menu_book Chapter 107

section 107 of London Labour and the London Poor, volume 4, by Henry Mayhew, 1812-1887. This livery-work recording is in the public domain. Read by Gillian Hendry. Beggars by Andrew Halliday, part 8. Foreign Beggars, part 2. Hindu Beggars. Are those spare, snake-eyed Asiatics who walk the streets coolly dressed in Manchester cottons, or chintz of a pattern commonly used for bed furniture, to which the resemblance is carried out by the dark, polished colour of the thin limbs which it envelops?

They very often affect to be converts to the Christian religion and give away tracts, with the intention of entrapping the sympathy of elderly ladies. They assert that they have been high-caste Brahmins, but, as untruth, even when not acting professionally, is habitual to them, there is not the slightest dependence to be placed on what they say. Sometimes, in the winter, they do shallow, that is, stand on the curbstone of the pavement

in their thin ragged clothes and shiver as with cold and hunger, or crouch against a wall and whine like a whipped animal. At others they turn out with a small barrel-shaped drum, on which they make a monotonous noise with their fingers, to which music they sing and dance.

Or they will stand pad with a fakement, that is, wear a placard about their breasts, that describes them as natives of Madagascar, in distress, converts to Christianity, anxious to get to a seaport where they can work their passage back.

This is a favourite artifice with Lascars. or they will sell lucifers or sweep a crossing or do anything where their picturesque appearance, of which they are proud and conscious, can be effectively displayed. They are as cunning as they look and can detect a sympathetic face among a crowd. They never beg of soldiers or sailors to whom they always give a wide berth as they pass them in the streets. From the extraordinary

mendacity of this race of beggars, a mendacity that never falters, hesitates or stumbles, but flows on in an unbroken stream of falsehood. It is difficult to obtain any reliable information respecting them. I have, however, many reasons for believing that the following statement, which was made to me by a very dirty and distressed Indian, is moderately true. The man spoke English like a cockney of the lowest order. I shall not attempt to describe the peculiar accent

or construction which he occasionally gave to it. Quote, My name is Joalika. I do not know where I was born. I never knew my father. I remember my mother very well. From the first of my remembrance I was at Dum Dum, where I was servant to a European officer, a great man, a prince, who had more than a hundred servants beside me. When he went away to fight, I followed among others. I was with the baggage. I never fought myself, but I have heard the men, note sepoys, end note,

say that the prince or general or colonel liked nothing so well as fighting except tiger hunting. He was a wonderful man, and his soldiers liked him very much. I travelled over a great part of India with Europeans. I went up-country as far as Secunderabad and learned to speak English very well, so well that when I was quite a young man I was often employed as interpreter, for I caught up different Indian languages quickly. At last I got to interpret so well that I was recommended to

Blank, a great native prince who was coming over to England. I was not his interpreter, but interpreter to his servants. We came to London. We stopped in an hotel in Vere Street, Oxford Street. We stayed here some time. Then my chief went over to Paris, but he did not take all his servants with him. I stopped at the hotel to interpret for those who remained. It was during this time that I formed a connection with a white woman. She was a servant in the hotel.

I broke my caste, and from that moment I knew that it would not do for me to go back to India. The girl fell in the family way, and was sent out of the house. My fellow servants knew of it, and, as many of them hated me, I knew that they would tell my master on his return. I also knew that by the English laws in England I was a free man, and that my master could not take me back against my will. If I had gone back, I should have been put to death for breaking my caste.

When my master returned from France, he sent for me. He told me that he had heard of my breaking my caste, and of the girl, but that he should take no notice of it, that I was to return to Calcutta with him, where he would get me employment with some European officer,

that I need not fear, as he would order his servants to keep silent on the subject. I salaamed and thanked him, and said I was his slave forever. But at the same time, I knew that he would break his word, and that when he had me in his power, he would put me to death. He was a very severe man about caste.

I attended to all my duties as before, and all believed that I was going back to India. But the very morning that my master started for the coast, I ran away. I changed my clothes at the house of a girl I knew, not the same one as I had known at the hotel, but another. This one lived at Seven Dials. I stopped indoors for many days, till this girl, who could read newspapers, told me that my master had sailed away.

I felt very glad, for though I knew my master could not force me to go back with him, yet I was afraid for all that, for he knew the king and the queen, and had been invited by the Lord Mayor to the city. I liked England better than India, and English women have been very kind to me. I think English women are the handsomest in the world. The girl in whose house I hid showed me how to beg. She persuaded me to turn Christian, because she thought that it would do

me good, so I turned Christian. I do not know what it means, but I am a Christian and have been for many years. I married that girl for some time. I have been married several times. I do not mean to say that I have ever been to church, as rich folks do, but I have been married without that. Sometimes I do well and sometimes badly. I often get a pound or two by interpreting. I am not at all afraid of meeting any Indian who knew me, for if they said anything I did not like, I should call out, Police!

I know the law better than I did. Everything is free in England. You can do what you like, if you can pay, or are not found out. I do not like policemen. After the mutiny in 1857, I did very badly. No one would look at a poor Indian then, much less give to him. I knew that the English would put it down soon because I know what those rascals over there are like

I am living now in Charles Street, Drury Lane I have been married to my present wife six years We have three children and one dead My eldest is now in the hospital with a bad arm I swept a crossing for two years

That was just before the mutiny All that knew me used to chaff me about it and call me Johnny Sepoy My present wife is Irish and fought two women about it They were taken to Bow Street by a policeman

But the judge would not hear them My wife is a very good wife to me But she gets drunk too often If it were not for that, I should like her better I ran away from her once

But she came after me with all the children Sometimes I make twelve shillings a week I could make much more by interpreting but I do not like to go among the nasty natives of my country. I believe I am more than fifty years of age.

Negro beggars The Negro beggar so nearly resembles the Hindu that what I have said of one, I could almost say of the other. There are, however, these points of difference. The Negro mendicant, who is usually an American Negro,

never studies the picturesque in his attire. He relies on the abject misery and downtrodden despair of his appearance, and generally represents himself as a fugitive slave. With this exception, his methods of levying contributions are precisely the same as his lighter-skinned brothers. Some years ago, it was a common thing to see a Negro with tracts in his hand and a placard upon his breast,

upon which was a woodcut of a black man, kneeling, his wrists heavily chained, his arms held high in supplication, and round the picture, forming a sort of proscenium or frame, the words, quote, Am I not a man and a brother? End quote. At the time that the suppression of the slave trade created so much excitement, this was so excellent a dodge that many white beggars, fortunate enough to possess a flattish or turned-up nose,

dyed themselves black and stood pad as real Africans. The imposter, however, was soon detected and punished. There are but few Negro beggars to be seen now. It is only common fairness to say that Negroes seldom, if ever, shirk work. Their only trouble is to obtain it.

Those who have seen the many Negroes employed in Liverpool will know that they are hard-working, patient and too often underpaid. A negro will sweep a crossing, run errands, black boots, clean knives and forks or dig for a crust and a few pence. The few imposters among them are to be found among those who go about giving lectures on the horrors of slavery and singing variations on the escapes in that famous book Uncle Tom's Cabin.

Negro servants are seldom read off in police reports and are generally found to give satisfaction to their employers. In the East End of London, Negro beggars are to be met with, but they are seldom beggars by profession. Whenever they are out of work, they have no scruples but go into the streets, take off their hats and beg directly. I was accosted by one in Whitechapel, from whom I obtained the following statement. Quote,

to do what I could. About the same time that my father, who was an old man, died, my brother lost his place. We agreed to come to England together. My brother had been living with some Britishers, and he had heard them say that over here niggers were as good as whites, and that the whites did not look down on them and ill-treat them as they do in New York. We went about and got odd jobs on the quay, and at last we hid ourselves in the hold of a vessel bound for Liverpool.

I do not know how long we were hid, but I remember we were terribly frightened, lest we should be found out before the ship got under way. At last, hunger forced us out, and we rapped at the hatches. At first we were not heard, but when we shouted out, they opened the hatches and took us on deck. They flogged us very severely, and treated us shamefully, all the voyage. When we got to Liverpool, we begged and got odd jobs. At last

we got engaged in a travelling circus, where we were servants, and used to ride about with the band in beautiful dresses. But the grooms treated us so cruelly that we were forced to run away from that. I forget the name of the place that we were performing at, but it was not a day's walk from London. We begged about for some time. At last my brother, his name is Aaron, got to clean the knives and forks at a slap bang. Note, an eating house, end note, in the city. He was very fortunate

and used to save some bits for me. He never takes any notice of me now. He is doing very well. He lives with a great gentleman in Harewood Square and has a coat with silver buttons and a gold-laced hat. He is very proud, and I do not think he would speak to me if he saw me. I don't know how I live or how much I get a week. I do porter's work, mostly, but I do anything I can get. I beg more than half the year. I have no regular lodging. I sleep where I can. When I am in luck, I have a bed.

It costs me thruppence. At some places, they don't care to take a man of colour in. I sometimes get work in Newgate Market carrying meat, but not often. Ladies give me hapens of northern men. The butchers call me Othello and ask me why I killed my wife. I have tried to get aboard a ship, but they won't have me. I don't know how old I am, but I know that when we got to London, it was the time the great exhibition was about. I can lift almost any weight when I have had a bit

of something to eat. I don't care for beer. I like rum best. I have often got drunk, but never when I paid for it myself. End quote. The following cases of genuine distress fell under my notice. My readers will observe the difference of tone, the absence of claptrap, and desire to enlarge upon a harrowing fact of those unfortunates who have been reduced to beggary, compared with the practised shuffle and conventional whine of the mendicant by profession. I was standing with a

friend at the counter of a tavern in Oxford Street when a man came in and asked me to help him with a penny. I saw at a glance that he was a workman at some hard-working trade. His face was bronzed and his large hard hands were unmistakably the hands of a labourer. He kept his eyes fixed on me as he spoke and begged with a short pipe in his mouth. I asked him if he would have some beer. Thank you, sir. I don't want beer so much as I want a penny loaf. I haven't tasted since morn,

and I'm not the man I was fifteen year ago, and I feel it. Will you have some bread and cheese and beer? I asked. Thank you, sir. Bread and cheese and beer, and thank you, sir, for I'm beginning to feel I want something. I asked the man several questions and he made the following statement. Quote, I'm a miner, sir, and I've been working lately five mile from Castleton in Derbyshire. Why did I leave it? Do you want me to tell the truth now, the real truth? Well then, I'll tell

you the real truth. I got drunk. You asked me for the real truth and now you've got it. I've been a miner all my life and been engaged in all the great public works. I call a miner a man as can sink a shaft in anything, barring he's not stopped by water. I've got a wife and two children. I left them at Castleton. They're all right. I left them some money. I've worked in eighteen inches of coal. I mean, in a chamber only eighteen inches wide.

You lay on your side and pick like this. Note, here he threw himself on the floor and imitated the action of a coal miner with his pick. End note. I've worked under young Mr Brunel very often. He were not at all a gentleman unlike you, sir, only he were darker. My last wages was six shilling a day. I expect soon to be in work again, for I know lots of miners in London and I know where they want hands. I could get a bed and a shilling this minute if I knew where my mates lived.

but today when I got to the place where they work they'd gone home and I couldn't find out in what part of London they lived. We miners always assist each other when we're on the road. I've worked in lead and copper sir as well as coal and have been a very good man in my time. I'm just 40 year old and I think I've used myself too much when I were young. I knows the Cornish mines well. I'm sure to get work in the course of the week, for I'm well known to many anum up at Notting Hill. I once

worked in a mine where there were a pressure of fifty pound to the square foot of air. You have to take your time about everything you do there. You can't work hard in a place like that. Thank you sir, much obliged to you. End quote. One evening in the parish of Marlebone, an old man who was selling Lucifer matches put his finger to his forehead and offered me a box. Ain't me a Boxer, he said. I told him to follow me. An old woman also accompanied us. He made the following

statement. Quote, My name is John Wood. That's my wife. I am 65 years of age. She's 75, 10 years older than I am. I kept a shop round this street, sir, four and twenty years. I've got a settlement in this parish, but we neither of us like to go into the union. They'd separate us, and we like to be together for the little time we shall be here. The reason we went to the bad was I took a shop at Woolwich

and the very week I opened it, I don't know how many hundred men were not discharged from the Arsenal and Dockyard. I lost £350 there. After that, we tried many things, but everything failed. This is not a living.

I stood four hours last night and took tuppence ha'penny. We lodge in wards buildings. We pay one and ninepence a week. We've got sticks of our own, that is, a bed and a table. We are both of us half starved. It is hard, very hard. I'm as weak as a rat and so is my wife. We've tried to do something better, but we can't. If I could get some of the folks that once knew

me to assist me, I might buy a few things and make a living out of them. We've been round to to ask him, but they don't seem inclined to help us. People don't, sir, when you're poor. I used to feel that myself one time, but I know better now. Good night, sir, and thank you. End quote. In the same neighbourhood, I saw an elderly man who looked as if he would beg on me if he dared. I turned round to look at him, and saw that his eyes were red, as if with crying, and that he

carried a rag in his hand, with which he kept dabbing them. I gave him a few pence. Thank you, sir, he said. God bless you. Excuse me, sir, but my eyes is bad. I suffer from the erysipelas. That is what brought me to this. Kindness rather overcomes me. I've not been much used to it of late. He made the following statement. Quote, I have been a gentleman's servant, sir, but I lost my place through the erysipelas. I was mad with it, and confined in

Bedlam for four years. The last place I was in service at was Sir H-blank H-blanks. Note, he mentioned the name of an eminent banker. End note. Sir H-blank was very kind to me. I clean his door plate now, for which I get a shilling a week. That's all the dependence I have now. The servants behave bad to me. Sir H-blank said that I was to go into the kitchen now and then, but they never give me anything.

I don't get half enough to eat and it makes me very weak. I'm weak enough naturally and going without makes me worse. I lodge over in Westminster. I pay threepence a night or eighteen pence a week. There are three others in the same room as me.

I hold horses sometimes and clean knives and forks when I can get it to do But people like younger men than me to do odd jobs I can't do things quick enough and I'm so nervous that I ain't handy I can go into the workhouse and I think I shall in the winter But the confinement of it is terrible to me

I'd like to keep out of it if I can My shilling a week don't pay my rent And I find it very hard to get on at all Nobody can tell what I go through. I suppose I must go into the workhouse at last.

They're not overkind to you when you're in. Every day, the first thing I try to get is the thruppence for my lodging. I pay nightly, then I don't have anything to pay on Sundays. I don't know any trade. Gentlemen's servants never do.

I used to have the best of everything when I was in service. God bless you, sir, and thank you. I'm very much obliged to you. End of section 107