The Tichborne “Claimant”--Nearly an explosion--The big
man’s clothes--The real heir--The Claimant’s release from
prison--Confession and death.
I can hardly allow this period to pass without making some reference to
the fact that from 1872 till 1874--when he was sentenced, on the 28th of
February, to fourteen years’ penal servitude--the name of the “Claimant”
to the Tichborne baronetcy and estates was on every lip, and it seems to
me that no trial in my time has ever engrossed public attention to such a
degree.
[Illustration: THE TICHBORNE “CLAIMANT”
Central figure in a famous perjury trial in England. An impression was
made of him before his conviction to penal servitude and another model
was made eleven years later on his return.]
People flocked to see the Claimant’s portrait when it was added to the
collection, and perhaps that was the first time one saw queues assembled
outside the doors of Madame Tussaud’s.
The various incidents of this historic case absorbed my youthful
attention, and I recall how, at his house in Kentish Town, the Claimant
submitted to the ordeal of having an impression taken of his hands to
show the curly thumbs and a scar on his wrist which formed subjects of
comment in the courts.
I was struck by the Claimant’s enormous size, which yet did not seem
to hinder his movements, for the agility of the bulky man was indeed
extraordinary; and equally surprising were the acuteness of his mind and
the suavity of his manner.
To save him the inconvenience of fulfilling appointments in the
Exhibition studios, my father had a special gas-light fixed at the
Claimant’s house that sittings might be taken in the evenings.
This device, curiously enough, once put the life of the Claimant in
jeopardy. An old gasfitter in our employment, named Dallender, who had
done some stage work, introduced an apparatus such as was used in the
theatres. Something went wrong with the manipulation of the arrangements,
and the room became charged with gas. A servant was about to enter the
apartment with a light, when the Claimant himself stopped her on noticing
the strong smell. But for this fact the famous Tichborne trial might have
had a sudden and tragic termination.
The Claimant showed certain qualities which hardly tallied with the
character of the “uneducated butcher” he was declared to be. Proof that
he had some refinement of feeling--or was he merely actuated by that
vanity frequently found among men of his class?--may be inferred from an
incident that greatly impressed my father.
The Claimant had promised that he would provide a fresh suit of clothes
for his model in the Exhibition, and, in fulfilment of his promise, after
the sentence had been passed upon him, he beckoned from the table at
which he was seated in court to an attendant, and handed him the suit of
clothes, saying:
“Please see to these being delivered at Madame Tussaud’s, as they are
expected there.”
This fact strikes one as being remarkable, having regard to the anxiety
of mind he must undoubtedly have suffered at the close of the trial.
It was a curious coincidence that I revisited my old college at Ramsgate
about this time, and there had pointed out to me, among the students, the
young heir to the Tichborne estates, whose title had been made clear by
the conviction of the Claimant for perjury.
The students were on their way to the refectory, and the youthful heir
appeared more concerned over the prospect of a good dinner than the
result of the case upon which his future depended.
Stories of the Claimant were countless as he strode like a Colossus
through the country in the long interval between his civil case and the
criminal trial that succeeded it.
He was mobbed by sympathisers everywhere, and men and women shook hands
with him, as if it bestowed a distinction on themselves. There was one
amusing story at the time of a wealthy Yorkshire manufacturer whose wife
said to him when they entertained the Claimant to dinner:
“John, how we are slithering into Society!”
After he had served eleven years’ imprisonment, his sentence having
been reduced through good conduct, the Claimant came to the Exhibition
to learn if he could be of any further service to us, or we to him. His
ponderous bulk was so much reduced by prison fare that we should not have
known him. He said he was none the worse for the period of enforced
“banting,” which reduced his weight without injuring his health.
The Claimant gave me several sittings at this time, and a new model was
substituted for the old one. He spoke freely of his prison experiences,
and said:
“It was not easy to be philosophical when set to tease oakum, but
eventually I bowed to my fate cheerfully enough. It is some consolation
to know that thousands still believe in the justice of my claim to the
Tichborne estates.”
Notwithstanding this, the Claimant published in a Sunday newspaper his
signed confession, which he is said to have afterwards recanted.
He survived his liberation from prison fourteen years, and, gradually
sinking into poverty, died in obscure lodgings in Marylebone, not far
from the Exhibition, on the 2nd of April, 1898. The name engraved on his
coffin was “Sir Roger Charles Doughty Tichborne,” thus maintaining his
claim to the very last.