How an Illustrated Newspaper is
Produced--Wood-engraving--Boxwood--Blocks for Illustrated
Newspapers--Rapid Sketching--Drawing on the Block--Method of Dividing
the Block for Engraving--Electrotyping--Development of the Printing
Machine--Printing Woodcuts--Machinery for Folding Newspapers--Special
Artists--Their Dangers and Difficulties--Their Adventures in War and
Peace.
In describing the production of a modern pictorial newspaper, I take the
_Illustrated London News_ as the type of its class, because it was the
first paper of the kind that was ever established. The art of
wood-engraving, to which the illustrated newspaper owes its existence,
has been fully described by competent authors. The best work on the
subject is that produced by the late John Jackson in 1839; but since
that date the resources of the art have been greatly developed, chiefly
through the influence of illustrated newspapers.
The material used for wood-engraving is box-wood, which is preferred to
all other kinds of wood on account of its close grain, hardness, and
light colour. It admits of finer and sharper lines being cut upon it
than any other wood, and great quantities are consumed in producing the
engravings of an illustrated newspaper. According to Mr. J. R. Jackson,
Curator of the Kew Museum, the box-tree is at the present time widely
distributed through Europe and Asia, being found abundantly in Italy,
Spain, Southern France, and on the coast of the Black Sea, as well as
China, Japan, Northern India, and Persia. The box of English growth is
so small as to be almost useless for commercial purposes. What is called
Turkey box-wood is the best, and this is all obtained from the forests
that grow on the Caucasus, and is chiefly shipped at Poti and Rostoff.
The forests extend from thirty to a hundred and eighty miles inland, but
many of them are in the hands of the Russian Government and are closed
to commerce. Within the last few years a supply of box-wood has been
obtained from the forests in the neighbourhood of the Caspian Sea; but
Turkey box is becoming dearer every year and inferior in quality. After
the wood is cut in the forest, it is brought down on horseback to the
nearest river, put on board flat-bottom boats, and floated down to the
port of shipment. It arrives in this country either at Liverpool or
London, chiefly the former, and is usually in logs about four feet long
and eight or ten inches across.
[Illustration: BACK OF A BLOCK, SHOWING THE WAY IN WHICH THE PARTS ARE
FASTENED TOGETHER.]
The wood intended for engraving purposes is first carefully selected and
then cut up into transverse slices about an inch thick. After being cut,
the pieces are placed in racks something like plate-racks, and
thoroughly seasoned by slow degrees in gradually heated rooms. This
seasoning process ought to last, on an average, four or five years; but
the exigencies of trade seldom allow of so long a time. They are then
cut into parallelograms of various sizes, the outer portion of the
circular section near the bark being cut away, and all defective wood
rejected. These parallelograms are then assorted as to size, and fitted
together at the back by brass bolts and nuts. By this means blocks of
any size can be made, and they possess the great advantage of being
capable of being taken to pieces after a drawing is made, and
distributed among as many engravers as there are pieces in the block.
This invention of making bolted blocks was brought forward just about
the time the _Illustrated London News_ was started, when large blocks
and quick engraving came to be in demand. In the days of the _Penny
Magazine_, blocks were made by simply glueing the pieces of wood
together, or they were fastened by means of a long bolt passing through
the entire block.
The cut given on the opposite page represents the back of a half-page
block of the _Illustrated London News_, and shows the way in which the
bolts and nuts are used for fastening the different parts of the block
together.
For the production of a pictorial newspaper a large staff of draughtsmen
and engravers is required, who must be ready at a moment's notice to
take up any subject, and, if necessary, work day and night until it is
done. The artist who supplies the sketch has acquired by long practice a
rapid method of working, and can, by a few strokes of his pencil,
indicate a passing scene by a kind of pictorial shorthand, which is
afterwards translated and extended in the finished drawing. The sketch
being completed on paper, the services of the draughtsman on wood come
into requisition, for it is not often that the drawing on the block is
made by the same person who supplies the sketch. Sometimes the sketch to
be dealt with is the production of an amateur, or is so hastily or
indifferently done that it has to be remodelled or rearranged in drawing
it on the wood. Faulty or objectionable portions have to be left out or
subdued, and perhaps a point in the sketch that is quite subordinate, is
brought forward and made to form a prominent part of the picture. All
this has to be done without doing violence to the general truth of the
representation, and with due consideration for the particular conditions
of the moment, such as the amount of finish and distribution of light
and shade suitable for rapid engraving and printing.
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF SKETCH: SURRENDER OF SEDAN.]
[Illustration: THE SURRENDER OF SEDAN. FROM THE 'ILLUSTRATED LONDON
NEWS,' SEPT. 17, 1870.]
An example of the adaptation of a rapid sketch occurs in the engraving
of the surrender of Sedan, published in the _Illustrated London News_,
September 17, 1870. This sketch, which carries with it the strongest
evidence of being taken 'under fire,' came to hand a few hours before
the engravings for the current week were to be ready for the printer.
The cream or heart of the sketch, representing an officer waving a white
flag over the gate of Sedan attended by a trumpeter, was taken for the
subject, while the comparatively unimportant part of the sketch was left
out. The drawing was rapidly executed and as rapidly engraved, and was
ready for press at the usual time. I give a reduced copy of the
engraving, together with a facsimile reduction of the original sketch,
which will show the reader the way in which hurried sketches are
sometimes adapted to the purposes of a newspaper without at all
impairing their original truth.
Sometimes more than one draughtsman is employed on a drawing where the
subject consists of figures and landscape, or figures and architecture.
In such a case, if time presses, the two parts of the drawing are
proceeded with simultaneously. The whole design is first traced on the
block; the bolts at the back of the block are then loosened, the parts
are separated, and the figure-draughtsman sets to work on his division
of the block, while another draughtsman is busied with the landscape or
architecture, as the case may be. Occasionally, when there is very great
hurry, the block is separated piece by piece as fast as the parts of the
drawing are finished--the engraver and draughtsman thus working on the
same subject at the same time. Instances have occurred where the
draughtsman has done his work in this way, and has never seen the whole
of his drawing together. The double-page engraving of the marriage of
the Prince of Wales in the _Illustrated London News_, March 21, 1863,
was drawn on the wood by Sir John Gilbert at 198 Strand, and as fast as
each part of the drawing was done it was separated from the rest and
given to the engraver. Considering that the artist never saw his drawing
entire, it is wonderful to find the engraving so harmonious and
effective. Photographing on the wood is now in general use for
portraits, sculpture, architecture, and other subjects where there is a
picture or finished drawing on paper to work from.
The drawing on wood being completed, it passes into the hands of the
engraver, and the first thing he does is to cut or set the lines across
all the joins of the block before the different parts are distributed
among the various engravers. This is done partly to ensure as far as
possible some degree of harmony of colour and texture throughout the
subject. When all the parts are separated and placed in the hands of
different engravers each man has thus a sort of _key-note_ to guide him
in the execution of his portion, and it should be his business to
imitate and follow with care the colour and texture of the small pieces
of engraving which he finds already done at the edge of his part of the
block where it joins the rest of the design. The accompanying cuts
represent a block entire and the same subject divided.
[Illustration: A BLOCK BEFORE IT IS TAKEN TO PIECES.]
[Illustration: THE SAME SUBJECT DIVIDED.]
Though this system of subdividing the engraving effects a great saving
of time, it must be admitted that it does not always result in the
production of a first-rate work of art as a whole. For, supposing the
subject to be a landscape with a good stretch of trees, the two or three
engravers who have the trees to engrave have, perhaps, each a different
method of rendering foliage; and when the whole is completed, and the
different pieces are put together, the trees perhaps appear like a piece
of patchwork, with a distinct edge to each man's work. To harmonise and
dovetail (so to speak) these different pieces of work is the task of the
superintending artist, who retouches the first proof of the engraving
and endeavours to blend together the differences of colour and
texture. This is often no easy task, for the press is generally waiting,
and the time that is left for such work is often reduced to minutes
where hours would scarcely suffice to accomplish all that might be done.
Or the block to be engraved may be a marine subject, with a stormy sea.
In this case, like the landscape, two or three engravers may be employed
upon the water, each of them having a different way of representing that
element. Here it is even more difficult than in the landscape to blend
the conflicting pieces of work, and requires an amount of 'knocking
about' that sometimes astonishes the original artist. All this is the
necessary result of the hurry in which the greater part of newspaper
engravings have to be produced. When the conditions are more favourable
better things are successfully attempted, and of this the illustrated
newspapers of the day have given abundant proofs.
It is obvious that when a block is divided and the parts are distributed
in various hands, if any accident should occur to one part the whole
block is jeopardised. It is much to the credit of the fraternity of
engravers that this rarely or ever happens. I only remember one instance
of a failure of this kind within my own experience. An engraver of
decidedly Bohemian character, after a hard night's work on the tenth
part of a page block, thought fit to recruit himself with a cheering
cup. In the exhilaration that followed he lost the piece of work upon
which he had been engaged, and thereby rendered useless the efforts of
himself and his nine compatriots.
When the block is finished the parts are screwed together by means of
the brass bolts and nuts at the back of the block. It is then delivered
to the electrotyper, who first takes a mould of the block in wax, which
mould is then covered with a thin coating of blacklead, that being a
good conductor of electricity. The mould is then suspended by a brass
rod in a large bath filled with a solution of sulphate of copper and
sulphuric acid. A strong current of electricity, obtained from a
dynamo-electric machine close at hand, is conducted to the wax mould in
the bath and also to a sheet of copper which is placed near the mould.
The electricity decomposes the copper and deposits it in small particles
on the mould, on which a thin coating of copper is gradually formed,
producing an exact facsimile of the original engraved block. This copper
reproduction of the woodcut is filled in at the back with metal, mounted
on wood, and is then ready for the printer, who has his 'overlays' all
ready, and the business of printing begins.
There is nothing more wonderful in the history of printing than the
rapid development of the printing machine and the extraordinary increase
of its productive power. The ordinary press, though greatly improved,
was found quite inadequate to the demands made upon it; and, the
attention of practical men being directed to some more rapid means of
production, the steam printing machine was invented. As early as 1790
Mr. W. Nicholson obtained letters patent for a machine very similar to
those since in use; but it was not till 1814 that any practical use was
made of the steam printing machine. In that year a German named Koenig
constructed a machine for the _Times_ newspaper, which worked
successfully; but, though highly ingenious, the machine was very
complicated, and it was soon superseded by the invention of Messrs.
Applegarth and Cowper, possessing several novel features. This machine,
again, was replaced by another where the type was arranged vertically.
Then came Hoe's American machines, and finally the Walter Press, the
principle of which last invention has, in the Ingram Rotary Machine,
been successfully applied to the printing of cheap illustrated
newspapers. By the old 'two-feeder' machines the engravings were printed
on one side of the sheet, and, by a second printing, the type on the
other side. They turned out 1500 impressions of the engravings in an
hour, while the type side was printed (by a six-feeder American machine)
at the rate of 12,000 impressions an hour. The _Penny Illustrated Paper_
is printed by the Ingram Rotary Machine at the rate of 6500 an hour. It
prints both sides of the sheet at once, cuts each number to its proper
size, folds it, and turns it out complete. It occupies no more space
than an ordinary perfecting machine, and only requires four men to
attend to it, while thirty men and five 'two-feeders' would be required
to do the same amount of work by the old system.
If a block be well engraved and carefully used in printing there is
practically no limit to the number of impressions that may be taken from
it. The blocks in the Christmas number of the _Illustrated London News_
of 1882 had 425,000 impressions taken from them, and they are still good
for a new edition of the like number.
After the paper is printed each sheet is neatly folded by folding
machines, which fold the entire edition in a few hours. One
double-action folding machine will fold fifty sheets in a minute. As it
is found that machinery for folding newspapers works much better at a
moderate speed, in the case of the Ingram Rotary Machine it has been
arranged in duplicate, so that each folder only works at half the speed
of the printing machine. The folding machine completes its work by
inserting the paper in its cover; but as the _Illustrated London News_
has not sufficient space for machines to carry out the whole of this
part of the business, a number of women and girls are employed, whose
nimble fingers supplement the work of the folding machines.
[Illustration: THE EVE OF A BATTLE: NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENTS SLEEPING ON
THE FIELD.]
In these days of electric telegraphy Puck's notion of putting 'a girdle
round about the earth in forty minutes' is not so very far from being
realised. The London citizen as he sips his coffee at his villa in the
suburbs runs his eye over the pages of his morning paper, and reads of
events that took place yesterday many thousand miles away. Before he
starts for business he is informed of what is passing on every side of
the inhabited earth. This rapid transmission of intelligence is somewhat
damaging to the illustrated newspaper, for by the time it can publish
sketches of interesting events in far distant countries the freshness
of the news is gone, and the public mind is occupied with later
occurrences. Until some method is invented of sending sketches by
electricity the pictorial press must endure this disadvantage, but in
the meantime it spares no pains to overtake the march of events.
Wherever there is any 'moving accident by flood or field' the 'special
artist' of the illustrated newspaper is found 'takin' notes.' No event
of interest escapes his ever ready pencil. He undergoes fatigues,
overcomes formidable difficulties, and often incurs personal danger in
fulfilling his mission. On the eve of a battle he will sleep on the bare
ground wrapped in a blanket or waterproof sheet, and he will ride all
night through a hostile country to catch the homeward mail. He is
equally at home in the palace and the hovel, and is as ready to attend a
battle as a banquet. He thought nothing of stepping over to China to
attend the nuptials of the celestial Emperor; and on that occasion
extended his travels until he had completed the circuit of the globe,
winding up with a run on the war-path among the American Indians. He
assisted at the laying of the telegraph cable between Europe and
America, and diversified his labours, and showed the versatility of his
powers by taking part in an impromptu dramatic entertainment which he
and his comrades got up for the occasion, and which they appropriately
called 'A Cable-istic Extravaganza.' He was at the opening of the Suez
Canal, and he passed with the first railway train through the Mont Cenis
tunnel. In pursuing his vocation the special artist has to encounter the
perils of earth, air, fire, and water. Now he is up in a balloon, now
down in a coal-mine; now shooting tigers in India, now deer-stalking in
the Highlands. Dr. Schliemann no sooner announced that he had discovered
the site of Troy than the special artist was down upon the spot at once.
He is found risking his life in the passes of Afghanistan, and in
Zululand assisting at the defeat and capture of Cetywayo. Now he is at
the bombardment of Alexandria, and now facing the savage warriors of
the Soudan at El-Teb and Tamasi. At the present time (November, 1884),
he is on his way up the Nile with the expedition for the relief of
General Gordon at Khartoum, and he is in India with the Boundary
Commissioners exploring the dangerous passes of the Afghan frontier. In
peace or war the special artist pursues his purpose with stoical
self-possession in spite of cold, hunger, and fatigue.
[Illustration: A CABLE-ISTIC EXTRAVAGANZA, PERFORMED BY NEWSPAPER
CORRESPONDENTS ON BOARD THE _GREAT EASTERN_, AT SEA, JULY, 1866.]
The special artist may be said to have commenced his career with the
Crimean War. While the signs of the coming storm were yet distant the
_Illustrated London News_ sent the late Mr. S. Read to the expected
scene of action, and during the whole course of the war special artists
were on the shores of the Black Sea and in the Baltic to chronicle the
great events of the time. The world had scarcely forgotten Balaklava and
Inkerman when the war between Italy, France, and Austria broke out.
Solferino and Magenta were fought, Garibaldi conquered Sicily, and
wherever the interest was greatest there the special artist was found.
Special artists went with the contending armies when Denmark opposed
herself single-handed to the united forces of Prussia and Austria, and
delineated every important incident of the campaign. When the present
Emperor of Germany was crowned King of Prussia at Koenigsberg special
artists travelled to that ancient city to furnish sketches of the
ceremony. The gigantic civil war in America, and the brief struggle
between Prussia and Austria in 1866, gave active employment to the
special artist; and when a British force advanced into Abyssinia a
special artist was with that most romantic expedition, and sent home
numerous sketches of the remarkable scenery of the country, as well as
of all the principal events of the campaign. The assault on Magdala, the
dispersion of King Theodore's broken army, the customs and dwellings of
the people, were all noted and illustrated. When the great war of 1870,
between France and Prussia, broke out, the illustrated newspapers had
special artists on both sides, who encountered all sorts of hardships,
and passed through all kinds of adventures in fulfilling their duties.
Besides being frequently arrested as spies, and undergoing the
privations of beleagured places, they had also to run the risk of shot
and shell, and sometimes they were obliged to destroy their sketching
materials under fear of arrest. One of them was in custody as a spy no
less than eleven times during the war. The danger of being seen
sketching or found with sketches in their possession was so great that
on one occasion a special artist actually swallowed his sketch to avoid
being taken up as a spy. Another purchased the largest book of cigarette
papers he could obtain, and on them he made little sketches, prepared in
case of danger to smoke them in the faces of his enemies.
[Illustration: HEADQUARTERS OF SPECIAL ARTIST IN ASIA MINOR, 1877.]
[Illustration: ARREST OF NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENTS AT METZ, DURING THE
FRANCO-GERMAN WAR.]
The following extract from a letter I received from a special artist
during the war, will give some idea of the trouble and danger of
sketching:--
'Of the trouble I have taken to get these sketches you can have no
conception. The plan I have been obliged to adopt is this. I walk about
quietly, apparently noticing only the goods in the shop-windows. When I
see anything, I make memoranda on small bits of tissue paper, perhaps in
a cafe, or while appearing to look at the water from the top of a
bridge, or on the side of an apple, with a big knife in my hand
pretending to peel it. These little mems I roll up into pills, place
them handy in my waistcoat pocket to be chewed up or swallowed if "in
extremis." When I get home at night, first making sure that I am not
overlooked by way of the window, I unroll these little pills, and from
those mems make a complete outline on a thin piece of white paper. Then
I paste these sketches face to face, trim the edges, and it looks like a
plain piece of paper, but hold it up to the light and the sketch shows.
So I make memoranda all over it,--the times of trains starting, prices
of articles, or extracts from newspapers. When I get to a place of
safety, I soak these pieces of paper in water, pull the sketches apart,
and from them have made the sketches I have forwarded to you. If I could
not get into a place of safety to make the sketches, I don't know what
I should do, in fact I don't think I could do anything, for I would not,
for any consideration _be found making a sketch, nor with a sketch in my
possession_; nor should I dare post a sketch at the "Bureaux de poste,"
but I might get it into a street box.'
Another special artist being at Metz, found himself in the midst of a
population infected with what he called the 'spy-fever.' About a dozen
English newspaper correspondents were there, and they became a united
body through persecution. There was always about a fourth of their
number in prison, and what most persons would have considered to be
clear evidence that they were not spies, was in the minds of the French
clear evidence that they were. If they were told that the correspondent
of an English newspaper could not possibly be a spy, the reply was that
that was just the character that a _cochon_ of a Prussian spy would
assume. The townspeople of Metz became quite wild when they heard of the
French defeats at Woerth and Forbach, and when they saw an artist
sketching the Emperor's carriage, they pounced upon him as a Prussian
spy, and he and his companions were marched off in custody, amid the
hootings of the mob. The following account of this affair is extracted
from the _Illustrated London News_ of August 20, 1870: 'Three of the
representatives of London papers, Mr. Simpson, Mr. Henry Mayhew and his
son, went to the railway station, having heard a rumour that the Emperor
was about to start for the front, and also that a train full of the
wounded was expected to arrive. At the station they met Mr. Stuart,
another newspaper correspondent, who had just come from Italy, having
travelled all night. They found the Emperor's carriage and horses
waiting to be forwarded by a train on the railway towards St. Avold. Our
artist thought it would be doing no harm to employ the few minutes of
his waiting at the station in making a slight sketch of the carriage and
horses, which might be useful as materials for an illustration of some
future scene where the same equipage might figure. He took a small
sketch-book and pencil out of his pocket and quickly finished this
little drawing. There was no attempt at concealment; he even showed his
sketch to one of the bystanders who was close to him, and who seemed to
watch his movements with some curiosity. Mr. Simpson then rejoined his
three English companions, but had scarcely done so before they were
surrounded by a large party of artillery soldiers, who wore undress
jackets and had not their arms with them. They were taken into custody,
each one placed between two soldiers, and thus were marched through the
streets of Metz to the Place de la Cathedral. A mob of people followed,
increasing as they went on, and reviling the foreigners as "Sacres
Prusses," or "Cochons de Prusses," threatening vengeance upon them,
which might probably have been taken if their violence had not been
restrained by the presence of the soldiers. The whole party were then
brought into the guard-room, where several persons came forward as their
accusers to denounce them as spies of the enemy, lurking about Metz with
a hostile and insidious purpose. The chief evidence against one of them
was that he had bought three copies of a Metz local newspaper; another
was suspected because he had been seen four days successively in the
same cafe, "and always sitting in the same seat;" a third could be no
true man, because, while he said he belonged to a London paper, he
confessed that he had just come from Florence. The main charge against
Mr. Simpson was that he did not lodge at an hotel, but in a private
house. These particulars were repeated to the crowd outside, which
filled the whole Place, and was in a state of raging fury; till at last
the officers in charge made their appearance and commenced a more
regular examination. Our artist produced his passport, which was
approved as in due order; but his little sketch-book, with its scraps of
notes and bits of outline, seemed to contain matter for serious
investigation. In spite of his awkward and rather alarming position, he
was struck with the absurdity of viewing such innocent scrawls as proof
of heinous guilt. He endeavoured, however, with the assistance of Mr.
Mayhew, to explain what they were, and to persuade the officers that
they could do no harm. After a tedious detention, they were permitted to
write a note to a friend, who instantly went to the Provost-Marshal, and
at once got an order for their immediate release. Their private letters
and papers were examined. Several other persons, Frenchmen as well as
foreigners, including one who was the artist employed by a Paris
illustrated paper, were arrested at Metz on the same day; and more than
one of them suffered rough usage at the hands of the mob. On the next
day they were all ordered to leave the town.' The following is a
facsimile of the sketch that produced all this commotion.
[Illustration: THE EMPEROR'S CARRIAGE AT METZ.]
The same artist who made his sketches into pills, being at Bremerhafen,
found himself so watched and dogged by the police and others who had
observed he was a stranger, that he could not make the sketch he wanted.
After much walking about he at length returned to the place where he
desired to sketch, and sitting down at the edge of the harbour he began
to draw lines with his umbrella on the mud, as if in a fit of
abstraction, and soon had sketched in this way the principal points of
the scene before him. This he repeated several times, until the view
was fixed in his memory, when he retired to the railway-station, and
there, unobserved, committed the scene to his sketch-book. On another
occasion, in the neighbourhood of Mezieres, he was driven at nightfall
to seek a lodging in a very lonely and villainous looking inn. The
occupants of the place looked upon him with evil eyes, and dreading lest
one more should be added to the numerous graves already near the
cabaret, he betook himself to a neighbouring wood, where he spent the
whole night surrounded by the carcases of dead horses. At Lyons he
penetrated into the theatre where the people were storing corn and flour
in anticipation of a siege. He had made some hasty notes in his
sketch-book, when he was observed and obliged to retreat, followed,
however, by several men. He had noticed an umbrella shop round the
corner in the next street, and into this shop he rushed, seized an
umbrella, opened it, and kept it expanded between himself and the door,
as if examining the quality of the silk, while his pursuers ran past,
when he demanded the price of the umbrella, paid the money, and walked
off, glad to escape at so small a cost. Sometimes his adventures had a
more amusing termination. When the spy-fever prevailed very strongly
both in France and Germany, he was one day looking into a shop-window
when he became conscious that he was watched by two officers. 'Now,'
thought he, 'I am in for it again, and shall certainly be arrested.'
This feeling was confirmed as one of the officers advanced towards him,
and raising his hand as if to seize him by the collar, addressed him
thus: 'Permit me, monsieur, to adjust the string of your shirt collar,
which has escaped from behind your cravat.'[1] This gentleman was
somewhat old-fashioned in his costume, and during his wanderings was
sometimes mistaken for a sea-captain. He had even received confidential
proposals to discuss the question of freight.
The _Illustrated London News_ had five artists in the field during the
Franco-German war: W. Simpson, R. T. Landells, G. H. Andrews, C. J.
Staniland, and Jules Pelcoq. From the fact of Landells being already
known to the Crown Prince of Prussia and several of his staff, it was
settled that his destination should be Germany, and I remember that
before his departure he expressed to me just the slightest shade of
discontent that he should be selected to go on what he thought would be
the losing side. He was destined, however, to be present at the
proclamation of the German Emperor in the palace of Versailles, and he
was one of the first to enter Paris after it capitulated to the German
army. Soon afterwards he very nearly experienced the unpleasant
consequences of being taken for a German spy. Landells himself was of a
dark complexion, and might very well have passed for a Frenchman, but on
the occasion referred to he was in the company of a brother artist (Mr.
Sidney Hall, of the _Graphic_), who, being fair, might easily be
mistaken for German. The excited mob of Paris had just vented their rage
on a suspected spy by drowning him in the Seine, and the two special
artists were loitering on the outskirts of the crowd, when Mr. Hall
imprudently took out his sketch-book, which was no sooner perceived than
a cry was raised of 'Prussian spy!' and they too would probably have
been pitched into the river had they not managed, with great difficulty,
to escape from the crowd.
[Illustration: NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENTS ON THEIR WAY TO THE FRONT.
SISTOVA, 1877.]
When the German armies were closing round Paris M. Jules Pelcoq
consented to be shut up in the devoted city for the purpose of supplying
the _Illustrated London News_ with sketches. During the hardships of the
siege he was quite unable to obtain fuel to warm his apartment, and was
compelled to retire to bed, where, wrapped in a blanket, he finished up
the rough sketches he had made out of doors, which were then
photographed and sent off by balloons to London. These balloons were
regularly despatched during the prevalence of winds that would carry
them to the provinces unoccupied by the Germans. They were followed by
Prussian light cavalry as long as they were in sight, and some were
captured. Afterwards, as the city became more closely invested, and the
danger increased, the precaution was taken of despatching the balloons
at night, and the time fixed on was kept concealed from all save those
immediately concerned, in order to avoid, as far as possible, the
chances of its being communicated to the enemy, and thereby exposing the
aeronauts to the fiery rockets and other projectiles with which the
Germans were prepared to favour them. The railway-stations were
generally chosen as the starting-places, for they not only offered large
open spaces in which to fill the balloons, but, being situated away from
the centre of Paris, there was less risk, in ascending, of coming in
contact with buildings.
To provide against the loss of sketches so sent, photographic copies
were despatched by other balloons. In some cases two, and even three,
copies of the same sketch reached my hands by balloon-post during the
German investment of Paris. Considering the danger and difficulty of
this mode of communication, the intercourse between the _Illustrated
London News_ and its artist in Paris was kept up pretty regularly during
the whole siege.
[Illustration: SKETCHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. HERZEGOVINA, 1876.]
The requirements of special artists when on the 'war path' vary
according to circumstances. Mr. Simpson, in France during the
Franco-German war, found no scarcity of food, but could seldom get a bed
to sleep in. On the other hand, Mr. Melton Prior, in South Africa and
other hot countries, found that he was never sure of obtaining either
food or drink. During the war in Herzegovina in 1876 the newspaper
correspondents had to rough it pretty considerably. Sometimes, when the
special artist got to a resting-place for the night, he would have to
work up his sketches by the light of a single candle, which he kept in
an upright position by holding it between his feet as he sat on the
ground, while the correspondent of a London 'daily' scribbled his notes
beside him. The difficulty of obtaining sleeping accommodation was
experienced by another artist in Servia, who was obliged one night to go
to rest in a sort of diligence or covered waggon which stood in the inn
yard. It was the only 'spare bed,' and the tired 'special' was very glad
to coil himself up within its recesses. These hardships, however, belong
to the past. Just as the combatants in modern warfare fight their
battles with the most scientific weapons, so the newspaper correspondent
now goes to the field armed with the latest appliances against cold,
fatigue, hunger, and thirst. He provides himself with an abundant
supply of tinned meats and champagne, plenty of clothing, the latest
improvements in saddlery; and when he arrives at the scene of action he
buys as many horses as he wants for himself and servants. Acting on the
experience of former campaigns, Mr. Prior was able in the Zulu War to
travel much more comfortably than any member of the staff, not even
excepting Lord Chelmsford himself. 'I had then no fewer than five
horses: two in the shafts of my American waggon, one for myself, one for
my servant, and one spare horse. I followed the army through all its
marches in my travelling carriage, and on the eve of the Battle of
Ulundi I was the only man who had a tent; all the others lay down in the
open.'
[Illustration: THE SPARE BED.]
While recording the progress of events--the deeds of war mingling with
the works of peace--the pictorial press is not unmindful of what is done
in the cause of humanity. One of the recent experiences of the special
artist was in making a journey across Siberia in search of the survivors
of the crew of the American exploring ship _Jeanette_. Mr. J. Gordon
Bennett, the proprietor of the _New York Herald_, having sent out a
commissioner to search for the missing expedition, he was joined by the
special artist of the _Illustrated London News_. They had before them
a journey of two or three thousand miles, and they travelled in one of
the covered sledges used in Siberia in the winter time. It was their
travelling carriage by day and their sleeping apartment at night.
Sometimes they had to turn out and defend themselves from the wolves
which followed them over the snowy waste. The artist on this occasion
was Mr. Larsen, of Copenhagen, who proved himself a first-rate special.
[Illustration: SPECIAL ARTIST'S TENT.]
When the effects of a deadly climate are added to the usual chances of
war, the courage and endurance of the newspaper correspondent are doubly
tried. The 'specials' of the principal London journals joined the
Ashantee expedition with as much alacrity as if they had been going to a
review in Hyde Park. Among them was Mr. Melton Prior, the artist of the
_Illustrated London News_, who landed at Cape Coast Castle before the
arrival of the British troops, marched with them to Coomassie, and
remained in that place till it was destroyed by the victors. But the
long march in such a climate had exhausted the strength of many, and the
special artist was among the number. On nearing Coomassie he could no
longer trust to his own unaided powers of locomotion, so he laid hold on
the tail of a mule which he saw ambling before him, and so was helped
forward. The gentleman who was riding the mule turned round, when it
proved to be Sir Garnet Wolseley himself, who, in answer to the
exhausted artist's apologies, good-humouredly told him to 'hold on!'
While coolness and courage are indispensable qualifications for the
special artist, if he can sometimes accomplish a little harmless
dissimulation he finds it very useful. In 1877, during the war between
Russia and Turkey, a special artist overcame the difficulties he
encountered in getting to the front by assuming the character of a
camp-follower, and professing to sell composite candles, German
sausages, Russian hams, dried fish, Dutch cheese, &c., and when passing
Cossacks became importunate they were propitiated with a candle or two,
a slice of cheese, or a packet of Roumanian tobacco. In like manner
the artist who went to the port of Ferrol to accompany Cleopatra's
Needle to London shipped on board the tug _Anglia_ as a coal-trimmer,
and signed the usual articles as one of the crew, there being no room
for passengers. After the successful voyage of the tug the artist left
her at Gravesend, being anxious to bring his sketches to head-quarters;
but until he was legally discharged from service he ran the unpleasant
risk of being taken up for absconding from his ship.
[Illustration: NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENTS STARTING FOR SIBERIA.]
Not the least of a special artist's troubles is to get his sketches sent
home without loss of time. Mr. Simpson, who has had a large and varied
experience as a special artist, having been all round the world in that
capacity, gives it as his opinion that the first duty of a special
correspondent when he arrives at the scene of action is to find out the
post-office, if he happens to be in a part of the world where such a
civilised institution exists. He should take care to post all his
packets himself, and never trust to any one else. He says, 'In all my
various travels I never lost a packet but once, and that was during the
week's fighting at the time of the Commune in Paris. There were three
sketches in the packet. I was very dubious about letting them out of my
hands, but I had been all the week with the correspondent of the
_Times_, who had spent a considerable sum of money upon messengers to
get his letters taken through the lines outside Paris and off to London.
I ventured to let my packet go with his, thinking it was safe, but
neither of them ever reached their destination.' In connexion with this
subject I may quote the following story related by Mr. Prior to the
editor of the _Pall Mall Gazette_:--'I remember one time when I was
attached to Mehemet Ali's head-quarters in Bulgaria during the
Russo-Turkish war. The Turkish censor stopped no fewer than six weeks of
my sketches. Things were getting desperate. Our people were telegraphing
out to know whether I was alive or dead; and, finding that something
must be done, I determined to see the thing through or leave the camp.
It so happened that I had been the witness of some peculiarly
atrocious deeds perpetrated by Turks upon Bulgarians, so I set to work
and drew half-a-dozen faithful representations of the sufferings which I
had witnessed. Armed with these I went up to the censor's office and
asked that they might be stamped for transmission home. The censor
looked at the first and said it was ridiculous. Couldn't pass that; no
such atrocities had ever been committed; and so forth. The second was
condemned in the same way, and so on until the last was reached. When he
had rejected that also I said to him very deliberately, "You are going
to pass every one of these sketches!" "On the contrary," said he, "I am
going to tear them up." "If you do," said I, "I shall draw not only six
but twelve pictures worse than these, and send them home by my own
messenger." "I will have him arrested then," said the censor. "Very
well, then, in that case I shall leave the camp at once, and in London I
will draw twenty pictures all worse than these, and they will all be
published, so that people may see the real truth about how you are
behaving here." The censor, like a sensible man, saw that it was no use
carrying things with too high a hand, and came to terms. He admitted he
had stopped all my sketches, promised to do so no more, and I left him
with my atrocity pictures in my pocket, assuring him that the first
sketch of mine that he stopped again the whole series should go to
London by the next steamer. I never had any more trouble with him in
that respect, though he paid me out by having me arrested some months
later.'
[Illustration: CAMP OF THE 'TIMES' AND 'ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS''
CORRESPONDENTS ATTACKED BY WOLVES. BULGARIA, 1877.]
During the Franco-German War Mr. Simpson often proved the advantage of
his plan of always posting his sketches himself. At the fall of
Strasburg he was in the advanced trench when the white flag was
displayed from the tower of the cathedral. It was late in the evening
when he got home to bed, but he was up with the first streak of dawn
finishing his sketch of the historical event he had witnessed the day
before. He then walked five miles to General Werder's head-quarters to
post the sketch. He wasted no time in trying to get a horse or
carriage, in which he might have failed, nor would he trust the packet
to a messenger. He knew that the slightest delay would postpone the
publication of the sketch for a whole week. The sketch arrived in time,
as he had calculated, for the next publication, and he had the
satisfaction of knowing that on this occasion, as on many others, his
promptitude and energy had well served the interests of the journal he
represented.
[Illustration: NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENTS' HUTS ON THE BATTLE-FIELD OF
KACELJEVO, 1877.]
A special artist has to encounter many troubles and vexations apart from
the dangers and difficulties of war time. When Mr. Simpson was at
Brindisi, on his way to the opening of the Suez Canal, wishing to sketch
the town and fortifications, he ensconced himself in a snug corner, well
sheltered from the 'Bora,' or cold wind that was blowing, and had
settled down comfortably to work, when he was interrupted by a man who
addressed him in Italian, a language Simpson did not understand. He,
however, made out that the man's 'padre' or master would not like
Simpson to be there; but the latter replied in plain English that he
cared nothing for his 'padre,' that he had the permission of the
Commandant to go where he pleased, and so he went on with his sketching.
After much unintelligible talk the man attempted to stop the sketcher's
view by standing between him and the town, but finding the sketching
went on just the same, he suddenly went away and then returned with a
gun, pointing it in a threatening manner towards Simpson, who thought
the gun was perhaps not loaded, or at all events that the man would
never be such a fool as to shoot him, so he merely gave a majestic wave
of his hand and went on with his work. The man's rage then increased to
such a degree that he seized the butt end of his gun, uttering a volley
of curses, and from the word 'testa' Simpson supposed the man wanted to
smash his head. However he never flinched, and the man, lowering his
gun, muttered something about the 'Cani,' and went off again. Presently
he returned dragging with him a huge dog. Simpson felt more afraid of
the dog than the man, but it turned out that the dog had more sense than
his master and refused on any terms to attack the artist. He bolted,
the man after him, and Simpson then armed himself with two stones in
case the attack should be renewed, resolving, like Tell when he devoted
one of his arrows to Gessler, that one stone should be for the dog and
the other for his oppressor. The man however could not get the dog to
return to the attack. He had exhausted the whole of his resources, and
was evidently astonished and annoyed to find he had failed to frighten
the artist, so he finished off with a torrent of curses and then
gradually calmed down. He remained watching the completion of the
sketch, and then obligingly favoured the artist with some criticisms on
his work. He pointed out that a ship in the harbour had been forgotten,
and could not understand that it had been purposely left out because it
interfered with one of the principal buildings. In this instance it was
perhaps best for both parties that they did not understand each other's
language; but the special artist is occasionally placed at a
disadvantage by not understanding the language of the country where he
happens to be. However it rarely leads to more than a temporary
embarrassment, and is often the cause of more amusement than vexation.
Mr. G. H. Andrews on one occasion desired to have a couple of eggs for
breakfast, but could not make the maid of the inn comprehend his
meaning. He tried all he knew of French, Flemish, and German, but the
girl shook her head. At length a bright idea struck the artist. He drew
from his pocket a pencil and note-book, and sketched a couple of oval
forms, meaning them for eggs, and explained by gestures that _that_ was
what he wanted. The girl's face brightened at once when she saw the
sketch, and with a nod of intelligence she tripped away. In a few
minutes she returned and presented the hungry artist with--_a pair of
spectacles!_
The late Mr. S. Read, who was one of the first special artists employed
on the pictorial press, travelled much abroad, yet he knew little or
nothing of any language save his mother tongue. Germany, Italy, Austria,
Spain, France, Belgium, Switzerland, were all visited by him, and he got
on very well without speaking the language of any of those countries. He
was a man of genial humour, accustomed to make the best of everything,
and not easily put out by trifles. He was once travelling in the south
of France when a fellow-passenger in the train accosted him in French,
and was much surprised to find he was not understood.
'Vat!' said the Frenchman; 'you travel and speak no French! Speak you
German?'
'No.'
'Nor Italian?'
'No.'
'Spanish?'
'No.'
'Ah, mon Dieu! you travel and speak noting!' and with a pitying grimace
and shrug of the shoulders he looked round at the other passengers.
Presently our artist took his revenge. As they were passing a town with
a ruined castle on a hill he said, with much fervour, addressing the
Frenchman,--
'How beautifully that old tower is relieved by the dark foliage! What a
splendid contrast is the cold grey of the hill behind! How harmoniously
the distance is blended with the middle distance, and the middle
distance with the foreground, by means of the bridge across the river!'
The Frenchman stared, stammered, and confessed he did not comprehend.
'What!' said our artist; 'you travel and do not understand English!'
'Ver leetle.'
'Do you speak Scotch?'
'Non, m'sieur.'
'Nor Irish!'
'Non.'
'Welsh?'
'Non.'
'Suffolk?'
'Non, non, m'sieur.'
With an exact imitation of the Frenchman's contemptuous shrug our friend
turned to their fellow-travellers amid the loud laughter of those who
understood the joke.
When the special artist exercises his vocation at home, though he lacks
the excitement of danger, he meets with many amusing incidents. An
artist who attended the meeting of the British Association at Lincoln
many years ago desired to sketch the house which was reputed to have
been the residence of John o' Gaunt, and asked the waiter at the hotel
if he could direct him to it. 'Johnny Gaunt, Sir?' said the waiter,
evidently puzzled; 'I don't know him, Sir, but I'll inquire.' In a few
minutes he returned and said he had inquired at the bar, but that no
such person as Johnny Gaunt resided thereabouts. Another, who was
something of a wag, was once making a sketch in the heart of St.
Giles's; there were no School Boards in those days, and numbers of idle
street boys surrounded our sketcher, performing all manner of
bewildering gymnastics. Not at all disturbed, however, he amused himself
by asking his young friends numerous questions, all of which were
answered with rapid pertness. At last he inquired of one active imp if
he could read. 'No, I can't read,' said the young gentleman, 'but I can
stand on my head and drink a quartern o' gin.'
The methods pursued by special artists in obtaining their sketches are
as various as the methods of painters in producing their pictures, or of
authors in writing their books. One man uses a very small sketch-book,
another prefers a large one, but they all require to supplement their
hurried sketches with marginal notes. When there is not time to sketch a
complete cow, it is good to write underneath the sketch, 'This is a
cow.' Many events have to be sketched that last only a few minutes, and
in such cases some little mistakes will occur even with old
practitioners. Literary correspondents are liable to the same
misfortune. At a certain royal marriage in St. George's Chapel, Windsor,
the Lord Chamberlain obligingly sent a gentleman to attend the members
of the press, and inform them as to the name and rank of the
distinguished guests as they entered the chapel. The correspondents
courteously allowed the artists of the pictorial press to take front
places, so that some of their number were unable to see what was going
on, and had to trust to their comrades for information. When the Duke of
A----, in full Highland costume, entered the chapel, there was a general
inquiry, 'Who is that?' 'That,' said the gentleman from the Lord
Chamberlain's department, 'is the Duke of A----, the great Mac Callum
More.' 'Who is it?' cried some of the gentlemen in the background, and
the name was passed on, but by the time it reached the outer fringe of
correspondents it was changed into 'The Duke of A---- with the Great
Claymore,' and under that style and title his grace's name figured in at
least one newspaper next day.
What may be called the shorthand notes for a sketch are sometimes
difficult to make out without explanation. On one occasion a sketch was
under consideration, when the editor made certain suggestions to the
artist, who was very good natured, and of a most pliant disposition. 'I
think, you know,' said the editor, 'if you were to add two or three more
figures in the foreground it would improve the composition and help to
detach the principal group from this windmill.' 'Well, the fact is,'
replied the artist, 'what you call a windmill I intended for a man on
horseback, but if you think it will come better as a windmill I'll alter
it with pleasure.'
[Illustration: THE SPECIAL ARTIST ON THE ROAD.]
FOOTNOTE:
[1] This incident was illustrated in _Punch_, and lest I should be
accused of using up old material, I must explain that the hero of the
adventure, on his return to England, told the story to one of the
_Punch_ artists, who made a sketch of the incident, which was
afterwards published.