The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook

“I do; for, look you, work I must; therefore, the only question was, to take up the work that was lightest, and paid best. I know no trade where you can gain so much with so little capital and so little labour. Then, I am not controlled by any living being; I have my liberty and independence: I go where I please, stop where I please, work when I please, and idle when I please; and never know what it is to want a night’s lodging. Show me any other profession which can say the same! I might be better clothed—I might be considered more respectable; but I am a philosopher, and despise all that; I earn as much as I want, and do very little work for it. I can grind knives and scissors and mend kettles enough in one day to provide for a whole week; for instance, I can grind a knife in two minutes, for which I receive twopence. Now, allowing that I work twelve hours in the day, at the rate of one penny per minute, I should earn 3 pounds per day, which, deducting Sundays, is 939 pounds a year. Put that against 40 pounds a year, as a drudge to a school, or confined to a desk, in a shop, or any other profession, and you see how lucrative mine is in proportion. Then I am under no control; not ordered here or there, like a general or admiral; not attacked in the House of Commons or Lords, like a prime minister; on the contrary, half a day’s work out of the seven is all I require; and I therefore assert, that my profession is nearer to that of a gentleman than any other that I know of.”

“It may be as you style it, but you don’t look much like one,” replied Joey, laughing.

“That’s prejudice; my clothes keep me as warm as if they were of the best materials, and quite new. I enjoy my victuals quite as much as a well-dressed gentleman does—perhaps more; I can indulge in my own thoughts; I have leisure to read all my favourite authors, and can afford to purchase new books. Besides, as I must work a little, it is pleasant to feel that I am always in request, and respected by those who employ me.”

“Respected! on what account?”

“Because I am always wanted, and therefore always welcome. It is the little things of this life which annoy, not the great and a kettle that won’t hold water, or a knife that won’t cut, are always objects of execration; and as people heap their anathemas upon the kettle and the knife, so do they long for my return; and when I come, they are glad to see me, glad to pay me, and glad to find that their knives are sharp, and their kettles, thrown on one side, are useful again, at a trifling charge. I add to people’s comforts; I become necessary to every poor person in the cottages; and therefore, they like me and respect me. And, indeed, if it is only considered how many oaths and execrations are used when a person is hacking and sawing away with a knife which will not cut, and how by my wheel I do away with the cause of crime, I think that a travelling tinker may be considered, as to his moral influence upon society, more important than any parson in his pulpit. You observe that I have not rendered the profession degrading by marriage, as many do.”

“How do you mean?”

“I hold that, whatever may be the means of a gentleman, he must be considered to lose the most precious advantages appertaining to his profession when he marries; for he loses his liberty, and can no longer be said to be under no control. It is very well for other professions to marry, as the world must be peopled; but a gentleman never should. It is true, he may contrive to leave his clog at home, but then he pays dear for a useless and galling appendage but, in my situation as a travelling tinker, I could not have done so; I must have dragged my clog after me through the mud and mire, and have had a very different reception than what I have at present.”

“Why so?”

“Why, a man may stroll about the country by himself—find lodging and entertainment for himself; but not so, if he had a wife in rags, and two or three dirty children at his heels. A single man, in every stage of society, if he pays his own way, more easily finds admission than a married one—that is, because the women regulate it and, although they will receive him as a tinker, they invariably object to his wife, who is considered and stigmatised as the tinker’s trull. No, that would not do—a wife would detract from my respectability, and add very much to my cares.”

“But have you no home, then, anywhere?”

“Why, yes, I have, like all single men on the pave, as the French say—just a sort of ‘chambers’ to keep my property in, which will accumulate in spite of me.”

“Where are they?”

“In Dudstone, to which place I am now going. I have a room for six pounds a year; and the woman in the house takes charge of everything during my absence. And now, my boy, what is your name?”

“Joey Atherton,” replied our hero, who had made up his mind to take the surname of his adopted sister, Nancy.

“Well, Joey, do you agree with me that my profession is a good one, and are you willing to learn it? If so, I will teach you.”

“I shall be very glad to learn it, because it may one day be useful; but I am not sure that I should like to follow it.”

“You will probably change your opinion; at all events, give it a fair trial. In a month or so you will have the theory of it by heart, and then we will come to the practice.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s of no use your attempting anything till you’re well grounded in the theory of the art, which you will gain by using your eyes. All you have to do at first is to look on; watch me when I grind a knife or a pair of scissors; be attentive when you see me soldering a pot, or putting a patch upon a kettle; see how I turn my hand when I’m grinding, how I beat out the iron when I mend; and learn how to heat the tools when I solder. In a month you will know how things are to be done in theory, and after that we shall come to the practice. One only thing, in the way of practice, must you enter upon at once, and that is turning the wheel with your foot; for you must learn to do it so mechanically, that you are not aware that you are doing it, otherwise you cannot devote your whole attention to the scissors or knife in your hand.”

“And do you really like your present life, then, wandering about from place to place?”

“To be sure I do. I am my own master; go where I like; stop where I like; pay no taxes or rates. I still retain all the gentleman except the dress, which I can resume when I please. Besides, mine is a philanthropic profession; I go about doing good, and I’ve the means of resenting an affront like a despot.”

“As how?”

“Why, you see, we travellers never interfere in each other’s beats; mine is a circuit of many miles of country, and at the rate I travel it is somewhat about three months until I am at the same place again; they must wait for me if they want their jobs done, for they cannot get any one else. In one village they played me a trick one Saturday night, when all the men were at the ale-house, and the consequence was, I cut the village for a year; and there never was such a village full of old kettles and blunt knives in consequence. However, they sent me a deputation, hoping I would forget what had passed, and I pardoned them.”

“What is your name?” inquired Joey.

“Augustus Spikeman. My father was Augustus Spikeman, Esquire; I was Master Augustus Spikeman, and now I’m Spikeman, the tinker; so now we’ll go on again. I have nearly come to the end of my beat; in two days we shall be at Dudstone where I have my room, and where we shall probably remain for some days before we start again.”

In the afternoon they arrived at a small hamlet, where they supped and slept. Spikeman was very busy till noon grinding and repairing; they then continued their journey, and on the second day, having waited outside the town till it was dusk Spikeman left his wheel in the charge of the landlord of a small ale-house, to whom he appeared well known, then walked with Joey to the house in which he had a room, and led him upstairs to his apartments.

When our hero entered the chamber of Spikeman, he was very much surprised to find it was spacious, light, and airy, and very clean. A large bed was in one corner; a sofa, mahogany table, chest of drawers, and chairs, composed the furniture; there was a good-sized looking-glass over the chimney-piece, and several shelves of books round the room. Desiring Joey to sit down and take a book, Spikeman rang for water, shaved off his beard, which had grown nearly half an inch long, washed himself, and then put on clean linen, and a very neat suit of clothes. When he was completely dressed, Joey could hardly believe that it was the same person. Upon Joey expressing his astonishment, Spikeman replied, “You see, my lad, there is no one in this town who knows what my real profession is. I always go out and return at dusk, and the travelling tinker is not recognised; not that I care for it so much, only other people do, and I respect their prejudices. They know that I am in the ironmongery line, and that is all; so I always make it a rule to enjoy myself after my circuit, and live like a gentleman till part of my money is gone, and then I set out again. I am acquainted with a good many highly respectable people in this town, and that is the reason why I said I could be of service to you. Have you any better clothes?”

“Yes; much better.”

“Then dress yourself in them, and keep those you wear for our travels.”

Joey did as he was requested, and Spikeman then proposed that they should make a call at a friend’s, where he would introduce our hero as his nephew. They set off, and soon came to the front of a neat-looking house, at the door of which Spikeman rapped. The door was opened by one of the daughters of the house, who, on seeing him, cried out, “Dear me, Mr Spikeman, is this you? Why, where have you been all this while?”

“About the country for orders, Miss Amelia,” replied Spikeman; “business must be attended to.”

“Well, come in; mother will be glad to see you,” replied the girl, at the same time opening the door of the sitting-room for them to enter.

“Mr Spikeman as I live!” exclaimed another girl, jumping up, and seizing his hand.

“Well, Mr Spikeman, it’s an age since we have seen you,” said the mother, “so now sit down and tell us all the news; and Ophelia, my love, get tea ready; and who is it you have with you, Mr Spikeman?”

“My little nephew, madam; he is about to enter into the mysteries of the cutlery trade.”

“Indeed! well, I suppose, as you are looking out for a successor, you soon intend to retire from business and take a wife, Mr Spikeman?”

“Why, I suppose it will be my fate one of these days,” replied Spikeman; “but that’s an affair that requires some consideration.”

“Very true, Mr Spikeman, it is a serious affair,” replied the old lady; “and I can assure you that neither my Ophelia nor Amelia should marry a man, with my consent, without I was convinced the gentleman considered it a very serious affair. It makes or mars a man, as the saying is.”

“Well, Miss Ophelia, have you read all the books I lent you the last time I was here?”

“Yes, that they have, both of them,” replied the old lady; “they are so fond of poetry.”

“But we’ve often wished that you were here to read to us,” replied Miss Amelia, “you do read so beautifully; will you read to us after tea?”

“Certainly, with much pleasure.”

Miss Ophelia now entered with the tea-tray; she and her sister then went into the kitchen to make some toast, and to see to the kettle boiling, while Mr Spikeman continued in conversation with the mother. Mrs James was the widow of a draper in the town, who had, at his death left her sufficient to live quietly and respectably with her daughters, who were both very good, amiable girls; and it must be acknowledged, neither of them unwilling to listen to the addresses of Mr Spikeman had he been so inclined; but they began to think that Mr Spikeman was not a marrying man, which, as the reader must know by this time, was the fact.

The evening passed very pleasantly. Mr Spikeman took a volume of poetry, and, as Miss Ophelia had said, he did read very beautifully: so much so, that Joey was in admiration, for he had never yet known the power produced by good reading. At ten o’clock they took their leave, and returned to Spikeman’s domicile.

As soon as they were upstairs, and candles lighted, Spikeman sat down on the sofa. “You see, Joey,” said he, “that it is necessary not to mention the knife-grinder’s wheel, as it would make a difference in my reception. All gentlemen do not gain their livelihood as honestly as I do; but, still prejudices are not to be overcome. You did me a kind act, and I wished to return it; I could not do so without letting you into this little secret, but I have seen enough of you to think you can be trusted.”

“I should hope so,” replied Joey: “I have learnt caution, young as I am.”

“That I have perceived already, and therefore I have said enough on the subject. I have but one bed, and you must sleep with me, as you did on our travels.”

The next morning the old woman of the house brought up their breakfast. Spikeman lived in a very comfortable way, very different to what he did as a travelling tinker; and he really appeared to Joey to be, with the exception of his conversation, which was always superior, a very different person from what he was when Joey first fell in with him. For many days they remained at Dudstone, visiting the different houses, and were always well received.

“You appear so well known, and so well liked in this town,” observed Joey, “I wonder you do not set up a business, particularly as you say you have money in the bank.”

“If I did, Joey, I should no longer be happy, no longer be my own master, and do as I please; in fact, I should no longer be the gentleman, that is, the gentleman by profession, as near as I can be one—the man who has his liberty, and enjoys it. No, no, boy; I have tried almost everything, and have come to my own conclusions. Have you been reading the book I gave you?”