Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"It does not do for me to hold forth in this manner; I
know that: but I cannot help expressing the thoughts that occupied me when I
was in Newgate. They are often present in my memory; and, sometimes, when I am
dull and in low spirits, I console myself by the conviction that if I am bad
now, it is because there is no door open for me to be good. So a truce to these
ideas. They do not often come from my lips; and even now I scarcely wish to
recall them.
"Well - I passed my two years in Newgate; and when I
was released, I stood still by the lamp-post at the top of the Old Bailey,
thinking which way I should go. I had not a penny in my pocket; and I knew that
in the course of a few hours I should be hungry. As true as I am sitting here,
tears rolled down my cheeks as I contemplated the necessity of returning to my
old pursuits, - yes - burning tears - tears of agony - such tears as I never
shed before, and shall never shed again!
" Suddenly a thought struck me. I would go to the
workhouse. The idea consoled me; and, fearful lest my good intentions should
grow cool, I turned back past the door of Newgate again, and directed my steps
down the Old Bailey towards Blackfriars' Bridge. In the course of an hour, I
knocked at the door of the ------ Workhouse, with an order for admission from
the overseer.
"It was about twelve o'clock in the day when I entered
the Workhouse. The porter conducted me into the office, where the master took
down my name, age, &c. He then sent me to the bath-room, where I was
cleansed. When I came from the bath I put on the coarse linen, grey suit, and
thick shoes which constitute the workhouse garb - the livery of poverty. The
dress differed but little from the one I had worn in Newgate - so small is the
distinction in this blessed country between a felon and a pauper! My old
clothes were put up together in a bundle, labelled with my name, and conveyed
to the storeroom, to be returned to me when I chose to leave
the place. As
soon as I was dressed, I was allotted to the able-bodied men's department of
the Workhouse.
We had only five ounces of cooked meat and five ounces of bacon,
in the shape of animal food, in the course of each week! And yet we had to
work-to keep the grounds in order, to do various lobs in the establishment, and
to pick four pounds of oakum each, every day, the Sabbath excepted. Felons are
better off ; for in the prison one has more meat, more bread, and more gruel.
(which is certainly nourishing) than in the workhouse!
"We had nothing to drink with our dinners and suppers
but water - and of that they could not very well stint us, because it cost
nothing. The able-bodied women had much less than the able-bodied men. The
infirm paupers had each one ounce of tea and seven ounces of sugar weekly,
instead of gruel, for breakfast! Fancy one ounce of tea for seven meals!
"We were divided into messes, or tables of ten each ;
and each mess elected a carver. The duty of the carver was to go to the kitchen
and fetch the provision allotted to the individuals at his particular table,
and then to distribute it in equal proportions. What fighting and wrangling
always took place at meal times! On meat days, one had too much fat, and
another's morsel was too under-done:- on bacon days, one had too much lean, and
another had the rind given to him. Then one declared that he had been cheated
out of a potato; and so on. It was a scene of perpetual selfishness - of human
beings quarrelling for a crumb! But who can wonder? A potato or a cubic inch of
bread was a considerable portion of a meal; and where all were ravenous, who
could afford to lose even a potato or a crumb?
It is too frequently the habit to throw the blame of the
diabolical nature of some of the clauses of the New Poor Law upon the masters
of workhouses; whereas the whole vituperation should be levelled against the
guardians who issue the dietary-tables, from the conditions of which the
masters dare not deviate. We have no doubt that there are many masters of
workhouses who are humane and kind-hearted men. Indeed, having inspected
several of those establishments for the purpose of collecting information to
aid us in the episode to which this note is appended, we have been enabled to
ascertain that such is really the fact. Amongst others, we must signalize the
Edmonton and Tottenham Union House, the master of which is Mr. Barraclough.
This gentleman is a man of a most benevolent heart, and exerts himself In every
way to ameliorate the condition of those entrusted to his charge. The guardians
of that particular Union are, moreover, worthy, liberal-minded and considerate
men, who sanction and encourage Mr. Barraclough in his humane endeavours to
make the inmates of the workhouse as little sensible of their degraded
condition as possible. Would that all boards of guardians merited the same
encomium.]
"Neither of you have ever been in a
workhouse, I know ; and therefore you cannot imagine the change it produces in
its inmates. They grow discontented with the world, and look upon theft
superiors with abhorrence. An army of able-bodied men, recruited from all the
Unions in the kingdom, would make the finest republican soldiers imaginable.
They would proceed with a good heart to level throne, aristocracy, and every
institution which they believed oppressive to the industrious classes.
"But that is no business of mine - and I care nothing
for politics of any kind. Of an evening, we used to gather round the fire till
bed-time, and talk of our past lives. Many - many of my companions had, like
myself, seen better days; and it actually made one's heart ache to hear them
compare their former positions with their present ones. And after all, what can
be more inhuman - what more cruel, than the very principles of the workhouse
system? Old couples, who have lived together for years and years, are separated
when they go to the workhouse. Mothers are debarred from the society of their
little ones :- no ties of kindred are respected there!
"I remember one man - he was about sixty, and much
better behaved than the rest - who had been a writer, or something of that
kind, in his time. The men used to get him now and then, when he was in the
humour to recite poems - some of which he had composed in better days, and
others since he had been in the Union. Those of his palmy years were all about
love, and friendship, and sweet spring, and moonlight scenes, and so on ;-but
from the moment that he set foot in the workhouse, he bade farewell to love and
friendship; and he never more was destined to know the enjoyments or charming
seasons and tranquil hours! One of his late poems made such an impression on
me, that I learnt it by heart. It was a workhouse scene. I remember it now; and
will repeat it:-
“THE SONG OF THE WORKHOUSE”
"Stooping over the ample grate,
Where burnt an ounce of fuel,
That cheered not the gloom
Of the workhouse room.
An aged and shivering female sate,
Sipping a pint of gruel:
And as she sopped a morsel of bread
In that liquid thin and poor.
With anguish she shook her aching head,
And thought of the days that were o'er
"Through the deep mists of years gone by
Her mental glances wandered;
And the warm blood ran
To her features Wan;
And fire for a moment lighted her eye,
As o'er the past she pondered.
For she had once tripped the meadow green
With a heart as blithe as May;
And she had been crowned the village-queen
In times that were far away!
She'd been the pride of parents dear.
And plenty banished sorrow;
And her love she gave
To a yeoman brave;
And a smiling offspring rose to cheer
Hearts that feared not for the morrow
Oh! why should they fear? In the sweat of their brow
They ate their daily bread;
And they thought, 'The earth will o'er yield as now
The fruits whereon we're fed!'
"But when their hair grew silvery white,
Sorrow their cot invaded,
And ravaged it then
As armies of men
Sack the defenceless town by night:-
Thus all Hope's blossoms faded!
From their little farm the stock was swept
By the owner of their land;
And the very bed on which they slept,
Was snatched by the bailiff's hand.
"One hope - one fond hope now was all
Each tender heart dared cherish-
That they might remain
Still linked by one chain,
And midst the sorrows that might befal,
Together live or perish.
But Want drove them on to the workhouse gate;
And when the door was pass'd
They found themselves doomed to separate-
To separate at last.
"And he fell sick:- she prayed in vain
To be where he was lying;
She poured forth her moan
Unto hearts of stone;
Never admittance she could gain
the room where he was dying!
Then into her brain the sad thoughts stole
That brain with anguish reeling-
That the great ones, judging by their own soul.
Think that paupers have no feeling.
"So, thus before the cheerless grate,
Watching the flick'ring ember
She rocked to and fro,
Her heart full of woe
For into that heart the arrow of fate
Pierced like the cold of December.
And though she sapped a morsel of bread,
She could not eat for crying;
Twas hard that she might not support the head
Of her much-lov'd husband dying!
"I stayed in the workhouse six weeks; and
could stand it no longer. I had to labour, and was half-starved. So one morning
I went to the Master, demanded my clothes, and was speedily retracing my steps
towards my old haunts. That evening I supped with Dick Flairer at the
boozing-ken on Saffron Hill ; and the same night we broke into a watchmaker's
shop in the City. We got seventeen pounds in money, and a dozen watches and
other trinkets, which we sold to the 'fence' in Field Lane for thirty guineas.
That was a good bargain for him! I then went and took up my quarters with Dick
Flairer at his lodgings; and in a few weeks I married his sister Mary. Six or
eight months afterwards poor Dick was killed; and —"
THE MYSTERIES OF THE GROUND-FLOOR ROOMS
THE Buffer was interrupted at this point by the return of his
wife, woo in spite of the protection of the Resurrection Man's umbrella, was
dripping wet.
We must observe that we have taken the liberty of altering
and improving the language, in which the Buffer delivered his autobiography, to
the utmost of our power: we have moreover embodied his crude ideas and reduced
his random observations into a tangible shape. We should add that the man was
not deficient in intellectual sharpness, in spite of the stolid expression of
his countenance; and thus the observations which he made relative to prison
discipline and the neglect of government to adopt means of preventing crime in
preference to punishing it when committed, need excite no astonishment in those
who peruse them.
But to return to the thread of our narrative.
When the Buffer's wife had taken a warm seat by the fire,
and comforted herself with a tolerably profound libation of steaming
gin-and-water, she proceeded to give an account of her mission.
"I went down to Globe Lane," she said; "and a
miserable walk it was, can assure you. The rain falls in torrents, and
the wind blows enough to carry the Monument into the Thames. By the time I got
down to the undertaker's house I was drenched. Then Banks wasn't at home; but
his wife asked me to stop till he came in; and as I thought that the business
was pressing, I agreed. I waited - and waited till I was tired: one hour passed
- then half an hour more; and I was just coming back when Banks walks in."
"And so you gave him the note," said the
Resurrection Man, who had listened somewhat impatiently to this prelude.
"Yes - I gave him the note," continued Moll Wicks;
"and he put on a pair of spectacles with round glasses as big as the
bottoms of wine-glasses. When he had read it, he said he would attend to it,
and should call his-self on you to-morrow morning by nine o'clock."
"Well and good," exclaimed the Resurrection Man.
"What are you going to do, Tony?" demanded the Rattlesnake.
"Never do you mind now," answered the Resurrection
Man. "I will tell you all to-morrow."
"But I haven't quite done yet," cried the Buffer's
wife. "Just as I came out of the undertaker's shop I met the surgeon that
attended upon the old gentleman at Mrs. Smith's. He beckoned me under an
archway, and asked when the old gentleman was going to be buried? I told him
that I knew nothing about it. He hesitated, and was going away; and then he
turned round suddenly, and said, 'Do you think your husband would mind a job
that would put ten pounds into his pocket?' I don't know whether he had ever
seen Jack, or not —"
"To be sure he has," interrupted the Buffer.
"Didn't I go to him when I cut my band with the hatchet, chopping wood one
day?"
"Ah! I forgot that," said Moll. " Well, so I
told him that my husband wasn't at all the man to refuse a ten pun' note; and
even then he didn't seem to like to trust me. But after a little more
hesitation, he says, says he, 'I should like to know what that old gentleman
died of; I can't make out at all. I wonder whether his friends would have any
objection to my opening the body; for I spoke to Mrs. Smith, and she won't hear
of it.' I told him that the poor old feller had no friends; but I saw very well
what the sawbones wanted; and so I says, 'Why don't you have him up again if so
be you want so partickler to know what he died of?' - 'That's just the very
thing,' he says. 'Do you think your husband would do the job? I once
knew a famous feller,' he says,
'one Anthony Tidkins' —"
"And so do I know him," interrupted the
Resurrection Man. "Doesn't he live in the Cambridge Road, not far from the
corner of Bethnal Green Road?"
"The same," answered the Buffer's wife.
"Well - what took place then?"
"He only told me to tell my husband to call upon him -
and that was all."
"Here's more work, you see, Jack," said the
Resurrection Man. "Leave this business to me. I'll take care and manage
it. When we meet to-morrow night, I'll explain all my plans about the money
this old fellow has left behind him; and then I'll tell you what arrangement
I've made with this surgeon. You must mind and be with me at nine tomorrow
night, Jack; because we won't keep young Markham waiting for us."
These last words were uttered with a low chuckle and an
expression of countenance that indicated but too well the diabolical hopes and
intentions of the Resurrection Man.
The Buffer and his wife then took leave of their friends,
and departed to their own abode.
"Now, Meg," said the Resurrection Man, "it is
nearly twelve o'clock; and you may get ready to go to bed. I am just going out
for a few minutes —"
"As usual, Tony," cried the Rattlesnake,
impatiently. "Why do you always go out now - every night?"
"I have told you over and over again not to pry into my
secrets," returned the Resurrection Man, furiously. " You mind your
own business, and only meddle in what I tell you to take a part; or else
—"
"Well, well, Tony - don't be angry now," said the
Rattlesnake, in her most wheedling tone. " I will never ask you any more
questions. Only I thought it strange that you should have gene out every night
for the last three weeks - no matter what weather —"
"And you may think it strange a little longer if you like,"
once more interrupted the terrible Resurrection Man, with a sinister lowering
of his countenance which checked the reply that was rising to the lips of his
companion.
The Rattlesnake lighted a candle, and passed into the
adjoining apartment.
The Resurrection Man poured some raw spirits into a wine
glass, tossed it off, and putting on his hat, left the room.
He descended the precipitate staircase leading to the front
door of the house, and in another moment reached the street.
Simply closing, without locking, the door behind him, he
turned sharply round into the dark alley which ran beneath a sombre and narrow
arch, along one side of the house.
But his footsteps, on this occasion, were closely followed
by the Rattlesnake.
Unable to restrain her curiosity any longer - and, perhaps,
influenced by other motives of a less superficial nature,- Margaret Flathers
had determined to follow her paramour this night; and, scarcely had he closed
the street door, when she was already at the bottom of the staircase.
The moment she stepped into the street, she saw the dark
form of the Resurrection Man turn down the alley above mentioned; and she
muttered to herself, "I thought so! and now perhaps I shall find out why
he never would allow me to set foot in the rooms of the lower storey."
The Resurrection Man passed half-way up the alley, and
taking a key from his pocket, proceeded to open a door that communicated with
the ground-floor of his singularly-built house.
He entered, and the Rattlesnake hurried up to the door. She
applied her ear to the key-hole - listened - and heard his footsteps echoing
upon the boarded floor of the back-room, in a few moments the grating of a
lucifer-match upon the wall met her ear; and applying her eye for a moment to
the key-hole, she saw that there was now a light within.
Impelled by an invincible curiosity, or other motives of a
powerful nature, - if not both, - the Rattlesnake cautiously raised the latch,
and opened the door to the distance of nearly a foot.
With the utmost care, she now ventured to look into the
interior of that part of the house, in respect to which a species of Blue-beard
restriction had existed for her ever since she first became the companion of
the Resurrection Man in that mysterious abode.
Glancing cautiously in, we say, she saw a small passage
communicating with two rooms - one at each end, front and back. The door of the
front room was closed: that of the back one was open. She accordingly directed
all her attention to the back-room.
Against the wall facing the door was a candle, burning in a
bright tin shade or reflector; and in the middle of the room, between the door
and the light, stood the Resurrection Man. He had his back towards the
Rattlesnake ; but she could watch all his proceedings with the greatest
facility.
And how strange were those proceedings! - The Resurrection
Man enveloped himself in a large dark cloak, and fixed a black cloth mask over
his countenance. He then advanced towards a cupboard, which he opened, and
whence be took several articles, the precise nature of which the Rattlesnake
could not ascertain, in consequence of the position in which her paramour was
then standing. She however observed that he placed those articles in a basket
at his feet; and when this task was accomplished, he lifted the basket in his
hand, and turned so abruptly round to leave the room, that the Rattlesnake
trembled from head to foot lest he should have caught a glimpse of her head
protruded through the opening of the door.
She drew herself back and pulled the door towards her. For a
moment she felt inclined to best a precipitate retreat to her own quarters; but
curiosity compelled her to remain.
What could mean that strange disguise? - Why that cloak ?-Wherefore
that mask ?- And what were the objects which the Resurrection Man had consigned
to his basket ?- Lastly, whither was he going?
With the most extreme caution she again pushed the door
partly open, and again did she glance into the interior of that mysterious
division of the house.
But all was now dark; the light had disappeared, or was
extinguished, and the place was involved in total obscurity.
Nevertheless, all was not silent. The measured tread of
receding footsteps fell upon the woman's ear: those sounds seemed to come from
heavy feet descending stone stairs.
Fainter and fainter became the sounds, until at length they
merged into the low wind, which whistled gloomily and monotonously through the
lower part of the house.
Margaret Flathers felt alarmed: she scarcely knew why.
Was it that being aware of the diabolical character of the Resurrection
Man, she naturally associated his present strange proceedings with some deed of
darkness whose very mystery made her shudder?
Was it that she trembled at the idea of being in the power
of a miscreant whose ability to work evil seemed as unbounded as his
inclination?
Suddenly her thoughts received an interruption which was by
no means calculated to tranquillize her mind.
A scream, apparently coming from the very bowels of the
earth, echoed through the lower part of that house - a scream expressive of an
agony so intense, an anguish so acute, that it smote even her hardened and
ruthless heart!
That scream was not repeated; but its echoes rang long
throughout the place, and vibrated in a strange and terrible manner on the ears
of the Rattlesnake.
Then followed low mutterings, in a hoarse and subdued tone;
but as they gradually grew louder, she could recognise the menacing voice of
the Resurrection Man.
Fear now completely triumphed over the motives which had
induced the woman to seek to penetrate into the secrets of her paramour. The
dark cloak - the black mask - the basket - the piercing scream - and the
threatening voice, all combined to bewilder her imagination, and fill her with
vague but not less terrible alarms.
Hastily closing the door, she retreated with precipitate
speed from the dark alley, and ascended the steep staircase leading to the
upper rooms of the house.
To throw off her clothes and betake herself to rest was the
occupation of but a few minutes: nevertheless, as she laid aside her garments,
she cast timid and furtive glances behind her - as if she were afraid that her
eyes would encounter some horrible spectre - or some masked figure of appalling
aspect.
In a quarter of an hour after she had returned from the
contemplation of those mysterious proceedings that had filled her mind with
such ineffable horror, the Resurrection Man entered the bed-room.
A light was burning upon the table, and when the door opened
the Rattlesnake glanced with profound terror in that direction - for she feared
lest he should appear in his long dark cloak and black mask. She was inured to
crime ;- but it was that crime which she could contemplate face to face; and
thus the idea that she was in a house where deeds of unknown horror and
machinations of an undefined degree of blackness were the business of the
terrible man with whom her fortunes were now linked, prostrated all her
courage, and filled her with alarms the more profound, because so ominously
vague.
In order to avoid the risk of betraying her trepidation to
the Resurrection Man, she soon affected to fall asleep; and, when at length
slumber really overtook her, her dreams were filled with gaunt forms clad in
long black cloaks, and wearing upon their countenances dark masks, through the
holes of which their eyes glared with fearful brightness.