I have said in a former chapter that I was a regular _mudlarker_. So I
was, as far as the ostensible occupation of those who are so denominated
went; to wit, "picking up pieces of old rope, wood, etc." But the
mudlarkers, properly speaking, at that time composed a very extensive
body on the river, and were a more humble portion of the numerous river
depredators, of which I may hereafter speak. A mudlarker was a man who
had an old boat, generally sold by some merchant vessel, furnished with
an iron bar full of hooks, which was lowered down by a rope to catch
pieces of cordage, oakum, canvas or other articles, which might fall
overboard from the numerous vessels in the river; these were sold to the
marine stores, such as were kept by old Nanny. But, as I observed, this
was the _ostensible_ mode of livelihood; they had other resources, to
which I shall presently refer. An old man of the name of Jones, who
resided at Greenwich, was one of these mudlarkers by profession. He was
a surly old fellow, his sharp nose and chin nearly meeting, and he
usually went by the name of Old Grumble. I had occasionally assisted him
with his boat, but without receiving money, or indeed thanks, for my
pains, but for this I cared little. He was a very old man, and when he
came on shore and went up to old Nanny with the few things he had
collected during the day, I almost wondered how he could manage to
subsist, and thought myself infinitely better off than he was.
One evening he said to me, "Jack, I'm going up the river, I wish you'd
come in the boat and help me, and if I make anything I will give you
something for your trouble, but if I don't you can't expect it."
As he was very infirm I went with him, more out of charity than with any
hopes of profit. We pulled with the tide till we arrived a little above
Deptford, where several ships were lying, and he went close to one and
lowered down his grapnels. He dragged for a short time.
"Just you make a little further off, old fellow," cried the mate of the
vessel.
"Won't allow a poor old man to earn a few pence, I suppose," replied Old
Grumble, hauling up his grapnel and directing me to pull under the
bows, where he dropped it down again. I now perceived, as I thought,
some signs passing between him and one of the men in the head; but if
so, they were soon over, and Old Grumble continued his avocation till
the sun set.
"How long do you intend to remain here?" inquired I.
"Oh, not much longer, but I must wait a bit."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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