James Greenwood - The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

The curtain rising on the fourth step, disclosed either that the landlord was not dead or that the law had taken a merciful view of the case, and for the joint crimes of robbery and murder condemned Frank to no more serious punishment than transportation. There he was, a convict at work at the stone quarries. He had fetters and chains on his legs; his oily locks were shorn, and his skeleton suit of serge was one half orange and the other half vermilion; seated on a wisp of straw, he was engaged in smashing a rock with a smallish brad-hammer. Several other convicts, attired as Frank, were squatted here and there similarly occupied; but for no apparent reason they presently rose from their labour and walked off, leaving Frank alone. Finding this to be the case, the young man laid down the brad-hammer, and, advancing wearily to the footlights, (pausing, however, on the way to re-adjust the bits of rags bound about his ankles to keep the iron from further galling him,) and withdrawing from his vermilion bosom the tress of hair he had exhibited at the close of his third step, he once more went through the ceremony of pressing it to the various parts of his body; and, kneeling down and shaking his head and turning up his eyes over it, and then dashing away a tear, he put the hair back, and, staggering to the wisp of straw, sat down on it, and went to sleep immediately.

Then ensued a scene of thrilling interest. No sooner had he composed himself for a comfortable nap than there arose from the shadow of the rock it was his business to smash, a ghostly figure—the spirit of his mother! Laying a hand on the young man’s shoulder, he awoke; and, making a gesture of amazement, was for rushing to and embracing her, thinking that she was in the flesh—a pardonable error, seeing that she presented precisely the same appearance, even to her clean cotton gown and her side-combs, as when last seen stitching slop-shirts. She, however, at once undeceived him, by raising her finger, as only a ghost can raise a finger, and then pointing it graveward, as only a ghost can point a finger graveward. A correct understanding having thus been arrived at, the harp and violin played their solemnest, while Frank, with mouth ajar and staring eyes, concentrated his attention towards the ghost, who proceeded to execute certain mysterious dumb motions. It pointed in the direction the convicts had taken when they struck work and strolled off the stage, and then it pointed in a contrary direction, which a convenient direction-post declared to lead “to the Governor’s house.” Then the ghost once more pointed after the convicts, and made motion with its hands of sharpening a knife on a steel, and then she pointed the way the signboard pointed, and made the motion of plunging a knife into a heart. Then the ghost placed its finger on its lips, as though enjoining prudence, or secrecy, or silence, or something else; and, sinking into the earth, vanished.

A young man possessed of no more than ordinary intelligence would have been at a loss to make out what the ghost meant; not so Frank. He saw through the whole business instantly—it was a plot against the life of the Governor his mother’s spirit had given him notice of! The convicts meditated revolt and murder, and his mother, watchful over his interest still, had disclosed the fact to him as a means by which he might regain his liberty! There could be no mistake that this was the state of the case, for at that very moment—and Frank held up his finger that the audience might listen and satisfy itself—there was to be heard in the distance such a sharpening of knives against steels as though a great public dinner was taking place in the neighbourhood. Hearing the approach of footsteps, Frank betook himself to smashing his rock as though nothing at all was the matter; and presently, sauntering up from “the way to the Governor’s house,” came the Governor himself in a Newmarket coat and a cocked hat, smoking a cigar and carrying a large dog-whip in his hand. He made straight up to Frank Wildeye, and being of opinion that he had not smashed rock enough, (although there was considerably more than a saltcellar full lying pounded round the base of the bulk,) laid into him with the dog-whip without mercy. Frank, however, had a purpose to achieve, and as a preliminary step towards conciliating the Governor, went on with his work all the while the Governor was laying on to him without so much as winking. This seemed somewhat to astonish the Governor, who paused and regarded him as though he would be glad of an explanation.

In a few signs Frank Wildeye gave it. He motioned the Governor to listen, and as the process of knife-sharpening was still continuing, he heard it, and gave such a violent start of apprehension that his cocked hat fell off. When Frank gave him to understand that the knives were being sharpened for him, he began to shake at the knees, and his teeth to chatter, so that the cigar shared the fate of the cocked hat, and the Governor became a very abject picture indeed.

Frank Wildeye did his best to cheer him, and gesticulated his willingness to shed his last drop of blood in his behalf. The Governor was comforted. He seized Frank’s hand, and on it pledged his eternal gratitude, and then ran to his residence, signifying that he would be back in a twinkling. If anything, he was back in less than a twinkling, bearing in his hands three guns, two pistols, and a sabre; and barely had he time to divide them with Frank, and to spring behind the rock Frank was engaged in smashing, than a wild hooraying and a rush of feet was heard, and on poured the five convicts, freed from their manacles, and each brandishing a gleaming carving-knife. Arrived at the fingerpost that pointed to the Governor’s house, they paused, and gathering in a ring, crossed their blades, and dumbly took oath to do the job before them without flinching, and with another wild hooray were rushing onward again, when flash, bang! flash, bang! bang! from the rocks, and four convicts out of the five were stretched upon the ground, and the fifth brought to a state of complete bewilderment, rushing to the left and to the right, carving-knife in hand. Sabre in hand, Frank sprang out on this one, and then ensued a furious combat, which ended in the bloody-minded convict biting the dust The Governor was not ungrateful. He took from his trousers-pocket a heavy purse, and from his waistcoat a free pardon, and handed them to the young man, who, affected to tears, turned away, and withdrawing once more his mother’s ringlet from his bosom, pressed himself all over with it as before. He could not, however, content himself without performing an act of generosity, which was nothing less than soliciting the Governor to spare the life of the fifth convict, who still lay biting the dust, and scowling about him as though not at all liking it The Governor refused. Frank persuaded. The Governor wavered. Frank implored. The Governor yielded, and taking from his waistcoat-pocket another free pardon, threw it to the ruffian, who snatched it up with a howl of triumph, which act finished the fourth step, and down went the curtain.

There was somewhat of a disturbance at this stage of the drama. The audience was very partial to sword combats, fierce, long-contested combats. That between Frank and the fifth convict was neither long-contested nor, on account of the inequality of the weapons, particularly spirited. The audience was dissatisfied. It whistled and kicked at the panelling and cried, “Combat! combat!” till the noise was deafening, and the manager in his shirt-sleeves and with an angry countenance came on the stage and demanded what the row was about. “Combat! combat!” was the reply that greeted him from all parts of the house. He waved them to silence. He was a broad-shouldered man with thick heavy arms. “Look here,” said he, “you knows me pretty well by this time, don’t you? Very well, then. Look here, you’ve had all the combat your goin’ to have, and them as don’t like it can hook it as soon as they like. There won’t be no more performance till you hold your thunderin’ row, so them that wants to see the rest of it had better keep the others quiet or else turn ’em out, whichever they like. It won’t be good for ’em if I have to come and turn ’em out” This settled the difficulty. The cry of “Combat!” ceased, and in a few minutes the curtain rose once more.