mine," he says, "by right;

If you poach here, there'll be a fight.

Out now," he says, "and leave your wire;

It's mine."

"It ain't."

"You put."

"You liar."

"You closhy put."

"You bloody liar."

"This is my field."

"This is my wire."

"I'm ruler here."

"You ain't."

"I am."

"I'll fight you for it."

"Right, by damn.

Not now, though, I've a-sprained my thumb,

We'll fight after the harvest hum.

And Silas Jones, that bookie wide,

Will make a purse five pounds a side."

Those were the words, that was the place

By which God brought me into grace.

On Wood Top Field the peewits go

Mewing and wheeling ever so;

And like the shaking of a timbrel

Cackles the laughter of the whimbrel..

In the old quarry-pit they say

Head-keeper Pike was made away.

He walks, head-keeper Pike, for harm,

He taps the windows of the farm;

The blood drips from his broken chin,

He taps and begs to be let in.

On Wood Top, nights, I've shaked to hark

The peewits wambling in the dark

Lest in the dark the old man might

Creep up to me to beg a light.

But Wood Top grass is short and sweet

And springy to a boxer's feet;

At harvest hum the moon so bright

Did shine on Wood Top for the fight.

When Bill was stripped down to his bends

I thought how long we two'd been friends,

And in my mind, about that wire,

I thought "He's right, I am a liar.

As sure as skilly's made in prison

The right to poach that copse is his'n.

I'll have no luck tonight," thinks I.

"I'm fighting to defend a lie.

And this moonshiny evening's fun

Is worse than aught I've ever done."

And thinking that way my heart bled so

I almost stept to Bill and said so.

And now Bill's dead I would be glad

If I could only think I had.

But no. I put the thought away

For fear of what my friends would say.

They'd backed me, see? O Lord, the sin

Done for things there's money in.

The stakes were drove, the ropes were hitched,

Into the ring my hat I pitched.

My corner faced the Squire's park

Just where the fir trees make it dark;

The place where I begun poor Nell

Upon the woman's road to hell.

I thought of't, sitting in my corner

After the time-keep struck his warner

(Two brandy flasks, for fear of noise,

Clinked out the time to us two boys).

And while the seconds chafed and gloved me

I thought of Nell's eyes when she loved me,

And wondered how my tot would end,

First Nell cast off and now my friend;

And in the moonlight dim and wan

I knew quite well my luck was gone;

And looking round I felt a spite

At all who'd come to see me fight;

The five and forty human faces

Inflamed by drink and going to races,

Faces of men who'd never been

Merry or true or live or clean;

Who'd never felt the boxer's trim

Of brain divinely knit to limb,

Nor felt the whole live body go

One tingling health from top to toe;

Nor took a punch nor given a swing,

But just soaked dead round the ring

Until their brains and bloods were foul

Enough to make their throttles howl,

While we whom Jesus died to teach

Fought round on round, three minutes each.

And think that, you'll understand

I thought, "I'll go and take Bill's hand.

I'll up and say the fault was mine,

He shan't make play for these here swine."

And then I thought that that was silly,

They'd think I was afraid of Billy;

They'd think (I thought it, God forgive me)

I funked the hiding Bill could give me.

And that thought made me mad and hot.

"Think that, will they? Well, they shall not.

They shan't think that. I will not. I'm

Damned if I will. I will not."

Time!

From the beginning of the bout

My luck was gone, my hand was out.

Right from the start Bill called the play,

But I was quick and kept away

Till the fourth round, when work got mixed,

And then I knew Bill had me fixed.

My hand was out, why, Heaven knows;

Bill punched me when and where he chose.

Through two more rounds we quartered wide,

And all the time my hands seemed tied;

Bill punched me when and where he pleased.

The cheering from my backers eased,

But every punch I heard a yell

Of "That's the style, Bill, give him hell."

No one for me, but Jimmy's light

"Straight left! Straight left!" and "Watch his right."

I don't know how a boxer goes

When all his body hums from blows;

I know I seemed to rock and spin,

I don't know how I saved my chin;

I know I thought my only friend

Was that clinked flash at each round's end

When my two seconds, Ed and Jimmy,

Had sixty seconds help to gimme.

But in the ninth, with pain and knocks

I stopped: I couldn't fight nor box.

Bill missed his swing, the light was tricky,

But I went down, and stayed down, dicky.

"Get up," cried Jim. I said, "I will."

Then all the gang yelled, "Out him, bill.

Out him." Bill rushed . . . and Clink, Clink, Clink.

Time! And Jim's knee, and rum to drink.

And round the ring there ran a titter:

"Saved by the call, the bloody quitter."

They drove (a dodge that never fails)

A pin beneath my finger nails.

They poured what seemed a running beck

Of cold spring water down my neck;

Jim with a lancet quick as flies

Lowered the swelling round my eyes.

They sluiced my legs and fanned my face

Through all that blessed minute's grace;

They gave my calves a thorough kneading,

They salved my cuts and stopped the bleeding.

A gulp of liquor dulled the pain,

And then the flasks clinked again.

Time!

There was Bill as grim as death,

He rushed, I clinched, to get more breath,

And breath I got, though Billy bats

Some stinging short-arms in my slats.

And when we broke, as I foresaw,

He swung his right in for the jaw.

I stopped it on my shoulder bone,

And at the shock I heard Bill groan

A little groan or moan or grunt

As though I'd hit his wind a bunt.

At that, I clinched, and while we clinched,

His old time right arm dig was flinched,

And when we broke he hit me light

As though he didn't trust his right,

He flapped me somehow with his wrist

As though he couldn't use his fist,

And when he hit he winced with pain.

I thought, "Your sprained thumb's crocked again."

So I got strength and Bill gave ground,

And that round was an easy round.

During the wait my Jimmy said,

What's making Billy fight so dead?

He's all to pieces. Is he blown?"

"His thumb's out."

"No? Then it's your own.

It's all your own, but don't be rash

He's got the goods if you've got the cash,

And what one hand can do he'll do.

Be careful this next round or two."

Time. There was Bill, and I felt sick

That luck should play so mean a trick

And give me leave to knock him out

After he'd plainly won the bout.

But by the way the man came at me

He made it plain he meant to bat me;

If you'd a seen the way he come

You wouldn't think he'd crocked a thumb.

With all his skill and all his might

He clipped me dizzy left and right;

The Lord knows what the effort cost,

but he was mad to think he'd lost,

And knowing nothing else could save him

He didn't care what pain it gave him.

He called the music and the dance

For five rounds more and gave no chance.

Try to imagine if you can

The kind of manhood in the man,

And if you'd like to feel his pain

You sprain your thumb and hit the sprain.

And hit it hard with all your power

On something hard for half-an-hour,

While someone thumps you black and blue,

And then you'll know what Billy knew.

Bill took that pain without a sound

Till halfway through the eighteenth round,

And then I sent him down and out,

And Silas said, "Kane wins the bout."

When Bill came to, you understand,

I ripped the mitten from my hand

And across to ask Bill shake,

My limbs were all one pain and ache,

I was so weary and so sore

I don't think I'd a stood much more.

Bill in his corner bathed his thumb,

Buttoned his shirt and glowered glum.

"I'll never shake your hand" he said.

"I'd rather see my children dead.

I've been about had some fun with you,

But you're a liar and I've done with you.

You've knocked me out, you didn't beat me;

Look out the next time that you meet me,

There'll be no friend to watch the clock for you

And no convenient thumb to crock for you,

And I'll take care, with much delight,

You'll get what you'd a got tonight;

That puts my meaning clear, I guess,

Now get to hell; I want to dress."

I dressed. My backers one and all

Said, "Well done you" or "Good old Saul."

"Saul is a wonder and a fly 'un,

What'll you have, Saul, at the Lion?"

With merry oaths they helped me down

The stony wood path to the town.

The moonlight shone on Cabbage Walk,

It made the limestone look like chalk.

It was too late for any people,

Twelve struck as we went by the steeple.

A dog barked, and an owl was calling,

The squire's brook was still a-falling,

The carved heads on the church looked down

On "Russell, Blacksmith of this Town,"

And all the graves of all the ghosts

Who rise on Christmas Eve in hosts

To dance and carol in festivity

For joy of Jesus Christ's Nativity

(Bell-ringer Dawe and his two sons

Beheld 'em from the bell-tower once},

To and two about about

Singing the end of Advent out,

Dwindling down to windlestraws

When the glittering peacock craws,

As craw the glittering peacock should

When Christ's own star come over the wood.

Lamb of the sky comes out of fold

Wandering windy heavens cold.

So they shone and sang till twelve

When all the bells ring out of theirselve.

Rang a peal for Christmas morn,

Glory, men, for Christ is born.

All the old monks' singing places

Glimmered quick with flitting faces,

Singing anthems, singing hymns

Under carven cherubims.

Ringer Dave aloft could mark

Faces at the window dark

Crowding, crowding, row on row,

Till all the church began to glow.

The chapel glowed, the nave, the choir,

All he faces became fire

Below the eastern window high

To see Christ's star come up the sky.

Then they lifted hands and turned,

And all their lifted fingers burned,

Burned like the golden altar tallows,

Burned like a troop of God's own Hallows,

Bringing to mind the burning time

When all the bells will rock and chime

And burning saints on burning horses

Will sweep the planets from their courses

And loose the stars to burn up night.

Lord, give us eyes to bear the light.

We all went quiet down the Scallenge

Lest Police Inspector Drew should challenge.

But 'Spector Drew was sleeping sweet,

His head upon a charges sheet,

Under the gas jet flaring full,

Snorting and snoring like a bull,

His bull cheeks puffed, his bull lips plowing,

His ugly yellow front teeth showing.

Just as we peeped we saw him fumble

And scratch his head, and shift, and mumble.

Down in the lane so thick and dark

The tan-yards stank of bitter bark,

The curate's pigeons gave a flutter,

A cart went courting down the gutter,

And none else stirred a foot or feather.

The houses put their heads together,

Talking, perhaps, so dark and sly,

Of all the folk they'd seen go by,

Children, and men and women, merry all,

Who'd some day pass that way to burial.

It was all dark, but at the turning

The Lion had a window burning.

So in we went and up the stairs,

Treading as still as cats and hares.

The way the stairs creaked made you wonder

If dead men's bones were hidden under.

At head of stairs upon the landing

A woman with a lamp was standing;

she greet each gent at head of stairs,

With "Step in, gents, and take your chairs.

The punch'll come when kettle bubble,

But don't make noise or there'll be trouble."

'Twas Doxy Jane, a bouncing girl

With eyes all sparks and hair all curl,

And cheeks all red and lips all coal,

And thirst for men instead of soul.

She's trod her pathway to the fire.

Old Rivers had his nephew by her.

I step aside from Tom and Jimmy

To find if she'd a kiss to gimme.

I blew out lamp 'fore she could speak.

She said, "If you ain't got a cheek,"

And then beside me in the dim,

"Did he beat you or you beat him?"

"Why, I beat him" (though that was wrong).

She said, "You must be turble strong,

I'd be afraid you'd beat me, too."

"You'd not," I said, "I wouldn't do."

"Never?"

"No, never."

"Never?"

"No."

"O Saul. Here's missus. Let me go."

It wasn't missus, so I didn't,

Whether I mid do or I midn't,

Until she'd promised we should meet

Next evening, six, at top of street,

When we could have a quiet talk

On that low wall up Worcester Walk.

And while we whispered there together

I give her silver for a feather

And felt a drunkenness like wine

And shut out Christ in husks and swine.

I felt the dart strike through my liver.

God punish me for't and forgive her.

Each one could be a Jesus mild,

Each one has been a little child,

A little child with laughing look,

A lovely white unwritten book;

A book that God will take, my friend,

As each goes out a journey's end.

The Lord Who gave us Earth and Heaven

Takes that as thanks for all He's given.

The book He lent is given back

All blotted red and smutted black.

"Open the door," said Jim, "and call."

Jane gasped "They'll see me. Loose me, Saul."

She pushed me by, and ducked downstair

With half the pins out of her hair.

I went inside the lit room rollen

Her scented handkerchief I'd stolen.

"What would you fancy, Saul?" they said.

"A gin punch hot and then to bed."

"Jane, fetch the punch bowl to the gemmen;

And mind you don't put too much lemon.

Our good friend Saul has had a fight of it,

Now smoke up, boys, and make a night of it."

The room was full of men and stink

Of bad cigars and heavy drink.

Riley was nodding to the floor

And gurgling as he wanted more.

His mouth was wide, his face was pale,

His swollen face was sweating ale;

And one of those assembled Greeks

Had corked black crosses on his cheeks.

Thomas was having words with Goss,

He "wouldn't pay, the fight was cross."

And Goss told Tom that "cross or no,

The bets go as the verdicts go,

By all I've ever heard or read of.

So pay, or else I'll knock your head off."

Jim Gurvil said his smutty say

About a girl down Bye Street way,

And how the girl from Froggatt's circus

Died giving birth in Newent work'us.

And Dick told how the Dymock wench

Bore twins, poor things, on Dog Hill bench;

And how he'd owned to one Court

And how Judge made him sorry for't.

Jack set a jew's harp twanging drily;

"gimme another cup," said Riley.

A dozen more were in their glories

With laughs and smokes and smutty stories;

And Jimmy joked and took his sup

And sang his song of "Up, come up."

Jane brought the bowl of stewing gin

And poured the egg and lemon in,

And whisked it up and served it out

While bawdy questions went about.

Jack chucked her chin, and Jim accost her

With bits out of the "Maid of Gloster."

And fifteen arms went round her waist.

(And then men ask, Are Barmaids chaste?}

O young men, pray to be kept whole

from bringing down a weaker soul.

Your minute's joy so meet in doin'

May be the woman's door to ruin;

The door to wandering up and down,

A painted whore with half a crown.

The bright mind fouled, the beauty gay

All eaten out and fallen away,

By drunken days and weary tramps

From pub to pub by city lamps

Till men despise the game they started

Till health and beauty are departed,

and in a slum the reeking hag

Mumbles a crust with toothy jag,

Or gets the river's help to end

The life too wrecked for man to mend.

We spat and smoked and took our swipe

Till Silas up and tap his pipe,

And begged us all to pay attention

Because he'd several things to mention.

We'd seen the fight (Hear, hear. That's you);

But still one task remained to do.

That task was his, he didn't shun it,

To give the purse to him as won it.

With this remark, from start to out

He'd never seen a brisker bout.

There was the purse. At that he'd leave it.

Let Kane come forward to receive it.

I took the purse and hemmed and bowed,

And called for gin punch for the crowd;

And when the second bowl was done,

I called, "Let's have another one."

Si's wife come in and sipped and sipped

(As women will) till she was pipped.

And Si hit Dicky Twot a clouter

Because he put his arms about her;

But after Si got overtasked

She sat and kissed whoever asked.

My Doxy Jane was splashed by this,

I took her on my knee to kiss.

And Tom cried out, "O damn the gin;

Why can't we all have women in?

Bess Evans now, or Sister Polly,

Or those two housemaids at the Folly?

Let someone nip to Biddy Price's,

They'd all come in a brace of trices.

Rose Davies, Sue, and Betsy Perks;

One man, one girl, and damn all Turks."

But, no. "More gin," they cried; "Come on.

We'll have the girls in when it's gone."

So round the g in went, hot and heady,

Hot Hollands punch on top of deady.

Hot Hollands punch on top of stout

Puts madness in and wisdom out.

From drunken man to drunken man

The drunken madness raged and ran.

"I'm climber Joe who climbed the spire."

"You're climber Joe the bloody liar."

"Who says I lie?" "I do."

"You lie,

I climbed the spire and had a fly."

"I'm French Suzanne, the Circus Dancer,

I'm going to dance a bloody Lancer."

"If I'd my rights I'm Squire's heir."

"By rights I'd be a millionaire."

"By rights I'd be the lord of you,

But Farmer Scriggins had his do,

He done me, so I've had to hoove it,

I've got it all wrote down to prove it.

And one of these dark winter nights

He'll learn I mean to have my rights;

I'll bloody him a bloody fix,

I'll bloody burn his bloody ricks."

From three long hours of gin and smokes,

And two girls' breath and fifteen blokes,

A warmish night, and windows shut,

The room stank like a fox's gut.

The heat and smell and drinking deep

Began to stun the gang to sleep.

Some fell downstairs to sleep on mat,

Some snored it sodden where they sat.

Dick Twot had lost a tooth and wept;

But all the drunken others slept.

Jane slept beside me in the chair,

And I got up; I wanted air.

(Continued)

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