Houndsditch (their principal locality) (23), Minories (4), Whitechapel
(2), Ratcliffe-highway (20), Shoreditch (1), Long-lane, Smithfield
(4), Fleet-lane (2), Holywell-street, Strand (1), Tothill-street
(4), Compton-street, Soho (1), Hatton-garden (2), Clerkenwell
(10), Kent-street, Borough (8), New-cut (6), Blackman-street (2),
Tooley-street (3), London-road (3), Borough-road (1), Waterloo-road
(4)--in all 101; but a person who had been upwards of twenty years a
frequenter of these places counted up fifty others, many of them in
obscure courts and alleys near Houndsditch, Ratcliffe Highway, &c.,
&c. These “outsiders” are generally of a smaller class than those I
have described; “and I can tell you, sir,” the same man said, “some
of them--ay, and some of the big ones, too--are real _swag_-shops
still,--partly so, that is; you understand me, sir.” The word “swag,” I
should inform my polite readers, means in slang language, “plunder.”
It may be safely calculated, then, that there are 150 swag-shops to
which the different classes of street-sellers resort for the purchase
of stock. Among these establishments are pot swag, stationery swag,
haberdashery swag, jewellery swag, and miscellaneous swag--the latter
comprise far more than half of the entire number, and constitute the
warehouses which are described by their owners as “Birmingham and
Sheffield,” or “English and Foreign,” or “English and German.” It is
in these last-mentioned “swags” that the class I now treat of--the
street-sellers of metal manufactures--find the commodities of their
trade. To this, however, there is one exception. Tins for household
use are not sold at the general swag-shops; but “fancy tins,” such
as japanned and embellished trays, are vended there extensively. The
street-sellers of this order are supplied at the “tin-shops,”--the
number of the wholesale tin-men supplying the street-sellers is about
fifty. The principle on which the business is conducted is precisely
that of the more general swag-shop; but I shall speak of them when I
treat of the street-sellers of tins.
An intelligent man, who had been employed in different capacities in
some of the principal swag-shops, told me of one which had been carried
on by the same family, from father to son, for more than seventy
years. In the largest of the “swags” about 200 “hands” are employed,
in the various capacities of salesmen, buyers, clerks, travellers,
unpackers, packers, porters, &c., &c. On some mornings twenty-five
large packages--some of small articles entirely--are received from the
carriers. In one week, when my informant assisted in “making up the
books,” the receipts were upwards of 3000_l._ “In my opinion, sir,” he
said, “and it’s from an insight into the business, Mr. ----’s profit
on that 3000_l._ was not less than thirty-five per cent.; for he’s a
great capitalist, and pays for everything down upon the nail; that’s
more than 1000_l._ profit in a week. Certainly it was an extra week,
and there’s the 200 hands to pay,--but that wouldn’t range higher than
300_l._, indeed, not so high; and there’s heavy rent and taxes, and
rates, no doubt, and he (the proprietor is a Jew) is a fair man to the
trade, and not an uncharitable man--but he will drive a good bargain
where it’s possible; so considering everything, sir, the profits must
be very great, and they are mostly made out of poor buyers, who sell
it to poor people in the streets, or in small shops. It’s a wonderful
trade.”
From the best information I could obtain I come to the conclusion
that, including small and large shops, 3000_l._ yearly is the average
receipt of each--or, as it is most frequently expressed, that sum
is “turned over” by the swag-shop keepers yearly. There is great
competition in the trade, and much of what is called “cutting,” or
one tradesman underselling another. The profit consequently varies
from twenty to thirty-five and (rarely) fifty per cent. Sometimes a
swag-shop proprietor is “hung-up” with a stock the demand for which
has ceased, and he must dispose of it as “a job lot,” to make room
for other goods, and thus is necessarily “out of pocket.” The smaller
swag-shops do not “turn over” 500_l._ a year. The calculation I have
given shows an outlay, yearly, of 450,000_l._ at the swag-shops of
London; “but,” said a partner in one of these establishments, “what
proportion of the goods find their way into the streets, what to the
shops, what to the country, and what for shipping, I cannot form even a
guess, for we never ask a customer for what purpose he wants the goods,
though sometimes he will say, ‘I must have what is best for such or
such a trade.’ Say half a million turned over in a year, sir, by the
warehousemen who sell to the street-people, among others, and you’re
within the mark.”
I found the street-sellers characterize the “swags” as hard and
grinding men, taking every advantage “in the way of trade.” There is,
too, I was told by a man lately employed in a swag-shop a constant
collision of clamour and bargaining, not to say of wits, between
the smarter street-sellers--the pattering class especially--and the
swag-men with whom they are familiar.
The points in which the “swag-shops” resemble the “slaughter-houses,”
are in the traffic in work-boxes, desks, and dressing-cases.
OF THE LIFE OF A CHEAP-JOHN.
The following narrative, relative to this curious class, who, in
many respects, partake of the characteristics which I have pointed
out as proper to the mountebank of old, was taken from one of the
fraternity. It may be cited as an example of those who are bred to the
streets:--“My father and mother,” said he, “both followed a travelling
occupation, and were engaged in vending different things, from the
old brimstone matches up to clothes lines, clothes props, and clothes
pegs. They never got beyond these,--the other articles were thread,
tapes, nutmeg graters, shoe-ties, stay-laces, and needles. My father,
my mother used to tell me, was a great scholard, and had not always
been a travelling vagrant. My mother had never known any other life. I,
however, did not reap any benefit from my father’s scholarship. At a
very early age, five or six perhaps, I recollect myself a poor little
neglected wretch, sent out each day with a roll of matches, with strict
injunctions not to come home without selling them, and to bring home a
certain sum of money, upon pain of receiving a sound thrashing, which
threat was mostly put into execution whenever I failed to perform the
task imposed upon me. My father seldom worked, that is, seldom hawked,
but my mother, poor thing, had to travel and work very hard to support
four of us--my father, myself, and a sister, who is since dead. I was
but little assistance, and sometimes when I did not bring home the sum
required, she would make it up, and tell my father I had been a good
boy. My father was an inveterate drinker, and a very violent temper.
My mother, I am sorry to say, used to drink too, but I believe that
ill-usage drove her to it. They led a dreadful life; I scarcely felt
any attachment for them; home we had none, one place was as good
another to us. I left my parents when scarcely eight years old. I had
received a thrashing the day before for being a defaulter in my sale,
and I determined the following morning to decamp; and accordingly, with
my nine-pennyworth of matches (the quantity generally allotted me), I
set out to begin the world upon my own account. Although this occurred
25 years ago, I have never met my parents since. My father, I heard,
died a few years after my leaving, but my mother I know not whether
she be living or dead. I left my parents at Dover, and journeyed on
to London. I knew there were lodging-houses for travellers in every
town, some of them I had stopped at with my father and mother. I told
the people of these houses that my parents would arrive the following
day, and paid my 2_d._ for the share of a third, fourth, fifth, or even
sixth part of a bed, according to the number of children who inhabited
the lodging-house upon that particular night. My matches I could always
sell if I tried, but I used to play my time away, and many times night
has arrived before I thought of effecting sales sufficient to pay my
expenses at the beggar’s hotel. Broken victuals I got in abundance,
indeed more than sufficient for my own consumption. The money I
received for the matches, after paying my lodging, and purchasing
a pennyworth of brimstone to make more (the wood I begged at the
carpenters), I gambled away at cards. Yes, young as I was, I understood
Blind Hookey. I invariably lost; of course I was cheated.
“I remained in a lodging house in Mill-lane, Deptford, for two years,
discontinued the match-selling, and, having a tidy voice, took to
hawking songs through the public-houses. The sailors used to ask me to
sing, and there were few days that I did not accumulate 2_s._ 6_d._,
and from that to 4_s._, especially when I chose to be industrious; but
my love of pitch and toss and blind hookey always kept me poor. I often
got into debt with my landlady, and had no difficulty in doing so,
for I always felt a pride in paying. From selling the printed songs,
I imbibed a wish to learn to read, and, with the assistance of an old
soldier, I soon acquired sufficient knowledge to make out the names
of each song, and shortly afterwards I could study a song and learn
the words without any one helping me. I stopped in Deptford until I
was something more than twelve years old. I had then laid the songs
aside, and taken to hawking small wares, tapes, thread, &c.; and in the
winter season I was a buyer of rabbit and hare skins. I kept at this
for about three years, sometimes entirely without a stock. I had run
it out, perhaps gambled it away; and at such times I suffered great
privations. I never could beg. I have often tried, but never could.
I have approached a house with a begging intention, knocked at the
door, and when it has been opened I have requested a drink of water.
When I was about 16 I joined in partnership with a man who used to
make phosphorus boxes. I sold them for him. A piece of phosphorus was
stuck in a tin tube, the match was dipped into the phosphorus, and it
would ignite by friction. I was hawking these boxes in Norwich, when
the constable considered they were dreadful affairs, and calculated
to encourage and assist thieves and burglars. He took me before the
magistrate, at the beak’s own private house, and he being equally
horrified, I was sent to prison for a month. I have often thought since
that the proceeding was illegal. What would be said now if a man was
to be sent to jail for selling lucifer matches? In Norwich prison I
associated with the rest, and if I had been inclined to turn thief
I had plenty of opportunities and offers of gratuitous instruction.
The separate or silent system was not in vogue then. I worked on the
treadmill. Dinner was allowed to be sent in on the Sunday by the
prisoner’s friends. My dinner was sent in on the first Sunday by the
man I sold the boxes for, as it was on the second, third, and fourth;
but I had lost it before I received it. I had always gambled it away,
for there were plenty of opportunities of doing so in the prisons
then. On leaving the jail I received 1_s._; with this I purchased
some songs and travelled to Yarmouth. I could do best among sailors.
After a few weeks I had accumulated about 8_s._, and with that sum I
purchased some hardware at the swag-shop, commenced hawking, and cut
the vocal department altogether; still I gambled and kept myself in
poverty. In the course of time, however, I had amassed a basket of
goods, worth, perhaps, 3_l._ I gambled and lost them all in one night.
I was so downcast and unhappy from this circumstance, that it caused
me to reflect seriously, and I made an oath that I never would gamble
again. I have kept it, and have reason to bless the day that I made so
good a resolution. After losing my basket of goods, the winner gave
me articles amounting to a few shillings, and I began the world once
more. Shortly afterwards I commenced rag gatherer, and changed my goods
for old rags, of course not refusing cash in payment. My next step was
to have some bills printed, whereon I requested all thrifty wives to
look out their old rags or old metal, or old bones, &c.; stating at
the bottom that the bill would be called for, and that a good price in
ready money would be given for all useless lumber, &c. Some months at
this business realized me a pretty sum of money. I was in possession of
nearly 5_l._ Then I discontinued the rag-gathering; not that the trade
was declining, but I did not like it--I was ambitious. I purchased a
neat box, and started to sell a little Birmingham jewellery. I was
now respectably dressed, was getting a living, and had entirely left
off stopping at common lodging-houses; but I confined my visits to
small villages--I was afraid of the law; and as I was pursuing my
calling near Wakefield, a constable inquired for my hawker’s licence.
I had none to produce. He took me into custody, and introduced me to
a magistrate, who committed me to prison for a month, and took away
my box of goods. I endured the month’s imprisonment upon the silent
system; they cut my hair short; and at the expiration of the term I was
thrust out upon the world heart-broken, without a shilling, to beg, to
steal, or to starve.
“I proceeded to Leeds, the fair was on at this time. I got engaged
to assist a person, from whom I had been accustomed occasionally to
purchase goods. He was a ‘Cheap-John.’ In the course of the day he
suggested that I should have a try at the hand-selling. I mounted
the platform, and succeeded beyond my own expectations or that of my
master. He offered me a regular engagement, which I accepted. At times
I would help him sell, and at other times I hawked with his licence. I
had regular wages, besides all I could get above a certain price that
he placed upon each of the goods. I remained with this person some
fifteen months, at the end of which period I commenced for myself,
having saved nearly 25_l._ I began at once the hand-selling, and
purchased a hawker’s licence, which enabled me to sell without danger.
Then I always called at the constable’s house, and gave a louder
knock at his door than any other person’s, proud of my authority, and
assured of my safety. At first I borrowed an empty cart, in which I
stood and sold my wares. I could chaff as well as the best, and was as
good a salesman as most of them. After that I purchased a second-hand
cart from a person who had lately started a waggon. I progressed and
improved in circumstances, and at last bought a very handsome waggon
for myself. I have now a nice caravan, and good stock of goods, worth
at least 500_l._ Money I have but little. I always invest it in goods.
I am married, and have got a family. I always travel in the summer, but
remain at home during the winter. My wife never travels. She remains
behind, and manages a little swag-shop, which always turns in at least
the family expenses.”
THE STREET-SELLERS OF CUTLERY.
The cutlery sold in the streets of London consists of razors,
pen-knives, pocket-knives, table and carving-knives and forks,
scissors, shears, nail-filers, and occasionally (if ordered) lancets.
The knives are of various kinds--such as sailors’ knives (with a
hole through the handle), butchers’ knives, together with choppers
and steels (sold principally at Newgate and Billinsgate Markets, and
round about the docks), oyster and fish-knives (sold principally at
Billinsgate and Hungerford Markets), bread-knives (hawked at the
bakers’ shops), ham and beef knives (hawked at the ham and beef shops),
cheese-knives with tasters, and ham-triers, shoemakers’ knives, and
a variety of others. These articles are usually purchased at the
“swag-shops,” and the prices of them vary from 2-1/2_d._ to 1_s._
1-1/2_d._ each. They are bought either by the dozen, half-dozen, or
singly, according to the extent of the street-seller’s stock-money.
Hence it would appear that the street-seller of cutlery can begin
business with only a few pence; but it is only when the swag-shop
keeper has known the street-seller that he will consent to sell
one knife alone “to sell again;” to street-sellers with whom he is
unacquainted, he will not vend less than half-a-dozen. Even where the
street-seller is known, he has, if “cracked-up,” to beg hard, I am
told, before he can induce the warehouseman to let him have only one
article. “The swag-shops won’t be bothered with it,” say the men--“what
are our troubles to them? if the rain starves us out and makes us eat
up all our stock-money, what is it to such folks? they wouldn’t let
us have even a row of pins without the money for ’em--no, not if we
was to drop down dead for want of bread in their shops. They have been
deceived by such a many that now they won’t listen to none.” I subjoin
a list of the prices paid and received by the street-sellers of cutlery
for the principal articles in which they deal:
Lowest Sold at Highest Sold at
price paid in the price paid in the
per streets. per streets.
half-dozen. half-dozen.
_s._ _d._ _s._ _d._ _s._ _d._ _s._ _d._
Table-knives and forks 1 3 2 0 5 0 7 6
Ditto, without forks 0 9 1 3 4 0 6 0
Pocket-knives 1 0 1 6 4 0 6 0
Pen-knives 1 9 2 6 2 6 3 9
Razors 1 9 2 6 5 0 7 6
Scissors 0 3-1/2 0 6 1 9 2 6
Their usual rate of profit is 50 per cent., but rather than refuse a
ready sale the street cutlery-seller will often take much less. Many
of the sellers only pursue the trade for a few weeks in the year. A
number of the Irish labourers take to it in the winter-time when they
can get no work. Some few of the sellers are countrymen, but these
mostly follow the business continuously. “I don’t see as there is
hardly one upon the list as has ever been a cutler by trade,” said one
street-seller to me, “and certainly none of the cutlery-sellers have
ever belonged to Sheffield--they may say so, but its only a dodge.” The
cutlery street-sellers are not one-quarter so numerous as they were
two years back. “The reason is,” I am told, “that things are got so
bad a man can’t live by the trade--mayhap he has to walk three miles
now before he can sell for 1_s._ a knife that has cost him 8-1/2_d._,
and then mayhap he is faint, and what’s 3-1/2_d._, sir, to keep body
and soul together, when a man most likely has had no victuals all the
day before.” If they had a good bit of stock they might perhaps get a
crust, they say. “Things within the last two or three years,” to quote
the words of one of my informants, “have been getting much worse in
the streets; ’specially in the cutlery line. I can’t give no account
for it, I’m sure, sir; the sellers have not been half as many as they
were. What’s become of them that’s gone, I can’t tell; they’re in the
workhouse, I dare say.” But, notwithstanding this decrease in the
number of sellers, there is a greater difficulty to vend their goods
now than formerly. “It’s all owing to the times, that’s all I can say.
People, shopkeepers, and all says to me, I can’t tell why things is
so bad, and has been so bad in trade; but so they is. We has to walk
farther to sell our goods, and people beat us down so terrible hard,
that we can’t get a penny out of them when we do sell. Sometimes they
offers me 9_d._, yes, and often 6_d._ for an 8-1/2_d._ knife; and often
enough 4_d._ for one that stands you in 3-3/4_d._--a 1/4_d._ profit,
think of that, sir. Then they say, ‘Well, my man, will you take my
money?’ and so as to make you do so, they’ll flash it before your eyes,
as if they knew you was a starving, and would be sure to be took in
by the sight of it. Yes, sir, it is a very hard life, and we has to
put up with a good deal--a good deal--starvation and hard-dealing, and
insults and knockings about, and all. And then you see the swag-shops
is almost as hard on us as the buyers. The swag-men will say, if you
merely makes a remark, that a knife they’ve sold you is cracked in the
handle, ‘Oh, is it; let me see whereabouts;’ and when you hands it to
’em to show it ’em, they’ll put it back where they took it from, and
tell you, ‘You’re too particular by half, my man. You’d better go and
get your goods somewhere else; here take your money, and go on about
your business, for we won’t sarve you at all.’ They’ll do just the same
with the scissors too, if you complains about their being a bit rusty.
‘Go somewhere else,’ they’ll say, ‘We won’t sarve you.’ Ah, sir, that’s
what it is to be a poor man; to have your poverty flung in your teeth
every minute. People says, ‘to be poor and seem poor is the devil;’
but to be poor, and be treated like a dog merely because you _are_
poor, surely is ten thousand times worse. A street-seller now-a-days is
looked upon as a ‘cadger,’ and treated as one. To try to get a living
for one’s self is to do something shameful in these times.”
The man then gave me the following history of himself. He was a
kindly-looking and hearty old man. He had on a ragged fustian jacket,
over which he wore a black greasy-looking and tattered oilskin
coat--the collar of this was torn away, and the green baize lining
alone visible. His waistcoat was patched in every direction, while his
trousers appeared to be of corduroy; but the grease and mud was so
thick upon them, that it was difficult to tell of what material they
were made. His shoes--or rather what remained of them--were tied on his
feet with pieces of string. His appearance altogether denoted great
poverty.