A cotton spinner (who had subsequently been
a soldier), whose appearance was utterly
abject, was the next person questioned. He
was tall, and had been florid-looking (judging
from his present complexion). His coat — very
old and worn, and once black — would
not button, and would have hardly held together
if buttoned. He was out at elbows, and some
parts of the collar were pinned together.
His waistcoat was of a match with his coat,
and his trousers were rags. He had some shirt,
as was evident by his waistcoat, held together
by one button. A very dirty handkerchief
was tied carelessly round his neck. He was
tall and erect, and told his adventures with
heartiness.
![[Click on image to enlarge]](../../images/victorian/scripture2.jpg)
"I am thirty-eight," he said,
and have been a cotton-spinner, working at
Chorlton-upon Medlock. I can neither read
nor write. When I was a young man, twenty
years ago, I could earn 2l. 10s.,
>> note 1 clear
money, every week, after paying two piecers
>> note 2 and
a scavenger. Each piecer had 7s. 6d.
>> note 3 a
week — they are girls; the scavenger—a
boy to clean the wheels of the cotton-spinning
machine — had 2s. 6d. I was master
of them wheels in the factory. This state
of things continued until about the year
1837. I lived well and enjoyed myself,
being a hearty man, noways a drunkard,
working every day from half-past five in
the morning till half-past seven at night — long
hours, that time, master. I didn't
care about money as long as I was decent
and respectable. I had a turn for sporting
at the wakes
>> note 4 down
there. In 1837, the "self-actors" (machines with steam power) had
come into common use. One girl can mind three pairs — that used to
be three men's work — getting 15s. for the work which gave three
men 7l. 10s. Out of one factory 400 hands were flung in one week, men and
women together. We had a meeting of the union,
>> note 5 but
nothing could be done, and we were told to go and mind the three pairs, as
the girls did, for 15s a week. We wouldn't do that. Some went for soldiers,
some to sea, some to Stoppard (Stockport) where the "self-actors" weren't
agait.
>> note 6 The
masters there wouldn't have them — at least, some of them. Manchester
was full of them: but one gentleman in Hulme still won't have them, for
he says he won't turn the men out of bread. I 'listed for a soldier
in the 48th. I liked a soldier's life very well until I got flogged — 100
lashes for selling my kit
>> note 7 (for
a spree),
>> note 8 and
150 for striking a corporal, who called me an English robber. He was an Irishman.
I was confined five days in the hospital after each punishment. It was terrible.
It was like a bunch of razors cutting at your back. Your flesh was dragged
off by the cats. Flogging was then very common in the regiment. I was flogged
in I840. To this day I feel a pain in the chest from the triangles. I was
discharged from the army about two years ago, when the reduction took place.
I was only flogged the times I've told you. I had no pension and no friends.
I was discharged in Dublin. I turned to, and looked for work. I couldn't
get any, and made my way for Manchester. I stole myself aboard of a steamer,
and hid myself till she got out to sea, on her way from Dublin to Liverpool.
When the captain found me there, he gave me a kick and some bread, and told
me to work, so I worked for my passage twenty-four hours. He put me ashore
at Liverpool. I slept in the union that night — nothing to eat and
nothing to cover me — no fire; it was winter. I
walked to Manchester, but could get nothing to do there, though I was twelve
months knocking about. It wants a friend and a character to get work. I slept
in unions in Manchester, and had oatmeal porridge for breakfast, work at
grinding logwood in the mill, from six to twelve, and then turn out. That
was the way I lived chiefly; but I got a job sometimes in driving cattle,
and 3d. for it, — or 2d. for carrying baskets in the vegetable markets;
and went to Shoedale Union at night. I would get a pint of coffee and half-a-pound
of bread, and half-a-pound of bread in the morning, and no work. I took to
travelling up to London, half-hungered on the road — that was last
winter — eating turnips out of this field, and carrots out of that,
and sleeping under hedges and haystacks. I slept under one haystack, and
pulled out the hay to cover me, and the snow lay on it a foot deep in the
morning. I slept for all that, but wasn't I froze when I woke? An old
farmer came up with his cart and pitchfork to load hay. He said: "Poor
fellow! have you been here all night?" I answered, "Yes." He
gave me some coffee and bread, and one shilling. That was the only good friend
I met with on the road. I got fourteen days of it for asking a gentleman
for a penny; that was in Stafford. I got to London after that, sleeping in
unions sometimes, and begging a bite here and there. Sometimes I had to walk
all night. I was once forty-eight hours without a bite, until I got hold
at last of a Swede turnip, and so at last I got to London. Here I've
tried up and down everywhere for work as a labouring man, or in a foundry.
I tried London Docks, and Blackwall, and every place; but no job. At one
foundry, the boiler-makers made a collection of 4s. for me. I've walked
the streets for three nights together. Here, in this fine London, I was refused
a night's lodging in Shoreditch and in Gray's-inn-lane. A policeman,
the fourth night, at twelve o'clock, procured me a lodging, and gave
me 2d. I couldn't drag on any longer. I was taken to a doctor's in
the city. I fell in the street from hunger and tiredness. The doctor ordered
me brandy and water' 2s. 6d., and a quartern
>> note 9 loaf,
and some coffee, sugar, and butter. He said, what I ailed was hunger. I made
that run out as long as I could, but I was then as bad off as ever. It's
hard to hunger for nights together. I was once in "Steel" (Coldbath-fields)
>> note 10 for
begging. I was in Tothill-fields for going into a chandler's shop, asking
for a quartern loaf and half a pound of cheese, and walking out with it.
I got a month for that. I have been in Brixton for taking a loaf out of a
baker's basket, all through hunger. Better a prison than to starve. I
was well treated because I behaved well in prison. I have slept in coaches
when I had a chance. One night on a dunghill, covering the stable straw about
me to keep myself warm. This place is a relief, I shave the poor people and
cut their hair, on a Sunday. I was handy at that when I was a soldier. I
have shaved in public-houses for halfpennies. Some landlords kicks me out.
Now, in the days, I may pick up a penny or two that way, and get here of
a night. I met two Manchester men in Hyde Park on Saturday, skating. They
asked me what I was. I said, "A beggar." They gave me 2s. 6d.,
and I spent part of it for warm coffee and other things. They knew all about
Manchester, and knew I was a Manchester man by my talk.'