James Greenwood - The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

After this, I past the greater part of the evening in eating or in choosing what I would eat. My stomach must indeed have been empty! I went again and again to a confectioner’s five times, for a twopenny sausage roll, and that after I had bought and eaten a twopenny loaf and some treacle. The last thing I bought was a pen’orth of eating-chocolate, and I afterwards very much wished that I had not eaten it.

But after all, I found, on counting up when I began to think of looking for a lodging, that I hadn’t spent very much—one and sevenpence was all—and even after I had bought a good strong pair of boots, I found myself with something over three-and-sixpence, besides the half-sovereign, which I fastened with a pin in the cuff of my jacket.

And now the reader knows how I came to be a real thief. But I didn’t mean to repeat the trick. Not I! It was done, and it couldn’t be helped; but not a soul in the world beside myself knew it, nor were they likely to; when I got up in the morning I would look about me and see what could be done. There were a hundred ways of getting a living with thirteen-and-sixpence to start with.

So I’ll be bound there were a hundred ways of getting an honest living; but, to my shame, I never tried one of them.

I returned to my lodging at the soup-shop after my tremendous “success;” and, when I set out therefrom next morning, I felt as well-disposed to find something honest to do as, under the circumstances, could be possible; but, since I had run such a risk to obtain the means of setting myself up in the world, nothing could be more foolish than to embark in any business rashly and without giving it deliberate consideration. So I went along, deliberately considering this and that until dinner-time came, and I went to a cook-shop and had a good dinner. After dinner, I strolled through Petticoat Lane, and seeing there exposed for sale a yellow silk neckerchief, spotted with blue, of the fashionable “bird’s-eye” pattern, such as my father wore, I bought it for three-and-sixpence, well aware at the time that it was ridiculous extravagance; but trying to fudge my conscience that the three-and-sixpence was invested rather as a tribute to my father than to my own personal vanity. After that I bought a pint of beer to cheer my spirits, which the remembrance of home, conjured up by contemplation of the blue “bird’s-eye,” had much cast down.

Whether it was the action of the stimulant on my already excited mind, or that the beer of Petticoat Lane was particularly powerful, I can’t say; but shortly after disposing of my twopen’-orth of beer, my spirits rose to that degree I could scarcely contain them. All dread of my enemies ceased, and I felt full enough of courage to face Mr. Belcher himself, provided he did not have the double-barrelled gun with him. Gazing into a second-hand tool-shop, it occurred to me that an individual against whom all the world were making a dead set was justified in arming himself, so I entered the shop, and purchased a terrible-looking old flint pistol for two-and-three-pence; but finding that it was an awkward implement to carry about in a shallow trouser pocket, I re-sold it at the same shop late in the afternoon for one-and-fourpence. So was my dearly earned eighteen-and-fourpence frittered away, that after pawning the silk neckerchief (I never durst wear the glaring thing; I was not reckless enough for that ) for eighteenpence, I found myself in the street, on the evening of the third day, as poor in pocket as when I stood against the lamp-post facing the grocer’s window in Aldgate; and so—

But the reader can guess what happened next. The ice was broken, and I was in for it. I tried very hard to make myself believe that I was a poor forlorn boy, despised and hunted by everybody, and right-down driven to adopt courses which were so utterly repugnant to his nature that it was the merest turn of a straw with him whether he allowed himself quietly to starve, or consent to yield to the promptings of a hungry belly; but how much less I was to be pitied in my second than in my first attempt is sufficiently shown in the fact that finding but four shillings in the purse, I was much disappointed, and more than ever impressed with the conviction that if ever there was an unlucky and despised boy, I was that one.

Whether I had better fortune next time is more than I can recollect There were so many “times,” some good, some middling, and some very bad indeed. Not that I was allowed to remain for any time in undisturbed pursuit of my new trade of pocket-picking.

Not more than two months. Indifferent as was my fortune within that time, (and it must be plain to the most honest person that the less a pickpocket gets the greater risk he runs, as those are the poorest pockets that are closest kept,) the devil was so good-natured towards me that I was enabled to get rid of the poor clothes the Ilford police had supplied me with in lieu of my wet and sooty rags, and provide myself with decent attire. Moreover, it was not a “bad time” that led to a marvellous and unexpected change in my fortunes, but to the best time it was ever my lot to fall on.

I had shifted from the soup-shop, and was lodging in Wentworth Street, Whitechapel. In the dusk of a July evening I was taking a stroll down Cheapside and the Poultry, (being “respectable,” I could make an appearance in respectable places, you see,) and at the last-mentioned place saw an old gentleman busily inspecting the contents of a hosier’s shop. He was one of the easiest sort of old gentlemen for a pickpocket to operate on, being so stout that when he stooped his coat-tails hung fairly away from his body. By this time I had been long enough at the “trade” to know that little is to be gleaned from coat-tail pockets. People don’t carry valuables there; they may, perhaps, deposit their spectacle-case there, (and if the glasses have gold rims, the catch is, of course, a tolerably good one,) but as a rule, nothing is to be found therein, but a pocket-handkerchief, or some little odd and trumpery parcel bought to carry home. It was seldom after the first fortnight that I ventured to touch a coat-tail pocket, but that of the old gentleman in question looked so particularly tempting—so curiously easy of access—that it seemed a pity to let even so much as sixpen’orth escape in it Brushing past him, I weighted the tail, and found that it contained, as well as a handkerchief, something hard, and square, and lumpish. This was nothing, however—it might have been no more than a cake of breakfast cocoa. I turned about and dipped, nevertheless, and, to my joyful amazement, pulled out a handsome brown leather pocket-book. I had found purses and loose money, and money wrapped in paper in pockets before; but a pocket-book never. Trembling with delight, I hurried down a bystreet, and stealthily unclasping the book, peeped into it by the light of a street lamp, and saw within it some folded bank-notes, and quite a nest of loose gold. I was so completely astonished, that for several seconds after I had made the discovery I stood with the book in my hand and partly concealed up my jacket sleeve, not knowing which way to turn.

The question was decided for me. I could have solemnly declared that no one had followed me out of the Poultry and into the by-street. In momentary dread of pursuit, it stood to reason that I should not be careless in this respect; nevertheless, as though he had sprung out of the ground, a man was suddenly beside me with his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t run; it’s no use,” said he.

As though it had been something that burnt, I dropped the pocket-book into the gutter, and turned about, fully expecting to find that my