I saw at a glance that he was a workman at some hard-working trade. His face was bronzed, and his large, hard hands were unmistakably the hands of a labourer. He kept his eyes fixed on me as he spoke, and begged with a short pipe in his mouth.
I asked him if he would have some beer?
“Thank ye, sir, I don’t want beer so much as I want a penny loaf. I haven’t tasted since morn, and I’m not the man I was fifteen year ago, and I feel it.”
“Will you have some bread-and-cheese and beer?” I asked.
“Thank ye, sir; bread-and-cheese and beer, and thank ye, sir; for I’m beginning to feel I want something.”
I asked the man several questions, and he made the following statement:—
“I’m a miner, sir, and I’ve been working lately five mile from Castleton in Darbyshire. Why did I leave it? Do you want me to tell the truth, now—the real truth? Well then I’ll tell you the real truth. I got drunk—you asked me for the real truth, and now you’ve got it. I’ve been a miner all my life, and been engaged in all the great public works. I call a miner a man as can sink a shaft in anything, barring he’s not stopped by water. I’ve got a wife and two children. I left them at Castleton. They’re all right. I left them some money. I’ve worked in eighteen inches o’ coal. I mean in a chamber only eighteen inches wide. You lay on your side and pick like this. (Here he threw himself on the floor, and imitated the action of a coal-miner with his pick.) I’ve worked under young Mr. Brunel very often. He were not at all a gentleman unlike you, sir, only he were darker. My last wages was six shilling a-day. I expect soon to be in work again, for I know lots o’ miners in London, and I know where they want hands. I could get a bed and a shilling this minute if I knew where my mates lived; but to-day, when I got to the place where they work, they’d gone home, and I couldn’t find out in what part of London they lived. We miners always assist each other, when we’re on the road. I’ve worked in lead and copper, sir, as well as coal, and have been a very good man in my time. I am just forty year old, and I think I’ve used myself too much when I were young. I knows the Cornish mines well. I’m sure to get work in the course of the week, for I’m well known to many on ’em up at Notting Hill. I once worked in a mine where there were a pressure of fifty pound to the square foot of air. You have to take your time about everything you do there—you can’t work hard in a place like that. Thank you, sir, much obliged to you.”
One evening in the parish of Marylebone an old man who was selling lucifer-matches put his finger to his forehead, and offered me a box. “Ha’penny a box, sir,” he said.
I told him to follow me; an old woman also accompanied us. He made the following statement:—