Chapter I: The Workhouse (2)

I cannot recollect that the season which I devoted to the subjection of self witnessed the lenity which I anticipated, or that it had any effect beyond a feeling of physical weakness; but, indirectly, I am not sure that it was wholly without gain. Without the faith which supported me, I might never have thought of experimenting on Will and practising it on myself, my dislikes, and passions, and placing them at the service of those I had despised; and I am inclined to think that the feeling of friendlessness was soothed. It was a comfort to know that though without a parent, relation, or friend on earth to turn to, I had a Father in Heaven before Whom I was the equal of the mightiest.

I believed in the immediate presence of Angels who were deputed to attend us for our protection, that the emissaries of the Evil One ranged about during the darkness of the night, seeking to wreak their spite against those averse to them, and I believed that the frightful dreams from which we sometimes suffered were due to their machinations.

Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night, after a tremendous struggle with a nightmare, and, gaspingly looking out, fancied I saw the evil spirits crowding the darkness and sailing about like huge fantastic microbes, or standing, shadowy-grey, at the foot of the bed. I would rub my eyes hard for a clearer vision, and I would observe them retreat against the cold bare walls. Within, all was terror and confusion, entreaties to Heaven for protection, admonition respecting some neglect of prayer, or coldness in devotion; and I would rise from bed on being thus informed of the remedy, and indulge in the sacred theft of prayer with the humbleness due from a little child praying to the Universal Father and Creator.

If, by accident, I was discovered, the day following was certain to be one of torture, an opprobrious nickname, or bitter gibe, taunts, immodest expressions or gestures; every kind of conspiracy would be made to excite the demon that lurks within every human breast, so that by night, what with hate of my fellows, burning anger at their atrocious conduct, remorse for having succumbed to rage at their wicked practices, I had collapsed from my virtuous state, to be again brought to my sense of inborn sinfulness by some nightly visitation, or a curious gush of tearful repentance, and an agony of longing for the love of some human being.

The religious convictions of my childhood were too intense and real to omit recalling them. Often it appeared as though it were wholly useless to struggle against evil, yet there was an infinitesimal improvement in each stage. The character was becoming more and more developed. The temper was becoming firmer. Experience was teaching me something of that great lesson of life which enables one to view more calmly lapses of condition.

Thus there are two things for which I feel grateful to this strange institution of St. Asaph. My fellow-man had denied to me the charm of affection, and the bliss of a home, but through his charity I had learned to know God by faith, as the Father of the fatherless, and I had been taught to read. It is impossible that in a Christian land like Wales I could have avoided contracting some knowledge of the Creator, but the knowledge which is gained by hearing is very different from that which comes from feeling. Nor is it likely that I would have remained altogether ignorant of letters. Being as I was, however, the circumstances of my environment necessarily focussed my attention on religion, and my utterly friendless state drove me to seek the comfort guaranteed by it.

It would be impossible to reveal myself, according to the general promise involved in the title of this book, if I were to be silent regarding my religious convictions. Were I to remain silent, the true key to the actions of my life would be missing. Or, rather, let me try to put the matter more clearly: the secret influence which inspired what good I may have done in life, for the same reason prevented me from doing evil, curbed passion, guided me when the fires of youth, licentious company, irreverent mates, and a multitude of strange circumstances must have driven me into a confirmed state of wickedness.

I was therefore grateful, after all, for the implanting of religious principles in me by the Biblical education given me in the Union. The fear of doing wrong intentionally, the feeling of reverence, the impulse of charity, the possession of a conscience, are all due to this. Without this teaching I should have been little superior to the African savage. It has been the driving power for good, the arrestor of evil. It has given me an acute and perceptive monitor, able by its own delicacy to perceive evil no matter how deceptive its guise. It has formed a magnet by which to steer more straightly than I could otherwise have done.

My belief that there was a God, overseeing every action, observing and remembering, has come often between me and evil. Often when sorely tempted, came the sudden strength to say, ‘No, I _will_ not, it will be wicked; not criminal, but sinful; God sees me.’ It is precisely for this strength that I am grateful. Reason would not have been sufficient to restrain me from yielding to temptation. It required a conscience, and a religious conviction created it. That same inward monitor has restrained me from uttering idle words, from deceiving my fellow-creatures with false promises, and from hastily condemning them without sufficient evidence, from listening to slanders, and from joining with them, from yielding to vindictiveness; it has softened a nature that without its silent and gentle admonitions would, I am sure, be much worse than it is. I do not claim that it has always been successful,--far from it,--but I am grateful for what it has done; and this feeling, so long as I possess it, will induce me to hope that it will ever remain with me, a restraining power, a monitor to do my duty to my Creator, and to my fellow-men.

Whether these religious convictions would have continued with me had I lived the life of the city is another question. I think not. At least, not in sufficient force. A journalist’s life in New York does not give time for reflection or introspection.

Religion grew deep roots in me in the solitude of Africa, so that it became my mentor in civilization, my director, my spiritual guide. With religious conviction we can make real and substantial progress; it gives body, pith, and marrow; without it, so-called progress is empty and impermanent,--for without the thought of God we are tossed about on a sea of uncertainty; for what is our earth compared with the vast universe of worlds in immeasurable space? But above all the vastness of infinity, of which the thoughts of the wisest men can extend to but an infinitesimal fraction, is the Divine and Almighty Intellect which ordered all this; and to Him I turn,--the Source of the highest energy, the Generator of the principle of duty.

In the adults’ ward at St. Asaph was a harmless imbecile, named John Holywell, who had been a resident of the house for about a score of years. He was now over fifty, and was likely to remain until his body was conveyed to a pauper’s grave. As his fate, so mine promised, except that I could pray and read.

Tyranny of the grossest kind lashed and scowled at us every waking hour, but even Will Thomas possessed something that I had not. He had relations who occasionally visited him with gifts; but I was alone, none ever came to see me.

I must have been twelve ere I knew that a mother was indispensable to every child. To most boys of twelve such a simple fact must have been obvious, but as my grandsire and nurse had sufficed for my earliest wants, the necessity for a mother had not been manifest to me. Now that I was told my mother had entered the house with two children, my first feeling was one of exultation that I also had a mother, and a half-brother and a half-sister, and the next was one of curiosity to know what they were like, and whether their appearance portended a change in my condition.

Francis came up to me during the dinner-hour, when all the inmates were assembled, and, pointing out a tall woman with an oval face, and a great coil of dark hair behind her head, asked me if I recognised her.

‘No, Sir,’ I replied.

‘What, do you not know your own mother?’

I started, with a burning face, and directed a shy glance at her, and perceived she was regarding me with a look of cool, critical scrutiny. I had expected to feel a gush of tenderness towards her, but her expression was so chilling that the valves of my heart closed as with a snap. ‘Honour thy father and mother,’ had been repeated by me a thousand times, but this loveless parent required no honour from me. After a few weeks’ residence my mother departed, taking her little boy with her, but the girl was left in the institution; and, such is the system prevailing, though we met in the same hall for months, she remained as a stranger to me.

Among the notable incidents of this age was the suicide of the Governor, who through some mental strain ended his life with a razor. Then there was a burglary, or an attempt at one, in our schoolroom. We found one morning that one of the windows had been forced open, the poker lay on the table, and there were traces of the bookshelves and desks having been ransacked. After that, handsome Harry Ogden, who had been sent to Kinmel on an errand, returned highly intoxicated, which made us boys marvel at his audacity. Then Barney Williams, one of the cleverest boys in the school, was detected stealing stamps from the Master’s letters, which offence was brought to the notice of the Guardians, and was punished by a public birching, as much, we believed, to the satisfaction of Francis as to the anguish of poor Barney.

Bishop Short having presented to us some skeleton drawings and views of cathedrals, I took to copying them, and in a few months had acquired such excellence that my reputation spread wide in our circle. Francis affected to believe that I was destined for a ‘limner.’ The Bishop rewarded me with a Bible bearing his autograph. Miss Smalley, of Cwm, presented me with a drawing-book and pencils, and I was introduced to a number of notabilities around as the ‘artist’ of the school. Other small accomplishments tended to bring me into prominence. My recitations were much admired. On our annual holidays I was selected to lead the choir of glee-singers, and, after the Government Inspector’s examinations, I was pronounced to be the most advanced pupil.

I have no idea of my personal appearance at this time, but I remember to have heard some comments from bystanders as we bathed at Rhyl which made me blush violently, also Captain Thomas saying that it would be of vast benefit to me if I were put under a garden-roller. An old blacksmith of Denbigh, as I passed him one day, asked me if I was not the grandson of Moses Parry, and on my admitting it, pretended that I could not belong to the big-boned Parry breed; while one that stood by him terrified me by saying that I would be in prime order for eating, after a month’s stuffing on raisins and sweeties. From an early age I contracted an intense dislike to these wretched personalities.

In process of time my classmates, who had grown with me, and been promoted simultaneously with myself, and now filled the first form, began to be taken away by their relatives, or entered service. Benjie Phillips became a page of Captain Thomas. When we saw him arrayed in his beautiful livery, George, the scholar, and I thought fortune most unkind and indiscriminating; but, looking backward, both of us must confess that, like fools, we knew not what was good for us. Fortune had reserved us for other work, but before we should be called we were fated to be tried a little more.

‘Time teaches us that oft One Higher,
Unasked, a happier lot bestows
Than if each blighted dream’s desire
Had blossomed as the rose.’

Barney was the next to leave. Toomis, the calculator, found employment with the Whiteley of the neighbourhood; and, finally, George, the scholar, was claimed by an uncle to be prepared for the ministry.

When, in 1856, the time came for Francis’s annual visit to his friends at Mold, he appointed me his deputy over the school. On the very first day of his absence, a boy named David, my especial _bête noire_ on the play-ground, and whose malice was a source of trouble to me, thought fit to question my fitness for the post, and persisted in noisy demonstrations against my authority. For a while the serious nature of a conflict with one who had often proved himself my superior in strength restrained me from noticing his breach of order. The sharp-witted boys of the first class observed this reluctance, and rightly accounted for it. They also soon became insolently boisterous, and I had to cry ‘Silence!’ as imperiously as possible. There was an instant’s hush from habit at the word, but, overcoming their first fear, and prompted by mischievous David, the buzz was resumed, and soon became intolerable.

I strode up in front of David, and ordered him to take his stand at the Dunce’s corner, which he scornfully declined at once. He dared me to compel him, and added biting words about my puny strength and impudence. Instinctively, the school felt that an exciting struggle was impending, and suspended their restlessness. I was forced to accept David’s challenge, but when his sinewy arms embraced me I would gladly have compromised with him had my pride permitted, for the unbending rigidity of his stiff back was terrifying to think of. We contended breathlessly for some time, but, finally, I succeeded in kicking his stubborn pins from under him, and he fell heavily undermost. In a few seconds I rode in triumph over his prostrate form, and demanded his submission, which he sullenly refused. Dicky, more friendly than the others, came forward at the call with a woollen muffler, and with his assistance I made David captive, and after binding the tense arms conducted him to the opprobrious corner, where he was left to meditate, with two others similarly guilty. From the hour when the heroic whelp, David, was subdued, my authority was undisputed. Often since have I learned how necessary is the application of force for the establishment of order. There comes a time when pleading is of no avail.

Not many weeks after Francis had returned from Mold, an event occurred which had a lasting influence on my life. But for the stupid and brutal scene which brought it about, I might eventually have been apprenticed to some trade or another, and would have mildewed in Wales, because, with some knowledge of my disposition, I require great cause to break away from associations. Unknown to myself, and unperceived by anyone else, I had arrived at the parting of the ways. Unconsciously I had contracted ideas about dignity, and the promise of manhood was manifest in the first buds of pride, courage, and resolution; but our school-master, exposed to moods of savage temper, and arbitrary from habit, had failed to notice the change.

In May, 1856, a new deal table had been ordered for the school, and some heedless urchin had dented its surface by standing on it, which so provoked Francis that he fell into a furious rage, and uttered terrific threats with the air of one resolved on massacre. He seized a birch which, as yet, had not been bloodied, and, striding furiously up to the first class, he demanded to know the culprit. It was a question that most of us would have preferred to answer straight off; but we were all absolutely ignorant that any damage had been made, and probably the author of it was equally unaware of it. No one could remember to have seen anyone standing on the table, and in what other manner mere dents had been impressed in the soft deal wood was inexplicable. We all answered accordingly.

‘Very well, then,’ said he, ‘the entire class will be flogged, and, if confession is not made, I will proceed with the second, and afterwards with the third. Unbutton.’

He commenced at the foot of the class, and there was the usual yelling, and writhing, and shedding of showers of tears. One or two of David’s oaken fibre submitted to the lacerating strokes with a silent squirm or two, and now it was fast approaching my turn; but instead of the old timidity and other symptoms of terror, I felt myself hardening for resistance. He stood before me vindictively glaring, his spectacles intensifying the gleam of his eyes.

‘How is this?’ he cried savagely. ‘Not ready yet? Strip, sir, this minute; I mean to stop this abominable and bare-faced lying.’

‘I did not lie, sir. I know nothing of it.’

‘Silence, sir. Down with your clothes.’

‘Never again,’ I shouted, marvelling at my own audacity.

The words had scarcely escaped me ere I found myself swung upward into the air by the collar of my jacket, and flung into a nerveless heap on the bench. Then the passionate brute pummelled me in the stomach until I fell backward, gasping for breath. Again I was lifted, and dashed on the bench with a shock that almost broke my spine. What little sense was left in me after these repeated shocks made me aware that I was smitten on the cheeks, right and left, and that soon nothing would be left of me but a mass of shattered nerves and bruised muscles.

Recovering my breath, finally, from the pounding in the stomach, I aimed a vigorous kick at the cruel Master as he stooped to me, and, by chance, the booted foot smashed his glasses, and almost blinded him with their splinters. Starting backward with the excruciating pain, he contrived to stumble over a bench, and the back of his head struck the stone floor; but, as he was in the act of falling, I had bounded to my feet, and possessed myself of his blackthorn. Armed with this, I rushed at the prostrate form, and struck him at random over his body, until I was called to a sense of what I was doing by the stirless way he received the thrashing.

I was exceedingly puzzled what to do now. My rage had vanished, and, instead of triumph, there came a feeling that, perhaps, I ought to have endured, instead of resisting. Some one suggested that he had better be carried to his study, and we accordingly dragged him along the floor to the Master’s private room, and I remember well how some of the infants in the fourth room commenced to howl with unreasoning terror.

After the door had been closed on him, a dead silence, comparatively, followed. My wits were engaged in unravelling a way out of the curious dilemma in which I found myself. The overthrow of the Master before the school appeared to indicate a new state of things. Having successfully resisted once, it involved a continued resistance, for one would die before submitting again. My friend Mose asked me in a whisper if I knew what was to happen. Was the Master dead? The hideous suggestion changed the whole aspect of my thoughts. My heart began to beat, as my imagination conjured up unknown consequences of the outrage to authority; and I was in a mood to listen to the promptings of Mose that we should abscond. I assented to his proposal, but, first, I sent a boy to find out the condition of the Master, and was relieved to find that he was bathing his face.

Mose and I instantly left the school, for the ostensible purpose of washing the blood from my face; but, as a fact, we climbed over the garden-wall and dropped into Conway’s field, and thence hastened through the high corn in the Bodfari direction, as though pursued by bloodhounds.

This, then, was the result of the folly and tyranny of Francis. Boys are curious creatures, innocent as angels, proud as princes, spirited as heroes, vain as peacocks, stubborn as donkeys, silly as colts, and emotional as girls. The budding reason is so young and tender that it is unable to govern such composite creatures. Much may be done with kindness, as much may be done with benevolent justice, but undeserved cruelty is almost sure to ruin them.

We ran away with a boundless belief that beyond the walls lay the peopled South that was next to Heaven for happiness. The singing birds, the rolling coaches, the tides of joyous intercourse, the family groups, the happy hearths, the smiling welcome of our kind, all lay beyond the gates, and these we fled to meet, with the innocence of kids.