THE RUFFIAN.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 13, Issue 668, 29 March 1869, Page 4

THE RUFFIAN.

(By the "Uncommercial Traveller" in "All the Year ltouud."

I entertain so strong an objection' to the euphonious softening of Ruffian into Rough, which has lately become popular, that I restore the right word to the heading of this paper; the rather, as my object is to dwell upon the fact that the Ruffian is tolerated among us to an extent that goes beyond all unruffianly endurance. 1 take the liberty to believe that if the Ruffian besets my life, a professional Ruffian at large in the open streets of a great city, notoriously having no other calling than that of Ruffian and of disquieting and despoiling me as I go peacefully about my lawful business, interfering with no one, then the Government under which I have the great constitutional privilege, supreme honor and happiness, and all the rest of it, to exist, breaks down in the discharge of any Government's most simple elementary duty. What did I read in. the London daily papers in the early days of this last September ? That the Police had "At length succeeded in capturing Two of the notorious gang that HAVE SO LONG INFESTED THE WATER--100-ROAD." Is it possible? What a wonderful Police ! Here is a straight, broad, public thoroughfare of immense resort; half a mile long: gaslighted by night; with a great gaslighted railway station in it, extra the street lamps; full of shops; traversed by two popular cross thoroughfares of considerable traffic, itself the main road to the south of London ; and tinadmirable Police have, after long infest ment of this dark and lonely spot by a gang of Ruffians, actually got hold oi two of them. Why, can it be doubted that any man of fair London knowledge and common resolution, armed with the powers of the Law. could have captured the whole confederacy in a week ? It is to the saving up of the Ruffian class by the Magistracy and Police—to the conventional preserving of them, as if they were Partridges—that their number and audacity must be in great part referred. Why is a notorious thief and Ruffian ever left at large ? He never turns his liberty to any account but violence and plunder, he never did a day's work out of jail, he never will do a day's work out of jail. As a proved notorious thief he is al ways consignable to prison for three months. When he comes out, he is surely as notorious a thief as he was when he went in. Then send him back again. " Just Heaven ! " cries the society for the Protection of Remonstrant Ruffians, " This is equivalent to a sentence of perpetual imprisonment ; " Precisely for that reason it has my advocacy. I demand to have the Ruffian kept out of my way.. and out of the way of all decent people. I demand to have the Ruffian employed, per force, in hewing wood and drawing water somewhere for the general service, instead of hewing at her Majesty's subjects and drawing watches out of their pockets. If this be termed an unreasonable demand, then the tax-gatherer's demand on me must be far more unreasonable, and cannot be otherwise than extortionate and unjust.

It will be seen that I treat of the thief and Ruffian as one. I do so, because I know the two characters to be one, in the vast majority of cases just as well as the police know it. (As to the Magistracy, with a few ex ceptions, they know nothing about it but what the police choose to tell them.) There are disorderly classes of men who are not thieves; as rail way-navigators, briclunakers, woodsawyers, costermongers. These classes are often disorderly and troublesome : but it is mostly among themselves, and at any rate they have their industrious avocations, they work early and late, and work hard. The generic Ruffian —honorable member for what is tenderly called the Rough Element —is either a thief, or companion of thieves. When he infamously molests women coming out of chapel on Sunday evenings (for*which I would have his Lack', scarified often and deep) it is not only for the gratification of his pleasant instincts, but that there might jbß a confusion raised by which either he or his friends may profit, in the commission of highway robberies or in picking pockets. Whea he gets

a police constable down and kicks him helpless for life, it is because that constable once did his duty in bringino- him to justice. When he rushes into the -bar of a public-house and scoops an eye out of one of the company there, or bites his ear off, it is because the man he maims gave evidence against him. When he and a line of comrades extending across the footway —say of that solitary moun-tain-spur of the Abruzzi, the Waterloo Road —advance towards me " skylarking" among themselves, my purse or shirt-pin is in predestined peril from his playfulness. Always a Ruffian, always a thief. Always a thief, always a Ruffian. Now, when I, who am not paid to know these things, know them daily on the evidence of my senses and experience ; when I know that the Ruffian never jostles a lady in the street, or knocks a hat off, but in order that the thief may profit, is it surprising that I should require from those who are paid to know these things, prevention of them ? j Look at this group at a street corner. Number one is a shirking fellow of five-and-twenty, in an ill-favored and ill-savored suit, his trousers of corduroy, his coat of some indiscernible ground-work for the deposition of grease, his neckerchief like an eel, his complexion like dirty dough, and his mangy fur cap pulled low upon his beetle brow's to hide the prison cut of his hair. His hands are in his pockets. He puts them there when they are idle, as naturally as in other people's pockets when they are busy, for he knows they are not roughened by work, and that they tell a tale. Hence, whenever he takes one out to draw a sleeve across his nose —which is often, for he has weak eye* and a constitutional cold iu his head—he returns it to his pocket immediately afterwards. Number two is a burly brute about five-and-thirty, in a tall stiff hat; is a composite as to his clothes of betting man and fighting man; is whiskered; has a staring pin in his breast, along with his right hand; has insolent and cruel eyes ; large shoulders; strong legs', booted and tipped for kicking, Number three is forty years of age, is short, thickset, strong, and bow-legged; wears knee cords and white stockings, a very long-sleeved waistcoat, a very large neckerchief doubled or trebled round his throat, and a crumpled white hat crowns his ghastly parchment face. This fellow looks like an executed postboy of other days, cut down from the gallows too soon, and restored and preserved by express diabolical agency. Numbers five, six, and seven are bulking, idle, slouching yo:mg men. patched and shabby, too short in the sleeves and too tight in the legs—-slimily-clotbed, foul-spoken, repulsive wretches inside and out. Iu all the party there obtains a certain twitching character of mouth and furtiveness oi eye, that hints how the coward is lurking under the bully. The hint is quite correct, for they are a slinking, sneaking set, far more prone to lie down on their backs and kick out, when in difficulty, than to make a stand for it. (This may account for the street-mud on the backs of Numbers five, six, and seven, being much fresher than the stale splashes on their These engaging gentry a police constable stands contemplating. His station, with a reserve of assistance, is very near at hand. They cannot pre tend to be any trade, not even to be porters or messengers. It would be idle if they did, for ha knows them, and they know that he knows them, to be nothing but professed thieves and ruffians. He knows where they resort, knows by what slang names they call one another, knows how often they have been in prison, and how long, and for what. All this is known at this station, too, and is (or ought to be) known at Scotland Yard too. But does he know, or does his station know, or does Scotland Yard know, or does anybody else know, why these fellows should be here at liberty, when as reputed thieves to whom a whole Division of Police could swear, they might all be under lock and key at hard labor ? Not he ; truly be would be a wise man if he did S He only knows that these are members of the "notorious gang" which, according to the newspaper reports of this last past September,

"have so long infested" the awful solitudes of the Waterloo Road, and out of which almost impregnable fastnesses the police have at length dragged two, to the unspeakable admiration of all good civilians. i The consequences of the contemplative habit on the part of the Execute — a habit to be looked for in a hermit, but not in a Police System — are familiar to us all. The Ruffian becomes one of the established orders of the body politic. Under the playful name of Rough (as if he were merely a practical joker) his movements and successes are recorded on public occasions. Whether he mustered in large numbers or small; whether he was in good spirits, or depressed; whether he turned his generous exertions to very prosperous account, or fortune was against him ; whether he was in a sanguinary mood, or robbed with amiable horse-play and a gracious consideration for life or limb ; all this is chronicled as if he were an institution. 13 there any city in Europe, out of England, in which such terms are held with the pests of society ? Or in which, at this day, such violent robberies from the person are constantly committed as in London ?

The Preparatory Schools of Ruffianism are similarly borne with. The young .Ruffians of London —not thieves yet, but training for scholarships and fellowships in the Criminal Court Universities —molest quiet people and their property, to an extent that is hardly credible. The throwing of stones in the streets has become a dangerous and destructive offence, which surely could have got to no greater height though we had no police but our own riding-whips and walking-sticks—the police to which I myself appeal on these occasions. The throwing of stones at the windows of railway carriages in motion —an act of wanton wickedness with the very Arch-Fiend's hand in it—had become a crying evil, when the railway companies forced it on police notice. Constabular contemplation had until then been the order of the day. Within these twelve months, there arose among the young gentlemen of London aspiring to Ruffianism, and cultivating that much encouraged social art, a facetious cry of "I'll have this!" accompanied with a clutch at some article of a passing lady's dress. I have known a lady's veil to be thus humorously torn from her face and carried off in the open streets at noon ; and I have had the honor of myself giving chase, on Westminster Bridge, to another young Ruffian, who, in full daylight early on a summer evening, had nearly thrown a modest young woman into a swoon of indignation and confusion, by his shameful manner of attacking her with this cry as she harm lessly passed along before me. Mr Carlyle some time since awakened a little pleasantry by writing of his own experience of the Ruffian of the streets. [ have seen the Ruffian act in exact accordance with Mr Carlyle's description, innumerable times, and I never saw him checked.

The blaring use of the very worst language possible in our public thoroughfares —especially in those set apart for recreation —is another disgrace to us, and another result of con stabular contemplation, the like of which I have never heard in any other country to which my uncommercial travels have extended. Years ago, when I had a near interest in certain childreu who were sent with their nurses, for air and exercise, into the Regent's Park, I found this evil to be so abhorrent and horrible there, that I called public attention to it, and also to its contemplative reception by the police. Looking afterwards into the newest Police Act, and finding that the offence was punishable under it, 1 resolved, when a striking occasion should arise, to try my hand as prosecutor. The occasion arose soon enough, and I ran the following gauntlet. The utterer of the base coin in question was a young girl of seventeen or eighteen, who with a suitable attendance of blackguards, youths and boys, was flaunting along the streets, returning from an Irish funeral, in a Progress interspersed with singing and dancing. She had turned round to me and expressed herself in the most iaudible manner, to the great delight uf that select circle. I attended the party, on the opposite side of the way,

for a mile further, and then encountered a police constable. The company had made themselves merry at my expense until now, but seeing me speak to the constable its male members instantly took to their heels, leaving the girls alone. I asked the constable did he know my name ? Yes, he did. *' Take that girl into custody, on my charge, for using bad language in the streets." He had never heard of such a charge. I had. Would he take my word that he should get into no trouble ? Yes, sir, he would do that. So he took the girl, and I went home for my Police Act. With this potent instrument in my pocket, I literally as well as figuratively "returned to the charge," and presented myself at the Police Station of the district. There I found on duty a very intelligent Inspector (they are all intelligent men) who, likewise, had never heard of the charge. I showed him my clause, and we went over it twice or thrice. It was plain, and I engaged to wait upon the suburban magistrate to-morrow morning at ten o'clock.

In the morning, I put my Police Act in my pocket again, and waited upon the suburban magistrate. I was not quite so courteously received by him as I should have been by the Lord Chancellor or the Lord Chief Justice, but that was a question of good breeding on the suburban magistrate's part, and I had my clause ready with its leaf turned down. Which was enough for me.

Conference took place between the magistrate and clerk, respecting the charge. During conference I was evidently regarded as a much more objectionable person than the prisoner;— one giving trouble by coming there voluntarily, which the prisoner could not be accused of doing. The prisoner had been got up, since I last had the pleasure of seeing her, with a great effect of white apron and straw bonnet. She reminded me of au elder sister of Red Riding Hood,, and I seemed to remind the sympathizing chimney-sweep by whom she was at tended, of the Wolf.

The magistrate was doubtful, Mr Uncommercial Traveller, whether this charge could be entertained. It was not known. Mr Uncommercial Traveller replied that he wished it were better known, and that, if he could afford the leisure, he would use his endeavors to make it so. There was no question about it, however, he contended. Here was the clause.

The clause was handed in, and more conference resulted. After which 1 was asked the extraordinary question : "Mr Uncommercial, do you really wish this girl to be sent to prison ? " To which I grimly answered, staring : "If I didn't, why should I take the trouble to come here ?" Finally, I was sworu, and gave my agreeable evidence in detail, and White Riding Hood was fined ten shillings, under the clause, or sent to prison for so many days. " Why, Lord bless you, sir," said the police-officer who showed me out, with a great enjoyment of the jest of her having been got up so effectively, and caused so much hesitation : "If she goes to prison, that will be nothing new to her. She comes from Charles-street, Drury Lane ! " The police, all things considered, are an excellent force, and I have borne my small testimony to their merits. Constabular contemplation is the result of a bad system ; a system which is administered, not invented, by the man in constable's uniform, employed at twenty shillings a week, lie has his orders, and would be marked for discouragement if he overstepped them. That the system is bad, there needs no lengthened argument to prove, because the fact is selfevident. If it were anything else, the results that have attended it could not possibly have come to pass. Who will say that under a good system our streets could have got into their present state ?

The objection to the whole Police System, as concerning the Ruffian, may be stated, and its failures exempliiied, as follows. It is well known that on all great occasions, when they come together in numbers, the mass ol the English people are their own trustworthy police. It is well known that wheresoever there is collected togethei any fair general representation of the people, a respect for law and order, and a determination to discountenance

lawlessness and disorder, may be relie upon. As to one another, the peop] are a very good police, and yet ai quite willing in their good-nature t\ the stipendiary police should,have tl credit of the people's moderation. Bi we are all of us powerless against tl Ruffian, because we submit to the lan and it is his only trade, by superio iforce and by violence, to defy j Moreover, we are constantly admon ished from high places (like 50 man Sunday-school children out for a holj day of buns and milk-and-water) tfaa we are not to take the law into 011 own hands, but we are to hand on defence over to it. It is clear tin the comman enemy to be punished anj exterminated first of all, is the Ruffian It is clear that he is, of all others, t\ offender for whose repressal we main tain a costly system of police. Hin therefore, we expressly present to tl police to deal with, conscious that, 4 the whole, we can, and do, deal rej sonably well with one another. Hin| the police deal with so inefficientl and absurdly that he flourishes, ani multiplies, and, with all his evil deect upon his head as notoriously as his ha! is, pervades the streets with no mori let or hindrance than ourselves.