American tramp. His camp is to be found on the outskirts of every
town, either on the northern, southern, eastern, or western end; and
it is not uncommon to find a camp at each end. The camp is his great
institution, a club and private residence; from which he sallies on
his begging expeditions, and to which he returns with his spoils; at
which place he cooks, eats, reads, discourses, takes his afternoon
nap, washes his clothes, or discards them for others lately acquired.
There they build their fires near running water, around which they
sit at night and relate their day's experience.
The Baltimore Kid was that morning offered work, but had taken
the insult good-naturedly, having retired without wasting time in
excuses. His companions laugh heartily at this, to imagine the Kid at
work, and Philadelphia Baldy enquires philosophically, "What is work,
boys?" These men are all downrighters; that is, none of them make any
pretence of selling cheap goods, but beg food and money straight.
Begging in England is certainly a fine art, and it is very difficult
to live except beggars carry in their hands pins, needles, laces,
wire goods, artificial flowers, a tin whistle, accordion, etc.,
and hide themselves as beggars behind these things. Even then they
make very little, if they are indifferent to the art of begging;
for it is not sufficient to sell a farthing pair of laces for a
penny, but to tell such a pitiful story that the buyer--out of pity
for your misfortunes--returns the laces after paying for them, and
occasionally adds a piece of cake to her kindness. That is the real
art of begging; and the man who cannot make threepence or more out of
a farthing stud, a farthing's worth of pins, or a farthing pair of
laces, is no more than a very small and unsuccessful business man,
and is not worthy the name of a beggar.
The art of begging is not nearly so fine in America as it is in
England, for there is no necessity in that country of making any
pretence of selling; and money, food, and clothes are to be had for
the mere asking. The American beggar uses few words, for he knows
well that whoever can afford will give, and he is too cunning to
employ pitiful tales, which would be apt to encumber him with a
quantity of common bread and butter, from people who have nothing
ready cooked. For this reason he pockets the few trifles in the way
of sandwiches and cakes, and proceeds leisurely from house to house,
until he is seated at the table like a Christian, and supplied with
a hot meal, which is the end he seeks, and which seldom fails. After
which he returns to the camp, unloads his pockets of their trifles,
and reads, and talks with his companions until supper-time, which we
in England call tea-time. Then he takes a tin can to the spring,
places it full of water on the fire, and makes hot coffee, with which
he devours his trifles. He has had a hot breakfast and a hot dinner,
and he is quite satisfied to eat one meal a day that only consists of
cold meat, bread and butter, and a cake or two.
The American tramp sits comfortably at his camp fire, waiting the
sound of a shrill whistle, or bell, which proclaims dinner-time.
Five or ten minutes after hearing this sound, he dances out of
camp, humming a tune, and goes begging as though he were going to
a wedding, and he is often served with a hot dinner before the man
of business can finish his own. But the poor English beggar makes
funeral steps between meals, and asks for a mouthful of bread. The
American beggar pulls the door bell, and makes himself heard the
first time; but the English beggar timidly uses his knuckles on the
back door, many times before he is heard. The American beggar rides
on trains from town to town, but the English beggar tramps the hard
roads. The English beggar explains his wants to the servants and
children, but the American beggar asks to see the mistress. The
American beggar, feeling himself a proud and free citizen, addresses
himself familiarly to anyone; but the English beggar, feeling himself
a despised outcast, will not speak except in want, or when he is
first spoken to.
Yes, begging in America is fascinating, without doubt; and it is no
wonder that the tribe has increased to such an enormous extent. But
in England it is such a fine art, and requires so much persistence to
attain small ends, that there are few that can master it thoroughly.
What did Chicago Fatty do when he visited Liverpool on a cattle-boat?
He asked forty men for a copper towards paying for a fourpenny bed,
and the result was twopence threefarthings--and the workhouse.
Begging in England nearly broke his heart and so sickened him that,
when he returned to his own country, New York Slim and Boston Shorty
had to feed him, as though he were a babe in arms, until he recovered
sufficiently to help himself. Blacky--the half-breed--who claimed to
have enough Indian blood in his veins to make himself dangerous if
he had cause--Blacky, I say, thought that Fatty would never again
be a good beggar. It certainly seemed, for a long time, that this
would be the case, until one morning Fatty went out and begged his
breakfast, but nothing more. He went out again, begged a meal, a
shirt, and a handkerchief. In a day or two this good beggar--almost
ruined by a trip to England--began to take a man with him to carry
the spoils, as he had been accustomed to do in his prosperous days.
XIII
Beggars' Slang
Women, strange to say, take far more pride than men in using slang.
To listen to two women relating their experiences in a country common
lodging-house is almost to hear a foreign language. I cannot think
that a woman takes more pleasure or near so much, in a wandering,
homeless life, as a man. Nevertheless, it is plain that women affect
to enjoy it more. In fact, I have often heard women boast of being
on the road a certain number of years, but have seldom heard a man
take the trouble to mention such a thing. In spite of this, one thing
proves that a woman of this kind speaks false and is trying to make
the best of a strange life. It is this--when she and her husband
are settled in a lodging-house, he is always the first to propose
taking to the road again, and the woman always inclines to postpone
that event for another day. If they are old travellers, they are
sure to see in every lodging-house others they have met before, and
that is why the woman would like to settle for a few days; but the
man, being less sociable, is more restless. What surprised me, when
I first went on the road in England, was to see how sociable these
people were, calling each other by some kind of name, as though
they had lived there always, or had always travelled together. It
was some time before I discovered the reason of this. Naturally,
my first impression had been that a score or more men and women
would meet, coming from different towns, and not know each other;
and, after having a night's lodging, would continue their travels
and perhaps never meet again. But, to my surprise, I often entered
a lodging-house where there would be a dozen lodgers or more, and
I would be the only stranger there. I soon got to know that these
temporary lodgers had been beggars for years, and one of them could
not possibly appear in a lodging-house without meeting others he
had met before. The reason of this is that most beggars have their
favourite counties, which they seldom leave, and if they do not meet
in a lodging-house they meet on the road. There are hundreds of
beggars that work in a circle around London, within ten, fifteen,
twenty, or thirty miles; and, seeing that some of them have been
doing this for years, it is not surprising that they recognize one
another at the different lodging-houses. The second night that I was
on the road in England, I went to a lodging-house in Luton and, of
course, expected to find a dozen or more strangers to the town, like
myself, who would sleep there one night, part the next morning, and
never meet again. But when I entered the kitchen I found a number of
lodgers, men and women, who were calling each other by name--Brum,
Norfolk, Sal, and Liz. In fact, I was the only stranger present, and
yet all these were wanderers, and never travelled together. Very few
of these were downright beggars, but had some trifle to sell. Their
pride was in being able to beg under the disguise of selling.
I never knew that beggars had so many slang words until I had been
on the road for several weeks and was in Gloucestershire. I had
heard a number of strange words, but had not heard any sustained
conversation. But one day, when walking from Stroud into Gloucester,
I happened to meet a real beggar. It was close on evening and, as I
had done well enough to be able to pay for my bed, I was making all
speed to a lodging-house. Soon I heard quick steps behind me, and
was overtaken by another beggar, who walked at my side and entered
into conversation. Hearing where I was going to he asked me if I
knew Gloucester and, if so, what lodging-house I intended to go to.
Telling him that I did not know that town, and would have to enquire
about a lodging-house, he at once offered to conduct me to one,
saying that there were several and that he knew the best. I was very
glad of this offer, and we trudged along in pleasant conversation.
Now, this man's conversation was as pure from slang as mine, which
surprised me, for he was an old beggar, though perhaps not over
thirty-five years of age. I may as well say here what kind of begging
the man was doing at this time of his life, which became known to me
after, for I had his company for several days. He had taken advantage
of the South African War, saying that he had been invalided home.
As you may guess, he was a fraud, and had never been in the Army.
This man carried forged letters, supposed to be recommendations
from officers under whom he had served. With these he called at the
houses of old, retired military men and others, sending the papers
in by a servant. All he had to do was to find out the names and
addresses of these old officers, one or two of whom are to be found
near every little hamlet or village. This was not difficult, for he
knew the counties of Gloucestershire and Monmouthshire well; and
every lodging-house has a town beggar who can give names, addresses,
histories, and describe the position and appearance of houses wanted.
Very well, then, this beggar would go to the house of one of these
rich, retired military officers and, when the servant opened the
door, would give her his papers to be taken to her master. In a few
moments she would return with the papers and probably a shilling or
a two-shilling piece on top of them. As can be expected, this man
had several times been so closely questioned that he had compromised
himself, and had been threatened with prison as a fraud. However,
he was so bold, and knew his subject so well, that this had not
often happened. At the houses of rich civilians he was safer, but,
naturally, they would not give so much as a gentleman who had served
in the Army. At this stage of his career this ambitious beggar did
not often call at small houses for pennies, but large houses for
silver. I soon found out his history, for he seemed nothing loth
to talk of himself. He had taken to the road early, not having
worked for a living since he was a youth. In those early days he had
worked for a printer, and had caught his little finger in one of the
machines. This accident did not handicap him in any way, and was no
excuse for his leaving at once and becoming a beggar. In after years
he never forgot to call two or three times a year on the printer, who
had a fine business, and hold up his little finger; an action which
won him a piece of silver every time. It was by his little finger
that he proved his identity--that he was the boy that had worked for
the printer in years gone.
It was when I heard this man and another in conversation that I
first became surprised at the number of slang words that beggars
use. As I have said, he used no slang during our walk, but we had
no sooner entered a lodging-house and he met a beggar he knew, than
his language was completely changed. When we were entering the city
of Gloucester, he had called at a big, red house, which he told me
was always good for twopence and a parcel of food, no more or less.
He explained to me that he would not go out of his way for it, but
thought he may as well have it, seeing that he was passing the house.
It was in relation to this house that he spoke to his companion,
using the following words: "I called at the big, red kennel and got
my eight farthings and scrand." To which the other said: "That kennel
never yet failed a needy." This conversation quite interested me;
kennel was house; eight farthings was twopence; scrand was food; and
needy was beggar.
Beggars in London lodging-houses use the slang of lodging-houses, and
not of the road. They always say "fourpence for 'doss' or 'kip'";
but true, wandering beggars say "sixteen farthings for the feather."
The former say "chuck" or "tommy," when they refer to food; but the
latter say "scrand." The wandering beggar says "skimish" for drink,
but city beggars say "bouse." The word "mouch" is not often heard
outside towns, for wandering beggars say "call." For instance, "it
is a good road to call," or "there is plenty of calling"; meaning
that the road has many houses. They often use the word "lay." When
a beggar asks another if a certain town is good, the former is
asked, "What is your lay?" or, "It depends on your lay"; meaning:
"What do you do--sell, sing, or go in for downright begging?" What
always surprised me was to hear old beggars use the dignified
word "travellers," in preference to beggars, needies, or callers.
When they are talking of a good town, they say "it is good for
travellers." And if they see a selfish lodger monopolizing the fire,
or not making room on the table for others, they say "he's not a true
traveller."
The following are a few slang words used by beggars:--
Beggars--travellers or needies; house--kennel; on the road--on the
toe be; talk--patter; sing--griddle or chant; fourpence--sixteen
farthings; bed--feather; soup--shackles; profit--bunts; food--scrand;
drink--skimish; pins--pricks; needles--sharps; laces--stretchers;
scissors--snips; combs--rakes; spectacles--glims; pictures--smuts.
XIV
Bony's Wits
We called him "Bony," because he was all skin and bones. This
condition must have been constitutional, for it certainly was
not from too much activity, seeing that he went by tram on his
expeditions, and returned in the same manner. Again, it could not
have been for want of good food, for Bony was a good beggar, and
scorned to sit down to a bread-and-butter meal. He was also a good
ale drinker, and, if his bones had been capable of growing flesh, it
is very likely that ale would have helped to bring about that result.
He was always heard to be humming a tune--often an old familiar
hymn--so that it could not have been mental worry that fastened
his skin so tight to his bones. No, his condition must have been
constitutional.
I had known Bony for several months, and now that I had fallen on
evil times, and would in less than a week be compelled to travel
the country, I thought that perhaps my friend Bony could give me
a few hints, that would assist me in procuring food and lodgings.
Therefore, one evening, after he had had tea and was emptying his
pockets of tram fare tickets, I invited him outside to have a drink.
This invitation he would accept only on one condition--that I would
then have another with him. Having no objection to this, we left the
house together, and were soon comfortably seated in the warm corner
of an alehouse.
After we had had the second drink, I began by asking Bony what he
considered to be the most essential gift for a good beggar. Without
immediately answering this question, he called for two more drinks,
and, after they had been served, and he had praised the colour of
the ale, he began. "The one thing, above all others, is to have
ready wit, so as to take advantage of opportunities that come and go
in a second, and give no time for second thoughts. For instance,"
continued Bony, "when I was in the country some time ago, I called
at a house for a glass of water. I did not think that there was
the least prospect of getting tea, as the time was between meals;
therefore, being dry, I asked for water. A little girl answered
the door, and after hearing my wants, returned to tell her mother.
'Certainly,' said the mother; 'he could have had a cup of tea, if he
had asked for it, but perhaps he prefers water.' These words were
said so low that they could not have been heard, except by a man who
had all his wits about him. So, when the little girl returned with
the water, I told her, in a voice loud enough to be heard in the
house, that I was really sick for a hot drink of tea, but that it
was not the tea-hour, and I must be content with water. I lifted the
glass of water slowly to my lips, so slowly that the lady had heard
my remark, weighed it for a second, and then promised a cup of tea,
before my lips had touched the water. And, of course, the kind lady
asked me if I would like a piece of cake to eat with the tea. You
see," continued Bony, "how a man needs to keep his wits at work. Nine
beggars out of ten would not have heard or, having heard, would have
accepted the water and cursed themselves inwardly that they had not
asked for tea." I was so interested in this recital that I called for
two more drinks.
"Again," said Bony, after praising the colour of the liquor, "I
happened one day to see a lady and gentleman approaching, and
determined to accost them. As they drew near, I saw a crust of bread
on the road, and that was my chance. Casting a hasty look behind me,
as though I did not wish to be seen, I stooped, picked up the crust,
and pretended to take a bite; and then I feigned seeing them for
the first time, and hastily concealed the crust in my clothes. That
little trick worked out well, for the lady gave me sixpence, and the
gentleman gave me a shilling, and not a word passed between us."
Bony now called for two more drinks, and, after remarking that the
colour of the ale was getting no worse, continued his experiences.
"One day," he began, "I was walking the high-road when a gentleman on
a bicycle ran into me, knocking me down and throwing himself into the
hedge. It did me no harm at all, for I was soon on my feet and going
to his assistance. All my consideration was for him, thinking he
might be seriously hurt. To my surprise he was not, but much shaken.
After he had sufficiently recovered his breath he looked towards me
and said: 'Are you hurt, my poor man?' Quick as a flash it occurred
to me that I was, and I began to limp painfully. 'How far are you
going?' he asked. I mentioned a town four miles away, and said that
I had no doubt but what I could walk there, but that on my reaching
that place it would probably be a week or more before I would be able
to work, even if I could get it, and that I had no means whatever
to keep myself idle in lodgings for that length of time. 'Are you
sure that you can walk there without assistance?' he asked. 'Yes,' I
said, 'by taking my time.' 'I am very sorry for you,' said he, 'and
if this can be of help you are heartily welcome to it'--with that he
placed in my hand a gold half-sovereign. Telling him I was ashamed
to take advantage of what was no more than a pure accident, but that
my straitened circumstances compelled me to do so, and saying how
glad I was that he received no hurt, I left him, and began to limp
painfully on my way. I had not got many yards, when he was again at
my side, and, giving me his card, asked me to write in the course of
a day or two, and let him know of my progress. And, you may depend
on it," said Bony, with a grin, "that I did write on the third day,
saying that I was doing well--for I feared a personal visit from him,
with a doctor--and that in three or four more days I would be in a
fit condition to work. He wrote a very kind letter in answer, with
a postal order enclosed for ten shillings. Of course, I still keep
the gentleman's address, and call on him occasionally, and I always
receive a good meal and a shilling, and sometimes clothes as well."
"Have another drink, Bony," said I.
After the drinks were brought, and Bony had passed his usual comment
on the colour, he went on to tell how necessary it was to keep a
civil tongue on all occasions. "One day," said he, "a little man
whom I could have crushed in my arms, called me all the big, idle
vagabonds he could think of. But I allowed him free speech, knowing
that he would be so pleased to see a man timid, who was almost twice
his size, that he would at last become generous out of sheer delight,
and such was the case.
"On another occasion I called at a lady's house, and received
sixpence for my trouble, which was the first bit of silver that I
had seen for several days, and for which I thanked her from the
bottom of my heart. She stood at the door, as I was leaving, and
said: 'Poor, unfortunate man!' 'Madam,' I answered, returning, for
I was almost at the gate--'Madam,' I said, 'I am thankful to say
that I am not half so unfortunate as my poor brother, who has weak
intellect.' 'Oh, I am deeply moved to hear that,' said the kind lady,
'and will give you another sixpence for your poor brother.'
"These incidents," continued Bony, "prove how necessary it is to
have quick wits. Only last week, within a mile of this alehouse, I
got a two-shilling piece from a man in a very simple manner. I had
been calling at the alehouses all the evening, and was returning home
with three or four shillings worth of coppers in my pockets, not to
mention the pleasant effect on my system of several free drinks of
good strong ale.
"When I was on the bridge, I had my attention drawn to the sound of
voices in a small boat running under the bridge, which made me pause
and, leaning on the balustrade, look down into the river. This was
not done so much from curiosity, but that I was beginning to feel
tired. At that hour of the night the bridge was almost deserted, and
I was just on the point of moving on when a gentle hand fell on my
shoulder, and a voice kind and earnest said: 'Don't, I entreat you,
destroy your immortal soul; don't, my dear brother, plunge into the
dark waters.' I must confess that, for one moment, my wits entirely
deserted me, and if the speaker had not still held me in his grasp,
and continued his persuasion, I should have been foolish enough to
explain that such was not my intention. But I soon recovered from my
astonishment, and allowed him to lead me over the bridge. When we
stood safely on the other side, he asked me what could be done to
save me from self-destruction. Of course I had by this time recovered
my wits, and told him a harrowing tale of misfortune, which earned me
that gentleman's pity to the extent of two shillings. After receiving
my promise that I would live and face misfortune like a man, he left
me, and I, well pleased at such good fortune, sought my lodgings."
These incidents, as related by Bony, proved to me how necessary it
was for a man to be quick-witted, if he would excel as a beggar.
After several more drinks we left for home, for the colour of the ale
did not seem so good as when we first entered the place.
XV
Favouritism