Part 35

“SEFTON PARK CHURCH, LIVERPOOL. “REV. JOHN WATSON, 18 SEFTON DRIVE. “Jan. 1, 1897.

“MY DEAR MAJOR:

“First of all let me wish you both a very Happy New Year, in which wish Mrs. Watson desires to join. May the ‘Stars’ all be bright and shining this year! We had rather a rough passage home, but after the first two days suffered nothing, and arrived home at 3 A.M. on the Thursday morning in good health, to get a warm welcome here.

“A reception was held in the church that day, and an address was presented, with a bouquet of flowers to Mrs. Watson. Letters from all kinds of people poured in to welcome us. I send two papers.

“We have suffered nothing from our journeys; in fact people declare that we never looked better--so there is a feather in your cap, Major; you did send us home as well as we came.

“My heart is warm to America, and I hope some day to see her good people again under your care; but I fear the day is far off. With kindest regards,

“Yours faithfully, “JOHN WATSON.”

* * * * *

Hall Caine is one of the most remarkable of personalities. A man of not over forty years, of slender frame, middle height, and having a slight stoop, he carries in all his movements the evidence of the intense nervous organization with which he is endowed. He is refined and gentle in speech and manner, low-voiced, with simple ways, giving at every turn evidences of kindliness of feeling and sensitiveness to all emotion. He is never fretful, though of so remarkable a nervous temperament. He dresses very quietly.

As a speaker he would be very effective if he left his manuscript alone entirely. His voice is low but clear, with a vibrant note of personal appeal in it. Toward the close of a reading or lecture it would grow a little husky, and under the strain of feeling at times a trifle indistinct. Occasionally he would put his notes or manuscript aside and appeal directly to the audience, pouring out for a few minutes an electric, eloquent flood of sentences which would bring enthusiastic response. He is original, though not sensational, in manner. As an author-reader he followed Sir Edwin Arnold in originality by having specially prepared for reading an unpublished story--in substance a condensed novel. His handwriting is an index of his temperament, small, fine, and nervous in style.

The play of “The Christian” was entirely written on fine white note paper not over six by four inches in size. The writing is so small as almost to require a magnifying glass to read it, and it did not occupy more than two-thirds of the page, with the names of the characters, etc., set on separate lines and running to the farther edge of the paper.

I had been in correspondence with him for a number of years with the view of making him a star lyceum attraction. I never could get his consent, although I had very encouraging symptoms. We became great friends. While in Europe, Mrs. Pond and I visited him at Greba Castle on the Isle of Man, and declared it the most interesting part of our English journey that summer. I came home, however, with very little encouragement. He had just finished “The Christian,” and the last page of copy had gone to the printer’s. He was cleaning out his library and workshop, and there were thousands of manuscript pages that he had rewritten and cross-written which he was throwing away. I asked the privilege of saving a few, and am now sorry that I didn’t take the whole barrel. I disliked to see them swept out.

A year later Mr. Caine came to this country to produce the play “The Christian.” While that was being rehearsed there was hardly a day that he did not come to my office, as many of his letters were addressed there and he stayed at the Everett House. He advised with me a good deal concerning many things, which I considered a very high honor. After the play had got thoroughly established, I persuaded him to consent to give a few readings in Boston, Albany, Rochester, Buffalo, Toronto, Detroit, Chicago, Cincinnati, Baltimore, and Washington.

The overwhelming success of the play of “The Christian” had in some way led Mr. Caine to believe that there would be the same sort of rush of people to hear the author of “The Christian.” While there were good-paying audiences and of the most select people, of course there were not galleries and big crowds such as Mr. Caine had been accustomed to see at performances of the play. The disappointment affected him very much. I had all I could do to keep him cheered up.

At Albany and Troy the houses were very small. The play of “The Christian” had its first production in Albany, turning people away, and with thirty curtain calls. There Mr. Caine had banked upon a great reception. The receipts were small, but he was making $500 a day on “The Christian.” then running in New York. Why, I said, should he let a little thing like that worry him. I tried to convince him that so far as money was concerned he did not need it, and that it just happened to be an inopportune time that we visited Albany; in other cities it would be all right. We had fair business in Rochester, a large house in Toronto, an overflowing house in Cleveland, and a matinee in Detroit before a crowded house.

Wherever Mr. Caine went, there were invitations for all sorts of social affairs, which he accepted and enjoyed very much. I learned, while on this trip, that to have him at his best was at a dinner or social club after his performance. There could not be a more delightful, brilliant, entertaining man in conversation.

In Chicago he reserved an evening for the Manxmen residents of that city, who gave him a dinner. They were all from the Isle of Man, his native land. They talked Manx, ate Manx, and drank Manx (principally water). It was a strange crowd, and Mr. Hall Caine towered above everybody else in it. His was the only speech, as no one else there could talk. It was an interesting occasion.

F. Marion Crawford is a man I love very much. I have the honor to call him friend. Had this popular author adopted a career of politics rather than the vocation of letters, he would have secured for himself a position in the councils of the republic almost equal in influence to that which he occupies as a writer of healthy and invigorating novels.

Fortunate in possessing a commanding presence, he has added to this an uninterrupted flow of choice and vivid language, and natural gestures which emphasize his magnificent word-pictures and carry conviction to those who listen to his appeals to manliness and universal tolerance.

He is a man who at all times has spoken his mind on religious subjects, with pride of strong conviction unmixed with defiance; a lecturer who handles his subject in a manner that is at once captivating, judicious, and wisely moderate. He breathes the very spirit of his novels--the spirit of human brotherhood, with hatred for all things petty and mean.

F. Marion Crawford carries his own stationery and pen and ink, and never writes with any other. He uses a “Falcon” pen, and has written every word of every novel with the same penholder. He was always writing. His “Ave Roma Immortalis” was written during this lecture tour. In a copy that he signed and presented to me he wrote,

* * * * *

“TO THE MAJOR:

“From his friend and old lecturer, “F. MARION CRAWFORD.

“The chapter on Julius Cæsar in this book was written chiefly on the train while we were travelling together in the West in 1898.”

* * * * *

The first thing upon entering his room at a hotel, Mr. Crawford arranges his writing materials, always in the same manner. The table is placed so that the light will fall from his left. He sits with his side to the table, his right arm resting on it, and the paper parallel with its length. He writes a very fine hand, and very rapidly, punctuating as he goes along. When a page is finished it is finished, and a work of art.

He arranges his bath and toilet articles, also, in a uniform way invariably. He never patronizes a local laundry. He has two leather trunks, made to order, that hold two dozen shirts; when one trunkful of shirts has been used he sends them to New York to be laundered, and the other trunk of fresh shirts arrives by express in time for his need.

The novelist carries a hand valise that he had made to order, with very long handles, so that it barely clears the pavement when carried. This enables him to get through a crowd without annoying others with his valise, for it is never in the way. His silver monogram is on every article of his toilet and writing equipment and his travelling-bags.

He wants his room at a temperature of sixty degrees, and so has it. He is very kind and polite to servants, and sees to it that each one who serves him is justly rewarded, not only pecuniarily, but with kind words.

Mr. Crawford asks the name of every servant or waiter who attends him, and addresses him by his name; and if he has occasion to refer to any hotel where he has been, he can recall the name of the one who served him.

He always has a drawing-room in the sleeping-car, and I know of only one instance, in a journey of seven thousand miles, where he failed to secure one. He arranges his drawing-room in exactly the same methodical way as his hotel room. He has a hanging alarm clock that is always in sight.

He sees the bright side of everything, and never says an ill-natured word. He is not fond of company, and receptions are especially irksome to him; but under such conditions he is always the perfect gentleman.

It was a long time before I could persuade him to prepare a lecture and devote a season to the platform. In the spring of 1898 he called at my office and asked me what my proposition was. I told him that I would do the same with him that I did with Stanley and others: make it a partnership arrangement, he taking two-thirds of the profit and I one-third, and I personally conducting the tour.

So we began early in October of that season. He had prepared four lectures: “The Early Italian Artists,” “Italian Home Life in the Middle Ages,” “The Italy of Horace,” and “Leo XIII. in the Vatican,” and returned to Italy for the summer to fit himself for his platform tour. He began on the 28th of October in Bridgeport, Conn., before one of the most select literary clubs in the country. I received a letter from the committee in Bridgeport which had engaged him, thanking me for the most delightful, scholarly lecture that club had ever offered to its members. I saw that Mr. Crawford was a success. His time was booked six nights a week, from November 1st to the following April. It was one of the most extensive and successful tours I have ever made with a star.

He lectured before the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences, one of the most intelligent audiences in the country. The house was closely packed, and on the platform were a number of the leading citizens of Brooklyn, including St. Clair McKelway, Mayor Schieren, the Rev. Dr. Lyman Abbott, and Dr. Richard S. Storrs. Dr. Abbott said such nice things of the lecture at its close that I asked him if I might have the privilege of publicly quoting his words. In reply, he sent me the following letter:

* * * * *

“BROOKLYN, N. Y., Jan. 19, 1898.

“MY DEAR MAJOR POND:

“I heard with great interest Mr. Crawford’s lecture on ‘Leo XIII. and the Vatican,’ and am glad to be quoted anywhere as saying what I said at the close of that lecture, that I am sure wherever it is delivered it will help to remove prejudice of Protestants against Romanists and of Romanists against Protestants.

“Mr. Crawford’s literary skill needs no indorsement from me, and his ability in analysis of character and in portrait painting is seen to great advantage in his graphic picture of Leo XIII.

Yours sincerely, “LYMAN ABBOTT.”

* * * * *

He lectured in the Northern cities until the 30th of January, and then made a tour through the principal cities of the South, and up through Texas and Kansas City, Mo., where I met him on the 12th of March and accompanied him across the continent to San Francisco and Southern California, back up the coast to Seattle, Victoria, B. C., Portland, Ore., Helena, Mont., and several other towns in Montana, closing in Fargo, N. Dak., on the 27th of April.

In our travel across the plains from Kansas City to Denver, I pointed out to Mr. Crawford where I had shot my first buffalo and many scenes of Indian fights and adventure, all of which he seemed to enjoy just as much as I did. In all, we spent twenty-two weeks and travelled twenty-six thousand miles. Our journey across the continent, through California, and up the coast was a succession of pleasurable events. With the exception of Mr. Beecher, I never had been associated with a man who interested himself so much in everything in which I was interested. We were inseparable, and there were many incidents of our journey which were really memorable in the cities where we visited.

In the Brigham Young Normal College, Provo, Utah, where over six hundred young men and women were being taught as missionaries to go all over the world and make converts to the Mormon faith, Mr. Crawford gave his lecture on “Leo XIII. in the Vatican” to as attentive an audience as I have ever known, and what was remarkable to Mr. Crawford and me were the characteristic interruptions of the audience. These people are accustomed to being addressed constantly, as all Mormons are preachers or speakers. Mr. Crawford said that he had some of the keenest questions put to him in regard to characters in his book and religious arguments that he had ever encountered. He was so pleased that he gave the college library a complete set of his books, which he signed and forwarded to that institution on his return from the journey.

Mr. Crawford’s lecture in Salt City was largely attended by a most remarkable audience. The Roman Catholic bishop, four Mormon bishops, and clergymen of all the different denominations residing there, were present. In the Methodist Church the lecturer was introduced by the Methodist pastor, and sixty per cent of the audience were Mormons, among whom were several of Brigham Young’s daughters, sons, and daughters-in-law.

The reception to the lecturer by the Ladies’ Press Club was held in the historic Bee-hive House, the former home of Brigham Young, where Mary Ann Angel, his first, and, as he claimed in his will, his legitimate wife, and a number of other wives had lived. Mormons and Gentiles were about equally represented. Among those present were some of the prophet’s daughters and many of his grandchildren and other former polygamous wives. There were army officers from Fort Douglas, with their wives, the Presbyterian and Episcopalian ministers and their wives, all mingling with one another without prejudice. From all appearances they were mutually enjoying the occasion. To me it seemed strange.

The Mormon religion is as firmly founded and progressive as any. The Mormon people, trained in industry and fealty, are as sincere as ever. Many “Gentiles” of former days have married Mormon women and joined the church. They had to do it if they got the wives, for one of their religious tenets is to marry young and increase the church, and the women have never known any other religion. There are now over three thousand missionaries in various parts of the world preaching the Mormon faith and sending converts by thousands every year to Utah. All the valleys and mountain cañons are becoming closely settled with homes made for these immigrant converts. They are spreading all over Nevada, Arizona, Idaho, Montana, Colorado, Northern Mexico, and Manitoba. Industrious, honest, frugal, patiently toiling, they are enriching the great mountain country, and doing it quietly while they work unceasingly. What is to be the result? The Mormon religion is surely growing.

The attendance was very great in Southern California, where Mr. Crawford met a large number of his readers and friends. What was particularly interesting on the tour was the great interest taken in him by all the Catholic priests. Invariably the leading priest called on him wherever he visited. Whenever we arrived at a city where there was a bishop, he would secure a carriage and his first call was on the bishop. He claimed that that was his duty. I had an opportunity to observe that among the best-educated men in the land are the Catholic priests. At Riverside, Cal., Father Sherman, the son of Gen. William T. Sherman, took great pains to entertain us in that interesting city. I would not have missed the opportunity of meeting Father Sherman for a good deal, as his father had been one of my dearest friends.

One night in San Francisco, after having returned from Oakland, we were seated in the grill-room of the Palace Hotel, our supper partly finished, engaged in conversation, when I suddenly said:

“Mr. Crawford, are we in the dining-car? See how these dishes are dancing.”

Mr. Crawford pulled out his watch and said:

“It’s an earthquake, Major. Don’t be frightened. I’ve been in fifty of them. It will only last twenty seconds.”

Then I saw chandeliers swinging, heard glass falling, and saw sober people staggering; meanwhile we were being shaken with vibrations like a milk shake, beginning slowly for, say ten seconds, then coming to the hardest part of the shock. Our table and chairs, and we in them, were being carried along the floor. Suddenly there was a great noise like a tremendous explosion, and then an atmospheric depression indescribable. All who could had rushed out into the streets. Had it not been for Mr. Crawford’s apparent indifference there’s no knowing where the writer would have been. It lasted only forty seconds, so all records agree, but, ah, it seemed a lifetime to most of those who got the benefit of it; for there never could have been a more remarkably exciting scene than the court and corridors of the Palace Hotel presented from the time of the earthquake until daylight. In the grill room were a number of men gathered in groups, with expressions on their faces that showed they were prepared for the worst. None of them smiled or attempted to show unconcern except Mr. Crawford, who kept continually assuring everybody that the whole thing was over--that if a return shock did not come within three minutes there would be none. Every man and woman that I saw was yawning. Whether it was because yawning is catching, or an atmospheric condition caused by the disturbance, it is not easy to tell, but such opening of mouths and such sallow, yellow and green countenances I never witnessed. The elevators began bringing guests to the ground floor, men, women, and children scrambling for the open--in all kinds of costumes that people sleep in, and some badly mixed up; one lady was barefooted, in a man’s overcoat; there were men in pajamas, trousers, and slippers, in overcoats. One man in a simple undershirt tried to jump from the first balcony. He was a short, fat man, weighing, I should say, 350. I thought I recognized him as one of the staff of a certain New York magazine, and called Mr. Crawford’s attention to the fact. He said:

“Yes, that is poor W----.” We hurried to him, only to learn that it was some other person. He was greatly frightened, and embarrassed, too, after coming to his senses; for the undershirt could no more protect his shaking body than the tinfoil on the neck of a champagne bottle could conceal all the champagne. We were glad it was not our friend, but we could not smile for gladness. A smile and an earthquake never appear simultaneously.

Two men fresh from their rooms, in sleeping garb, were supporting a young lady in angel clothes by both arms. They carried her bodily, as she had collapsed. It was pitiable, but not laughable, until next morning. Such calls as this: “Is there a doctor in the house? My wife is dying!” “Oh, can’t you get a doctor quick? I know my husband is dead or dying. Do try. Oh, what will become of us?” “Is there any train leaving right away?” A woman caught hold of a man’s arm, screaming, “Save me! save me!” He tried in his rush and fright to shake her off, but she again cried out: “Save, oh, save me! What shall I do?” Just then he loosened her grasp, saying, “Go to hell!” and she fell prostrate.

Returning to our rooms, I found my bed in the middle of the floor and the centre-table very near the wall; both had moved about four feet. Water was running in the bathroom. On the floor in the hallway lay a young man. I asked him if he felt badly or was in pain. He said: “No, I am in no pain, neither am I frightened. I simply cannot get up. My legs refuse to carry me.” We helped him to a sofa in the corridor, and there left him, at his request, with “Thank you.”

We were to leave for Southern California the following morning. I noticed that Mr. Crawford had some severe spells of coughing on the cars at night, and I thought that the earthquake had affected him more severely than he had cared to tell me. Before retiring he told me that he was going to take me into his confidence, as we were partners and friends, and mentioned the fact that he had been having a good deal of trouble coughing, and that he had had two hemorrhages since I had joined him; that his left lung was very sore, and he might be obliged to return home, but that he intended to finish the tour no matter what the sacrifice, if it were possible. In San Francisco he had been in consultation with a physician who had been recommended to him by his New York physician, and he had been advised to close the tour then and there and return home; but he was in hopes that Southern California might help him. This put a damper on further pleasure for me. I cared nothing whatever as to the business part of it--that never entered my mind; but I assured Mr. Crawford that I would not be the means of his breaking down for a dozen fortunes. He assured me that it was not my fault at all, and that he was going through. He had contracted a cold in New Orleans, and at Pueblo, on a very windy day, he had visited a smelting-works and had inhaled so much of the gas that it had nearly killed him. He received the best of care. We visited Southern California with no serious mishap, went back up to San Francisco for two more lectures, and then to Portland, Ore. At Portland he was seriously ill, and I persuaded him to call in a local physician, who examined him thoroughly, and who told me afterward that only a man of his perfect physique and iron constitution could possibly have continued lecturing. But Mr. Crawford was incorrigible, and insisted that he must be doctored up in order to finish his tour. This physician assured me that the case was very serious, and gave me some medicine and some directions about how to act in case there should be further attacks.

We continued on to Victoria, B. C., and back to Helena, Mont., a town that we had been advised to skip owing to its high altitude. The San Francisco doctor had insisted that it would not do for Mr. Crawford to venture twelve thousand feet above sea-level in Helena. It did no good. We went to Helena. Mr. Crawford gave two lectures there to the two largest audiences we had between the Pacific Ocean and the Missouri River. Then we went on to Winnipeg, and home. I was satisfied that Mr. Crawford’s days were numbered. I had promised to say nothing to any one about it, and I never did mention it, and would not do so now, were it not for the fact that Mr. Crawford has written me that he has fully recovered. During all the time Mr. Crawford kept up his writing, and was always cheerful. It was his wonderful power of abstraction and courage that carried him through this ordeal.