Chapter II: Adrift (2)

Entering a carriage, we drove along past high walls that imprisoned the shipping, through an atmosphere impregnated with fumes of pitch and tar, and streets whose roar of traffic was deafening. My ears could distinguish clinks of iron, grinding roll of wheels, tramp of iron-shod hoofs, but there was a hubbub around them all which was loud and strenuous, of which I could make nothing, save that it was awful and absorbing. Fresh from the slumbering existence of a quiet country home, my nerves tingled under the influence of the ceaseless crash and clamour. The universal restlessness visible out of the carriage windows, and the medley of noises, were so overwhelming that from pure distraction and an impressive sense of littleness in the midst of such a mighty Babel, every intelligent faculty was suspended.

The tremendous power of this aggregate force so fiercely astir, made me feel so limp and helpless that again I was tempted to implore my aunt to return with me to the peace of Tremeirchion. But I refused the cowardly impulse, and, before my total collapse, the carriage stopped at an hotel. We were received by such smiling and obliging strangers that my confidence was restored. The comfort visible everywhere, and the composed demeanour of my aunt and her friends, were most soothing.

In the evening, Aunt Maria appeared, and her warm greetings served to dissipate all traces of my late panic, and even infused a trifle of exaltation, that my insignificant self was henceforth to be considered as one of the many-throated army which had made Liverpool so terrible to a youthful rustic. She was pressed to stay for a nine-o’clock supper, but when she rose to depart I was by no means reluctant to brave the terror of the street. Aunt Mary slipped a sovereign into my hand, stood, over a minute, still and solemn, then bade me be a good boy and make haste to get rich. I was taken away, and I never saw her again.

The streets no longer resounded with the startling hurly-burly of the day. At a quick trot we drove through miles of lighted ways, and by endless ranges of ill-lit buildings. Once I caught a glimpse of a spacious market, aglow with gas-lights, where the view of innumerable carcases reminded me of the wonderful populousness of the great city; but beyond it lay the peaceful region of a sleeping people. At about the middle of this quieter part the cab halted, and we descended before the door of No. 22, Roscommon Street.

My precious box, with its Liverpool outfit, was carried into the house, and a second later I was in the arms of cheery ‘Uncle Tom.’ In expectation of my coming there was quite a large party assembled. There was my irrepressible cousin, Mary Parkinson, with her husband, tall John Parkinson, the cabinet-maker, a brave, strong, and kindly fellow. There were also my cousins Teddy and Kate, and Gerard, Morris, and others.

Cousin Mary was an independent young woman, and, like all women conscious of good looks, sure of her position in a small circle; but, important as she might be, she was but secondary to Uncle Tom, her father. He was the central figure in the gathering, and his sentiments were a law to his household. He stood in the forefront, of medium size, corpulent, rubicund, and so genial, it was impossible to withstand him.

‘My word, laddy! thou art a fine boy! Why, I had no idea they could raise such as thou in Wales. What hast been living on to get so plump and round--cheeks like apples, and eyes like stars? Well, of all!--I say, Mary, John, my dears, why are ye standing mute? Give the laddy here a Lancashire welcome! Buss him, wench! He is thy first cousin. Teddy, my lad, come up and let me make thee acquainted with thy cousin. Kate, step forward, put up thy mouth, dear; there, that is right! Now welcome, a thousand times, to Liverpool, my boy! This is a grand old city, and thou art her youngest citizen,’ etc., etc.

He was so breezy and bluff of speech, and so confident of great things for me in Liverpool, that I forgot I was in the city of noise and smoke, as well as my first dread of it. He was the first of his type I ever met. He had the heartiness and rollickness of the traditional ‘sea-dog,’ as sound in fibre as he was impervious to care. No presence could daunt him or subdue his unabashed frankness. He was like that fellow

‘Who having been praised for bluntness doth affect
A saucy roughness.
He cannot flatter, he!
An honest mind and plain,--he must speak truth;
An they will take it, so; if not, he’s plain.’

Uncle Tom was a man of fair education, and had once occupied a responsible post in the railway service. It was through his influence that Edward Owen had found a position in it, and I presume that the memory of that had influenced Aunt Mary in committing me to his care. Uncle Tom must have been found wanting in some respects, for he had descended in the scale of life, while his protégé, Edward, was now mounting rapidly. He now was a poor ‘cottoner,’ at a pound a week, with which he had to support himself and large family. His fault--if fault it may be called--may be guessed by the fact that, while his family was increasing, he had rashly undertaken to burden himself with the care of a boy of my age, while the slightest accident or indisposition would leave him wholly without means to support anybody. His heart was altogether too easily expansive for one of his condition. Had his means permitted, he would have kept perpetual holiday with his friends, he so loved good cheer and genial fellowship. He was over-contented with himself and others; and too willing to become surety for anyone who appeared to possess good-humour and good-nature; and, through that disposition, which is fatal to a man of family, he continued to fall lower and lower, until his precarious wages barely sufficed for the week’s wants.

During the first few days I did little more than tramp through the streets of Liverpool from Everton to the Docks, with Teddy Morris, aged 12, as a guide, who showed me the wonders of the city with the air of an important shareholder glorying in his happy investments. The spirit of his father in regard to its splendour and wealth had taken possession of him, and so much was I impressed with what he said to me, that, had a later comer questioned me about Liverpool, I should doubtless have expressed the conviction that its grandeur was due in a great measure to the presence of Uncle Tom and his son Teddy.

The day came when Uncle Tom took me to interview Mr. Winter, through whose influence I was to lay the foundation of that promised prosperity that was to be mine. I had donned my new Eton suit for the first time, and my hair shone with macassar. Such an important personage as Mr. Winter could only live among the plutocracy of Everton Heights; and thither we wended, with hope and gladness in our eyes.

Years ago, when Uncle Tom was in affluent circumstances, he had befriended Mr. Winter in some way that had made that gentleman pledge himself to repay his kindness. He was about to test the sincerity of his professions by soliciting his influence on behalf of his wife’s nephew.

We were received with a profuse show of friendship, and such civilities that they seemed obsequious to me when I compared the sheen of Mr. Winter’s black clothes with the fluffy jacket on Uncle Tom’s shoulders. The gentleman took out his spotless kerchief and affected to dust the chair before placing it before his visitor, and anxiously inquired about the health of good Mrs. Morris and her divine children. When he came finally to touch upon my affairs, I was rendered quite emotional with pride by the compliments he showered upon me.

Mrs. Winter, an extremely genteel person in long curls, presently appeared upon the scene, and after cooing with her spouse and exchanging affectionate embraces, was introduced to us. But, though we were present, husband and wife had such an attraction for each other that they could not refrain from resuming their endearments. My cheeks burned with shame as I heard them call one another, ‘My sweetie, darling love, blessed dearie,’ and the like; but Uncle Tom was hugely delighted, and took it all as a matter of course. In Wales, however, married people did not conduct themselves so grossly in public.

When we rose to go away, Mr. Winter resumed his earnest and benevolent manner to us, and begged my uncle to call on him next morning at nine sharp, and he would be sure to hear of something favourable. While returning home down the slope from Everton, Uncle Tom was most emphatic in declaring that ‘dear old Winter was a born gentleman, a dear, kind heart, and excellent old soul,’ and that I might consider myself as a ‘made man.’ Exultations at my prospects inclined me to echo my uncle’s sentiments, and to express my belief that Mrs. Winter was like a saint, with her dove-like eyes and pretty ringlets, though in some recess of me was something of a disdain for those mawkish endearments of which I had been an unwilling witness. These subjects occupied us all the way back to No. 22, Roscommon Street, upon entering which we revealed all that had happened to Aunt Maria, and made her participate in the delights of hope.

Twenty times during the month did Uncle Thomas and I travel up to Everton Heights, and the oftener we called on Mr. and Mrs. Winter, the less assured we became of the correctness of our first impressions. These visits cost Uncle Tom, who ought to have been at work checking the cotton bales, seventy shillings, which he could ill afford to lose. The pair at every occasion met us with exquisite politeness, and their cooing by-plays recurred regularly, he affectionate beyond words, she standing with drooping head, and meek sense of unworthiness, as he poured over her the oil of sweetness.

The visits had been gradually becoming more and more tedious to us, for what may have been gratification to them was nauseous to disappointed people, until at the end of the twenty-first visit Uncle Tom burst out uncontrollably with, ‘Now, d--n it all! Stop that, Winter. You are nothing but an artful humbug. In God’s name, man, what pleasure can you find in this eternal lying? Confound you, I say, for a d--d old rascal and hypocrite! I can’t stand any more of this devilish snivelling. I shall be smothered if I stay here longer. Come, boy, let’s get out of this, we will have no more of this canting fraud.’

Instinct had prepared me somewhat for this violent explosion, but I was shocked at its force when it occurred. It deepened my belief that my uncle was a downright, honest, and valiant man; and I respected the righteousness of his anger, but I was bound to be grieved by his profanity. He fumed all the way home at the _farceur_, and yet comforted himself and me, saying, ‘Never mind, laddie! We’ll get along somehow without the help of that sweep.’

Aunt Maria’s conduct when we reached home was the beginning of a new experience. She called me aside and borrowed my gold sovereign, for, as she put it, ‘Uncle Tom has now been out of work for over three weeks, because, you know, it was necessary to call every day on the false friend, who fed him with hopes. He is awfully distressed and put out, and I must get him a good meal or two to put spirit into him. In a day or two he will be all right.’

On Monday morning of the next week she borrowed my Eton suit, and took it to the place of the three gilt balls. The Monday after, she took my overcoat to the same place, and then I knew that the family was in great trouble. The knowledge of this was, I think, the first real sharpener of my faculties. Previously, I had a keen sight, and acute hearing, but that was all: there had been no effect on the reason. I have often wondered that I was so slow of understanding things which had been obvious to little Teddy from the first.

I now walked the streets with a different object than sight-seeing. Shop windows were scrutinised for the legend ‘Boy wanted.’ I offered my services scores of times, and received for answer that I was either too young, too little, not smart enough, or I was too late; but one day, after a score of refusals, I obtained my first employment at a haberdasher’s in London Road, at five shillings a week; and my duties were to last from seven in the morning until nine at night, and to consist of shop-sweeping, lamp-trimming, window-polishing, etc.

As London Road was some distance from Roscommon Street, I had to rise before six o’clock, by which I enjoyed the company of uncle, who at this hour prepared his own morning meal. At such times he was in the best of moods. He made the most savoury coffee, and was more generous than aunt with the bread and butter. He was unvaryingly sanguine of my ultimate success in life. He would say, ‘Aye, laddie, thou ‘ilt come out all right in the end. It’s a little hard at first, I know, but better times are coming, take my word for it’; and he would cite numerous instances of men in Liverpool, who, beginning at the lowest step, had risen by dint of perseverance and patience to fabulous wealth. Those early breakfasts, while Aunt Maria and the children were asleep, and uncle bustled cheerfully about with the confidence of a seer in the future, have been treasured in my memory.

At half-past six I would leave the house, with a tin bucket containing bread and butter and a little cold meat to support me until nine at night. Thousands in similar condition were then trudging through the streets to their various tasks, bright, happy, and regular as clock-work. To all appearance they took pride in their daily toils, and I felt something of it, too, though the heavy shutters, which I took down and put up, made me wince when I remembered them. I think most of us would have preferred the work with the wages to the wages without the work. The mornings were generally sunless, the buildings very grimy, the atmosphere was laden with soot, and everything was dingy; but few of us thought of them as we moved in long and lively procession of men and boys, women and girls, with complexions blooming like peaches, and lips and ears reddened with rich blood.

As it drew near half-past nine at night, I would return home with different views. My back ached, I was hungry and tired, and a supper of cockles and shrimps, or bloater, was not at all stimulating. At half-past ten I would be abed, weary with excessive weariness.

So long as my fresh country strength endured, my habits were regular, but after two months the weight of the shutters conquered me, and sent me to bed for a week to recuperate. Meantime, the haberdasher had engaged a strong boy of eighteen in my place. Then followed a month of tramping about the streets again, seeking fresh work, during which I passed through the usual vicissitudes of hope and disappointment. The finances of the family fell exceedingly low. Nearly all my clothes departed to the house of the gilt balls, and their loss entailed a corresponding loss of the smartness expected in office or shop-boys.

Necessity drove me further afield, even as far as the Docks. It was then, while in search of any honest work, that I came across the bold sailor-boys, young middies, gorgeous in brass buttons, whose jaunty air of hardihood took my admiration captive. In the windows of the marine slop-shops were exposed gaudy kerchiefs stamped with the figures of the Royal Princes in nautical costume, which ennobled the sailor’s profession, though, strange to say, I had deemed it ignoble, hitherto. This elevation of it seduced me to enter the Docks, and to inspect more closely the vessels. It was then that I marvelled at their lines and size, and read with feelings verging on awe the names ‘Red Jacket,’ ‘Blue Jacket, ‘Chimborazo,’ ‘Pocahontas,’ ‘Sovereign of the Seas,’ ‘William Tapscott,’ etc. There was romance in their very names. And what magnificent ships they were! Such broad and long-reaching extent of decks, such girth of hulk and dizzy height of masts! What an atmosphere of distant regions, suggestive of spicy Ind, and Orient isles! The perfume of strange products hung about them. Out of their vast holds came coloured grain, bales of silks hooped with iron, hogsheads, barrels, boxes, and sacks, continuously, until the piles of them rose up as high as the shed-roof.

I began to feel interested in the loud turmoil of commerce. The running of the patent tackles was like music to me. I enjoyed the clang and boom of metal and wood on the granite floors, and it was grand to see the gathered freight from all parts of the world under English roofs.

On boards slung to the rigging were notices of the sailing of the ships, and their destinations. Some were bound for New York, New Orleans, Demerara, and West Indies, others were for Bombay, Calcutta, Shanghai, the Cape, Melbourne, Sydney, etc. What kind of places were those cities? How did these monstrous vessels ever leave the still pools walled round with granite? I burned to ask these and similar questions.

There were real Liverpool boys about me, who were not unwilling to impart the desired information. They pointed out to me certain stern-faced men, with masterful eyes, as the captains, whose commands none could dispute at sea; men of unlimited energy and potent voices as the mates, or officers, who saw to the carrying out of their superior’s commands; and the jerseyed workmen in the rigging--some of whom sported gold earrings, and expectorated with superb indifference--as the sailors who worked the ships from port to port. Each of these seamen bore on his face an expression which I interpreted to mean strength, daring, and defiance.

Before I parted from these boys, who were prodigies of practical wisdom, and profound in all nautical matters, I had learned by comparing the ‘Red Jacket’ and ‘Dreadnought’ with the ‘American Congress’ and ‘Winfield Scott,’ the difference between a first-class clipper and an ordinary emigrant packet, and why some ships were ‘Black-Ballers’ and others ‘Red-Crossers,’ and how to distinguish between a vessel built in Boston and one of British build.

One day, in my wanderings in search of work, I rambled up a by-street close to the Brambley Moor Dock, and saw over a butcher’s stall a notice, ‘Boy wanted.’ I applied for the vacancy, and Mr. Goff, the proprietor, a pleasant-faced, prosperous-looking man, engaged me instantly and turned me over to his foreman. This man, a hard, sinister-faced Scotsman, for his fixed scowl, and implacable irascibility, was a twin brother of Spleen. There never was such a constant fault-finder, and, for general cantankerousness, I have never met his like. The necessity of finding some work to do, and of never leaving it, except for a change of work, called forth my utmost efforts to please; but the perpetual scolding and cross tantrums, in which he seemed to take delight, effectually baffled my simple arts. This man’s eyes peculiarly affected me. They were of the colour of mud, and their pin-point pupils sparkled with the cruel malignity of a snake’s. When, in after years, I first looked into the visual orbs of the African crocodile, my first thought was of the eyes of Goff’s foreman. Heaven forbid that after such a long period I should malign him, but I cannot resist the conviction that when he died, those who had known him must have breathed freer!

Wretched as was my fortnight’s stay at the butcher’s under the inhumanly-malicious foreman, it was the means of my becoming more intimately acquainted with the stern lords of the sea, and their stately ships; for my work consisted in carrying baskets of fresh provisions to the vessels in the docks; and Time and Fate had so ordered it that through this acquaintance I should be shunted into another line of life.

During the last few weeks domestic matters at Roscommon Street had not been at all pleasant. The finances of the family had fallen very low, and it had been evident that here, also, as at Ffynnon Beuno, there was a wide distinction between children who had parents and those who were orphaned. For if ever a discussion rose between my cousin and myself, my uncle and aunt were invariably partial to their own, when called to arbitrate between us. It was obvious that I was the least aggressive and troublesome, the most respectful and sympathetic, of the younger members of the family, but these merits were as naught when weighed in the scales of affection. Teddy’s temper, made arrogant by the conceit that he was his father’s son, required to be curbed sometimes; but if I asserted myself, and promised him a thrashing, the maternal bosom was a sure refuge; and, as each mother thinks her son more perfect than any other boy, a certain defeat awaited me. Just as I had submitted to the humours of David at Ffynnon Beuno, I was forced to submit to those of Teddy. If aunt’s censures of me were not sufficient to ensure immunity to the nagging boy, there was the old man’s rough tongue to encounter.

Slowly the thought was formed that if I were not to be permitted to resent Teddy’s infirmities of temper, nor to obtain the protection of his over-indulgent parents, my condition could not be worse if I exchanged the growing intolerance of the evil for some other, where, at least, I should enjoy the liberty of kicking occasionally. On striking a balance between the gains of living with Teddy’s family and the crosses received through Teddy’s insolence, it appeared to my imperfect mind that my humiliation was in excess. I had not obtained the clerkship for which I had left Wales, my gold sovereign was gone, all my clothes were in the pawnshop. I had fallen so low as to become a butcher’s errand boy, under a brute. At home, there was as little peace at night, as there was, during the day, with the foreman. Exposed to the unruly spitefulness of Teddy, the frowns of aunt, the hasty anger of uncle, and the unholy fury of the Scotsman, I was in a fair way of being ground very fine.

At this juncture, and while in an indifferent mood, Fate caused a little incident to occur which settled my course for me. I was sent to the packet-ship ‘Windermere’ with a basket of provisions, and a note to Captain David Hardinge. While the great man read his note, I gazed admiringly at the rich furniture of the cabin, the gilded mirrors, and glittering cornices, and speculated as to the intrinsic value of this gilding, but, suddenly, I became conscious that I was being scrutinised.

‘I see,’ said the captain, in a strong and rich voice, ‘that you admire my cabin. How would you like to live in it?’

‘Sir?’ I answered, astonished.

‘I say, how would you like to sail in this ship?’

‘But I know nothing of the sea, sir.’

‘Sho! You will soon learn all that you have to do; and, in time, you may become a captain of as fine a ship. We skippers have all been boys, you know. Come, what do you say to going with me as cabin-boy? I will give you five dollars a month, and an outfit. In three days we start for New Orleans, to the land of the free and the home of the brave.’

All my discontent gathered into a head in a moment, and inspired the answer: ‘I will go with you, sir, if you think I will suit.’

‘That’s all right. Steward!’ he cried; and, when the man came, the captain gave him his instructions about me. As he spoke, I realised somewhat more clearly what a great step I had taken, and that it was beyond my power to withdraw from it, even if I should wish to do so.

There was no difficulty in obtaining Goff’s consent to quit his service; and the fiendish foreman only gave a sardonic smile which might mean anything. As I strode towards home, my feelings varied from spasms of regret to gushes of joy, as I mentally analysed the coming change. Larded bread, and a sordid life with its pawnshops and family bickerings, were to be exchanged for full rations and independence. Constant suppression from those who usurped the right to control my actions, words, and thoughts, was to be exchanged for the liberty enjoyed by the rest of the world’s toilers. These were the thoughts which pleased me; but when I regarded the other side, a haunting sense of insecurity and foreboding sobered me, and made me unhappy. Then there was a certain feeling of affection for my native land and family. Oh! if my discontent had not been so great, if Uncle Tom had been only more just, I had clung to them like a limpet to a rock! It needed all the force of reason, and the memories of many unhappinesses and innumerable spites, to sever all connection with my humble love, and accept this offer of freedom and release from slavery. The magnitude of the change, and the inevitable sundering of all earthly ties at such short notice, troubled me greatly; but they had no effect in altering my decision.

When the old man reached home and heard the news, he appeared quite staggered. ‘What! Going to America!’ he exclaimed. ‘Shipped as a cabin-boy! Come now, tell me what put that idea into your head? Has anything happened here that I do not know? Eh, wife, how is this?’

His sincere regret made it harder than ever to part. It was in my nature to hate parting. Aunt joined her arguments to those of Uncle Tom to dissuade me. But there rose up before me a great bulk of wretchedness, my slavish dependence on relatives who could scarcely support themselves, my unfortunate employment, Teddy’s exasperating insolence, family recriminations, my beggar’s wardrobe, and daily diet of contumely; and I looked up from the introspection, and, with fixed resolve, said:--

‘It is no use, uncle. I must go. There is no chance of doing anything in Liverpool’; and, though he was not of a yielding disposition, uncle consented at last.

In strict justice, however, to his character, I must admit that, had circumstances been equal to his deserving, his nephew would never have been permitted to leave England with his consent; for, according to him, there was no place in all the world like England.

On the third day the ‘Windermere’ was warped out of dock, and then a steam-tug towed her out into mid-river. Shortly after, a tug brought the crew alongside. Sail was loosened, and our ship was drawn towards the ocean, and, as she headed for the sea, the sailors, with rousing choruses, hoisted topsails, and sheeted them home.