“‘Why is mahogany like flannel?’ ‘Because they are both used to manufacture into drawers;’ and then we do this rhyme, ‘Because mahogany makes drawers to put your clothes in, and flannel makes drawers to put your toes in.’
“Perhaps we do another conundrum, such as this:—‘Supposing you nigger was dead, what would be the best time to bury you?’ One says, ‘I shan’t suppose.’ Another says, ‘I don’t know.’ And then I say, ‘Why, the latter end of the summer;’ and one asks, ‘Why, Jim?’ ‘Because it’s the best time for blackberrying.’ Then I cry out, ‘Now, you niggers, go on with the consort;’ and one of them will add, ‘Now, Jim, we’ll have that lemoncholy song of Dinah Clare, that poor girl that fell in the water-butt and got burnt to death.’
“Another of our dialogues is this one:—‘Did I ebber tell you about that lemoncholy occurrence, Mary Blane, the young girl that died last night in the house that was burned down this morning, and she’s gone to live in a garret?’ ‘I shall call and see her.’ ‘You can’t.’ ‘’Cos why?’ ‘’Cos she moved from where she lives now; she’s gone to live where she used to come from.’ ‘Did you ever see her broder Bill?’ ‘No; he’s dead.’ ‘What! broder Bill dead, too?’ ‘Yes; I seed him this morning, and axed him how he was.’ ‘Well, and what did he told you?’ ‘He told me he was wery well, thankye, and he was going to lib along with Dinah; and he’d only been married three weeks.’ So I asked him how many children he’d got. He said he’d only got one. So I said, ‘Dere something very dark about that, and I don’t think all goes right, if you was to have a son in three weeks.’ So he said, ‘Look you here, sir; if the world was made in six days, it’s debblish hard if we can’t make a son in three weeks.’ ‘Go on with the consort.’
“Another of our dialogues is this:—‘Did I ever tell you, Jim, about my going out a-riding?’ ‘Neber.’ ‘Well, then, I’ll told you, I had two dollars in my pocket.’ ‘Had you?’ ‘And I thought I’d do it gentleman-tell-like.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘So I went to the libery dealer.’ ‘Who?’ ‘The libery dealer—the man that keeps the horses’ stable.’ ‘Oh! golly! you mean the stable-man.’ ‘Yas. Well, I axed him if he could lend me a horse to ride on; so he said, he’d only got one horse.’ ‘Wall?’ ‘And that was a grey mare. I thought that would do just as well.’ ‘Of course.’ ‘And I axed him what that would cost me? and he said he should charge me two dollars for that—so I paid the two dollars.’ ‘Wall?’ ‘And he put me the spurs on my boots, and he put de bridle on the horse’s back.’ ‘The bridle on the horse’s back!—what did he do with the bit?’ ‘He neber had a bit at all; he put the stirrups in the mouth.’ ‘Now stop—you mean, he put the saddle on the back, and the bridle in the mouth.’ ‘I know it was something. Den they put me on the saddle, and my feet on the bridle.’ ‘You mean he put your foot in the stirrups.’ ‘So I went out very well.’ ‘So the mare begun for to gallop, so I caught hold of the turmel of the saddle.’ ‘The tummel!’ ‘Yes, Jim, the tummel.’ ‘No, no; you means the pummel.’ ‘Wall, hab it the pummel—you knows—but, but, I know, I’m right. So I caught hold of the mane, and I got on berry well till I come to a hill, when the mare began to gollop hard down the hill, because she was shy.’ ‘What was she shy at?’ ‘She saw a new-found-out-land dog crossing the wood.’ ‘A new-found-out-land dog crossing the road!’ ‘Yes; so I thought I’d try and stop her: so I stuck my knees into her side, and my spur into her, and by golly, she went too fast.’ ‘And did she now?’ ‘Till she falled down and broke her knees.’ ‘Poor thing!’ ‘Aye, and pitched poor nigger on his head; so I got up and tought I’d take the debil of a mare back to the stable. So when I got back I told the libbery man about it.’ ‘Yas, the stable-man.’ ‘And he said I must pay 2l. 10s.’ ‘What for?’ ‘For repairing the mare; so I said I wouldn’t; so he said he would take me before the court, and I said he might take me down the alley, if he liked; so I thought I had better go and insult a man ob de law about it. So I went to the man ob the law’s house and pulled at the servant, and out comed the bell.’ ‘No; you means pulled the bell, and out comed the servant. Wall?’ ‘I said, ‘Can you conform me is de man ob de law at home?’ so she told me he was out, but the man ob de law’s wife was at home, so down she come. So I said I wanted to insult the man ob de law, and she said, ‘Insult me; I do just as well.’ So she says, ‘Plane yourself.’ So I said, ‘Well, den, supposing you was a gray mare, and I hired you for two dollars to ride you, and you was rader rusty, and went too fast for me, and I wanted to stop you, and I stuck my knees in your side, and my spur into you, and you falled down and broke your knees, how could I help it?’ So she flung the door in my face and went in. So now go on with the consort.’
“Sometimes, when we are engaged for it, we go to concert-rooms and do the nigger-statues, which is the same as the tableaux vivants. We illustrate the adventures of Pompey, or the life of a negro slave. The first position is when he is in the sugar-brake, cutting the sugar cane. Then he is supposed to take it to be weighed, and not being weight, he is ordered to be flogged. My mate is then doing the orator and explaining the story. It’s as nice a bit of business as ever was done, and goes out-and-out. You see, it’s a new thing from the white ones. The next position is when he is being flogged, and then when he swears revenge upon the overseer, and afterwards when he murders the overseer. Then there’s the flight of Pompey, and so on, and I conclude with a variety of sculptures from the statues, such as the Archilles in Hyde-park, and so on. This is really good, and the finest bit of business out, and nobody does it but me; indeed it says in the bill—if you saw it—‘for which he stands unrivalled.’
“We sometimes have a greenhorn wants to go out pitching with us—a ‘mug,’ we calls them; and there’s a chap of the name of ‘Sparrow-back’, as we called him, because he always wore a bob-tailed coat, and was a rare swell; and he wished to go out with us, and we told him he must have his head shaved first, and Tom held him down while I shaved him, and I took every bit of hair off him. Then he underwent the operation of mugging him up with oil-colour paint, black, and not forgetting the lips, red. Ah, he carried the black marks on him for two months afterwards, and made a real washable nigger. We took him with us to Camberwell fair, and on the way he kept turning round and saying how strong he smelt of turps, and his face was stiff. Ah, he was a serenader! How we did scrub it into him with a stiff brush! When we washed at a horse-trough, coming home, he couldn’t get a bit of the colour off. It all dried round his nose and eyes.
“When we are out pitching, the finest place for us is where there is anybody sick. If we can see some straw on the ground, or any tan, then we stays. We are sure to play up where the blinds are down. When we have struck up, we rattle away at the banjos, and down will come the servant, saying, ‘You’re to move on; we don’t want you.’ Then I’ll pretend not to understand what she says, and I’ll say, ‘Mary Blane did you ask for? O yes, certainly, Miss;’ and off we’ll go into full chorus. We don’t move for less than a bob, for sixpence ain’t enough for a man that’s ill. We generally get our two shillings.
“Sometimes gents will come and engage us to go and serenade people, such as at weddings or anything of that sort. Occasionally young gents or students will get us to go to a house late in the morning, to rouse up somebody for a lark, and we have to beat away and chop at the strings till all the windows are thrown up. We had a sovereign given us for doing that.
“The Christmas time is very good for us, for we go out as waits, only we don’t black, but only sing; and that I believe—the singing, I mean—is, I believe, the original waits. With what we get for to play and to go away, and what we collect on boxing Monday, amounts to a tidy sum.
“There’s very few schools of niggers going about London now. I don’t think there are three schools pitching in the streets. There’s the Westminster school—they have kettle-drums and music-stands, and never sings; and there’s the New Kent-road gang, or Houghton’s mob, and that’s the best singing and playing school out; then a St. Giles’s lot, but they are dicky—not worth much. The Spitalfields school is broke up. Of course there are other niggers going about, but to the best of my calculation there ain’t more than 40 men scattered about.