Читать книгу Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II - Egan Pierce - Страница 25

“Come, Bill, it is time to be off, it is getting rather

darkish.” “Ah, very well (replied the other,) let us have

another quart, and then I am your man for a bit of a lark.”

By this time they had learned that the Comedian was but

newly arrived in town; and he on the other hand was desirous

of seeing what they meant to be up to. After another quart

they were about to move, when, said one to the other, “As we

are only going to have a stroll and a bit of fun, perhaps

that there young man would like to join us.”

“Ah, what say you, Sir? have you any objection? but perhaps

you have business on hand and are engaged—”

“No, I have nothing particular to do,” was the reply. “Very

well, then if you like to go with us, we shall be glad of

your company.”

“Well (said he,) I don't care if I do spend an hour with

you.” And with that they sallied forth.

After rambling about for some time in the vicinity of

Tottenham Court Road, shewing him some of the Squares, &c.

describing the names of streets, squares, and buildings,

they approached St. Giles's, and leading him under a

gateway, “Stop, (said one) we must call upon Jack, you know,

for old acquaintance sake,” and gave a loud knock at the

door; which being opened without a word, they all walked in,

and the door was instantly lock'd. He was now introduced to

a man of squalid appearance, with whom they all shook hands:

the mode of introduction was not however of so satis-factory

a description as had been expected, being very laconic, and

conveyed in the following language:—“We have got him.”

“Yes, yes, it is all right—come, Jack, serve us out some

grog, and then to business.”

The poor Comedian in the mean time was left in the utmost

anxiety and surprise to form an opinion of his situation;

for as he had heard something about trepanning, pressing,

&c. he could not help entertaining serious suspicion that he

should either be com-pelled to serve as a soldier or a

sailor; and as he had no intention “to gain a name in arms,”

they were neither of them suitable to his inclinations.

“Come,” (said one) walk up stairs and sit down—Jack, bring

the lush “—and up stairs they went.

Upon entering a gloomy room, somewhat large, with only a

small candle, he had not much opportunity of discovering

what sort of a place it was, though it looked wretched

enough. The grog was brought—“Here's all round the grave-

stone, (said one)—come, drink away, my hearty—don't be

alarm'd, we are rum fellows, and we'll put you up to a rig

or two—we are got a rum covey in the corner there, and you

must lend us a hand to get rid of him:” then, holding up the

light, what was the surprise of the poor Comedian to espy a

dead body of a man—“You can help us to get him away, and

by G——you shall, too, it's of no use to flinch now.”

A circumstance of this kind was new to him, so that his

perplexity was only increased by the discovery; but he

plainly perceived by the last declaration, that having

engaged in the business, it would be of no use to leave it

half done: he therefore remained silent upon the subject,

drank his grog, when Jack came up stairs to say the cart was

ready.

“Lend a hand, (said one of them) let us get our load down

stairs—come, my Master, turn to with a good heart, all's

right.”

With this the body was conveyed down stairs.

At the back of the house was a small yard separated from a

neighbouring street by a wall—a signal was given by some

one on the other side which was understood by those within—

it was approaching nine o'clock, and a dark night—“Come,

(said one of them,) mount you to the top of the wall, and

ding the covey over to the carcass-carter.” This being

complied with, the dead body was handed up to him, which was

no sooner done than the Carman outside, perceiving the

Watchman approach—“It von't do,” said he, and giving a

whistle, drove his cart with an assumed air of carelessness

away; while the poor Comedian, who had a new character to

support, in which he did not conceive himself well up,{1}

was holding the dead man on his lap with the legs projecting

over the wall; it was a situation of the utmost delicacy and

there was no time to recast the part, he was therefore,

obliged to blunder through it as well as he could; the

perspiration of the living man fell plentifully on the

features of the dead as the Charley approached in a position

to pass directly under him. Those inside had sought the

shelter of the house, telling him to remain quiet till the

old Scout was gone by. Now although he was not fully

acquainted with the consequences of discovery, he was

willing and anxious to avoid them: he therefore took the

advice, and scarcely moved or breathed—“Past nine o'clock,”

said the Watchman, as he passed under the legs of the dead

body without looking up, though he was within an inch of

having his castor brushed off by them. Being thus relieved,

he was happy to see the cart return; he handed over the

unpleasant burthen, and as quick as possible afterwards

descended from his elevated situation into the street,

determining at all hazards to see the result of this to him

extraordinary adventure; with this view he followed the cart

at a short distance, keeping his eye upon it as he went

along; and in one of the streets leading to Long Acre, he

perceived a man endeavouring to look into the back part of

the cart, but was diverted from his object by one of the men

who had introduced him to the house, while another of the

confederates snatched the body from the cart, and ran with

all speed down another street in an opposite direction. This

movement had attracted the notice of the Watchman, who,

being prompt in his movements, had sprung his rattle. Upon

this, and feeling himself too heavily laden to secure his

retreat, the fellow with the dead man perceiving the gate of

an area open, dropped his burden down the steps, slam'd the

gate after him, and continued to fly, but was stopped at the

end of the street; in the mean time the Charley in pursuit

had knock'd at the door of the house where the stolen goods

(as he supposed) were deposited.

1 A cant phrase for money.

It was kept by an old maiden lady, who, upon discovering the

dead body of a man upon her premises, had fainted in the

Watchman's arms. The detection of the running

Resurrectionist was followed by a walk to the watch-house,

where his companions endeavoured to make it appear that they

had all been dining at Wandsworth together, that he was not

the person against whom the hue and cry had been raised. But

old Snoosey{l} said it wouldn't do, and he was therefore detained to appear before the Magistrate in the morning. The Comedian, who had minutely watched their proceedings, took care to be at Bow-street in good time; where he found upon the affidavits of two of his comrades, who swore they had dined together at Wandsworth, their pal was liberated. 1 The Constable of the night.

Bob could not very well understand what was the meaning of this lingo; he was perfectly at a loss to comprehend the terms of deadbody snatching and the resurrection rig. The crowd increased as they went along; and as they did not exactly relish their company, Sparkle led. them across the way, and then proceeded to explain.

“Why,” said Sparkle, “the custom of dead-body snatching has become very common in London, and in many cases appears to be winked at by the Magistrates; for although it is considered a felony in law, it is also acknowledged in some degree to be necessary for the Surgeons, in order to have an opportunity of obtaining practical information. It is however, at the same time, a source of no slight distress to the parents and friends of the parties who are dragg'd from the peaceful security of the tomb. The Resurrection-men are generally well rewarded for their labours by the Surgeons who employ them to procure subjects; they are for the most part fellows who never stick at trifles, but make a decent livelihood by moving off, if they can, not only the bodies, but coffins, shrouds, &c. and are always upon the look-out wherever there is a funeral—nay, there have been instances in which the bodies have been dug from their graves within a few hours after being deposited there.”

“It is a shameful practice,” said Bob, “and ought not to be tolerated, however; nor can I conceive how, with the apparent vigilance of the Police, it can be carried on.”

“Nothing more easy,” said Sparkle, “where the plan is well laid. These fellows, when they hear a passing-bell toll, skulk about the parish from ale-house to ale-house, till they can learn a proper account of what the deceased died of, what condition the body is in, &c. with which account they go to a Resurrection Doctor, who agrees for a price, which is mostly five guineas, for the body of a man, and then bargain with an Undertaker for the shroud, coffin, &c. which, perhaps with a little alteration, may serve to run through the whole family.”

“And is it possible,” said Bob, “that there are persons who will enter into such bargains?”

“No doubt of it; nay, there was an instance of a man really selling his own body to a Surgeon, to be appropriated to his own purposes when dead, for a certain weekly sum secured to him while living; but in robbing the church-yards there are always many engaged in the rig—for notice is generally given that the body will be removed in the night, to which the Sexton is made privy, and receives the information with as much ease as he did to have it brought—his price being a guinea for the use of the grubbing irons, adjusting the grave, &c. This system is generally carried on in little country church-yards within a few miles of London. A hackney-coach or a cart is ready to receive the stolen property, and there cannot be a doubt but many of these depredations are attended with success, the parties escaping with their prey undetected—nay, I know of an instance that occurred a short time back, of a young man who was buried at Wesley's Chapel, on which occasion one of the mourners, a little more wary than the rest, could not help observing two or three rough fellows in the ground during the ceremony, which aroused his suspicion that they intended after interment to have the body of his departed friend; this idea became so strongly rooted in his mind, that he imparted his suspicions to the remainder of those who had followed him: himself and another therefore determined if possible to satisfy themselves upon the point, by returning in the dusk of the evening to reconnoitre. They accordingly proceeded to the spot, but the gates being shut, one of them climbed to the top of the wall, where he discovered the very parties, he had before noticed, in the act of wrenching open the coffin. Here they are, said he, hard at it, as I expected. But before he and his friend could get over the wall, the villains effected their escape, leaving behind them a capacious sack and all the implements of their infernal trade. They secured the body, had it conveyed home again, and in a few days re-buried it in a place of greater security.{1}

Bob was surprised at this description of the Resurrection-rig, but was quickly drawn from his contemplation of the depravity of human nature, and what he could not help thinking the dirty employments of life, by a shouting apparently from several voices as they passed the end of St. Martin's Lane: it came from about eight persons, who appeared to be journeymen mechanics, with pipes in their mouths, some of them rather rorytorious,{2} who, as they approached, broke altogether into the following

SONG.{3}

“I'm a frolicsome young fellow, I live at my ease,

I work when I like, and I play when I please;

I'm frolicsome, good-natured—I'm happy and free,

And I care not a jot what the world thinks of me.

With my bottle and glass some hours I pass,

Sometimes with my friend, and sometimes with my lass:

I'm frolicsome, good-natur'd—I'm happy and free,

And I don't care one jot what the world thinks of me.

By the cares of the nation I'll ne'er be perplex'd,

I'm always good-natur'd, e'en though I am vex'd;

I'm frolicsome, good-humour'd—I'm happy and free,

And I don't care one d——n what the world thinks of me.

1 A circumstance very similar to the one here narrated by

Sparkle actually occurred, and can be well authenticated.

2 Rorytorious—Noisy.

3 This song is not introduced for the elegance of its

composition, but as the Author has actually heard it in the

streets at the flight of night or the peep of day, sung in

full chorus, as plain as the fumes of the pipes and the

hiccups would allow the choristers at those hours to

articulate; and as it is probably the effusion of some

Shopmate in unison with the sentiments of many, it forms

part of Real Life deserving of being recorded in this Work.

Particular trades have particular songs suitable to the

employment in which they are engaged, which while at work

the whole of the parties will join in. In Spitalfields,

Bethnal-green, &c. principally inhabited by weavers, it is

no uncommon thing to hear twenty or thirty girls singing,

with their shuttles going—The Death of Barbary Allen—There

was an old Astrologer—Mary's Dream, or Death and the Lady;

and we remember a Watch-maker who never objected to hear his

boys sing; but although he was himself a loyal subject, he

declared he could not bear God Save the King; and upon being

ask'd his reason—Why, said he, it is too slow—for as the

time goes, so the fingers move—Give us Drops of Brandy, or Go to the Devil and Shake Yourself—then I shall have some work done.

This Song, which was repeated three or four times, was continued till their arrival at Newport-market, where the Songsters divided: our party pursued their way through Coventry-street, and arrived without further adventure or interruption safely at home. Sparkle bade them adieu, and proceeded to Bond-street; and Tom and Bob sought the repose of the pillow.

It is said that “Music hath charms to sooth the savage breast,” and it cannot but be allowed that the Yo heave ho, of our Sailors, or the sound of a fiddle, contribute much to the speed of weighing anchor.

It is an indisputable fact that there are few causes which more decidedly form, or at least there are few evidences which more clearly indicate, the true character of a nation, than its Songs and Ballads. It has been observed by the learned Selden, that you may see which way the wind sets by throwing a straw up into the air, when you cannot make the same discovery by tossing up a stone or other weighty substance. Thus it is with Songs and Ballads, respecting the state of public feeling, when productions of a more elaborate nature fail in their elucidations: so much so that it is related of a great Statesman, who was fully convinced of the truth of the observation, that he said, “Give me the making of the national Ballads, and I care not who frames your Laws.” Every day's experience tends to prove the power which the sphere-born Sisters of harmony, voice, and verse, have over the human mind. “I would rather,” says Mr. Sheridan, “have written Glover's song of 'Hosier's Ghost' than the Annals of Tacitus."