A THEATRICAL CHUM
I must now revert to my old theatrical friend, John Spencer, who had returned from America. He was greatly changed in appearance, so that I scarcely knew him by sight; he put me in mind of a Spanish brigand. Spencer, while in the States, had gone through the Civil War, having served, he told me, on the sides of both North and South. He was first pressed into service while travelling with a circus. The request was put to the whole company, who ’listed as one man, and joined the Confederate Army. Spencer was put in as express rider, his duty being to act as mounted postman from one camp to another. It was while on one of these journeys that he was made a prisoner. He had a large amount of money in notes upon him, but this he managed to hand unnoticed to a civilian friend. As a prisoner he was taken to Washington. Being a first-class misdemeanant, he was allowed to patrol the streets, which, however, were closely watched, and it seemed an impossibility for him to pass the sentinels. But John had knocked about the world a good deal, and had had his wits sharpened, and by a “theatrical stratagem” he managed to evade the outposts and to make his escape. He stopped at a dye-house some distance out of Washington, and was fortunate enough there to meet with a friend from his native district—Sam Brook, a theatrical amateur, from Crossflatts, near Bingley. Sam furnished his erstwhile companion of the stage with a dyer’s wearing apparel, and, thus disguised, Spencer managed to get back to the place where he had been captured, and to recover the notes which he had deposited with the person mentioned. With this money Spencer seems to have got back to England. Arrived at Keighley, he sent for me, and nothing would satisfy him but that I should break off work at once and help him, so to speak, to “mak t’ brass fly.” Together we travelled nearly all over Great Britain, and also paid a visit to Paris. It was in the French capital that Spencer found the money getting “beautifully less,” and he concluded that it would be better for all concerned if we returned to Keighley. This we did. Soon after, Spencer took up a position as traveller for the Bradford Old Brewery Company. But the English climate did not seem to suit him—far from it; there were certain peculiarities about his constitution which said as much. It was with much pain that one morning I heard of his death, which had taken place very suddenly at the house of his father, who was landlord of the Bay Horse Inn. The Rev Mr Goodman, then the Baptist minister, officiated at the funeral of the deceased, and, I recollect, spoke of the awful suddenness of death. His remarks, I felt, were directed to myself, and I was very uncomfortable the while. Among the many persons present at the funeral was “Doctor” John Walton, who was at one time in partnership with Mr Anthony Spencer and Mr Henry Newton as herbalists, &c.