Part 5

Any common lodging-house that harbours a gang of five or six of these half boys and half men is a very dangerous place in which to live. If there is a full-grown bully there, he will be very cautious not to offend any of these, however he may try to intimidate other lodgers. I left one lodging-house, after staying there a week, because of three of these young ruffians, who seemed to do as they liked. At that house there was a big bully, a man six feet in height and heavy in build. This big fellow was continually grumbling and threatening the old lodgers, but never interfered with the younger ones, although they often laughed at him in mockery. But one day, when he was cooking at the fire, one of these young ruffians, accidentally it seemed, pushed him, and the big bully turned with his usual oath and uplifted hand. Now, no doubt, if the kitchen had been empty, he would have pretended to be satisfied with the young ruffian's sneering apology, but seeing so many witnesses, he thought it was his duty to show what he was, so he gave the youngster a slap in the face. The latter did not attempt to retaliate, for he had not the assistance of his friends. No doubt he told them of it that night, when they were all together. A few mornings after this the big bully was found dead in bed; his death being caused by a blow in the back of the head, received in a fall. It seemed that he had had enough strength to walk to the lodging-house and get into bed, and had died afterward. There were several beds in that room, but none of the other lodgers had heard anything unusual in the night, although they saw that the man staggered into the room. There can be no doubt but what he was drunk, but drunken men do not often fall down and deal themselves death-blows--they only collapse. My opinion is that these young ruffians had waylaid him away from the house, and seeing that he was drunk, helped him to his fall. These young bullies never forgive, and never forget. If one is threatened when he is without the support of others, he will not rest satisfied until he gets their help and takes vengeance.

What makes full-grown men so much afraid of these half boys and half men is their entire recklessness. They will use knife, poker, fork, or anything that is near their hands. One day I saw one of these young bullies deliberately poke an old man's eye out. The man was well known to be very quiet and not at all ill-tempered; and when he asked that the table should not be shaken because of his tea--this boy sprang to his feet and, without a word, poked the old man's eye out. A cruel, unfeeling action of this kind would never enter the mind of a full-grown man, however great a bully he might be; only an impulsive, irresponsible youth of this kind would do such a deed.

In some lodging-houses the manager will not let beds to more than two of these half boys and half men, for he knows from experience the trouble they make; and that old and quiet lodgers will fear them so much that they will go elsewhere. For these young bullies have no sympathy with age or affliction, and it would not be well for a blind man to expect them to use restraint and humour him in everything. They feel the strength of manhood coming on them, and they do not know what to do with it. All these lads are out of steady employment and doing a few odd jobs often too light for them, and their growing strength is not getting sufficient use. So, when they are standing at street corners, they are always eager for action, and the man that takes notice of their insults or missiles, will most likely soon be in a pitiful state. It is these sober young bullies that smoke cigarettes at street corners, and not full-grown bullies in public houses, that a stranger has to fear. The latter make enough noise, when they are going home at night, singing or fighting among themselves, but they seldom interfere with strangers. But the young bullies, that are neither boys nor men, allow their animal spirits full play, and are only too eager to interfere with anyone.

XII

American and English Beggars

A man that has camped out much in the open air must always after be on the look-out for places suitable for camps. So whenever I cross over a country bridge, under which runs a narrow stream, I often stand and look along the stream's banks in quest of a shady tree to sit out of the sun, happy to know that I can seek shelter under the bridge in case of rain. Yes, there is plenty of dry wood for cooking purposes, and fresh water in a delightful state of activity, and the bridge to be my shelter in a storm--such is an ideal spot for a camp. If I find this place in England there will be seen a sign that trespassers will be prosecuted, and for that reason the spot remains, and will remain, in its virgin state, untrodden by the foot of man. But if I am in America I shall not see that sign, and therefore at once take possession, and I know well that I shall find embers of past fires, and a quiet search in the adjoining bush will bring to light the rude cooking utensils used by former occupants.

Alas for the strict regulations that govern this overcrowded land of ours! If I have a houseboat I cannot move it without first apprising the river commissioners and having their consent to do so. If I use a bit of wild woodland, untilled, and without fruit, cattle, or any other money-making stock, I am ordered to put out my fire by a man who can produce papers to show his authority. Our liberties extend so far, and no farther, and we are not free to periodically enjoy the sweet open-air life of our ancestors. A free country indeed! Even if I own a cottage, with a piece of land, and have my title deeds to show for it, the sporting gentry can over-run it after a fox. And, although compensation can be claimed for damage done to a field of turnips, I would be laughed at for a mad eccentric if I asked compensation for the rude trampling of my garden flowers. But things are different in America, and, for that matter, in all new countries. The woods belong to all comers and all that is found therein--sunny glades and shady trees, birds, springs, flowers, and squirrels. No stranger to demand by what authority I camp there; and any respectable stranger that chanced to come near would no more think of entering my camp without an invitation than he would of entering my town house. For in America it is customary for all classes of families to forsake their homes for a few days in the summer and camp out, sometimes only on the outskirts of the town and within easy distance of their homes. These outings cost little, are healthy, and the whole family are together; and it only requires care that the smallest and youngest does not roll into the rill and get drowned--a rill that in certain parts is often as much as three inches deep.

But the man to whom this kind of life properly belongs is the American tramp. His camp is to be found on the outskirts of every town, either on the northern, southern, eastern, or western end; and it is not uncommon to find a camp at each end. The camp is his great institution, a club and private residence; from which he sallies on his begging expeditions, and to which he returns with his spoils; at which place he cooks, eats, reads, discourses, takes his afternoon nap, washes his clothes, or discards them for others lately acquired. There they build their fires near running water, around which they sit at night and relate their day's experience.

The Baltimore Kid was that morning offered work, but had taken the insult good-naturedly, having retired without wasting time in excuses. His companions laugh heartily at this, to imagine the Kid at work, and Philadelphia Baldy enquires philosophically, "What is work, boys?" These men are all downrighters; that is, none of them make any pretence of selling cheap goods, but beg food and money straight.

Begging in England is certainly a fine art, and it is very difficult to live except beggars carry in their hands pins, needles, laces, wire goods, artificial flowers, a tin whistle, accordion, etc., and hide themselves as beggars behind these things. Even then they make very little, if they are indifferent to the art of begging; for it is not sufficient to sell a farthing pair of laces for a penny, but to tell such a pitiful story that the buyer--out of pity for your misfortunes--returns the laces after paying for them, and occasionally adds a piece of cake to her kindness. That is the real art of begging; and the man who cannot make threepence or more out of a farthing stud, a farthing's worth of pins, or a farthing pair of laces, is no more than a very small and unsuccessful business man, and is not worthy the name of a beggar.

The art of begging is not nearly so fine in America as it is in England, for there is no necessity in that country of making any pretence of selling; and money, food, and clothes are to be had for the mere asking. The American beggar uses few words, for he knows well that whoever can afford will give, and he is too cunning to employ pitiful tales, which would be apt to encumber him with a quantity of common bread and butter, from people who have nothing ready cooked. For this reason he pockets the few trifles in the way of sandwiches and cakes, and proceeds leisurely from house to house, until he is seated at the table like a Christian, and supplied with a hot meal, which is the end he seeks, and which seldom fails. After which he returns to the camp, unloads his pockets of their trifles, and reads, and talks with his companions until supper-time, which we in England call tea-time. Then he takes a tin can to the spring, places it full of water on the fire, and makes hot coffee, with which he devours his trifles. He has had a hot breakfast and a hot dinner, and he is quite satisfied to eat one meal a day that only consists of cold meat, bread and butter, and a cake or two.

The American tramp sits comfortably at his camp fire, waiting the sound of a shrill whistle, or bell, which proclaims dinner-time. Five or ten minutes after hearing this sound, he dances out of camp, humming a tune, and goes begging as though he were going to a wedding, and he is often served with a hot dinner before the man of business can finish his own. But the poor English beggar makes funeral steps between meals, and asks for a mouthful of bread. The American beggar pulls the door bell, and makes himself heard the first time; but the English beggar timidly uses his knuckles on the back door, many times before he is heard. The American beggar rides on trains from town to town, but the English beggar tramps the hard roads. The English beggar explains his wants to the servants and children, but the American beggar asks to see the mistress. The American beggar, feeling himself a proud and free citizen, addresses himself familiarly to anyone; but the English beggar, feeling himself a despised outcast, will not speak except in want, or when he is first spoken to.

Yes, begging in America is fascinating, without doubt; and it is no wonder that the tribe has increased to such an enormous extent. But in England it is such a fine art, and requires so much persistence to attain small ends, that there are few that can master it thoroughly. What did Chicago Fatty do when he visited Liverpool on a cattle-boat? He asked forty men for a copper towards paying for a fourpenny bed, and the result was twopence threefarthings--and the workhouse. Begging in England nearly broke his heart and so sickened him that, when he returned to his own country, New York Slim and Boston Shorty had to feed him, as though he were a babe in arms, until he recovered sufficiently to help himself. Blacky--the half-breed--who claimed to have enough Indian blood in his veins to make himself dangerous if he had cause--Blacky, I say, thought that Fatty would never again be a good beggar. It certainly seemed, for a long time, that this would be the case, until one morning Fatty went out and begged his breakfast, but nothing more. He went out again, begged a meal, a shirt, and a handkerchief. In a day or two this good beggar--almost ruined by a trip to England--began to take a man with him to carry the spoils, as he had been accustomed to do in his prosperous days.

XIII

Beggars' Slang

Women, strange to say, take far more pride than men in using slang. To listen to two women relating their experiences in a country common lodging-house is almost to hear a foreign language. I cannot think that a woman takes more pleasure or near so much, in a wandering, homeless life, as a man. Nevertheless, it is plain that women affect to enjoy it more. In fact, I have often heard women boast of being on the road a certain number of years, but have seldom heard a man take the trouble to mention such a thing. In spite of this, one thing proves that a woman of this kind speaks false and is trying to make the best of a strange life. It is this--when she and her husband are settled in a lodging-house, he is always the first to propose taking to the road again, and the woman always inclines to postpone that event for another day. If they are old travellers, they are sure to see in every lodging-house others they have met before, and that is why the woman would like to settle for a few days; but the man, being less sociable, is more restless. What surprised me, when I first went on the road in England, was to see how sociable these people were, calling each other by some kind of name, as though they had lived there always, or had always travelled together. It was some time before I discovered the reason of this. Naturally, my first impression had been that a score or more men and women would meet, coming from different towns, and not know each other; and, after having a night's lodging, would continue their travels and perhaps never meet again. But, to my surprise, I often entered a lodging-house where there would be a dozen lodgers or more, and I would be the only stranger there. I soon got to know that these temporary lodgers had been beggars for years, and one of them could not possibly appear in a lodging-house without meeting others he had met before. The reason of this is that most beggars have their favourite counties, which they seldom leave, and if they do not meet in a lodging-house they meet on the road. There are hundreds of beggars that work in a circle around London, within ten, fifteen, twenty, or thirty miles; and, seeing that some of them have been doing this for years, it is not surprising that they recognize one another at the different lodging-houses. The second night that I was on the road in England, I went to a lodging-house in Luton and, of course, expected to find a dozen or more strangers to the town, like myself, who would sleep there one night, part the next morning, and never meet again. But when I entered the kitchen I found a number of lodgers, men and women, who were calling each other by name--Brum, Norfolk, Sal, and Liz. In fact, I was the only stranger present, and yet all these were wanderers, and never travelled together. Very few of these were downright beggars, but had some trifle to sell. Their pride was in being able to beg under the disguise of selling.

I never knew that beggars had so many slang words until I had been on the road for several weeks and was in Gloucestershire. I had heard a number of strange words, but had not heard any sustained conversation. But one day, when walking from Stroud into Gloucester, I happened to meet a real beggar. It was close on evening and, as I had done well enough to be able to pay for my bed, I was making all speed to a lodging-house. Soon I heard quick steps behind me, and was overtaken by another beggar, who walked at my side and entered into conversation. Hearing where I was going to he asked me if I knew Gloucester and, if so, what lodging-house I intended to go to. Telling him that I did not know that town, and would have to enquire about a lodging-house, he at once offered to conduct me to one, saying that there were several and that he knew the best. I was very glad of this offer, and we trudged along in pleasant conversation. Now, this man's conversation was as pure from slang as mine, which surprised me, for he was an old beggar, though perhaps not over thirty-five years of age. I may as well say here what kind of begging the man was doing at this time of his life, which became known to me after, for I had his company for several days. He had taken advantage of the South African War, saying that he had been invalided home. As you may guess, he was a fraud, and had never been in the Army. This man carried forged letters, supposed to be recommendations from officers under whom he had served. With these he called at the houses of old, retired military men and others, sending the papers in by a servant. All he had to do was to find out the names and addresses of these old officers, one or two of whom are to be found near every little hamlet or village. This was not difficult, for he knew the counties of Gloucestershire and Monmouthshire well; and every lodging-house has a town beggar who can give names, addresses, histories, and describe the position and appearance of houses wanted. Very well, then, this beggar would go to the house of one of these rich, retired military officers and, when the servant opened the door, would give her his papers to be taken to her master. In a few moments she would return with the papers and probably a shilling or a two-shilling piece on top of them. As can be expected, this man had several times been so closely questioned that he had compromised himself, and had been threatened with prison as a fraud. However, he was so bold, and knew his subject so well, that this had not often happened. At the houses of rich civilians he was safer, but, naturally, they would not give so much as a gentleman who had served in the Army. At this stage of his career this ambitious beggar did not often call at small houses for pennies, but large houses for silver. I soon found out his history, for he seemed nothing loth to talk of himself. He had taken to the road early, not having worked for a living since he was a youth. In those early days he had worked for a printer, and had caught his little finger in one of the machines. This accident did not handicap him in any way, and was no excuse for his leaving at once and becoming a beggar. In after years he never forgot to call two or three times a year on the printer, who had a fine business, and hold up his little finger; an action which won him a piece of silver every time. It was by his little finger that he proved his identity--that he was the boy that had worked for the printer in years gone.

It was when I heard this man and another in conversation that I first became surprised at the number of slang words that beggars use. As I have said, he used no slang during our walk, but we had no sooner entered a lodging-house and he met a beggar he knew, than his language was completely changed. When we were entering the city of Gloucester, he had called at a big, red house, which he told me was always good for twopence and a parcel of food, no more or less. He explained to me that he would not go out of his way for it, but thought he may as well have it, seeing that he was passing the house. It was in relation to this house that he spoke to his companion, using the following words: "I called at the big, red kennel and got my eight farthings and scrand." To which the other said: "That kennel never yet failed a needy." This conversation quite interested me; kennel was house; eight farthings was twopence; scrand was food; and needy was beggar.

Beggars in London lodging-houses use the slang of lodging-houses, and not of the road. They always say "fourpence for 'doss' or 'kip'"; but true, wandering beggars say "sixteen farthings for the feather." The former say "chuck" or "tommy," when they refer to food; but the latter say "scrand." The wandering beggar says "skimish" for drink, but city beggars say "bouse." The word "mouch" is not often heard outside towns, for wandering beggars say "call." For instance, "it is a good road to call," or "there is plenty of calling"; meaning that the road has many houses. They often use the word "lay." When a beggar asks another if a certain town is good, the former is asked, "What is your lay?" or, "It depends on your lay"; meaning: "What do you do--sell, sing, or go in for downright begging?" What always surprised me was to hear old beggars use the dignified word "travellers," in preference to beggars, needies, or callers. When they are talking of a good town, they say "it is good for travellers." And if they see a selfish lodger monopolizing the fire, or not making room on the table for others, they say "he's not a true traveller."

The following are a few slang words used by beggars:--

Beggars--travellers or needies; house--kennel; on the road--on the toe be; talk--patter; sing--griddle or chant; fourpence--sixteen farthings; bed--feather; soup--shackles; profit--bunts; food--scrand; drink--skimish; pins--pricks; needles--sharps; laces--stretchers; scissors--snips; combs--rakes; spectacles--glims; pictures--smuts.

XIV

Bony's Wits

We called him "Bony," because he was all skin and bones. This condition must have been constitutional, for it certainly was not from too much activity, seeing that he went by tram on his expeditions, and returned in the same manner. Again, it could not have been for want of good food, for Bony was a good beggar, and scorned to sit down to a bread-and-butter meal. He was also a good ale drinker, and, if his bones had been capable of growing flesh, it is very likely that ale would have helped to bring about that result. He was always heard to be humming a tune--often an old familiar hymn--so that it could not have been mental worry that fastened his skin so tight to his bones. No, his condition must have been constitutional.

I had known Bony for several months, and now that I had fallen on evil times, and would in less than a week be compelled to travel the country, I thought that perhaps my friend Bony could give me a few hints, that would assist me in procuring food and lodgings. Therefore, one evening, after he had had tea and was emptying his pockets of tram fare tickets, I invited him outside to have a drink. This invitation he would accept only on one condition--that I would then have another with him. Having no objection to this, we left the house together, and were soon comfortably seated in the warm corner of an alehouse.