The Portsmouth Road and Its Tributaries Part 2

[Sidenote: _THEODORE HOOK_]

So no more than a mention of Theodore Hook, who lived in a little house on the Fulham side of Putney Bridge, which was visited by Barham (dear, genial Tom Ingoldsby!) while rowing up the Thames one fine day. Hook was absent, and Barham wrote some impromptu verses in the hall, beginning--

"Why, gadzooks! here's Theodore Hook's, Who's the author of so many humorous books!"

But the author of those books was the author also of many practical jokes, of which the Berners Street Hoax is still the undisputed cla.s.sic. But that monumental piece of foolery is not more laughable than the j.a.pe he put upon the Putney inn-keeper (I think he was the landlord of the old "White Lion").

He called one day at that house and ordered an excellent dinner, with wine and all manner of delicacies for one, and having finished his meal and made himself particularly agreeable to the host (who by some singular chance did not know his guest), he suddenly asked him if he would like to know how to be able to draw both old and mild ale from the same barrel. Of course he would! "Then," said Hook, "I'll show you, if you will take me down to your cellar, and will promise never to divulge the secret." The landlord promised. "Then," said the guest, "bring a gimlet with you, and we'll proceed to work." When they had reached the cellar the landlord pointed out a barrel of mild ale, and the stranger bored a hole in one side with the gimlet. "Now, landlord," said he, "put your finger over the hole while I bore the other side." The second hole having been bored, it was stopped, in the same way, by the landlord's finger. "And now," said the stranger, "where's a gla.s.s? Didn't you bring one?" "No," said mine host. "But you'll find one up-stairs," replied the guest. "Yes; but I can't leave the barrel, or all the ale will run away," rejoined the landlord. "No matter," exclaimed the stranger, "I'll go for you," and ran up the cellar steps for one. Meanwhile, the landlord waited patiently, embracing the barrel, for five minutes--ten minutes--a quarter of an hour, and then began to shout for the other to make haste, as he was getting the cramp. His shouts at length brought--not the stranger--but his own wife.

"Well, where's the gla.s.s? where's the gentleman?" said he. "What, the gentleman who came down here with you?" "Yes." "Oh, he went off a quarter of an hour ago. What a pleasant-spoken gent----" "What!" cried the landlord, aghast, "what did he say?" "Why," said his spouse, after considering a moment, "he said you had been letting him into the mysteries of the cellar." "Letting _him_ in," yelled the landlord, in a rage, "letting _him_ in! Why, confound it, woman, he let _me_ in--he's never paid for the dinner, wine, or anything."

When Hook subsequently called upon the landlord and settled his bill, it is said that he and his victim had a good laugh over the affair, but if that tale is true, that landlord must have been a very forgiving man.

IV

Let us now turn our attention to the original route to Portsmouth; the road between the Stone's End, Borough, and Wandsworth. I warrant we shall find it much more interesting than going from the West-end coach-offices with the fas.h.i.+onables; for they were more varied crowds that a.s.sembled round the old "Elephant and Castle" than were any of the coach-loads from the "Cross Keys," Cheapside, or from that other old inn of coaching memories, the "Golden Cross," Charing Cross.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OLD "ELEPHANT AND CASTLE," 1824.]

[Sidenote: _AN UNCONSIDERED TRIFLE_]

Every one journeyed from the "Elephant and Castle" in the old stage-coach days, before the mails were introduced, and this well-known house early became famous. It was about 1670 that the first inn bearing this sign was erected here, on a piece of waste ground that, although situated so near the borders of busy Southwark, had been, up to the time of Cromwell and the era of the Commonwealth, quite an unconsidered and worthless plot of ground, at one period the practising-ground for archers,--hence the neighbouring t.i.tle of Newington b.u.t.ts,--but then barren of everything but the potsherds and general refuse of neighbouring London. In 1658, some one, willing to be generous at inconsiderable cost, gave this Place of Desolation towards the maintenance of the poor of Newington; and it is to be hoped that the poor derived much benefit from the gift. I am, however, not very sure that they found their condition much improved by such generosity. Fifteen years later, things wore a different complexion, for when we hear of the gift being confirmed in 1673, and that the premises of the "Elephant and Castle" inn were but recently built, the prospects of the poor seem to be improving in some slight degree. Doc.u.ments of this period put the rent of this piece of waste at 5 _per annum_! and this amount had only risen to 8 10_s._ in the s.p.a.ce of a hundred years. But so rapidly did the value of land now rise, that in 1776 a lease was granted at the yearly rent of 100; and fourteen years later a renewal was effected for twenty-one years at 190.

The poor of Newington should have been in excellent case by this time, unless, indeed, their numbers increased with the times. And certainly the neighbourhood had now grown by prodigious leaps and bounds, and Newington b.u.t.ts had now become a busy coaching centre. How rapidly the value of land had increased about this time may be judged from the results of the auction held upon the expiration of the lease in 1811. The whole of the estate was put up for auction in four lots, and a certain Jane Fisher became tenant of "the house called the 'Elephant and Castle,' used as a public-house," for a term of thirty-one years, at the enormously increased rent of 405, and an immediate outlay of 1200. The whole estate realized 623 a year. As shown by a return of charities, printed for the House of Commons in 1868, the "Elephant and Castle" Charity, including fourteen houses and an investment in Government stock, yielded at that time an annual income of 1453 10_s._ 0_d._

[Sidenote: _THE 'ELEPHANT AND CASTLE'_]

The two old views of the "Elephant and Castle" reproduced here, show the relative importance of the place at different periods. The first was in existence until 1824, and the larger house was built two years later. A dreadful relic of the barbarous practice by which suicides were buried in the highways, at the crossing of the roads, was discovered, some few years since, under the roadway opposite the "Elephant and Castle," during the progress of some alterations in the paving. The mutilated skeleton of a girl was found, which had apparently been in that place for considerably over a hundred years. Local gossips at once rushed to the conclusion that this had been some undiscovered murder, but the registers of St. George's Church, Southwark, probably afford a clue to the mystery. The significant entry occurs--"1666: Abigall Smith, poisoned herself: buried in the highway neere the Fishmongers' Almshouses."

No one has come forward to explain the reason of this particular sign being selected. "Y{t} is call'd y{e} Elephaunt and Castell," says an old writer, "and this is y{e} cognizaunce of y{e} Cotelers, as appeareth likewise off y{e} Bell Savage by Lud Gate;" but this was never the property of the Cutlers' Company, while the site of "Belle Sauvage" is still theirs, and is marked by an old carved stone, bearing the initials "J. A.," with a jocular-looking elephant pawing the ground and carrying a castle.

When the first "Elephant and Castle" was built on this site, the land to the westward as far as Lambeth and Kennington was quite rustic, and remained almost entirely open until the end of last century. Lambeth and Kennington were both villages, difficult of access except by water, and this tract of ground, now covered with the crowded houses of an old suburb, was known as St. George's Fields. It was low and flat, and was traversed by broad ditches, generally full of stagnant water. Roman and British remains have been found here, and it seems likely that some prehistoric fighting was performed on this site, but as all this took place a very long while before the Portsmouth Road was thought of, I shall not propose to go back to the days of Ostorius Scapula or of Boadicea to determine the facts. Instead, I will pa.s.s over the centuries until the times of King James I., when there stood in the midst of St. George's Fields, and on the site of Bethlehem Hospital, a disreputable tavern known as the "Dog and Duck," at which no good young man of that period who held his reputation dear would have been seen for worlds.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DOG AND DUCK" TAVERN.]

There still remains, let into the boundary-wall of "Bedlam," the old stone sign of the "Dog and Duck," divided into two compartments; one showing a dog holding what is intended for a duck in his mouth, while the other bears the badge of the Bridge House Estate, pointing to the fact that the property belonged to that corporation. Duck-hunting was the chiefest amus.e.m.e.nt here, and was carried on before a company the very reverse of select in the grounds attached to the tavern, where a lake and rustic arbours preceded the establishment of Rosherville.

At later periods St. George's Fields were the scene of "Wilkes and Liberty" riots, and of the lively proceedings of Lord George Gordon's "No Popery" enthusiasts. It is by a singular irony that upon the very spot where forty thousand rabid Protestants a.s.sembled in 1780 to wreak their vengeance upon the Catholics of London, there stands to-day the Roman Catholic cathedral of St. George.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIGN OF THE "DOG AND DUCK."]

[Sidenote: _THE ROADS_]

This event brings us to the threshold of the coaching era, for in 1784, four years after the Gordon Riots, mail-coaches were introduced, and the roads were set in order. Years before, when only the slow stages were running, a journey from London to Portsmouth occupied fourteen hours, _if the roads were good_! Nothing is said of the time consumed on the way in the other contingency; but we may pluck a phrase from a public announcement towards the end of the seventeenth century that seems to hint at dangers and problematical arrivals. "Ye 'Portsmouth Machine' sets out from ye Elephant and Castell, and arrives presently _by the Grace of G.o.d...._" In those days men did well to trust to grace, considering the condition of the roads; but in more recent times coach-proprietors put their trust in their cattle and McAdam, and dropped the piety.

A fine crowd of coaches left town daily in the '20's. The "Portsmouth Regulator" left at eight a.m., and reached Portsmouth at five o'clock in the afternoon; the "Royal Mail" started from the "Angel," by St.

Clement's, Strand, at a quarter-past seven every evening, calling at the "George and Gate," Gracechurch Street, at eight, and arriving at the "George," Portsmouth, at ten minutes past six the following morning; the "Rocket" left the "Belle Sauvage," Ludgate Hill, every morning at half-past eight, calling at the "White Bear," Piccadilly, at nine, and arriving (quite the speediest coach of this road) at the "Fountain,"

Portsmouth, at half-past five, just in time for tea; while the "Light Post" coach took quite two hours longer on the journey, leaving London at eight in the morning, and only reaching its destination in time for a late dinner at seven p.m.

The "Night Post" coach, travelling all night, from seven o'clock to half-past seven the next morning, took an intolerable time; the "Hero,"

which started from the "Spread Eagle," Gracechurch Street, at eight a.m., did better, bringing weary pa.s.sengers to their destination in ten hours; and the "Portsmouth Telegraph" flew between the "Golden Cross," Charing Cross, and the "Blue Posts," Portsmouth, in nine hours and a half.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "ELEPHANT AND CASTLE," 1826.]

V

[Sidenote: _OLD-TIME TRAVELLERS_]

Many were the travellers in olden times upon the Portsmouth Road, from Kings and Queens--who, indeed, did not "travel," but "progressed"--to Amba.s.sadors, n.o.bles, Admirals of the Red, the White, the Blue, and sailor-men of every degree. The admirals went, of course, in their own coaches, the captains more frequently in public conveyances, and the common ruck of sailors went, I fear, either on foot, or in the rumble-tumble attached to the hinder part of the slower stages; or even in the stage-wagons, which took the best part of three days to do the distance between the "Elephant and Castle" and Portsmouth Hard. If they had been paid off at Portsmouth and came eventually to London, they would doubtless have walked, and with no very steady step at that, for the furies of Gosport and the red-visaged trolls of Portsea took excellent good care that Jack should be fooled to the top of his bent, and that having been done, there would be little left either for coach journeys or indeed anything else, save a few s.h.i.+llings for that indispensable sailor's drink, rum. So, however Jack might go _down_ to Portsmouth, it is tolerably certain that he in many cases either tramped to London on his return from a cruise, or else was carried in one of those lumbering stage-wagons that, drawn by eight horses, crawled over these seventy-three miles with all the airy grace and tripping step of the tortoise. He lay, with one or two companions, upon the noisome straw of the interior, alternately swigging at the rum-bottle which when all else had failed him was his remaining stay, and singing, with husky and uncertain voice, seafaring chanties or patriotic songs, salty of the sea, of the type of the "Saucy Arethusa" or "Hearts of Oak." He was a nauseous creature, full of animal and ardent spirits, redolent of rum, and radiant of strange and most objectionable oaths. He had, perhaps, been impressed into the Navy against his will; had seen, and felt, hard knocks, and expected--nay, hoped--to see and feel more yet, and, whatever might come to him, he did his very best to enjoy the fleeting hour, careless of the morrow. He was frankly Pagan, and fatalist to a degree, but he and his like won our battles by sea and made England mistress of the waves, and so we should contrive all our might to blink his many faults, and apply a telescope of the most powerful kind to a consideration of his sterling virtues of bull-dog courage and cheerfulness under the misfortunes which he brought upon himself.

[Sidenote: _PETER SIMPLE_]

Marryat gives us in "Peter Simple" a vivid and convincing picture of the sailor going to Portsmouth to rejoin his s.h.i.+p. He must have witnessed many such scenes on his journeys to and from the great naval station, and it is very likely that this incident of the novel was drawn from actual observation.

Peter is setting out for Portsmouth for the first time, and everything is new to him. He starts of course from the time-honoured starting-point of the Portsmouth coaches, the historic "Elephant and Castle"; now, alas!

nothing but a huge ordinary "public," where a grimy railway-station and tinkling tram-cars have taken the place of the old stage-coaches.

"Before eight," says Peter, "I had arrived at the 'Elephant and Castle,'

where we stopped for a quarter of an hour. I was looking at the painting representing this animal with a castle on its back; and a.s.suming that of Alnwick, which I had seen, as a fair estimate of the size and weight of that which he carried, was attempting to enlarge my ideas so as to comprehend the stupendous bulk of the elephant, when I observed a crowd a.s.sembled at the corner; and asking a gentleman who sat by me in a plaid cloak whether there was not something very uncommon to attract so many people, he replied, 'Not very, for it is only a drunken sailor.'

"I rose from my seat, which was on the hinder part of the coach, that I might see him, for it was a new sight to me, and excited my curiosity; when, to my astonishment, he staggered from the crowd, and swore that he'd go to Portsmouth. He climbed up by the wheel of the coach and sat down by me. I believe that I stared at him very much, for he said to me--

"'What are you gaping at, you young sculping? Do you want to catch flies?

or did you never see a chap half-seas-over before?'

"I replied, 'that I had never been to sea in my life, but that I was going.'

"'Well then, you're like a young bear, all your sorrows to come--that's all, my hearty,' replied he. 'When you get on board, you'll find monkey's allowance--more kicks than halfpence. I say, you pewter-carrier, bring us another pint of ale.'

"The waiter of the inn, who was attending the coach, brought out the ale, half of which the sailor drank, and the other half threw into the waiter's face, telling him 'that was his allowance. And now,' said he, 'what's to pay?' The waiter, who looked very angry, but appeared too much afraid of the sailor to say anything, answered fourpence: and the sailor pulled out a handful of bank-notes, mixed up with gold, silver, and coppers, and was picking out the money to pay for his beer, when the coachman, who was impatient, drove off.

"'There's cut and run,' cried the sailor, thrusting all the money into his breeches pocket. 'That's what you'll learn to do, my joker, before you have been two cruises to sea.'

"In the meantime the gentleman in the plaid cloak, who was seated by me, smoked his cigar without saying a word. I commenced a conversation with him relative to my profession, and asked him whether it was not very difficult to learn.

"'Larn,' cried the sailor, interrupting us, 'no; it may be difficult for such chaps as me before the mast to larn, but you, I presume, is a reefer, and they a'n't got much to larn, 'cause why, they pipeclays their weekly accounts, and walks up and down with their hands in their pockets. You must larn to chaw baccy, drink grog, and call the cat a beggar, and then you knows all a mids.h.i.+pman's expected to know now-a-days. Ar'n't I right, sir?' said the sailor, appealing to the gentleman in a plaid cloak. 'I axes you, because I see you're a sailor by the cut of your jib. Beg pardon, sir,' continued he, touching his hat, 'hope no offence.'

"'I am afraid that you have nearly hit the mark, my good fellow,' replied the gentleman.

[Sidenote: _THE DRUNKEN SAILOR_]