James Greenwood - The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

Here the subject dropped; and after regaling on a better supper than had fallen to my lot ever since I had been in Mr. Belcher’s service, I was dismissed to the kitchen with a parting injunction to breathe no word of our conversation to Spider.

How I passed the next day is not worth while here to describe. Decidedly it was the longest day I ever experienced, not forgetting that memorable time when having escaped from the work-house, I beguiled the hours of daylight under the dark arches, waiting for Mouldy and Ripston. But one thought beset me—would it by and by be moonlight? It was dark enough last night, but the night before and again the night that preceded it was bright moonlight. Of the moon’s changes I was of course ignorant. I knew about tides as well as any waterman on the Thames, but of the moon and the laws that govern that luminary, I was as much in the dark as I most devoutly hoped her ladyship herself might that night be. It was all chance it seamed to me. Perhaps the moon would shine and perhaps it wouldn’t; just as it took it into its head. Since Mr. Belcher’s trade depended on the moon, it was only fair to infer that he knew as much of her ways as any man, and according to his own declaration, it was quite a matter of uncertainty.

I ate no breakfast that day—no dinner. At the time, however, a gleam of comfort warmed my appetite. It came from Spider, and consisted in a single exclamation—“Ah, my jints! my jints!” exclaimed he; “there’s a change in the weather a comin; it’ll rain afore dark, I’ll lay a farden.”

And while the poor fellow whined and moaned in firm belief in his prognostication, I was thrilled with delight, and knowing of old how true a prophet he was, took heart, and went at my tea with a relish.

With the dusk the rain began to fall, and before nine o’clock—it was May now, be it remembered, and the evenings were long—the night was as dark and dismal as even I could desire. A little later the consummation of the great event was assured beyond a doubt by Mrs. Belcher calling me into supper, (I was not out of earshot, the reader may depend,) just as she had invariably called Sam in before the start on a night-journey. The meal was plentiful and splendid, consisting chiefly of a honeycomb of tripe fried in butter, and mashed potatoes. There were present Mr. and Mrs. Belcher, Ned Perks, and myself.

When the fried tripe was finished, Mr. Belcher, who appeared in the best of spirits, observed.

“Now, my dear, we’ll have jist one pipe and a stiff glass, and then we’ll be off. Mix the boy a drop all to his own cheek, missus. He’ll want it. We’ve got thirty miles afore us, in and out, and if it ain’t set in for a all-night soaker it’s werry strange to me.”

Graciously enough Mrs. Belcher mixed me half-a-tumbler of grog, hot and strong, and of which, although it made my eyes water, I partook manfully, as became a person about to engage in a dare-devil adventure such as ours. Presently, Ned Perks, having finished his glass, disappeared for a few minutes, and then returning, announced that he was quite ready to start when the guv’nor was.

“I’ve put a couple of extra sacks beside the long ’un into the cart,” said he; “we shall be glad of ’em to kiver over us, as its a-comin’ down like cats and dawgs.”

In the yard we found the brown horse already put to, and presently we set off, Mr. Belcher and Ned on the cart seat, each with a sack worn hood-wise over his head, and I snugly ensconced in a corner of the cart, covered by the tarpaulin that was used to throw over the horse when he was standing still. Besides ourselves the cart carried the sweeping-machine and the other tools in a sack, which Sam could only describe as “clinking,” and which, as I lay in the bottom of the cart with my arm resting on them, was exactly all I could make of them, though I was curious enough to endeavour to feel their shape through the thick sackcloth that covered them.

I had not the least idea which road we were travelling, which rather heightened the romance of the business. Lying in the dark with the mysterious jingling tools under my elbow, we were whirled along at a tremendous pace by the strong brown horse, whose hoofs could be heard plash, plash on the miry highway, bound on a mission against which mighty Acts of Parliament protested, and daring the vengeance of the terrible “exy—what’s-o-names,” and the frightful torture of cross roads and pointed sticks that inevitably awaited our non-success! Talk about the pieces they brought out at the Shoreditch “gaff!” When ever did they bring out a piece like this? And this wasn’t a piece, it was real! The hot-and-strong Mrs. Belcher had mixed for me may have had something to do with it, but the longer I thought on how delightfully desperate our errand was, the better it pleased me, till I began to half wish that while I was minding the cart, a young “exy—what’s-o-name”—one about my own age and size, and with not much of a stick in his possession—might venture to attack me. I wouldn’t run, I’d stand to it There were three or four dodges in the boxing art that Mouldy had put me up to, and it was not impossible that I might be able to astonish my young “exy—what’s-o-name.” Pooh! if he would only lay aside his pointed prop, I’d take him one hand, and give him a licking he wouldn’t get over in a hurry.

By the time I had worked myself up to this valorous pitch we must, at the rate the brown horse was going, have accomplished fully ten miles of our journey, and as I could hear by the sharp “pit-pat” against the tarpaulin that covered me, it was still raining fast, and Mr. Belcher drew up by a wayside horse-trough to give his animal a drink.

“I don’t know how you are, Ned,” said he, “but I’m like a drowned rat; reg’lar sopped through to my shirt. S’pose we have a drain?” “We’ll warnt it wuss by ’nd by maybe,” said Mr. Perks, his naturally growling voice not improved by his ten miles’ soaking, “else there’s nothink as I’d like better. Pity we didn’t bring a drop more in the bottle.”

“But we can take a swig out of it and have it filled again here, can’t we?” suggested Mr. Belcher.

“Is it safe, d’ ye think?”

“Safe enough if we sends young Jim in for it, nobody ever see him afore. We’ll chance it anyhow; anythink’s better than ketchin’ a wilent cold, which is easier ketched than got rid on.” Mr. Perks was nothing averse to the last-mentioned proposition, and after drawing a short distance past the horse-trough, (which stood before a roadside public-house, the shutters of which were, on account of the lateness of the hour, partly raised,) the bottle brought from home was brought out, and first Mr. Belcher and then Ned Perks took a long pull at it.

“I reckon we shan’t get a drop of stuff like that here,” observed the latter gentleman, smacking his lips.

“Carn’t be expected, so we had better take as much of t’ other as we can carry. How much is left in the bottle, Ned?”

“Not a quarten, I should say, by the shake of it.”

“Better finish it, then. Let’s have another toothful each and give the boy wot’s left. A fellar might drink a pailful a night like this without feeling any the wuss for it.”

It was something more than a toothful that was left in the bottle when Ned Perks handed it to me, and it was brandy, but with the possibility before my eyes of having a “exy—what’s-o-name” to encounter shortly, I made no scruple of tilting it all down my throat.

“You see that pub, Jim? Hop in there and get a pint of best brown. Don’t kiver the cloth over your shoulders, then you ’ll pass for a boy wot’s livin’ in the nabrood.”