Approaching these poor creatures, as they are gazing about them with the timidity and loneliness of strangers in a strange land, the scoundrels will accost them in their own language. Glad to hear the mother-tongue once more, the emigrant readily enters into conversation with the fellow, and reveals to him his destination, his plans, and the amount of money he has with him. The sharper, after some pleasantries meant to lull the suspicions of his victim, offers to show him where he can purchase his railroad tickets at a lower rate than at the office in the Landing Depot, and, if the emigrant is willing, conducts him to a house in Washington, Greenwich, West, or some neighboring street, where a confederate sells him the so-called railroad tickets and receives his money. He is then conducted back to the Battery by a different route, and the sharper leaves him. Upon inquiring at the office, he learns that his cheap tickets are so much worthless paper, and that he has been swindled out of his money, which may be his all. Of course he is unable to find the place where he was robbed, and has no redress for his loss.
[Illustration: Castle Garden, the place the emigrants land—Sharpers trying to swindle them.]
Others again are led off, by persons who pretend to be friends, to take a friendly drink in a neighboring saloon. Their liquor is drugged, and they are soon rendered unconscious, when they are robbed of their money, valuables, and even their clothes, and turned out into the street in this condition, to be picked up by the police.
All sorts of worthless wares are palmed off upon them by unscrupulous wretches. They are drawn into gaming and are fleeced out of their money. Dozens of sharpers are on the watch for them, and woe to them if they fall into the hands of these wretches.
Women are prominent amongst the enemies of the emigrants. The proprietors of the dance-houses and brothels of the city send their agents to the Battery, to watch their opportunity to entice the fresh, healthy emigrant girls to their hells. They draw them away by promises of profitable employment, and other shams, and carry them off to the houses of their heartless masters and mistresses. There they are drugged and ruined, or in other ways literally forced into lives of shame.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE BUMMERS.
From a recent number of the New York Times, we take the following excellent description of this class, which is peculiar to the Metropolis:—
Like the Western Army and Army of the Potomac during the war, the City of New York possesses its troop of bummers—men who hate the discipline of life, detest marching in the ranks of workers, and hold industry in abomination. They consist of two classes, the temporary, made so by misfortune, or their own fault, and the permanent, who are so from their own deliberate choice. The first deserve what they seldom receive—our pity and sympathy, while the second equally rarely obtain their just deserts of contempt and disgust. The regular bummer is a mixture of the thief and beggar, usually possessing more of the characteristics of the latter than the former, as his cowardice and indolence prevent him from rising high in the ranks of criminals. His strongest feeling is a horror of all regular employment; his chief happiness is to lie with a well-filled stomach on the Battery, in the sun, and sleep; his hell, or 'infinite dread,' is to be arrested by the police and be sent to the Island as a vagrant.
All that a man, whether rich or poor, can require, is food, clothing, lodging, and money for amusement or luxury. More than this the wealthiest can never obtain—less than this the bummer seldom possesses. His first principle is never to pay for food, even if he has the money. In a city like this, where plenty of good food is thrown away every day, it is a shame for any man to go hungry,' remarked one of this tribe, 'and I won't go with an empty belly; I ask until I have enough.' This is the feeling of all, and is acted upon by all. He begs bread from the bakers, and broken victuals from restaurants and private houses. In summer he strolls around the market to pick up or steal what he can find. His money he will spend for liquor for himself and friends, but considers it wasted if used to buy food. He will treat a brother in distress to five-cent whiskey as long as his money holds out, but his comrade might starve before he would buy him a loaf of bread. He has his regular routes and customers whom he visits, and some of these chevaliers d'industrie keep regular lists of the charitable, their residences, what is the proper time to call, and the probable result of such visit. 'Mr.——, No.—street, coffee and bread, 7 and 8 A.M.; Mr.——, No.—street, 9 A.M., bread, cold meat, or cheese; brown stone house corner of——street, 8 P.M., Irish girl, dinner; bakery,— street, bread; cracker bakery,——, street; house four doors from—— street, lady, lots to eat and money; sisters in——street, soup; hotel,——street, soup meat, 12.30 P.M.,' etc., etc. This is a partial copy of a list seen by the writer. As a rule he does not go to the same place two days in succession, but having a number, can levy toll at intervals and still keep supplied. Woe to the charitable restaurant- keeper who expresses sympathy—he will be overrun. The keeper of a certain eating-house not far from the City Hall, in reply to the thanks for the meal that he had given to our cormorant, said: 'You are heartily welcome. I never send any man hungry from my door.' This expression was spread, and he was almost overwhelmed. On one day, in less than a week from this unfortunate remark, he had thirty-two callers within twenty-four hours, and was compelled to refuse all in order to obtain peace.