Volume 3 — THE COAL-HEAVERS. (continued 3)

Since this meeting I have been at considerable pains to collect a large amount of evidence in connexion with this most important question. The opinion of the most intelligent of the class seems to be, that no kind of fermented drink is necessary for the performance of the hardest labour; but I have sought for and obtained the sentiments of all classes, temperate and intemperate, with the view of fairly discussing the subject. These statements I must reserve till my next letter. At present I shall conclude with the following story of the sufferings of the wife of one of the intemperate class:—

“I have been married nineteen or twenty years. I was married at Penton, in Oxfordshire. We came to London fifteen years ago. My husband first worked as a sawyer. For eleven years he was in the coal-trade. He was in all sorts of work, and for the last six months he was a ‘scurf.’ What he earned all the time I never knew. He gave me what he liked, sometimes nothing at all. In May last he only gave me 2s. 8d. for the whole month, for myself and two children. I buried four children. I can’t tell how we lived then. I can’t express what we’ve suffered, all through drink. He gave me twenty years of misery through drink. [This was repeated four or five times.] Some days that May we had neither bit nor sup; the water was too bad to drink cold, and I had to live on water put through a few leaves in the teapot—old leaves. Poor people, you know, sir, helps poor people; and but for the poor neighbours we might have been found dead some day. He cared nothing. Many a time I have gone without bread to give it to the children. Was he ever kind to them, do you say, sir? No; they trembled when they heard his step; they were afraid of their very lives, he knocked them about so; drink made him a savage; drink took the father out of him.” This was said with a flush and a rapid tone, in strong contrast with the poor woman’s generally subdued demeanour. She resumed:—“Twenty miserable years through drink! I’ve often gone to bring him from the public-house, but he seldom would come. He would abuse me, and would drink more because I’d gone for him. I’ve often whispered to him that his children was starving: but I durstn’t say that aloud when his mates was by. We seldom had a fire. He often beat me. I’ve 9s. in pawn now. Since we came to London I’ve lost 20l. in the pawnshop.”

This man had died a fortnight before, having ruptured a blood-vessel. He lay ill six days. The parish doctor attended him. His comrades “gathered” for his burial, but the widow had still some funeral expenses to pay by instalments. The room she and the children occupied was the same as in the husband’s lifetime. There was about the room a cold damp smell, arising from bad ventilation and the chilliness of the weather. Two wretched beds almost filled the place. No article was worth a penny, nor could a penny have been obtained at a sale or a pawnshop. The woman was cleanly clad, but looked sadly pinched, miserable, and feeble. She earns a little as a washerwoman, and did earn it while her husband lived. She bears an excellent character. Her repetition of the words, “twenty years of misery through drink,” was very pitiful. I refrained from a prolonged questioning, as it seemed to excite her in her weak state.