tallymen. I will particularize one instance related to me on good
authority. A lawyer’s clerk married, when young, a milliner; his salary
was a guinea per week, and he and his wife had agreed to “get on in the
world.” They occupied furnished lodgings at first, but soon accumulated
furniture of their own, and every week added some little useful article
towards their household stock. “At the end of a year,” said the
individual in question, “I had as comfortable a little home as any man
would wish to possess; I was fond of it too, and would rather have been
there than anywhere else. My wife frequently wished to obtain credit;
‘it would be so easy,’ said she, ‘to pay a trifling instalment, and
then we could obtain immediately whatever we might want.’ I objected,
and preferred supplying our wants gradually, knowing that for ready
money I could purchase to much better advantage. Consequently we still
kept progressing, and I was really happy. Judge my astonishment one
day, when I came home, and found an execution was in the house. My wife
had run in debt with the tallyman unknown to me. Summonses had been
served, which by some means she had concealed from me. The goods which
I had taken so much pains to procure were seized and sold. But this
was not all. My wife grew so much alarmed at the misery she had caused
that she fled from me, and I have never seen her but once since. This
occurred seven years ago, and she has been for some time the companion
of those who hold their virtue of little worth. For some time after
this I cared not what became of me; I lost my situation, and sunk to be
a supernumerary for 1_s._ a night at one of the theatres. Here, after
being entrusted with a line to speak, I eventually rose to a ‘general
utility man,’ at 12_s._ per week. With this and some copying, that I
occasionally obtain from the law-stationers, I manage to live, but far
from comfortably, for I never think of saving now, and only look out
for copying when I stand in need of more money. I am always poor, and
scarcely ever have a shilling to call my own.”
Some of the principal establishments, “doing largely” in the
tally-trade, are in or about Red Lion-square and street, the higher
part of High Holborn, the vicinity of Tottenham-court-road, the
Blackfriars, Waterloo, Westminster, St. George’s, Walworth, New Kent,
and Dover roads.
At some of these tally-shops horses and carts are kept to carry out
the goods ordered of the “travellers,” especially when furniture is
supplied as well as drapery; while in others the “travellers” are
resident on the premises, and are occasionally shopmen, for a “large”
tally-master not unfrequently carries on a retail trade in addition to
his tally-business.
The tallymen not concerned with these large establishments, but
carrying on trade on their own account, reside generally in the quieter
streets in the neighbourhood of the thoroughfares I have mentioned, and
occupy perhaps the ground-floor, letting (for the house is generally
their own) the other apartments. Sometimes a piece of cotton-print is
placed in their parlour-window, and sometimes there is no indication
whatever of any business being carried on within, for the hawking
tallymen do not depend in any measure upon situation or display,
but solely on travelling and personal solicitations at people’s own
residences.
OF THE “DUFFERS” OR HAWKERS OF PRETENDED SMUGGLED GOODS.
Of “duffers” and “lumpers,” as regards the sale of textile fabrics,
there are generally, I am informed, about twenty in London. At such
times as Epsom, Ascot-heath, or Goodwood races, however, there is,
perhaps, not one. All have departed to prey, if possible, upon the
countrymen. Eight of them are Jews, and the majority of the others are
Irishmen. They are generally dressed as sailors, and some wear either
fur caps, or cloth ones, with gilt bands round them, as if they were
the mates or stewards of ships. They look out for any likely victim
at public-houses, and sometimes accost persons in the streets--first
looking carefully about them, and hint that they are smugglers, and
have the finest and cheapest “Injy” handkerchiefs ever seen. These
goods are now sold in “pieces” of three handkerchiefs. When times were
better, I was told, they were in pieces of four, five, and six. One
street-seller said to me, “Yes, I know the ‘duffers;’ all of them.
They do more business than you might think. Everybody likes a smuggled
thing; and I should say these men, each of the ‘duffers,’ tops his
1_l._ a week, clear profit.” I am assured that one of the classes most
numerously victimised is a body who generally account themselves pretty
sharp, viz. gentlemen’s grooms, and coachmen at the several mews.
Sailors are the best customers, and the vicinity of the docks the best
locality for this trade; for the hawker of pretended smuggled goods
always does most business among the “tars.” The mock handkerchiefs are
damped carefully with a fine sponge, before they are offered for sale;
and they are often strongly perfumed, some of the Jews supplying cheap
perfumes, or common “scents.” When the “duffer” thinks he may venture
upon the assertion, he assures a customer that this is “the smell the
handkerchiefs brought with ’em from foreign parts, as they was smuggled
in a bale of spices!” The trade however is not without its hazards;
for I am informed that the “duffers” sometimes, on attempting their
impositions imprudently, and sometimes on being discovered before they
can leave the house, get soundly thrashed. They have, of course, no
remedy.
The “pieces” of three handkerchiefs sold by the “duffers” are purchased
by them in Houndsditch, at from 3_s._ to 7_s._; but 7_s._ is only given
when there is a design to palm off the 3_s._ goods along with them.
Cent. per cent. is a low profit in this trade.
One intelligent street-trader, to whom I am indebted for
carefully-considered information, said to me very quietly: “I’ve read
your work, sir, at a coffee-shop; for I can’t afford to take it in. I
know you’re going to open the eyes of the public as to the ‘duffer’s’
tricks, now. All right, sir, they’re in honest men’s ways. But, sir,
when are you going to say something about the rich shopkeepers as
sells, and the rich manufacturers as makes, the ‘duffer’s’ things?
Every man of them knows it’s for roguery.”
There is a peculiar style among the “duffers;” they never fold their
goods neatly--the same as drapers do, but thrust them into the pack, in
a confused heap, as if they did not understand their value--or their
business. There are other classes of “duffers” whose calling is rather
more hazardous than the licensed-hawker “duffer.” “I have often thought
it strange,” says a correspondent, “that these men could induce any
one to credit the fact of their being sailors, for, notwithstanding
the showy manner in which they chew their quid, and the jack-tar
like fashion in which they suffer their whiskers to grow, there is
such a fresh-waterfied appearance about them, that they look no more
like a regular mariner than the supernumerary seamen in a nautical
drama, at the Victoria Theatre. Yet they obtain victims readily. Their
mode of proceeding in the streets is to accost their intended dupes,
while walking by their side; they usually speak in a half whisper,
as they keep pace with them, and look mysteriously around to see if
there be any of ‘them ere Custom-house sharks afloat.’ They address
the simple-looking passers by thus: ‘Shipmate’ (here they take off
their fur-cap and spit their quid into it)--‘shipmate, I’ve just come
ashore arter a long voyage--and splice me but I’ve something in the
locker that’ll be of service to you; and, shiver my timbers’ (they
are very profuse in nautical terms), ‘you shall have it at your own
price, for I’m determined to have a spree, and I haven’t a shot in the
locker; helm’s a-lee; just let’s turn into this creek, and I’ll show
you what it is’ (perhaps he persuades his dupe down a court, or to a
neighbouring public-house). ‘Now here is a beautiful piece of _Ingy_
handkerchiefs.’ (They are the coarsest description of spun not _thrown_
silk, well stiffened into stoutness, and cost the “duffer” perhaps
15_d._ each; but as business is always done on the sly, in a hurry, and
to escape observation, an examination seldom or never takes place). ‘I
got ’em on shore in spite of those pirates, the Custom-house officers.
You shall have ’em cheap, there’s half a dozen on ’em, they cost me
30_s._ at Madras, you shall have ’em for the same money.’ (The victim,
may be, is not inclined to purchase. The pretended tar, however, must
have money.) ‘Will you give me 25_s._ for them?’ he says; ‘d--n it,
a pound? Shiver my topsails, you don’t want them any cheaper than
that, do you!’ The ‘duffer’ says this to make his dupe believe that he
really does want the goods, or has offered a price for them. Perhaps
if the ‘duffer’ cannot extort more he takes 10_s._ for the half dozen
‘Ingy’ handkerchiefs, the profit being thus about 2_s._ 6_d._; but
more frequently he gets 100 and even 200 per cent. on his transactions
according to the gullibility of his customers. The ‘duffer’ deals also
in cigars; he accosts his victim in the same style as when selling
handkerchiefs, and gives himself the same sailor-like airs.
“Sometimes the ‘duffers’ visit the obscure streets in London, where
there are small chandlers’ shops; one of them enters, leaving his mate
outside to give him the signal in case the enemy heaves in sight. He
requests to be served with some trifling article--when if he approve of
the physiognomy of the shopkeeper, and consider him or her likely to be
victimised--he ventures an observation as to how enormously everything
is taxed (though to one less innocent it might appear unusual for
a sailor to talk politics); ‘even this ’ere baccy’ he says, taking
out his quid, ‘I can’t chew, without paying a tax; but,’ he adds,
chuckling--‘us sailor chaps sometimes shirks the Custom-house lubbers,
sharp as they are.’ (Here his companion outside puts his head in at
the door, and, to make the scene as natural as possible, says, ‘Come,
Jack, don’t stop there all night spinning your yarns; come, bear a
hand, or I shall part convoy.’) ‘Oh, heave to a bit longer, my hearty,’
replies the ‘duffer,’ ‘I will be with you in the twinkling of a marling
spike. I’ll tell you what we’ve got, marm, and if you likes to buy it
you shall have it cheap, for me and my mate are both short of rhino.
We’ve half-a-dozen pounds of tea--you can weigh it if you like--and you
shall have the lot for 12_s._’ Perhaps there is an immediate purchase,
but if 12_s._ is refused, then 10_s._ 8_s._ or 6_s._ is asked, until a
sale be effected, after which the sailors make their exit as quickly
as possible. Then the chandler’s-shop keeper begins to exult over the
bargain he or she has made, and to examine more minutely the contents
of the neatly packed, and tea-like looking packet thus bought. It
proves to be lined with a profuse quantity of tea lead, and though
some Chinese characters are marked on the outside, it is discovered on
opening to contain only half-a-pound of tea, the remainder consisting
principally of chopped hay. The ‘duffers’ enact the same part, and if
a purchaser buy 10 lbs. of the smuggled article, then 9 lbs. at least
consist of the same chopped hay.
“Sometimes the ‘duffers’ sell all their stock to one individual. No
sooner do they dispose of the handkerchiefs to a dupe, than they
introduce the smuggled tobacco to the notice of the unsuspecting
customer; then they palm off their cigars, next their tea, and lastly,
as the ‘duffer’ is determined to raise as much money as he can ‘to
have his spree;’ ‘why d--e,’ he exclaims to his victim--‘I’ll sell you
my watch. It cost me 6_l._ at Portsmouth--give me 3_l._ for it and it’s
yours, shipmate. Well, then, 2_l._----1_l._’ The watch, I need not
state, is made solely for sale.
“It is really astonishing,” adds my informant, “how these men ever
succeed, for their look denotes cunning and imposition, and their
proceedings have been so often exposed in the newspapers that numbers
are alive to their tricks, and warn others when they perceive the
“duffers” endeavouring to victimise them; but, as the thimble-men say,
“There’s a fool born every minute.”
OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF “SMALL-WARE,” OR TAPE, COTTON, ETC.
The street-sellers of tape and cotton are usually elderly females; and
during my former inquiry I was directed to one who had been getting
her living in the street by such means for nine years. I was given to
understand that the poor woman was in deep distress, and that she had
long been supporting a sick husband by her little trade, but I was
wholly unprepared for a scene of such startling misery, sublimed by
untiring affection and pious resignation, as I there discovered.
I wish the reader to understand that I do not cite this case as a
type of the sufferings of this particular class, but rather as an
illustration of the afflictions which frequently befall those who are
solely dependent on their labour, or their little trade, for their
subsistence, and who, from the smallness of their earnings, are unable
to lay by even the least trifle as a fund against any physical calamity.
The poor creatures lived in one of the close alleys at the east end of
London. On inquiring at the house to which I had been directed, I was
told I should find them in “the two-pair back.” I mounted the stairs,
and on opening the door of the apartment I was terrified with the
misery before me. There, on a wretched bed, lay an aged man in almost
the last extremity of life. At first I thought the poor old creature
was really dead, but a tremble of the eyelids as I closed the door,
as noiselessly as I could, told me that he breathed. His face was as
yellow as clay, and it had more the cold damp look of a corpse than
that of a living man. His cheeks were hollowed in with evident want,
his temples sunk, and his nostrils pinched close. On the edge of the
bed sat his heroic wife, giving him drink with a spoon from a tea-cup.
In one corner of the room stood the basket of tapes, cottons, combs,
braces, nutmeg-graters, and shaving-glasses, with which she strove to
keep her old dying husband from the workhouse. I asked her how long
her good man had been ill, and she told me he had been confined to his
bed five weeks last Wednesday, and that it was ten weeks since he had
eaten the size of a nut in solid food. Nothing but a little beef-tea
had passed his lips for months. “We have lived like children together,”
said the old woman, as her eyes flooded with tears, “and never had no
dispute. He hated drink, and there was no cause for us to quarrel. One
of my legs, you see, is shorter than the other,” said she, rising from
the bed-side, and showing me that her right foot was several inches
from the ground as she stood. “My hip is out. I used to go out washing,
and walking in my pattens I fell down. My hip is out of the socket
three-quarters of an inch, and the sinews is drawn up. I am obliged to
walk with a stick.” Here the man groaned and coughed so that I feared
the exertion must end his life. “Ah, the heart of a stone would pity
that poor fellow,” said the good wife.
“After I put my hip out, I couldn’t get my living as I’d been used to
do. I couldn’t stand a day if I had five hundred pounds for it. I must
sit down. So I got a little stall, and sat at the end of the alley here
with a few laces and tapes and things. I’ve done so for this nine year
past, and seen many a landlord come in and go out of the house that I
sat at. My husband used to sell small articles in the streets--black
lead and furniture paste, and blacking. We got a sort of a living by
this, the two of us together. It’s very seldom though we had a bit of
meat. We had 1_s._ 9_d._ rent to pay--Come, my poor fellow, will you
have another little drop to wet your mouth?” said the woman, breaking
off. “Come, my dearest, let me give you this,” she added, as the man
let his jaw fall, and she poured some warm sugar and water flavoured
with cinnamon--all she had to give him--into his mouth. “He’s been an
ailing man this many a year. He used to go of errands and buy my little
things for me, on account of my being lame. We assisted one another,
you see. He wasn’t able to work for his living, and I wasn’t able to
go about, so he used to go about and buy for me what I sold. I am sure
he never earned above 1_s._ 6_d._ in the week. He used to attend me,
and many a time I’ve sat for ten and fourteen hours in the cold and wet
and didn’t take a sixpence. Some days I’d make a shilling, and some
days less; but whatever I got I used to have to put a good part into
the basket to keep my little stock.” [A knock here came to the door;
it was for a halfpenny-worth of darning cotton.] “You know a shilling
goes further with a poor couple that’s sober than two shillings does
with a drunkard. We lived poor, you see, never had nothing but tea, or
we couldn’t have done anyhow. If I’d take 18_d._ in the day I’d think I
was grandly off, and then if there was 6_d._ profit got out of that it
would be almost as much as it would. You see these cotton braces here”
(said the old woman, going to her tray). “Well, I gives 2_s._ 9_d._
a dozen for them here, and I sells ’em for 4-1/2_d._, and oftentimes
4_d._ a pair. Now, this piece of tape would cost me seven farthings
in the shop, and I sells it at six yards a penny. It has the _name_
of being eighteen yards. The profit out of it is five farthings. It’s
beyond the power of man to wonder how there’s a bit of bread got out of
such a small way. And the times is so bad, too! I think I could say I
get 8_d._ a day profit if I have any sort of custom, but I don’t exceed
that at the best of times. I’ve often sat at the end of the alley
and taken only 6_d._, and that’s not much more than 2_d._ clear--it
an’t 3_d._ I’m sure. I think I could safely state that for the last
nine year me and my husband has earned together 5_s._ a week, and out
of that the two of us had to live and pay rent--1_s._ 9_d._ a week.
Clothes I could buy none, for the best garment is on me; but I thank
the Lord still. I’ve paid my rent all but three weeks, and that isn’t
due till to-morrow. We have often reckoned it up here at the fire. Some
weeks we have got 5_s._ 3_d._, and some weeks less, so that I judge
we have had about 3_s._ to 3_s._ 6_d._ a week to live upon the two of
us, for this nine year past. Half-a-hundred of coals would fit me the
week in the depths of winter. My husband had the kettle always boiling
for me against I came in. He used to sit here reading his book--he
never was fit for work at the best--while I used to be out minding
the basket. He was so sober and quiet too. His neighbours will tell
that of him. Within the last ten weeks he’s been very ill indeed, but
still I could be out with the basket. Since then he’s never earnt me a
penny--poor old soul, he wasn’t able! All that time I still attended to
my basket. He wasn’t so ill then but what he could do a little here in
the room for hisself; but he wanted little, God knows, for he couldn’t
eat. After he fell ill, I had to go all my errands myself. I had no
one to help me, for I’d nothing to pay them, and I’d have to walk from
here down to Sun-street with my stick, till my bad leg pained me so
that I could hardly stand. You see the hip being put out has drawn all
the sinews up into my groin, and it leaves me oncapable of walking
or standing constantly; but I thank God that I’ve got the use of it
anyhow. Our lot’s hard enough, goodness knows, but we are content. We
never complain, but bless the Lord for the little he pleases to give
us. When I was away on my errands, in course I couldn’t be minding my
basket; so I lost a good bit of money that way. Well, five weeks on
Wednesday he has been totally confined to his bed, excepting when I
lifted him up to make it some nights; but he can’t bear _that_ now.
Still the first fortnight he was bad, I did manage to leave him, and
earn a few pence; but, latterly, for this last three weeks, I haven’t
been able to go out at all, to do anything.”
“She’s been stopping by me, minding me here night and day all that
time,” mumbled the old man, who now for the first time opened his
gray glassy eyes and turned towards me, to bear, as it were, a last
tribute to his wife’s incessant affection. “She has been most kind to
me. Her tenderness and care has been such that man never knew from
woman before, ever since I lay upon this sick bed. We’ve been married
five-and-twenty years. We have always lived happily--very happily,
indeed--together. Until sickness and weakness overcome me I always
strove to help myself a bit, as well as I could; but since then she has
done all in her power for me--worked for me--ay, she has worked for me,
surely--and watched over me. My creed through life has been repentance
towards God, faith in Jesus Christ, and love to all my brethren. I’ve
made up my mind that I must soon change this tabernacle, and my last
wish is that the good people of this world will increase her little
stock for her. She cannot get her living out of the little stock she
has, and since I lay here it’s so lessened, that neither she nor no one
else can live upon it. If the kind hearts would give her but a little
stock more, it would keep her old age from want, as she has kept mine.
Indeed, indeed, she does deserve it. But the Lord, I know, will reward
her for all she has done to me.” Here the old man’s eyelids dropped
exhausted.
“I’ve had a shilling and a loaf twice from the parish,” continued the
woman. “The overseer came to see if my old man was fit to be removed to
the workhouse. The doctor gave me a certificate that he was not, and
then the relieving officer gave me a shilling and a loaf of bread, and
out of that shilling I bought the poor old fellow a sup of port wine.
I bought a quartern of wine, which was 4_d._, and I gave 5_d._ for a
bit of tea and sugar, and I gave 2_d._ for coals; a halfpenny rushlight
I bought, and a short candle, that made a penny--and that’s the way I
laid out the shilling. If God takes him, I know he’ll sleep in heaven.
I know the life he’s spent, and am not afraid; but no one else shall
take him from me--nothing shall part us but death in this world. Poor
old soul, he can’t be long with me. He’s a perfect skeleton. His bones
are starting through his skin.”
I asked what could be done for her, and the old man thrust forth his
skinny arm, and laying hold of the bed-post, he raised himself slightly
in his bed, as he murmured “If she could be got into a little parlour,
and away from sitting in the streets, it would be the saving of her.”
And, so saying, he fell back overcome with the exertion, and breathed
heavily.
The woman sat down beside me, and went on. “What shocked him most was
that I was obligated in his old age to go and ask for relief at the
parish. You see, he was always a spiritful man, and it hurted him
sorely that he should come to this at last, and for the first time in
his lifetime. The only parish money that ever we had was this, and it
_does_ hurt him every day to think that he must be buried by the parish
after all. He was always proud, you see.”
I told the kind-hearted old dame that some benevolent people had placed
certain funds at my disposal for the relief of such distress as hers;
and I assured her that neither she nor her husband should want for
anything that might ease their sufferings.
The day after the above was written, the poor old man died. He was
buried out of the funds sent to the “Morning Chronicle,” and his wife
received some few pounds to increase her stock; but in a few months the
poor old woman went mad, and is now, I believe, the inmate of one of
the pauper lunatic asylums.
OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF LACE.
This trade is carried on both by itinerants and at stands, or
“pitches.” The itinerants, of whom I will first treat, are about
forty in number (thirty women and ten men). They usually carry
their lace in boxes, or cases. It is not uncommon for the women to
represent themselves as lacemakers from Marlow, or some other place in
Buckinghamshire, or from Honiton, in Devonshire, while the men assert
they are from Nottingham. I am informed that there are among these
itinerant lace-sellers two women and one man who really have been
lacemakers. They all buy their wares at the haberdashery swag-shops.