pedlar's certificate--which is known as "a brief"--is, taking it all
the year round, the most successful. It matters not to him whether
the police in a town are strict or not, and he is little interested
when he hears street-singers or downright beggars approve or
disapprove of the police in certain towns. Armed with this authority,
he is a man of cool courage and impudence, and, when he produces his
"brief," he makes the inquisitive constable that interferes with him,
flush painfully. "Is that all the stock you have?" asks the constable
sternly, glancing at the man's paltry few laces, and knowing well
that he is using them for begging purposes--"Is that all the stock
you carry?" "It is all I need," the other often answers impudently,
shaking his laces in one hand, and his certificate in the other. All
towns are not favourable to the street-singer, even though they may
be good for the more silent beggar; and the downright beggar is apt
at any moment to have the door answered by a policeman, and where is
he then? But the licensed beggar is safe.
Now it is often very difficult to get this pedlar's certificate,
although the man has the five shillings to buy it; especially in
London, where a man has to be a resident in one place for six months,
and must also give reasons for his request, that he is physically
unfit to follow his trade or to do rough labour. But beggars know
of small towns in the provinces where they only have to show five
shillings and tell a lie or two, and the certificate is theirs at
once. And when a man has one, the difficulty is over for all time,
for he can get it renewed at the most particular town, without
trouble or question.
A man may pursue his calling for a very long time without being
asked to show his license, and another man may be asked to show his
several times in one month, perhaps twice in one day. I knew one man
that went all through the year without interference, but the very
first week that his license expired and he had not renewed it, he was
accosted by a policeman and arrested. This luckily turned out to his
advantage, for when he explained to the magistrate his inability to
save five shillings for its renewal, that gentleman generously gave
him the amount out of the poor-box, and the license was renewed. Of
course the man had begged enough during the week to be independent
of this aid, for one lady had given him two shillings towards that
end, and from several others he had received small silver instead of
pennies to enable him--as he told them--"to earn an honest livelihood
by selling laces, instead of begging." Yes, many a dear lady highly
commended this fine, fat fellow for such a noble resolution. As I
have said, he had received more than twice five shillings in the week
by showing ladies his expired license, but a terrible thirst was on
him, and he could not possibly pass a public-house.
It will, no doubt, be interesting news to the police, and even a
number of beggars, to know that men often hide their licenses in
the lining of their clothes, taking out a few stitches, and sewing
up again. Quite a number of beggars sew up their valuables in their
clothes, as a safeguard against loss; but the licensed beggar has
another motive for doing so. The reason why he hides his license
is that when he exhausts his very small stock, in an hour or two,
he then takes to downright begging for the rest of the day, as he
does not wish to waste time; and there may not be a swag-shop (a
shop where hawkers are supplied), near, or there may not be one in
the town. Now if he is arrested for begging, he will get ten days'
imprisonment and, if a pedlar's license is found on him, he will
receive the extra punishment of having it taken from him, and not
returned. So he serves his ten days, happy to think that his "brief"
is safe in the lining of his clothes. He can safely rely on this
being so, for a common beggar is never subjected to a severe search.
I knew one man that had a wife and three very small children,
and, on the day I made their acquaintance, she and the children
remained in the lodging-house all day, so that she could do some
washing. When the husband went out that morning, rather late, all
his stock-in-trade consisted of was six pairs of cheap mohair laces,
which cost him threepence, and with these he went to work. Soon he
returned with one shilling and ninepence in coppers, four parcels
of food, and two pairs of laces still left. Eighteen pence had to
be paid for their night's lodging, without a question of food for
five bodies. Giving his wife the money, he again sailed forth for
the afternoon. In four hours he returned with one and eleven pence,
and no laces. After which she, having finished her washing, went out
shopping, and soon returned with bread, tea, sugar, milk, mutton
chops, and a fresh stock of laces; also two separate half-ounces
of tobacco, one for him and one for herself. With this supply, and
the contents of her husband's pockets--he regretted that he could
not carry more--the family could do very well for tea, supper, and
breakfast the next morning. This industrious couple were always very
successful on Sunday mornings, when they sang hymns in the street,
with the three small children at their side.
One of the most versatile beggars that I have ever met was Harry the
Whistler, who was so resourceful that he was indifferent whether
his wife remained idle at home in the lodging-house or not. He also
carried a "brief," with a few pins and needles, for the benefit of
odd houses scattered here and there; but when he saw a number of
houses close together, or anything that looked like a street, he
would immediately make a stand and blow a tin whistle. Sometimes, to
relieve the monotony, he and his wife sang together, but more often
than not she stood silently at his side, and received the reward of
his playing.
The first time I met this couple, Harry the Whistler had to go to bed
early, so that his wife could mend the bottom of his trousers. They
almost came to blows on this occasion, for the wife maintained that
she would not sit up late night after night to mend his trousers,
and that if he would still persist in blowing a tin whistle, and
having the bottom of his trousers torn by dogs, instead of going in
for chanting, peddling, or straight begging, she would no longer
travel with him. After he had cursed dogs to his heart's content, he
confessed that it was no more pleasure for him to go to bed early
than it was for her to sit up late and mend his trousers, and that in
the future he would cease playing as soon as his notes were answered
by a dog's bark.
XXVIII
Navvies and Frauds
Navvies in common lodging-houses receive much contempt from pedlars,
grinders, and true beggars. They are always washing clothes and
making shackles (soup) on Sunday, owing to their perspiration and
dry food during the week; and while they are going about these long
tasks, others cannot find accommodation. They always manage to get
the use of the whole fire--centre, sides, and front--just before
public-houses open; after which they booze until closing time, and
then return to fill every utensil in the kitchen--basins, teacups,
and saucers--with their greasy shackles. Although generous to one
another, they would not let the smell of their shackles reach true
beggars, if it could be prevented; and yet, when a navvy is reduced
to the price of his bed only, he hints at his wants in a common
lodging-house kitchen, expecting assistance from beggars, instead of
making his wants known outside.
The navvy is more often than not a very timid beggar, and, when he
can, lives upon stolen apples, turnips, blackberries, etc.; aye,
and the picked-up bread that true beggars have cast away. In spite
of this, I have seen an exceptional navvy that had the impudence to
stand pad in a crowded market-place; which means that he would stand
in the street gutter with a few laces or pins in his hand, a thing
that only afflicted ones are expected to do. He does this on the
night that follows pay-day, and it must be confessed that he meets
with some reward. Sometimes a servant girl gives him a penny through
admiration of his stalwart form; sometimes an old lady gives him a
penny because his nose is like her son's; and, seeing that on this
particular night everybody is happy with money in their pockets, it
is not to be surprised at that a number of stray coppers find their
way into his pocket. In this instance, charity is certainly not
misplaced, for this man would rather work than beg. If he was engaged
to be at your house to do a job on the following day, you could have
little doubt but what he would appear. Only one thing would prevent
him, and that is the arrival at the lodging-house of moneyed navvies
that have just finished a job. In that case he would not need the
little work offered to him, and it would be the best policy not to
absent himself from his new friends--not even for a few minutes, for,
when men are drinking, they are apt to change suddenly. As long as he
is face to face with them, all goes well, but he no sooner turns his
back than a word of suspicion is dropped, and he returns to find that
his former friends are--if not drunk--cold and reserved; and if they
are drunk he will find them not only ready to quarrel, but to murder.
The navvy is a real working-man, but he has to travel for work from
place to place, and his jobs are very often short through no fault
of his own. Being a rough, uncouth, and ill-mannered man, fond
of drink and freedom to chew and smoke tobacco, to spit, and use
strong language, he has no other option than to live in a common
lodging-house, even though he is earning as much money as a good
mechanic.
Now, although a navvy spends the best part of his life among beggars
in common lodging-houses, it is surprising how simple and innocent
he is as to beggars' tricks and dodges. If he saw a man in a fit in
the street, the navvy would be one of the last to suspect that man
of being a fraud. If he saw a man making feeble attempts to climb a
bridge's wall or railings, and drop into the river, the navvy would
be the last to have suspicion that that man was doing so to introduce
himself to one who would listen to his pitiful story, and help him
with a shilling or more. And the navvy would never suspect the child
that pretends to lose money and begins to cry in a loud voice. And
yet this navvy spends his life in a lodging-house, where these
cunning mortals live.
These tricks are not so common as people suppose; they are in fact
very rare. Many an honest man has fits, the rivers give up a number
of suicides, and with regard to the child losing money--was there
ever a child that did not?
Beggars have various ways by which they can get shillings instead
of pennies. When a beggar in a lodging-house kitchen produced a
massive ring for the inspection of his fellow lodgers, it was eagerly
commented on as "a good one"; by which they meant to say that it was
a good imitation, for they all knew that it was a dummy. But a navvy
saw that it was marked so many carats, felt that it was heavy, saw
that it was of good colour, and exclaimed, to the derision of the
lodgers assembled: "It's real gold! Did you pick it up?" "Will you
give me sixpence for it?" asked the other. The navvy did not answer,
for this question seemed to enlighten him.
The ring dodge is a paying concern, for the sale of one ring often
means dinner, drinks, supper, bed, and breakfast. The ring is, to
all appearance, valuable; according to its colour, finish, weight,
and--the best sign of all--its mark of carats. All that is to be done
is to invite inspection, and if you are suspected of being a thief
who is afraid to enter a pawnshop, so much the better, for you are
almost certain to find an avaricious victim. Very few men can resist
giving a couple of shillings for an article which they feel satisfied
can be again easily disposed of at a good profit. I have often been
invited as a would-be purchaser to examine a ring in the hand of a
seedy-looking man, and, if he persists, I simply say, "I live in a
doss-house," and he does not waste any more time on me.
Then there is the razor-man, with his very cheap razors, which look
so very good. It is generally in public-houses where the razor-man
succeeds. Producing a fine-looking razor, he invites inspection, and
when it meets with approval he offers it for sale. If he cannot get
more than three times its worth, he is in bad luck indeed.
Then there is the man who carries a few cheap spectacles, which never
cost him more than twopence-halfpenny a pair. At night this man
finds victims in public-houses, and by day the ladies must suffer.
Sometimes he carries a few laces, pins, and needles, etc., so as to
get a few coppers at places where spectacles would not be needed.
When an elderly lady answers the door, he, after a while, introduces
the spectacles, taking them from his inside pocket. It is more than
probable that she uses glasses to read and sew, even if she is not
wearing them then.
In a case of this kind women, also men, are very curious, and they
cannot resist the temptation to try the glasses, even though they are
well suited with what they possess. Moreover, it is well to have
several pairs of glasses, in case of accidents.
Now, sometimes a very common pair of glasses will suit better than
costly ones for which the eyes were tested; even as a brass watch
may keep better time than a gold one, or a pair of ready-made boots
fit better than a pair made to order. If the old lady is satisfied
that she can see as well as with her own, the glasses at once assume
value, and this is known to the pedlar, for he never mentions a word
about price until he hears her verdict. First she tries one pair, and
then another, until she confesses that one pair in particular suits
her eyes. On hearing this the man gives his price, which is according
to what he thinks the woman can afford. If she can afford to make
a purchase, she does, and tells him that she can see better with
his eighteen-penny glasses than with a pair for which her eyes were
tested, and which cost her seven shillings and sixpence, or more. And
these spectacles cost the pedlar two shillings and sixpence per dozen.
A little originality converts a common beggar into a great one. When
I was in the Welsh hills, where common lodging-houses were scarce,
I found a house to my liking, and, seeing that there were a number
of good-sized towns near, within three or four miles, determined to
make it my quarters for a month or more, and thoroughly work the
country around. I was selling laces at the time, and on my visit to
one of the towns, I had remarkably good luck. Seeing a long street, I
called at every house and received in all one shilling and twopence
for my trouble, with the sale of four pairs of laces, which cost me
less than twopence. I mentioned this to a fellow-lodger, who had
been staying at the house for several days. When at his request I
described the position of the street, he said, with a quiet smile: "I
got eight shillings and sixpence out of that street." "What were you
selling?" I asked, thinking he must be in a large way of business,
and wondering why he lived at a common lodging-house. "Nothing," he
answered, to my amazement; "it was all profit." This made me curious,
for I knew that he, being a man apparently unafflicted and in good
health, could not be very successful as a plain beggar. Before we
went to bed this man gave me a letter to read, and in this letter
it said that he was one of the strikers at M----, and that he had
a wife and four children to maintain, and ended with a polite
and dignified request for assistance. With this letter he did his
business, simply handing it to whoever answered the door, with the
request that they would take it in and read it. His time was night,
when the whole family were at home, probably two or three working
sons and the father; and when he could go from door to door without
attracting notice.
Who could insult this man with a common penny? No doubt two or three
people that had given me pennies refused this more ambitious man; but
others, who thought a penny quite enough for me, gave him sixpence or
a shilling. The letter--what originality! It did not give a servant
chance to dismiss him, for she had no suspicion of his wants; and
it did not give one of the family power to speak for all. And yet,
in spite of knowing these tricks, I still continued the far less
profitable traffic in laces.
XXIX
A First Night in a Lodging-house
I have lived so full a life that I forgot, till lately, an incident
that other men would, if it was their experience, talk about till
the end of their days; for it was at that time that I first became
acquainted with common lodging-houses and shelters. It was when I was
young, twenty years of age, and had just finished my apprenticeship,
that I paid my fare to London, and then had five weeks' experience
of the worst side of life. When I arrived in London, I had a gold
sovereign and a few shillings; and, being full of hope, like all
young people, went to a small hotel, had a good meal, and paid two
shillings and sixpence for my bed. At this rate I was soon bankrupt,
and then commenced my experience of real life; for I was soon hungry
and walking the streets at night. But on the first night I had the
good fortune to be assisted by a gentleman who, seeing me standing
under an arch, asked a few questions and then gave me sixpence. This
was my first experience of acute hunger, and it so frightened me that
when day came, and I had had a cup of tea and a slice of bread and
butter, I bought half a pennyworth of stationery and a stamp and sent
home for money, having the reply addressed to a post office in the
Strand. The following day I received a letter with a postal order
for twenty shillings. A few days had taught me much, and I was now
determined to spend no more half-crowns on beds, but to make this
money last as long as possible. So I asked a ragged man what was the
cheapest bed I could get, and he said fourpence, but that I could get
a bunk at the Salvation Army shelter for twopence. Leaving him I went
in quest of a fourpenny lodging-house in the East End, and soon found
one. That was my first experience in a common lodging-house, but I
cannot say that at that time the experience filled me with anything
like horror. I was young and romantic, and felt proud in having such
a strange experience, which I could talk about when I would be in a
better position, to people's amazement. However, I only stayed there
three nights, because I saw that I would soon be hungry again, if I
did not seek cheaper lodgings. So I made enquiries about a Salvation
Army shelter, and was soon inside one in Ratcliff Highway. I did not
think this place quite so romantic as the common lodging-house, for
here were so many men that not one could be seated with comfort, and
these men were more ragged and dirtier.
Now, at this time I was a pure-minded youth, who had been a
chapel-goer, by compulsion 'tis true; and I thought the world was
divided into two classes--the wicked, who never went to a place of
worship, and the good, who went every Sunday at least. I had never
given it a thought what a hypocrite was, and that people would go to
church or chapel from other motives than religion. For this reason
what surprised and shocked me most at this shelter was to hear the
Salvation Army soldiers using bad language. I could hardly believe my
ears, when I heard them, even on Sunday, before and after a meeting
in which they had prayed and sung.
The bunks in this shelter were on the floor, and contained a mattress
covered with leather, and a leather quilt. This was quite sufficient
for warmth, for every man lay in his clothes, and so many men
together made the air warm and very foul. Each bunk was about six
feet long, two feet and a half wide, and six inches in height. I need
hardly say that I soon got homesick; and when I heard a couple of
sailors say that they were going to South Wales to look for a ship, I
at once offered to accompany them. Luckily for me these two sailors
were good cadgers, having often tramped across country to different
seaports, so that I was not likely to starve in their company. The
next morning, when I told them I had a silver shilling left, and
took their advice to spend it on ale and tobacco, they promised with
many oaths that I should not want for food on the road. But I only
accompanied them a little more than half-way, and then left them;
for they, having no sure prospects, were not inclined to tax their
walking strength to the utmost. My last stage was over sixty miles,
with only one stop, and that was nine miles from home. It was then
night, and I met a policeman who wanted to know where I was going.
"Home," I answered, and added the name of the town. I began to feel
a bit tired now, and sat on a bank for a few moments' rest, after
which I rose and continued my way. But I had hardly gone twenty yards
when I met a policeman again, who said: "Hallo! what are you doing
here? I thought you were going home?" "So I am," I answered, quite
bewildered. "You are going away from it," he said; "you have walked
back two miles from where I met you before." When I had sat on the
bank I must have fallen asleep, and, waking, did not know in the dark
but what I was going right. However, at that time these experiences
only made romance. The truth is that as long as the young do not
feel actual hunger, they care little for other things. And I was
very fortunate in these few weeks, for I was never forced to beg.
The two sailors not only fed me, but, when I left them, gave me as
much food as I was likely to want on my way home. It was years after,
when I began to feel literary ambition and wanted privacy, that I
experienced the horror of being mixed with thirty or forty men in a
small lodging-house kitchen.
One day, when I had been in a common lodging-house for a considerable
time, I met a man in Hyde Park, who had lately come from the
country, and was now come to his last shilling, after selling
whatever he had of value. Hearing this, I could do no other than
take him to the lodging-house where I lived. I gathered from his
conversation that he had no idea of such places. Now it happened that
I was living in a very low-class house in Blackfriars, whose inmates
were not only very poor and ragged, but rough and brutal; so, when I
began to think of this, I almost repented of my offer to take charge
of him. However, it was too late now, so on we went, and were soon at
the house. When we entered the kitchen there were three of the worst
lodgers quarrelling, and not only drunk, but with a can full of beer
on the table. What must have been this man's thoughts, who had only
just left a good home? for he had been telling me about his mother
and sisters. I told him to sit down and wait until I returned from
shopping, after which we would have tea. I was away less than ten
minutes, for there were several shops near, but when I came back he
had gone. Speaking to one of the lodgers about him, I was told that
he had followed me out, close at my heels. I never saw him again. I
believe that he was so disgusted with his strange surroundings that
he started for home at once, although it was a hundred miles away.
His feelings must have been very strong, seeing that he had already
paid for his bed, and that sum was now lost to him. I have often
wondered what must have been his final opinion of me, to whom he had
entrusted his confidence. Perhaps he thought that I had decoyed him
there to be robbed of his very clothes. The place must have seemed
horrible to him, with its dark, underground kitchen, no woman there,
and nothing, except a cat, to make it appear like a home.
Of course, I am speaking now of the very lowest
lodging-houses--houses that are seldom written about; for journalists
choose better-class lodging-houses for their visits. Some time ago,
I read an account of a journalist going to spend one night in a
lodging-house. He explained how he pocketed his briar pipe, and took
a common clay one, and how he dirtied his face and hands. Now it
happened that the house he went to was a superior lodging-house where
he would see a number of men with silk hats and watches and chains.
In fact, this innocent journalist made himself ill-looking enough
for a fourpenny lodging-house, and I would not have been surprised
if he had been refused a bed at the house to which he went. After
reading his account I have come to the conclusion that he did not
visit the place at all.