There were two ushers to the fourth form who took duty in turns. One a stout, sombre-looking man, whose sole enjoyment appeared to be to sit out on the riverside of the Thames and smoke, drink beer, and read. I think I became rather useful to the boys as I could always find them bait, and knew where the best fishing was to be had, and would get them white mice. The other usher was a very much younger man, and better liked, as he would bring the boys to certain places and leave us to ourselves, with strict instructions to meet him at six. Usually the place of meeting was the Monster Tavern, at the end of the Willow Walk. We very soon found out that he was courting a young lady at a tavern in the Vauxhall Bridge Road. I recollect one Wednesday before Palm Sunday we had been left at the ferry to go over to Battersea fields for the afternoon. We wandered about amusing ourselves till we got to Latchmere, at the bottom of Pig Hill. They were then building the South Western Railway, and the land was all open so we wandered along by the side of the stream, about six feet wide, that bounded the long gardens of the large houses in the Wandsworth Road. It had willow trees on the banks on each side, and we began to
gather palm, when we came to one tree on the opposite bank that had some exceptionally fine bits, but out of our reach. So we tied our handkerchiefs together, placed a large stone in the end and threw them as a lasso over the end of the branch and drew it to us. Four or five of us pulled it over and held it while the others were to gather. I was at the end pulling with all my strength, when all at once I found myself lying on my face on the other side of the stream in the garden, with the old gardener standing over me. I was tolerably scared. He collared me and took me up the garden into a sort of paved yard, and placed me between a dog kennel, occupied by a tremendous mastiff, and a pump, just outside the reach of the dog’s chain. The dog seemed to treat me with the most utter contempt. I do not think he would have hurt me, as he simply walked up and down and sniffed a bit, and then laid down and went to sleep. As I stood on one side I had a view of the kitchen or scullery with the servants, and on the other side through an open doorway in the wall, I had a view of the lawn and flower garden, and the glass casements of the dining room.
I was kept standing there for more than two hours, when my captor, the old gardener, came and had a look at me, and went into the house and
returned with a stout red-faced man, with no hat and a white handkerchief round his neck, who went into the house. It had got dark by this time, and the lights were lit; he presently returned, and the cowardly old brute, took me by the collar and almost choked me, and pressed his great coarse knuckles into my neck, and tried to hurt me as much as he could. I should have liked to have had him to myself for a little time. I know his poor old shins would have known it. He fairly dragged me into the house and through a glass door into the dining room, where there were at least ten or twelve ladies and gentlemen at dessert. I was taken to the end of the table, where a tall, white-haired old gentleman sat who was very deaf, and I was questioned by two or three of them, and one gentleman who looked like a clergyman, began to lecture me and said how wicked it was to come into a gentleman’s garden to steal the fruit. One young lady said, “Oh, Pa, that cannot be, there is no fruit now.” From questions by one and the other I had to tell them everything; the usher’s going courting seemed to rather amuse the young people. After being seriously talked to I was allowed to go, and was taken out into the front hall, when one of the young ladies came out with a bunch of grapes and some figs and thrust into my hand, and at the side
door by the stables I was met by one of the maid servants with a lump of pudding. I very soon made my way down Falcon Lane to the High Street and turned into Church Street, and as I passed old Battersea Church I knew it was nine o’clock, as the bells began to ring—as they did every evening at that time. I think that was about the last of our Wednesday afternoon outings alone, as it came to the knowledge of the usher, and he was afraid it might get to the school authorities.
CHAPTER 3.—Entertainments and Sports.
Entertainment or amusement in Chelsea was very poor, as there was no room or place for the purpose. The only one I can recollect was when a professor of mesmerism and clairvoyance came down and took the skittle ground at the back of the “George and Dragon.” He was a thin, shabby old man, dressed in black with very dirty linen. With him were his wife, and two girls—his daughters, he informed us—one about twelve and the other about fourteen, with ringlets, shabbily dressed and closely covered up in old cloaks. They did all the advertising and canvassing themselves, by taking round the bills and trying to sell tickets at sixpence each. The sides of the skittle ground were decorated by the hanging of table covers, curtains, pieces of carpet, sheets, or anything else that would cover over the walls. The platform at the end was composed of the taproom tables with some boards across, an old square piano belonging to the house stood on the floor; the lighting was effected by double tin sconces hung on the wall with two tallow dips in each. The seating accommodation for the ticket
holders consisted of chairs; those who paid threepence at the doors had forms or planks to sit on with a gangway down the middle. The performance commenced about seven by one of the young ladies playing the piano, and the other a triangle, the old lady being engaged in taking the money at the entrance. The professor mounted the platform and addressed his audience, commenting upon the wonderful and mysterious scene he was about to enact. He commenced with the usual conjuring tricks of borrowing a hat and making a pudding in it and bringing a live pigeon and a large cabbage out of it, and then returning the hat undamaged to its owner, which to us children was a great wonder. Then came the card tricks, and the ventriloquial dialogue with the puppets, with a handkerchief over each hand to form the figures, and then the grand event of the evening. The table was removed from the platform and replaced by two chairs, and the two girls, dressed in white frocks and yellow sashes, came on. After addressing the audience, he proceeded to throw the elder one into a trance, which he appeared to succeed in doing, for she stood perfectly upright and still. He then placed the two chairs a certain distance apart, back to back, and taking the girl up in his arms, laid her on her back with her head resting on the back of one chair and her
feet on the other, and she remained so for some minutes. Next he lifted up the other girl and placed her standing with one foot on her sister’s chest, and the other at her knees, and she remained so for some minutes, when she was taken down and placed with her back to the company for the usual thought-reading performance. At the end, as an extra, a pale, sickly youth was introduced, and sang “Wapping Old Stairs,” and “Sally in our Alley,” the young lady playing the accompaniment, much to the satisfaction of the company. At the conclusion a plate was sent round to collect for the benefit of the artist.
Chelsea Regatta was a grand day, usually about Whitsuntide, when rowing took place for various prizes, subscribed for by the inhabitants, the publicans being the most active promoters, and the leading gentry patrons and liberal subscribers; first among them the Bayfords and the Owens, great rowing men and very liberal to the watermen. I think one of the Bayfords was the first winner of the silver sculls. The amount collected at a time would be as much as fifty or sixty pounds. There was a grand prize, a boat to cost twenty pounds, and various money prizes. The limit of entries was twelve, to be drawn by lot by Chelsea watermen, with certain restrictions. The race was in two