Rattlin the Reefer | Page 9

who had been present
and enjoyed the fracas, immediately took me into his especial favour;
he declared that I was after his own heart, for I had the devil in me--
said that I had the right spirit to bring me to the gallows, and he hoped,
old as he was, to live to see it: he then entreated of the Lord that my
precious soul might be saved as a burning brand out of the fire--took
me by the hand and led me to the next gin-shop--made me taste the

nauseating poison--told me I was a little man, and it was glorious to
fight--doubled up for me my puny fists, and asserted that cowards only
suffered a blow without returning it. A lesson like this never can be
forgotten. I ground my teeth whilst I was receiving it--I clenched my
hands, and looked wildly round for something to destroy. I was in
training to become a little tiger. From what I then experienced, I can
easily conceive the feelings that actuate, and can half forgive the
crowned monsters who have revelled in blood, and relished the
inflicting of torture; as pandering to their worst passions in infancy
resolves them into a terrible instrument of cruelty, the control of which
rests not with themselves. But this lesson in tiger ferocity had its
emollient, though not its antidote, in the tenderness of the love which I
bore to my nurse, when, on my return, I flung myself into her arms.
Ever since that day I have been subject to terrific fits of passion; but
very happily for me they have long ceased to be but of very rare
occurrence.
The next morning, Master Joseph came home ill, and if not humbled, at
least almost helpless. He had now three children of his own, and the
necessity of eschewing skittles, and presiding over the sawpit, became
urgent. With all his vices and his roughness, he was surprisingly fond
of me. He, too, applauded my spirit in attacking himself. He now
rejoiced to take me to the sawpit, to allow me to play about the
timber-yards, and share with him his alfresco midday meal and pot of
porter. I always passed for his eldest son, my name being told to the
neighbours as Ralph Rattlin Brandon. I knew no otherwise, and my
foster-parents kept the secret religiously. At seven I began to fight with
dirty little urchins in the street, who felt much scandalised at the
goodness of my clothes. It is hard work fighting up-hill at seven years
of age. Old Ford would wipe the blood from my nose, and clap the
vinegar and brown paper on my bruises with words of sweet
encouragement; though he always ended by predicting that his hopeful
godson would be hung, and that he should live to see it. I have certainly
not been drowned yet, though I have had my escapes, and old Ford has
been dead these thirty years. As one part of the prophecy will certainly
never be fulfilled, I have some faint hopes of avoiding the exaltation
hinted at in the other.

About this time, I began to notice that a lady, at long intervals, came to
see me. She seemed exceedingly happy in my caresses, though she
showed no weakness. She passed for my godmother, and so she
certainly was. She was minute in her examination in ascertaining that I
was perfectly clean; and always brought me a number of delicacies,
which were invariably devoured immediately after her departure, by me
and those little cormorants my loving foster-brothers and sister.
Moreover, my nurse always received a present, which she very
carefully and dutifully concealed from her liege lord of the pits.
However, I cannot call to my mind more than four of these "angelic
visits" altogether. "Angelic visits," indeed, they might be termed, if the
transcendent beauty of the visitor be regarded. At that time, her form
and her countenance furnished me with the idea I had of the blessed
inhabitants of heaven before man was created, and I have never been
able to replace it since by anything more beautiful. The reader shall
soon know how, at that very early age, I became so well acquainted
with angelic lore.
When eight years old I was sent to school. I could read before I went
there. How I picked up this knowledge I never could discover: both my
foster-parents were grossly illiterate. Perhaps old Ford taught me--but
this is one of the mysteries I could never solve; and it is strange that I
should have so totally forgotten all about an affair so important, as not
to remember a single lesson, and yet to hold so clear a recollection of
many minor events. But so it is. To school I went: my master