James Greenwood - The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

Ned Perks was more lucky. He still had the iron rod in his hand when he jumped from the cart, and seeing the gap in the hedge fairly before him, he jumped the narrow ditch and made for it; with his head low, he scuttled swiftly along straight in the direction where I was lying in custody, and I verily believe would have stumbled over me, had not the loud cry of terror I uttered pulled him up short

His fiendish satisfaction at finding me, blinded him for the moment to everything save my hateful presence. I believe he did not see the dogs at all; he only saw me. He didn’t say a word; he only made a hideous face at me, and threw up the iron rod above his head with both his hands. Duke and Slot, however, were obedient dogs, and knew but one meaning for their master’s injunction “mind him.” They rose on their long legs as the bar was swung upward, and before it had time to descend, they were at him, and plucked him down with his face to the ground, as easy as one could pluck down a stalk of hollyhock.

While the dogs still retained their tenacious hold on Mr. Perks, the one to his neckcloth and the other to his right arm just above the elbow, Joseph the gamekeeper, with an alacrity increased, possibly, by the reflection that the ruffian on the ground would have felt no scruples in beating his brains out, whipped a pair of handcuffs out of his coat pocket, and hauling Mr. Perks’s unresisting wrists behind his back, there locked them securely together. While he was doing this, he spied an end of stout cord hanging out at the pocket of Mr. Perks’s jacket, and of this, without asking leave, he possessed himself, and made fast Mr. Perks’s legs just above the ankles; and there being no longer a possibility of that gentleman getting up and running away, Joseph made the dogs quit their hold, and went out into the road to ascertain how his mate was getting on. As is needless to remark, I went with him.

Mr. Belcher was still lying in the mud as when struck down, and Tom the gamekeeper, having made fast the brown mare’s reins to a tree, was in the cart investigating its contents by the light of Mr. Belcher’s own bull’s-eye lantern.

“My man’s fast,” exclaimed Joseph, bustling eagerly up to the cart; “how do you find things, Tom? Is he dead? Are there any signs of life in the poor fellow?”

“I should rather say not,” answered Thomas, certainly with more of disappointment than commiseration in his tone. “He’s dead enough—dead about a week, I should say.”

“What! murdered a week ago?” exclaimed Joseph in a horror-stricken voice. “You don’t mean that! Good Lord, what ruffians!”

“Ruffians enough, I’ll go bail, but not murderers, Joey; leastwise, there’s no murder here.” “What then?” asked Joseph, in amazement, at the same time hauling himself up for a peep at the mystery.

“Body-snatching—that’s all; judge for yourself.”

“But the boy said it was murder. What made you say that is was murder, boy?” asked Joseph, reproachfully.

“’Cos I thought that it was,” I replied, beginning to feel alarmed lest I had altogether put my foot in it, as the saying is; “he wouldn’t have let ’em put him into the sack without they killed him first, would he, mister? Hain’t they done no harm arter all, mister?”

“Harm enough to send ’em to Botany Bay,” replied Mr. Thomas; “and that’s where they’ll go, as sure as they’re nabbed. Well, I’m precious glad it ain’t so bad as we thought it was,” (this might have been his conclusion on cool reflection, but at the time he spoke I much doubt if he was not fibbing.) “See here, Joe, they’re old hands at it,” continued he, holding open the mouth of the bag in which the “clinking” tools alluded to by Sam were kept; “here’s the gimlets, and the boring-rods, and the ropes, and all the set complete. My eyes! there’ll be a stir in the morning. Lend a hand, Joe; we’ll stow the beggars at the bottom of the cart, along with the game they’ve been fishing for, and drive over to Ilford at once. Got the cuffs on this fellow?” asked Joe, getting down, and speaking in allusion to Mr. Belcher.

“He’s got a cuff o’ the head that fits him quite tight enough,” grinned Mr. Thomas; “you may as well pop ’em on, though, Joe; it’ll be as well to go through with the job fair and easy.”

Joe went round to the other side of the cart, where, half a minute before, one of the “beggars” in question was lying stunned and bleeding; and, arrived there, he uttered a cry of astonishment.

“Why, he’s off; danged if he isn’t!”

It was quite true. The blood-letting, combined, perhaps, with the reviving influence of the cooling rain, had restored Mr. Belcher to consciousness; and, having fresh in his mind, probably, the example of the policeman, whose case Mr. Perks had made mention of in connexion with his funny story of Spifler Wilkins, he had crept away and was gone.

The men’s first fear was that Mr. Belcher had availed himself of the opportunity to release his companion, and that they had both stolen away together; but, in supposing such a thing, they had given my master credit for much more generosity than was his due, and as the trail he had left behind him in the shape of foot-marks and a few spots of blood showed. The said foot-marks and spots led up to a low wall that skirted the right-hand side of the road, as the hedge and the coppice skirted the left-hand side, and formed the boundary of an extensive park. It was evident that, with a stealth and nimbleness his profession. conferred on him, Mr. Belcher had reached and climbed this wall, and was by this time, in all probability, as far away as two minutes’ desperate running would carry him. He had not gone empty-handed. The gun belonging to Thomas the gamekeeper had been rested against the cart, while Thomas climbed into the body of the vehicle, to see about the “murdered man,” and the said weapon had vanished along with the “resurrectionist.” This possibly formed one reason why the men came to the conclusion that it would be better to take care of the fellow remaining in their hands than to attempt the pursuit of the runaway. Thomas’s gun was a double-barrelled one, and though one of its charges had been expended in frightening the brown mare to a standstill, the contents of the second barrel remained; and a loaded gun in the hands of a desperate man is a thing to be avoided.

“Tain’t likely he’ll take it away for good and all,” reasoned Thomas; “he’ll drop it when he gets to t’other side of the park and out into the main road. I shall get it back right enough—the name’s on the stock—as right as they’ll get him when we put ’em on his track.”

They crossed the road, and making through the gap, found Mr. Perks exactly as he had been left; at least, the slight change that had taken place in his condition certainly was not to his advantage, the faithful Slot having taken a fancy to rest his heavy fore-paws on the back of Mr. Perks’s head, so that the nose of that unlucky wretch was pressed into the moist earth to an extent that threatened suffocation. He was powerless to cry out; all he could do to signal the extent of his distress was to wave the fingers of his imprisoned hands; this, however, he did with an energy that induced his captors to hasten his deliverance.

“Take his heels, Tom, and I’ll take his shoulders,” remarked Joe. “You carry the lantern, boy, and go first.”

“What are you going to do with me?” gasped Mr. Perks, probably imagining that, after the treatment he had already received, it was not unlikely that they intended to deal with him in a violent and summary manner—to take him, perhaps, bound neck and crop as he was, and pitch him into some handy piece of water.