I remained no longer in Newcastle than until I earned as much money as would pay my way to London. I then took my passage on board a collier bound to the great city; and, after beating about in good weather and bad weather for about three weeks, I arrived in London on the first October, 1776. The first Cockney I met was the scullerman, who was engaged to land me and my luggage near Temple Bar. I was amused at his slang and his chatter all the way to London Bridge; and, on approaching it, he asked me if I was “a-feared;” but, not knowing what I was to be afraid of, I returned the question, at which he looked queer. We passed the gulf about which he wanted to talk, and I again asked him if he was “a-feared.”
It was not long before I found out my old school-fellows, Christopher and Philip Gregson, my old companion, William Gray, then a bookbinder in Chancery Lane, and my friend, Robert Pollard. The first had provided me with a lodging, and the last—through the kindness and influence of his master, Isaac Taylor—with plenty of work. Before commencing work, I thought it best to take a ramble through the city and its environs. The first day I went alone, and saw nobody I knew. On the second day, I fell in—by chance—with Sergeant Hymers, in the Strand, who, on seeing me, seemed quite surprised. He held up both his hands—he looked—he laughed—shook me by the hand, over and over again, and seemed not to know how to be kind enough. He then took me back with him till he got dressed; and, when this was done, he made a very handsome appearance indeed. The rest of the day he devoted wholly to my service. He first took me to the blackguard places in London. I suppose this was done with a view to corroborate the truth of the stories he had told me before, in Newcastle. After I had seen enough of these places, he took me to others better worth notice; and, having rambled about till I had seen a good deal of the exterior as well as the interior of London—of which it would be superfluous to give an account—I sat down closely to work until I got through the wood cuts which, through Isaac Taylor’s kindness, had been provided for me. I then called upon Thomas Hodgson, printer, George Court, Clerkenwell, who had also provided work for me, to meet my arrival in London, and who had impatiently waited for my assistance.[19] I was subsequently employed by Mr. Carnan, and by Mr. Newberry, of St. Paul’s Church Yard.
Having served my time as a kind of “Jack of all trades,” I felt desirous to work amongst the Cockneys, to see if I could find anything amongst them; but in this I was disappointed; for I was never permitted to see any of them at work. They, indeed, seemed desirous of seeing what I was doing, and occasionally peeped in upon me for that purpose. I thought such of them as did so were a most saucy, ignorant, and impudent set. Wherever I went, the ignorant part of the Cockneys called me “Scotchman.” At this I was not offended; but, when they added other impudent remarks, I could not endure them; and this often led me into quarrels of a kind I wished to avoid, and had not been used to engage in.
It is not worth while noticing these quarrels, but only as they served to help out my dislike to London. They were only trivial compared to other matters. One of the first things that struck me, and that constantly hurt my feelings, was the seeing such a number of fine-looking women engaged in the wretched business of “street-walking.” Of these I often enquired as to the cause of their becoming so lost to themselves and to the world. Their usual reply was that they had been basely seduced, and then basely betrayed. This I believed, and was grieved to think that they were thus, perhaps, prevented from becoming the best of mothers to an offspring of lovely and healthy children. I often told them so; and this ended in their tears: and, if they were in poverty, I contributed my mite to relieve them. What a pity it is that this wretchedness is not prevented. Base men treat women as if they were inferior beings, made only to be used like brutes and tyrannized over as slaves. I have always beheld such conduct towards women with abhorrence; for my conceptions of this wretched state of things are of the most soul-harrowing description. It would be extreme weakness to maintain an opinion that all women are good, and that the faults here noticed are always ascribable to the men only. This is not the case; for I am obliged to admit that there are good and bad of each sex. I have often attempted to make an estimate of their comparative numbers, in which I have felt some difficulties. Sometimes my barometer of estimation has risen to the height of ten to one in favour of the fair sex; at other times it has fluctuated, and has fallen down some degrees lower in the scale; but, with me, it is now settled, and I cannot go lower than four good women to one good man. I have often wondered how any man could look healthy, beautiful, sensible, and virtuous women in the face without considering them as the link between men and angels. For my part, I have often felt myself so overpowered with reverence in their presence that I have been almost unable to speak, and they must often have noticed my embarrassment. I could mention the names of many, but it might offend their delicacy. When a man can get such a helpmate for life, his happiness must be secured; for such a one is of inestimable value: “Her price is far above rubies.”
I often spent my evenings at the “George,” in Brook Street, kept by a person of the name of Darby, whose wife, a Cumberland woman, claimed a distant relationship to me. At this house, I met with some very respectable and pleasant tradesmen. While I was there one evening, a stranger to me joined us. I think he was a traveller. He had, however, been in Scotland, and had a mighty itch to speak very disrespectfully of that country, and was vociferous in attempting to entertain the company with his account of the filth and dirt he had met with in it. This I could not bear: their kindness was fresh in my memory; and I felt resentment rising in me. I, however, quashed that feeling, and only told him that I believed I had travelled on foot, perhaps, about three hundred miles through Scotland, and had met with no such people there, nor such dirtiness as he described. There might, indeed, be some such in every country for aught I knew; but I was confident such might be found without going much beyond the street we were in, and who, in addition to their filthiness, were also the most wretched and abandoned of the human race. Some of them, indeed, appeared to me to be scarcely human. I concluded by observing that I was afraid he had been keeping very bad company in Scotland. A laugh by this was raised against him, and he felt him himself quashed by his own folly.
I very frequently visited Westminster Abbey, on some part of the Sunday; and, on the forenoons of that day, I mostly went w............