The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 91: what you’re looking at

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er SUE es ee ~ a ee eee CHAPTER XXIL ’ JACOB'S ISLAND. Ar the point where Bermondsey joins Rotherhithe on the bank of the Thames, there is a spot which con- tains in a very narrow compass all the most fright- ful clements of crime, dcmoralization, pauperism, wretchedness, and pestilence. Many vile and miser- able ncighbourhoods are there in London—many horrible and poverty-stricken districts—many quarters atecped in filth, feculence, and squalor: but, 5t. Giles’s and Saffron Hill—W hitechapel and Bethnal Green— the Almonry of Westminster and the Mint of South- wurk,—all these are clysiums and paradises in com- parison with Jacob's Island. For the better comprehension of those readers who are but indifferently acquainted with the topography of this large motropolis, we shall observe that in the south-eastern district there are two immense parishes juining cach other, and knuwn as Bermond- sey and Kotherhithe. On passing over London Bridge into Southwark, tarn to the left—prooced along Tooley Street—and thence may you plunge into all that maze of narrow strects, dirty lanes, and wretched courte which constitute Bermondsey and are prolonged eastward under the name of Rother- hithe. In those districts may be seen the bustle of warchouses mingling with the incessant activity of petty commerce—the huge wain of the wholcsale merchant blocking up the narrow thoroughfare against the progress of the costermonger’s cart—the important-looking clerk jostling against the small dealer—the creaking crane drawing up immense Dales to some well-stored loft, and the light cart delivering in bundles of wood or small packages of grocery at the peddling chandler's shop. But for the inust part the houses are poor in appcarance—often dilapidated—and dingy, dirty, and uninviting cvery- where. Whole streets contain nothing but the poorest, must wretched, and most beggarly shops; while 9 glance under the arch-ways of the numerous courts causes a shudder to pass over the frame at the bare idea that eo many human beings should be com- pelled to herd together in wretchcdncss and squalor thcre. Such is the general impression made upon the mind by the aspect of Bermondsey and Rotherhithe. Kut bad, unpleasant, and repulsive as these digtricts uru,--in no one respect do they adequately prepare ' the mind for the loathsome horrors, the hideousness, and the pestilential secnes which are presently to meet the eyes of the individual who explores his way to Jacob's Island. We have supposed that on leaving London Bridge, you turn into Tooley Street: thia is sufficiently broad ooo —_ ae a - and open, though dirty and repulsiye withal—and a glance into any of the diverging lanes will afford a glimpse of the wretchcdness, misery, and squalor that exist behind the lofly warchouses and vast commer- cial repositories of that thoroughfare. Well, continue your way along Freeschool and Thorntun Strects -- and you will debotch upon the tup of Mill Street. | Btrect. EE HEP ie Pauee—and look around you! Think of the palaces of Belgravia—and contemplate these dens of wretchied- ness which now mect your eyes, and where the poor are crammed together as thickly as the herrings in thoee tude which you have previously seen in Tooley Think of the man:iens of the rich at the wu Se eee Se OS eee Ga mn a THE MYSTERIES Or THE COURT. West End—and survey the hovels, the courts, and the lanes where all is miscry, misery, miscry! Ice- member the fresh air which blows from the green parks into the casements and through the Venctian blinds of the palatial homes of the British aristocracy —and then mark the noxious atmosphere which hangs, dull and stagnant like a plague-mist, upon the neighbourhood which you are exploring. All this is bad enough, you will say: but it is nothing—absolutely nothing—to what yct remains in the path of your researches. Go on—proceed down Mill Street towards the Thames—and presently you will observe, upon your right hand, a spectacle that must force from your lips an ejaculution expressive of won- derment, horror, and dismay that such a ecene should exist in the capital of England and in the middle of the nineteenth century ! But what is this hideons—this appalling—this loathsome scene which you thus behold ? Iti is Jacob's Island. Hiemmed in as it were by warehouscs, landing wharves, and other repositorica of commerce, this ruokery might almost cscape the notice of the wan- derer in that part of the metropolis, were not his at- tention especially directed towards it. From the Thames it is sereencd by the warchouses forming the line called Bermondsey Walk: but on approaching it by way of Mill Street, its horrors and loathsome- ness begin to devclop themselves to the shocked and disgusted gaze, like some hideous reptile slowly un- eoiling its slimy folds, while the air feels tainted and sickly with its venomous breath. Concelve a black ditch, about twenty fect in width, forming a complete quadrangle, with lines of hovels upon the outer banks, and a dense assemblage of Bimilar wretched dwellings on the insulated square within the boundary. Such, in a few words, is Jacob's Island. But not all the languages In the universe can supply terins strong cnough to convey an adcquate idca of the misery of the place. It must be scen, to be properly understood. The ditch is crossed in several places by means of rotten, ricketty wooden bridges: and to stand upon one of them fur only a few moments, is to inhale a noxions vapour which makes the etomach sick and the heart heave. The houscs are byilt partly of brick and parily of wood, and literally scem all tumbling to pieces. They look as if they were about to give way and fall in with one universal smash. The brick- work is so dingy and the woodwork so blackencd, that it is impossible to say where one cuds and the other begins: there seems an uttcr confusion in the architecture and an incomprehensible jumbling of materials. These hovels have for the most part only one storey -above the ground-floor: aud the ground-floors (hem- eelves are lower than the Icvel of the svil, as if they all sloped towards the ditch which the back rooms overlook. Many of the habitations project over the ditch, and are supported by upright posts, or piles, driven into the dyke's muddy bed: and where the houzes are thus arranged, they have small gallerics or enclosed places, serving the purpose of back-yards in every possible respect. The gencral appearance of the place is that of an aseemblage of blackened hovels of the most miserable description ; and no humane person would consent to allow a favourite dog or cat to harbour there. Yet this disgrict, with its stagnant ditch and its pestilential atmosphere, is swarming with human life—men, women, and children herding oa a ee, CONNEC MOO SS COMM