The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 32

The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 32

Weeks passed and then months, and I still heard nothing about my book.

The Manager had failed, of that I at last became certain. I avoided

him as much as possible, because of the confidence I had reposed in

him. It was certainly very awkward for the both of us, and I felt much

sympathy on his account. When he was near I felt extremely

uncomfortable, and I am sure he felt none too easy in my presence.

 

Spring at last came, and I broke away from the lodging house fire, to

indulge in the more pure rays of the sun. I began to absent myself

from the house longer every day, until I at last began to regret that

there was any necessity to return to it at all. The happiness and stir

of Nature, at this time of the year, began to fill me with her own

energy. I was in my room, one of these bright mornings, and was

looking in the mirror, adjusting my scarf--the mirror and bed being

the whole furniture. In this mirror I looked long enough to see a

white hair on the side of my head. Thinking this to be hardly true at

my time of life, I shifted the glass to a better light, thinking it

must have played me false; but sure enough, here it was--a single

hair, as white as snow. Yes, I thought, with some bitterness, this

comes of waiting to be fulfilled the promises of other people; and you

will never rise if you do not make some effort of your own. Thinking

of this white hair, I left the house, wondering what I could do to

help myself. And, this particular morning, an idea occurred to me, so

simple, so reasonable, and so easily to be accomplished, that it

filled me with surprise that such a plan had not presented itself

before. I had an income of eight shillings per week; then what was to

prevent me from borrowing forty or fifty pounds, even though I paid

for it a little more than usual interest? Again I was full of hope and

happiness, for I could see nothing to prevent the accomplishment of

this. My eight shillings were being received in sums of two pounds

every five weeks. Two shillings a week were forwarded home, and I

lived abstemiously on the remainder. My five weeks' money was due on

the following week, so I at once began making preparations for a trip

home. When this money arrived I determined to lose no time in

executing these plans, for I had visions of being a white headed man,

if I remained under these hopeless conditions for another year or two.

The money came on Saturday night, when it was due, and everything

being prepared, I was that very night on my way to Paddington Station,

after having told the manager that I was going home for a week, and

that I would forward him my rent, if I remained longer than that time.

Full of this idea I arrived at home.

 

The following Monday I invaded the office of my old granny's lawyer,

and telling him I wished to set up in business, consulted him as to

the best way of borrowing the money, some forty or fifty pounds being

necessary. He saw nothing to prevent this from being done, but

strongly advised me not to do so; "at any rate," he said, "see your

trustee, ask him if he can lend you the amount, and, if he cannot see

his way clear to do so, let me know!" In half an hour I was with the

trustee. That gentleman had not the amount on hand, but had plans of

his own which, if I strictly adhered to, would be more to my advantage

in the long run.

 

"It is now June," he said, "and if you allow your income to stand

until the beginning of the New Year, you will then have ten pounds

saved to your account, and I give you my promise to advance another

twenty pounds without a question of interest, making the amount thirty

pounds!" Now it happened that three weeks before I left London, I had

sent a work to a printer and publisher, who had priced two hundred and

fifty copies at nineteen pounds; so that I knew well that thirty

pounds would be ample to meet all expenses. But how was I to live for

the next six months? Determined to make any sacrifice to attain this

end, I closed with the trustee's offer, and, getting an advance from

him of one pound, intended to return at once to London, but was

persuaded to remain at home for another three weeks. At the end of

this time I paid my fare back to London, and again took possession of

my room, for which I had forwarded the rent during my absence. In

less than four days after my return, I was very near penniless, and

saw no other prospect than to start on another half year's wandering.

 

How foolish all this was! Why did I not start my travels from home,

instead of wasting money on a return fare to London? Why did I pay

three weeks' rent for the sake of returning to a room for as many

days? Well, I had a faint hope that the Manager might, at last, after

six months, have succeeded in his attempt.

 

I told the Manager that I was going on the road for a month or two,

but mentioned no purpose, for I was now resolved to act for myself.

 

"You will always find room at the Farmhouse," he said; "do not doubt

that."

 

Trying to appear as cheerful as possible, for I knew this man was also

disappointed, I left him, determined never to set foot in that house

again until I could dispense with the services of others. At this time

I had two silver shillings and some odd coppers, and would soon need

assistance as a man, without any question as to my work as an author.

 

Again I was leaving London, not knowing how much I would have to

suffer. One idea consoled me not a little; that I would not require

money for a bed for at least three months to come; that the nights,

though cold, would not be so dangerous as to kill. Whatever the

consequence might be, even if this rough life threatened to injure my

health permanently, I was firmly resolved to sacrifice the next six

months for whatever might follow them.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVIII

 

ON TRAMP AGAIN

 

 

NOW followed a strange experience, an experience for which there is no

name; for I managed to exist, and yet had neither the courage to beg

or sell. Certainly at times I was desperately inclined to steal; but

chance left nothing for my eyes to covet, and I passed harmlessly on.

When I suffered most from lack of rest, or bodily sustenance--as my

actual experience became darker, the thoughts of the future became

brighter, as the stars shine to correspond with the night's shade.

 

I travelled alone, in spite of the civilities of other tramps, who

desired company, so as to allow no strange voice to disturb my dreams.

Some of these men had an idea that I was mad, because I could give

them little information as to the towns and villages through which I

had that very day passed. They enquired as to the comforts and

conditions of a town's workhouse, of which I knew nothing, for I had

not entered it. They enquired as to its best lodging house, of which I

was again ignorant, having slept in the open air. They enquired how

far I had come that day, which I could not immediately tell them; and

they were curious to know how far I was going, which I did not know.

The strangest part of this experience was that I received help from

people without having made a glance of appeal, and without having

opened my mouth. When I asked for water, tea or milk was often

brought, and food invariably followed. I began to look on this as a

short life of sacrifice, killing a few worthless hours so as to enjoy

thousands of better ones; and I blessed every morning that ushered in

a new day, and worshipped every Sabbath night that closed another

week.

 

After tramping from town to town, from shire to shire, in two months I

was in Devonshire, on my way to Plymouth. I felt continually attracted

to these large centres of commerce, owing, I suppose, to feeling the

necessity of having an object in view; but was generally starved out

of them in a very short time. A gentleman on horseback, whom I met

near Totnes, saved me from suffering from want, for a couple of days,

at least, when I would reach Plymouth. This gentleman drew his horse

to a halt, so that he might enquire my destination. He seemed to be

much surprised when I told him it was the town of Plymouth.

 

"Ah, well," he said, glancing towards the ground, "there is only one

foot to get sore, if that is any consolation to you; perhaps this

will help you a little on the way," dropping into my hand three silver

shillings.

 

Without having this case in mind, I certainly fared better in

Devonshire than in other counties, and found its people more like the

prosperous settlers in new lands. In spite of this, my roughest

experience was in this county, owing to the inclemency of the weather,

and the difficulty of finding shelter. One night I had gone into the

fields, and, getting together a dozen or more wheatsheaves, proceeded

to build a house of them, making a dry floor on the damp earth, with

walls to shelter from the wind, and a roof to shelter from the dew,

leaving just space enough at one end to admit my body. I had been in

here comfortable and warm for some time, when it began to rain. In

half an hour the rain leaked in large drops through the roof, and in

less than an hour these drops had become streams. There was nothing to

do but to remain, for it was now too dark to seek shelter. For ten

hours it rained incessantly, and I was literally wet to the skin, and

no drier than a person immersed in water--not wet to the skin as

people commonly express it when they are damp after a few showers. I

was nothing daunted, looking on this as one of the many hard

experiences that I was compelled to undergo. The next morning I chose

a secluded spot in the open air, so as to lie down where the sun,

coming out warm and strong, would dry me while I slept. Two or three

times have I suffered in this way, but have never felt any ill effects

after.

 

My worst experience of this kind was in the adjoining county of

Somerset, at the end of September, when I was again making my way back

to London. But it was not the blowing of the wind, or the patter of

the rain; not the rustle of the leaves on the swaying branches; not

the discomforts of having wet clothes, and being without sign of a

barn or empty house in which to shelter; it was none of these that

took the courage out of me: it was a wild laugh, harsh, and apparently

in savage mockery. I had skirted what appeared to be a park, for

something like two miles, and was weary to see the end of it. This at

last seemed to come, for I could see through the trees a large open

field wherein were wheatsheaves, stacked in their threes, and in their

usual rows. Now, had this been a field right up to the roadside, I

would most certainly have had no compunction in spending the night

there, being tired of carrying such a distance my wet and heavy

clothes. As it was, I paused, not feeling inclined to proceed further

on my journey, and yet not half liking to cross that narrow strip of

park, thinking it might contain game that would be well looked after,

making trespassing a serious offence. When in this irresolute state of

mind, I caught sight of a white gate, and a small footpath leading to

the field. Night seemed to be coming on at the rate of a darker shade

to the minute, and I knew well that in another quarter of an hour it

would be difficult to distinguish a house from a barn. Seeing this, I

summoned courage, opened the gate, and made my way quickly along the

path that led to the wheatsheaves. Standing amidst these I waited

silently, listening for any that might be in that locality. Satisfied

that there were not, I picked up a sheaf, and was about to lay it

flat, when I heard a loud startling laugh, coming from the direction

of the road. Dropping the sheaf at once, I bent low, not for a moment

doubting but what some one had seen me from the road, and was taking a

heartless delight in letting me know his discovery. Although I

regretted this, thinking he would inform others, and I would surely be

disturbed before morning, perhaps that very hour--I determined to

travel no further that night, if I could help it, and proceeded to

make my bed, under the impression that he had passed on. I stood up in

full, but had scarcely done so, when my appearance was greeted by

several long shouts of derisive laughter. Now, a homeless man has no

time to be superstitious, he fears the living and not the dead. If he

is sleepy he is not particular about feeling in the darkness of

cellars or vaults; and, if he were sleeping on a grave, and was awakened by a voice crying--"Arise from off this grave," he would at once think it the voice of a grave digger, or the keeper of the cemetery, rather than the ghostly owner of the same.