Disclaimer: I own Wallace…..Yep that's pretty much it….Well I own Frankie too, but everything else? That belongs to creators of the movie Gangs of NY and the people who wrote the books on it.
Thanks to Trooper 3.6 and AzN*PyRo*ArCaDa for their reviews. I hope to hear from you and enjoy the chapter.
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Wallace was unprepared for the new smells that hit him when he stepped onto the deck. He coughed a bit trying to regain his breath. He glanced around getting his first glimpse of New York. It didn't look that different from Liverpool people crowding a dock all blending in together. He looked over the railing and grimaced as he saw caskets being unloaded from other boats.
"Oh that's an uplifting sight" he muttered too himself.
"Keep moving boy." A sailor said pushing Wallace along. On the dock Wallace joined the other immigrants streaming down the dock. A large man with a top hat stopped Wallace as he was moving,
"How old are you son?"
"11" Wallace answered
"When voting time comes, your 18 and vote Tammany" the man handed Wallace a loaf of bread and a slip of paper with the words vote Tammany on it, patted him on the back, and pushed him along.
"Crazy Yank;" he muttered and kept his head down as they walked down the dock. Suddenly a hand reached out and pulled Wallace out of the line. "'Ey leave me 'lone let go!" When Wallace was able too get a look at the owner of the hand, it was a boy, a few years old then himself, dressed all in blue.
"How old are you Paddy?" Wallace shot a glare at the teen.
"I aint no Paddy!" he said loudly taking great offence at being called an Irishmen.
"How old are you?" the teen repeated with great annoyance in his voice.
"11." Wallace answered, why in 'ell are they askin me age it's not like its goin too change between seconds. He thought
"You sure about that boy?"
"I think I know me own age!" Wallace said loudly
"Ever consider fighting for you country?"
"Fer Scotland?" the teen grabbed Wallace's collar and held him so their faces where inches apart.
"For the North stupid, you know the Union Army, fighting for Lincoln?"
"I jus' got to America, I don't know bout no fightin," Wallace said with a smirk. "I don't know 'bout no North or Union Army, and I certainly don't know anythin 'bout Lincoln. So 'ow can I fight fer somthin that I don't know 'bout it?"
"Why you little smart bas-" the teen said raising his fist too punch Wallace.
"What's going on here?!" a man in the same uniform as the teen said, coming up behind them.
"Nothing sir just questioning this Paddy, he's 14 old enough too fight sir." Wallace stared at the teen in shock
"I aint no Paddy and I'm 11 not 14!" The soldier looked at Wallace then at the teen then back at Wallace
"That true boy?" Wallace nodded furiously
"Aye!"
"Can you prove it?" again Wallace nodded
"Aye" he repeated and reached under his shirt and pulled out his locket, one side was a photograph of Wallace's family, his parents, him, and his grandparents. On the other side was a drawing of Wallace himself, he pulled out a piece of paper from behind the drawing. On it was written Wallace's birth date. His mother had always kept adequate records of everything and had filed his birth record in her locket so she would always have them with her. "See 'ere it is." Wallace said holding the paper too the soldier, he looked at it and nodded.
"He's eleven." The soldier said "according too this at least. Let him go Williamson." The teen let his hold on Wallace's collar and walked away. "Well boy welcome too America,"
"Thank ye" Wallace said dryly picking up his bag.
"And boy?"
"Aye?"
"If you ever consider fightin for your country boy you'd make a fine soldier. We can always use brave young men like you, ever consider it, whether it be fightin or carrying the flag, you'd do well son." Wallace nodded then when the soldier couldn't see him he rolled his eyes in annoyance,
"All these Yanks are bloody tapped." He muttered. Some how he managed too get off the dock and onto the road. Wallace wasn't exactly sure where he was heading, but he did know something he was going to need some money. He wasn't positive about American money, but Wallace figured he'd swipe what he could out of someone's purse; maybe a timepiece or two and he'd be all set. Wallace walked past a well dressed gentleman, his timepiece's chain hanging out for the world too see; perfect Wallace thought, he walked closer to the man, it was so crowded people where bumping into everyone else. Too Wallace this was the best situation to work in, hundreds bumping into you, unsure who it was exactly, and by the time you realize that you've been picked, it's too late the picketer was long gone in the crowd with your belongings. Wallace was a master at pick pocketing, it was a skill that at times he wasn't proud of and that his father had been none to happy about, but it came as a necessity.
Easily Wallace reached over too the man's vest and lifted the timepiece, then as easily, he reached into the man's pocket and pulled out his purse. Before the man knew anything was gone, Wallace was gone in the crowd. He walked down the street slipping the purse into his hat and putting it back on his head, the time piece Wallace slipped into his bag.
"Hey you there!" a boy's voice called through the crowd. Wallace didn't think anything of it; he just kept walking, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around to face the person fists up ready too fight.
"What do ye want!" he shouted.
"Nothing, I just want to talk;" said the boy letting go of Wallace's shoulder. He was about Wallace's age, maybe a few years older. He had light brown hair tied in up. "You just get off the boat?" he said in an accent that was a mix of Northern Ireland and British.
"Aye," Wallace answered "what's it too you."
"I saw you life that man's timepiece." Wallace swallowed was he losing his touch, how did someone see him?
"Don't know what yer talkin 'bout" Wallace said keeping eye contact.
"Ya don't have to be worrying I won't turn ya in, infact I can help ya."
"I don't need anyone." Wallace retorted
"That may be so back in the old country friend, but it be different here in the States. You've got to run with the right crowd to keep from bein sent to Hell Gate."
"'ell Gate?" Wallace asked "what's that?"
"Place they send kids who don't got any homes, orphans, they'll keep ya there till your 18, longer if it suits them. They love to send thieves and pickpockets there as well;"
"And yer supposed ta 'elp me stay out of this place? 'ow?"
"Come with me and I'll explain it ta ya,"
"I'll come with ye, but it don't mean I trus' ya!" Wallace said shifting his bags weight.
"Right," Wallace followed the boy down a street "by the way me names Francis, but everyone calls me Frankie, I run with a gang"
"Yer in a gang?" Wallace asked unable to hide his surprise, Frankie nodded and grinned with pride.
"Called the Little Forty Thieves, we're based off of the adult gang the Forty Thieves;" he paused "so ya goin to tell me your name boyo?" Wallace thought for a moment then nodded
"Aye, its Wallace,"
"Wallace" Frankie said nodding "ya named after anyone Wallace?"
"Aye, William Wallace, 'e fought the English fer Scotland, 'e died fer 'is country, 'e showed them damn English that they couldn't push us 'round no more," Frankie seemed impressed
"That sounds like something to be proud of, so I'm right in guessin you're from Scotland?"
"Aye,"
"Your accent gave it away, your goin to be pretty hard to follow I can tell ya that," Wallace nodded he knew that, his accent was thick, he'd personally never noticed it, but had been told by plenty of people that they couldn't understand a word he was saying. They stepped out of a side street and Wallace stared at the sight before him, he had never seen such a sight; people, animals, dead people and dead animals. The road was dirt unlike the street cobble stone he had first come off the boats onto. People where walking around, some were fighting others were screaming at one another. Wallace felt a ping of homesickness, he didn't like this new place; this wasn't worth all that he had lost in leaving Scotland. "Welcome to the Five Pints Wallace," Wallace watched the people walking around, it was easy to pick out the pickpockets they moved with such quickness and skill that Wallace couldn't help but feel a swell of pride flow through him. "You'll get acquainted with the place sooner then ya think Wallace," Frankie said steering the boy to what seemed to be the center of the commotion. "This is called Paradise Square," he said leaning against the fence "ya get the best view of the gangs from here." He pointed at a group of proper looking men walk by "see them"
"They aint a gang are they?" Wallace asked
"Don't be fooled by the way they dress, those be called the Shirt Tails, they aint much of a sport anymore they went kind of soft, but they still call themselves a gang and I wouldn't do anythin to be settin them off." He pointed to another group walking by, tough looking they pushed anyone who got in their way out of it. "Those be the Plug Uglies,"
"Plug Uglies?"
"Ya, their from somewhere deep in Ireland, no one has any clue what their sayin, we just stay out of their way, they love to rile up the cops, then ya really be gettin a good show." nearby a group of kids Wallace's age all ganged up on one man. "Ah me own group, that there is the Little Forty Thieves, we mostly don't depend on pickpocketin, in our minds too much a chance of getting caught,"
"And that aint?" Wallace asked nodding his head towards the group as they where chased off by another man.
"Naw, see ya run with a gang people respect ya, they wont try anything more then chashin yer ass; they only to that to us because they figure they can give ya a good scare, but what they don't realize is once they've ticked off a gang their marked."
"Marked?" Wallace asked Frankie took his finger and slide it across his throat and Wallace understood.
"Now most of the times worryin 'bout the law is yer last thought, there's two types of law. The municipal and the metropolitan, municipal them, they work fer Tammany."
"Who?"
"Did a suit stop you on the dock? Tellin ya to vote fer him?"
"Aye,"
"That's Tammany, he's a backstabbin bastard that can't be trusted; thinks he owns the Five Pints, he don't. No the true man ya wanna talk to is Bill the Butcher," Wallace's eyes bugged out, he hoped that when Frankie said butcher he meant an actual butcher not a guy that would hack someone. "Bill owns the Five Pints, everyone knows that Bill'll take care of ya,"
"What's the catch?"
"Ya hafta pay him, not a lot, if yer workin 'lone then half yer pickin's go to Bill you keep the other half, in return he gives you a place to stay and I've heard if he really likes ya you can even work for him directly." Frankie grinned at Wallace "Come on I'll take ya to meet the Butcher."
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Trooper I know you asked for a Gang Fight…I promise there will be one soon. Anyways hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I hope to hear from some new people. Just sent me a review that's all I ask. Just no flames, *bows*
Sharpsnout