OF THE GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WORKING CHIMNEY-SWEEPERS._London Labour and the London Poor, Vol. 2

There are many reasons why the chimney-sweepers have ever been a

distinct and peculiar class. They have long been looked down upon

as the lowest order of workers, and treated with contumely by those

who were but little better than themselves. The peculiar nature of

their work giving them not only a filthy appearance, but an offensive

smell, of itself, in a manner, prohibited them from associating with

other working men; and the natural effect of such proscription

has been to compel them to herd together apart from others, and to

acquire habits and peculiarities of their own widely differing from the

characteristics of the rest of the labouring classes.

A TABLE SHOWING THE NUMBER OF MASTER CHIMNEY SWEEPERS RESIDING IN

THE SEVERAL DISTRICTS OF THE METROPOLIS, THE NUMBER OF FOREMEN, OF

JOURNEYMEN, AND UNDER JOURNEYMEN EMPLOYED IN EACH DISTRICT DURING THE

YEAR, AS WELL AS THE WEEKLY WAGES OF EACH CLASS.

----------------+---------+---------+----------+----------+-------------+

----------------+---------+---------+----------+----------+-------------+

Hammersmith_ | 11 | 2 | 25 | 16 | 2 |

| | | | | |

_Westminster_ | 13 | 1 | 26 | 18 | 1 |

| | | | | |

_Chelsea_ | 22 | -- | 13 | 11 | 2 |

| | | | | |

Hanover-sq._ | 10 | 5 | 27 | 25 | -- |

| | | | | |

Ann’s_ | 9 | -- | 16 | 15 | 1 |

| | | | | |

Westminster_ | 7 | 1 | 9 | 6 | -- |

| | | | | |

_Marylebone_ | 18 | -- | 21 | 16 | -- |

_Paddington_ | 10 | 1 | 17 | 10 | 3 |

| | | | | |

_Hampstead_ | 2 | -- | 2 | 2 | 2 |

| | | | | |

_Islington_ | 9 | -- | 13 | 12 | 3 |

| | | | | |

_St. Pancras_ | 18 | -- | 33 | 21 | 6 |

| | | | | |

Homerton_ | 13 | -- | 3 | 3 | 4 |

+---------+-----------+----------------------+---------------

| | | |

| No. of | | |

| Bushels | Weekly | Weekly | Weekly

| of Soot | Wages | Wages | Wages of

|collected| of each | of each | each Under

| Weekly. | Foreman. | Journeyman. | Journeyman.

+---------+-----------+----------------------+---------------

| | | |

| 695 | 18_s._ | 7 at 16_s._ | 10_s._

| | | 6 „ 15_s._ |

| | |10 „ 14_s._ |

| | | 1 „ 12_s._ |

| 735 | 14_s._ | 5 at 18_s._ | 3_s._ _b_

| | |10 „ 12_s._ |

| | | 3 „ 4_s._} |

| | | 4 „ 3_s._}_b_ |

| | | 4 „ 2_s._} |

| 670 | -- | 1 „ 16_s._ |1 at 2_s._ _b_

| | | 3 „ 12_s._ |1 _e_

| | | 4 „ 10_s._ |

| | | 3 „ 3_s._ } |

| | | 1 „ 2_s._ 6_d._}_b_|

| | | 1 „ 2_s._ } |

| | | |

| 890 |4 at 18_s._| 5 at 18_s._ | --

| |1 „ 16_s._| 3 „ 16_s._ |

| | | 2 „ 15_s._ |

| | | 9 „ 14_s._ |

| | | 7 „ 12_s._ |

| | | 1 „ 6_s._ _b_ |

| | | |

| 415 | -- | 7 at 6_s._} | 2_s._ _b_

| | | 6 „ 4_s._}_b_ |

| | | 2 „ 3_s._} |

| | | |

| 355 | 14_s._ | 5 at 12_s._ | --

| | | 1 „ 10_s._ |

| | | 1 at 3_s._ 6_d._ _b_|

| | | |

| 775 | -- | 18_s._ | --

| 495 | 18_s._ | 1 at 14_s._ |2 at 2_s._ }

| | | 1 „ 10_s._ |1 „ 1_s._ 6_d._}_b_

| | | 2 „ 4_s._ } |

| | | 8 „ 3_s._ 6_d._}_b_|

| | | 1 „ 2_s._ 6_d._} |

| | | 2 „ 1_s._} |

| 60 | -- | 1 at 3_s._}_b_ |1 at 1_s._ 6_d._}_b_

| | | 1 „ 2_s._} |1 „ 1_s._ }

| 425 | -- | 3 at 4_s._ }_b_ | 1_s._ 6_d._ _b_

| | | 2 „ 3_s._ } |

| 920 | -- | 2 at 14_s._ |3 at 2_s._ }

| | | 6 „ 12_s._ |2 „ 1_s._ 6_d._}_b_

| | | 4 „ 10_s._ |1 „ 1_s._ }

| | | 6 „ 4_s._ } |

| | | 3 „ 3_s._ 6_d._} |

| | |11 „ 3_s._ }_b_|

| | | 3 „ 2_s._ 6_d._} |

| | | 1 „ 2_s._ } |

| | | |

| 290 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ |1_s._ 6_d._ _b_

----------------+---------+---------+----------+----------+-------------+

----------------+---------+---------+----------+----------+-------------+

_St. Giles’s and| 12 | -- | 9 | 7 | 5 |

_Strand_ | 5 | -- | 11 | 8 | 2 |

| | | | | |

_Holborn_ | 6 | 2 | 11 | 10 | -- |

| | | | | |

_Clerkenwell_ | 6 | -- | 9 | 9 | 1 |

| | | | | |

_St. Luke’s_ | 6 | -- | 4 | 3 | 2 |

_East London_ | 8 | -- | 10 | 8 | -- |

_West London_ | 5 | -- | 9 | 6 | -- |

| | | | | |

_London City_ | 6 | -- | 12 | 10 | 2 |

| | | | | |

_Shoreditch_ | 13 | -- | 6 | 5 | 1 |

_Bethnal Green_ | 6 | -- | 2 | 2 | -- |

| | | | | |

_Whitechapel_ | 11 | -- | 1 | 1 | 3 |

_St. George’s-in| 14 | -- | 14 | 10 | 3 |

_Stepney_ | 9 | -- | 3 | 2 | -- |

_Poplar_ | 4 | -- | 1 | -- | 1 |

| | | | | |

_Southwark_ | 17 | -- | -- | -- | -- |

_Bermondsey_ | 8 | -- | 4 | 4 | 1 |

_Walworth and | 9 | -- | 6 | 4 | 4 |

_Wandsworth_ | 6 | -- | 6 | 5 | 1 |

| | | | | |

_Lambeth_ | 16 | -- | 9 | 9 | 5 |

| | | | | |

_Camberwell_ | 8 | -- | 8 | 7 | 1 |

_Clapton, } | 11 | -- | 13 | 7 | 1 |

Brixton, } | | | | | |

and Tooting_} | | | | | |

_Rotherhithe_ | 7 | -- | 2 | 2 | -- |

_Greenwich_ | 6 | -- | 4 | 4 | 1 |

| | | | | |

_Woolwich_ | 7 | -- | 17 | 12 | 3 |

| | | | | |

_Lewisham_ | 2 | -- | 5 | 5 | 1 |

Company_ | -- | -- | 18 | 18 | 18 |

----------------+---------+---------+----------+----------+-------------+

TOTAL | 350 | 12 | 399 | 62 | 62 |

----------------+---------+---------+----------+----------+-------------+

+---------+-----------+----------------------+---------------

| | | |

| No. of | | |

| Bushels | Weekly | Weekly | Weekly

| of Soot | Wages | Wages | Wages of

|collected| of each | of each | each Under

| Weekly. | Foreman. | Journeyman. | Journeyman.

+---------+-----------+----------------------+---------------

| | | |

| 435 | -- |8 at 12_s._ | 1_s._ _b_

| | |1 „ 3_s._ _b_ |

| | | |

| 350 | -- | 4_s._ _b_ |1 at 2_s._}

| | | |1 „ 1_s._} _b_

| 435 | 20_s._ |2 at 18_s._ | --

| | |3 „ 8_s._} |

| | |4 „ 4_s._} _b_ |

| | |2 „ 3_s._} |

| 310 | -- |8 at 3_s._ } _b_| 1_s._ _b_

| | |1 „ 2_s._ 6_d._} |

| 175 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ | 1_s._ _b_

| 455 | -- | 3_s._ _b_ | --

| 205 | -- |3 at 4_s._} | --

| | |6 „ 3_s._}_b_ |

| 415 | -- |6 at 6_s._ } | 2_s._ _b_

| | |6 „ 4_s._ }_b_ |

| | | |

| 380 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ | 1_s._ _b_

| 150 | -- |1 at 5_s._ | --

| | |1 „ 2_s._ _b_ |

| 330 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ | 3_s._ _e_

| 650 | -- |3 at 3_s._ } |1 at 1_s._ 6_d._}_b_

| | |4 „ 2_s._ 6_d._}_b_ |2 „ 1_s._ }

| | |7 „ 2_s._ } |

| 275 | -- | 3_s._ _b_ | --

| 110 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ | 1_s._ 6_d._ _b_

| | | |

| 385 | -- | -- | --

| 220 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ | 1_s._ _b_

| 330 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ | 1_s._ _b_

| | | |

| 240 | -- | 3 at 3_s._ } | 1_s._ _b_

| | | 3 „ 2_s._ 6_d._}_b_ |

| 560 | -- | 3 at 3_s._ { |1 at 1_s._ 6_d._}

| | | 6 „ 2_s._ 6_d._{_b_ |4 „ 1_s._ } _b_

| 315 | -- | 2_s._ 6_d._{_b_ | 1_s._ _b_

| 410 | -- | 2_s._ 6_d._ _b_ | 1_s._ _b_

| | | |

| 170 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ | --

| 195 | -- | 1_s._ 6_d._ _b_ | 1_s._ _b_

| | | |

| 515 | -- |13 at 2_s._ 6_d._ |2 at 1_s._}

| | | 4 „ 1_s._ 6_d._ |1 „ 9_d._} _b_

| 160 | -- | 2_s._ _b_ | 1_s._ _b_

| | | |

| 450 | -- | 18_s._ | --

+---------+-----------+----------------------+------------------

| 15350 | | |

+---------+-----------+----------------------+------------------

NOTE.--_b_ means board and lodging as well as money, or part money and

part kind; _e_ stands for everything found or paid all in kind.

These returns have been collected by personal visits to each

district:--the name of each master throughout London, together with

the number of Foremen, Journeymen, and Under Journeymen employed, and

the Wages received by each, as well as the quantity of soot collected,

have been likewise obtained; but the names of the masters are here

omitted for want of space, and the results alone are given.

Sweepers, however, have not from this cause generally been an

hereditary race--that is, they have not become sweepers from father

to son for many generations. Their numbers were, in the days of the

climbing boys, in most instances increased by parish apprentices, the

parishes usually adopting that mode as the cheapest and easiest of

freeing themselves from a part of the burden of juvenile pauperism. The

climbing boys, but more especially the unfortunate parish apprentices,

were almost always cruelly used, starved, beaten, and over-worked by

their masters, and treated as outcasts by all with whom they came in

contact: there can be no wonder, then, that, driven in this manner from

all other society, they gladly availed themselves of the companionship

of their fellow-sufferers; quickly imbibed all their habits and

peculiarities; and, perhaps, ended by becoming themselves the most

tyrannical masters to those who might happen to be placed under their

charge.

Notwithstanding the disrepute in which sweepers have ever been held,

there are many classes of workers beneath them in intelligence. All the

tribe of finders and collectors (with the exception of the dredgermen,

who are an observant race, and the sewer-hunters, who, from the danger

of their employment, are compelled to exercise their intellects) are

far inferior to them in this respect; and they are clever fellows

compared to many of the dustmen and scavagers. The great mass of the

agricultural labourers are known to be almost as ignorant as the beasts

they drive; but the sweepers, from whatever cause it may arise, are

known, in many instances, to be shrewd, intelligent, and active.

But there is much room for improvement among the operative

chimney-sweepers. Speaking of the men generally, I am assured that

there is scarcely one out of ten who can either read or write. One man

in Chelsea informed me that some ladies, in connection with the Rev.

Mr. Cadman’s church, made an attempt to instruct the sweepers of the

neighbourhood in reading and writing; but the master sweepers grew

jealous, and became afraid lest their men should get too knowing for

them. When the time came, therefore, for the men to prepare for the

school, the masters always managed to find out some job which prevented

them from attending at the appointed time, and the consequence was that

the benevolent designs of the ladies were frustrated.

The sweepers, as a class, in almost all their habits, bear a

strong resemblance to the costermongers. The habit of going about

in search of their employment has, of itself, implanted in many

of them the wandering propensity peculiar to street people. Many

of the better-class costermongers have risen into coal-shed men

and greengrocers, and become settled in life; in like manner the

better-class sweepers have risen to be masters, and, becoming

settled in a locality, have gradually obtained the trade of the

neighbourhood; then, as their circumstances improved, they have been

able to get horses and carts, and become nightmen; and there are many

of them at this moment men of wealth, comparatively speaking. The

great body of them, however, retain in all their force their original

characteristics; the masters themselves, although shrewd and sensible

men, often betray their want of education, and are in no way particular

as to their expressions, their language being made up, in a great

measure, of the terms peculiar to the costermongers, especially the

denominations of the various sorts of money. I met with some sweepers,

however, whose language was that in ordinary use, and their manners

not vulgar. I might specify one, who, although a workhouse orphan

and apprentice, a harshly-treated climbing-boy, is now prospering as

a sweeper and nightman, is a regular attendant at all meetings to

promote the good of the poor, and a zealous ragged-school teacher, and

teetotaller.

When such men are met with, perhaps the class cannot be looked upon

as utterly cast away, although the need of reformation in the habits

of the working sweepers is extreme, and especially in respect of

drinking, gambling, and dirt. The journeymen (who have often a good

deal of leisure) and the single-handed men are--in the great majority

of cases at least--addicted to drinking, beer being their favourite

beverage, either because it is the cheapest or that they fancy it the

most suitable for washing away the sooty particles which find their way

to their throats. These men gamble also, but with this proviso--they

seldom play for money; but when they meet in their usual houses of

resort--two famous ones are in Back C---- lane and S---- street,

Whitechapel--they spend their time and what money they may have in

tossing for beer, till they are either drunk or penniless. Such men

present the appearance of having just come out of a chimney. There

seems never to have been any attempt made by them to wash the soot

off their faces. I am informed that there is scarcely one of them who

has a second shirt or any change of clothes, and that they wear their

garments night and day till they literally rot, and drop in fragments

from their backs. Those who are not employed as journeymen by the

masters are frequently whole days without food, especially in summer,

when the work is slack; and it usually happens that those who are

what is called “knocking about on their own account” seldom or never

have a farthing in their pockets in the morning, and may, perhaps,

have to travel till evening before they get a threepenny or sixpenny

chimney to sweep. When night comes, and they meet their companions, the

tossing and drinking again commences; they again get drunk; roll home

to wherever it may be, to go through the same routine on the morrow;

and this is the usual tenour of their lives, whether earning 5_s._ or

20_s._ a week.

The chimney-sweepers generally are fond of drink; indeed their calling,

like that of dustmen, is one of those which naturally lead to it. The

men declare they are ordered to drink gin and smoke as much as they

can, in order to rid the stomach of the soot they may have swallowed

during their work.

_Washing_ among chimney-sweepers seems to be much more frequent than it

was. In the evidence before Parliament it was stated that some of the

climbing-boys were washed once in six months, some once a week, some

once in two or three months. I do not find it anywhere stated that any

of these children were never washed at all; but from the tenour of the

evidence it may be reasonably concluded that such was the case.

A master sweeper, who was in the habit of bathing at the Marylebone

baths once and sometimes twice a week, assured me that, although many

now eat and drink and sleep sooty, washing is more common among his

class than when he himself was a climbing-boy. He used then to be

stripped, and compelled to step into a tub, and into water sometimes

too hot and sometimes too cold, while his mistress, to use his own

word, _scoured_ him. Judging from what he had seen and heard, my

informant was satisfied that, from 30 to 40 years ago, climbing-boys,

with a very few exceptions, were but seldom washed; and then it was

looked upon by them as a most disagreeable operation, often, indeed, as

a species of punishment. Some of the climbing-boys used to be taken by

their masters to bathe in the Serpentine many years ago; but one boy

was unfortunately drowned, so that the children could hardly be coerced

to go into the water afterwards.

The washing among the chimney-sweepers of the present day, when there

are scarcely any climbing-boys, is so much an individual matter that

it is not possible to speak with any great degree of certainty on the

subject, but that it increases may be concluded from the fact that the

number of sweeps who resort to the public baths increases.

The first public baths and washhouses opened in London were in the

“north-west district,” and situated in George-street, Euston-square,

near the Hampstead-road. This establishment was founded by voluntary

contribution in 1846, and is now self-supporting.

There are three more public baths: one in Goulston-street, Whitechapel

(on the same principle as that first established); another in St.

Martin’s, near the National Gallery, which are parochial; and the

last in Marylebone, near the Yorkshire Stingo tavern, New-road, also

parochial. The charge for a cold bath, each being secluded from the

others, is 1_d._, with the use of a towel; a warm bath is 2_d._ in the

third class. The following is the return of the number of bathers at

the north-west district baths, the establishment most frequented:--

------------------------------+-------+-------+-------+-------

| 1847. | 1848. | 1849. | 1850.

+-------+-------+-------+-------

Bathers |110,940|111,788| 96,726| 86,597

Washers, Dryers, Ironers, &c. | 39,418| 61,690| 65,934| 73,023

Individuals Washed for |137,672|246,760|263,736|292,092

I endeavoured to ascertain the proportion of sweepers, with other

working men, who availed themselves of these baths; but there are

unfortunately no data for instituting a comparison as to the relative

cleanliness of the several trades. When the baths were first opened

an endeavour was made to obtain such a return; but it was found to be

distasteful to the bathers, and so was discontinued. We find, then,

that in four years there have been 406,051 bathers. The following gives

the proportion between the sexes, a portion of 1846 being included:--

Bathers--Males 417,424

„ Females 47,114

-------

Total bathers 464,538

The falling off in the number of bathers at this establishment is, I am

told, attributable to the opening of new baths, the people, of course,

resorting to the nearest.

I have given the return of washers, &c., as I endeavoured to ascertain

the proportion of washing by the chimney-sweeper’s wives; but there is

no specification of the trades of the persons using this branch of the

establishment any more than there is of those frequenting the baths,

and for the same reason as prevented its being done among the bathers.

One of the attendants at these washhouses told me that he had no doubt

the sweepers’ wives did wash there, for he had more than once seen a

sweeper waiting to carry home the clothes his wife had cleansed. As

no questions concerning their situation in life are asked of the poor

women who resort to these very excellent institutions (for such they

appear to be on a cursory glance) of course no data can be supplied.

This is to be somewhat regretted; but a regard to the feelings, and in

some respects to the small prejudices, of the industrious poor is to

be commended rather than otherwise, and the managers of these baths

certainly seem to have manifested such a regard.

I am informed, however, by the secretary of the north-west district

institution, that in some weeks of the summer 80 chimney-sweepers

bathed there; always having, he believed, warm baths, which are more

effective in removing soot or dirt from the skin than cold. Summer, it

must be remembered, is the sweep’s “brisk” season. In a winter week as

few as 25 or 20 have bathed, but the weekly average of sweeper-bathers,

the year through, is about 50; and the number of sweeper-bathers, he

thought, had increased since the opening of the baths about 10 per

cent. yearly. As in 1850 the average number of bathers of all classes

did not exceed 1646 per week, the proportion of sweepers, 50, is high.

The number of female bathers is about one-ninth, so that the males

would be about 1480; and the 50 sweepers a week constitute about a

thirtieth part of the whole of the third-class bathers. The number of

sweep-bathers was known because a sweep is known by his appearance.

I was told by the secretary that the sweepers, the majority bathing on

Saturday nights, usually carried a bundle to the bath; this contained

their “clean things.” After bathing they assumed their “Sunday

clothes;” and from the change in their appearance between ingress and

egress, they were hardly recognisable as the same individuals.

In the other baths, where also there is no specification of the

bathers, I am told, that of sweepers bathing the number (on

computation) is 30 at Marylebone, 25 at Goulston-street, and 15 (at the

least) at St. Martin’s, as a weekly average. In all, 120 sweepers bathe

weekly, or about a seventh of the entire working body. The increase at

the three baths last mentioned, in sweepers bathing, is from 5 to 10

per cent.

Among the lower-class sweepers there are but few who wash themselves

even once throughout the year. They eat, drink, and sleep in the same

state of filth and dirt as when engaged in their daily avocation.

Others, however, among the better class are more cleanly in their

habits, and wash themselves every night.

* * * * *

Between _the appearance of the sweepers_ in the streets at the present

time and before the abolition of the system of climbing there is a

marked difference. Charles Lamb said (in 1823):--

“I like to meet a sweep--understand me, not a grown sweeper--old

chimney-sweepers are by no means attractive--but one of those tender

novices blooming through their first nigritude, the maternal washings

not quite effaced from the cheek--such as come forth with the dawn, or

somewhat earlier, with their little professional notes sounding like

the _peep peep_ of a young sparrow; or liker to the matin lark should

I pronounce them, in their aerial ascents not seldom anticipating the

sunrise?”

Throughout his essay, Elia throws the halo of poetry over the

child-sweepers, calling them “dim specks,” “poor blots,” “innocent

blacknesses,” “young Africans of our own growth;” the natural

kindliness of the writer shines out through all. He counsels his reader

to give the young innocent 2_d._, or, if the weather were starving,

“let the demand on thy humanity rise to a tester” (6_d._).

The appearance of the little children-sweepers, as they trotted along

at the master’s or the journeyman’s heels, or waited at “rich men’s

doors” on a cold morning, was pitiable in the extreme. If it snowed,

there was a strange contrast between the black sootiness of the

sweeper’s dress and the white flakes of snow which adhered to it. The

boy-sweeper trotted listlessly along; a sack to contain the soot thrown

over his shoulder, or disposed round his neck, like a cape or shawl.

One master sweeper tells me that in his apprenticeship days he had

to wait at the great mansions in and about Grosvenor-square, on some

bitter wintry mornings, until he felt as if his feet, although he had

both stockings and shoes--and many young climbers were barefoot--felt

as if frozen to the pavement. When the door was opened, he told me, the

matter was not really mended. The rooms were often large and cold, and

being lighted only with a candle or two, no doubt looked very dreary,

while there was not a fire in the whole house, and no one up but a

yawning servant or two, often very cross at having been disturbed.

The servants, however, in noblemen’s houses, he also told me, were

frequently kind to him, giving him bread and butter, and sometimes

bread and jam; and as his master generally had a glass of raw spirit

handed to him, the boy usually had a sip when his employer had “knocked

off his glass.” His employer, indeed, sometimes said, “O, _he’s_ better

without it; it’ll only larn him to drink, like it did me;” but the

servant usually answered, “O, here, just a thimblefull for him.”

The usual dress of the climbing-boy--as I have learned from those who

had worn it themselves, and, when masters, had provided it for their

boys--was made of a sort of strong flannel, which many years ago was

called chimney-sweepers’ cloth; but my informant was not certain

whether this was a common name for it or not, he only remembered having

heard it called so. He remembered, also, accompanying his master to

do something to the flues in a church, then (1817) hung with black

cloth, as a part of the national mourning for the Princess Charlotte of

Wales, and he thought it seemed very like the chimney-sweepers’ cloth,

which was dark coloured when new. The child-sweep wore a pair of cloth

trowsers, and over that a sort of tunic, or tight fitting shirt with

sleeves; sometimes a little waistcoat and jacket. This, it must be

borne in mind, was only the practice among the best masters (who always

had to find their apprentices in clothes); and was the practice among

them more and more in the later period of the climbing process, for

householders began to inquire as to what sort of trim the boys employed

on their premises appeared in. The poorer or the less well-disposed

masters clad the urchins who climbed for them in any old rags which

their wives could piece together, or in any low-priced garment “picked

up” in such places as Rosemary-lane. The fit was no object at all.

These ill-clad lads were, moreover, at one time the great majority.

The clothes were usually made “at home” by the women, and in the same

style, as regarded the seams, &c., as the sacks for soot; but sometimes

the work was beyond the art of the sweeper’s wife, and then the aid

of some poor neighbour better skilled in the use of her scissors and

needle, or of some poor tailor, was called in, on the well-known terms

of “a shilling (or 1_s._ 6_d._) a day, and the grub.”

The cost of a climbing-boy’s dress, I was informed, varied, when new,

according to the material of which it was made, from 3_s._ 6_d._ to

6_s._ 6_d._ independently of the cost of making, which, in the hands of

a tailor who “whipped the cat” (or went out to work at his customer’s

houses), would occupy a day, at easy labour, at a cost of 1_s._ 6_d._

(or less) in money, and the “whip-cat’s” meals, perhaps another 1_s._

6_d._, beer included. As to the cost of a sweeper’s second-hand

clothing it is useless to inquire; but I was informed by a now

thriving master, that when he was about twelve years old his mistress

bought him a “werry tidy jacket, as seemed made for a gen’leman’s

son,” in Petticoat-lane, one Sunday morning, for 1_s._ 6_d._; while

other things, he said, were “in proportionate.” Shoes and stockings

are not included in the cost of the little sweeper’s apparel; and they

were, perhaps, always bought second-hand. A few of the best masters

(or of those wishing to stand best in their customers’ regards), who

sent their boys to church or to Sunday schools, had then a non-working

attire for them; either a sweeper’s dress of jacket and trowsers,

unsoiled by soot, or the ordinary dress of a poor lad.

The street appearance of the present race of sweepers, all adults,

may every here and there bear out Charles Lamb’s dictum, that grown

sweepers are by no means attractive. Some of them are broad-shouldered

and strongly-built men, who, as they traverse the streets, sometimes

look as grim as they are dingy. The chimney-scavager carries the

implement of his calling propped on his shoulder, in the way shown in

the daguerreotype which I have given. His dress is usually a jacket,

waistcoat, and trowsers of dark-coloured corduroy; or instead of a

jacket a waistcoat with sleeves. Over this when at work the sweeper

often wears a sort of blouse or short smock-frock of coarse strong

calico or canvas, which protects the corduroy suit from the soot.

In this description of the sweeper’s garb I can but speak of those

whose means enable them to attain the comfort of warm apparel in the

winter; the poorer part of the trade often shiver shirtless under a

blouse which half covers a pair of threadbare trowsers. The cost of the

corduroy suit I have mentioned varies, I was told by a sweeper, who put

it tersely enough, “from 20_s._ _slop_, to 40_s._ _slap_.” The average

runs, I believe, from 28_s._ to 33_s._, as regards the better class of

the sweepers.

The _diet of the journeymen sweepers and the apprentices_, and

sometimes of their working employer, was described to me as generally

after the following fashion. My informant, a journeyman, calculated

what his food “stood his master,” as he had once “kept hisself.”

Daily.

_s._ _d._

Bread and butter and coffee for breakfast 0 2

A saveloy and potatoes, or cabbage;

or a “fagot,” with the same vegetables; or

fried fish (but not often); or pudding,

from a pudding-shop; or soup (a twopenny

plate) from a cheap eating-house; average

from 2_d._ to 3_d._ 0 2-1/2

Tea, same as breakfast 0 2

----------

0 6-1/2

On Sundays the fare was better. They then sometimes had a bit of “prime

fat mutton” taken to the oven, with “taturs to bake along with it;” or

a “fry of liver, if the old ’oman was in a good humour,” and always a

pint of beer apiece. Hence, as some give their men beer, the average

amount of 5_s._ or 6_s._ weekly, which I have given as the cost of

the “board” to the masters, is made up. The drunken single-handed

master-men, I am told, live on beer and “a bite of anything they can

get.” I believe there are few complaints of inefficient food.

The food provided by the large or high master sweepers is generally of

the same kind as the master and his family partake of; among this class

the journeymen are tolerably well provided for.

In the lower-class sweepers, however, the food is not so plentiful

nor so good in kind as that provided by the high master sweepers. The

expense of keeping a man employed by a large master sometimes ranges

as high as 8_s._ a week, but the average, I am told, is about 6_s._

per week; while those employed by the low-class sweepers average about

5_s._ a week. The cost of their lodging may be taken at from 1_s._ to

2_s._ a week extra.

The sweepers in general are, I am assured, fond of oleaginous food; fat

broth, fagots, and what is often called “greasy” meat.

They are considered _a short-lived people_, and among the journeymen,

the masters “on their own hook,” &c., few old men are to be met with.

In one of the reports of the Board of Health, out of 4312 deaths

among males, of the age of 15 and upwards, the mortality among the

sweepers, masters and men, was 9, or one in 109 of the whole trade. As

the calculation was formed, however, from data supplied by the census

of 1841, and on the Post Office Directory, it supplies no reliable

information, as I shall show when I come to treat of the nightmen.

Many of these men still suffer, I am told, from the chimney-sweeper’s

cancer, which is said to arise mainly from uncleanly habits. Some

sweepers assure me that they have vomited balls of soot.

_As to the abodes of the master sweepers_, I can supply the following

account of two. The soot, I should observe, is seldom kept long, rarely

a month, on the premises of a sweeper, and is in the best “concerns”

kept in cellars.

The localities in which many of the sweepers reside are the “lowest”

places in the district. Many of the houses in which I found the

lower class of sweepers were in a ruinous and filthy condition.

The “high-class” sweepers, on the other hand, live in respectable

localities, often having back premises sufficiently large to stow away

their soot.

I had occasion to visit the house of one of the persons from whom I

obtained much information. He is a master in a small way, a sensible

man, and was one of the few who are teetotallers. His habitation,

though small--being a low house only one story high--was substantially

furnished with massive mahogany chairs, table, chests of drawers, &c.,

while on each side of the fire-place, which was distinctly visible from

the street over a hall door, were two buffets, with glass doors, well

filled with glass and china vessels. It was a wet night, and a fire

burned brightly in the stove, by the light of which might be seen the

master of the establishment sitting on one side, while his wife and

daughter occupied the other; a neighbour sat before the fire with his

back to the door, and altogether it struck me as a comfortable-looking

evening party. They were resting and chatting quietly together after

the labour of the day, and everything betokened the comfortable

circumstances in which the man, by sobriety and industry, had been able

to place himself. Yet this man had been a climbing-boy, and one of the

unfortunates who had lost his parents when a child, and was apprenticed

by the parish to this business. From him I learned that his was not a

solitary instance of teetotalism (I have before spoken of another);

that, in fact, there were some more, and one in particular, named

Brown, who was a good speaker, and devoted himself during his leisure

hours at night in advocating the principles which by experience he had

found to effect such great good to himself; but he also informed me

that the majority of the others were a drunken and dissipated crew,

sunk to the lowest degree of misery, yet recklessly spending every

farthing they could earn in the public-house.

Different in every respect was another house which I visited in

the course of my inquiries, in the neighbourhood of H-----street,

Bethnal-green. The house was rented by a sweeper, a master on his own

account, and every room in the place was let to sweepers and their

wives or women, which, with these men, often signify one and the same

thing. The inside of the house looked as dark as a coal-pit; there was

an insufferable smell of soot, always offensive to those unaccustomed

to it; and every person and every thing which met the eye, even to the

caps and gowns of the women, seemed as if they had just been steeped

in Indian ink. In one room was a sweep and his woman quarrelling. As

I opened the door I caught the words, “I’m d----d if I has it any

longer. I’d see you b----y well d----d first, and you knows it.” The

savage was intoxicated, for his red eyes flashed through his sooty

mask with drunken excitement, and his matted hair, which looked as if

it had never known a comb, stood out from his head like the whalebone

ribs of his own machine. “B----y Bet,” as he called her, did not

seem a whit more sober than her man; and the shrill treble of her

voice was distinctly audible till I turned the corner of the street,

whither I was accompanied by the master of the house, to whom I had

been recommended by one of the fraternity as an intelligent man, and

one who knew “a thing or two.” “You see,” he said, as we turned the

corner, “there isn’t no use a talkin’ to them ere fellows--they’re all

tosticated now, and they doesn’t care nothink for nobody; but they’ll

be quiet enough to-morrow, ’cept they yarns somethink, and if they

do then they’ll be just as bad to-morrow night. They’re a awful lot,

and nobody ill niver do anythink with them.” This man was not by any

means in such easy circumstances as the master first mentioned. He was

merely a man working for himself, and unable to employ any one else in

the business; as is customary with some of these people, he had taken

the house he had shown me to let to lodgers of his own class, making

something by so doing; though, if his own account be correct, I’m at

a loss to imagine how he contrived even to get his rent. From him I

obtained the following statement:--

“Yes, I was a climbing-boy, and sarved a rigler printiceship for seven

years. I was out on my printiceship when I was fourteen. Father was a

silk-weaver, and did all he knew to keep me from being a sweep, but I

would be a sweep, and nothink else.” [This is not so very uncommon a

predilection, strange as it may seem.] “So father, when he saw it was

no use, got me bound printice. Father’s alive now, and near 90 years of

age. I don’t know why I wished to be a sweep, ’cept it was this--there

was sweeps always lived about here, and I used to see the boys with

lots of money a tossin’ and gamblin’, and wished to have money too.

You see they got money where they swept the chimneys; they used to

get 2_d._ or 3_d._ for theirselves in a day, and sometimes 6_d._ from

the people of the house, and that’s the way they always had plenty of

money. I niver thought anythink of the climbing; it wasn’t so bad at

all as some people would make you believe. There are two or three ways

of climbing. In wide flues you climb with your elbows and your legs

spread out, your feet pressing against the sides of the flue; but in

narrow flues, such as nine-inch ones, you must slant it; you must have

your sides in the angles, it’s wider there, and go up just that way.”

[Here he threw himself into position--placing one arm close to his

side, with the palm of the hand turned outwards, as if pressing the

side of the flue, and extending the other arm high above his head, the

hand apparently pressing in the same manner.] “There,” he continued,

“that’s slantin’. You just put yourself in that way, and see how small

you make yourself. I niver got to say stuck myself, but a many of them

did; yes, and were taken out dead. They were smothered for want of

air, and the fright, and a stayin’ so long in the flue; you see the

waistband of their trowsers sometimes got turned down in the climbing,

and in narrow flues, when not able to get it up, then they stuck. I

had a boy once--we were called to sweep a chimney down at Poplar. When

we went in he looked up the flues, ‘Well, what is it like?’ I said.

‘Very narrow,’ says he, ‘don’t think I can get up there;’ so after some

time we gets on top of the house, and takes off the chimney-pot, and

has a look down--it was wider a’ top, and I thought as how he could

go down. ‘You had better buff it, Jim,’ says I. I suppose you know

what that means; but Jim wouldn’t do it, and kept his trowsers on. So

down he goes, and gets on very well till he comes to the shoulder of

the flue, and then he couldn’t stir. He shouts down, ‘I’m stuck.’ I

shouts up and tells him what to do. ‘Can’t move,’ says he, ‘I’m stuck

hard and fast.’ Well, the people of the house got fretted like, but I

says to them, ‘Now my boy’s stuck, but for Heaven’s sake don’t make

a word of noise; don’t say a word, good or bad, and I’ll see what I

can do.’ So I locks the door, and buffs it, and forces myself up till

I could reach him with my hand, and as soon as he got his foot on my

hand he begins to prize himself up, and gets loosened, and comes out

at the top again. I was stuck myself, but I was stronger nor he, and

I manages to get out again. Now I’ll be bound to say if there was

another master there as would kick up a row and a-worrited, that ere

boy ’ud a niver come out o’ that ere flue alive. There was a many o’

them lost their lives in that way. Most all the printices used to come

from the ‘House’ (workhouse.) There was nobody to care for them, and

some masters used them very bad. I was out of my time at fourteen, and

began to get too stout to go up the flues; so after knockin’ about

for a year or so, as I could do nothink else, I goes to sea on board

a man-o’-war, and was away four year. Many of the boys, when they got

too big and useless, used to go to sea in them days--they couldn’t do

nothink else. Yes, many of them went for sodgers; and I know some who

went for Gipsies, and others who went for play-actors, and a many who

got on to be swell-mobsmen, and thieves, and housebreakers, and the

like o’ that ere. There ain’t nothink o’ that sort a-goin’ on now since

the Ack of Parliament. When I got back from sea father asked me to larn

his business; so I takes to the silk-weaving and larned it, and then

married a weaveress, and worked with father for a long time. Father was

very well off--well off and comfortable for a poor man--but trade was

good then. But it got bad afterwards, and none on us was able to live

at it; so I takes to the chimney-sweeping again. _A man might manage to

live somehow at the sweeping, but the weaving was o’ no use._ It was

the furrin silks as beat us all up, that’s the whole truth. Yet they

tells us as how they was a-doin’ the country good; but they may tell

that to the marines--the sailors won’t believe it--not a word on it.

I’ve stuck to the sweeping ever since, and sometimes done very fair at

it; but since the Ack there’s so many leeks come to it that I don’t

know how they live--they must be eatin’ one another up.

“Well, since you ask then, I can tell you that our people don’t care

much about law; they don’t understand anythink about politics much;

they don’t mind things o’ that ere kind. They only minds to get drunk

when they can. Some on them fellows as you seed in there niver cleans

theirselves from one year’s end to the other. They’ll kick up a row

soon enough, with Chartists or anybody else. I thinks them Chartists

are a weak-minded set; they was too much a frightened at nothink,--a

hundred o’ them would run away from one blue-coat, and that wasn’t like

men. I was often at Chartist meetings, and if they’d only do all they

said there was a plenty to stick to them, for there’s a somethink wants

to be done very bad, for everythink is a-gettin’ worser and worser

every day. I used to do a good trade, but now I don’t yarn a shilling

a day all through the year (?). I may walk at this time three or four

miles and not get a chimney to sweep, and then get only a sixpence or

threepence, and sometimes nothink. It’s a starvin’, that’s what it is;

there’s so much ‘querying’ a-goin’ on. Querying? that’s what we calls

under-working[61]. If they’d all fix a riglar price we might do very

well still. I’m 50 years of age, or thereabouts. I don’t know much

about the story of Mrs. Montague; it was afore my time. I heard of it

though. I heard my mother talk about it; she used to read it out of

books; she was a great reader--none on ’em could stand afore her for

that. I was often at the dinner--the masters’ dinner--that was for the

boys; but that’s all done away long ago, since the Ack of Parliament.

I can’t tell how many there was at it, but there’s such a lot it’s

impossible to tell. How could any one tell all the sweeps as is in

London? I’m sure I can’t, and I’m sure nobody else can.”

Some years back the sweepers’ houses were often indicated by an

elaborate sign, highly coloured. A sweeper, accompanied by a “chummy”

(once a common name for the climbing-boy, being a corruption of

chimney), was depicted on his way to a red brick house, from the

chimneys of which bright yellow flames were streaming. Below was the

detail of the things undertaken by the sweep, such as the extinction of

fires in chimneys, the cleaning of smoke-jacks, &c., &c. A few of these

signs, greatly faded, may be seen still. A sweeper, who is settled in

what is accounted a “genteel neighbourhood,” has now another way of

making his calling known. He leaves a card whenever he hears of a new

comer, a tape being attached, so that it can be hung up in the kitchen,

and thus the servants are always in possession of his address. The

following is a customary style:--

“Chimneys swept by the improved machine, much patronized by the Humane

Society.

“W. H., Chimney Sweeper and Nightman, 1, ---- Mews, in returning thanks

to the inhabitants of the surrounding neighbourhood for the patronage

he has hitherto received, begs to inform them that he sweeps all kinds

of chimneys and flues in the best manner.

“W. H., attending to the business himself, cleans smoke-jacks,

cures smoky coppers, and extinguishes chimneys when on fire, with

the greatest care and safety; and, by giving the strictest personal

attendance to business, performs what he undertakes with cleanliness

and punctuality, whereby he hopes to ensure a continuance of their

favours and recommendations.

“Clean cloths for upper apartments. Soot-doors to any size fixed.

Observe the address, 1, ---- Mews, near ----.”

At the top of this card is an engraving of the machine; at the foot a

rude sketch of a nightman’s cart, with men at work. All the cards I saw

reiterated the address, so that no mistake might lead the customer to a

rival tradesman.

_As to their politics_, the sweepers are somewhat similar to the

dustmen and costermongers. A fixed hatred to all constituted authority,

which they appear to regard as the police and the “beaks,” seems to

be the sum total of their principles. Indeed, it almost assumes the

character of a fixed law, that persons and classes of persons who are

themselves disorderly, and to a certain extent lawless, always manifest

the most supreme contempt for the conservators of law and order in

every degree. The police are therefore hated heartily, magistrates

are feared and abominated, and Queen, Lords, and Commons, and every

one in authority, if known anything about, are considered as natural

enemies. A costermonger who happened to be present while I was making

inquiries on this subject, broke in with this remark, “The costers is

the chaps--the government can’t do nothink with them--they allus licks

the government.” The sweepers have a sovereign contempt for all Acts of

Parliament, because the only Act that had any reference to themselves

“threw open,” as they call it, their business to all who were needy

enough and who had the capability of availing themselves of it. Like

the “dusties” they are, I am informed, in their proper element in times

of riot and confusion; but, unlike them, they are, to a man, Chartists,

understanding it too, and approving of it, not because it would be

calculated to establish a new order of things, but in the hope that, in

the transition from one system to the other, there might be plenty of

noise and riot, and in the vague idea that in some indefinable manner

good must necessarily accrue to themselves from any change that might

take place. This I believe to be in perfect keeping with the sentiments

of similar classes of people in every country in the world.

The journeymen lay by no money when in work, as a fund to keep them

when incapacitated by sickness, accident, or old age. There are,

however, a few exceptions to the general improvidence of the class;

some few belong to sick and benefit societies, others are members of

burial clubs. Where, however, this is not the case, and a sweeper

becomes unable, through illness, to continue his work, the mode usually

adopted is to make a raffle for the benefit of the sufferer; the same

means are resorted to at the death of a member of the trade. When a

chimney-sweeper becomes infirm through age, he has mostly, if not

invariably, no refuge but the workhouse.

_The chimney-sweepers generally are regardless of the marriage

ceremony_, and when they do live with a woman it is in a state

of concubinage. These women are always among the lowest of the

street-girls--such as lucifer-match and orange girls, some of the very

poorest of the coster girls, and girls brought up among the sweepers.

They are treated badly by them, and often enough left without any

remorse. The women are equally as careless in these matters as the men,

and exchange one paramour for another with the same levity, so that

there is a promiscuous intercourse continually going on among them. I

am informed that, among the worst class of sweepers living with women,

not one in 50 is married. To these couples very few children are

born; but I am not able to state the proportion as compared with other

classes.

_There are some curious customs among the London sweepers_ which

deserve notice. Their May-day festival is among the best known. The

most intelligent of the masters tell me that they have taken this

“from the milkmen’s garland” (of which an engraving has been given).

Formerly, say they, on the first of May the milkmen of London went

through the streets, performing a sort of dance, for which they

received gratuities from their customers. The music to which they

danced was simply brass plates mounted on poles, from the circumference

of which plates depended numerous bells of different tones, according

to size; these poles were adorned with leaves and flowers, indicative

of the season, and may have been a relic of one of the ancient pageants

or mummeries.

The sweepers, however, by adapting themselves more to the rude taste

of the people, appear to have completely supplanted the milkmen, who

are now never seen in pageantry. In Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes of

the People of England,” I find the following with reference to the

milk-people:--

“It is at this time,” that is in May, says the author of one of the

papers in the _Spectator_, “we see brisk young wenches in the country

parishes dancing round the Maypole. It is likewise on the first day of

this month that we see the ruddy milkmaid exerting herself in a most

sprightly manner under a pyramid of silver tankards, and, like the

Virgin Tarpeia, oppressed by the costly ornaments which her benefactors

lay upon her. These decorations of silver cups, tankards, and salvers,

were borrowed for the purpose, and hung round the milk-pails, with the

addition of flowers and ribands, which the maidens carried upon their

heads when they went to the houses of their customers, and danced in

order to obtain a small gratuity from each of them. In a set of prints,

called ‘Tempest’s Cries of London,’ there is one called the ‘Merry

Milkmaid,’ whose proper name was Kate Smith. She is dancing with the

milk-pail, decorated as above mentioned, upon her head. Of late years

the plate, with the other decorations, were placed in a pyramidical

form, and carried by two chairmen upon a wooden horse. The maidens

walked before it, and performed the dance without any incumbrance. I

really cannot discover what analogy the silver tankards and salvers can

have to the business of the milkmaids. I have seen them act with much

more propriety upon this occasion, when, in place of these superfluous

ornaments, they substituted a cow. The animal had her horns gilt, and

was nearly covered with ribands of various colours formed into bows and

roses, and interspersed with green oaken leaves and bunches of flowers.”

[Illustration: THE MILKMAID’S GARLAND.