The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 30

The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 30

"Gambling" Fred was here, looking over the daily paper with "Red Nosed

Scotty." They are both short sighted, and, unfortunately, have but one

pair of spectacles between them, which is now being used by "Scotty."

Suddenly the red nosed man sees the name of a horse. "There you are,"

he cries exultingly; "there's a sure winner." "Where?" asks his fellow

gambler, taking the spectacles and adjusting them on his own nose.

"How can I show you now?" asks the red nosed gambler, in a fretful

voice, "haven't you got the specs on?" At last matters are arranged to

the satisfaction of both, and Fred approaches his friend "Yanks" for

the loan of sixpence, to back this horse. But "Yanks" unceremoniously

tells his friend to go to hell. At this the gambler sulks all the

evening and unfortunately the next day his favoured horse wins. On

this transaction the gambler would have been ten shillings in pocket.

After this another horse won, which Fred, in his penniless state,

professes to have favoured. He would have backed this horse with his

ten shillings won from the other race, and would now have been five

pounds in pocket. "Yes," says the gambler, pointing to his friend

"Yanks"--"that man has done me out of many a golden pound."

 

Poor old "Scotty" Bill was here, a seller of fly papers; who disturbed

the kitchen all day, because of the scarcity of flies, as though the

lodgers were to blame. "We are having damn strange summers of late

years," he said, "different from my younger days; for there is now

scarcely a fly to be seen."

 

Here dwelt "Hoppy" the bootblack, who had a rival in business on the

opposite corner. He was certainly the dirtiest man I have ever seen

going in and out of a house, but he earned good money, and often came

home drunk to this lodging house in a cab, causing a great sensation

among the poorer lodgers. His rival did less trade, and could afford

to do less, a lodger remarked, seeing that his mother kept a

flourishing cats' meat shop. When I have passed near these rival

bootblacks, I have often wondered how the thousands of people walked

daily between them without being singed, not to mention scorched, by

their baneful glances, which were fired at each other across the way.

 

Here too had "Irish" Tim come; a very small man with a sarcastic

tongue; an out-of-date printer broken on the wheels of new machinery.

Did you not want to be subjected to the ridicule of the kitchen it was

necessary when expressing an opinion, to look this man straight and

sternly in the face, and to speak with the utmost deliberation. He

always sat at the same table, and in the same seat, if not already

occupied; and his particular table was known as the House of

Parliament, owing to the number of arguments conducted there, of which

he was the leader. He passed judgment on public men, and although he

rarely had a good word for any one, I must say, to Tim's credit, that

he never lost an opportunity to stroke the cat. I believe Tim had just

a little friendly feeling for simple, eccentric and impulsive Bob;

whom he could scorn and contradict without being threatened or bullied

in return. Bob was an idealist, a dreamer with a strong imagination;

and it was Tim's delight to beat this dreamer to the thorny paths of

his daily life, speaking in the name of common sense.

 

Bob was full of the wonders of Nature, marvelled much at the

undertakings of men, to make railways to cross mountains and bridges

to span canyons; and was deeply interested in the early growth of

things, ere they were manufactured into a form that every person could

recognise. He was a most brilliant conversationalist, and was

interestingly dramatic in his readings. He was a good companion for

others, but, as I soon discovered to my disappointment, seldom had a

comfortable moment when alone with himself. I had a small bedroom to

myself, and unfortunately the near cubicle to mine was Bob's. Bob,

who, probably five minutes before, had been in the kitchen laughing,

or reading with childish delight of the gorgeous pageantry of a coming

play or pantomime, or had been seriously wondering at some new

discovery, would scarcely set foot in his own quiet room ere he was

clutched by a devil. I have become accustomed to foul language from

one man to another, but his bold way of directly addressing his

blasphemy to his Maker, stiffened the laughter on my lips, and shocked

me, in spite of an indifferent faith. This unusually clever man--a

genius, if this world ever had one--disappointed at his circumstances,

after an indulgence of his ideal, would sit on his bed and try to

throttle himself, night after night; and then would smother his face

in his bed clothes, and invariably end his mad fit by sobbing. When he

reached this pitiful state, this simple, impulsive and childlike man,

I felt like standing to his side, before the outraged face of his

Maker, so great was my pity for him.

 

Many others were here, whom I was to become better acquainted

with--such as the "Major," "Australian" Bill, "Never Sweet,"

"Cinders," and "The Snob," who was sent to prison so often through

having an over-liking for other people's pockets; and who, when

questioned as to his absence, always said he had been to see his

youngest brother. All of these were here, with many others of note.

 

For the "Blacksmith" was here, who, every time he saw me preparing to

go out, thought I must be on a begging expedition, and he trusted that

I would find the ladies kindly disposed. On thanking him for this kind

wish, he confided his intention of visiting Deptford, saying that he

had given that part of the city a long rest.

 

"Boozy" Bob was here, "Drunken Dave" and "Brummy Tom"; three small men

with a large capacity for taking ale. All these men were quiet or at

least not objectionable, and none of them could disturb me in my room.

The sleep of the house was disturbed more from without than from any

cause within. Cats--by day the most docile of God's creatures, every

one of them in the night enlisting under the devil's banner--took the

place by storm after the human voice had ceased. But perhaps the one

who accounted for more than two-thirds of my sleepless nights, was a

woman, an outsider living in an adjacent block. It was her custom to

come home drunk early in the morning, singing and swearing. "Little

Punch," a sickly consumptive, who had lived in this neighbourhood of

Southwark all his life, had no difficulty in recognising the voice of

Mrs. Kelly. So whenever I enquired as to the origin of a disturbance,

the name of Mrs. Kelly was the beginning and the end of it. Mrs. Kelly

was not satisfied with a single fight; she occasionally instigated a

riot. On the night of that memorable day when Southwark, and in

particular the Borough, was visited by royalty, this was the lady that

murdered sleep. The police always appeared tolerant with her, and more

so on this occasion. As a general rule it is people that live in

private houses who have to complain of the presence of a common

lodging house, of being disturbed by its low-class inmates; but this

lodging house, with beds for nearly two hundred men, was kept as quiet

as a large mansion with its one small family and half a score of

servants. In its kitchen was a continual din up till twelve o'clock at

night; but this did not disturb the sleepers in other parts of the

house. Seldom would a loud voice be heard inside; but it was nothing

unusual to hear at night the fighting and swearing of men and women,

and the screaming of children. This could be expected without fail on

Saturday nights and the close of holidays. These horrible and inhuman

cries so affected me on one Saturday evening, when, for the sake of

the study, I had retired early to bed, that I could neither think,

sleep nor lie quiet, and felt compelled to get up and return to the

kitchen. This I did, and found thirty or forty men assembled there,

most of them more or less drunk, but none of them appeared

quarrelsome. Of course it was impossible to sit long here before I was

surrounded by them; and sat fearing to breathe deep enough to inhale

the fumes of drink which came from both their mouths and clothes; and

being in good favour with these hopeless fellows, was continually

invited good naturedly to shake hands with them. Instead of going back

to my room, I left the place and entered a public house for the first

time in three months. "Brummy" Tom was there, with another fish porter

of his acquaintance. "Have a drink with me," he said, "I have often

thought to ask you, but thought you were a teetotaller and would

refuse." "'Brumm,'" I said, rather bitterly, "a teetotaller who lives

in a common lodging house is to be heartily despised, for he shows

himself to be satisfied with his conditions." With "Brummy" Tom and

his friend for companions, I took a number of long sleeping draughts,

and just after twelve o'clock that night was fast asleep in bed. The

following morning some of the lodgers were telling of murder cries

heard just after midnight, but I praised the power of Bacchus that I

had not heard them.

 

It was always a mystery to me that these men respected me and never

failed in civility in their dealings with me, for I did everything

that these men disliked. I wore a white collar, which they at once

take to be a challenge that you are their superior. Few other men in

the house, except they were fighting men, could have produced a

toothbrush without being sneered at. True it induced Brown to ask the

question whether I felt any actual benefit from cleaning my teeth;

that he had heard so many different opinions that he did not know what

or what not to believe; saying that he had often watched me, and

wondered at so unusual a custom. They all detested the "Masher,"

because he was earning more than a pound a week on a good paper stand,

and was also in receipt of a good pension; and they all cried shame on

him for living in a common lodging house. This man, to my discomfort,

showed so much inclination to confide in me, pointing out the

different lodgers who owed him money, and calling them low vagabonds

and ungrateful scamps, in a voice that was not meant to be a whisper,

that I was almost afraid of losing their good will in listening to

such words, without saying something on their behalf. Again I was

almost a teetotaller, and that was the worst charge of all. In spite

of all this, I do not believe that I made one enemy, and am certain

that I never received other than kindness and civility from the

lodgers of the Farmhouse.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVI

 

RAIN AND POVERTY

 

 

The greatest enemy to the man who has to carry on his body all his

wardrobe, is rain. As long as the sun shines he is indifferent, but if

he is caught in a wet condition after sunset he is to be pitied. He

does not fear any ill consequences to health from being wet through,

as does his more fortunate brother, but he does not like the

uncomfortable sensation of shivering and not being able to keep warm.

This unsettled feeling is often made worse by an empty stomach. In

fact a full stomach is his one safeguard against the cold, and he

cares not then if the rain and the wind penetrate his clothes. No

seaman ever searched the heavens for a dark speck, or astronomer for a

new light, as does this homeless man for a sign of rain. To escape

from the coming deluge he seeks shelter in the public library, which

is the only free shelter available; and there he sits for hours

staring at one page, not a word of which he has read or, for that

matter, intends to read. If he cannot at once get a seat, he stands

before a paper and performs that almost impossible feat of standing

upright fast asleep, so as to deceive the attendants, and respectable

people who are waiting a chance to see that very paper. To be able to

do this requires many unsuccessful efforts, which fail on account of

hard breathing, nodding and stumbling against the paper stand; but

success has at last been attained, and there he stands fast asleep and

apparently absorbed in a most interesting paragraph. He attains such

perfection in this one act that he has been known to stand like a

marble statue before a large sheet of costly plate glass, what time

sleep had overpowered him in the act of admiring a baker's art. The

homeless man must always remember one thing, that though he may sit on

wooden seats and stone parapets, eat in public and go in rags, he must

not, on any account, sleep. Working men only are allowed that

privilege and those who can afford to remain idle. No policeman would

think of indulging in a short nap until he made sure that there was no

vagrant sleeping on his beat. And what respectable householder could

rest in bed knowing that a tramp was sleeping in his doorway? If

necessity is the mother of invention, sleep must certainly be

necessary to a human being, or the tramp, according to his many

chances of experiments, would be the first to prove the contrary. So much for the very lowest men.