“I am a street reciter, that is, I go about the streets and play
Shakspeare’s tragedies, and selections from poets. The boys in the
streets call me Shakspeare. The first time they called me so I smiled
at them, and was honoured by the name, though it’s only passing! it’s
only fleet!
“I was born in Dublin, and my father was in the army, and my mother was
a lady’s nurse and midwife, and used to go out on urgent business, but
only to ladies of the higher classes. My mother died in Dublin, and my
father left the army and became a turnkey in Dublin prison. Father left
Dublin when I was about ten years of age, and went to Manchester. Then
I went into an office--a herring-store, which had agents at Yarmouth
and other fishing-ports; and there I had to do writing. Summer-time
was our busiest time, for we used to have to sit up at night waiting
for the trains to come in with the fish. I used to get 3_d._ an hour
for every hour we worked over, and 6_d._ in the morning for coffee,
and 8_s._ 6_d._ standing wages, whether I worked or played. I know all
about herrings and herring-packing, for I was two years there, and the
master was like a father to me, and would give me money many times,
Christmas-boxes, and new-years’ gifts, and such-like. I might have been
there now, and foreman by this time, in the Isle of Man, where we had a
house, only I was too foolish--going to theatres and such-like.
“You see, I used, before I went out as clerk, to go to a school in
Manchester, where the master taught recitation. We used to speak
pieces from Uwin’s ‘Elocution,’ and we had to get a piece off to
elocution, and attitude, and position; indeed, elocution may be said
to be position and attitude. We used to do ‘The Downfall of Poland,’
and ‘Lord Ullen’s Daughter,’ and ‘My name is Norval,’ and several
others--‘Rolla,’ and all them. Then we used to speak them one at a
time, and occasionally we would take different parts, such as the
‘Quarrel of Brutus,’ and ‘Cassius,’ and ‘Rolla,’ and the ‘American
Patriot,’ and such-like. I will not boast of myself, but I was
one of the best in the class, though since I have gone out in the
streets it has spoiled my voice and my inclinations, for the people
likes shouting. I have had as many as 500 persons round me in the
Walworth-road at one time, and we got 4_s._ between us; and then we
lost several halfpence, for it was night, and we could not see the
money that was thrown into the ring. We did the ‘Gipsy’s Revenge,’ and
‘Othello’s Apology.’
“Whilst I was at the herring-stores I used to be very fond of the
theatre, and I’d go there every night if I could, and I did nearly
manage to be there every evening. I’d save up my money, and if I’d
none I’d go to my master and ask him to let me have a few halfpence;
and I’ve even wanted to go to the play so much that, when I couldn’t
get any money, I’d sell my clothes to go. Master used to caution me,
and say that the theatre would ruin me, and I’m sure it has. When
my master would tell me to stop and do the books, I’d only just run
them over at night and cast them up as quickly as I could, and then
I’d run out and go to the twopenny theatre on the Victoria-bridge,
Manchester. Sometimes I used to perform there for Mr. Row, who was the
proprietor. It was what is called a travelling ‘slang,’ a booth erected
temporarily. I did William Tell’s son, and I’ve also done the ‘Bloody
Child’ in Macbeth, and go on with the witches. It was a very little
stage, but with very nice scenery, and shift-scenes and all, the same
as any other theatre. On a Saturday night he used to have as many as
six houses; start off at three o’clock, after the factory hands had
been paid off. I never had any money for acting, for though he offered
me half-a-sovereign a-week to come and take a part, yet I wouldn’t
accept of it, for I only did it for my own amusement like. They used to
call me King Dick.
“My master knew I went to the theatre to act, for he sent one of the
boys to follow me, and he went in front and saw me acting in Macbeth,
and he went and told master, because, just as the second act was over,
he came right behind the scenes and ordered me out, and told me I’d
have to get another situation if I went there any more. He took me home
and finished the books, and the next morning I told him I’d leave, for
I felt as if it was my sole ambition to get on to the stage, or even
put my foot on it; I was so enamoured of it. And it is the same now,
for I’d do anything to get engaged--it’s as if a spell was on me. Just
before I left he besought me to remain with him, and said that I was
a useful hand to him, and a good boy when I liked, and that he wanted
to make a gentleman of me. He was so fond of me that he often gave me
money himself to go to a theatre; but he said too much of it was bad.
“After I left him I went with another boy to go to sea. I forgot all
about the theatre, for it agitated my feelings when I left him, and
I wished I had been back, for I’d been with him eighteen months, and
he’d been like a father to me; but I was too ashamed to see him again.
This boy and me started for Scarborough, and he had no money, and I had
5_s._, that was all between us; but I had a black suit of clothes cost
2_l._ 10_s._, which my master had made me a present of, for excelling
the foreman in making up the books--for the foreman was 208 hands of
herrings (five herrings make a hand) short in one week; and then I took
the books the next week, and I was only four herrings short, and master
was so pleased that he bestowed upon me a present of a new suit of
clothes.
“I parted with my companion for this reason. One day, after we had
been walking, we were so hungry we could eat anything, and I had been
accustomed to never being hungry, so that I was very much exhausted
from fatigue, for we had walked thirty miles that day, only eating
one piece of bread, which I got at a public-house where I gave a
recitation. We came to a farm-house at a place called Bishop Wilton,
in Yorkshire, and he went inside the door to beg for something to eat.
There was a young lady came out and talked to him and gave him some
bread, and then she saw me and had compassion on me, because I looked
respectable and was so miserable. We told her we were cousins, and had
left our fathers and mothers (for we didn’t like to say we had left our
masters), and she said, ‘Poor boys! your parents will be fretting after
you; I’d go back, if I was you.’ She gave him a large bit of bread,
and then she gave me a big bit of cold plum-pudding. My companion
wanted half my pudding besides his own bread, and I preferred to give
him part of the pudding and not have any bread; but he wouldn’t, and
struck out at me. I returned it, and then we fought, and an old woman
came out with a stick and beat us both, and said we were incorrigible
young beggars, and couldn’t be very hungry or we shouldn’t fight that
way. Then I parted from my companion, and he took the direct road to
Scarborough, and I went to York. I saw him afterwards when I returned
to Manchester. His father left him 200_l._, and he’s doing very well in
a good situation in a commercial office.
“I got bound for six years to sea to a shipowner at Scarborough, but
the mate behaved very bad to me and used me brutally. I couldn’t use
the ropes as well as he thought I might, although I learned the compass
and all the ropes very soon. The captain was a very good man, but I
daren’t tell him for fear of the mate. He used to beat me with the
rope’s end--sometimes the lead-rope--that was his usual weapon, and he
used to leave marks on me. I took the part of Hamlet, and, instead of
complaining, I thought of that part where he says,
‘And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.’
That’s the best play of Shakspeare; he outdoes himself there.
“When the brig got to Scheidam, in Holland, five miles off Rotterdam,
I ran away. The vessel was a collier, and whilst they were doing the
one, two, three, and pulling up the coals, I slipped over the side and
got to shore. I walked to Rotterdam, and there I met an Irish sailor
and told him all, and he told me to apply to the British Consul and
say that I had been left ashore by a Dutch galliot, which had sailed
the day before for Jersey. The Consul put me in a boarding-house--a
splendid place, with servants to wait on you, where they gave me
everything, cigars and all, for everybody smokes there--little boys
scarce higher than the table--and cigars are only a cent each--and five
cents make a penny. I was like a gentleman then, and then they put me
in the screw steamer, the Irwell, and sent me back to Hull.
“When I got to Manchester again, I went in my sailor-clothes to see
my old master. He was very glad to see me, and asked me if I wanted
anything to eat, and sent out for ale for me, and was so glad to see
me that he gave me money. He took me back again at higher wages,
10_s._--which was 1_s._ 6_d._ over--and I stopped there eight months,
until they wrote to me from Dublin that father was very ill, and that I
was to come over directly. So I went, and was by him when he died. He
was sixty-two years of age, and left 400_l._ to my sister, which she is
to have when she comes of age. He quarrelled with me because he was a
Catholic, and I didn’t follow that persuasion, and he disowned me; but,
just before he died, he blessed me, and looked as if he wanted to say
something to me, but he couldn’t, for the breath was leaving him.
“When I returned to Manchester I found my master had taken another
servant, as he expected I should stop in Dublin, and there was no
vacancy; but he recommended me to another merchant, and there I was
put in the yard to work among the herrings, as he didn’t know my
capabilities; but, in a short time I was put in the shop as boy, and
then I was very much in favour with the master and the missus, and
the son, and he used to bring me to concerts and balls, and was very
partial to me; and I used to eat and drink with them at their own
table. I’ve been foolish, and never a friend to myself, for I ran away
from them. A lad told me that London was such a fine place, and induced
me to sell my clothes and take the train; and here I’ve been for about
eight months knocking about.
“As long as my money lasted I used to go to the theatre every
night--to the Standard, and the City-road, and the Britannia; but
when it was gone I looked then to see what I might do. At first I
tried for a situation, but they wouldn’t take me, because I couldn’t
get a recommendation in London. Then I formed a resolution of giving
recitations from Shakspeare and the other poets in public-houses, and
getting a living that way.
“I had learned a good deal of Shakspeare at school; and besides, when I
was with my master I had often bought penny copies of Shakspeare, and I
used to study it in the office, hiding it under the book I was writing
in; and, when nobody was looking, studying the speeches. I used to go
and recite before the men in the yard, and they liked it.
“The first night I went out I earned 4_s._, and that was a great
cheer to my spirits. It was at a public-house in Fashion-street. I
went into the tap-room and asked the gentlemen if they would wish
to hear a recitation from Shakspeare, and they said, ‘Proceed.’ The
first part I gave them was from Richard the Third: ‘Now is the winter
of our discontent;’ and then they clapped me and made me do it over
again. Then I performed Hamlet’s ‘Soliloquy on the Immortality of the
Soul,’ and they threw down 2_s._ in coppers, and one gentleman gave me
sixpence.
“I’ve continued giving recitations from Shakspeare and selections from
the poets ever since, and done very well, until I became ill with a
cold, which made my voice bad, so that I was unable to speak. I’ve been
ill now a fortnight, and I went out last night for the first time,
along with another young fellow who recites, and we got 1_s._ 6_d._
between us in the ‘Gipsy’s Revenge.’ We went to a public-house where
they were having ‘a lead,’ that is a collection for a friend who is
ill, and the company throw down what they can for a subscription, and
they have in a fiddle and make it social. But it was not a good ‘lead,’
and poorly attended, so we did not make much out of the company.
“When I go out to recite, I generally go with another boy, and we take
parts. The pieces that draw best with the public are, ‘The Gipsy’s
Revenge,’ ‘The Gold Digger’s Revenge,’ ‘The Miser,’ ‘The Robber,’ ‘The
Felon,’ and ‘The Highwayman.’ We take parts in these, and he always
performs the villain, and I take the noble characters. He always dies,
because he can do a splendid back-fall, and he looks so wicked when
he’s got the moustaches on. I generally draws the company by giving
two or three recitations, and then we perform a piece; and whilst he
goes round with the hat, I recite again. My favourite recitations are,
‘Othello’s Apology,’ beginning with ‘Most potent, grave, and reverend
Signiors,’ and those from Hamlet, Richard III., and Macbeth. Of the
recitations I think the people prefer that from Othello, for the ladies
have often asked me to give them that from Othello (they like to hear
about Desdemona), but the gentlemen ask for that from Hamlet, ‘To be,
or not to be?’
“My principal place for giving performances is the Commercial-road,
near Limehouse, but the most theatrically inclined neighbourhood is the
Walworth-road. The most money I ever took at one time in the streets
was 4_s._ in the Walworth-road.
“The best receipts I ever had was got in a public-house near
Brick-lane, for I took 12_s._, and I was alone. There was a ‘lead’ up
there for a friend, and I knew of it, and I had my hair curled and got
myself decently habited, I was there for about three or four hours, and
in the intervals between the dances I used to recite. There were girls
there, and they took my part, though they made me drink so much I was
nearly tipsy.
“The only theatrical costume I put on is moustachios, and I take a
stick to use as a sword. I put myself into attitudes, and look as
fierce as I can. When first the people came to hear me they laughed,
and then they became quiet; and sometimes you could hear a pin drop.
“When I am at work regularly--that’s when I am in voice and will--I
make about 10_s._ a-week, if there’s not much rain. If it’s wet, people
don’t go to the public-houses, and they are my best paying audiences.
The least I have ever taken in a week is about 6_s._
“There isn’t many going about London reciting. It is a very rare class
to be found; I only know about four who live that way, and I have heard
of the others from hearsay--not that I have seen them myself.
“I’m very fond of music, and know most of the opera. That organ’s
playing something by Verdi; I heard it at the theatre at Dublin. I
amuse them sometimes in the kitchen at my lodgings by playing on a
penny tin whistle. I can do ‘Still, so gently,’ from ‘La Sonnambula,’
and hornpipes, and jigs, and Scotch airs, as well as ‘Cheer boys,
cheer,’ and ‘To the West,’ and many others. They get me to play when
they want to dance, and they pay me for them. They call me Shakspeare
by name.”