MY TRADE APPRENTICESHIP FINISHES
Undoubtedly there was a good deal of mystery about the proceedings
which closed the last chapter, but I was in those days very little
concerned with causes, I had enough trouble with results. So I did not
try to speculate, only feeling glad that my friend was evidently all
right. And after all I had spent a very pleasant evening, my belly
was nearly full, and I was threepence to the good. So why worry, more
especially as it was certain that any attempt at investigation on my
part could only lead to trouble for me, and I was ever anxious to avoid
trouble of any kind.
In the course of the day I drifted down to the King's Arms again, but
saw nothing of my friend. So towards evening, I made bold to ask Sam if
he had seen him, and received the reply that he had sailed that morning
in a schooner for Spain. I have never seen him since, but I have not
been able to forget him.
One never-failing source of amusement I had during this long weary
time, for even if hungry and cold young things will try to play, was
in the Tower of London, into which I often dodged past the guards. I
was often caught and driven back, but that only whetted my appetite
for getting in. In my numerous visits I explored many portions of the
old building that visitors never see, and I had many a good meal given
me by the kind-hearted mess-cooks of the garrison. And by stealthily
joining myself on to parties of visitors, I went the rounds of all the
showplaces, into which entrance in those days could only be had by
payment, and was mightily amused at hearing the same old story told
with hardly an altered word by the "beef-eaters."
I have mentioned this particularly, because opportunities for play
in that stern and dingy quarter of London were very few, and when I
got out of Thames Street for a brief space into the cloister-like
atmosphere of the Tower, I really did feel as if I was in another
world, and I never quite got rid of that eerie feeling when I was alone
in some unfrequented corner, that I was moving among a crowd of ghosts,
who in the past had suffered and died within those grim walls. One
night I found myself belated in the horse armoury, and as I could not
find my way out, and dared not call, for that I knew I had no business
there, I curled myself up in a snug corner and went to sleep, awaking
in the morning with the sun streaming into my eyes, and with a firm
determination to run no such risk again. I got in there by climbing
over a big gate with a cheval-de-frise on the top, and I got out the
same way without being observed. I suppose if I had been caught my
punishment would have been something mediæval, for the crime was, to
say the least of it, unusual.
And now the grim fact began to thrust itself upon me without
possibility of mistake that it was hopeless ever to expect to get a
ship by doing as I was doing. The vessels that got their crews in this
way were all pitifully undermanned, and consequently whoever was chosen
for employment in one of them must of necessity be strong and inured to
hard work. Indeed, this choice was carried so far, that the skippers
invariably felt the hands of the candidates, and if they were not
calloused like the skin of a yam, the defect was fatal, supposing that
there was any competition. My hands were only felt once, and that more
I suspect as a matter of form, for nothing came of it.
At last I asked Sam timidly if he really thought I stood any chance of
getting a ship there. He looked down at me as if he had just seen me
for the first time, pondered a moment (but about nothing I am sure),
then suddenly remembering my question, said, "Oh no, not till you've
a-growed a bit. You better stow-away." I said, "Thank you, sir," and
moved off fully determined, whatever happened, not to stow-away. Going
to sea, I thought, was bad enough in any case, but from what I had
heard stowaways stood a good chance of getting first a good hammering,
then a tremendous lot of hard work, and very little food, and prison
at the journey's end. It was a programme that did not appeal to me.
Nevertheless, it was with a sinking heart that I turned away from
Thames Street that night. I felt that I could not hold my own in the
rough and tumble life of the streets much longer, and I craved with all
my heart and soul for a master. I know that there are boys who, even
in good homes, have the nomad instinct so strongly implanted that they
cannot be contented anywhere, will endure, nay, embrace voluntarily all
kinds of privation, so long as they may vagabondise, but I was not one
of them. My early training was all against it. I longed for a home,
and to have some one in authority over me, although I could not help
admitting to myself that I had not made the best of my chances, such as
they were.
But as the darkest hour is just before the dawn according to the adage,
so when my prospects of getting to sea were at what appeared to be the
lowest ebb, I suddenly bethought me of the possibility of finding my
uncle, whom I have before alluded to as being master of a ship. More by
accident than design, I discovered him, and although he was evidently
not overjoyed to see me he agreed to take me to sea with him at the
wage of five shillings per month.
Of my early experiences at sea, I have told at length in the "Log of a
Sea Waif," and therefore I cannot repeat them here. I can only point
out that there seemed to be a fatality about the matter, something
working against my becoming a seafarer, since I was shipwrecked on my
first voyage and landed in Havana, where, because of the old trouble,
my puny size, I could not get a ship, and consequently I returned to
one of my old employments, namely, that of billiard-marker. It was at
the Hotel St Isabel in the Plaza de Armas, and here for some months
I led a very happy if entirely demoralising life for one so young. I
received no wages, but the best of food and lodging, and the tips given
me by the frequenters of the billiard-room were so many that I always
had plenty of money.
But strangely enough, although I certainly ought to have known the
value of money from my previous training, now being provided liberally
with all I needed, I made no attempt to save, but distributed my wealth
among the sailors at the port, with whom I always forgathered when not
on duty. Thus it came about that when I was one day taken charge of by
the Consul again, and after he had scolded and threatened me for some
time, because, as he said, I had dared to remove myself from his care
without his permission, I was entirely penniless.
He put me on board a vessel bound for home via Mobile, Alabama, and
when I reached Liverpool I was not merely penniless, I was almost
naked, and it was winter. I had no claim upon anybody for wages, no
knowledge of where to go, and I felt as if the fates had indeed been
unkind to me. But I found a good Samaritan in the guise of a poor
woman, who kept a small eating-house, and she took me in and allowed
me to work for my keep. And thus I added one more to my smattering
of trades, that of waiter; the maid-of-all-work part I was very
well versed in. It was all the kinder of her, because the business
was hardly substantial enough to support even the slight additional
burden which I placed upon it. Our principal trade was with the
poverty-stricken dock-labourers, whose orders were usually for a
basin of broth at a penny and a ha'porth of bread, except when flush,
they were able to treat themselves to a twopenny plate of potato-pie.
Everybody seemed to be bitterly poor, and it was little wonder to
me that when a sailor just paid off did happen to come in and show
the gleam of gold, eyes grew wolfish and fingers involuntary crooked
themselves.
I had not been there more than a couple of months, when my mistress
gave me clearly to understand that I must be off, for she could not
support me any longer; although God knows I did work hard for every
mouthful I ate (and I was never stinted). Then chance threw in my
way an opportunity of trying yet another trade, that of carver of
ornamental wood work for ship decoration. The workshop was next door,
and I had made the proprietor's acquaintance through running in there
occasionally for chips. But I do not think I should ever have dreamed
of asking him for employment, if my mistress had not one day, when in
conversation with him, mentioned that she was going to start me off.
In the goodness of his heart he offered me employment, and I leaped at
the offer. I started work the very next morning, for my keep, though
what he paid my late mistress I never knew. I was an apt pupil, and he
was very kind, so that I soon became quite useful to him. I learned
to sharpen the multitude of tools he used, and also to rough out with
mallet and chisel the carvings that he and his brother finished off.
It was congenial and pleasant work, and I felt as if at last I had
found my groove, and that I was destined to be a wood-carver. But
alas my evil genius was on my track. I pleased my employer too well.
So well indeed, that his brother, older than he, but a journeyman
under him, became violently jealous of me, and lost no opportunity of
showing his dislike. That, however, did not trouble me much, except
when my boss was away, which was seldom, because under his benevolent
eye I was entirely happy and stimulated to do my very best. Even at
this great lapse of time I remember with a glow at my heart, how
gently he reproved me for the mistakes I made, how warmly he praised
me whenever I was able to do exactly what he wished me to do, and I
have no recollection whatever of his ever being harsh, unjust, or even
inconsiderate.
He had many odd jobs of repairing to do, the ornamental work on ship's
bows and sterns was always getting knocked away when coming into or
going out of dock; and generally it had to be repaired _in situ_, only
the worst damage being worked over in the shop and then taken down
and fitted on. There was something to me very delightful in sitting
alongside him on a precarious-looking stage overhanging the black water
in a dock, listening to his cheery remarks, his clear tenor as he sang
snatches of song, or his whistle, melodious as a skylark's. He never
seemed to be weary or discouraged, or ill-tempered; and I know that I
rendered him all the loving homage of which I was capable.
It was often bitterly cold as we swang on our stages in those exposed
positions, but it never seemed to affect him, his blows with the
chisel upon the intricate design before him never seemed to vary their
certitude or his patience, to falter, even when a cross-grained piece
of wood did fly and spoil the pattern. And then how delightful at
meal times, when we were too far from home to go thither for food, to
accompany him to some cosy cook-shop, and eat with him, treated just as
his son, I was going to say, only unhappily I know that he treated me
far far better than many fathers treat their sons.
Unfortunately as the time went on it became increasingly evident that
this present happiness of mine was drawing rapidly near its end. The
brother of whom I spoke was a most morose and sullen man, a very poor
workman, who could never be trusted to do a job properly, not I should
say lazy, but incapable of doing good work, and fully conscious of
the fact. He would not have earned his salt anywhere, but his good
brother kept him on out of charity. Now my presence there annoyed him,
and whenever I was left alone with him he used to give me a very bad
time. And when his brother returned he always made an evil report of
my behaviour, but I had the satisfaction of feeling that he was not
believed, as indeed he did not deserve to be.
At last, however, the matter culminated in this way. The boss was
working upon one of the African boats, and had left me with his brother
to do some cross-cut sawing. Now every one should know that this is
heavy work even for practised men, and when a boy of thirteen and a man
of thirty are working together, the man ought to remember the disparity
between their ages and strength. But this only gave my small-witted
enemy his opportunity, and when I had perforce to stop from fatigue he
burst into a flood of sarcastic swearing. When he paused for breath, I
made some injudicious reply, and was immediately sent flying across the
shop by a blow on the side of the head. Smarting with pain I snatched
up a mallet, and flung it at the coward with all my strength, and I am
glad to say it landed on his nose, even though my successful shot was
productive of much serious trouble for me.
Then I bolted from the place, for I feared that he would kill me, as
indeed I daresay he would have done had I remained. That evening
my good friend came into the cook-shop, and found me sitting white
and trembling, waiting for him. He was as usual very kind, though he
reproved me gravely for having broken his brother's nose. But when he
asked me if I wasn't sorry for having done it, I gladly remember that I
truthfully told him no. A ghost of a smile gathered around his mouth,
but shaking his head he went on to say, "I'm terribly sorry to part
with you, Tommy, for I had got very fond of you, but I've got to choose
between you and my brother, and I can't turn him off. He swears he will
murder you when he sees you, so you'll have to go. Poor little boy, I
do hope you'll get something else soon." And with that he pressed half
a sovereign into my hand, and went away.
I need not enlarge upon the fact of its being a terrible blow to me,
nor apologise for shedding a good many hot tears after he was gone,
because he was the first person during my independent career who had
satisfied my burning desire to be loved. I felt that he was fond of me,
and knew that his lightest word of commendation was more precious to
me than any treasure would have been. I glory in the knowledge that he
never once had to scold me for anything but mistakes. I did try with
all my heart and soul to please him, because I loved him, and now I had
lost him. And the wide world before me again looked very unsympathetic
and dreary.
Somehow Liverpool seemed very distasteful to me. My weary wanderings
around the docks, and the continual unsuccess I had met with in looking
for a ship, had made me feel as if I might possibly do better in my own
big village, and I realised that I now possessed the means of getting
back to it again. So the next morning I bade farewell to Mrs Dickey, my
landlady, who was quite unmoved at the parting, for she was very angry
with me for getting the sack, as she termed it, and toddled off to Lime
Street, where I had no difficulty whatever in getting a half ticket to
London, nor felt troubled because after paying for it I had only 1s.
7½d. left out of my precious half-sovereign.
I must not omit to mention that Mrs Dickey gave me a big hunk of bread
and cheese when I told her that I was going to London, but she did
not give me a kiss, which I should have prized far more, for I was an
affectionate little chap, and was starving for love. But, poor woman,
she was heavily burdened, and no doubt was heartily glad to get rid of
me, although I cannot think that she had ever been out of pocket by me,
for I certainly earned my keep. Still she did not want me, so there is
no more to be said.
It was a glorious spring day, and the novelty of my first long train
journey made me forget all my troubles. Moreover, I felt full of
importance to think that I was a passenger by that great train. Every
inch of that journey was full of interest to me. I had a seat by the
window, and my eyes fairly ached with the intensity of my gaze out over
the beautiful country of which, until then, I had seen practically
nothing. I remember that I spoke to no one, and no one spoke to me,
though several of my fellow-passengers must have wondered who or what
was the ill-clad urchin who sat so quietly and gazed so intently at the
flying landscape.
I was quite sorry when the train arrived at Euston, and I had to
march out into the mean net-work of streets which surround the badly
situated station, for now I began to wonder what I should do in the
vast city which was my birth-place, but in which I had no friends or
abiding-corner. It was all so familiar, and yet so inhospitable. Had
I only known where to look, there were many places where I could have
found shelter and help, but for lack of that useful knowledge, how many
wanderers like myself have died?
One thing I felt certain of, which was that I could not now take my
place among the ranks of my former companions, I could not compete with
them for sale of papers, or the numerous odd jobs that boys can do. For
one thing I had never been much of a pusher--I was always more ready to
stand aside than to press forward in the race for a job, though willing
enough to take one if I got the chance--and for another, I had lost the
sense of familiarity with those conditions of life ashore, while the
new experience I had gained was here of no use to me.
Therefore I made no effort in this direction, but after wandering
aimlessly about until I was dog tired, I went down the West India Dock
Road until I came to a house with the legend painted up--"Seamen's
Boarding House," and knocked at its door with my heart thumping
furiously. A terrible looking man with a great grizzled beard and a
voice like a foghorn came to the door and looked at me in silence. I
swallowed nothing once or twice, then taking out my discharge from
my last ship, which I had treasured as if it were a bank-note for a
hundred pounds, I said, "Please, Sir, may I stay here. I want a ship
and I've got a good discharge. I'll pay you out of my advance if you'll
get me a ship." He growled.
"Wher's yer dunnage (clothes)?" I answered faintly, "I've got none,
I was shipwrecked." He hesitated for a moment, then rumbled, "come
inside," and with my heart leaping, I went into a stuffy front parlour,
where sat two or three men, obviously ill at ease, and a fat pale faced
woman who was looking fixedly in the fire. Taking me by the shoulder,
the boarding-master led me up to the woman saying--
"Here, mother, here's an able seaman wants to stop here. He's got no
clothes and no money, but he says he'll pay me out of his advance note."
Then I saw with a wave of pity that she was blind. She turned at the
voice and put out both hands, touching me and feeling me from my
forehead down to my waist.
"Why, Bill," she cried, "its only a child, a poor little boy," and with
a motherly movement she drew me to her, and felt me all over again.
Then she asked me many questions, all of which I answered with absolute
truth, for there could be no reason why I should not. And at the
conclusion of her examination I was entered on the books of the house
as a boarder, while the master went growling about saying that at this
rate he would soon be in the workhouse. But the old lady kept me by
her side and whispered that it was only Mr Jones's fun, he didn't mean
anything by it, and that he would surely do his best to get me a ship
soon.
This was true, for though he was always grumpy, and given to regaling
his boarders at meal times with lugubrious forebodings of his speedy
entrance to Poplar Workhouse, with victuals at the price they were and
so many hungry outward-bounders to feed, I know he did his best for me;
did it so well, that in five days from entering his house I obtained
a ship as boy with a wage of twenty-five shillings per month, to my
intense surprise. I received, like the rest of the crew, a note for a
month's advance, which I handed over to him at once. Out of this he
gave me a small supply of most necessary clothes bought second hand, so
that he must have dealt with me not merely honestly but in a spirit of
generosity.
And now I come to the close of my shore apprenticeship, as it may
be termed, for although I had a very severe time upon my return to
Liverpool from that voyage (again shipwrecked), I never again but once
had a job ashore until I left the sea as a profession finally. That
time I spent upon a farm in New Zealand, and although it certainly had
its comic side, I was such an utterly complete failure at it that I
blush now when I think of the figure I made. Fortunately it did not
last long, about two months, and in spite of my colossal ineptitude I
really think I earned all that I received, which was my keep and a pair
of boots.
Not indeed that I could have claimed to have been a shining success in
any of the various commercial paths wherein I had strayed, more or less
painfully, but I must plead that I was very young, and entirely without
the guidance which youngsters have a right to expect from their elders.
And now I must make a jump of a great many years, to the time in fact
when relentless need drove me into commercialism again. And with this
what I suppose I must call the serious part of my narrative begins.