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THE ADVENTURES OF A 
 ■NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK DILNOT 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the OLD ORDER CHANGETH ' 
 
 LONDON 
 SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 All rights rtservtd 
 
PRINTED BY 
 
 WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED 
 
 LONDON AND BECCLES 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. The Modern Reporter 
 II. The Master of the Moat. 
 
 III. The Thrill of Evan Roberts 
 
 IV. The Ghosts of Wales 
 V. The Girls from Ohio 
 
 VI. Niagara and the Silver Mines 
 VII. A Scotland Yard Man 
 VIII. London Episodes . 
 IX. A Stranger in Russia 
 X. Russian Men and Methods 
 XI. Moscow Vignettes 
 XII. Psychology of the Journalist 
 
 XIII. The Story of Lord Northcliffe . 
 
 XIV. The Rough-and-Tumble of Reporting 
 XV. Some Stories of Distinguished Men 
 
 XVI. The Parliamentary Drama 
 XVII. An Irish Political Fight . 
 XVIII. The Battle of Sidney Street. 
 
 Index ....... 
 
 FAGE 
 I 
 
 22 
 
 39 
 
 50 
 
 68 
 
 89 
 
 104 
 
 117 
 
 134 
 156 
 
 182 
 197 
 215 
 228 
 244 
 256 
 277 
 295 
 
 313 
 
 427771 
 
> ' > » > > > 1 
 
 a e • « . > I I 
 
 • • 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MODERN REPORTER 
 
 The word ''reporter" means a good deal more 
 than it used to mean, for nowadays, on a popular 
 and successful paper, the reporter is not just a man 
 who takes down speeches in shorthand. He is a 
 diplomat, business organiser, detective, man of 
 affairs, politician, all rolled into one. Ready must 
 be his tongue ; quick his decision. He must be 
 prepared to take chances, and take them quickly. 
 He must know how not to be brow-beaten by 
 those in high places. The exchanges of the dog 
 fancier in the East End must find him with the 
 same acquainted mind as the conversation of the 
 peeress's guests assembled for a Tariff Reform 
 afternoon in a Belgrave Square drawing-room. 
 Like the soldier, he must be prepared for almost 
 
• • • • • • • 
 
 2 .A.IDVE*irrJORES:.DF.A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 every kind of emergency, some of them pleasant, 
 some of them unpleasant. He must never expect 
 regular hours; and night and day must be the 
 slave of his paper. There is the modern reporter. 
 It is easy to see, therefore, how very different a 
 man he is in essentials from the man, however 
 furnished with book knowledge, however well- 
 armed with the magic speed of shorthand, who 
 in the past has done so much for newspaper 
 work. 
 
 Some critics say that unscrupulousness goes 
 with the new methods. It all depends on what 
 one means by unscrupulousness. The modern 
 reporter has an almost religious devotion to the 
 cause of his paper. He may curse his proprietors 
 (he certainly does curse his editors) ; but ever 
 and always he puts his paper first at whatever 
 cost to himself of effort and ingenuity. He 
 realises, too, that he is out to do things and not 
 merely to turn out half a column of what other 
 people do. Fleet Street rings with unpublished 
 stories of reporters* efforts, humorous and serious, 
 successful and unsuccessful, during the past ten 
 years or so. 
 
 A few years ago a friend of mine was sent 
 from the reporting-room of a well-known London 
 paper to write up a short narrative of the facts 
 affecting the hungry unemployed in one of the 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER 3 
 
 London suburbs. It was winter. The Guardians 
 had refused to help. The hungry men were 
 grouped together, half-angry, half-desperate, in 
 so far as spirits broken by privation left them 
 any force or will for anger or desperation. I 
 dare say a good many of them were wasters, but 
 the majority of them, it is pretty certain, were 
 honest men who could not get work, who were 
 suffering from want of food and from cold, and 
 it is certain, too, that some of them had wives and 
 children who were suffering. These were the 
 men descended upon by the bright and capable 
 young reporter from Fleet Street. They were 
 goading themselves on to action when he 
 arrived. They told themselves that something 
 must be done, and they appointed a deputation 
 of about a dozen to go down to the Union 
 offices where the Guardians were sitting to 
 demand an audience. The deputation started 
 off. The reporter went with them — exhilarated 
 by the thought of a good stirring story for the 
 paper. He was a keen young man, and, like 
 most of his craft, a warm-hearted fellow, but 
 when there was work to be done questions 
 of humanity did not enter in; and thus it came 
 about that this young reporter, not very troubled 
 at the sight of these men, went with them quite 
 cheerfully to the office of the Guardians. Arrived 
 
4 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 at the imposing front gates, the courage of the 
 deputation sank a little, and even as they rang 
 the bell and waited a chilly silence crept over 
 them. They waited dully. Presently the gates 
 were opened by an official in uniform, who listened 
 austerely to the men's mild request for an inter- 
 view with the Guardians, and then refused them 
 with the announcement that the Guardians were 
 sitting in meeting and could not be intruded upon. 
 The air of officialdom and authority had its effect. 
 Weakly enough, one or two of the men asked 
 that their mission should be explained to the 
 representatives of the public within. Authority 
 swelled itself, and almost curtly the men were 
 rebuffed. Discouraged and demoralised, the depu- 
 tation had so far descended in spirit as to be 
 prepared to stomach the refusal. For a moment 
 or two they stood hesitating, half cowed. Aghast 
 at the anti-climax, the reporter made himself busy. 
 Quietly but decisively he urged the men to make 
 a stand. 
 
 ** Why are you here ? " he said vigorously. 
 " You must not allow yourselves to be brow- 
 beaten. Demand that you are attended to. Don't 
 give way." 
 
 The men were invigorated in spite of them- 
 selves. The door-keeper muttered a word of re- 
 proof at the reporter, whom he considered the 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER 5 
 
 ringleader. The group eddied. There were a 
 few seconds of parleying at the door. The official 
 tried to close it. 
 
 "Don't be pushed back," cried the reporter. 
 "This place is the property of the public. Go 
 right in. Push your way in. Demand atten- 
 tion." 
 
 Spirit began to awaken. Some of the deputa- 
 tion pressed forward. The alarmed door-keeper 
 tried vainly to push them out. 
 
 "In with you," cried the reporter. And then 
 with a rush the men went forward, sweeping the 
 attendant to one side. How, to the horror of the 
 officials, they progressed through the corridors to 
 the board-room ; how they secured an audience 
 and obtained promises of help from the Guardians ; 
 all these things are subsidiary to my tale. I am 
 only showing the kind of man who succeeds in 
 the new journalism. I would like to have 
 rounded off the narration by telling how the 
 capable young reporter had been moved to com- 
 passion by the men and had acted on their 
 behalf from the best of motives. But, alas! it 
 has to be recorded that he was only anxious 
 to secure an exclusive story ; only concerned 
 with the interests of his paper. But one may 
 be excused the pleasing reflection that his paper 
 was a Conservative journal, that strong opinions 
 
6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 about the iniquity of setting class against class 
 were among its cherished doctrines. 
 
 Enterprise is not always so successful, and 
 big efforts do not always meet with their reward. 
 Let me put in here the story of a failure. It is 
 worth telling for itself, and illustrates the ingenuity 
 exercised in connection with the simpler problems 
 of a newspaper. The incident is connected with 
 the return of troops from South Africa after the 
 Boer War. Part of a famous regiment which had 
 had remarkable successes and adventures was on 
 its way to Southampton in a liner. Stories from 
 men of the regiment were eagerly waited for, 
 and many newspapers sent down representatives 
 to Southampton to get aboard the vessel at the 
 earliest possible moment, so that after obtaining 
 interviews with the soldiers here and there they 
 might telegraph a narrative, perhaps running to 
 two columns, to headquarters in London. 
 
 One paper set forth to beat all its competitors. 
 This journal had a correspondent who was coming 
 home in the ship from South Africa, and who 
 was thus in a position to collect interesting matter 
 at his leisure and to formulate it into an article 
 ready for his journal immediately on arrival. The 
 newspaper desired to have this story, or at any 
 rate the first part of it, before the other news- 
 papers could interview the returning regiment. 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER 7 
 
 Arrangements were accordingly made for a tug 
 to go off and meet the liner. The dispatch was to 
 be secured in a well-corked bottle which was 
 to be tossed from the deck of the liner into the 
 water. All went well up to a certain point. The 
 liner with the returning soldiers was sighted ; 
 the boat with the representative from London 
 put off to meet her ; and it looked as though 
 there was to be a real scoop for the paper 
 which had organised the business. As the tug- 
 approached the liner it was cheered by hundreds 
 of men who were looking over the side. " I am 
 
 from the Daily /' shouted the man in the 
 
 tug, as he looked eagerly for the descent of 
 the fateful bottle. And then in response there 
 came from the crowded side of the liner not one 
 bottle, but hundreds of bottles, a straggling, 
 scattered volley. Never has there been such a 
 fusillade from a peaceful-minded ship. Amid those 
 innumerable and widely scattered bottles, bobbing 
 up and down in the waves, there was no chance 
 of alighting on the right one. Storms of laughter 
 swept the crowded sides of the liner. 
 
 The correspondent on the liner, with a rare 
 indiscretion, had talked about his mission and 
 boldly proclaimed the method. Secret prepara- 
 tions had been immediately made, and every kind 
 of bottle pressed into requisition for the fateful 
 
8 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 moment, and on the approach of the tug the men, 
 with the bottles in their hands or in their pockets, 
 had hurried to the side. That shower of bottles 
 will never be forgotten by those who were privi- 
 leged to enjoy it. 
 
 Neither of these two incidents came within 
 my personal knowledge, but they are just common 
 stories of the new Fleet Street, and worth record- 
 ing because they give an indication of life behind 
 the newspaper veil. We shall come to soberer 
 things presently. 
 
 When I came up to Fleet Street, after three 
 and a half years as a local reporter, I had to 
 make, within a week, a quick acquaintance w^ith 
 the sides of London not open to the outsider. I 
 was on the staff of the news agency known as 
 the Central News, and I had to dive at once into 
 the official reservoirs of information. I learned, 
 for instance, how between four and five o'clock 
 each afternoon representatives of the three news 
 agencies, including the Central News, were re- 
 ceived at the Foreign Office, at the Colonial Office, 
 and at the Prime Minister's house, lo. Downing 
 Street. Sometimes there would be no information 
 to impart; sometimes lengthy official statements; 
 again, at other times, statements which were not 
 to be stamped as official, but which were never- 
 theless as authoritative as could be imagined. 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER 9 
 
 Sometimes we had long waits in the ante-chambers 
 of the offices. Occasionally we suffered from superb 
 official scorn — though generally our relations with 
 official representatives were quite pleasant. I 
 remember very particularly one of Lord Salis- 
 bury's secretaries, a most charming man. We 
 had often to bother the great departments with 
 regard to news in the daytime, and as this secre- 
 tary hated to refuse a request he was among our 
 most frequent victims. Harass him on a particu- 
 larly busy day, and he came towards you carrying 
 in his eyes the warm light of the man who knows 
 no greater happiness than an unexpected meeting. 
 He was tall and debonair. His voice was soft. 
 His great gift was the making of a disappointing 
 answer extremely pleasant and he was really 
 pained when he was able to give no help. One 
 would say to him: "About that affair in Afghanis- 
 tan — is there really no news?" 
 
 "Ah, now," he would say with his finger on 
 his lip and a look of reflectiveness in his eyes, 
 "Afghanistan, let me see. About Afghanistan — 
 I don't think so. But if you wouldn't mind waiting 
 a minute I will go up myself right aw^ay now to 
 the department and find out." And then he would 
 hurry off along the great corridor in the Foreign 
 Office and stand behind a large pillar at the other 
 end for a minute or so, and come back and say, 
 
10 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 with an air of deep regret: "Very sorry. Not 
 one single word from Afghanistan for twenty-four 
 hours. Not a line of any kind." You would go 
 off feeling grateful for the courtesy and for the 
 kindly effort which the Prime Minister's secretary 
 had made on one's behalf. If, as might happen, 
 a few hours later the Foreign Office sent out for 
 publication a statement as to some striking occur- 
 rence in Afghanistan, one felt no touch of resent- 
 ment — ^just a gleam of admiration, that is all. 
 
 I remember an occasion at one of the three 
 offices I have mentioned when the principal secre- 
 tary of a Cabinet Minister, who has since pro- 
 gressed by birth and influence, and, perhaps, also 
 by ability, to a high position in the State, sent 
 out to us in the waiting-room to ask if we could 
 remain a little as he had something to communi- 
 cate to us. Such an intimation implied a pro- 
 nouncement of importance — possibly a Cabinet 
 decision ; and the three of us composed ourselves 
 in the knowledge that we should have a message 
 of national importance to give to the world within 
 a few hours. We were kept waiting longer than 
 we expected. We excused the highly-placed 
 secretary because we realised that a very big 
 announcement might have to be carefully worded, 
 might require consultation between Ministers, 
 might even have to be submitted to the Sovereign 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER ii 
 
 before it went out to the public. In spite of 
 saying these things to each other, however, we 
 were getting restive when an hour had passed 
 and the secretary had not come in to us. We 
 had not long to wait after this, however. He 
 walked in, a fine figure of a young man, glowing 
 with pride and eagerness. " I have asked you 
 gentlemen to wait," he said, "because I have 
 something I should like to get into the papers." 
 We took out a sheet of paper each. The secretary 
 hesitated. " My wife had a son this morning, and 
 we thought we would like it published." One of 
 my two colleagues, the senior of the three of us, 
 rose to the occasion nobly. He tore his piece 
 of paper into little fragments and said coldly : 
 " Yes. Interesting, I am sure, but not quite of 
 sufficient importance for the rnorning papers." 
 
 I came to know the meaning of the term 
 " semi-official " as applied to communications to 
 the papers. On the day before the opening of 
 Parliament Lord Salisbury's principal secretary 
 would come into the ante-room where my two 
 colleagues and myself were in waiting, and would 
 dictate to us the general trend of the Queen's 
 Speech to be read in Parliament on the following 
 day. We were not to state whence the informa- 
 tion was derived, nor were we to indicate that it 
 was official, but at the same time we were allowed 
 
12 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 to suggest that it was authoritative. And thus 
 the world was acquainted on the following morn- 
 ing with what was to be in the Queen's Speech 
 on the coming afternoon. When Queen Victoria 
 died and King Edward came to the Throne this 
 was brought to an end. We learned that King 
 Edward intended that there should be no forecast 
 of his Speech in the House of Lords, but that 
 it should come fresh and hot from his lips to the 
 public. Every one knew then, as before, that 
 the Speech from the Throne was the composition 
 of the Government of the day, and there was 
 thus a very human touch in the decision of the 
 King that, little as he had to do with the framing 
 of the Government programme, he intended to 
 preserve to himself the satisfaction of giving his 
 Ministers' programme personally to the country. 
 From the time of the accession of King Edward, 
 therefore, there were no more semi-official fore- 
 casts of the Speech. 
 
 The leading secretary of Lord Salisbury in 
 these days used to come down and tell us other 
 things on occasions. For instance, when the 
 birthday honours were issued he would inform 
 us, not officially, but conversationally, of the dis- 
 tinguishing features in the careers of the recipients. 
 In a roundabout way they were, of course, the 
 reasons why the honours were conferred. Perhaps 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER 13 
 
 one should say the ostensible reasons, for the 
 conferring of honours is to a large extent one of 
 those State processes which are veiled off from 
 the public gaze. 
 
 It was during this period that I became 
 acquainted with most of the principal Embassies 
 and Legations in London, for there were frequently 
 calls to be made at one or the other of them in 
 connection with international matters. You can- 
 not get much information from a first or second 
 secretary, to say nothing of a Minister or an 
 Ambassador, but all the same they are extremely 
 pleasant people to meet, and if they find it possible 
 to give assistance they have no hidebound opinions 
 about not assisting the Press. The most difficult 
 place was the Russian Embassy, access to which 
 was almost impossible by reason of the fact that 
 a huge Cossack person guarded the entrance to 
 the courtyard at Chesham Place, with a manner 
 towards Pressmen derived presumably from his 
 native land. The American Ambassador at the 
 time, Mr. Choate, was generally accessible, but 
 being a wit as well as a diplomat, he got over 
 many difficulties by talking on matters entirely 
 irrelevant to the subject of one's call. As was 
 only to be expected, courtesy at the French 
 Embassy was ever predominant ; and indeed there 
 was more than courtesy, because frequently a 
 
14 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 good deal of help was given in connection with 
 public matters. Baron Hayaishi, the Japanese 
 Minister, was one of the kindest and one of the 
 most unconventional of all the diplomatists, and 
 his readiness to receive journalists in Grosvenor 
 Gardens was only equalled by his willingness to 
 be interviewed on public matters — in which, it 
 should be added, he differed from almost every 
 other leading diplomatist I ever knew. I must 
 not forget to mention the Chinese Minister of the 
 time. Sir Chi Chen Lo Fen Gluh. He had a 
 difficult and delicate position at the time I write 
 of, for it was in those troublous and menacing 
 weeks when the Boxers were creating complica- 
 tions, and the fate of Europeans in China was 
 causing intense anxiety in London. The Chinese 
 legation in Portland Place was set upon from 
 hour to hour by journalists, who desired to know 
 anything as to the state of affairs which might have 
 reached the Minister by telegram. I went there 
 each morning. Sometimes I saw Sir Chi Chen 
 Lo Fen Gluh, more frequently I saw one of the 
 attaches. Unfailing urbanity, unfailing hopeful- 
 ness, were the externals which I encountered. 
 When I sought explanations not merely in respect 
 of current happenings but with regard to incidental 
 matters in connection with the uprising, those 
 explanations were always forthcoming in full. 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER 15 
 
 One may be forgiven, perhaps, for thinking that a 
 delicate and skilful evasion was sometimes brought 
 into play. It is certain that the officials had a 
 most trying time. More than once I suspected 
 that they brought a sense of humour to their aid. 
 Mr. Wu was among the secretaries, and I can see 
 him now as I write, with his smooth boyish face, 
 and his pig-tail, as he came in to see me on 
 one of my morning visits. Representing a news 
 agency, I was out for hot facts, and consequently 
 my first questions were directed towards acquiring 
 any information which had come to hand and 
 which had not yet been published. On securing 
 anything of the kind it was my part to hurry to 
 the nearest telephone and dictate it over the wire 
 to the office at Fleet Street. Perhaps on this 
 occasion Mr. Wu felt he had been a little 
 reticent for a few days and that he ought to help 
 me to something good, because directly I said to 
 him, '' Have you received any fresh news from 
 China?" he replied, "Yes, yes; certainly." A 
 pencil was in my hand immediately. 
 
 " Can I take it down ? " I asked. 
 
 "Of course. Very pleased," he replied, with 
 an eagerness which matched my own. Then, 
 speaking in slow and imperfect English, he went 
 on : " We — have received— a telegram — that the 
 Emperor — has issued edict — that all Europeans — 
 
i6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 / 
 in Pekin be supplied — with food and — be protetted 
 
 from injury." 
 
 I took down liis words diligently. He went 
 on to amplify the message. Half a dozen 
 sentences forward 1 experienced a sense of 
 familiarity with the phrases, and presently I 
 stopped and said : " But did this not all appear 
 in the daily papers three days ago?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," he said, with an expression of the 
 blandest surprise and a quaint look as to the 
 relevancy of my inquiry. 
 
 That is why I suspect the Chinese officials 
 of humour. 
 
 Sir Chi Chen Lo Fen Gluh, the Minister him- 
 self, was a man of ability, and also, it may 
 be added, of powerful suavity. One morning 
 Dr. Morrison, the celebrated correspondent, had 
 stated in the Times that a good deal of informa- 
 tion was in the possession of the Chinese Lega- 
 tion officials as to what was going on in China, 
 in spite of the fact that they maintained an attitude 
 of completest ignorance. It is possible that 
 Dr. Morrison was mistaken, but it was my duty, 
 on the part of the Central News, to go up to 
 the Chinese Minister and put it to him that he 
 was concealing facts from this country which 
 this country had a right to know. I was ushered 
 into the reception-room on the first floor of the 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER 17 
 
 Legation, and took the preliminary precaution of 
 seating myself with my back to the window, so 
 that I might have the advantage of seeing the 
 Minister's face in the light while mine was in the 
 shadow. A minute later the Minister himself was 
 ushered in. He greeted me with a gesture of 
 cordiality and dignity. An imposing figure he 
 was in his native robes. After shaking hands I 
 made to return to my seat. He was perfectly 
 ready for the occasion. With a grace of manner 
 which required to be seen to be appreciated he 
 laid a hand on the back of the chair which I 
 had mentally designated for himself, and extend- 
 ing his other hand practically waved me into it. 
 When I was safely seated there he then pro- 
 ceeded to take the chair which I had previously 
 occupied; thus securing for himself the advantage 
 which I, in my youthful arrogance, had thought 
 was mine for the choosing. Vanquished indeed 
 was the reporter. 
 
 I explained the situation to the Minister, and, 
 wrapping the meaning in polite phrases, I sug- 
 gested that he was face to face with the accusa- 
 tion of being a liar. Was he excited or angry? 
 Not he. Kindly complacency radiated from him. 
 " Dr. Morrison is making a mistake," he said, in 
 a mild, almost a casual, tone. That was his reply. 
 He had nothing more to express except courteous 
 
i8 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 commonplaces and regrets that I should have 
 been put to the trouble of calling upon him in 
 regard to a suggestion which had no foundation 
 in fact. 
 
 Encounters with famous men are part of the 
 routine of the modern reporter's life, and there 
 are so widely-differing men that no week's work 
 is without its special interest. I have chased 
 after many men and women in my time — some- 
 times with success, sometimes with failure. Occa- 
 sionally I have had to chase people who have 
 been intent on avoiding newspaper men, but rarely 
 have I been met with resentment even when 
 pertinacity and ingenuity were emplo3^ed to secure 
 a talk with an unwilling person. It was while I 
 was on the Central News that General Sir William 
 Gatacre, a gallant soldier, who met w^ith disaster 
 in the war, came home to this country in some- 
 thing like official disgrace. He had possessed a 
 great reputation : in the Soudan under Kitchener 
 his energy had secured for him the name of 
 '' Back-acher" among the soldiers, for he spared 
 no effort in his men, spared himself least of all, 
 and he was as brave a fighter as he was an inde- 
 fatigable worker. It is related of him how at the 
 great fight at Atbara he forgot his duties as com- 
 mander, leaped ahead of his men sword in hand, 
 and was the first over the trenches and among 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER* 19 
 
 the enemy. That was the man who by some 
 blunder suffered a reverse at Stormburg in South 
 Africa. He came back to England, and merciless 
 newspapers sought to interview him. Somehow 
 or other he avoided all journalists on arrival ; he 
 avoided them at Southampton, and he avoided them 
 at Waterloo station when he arrived in town. It 
 was known that he was to stay in London, but 
 the reference books gave no indication of his 
 whereabouts. Hotel after hotel, club after club, 
 was tried that night by reporters scouring the 
 West End of London. The search was in vain. 
 I, in common with others, was looking for the 
 trail again throughout the next day. I discovered 
 nothing. On the following morning, thinking over 
 the affair, I hit on a possible plan of ascertaining 
 his whereabouts, for by accident I had noticed 
 that he was married to the daughter of Lord 
 Davey, one of the Law Lords. 1 took a cab from 
 Charing Cross to Lord Davey's residence off Bond 
 Street. I rang the bell and was answered by a 
 footman, of whom I asked, "Is Sir William in?" 
 Taken off his guard, the man replied, " Oh no, 
 sir, he is staying at No. — , Upper Burlington 
 Gardens." So I went to Upper Burlington Gar- 
 dens and presently secured General Gatacre as 
 he came in to dinner. He was a straight-backed, 
 spare man, with serious, alert eyes. There was 
 
20 ADVENTlfRES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 something mild and reflective about him. A little 
 hesitatingly I explained my mission to him — which 
 was to get a statement with regard to his expe- 
 riences in South Africa and his subsequent return 
 to this country. He was not in the least offended. 
 On the contrary, he conquered me by his gentle- 
 ness. ^'Suppose/' he said, ''you had returned to 
 England from the war in similar circumstances to 
 myself. Would you have consented to be inter- 
 viewed about the matter?" I replied that I would 
 say no single word. And thus it was that the 
 Central News had nothing to send out in the 
 shape of an interview with General Gatacre. 
 
 It was during my two years on the Central 
 News (1900-2) that the Daily Mail was extending 
 and securing its hold on the popular favour and 
 proving that the new journalism had not only come 
 to stay, but was going to oust completely the 
 older methods and the older results. An enor- 
 mous circulation had already been obtained. Its 
 unconventional procedure in giving prominence to 
 what was of interest instead of merely to what was 
 considered of importance, its rigid rule that every 
 line in the paper should be justified by its interest 
 to a wide circle, its adoption of extremely short 
 articles, its idea of influencing people through its 
 news columns, as well as of recording facts in them 
 — all these things had not only made the Daily 
 
THE MODERN REPORTER 21 
 
 Mailj but had already brought about something 
 like a revolution in journalism generally. The 
 contempt of the older journals had long since given 
 way to anger at what they considered sensational- 
 ism, and by now was taking the form of an effort to 
 impart new life into their own columns. Another 
 daily paper, the Express^ had started somewhat on 
 the lines of the Daily Mail. All round there was 
 working a ferment. Journalism was acknowledg- 
 ing, too, that the policy of employing young men 
 who could do things as well as write about things 
 was having results hitherto unknown in British 
 newspaper life. Alfred Harmsworth was showing 
 every one that it paid not merely to have corre- 
 spondents in war time who could go out and meet 
 adventure, but that it paid extremely well to have 
 all the time young men who could go out at home, 
 as well as abroad, and get into what, in fact, were 
 adventures among the ordinary life of the people. 
 The Daily Mail had already become a catchword 
 when I was offered an appointment on its report- 
 ing staff. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE MASTER OF THE MOAT 
 
 In spite of the stories which find their way into 
 magazines, the modern criminal is not at all 
 romantic, being as a rule quite unoriginal, and 
 apart from the question of morals altogether, a 
 thoroughly depressing person. He reeks of sor- 
 didness, and there is no attraction in him. Once 
 in a way, however, a force breaks out amongst 
 middling criminality, and a desperate spirit, un- 
 restricted by the ties of ordinary feeling, enacts 
 dramas. But a giant temperament is needed. 
 When a man takes theft or forgery, and even 
 murder, as a step in self-advancement, then he is an 
 abnormality not to be comprehended by ordinary 
 standards. I have seen such a man. He was 
 hanged, and justly hanged, for murder ; and mur- 
 derer though he was, he was the bravest man I 
 have seen. 
 
 The story begins with an announcement in the 
 
THE MASTER OF THE MOAT 23 
 
 evening papers one afternoon in the early part of 
 1903 that a prisoner arrested in connection with a 
 supposed bank fraud in the City had, while being 
 conveyed to the police station, made a sudden 
 attempt to wrestle free from the detective and get 
 away from custody by a sudden dash. It was what 
 we call a good evening-paper story. Little did any 
 one of us think that it was the beginning of a very 
 far-reaching narrative. The prisoner, who was 
 recaptured, was by name Samuel Herbert Dougal, 
 and was accused of attempting to pass a forged 
 cheque at the Bank of England. Previous visits to 
 the Bank for money had aroused suspicion. Evi- 
 dence had been collected, and a detective was in 
 waiting and had arrested Dougal at the Bank. On 
 their way from the Bank to Old Jewry, a couple of 
 hundred yards or so away, Dougal had made his 
 dash for liberty — an unsuccessful dash. He was 
 taken to the station and locked up pending a hear- 
 ing before the magistrates. That was all the world 
 was to know for the present. And it was days and 
 weeks before the public began to take a vivid 
 interest in this middle-aged man charged with 
 forgery. 
 
 Samuel Herbert Dougal was not, in the common 
 acceptance of the term, an educated man, for he 
 came of working-class stock, and had served as a 
 soldier in the Army. For all this, he was no 
 
24 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 common man. Pleasant and calm in manner, with 
 confident voice and warm eyes, he was always, by 
 his nature, certain to attract attention, certain 
 of a kind of popularity, certain of a measure of 
 affection from any group or any community with 
 which he came in contact. There are many things 
 in the life of this extraordinary man which are 
 not known and never will be known. It is suffi- 
 cient to say that he found himself back in England 
 trying various means of livelihood when he was 
 approaching forty years of age. Some five years 
 or so before that sensational evening in the City, 
 when he struggled with the detective, he had 
 met a maiden lady, considerably older than him- 
 self, named Miss Holland, a lady who possessed 
 means and who had few relatives in the world. 
 She was delicate and cultured, of different up- 
 bringing, of different ideas, and of a different 
 world altogether, physically, mentally, and spirit- 
 ually, from Dougal. Some chance threw the 
 two together in an accidental meeting ; at least, 
 at this distance, one supposes it was accidental. 
 The rough man, who had worked with his 
 hands, was no clod to Miss Holland, and from 
 the first he had a mysterious power over her, 
 as he had over many others. It was not long 
 before she capitulated. She did so unknown to 
 her friends and acquaintances. He went down 
 
THE MASTER OF THE MOAT 25 
 
 with her to a remote farm in Essex, miles away 
 from a railway station, and with no house within 
 call of the residence, and appropriately enough for 
 a secret drama, the place was called the Moat Farm, 
 because some of the farm-buildings were partly 
 encircled by a winding lake. Groves of trees were 
 here, an orchard, farmyards, various erections, 
 spreading meadows, and arable fields. So remote 
 was the place that a horse and trap was regarded 
 as a necessity for any visitor who wished to go 
 to it, and of course a vehicle was required by the 
 residents. For a time Dougal and Miss Holland 
 lived at this place in peace and, perhaps, in 
 amity. 
 
 Dougal, a man of strong presence, began to 
 be known by the scattered rustics as *'The Master 
 of the Moat." The nearest town of any size or 
 importance was Saffron Walden, several miles 
 away, and it was to this place Dougal used to 
 drive from time to time for the purpose of busi- 
 ness or to establish communication with the outer 
 world. Miss Holland's nearest relative was a 
 nephew, who lived in the south of London, but 
 he was unaware of his aunt's act or anything of 
 her life. She had been in the habit of travelling 
 a good deal and of spending months at a time on 
 the Continent, and it was at irregular intervals 
 that he had news of her or saw her. When, 
 
26 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 however, between two and three years had 
 passed without any direct communication, he 
 became anxious, and proceeded to make inquiries, 
 and eventually sought the aid of the police. It 
 was found that Miss Holland had gone to the 
 Moat Farm with Dougal. Then came the surprise. 
 She had since disappeared from the Moat Farm, 
 Dougal remaining on alone. Where had she 
 gone? What had happened to her? Was she 
 away temporarily only ? Was she travelling again, 
 intending to return to Essex ? It looked like it, 
 because cheques signed by her v/ere being pre- 
 sented at the Bank, as of old. 
 
 Facts were such as to generate suspicion, and 
 very quickly suspicion arose. Vague and un- 
 defined doubts sprang to the minds of relatives 
 and detectives. Inquiries were pushed afield. 
 Dougal was watched. Was he responsible for 
 her absence? Had he driven her away by cruelty, 
 abuse, or persecution, and taken means to secure 
 her money? Suspicions of something even worse 
 began to shape themselves. Doubt lay over the 
 whole matter, because it could not be ascertained 
 with certainty when Miss Holland had disappeared 
 from the Moat Farm. Meanwhile Dougal, a highly- 
 respected resident, had become a fairly well-known 
 figure in the locality. He was the popular kind 
 of man to whom the country people touched their 
 
THE MASTER OF THE MOAT 27 
 
 hats, and in his way "the Master of the Moat" 
 was a village celebrity. 
 
 What was found out by the relatives and the 
 detectives seemed to show that Dougal was using, 
 either with or without authority, the money of 
 Miss Holland. At any rate, there seemed evidence 
 that he was signing her cheques. And thus it 
 came about that he was arrested in the City. 
 
 He was charged with forgery and remanded 
 by the magistrates. The preliminary story quickly 
 got hold of the public imagination. The authori- 
 ties began to arouse themselves, and within a 
 day or two the whole business of Dougal's life 
 was being probed. Where was Miss Holland ? 
 asked the newspapers. They asked in vain. Wide- 
 flung was the net of inquiry. Nothing, or practi- 
 cally nothing, was obtainable. If Miss Holland 
 were alive she had completely disappeared from 
 human ken. Earlier and grimmer suspicions began 
 to re-assert themselves. The house at the Moat 
 Farm was carefully watched. Nothing came of 
 it. No thread of evidence could be obtained to 
 support the terrible suspicion. 
 
 The newspapers took the matter up with 
 vigour, and Pressmen flung themselves into the 
 inquiry with an intensity which would have 
 aroused the contemptuous admiration of Sherlock 
 Holmes himself It became the conviction of all 
 
28 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 that Miss Holland had been done away with. All 
 the while Dougal lay in prison awaiting the re- 
 hearing of the charge of forgery. Within him 
 was caged the secret. He alone knew the where- 
 abouts of Miss Holland, and knew whether she 
 was alive or dead. 
 
 What were his thoughts during that time? He 
 was a brave man, as I have said, but he must 
 have had some terrible moments. Meanwhile the 
 public was becoming excited about the affair. The 
 detectives in possession of the farm had already 
 begun to dig at random in the garden, in the out- 
 lying fields, and had dragged the moat. They 
 found nothing. It was like searching for a needle 
 in a haystack. If the body of Miss Holland 
 had been buried it might have been buried in 
 the middle of a field, it might have been buried 
 within a quarter of a mile of the house, and yet 
 not be found in a year of searching. There 
 might be ploughed ground now over the body; 
 well-established turf might be carpeting the sur- 
 face of the grave. If body there were, what but 
 a very unlikely chance could help the searchers 
 to find it? 
 
 Every day the public read eagerly the news- 
 papers to ascertain if the tragic discovery had 
 been made. Down at the Moat Farm the detec- 
 tives cut trenches in various directions, dug pits 
 
THE MASTER OF THE MOAT 29 
 
 at likely spots within a reasonable circumference 
 of the house, and made excursions over the fields 
 to find any suggestion of a disturbed surface. 
 Nothing was discovered, and presently there was 
 a dull expectancy and a feeling that if Miss 
 Holland were dead her body was not to be found 
 in the vicinity of the Moat Farm. 
 
 And Dougal — what of him ? Charged with 
 forgery only, a light enough offence in com- 
 parison with murder, he awaited within his cell 
 the result of the strenuous search at the Moat 
 Farm. Let it be said at once that there was a 
 body ; that he was a murderer. Subsequently 
 this was known. But now, while he was in 
 prison he was, for the time being, a safe man — 
 safe, that is to say, against the last terrible 
 charge to which an individual can be subjected. 
 He alone knew where the body was concealed. 
 He alone knew that through the back of the 
 skull was a bullet hole caused by himself. And 
 while the detectives went on strenuously with 
 their seeking, while the world waited from day to 
 day to learn what was eventually a horrible tale, 
 Dougal was sitting in his cell, ignorant of what 
 had been discovered or what was still unknown, 
 expecting perhaps from hour to hour the tidings 
 which should eventually lead him to the gallows, 
 pursued meanwhile by the feverish hope that the 
 
30 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 murder was too well hidden. Some years of 
 prison life was the worst he had to look forward 
 to on the forgery charge. That might be the 
 most of his punishment. And how precious that 
 punishment would be as a respite any one with 
 a little imagination can realise. He waited with 
 a tortured soul, and meanwhile he gave no 
 sign. 
 
 I was down at the Moat Farm on the morning 
 when the detectives found the body of Miss 
 Holland. They had dug hither and thither, had 
 tried various likely places, had probed the garden, 
 and uncovered portions of the farmyard. From 
 time to time they made a fresh survey of the 
 area all round in an effort to discover the hidden 
 place. And it was in one of these surveys that 
 a line of young fruit-trees some sixty yards or 
 so from the house, running out from a corner of 
 the farmyard, caught the eyes of some of the 
 police chiefs. Was it not possible that one of 
 these trees, apparently planted a few years 
 before, might have been put in as a blind over 
 the grave of the dead woman ? Quickly some of 
 the trees were uprooted and a trench commenced. 
 It was soon evident that the earth had been 
 moved and was not virgin soil. Some hours of 
 work took the detectives lower and lower in the 
 trench, and presently a fragment of cloth was 
 
THE MASTER OF THE MOAT 31 
 
 drawn up by a shovel. Then all knew that the 
 discovery was at hand. 
 
 1 had gone back to London on the previous 
 day for some purpose or other, and I was in the 
 reporters' room in the morning when there was 
 flashed over from Saffron Walden the bare state- 
 ment that a trace of cloth had been found in the 
 progress of the excavation that morning. There 
 was a train down to Essex within twenty minutes, 
 and Mr. Charles Hands and myself, in a cab, 
 hurried to Liverpool Street Station to catch it. 
 At Liverpool Street Station I had just time to 
 wire to Audley End, the station at which we 
 were to alight for the Moat Farm, to have a fast 
 trap awaiting us. We spun along the miles between 
 Audley End Station and the Moat Farm as hard 
 as we could go. At the farm we found a group 
 of detectives and police officials standing around 
 a gaping hole. " She's found," said one of them 
 quietly as we walked forward. 
 
 We went to the edge of the excavation and 
 looked down. There was a human form beneath, 
 still half embedded, and around it detectives were 
 carefully digging away and trying to clear it from 
 the encumbering clay. I remember the detail that 
 struck me w^as the way the dark skirt w^as twisted. 
 It looked as if some one had hastily pulled it 
 round the woman's legs when the body was thrust 
 
32 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 into the ground. In silence we watched the slow 
 and careful exhumation. It was three or four 
 years since the woman had been flung into this 
 extemporised grave. Slowly an extemporised 
 board was placed beneath the body. It was 
 covered and raised to the surface, and then taken 
 off to the little conservatory adjoining the farm- 
 house, seventy or eighty yards away. There it 
 was to rest until the clothing of the dead 
 woman had been identified, for, of course, after 
 a period of years it was impossible to recognise 
 the features. 
 
 I think we were all impressed not so much 
 by the sordid horror of the actual discovery as 
 with the thought of the man in the cell to whom 
 the announcement must come as a death warrant. 
 Out of all that expanse of fields, orchard, farm- 
 yard, lake, there was one fatal spot on which his 
 thoughts and fears must have been centred. If 
 the detectives should pass over that one spot, 
 if they should fail in their wide expanse of search 
 to let their eyes rest upon that one little place, 
 he was a saved man. Surely he might hope for 
 that? Without the discovery of the body it could 
 not be said that Miss Holland was dead. She 
 might be travelling abroad, she might be living 
 quietly in some English country town, she might 
 be concealing herself in some London suburb, 
 
THE MASTER OF THE MOAT 33 
 
 anxious to escape the unpleasant notoriety which 
 would be hers if now she was found. Dougal 
 must have yielded to all these thoughts and sup- 
 positions. He must have built for himself a 
 foundation of probabilities. He must have told 
 himself that fate would, indeed, be against him 
 if the detectives should alight on that one fatal 
 place beneath the fruit-trees. 
 
 It has to be remembered that Dougal was under 
 remand, not for murder, but for forgery. Now 
 he was to be brought face to face with the more 
 terrible accusation. And it was in his reception 
 of what was to all intents and purposes his death- 
 blow that he showed his fibre. Murderer though 
 he was, Dougal was an intensely brave man. 
 Let me try to give an impression of him as I 
 saw him. At the first glance he gave the idea 
 of manliness, spoilt a second later by an in- 
 definable suspicion of subtlety. And then, before 
 a minute had elapsed, one would be puzzled by 
 the recognition of power and influence. He 
 looked what he was— a strongly-built man of 
 the age he professed (fifty-five years), with broad 
 sh'^ulders, well-balanced head, regular, handsome 
 features, and a little beard trimmed Vandyke 
 fashion. Broad, shapely forehead, a striking, 
 clear-cut Roman nose, a firm, full mouth, and 
 remarkably clear and shining blue eyes told of 
 
 D 
 
34 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 decision and resource. There was more than 
 these. At times his face could be eloquent with 
 a kind of womanly eloquence, and those clear 
 blue eyes, so keen at one moment, could soften 
 to a real, tender persuasion. In spite of these 
 touches of softness there was something of bigness 
 and strength about the man. He was quiet in 
 manner, pleasant in speech, unobtrusive. Educated 
 people, as well as ignorant people, felt his natural 
 charm. I think it very likely that Dougal would 
 have made a marvellous hypnotist. But under 
 all this there was another expression not so 
 pleasant. It was an expression for which it was 
 hard to find a name — scarcely more than a shade 
 in the eyes, a pucker in the forehead, and yet 
 it gave a feeling that the man's thoughts were 
 not in his face. Somehow that feeling, when one 
 looked at Dougal, was objectionable. 
 
 This, then, was the man who, a few days after 
 the discovery of the body of Miss Holland, was 
 conveyed from Cambridge Gaol to his old home 
 at the Moat Farm and in his own drawing-room 
 charged with murdering her. In the room in 
 which he had so often sat with her and conversed 
 with her he received the news that his crime 
 was known, and must from that instant have 
 realised that he was a doomed man. Three 
 minutes after that formal charge was made in 
 
THE MASTER OF THE MOAT 35 
 
 his drawing-room he was taken from the house 
 across the farmyard to the barn opposite to attend 
 the inquest. On his way he had to pass through 
 a little group of hostile villagers, who at one 
 time had touched their hats respectfully to "the 
 Master of the Moat," but who were ready now 
 to scream disgust and hate. With that new 
 charge of murder ringing in his ears Dougal, 
 guarded by warders, went by those people with 
 swinging strides, with head erect. And I remember 
 the cold penetrating eye with which he regarded 
 those who watched his degradation. He was no 
 mean prisoner. Handcuffed as he was, he looked 
 still the strong, resourceful, confident man. He 
 walked into the barn where the inquest was to 
 be held, returning calmly and critically the gaze 
 of the hundred curious eyes that were turned 
 upon him. A little thing showed his personal 
 self-possession. As he passed over the threshold, 
 with his wrists still bound by the handcuffs, he 
 turned and motioned to the warder that his hat 
 must be removed as a sign of respect to the 
 coroner. The warder hastily obeyed, and Dougal 
 walked forward and took his seat at the coroner's 
 table by the side of his solicitor. 
 
 Throughout the long sitting the court saw 
 little of what was in the murderer's soul. There 
 were some faint signs. Even a strong man like 
 

 
 6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Dougal could not but be affected by the awful 
 position. When the handcuffs had been tem- 
 porarily removed he drew his long white hand 
 carefully over his face. The face was unmoved, 
 but the delicate fingers were trembling. As the 
 proceedings went on, the light seemed to die 
 out of his eyes, and as he faced the witnesses 
 his lids contracted, and at times one could see 
 but little more than a slit between them, a slit 
 of glittering brightness. Between these contracted 
 lids one had glimpses of torture. Stung by pain 
 into lightning-like brightness, sinking for an 
 instant to dulness, and then flashing forth again, 
 the eyes of the man told much. But these were 
 but occasional revelations. For the most part he 
 was dignified and composed, and when he left 
 to go, and walked to the carriage provided by 
 the police, his step was as brisk, his head as 
 erect, and his face as unmoved, as when in the 
 months before he had walked about the farm as 
 owner. 
 
 The upshot of it all was that Dougal was 
 condemned to death. Under sentence in prison 
 he sunk to silence, but carried himself as a man 
 without nerves, going through the ordinary 
 exercises of eating and drinking and smoking, 
 with the steady demeanour of a man who cannot 
 be frightened. On the morning of July 14, when 
 
THE MASTER OF THE MOAT ^^7 
 
 he was to go to his death, he was awakened 
 at six o'elock. He chose for breakfast an egg 
 and bread and butter and tea, and he ate fairly 
 well. 
 
 The story of the last hour is painful even 
 for those who realise that Dougal was a cold- 
 blooded murderer. Just before eight o'clock the 
 High Sheriff led a little procession through two 
 lines of saluting warders in Chelmsford prison 
 to the condemned cell, a roomy apartment near 
 the middle of the prison. The door was flung 
 open, and Dougal was revealed to the little 
 procession standing between warders, with a 
 shaft of sunshine from the window of the cell 
 falling upon him. The supreme moment was 
 near at hand. One of the warders handed Dougal 
 a tin pannikin of brandy, from which he drank 
 deeply. He stood erect, and threw out his chest, 
 so as to face the end without flinching. Only 
 the nervous movement of his full lips and the 
 working'of his eyes told of his thoughts. He was 
 pinioned by the hangman. It was but sixty 
 feet to the place of execution. Dougal stepped 
 out firmly with head erect and chest well out. 
 The chaplain in his surplice walked ahead of 
 him reciting the burial service. This is how a 
 witness of the scene described the last two or 
 three seconds— 
 
3S ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 "At this tense moment, with Billington's 
 hand on the lever, and his assistant holding 
 the loop of the rope, the chaplain leant forward 
 to Dougal, a terrible, earnest figure, one hand 
 holding the Prayer Book, the other nervously 
 stretched forward to the sightless man. * Dougal,* 
 he said, in a thrilling voice, ^are you guilty or 
 not guilty?' Dougal half turned his head in 
 the direction of the voice, and said, in a clear 
 and firm tone, ^Guilty.* At this second the 
 lever was moved, the trap-doors flew under him 
 with a noise which to the hearers seemed 
 like a thunder-clap, and Dougal disappeared 
 below." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE THRILL OF EVAN ROBERTS 
 
 That strange, attractive country, Wales, always 
 seems to me more foreign to an Englishman 
 than some of the countries across the sea. It is 
 a land of mountains, of legends, of song, and its 
 people speak a weird, euphonious language, and 
 are moved by emotions which we know not. 
 Go down into the heart of Cardiganshire or 
 Merionethshire, and you will find a happy, 
 pastoral atmosphere, in which soft-tongued people 
 carr}^ on their daily intercourse in their native 
 Welsh, learn English as a task, and refer to a 
 visiting Englishman as a " Saznak " (Sassenach). 
 The rushing rivers, the snow-capped mountains, 
 the idyllic valleys have in the passage of centuries 
 evolved a race which is as distinctive from the 
 stolid Hampshire man or the keen, determined 
 Northumbrian, as it is from peoples east of the 
 North Sea. Nationality is a vivid, panting thing 
 
40 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 in Wales. It is no mere cult, no affectation, 
 no mere ambition. It lives. The people 
 generally do not know why they are different 
 from the English. They only know they are 
 different. 
 
 The wave of religious enthusiasm which 
 passed over Wales some nine years ago could 
 not have arisen in England. The excitation was 
 a racial symptom. There is no such fund of 
 emotion in the neighbouring country over here, 
 and that is why any attempted imitation of the 
 revival in England would have seemed artificial 
 and farcical. 
 
 It was during 1904 that England began to 
 talk of a young Welshman named Evan Roberts, 
 who was carrying the fiery cross of religion 
 to mountain villages, and who was bringing 
 practically the whole Welsh people to ecstasy. 
 Englishmen laughed about the prominence given 
 to the matter in the newspapers, declared that 
 the preaching, and praying, and singing were 
 but a temporary outburst which would pass in 
 a week or two. As a matter of fact, six months 
 later, the mountain villages of Wales were still 
 white hot, and whole counties remained fire- 
 swept. 
 
 It must not be thought that the influence of 
 the revival was confined to the inside of the 
 
THE THRILL OF EVAN ROBERTS 41 
 
 cliapels where nightly meetings took place. The 
 chapel in the valley had worshippers from 
 scattered cottages for miles along the mountain 
 side, and all day they talked of the great topic, 
 and at night you would have met them along 
 the lonely roads, tramping through the darkness, 
 the men together, the women together, the 
 children together, as a rule in little bunches. 
 They talked as they went along, for they 
 were not ashamed of their new enjoyment 
 in life. 
 
 What of this young man who had suddenly 
 set a country in flames? I went down to Wales 
 to do some sketches of him, and I had full 
 opportunity to describe him as he actually 
 appeared to me, either as a swindler, charlatan, 
 or simple-minded street-corner sermon-shouter. 
 1 found Evan Roberts none of the things I have 
 mentioned. I found him a stalwart, abstracted 
 3'outh, crude, earnest, magnetic ; and 1 discovered, 
 moreover, that he had very wonderful powers 
 of influencing gatherings of worshippers. He 
 worked in their own medium, of course, and 
 had the gift of rousing emotion in others. He 
 was preaching in the Pontypridd district when 
 I set out to see him first, and it was on a Sunday 
 morning that I went up the valley some miles 
 from Pontypridd, to a little village called 
 
42 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Abercynon, where he was to be on the platform 
 of the local Calvinistic Methodist chapel. 
 
 About nine o'clock I reached Abercynon, and 
 people were praying and singing in the chapel, 
 not as the commencement of a day's service, but 
 as a continuation of an all-night service— for at 
 this time praying and singing went on in the 
 chapels almost throughout the twenty-four hours. 
 Evan Roberts was staying at the house of one of 
 the elders of the church, and I went alone to call 
 on him and see what he was like before the 
 service began. I was taken into the little room 
 where he was about to begin breakfast with two 
 or three friends. Erect, clean-shaven, youthful- 
 looking, with introspection in his eye, he threw 
 one or two abrupt words at me by way of greet- 
 ing. It was true he spoke English with difficulty, 
 but I think his manner was also due to the fact 
 that he was so absorbed in soul-saving thoughts, 
 that newspaper correspondents and external 
 matters generally were of not the slightest im- 
 port to him. I was present during breakfast, in 
 the course of which there was a broken conversa- 
 tion in Welsh which I did not understand. Evan 
 Roberts said little. Once he paused, with knife 
 and fork in his hand, his eyes bent vacantly on 
 the wall opposite. ''Seven yesterday," he said, 
 ''five the day before," and at each number he 
 
THE THRILL OF EVAN ROBERTS 43 
 
 knocked on the table with the handle of his knife. 
 I learnt afterwards that he was citing the number 
 of the converts he had made. 
 
 I left the party to go on ahead of them to 
 the little chapel. The doors were open, and the 
 building was crammed with men and women, 
 mostly men. No one was on the platform, no 
 one conducting the service, and the gathering 
 was praying and singing spontaneously without 
 leaders. I passed inside the chapel — a four-square 
 whitewashed place, with a plain gallery ; and it 
 was to the gallery I mounted, and there squeezed 
 myself in by the side of a local shopkeeper in 
 order to witness the simple service. A sweet- 
 voiced girl started a hymn in Welsh ; and the 
 people joined in and sang it with heartiness. As 
 the last note dropped away, a middle-aged woman 
 in mourning black, seated at the rear of the meet- 
 ing, began to pray. She prayed, as did most of 
 those at revival meetings, in a low voice. She 
 prayed to herself, forgetful of the people around 
 her, forgetful of everything save some great 
 recent trouble in her life. All the other people 
 were on their knees, with their faces buried in 
 their hands. I think they were praying with her, 
 and for her. 
 
 It was during the singing of the hymn, 
 nearly an hour later, that two or three people 
 
44 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 unostentatiously edged themselves into the chapel 
 from the doorway, among them being Evan Roberts. 
 He had his overcoat collar turned up to his ears, 
 and his hands thrust into his pockets ; and he 
 walked sideways through the people in the middle 
 of the chapel, shuffling along like a boy who has 
 arrived late at school and is anxious to take his 
 place without being noticed. He mounted the plat- 
 form and soon began talking to the people in a 
 curious, unoratorical way. He was like an argu- 
 mentative child talking to other children, though 
 his voice was low and pleasant all the time. 
 Sometimes, he gave a pitiful, despairing little 
 wail of appeal ; but, otherwise, his tone did not 
 rise. 
 
 A soft animation grew on him. I began to 
 have a better picture. His age was twenty-six, but 
 he looked like a boy of nineteen, with his pale, 
 clear-cut face and dreamy blue eyes. Sometimes 
 there was the trace of an appealing smile on his 
 face, but it flitted as soon as it appeared — and he 
 began again with that serious, musical, conversa- 
 tional appeal. Quietly, as he talked, I could see 
 he was rousing excitement all over the gather- 
 ing. Presently, one could hear a stifled sob from 
 one knew not where ; a pitying note of exclama- 
 tion 'from a woman, and once in a way a deep 
 Welsh word from some man. A tiny, faint 
 
THE THRILL OF EVAN ROBERTS 45 
 
 murmur began to make itself heard in the chapel 
 — just an indication of suppressed feeling. All the 
 while Evan Roberts paced up and down the plat- 
 form, talking to the people like children. Of 
 course, he spoke in Welsh, but even I, an English- 
 man, with no knowledge of the language, could 
 feel the influence from him and the reactive 
 influence of the emotion in the chapel. Those 
 low, disjointed words, the sudden prayer of an 
 old man, the line of a hymn bursting out inter- 
 ruptingly from two or three girls, all had an effect 
 on one. 
 
 The murmuring excitement through the build- 
 ing increased. A good many faces were white. 
 The shopkeeper who had been interpreting for 
 me was unable to speak. Three seats along I 
 saw a woman trembling. More than once Evan 
 Roberts* discourse was broken by the interrup- 
 tion of hymn-singing, and he joined in, as though 
 it were all part of the regular proceedings. He 
 began his talk again afterwards. 
 
 Suddenly, he raised his hand above his head, 
 and shouted something in a ringing voice. 
 
 "What is he saying?" I asked. 
 
 *' He is telling all those who are saved to stand 
 up," replied the man near me. A great portion 
 of the audience were rising as the words were 
 spoken, and Roberts sprang on to the seat in 
 
46 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 front of the platform in order the better to see 
 the people. Prayerful ejaculations, snatches of 
 hymns, and incoherent, strained sounds came from 
 all parts of the gathering. A hundred, I should 
 think, remained in their places. Girls, who 
 formed the choir just in front of the platform, 
 made their way hurriedly among the seated 
 people, and here and there I could see them 
 bending over and apparently pleading with those 
 who were not afraid to show their unconverted 
 state. 
 
 Roberts had his head and shoulders thrust 
 forward ; his eyes were sunken. He began to 
 speak to the people in an intense whisper. The 
 sudden, tense emotion of the man was like a 
 beacon. In a feverish whisper he implored his 
 hearers to listen while there was time. He 
 pleaded with them as he would have pleaded with 
 infants. "Do not scoff at God," he said. One 
 or two people rose to their feet. 
 
 ''Diolch Iddo" ("God be praised") came in a 
 tremendous chorus directly. Still there were a 
 good many in the seats, and as Roberts' eyes fell 
 upon them he wrung his hands in agony. 
 
 " Dewch Ato ! " (" Come to Him ! ") he wailed. 
 " Dewch Ato ! " " Dewch Ato ! " Great tears were 
 running down his cheeks, and the intensity of 
 the man was painful to see. All over the chapel 
 
THE THRILL OF EVAN ROBERTS 47 
 
 now women were crying, and in the gallery 
 opposite to me a burly man of forty had his head 
 buried in his hands on the rail in front of him, 
 and was shaking with sobs. Roberts loudly 
 asked for the names of converts. A man sprang 
 up from his seat in the gallery and announced 
 his name. Then from various parts of the hall 
 arose the singing and the prayers. Names were 
 thrown at Roberts. A red-haired man with a big 
 book had mounted the platform and was taking 
 down the names as fast as he could. Roberts' 
 eyes were gleaming. 
 
 '' Evan Edwards," he cried to the red-haired 
 man with the book. ''John Jones. John Jones 
 with his two boys." 
 
 "Diolch Iddo!" " Diolch Iddo ! " cried the 
 gathering in ecstasy. 
 
 The four or five singing girls were here and 
 there all over the hall, remaining by the side of 
 men and women who were still in their seats, 
 and, with faces thrust quite close, were appealing 
 to them, and then praying for them. Sometimes 
 they were successful and sometimes not. Sud- 
 denly Evan Roberts jumped from the platform 
 on to the floor and made a 4ash to the middle 
 of the congregation, and tried persuasion on a 
 man who had not risen. He soon had him on 
 his feet. There was a dominating, overpowering 
 
48 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 influence in that slim figure in the black overcoat. 
 Nothing could withstand him. He seized an 
 obstinate greybeard by the hand, talked to him 
 rapidly, gave a little smile, and the victory was 
 won. He dashed upstairs to the gallery to the 
 side of a middle-aged man, who had withstood 
 the attacks of the preacher's lieutenants, prayed 
 by his side for a minute, and then, with a jubilant 
 gesture, announced his name to the man with 
 the pen. 
 
 ^^Diolch Iddo!" ^'Diolch Iddo!" sang the 
 gathering. 
 
 I saw Roberts several times after that, and 
 always there was a reflection of that great power 
 over the audience. I classed him then, as I class 
 him now, as a wonderful man, but he was working 
 among a wonderful people. Not the least remark- 
 able of his achievements was the spirit he set 
 afoot among those far afield who had never seen 
 him. 
 
 Step with me across Wales from Glamorgan 
 to the foot of Snowdon. I travelled to th.e 
 mountain village of Nebo, where a young pupil- 
 teacher preacher named Evan Jones had begun 
 to obtain a measure of local fame as a preacher. 
 In private Evan Jones was a pleasant-mannered, 
 chatty young fellow of twenty, but on the chapel 
 platform he was a changed man. When he fell 
 
THE THRILL OF EVAN ROBERTS 49 
 
 down to pray on the night that I was present he 
 dropped behind a wooden desk, where his writhing 
 could but be partly seen. Before I left the 
 chapel I heard an old man pray piteously for his 
 erring daughter, and I heard a young girl pray 
 that God would take care of Evan, the pupil- 
 teacher. 
 
 Come to another district, Arthog, a little 
 village at the foot of Cader Idris. A woman it 
 was there who had been fired with the preaching 
 facility — a Mrs. Jones, a farmer's wife. For an 
 hour, while others prayed and sang, she stood 
 bareheaded, with her hands behind her back, 
 swaying to and fro. She stood thus while a 
 girl sang " Tell mother I'll be there," a crude 
 revival hymn, which had a strange power with 
 those Welsh people. When it was finished a 
 black-haired youth of nineteen fell on his knees 
 with a sob and prayed shrilly for help. " You 
 may sing 'Tell mother I'll be there!'" he said, 
 ** but my father has just died. It is my father ; 
 not my mother." "Oh, God!" he screamed, "tell 
 father I'll be there." An old man in the front 
 row was laughing horribly. Tears were running 
 down the face of a girl at my right. On the 
 platform stood the silent, staring figure of the 
 farmer's wife, and in her eyes a mysterious light 
 told of inner communings. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE GHOSTS OF WALES 
 
 1 DO not know that I can say that I have seen a 
 real ghost; but I have at least seen something 
 which may pass for a ghost, something the origin 
 of which has never been explained satisfactorily 
 to myself or to others who witnessed it. From 
 the time when I wrote about the " Lights of 
 Egryn " there has been a smile or a kindly silence 
 when the matter has crept up ; and yet I saw 
 those lights as plainly as the hundreds of other 
 people saw them on various occasions. 
 
 Before I come to the Lights of Egryn, however, 
 I want to tell of another little ghostly experience 
 in Wales. The local papers of South Wales gave 
 a good deal of prominence in 1906 to the strange 
 occurrences at a cottage in the occupation of a 
 miner at the little mining town of Abertridwr, 
 not far from Cardiff. It was stated that strange 
 knockings were heard in the house, and that the 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 51 
 
 young miner who occupied it had been frightened 
 nearly out of his wits, and that responsible people 
 who had gone to the house had also heard the 
 knockings — of which there was no ascertainable 
 explanation. The details were so circumstantial 
 that I went down to investigate the whole matter. 
 I found Abertridwr very excited, and, indeed, not 
 without cause. 
 
 The haunted residence was one of a line of 
 small cottages, and when I arrived it was empty, 
 because the young miner, unable to stand the 
 strain of the nocturnal happenings, had, with his 
 wife, found lodgings in another house. I was told 
 as a preliminary that nothing of note occurred in 
 the cottage except when this young man himself 
 was present, and that persons who had been 
 present during the manifestations while he was 
 in the place had waited in vain for anything to 
 happen when he was absent. The first thing I 
 did was to seek out the man himself I found a 
 trembling, white-faced young fellow whose un- 
 nerved state was apparent at a glance. It was 
 with difficulty that I coaxed him to say anything, 
 and what I did extract was little more than " Yes " 
 and " No." I tried to persuade him to come along 
 to the haunted house that night and stay with 
 me there in order that I might have the oppor- 
 tunity of hearing or seeing what took place. He 
 
52 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 stepped away from me as if he had been stung. 
 "Nothing will make me go back there again." I 
 tried hard. It was quite without avail. I even 
 offered to pay him if he would come and spend 
 an hour with me there at midnight. He became 
 angry at the idea. 
 
 From the young miner 1 went to the Rev. 
 Gwilym Rees, a Church of England clergyman, 
 who lived about a mile away. He was present 
 at one of the ghostly demonstrations, in company 
 with a dozen others, including the local police- 
 sergeant and a police-constable, and I heard the 
 following story. 
 
 The young miner, much against his will, was 
 
 induced to go with the clergyman, two policemen, 
 
 and others to the haunted house between the hour 
 
 of midnight and two a.m. The place had been 
 
 stripped of furniture with the exception of a chair 
 
 in the back kitchen. The visitors were hardly 
 
 inside the place before a distinct loud rapping 
 
 was heard on the interior of the wall near them, 
 
 and the house was immediately thoroughly searched 
 
 from top to bottom. No trace of any other person 
 
 was discovered. The party went into the kitchen. 
 
 This is the narrative of the police- sergeant — 
 
 '' He (the young miner) was taken over to near 
 the fireplace and placed on the lap of a man, who 
 held him tightly round the body. Suddenly, there 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 53 
 
 came two resounding knocks from the cupboard 
 in the chimney recess a few feet from him. The 
 blows seemed to come from the interior of the 
 cupboard, and the unfastened doors were shaking. 
 They were immediately flung open and the interior 
 of the cupboard examined. It was quite empty." 
 
 " The blows," said the other policeman who 
 was present, "were not mere taps. They were 
 like the kicks of a horse." 
 
 The young miner was placed on the chair in 
 the middle of the room, and a member of the 
 company held his hands. Two minutes later 
 there were three loud raps on the wooden bottom 
 of the chair in which the miner was sitting. He 
 had been in a state almost of collapse for some 
 minutes, and he now fainted away. 
 
 This is the statement of the clergyman : " I went 
 to the house because I had known him for some 
 time, and he had come to me in distress about 
 the matter. I was utterly sceptical. I came away 
 feeling convinced that the sounds I had heard 
 were not produced by human agency. The knocks 
 were loud and resounding. We saw nothing to 
 account for them at the moment we heard them, 
 nor could an exhaustive search of the house throw 
 any light on the matter." 
 
 I went to the haunted house on two or three 
 nights, and stayed there until the early hours of 
 
54 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 the morning, but no manifestation occurred during 
 my presence. I left without personal evidence 
 of the ghostly manifestation, except the state- 
 ments made in all sincerity by persons who, 
 without any predisposition to credulity on ghosts, 
 had been convinced that there was something 
 supernatural in what had occurred. 
 
 What I have narrated is the story of the 
 ghost I did not see. Now let me give that of the 
 *' ghost" which I did see. 
 
 The Manchester papers in the beginning of 
 1905 contained reports of weird happenings on 
 the coast near Barmouth, under the shadow of 
 Cader Idris. This part of Wales, like many other 
 parts, was under the revival influence, and you 
 could feel the prevalent emotion in the ordinary 
 everyday life, in the shops, in the little hotels, 
 in the little post office, on the farms, among the 
 roadside workers. Emotion was in the air. You 
 went to any one of these districts as an English- 
 man, with a kind of smiling derisiveness, and you 
 were there but a day or two before you were 
 compelled, at any rate, to accept the mood of the 
 people seriously and to regard the revival spirit 
 as an extraordinary and substantial fact. That 
 has to be taken into account in reading the story 
 I am about to relate. 
 
 When strange stories of supernatural visions 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 55 
 
 began to emanate from the district of North 
 Wales, of which I am writing, English people 
 smiled tolerantly and said: "Well, well!" The 
 story getting abroad was to the effect that a 
 wave of religious enthusiasm was rolling over 
 the district, that it was receiving its impulses 
 largely from a simple farmer's wife, who, touched 
 with inspiration, was bringing religious truths to 
 the hearts of the people for miles round her home, 
 and that as an accompaniment to the wonderful 
 change in this woman, and the wonderful work 
 she was accomplishing, heavenly lights of bright- 
 ness and magnitude were appearing on the hill- 
 sides and in the sky in the part of the countryside 
 where she was carrying on her ministrations. I 
 dare say this looks at once stupid and fantastic. 
 If it were put into fiction it would hardly be 
 possible to give it a touch of reality. Yet, as a 
 matter of fact, this was the situation as reported 
 in paragraphs and occasional longer articles in 
 the Manchester papers. At first in London we 
 thought it was not worth while paying attention 
 to these statements — they seemed so far-fetched 
 and so obviously born of ecstasy. But presently 
 there appeared in the Manchester Guardian a care- 
 fully-written article, signed by a correspondent 
 who had made a special visit to the place, in which 
 details were given of some of these manifestations. 
 
S6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 It was coldly and clearly stated by the corre- 
 spondent that he had seen these weird lights on 
 an evening when the farmer's wife went out to 
 preach at some outlying chapel. He described 
 them with particularity, and to him it seemed that 
 they kept pace with the trap in which she was 
 driving along, and their vividness and continuity 
 were described with obvious genuineness. 
 
 This to matter-of-fact, materialistic Fleet Street 
 was, in common talk, a staggerer. It was im- 
 possible to think that the correspondent was 
 wilfully writing what was not true ; it was clearly 
 impossible that in writing his story he had been 
 deceived absolutely by things which had a per- 
 fectly natural explanation. What it all meant 
 it was hard to say. There was only one thing 
 for a live newspaper to do, and that was to 
 send down a London correspondent to learn if 
 he also could witness these strange visions, and, 
 if he could, to try to find out what they arose 
 from. It w^as on this mission that I left London 
 for Barmouth, the nearest town of any size. With 
 a feeling of disappointment, I ran against a 
 correspondent from another paper, the Daily 
 Express^ when changing at a station on the way — 
 I think it was Welshpool. He was bound on 
 the same errand as myself, and I had been hoping 
 .that I was on the way to an exclusive story. 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 57 
 
 Only a few da3^s later, however, I found m3^self 
 very pleased that a rival newspaper man was 
 present, because he was not far from me on the 
 night I saw some strange things ; and he was able 
 to tell the public in his journal a somewhat similar 
 story to my own. Why should I be glad ? it 
 may be asked. For this reason : That after I 
 returned to London I was met with a smiling 
 disbelief from colleagues and friends. All kinds 
 of suggestions were made— that I had dined not 
 wisely but too well ; that I had been over- 
 anxious to secure a sensational narrative, and 
 had exaggerated trivialities ; that I had whole- 
 heartedly invented a fairy tale. It soothed me, 
 therefore, to think that if I had been wholly off 
 my balance, and had been deluded in a wholesale 
 wa3'', at least the influences were exercised simul- 
 taneously upon a rival who saw the same as I 
 did and gave to the world very much the same 
 facts as I did. All this by the way. 
 
 Running northward from Barmouth by the side 
 of the sea, the main road passes along at the base 
 of a range of hills, and some three or four miles 
 on enters the village known as Egryn, and then 
 proceeds a mile or two further into the tiny grey 
 town of Duffryn. That, in a sentence, is the lay 
 of the country. It was Egr^^n which was the 
 centre of the manifestations, and it was Egryn 
 
58 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 where lived Mrs. Jones, the farmer's wife, who 
 was believed to be the objective round which 
 the manifestations centred. 
 
 There were perhaps a dozen or so of houses 
 in Egryn, and they were not grouped together, 
 but were scattered over the countryside — a farm- 
 house here, a labourer's cottage here and there, 
 and at a point on the roadside was the tiny 
 Calvinistic Methodist chapel, removed from any 
 habitation. Mrs. Jones worshipped within it, and 
 the neighbourhood of the chapel was one of the 
 places where the lights were frequently seen. 
 My first thought on getting to Barmouth was 
 to see if it were possible for these mysterious 
 lights to arise from natural causes; to find out 
 if they were '' will-o'-the-wisps" or some kind 
 of electric phenomena. I disposed of the first 
 suggestion at once, for I found nothing in the 
 configuration of the country to lead me to suppose 
 that the lights resulted from marshy gases or 
 similar influences. 
 
 As you went north along the road from 
 Barmouth the hills sloped up from the right, and 
 on the left were fields separating the road from 
 the sea. At Egryn the margin between road 
 and sea increased considerably, but there was 
 nothing in the character of the intervening land 
 to lead to an explanation of the strange lights, 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 59 
 
 and, indeed, this supposition was disposed of by 
 the fact that the lights were seen generally on 
 the uplands; ''in the sky" was a frequent descrip- 
 tion of their location. On the sloping fields 
 leading towards the steeper hillsides, there was 
 nothing to lead to the discovery of the origin 
 of the lights. The hills above the fields and 
 meadows were barren of cultivation, and the 
 desolate stretches of loose stony material were 
 without so much as a cottage for miles, without 
 even a shepherd's hut. There were no trees nor 
 any means of concealment for possible organisers 
 of a great practical joke. I covered the ground 
 pretty thoroughly and could find nothing to help 
 me as to the cause of the lights. 
 
 The next step was to collect evidence from 
 people who were not likely to be carried away by 
 their emotions, and I quickly came upon a surprising 
 state of things. I went to a local tradesman in 
 Barmouth, to working people, and to ministers 
 of religion. From nearly all of them I received 
 the same kind of evidence about the lights. It 
 seems that the lights varied a good deal — varied 
 in number though not very much in appearance. 
 They were globular, bright lights which appeared 
 suddenly high up away from the ground, some- 
 times in groups of twos and threes or more, 
 sometimes singly, and they lasted from periods 
 
6o ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 of seconds to periods extending over an hour. 
 They were described as sometimes being stationary 
 half-way up the hillside, sometimes as moving 
 along the hillside with the trap of Mrs. Jones 
 as she drove to service (though there was not 
 such overwhelming evidence of this as of the 
 simple appearance of the lights). 
 
 The thing that impressed me most was the 
 matter-of-fact and obviously sincere assertions of 
 the different witnesses. Most of them took the 
 appearance of the lights as something not calling 
 for any great wonderment or, indeed, for more 
 than passing comment. That Heaven should take 
 upon itself to give some outward and visible sign 
 of its approval of the prevalent enthusiasm was 
 the most natural thing in the world. That was 
 the general spirit. I remember going to a big 
 chapel at Duffryn, the minister of which was a 
 level-headed man who had a night or two before 
 my arrival seen the lights. The service was pro- 
 ceeding when I arrived, but in response to a 
 message to the platform, the minister came down 
 and had a chat with me about the matter, 
 and his statement was clear. " I saw these 
 lights," he said, ''to the number of seven. They 
 appeared to be in the sky." 
 
 My journalistic colleague and rival had made 
 somewhat similar inquiries to my own in other 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 6i 
 
 directions, and his general conclusions were in 
 consonance with my own, and we arranged to 
 join forces at night in order to watch for the 
 lights. It was during the afternoon before our 
 first vigil that I made a journey on my own 
 account to see Mrs. Jones, the reputed origin 
 of all the strange happenings. She lived in a 
 lone farmhouse at Egryn, between the sea and 
 the hills. 
 
 I first saw Mrs. Jones's brother, a quiet-spoken 
 Welshman, who told me that the lights were 
 generally visible on the occasions when his 
 sister went forth to preach. I learnt, too, how 
 Mrs. Jones had taken no part at all in public 
 speaking, but had been a reserved, home-loving 
 woman, reticent of speech, only a few months 
 before. Her influence over audiences, her con- 
 fidence and power on the platform, had come 
 suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Mary Jones I found a simple-mannered 
 country woman of thirty-five, her hair touched 
 with grey. She was absolutely without self- 
 consciousness, and had a quiet, easy mien. Her 
 tone was deep and soft, but her brown eyes 
 were alive with a strange light. I think she 
 had natural powers of personality. She spoke 
 to me quite freely about the strange lights. She 
 did not associate them particularly with herself, 
 
62 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 she said, although it was true that they had 
 been seen during the time she was on her way 
 to chapel. She added, with a low-voiced 
 intensity, she knew they were Heaven-sent, 
 and that they were connected with the revival. 
 
 For two nights, on Thursday and Friday, my 
 fellow-journalist and I paced the miles between 
 Barmouth and Duffryn from Egryn, along at the 
 foot of the hills, in the hope of seeing the lights. 
 We saw nothing. We were particularly dis- 
 appointed, because Mrs. Jones, on the second 
 of the two nights, was out preaching at a 
 village some two miles away, and it was on 
 such occasions, we had been told, that the lights 
 appeared. Saturday night came, and we went 
 out for our third watch. Truth to tell, we 
 had little expectation, because our previous 
 experiences had left us with the increasing im- 
 pression that in some miraculous way the whole 
 population had deluded itself 
 
 It has to be remembered that in walking 
 from Barmouth the first place to be encountered 
 was Egryn, and after that, some distance on, 
 Duffryn. My friend and 1 had walked to Egryn 
 at about seven o'clock, and had then made our 
 way on to Duffryn, keeping our eyes on the 
 black hillsides meanwhile. We saw nothing. 
 Somewhere between half-past seven and eight 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 6^ 
 
 o'clock we started to walk back from Duffryn 
 in the Barmouth direction. We strolled along, 
 occasionally stopping and leaning over the 
 breast-high walls which served in the place of 
 hedges upon the roadside, looking out on to the 
 blackness of the hillsides, and making our surmises 
 as to the origin of the whole affair. Strolling 
 along towards Egryn, he dropped a little way 
 behind me — perhaps as much as fifty yards. 
 
 A mile ahead, the situation of the little Egryn 
 chapel was shown by its three lighted windows, 
 evidence that service was going on within. That 
 was the only touch of light in the miles of 
 countryside. 
 
 I remember sitting down on a big boulder 
 on the side of the road waiting for my friend 
 to come up, and sitting there, I was idly looking 
 towards Egryn, when suddenly I saw what 
 appeared to be a ball of fire above the roof of 
 the distant chapel. It came from nowhere and 
 sprang into existence instantly. It had a steady, 
 intense yellow brilliance, and did not move. I 
 whipped out my watch, for I wanted to be 
 exact in any description of what I saw, and I 
 found the time to be twenty minutes past eight. 
 My friend came hurrying up with a shout, 
 and we stood together trying to imagine that 
 the light was easy of explanation. A labouring 
 
64 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 man was hastening to us from a hundred 
 yards behind, and I said to him : " Do you see 
 that?" pointing to the light, and he replied, 
 excitedly : " Yes, yes, above the chapel. The 
 great light." 
 
 The three of us stood and watched the light. 
 It seemed to me to be about twice the height 
 of the chapel — say fifty feet— and it stood out 
 with electric vividness against the hills behind. 
 We were, it should be remembered, about a 
 mile away. Suddenly it disappeared, having 
 lasted a minute and a half. With my journalistic 
 colleague I remained leaning over the way- 
 side wall, waiting for further developments, the 
 countryman leaving us and making his way on 
 alone. Again the chapel windows were the only 
 lights in all the countryside. The minutes 
 crept on, and it was about twenty-five minutes 
 to nine before we saw an3^thing else. Then it 
 was that two new lights burst forth over the 
 chapel like the one before, but this time con- 
 siderably higher in the air. They looked to be 
 about a hundred feet apart, and 1 guessed them 
 to be about the same distance above the roof 
 of the chapel. They shone out brilliantly and 
 steadily for a space of thirty seconds, and then 
 they both began to flicker like defective arc 
 lamps. They were flickering like that while one 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 6$ 
 
 could count ten. Then they became stationary 
 again. From where we were they looked like 
 large and brilliant motor-car lamps. They dis- 
 appeared within a couple of seconds of each 
 other, having lasted about six minutes. 
 
 We started off quickly in the direction of the 
 chapel to find out what we could. The lights 
 might have been described as appearing in the air 
 above the chapel, although in view of the fact that 
 they showed up against the dark background of the 
 hill it was possible for them to have been placed 
 on the hillside itself The mental impression, 
 however — and I carefully noted the fact at the 
 time — was that they were in the air and not on 
 the hills. Breathlessly we discussed the matter 
 as we hurried on towards the chapel, and all 
 kinds of guesses were put forward only to be 
 thrown down again immediately. The chapel 
 door was fastened, and I knocked. An elderly 
 man came to the door. 
 
 " There have been some lights appearing above 
 the chapel," I said. " Do you know anything about 
 them?" 
 
 " No," he said soberly, " but they often appear 
 when we are holding service here." 
 
 For nearly two hours afterwards we paced 
 up and down the road looking for fresh demon- 
 strations, but we saw none ; and it was just before 
 
66 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 half-past ten that we decided to give up the vigil 
 for the night. We had passed Egryn Chapel 
 and were well on the way to Barmouth at about 
 a quarter to eleven. We were walking along, 
 chatting together, when we suddenly saw on the 
 hillside on our right a flash. Immediately we 
 realised that one of the lights was before us again. 
 It was about five hundred feet from where we stood, 
 and shone out with an intense yellow brightness. 
 A bulb of light about six inches in diameter, is 
 the best way to describe it. To look at it was 
 tiring to the eyes. 
 
 Hurrying to the stone wall at the side of the 
 road, we climbed over, and began to run across the 
 intervening field towards the light. We had not 
 covered a score of yards before it disappeared, 
 and there was not a sound anywhere throughout 
 the night except the low gurgling of the sea some 
 few hundreds of yards on the other side of the 
 road behind us. We went up the hillside over the 
 intervening meadow and fields to the spot near 
 about where we imagined the light to have been 
 located. We found nothing but the loose shale 
 on the hillside — no sign of a human being, no 
 available place of concealment, and nothing in the 
 shape of a dwelling near by. 
 
 That, then, is what I saw at Egryn. There 
 has been no explanation of it. The journal which 
 
THE GHOSTS OF WALES 67 
 
 I represented sent down, with characteristic enter- 
 prise, highly-equipped scientific experts to explore 
 the country, to test the hills for electricity, and 
 to use whatever ingenuity was possible to find 
 out the secret. They did not find it out. They 
 came back with smiling incredulity at my story. 
 The story remains for what it is worth. All that 
 I can say is that I am not a Welshman, and that 
 I was not moved by any of the revival enthusiasm 
 of the district, and that I certainly saw the lights 
 1 have described. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 
 
 One bright Friday morning in June, 1907, the 
 news editor, in studying the morning papers 
 for fresh ideas, came across an announcement 
 that twenty-four girls were on their way to this 
 country for a holiday visit of inspection as a kind 
 of prize for popularity. They were from Ohio. 
 A newspaper in the capital there, Columbus, had 
 instituted a contest by which the readers of the 
 journal were invited to vote for the girls they 
 considered most attractive, and the twenty-four 
 girls who were at the top of the poll were given 
 a seven weeks* tour of Europe, commencing with 
 ten days in Great Britain. 
 
 They had never been in this country before, 
 these girls. A good many of them worked for 
 their living in teaching, secretarial occupations, 
 and so on. One, a girl of nineteen, was still at 
 college, while others were at home with their 
 parents concerned more with domestic life than 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 69 
 
 with outside matters. Vivacious, expectant, de- 
 termined to cram experience into every minute 
 of their European visit, they constituted a 
 smiling and excited group, who might stir 
 even the most experienced of London re- 
 porters. 
 
 They were due to arrive at Glasgow on Sunday 
 afternoon. When I set forth to meet them from 
 London on Saturday they were no doubt excitedly 
 talking together on the steamer about the land 
 which they were approaching. My duty w^as to 
 meet them at Glasgow when they landed, to 
 describe them, to find out what were their impres- 
 sions of this country, and thenceforward to sketch 
 lightly their adventures during their stay here. 
 At St. Pancras Station I found, bent on a similar 
 errand to myself, another journalist, Mr. George 
 Milligan, of the Morning Leader^ and we made 
 the journey to the North together. Fixing our- 
 selves up at St. Enoch's Hotel, Glasgow, for the 
 night, we went down to Greenock, half an hour s 
 journey, in the morning to meet the incoming 
 liner. We saw the girls leaving the big ship for 
 the tender, and we watched them pass ashore 
 to a spot near the Customs House, and from a 
 distance of a hundred yards or so listened to 
 their laughter and talk as they came to land. 
 Penned off from the landing stage, we pressed 
 
;o ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 forward past the officials, leaving them; I fear, 
 with the false impression that we were relatives or 
 friends of the incoming girls, and we shook hands 
 with the elderly man, an American Colonel, who 
 was in charge of them, hurried into the Customs 
 House with the excited group of girls, and pro- 
 ceeded to help them with their '^grips'' and their 
 satchels. They did not quite know who we were, 
 but they took it for granted we were friends. 
 There was really neither time nor opportunity 
 to tell them we were newspaper men, because 
 they were simply bubbling with joy at landing 
 and at the thousand little cares which beset the 
 new traveller. 
 
 We got into a compartment with eight of them, 
 and during the half-hour's journey to Glasgow 
 secured quite enough from their lively talk and 
 comment to provide us with the half-column of 
 matter which we were to telegraph later in the 
 day. I had on my right a dainty girl of nineteen, 
 and opposite was a tall, clear-eyed girl from a 
 country district, who lacked none of the self- 
 possession and none of the keenness of the city 
 girl. Rapturous was the feeling of all at being 
 on land again. The country girl was well backed 
 up by a girl bookkeeper from a city firm. ^^Say, 
 girls, there's a cow," said the former in dramatic 
 tones, as she looked out of the window, and there 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 71 
 
 was immediately a chorus of joy. " Houses with 
 chimney pots!" said another, and I learned for 
 the first time that chimney pots are not common 
 in America. Their delighted amazement on 
 approaching Glasgow to see tramcars with pas- 
 sengers on top of them was rather bewildering. 
 There were no tops to the cars in America. 
 *' Well, now, that's real cute," they said, " saving 
 every bit of space like that. And they say you're 
 slow here." It was a week later in London, when 
 the girls had become accustomed to mounting to 
 the top of omnibuses and trams, that the country 
 girl said reflectively one day after surveying the 
 agile way in which her friends had learned to 
 climb the steps to the roof of the vehicles, "Say, 
 girls, we'll be able to walk straight up apple 
 trees when we get home." 
 
 At Glasgow, when we alighted from the train, 
 Mr. Milligan and I seized as many of the belong- 
 ings of the girls as we could carry to help them 
 along. But what were two among so many ? 
 Porters had to be requisitioned. Then there was 
 not enough. A little brunette from Illinois put 
 her ''grip" on the platform, deliberately sat on 
 it, surveyed the situation, and said emphatically 
 and plainly, "Girls, what I want is a man." She 
 was extremely pretty. 
 
 We saw them into the various vehicles which 
 
72 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 took them off to their hotel, and made arrange- 
 ments with the old Colonel in charge of them to 
 go along that evening and fix up with him about 
 accompanying the party on their travels. What 
 happened during our separation of the afternoon 
 and early evening I cannot say, but it is pretty 
 certain that reflection came to the Colonel as to 
 the advisability of having two newspaper men with 
 the group throughout their travels. American 
 newspaper men were probably in his mind. He 
 may have feared that we should make fun in our 
 respective newspapers of the ladies under his 
 charge. Perhaps he consulted them. I rather 
 think he did. At any rate his decision was made 
 when Mr. Milligan and myself called upon him at 
 the hotel about eight o'clock in the evening. We 
 expected to be received with open arms. We 
 were met with a chilliness which amounted to 
 frigidity. 
 
 " I have been talking to the ladies/' said the 
 Colonel, ''and we have come to the conclusion 
 that we do not want any newspaper men with 
 us on this trip." A little staggered, we asked the 
 reason. 
 
 "The ladies would feel handicapped with the 
 presence of reporters," we were told. I pressed 
 the Colonel. He was obdurate. I pointed out 
 our* good intentions and showed how it was not 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 71 
 
 our practice to write ill-naturedly or offensively. 
 I endeavoured to demonstrate how, since the 
 party were strangers, we might even be of some 
 personal assistance in this, their first visit of 
 inspection to our country. But nothing that I 
 could say on our behalf would move the Colonel 
 and the situation became a little difficult. 
 
 "Very well," I said, "we have to write a daily 
 story about your party, and, of course, we shall 
 do it. It would have been helpful to us to have 
 been actually with you in your travels. But if 
 we cannot be with you we can be behind you." 
 
 "That is for you to decide," said the Colonel. 
 
 " When you take train we shall take train," 
 I said. " When you go on a boat we shall go on 
 a boat. When you drive to places we shall take 
 a trap behind you. It would for us have been 
 far pleasanter to have been with you." 
 
 " I am sorry," said the immovable Colonel. 
 
 We left him, defiance in the air; but as we 
 were coming out of the hotel we were met by a 
 courier from Messrs. Cook and Son's, who had 
 arrived a few minutes before to give assistance 
 to the American party, and he stopped us with a 
 friendly, salutation. We left with the impression 
 that he would help us. 
 
 The next morning at eight o'clock outside the 
 hotel from which the girls were to start we 
 
74 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 awaited their coming forth. They emerged; very 
 different from the girls we had seen the day 
 before, filled with happy joy and good-humoured 
 vivacity. Proper and dignified were they. The 
 coldest inclination of their heads was their saluta- 
 tion. We bowed. They drove off to a station, 
 whither we followed in a cab. On the platform 
 there was icy silence between our two selves 
 and the girls. They were bound for a trip through 
 the Trossachs, and we, of course, were going 
 through the Trossachs, too, prepared for adven- 
 ture, but determined to be amiable whenever the 
 chance arose, for we had all the confidence which 
 rises in the breasts of young men connected with 
 the Daily Mail and the Morning Leader, It was 
 a silent, almost a disdainful, railway journey. 
 They went on to a steamer at Loch Katrine, and 
 we also went on to the steamer. The beautiful 
 scenery, the beautiful sunshine, the exhilarating 
 charm of it all ought to have softened the hearts 
 of these young ladies, but they were of sterner 
 stuff— for at least twenty minutes. 
 
 We found out the steward, and we bought up 
 packets of picture postcards from him, and we 
 then divided ourselves up and each took a section 
 of the girls, avoiding as far as we could the eye 
 of the Colonel for a while. Respectfully and 
 seriously we presented picture postcards to the 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 75 
 
 dignified damsels. One or two of them received 
 them sternly. By our respectful attitude we made 
 it impossible for them to refuse absolutely, but 
 there were some who could no longer stand 
 the strain of seriousness. They had to laugh, 
 and they did so. Albeit they were not altogether 
 thawed. 
 
 The critical moment was, however, approaching. 
 On landing we had to have a drive of twelve 
 miles through the Trossachs, and two char-^- 
 bancs were in waiting to take the party. Alas! 
 this was a contingency for which we had not 
 provided, and our boast the night before that 
 we would follow the party wherever they went 
 already seemed foolish. The girls quickly filled 
 the two vehicles. We were trying to devise 
 expedients to meet the emergency, but as there 
 was only a minute to spare defeat seemed certain, 
 when unexpectedly help came along. Cook's 
 courier had been watching our exertions with 
 very human interest, and he had held himself 
 in reserve till he was really wanted. He rose to 
 the occasion nobly. The char-a-bancs were both 
 crowded. The Colonel was in one vehicle, and 
 the courier was about to mount to the other, so 
 that a start might be made, when as he was about 
 to put his foot on the step he pretended suddenly 
 to see us standing there. 
 
76 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 "Surely," he said, "you two gentlemen are 
 coming also." 
 
 " It is difficult " began Mr. Milligan. 
 
 "One up into one and one up into the other," 
 he said, quickly, with a wave of his hand towards 
 the two conveyances, and before we realised what 
 we were doing we wxre scrambling up the sides 
 into the two char-a-bancs. 
 
 I shall never forget that twelve miles' ride — the 
 stiffness at the start, the growing cordiality in 
 the midst of a steady downpour of rain and peals 
 of thunder, the happy comradeship in which we 
 alighted after it, preparatory to taking the train to 
 Stirling. Something like friendliness had been 
 secured, and when we reached Stirling we had the 
 privilege of dining with the party. We went round 
 Stirling that evening with groups of the girls. 
 Next day we were on our way to Edinburgh, and 
 the position may be summarised by the statement 
 that Mr. Milligan and I were conducting some of 
 the visitors round to the more interesting parts of 
 Edinburgh by ourselves, showing them the fascina- 
 ting city which we, as mere Sassenachs, had long 
 since known and loved. The girls wxre particularly 
 interested in the cells of the castle used for the 
 old French prisoners, and which were made famous 
 in later years by Stevenson in his novel, "St. 
 Ives." The hungry interest of them all, their 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO tj 
 
 instant appreciation of old memories and points 
 of beauty and of romantic associations made it 
 a delight to be with them. Their comments, 
 although enthusiastic, were informed with judgment 
 — a sign of reading. Rarely have I known a more 
 delightful time than the stay in Edinburgh. 
 
 The lighter side was not missing. I remember 
 how at Holyrood a stalwart sentry in kilts attracted 
 the attention of one of the girls with a Kodak. 
 He strode up and down the front of the entrance 
 with the stern and dignified mien of one who 
 looked on trippers — American and otherwise — 
 from a height of lofty and dignified seclusion. 
 Grimness as well as dignity was in the carriage 
 of his head and in his steady march. He was the 
 embodiment of British pride and Scottish reticence. 
 A fine figure of a man he was, too. The girl with 
 the Kodak could not very well focus him as he 
 was walking. He ignored camera and girl alike, 
 and though she endeavoured to get him as he 
 turned each time at the end of his patrol the result 
 was not satisfactory. Finally she was driven to 
 desperate courses. She walked a little nearer to 
 him, still adjusting her camera, and as he once 
 more went by the line of sight she said: "Say, 
 man, will you hold still a minute, and let's get a 
 picture?" 
 
 He paused not, he looked not, he marched 
 
78 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 on. Colour flamed high over his gaunt cheek- 
 bones. To have had his thoughts would have 
 been interesting, indeed, but alas! they were not 
 revealed. 
 
 '' All the same, I think I have got him," said 
 the American girl as she folded up her Kodak. 
 The Highlander heard, but paid no attention. 
 And then the American girls went in to see one 
 of the rooms made famous by Mary, Queen of 
 Scots. 
 
 From Scotland we travelled south, and by the 
 time we were over the border I was one of the 
 family. At Warwick, on a bright June night, six 
 of the girls waltzed merrily in a country lane like 
 children, and I fancy now I can hear the merry 
 cry of one of the party : " Say, girls, did we come 
 across the Atlantic for this ?" 
 
 We saw the beauties of Stratford-on-Avon, 
 and I was present at Shakespeare's house when 
 one of the girls with her scissors dug up a splinter 
 from the floor as a memento for Ohio. It was at 
 Stratford-on-Avon, too, that two of them made a 
 descent on the door of Miss Marie Corelli, and 
 tried to obtain an interview, without, I am sorry 
 to say, any success. Many places we went to in 
 the next few days, and finally we landed in 
 London. Within twelve hours the girls raptur- 
 ously entitled it ^' A real dandy city." Its historical 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 79 
 
 associations went parallel with its thousand 
 novelties of everyday life to these girls from the 
 middle of America. Never was a human party 
 so avid of understanding and, despite their touch 
 of genial criticism, so full of delighted apprecia- 
 tion. They loved the London policeman, the 
 courtesy of the tram conductors tickled them, 
 the quickly-moving crowds in Cheapside and the 
 Strand made them think less of the wonders of 
 New York. They still were surprised at the pots 
 on the chimneys ; were surprised, too, with the 
 fact that so many of the men in London carried 
 walking-sticks; and were surprised at the general 
 alertness of a population supposed to be effete. 
 
 It was intensely difficult to know these girls 
 without liking them very much. I certainly was 
 not proof against them. I have met countless 
 attractive men and women in my years of work 
 as a journalist, but I have never met people whose 
 departure filled me with so much regret. On the 
 day they sailed for the Continent 1 was— for a 
 journalist — very much depressed. For the small 
 courtesies which I as a fellow-passenger had been 
 enabled to render them they were overflowing with 
 gratitude — disproportionate gratitude. All kinds 
 of happy messages came to me from Holland, 
 where they disembarked, and generous words 
 continued to arrive from various parts of Europe 
 
80 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 which they visited. Five weeks later they arrived 
 at Paris on their way up to Boulogne to embark 
 for home. They were to leave Paris at about nine 
 o'clock on the Saturday morning, and by travelling 
 all night on Friday from London I was able to 
 reach them by breakfast-time at the hotel in Paris 
 before they left. It was a very happy reunion. On 
 leaving for Boulogne I got into a compartment 
 with eight or nine of them, and the Colonel in 
 charge made a bee-line for the compartment also. 
 The girls were having no nonsense, however, for 
 they seized the inside handle of the door and said, 
 *' No, you don't, Colonel ; not on this journey. 
 You get another compartment." He did. 
 
 At Boulogne I went out on the tender with them 
 to the liner, and they seized my kitbag in the vain 
 endeavour to kidnap me for the journey across, 
 and when I discovered my bag they pointed out 
 what a good newspaper story it would make to 
 say, on arrival at the other side, I had been seized 
 and held captive by a group of American girls. I 
 had no courage. I went off on the tender, and they 
 hung over the side of the liner waving farewells. 
 And when the steamer had disappeared from sight 
 out at sea I felt that I had seen the last of my 
 fascinating new friends. I had not. 
 
 The life of a journalist is filled with strange 
 and happy chances. Exactly two months after the 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 8i 
 
 experiences I have related, I was sent to America 
 for the Daily Mail, primarily to make a trip on the 
 first voyage of the Ltisitauiay and, secondly, to 
 make my way to Canada to write some articles 
 about Ontario, its lumber industry, and some new 
 silver mines which had been discovered up there. 
 The notice was short, and I had no time to corre- 
 spond with the Ohio ladies, but directly I arrived 
 in New York I sent a line to two of them, saying I 
 was in their country, although nearly a thousand 
 miles east of them, that I waved my hand in their 
 direction, and that I was proceeding to Toronto, 
 where I hoped to hear from them before leaving 
 the Continent. Some of the other incidents of my 
 brief stay in Canada I will relate a little later, and 
 I pass over visits to copper mines, iron mines, 
 lumber camps, cobalt and silver mines, to the day 
 I returned to Toronto after a stay up country. At 
 Toronto I found, in response from Ohio, a number 
 of very cordial invitations to go down to Columbus, 
 if only for a stay of a few hours. Columbus was a 
 very long way south, and when I reached it I 
 should be some eighteen hours west of New York. 
 But my memories of the girls were such that the 
 journey did not stop me, and I stole four days off, 
 wired to Columbus my intention, and started off to 
 see my friends. I remember getting to Buffalo about 
 midnight, and then having to travel throughout 
 
 G 
 
82 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 the night. I was due to reach Columbus between 
 seven and eight o'clock, but it was more than 
 an hour later than that when I arrived at the big 
 station in the middle of the town. Some of the 
 ladies were there to meet me, and they were just as 
 warm and friendly and natural as they had been in 
 England. Of all the conversation that was crammed 
 into those first ten minutes on the platform I can 
 remember but very little. One thing I do remem- 
 ber. They thrust into my hands a copy of the 
 local newspaper issued some three days before, in 
 which there appeared a flattering but inaccurate 
 statement about myself and my visit to America 
 and to my intended visit to Columbus. With true 
 American frankness, the article hinted at a romantic 
 mission in my journey. I laughed, and so did the 
 ladies. They then produced that morning's daily 
 paper, and I found that matters had gone a little 
 farther. My immediate arrival was heralded with 
 similar inaccurate descriptions of myself and my 
 work and my purpose, but they were warmed up 
 now. The name of the lady was indicated, and the 
 article proceeded in this way : '' We have inter- 
 viewed Miss , but she will say nothing on the 
 
 matter, but we have since interviewed her uncle, 
 
 Mr. , who lives at 331, Street. He says : 
 
 *Yes, we have often heard my niece speak of 
 Mr. Dilnot, and though nothing definite is 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO S3 
 
 arranged, we expect a formal announcement 
 shortly.'" 
 
 This was my first real introduction to the 
 personal side of American journalism. I felt 
 a little perturbed about it, not on my own 
 account, but because of the inconvenience and 
 annoyance it would cause to the lady it named. 
 I had no time, however, for regrets, or, indeed, 
 thoughts about the newspaper announcement, 
 because the ladies proceeded to take me down 
 from the station to the Chittenden Hotel, where 
 accommodation had been reserved for me. Before 
 they handed me over to the hotel manager they 
 told me they were communicating with all the 
 girls within reach of the city, and were getting up 
 a little dinner that very night, because they had 
 not known how long I intended to stay. In the 
 evening I was to call at the house of one of the 
 ladies, where there would be a little informal recep- 
 tion of two or three of my lady acquaintances. I 
 thanked them for their kindness, and went upstairs 
 to my room and prepared, after a bath, to have an 
 hour or two's sleep, much wanted after three nights 
 spent in the train. I did not know American ways. 
 I was hardly in my room before there came a 
 knock, the door opened, and in walked a clean- 
 shaven young man who, with smiling briskness, 
 said: "Good morning, Mr. Dilnot. I am from 
 
84 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 the Columbus Citizen. Just called in to welcome 
 you, and to ask you for your impressions of our 
 city." I put him in a chair and gave him a cigarette. 
 Within five minutes there were four newspaper 
 men present. I had interviewed scores, if not 
 hundreds of people on my own account, but never 
 before up to this time had I been the interviewee, 
 and I explained myself to this effect. They laughed 
 and took it down. And then I made a personal 
 appeal to them. I told them of the statement in 
 the paper that morning about myself and the lady, 
 assured them that there was no truth in it, begged 
 them to withdraw it for her sake, and to state that 
 far from being in love with one of them, I was in 
 love with all the twenty-four. This was carefully 
 reproduced in the evening edition that day. 
 
 How I got through the hospitality from that 
 hour onward I do not quite know. The manager 
 of the Columbus Dispatch took me across to the 
 office, introduced me to every member of the staff 
 from the proprietor downwards, and proceeded to 
 make arrangements with delightful dash and com- 
 prehension. " I shall be taking you to lunch at the 
 Ohio Club, because I want to introduce you to the 
 Attorney-General and a few other people. Then 
 this afternoon I want to take you to the races 
 outside the town. This evening the girls have got 
 up this little dinner for you, and, after the dinner, 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 85 
 
 I want to take you along to the theatre." It was 
 delightful, but overpowering. Ungracious as it 
 seemed; I had to plead fatigue and ask to be 
 allowed off for the afternoon. And in their kind- 
 ness they agreed. So I went to the Ohio Club 
 to lunch, returned to my hotel, and tried to get a 
 little rest. But there is a telephone in every room 
 in American hotels. 
 
 Tea-time came, and more happy meetings at the 
 house of my principal hostess, and dinner was 
 upon me before there was time to turn round. 
 One of the smaller dining-rooms in the Chittenden 
 Hotel had been secured for the occasion and 
 charming were the arrangements. One end was 
 draped with Union Jacks, the other with Stars and 
 Stripes, and the long table was decorated with 
 English red roses. The hotel orchestra had been 
 transplanted for the occasion to the proximity of 
 the room, and we went in to dinner to the strains 
 of "God Save the King," and throughout the dinner 
 listened to British airs. A dozen or more of the 
 girls were present, and it was a very happy and 
 interesting evening. Later on, when the time 
 came to say good-bye for the night, I said, jokingly, 
 " Well, there are so many of you that I can't offer 
 to see you all home." The immediate and emphatic 
 reply was, " Well, see as many of us home as you 
 can." So I saw five of them home. I was back in 
 
S6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 bed at half-past one. That was the kind of time I 
 had in Columbus. 
 
 " We have determined/' said the editor of the 
 Columbus Dispatch, "that you shall have no meal 
 alone while you are in this place." They took me 
 around in a car to all the clubs ; they gave me all 
 the famous American drinks, they introduced me 
 to all kinds of interesting people. Here is an 
 example of the kind of thing. I went with four 
 of the ladies one morning to do a little shopping 
 at a big general store owned by Messrs. Dunn, 
 Taft, and Co. Mr. Taft was a cousin of the Presi- 
 dent of the United States. He came up while we 
 were in the shop and spoke to the ladies, and was 
 introduced. He said, " Ah, this is the Englishman 
 they are talking about, is it ? Come right up and 
 have some lunch with me." 
 
 " Well," I said, " I don't think I can, because I 
 am engaged with these ladies." 
 
 " Of course, the ladies must come up to lunch, 
 too," said Mr. Taft. And so the girls with myself 
 were swept upstairs to a dining-room, where we 
 were entertained in invigorating fashion. 
 
 One story I must give that I heard from the 
 editor of the Columbus Dispatch. I was standing 
 with him on the first floor of the editorial room 
 looking down on to the busy main street of 
 Columbus, discussing newspaper matters in 
 
THE GIRLS FROM OHIO 87 
 
 general. I said, " You have got two very fine 
 daily papers here, and evening papers as well; 
 why not a successful Sunday paper ? " 
 
 "We had two good Sunday papers up till about 
 a year ago," he said. "They were going very well. 
 Neither of them exists now. The editors con- 
 ducted a sort of newspaper warfare against each 
 other in their columns, and their remarks certainly 
 equalled the rival editors in ' Pickwick Papers.' 
 They spared each other not at all, so reckless 
 were their attacks. I think they hated each other. 
 Matters came to such a pitch that when they met 
 one day down here in the street one editor drew 
 a revolver and shot the other editor dead. The 
 bullet passed through the editor and killed a 
 second person behind. That was how the two 
 papers came to a standstill." 
 
 I expressed my horror. 
 
 " Oh," he said, with a grave shake of the head, 
 " of course, the chap didn't escape. A man who 
 does that kind of thing here don't get off. He got 
 a year's imprisonment." 
 
 There was no waste of time in hospitality, and 
 I was entertained to dinner by the Columbus 
 Dispatch staff at eight o'clock on the Saturday 
 evening in spite of the fact that I was due to 
 leave for New York at midnight. I slept nearly 
 the whole of that eighteen hours' railway journey. 
 
SS ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 My visit to Ohio will always remain one of the 
 happiest memories of my life. Kindness did not 
 cease with my departure. When I left Boston and 
 embarked on the Saxoiiia for home I found there 
 a score of individual messages, picture postcards, 
 letters, and verses : all with happy, cordial wishes. 
 For the first and, perhaps, the only time in my life 
 there flashed through me the reflection that mono- 
 gamy might, after all, be a mistake. Sometimes 
 even now I get a letter from one or other of my 
 girl friends. It is good to see the Ohio postmark. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 NIAGARA AND THE SILVER MINES 
 
 With a score of expectant thoughts chasing each 
 other, 1 alighted at Niagara Station one Saturday 
 morning, and drove towards the Niagara River 
 for my first visit to the Falls. A busy American 
 street leads to the bridge which crosses the river 
 a few hundred yards below the Falls, where the 
 river is about as wide as the Thames at London 
 Bridge. On one side is American territory, on the 
 other Canadian territory. I was bound for a hotel 
 on the Canadian side, and thus had to cross the 
 bridge, which gave, as it had given hundreds of 
 thousands before me, the first glimpse of the Falls 
 of Niagara. The Falls are on the left as you cross 
 the bridge, and the river swirling exactly beneath 
 develops into narrow rapids a little farther down. 
 
 As to the Falls, my first impression, like that 
 of many others, was one of disappointment at their 
 size, for I had expected to see something far more 
 tremendous. I would not have admitted then for 
 
90 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 worlds that I was disappointed; but, nevertheless, 
 there was a feeling that imagination had tricked 
 me, and that the great cascade was less than the 
 fancied picture. It took a dozen hours for this 
 impression to go off, and then for the next two 
 days there was a sort of process of realisation, and 
 within three days the immensity and majesty of 
 the waters began to have their effect. 
 
 The bed of the River Niagara curves round 
 almost at right angles, and at one part in the curve 
 it suddenly drops over a precipice to a depth of 
 158 feet. There you have the Falls. Go along the 
 river bank and get as near as may be to the actual 
 drop, and if you have any imagination you will 
 be thrilled, and perhaps frightened, not at the 
 thunderous fall of the water into the chasm below, 
 but at that slow, awful, unalterable curve over the 
 edge of the precipice. The curve is silent. At 
 the apex of the fall the thickness of it is twenty 
 feet. Its power oppresses you. Not the great fall 
 of the water, not those murderous rapids below 
 the bridge, where Captain Webb met his fate, not 
 even the big swirling whirlpool lower down, leaves 
 the impression that does the big silent curve. 
 
 I got an early glimpse of New World attitude 
 of thought during my few days' stay at the Falls. 
 On the one side of the river is the American city, 
 on the other the Canadian town, and on the second 
 
NIAGARA AND THE SILVER MINES 91 
 
 evening a Canadian member of Parliament took me 
 for a stroll round the American side, and showed 
 me street scenes, the shops, and a few of the 
 interesting types. As we were making our way 
 back towards the river he took me into a saloon. 
 
 "There is one place," he said, "I want you 
 to see before we cross the bridge, and that is 
 just by the riverside. It is called 'The Red 
 House.' It is a well-known saloon, where a good 
 many people congregate." I said ''All right," and 
 emptied my glass preparatory to setting forth, 
 but the proprietor of the saloon, a friendly sort 
 of man, who had listened to our conversation, 
 leaned forward over the bar and said in a con- 
 fidential undertone to my companion, "I shouldn't 
 go in to-night, if I were you. A man was shot 
 in there an hour ago, and the fuss isn't over yet." 
 
 So we did not go into "The Red House." 
 
 One of the most interesting things I saw in my 
 travels was the mining town of Cobalt, which had 
 sprung up in the midst of an Ontario forest 
 through the discovery of silver there. This hilly 
 little clearing, ringed with the forest, a centre of 
 man's activity, brought a sudden reality to Bret 
 Harte's romances and descriptions. It was at once 
 crude and picturesque and business-like. 
 
 Only a few years ago the cutting of trees and 
 the transport of them was, apart from hunting, 
 
92 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 the only occupation that brought men to visit this 
 district. It is related that on the spot where 
 Cobalt stands lumbermen were at work construct- 
 ing a track for timber, and that two of the men 
 quarrelled about something or other, and fell upon 
 each other with murderous blows. The com- 
 batants wrestled free, and then one of them got 
 hold of an axe and hurled it at the other man. 
 The axe missed its mark and struck a boulder, 
 splitting it in half. In the middle of the boulder 
 appeared a brilliant white streak. That streak 
 was silver. The silver mines of Cobalt had been 
 discovered. 
 
 At this time the dwellings at the place consisted 
 of four small log huts used by the lumbermen, but 
 when I visited it the place had grown to a city 
 of five thousand people, with streets and shops, 
 hotels, and an opera house. Day by day men 
 were feverishl}' at work within a radius of many 
 miles. In a few mines silver had occasionally 
 been stripped from the rock like thick paper, and 
 in other mines the rock, on account of the silver in 
 it, could not be broken with a hammer, and would 
 only bend. With these facts before me I saw 
 hundreds of men, who were working terribly hard 
 on blank claims, which would probably never 
 produce an ounce of precious metal ; hundreds of 
 the other men were scouring desolate woods and 
 
NIAGARA AND THE SILVER MINES 93 
 
 hollows in other directions, out of touch with 
 civilisation, hoping for the dreamed-of lucky dis- 
 covery. Happy chance was the great weapon of the 
 seekers, for there were scores of highly-qualified 
 mining experts who, with unceasing energy, had 
 been striving for that lucky vein for months — and 
 the majority without result. 
 
 For some three square miles there was known 
 to be silver in the ground in varying degrees, and, 
 of course, these three square miles had long since 
 been mapped and seized. Outside that charmed 
 circle there were many other properties staked 
 out; some, perhaps, of little value, some of pro- 
 spective value, some of no value at all. To the 
 crowd of adventurers even the most unlikely 
 property had its thrill. 
 
 I entered Cobalt one Friday morning in late 
 September, and with some companions was met 
 by a band of brown-faced men in Sunday best, 
 who conducted us to the new Opera House, a 
 spacious wooden hall, then hardly completed. We 
 were formally welcomed, and, in common with 
 other favoured visitors, I received the " Freedom 
 of Cobalt," to which was attached a lump of virgin 
 silver as a seal. Here are extracts from the 
 document — 
 
 *'We have great pleasure on behalf of the 
 Municipal Council of the town of Cobalt and the 
 
94 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Council of the Township of Colman and its 
 citizens generally to offer you a hearty welcome 
 to what we believe will become the greatest silver 
 mining camp on the Continent of America. We 
 extend to you the freedom of the town and district 
 during your stay, and should you see anything 
 that you fancy you have nothing to do but to 
 attach it." 
 
 The joke was carried out excellently, because 
 subsequently, when a little group of journalists, 
 including myself, visited one particular mine, four 
 stalwart miners were placed across the entrance 
 of the chamber in which they were busy examining 
 an accumulated stock of silver ; and in another 
 place, where the journalists handled silver bricks, 
 the bricks were heated to a degree which made 
 them unpleasant to the touch. 
 
 I went to several mines which were successful. 
 I remember one in particular. Over a rough track 
 cut in the pines on the hillside I was driven to an 
 extensive property on the side of a little lake. In 
 shafts near the lake men with pick and shovel and 
 drill were excavating ore rich in silver, nickel, and 
 cobalt—silver, of course, being the principal thing 
 sought for. The ore, looking like grey stone, was 
 brought up and taken into rough timber working 
 rooms, where block by block it was placed on 
 benches in front of young men with hammers who 
 crushed it down in pieces the size of a man's hand. 
 
NIAGARA AND THE SILVER MINES 9$ 
 
 On these small pieces one could see little white 
 shreds of downy filigree patches. That was the 
 silver. The lumps were placed in boxes, each of 
 which contained a weight of 125 lbs. About a 
 hundred of these boxes were sent away from this 
 particular mine every week, each box being worth 
 about £^0. I asked the taciturn, brown young 
 mine manager if there were no danger of theft. 
 
 " Oh yes," he said, ^' there have been attempts. 
 I go armed. Three of my men go armed. I 
 always have two guards on duty at night." 
 
 The manager took me into his log cabin, and 
 I could see daylight through the crevices. His 
 lot was no bed of roses, and I do not think he 
 had always slept in log cabins. On a rude shelf 
 above his rough couch was his library, and it 
 included volumes of Montaigne and Stevenson. In 
 the corner of the cabin on the floor were sleeping 
 peacefully two 3^oung men who at night guarded 
 the camp with revolvers. They were wrapped 
 round in rugs. 
 
 Many were the interesting tales I heard during 
 my short stay in Cobalt, and, of course, a goodly 
 proportion of them related to the luck of pro- 
 spectors. 
 
 ''We hear of the successes, but not of the 
 failures," said Professor Millar, the Government 
 geologist. " Here is a success. I came to Cobalt 
 
96 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 in the spring of 1904 to make some investigations. 
 I met up heFe Mr. Trethewy, who was on a 
 shooting expedition. We stayed together. One 
 afternoon he left his rifle at home and went for 
 a leisurely stroll over the hills. It was during 
 that afternoon's walk that he noticed a tiny streak 
 in the rocks. That accidental discovery has already 
 made him three hundred thousand pounds." 
 
 The evening after hearing this story I dined 
 with a hard-faced mining engineer who had spent 
 the best years of his life in mining camps from 
 Alaska to Mexico, and I learned several things 
 about Cobalt. It was, I gathered, a prohibition 
 mining camp, in which the sale of any liquor was 
 forbidden, and to procure a bottle of whisky it 
 was necessary to travel many miles. I learned, 
 moreover, that Cobalt, being in Canada, was 
 not permitted the free use of shooting weapons, 
 like the American camps. My granite-faced 
 friend shook his head. He was quite sour about 
 the matter. ^' They stop men carrying a revolver," 
 he said. ^' Nonsense, I call it. I don't believe in 
 these peaceful camps. What does it mean ? It 
 means that disputes are settled with fists, instead 
 of revolvers. All the undesirable and quarrelsome 
 people just live on and make themselves a nuisance. 
 You take it from me, there is nothing like a 
 funeral a day to keep objectionable people quiet 
 
NIAGARA AND THE SILVER MINES 97 
 
 in a camp." With a sigh he raised his glass of 
 (prohibition) water and drank deeply. 
 
 The visit to Cobalt was part of a journey to 
 various parts of Ontario, and with some colleagues 
 I had the advantage of being conducted over the 
 State by the Hon. Frank Cochrane, Minister of 
 Land, Forests, and Mines. We would inspect a 
 place during the day and at night would sleep in 
 a Pullman on our way to some other place. Let 
 me give an example of a typical twenty-four hours. 
 We were at Sault Ste Marie, a little town on 
 the rapids which link up Lake Huron and Lake 
 Superior. When here I saw my first Red Indian, 
 and I shall never forget my cold disappointment 
 when I saw he was dressed in European clothes — 
 and shabby at that. Sault Ste Marie has plenty 
 of things of interest to the traveller. One of 
 them is the almost unaltered old block-house 
 of the Hudson Bay Company. The block-house 
 built of wood comes out from the bottom some- 
 thing like a square mushroom, and is without 
 what may be called a ground floor, in order that 
 it might the better repel the attacks of Indians 
 in the old days. 
 
 They work hard all the time at Sault Ste 
 Marie, and at a banquet at which we were 
 entertained by the authorities the toasts went on 
 till after midnight, and it was near two o'clock 
 
 H 
 
98 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 when we went off to our temporary home in the 
 Pullman car in the railway siding. At seven 
 o'clock in the morning we began our day's journey. 
 Of the miles we went there is no count, and all 
 that can be said with certainty is that we were 
 travelling for hours through stretches of tangled 
 scrub and hills covered with spruce and pine. 
 
 We were on our way to see some copper 
 mines. At ten o'clock we pulled into a siding 
 and found ourselves in the centre of a village of 
 wood houses among trees and barren hills. Half 
 a dozen men were standing on the track to greet 
 us as we got out, and among them were the mayor 
 (every little village seemed to have its mayor), 
 three mining officials, and two hard-handed men, 
 who actually worked with pick and shovel, and 
 came up casually to see what the fuss was 
 about. At the little wooden hotel near by we 
 sat down to breakfast, substantial but unusual, 
 for it included cheese, and ice-cream, and the 
 drink was whisky. We puzzled over that break- 
 fast. Half-way through the mistake was explained. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the chairman, in a kind of 
 public aside, " I think it should be stated that 
 our friends intended to entertain us to lunch. 
 There has been a mistake. We are having lunch 
 instead of breakfast." 
 
 After that some of us asked our hosts for tea 
 
NIAGARA AND THE SILVER MINES 99 
 
 and coffee, and although we were obviously 
 regarded as weaklings, we obtained it. 
 
 Fortified, we went out to descend a copper 
 mine. In a little wood shed a black well gaped 
 at us, and, having received a candle, four of us 
 buttoned our coats tightly and stepped into a 
 shaking skeleton lift and went down the well 
 with a rush. It was not merely dark, but cold, 
 and it was wet also, the water dripping on us 
 continually. With the bare candles in our hands, 
 the lift quivering and shaking as with palsy, with the 
 grey-brown half-hewn rock rushing upward past 
 us within a six-inch touch, the descent seemed 
 long and venturesome, and it was pleasant to feel 
 the bump which told us that we had reached the 
 bottom. Round us was a tiny cavern hewn out 
 of solid rock, with mystery everywhere, and the 
 darkness was emphasised by candles fastened in 
 the mining caps of the men who met us. 
 
 A winding passage led away from this chasm, 
 just an oozing tubular hole, and we stumbled along 
 it for a couple of hundred feet, wondering where a 
 strange humming noise was coming from. Pre- 
 sently, at the blind end of the passage, the source 
 of the secret noise was made known, for three or 
 four men were engaged in forcing holes into the 
 solid rock with drills. In the sides and in the 
 roof above us could be seen little golden gleams 
 
100 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 in the grey surface. '' Copper," said one of the 
 guides. 
 
 The drills, driven by compressed air, made a 
 deafening noise and filled the place with dust. A 
 dozen or so of miners and visitors were grouped in 
 a space literally insufficient to swing a cat. And 
 while we were thus crammed one upon the other, 
 a miner unconcernedly put dynamite charges into 
 two of the holes made by the drill. We visitors 
 began to retire down the passage towards the lift 
 with an affectation of leisureliness that deceived 
 no one. " It is very rarely that any one is killed," 
 remarked one of the officials, and we crowded into 
 the lift regardless of the dripping water and the 
 candle-grease. 
 
 Out in the fresh air once more, we had a charming 
 surprise. Our Minister in charge took us across to 
 the village school, which was in a little clearing 
 surrounded by scrub. The Canadian children were 
 filed out on to the green for our inspection, and 
 after singing most sweetly ''The Maple Leaf for 
 Ever," one little maiden presented the senior 
 bachelor of the party with a bunch of flowers. 
 " Kiss her," commanded the Minister. Blushingly 
 the bachelor obeyed, amid cheers. The lady 
 teachers smiled. " What have the teachers done?" 
 cried the Minister. Then it was the Englishmen 
 who smiled, and they looked at the teachers, but the 
 
NIAGARA AND THE SILVER MINES' loi 
 
 teachers hurriedly gathered their children together 
 for school again. 
 
 Within an hour we were speeding away in our 
 Pullman to a famous lumber camp. It had the 
 picturesque name of Blind River. We arrived at 
 mid-afternoon, and several Canadian boys drove 
 us at breakneck pace to a wooden hall, where a 
 lumberman's lunch was prepared for us. We ate 
 what we supposed to be beef, innocently uncon- 
 scious that it was moose out of season. Those 
 who have read the romances of Stewart Edward 
 White would have had the intensest interest could 
 they have seen the scene that was spread before 
 us. Blind River is a stream as well as a village, 
 and the river brings dow^n from the forests square 
 miles of logs, which are seized upon by the saw 
 mills and split into ribbons, an inch or so thick, 
 for transport. All day and all night the ruthless 
 work goes on. A little army of men, lumberers 
 and sawyers, earn from fifty shillings to nine 
 pounds a week. A building on the river bank 
 comprising a saw mill was like a greedy, insatiable 
 giant. The logs were logs in name only, because 
 really they were sections of trees, and measured 
 some sixteen feet long and about two feet thick. 
 They were fed into one part of the building by the 
 water, were seized by steel arms, twisted as a 
 mother twists her baby in her lap, and finally flung 
 
102 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 endways against cruel, never-ceasing saws. There 
 were many saws. It will be a sufficient indication 
 of what is accomplished in twenty-four hours to 
 state that a log two feet in diameter and sixteen 
 feet long is cut lengthways in four seconds. What 
 is a rough tree one minute is a slip of shining 
 white spruce the next. 
 
 Gloaming was upon us when we set off in our 
 Pullman for the last section of our day's work. 
 Again our destination had a romantic name. It 
 was Espanola, a city of pulp mills, on the picturesque 
 ^'Spanish River." When we reached Espanola 
 darkness lay heavy all around us over the woods, 
 but here in the foreground electric bulbs lit up the 
 wooden town and told us once more the oft-repeated 
 tale of Canadian energy. Where the electric beams 
 stabbed the darkness we could catch glimpses of 
 more logs on the river's surface, all finding a goal 
 at this building on the river brink. The logs were 
 admitted to receive more drastic treatment than 
 those at the saw mills. Sawn into half lengths, 
 they were run into crushing machines which 
 ground them into a cream. That wooden cream 
 was dried, compressed, and in an hour turned into 
 a thick stiff paper. Really it was not paper but 
 pulp, to be exported in immense quantities for 
 paper-making. 
 
 We went to bed in the Pullman with the 
 
NIAGARA AND THE SILVER MINES 103 
 
 knowledge that we must be up betimes to inspect 
 nickel mines. 
 
 *' Gentlemen," said Mr. Cochrane, as he toasted 
 us at midnight, "Ontario is a land of varied and 
 extensive resources." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 A SCOTLAND YARD MAN 
 
 The name of Scotland Yard has a touch of 
 adventure about it. It is the kind of name which 
 Robert Louis Stevenson would have chosen for 
 the headquarters of secrecy and adventure, for it 
 has a suggestive reticence and a certain ** click " 
 which savours of dangerous action. 
 
 To the popular mind Scotland Yard is the 
 rendezvous of polished detectives, who go out on 
 dare-devil missions at all hours of the day and 
 night, and who do desperate deeds in privacy for 
 the good of the community. In reality, Scotland 
 Yard is a large, square, unpretentious red building 
 on the bank of the Thames, a stone's throw from 
 the Houses of Parliament, and it forms the head- 
 quarters of the Metropolitan Police Force, which 
 comprises not only detectives but our uniformed 
 constables as well. A comparatively small section 
 is taken up with what is known as the Criminal 
 
A SCOTLAND YARD MAN 105 
 
 Investigation Department — that is to say, the 
 detective section, and it is this detective section 
 which is most associated in the public mind with 
 the name of Scotland Yard. The plain exterior, 
 the commonplace, office-like interior produce on 
 the newspaper-reading visitor a first impression 
 of disappointment, and this disappointment is em- 
 phasised when, in place of the distinguished-look- 
 ing detectives whom he expected to see issuing 
 in leisurely manner from its portals, he witnesses 
 straggling twos and threes of policemen in uniform 
 coming and going, and sees a policeman as a kind 
 of sentry at each of the several doors. 
 
 " It's just a police barracks," is the thought that 
 springs to the mind of one who has read magazine 
 stories written by those who have only a hearsay 
 knowledge of the London police system. The 
 proceedings inside all help towards the disillusion- 
 ment. There is a counter fronting two or three 
 police, who make records of callers ; there are long 
 corridors with rooms occupied by clerks, some at 
 work on typewriters, some classifying documents 
 of all kinds; there are rooms in the possession of 
 chiefs of the departments, who sit at roll-top desks 
 or flat-top writing tables, and who look like pros- 
 perous solicitors or successful business men. A 
 matter-of-factness rules the whole establishment. 
 That is the surface view. 
 
io6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Go a little deeper, learn a little more of the 
 detective branch of Scotland Yard, and you will 
 find that, after all, a good many happenings every 
 day, and a large proportion of the work that is 
 done by a comparatively small group of men there, 
 do partake of the adventurous, and are quite secret. 
 The magazine story writers, although they go 
 wrong in their atmosphere, have nevertheless some 
 of the essentials. Intrigue, danger, sinister effort, 
 and desperate venture are part of the daily pro- 
 gramme of this matter-of-fact modern office. The 
 people there do not treat their business as being 
 in any way romantic. The officers, some of them 
 in highly responsible positions, have, with the 
 exception of a few men at the top, risen from the 
 ranks of policemen themselves, and they have 
 neither the taste nor the inclination to talk of 
 daily investigation as romance, to idealise crime, 
 nor to think of a dangerous adventure but as a 
 confounded nuisance which has to be encountered 
 in the way of business. Bluntness is in all their 
 actions, and they laugh unfeelingly among them- 
 selves at those who would exalt them into heroes 
 or make them out to be past-masters of ingenuity 
 and subtle craft. Perhaps it is these facts which 
 add a freshness and a pungency to the Scotland 
 Yard exploits, which, not unfrequently, do not 
 reach the ears of the public, and to the Scotland 
 
A SCOTLAND YARD MAN 107 
 
 Yard blunders which very frequently do come to 
 their notice. 
 
 Some of the men are quite uninteresting, and 
 among them are those who hold high positions, 
 because promotion in the service, like that of our 
 other services, has been regulated— at any rate, 
 with some regard to years of service and good 
 conduct. But there have been several interesting 
 personalities in recent years. One of them was to 
 be found in Mr. Frank Froest, who, when I first 
 knew him, was an ordinary detective inspector, but 
 whom Sir Edward Henry, the Chief Commissioner, 
 on introducing new methods, promoted with 
 rapidity until he at last became chief of the exe- 
 cutive of his department. As a superintendent, 
 Mr. Froest ruled its activities until he retired a 
 few months ago. He had travelled the world, and 
 had been in many kinds of adventure. He it was 
 who arrested Dr. Jameson for the Jameson Raid, 
 and brought him home to England, and it was he 
 who captured Jabez Balfour in South America. 
 
 Mr. Froest was a thick-set, deep-chested, blue- 
 eyed man, with a baldish head and a dandyish, up- 
 turned moustache. His finger-nails were always 
 delicately manicured, and in spite of the fact that 
 he cultivated a smart debonair manner, he was a 
 man of great physical strength, and in his younger 
 days could break sixpences in half on his fingers. 
 
io8 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 There you have a glimpse of the exterior of Frank 
 
 Froest. 
 
 Hardly one of the attributes of Sherlock Holmes 
 was to be found about him. Stolid good humour 
 enwrapped him, and he was a fine raconteur. 
 Quiet and reserved was he at times, and no man 
 could keep a secret tighter, and yet withal bear to 
 the world a hail-fellow-well-met air. He had, 
 moreover, a hearty laugh and listened with 
 sympathy to the commonplaces of all kinds of 
 mediocrity. Of course, he was popular. A man 
 with such traits was bound to be popular. 
 
 I dare say there have been those who, in meet- 
 ing Frank Froest and knowing his reputation, have 
 wondered how it was that a man who carried so 
 little sign of subtlety, should have risen high. After 
 a good many years' acquaintance with him, I think 
 that Frank Froest had qualities which he contrived 
 to hide behind a perfectly natural geniality. Those 
 who have listened to his excellent stories, pungent 
 and otherwise, and who have known him as one 
 of the best of good fellows, would hardly recognise 
 the tenacious attributes which lay behind those 
 laughing eyes and the common-sense observation 
 which was always in readiness. 
 
 Frank Froest has fought with murderers, has 
 been entertained at country houses, has mixed with 
 Continental and American swindlers at fashionable 
 
A SCOTLAND YARD MAN 109 
 
 London hotels, has talked with professional men 
 on social terms, has exchanged badinage with irre- 
 claimable criminals, and yet, I am certain, he has 
 never said a single word which was indiscreet or 
 done an indiscreet thing. It is a great thing to 
 make your opponents underrate you. 
 
 He must often have led those whom he met 
 into a totally wrong appraisement of his capability, 
 and, with all his fun, good humour, and anecdote, 
 he was, in fact, one of the most silent of men. 
 Acquaintances heard nothing that mattered from 
 him, although many of them were without doubt 
 prepared to swear that they knew the inmost 
 secrets of his inmost heart. This was one phase 
 of Froest's personality. Add to this an undeviating 
 shrewdness, and you begin to sum him up. There 
 is another thing that has to be taken into account. 
 This amiable, good fellow with the twinkling blue 
 eyes and the manicured finger-nails, was almost 
 entirely lacking in those sensibilities which go to 
 make up what is known as physical fear. I do not 
 think he would take it as any special recom- 
 mendation. He was just gifted by nature with 
 the power not to be afraid of physical dangers. 
 That is a remarkable asset to an ambitious man in 
 the detective force. 
 
 Stories about him are many, and they would 
 make a fascinating book. His first real success as 
 
no ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 a detective in the London police force was when, as 
 a police-sergeant, he committed a theft to further his 
 official ends. A young lady of well-to-do family 
 was missing, and no trace of her could be found any- 
 where, and her people were convinced that she had 
 met with a fatal accident or had been spirited away. 
 
 Rewards were offered. Private detectives put 
 forth much energy, but all in vain. The aid of 
 Scotland Yard was sought, and Frank Froest, a 
 young plain-clothes officer, was switched on to the 
 job. He went into the thing thoroughly. 
 
 He came to the unexpected conclusion that 
 the young lady had gone away on her own accord, 
 although such a suggestion, had he made it, would 
 have struck her relatives dumb with indignant 
 surprise. 
 
 Frank Froest tried various means of getting at 
 the facts. He studied the London district in which 
 she lived, marked down the nearest matrimonial 
 agency, and he went and called on the proprietor 
 of this agency — an old man who strenuously 
 repudiated the idea that the girl had been in touch 
 with his office in any way. 
 
 In the course of the conversation the detective 
 noticed among other photographs on the mantel- 
 piece of the room that of a girl and a man together, 
 the look of the former bearing a general resemblance 
 to the description of the missing girl which had 
 
A SCOTLAND YARD MAN in 
 
 been supplied to him. He made an excuse to send 
 the proprietor of the matrimonial agency out of the 
 room to get a book for examination. When he 
 was out; Froest put the photograph of the man 
 and woman in his pocket, and went off out of the 
 place without the old man knowing anything of 
 the abstraction. It was a lucky hit. The girl in 
 the portrait was the missing girl, and, by the help 
 of the picture, he found that she had gone off with 
 a young man as romantic as herself. There was 
 no question of kidnapping or of fatal accident. 
 That was Froest's first adventure in London. 
 
 One can but give a story here and there from 
 the web of adventure in which he was enmeshed 
 for so many years afterwards. He was still a 
 young officer when there came news by wire from 
 America that a desperate criminal was on board 
 a cattle boat which had just left New York for 
 Liverpool. He was a cowboy from one of the 
 Western States who had killed at intervals six 
 different people — farmers or ranchmen, and had 
 somehow escaped the hand of the law and had 
 reached New York and got a place as cattleman 
 aboard the steamer. Only after the steamer had 
 left did the authorities track him. It was to meet 
 this desperado at Queenstown that Frank Froest 
 was dispatched from London. He enlisted the 
 aid of two local officers, and when the cattle boat 
 
112 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 arrived outside of the harbour, Froest and his two 
 colleagues went off in a boat to board her. On 
 reaching the deck, he was at once in the midst 
 of some of the men, and he quickly espied the 
 cowboy, because the latter was a big man, and 
 possessed marked characteristics, notably huge 
 hands and wrists. Froest stepped up to him, with 
 the ostensible purpose of arresting him, but pre- 
 pared for battle. 
 
 The man did not hesitate. He guessed what 
 Frank Froest was after, and flung himself bodily 
 at the detective. There was a terrific struggle 
 upon the deck. 
 
 When two men are fighting hard, and when one 
 of them, as in this case, has drawn a sheath knife, 
 and is stabbing furiously at his opponent, it is not 
 easy for outsiders to interfere. In that lurid minute 
 the other police officers and other people on the 
 ship could do nothing to help the young detective. 
 It was really touch and go with him. The cowboy 
 slashed with his knife, its furious jabs going 
 through clothing here and there. 
 
 The up-and-down struggle was ended by Froest 
 getting his man down on his back, and it was only 
 a matter of seconds then for the handcuffs to be 
 placed on him. That was the exciting beginning 
 of an interesting episode. Down in the man's box 
 was found some of the bloodstained garments of the 
 
A SCOTLAND YARD MAN 113 
 
 people he had murdered — stockings, for instance, 
 soaked in blood. The handle of the knife with 
 which he had tried to stab the detective was 
 notched in six places — one notch for every life 
 he had taken. Froest has that knife now. He 
 laughingly recalls the possibility that he might 
 have made the seventh notch. 
 
 When the man had been brought to London 
 and locked up, the authorities in his State — 
 Wisconsin — were communicated with, and in 
 course of time a sheriff came over from the State 
 to take the prisoner back to America. Frank 
 Froest was sent up from the Yard to meet him at 
 Euston in order to conduct him to the detective 
 headquarters. Since that time the famous detective 
 has travelled all over the world, and he has told 
 me that never in the course of his travellings has 
 he ever — north, south, east, or west— seen a person 
 in any way closely resembling the typical example 
 of an American to be found in our comic journals. 
 The only time he ever saw a person who resembled 
 these drawings was on this occasion when he 
 went to Euston to meet the sheriff's officer from 
 Wisconsin. There was no mistaking him — slouch 
 hat, goatee beard, top boots— all were en rigle. 
 Froest stepped up to him at once with a cheery 
 word of welcome. The sheriff frowned on him — 
 gave him a sour look of suspicion. 
 
 I 
 
114 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 "You're from Wisconsin?" said Froest. Like 
 lightning the hand of the American went round to 
 his hip pocket. 
 
 "You don't try those tricks on me, stranger," 
 said he. His face displayed his purpose, for 
 he had mistaken the detective for some British 
 "sharp" who was trying to impose upon him as a 
 newly-arrived stranger. 
 
 Frank Froest says he has been through a good 
 deal, but this was the only time in his life that a 
 revolver has been drawn upon him in Euston 
 Station. He did not press his acquaintance with 
 the sheriff, but left him to make his way to Scotland 
 Yard as best he might. 
 . Let me give a story of a different kind. Frank 
 Froest once went to South Africa to arrest a 
 celebrated sharper, whose name began with T. 
 
 T was a very accomplished swindler indeed, 
 
 an expert in several departments of his diverse 
 science. Latterly, he had flown at high game. 
 
 Frank Froest arrested and brought him back to 
 
 this country, and T on the voyage lightened 
 
 time by exchanging anecdotes with his captor. 
 Here is one of the swindler's stories — 
 
 " I went to Australia once in order to see what 
 could be done, and found myself up in a mining 
 camp which was doing very well. Going into a 
 saloon, and having a drink, and looking round, I 
 
A SCOTLAND YARD MAN 115 
 
 saw a couple of men playing cards at a table. 
 They were two local cardsharpers, and, spotting 
 me as a ' pigeon ' to be plucked, they presently 
 offered me a word of welcome. I didn't mind ; I 
 used to do a bit with cards myself years before. I 
 went over and joined them. There was a hand or 
 two, and then I stopped and rang the bell for the 
 waiter. The other two chaps looked at me in 
 surprise. When the waiter came I said, ' Bring me 
 the paint-pot and a paint-brush.'" 
 
 *' ' What the devil for ? ' asked one of the men. 
 
 " ' Why,' said I to them, ' I see you have not 
 marked them a// .^' " 
 
 I asked Frank Froest once to tell me what was 
 the narrowest escape he ever had from death, and 
 after laughing and saying he never had any narrow 
 escapes, he told me this story : He had been de- 
 puted to shadow a French criminal who had landed 
 here, and he shadowed him for a couple of days 
 before arresting him on the Embankment. On the 
 way to the police station the man became quite 
 communicative. ** I am rather glad the suspense is 
 over," he said ; " it has been a wretched time since 
 I have been here. I knew some of you were 
 shadowing me, although you did not think I knew. 
 It made me pretty desperate. Do you remember 
 strolling along behind me in Piccadilly?" 
 
 " Yes," said Froest. 
 
ii6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 ^' Well, when we got well along towards 
 Piccadilly Circus I was worked up to a pitch 
 which nearly brought things to an end. I had a 
 loaded revolver in my pocket. I stepped into a 
 doorway of a jeweller's shop in order to wait for 
 you to come up abreast of me. I had made up my 
 mind to shoot you and then to shoot myself. For 
 some reason you went up a side turning — up to 
 Vine Street, I think — and that saved you." 
 
 Point is given to this narrative by the fact that 
 this man subsequently served a term at a French 
 penal settlement for the murder of an acquaintance 
 of his in France. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LONDON EPISODES 
 
 I WENT out one September Sunday evening to 
 find, if possible, the music hall which I had been 
 told existed in the East End and did a good business 
 on Sunday evenings. 
 
 It was a damp and dirty winter night, and the 
 two pavements of Commercial Road, Whitechapel, 
 were lined by never-ending streams of people — 
 people for the most part with black hair and 
 shining eyes ; for I was in the Ghetto, and four 
 out of five of the people were Jews. With much 
 searching and after many inquiries I eventually 
 reached a modest doorway with a half-hoop of 
 coloured glass above the door. A hall-porter in 
 shabby uniform was beneath the coloured glass. 
 Past him in the passage I found a little desk, and 
 from a pigeon-hole a lady with bright eyes made 
 quick and pleasant inquiries as to what I wanted 
 to pay. I was not quite at home, and, rather awk- 
 wardly, I was asking the price of admission, 
 
ii8 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 when a couple of Jews came towards me from 
 the end of the passage and tried to persuade me 
 that there was really nothing to see, that the 
 performance was merely a benefit on behalf of 
 a Jew in trouble, that only Jews were present, 
 and that the performance was in Yiddish. 
 What possible interest could I find in the pro- 
 ceedings? They gently suggested I had better go 
 away. I expressed my sympathy with the bene- 
 ficiary, and I manifested my feeling by a donation 
 of half a crown, quite apart from any entrance fee. 
 I think I paid sixpence eventually to go in. 
 
 The performance had commenced when 1 
 entered. The building was well lighted with 
 incandescent gas, had its walls decorated with big 
 mirrors, and contained some two or three hundred 
 people, all of whom were watching intently and 
 seriously the little stage on which two men in 
 dilapidated garments were footing an emasculated 
 Russian jig. Not a sign of amusement was there 
 among the audience. The whole assembly might 
 have been engaged in a religious rite. All at once 
 the dancers stopped. There was rapid exchange 
 of words in the strange, musical Yiddish, and a 
 little laughter sprang from the audience, joined a 
 minute later by a good deal of hand-clapping when 
 the dancers skipped off the stage in orthodox style. 
 
 In the course of a couple of minutes' interval 
 
LONDON EPISODES 119 
 
 the people chattered and laughed among them- 
 selves, while an unshaven, middle-aged Jew brought 
 round refreshments in the shape of halfpenny cakes 
 in bags, and glasses of lemonade. All sorts and 
 sizes of Jews were in the closely-packed chairs. 
 The first two rows had what may be called the 
 aristocrats of the gathering, for there were big 
 shirt-fronts on some of the men, and the ladies 
 were wearing much jewellery. But the stalls were 
 not inviolate. In the very middle of the front row 
 was a middle-aged Jew with slight brown beard 
 and a shabby coat, who looked remarkably like the 
 pavement dealer in toys who used to stand near 
 Whitechapel Station. Moreover, the comfort of the 
 aristocrats was disturbed by a boy of fifteen, who, 
 with cap on the head and cigarette in mouth, walked 
 between two rows of stalls and puffed the smoke 
 unconcernedly in the faces of the stall-holders. 
 
 Behind sat row after row of Jews, tightly 
 packed and quietly talking. In the rear of the 
 hall were youths wearing neckerchiefs for collars, 
 and with caps pulled forward over their foreheads. 
 "A tough lot," some one called them; but they 
 were as well-behaved as the occupants of the dress 
 circle at a West End theatre. 
 
 Between the scenes a black-haired young man, 
 whose portrait was given on the programme, 
 lounged on the stage, and in thrilling Yiddish 
 
120 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 announced the next turn. Sometimes a strange 
 remark was thrown at him, and then he would 
 speak and languidly converse with the audience 
 for a minute or two, and finally disappear in a 
 torrent of good-humoured Yiddish. Besides being 
 the M.C., he was one of the performers. Once he 
 came on and sang what, from the opening bars, 
 promised to be a humorous song, but it had a 
 plaintive chorus, in which the word '' fatherland " 
 could easily be distinguished even by a stranger. 
 The chorus silenced the audience. No one spoke. 
 One woman, with a little baby, who wanted to cry, 
 licked its face all the time to keep it quiet. 
 
 The spirit of things was changed by the next 
 performer, a stout man, dressed in women's clothes, 
 who sought to rouse laughter by the accustomed 
 antics of a second-rate comedian. He sang a 
 London cockney song, with all its cockney embel- 
 lishments in Yiddish. Conceive a stout, slow-eyed 
 Jew running about the stage in skirts shouting 
 out a Yiddish " Hi-tiddly-hi-ti." He roused no 
 enthusiasm, though there was a little perfunctory 
 applause and some fleeting smiles. The comic man 
 was followed by a troupe in the smocks of Russian 
 peasants, who sketched the horrors and sorrows 
 of the Jew abroad. 
 
 Presently there was a lively dance, followed 
 attentively, but without elation. English Jews 
 
LONDON EPISODES 121 
 
 were all these people gathered together to enjoy 
 themselves in the careless English way ; and yet it 
 was impossible for Englishmen not to see that here 
 was a race of strangers. The soul of the gathering 
 was entirely different from the soul of an English 
 gathering. Sometimes in the performance the 
 audience applauded with a touch of boisterousness, 
 but there was always present a sense of melancholy. 
 It was typified in the slim and graceful girl who in 
 the last turn enacted the part of a poor Russian 
 wife. Her dark eyes, even in the happiest moments 
 of the play, wore an undercurrent of sadness, 
 the sadness which comes from racial dreams 
 and centuries of trouble. When, after a recall, 
 she smiled and put her hands to her lips with 
 her pretty white teeth showing, she still had 
 with her that undercurrent of sadness. The light 
 of Israel was in her eyes. 
 
 ^ « * « * 
 
 Let me take the reader to another kind of scene 
 altogether. On the morning of June 23, 191 1, I 
 stepped into the page of a history book for a little 
 while. I was within the spacious annexe of West- 
 minster Abbey, which that day formed part of the 
 Abbey itself, and was the royal ante-chamber and 
 the meeting-place of royalties and nobles assem- 
 bling for the coronation. They all talked like 
 ordinary people, but they were decked in the 
 
122 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 gorgeous robes and bore the accoutrements of the 
 picturesque Middle Ages. It gave one a kind of 
 Peter Pan sensation. I was back in the days of boy- 
 hood, with history dates in mind and the memory of 
 the Field of the Cloth of Gold. One stepped from 
 Victoria Street into the atmosphere of Stanley 
 Weyman, with courtiers and princesses joking with 
 each other, with priceless jewels in a heap near by, 
 and tapestries made in the days of knights of old. 
 
 One had to get up very early to travel from the 
 suburbs to Westminster, because of the clearing of 
 the streets by the police and the preservation of 
 the royal route against the pressure of the hundreds 
 of thousands of people who had come from all 
 parts of the country and abroad to witness the 
 ceremonies in connection with the Coronation Day. 
 At seven in the morning the Underground Station 
 at Victoria was thronged, and the streets were 
 already overflowing, and at eight, when I entered 
 the elaborate annexe of Westminster Abbey, lords 
 and ladies were already arriving for the ceremony 
 later on. 
 
 Like a great hall was the annexe, with soft 
 green carpet over the whole of it, the only inter- 
 ruptions of its openness being the wooden support- 
 ing pillars, around which were placed armour from 
 centuries ago and old weapons, one of which — so it 
 was said— had caused the death of a French king. 
 
LONDON EPISODES 123 
 
 Tapestries, which had been insured for ;£"70,ooo, lent 
 by one of the ancient families, hung around the 
 sides. A small table on one side bore a portion of 
 the regalia, and the only other furniture consisted 
 of little round stools here, there, and everywhere, 
 on which the waiting notabilities could rest them- 
 selves. Through the annexe was the principal 
 means of access to the Abbey for the more dis- 
 tinguished of the visitors, and a good many of them 
 made it a rendezvous for an hour or more before 
 passing to their seats. 
 
 Those people with the greatest titles and the 
 highest positions waited on throughout until the 
 King and Queen arrived ; and thus for the best 
 part of the morning the hall was a place full of 
 vivacity and colour, and presented a scene memor- 
 able not only for picturesqueness, but also for 
 associations. The heads of famous families were 
 here with their House of Lords garb of scarlet and 
 ermine, with their glittering coronets, and their 
 dazzling stars and other decorations across their 
 breasts ; wives and daughters, as well as heads 
 of families, were here robed with magnificence, 
 bejewelled, with pages carrying their elaborate 
 trains ; young sons of the families were here, too, 
 in the white satin Court dress, and the red heeled 
 shoes of centuries ago. These boys scampered 
 joyfully across the green carpet swinging their 
 
124 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 fathers' coronets in their hands, enjoying the great 
 occasion with a naturalness denied to their elders. 
 
 Persons of distinction apart from birth were in 
 the annexe. Sir Wilfred Laurier, a romantic figure 
 at any time, strode across the floor enrobed in a 
 flowing robe of azure blue which descended from 
 his shoulders to his feet. Bishops stood in a knot 
 in one corner chatting together with Lord Rose- 
 bery. Famous generals, of whom Lord Kitchener 
 was one, went and peeped in the Abbey, and came 
 back again to join the dukes and duchesses grouped 
 here and there about the place. I saw one peer, 
 who has been separated from his wife, standing in 
 reflective attitude just as his wife came sailing in, 
 making straight for the interior of the Abbey. 
 Very splendid she looked. The peer woke up 
 instantly, turned on his heel, and went to a side 
 door to see what the weather was like. 
 
 Somebody came in with a tray bearing a crown 
 glittering with diamonds. It was placed on a kind 
 of sideboard. Leaning against the wall near it was 
 the sceptre of England. 
 
 Chatter went on all round amid the various 
 crowds. Princess Patricia of Connaught entered 
 with some other younger royalties and sat down on 
 stools near a group of three Pressmen who, it is 
 safe to conjecture, were not known as Pressmen by 
 the assembled company. A young princess knocked 
 
LONDON EPISODES 125 
 
 over a stool and a newspaper man readjusted it 
 for her, and had some royal and vivacious thanks. 
 Young princes from abroad — I think from Den- 
 mark — made another group, and they chatted freely 
 together as they swung miniature coronets to and 
 fro by their suspending ribbons. ^'They would do 
 very well to carry things in," I heard one of them 
 say, and there was much laughter. 
 
 The Marquis of Londonderry, a big, burly, jovial 
 figure, entered in full robes, carrying under his arm 
 a couple of newspapers, and, after greetings here 
 and there, he dropped on a stool, placed one news-- 
 paper on the stool near him, and opened the other 
 to peruse it. He read with deep interest until a 
 duchess came up and laughingly challenged him, 
 and then he had to exchange a few words with her 
 before she passed on and he could resume the 
 reading of his newspaper. An enthusiast had a 
 camera, and he persuaded the Duke of Northumber- 
 land to stand up against the wall holding in front 
 of him the Queen's crown on a cushion so that a 
 photograph might be taken of him. 
 
 People came and went, a good many passed on 
 into the Abbey. Animation was everywhere, and 
 there was no doubt about the human expectation 
 of all this blue-blooded crowd — men, women, and 
 children. Some time before the King and Queen 
 were expected Mr. Asquith, the Prime Minister, 
 
126 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 walked in. Beyond an inclination of the head and 
 a passing word, they paid little attention to him. 
 He found a seat, sat down, and flung a cold eye 
 over the assembly, and he looked like a man who 
 was saying to himself, "Well, well; I suppose I 
 must put up with it since the King is. coming." A 
 peeress went and spoke to him in the course of 
 a few minutes, and was very courteous and kindly 
 to him, and some of the other peers afterwards 
 spoke for a moment or two with him. But on the 
 whole he was neglected, for it has to be remem- 
 bered that it was just at this time that the crisis 
 about the Parliament Act was approaching, and the 
 fate of the House of Lords hung in the balance. A 
 fellow Pressman by my side whispered to me, " See 
 that peer who went across and polished his coronet 
 on his sleeve in front of Asquith ? " I had not seen 
 anything of the kind, for the speaker was a wag. 
 But the remark illustrates the kind of feeling pro- 
 duced by the scene. My friend went so far as to 
 suggest that before the morning was out there 
 would be a semi-circle of peers sitting round the 
 isolated Mr. Asquith, glaring at him, all polishing 
 their coronets on their sleeves, as a sign of their 
 defiance of him and all his works. Alas ! I was not 
 privileged to watch that animated and exhilarating 
 spectacle. 
 
 Presently there was a great rumbling from the 
 
LONDON EPISODES 127 
 
 outside world, and we knew that tens of thousands 
 of people were cheering the approach of the King 
 and Queen. A space of five minutes passed while 
 they were in the dressing-room in the annexe, 
 undergoing the process of robing, and meanwhile 
 the nobles, the generals, the bishops, and the 
 statesmen formed themselves up in procession to 
 accompany their Sovereign into the Abbey for 
 the culminating ceremony. Some of the nobles 
 held ancient banners aloft. The bishops carried 
 between them the Bible and sacramental vessels. 
 Glittering diamond crowns were carried on 
 cushions by noblemen. Lord Kitchener, appro- 
 priately enough, held aloft one of the great cere- 
 monial swords of state. Princess Patricia and 
 other Princesses stood in readiness with their 
 trains spread-eagled and upheld by large numbers 
 of little pages. 
 
 A sudden silence fell over the annexe as the 
 King and Queen emerged from the dressing-room 
 and came forward to take their part in the pro- 
 cession. The Queen looked stern, rather stiff, 
 very upright, but composed. The King, with the 
 speckled ermine Cap of Maintenance on his head, 
 revealed his shortness of stature. He was pale 
 and looked nervous, and no wonder, considering 
 what the occasion was to him. There was the 
 young princess, a bonny young girl, who appeared 
 
128 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 strangely out of place amid all the glitter and 
 flaming robes ; and there was the Prince of Wales, 
 too, a well-set-up boy of seventeen, who walked 
 with the easy gait of a lad who has not a care on 
 his shoulders and who loves outdoor life. Slowly 
 the Royalties, with the attendant procession, passed 
 to the Abbey, and a great gush of music burst forth. 
 
 The annexe had suddenly become a very lonely 
 place. The point of life and spectacle had shifted 
 fifty yards to the west of us. The play in the 
 annexe was at an end. 
 
 * « « 4& « 
 
 One of the pictures etched on my mind in 
 connection with London will always be the first 
 appearance of Dr. Crippen in this country when 
 brought back from Canada in connection with the 
 death of Mrs. Crippen, Crippen has since been 
 hanged as a murderer. The horrifying story of 
 the discovery of Mrs. Crippen's body beneath the 
 cellar floor at Crippen's residence in the north of 
 London, the flight of Crippen, his discovery by 
 means of wireless telegraphy on board a ship 
 bound for Canada, and his arrest in company with 
 his companion. Miss Le Neve, and his conveyance 
 back to this country — all these things will be fresh 
 in the memory of those who read the newspapers. 
 
 One of the extraordinary features of the whole 
 story was the devotion of this middle-aged, 
 
LONDON EPISODES 129 
 
 unprepossessing man for a young and attractive- 
 looking girl, Miss Le Neve, who went away with 
 him. Of course, Miss Le Neve knew nothing of 
 the murder, and it is inconceivable that she should 
 have had anything to do with Crippen if she had 
 known him to be the murderer he was afterwards 
 proved to be. Nevertheless, at the time I speak 
 of she knew what he was charged with, knew the 
 public odium which surrounded him, and she still 
 clung to him, clung to him as affectionately as he, 
 a brutal murderer, did to her. Here, then, was 
 the couple whom I saw at the police court on a 
 morning towards the end of August, 1910. 
 
 Intense was the interest aroused by the official 
 hearing of the charge against them on their arrival 
 in this country. They were brought to London 
 to be taken before the chief magistrate at Bow 
 Street, and hundreds of sightseers gathered in 
 the neighbourhood of the court in the morning 
 eager for admission, and I remember how busy 
 were the police in moving the crowds on. The 
 representatives of the Press by themselves were 
 in such large numbers that they had to be formed 
 up in a queue outside the doors of the court, and 
 were only admitted on the presentation of their 
 cards. 
 
 Mr. Marsham, the veteran stipendiary, came 
 in and took his seat on the bench, and immediately 
 
 K 
 
130 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 he had composed himself the door at the side 
 opposite the dock swung inwards for the entry 
 of the two prisoners. All in court— Sir Charles 
 Mathews, the Public Prosecutor, the thick cluster 
 of police and detectives, the score of reporters and 
 artists — swept round with one accord and fixed 
 their eyes on the opening door. There emerged 
 a graceful, erect girl in dark-blue costume, with 
 spreading dark-blue hat, her face half hidden in 
 a motor veil of lighter hue. Behind her walked 
 a plump-faced little man in a grey frock-coat 
 rather too large for him. The man's big pro- 
 tuberant eyes were emphasised by an almost total 
 lack of brows ; and a very little nose and half- 
 grown moustache, a fleshly little chin, a wide, 
 upright forehead, and only sufficient hair to 
 indicate a parting in the middle, gave the first 
 impression of Crippen. This impression, however, 
 was imperfect. It was quite an inadequate de- 
 scription of the man after he had been seen for a 
 minute or two, for it was the vivacity of his face 
 that made up his personality. The portraits of 
 him which had been printed in the papers with 
 his spectacles and severe aspect made him some- 
 what wooden. In real life, he carried the message 
 of thoughtfulness, apprehension, sensitiveness. 
 One would never have thought that he was a 
 cold-blooded murderer. He walked into the dock 
 
LONDON EPISODES 131 
 
 behind Miss Le Neve with quiet; confident 
 demeanour. The intense silence, the concentrated 
 scrutiny of the crowded court would have had 
 effect on a man of weak nerves, but no sign 
 appeared on the diminutive boyish face of Crippen 
 as he turned in the middle of the dock, and side 
 by side with Miss Le Neve faced the magistrate. 
 His fringe of fair hair at the back of his head 
 was long; it descended over the top of his collar 
 behind, I remember. His light-grey frock-coat 
 was ill-fitting and came beneath his knees. 
 
 As for Miss Le Neve, she was a great contrast 
 in every way from the human standpoint. She 
 was a graceful girl of excellent figure, with soft, 
 clear complexion and steady eyes. Her lips were 
 full. It was not hard to read, despite her self- 
 command, capacity for much emotion. Both 
 prisoners rested their arms on the iron bar at 
 the top of the dock in front of them, and their 
 elbows touched each other as they stood together 
 there facing the magistrate. 
 
 This man who had killed his wife, buried her 
 beneath the cellar, and lived with Miss Le Neve 
 in the room adjoining for months afterwards, was 
 a study for the most ruthless analyst of human 
 morals and emotions. You could see the innate 
 gentleness of the man as you looked at him. The 
 evidence revealed the tenderness with which 
 
132 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 he had treated Miss Le Neve. But what of 
 the girl? Here was a really beautiful young 
 creature in the prime of young womanhood, who 
 might have been expected, whatever her initial 
 inclination, to have been revolted by the charge 
 which had been made against the man at her side, 
 for she was guiltless, mind you, and must have 
 brought a shocked mind to appear upon the 
 terrible crime. 
 
 What happened? She clung closer to the 
 man. He was elderly, insignificant and ugly. 
 She was young, handsome, and appealing, and 
 yet with every look and gesture she indicated 
 that she was as fascinated with him as he was 
 with her. 
 
 Piece by piece the official narrative was laid 
 before the magistrates, and Inspector Dew, from 
 Scotland Yard, who went to Canada to arrest the 
 couple, told portions of a new story. In a quiet 
 voice he read out a message which he believed 
 to be in Crippen's writing, indicating intention 
 of suicide — a damning statement in the circum- 
 stances, hitherto not known and perhaps believed 
 by Crippen to be undiscovered. He showed no 
 sign. Sometimes a man's hands betray him when 
 his face is steady. Crippen's white fingers, with 
 their delicately-manicured nails, were loosely 
 linked together in full view of the court, as with 
 
LONDON EPISODES 133 
 
 his elbows still on the front rail of the dock, he 
 leaned forward to listen. They showed entire 
 restfulness. Miss Le Neve was different. In 
 her delicate white fingers she held some black 
 gloves, and as the evidence progressed those black 
 gloves were feverishly twisted backwards and 
 forwards, and shifted from hand to hand. 
 
 Who knows? Perhaps this piece of evidence 
 about the suggestion of suicide was new to her, 
 and brought home for the first time some indication 
 of what Crippen had done. He turned a quick 
 look at her as if fearful that the evidence might 
 hurt her. She edged her elbow a little on to 
 his to show that she understood, and that all was 
 well— just a tiny comforting indication. I shall 
 always remember those two as they stood together. 
 
 I thought of the scene at the time when I had 
 my last glimpse of Crippen on the dread day 
 for him at the Old Bailey, when he stood between 
 warders, grey-faced, immovable, with paralysed 
 heart, as the judge sent him to his doom. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 
 
 When one goes to Victoria station and gets one's 
 bags and portmanteaux labelled in a matter-of-fact 
 way '^ Victoria to St. Petersburg," one is feeling a 
 good deal more interested in the excitements of 
 the journey and the romance of a new country 
 than in any abstract considerations of good-will 
 between nations. I went to Russia in January, 
 1912, in order to see something of a visit of 
 Britishers — bishops, generals, members of Parlia- 
 ment, and commercial men— to St. Petersburg and 
 Moscow, whither they had been invited by the 
 municipalities, with the co-operation of the Imperial 
 authorities. The English were going to get a 
 glimpse of Russia, and were going to have a good 
 time. I went ahead of them and I came back after 
 them, and was only with the party as a spectator 
 during some of their junketings. Critics said there 
 were sinister commercial and political motives 
 behind the arrangements ; while those who 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 135 
 
 organised the visit declared it was arranged with 
 the highest and noblest purposes. Such considera- 
 tions were not for me to bother with. When 
 I got to Victoria at about a quarter-past eight 
 one Saturday evening I was thinking a good deal 
 more about registering my baggage and getting 
 a corner seat in the boat train for Folkestone than 
 of any great international aim. 
 
 I remember the unappreciative, matter-of-fact 
 way the porters slapped the St. Petersburg labels 
 on my bags, as though I were going to Croydon 
 or to Clapham Junction. I found out the difference 
 when I came to pay for the luggage in addition to 
 my ticket. 
 
 I stowed my kit-bag and rug in the carriage, 
 and after buying some newspapers and magazines 
 at the bookstall, remembering previous experiences 
 and difficulties in getting one's boots cleaned when 
 on the move, I went down and gave the station 
 shoeblack a final job. 
 
 It was a damp, grey evening, and while I was 
 having my boots polished I was thinking of snow 
 scenes in Russia, to which I w^as hurrying, and 
 wondering whether it was as cold as people said 
 it was in January, and how I was to manage in 
 Russia with a knowledge of Russian limited to 
 two words. But there were a good many little 
 experiences to go through before the time 
 
136 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 arrived when I was face to face with these 
 difficulties. 
 
 I was on board the Flushing boat at midnight, 
 and with the cowardice born of experience I made 
 for my cabin at once — for there is nothing like a 
 prone position to encounter any disposition to 
 sea-sickness. I was just getting comfortable when 
 a little, black-bearded German came in and took 
 the lower berth. Neither of us could sleep for 
 the heat and the closeness of the cabin, and the 
 German took the opportunity of narrating to me 
 how he was going to Berlin to rescue his patrimony 
 from a skilful and deceitful lawyer. 
 
 At 4 a.m. I was dressing myself preparatory 
 to getting ashore at Flushing, where in the damp 
 darkness we pushed with others to the landing- 
 stage and began to make our passage over staging 
 and through corridors to the adjacent railway 
 station. Porters in Dutch persistently offered 
 assistance which was refused, and in consequence 
 I presently found myself on a wrong platform, 
 selecting a wrong train, and making myself com- 
 fortable in a carriage which, for all I knew, would 
 have landed me at Spitzbergen or Christiania 
 instead of Berlin, which was my immediate 
 objective. 
 
 In my right train presently, I found as a fellow- 
 traveller a swarthy young man whom I afterwards 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 137 
 
 learnt was a Turk who was in partnership with his 
 father at Salonika and Constantinople in some 
 general stores — the *' Harrods " of Turkey I 
 gathered them to be from his conversation. He 
 was going to Chemnitz to buy cotton goods. 
 
 We were in the light of day when, at about 
 eight o'clock, we reached the German frontier, 
 where the train came to a standstill, and the 
 German Customs official entered the carriage to 
 make sure we had no dutiable articles. He care- 
 fully examined the handbag of my fellow voyager, 
 took a steady look at me, and passed on without 
 any investigation of my belongings. I have often 
 wondered whether that was a compliment or not. 
 
 A short wait, and we were on our way again 
 — this time through Germany, and from thence 
 onward I saw snow on the ground. Indeed, from 
 the departure out of Holland, through Germany 
 into Russia to St. Petersburg, south-east from St. 
 Petersburg to Moscow, back from Moscow, through 
 Warsaw into Germany again, and through Germany 
 once more to the North Sea, there was snow on 
 the earth all the time and all the way, a distance 
 of something like 2,500 miles. 
 
 Through the flat, snow-covered country, through 
 the great manufacturing towns we rushed in our 
 smooth-travelling, comfortably warmed carriage, 
 and it was just about five o'clock in the evening 
 
138 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 when we steamed into Berlin. I spent a pleasant 
 evening in the German capital, and at eleven o'clock 
 was escorted to the station by some journalistic 
 friendS; and started for the Russian frontier half 
 an hour before midnight. There were twelve 
 hours in the train before we were to approach 
 the little frontier town of Wirballen. 
 
 The cold increased, the snow outside grew 
 deeper, and one felt the protection of the double 
 windows of the carriages to be a luxury. Next 
 morning when I awoke we were still traversing 
 that interminable, flat country, with its snow 
 surface broken here and there by woods. We 
 slowed up near mid-day. Russia at last. 
 
 With the pricking expectancy always produced 
 by an entry into a new and interesting country for 
 the first time, I got out of the train with the other 
 passengers on to a low platform and joined in the 
 procession towards the open door of what in 
 England might have been the booking-office or the 
 passengers' waiting-room. It was extremely cold 
 even under the protection of the station roof, and 
 the cold was acute and biting, not at all blusterous. 
 Away from the station one got a glimpse of the 
 whitened country lying in utter silence. 
 
 I had no idea of what formality was necessary 
 in entering Russia apart from the fact that, in 
 common with the other passengers on the train. 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 139 
 
 I had been advised by the conductor to get my 
 passport ready. I found the entrance into which 
 we had to pass was not that of a waiting-room, but 
 of a great apartment, tall and square, used by the 
 Russian Customs officials. On each side of the 
 door stood an official, a policeman probably, big, 
 square-shouldered, florid-faced, with a happy ex- 
 pression, long blue overcoat, and a sword by his 
 side, and these two officials took the passports 
 from the outstretched hands of the passengers as 
 they went by. 
 
 As soon as we got inside we learnt that we had 
 to line up outside a big counter which went around 
 three sides of the room, that our passports were 
 to be examined in turn, and that each passenger, 
 his passport being found unimpeachable, was to be 
 taken to his baggage, which was then to be ex- 
 amined in the ordinary way. Bags, portmanteaux, 
 trunks were fetched from the train and piled high 
 within the protecting arms of the great counter. 
 Groups of uniformed Russian officials walked 
 about calmly and comfortably, and Russian work- 
 men in smocks moved the luggage in a leisurely 
 fashion. At one end of the Customs House, high 
 up on the wall, was a religious picture, and in front 
 of it a burning candle, the icon without which no 
 apartment in Russia is complete. 
 
 At three o'clock a.m. the train was to start for 
 
140 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 St. Petersburg, and there was consequently just 
 three hours to wait. After fifty minutes' standing 
 at the counter with the line of others, I began to 
 fear that the unalterable leisureliness would pre- 
 vent me from getting into the train in time. I need 
 not have worried. It is just a way in Russia. 
 They allow themselves time for everything. I 
 appealed to a passing official, first in English, then 
 in French, without result. A fellow-passenger 
 near me spoke to a workman in German without 
 success. Russian is the language for Russia if 
 you want to progress there, although German is 
 second best, French and English falling far behind. 
 Presently I saw an official, in his gorgeous light- 
 blue overcoat and his sword by his side, attended 
 by a suite of three or four other officials, passing 
 along in front of the line of waiting voyagers, 
 calling out a name. A passport was in his hand. 
 He was seeking for the owner of the name on the 
 passport. Presently the owner was found and, 
 attended by the gorgeous official and the suite, 
 went to his baggage, which was thereupon ex- 
 amined and passed. That was the process that 
 went on intermittently for an hour or more. My 
 turn came right towards the end of the process, 
 because it seems to be the custom for some reason 
 or other to take the English passports last. 
 Eventually I was approached, as had been the 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 141 
 
 others, and I trotted out some English and some 
 French, which only led to shakes of the head on 
 the part of the chief official. Dumb show, how- 
 ever, served for the occasion, and I was allowed 
 to take my baggage without unfastening any part 
 of it. 
 
 I visited the station restaurant, where I had the 
 first indication of the Russian love of food, and 
 good food, and from there I obtained my first 
 glimpse of the grey, grim Russian train which was 
 to take me to St. Petersburg. 
 
 Something unreal strikes one at first about 
 these Russian trains. They are of broad gauge, 
 apparently of tremendous height, dim grey in 
 colour, and the engines are fed not by coal but by 
 wood fuel. The whole train looks gigantic, in- 
 hospitable, and ungainly. As a matter of fact, the 
 inside is very comfortable indeed, because not only 
 does the width of the trains give ample elbow 
 space, but affords stability and smoothness in the 
 travelling— a pleasant state of things which is 
 emphasised by the slow rate of progress. 
 
 I secured a sleeping berth in one of the com- 
 partments, and found that by an extra payment I 
 could have half a compartment to myself— that is 
 to say, instead of being one of four I could share 
 the compartment with one other person only. This 
 one other person chanced to be a young French 
 
142 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 merchant on his first visit to St. Petersburg, and 
 we chummed up together at once. He spoke not 
 a single word of Russian. I knew two words, the 
 equivalents for " Yes" and '* No." This may seem 
 trivial, but it was a matter of very serious import 
 to us, because we had to travel in this train from 
 three in the afternoon until eight o'clock next 
 morning, and there was no restaurant on the train, 
 and we had to depend on our efforts at the various 
 stations to obtain sustenance. The language 
 problem, therefore, was discussed at length as we 
 sat by the window and w^atched the snow-covered 
 stretches which we were passing through. The 
 problem grew acute as we approached Vilna, the 
 station where we were to stop a quarter of an 
 hour or so. We knew there would be a rush of 
 passengers to the refreshment room, and we 
 determined to be in the forefront of the rush to 
 make up for any lack of words we might possess 
 at the crucial moment. When the time came we 
 did a sprint up the platform and got into the 
 station restaurant at least six yards ahead of our 
 nearest competitors. We demanded in a duet of 
 English and French the attention of a neighbour- 
 ing waiter. He said something hurriedly which 
 neither of us understood. 
 
 '' Filets," exclaimed the Frenchman, authorita- 
 tively. A smile of comprehension came to the 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 143 
 
 Russian waiter's face. He hurried off, and he 
 brought us two portions of meat minced up fine 
 and coated with a tough, dough-like skin. It was 
 hot and tender, and as we were hungry we found 
 it very appetising. Tumultuously the other pas- 
 sengers surged in. At least three parts of them 
 had a similar dish to ours — whatever they ordered. 
 
 We were on the move again in half an hour, still 
 surrounded by the unending snow, dimly to be per- 
 ceived even in the darkness. We went to bed on 
 the strength of a glass of Russian tea with a slice 
 of lemon in it — insipid stuff, the taste of which is 
 only to be acquired by persistence and courageous 
 effort. Next morning we were up betimes, and at 
 seven o'clock were peering from the windows still 
 at the snow, the unceasing snow, the surface of 
 which was broken now and again by the fringe of 
 a wood or the roof of a cottage. 
 
 It was snowing slightly when we got into the 
 station at St. Petersburg, and the air was cold — 
 very cold it seemed to me, although it was nothing 
 like what one had to encounter later on. My French 
 friend was lost to me almost immediately because 
 he had acquaintances to meet him at the station, 
 and I stood on the platform with people hurrying 
 quickly around me, feeling a pretty lonely kind of 
 individual without knowing a sentence of the 
 language. A porter hastened up. There is a 
 
144 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 universal understanding between railway porters 
 and railway travellers, however divergent their 
 race and country, and when I produced the regis- 
 tration ticket secured by me on Victoria Station, 
 London, with reference to my baggage, he sprang 
 at it like one of his native wolves and rushed 
 away from me as though he had secured a prize. 
 Presently he came back and said something which 
 I did not understand in the least, but which I pre- 
 sumed meant there was some delay, and he then 
 conducted me to the waiting-room to rest in the 
 warmth for a little. It took him ten minutes to 
 get the baggage, and he struggled off the plat- 
 form presently under what seemed to me a terrific 
 load — a trunk on his back and shoulders, suit case 
 under one arm, kit-bag, rug and other things under 
 the other, and he moved with a drunken instability 
 towards the outside of the station. I followed him 
 humbly, wonderingly, and admiringly. 
 
 The air hit one like a dagger. There was but 
 little snow on the streets because for some days 
 St. Petersburg had been without any fall at all, 
 and the consequence was that in place of the 
 usual sleighs, droskies — the light, four-wheeled 
 open vehicles — were ranged up for passengers. 
 The porter tumbled his load on to one of these 
 and caused it to incline dangerously. He then 
 wedged me into the little space between my 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 145 
 
 luggage, and tried to understand my direction, 
 " Hotel de France." 
 
 The porter and the driver had a long and 
 animated discussion as to what I meant. By 
 continually repeating the word " France," and 
 interrupting their conversation, I eventually se- 
 cured a start. Two ponies were attached to the 
 vehicle, and magnificent little animals they were. 
 They rushed off at a word, and, like other horses 
 in St. Petersburg, flung themselves into their work 
 with a kind of abandon which is delightful to ex- 
 perience. Careering with exhilarating speed, the 
 drosky swaying from side to side, I made my first 
 acquaintance with the St. Petersburg main streets. 
 They were wide, the houses were high, and the 
 electric tramways gave a touch of home to it. 
 But the people took you into a foreign land, and 
 Tolstoy was in the mind at once. Drivers of 
 various vehicles, with wraps round their ears and 
 their woollen caps pulled far down over the fore- 
 head, their bodies padded out for warmth, making 
 them look immense; alert young men, with fur 
 coats turned up behind their ears and astrachan 
 caps pressed low on to their heads; occasional 
 policemen, who looked like members of British 
 Guards regiments ; all these people gave a strange 
 air to the cold streets of St. Petersburg. How 
 cold they were I did not realise until I had been 
 
 L 
 
146 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 riding five minutes in the drosky; and then I began 
 to yearn for the warmth and comfort of the Hotel 
 de France. 
 
 I had heard of the hotel as being a good resi- 
 dential place, for some of my friends had stopped 
 there on previous occasions. You can guess with 
 what pleasure I saw the hotel and how quickly I 
 got out of the drosky when the driver pulled up. 
 I burst through the double doors and asked to be 
 allotted a room. 
 
 " Full up," was the reply, although it was not so 
 tersely put as that. There was absolutely not an 
 unoccupied room in the building. I turned out 
 into the streets again, gloomily mounted the 
 drosky, and called the name of the Hotel d'Angle- 
 terre, another place I had heard of Off we went 
 to the d'Angleterre, not far away. I had nerved 
 myself to be refused here also. I was not refused. 
 
 " We are completely full till this evening," said 
 the functionary; "but if Monsieur would care to 
 occupy the bathroom till this evening " 
 
 Monsieur was very glad to occupy the bath- 
 room. 
 
 So up I went, bag and baggage, to a little 
 room about eight feet by five feet, to make myself 
 as comfortable as might be till the evening. The 
 chambermaid who attended me knew neither 
 French nor English — her only language was a 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 147 
 
 smile ; but she was a most excellent chambermaid 
 for all that. Thus began my sojourn in St. Peters- 
 burg — a sojourn which ended in much more com- 
 fortable circumstances. 
 
 I soon began to take my observations and get 
 my bearings, because I had to be out and about at 
 once. I paid my formal call at the British Embassy, 
 went down to the post office, called on journalistic 
 colleagues, and visited an Octobrist member of the 
 Duma, and felt that I had done very well for my 
 first day in the Russian capital. 
 
 Each day had its new experiences. There was 
 the climate. I was in Russia at the end of January, 
 perhaps the coldest time of the year, and a fur coat 
 or its equivalent was essential. The cold went like 
 a stiletto through ordinary clothing, and those of 
 the poorer people who were not garbed in sheep- 
 skins were thickly padded. Officials such as 
 policemen had as part of their uniform a per- 
 pendicular blanket wrapping over the neck which 
 covered their ears up to their astrachan cap, and 
 covering also the greater part of their faces. There 
 was not very much walking in the streets, because 
 travellers used droskies or sleighs in order to get 
 to and fro the shelter of an indoor life. 
 
 The building of a house was going on, and I 
 noticed that a huge wooden shell covered all the 
 walls, and indeed the entire erection ; and it was 
 
148 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 in this wooden shell that the workmen were 
 engaged, outdoor work being impossible. A good 
 many closed motor-cars were in the streets, and 
 lucky, I thought, were the owners who had the 
 luxury of inside travelling during the Russian 
 winter. 
 
 The Neva, a river somewhat wider than the 
 Thames below London Bridge, was frozen to its 
 winter thickness of many feet and provided on its 
 ice passage-ways for traffic from one side to the 
 other. The surface, of course, was not smooth 
 ice, suitable for skating, but was rough, with the 
 jagged pieces projecting upward here and there, 
 a reminder of the gradual solidifying of the river 
 at the beginning of the winter. In one part all 
 these projections had been cleared away and lines 
 laid down from one side to the other for the run- 
 ning of tramcars. In another part of the river a 
 clearing had been made across so that sleighs 
 might be driven from one side to the other, and at 
 various places you could see men and women 
 walking over the river. 
 
 There is a long embankment by the side of the 
 Neva, and in one portion is situated a royal palace ; 
 a little way along is the Admiralty, with its grace- 
 ful gilded spire; and in the other direction, still 
 on the embankment, a great square edifice which 
 serves for the British Embassy. 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 149 
 
 It was on the embankment that I took a snap- 
 shot of a kindly stalwart Russian policeman. 
 He was equipped with truncheon, sword, and 
 automatic pistol. Withal I found him a good- 
 humoured and obliging personage, quite willing to 
 be photographed. Here let me say that it was not 
 possible for me to take a snapshot without some 
 preparation, because it is an offence against the 
 law in Russia to use a camera in the streets with- 
 out an official Russian permission. To get this 
 I had first of all to go to the British Embassy, and 
 to secure a request to the police that I might be 
 allowed to use a camera, together with a statement 
 that I was a British subject known to the authori- 
 ties. Armed with a letter to this effect from the 
 Embassy I went to the chief police office of St. 
 Petersburg, and after some little preliminary was 
 shown into a room where a military officer at a 
 flat-topped desk was interviewing people in turn. 
 He was debonair and square-shouldered, in full 
 uniform, with a row of medals across his chest, 
 an upturned moustache, and a quick, soft voice. 
 He took a cigarette from his lips as I handed him 
 my documents. A glance at them and he was all 
 courtesy, and conducted me through corridors to 
 another department, where I was presently engaged 
 with two other police officials. There was much 
 scrutiny of my credentials and some private 
 
ISO ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 deliberation about the matter, and presently I was 
 given a form printed in Russian, signed and sealed, 
 for all the world (of policemen) to see. 1 think I 
 had one rouble (25.) to pay. That was how I got 
 the permission to take snapshots in the streets of 
 St. Petersburg. 
 
 It snowed heavily on my second day, and the 
 snow immediately took the droskies off the streets 
 and replaced them with sleighs. Hiring a sleigh 
 is one of those things that a stranger has to learn 
 at an early date. The svorjik is apparently a near 
 relative of the drivers of the public vehicles in 
 other countries, for he is gifted with powers of 
 bargaining and aptness of expression only to be 
 obtained by years of service on a public convey- 
 ance, whether it is in America, England, France, 
 or Russia. At certain parts of the thoroughfares 
 there are drawn up by the side of the street long 
 lines of sleighs with their drivers in readiness in 
 pretty much the same way as cabs wait at the 
 ranks in London. You step out to the line, and 
 you remark, as though to yourself in a loud voice, 
 ''Gostinitza Anglia" (Hotel d'Angleterre). This 
 means that you wish to go to the hotel. The 
 nearest svorjik will say in Russian ^' Three roubles," 
 because he sees that you are a stranger and per- 
 haps do not know the distance or the standard of 
 fares, or else may be a very generous or rich man. 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 151 
 
 He completely ignores the fact that the ordinary 
 fare is half a rouble. You must not argue with the 
 svorjik. You must keep on repeating the name of 
 your destination as you slowly walk along. The 
 other svorjiks, listening to their colleague, will 
 come down, and you will be hailed with ''Two 
 roubles," "One rouble and a half." You still walk 
 on, apparently with your thoughts bent on any- 
 thing but taking a sleigh-ride, and as you get near 
 the end of the line the last man will say appealingly, 
 "One rouble." Then finally comes the half-sullen, 
 half-despairing cry of " Half a rouble," and you turn 
 back briskly, enter his sleigh, draw the rug over 
 your hands, and suffer yourself to be whirled away. 
 
 The cold intensified after I had been in St. 
 Petersburg a few days, and it seemed to produce 
 a deeper silence in the streets, for there was little 
 outdoor rattle such as one is accustomed to in 
 London. The powdered snow had, of course, 
 something to do with this, though a factor was 
 the repressing rigour of the air. People went 
 from house to house or from shop to shop hurriedly, 
 with the idea of getting within the shelter of the 
 double doors or double windows and in the warmth 
 produced by the unseen fires interned in the walls. 
 
 There was nothing very elaborate in the way 
 of shops, one reason being the fact that people 
 could not stop in the streets to look through the 
 
152 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 shop windows. The exception that has to be made 
 is in regard to the flower-shops, which were 
 magnificent. Flowers are among the delights of 
 the wealthy Russian, and are given as presents on 
 any excuse. In the winter they are imported from 
 the south of France. Beautiful indeed are these 
 shops of flowers, real oases of delight amid so 
 much that is cold and grim and forbidding. 
 
 The day after my arrival I was invited to see 
 the Alexander Nevski Monastery, one of the sights 
 of the city, which covers many acres of grounds, 
 and includes churches and a museum. I had the 
 honour, with a colleague, of the attendance of the 
 local superintendent of police and a monk, and very 
 pleasant companions they were, in spite of our 
 mutual ignorance of each other s language. I saw 
 in the museum ancient tapestries and tokens of 
 Russian history, including a document signed by 
 Peter the Great. In the principal church— without 
 chairs, because the congregation is supposed to 
 stand throughout the carrying out of the elaborate 
 ritual of the service— I saw the tomb of Alexander, 
 a magnificent pile, not of sculptured stone, not of 
 marble, but of silver. Alexander, some hundreds 
 of years ago, was a great fighting chief, who was 
 canonised by posterity and whose remains were 
 conveyed from near the head of Lake Ladoga and 
 encased in two tons of silver in the Cathedral. 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 153 
 
 The silver is to be seen by all who visit ; and 
 above it is the tiny light, which never goes out, 
 symbolising the eternal soul. 
 
 There was another interesting church here, a 
 church apparently not used much for service, for 
 the very good reason that all the main portion of 
 its floor space is occupied with modern tombs. 
 The church is, in fact, a cemetery de luxe, A dead 
 person has to be of a certain station in life before 
 he can be buried in it, and the cost is heavy — I 
 think it runs to about a thousand pounds. 
 
 Strange indeed is the spectacle as one enters the 
 door. The tombs are like raised little tables, and on 
 them all appear the lights, never allowed to go out, 
 reminiscent of the soul of the departed, and on 
 each table are flowers, fresh flowers, tended daily. 
 Peoplekneelat these beflowered andromantictombs. 
 
 Before we left the monastery a gentle-faced 
 bishop, with long hair, received us, welcomed us 
 in Russian (which had to be interpreted), and gave 
 us light refreshment in the shape of Russian tea 
 and dainty Russian biscuits. 
 
 Let me, before I go on to describe some of the 
 incidents of my stay, tell in a sentence or two my 
 impressions of the Russians I encountered. Thrown 
 among official poeple, attending official receptions, 
 being present at society functions, I had no oppor- 
 tunity during my short stay of getting among the 
 
154 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 really poor inhabitants or of learning anything of 
 their conditions of life. But I was in no sense of 
 the official party of visitors. I lived away from 
 them in my own hotel and talked with educated 
 Russians and English people, and made oppor- 
 tunities of intercourse with the shopkeepers and 
 railway porters, sleigh-drivers, and others who 
 earned their living by their hands. From informed 
 fellow-countrymen, whose experience in the course 
 of many years' residence in Russia had led them 
 to know public affairs pretty thoroughly, I learnt 
 of the famine which was devastating literally 
 millions of people in the wide Russian continent 
 to the East, and I learnt of the hopeless plight 
 of these starving people and how the governing 
 clique, nominally seeking to give relief here and 
 there, was resolutely prohibiting the organisation 
 of relief by private persons. Ask yourselves why ! 
 There are always State reasons to be adduced for 
 State action of this kind. 
 
 I learnt that much of what is said about the 
 secret police system of Russia is true ; that there 
 are intrigues within intrigues, that police bribe 
 police, who again bribe other police, and that 
 crimes which have shocked the world have arisen 
 at the instigation of individuals working for the 
 police. This is perhaps a little difficult to under- 
 stand, especially in view of the fact that many 
 
A STRANGER IN RUSSIA 155 
 
 at the head of affairs are very likely honest men 
 and able men. The ramifications of a system 
 which encourages spies and intrigues are bound 
 to breed traitors, bound to breed unscrupulous 
 desperadoes with no aim but self-aggrandisement. 
 There you have the explanation why some of 
 those at the head of affairs suffer at the hands 
 of tools whom they seek to employ. 
 
 The Russians are a strong physical race, 
 tall, straight-backed, clear-eyed, with that freshness 
 of complexion and that sturdy aspect befitting a 
 northern people. Strangely homelike is the appear- 
 ance of some of the men to an Englishman. 
 Hospitable to the last degree, they could hardly 
 do enough to entertain and make comfortable 
 visitors to their countr3^ In feasting, songs and 
 dances, in exhibitions of horsemanship, in their 
 displays of art and music, they strove to make 
 happy those from this country. There was a 
 friendliness and a frank admiration for British 
 things which was very touching to the vanity 
 of the English travellers. This was manifested 
 not merely at official gatherings, but at places 
 where the ordinary people congregated together; 
 it was shown at a wildly-excited students' meeting 
 at Moscow; it was shown in ordinary music-halls 
 where I was present ; it was shown by gatherings 
 in the streets wherever British people were about. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 
 
 The uselessness of precaution against outrage, 
 if discontent and rebellion are such as to produce 
 the inclination to violence, were well exemplified 
 in a passage within my own experience, and the 
 incident shows how an unauthorised person can 
 obtain access to the proximity of threatened 
 personages, however elaborated the precautions 
 against it. 
 
 The British visitors were to be entertained 
 at a gala performance at the Marinsky Theatre, 
 where an elaborate ballet was to be performed, 
 and all the fashionable society of St. Petersburg 
 were to be assembled. Royalty was to come to 
 the affair, and it was even expected that the Czar 
 himself would be among the guests, and, as a 
 consequence, for days beforehand extraordinary 
 preparations were made by the police and the 
 various police agents to prevent the likelihood of 
 any kind of disaster. It was felt that enemies 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 157 
 
 might conceivably take advantage of a dramatic 
 opportunity to demonstrate themselves. For 
 instance, it would not be difficult for a person 
 in the audience to throw a bomb into the royal 
 box, and it would be a very easy matter for 
 any one moved by murderous intent to pick ofif 
 with a revolver notabilities in various parts of 
 the auditorium. The knowledge of the possibility 
 of such happenings made me, as the correspondent 
 of a newspaper, particularly anxious to be present ; 
 and I accordingly did what was possible to secure 
 admission. I experienced much difficulty. There 
 was, of course, competition for tickets, but, quite 
 apart from this, drawbacks existed in the decision 
 of the authorities that no person who was not 
 known, and whose good faith could not be relied 
 upon, should be allowed within the precincts of 
 the theatre. One had to be above question to 
 obtain the sacred ticket, and a foreigner, private 
 and unofficial, however excellent his credentials, 
 was one of those who might reasonably be con- 
 sidered without the pale. Thus it came about I 
 had a great struggle to get authority to go in, 
 and it was only on the morning of the day of 
 performance that I secured it by the kindness 
 of a member of the Duma. 
 
 In the evening, after telegraphing a short 
 dispatch to London, I took a sleigh to the Opera 
 
158 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 House; where I found the fashionable society of 
 St. Petersburg pouring in. My overcoat and 
 astrachan cap being safely deposited in the cloak- 
 room, I made my way to the entrance to the 
 stalls, where my seat was situated. A huge 
 Russian functionary was guarding the door. 
 Ladies in evening dress bedecked with jewels, 
 Russian nobles, great officials of state, were 
 passing through in a continuous stream. I took 
 from my breast pocket a leather letter-case con- 
 taining my ticket, a narrow strip of coloured 
 paper printed in Russian, and presented it to 
 the man at the door, who looked at it with a 
 little puzzlement. Reflectively he took the tickets 
 of three or four other people who were coming 
 in before turning his attention to me again, and 
 I began to think that I was suspect. The man 
 once more read my ticket, and then said something 
 to me in Russian which, of course, I did not 
 understand. In the calm confidence of virtue 
 and an innocent mind I pointed to the ticket 
 with an assumption of dignity and indicated that 
 I had been allotted a place inside the doors. The 
 man stared at the printed ticket, which he still 
 held, in evident bewilderment. Then he looked 
 me up and down, and, after a moment's hesitation, 
 ushered me into the stalls. 
 
 Once inside I looked at my ticket to find out 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 159 
 
 the number of my seat, and to my surprise found 
 that the ticket bore no figures. I wandered about 
 a little, hoping to catch sight of some friend among 
 the British party or some journalistic colleague 
 who could enlighten me as to the system of seat- 
 ing. It was five minutes or so before I came 
 across a Frenchman I knew, and in that interval 
 I had been pretty close to the royal box and had 
 circulated among some parts of the gathering. 
 The Frenchman, told of my difficulty, asked for my 
 ticket. He took it, read the Russian, and turned a 
 smile on me. 
 
 '' Ticket!" he said. "What do you think this 
 is?" 
 
 "A ticket for the stalls," I said. 
 
 " A ticket for the stalls ! " he repeated. " This is 
 not a ticket. This is the post-office receipt for a 
 telegram you have handed in." And so it was. 
 The telegraphic receipt was a slip of paper similar 
 in size and colour to the theatre ticket, and in my 
 ignorance of the Russian language, the characters 
 conveyed nothing to me. The receipt had lain in 
 my pocket-case together with the ticket, and I had 
 taken the wrong slip out at the door of the stalls. 
 The surprise and bewilderment of the Russian 
 janitor were easily to be understood. What he 
 thought I meant by it I shall never be able to 
 understand. The calm assumption with which I 
 
i6o ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 indicated that this post-office receipt authorised me 
 to enter a gala performance with royalty present at 
 the Marinsky Theatre must have been one of the 
 strangest experiences of his life. At this distance, 
 I recall with joy his expression. I wonder what 
 he made of it all ? Perhaps he thought that it was 
 just the mad freak of one of those mad Englishmen, 
 and that such a person had to be humoured. At 
 any rate, the fact remains that I secured admission 
 to a gala performance at the Marinsky Theatre on 
 the strength of a telegram receipt. 
 
 A little later I shall say something of the 
 dancing of the ballet, but I might mention in 
 passing that it was a thrilling performance, and 
 that the English representatives thoroughly en- 
 joyed themselves. The principal dancer was 
 Mile. Kshesinskaya, and in connection with her 
 performances I recall an incident not without its 
 humorous side. By some forgetfulness or some 
 lack of understanding the usual custom of present- 
 ing a bouquet to the principal dancer was not 
 followed, and the next morning there was a com- 
 mittee meeting among the visitors to deal with the 
 lapse. It was a distinguished light of the British 
 legislature who sent on, in the name of all, a 
 beautiful bouquet of flowers, stating in impassioned 
 words that he had been unable to sleep the night 
 before for thinking of the fascinating exhibition 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS i6i 
 
 which he and his colleagues had witnessed. Here 
 are the names of some of the deputation : Lord 
 Charles Beresford, General Bethune, Lord Wear- 
 dale, Mr. Peel, M.P., Mr. George Lloyd, M.P., the 
 Bishop of Wakefield, Sir Albert Spicer, M.P., Lord 
 Hugh Cecil, and Lord Ampthill. 
 
 I paid two visits to the Duma while it was in 
 session, and saw the new Russian House of 
 Commons at its work, and to one who, like myself, 
 had spent several years in the gallery of the 
 British Parliament, the procedure, the personal 
 interest, and the political significance of the 
 Russian legislature were all very telling. Every 
 one knows the limitations of the Duma, especially 
 in its revised form. It is but the shadow of effec- 
 tiveness, it has no direct effect in government, 
 and its indirect effect is almost negligible; yet the 
 Duma is wonderful for Russia. It is at least the 
 symbol of a new era. Something like the forms 
 of representative government are by the very 
 existence of the Duma acknowledged to the world. 
 This is a great thing; in slow-moving, tenacious 
 Russia it is a tremendous thing. 
 
 The Duma is housed in an old palace of 
 Catherine II. far away from the middle of the 
 city, and the building contains in its gardens and 
 wide-spreading courtyard some traces of a ro3''al 
 residence. The wings of the old palace reach to the 
 
 M 
 
i62 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 pavement on each side, but the central entrance lies 
 well back from the road. Handsome without magni- 
 ficence is the Duma externally, and within there is 
 spaciousness, blazing electric light, and some touch 
 of splendour. Great halls, noble reception rooms, 
 stairways designed by architects regardless of 
 space, give to the building a semblance of regal 
 dignity. Passing from the entrance court through 
 three sets of glass doors necessary to keep out the 
 cold, members and visitors yield themselves into 
 the hands of Russian Parliamentary attendants in 
 glittering uniforms, who strip off fur coats and 
 snow boots with swiftness. Two attendants for 
 each visitor is the usual allowance. The place 
 swarms with courteous officials. A slender 
 man, with a huge gilded breast chain, a kind of 
 deputy assistant sergeant-at-arms, hurries hither 
 and thither making courteous explanations in 
 French ; a bearded police chief, wearing long blue 
 overcoat and sword, sweeps a chair or two forward 
 for those who may be waiting for friends. 
 
 Up a spacious stairway I went to the gallery — 
 a wide, encircling gallery, very differing from that 
 in the British House of Commons. The impres- 
 sion one had was that of a magnificent hall, which 
 was imposing by reason first of its structure, and 
 secondly of the soft, bright light which flooded it. 
 Beneath the gallery a fan-shaped expanse of 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 163 
 
 legislators were spread out on seats which by a 
 semi-circular arrangement all faced the Speaker. 
 The latter sat at a desk on a high platform. He was 
 a big man, and when I was there was crouched over 
 papers as though in study. Stretched out in a line 
 to the right were the Government officials, who on 
 occasions explain Government acts and projects. 
 
 The members on the floor ranged from the 
 Socialists and Labour champions on the extreme 
 left, to the arch-Conservatives on the extreme 
 right, with the various gradations of opinion made 
 evident by the divisions separating sections of the 
 seats. Much of the Duma's form has been derived 
 from the Parliamentary institutions of countries 
 other than our own, and one misses not only the 
 sense of Government authority, but also the con- 
 centrated force of opposition. The rigid cleavage 
 of two great parties at home with the Speaker 
 sitting between them helps the comprehension. 
 There is nothing of that in the Duma. In addition 
 a hundred different points of procedure strike the 
 eye of the British Parliamentarian. A member 
 does not rise in his place and speak ; he walks up 
 to a kind of pulpit just beneath and in front of the 
 Speaker, and from it delivers his speech. 
 
 When the British party was in the House, a 
 priest was speaking (there are many priests in the 
 Duma), and from his impassioned tones and gestures 
 
i64 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 he might have been preaching to the gathering — 
 and he certainly looked a very picturesque figure 
 with his full robes and flowing long hair. 
 
 An English agenda enabled us to know the 
 subject of discussion, and the priest's speech was 
 on "the Report of the Legislative Motions Com- 
 mittee dealing with the separation of the Eastern 
 parts of the Government of Lublin and Sedletz 
 from the Kingdom of Poland and with the estab- 
 lishment of a separate Government at Chelm." 
 Some of the sections of the legislators were in 
 evident sympathy with the speaker's words, others 
 sat listening with a gloomy frown, for politics are 
 a very serious business in Russia, and the fact hits 
 the stranger directly he goes into the Duma. 
 These groups of strong-looking, heavy-faced men 
 were not playing at statesmanship, but were 
 putting into their work that kind of grim directness 
 which leads sometimes to achievement, often to 
 great sacrifice. This was not altered by the fact that 
 a proportion of these men might have been seeking 
 not the good of the State, but the forwarding of 
 their own hatreds or their personal advantage. 
 Among the members there were small farmers as 
 well as the more educated townsmen. Peasants 
 were there, I was told, but I did not see any who 
 looked like peasants. 
 
 Because the Russians are by nature so earnest 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 165 
 
 politically or personally, their antagonism counts 
 for much, and in the process of building up a great 
 new Constitution those who take a hand must be 
 prepared to find politics a business for men who 
 will not flinch. It may in the last resort be a 
 matter of life and death. That is part of the price 
 to be paid in the development of a people, virile, 
 tardy in change, but with that spirit of slow 
 strength which leaves its mark on the centuries. 
 The Russian race must not be judged by the 
 published acts of cliques of temporary governors 
 in St. Petersburg and Moscow. There are one 
 hundred and twenty millions of Russians scattered 
 through that vast rich country, and among them 
 is germinating a communal spirit and aspiration 
 which breaks out here and there, which is slowly 
 influencing even those whose business it is to 
 repress any new spirit, and to play the part of the 
 tyrant. 
 
 The sense of the drama of it all was still upon 
 one as the eye ranged that line ot Government 
 officials in the background, the men who really hold 
 the reins of power, but who are not drawn from the 
 elected representatives, who sit motionless, saying 
 nothing, listening to strenuous arguments. Who 
 could read what was behind their impassive faces ? 
 They were entrenched in silent power. Before 
 them was spread an assembly of talkers without 
 
i66 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 power, talkers representing very imperfectly and 
 inadequately some of the millions governed by 
 that same line of witnesses. One day, perhaps, it 
 will be the representative assembly which will 
 direct the acts of the line of officials. 
 
 The customs and methods of the Duma afforded a 
 good many variations from those to which we are 
 accustomed. Legislators who were indifferent to a 
 speech showed their feelings by reading newspapers 
 or books, a very serious offence at Westminster. 
 Mr. Lowther, could he have been present, would 
 have shuddered at the sight. Then there was the 
 applause, which was loud hand-clapping, dis- 
 counted by some scattered hisses. There was little 
 of our sex exclusiveness about the place, for in the 
 roomy and comfortable gallery men and women 
 sat together. While women journalists hold 
 tickets for the Press gallery, women stenographers 
 on the floor of the House produce most of the 
 official records. 
 
 A fellow-journalist who lives in Russia was 
 pointing out to me one or two interesting 
 personages in the assembly and told me the 
 name of the Speaker was Rodzianko. It was his 
 predecessor a short while ago, said my friend, 
 whose word on some point was disputed by a 
 politician in the body of the Duma. A duel was 
 promptly arranged between the Speaker and the 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 167 
 
 member, and the Speaker wounded his adversary 
 and, to satisfy the conventionalities, was sent to a 
 fortress. After a few days of confinement he was 
 released and came back to the Duma, and was 
 promptly re-elected as its president. That is the 
 thorough and expeditious way they do things in 
 the Russian Parliament. 
 
 The modern Englishman visiting Russia can 
 hardly fail to feel that not only is he in a different 
 land with a different people, but also that he is 
 living in some other age. There is a simplicity 
 which is rather terrible about some of the Russian 
 modes of life. Extreme generosity, a great frank- 
 ness, the highest courage on the part of the men, a 
 bewildering charm among the best of the women, 
 go together with habits of thought which in some 
 directions remind one of mediaeval times. Some 
 of the prevalent conceptions as to the relations 
 between the sexes strike the visitor as unusual, 
 and the unscrupulousness and subtlety to be found 
 in the police system goes side by side with a genial 
 laxity so far as some of the smaller offences are 
 concerned. Those who make up the bulk of the 
 comfortable community in St. Petersburg and 
 Moscow spend themselves in their enjoyments 
 throughout the night until the early hours of the 
 morning have progressed well. The restaurants 
 do not get really busy till midnight, and it is 
 
i68 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 between twelve and one that many of the music 
 halls, fashionable and otherwise, commence the 
 entertainment of the twenty-four hours. Things 
 are just warming up, as we say here, at about two 
 in the morning. 
 
 I went into one of the restaurants with a jour- 
 nalist on the Nevski Prospect soon after twelve 
 one night, and we were in the midst of supper 
 when a stout, heavily-built man, past middle age, 
 came in and, exchanging a smiling greeting with 
 my friend, sat down at a neighbouring table and 
 called for something to eat and drink. He carried 
 genial good fellowship all over him, and at a glance 
 I should have said he was a prosperous merchant 
 of the city, who had made money and who led a 
 passive, happy life, and cultivated the domestic 
 virtues. As a matter of fact, he was a Russian 
 general. My friend's story about him has a point 
 of its own as illustrating the kind of atmosphere 
 which is to be met with in Russia. This general 
 was the governor of one of the Riga provinces 
 during the revolution, and he was in the thick of 
 murders, counter-murders, intrigues, and devilish 
 strange happenings of all kinds. His particular 
 post was amongst the most dangerous in the 
 country. It was in the middle of the troublous 
 times that he invited my friend to go down and 
 spend a week with him. The journalist declined 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 169 
 
 with thanks. The governor's residence was not 
 exactly the place for a holiday at this period. 
 Later the general rallied my friend on his timidity, 
 and explained the simple secret of coolness in 
 times when a walk of fifty yards along any street 
 brought an equal chance of a bullet or of safety. 
 "One would die of fright," he said, '^unless one 
 persuaded one's self that an invisible bullet-proof 
 piece of armour encircled one beneath the clothing, 
 and that no weapon could possibly penetrate that 
 invisible equipment. One has to be convinced that 
 it is absolutely impossible for harm to befall one in 
 this direction. When you have satisfied yourself 
 of this, and not till then, you are all right." In 
 the presence of my friend, the general had stripped 
 off some of his clothing, and revealed the side 
 of his body where, marking the indentations 
 near the ribs, could be seen the healed scars 
 of bullet passages. He had never been seriously 
 hurt. 
 
 Well-to-do Russians eat and drink sumptuousl}', 
 and there is a touch of barbaric generosity in the 
 provision they make for visitors to their land. No 
 trouble or expense is too much to ensure feasts 
 which are every one of them almost regal. Curious 
 is it to note in connection with this that at cere- 
 monial dinners the eating and drinking are as 
 important, even more important, than the speeches, 
 
170 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 and at dinners I went to the serving of the courses 
 commenced about eight, and it was between 
 the courses that speeches were delivered, the 
 eating itself continuing till the neighbourhood of 
 midnight. All kinds of efforts were made to 
 tempt the appetite. Here, for instance, is a menu 
 of a lunch — 
 
 DEJEUNER. 
 
 Hors d'cEuvre " Petersboiirgeoise." 
 Caviar frais d' Astrakhan, 
 jambonneaii d'ours fum^. 
 
 Coulebiaka au veziga. 
 Cochon de lait au Kacha. 
 Consomme " Pierre-le-Grand.'' 
 
 Pate Kournik. 
 Stoudine de sterlet " Tsarsky." 
 
 Sauce raifort. 
 Agneau du Caucase h. la Gdorgienne 
 
 Garni de gelinottes de Siberie. 
 
 Concombres malosoline. 
 
 Gelde Moscovite frapp^e eux mandarines. 
 
 Gateaux Pithiviers. 
 
 Corbeilles de fruits. 
 
 Fromages. 
 
 Caf^ et Liqueurs. 
 
 Grande Fine Champagne A 1812. 
 
 It is not nearly so elaborate as the dinner which 
 is given at night, but does service in allaying the 
 appetite for an hour or two. In connection with 
 these banquets, formal and informal, there were 
 Russian delicacies without stint— Siberian elk, 
 partridges from Archangel, and the ever-present 
 caviare. Wherever we went we had caviare. It 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 171 
 
 was a kind of staple dish. A distinguished member 
 of the House of Lords was the figure in an enter- 
 taining incident in reference to the plenitude of the 
 delicacy, for down at Moscow, noticing that it was 
 again to the fore, he said, in conversation with a 
 Russian near him, "I suppose the peasants of the 
 country feed largely on this." The staggered 
 Russian quickly pulled himself together, '* No," 
 said he, " I do not think the peasants have very 
 much. This caviare costs a shilling an ounce." 
 And so ended a lesson to one of our statesmen 
 as to the conditions of life in Russia. 
 
 One of the big dinners was that given to the 
 British visitors by the St. Petersburg municipality, 
 and the hosts' intense admiration for the British 
 progressive spirit was demonstrated not merely in 
 the personal conversation of the hosts, but also in 
 the speeches. The Mayor of St. Petersburg said : 
 " Russian self-government, as ancient as yours, has 
 not arrived at the same advanced stage of develop- 
 ment. Like the Sleeping Beauty of folk lore, it 
 awoke, full of new vigour, forty years ago, from a 
 sleep that had lasted through many centuries. Like 
 everything new and young that draws its strength 
 from the maternal bosom of its native soil, it will 
 grow and expand and blossom. But however 
 securely, by its own inherent strength, the founda- 
 tion of Russian self-government may be laid, I 
 
172 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 have no doubt, gentlemen, that a closer relation 
 with Great Britain — which has managed to link 
 together the principles of individual freedom and 
 of the common weal — to which rightly belongs the 
 glory of being the land of self-government ' par 
 excellence,' will be of the greatest benefit to our- 
 selves." This drew forth many cheers — not so 
 many, however, as the following passages from 
 the speech of the President of the St. Petersburg 
 City Council. 
 
 " In bidding welcome to our dear guests, I, 
 in my capacity of representative of the Zemstvo 
 institutions, which are chiefly concerned with the 
 promotion of local welfare, cannot help thinking 
 of that beautiful country, the native land of self- 
 government, where public spirit and public order 
 have reached their highest standard. British 
 local self-government being the fruit of British 
 public spirit, has succeeded in turning that 
 wonderful country into a semblance of the Garden 
 of Eden, the beauty of which we Continentals 
 can only imagine in our dreams of Paradise on 
 earth." 
 
 It was at this dinner that General Bethune, 
 the lean, clear-eyed fighter, who is now chief of 
 the Territorial Forces, was placed near to a local 
 dignitary, with whom he made conversation within 
 the restricted limits of their mutual experiences. 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 173 
 
 " I thought I was on a straight course," said the 
 general in private afterwards, "in discussing 
 soldierly things, and I held forth on the futility 
 of some phases of politics. I got on famously. 
 I pressed my point. I described politicians as, 
 1 fear, they ought not to be described. My 
 neighbour was interested, and seemed to agree 
 with what I said. It was only after dinner that 
 I discovered that he was one of the principal 
 politicians of the lot." 
 
 I have written lightly of these dinners, but 
 one of them provided a noteworthy memory. It 
 was not a very large dinner party, but it was 
 certainly select. The scene was a room in a 
 fashionable restaurant in the heart of St. 
 Petersburg. A good many of those who were 
 present, it is safe to say, saw nothing very 
 dramatic in the proceedings — just an ordinary 
 official dinner party, with some laudable speeches 
 of good feeling from politicians and other persons 
 of note, who had gathered together to fraternise. 
 Yet there were thrilling elements in the room. 
 The nearness of certain antagonistic personalities 
 brings home a grim sensation, and this night at 
 the restaurant near the Nevski Prospect there 
 were personalities which had not only battled 
 with each other, but had helped to form the life 
 of nations, and there were present also in that 
 
174 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 room at the same time a temporary commingling 
 of diverse minds and impulses and outlook on 
 life which ranged from the autocratic Middle Ages 
 down to that of the modern democrat. In Russia 
 such a meeting is piquant, and in ordinary 
 circumstances might well be dangerous. On this 
 occasion it was not dangerous, but it was never- 
 theless instinct with feeling. 
 
 The Imperial Council and the Duma (the 
 Lords and Commons of Russia) had united to 
 entertain the British party at a banquet. When 
 one realised the bitterness, the burning ideals, 
 the stern personal enmities with which the 
 politics of the country are conducted, one under- 
 stood the tremendous efforts which must have 
 been exercised to get together, even for a con- 
 vivial occasion, some of the warring elements. 
 Tsar's men were here and those who opposed 
 them, determined autocrats, and others who would 
 fling wide the gates to popular demands. Some 
 of those present might very probably within a 
 week or two have the power to put others of 
 their fellow-hosts in prison, and very certainly 
 they would exercise that power. Miliukoff, the 
 leader of the Constitutional Democrats, for instance, 
 was at the same table with Dournovo, the iron- 
 handed autocrat who governed and spared not. 
 For this time only the enemies had met together 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 175 
 
 to give a common welcome to the British, but 
 enemies they remained nevertheless. One of the 
 hosts I happened to know had been in prison, 
 and I dare say there were others. 
 
 The difficulty of organising the affair must 
 have been immense, for some, at least, of the hosts 
 could have had no real belief in the degree of 
 democratic liberty enjoyed in this country, and 
 must have regarded representative government 
 in any shape or form not merely as a mistake, 
 but as a childish blunder. Here are a few of the 
 people who were present apart from those British 
 and other people I have named : M. Witte, who 
 has been Prime Minister, and who was one of 
 the principals for Russia when she was arranging 
 peace with Japan ; the British Ambassador, Sir 
 George Buchanan; Rodzianko, Speaker of the 
 Duma; General Rohberg, who, as a Russian 
 soldier, fought against the British in the Crimea; 
 General Bethune, whom I have mentioned before ; 
 Lord Charles Beresford, and, as I have said, 
 Dournovo, Miliukoff, and small groups of party 
 politicians from the Imperial Council on the one 
 hand and the Duma on the other. It would 
 probably have been impossible to get the gathering 
 together at all if acknowledged Socialists or Labour 
 men had formed a part of the assembly, but I am 
 by no means certain they were not present, 
 
176 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 although disguised in the political clothing of 
 the less advanced sections. A glance along the 
 long table gave one occasion for speculative 
 thought of a thrilling kind. One could not help 
 feeling that if ever the ameliorating influence of 
 good food and good v^^ine v^ere called for they 
 were on this particular evening. The man of all 
 who particularly interested me on the human 
 side was Dournovo, growing old now, but stern, 
 implacable, deadly as ever. That he should have 
 been present at all was a triumph for the tact 
 and persuasion of those who had organised the 
 affair, because it is certain that he had no sympathy 
 with representative institutions such as are to 
 be found in this country, and that any inclination 
 to listen to the voice of the people themselves 
 in government would have been treated by him 
 as a species of lunacy. He probably regarded 
 the institution of voting as an instance of modern 
 decadence, and that the Russian Houses of Parlia- 
 ment should seek to honour people who had come 
 from these more or less democratic legislative 
 assemblies must certainly have been distasteful 
 to him, and it can only be assumed that his 
 desire for national Russian welfare, as he under- 
 stood it, led him to be persuaded to take part 
 in welcoming prominent men from a neighbouring 
 great nation. At any rate, there he was. I could 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 177 
 
 only get a glimpse at him as he sat at dinner, 
 and all I could see was a short man, with square 
 head and dull eyes, who said little to those 
 near him. 
 
 Conversation about Dournovo took up a good 
 deal of the dinner so far as I was concerned, for 
 I had on each side two well-known English 
 journalists who had lived many years in Russia 
 and knew Russian politics as well as it is possible 
 for any stranger to do so. On my right was a 
 writer, world-travelled, of high intellectual com- 
 petence, and with an academic reputation. He 
 was frankly on the side of Dournovo, strange as 
 it may seem in one of our race. He understood 
 the chaotic state of modern Russian politics and the 
 need for a strong man, and urged that such a man 
 was the one way out of difficulty and danger. " A 
 supremely great man," he said. *' Dournovo it was 
 who put down the revolution in this country. To 
 his strength and sureness Russia owes much." The 
 journalist on my left was a younger man, who also 
 was a traveller and had had opportunities of seeing 
 the work of government as well as the life of 
 ordinary people. In politics he is what in England 
 would be called a moderate Conservative, and this is 
 what he said about Dournovo : " Dournovo is the 
 man who, in the revolution, sent hundreds to their 
 death without mercy, and sent thousands of others 
 
 N 
 
178 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 to exile in Siberia. Indeed, he did break the revolu- 
 tion." His subsequent description of Dournovo 
 would shock those who heard it. 
 
 Before Dournovo got up to speak I listened 
 to some tales about him. I heard how when in 
 power some years ago, before the present Tsar 
 had ascended the throne, he became aware that a 
 member of a South American Legation was flirting 
 with the woman to whom he was attached. Dour- 
 novo was not the man to take ordinary methods. 
 He went to the Legation in question — and it should 
 be remembered that Legations are technically part 
 of the country to which they are attached— forcibly 
 entered the place, and with his own hands broke 
 open the desk of the secretary in question in order 
 to find incriminating letters. This exploit, I was 
 told, secured his dismissal by the late Tsar. That 
 is one little episode, but it gives an idea of the kind 
 of man. When Russia was in difficulty he was 
 again given command, for a man like Dournovo is 
 invaluable in a country like Russia. His subse- 
 quent course is roughly indicated by the comments 
 I have given. His post during the revolution was 
 that of Minister of the Interior. 
 
 The deadly hatreds which must have followed 
 Dournovo in the space of years cannot be measured 
 by human mind, but certain it is that time and time 
 again he must have been within an inch of death 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS 179 
 
 from those who had suffered directly or indirectly. 
 Some few years ago the London newspapers told 
 a story of how a woman had followed a Russian 
 general to an hotel in Switzerland, and had there 
 deliberately shot him dead. The tragedy of the 
 affair lay in the fact that the woman had tracked 
 the wrong man. She had meant to kill Dournovo. 
 After listening to these things, it may be under- 
 stood why I watched with unusual interest for the 
 uprising of Dournovo, who had been allocated a 
 toast in connection with the British visitors. 
 
 " What can he say ? " asked my younger jour- 
 nalistic companion. '^All the English political 
 habits and customs must be detested by him. 
 How can he talk even the complimentary common- 
 place about these English Parliamentary men ? 
 They represent all that is wrong in his eyes. He 
 has certainly got to talk about something. His 
 English is not very good, either." 
 
 Well, he rose presently, and at once a lull broke 
 the after-dinner conversation. He proved to be a 
 thickly-built, elderly man, with bent shoulders. 
 His face was grey — marked by a close-trimmed 
 little moustache, his forehead was flat and square, 
 but there was nothing heavy in his features. The 
 lines on his face showed the effect of a will power 
 which had spared not himself; his eyes, though 
 bright, were inexpressive, and it was evident that 
 
i8o ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 a very little corner of Dournovo was ever revealed 
 at one time to any living person. 
 
 He began to speak, and one found that he had 
 what may be called a certain slow pleasantness, 
 and his English, though limited, was still quite 
 intelligible. All the gathering was expectant. 
 Not only myself, but others also, were desirous of 
 learning what this typical Russian autocrat would 
 have to say about politics. 
 
 But Dournovo, behind that emotionless face, 
 had subtlety. He disappointed us. No political 
 pronouncement for him ; no dogmatic assertion 
 of autocratic authority; no confession that some 
 of the democratic theories might be conceded. No, 
 no. What, then, was his speech ? 
 
 He welcomed the visitors with gravity, and 
 said that Russians, in common with others, owed 
 much to the English. What was it they owed 
 particularly to the English? They owed to the 
 English the introduction of the modern domestic 
 novel. In this fiction writing their visitors had 
 excelled and set an example for all the world. 
 What greater joy was there than in the happy 
 quietness of home, after the turmoil and fighting 
 of the day was over, to sit and read one of these 
 delightful, soothing, domestic English novels ? 
 
 Dournovo going home to the fireside in the 
 evening to bury himself in the tenderness of 
 
RUSSIAN MEN AND METHODS i8i 
 
 Barrie or to laugh with W. W. Jacobs, was the 
 picture brought before the eyes of those who knew 
 this man of blood and steel. He seemed to mean 
 his words. I do not think he meant to be ironic. 
 He simply took the easiest way out. 
 
 He sat down to the usual applause. He was 
 as impassive as ever. The gathering looked at 
 him appreciatively. He was a man not to be under- 
 stood at a glance, this Dournovo. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 MOSCOW VIGNETTES 
 
 Who that once has seen them can forget Moscow's 
 sweeping vistas, its irregular, wide streets, its 
 noble buildings set in winter backgrounds of un- 
 changeable snow? The white streets, pursuing 
 their way by the side of ancient walls or through 
 historic gateways, hum with the sound of swiftly- 
 moving sleighs ; great churches, fantastic, irregular, 
 immense, with cupolas of dazzling gold, or shining, 
 bewildering dark-blue, stand out free and isolated. 
 You look from your hotel window across the roofs, 
 down into the streets, upon glittering church tops 
 to the Kremlin with its palace, its churches, and 
 its battlemented walls, and you know that you 
 are at the real heart of Russia and that St. Peters- 
 burg by comparison is but a cosmopolitan meeting- 
 place. 
 
 I had the advantage in Moscow of being taken 
 round by Dr. Dillon, the famous correspondent 
 of the Daily Telegraphy who knows Russia and 
 
MOSCOW VIGNETTES 183 
 
 Russian affairs with a thoroughness unusual in 
 those who are not natives of the country. A 
 hundred things were there to be shown, to be 
 explained. We were passing through one of the 
 shopping arcades when he told me the story of 
 a famous church which was erected centuries ago 
 by order of John the Terrible, who brought an 
 architect from Italy to design and superintend the 
 erection. A remarkable building was the result, 
 and John the Terrible expressed his pleasure. " I 
 like your building so much," said he to the archi- 
 tect, "that I intend to take precautions to prevent 
 another like it being erected anywhere. I therefore 
 propose to put out your eyes." And he did. We 
 got into a sleigh and went to see the church in 
 question. 
 
 The hospitality of Moscow was even more 
 overwhelming than that of St. Petersburg. I was 
 present at a public dinner in Moscow attended by 
 nearly three hundred persons, at which the cost 
 of the dinner per head was six guineas, and in 
 the midst of the courses hosts and guests made 
 speeches, the waiters moving about busily and 
 somewhat noisily, irrespective of the orators. 
 Nobody seemed to mind it much, because, after 
 all, the dinner was the thing. The dinner was 
 succeeded by a "rout" at the Town Hall, where 
 there was assembled all the society and beauty of 
 
i84 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Moscow. Dancers specially brought up from the 
 Caucasus were performing on a little platform at 
 one end of the hall ; at the other end tables were 
 spread with every conceivable Russian dainty, and 
 in between, in the body of the hall, was a moving, 
 laughing, conversing throng of fashionable Russians 
 — ladies in evening dress, men with medals across 
 their breasts, government magnates of all kinds, 
 local dignitaries, and fresh-faced young officers, all 
 mingling and fraternising with the English guests. 
 The gathering overflowed into the corridor and the 
 adjoining rooms. Everywhere there was ardent 
 cordiality and a sense of exhilaration. 
 
 I am sure the British visitors enjoyed them- 
 selves greatly, and as much as any Lord Charles 
 Beresford, who, as the typical British sailorman, 
 was lionised continually. Of the many personal 
 incidents it is perhaps well not to write in detail, 
 although these incidents were all pleasant ones. 
 For instance, would it be discreet to hint at the 
 perfectly proper gallantry of British M.P.'s in con- 
 nection with one of the prettiest girls in the room, 
 a girl known to be the daughter of a high official, 
 but, alas ! not known to be, until late in the evening, 
 the wife of another official ? 
 
 The Russian women when beautiful are very, 
 very beautiful. They have the gift of languages, 
 and in educated families girls are taught English 
 
MOSCOW VIGNETTES 185 
 
 and French from childhood up. They have a 
 graciousness and a naturalness which are quite 
 irresistible, and, strange as it seems, in autocratic 
 Russia exercise a happy freedom of conversation 
 which reminds one very much of American girls. 
 I was introduced to a family group, and found 
 myself almost immediately on chatting terms with 
 one of the younger ladies. She was friendliness 
 itself. And I had the honour, being a Britisher, 
 of being invited to join the family in their private 
 box at the opera gala performance on the following 
 evening. I explained that I had already arranged 
 to go with journalistic friends in a certain box. 
 *' Look across the theatre for us," said the lady. 
 "As soon as you get in I will stand up, so that 
 you can see us, then come round to our box 
 between the acts." This was very cheery and 
 nice, but I felt the kind offer might be somewhat 
 difficult of execution in the presence of Moscow 
 society. Nevertheless I kept my eyes open on 
 the succeeding evening at the opera and almost 
 immediately I saw the party in a box opposite. 
 They smiled a greeting, and the girl stood up and 
 waved her hand vigorously to indicate that I was to 
 go round. Of course I went. " I told you I would 
 watch for you," she said. Who, having experiences 
 such as that, could fail to bring away with him 
 happy impressions of the Russian women? 
 
186 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 From the lightsome scene in the Town Hall 
 I went out into the snowy streets, where the 
 temperature was twenty degrees below zero, and 
 well wrapped up in fur coat, with astrachan cap 
 pulled down over ears, got into a sleigh with a 
 friend and went off to visit some entertainment 
 resorts which opened their doors about midnight. 
 Elaborate enough are they — elaborate and ex- 
 pensive — and they are conducted with a freedom 
 which would not suit even the most lax of British 
 cities. Withal, they are perfectly respectable on 
 the surface, at least so far as casual observation 
 goes. At the first I went to I found seated in the 
 auditorium at one of the little supper tables a very 
 respectable member of Parliament. Indeed, I saw 
 two present in the room. One of them had his wife 
 with him. 
 
 There was little, very little, to shock the sensi- 
 bilities at this first hall, and the songs being in 
 Russian were not in any case particularly injurious 
 to English ears. At the next place I went to, how- 
 ever — and the time was something approaching two 
 in the morning — there was a good deal more free- 
 dom. I paid two shillings to go in and to have the 
 privilege of sitting at one of the little tables in the 
 body of the hall, where I was expected to order 
 something in the shape of supper. The place was 
 crowded. On the stage at the end of the hall what 
 
MOSCOW VIGNETTES 187 
 
 might be called music-hall turns were being given 
 for the entertainment of the eating and drinking 
 audience. 
 
 It was at this place that there occurred a 
 demonstration of the pro-British feeling running 
 through the Russian cities just then. On the pro- 
 gramme appeared the name of a dancer who was 
 classed as an " English artiste," and this fact alone 
 brought her more applause than that of any other 
 performer, and at the conclusion of her song 
 and dance she was cheered louder than ever amid 
 many shouts for a recall. That was because she 
 was called an " English artiste." When I say that 
 she sang her song in bad French and was herself 
 most obviously of German origin, it will be under- 
 stood that the enthusiasm for anything English 
 was very amply demonstrated. 
 
 Incidents of note were to be found in every 
 hour of that few days' stay in Moscow. When we 
 were in the Kremlin we went into the little room 
 in which the Tsar is crowned and saw the tiny 
 little chapel behind it in which the monarch always 
 prays for a period before coronation. There is an 
 icon before the altar fixed in the wall, and in front 
 of it a curtain is drawn. The sacredness of an icon 
 is only to be realised by those who have visited 
 Russia, and the feeling of the principal guide of 
 ^ the party may be imagined when General 
 
i88 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Murray, one of the English guests, quite inno- 
 cently stepped forward to pull back the curtain 
 in front of the sacred emblem. Of course he was 
 stopped before he had committed what was in the 
 nature of sacrilege. 
 
 It was stated by one of our guides that on the 
 altar of the little chapel Napoleon had eaten his 
 breakfast when he was in Moscow. There are 
 many stories about Napoleon and his stay in the 
 capital. It is said that he alone of all notable 
 people is the only one who has dared to go 
 through the Saviour Gate of the Kremlin without 
 doffing his cap to the holy icon which surmounts 
 it. Now, as in the past, every one passing through 
 this gateway, even in the bitterest weather, takes 
 off his hat, and if he does not do so he will quickly 
 find it removed for him by some passer-by. A 
 stranger finds no excuse in ignorance, and he cer- 
 tainly is not allowed to be careless about the 
 matter; and as for the Russians, the greatest as 
 well as the humblest pays homage religiously. 
 
 One day all the party were invited to the 
 famous Tretrakoffs picture gallery, where are 
 kept by the City of Moscow some of the national 
 artistic treasures. All the rooms were full of 
 stimulation. The things I carry in my memory are 
 war paintings by Verestchagin, and a huge and 
 awful picture showing John the Terrible after he 
 
MOSCOW VIGNETTES 189 
 
 had killed his son, whose injured body lies in 
 front of him. 
 
 From the picture-gallery we went to a very 
 different scene, a race-course outside the city. 
 Race-course, says the reader ! How could there 
 be a race-course in winter in Moscow? Well, 
 there is, and it is out-of-doors, too — a great semi- 
 circular arena with all the modern appurtenances, 
 a grand stand and the buildings and equipment 
 necessary for the extensive ritual of racing. The 
 contests are trotting races, not horse races in the 
 ordinary sense, and they are trotting races which 
 take place on the powdered snow. The speed 
 achieved by two horses attached to a light trotting 
 jenny as they progress is amazing, and the snow 
 seemed to have no retarding effect at all. 
 
 I had often heard of the Russian dancing and 
 the Russian ballet before I went to St. Petersburg 
 and Moscow, but it had become associated in my 
 mind with the ordinary stage dancing in this 
 country and aroused no feeling beyond a suspicion 
 that I should be bored when I had to go to official 
 performances. A surprise was at hand. I went 
 to the gala performance of the ballet at the 
 Marinsky Theatre at St. Petersburg, and at eleven 
 o'clock, after three hours' performance, I would 
 willingly have watched a prolongation of the 
 performance. Stage-dancing in this country is 
 
190 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 quite different from that in Russia, where it is 
 an art, and a serious art, to which years of pre- 
 paration are given, and in which only those having 
 natural gifts in addition to a long and arduous 
 training can hope to attain eminence. 
 
 In Russia this dancing is no project cultivated 
 for profit; it is a national possession. At the 
 Court theatres in St. Petersburg and Moscow 
 there are thorough and extensive State dancing 
 schools which test boys and girls, select those 
 who are most apt naturally and devote to them 
 years of careful training so that they may at 
 last take their place in the presentation of one 
 of the national accomplishments. These schools 
 are subsidised from Imperial funds. When the 
 students have in their varying degrees reached 
 the highest point in individual development they 
 are attached either to the Marinsky Theatre in 
 St. Petersburg or the Grand Theatre in Moscow, 
 both of them large Imperial institutions conducted 
 with Imperial financial support. Ballets which 
 provide scope for practically every kind of dancing 
 are organised on a great scale, and they are 
 ballets of a kind unknown in England, ballets 
 which have their life in poetry and beauty, and 
 in which the least of those taking part has to 
 possess the touch of an artist. 
 
 In St. Petersburg, when the British deputation 
 
MOSCOW VIGNETTES 191 
 
 was there, a gala performance organised in their 
 honour was not an opera, but a ballet, such a 
 one as is beyond the dreams of Leicester Square. 
 Not in gorgeousness did it excel, though its scenic 
 charm was intense, but in that subtle sub-conscious 
 appeal which springs from all true art. The 
 performance was at once uplifting and exhilarating; 
 one awoke next morning with its happy messages 
 still singing in the veins. The bishops of the 
 party were not all present ; one could have 
 wished they were, for the best of minds might 
 have been the better for that evening's ex- 
 perience. 
 
 Conceive a great stage arranged for great 
 effects with simplicity masking elaborate care. 
 There were no gilded pillars, no glittering caves 
 of Aladdin, but instead were gently-shaded 
 stretches conveying the impression of open-air and 
 spacious skies. The soft monotones ran into 
 one another with an effect which was intensified 
 as minutes passed, and long before the performance 
 was over one realised that the suggestion rather 
 than the expression in the scenes was working 
 on the imagination and producing echoes of 
 remembrance. 
 
 Here, then, was the framework; within was 
 set the picture; and only those who have seen 
 a Russian ballet can understand its drama, its 
 
192 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 humanness, its beauty. The performers tell their 
 tale so that he who runs may read. They put 
 into motion the poetry of Tennyson, exquisite 
 in form, and by its very exquisiteness giving 
 lucidity to the argument. 
 
 A girl walked on to the stage with slow grace, 
 and from her movements, from subtle inflexions 
 impossible to explain, you realised that she was 
 waiting for a man. You saw expectancy grow 
 on her as she slowly circled round, and then you 
 shared her exultation when she heard his footsteps 
 in the distance. 
 
 Again you were presently startled when a 
 dozen black-faced tumbling musicians with strange 
 instruments burst into a courtyard; and before 
 they had gone round the courtyard twice you 
 were back in mediaeval times, half tickled, half 
 intoxicated with this joyous, fervid band, carrying 
 with them old court life and the atmosphere ot 
 victorious camps. The Russian thousands roared 
 their enthusiasm, and British generals and staid 
 politicians cheered again and again. 
 
 But all the incidental excitement was forgotten 
 in the finale when Mademoiselle Kshesinskaya 
 came from the back of the stage to the footlights 
 in a dance that put one's heart in one's mouth. 
 She descended straight towards the audience with 
 a movement as near flying as it is possible to 
 
MOSCOW VIGNETTES 193 
 
 conceive in waking moments. No Englishman 
 present will ever forget those ten seconds, and 
 some of the audience rose to their feet, shouting 
 wildly. 
 
 All that I have described took place at St. 
 Petersburg, but I saw a performance no less 
 remarkable down at Moscow, where portions of a 
 ballet called *' The Humpbacked Horse " were 
 given intermittently with parts of an opera. It 
 was a supreme moment when, with five thousand 
 others in the Imperial Theatre, you saw and felt 
 the eight dancers in the mazurka rushing madly 
 across the great stage, rushing straight down upon 
 you. Like the crest of a wave they came, swift- 
 moving, irresistible, with a thousand messages in 
 their speed and grace. They were directing their 
 course to the spectator and to the spectator alone 
 — that was the delusion. Fairies in a tumult of 
 haste and determination were they, and it seemed 
 impossible that their winged movement could be 
 checked by the footlights. The vividness of their 
 intention banished any thought of physical barriers. 
 Then one drew a deep breath, for just before the 
 front of the stage was reached the onward progress 
 faltered, and in a twinkling the approaching wave 
 was broken into sparkling foam. Scintillation and 
 a thousand graces were suddenly set loose in 
 movement so swift that no eye could follow detail, 
 
 o 
 
194 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 but which told, in language delicious and unmistak- 
 able, a tale of regret, and, it may be, of promise for 
 the future. 
 
 Can it be wondered at that the five thousand 
 people crashed out applause, that the theatre rang 
 with the encoring cry, '' Bis, bis," and that visitors 
 from abroad were among the ecstatic ones ? There 
 were many acts after this, each in its way extra- 
 ordinarily appealing, and every tiny section of the 
 performance brought home artistry. The grace of 
 the performers came out of their bones. From the 
 moment one of them appeared on the stage and 
 proceeded to walk across it the story began to 
 unfold itself. The girl and the man met each other, 
 and slowly, smilingly, embraced three times. That 
 seems a commonplace stage action. Nevertheless, 
 it was filled with a strange fascination here. 
 Suddenly the couple broke, with abandon, into a 
 dance which was perfectly silent, and which told 
 in perfect eloquence of their jubilation, trust, and 
 love. 
 
 Throughout the ballet there were elfin move- 
 ments of a thousand kinds hardly to be picked out, 
 hardly noticeable, and yet each helping to produce 
 the impression. Away in dreamland one had 
 become aware that there were such movements 
 somewhere, but did not think they belonged to the 
 wake-a-day world. Here they were before the 
 
MOSCOW VIGNETTES 195 
 
 eyes. It is only Mr. Barrie who would be able to 
 write of the significance and hidden meaning of 
 Russian dancing, for it is strongly reminiscent all 
 the time of the land of Peter Pan. 
 
 It was impossible for an Englishman to be in 
 Russia for even a few weeks only without being 
 impressed with the cordiality of all classes of the 
 people towards our race. The British nation, with 
 its peculiar characteristics, seems to have attracted 
 the imagination of the people of Russia. No one 
 can look at these tall, straight-backed men, with 
 the virility of the North, clever and strong, nor 
 talk with the happy-faced women, not merely ac- 
 complished but filled with intensity of interest in 
 the elements of life, without feeling that their 
 imagination had been touched with the composite 
 character of the British people. The practical 
 side of our achievements in war, commerce, and 
 literature has made a special appeal. 
 
 From this has sprung, with the development of 
 knowledge among the people, the anxiety to learn 
 the springs of action, of motives and inclination 
 which have built up British doings. 
 
 This is among the educated classes — which, of 
 course, now extend far beyond the official classes, 
 and are continuing to extend. Beyond the ever- 
 widening circle are millions of the poorer Russians 
 — patient, tenacious, stoical — and these people, 
 
196 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 clear-eyed, with the primitive endowments of 
 strong physique, the power of endurance, the 
 patience, which is sometimes pathetic, sometimes 
 brutal— possessing, moreover, domestic kindliness, 
 tremendous obstinacy — have also among them the 
 springs of genius. Incoherent and undeveloped 
 is this great nation of the North and East. Some 
 day she will find herself. When that day comes it 
 will be an epoch in the history of the world. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 
 
 Latter-day journalism, derided as it has been, and 
 still is in some quarters, is evolving a new type of 
 professional man of distinctive character, who will 
 have to be taken into account in future times by 
 those who seek to portray the tendency of the 
 present age. The leisurely shorthand-writer and 
 the leisurely leader-writer, of times gone by, have 
 developed into men who can take their part in 
 picturing to the ever-increasing circle of news- 
 paper readers the emotions which make up the life 
 of rich and poor, and all those little happenings 
 which reflect the hourly interest of men and 
 women. Gone is the time when a newspaper 
 could be content with the armchair reflections of 
 editorial pundits replete with classic acquirements 
 and moved by the knowledge that it was only the 
 governing classes who mattered ; and gone, too, is 
 the time when a newspaper could be content for a 
 great part of its issue with slabs of political and 
 
198 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 other speeches, police-court reports, and by a more 
 or less mechanical account of a circle of public 
 events, varied by a murder. 
 
 To understand and to present the feelings of the 
 millions of ordinary people and not merely to 
 present the beliefs of privileged sections is part of 
 what has come upon journalists in the last twenty 
 years or so. 
 
 Bohemianism, geniality, and devil-may-careness 
 have been, and are, traditional traits in those who 
 write for the newspapers, and in varying degrees 
 these traits have been treasured as characteristic, 
 whether by the men whose names appeared in the 
 papers as the authors of matter which was sup- 
 posed to be contribution to the thought of the 
 period, or by those humbler brethren to whom 
 shorthand was the staff of support. Good fellow- 
 ship, a certain disregard of the more immediate 
 conventions, and a generosity which thought more 
 of the needs than of the deserts of those to whom 
 it was extended, were always treasured features in 
 the journalistic craft. Thank goodness, they still 
 exist and are likely to remain for many a long day. 
 But these characteristics have been interwoven 
 into new material, with which, indeed, they readily 
 combine, and with which they make up a new type 
 of man. 
 
 The spreading field of elementary education has 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 199 
 
 opened huge reading areas for newspapers un- 
 dreamed of in previous generations, and this has 
 demanded efforts in directions which would have 
 been regarded as supererogatory by those who 
 wrote for newspapers and produced them years 
 ago. To-day a man must have, first of all, the 
 qualifications of the older generation, because the 
 groundwork of his occupation will frequently be 
 the same, but in addition he must have a thousand 
 differentiations. A quick understanding of the 
 smaller emotions and the ability to tell of them is 
 of equal importance to the power of business 
 organisation and a smattering of diplomacy, in- 
 tuition for detective work, and the literary culture 
 of which I have spoken in a previous chapter. He 
 must be able to give the ordinary woman reader 
 a little glow of pleasure as she reads of the appear- 
 ance of a bride in church; he must be able to write 
 without exaggeration of the seamstress in the 
 East End and her daily hopeless toil in a way 
 which shall touch the casual man in the street ; he 
 must be so attuned as to be able to follow the 
 sway of a popular orator in order to reproduce 
 a similar influence in the written word. He must, 
 in a word, have temperament as well as acquired 
 knowledge. Given that temperament, it is easy to 
 see how the work must ripen personality, for any 
 one who is influenced by humour, or sadness, or 
 
200 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 courage, who is brought pretty frequently in touch 
 with these things, will inevitably show traces in 
 his individuality. 
 
 A great school is modern journalism. In it 
 disappear quickly a good many illusions, some of 
 them on the soft side, a good many of them on the 
 hard side, and on the whole there is a balance 
 which leaves the Press worker of to-day a little 
 sceptical, but kindly, unpretentious and full of 
 understanding. His bitterest words will always 
 be found for snobbery, affectation, unreality, and 
 arrogance, and he will be kindly towards those sins 
 which are on the generous side. 
 
 The new demands of the profession, its increased 
 scale of pay, have naturally brought into it more 
 men of high educational attainments, and if these 
 are leavened by those who, with no particular formal 
 schooling, have sought knowledge strenuously on 
 their own account, the resulting whole is a type 
 which, while here and there deficient in letters, 
 is richest perhaps of all in human nature. The 
 panorama of life which is spread before a reporter 
 on a halfpenny paper of the day is one which 
 might satisfy even a philosopher, and, indeed, it 
 is hard to know of any occupation in which are 
 more opportunities for the study of men and 
 women, and the witnessing not merely of the 
 general emotions which make up interest, but also 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 201 
 
 the intensified forms of them which lead to the 
 great exaltations or the great tragedies. 
 
 What are the incidents that go to the make-up 
 of this new type of man ? They are many and 
 various, and all carry with them special appeals. 
 The rushing routine of the lower ranks of re- 
 porting sets moving all kinds of messages in its 
 course, and strange little things which cannot be 
 reproduced in print sometimes leave a lasting 
 mark. 
 
 A busy suburban coroner has half a dozen 
 inquests to conduct at a sitting. Grey-faced 
 relatives in a little crowd are in the ante-room or 
 in the coroner's court itself. Many kinds of deaths 
 are to be investigated, some of them due to street 
 accidents, some to drowning, some to the effect 
 of heart disease or other insidious complaints. One 
 of them, a common enough type, is that of the 
 baby which has been overlain. The bodies are 
 on the slabs in the mortuary, isolated, cold, 
 commonplace, and terrible. Silently, in single file, 
 the jurymen and relatives pass by, and presently 
 the young mother, with handkerchief to her mouth, 
 comes along and catches sight of her child. Surprise 
 overwhelms her. " It is my baby," she screams. 
 Death is horribly new to her. She has nursed 
 to her bosom so often that little mite now cold 
 and helpless, no more to have life. The burly 
 
202 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 coroner's officer, with kindly manner, supports her 
 out of the mortuary. 
 
 A few years ago a boat-train travelling one 
 night to Waterloo crashed off the line at Salisbury, 
 killing many passengers, injuring many more, and 
 reducing the train itself to a chaos of bent iron 
 and broken woodwork. Those of us who hurried 
 down reached Salisbury while the work of rescue 
 from the tangled masses was still going on, but it 
 was the rescue of the dead, for there were no living 
 left beneath the wreck. Horror walked the streets 
 of Salisbury that day, and it was hardly lightened 
 by the streaks of heroism and fortitude which 
 came to light with every hour. The bigness of 
 the catastrophe blurs the picture somewhat even 
 at this time, and yet from the day of shock and 
 misery one incident stands out in my memory. 
 Many of the passengers were Americans, and 
 there were some family parties among them. Some 
 of the groups were killed outright, and in other 
 cases individuals escaped practically unhurt. Stand- 
 ing in the Salisbury Post Office to dispatch a 
 telegraphic message, I waited at the counter for 
 a minute by the side of a girl of fifteen, who 
 was quite calm although her face was white. She 
 was alone in England now, because her people 
 had gone. I could hardly help seeing the tele- 
 graphic message she wrote out for an address in 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 203 
 
 Washington. This was it as far as I remember : 
 " Father, mother, and aunt, all dead. Tell me what 
 to do." Twenty-four hours before that this girl 
 must have been joyfully chattering with her friends 
 about the English holiday which was just beginning. 
 The journalists who were present carried in 
 their minds for a long time the scene when Mr. 
 Balfour, then the Prime Minister, received at the 
 Foreign Office a deputation of poor women from 
 the East End brought by Mr. Will Crooks and 
 others for the purpose of laying their grievances 
 before the Government. I forget the actual object 
 of the deputation, but it had to do with poverty 
 and it had to do with suffering, and sought help 
 from the authorities. I can see that gathering of 
 women now in the great, dignified room of the 
 Foreign Office while their spokesmen put the case 
 before the Minister and some of his colleagues. 
 There was the usual official refusal to do anything, 
 gracefully made by Mr. Balfour, just as uncom- 
 promising as though it had been hurled at the 
 women with violent adjectives. Dull and expres- 
 sionless were all these faces as they filed out, and 
 it was not until some of us mixed with them after- 
 wards that we knew that these women had been 
 in some cases without food entirely for twenty- 
 four hours, and in others had had a sum of two- 
 pence or threepence to provide food for a family 
 
204 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 of four or five for three days, and in still other 
 cases had, through their working conditions, been 
 compelled to try to get sustenance for weeks past 
 on money which did not average a halfpenny a 
 head per day. No wonder they were silent and 
 apathetic. It occurred to one that the gracefulness 
 of Mr. Balfour's refusal must have been thrown 
 away. I have no doubt that the soundest economic 
 reasons could be adduced for the refusal to accede 
 to the requests put forward on behalf of these 
 hungry families, but I have often thought that if 
 Mr. Balfour had by chance known the hungry 
 condition of the women listening to him he would 
 not have made the reply he did, for he is a man 
 easily to be touched by noble sentiment, and 
 courageous in doing what he considers to be right. 
 Mr. Balfour went back from the Foreign Office to 
 his official residence at lo. Downing Street. Mr. 
 Crooks took the hungry women over to Lyons' 
 Restaurant in Parliament Street, where, by the help 
 of some friends, they were given a good, substantial 
 meal for once. Not one of us who was there but 
 could have wished that some of the Ministers of 
 State might have been present during that meal 
 and heard the women talking. 
 
 Of the lessons to be learnt from the clash of 
 strong personalities there is no end for the journalist 
 with a seeing eye, and they could be multiplied 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 205 
 
 without ceasing. Think of the time when in the 
 last Conservative Government the struggle was 
 going on between leaders who held opposing 
 views on tariff questions, each striving to secure 
 power and dominance, and at the same time pre- 
 serving to the outer world that appearance of 
 general agreement which is part of the cloak of 
 politics. 
 
 There was piquancy and drama in the situation 
 when Mr. Joseph Chamberlain and the late Duke 
 of Devonshire appeared at an afternoon meeting 
 to speak to their supporters from the same platform, 
 each to uphold his own opinion, and while pre- 
 serving the appearance of friendly co-operation, 
 each to show that his, and his only, was the way 
 of salvation. Every one present knew the situation, 
 in spite of all the civilities. I remember well the 
 ponderous, ungainly, slow-voiced Duke of Devon- 
 shire, whose very clumsiness of appearance and of 
 speech added to the impression of sincerity given 
 by his actual words. No agility of mind was there, 
 no lightning phrases, only a steadfast, immovable, 
 rock-like temperament, against which the storm of 
 rival opinion might break in vain. Withal, in these 
 heavy sentences there was much tact, because he 
 seemed to imply that all was really well between 
 him and Mr. Chamberlain, in spite of passing inflec- 
 tions of judgment. Grim-faced, alert, motionless. 
 
2o6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 sat Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, his spare body, sharp 
 features, his young-man air all producing the 
 effect, even as he sat very motionless, of a person 
 of action, ruthless and determined. When he rose 
 to speak he gave life to the picture, and those 
 biting, clear-cut phrases, so terribly lucid in their 
 intent, meant war with the Duke. All the gathering 
 knew that these two were antagonists, that each was 
 set on his own way, and that their differing points 
 of view were entirely irreconcilable. One had to 
 conquer, one had to give way. Which was to be 
 the victor ? The friendly attitude in front of others, 
 and, indeed, probably demonstrated when by them- 
 selves, was part of the drama. In combat were 
 these two individualities, and while they knew it 
 themselves, and everybody else knew it, they did 
 not acknowledge it openly, at least, and went on 
 their way with simple compliments and expressions 
 of mutual regard. 
 
 In the newspaper calling, with all its strenuous 
 calls on quick decision, its stern competition for 
 speed and exclusiveness, its temptations to alert 
 minds, there is, I am quite sure, a degree of pro- 
 fessional honour unsurpassed among any body of 
 men in the world. The humanness of their experi- 
 ence, the very laxity with regard to some of the 
 sterner conventions, help to rigidness in matters 
 particularly affecting their work. Men of the world 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 207 
 
 are currently supposed to be not very particular 
 in certain directions, and the modern journalist is 
 essentially a man of the world, but, notwithstanding 
 this, there is a code unwritten, unspoken, which 
 rules absolutely the conduct of individuals engaged 
 in the wide operations of newspaperland. Tactful 
 must be the successful journalist of to-day. It is 
 well that he should be fluent, for if he can tell a 
 good story he is on the way to being an irresistible 
 man ; and it will come as a surprise to many who 
 spend a good deal of effort in opposing the call for 
 newspaper information to learn that the newspaper 
 man is among the most reticent and reserved of 
 people. He will talk a good deal, because it is 
 often his business to do so, but you will find that 
 he rarely reveals anything that can be called a 
 piece of news. What is more important, he can 
 be absolutely trusted with a secret. He will not 
 disclose it to any person, and farthest of all from 
 his mind will be the thought of publishing it in his 
 paper. Scores of public men can bear witness to 
 the discretion of Pressmen, can testify to their good 
 feeling and their scrupulousness. Time and time 
 again, a Pressman's personal interest would be 
 served by a little yielding on matters he has heard 
 in conversation or topics which have been discussed 
 with him by those in a position to know the facts. 
 He does not yield. There is more than one man 
 
208 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 in Fleet Street to-day who has carried things in his 
 mind — personal news, political news, Court news, 
 which would have given his paper a boom, and 
 helped him some way on the ladder of success. The 
 news has remained unpublished. So rarely is there 
 a breach of this rule that the cases are negligible. 
 Sometimes, of course, a breach of confidence would 
 in the long run tell against the journalist, but, quite 
 apart from this, there is the sternest observation 
 of all that makes for professional etiquette and 
 honour. Nor is this trait confined to individuals, 
 for the newspapers themselves — differing in in- 
 fluence, differing in their views as to what is for 
 the common weal— have, I think, all of them, with- 
 out exception, the same scrupulous regard for the 
 niceties of newspaper honour. Journals opposed 
 to the Government of the day have had in their 
 keeping Government secrets which they could not 
 well publish without breaches of faith; and this 
 applies to Conservative journals and Liberal 
 journals alike. The news agencies, ever the most 
 alert for Government information, frequently be- 
 come possessed of startling items which, for 
 reasons connected with the public welfare, are 
 never given to the world, although they would 
 make fascinating reading for the man in the street. 
 All these things have their bearing on the 
 journalist of to-day, and they reflect the influences 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 209 
 
 which are to be found in his daily work. There 
 is an attitude towards life in it all — an attitude 
 which may be liable to criticism, but which, at any 
 rate, is fresh and untrammelled. 
 
 Seriousness and lightsomeness flit before the 
 journalist's eyes, and to cultivate a brave frivolity 
 is one of the first things to learn. There are any 
 amount of object-lessons by the way, and he must 
 be prepared to throw himself wholeheartedly into 
 trifles as well as to meet the problems of State 
 with fitting decorum. Perhaps it is to be regretted 
 that journalists have not much respect for the 
 respected in a good many directions, but in defence 
 let it be said that if they cultivated deferences 
 they would be at a loss in dealing with the many 
 problems which are thrust upon them from day 
 to day. 
 
 The lesser qualities — concerned with readiness 
 of mind and a constant placid sense of humour — 
 cannot fail to be developed by the new conditions, 
 although these things have always in some measure 
 been bred by the work of journalism. Oppor- 
 tunities in the higher flights for a grave audacity 
 will continually be opened up. There are any 
 amount of stories which illustrate the prevalent 
 spirit. Some of them are inconsiderable; most of 
 them demonstrate a much-to-be-criticised disregard 
 of authority and a pleasant, new outlook. 
 
 p 
 
210 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Who will be likely to forget the story of two 
 Irish reporters who ought to have attended a 
 cathedral service one morning in order to hear a 
 special sermon by a visiting bishop, and who found 
 attraction elsewhere and failed to arrive till the 
 sermon was at its end ? They were frankly in 
 difficulty because their respective papers had sent 
 them from a considerable distance to report the 
 bishop. How could they get the sermon ? There 
 was no one in the cathedral to whom they could 
 apply, and after discussing the matter for some 
 time they determined to take the bold step and go 
 to the bishop himself. He could but repulse them, 
 and it was well worth the trial. So at the con- 
 clusion of the service they went to him, and with 
 some hesitation one of them explained the situa- 
 tion. Would the bishop mind dictating part of 
 the sermon? The bishop was an Irishman, and he 
 met their request generously. He would, he said, 
 to oblige the reporter, go so far as to write out 
 some of his sermon. This kindliness brought forth 
 a stream of thanks, for it was at once recognised 
 that the bishop was going to great trouble and was 
 condescending very much. 
 
 ^^ I'll write out half a column for you," said the 
 prelate. The kindness would have overwhelmed 
 any but a Pressman, and perhaps would have over- 
 whelmed even him if he had not been an Irish 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 211 
 
 Pressman. The second reporter, who had not 
 spoken, but who had heard the dialogue between 
 his colleague and the bishop, was faced with the 
 fact that he might have to write afresh the half- 
 column since the bishop's contribution would only 
 provide one copy. " Perhaps," he said, " in writing 
 it out you would not mind putting in a black?" 
 
 A " black," it should be explained, is a carbon 
 which duplicates the writing. I am not quite sure 
 what the bishop did about it. 
 
 Then there w^as my friend, Mr. Perks, not onl^^ 
 a clever journalist, but one of the finest raconteurs 
 known in Fleet Street. If ever Mr. Perks could 
 be persuaded to write his reminiscences they would 
 indeed make a fascinating book. He was once 
 somewhere up in Lincolnshire with some col- 
 leagues during an election fight in which his name- 
 sake, Mr. R. W. Perks, was a leading figure. One 
 evening, it is reported, a small deputation of local 
 dignitaries arrived at the hotel where Mr. Perks, 
 the journalist, and Mr. Perks, the politician, were 
 both staying. They asked for Mr. Perks, because 
 they wished to lay their views on some matter 
 before him. They were shown into the waiting- 
 room where Mr. Perks, the journalist, and some of 
 his colleagues were at work, and Mr. Perks, rising 
 to the occasion, welcomed them gracefully, and 
 asked them to state their object. The deputation 
 
212 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 responded by putting forth their needs on a certain 
 matter, and Mr. Perks, in response, said that, of 
 course, he was well aware of the importance of the 
 case put forward by the deputation, and was not 
 unfamiliar with the weight which should be at- 
 tached to the arguments. In the course of public 
 life he had met many who held their views, and 
 although at that moment he could not pronounce 
 definitely upon them, he would give them the 
 utmost consideration, and would not fail to explain 
 the circumstances to his colleagues when he re- 
 turned to the House of Commons. 
 
 The gratitude of the deputation to Mr. Perks 
 for his kindly reception is said to have been touch- 
 ing. The political namesake of the journalist, now 
 Sir R. W. Perks, laughed heartily when he heard of 
 the incident, and a long time afterwards he chaffingly 
 declared to Mr. Perks, the journalist, that he had 
 never been able to convince some of his constituents 
 that he had not committed himself definitely and 
 irrevocably to the Agricultural Rating Act or some 
 other Act. 
 
 In face of the protests against what is called 
 sensationalism and the unscrupulous methods of 
 popular papers of to-day, it is permissible to 
 point out that much consideration is shown daily 
 for the feelings of individuals by journalists, 
 who might well give publicity to unpleasing facts 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JOURNALIST 213 
 
 within their knowledge. The printing of a good 
 deal of interesting news is, I dare say, very painful 
 in the quarters concerned, but that is inevitable if 
 you accept the proposition that news dealing with 
 persons as distinct from policies should be inserted 
 in the papers at all. And it is really remarkable 
 how many of the cases in which objection is taken 
 to publicity are connected with occasions which 
 are properly susceptible of public comment of a 
 criticising nature. Sensitiveness springs in the 
 majority of cases, not from a sense of abstract pro- 
 priety, but from the knowledge that there will be 
 little revelations which would throw an unpleasant 
 light on those concerned. 1 am certain, moreover, 
 that no fair-minded person will say that personal 
 journalism in this country is carried to unwarranted 
 lengths, or is, on the whole, illiberal or rancorous. 
 Once in a way, perhaps, there is an outburst on 
 the part of a paper which is not justifiable, but 
 matters soon right themselves, the balance is re- 
 stored, and, generally speaking, a high level is 
 maintained. 
 
 It may be added that the newer journalists have 
 come to realise the abiding interest to be found in 
 the descriptions of human personality, an interest 
 pressed home for centuries by the great writers 
 in respect of great men. Now, with the enor- 
 mously-widened field of people who read not 
 
214 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 only bookS; but newspapers, the interpretation 
 of current personalities, often of the lesser per- 
 sonalities who come up and are forgotten in a 
 month, has been utilised and will be still more 
 utilised. Of course, the modern tendency is open 
 to abuse, but I do not think that it is very often 
 abused in this country. And in the thick of all the 
 claims of the new profession it is certainly remark- 
 able how much kindness is forthcoming in con- 
 nection with matters which are never known to 
 the public at large. An illustration was given 
 quite recently in what was known as the ** Hooded 
 Man " murder, where a condemned prisoner used 
 a false name, a name which was not printed by the 
 newspapers, although they knew who he really 
 was ; and this reticence was entirely on behalf of 
 his father and mother, who are respectable people, 
 and whose lamentable plight was easily to be 
 understood. Suppression may also have its excesses, 
 but there is little fear of extremes in this direction, 
 because in pretty well all cases newspapers are 
 acting against their business interests in keeping 
 live personal news out of their columns. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE STORY OF LORD NORTHCLIFFE 
 
 Alfred Harmsworth was the dominating name 
 among workaday journalists of Fleet Street within 
 a few years of the Daily Mail initiation, and it 
 was a name which was very generally spoken ill 
 of by journalists. All kinds of expressions were 
 called forth by the mention of this young man, 
 who had already made his new halfpenny paper 
 into a success. That he should have had such 
 small beginnings ruffled some of the older and 
 more responsible men in Fleet Street ; that he 
 should employ young men and ask them to do 
 new kind of work in journalism annoyed a good 
 many of those who had passed their apprentice- 
 ship days ; and the fact that he paid salaries far 
 in advance of conventional newspaper salaries 
 gave an added touch of bitterness to the 
 general resentment. All this was quite apart 
 from the political hostility aroused by the Daily 
 Mail. 
 
2i6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 The readiness with which men were engaged 
 and given their chance by Alfred Harmsworth 
 was only equalled by the readiness with which 
 they were discharged when they were found 
 unsuitable for the work required, and this accounted 
 for a good deal of the antagonism. Tales were 
 abroad of men who had been lured from the 
 provinces and cast adrift after a few months. 
 " He sucks people's brains and then throws them 
 aside/' was a phrase freely used. The Daily Mail 
 itself was spoken of with disgust. The ^^office- 
 boy's paper " was how it was described by 
 journalists on both sides in politics who were 
 connected with old-established papers. And yet, 
 in spite of all this, some of the younger spirits 
 in Fleet Street cherished in secret an ambition 
 to get on the staff of the Daily Mail and have 
 their chance with new men and new methods. 
 Some of them who were engaged found happiness 
 in the new strenuousness, and achieved a success 
 which would have been impossible anywhere else. 
 Others encountering the merciless fluctuations 
 inseparable from a rushing business went down. 
 On the whole the able men, who by temperament 
 were fitted for the life, found permanency, and 
 those who were by temperament unfitted, whether 
 they were capable or not, soon left of their own 
 accord, or were fired out. 
 
THE STORY OF LORD NORTHCLIFFE 217 
 
 In a few years Alfred llarmsworth had made 
 himself proprietor of several newspapers, daily and 
 evening, and a large number of weekly magazines 
 and kindred papers ; a colossal fortune was passing 
 through his hands each week, and an army of men 
 was under his control. Even then many of the 
 working journalists on the highly-respectable morn- 
 ing papers affected to shudder at the mere name of 
 Alfred Harmsworth. ^' Wouldn't go on the Daily 
 Mail for twice the money I'm getting," was the 
 usual comment. "There one month and gone 
 the next." Contemptuous references to the con- 
 tents of the paper and the temporariness of its 
 popularity were commonplaces. Withal, the name 
 of Harmsworth began to be of import in Fleet 
 Street, and astonishment grew up by the side 
 of resentment. Even against their will, old- 
 fashioned sub-editors and reporters realised that 
 there was a great new force in newspaperland. 
 All this is as much as ten years ago. 
 
 It was six months after I joined the Daily Mail 
 that, sitting in the reporters' room one day at 
 work at my writing-table, I was disturbed by 
 the opening of the door and the thrusting in of 
 a boyish-looking face, clean-shaven, with tawny 
 hair falling over a square forehead, a keen, 
 inquisitive look about the eyes. The face was 
 withdrawn almost instantly, and the door closed. 
 
2i8 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 That was my first glimpse of Alfred Harmsworth. 
 He had a habit once and again of popping into 
 the various departmental rooms of his paper to 
 see the faces of his new men. Generally he would 
 speak to them. Sometimes, as in my case, he 
 would content himself with a passing glance — 
 though he would take care to acquaint himself 
 quickly as to the man who had just been under 
 his silent scrutiny. 
 
 People ask one what Alfred Harmsworth is 
 like to look at. He is a little difficult to describe, 
 because no outline of the personal appearance 
 could produce the effect of the magnetism which 
 emanates from him, and which affects in a greater 
 or lesser degree all those with whom he comes 
 in touch. Picture a squarely-built man, heavy 
 in the shoulders, who always walks quickly with 
 short steps, a man with a head at once massive 
 and boyish, with a great square forehead, over 
 which a lock of hair drops pendulously — Bis- 
 marckian chin, a big mouth which sinks at the 
 corners, an aquiline, well-formed nose, and widely 
 opened eyes, which hide thoughts and passions 
 instead of reflecting them. There he is exter- 
 nally. Yet the description conveys little. It is 
 mood which transforms the man. At all times 
 energy flickers from him like lightning, but 
 nevertheless he is an entirely different man 
 
THE STORY OF LORD NORTHCLIPTE 219 
 
 on different occasions. See him in attack. Head 
 sunk deep in the shoulders, brows lowered, he 
 scatters nimble words which sear and burn in 
 their destructive intent. With all the avidity and 
 eagerness of a schoolboy, he pours forth truths 
 which never fail to wound, to scarify, or to destroy. 
 Ruthless and merciless is he. He can break a 
 man's spirit or subdue a bully with marvellous 
 celerity. He can scatter an insincere nuisance, 
 blow to pieces a bit of clever bluff with unfailing 
 and unkindly thoroughness. There is youthful- 
 ness in all, almost childishness at times, and 
 yet also a ferocious intent which never fails. 
 
 Is it possible for the reader to reconcile this 
 picture with the fact that Alfred Harmsworth has 
 inspired his servants, not merely with enthusiasm, 
 but with devotion, and that most of those who 
 have been in closest relation with him have felt 
 the touch of affection ? 
 
 His presence did not bring so much restraint 
 among the irresponsibles of the reporters' room 
 as did that of the departmental chiefs — and these 
 shuddered (figuratively) at his lightest word. 
 Alfred Harmsworth would come bustling in 
 amongst the reporters once in a way with a hail- 
 fellow-well-met word for everybody. He used to 
 smoke big flat cigarettes ; but he always seemed to 
 smoke them with an effort. I remember one day, 
 
220 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 years ago, he came in on one of those genial calls, 
 and walked over to the green baize notice-board 
 above the fireplace whereon were placed the 
 various announcements from the news editor- 
 announcements which were interspersed with 
 lightning cartoons and irreverent comments. 
 Alfred Harmsworth found on the notice-board a 
 pencil caricature of himself, done by one of the 
 men who then sat in the room. " Who has been 
 libelling me ? " he said. Dead silence. There was 
 a twinkle in his eye. A reporter arose and walked 
 over to the notice-board, and looked at the notice- 
 board with marked surprise as though the 
 caricature was a fresh thing to him. " Dear me," 
 said he. 
 
 ^' Who did it ? " 
 
 ^' Well, I really " began the reporter. 
 
 " Lend me your pencil," said Alfred Harms- 
 worth, quickly, and he wrote beneath the drawing : 
 '' Please do not libel me.— A. C. H." He left it at 
 that. I am quite certain he was aware the man 
 who drew the caricature was in the room. 
 
 One of the things that struck me from the first 
 was the fact that Alfred Harmsworth gloried in 
 putting from him the little pretensions to deep- 
 seated reflection and calculation of great issues, 
 which lesser men parade. He was not afraid to 
 seem youthful ; nor was he afraid to think out 
 
THE STORY OF LORD NORTHCLIFFE 221 
 
 aloud. This was unpleasant sometimes, but at 
 other times it was refreshing. He took the greatest 
 pains to talk to the least of his men on level terms. 
 Perhaps this was cultivated ; but in any case it 
 arose from a natural gift ; and he had a pleasant 
 frankness which was captivating to the younger 
 members of the staff. About a year after I joined 
 the Daily Mail, in my anxiety to get a good story 
 for the paper, I was badly hoaxed by some jokers, 
 who told me a long, exaggerated tale of the 
 happenings at one of our old Universities, those 
 happenings having only scanty foundations in fact. 
 I seized on the narration, wrote it up, and it 
 appeared in the full glory of a prominent column 
 in the paper. Denial and laughter descended upon 
 the paper. I was mercilessly chaffed by my 
 colleagues, but, more than that, I was seriously 
 rated by my chiefs, because it is one of the deadly 
 sins of Fleet Street to let one's paper down. My 
 mistake was just one of those things which might 
 easily annoy a proprietor more than a graver lapse. 
 It was on the second day after my downfall, when 
 feeling a little sullen after my buffeting, I was going 
 up* to Carmelite House, and in Tallis Street met 
 Lord Northcliffe in a motor-car. He pulled up, as 
 he saw me, to speak to me on the pavement. I 
 prepared to receive cavalry. Conceive my feelings 
 when he said very cheerily, "They pulled your leg. 
 
222 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 did they ? Don't you bother about it. We have 
 all had our little mishaps of that kind. I have 
 suffered, too. Don't you let this worry you." And 
 off he went. 
 
 Those who were immediately associated with 
 the work had a trying and exciting time, for it is 
 very few who have the vitality to keep pace with 
 a man like Alfred Harmsworth. Sometimes he 
 did not realise this ; sometimes he did. A hundred 
 stories are afloat in Fleet Street about him. There 
 was, it is said, a member of the staff who had been 
 acting as his private secretary, and he was getting 
 very fatigued with the work. Alfred Harmsworth 
 looked at him one morning, glared, and said : ^^ You 
 are run down. You are not well. You must have 
 a holiday." The man muttered that he would be 
 able to get along all right. Alfred Harmsworth 
 refused to be contradicted. *^ You want a holiday," 
 he said fiercely, ^' and you've got to have it. Take 
 six weeks off at once. Go to-day." Stammering, 
 the man protested he did not want a holiday. " I 
 know what it is," said the chief, sternly, ^'you've 
 got no money to go away with. That's what is the 
 matter. Don't tell me. I know what it is. Very 
 well ; here's a cheque. Now go off, and rest your- 
 self for six weeks." 
 
 All those who have been connected with the 
 firm for any length of time can give instances of 
 
THE STORY OF LORD NORTHCLIFFE 223 
 
 extraordinary generosity exercised with a certain 
 fierce privacy. 
 
 It would be wrong, however, to imagine he was 
 the kindly, beneficent father of the establishment; 
 he was uncompromising where incapacity was 
 concerned, and frankly he revealed the fact that 
 he could not suffer failures gladly. 
 
 An indication of the spirit which follows in the 
 trail of Alfred Harmsworth may be gathered from 
 the many more or less apocryphal stories which 
 hover round him. Here is a sample : He met a 
 sub-editor in the corridor, and, in accordance with 
 occasional practice, stopped him for a few words 
 of conversation. 
 
 " How are you getting on?" he asked. 
 
 "Excellently, thanks." 
 
 "Perfectly comfortable in the sub-editors' room?" 
 
 " Yes, quite." 
 
 " How long have you been with me?" 
 
 "About three months now." 
 
 " Do you find it easy to work with the chief 
 sub-editor?" 
 
 " Yes, I like him very much." 
 
 " What money are you getting?" 
 
 " Five pounds a week." 
 
 " And you are quite happy and contented ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Then you are not the man for me. I don't 
 
224 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 want any member of my staff to be happy and 
 contented with five pounds a week." 
 
 I have seen Alfred Harmsworth in many moods, 
 in many circumstances; and have worked directly 
 or indirectly under his control for ten years, and 
 he remains to me, as I dare say to many others, 
 almost the same bewildering personality as at the 
 beginning. Measure some individual action of 
 Alfred Harmsworth by ordinary standards, and 
 you may get near enough to understand him, or 
 think you understand him. Take one section of 
 his work, and his methods of carrying it out, and 
 you may be able to get a comprehension of his line 
 of thought and impulse ; but take the man as a 
 whole and he puzzles and staggers one. Elusive 
 as the winds of summer are his motives. Men 
 of simple mind struggle in vain to gather the im- 
 pulses which drive him to various courses of 
 action. They will struggle so to the end of the 
 chapter. 
 
 Who can account for his amazing success in 
 business? By the genius of his own brain and 
 his genius for bringing the intellect of others 
 to his service he has amassed a fortune well 
 beyond the dreams of ordinary avariciousness. 
 Anything he has touched from his youth always 
 has seemed to turn to gold. Courage is his, energy 
 is his, shrewdness is his, imagination is his. But 
 
THE STORY OF LORD NORTHCLIFFE 225 
 
 all these things have been combined in others, 
 perhaps in equal measure, but with a total failure 
 to produce similar results. Wherein lies the secret ? 
 When that has been discovered one of the problems 
 of human personality will have been solved. 
 
 Was it wealth Alfred Harmsworth sought? 
 For many years past he has been, if not the richest 
 man in this country, at least very near it, and he 
 still continues on his turbulent way, making news- 
 papers, disturbing countries, building up men's 
 reputations and breaking them. 
 
 Was it power he sought? For many years past 
 he has controlled the greatest newspaper trust in 
 existence — daily papers, weekly papers, provincial 
 papers, serious reviews, humorous journals, 
 popular magazines. Probably never in the history 
 of the world has one man been given the power 
 of influencing so many minds as Alfred Harms- 
 worth. Still, withal, he continues to make fresh 
 departures, to initiate new ventures, to build up 
 great businesses abroad as well as at home. 
 
 Was it fame he sought? Possessing immense 
 wealth, holding high social position, having it in 
 his power, by means of his network of journals, to 
 reach the minds of not less than twenty millions 
 of people each week, he has in his grasp the greatest 
 instrument for personal notoriety ever given to a 
 man in modern times. He can make the fortune 
 
226 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 of an artist or an author by a single instruction, 
 by a word of command. He could go far in the 
 direction of producing war between two nations. 
 He has the power to stop a war. Notwithstanding 
 this, he remains, of all the notabilities, perhaps 
 the least known personally to the public; the 
 least talked of personally, the least regarded as 
 a serious personal force. No, it could not have 
 been fame he sought. 
 
 There is the enigma for you. 
 
 Like a meteor, he bursts across the political sky, 
 sometimes denouncing his nominal political foes, at 
 other times scourging his nominal political friends. 
 Sometimes he fails ; on the whole he succeeds. His 
 success is a great rushing river, checked here and 
 there from time to time, but always progressing 
 and gathering momentum as it goes along. 
 
 Who can tell what have been and what are his 
 ambitions ? The joys of country life are one, I 
 think. He has a beautiful old Elizabethan mansion 
 near Guildford, the gardens of which are a pure 
 delight to the nature lover. He has another place 
 at Broadstairs, from which he took his title when 
 he was made a peer. He likes to be the host of 
 people, and a fascinating host he is — not merely to 
 fashionable folk, but to all that great multitude of 
 people to whom, in common phrase, he *' takes 
 a fancy." Members of his staff are frequently 
 
THE STORY OF LORD NORTHCLIFFE 227 
 
 entertained by him at one or other of his country 
 houses. 
 
 Who would think that such an agreeable, 
 understanding man, so quick to grasp the meaning 
 and sympathise with the intentions of an ordinary 
 mind, would ever become a terror? Yet opinions 
 of Alfred Harmsworth have only to be formed to 
 be broken on any lengthy association with him. 
 That is the tantalising part of the matter. At one 
 time you are prepared to swear that he is a cynical 
 genius, who enters into the mind and heart of his 
 associates with the deliberate intent of extracting 
 from them all that may be put to material use ; and 
 then, after a day or two's association, you realise 
 you have wronged the man very much, and that at 
 least one part of him is intensely human, kind, and 
 generous to the last degree. Perhaps he is in 
 reality one of those occasional beings who have 
 six souls and six intelligences to match. Some 
 swift combination of circumstances may bring to 
 the fore any one of those six personalities. Behind 
 each personality is a devastating, forceful energy. 
 That forceful energy is directed often by an 
 intuition comparable only in its accuracy to that 
 of a woman. He sees things, and he knows not 
 why he sees them. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 
 
 It was as a young and ardent reporter in one of 
 the London suburbs during election time that I 
 had my first physical tussle to secure the interests 
 of my employers. 
 
 Competition with regard to election results is 
 intense, and the gain of half a minute in the 
 announcement is a matter of congratulation and 
 elation in the agency office which is fortunate 
 enough to be in front. Preparations are made to 
 save every second. At the various telephones of 
 the Fleet Street headquarters are stationed men 
 to take down instantly the figures transmitted to 
 them, and near at hand are operators at the electric 
 typewriting instruments which set in action the 
 tape machines in all the newspaper offices and the 
 clubs. 
 
 I went down to the suburb, and found at the 
 town hall seven or eight newspaper men all bent 
 on getting the figures first. The difficulties were 
 
ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 229 
 
 considerable, because the telephone room of the 
 municipal offices was the best part of a hundred 
 yards distant from the Town Hall, where the count- 
 ing of the votes was to be done. This hundred 
 yards of corridors and stairs presented problems. 
 I had taken the precaution of obtaining from 
 the town clerk permission to use the municipal 
 telephone, but I knew perfectly well that author- 
 isations of this kind are apt to count for nought 
 in the struggle for precedence at the final 
 moment, and in the circumstances I came to an 
 arrangement with a friend who, like myself, repre- 
 sented an agency, and we struck up a working 
 coalition against the other men. This was 
 necessary, because one agency had a force of three 
 reporters present. The arrangement was that we 
 should work together : that I should telephone the 
 figures first to my agency, and then help my friend 
 to the next call of the telephone, so that although 
 second to me he should be in front of all others. 
 We went to the official who was actually in charge 
 of the telephone room, explained the circumstances 
 to him, and secured his endorsement of our plans. 
 Alas! for human frailty. In the waiting hours 
 during the counting we, like other Pressmen, 
 wandered about the municipal buildings, and this, 
 as we subsequently found out, gave plenty of 
 opportunity to our opponents to get at the man at 
 
230 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPERMAN 
 
 the telephone and to enlist him against us by 
 means of inducements which even to this day 
 remain a mystery. 
 
 We were ignorant of this counter arrangement. 
 We waited midway along the corridor as the fate- 
 ful moment for the result approached, and as the 
 doors of the counting room swept open and 
 candidates and officials burst forth towards the 
 balcony, my friend started running downstairs to 
 the telephone room to ring up my number. I got 
 the figures and I dashed along and overtook him at 
 the door of the telephone room. Try to understand 
 our feelings at witnessing the municipal official 
 ringing up on the telephone, not for us, but for our 
 rivals. It was no time for hesitancy. My friend 
 flung himself on the municipal official, while I 
 tried to keep back the oncoming rush of Press- 
 men in the doorway. I was borne forward. My 
 friend was struggling, and I shall always remember 
 the picture of that municipal official with the tele- 
 phone receiver in one hand trying to strike and 
 push away his assailant with the other. I ran to 
 help, wrested the telephone receiver from the 
 official, pressed myself up against the telephone 
 instrument, and called the exchange. 
 
 The room was half-filled by this time with 
 people desiring to get on the telephone, journalists 
 being in front, municipal dignitaries behind. The 
 
ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 231 
 
 official was still struggling in the grip of my friend 
 to get at me, but in the midst of the turmoil I 
 obtained my number. While I was dictating the 
 figures somebody caught me round the waist and 
 tried to jerk me away. I clung to the telephone 
 fixture determinedly, and the whole case came off 
 in my arms. I could hear my friend using violent 
 words, while he struggled with all and sundry in his 
 efforts to protect me and the telephone. I jammed 
 on the wooden case again and succeeded under 
 extraordinary difficulties in getting my friend's 
 number and sending the figures over to his agency. 
 
 Next day I read with interest paragraphs in 
 some of the newspapers about disgraceful scenes 
 at the town hall. 
 
 While I am on journalistic election stories let 
 me recall the misadventure of one of the wittiest 
 and most popular of Fleet Street reporters at a 
 by-election, the Thanet election, when Mr. Harry 
 Marks was returned. The declaration was to be 
 at mid-day, and elaborate plans were made by the 
 various reporters to secure the first transmission 
 of the figures to London, and the Pressman in 
 question, to whom the result was of particular im- 
 portance, inasmuch as he represented a great 
 agency which would send the figures broad- 
 cast to all the provincial papers as well as 
 into London offices, evolved a complex scheme, 
 
232 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 including relays of messengers between the Town 
 Hall and the post office on the one hand; and the 
 Town Hall and the telephone office on the other, 
 and a code of signals by which he could give a 
 warning from the balcony that the result was 
 coming, and an arrangement by which at the last 
 moment he was to write the figures on a little 
 wooden tablet and ffing it down into the crowd 
 to one of his confreres to get it off by these 
 various channels of communication. 
 
 To appreciate the situation you have to hear 
 this Pressman describe the thoroughness and 
 elaborateness of his plans, how he schemed to 
 out-distance all competitors, and how it was 
 simply impossible for him to be beaten at the 
 time of the announcement. "All went well," says 
 he, in relating the story; "the boys were in position 
 underneath ; there was a man at the post office 
 waiting to rush it over the counter; there was a 
 man stationed at the telephone-box in another place 
 ringing up London and putting through calls so 
 as to be ready for the great moment ; there was 
 the other fellow underneath in the crowd waiting 
 for the slip of wood to be thrown down— all the 
 beautiful organisation waiting for my efforts. 
 
 "As for me, I had to get the figures first, 
 and having got them first to throw them down 
 to the reporter below. I made tremendous efforts. 
 
ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 233 
 
 I actually got the figures a few seconds before 
 other people. I wrote them down. I flung them 
 to my friend in the crowd. The great organisation 
 worked beautifully. Away went the news, not 
 merely to London, but to Manchester, Newcastle, 
 Glasgow, Dublin, Birmingham, and other towns 
 in the kingdom. I beat everybody. Yes, 1 got 
 the result off first, my lad, and I got it off wrong. 
 I had reversed the figures." 
 
 I think one of the most startling of my 
 experiences, though not a very serious one as 
 it happened, occurred one night when I was 
 travelling between Paris and Marseilles. There 
 had been the usual stop at Dijon, with that 
 wonderfully quick meal, as appetising as swift, 
 in the long refreshment room in the station ; and 
 after this I had covered myself up in the corner 
 of the carriage preparing to sleep as well as might 
 be until the Mediterranean came within sight. 
 The train was comfortable, and I dozed inter- 
 mittently for hours. I must have been in a light 
 sleep between one and two in the morning, when 
 I was awakened by a terrific jar which shook me 
 up considerably, and threw another passenger off 
 the seat. It was a continuing shock, the train 
 vibrating strangely, quivering as though under 
 a succession of giant blows, while a groaning, 
 crashing noise went on through all. 
 
234 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 One had just time to see through the window 
 another train passing us at a high rate of speed, 
 and then we began to slow down. It was pretty 
 obvious that in some way we had escaped an 
 accident, but what was the cause of the whole 
 disturbance was a mystery to the shaken and 
 sleepy passengers. The express came to a stand- 
 still, and very soon railway officials, with lanterns, 
 were running up and down the line inspecting 
 the sides of the carriages, which were battered 
 here and there in a strangely irregular way. 
 Presently the whole thing was explained, and 
 the explanation showed how close had been the 
 shave. 
 
 The train passing ours had a truck laden with 
 barrels, and just at the moment when the two 
 expresses were passing one another one of these 
 barrels had been jolted off between the two 
 trains, and had been carried along between them, 
 crumpling itself in the passage, but shaking and 
 disturbing and battering the carriages which were 
 carrying it along. We remained awake after this 
 and watched the dawn, and waited for the first 
 glimpse of the Mediterranean. 
 
 Many and various are the parts a journalist 
 is called upon to play in the course of a varied 
 occupation, and sometimes he has extraordinary 
 responsibilities thrust upon him. During the 
 
ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 235 
 
 reign of Queen Victoria, when some royalties and 
 distinguished notabilities from abroad were visiting 
 this country for ceremonial purposes, I was 
 calling daily at Buckingham Palace to see one 
 or other of the equerries with regard to news 
 which might be published. And one day, when 
 the Court was at Windsor, I was asked into a 
 spacious and ornate room at the palace for a 
 little conversation with a particular equerry. He 
 was, it appeared, in close touch with the private 
 secretaries at Windsor, and in telegraphic com- 
 munication about the programme of events in 
 connection with the royal visitors. One special 
 occasion was in his mind this morning, and it 
 was about this that he desired to see me. Picture, 
 therefore, a twenty-five-years-old reporter, eager 
 for news, and picture also a dignified and elderly 
 courtier who desired to consult with him. We 
 discussed matters in general, and I learnt what 
 I could publish in reference to current happenings, 
 and then the equerry asked me for advice on a 
 special point. It was proposed that her Majesty 
 should give a dinner party on Sunday to the 
 distinguished visitors. The gathering would be 
 of a very elaborate kind, something in the nature 
 of a State function, and the question was whether 
 such a gathering would offend public susceptibilities. 
 Would it be right in this country, in the eyes of 
 
236 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 the public, for such a dinner party to take place 
 on a Sunday? What would people generally 
 think about the matter? 
 
 The observance of national conventions is an 
 early duty of constitutional monarchs, and it 
 seemed there v^as some doubt in the minds of 
 those responsible as to what ought to be done 
 in regard to this Sunday dinner party. There 
 was no hesitancy in my mind as to how it would 
 be regarded, for I was certain it would have 
 offended a great many sections of people who 
 were altogether opposed to Continental innovations 
 with regard to Sunday, and I told the equerry 
 what I thought. He was disposed to agree with 
 me. It was with a touch of early reportorial 
 vanity I learnt a day or two later that the Sunday 
 dinner party was not to take place. 
 
 One of the incidents on the human side within 
 my experience was in connection with Miss Violet 
 Charlesworth, who a year or two ago achieved so 
 much notoriety by reason of a dramatic motor-car 
 accident on the cliffs of Wales and her temporary 
 disappearance. It fell to me to go up with other 
 journalists to Oban, in Scotland, where she had 
 gone under another name, and to accompany her 
 back to Glasgow. Journalists centred at Glasgow 
 that day from various parts of the country as well 
 as from London, and the hotel in which Violet 
 
ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 237 
 
 Charlesworth and her sister took refuge was over- 
 flowing with newspaper men, all of whom had 
 their quarters there, for they were determined that 
 the girl whom they knew to be Miss Charlesworth 
 should not escape them without revelation of her- 
 self. It was enough to try the nerves of any 
 young woman, and it must have tried Miss Charles- 
 worth's, although she possessed more than her 
 share of composure and capacity. All the jour- 
 nalists were out to get a statement from her, and 
 I need not traverse the efforts in that direction, 
 and it must be sufficient to say that on the next 
 morning, with still more Pressmen arriving. Miss 
 Charlesworth, without acknowledging her identity, 
 placed herself in my hands in order to escape the 
 little army of my colleagues who were besetting 
 her. She indicated that she might have something 
 of interest to tell me, if I could get her away to 
 Edinburgh, and I accordingly made plans to help 
 her and her sister to leave the hotel unnoticed. 
 Fortunately, I had with me a colleague from 
 London, and with his help 1 set to work. 
 
 First of all, in order to put the others on a 
 wrong track, we went and bought four first-class 
 tickets for Edinburgh, a fact which was quickly 
 known, and caused journalistic pickets to be es- 
 tablished on the departure platforms, and then I 
 secured a motor-car and had it taken round to the 
 
238 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 back entrance of the hotel, where the public never 
 went. With the motor-car in waiting my friend 
 and I mounted to the room of the ladies, whom we 
 found ready garbed for departure. With them we 
 emerged into the corridor, and some of our com- 
 petitors who were on guard there immediately 
 made ahead of us, descending the stairs to the hall 
 of the hotel in order to get the rest in readiness. 
 But the ladies and ourselves, instead of going 
 downstairs, went upstairs to the floor above, and 
 passed along to the extreme end of the corridor, 
 where, as I had previously ascertained, there was 
 a whitewashed stairway used by the servants, 
 descending through the various floors to the base- 
 ment. Down this stairway we hurried, trusting 
 to good fortune that our motor-car would not be 
 surrounded by reporters. We were in luck's way ; 
 the car had been undetected, and we packed our- 
 selves in it, and away we went for Edinburgh. 
 Here, by all that was unfortunate, a London 
 journalist, who happened to be in the city, spied 
 me as we passed the post office. I pretended not 
 to see him, and hoped that he would not recognise 
 me ; a false hope, as I subsequently discovered. I 
 took the ladies to the Carlton Hotel, secured a 
 suite of rooms for them, and was preening myself 
 in the happy confidence that I had eluded the 
 journalists in Glasgow. Foolish optimist was I. 
 
ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 239 
 
 By some means or other, they had secured the 
 scent, and once in Edinburgh suspicion was turned 
 into certainty by the man having seen me in the 
 motor-car outside the post office. It was a heavy 
 task from this time onward through the evening 
 and till late in the night to keep them at bay, and, 
 indeed, one of them managed to get through and 
 secure audience of the ladies. 
 
 It was eight o'clock that night when Miss 
 Violet Charlesworth, hitherto known to me as 
 Margaret Macleod, said that she was in fact the 
 missing Violet. A statement from her explain- 
 ing her disappearance appeared in my paper 
 next morning. 
 
 She was to go to London with her sister in 
 order to elaborate her statement, and it was my 
 part to escort her thither. When we left Edin- 
 burgh by train, about ten o'clock, there was a con- 
 siderable crowd on the platform, and, of course, it 
 was soon spread abroad by the evening papers that 
 Violet Charlesworth and her sister were on the 
 way to London. This accounts for the fact that, 
 although I had a reserved first-class compartment, 
 and kept the blinds down whenever we were in a 
 station, we had a group on the platform at every 
 stoppage, sometimes a considerable crowd, all 
 anxious to see the girl in my charge. I remember 
 dashing out at York station to get some papers 
 
240 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 at a bookstall, and in the course of my sprint had 
 two halts, one caused by a local reporter, who 
 desired to get something for his evening paper, 
 and to whom I gave a twenty seconds' interview, 
 and the other due to an unexpected encounter with 
 Mr. Arthur Henderson, M.P., who stopped me with 
 a chaffing word. 
 
 Back again into my compartment, I began a 
 consultation as to what our course of action should 
 be on arrival at King's Cross, where it was now 
 pretty certain there would be a crowd waiting 
 to meet us. Several things had to be guarded 
 against. One was the zeal of rival newspaper 
 men, who would not flinch from a friendly and 
 temporary kidnapping of Miss Charlesworth from 
 under my eyes, and the other was the public 
 attention which would be rivetted on the girl, and 
 might lead to demonstrations, embarrassing, if not 
 otherwise unpleasant. I arranged with my two 
 charges the course of procedure. Violet was to 
 take my arm on alighting from the carriage, and 
 was to maintain her hold on me under any pres- 
 sure, and was at the same time to say no single 
 word of any kind in response to questions and 
 ejaculations which would no doubt be forthcoming. 
 Her sister, Lilian, was to follow the same course 
 with my colleague. Once on the platform, we 
 should have to make our way down to the exit 
 
ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 241 
 
 in order to find the motor-car which would be in 
 waiting for us. 
 
 The crowd at King's Cross was even bigger 
 and more excited than I had expected, and as 
 the train slowed up the people surged round 
 the carriage. I realised that it would be almost 
 impossible for us to descend, and that if we suc- 
 ceeded in doing so we should be in the midst of 
 trouble at once, so I decided to keep the blinds 
 down in the compartment and to remain there 
 for a minute or two in the hope that the public 
 would scatter, and that my friends with the car 
 would come and help to rescue me from an em- 
 barrassing position. A minute or so passed, and 
 the crowd showed no signs of diminishing. The 
 girls were on tip-toe to leave, and I stood ready to 
 take advantage of any slackening of the throng on 
 the platform. 
 
 Suddenly, the door on the line side opened, 
 and one of two men standing there exclaimed, 
 *' This way ; come along, quickly ! Come down 
 here and over the other platform." The girls made 
 a move forward. With a momentary thought that 
 they might in some way be enemies, I pulled 
 Violet and her sister back, because I felt that they 
 were under my protection, at any rate for the time 
 being. 
 
 " It's all right," hastily said one of the men. 
 
 R 
 
242 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 ^' Don't you see I'm the stationmaster?" I caught 
 a glimpse of the braid on his coat and his silk hat, 
 and realised that his help was genuine. 
 
 We assisted the girls down to the line, and then 
 up on to the platform opposite, and, with Violet's 
 arm linked in mine, and her sister's linked in that 
 of my colleague, we made a dash for the gates. 
 Our manoeuvring had become known by this time, 
 and a great part of the crowd was rushing pell- 
 mell round to meet us. We met the stream at 
 the gates, and were suddenly encircled by a 
 clamouring throng, in the middle of which were 
 reporters who were quite determined to get some 
 kind of an announcement from Violet Charles- 
 worth, or, alternatively, a statement from me. I 
 realised for the first time the insistence and 
 vivacity of the modern newspaper man. Vainly 
 did I try to keep them at bay. One or two of 
 them, I am quite sure, would have been prepared to 
 wrest Violet from my arm, but she clung close to 
 me, thoroughly frightened — I think not merely by 
 the eagerness of the Pressmen, but by the excite- 
 ment of the crowd which assailed us on all sides 
 and prevented us from making progress in any 
 direction. It was difficult to know what to do 
 because, in the midst of the gathering, and with 
 night upon us, I had no means of picking out our 
 motor-car, nor any immediate place of shelter. 
 
ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE OF REPORTING 243 
 
 The crowd eddied us against the door of a four- 
 wheeler. Here was refuge for a moment at any 
 rate. I thrust my charge inside, and my colleague 
 did the same with her sister, and then, shouting to 
 the man to drive on anywhere, I got in myself 
 
 As good luck would have it, I no sooner shut 
 the door than two of my friends with the waiting 
 motor-car appeared near by, and I indicated to 
 them that they should follow us, so that we might 
 change vehicles as soon as we were well away 
 from the excitement. We started off in our four- 
 wheeler, followed by a long string of taxi-cabs and 
 hansoms chartered by other journalists, but we 
 were all right now. Some three or four hundred 
 yards away the motor-car pulled up, and I had the 
 four-wheeler stopped just behind, and rapidly got 
 the girls from one conveyance to the other. After 
 that, we soon left all our friends behind. 
 
 The strain on the girls had been heavy, and 
 Violet Charlesworth, who was the subject of so 
 much adverse criticism and wonderment, then and 
 afterwards sat back in the car, trying to hide the 
 tears rolling down her cheeks. That was my 
 encounter with Violet Charlesworth. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 SOME STORIES OF DISTINGUISHED MEN 
 
 The busy newspaper man of these times makes the 
 fleeting acquaintance of many interesting people, 
 and he gets momentary snapshots of notabilities 
 denied to outsiders. Men high in literature, politics, 
 law, or commerce are not demi-gods to him, but 
 ordinary human beings, and they are very much 
 more interesting this way. 
 
 A good many years ago I was present as a 
 Pressman at an elaborate dinner given in the 
 West End by some of the members of the London 
 Chamber of Commerce to literary people, and 
 among those present was Andrew Lang. The 
 dinner was excellent, the prevalent spirit was 
 genial, and the aftermath of speeches was pretty 
 much of the kind to be expected. Moderately suc- 
 cessful commercial men formed the bulk of the 
 hosts, and they did their best by their guests. 
 Withal, one could not help feeling that there was 
 a touch of kindliness with regard to the profession 
 
STORIES OF DISTINGUISHED MEN 245 
 
 of letters, just a mere suspicion of a generous note 
 in the well-meant reference to the progress and 
 power of writers generally. To an observer it 
 appeared that in the minds of those who had 
 achieved much in the world of buying and selling 
 in the accumulation of profits, that those who con- 
 cerned themselves with ideas, those who made 
 poetry and wrote tales, who analysed emotions, 
 must be treated with a measure of appreciative 
 tolerance. That was the impression given. 
 
 Well, Mr. Andrew Lang was to make one of the 
 replies, and he looked as delicate, as acute, and as 
 cultured as ever he did, and then, as ever, his voice 
 was disappointing, disillusioning, with those thin, 
 high notes always so strangely out of harmony. 
 I shall never forget how in his piping accents he 
 offered thanks for the good and generous words 
 which had fallen from previous speakers. After 
 all, he said, what were they, writers, in comparison 
 with the men of action who were entertaining 
 them? Look at what they had accomplished. 
 Look at the great record of — of 
 
 He bent low towards his neighbour and said 
 in a stage whisper, *' What is the name of these 
 people ? " 
 
 One may be forgiven for thinking that that was 
 the event of the night, important as was the dinner 
 and weighty as were the speeches. 
 
246 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Cabinet Ministers are not human beings at all 
 to many newspaper readers, but really they are 
 very ordinary sometimes and very attractive some- 
 times. A year or two ago, when the House of 
 Commons was frequently sitting till the small 
 hours, I walked across Palace Yard to the corner 
 of New Bridge Street at two one morning, in 
 search of a taxi-cab to convey a friend and myself 
 to the south of London. There is a great rush 
 for taxi-cabs after late sittings by members of the 
 House and by Pressmen, and the best way is to 
 take your stand at the corner of New Bridge Street 
 and watch for the approach of a taxi-cab from 
 any direction, and then go forward to meet it 
 before it reaches the corner. On this particular 
 morning there were standing on the curb a few 
 feet from us Mr. John Burns and Mr. Arthur 
 Henderson, who, like ourselves, were looking for 
 a conveyance. We had to wait some minutes. 
 Presently we caught sight of a cab slowly 
 approaching from St. James's Park, and my friend 
 said to me, ^' I had better go, or Burns will collar 
 it." Mr. Burns also apparently thought action was 
 necessary, because he started to walk off at the 
 same time as my friend. The journalist began to 
 run, and this was a challenge which Mr. Burns 
 of all men could not refuse. He pulled his 
 hat down firmly and sprinted, and, for a matter 
 
STORIES OF DISTINGUISHED MEN 247 
 
 of forty yards, it was touch-and-go between the 
 journalist and the Cabinet Minister, and then the 
 determination as well as the virility of Mr. Burns 
 triumphed. He outdid the man who was nearly 
 twenty years younger, secured the taxi, and drove 
 up with it in triumph to the corner of the Palace 
 Yard. Mr. Burns is a generous man, and, by way 
 of celebrating his victory, he invited my friend 
 and myself into the taxi, and we all travelled to 
 the south of London together. 
 
 One of the pleasantest interviews I ever did 
 was that with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on his 
 famous hero, "Sherlock Holmes." Readers of 
 the Strand Magazine will recall how, after a series 
 of exciting and popular adventures, Sherlock 
 Holmes, the great detective, in a culminating story, 
 tracks an arch-criminal to Switzerland, grapples 
 with him on a mountain-edge, with the result that 
 both go to their doom below. This ended the 
 series, much to the regret of a very large number 
 of Sherlock Holmes' admirers. The popularity 
 secured by these stories must have been demon- 
 strated to the editor of the magazine in the 
 ensuing months, and he probably found his public 
 saddened, even resentful, that Sherlock Holmes 
 should have met his end, and the result was 
 that the Strand announced another adventure of 
 Sherlock Holmes in the coming Christmas number. 
 
248 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 The title of the story was given, and it was quite 
 clear that Sherlock Holmes was resuscitated. 
 When this announcement appeared I was deputed 
 to go and see Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and to ask 
 him to state in the shape of an interview whether 
 Sherlock was coming to life or not, whether he 
 had more than one life, and anything more that 
 might be found out about him. I was a stranger 
 to the author, but on reaching his place in the 
 country at Hindhead I was very kindly received, 
 although at first I could get no statement for 
 publication. *'0h, I don't want to talk about 
 Sherlock Holmes," said Sir Arthur; ^' I don't want 
 to say anything about him. Let the chap alone. 
 Come and have some tea, and let's talk about 
 politics." 
 
 He insisted on my discharging the cab in which 
 I had journeyed from the station at Haslemere, 
 three miles away, because he was going to send 
 me back in his motor-car. There was a game of 
 billiards and tea, and finally the author softened 
 and told me about Sherlock. " You see," he said, 
 " when he fell over that cliff there was no indication 
 that he was killed by the fall. You will remember 
 that in the last story I did not say anything about 
 his body being discovered. There you are. That's 
 the way out." 
 
 I asked about the future of Sherlock. Was he 
 
STORIES OF DISTINGUISHED MEN 249 
 
 again to devote his attention to the unravelling of 
 apparently insoluble mysteries? Sir Arthur shook 
 his head. 
 
 " Look at the years the man has been at it," he 
 said. " Look at the things he has done. Just 
 think of the strain there must have been on him 
 throughout all this time. No man should continue 
 indefinitely at such a pace, and Sherlock Holmes 
 realises the time has come when he must have 
 a permanent rest — at least a rest from the active 
 investigation of crime." 
 
 I pressed the author as to Sherlock's plans. 
 " Bee culture," was the reply. '^ He is going to 
 take a little place in the country and go in for bee 
 culture. That is his hobby. Of course, he has 
 long wanted a period of rest to write his standard 
 book on the psychological side of crime, and it is 
 possible that some portion of his leisure may be 
 given to that. The main object of his life, however, 
 will be bee culture." 
 
 Later, when Sir Arthur had left this vein, he 
 talked about Sherlock Holmes at large, and the 
 unexpected way in which the stories caught on. 
 Mr. Gillette, the American actor-manager, produced 
 a play written from one of the stories, and it was 
 a matter of difficulty to him that Sherlock had kept 
 himself aloof from all sentimental relationship with 
 women. A love story was essential for the stage. 
 
250 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 " Gillette wired to me from America, ' Can I marry 
 him?' and I replied by cable, 'Yes, marry him or 
 bury him, just as you please.' " 
 
 c»I am one among the many journalists who have 
 sought interviews with Mr. Bernard Shaw, and 
 have found him the most fruitful of interviewees. 
 Not that one could always lay hands on him ; 
 but, when one did, there was always something 
 good as the result. I went to see him once, 
 because it was announced that Jim Corbett, a 
 prize-fighter, was to take the principal part in 
 one of his plays which was to be performed in 
 America. The incongruity of a prize-fighter 
 having a principal part, or one of the principal 
 parts, in a Shaw play was piquant, and I felt 
 sure that the author would have some interesting 
 comment to make on the enterprise of the 
 Americans in casting Jim Corbett for the part. 
 Mr. Shaw was surprised at my surprise. " Why 
 not ? " said he. '* I think it is the most appropriate 
 choice. You see, Mr. Corbett, who has been the 
 champion heavy-weight, is the head of his pro- 
 fession, as I am the head of mine. What happier 
 combination could there be ? Oh no ; I do not 
 think it is a case for criticism at all." 
 
 I once went to see him about the unmerciful 
 way in which critics had condemned a new 
 production from his pen. In the near past some 
 
STORIES OF DISTINGUISHED MEN 251 
 
 of his plays had been very highly praised by the 
 daily papers, and then on the occasion of this 
 production they had swept down on him with 
 fury. What was the explanation of it? That 
 was my errand. Why should all unite in con- 
 demnation of a play from the hand of one who 
 had previously produced masterpieces? I got 
 him at the close of a meeting in the Queen's Hall, 
 and I put the matter to him as tersely as may be. 
 What did he think of the critics? Why did they 
 abuse his play? ^'Critics have abused this play,* 
 he said ; " of course they have abused it. Naturally 
 the critics have abused it. Send a better class of 
 critic." 
 
 The relations of public men to journalists have, 
 I fancy, changed a good deal in recent times, and 
 there has been no more striking example of this 
 than the attitude of Mr. Lloyd George, who, as 
 a Cabinet Minister, maintains his old informal, 
 friendly way with journalists. So far as Cabinet 
 Ministers are concerned this is something of a 
 revolution. 
 
 When Mr. Lloyd George was President of the 
 Board of Trade there occurred the first great 
 railway dispute, which threatened to put the 
 railways of the country out of action. He was 
 in the thick of the negotiations, and for days the 
 office of the Board of Trade was never left by a 
 
252 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 score of reporters, for an announcement as to a 
 settlement or definite rupture might be forthcoming 
 at any minute, and it was necessary to wait on 
 for news from one side or from the other, or, 
 indeed, from the department itself. With worry 
 thick upon him, Mr. Lloyd George passed in one 
 afternoon through a crowd of Pressmen, and was 
 struck by their comfortless waiting in the square 
 outside. He invited them in, put a room at their 
 disposal, saw that they were provided with tea, 
 and sent them up some cigarettes to pass away 
 the time. 
 
 All kinds of persons are subject to the de- 
 mands of the unblushing reporter in these days, 
 and royalty is not excepted. I have pleasant 
 recollections of aid given to me some years ago 
 by one who is himself a prince, and is closely 
 related, moreover, to the British royal family. 
 At the close of the war in South Africa, when 
 the then Prince of Wales, the present King, was 
 about to make a visit to Australia, it was freely 
 rumoured that he might go to South Africa also, 
 to help to smooth over the rancour and bitterness 
 which followed the struggle there. Eventually I 
 sought confirmation about the proposal — which 
 had a personal as well as a national interest. 
 Other reporters were on the same mission. I 
 tried Ministers, royal secretaries. Colonial agents 
 
STORIES OF DISTINGUISHED MEN 253 
 
 — all in vain. Passing along Whitehall one after- 
 noon, trying to devise some means of getting 
 the news, I bethought me of a new expedient, 
 one which, while it would probably provide a 
 snub, would do no serious harm, and might lead 
 to something definite. I remembered that Prince 
 Louis of Battenberg, the brother-in-law of Princess 
 Beatrice and a personal friend of the Prince of 
 Wales, held a position at the Admiralty, and was 
 reputed to be an accessible man. I determined 
 to try him. At the Admiralty door I presented 
 my card and quite expected the message to come 
 back to say that his Serene Highness was not in. 
 I was pleasantly disappointed. Prince Louis was 
 in his room, and was ready to see me. I found 
 him a tall, big figure of a man, with a trim black 
 beard, and the clear eyes of the sailor, with nothing 
 German about his look, manner, or speech. I 
 plunged into the matter at once, and told him I 
 was a Pressman, and that I wanted to know 
 whether the Prince was actually going to South 
 Africa, and that I was in no sense seeking an 
 interview, but only information and news. 
 
 " Well," he said, " I was dining with him 
 last night, and, of course, I know all about it. 
 But I don't know whether it would be well for 
 it to get out yet." I pressed my point, and was 
 successful. 
 
254 ADVENTURESOF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 "Very well/' he said, "it's like this." And 
 then he told me the whole of the royal plans — 
 how the Prince and Princess were going to stop 
 at South Africa, the places they were to visit, and, 
 in general, their programme for the occasion. 
 This made up an exclusive story, and I was much 
 tickled at the fact that my colleagues were unable 
 to find out where the story came from. 
 
 The witticisms of the late Mr. Labouchere are 
 only to be fully appreciated by those who have 
 heard his soft delivery and knew his whimsical 
 air. Nothing surprised him, and he had no 
 illusions on the conventional virtues. 
 
 He was talking to me one day about a certain 
 member of Parliament, who, for various reasons, 
 had been " sent to Coventry " by the members in 
 general. 
 
 "He still continues to be a member of the 
 House!" said Mr. Labouchere; "and why should 
 he not ? For private reasons he desired to 
 become a member of Parliament, and he became 
 a member of Parliament, and no doubt that serves 
 his purpose, and will continue to serve his purpose. 
 Why, then, should he bother about the lack of 
 attention paid to him by other members? He 
 has achieved his aim, and he will, no doubt, be 
 prepared to shoulder the inconveniences which 
 arise. That is the proper way to look at it. 
 
STORIES OF DISTINGUISHED MEN 255 
 
 I remember once being concerned with the pro- 
 secution of a man who had stolen £6^000, and, 
 before the case came on, he appealed to me to 
 do what I could to get him off. I pointed out 
 that really he ought not to make an application 
 to me. I bore him no ill-will, but we all have 
 to pay in one way or another for the advantages 
 we secure. I said, 'You have secured £6,ooo^ 
 and you will probably get three years' penal 
 servitude. That's ;^2,ooo a year — not a bad rate 
 of pay, really, when you look at it from the 
 commercial point of view.' Well, he got his term 
 of punishment, and, on the whole, I think he did 
 very well out of it." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 
 
 I SPENT some five years in the Press Gallery of 
 Parliament, watching the drama there, with those 
 periods of dulness, flashes of interest, and 
 intensive moments which give such attraction to 
 affairs at Westminster. 
 
 Let me say a few words, first of all, about the 
 Gallery — an institution by itself, and at the same 
 time an integral part of Parliament. The forty or 
 fifty seats at the end of the House, behind the 
 Speaker s chair and below the ladies' grille, are 
 only an outward and visible sign, for the Press 
 Gallery numbers something over 150 members, 
 of whom not more than a third can be comfortably 
 seated in the accommodation provided for them 
 within the Chamber. But there is a busy world 
 immediately behind those seats and out of sight 
 of the legislators and visitors. The doors from 
 the Gallery proper open into a long ante-chamber, 
 and within it are situated telephones and telegraph 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 257 
 
 instruments for the immediate flashing forth of 
 urgent news. But this is, in fact, only an ante- 
 chamber, for away behind, on either side, and 
 above in various directions are to be found a 
 network of rooms, large and small, murmuring 
 with activity, all contributing to that output which 
 keeps the world informed of the proceedings of 
 the Legislature. In three or four of the larger 
 rooms, big enough for public gatherings, you will 
 always find men at work, writing their transcrip- 
 tions from shorthand, turning out " London 
 letters," or doing their descriptive sketches or 
 leading articles. 
 
 There is a room given over to private tele- 
 phones, these being the means of direct com- 
 munication with particular newspaper offices. 
 There is a little library, a reading-room, and 
 other rooms, where members of the Press Gallery 
 may play chess or smoke their pipes or draw 
 their armchairs around the fire ; a spacious dining- 
 and tea-room and a bathroom contribute to the 
 Gallery's club-like character. 
 
 A happy family are the Gallery men, diverse 
 as are their occupations, their tastes and political 
 preferences — for they vary as much as do the 
 members on the floor of the House. Withal there 
 is a comradeship which always leaves its mark 
 on men who have been in the Gallery, a kind of 
 
 s 
 
258 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 freemasonry which links together those who have 
 ever had anything to do with Parliamentary work 
 at Westminster. 
 
 Traditions cluster round the Pressmen, and 
 the walls of the various waiting-rooms carry por- 
 traits of some of those reporters of years ago who 
 have risen to distinction, sometimes to fame. 
 First and foremost, of course, is Charles Dickens, 
 who was a reporter in the Gallery, and after him 
 comes a long line which includes Lord Russell 
 of Killowen, Lord Chief Justice, Sir Edward 
 Clarke, Mr. Justin McCarthy, besides a sprink- 
 ling of those who are now members of the 
 House. 
 
 Heavy is the work in the Gallery, but it does 
 not dull the lighter journalistic spirit, and there 
 is always prominent that cheerful isolation of 
 outlook which distinguishes professional journal- 
 ists in touch with public affairs. Extremely frank, 
 even disrespectful, are the private comments of 
 the Pressmen on some of the men whose words 
 they have to take down — because the reporters 
 have unique opportunities for judging real quali- 
 ties and capacities. A predisposition on one side 
 or the other in politics does not prevent them 
 from forming a pretty accurate appraisement of 
 the men below, and it is an appraisement which, 
 if it could be given in all its candour to the public, 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 259 
 
 would be surprising and vastly entertaining 
 reading. 
 
 Until the politician has reached the front rank 
 —and sometimes even then — his degree of publicity 
 depends very largely on the reporters, who neces- 
 sarily have to be entrusted with judgment as to 
 the degree of interest in a speech, and to decide 
 in the case of each of the lesser-known men 
 whether he should be given two lines or twenty 
 lines or half a column. 
 
 I suppose no body of journalists have better 
 opportunities for accumulating a store of good 
 stories than those in Parliament, and even a year 
 or two's occupation of a place there provides 
 anecdote in plenty. A good many incidents pass 
 before the eyes of the Parliamentary journalists, 
 and these are supplemented by stories from the 
 lobby which filter upwards to the Gallery 
 smoking-rooms. 
 
 Lord Winterton used to be Lord Turnour 
 before his father died, and as Lord Turnour sat, 
 as he does now, for the Horsham Division of 
 Sussex. He was, if not quite the youngest 
 member of the House, very boyish-looking, and 
 an enthusiastic partisan who did not pretend to 
 subtlety, but cultivated a persistent boisterousness. 
 I think his opponents would say he had no venom, 
 but at the same time he was occasionally very 
 
26o ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 trying, though there was a certain naiveness about 
 him, a lively clumsiness, which made up for a good 
 deal. I remember, during an early stage of the 
 present Government, when Mr. Asquith was 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer, a little passage by 
 which even Lord Turnour was abashed. Budget 
 day in the House is a kind of sacred occasion, 
 when the Chamber is packed in every part, when 
 visitors throng the gallery and all the members 
 listen with intense interest to the explanation 
 of the financial arrangement for the year and a 
 statement of what new taxes, if any, are to be 
 imposed. It is a matter of form on these occasions 
 that the Minister shall be given the utmost per- 
 sonal consideration in the course of his speech, 
 which is necessarily not only lengthy, but com- 
 plicated, filled with facts, illustrations, and figures. 
 No one interferes in any way, and there is a com- 
 pelling etiquette which requires that the Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer, whatever he may say, shall be 
 given a silent hearing. Even to applaud is a 
 breach. Mr. Asquith has a native dignity which 
 he never fails to exercise in carrying out his 
 responsible duties of State. Clearly and resonantly 
 he laid before the assembled House his plans for 
 the coming year. His speech went well. All 
 listened with respect, keenness, and silence, for 
 it is generally recognised by friends and foes that 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 261 
 
 Mr. Asquith has no equal in the present Parlia- 
 ment in the lucidity with which he presents 
 complicated matter. 
 
 In the course of his speech he used a general, 
 harmless phrase about some turn of public life, 
 and Lord Turnour, as he was then, broke in upon 
 the quietude by a very loud and sincere and 
 appreciative "Hear, hear"; "hear, hear." The 
 House was staggered. Mr. Asquith paused, 
 took off his eyeglasses, laid them on the table 
 in front of him, and turned a frozen look at 
 young Lord Turnour. " I am sure," he said, in 
 his deepest voice, " I am deeply obliged for the 
 kindly appreciation of the noble lord." The 
 House laughed merrily. Lord Turnour washed 
 his hands in invisible soap, twisted his tall form 
 hither and thither, blushed, and flung back his 
 head in recognition of the snub. 
 
 It was after Lord Tumour's succession to the 
 title of his father as Lord Winterton that he was 
 travelling up from the South Coast one day, and, 
 being a genial soul, got into conversation with a 
 fellow-traveller, with whom he chattered on various 
 topics till Victoria was approached. Then it came 
 out in conversation that he was Lord Winterton. 
 " You don't mean that ? " said his fellow-voyager. 
 " Lord Winterton ! Do you know all the way up I've 
 been taking you for that silly fool. Lord Turnour?" 
 
262 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 I have mentioned one case in which a veteran 
 leader has dealt with a rather arrogant youngster 
 Now let me give an instance on the other side. 
 Mr. Crawshay Williams, Liberal member for 
 Leicester, made a maiden speech of inordinate 
 length, tremendous fluency, and the most extra- 
 ordinary confidence. He lectured the Conserva- 
 tives, gave hints of guidance to other parties 
 in the House, and altogether completely filled 
 the picture for the time being. Mr. Balfour 
 followed. Mr. Balfour, with that suave graceful- 
 ness which always distinguishes him on such 
 occasions, paid his compliment to the previous 
 speaker on his able maiden speech. It was a very 
 able speech, but he did not know that he could 
 follow it in detail, though he realised that the hon. 
 member had a wealth of knowledge and a depth of 
 experience. He suggested how welcome the new 
 member would be in the House, and how much he 
 would add to the value of its deliberations. That 
 was all. But it v;^as quite delightful. I confess I 
 felt the profoundest sympathy for Mr. Crawshay 
 Williams during Mr. Balfour's commendation. 
 
 I remember one all-night sitting during the 
 1909 Budget discussion, how, between four and 
 five o'clock in the morning, after all the contentious 
 business had been disposed of, Mr. John Burns 
 brought forward a non-controversial departmental 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 263 
 
 measure, which, after giving a short explanation, 
 he asked the House to pass immediately. It is on 
 such occasions that the pushful back-bencher, who 
 has not the capacity to take part in the ordinary 
 debates, gets his chance of coming to the front and 
 making himself a power, so long as he is not afraid 
 of being considered offensive. All that such a 
 member has to do is to say, '' I object," and the 
 mere fact that he protests against the measure is 
 sufficient to stop its passage for that sitting. Mr. 
 Claude Hay, at that time the Unionist member 
 for Hoxton, was one of those who used to take 
 advantage of these occasions, and he did so 
 now. 
 
 " 1 object," he said. Mr. Burns got up to the 
 Table, and pointed out that the measure merely 
 had to do with the early removal of street 
 Mn's, its title being " The Removal of Offensive 
 Matter Bill." The tired House endorsed the 
 Minister's conciliatory request with "Hear, hear"; 
 *' Hear, hear." The obstinate Mr. Claude Hay saw 
 his chance. " I object," he said. Mr. Akers 
 Douglas, the senior of the Conservative leaders 
 present, rose to the Table and backed up Mr. 
 Burns's request, and appealed to his follower, 
 amid general cheers, not to oppose the passage of 
 the Bill. 
 
 " I object," said Mr. Claude Hay, unflinchingly. 
 
264 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Then up rose Mr. Jeremiah McVeagh from the 
 Irish benches, and persuasively made his appeal to 
 the member for Hoxton. 
 
 *' Why does the hon. member object ? " he said. 
 *' It is true it is the ' Removal of Offensive Matter 
 Bill;' but there is nothing personal in it." That 
 ended the seriousness of the occasion. 
 
 One of the very best Parliamentary stories I have 
 heard is told by Mr. Charles King in his brilliant 
 book, '^The Asquith Parliament." This is Mr. 
 King's narrative — 
 
 " One day Mr. Speaker Lowther was away from 
 his great chair with a cold. A prominent member 
 of the Liberal Government, going into Brooks's 
 Club, caught sight of Mr. Gully, son of the late 
 Speaker, who was such a distinguished successor 
 to Speaker Peel and Speaker Brand. Mr. Gully, 
 in addition to being son of Mr. Speaker Gully, 
 occupies with great tact the high position of 
 secretary to the present Speaker. The member of 
 the Government — I do not think it would be fair 
 to give his name — asked Mr. Gully how the 
 Speaker was. Mr. Gully replied that he was very 
 much better, and would be back in the House in 
 about a day. 
 
 '' ' I am glad to hear that/ said the Minister. ' I 
 don't know what we should do without him. He's 
 the best Speaker we ever had.* 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 265 
 
 "The next moment, of course, as he was walk- 
 ing away, the Minister realised that he had said a 
 rather awkward thing to the son of Mr. Speaker 
 Gully. He went into the next room. He saw a 
 friend sitting there, and remarked to him : ' Oh, I 
 have said such a stupid thing. I have just met 
 young Gully, and I said Lowther was the best 
 Speaker we ever had.' 
 
 " But the gentleman to whom he addressed 
 this last remark was Mr. Peel, son of Lord Peel, 
 who was Speaker of the House of Commons before 
 Mr. Gully ! 
 
 "'I dare say,' answered Mr. Peel, dryly, * if you 
 went outside and walked down St. James's Street 
 you might meet one of the Brands.'" 
 
 I have been present at many exciting passages 
 in the House of Commons, but of all of them the 
 most sensational was that on October 28, 1908, 
 when suffragettes chained themselves to the grille 
 of the ladies' gallery and had to be removed, 
 together with the portions of the grille to which 
 they had fastened themselves. 
 
 The evening had been a dull one, and discussion 
 had dragged on in connection with the Licensing 
 Bill, which was then before the House. Sketch- 
 writers, including myself, had had a light time, and 
 we anticipated practically nothing to do through 
 the latter part of the sitting, and at a quarter to 
 
266 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 eight I went upstairs to the dining-room in the 
 happy assurance it mattered little, so far as my 
 paper was concerned, what the Commons did for 
 the next hour or so. It was at about a quarter-past 
 eight, in the midst of dinner, that news was con- 
 veyed to myself and a colleague— it is of no con- 
 sequence from what source — that a secret plan was 
 afoot to create a disturbance in the House, and 
 that very shortly — at half-past eight, to be precise 
 — women in the gallery were to lock themselves to 
 the grille and were to throw defiance at members 
 below in demonstration of their demands for votes. 
 I think we did not give much weight to the 
 rumour, because there had been forecasts of 
 similar kind before, and in nearly every case 
 nothing at all had happened to justify the prophecy 
 of trouble. Still, we could not afford to neglect the 
 warning, and we hastily concluded our dinner and 
 went down to the Gallery in order to be prepared 
 for anything that might happen. 
 
 Half-past eight in the evening, it should be 
 explained, is perhaps the flattest time of the sitting, 
 because it is midway in the dinner-hour lull, when 
 the mediocrities and bores of the House get their 
 chance and keep proceedings going until the stream 
 of interest gathers force again with the return of 
 leaders and the bulk of the various parties. It 
 follows that the Gallery also is more than half 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 267 
 
 empty, is devoid of sketch-writers, artists, and 
 commentators, whose duty only keeps them in the 
 presence of legislators throughout those periods 
 when there is a possibility of serious interest in 
 one shape or another. While the occupancy of the 
 benches below is limited to a scattered few, the 
 Gallery has just a sprinkling of those shorthand 
 writers who are carrying out the quarter-of-an- 
 hour turns for the news agencies and the more 
 spacious papers. Even to these the -period is one 
 of comparative leisure, for the speakers are nearly 
 always men who can, in the current phrase, be 
 " kept down to a few lines." 
 
 Placidity combined with dulness lay over the 
 House, therefore, when my friend and I went into 
 it at twenty minutes past eight. I remember that 
 Mr. Caldwell was in the chair, and that a back- 
 bench Unionist was rattling out something about 
 the iniquities of the Licensing Bill. We were half 
 inclined to go back and have a cup of coffee in 
 peace and dismiss from our minds the possibility 
 of a disturbance, but we decided, somewhat grudg- 
 irigly, to wait until the appointed time, to give a 
 chance to these disturbers, if any there were. W^e 
 sat at the side of the Press Gallery, so that by 
 looking obliquely upwards we had the ladies' grille 
 in view. The grille, it may be explained, is a gilded 
 criss-cross framework which fronts the banked 
 
268 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 seats making up the ladies' gallery, and it is 
 through the wide interstices of the trellis-work 
 that the occupants of the gallery have to view 
 the proceedings below. The grille is divided into 
 upright sections about two feet wide. 
 
 We noted that whether there was to be any 
 disturbance or not the ladies' gallery was unusually 
 crowded, and that the occupants were seemingly 
 paying deferential attention to the wearisome 
 debate on the floor far below them. Minutes 
 crept by, and we saw no movement nor any 
 indication suggesting that what we had been told 
 was true. The hand of the clock had reached the 
 half-hour, and we were just on the point of con- 
 demning ourselves for undue credulity, when I 
 saw a tiny hand pushed through one of the lower 
 openings of the trellis-work, apparently making 
 some arrangement there. Instantly we knew that 
 our information was right, and that the great scene 
 was at hand. For five tense seconds that little 
 hand was doing something round the metal-work, 
 and a murmuring whisper among the women 
 could be distinctly heard by us. There was hardly 
 time to realise these things before a chain, attached 
 in the first place to the woman's body, had been 
 padlocked on to the grille, and a defiant feminine 
 voice had exclaimed, '' There." 
 
 Events now galloped. There was a sudden 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 269 
 
 and tremendous commotion in the ladies' gallery. 
 Attendants in evening dress rushed to the front 
 of the gallery and apparently attempted to wrest 
 the woman away from the grille, only to find 
 that she was securely fastened to it. It seemed 
 to those below that the other occupants of the 
 gallery were protesting with the attendants against 
 the way they tried to get the woman out. A 
 medley of shouts, exclamations, appeals, and 
 denunciations descended past us on to the heads 
 of the astonished members of the House 
 beneath. 
 
 *' Let her alone " 
 
 " How dare you touch her in that way ! " 
 
 " My name is " 
 
 " I tell you we are here to protest." 
 
 Then suddenly from the struggling mass came 
 portions of a speech from the chained girl, whose 
 name was Miss Matters. She hurled words in a 
 rich contralto at the members below her, who 
 were still heroically pretending to continue the 
 debate. 
 
 " Members of the Liberal Government," she 
 called, " we have listened too long " 
 
 There was a resumption of the struggle, in 
 which men and women seemed to be mixed up 
 in the gallery, while from the mass came all kinds 
 of incoherent ejaculations. 
 
270 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Again Miss Matters broke out : ''Too long have 
 women been kept behind this grille " 
 
 Another fierce scuffling cut short her words, 
 and in the midst of it there was a diversion at the 
 other end of the gallery, where, it seems, a second 
 girl had chained herself. She had let through the 
 framework a bill, about two feet square, with the 
 words : 
 
 Proclamation. 
 
 Votes for Women. 
 
 Women's Freedom League. 
 
 She had done this unfettered while the dis- 
 turbance was going on around Miss Matters. 
 Miss Helen Fox was this lady's name, and she 
 at once became the centre of another struggle. 
 Members from the floor were hurrying up to the 
 gallery by this time, and, meanwhile, the exclama- 
 tions from both ends of the gallery were continuing. 
 We could only catch snatches, but they were 
 eloquent of the disturbance. I heard such phrases 
 as : " Do not hurt her." '' Too long have we 
 been behind this insulting grille." And then there 
 was a mixed-up struggle, while apparently some 
 of the attendants tugged at her. She broke off 
 to exclaim, ''You cannot get me away. I am 
 fastened." 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 271 
 
 There was a hurried consultation of the atten- 
 dants, and then they hastened from the gallery 
 to get implements which would break Miss 
 Matters' chain or file her free. Left to herself 
 for a few seconds, Miss Matters pressed her face 
 against the grille and screamed out: ''We have 
 listened too long to the illogical utterances of men 
 who know nothing about it, and we demand of 
 this Government calling itself Liberal, but which 
 is really il-Liberal " 
 
 "Votes for women," "Votes for women," put 
 in Miss Fox, in a thin treble, from the other side. 
 
 Miss Matters : " To show its Liberalism." 
 
 Miss Fox : " Votes for women ! Votes for 
 women ! " 
 
 Miss Matters : " For over forty years we have 
 sat behind this grille." 
 
 Then there was a resumption of the struggling 
 with the attendants, and members below watched 
 the scene as though it was a play. Mr. Caldwell, 
 in the Chair, was the picture of icy inattention to 
 the commotion, and the member on his feet, making 
 a notable effort to appear unconcerned, went on 
 with his facts and figures, and in the interests of 
 good order raised his voice to try and drown the 
 speech of Miss Matters above him. 
 
 " How dare you touch me ? " cried Miss Matters, 
 who was apparently in the hands of the attendants. 
 
272 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 *' I'll have you up for assault. Yes, do just as you 
 please." 
 
 All the other ladies had been cleared from the 
 gallery, and there was room for the attendants to 
 attack the grille itself, and two or three of them 
 seized a section to which Miss Matters was fixed 
 and pulled at it with might and main. 
 
 Crack ! crack ! went the framework. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " shouted Miss Matters. 
 
 '' Votes for women ! " chirruped Miss Fox, firmly 
 attached to the grille at the other end. 
 
 Crash ! A section of the grille came out by the 
 side of Miss Matters. Grille and she were hurried 
 into the corridor, with one attendant bearing the 
 weight of the iron framework, two others holding 
 the lady. 
 
 Then was the turn of Miss Fox, and as the men 
 came up to her she tried to emulate her eloquent 
 colleague. 
 
 '* Attend to the necessary things first," she cried. 
 *' Votes for women ! " 
 
 Furiously attendants tore at the grille, and the 
 particular section of it came down with a run. 
 
 '^ Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! " shouted Miss Fox, 
 laughingly, and 1 caught a glimpse of her being 
 escorted out with the grille chained to her. 
 
 The last *' hurrah " had hardly died away before 
 there was a further sensation. At the other end 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 273 
 
 of the House, from the midst of the Strangers' 
 Gallery, rose a young man of about twenty-five 
 years of age. 
 
 " I demand justice for the women of England," 
 he cried. '* Votes for women ! Votes for women ! " 
 
 Attendants seized him, but for an instant he 
 wrestled himself free and threw over the heads 
 of those near him an armful of suffrage hand-bills, 
 which descended in a snowstorm on members of 
 the House. 
 
 "Votes for women! Votes for women!" he 
 cried, and shouting and struggling he was rushed 
 away. 
 
 The women from the grille had been taken 
 round to the long corridor into the famous Com- 
 mittee Room 15, where the police and officials 
 gathered round, and files were brought into use 
 for the freeing of the protesters from the portions 
 of the House of Commons to which they had 
 attached themselves. 
 
 Those who have had anything to do with the 
 legislators are occasionally asked what is the 
 most amusing incident that they have witnessed 
 in Parliament. The passage that always comes 
 to my mind is the one in which Mr. Handel 
 Booth, a grave-faced Liberal, made an audaciously 
 irrelevant speech of fifteen minutes, with the 
 object of calming down an unpleasant Parliamentary 
 
 T 
 
274 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 situation. Mr. Booth is a pertinacious obstructer 
 in the Commons, a big, burly man, with red 
 hair that stands out like a coxcomb, an aquiline 
 nose, a look of intense seriousness, and a voice 
 filled with melancholy determination. Sometimes 
 he is attacking the Government, of which he is 
 a nominal supporter, more frequently he is coming 
 to its rescue, and he has repeatedly established 
 himself as one of the attractive and notable 
 personalities of Parliament. Never did he perform 
 a more remarkable accomplishment than on the 
 occasion which I am about to describe. 
 
 It was on the motion for the adjournment of the 
 House, a motion which gives opportunity for the 
 raising of any topic, and this evening the subject 
 selected by a member was a speech of one of the 
 Irish Nationalists in Australia, which apparently 
 had some connection with the King. The actual 
 facts were difficult to ascertain in detail, because 
 only brief telegrams had brought the matter before 
 the public, and it was more than possible that 
 some misinterpretation had been made of words 
 which in themselves were not very serious. Never- 
 theless there was a piquancy about the situation, 
 and when a Unionist brought up the speech some- 
 where between half-past ten and eleven the House 
 was crowded and expectant, and the position was 
 summed up by a journalist, who prophesied : 
 
THE PARLIAMENTARY DRAMA 275 
 
 *' There's going to be a jolly row." An indictment 
 was in the Unionist's speech, and there was a 
 defensive and guarded reply from the Nationalist 
 benches, and feeling rapidly rose among members, 
 as it became apparent that the House was on the 
 verge of a hot discussion, in which the name of the 
 Sovereign would be freely used. 
 
 Several members sprang up to continue the 
 debate. Fifteen minutes had to lapse before the 
 sitting automatically came to an end at eleven 
 o'clock, and that fifteen minutes promised to yield 
 some very unpleasant happenings. The eye of 
 the Speaker fell upon Mr. Handel Booth, and an 
 expectant House set itself to hear some fresh 
 and piquant comments from the member for 
 Pontefract. 
 
 *' I rise, Mr. Speaker," said the matter-of-fact 
 Mr. Booth, *' to call attention to a matter of national 
 importance. I refer to the pollution of rivers. 
 There is no subject to which the House can more 
 profitably direct its attention at this moment, and 
 I feel it my duty to point out some of the many 
 directions in which the question of the pollution 
 of rivers affects life and character in general." 
 
 The surprised House of Commons caught its 
 breath, and then it rippled gently as the intention 
 of Mr. Booth became apparent. He could deal with 
 an}' subject on the motion for the adjournment, and 
 
2;6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 had taken this sudden and inexplicable digression 
 just because the House was agog for the more or 
 less personal matter under review. 
 
 Gravely and with much emphasis, Mr. Booth 
 urged the House to consider the pollution of rivers. 
 *' All rivers are polluted more or less. There is the 
 River Amazon ; that is polluted. There is a little 
 rivulet beyond my garden in Yorkshire; that is 
 polluted. Why is it that rivers are polluted? 
 Because near the source a certain amount of earth 
 is caught up by a stream, and is carried along 
 with it." 
 
 With emphasis and with appropriate gesture 
 Mr. Booth urged the ill-effects of the pollution of 
 rivers, acknowledging that, to some extent, it was 
 inevitable, but pressing the House all the time to 
 take the matter into deep and serious consideration. 
 The murmur of appreciation had soon developed 
 into laughter, and when the House begins to laugh 
 it is safe from the dangerous feeling engendered 
 by personal allusions, such as were threatened in 
 the previous discussion. Nobly Mr. Booth held 
 the fort till the stroke of eleven. His seriousness 
 was undisturbed throughout the time, although the 
 House towards the end was rocking with laughter. 
 That fifteen minutes' speech gave Mr. Booth a great 
 lift-up as a parliamentarian. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 
 
 If there is one thing more than another which 
 should convince an Englishman that Ireland is a 
 nation, and not merely a part of England, it is a 
 few weeks' tour through that country when a general 
 election is in progress, for that is a time when 
 the racial traits of the people are shown up 
 sharply, and to the Englishman always bewilder- 
 ingly. Who can describe the thousand ways in 
 which Irishmen differ from Englishmen? They 
 think more rapidly, they think in different direc- 
 tions, and their thoughts break out at tangents; 
 they hit their enemies harder, they forgive them 
 quicker, and their feelings of the day are much 
 more intense ; they put words into action with 
 lightning speed, and they mean violent things 
 when they say them. They have, moreover, that 
 wonderful personal fascination springing from their 
 race which endears them to all who come into 
 personal contact with them, and confuses their 
 
27^ ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 slower enemies. The gallantry and genius they 
 have given to the world have put them on a 
 pinnacle for history, and even a hurried, superficial 
 acquaintance with their distinctiveness leaves an 
 Englishman convinced when they claim to be a 
 people by themselves. 
 
 1 had made a visit or two to Dublin and Belfast 
 before, but I went over in the winter of 1910 to 
 travel round in the south and west and do some 
 descriptions of election scenes in the contest 
 just beginning. I was there some weeks, and 
 my travellings showed me what I dare say 
 were common Irish scenes, but which to me 
 were a succession of fresh and appealing pictures. 
 Character illuminated all I saw. Economic con- 
 ditions, political considerations, the demands of 
 industry — all those things have to be taken into 
 account by those whose business it is to dive deep 
 into the tide of Irish life — but for my part I was 
 content to derive impressions from the men and 
 women I talked with, from the gatherings I saw, 
 the conflicts which took place all round me, and 
 the personal tendencies and actions which passed 
 before the eyes. The great abstractions passed me 
 by. I sought out the men and women. 
 
 Soon after I reached Dublin I had to go to a big 
 meeting in the Town Hall, where Mr. John Redmond 
 and other Irish leaders were to address a large 
 
AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 279 
 
 gathering, and the excitement, the exultation, the 
 fervour of that big throng of Irishmen was one of 
 the memories of my visit. Home Rule was at hand : 
 let but this General Election go in its favour, and 
 Home Rule was a fact. What that meant to the 
 thousands present may easily be imagined by those 
 who remember not merely the grievances of Ireland, 
 but her efforts to secure self-government during 
 the last quarter of a century or so. The gathering 
 saw Mr. John Redmond as the first Prime Minister 
 of Ireland. 
 
 To Mr. Redmond himself the prevalent ecstasy 
 had drawbacks, for he, the centre of all activities, 
 the chief of the present and the future, had to be 
 prepared for swarms of personal well-wishers after 
 ihe speeches were over, and to put up with a desire 
 for acquaintanceship from some of the younger 
 generation who would like to be in Parliament to 
 help him. Mr. John Redmond is an Irish aristo- 
 crat, very remarkably respected, and with a dignity 
 of presence which might well help to keep 
 friendly intruders at bay. On this occasion, how- 
 ever, as he left the platform, the feeling was so 
 great that I feel sure he would have suffered a 
 great deal of interruption in passing out had not 
 the simplest of expedients occurred to him. He 
 found a strange journalist who had approached 
 him in connection with public matters, with whom 
 
280 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 he could converse as he walked along, and con- 
 versation with him served as a shield from friends 
 and would-be friends. He passed along with the 
 journalist through what was really an aisle of 
 people, all anxious for a word, and some of them 
 for more than a word. 
 
 *' Striking statues here," said the Irish leader, 
 indicating groups around the hall. 
 
 Young men bent forward with a phrase of 
 welcome, and they got a passing smile and saluta- 
 tion as Mr. Redmond continued his task with the 
 iournalist. 
 
 " Remarkable hall this," he said. '' Has a story 
 well worth knowing. Why don't you see the 
 Lord Mayor and ask him to get you shown over 
 it properly ? " 
 
 Native courtesy to an English visitor had some- 
 thing to do with Mr. Redmond's talk as we walked 
 through the crowd out into the street, but I am 
 quite sure also that I afforded ready means of 
 avoiding exuberant attentions. 
 
 As it was election time, the country was 
 naturally in a ferment about politics, a ferment 
 due not only to the fact that the Northern Unionists 
 on the one hand and the Redmondites on the other 
 saw Home Rule now within measurable distance, 
 but also to the fact that a section of the Nationalists, 
 led by Mr. William O'Brien, though desiring Home 
 
AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 281 
 
 Rule, were opposing vehemently Mr. Redmond 
 and all his works. The resulting state of affairs 
 among a people such as the Irish can be pictured 
 without effort. 
 
 One of the first places I went to was Cork, the 
 storm centre, where Mr. Willie Redmond was 
 opposing Mr. O'Brien, and the city was divided, 
 so to speak, into rival camps. The candidates 
 were quartered in different hotels, and from the 
 hotels sallied forth each night accompanied by a 
 faithful army of thousands. There were no indoor 
 political meetings such as there are in this country, 
 and no heckling, no questions, no argumentative 
 exchanges. They were not in the piece at all. 
 
 Several hundreds of Royal Irish Constabulary, 
 really a military force, had been brought into the 
 town to prevent disturbance and to safeguard the 
 limbs and lives of the contestants. They did not 
 mean any serious harm to each other, those rival 
 forces, but if 3^ou were an O'Brienite or if you 
 were a Redmondite, as the case happened to be, 
 you might be shouted down, and if that was not 
 sufficient you might be knocked down— it was 
 all for the good of the cause, and presently, after 
 the affair was over, all would be happy and merry 
 together again. I think that hits the general 
 situation, notwithstanding all the ferocious phrases 
 which were used during the fight. 
 
282 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 The two leaders were vastly interesting men, 
 although so entirely varying in their personalities. 
 Mr. William O'Brien, a prophetic figure, tall and 
 gaunt, with long beard, long hair, great beetling 
 eyebrows, had a hissing intensity of manner which 
 swelled into a scream of denunciation and hate 
 or sank into a soft, appealing whisper. Mr. Willie 
 Redmond, on the other hand, a brother of the 
 Irish leader, was a debonair, determined, blue-eyed 
 Irishman, who could vary the softest brogue with 
 thundering oratory — one of the most popular men 
 personally who ever set foot in the House of 
 Commons — and, moreover, a tremendous favourite 
 in the land of his birth. He was, however, on this 
 occasion assailing the stronghold of a veteran in 
 Mr. O'Brien, and the odds were slightly against 
 him. Not that he cared for that. Indeed, he 
 delighted in it. What Irishman would not? 
 
 Another feature of the election was that both 
 candidates were fighting two seats, and each had 
 the chance of being elected to represent two places, 
 and as it happened this was the safer contest of 
 the two for Mr. O'Brien, because his other contest 
 up in County Mayo was only a forlorn hope. Mr. 
 Redmond, on the other hand, was quite certain of 
 election for Clare. If, however, it is imagined that 
 there was any slackening of enthusiasm, any falling 
 off of vigour in the fight because of these facts, 
 
AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 283 
 
 a great mistake is being made, for of all the political 
 contests I have ever watched this was among the 
 most furious. 
 
 Sections of the city were known to be in favour 
 of one candidate or the other, and it was easy to 
 know the preference of a locality by its banners, 
 its printed appeals, and other outward and visible 
 signs of preference. Even the poorest districts 
 made a show. 
 
 In place of indoor meetings, the candidates 
 would address their supporters in the open air, 
 generally from a carriage or a wagonette or 
 a jaunting-car, occasionally from the first floor 
 window of a house. But more interesting to a 
 visitor than the actual speeches was the demonstra- 
 tion made nightly by each party, a demonstration 
 consisting of a procession roughly organised, 
 tremendous in its size, which paraded the main 
 streets with the candidate at its head, and brought 
 its peregrinations to a close at his hotel, where 
 he would address his people from the balcony. 
 There was something joyously Dickensian in it all. 
 
 One of the first demonstrations after my arrival 
 was that made by Mr. Willie Redmond's supporters, 
 who took their candidate with them and gallantly 
 marched, not only through the part of the town 
 favourable to the Redmondites, but also through 
 some of the O'Brienite territory. It was a great 
 
284 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 night. I went to Mr. Redmond's hotel an hour 
 beforehand. Even at that time there were a couple 
 of thousand people in the street waiting the 
 emergence of their hero, and the crowd continually 
 increased until the moment for departure arrived, 
 when there were, I should think, something like 
 five thousand people practically filling the street 
 as far as one could see in each direction. By the 
 side of the kerb, stretching along in each direction, 
 were groups of men, carrying on their shoulders 
 a framework, on which rested a flaming tar-barrel, 
 and at the hotel entrance women were massed, 
 400 or 500 of them, some with bare arms, many 
 carrying shillelaghs, all of them singing and cheer- 
 ing intermittently in honour of Mr. Redmond. 
 
 Altogether it was a stirring picture, with more 
 than a touch of Hogarth in it as you looked along 
 and saw seething crowds lighted up by tar-barrels, 
 the women with their cudgels, banners of various 
 kinds, many musical bands, the whole concourse 
 meanwhile vivified by waves of cheering, snatches 
 of Irish songs, denunciations of the other side, and 
 delirious approving shouts of their champion. 
 
 Wedged into the thick of the crowd outside 
 the hotel were two or three brakes to accom- 
 modate the local Redmondite leaders, and it was 
 towards one of these that Mr. Redmond, with 
 myself in his wake, struggled through the delighted, 
 
AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 285 
 
 bare-armed women who were prepared almost 
 to lift him to his seat, and who would certainly, 
 if they had not been restrained, have overflooded 
 the vehicle in their efforts to do him homage. 
 Presently the crowds began to move, and for a 
 time the semblance of a royal progress was in 
 being : the enthusiastic throng reached as far as 
 one could see in front and behind, and the windows 
 of the houses and shops by which we passed were 
 occupied with people who waved handkerchiefs 
 and flags, and sang and cheered their salutations 
 and their hopes for victory. Even in the hostile 
 territory something of this was experienced, 
 because there was, of course, here and there an 
 admixture of partisans. 
 
 We were prepared for trouble, and it was when 
 we got fairly into the opponents' camp, and I was 
 standing up in the brake to see things better, that 
 Mr. Willie Redmond said to me : " Better sit down, 
 because we may get some stones from here." As a 
 matter of fact, there were no stones. 
 
 The police had made special preparations for 
 the occasion, because it had been rumoured that 
 the O'Brienite army intended to break up the 
 Redmondite procession, and for that purpose were 
 massing themselves up the side-streets in order 
 to descend in what may be called cavalry charges 
 on the Redmondite crowd as it passed by. Those 
 
286 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 plans, if they existed, were broken by the police, 
 who, in double lines, were formed up across the 
 side-streets down which the attackers might be 
 tempted to rush. 
 
 Though I happened to be present with the 
 Redmondites on this occasion, it must not be 
 assumed that the other side did not make 
 demonstrations equally as striking, equally as 
 picturesque; and, as events proved, it was the 
 O'Brienites who were somewhat stronger in 
 numbers. Perhaps it gives a better illustration 
 of the Irish character than anything I have said, 
 that in spite of all the tremendous and wounding 
 words used by adherents on both sides, it was 
 Mr. Willie Redmond, the defeated candidate, who 
 in the counting-room took the initiative in sup- 
 pressing conversation for the speech of his 
 opponent, Mr. O'Brien. 
 
 A characteristic of the Irish election is the 
 presence in it of the priest who, revered and 
 generally loved by his people, has an enormous 
 influence in the decision at the polls. One of the 
 pictures that remain in my mind is the crowded 
 market-place of Cork, the houses draped with 
 the green and white of the Irish flag, every window 
 filled with eager faces, and in the middle of the 
 swaying throng a silver-haired priest, with a 
 strong voice and Irish brogue, appealing to the 
 
AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 287 
 
 people to do their duty and vote for one of the 
 candidates. 
 
 I was at Waterford when Mr. John Redmond 
 addressed a meeting in the theatre, the platform 
 being crowded with local supporters, including 
 an enthusiast who occasionally interrupted the 
 proceedings with loud, strange cries of applause. 
 A priest, of commanding appearance, rose from 
 beside the Irish leader to support his candidature, 
 and he suffered two interruptions from his platform 
 colleague behind with Christian forbearance, but 
 at the third time he could stand it no longer. He 
 swept completely round, with his back to the 
 audience, and shouted at the offender, '' Will you 
 hold your tongue for a minute?" What would 
 have happened had such a thing taken place at 
 an English public meeting it is hard to imagine. 
 In Waterford the audience were delighted. It 
 remains to be said that the reverend father's 
 admonition was completely successful, and that 
 throughout the remainder of the proceedings there 
 was peace. 
 
 After travelling about from place to place, I 
 eventually went to Westport on the coast of Mayo, 
 a district in which Mr. William O'Brien lived, and 
 where he was putting up his second fight against 
 the Redmondites. The odds were against him 
 here, even as they had been in favour of him in 
 
288 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Cork, and this was something in the nature of a 
 forlorn hope. Do not think on that account there 
 was any lack of spirit on the part of the O'Brienites 
 or that the proceedings of his fighters lacked con- 
 fidence or vim. The strength of the Redmondites 
 was to be found in the scattered districts and the 
 wide expanses of countryside comprised in the 
 division, because in the town of Westport itself 
 Mr. O'Brien had much personal popularity. Well 
 do I remember the night he arrived in his motor- 
 car to begin the fight in Mayo after his conquest 
 down in Cork. He was met by a gathering of 
 some hundreds who, with tumultuous shouts of 
 welcome, escorted him to the Town Hall, where 
 they flooded in, and where Mr. O'Brien was to 
 address them. Here, as in the south, practically 
 all carried sticks, for the shillelagh is by no means 
 an extinct weapon. The sticks were held upwards 
 and gripped about two-thirds of their length along, 
 in good, convenient fashion for defence or attack. 
 
 The Town Hall was a clear space without seats, 
 and the excited gathering pretty well filled it. 
 I can see them now ; sticks held breast high, some 
 of them held above the head, and all the gathering 
 excited like children at the return of their leader. 
 Mr. O'Brien stood on the platform, his hands 
 clasped behind his back, surveying the people 
 with his deep-set eyes, and, altogether, looking 
 
AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 289 
 
 more sternly patriarchal than ever. He talked to 
 them in language which roused them to passionate 
 shouts and defiances, and set the sticks shaking 
 and quivering in anticipation. Who could describe 
 the scorn v^ith which he spoke of the Redmondites, 
 the loathing he bestowed on them, particularly 
 on Mr. Dillon, who was to visit Westport on the 
 following Sunday afternoon. 
 
 " Land-purchase killer ! " he hissed. ^' Gombeen 
 man ! Will you hear him when he comes?" 
 
 *' No ! " screamed the audience in chorus, waving 
 their sticks above their heads. 
 
 ^' Will you have him here ? " 
 
 " No ! " roared the audience, almost beyond 
 control; "we'll settle him." 
 
 "What will you do with him?" cried Mr. 
 O'Brien, quivering with rage. 
 
 " We'll shoot him, sorr ! " was the instant 
 response. And all the people in that hall twisted, 
 and swayed, and howled like a wood which is 
 swept by a great storm. Mr. O'Brien was as 
 excited as his hearers, and they as excited as he. 
 Then as the noise lulled down there came a faint 
 word of dissent from the back of the hall, and it 
 became apparent that one Redmondite had been 
 bold enough to venture into this gathering of the 
 enemy. A huge gasp of amazement at the audacity 
 of the man, and then, with shrieks, the proceedings 
 
 u 
 
290 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 were held up while the whole of the hundreds 
 present sought to reach the offender, and I saw 
 a wild; desperate, struggling mass forcing them- 
 selves together towards the back of the hall to 
 get at him. He was satisfactorily disposed of 
 — apparently thrown out — and then the audience 
 came back in mild triumph and ranged themselves 
 up to listen to more of the speech of Mr. O'Brien. 
 As soon as silence had been obtained Mr. O'Brien, 
 with his hands still clasped behind his back, 
 thrust out his head on the audience, and said 
 fervently : " I am glad to see you know how to 
 deal with a bully when you find one." 
 
 The O'Brienites were strong in Westport, but 
 they were not so strong, as I have said, in some ot 
 the outlying districts, and in accordance with 
 custom, therefore, it became necessary that when 
 an O'Brienite speech was to be made in one of 
 these distant parts an audience should be taken 
 along, together with the speaker, partly, I suppose, 
 to encourage, partly to protect him while he was 
 giving those on the outskirts the true milk of the 
 political gospel. I joined in one of these excursions 
 to a place about fourteen miles from our base of 
 operations, and we started a procession of eleven 
 or twelve jaunting-cars, with two cars containing 
 police, and a motor-car for the candidate in the 
 midst of the procession. Through hills, down by 
 
AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 291 
 
 the sea we went, past bogland, with occasional 
 meadows and stretches of barren stoniness, and on 
 our way we came to villages, where we were 
 cheered now and again, but were generally 
 regarded with a certain hostile curiosity. We 
 reached our destination, a little market town, in 
 the early afternoon, and we had lunch before pro- 
 ceeding out to the square in the middle of the 
 town for the meeting. There was a happy anticipa- 
 tion that the meeting might be rushed by the local 
 residents, but this expectation was not realised. 
 Our own people formed a ring around the 
 wagonette from which Mr. O'Brien spoke, and out- 
 side this was a fringe of natives, who smoked and 
 listened and applauded not at all, but who showed 
 no signs of a fight. 
 
 We started back on our return journey in the 
 early hours of the evening, when it was already 
 dusk, and after a mile or two signs appeared that 
 we were not to have such a quiet passage home as 
 we had had on the outward trip. From groups of 
 cottages we were jeered, and occasionally a piece 
 of earth was thrown at the line of vehicles. We 
 had made, I suppose, some three or four miles, 
 when we came to the first cottages of a village 
 which had determined on attack. My jaunting-car 
 was nearly at the end of the procession, and we 
 were presently held up by the stoppage of those 
 
292 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 in front; a good deal of shouting was going on, 
 but in the gathering darkness it was not easy to 
 understand what the trouble was about. It seems 
 that from the village on one side a group of men 
 had sent a fusillade of stones at some of the jaunt- 
 ing-cars in front, which had promptly pulled up to 
 give battle. You don't let these things pass in 
 Ireland. Leaders and officials and police were 
 persuading the hotheads of our party to keep on 
 the move, and not to resent these passing atten- 
 tions of political opponents, and eventually got 
 them on the go again. It was at this point that I 
 heard the first revolver shot ; no one, so far as I 
 could ascertain, being injured by it. The front of 
 the cavalcade was in motion, and we behind were 
 just about to start when I saw two women and a 
 man come running down a sloping field in front of 
 us with missiles in their hands. A large stone 
 flung by the woman hit the wheel of our con- 
 veyance, and a stone or piece of brick, which came 
 from one of the men, pitched just behind the car in 
 front of us, and I saw a young fellow on this car, 
 wearing a light mackintosh, take a silver-plated 
 revolver from his pocket and point it in the 
 direction of the people and fire. There was no 
 result, because the weapon was directed above the 
 heads of our assailants, perhaps purposely — I 
 cannot tell. I learned afterwards revolvers are 
 
AN IRISH POLITICAL FIGHT 293 
 
 not taken out for any intentionally deadly use, but 
 generally in order to frighten. 
 
 These, of course, are violent examples picked 
 out of a series of gentler experiences which showed 
 up the warm hearts as well as the quick passions 
 of the people in Ireland. Wonderful was the 
 understanding in political affairs to be found 
 among some of the poor people, and I recall how 
 one slatternly, middle-aged woman, who kept a 
 sweet-shop, talked intelligently and understand- 
 ingly of Henry George's projects and theories. In 
 intervals of selling sweets — she also sold whisky 
 — she had read much, and I found others of her 
 class similarly endowed. 
 
 Down in the south-west, in an outlying part, I 
 called one afternoon with a journalistic friend at 
 the house of a parish priest, with a view to a 
 friendly word with a man who led a lonely life, and 
 who was beloved by his people. Strangers as we 
 were, he gave us a heartening welcome, and though 
 it was a fast day, and there was nothing much he 
 could offer us to eat, he spread out a variety of 
 drinks — wine of various kinds, spirits, and so on. 
 Eventually we had something which was very 
 like the illicit whisky manufactured without the 
 sanction of the law on the lonely mountain sides 
 or mountains. When we got back to the hotel we 
 related this friendly occurrence to one of the local 
 
294 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 politicians, an Irish solicitor, who happened to 
 be there, and he said that if any of the suspicious 
 liquor came his way he would send me on some 
 to England. I was back in London a couple of 
 months after this, and one morning there arrived 
 by post a box containing a large broken bottle, the 
 whole exhaling a pungent spirituous smell. Alas ! 
 the poteen had suffered disaster on the way. I 
 wrote to my Irish solicitor friend, thanking him 
 for his kindly intentions, and indicating what had 
 happened. He wrote me back at once a regretful 
 note. Here is the gist of it : "I am sorry that the 
 bottle got broken on the way. I must try to make 
 it up. As I have to-day successfully defended a 
 man charged with manufacturing and keeping 
 poteen, it is possible I shall have a further supply 
 towards the end of the week." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 
 
 While I was away in Ireland doing election 
 pictures, in the end of 1910, I read of violent 
 happenings in the East End of London, where 
 foreign burglars in a jeweller's shop opened fire 
 with automatic pistols on policemen who had dis- 
 covered them, and caused the deaths of several 
 officers. Incidentally one of the burglars was 
 mortally wounded by one of his companions. 
 Such a deadly business was unusual reading, even 
 to the hardened newspaper man, and although 
 never greatly interested in murders, I looked at the 
 news on the following days to see if any of the 
 assassins had been captured, and was mildly curious 
 to know if anything fresh had been found out 
 about what seemed a carefully-concerted and 
 organised venture. None of the assassins were 
 tracked, and their plans had apparently included 
 a scheme for escape if disturbed in their work. 
 They were believed to be foreigners, had left 
 
296 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 evidence that they were expert burglars, and had 
 demonstrated moreover that they had in their 
 possession some of the most efficient firearms 
 which science has produced. 
 
 The best intelligence of Scotland Yard was 
 enlisted by the City Police in discovering men 
 whose freedom was undoubtedly a menace to the 
 community in general, and as the days went on 
 the aid of the whole of the Metropolitan Police 
 was brought to bear in the work of investigation, 
 and all of the 20,000 members of the Force, 
 policemen and detectives alike, with the help of 
 such information as was obtainable, were on the 
 look-out for the escaped men. Scotland Yard 
 made tremendous efforts in the matter, and while 
 the ports all round the country were carefully 
 watched for attempted flight, a systematic search 
 was made of the cheap lodging-houses and other 
 resorts in London and its suburbs, a watch set 
 on known bad characters who were at liberty, and 
 certain sections of the East End mapped out and 
 scrutinised day and night by unnoticed detectives, 
 lounging along in workmen's clothes, in some cases 
 sitting quietly in a first-floor window or passing as 
 customers in local shops. The papers were full 
 of the story. All the ramifications of the great 
 search touched public curiosity to the heart. A 
 multitude of suggestions were forthcoming about 
 
THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 297 
 
 the missing men, and they were called alternatively 
 Russians, Letts, Poles, and Jews. One of them 
 was supposed to be a desperate person named 
 " Peter the Painter," a leader who would stick at 
 nothing. 
 
 The operations developed presently into one 
 concentrated effort to find this " Peter the Painter," 
 and the public were kept from day to day on the 
 hooks of eager anticipation. To the journalists of 
 Fleet Street the period was one of many alarms, 
 broken night rest, and a continual planning and 
 contriving to help in securing the men sought. 
 During the small hours of many winter mornings 
 police and reporters— working separately, of course 
 — laid watch in lonely East End streets, in some 
 cases disguising themselves, always with the same 
 result, namely, the discovery of no one at all 
 connected with the affray. 
 
 People were beginning to think that the 
 murderers were safely away when there came 
 the great crisis of the search. The day was 
 January 3, a fortnight or so after the affray. At 
 nine o'clock in the morning at my house in South 
 London, I was summoned by a call on the telephone 
 and told hurriedly and excitedly by a colleague that 
 *' Peter the Painter" and his associates had been 
 located in a house in Whitechapel, that they were 
 keeping the officers at bay in the streets with their 
 
298 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 automatic pistols, and that a siege of the house 
 was going on. A great portion of the East End, 
 I was told, was in ferment. 
 
 It took me but a minute or so to get an over- 
 coat and plunge out into the street in search of a 
 taxi-cab which should convey me to Whitechapel. 
 As luck would have it, I could not find a taxi-cab 
 disengaged before I got to High Street, Clapham, 
 and then it was quicker for me to take the Electric 
 Underground to the Bank. Arrived in the City, 
 I found a cab, and was soon rushing along Mile 
 End Road to the battle. Sidney Street was the 
 actual name of the turning where the murderers 
 were at fight. The preliminary stages of the 
 tragedy were well developed when I reached the 
 scene. 
 
 This was Tuesday morning, and it was on the 
 Monday evening that the police had heard word 
 with regard to No. loo, Sidney Street, which led 
 them to think that "Peter the Painter" and one 
 of his foreign murderer companions might be 
 secured there. The devilish nature of the men, 
 and the knowledge that they would stick at nothing 
 to escape, led to careful preparations before any 
 attempt at arrest was made, and at ten o'clock at 
 night two pantechnicon vans passed slowly through 
 Sidney Street, as though on their way with 
 furniture. The vans contained not furniture, 
 
THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 299 
 
 but detectives, who were surveying the ground. 
 At midnight a message was telephoned round to 
 many of the East End police stations, and between 
 twelve and one the suspected house was unob- 
 trusively encircled by officers. They had to form 
 a wide ring, because No. 100, Sidney Street was in 
 the middle of a block of dwellings; and the know- 
 ledge that the two men inside were armed with 
 modern automatic pistols led to precautions against 
 arousing them before all was in readiness. At two 
 o'clock in the morning three detectives entered the 
 building, and learning that the men were upstairs 
 in the front room on the second floor, set to work 
 as expeditiously as might be to clear the house 
 of all its other occupants. This was not easy, 
 because there were several family groups who had 
 to be disturbed and who had to be got out into 
 the street with absolute hush and stealthiness. It 
 was all accomplished in about half an hour, and 
 the house was left empty except for the two 
 assassins in the front room on the second floor. 
 
 Seven o'clock in the morning was the time 
 when a move was made to rouse " Peter the 
 Painter" and his companion. The best means of 
 securing their capture had been discussed, and, 
 looking back now on all the circumstances, it 
 appears that there might have been safer means 
 chosen. Perhaps it would have been well to have 
 
300 ADVENTURESOF A NEWSPAPERMAN 
 
 forced a way into the room of the two men, or to 
 have stationed silent sentries on the landing out- 
 side the door of the room, so that when the door 
 was opened a combined rush might have thrown 
 the two men off their feet before they could effect 
 any damage. But the detectives did not proceed 
 along these lines of action ; they decided to try 
 to get the men down to the street door. 
 
 From a little knot of detective chiefs assembled 
 in a doorway exactly opposite No. loo, two stepped 
 off* the pavement into the road, and threw some 
 small stones at the second-floor window with the 
 idea of rousing ^^ Peter the Painter" and his com- 
 panion as by a signal from confederates. Very 
 diff*erent was the result from what was hoped for. 
 The men must have been on the alert in their 
 room ; must in the darkness of the morning have 
 seen the dim figures of the detectives in consulta- 
 tion opposite and witnessed the stepping forward 
 of the officers and their eff'orts with the stones. 
 The two men, with their powerful automatic 
 pistols ready, did not hesitate. One of them 
 opened fire from the window, and the second shot 
 hit one of the officers, a detective-sergeant, in 
 the chest. He staggered back to the shelter of 
 the gateway and exclaimed, " I am hit ! " The 
 third shot pierced the hat of an inspector. Of 
 course, there was no question of the other officers 
 
THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 301 
 
 coming into the open, because with these caged 
 men firing desperately, no person could appear 
 in that open stretch of Sidney Street for a matter 
 of fifty yards on either side without the chance 
 of instant death. A policeman with a shot-gun 
 sent a charge into the window, and apparently 
 caused the two murderers to step into the back- 
 ground for a little. Within a few minutes, however, 
 they were firing from the window again in the 
 hope of hurting some of the detectives in 
 the houses opposite or in the doorways along 
 the street. 
 
 The news of the resistance made by the two 
 men was flashed throughout the Metropolis, and 
 within the next hour reinforcements of police 
 and detectives were arriving from all sides. No 
 means, however, could be devised to get at the 
 murderers without loss of life, and the position 
 showed how two men in certain circumstances 
 could keep at bay a tremendous and overwhelming 
 army. 
 
 The shots of "Peter the Painter" and his 
 companion came sometimes from one floor and 
 sometimes from another, indicating that they were 
 going from room to room in their endeavour to 
 get a better opportunity of dealing with their 
 assailants. Was it to be wondered at that London 
 began to gather round this little desolate street 
 
302 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 in the East End as the news went forth about the 
 business ? Sir Melville Macnaghten, Chief of the 
 C.I.D. of Scotland Yard, and Superintendent 
 Quinn, head of the Political Section, came down 
 to superintend matters, and it was pretty soon 
 obvious to them that the police must be kept 
 back for the moment, and that sterner measures 
 must be taken. A telephone message was sent 
 to the Tower, where the Scots Guards were 
 quartered. A detachment of the Guards with 
 rifles and ball cartridge were marched up to Sidney 
 Street. Some of them were strung across the 
 roadway at each end of that fatal hundred yards, 
 and a few were posted in a building in the rear 
 of the house opposite No. loo, from whence they 
 could fire directly into the room. 
 
 For nearly an hour before I arrived the soldiers' 
 rifles, shot-guns, and private revolvers had been 
 delivering a stream of lead in the windows of the 
 beleaguered house, but without effect, so far as the 
 two men were concerned, because intermittently 
 they returned the fire from their automatic pistols, 
 equally as powerful for this work as the rifles of 
 the soldiers. When I turned into Sidney Street in 
 my taxi-cab I had to pull up almost at once 
 on account of the converging crowd, and I was 
 then still a couple of hundred yards from the 
 police cordon which kept the crowd back. How 
 
THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 303 
 
 I got through that two hundred yards of people 
 it is difficult to explain, but I pushed and hustled, 
 explaining that I wanted to reach the Scotland 
 Yard chiefs, and I dare say by a certain amount 
 of energy gave an impression to those who made 
 way for me that I had some connection or other 
 with the police. Anyway, it was necessary for 
 me to get to the inner circle. I did it at last. 
 
 The besieged Sidney Street lay straight ahead 
 within the police lines. It was empty and silent 
 and commonplace. No sign was there at the 
 moment that it was the scene of tragedy; that 
 within three hundred yards of it on each side tens 
 of thousands of Londoners w^ere thronging upon 
 each other, eager to get a glimpse of the drama, 
 the like of which had never been known before 
 in a great city. 
 
 A few yards in front of the police cordon, at 
 the end of the deserted section of street which 
 ran straight ahead, stood a little group of officials, 
 including Sir Melville Macnaghten, Superintendent 
 Froest, Superintendent Quinn, and other famous 
 detectives. On the pavement near them were a 
 dozen or so of journalists and photographers, with 
 a cinematograph machine on its tripod in the 
 foreground. It was hard to realise that instant 
 death lay before him who walked the hundred 
 yards of that empty little street ahead. A line of 
 
304 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 five of the Scots Guards were standing across 
 Sidney Street, just in front of the journalists and 
 the officials. They were wearing long grey over- 
 coats, and the butts of their Lee-Metford rifles 
 rested on the roadway. They stood at ease, but 
 their gaze was on the house some fifty or sixty 
 yards from them on the right-hand side, from 
 which were coming occasional reports made by 
 the automatic pistols. At the feet of the soldiers 
 lay newspaper contents-boards, borrowed from a 
 neighbouring newsagent, and it was obvious that 
 should a prone position be necessary for firing, 
 these boards were for keeping the Guardsmen 
 out of the mud. 
 
 I had been within the cordon five minutes when 
 a corporal among the Guards emitted something 
 which sounded like " Hipe," and instantly all the 
 Guardsmen flung themselves on the boards and 
 were glancing along their rifles at a head which 
 had been thrust from a second-floor window some 
 sixty yards along Sidney Street on the right. It was 
 not from the assassins' house, but was close to it, 
 and for a second it seemed that one of the men was 
 looking for death. Almost immediately after this 
 came a sharp "Crack!" "Crack!" from No. loo, 
 and the faintest possible trace of smoke, or dirt, or 
 vapour showed that the murderers had fired 
 practically together, one from the first-floor 
 
THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 305 
 
 window and the other from the second-floor 
 window ; they were firing at the armed detectives 
 in the house on the opposite side of the street, 
 possibly at the uniformed police blocking the ends 
 of the roadway. In response a fusillade broke out 
 from the concealed detectives, and the " Pop, pop, 
 pop " of the automatic pistols could be distin- 
 guished from the " Crack ! " of the rifles, and the 
 still heavier report of the old-fashioned revolvers. 
 A detective in a passage nearly opposite the 
 assassins' refuge, partly sheltered by the angle of 
 the wall, was firing almost continuously through 
 the windows with a miniature rifle, and bullets 
 were also descending on the assassins' window 
 from a high, overlooking building behind the house 
 in which the detectives were sheltered. 
 
 From now onward for several minutes " Peter 
 the Painter" and his associate were firing furiously, 
 hastening from one floor of the house to another, 
 apparently to mislead the police and soldiers. At 
 the end of the street an occasional shot sang its 
 way through the air over our heads, and more 
 than one, flattened by impact, ricochetted among 
 us. Standing on the kerb, I had my walking-stick 
 touched by a passing bullet and almost knocked 
 from my hand. 
 
 The battle, which was now raging between two 
 sides of the street, caused the police authorities 
 
 X 
 
3o6 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 to consider our position unsafe, and they there- 
 fore asked us to put ourselves out of range, and 
 incidentally out of sight, in a turning at right angles 
 to Sidney Street. I thereupon crossed to the 
 other side of Sidney Street to a large public-house, 
 a building from the roof of which it was possible 
 to watch all that was happening. Beside one of 
 the chimneys on that roof I had beneath me a 
 picture such as is given to few to see. A 300 
 yards square of East End houses and narrow 
 streets was hemmed in by encircling police, against 
 whom surged crowds numbering by this time 
 hundreds of thousands. In the middle of that 300 
 yards square was the deserted street of death, each 
 end guarded with police, bullets crossing and 
 recrossing it in savage exchange every few seconds, 
 sometimes in a kind of angry chorus. 
 
 Suddenly, on the pavement below me in Sidney 
 Street, almost at the spot where my walking-stick 
 had been struck a few minutes before, a young 
 man flung his hand to his forehead, and blood came 
 out from between his fingers. A couple of police- 
 men helped him to a neighbouring doorway, and 
 a doctor, who was within the lines, bound up his 
 wound. He had been touched by one of the 
 bullets — fortunately not very seriously injured. 
 
 From my roof position I had an excellent sight of 
 the front of the house some sixty or seventy yards 
 
THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 307 
 
 away. It was a section of a great red-brick block of 
 buildings, and its single window on the ground 
 floor, and its two windows on the first floor, its 
 two windows on the second floor, and its single 
 window at the top floor, were all penetrated and 
 shattered with bullets. On the second floor the 
 brickwork round the window frames was chipped 
 and ruined, and little showers of red dust flew up 
 from time to time as bullets caught the edges. 
 
 The firing was at its height when there occurred 
 an incident which sent the hearts of onlookers 
 to their mouths, notwithstanding all the previous 
 continuous excitement. A woman rushed from 
 somewhere into the open space of Sidney Street 
 and entered one of the houses not far from No. 
 100. What could be her errand? was the thought 
 in the minds of all. The question was quickly 
 answered, for she reappeared almost immediately 
 with three children, one of whom she was carrying 
 in her arms. With frantic haste she fled from the 
 bullet-swept street, and succeeded, to the immense 
 relief of all, in getting her charges away into a 
 safe obscurity. 
 
 About half an hour after midday I noticed, or 
 thought I noticed, for the first time a fine smoke 
 issuing from the windows on the second floor of 
 No. 100. Whether it really was smoke or was a 
 puff" of dust was not easy to decide, and presently, 
 
3o8 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 when it seemed to disappear, I put it down to the 
 continuous firing. Soon, however, it had made its 
 appearance again, and this time there could be no 
 mistake ; smoke was coming from the w^indows, 
 and it was smoke from a fire. Moreover, a con- 
 siderable cloud was issuing from one of the 
 chimneys. 
 
 The firing continued from the windows, but 
 now all one's attention was given to that increasing 
 and very determined smoke. Had the police and 
 soldiers by their bullets in some way started a 
 fire ? Had the assassins themselves fired the house ? 
 Each alternative was laden with possibilities. Shots 
 came from amid the smoke. Ruthlessly bullets 
 were pouring back into the burning house. 
 
 The dullest imagination would have been pricked 
 by the scene and the possibilities that lay behind 
 it, for in the midst of a burning house the murderers, 
 still fighting, were faced with few alternatives. 
 Desperate, indeed, were those alternatives. They 
 might kill themselves; they might remain to the 
 last and die from suffocation or burning; they 
 might make a mad rush with pistols in hand into 
 the street in the frenzied eff'ort to escape when 
 the whole block of buildings was well alight. One 
 tried to picture the state of the minds of the men. 
 Did they know that a hundred weapons were 
 turned on the door from which they must emerge ? 
 
THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 309 
 
 Did they realise that in some form or another death 
 must be theirs within two hours? 
 
 The smoke increased, the shots from the windows 
 became fewer, and it was about midday when Mr. 
 Winston Churchill, the Home Secretary, arrived, 
 and with the chiefs of police walked to the corner 
 from which the windows of No. 100 could be seen. 
 Fire-engines came dashing up, but they were held 
 back, because it was felt that the firemen would be 
 sacrificed by the bullets of the assassins if they 
 attempted to take up a position in front of the 
 house. A battery of artillery, sent for from Wool- 
 wich, was held in reserve in a side-street, ready 
 to blow in the front of the house. 
 
 Mr. Winston Churchill, wearing a silk hat, fur 
 coat, and smoking a cigar, walked through the 
 crowds within the danger circle, and put forward 
 many suggestions, which were acted upon. More 
 than once police and firemen volunteered to rush 
 the house, but they were refused permission, for it 
 was held that lives must not be spent thus. By 
 this time many people had been wounded by the 
 fusillade. 
 
 Presently smoke was seen issuing from the 
 second floor, and it was apparent that the fire was 
 gradually making its way downstairs as well as 
 upwards. At twenty minutes to two great clouds 
 of black smoke were coming from the second-floor 
 
310 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 window, and it was a minute later that we all 
 of us experienced a thrilling moment. Projecting 
 through the smoke from the second-floor window 
 was what seemed to be a begrimed body of a man, 
 who was forcing himself through the burning 
 framework. Instantly a hundred weapons poured 
 lead into that cloud of smoke, and then, as a 
 gust of wind lightened the cloud, it was seen that 
 the object in the smoke was not a man's body, 
 but a bullet-blackened curtain forced out by the 
 draught. From this time onward, a nerve-trying 
 expectancy lay on every one of us watching the 
 burning house, for, with the fire descending to 
 the ground floor the moment was quickly coming 
 nearer for the last desperate rush. Uniformed 
 police, who had hitherto not used weapons, stood 
 at the turnings of Sidney Street with pistols in 
 their hands. 
 
 Minute after minute crept by. Smoke was 
 emerging from the ground-floor window now. 
 The last dash, if it were to be made, could not 
 possibly be long deferred. The shots within the 
 house ceased, and some of the watchers entertained 
 the thought that possibly the two men, realising 
 the hopelessness, had killed themselves. But it 
 was only a guess. Quite possibly they were within 
 the doorway, waiting only for the psychological 
 moment when the door should be burst in to rush 
 
THE BATTLE OF SIDNEY STREET 311 
 
 forward, weapons in hand, and shoot their way to 
 freedom. All eyes were kept on that fateful front 
 door; all weapons were turned towards it. 
 
 There came a moment when it was necessary 
 to take risks. The adjacent buildings were in 
 danger, and property and life might be sacrificed 
 by too much caution. Mr. Churchill conferred 
 with officials as to what should be done, and 
 then Detective-Inspector McCarthy, a big, square- 
 shouldered man, stepped forward from the group, 
 walked quickly along the pavement to the door of 
 the house. We held our breath. This was drama, 
 if you like. Detective McCarthy thrust himself 
 against the door. It fell open before him. One 
 pulsating moment, and then we all breathed again. 
 There was a little smoke and flame from the 
 passage, nothing more. 
 
 Mr. Churchill and a sergeant of police carrying 
 a double-barrelled shot-gun were a few yards 
 behind, and they were the next persons to go up 
 to the door of the burning house. Firemen came 
 rushing forward now, and within thirty seconds 
 the hoses were being arranged so that w^ater might 
 be directed upon the flames. 
 
 Later the bodies of the two men were found 
 within the dismantled and ruined buildings. One 
 of them had a bullet wound through the head. 
 How the other died it was impossible to tell. 
 
312 ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER MAN 
 
 Some time, while we had been watching, the 
 efforts of the two men had been stopped; and 
 while we were waiting on the outside expecting 
 and fearing them, they had sunk down overwhelmed 
 and had died. 
 
 Altogether sixteen persons — policemen, firemen, 
 a soldier, and civilians were injured as a result of 
 the battle 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abercynon, 42 
 
 Abertridwr, 50 
 
 Akers Douglas, Mr., 263 
 
 Alexander, Czar of Russia, 152 
 
 Alexander Nevski Monastery, 
 
 152 
 Arthog, 49 
 Asquith, H. H., at Coronation, 
 
 125 ; Budget speech incident, 
 
 260 
 
 Balfour, A. J., deputation of 
 
 working women received, 203 ; 
 
 and Mr. Crawshay Williams, 
 
 262 
 Barmouth, 60 
 
 Battenberg, Prince Louis, 253 
 Beresford, Lord Charles, 184 
 Bethune, General, 172 
 Blind River lumber camp, loi 
 Boer War, bottle message story, 
 
 6 
 Booth, Handel, 273 
 Budget : introduction etiquette, 
 
 260; 1909, all-night sitting, 
 
 262 
 Burns, John : taxi-cab story, 
 
 246 ; and Claude Hay, 262 
 
 Central News, work on staff, 
 
 8 
 Chamberlain, Joseph, 205 
 
 Charlesworth, Violet, 236 
 
 Chi Chen Lo Fen Gluh, Sir, 14 
 
 Chinese Legation, 14 
 
 Choate, Mr., 13 
 
 Churchill, Winston, Sidney 
 Street battle, 309 
 
 Cobalt, 91 
 
 Cochrane, Hon. Frank, 97 
 
 Columbus, Ohio, 68, 181 
 
 Columbus Dispatch, 86 
 
 Copper Mines, 98 
 
 Corbett, Jim, 250 
 
 Corelli, Marie, 79 
 
 Cork Election, 281 
 
 Coronation, scenes at West- 
 minster, 122 
 
 Criminal Investigation Depart- 
 ment, 104 
 
 Crippen, Dr., 128 
 
 Crooks, Will, 203 
 
 Daily Mail^ 20, 215 
 
 Dancing, Russian ballet, 189 
 
 Devonshire, Duke of, 205 
 
 Dew, Inspector, 132 
 
 Dillon, Dr., 182 
 
 Dillon, John, 289 
 
 Dilnot, Frank : on Central News 
 
 staff, 8 ; joins Daily Mail 
 
 staff, 21 
 Dougal, Samuel Herbert, 23, 33 
 Doumovo, M., 174, 176 
 
314 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan, 247 
 Duma, 161 
 
 Edward VII., 12 
 Egryn, Lights of, 50, 54 
 Election results reporting, 228 
 Embassies and Pressmen, 13 
 Espanola pulp mills, 102 
 
 Foreign Office and Press- 
 men, 8 
 Fox, Helen, 272 
 Froest, Frank, 107, 303 
 
 Gatacre, General Sir Wil- 
 liam, 18 
 
 George V., colonial tour stor}', 
 253; Coronation, 127 
 
 George, David Lloyd, 25 1 
 
 Ghosts, haunted house of Aber- 
 tridvvr, 50 
 
 Gully, Mr., 264 
 
 Hands, Charles, 31 
 
 Harmsworth, Alfred. See Lord 
 Northcliffe. 
 
 Hay, Claude, 262 
 
 Hayashi, Baron, 14 
 
 Holland, Miss, 24 
 
 House of Commons. See Par- 
 liament. 
 
 Hudson Bay Co., 97 
 
 Ireland, political fight, 277 
 
 Jewish Music Hall, 117 
 John the Terrible, 183 
 Jones, Evan, 48 
 Jones, Mary, Welsh revivalist, 
 
 49,58 
 Journalism : bottle messages 
 story, 6 ; the modern re* 
 porter, i \ official departments 
 
 and Pressmen, 8 ; press gal- 
 lery work, 256 ; reporting 
 stories, 228 
 
 King, Charles, 264 
 Kremlin Palace, 187 
 Kshesinskaya, Mademoiselle, 
 160, 192 
 
 Labouchere, Henry, 254 
 Lang, Andrew, 245 
 Le Neve, Miss, 128 
 Lights of Egryn, 50, 54 
 Londonderry, Marquis of, 125 
 Lowther, Rt. Hon. W., 264 
 Lumber Camp, loi 
 Lusita7iia^ 81 
 
 McCarthy, Detective - In- 
 spector, 3 1 1 
 
 Macnaghten, Sir Melville, 302 
 
 McVeagh, Jeremiah, 264 
 
 Manchester Guardian, 55 
 
 Marinsky Theatre, 158, 189 
 
 Marks, Harry, 231 
 
 Mary, Queen, Coronation, 127 
 
 Matters, Muriel, 269 
 
 Mayo election, 287 
 
 Miliukoff, M., 174 
 
 Millar, Professor, 95 
 
 Milligan, George, 69 
 
 Moat Farm mystery, 22 
 
 Morrison, Dr., 16 
 
 Moscow vignettes, 182 
 
 Murders: Crippen case, 128; 
 Moat Farm mystery, 22 
 
 Murray, General, 188 
 
 Music-hall performance in Yid- 
 dish, 118 
 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, 188 
 Nebo, 48 
 
INDEX 
 
 315 
 
 Neva River, 148 
 Newspapers. See Journalism. 
 Niagara Falls, 89 
 Northcliffe, Lord, 21, 215 
 
 O'Brien, William : Cork elec- 
 tion, 281 ; Mayo election, 287 
 Ohio girls' visit to England, 68 
 Ontario, 97 
 
 Parliament : King's speech 
 forecasts, 12 ; Press Gallery 
 experiences, 256 ; suffragettes' 
 grille incident, 265 
 
 Peel, Mr., 265 
 
 Perks, Mr., 211 
 
 Peter the Painter, 297 
 
 Press Gallery experiences, 256 
 
 Pulp mills at Espanola, 102 
 
 QuiNN, Superintendent, 302 
 
 Railway accident at Salisbury, 
 202 
 
 ** Red House," Niagara, 91 
 
 Redmond, John, 279, 287 
 
 Redmond, Willie, 281 
 
 Rees, Rev. Gwilym, 52 
 
 Religious revival in Wales, 40 
 
 Reporters : psychology of the 
 journalist, 197 ; qualifications 
 and work, i ; stories of re- 
 porting, 228 
 
 Revival in Wales, 40 
 
 Roberts, Evan, 40 
 
 Rodzianko, 166 
 
 Russia : British visitors tour, 
 134 ; experiences in, 134 ; 
 Duma, 161 ; pro-British feel- 
 ing, 195 
 
 Russian ballet, 189 
 
 St. Petersburg, 145 
 
 Salisbury, Lord, secretary and 
 Pressmen, 9 
 
 Salisbury railway accident, 202 
 
 Sault Ste Marie, 97 
 
 Scotland Yard, 104 
 
 " Semi-official," 11 
 
 Shaw, Bernard, 250 
 
 " Sherlock Holmes," 247 
 
 Sidney Street battle, 295 
 
 Silver Mines of Cobalt, 92 
 
 South African War, bottle mes- 
 sages story, 6 
 
 Speech from the throne, official 
 forecasts stopped, 12 
 
 Suffragettes, grille incident in 
 House of Commons, 269 
 
 Tariff Reform, Conservative 
 
 party split, 205 
 Thanet election incident, 321 
 Trethewy, Mr., 96 
 TretrakofTs picture gallery, 188 
 Turnour, Lord. See Lord 
 
 Winterton. 
 
 Unemployed, newspaper re- 
 porter story, 2 
 University ragging, 221 
 
 Wales : ghosts of Wales, 50 ; 
 
 religious revival in, 39 
 Westminster Abbey, Corona- 
 tion scene, 121 
 Westport election, 287 
 White, Stewart Edward, loi 
 WilHams, Crawshay, 262 
 Winterton, Lord, 259, 261 
 Woman's Suffrage, grille inci- 
 dent, 265 
 Wu, Mr., 15 
 
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