The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 4

The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 4

When she returned, the cat was enjoying a good meal under the sofa. To the old lady's cry of

"Francis, did I not tell you to watch the fish," my brother answered

truthfully: for he always told the truth and did what he was told--"So

I did, grandmother, and the cat took it." If she had explained to him

properly why she wanted the fish watched, at the same time making

special mention of a cat's partiality for fish, no doubt he would have

watched to better purpose.

 

Nothing could have happened better than this instance of the loss of

the ship's goods to undeceive my grandfather as to my brother's state

of mind. A sudden blaze of intelligence broke in on the old man's

mind, which was not of the most brilliant kind. "Lydia," said he to

his wife, "there's something wrong with the boy; to think he did not

have sense enough to shout, Ship ahoy." I ventured to say, to show my

cleverness, that there might have been several ships in the middle of

the dock, and they would have all answered to Ship ahoy. Would it not

have been better to cry, _Betsy Jane_, ahoy? The old man paused

thunderstruck. "Avast there," he cried, "drop anchor: will ye have

more pudding?"

 

In our street almost every woman had some one connected with the sea,

and it was my grandfather's pleasure by day to parade the street and

inform the women as to what winds and tides were favourable to their

husbands or sons. One woman had a husband that had sailed away in a

barque, which was never sighted or hailed after leaving port, and was

now three months overdue. My grandfather feared to meet this sailor's

wife, and would often peep around his door, trying to escape

consultation from her, knowing well his own forebodings as to the fate

of the barque and her crew.

 

I have mentioned Dave, who was a very studious lad, and who became my

one companion and the sharer of my dreams. He had received an old copy

of Byron, and we both became fascinated by the personality of that

poet. His influence on Dave was so great that it was publicly shown

to all the boys and girls in the chapel's schoolroom, where we had

gathered for childish games, under the supervision of the elders.

While we were playing kiss in the ring, singing and laughing, dancing

with merriment, when small white teeth, red lips and bright eyes were

all the rage--Dave would lean his figure (not so tall as he would like

it) against a pillar, biting his lips and frowning at our

merry-making. None but myself knew that his troubles and sorrows were

purely imaginary, but they certainly succeeded in causing some

sensation, even the notice of the elders being drawn to him. Some time

after this we had more trouble with Dave, when we went for a day's

trip to the sea-side. On this occasion he took his own path across the

sands, a solitary figure, with his head bowed, and when we called him

he would not heed us. That night, when it was time to return Dave

stood perilously near the edge of the pier, gazing with melancholy

eyes on the water. Several women hastened towards him, and drawing him

gently away, enquired as to his trouble. On which Dave stood erect,

was motionless, frowned, bit his lip, and stalked away into the

darkness, without uttering a word. He came back in time to catch the

boat. Dave soon got tired of these doings, but the influence of Byron

was more lasting on me. It was the first time for me to read verse

with enjoyment. I read Shelley, Marlowe, and Shakespeare, indifferent

to Wordsworth, but giving him since the attention of wiser days.

 

My grandmother had only read one novel in her life, called "The

Children of the Abbey," and had been severely punished by her mother

for doing so. She therefore continually warned me against reading such

works, but strongly recommended Milton's "Paradise Lost" and Young's

"Night Thoughts"; her favourite quotation being from the

latter--"Procrastination is the thief of time." It pleased her to

tears when a friend saw a likeness between John Bunyan and myself, and

she regretted that she saw no prospect of ever tracing a resemblance

between our hearts.

 

I was now bound apprentice to the picture frame trade, but owing to my

passion for reading, could not apply myself sufficiently to that

business so as to become a good workman. The fact of the matter was

that I was reading deep into the night and, having to be up early for

work, was encroaching on Nature's allowance of sleep. Owing to being

young and conceited and not being satisfied at having knowledge

concealed, I showed at this time some parts that made older and wiser

people of both sexes prophesy good results in manhood. Having no

knowledge of metre and very little of harmony, I composed and caused

to be printed a poem describing a storm at night, which a young friend

recited at a mutual improvement class, making after mention of the

author's name, when I was publicly congratulated. Some time after this

I--having surreptitiously visited the playhouse on more than one

occasion--boldly read out an article to the same class entitled--"In

defence of the Stage." This daring performance caused some commotion

among the full grown sheep, who thought they detected a wolf in lamb's

clothing; but the young lamb--my companions--bleated for pride and

joy. My grandmother was told of this, and as she did not take the

trouble to enquire the subject of my address, and it was not told unto

her, she was satisfied to know I had surprised several members of the

congregation and in particular a deacon, for whom she had great

respect.

 

It has always been a wonder to me where my conversational power has

gone: at the present time I cannot impress the most ordinary men. It

must be through associating so many years with companions uncongenial

to my taste, a preference for indulging in my own thoughts, and

forcing myself to comment on subjects uninteresting to me. I remember

at one time being in a lodging house where one man stood out as an

authority on books, disease, politics, military tactics, and more

especially the meaning and right pronunciation of words. Several times

different men have said to me, "That man is a scholar; he is not an

ignoramus, as the likes of you and me." It was a secret satisfaction

to know that this gentleman to whom they referred, often paid the

compliment of knowing more than himself by asking information, which,

on my part, was imparted with much secrecy, as I did not wish to

appear in any way superior to those with whom I was forced by

circumstances to associate. Yet, in those happy days of my

apprenticeship, I rarely visited a house but what a second invitation

was assured, although a painful shyness marred the beginning. We

enjoyed ourselves so much one evening at a friend's house, where the

lady had been all day indisposed, that her husband said, on leaving,

"My wife has been laughed out of her sickness, and you have certainly

saved me an item on the doctor's bill." Instead of this giving more

confidence and overcoming my shyness, when I received from them an

invitation for a second party I became so overpowered at the thought

of what would be expected of me, that for the life of me I could not

accept it, knowing I would have made an ass of myself. It is not

altogether shyness that now makes me unsuccessful in company.

Sometimes it is a state of mind that is three parts meditation that

will not free the thoughts until their attendant trains are prepared

to follow them. Again, having heard so much slang my thoughts often

clothe themselves in that stuff from their first nakedness. That being

the case, shame and confusion in good company make me take so long to

undress and clothe them better, in more seemly garments, that other

people grow tired of waiting and take upon themselves the honour of

entertainers. It was in the second year of my apprenticeship that I

met a young woman living in a small village adjoining this town of my

birth, who was very clever, a great reader of fine literature; and it

was to her hands, after I had enjoyed her conversation on several

occasions, that I submitted a small composition of my own. Her

encouragement at that early time has been the star on which these eyes

have seldom closed, by which I have successfully navigated the deeps

of misery, pushing aside Drink, my first officer, who many a day and

many a night endeavoured to founder me. She was the first to recognise

in my spirit something different from mere cleverness, something she

had seen and recognised in her books, but had never before met in a

living person. I had known her only six months when she died, but her

words of encouragement have been ringing in my ears ever since they

were uttered.

 

My grandfather had also died; a straightforward, honest, simple man,

with a mortal dread of being in debt, and always well prepared to pay

his rates and taxes. He had a horror of being a principal in the

police courts, but appeared there three times for no offence of his

own. Called upon once to examine a rope supposed to be stolen from a

ship he proved the rope was of the land, and different from a ship's

rope--discharge of the prisoner. On another occasion, Sunday morning,

and grandfather being in bed, a detective, disguised as a poor working

man that was almost dying for a drink, wheedled the old man's daughter

to sell him some liquor over the back wall--the result being a summons

for supplying drink during closed hours, followed by a heavy fine,

which was at once paid. The third time was at my trial with five other

desperadoes, as described in the preceding chapter. There was nothing

false about this man, and he had the heart of a lion. He claimed to

have beaten the champion of Portsmouth, but undoubtedly this was some

drunken fellow who had taken on himself this much coveted title.

Grandfather's pet yarn, which I have heard him recount a hundred

times, took place in a public house, where a thin partition divided

him from another person who was loudly extolling himself to the

admiration of others. Grandfather allowed this man to continue for

some time, but at last, losing patience, he looked around the

partition and cried in a stern voice, "Avast there, Captain Jones: I

knew thee when thou wert glad to eat barley bread without butter."

Captain Jones looked disconcerted at this remark and then, quickly

putting his own head around the partition, whispered: "Hush, hush,

Captain Davies; there's nothing like making one's self look big in a

strange place."

 

I was now in the last year of my apprenticeship, and was running a

bit wild, taking no interest in my trade, and determined in a few

months to throw off all restraint. When my time had expired, my master

wanted me to continue working for him, which I did for a short time;

and, for one who had not yet reached his twenty-first year, received a

very fair wage. In three or four months I found some excuse for

leaving. I was eager to start for the new world; but my grandmother

would not, on any account, supply money for that purpose; so I applied

for work at Bristol, was accepted, and worked there six months, being

then called home through the death of the good old lady. The licence

indulged in during these six months, being in a strange town and

unknown, was sufficient to wreck the brains and health of any man

beyond recovery, and for the time being deadened all literary

ambition. It could not have continued this way much longer, and no

doubt, it was her death that prevented the collapse of my life, by a

change of circumstances. Her estate was in the hands of a trustee, and

its profits were to be divided weekly among her three grandchildren.

She was a good old soul, and I have lived long enough to cherish every

hair of her head. She was a Baptist, stoutly opposed to other

creeds--called the stage the Devil's Playground--abhorred second

marriages--and thought as much of me in life as I think of her in

death. Many of the little kindnesses that were given to her in life

were done more out of a sense of duty than from the gratitude of

which she was so worthy. But the good old soul died without suspecting

any other than gratitude. Mine is the shame and sorrow that she did

not receive it, as I am even now, thirteen years after her death,

living on her bounty. When my grandmother died, I joined home with

mother and her second family, but after a month or two of

restlessness, I sought the trustee, got an advance from him of some

fifteen pounds, and full of hope and expectation embarked for America.