LONDON
Sitting at home, thinking of future employment, manual labour being
now out of the question, it was then for the first time that I
expressed gratitude for my old grandmother's legacy, which, on my home
coming from the States had been reduced from ten shillings to eight
shillings per week. In the past it had been sniffed at and scorned,
being called several ill-natured names, such as "a week's tobacco," "a
day's grub," or "an evening's booze without cigars." I had been very
bitter, on the reading of her will, that the property had not come
into my hands, to sell or retain, spend or save; but a little common
sense now told me that if such had been the case I would, at the
present time, have been without either property or income, and had
been so less than twelve months after her death. The old lady, no
doubt, had noted my wildness, and to save me the temptation to
squander my brother's share, who was incapable of taking charge of his
own affairs, and whose share I must have ill managed, after the
passing of my own she had wisely left this property to remain in the
hands of a trustee, which now turned out as lucky for myself as for
my brother.
I was now more content with my lot, determined that as my body had
failed, my brains should now have the chance they had longed for, when
the spirit had been bullied into submission by the body's activity.
It was now the middle of Summer, and daily I sat dreaming, reading,
and occasionally writing in a leafy bower in the garden. I could now
dispense with crutches, having just received from London an artificial
limb, and on this was practising, taking short walks at night, with a
success that was gratifying. A far different Klondyke had opened up
before my eyes, which corresponded with the dreams of my youth. I
pictured myself returning home, not with gold nuggets from the far
West, but with literary fame, wrested from no less a place than the
mighty London. This secret was never divulged to my people, and, in
the after years, this reticence saved them from many a pang of
disappointment, and freed me from many an awkward question. Determined
to lose no time in the conquest of that city, which I expected would
be surrendered to me some time within twelve months, I began, without
wasting more time in dreams, to make preparations for this journey.
Alas! how many greater men failed in a lifetime at this attempt,
although they now stand triumphant in death, holding in their
spiritual hands the freedom and keys of the whole world's cities!
With a cotton shirt, a pair of stockings and a handkerchief in a brown
paper parcel, and the sum of two pounds in my pocket, after the
expense of train fare, I started for London, filled to the brim with
the aforesaid designs. My failure in the States, and again in Canada,
had made me a little more chary with my confidence, but I was not in
the least the less optimistic. My first dreams were, and are, my best.
I scorn clothes and jewellery; I would rather take a free country
walk, leaving the roads for the less trodden paths of the hills and
the lanes, than ride in a yacht or a coach; I would rather see the
moon in the ruins than the gaslight of an assembly room; gluttony I
despise, and drink is seldom taken except at the invitation of other
eyes: then what, in the name of everything we know, would be to me the
silver and gold of all Alaska!
I arrived in London early the following morning, and at once made my
way towards Lambeth. Early that night, being tired with the exertion
of an unusually long day, I went seeking for lodgings in Blackfriars
Road, and, seeing several signs that claimed to accommodate working
men with good clean beds at sixpence per night, entered one of these
establishments, paid the amount demanded, and was then ushered into a
long kitchen, preferring to sit and smoke for an hour before retiring
for the night. Some thirty or forty men were in this kitchen, but the
British Workman had either not yet arrived, was out drinking his pint,
or had gone early to bed. This was not by any means my first
experience in England of lodging houses, for I had been forced to live
in similar places on my visits in cattle ships from America; but I
certainly did not like the look of this place, where no sign of
authority was to be seen, and which seemed to be entirely left to the
control of these noisy men. Some of these lodgers had been old
soldiers, had just received their pensions--the accumulation of three
months. A number of them were bringing in cans of beer, and the
kitchen was in an uproar. Many of them were too drunk to perform this
task, but were sufficiently sober to sit awake and give money and
orders to others, and there was no lack of willing hands to bring them
what they required. I left the kitchen at once, determined to seek
another place, without troubling the landlady to refund my money. As I
left the kitchen, two drunken men began to fight; others interfered,
and this fight threatened to become an all round affair. When I had
reached the top of the stairs, feeling my way in the dark, I found the
landlady standing at the office door. Seeing me, as I was about to
pass her, she said, in a voice which was the worse for drink--"So you
want to go to bed? Here, Jim, show this gentleman to his bed." Jim
obeyed, a small, pale-faced child, whom I mechanically followed up
two flights of stairs, which were better lighted than those leading to
the kitchen, which was in the basement of the house. He then showed me
into a room where there were a number of beds, and, pointing to one,
said--"You are number forty-five," when he left the room. Many of the
beds already contained sleepers. I sat down on the edge of mine,
wondering if there would be any disturbance in the night, whether any
of these men would take a fancy to my clothes, or in the dark were
likely to rummage their contents. The man in the next bed coughed, and
then, turning towards me, said gently--"The beds are good, I admit,
but that is about all you can say of this house." Second voice, not
far away: "You've come to a good house, you have, and yer don't know
it." First voice: "If I hadn't been drunk last night and got chucked
out of Rowton's, I wouldn't, on any account, be here." A third voice,
distant, but loud and angry: "Give over, will yer: when are you coves
going to sleep? I ain't done any labour for three weeks, and now as
I've got a chance at four in the mornin', blow me if I ain't robbed of
my slumber. Take care I don't set about yer at once, yer blooming lot
of bleeders. If I come arter yer body, yer'll know it, and no mistake
about it, either." No more was said after this. I at once made up my
mind to try Rowton House on the following day. That they had refused
this man a bed owing to his being drunk, and, more than likely,
quarrelsome in drink, was a strong recommendation to me after my
experience here, where it would be impossible to either read, write or
think, or to even partake of my meals in comfort.
The following morning, after having had breakfast at an eating house,
I enquired for Rowton House, and when the first person I addressed
asked which one I wanted, I answered him--"the nearest one." This
proved to be in Newington Butts and, after receiving instructions, I
proceeded accordingly, and was soon standing outside that place, where
I was to remain for two years, without in the least impressing London.
To my surprise, I found this house to be a fine large block of red
buildings, with an imposing front, and a fine entrance, polished and
clean; and, facing its many front windows, was an old church tower and
clock, set in an old leafy churchyard that had stones for the dead and
a number of wooden seats for the living.
On making an application for a bed, I learnt that this could not be
granted until nine o'clock in the evening, but was courteously allowed
the privilege of remaining indoors until that time. This place
surprised me by its accommodation of dining rooms, library, sitting
rooms, baths, lavatories, etc., all being kept clean and in thorough
good order by a large staff of men, its charge being sixpence per
night.
On making my way into the library, and seeing two large cases of
books, one containing fiction, and the other being enriched by the
poets, historians, essayists, with biography and miscellaneous
literature, and hearing how quiet this room was, in spite of the
presence of over a hundred men, I at once made up my mind to pay a
week's lodgings down, indifferent whether the sleeping accommodation
was good or bad. This I did at nine o'clock, after which I sat
sometimes reading the paper, and again watching the faces of this
mixed assembly. Some of them were of refined appearance, with their
silk hats, their frock coats, cuffs and collars, and spoke in voices
subdued and gentle. Some of them were of such a prosperous appearance
that no doubt I had already passed them in the street, thinking they
were either merchants or managers of great concerns; and, more likely
than not, the paper boys had followed on their heels, and the cabmen
had persistently hailed them.
If I wanted to devote my time to study, living on eight shillings per
week, this was apparently a suitable place for my purpose. Being my
own barber, doing my own plain cooking, and living abstemiously,
renouncing drink and the pleasures of theatres, and other indoor
entertainments, and retaining tobacco as my sole luxury--I saw no
reason why this could not be done, at the same time making up my mind
that it had to be done.
I had been here little more than a week, when I set to work in
earnest, and the result of two months' diligence was a tragedy,
written in blank verse, and which I called "The Robber." Never
dreaming but what it would at once meet with success, owing to its
being full of action--a very difficult thing to marry to verse, but
which I thought was successfully accomplished--I was somewhat taken
aback to have it returned to me on the third day, with the manager's
regret. Now it seemed that the Rowton House had a bad name, owing to
the great number of criminals that were continually in the Police
Courts giving that address. Some of these lodgers, for that very
reason, had their correspondence addressed to various small shops,
where they were customers for tobacco, papers, and groceries.
On having this tragedy returned, I, thinking of this, came to the
conclusion that no respectable person would be likely to consider or
respect any work, or application for the same, that emanated from a
house of this name. I spoke to a gentleman with whom I had become
acquainted, on this difficult subject, and he agreed with me, saying
that such were the true facts of the case. "But," said he, after a
thoughtful pause, "as your means are so limited, and the shopkeepers
charge one penny for every letter they receive on a customer's behalf,
would it not be as well to still have your correspondence addressed
here, but in another way, of which you probably have not heard? Give
your address as number one Churchyard Row, and, although people will
not recognise this house under that name, yet the post office
authorities will know it for its proper address." This I did, without
further question, and "The Robber" was despatched on a second journey.
Fourteen days after my robber returned to number one Churchyard Row.
Bothering my head to account for this, I came to the conclusion that
my tragedy had not been read farther than the front page, and that a
tragedy that was born and bred in such a place as Churchyard Row--the
address being so appropriate to the nature of the work--was enough to
make any man, who had the least sense of humour, condemn it with a
laugh. My conceit, at this time, was foolish in the extreme, and yet I
was near my thirtieth year.
The next work was a very long poem, in which the beasts of the field,
the birds of the air, and even the fishes of the sea, met in a forest
glade to impeach man for his cruelty to them, and went on to describe
their journey at midnight to the nearest town, and the vengeance they
then took on the sleeping inhabitants. My confidence in this work
being accepted could not have been altogether whole-hearted, for the
following reason: I made two copies of this poem, and posted them
simultaneously to different publishers. I felt quite satisfied that
one of these would be accepted, but when a whole week had passed on,
and I had received no communication from either publisher, I was then
horrified to think that they both were giving the poem such a
consideration that there was a probability that both of them would
accept it, and that both publishers would call on me to make terms,
perhaps at the very same hour. This thought so preyed on my mind that
I did not feel at all easy until I had one of the copies returned; but
it was a great disappointment to receive the second copy on the
following day.
Thinking that short poems would stand a better prospect of being
accepted, I set to work on a hundred sonnets, writing five, and
sometimes six a day, but when this number had been accomplished and
submitted, this work met with the same failure. After this I wrote
another tragedy, a comedy, a volume of humorous essays, and hundreds,
I believe, of short poems. I was always writing at this time, either
beginning or finishing a work, but, strange to say, none of this work
was being sent out, but was safely treasured, under the impression
that it would some day find its market.
After having had twelve months' practice, in the last months of which
no attempt had been made at publication, I decided to make one more
effort, this time with a small volume of short poems. This was
immediately sent to a well known publisher, who in a few days returned
answer, offering to publish at the author's expense, the sum needed
being twenty-five pounds. This success completely turned my head.
With all my heart I believed that there would not be the least
difficulty in procuring money for such a grand purpose, and at once
wrote to several well known philanthropists, writing six letters. Two
of them never murmured, and the other four set their secretaries to
snap me up in a few words. Exasperated at this I wrote to several
others, all my trouble being to no purpose.
Now, when I first entered this lodging house, I had something like
thirty shillings to the good, being ahead of my income, and up to the
present had no reason for spending this amount. Could I put this to
some use? My mind had several plans, and one in particular seemed good
and feasible. I would write three or four short poems on a page, get
them printed, and sell them from door to door. Two thousand of these
sheets, sold at threepence per copy, would be twenty-five pounds, and,
no doubt, I could sell quite a hundred of these copies a day,
providing I went from house to house, from street to street, from
early morning till late at night. With this object I lost no time in
seeing a job printer, and was told that thirty-five shillings would be
needed to defray expenses. This large amount disappointed me not a
little, but I paid a deposit and went back to the house, where I lived
and nearly starved in saving four shillings that were short, which was
done in two weeks out of the sixteen shillings that were to maintain
me in food and lodgings for fourteen days. At last, after great
privation and sacrifice, it was done, and I received from the printer
two thousand and some odd copies. Early the next morning I was to be
seen in the suburbs of London, with my hands and pockets full of these
copies, going from door to door. I mentioned to the inhabitants that I
had had an offer from a publisher, and that he could not undertake to
publish my work under twenty-five pounds. All these people did was to
stare, none of them seeming to understand, and no one seemed inclined
to ask questions. I had, I believe, visited the doors of some thirty
houses or more, and had not sold one copy. Most of these people were
poor, and some had become sufficiently interested to enquire the price
of my copies, seeming inclined and willing to trade with me in a small
way, but none of them seemed to be anxious to give threepence for a
sheet of paper which they did not understand. At last I chanced upon a
house that was much larger than the others, at which place a servant
answered the door. I lost no time in relating to her the true facts of
the case, and she was standing there silent and puzzled as to my
meaning, when her mistress called to her from the top of the
stairs--"Mary, who's there?" On which the maiden gave answer in a
halting voice--"Some man selling some paper." At this there was a
pause, and then the same voice said, from the direction of the
stairs--"Give him this penny, and tell him to go away," and, almost
instantly, that copper coin fell at the bottom of the stairs, and came
rolling rapidly towards us, as though aware of its mission. The girl
handed me this penny, which I took mechanically, at the same time
persisting in her taking a copy to her mistress. That lady, hearing
our further conversation, and perhaps, guessing its import, cried
again, this time in a warning voice--"Mary, mind you don't take
anything from him." This crushed the last hope, for I began to think
that if this lady, who might be a woman of some cultivation and rich,
could only see and read what had been done, she might have at once, in
her deep interest, merged the whole twenty-five pounds, at the same
time befriending me for life. Alas! I have been unfortunate all my
life in believing that there were a great number of rich people who
were only too eager to come forward and help talent in distress.
I was so disgusted at receiving this single penny, and being so
dismissed, that I at once put the sheets back in my pockets and
returned to the city. How long would it take to get twenty-five
pounds, at this rate? What am I talking about! Money was lost, not
even this single copper was a gain; for this penny-a-day experience
had cost me three pennies in tram fare, without mention of a more
expensive breakfast than I usually had.
When I got back to the house I started, with the fury of a madman, to
burn the copies, and did not rest until they were all destroyed,
taking care not to save one copy that would at any time in the future
remind me of my folly.
It was at this time that I came under the influence of Flanagan. That
gentleman, seeing me often writing and apparently in deep thought, at
once gave me credit for more wisdom than I possessed. He was a very
illiterate man, having no knowledge of grammar, punctuation or
spelling. The upshot of this acquaintance was that he informed me in
confidence that he was the lawful heir to nearly half the county of
Mayo, in Ireland; on which estate was a house like the King's palace.
In exchange for this confidence I told him that I was the author of a
book of verse, which could not be published except the author defrayed
expenses. On which Flanagan expressed much sympathy--more especially
when I read him aloud a few lines expressing my disapproval of
landowners and rich tyrants--and promised sincerely to relieve me of
all difficulty providing, of course, that he made good his claims to
the estate. Flanagan then proposed that I should put some of his
arguments in grammatical form, which he would immediately forward to
the proper authorities. This I began to do at once, and some of
Flanagan's arguments were so strong that I am surprised at the present
day at being a free man. I told one eminent statesman that he should
retire and give place to a more honest man, and another that though he
was born in Ireland and bore the name of an Irishman, yet he was a
traitor, for his heart had ever been in England. Despite these
powerful letters, the County Mayo never to my knowledge changed hands,
and I was disappointed in my expectations, and Flanagan grieved daily.
At that time, I must confess, I thoroughly believed Flanagan, perhaps
through being blinded by my own ambitions as an author. Even at the
present time, though I have cut down the estate considerably, from
half a county to half an acre, and have taken out quite a number of
windows from the estate's residence--after doing this, I still believe
that poor Flanagan was robbed of a cottage and garden by an avaricious
landlord.
This was at the time of the Boer War and Flanagan's long dark beard
and slouched hat gave him the exact appearance of one of those
despised people. Therefore we seldom took a walk together but what we
were stoned by boys in the street, and even grown up people passed
insulting remarks. In fact everywhere we went we were regarded with
suspicion. Our clothes not being of the best, drew the attention of
attendants at museums and art galleries, and we, being swarthy and
alien in appearance, never paused near a palace but what sentry and
police watched our every movement. One morning we were passing
through Whitehall, what time a regiment of soldiers were being drilled
and inspected by a gentleman in a silk hat. Now Flanagan was a man of
great courage and never thought it necessary to whisper. Therefore a
vein of savage satire broke in Flanagan's heart when he beheld a man
in a silk hat inspecting a troop of soldiers. "See!" he cried,
"there's a sight for the Boers." A number of bystanders resented this
remark, and there were loud murmurs of disapproval. On which Flanagan
asked the following question: "Will the best man in the crowd step
forward?" But no man seemed inclined to attempt Flanagan's
chastisement, without being assisted. Although I did not entirely
approve of him on this occasion, still, seeing that the words could
not be recalled, I was quite prepared to be carried with him half dead
on a stretcher to the nearest hospital; for I liked the man, and he
certainly seemed to like me, since he always took his walks alone when
I did not accompany him.