The failure of his attempt to learn grammar, and the firm belief in the
words of Mr. Thomas Porter that grammar was indispensable to poetry, for
some time preyed upon the mind of John Clare. He lost all his pleasure in
scribbling verses, either at home or in the fields, careless even of the
praise which his parents had got into the habit of bestowing upon his
pretended readings from the poets. This lasted for nearly a year, at the
end of which time his own hopefulness, coupled with the natural buoyancy
of youth, drove him again to his old pursuits. His spirits were raised
additionally by the encouragement of a new friend, the parish-clerk of
Helpston. The rumour had spread by this time that John was 'a scholar,'
and was 'writing bits of books on paper,' and though the _vox populi_ of
Helpston thought not the better of John for this acquirement, but rather
condemned him as a practically useless creature, the parish-clerk, being
teacher also of the Sunday-school, and, as such, representative of
learning in the village, held it to be his duty to take notice of and
patronize the young man. He went so far as to call upon Clare, now and
then, with much condescension, and having glanced, in a lofty sort of
way, at the rainbowed slips of paper, already submitted, with such
unhappy results, to the judgment of Master Porter, he promised to 'do
something' for his young friend and pupil. The something, after a time,
turned out to be an introduction to Lord Milton, eldest son of the Earl
Fitzwilliam, with whom the worthy Sunday-school teacher professed to be
on very intimate terms. John Clare, at first, was very unwilling to
thrust himself upon the notice of any such high-born personage; but the
united persuasion of his parents and the obliging new friend broke his
reluctance. A day was fixed, accordingly, for the visit to the noble
lord, residing at Milton Park, half way between Helpston and
Peterborough. After infinite trouble of dressing, the memorable
waistcoat, with cotton gloves, and white necktie, which had made the
journey to Wisbeach, being again put into requisition, John Clare and his
patron started one fine morning for Milton Park. The stately porter at
the lodge, after some parley, allowed them to pass, and they reached the
mansion without further misadventure. His lordship was at home, said the
tall footman in the hall; and his lordship would see them immediately, he
reported, after having delivered the message of the two strangers.
Trusting the 'immediate,' John Clare and his friend waited patiently one
hour, two hours, three hours; they saw the sun culminate, and saw the sun
set, and still waited with becoming quietness. At last, when it was quite
dark, the news came that his lordship could not see them this day, but
would be glad to meet them some other time. Thereupon John Clare and the
Sunday-school teacher left Milton Park and went back to Helpston,
slightly sad, and very hungry.
To John Clare this first attempt to gain high patronage was profoundly
discouraging; but not so to the worthy parish-clerk, whose experience of
the world was somewhat larger. The latter induced his young friend to
make another trial to meet Lord Milton, and, the thing being better
planned, they were successful this time--as far, at least, as the mere
meeting was concerned. Having discovered that the noble lord was in the
habit of occasionally visiting some outlying farms, the shrewd clerk
waylaid his lordship, and, together with his young friend, burst upon him
like an apparition. Breaking out into glowing praise of John Clare, which
made the latter blush like a maiden, the parish-clerk finished by pulling
from his pocket a bit of antique pottery, unearthed somewhere in the
grounds between Helpston Heath and Castor. Lord Milton smiled, and
handing the bearer some loose cash, accepted the gift, not forgetting to
state that he would remember the young man thus favourably introduced to
his notice. John Clare instinctively comprehended the meaning of all
this, and went home and made a silent vow never more to seek patronage in
cotton gloves, with a white necktie, and never more to trust his
grandiloquent friend and patron, the parish-clerk.
The failure of all his attempts to raise himself from his low condition,
drove John Clare into a desponding mood. Weak in body, and suffering
under continuous ill-health, his work as a farm-labourer brought him
scarce sufficient remuneration to procure the coarsest food and the
scantiest clothing, while it left him without any means whatever to
assist his parents in their great distress, so that they had to continue
recipients of meagre parish relief. Throughout, Clare had an innate
consciousness of being born to a freer and loftier existence, and thus
deeply felt the burthen of being condemned to the fiercest struggle with
poverty and misery. The bitter feeling engendered by this thought he
surmounted, most frequently, by flying into his favourite realm of
poetry; but often enough the moral strength failed him for the task, and
he sank back in utter hopelessness. More and more was this the case at
this period. He was now verging upon manhood, and with it came, as nobler
aspirations, so baser passions and desires. To these he fell a prey as
soon as he threw aside his slips of paper and pencil, in consequence of
Thomas Porter's sharp rebuke, and the utter failure to master 'Lowe's
Critical Spelling-book.' For many months after, he neither read, nor made
the slightest attempt to write verses, and the idle hours threw him again
into evil company, similar to that from which he had escaped at Burghley
Park. There were, among the labourers of Helpston, two brothers of the
name of John and James Billings, who lived, unmarried, at a ruinous old
cottage, nicknamed Bachelors' Hall. Both were given to poaching, hard
drinking, and general rowdyism, and fond, besides, of meeting kindred
spirits, of the same turn of mind, at the riotous evening assemblies in
their little cottage. Hitherto, John Clare's passion for poetry had kept
him constantly at home, the nightly companion of his poor parents; but no
sooner had he weaned himself from his verses, when he fled to the Hall.
To his ardent temper, there was a great charm in the wild, uproarious
meetings which took place every evening, accompanied by as much
consumption of ale as the purses of the lawless fraternity would allow.
Poaching, to most of them, proved a source of considerable gain, not less
than a pleasant excitement, and the money thus freely acquired was as
freely spent in drink and debauchery. Though pressingly invited, Clare
could not be made to join in the stealing of game; he was too deep a
lover of all creatures that God had made, to be able to hurt or destroy
even the least of them wilfully. But although unwilling to commit
slaughter himself, he was not at all disinclined to share in its fruits,
and it was not long before he became the leader at the frequent drinking
bouts at Bachelors' Hall. Shy and reserved on ordinary occasions, he was
at these meetings the loudest of loud talkers and singers, the fumes of
vanity, together with those of alcohol, exerting their combined
influence. Reciting his verses to merry companions, he earned warm and
enthusiastic applause, and for the first time in his life deemed himself
fully and justly appreciated. That this fancied road to fame was, after
all, the dreariest road to ruin, poor John Clare did not see, and,
perhaps, could scarcely he expected to see.
Fortunately, at this critical period of Clare's life an event occurred
which, though it drove him for the moment into company almost worse than
that of Bachelors' Hall, at the same time afforded the means for his
rescue. It was in the spring of 1812, Clare now in his nineteenth year,
that great efforts were made throughout the kingdom to raise the local
militia of the various counties, in view of getting, through this source,
recruits for the regular army. Veterans, with red noses and flying
ribbons on their hats, kept tramping from one end of the country to the
other, making every pothouse resound with tales of martial glory, and
fearful accounts of 'Bony.' Even into remote Helpston the recruiting
sergeant penetrated, taking up his quarters at the 'Blue Bell,' and with
much political wisdom honouring the convivial meetings at Bachelors' Hall
with occasional visits. John Clare's heart was stirred within him when,
for the first time, he heard of golden deeds of valour in the field, and
how men became great and famous by killing other men. The eloquent
recruiting sergeant rose to his full height when drawing the accustomed
figure of 'Bony,' with horns and tail, swallowing a dozen babies at
breakfast. John Clare, with other of his fellows at the Bachelors' Hall,
got into a holy rage at the crimes of 'Bony,' vowing to enter the list of
avenging angels. The veteran with the red nose took his audience at the
word, tendering to each of them a neat silver coin, and enlisting them in
the regular militia. John was the foremost to take his shilling, and
though his heart misgave him a little when thinking the matter over in
the cool of the next morning, he had no choice but to take the
red-blue-and-white cockade and follow the sergeant. The latter managed to
enlist a score of young fellows from Helpston, and the whole village
turned out when he marched them off to Peterborough. Old Parker Clare and
his wife shed tears on bidding their son farewell, fearing it might be a
farewell for ever. As to John, his pride only prevented him from joining
in their lamentation, for his mind was by no means easy regarding the
consequences of his rash endeavour to become a hero. He deeply felt his
own irresolution to commit acts of heroism, even such inferior ones as
the killing of small game; and he asked himself with terror how he would
fare when put face to face with such great tigers as 'Bony' and his men.
The thought was anything but pleasant, and he was relieved from it only
by joining the horse-play of his riotous companions, and ransacking the
stores of the roadside taverns. Having reached Peterborough, the whole
troop of aspirant warriors was taken before a magistrate to swear
fidelity to King George the Third, after which Clare and his fellow-men
had quarters assigned to them at the various beer-houses of the episcopal
city. For a week or longer, their daily business, in the service of King
George the Third, was to get drunk, to parade the streets singing and
shouting, and to fight with the watchmen of the town. John Clare,
thinking the matter over in his daily musings, wondered at the curious
road laid down for people who wished to become heroes.
The Helpston group of warriors having been joined by other clusters from
various parts of the county of Northampton, the whole regiment of raw
recruits was marched along, one fine morning, to Oundle. Here they were
drawn up in a body, some thirteen hundred strong, and divided into
companies, according to size. John Clare, being among the smallest of the
young heroes, scarce five feet high, was put into the last company, the
fifth in number. These preliminaries being duly arranged, the thirteen
hundred had to exchange their smock-frocks, jackets, and blouses, for the
regulated red coat and trousers. Unfortunately, the official distributor
of these articles paid no attention whatever to the stature and physical
conformation of the recipients, nor even to their division into
different-sized companies, but threw out his uniforms like barley among
the chickens. The consequences were of the most ludicrous kind. Nearly
all the big men got coats which fitted them like strait-laced jackets,
while the little ones had garments which hung upon their shoulders in
balloon fashion. John Clare was more unlucky than any of his warrior
brethren. His trousers, apparently made for a giant, were nearly as long
as his whole body, and though he drew them up to close under his arms,
they still fell down, by many inches, over his shoes. To prevent his
tumbling over them, like a clown in the pantomime, he held up his
pantaloons with one hand, while with the other he kept his helmet from
falling in the mud. This wonderful headpiece was as much too small for
the big-brained recruit as the other parts of the uniform were too large,
and it required the most careful balancing to keep it in a steady
position on the top of the crown in a quiet atmosphere while, in any
little gust of wind, it was indispensable to ensure the equilibrium with
outstretched arm. All this was easy enough while John Clare went through
his first martial exercises: nothing more simple, while learning the
goose-step, than to hold his big trousers with one hand and his tight
helmet with the other. But at the end of four weeks, his superiors gave
John Clare a gun, and with it came blank despair. He did not know in the
world how to hold his trousers, his gun, and his headpiece at one and the
same time. Puzzling over the matter till his brain got dizzy, he at
length resolved upon a notable expedient. He tucked his nether garments
into his shoes, thereby giving the upper portion of them a bag-like
appearance, while he exchanged his helmet for another of larger
dimensions, in the possession of a thin-headed brother recruit. The new
headpiece was a good deal too large, which, however, was easily remedied
by a stuffing of paper and wood shavings, so that henceforth, unless the
wind blew too strong, the ingenious young soldier had, at least, one of
his two hands to himself. This would have been an immense benefit under
ordinary circumstances; but unfortunately, in the case of John Clare, and
as if to damp his military ardour, it also turned out a source of
unqualified regret. The corporal under whose immediate orders he was
placed, a prim and lady-like youngster, took an aversion to John, partly
on account of the bag-trousers, and partly because of the stuffings of
his helmet, a fraction of which not unfrequently escaped its confinement,
and hung down, in stiff wooden ringlets, over his pale cheeks. At this
the dandy-corporal sneered, and his sneers growing louder on every
occasion, John Clare, at the first favourable opportunity, knocked him
down with his unoccupied right hand. The offence, amounting to a crime,
was at once reported to the captain, and Clare expected momentarily to be
thrust into the black-hole, to be tried by court-martial, and perhaps to
be shot. But, singularly enough, nothing, after all, came of the whole
affair. The serious breach of military discipline was entirely overlooked
by the authorities of the Northamptonshire militia, who probably thought
the whole body of men not worth looking after, the greater number of them
consisting of a mere collection of the lowest rabble. In consequence of
strong remonstrances made by the good people of Oundle about the
insecurity of their property, and even their lives, the thirteen hundred
warriors were disbanded soon afterwards, and never called together again.
John Clare thereupon left his quarters at the 'Rose and Crown,' where he
had been tolerably well treated by the owners, a widow and her two
daughters, and, with a joyful heart, returned to Helpston. He came home
somewhat richer than he left, for he brought back with him a second-hand
copy of Milton's 'Paradise Lost,' an odd volume, with some leaves torn
out, of Shakespeare's 'Tempest,' both works purchased at a broker's shop
at Oundle, and, over and above these acquisitions, a knowledge of the
goose step.