and boss cattlemen, towards the men who do the heavy, dirty, and
ill-paid work. I was a stiff, and no more, when I received two pounds
for a trip, and all the other cattlemen--except the foreman and two
men with first-class experience--received only ten shillings each.
Being the best-paid stiff on board, I was made night watchman, which
really means that for the whole night I was alone in charge of the
cattle--being foreman, experienced man, and stiff, all in one. On the
second night out, I happened to be forward inspecting the cattle,
when I suddenly heard a fierce shout from the bridge. I took little
notice of this until I heard a second shout, and could not fail to
hear the words, "Cover that light!" Of course, I never dreamed that
the order was meant for me, seeing that I had nothing to do with the
working of the ship, my whole duty being with the cattle. Taking no
notice, I proceeded about my work, swinging the lantern here and
there; but in less than a minute I heard another fierce shout, and
immediately after I was standing face to face with the first mate,
he--a man very much disliked on board ship--standing before me in a
great rage. "You dam stiff!" he shouted; "didn't I tell you to cover
that light?" "What have you got to do with the light?" I demanded,
angered at the word stiff. "You look after the ship, that is your
work; mine is with the cattle." He grew almost mad with rage, and I
believe, if he had not seen the axe--which the night watchman carries
in his belt in readiness for wedging loose boards, etc.--if he had
not seen that axe, there is no doubt but that he would have resorted
to violence. As it was, he ran up the deck shouting that he would
have me put in irons. It happened that the cattle foreman had not
yet gone to bed, and, hearing the fierce shouts of the first mate,
left his room to know the cause. To him the first mate hastened to
explain, saying that he had been dazzled by my lantern, and that he
had become so confused as to take it for another ship, and that if
I did not obey his orders to keep the light covered on one side,
he would have me put in irons. It never once occurred to me that
the safety of the cattle was one with the safety of the ship, and I
answered that I had signed no articles to obey captain, first mate,
or any other officer, and that the ship could burn or sink, but my
duty was still confined to the cattle. However, I promised to do
my best not to blind the look-out by swinging my lantern, but what
aggravated me most was to be called a stiff.
Then there is the mission stiff. This man is also despised by
Baltimore Fatty and his ilk. He is certainly a beggar, but he
concentrates his mind in one direction, and if he was in any place
where there was no mission-room he would be likely to starve. Most
of the mission-rooms supply soup and bread during the winter months,
and it is at such places that this class of stiff is to be found. He
waylays members of the choir and the respectable people that attend
the mission, and from these he not only gets tickets for soup, but
invitations to their houses, where he receives clothes and performs
a little labour for money. He attains this end by attending the
mission and giving a short testimony relating the change of his soul
from black to white. The mission stiff is greatly despised, for he
talks of nothing else, and he knows and has worked every mission in
the country. I have been called a shovel stiff, a cattle stiff, and
a barrel-house stiff, but have never been called a mission stiff,
although I have mixed with them.
The sole occupation of a barrel-house stiff is to stand outside
public-houses waiting for invitations to drink. He speaks familiarly
to all men that approach, and some of them say, "Going to have one?"
On which he replies, "Yes." When he is once at the bar, he seldom
leaves it till the house closes at night. There is not often more
than one or two barrel stiffs to one house, and that is why the
landlord welcomes them; in fact he often invites the stiff to have
a drink, and sends him on an errand or uses his services to collect
empty glasses. A barrel-house stiff is the most despised of all
stiffs, for the simple reason that he is a physical wreck and, though
a swaggerer and a loud talker, is as powerless in action as a babe.
He has no wind and his appearance is false, being red and fleshy. He
lives on beer, and when he helps himself to the free lunch on the
counter, he eats little more than a bird. He does not eat that little
with appetite and relish, but takes his food as a medicine that must
be taken in small quantities. The barrel-house stiff is the shortest
liver of all stiffs, and the shovel stiff is after all the noblest
and least deserving of reproach.
VII
American Prisons
Most people have heard that American prisons are not so hard as those
of other countries, and they think of them as hotels for comfort,
where a man loses nothing but his liberty. This is quite true of the
North, but some of the Southern States can tell a different story. In
England all prisons are much the same, but those of America not only
differ in the various States, but even in the adjoining counties of
the same State.
When I travelled Connecticut and Massachusetts in winter it was
very pleasant, night after night, to be lodged in a warm room. All
we had to do, after we had begged the town, was to call at the
police station, where the officer in charge would take our names and
occupation. Sometimes we were searched, and knives and razors taken
from us, to be returned on the following morning; but the police
would not make any comment on the food in our pockets. After this we
were conducted to a large clean room, heated by steam; and there we
could eat, smoke, and chat with happiness, until sleep overpowered
us. The next morning we were at liberty to go our way, without a
question of performing some task for our accommodation. In some cases
we were even given a drink of hot coffee, with a piece of sausage
and bread. Of course, good beggars would firmly but civilly decline
these, for they could beg a better breakfast at a private house, and
they would not spoil their appetite. Some of them, being very good
beggars indeed, would tell the officer this; while others, more kind
and considerate, would take what was offered and give it to some poor
shovel stiff (navvy) out of work, or a fresh cat (new beginner).
You must not be surprised at good beggars taking the accommodation
offered by a police station, for common lodging-houses are not known
in America, except in large cities.
The following incident will prove how jails differ even within a
few miles of each other. I and another had been treated well, night
after night, in the various police stations of Connecticut and
Massachusetts, and one night we came to a nice little town in the
latter State. We had not the least difficulty in begging supper. In
fact we hardly parted, for my companion was invited into the first
house he called at, and the same thing happened to me at the house
next door. It was a very strange, neat piece of business; for we were
both standing together at different doors, and even chatted while we
waited; and the both doors were answered at the same time; and, at
the same time as a man's voice said to him, "Come in," so a woman's
voice said the same words to me. We could hear one another's steps
going to the supper table, and our movements could be heard so plain
that one must be aware when the other was leaving the house.
My companion was an American and a fast eater, and I heard them
letting him out when I was about three parts through with my supper.
However, he waited and, when I rejoined him, we both sought the
police station, not dreaming but what it would be like the others
visited on the previous nights. Being strangers in that town, we were
at a loss which way to turn. Therefore, when I saw a boy coming
near, I enquired of him as to where the marshal was to be found.
Seeing him look astonished, I rewarded his curiosity by telling him
our business--that we wanted a night's lodging at the police station.
"What!" he cried in amazement; "what: not in the cooler?" I was
quite surprised to hear this word "cooler," for I had never heard it
before. However, just then the marshal came and, after hearing our
wants, said, "Certainly, boys, follow me." He then led the way down
a dark side street and in a few minutes stood before a small stone
building, with one storey, and one room--to all appearance--and with
bars at the window. Taking from his pocket a large key, he opened
the door and walked in, inviting us to follow him. When we were all
three inside, he struck a match, and by its light motioned towards
a dark corner, saying, "You will find blankets there, boys; make
yourselves comfortable." He had scarcely uttered these words when the
light went out--and so did he; for, before we could ask one question,
we heard the key turned in the lock, and we were left alone. My
companion shouted several questions after him, but he did not answer
or return. We wanted to know several things, the principal one being
about drinking water.
By the light of a match, which I held, my companion found the
blankets--two dirty, ill-smelling, thin blankets, and half a one.
Here was a difference in treatment. Twelve miles from this place we
were treated better, some people would think, than we deserved, but
this was downright cruelty.
Ah! well I remembered the boy saying "cooler"! For it was the dead of
winter, and the floor was of stone, and we only had two thin blankets
and a half between us. The place was also very damp, for no fire had
ever been lit in this building. I need hardly say that we had to run
about all night in the dark to keep our bodies from freezing, in
spite of being good beggars and well-fed men.
There is so much difference in the prisons of America that tramps
always--when they incline for a change, thieving instead of
begging--discuss at the camps the accommodation of the prisons that
await unsuccessful attempts. The kind of thieving tramps mostly go in
for is breaking seals and robbing cars of their merchandise; and the
time of year they do these things is on the approach of winter; so
that they may either be in a good warm jail during the cold months,
or else have freedom with plenty of money in their pockets.
I knew one good jail, in Michigan, that was very hard to break into.
A man could beg with impunity at private houses or in the public
streets without being arrested, and tramps had to resort to other
methods to attain their ends. They would go boldly and take things
from the doorways of shops, and would then, to their delight, be
arrested, charged with petty larceny, and sentenced to from twenty to
sixty days. They did not snatch the things and run, but deliberately
took them under people's eyes. When they were in their much-coveted
jail, they had nothing to do but play cards, smoke, read, eat and
sleep.
There was some difference between that place and the Old Prison at
New Orleans. When I was arrested there, with six others, for sleeping
in a freight car, we were all sentenced to thirty days. The judge--an
old Southerner, who could never forgive the North for freeing the
slaves without giving their owners some compensation--this old judge
commented very severely and bitterly on our coming South, to live on
its charity, instead of staying where we belonged. "We don't want you
down here," he said; "but now that you are here, we will keep you for
a time."
Only niggers and the poorest white people were sent to this Old
Prison, for there was a new place for the better-class prisoners.
Indeed as there were no clothes supplied, there could not be any
mistake as to the class of prisoners. No such a thing as a bath,
no work, and no discipline. At night we were lodged in large cells
that had a number of bunks in each, and we could not sleep for the
cold. In the day we walked about in a large yard, several hundred
prisoners. Some of the new prisoners, not yet tamed by cold and
hunger, would laugh, sing, and dance, and fights were not unusual.
Our food consisted of a small quantity of bread and some greasy
water, almost starvation. The men that had been confined there for a
month or more were like skeletons. The object seemed to be to keep us
alive, and no more, so as to save the expense of burying us. A number
of prisoners had gone simple of mind. There was one--a Chinaman--and
no one seemed to know how long he had been there or what for, as
he could not speak a word of English. I often think of the poor
wretch--the most pathetic figure I have ever seen. When he was
walking up and down the yard, he would suddenly come to a standstill
and, in a very clear, high voice sing his grief like a bird. Every
prisoner would be startled by this sudden and unexpected wail, and a
dead silence would come, which before was all buzz. But, as can be
expected, this effect would not last long, for some simple prisoner,
as mad as the Chinaman himself, would begin to shout and laugh, and
others would soon join him. Then the poor Chinaman would stop and,
wrapping his loose garment about him, begin again his silent walk to
and fro. In an hour or two after, the place would be again startled
by that high, clear voice, and the same silence would come, and the
same jeering would break the spell.
While I was in this prison we had a fall of snow--which is
exceptional in that part--and we suffered very much on that account.
But the snow was very kind to the mad Chinaman, for he was found
dead the next morning, with snow on his body. And yet he was in a
cell--but I am not prepared to enter into a description as to how
this prison was arranged. All I know is that I saw the cell with the
door open and the dead man's feet just inside, covered with snow. No
doubt the governor gave a satisfactory account of the prisoner under
his charge.
VIII
Experiences of Others
Some of my experiences may sound a little exciting to men that have
led a quiet life at home, but I would not care to mention them in
the hearing of some men that I have met. One of my worst experiences
was in riding the rods of a train, in the State of Texas, on a road
that was notoriously hard to beat. Riding the rods means to stretch
one's body under a car, on a narrow board four inches wide, which
is fastened to two thin iron rods. Tramps never ride in this way,
except when the brakesmen are very bad and would strike them off the
bumpers, and there is not one unsealed, empty car on the train. But
when a tramp is safely on the rods, and the train is going, it is
then impossible to reach him with anything until the train stops.
Of course if the rods broke, or anything happened to the board, or
the tramp went to sleep, he must then fall and be cut to pieces.
All these freight trains have rods, but a great number are without
boards; for that reason a tramp often gets his own board and drives
a nail into each end. When the train begins to move he throws his
board across the rods, and then leaps under the car. His life now
depends on the nails keeping in their place, the board not breaking,
and keeping awake. But sometimes, unfortunately for the tramp, the
brakesmen see a train out; which means that they will stand one on
each side of the train, at the head of the engine, and inspect each
side of the train as it passes them. If they see a tramp on the top
of a car, or on the bumpers, they shout to him to get off, and, when
they have themselves boarded the train, they come back over the top
to see whether he has obeyed them or not. It would be wise for the
tramp to do so, for the train would then be going slow; but if he
does not, these brakesmen will force him after, at the point of a
revolver, to jump off a train now going fast. But if they see a tramp
on the rods, they are in a strange position. It is no use to tell
him to get off, because he cannot do so until the train stops; and,
as they cannot reach him, he rides in spite of them. They can only
do one thing, and that is what I, and many more, have had done, and
it is not a pleasant experience. These brakesmen arm themselves with
stones, and one of them no sooner sees a tramp under the car than he
shouts to his fellow. After doing this the two brakesmen run with
the train, throwing stones with all their might, and the tramp can
hear their savage yells and the stones strike against the car. As
it is, he is in a shaky position, without being helped to fall by
receiving a blow on the head with a stone. Fortunately for him, they
must soon stop throwing, for the train is going faster and faster,
and if they do not board it soon they will be left behind. But they
are so used to jumping on moving trains, that they can afford time
to throw a number of stones. Another thing in the tramp's favour is
that they only have a few stones in the first place, and then have
to pick them up. But what favours the tramp most is that these men
cannot aim straight, because the train is on the move, and they have
to follow the car. This was one of my worst experiences, being stoned
while riding the rods. Of course these brakesmen could rush forward
and either pull a tramp out or push him off, but they could not do
so without getting him caught in the wheels. This would be such plain
murder that, in spite of their rage, it frightens them; so they stone
him instead, and give him a chance for his life. Half the tramps
in America will not ride a train if they cannot get the comfort of
an empty car--not even on a road where the brakesmen are good and
indifferent as to the number of tramps they carry. Still, there are
so many that have had my experience that I would not mention it in
the hearing of an old American tramp.
But it must not be supposed that the dangers of beating one's way
on freight trains in America are always caused by unsympathetic
brakesmen. I know one good road which carried hundreds of tramps
every week, and it was never known that a brakesman had ever put
one off. In fact the brakesmen on this road used to look with
indifference on tramps, as though they were part of the common
freight. Some of these brakesmen were so used to tramps that they
would confess a fear to run a train that had none, much the same as
sailors look for rats on board a ship. But this road was spoilt by a
gang of half robbers and half beggars. These men would board a train
when it was standing still, and as soon as it was on the move, would
go from car to car and search every man that they saw beating his
way. This they would do with men riding outside, in coal cars or on
flat cars. When the train stopped, they would get off and inspect the
train. If they saw an empty car that contained one or two men, this
gang--four, five, or six in number--would get in. A tramp would not
know but what they were the same as himself, and would not feel any
alarm, but welcome their company. But as soon as the train was again
on the move, these new arrivals would then begin to question and
search the first occupants of the car, and woe betide the man that
refused to be searched or was not civil. Out through the open door he
would be thrown, and the train would be going thirty or forty miles
an hour, and it would be night. As I have said, these men were all
beggars, for they would not make enough out of these petty robberies
to keep them. For this reason a man had only to say, when questioned
as to what he was, "I am a beggar," and they would then treat him
with every respect. The men they wanted to find were those that were
working men and had money in their pockets, but preferred to ride
free on an easy road. The desperate methods of these men were so well
known that tramps would often swarm together in one car, knowing that
their number would make them safe. For all that, several dead men
were found every week on this road, and the cause was well known to
tramps. Some of the mutilated men that just escaped with their lives
would have mentioned these things to the police, but the latter did
not trouble, for it was all tramp work, from beginning to end.
One of the worst experiences I have ever heard of was of a young
cattleman whom I knew in Baltimore. When I met him he was only a lad
of twenty years, and he had such a calm, pleasant face that no one
would think that he ever had an hour's suffering in his life. Two
years before this he had been a stowaway from England to America,
and he was not discovered for several days. So, being too late to
put him on shore, the captain set him to work, with the intention of
handing him over to the police on arrival in America. But when they
were in sight of land and saw the distant lights, it being night,
this lad possessed himself of a life-belt and, without being seen,
dropped overboard. He was under the impression that the tide and
his own exertions would take him to land before morning and, no one
being about, he would be safe. But instead of this, he got caught
in a strong outgoing current, and was taken out to sea. He then had
the experience of floating two days and two nights in the deep sea,
before he was seen and picked up by a passing ship. Whatever his
thoughts could have been, it was most certain that his mind was not
affected, for when I knew him he was the most cheerful and sweetest
tempered in the cattleman's office, and he was never heard to mention
his experience.
At this office was another cattleman, who had not only been in the
hands of lynchers, but even had the rope round his neck and the other
end of it thrown over the limb of a tree. A tramp had assaulted a
woman, and a number of men were searching for him. Seeing a man at
a camp-fire in the woods they at once pounced on him and, without
any question, placed the rope round his neck and prepared to hang
him. But, fortunately for him, another body of men came, led by the
woman's husband, and with him was a little boy who had witnessed the
assault. "That's not the man," said the little fellow--which saved
the man's life. This cattleman was one of the ugliest men that I have
ever seen, but he was really so harmless, simple, and innocent, that
we all liked him and fed him, and got him to sing. We knew that women
would be afraid of him, and for this reason he was apt to starve. So
we better looking and less deserving tramps saved the poor fellow the
humiliation of having doors slammed in his face, and hearing keys
turned and bolts drawn.
IX
The American Lakes
English sailors who run away from their ships in America, often do
so with the intention of going inland and sailing on the fresh-water
lakes. Other sailors, who have done so before, but felt that they had
to return to the salt sea, talk of their former experience, so that
almost every English sailor knows what sailing on the American lakes
is like. On their deep-sea boats they get hard biscuits, salt meat,
dried peas, and cheap molasses; but on the lakes they get soft bread,
fresh meat, green vegetables, and luxurious fruit. It is no lie that
common sailors and firemen on the American lakes get strawberries and
cream, when such berries are in season, and other fruits when they
are not. Therefore it is not to be wondered at when English sailors
soon feel themselves in a strange position: they feel loth to break
away from the splendid board and lodging on fresh water, and yet
cannot help feeling restless to return to the salt sea and take long
voyages. There are hundreds of English sailors on the American lakes
that have either been in our navy or merchant service, and they live
so well, in comparison with their deep-sea experience, that it is a
great pity that fresh water cannot employ them all the year, as the
sea could. Of course, they earn enough to keep them idle during the
winter, but we all know that saving sailors are almost as scarce as
white crows.
The real fresh-water sailor, who has never been on the sea, and
probably never saw it, is different to the deep-sea man in many ways.
For instance, he walks straight and does not roll, which is owing to
the different action of inland waters. His voice is gentle and soft,
not rough and hoarse like a deep-sea sailor's. But, for all that,
when it comes to money matters he is quite as extravagant as the man
of long voyages, and is quite as easily fleeced by land-sharks, in
spite of his greater knowledge of life on shore. And every lake town
is as well supplied with land-sharks as a seaport of its size. But,
fortunately for these lake sailors, they are nearly all beggars,
owing to having no work in the winter when the lakes are frozen and
navigation has stopped. This being the case, most of them think very
little of begging a house, and if they are robbed or spend their
money foolishly and have to wait for a ship, they are not likely to
suffer hunger.