A man who had worked at crossing-sweeping as a boy when he first came
to London, and again when he grew too old to do his work as a labourer
in a coal-yard, gave me a statement of the kind of life he led, and the
earnings he made. He was an old man, with a forehead so wrinkled that
the dark, waved lines reminded me of the grain of oak. His thick hair
was, despite his great age--which was nearly seventy--still dark; and
as he conversed with me, he was continually taking off his hat, and
wiping his face with what appeared to be a piece of flannel, about a
foot square.
His costume was of what might be called “the all-sorts” kind, and, from
constant wear, it had lost its original colour, and had turned into a
sort of dirty green-grey hue. It consisted of a waistcoat of tweed,
fastened together with buttons of glass, metal, and bone; a tail-coat,
turned brown with weather, a pair of trousers repaired here and there
with big stitches, like the teeth of a comb, and these formed the
extent of his wardrobe. Around the collar of the coat and waistcoat,
and on the thighs of the pantaloons, the layers of grease were so thick
that the fibre of the cloth was choked up, and it looked as if it had
been pieced with bits of leather.
Rubbing his unshorn chin, whereon the bristles stood up like the
pegs in the barrel of a musical-box--until it made a noise like a
hair-brush, he began his story:--
“I’m known all about in Parliament-street--ay, every bit about them
parts,--for more than thirty year. Ay, I’m as well known as the
statty itself, all about them parts at Charing-cross. Afore I took to
crossing-sweeping I was at coal-work. The coal-work I did was backing
and filling, and anythink in that way. I worked at Wood’s, and Penny’s,
and Douglas’s. They were good masters, Mr. Wood ’specially; but the
work was too much for me as I got old. There was plenty of coal work
in them times; indeed, I’ve yearned as much as nine shillings of a
day. That was the time as the meters was on. Now men can hardly earn a
living at coal-work. I left the coal-work because I was took ill with a
fever, as was brought on by sweating--over-_exaction_ they called it.
It left me so weak I wasn’t able to do nothink in the yards.
“I know Mr. G----, the fishmonger, and Mr. J----, the publican. I
should think Mr. J---- has knowed me this eight-and-thirty-year, and
they put me on to the crossing. You see, when I was odd man at a coal
job, I’d go and do whatever there was to be done in the neighbourhood.
If there was anythink as Mr. G----’s men couldn’t do--such as carrying
fish home to a customer, when the other men were busy--I was sent for.
Or Mr. J---- would send me with sperrits--a gallon, or half a gallon,
or anythink of that sort--a long journey. In fact, I’d get anythink as
come handy.
“I had done crossing-sweeping as a boy, before I took to coal-work,
when I first come out of the country. My own head first put me up to
the notion, and that’s more than fifty year ago--ay, more than that;
but I can’t call to mind exactly, for I’ve had no parents ever since I
was eight year old, and now I’m nigh seventy; but it’s as close as I
can remember. I was about thirteen at that time. There was no police on
then, and I saw a good bit of road as was dirty, and says I, ‘That’s a
good spot to keep clean,’ and I took it. I used to go up to the tops of
the houses to throw over the snow, and I’ve often been obliged to get
men to help me. I suppose I was about the first person as ever swept
a crossing in Charing-cross; (here, as if proud of the fact, he gave
a kind of moist chuckle, which ended in a fit of coughing). I used to
make a good bit of money then; but it ain’t worth nothink, now.
“After I left coal-backing, I went back to the old crossing opposite
the Adm’ralty gates, and I stopped there until Mr. G---- give me
the one I’m on now, and thank him for it, I says. Mr. G---- had the
crossing paved, as leads to his shop, to accommodate the customers.
He had a German there to sweep it afore me. He used to sweep in the
day--come about ten or eleven o’clock in the morning, and then at night
he turned watchman; for when there was any wenson, as Mr. G---- deals
in, hanging out, he was put to watch it. This German worked there, I
reckon, about seven year, and when he died I took the crossing.
“The crossing ain’t much of a living for any body--that is, what I
takes on it. But then I’ve got regular customers as gives me money.
There’s Mr. G----, he gives a shilling a-week; and there’s Captain
R----, of the Adm’ralty, he gives me sixpence a fortnight; and another
captain, of the name of R----, he gives me fourpence every Sunday.
Ah! I’d forgot Mr. O----, the Secretary at the Adm’ralty; he gives me
sixpence now and then. Besides, I do a lot of odd jobs for different
people; they knows where to come and find me when they wants me. They
gets me to carry letters, or a parcel, or a box, or anythink of that
there. I has a bit of vittals, too, give me every now and then; but as
for money, it’s very little as I get on the crossings--perhaps seven or
eight shilling a-week, reg’lar customers and all.
“I never heard of anybody as was leaving a crossing selling it; no,
never. My crossing ain’t a reg’lar one as anybody could have. If I was
to leave, it depends upon whether Mr. G---- would like to have the
party, as to who gets it. There’s no such thing as turning a reg’lar
sweeper out, the police stops that. I’ve been known to them for years,
and they are very kind to me. As they come’s by they says, ‘Jimmy, how
are you?’ You see, my crossing comes handy for them, for it’s agin
Scotland-yard; and when they turns out in their clean boots it saves
their blacking.
“Lord G---- used to be at the Adm’ralty, but he ain’t there now; I
don’t know why he left, but he’s gone. He used to give me sixpence
every now and then when he come over. I was near to my crossing when
Mr. Drummond was shot, but I wasn’t near enough to hear the pistol; but
I didn’t see nothink. I know’d the late Sir Robert Peel, oh, certantly,
but he seldom crossed over my crossing, though whenever he did, he’d
give me somethink. The present Sir Robert goes over to the chapel in
Spring-gardens when he’s in town, but he keeps on the other side of the
way; so I never had anythink from him. He’s the very picture of his
father, and I knows him from that, only his father were rather stouter
than he is. I don’t know none of the members of parliament, they most
on ’em keeps on shifting so, that I hasn’t no time to recognise ’em.
“The watering-carts ain’t no friends of our’n. They makes dirt and no
pay for cleaning it. There’s so much traffic with coaches and carts
going right over my crossing that a fine or wet day don’t make much
difference to me, for people are afraid to cross for fear of being run
over. I’m forced to have my eyes about me and dodge the wehicles. I
never heerd, as I can tell on, of a crossing-sweeper being run over.”