Elijah Kellogg - The Unseen Hand - Or, James Renfew and His Boy Helpers (Elijah Kellogg) - illustrated - (Literary Thoughts Edition)

“If you won’t work how do you expect to live?”

“By stealing,” replied the lank boy, displaying his rings.

“By working when we can’t do any better, granddaddy, and begging for the rest,” said Tom Hadley.

During this conversation this select company had gradually gathered around Wilson, and one of them was in the act of purloining a handkerchief from the latter’s pocket, when he received a blow from a stout cudgel in the hand of the Scotchman, that felled him to the ground.

“Why don’t you take Foolish Jim?” said the red-headed chap, “he’ll work; rather work than not.”

“Who’s Foolish Jim?”

“There he is,” pointing to a boy leaning against the wall of the glass-house, aloof from the rest.

“Why do you call him Foolish Jim?”

“‘Cause he’s such a fool he won’t lie, swear nor steal; but we are dabsters at all three.”

“What makes him so much worse dressed than the rest?”

“‘Cause he’s a fool and won’t steal. Now we all get one thing or another, meat, fish, vegetables; and we’re going down to the brick yards to have a cook and a real tuck-out, but he’s had no breakfast, nor won’t get any, till he runs some errand for the glass-house folks, or gets some horse to hold, or some little job of work, just ‘cause he won’t steal nor beg either. If you’d a dropt that handkerchief on the ground and he’d a picked it up, instead of putting it in his pocket, he’d a run after you crying, ‘Mister you’ve lost your handkerchief.’ Now there’s no work to be had by those who are fools enough to work, so he’s just starving by inches.”

“And to help him out of the world you keep him with you to make sport of him.”

“That’s so, as much as we think will do, but we can’t go but about so far, ‘cause he’s strong as a giant and he’s got a temper of his own, though it takes an awful sight to git it up; but when its up you’d better stand clear, he’ll take any two of us and knock our heads together. When the glassmen have a heavy crate to lift, they always sing out for Jim.”

“Ask him to come here.”

“Jim, here’s a cove wants yer.”

Mr. Wilson scanned with great curiosity the lad whom his companions termed a fool because he would neither lie nor swear, steal nor beg, but was willing to work. He was tall, large-boned, with great muscles that were plainly visible, of regular features, fair complexion and clean, thus forming a strong contrast to his companions, who were dirty in the extreme. He might be called, on the whole, good looking, as far as form and features went, but on the other hand there was an expression of utter hopelessness and apathy in his face that seemed almost to border upon fatuity, and went far to justify the appellation bestowed upon him by his companions.

His movements also were those of an automaton; there was none of the spring, energy or buoyancy of youth about him.

He was barefoot, with a tattered shirt, ragged pants and coat of corduroy, the coat was destitute of buttons and confined to his waist by a ropeyarn. On his head he wore a sailor’s fez cap, streaked with tar and that had once been red, but was faded to the color of dried blood.

“What is your name, my lad?”

“Jim.”

“Jim what?”

“Jim, that’s all.”

“How old are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where are your father and mother?”

“Haven’t got none?”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

“Where did you come from? Where do you belong?”

“Work’us.”

“Do you want to go to America with me, and get work?”

“I’ll go anywhere if I can have enough to eat, clothes to keep me warm, and some warm place to sleep.”

“Will you work?”

“Yes; I’ll work.”

“What kind of work can you do?”

“I can dig dirt, and hoe, and pick oakum, and drive horses, and break stones for the highway, and break flax.”

“What other farm-work can you do?”

“I can mow grass, and reap grain, and plash a hedge, and thrash (thresh) grain.”

“Where did you learn these things?”

“They used to put me out to farmers once.”

“How long was you with the farmers?”

“Don’t know.”

“Mister,” broke in the lank youth, “he don’t know anything. Why don’t you ask ‘em up to the work’us; like’s they know who he is, where he came from, and all about him. They feed him, but he’s so proud he won’t call upon ‘em if he can help it, ‘cause he thinks it’s begging. He might have three good meals there every day if he would, but he’s such a simpleton he won’t go there till he’s starved within an inch of his life.”

Upon this hint the Scotchman, whose curiosity was now thoroughly aroused, taking the lad for a guide, started for the workhouse.

As they went along, Wilson, feigning fatigue, proposed that they should sit down to rest, but his real motive was that, undisturbed by his companions, he might observe this singular youth more at his leisure and be the better able to form some more definite opinion in his own mind respecting him.

After long contemplating the features and motions of Jim at his leisure, Mr. Wilson came to the conclusion that there was no lack of sense, but that discouragement, low living, absence of all hope for the future, ignorance and being made a butt of, were the potent causes that had reduced the lad to what he was; and that, under the influence of good food and encouragement, he would rally and make an efficient laborer and perhaps something more, and resolved to sift the matter to the bottom.

From the records of the workhouse he ascertained that the boy’s name was James Renfew, that he was not born in the institution, but was brought there with his mother, being at that time three years of age. The mother was then in the last stages of disease, and in a few weeks died. He was informed that the boy had been several times put out to different farmers, who, after keeping him till after harvest, brought him back in the fall to escape the cost of his maintenance in the winter.

Wilson mentioned what he had been told in respect to his character, to which the governor replied it was all true, and that he should not be afraid to trust him with untold gold, that he came and went as he pleased; and when starved out, and not till then, he came to them and was housed, fed and made welcome.

“Where did he get ideas in his head so different from those of workhouse children in general?”

“I am sure I don’t know except they grew there. You seem to have a great deal of curiosity about the history of Jim, there’s an old Scotchwoman here, Grannie Brockton, who took care of his mother while she lived and of the boy after her death; she’s a crabbed venomous old creature, deaf as a haddock, but if she happens to be in a good mood and you can make her hear, she can tell you the whole story.”

“I’ll find a way to make her agreeable.”

He found Grannie Brockton, who seeing a stranger approach, drew herself up, put one hand to her ear, and with the other motioned the intruder away.

Wilson, without a word, approached and laid a piece of silver on her knee. This wrought an instantaneous change, turning briskly round she pulled down the flap of her right ear (the best one) and said,—

“What’s your will wi’ me?”

“I want you to tell me all you know about James Renfew and his parents.”

“It’s Jeames Renfew ye want to speer about, and it’s my ain sel’ wha’ can tell you about him and his kith, and there’s na ither in this place that can.”

The interrogator felt that the best method of getting at the matter was to leave the old crone to her own discretion, and without further questioning placed another small piece of silver in her lap.