James Greenwood - The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

And this resolution I kept through the remainder of that night at least. I admit that it was a very hard trial. When the first great excitement at the police-station had passed over—when the beadle had been knocked up, and the poor body in the sack conveyed to the parish dead-house—when Ned Perks, (his legs untied so that he might walk,) with his handcuffed hands and dismayed black and white face, and his jacket all torn by the dog’s fangs, had been placed before the inspector, and the charge had been duly and deliberately entered against him, and he had been led to the cells at the rear of the station—when this was all over, and I found myself in the police waiting-room seated before the police fire and with a dozen policemen, including the grim inspector himself, all gathered about me, all so agreeable and chatty, and asking questions, and getting me coffee, and some dry clothes to wear, and some sticking-plaister for my forehead, (I had caught an ugly tear on it when I tumbled out over the tail-board of the cart,) it really appeared that the law was friendly towards me, and that I might trust it to any extent; but Ned Perks’s ominous words, “Don’t you think as the law’ll kiver yer,—the law can’t be alwis a-look-in’,” still rang in my ears, and I maintained a guardedness of speech corroborative of the gamekeeper’s testimony that all the way coming along the prisoner had been doing his best to intimidate me. What they wanted chiefly to know was where the sweeps lived, (there was no name on the cart.) Joseph the gamekeeper declared that I had mentioned an address, but that it had entirely slipped his memory; therefore there was no use in my saying I didn’t know. What I did say was that I had forgotten; whereat the law, hitherto so jovial and pleasant, grew suddenly sullen and snappish, and its representative, the inspector, severely intimated that if I didn’t open my mouth that night, I should be compelled to in the morning—that was a very certain thing.

I didn’t believe it; but, alas! it turned out exactly as the inspector had prognosticated. The gentlemen on the bench, before whom Mr. Perks was taken early next day, were a very different sort of people to deal with from those who had cross-questioned me at the station-house. Evidently the magistrate had been informed of the exact state of the case, and one of them of terrible aspect, with white hair and green spectacles, made a set at me it was impossible for any boy to resist. I foresaw that I was lost the moment he began to tackle me on the subject of oath-taking.

“Look at me, boy!” he exclaimed, rapping the desk before him, with a noise that made me catch my breath. I did look at him, and there he was, unmistakably the law’s beak whom I had often heard of, but never before seen. There he sat, with the lion and the unicorn over his head, and the black ruler in his hand, glaring greenly at me, with twenty bare-headed policemen humbly waiting to do his slightest bidding.

“Don’t look at the prisoner, sir,” repeated the green-eyed one sharply, for Ned Perks, in the dock, had made a sort of coughing noise, and I had instantaneously glanced towards him; “turn your eyes to me, sir—keep them there.”

“Do you know what taking an oath means, sir?”

I did. In our conversation respecting the law and its operations—a topic Mouldy was particularly partial to—he had fully explained the matter to me.

“It means kissin’ the book, sir, and hopin’ as summat ’ll happen to you if you tells crammers,” I replied, my eyes fascinated by the glaring green spectacles until they watered as though I were looking at the sun.

“If you tell falsehoods—yes. And, pray, do you know what will happen to you if you swear in this court to speak what is true, and then endeavour to mislead this court by telling falsehoods?”

“Fire and brimstone, sir; leastaways, that’s what I’ve heard,” I replied, taking advantage of the green spectacles being momentarily lowered while their owner blew his nose, to rest my eyes by blinking them repeatedly, and deriving immense relief from the process.

“Fire and brimstone in the world to come, decidedly,” responded the beak of the law, bringing the green blazers to bear with, if possible, a fiercer shine than ever. “That, however, does not release you from the responsibility of the act in this world, sir. If you swear to what’s false in this court, sir, it is perjury; and perjury is a felonious offence, the ordinary punishment for which is transportation beyond the seas for a lengthy period. Swear him, usher; and you, prisoner, turn your face from the witness while he is under examination.”

How could I help “chirping” under such circumstances? He was such a sharp gentleman, that the moment I began to speak of any part of the case under discussion, he seemed to know all about it, and put such questions to me as drew from me the fullest particulars, however reluctant I might be to reveal them. Ned Perks’s face being turned from me I have no doubt saved me a great deal of embarrassment; though, as I now and then, as we came to what I was aware were ticklish details, turned my eyes in the direction of his hands, (which were still handcuffed behind him,) I could see by his manner of now clenching them and now twiddling his fingers, that he was striving might and main to make those members of his body serve him instead of the nods and winks he would have directed towards me had I been allowed a view of his countenance. All I knew I was compelled to tell—of my leaving home, of Mrs. Winkship’s recommendation of me to Mr. Belcher, of my conversation with Sam about the church chimney-sweeping, of the discourse between Mr. Belcher and Ned that I had overheard as I lay in the cart—everything in fact, up to the moment when, scared by the apparition of the white hand, I jumped out of the cart; the result being, after Thomas and Joseph the gamekeepers had given their evidence, that Mr. Perks was remanded for a week to give the police time to apprehend Mr. Belcher, so that both prisoners might be placed in the dock together.

“As for the boy, he had better be taken home to his parents; and whoever takes him must be particular in impressing on his father the necessity of his being here again this day week,” observed the gentleman with the green spectacles.

There was other business for the court to attend to, and when our case was concluded, I followed the police in charge of it and the two gamekeepers out into the high street The men stood together talking for a little while, and then they adjourned to a tavern hard by, and, scarcely knowing what I did, I went with them. My confusion, however, did not arise from the circumstance of Mr. Perks being remanded to prison, nor was it due to the dazzling effect of the green spectacles; it was the last words of their wearer that had so completely upset me. “As for the boy, he had better be taken home!” This, indeed, was a climax to the ruin I had brought on myself by my stupid meddling in matters in which I really had no concern. Better be taken home! Better be taken back to my father by a policeman who would inform him of my connexion with the body-snatchers, and, worse than all, of my recommendation to them by innocent Mrs. Winkship! Why, the alley wouldn’t be able to hold him from murdering that good old soul, as well as myself if such news came to his ears, and this after the many acts of kindness she had exhibited towards me. It must not be. Such a terrible catastrophe must be avoided somehow—anyhow—even though I dared the terrible beak of the law and his mandates, and took such prompt measures as should put it beyond the power of the officers of justice to carry me back to Fryingpan Alley.

The only way of accomplishing this was to escape from my present custodians, to make my way out of Ilford, and hide away somewhere in my old haunts at Westminster. I say my custodians, but it really seemed that I was in no one’s custody. I tried it by walking in and out of the parlour in which the police and the two game-keepers were sitting drinking beer—into the public bar, into the yard in the rear of the premises, into the street—and found that I might do so without let or hindrance. It certainly appeared as though I was free to go; but knowing the artfulness of the police, and of their well-known habit of appearing most indifferent to an object they are in reality looking sharpest after, I restrained my itching to be oft, and resolved to go back and sit in the parlour a little while, keeping my ears open.