The boy whose name I have put at the head of this paper was looked
upon as a timid simpleton, perfectly under the power of the two men
to whom his fate was linked. If Billy had been a dog they could not
have looked upon him with more indifference—he was so small, and
thin, and insignificant, and above all so quiet and submissive, that
they felt that they could have crushed him at any moment with a mere
finger’s weight.
Rodie M^cKendrick, the first of his masters, was a big fellow with an
arm like a giant, whose standing boast was that it never needed more
than one drive of his fist to knock the strongest man down. Rodie was
a housebreaker, who filled up his spare time by counterfeit coining
and “smashing,” or passing, the same. The other, his companion
and partner, Joss Brown by name, I can best describe as a comical
fiend—that is, he always did the most cruel acts with a grin or a
smile, joking away all the while about the wriggles or agony of
his victim, as if it was the best fun in the world to him. Joss, I
believe, fairly delighted in the sufferings of others, and would have
reached the height of happiness had he been appointed chief torturer
in an inquisition. He was an insignificant-looking wretch, but an
extraordinarily swift runner. These two had settled in Glasgow, for
the benefit of that city, and Billy Sloan was their spaniel and
slave. There was another spaniel and slave in the person of Kate,
Billy’s sister, but as she was in bad health she did not count for
much. The two children had been left to Rodie by their mother, a
Manchester shop-lifter, whom he had brought to Scotland with him, and
managed to hurry out of the world shortly after.
They were not his own children, therefore, and that fact encouraged
him to deal with them as he pleased. Kate was ten, and Billy
nearly nine, and both were small and weakly, so Rodie’s treatment
of them was not the kindest in the world. Kate’s ill health had
arisen from that treatment. She had bungled in the passing of some
pewter florins made by Rodie and Joss, and not only nearly got
captured—which could have been forgiven—but had almost got these two
worthies into trouble as well. It was a narrow escape, and Rodie
thought best to impress it on her memory by first knocking her down
with one tap of his big fist, and then kicking her ribs till she
fainted. Billy crouched in a corner, clasping his hands, and looking
on pale as death, and with his eyes fixed steadily on Rodie’s face.
Joss, who was looking on in exuberant delight, noticed the peculiar
look, and said—
“Look at the other whelp; he looks as if he could bite, if he’d only
teeth in his head.”
“Oh, him? Poh!” grunted Rodie in supreme contempt, as he rested from
his task; but Joss could not resist the temptation, and reproved
Billy’s look by sinking his nails into the boy’s ear, and then
shaking him about till Billy thought that either the ear or the head
must come off.
Joss made jokes all the while, and then went back to his supper and
his whisky-drinking with fresh zest. Billy crouched in the corner,
watching the slow breathing of his senseless sister till he saw that
Rodie and Joss were considerably mollified by eating and drinking.
Then he crept forward and lifted Kate from the floor, and bore her
into a little closet off the room, in which they both slept. Kate
moaned a little on being moved, but it took an hour’s persistent
efforts on Billy’s part to bring her back to consciousness, and then
he was almost sorry he had restored her, for she suffered dreadful
agony where Rodie’s iron-toed boots had been at work.
It is possible that some of her ribs were broken,—the dreadful pains
and the after-effects all point to that conclusion,—but, though the
whole night was spent in sleepless agony by Kate, she was forced to
rise next day and attend to her two masters. Kate was the housewife;
and though Billy would willingly have undertaken her duties for a
time, the comical fiend Joss would not allow it, and insisted, with
many jokes, on pulling her out of bed by the ear, with his nails,
as usual, and then goading her on to every task which his ingenious
brain could suggest as likely to aggravate her trouble.
The children had no idea of resenting this treatment, or of running
away, or of anything but their own utter dependence upon these men;
and they longed with all the strength of their young minds for the
happy moment which should see Rodie and Joss either senseless with
drink or out of the house. It happened, however, that the men were
alarmed at their narrow escape of the day before, and had decided to
keep out of sight for a day or two; so the children had a weary time
of agony and secret tears. At night, when clasped in each other’s
arms in the hole under the slates which was their sleeping place,
they sympathised and communed, and mingled their bitter tears; but
Kate’s dreadful sufferings did not abate much. As weeks passed away
she grew shadowy and pale, and a bad cough afflicted her incessantly,
so much so that Joss was often compelled to rise out of bed in the
night-time and sink his nails into her ears, or stick a long pin
into her arm, or wrench a handful of hair out of her head by the
roots to induce her to desist, and give him some chance of enjoying
his much-needed repose. And the jokes he showered on her and Billy
on these occasions would have filled a book. One day both men were
providentially out of the house, and Kate, sitting by the fire with
her face looking strangely pinched, and her eyes big and shiny, while
Billy cooked the dinner by her directions, pressed her hand on her
breast, and said to the boy—
“Oh, Billy, is there nothing that would take away this awful pain?”
Billy stopped his stirring at the pot and reflected. His knowledge
was exceedingly limited, and his ideas did not come fast at any time;
but after a little his face brightened, and he said briefly—
“Yes—I know—medicine.”
“Are you sure?”
Billy scratched his head. He wasn’t sure, but he thought so.
“Then where could we get some?” was Kate’s next query.
They both knew of the chemists’ shops, but to go to them required
money. At length they remembered of some one in the rookery getting
medicine and doctor’s advice at the dispensary, and, setting the
dinner aside, they decided to slip out of the house, and see what
could be done at that blessing to the ailing poor. When they got to
the place, and their turn came, Kate went in with great trepidation
before a couple of doctors and some students, and explained that she
was troubled with a cough and pains in her breast and side. Dozens
more were waiting, so there was little time to spare upon each.
“What brought it on?” the doctor asked when he had hastily sounded
her lungs. “Caught cold, I suppose?”
Kate blushed and nodded. She did not care to reveal all she had
suffered at the hands and feet of Rodie, or she would have told the
doctor that far from having caught cold she had caught it very hot
indeed. A bottle of medicine was quickly put up and labelled, and
Kate was free to depart.
Billy was in high spirits, and danced and pranced all the way home,
quite sure that the magic elixir which was to banish all pain from
Kate’s poor breast was in the bottle she carried. When they got home
they found to their great relief that the house was still empty, and
after Kate had taken a spoonful of the medicine they hid the bottle
away under their bed, lest the comical fiend should jokingly throw it
out at the window. The medicine thus applied for and taken in stealth
had the effect of soothing the pain somewhat and easing the cough,
but it did not stop the decay of Kate’s lungs. She got weaker and
thinner, till at last even the comical fiend confessed his ingenuity
and skill in forcing her out of bed quite exhausted and at fault.
Kate spent most of her time in bed in the hole under the slates,
while Billy became housewife and nurse combined. Strange thoughts
came into her head, and half of the time she was in a hazy dream,
through which she saw little but Billy’s eager face as he tended, and
nursed, and soothed, and consoled, and tried every device for keeping
the comical fiend out of the hole. One morning, while Rodie and Joss
were still snoring in bed, Kate was more wide awake than she had
seemed for a long time, and startled Billy, as she had often done of
late, with one of her odd questions—
“Wouldn’t it be nice, Billy, if I was to fall asleep, and sleep on
and never wake?”
Billy stared at her and tried to realise the thought.
“It wouldn’t be nice for me,” he said at last, “for I couldn’t get
speaking to you. You’d be the same as dead.”
“Well, what becomes of folks when they’re dead?” pursued Kate. “I
heard a man say once that there’s another world they go to, all
bright and beautiful, where there’s no pain. I’d like to be there, if
there’s such a place.”
Billy didn’t think there was such a place—at least, he had never
heard of it, and anyhow he did not wish Kate to die. His heart gave
a great pang as he thought for the first time of what it would be to
be left in the world—alone—without Kate, and he choked and gulped and
would have cried, if it had not been that he did not wish to excite
or alarm her.
“But, Billy, I sometimes in my dreams see a hole in the ground, with
a light shining through from the other side,” persisted Kate. “I see
it often, and always want to go into it.”
“There ain’t no such hole,” said Billy, sturdily and determinedly.
“There may be if I die and am put in the ground,” said Kate, wearily.
“Sometimes I’m so tired that I can hardly wake up again. But, Billy,
how would I find the road to the other place if I should fall asleep
and not wake again? I’ve heard it’s not easy found, and I think it’s
only a place for good folks, and we’re not that, you know.”
“That’s true,” said Billy, “so you needn’t bother your head about
going to that place; you’re better beside me. You’d never find it; I
know you wouldn’t.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Kate, with dreadful earnestness.
“I’m afraid I’ll be left wandering about in the dark at the other
side. I’ve heard that there’s a man with a light shining out of his
head walking about ready to take folks’ hands and guide them, but
he’s a kind of an angel, and would never look at me. Isn’t it a pity
that Rodie kicked so hard? That’s what has done it all. And now I’m
always sinking. I often catch myself up when I’ve sunk about half-way
through the world, and grip on to your hand just to keep myself here,
but if I get much weaker I’ll not be able to do that.”