The Snake-Oil Dickens Man. Ross Gilfillan
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near the river, in Bermondsey.
‘I had precious little money and eked out what food I allowed myself each day. My palate no longer revolted at thin, fatty soup and stale bread. I sought employment but my expectations were soon spiralling giddily downwards. After seeking positions in government offices, I tried to find reporting work on newspapers and in Doctors’ Commons and then applied for a succession of posts as personal tutor and as schoolmaster. Perhaps my foreignness of manner or appearance – for I had pawned my suit and looked now much reduced in circumstances – counted against me. I tried for work as a lowly clerk and then, when calamity loomed and nothing was in prospect, I offered myself as a labourer – to builders and rag merchants before seeking work on the docks amidst which I lived. But still I was without success. I have not the build of a labourer and my hands, that are more used to the feel of a book’s leathern cover than a pick’s shaft, betrayed my unfitness for the work.
‘When I had nothing left for food and only some days’ rent of the room, I joined those people who glean a small living from picking over the ash heaps and do other unmentionable work in the fight for existence. I failed in my every endeavour; others more tried and used to these conditions faired better and took what I might have had.
‘My poor diet, my hag-ridden mind and the foul places I was obliged to habituate affected my health, which soon deteriorated and I wandered about the docks, devoured by hunger and becoming weaker by the hour. When all hope had departed and I no longer had a roof above my head, fortune came to my aid in the form of a fellow countryman, John Andrews, of New Bedford, Massachusetts.
‘To my shame I had been contemplating suicide and intended to offer myself to the embrance of the river and become only another of the frightful things that were daily washed ashore or discovered in the mud at the ebb of the tide. To this end, I had been making my way through bustling places where gangs of men were unloading ships, and great consignments of goods from across the oceans were being hoisted aloft into warehouses, where sailors came and went between chandlers’ shops, instrument-makers and pawn-brokers and spilled out from low taverns and brothels. There was nowhere here that suited my fatal purpose and I went on, down a narrow street between high warehouses, towards a quieter part of the waterfront.
‘It was here that I fell against John Andrews, or he against me. I was weak and dizzy, he drunk. Whatever the origin of the accident, I collided with his massive bulk and the air was filled with his imprecations and I saw the blade of a knife glint in the waning sunlight. I don’t know what I said. I know I asked for no mercy and may well have implored him to do his work swiftly. I expected the deadly blow and no more.
‘I next found myself upon the cobbles and for a moment I thought myself cut and that my life blood must be seeping away towards the river. But I felt the fire of brandy in my throat and the face of the sailor was before me. “I’ll be damned,” he was saying. “A Yankee!”
‘He had a good heart, this Andrews and when I told him of my plight, he helped me to a tavern and watched me like a mother as I devoured a plate of lamb cutlets and potatoes. When I was much improved by the meat and the port-wine he made me drink, he bid me tell my story, which I did in full. He said I had been a fool and I said I could hardly argue that point and that my only wish was to return home to America. I might sink or swim there but I would be among my own, which I thought must be an infinitely more hopeful situation. I owned, however, that there was small hope of that.
‘Andrews only laughed, a big and booming laugh, that had the sailors and porters and prostitutes turning towards our table. “What a weak specimen of American manhood you are” he said, “to falter at such a low fence.” He called to a man at the bar, who was entertaining not one, but two ladies of the London night. “Jack,” he called, “I have an educated Yankee here, the very man for you.”
‘Later I would thank God for my fortune. Then, I only thanked John Andrews, for introducing me to Jack Fairchild, first mate of the passenger steam packet Britannia, due to set out from Liverpool for Halifax and Boston the next week and still in pressing need of a steward.’
Elijah paused and I wondered if he had finished for the day or had merely stopped to collect his thoughts. I was dead tired and my handwriting had become a record of my exhaustion. He took a breath and continued his story. There was a journey to Liverpool, a sea voyage and I thought I heard mention of Charles Dickens. But by then I must been dozing because the next thing I knew, Elijah was saying, ‘Enough, boy, enough,’ and lifting me upon the sofa, where I gave myself up to sleep.
IV
I was fairly blown along the road to town. The wind had gotten up while I slept and from the top of the hill I could see the fun that nature was having with man and his workings below. The big banners we had hung this morning were gone as was the bunting on the plaza. Small objects were chasing around in pockets of chaos and people were running about in the streets, for reasons I couldn’t guess at that distance.
Elijah had been incensed that when I awoke I had made feeble excuses and gone quickly, anxious that I was missing the arrival of Barnum’s show, but that was no matter; this was too big a deal to miss. There was no sign of any such event having occurred as yet. I crossed an empty plaza and was caught in a sudden blast that funnelled violently into Main Street, sweeping up a huge cloud of dust and straw, chaff and grit, hurling it against the offices of the Bugle and into the eyes of anyone who looked the wrong way.
Some part of the crowds of the morning could be seen through the windows of the saloon and in other places of refuge but hardier folk were on the street, appearing and disappearing in clouds of wind-born debris and mouthing words I couldn’t hear, because of the dreadful ruckus created by the wind as it whistled through fissures, loosened tin roofs and went searching for anything that wasn’t nailed down.
Women found their skirts turned sails and relinquished any choice of direction but the movements of a conspicuous party of men retained some purpose; they were darting this way and that and with bandannas and handkerchiefs covering their faces, they might have been a great gang of outlaws or a band of Confederate renegades, searching for a bank to rob.
One of their number separated from the pack and the dentist, Abe Oliver, was blown over my way. ‘Nice weather we got for Barnum,’ I hollered to him but he startled me by spinning me about and pinioning my arms behind my back. The cry went up, ‘They’ve got one of them!’ and many hands laid hold of me and hustled me along the sidewalk and into a sheltered alley. I was thrown to the ground and a crowd of townsfolk gathered about me, not one of them looking like he bore me any goodwill. I need hardly say that I was bewildered and not a little alarmed at this strange turn of events.
‘What’s the matter? Whatever’s happened?’
‘As if he don’t know!’ snapped Abe. ‘Where’s our money, you thief?’
Mrs Roop, the druggist’s wife was shouting into my face, ‘You’ll pay, you will. Every penny, you’ll pay!’
‘Where’s our money?’ went up again.
Someone at the back said, ‘Git a rope.’
‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ I cried. ‘What are you about?’ I must have looked white with fright, because someone else said, ‘Let up on him, Abe. Maybe he wasn’t in on this.’
‘On what?’ I cried and Judge Eckert, who had elbowed through the crowd and was now keeping the rougher elements from exacting their own justice on me, said: ‘We’ll find out the whys and wherefores in a proper place. Now, boy, let’s have the truth. Have you been a part of this?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, ‘I’ve been with Elijah Putnam all afternoon. What’s happened?’
‘I’ll tell you what’s happened, boy. The men you kindly brought to this town don’t have nothing to do with P.T. Barnum. They’re guinea-droppers and sharpers and they just lit out of here with all the ticket money.’
He must have known I was innocent from the look on my face.
‘How do you know?’ I stammered. ‘Maybe they’ve