There's a very terrible disease upon which a great deal has been
written, but not a great deal done. In fact, it is difficult to deal
with special diseases brought on by the toiler's work. It is a vexed
question what to do or how to treat the consumption that attacks the
needle-grinders and other dry grinders; the horrible sufferings of those
who inhale the dust of deadly minerals; the bone disease of the workers
in phosphorus and many other ills brought on by working at particular
trades.
The disease I allude to in particular is one that attacks that familiar
personage, the chimney sweep, and I have often had to treat some poor
fellow or another for it.
There was one man who stands in my note-book as J.J.--John Johnson, I
had under my care several times, and we came to be very good friends,
for under that sooty skin of his--I never saw it once really clean--
there was a great deal of true humanity and tenderness of heart, as I
soon found from the way in which he behaved to his wife.
"Why don't you chimney sweeps--Ramoneurs as you call yourselves now--
invent a better cry than svi-thee-up?"
"Ramoneur," he said with a husky chuckle. "Yes, that's it, doctor.
Fine, aint it? I allus calls myself a plain sweep, though. That's good
enough for me."
"But you might do without that yell of yours," I said. "London cries
are a terrible nuisance, though I don't know that I'd care to have them
done away with. Your _svi-thee-up_ don't sound much like sweep."
"_Svi-thee-up, svi-thee-up_," he cried, as he lay there in bed, to the
utter astonishment of his wife. "Don't sound much like sweep? No, it
don't; but then one has to have one's own regular cry, as folks may know
us by. Why, listen to any of them of a morning about the street, and
who'd think it was creases as this one was a hollering, or Yarmouth
bloaters that one; or that `Yow-hoo!' meant new milk? It ain't what we
say--it's the sound of our voices. Don't the servant gals as hears us
of a morning know what it means well enough when the bell rings, and
them sleepy a-bed? Oh, no, not at all! But there's no mussy for 'em,
and we jangles away at the bell, and hollers a good 'un till they lets
us in; for, you see, it comes nat'ral when you're obliged to be up
yourself, and out in the cold, to not like other folks to be snugging it
in bed.
"But, then, it's one's work, you know, and I dunno whether it was that
or the sutt as give me this here coarse voice, which nothing clears
now--most likely it was the sutt. How times are altered, though, since
I was a boy! That there climbing boy Act o' Parliament made a reg'lar
revolution in our business, and now here we goes with this here bundle
o' canes, with a round brush at the end, like a great, long screw
fishing-rod, you know, all in jints, and made o' the best Malacky cane,
so as to go into all the ins and outs, and bend about anywhere, till
it's right above the pot, and bending and swinging down. But they're
poor things, bless you, and don't sweep a chimbley half like a boy used.
You never hears the rattle of a brush at the top of a chimbley-pot now,
and the boy giving his `hillo--hallo--hullo--o--o--o!' to show as he'd
not been shamming and skulking half-way up the flue. Why, that was one
of the cheery sounds as you used to hear early in the mornin', when you
was tucked up warm in bed; for there was always somebody's chimbley a
being swept.
"Puts me in mind again of when I was a little bit of a fellow, and at
home with mother, as I can recollect with her nice pleasant face, and a
widder's cap round it. Hard pushed, poor thing, when she took me to Joe
Barkby, the chimbley sweep, as said he'd teach me the trade if she
liked. And there was I, shivering along aside her one morning, when she
was obliged to take me to Joe, and we got there to find him sitting over
his brexfass, and he arst mother to have some; but her heart was too
full, poor thing, and she wouldn't, and was going away, and Joe sent me
to the door to let her out; and that's one of the things as I shall
never forget--no, not if I lives to a hundred--my mother's poor, sad,
weary face, and the longing look she give me when we'd said `Good bye,'
and I was going to shut the door after her. Such a sad, longing look,
as if she could have caught me up and run off with me. I saw it as she
stood on the step, and me with the door in my hand--that there green
door, with a bright brass knocker, and brass plate with `Barkby,
Chimbley Sweep,' on it. There was tears in her eyes, too; and I felt so
miserable myself I didn't know what to do as I stood watching her, and
she came and give me one more kiss, saying, `God bless you!' and then I
shut the door a little more, and a little more, till I could see the
same sad look through quite a little crack; and then it was close shut,
and I was wiping my eyes with my knuckles.
"Ah! I've often thought since as I shut that door a deal too soon; but
I was too young to know all as that poor thing must have suffered.
"Barkby warn't a bad sort; but then, what can you expect from a sweep?
He didn't behave so very bad to us little chummies; but there it was--up
at four, and tramp through the cold, dark streets, hot or cold, wet or
dry; and then stand shivering till you could wake up the servants--an
hour, perhaps, sometimes. Then in you went to the cold, miserable
house, with the carpets all up, or p'r'aps you had to wait no one knows
how long while the gal was yawning, and knick-knick-knicking with a
flint and steel over a tinder-box, and then blowing the spark till you
could get a brimstone match alight. Then there was the forks to get for
us to stick the black cloth in front of the fireplace, and then there
was one's brush, and the black cap to pull down over one's face, pass
under the cloth, and begin swarming up the chimbley all in the dark.
"It was very trying to a little bit of a chap of ten years old, you
know--quite fresh to the job; and though Barkby give me lots of
encouragement, without being too chuff, it seemed awful as soon as I got
hold of the bars, which was quite warm then, and began feeling my way,
hot, and smothery, and sneezy, in my cap, till I give my head such a
pelt against some of the brickwork that I began to cry; for, though I'd
done plenty of low ones this was the first high chimbley as I'd been put
to. But I chokes it down, as I stood there with my little bare toes all
amongst the cinders, and then began to climb.
"Every now and then Barkby shoves his head under the cloth, and `Go
ahead, boy,' he'd say; and I kep' on going ahead as fast as I could, for
I was afeared on him, though he never spoke very gruff to me; but I had
heard him go on and cuss awful, and I didn't want to put him out. So
there was I, poor little chap--I'm sorry for myself even now, you know--
swarming up a little bit at a time, crying away quietly, and rubbing the
skin off my poor knees and elbows, while the place felt that hot and
stuffy I could hardly breathe, cramped up as I was.
"Now, you wouldn't think as any one could see in the dark, with his eyes
close shut, and a thick cap over his face, pulled right down to keep the
sutt from getting up his nose--you wouldn't think anyone could see
anything there; but I could, quite plain; and what do you think it was?
Why, my mother's face, looking at me so sad, and sweet, and smiling,
through her tears, that it made me give quite a choking sob every now
and then and climb away as hard as ever I could, though my toes and
knees seemed to have the skin quite off, and smarted ever so; while I
kep' on slipping a bit every now and then, for I was new at climbing,
and this was a long chimbley, from the housekeeper's room of a great
house, right from under ground, to the top.
"Sometimes I'd stop and have a cry, for I'd feel beat out, and the face
as had cheered me on was gone; but then I'd hear Barkby's choky voice
come muttering up the floo, same as I've shouted to lots o' boys in my
time, `Go ahead, boy!' and I'd go ahead again, though at last I was
sobbing and choking as hard as I could, for I kep' on thinking as I
should never get to the top, and be stuck there always in the chimbley,
never to come out no more.
"`I won't be a sweep, I won't be a sweep,' I says, sobbing and crying;
and all the time making up my mind as I'd run away first chance, and go
home again; and then, after a good long struggle, I was in the pot, with
my head out, then my arms out, and the cap off for the cool wind to blow
in my face.
"And, ah! how cool and pleasant that first puff of wind was, and how the
fear and horror seemed to go away as I climbed out, and stood looking
about me; till all at once I started, for there came up out of the pot,
buzzing like, Barkby's voice, as he calls out, `Go ahead, boy!'
"So then I set to rattling away with my brush-handle to show as I was
out, and then climbs down on to the roof, and begins looking about me.
It was just getting daylight, so that I could see my way about, and all
seemed so fresh and strange that, with my brush in my hand, I begins to
wander over the roofs, climbing up the slates and sliding down t'other
side, which was good fun, and worth doing two or three times over. Then
I got to a parapet, and leaned looking over into the street, and
thinking of what a way it would be to tumble; but so far off being
afraid, I got on to the stone coping, and walked along ever so far, till
I came to an attic window, where I could peep in and see a man lying
asleep, with his mouth half open; then I climbed up another slope, and
had another slide down; and then another, and another, till I forgot all
about my sore knees; and at last sat astride of the highest part,
looking about me at the view I had of the tops of houses as far as I
could see, for it was getting quite light now.
"All at once I turned all of a horrible fright, for I recklected about
Barkby, and felt almost as if he'd got hold of me, and was thrashing me
for being so long. I ran to the first chimbley stack, but that wasn't
right, for I knew as the one I came up was a-top of a slate-sloping
roof. Then I ran to another, thinking I should know the one I came out
of by the sutt upon it. But they'd all got sutt upon 'em--every
chimbley-pot I looked at, and so I hunted about from one to another till
I got all in a muddle, and didn't know where I was nor which pot I'd got
out of. Last of all, shaking and trembling, I makes sure as I'd got the
right one, and climbing up I managed, after nearly tumbling off, to get
my legs in, when pulling down my cap, I let myself through a bit at a
time, and leaving go I slipped with a regular rush, nobody knows how
far, till I came to a bend in the chimbley, where I stopped short--
scraped, and bruised, and trembling, while I felt that confused I
couldn't move.
"After a bit I came round a little, and, whimpering and crying to
myself, I began to feel my way about a bit with my toes, and then got
along a little away straight like, when the chimbley took another bend
down, and stiffly and slowly I let myself down a little and a little
till my feet touched cold iron, and I could get no farther. But after
thinking a bit, I made out where I was, and that I was standing on the
register of a fireplace, so I begins to lift it up with my toes as well
as I could, when crash it went down again, and there came such a
squealing and screeching as made me begin climbing up again as fast as I
could till I reached the bend, where I stopped and had another cry, I
felt so miserable; and then I shrunk up and shivered, for there came a
roar and a rattle that echoed up the chimbley, while the sutt came
falling down in a way that nearly smothered me.
"Now, I knew enough to tell myself that the people being frightened had
fired a gun up the chimbley, while the turn round as it took had saved
me from being hurt. So I sat squatted up quite still, and then heard
some one shout out `Hallo!' two or three times, and then `Puss, puss,
puss!' Then I could hear voices whispering a bit, and then the register
was banged down, as I supposed by the noise.
"Only fancy! sitting in a bend of the chimbley shivering with fear, and
half smothered with heat and sutt, while your breath comes heavy and
thick from the cap over your face! Not nice, it ain't; and more than
once I've felt a bit sorry for the poor boys as I've sent up chimbleys
in my time. But there I was, and I soon began scrambling up again, and
worked hard, for the chimbley was wider than the other one. Last of all
I got up to the pot, and out on to the stack, and then again I had a
good cry.
"Now, when I'd rubbed my eyes again, I had another look round, and felt
as if I was at the wrong pot, so I scrambled down, slipped over the
slates, and got to a stack in front, when I felt sure I was right, for
there were black finger-marks on the red pot; so I got up, slipped my
legs in, and taking care this time that I didn't fall, began to lower
myself down slowly, though I was all of a twitter to know what Barkby
would do to me for being so long. Now I'd slip a little bit, being so
sore and rubbed I could hardly stop myself; and then I'd manage to let
myself down gently; but all at once the chimbley seemed to open so wide,
being an old one I suppose, that I couldn't reach very well with my back
and elbows pressed out; so, feeling myself slipping again, I tried to
stick my nails in the bricks, at the same time drawing my knees 'most up
to my chin, when down I went perhaps a dozen feet, and then, where there
was a bit of a curve, I stuck reg'lar wedged in all of a heap, nose and
chin altogether, knees up against the bricks on one side, and my back
against the other, and me not able to move.
"For a bit I was so frightened that I never tried to stir, but last of
all the horrid fix I was in came upon me like a clap, and there I was,
half choked, dripping with perspiration, and shuddering in every limb,
wedged in where all was dark as Egypt.
"After a bit I managed to drag off my cap, thinking that I could then
see the daylight through the pot. But no; the chimbley curved about too
much, and all was dark as ever; while what puzzled me was, that I
couldn't breathe any easier now the cap was off, for it seemed hot, and
close, and stuffy, though I thought that was through me being so
frightened, for I never fancied now but I was in the right chimbley, and
wondered that Barkby didn't shout.
"All at once there came a terrible fear all over me--a feeling that I've
never forgotten, nor never shall as long as I'm a sweep. It was as if
all the blood in my body had run out and left me weak, and helpless, and
faint, for down below I could hear a heavy beat-beat-beat noise, that I
knew well enough, and up under me came a rush of hot smoke that nearly
suffocated me right off; when I gave such a horrid shriek of fear as
I've never forgot neither, for the sound of it frightened me worse.
"It didn't sound like my voice at all, as I kept on shrieking, and
groaning, and crying for help, too frightened to move, though I've often
thought since as a little twisting on my part would have set me loose,
to try and climb up again. But, bless you, no; I could do nothing but
shout and cry, with the noise I made sounding hollow and stifly, and the
heat and smoke coming up so as to nearly choke me over and over again.
"I knew fast enough now that I had come down a chimbley where there had
been a clear fire, and now some one had put lumps of coal on, and been
breaking them up; and in the fright I was in I could do nothing else but
shout away till my voice got weak and wiry, and I coughed and wheezed
for breath.
"But I hadn't been crying for nothing, though; for soon I heard some one
shout up the chimbley, and then came a deal of poking and noise, and the
smoke and heat came curling up by me worse than ever, so that I thought
it was all over with me, but at the same time came a whole lot of hot,
bad-smelling steam; and then some one knocked at the bricks close by my
head, and I heard a buzzing sound, when I gave a hoarse sort of cry, and
then felt stupid and half asleep.
"By-and-by there was a terrible knocking and hammering close beside me,
getting louder and louder every moment; and yet it didn't seem to matter
to me, for I hardly knew what was going on, though the voices came
nearer and the noise plainer, and at last I've a bit of recollection of
hearing some one say `Fetch brandy,' and I wondered whether they meant
Barkby, while I could feel the fresh air coming upon me. Then I seemed
to waken up a bit, and see the daylight through a big hole, where there
was ever so much rough broken bricks and mortar between me and the
light; and next thing I recollect is lying upon a mattress, with a fine
gentleman leaning over me, and holding my hand in his.
"`Don't,' I says in a whisper; `It's all sutty.' Then I see him smile,
and he asked me how I was.
"`Oh, there ain't no bones broke,' I says; `only Barkby'll half kill
me.'
"`What for?' says another gentleman.
"`Why, coming down the wrong chimbley,' I says; and then, warming up a
bit with my wrongs, `But 'twarn't my fault,' I says. `Who could tell
t'other from which, when there warn't no numbers nor nothink on 'em, and
they was all alike, so as you didn't know which to come down, and him a
swearing acause you was so long? Where is he?' I says in a whisper.
"One looked at t'other, and there was six or seven people about me; for
I was lying on the mattress put on the floor close aside a great hole in
the wall, and a heap o' bricks and mortar.
"`Who?' says the first gent, who was a doctor.
"`Why, Barkby,' I says; `my guv'nor, who sent me up number seven's
chimbley.'
"`Oh, he's not here,' says someone. `This ain't number seven; this is
number ten. Send to seven,' he says.
"Then they began talking a bit; and I heard something said about `poor
boy,' and `fearful groans,' and `horrid position;' and they thought I
didn't hear 'em, for I'd got my eyes shut, meaning to sham Abram when
Barkby came, for fear he should hurt me; but I needn't have shammed, for
I couldn't neither stand nor sit up for a week arter; and I believe
arter all, it's that has had something to do with me being so
husky-voiced.
"Old Barkby never hit me a stroke, and I believe arter all he was sorry
for me; but a sweep's is a queer life even now, though afore the act was
passed some poor boys was used cruel, and more than one got stuck in a
floo, to be pulled out dead."