THE DOG-FANCIER
The Rookery! Who that has passed Saint Giles's, on the way to the city,
or coming from it, but has caught a glimpse, through some narrow
opening, of its squalid habitations, and wretched and ruffianly
occupants! Who but must have been struck with amazement, that such a
huge receptacle of vice and crime should be allowed to exist in the very
heart of the metropolis, like an ulcerated spot, capable of tainting the
whole system! Of late, the progress of improvement has caused its
removal; but whether any less cogent motive would have abated the
nuisance may be questioned. For years the evil was felt and complained
of, but no effort was made to remedy it, or to cleanse these worse than
Augean stables. As the place is now partially, if not altogether, swept
away, and a wide and airy street passes through the midst of its foul
recesses, a slight sketch may be given of its former appearance.
Entering a narrow street, guarded by posts and cross-bars, a few steps
from the crowded thoroughfare brought you into a frightful region, the
refuge, it was easy to perceive, of half the lawless characters
infesting the metropolis. The coarsest ribaldry assailed your ears, and
noisome odours afflicted your sense of smell. As you advanced, picking
your way through kennels flowing with filth, or over putrescent heaps of
rubbish and oyster-shells, all the repulsive and hideous features of the
place were displayed before you. There was something savagely
picturesque in the aspect of the place, but its features were too
loathsome to be regarded with any other feeling than disgust. The houses
looked as sordid, and as thickly crusted with the leprosy of vice, as
their tenants. Horrible habitations they were, in truth. Many of them
were without windows, and where the frames were left, brown paper or tin
supplied the place of glass; some even wanted doors, and no effort was
made to conceal the squalor within. On the contrary, it seemed to be
intruded on observation. Miserable rooms, almost destitute of furniture;
floors and walls caked with dirt, or decked with coarse flaring prints;
shameless and abandoned-looking women; children without shoes and
stockings, and with scarcely a rag to their backs: these were the chief
objects that met the view. Of men, few were visible--the majority being
out on business, it is to be presumed; but where a solitary straggler
was seen, his sinister looks and mean attire were in perfect keeping
with the spot. So thickly inhabited were these wretched dwellings, that
every chamber, from garret to cellar, swarmed with inmates. As to the
cellars, they looked like dismal caverns, which a wild beast would shun.
Clothes-lines were hung from house to house, festooned with every kind
of garment. Out of the main street branched several alleys and passages,
all displaying the same degree of misery, or, if possible, worse, and
teeming with occupants. Personal security, however, forbade any attempt
to track these labyrinths; but imagination, after the specimen afforded,
could easily picture them. It was impossible to move a step without
insult or annoyance. Every human being seemed brutalised and degraded;
and the women appeared utterly lost to decency, and made the street ring
with their cries, their quarrels, and their imprecations. It was a
positive relief to escape from this hotbed of crime to the world
without, and breathe a purer atmosphere.
Such being the aspect of the Rookery in the daytime, what must it have
been when crowded with its denizens at night! Yet at such an hour it
will now be necessary to enter its penetralia.
After escaping from the ruined house in the Vauxhall Road, the two
ruffians shaped their course towards Saint Giles's, running the greater
part of the way, and reaching the Broadway just as the church clock
struck two. Darting into a narrow alley, and heedless of any
obstructions they encountered in their path, they entered a somewhat
wider cross-street, which they pursued for a short distance, and then
struck into an entry, at the bottom of which was a swing-door that
admitted them into a small court, where they found a dwarfish person
wrapped in a tattered watchman's greatcoat, seated on a stool with a
horn lantern in his hand and a cutty in his mouth, the glow of which
lighted up his hard, withered features. This was the deputy-porter of
the lodging-house they were about to enter. Addressing him by the name
of Old Parr, the ruffians passed on, and lifting the latch of another
door, entered a sort of kitchen, at the farther end of which blazed a
cheerful fire, with a large copper kettle boiling upon it. On one side
of the room was a deal table, round which several men of sinister aspect
and sordid attire were collected, playing, at cards. A smaller table of
the same material stood near the fire, and opposite it was a staircase
leading to the upper rooms. The place was dingy and dirty in the
extreme, the floors could not have been scoured for years, and the walls
were begrimed with filth. In one corner, with his head resting on a heap
of coals and coke, lay a boy almost as black as a chimney-sweep, fast
asleep. He was the waiter. The principal light was afforded by a candle
stuck against the wall, with a tin reflector behind it. Before the fire,
with his back turned towards it, stood a noticeable individual, clad in
a velveteen jacket with ivory buttons, a striped waistcoat, drab knees,
a faded black silk neckcloth tied in a great bow, and a pair of ancient
Wellingtons ascending half-way up his legs, which looked
disproportionately thin when compared with the upper part of his square,
robustious, and somewhat pursy frame. His face was broad, jolly, and
good-humoured, with a bottle-shaped nose, fleshy lips, and light grey
eyes, glistening with cunning and roguery. His hair, which dangled in
long flakes over his ears and neck, was of a dunnish red, as were also
his whiskers and beard. A superannuated white castor, with a black
hat-band round it, was cocked knowingly on one side of his head, and
gave him a flashy and sporting look. His particular vocation was made
manifest by the number of dogs he had about him. A beautiful
black-and-tan spaniel, of Charles the Second's breed, popped its short
snubby nose and long silken ears out of each coat-pocket. A pug was
thrust into his breast, and he carried an exquisite Blenheim under
either arm. At his feet reposed an Isle of Skye terrier, and a partly
cropped French poodle, of snowy whiteness, with a red worsted riband
round his throat. This person, it need scarcely be said, was a
dog-fancier, or, in other words, a dealer in, and a stealer of, dogs, as
well as a practiser of all the tricks connected with that nefarious
trade. His self-satisfied air made it evident he thought himself a
smart, clever fellow,--and adroit and knavish he was, no doubt,--while
his droll, plausible, and rather winning manners helped him materially
to impose upon his customers. His real name was Taylor, but he was known
among his companions by the appellation of Ginger. On the entrance of
the Sandman and the Tinker, he nodded familiarly to them, and with a sly
look inquired--"Vell, my 'arties--wot luck?"
"Oh, pretty middlin'," replied the Sandman gruffly.
And seating himself at the table, near the fire, he kicked up the lad,
who was lying fast asleep on the coals, and bade him fetch a pot of
half-and-half. The Tinker took a place beside him, and they waited in
silence the arrival of the liquor, which, when it came, was disposed of
at a couple of pulls; while Mr. Ginger, seeing they were engaged,
sauntered towards the card-table, attended by his four-footed
companions.
"And now," said the Sandman, unable to control his curiosity longer, and
taking out his pocket-book, "we'll see what fortun' has given us."
[Illustration: The Dog-fancier.]
So saying, he unclasped the pocket-book, while the Tinker bent over
him in eager curiosity. But their search for money was fruitless. Not a
single bank-note was forthcoming. There were several memoranda and slips
of paper, a few cards, and an almanac for the year--that was all. It was
a great disappointment.
"So we've had all this trouble for nuffin', and nearly got shot into the
bargain," cried the Sandman, slapping down the book on the table with an
oath. "I vish I'd never undertaken the job."
"Don't let's give it up in sich an 'urry," replied the Tinker; "summat
may be made on it yet. Let's look over them papers."
"Look 'em over yourself," rejoined the Sandman, pushing the book towards
him. "I've done wi' 'em. Here, lazy-bones, bring two glasses o'
rum-and-water--stiff, d'ye hear?"
While the sleepy youth bestirred himself to obey these injunctions, the
Tinker read over every memorandum in the pocket-book, and then proceeded
carefully to examine the different scraps of paper with which it was
filled. Not content with one perusal, he looked them all over again, and
then began to rub his hands with great glee.
"Wot's the matter?" cried the Sandman, who had lighted a cutty, and was
quietly smoking it. "Wot's the row, eh?"
"Vy, this is it," replied the Tinker, unable to contain his
satisfaction; "there's secrets contained in this here pocket-book as'll
be worth a hundred pound and better to us. We ha'n't had our trouble for
nuffin'."
"Glad to hear it!" said the Sandman, looking hard at him. "Wot kind o'
secrets are they?"
"Vy, _hangin' secrets_," replied the Tinker, with mysterious emphasis.
"He seems to be a terrible chap, and to have committed murder
wholesale."
"Wholesale!" echoed the Sandman, removing the pipe from his lips. "That
sounds awful. But what a precious donkey he must be to register his
crimes i' that way."
"He didn't expect the pocket-book to fall into our hands," said the
Tinker.
"Werry likely not," replied the Sandman; "but somebody else might see
it. I repeat, he must be a fool. S'pose we wos to make a entry of
everythin' we does. Wot a nice balance there'd be agin us ven our
accounts comed to be wound up!"
"Ourn is a different bus'ness altogether," replied the Tinker. "This
seems a werry mysterious sort o' person. Wot age should you take him to
be?"
"Vy, five-an'-twenty at the outside," replied the Sandman.
"Five-an'-sixty 'ud be nearer the mark," replied the Tinker. "There's
dates as far back as that."
"Five-an'-sixty devils!" cried the Sandman; "there must be some mistake
i' the reckonin' there."
"No, it's all clear an' reg'lar," rejoined the other; "and that doesn't
seem to be the end of it neither. I looked over the papers twice, and
one, dated 1780, refers to some other dokiments."
"They must relate to his granddad, then," said the Sandman; "it's
impossible they can refer to him."
"But I tell 'ee they _do_ refer to him," said the Tinker, somewhat
angrily, at having his assertion denied; "at least, if his own word's to
be taken. Anyhow, these papers is waluable to us. If no one else
believes in 'em, it's clear he believes in 'em hisself, and will be glad
to buy 'em from us."
"That's a view o' the case worthy of an Old Bailey lawyer," replied the
Sandman. "Wot's the gemman's name?"
"The name on the card is AURIOL DARCY," replied the Tinker.
"Any address?" asked the Sandman.
The Tinker shook his head.
"That's unlucky agin," said the Sandman. "Ain't there no sort o' clue?"
"None votiver, as I can perceive," said the Tinker.
"Vy, zounds, then, ve're jist vere ve started from," cried the Sandman.
"But it don't matter. There's not much chance o' makin' a bargin vith
him. The crack o' the skull I gave him has done his bus'ness."
"Nuffin' o' the kind," replied the Tinker. "He alvays recovers from
every kind of accident."
"Alvays recovers!" exclaimed the Sandman, in amazement. "Wot a
constitootion he must have!"
"Surprisin'!" replied the Tinker; "he never suffers from injuries--at
least, not much; never grows old; and never expects to die; for he
mentions wot he intends doin' a hundred years hence."
"Oh, he's a lu-nattic!" exclaimed the Sandman, "a downright lu-nattic;
and that accounts for his wisitin' that 'ere ruined house, and
a-fancyin' he heerd some one talk to him. He's mad, depend upon it. That
is, if I ain't cured him."
"I'm of a different opinion," said the Tinker.
"And so am I," said Mr. Ginger, who had approached unobserved, and
overheard the greater part of their discourse.
"Vy, vot can you know about it, Ginger?" said the Sandman, looking up,
evidently rather annoyed.
"I only know this," replied Ginger, "that you've got a good case, and if
you'll let me into it, I'll engage to make summat of it."
"Vell, I'm agreeable," said the Sandman.
"And so am I," added the Tinker.
"Not that I pays much regard to wot you've bin a readin' in his papers,"
purused Ginger; "the gemman's evidently half-cracked, if he ain't
cracked altogether--but he's jist the person to work upon. He fancies
hisself immortal--eh?"
"Exactly so," replied the Tinker.
"And he also fancies he's committed a lot o' murders?" perused Ginger.
"A desperate lot," replied the Tinker.
"Then he'll be glad to buy those papers at any price," said Ginger.
"Ve'll deal vith him in regard to the pocket-book, as I deals vith
regard to a dog--ask a price for its restitootion."
"We must find him out first," said the Sandman.
"There's no difficulty in that," rejoined Ginger. "You must be
constantly on the look-out. You're sure to meet him some time or other."
"That's true," replied the Sandman; "and there's no fear of his knowin'
us, for the werry moment he looked round I knocked him on the head."
"Arter all," said the Tinker, "there's no branch o' the perfession so
safe as yours, Ginger. The law is favourable to you, and the beaks is
afeerd to touch you. I think I shall turn dog-fancier myself."
"It's a good business," replied Ginger, "but it requires a hedication.
As I wos sayin', we gets a high price sometimes for restorin' a
favourite, especially ven ve've a soft-hearted lady to deal vith.
There's some vimen as fond o' dogs as o' their own childer, and ven ve
gets one o' their precious pets, ve makes 'em ransom it as the brigands
you see at the Adelphi or the Surrey sarves their prisoners, threatenin'
to send first an ear, and then a paw, or a tail, and so on. I'll tell
you wot happened t'other day. There wos a lady--a Miss Vite--as was
desperate fond of her dog. It wos a ugly warmint, but no matter for
that--the creater had gained her heart. Vell, she lost it; and, somehow
or other, I found it. She vos in great trouble, and a friend o' mine
calls to say she can have the dog agin, but she must pay eight pound for
it. She thinks this dear, and a friend o' her own adwises her to wait,
sayin' better terms will be offered; so I sends vord by my friend that
if she don't come down at once the poor animal's throat vill be cut that
werry night."
"Ha!--ha!--ha!" laughed the others.
"Vell, she sent four pound, and I put up with it," pursued Ginger; "but
about a month arterwards she loses her favourite agin, and, strange to
say, I finds it. The same game is played over agin, and she comes down
with another four pound. But she takes care this time that I shan't
repeat the trick; for no sooner does she obtain persession of her
favourite than she embarks in the steamer for France, in the hope of
keeping her dog safe there."
"Oh! Miss Bailey, unfortinate Miss
Bailey!--Fol-de-riddle-tol-ol-lol--unfortinate Miss Bailey!" sang the
Tinker.
"But there's dog-fanciers in France, ain't there?" asked the Sandman.
"Lor' bless 'ee, yes," replied Ginger; "there's as many fanciers i'
France as here. Vy, ve drives a smartish trade wi' them through them
foreign steamers. There's scarcely a steamer as leaves the port o'
London but takes out a cargo o' dogs. Ve sells 'em to the stewards,
stokers, and sailors--cheap--and no questins asked. They goes to Ostend,
Antverp, Rotterdam, Hamburg, and sometimes to Havre. There's a Mounseer
Coqquilu as comes over to buy dogs, and ve takes 'em to him at a house
near Billinsgit market."
"Then you're alvays sure o' a ready market somehow," observed the
Sandman.
"Sartin," replied Ginger, "cos the law's so kind to us. Vy, bless you, a
perliceman can't detain us, even if he knows ve've a stolen dog in our
persession, and ve svears it's our own; and yet he'd stop you in a
minnit if he seed you with a suspicious-lookin' bundle under your arm.
Now, jist to show you the difference atwixt the two perfessions:--I
steals a dog--walue, maybe, fifty pound, or p'raps more. Even if I'm
catched i' the fact I may get fined twenty pound, or have six months'
imprisonment; vile, if you steals an old fogle, walue three fardens,
you'll get seven years abroad, to a dead certainty."
"That seems hard on us," observed the Sandman reflectively.
"It's the _law_!" exclaimed Ginger triumphantly. "Now, ve generally
escapes by payin' the fine, 'cos our pals goes and steals more dogs to
raise the money. Ve alvays stands by each other. There's a reg'lar
horganisation among us; so ve can alvays bring vitnesses to svear vot ve
likes, and ve so puzzles the beaks, that the case gets dismissed, and
the constable says, 'Vich party shall I give the dog to, your vorship?'
Upon vich, the beak replies, a-shakin' of his vise noddle, 'Give it to
the person in whose persession it was found. I have nuffin' more to do
vith it.' In course the dog is delivered up to us."
"The law seems made for dog-fanciers," remarked the Tinker.
"Wot d'ye think o' this?" pursued Ginger. "I wos a-standin' at the
corner o' Gray's Inn Lane vith some o' my pals near a coach-stand, ven a
lady passes by vith this here dog--an' a beauty it is, a real long-eared
Charley--a follerin' of her. Vell, the moment I spies it, I unties my
apron, whips up the dog, and covers it up in a trice. Vell, the lady
sees me, an' gives me in charge to a perliceman. But that si'nifies
nuffin'. I brings six vitnesses to svear the dog vos mine, and I
actually had it since it vos a blind little puppy; and, wot's more, I
brings its _mother_, and that settles the pint. So in course I'm
discharged; the dog is given up to me; and the lady goes avay lamentin'.
I then plays the amiable, an' offers to sell it her for twenty guineas,
seein' as how she had taken a fancy to it; but she von't bite. So if I
don't sell it next week, I shall send it to Mounseer Coqquilu. The only
vay you can go wrong is to steal a dog wi' a collar on, for if you do,
you may get seven years' transportation for a bit o' leather and a brass
plate vorth a shillin', vile the animal, though vorth a hundred pound,
can't hurt you. There's _law_ again--ha, ha!"
"Dog-fancier's law!" laughed the Sandman.
"Some of the Fancy is given to cruelty," pursued Ginger, "and crops a
dog's ears, or pulls out his teeth to disguise him; but I'm too fond o'
the animal for that. I may frighten old ladies sometimes, as I told you
afore, but I never seriously hurts their pets. Nor did I ever kill a dog
for his skin, as some on 'em does."
"And you're always sure o' gettin' a dog, if you vants it, I s'pose?"
inquired the Tinker.
"Alvays," replied Ginger. "No man's dog is safe. I don't care how he's
kept, ve're sure to have him at last. Ve feels our vay with the
sarvents, and finds out from them the walley the master or missis sets
on the dog, and soon after that the animal's gone. Vith a bit o' liver,
prepared in my partic'lar vay, I can tame the fiercest dog as ever
barked, take him off his chain, an' bring him arter me at a gallop."
"And do respectable parties ever buy dogs knowin' they're stolen?"
inquired the Tinker.
"Ay, to be sure," replied Ginger; "sometimes first-rate nobs. They put
us up to it themselves; they'll say, 'I've jist left my Lord
So-and-So's, and there I seed a couple o' the finest pointers I ever
clapped eyes on. I vant you to get me _jist sich another couple_.'
Vell, ve understands in a minnit, an' in doo time the identicle dogs
finds their vay to our customer."
"Oh! that's how it's done?" remarked the Sandman.
"Yes, that's the vay," replied Ginger. "Sometimes a party'll vant a
couple o' dogs for the shootin' season; and then ve asks, 'Vich vay are
you a-goin'--into Surrey or Kent?' And accordin' as the answer is given
ve arranges our plans."
"Vell, yourn appears a profitable and safe employment, I must say,"
remarked the Sandman.
"Perfectly so," replied Ginger. "Nothin' can touch us till dogs is
declared by statute to be property, and stealin' 'em a misdemeanour. And
that won't occur in my time."
"Let's hope not," rejoined the other two.
"To come back to the pint from vich we started," said the Tinker; "our
gemman's case is not so surprisin' as it at first appears. There are
some persons as believe they never will die--and I myself am of the same
opinion. There's our old deputy here--him as ve calls Old Parr--vy, he
declares he lived in Queen Bess's time, recollects King Charles bein'
beheaded perfectly vell, and remembers the Great Fire o' London, as if
it only occurred yesterday."
"Walker!" exclaimed Ginger, putting his finger to his nose.
"You may larf, but it's true," replied the Tinker. "I recollect an old
man tellin' me that he knew the deputy sixty years ago, and he looked
jist the same then as now,--neither older nor younger."
"Humph!" exclaimed Ginger. "He don't look so old now."
"That's the cur'ousest part of it," said the Tinker. "He don't like to
talk of his age unless you can get him i' the humour; but he once told
me he didn't know why he lived so long, unless it were owin' to a potion
he'd swallowed, vich his master, who was a great conjurer in Queen
Bess's days, had brew'd."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Ginger. "I thought you too knowin' a cove, Tinker, to
be gulled by such an old vife's story as that."
"Let's have the old fellow in and talk to him," replied the Tinker.
"Here, lazy-bones," he added, rousing the sleeping youth, "go an' tell
Old Parr ve vants his company over a glass o' rum-an'-vater."