The Fortunes of Francis Croft. An autobiography

Front matter

"an 3u_obiograi).)». En g-UtotHograpf)}). IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1852. TO MY MOTHER. A TKIBTJTE OF AFFECTION. May all who are still Young in Heart share your approval ! Memory has been forced to give up its Dead ; but Fancy has clothed them in seemly raiment. Who will say that they are not now Living Things? We, at least, have talked of them by the Fire side untd we have believed. Others will believe, too ; and hate what we have hated, pity what we have pitied, love what we have loved. VI Can there be a better way of bringing ourselves into communion with our Fellow creatures ? You know the history of this Book, and will smile to hear the identity of Francis Croft doubted and discussed. All men live two lives : — one, that con sists in rising, betimes [or otherwise, and buzzing with more or less industry about some Cell of Nature's Hive — let us say nothing of the Drones; — another, by the side of that, and a good distance off, a hidden, Esoteric Life, in a Land to which they alone have access.

Here they deal, however, not with mere fantastic spirits, but with shadows cast down from the World of Fact — Semblances that differ from the originals only in that their motives are transparent, the scheme and the purport of their existence completely understood. I have lived much in this Other Land, be cause, whilst a Wanderer and Sojourner in many places, I have found it necessary often to retreat thither and refresh myself from the sight of that incoherent coil of injus tice, and violence, and strife, and misery, and vice — varied by some sparkling threads of virtue — called Human Society. I have always come back with a more cheerful trust in the Future, a disposition to view life in a more genial and hopeful way. Perhaps, indeed, I am right in believing — Vlll as sometimes it is given me to believe — that the Beings without us are as tractable as the Ideas within; and that, though this record of sorrow, and suffering, and crime is true, it may also be true that every one of us, who takes Hope as his guide, and Faith as his companion, can find or fashion an Emily and a Happiness of his own ! London, November, 1852. FRANCIS CROFT

Chapter I

I have always believed men's motives to be better than their actions, and these than the interpretations put upon them by the world. An autobiography, if sincere, must necessarily, therefore, in my view, be to some extent an apology, if not a panegyric. The following pages are intended neither as one nor as the other, although they may turn out to be both. I undertake to inculcate no particular maxims of morality, no political, religious, or literary theory. It is scarcely VOL. I. B legitimate to twist facts and distort characters even for the purposes of edification. If any instruction be conveyed, any duty enforced, any error exposed, in the course of these confessions, it will only be such as the con templation of the varied scenes of the great Comedy of Life itself would suggest. To live is to learn ; and almost the only know ledge worth having is that gained, or con firmed, by experience.

Narratives of this kind, when they pretend to immediate utility, must stand or fall by the test of Truth — not the Truth of the Court of Justice, which is al ways incomplete, but the Truth of Art, which explains and harmonises, gives a form and a polish to the rough materials of evidence or memory. For my part, I shall endeavour to be strictly true, and to describe — with all the precautions of etiquette and forbearance, of delicacy aud justice — some of the men and women I have known, some of the scenes and manners amidst which I have Uved. Above all, fearless of the accusation of egotism, I shall aim at painting the indivi dual I ought to know best — myself, namely; and in doing so, as above hinted, it shall be my care to avoid all the exaggerations of false humility. I am as yet, indeed, too young, too attached to the world, to be able to throw myself into the state of ecstatic penitence in which the fanatic calumniates himself and his species — too old to belong to that school which, having drained the cup they should not yet have tasted, mistake their premature lassitude for the final result of experience, and caricature the world to liken it to their own diseased impressions.

I Avas born at Croftecombe, a village near one of the cities of the West of England, and have no genealogical boast to make, except that my parents were honest, respectable people. Diligent research — which I beg no b2 herald will make — might prove me to be related to some of the first families of the land. A young gentleman, indeed, of sound ing title, has lately borrowed ten pounds of me, on the plea of consanguinity ; but it is only since I came out into the sunny tracts of life that I have been descried and recognised by him and others. If I had begged the same favour of him in some of the dark lanes I have traversed, he would probably have called out, "Police," and given me in charge.' My father was clerk in a second-rate mercantile establishment in the neighbouring city, with a salary less than that of a country curate.

I have learned, at length, many cir cumstances of his history. But as they happened before my memory had acquired con sistence enough to retain all the impressions it received, some of these will come in better by the side of events which they were destined to influence, in years long subsequent to the period when this narrative begins. The sub stance of one family document, however, which came into my hands not very long ago, contains some particulars that enable me to begin my story ab ovo. I find that my mother Rebecca was daughter of Anna Maria Robson, who kept a circulating library in one of the by-streets of the town, and who had married a second time to Mr. Jonas Ragge, veterinary doctor. Rebecca, who was pretty — although they now trace a Uke ness of her in me — used once a week to carry, in a green-baize bag, a large parcel of terrific romances to Mrs. Bennet, wife of the Vicar of Croftecombe.

Upon fine days it was her habit to stop under an elm which reared its mountain of leaves over a few square yards of green sod by the dusty road side — just out of sight of the chimney-stacks of her native town, though not of its cathedraltowers,— just within view of the squat steeple and quaint red parsonage-house of the village. Here she would read or skim over a volume or two from the contents of her bag, and, indeed, generally got through a whole work in the course of the day ; for she halted again in coming back, to finish what had been begun the week before. I do not recommend this style of reading. It is said to have produced a sad jumble in my poor mother's head. She used to forget entirely the order of her studies, and often puzzled herself to under stand how adventures that had begun last century in Grosvenor-square or the Bath rooms, could terminate in the middle ages in the Black Forest or some Italian castle.

One summer's day — the air that breathed from the distant woods, and down the long hill-sides, and amidst the green corn-stalks with tips twinklnig into gold, was peculiarly balmy, says our family tradition — my father, who had been ill, and was in the enjoyment of convalescence and a holiday, came sauntering along, and found Rebecca under the elm in tears, over the misfortunes of two fond lovers. She had let fall the book on her lap, and had hidden her face behind a white handkerchief. My father, that was to be, sat down by her side, took the volume in his hand, and began to read where she had left off : " Then the unfortunate Amel gunda, with sobs that rent her bosom, crept towards the tomb," &c. My mother elect removed the handkerchief from her face, and exhibited two large blue eyes suffused with tears, through which, in the poetical language of this family document, the rays of interest and surprise beamed like sunshine athwart a shower.

My father gently laid his hand upon hers to entreat silence, and proceeded : " She raised up her sweet voice, broken by grief, and besought heaven to take her also, since all she had loved upon earth had been snatched away. The Almighty power was compassionate, and with a sympathising hand gently broke the casket of life ; and her spirit flew swiftly on the track of the departed, as the greyhound darts after its master by whom it has accidentally been lest behind. Thus is it ever that true lovers can never be united, except (here my father turned over the last leaf) in the mysterious regions beyond the grave. End of the Un fortunate Pleiress." Now, it appears that Rebecca, accustomed in her reading to all kinds of Avonderful events and situations, omitted to notice that there was anything remarkable in the presence of that pale gentleman.

Perhaps she thought that all this was part of the story of Amelgunda. At any rate, she listened at tentively whilst my father, who had felt his lonely life more irksome than ever during his illness, and who was himself softened into sentimentality by the sad catastrophe he had just read, began to expatiate on the advan tages and pleasures of wedlock. He had so much to say on the subject, and she had so great a desire for edification, that they agreed to meet again at the same place the next week. Probably the courtship would have continued a long time, but my father's em ployers sent a hint that if he did not present himself at once, in good health, they should be obliged to suit themselves elsewhere. A precipitate declaration was the result, and I believe a no less precipitate marriage. I mention these circumstances because I am firmly persuaded that they exercised a posi tive influence on my own character, and con sequently on my prospects in life.

I have a very, very faint recollection of the countenances of either of my parents ; and, indeed, of any of the incidents that befel our family at Croftecombe. I remember being sent to play with some chddren of my own age, for a whole day ; and on coming back found my mother in bed with strange faces around, and a Uttle cradle by the corner of the fireplace. They told me to walk softly across the room, and open the white curtains and look at my baby sister ; and when I think of that scene, a vision of a round rosy little face, embedded in lace and a milky pillow, floats slowly before me. I could scarcely have been more than two years old at the time, and it is said that memory does not usually go so far back. Some even maintain that I have retroposed impressions received at a subsequent period; but for my part I am perfectly certain that I remember the day on which my sister Lizzie was born.

This is the first luminous point in the thread of my history. Afterwards comes a long space of darkness. Then follow other gleams of light. I often compare my life, as viewed from the vantage-ground of the present, to that torrent which on the hills yonder, not far from the place where it bubbles into birth, takes one bright leap, then huddles out of sight amidst rocks, shoot ing a few sparkling cascades only here and there, ere it becomes the foaming torrent I can trace hurrying towards the plain where it begins to meander slowly, and at last finds repose in the flower-fringed lake at my feet. When I was about six years old a catastrophe happened in our family, of which I can only remember the effects — my father's anger and despair — my mother's tears. The circumstances will be mentioned when I came to know them, and to find them at work in shaping my destiny.

The reader must not be wiser than I was at this early period. What I learned as a boy, was simply that my father, weighed down by an increasing family, and seeing no prospect of ameliorat ing his position in the Old World, determined to tempt fortune in the New. He did not go out as an emigrant, but either with the prospect or the certainty of a good situation. How he obtained a connexion in the Brazils I never learned, nor is it of moment ; but it was to that country he prepared to depart. Floating through my mind, like the recollection of a troubled dream, I see my father standing, pale and agitated, before a woman, who, cowering down almost on her knees, murmured of pardon and forgiveness ; but that this woman ever had any existence, or what was the subject of their passionate dialogue, was not made clear to me until I looked back, long afterwards, from the heights of time and experience.

My father at first intended to take with him his whole family; and, indeed, I had already cUmbed into the cart wdiich was to convey us all, with our goods, to Bristol, whence the ship was advertised to sail in a week. Suddenly, my mother's step-father, Mr. Jonas Ragge, a short, thick, red-faced man, who had come to see us off, and talked with affectation of " hard times," pro bably for fear of being asked for a contribution, felt a movement of humanity, and taking me by the ear rather roughly, said: " I adopt this boy. Leave him with me, 'Becca, and I will do something for him." My mother only hugged me to her bosom and wept refusal ; but my father, thinking, no doubt, that it would be unjust to deprive me of the prospect, such as it was, thus held out to me, and not feeling very sanguine of success in the New World, chid her gently, shook me by the hand like a man, and then kissed me like a child, and tearing me from the affectionate arms that held me, lifted me out of the cart and ordered the man to drive off.

Of all my recollections of early life, perhaps the most vivid is that of the cart jolting down the streets of the village, stared at by a variety of old women and boys, my father standing up with his hand over his brow, to shade his eyes from the sun — per haps partly to hide his tears — my poor mother leaning over the tadboard, shrieking frantically, and holding out at arm's length my sister Lizzie for me to kiss, whilst I, bursting with indignation at being left be hind, ran after them with might and main. My efforts were of no avail, and I at length stopped, fairly out of breath, understood that I was abandoned, and throwing my self on the dusty road, wept with rage and despair. Mr. Jonas Ragge, who had so hastily adopted me, soon came riding up on his old grey mare; and, though he afterwards denied it, positively brought me to my senses with a lash of his whip.

I looked up, and my first impulse was to seize a stone and avenge my self; but recognising the offender, I forgot the pain of the lash, and implored him to take me up, and to ride after the cart in which " naughty father," who had forsaken me, was. He seemed half inclined to com ply, and catching hold of my collar, lifted me to the saddle-bow; but he soon turned off the high-road, and reached the town over the fields. " Here, Charlotte," said he to an old dame, who had succeeded my grandmother, de ceased, in the care of the house — " here is a small chap who will be useful to you in the kitchen." This was what the worthy Jonas under stood by " adopting " me. I was at once converted into a scullion, and made to do all the dirty work of the house as far as my strength would permit. I wish I could say that my high spirit rebelled against this ignoble treatment.

The fact is, had it not been for an occasional tap by which old Charlotte accelerated my movements, the position suited me well enough ; and despite my smutty face and greasy hands, I was a happy chdd. Some months afterwards I heard that the Reliance, on board which my unfortunate parents had embarked, had been totally wrecked on the coast of South America, so that I was left an orphan under the tender care of my mother's stepfather. It is neces sary to add, that in a moment of compunction and brandy-and-water, on the receipt of this intelligence, my adoptive parent deter mined to send me to an evening school. Hoav I subsequently became removed to a good day-school, Avhere I received some tinc ture of classical education, I do not exactly knoAV ; but it is certain that Mrs. Bennet, Avife of the Vicar of Croftecombe, to whom my mother used to carry books, was very kind to me at times.

I made rapid progress in learning, although my studies at home were constantly interrupted by old Char lotte, Avho insisted still on my performing a great deal of household drudgery. In a very few years I was first of the first class — A 1, as my good old master used to say. VOL. I. c

Chapter II

I could fill a very large space Avith an account of my adventures betAveen the ages of seven and thirteen ; and the adventures of boys are as interesting, by the emotions they excite, as those of men. Perhaps more so ; for boyhood knows nothing of the scepticism Avhich torments even youth in these advanced ages. It believes, and trembles. When, therefore, I joined certain desperate orchard-robbing spirits, in the full flame of neAvly-breeched heroism, sternly resolved to set Farmer Stoat and the law at defiance, I undenvent the excitement of a tremendous conflict betAveen hope and fear. The alternative in my mind was between unmunch able stores of rennets or pippins and instant death. Again, when on some long half holiday excursion, I Avandered Avith honest Jack Barnes, my constant comrade, to that silent yew-planted churchyard on the distant hill-side, what wonderful sensations we ex perienced, especially as day darkened into twdight, and twiUght into night, and the breeze rustled amidst the rank weeds that grew all around the gravestones, untended by affection, whilst we sat on the stile, watching with trembling courage for the severing of the earth and the upstarting of the phantoms Avhich we firmly believed walked by moonUght there !

On one occa sion, as the shadows of the steeple imperceptibly moved away, and the moonbeams fell upon a distant nook, we saAv, or thought we saw, a white form rise sloAvly by the side of an old yew-tree. Jack Barnes gave a c2 yed of terror, and leaping to the ground, ran away headlong. I fodowed, my teeth chattering, and when we met again on the road that wound at the bottom of the valley, we hugged each other and sobbed with fright, and solemnly vowed never more to practice our unholy curiosity; but the very next week we were again peeping over the stile, ready at a moment's warning to take to our heels. I was about thirteen years old, when an incident occurred that threw me uponthe world to make my own fortune. Mr. Jonas Ragge had for some time been very kind in words and manner to me, and I was begin ning to thmk him a worthy person after all.

But Mrs. Bennet, of Croftecombe, came to die suddenly, and, from what I could gather from some loose talk of old Charlotte, with out making me a legacy, which she had pro mised. My adoptive father, who was now straitened in circumstances, and who had probably counted on the use of my money during ray minority at least, changed his manner immediately, and never deigned to bestow upon me any other name than " the Vagabond." My wanderings Avith Jack Barnes were represented by him to five or six neighbours, who used to step in every evening to smoke a pipe in the kitcfien, as atrocious definquencies ; and I soon found that the public looked upon me as a down right scapegrace, who would come to no good. Their charitable opinion was one day confirmed by the intelligence, spread, I am assured, by old Charlotte, and testified to, at least, by the affected silence of Mr. Ragge himself, that I had absconded, carrying with me a silver watch and three halfcroAvns.

The real truth was this. Before my father put rae out of the cart, as I have related, he took an old silver watch from his fob, and thrust it into the breast-pocket of my jacket. I was so troubled at the time that I scarcely noticed the act ; but Avhen I reached my future home, I took out my property, and proudly exhibited it. Mr. Ragge, of course, assumed possession, and I saAv it no more for a long time ; but when Mrs. Bennet, who must have been a very dear friend of my parents, became unusually kind, he men tioned the watch, and promised that if I behaved well, I should soon be allowed to wear it. My infantine recollections were therefore confirmed, and I knew that it be longed to me. About tAvo months after Mrs. Bennet's death, Mr. Ragge came into my room one morning, before it was light, and waked me roughly, saying : " Get up, Vagabond !"

I obeyed, and dressed, Avondering what all this meant. When I was ready, Mr. Ragge put on a very terrible countenance, and talked a good deal of his kindness and humanity. Then he said that I was an idle little rascal, a disgrace to his house, and that I must go away and appear no more. I listened in confused wonder awhde ; but am not ashamed to say that Avhen I perfectly understood Avhat was meant, I burst into tears, and, managing to get hold of the hand of this hard man, begged for mercy, and promised that I would amend my ways and do honour to him, instead of disgracing him. If I regret anything, it is that in the excess of my penitence I vowed to have nothing more to do with that bad boy of whom he spoke — poor Jack Barnes. But he was in exorable. " There is no time to lose," he said ; "here are three half-crowns, and you may take a couple of shirts.

I advise you to go to London, where a lad of your cleverness wdl find no difficulty in getting employment." When he began to flatter, instead of to scold, I felt that he wanted to get rid of me at any price, and, becoming brave in desperation, said: "Yes, I Avould go, if he wTould also give me the watch that my father had left me." He scowled fearfully at this, and threatened to send me to prison ; but I had learned lessons of heroism in my Plutarch — and proudly crossing my arms, told him to do his worst — but I must have the three half-crowns and my watch. Upon this he drew it reluctantly from his fob, put it into my hand, gave me a handkerchief containing two shirts, allowed me to take a stout oaken stick, opened my door softly, led me down stairs into the garden, and dismissed me with a kick, the bruise of which still burns when I think of it.

At the time I felt more indignation than pain, and walked away some distance without showing even by a gesture that I was hurt. When I came to the corner of the street, I turned back and saw, as it Avas noAV light, though the sun had not yet risen, Mr. Ragge peeping with his red face out of the gateAvay, to see that I did not linger in the neighbourhood. I shook my little fist at him, and began running towards the London-road. My first intention was to start immediately ; but I could not go aAvay without seeing my friend Jack Barnes, and pouring out my sorrows in his bosom. A hurt complained of is half cured. Jack was the son of a farmer Avho Uved a little distance off the road. I made my way across the fields, still drenched with dew, leaped a hedge, clambered over a dunghill, coaxed and wheedled a great dog which, though knowing me well, seemed inclined to be inquisitive about my early appearance, and, getting under Jack's window, by dint of whistling and tossing little pebbles at the panes succeeded in awaken ing him.

He understood the signal, and soon put out his great jovial face, with a suppressed: " Hillo ! what's in the wind now?" I begged him to trundle down at once for God's sake, as a very terrible thing had come to pass. "Oh, dear!" he exclaimed. "Has Hunter peached? Remember, 'twas I climbed the tree; you only gathered up the cherries." " No," said I, " it is worse than that." "Worse!" He turned very pale; for an unknown peril frightened him, whilst a known one could not ruffle his equanimity. In a few minutes he came out in a tall red nightcap, and we walked in silence down the green lane to the stile, from which we could see the London-road winding in terminably across the plain. I told my story with tragic energy. Jack's first remark was sublime, but absurd. " I tell you Avhat," said he, shaking his tall nightcap emphatically ; " let us both turn brigands, hide in the mountains, watch our opportunity, seize this villain Ragge, and put him to death."

My misfortune was so astounding and un expected, that it assumed no more reality in his mind than the adventures of the noble cut-purses in the story-books which he used to read. He was a couple of years my senior, and though he acknoAvledged my superiority at school, would, in his moments of pride, crush me with the tremendous and indispu table fact that he was in love with Dolly Tick, daughter of John Tick of Tick Farm. Whenever he brought this weapon to bear, I was fain to give in, and submit to the disgrace of playing Hector to his Achflles, even of being dragged round the playground by the ankles. I had not the happiness to be "in love" with any one, and felt duly humiUated accordingly. Now, however, let it be confessed, that in the midst of all my sorrow, I was partly consoled by being able to assume a dignified air, as I explained to the bewildered Jack that I was in very truth launched upon the world to seek my own fortune, and that I was really and actually going to London.

" When I ■ am a wealthy man," I con tinued, having very vague ideas of the trans mutation of nothing into pence, and pence into pounds, " I wdl come back, expose Ragge to the whole world, and give a splendid banquet on the occasion of your marriage Avith Dolly." Jack listened with admiration and respect. I became immeasurably his senior at once, and Avhat I said, must, he thought, be right. " Stop," quoth he, "I will go in and get my hat, and we will walk together to the second milestone." We were soon upon the road. As we reached it, a stage-coach, laden with luggage and passengers, came swinging along amidst clouds of dust. It was going to London ! What would I not have given for a place even in the boot ! But I jingled the three half-crowns in my pocket, and made a mental calculation, of which the produce was, pedes trianism.

Jack trudged gloomdy by my side in sdence to the second milestone. I Avould not allow him to go farther. He begged for half a mde more; but I saAv that he was very wretched, and felt, indeed, mightily inclined to cry myself. We parted, and I shall ever remember with gratitude and delight, that after the last hug and the last shake of the hand, poor honest Jack took out a shdling from his shoe (all his pockets were hole-pierced by extra weight of tops and marbles) and offered it to me, saying, or rather, whimpering : " It is all I have." I refused to accept it ; but he threw it on the ground, and taking to his heels ran away, holding his hands over his ears. I shouted out, but he did not turn round, and con tinued running untd a bend in the road hid him from my view. I remained standing stupified, for the first time feeling myself quite alone in the world.

Then came a momentary consolation, for I saw Jack peeping cautiously from behind a tree in the hedge. I waved my cap, screamed a last farewell, which made him bob out of sic-ht, and turning my face towards London, walked seven more miles Avithout stopping. CHAPTER IH. I had not breakfasted that morning, and now felt the pangs of hunger, rendered more keen by unusual exercise. Entering a little Avayside public-house, I asked, timidly, for some bread and cheese. The landlady pro fessed to take great interest in me as "a pretty boy," the very image of one she had lost at the age of two years, some quarter ot a century before, and substituted a glass of ale for the water I demanded. She then tried hard to pump me, but I obstinately kept my OAvn counsel. No doubt this of fended her, for to the query, "What is there to pay?" she impudently answered, " Eighteen-pence, sir." I changed one of my half-crowns, and went away much disgusted ; for I foresaAv that in this way my little fortune would soon be dissolved.