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Chapter Five.
A Night of Adventures
According to arrangement, David Laidlaw was taken the following evening by his landlord, Mr Spivin, to see one of the low lodging-houses of London.
Our adventurous Scot had often read and heard that some of the low quarters of London were dangerous for respectable men to enter without the escort of the police, but his natural courage and his thorough confidence in the strength of his bulky frame inclined him to smile at the idea of danger. Nevertheless, by the advice of his new friend the landlord, he left his watch and money, with the exception of a few coppers, behind him—carefully stowed under the pillow of his bed in his shoulder-bag. For further security the door of his room was locked and the key lung on a nail in an out-of-the-way corner, known only, as Mr Spivin pointed out, to “their two selves.”
“But hoo dis it happen, Mr Speevin,” asked David, as they walked along the streets together, “that ye can gang safely amang the thieves withoot a polisman t’ proteck ye?”
“Oh, as to that,” replied the jolly landlord, “I’m connected with a religious society which sends agents down among them poor houtcasts to convert ’em. They hall knows me, bless you. But I ain’t a-goin’ with you myself. You see, I’m a very busy man, and engagements which I ’ad forgotten prevents me, but I’ve made an arrangement with one o’ the converted thieves to take you to a few of the worst places in London. Of course he can pass you hevery where as one of his friends.”
To this David made no reply, save with a slight “Humph!” as he looked earnestly at his companion. But Mr Spivin wore an expression of seraphic candour.
“Here he is,” added the landlord, as they turned a corner and drew near to a man in mean attire, who seemed to be waiting for some one. “He’s rather disreputable to look at, only just been converted, an’ not ’avin’ ’ad the chance yet to better himself.—But—hallo!—you seem to know him.”
The last exclamation and remark were called forth by the look of surprise on Laidlaw’s face, and the air almost of alarm on that of the mean-looking man—alarm which was by no means unnatural, seeing that he was none other than the fellow who had attempted to rob our Scotsman the previous night.
David, however, was quick to recover himself. “Know him!” he cried, with a hearty laugh, “ay, I ken him weel. I lent him a helpin’ haund last nicht, no’ far frae here.”
“Surely he was not beggin’?” exclaimed Mr Spivin in tones of virtuous reproof, “for a noo convert to go a-beggin’, you know, would be houtrageous!”
“Na, na,” answered David, with a quiet and somewhat cynical smile, “he wasna beggin’, puir lad, but I took peety on ’im, an’ gee’d ’im some bawbees. So this is yer new convert, is he? an’ he’s to be my guide? He’ll do. He’ll do. Sae I’ll bid ye guid-nicht, Mr Speevin.”
As the Scot held out his hand in a very decided manner the landlord was obliged to depart without further enlightenment, after cautioning the “converted” thief to take good care of his friend.
When he was gone the Scotsman and the ex-convict stood looking silently at each other, the first with an earnest yet half-sarcastic smile, the other with a mingled expression of reckless amusement, in which, however, there was a trace of anxiety.
“Weel noo,” said the former, “aren’t ye an oot-an’-oot blagyird?”
“If you mean by that an out-and-out blackguard,” answered the thief, “you’re not far wrong.”
“Ye’re honest the noo, ony way,” remarked the Scot, with a nod. “Noo, my man, look ye here. Ye are nae mair convertit than yer freen’ Speevin is, though I took him for a rale honest man at first. But bein’ a blagyird, as ye admit, I’m wullin’ t’ hire ye in that capacity for the nicht. Noo, what I want is t’ see low life in Lun’on, an’ if ye’ll tak’ me to what they may ca’ the warst haunts o’ vice, I’ll mak’ it worth yer while—an’ I’ve got mair siller than ye think for, maybe.”
A stern frown settled on the thief’s face as David spoke.
“I suppose,” he said, “that you want me to show you the misery and destitootion among the poor of London, that you may return to your ’ome in the North and boast that you ’ave ‘done the slums!’”
“Na—na, ye’re quite mista’en, man,” returned David quickly; “but I want t’ see for mysel’ what I’ve heard sae muckle aboot—to see if it’s a’ true, for I’m wae—I’m” (correcting himself) “sorry—for the puir craturs, an’ wud fain help some o’ them if I could. Noo, freen’,” he continued, laying his huge hand gently on the man’s shoulder, “if ye want to earn something, an’ll tak’ me t’ where I want t’ gang—guid. If no’—I’ll bid ye guid-nicht.”
“Do you know,” said the man, with a furtive glance at David’s kindly face, “the risk you run from the men who live in such places if you go alone and unprotected?”
“I ken the risk they run if they daur t’ meddle wi’ me! Besides, I’ll be naether alane nor unproteckit if I’ve you wi’ me, for I can trust ye!”
A peculiar smile played for a moment on the haggard features of the thief.
“Scotchman,” he said, “whatever your name may be, I—”
“My name is David Laidlaw, an’ I’ve nae cause t’ be ashamed o’t.”
“Well, Mr Laidlaw,” returned the thief, in vastly improved language and tone, “I’m indebted to you for a good supper and a warm bed last night. Besides, yours is the first friendly touch or kind voice that has greeted me since I was discharged, and you’ve said you can trust me! So I’ll do my best for you even though you should not give me a penny. But remember, you will go among a rough lot whom I have but little power to control.”
“Hoots! c’way, man, an’ dinna waste time haverin’.”
Saying this, he grasped his guide by the arm in a friendly way and walked off, much to the surprise of a policeman with an aquiline nose, who turned his bull’s-eye full on them as they passed, and then went on his way, shaking his head sagaciously.
As the ill-assorted pair advanced, the streets they traversed seemed to grow narrower and dirtier. The inhabitants partook of the character of their surroundings, and it struck our Scotsman that, as ordinary shops became fewer and meaner, grog-shops became more numerous and self-assertive. From out of these dens of debauchery there issued loud cries and curses and ribald songs, and occasionally one or two of the wretched revellers, male or female, were thrust out, that they might finish off a quarrel with a fight in the street, or because they insisted on having more drink without having the means to pay for it.
At one particular point a woman “in unwomanly rags” was seen leaning up against a lamp-post with an idiotical expression on her bloated face, making an impassioned speech to some imaginary person at her elbow. The speech came to an abrupt end when, losing her balance, she fell to the ground, and lay there in drunken contentment.
At the same moment the attention of our explorer was drawn to a riot close at hand, occasioned by two men engaged in a fierce encounter. They were loudly cheered and backed by their friends, until all were scattered by two powerful constables, who swooped suddenly on the scene and captured one of the combatants, while the other almost overturned David as he ran against him in passing, and escaped.
“Come down here,” said the thief, turning sharp to the left and passing under a low archway.
It led to a narrow alley, which seemed to terminate in total darkness. Even Laidlaw’s stout heart beat somewhat faster as he entered it, but he did not hesitate.
At the end of the passage a dim light appeared. It was thrown by a very dirty lamp, and disclosed a small court of unutterable meanness and inconceivable smells. One or two men had brushed past them, and David observed that his guide accosted these in a language, or slang, which he did not understand.
“I’ve got a friend in here,” said his guide, opening a door and disclosing an extremely dirty room of about ten feet square. A woman with her back towards the door was busy at a wash-tub. Ragged clothes were drying on a clothes-line. A shattered bed, on which lay a bundle of straw and a torn blanket, stood in one corner; a rickety table in another. Water and soapsuds blotched the broken floor, amongst which played two little boys, absolutely naked.
“That’s a woman that tries to keep respectable,” whispered the thief, with something like a bitter laugh. “Hallo, Molly! here’s a gen’lem’n as wants to bid ’ee good-night.”
Molly raised herself, cleared the soapsuds from her thin arms, and turned a haggard but not dissipated face towards her visitor, who was almost choked, not only by the smell of the place, but by an uncontrollable gush of pity.
“My puir wumin!” he exclaimed, hastily thrusting his ever-ready hand into his pocket, “I didna mean t’ come in on ’ee unawears. Hae, ye’ll no’ objec’ to a wheen bawbees?”
He put all the coppers he possessed into the woman’s hand and hurried out of the room.
“Weel, weel,” muttered David, as they continued their walk through the miserable region, “I’ve gane an’ gie’d her a’ the siller I had i’ my pouch. Pair thing! She’ll need it, but I’ve naething left for onybody else!”
“It’s just as well, for there’s nothing left now for any one to steal,” said his companion.
“Whar are ’ee gaun noo?” asked Laidlaw.
The question put was not answered, for his guide, bidding him wait a minute, turned into a doorway and engaged in a low-toned conversation with a man. Returning to his friend with an air of indecision about him, the thief was on the point of speaking when a small party of men and women—evidently of the better classes—came round the corner and approached.
“Oho!” exclaimed the thief, drawing his companion into the shade of the opposite doorway, “we’re in luck. You see, this is what they call a low lodging-house, and the door-keeper thought that, respectable as you are in dress and looks, it might not be wise to take you in. But we’ll go in now at the tail o’ this lot, and nobody will take notice of you. Only follow close to me.”
Two of the “lot” who approached appeared to be respectably-dressed young men, carrying something like a large box between them. There were five altogether in the party, two of whom seemed to be plainly-dressed ladies.
They entered the house at once with a quiet “good-night” to the door-keeper, and were followed by the thief and David. Entering a very large irregularly-formed room, they proceeded to the upper end, where a huge coal fire blazed. The room was crowded with men and boys of varied appearance and character. From every rank in society they had gravitated—but all were stamped with the same brand—destitution! They were not, however, destitute of lungs, as the babel of sounds proved—nor of tobacco, as the clouds of smoke demonstrated.
Little notice was taken of the visitors. They were well known in that haunt of crime and woe. Angels of mercy they were, who, after the labours of each day, gave their spare time to the work of preaching salvation in Jesus to lost souls. To the surprise of Laidlaw, the box before referred to became a harmonium when opened up, and soon the harmony of praise to God ascended from the reeking den. Then followed prayer—brief and to the point—after which an earnest appeal was made to the sorrowing, the suffering, and the criminal to come and find deliverance and rest in the Saviour.
We may not dwell on this. Some listened carelessly, some earnestly, others not at all.
“Come now,” whispered the thief to his friend, towards the close, “they’ll have spotted you, and will want to have a talk. We’ve no time for that. Follow me.”
David, who had been deeply interested, also wanted to have a talk with these servants of the King of kings, but his guide being already halfway down the room he was constrained to follow. Another moment and they were in the street.
Chapter Six.
Enemies Turned to Friends
“You want to see as much as you can, I suppose?” remarked the thief as he hastened along. “Come, I’ll take you to our den.”
It seemed as if the man were leading his companion into deeper and deeper depths, for the dark passage into which they finally turned, and along which they groped their way, seemed to be the very vestibule of Pandemonium; cries as of fierce and evil spirits being heard at the farther end of it.
“Now,” said the thief, stopping, “whatever you do here, don’t show fight. This is a thieves’ den.”
The passage at its farther end became absolutely dark, so that the thief had to lead our hero by the hand. Turning abruptly to the right, they came upon a door through which there issued sounds of terrible revelry. A knock produced no effect. A second and louder knock resulted in dead silence. Then a female voice was heard inside. To it our thief replied in the language of the slums. Immediately the door was opened just enough to let the two men glide in; then it was shut with a bang and bolted.
“Hallo, Trumps, who ’ave you got here?” “W’ere did you pick ’im up?” “Is he a noo member?” shouted several voices, amid general laughter.
The speakers were among a company of men and women whose general appearance and reckless expressions of countenance seemed to indicate that they were past redemption. The den in which they sat drinking, smoking, and gambling consisted of a dirty room fitted with narrow tables, out of which opened an inner apartment. The door of this had been removed—probably for firewood in a time of scarcity. Both rooms were lighted with dim oil-lamps. Some of the company were beggars and tramps of the lowest type, but most were evidently of the vicious and criminal order. There was a tendency to unpleasant curiosity in regard to the stranger, but the thief, whom we may now call Trumps, put an end to this with a few slang words, and led his friend to a seat in the inner room, whence he could observe nearly the whole party and all that went on.
Some of the more intoxicated among them objected to be snubbed by Trumps, and were beginning to scowl at the visitor, no doubt with sinister intentions, when the outer door was again opened, and a young thief, obviously familiar with the place, entered, closely followed by a respectable-looking man in a surtout and a light topcoat. It required no second look to tell that the new-comer was a city missionary. Like our Scot, he had gained admission to the place through the influence of a friendly thief.
“Hullo, more visitors!” growled a big savage-looking man with an apron, who proved to be the landlord of the den.
Advancing quickly to this man, the missionary said, in a quiet gentle tone—
“You supply coffee, I see. May I have a cup?”
“No you mayn’t, you spy! I know you, you canting wretch!”
He locked the door as he spoke, and then, striding forward in a towering rage, threatened vengeance on the intruder. The company, expecting a scene, rose en masse to their feet, while those in the inner room crowded to the front. Laidlaw, who was for the moment forgotten in this new excitement, followed them. He was well enough informed in reference to the work of the London City Missionaries to understand at a glance that one of those fearless men had managed to worm his way into the thieves’ den, and was perhaps in danger of his life. That the man realised his danger was apparent from the fact that he stood erect and closed his eyes for a moment—evidently in silent prayer for help in the hour of need. The act probably saved him, for the ferocious landlord, although ready enough to crush defiance with a savage blow, did not quite see his way to dash his great fist into a mild, manly face with shut eyes! It was such an unusual way of receiving his onset that he hesitated and lowered his fist. Suddenly the missionary drew out a pocket-Bible, and, pointing upwards with it, said, in loud solemn tones, “A great white throne will be set up among the stars above us. The Saviour who died for sinners will sit upon it, and the dead that are in their graves shall hear His voice and live. We shall be there!”
At this the people were silenced, apparently under a spell—some gazing upwards as if to see the throne; others staring into the missionary’s face in wonder.
“And I and you and you,” he continued, pointing to one and another, “shall be there: ‘We must all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ.’ I am not an enemy, or a spy, but a servant of the Lord Jesus, who will be your judge at the last day. He is now the Saviour of the ruined and lost, and in His name I offer you mercy through the blood He shed for you upon the Cross. In His blessed Book it is written, ‘Whosoever believeth on Him shall be saved.’ I hope to come again before long to see you, friends. Now, landlord, open that door and let me out.”
The landlord, who seemed to be thoroughly taken aback, unlocked the door with a trembling hand, and the missionary passed out. But that was not the end of this remarkable visit. It was only the beginning of a grand work for Christ which afterwards took place in and around that thieves’ den. On this, however, we may not do more than touch here. Smitten in conscience, that landlord hurried out after the missionary and actually begged of him to repeat his visit. Then he returned to the den and found his people recovering somewhat from their surprise.
But, touched though the landlord was, he had by no means changed his character.
“Now, then,” he demanded, going up to David Laidlaw, “are you a missionary too?”
“Na, freen’, I am not; but I ’maist wush that I was, for it’s a graund wark t’ carry help t’ the destitute.”
“Well, guv’nor,” cried one fellow with a crushed nose and a huge black eye, “if that’s wot you’re a-’ankerin’ arter you can go a-’ead ’ere an’ ’elp us to yer ’eart’s content, for we’re all destitoot in this ’ere den. So, come along, table down all the cash you’ve got about you.”
“I’ll dae that wi’ pleasure,” said David, rising promptly, and turning all his pockets inside out. “Ye shall hae every bodle I possess.”
A general laugh greeted this proceeding, and one young thief shouted, “Well done, checkers,” (referring to his garments); “but ’ow comes it that you’ve bin cleaned out?”
“Plain as pea-soup,” cried another. “Don’t you see? He’s bin keepin’ company with Trumps!”
Here Trumps rose to explain. “No, pals, that’s not the reason; but just before comin’ here he gave away every rap he had to poor widow Grain.”
“He’s a brick!” cried one man, with a fierce oath.
“He’s a fool!” shouted another, with a fiercer oath. Regardless of the interruption, Trumps went on to explain how he had attempted to rob our hero, and been caught by him, and let off with a mild reproof and a lot of coppers. He also explained how that black-hearted villain Tandy Spivin (meaning David’s landlord) had hired him—Trumps—to take this “gen’lem’n” (pointing to David) “down into the den for a purpus—ahem! Of course, on bein’ introdooced to him,” continued Trumps, “I at once recognised the Scotchman I had tried to rob, and expected he would refuse to go with me; but I soon found that Scotty was a deep as well as a plucky cove, and wasn’t to be done out of his fun by trifles, for he said he would go to the slums with me because he could trust me—trust me, pals—note that!”
A loud explosion of laughter interrupted the speaker at this point.
“What!” exclaimed several voices, “said ’e could trust you, Trumps?”
“Ay,” cried the thief, looking suddenly fierce, “and why not? Isn’t it said, ‘There’s honour among thieves?’”
“Thrue for ye,” cried a big burglarious-looking Irishman, “sure there’s honour ’twixt the likes o’ you an’ me, Trumps, but that gen’lem’n an’t a thief!”
“That’s so, Bill,” exclaimed another man, with bloodshot eyes and beetling brows; “an’ it’s my opinion that as the cove hain’t got no browns ’e ought to contribute ’is checker suit to the good o’ the ’ouse. It would fetch summat.”
The interest in the missionary’s words seemed to be passing away, for at this point the language and looks of some of the company made David Laidlaw feel that he was indeed in a ticklish position. The threats and noise were becoming louder and more furious, and he was beginning to think of the hopeless resource of using his fists, when a loud exclamation, followed by a dead silence, drew every eye to the door.
The girl to whom the keeping of it had been intrusted had neglected her duty for a moment. In letting one of the company out she incautiously stood looking through the open chink into the dark passage. That instant was seized by two tall and powerful limbs of the law, in cloth helmets and with bull’s-eye lanterns, who pushed quietly but quickly into the room. Shutting the door, one of the constables stood with his back against it, while the other advanced and examined the faces of the company one by one.
There was dead silence, for the constables were men of business, not of words, while the criminals, some of whom became grave as well as silent, seemed very anxious not to attract undue attention.
The particular person “wanted,” however, was not there at that time. On coming to David, who met the glare of the bull’s-eye with his grave smile, the constable looked surprised.
“I think, young man,” he said in a low voice, “you’ve come to the wrong shop here.”
“That’s my business,” replied David coolly.
“Well, you know best of course, but if you’ll take my advice you’ll come out of this place along with us.”
“Na. I’ll bide where I am. I’ll trust them.”
“Brayvo! well done, Scotty!” burst from the company, whose courage quickly revived when they found that no one there was “wanted.”
The policemen laughed and went out.
“Noo, freen’s, I want to say a word,” said David, rising. “I’m gaun awa’, an’ it’s ower late t’ mak’ a speech the nicht, but I want t’ ask leave t’ come back here again an’ hae a crack wi’ ye. I want t’ ask ’ee some questions, an’ gie ye some guid advice. May I come?”
“Of course you may, Scotty,” said the landlord, grasping David’s hand and receiving a good-humoured squeeze that made him wince. “You’re a trump, and we’ll give you the freedom of the ’ouse. Won’t we, pals?”
“Agreed, agreed,” shouted the whole company; “and we’ve got two Trumps now!” added a wag, amid much laughter and staves of, “He’s a jolly good fellow,” during the singing of which Laidlaw and his friend took their departure.
Having marked the position of the den well and taken its bearings they said good-night cordially and separated, the thief to his lair, and the Scotsman to his lodging, where he fully expected that the “villain” Tandy Spivin had availed himself of the opportunity to rob him.
But he was wrong. He found his bag, with his watch and money and his little all, intact as he had left it.
