If you enjoy www.victorianlondon.org why not ...
[... back to menu for this book]
[-248-]
MASTER JONATHAN MAXSEY
IT is now nearly six months since I first made the acquaintance of Master
Jonathan Maxsey, and then under circumstances that were peculiarly unfavourable
to that young person. It was inside one of the great prisons to be found at the
outskirts of the metropolis, in which, for the crime of assaulting and robbing
an errand-boy, Maxsey had been condemned to compulsory residence for the term of
half a year. In company with the worthy Governor, I had been inspecting the gaol
and its inmates, and it was not until our interesting tour had been brought, as
I imagined, to a termination, that my friend remarked, "By-the-bye, there
is one case you have not yet seen. Quite a boy he is, but a terrible fellow. I
think it was never my misfortune to meet with such an instance of hopeless
depravity. He has been here eight or nine times, and I don't know how often
elsewhere. He is at present in the dark cell for insolence and throwing a plug
of wet oakum in the face of a warder. You shall see him."
So saying, he led the way into a dismal corridor, at the
extremity of which was a low-arched portal and a door. This the warder unlocked,
and vanished from sight, and was presently heard to unfasten an inner door.
"Now, 99, turn out here; you're wanted;" and in a
few seconds Jonathan Maxsey came shuffling out of the blackness behind him, and
stood before us, blinking his eyes rapidly, as though, despite his over-hanging
brows, the sudden light pain-[-249-] fully affected
them. He was not a prepossessing youth - squat-built and square-shouldered, with
scarcely any neck, and an almost flat top to his otherwise bullet-shaped head,
on which, although it was cropped as short as the gaol scissors could be made to
bite it, the reddish brown hair lay as sleek as it does on the hide of dogs of a
certain breed. He was said to be fifteen, but looked younger, and, in his
tight-fitting suit of prison grey, his hands and feet appeared too large for his
body. His legs were slightly bowed, as though in his tender years he had been
used to horse-riding - an idea that was favoured by the stablish way in which he
carried between his lips a bit of what at first sight looked like straw, but
which turned out to be a splinter of wood torn from the hare unplaned
"bunk" which in a dark cell is the sole article of furniture.
"This, I regret to say, sir," said the Governor,
laying his hand with the keys in it on the sleek fiat head, "is really the
most troublesome boy in the whole prison. I don't believe that he is fifteen
years old yet, and to my knowledge he has been in this gaol eight times, and I
shouldn't wonder if he is as well acquainted with other prisons. How many times
have you been in trouble, 99?"
99 gave the splinter a reflective turn in his mouth, nibbled
off a little bit, and spat it out ere he made answer.
"Oh, I d'n know; what's the good of keepin' count ? - wo
odds how many ?"
"Twenty times at least, I'll be bound ?"
99 drew the splinter into his mouth and chewed and swallowed
it with a snort of sulky defiance.
"So you might be bound if you made it thirty times -
five-and-thirty ;" said he. "I ain't peritickler - wot's the
odds?"
"Well, as I often tell you, 99, the way you seem bent on
going can have but one ending. You'll think of what I tell you, and of the good
advice you are now so wickedly deaf to, when it is too late."
[-250-] At this 99 uttered a
short laugh.
"All right, guv'nor; don't you bother. I'm good for the
end, whatever it is. You won't funk me by talking about ends, so it's no use
your tryin'."
"Get back to your cell, sir," said the Governor,
sternly.
"Good evenin', gentlemen," remarked Jonathan Maxsey,
with a grin and an easy nod; and next instant the double doors shut on him, and
he was again buried alive in that vault of pitchy darkness. I saw the chaplain
before I came away, and asked him to let me know how his unpromising patient,
99, progressed; but I heard nothing from him until a few days since, when I
received a note, apprising me that no perceptible change had taken place in the
young fellow in question, adding, however, that if I still felt any interest in
him, he would be discharged from the gaol next morning at ten o'clock, and might
be met at the gate.
Nothing could be more plain and simple than such directions,
but a greater amount of moral courage was necessary in calmly following them
than innocent folk may be aware of. The gaol in which Master Maxsey was confined
is a mile or so out of town, and every "delivery day" the meetings at
the "gate," or in its immediate vicinity, between discharged prisoners
and their friends, are much more numerous than select. It is a queer sight. The
rule appears to be not to let out the poor gaol-birds entitled to release all at
one flight. The wicket gate swings ajar at intervals of three or four minutes,
and they come scurrying forth in ones and twos. There is a broad space to be
traversed between the prison portal and the main thoroughfare, and it is both
curious and instructive to observe their demeanour on first stepping out again
into the free world. In one respect only are they all alike, especially as
regards the males. However old their clothes may be, they have in them that
constrained and uneasy gait which commonly distinguishes wearers of bran-new
suits, and they glance suspiciously at their [-251-] coat-sleeves,
and give their waistcoats a straightening pull, and look down on their trousers
and boots as though not more than half satisfied that their moulting from prison
plumage is perfect, and that a few of the old tell-tale feathers may not be
still adhering here and there. Perhaps, as a rule, they are amazed that the
dilapidated old things should turn out so fresh and smart-looking after their
long rest in the gaol wardrobe; perhaps, on the other hand, having yearned for
several months for this happy day, when they should, for the last time, strip
from their bodies the hateful linsey-woolsey, and encase themselves in their own
unconspicuous clothes of honest cut, they are a little disappointed at finding
them so wofully seedy and unsuitable for a start in that amended and respectable
life they have for so long been resolving to adopt.
One thing is certain, that if, as is asserted, cleanliness as
a virtue ranks next to godliness, no body of men could appear as applicants for
the renewed confidence of their fellow creatures with a fairer chance of success
than these released prisoners. It must, I think, be some peculiar kind of soap
with which the gaol-bird performs his final ablution before his emancipation. No
common sort with which I am acquainted is capable of imparting such a peculiar
chilblainish polish to the ears, or of making the entire countenance appear as
though the outer skin had been delicately removed, leaving a surface so pink and
tender-looking that the mere act of winking might cause it to crack like an
over-ripe plum.
It must be a trying time that getting over the open space
between the prison gates and the common street pathway, where, if a man have a
mind to, he may speedily be lost in the crowd. In its way, the sensation must be
something like that of "walking the plank" aboard ship - just a few
steps, and then you go souse into that teeming sea from which you were stranded
and left so dismally in the lurch six months ago. It is easy enough to separate
the black sheep - the jet black [-252-] animals,
who no more than a blackamoor may be scrubbed white - and the misguided sheep
who has strayed from the honest flock, perhaps only this once in all his life,
and would give his ears to get back again. Their way of crossing the
before-mentioned open space is entirely different. The sheep whose dye is
ingrain and to the roots of its wool leaves the prison with pretty much the same
air as a visitor from the country quits the train, and with easy confidence
casts about him on the platform for those kind friends who he knows will be
there to greet him and convey him straight to the refreshment room. He carries
himself with a make-believe easy swagger, and generally with his hands in the
pockets of his trousers, excepting when he releases one of them to wave a
friendly salute to a faithful ally waiting in the distance. Just the opposite is
it with the not utterly lost sheep. As soon as the grate opens to him he would
like to take to his heels and run with all his might. He would do so if it were
night time, but he don't know who may be looking, and so the next best thing is
to endeavour to pass as some workman of honest occupation employed to do a
little job within the spiked walls; and it is easy to understand with what
delight this sort of man at that moment would exchange the painful cleanness of
his face and hands for a whitewash-splashed visage, or a sprinkling of sawdust
and a ladder to carry.
It must not be imagined, however, that while with the rest of
the porters at the gate, or loitering about the lamp-post at the corner, or
peeping over the inner shutter of the beer shop on the opposite side of the way,
I am noting these interesting objects in forgetfulness of Master Jonathan Maxsey.
Here he comes at last.
As he quits the prison gate he raises his greasy old cloth
cap and bows politely, but with a grin, to the warder on duty - who grins too,
and says something which causes Master Maxsey to laugh outright - and then
softly whistling, with a brisk step [-253-] he
crosses the open, and reaching the street pavement halts there and looks to the
left and to the right, and across the road. There was no fear of my mistaking
him, though he was so differently attired when last we had met. He was not
conspicuously shabby or ragged. He wore a sort of cutaway black coat, with ample
side pockets, and a gay coloured waistcoat, and a bright silk neckerchief of
such bulky dimensions that the lobes of his great clean ears rested on it at the
sides. His trousers were tight in the legs, and he wore light shoes. There,
however, were the same quick, deep-set eyes, the same never-ceasing nibbling at
his under and upper lip; and there, though very little was visible of, it
outside the close-fitting cap, was the sleek foxy-brown hair close clipped to
the skin. I war glad to perceive that he looked up and down the street in vain,
though, judging from the scowl that gradually grew on his- bright face, it was
evident that he had expected someone who was not there.
The business I had been deputed to negotiate with Master
Maxsey was of a nature that might be best attempted without the presence of a
third person - especially if that person happened to be one of Master Maxsey's
own sort, anxious to welcome that young gentleman back to the lawless life from
which, for six months, he had been estranged. After lingering yet a little
longer, he turned his face in an easterly direction, and walked away so rapidly
that we were nearly a quarter of a mile distant from the prison before I
overtook him. He changed colour somewhat, and came to a dead halt as I
pronounced his name. One swift glance, however, convinced him that his sudden
terror was groundless, and he remarked savagely,
"What do you want a follerin' me for? What's your game
?"
"To do you a good turn, if you have no objection. I
suppose that you are not overwhelmed just now with friends who will take the
trouble to run after you for that purpose?"
[-254-] "Have you been a
running after me?" inquired Master Maksey, in tones of disgust.
"I came after you as you left the prison," said I;
"we have met before; do you recollect me?"
I could tell by the twinkle in his quick eyes that he did so
as I spoke, but, folding his arms, he affected to scrutinize my features
reflectively for at least half a minute, at the expiration of which, and with
startling suddenness, he seized my hand and shook it warmly.
"To be sure I recollect you," he exclaimed, with
all the heartiness of an old friend. "You come to see me that evenin' when
I was in the coal-scuttle; you come along of Old Crabshells. 'Ow are yer?"
I was hardly prepared for this affectionate recognition, but
though I strongly suspected its genuineness, I accepted it with the best grace
at my command. At the same time, however, I informed him that he was mistaken as
to the person who had accompanied me on the painful occasion alluded to - that
it was the Governor himself.
"It's all the same; it's the same party," responded
Master Maxsey, cheerfully; "we calls him Old Crabshells, because of the
uncommon large size of his shoes. But about that there good turn you was speakin'
about just now."
"First of all," said I, as we crossed to the quiet
side of the road and walked along together, "let me ask you if you
recollect the few remarks the Governor addressed to you - you know when - and
the answers you made?"
"Let me see," murmured Master Maxsey, communing
with himself; "what was it I'd been up to?" and then the
pleasant recollection suddenly flashing to his memory, he broke into a fit of
laughter loud and long. "Oh, I know now!" he exclaimed;
"it was for shying a lump of wet oakum at the redraw" (back slang for
warder) "Jolly lark it was! 'You're a quarter of a pound short,' he
ses, when he come to weigh [-255-] my day's dose
what I'd been picking in my cell. 'Where is it, yer wagabone?' ses he. 'Find it
hinstantly.' 'Oh, please, sir,' I ses, 'it was only a hard bit wot I put in my
slop-bowl to soak ; and here it is, sir. P'r'aps yer might tell me if it do well
enough now, sir?' and turning round sharp, I slapped the whole lot in his
blessed eye!"
Master Maxsey wriggled in mirthful convulsions, and laughed
until tears ran down his cheeks. This was far from encouraging; but I was under
a promise to a philanthropic friend, and I resolved to execute my mission.
"Now let us talk soberly and quietly for a few minutes.
You are at liberty once more, Maxsey. What are you going to do?"
"How do you mean?" he asked, warily.
"Have you come to the sensible resolution of keeping at
liberty should a fair chance offer itself to you?"
He appeared to consider the question for several seconds, and
then replied,
"Oh yes; that's right enough. I mean to look arter all
the fair chances that comes in my way, and I mean to keep my liberty as long as
my luck lasts. No fear, I ain't so fond of the steel (prison) as all that."
"I should say not. You need not set your foot inside a
prison again if you will take hold of and stick to the chance I bring you. You
appear to be a strong lad, and you are not afraid of work, I suppose?"
"Course I can work when I'm put to it," returned
Master Maxsey, hesitatingly "what kind of work was you thinkin' of guvner?"
"Well, to come to the point," said I, "there
is a friend of mine who, knowing all about you, would be willing to take you,
and feed you, and lodge you, and teach you a trade, and if you could but find
courage to be industrious, and behave yourself, by the time you are
one-and-twenty he would make a [-256-] bright man
of you. The trade you would have to learn is that of a tanner."
"Ah! how much a week did you say?" Master
Maxsey remarked, after a pause.
"Well, at first some trifle of pocket-money, I dare say;
but not very much."
"Ho. And how many hours a day?"
"I can't say exactly; ten perhaps."
"And that's what you call doin' a cove a good turn, is
it?" and he turned up the tip of his plastic nose scornfully.
"As good a turn as any one in the world could do for
you," said I.
"Then wot I got to say is this," returned
Master Maxsey, signifying by the abrupt manner in which he came to a standstill
that he wished the conference to be terminated then and there - "wot I got
to say is this: You and that there tanner wots your friend can keep your jolly
good turn, as you calls it, and tie yerselves together with it, and jump over
London Bridge. I don't want it; not while I can prig enough in any a hour,
p'r'aps, to keep me for a week. Ten hours a day at 'tannerin for a bit of grub,
and a fourpenny lodgin'! Not if I knows it. Why, it 'ud be wus to me than a
summery conwiction!"
And, too indignant even to bid me good day, the awful young
thief turned abruptly into Church-street, Shoreditch, and was quickly lost to
view.