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1The Honest Tradesman To the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sitting on his stool in Fleet-street with his grisly urchin
2beside him, a vast number and variety of objects in movement were every day presented. Who could sit upon anything in
3Fleet-street during the busy hours of the day, and not be dazed and deafened by two immense processions, one ever
4tending westward with the sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun, both ever tending to the plains beyond the
5range of red and purple where the sun goes down! With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Cruncher sat watching the two streams,
6like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on duty watching one stream--saving that Jerry had no
7expectation of their ever running dry. Nor would it have been an expectation of a hopeful kind, since a small part of
8his income was derived from the pilotage of timid women (mostly of a full habit and past the middle term of life) from
9Tellson's side of the tides to the opposite shore. Brief as such companionship was in every separate instance, Mr.
10Cruncher never failed to become so interested in the lady as to express a strong desire to have the honour of drinking
11her very good health. And it was from the gifts bestowed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent purpose, that
12he recruited his finances, as just now observed. Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused in
13the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on a stool in a public place, but not being a poet, mused as little as possible,
14and looked about him. It fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds were few, and belated women few, and
15when his affairs in general were so unprosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his breast that Mrs. Cruncher must
16have been "flopping" in some pointed manner, when an unusual concourse pouring down Fleet-street westward, attracted his
17attention. Looking that way, Mr. Cruncher made out that some kind of funeral was coming along, and that there was
18popular objection to this funeral, which engendered uproar. "Young Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher, turning to his offspring,
19"it's a buryin'." "Hooroar, father!" cried Young Jerry. The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterious
20significance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched his opportunity, and smote the young gentleman on
21the ear. "What d'ye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you want to conwey to your own father, you young Rip? This
22boy is a getting too many for me!" said Mr. Cruncher, surveying him. "Him and his hooroars! Don't let me hear no more of
23you, or you shall feel some more of me. D'ye hear?" "I warn't doing no harm," Young Jerry protested, rubbing his cheek.
24"Drop it then," said Mr. Cruncher; "I won't have none of your no harms. Get a top of that there seat, and look at the
25crowd." His son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling and hissing round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning
26coach, in which mourning coach there was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy trappings that were considered essential
27to the dignity of the position. The position appeared by no means to please him, however, with an increasing rabble
28surrounding the coach, deriding him, making grimaces at him, and incessantly groaning and calling out: "Yah! Spies! Tst!
29Yaha! Spies!" with many compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat. Funerals had at all times a remarkable
30attraction for Mr. Cruncher; he always pricked up his senses, and became excited, when a funeral passed Tellson's.
31Naturally, therefore, a funeral with this uncommon attendance excited him greatly, and he asked of the first man who ran
32against him: "What is it, brother? What's it about?" "I don't know," said the man. "Spies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!" He asked
33another man. "Who is it?" "I don't know," returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouth nevertheless, and
34vociferating in a surprising heat and with the greatest ardour, "Spies! Yaha! Tst, tst! Spi--ies!" At length, a person
35better informed on the merits of the case, tumbled against him, and from this person he learned that the funeral was the
36funeral of one Roger Cly. "Was he a spy?" asked Mr. Cruncher. "Old Bailey spy," returned his informant. "Yaha! Tst! Yah!
37Old Bailey Spi--i--ies!" "Why, to be sure!" exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at which he had assisted. "I've seen
38him. Dead, is he?" "Dead as mutton," returned the other, "and can't be too dead. Have 'em out, there! Spies! Pull 'em
39out, there! Spies!" The idea was so acceptable in the prevalent absence of any idea, that the crowd caught it up with
40eagerness, and loudly repeating the suggestion to have 'em out, and to pull 'em out, mobbed the two vehicles so closely
41that they came to a stop. On the crowd's opening the coach doors, the one mourner scuffled out by himself and was in
42their hands for a moment; but he was so alert, and made such good use of his time, that in another moment he was
43scouring away up a bye-street, after shedding his cloak, hat, long hatband, white pocket-handkerchief, and other
44symbolical tears. These, the people tore to pieces and scattered far and wide with great enjoyment, while the tradesmen
45hurriedly shut up their shops; for a crowd in those times stopped at nothing, and was a monster much dreaded. They had
46already got the length of opening the hearse to take the coffin out, when some brighter genius proposed instead, its
47being escorted to its destination amidst general rejoicing. Practical suggestions being much needed, this suggestion,
48too, was received with acclamation, and the coach was immediately filled with eight inside and a dozen out, while as
49many people got on the roof of the hearse as could by any exercise of ingenuity stick upon it. Among the first of these
50volunteers was Jerry Cruncher himself, who modestly concealed his spiky head from the observation of Tellson's, in the
51further corner of the mourning coach. The officiating undertakers made some protest against these changes in the
52ceremonies; but, the river being alarmingly near, and several voices remarking on the efficacy of cold immersion in
53bringing refractory members of the profession to reason, the protest was faint and brief. The remodelled procession
54started, with a chimney-sweep driving the hearse--advised by the regular driver, who was perched beside him, under close
55inspection, for the purpose--and with a pieman, also attended by his cabinet minister, driving the mourning coach. A
56bear-leader, a popular street character of the time, was impressed as an additional ornament, before the cavalcade had
57gone far down the Strand; and his bear, who was black and very mangy, gave quite an Undertaking air to that part of the
58procession in which he walked. Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, song-roaring, and infinite caricaturing of woe,
59the disorderly procession went its way, recruiting at every step, and all the shops shutting up before it. Its
60destination was the old church of Saint Pancras, far off in the fields. It got there in course of time; insisted on
61pouring into the burial-ground; finally, accomplished the interment of the deceased Roger Cly in its own way, and highly
62to its own satisfaction. The dead man disposed of, and the crowd being under the necessity of providing some other
63entertainment for itself, another brighter genius (or perhaps the same) conceived the humour of impeaching casual
64passers-by, as Old Bailey spies, and wreaking vengeance on them. Chase was given to some scores of inoffensive persons
65who had never been near the Old Bailey in their lives, in the realisation of this fancy, and they were roughly hustled
66and maltreated. The transition to the sport of window-breaking, and thence to the plundering of public-houses, was easy
67and natural. At last, after several hours, when sundry summer-houses had been pulled down, and some area-railings had
68been torn up, to arm the more belligerent spirits, a rumour got about that the Guards were coming. Before this rumour,
69the crowd gradually melted away, and perhaps the Guards came, and perhaps they never came, and this was the usual
70progress of a mob. Mr. Cruncher did not assist at the closing sports, but had remained behind in the churchyard, to
71confer and condole with the undertakers. The place had a soothing influence on him. He procured a pipe from a
72neighbouring public-house, and smoked it, looking in at the railings and maturely considering the spot. "Jerry," said
73Mr. Cruncher, apostrophising himself in his usual way, "you see that there Cly that day, and you see with your own eyes
74that he was a young 'un and a straight made 'un."
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