THE LIFE OF LOW LIFE; OR THE GLORIOUS FINISH OF THE WEEK.
"Yes!" snivelled a street-preacher and psalm singer, who could
scarcely hold up his head for strong drink; "we are now entering upon
the Lord's day."
"Aye," observed a spouting vagabond, "it is so, old Mawworm, and you
had better go to bed. You know you have your part to perform
to-morrow."
"Yes!" he answered, adding a little snuff to his other stimulants, and
muttered something about "God willing."
And now it was that the roar of revelry began--noise, disorder, and
discord, all joined chorus. The players were let loose, and were
giving vent to their different feelings, as ill or bad luck had
attended them.
The lodgers were nearly all returned, every man and woman more or less
in liquor. The boys of the Emerald Isle were fast approaching to that
state in which they are said to be in all their glory; and nothing was
now seen or heard but singing, swearing, cooking, eating, smoking,
talking, larking, and quarrelling.
The first who broke the peace was a stout bare-footed fellow, a
Welshman, who began beating his wife (a girl of the _pave_), for her
excessive partiality for gin.
"Are not you a pretty ---- of a woman," he exclaimed, with a voice as
gruff as a ruffian's could well be, "to call yourself a man's wife, to
come home here, by ----, drunk, every night, while I am going about
the streets all day long bawling myself hoarse!" and at the conclusion
of every sentence sent her a blow of weight enough to lower one of his
mountain bulls.
No one ever offered to interfere, although the woman's face was
already beginning to exhibit both blood and marks; for, however that
old right for a man to chastise his wife is repudiated in the other
parts of society, in this refined age, yet in these walks of life,
this ancient custom still holds good. Here a man is considered
perfectly in the right to match his strength of arm against his wife's
strength of tongue.
The fellow hammered away at his helpless helpmate with hard words and
harder blows, threatening all the time a separation, and extolling to
their skies the beauties and perfections of another nymph, whom he
swore he would join.
Just at this moment the lady in question made her appearance; and,
certainly, as far as personal looks, dress, and a more sober demeanour
went, she was superior to the one in possession. The wife, who had
borne beneath the weighty power of her husband, in as becoming a
manner as a wife ought to do, now felt as if endowed with the nervous
locks of Sampson; fired with jealousy, and backed by _Old Tom_ (gin),
she sprung upon her rival, and, in a moment, ribbons, caps, and hair,
were twisted in the clenched hand. Down went a table and one or two
forms,--men, women, and children,--and up rose yells, screams, and
oaths, with all the stormy joys of fight seconding the uproar.
Old Ben rushed in, and did his utmost to restore order, but it was "no
go," as they would say--family affairs must be settled. The Amazons
tugged and tore at each other, if not with the fury and hate of
bull-dogs, at least like their mates. The wife had secured the
sweetheart by the hair, and was taking a most merciless advantage, by
keeping her down upon the floor, when a Scotch sailor, wishing, we
suppose, to see a stand-up affair, unloosed her hold, and let the
other escape. But Sawney had, at this time at least reckoned without
his host; he had been wise, he had left the devil alone; for, loosing
her vengeance, she turned all her remaining rage upon the northern,
and soon made something trickle down his cheeks, of more consequence
than tears.
The man never retaliated, but he was not without his friend. The woman
who officiated as his wife--down with the child she had in her
arms--flung off her shawl, and going up to the jade who had tickled
her _gude mon_, poured forth a torrent of strong round words.
"Do you think," she said, "that he has nobody to take his part, that
you strike as if you were not to be struck again? No, no!" she added,
"he is no man who will strike a woman except she be his own wife; but
here, you ---- ----, I am your," &c., &c.
"Honour among thieves!" thought we, and here's fair play among
cadgers. The other, who, to use the phrase of the ring, was blood to
the back bone, and in a most excellent humour to accept a challenge,
was not very slow in putting herself in order for what is termed a
regular.
Ben tried again for peace, but it was no use. The master was gone to
the house in the Broadway, and the inmates here were wild. No nails,
or tugging of hair, was brought into this action, but everything
settled in the true old English style of disputing.
These paragons of the tender sex then threw themselves into attitudes
that would have done honour to a Mendoza; but Sawney's wife, who was a
real Lady Barrymore hussey, proved the master at arms. Tall and bony,
she slashed her opponent at arm's length, with the cutting force of a
Curtis and presently ended her share of the fray.
The Welshman, after having seen his battered spouse taken care of,
returned and going up to the Scotchman, very gravely said,
"Joe, I believe there is something between you and me. You were always
a good 'un, but I cannot allow any man to meddle with my wife."
"Say no more," said the _canny_ Scot; "it's all right. No man ever
heard me say, nay."
"No never!" shouted the most of the company. "You were always a
trump!"
"Well then," says Taffy, "let's have this turn over, and we'll be
friends yet."
And with this kind of chivalrous feeling, did these two honourable
blackguards prepare to maul each other, zealously encouraged by their
friends. Sawney's wife telling him, that if he did not soften that
lump of goat's flesh, she would give him a lesson herself how to fist
a man.
It was curious to observe how differently these people were affected,
when a violent struggle was about to take place. The most of the
younkers, particularly the females, got upon the window-ledge tables,
and forms, but most of the veterans in vice never moved out of their
seats.
The sole garments of the Scot consisted of a loose, ragged great coat,
and a pair of trousers of equal value. Wheeling himself round for
the combat, in a kind of bravo style, his cumbrous coat dropped off
his shoulders, with as much ease as if it had been the cloak of a
Spanish duellist, and presented a frame formed for the ring. Rather
under-sized, light limbed, broad chested, and strong armed, all sinew
and bone, with a step as light as an Indian, and an eye as fierce as a
Mohawk.
After a little play with their fists, by the way of feeling how each
other stood, and an exchange or two of favours, the Scot sent in a
straight right-handed hit on the throat, with as much force as if the
whole weight and strength of his body had been concentrated in the
blow. His man was prostrate head foremost under the bars. Taffy's lump
of a body was picked up, for his soul seemed as if it had taken its
flight to Davy Jones. It was all over, and Joe, the "o'er the border
man," was cheered with deafening acclamations, whoops, and yells.
Harlequin, who ought to have been christened Hercules, from his
Atlas-like shoulders, was now standing in the middle of the floor,
like a surly boar roused from his lair, by the seat he had been
sleeping upon being overturned, and, catching instinctively, as it
were, that fights were going on, longed for some object on whom he
could soothe his disturbed blood. He had flung his jacket over his
arm, and, like a true bully, was striking his naked breast with his
fist, and daring in his own low, disgusting slang, the best man in the
room to turn out.
The place, at this moment, bore no bad resemblance to the infernal
regions. The tables, forms, and windows were crowded, and drunkenness,
ruffianism, and profligacy, were revelling in all the demoniac
delights of mischief. Shouts, roars, and yells, shook the house, for
the Scot to accept the challenge. Ben's voice in the din, was like a
mite in the universe.
Sawney had just moved a step, to take the bear by the paw, when an
apparition appeared that instantly quelled the riot.
We have heard of a story of the devil obtruding himself on a company
playing at cards on a Sunday morning, and petrifying the
Sabbath-breakers by the sight of his club foot; or we might imagine
Jove silencing the stormy contentions of Olympus by his nod; but
neither of these had a greater effect than had the blue physog. of a
police sergeant showing his awe-inspiring self in at the door.
Down crouched the vagabonds; every tongue was hushed as if Silence had
stilled their throats with his finger. Some took their pipes, affected
to appear tranquil, but smoked very confusedly, and a slight tremor
might be observed in their fingers. As for Harlequin, he stood with
his naked form, and his jacket flung over his arm, with a look as
condemned as if the cap was about to be placed upon him.
The policeman never once opened his lips, but moved forward, with all
the commanding importance of office, as he held his lantern from one
ruffian's face to another. The landlord came in, and apologized for
the noise, and promised that there should be no more disturbance. The
guardian of the night nodded, and walked out.
The lodgers were then entertained with a lecture, with threats of
turning out, and sending to the station-house. Three or four of the
most unruly were dragged away to bed and the rest left, with strong
injunctions to enjoy nothing but harmless mirth.
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