The men were then requested to ascend the platform, and relate their own experience, as well as to state their views of how their class could best be assisted. The first to respond to this invitation was a young man of neat and comparatively respectable appearance, who seemed to be known to the rest by the name of ‘Peter,’ and who, with great fluency and considerable propriety of expression, proceeded to narrate his own past career as follows:—
“Friends, I hope you will excuse any hesitation or stammering on my part while I stand in this unusual position. All the education I have received has been picked up in prison—understand that. As to the difficulties encountered by ticket-of-leave men I know nothing, save from my own personal experience. You cannot judge properly of the intentions of the convict, unless you begin with his career from the first time that he enters prison. Well, you must know, that I was transported for seven years. I was sent to Millbank, and there put to the tailoring business. From the outset I had a great partiality for books, and I then learnt to read and write better than I could do before. I also acquired a little grammar and arithmetic, simply to improve my mind; and if mental improvement is any part of moral improvement, I was, of course, morally improving also. I knew more arithmetic then than I do now, having lost my knowledge in consequence of excessive indulgence in intoxicating liquors. In fact, I got as far as the beginning of algebra—certainly a very abstruse science to tackle. After spending fourteen months in Millbank I went to Portland, where I had to wheel barrows from morning to night. I still persevered, however, with my books; and the great anxiety that constantly weighed on my mind was, what would become of me when I was liberated. I knew that the work I was doing would be well done; and I was far happier then than I am now, because I feel that there is no breakfast for me to-morrow morning till I go and thieve it; and that is the simple truth. (Applause.) I supposed that if I went to the Chaplain, who had delivered several charitable discourses, very much in accordance with my own feelings, he might assist me. I therefore stated my case to him, telling him that I really wished to become a better member of society. He listened to my tale, and wished me to see him once a-week, which I did. But the Chaplain at this time was the Rev. Mr. Moran (as we understood), and when I wanted books he would not encourage me, unless I consented to become a communicant. If I had done that I should have had more favour shown to me, and been provided with whatever I wished; but not feeling myself fit for such a thing, I therefore refused. I then waited till a change took place, and the Rev. Mr. Ubridge, (as we understood), a lover of science and literature, came—a clergyman whose system was altogether different, having none of these Roman Catholic restrictions. We were then allowed to think and do as we liked in regard to religion, and no man was forced to attend the communion-table unless he thought himself as fit for it as the Minister. I applied to the new Chaplain, and told him I considered my mind to have been much enlightened. I suppose everybody fancies the same, who knows a little, though not much. When my turn to be liberated approached they came to me in my separate cell, and I told them there was no chance of my bettering myself unless I could get an honest living. I said that I must go back to London, where I had first been transported, and that the only thing I expected was to be transported again; for my bad character would be no recommendation to me—the police all knew me, and wherever they saw me they would point me out as a ticket-of-leave man. (Applause.) On my release I received 6l. 12s. I came to Southampton with one of the officers of the establishment, who was kind enough to ask me to take a drop of brandy. Not having had any spirits for four years previous, this little got into my head, and having drank another glass or two I was intoxicated, and I spent all my money that night—yes, and got locked up into the bargain. (Laughter.) If I did not quite spend all my money myself, somebody else helped me to spend it. I came to London without a farthing. I hadn’t a friend in the world, and even at present, if I want a meal, I have no one to say ‘Here it is for you.’ What is a man in such a case, being without work, to do? Is he to starve? Well, I wore out two pairs of shoes, walking the streets for three months together, looking for a situation, but all in vain; and I became as emaciated as this post, (pointing to the pillar of the lamp on the platform,) having had nothing better than a bit of bread and a herring to eat, and not one ounce of animal food during all that period. I had a little pride, which kept me from begging. All the good feelings engendered in prison passed away. I returned to my old companions, with whom I went for about two months, when I was at length caught, and received another twelvemonth’s imprisonment, which expired only last Monday fortnight. During the two months I was with my old companions I got a good living—I could always make my 5l. or 6l. a-week by practices which I did not like, but which I was driven to adopt, because the public would not let me earn 1l. honestly. Since, however, I received the card of admission to this meeting, I have not put my hand to a dishonest act, and if the promise it holds out is fulfilled I never will. I have little more to say. I attended here to-night in the hope of reaping some permanent benefit, and also to encourage those who, like myself, wish to become honest members of society. (Applause.) I trust the benevolent gentleman who has so humanely interested himself in this cause will be successful in his exertions on behalf of a body of unfortunate and persecuted beings, who, I should say, are more knocked about by the police, and more discouraged by the opinions of the public at large, than any other class in the United Kingdom. (Applause.) May God and right reason direct this movement, and bring it to a speedy and prosperous issue.” (Loud cheers greeted “Peter,” as he descended from the “tribune.”)
The next spokesman was a thin-faced and diminutive, but shrewd-looking costermonger, of about twenty-five years of age, and tidier in appearance than many of his class, who said:—“Friends, I am only a little one, and you can’t expect much from me; indeed, ‘Peter’ hasn’t left me much to say. I will, however, begin at the beginning. At the age of ten I was left without father or mother, and others here could say the same. I was taught to get a living by selling oranges in the streets, and I kept at that for twelve months. I was afterwards induced to go along with a few Westminster boys, who went about thieving; and I had nobody to look after me. Having no friend, I nevertheless always got a good ‘lift’ from the police. I was soon arrested, and at Newgate received seven years’ transportation. I spent three years and seven months at the Isle of Wight, and eleven months at Portsmouth. I would not have been kept so long at the Isle of Wight if I had been religious; but as I could not act the hypocrite I was obliged to give up this religion. During this time I never took the sacrament, as they wanted me to do. Well, I gets my liberty, and I had several pounds put into my hands when I left. I came to London-bridge station, and thought it was the Waterloo station, and fancying I was near Westminster, I looked about for the Victoria Theatre. A chap then said to me, ‘You had better not be seen in those clothes.’ I afterwards changed my dress and sold the other clothes. I soon found myself with only about three half-crowns in my pocket. My only friend was a cousin, who was engaged in buying hare-skins and rabbit-skins about the streets, and he recommended me to do the same. This was in the winter time, and I hardly knew one kind of skin from another. However, I did pretty well at this for two or three weeks; when, one day, as I was walking with a sack of skins upon my back through Tothill-street, Westminster, two policemen came up to me, and demanded to look into my bag. Rather than consent to this I went to the Police Court along with them. When I got there a policeman said to the inspector, that I was a ‘ticket-of-leave,’ and had something in my sack. I insisted on seeing the magistrate, and the inspector brought me to him, but instead of allowing me to speak to his worship, he spoke first, saying that I was very violent and saucy, and a ‘ticket-of-leave.’ Instead of hearing what I had to say under these circumstances, the magistrate, too, burst out, ‘Oh, you are an insolent fellow, and a disgrace to society; if the Secretary of State knew of your doings, he would banish you.’ And his worship, also muttering something about sending me to ‘quod’ for contempt of court, I thought it better to ‘hook it.’ During two years and a-half of my term at the Isle of Wight, having learnt something of shoemaking, I now travelled down to Northampton, but could get no work because I had no tools. Even what I did know of the trade was not enough to enable me to get a living by it. I then went on to Derby, and was near starving. I had no lodging. I was not quite so proud as ‘Peter,’ for I went up to a gentleman and told him the strength of it. I said, I am a ‘ticket-of-leave.’ He hardly understood me, but I tried to explain it to him, and he gave me a shilling. With this aid I got my shirt washed, put myself to rights, polished my boots, and up I goes to a magistrate to see what he would say about it. I told him I wanted to go to London, and could not walk all the way. This magistrate can tell whether I am now speaking the truth. I got an interview with him at Derby, and told him I was a ticket-of-leave man. He would scarcely believe me, and imagined rather that I was a returned convict. The police jeering me, said, ‘How well polished his boots are! but we think him an impostor.’ So, with no other help than the shilling I had obtained, I trudged along in my misery until, with the worms and maggots gnawing my belly, I reached London. Here my cousin got me into the ‘market’ again, and I married last Christmas twelvemonth, and have one child. I am now just managing to ‘crack an honest crust;’ and while I can do that I will never thieve more. (Applause.) I am not much of a talker, therefore I can only hope that the kind gentleman who has called us together will succeed in his praiseworthy endeavours to secure fair-play to our ill-used class. I have nothing more to say.” (Loud cheers.)
The third speaker was a stonemason, of about thirty, and of a honest and industrious aspect, who said:—“My friends, I have but little to say regarding myself. I was sent away from Newgate to Wakefield in 1851, and put to work. As to gratuity money given to convicts, certainly none was allowed at Wakefield while I was there. As to our treatment there and at other places, I can say that I never had a bit of sweet meat all the time I was at Wakefield. I never had anything but mince-meat chopped up, always green, and others can testify to the same thing. One man got three days of bread and water for complaining of this. After staying thirteen months at Wakefield I went to Portsmouth, where I remained about three years and a half, during which time I certainly worked hard. There the treatment of the men differs greatly, according to their conduct. A man who behaves well is treated well; but those of a volatile spirit are treated badly. For myself I never had a report made against me all the time I was there, and I obtained my liberty under ticket-of-leave, although I was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment, at the end of four years and four months. A few others, who came later than I did, were fortunate enough to get their freedom about the same time. I was not jealous about that, but was glad to get away myself. I had a mother and sister to go to; and though my sister was in employment, I did not cost them anything. I got work at my own trade, and experienced few of the hardships which most of my class do when first liberated. I know one poor man who said this meeting was the last place that he would come to, as it would expose him. He has worked five weeks for a person in Gray’s-Inn-lane. He had been in good circumstances, was a clerk, and under the eye of a minister. He had to sleep in a place where the vermin crawled over his bed, and he had to get up in the night and remove his clothes to keep them clean. For the five weeks he has been at work he has scarcely had the barest necessaries of subsistence. I have been to see this man every Sunday, and can safely say that he has not had sixpence in his pocket ever since he has been out of prison. He was engaged at fire-work making, but this trade becoming slack after the 5th of November, he was thrown upon the streets again. I will not say what became of the man afterwards, because that is not necessary. I will merely mention that he is now struggling on, depending entirely on the public for a meal of victuals. I have myself been to work in the city for two months, and have not been intoxicated once. I am not fond of drink. I am steady and mean to continue so, and I trust every one here will resolve to do the same, for you will find it much more to your comfort. I am fortunate enough to be able to earn a livelihood at my trade as a mason; but though I am not in want myself, I could not refrain from coming here to throw what light I could on this subject, and showing my readiness to help others who are in distress.” (Applause.)
The next who mounted the platform was an elderly man, evidently much reduced in circumstances. He stated—“I am a dock-labourer, and in 1848 was convicted, though innocent, at the Old Bailey. I was within three miles of the place where the robbery of which I was accused was committed. I was certainly in company with the female who was robbed three hours before the theft occurred; but I had no hand in it, and yet I was sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation. I passed my first eleven months at Millbank; then I went to Woolwich, and next to Gibraltar. At the latter place Mr. Armstrong is the overseer of the convicts, and he is the severest man ever known; not a worse being in the Australian or any penal settlements. Flogging went on there from before daylight till long after dark. I was six years and eight months under his system, and I received 4l. 14s. 6d. on leaving Gibraltar, 2l. 10s. of which was stopped to pay my passage to England. When I came home I strived as hard as any man to get an honest livelihood. I tried every experiment—I went all up and down Whitechapel, but no, the police would not allow me—they picked me out as a marked man. Then I worked fifteen or sixteen months at the Docks, but lately that employment has been very slack, and I have tried all the offices in vain for the last fortnight. I leave you to consider, therefore, what a man is to do when he strives to get a living and can’t. No man in all London has seen more trouble than I have. In 1840 I got three years’ imprisonment. When I came out a man borrowed my coat to walk through the City with, and next day, as I was going past Bow Church, I was taken up for a robbery which that man had committed, my coat being sworn to, as it had a stain on the collar. I was taken before Alderman Gibbs that morning, and fully committed for trial; and when I appeared at Newgate I got twelve months in the Compter gaol, though innocent. I had not been three months out of the Compter before I was taken up for beating a policeman, who said I threw a stone at him, but I never did. A fortnight afterwards the man who did it got fourteen days, and I gets two years for it, though I was not nigh the place. No man in London has suffered as I have done wrongfully, and none has been so ‘worked up’ as I am at this moment. For the last fortnight the winds have been such as to prevent a single ship from coming up the Channel, and morning after morning between five hundred and six hundred men regularly wait at the Docks for employment and cannot get it. When I am employed, it is at the West Quay; but the permanent labourers are served first. Such men as I have very little chance, as they bring persons from the other side of the Dock sooner than engage ‘casualty’ labourers. During the eighteen months that have elapsed since I came from Gibraltar, I have walked the streets of London whole days without breaking my fast; and since twelve o’clock yesterday up to this moment I have not done so. I really wish, sir, that something could be done for us all.”
Mr. Mayhew asked the men whether they thought the formation of a society, and a system by which those who were in work could assist those who were out of it, would benefit them?
To this many voices answered, “Yes! yes!”
Mr. Mayhew continued: “I know that if your stock-money is once gone you are completely helpless. A man who had been tried for his life and sent to Australia came to me one day, when let out of prison, with a loaf under his arm, and said, ‘This is all I have got to keep me, and if I ask for work there is a policeman at my heels to tell every one that I am a returned convict.’ His case became desperate, when, about the time of the Great Exhibition, I offered to give him a little money if he would pledge me his word to do all that he could to lead an honest life. He shook hands with me, and promised to do so. He then had cards printed, and tried to make a living by selling gelatine sweets. After a little time he took a small huckster’s shop, and subsequently married a lodging-house keeper, and has since been doing very well. I know that the period between the ages of twenty-five and fifty is the time when a roving life has its strongest attractions; but after that, when a man is hunted like a dog, he gets tired of it. I have seen frequent examples of this, and known whole families of poor people, with only sixpence at their command, to invest that small sum in sprats, and live a month upon it by turning it over and over.
“I once took a poor boy (a young thief) and got him a place at the Daily News office, when the printer and editor told me he was as good and as well-behaved as any boy on that establishment. The difficulty, however, was to separate him from his old ‘pals.’ He got among them on an Easter Monday, and was found picking pockets at a fair, and taken to prison; it was ‘all up with him’ till he had seen the misery of his course of life, but I am sure, if taken by the hand, he will ultimately become a good member of society. I mention this to show, that if a little leniency and kindness are evinced towards the men we may beat down the crime of the country to an enormous extent. But we must not fancy it possible that such persons can be made model-men in an instant. Indeed, I believe that the disposition shown to make converts to religion of you produces a large amount of hypocrisy. (Cries of Yes! yes!) If this leads you to become better men, in Heaven’s name, say so; but if it engenders the worst form of evil, let it be exposed. That there are such things as miracles of instantaneous reformation, I don’t deny; but the first thing wanted is some society to give men what will keep them from starving, clothe them, and find them in a lodging; and when they are thus placed in decent comfort, and made, as a necessary consequence, more kindly in their nature, other people may then come to them and try to make them religious. To attempt, however, to proselytise men who are famishing, appears to me a mockery and a delusion, and only the most depraved class of criminals would, I believe, yield to it.” (Applause.)
The fifth ticket-of-leave man who addressed the assembly was a man of middle stature, slightly made, and between twenty-five and thirty. He said:—