The nomadic races of England are of many distinct kinds -- from the habitual vagrant -- half-beggar, half-thief -- sleeping in barns, tents, and casual wards -- to the mechanic on tramp, obtaining his bed and supper from the trade societies in the different towns, on his way to seek work. Between these two extremes there are several mediate varieties -- consisting of pedlars, showmen, harvest-men, and all that large class who live by either selling, showing, or doing something through the country. These are, so to speak, the rural nomads -- not confining their wanderings to any one particular locality, but ranging often from one end of the land to the other. Besides these, there are the urban and suburban wanderers, or those who follow some itinerant occupation in and round about the large towns. Such are, in the metropolis more particularly, the pickpockets -- the beggars -- the prostitutes --the street-sellers -- the street-performers -- the cabmen -- the coachmen -- the watermen -- the sailors and such like. In each of these classes -- according as they partake more or less of the purely vagabond, doing nothing whatsoever for their living, but moving from place to place preying upon the earnings of the more industrious portion of the community, so will the attributes of the nomade tribes be found to be more or less marked in them. Whether it be that in the mere act of wandering, there is a greater determination of blood to the surface of the body, and consequently a less quantity sent to the brain, the muscles being thus nourished at the expense of the mind, I leave physiologists to say. But certainly be the physical cause what it may, we must all allow that in each of the classes above-mentioned, there is a greater development of the animal than of the intellectual or moral nature of man, and that they are all more or less distinguished for their high cheek-bones and protruding jaws -- for their use of a slang language -- for their lax ideas of property -- for their general improvidence -- their repugnance to continuous labour -- their disregard of female honour -- their love of cruelty -- their pugnacity -- and their utter want of religion.
Those who obtain their living in the streets of the metropolis are a very large and varied class; indeed, the means resorted to in order "to pick up a crust," as the people call it, in the public thoroughfares (and such in many instances it literally is,) are so multifarious that the mind is long baffled in its attempts to reduce them to scientific order or classification.
It would appear, however, that the street-people may be all arranged under six distinct genera or kinds.
These are severally:
I. Street-sellers
II. Street-buyers
III. Street-Finders.
IV. Street-Performers, Artists, and Showmen.
V. Street-Artizans, or Working Pedlars; and
VI. Street-Labourers.
The first of these divisions -- the Street-Sellers -- includes many varieties; viz.--
1. The Street-sellers of Fish -- "wet," "dry," and shell-fish -- and poultry, game, and cheese.2. The Street-sellers of Vegetables, fruit (both "green" and "dry"), flowers, trees, shrubs, seeds, and roots, and "green stuff" (as water-cresses, chickweed and grun'sel, and turf).
3. The Street-sellers of Eatables and Drinkables, -- including the vendors of fried fish, hot eels, pickled whelks, sheep's trotters, ham sandwiches, peas'-soup, hot green peas, penny pies, plum "duff," meat-puddings, baked potatoes, spice-cakes, muffins and crumpets, Chelsea buns, sweetmeats, brandy-balls, cough drops, and cat and dog's meat -- such constituting the principal eatables sold in the street; while under the head of street-drinkables may be specified tea and coffee, ginger-beer, lemonade, hot wine, new milk from the cow, asses milk, curds and whey, and occasionally water.
4. The Street-sellers of Stationery, Literature, and the Fine Arts -- among whom are comprised the flying stationers, or standing and running patterers; the long-song-sellers; the wall- song-sellers (or "pinners-up," as they are technically termed); the ballad sellers; the vendors of playbills, second editions of newspapers, back numbers of periodicals and old books, almanacks, pocket books, memorandum books, note paper, sealing-wax, pens, pencils, stenographic cards, valentines, engravings, manuscript music, images, and gelatine poetry cards.
5. The Street-sellers of Manufactured Articles, which class comprises a large number of individuals, as , (a) the vendors of chemical articles of manufacture -- viz, blacking, lucifers, cornsalves, grease-removing compositions, plating-balls, poison for rats, crackers, detonating-balls, and cigar-lights. (b) The vendors of metal articles of manufacture -- razors and pen-knives, tea-trays, dog-collars, and key-rings, hardware, bird-cages, small coins, medals, jewellery, tinware, tools, card-counters, red- herring-toasters, trivets, gridirons, and Dutch ovens. (c) The vendors of china and stone articles of manufacture -- as cups and saucers, jugs, vases, chimney ornaments, the strong fruit. (d) The vendors of linen, cotton, and silken articles of manufacture --as sheeting, table-covers, cotton, tapes and thread, boot and stay-laces, haberdashery, pretended smuggled goods, shirt-buttons, etc., etc.; and (e) the vendors of miscellaneous articles of manufacture -- as cigars, pipes, and snuff-boxes, spectacles, combs, "lots," rhubarb, sponges, wash-leather, paper-hangings, dolls, Bristol toys, sawdust, and pin-cushions.
6. The Street-sellers of Second-hand Articles, of whom there are again four separate classes; as (a) those who sell old metal articles -- viz. old knives and forks, keys, tin-ware, tools, and marine stores generally; (b) those who sell old linen articles -- as old sheeting for towels; (c) those who sell old glass and crockery -- including bottles, old pans and pitchers. old looking glasses, etc.; and (d) those who sell old miscellaneous articles -- as old shoes, old clothes, old saucepan lids, etc. etc.
7. The Street-sellers of Live Animals -- including the dealers in dogs, squirrels, birds, gold and silver fish, and tortoises.
8. The Street-sellers of Mineral Productions and Curiosities -- as red and white sand, silver sand, coals, coke, salt, spar ornaments, and shells.
These, so far as my experience goes, exhaust the whole class of street-sellers, and they appear to constitute nearly three- fourths of the entire number of individuals obtaining a subsistence in the streets of London.
The next class are the Street-Buyers, under which denomination come the purchasers of hare-skins, old clothes, old umbrellas, bottles, glass, broken metal, rags, waste paper, and dripping.
After these we have the Street-Finders, or those who, as I said before, literally "pick up" their living in the public thoroughfares. They are the "pure" pickers, or those who live by gathering dogs'-dung; the cigar-end finders, or "hardups," as they are called, who collect the refuse pieces of smoked cigars from the gutters, and having dried them, sell them as tobacco to the very poor; the dredgermen or coal-finders; the mud-larks, the bone-grubbers; and the sewer-hunters.
Under the fourth division, or that of the Street-Performers, Artists, and Showmen are likewise many distinct callings.
1. The Street-Performers, who admit of being classified into (a) mountebanks -- or those who enact puppet-shows, as Punch and Judy the fantoccini, and the Chinese shades. (b) The street- performers of feats of strength and dexterity -- as "acrobats" or posturers, "equilibrists" or balancers, stiff and bending tumblers, jugglers, conjurors, sword-swallowers, "salamanders" or "fire-eaters, swordsmen, etc. (c) The street-performers with trained animals --as dancing dogs, performing monkeys, trained birds and mice, cats and hares, sapient pigs, dancing bears, and tame camels. (d) The street-actors -- as clowns, "Billy Barlows," "Jim Crows," and others.2. The Street Showmen, including shows of (a) extraordinary persons -- as giants, dwarfs, Albinoes, spotted boys, and pig- faced ladies. (b) Extraordinary animals -- as alligators, calves, horses and pigs with six legs or two heads, industrious fleas, and happy families. (c) Philosophic instruments -- as the microscope, telescope, thaumascope. (d) Measuring-machines -- as weighing, lifting, measuring, and striking machines; and (e) miscellaneous shows -- such as peep-shows, glass ships, mechanical figures, wax-work shows, pugilistic shows, and fortune-telling apparatus.
3. The Street-Artists -- as black profile-cutters, blind paper- cutters, "screevers" or draughtsmen in coloured chalks on the pavement, writers without hands, and readers without eyes.
4. The Street Dancers -- as street Scotch girls, sailors, slack and tight rope dancers, dancers on stilts, and comic dancers.
5. The Street Musicians -- as the street bands (English and German), players of the guitar, harp, bagpipes, hurdy-gurdy, dulcimer, musical bells, cornet, tom-tom, etc.
6. The Street Singers, as the singers of glees, ballads, comic songs, nigger melodies, psalms, serenaders, reciters, and improvisatori.
7. The Proprietors of Street Games, as swings, highflyers, roundabouts, puff-and-darts, rifle shooting, down the dolly, spin- 'em-rounds, prick the garter, thimble-rig, etc.
Then comes the Fifth Division of the Street-Folk, viz., the Street-Artizans, or Working Pedlars;
These may be severally arranged into three distinct groups -- (1) Those who make things in the streets; (2) Those who men things in the street; and (3) Those who make things at home and sell them in the streets.
1. Of those who make things in the streets there are the following varieties: (a) the metal workers -- such as toasting- fork makers, pin makers, engravers, tobacco-stopper makers. (b) The textile-workers-stocking-weaver, cabbage-net makers, night-cap knitters, doll-dress knitters. (c) The miscellaneous workers, -- the wooden spoon makers, the leather brace and garter makers, the printers, and the glass-blowers.2. Those who mend things in the streets, consist of broken china and glass menders, clock menders, umbrella menders, kettle menders, chair menders, grease removers, hat cleaners, razor and knife grinders, glaziers, travelling bell hangers, and knife cleaners.
3. Those who make things at home and sell them in the streets, are (a) the wood workers -- as the makers of clothes- pegs, clothes-props, skewers, needle-cases, foot-stools and clothes-horses, chairs and tables, tea-caddies, writing-desks, drawers, work-boxes, dressing-cases, pails and tubs. (b) The trunk, hat, and bonnet-box makers, and the cane and rush basket makers. (c) The toy makers -- such as Chinese roarers, children's windmills, flying birds and fishes, feathered cocks, black velvet cats and sweeps, paper houses, cardboard carriages, little copper pans and kettles, tiny tin fireplaces, children's watches, Dutch dolls, buy-a-brooms, and guttapercha heads. (d) The apparel makers -- viz., the makers of women's caps, boys and men's cloth caps, night-caps, straw bonnets, children's dresses, watch-pockets, bonnet shapes, silk bonnets, and gaiters. (e) The metal workers, -- as the makers of fire-guards, bird-cages, the wire workers. (f) The miscellaneous workers -- or makers of ornaments for stoves, chimney ornaments, artificial flowers in pots and in nose-gays, plaster-of-Paris night-shades, brooms, brushes, mats, rugs, hearthstones, firewood, rush matting, and hassocks.
Of the last division, or Street-Laborers, there are four classes:
1. The Cleansers -- such as scavengers, night-men, flushermen, chimney-sweeps, dustmen, crossing-sweepers, "street- orderlies," labourers to sweeping-machines and to watering-carts.2. The Lighters and Waterers -- or the turn-cocks and the lamplighters.
3. The Street-Advertisers -- viz., the bill-stickers, bill- deliverers, boardmen, men to advertising vans, and wall and pavement stencillers.
4. The Street-Servants -- as horse holders, linkmen, coach- hirers, street-porters, shoe-blacks.
We have now had an inkling of the London costermonger's notions upon politics and religion. We have seen the brutified state in which he is allowed by society to remain, though possessing the same faculties and susceptibilities as ourselves -- the same power to perceive and admire the forms of truth, beauty, and goodness, as even the very highest in the state. We have witnessed how, instinct with all the elements of manhood and beasthood, the qualities of the beast are principally developed in him, while those of the man are stunted in their growth. It now remains for us to look into some other matters concerning this curious class of people, and, first, of their literature:
It may appear anomalous to speak of the literature of an uneducated body, but even the costermongers have their tastes for books. They are very fond of hearing any one read aloud to them, and listen very attentively. One man often reads the Sunday paper of the beer-shop to them, and on a fine summer's evening a costermonger, or any neighbour who has the advantage of being "a schollard," reads aloud to them in the courts they inhabit. What they love best to listen to -- and, indeed, what they are most eager for -- are Reynold's periodicals, especially the "Mysteries of the Court." "They've got tired of Lloyd's blood-stained stories," said one man, who was in the habit of reading to them, "and I'm satisfied that, of all London, Reynolds is the most popular man among them. They stuck to him in Trafalgar-square, and would again. They all say he's `a trump,' and Feargus O'Connor's another trump with them.'"
One intelligent man considered that the spirit of curiosity manifested by costermongers; as regards the information or excitement derived from hearing stories read, augured well for the improvability of the class.
Another intelligent costernmonger, who had recently read some of the cheap periodicals to ten or twelve men, women, and boys, all costermongers, gave me an account of the comments made by his auditors. They had assembled, after their day's work or their rounds, for the purpose of hearing my informant read the last number of some of the penny publications.
"The costermongers," said my informant, "are very fond of illustrations. I have known a man, what couldn't read, buy a periodical what had an illustration, a little out of the common way perhaps, just that he might learn from some one, who could read, what it was all about. They have all heard of Cruikshank, and they think everything funny is by him -- funny scenes in a play and all. His `Bottle' was very much admired. I heard one man say it was very prime, and showed what `lush' did, but I saw the same man," added my informant, "drunk three hours afterwards. Look you here, sir," he continued, turning over a periodical, for he had the number with him, "here's a portrait of `Catherine of Russia.' `Tell us all about her,' said one man to me last night; read it; what was she?" When I had read it," my informant continued, "another man, to whom I showed it, said, `Don't the cove as did that know a deal?' for they fancy -- at least, as many do -- that one man writes a whole periodical, or a whole newspaper. Now here," proceeded my friend, "you see's an engraving of a man hung up, burning over a fire, and some costers would go mad if they couldn't learn what he'd been doing, who he was, and all about him. `But about the picture?' they would say, and this is a very common question put by them whenever they see an engraving.
"Here's one of the passages that took their fancy wonderfully," my informant observed:
`With glowing cheeks, flashing eyes, and palpitating bosom, Venetia Trelawney rushed back into the refreshment-room, where she threw herself into one of the arm-chairs already noticed. But scarcely had she thus sunk down upon the flocculent cushion, when a sharp click, as of some mechanism giving way, met her ears; and at the same instant her wrists were caught in manacles which sprang out of the arms of the treacherous chair, while two steel bands started from the richly carved back and grasped her shoulders. A shriek burst from her lips -- she struggled violently, but all to no purpose: for she was a captive -- and powerless!
`We should observe that the manacles and the steel bands which had thus fastened upon her, were covered with velvet, so that they inflicted no positive injury upon her, nor even produced the slightest abrasion of her fair and polished skin.'
Here all my audience," said the man to me, "broke out with -- `Aye! that's the way the harristocrats hooks it. There's nothing o' that sort among us; the rich has all that barrikin to themselves.' `Yes, that's the b---- way the taxes goes in,' shouted a woman.
"Anything about the police sets them a talking at once. This did when I read it:
`The Ebenezers still continued their fierce struggle, and, from the noise they made, seemed as if they were tearing each other to pieces, to the wild roar of a chorus of profane swearing. The alarm, as Bloomfield had predicted, was soon raised, and some two or three policemen, with their bull's-eyes, and still more effective truncheons, speedily restored order.'
`The blessed crushers is everywhere,' shouted one. `I wish I'd been there to have had a shy at the eslops,' said another. And then a man sung out: `O, don't I like the Bobbys?'
"If there's any foreign language which can't be explained, I've seen the costers," my informant went on, "annoyed at it -- quite annoyed. Another time I read part of one of Lloyd's numbers to them -- but they like something spicier. One article in them --her, it is -- finishes in this way:
"The social habits and costumes of the Magyar noblesse have almost all the characteristics of the corresponding class in Ireland. This word noblesse is one of wide signification in Hungary; and one may with great truth say of this strange nation, that `qui n'est point noble n'est rien.'"
`I can't tumble to that barrikin,' said a young fellow; `it's a jaw-breaker. But if this here -- what d'ye call it, you talk about -- was like the Irish, why they was a rum lot.' `Noblesse,' said a man that's considered a clever fellow, from having once learned his letters, though he can't read or write. `Noblesse!' Blessed if I know what he's up to.' Here there was a regular laugh."
From other quarters I learned that some of the costermongers who were able to read, or loved to listen to reading, purchased their literature in a very commercial spirit, frequently buying the periodical which is the largest in size, because when "they've got the reading out of it," as they say, "it's worth a halfpenny for the barrow."
Tracts they will rarely listen to, but if any persevering man will read tracts, and state that he does it for their benefit and improvement, they listen without rudeness, though often with evident unwillingness. "Sermons or tracts," said one of their body to me, "gives them the `orrors." Costermongers purchase, and not infrequently, the first number of a penny periodical, "to see what it's like."
The tales of robbery and bloodshed, of heroic, eloquent, and gentlemanly highwaymen, or of gipsies turning out to be nobles, now interest the costermongers but little, although they found great delight in such stories a few years back. Works relating to Courts, potentates, or "harristocrats," are the most relished by these rude people.
I heard on all hands that the costers never steal from one another, and never wink at any one stealing from a neighbouring stall. Any stall-keeper will leave his stall untended to get his dinner, his neighbour acting for him; sometimes he will leave it to enjoy a game at skittles. It was computed for me, that property worth 10,000£ belonging to costers is daily left exposed in the streets or at the markets, almost entirely unwatched, the policeman or market-keeper only passing at intervals. And yet thefts are rarely heard of, and when heard of are not attributable to costermongers, but to regular thieves. The way in which the sum of 10,000£ was arrived at, is this: "In Hooper-street, Lambeth," said my informant, "there are thirty barrows and carts exposed on an evening, left in the street, with nobody to see to them; left there all night. That is only one street. Each barrow and board would be worth, on the average, 2£5s., and that would be 75£. In the other bye-streets and courts off the New-cut are six times as many, Hooper-street having the most. This would give 525£ in all, left unwatched of a night. There are throughout London, twelve more districts besides the New-cut -- at least twelve districts -- and, calculating the same amount in these, we have, altogether, 6,300£ worth of barrows. Taking in other bye- streets, we may safely reckon it at 4,000 barrows; for the numbers I have given in the thirteen places at 2,520, and 1,480 added is moderate. At least half of those which are in use next day, are left unwatched; more, I have no doubt, but say half. The stock of these 2,000 will average 10s, each, or 1,000£; and the barrows will be worth 4,500£; in all 5,500£, and the property exposed on the stalls and the markets will be double in amount, or 11,000£in value, every day, but say 10,000£.
"Besides, sir," I was told, "the thieves won't rob the costers so often as they will the shopkeepers. It's easier to steal from a butcher's or bacon-seller's open window than from a costermonger's stall or barrow, because the shopkeeper's eye can't be always on his goods. But there's always some one to give an eye to a coster's property. At Billingsgate the thieves will rob the salesmen far readier than they will us. They know we'd take it out of them readier if they were caught. It's Lynch law with us. We never give them in charge."
The costermongers' boys will, I am informed, cheat their employers, but they do not steal from them. The costers' donkey stables have seldom either lock or latch, and sometimes oysters, and other things which the donkey will not molest, are left there, but are never stolen.
We now come to consider the matters relating more particularly to the commercial life of the costermonger.
All who pass along the thoroughfares of the Metropolis, bestowing more than a cursory glance upon the many phases of its busy street life, must be struck with astonishment to observe the various modes of conveyance, used by those who resort to the public thoroughfares for a livelihood. From the more provident costermonger's pony and donkey cart, to the old rusty iron tray slung round the neck by the vendor of blacking, and down to the little grey-eyed Irish boy with his lucifer-matches, in the last remains of a willow hand-basket -- the shape and variety of the means resorted to by the costermongers and other street-sellers, for carrying about their goods, are almost as manifold as the articles they vend.
To from Volume IV: Those Who Will Not Work