Chapter 1
'AGE 1. THE TRAMP FAMILY - - I II. FAMILY .MISFORTUNES - 14 111. \ FAMILY THF.FT - " " 39 IV. TOM THE TINKER - - 52 V. THE LADY ON THE BEACH - - - 60 VI. IOM AND THE CRIPPLE - - 76 VII. A FAMILY DISCOVERY - - 96 \ III. CHANCES - - - - - 126 IX. THE COAL REACHED - - - Ij2 OR, JACK THE TINKER.
CHAPTER I. THE TRAMP FAMILY.
Let me introduce you to Jack the Travelling Tinker. He is dressed in a fustian coat, dirty corduroy trousers, and a small fur cap. He is thin and wiry, and his grizzled shaggy hair looks as if it were seldom any comb came in contact with it. His hands and face are very brown. ' Wife,' he says to a woman standing by him, ' don't 'ee think 'tis time we had a bit of food ? I begins to feel peckish like. We've just had a long day, old gal. These 'ere Downs makes a man vamishin' — more like a wolf than a human creatir. I do hopes now you've looked arter plenty of grub ; for, talk about children eatin', we gets through enough for three on 'em,' and he heaved a deep sigh. 1 Well, Jack, I'm just about glad you are tired at last of trampin' all day long ; and such a poor day we've had too ! I only got three shillings in coppers ; and one old stingy thing sent me out a bit of skim cheese and a dry crust o' bread.
I just threw it over into her fine garden, to teach she a lesson to give tramp-folk such stuff. One grand young spark, with his ring a-sparklin' on his white hand, who I thought looked likely, when I said, " My dear young gentleman, do 'ee want your fortune told ; heaps of fine things for 'ee another day with such a handsome face. Now, dear sir, jist a bit of silver in my palm, my sweet young gentleman," he turned round that fierce and said : " Old woman, who do you think you are speaking to ?" Old woman ! I could have spoil'd his pretty face, only I was afraid of the bobby, and thought it was best to move off.' ' Come, come — don't be that there spiteful ; we knows 'tis only the silly ones who gets takin' in with your nonsense. I rather likes the young fellow for a-showin' his good sense.
We shall have a fine house one of these days, and you a drivin' in a spring cart; for I means to go in for the rag and bone trade, then you can sort the rags, and many's a bit of finery you'll find for yourself, lass, I can tell ee. ' Won't that there be grand, Jack,' answered Betty, ' to live in a real house ? I shall want to sit up all night to admire 'em. I don't feel quite safe about our money in this 'ere van. If anybody should get hold of it, it 'ud be a bad look-out for us. There be danger a-campin' agin these 'ere dark lonely woods. I — I'd have ye know, hubby, that the old teapot is quite full of yellow boys, and two more to add.' ' Don't trouble about the tin always. Whose a-goin' to have it when we be gone, do 'ee think ? Come, let's eat,' remarked the man. Upon which the woman quickly spread out some meat and bread, also a good hunch of cheese.
She then produced from her basket a little black bottle of whisky, ' to wash it down,' as Betty said : both partook of it. While they are finishing their supper, I will take the opportunity of describing the woman and the travelling home. She is a very good specimen of a gipsy woman. Such an one that you may often meet with in the country. They carry a basket on the right shoulder, fastened by a strap, which basket is generally filled with cottons, needles, cheap lace, hair brushes, trumpery jewellery, combs, and many useful things for servants. She was dressed in a dark stuff gown, with a smart red handkerchief over her shoulders, and a bonnet hanging back on her head. Her face had a crafty expression ; but her bright eyes twinkled with fun. She made a considerable deal of money, by selling pieces for dresses to some of the under servants at the 'great houses,' who had not the ready money, and were very much delighted to be allowed to take the dress, paying two shillings or so a month.
In the end, consequently, they paid half as much again as they ought, because they would not save sufficient to pay at once. Betty very rightly said that if she had to call so many times, she must be paid double the price they would give at a shop. Her husband was a tinker by trade, and not at all a bad mender in his way. Jack was ever welcomed by the cooks. It saved them so much trouble to have the kettles mended at the house, instead of send ing them into the town, often some miles away ; for it was chiefly in the country that Jack plied his trade. Then cook was generally good-natured, and liked to hear a little gossip ; also kindly allowed her kitchen-maids to look at his wife's basket, and buy if they liked. The young girls were also ever ready to have their fortunes told for a small silver coin.
No fear here of a policeman, and it amused them for a little time. Their home was a big van, fitted up with a little stove for cooking, a bed at one end, with benches round (really boxes) to serve for chairs. Both Betty and Jack were what is called ' a good sort ' — the man little given to swear ing ; the woman never, moreover she was sober and industrious. To account for this I must go back to her early life. Her parents were labourers, they lived in a little cottage in the heart of the village, some forty years ago, before bread was cheap as it is now. They had ten children; and those were very hard times. The eldest girl ' Betty.'the present wife of Jack Marsh, was obliged to stay at home, nurse the younger children, boil the kettle, and cook the potatoes — which were nearly the only food they had.
Wheaten bread was two shillings a gallon ; and therefore not to be had when the father earned only eight shillings a week. Barley bread was also very dear. Betty's mother always worked in the fields, some times even shepherding, and Betty when she could leave the little ones safe, was allowed by her father's master to go into a field close by to pick stones, for which she was paid a penny a basket. She had been sent to school as a young child, to be out of the way ; but, when five, she was taken from school to help to nurse the baby ; consequently she never had the opportunity of learning to read. In those days people were not obliged to send their children to school as they are now. When she grew older, her mother was only too thankful to get her a situation at a gentle man's house. Her occupation was chiefly to feed the poultry.
Her mistress found her attentive, and clever in managing the chickens; she, being very fond of animals herself, often noticed the girl with the rosy face and pleasant smile ; who was ever ready to fetch water or anything that might be required. 'Would you like to come into the house, and learn to wash dishes, and clean the floors ; for our kitchen-maid is ill ?' said the lady, one day. ' Oh, ma'am, do you really mean I could learn ? I should be so thankful,' said the poor girl, blushing. ' Cook says you are always attentive to what she asks you to do, and she is good enough to say she will try you, if I approve.' ' Thank you, ma'am,' and she dropped a curtsey, nearly to the ground. So next morning Betty was taken into the scullery, and shown how to wash and scrub properly. It was not long before she was found very useful, and in course of time was promoted to be kitchen-maid.
But here her advancement in service was suddenly cut short. A tinker, a handsome looking man, was continually coming to the door. Betty met him frequently, and although he was only a tinker and tramped the country, she thought, (like most girls, especially very young ones), it would be grand to be married. He told her many flattering tales. The poor girl knew, if in case of illness, and she had to go home, no one was able to keep her, and she was unable to save on three pounds a year, and she felt she could not go back to field work again. She was now only sixteen, and one morning she told her mistress she wished to leave, to get married. 'Who to, Betty?' inquired the lady. ' Surely a child like you can never think of such a thing ?' ' Jack Marsh, the tinker, ma'am ; and I said I would. Jack teased me so, and at last I replied Yes, to get rid of him.' ' But do you know your own mind ?' asked her mistress. ' Remember at present you are well fed and neatly clothed ; if you marry Jack Marsh, he will follow his calling, expect you to take your share, and carry a basket.
Again, think of your parents, al though they are very poor, yet your father has worked on one farm for many years, and is an honest, respectable labourer. I doubt if he would like to see his daughter marry a gipsy ; as he would term Jack. Wait a little, Betty ; there is plenty of time for you. Take my advice, and wait a year or two. The good advice of her mistress, however, was quite lost on Betty. She was determined, and in five weeks, without any thought of the future, and greatly against her parents' wishes, she married Jack Marsh. Her new home con sisted of an old covered van drawn by a blind horse, bought for four pounds ; (a pound a leg, as Jack laughingly remarked), a table and benches, with a few necessary articles of furniture— with these they started in life. Her former mistress, though greatly vexed, out of kindness, gave her a dark dress, and a white bonnet trimmed with white ribbon.
She also Ssave the wedding dinner ; for the tinker had a good character round the neigh bourhood. The reality of married life with Jack was very different from Betty's dream, the walking, in all the dirt, from door to door was a sad, weary business. And though Jack's de meanour was not actually harsh, yet it was very different from that of the lover; especially when she could not sell her goods. By-and-by she learned to understand the way to tell fortunes, or pretend to do so, making silly girls believe what was not true ; but the business answered very well ; and thus after a while, by this means, she obtained several shillings a day. Now, Jack called her a ' a clever girl,' and in his rough fashion treated her much better, and was fond of her. But she often wished herself even back again in the fields, picking up stones ; or better still, with her kind mistress, whose gentle words she often recalled — ' Marry in haste and repent at leisure ;' this was her case.
Presently a little baby came. The father was proud of his rosy boy ; the poor mother, however, had an additional burden to carry besides her basket ; but people pitied her, and bought many more articles than for merly. Time went on, and another child — a little girl — was born to her. It was a trial to Betty, although she loved her children as much as the greatest lady in the land. She was a devoted mother. Her little ones played by the van, and they throve, as all tramp children seem to do. Jack's first lesson to his children, as soon as they could lisp, was to teach them to beg pennies of ladies. They ran about without shoes or stockings ; Betty found it was im possible to keep anything tidy on them, so she gave up in despair, and allowed the children to run about with very little clothing.
They were camping by the side of a beautiful wood, to the children's great de light — for nothing pleased them mere than chasing one another through the paths which were in it, playing at hide and seek, and above all, climbing the grand old trees. Jack had bought a donkey for his children, of another tinker ; and from that time forward, the existence of the poor animal could not be said to be a very happy one. These children were rarely separated. Their father's faithful dog was another companion, as he generally followed them ; unless he was told to mind the van — then woe to anyone who ventured to touch it ! This particular day it was very warm, and Betty, thinking it would be better to leave her pets with the van than to drag them in the hot sun into the village, especially as she expected their father soon, said : ' Now, my dears, mind you stay by the van ; daddy will be here directly.' ' We'll stay here and feed the donkey, and I'll take care of sis,' screeched out the boy, trundling himself along upon the grass, and finishing by standing on his head — a feat he had acquired at the last fair they visited, and of which he was very proud.
Betty laughed, and answered : ' Mind you do, or else won't you catch it when I come back — your dad will warm you.' And with a smile of fond love, she left them. They knew their mammy's bark was worse than her bite.
Chapter II. Family Misfortunes
After a time the spirit of mischief seized Bill (that was the boy's name), he got tired of feeding the donkey, and of jumping over Farmer Jones's hedge. Sissie, meanwhile, was gathering the wild snapdragons and fastening them together with the pretty grasses that grew in great profusion all around her. She wanted to make the donkey pretty, she said (when Bill suggested they should take a little ride). ' I will finish his 'reath, poor old fellow; and I don't want to ride. Mammy said, " Stay here," answered the little girl. ' Close, she meant.' ' I'm sure this down is close,' said Bill ; 'we can see the van, the old horse, and the fire. Come, Siss 1' And he commenced to sing : ' " Baby, baby bunting, Daddy's gone a hunting, To get a little rabbit-skin, To wrap the baby bunting in The little tempter succeeded ; and so at length, being overruled by him, she consented.
He rode fearlessly, as most of these gipsy children do ; in fact, his great ambition was to be an acrobat, and he gave his mother many a fright, by finding him in perilous situations — such as getting on the top of the van, climbing very high trees, and many other equally worrying things. Sissie was of a much quieter nature — she liked to be petted by her parents, to kiss the donkey, and roll about on the grass. A pretty picture she made, with her golden curls all in confusion falling over her face ; which, if it had not been so tanned by the sun, would have been very fair ; two little bare feet peeped out from under her old, torn frock. He put her up behind him, and began to gallop along the downs. She had much of her mother's gentle nature, and being greatly frightened, held tightly to her brother.
Bill got tired of this amusement. ' Let us go down to the pond,' said he ; ' it is melting this afternoon. Won't it be fun to swim ? I wish I was a fish. I'll teach you to splash just like one — you only want to kick out your legs and arms like a frog.' ' I won't go into the pond — I don't want to be a fish. I'll tell daddy, I will. I'll run back to the van.' But Bill by this time had turned the donkey's head in the direc tion of the pond. ' I won't go ; let me get off' But he took no notice, only saying : ' Shan't. It will be no use to scream.' ' I'll tell daddy,' the child cried. ' Cry baby ! Tell Tom Tit, I shall have your tongue slit, And all the street dogs Shall have a little bit." ' Thus teased, the poor little girl at length gave in to her brother. Presently he said : ' We can get down to the pond and back before fader comes.' So, in great haste, he made the donkey go as fast as he could to the pond.
Here he quickly undressed his sister, and slipping off his own clothes, jumped into the pond, dragging the little frightened girl with him. ' Do take me out — I don't like it,' said the little one. But now the boy had got to a very dangerous part of the pond. It was there of considerable depth ; four feet at least. There was a peculiarity about this pond ; it had never once been known to be dry, even during the hottest summer, in the recollection of the oldest man in the place. The poor boy found that he was sinking ; he could not reach the steep bank, but slipped back again and again ; and at last awaking to his danger, he gave a terrific scream. In his endeavour to reach the bank, his little sister had floated from him and was sinking. A labourer who had been workings a little distance from the van, behind a hedge, had noticed the children.
He now heard the piercing scream, and hastened in the direction of the sound. He ran as fast as he could to the pond, and see ing the donkey quietly grazing, at once jumped to the conclusion that the children were in the water. He knew its danger, and his heart sank ; when he arrived breathless at the pond, he could render no assistance. The children had evidently sunk. He seized the donkey. and rode off to a neighbouring farm-house at the bottom of the hill. ' Help ! help — two children are drownin',' he called out to the first man he met. He had now got to the house, and the two men rushed into the barn, and one took a •. — pole, the other a rope. Nothing could be seen of the poor little ones when they at length arrived at the pond. But after search ing for nearly a quarter of an hour they dis covered them lying together ; both of them, of course, quite dead.
By this time several other men from the neighbouring fields had come up ; amongst them the wretched father. No tongue can describe his agony. ' Send for a doctor ! Oh save — oh save my children ! Everything I've got I'll give to the man who will fetch a doctor.' Then the poor fellow fell on his knees, rubbed the children, and tried to get life into them again ; but it was of no use, they were quite past recovery. He seemed out of his mind ; the men were obliged to hold him. A hurdle was fetched from a field near, and the poor little darlings were carried to the nearest public-house, the White Hen, till the next day, when an inquest was held, and the verdict, 'Accidentally drowned,' given. The poor mother returning from the village saw the faithful dog under the van, but no husband or children to be seen.
She thought they might be getting some furze to make the kettle boil, so she quietly sat down to rest a little while. Presently she saw a gentleman riding furi ously along the road, at the top of the Downs. When he saw her he reined up his horse, and said : ' My good woman, can you tell me where the children are that were found in the Down Pond ? I came off in such haste I did not inquire to which of the two lone cottages the children belong — the one on the hill you see yonder,' pointing with his riding-whip, ' or the one by Mr. Goods's farm.' ' What children, sir ?' questioned the woman. ' My good woman, it is a matter of life and death, I cannot stop to gossip. Good-day,' and he rode off in the direction of a party of men just then coming up. They told him where the children were lying.
But no doctor (for it was he) could restore their lives. The woman's curiosity being aroused, she followed him and joined the party, little dreaming it was her own pets they were talking about ; firmly thinking her children were helping their daddy, and would soon return with the heath and furze on the donkey. As she neared the group of men, she heard one say : ' Poor 'oman, I ain't got the heart to tell her ; I only wishes like the parson was here.' ' But somebody must, Tom ; 'tis a mortal bad job like,' replied another rough but kind hearted man. And now the infuriated father, mad with rage and grief, with no fear of God before his eyes, broke from the group of men who had prevented his wife seeing him, and rushed towards her. ' Wife, wife — you've killed our children, and now I'll kill you, and then throw myself into the pond ; I can't live without them.' Upon these words he caught up a large stone from the ground, and threw it with all his force at his wife, but it fortunately missed her ; and seeing this, he sprang forward and gave her a terrific blow on the shoulder.
Tht poor woman fell down and moaned with pain. ' Jack, Jack — what have I done ?' she cried, recovering herself a little. He replied by saying : ' Give me back my children. Why did you leave them before I came back ?' But one of the men, a big brawny fellow, caught hold of his arm, which was raised to strike again the trembling woman, and said : ' Man, you be mad : remember what you are cloin'. Ain't she your wife ? and think what the poor soul will have to bear. Poor crea ture, she couldn't help the young uns runnin' off. Thank God that you got herP "Look! she has fainted;' for the poor woman was stretched on the grass as if dead. At once the man's anger vanished ; he knelt beside her, kissed her white lips, while another man, who had brought brandy for the children, poured a little into her mouth.
Gradually she revived, and seemed to know it was her own children who were dead. ' Jack, tell me everything, it will do me good ; if you do not it will kill me.' Then, in comforting tones, the man who had heard the scream told her how he rushed to the pond, but the children had disappeared. He went on to inform her how help came too late ; and lastly, that the dead bodies had been conveyed to the nearest public house. ' I thought their father would be home directly, or I should never have dreamed of leaving them alone. What shall I do ? Kill me, Jack, if you will ; I have nothing left in this world to live for. I can't go back to the van without my darlings; at every turn I shall be reminded of them.' But now the man's better nature exhibited itself. The woman in her misery had natur ally turned to her husband. ' Never mind, old q-'u\ ; don't take on so.
I won't lay a finger on you, don't be afraid. I was just mad-like a bit ago ; but forgive me for hurtin' you. I'll try and forget the little tins, may be 'tis best for 'em ; and you and I 'ill do our best to get along together.' He drew his coat-sleeve across his face to hide, what looked very like tears. 'Ask God to help you to bear it,' whispered the man who before had spoken. ' Remember job— he lost everything, yet he kept close to God — and comfort one another.' ' But I must see my children,' said the half frantic mother. ' Not just yet, my good woman,' replied a voice. She recognised the gentleman who had enquired of her about the accident. The two were begged to sleep in the vdlage that night. Several offered — for the poor are ever kind to each other when they are in trouble. But they refused; the husband saying : ' Are you afraid to come to the van, old girl, with me ?' ' No, no, Jack !
I have been with you for the last seven years, and I will not leave you now, although you did strike me to the ground.' ' I was out of my mind— 'twas such a stunnin' blow,' replied her husband. ' Grief was too much for the likes of I. I can't take it quiet like. I bain't a gentleman, lass. I always thinks they takes a pride in not appearin' to mind much, leastways before other folks.' At length the unhappy couple were per suaded to take some tea and to lie down ; after which the men left them alone in their sorrow. They had both loved their children dearly, therefore their grief was terrible. It was not like that of many of their class, who often say of their offspring : ' Ah ! poor little child ; a happy release it is gone.' They communicated everything to each other respecting the children.
Jack informed his wife that he had been detained longer than he expected in the village ; Betty had gone off quite easy in her mind, believing her husband would be home shortly. Although these people were tramps, yet the woman had not forgotten all her old Sunday-school days, tor her mother had managed to spare her an hour in the afternoon. Now many of the old hymns she there learnt came to her remembrance ; one especially : ' A little ship was on the sea, It was a pleasant sight, It sailed along so merrily, And all was calm and bright. ' When lo ! a storm began to rise — : The storm had come in her life. Fhe had been like the ship, ' sailing along merrily ;' very hard worked it is true, and often foot-sore and weary, but blessed with plenty to eat and drink, a good husband for her class, and her two sweet children.
Now her husband had raised his hand and struck her, and her two darlings were gone, as it were in a moment. But she raised her heart to Jesus, and prayed God He would give her strength to bear these trials through Him, and by her forgiving spirit and God's help draw Jack to think of the home where his children had gone — flowers gathered by the Master's hand to bloom in his Kingdom. Betty did not attempt to undress, but threw herself on her bed ; she could not, however, sleep. At length she rose and knelt by it, a thing she had never had courage to do before Jack, until to-night ; and she thanked God for sparing her life, even when she had been so wicked as to say she would rather die. Jack was sleeping, or pretend ing to do so, on one of the benches that were arranged on either side of the van.
About religion these two differed. She used to attend church once a day at least on Sun day, until she was sixteen ; but after her marriage her husband would not allow her, even when they were quite within reach of a place of worship. He maintained that tramp-folk must not go with the grand people to such a fine place as a church. He had never been, nor must she ; there was plenty of work to be done on a Sun day in the van. Another thing, he said, he did not require religion ! he could do very well without it, and so must she. Naturally weak and yielding she followed his commands. Jack certainly did no tinkering on Sundays ; but if it was fine he liked to sit idlingon the grass, smoke his pipe, and drink his beer. Sometimes they camped near other tramps. Upon these occasions little parties were held ; so in one way and another Betty had been quite cut off from all religious instruction.
At first she missed it exceedingly ; but after a while she became quite indifferent about it. A great misfortune, too, for Betty — she could not read. And thus, after the birth of her children, she concerned herself little about religion, as she found Sunday a very convenient day to do her washing. So gradually the love of good things vanished out of her mind, and foolish songs, caught up at fairs, were more often on her lips on the Lord's day than hymns. One good thing, however, she accomplished, she coaxed, and finally persuaded her husband to allow the children to be christened. ' It can't do the little ones any harm, and I should like my children to be named like other folk,' she pleaded. Jack could see no ' harm in indulging his wife's foolish fancy,' as he said, ' in this.' Consequently one Sunday, in a little out of-the-way village, the children were received into the Church, and named Bill and Sissy.
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You’ve reached the end of The Tramp Family; or, Jack the tinker.