Scamp and I: A Story of City By-Ways

That knowing dog Scamp was rather puzzled on the evening after his arrival, at the marked change in the manners of Dick and Jenks towards him. Clever as he was, their total change of manner threw him off his guard, and he began to accuse himself of ingratitude in supposing that at any time they had not wished for his company, that at any time they had treated him as an intruder. Not a bit of it. Here were they patting and making much of him; here was that good-natured fellow Jenks allowing him to repose his big, awkward body across his knees, while Flo and Dick, who had been indoors all day very grave and silent, were now in fits of laughter over his rough attempts at play.

“Flo,” said Jenks, pulling some loose coppers out of his ragged vest pocket, “ef you’ll buy wittles fur the dawg fur a week, I’ll pay ’em.”

And then he further produced from some mysterious store a good-sized, juicy bone, cut from a shank of mutton, which bone he rubbed gently against the dog’s nose, finally allowing him to place it between his teeth and take possession of it. As Scamp on the floor munched, and worried, and gnawed that bone, so strong were his feelings of gratitude to Jenks, that he would have found it easy, quite easy, to follow him to the world’s end.

And so Jenks seemed to think, for when supper was over he arose, and giving Dick an almost imperceptible nod, he called Scamp, and the boys and the dog went out.

They walked nearly to the end of the street, and then Jenks caught up Scamp, and endeavoured to hide him with his ragged jacket. This was no easy matter, for in every particular the dog was ungainly – too large in one part, too small in another. Impossible for a tattered coat-sleeve to hide that great rough head, which in sheer affection, caused by the memory of that bone, would push itself up and lick his face. Jenks bestowed upon him in return for this regard several severe cuffs, and was altogether rough and unpleasant in his treatment; and had Scamp not been accustomed to, and, so to speak, hardened to such things, his feelings might and probably would have been considerably hurt. As it was, he took it philosophically, and perceiving that he was not at present to show affection, ceased to do so.

The boys walked down several by-streets, and took some villainous-looking short cuts in absolute silence. Dick went a little in advance of his companion, and kept his eyes well open, and at sight of any policeman exchanged, though without looking round, some signal with Jenks; on which Jenks and Scamp would immediately, in some mysterious way, disappear from view, and Dick would toss a marble or two out of his pocket and pretend to be aiming them one at the other, until, the danger gone by, Jenks and Scamp would once more make their appearance. At last they came to streets of so low a character, where the “nippers,” as they called them, so seldom walked, that they could keep together, and even venture on a little conversation.

Dick, who had been sadly depressed all day, began to feel his spirits rising again. He had quite resolved never, never to be a thief no more, but this expedition would bring them in money in a way that even Flo could hardly disapprove of; at least, even if Flo did disapprove, she could hardly call it dishonest. The dog was theirs, had come to them. If they could get money for the dog would they not be right to take it? They were too poor to keep Scamp.

Just then Dick turned round and encountered a loving, trusting glance from the dumb creature’s affectionate eyes, a sudden fit of compunction came over him, for he knew to what they were selling Scamp.

“S’pose as Scamp beats Maxey’s young ’un?” he questioned to his companion.

“Not ’ee,” said Jenks contemptuously, “’ee’s nothink but a street cur, and that young ’un is a reg’lar tip-topper, I can tell yer.”

“Well, Scamp ’ave sperrit too,” said Dick.

“And ef ’ee ’adn’t, would I bring ’im to Maxey? Would I insult Maxey’s young dawg wid an hout and hout street cur wid no good points? Why, Maxey wouldn’t give a tanner fur a cur widout sperrit, you little greenhorn.”

Here they stopped at the door of a low ale-house, where the company were undoubtedly “doggy.”

Jenks transferred Scamp to Dick’s care, and disappeared into the public, from whence in a few moments he issued with a small stoutly-built man, of ill-looking and most repulsive aspect.

“I ’ave named my price,” said Jenks, putting Scamp down on the ground and beginning to exhibit his different points. “Two bobs and a tanner, and a sight o’ the fight fur me and this ’ere chap.”

“Come, that’s werry fine,” said the man addressed as Maxey; “but ’ow is it, you young willan, you dares to insinniwate as I ’ave dog-fights? Doesn’t you know as dog-fight’s ’gainst the law of the land? You wouldn’t like to see the hinside of Newgate fur bringin’ this ’ere dog to me fur the purpose o’ fightin’ another dog? You didn’t reckon that in the price of the dog. Come now, ef I doesn’t give you into the hands of the perleece, and ef I takes the dog, and puts ’im away tidy, and gives you and yer pardener a tanner between yer? Come, that’s lettin yer off cheap, ain’t it?”

Dick was considerably frightened, but Jenks, taking these threats for what they were worth, held out firmly for two bobs and a tanner, which in the end he obtained a promise of, on condition that for one week he should tie up Scamp at home and feed him well. At the end of that time Maxey was to have him back, who further promised that Jenks and Dick should see the fight.

“And that ’ere’s pretty sport,” said Jenks, as well satisfied he turned away. “Maxey’s young ’uns are alwis tip-toppers. Won’t ’ee just give it to this willan! I guess there’ll be an hawful row, and not much o’ Scamp left, by the time ’tis hover.” But the further details with which Jenks favoured his young companion are too horrible to relate here. In our Christian England these things are done – done in the dark it is true, but still done.

Dog-fights, though punishable by law, are still held, and young boys and old men flock to them, and learn to be lower than the brutes in diabolical cruelty because of them.

It may still however puzzle those who read Scamp’s history to know of what use he could be in a dog-fight, as only thorough-bred dogs can fight well.

Alas! Scamp could be made use of; such dogs as Scamp can further this wicked sport.

Such dogs are necessary in the training of the fighting-dogs. Jenks knew this well, hence his desire to obtain the poor animal.

His use was this – I here quote from Mr Greenwood’s well-known “Low Life Deeps.”

“He at once good-naturedly explained to me the way in which a young (fighting) dog is trained.

“I was given to understand that the first practice a fighting pup had was with a ‘good old gummer,’ that is to say, with a dog which had been a good one in his day, but was now old, and toothless, and incapable of doing more than ‘mumble’ the juvenile antagonist that was set against him, the one great advantage being that the young dog gained practical experience in the making of ‘points.’

“The next stage, as I was informed, in training the young aspirant for pit-honours was to treat him to a ‘real mouthful,’ or, in other words, ‘to let him taste dog’…” What this means, Mr Greenwood goes on partially to explain, but the explanation is too fearful to be repeated here; suffice it to say that Scamp was the dog that Maxey’s young ’un was to taste.

Considerably elated, the boys started off on their way home. The thought of two-and-sixpence, and a sight of a real dog-fight, was quite enough to silence all Dick’s scruples, and Jenks never had any.

Yet once, long ago now, Jenks had cried when the cat pounced on his canary, once Jenks had a kind heart. It was not all hard yet, though very nearly so. Still some things could touch him, some faces, some words, some tones, could reach a vulnerable part within him. He hardly knew himself that the better part of him, not yet quite dead, was touched, he only called it being in a fix. He was in a fix about Dick. It had been his intention, it had been his motive, in coming to live in the Saint Giles’s cellar, to train Dick as a thief, and if possible Flo also.

He was a very expert young hand himself, – no boy in London with lighter fingers, or more clever in dodging the police, than he. He knew that the first requisite for any successful thief was to possess an innocent appearance, and the moment he saw Dick and Flo he knew that their faces would make their own, and probably his fortune, in this criminal trade. He had gone cautiously about his work, for eyes much less sharp than his must have perceived that the children were strictly honest. Their honesty, their horror of theft, had filled him with surprise, and added greatly to his difficulties. He saw, however, that Dick was the weaker of the two, and his scruples he determined first to overcome. It took him some time, a whole month, but at last Dick fell, and Jenks was triumphant. All now was smooth sailing with him, he was in high, the highest spirits. Dick should be taken down skilfully step by step the broad descent, and presently Flo would follow.