Crying for the Light: or, Fifty Years Ago. Volume 2 of 3. James Ewing Ritchie

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СКАЧАТЬ a general cry of ‘Bravo!’

      ‘I ain’t done a day’s work in my life, and don’t mean to. Wot’s the good on it? A fellow ain’t a bit the better for it at the year’s end. He’s a deal to bear. He’s got to put up with his master’s whims; to put up with his foreman and his mates; to toil from morning to night, never to have a day’s pleasure; to be a poor slave. No, I know a trick worth two of that.’

      Again there were cries of ‘Bravo!’

      ‘Why should I work hard for a master to make money by me! Here I can lead a free life. If I am hill, can’t I go to the ’ospital? If I ain’t got a shot in the locker, can’t I nurse up at a soup-kitchen? At the worst I can go into the work’ouse, and get my keep out of the parish. And then when I’m in luck, what a life I can have at the music-halls and with the gals! I heard the chaplain of the gaol preach a sermon about honesty being the best policy. That’s all very fine, but somehow or other I did not seem to see it.’

      Here there was more applause.

      The speaker continued:

      ‘I’ve done nothing wot’s good. I know I’m a bad un.’

      ‘Yes, we all know that.’

      ‘And why?’

      ‘Ah, that’s the question!’ said the interested group of listeners.

      ‘I’ll tell you for why. I han’t no father – at any rate, I never knowed one. My mother turned me out o’ doors at the age of thirteen. I then stole a pair o’ boots, and was sent to prison for one month for it. What could I do when I came out but go back to thievin’? In a little while I was convicted for stealing out of a till, and sent to prison for three months. Arter a little spreein’ about, and a few ups and downs, I came to grief again in an attempt to steal a watch, and this time got six months. After I came out I renewed my wicious courses’ (here a laugh went round the room), ‘and I got four months for stealin’ a purse. As soon as I came out I run agin a perliceman, against whom I had a spite, as he was always ’avin’ his heye on me, and got fourteen days’ imprisonment for assault. The next time I had three months for an attempt to rob a drunken old sailor in the Borough. Then I ’ad six months for stealin’ a watch. And the next time – and that I did not like – twelve months for stealin’ a purse. However, when I came out I enjoyed my liberty, and did not make a bad use o’ my time. Arter that I got a long sentence, and now for good behaviour I am out with a liberty ticket.’

      ‘Well, well, such is life!’ said the red-nosed curate, who had been listening attentively. ‘I suppose we’re all villains of necessity, and fools by a divine thrusting on. What’s the odds as long as we’re happy? Look at my learning, my abilities, my virtues – where am I the better? Are we not all on the same low level? All, if I may be pardoned the phrase, a little shaky, a little down in the world? Let’s liquor up,’ said he, bringing out of his side pocket a bottle of rum, and passing it round, often tasting with evident gusto its contents.

      In the midst of the excitement a gent came in apparently much excited. I say gent, as he was not a gentleman. He had too red a nose and too sodden an appearance to be taken for anything of the kind. He was a perfect picture of a human wreck as, unwashed and unshaven, with a short pipe in his mouth, he joined the drinking group.

      ‘Hollo, parson,’ they all exclaimed, ‘wot’s the row? Anythink up?’

      ‘Nothing particular, only a highway robbery in the Black Country, and a farmer left for dead.’

      ‘In the Black Country? Where’s that?’ asked the tramp. ‘Whoever heard of such a place?’

      ‘Why, you just said you’d been down there,’ said one of the party.

      ‘Well, what if I did? You don’t suppose I had anything to do with the job?’ said the new-comer angrily.

      ‘Of course not,’ was the universal reply.

      Harmony being restored, the bottle of gin was drunk, and another sent for. The fun grew fast and furious. The conviviality was of the choicest character, or rather it degenerated into an orgie. Does the reader recollect that splendid passage of Lord Bacon, in which he tells us, ‘In Orpheus’s theatre all the birds assembled, and forgetting their several appetites – some of prey, some of game, some of quarrel – stood all sociably together, listening to the concert, which no sooner ceased, or was drowned by some louder noise, but every beast returned to his own nature.’ The gin in the low lodging-house had produced a similar effect. While it lasted the partakers for the time being had forgot their several appetites – some of prey, some of game, some of quarrel – and stood or sat all sociably together. No sooner had the supply of liquor ceased than the good-fellowship became changed into hate and discord, as the various natures of the guests reasserted themselves.

      The tramp’s female companion became suspicious. She was not so drunk as the rest, and had become conscious that there was a reward of ten pounds offered to anyone who should give such evidence as might lead to the conviction of the perpetrator or perpetrators of the recent outrage. The company she knew comprised more than one individual who was quite ready to earn a ten-pound note in such a way, and she determined, as far as it was in her power, not to give them the chance. Unperceived she slipped out, and fled as fast as she could and as far as she could. All at once there was a cry on the part of the tramp and his friends, ‘Where’s Sal?’

      Some searched for her under the table, others investigated the sleeping apartments, others the back premises, which were of the most capacious kind, but no Sal was to be found.

      The curate summoned up all his dignity, and, approaching the inebriated tramp, said to him:

      ‘My friend, I have a painful revelation to make.’

      ‘A wot?’

      ‘A painful revelation.’

      ‘I don’t know wot yer mane; but out with it, old man, and don’t stand there as if you was chokin’.’

      ‘Your wife has bolted.’

      ‘Oh, has she? Let her bolt. She’s no wife of mine. There are others as good as she.’

      ‘You don’t seem much affected by the loss,’ replied the Oxonian. ‘You’re quite a philosopher. You seem perfectly aware how femina mutabile est.’

      ‘Now, don’t come that nonsense with me,’ said the man angrily. ‘When I drinks, I drinks; and I don’t bother my head about anything else. Why should I? As to women, they’re like all the rest of us – here to-day, gone to-morrow.’

      ‘Ah, I see you’re a man of the world.’

      ‘I believe yer, my boy,’ said the tramp, who felt flattered at the intended compliment.

      ‘You don’t think she’s gone to split,’ whispered one of the party in the tramp’s ear.

      ‘No, I should think not. Let me catch her at it!’

      ‘Or me,’ added his chum. ‘We’ll be sure to mark her, and serve her d- well!’

      The sentiment being favourably received, more exhilarating liquor was circulated. That which cheers and inebriates at the same time by many is much preferred to that which cheers alone. In that long room and low company it was intoxicating liquor that had done the mischief. Without character, without clothes, without food, without money, filthy and fallen, these poor wretches had given up all for СКАЧАТЬ