AN UNIMPORTANT CHAPTER.
In the foregoing account of the prosecution of my father and Mrs Besant
I have thought it best not to burden the narrative with any side issues
not immediately important. As, however, it is my object in this book
to picture my father and his surroundings as clearly as possible, so
that from the picture a just judgment of his character may be derived,
I will now devote a few pages to passing details more or less directly
connected with this prosecution or arising out of it.
As soon as Mr Watts decided to plead "guilty," under the circumstances
which have already been mentioned, and it became known that Mr
Bradlaugh and Mrs Besant had determined to publish the prosecuted
pamphlet, it was found that there were would-be prosecutors eager for
the fray, and ready to commence on anything else, whilst awaiting the
new issue of Knowlton's essay.
One morning I was seated on the floor (chairs were a scarce commodity
at Turner Street) in my father's study sorting some pamphlets when a
knock was heard at the street door; the landlady opened it, and then
came to say that a man had called who particularly wished to see Mr
Bradlaugh. "Ask him in," said my father, and I began hurriedly to rise
from my lowly position, but a "Stay where you are" nailed me to the
floor. "What can I do for you?" asked Mr Bradlaugh pleasantly, as a
thick-set man of middle age, with a reddish beard, entered the room.
The man replied that he wished to buy a copy of a book written by my
father and entitled, "Man, whence and how." Rather to my surprise,
because as a rule he refused to sell any literature from his Turner
Street lodgings, and indeed kept none there for sale, my father hunted
up a copy of the Freethinker's Text-Book, Part I., entitled "Man,
whence and how? or Revealed and Real Science in Conflict," carefully
dusted it, and handed it to the man, asking suavely, "Is there
anything more I can do for you?" The man replied that that was all,
put the book in his pocket, paid for it, and went away. He was hardly
outside the door when my father began to laugh. "Did you see his boots,
Hypatia?" he asked. "His boots!" I repeated vaguely, wondering rather
what the joke was. "Yes; he actually came in the regulation boots," he
said. "That was a detective, and those who instructed him evidently
think that 'Man, whence and how?' is some book upon the population
question." Undoubtedly it is a book upon the population question, but
not exactly from the Malthusian point of view; and if it was bought
in that idea, the purchasers must have felt rather foolish when they
read the first lines referring to the Hebrew chronology and the alleged
creation of Adam and Eve!
* * * * *
In 1876 my father was relieved from the pressure of those debts which
had been burdening him for so long. First of all a Liverpool friend
died, bequeathing to Mr Bradlaugh £100, less legacy duty. This is a
"new experience," said my father on receiving the money, adding, "I
owe £90 less than I owed last week." Then in August he received £2500
through a compromised will suit. Mr Henry Turberville, brother of Mr
R. D. Blackmore, had a very great admiration for my father; so much
so that the year before his death, when my father was about to go to
the United States, he felt so anxious not to lose sight of him that
he offered to pay the whole of his debts if only he would not go.
He made a will leaving the bulk of his property, valued at £15,000,
to Mr Bradlaugh, and to simplify matters he also made him his sole
executor. Not long after this Mr Turberville, while staying at Yeovil,
died suddenly, having a few hours before made his will in favour of
a daughter of a chemist of the neighbourhood. Mr Blackmore asked the
Court to pronounce for an intestacy, and he joined with Mr Bradlaugh
as against the propounders of the new will. At last a compromise was
agreed upon, by which Mr Bradlaugh received £2500 in addition to his
costs. Like the £90 legacy, the £2500 was immediately applied by my
father to the discharge of his liabilities. I was in Court with him
when the suits were compromised, and we went straight from the Court
to the office of his chief creditor. "That was only just in time, my
daughter," he said, as we turned towards home.
As one or other of us girls was now almost continuously with my father,
and his books were bursting all available bounds at Turner Street,
in February 1877 he decided to seek some more wholesome and more
commodious lodging. Turner Street left much to be desired from the
sanitary point of view. I remember one hot summer's evening a kindly,
enthusiastic gentleman, who lived in the west of London, came eastwards
to speak at one of the working-men's clubs. My father was to take
the chair for him, and he came to Turner Street before going to the
club. We all walked down together, and this gentleman, turning with
enthusiasm to my sister and me, said, "I think your father living here
is just the right man in the right place!" My sister and I looked at
one another; it had been so hot that day, yet we had not been able to
open our windows to let in the air because of the abundance of smells
which came in with it. If Turner Street was the "right" place, we, at
least, did not appreciate it.
At the end of February we removed to 10 Portland Place (as it was then
called), Circus Road, St John's Wood. It was a queerly-arranged house;
we had the top floor and the basement, with a bath-room on the first
floor, the ground floor and the rest of the first floor being occupied
by a firm of music-sellers. In the basement was a very large and dark
room, which we used for meals, and in which at first our tiny table and
four chairs looked very desolate. On the top floor was one large room
given over to my father's study, the other rooms being quite small. The
library again outgrowing its bounds, in 1880 it descended to the still
larger room on the first floor, whence the books were sold after the
death of their owner in 1891.
At Circus Road my sister and I started housekeeping for my father, with
one little servant much given to fainting. I was appointed head cook
to the establishment, and my father and sister uncomplainingly devoted
themselves to the task of swallowing my experiments in the culinary
art. Never once, either while I cooked for him myself, or later when we
ordered his dinners for him, do I remember my father grumbling at the
food we set before him. His meals had to be punctual to the moment, or,
if asked for at an unaccustomed hour, they had to be promptly served;
if that was done, he was content with whatever was given him.
We had been only a few weeks at Circus Road when the new edition of
the Knowlton pamphlet was printed. Mr Bradlaugh was away in Scotland,
and as Mrs Besant's mind was filled with the idea of the possibility
of a police raid and seizure of the stock, we hid parcels of the
pamphlet in every conceivable place. We buried some by night in her
garden, concealed some under the floor, and others behind the cistern.
When my father was informed of this cleverness he was by no means
pleased, and sent word immediately that there should be no more hiding;
and as soon as he came home again the process began of finding as
quickly as possible these well-hidden treasures--some indeed so well
hidden that they were not found till some time afterwards. He also
knew that a search was possible, but he had no wish to look supremely
ridiculous--to put it no more seriously--by parcels being found in all
these eccentric places.
When the Saturday came on which Mr Bradlaugh and Mrs Besant attended at
Stonecutter Street to sell the new edition of the Knowlton pamphlet,
my sister and I went with them: not to sell the book--that my father
would not allow--but to help in the mechanical work of counting out
dozens or in giving change; for although there had been no other
advertisement than the one announcement in the _National Reformer_, the
crush of buyers in the little shop was enormous, and in the course of
twenty minutes over 500 copies changed hands, in single copies or in
small numbers. Several days elapsed between this formal sale and the
arrest, but my father had told me that in the event of such an arrest
I was immediately to go home and fetch his volumes of Russell "On
Crime and Misdemeanours," while my sister was to remain with them to
take any instructions at the moment. Mr Bradlaugh notified the police
headquarters that he and Mrs Besant would attend at 28 Stonecutter
Street from 10 to 11 A.M. for the convenience of the arrest.
The police accordingly made their appearance promptly at ten o'clock
one morning; I flew off to St John's Wood, collected the great books,
and caught the next train to the city. It was a warm morning, I was
hot with running, and anxious, for I rather think that I had some sort
of notion that "Russell" was a sort of golden key to unlock all legal
difficulties. City men in the train, going to their ordinary business,
looked at me rather curiously as I sat in the carriage closely hugging
those three bulky red volumes (which would slip about on one another,
for I had not stayed to tie them together) on criminal procedure, of
all things for a girl of nineteen to be carrying about with her on a
sunny April morning.
But my sister and I felt very, very lonely and very cold at heart as we
sat in the dreary Police Court at the Guildhall--I hardly know how we
got there--listening to cases of drunkenness or assault, and waiting,
with a shudder of horror and disgust at the thought, for our father
and Mrs Besant to come and take their places in that dock which we had
seen occupied by some of the lowest specimens of London low life. The
time came for people to snatch what lunch they could get; and a kindly
gentleman with a slightly foreign accent came to us and wanted to take
us to lunch. He knew us, for he was my father's very good friend, Mr
Joannes Swaagman, though we did not know him. However, he talked to
us of our father, and found the way to persuade us, so we went with
him; and I shall never forget the feeling of gratitude towards him,
and the sensation of comfort we felt in seeing his friendly face
and hearing his friendly voice. We attended the first day's hearing
at the Guildhall, but at our father's wish we were not afterwards
present during the trying of the case, either at the Guildhall or at
Westminster. After they were committed for trial Mr Bradlaugh proceeded
to make his arrangements for the conduct of his paper, and of his new
business in case of a hostile verdict. The course he then took proves,
as I have said, in a startling way how utterly alone he felt at that
moment--old ties were broken, new ones were not yet tested; to whom
could he turn to help him in this emergency? There was no one but his
daughters--girls with no experience, and in many ways young for their
years. But we might be ignorant, we might be stupid; still we loved him
so well that we could not help being absolutely faithful to any trust
he might confide to us. I was apt to be more forward than my sister;
she was nearly two years my elder, but she was needlessly distrustful
of herself, and so I was the one whom my father selected to instruct in
the possible editorial duties. I sat with him, note-book in hand, with
fainting heart at the frightful prospect, and meekly took note of all
his wishes. I was then taken into the bank, introduced to the manager,
and recorded my signature, for I was to be the financial agent also!
During the long hours of the four days' trial at Westminster, my sister
and I used to walk up and down the great hall, watching for any one
to come out with any news of how the case was going on. Melancholy
figures we must have looked, nearly always alone, dressed in black
gowns--for our mother had died suddenly in the midst of all this--and
very frightened at heart at what might happen. There was one person
who used invariably to step out of his way to speak to us as he passed
up the great hall to his place in the House of Commons, and that was
Joseph Biggar, the Member for Cavan. A little kindness at an hour such
as this makes an impression on the mind that nothing can efface, and my
sister and I never afterwards heard Mr Biggar's name mentioned without
recalling how he thus kindly went out of his way to say a pleasant word
to a couple of girls miserably walking up and down outside those Law
Courts at Westminster. On the fourth day we were summoned inside the
Court. The jury had retired, and every one was so sure of a verdict
for the defence, that my father thought we should like to hear it--for
in spite of all his worries and anxieties, he could yet think of us at
such a moment. When the verdict came it was a shock, the more so that
until a few minutes before, when an idea of the truth somehow reached
the Court, a favourable one had been anticipated.
On the first day (Monday) of the trial, in giving the history of the
Knowlton pamphlet, Mrs Besant, as a matter of course, mentioned that
it had been sold by Messrs Holyoake & Co., saying, "One of the firm is
Mr George Jacob Holyoake, whose name is probably well known to you.
The other is Austin Holyoake," and further, "from Mr Holyoake the book
went into the hands of a Mr C. Watts." On Wednesday, the third day,
a communication from Mr G. J. Holyoake appeared in the _Times_, in
which he attempted to explain away his connection with the pamphlet,
adding, moreover, that after the Bristol trial he advised Mr Watts to
discontinue its publication. As the only effect of this letter could
be to injure the defendants, it may be imagined that my father did not
take it as a very kindly act.[9] Indeed, Mrs Besant put it that the
letter was one "carefully calculated to prejudice the jury against
us, and sent to the very paper with which one of our jurymen[10] was
connected." As Mr Holyoake had been silent so long, "silent while he
sold it, silent while he profited by the sale, would it have been too
great an exercise of self-control," she asked, "if he had maintained
his silence for two days longer?"
[Footnote 9: From the time when Mr Holyoake refused to continue to
publish "The Bible: what it is," there were several instances of a want
of friendliness on his part towards Mr Bradlaugh, and sometimes--as
at this trial and in the Parliamentary struggle--these occurred at a
most critical moment in my father's career. Mr Bradlaugh, of course,
generally retaliated; but when his first vexation and anger had passed,
he always showed himself willing to forget and forgive. One of the very
first things he did on his return from America in 1875 was to join in
an effort to buy an annuity for Mr Holyoake, who had been so prostrated
by illness that at that time it was thought that he would not be
capable of continuous work again. Notwithstanding old differences, some
of which had been extremely and bitterly personal, my father joined in
the appeal with the utmost heartiness, and expressed his vexation that
the readers of the _National Reformer_ had not been permitted to be
amongst the earliest subscribers to the fund.]
[Footnote 10: Mr Arthur Walter, son of the principal proprietor of the
_Times_, was on the jury.]
The next week my sister and I were with my father and Mrs Besant all
day in Court when sentence was pronounced; but in spite of all our
vague fears, I do not think we altogether realised what imprisonment
could mean until the Judge pronounced the awful words. The whole Court
seemed to fade away as I listened, and it needed the knowledge that my
father relied upon me to do something for him to bring me to myself.
I took his pocket-book from him as he had bidden me, and was with my
sister mechanically following him from the Court when we were stopped
by the Lord Chief Justice, his mild tones forming a contrast to the
last sharply uttered words. It seemed, indeed, as though ages of agony
had been lived through in those few minutes.
Apparently Sir Alexander Cockburn had been told of our waiting outside,
and had noticed us in the Court, as afterwards some very kindly words
which he had said of Mr Bradlaugh and ourselves were repeated to my
father.
* * * * *
When, later on, Mrs Besant was directed by order of Sir George Jessel
to give up her daughter, my father knew that Mr Besant's advisers would
not lose a moment in claiming her. By his instructions we drove at once
to Mrs Besant's house and carried off Mabel to Circus Road. We then
took her by road to Willesden Junction Station, and there gave her
into Mrs Besant's keeping as she was passing through, on her way to
fulfil a lecturing engagement at Manchester. Thus the poor mother was
able to take her farewell of her child in peace, instead of having her
torn from her arms at a moment's notice. Then when Mrs Besant's health
gave way we nursed her through her illness, and went with her to North
Wales, where she rapidly regained her strength.
Up to the time of Mrs Besant's illness she used to ride with us
regularly when time permitted, but after that she gave it up for a
while. I was never very strong, and one day the doctor had said to me,
"If you were a rich young lady, I should order you horse exercise," to
which my father, who was with me, replied, "She is not a rich young
lady, doctor, but we will see what can be done." And my riding, which
was purely the outcome of fatherly love and a desire for his daughter's
health, has been turned by some people into a sort of crime against Mr
Bradlaugh!
My sister cared very little about riding, so after Mrs Besant gave it
up I used to go out alone, riding a little mare, Kathleen, which Mrs
Besant then kept at livery stables. As Kathleen had several little
peculiarities of temper, and I was accustomed to ride quite alone, I
used to ride her in Regent's Park in the quiet of the morning. One
snowy morning in March she bolted with me, and after a considerable
run we fell together just within the Clarence Gate. I was carried
insensible to the nearest doctor, and my sister was summoned by a
passer-by who recognised me. Mr Bradlaugh had been lecturing in
Scotland, and was travelling all night so that he might reach London
in time to be in the Appeal Court at half-past ten, where Mrs Besant
was appealing against the decision of the Master of the Rolls. When he
was near home some one stopped my father's cab, and he came on at once,
to find me lying unconscious on the floor of the doctor's parlour.
Nothing had been done for me; the doctor could not even say whether
any bones were broken; his wife had indeed brought me a cup of tea,
but of that I knew nothing. To make up for any lack of attentions to
my poor body, they turned their thoughts to my sister's soul, and in
the afternoon the doctor's wife wrote to my sister that she would pray
to her "Heavenly Father" that "in this great affliction you may be led
to know Him as your Saviour and Comforter." If a Freethinker wrote to
a Christian who was sick or in trouble that hell was a delusion and
heaven a myth, it would justly be considered an outrage, but the zealot
has two codes of morality--one for those who differ from him, and
another for himself.
It must have been very hard for my father that day in Court; three
lectures the day before, travelling all night, and at home a daughter
who, for aught he had been able before leaving to learn to the
contrary, might be dying or permanently injured.