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BEGGARS
All Rights Reserved
[Illustration]
BEGGARS
by
W. H. DAVIES
Author of
"The Autobiography of a Supertramp," "The Soul's Destroyer,"
"Nature Poems," etc.
[Illustration]
Duckworth & Co.
3, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden
1909
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. The Nationalities as Beggars 1
II. A Tramps' Camp in Texas 10
III. Daring Beggars 19
IV. Dilemmas of Travellers 27
V. Queer Places 34
VI. Stiffs 42
VII. American Prisons 49
VIII. Experiences of Others 58
IX. The American Lakes 66
X. The Happy Life 74
XI. Boy Desperadoes 82
XII. American and English Beggars 89
XIII. Beggars' Slang 97
XIV. Bony's Wits 105
XV. Favouritism 114
XVI. A Law to Suppress Vagrancy 122
XVII. Stubborn Invalids 130
XVIII. The Earnings of Beggars 138
XIX. Charity in Strange Quarters 146
XX. Enemies of Beggars 154
XXI. The Lowest State of Man 161
XXII. The Lodger Lover 169
XXIII. The Handy Man 176
XXIV. On Books 183
XXV. Narks 191
XXVI. The Scribe in a Lodging-house 199
XXVII. Licensed Beggars 207
XXVIII. Navvies and Frauds 213
XXIX. A First Night in a Lodging-house 222
XXX. Gentleman Bill 230
XXXI. Fallacies Concerning Beggars 238
XXXII. Lady Tramps 247
XXXIII. Meeting Old Friends 256
XXXIV. The Comparison 263
XXXV. The Supper 270
XXXVI. The Literary Life 278
XXXVII. The Sport of Fame 285
XXXVIII. Beggars in the Making 293
BEGGARS
I
The Nationalities as Beggars
There is no question but that the American beggar is the finest in
his country; but in that land of many nationalities he has a number
of old-country beggars to contend with. Perhaps it would interest--it
certainly should--a number of people to know how well or ill their
own nation is represented by beggars in that most important country;
whether England, Ireland, Scotland, Germany, and other countries have
cause to be proud or ashamed of their representatives. Both France
and Italy have much cause to complain, for you may often travel many
miles and not be approached by a French or Italian beggar. If you
meet an Italian, you can safely despise him as a working man with
hard-earned money in his pocket, though he may be stealing rides
like a beggar, and making coffee with real beggars at their camps.
With regard to Germany, she can place in the field a very large army
of second-rate beggars; but it is seldom that you meet a German
beggar whose ambition raises him above that. Other nationalities,
who go to private houses and beg ready-cooked meals, despise the
German beggar for his low taste in being satisfied with no more than
common dry food. All beggars make coffee at camp-fires, but it is
only the German that takes the trouble to carry on his travels his
own tin can; for every town has near it a beggars' camp, and cans
are always to be found. The German's method is to beg the baker for
bread, the butcher for sausage, and the grocer for coffee. When
he is successful, he repairs to the camp, and makes what he calls
"an excellent meal" on these dry materials; whereas other beggars
have either had a good hot meal at a private house, or have begged
a number of paper parcels, in which is buttered bread, and there
is cake, and one parcel may have fish as a change from the meat in
another, and there is often an apple, orange, or banana for dessert.
The German does not aspire to these luxuries, and is well satisfied
to get the plain diet of his native land--without taking advantage of
the offers of a richer country--and to do no work for it. He is not
a true beggar either, for he is always ready to do odd jobs, such as
fruit or hop picking and potato digging, but is not eager for steady
work.
Few people would think the Scotsman makes an excellent beggar, seeing
that his manner is so undemonstrative. Although he is seldom heard
to raise his voice above one distinct pitch, or to indulge in loud
laughter, or to show emotion of any kind, yet, for all this, he is
an excellent beggar. There is quite a large clan of Scotties among
American beggars. He is a good beggar for the simple reason that he
is a good talker. Almost every Scotch beggar I met in the States
of America was inclined to be talkative, and yet they all managed
to conceal their private affairs. Although a Scotsman would be one
of the last men to go hungry in a civilized land, yet he must be
objected to as a true beggar in that he is avaricious for money, and
would immediately take advantage of remunerative employment.
Alas for the poor Irishman! for he is the most timid beggar of all.
Though he is so independent in throwing up a job, he is always glad,
when his money is gone, to seek another. How the poor fellow does
suffer hunger when seeking work, not having the courage to beg; and
how independent and forgetful he is when his appetite is satisfied.
Even the German, who as a beggar is despised by American, English,
and Scotch beggars, stands head and shoulders above poor Pat. I am
sorry to say so, but the truth of the matter is that Pat receives
charity from other beggars--English, Scotch, and such American
beggars as are proud of their Irish extraction. If these men do not
feed him, they often show him a good house where he only has to show
his face and be fed.
I remember a very mean trick being served on two Irishmen, Pat and
Tim. The guilty one was a Cockney, and he was lucky to escape with
his life. Seeing at the camp two hungry and helpless Irishmen, he
promised to show them a good house, at which no beggars, however
often they came, were refused food. The elated pair accompanied
"Cockney" for this interesting purpose, and were soon shown a very
large house, at which, the Cockney said, "he had been treated with
as much consideration as though he were the Pope of Rome." He then
left them to make their own arrangements, and, after much indecision,
it was arranged that Pat should go first, and, on his return, his
companion Tim should try his luck. Pat, with every confidence,
approached the big house and rang the bell; but the door was almost
immediately opened, as though the inmate had been lying in wait. The
Irishman had scarcely opened his mouth when the man that answered
the door shouted, "What, you big, able-bodied rascal? I'll give you
something to eat," and rushed at the poor Irishman with a thick
walking-stick. This was very serious, for Pat also saw the grinning
face of a stalwart nigger behind his master, and the Irishman thought
the best thing he could do was to leave in a hurry without more
words, which he did.
It quite upset Pat to think that he had been induced to go first, so
he made up his mind that Tim should share his misfortune. Therefore,
when he returned and Tim asked, "What luck, Pat?" Pat rubbed his
body, saying, "Begorra, there was more mate than five min could
ate." On hearing this good news Tim braced himself and, after a
long pause, walked with reckless determination towards the house.
But Tim had no time to ring, for the door was suddenly flung open,
and, before he could utter one word, a white man and a nigger began
to attack him with sticks. Tim did not wait to argue or fight, but
took to his heels at once. "This is a noice thrick, an' the both from
Kilkenny," said he to Pat. "Spake out," said Pat innocently, although
he had seen the whole transaction; "shure, we are frinds, and frinds
should share and share aloike." I am very pleased to say that the two
Irishmen had their reward when they returned, for three good American
beggars had thoroughly worked the town, and had in their possession
enough food for ten men--but the Cockney never returned to the camp.
It was certainly a cruel joke to play on two hungry men, innocent and
unsuspecting.
The English easily come next to Americans as beggars, especially when
England is represented by the Cockney. He will often attain his ends
after failing in a cross-examination and discovered in a lie; for
his witty excuses and peculiar manner of expression are not to be
resisted by Americans. Even the Irish-Americans, who are so bitter
against Englishmen, make an exception of a Cockney, because of his
witty talk and his disinclination to be serious. This impudence and
command of speech have become proverbial among American beggars, and
he is so much liked that I have seen men, who were about to leave a
town, remain at a camp for two or three days longer, so as to enjoy
the anecdotes and queer sayings of a Cockney that has just arrived.
The Cockney--and he alone--is admired by those extraordinary beggars
who are born Americans, and who are conceited enough to think that
they could by their energies live well as beggars in the poorest
slums in the cities of Europe. Aye, even the beggars of the Western
States, who, owing to the great distances between towns, must never
be without a dollar or two in their pockets--even these energetic
beggars have great respect for a Cockney, though they scorn the petty
food-begging operations of others.
I never in all my acquaintance with "Brum" saw him look so alarmed
as when he entered a camp and saw a man making coffee, and near him
was a pile consisting of a number of parcels of food. This man, who
was a Cockney, confessed that he had just begged the town--and we
soon had cause to know it, for I had great difficulty in getting one
little sandwich, and though Brum brought to the camp enough for two,
he must have had a great struggle, for he was away much longer than
usual. That he had struggled hard was apparent from his behaviour,
for in spite of the Cockney's friendly advances, Brum would hardly
give him a civil word. Yes, there was not the least doubt but what
Brum was jealous. Although we three remained in the camp together for
two days, I could not help but notice that Brum would never allow the
Cockney to get the start on him, but every time we went begging he
quickly followed the other. And what do you think this Cockney had
the impudence to say to Brum? "Old man," said he, "I'll see if I can
beg you a pair of trousers." When he heard this Brum almost foamed at
the mouth, for he prided himself on being one of the best beggars in
America, whether it was in getting money, food, or clothes.
I know very little about the Welsh as beggars, as I have only met
about half a dozen in America, and they were so timid that Wales
had as little cause to be proud of them as Ireland of hers. I don't
think Welshmen take kindly to begging, for, according to my later
experience at home, half the beggars in Wales are Englishmen, though
many of them can explain themselves in Welsh, having been in the
country a considerable time. They certainly have good cause to remain
there, for Wales runs America a good second in her generosity to
beggars; as also does Ireland, but she is less able to give.
No doubt Russia, Spain, Greece, Japan, and other countries have
their beggars by thousands at home, but they are ill represented in
America. England has only Germany to fear, who has six beggars to
England's one; but they have little energy and are badly trained, and
one Cockney is equal to ten.
II
A Tramps' Camp in Texas
It has borne in upon me lately, with great force, that in those
vagabond days at camp-fires in America I was enjoying life as it
will never be enjoyed again. I was then in a land of plenty, where
the people were so happy and good-natured that a bold beggar could
often tell them straightforward that he would not work for ten
dollars a day, which would cause more amusement than indignation,
and he would still be assisted with the best of everything. In fact,
the common necessaries of life were so easily to be obtained that
a superior beggar like Brum had to show his superiority over the
ordinary beggar like myself by begging out-of-the-way luxuries--such
as cough lozenges and chewing-gum, and a clean shirt and socks once
a week, while I washed mine in the woodland stream, and dried them
at the camp-fire, or in the wind and sun. How often have I received
unsolicited clothes and boots from houses at which I had simply asked
for meals! But when I exposed such articles at the camp, before the
eyes of other beggars, I always took the credit on myself for having
begged them, for fear of Brum's scorn. At one house where I called,
the lady wanted her garden cleared of fallen leaves, and offered me
twenty-five cents and my breakfast to sweep the said leaves into a
corner and set fire to them, which could be done in half an hour.
I at once accepted her offer, although I was very much afraid that
Brum or another would pass, and I would be received with scorn on my
return to the camp. When I had done this task the lady gave me a good
breakfast, with twenty-five cents placed at the side of my plate.
After I had sat down to this meal the lady left the room and shortly
returned with a pair of boots. I thanked her for her kindness, and
she again left the room, and again returned, this time with a pair of
trousers, a shirt, and a pair of socks. These things she wrapped in
a large journal, saying that my soul would not be any the worse for
reading that journal--which had a religious tendency. After leaving
her I made separate bundles of these things, so as to pretend at
the camp that I had received them at different houses, which would
considerably enhance my reputation as a beggar, by showing my dogged
determination to succeed. When I reached the camp I found that not
only Brum had returned, but two others were there, namely, "Wingy,"
who had lost an arm, and "Frisco Fatty." I need scarcely say that
when that pair of well-known beggars saw my success, they eyed me
with great satisfaction and spoke with great respect, although they
were too well bred as beggars to express any surprise. Of course,
I made no reference to work, which would have caused Brum to blush
with shame, and would most likely have made Wingy and Frisco Fatty so
disgusted that they would have left our fire and gone deeper into the
woods, to make a fire of their own.
It was about ten o'clock, and we were sitting at the fire--Brum,
Wingy, Frisco Fatty, and myself--all in the best of humours, each man
having had a good breakfast. Brum now proposed that we should beg
food for our pockets, at dinner-time, so that there would be no need
to leave the camp for the rest of the day, and we could then make
coffee and have our supper together. We had just agreed to this when
into the camp walked a young fellow, not much more than a boy, who
was picking his teeth. After saying, "Hallo, boys!" he continued to
pick his teeth, and at last remarked, "The people in this town keep
tough chicken, and I shall be mighty glad to be out of it." Saying
this, he took hold of an old tin pot, turned it bottom uppermost, and
seated himself next to Wingy. At the mention of chicken I noticed
Brum's ears cock, and then an amused smile came into his face, but he
made no remark.
Although the new-comer made anything but a favourable impression, he
appeared nothing daunted, for there he sat, looking at the fire, and
whistling, until such time as one of us would start a conversation.
"I believe that I have seen your face before," said Wingy quietly,
and looking the stranger full in the face. Now, Wingy knew that
he had not seen him before, but he did not want his own presence
disgraced by a new-made beggar--who is known to the profession by
the name of "fresh cat." Therefore, if his thought had been truly
expressed, it would have been, "Who are you?" The new-comer certainly
answered Wingy's thought instead of his language, for he answered
with great dignity, "I am Cincinnati Slim." As it happened that the
city of Cincinnati was Wingy's winter quarters, and that he had never
heard of or met this beggar there, you can imagine what a painful
silence followed. However, although Wingy plainly showed by his
expression that the camp was imposed on by the arrival of a "fresh
cat," he soon recovered his good humour. But it was very fortunate
that another fledgling beggar had not then arrived, or Wingy's
Christian charity and forbearance would have gone up with the smoke
of our camp-fire.
When dinner-time arrived we all left the camp, and each of us
succeeded without much trouble in getting a hot dinner and extra cold
food for supper. I was very fortunate in getting dinner at the first
house I called at, and on going to another house was given a paper
parcel, which contained two sandwiches and a banana; this I thought
would be ample for my own supper, and returned to the camp. Now, my
business could scarcely have been transacted quicker, and yet, when
I arrived at the camp, I saw to my surprise Cincinnati Slim, picking
his teeth. "Chicken again," he said to me, pulling a long face, as
he struggled with his back teeth.
At last we were all together, and a very happy supper we had that
evening. Cincinnati Slim had not arrived in the camp to hear our
arrangements, so Brum, seeing more food than could be eaten, invited
him to a share. Slim remonstrated, saying that he wanted nothing,
having had an excellent dinner of chicken and sweet potatoes, and had
not known of our arrangements, or he would have begged enough for a
dozen men. Time after time I saw the same amused expression come into
Brum's face as he watched Cincinnati Slim at supper, and I could not
help but notice that the latter swallowed large mouthfuls of food
with extraordinary speed.
The next morning Wingy proposed making a large stew, and each man was
commissioned to beg certain articles after having had his breakfast.
Cincinnati Slim was to beg bread, which was very easy; and I had to
account for meat, which was quite as easy to obtain, seeing that it
was very cheap in that part of the country. Wingy had the difficult
task of begging coffee, sugar, pepper, and salt; and Brum's task to
get raw vegetables was not to be envied. These arrangements left
Frisco Fatty free, but he was too good a beggar to take advantage of
this, and said emphatically that he would get a supply of tobacco.
With these ideas we all sallied out.
On this expedition we all succeeded except Cincinnati Slim. He walked
into the camp, after we had all returned, picking his teeth as usual.
He complained that every time he asked for bread he was invited
indoors to a hot meal, and that after this had occurred for the third
time, he had been forced to give up in despair, for fear of another
hot meal for an already overloaded stomach. However, that did not
matter, for Brum had begged a loaf of bread, in addition to onions,
potatoes, and tomatoes. He seemed to have expected the failure of
bread.
At one o'clock the stew was ready, and we shared it out in tin
cans, with which the camp was well supplied. Cincinnati Slim had an
extraordinary appetite, and certainly ate twice as much as any other,
and was encouraged by Brum to do so. He apologized for his third
helping by saying that it was his favourite dish, and that it was a
change from so much chicken. It was certainly a good meal, and we
were all contented to remain in the camp for the rest of the day,
with hot coffee and bread for supper.
When I awoke the next morning my companions were asleep, but Brum
was not to be seen. After indulging in another nap, I awoke from my
second sleep, and saw my companions washing and preparing to go for
breakfast. I was just about to enquire for Brum when into the camp
that true beggar walked. He, it seemed, had risen early, and begged
his breakfast at a poor work-man's house--a deed that I had never
known him to do before. At last we were all ready to seek breakfast,
and Brum, having had his, was left smoking his pipe at the fire.
It was certainly a most extraordinary town for good-natured people,
for in less than half an hour we were all back in the camp. "Where's
Brum?" I asked Wingy. "I don't know," he answered. The words were
hardly out of my mouth when Cincinnati Slim appeared, still picking
his teeth, and close at his heels came Brum.
After Wingy and Frisco Fatty had left the camp, for they were on
their way to Galveston, Brum looked straight at Cincinnati Slim
and said, "Well, Slim, what kind of breakfast did you have? More
chicken?" "Not this time," answered Slim; "ham and fried eggs." "You
young liar!" cried Brum. "You have not been to a single house, for
I have been following you all the time. You have had nothing to eat
since you came except what you have had at this camp. If it were not
for luck, young fools like you would starve. Here, take this"--and he
threw Cincinnati Slim a paper of food. The latter sat down without a
word and began to eat.
III
Daring Beggars
American beggars knock boldly at doors like kings' messengers. An
imposing mansion with marble pillars is a challenge to them, and they
dance up its steps and press the button of an electric bell with a
violence that no familiar friends of the house would dare use; but
an English beggar almost sinks into the earth when his ears receive
the report of his timid hand. In fact, except in very rare instances,
where a large house has been approached and--for a wonder--found
good, and has become famous to the begging fraternity--except in
these very rare instances, English beggars pass by large mansions as
though they were empty churches or smallpox hospitals.
I don't suppose there is a more daring or more impudent rascal on
earth than a good American beggar. It is always his boast that he
has begged an ex-president, or the present one, and he claims to
have received benefits from a number of well-known millionaires,
actors, and prize-fighters. Such proud experiences never fall from
the lips of an English beggar, for the simple reason that he lives on
the working and middle classes. A row of small cottages is of more
benefit to him than an equal number of fine villas, and he thinks
that he is in a hungry wilderness when there is nothing to be seen
but very large houses--and he is quite right.
It has always seemed strange to me that Americans, who as a race are
notoriously eager to make money, should be so generous to a beggar.
Even when they refuse it is often more on account of haste than
meanness. Not only that, but they give with such indifference, and
are never annoyed at being solicited, whether they are reading papers
on the verandahs of hotels, or promenading a sea-beach in the company
of ladies. And, what is more, they seldom pry into a beggar's past,
except in such cases as when their interest is aroused by a beggar's
speech. For instance, a gentleman's father or mother may have been
English, Irish or Scotch, and when he thinks that he can detect that
tongue in the speech of a beggar, he is very apt to ask one or two
questions, and the beggar is invariably more generously assisted.
The American tramp begs in such a quick, thorough, business-like
manner, with such calm persistence and with such confidence, that he
must at last meet with success in the very worst places; for that
reason he will not stand for cross-examination, and if people attempt
to pry into his life, he is just as likely as not to tell them
straight that he is a beggar, that he does not work, and never will.
The blindest housewife must soon have her eyes opened to the
ingratitude of these men. Most of the houses in small American towns
burn wood, so that a woman is often glad to give a tramp a good hot
meal for five or ten minutes' wood-chopping. But when beggars are
asked to chop wood for a meal, they complain of working on an empty
stomach. Alas for their ingratitude! for, after being served with a
good meal, they often walk away without a glance at the wood-pile.
Some of them do worse--they take the axe, and after delivering one
or two blows they manage to break the handle; then they take the axe
to the mistress of the house, and after quietly apologizing for the
accident, walk away with heavy bellies and light hearts.
One lady, who had been served this trick a number of times, had
become so irritated, for she could no longer regard them as
accidents, that she decided to feed no more tramps except when her
husband was on the premises. Brum, my friend and tutor, unfortunately
happened to call at this lady's house, and was at once informed that
if he wanted a meal he would have to chop wood for it. Brum agreed
to this, but suggested that he could work all the better for having
the meal first. He was soon seated at the table, and after enjoying
a very fine meal, repaired to the wood-pile. After chopping wood for
five minutes he was just about to drop the axe and leave, when he
heard a man cough. Looking in that direction, he saw to his surprise
a man seated on a chair, watching him with a sarcastic smile on his
face, and, what was far worse, a shot-gun was lying across his knees.
There was nothing else for poor Brum to do than to continue chopping
wood until the man gave him permission to go. Brum thought he would
never regain his freedom, for it was a full half-hour before the man
came forward and said, smiling coldly, "You may now go, for you have
earned your meal."
For a long time after this incident the sight of a wood-pile made
poor Brum feel faint and dizzy. No doubt it also filled him with a
wish to have vengeance. It was a great pity that such a noble fellow
should have to suffer this indignity through others. For Brum would
always oblige the ladies by chopping a tiny bit of wood, but of
course he would never work without first eating, and five minutes'
work was his time limit for the very best of meals. He never broke an
axe, or sneaked away without doing a little work.
Brum had his revenge when he took advantage of a lady at a large
house, who was surrounded with servants of both sexes. This lady
explained to Brum that she would give him a good meal, provided he
would afterwards chop wood. He willingly gave a promise and took the
meal. While he was chopping it came under his notice that his shoes
were not altogether as good as they should be; so, after chopping
enough wood to make a show, he deliberately chopped off the heel of
his left shoe. After doing this he went to the lady and brought the
"accident" to her notice. The result of this was that she, after
looking in vain for an old pair, thought it cheaper to give Brum a
dollar to buy a second-hand pair of shoes than to give away a pair of
her husband's. So Brum was a dollar in pocket, for, being such a good
beggar, he had very little difficulty in getting another pair, and of
course people could see that he was sadly in need of them.
Ah, Brum was equal to almost any emergency, for he had marvellous
impudence. See how he begged a dollar from the English consul in a
seaport, and then went straight aboard a ship and begged soup of a
common seaman! After which he swore that the soup had scalded his
throat, and he begged sweetshops for jujubes to suck. A wonderful
beggar! whose persuasive powers could succeed with a proud English
consul, and was then equal to the task of approaching a common seaman.
But, after all is said, the most daring feat that was ever performed
by an American tramp is not to be put to the credit of men who
have begged presidents, millionaires, and consuls, but to a dirty,
unkempt, hairy tramp, whose mind was suddenly illumined by the light
of divine genius.
This man was so dirty and ragged that he was a disgrace to third-rate
beggars, much less such men as Brum, New Haven Baldy, and Detroit
Fatty. This man, satisfied with rags, dirt, and long matted hair and
beard, suddenly became ambitious for fame, and inspired with an idea
that had never before entered the minds of the most daring tramps.
After having slept in the open air for a number of months, this man
not only determined to sleep in a bed, but to wake the next morning
famous like Byron. Inspired with this noble idea, he journeyed to a
distant town, where lived the richest man in the land, surrounded by
luxuries unequalled by kings. Everything was in the tramp's favour,
for the richest man in the land was away from home, and the poorest
and dirtiest man in the land had decided to sleep in the former's
bed! That this tramp was under supernatural influence there can be
no doubt, or how could he enter the grounds, much less the house,
without being seen by one of the numerous servants? Again, what led
his feet direct to that room--one of a hundred--and whispered in his
ear, "This is his bed"? And such a bed it was! so white, so soft, so
comfortable, that the happy tramp slept long after daylight.
No doubt he would have slept much longer, had he not been disturbed.
For when next morning a servant entered the room, she saw, to her
surprise and horror, some very ragged clothes at the foot of the bed,
and a black tin can, which the tramp used for making coffee, hanging
on the beautiful bedpost. After which she saw a very dirty pair of
hands on the bed, and then she shrieked, for she now saw the dirtiest
and roughest-looking face she had ever seen, there, on her master's
white pillow. Her startled cry soon brought others, and it was not
long before the sleeper, now awake and smiling, was out of bed and
standing between two indignant constables, who stared at the dark
shadow of their prisoner's head on the white pillow.
This, I believe, was the most daring feat that was ever performed by
a tramp.
IV
Dilemmas of Travellers
However careful a tramp may be to avoid places where there is
abundant work, he cannot always succeed. It was in a small town
in Texas that I had such a narrow escape of losing the delightful
companionship of Brum. I had gone to a sawmill boarding-house
in expectation of getting a good free dinner, having taken the
precaution to wait until all the men had returned to work, so that
I would then see no other than the lady of the house, and she, of
course, would know little about work at the mill. When I knocked,
the lady answered the door, and after hearing my story invited me
indoors. She was a fine, motherly-looking woman, stout--the very kind
of creature in whom Brum had so much confidence, that she herself
lived well, and would sympathize with others that could not do the
same. But who should I see when I got inside but the manager or
owner of the mill, who, for some reason, had not yet returned to
business. As a general rule a woman is trustful, and will believe
almost anything; but I was now unexpectedly confronted by a hard
business man, who would probably ask a number of awkward questions
of trades that maybe he knew something about. While I was having
dinner, these questions were put to me and apparently answered to
his satisfaction. "Now," said he, when I was preparing to leave, "I
can find you work at the mill, and you can start at once. I am not
reckoned to be a bad master; the wages will certainly not be bad for
a beginner, and you will never, I am sure, have cause to complain of
this boarding-house. Your face appears to be open and honest, and you
have a straightforward look that I like." The last remark made my
face as red as a beetroot with guilt, which he, no doubt, took to be
a pleasant sign of modesty. This was a most awkward position, and I
began to explain myself. "Sir," said I, "I am a tailor by trade, and
am now on my way to Houston, where I am sure of getting work. I earn
three, four, and sometimes five dollars a day at my trade, and am
the main support of a family of little sisters and brothers. So you
see how others must suffer if I accept work in a mill at a dollar and
a quarter a day. Not of myself I think, but others." The man seemed
to be quite satisfied with this explanation, and said, "At any rate,
you shall have a little job and earn a dollar to help you on the
way." Then turning to the landlady, he asked the following question,
which almost froze the marrow in my bones: "Where is that dark pair
of trousers that were split?" As the reader will guess, I was no
tailor, and could do no more than sew a button on a pair of trousers.
So what a sigh of relief I gave when the kind-hearted woman said that
she had given them away some time before. The man was now thoughtful,
and I was very much afraid that he was trying to bring to mind other
wearing apparel that would need repair. Being afraid of this, I rose,
and hastily thanking them for my good dinner, walked towards the
door. He followed me, being on his way to the mill, and before I left
him he placed in my hand a silver half-dollar, wishing me good-bye
and good luck.
Brum was very pleased to see me coming, as he had begun to have
fears that I had been arrested, or had been offered work and accepted
it. Brum was very particular as to what kind of companions he made,
and if he lost me he might have travelled alone for a considerable
time.
Some time after this Brum and I were very awkwardly placed when
a party of boys determined, in pity for our idleness, to find us
work. These boys were squirrel-shooting in the woods, and seeing our
camp-fire at once came forward and began a sociable conversation.
All the boys were armed with guns, and that is the reason why boys
in that part of the world are not in much fear of tramps, in fact
the fear is more likely to be on the tramps' side. Now it happened
that some railroad work was being done close to our camp, and the
work was in the hands of Italians. The boys, having probably heard
their elders speak ill of such people, determined that we two idle
Americans--judging by our language--should be installed in the
place of the Italians, and the latter driven out of that part of
the country. "Come!" they said to Brum and me, "we will soon find
you work." This was very awkward indeed, and poor old Brum began
to totter in the camp and groan. "What's the matter?" asked one
of the kind-hearted lads. "Boys," said Brum slowly, and with great
difficulty, "I am a very sick man. I am now making my way to Houston
as fast as I can, to get hospital treatment." "Yes," I said firmly,
and with quick apprehension. "Yes, and it shall never be said that I
deserted a sick companion." "Good luck to you," said one of the lads,
after which they soon left.
There was no other course now than to leave this place at once, for
if we stayed any longer we were certain to see one of these lads
again, seeing that there were so many of them and that the town was
very small.
In spite of this disinclination to work, there are times when a
tramp feels inclined to break the monotony by doing a little light
labour. With such a noble resolve Brum and I left Houston to pick
strawberries on our way to Galveston. On reaching the land of
strawberries, we immediately made enquiries as to the prospect of
work, and were recommended to a large farm which was under the
control of a syndicate of Chinamen. On approaching the boss Chinaman
and explaining our wish, we were at once engaged. At this farm each
Chinaman seemed to be allotted one task. One was to be seen with a
large watering-can watering the plants from morning till night, in
sunshine or rain.
The next morning we started to pick after having received our
instructions from the boss Chinaman, namely, "To pickee clean, and
leave a little stem so as people can catchee hold of the bellies."
Alas! the difficulty was to find the berries, and we were to be paid
according to our picking; the water-carrier was far too industrious,
for his watering beneath a hot sun was certainly bad for the plants;
it did not require a farmer to know that. Needless to say, we
remonstrated in a very short time and demanded our wages, in spite of
the boss Chinaman coming forward with three berries on the palm of
his right hand, and crying exultingly, "Lookee at the big bellies I
pickee!"
We received our money, which amounted to very little, less than half
a dollar between us, and left. It is surprising the number of jobs
that I have left with very low wages to come, just enough to buy a
bag of peanuts or the price of a shave.
Of course we would not have been quite so independent as this had we
not left Pat Healey at work two weeks before.
Thinking he must now have ten or fifteen dollars saved, we resolved
to call on him, and after getting him discharged, help him to spend
his savings. With this object we boarded a fast freight train, and
arrived that night at the place where we had left him--where he had
accepted light work in a garden.
The next morning Brum called at the house for breakfast, which the
good lady at once supplied. Brum had not seen any signs of Pat, so
he made enquiries, and the lady informed him that the man had gone
away the day before, "with ten or fifteen dollars," thought Brum, and
groaned.
I was so disappointed when I received from Brum this information,
that I was ill for several days after. I must have been light-headed
for several days, for I thought every voice I heard was Pat calling
to us, and every form I saw in the distance seemed to be his.
V
Queer Places
The most annoying position I was ever in was when travelling afoot in
the State of Tennessee. There were three of us together, and two had
money in plenty--that is we had enough to supply ourselves with the
necessaries of life for a month at least. But we had made the great
mistake of leaving the railroad, on which the towns were built, and
walking the back country roads, which were wild and unfrequented,
with a stray house here and there. The mistake was that we had
not taken the precaution to supply ourselves with provisions, not
doubting but that with money we could purchase food at any house
which we might chance upon. We had passed several houses and, at
last, beginning to feel the pangs of hunger, made up our minds to
call at the next house we came to. Three houses passed, and we had
not seen one that was likely to serve our purpose--no houses except
negro shanties and a planter's large house lying far back from the
road. When we did at last come to a decent-looking place, we were by
then three hungry and desperate men, and were not long in explaining
to its owner the object of our visit. On our appearance that
gentleman seemed none too pleased, and, in spite of our confession
of hunger, and our willingness to pay to have it appeased, did not
seem in any way to favour our presence. He was outside the house
when we accosted him, and, after hearing us and refusing further
conversation, began to make his way indoors. We knew, of course,
that once inside he would take more drastic measures to get rid of
us, that he would arm himself and order us to be gone. Knowing this,
Texas Jack at once drew a revolver and made him stand, while we
lost no time in going indoors and helping ourselves, taking as much
bread and bacon as would do for a meal. Before we left the house, my
companion hid the farmer's gun, which we saw standing in the corner.
We then told the farmer what we had done, and after advising him not
to follow us, and giving him a dollar bill--which was four times the
worth of what we had taken--made our way along the road as fast as we
could. No doubt the man had been afraid we would not pay him, and we
knew well that he was hardly likely to follow us after receiving a
dollar for such a small theft.
But it is in the backwoods of Arkansas where the most unenlightened
people of America live. At one time I was walking a railroad in that
State, which for a number of miles was little more than trestles
built over the swamps. There was very little solid foundation,
although for years men had been filling in the deep hollows under
the rails. In my ten miles' walk I saw a hundred snakes sunning
themselves on the track. They would crawl out of the adjoining swamps
and lie between the sleepers, many of them cut in two, having been
caught by a train when they were lying across the rails. These snakes
were all dangerous to tread on, and it was necessary for a man to
keep his eyes continually on the earth, and to stand still if he
wanted to look elsewhere.
There is one very interesting creature in the swamps of Arkansas,
and that is the wild hog, who has made himself famous under the
name of "Razor-back." Four of us had made our camp in the driest
place we could find near the track. We had carried with us from the
last town a quantity of bread and bacon, a tin of tomatoes, and a
few ears of green corn. Scarcely had we settled to our meal when we
heard grunting, and were soon surrounded by a score of these wild,
half-famished hogs. We had cooked the corn, and after picking the
cobs had thrown the latter into the hot ashes. At last these hogs
became so bold and desperate, after having been repeatedly driven
away, that they began to poke their snouts into the hot ashes for
the burning cobs of corn. Of course they severely burned their poor
snouts, and grunted in great pain, but they did not leave a single
cob to be destroyed by fire. The empty tomato can fell to the lot
of the greediest hog. He, trying to get at the bottom, made such a
desperate attempt that the can fastened on his snout, and he at once
hurried off into the back swamps, muzzled it seemed for life.
It was on this occasion that I happened to see one of these wild hogs
running in front of a fast-approaching train. He had been crossing
the track, when he suddenly heard the whistle of an engine. Turning
his head, he saw to his consternation that some huge thing was
rushing upon him, and was increasing in bulk as it came. Instead of
leaving the track the hog gave a grunt and ran, with his enemy in
pursuit. Making a stop, and again looking, he saw his enemy close
upon him, and, giving one more grunt, louder this time, ran for his
life. Alas! that was his last run on earth, for, just as he was about
to turn and face the iron monster for the third time, the latter
struck poor Mr. Hog and tossed him some twenty or thirty feet in the
air, after which he fell lifeless in the swamp. His fellow-hogs made
much of his death, and after grunting a few rapid prayers, soon had
their unfortunate brother buried--in themselves.
The very few natives that inhabit these swamps get their principal
meat supply from these hogs. They generally manage to grow enough
corn to provide them with bread, so they live from one year's end
to another on a monotonous diet of cornbread and hog's meat, or, as
it is said, "corn dodger and sour belly." They are very lazy and
indifferent to money, and life in these swamps suits them well.
Newspapers and books they know little of, and it is said in other
parts of the Union: "The people of Arkansas don't know the war is
over," meaning, of course, their own civil war between North and
South. They manage to keep themselves in boots, clothes, ammunition,
coffee, and chewing tobacco, by bartering a few skins. The Americans
did not get their name of hustlers from Arkansas. In some parts
of this state, where the swamp lies near the Mississippi, and is
therefore liable to be flooded at any time, the natives build their
little wooden houses on piles driven deep into the soft earth. These
houses look more like large pigeon-coops than human habitations, and
to enter the front door it is necessary to climb a steep ladder. It
is certainly lucky that poverty and distance from towns force these
people to be teetotallers, or half of them would often have to sleep
under their houses instead of in them. Of course, all Arkansas is
not like this, for there are a number of fine towns in the state,
and the people in those towns are as far advanced as in any other
town of the Union; but the truth must be told, that Arkansas is the
last place in the world to recover from the Great Flood; and that she
still persists in remaining in a damp condition, to breed snakes
and deadly flies, in spite of the efforts of her inhabitants to make
things otherwise. She is still in a condition to breed fever, and her
inhabitants are thin, and their skin is hard and leathery.
When I enquired of a native the distance to the next town he didn't
know. I asked him if it was two miles--he stared. I asked him if it
was fifty miles, but he still stared. It seemed that the poor fellow
did not understand mileage, so I asked how long it would take to walk
there. "Yer'll have to be right smart to get there by sundown," said
he. I then asked him the size of the town, but this he did not know,
for he had never been there, but came very near going there a year
ago. I then asked him if he knew anyone that had been there, and he
answered that "Ole man Johnson was there the fall before last." What
was Johnson's opinion of the town? "Right smart," said my man.
Of course I did not expect to find a town like London, New York,
or Chicago, or even a town with tramcars, but I must confess to
disappointment when I found nothing but a store, a railway station,
and five or six miserable-looking houses.
Another time I met a native of this same State of Arkansas, who was
well dressed, and seemed to be more intelligent than others. In the
course of conversation he asked me where I came from, and on being
told that I came from England, he said, "You are a long way from
home." The man certainly spoke with more culture than I had expected,
and it filled me with astonishment when he requested me, in English
better than my own, to say something to him in my own language for
his amusement.
VI
Stiffs
In England the poorer classes often refer to a corpse as a "stiff
un," and naturally one would suppose that the word "stiff," used
as a noun, would mean the same. But in America the noun stiff is
not applied to dead people, but as a term of scorn for hard-working
men and others. For instance, one is called a "shovel stiff,"
another a "cattle stiff"; then there is the "mission stiff," and the
"barrel-house stiff." Shovel stiff is the name applied by tramps to
navvies and railroad workers. If one of the latter enters a tramps'
camp, being out of work and looking for it, it is not long before he
sees that his presence is not wanted. He is generally known by his
clothes or his heavy boots. Tramps wear light boots, which are begged
at the better class of houses, the inmates of which do not wear heavy
boots. So when a man on tramp is seen to have on a heavy working
pair, it can reasonably be supposed that he has bought them, and must
have worked to enable him to do so. For this reason he is only a
tramp for the time being, and is despised for being a shovel stiff.
Even if his clothes or boots do not betray him, he is not long in
the camp before he is found out, for he begins to question Baltimore
Fatty, Boston Slim, or Frisco Shorty, and others, as to the prospect
of getting work in certain places. Some of these free spirits answer
him politely enough, saying, "We don't know, Jack." A shovel stiff
has no other name than Jack, not considered being worthy of the name
of "New York" Jack, "Chicago" Jack, or any other name of a city that
should be proud to own him. "We don't know, Jack," they answer, with
some dignity; "we never work." Others lose patience at once and say,
"We don't want to be bothered in this camp by a gol darn shovel
stiff."
My friend Brum was a tramp of the best, but he had too much pity
for working men, and was too kind-hearted to openly insult the poor
shovel stiff. But he confessed that the worst night he ever spent was
at a fire with one other, who turned out to be a shovel stiff. Brum
said that the poor fellow was building bridges, making railroads, and
digging canals all night, until he had to be told sternly to stop and
go to sleep. He never seemed to get tired of talking of work, and
Brum had to at last address him like this: "Look here, old fellow;
last night you cut a tunnel right through the Rocky Mountains, and
you also bridged the Mississippi, where it was a mile wide; in
addition to these you dug a canal from Chicago to New Orleans, nearly
a thousand miles, and a number of smaller jobs, which were difficult,
but which we will not mention; now, after doing so much work in one
night--arn't you tired?" Of course, as can be expected, Brum did not
travel far with such an industrious companion.