corduroy trowsers, and laced boots. Round his shoulder he wears an
oil-skin belt, on which are painted the figures of huge rats, with
fierce-looking eyes and formidable whiskers. His hat is usually glazed
and sometimes painted after the manner of his belt. Occasionally--and
in the country far more than in town--he carries in his hand an iron
cage in which are ferrets, while two or three crop-eared rough terriers
dog his footsteps. Sometimes a tamed rat runs about his shoulders and
arms, or nestles in his bosom or in the large pockets of his coat. When
a rat-catcher is thus accompanied, there is generally a strong aromatic
odour about him, far from agreeable; this is owing to his clothes
being rubbed with oil of thyme and oil of aniseed, mixed together.
This composition is said to be so attractive to the sense of the rats
(when used by a man who understands its due apportionment and proper
application) that the vermin have left their holes and crawled to the
master of the powerful spell. I heard of one man (not a rat-catcher
professionally) who had in this way tamed a rat so effectually that
the animal would eat out of his mouth, crawl upon his shoulder to be
fed, and then “smuggle into his bosom” (the words of my informant) “and
sleep there for hours.” The rat-catchers have many wonderful stories
of the sagacity of the rat, and though in reciting their own feats,
these men may not be the most trustworthy of narrators, any work on
natural history will avouch that rats _are_ sagacious, may be trained
to be very docile, and are naturally animals of great resources in all
straits and difficulties.
One great source of the rat-catcher’s employment and emolument thirty
years ago, or even to a later period, is now comparatively a nonentity.
At that time the rat-catcher or killer sometimes received a yearly or
quarterly stipend to keep a London granary clear of rats. I was told
by a man who has for twenty-eight years been employed about London
granaries, that he had never known a rat-catcher employed in one except
about twenty or twenty-two years ago, and that was in a granary by
the river-side. The professional man, he told me, certainly poisoned
many rats, “which stunk so,” continued my informant--but then all
evil odours in old buildings are attributed to dead rats--“that it
was enough to infect the corn. He poisoned two fine cats as well. But
I believe he was a young hand and a bungler.” The rats, after these
measures had been taken, seem to have deserted the place for three
weeks or a month, when they returned in as great numbers as ever;
nor were their ravages and annoyances checked until the drains were
altered and rebuilt. It is in the better disposition of the drains of a
corn-magazine, I am assured, that the great check upon the inroads of
these “varmint” is attained--by strong mason work and by such a series
and arrangement of grates, as defy even the perseverance of a rat.
Otherwise the hordes which prey upon the garbage in the common sewers,
are certain to find their way into the granary along the drains and
channels communicating with those sewers, and will increase rapidly
despite the measures of the rat-catcher.
The same man told me that he had been five or six times applied to
by rat-catchers, and with liberal offers of beer, to allow them to
try and capture the black rats in the granary. One of these traders
declared that he wanted them “for a gent as vas curous in them there
hinteresting warmint.” But from the representations of the other
applicants, my informant was convinced that they were wanted for
rat-hunts, the Dog Billy being backed for 100_l._ to kill so many rats
in so many minutes. “You see, sir,” the corn merchant’s man continued,
“ours is an old concern, and there’s black rats in it, great big
fellows; some of ’em must be old, for they’re as white about the muzzle
as is the Duke of Wellington, and they have the character of being very
strong and very fierce. One of the catchers asked me if I knew what a
stunning big black rat would weigh, as if I weighed rats! I always told
them that I cared nothing about rat-hunts and that I knew our people
wouldn’t like to be bothered; and they was gentlemen that didn’t admire
sporting characters.”
The black rat, I may observe, or the English rat, is now comparatively
scarce, while the brown, or Hanoverian, rat is abundant. This brown
rat seems to have become largely domiciled in England about the period
of the establishment of the Hanoverian dynasty; whence its name. “A
Hanover rat” was a term of reproach applied by the Jacobites to the
successful party.
The rat-catchers are also rat-killers. They destroy the animals
sometimes by giving them what is called in the trade “an alluring
poison.” Every professional destroyer, or capturer, of rats will
pretend that as to poison he has his own particular method--his
secret--his discovery. But there is no doubt that arsenic is the
basis of all their poisons. Its being inodorous, and easily reducible
to a soft fine powder, renders it the best adapted for mixing with
anything of which rats are fond--toasted cheese, or bacon, or fried
liver, or tallow, or oatmeal. Much as the poisoner may be able to
tempt the animal’s appetite, he must, and does, proceed cautiously.
If the bait be placed in an unwonted spot, it is often untouched. If
it be placed where rats have been accustomed to find their food, it
is often devoured. But even then it is frequently accounted best to
leave the bait unpoisoned for the first night; so that a hungry animal
may attack it greedily the second. With oatmeal it is usual to mix for
the first and even second nights a portion of pounded white sugar. If
this be eaten it accustoms the jealous pest to the degree of sweetness
communicated by arsenic. The “oatmeal poison” is, I am told, the most
effectual; but even when mixed only with sugar it is often refused; as
“rats is often better up to a dodge nor Kirstians” (Christians).
Another mode of killing rats is for the professional destroyer to slip
a ferret into the rats’ haunts wherever it is practicable. The ferret
soon dislodges them, and as they emerge for safety they are seized by
terriers, who, after watching the holes often a long time, and very
patiently, and almost breathlessly, throttle them silently, excepting
the short squeak, or half-squeak, of the rat, who, by a “good dog,” is
seized unerringly by the part of the back where the terrier’s gripe and
shake is speedy death; if the rat still move, or shows signs of life,
the well-trained rat-killer’s dog cracks the vermin’s skull between his
teeth.
If the rats have to be taken alive, they are either trapped, so as not
to injure them for a rat-hunt (or the procedure in the pit would be
accounted “foul”), or if driven out of their holes by ferrets, they
can only run into some cask, or other contrivance, where they can be
secured for the “sportsman’s” purposes. Although any visible injury
to the body of the rat will prevent its reception into a pit, the
creatures’ teeth are often drawn, and with all the cruelty of a rough
awkwardness, by means of pinchers, so that they may be unable to bite
the puppies being trained for the pit on the rats. If the vermin be
not truly seized by the dog, the victim will twist round and inflict a
tremendous bite on his worrier, generally on the lip. This often causes
the terrier to drop his prey with a yell, and if a puppy he may not
forget the lesson from the sharp nip of the rat. To prevent this it is
that the rat-catchers play the dentist on their unfortunate captives.
I heard many accounts of the “dodges” practised by, or imputed to,
the rat-catchers: that it was not a very unusual thing to deposit
here and there a dead rat, when those vermin were to be poisoned on
any premises; it is then concluded that the good poison has done its
good work, and the dead animal supplies an ocular demonstration of
professional skill. These men, also, I am informed, let loose live
rats in buildings adapted for the purpose, and afterwards apply for
employment to destroy them.
I am informed that the principal scene of the rat-catcher’s labours
in London is at the mews, and in private stables, coach-houses, and
out-buildings. It is probable that the gentlemen’s servants connected
with such places like the excitement of rat-hunting, and so encourage
the profession which supplies them with that gratification. In these
places such labours are often necessary as well as popular; for I was
informed by a coachman, then living with his family in a West End mews,
and long acquainted with the mews in different parts of town, that the
drainage was often very defective, and sanitary regulations--except,
perhaps, as regarded the horses--little cared for. Hence rats abounded,
and were with difficulty dislodged from their secure retreats in the
ill-constructed drains and kennels.
The great sale of the rat-catchers is to the shops supplying “private
parties” with rats for the amusement of seeing them killed by dogs.
With some “fast” men, one of these shopkeepers told me, it was a
favourite pastime in their own rooms on the Sunday mornings. It is,
however, somewhat costly if carried on extensively, as the retail
charge from the shops is 6_d._ per rat. The price from the catcher to
the dealer is from 2_s._ 6_d._ to 7_s._ the dozen. Rats, it appears,
are sometimes scarce, and then the shopkeeper must buy, “to keep up his
connection,” at enhanced cost. One large bird-seller, who sold also
plain and fancy rats, white mice, and live hedgehogs, told me that he
had, last winter, been compelled to give 7_s._ a dozen for his vermin
and sell them at 6_d._ each.
The grand consumption of rats, however, is in Bunhill-row, at a
public-house kept by a pugilist. A rat-seller told me that from 200 to
500 rats were killed there weekly, the weekly average being, however,
only the former number; while at Easter and other holidays, it is not
uncommon to see bills posted announcing the destruction of 500 rats on
the same day and in a given time, admittance 6_d._ Dogs are matched
at these and similar places, as to which kills the greatest number of
these animals in the shortest time. I am told that there are forty such
places in London, but in some only the holiday times are celebrated
in this small imitation of the beast combats of the ancients. There
is, too, a frequent abandonment of the trade in consequence of its
“not paying,” and perhaps it may be fair to estimate that the average
consumption of this vermin-game does not exceed, in each of these
places, 20 a week, or 1040 in a year; giving an aggregate--over and
above those consumed in private sport--of 52,000 rats in a year, or
1000 a week in public amusement alone.
To show the nature of the sport of rat-catching, I print the following
bill, of which I procured two copies. The words and type are precisely
the same in each, but one bill is printed on good and the other on very
indifferent paper, as if for distribution among distinct classes. The
concluding announcement, as to the precise moment at which killing
will commence, reads supremely business-like:--
RATTING FOR THE MILLION!
A SPORTING GENTLEMAN, Who is a Staunch
Supporter of the destruction of these VERMIN
WILL GIVE A
GOLD REPEATER
WATCH,
TO BE KILLED FOR BY
_DOGS Under 13-3/4lbs. Wt.
15 RATS EACH!_
TO COME OFF AT JEMMY MASSEY’S,
KING’S HEAD,
COMPTON ST., SOHO,
_On Tuesday, May 20, 1851._
☞ To be Killed in a Large Wire Pit. A chalk Circle to be drawn in the
centre for the Second.--Any Man touching Dog or Rats, or acting in any
way unfair his dog will be disqualified.
TO GO TO SCALE AT Half past 7 KILLING TO
COMMENCE At Half past 8 PRECISELY.
A dealer in live animals told me that there were several men who
brought a few dozens of rats, or even a single dozen, from the country;
men who were not professionally rat-catchers, but worked in gardens,
or on farms, and at their leisure caught rats. Even some of the London
professional rat-catchers work sometimes as country labourers, and
their business is far greater, in merely rat-catching or killing, in
the country than in town. From the best information I could command,
there are not fewer than 2000 rats killed, for sport, in London weekly,
or 104,000 a year, including private and public sport, for private
sport in this pursuit goes on uninterruptedly; the public delectation
therein is but periodical.
This calculation is of course exclusive of the number of rats _killed_
by the profession, “on the premises,” when these men are employed to
“clear the premises of vermin.”
There are, I am told, 100 rat-catchers resorting, at intervals, to
London, but only a fourth of that number can be estimated as carrying
on their labours regularly in town, and their average earnings, I am
assured, do not exceed 15_s._ a week; being 975_l._ a year for London
merely.
These men have about them much of the affected mystery of men who are
engaged on the turf. They have their “secrets,” make or pretend to
“make their books” on rat fights and other sporting events; are not
averse to drinking, and lead in general irregular lives. They are
usually on intimate terms with the street dog-sellers (who are much
of the same class). Many of the rat-catchers have been brought up in
stables, and there is little education among them. When in London, they
are chiefly to be found in Whitechapel, Westminster, and Kent-street,
Borough; the more established having their own rooms; the others
living in the low lodging-houses. None of them remain in London the
entire year.
These men also sell rat-poison (baked flour or oatmeal sometimes) in
cakes, arsenic being the ingredient. The charge is from 2_d._ to 1_s._,
“according to the circumstances of the customer.” In like manner the
charge for “clearing a house of vermin” varies from 2_s._ to 1_l._: a
very frequent charge is 2_s._ 6_d._
OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF RHUBARB AND SPICE.
From the street-seller whose portrait has already been given I
received the following history. He appeared to be a very truthful and
kindly-disposed old man:--
“I am one native of Mogadore in Morocco. I am an Arab. I left my
countree when I was sixteen or eighteen year of age. I forget, sir.
I don’t know which, about eighteen, I tink it was. My fader was like
market man, make de people pay de toll--he rent de whole market, you
see, from de governemen, and make de people pay so much for deir
stands. I can’t tell you what dey call dem dere. I couldn’t recollect
what my fader pay for de market; but I know some of de people pay him a
penny, some a ha’penny, for de stands. Dere everyting sheap, not what
dey are here in England. Dey may stop all day for de toll or go when
de market is over. My fader was not very rish--not very poor--he keep
a family. We have bread, meat, shicken, apples, grapes, all de good
tings to eat, not like here--tis de sheapest countree in de world. My
fader have two wifes, not at once you know, he bury de first and marry
anoder. I was by second wife. He have seven shildren by her, four sons
and tree daughters. By de first I tink dere was five, two sons and tree
daughters. Bless you, by de time I was born dere was great many of ’em
married and away in de world. I don’t know where dey are now. Only one
broder I got live for what I know, wheder de oders are dead or where
dey are I can’t tell. De one broder I speak of is in Algiers now; he
is dealer dere. What led me to come away, you say? Like good many I
was young and foolish; like all de rest of young people, I like to
see foreign countries, but you see in my countree de governemen don’t
like de people to come away, not widout you pay so mush, so Gibraltar
was de only port I could go to, it was only one twenty miles across de
water--close to us. You see you go to Gibraltar like smuggling--you
smuggle yourself--you talk wid de Captain and he do it for you.
[Illustration: THE STREET RHUBARB AND SPICE SELLER.
[_From a Daguerreotype by_ BEARD.]]
“My fader been dead years and years before I come away, I suppose I was
about ten year old when he die. I had been at school till time I was
grown up, and after dat I was shoemaker. I make de slippers. Oh yes!
my moder was alive den--she was dead when I was here in England. I get
about one penny a pair for de slippers in my countree; penny dere as
good as shilling here amost. I could make tree, four, five pair in one
day. I could live on my gains den better dan what I could do here wid
twelve times as mush--dat time I could. I don’t know what it is now.
Yes, my moder give me leave to go where I like. She never see me since”
(sighing). “Oh yes, I love her very mush. I am old man now, but I never
forgot her yet;” here the old man burst into tears and buried his face
in his handkerchief for several minutes. “No, no! she don’t know when
I come away dat she never see me again, nor me neider. I tell I go
Gibraltar, and den I tell her I go to Lisbon to see my broder, who was
spirit merchant dere. I didn’t say noting not at all about coming back
to her, but I tought I should come back soon. If I had tought I never
see no more, not all de gold in de world take me from her. She was good
moder to me. I was de youngest but one. My broders kept my moder, you
see. Where I came from it is not like here, if only one in de family
well off, de oders never want for noting. In my country, you see, de
law is you must maintain your fader and moder before you maintain your
own family. You must keep dem in de house.” Here he repeated the law
in Hebrew. “De people were Mahomedans in Mogadore, but we were Jews,
just like here, you see. De first ting de Jews teesh de shildren is
deir duty to deir faders and deir moders. And dey love one anoder more
than de gold; but dey love de gold more dan most people, for you see
gold is more to dem. In my countree de governemen treat de Jews very
badly, so de money all de Jews have to help dem. Often de government
in my country take all deir money from de Jews, and kill dem after, so
de Jews all keep deir money in secret places, put de gold in jars and
dig dem in de ground, and de men worths hundreds go about wid no better
clothes dan mine.
“Well, you see I leave my poor moder, we kissed one anoder, and
cry for half an hour, and come away to Gibraltar. When I get dere,
my broder come away from Lisbon to Gibraltar; dat time it was war
time, and de French was coming to Lisbon, so everybody run. When I
come away from Mogadore, I have about one hundred dollars--some my
moder give me, and some I had save. When I got to Gibraltar, I begin
to have a little stand in de street wid silk handkershiefs, cotton
handkershiefs, shop goods you know. I do very well wid dat, so after I
get licence to hawk de town, and after dat I keep shop. Altogeder, I
stop in Gibraltar about six year. I had den about five or six hundred
dollars. I live very well all de time I dere. I was wid my broder all
de time. After I am six year in Gibraltar, I begin to tink I do better
in England. I tink, like good many people, if I go to anoder part dat
is risher--’t is de rishest countree in de world--I do better still.
So I start off, and get I here I tink in 1811, when de tree shilling
pieces first come out. I have about one hundred and tirty pound at
dat time. I stop in London a good bit, and eat my money; it was most
done before I start to look for my living. I try to look what I could
do, but I was quite stranger you see. I am about fourteen or fifteen
month before I begin to do anyting. I go to de play house; I see never
such tings as I see here before I come. When I come here, I tink I
am in heaven altogether--God a’mighty forgive me--such sops (shops)
and such beautiful tings. I live in Mary Axe Parish when I first come;
same parish where I live now. Well, you see some of my countreemen den
getting good living by selling de rhubarb and spices in de street.
I get to know dem all; and dat time you see was de good time, money
was plenty, like de dirt here. Dat time dere was about six or seven
Arabians in de street selling rhubarb and spices, five of ’em was from
Mogadore, and two from not far off; and dere is about five more going
troo de country. Dey all sell de same tings, merely rhubarb and spice,
dat time; before den was good for tem tings--after dat dey get de silks
and tings beside. I can’t tell what first make dem sell de rhubarb
and de spice; but I tink it is because people like to buy de Turkey
rhubarb of de men in de turbans. When I was little shild, I hear talk
in Mogadore of de people of my country sell de rhubarb in de streets of
London, and make plenty money by it.
“Dere was one very old Arabian in de streets wen I first come; dey
call him Sole; he been forty year at de same business. He wear de long
beard and Turkish dress. He used to stand by Bow Shursh, Sheapside.
Everybody in de street know him. He was de old establish one. He been
dead now, let me see--how long he been dead--oh, dis six or seven and
twenty year. He die in Gibraltar very poor and very old--most ninety
year of age. All de rhubarb-sellers was Jews. Dere was anoder called
Ben Aforiat, and two broders; and anoder, his name was Azuli. One of
Aforiat’s broders use to stand in St. Paul’s Shurshyard. He was very
well know; all de oders hawk about de town like I do myself. Now dey
all gone dead, and dere only four of us now in England; dey all in
London, and none in de country. Two of us live in Mary Axe, anoder live
in, what dey call dat--Spitalfield, and de oder in Petticoat-lane. De
one wat live in Spitalfield is old man, I dare say going for 70. De one
in Petticoat-lane not mush above 30. I am little better dan 73, and
de oder wat live in Mary Axe about 40. I been de longest of all in de
streets, about tirty-eight or tirty-nine year. All dat was here when I
first come, die in London, except dat old man Sole wat I was telling
you of, dat die in Gibraltar. About tirteen or fourteen die since I
come to England; some die in de Hospital of de Jews at Mile End; some
die at home--not one of dem die worth no money. Six of dem was very old
people, between 60 and 70; dere was some tirty, some forty. Some of
dem die by inshes. Dere was one fine fellow, he was six foot two, and
strong man, he take to his bed and fall away so; at last you see troo
his hand; he was noting but de carcase; oders die of what you call de
yellow jaundice; some have de fever, but deir time was come; de death
we must be.
“When I first come to dis countree me make plenty of money by selling
de rhubarb in de street. Five-and-twenty year ago I make a pound a
day some time. Take one week wid another, I dare say I clear, after I
pay all de cost of my living, tirty shillings; and now, God help me, I
don’t make not twelve shilling a week, and all my food to pay out of
dat. One week wid anoder, when I go out I clear about twelve shilling.
Everyting is so sheep now, and dere is so many sops (shops), people
has no money to buy tings with. I could do better when everyting was
dear. I could live better, get more money, and have more for it. I
have better food, better lodging, and better clothes. I don’t know wat
is de cause, as you say. I only know dat I am worse, and everybody is
worse; dat is all I know. Bread is sheeper, but when it was one and
ninepence de loaf I could get plenty to buy it wid, but now it is five
pence, I can’t no five pence to have it. If de cow is de penny in de
market what is de use of dat, if you can’t get no penny to buy him?
After I been selling my rhubarb for two years, when I fust come here,
I save about a hundred and fifty pound, and den you see I agree wid
tree oder of my countrymen to take a sop (shop) in Exeter. De oder tree
was rhubarb-sellers, like myself, and have save good bit of money as
well. One have seven hundred pound; but he have brought tree or four
hundred pound wid him to dis countree. Anoder of de tree have about two
hundred, and de oder about one hundred; dey have all save deir money
out of de rhubarb. We keep our sop, you see, about five year, and den
we fall in pieces altogeder. We take and trust, and lose all our money.
T’oders never keep a sop before, and not one of us was English scholar;
we was forced to keep a man, and dat way we lose all our money, so we
was force to part, and every one go look for hisself. Den we all go
selling rhubarb again about de country, and in London; and I never
able to hold up my head since. When I come back to de rhubarb times is
getting bad, and I not able to save no more money. All I am worth in
de world is all I got in my box, and dat altogether is not more dan
ten shilling. Last week I havn’t a pound of meat in de house, and I am
obliged to pawn my waistcoat and handkerchief to get me some stock. It
easy to put dem in, but very hard to get dem out.