“Death made no conquest of this man,
For now he lives in fame, though not in life.”
At the time James—or, as he afterwards was popularly called “Jemmy,” or, “Old Jemmy” Catnach commenced business in Seven Dials it took all the prudence and tact which he could command to maintain his position, as at that time “Johnny” Pitts,[6] of the Toy and Marble Warehouse, No. 6, Great St. Andrew street, was the acknowledged and established printer of street literature for the “Dials” district; therefore, as may be easily imagined, a powerful rivalry and vindictive jealousy soon arose between these “two of a trade”—most especially on the part of “Old Mother” Pitts, who is described as being a coarse and vulgar-minded personage, and as having originally followed the trade of a bumboat woman at Portsmouth: she “wowed wengeance” against the young fellow in the court for daring to set up in their business, and also spoke of him as a young “Catsnatch,” “Catblock,” “Cut-throat,” and many other opprobrious terms which were freely given to the new comer. Pitts’ staff of “bards” were duly cautioned of the consequences which would inevitably follow should they dare to write a line for Catnach—the new cove up the court. The injunction was for a time obeyed, but the “Seven Bards of the Seven Dials” soon found it not only convenient, but also more profitable to sell copies of their effusions to both sides at the same time, and by keeping their own counsel they avoided detection, as each printer accused the other of obtaining an early sold copy, and then reprinting it with the utmost speed, which was in reality often the case, as “Both Houses” had emissaries on the constant look-out for any new production suitable for street-sale. Now, although this style of “double dealing” and competition tended much to lessen the cost price to the “middle-man” or vendor, the public in this case did not get any of the reduction, as a penny broadside was still a penny, and a quarter-sheet still a halfpenny to them, the “street-patterer” obtaining the whole of the reduction as extra profit.
The feud existing between these rival publishers, who have been somewhat aptly designated as the Colburn and Bentley of the “paper” trade, never abated, but, on the contrary, increased in acrimony of temper, until at last not being content to vilify each other by “Words! words!! words!!!” alone, they resorted to printing off virulent lampoons, in which Catnach never failed to let the world know that “Old Mother Pitts” had been formerly a bumboat woman, while the Pitt’s party announced that:—
“All the boys and girls around,
Who go out prigging rags and phials,
Know Jemmy Catsnatch!!! well,
Who lives in a back slum in the Dials.
He hangs out in Monmouth Court,
And wears a pair of blue-black breeches,
Where all the “Polly Cox’s crew” do resort
To chop their swag for badly printed Dying Speeches.”
But however, in spite of all the opposition and trade rivalry, Catnach persevered; he worked hard, and lived hard, and was fitted to the stirring times. The Peninsular wars had just concluded, politics and party strife ran high, squibs, lampoons, and political ballads were the order of the day, and he made money. But he had weighty pecuniary family matters to bear up with, as thus early in his career, his father’s sister also joined them, and they all lived and huddled together in the shop and parlour of No. 2, Monmouth-court. He did a small and very humble trade as a jobbing master, printing and publishing penny histories, street-papers, and halfpenny songs, relying for their composition on one or two out of the known “Seven Bards of the Seven Dials,” and when they were on the drink, or otherwise not inclined to work, being driven to write and invent them himself.
The customers who frequented his place of business were for the most part of the lowest grades of society:—those who by folly, intemperance, and crime, had been reduced to the greatest penury. Anyone with a few coppers in his pockets could easily knock out an existence, especially when anything sensational was in the wind.
The great excitement throughout the country caused by the melancholy death of the Princess Charlotte, on the sixth day of November, 1817, was an event of no ordinary description. It was, indeed, a most unexpected blow, the shining virtues, as well as the youth and beauty of the deceased, excited an amount of affectionate commiseration, such as probably had never before attended the death of any royal personage in England.
The Seven Dials Press was busily engaged in working off “papers” descriptive of every fact that could be gleaned from the newspapers, and that was suitable for street sale. Catnach was not behind his compeers, as he published several statements in respect to the Princess’s death, and made the following lines out of his own head! And had, continued our informant—a professional street-ballad writer—“wood enough left for as many more”:—