THE HISTORY OF JACOB SMITH.
"My earliest recollections are associated with the occupation of playing
all day long in the streets, in company with other infants. This was in
Upper Whitecross Street, St. Luke's; where I and those other children
lived with a woman, who pretended to keep a boarding-school at which she
received children to live with her altogether for one shilling and
eightpence a-week each: but she used to turn us all out early in the
morning with a piece of hard mouldy bread to nibble for our breakfast,
and fetch us home again when it grew dusk in the evening. She would then
give us each another piece of bread for supper, and we went to bed. But
what a bed! A few old sacks thrown over a heap of straw in a little room
about six feet long by four and a half in width, served upwards of a
dozen children as a sleeping-room. There we used to cry ourselves to
rest, famished with insufficiency of food—and awake again in the morning
to undergo fresh privations.
"I said there were about twelve of us under the care of this Mother
Maggs—as she was called. They chiefly belonged to very poor parents, who
were engaged all day long at work, and were therefore glad to get rid of
their children, who would otherwise only be an encumbrance to them. Some
few were, however, the illegitimate offspring of poor servant-girls in
place; but nearly all had parents who came to see them from time to time
and perhaps gave them a few pence. I was not, however, so fortunate as
the rest; for no one ever came to see me—at least that I was aware
of—until I was about nine years old; and I heard that the twenty-pence
a-week allowed for my board and lodging, was left regularly for Mother
Maggs at the neighbouring chandler's shop every Saturday morning. Mother
Maggs seemed to think that I had really no friends—for, though she
bullied us all pretty well, she bullied _me_ ten thousand times more
than the rest.
"The habit of turning a dozen little children, some of whom were only
just able to walk, into the street in the way I have described, was not
likely to be always unattended with disagreeable consequences. Sometimes
a child was run over, and either severely wounded or killed. In the
latter case, no Coroner's Inquest ever sate on the body: the exposure of
Mother Maggs's neglect towards us, would have drawn the attention of the
parochial authorities towards her. But when a death happened in that
way, the old woman used to put the body into a sack and carry it some
distance into the country, where she would sink it in a pond or ditch.
Often, however, the corpse of a dead child has been allowed to remain in
our room till it was quite putrid, Mother Maggs not having time or
inclination to remove it before. And, on those occasions, we _who were
alive in that room_ were so frightened to be with the dead body in the
dark, that we shrieked and screamed till the noise reached the old
woman's ears in the public-house next door; and so savage was she at
being disturbed in her gin and her gossip, that she has half murdered us
by way of making us hold our tongues!
"Sometimes a child was lost; and if the parents, on being informed of
it, expressed regret or anger, Mother Maggs would take some trouble to
find it again: if not, she did not put herself out of the way respecting
the matter. In addition to her boarding-house for children, she let out
lodgings to persons of either sex; and, as she was not particular so
long as she got paid, her house was nothing more or less than a common
brothel. She was always saying she had no time to do any thing which
ought to be done: and if being all day in the public-house was a
necessary duty, she certainly had no time for other purposes. Though not
often tipsy, she was never actually sober—but in a constant state of
muzziness. Liquor did not improve her temper: on the contrary it made
her irritable—sometimes ferocious; and I have seen her fight with other
women until her face was covered with long seams made by the
finger-nails, and pouring with blood.
"You cannot suppose that _all_ these things which I have just told you
or that I am going to tell you directly, in connexion with Mother
Maggs's establishment, were noticed or understood by me when I was quite
a child there: but you must remember that I stayed at that den until I
was nine, and in the course of those years all I saw made a deep
impression on my mind; and what was then dark and unintelligible to me,
has since been made clear and plain by experience and by reflection on
those scenes and circumstances.
"You will wonder how my wretched companions and myself managed to live,
since we only had a piece of bread each, night and morning. We kept body
and soul together in a variety of ways, chiefly feeding, like swine,
upon all the offal and remnants of vegetables, cooked or raw, that we
found in the street. There was a dust-bin in the court where Mother
Maggs's house was in Whitecross Street; and every day, just upon one
o'clock, we used to crowd round it, waiting till the neighbours came to
empty their potato-peelings or the refuse of their meals into that
general receptacle. Then we would greedily appropriate to our use the
scraps which not even the very poorest of the poor chose to eat. The
potato-peelings (most poor families skin their potatoes after they are
boiled) were quite a dainty to us: the heads and bones of fish and
such-like refuse were also welcome to our empty stomachs. Then we were
accustomed to go prowling about the street to snatch a slice of raw
bacon or a bit of cheese from the board in front of a butter-shop; or
steal a turnip or a carrot from an old woman's stall; or else lay
unlawful hands upon the horses' flesh in the cats'-meat shops. This last
article of food was much fancied by us. It was comparatively easy to
steal; and when we did get such a prize as a large lump of carrion, with
a stick thrust through it, we felt as happy for the time being as if we
had found a treasure. Then we used to conceal ourselves in some dark
court, and take a bite round—each in his turn—until it was all gone. I
am afraid I disgust you with these details; but you desired me to tell
my story in my own way—and I want you to understand the dreadful mode of
life which thousands of poor children lead in the wealthiest city in the
world. I am sure, when I have thought of it all since, and when I see
little boys and girls paddling in that neglected manner about the
streets, my blood runs cold at the idea that while some human beings are
riding in their carriages and living in palaces, others are prowling in
the low neighbourhoods, happy if they can steal a lump of putrid
carrion!
"You may next ask what we did for clothes—it being very clear that
Mother Maggs could not supply us with wearing apparel out of
twenty-pence a-week. Well—the fact is we scarcely had any clothes on at
all. As for a cap or shoes and stockings, I declare solemnly I never
wore any one of those articles from the earliest period of my
recollection until I was nine years old. A little ragged frock, and that
was all: yes, that was all—summer or winter! But where did even the
ragged frock come from? I really hardly know: I am at a loss to say
exactly how we did get even that one garment each. Sometimes a child
would be taken away by its parents, who might, perhaps, bring it some
decent clothing: then the cast-off rags in this case would fall to the
lot of the most ragged of those who were left behind. Now and then a
slop-seller in the neighbourhood would give one of us some old frock
which was useless to himself: and occasionally we would steal one, when
we could. You may ask me why we did not steal shoes also? So we did, if
an opportunity served: but then we could do without shoes, and the
eldest of the lot of us was on those occasions commissioned to sell the
plunder at a rag-shop, to afford means to buy a little better food than
usually fell in our way. These occurrences were, however, rare—so rare,
that they constituted perfect holidays in the hideous monotony of our
famished lives;—for the shopkeepers in poor neighbourhoods are
constantly on the alert to watch the movements of the juvenile prowlers.
"The ages of the children under the care of Mother Maggs averaged from
three to ten; and the eldest of course bullied the youngest, while Mrs.
Maggs bullied us all. Misery did not make us little ones friendly
together. On the contrary, we fought, quarrelled, and ill-treated each
other as much as we could. I must relate to you one anecdote—although I
now shudder when I think of it, and have often since shed tears of
repentance. There was one boy, named Tib Tucker, about eight years old,
who used to behave in a more merciless manner towards me than the rest
did. He would take away my bread from me whenever he caught me eating it
apart and alone; and he laid to me many thefts on Mother Maggs's
cupboard which he himself committed. These false reports got me many and
many a good beating from the enraged hag; and, in a word, this boy's
tyranny became so insufferable, that I was resolved to adopt some
desperate measure to put an end to it. I was then but little more than
six years old: a fiendish instinct of revenge, however, urged me to act.
I secreted a pin about my rags; and one day when Tib Tucker was trying
to take away the morsel of mouldy bread which Mother Maggs had just
given me, I suddenly thrust the pin into his right eye. He screamed in
dreadful agony, and brought down Mother Maggs into the court. I had not
run away—terror, or rather horror at what I had done, nailed me to the
spot. The bully's tale was soon told. I expected to be half murdered by
the dreadful woman: but, to my surprise, she suddenly took my
part—declared that I had shown a proper spirit—and consoled Tib Tucker
with the assurance that if he would only permit me to operate on the
other eye in the same manner, he would prove a perfect fortune to his
parents. 'There's nothing like a blind child to draw alms,' she said:
'but one eye's no good—you should be blind of both.'—I remember her
words as well as if they had only been uttered yesterday; and, the more
so, as they seemed to be prophetic—as I shall explain presently.
"The terrible vengeance which I had taken upon my persecutor, who lost
his eye in consequence, not only awed him in future, but made me feared
by all the rest; and my existence grew somewhat less wretched—at least
in reference to the treatment I experienced from my companions. Mother
Maggs also seemed to change towards me—whether through fear, or
admiration at what she termed '_my spirit_,' I cannot say. I was less
bullied by her—but not a whit better fed.
"About six weeks after the incident which I have related, the parents of
Tib Tucker returned to London from the country where they had been
harvesting. They passed the evening with Mother Maggs, and great
quantities of gin were sent for from the public-house. This I afterwards
learnt from my companions; for, as to myself, I kept out of the way
through fear of being punished by the boy's parents for the vengeance
which I had wreaked upon him. When it was quite dark, I returned to the
house, and stole up to the miserable garret where my companions were
already huddled together on the straw and old sacks. Tib Tucker was
amongst them; for I heard him talking about a promise his parents had
made to take him with them into the country, where they were going again
in a few days. One of the eldest girls—for, I forgot to say, Mother
Maggs's juvenile boarders were of both sexes—asked him what his parents
had said about the accident. He replied that they had laughed at it, and
had declared that they would turn it to some good account. Scarcely had
he thus spoken, when the door opened, and Mother Maggs appeared, with a
candle in her hand. Ordering Tib Tucker to get up and follow her, she
added that his father and mother had a little treat in store for him,
and had meant him all along to sit up to supper. Tib was overjoyed at
these news, and made haste to accompany Mother Maggs to a lower room
where she had left his parents; and we, in our miserable dark garret,
envied the boy who had a good supper in view.
"I remember—Oh! well do I remember, how I cried that night, to think
that no friends ever came to see me, and that indeed I was ignorant
whether my parents were alive or not. I had often asked Mother Maggs
whether she knew my father and mother; but I invariably received a cuff
by way of reply—and therefore at length grew tired of putting the
question. There were, however, times when my wretched—forlorn—abandoned
condition almost broke my heart; for, young as I was, I knew that there
were boys and girls in the world much better off than myself!
"While Tib Tucker was absent, the other children began to discourse
amongst themselves, saying how lucky he was to come in for a good
supper: and then they set to work to guess what the meal was likely to
consist of. But all on a sudden a dreadful shriek echoed through the
house, and startled us in our miserable garret. There we lay—crouching
and huddling nearer to each other, holding our breath, not daring to
utter a word, and filled with vague alarms, as if some dreadful danger
hung over us. At length sleep came to my relief. When I awoke in the
morning and ran down into the court, the first object that met my view
was the wretched boy Tib Tucker, being led away by his parents—_for he
was now blind of both eyes!_
"I was so frightened, that I ran into the street, where I wandered about
all day—forgetting even the pangs of hunger. I had suddenly conceived
such a dreadful terror of Mother Maggs, that I had not dared to present
myself at her room-door to obtain my usual morsel of bread, along with
the rest. It was a very rainy day, and yet I remember that I roved and
roved about the whole neighbourhood, at one time crying bitterly—at
another stupified, though still moving about like a sleep-walker. When
the evening came on, I was so tired and hungry that I was forced to
retrace my way to the horrible den, which I only discovered again with
the greatest difficulty. Mother Maggs did not take any notice of my
absence from the morning distribution of bread, but gave me my evening
ration along with the rest; and once more did I return to the straw and
filth of the close garret.
"Months and years passed—and I reached the age of nine. The last few
months opened my eyes to more wickedness than I had as yet known or
dreamt of. I just now told you that Mrs. Maggs's juvenile boarders
consisted of boys and girls; and I believe you understood that we all
huddled together in the same garret. It was a regular pig-sty, in which
we wallowed like swine: and like that of brutes also was the conduct of
the eldest boys and girls. If the other rooms in the house were used as
a brothel by grown-up persons, no stew could be more atrocious than our
garret. The girls were more precocious than the boys, and the latter
were corrupted by the former. Mere children of nine and ten practised
the vices of their elders. But, my God! let me draw a veil over this
dreadful scene. Oh! sir—I have seen much—gone through much; but the mere
thought of the horrible licentiousness—the beastliness—the monstrous
depravity that took place there, even now makes my blood run cold in my
veins!
"And can you wonder that such should be the case? Not one of all us
children had ever been taught what virtue was; and all that we knew of
crime was that it was something which a constable took you up for. We
had not the least notion of the Saviour—none of us had ever heard that
the Son of God died for the sins of the world. I had once seen a Bible,
because I stole one from a book-stall; and the eldest girl, who went to
sell it, gathered from what was said by the person who bought it, that
it _was_ a Bible. But even if I had previously known that the book was
called a Bible, I should not the less have stolen it; because I could
not read, and no one had ever told me at that time what the Bible really
was. We had all heard of the name of God, and used it pretty often
too—for oaths were familiar to us even when we could only lisp them: but
we knew not who God was, and had no one to tell us—even if we had wished
to learn. You may think it strange that there should be children of even
ten years old in London who are completely ignorant of every thing
concerning religion; but I can assure you that I have met with youths
and girls of fifteen or sixteen who were equally in the dark in that
respect.
"I was nine years old when Mother Maggs one day fetched me out of the
street where I was playing in the gutter with my companions, and took me
into her own room, where I saw Mr. Bones for the first time—I mean the
first time as far as my recollection is concerned. He looked at me a
long time; and then turning to the old woman, said, 'I don't think you
have taken the very best care of him.'—'Yes, I have,' she answered, 'He
has had his bellyfull every day of his life: bread-and-butter for
breakfast and supper; potatoes for dinner on week days, with may-be a
bit of pudding or so now and then; and always a good dinner on a Sunday.
Haven't you, Jacob, dear?'—and, as she asked me this question, she gave
a terrific frown, unseen by Old Death, and the meaning of which I well
understood. So I muttered a 'yes;' and she seemed satisfied.—'But I am
going to take him away all the same, Mrs. Maggs,' said Mr. Bones;
'because he is of an age now to be useful to me.'—'I hope you will
recommend me where you can,' cried Mother Maggs. 'I do all I can to make
the poor little dears happy; and if Jacob is so shabby just the very day
you drop down upon us, like, it's only because his new frock is in the
suds; and as for shoes and stockings, it makes boys hardy to go without
them.'—I do not remember that Old Death made any answer to these
observations; because the portion of the dialogue which I have just
detailed, produced so deep an impression on my mind—young as I was—that
had it been continued, I should most probably have recollected the rest.
But _this_ I cannot forget—that when Old Death told me to follow him,
and Mother Maggs took me in her arms to embrace me at parting, I
screamed with affright—for the spectacle of the blind boy instantly
recurred to my memory!
"Old Death took me to a shop in Whitecross Street, and bought me a
complete suit of clothes—shabby and mean, it is true; but royal robes
compared to the rags I now threw off. And how great was my
astonishment—how wild was my delight, when I was actually supplied with
a pair of stockings and shoes! Never before—never since, have I known
such perfect joy as I felt at that minute. Sight restored to the blind
could not be more welcome than were those articles. Not that I required
them—for my feet were inured to nakedness, and to walk even on the
pointed flints:—but I experienced an indescribable sensation of mingled
pride and satisfaction which made me supremely happy. My joy was,
however, somewhat rudely interrupted by a hard blow on the head which
Old Death bestowed upon me, because I dared to laugh in the fulness of
my poor heart; and then I burst into tears. He cursed me for a
'snivelling fool,' and ordered me to put on the cap which he had also
bought me, and make haste to accompany him. The cap was another article
of clothing till then quite strange to me; and once more my tears were
succeeded by smiles!
"At length the purchases were complete; and I followed Old Death from
the shop. But I walked as if I was tipsy. The cap seemed to be quite a
weight on my head; and the shoes threatened every moment to trip me up.
I have never worn skates,—but I can fancy how a person must feel when he
puts them on for the first time; and I imagine that my awkwardness in
stockings and shoes was something of the same kind. Near the point where
Upper Whitecross Street joins Old Street Road, I beheld my late
companions huddled together at the mouth of a passage belonging to a
pawnbroker's shop. They did not know me, till I called some of them by
name; and then they could not believe their eyes. I must have seemed a
kind of prince to them. They instantly overwhelmed me with questions—but
Old Death looked back and called me in a cross tone, and I hurried away.
I declare solemnly that the tears started from my eyes as I thus
separated from the companions of all my infant misery; and though I knew
not whether my own fate was about to be improved, still my heart was
smitten with the idea that I was leaving them behind to their
wretchedness—their rags—their starvation—and their fœtid den at Mother
Maggs's house. Never until that instant had I experienced the least
sympathy in their behalf: but then—at that moment—I felt as if I could
have remained with them, and loved them!
"Mr. Bones conducted me to some public-house—I can't recollect where it
was, but I think it must have been in Brick Lane, St. Luke's,—and there
he ordered bread and cheese and ale. What a glorious dinner did I make
that day! Never had I tasted any thing so delicious before! The cheese
was so nice—the bread so white and new,—and the ale—it was good beyond
all description. At least, so the food and drink then appeared to me:
and what was better still, was that I was allowed to eat as much as I
chose! When we had ended our meal, Old Death began to talk very
seriously to me—for we were alone in the room together. He gave me to
understand that he had found me, when quite a baby, lying on the steps
of a workhouse—that he had taken me to some good, kind woman whom he
knew, and who had treated me well—that afterwards he had been obliged to
place me, when I was three years old, with Mother Maggs—_and that I
therefore owed every thing to him_. I naturally believed at the time
that I was under the deepest obligations to him; and then he proceeded
to inform me that I might be useful to him in certain ways, and that if
I did all he told me and was a good boy, he would never desert me. I of
course listened with as much respect as it was in my power or nature to
show; and, though I did not quite understand all he said to me, I was
nevertheless impressed with the conviction that he had a right to do
what he chose with me, and that I was bound to obey him.
"We remained some time at the public-house—indeed, if I remember right,
until it was dusk; because Old Death had a great deal to say to me, and
as I was so very young and so miserably ignorant, it was not an easy
matter for him to make me understand his meaning. But there can be no
doubt that he laboured to convince me of the right which certain
privileged persons had to prey upon others who were not so
privileged;—or, in plainer terms, that whenever I could obtain a
handkerchief, a purse, or any thing else worth taking, and in such a
manner that there was no chance of my being detected, I was perfectly
justified in availing myself of the opportunity. My morals had not been
so carefully attended to, as to excite any repulsive feelings at this
species of reasoning: on the contrary, having from my infancy practised
the art of pilfering pudding from cooks'-shops, bits of bacon from
cheesemongers' windows, carrots and turnips from old women's stalls, and
lumps of tripe or carrion from the boards of cats'-meat establishments,
I was well prepared to go a step farther. There can be no doubt that Old
Death was all along aware of the real nature of Mother Maggs's house and
of the manner in which she reared the children entrusted to her. A man
of his experience could not help knowing all this; and it was not
probable that he was deceived by the lying statements she made to him
relative to the manner in which I had been treated—although he took, as
far as I recollect, no notice of her words. In fact, he had
intentionally placed me in a position to learn everything that was
bad—to fulfil an apprenticeship of petty vice, that I might enter on a
career of crime, whereof the profits were to be his own!
"Taking me now in a somewhat kind manner by the hand, he led me down to
St. Paul's Churchyard. Although having hitherto lived within a mile of
that place, I had never been there before. It is true that from the
garret windows of Mother Maggs's dwelling, I had sometimes seen the huge
dark dome surmounted by the cross which shone like gold on a bright,
sunny day; but I had never thought of asking what it was—nor had I any
notion that it was so near. Often, too, in the silence of the night,
when cold and hunger kept me awake in that hideous den, had the deep but
glorious sound of the mighty bell, booming through the air, and
proclaiming the hour, fallen on my ears: but still I had never thought
of inquiring which clock it was that struck so loud and was so tediously
long in striking. Thus, when I entered Saint Paul's Churchyard for the
first time, in company with Old Death, I was struck with amazement to
find myself at the foot, as it were, of that tremendous giant of
architecture. Just at that moment, too, the mighty bell began to strike
six; and I started—for, young as I was, that well-known sound, though
never heard so near before, re-awakened a thousand conflicting thoughts
within me. All the misery and wretchedness I had endured at Mother
Maggs's house rushed to my mind; and again I shed tears as I reflected
on the poor children whom I had left behind me _there_!
"Oh! Mr. Rainford—if any kind and benevolent person had taken me then
under his protection and care, and taught me to do good and practise
virtue, as Old Death was teaching me to do evil and practise vice, I
feel—yes, I feel that I should not have been unworthy such humane
attention!
"But let me not interrupt the thread of my narrative more than I can
help. Mr. Bones kept me by the hand, and walked slowly—very slowly
through the churchyard, pointing out to me the beautiful shops, and
telling me that if I was a good boy and only did what he told me, I
should soon be rich enough to be able to walk into those shops and treat
myself to jewellery, or fine clothes, or anything else I might fancy.
This assurance gave me the most heart-felt joy; and I already began to
determine in my mind what I should buy when the happy period of such
affluence might arrive. All on a sudden my gay reverie was interrupted
by Old Death, who, dragging me hastily to the entrance of a passage
leading into Paternoster Row, pointed to an elderly gentleman standing
at a shop-window at the corner where this passage joined St. Paul's
Churchyard. 'Do you see his handkerchief peeping out of his
coat-pocket?' demanded Old Death hastily.—'Yes,' I replied.—'Then go and
get it, and I will give you sixpence, if you bring it to me, without the
old fellow perceiving that you have taken it.'—Sixpence! It was an
inexhaustible treasure, such as I had often heard of, seldom seen, and
never touched. Without a moment's hesitation I proceeded to execute the
task. It was winter-time; and though the evening was dark, yet the
shop-windows were brilliantly lighted. This was against me—but on the
other hand, the place was crowded with people passing both ways, and
this circumstance was in my favour. Old Death stood watching me at the
entrance of the passage—no doubt ready to glide away in case of me being
detected. But my skill in cribbing victuals and other little articles in
Upper Whitecross Street had been so well practised, that it only
required to apply the same art to another and rather more difficult
branch of thieving, to be completely successful. And this success far
exceeded Old Death's expectations; for when I returned to him in the
passage, I was enabled to place in his hands not only the old
gentleman's pocket-handkerchief, but also his gold snuff-box.
"You may suppose that Mr. Bones was well-pleased with me; and he
testified his approval of my conduct by placing a shilling in my hand. I
could scarcely believe that I was indeed the possessor of such a sum;
and I immediately made up my mind to ease as many old gentlemen as
possible of their handkerchiefs and snuff-boxes, as long as a deed so
simple was so generously rewarded.
"Old Death now conducted me to Drury Lane, and showing me a
public-house, said, 'Jacob, though a young boy, you are a very good and
clever boy, and I think I can trust you. If you assure me that you will
do just as I tell you, I will give you a treat.'—I gave him the
assurance he required.—'Well, then, walk boldly into that public-house;
run up stairs, just as if you had been there a hundred times before; and
go straight into the large concert-room that you will come to. You will
have to pay a penny for going in. Then sit down at a table, call for
bread and cheese and a glass of ale—of the nice ale that you like so
much, you know; and enjoy yourself. You will find several other young
lads there, who will no doubt speak to you; and you may talk to them as
much as you like. I shall come into the room presently; but don't come
near me; and don't tell any one there that you know me. I have my
reasons; and if you do all I tell you, you shall often have a treat to a
concert and such like places. When you see me going away, you can follow
me at a little distance. Now do you understand?'—I assured him that I
did; and I then walked into the public-house as bold as if I had been a
grown-up person and a constant customer. I had money in my pocket, and
for the first time in my life felt that confidence which the possession
of coin produces.
"The concert-room was speedily reached: my shilling was changed to pay
the entrance fee; and I entered the place of amusement. It was—or had I
not better say, it _is_ a very large room; for it was at the _Mogul_, in
Drury Lane, to which I had now introduced myself. The place was crowded;
and the music and singing were going on. I was quite delighted, and,
seating myself at a table near some other boys, all older than I was
then, I told the waiter to bring me bread and cheese and a glass of ale.
'Better say a pint, old feller,' observed one of the boys to me: 'and
I'll help you to drink it.'—I threw down the eleven-pence, saying,
'Bring bread and cheese and ale for all this.'—I remember that the
waiter looked at me for a moment in a strange way, before he gathered up
the money; but he said nothing, and hurried off. In a few minutes he
returned with a pot of ale, bread and cheese, and several glasses. I was
already on friendly terms with the boys at the same table; and we now
got quite intimate over the ale. They soon let me know that they were
all _prigs_; and I answered 'Yes' to every question they put to me about
my own pursuits. Presently I saw Old Death walk slowly up the room: but
I pretended to be looking quite another way.
"The conversation which I had on this occasion with the boys at the
penny-concert, completed what was no doubt Old Death's design in sending
me there: namely, to render me as familiar as possible with that class
of lads at whose hands I was to receive my initiation into the career of
roguery to which I was destined. The ale excited me to such a degree
that I was even then ready to obey any one who would suggest a deed by
which money could be obtained; for I saw that money was the key to all
kinds of enjoyment. Presently Old Death walked slowly out of the room;
and two or three minutes afterwards I followed him, having told my new
companions that I should be sure to meet them again there next night. In
the street I joined Old Death, who asked me how I liked all I had seen?
You can guess what my answer was. 'Well,' said he, 'it is for you to get
a handkerchief and a snuff-box, or any thing of that kind, every day;
and then you shall have money to go to concerts, and to buy nice ale,
and to enjoy yourself along with those pleasant boys that you met
there.'—I was delighted with this prospect; and I thought Old Death the
kindest gentleman in the world, in spite of the box on the ears he had
given me at the slopseller's shop in the morning. But all this time,
remember, I did not know either his real or his nick-name; nor did I
trouble myself about such matters.
"He now conducted me to Castle Street, Long Acre, and putting sixpence
into my hand, pointed to a particular house. 'Go and knock at that
door,' he said, 'and ask for a bed. You will have to pay two-pence for
it. The fourpence left is to buy your breakfast in the morning, which
the woman of the house will give you for that money. If the people you
meet there ask you any questions, say as little as possible, and don't
speak a word about me. If you do, I shall be sure to know it, and I will
never see you again. Be a good boy; and at nine o'clock to-morrow
morning, meet me at the corner of this street.'—I promised to mind all
he told me; and he hurried away, while I gained admittance into one of
those filthy lodging-houses that swarm in Castle Street.[12]
"At this place, where I procured the half of a bed, my companion being a
young girl of thirteen, who had already been a prostitute eighteen
months, I received further lessons in the school of vice. In the morning
I obtained a cup of coffee and a couple of rounds of thick
bread-and-butter for my fourpence: having disposed of which, I hastened
to my appointment with Old Death. He was waiting for me at the corner of
the street, and asked me a great many questions about the people I had
seen at the lodging-house. I satisfied him as far as I could; but,
through some lingering feeling of shame, I did not tell him that a
prostitute had been my bed-fellow. He desired me to follow him at a
considerable distance, but to mind and not lose sight of him. He then
led me for a long walk all about the West-end of London,—proceeding
slowly, so that I might have an opportunity of looking at the shops and
obtaining some knowledge of the position of the different streets: in a
word, that I might be able to find my way about by myself another time.
At about one o'clock we went into a public-house, where we had something
to eat and drink, and rested for two or three hours. Then we set out on
our wanderings again, and at about seven o'clock in the evening, we came
to a halt in St. Giles's, where Old Death gave me money to enter a
penny-theatre. I had not practised my hand at stealing any thing all day
long; because he had not instructed me to do so. Neither, from that
moment, did he ever put my abilities in that way to the test in his
presence: so I suppose that the little affair in St. Paul's Churchyard
was merely an experiment made to enable him to judge whether I had any
_talent_ in the art of _conveyancing_, or not. In fact, he had tried me
to ascertain whether I could be made useful; and, finding that I could,
his object was now to introduce me to scenes and places where my morals
might become confirmed in iniquity, or where there was a sphere for the
exercise of my abilities.
[Illustration]
"I need not therefore dwell on this part of my story; for in a few days
the use which Old Death calculated to make of me was fully explained. I
was to thieve where I could and when I could, and every evening I was to
meet my employer at some place that he would appoint, and hand him over
the articles so stolen; when he was to give me enough money for the
following day's expenses. I was, moreover, charged to enlist in the same
service as many boys as I could; and now for the first time I learnt
that my hitherto unknown protector was named Mr. Benjamin Bones, and my
companions soon informed me that he was a famous _fence_, usually
bearing the denomination of 'Old Death.' I must not forget to state that
my employer counselled me never to allude to him in any manner, unless
it was in the way of enlistment, as just now mentioned. He said, 'It
will perhaps happen, Jacob, that a constable or a Bow Street runner may
catch hold of you sometimes; but do not breathe a word about me, and I
will always get you out of the scrape. If, on the other hand, you
confess that you are employed by me, or that you are in my service, it
will do you no good, and I should cast you off for ever. Indeed, I
should leave you to rot in prison; whereas, hold your tongue, whatever
may happen, and you will find me your best friend.'
"I promised to obey him; and now, behold me at the tender age of nine,
the companion of the worst juvenile pickpockets, and a pickpocket
myself! No link had we to bind us to society: the world was our
harvest-field, in which we considered that we had a right to glean; and
whenever a member of our fraternity got 'into trouble,' we clubbed
together to maintain him well in prison. If he was condemned to
punishment, he and ourselves looked upon it as a piece of _bad luck_—and
that was all. I found that my companions were as reckless and
improvident as could be,—ever fulfilling the old adage, '_Light come,
light go_.' They used to play at 'pitch and toss,' or skittles, the
stakes varying, according to their means at the moment, from a halfpenny
to a sovereign. I was not often enabled to join in these sports; because
Old Death kept me rather short, and he had obtained such an astonishing
influence over me that I dared not attempt to deceive him. Sometimes I
thought of appropriating a portion of a '_day's work_' to my own private
use; but his image haunted me like a ghost—and I could not do it. He
constantly told me that he had the means of ascertaining every robbery
that was committed, and who perpetrated it, and that if I attempted to
play him any tricks, I should be sure to be found out. I believed
him—for he occasionally gave me proofs of the most extraordinary
knowledge of all that was passing. He would say, for instance, 'Your
friend Such-a-one filched a snuff-box and a pocket-book yesterday in
Regent Street: he gave _his_ employer the book, and pawned the box on
his own account. Now, mark me,' Old Death would add, 'that boy will get
into trouble soon, and no one will help him out of it again.'—And this
prophecy would come true. I was therefore alarmed at the mere idea of
deceiving Old Death—or rather, attempting to deceive him; and, though my
companions often jeered me and urged me to '_set up on my own account_,'
I lacked the moral courage to break with Mr. Benjamin Bones.
"I was very expert in the art of pickpocketing, and seldom had to
disappoint Old Death when I met him in the evening. If I did, he gave me
my money all the same: I suppose I was too useful to him to be lost; and
perhaps he knew that I always did my best. He allowed me three shillings
and sixpence for each day's expenses; and this money was usually laid
out in the way I will now explain:—
_Breakfast._—Pint of coffee, 2_d._; loaf of bread, 2_d._; 0_s._ 5_d._
butter, 1_d._
_Dinner._—Beef, 3_d._; potatoes, 1_d._; bread, 1_d._; beer, 0 7
2_d._
_Tea._—Half-pint tea, 1½_d._; toast, 3_d._ 0 4½
_Supper._—Leg of beef, 3_d._; bread, 1_d._; potatoes, 0 7
1_d._; beer, 2_d._
Gin and water, 1_s._; bed, 4_d._ 1 4
—— ——
3 3½
—leaving me 2½_d._ a day for any casual expense. This allowance of 3_s._
6_d._ may perhaps seem rather liberal; but it was seldom that my
_earnings_ during the day were not of sufficient value to produce Old
Death at least fifteen or twenty shillings—and often a great deal more.
"There are various grades, or classes, of juvenile thieves.[13] The most
aristocratic amongst them are those who have been admitted into the
fraternity of swell-moabites, or who have taken a hand in housebreaking.
The next class, on the descending scale, is the pickpocket who dives
only for purses, watches, pocket-books, or snuff-boxes, but who would
scorn to touch a handkerchief. The third section consists of those who
dive for any thing they can get, and whose chief game _does_ consist of
handkerchiefs. The fourth division comprises shop-sneaks and
area-sneaks: the former enter a shop slily, or crawl in on their hands
and knees, to rob the tills; the latter get down area-steps and enter
kitchens, whence they walk off with any thing they can lay their hands
on. This same section also includes the shop-bouncer, who boldly enters
a shop, and, while affecting to bargain for goods, purloins some article
easily abstracted. The fifth division is made up of thieves who prowl
about shop-doors; or who break the glass in shop-windows, to abstract
the goods; or who rob mercers by introducing a bent wire through the
holes of the shutter-bolts, and draw out lace, silk, or ribands. The
sixth, and last division or grade, consists of the very lowest
description of thieves—such as pudding-snammers, who loiter about
cooks'-shops, and when customers are issuing forth with plates of meat
and pudding, or pudding alone (as is often the case), pounce on the
eatables and run away with them before the persons robbed have even time
to recover from their astonishment. These miserable thieves sell all
they cannot eat, to other boys, and thus manage to get a few halfpence
to pay for a lodging. I mention all these circumstances to you, sir,
because I do not believe that you can have ever found yourself in a
position to have seen what I am now relating.[14]
"On one occasion a certain robbery in which I was concerned, made some
noise; and the Bow Street runners got a pretty accurate description of
me. This I learnt from Old Death, who advised me to go up into the Holy
Land—which I need scarcely tell you is St. Giles's—and remain quiet
there for a few days until the thing was pretty well blown over. I
followed this advice, which was very welcome to me; because Mr. Bones
gave me plenty of money to make myself comfortable, and I was not
expected to do any '_work_' for at least a week. I happened to take up
my quarters at a lodging-house in Lawrence Lane, and found it chiefly
used by the very lowest Irish. Never did I see such a set as they were!
Filth, misery, and drunkenness were familiar enough to me, heaven
knows!—but there I saw such filth, so much misery, and yet such constant
and such horrible drunkenness, that I was perfectly shocked—and it
required something strong to shock _me_, Mr. Rainford! The house was a
brothel; and the daughters of the man who kept it were their own
father's best customers. The most dreadful debauchery prevailed there.
Old women used to bring young boys, and old men young girls—mere
children,—to that beastly stew. I have seen a dozen men and women all
dancing together stark naked in the largest room in that house; and some
of them brothers and sisters![15] On another occasion I saw an Irish
wake in the same place: the corpse, which was that of a prostitute, was
laid upon the floor, with candles placed round it: and the friends and
relatives of the deceased woman all got so awfully drunk that they
commenced a dreadful battle, tumbling about in all directions over the
dead body!
"I stayed at this lodging-house in St. Giles's about a week, and never
went out except of an evening for about an hour, when I looked in at
Milberry's—the flash public-house in Lawrence Lane. Were you ever there,
sir? No. Well—it is worth your while just to give a look in any time you
are passing. The public room is fitted up with fine tables and high-back
partitions. Fronting the door is a large black board, whereon the
following inscription may be read:—
My pipe I can't afford to give,
If by my trade I wish to live;
My liquor's proof, my measure's just:
Excuse me, sir, I _cannot_ trust.
'To prevent MISTAKES all liquors to be paid for on delivery!'
"As soon as the little affair, which had driven me up into St. Giles's,
was blown over, I returned to my old haunts, and fell in again with my
old companions. I was now ten years old, and was considered so cunning
and clever that Old Death began to employ me in other ways besides
thieving. If he required to know any thing concerning a particular
party, he would set me to dog and watch him, or to make inquiries about
him. Sometimes I was sent to the flash public-houses frequented by
gentlemen's servants who were accustomed to arrange with the cracksmen
for burglaries in their master's houses—or '_put up cracks_,' as they
are called. These public-houses are principally at the West End:—the
most famous are in Duke Street (Manchester Square), and Portland Street.
There I got into conversation with the servants, or merely acted the
part of a listener; and all the information I could glean was of course
conveyed to Mr. Bones, who no doubt knew how to turn it to his greatest
advantage.
"I was also a visitor to every flash-house in London, at different
times, and on various errands for Old Death. The more his business
increased, the more necessary did I become to him; and at that period he
was not so near and stingy as he since became. Whenever I succeeded in
any difficult undertaking, he would reward me with something like
liberality; and I don't know whether I actually liked him—but it is
certain that he exercised an immense power over my mind. I was, in my
turn, much looked up to by my companions: they considered me Old Death's
lieutenant; and moreover I was so skilful as a pickpocket, that no one
could excel, and few equal me. I had all the qualifications necessary
for the art—a light tread, a delicate sense of touch, and firm nerves.
For I was then strong and healthy: now I am sickly—wasted—and have
within me the seeds of an incurable malady! I used at that time to wear
shoes of a very light make—as indeed do nearly all professional
pickpockets. It is very easy for one who is any thing of an acute
observer, to recognise juvenile pickpockets in the street. Their
countenances wear an affected determination of purpose, and they always
seem to be walking forward, as if bent on some urgent object of
business. They never stop in the street, save to '_work_.' If they wish
to confer with their pals, or if they meet a friend, they dive into some
low public-house, or court, or alley. A knowing pickpocket never loiters
about in the street; because that is the very first thing that draws
suspicions glances towards lads. I have read—(and how I came to be able
to read, I shall presently tell you)—in the newspapers that many people
have a notion that pickpockets use instruments in easing gentlemen or
ladies of their purses or other articles of value: but the only
instrument I ever knew a pickpocket to use, or used myself, is a good
pair of small scissors, which will either rip a pocket up or cut it off
in a twinkling.
"I do believe that London thieves[16] are the very worst in the whole
world. Their profligacy commences so early; and there is every thing to
harden them. Imprisonment raises them into heroes amongst their
companions. Only fancy a boy of twelve or thirteen, perhaps,—or even
younger,—placed behind huge massive bars which ten elephants could not
pull down! He of course thinks that he must be a very clever fellow, or
at least a very important one, that the law is compelled to adopt such
wonderful precautions to restrain him. He believes that society must
entertain a marvellous dread of his abilities. That boy, too, is the
superior in the eyes of the whole fraternity of thieves, whose
punishment is the heaviest. A lad who has been tried at the Old Bailey,
thinks much more of himself than one who has only passed through the
ordeal of the sessions. The very pomp of justice,—the idea that all
those judges and barristers in their gowns and wigs should be assembled
for the sake of a boy,—that the Old Bailey street should be crowded with
policemen,—that newspaper reporters should be anxious to take
notes,—that spectators should pay shillings to obtain sittings in the
court,—in a word, the whole ceremony and circumstance of the criminal
tribunals actually tend to imbue juvenile thieves with a feeling of
self-importance. Now, might not this very feeling be acted upon to a
good and beneficial purpose,—to the advancement of industry and honest
emulation? I think so; but society never seems to adopt really useful
measures to _reform_—it contents itself with _punishing_. You may be
surprised to hear such reflections come from my lips: but who is better
able to judge than one who has passed through the entire ordeal?"
Here Jacob paused, and then inquired if he were wearying Tom Rain with
his narrative.
"So far from your doing so, my good fellow," replied the highwayman,
"that although I have several things to attend to, I mean to stop and
hear you to the end. Come, drink a glass of wine. There! now you will be
the better able to proceed. I will light another cigar—for I fancy that
I can attend more earnestly while smoking."
Rainford once more settled himself in a comfortable posture; and the lad
pursued his narrative in the following manner.
-----
Footnote 12:
Although our aim is to render the "History of Jacob Smith" a regular
and connected narrative of the initiation of a neglected child in the
ways of vice and the career of crime, there are necessarily many
phases in the history of juvenile iniquity which cannot be introduced
into the text, as it would be impossible that the boy who is telling
his story could have gone through all the scenes alluded to. We must,
therefore, farther illustrate our aim by means of a few notes, derived
from authentic sources: and this course we are the more inclined to
pursue, inasmuch as we hope that the episode formed by the "History of
Jacob Smith" may have the effect of directing public attention more
seriously than ever to the awful nature and extent of juvenile
depravity in this metropolis. Mr. Miles, in his "Report to the House
of Lords on Poverty, Mendicity, and Crime," places on record the
following observations:—
"The women and the girls in these districts live with their men as
long as they can agree together, or until one or the other be
imprisoned or transported. The very children are prostitutes, living
with their "fancy lads;" and it is difficult to say which are the most
degraded, the men or the women, the girls or the boys. It is thus that
I suppose crime is more engendered in low neighbourhoods, where the
poorest and the most idle congregate: and I now beg to continue my
remarks upon the second head, namely, the neglect of parents. The
various pursuits of these parents call them from home during the
greater portion of the day, and their children are left to play and
idle in the streets, associating with other lads of more experience
than themselves, until, seeing and hearing how easy it is to steal,
they commence their career of crime, unchecked on the one hand and
applauded on the other. There are some parents who turn their children
out every morning to provide for themselves, not caring by what means
they procure a subsistence, so that the expense of feeding them does
not abstract from their means of procuring gin or beer. Other parents
require their children to bring home a specified sum every night, to
obtain which they must beg or thieve. Others hire out their children
to beggars, for 3_d._ a day (a cripple is considered worth 6_d._); and
many women hire children in arms about the same age, to pass them off
in the public thoroughfares as twins. Groups of these young neglected
vagabonds herd together, and theft becomes their study; even if a
child was well disposed, it is not probable that he could escape the
contagion of such bad example. There is a _community of children_, who
live and are separated from persons more advanced in years. Moreover,
there is so rapid and so certain a communication among them all over
the metropolis, that if they discover any of their slang or flash
words to be known out of their circle, they will substitute another,
which in the course of a day or two will be adopted by the fraternity.
There are lodging-houses exclusively for their accommodation,
public-houses which are chiefly supported by their custom, and the
landlords of both sorts of establishments are ever ready to purchase
any plunder they may bring. With this neglect of parents on the one
hand, and the faculties to crime on the other hand, can it be expected
that these children can resist temptation? The wonder would be if a
boy was honest. My conclusion, therefore, is, that the neglect of
parents in these low neighbourhoods renders them _nurseries_ of crime.
The number of boys in London who live by plunder is very—very
considerable: and thus society is maintaining them at a great expense,
either in the shape of prison expenses, or by the value of the
property they steal, especially when it is considered that the
receivers never give one quarter the value: and there is not a boy
thief who, on the average, does not expend 5_s._ per diem."
Footnote 13:
In the First Series of the "MYSTERIES OF LONDON," Vol. II. ch. CXCII.,
there is a detailed account of an association denominated "The Forty
Thieves." Soon after the Weekly Number containing that chapter
appeared, we were inundated with letters, chiefly expressing
unqualified disbelief of the astonishing particulars recorded in
respect to the Forty Thieves. We answered all those which contained
the real names and addresses of the writers, assuring them that the
details related were strictly true, and that we actually possessed a
printed copy of the regulations by which the Forty Thieves were
governed. Still, most of our correspondents were sceptical. It was
therefore with a feeling almost bordering on satisfaction that we saw
in the _Morning Chronicle_, a few weeks ago, a report of a police-case
in which the prisoner who figured before the magistrate was described
as "belonging to an association denominated the 'Forty Thieves,' and
whose head-quarters were in the Mint, Southwark." We take this
opportunity of assuring our readers that of what they find recorded in
the "MYSTERIES OF LONDON," far—far more is based on fact than they
might at first suspect.
Footnote 14:
Mr. Miles, in his Report (from which we have previously quoted) says,
"In considering the subject of juvenile delinquency, it is requisite
to take into account the various causes which compel them to be
vicious; and though we must condemn, still we must regret that no
efficient means have been adopted to prevent this lamentable evil.
Young thieves have often confessed to me, that their first attempts at
stealing commenced at apple stalls, and that having acquired
confidence by a few successful adventures, they have gradually
progressed in crime, allured by others, and in their turn alluring.
They find companions to cheer them and instruct them, girls to share
their booty and applaud them, and every facility to sell their daily
booty. There is, moreover, a kind of lottery adventure in each day's
life; and as these excitements are attainable at so easy a rate, is it
strange that these children are fascinated with and abandon themselves
to crime? Imprisonment to a young urchin who steals and has no other
means of subsistence is no punishment; for it is indifferent to him
where he exists, so long as he has food and raiment. It is in prison
that boys form acquaintances, more mischievous than themselves. Many
lads have owned to me that they had learned more in a gaol than out of
one. I once asked a lad if there was any school where boys were taught
to pick pockets? Upon which he significantly observed, 'No occasion
for one, sir: the best school for that sort of thing is HERE!'
alluding to the prison in which I saw him."
Footnote 15:
We cannot allow the readers to attribute to _our_ imagination a fact
so disgusting as this. We received the information from a
police-officer who was an eye-witness of such a scene, and from whom
(as stated in a previous note in this Series) we have gleaned many
remarkable facts relative to the lowest orders.
Footnote 16:
Mr. Miles's Report says, "London thieves have no sense of moral
degradation; they are corrupt to the core; they are strangers to
virtue and character, even by name; for many of them are the children
of thieves or of exceedingly dissolute people, consequently they can
have no contrition; they are in a state of predatory existence,
without any knowledge of social duty; they may lament detection,
because it is an inconvenience, but they will not repent their crime;
in gaol they will ponder on the past, curse their 'evil stars,' and
look forward with anxiety to the moment of their release; but their
minds and habits are not constituted for repentance. Mr. Chesterton,
of the House of Correction, informed me that he considers reformation
among juvenile offenders to be utterly hopeless; he observed, that
'boys brought up in a low neighbourhood have no chance of being
honest, because on leaving a gaol they return to their old haunts, and
follow the example of their parents or associates.' Lieutenant Tracy,
of the Westminster Bridewell, has pointed out to me lads who live
constantly in gaols.
"Captain Kincaid, of the City Bridewell, informed me that one-half of
the number under his lock on the day that I inspected the prison (June
the 9th) had been more than once committed, many of them several
times, especially the boys. Mr. Teague, of the Giltspur-street
Compter, is of opinion that young thieves are mostly incorrigible—that
nothing will reform them; an opinion which, he says, he has formed
from the experience of many years. Mr. Capper, of the Home Office,
stated, in his evidence, that out of 300 juvenile convicts, on board
the hulk _Euryalus_, the eldest of whom was not 17, 133 had been
committed more than once; and an experienced burglar told me that
young thieves cannot and will not reform. 'The only thing, sir,' he
remarked, 'that may save them is transportation, as it removes them
from evil companions.'
"The young thief is a nucleus of mischief. A young pickpocket, named
Stuart, aged 13, informed me that his parents daily sent him into the
streets to 'look about,' that is, to plunder whatever he could lay his
hands upon; that his principal associates were three young thieves
with whom he 'worked,' or robbed; that when he was 10 years old he
stood at a horse's head while his companion stole a great coat from
the gig; that he got sixpence for his share of the plunder; that he
had committed many robberies because he was made to do it; and that he
lived entirely by plunder. Mr. Chesterton states, in his evidence
before the select committee of the House of Commons in answer to query
474, 'Some of the parents lead their children into evil courses. It is
no uncommon thing, when we are listening to the conversation between
the prisoners and their parents, to hear a conversation that shows at
once the boy's situation; but the old thieves are in the habit of
bringing in with them young inexperienced lads. Whenever the elder
thieves are recommitted, they are frequently recommitted with
another.' He also observes (522) that 'the elder thieves are
continually corrupting young lads, and bringing them into prison.'
"I am informed that Captain Brenton considers the total number of
juvenile offenders within the bills of mortality to be 12,000. Dr.
Lushington, I believe, computed the number still higher; and from the
evidence above quoted it is evident that each elder offender is daily
spreading the mischief far and wide.
"There is a youthful population in the metropolis devoted to crime,
trained to it from infancy, adhering to it from education and
circumstances, whose connections prevent the possibility of
reformation, and whom no punishment can deter; a race '_sui generis_,'
different from the rest of society, not only in thoughts, habits, and
manners, but even in appearance; possessing, moreover, a language
exclusively their own. There are lodging-houses kept by old thieves
where juvenile offenders herd together, and their constant intercourse
tends to complete corruption. It is in these hotbeds of vice that they
revel in the fruits of their plunder; and though extremely young, they
live with girls, indulging in every kind of debauchery."