CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF JACOB
SMITH.
"I now come to an important event in my life—in fact, that portion of it
which will account for this sickly condition of health in which you see
me. Old Death one evening took me with him to supper at a place where he
had never introduced me before. This was Bunce's in Earl Street, Seven
Dials. Mrs. Bunce immediately seemed to take a great fancy to me—made me
sit next to her—and, in spite of her meanness, helped me to the best of
every thing on table. It was a very good supper; for Old Death, who
provided it, had declared that he meant to launch out for once. But I
suppose it was only to put me into such a good humour that I was the
more likely to fall into the scheme which he had in view. This was not,
however, the reason of Mrs. Bunce's kindness; because since then she has
often treated me in a manner that has made me forget many a sorrow. It
is true that these likings only take her by fits and starts—and she has
not unfrequently used me cruelly enough. I can scarcely make that woman
out, as far as I am concerned; and there are moments when I think a
great deal of any kind words she has ever uttered to me, or any kind
treatment she has ever shown me.
"But I am wandering from the subject which I had entered upon. You
remember that I was telling you about the supper at Bunce's house. Well,
after the things were cleared away, and the grog was going round pretty
fast,—I used to drink then as much as a man, although little more than
ten years old;—Old Death began to talk a great deal about the money that
might be made by a clever lad like me being able to get admittance into
the houses of rich people. He went on to say that I should begin to
think of doing business that would leave me more time to amuse myself,
and be also less dangerous than going about the streets picking pockets.
I assured him that I was heartily sick and tired of the life I was
leading, and that I wished I was old enough to be a housebreaker. 'For,'
said I, 'a cracksman does have some time which he can call his own. If
he does only one job a week, he is satisfied: but I am obliged to gad
about all day to get the means of living on the next. Besides,' said I,
'I am of course running a thousand times more risks by doing so many
jobs each day, than I should if I only did one or two a
week.'[17]—'Everybody must have his apprenticeship,' returned Old Death,
'and you have now served yours. I agree with you that it is high time
for you to be doing something better; and I have a plan ready chalked
out for you.'—Mrs. Bunce mixed me another glass of grog: I produced my
short pipe, and blew a cloud while Old Death explained his scheme. At
first I did not much relish it: but he backed it with so many arguments,
that I agreed to try it.
"And, sure enough, at six o'clock one morning—a few days afterwards—a
boy, black as a devil, with soot-bag over his shoulder, and brush and
scraper in his hand, was making the round of Bloomsbury Square, bawling,
'_Sweep!_' as lustily as he could. That boy was myself. Presently a
garret-window opened, and a female voice called me to stop. I obeyed. In
a few minutes down came the cook to the front door, and I was desired to
walk in and operate on the kitchen-chimney. The cook was a fat,
middle-aged, good-natured body, and asked me a great many questions
about myself,—how long I had been a sweep—how it happened that I became
one—whether I had any father or mother—and a host of such queries; to
all of which I replied in the most sorrowful manner possible. I assured
her that I had been a sweep from infancy—that I had swept a chimney when
I was only five years old—that I had no parents—that my master beat me
cruelly—and that I had had nothing to eat since the morning before. The
good creature shed tears at my narrative; and, when I had swept the
chimney—which I did in a manner that scarcely bore out the assertion of
my long experience—she gave me a quantity of broken victuals in addition
to the money earned. I then took my departure, having very quietly
deposited half-a-dozen silver forks and spoons in my soot-bag, while her
back was turned.
"This business I carried on successfully enough for some months; till at
last Old Death told me that he had seen several paragraphs in the
papers, warning people against thefts committed by sweeps. I therefore
gave up the employment, and once more took refuge in St. Giles's. But my
health was seriously injured by the occupation I had just renounced; and
from that time I have always been ailing and sickly. Although I had
seldom turned sweep more than twice a week, and an hour after each
robbery that I thus committed was as clean again as if I had never been
near a chimney in my life,—yet the seeds of disease were planted in me,
and I feel the effects here—here—in my chest!
"The life that I led when I gave up the chimney-sweep business, did not
certainly tend to improve my health. I hired a room in St. Giles's, and
took a girl into keeping—I being then eleven, and she thirteen. Of all
profligate creatures, Peggy Wilkins was the worst. The moment she awoke
in the morning, she must have her half-quartern of gin; and then she
would go on drinking at short intervals all day long. If I attempted to
stop the supplies, she would fly into the most dreadful passions, break
every thing she could lay her hands on, or else throw the domestic
articles at my head. When tipsy, she would loll half naked out of the
window, and chaff the people passing in the street. In the evening she
went to the penny concerts or penny theatres,[18] and generally came
home so gloriously drunk that the entire house, much less our little
room, would scarcely hold her. You may wonder why I continued to live
with her: but the fact is, I liked her in spite of her outrageous
conduct, and as I was sometimes very dull and low, her noisy, rackety
disposition positively helped to put me into good spirits. She knew
nothing of my connexion with Old Death; but she was aware that I was
laying hid in St. Giles's in consequence of having robbed houses
disguised as a sweep; and she used to laugh heartily when I told her
several amusing anecdotes relative to that portion of my career.
"One night—after having lived about a month in idleness in the Holy
Land—I was compelled by the falling short of supplies, to call at
Bunce's in Seven Dials, for the purpose of seeing Old Death. After
waiting there a short time, he came in; and I immediately noticed that
his face was more serious than usual,—a certain sign that he had
something new on hand. I did not, however, venture to ask any questions;
for I still stood in the greatest awe of him, and knew that his
disposition was irritable and easy to be provoked. At length he said to
Mrs. Bunce, 'Give that lad a good strong glass of grog: he's shivering
with cold.'—I was not, but I took the grog, because I never refused
spirits at that time. When Old Death thought I was primed enough to
embrace any new plan with eagerness, he said, 'Jacob, I have something
for you to do that I am convinced will yield a good harvest.'—I
instantly became all attention.—'There's a widow lady,' he continued,
'living at the West End, in a swell street; and, by all I can learn, she
is very well off. She is also very charitable, and belongs to a number
of what's called Religious Societies; and I am sure you could get into
her house as easy as possible. The chimney-sweep business has well-nigh
blown over, if not quite; and it's high time to begin a new dodge.'—He
then explained his plan; and I agreed to adopt it.
"When I got back to my lodging in St Giles's, I found Peggy sitting in
company with a young fellow of about fifteen, drinking raw spirits. She
had not expected me home so early, and was for a moment quite taken
aback. But soon recovering herself, she put a good face on the matter,
and introduced the young chap as her brother; saying that she had not
seen him for many years before that evening, when she had met him by
accident. I pretended to believe her; but the moment he was gone, I gave
her a good beating and overwhelmed her with reproaches. She showed less
spirit than I had expected, and did not attempt to return the blows;
neither did she treat me with sulkiness or ill-humour.
"On the following evening, at about nine o'clock, I very quietly laid
myself down on the door-steps of a house in Old Burlington Street. I was
in such rags and tatters as to be almost naked; and having pricked my
feet, with a pointed bit of wood, in several places, they were almost
covered with blood, as if chapped with the cold and cut by the sharp
stones. This was in the depth of winter; and my appearance was most
miserable. Presently a carriage drove up to the house, and a fine, tall,
elderly gentleman got out. I was crouched up close by the threshold of
the door, and I purposely let him tread on one of my naked feet. Then I
began to sob as if with pain; and he now observed me for the first time.
He muttered an oath; but at that instant the front-door opened, and his
manner changed directly. He spoke kindly to me, and put half-a-crown
into my hand. A lady was crossing the hall while the door stood open and
this gentleman was still speaking to me; and she immediately turned to
ascertain what was the matter. 'Here's a poor, wretched creature,' said
the gentleman, 'who was so huddled up against the door, that I did not
observe him; and I am afraid I trod on his leg somewhat heavily.'—The
lady instantly spoke in the most compassionate terms, and desired that I
might be brought into the house. The man-servant raised me, for I
affected to be unable to walk; and the lady said, 'Poor boy, he is
paralysed with the cold!'—When I was moved into the hall, and placed in
a chair, the state of my feet was observed; and this increased the
compassion I had already excited. She ordered the servant to take me
into the kitchen, and give me a good supper, while I warmed myself by
the fire.
"All these commands were immediately executed; shoes and stockings were
also supplied me; and in the course of an hour the lady herself came
down to speak to me. She asked me who I was. I told her a long and
piteous tale, already prepared for the occasion,—how I had been
apprenticed to a tradesman at Liverpool, and had undergone the most
dreadful treatment because I refused to work on the Lord's Day and
insisted on my right to go to church; how the cruelty of my master had
increased to such an extent, that I was obliged to run away; how I had
wandered about the country for the last two months, subsisting on
charity, but often half-starved; how I had that morning found my way to
London, and had been obliged to sell my shoes for a penny to buy a roll,
which was all I had eaten during thirty-six hours: but that I had an
aunt who was housekeeper to a certain Bishop, and that I knew she would
do all she could for me. The lady seemed to eye me suspiciously until I
spoke of the aunt and the Bishop; and then her countenance instantly
changed in my favour. 'Well, my poor lad,' she said, 'you shall remain
here to-night; and the first thing to-morrow morning, one of my servants
shall take a message from you to your aunt.'—I of course expressed my
gratitude for this kindness; but the lady assured me that she required
no thanks, as heaven rewarded her for what she did towards her suffering
fellow-creatures. I really thought that there was something very much
like what I and my usual associates were accustomed to call '_gammon_'
in all this; and then I actually reproached myself for the idea, and
began to repent of imposing on so much virtue and goodness.
"When I was well warmed with the cheerful fire and plentiful supper, the
housekeeper of this lady conducted me to a little room on the top
storey, and having wished me a 'good night,' retired, locking the door
behind her. But this did not give me much uneasiness; for beneath my
rags I had concealed the necessary means to counteract such a
precaution. Accordingly, about an hour after I had heard the servants
withdraw to their bed-rooms, which were on the same floor as the one
where I was placed,—and when I thought the house was all quiet,—I took
off the lock of the door by means of a little turn-screw, and crept
carefully down stairs. Just at that minute the clock struck eleven. My
intention was to visit the drawing-room first; but when I reached the
door, I perceived there were lights within. I listened, and heard the
gentleman and lady talking together. 'Oh! ho,' thought I, 'I shall have
time to inspect the lady's bed-room first, and perhaps secure her
jewels.'—So, naturally conceiving that this chamber must be the one
immediately over the drawing-room, I retraced my way up stairs, and
entered the front apartment on the second floor. A rush-light was
burning in the room; but no one was there. I lost no time in commencing
my search in all the cupboards; but I found nothing except clothes.
There was, however, a mahogany press which was fast locked. I drew forth
a small skeleton key, and was about to use it, when I was alarmed by
footsteps in the passage. In another moment I was safely concealed under
the bed.
"Some one almost immediately afterwards entered the room, and only
closed the door without shutting it. I dared not move even to peep from
beneath the drapery that hung round the bed to the floor: but I could
tell by the rustling of silk and the unlacing of stays, that the person
in the room was undressing herself—and I felt satisfied it was the lady
of the house. I was now seriously alarmed. She was evidently going to
bed; and my only chance of escaping from the chamber was when she should
be asleep. But might I not disturb her? My situation was very
unpleasant—and a prison seemed to open before my eyes.
"In about a quarter of an hour the lady stepped into bed. How I longed
to catch the first sound that should convince me she was asleep! But she
was not dreaming of closing her eyes yet awhile; for scarcely had she
laid herself down, when the door was gently opened—then carefully closed
again—and _another person_, evidently without shoes or boots on, came
into the room. They said a few words to each other; and to my
astonishment I found that the gentleman who had arrived in his carriage
(which of course had been sent away) was going to pass an hour in
company with the charitable lady. 'Well,' thought I, 'this is the way in
which heaven rewards her for all she does towards her suffering
fellow-creatures!'
"The gentleman undressed himself, and got into bed. Nearly two hours,
instead of an hour, passed away—very pleasantly, it seemed, for the lady
and gentleman, and very much to my amusement. I was now no longer under
any alarm on account of myself—for I had learnt a secret which placed
the lady in my power. Well, the gentleman got up at last and dressed
himself; and the lady went down stairs with him to bolt the street-door
after him. Their movements were so cautious, that I could plainly
perceive the servants must have fancied that the gentleman had gone away
long before, and that this care was taken to avoid disturbing them with
any noise likely to excite suspicion.
"The moment the lady had left the room with her lover, I thought of
beating a retreat. But should I go empty-handed? No: and yet I had not
time to force open the mahogany press, which I believed must contain her
jewels, before she would come back, as she had gone down in her
night-clothes. I therefore resolved to stay where I was, and accomplish
my purpose when she was asleep; because if matters did come to the worst
and she should awake, she dared not expose me. So I laid quiet; and she
came back in a few minutes, shivering with the cold—for I could hear her
teeth actually chatter. Half an hour afterwards she was fast asleep—as I
could tell by her deep and regular breathing. The rush-light still burnt
in the room; and I crept carefully from beneath the bed. Yes—she was
sleeping; and, though not a young woman, she appeared very beautiful.
But I had not a minute to lose: my skeleton key was again at work—the
bolt of the lock flew back—and the door of the press moved on its
hinges. Move! yes—and creak, too, most awfully; so that the lady started
up in bed, and uttered a faint scream. I instantly rushed up to her,
saying in a low but determined tone, 'Madam, not a word—or I betray you
and your lover!'—By the feeble light of the candle, I saw that she
became as red as crimson.—'Yes, madam,' I continued, 'your tricks are
known to me; and I have been all the while concealed under this
bed.'—'You!' she exclaimed: 'why, surely you are the poor boy that I
received into the house this evening?'—'To be sure I am, ma'am,' was my
answer; 'and, being troubled with a habit of sleep-walking, I found my
way to this room.'—'But what were you doing at the bureau?'—'Merely
examining it in my sleep, ma'am.'—'This is ridiculous,' she said
impatiently. 'I understand what you are; but I will treat you well on
condition that you do not mention to a soul what you have been a witness
of this night.'—'I have no interest in gossiping, ma'am.'—'And were you
to do so, I can deny all you may state,' added the lady, who was
dreadfully excited and nervous, as you may suppose. 'But if you follow
my directions, I will reward you well.'—I readily gave a promise to that
effect. She then took a reticule from a chair by the side of the bed,
and drawing out her purse, emptied its contents into my hands. At a
rapid glance I saw there could not be less than fifteen or sixteen
sovereigns, besides a little silver. She then took from her bag a
Bank-note for twenty pounds, which she also gave me.
"I secured the money about my person, and she asked me whether I was
satisfied? I said, 'Perfectly.'——'Then stand aside for a few moments,
and I will show you how to act.'——I stepped behind the curtain, while
she rose and put on a dressing-gown; having done which, she took the
rush-light in her hand and desired me to follow her as noiseless as
possible. We went down into the kitchen, where she told me to take all
the cold victuals there were in the larder; and she gave me a napkin to
wrap them up in. There happened to be a silver spoon in one of the
dishes—left there most probably by accident. This she also desired me to
take; and you may be sure I did not refuse. These arrangements being
made, she led me to the front door, and having reminded me of my promise
not to talk about a certain affair, let me out of the house. I have no
doubt that there was a great deal said next morning in Old Burlington
Street, about the ungrateful lad who was taken in as an object of
charity, and who decamped in the middle of the night with the contents
of the larder and a silver spoon into the bargain."
"But you have not mentioned the name of this lady, Jacob?" interrupted
Tom Rain.
"I did not think it was worth while, sir—as she used me very well——"
"Still I have a very particular reason for wishing to be informed on
that head," said the highwayman.
"Oh! if that's the case, I shall not hesitate," replied Jacob. "The name
of that lady was Mrs. Slingsby."
"I thought so from the very first moment you began to speak of her!"
cried Tom. "And the name of the gentleman—did you learn _that_?"
"Yes, sir," answered the lad: "I heard the servants talking about him,
when I was in the kitchen. His name was—let me see?—Oh! yes—I
remember—Sir Henry Courtenay."
"Thank you, Jacob," exclaimed Tom: then, in a low, musing tone, he said,
"Poor Clarence! you are woefully deceived in your saint of an aunt!"
"Shall I continue my story, Mr. Rainford?" asked Jacob. "It will not
last much longer now."
"By all means go on, my boy. I would sit here till day-light, sooner
than miss the end."
Thus encouraged, Jacob continued in the following manner.
-----
Footnote 17:
Every juvenile delinquent is as anxious to rise in his "profession" as
the military or naval officer, or the member of any other hierarchy.
But with the votaries of crime the apex of promotion is—the gibbet!
Mr. Miles says, "I have questioned many boys of shrewd understanding
concerning their opinions, and the opinions of their associates, as to
their ultimate fate (for all thieves are fatalists). They look upon
their inevitable doom to be either sooner or later transportation or
the drop! It is difficult to imagine a state of more gloomy
wretchedness and more despairingly horrible than the self-conviction
of condign punishment, without one gleam of hope to clear the
melancholy perspective. Punishments and whippings are therefore
useless, for the mind is prepared to endure more, and every
imprisonment is only looked upon as another step in the ladder of
their sad destiny. The lad is hopeless, consequently reckless in his
conduct,—hardened to the present, and irreclaimable as to the future.
It is not by prison discipline that reformation can be effected: the
temptations, the facilities, and the love of idleness are too
alluring. Crowds of young thieves will wait round a prison-gate, to
hail a companion on the morning of his liberation, and to carry him
off to treat him and regale him for the day. I have asked boys under
sentence of transportation if they thought they _could_ reform, if
returned again upon society, and the general reply has been, 'No.'
Their reasons for that conclusion I give in their own words:—'If we
were to be free to-morrow, we must go to our old haunts and our old
companions, for where else _can_ we go? If we try to be honest we
cannot, for our 'pals' (associates) would torment us to return; in
short, we should only have to come back here at last, but we are now
going to another country, where we hope to be honest men.'
"I have, moreover, questioned many lads as to what method they would
adopt to prevent other boys from falling into crime, and their remarks
have been, 'Stop playing in the streets, for a pocket is soon picked,
and there are many who show others how to do it;—and the next thing is
to stop those cursed receivers; for if a receiver knows a boy to have
dealt with him, (that is, to have sold him property,) he will make him
go out to thieve; he will never let him rest; and even should we get
into employment, he will teaze us till he makes us rob the master, or
will tell of us to the police.' These remarks prove the boys to be
good judges of their own cases; so, like a skilful physician, they
know where to apply the remedy; and as I feel convinced that many of
these urchins possess every requisite to be good and useful members of
society, so am I certain that their reformation, in a majority of
cases, is as practicable, under proper means, as their ultimate ruin
is now certain, under the present system."
Footnote 18:
Mr. Brandon, in his Preface to Mr. Miles's Report, makes the following
observations, which are too important to need any apology for their
quotation:—
"If a religious fanatic brings a Bill into the House for the 'better
observance of the Sabbath,' whose comforts are to be abridged? Why,
the poor man's and those of the middling classes; for it is the
stage-coaches and omnibuses that are to be prohibited from making
their appearance, while the streets may be thronged with carriages;
and though the labourer is not permitted to purchase his necessary
food on that sacred day, unable to have accomplished it before from
not having received his wages till too late the preceding night, yet
the fishmonger may keep the turbot cool that is to grace his
lordship's Sunday table, and send it home on the very day, just in
time to be prepared for dinner.
"Penny theatres, too, are decried and suppressed, while the larger
ones are permitted—the reason assigned being that the company who
frequent the former render the step necessary, but the delinquency
does not arise from cheap exhibitions—it is from the inefficiency of
the law to restrain the audience; for in the plays themselves there is
no improper language used. Holland, a notorious thief, in his
examination, said he had heard bad language at those places before the
curtain drew up, _but never any thing indecent on the stage_. This is
a damning proof where the fault lies; if the laws were such as to
restrain vice, and those properly administered, it would effectually
prevent the improper conduct of the loose individuals, and preclude
the necessity of reducing the pleasures of the poor; pockets are
picked every night at the royal theatres, and scenes of the worst
description carried on in the lobbies; yet it never entered into the
cranium of the wiseacres that if the theatres were shut up, these
abominations would be effectually eradicated. It is highly gratifying
to witness the order and pleasure with which cheap diversions are
conducted on the continent, even so close to us as Boulogne and
Calais, where may be seen the lowest classes enjoying themselves in
dancing and visiting the various public gardens, the entrance to which
is a fee equivalent to our penny. Another proof of the difference with
which our laws are administered according to the parties affected, is
manifest in the proceedings against the various houses for play in the
metropolis, the clubs of the aristocracy and the 'little goes,' little
hells, &c. of the poor."