Part 63

The majority of the rag-pickers sleep where they can, and take their meals in the dismal cook-shops, eating whatever is given them, and asking no questions. Worthless dogs that have come to tragic ends are there served up for beef, and cats, whose nocturnal serenade has been suddenly brought to a close by the hurling of an unappreciative brick, are placed upon a rude table and labelled as mutton. Customers who work hard, and earn but three or four dollars a week, are not fastidious. Whatever satisfies the cravings of hunger is pronounced good, and where very little is charged, very little must be expected.

I busied myself one day in investigating the quarters of the chiffonniers, because I always feel an interest in the human family in its least favorable conditions; but what I saw did not induce me to repeat the experiment.

[Sidenote: HASARD DE LA FOURCHETTE.]

One of the cook-shops that I entered had a very remarkable way of feeding its patrons, combining the excitement of chance with practical advantage. The proprietor of the place purchases from the restaurants such scraps and fragments as are left upon the tables and in the kitchen, puts them in a large pot full of water, and submits them to a long boiling. The result, quite a savory soup, is placed on a table, and anybody, by paying two sous, has the privilege of thrusting a long iron fork into the kettle, and of eating whatever he can bring up from the bottom. Sometimes the handler of the fork is rewarded with a very tolerable piece of beef, mutton, chicken, goose-liver, or some genuine delicacy that may have been ordered at a fashionable restaurant in the Boulevards. Even if the fork come up without the hoped-for prize, the adventurer is entitled to a plate of the soup, relished none the less because the eater has had the boldness to risk his sous for something more substantial. This culinary game is called the fortune of the fork (_hasard de la fourchette_), and is much enjoyed by the chiffonniers. I felt a curious interest in it myself, though I lacked the relish of hunger, and consequently the personal sympathy properly belonging to the entertainment.

The rag-pickers gathered about the table on which the large kettle stood, watching with eager eyes the fellow who handled the fork, and made a dash for the invisible morsel he so craved. When he brought up nothing, he showed no disappointment, but laughed with the throng; and when he was lucky enough to lift upon the tines what is called in Paris a _bonne bouche_, they applauded him with hands and voice, as if he had obtained a grand victory. The rude and dingy cook-shop, with the soiled and tattered rag-pickers in the centre, and the burly proprietor in the background, made a picture which Doré would have been pleased to draw.

[Sidenote: WINNING A WAGER.]

The soup had an appetizing odor, and I could not doubt that what appealed so much to one sense must be grateful to another. I told my companion, a young New Yorker, that I thought of tasting it; whereupon he offered to bet me the price of a dinner at the Café Anglais that I durst not obey my thought. I called at once for a plate of the _potage_, and really found it excellent, twenty times better than much that I have eaten in first-class hotels at home. The effort of my friend to thwart my humor by talking to me of broiled horse, roast cat, boiled parrot, and stewed puppy, had no effect. I finished the soup with satisfaction, and at the dinner which I had won expressed my regret that the Julienne we had there was not so good as the mysterious mixture in the Quartier Mouffetard.

[Sidenote: HONESTY OF CHIFFONNIERS.]

The chiffonniers are reputed to be extremely honest. As evidence of this, they are very seldom arrested for any violation of law, and, according to the French code, the finder of any article of value is considered guilty of larceny unless he makes some effort to restore the property. In a great and luxurious city like Paris, many such articles must necessarily be lost, and they are very likely to fall into the possession of the rag-pickers. The representatives of this order are constantly discovering objects which they must feel a strong temptation to keep. Still, they do not yield to the temptation, but deposit what they find with the commissioner of police, who gives a receipt, and takes the name and address of the finder. The thing found is carried to the Prefecture, where it is held, with many other articles, for twelve months; and if, during that time, no one claims it, it is returned to the finder on the presentation of the receipt. In no other city can you feel half so certain of regaining what you have mislaid, or left, or dropped in some public place. I have known of watches and pocket-books (with something in them, too) restored, time and again. I have even recovered lost umbrellas, without the least trouble, and have been handed small pieces of money which I had left upon the tables of restaurants, several days after I had dined there.

Every week a list of articles found and deposited at the Prefecture of Police is published in the official journal, some of which, one would imagine, could not be very readily lost. Among the articles the most frequent are bank notes, porte-monnaies, watches, jewelry, rings of keys, lorgnettes, canes, shawls, gloves, &c. But it is somewhat singular to note, as I have noted, in the list, casks of wine, barrels of brandy, sets of false teeth, wigs, baskets of newly-washed linen, petticoats, hats, and even babies, who have been accidentally left in omnibuses, railway cars, or the public parks, by absent-minded nurses or self-absorbed mothers.

The great majority of the rag-pickers are, as would necessarily be inferred, ignorant, and of the humblest origin. Some of them, however, are persons of education, who have fallen from their natural position through defect of their own, or adversity of circumstances.

I recollect a rag-picker—he must have been nearly fifty years of age—who passed nightly along the Grands Boulevards, and who, when not surveying the ground with his lantern, walked erect, and with military precision. I was told that he had been well born, was of an old and influential family, and had served with distinction in the army in Algiers. Cashiered for some irregular conduct, his family disowned him, and he began a course of dissipation, which soon left him without friends, money, or self-respect. He came to this country in the hope of being able to reform; but his habits of intemperance adhered to him, and after numerous disreputable experiences, and after several arrests on charges of stealing, he returned to Paris.

He could get no employment there of the kind he wanted, and after trying divers methods of obtaining a livelihood, he settled down, socially and mentally, into a rag-picker. Oddly enough, in this position he became industrious and moderately abstemious. Two years ago he was accounted one of the most energetic of his tribe, and often earned, with his lantern and his rake, fifty or sixty francs a week, which is much above the average. Having reached the lowest level, he seemed quite satisfied; and they who had talked with him said he never murmured at fortune, and very rarely referred to his antecedents. His health and strength were so well preserved, that he had continued in his grubbing occupation twelve or fifteen years longer than is customary with his class. This appears to be one of the few instances in which as men descend socially they rise morally.

[Sidenote: LA BELLE D’ENFER.]

Among the trilleuses,—the old women who arrange and assort the contents of the chiffonniers’ baskets for the rag-merchants,—I recall, just before the Franco-German war, one of the ugliest hags it has ever been my fortune to see; and my observation of hags has been extensive, varied, and profound. One of Rembrandt’s ancient females was youthful and beautiful to her, who attracted me, somewhat after an inverted fashion, by her positive hideousness. Seeing her one day in the Cité Doré, I inquired of a gendarme respecting her. He expressed his surprise that I did not recognize her, adding, “Everybody knows her. She is called the Belle of the Bottomless Pit (_Belle d’Enfer_).” He then gave me her history; and thus it ran:—

[Sidenote: A ROMANTIC STORY.]

She was nearly seventy; forty years before, had been one of the handsomest and most courted of the lorettes of Paris. Everybody admired her lovely face and exquisite figure. Her fame as a beauty had extended to all the capitals of Europe. She had any number of wealthy lovers, and not a few young noblemen of high rank in her train. She lived like a queen. Her horses, and carriages, and toilets were the envy of the most fashionable ladies; and when the name of Annette Gariteau was mentioned, as it constantly was, eulogies on her charms were upon every lip.

On retiring one night, her bed-curtains caught fire, and she was dreadfully burned. Not a single trace of her beauty was left, but in its stead a frightfully disfigured face, and a shrivelled and crippled form. For some weeks it was thought she could not live; and when she did recover, she was so disgusted with herself, she tried to commit suicide by drowning, by poison, and by charcoal. They all failed, and she then fancied it was the wish of Heaven she should atone for her past errors by living until nature summoned her. Since then she has been very pious, never neglecting her religious duties in the smallest particular. She became a rag-picker because she considered that the humblest of callings, and because she thought that in it she would best serve her purpose of penitence, and render her reformation clear as noonday in the eyes of all who had known her in her pride of iniquity.

That was a queer story, and would hardly have been plausible, or probable, except when told of a French woman. I heard it repeated several times afterwards, and have no reason to doubt its correctness. The tale made a deep impression on me; and now, whenever I see some deformed and miserable creature, I try to forget her deformity and misery by fancying that she may be another Annette Gariteau.

LX.

BRIGANDAGE AND PIRACY.

RELATIONS OF THE STEAM ENGINE TO HONESTY.—PIRACY AND STEAMSHIPS.—HOW THE SLAVE TRADE WAS BROKEN UP.—STORIES OF BRIGANDS.—EXPLOITS OF SPANISH ROBBERS.—“ROAD AGENTS” IN CALIFORNIA.—AN ADVENTURE WITH HIGHWAYMEN.—AN ARMED STAGE COACH.—THE HAUNTS OF THE ROBBERS.—STORY OF A PLUNDERED PASSENGER.—“PUT UP YOUR HANDS.”—AN EXCITING INCIDENT.—BROAD-HORNS AND KEEL-BOATS.—MIKE FINK AND THE CLERGYMAN.—PIRACY ON THE MISSISSIPPI.—A FIGHT WITH RIVER PIRATES.—A CAPTAIN AND CREW MURDERED.—VISIT TO A ROBBERS’ CAVE.

The invention of the steam engine, while it has done a good deal for honest labor and honest enterprise, has done just as much towards breaking up dishonest enterprises and occupations. Before steamships came into fashion, the broad ocean and its adjacent waters were in many places the cruising grounds of pirates. They had sailing vessels built very long and low, with large spars, and, in proportion to the size of their hulk, with an immense spread of canvas. In a light wind or a heavy breeze, they could outsail the deeply and richly laden merchant ships, whose breadth of beam was great in proportion to their length, in order that they might carry heavy cargoes. These pirate vessels either sailed on the open ocean, in the track of merchant ships, or were concealed along the coast, whence they could dart out, and, after securing their prey, could sail back to their safe retreats. It was impossible to avoid them, impossible to escape them in a fair race, and, from the great number of men they carried, generally impossible to contend against them. Ships of war, like merchant ships, depended upon the wind for their propulsion, and were rarely able to sail as rapidly as the pirate craft. The invention of the steam engine was followed by the construction of the steamship; and when the steamship was armed with guns, she could run down and destroy these pirate cruisers.

[Sidenote: ONE EFFECT OF STEAM.]

Piracy in the West Indies and other regions, as well as on the open sea, came to an end when steamers were brought into general use as ships of war. At the present day, piracy prevails only in those portions of the far east where the steamer is in comparatively little use.

The slave trade received its death blow within the past twenty years, when England and the United States, with other nations interested in its suppression, substituted war steamers for sailing ships along the coast of Africa. From the ports of the west coast of Africa, where the slave ships were laden, it was comparatively easy to escape under cover of a dark night; and, once fairly at sea, the slavers could bid defiance to their pursuers. With the wind, all had the same chance, and the slavers were generally so constructed and equipped as to be able to outsail their pursuers; but it became otherwise when the latter availed themselves of steam.

On land, in past times, brigandage flourished, and was profitable until the railway came into general use. A stage coach or a carriage with a private traveller, on a lonely road, might be robbed with comparative ease; but when the stage coach or the private carriage was exchanged for the railway train, robbery was not so easy. Enterprising brigands in Spain and other countries occasionally try their hands at robbing railway trains, but such exploits are rare. Safety in every way, whether against accidents or human malice, is rendered much greater by the use of steam. At the present day the countries most affected with brigandage are those where railways are comparatively scarce. Until within the past few years, California had no railway lines, and she was the most profitable field in all the United States for the exploits of robbers. Californians facetiously call highwaymen “road agents,” and I have heard sometimes that the Californians are proud of their existence.

[Sidenote: AN ADVENTURE IN CALIFORNIA.]

I remember some years ago taking a stage coach in the Golden State over a route infested with robbers. I had heard vague rumors of exciting scenes along the road, and we had no great objection to a small encounter with these artists of the revolver. As we started from the station near the infested region, the agents of the stage company furnished every man with a rifle, and told us to keep a sharp lookout for the road agents. About half of us were accustomed to fire-arms, but the other half evidently knew as much about the handling of a rifle as a horse knows about geometrical surveying. I was fearful at starting that, if we came to a fight, the accidents among us by the careless handling of our rifles would have caused more mortality and inflicted more wounds than the fire-arms of the robbers.

There were several points on the road where the robbers were looked for, and when we approached one of them, the driver would call our attention to the fact. Then everybody would move about in his seat, and straighten himself like a rooster ready for crowing; and some of the more timid ones would start as though they had suddenly dropped upon a chestnut bur. Our rifles were held in all sorts of ways, and with the barrels sticking out in different directions, the coach bore a faint resemblance to an enormous porcupine. Each of the dangerous places we passed without accident, and at the next station we left our rifles, and were thankful that the great peril was over.

I afterwards learned that the robbers had fully determined to attack us that day, but one of the party had gone on a drunk, and deranged their plan. Before that time I had regretted the habit of intemperance among the Californians, but when I heard of this occurrence, I was thankful that the principles of Father Mathew did not prevail among them. With all due regard to John B. Gough and the cause he has advocated, I have no objection to every robber in the world getting blind drunk every morning, and remaining so for forty-eight hours at least.

Robberies on that route were of quite frequent occurrence. Since that time the railway has taken the place of the stage line, and the robbers are heard of no more,—all honor to James Watt and George Stephenson!

One of my fellow-passengers of that day had been over the route many times, and had been engaged in several fights. He entertained us with pleasing accounts—that is to say, the accounts were very interesting, but just at that time they were not calculated to be cheering.

[Sidenote: STORY OF A TRAVELLER.]

“About a month ago,” said he, “I was riding along this very road, and in this very coach, and just about this place; it may be half a mile or so ahead from here.” Here a dyspeptic individual at the corner of the coach gave a groan, and muttered something which sounded like a wish that he was at home.

“It was just about daylight, when all at once the horses stopped.” Here the coach came to a sudden halt, and every one of us fully expected that the robbers had taken our horses by the bridles; but the voice of the driver reassured us, as he said he had stopped to hitch up a trace.

“When they stopped the coach,” continued the traveller, “I was just rubbing my eyes, and wondering how much longer it would take us to get through. All at once, I heard some one yell out to the driver, ‘Sit still there, and hold up your hands!’ And just about that time, an ugly-looking revolver came through the curtains of the coach, and a fellow with a mask on stuck his head partly through. ‘Now, gentlemen,’ said this robber, ‘just step out here on the ground, and don’t go putting your hands around your pockets. If you do, you will get shot.’ His manners were so fascinating that we could not resist. It was not very light, but as he held that pistol under my nose, I could almost swear that I could look down to the bottom of the barrel, and see the bullet resting there. We stepped out, one by one, and as we did so, there were two other fellows with masks on waiting to receive us.

[Sidenote: “PUT UP YOUR HANDS.”]

“‘Put up your hands,’ said the first robber to each of us, as we stepped out of the coach. ‘Put up your hands, or you will get a bullet through you!’

“I would rather put up my hands at any time without having a bullet through me, and I put them up at once. They stood us up in a row, with each fellow sticking his hands up in the air, like a class of school-boys ready to answer questions. Then, when they got us all out, two of them stood guard, and a third went through us. He went through us first for our pistols, and took every one, and laid them in a pile on the ground, right between the two robbers, and in such a way that we could not get at them without being shot.

“They then went through us for watches and money, and they made a very good haul. I did not have much—only just enough for my expenses; and when I told them so, and they saw it, they told me I had better keep it.

“There was one passenger, though, who had twelve hundred dollars in coin. They took the whole lot, but generously gave him twenty dollars to pay his expenses. ‘Nothing mean about us,’ said one of the robbers, as he handed back the twenty-dollar gold piece. ‘We don’t want to be rough with any of you, but we must make our living.’

“When they had cleaned us out, they let us go back into the stage. They told us to keep still, or the first man that moved would get his head shot off. One of the fellows stood by the door of the coach, to see that we obeyed orders. He was not going to have any fluking.

“Then they made the driver and express messenger hand down the express box. The box was heavy, as it had a considerable amount of money in it. The messenger was reluctant to give up the money, but they finally persuaded him to do so, by cocking a pistol so as he could hear it, and putting the muzzle of it into his ear. The driver was obliged to sit still, with his reins down and his hands up. The whole operation did not take ten minutes, and when we were through, and ready to start, we were a comical picture. All of us inside were holding up our hands; the messenger had his hands up in the air, and the driver was holding one hand in the air, and taking the reins in the other from one of the robbers. The fellows stood there, with their pistols ready to shoot, and told us to go ahead; and you bet we did go ahead.”

[Sidenote: EARLY NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI.]

In the early days of navigation on the Mississippi and its tributaries, before the construction of steamboats, there was a great deal of piracy. Before the steamboat was invented, the navigation of the great river was conducted with rafts and keel-boats. The raft was built on the upper waters, freighted with produce, and floated down to New Orleans, where both the raft and its cargo were sold. It floated with the current. It would descend, but it could not be made to ascend. The keel-boat was of better construction, and after floating down the river with its cargo, it was loaded to ascend it.

A long time was required for this upward voyage. The current of the Mississippi is very strong, running in many places four or five miles an hour. Sails are of very little use, as the river is crooked, and the wind is rarely strong. The keel-boats were propelled in two ways—first, by “setting-poles;” and, secondly, by “cordelling.” In propulsion by means of setting-poles, long poles are used, and set or fixed temporarily in the bed of the river. There is a plank on which men can walk along the edge of the boat. The man with his setting-pole goes to the bow of the boat, fixes the pole, and then walks slowly aft. In this way the boat is moved under his feet, and propelled up stream.

Cordelling is a system of towing. The men walk along the banks of the river, and tow the boat by main strength against the stream.

The advantages of steam over this old process of propulsion may be well illustrated upon the Ohio River, between Cincinnati and Louisville. The distance is about one hundred and fifty miles. In 1794 keel-boats made regular trips between the two cities, carrying freight and passengers. For the round trip they required four weeks. A steamboat now leaves Cincinnati at noon, and lands its passengers in Louisville the next morning. By noon she is ready to return again, and makes the round trip, with plenty of time in port, every two days.

The boatmen of the Mississippi in the olden time were a peculiar class. Rough, hardy, uncouth fellows they were; ready at any time for an adventure, generally delighting in a fight, and able to perform a great deal of hard work. They were prompt at fairs, races, and all other assemblages along the river banks; and when they landed in a town, and concluded to clean it out, they generally did so. The inhabitants being powerless, the boatmen had it all their own way.

The West is full of stories about these boatmen and their peculiar lives. One of the most famous of the class was Mike Fink, whose history has been made the theme of a popular story. A story is told of a clergyman from the east travelling down the Ohio River, some years ago, who was anxious to learn something about Mike Fink. Somebody told him that the pilot of the boat on which he was travelling had been acquainted with Mike. The clergyman approached him, and said,—

[Sidenote: MIKE FINK AND THE CLERGYMAN.]

“Do you know anything about Mike Fink?”

“Yes,” said the pilot; “knew him like a brother.”

“Can you tell me some peculiar incident of his life?” asked the clergyman.

“Well, I don’t know,” replied the pilot, hesitatingly. “Yes, I can. He ate a buffalo robe once.”

“Ate a buffalo robe!” said the clergyman, astonished.

“Certainly, a buffalo robe, with the hair on,” replied the pilot.

“Well, what did he do that for?”