Part 128

This boy, although an orphan at a tender age, was yet assisted to the commencement of a business by a friend. I met with another lad who was left under somewhat similar circumstances. The persons in the house where his mother had died were about to take him to the parish officers, and there seemed to be no other course to be pursued to save the child, then nearly twelve, from starvation. The lad knew this and ran away. It was summer time, about three years ago, and the little runaway slept in the open air whenever he could find a quiet place. Want drove him to beg, and several days he subsisted on one penny which he begged. One day he did not find any one to give him even a halfpenny, and towards the evening of the second he became bold, or even desperate, from hunger. As if by a sudden impulse he went up to an old gentleman, walking slowly in Hyde-park, and said to him, “Sir, I’ve lived three weeks by begging, and I’m hungering now; give me sixpence, or I’ll go and steal.” The gentleman stopped and looked at the boy, in whose tones there must have been truthfulness, and in whose face was no doubt starvation, for without uttering a word he gave the young applicant a shilling. The boy began a street-seller’s life on lucifer-matches. I had to see him for another purpose a little while ago, and in the course of some conversation he told me of his start in the streets. I have no doubt he told the truth, and I should have given a more detailed account of him, but when I inquired for him, I found that he had gone to Epsom races to sell cards, and had not returned, having probably left London on a country tour. But for the old gentleman’s bounty he would have stolen something, he declared, had it been only for the shelter of a prison.

OF THE LIFE OF AN ORPHAN GIRL, A STREET-SELLER.

“Father was a whitesmith,” she said, “and mother used to go out a-washing and a-cleaning, and me and my sister (but she is dead now) did nothing; we was sent to a day school, both of us. We lived very comfortable; we had two rooms and our own furniture; we didn’t want for nothing when father was alive; he was very fond on us both, and was a kind man to everybody. He was took bad first when I was very young--it was consumption he had, and he was ill many years, about five years, I think it was, afore he died. When he was gone mother kept us both; she had plenty of work; she couldn’t a-bear the thought of our going into the streets for a living, and we was both too young to get a place anywhere, so we stayed at home and went to school just as when father was alive. My sister died about two year and a half ago; she had the scarlet-fever dreadful, she lay ill seven weeks. We was both very fond of her, me and mother. I often wish she had been spared, I should not be alone in the world as I am now. We might have gone on together, but it is dreadful to be quite alone, and I often think now how well we could have done if she was alive.

“Mother has been dead just a year this month; she took cold at the washing and it went to her chest; she was only bad a fortnight; she suffered great pain, and, poor thing, she used to fret dreadful, as she lay ill, about me, for she knew she was going to leave me. She used to plan how I was to do when she was gone. She made me promise to try to get a place and keep from the streets if I could, for she seemed to dread them so much. When she was gone I was left in the world without a friend. I am quite alone, I have no relation at all, not a soul belonging to me. For three months I went about looking for a place, as long as my money lasted, for mother told me to sell our furniture to keep me and get me clothes. I could have got a place, but nobody would have me without a character, and I knew nobody to give me one. I tried very hard to get one, indeed I did; for I thought of all mother had said to me about going into the streets. At last, when my money was just gone, I met a young woman in the street, and I asked her to tell me where I could get a lodging. She told me to come with her, she would show me a respectable lodging-house for women and girls. I went, and I have been there ever since. The women in the house advised me to take to flower-selling, as I could get nothing else to do. One of the young women took me to market with her, and showed me how to bargain with the salesman for my flowers. At first, when I went out to sell, I felt so ashamed I could not ask anybody to buy of me; and many times went back at night with all my stock, without selling one bunch. The woman at the lodging-house is very good to me; and when I have a bad day she will let my lodging go until I can pay her. She always gives me my dinner, and a good dinner it is, of a Sunday; and she will often give me a breakfast, when she knows I have no money to buy any. She is very kind, indeed, for she knows I am alone. I feel very thankful to her, I am sure, for all her goodness to me. During the summer months I take 1_s._ 6_d._ per day, which is 6_d._ profit. But I can only sell my flowers five days in the week--Mondays there is no flowers in the market: and of the 6_d._ a day I pay 3_d._ for lodging. I get a halfpenny-worth of tea; a halfpenny-worth of sugar; one pound of bread, 1-1/2_d._; butter, 1/2_d._ I never tastes meat but on Sunday. What I shall do in the winter I don’t know. In the cold weather last year, when I could get no flowers, I was forced to live on my clothes, I have none left now but what I have on. What I shall do I don’t know--I can’t bear to think on it.”

OF TWO RUNAWAY STREET-BOYS.

I endeavoured to find a boy or girl who belonged to the _well_-educated classes, had run away, and was now a street-seller. I heard of boys of this class--one man thought he knew five, and was sure of four--who now lived by street-selling, my informant believed without having any recourse to theft, but all these boys were absent; they had not returned from Epsom, or had not returned to their usual haunts, or else they had started for their summer’s excursion into the country. Many a street-seller becomes as weary of town after the winter as a member of parliament who sits out a very long session; and the moment the weather is warm, and “seems settled,” they are off into the country. In this change of scene there is the feeling of independence, of freedom; _they_ are not “tied to their work;” and this feeling has perhaps even greater charms for the child than the adult.

The number of lads of a _well-educated class_, who support themselves by street-selling, is not large. I speak of those whom I have classed as children under fifteen years of age. If a boy run away, scared and terrified by the violence of a parent, or maddened by continuous and sometimes excessive severity, the parent often feels compunction, and I heard of persons being sent to every lodging-house in London, and told to search every dry arch, to bring back a runaway. On these occasions the street-sellers willingly give their aid; I have even heard of women, whose degradation was of the lowest, exerting themselves in the recovery of a runaway child, and that often unsolicited and as often unrecompensed.

The children who are truants through their own vicious or reckless propensities, or through the inducements of their seniors, become far more frequently, thieves or lurkers, rather than street-sellers. As to runaway girls of a well-educated class, and under fifteen, I heard of none who were street-sellers.

I now give instances of two runaway lads, who have been dishonest, and honest.

The one, when he told me his history, was a slim and rather tall young man of 23 or 24, with a look, speech, and air, anything but vulgar. He was the son of a wealthy jeweller, in a town in the West of England, and ran away from home with an adult member of his father’s establishment, who first suggested such a course, taking with them money and valuables. They came to London, and the elder thief, retaining all the stolen property, at once abandoned the child, then only ten, and little and young-looking for his age. He fell into the hands of some members of the swell-mob, and became extremely serviceable to them. He was dressed like a gentleman’s son, and was innocent-looking and handsome. His appearance, when I saw him, showed that this must have been the case as regards his looks. He lived with some of the swell-mobsmen--then a more prosperous people than they are now--in a good house in the Southwark-Bridge-road. The women who resided with the mobsmen were especially kind to him. He was well fed, well lodged, well clad, and petted in everything. He was called “the kid,” a common slang name for a child, but he was _the_ kid. He “went to work” in Regent-street, or wherever there were most ladies, and his appearance disarmed suspicion. He was, moreover, highly successful in church and chapel practice. At length he became “spotted.” The police got to know him, and he was apprehended, tried, and convicted. He was, however--he believed through the interest of his friends, of whose inquiries concerning him he had heard, but of that I know nothing--sent to the Philanthropic Asylum, then in St. George’s-road. Here he remained the usual time, then left the place well clothed, and with a sum of money, and endeavoured to obtain some permanent employment. In this endeavour he failed. Whether he exerted himself strenuously or not I cannot say, but he told me that the very circumstance of his having been “in the Philanthropic” was fatal to his success. His “character” and “recommendations” necessarily showed where he had come from, and the young man, as he then was, became a beggar. His chief practice was in “screeving,” or writing on the pavement. Perhaps some of my readers may remember having noticed a wretched-looking youth who hung over the words “I AM STARVING,” chalked on the footway on the Surrey side of Waterloo Bridge. He lay huddled in a heap, and appeared half dead with cold and want, his shirtless neck and shoulders being visible through the rents in his thin jean jacket; shoe or stocking he did not wear. This was the rich jeweller’s son. Until he himself told me of it--and he seemed to do so with some sense of shame--I could not have believed that the well-spoken and well-looking youth before me was the piteous object I had observed by the bridge. What he is doing now I am unable to state.

Another boy, who thought he was not yet fifteen, though he looked older, gave me the following account. He was short but seemed strong, and his career, so far, is chiefly remarkable for his perseverance, exercised as much, perhaps, from insensibility as from any other quality. He was sufficiently stupid. If he had parents living, he said, he didn’t know nothing about them; he had lived and slept with an old woman who said she was his grandmother, and he’d been told that she weren’t no relation; he didn’t trouble himself about it. She sold lucifer-boxes or any trifle in the streets, and had an allowance of 2_s._ weekly, but from what quarter he did not know. About four years ago he was run over by a cab, and was carried to the workhouse or the hospital; he believed it was Clerkenwell Workhouse, but he weren’t sure. When he recovered and was discharged he found the old woman was dead, and a neighbour went with him to the parish officers, by whom--as well as I could understand him--he was sent to the workhouse, after some inquiry. He was soon removed to Nor’ud. On my asking if he meant Norwood, he replied, “no, Nor’ud,” and there he was with a number of other children with a Mr. Horbyn. He did not know how long he was there, and he didn’t know as he had anything much to complain of, but he ran away. He ran away because he thought he would; and he believed he could get work at paper-staining. He made his way to Smithfield, near where there was a great paper-stainer’s, but he could not get any work, and he was threatened to be sent back, as they knew from his dress that he had run away. He slept in Smithfield courts and alleys, fitting himself into any covered corner he could find. The poor women about were kind to him, and gave him pieces of bread; some knew that he had run away from a workhouse and was all the kinder. “The fust browns as ivver I yarned,” he said, “was from a drover. He was a going into the country to meet some beasts, and had to carry some passels for somebody down there. They wasn’t ’evvy, but they was orkerd to grip. His old ’oman luk out for a young cove to ’elp her old man, and saw me fust, so she calls me, and I gets the job. I gived the greatest of satisfaction, and had sixpence giv me, for Jim (the drover) was well paid, as they was vallyble passels, and he said he’d taken the greatest of care on ’em, and had engaged a poor lad to ’elp him.” On his return the child slept in a bed, in a house near Gray’s-inn-lane, for the first time since he had run away, he believed about a fortnight. He persevered in looking out for odd jobs, without ever stealing, though he met some boys who told him he was a fool not to prig. “I used to carry his tea from his old ’oman,” he went on, “to a old cove as had a stunnin’ pitch of fruit in the City-road. But my best friend was Stumpy; he had a beautiful crossin’ (as a sweeper) then, but he’s dead now and berried as well. I used to talk to him and whistle--I _can_ just whistle” [here he whistled loud and shrill, to convince me of his perfection in that street accomplishment] “--and to dance him the double-shuffle” [he favoured me with a specimen of that dance], “and he said I hinterested him. Well, he meant he liked it, I s’pose. When he went to rest hisself, for he soon got tired, over his drop of beer to his grub, I had his crossin’ and his broom for nuff’n. One boy used to say to Stumpy, ‘I’ll give you 1_d._ for your crossin’ while you’s grubbin.’ But I had it for nuff’n, and had all I yarned; sometimes 1_d._, sometimes 2_d._, but only once 3-1/2_d._ I’ve been ’elping Old Bill with his summer cabbages and flowers (cauliflowers), and now he’s on live heels. I can sing ’em out prime, but you ’eared me. I has my bit o’ grub with him, and a few browns, and Old Bill and Young Bill, too, says I shall have better to do, but I can’t until peas. I sleeps in a loft with ’ampers, which is Old Bill’s; a stunnin’ good bed. I’ve cried for and ’elped other costers. Stumpy sent me to ’em. I think he’d been one hisself, but I was always on the look-out. I’ll go for some bunse soon. I don’t know what I shall do time to come, I nivver thinks on it. I could read middlin’, and can a little now, but I’m out of practice.”

I have given this little fellow’s statement somewhat fully, for I believe he is a type of the most numerous class of runaway urchins who ripen, so to speak, into costermongers, after “helping” that large body of street-traders.

I heard of one boy who had been discharged from Brixton, and had received 6_d._ to begin the world with, as it was his first offence, on his way back to London, being called upon suddenly as soon as he had reached the New Cut (then the greatest of all the street-markets) to help a costermonger. This gave the boy a start, and he had since lived honestly.

OF THE CAPITAL AND INCOME OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF MANUFACTURED ARTICLES.

Before giving a Summary of the Capital and Income of the above-mentioned class, I shall endeavour to arrive at some notion as to the number of persons belonging to this division of the London Street-sellers.

As far as I am able to ascertain, the following estimate may be taken as an approximation to the truth. There are in the metropolis 100 hardware-sellers, 6 cheap Johns, 30 sellers of cutlery, 6 sellers of tailors’ needles, 20 sellers of metal spoons, 500 sellers of jewellery, 2 sellers of card counters, 15 sellers of medals, 6 sellers of rings and sovereigns for a wager, 25 sellers of children’s gilt watches, 100 sellers of tin-ware, 100 swag-barrowmen, 12 sellers of dog-collars, &c., 40 sellers of tools, 380 sellers of crockery and glass-wares, 12 sellers of spar-ornaments, 30 sellers of China-ornaments, 6 sellers of stone-fruit, 120 packmen and duffers or hawkers of soft wares, 500 sellers of tapes, cottons, &c., 100 sellers of lace, 15 sellers of japanned table covers, 500 brace and belt-sellers, 50 sellers of hose, 3 sellers of waistcoats, 230 sellers of blacking, 125 sellers of black-lead, 5 sellers of French polish, 7 sellers of grease-removing composition, 4 sellers of plating-balls, 8 sellers of corn-salve, 4 sellers of China and glass cement, 6 sellers of razor paste, 55 sellers of crackers and detonating-balls, 200 sellers of Lucifer matches, 100 sellers of cigar-lights, 30 sellers of gutta-percha heads, 50 sellers of fly-papers and beetle-wafers, 25 sellers of poison for rats, 35 sellers of walking-sticks, 30 sellers of whips, 4 sellers of clay and Meerschaum pipes, 15 sellers of tobacco-boxes, snuff-boxes, and cigar-cases, 100 sellers of cigars, 50 sellers of sponge, 200 sellers of wash-leathers, 35 sellers of spectacles, and eye-glasses, 50 sellers of dolls, 50 lot-sellers, 2 sellers of Roulette tables, 4 sellers of rhubarb, 100 rat-catchers, 50 sellers of combs, 50 sellers of money-bags, 70 sellers of coat-studs; making altogether a total of 4272.

Some few of the above trades are, however, of only a temporary character; as, for instance, such as are engaged in the street-sale of crackers and detonating-balls--the month of November and the Christmas week being the only regular periods, with the exception of fairs and races, for the vending of those articles. The fly-papers and beetle-wafers are other instances of the same kind--summer being the only season in which there is a demand for such things. Making due allowance therefore for the temporary character of some of the callings, as well as for the itinerancy and unsettledness of other trades or traders, we may, I think, safely assume that the street-sellers connected with this class are about 4000 in number.

Concerning the amount of capital invested in this branch of the street-traffic as well as the income derived therefrom, the following tables are given as being somewhat near the truth.

METAL.

_Street-Sellers of Hardware._

£ _s._ _d._ Stock-money for 100 vendors at 10_s._ each 50 0 0

_Cheap Johns._

6 carts 30_l._ each, and stock-money for the same, 50_l._ each 480 0 0

_Street-Sellers of Cutlery._

Stock-money for 30 vendors at 1_s._ 6_d._ each 2 5 0

_Blind Street-Sellers of Tailors’ Needles._

6 boxes at 1_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 6 vendors at 2_s._ each 1 1 0

_Street-Sellers of Metal Spoons, &c., at Public-Houses._

Stock-money for 20 vendors at 2_s._ 6_d._ each 2 10 0

_Street-Sellers of Jewellery._

500 boxes at 3_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 500 vendors at 15_s._ each 462 10 0

_Street-Sellers of Card-Counters, Medals, &c._

17 boxes at 3_s._ each; stock-money for 17 vendors at 2_s._ 6_d._ each 4 13 6

_Street-Sellers of Rings and Sovereigns for Wagers._

Stock-money for 6 vendors at 2_s._ 6_d._ each 0 15 0

_Street-Sellers of Children’s Gilt Watches._

Stock-money for 25 vendors at 5_s._ each 6 5 0

_Street-Sellers of Tin-Ware._

50 stalls, at 3_s._ each; stock-money for 100 vendors, averaging 6_s._ each 37 10 0

_Street Swag-barrowmen._

100 barrows, at 1_l._ each; stock-money for 150 swag-barrowmen, at 10_s._ each 175 0 0

_Street-Sellers of Dog-collars, Key-rings, &c._

6 stalls, at 3_s._ each; stock-money for 12 vendors, at 5_s._ each 3 18 0

_Street-Sellers of Tools._

6 stalls, at 3_s._ each; stock-money for 40 vendors, at 10_s._ each 20 18 0

CROCKERY AND GLASS.

_Street-Sellers of Crockery and Glass-Wares._

100 barrows, at 1_l._ each; 280 baskets, at 2_s._ 6_d._ each; 280 linen bags, at 1_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 380 vendors, at 10_s._ each 346 0 0

_Street-Sellers of Spar and China-Ornaments, and Stone-Fruit._

16 barrows, at 1_l._ each; stock-money for 12 vendors of spar-ornaments, at 15_s._ each; 16 baskets, at 2_s._ 6_d._ each; 16 stalls, at 3_s._ each; stock-money for 6 vendors of stone-fruit, at 10_s._ each; and 20 roulette tables, at 2_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 30 sellers of China-ornaments, at 5_s._ each 42 8 0

TEXTILE.

_Packmen and Duffers, or Hawkers of Soft Wares._

120 wrappers, at 2_s._ each; stock-money for 120 hawkers, at 5_l._ each 612 0 0

_Street-Sellers of Small Ware, or Tapes, Cottons, &c._

500 boxes, at 1_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 500 vendors, at 1_s._ each 62 10 0

_Street-Sellers of Lace._

20 baskets, at 2_s._ 6_d._ each; 20 boxes, at 3_s._ each; 60 stalls, at 3_s._ each; stock-money for 100 vendors, averaging 2_s._ 6_d._ each 27 0 0

_Street-Sellers of Japan Table-Covers._

Stock-money for 15 sellers, at 10_s._ each 7 10 0

_Street-Sellers of Braces and Belts, Hose, Trowser-straps, and Waistcoats._

100 stalls, at 4_s._ each; 300 rods, with hooks to hang the braces upon, at 3_d._ each; stock-money for 500 brace-sellers, at 5_s._ each 148 15 0

_Street-Sellers of Hose._

Stock-money for 50 vendors, at 10_s._ each 25 0 0

_Street-Sellers of Waistcoats._

Stock-money for 3 vendors, at 15_s._ each 2 5 0

CHEMICALS.

_Street-Sellers of Blacking._

200 boxes, at 6_d._ each; 30 bags, at 1_s._ each; stock-money for 230 vendors, averaging 2_s._ each 29 10 0

_Street-Sellers of Black-Lead._

Stock-money for 125 vendors, at 1_s._ each 6 5 0

_Street-Sellers of French Polish._

5 boxes, at 1_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 5 vendors, at 2_s._ 6_d._ each 1 0 0

_Street-Sellers of Grease-removing Composition._

7 boxes, at 1_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 7 vendors, at 1_s._ 6_d._ each 1 1 0

_Street-Sellers of Plating-Balls._

4 boxes, at 1_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 4 vendors, at 1_s._ each 0 10 0

_Street-Sellers of Corn-Salve._

8 boxes, at 1_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 8 vendors, at 6_d._ each 0 16 0

_Street-Sellers of Glass and China-Cement._

4 boxes, at 1_s._ 6_d._ each; stock-money for 4 vendors, at 6_d._ each 0 8 0

_Street-Sellers of Razor-Paste._

6 trays, at 2_s._ each; stock-money for 6 vendors, at 1_s._ each 0 18 0