CHAPTER III.
In the account that I have given of Rowland Hill’s mental training, I have, in more than one place, been carried somewhat out of the regular course of my narrative. I must now return to the time when he was still a mere boy, and was as yet but little aware how boundless is the ocean of knowledge, on whose shores he had picked up but the tiniest of shells. He would not by any means have been accounted a forward child. In any school famous for learning he would have taken a low place. Nevertheless, his comrades had not failed to discover his peculiar power. One of his brothers thus writes about him:—
“My brother Rowland’s character is, to a considerable extent, portrayed in the History of Penny Postage; and, amongst the rest, his power of commanding success. But it may be well for me to testify, relative to this quality, that he showed it from a very early age. For myself, I can say that whenever I knew that he had set an object before him, I felt sure that it would be attained; and yet this was not from any high estimate of his talents; for, being less than three years his junior, and perhaps of a more sprightly and imaginative disposition, I fear I was wont to assume in comparing his mental powers with mine, and certainly did not soon recognise their high order. Probably, if I analyzed my feeling at all, I based it chiefly on belief in his perseverance. Again and again I had seen work prosper in his hands, and had had few or no failures to point to; whereas I knew that I was ever devising mighty plans which came to nothing. His early performances were chiefly of a mechanical nature, and diligent practice rendered him very fertile in resources—a fact of which I was well aware years before I could have designated the power by its proper term.”
It was in the management of the school theatre that this fertility in resources first became conspicuous. His younger brother, Arthur, had a strong dramatic turn, and was eager, like many another lad of thirteen, to strut and fret his hour upon the stage. Others he found ready to join him, and then for aid and advice he turned to Rowland, who was by two years his senior.
“The more I told them about the cost and other difficulties, the more anxious they grew as to the success of their enterprise, until at length, by their joint entreaty, I was prevailed on to assume the management; undertaking myself to paint the scenes, construct the machinery, and direct the whole course of action. I declined to become a performer, having no turn that way.”[35] The young company put their money into a common stock. The Manager recorded in his Journal:—“A code of laws was drawn up for the management of the theatre, and we were very exact in the observance of them. I was constituted manager, with power to appoint the different actors, and, under certain restrictions, to appropriate the funds in what way I pleased.”
It was in the summer of 1811 that they formed their plans; but it was not till the Easter of the following year that they were ready to give their first performance. Their difficulties were great. The school-room was to be their theatre; and in the school-room they could only work before the boys had risen, and after they had gone to bed. In the code of laws which governed the company, it was laid down that they should rise an hour before the usual time. Whatever scenery they set up had always to be taken down before lessons began. The room was long, but narrow, and not lofty enough to allow the scenes, at the time of shifting, to be drawn up. Not one of the company had ever been behind the curtain of a real theatre. Rowland, however, undertook to be architect, carpenter, scene-painter, and manager. He had, by this time, become most expert in the use of his tools. He was never so happy as when he was working in his carpenter’s shop. His knowledge of drawing and painting was also turned to good account. He began by carefully planning his work, and taking the most exact measurements. So accurately had everything been contrived beforehand, that when the scenes and their supports came to be put up they all fell at once into their proper places. The young company was greatly hampered by want of funds, and had from time to time to turn from the theatre to more than one plan of raising money. Among other “ways and means,” they set up a manufactory of fire-balloons, and gained some money by the tickets of admission that they sold to those who witnessed the ascent. At first they could only afford the simplest of materials for their scenes. These were painted on brown paper, the sheets being glued together. The side-scenes were painted on both sides, and revolved, in changing, on a pivot in the middle. Each season saw, however, an increase of magnificence, and some of the young artist’s scenery was so strongly made and so carefully painted that it has been in use even in the last few years.
Meanwhile, his younger brother was engaged in writing a tragedy, and in drilling his company. “Finding all dramas to which he had access far too long and difficult for his purpose, he boldly turned author; and parts were learned and scenes practised, though with considerable increase to inevitable difficulties, from the circumstance that the drama grew as the work proceeded, new thoughts striking the young dramatist, and new scenes being added for their development.” Thus The Hostile Chieftains, a tragedy founded on one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s tales, was written six times over. The Tragedy of Nero, as well befitted so great a subject, was the composition of three of the brothers working together. Even the manager, architect, carpenter, and scene-painter had found time to lend a hand. The first season opened with the performance of The Rivals, a tragedy, and not by Sheridan. It was witnessed with great applause by crowded audiences during its run of two nights. It was in the third season that The Hostile Chieftains was performed. Meanwhile, no doubt as a necessary preparation for Mrs. Radcliffe, a trap-door had been made in the ceiling. A band of musicians also was formed. This was the last season of the little company, but it ended gloriously; for the play had a run of five nights.
In many other ways did the young lad show his ingenuity. He was the family carpenter, locksmith, and clock-cleaner. He even took to pieces and set to rights a watch which had been returned to the maker for repairs, but was sent back as faulty as ever. When he was sixteen Mr. Beasley projected a new piece of “utility”—a school-atlas—and called upon “his young friend, Rowland Hill,” to undertake the task of constructing the maps. “This was,” Rowland wrote in his Journal, a few years later, “a much greater undertaking than I at first imagined, owing to the great difference that exists in the works which it was necessary to consult. In a chart of the Mediterranean belonging to my father, Algiers is as much as three inches from its proper place.... I have given it up entirely. I could not be satisfied with copying from another map, and from the great number of books and maps which it was necessary to consult, I found that, with the little time I could devote to it, it must be the work of not less than ten or fifteen years.” He finished, however, the map of Spain and Portugal, which was published.