good.’ The gallant ‘captain’ was domiciled at a lodging-house in
Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, where he found all the lodgers complaining
of the badness of the times--most of them were makers of nets. He
sallied forth to all the general shops, and left his (fictitious)
‘captain’ card at each, with an order for an unusual number of nets.
This ‘dodge’ gave a week’s work to at least twenty poor people; but
whether the shopkeepers were ‘caught in a net,’ or the articles were
paid for and removed by the ‘captain,’ or whether it was a piece of
pastime on his part, I did not stay long enough to ascertain.
“Nicholas A---- is now in his sixty-second year, a perfect
hypochondriac. On his own authority--and it is, no doubt, too true--he
has been ‘lurking’ on every conceivable system, from forging a bill of
exchange down to ‘_maundering on the fly_,’ for the greater part of his
life; and, excepting the ‘hundred and thirteen times’ he has been in
provincial jails, society has endured the scourge of his deceptions for
a quarter of a century at least. He now lives with a young prostitute
in Portsmouth, and contributes to her wretched earnings an allowance of
5_s._ a week, paid to him by the attorney of a distant and disgusted
relative.”
The writer of this account was himself two whole years on the “monkry,”
before he saw a lodging-house for tramps; and the first he _ever_ saw
was one well-known to every patterer in Christendom, and whose fame he
says is “gone out into all lands,” for its wayfaring inmates are very
proud of its popularity.
“It may be as well,” writes the informant in question, “before
submitting the following account, to state that there are other, and
more elaborate marks--the hieroglyphics of tramping--than those already
given. I will accordingly explain them.
“Two hawkers (pals) go together, but separate when they enter a
village, one taking each side of the road, and selling different
things; and, so as to inform each other as to the character of the
people at whose houses they call, they chalk certain marks on their
door-posts:
“[arch and dash] means ‘Go on. _I_ have called here; don’t
_you_ call--it’s no go.’
“[arch and plus sign] means ‘Stop--you may call here; they want’
(for instance) ‘what _you_ sell, though not what _I_ sell;’ or
else, ‘They had no change when I was there, but may have it now;’ or,
‘If they don’t buy, at least they’ll treat you civilly.’
“[backward C and dash] on a corner-house, or a sign-post,
means, ‘I went this way;’ or ‘Go on in this direction.’
“[backward C and plus] on a corner-house, or sign-post,
means ‘Stop--don’t go any further in this direction.’
“[circle with dot] as before explained, means ‘danger.’
“Like many other young men, I had lived above my income, and, too
proud to crave parental forgiveness, had thrown off the bonds of
authority for a life of adventure. I was now homeless upon the world.
With a body capable of either exertion or fatigue, and a heart not
easily terrified by danger, I endured rather than enjoyed my itinerant
position. I sold small articles of Tunbridge ware, perfumery, &c.,
&c., and by ‘munging’ (begging) over them--sometimes in Latin--got a
better living than I expected, or probably deserved. I was always of
temperate and rather abstemious habits, but ignorant of the haunts
of other wanderers, (whom I saw in dozens every day upon every road,
and every conceivable pursuit) I took up my nightly quarters at a
sort of third-rate public-houses, and supposed that my contemporaries
did the same. How long my ignorance might have continued (if left
to myself) I can hardly determine; an adventure at a road-side inn,
however, removed the veil from my eyes, and I became gradually and
speedily ‘awake’ to ‘every move on the board.’ It was a lovely evening
in July, the air was serene and the scenery romantic; my own feelings
were in unison with both, and enhanced perhaps by the fact that I had
beguiled the last two miles of my deliberate walk with a page out of
my pocket-companion, ‘Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful.’ I was now
smoking my pipe and quaffing a pint of _real_ ‘Yorkshire stingo’ in
the ‘keeping room’ (a term which combines parlour and kitchen in one
word) of a _real_ ‘Yorkshire village,’ Dranfield, near Sheffield. A
young person of the other sex was my only and accidental companion; she
had been driven into the house by the over-officiousness of a vigilant
village constable, who finding that she sold lace without a license,
and--infinitely worse--refused to listen to his advances, had warned
her to ‘make herself scarce’ at her ‘earliest possible convenience.’
“Having elicited what I did for a living, she popped the startling
question to me, ‘Where do you “hang out” in Sheffield?’ I told her that
I had never been in Sheffield, and did not ‘hang out’ my little wares,
but used my persuasive art to induce the purchase of them. The lady
said, ‘Well, you are “green.” I mean, where do you _dos_?’ This was no
better, it seemed something like Greek,--‘_delta, omicron, sigma_,’
(I retain the “patterer’s” own words to show the education of the
class)--but the etymology was no relief to the perplexity. ‘Where do
you mean to sleep?’ she inquired. I referred to my usual practice of
adjourning to an humble public-house. My companion at once threw off
all manner of disguise, and said, ‘Well, sir, you are a young man that
I have taken a liking to, and if you think you should like my company,
I will take you to a lodging where there is plenty of travellers, and
you will see “all sorts of life.”’ I liked the girl’s company, and our
mutual acquiescence made us companions on the road. We had not got far
before we met the aforesaid constable in company with an unmistakeable
member of the Rural Police. They made some inquiries of me, which I
thought exceeded their commission. I replied to them with a mutilated
Ode of Horace, when they both determined that I was a Frenchman, and
allowed us to ‘go on our way rejoicing.’
“The smoky, though well-built, town of Sheffield was now near at hand.
The daylight was past, and the ‘shades of the evening were stretching
out;’ we were therefore enabled to journey through the thoroughfares
without impertinent remarks, or perhaps any observation, except from
a toothless old woman, of John Wesley’s school, who was ‘sorry to see
two such nice young people going about the country,’ and wondered if we
‘ever thought of eternity!’
“After a somewhat tedious ramble, we arrived at Water-lane;--at the
‘Bug-trap,’ which from time immemorial has been the name of the most
renowned lodging-house in that or perhaps any locality. Water-lane is
a dark narrow street, crowded with human beings of the most degraded
sort--the chosen atmosphere of cholera, and the stronghold of theft
and prostitution. In less than half an hour, my fair companion and
myself were sipping our tea, and eating Yorkshire cake in this same
lodging-house.
“‘God bless every happy couple!’ was echoed from a rude stentorian
voice, while a still ruder hand bumped down upon our tea-table a red
earthen dish of no small dimensions, into which was poured, from the
mouth of a capacious bag, fragments of fish, flesh, and fowl, viands
and vegetables of every sort, intermingled with bits of cheese and
dollops of Yorkshire pudding. The man to whom this heterogeneous mass
belonged, appeared anything but satisfied with his lot. ‘Well,’ said
he, ‘I don’t know what this ’ere monkry _will_ come to, after a bit.
Three bob and a tanner, and that there dish o’ scran’ (enough to feed
two families for a fortnight) ‘is all I got this blessed day since
seven o’clock in the morning, and now it’s nine at night.’ I ventured
to say something, but a remark, too base for repetition, ‘put the
stunners on me,’ and I held my peace.
“I was here surprised, on conversing with my young female companion,
to find that she went to church, said her prayers night and morning,
and knew many of the collects, some of which she repeated, besides a
pleasing variety of Dr. Watts’s hymns. At the death of her mother, her
father had given up housekeeping; and, being too fond of a wandering
life, had led his only child into habits like his own.
“As the night advanced, the party at the ‘Bug-trap’ more than doubled.
High-flyers, shallow-coves, turnpike-sailors, and swells out of luck,
made up an assembly of fourscore human beings, more than half of whom
were doomed to sleep on a ‘make-shift’--in other words, on a platform,
raised just ten inches above the floor of the garret, which it nearly
equalled in dimensions. Here were to be huddled together, with very
little covering, old men and women, young men and children, with no
regard to age, sex, or propensities.
“The ‘mot’ of the ‘ken’ (nickname for ‘matron of the _establishment_’)
had discovered that I was a ‘more bettermost’ sort of person, and
hinted that, if I would ‘come down’ with twopence more (threepence was
the regular nightly charge), I, ‘and the young gal as I was with,’
might have a little ‘crib’ to ourselves in a little room, along with
another woman wot was married and had a ‘kid,’ and whose husband had
got a month for ‘griddling in the main drag’ (singing in the high
street), and being ‘cheekish’ (saucy) to the beadle.
“Next morning I bade adieu to the ‘Bug-trap,’ and I hope for ever.”
* * * * *
The same informant further stated that he was some time upon “tramp”
before he even knew of the existence of a common lodging-house: “After
I had ‘matriculated’ at Sheffield,” he says, “I continued some time
going to public-houses to sleep, until my apparel having got shabby
and my acquintance with misfortune more general, I submitted to be the
associate of persons whom I never spoke to out of doors, and whose even
slight acquaintance I have long renounced. My first introduction to a
London paddin’ ken was in Whitechapel, the place was then called Cat
and Wheel-alley (now Commercial-street). On the spot where St. Jude’s
church now stands was a double lodging-house, kept by a man named
Shirley--one side of it was for single men and women, the other married
couples; as these ‘couples’ made frequent exchanges, it is scarcely
probable that Mr. Shirley ever ‘asked to see their marriage lines.’
These changes were, indeed, as common as they were disgusting. I knew
two brothers (Birmingham nailers) who each brought a young woman out
of service from the country. After a while each became dissatisfied
with his partner. The mistress of the house (an old procuress from
Portsmouth) proposed that they should change their wives. They did so,
to the amusement of nine other couples sleeping on the same floor, and
some of whom followed the example, and more than once during the night.
“When Cat and Wheel-alley was pulled down, the crew removed to
George-yard; the proprietor died, and his wife sold the concern to a
wooden-legged Welshman named Hughes (commonly called ‘Taff’). I was
there some time. ‘Taff’ was a notorious receiver of stolen goods. I
knew two little boys, who brought home six pairs of new Wellington
boots, which this miscreant bought at 1_s._ per pair; and, when they
had no luck, he would take the strap off his wooden-leg, and beat them
through the nakedness of their rags. He boarded and lodged about a
dozen Chelsea and Greenwich pensioners. These he used to follow and
watch closely till they got paid; then (after they had settled with
him) he would make them drunk, and rob them of the few shillings they
had left.
“One of these dens of infamy may be taken as a specimen of the whole
class. They have generally a spacious, though often ill-ventilated,
kitchen, the dirty dilapidated walls of which are hung with prints,
while a shelf or two are generally, though barely, furnished with
crockery and kitchen utensils. In some places knives and forks are
not provided, unless a penny is left with the ‘deputy,’ or manager,
till they are returned. A brush of any kind is a stranger, and a
looking-glass would be a miracle. The average number of nightly lodgers
is in winter 70, and in summer (when many visit the provinces) from 40
to 45. The general charge is, if two sleep together, 3_d._ per night,
or 4_d._ for a single bed. In either case, it is by no means unusual to
find 18 or 20 in one small room, the heat and horrid smell from which
are insufferable; and, where there are young children, the staircases
are the lodgment of every kind of filth and abomination. In some houses
there are rooms for families, where, on a rickety machine, which they
dignify by the name of a bedstead, may be found the man, his wife, and
a son or daughter, perhaps 18 years of age; while the younger children,
aged from 7 to 14, sleep on the floor. If they have linen, they take it
off to escape vermin, and rise naked, one by one, or sometimes brother
and sister together. This is no ideal picture; the subject is too
capable of being authenticated to need that meaningless or dishonest
assistance called ‘allowable exaggeration.’ The amiable and deservedly
popular minister of a district church, built among lodging-houses, has
stated that he has found 29 human beings in one apartment; and that
having with difficulty knelt down between two beds to pray with a dying
woman, his legs became so jammed that he could hardly get up again.
“Out of some fourscore such habitations,” continues my informant, “I
have only found _two_ which had any sort of garden; and, I am happy to
add, that in neither of these two was there a single case of cholera.
In the others, however, the pestilence raged with terrible fury.
“Of all the houses of this sort, the best I know is the one (previously
referred to) in Orchard-street, Westminister, and another in Seven
Dials, kept by a Mr. Mann (formerly a wealthy butcher). Cleanliness
is inscribed on every wall of the house; utensils of every kind are
in abundance, with a plentiful supply of water and gas. The beds do
not exceed five in a room, and they are changed every week. There is
not one disorderly lodger; and although the master has sustained heavy
losses, ill health, and much domestic affliction, himself and his house
may be regarded as patterns of what is wanted for the London poor.
“As there is a sad similarity between these abodes, so there is a
sort of _caste_ belonging in general to the inmates. Of them it
may be averred that whatever their pursuits, they are more or less
alike in their views of men and manners. They hate the aristocracy.
Whenever there is a rumour or an announcement of an addition to the
Royal Family, and the news reaches the padding-ken, the kitchen, for
half-an-hour, becomes the scene of uproar--‘another expense coming
on the b--y country!’ The ‘patterers’ are very fond of the Earl of
Carlisle, whom, in their attachment, they still call Lord Morpeth; they
have read many of his lordship’s speeches at _soirées_, &c., and they
think he wishes well to a poor man. Sir James Graham had better not
show face among them; they have an idea (whence derived we know not)
that this nobleman invented fourpenny-pieces, and now, they say, the
swells give a ‘joey’ where they used to give a ‘tanner.’ The hero of
Waterloo is not much amiss ‘if he lets politics alone.’ The name of
a bishop is but another name for a Beelzebub; but they are very fond
of the inferior clergy. Lay-agents and tract-distributors they cannot
bear; they think they are spies come to see how much ‘scran’ (food)
they have got, and then go and ‘pyson’ the minds of the public against
poor people.
“I was once (says our informant) in a house of this kind, in
George-street, St. Giles’s,--the missionary who visited them on that
occasion (Sunday afternoon) had the misfortune to be suspected as the
author of some recent exposure in the newspapers.--They accused him,
and he rebutted the accusation; they replied, and he rejoined; at last
one of the men said, ‘What do you want poking your nose in here for?’
‘The City Mission,’ was the answer, ‘had authorised ----.’ ‘Authorised
be d--d! are you ordained?’ ‘No, not yet, friend.’ The women then tore
the poor gentleman’s nether garments in a way I must not describe. The
men carried him into the yard, filled his mouth with flour of mustard
and then put him in a water-butt.
“It is, I am satisfied, quite a mistake to suppose that there is much
real infidelity among these outcast beings. They almost all believe in
a hereafter; most of them think that the wicked will be punished for
a few years, and then the whole universe of people be embraced in the
arms of one Great Forgiving Father. Some of them think that the wicked
will not rise at _all_; the punishment of ‘losing Heaven’ being as they
say ‘Hell enough for anybody.’ Points of doctrine they seldom meddle
with.
“There are comparatively few Dissenters to be found in padding-kens,
though many whose parents were Dissenters. My own opinion (writes my
informant) is, that dissent seldom lasts long in one family. In eight
years’ experience I have found two hundred apparently pious men and
women, and at least two thousand who call themselves Protestants, but
never go to any church or chapel.
“The politics of these classes are, perhaps, for the most part,
‘liberal Tory.’ In most lodging-houses they take one or two papers:
the _Weekly Dispatch_, and _Bell’s Weekly Messenger_, are the two
usually taken. I know of no exception to this rule. The beggars hate
a Whig Ministry, and I know that many a tear was shed in the hovels
and cellars of London when Sir Robert Peel died. I know a publican,
in Westminster, whose daily receipts are enormous, and whose only
customers are soldiers, thieves, and prostitutes, who closed his house
the day of the funeral, and put himself, his family, and even his
beer-machines and gas-pipes, into mourning for the departed statesman.
“The pattering fraternity, that I write of, are generally much given
to intemperance. Their amusements are the theatre, the free-and-easy,
the skittle-ground, and sometimes cards and dominoes. They read some
light works, and some of them subscribe to libraries, and a few, very
few, attend lectures. Eliza Cook is a favourite writer with them, and
Capt. Marryatt, the ‘top-sawyer,’ as a novelist. Ainsworth is the idol
of another class, when they can read. Mr. Dickens _was_ a favourite,
but he has gone down sadly in the scale since his _Household Words_
‘came it so strong’ against the begging letter department. These poor
creatures seldom rise in society. They make no effort to extricate
themselves, while by others they are unpitied because unknown. To this
rule, however, there are some happy and honourable exceptions.
“Taken as a body, patterers, lurkers, &c. are by no means quick-sighted
as to the sanctions of moral obligation. They would join the hue and
cry against the persecutors of Jane Wilbred, but a promiscuous robbery,
even accompanied by murder--if it was ‘got up clever’ and ‘done clean,’
so long as the parties escaped detection--might call forth a remark
that ‘there was no great harm done,’ and perhaps some would applaud the
perpetrators.”
Before quitting this part of my subject (viz. the character, habits,
and opinions of _all_ classes of patterers), I will give an account
of the pretended missionary proceedings of a man, well-known to the
vagrant fraternity as “Chelsea George.” I received the following
narrative from the gentleman whose statements I have given previously.
The scheme was concocted in a low lodging-house:
“After a career of incessant ‘lurking’ and deceit, Chelsea George left
England, and remained abroad,” writes my informant, “four or five
years. Exposure to the sun, and allowing his beard to grow a prodigious
length, gave him the appearance of a foreigner. He had picked up enough
French and Italian, with a little Dutch and German, and a smattering
of Spanish, to enable him to ‘hail for any part of the globe,’ and
from the designed inarticulateness with which he spoke (sometimes
four languages in one sentence) added to his sun-burnt and grotesque
appearance, it was difficult to _pall_ him upon any _racket_ (detect
him in any pretence), so that the most incredulous,--though often
previously imposed upon--gave credence to his story, relief to his
supposed necessities, and sometimes letters of introduction to their
friends and neighbours.
“Some time after his return to England, and while pursuing the course
of a ‘high-flyer’ (genteel beggar), he met with an interruption to
his pursuits which induced him to alter his plan without altering his
behaviour. The newspapers of the district, where he was then located,
had raised before the eye and mind of the public, what the ‘patterers’
of his class proverbially call a ‘stink,’--that is, had opened the eyes
of the unwary to the movements of ‘Chelsea George;’ and although he
ceased to renew his appeals from the moment he heard of the notice of
him, his appearance was so accurately described that he was captured
and committed to Winchester jail as a rogue and vagabond. The term of
his imprisonment has escaped my recollection. As there was no definite
charge against him, probably he was treated as an ordinary vagrant and
suffered a calendar month in durance. The silent system was not then
in vogue, consequently there existed no barrier to mutual intercourse
between prisoners, with all its train of conscience-hardening
tendencies. I do not say this to intimate unqualified approval of the
solitary system, I merely state a fact which has an influence on my
subject.
“George had by this time scraped acquaintance with two
fellow-prisoners--Jew Jem and Russia Bob. The former in ‘quod’ for
‘pattering’ as a ‘converted Jew,’ the latter for obtaining money under
equally false, though less theological, pretences.
[Illustration: “THE KITCHEN,” FOX-COURT, GRAY’S-INN-LANE.]
“Liberated about one time, this trio laid their heads together,--and
the result was a plan to evangelize, or rather victimize, the
inhabitants of the collier villages in Staffordshire and the adjoining
counties. To accomplish this purpose, some novel and imposing
representation must be made, both to lull suspicion and give the air of
piety to the plan, and disinterestedness to the agents by whom it was
carried out.