CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
FAILURE AND A NEW SCENT.
Although our hero's plan of search may seem to some rather Quixotic,there was nothing further from his thoughts than merely playing at thegame of amateur detective. Being enthusiastic and sanguine, besidesbeing spurred on by an intense desire to rescue the father of MayLeather, Charlie Brooke was thoroughly in earnest in his plan. He knewthat it would be useless to attempt such a search and rescue in anyother capacity than that of a genuine pauper, at least in appearance andaction. He therefore resolved to conduct the search in character, andto plunge at once into the deepest pools of the slums.
It is not our intention to carry the reader through theArabian-night-like adventures which he experienced in his quest.Suffice it to say that he did not find the lost man in the pools inwhich he fished for him, but he ultimately, after many weeks, found onewho led him to the goal he aimed at.
Meanwhile there were revealed to him numerous phases of life--or,rather, of living death--in the slums of the great city which caused himmany a heartache at the time, and led him ever afterwards to considerwith anxious pity the condition of the poor, the so-called lost andlapsed, the depraved, degraded, and unfortunate. Of course he found--asso many had found before him--that the demon Drink was at the bottom ofmost of the misery he witnessed, but he also learned that whereas manyweak and vicious natures dated the commencement of their final descentand fall from the time when they began to drink, many of the strong andferocious spirits had begun a life of wickedness in early youth, andonly added drink in after years as a little additional fuel to thealready roaring flame of sin.
It is well known that men of all stamps and creeds and classes are to befound in the low lodging-houses of all great cities. At first Charliedid not take note of this, being too earnestly engaged in the search forhis friend, and anxious to avoid drawing attention on himself; but as hegrew familiar with these scenes of misery and destitution he graduallybegan to be interested in the affairs of other people, and, as he waseminently sympathetic, he became the confidant of several paupers, youngand old. A few tried to draw him out, but he quietly checked theircuriosity without giving offence.
It may be remarked here that he at once dropped the style of talk whichhe had adopted when representing Jem Mace, because he found so many inthe lodging-houses who had fallen from a good position in society thatgrammatical language was by no means singular. His size and strengthalso saved him from much annoyance, for the roughs, who might otherwisehave bullied him, felt that it would be wise to leave him alone.
On one occasion, however, his pacific principles were severely tested aswell as his manhood, and as this led to important results we mustrecount the incident.
There was a little lame, elderly man, who was a habitual visitor at oneof the houses which our hero frequented. He was a humorous character,who made light of his troubles, and was a general favourite. Charliehad felt interested in the man, and in ordinary circumstances would haveinquired into his history, but, as we have said, he laid some restrainton his natural tendency to inquire and sympathise. As it was, however,he showed his goodwill by many little acts of kindness--such as makingway for Zook--so he was called--when he wanted to get to the generalfire to boil his tea or coffee; giving him a portion of his own food onthe half pretence that he had eaten as much as he wanted, etcetera.
There was another _habitue_ of the same lodging, named Stoker, whosetemperament was the very opposite to that of little Zook. He was ahuge, burly dock labourer; an ex-prize-fighter and a disturber of thepeace wherever he went. Between Stoker and Zook there was nothing incommon save their poverty, and the former had taken a strong dislike tothe latter, presumably on the ground of Zook's superiority in everythingexcept bulk of frame. Charlie had come into slight collision withStoker on Zook's account more than once, and had tried to make peacebetween them, but Stoker was essentially a bully; he would listen to noadvice, and had more than once told the would-be peacemaker to mind hisown business.
One evening, towards the close of our hero's search among thelodging-houses, little Zook entered the kitchen of the establishment,tea-pot and penny loaf in hand. He hastened towards the roaring firethat might have roasted a whole sheep, and which served to warm theentire basement storey, or kitchen, of the tenement.
"Here, Zook," said Charlie, as the former passed the table at which hewas seated taking his supper, "I've bought more than I can eat, asusual! I've got two red-herrings and can eat only one. Will you helpme?"
"It's all fish that comes to my net, Charlie," said the little man,skipping towards his friend, and accepting the herring with a gratefulbut exaggerated bow.
We omitted to say that our hero passed among the paupers by hisChristian name, which he had given as being, from its very universality,the best possible _alias_.
A few minutes later Stoker entered and went to the fire, where loud,angry voices soon told that the bully was at his old game ofpeace-disturber. Presently a cry of "shame" was heard, and poor Zookwas seen lying on the floor with his nose bleeding.
"Who cried shame?" demanded the bully, looking fiercely round.
"_I_ did not," said Charlie Brooke, striding towards him, "for I did notknow it was you who knocked him down, but I _do_ cry shame on you now,for striking a man so much smaller than yourself, and withoutprovocation, I warrant."
"An' pray who are _you_?" returned Stoker, in a tone that was meant tobe witheringly sarcastic.
"I am one who likes fair play," said Charlie, restraining his anger, forhe was still anxious to throw oil on the troubled waters, "and if youcall it fair play for a heavy-weight like you to attack such alight-weight as Zook, you must have forgotten somehow that you are anEnglishman. Come, now, Stoker, say to Zook you are sorry and won'tworry him any more, and I'm sure he'll forgive you!"
"Hear! hear!" cried several of the on-lookers.
"Perhaps I _may_ forgive 'im," said Zook, with a humorous leer, as hewiped his bleeding nose--"I'd do a'most anything to please Charlie!"
This was received with a general laugh, but Stoker did not laugh; heturned on our hero with a look of mingled pity and contempt.
"No, Mister Charlie," he said, "I won't say I'm sorry, because I'd tella big lie if I did, and I'll worry him just as much as I please. ButI'll tell 'e what I'll do. If you show yourself as ready wi' yourbunches o' fives as you are wi' yer tongue, and agree to fight me, I'llsay to Zook that I'm sorry and won't worry 'im any more."
There was dead silence for a minute after the delivery of thischallenge, and much curiosity was exhibited as to how it would be taken.Charlie cast down his eyes in perplexity. Like many big and strong menhe was averse to use his superior physical powers in fighting. Besidesthis, he had been trained by his mother to regard it as more noble tosuffer than to avenge insults, and there is no doubt that if the bully'sinsult had affected only himself he would have avoided him, if possible,rather than come into conflict. Having been trained, also, to letScripture furnish him with rules for action, his mind irresistiblyrecalled the turning of the "other cheek" to the smiter, but the factthat he was at that moment acting in defence of another, not of himself,prevented that from relieving him. Suddenly--like the lightning flash--there arose to him the words, "Smite a scorner and the simple willbeware!" Indeed, all that we have mentioned, and much more, passedthrough his troubled brain with the speed of light. Lifting his eyescalmly to the face of his opponent he said--"I accept your challenge."
"No, no, Charlie!" cried the alarmed Zook, in a remonstrative tone,"you'll do nothing of the sort. The man's a old prize-fighter! Youhaven't a chance. Why, I'll fight him myself rather than let you doit."
And with that the little man began to square up and twirl his fists andskip about in front of the bully in spite of his lameness--but took goodcare to keep well out of his reach.
"It's a bargain, then," said Charlie, holding out his hand.
"Done!" answered the bully, grasping it.
"Well, the
n, the sooner we settle this business the better," continuedCharlie. "Where shall it come off?"
"Prize-fightin's agin the law," suggested an old pauper, who seemed tofear they were about to set to in the kitchen.
"So it is, old man," said Charlie, "and I would be the last to engage insuch a thing, but this is not a prize-fight, for there's no prize. It'ssimply a fight in defence of weakness against brute strength andtyranny."
There were only a few of the usual inhabitants of the kitchen present atthe time, for it was yet early in the evening. This was lucky, as itpermitted of the fight being gone about quietly.
In the upper part of the building there was an empty room ofconsiderable size which had been used as a furniture store, and happenedat that time to have been cleared out, with the view of adding it to thelodging. There, it was arranged, the event should come off, and to thisapartment proceeded all the inhabitants of the kitchen who wereinterested in the matter. A good many, however, remained behind--somebecause they did not like fights, some because they did not believe thatthe parties were in earnest, others because they were too much taken upwith and oppressed by their own sorrows, and a few because, being whatis called fuddled, they did not understand or care anything about thematter at all. Thus it came to pass that all the proceedings were quietand orderly, and there was no fear of interruption by the police.
Arrived at the scene of action, a ring was formed by the spectatorsstanding round the walls, which they did in a single row, for there wasplenty of room. Then Stoker strode into the middle of the room, pulledoff his coat, vest, and shirt, which he flung into a corner, and stoodup, stripped to the waist, like a genuine performer in the ring.Charlie also threw off coat and vest, but retained his shirt--an oldstriped cotton one in harmony with his other garments.
"I'm not a professional," he said, as he stepped forward; "you've noobjection, I suppose, to my keeping on my shirt?"
"None whatever," replied Stoker, with a patronising air; "p'r'aps it maybe as well for fear you should kitch cold."
Charlie smiled, and held out his hand--"You see," he said, "that atleast I understand the civilities of the ring."
There was an approving laugh at this as the champions shook hands andstood on guard.
"I am quite willing even yet," said Charlie, while in this attitude, "tosettle this matter without fighting if you'll only agree to leave Zookalone in future."
This was a clear showing of the white feather in the opinion of Stoker,who replied with a thundering, "No!" and at the same moment made asavage blow at Charlie's face.
Our hero was prepared for it. He put his head quickly to one side, letthe blow pass, and with his left hand lightly tapped the bridge of hisopponent's nose.
"Hah! a hammytoor!" exclaimed the ex-pugilist in some surprise.
Charlie said nothing, but replied with the grim smile with which inschool-days he had been wont to indicate that he meant mischief. Thesmile passed quickly, however, for even at that moment he would gladlyhave hailed a truce, so deeply did he feel what he conceived to be thedegradation of his position--a feeling which neither his disreputableappearance nor his miserable associates had yet been able to produce.
But nothing was further from the intention of Stoker than a truce.Savages usually attribute forbearance to cowardice. War to the knifewas in his heart, and he rushed at Charlie with a shower of sloggingblows, which were meant to end the fight at once. But they failed to doso. Our hero nimbly evaded the blows, acting entirely on the defensive,and when Stoker at length paused, panting, the hammytoor was standingbefore him quite cool, and with the grim look intensified.
"If you _will_ have it--_take_ it!" he exclaimed, and shot forth a blowwhich one of the juvenile bystanders described as a "stinger on thebeak!"
The owner of the beak felt it so keenly, that he lost temper and madeanother savage assault, which was met in much the same way, with thisdifference, that his opponent delivered several more stingers on theunfortunate beak, which after that would have been more correctlydescribed as a bulb.
Again the ex-pugilist paused for breath, and again the "hammytoor" stoodup before him, smiling more grimly than ever--panting a little, it istrue, but quite unscathed about the face, for he had guarded it withgreat care although he had received some rather severe body blows.
Seeing this, Stoker descended to mean practices, and in his next assaultattempted, and with partial success, to hit below the belt. This rouseda spirit of indignation in Charlie, which gave strength to his arm andvigour to his action. The next time Stoker paused for breath, Charlie--as the juvenile bystander remarked--"went for him," planted a blow undereach eye, a third on his forehead, and a fourth on his chest with suchastounding rapidity and force that the man was driven up against thewall with a crash that shook the whole edifice.
Stoker dropped and remained still. There were no seconds, no sponges orcalling of time at that encounter. It was altogether an informalepisode, and when Charlie saw his antagonist drop, he kneeled downbeside him with a feeling of anxiety lest he had killed him.
"My poor man," he said, "are you much hurt?"
"Oh! you've no need to fear for me," said Stoker recovering himself alittle, and sitting up--"but I throw up the sponge. Stoker's day isover w'en 'e's knocked out o' time by a hammytoor, and Zook is free tobile 'is pot unmorlested in futur'."
"Come, it was worth a fight to bring you to that state of mind, my man,"said Charlie, laughing. "Here, two of you, help to take him down andwash the blood off him; and I say, youngster," he added, pulling out hispurse and handing a sovereign to the juvenile bystander alreadymentioned, "go out and buy sausages for the whole company."
The boy stared at the coin in his hand in mute surprise, while the restof the ring looked at each other with various expressions, for Charlie,in the rebound of feeling caused by his opponent's sudden recovery andsubmission, had totally forgotten his _role_ and was ordering the peopleabout like one accustomed to command.
As part of the orders were of such a satisfactory nature, the people didnot object, and, to the everlasting honour of the juvenile bystander whoresisted the temptation to bolt with the gold, a splendid supper of porksausages was smoking on the various tables of the kitchen of thatestablishment in less than an hour thereafter.
When the late hours of night had arrived, and most of the paupers wereasleep in their poor beds, dreaming, perchance, of "better days" whenpork-sausages were not so tremendous a treat, little Zook went to thetable at which Charlie sat. He was staring at a newspaper, but inreality was thinking about his vain search, and beginning, if truth mustbe told, to feel discouraged.
"Charlie," said Zook, sitting down beside his champion, "or p'r'aps Ishould say _Mister_ Charlie, the game's up wi' you, whatever it was."
"What d'you mean, Zook?"
"Well, I just mean that it's o' no manner o' use your tryin' to sail anylonger under false colours in this here establishment."
"I must still ask you to explain yourself," said Charlie, with a puzzledlook.
"Well, you know," continued the little man, with a deprecatory glance,"w'en a man in ragged clo'se orders people here about as if 'e was thecommander-in-chief o' the British Army, an' flings yellow boys about asif 'e was chancellor o' the checkers, an orders sassengers offhand forall 'ands, 'e _may_ be a gentleman--wery likely 'e is,--but 'e ain't aredooced one, such as slopes into lodgin'-'ouse kitchens. W'ateverlittle game may 'ave brought you 'ere, sir, it ain't poverty--an' nobodywill be fool enough in _this_ 'ouse to believe it is."
"You are right, Zook. I'm sorry I forgot myself," returned Charlie,with a sigh. "After all, it does not matter much, for I fear my littlegame--as you call it--was nearly played out, and it does not seem as ifI were going to win."
Charlie clasped his hands on the table before him, and looked at thenewspaper somewhat disconsolately.
"It's bin all along o' takin' up my cause," said the little man, withsomething like a whimper in his voice. "You've bin wery kind to me,sir,
an' I'd give a lot, if I 'ad it, an' would go a long way if Iwasn't lame, to 'elp you."
Charlie looked steadily in the honest, pale, careworn face of hiscompanion for a few seconds without speaking. Poverty, it is said,brings together strange bed-fellows. Not less, perhaps, does it lead tounlikely confidants. Under a sudden impulse our hero revealed to poorZook the cause of his being there--concealing nothing except names.
"You'll 'scuse me, sir," said the little man, after the narrative wasfinished, "but I think you've gone on summat of a wild-goose chase, foryour man may never have come so low as to seek shelter in sitch places."
"Possibly, Zook; but he was penniless, and this, or the work-house,seemed to me the natural place to look for him in."
"'Ave you bin to the work-'ouses, sir?"
"Yes--at least to all in this neighbourhood."
"What! in that toggery?" asked the little man, with a grin.
"Not exactly, Zook, I can change my shell like the hermit crabs."
"Well, sir, it's my opinion that you may go on till doomsday on thisscent an' find nuthin'; but there's a old 'ooman as I knows on thatmight be able to 'elp you. Mind I don't say she could, but she _might_.Moreover, if she can she will."
"How?" asked Charlie, somewhat amused by the earnestness of his littlefriend.
"Why, this way. She's a good old soul who lost 'er 'usband an' 'erson--if I ain't mistaken--through drink, an' ever since, she 'as devoted'erself body an' soul to save men an' women from drink. She attendstemperance meetin's an' takes people there--a'most drags 'em in by thescruff o' the neck. She keeps 'er eyes open, like a weasel, an'w'enever she sees a chance o' what she calls pluckin' a brand out o' thefire, she plucks it, without much regard to burnin' 'er fingers.Sometimes she gits one an' another to submit to her treatment, an' thenshe locks 'em up in 'er 'ouse--though it ain't a big un--an' treats 'em,as she calls it. She's got one there now, it's my belief, thoughw'ether it's a he or a she I can't tell. Now, she may 'ave seen yourfriend goin' about--if 'e stayed long in Whitechapel."
"It may be so," returned our hero wearily, for he was beginning to loseheart, and the prospect opened up to him by Zook did not on the firstblush of it seem very brilliant. "When could I see this old woman?"
"First thing to-morror arter breakfast, sir."
"Very well; then you'll come and breakfast with me at eight?"
"I will, sir, with all the pleasure in life. In this 'ere 'ouse, sir,or in a resterang?"
"Neither. In my lodgings, Zook."
Having given his address to the little man, Charlie bade him good-nightand retired to his pauper-bed for the last time.