Part 14

“I don’t think,” resumed W., “I felt as much when my poor mother died--I don’t, upon my soul! _She_ was expected for years, but the lady in green came like a thunderbolt!--When I saw the ginger-beer weltering down her, I would almost as soon have seen blood. I felt little short of a murderer. How I got her into Tweedie’s shop, Heaven knows! I suppose I pulled her in, for I cannot remember one word of persuasion. However, I got her into Tweedie’s, and had just sense enough to seat her in a chair, and to beg for a few dry cloths. To do the dear creature justice, she bore it all angelically,--but every smile, every syllable making light of her calamity, went to my heart. You don’t know my original old friend, Charles Mathews, do you, Sir?”

The drysalter signified dissent.

“No matter--his theory is right all over--it is as true as gospel!” exclaimed W., with an asseverating thump upon the table. “There _is_ an infernal, malicious, aggravating little demon, hovers up aloft about us, wherever we go, ready to magnify any mischief, and deepen every disaster. Sure I am he hovered about me! The cloths came--but as soon as I began to wipe briskly, bang again went ‘t’other bottle,’ and uncorked itself before it was called for. I shall never forget the sound! Pop, whiz, fiz, whish--ish--slish--slosh--slush--guggle, guggle, guggle: I’d rather have been at the exploding of the Dartford Powder Mills! At the first report I turned hastily round, but by so doing, I only diverted the _jet_ from the open cases on the counter, to the show-trays in the shop window, filled with Tweedie’s choicest cutlery; and as I completed the pirouette, I favoured Tweedie himself with the tail of the spout!”

“Very unpleasant, indeed,” said the drysalter, with a hard wink, as if the fussy fluid had flown in his own face.

“Unpleasant!” ejaculated W., “it was unendurable! I could have cut my throat with one of the wet razors--I could have stabbed myself with a pair of the splashed scissors! The mess was frightful--bright steel buckles, buttons, clasps, rings, all cut and polished--I saw Tweedie himself shake his head as he looked at the chains and some of the delicate articles. It wasn’t a time to stand upon words, and I believe I cursed and swore like a trooper. I know I stamped about, for I went on the lady’s foot, and that made me worse than ever. Tweedie says I raved; and I do remember I cursed myself for talking of ginger-beer, as well as Hopkins for not keeping it in his house. At last I got so rampant, that even the lady began to console me, and as she had a particularly sweet voice and manner, and Tweedie too, trying to make things comfortable, I began to hear reason: but if ever I carry ginger-beer again in my pocket, along Cheapside----”

“Till you’re a widower,” said I.

“I was coming to that, Sir,” continued W., still addressing the drysalter. “I insisted on putting the lady into a coach, and by that means obtained her address, and as common politeness dictated, I afterwards called and was well received. A new green silk dress was graciously accepted, and a white one afterwards met with the same kind indulgence, when the lady condescended to be Mrs. Walker. Our fortunes, Sir, in this world, hinge frequently on trifles. Through an explosion of pop I thus popped into a partner with a pretty fortune; but for all that, I would not have any man, like the Persian in Hajji Baba, mistake a mere accident for the custom of the country. For Cœlebs in Search of a Wife to walk up and down Cheapside with a bottle of ginger-beer in his pocket, would be Quixotic in the extreme.”

SEA SONG.

AFTER DIBDIN.

Pure water it plays a good part in The swabbing the decks and all that-- And it finds its own level for sartin-- For it sartinly drinks very flat:-- For my part a drop of the creature I never could think was a fault, For if Tars should swig water by nature The sea would have never been salt!-- Then off with it into a jorum, And make it strong, sharpish, or sweet, For if I’ve any sense of decorum It never was meant to be neat!--

One day when I was but half sober,-- Half measures I always disdain-- I walk’d into a shop that sold Soda, And ax’d for some Water Champagne;-- Well, the lubber he drew and he drew, boys, Till I’d shipped my six bottles or more, And blow off my last limb but it’s true, boys, Why, I warn’t half so drunk as afore!-- Then off with it into a jorum, And make it strong, sharpish, or sweet, For if I’ve any sense of decorum It never was meant to be neat.

THE BLACK AND WHITE QUESTION.

“The game is made, gentlemen, choose your colour.”

Amongst the many important topics which at present excite a popular interest, must be reckoned the great question whether the West Indian apprentices ought or ought not to be considered ought of their time? A subject presenting such very strong lights and shadows, necessarily produces a powerful and Rembrandt-like effect on the public mind; nevertheless, it is only lately and accidentally, that I have been induced to look critically into the colouring and handling of the picture. It is not my wont to walk wilfully on Debatable Ground; but in the present instance, I was seduced involuntarily into the dangerous confines of “all we love and all we hate,” the borderland, where party contends with party.

A few days ago, I was giving an order to a tradesman in the Strand--_not far from Warren’s_--when, to the utter surprise and disconcertment of the master of the shop, a poor African stepped in from the street, and, with an obsequious bow, made an offer of his sable services for a term of years.

It would require a far better artist than myself to do justice to the scene which ensued on so unusual an application. The late Elia, in his Essay on “Imperfect Sympathies,” has alluded to the natural repugnance of the pale faces to the dark ones. “In the negro countenance,” he says, “you will often meet with strong traits of benignity. I have felt yearnings of tenderness towards some of these faces, or rather masks, that have looked out kindly upon one in casual encounters in the streets and highways. I love what Fuller beautifully calls ‘these images of God cut in ebony.’ But I should not like to associate with them--to share my meals and my good-nights with them--because they are black.” Such a feeling is truly an imperfect sympathy, but my Strand shopkeeper evidently went beyond the essayist, and regarded “the nigger” with a positive antipathy. “A good horse,” says the proverb, “cannot be of a bad colour,” but I could not help feeling that a good man might be of an unfortunate complexion, howbeit, of a hue which wears well, washes well, does not fly, and, moreover, hides the dirt. So far from being able to endure a moor as his companion, the master tradesman could not look upon him as fit to be his subordinate. The mere possibility of such a connexion had never occurred to him, or assuredly, to the advertisement in the window for an apprentice, he would have added “a White will be preferred,” or “No African need apply.” In the meantime, it was sufficiently obvious that, even if indentured, a Hottentot would never be “treated as one of the family.” Whilst the master stared an unequivocal rejection, his wife looked over his shoulder at the applicant, with all the _physical_ expression in her countenance, of the anticipation of a black dose; the little boy took fright and tried to bolt; the baby even set its infantine face against the adoption, and the very dog barked and growled at the intruder as at a breed that was vermin. The result of such a scrutiny needs hardly to be told; the poor candidate was unanimously blackballed to his face, and recommended, unceremoniously, to make himself as scarce as a swan of the same complexion.

It will do me no credit, I fear, with our active Abolitionists, to confess, that the above little incident set me seriously thinking, for the first time, on the condition of the Negro Apprentices. In addition to my dread of becoming a _sidesman_--and there is a spirit abroad which can convert even a black suit into a party-coloured one--I am too apt to take matters upon trust, and to suppose that the name stands for the thing. Thus, in my simple belief, the outward-bound and the homeward-bound apprentices, conformed to the same or nearly the same articles; and if I thought at all of the sable ones, it was as walking abroad on Sundays, drest in all their best, only with Phœbe or Miss Diana, instead of “Sally in our Alley.” A common sense of the eternal principles of justice helped, beside, to mislead me; for who, with a drachm of philosophy, or a scruple of Christianity, could suppose, that whilst the accidents of colour are overlooked in a good horse, the moral qualities of a human being were weighed down by such skin-deep casualties as occur every day in a baker’s oven? The scene in the Strand, however, aroused certain misgivings; and for the mere repose of my mind, it became necessary to procure further information, in order to come to a settled opinion on the subject. To this end, it was desirable to obtain the sentiments of a Black Apprentice, or at least of a Black, and of an Apprentice, and fortune favoured me in the search. Having delivered my instructions to the tradesman, it occurred to me to pay an overdue visit to a decayed kinswoman in the same neighbourhood, and in whose family affairs I took a friendly interest. She happened to be at home; and after a preliminary conversation on the weather, and Mr. Murphy, and the current news of the day, the discourse turned on her son Richard, whom she had recently articled to an architect; she had doubts, she said, of his being exactly comfortable in his situation, but it was no fault of hers, as he had been placed in it at his own urgent instances, in proof whereof she handed to me the following letter:--

MY DEAR MOTHER,

This is to say I am in good health and quite comfortable, and as happy as can be expected away from home. I like being an architect very much. All the work I have had to do for the last fortnight, has been to copy a drawing of a gate for a Porter’s Lodge, and to look over portfolios of nice prints. My master is very kind, and lets me fill up my time at over-hours how I like. I always dine with him and Mrs. G., and have plenty to eat of whatever I prefer. Last Sunday we had leg of lamb and asparagus, and a pigeon pie, and a tart, besides a glass of wine afterwards. I’m allowed to sit up to supper because I said I liked music, for Mr. G. plays on the flute, and Mrs. G. sings to the piano. He is a very good man, and she is a very motherly good woman; and the other night, because it was so cold, I had a tumbler of hot elder wine. For the present I sleep in the best spare bed till my own is got ready for me--and when company comes I’m not sent off to it, but played last night with the visitors till twelve o’clock, and they won all my pocket money. I do hope and pray you won’t forget to send me some more, as there’s another party next week. Altogether, I could not be better off for food, or amusement, or any thing, so that I needn’t be any longer on liking, as I like it very much, and am agreeable to be bound as soon as you and master think proper; and I do hope you won’t stick about the premium, as you seemed to think it a great deal--but consider the treatment. Give my kind love to everybody, and accept the same yourself, from, dear mother, your dutiful and affectionate son,

RICHARD RUGGLES.

P.S.--Mr. and Mrs. G. desire their best compliments--they are always asking about you in the most friendly way. Pray remember what I said about the premium, as I could never be so happy anywhere else, or make such progress in my profession.

It may be supposed that I did not read the above effusion throughout, without a smile on my countenance; but the mother gravely shook her head, and said she had now to submit to me a very different statement, whereupon with a sigh, and a reflection on the duplicity of the world in general, and of architects in particular, she placed in my hands, Protocol No. 2.

DEAR MOTHER,

I am very sorry to trouble your mind with anything unpleasant, but a great change has taken place since the articles were signed and the premium paid down. All the being on liking has come to a sudden end. Mr. and Mrs. G. have thrown off their masks, and he is a cruel tyrant; and instead of being another mother to me, she is quite the reverse. I little thought the moment I became an apprentice I should be a complete slave, and work like a horse. Nothing but drawing, drawing, drawing, as long as it’s light--and next week we begin lamps. I’ve no over-hours at all except in bed, and that’s up in the back garret, and nothing but an old flock as hard as wood. My being a parlour boarder is all over; and as to sitting up to music and supper, I can’t repeat, but I’m d--d up at night that I may be down in the morning. They have not sent me as yet to take my meals in the kitchen, but I would almost as soon, for I’m snubb’d if I open my lips at table; and the moment the wine comes on I’m expected to be off, and am reminded if I don’t. As for the visitors, they take no more notice of me than they do of the foot-boy; but what goes most to my heart is, Mr. and Mrs. G. never ask now after your delicate health. It’s very ungrateful after paying so handsomely, but it’s my belief he doesn’t know anything about architecture, and only takes in young gentlemen for the sake of their premiums. I can t help feeling very unhappy, when I think I’ve got to run seven years to come, and do wish you would ask Uncle William, as he’s a lawyer, whether I can’t be turned over by legal law, or cancelled and left to my liberty. Next to an architect, I should like, if was unbound, to be an author, and write books; which I hope you will approve of, as it doesn’t require any premium. But perhaps you would like to have me at home, and to be nothing at all, with which I remain,

My dear mother, your dutiful and affectionate son, RICHARD RUGGLES.

As the above letters are genuine, it is probable that many of my readers, who are parents or guardians, have received similar epistles from their sons or wards before or after their being articled to a trade or a profession; at least there is reason to believe that the above case is one of ordinary occurrence. Taking it, therefore, as a fair sample of the practice in England, I was anxious to compare it with the course of a negro apprenticeship in the colonies; and with this view my next visit was paid to my old friend Colonel C., who had recently arrived from Jamaica with a black “turn-over” in his service. Having described the scene at the shop in the Strand, and explained my errand, which, of course, subjected me to some raillery, my request was acceded to, and Sambo was ordered to attend me to a private conference in the study. He was a stout good-humoured African, with rather more than the twilight intelligence allowed to the race by the late Monk Lewis; but with all the characteristic relish for a talk with Massa, ascribed to his brethren by the same pleasant authority. He entered therefore into the discussion with the greatest good-will; and the following, divested of his outlandish jargon, is the substance of his evidence.

To my first question, whether he had ever betrayed any original inclination to go into the rice, sugar, and tobacco line, he gave a decided negative. He had no occasion, he said, to labour for a livelihood, having been in his own country an independent black prince, and heir-apparent, as I understood him, to the king of the Eboes. He acknowledged, however, that he could neither read nor write, and consequently had never applied personally, or by letter, post paid, to any Transatlantic A. B. C. or X. Y. Z., in answer to an advertisement for an “Articled Pupil.” He was taken, he affirmed, at unawares, and he was positive that no premium was required with him. It appeared, however, that he had been regularly bound, but on explanation it turned out that it had been done with rope-yarn, and the only indentures he knew of, were on his wrists and ankles, from the pressure of his fetters. He had a decided impression that his parents or guardians were never applied to for their concurrence; indeed he had no recollection of being asked for his own assent to the arrangement. He would “take his dam” he was never carried before the Chamberlain or any official personage invested with similar functions, and denied ever having received the slightest hint that the binding him was necessary to entitle him to take up his freedom. In short, contrary to the experience of Richard Ruggles, his very first step appeared to have been into slavery, and it was only after a long term of severe service in the rice-field and the cane-piece that he was constituted an apprentice. This being the point to which the public interest is mainly directed, my enquiries here became naturally more minute, and the evidence was proportionably circumstantial. Taking the Ruggles letters for my guide, I was at great pains to make out something analogous to the state of being what is called “upon liking,” but I failed to elicit anything of the sort; and from the solemnity, not to say awfulness, of Sambo’s asseverations, there appeared no reason to suspect his veracity. He denied most positively and repeatedly his dining, in any one solitary instance, with his master and mistress, and by consequence the pleasure of taking wine with them after the social repast. He was equally firm in disclaiming any invitation to sit up to supper; and instead of being asked if he liked music, he declared indignantly that his favourite instruments the kitty-katty and the ganby had been continually broken over his own head. He totally repudiated the notion of playing at Pope Joan with the company that came to his master’s house; and insisted that the only notice he ever obtained from the visitors was his being “larrupped” by every gentleman that got drunk, and none of them ever went away sober. On the whole he would not allow himself to have received any personal benefit from his metamorphosis by Act of Parliament into an apprentice; no, not even to the extent of sparing him one single cut of the cowhide. He rather thought, on the contrary, that the prospect of his being out of his time in so many years had operated to the prejudice of the negro, by tempting the owner in the interim to get as much out of him, and pitch as much into him, as possible. To conclude, I charged Sambo very home with a question which has been much dwelt upon by certain members of both Houses; namely, whether the blacks were “properly prepared” to enter into a state of liberty? to which he answered very candidly, that he had not formally examined them on the subject, but judging by himself he should say they were quite as fit and prepared for freedom as they had been for slavery, to which they had mostly been introduced at an unfashionably short notice. For his own part he had been rather suddenly emancipated by simply stepping on English ground; but the only effect had been to inspire him with profound feelings of veneration and gratitude towards the soil, and a most fervent wish that he could send over a barrowful of the same earth for Black Juno and de pickaninnies to put him foot upon in Jamakey.