Scamp and I: A Story of City By-Ways

themonths, during which he had never gazed on any human countenance butthat of his warder, the governor, chaplain, and doctor, interminablylong.

  He was sick of those four faces, sick of studying them so attentively,he knew every trick of feature they all possessed, and he was weary ofwatching them. But of all the four the face of the chaplain annoyed himmost, perhaps because he had watched him so often in chapel. But to-dayit might be a shade better to look at him than to gaze at the hard deadwood in front of his cell-like pew--so sullenly he raised his eyes tothe spot where he expected to find him. He did so, then gave a start,and the sullenness passed away like a cloud; his lucky star was in theascendant to-day--a stranger was in the chaplain's place, he had a freshface to study. He had a fresh face to study, and one that even in aLondon crowd must have occupied his attention. A man bordering onfifty, with grey hair, a massive chin, very dark, very deeply-set eyes,and an iron frame, stood before him.

  Jenks hated effeminate men, so he looked with admiration at this one,and presently, the instincts of his trade being ever uppermost, began tocalculate how best he could pick his pockets, and what a dreadful gripthe stranger could give his--Jenks'--throat with those great muscularhands.

  Suddenly he felt a grip somewhere else, a pang of remorse going rightthrough his hardened heart. The strange chaplain, for half an instant,had fixed his deep-set eyes on him, and immediately it began to occur toJenks what a shameful fellow he must be to allow such a man as that tospeak without listening to him.

  The new face was so pleasing, that for a moment or two he made an effortto rouse himself, and even repeated "Our Father" beneath his breath,just to feel what the sensation was like. Then old habits overcamehim--he fell asleep.

  He was in a sound, sweet sleep, undetected by the warder, when suddenlya movement, a breath of wind, or perhaps the profound silence whichreigned for a moment through the little chapel, awoke him--awoke himthoroughly. He started upright, to find that the stranger was about todeliver his text.

  This was the text:

  "And he said, Who art thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus, whomthou persecutest."

  The stranger's voice was low and fervent; he looked round at hiscongregation, taking them all in, those old sinners, and young andmiddle-aged sinners, who, in the common acceptation of the term, weresinners more than other men.

  He looked round at them, and then he gave it to them.

  In that low fervent voice of his, his body bent a little forward, heopened out to them a revelation, he poured out on them the vials ofGod's wrath. Not an idea had he of sparing them, he called things bytheir right names, and spoke of sin, such sin as theirs--drunkenness,uncleanness, thieving--as the Bible speaks of these things; and heshowed them that every one of them were filthy and gone astray utterly.

  When he said this--without ever raising his voice, but in such a manner,with such emphasis, that every word told home--he sketched rapidly twoor three portraits for them to recognise if they would.

  They were fancy portraits, but they were sketched from a thousandrealities. The murderer's last night in his cell--the drunkard with thelegions of devils, conjured up by delirium tremens, clustering roundhim--the lost woman dying out in the snow. Then, when many heads weredrooping with shame and terror, he suddenly and completely changed histone.

  With infinite pity in his voice he told them that he was sorry for them,that if tears of blood could help them, he would shed them for them.

  Their present lives were miserable, degraded, but no words could tellwhat awaited them when God arose to execute vengeance.

  On every man, woman, and child, that vengeance was coming, and was fullydue. It was on its road, and when it overtook them, the dark cell, thewhipping-post, solitary confinement for ever, would seem as heaven incomparison.

  Then he explained to them why the vengeance was so sure, the future woeso inevitable.

  "_I am Jesus, whom thou persecutest_."

  Did they know that? Then let them hear it now. Every time the thiefstole, every time the drunkard degraded his reason, and sank below thelevel of the beasts; every time the boy and girl did the thousand andone little acts of deceit which ended so shamefully; then they crucifiedthe Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame.

  _It was Jesus of Nazareth whom they persecuted_.

  Would God allow such love as His Son's love to be trampled on and usedslightingly? No, surely. He had borne too long with them; vengeancewas His, and He would repay.

  When the minister had gone so far, he again changed his voice, but thistime it changed to one of brightness.

  He had not brought them to look at so dark a sight as their own sin andruin without also showing them a remedy. For every one of them therewas a remedy, a hiding-place from the wrath of God. Jesus, whom theypersecuted, still loved them. _Still loved them_! Why, His heart wasyearning over them, His pity, infinite, unfathomable, encompassing them.They were not too bad for Jesus--not a bit of it.

  For such as them He died, for such as them He pleaded with His Father.If they came to Him--and nothing was easier, for He was always lookingout for them--He would forgive them freely, and wash their souls in Hisblood, and make them ready for heaven. And while on earth He would helpthem to lead new lives, and walk by their sides Himself up the steeppaths of virtue.

  Such as they too wicked for Heaven? No, thank God. Jesus Himself ledin the first thief into that holy place; and doubtless thousands such ashe would yet be found around the throne of God!

  There was dead silence when the preacher had finished; no eagershuffling and trooping out of chapel. The prisoners drew down theirmasks, and walked away in an orderly and subdued manner. No human eyecould detect whether these men and women were moved by what they hadheard or not. They were quieter than usual, that was all.

  As for Jenks, he walked in his place with the others, and when he got tohis cell, sat down soberly. His face was no longer dead and sullen, ithad plenty of feeling, and excited feeling too. But the look ofsatisfaction he had worn when gazing at his letter was gone.

  _That parson_ had gone down straight, with his burning words, to theplace where his heart used to be--had gone down, and found that sameheart still there--nearly dead, it is true, but still there--and probedit to the quick.

  He sat with his head buried in his hands, and began to think.

  Old scenes and old memories rose up before the boy--pure scenes and holymemories. Once he had lisped texts, once he had bent his baby knees inprayer. How far off then seemed a prison cell and a criminal's life!

  Hitherto, ever since he had taken to his present career, he had avoidedthought, he had banished old times. He had, even in the dark cell, keptoff from his mental vision certain facts and certain events.

  They were coming now, and he could not keep them off. O God! how hismother used to look at him, how his father used to speak to him!

  Though he was a great rough boy, a hardened young criminal, tears rolleddown his cheeks at the memory of his mother's kiss. He wished thatparson had not preached, he was thoroughly uncomfortable, he was afraid.

  For the last year and more Jenks had made up his mind to be a thief inearnest. He called it his profession, and resolved to give up his lifeto it. The daring, the excitement, the false courage, the uncertainty,the hairbreadth escapes, all suited his disposition.

  His prison episode had not shaken his resolve in the least. He quitedetermined, when the weary months of confinement were over, and he wasonce more free, to return to his old haunts and his old companions. Hewould seek them out, and expound to them the daring schemes he hadconcocted while in prison. Between them they would plan and executegreat robberies, and never be taken--oh no. He, for one, had had hislesson, and did not need a second; happen what might, he would neveragain be taken. Not all the king's horses, nor all the king's men,should again lay hands on him, or come between him and his freedom.

  It was nonsense to say that every thief knew what prison was, and spentthe great
er part of his time in prison! _He_ would not be down on hisluck like that! He would prosper and grow rich, and then, when rich, hemight turn honest and enjoy his money.

  This was his plan--all for the present life. He had never given theother life a thought. But now he did; now, for the first time, hereflected on that terrible thing for any unforgiven soul tocontemplate--the wrath of God.

  Some day, however successful he might be in this life, he must die, andhis naked soul appear before God; and God would ask him so many things,such a piled-up account of sins he would have to lay to his charge. Andhis father and mother would look on and reproach him, and God would passsentence on him--he could not escape. He had crucified the Son of Godafresh, and put Him to an open shame!

  Jenks was not ignorant, like Flo and Dick, he knew of these things. Thethought in his mind became intolerable. He paced up and down his cell,and hailed with pleasure the welcome interruption of his Sunday dinner.

  When it was finished, he again drew out his letter, hoping and