The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 6

The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 6

CHAPTER IV

 

BRUM

 

 

Brum was a man of an original turn of mind and his ideas were often at

variance with others. For instance, all tramps in America travel on

the railroad, whether they walk or take free rides. Therefore it seems

reasonable to infer that the people who live on the outskirts of a

town, being farthest from the track, would be more in sympathy with

tramps, for they would see and hear less of them. But Brum laughed at

this idea, and claimed that his own success was through being of a

different mind. "For," said he, "as all tramps are of that opinion,

therefore the outskirts are begged too much and the centre of the town

too little. For instance," he continued, "here is the railroad depot,

with its restaurant; now, not one tramp in a hundred would visit such

a place, for it is on their direct road, and they believe that it

receives far too many appeals. This opinion, being so common, must

prove it to be false. However, we will test it and see." Saying which

Brum boldly entered the restaurant, leaving me to wait outside. It was

a considerable time before he reappeared, and I began to think that

he was being supplied with a meal on the premises, but at last he

came, carrying in his hand a large paper parcel. "The place is as good

as gold," said he, "for here we have a day's provisions for two. Take

it down the track to that clump of woods," said he, "for the waiter

promised that did I bring a jug or can he would supply me with hot

coffee." I started at once towards the woods with this bag, the weight

of which proved the presence of either much meat or pudding; while

Brum made his way to a small house near the railroad to see if he

could borrow a can. It was not long after this when we were seated in

the shady green wood with the contents of this parcel before us, which

were found to consist of a number of chops, bread and butter, some

potatoes and cake. These, with a quart or more of good hot coffee,

made such a meal as a working man could only reasonably expect once a

week--the day being Sunday.

 

One of Brum's peculiarities was, on approaching a town, to look out

for a church steeple with a cross, which denoted a Catholic church,

and therefore a Catholic community. Making his way in the direction of

that cross he would begin operations in its surrounding streets,

"and," said he, "if I fail in that portion of the town, I shall

certainly not succeed elsewhere."

 

I shall never forget the happy summer months I spent with Brum at the

seaside. Some of the rich merchants there could not spare more than a

month or six weeks from business, but, thanks be to Providence, the

whole summer was at our disposal. If we grew tired of one town or, as

more often the case, the town grew tired of us, we would saunter

leisurely to the next one and again pitch our camp; so on, from place

to place, during the summer months. We moved freely among the

visitors, who apparently held us in great respect, for they did not

address us familiarly, but contented themselves with staring at a

distance. We lay across their runs on the sands and their paths in the

woods; we monopolised their nooks in the rocks and took possession of

caves, and not a murmur heard, except from the sea, which of a

certainty could not be laid to our account. No doubt detectives were

in these places, but they were on the look out for pickpockets,

burglars and swindlers; and, seeing that neither the visitors nor the

boarding house keepers made any complaint, these detectives did not

think it worth while to arrest tramps; for there was no promotion to

be had by doing so. "Ah," I said to Brum, as we sat in a shady place,

eating a large custard pudding from a boarding house, using for the

purpose two self-made spoons of wood--"Ah, we would not be so

pleasantly occupied as tramps in England. We would there receive

tickets for soup; soup that could be taken without spoons; no pleasant

picking of the teeth after eating; no sign of a pea, onion or carrot;

no sign of anything, except flies." Two-thirds of a large custard

pudding between two of us, and if there was one fault to be found with

it, it was its being made with too many eggs. Even Brum was surprised

at his success on this occasion. "Although," as he said, "she being a

fat lady, I expected something unusual." Brum had a great admiration

for a fat woman; not so much, I believe, as his particular type of

beauty, but for the good natured qualities he claimed corpulence

denoted. "How can you expect those skinny creatures to sympathise with

another when they half starve their own bodies?" he asked. He often

descanted on the excellencies of the fat, to the detriment of the

thin, and I never yet heard another beggar disagree with him.

 

After seeing Brum wash the dish, and wipe it with his

pocket-handkerchief, with a care that almost amounted to reverence,

and trusting in my own mind that the good lady would have the thought

and precaution to wash it again--I settled to a short nap, till Brum's

return. For there was no knowing how long he might be away; he might

take a notion to beg a shirt, a pair of trousers or shoes, or anything

else that came to his mind.

 

Now, when Brum left, he had on a dark shirt, but I was so accustomed

to seeing him change his appearance with a fresh coat, or a different

shaped hat, that I was not at all surprised on waking to see him

sitting before me in a clean white shirt with a starched front. I said

nothing about this change, and he was too good a beggar to give

unsolicited information, which would look too much like boasting of

his own exploits. That he had met another of his favourite fat ladies,

or perhaps the same one had added to her kindness--there was not the

least doubt.

 

Brum's first words rather startled me, for he continued the

conversation from the place I left off previous to my sleep. "When I

was in England," he began, "I did not experience such hardship as is

commonly supposed to exist. Beggars there, as here, choose the wrong

places, and not one in three knows which are the best." "Surely," I

said, "a good clean street of houses with respectable fronts, of

moderate size, and kept by the better class mechanics, are the best?"

"And so they would be," he answered, "if every beggar did not think

so. But let me tell you, for your benefit if ever stranded in England,

the best places for beggars to operate." How I learned the truth of

his wise teaching, in after days! Every fine looking street you chance

upon, pass it; but every little court or blind alley you come across,

take possession without delay, especially if its entrance is under an

arch, which hides the approach to the houses, making them invisible

from the street. Such little out of the way places are not only more

profitable than good streets, but are comparatively safe where the

police are unusually severe. Then again you should avoid every town

that has not either a mill, a factory, or a brewery; old fashioned

towns, quiet and without working people--except a few gardeners,

coachmen, domestic servants, etc: such places where you see a sign at

the free libraries warning tramps not to enter, and every plot of land

has its sign--"Beware of the Dog." In towns where working men are

numerous, and the idle rich are few, such signs are not to be seen.

"Of course," he continued, "your object in England must be money, for

you cannot expect to get meat, cake and custard pudding in a land

where even the rich live poorer, with regards to diet, than the

labouring classes of this country." I remembered these wise thoughts

of Brum, uttered on the shores of the Atlantic, and if I did not

profit much by them in my own experience in England, I certainly made

enough attempts to test their truth. I always kept a keen eye for

blind alleys, and quiet courts under arches, and I invariably came out

of one richer than I went in. And what nice quiet places they are for

drinking cups of tea on a doorstep, with only a neighbour or two to

see you, and perhaps thousands of people passing to and fro in the

street at the other side of the arch. There is no thoroughfare for

horses and carts; no short cut for business men, and the truth of the

matter is that a number of the inhabitants themselves, born and bred

in the town, know not of the existence of such places; and others,

knowing them, would be ashamed to confess their acquaintance with

them. But Brum knew where to find the kindest hearts in England, not

in the fine streets and new villas, but in the poor little

white-washed houses in courts and alleys.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

A TRAMP'S SUMMER VACATION

 

 

We were determined to be in the fashion, and to visit the various

delightful watering places on Long Island Sound. Of course it would be

necessary to combine business with pleasure, and pursue our calling as

beggars. With the exception of begging our food, which would not be

difficult, seeing that the boarding houses were full, and that large

quantities of good stuff were being made, there was no reason why we

should not get as much enjoyment out of life as the summer visitors.

We would share with them the same sun and breeze; we could dip in the

surf at our own pleasure, and during the heat of the day we could

stretch our limbs in the green shade, or in the shadow of some large

rock that overlooked the Sound. However we could no longer stand the

sultry heat of New York, where we had been for several days, during

which time we had been groaning and gasping for air. So I and Brum

started out of the City, on the way towards Hartford, Connecticut,

with the intention of walking no more than six miles a day along the

sea coast. What a glorious time we had; the people catered for us as

though we were the only tramps in the whole world, and as if they

considered it providential that we should call at their houses for

assistance. The usual order of things changed considerably.

Cake--which we had hitherto considered as a luxury--became at this

time our common food, and we were at last compelled to install plain

bread and butter as the luxury, preferring it before the finest

sponge-cake flavoured with spices and eggs. Fresh water springs were

numerous, gushing joyously out of the rocks, or lying quiet in shady

nooks; and there was many a tramps' camp, with tin cans ready to hand,

where we could make our coffee and consume the contents of paper bags.

This part of the country was also exceptionally good for clothes.

Summer boarders often left clothes behind, and of what use were they

to the landladies, for no rag-and-bone man ever called at their

houses. The truth of the matter was that in less than a week I was

well dressed from head to foot, all of these things being voluntary

offerings, when in quest of eatables. Brum, of course, had fared

likewise, but still retained the same pair of dungarees, which he

swore he would not discard except at the instance of a brand new pair

of tweeds. It was this pair of working man's trousers which had caused

a most regrettable mistake. We had just finished begging at one of

these small watering-places and, loaded with booty, were on our way in

the direction of the camp which, Brum informed me, was half a mile

north of the town. When we reached this camp we found it occupied by

one man, who had just then made his coffee and was about to eat. On

which Brum asked this man's permission to use his fire, which would

save us the trouble of making one of our own. The stranger gave a

reluctant consent, and at the same time moved some distance away, as

though he did not wish further intimacy. While we were gathering wood

and filling our cans at the spring, I could not help but see this

stranger glaring hatefully at my companion's trousers, and expected

every moment to hear some insulting remark. At last we were ready and

Brum proceeded to unload himself. He had eight or nine parcels of food

distributed about his clothes, but in such a way that no one could be

the wiser. It was then that I noted a change come over the stranger's

face, who seeing the parcels, seemed to be smitten with remorse. In

another moment he was on his feet and coming towards us, said

impulsively--"Excuse me, boys, for not giving you a more hearty

welcome, but really--"glancing again at my companion's trousers--"I

thought you were working men, but I now see that you are true

beggars." Brum laughed at this, and mentioned that others had also

been deceived. He explained that the said trousers had been given him

against his wish, but on seeing that they were good, and were likely

to outlast several pairs of cloth, he had resolved to stick to them

for another month or two. "I regret having had such an opinion of

you," said the stranger, in a choking voice, "and trust, boys, that

you will forgive me." Thus ended in a friendly spirit what promised at first to become very unpleasant.