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.