Pages from an adventurous life

Foreword

/ HAVE, in the following pages, written a good deal about myself, and a little about those I have knoiun — that little, in most cases, luith sadness and pain, Feiv of us, alas ! can look back over the road ive have travelled without regrets and sighs ; for ive camiot close our eyes to the green mounds and ivhite gravestones nvhich tell of dear companions ivho, having journeyed with us some oj the nvay. Jell out of the race, and passed into the shadows. I have helped to lay so many Jriends to rest, and have so frequently parted in love and affection from those I was destined to meet no more, that my heart has been often bruised. In youth and early manhood one makes friends, but as they die off their places remain empty. To ivrite oj the comrades luith ivhotn you have marched, laughed, and sometimes ivept, but ivho are noiu nothing more than a memory, is a painjul task, and I confess, nor am I ashamed of the iveakness, that at times my eyes have grown dim and my pen has faltered.

Having outlived most of my near relatives, and being the sole survivor of my particular branch of the family, there are moments when I feel as if I ivere living in a world of shades.

In this story of myself I have purposely adopted a somewhat discursive style, nor have I folloived events in strict chronological order. A stiff, conventional narrative form did not, somehow, recommend itself to me. I have done little more than refer to my childhood. From both

Foreword

parents I inherited, and displayed it early, the desire to move on — the Wanderlust, as the Germans call it. There was sea salt in my blood; and nature spoke to me in a voice that I ivell understood. Never shall I forget the Jeeling of elation I experienced when as a mere boy I sailed away to India, just bejore the outbreak of the terrible Mutiny, ivhere I remained for three years, and such experiences as I had I record them. But let it not be supposed for a moment that I have attempted to add anything to nuhat is already known of those dark years, or even to ivrite a footnote to history. I have done no more than jot down my impressions — the impressions of a boy, be it understood. I ivas conscious of the electricity in the atmosphere, of the tension, of the something that might happen ; but I was far from the actual storm zone. I only heard the rumbling of the thunder, saw nothing of the lightning, and had no hairbreadth escapes or thrilling adventures of any consequetice. Had I been a feiu years older, I might have done something. As it luas, I ivas a beardless youngster, and as a high-spirited boy felt aggrieved because I had to lead the life of a boy. However, my youth ivas not my fault. The one thing I am thankftil for is that I ivas trained in a hard school during my Indian experiences, and it developed in me the sense of selfdependence, as ivell as the love of freedom, which has made it dificult for me ever since to take kindly to the restrictions of civilisation in the purely conventional sense. The vast ocean, the desert sands, the dark jungle, the iveird bush, have lured me ivith a syren call that I could never resist. I have had yearnings, too, that would not be suppressed ; the inborn love of books has attracted me to literary centres and literary people; and I have been impelled by irrepressible instincts to incline

Foreword

tonvards that mysterious region ivhere intellectual Bohemia ivas to be found. Shamelessly I acknowledge a preference for intellect in rags rather than for dull, staid, smug respectability in broadcloth.

With a temperament and disposition such as the foregoing confession reveals, it is obvious that my career ivas bou7id to run a somewhat erratic course, and in that fact, perhaps, may be found such interest as the book possesses. Within me there has alnuays burned an energy luhich has prevented me from being idle. I have been forced to find a physical and mental outlet for it. The rust of inactivity has certainly never affected me.

In the following pages I have dealt in detail with the Savage Club, •with ivhich it has been my proud privilege to be associated for upwards of thirty years. Thirty years in human affairs is a long period, and in my case I have seen men come and go — men nvho have ivritten their names in something more stable than sand. The Savage Club therefore, is closely connected ivith part of my lif, and I could hardly have ivritten my memoirs without reference to many of my brother Savages, living and dead.

For myself, the day wears apace. I have supped my full of life, I have warmed both hands at its f re, and the evening is closing in. But when the time comes to depart hence, I shall be able to turn my face to the ivall conscious of having striven, according to my lights, to do nvhat I considered I was called upon to do ivith all my heart and all my soul. The best of us can do no more than that.

THE AUTHOR.

Contents l'Al".K

Chapter I

Iiiith and early childhood — Departure for India — I meet Nana Sahib — My experiences during the Mutiny — Personal adventures — The feeling in Calcutta against Viscount Canning — Petition to the Queen for his recall — The arrest of the King" of Oude — I witness an execution by blowing away from the guns in Bombay — The last of the John Company — My return to Englanil ....

Chapter II

Sudden death of my fiither in Calcutta — I study with a tutor — Theatrical experiences — Some celebrated actors and actresses — Practical jokes — Charles Dillon and Barney Egan — Amusing^ story of "Professor" Anderson — I witness the execution of a woman at Newgate — I sail for Sydney — Rough it on the Pacific coast — Long tramp through the bush — 1 meet Morgan the Bushranger — A weird experience on the diggings — How I was induced to go in search of a missing friend — I return to Sydney — I meet with an old acquaintance, and sail in a coal-laden ship for China - - Terrible voyage and close shaves — Adventure with a junk — I narrowly escape being blown up . 46

Chapter III

I leave Shanghai in a coasting junk for Amoy — I try to join the rebels, but am prevented — I return to Shanghai, and sail for New Guinea — Am the guest of a cannibal chief — A memorable feast and an undesirable dish — I return to England, and start for the United States during the wars —

Contents

PAGB

Riots in New York- Ne^iocs hung on lamp-posts — Back in Mancliestcr--! make the a("(|uaintant:e of Toole, Irving, Charles Mathews, Joseph Jefferson, Charles Calvert, and others — I cross the Atlantic again — Fire panic on board — An exciting time — A man threatens to stab me — Revisit Australia — Come home round the Horn — Narrow escape from running into an iceberg — I proceed to London, and become the proprietor of a ne\vspai)er — Make the acquaintance of Field- Marshal Sir William Comm, Shirley l^rooks, Mark Lemon, Ulanrhard Jorrokl, Tom Hood, Willian) lirunton, Mark Twain, Joachim Miller, and others . . 82

Chapter IV

I witness the execution of another woman — The fire-eaters — A threatened light, and how it endeil — Opening of the Criterion — Death of my friend, Tom Hood — I make the a(i|uaintance of Benjamin Ward Richardson and George Cruikshank — The latter dances the Highland Fling for me when he was over eighty — I stop my paper, and join James Henderson's staff — Become a special correspondent of Tltc Hour — The Bravo mystery — Am present at the exhumation of the body — Am sent to meet the I'rince of Wales on his home-coming from India — Amusing experience with Archibald Forbes — I proceed to Scotland — The Greenock Advertiser . . ill

Chapter V

The late Queen accepts a copy of my book — Recollections of T. P. O'Connor — Myself and Sala go to Chislehurst to the lying-in-state of the cx-emperor of the French — Amusing experience — A Sala supper — I visit the Savage Club for the first time — Make the acquaintance of Andrew Halliday, Henry J. Byron, Henry Lee, and others — The story of the founding of the rent)wned Club — Sudden death at the Club of Ceorge Crossmith The Club entertains the J'rince of Wales, who is elected a member — Pathetic end of Henry S. Leigh 144 xu

Contents

Chapter VI

Annual dinner of the Savage Club — Great gathering of notabilities — Mr W. E. Gladstone's speech — Lord Mayor Sir Francis Wyalt Truscott entertains the Club at the Mansion House — Dr IJennett's tribute — Move to the Caledonian — Dinner at Willis's Rooms — H.R.H. Prince of Wales present— The Prince becomes a Savage- A memorable night — Death of Arthur Matthison— Death of Henry S. Leigh- " J'>roken Toys" Death of Henry J. IJyron — The Maori king, Tawhia, entertained — "Dead in the Desert" — London newspaper correspondents entertained

CHAPTER VH

A remarkable meeting with a friend of my youth — He utters a prophecy — I become tragically interested in a great disaster — I visit the Continent — My uncle's fortune — I go out to Davos Platz — I suggest many improvements, but am laughed at — Lssue a guide-book, and am mainly instrumental in getting the improvements carried out — I settle in the scjuth of France — My friend the Prince — A Ciilbertian situation — An extraordinary accident — How it affected me — I leave France, and proceed to Switzerland — Am appointed correspondent of The Daily News — The story of "John Hull's Neighbour in her true Light" — I meet with an accident on Mont lilanc — Narrow escape from death while crossing the Simplon I'ass — I return to England, and take a house in Deal ........ 200

CHAPTER VHI

How my life has been influenced by sudden and unexpected incidents — I accept an engagement in Dundee — Amusing experiences in Ireland during the time I was gathering material for a life of Richard Pigott — I take to lecturing — A cautious Scotsman prays for me — A temperance address, and how it affected me — The mysterious tragedy of Archibald MacNcil — I leave Dundee — My generous employers — I go to Canada — Lecture at the Imperial Institute — I raise a storm, and fight a newspaper war — It all ends in smoke — An experience in Plymouth- A little comedy . . 235

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Contents

CHAPTER IX

I-ACE

An interview with Mr (now Sir) George Newnes — How " For God and the Czar" came to be written — Death of my friend, Byron Reed, M.P. — Pathetic incidents — How a copyright of mine was infringed — Curious history of one of my books — A lawsuit — Remarkable point of law in connection with the Copyright Act settled — Mr Justice Kekewich awards me damages — I edit the third volume of the " Savage Club Papers" 258

CHAPTER X

The Saturday Savage dinners — Distinguished guests — Ladies' nights — Our honorary secretary — A Nanscn night — Good story by Lord Alverstone — The Indian princes — Phil May and the flower girl — Captain Scott and officers of the Discovery — Sudden death of a member while singing a song — Death of my friend, Paul Frenzcny — Brief particulars of some prominent members . . . . 274

CHAPTER XI

I visit La Grande Chartreuse, and have a weird experience — A visit to the Grotto de Ste Baume in Provence — A send-off dinner — A trip to the West Indies —Dick Donovan's books — Amusing incidents — An explanation— The universal demand for the detective story — The late Prince Bismarck a great reader of Donovan's books — The butcher and the artist : a story with a moral . .....

List of Illustrations

Portrait of the Author, by Edwin Ward

Pauline Markham

Charles Calvert as " Macbeth "

Markham (another portrait) .

William Brunton

Pencil Sketch of Artemus Ward and Henry M. Stanley

The Author in the trap with the pony that caused the death of II. Hyron Reed, M.P.

Portrait of Charles Collette .

Portrait of E. E. Peacock

Portrait of Arthur Morrison .

Portrait of Franklin Clive

Portrait of Harrison Hill

Portrait of Courtice Pounds .

His Excellency Dr Fridtzof Nansen's Autograph

Unfinished Portrait of the Author

A Group of Savages ....

Autograph Letter of Paul Frenzeny .

Two Portraits of Frenzeny

)i n nicy

>t ased the n

M

List of Illustrations

Portrait of W. H. J. Boot

Portrait of Mostyn T. Pigott .

Portrait of Thomas Catling

Portrait of Colonel A. Bosworth

The Author (according to Tom Browne)

"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie' us "^ Tae see oorsels as ithers see us " L

Tom Browne in his Studio The late Charles Bertram David Devant .

Robert Ganthony Colonel E. Rogers Pinhorn Wood facii

304 304 306 306 308

Chapter I

Birth and early childhood — Departure for India — I meet Nana Sahib — My experiences during the Mutiny — Personal adventures — The feeling in Calcutta against Viscount Canning — Petition to the Queen for his recall — The arrest of the King of Oude — I witness an execution by blowing away from the guns in Bombay — The last of the John Company— My return to England.

That eccentric and lovable Bohemian, Mortimer Collins, summed up the philosophy of life in an epigram quite equal to that uttered by Disraeli's Sidonia : " Youth is prophecy, manhood a fruition, old age a vision of both past and future."

To the man who fully realises that the shadows are lengthening and his sands running low, the past must certainly appear as a confused vision. To look back over the course one has been traversing for upwards of sixty years is to fall into a frame of mind which, despite all one's philosophy, cannot fail to beget a sense of sadness. For how can we shut out the vision of white gravestones which mark the spots where sleep those with whom we have laughed and sung and sorrowed ? A dumb, inarticulate cry rings like a wail through our being :

" O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! "

The penalty of a full life is this obtruding memory of the dear dead ones who, as they passed into the night, took from us a little of the joy of living. Youth finds its pleasure in the to-day, it snaps its fingers at the to-morrow ; it revels and romps and tramps with its companions, it builds castles in the air, it knows nothing of the smell of the mould. But age, alas ! has only the recollections of yesterday, while the future is — Dust ! The track of my existence has been a peculiarly sinuous one, and in its early stages may be traced under the burnino^ skies of India during the lurid days of the Great Revolt, when a handful of Britain's sons held their own against stupendous odds ; then it winds over many seas and through strange lands, often far beyond the fringe of civilisation. As it has fallen to my lot to know many countries, so I have come in contact with all sorts and conditions of men ; my experiences have been varied, and occasionally not without excitement.

On my mother's side I am a descendant of that branch of the Preston family known as "the proud Prestons of Preston." Many of my maternal kinsfolk were prominently associated with Lancashire, more particularly with that hive of industry — Manchester ; in numerous instances they were servants of the Honourable East India Company, and won distinction as sailors and fiorhtin^ men. Their bones bleach under many skies, or lie fathoms deep in dark waters. My father was a seafaring man, but was intended for the law, my paternal grandfather being a member of a very old firm of family lawyers. My father disliked law, however, so ran away to sea, and made several voyages in East Indiamen. He was still young when he married my mother, but had seen much and travelled far. I was not born until twelve years after the marriage. Two sisters had preceded me. One of them was destined to die before she had reached the age of twenty, after undergoing a terrible operation. Poor dear! My birthplace was a quaint old house on the borders of the New Forest, within a few miles of Southampton. In the entrance hall the broad staircase, with its oak balustrade, was lighted at the top of the first flight of stairs by a large stained-glass window, which threw its prismatic colours on the floor of polished oak, and on the carven, grotesque features and form of a rampant griffin, with its forepaws clasping a heraldic shield. This griffin was supported by the massive terminal pillar of the balustrade, and it seemed from its fixed wooden stare to be ever gazing into futurity. The uncouth figure of the griffin exercised a peculiar fascination over my childish mind, and I would sit for hours on a wooden stool, my chin resting on my hands, gazing at it, spellbound and motionless. I have an idea that I used to dream out romances, in all of which that uncouth griffin figured. I have distinct recollections, too, of wanderings, in company with my sisters and a faithful old nurse, in the depths of the Forest, where we acquired a smattering of woodland lore, and I developed the love for Nature and freedom which has always been so strong within me. Occasionally, too, we were taken to the house of a relative who resided near Netley, and nothing deliofhted me more than to be allowed to visit the ruins of the once magnificent Abbey. At that time a strange, little old woman used to haunt the ruins. No doubt she was a poor, harmless creature who went there to gather faggots or herbs ; but we children, although we had none of the timidity or fear peculiar to most children, regarded her with something like awe. We knew her to be a witch endowed with supernatural powers, and I am certain that I believed it was her custom to ride through the air on a broom-

o

stick. As we generally took luncheon with us on these visits to the Abbey, the witch came in for a share of it. She professed to be very fond of us, and found delight in amusing us with weird stories about witches, fairies, and giants. One day she studied the palm of my small hand very intently, and said I was destined to cross many seas and wander through many lands, and ofttimes be in danger. This prophetic statement, which was several times repeated, came true, and I have never forgotten the little old woman and her prophecy.

In these early years of my existence my father's visits to his family were few and brief, as his duties kept him much at sea. But he was a devoted and loving parent, who did everything he could to promote the happiness of his children. His coming home was always a red-letter day, as he invariably came laden with presents. My present was generally a model of a boat or ship, for I had a passionate love for anything associated with the sea, and nothing delighted me so much as the model of a vessel with rigging and yards. When I was about eight years of age he sailed away for India, and it was understood that his absence would not extend beyond nine or ten months. We children, including my youngest sister, who was nearly two years my junior, together with our mother and our nurse, waved him an affectionate adieu as the vessel moved slowly from the dock. Strangely enough, with the exception of myself, his family were never to see his dear face again. The ship he was returning in broke down in the Bay of Bengal, and had to put back to Calcutta, from whence she had started. On examination it was found that the necessary repairs would take several months to complete, and my father was notified that he would be put on half pay during the time the vessel was laid up. This angered him, and he resigned, but was immediately offered a lucrative appointment on the China station subject to his signing for three years. This he did, little dreaming that it was to separate him for ever from his loved ones. Shortly afterwards, too, the failure of an unlimited bank in which he was a depositor and shareholder swept away his small fortune, and that militated against his return. Then a shattering blow fell upon my poor mother. Our beautiful house had to be sold, and faithful old servants discharged. For some reason or another I had been taken away days before by a relative to a curious old house, situated at a place called Hamble, and there I had two little adventures. There was a tiny harbour used principally by fishing boats, I fancy.

Finding a plank floating in the water, I promptly seated myself straddle-legged on it, without even taking off my shoes and socks, and paddled forth towards the entrance of the dock ; but as my knowledge of the management of such a primitive craft was nil, it and I quickly parted company, and I was floundering about in the muddy water. My career would have been cut short at that early stage had not a fisherman, observing the mishap, hastened to my rescue, and hoisted me out with a boat - hook. I was none the worse for the ducking, and a day or two later on was the hero of adventure number two. In the garden of the house where I was staying was a tall tree, and in the topmost branches of that tree a crow's nest which 1 determined to investigate. Up that tree I went ; it was slow and painful toil, and my bare legs suffered, as I had not at that stage been promoted to the dignity of trousers. I was resolved, however, to accomplish my purpose, but when within reaching distance of the nest the branch I was clinging to broke, and I was hurtled earthward, until suddenly brought up with a round turn, owing to my clothes being caught by a stumpy branch which stuck out like a peg from the main trunk. In that undignified position I dangled between earth and heaven ; for a space of months, as it seemed to me, as a matter of fact, about ten minutes, until I attracted the attention of an old female servant who was hanging out clothes in the orchard. " Lors a mussy me," she exclaimed, as she rushed as fast as her old legs would carry her to the house, "if there ain't that young varmint a-hooked up in the tree!"

In course of time there came two labouring men, and partly by means of a ladder, and partly by climbing, reached me, and took me off the peg. But as soon as I was released I made my way down the tree unaided. The old servant, who had watched the operation breathlessly, said as soon as I reached terra firma : " You've come nigh drownding of yerself, and a-hanging of yerself : I wonder what mischief you'll be getting into next? You'll be coming to a bad end as sure as eggs is eggs if you ain't more careful." In the course of a week I left Hamble with my relative, who was an architect engaged in constructing some buildings in the village. We travelled by the stage-coach, and occupied seats outside. It was a moonlight night, I remember. On reaching Southampton I was transferred to a chaise, and driven to the house of my uncle, where, to my astonishment, I found my mother and sisters. The blow had fallen, and our old home was ours no longer. I was too young to understand the full meaning of the sorrow, and when my dear mother told me that we were all going to Manchester, where we had lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins, my small heart swelled with joy, for the desire to travel was already making itself felt. And yet I was grieved at the thought of leaving the place of my childhood. I had some sort of vagrue idea that Manchester was far, far away, and that we should be confronted with many perils before we could reach our destination. Noting that my elder sisters were in tears on the fateful day we were to start, and attributing these tears to fear, I smote my manly bosom, and exclaimed : "Cheer up, girls ; I'll protect you." This valiant declaration caused them to smile, notwithstanding that their hearts were torn at the thought that our changed fortunes compelled our leaving the home where they had known nothing but happiness.

Curiously enough, I had another narrow escape from drowning just before leaving my native town. A great friend of my family was an old Colonel, retired. He was an enthusiastic jack fisher, of irascible temper but singularly kind disposition. Being a bachelor, he evinced great fondness for children, and was always bringing us presents and toys. I was a favourite with him. I once heard him say to my nurse : " I like that boy, you know ; he's got a spice of the devil in him." I didn't quite grasp the full meaning of the remark at the time, but the words clung to me. He used to drive a very spirited horse, in a cross between a dog-cart and an Indian buggy, and wherever he went he was accompanied by a devoted man-servant. As I was to learn at a later period, the old Colonel was a "two-bottle man," and after a good dinner and his two bottles it was necessary for his servant to tuck him up in bed.

One day just before our departure the Colonel had arranged for a couple of days' fishing in a delightful villaore, the name of which I have forgotten, and he took me with him. There was an old flour mill, and a most picturesque inn, with a renowned jack stream running through the grounds. The opposite bank of the stream was reached from the garden of the inn by a frail plank bridge, with a rustic railing on one side of the bridge only. In the meadow on the opposite side I was gathering wild flowers, and the choleric, beetroot-nosed Colonel was fishing for jack. Suddenly he called for his servant, who, I believe, was flirting in the orarden with one of the maids of the inn. "George, George, quick! bring the net. I've hooked a monster." I heard the cry, rushed from the meadow all eaorerness and excitement, rained the tiny bridge, and toppled into the stream. The faithful servant sprang to my rescue in spite of his master exclaiming: " Damn the child! Come here and help me to land the fish." But when he realised what had happened he cast his rod away, and became terribly aoritated. He himself carried me, when the servant had dragged me out, to the inn, where my wet clothes were taken off, and I was put to bed. I was none the worse for the involuntary cold bath, and the next day returned home in company with the Colonel, whom I only saw once again. Six months later he was dead.

The sorrowful day came at last when my mother had to leave for the north with her brood. To her it must have been a bitter trial. We reached in due time the grimy town of Manchester without any adventures, although the journey in that day was much more of an undertaking than it is now. For myself, I was disappointed. I had fondly hoped we miofht have encountered a lion or tiorer or even a snake, for 1 was burning with a desire to do something, and my imagination had been quickened by the weird stories of the old witch of Netley Abbey. We spent a few days in London at my paternal grandmother's house, and I was taken to see the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park. I was somewhat bewildered by the enormous crowd of people and the immensity of the place, but, nevertheless, became much interested in all I saw, and particularly in an exhibit of a large stained-glass window depicting scenes in the life of Robin Hood. It was designed and painted by a cousin of mine. I had always been very fond of the story of Robin Hood, and this pictorial representation of it delighted me, and aroused in me a strong desire to follow in Robin Hood's footsteps. There were difficulties in the way, however, and in a few days I found myself in Cottonopolis. But to this day I preserve a very vivid recollection of that wonderful Exhibition.

For one term I was sent to a highly pretentious "Academy for the Sons of Gentlemen." It was conspicuous for two things, high fees and plenty of caning. Sentimentalists had not succeeded in abolishing the cane in those days, thank goodness, and vigorous whacking hardened the body, increased the appetite, and knocked the starch and conceit out of a youngster. For myself, I was constantly being whacked, and verily believe I came to like it in the end. I had not yet completed my ninth year when I was given to understand I was "the worst young gentleman in the establishment." It was undoubtedly a fighting Academy, and when the masters were not thrashing the boys, the boys were thrashing each other. A favourite weapon with us was a handkerchief with a stone or a marble tied up in one of the corners. This weapon was capable of inflicting a great deal of punishment, and we used to ding-dong each other with it with great vigour, frequently to the " effusion of blood " as the Scots say. The chief thing I did at that Academy was fighting, when I wasn't being caned. Certainly I didn't learn much in the way of lessons. Tuition was regarded as of such secondary importance that after the first term I was transferred to an old-fashioned Collegiate school in one of the most beautiful parts of Cheshire. There I spent nearly six happy and delightful years. The rod was by no means spared, but the acquirement of knowledge was made compulsory on the part of a youth who did not wish to be summarily dismissed in disgrace, I managed to escape expulsion, and my dear parents were gratified with fairly good reports at the end of each term.