My entrance, therefore, did not attract so much
attention as it might otherwise have done. The
vocalist sat with his eyes closed and his face
directed to the ceiling. At the end of each
verse came the chorus, sung in all keys, but
principally inharmonious keys, from the shrill
treble of the young woman of eighteen to the
basso profundo of the stoutest-lunged, broadest-chested
man among them:

        There—ere—ere she lay
        Till—ill—ill nex' day,
        In the bay—a—ay o' Biscay, O!

Being determined to make myself as agreeable
as possible, I joined lustily in the chorus
of one or two well-known songs, which drew
from the "president" the flattering remark that
"The sailor cove can make a noise;" the
"cove" thus flattered being the writer of this
strictly true narrative.

"Bray-vo! bray-vo!" cried all the convivialists
– excepting, of course, those who were too
drunk to say or express anything – at the end
of each song, with pleasure beaming from their
eyes. The room in which we made festival, had
been at some early period of its history the
dining-room of some titled family. An earl's
coronet surmounting the carved oak mantelpiece
attested this. The floor, also, was of oak,
but so covered with dirt, filth, and beer, that
the present landlord must be as averse to the
use of water for outsides as for insides. Two
deal benches ran parallel all down the room,
and near the fireplace (which contained a roaring
fire, coal being cheap in the neighbourhood)
stood an old worn-out piano, intended to
accompany the convivialists in their attempts at
harmony.

In different parts of the room groups of
tramps of all kinds; thieves, costermongers,
quack doctors; itinerant fish, potato, coal, and
cheese sellers; begging-letter writers and
carriers; gipsies, and many others; were sitting or
standing in every conceivable posture, comfortable
and uncomfortable. They were dressed in
such a variety of costumes as might have
supplied the lender of theatrical wardrobes with
the nucleus of a stock in trade, and more
"varieties" than he would have known what to
do with. Some of the "professional" gentlemen
present sat on the boards and tables which
contained their pots of beer, porter, and other
intoxicating liquids, and drank them at their
leisure and pleasure. The drink most in
request was that known as "half-and-half," or
"fourpenny," but which they termed "Burton."
In the course of the three hours passed in this
temple of Apollo, I particularly noticed one man
who drank every drop of four imperial quarts
of this questionable concoction. About forty
men and thirty women were present; many of
the latter sitting on the knees of their admirers,
and drinking from the same cups – there were no
glasses – and arguing, wrangling with, and abusing,
their neighbours and companions from their
luxurious resting-places. Most abominable
language was the mode.

One could see that the ladies were considered,
or, perhaps I ought to say, considered
themselves, privileged persons. This was obvious
as much from the manner in which they
interrupted the male singers as from the severity
with which they occasionally criticised their
vocal abilities. Occasionally the progress of a
song was interrupted for many minutes together
by one of the women making a very bad singer's
cause her own, and advocating it with an
immense power of "gab," to use their own
expressive word. The company appeared rather
shy of me at first, because I did not smoke;
it did not strike me until afterwards that a
sailor who neither smokes nor chews is a very
rare animal indeed. Being a stranger to everybody
in the room, they had, perhaps, some
idea that I was not what my disguise intended
to convey, but all suspicion was allayed by
my "hail, fellow, well met" and "how are you,
my hearty" manner, and by the readiness with
which I accepted their various propositions to
"put my lips to it:" the "it" being one of
the quart cups. As I had determined to make
myself at home, I did not refuse to "wet my
whistle" at their expense. In return I found
that I was expected to invite them all in
turn to "wet" their whistles at my expense,
and, as I generally told them to "drink another
drop," or to "finish it," I was declared "a
hout-an'-hout slap-up brick!" I was eventually
called upon to contribute to the "harmony" of
the evening – your regular professional thieves
can make use of some very fine words
occasionally by "tipping 'em a stave," or, as one
young lady with a pair of black (I mean
damaged) eyes made the request, to "hollar
summat." The "summat" I "hollered," was Annie
Laurie. I detected a strong Scotch accent in
one or two persons present, and I knew that it
would be lauded to the skies by them, however
execrably sung by me; and I knew equally well
that it is one of the most popular songs current
with the lower orders. It did one good to hear
them all join in the chorus:

        An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
        I would lay me down an' dee.

The rattling of cups and the stamping of feet
at the conclusion of the song testified to the
amount of gratification it had afforded. One or
two individuals were very pressing in their
requests to me to sing again, but answering
"Not twice, thank you," and pleading a cold,
I was allowed to subside into silence. After
thus entertaining the company, I found that I
was entitled and expected to call upon some
one else to sing or "holler summat." In
pursuance of this privilege, I called upon a
venerable-looking man sitting in a corner alone. The
old fellow appeared so woe-begone that it would
have made me happy to have prevailed upon
him to take an active part in a little innocent
singing. My aged friend, however, said it was
not in his power to sing anything, and he was
called upon to pay a fine of twopence to the
"gentleman" who presided at the pianoforte.