Chapter Eleven.“The Captain and his Child Wife.”Captain Mayne Reid had now met his fate; not in the dark-eyed Mexican señorita, but a fair little English girl, a child scarce thirteen years of age. Her name was Elizabeth Hyde, the only daughter of George William Hyde, a lineal descendant of the first Earl of Clarendon.In his novel of “The Child Wife,” he describes his first meeting this young girl: “In less than ten minutes after, he was in love with a child! There are those who will deem this an improbability. Nevertheless it was true; for we are recording an actual experience.” Later on he says to his friend Roseveldt: “That child has impressed me with a feeling I never had before. Her strange look has done it. I feel as if she had sounded the bottom of my soul! It may be fate, destiny, but as I live, Roseveldt, I have a presentiment she will yet be my wife!”The courtship was in itself a romance. Elizabeth Hyde was living in London with Mrs Hyde, the widow of her Uncle Clarendon, who brought her up after her mother’s death. At Mrs Hyde’s house Captain Reid was one evening a guest. Afterwards he told his wife, “I fell in love with you that evening at first sight.” The next morning her aunt said, “Captain Mayne Reid has quite fallen in love with you.” Elizabeth answered, “You can tell himIhave not fallen in love with him.” A short time afterwards to the question of some one who had not seen the “lion,” “What is Captain Reid like?” she replied, “Oh, he is a middle-aged gentleman.” This was repeated to Captain Reid, and he afterwards allowed that his vanity was much wounded at the time. A few weeks passed and the “middle-aged gentleman” was quite forgotten. Other matters occupied Elizabeth Hyde’s thoughts. One day she was alone in the drawing-room making a doll’s outfit. Captain Reid entered the room, but she did not recognise him. He looked surprised, and said, “Do you not remember me?” As he had a very foreign appearance, she exclaimed, “Oh, yes, you are Monsieur—” Then he mentioned his name. He asked how old she was, and, on hearing, said, “You are getting old enough to have a lover, and you must have me.”The “middle-aged gentleman” did not, however, come up to her standard. Her uncle was her ideal.After this Captain Reid made long and frequent visits to the aunt’s house, but saw the niece very little. With her, indeed, he found so little favour that she intentionally avoided his society. Mrs Hyde began to believe herself the attraction, as Mayne Reid spent hours in her society. All is fair in love and war.An old Quaker lady—a great friend, who was frequently at the house at the time of Mayne Reid’s visits—was under the same impression, and at the first visit she paid after his marriage, said to Mayne Reid, in her quaint fashion, “Why, Mayne, I always thought thou wast after Eliza” (Mrs Reid’s aunt).At last Elizabeth was beginning to feel some interest in her “lover.” It was pity at first, as she had a notion he was a refugee, having lately heard his name in connection with the Hungarian refugees, though to her childish mind a refugee had no definite meaning. She thought, however, it was something to be sorry for.One day Captain Reid brought her “The Scalp Hunters,” asking her to read it, and saying she would find herself there. This book was written and published before the Captain saw her, but he said it was a foreshadowing, and that at first sight of her he had exclaimed to himself, “This is Zoë!”Mrs Hyde was now about to marry again—a clergyman—and to reside in a distant suburb of London. Just before her removal, Captain Mayne Reid called to say he was going on a visit to Paris, and to wish goodbye. Mrs Hyde was not at home. He said to Elizabeth, “I shall not know where to find you when I return.” But she did not enlighten him on the subject, little thinking how long it would be ere they met again.After Mrs Hyde’s marriage, Elizabeth went to her father in the country. There did not seem any probability of Captain Reid and herself ever meeting again, but she could not forget him for a single day during the interval which elapsed.Two years after, in the winter of 1853, without the least knowledge that his Zoë was there, fate brought Captain Reid to the town at which she was then staying, where he had been invited to address a public meeting on behalf of the Polish Refugees.Zoë was one of the audience at the Mechanics’ Hall, where the meeting was held, accompanied by some friends.The following is a quotation from a description which Mrs Reid wrote down:—“An electric thrill seemed to pass through me as Captain Reid entered the room. Instantly, as though drawn by an invisible hand, and without a word to my friends, I left my seat and followed in the direction I saw him take. There was a platform at one end, occupied by the speakers and a few ladies and gentlemen. He took his seat on the platform, and I mine also, just opposite to him. We did not speak, but our eyes met.“At last it all came to an end—near midnight. The audience were fast dispersing in the body of the hall, the lights were being extinguished. The few who remained on the platform were hand-shaking and congratulating the speakers. Captain Reid had a number around him. I might also have joined them—we were then standing only a few feet apart—but something held me back.“The place was now almost in darkness—all were leaving the platform. I caught a glimpse of my father hurrying towards me, and could just dimly see two or three gentlemen evidently waiting for the Captain, who was still conversing with one person.“It seemed as though we were again about to be severed. At that moment he came towards me, grasped my hand, and I just caught the hurried words:—‘I leave for London by the next train. Send me your address.’ Speech seemed to have left me, but it flashed upon me that I was in ignorance ofhis, and managed to stammer out:—‘I do not know where.’ He instantly handed me his card, and was gone.“My father lifted me down from the platform and we groped our way out in the darkness.“I then learned that Captain Mayne Reid had only arrived that evening, and was obliged to leave by the midnight train for London.“On awaking the next morning, I immediately sprang out of bed to see if the card which I had left on my table the previous night was still there—or if it had not all been a dream. But there was the card, with the name and address in full.“It was not long after breakfast before I wrote and posted a formal little note:“‘Dear Captain Reid,—As you asked me last night to send you my address, I do so.’“By return of post I received the following:“‘My Little Zoë,—Only say that you love me, and I will be with you at once.’“My reply was:“‘I think I do love you.’“On receipt of this the Captain put himself into an express train, quickly covering the hundred and fifty miles which separated us. My lover told me that when we parted in London he had feared that it was impossible to make me love him, but he could never forget me, and, in spite of all obstacles, had the firm conviction I should yet be his.“My father rather reluctantly gave his consent to our marriage, the date of which was then fixed.“I remember telling my father that I should be obliged to marry Captain Reid, despite his objection. But his disposition was the most gentle and confiding.“The last letter from myfiancécontains the following:“I shall soon now call you my own, and gaze again into those beautiful eyes.“Your love falls on my heart like dew on the withered leaf. I am getting old, andblasé, and fear that your love for me is only a romance, which cannot last when you know me better. Do you think you can love me in my dressing-gown and slippers?“The wordblasépuzzled me very much. It was not then in my vocabulary.”Her aunt was greatly astonished at hearing the news of the marriage, as she was daily expecting her niece’s arrivalen routefor school.The child had gone to school of a different kind to educate herself in the real experiences of life.After Captain Reid’s marriage many amusing incidents occurred in relation to his “Child Wife.” One day Captain Reid, accompanied by his little lady, was choosing a bonnet for her at a fashionable milliner’s in Regent Street.The milliner had addressed Mrs Reid several times as “Miss.” At last the Captain exclaimed rather sharply:“This lady is my wife!”The milliner, looking very much astonished, said: “I beg your pardon, sir, I thought the young lady was about returning to school, and that you were choosing a bonnet for her to take.”Two years later, when they were residing in the country, Mrs Reid was one day in the baker’s shop in the village ordering amongst other things some biscuits. Whilst the old man was weighing them out, he offered some to Mrs Reid. She thought this rather odd, but not liking to appear offended took a biscuit. The baker inquired, “How is Captain and Mrs Reid, miss?” Mrs Mayne Reid was much surprised as well as amused at this question, thinking of course the baker must know her, as she and Captain Reid had often been in the shop. She answered: “Captain Reid is quite well, andIam Mrs Reid.”The old man’s face was a study for an artist; he nearly fell back behind his counter, exclaiming: “I humbly beg your pardon, ma’am. I thought you was the young lady visiting at the house during the holidays.” The Captain’s wife being still taken for a school-girl, it was necessary for her to assume an extra amount of dignity.It appeared they had fancied that Mrs Mayne Reid was an elderly invalid lady, who did not go out much.About this time Mrs Reid’s father was on a visit to them, and used to accompany his daughter on horse-back nearly every day. He looked so young that the servants were asked: “Who is that young gentleman who is always riding out with Mrs Reid?”They got things considerably mixed, taking the husband for the father, and the father for something else, the latter being much the younger looking of the two, though of about the same age.A short time previous to Captain Mayne Reid’s death, he and Mrs Reid were spending an evening at a friend’s house, and the late John Oxenford was one of the guests. Just as they were taking their departure, Mr Oxenford said to Mrs Reid: “I have had a very pleasant surprise in meeting your father again; he is as entertaining as ever.” Mrs Reid was rather puzzled, since her father had been dead some years, until the hostess explained: “This is Captain Mayne Reid’s wife, not his daughter.”At which there was a general laugh all round.These funny incidents were constantly occurring. Sometimes Mrs Reid would be supposed to be in no way related to Captain Reid, and would hear all kinds of remarks and comments passed upon the gallant Captain-author, which she would afterwards relate for his amusement.Captain Reid used to say he could not have endured having an old wife. On one occasion, when attending a large publicsoirée, a somewhat elderly dame of his acquaintance attached herself to him, and promenaded the room by his side for a great part of the evening. Mrs Reid wondered what was making her husband look so savage. He came across the room to her saying: “I wantyouto keep close by me for the rest of the evening, or people will be taking that old thing for my wife!”He was proud of his wife, and liked to have her remain his “Child Wife” to the end of the chapter.“The Hunter’s Feast” and “The Forest Exiles” were now written, the latter being his next boys’ book for Christmas 1854.“The Bush Boys,” published in 1855, was the first of Captain Mayne Reid’s South African books for boys. It was dedicated “To three very dear young friends, Franz, Louis and Vilma; the children of a still older friend, the friend of freedom, of virtue, and of truth—Louis Kossuth, by their sincere well-wisher, Mayne Reid.”Captain Reid had commenced “The Quadroon” some time before, and laid the Mss. away in his desk. It was finally published in three volumes, 1856, and was a very popular book. It was dramatised shortly after its first appearance, and performed at the City of London Theatre. Some years later, when a controversy arose as to the source of Mr Boucicault’s drama of “The Octoroon,” Mayne Reid sent the following letter to theAthenaeum, on December 14th, 1861:“During a residence of many years—commencing in 1839, and ending, with intervals of absence, in 1848—the author of ‘The Quadroon’ was an eye-witness of nearly a score of slave auctions, at which beautiful Quadroon girls were sold in bankruptcy, and bought up, too, notoriously with the motives that actuated the ‘Gayarre’ of his tale; and upon such actual incidents was the story of ‘The Quadroon’ founded. Most of the book was written in 1852; but, as truthfully stated in its preface, in consequence of the appearance of ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ its publication was postponed until 1856. The writing of it was finished early in 1855.“With regard to ‘The Quadroon’ and the Adelphi drama, the resemblance is just that which must ever exist between a melodrama and the romance from which it is taken; and when ‘The Octoroon’ was first produced in New York—January, 1860—its scenes and characters were at once identified by the newspaper critics of that city as being transcripts from the pages of ‘The Quadroon.’ Some of its scenes as at present performed are original—at least, they are not from ‘The Quadroon’—but these introduced incidents are generally believed not to have improved the story; and one of them—the poisoning of the heroine—Mr Boucicault has had the good taste to alter, restoring the beautiful Quadroon to the happier destiny to which the romance had consigned her. It might be equally in good taste if the clever dramatist were to come out before the public with a frank avowal of the source whence his drama has been drawn.”Soon after his marriage Captain Mayne Reid took up his abode in Buckinghamshire, at Gerrards Cross, about 20 miles from London. The greater number of his works were written in this rural retreat.“The Young Yägers,” a sequel to “The Bush Boys,” was his Christmas book for 1856, and on the 3rd of January, 1857, the first chapter of his novel, “The War Trail,” appeared inChambers Journal. Messrs Chambers paid three hundred guineas for the right of issue in their journal, and the following year they published “Oceola” in the same manner, with an advance in price. The scene of this novel is laid in Florida, and deals with the Seminole war.During the year 1858, Captain Mayne Reid wrote “The Plant Hunters,” also his first essay at a sea book of adventure for boys, “Ran Away to Sea.” It was followed in 1859 by “The Boy Tar,” published by Messrs Routledge, and in 1860 he wrote for that firm “Odd People,” a popular description of singular races of men.“The White Chief,” published in 1859, was his next novel.In 1860 “The Wild Huntress” first appeared inChambers Journal.In 1861 Messrs Routledge published “Bruin, or the Great Bear Hunt,” also a book of “Zoology for Boys: Quadrupeds, what they are and where found.”Captain Reid dramatised “The Wild Huntress” himself.In 1861-62, “The Wood Rangers” and “The Tiger Hunter, or a Hero in Spite of Himself,” adapted from the French of Louis de Bellemare, were published; and in 1862, the first part of “The Maroon” appeared inCassell’s Family Paper. It was afterwards issued in three volumes by Hurst and Blackett, of Marlborough Street. Mayne Reid dramatised this story himself, and the play was performed at one of the East End London theatres.In the autumn of 1863, Mayne Reid published a “Treatise on Croquet.” He was an enthusiast of the game, had made a study of the rules, and spent many a happy hour in sending his enemy to “Hong-Kong.” Calling one day at a friend’s house he picked up a little book called “The Rules of Croquet,” by an “Old Hand;” on examination this proved to be a copy of his own book. It was sent out in boxes of croquet, of what was known as the “Cassiobury” set, and Lord Essex was responsible for its publication. Mayne Reid demanded an explanation and withdrawal of the work. This being refused him, he advised his solicitor, the result being a Chancery suit against Lord Essex, which was eventually compromised by the payment of 125 pounds, as well as all costs of the suit, the withdrawal of the book and the destruction of all copies.Towards the end of 1862 a singular being presented himself at Captain Reid’s town house. He was attired in a rough blanket, with his head passed through a hole in the middle of it—a sort of “poncho”—and carried a brown paper parcel under his arm. Mayne Reid listened to his story, which was to the effect that he had lately landed from Australia, that he had travelled round the earth more than six times and had lived with cannibals.Captain Mayne Reid invited the “cannibal” to stay and eat, as it was just luncheon-time. Mrs Reid listened to his wonderful tales with horror. The cannibal remarked, “I scarcely know how to use a knife and fork, having been away so long from civilisation.”During the repast, Captain Reid had to leave the table to see some one in his study, and Mrs Reid quickly made an excuse for going too, fearing she might be eaten!The parcel contained a story he had written. He had tried to get an audience of some publishers in London, but they would not look at him. His name was Charles Beach, otherwise “Cannibal Charlie.” Mayne Reid told him to leave his manuscript, and he would look at it, at the same time giving the man a sum of money and telling him to get himself a “rig-out,” as no doubt his appearance being so outlandish prejudiced those whom he called upon.At the “cannibal’s” next appearance, he was looking a little more civilised, and the manuscript in time, through the help of Captain Mayne Reid, developed into a three volume novel, published in 1864, under the title of “Lost Lenore; or the Adventures of a Rolling Stone.”In the preface Mayne Reid scarcely takes sufficient credit to himself for the part he played; he had recast and nearly rewritten the whole work before it was placed in the publisher’s hands. He says:“A ‘Rolling Stone’ came tumbling across my track. There was a crystalline sparkle about it, proclaiming it no common pebble. I took it up, and submitted it to examination—it proved to be a diamond! A diamond of the ‘first water,’ slightly encrusted with quartz, needing but the chisel of the lapidary to lay bare its brilliant beauties to the gaze of an admiring world. Charles Beach is the proprietor of this precious gem; I, but the artisan intrusted with its setting. If my share of the task has been attended with labour, it has been a ‘labour of love,’ for which I shall feel amply rewarded in listening to the congratulations which are due—and will certainly be given—to the lucky owner of the ‘Rolling Stone,’ the finder of ‘Lost Lenore.’”
Captain Mayne Reid had now met his fate; not in the dark-eyed Mexican señorita, but a fair little English girl, a child scarce thirteen years of age. Her name was Elizabeth Hyde, the only daughter of George William Hyde, a lineal descendant of the first Earl of Clarendon.
In his novel of “The Child Wife,” he describes his first meeting this young girl: “In less than ten minutes after, he was in love with a child! There are those who will deem this an improbability. Nevertheless it was true; for we are recording an actual experience.” Later on he says to his friend Roseveldt: “That child has impressed me with a feeling I never had before. Her strange look has done it. I feel as if she had sounded the bottom of my soul! It may be fate, destiny, but as I live, Roseveldt, I have a presentiment she will yet be my wife!”
The courtship was in itself a romance. Elizabeth Hyde was living in London with Mrs Hyde, the widow of her Uncle Clarendon, who brought her up after her mother’s death. At Mrs Hyde’s house Captain Reid was one evening a guest. Afterwards he told his wife, “I fell in love with you that evening at first sight.” The next morning her aunt said, “Captain Mayne Reid has quite fallen in love with you.” Elizabeth answered, “You can tell himIhave not fallen in love with him.” A short time afterwards to the question of some one who had not seen the “lion,” “What is Captain Reid like?” she replied, “Oh, he is a middle-aged gentleman.” This was repeated to Captain Reid, and he afterwards allowed that his vanity was much wounded at the time. A few weeks passed and the “middle-aged gentleman” was quite forgotten. Other matters occupied Elizabeth Hyde’s thoughts. One day she was alone in the drawing-room making a doll’s outfit. Captain Reid entered the room, but she did not recognise him. He looked surprised, and said, “Do you not remember me?” As he had a very foreign appearance, she exclaimed, “Oh, yes, you are Monsieur—” Then he mentioned his name. He asked how old she was, and, on hearing, said, “You are getting old enough to have a lover, and you must have me.”
The “middle-aged gentleman” did not, however, come up to her standard. Her uncle was her ideal.
After this Captain Reid made long and frequent visits to the aunt’s house, but saw the niece very little. With her, indeed, he found so little favour that she intentionally avoided his society. Mrs Hyde began to believe herself the attraction, as Mayne Reid spent hours in her society. All is fair in love and war.
An old Quaker lady—a great friend, who was frequently at the house at the time of Mayne Reid’s visits—was under the same impression, and at the first visit she paid after his marriage, said to Mayne Reid, in her quaint fashion, “Why, Mayne, I always thought thou wast after Eliza” (Mrs Reid’s aunt).
At last Elizabeth was beginning to feel some interest in her “lover.” It was pity at first, as she had a notion he was a refugee, having lately heard his name in connection with the Hungarian refugees, though to her childish mind a refugee had no definite meaning. She thought, however, it was something to be sorry for.
One day Captain Reid brought her “The Scalp Hunters,” asking her to read it, and saying she would find herself there. This book was written and published before the Captain saw her, but he said it was a foreshadowing, and that at first sight of her he had exclaimed to himself, “This is Zoë!”
Mrs Hyde was now about to marry again—a clergyman—and to reside in a distant suburb of London. Just before her removal, Captain Mayne Reid called to say he was going on a visit to Paris, and to wish goodbye. Mrs Hyde was not at home. He said to Elizabeth, “I shall not know where to find you when I return.” But she did not enlighten him on the subject, little thinking how long it would be ere they met again.
After Mrs Hyde’s marriage, Elizabeth went to her father in the country. There did not seem any probability of Captain Reid and herself ever meeting again, but she could not forget him for a single day during the interval which elapsed.
Two years after, in the winter of 1853, without the least knowledge that his Zoë was there, fate brought Captain Reid to the town at which she was then staying, where he had been invited to address a public meeting on behalf of the Polish Refugees.
Zoë was one of the audience at the Mechanics’ Hall, where the meeting was held, accompanied by some friends.
The following is a quotation from a description which Mrs Reid wrote down:—“An electric thrill seemed to pass through me as Captain Reid entered the room. Instantly, as though drawn by an invisible hand, and without a word to my friends, I left my seat and followed in the direction I saw him take. There was a platform at one end, occupied by the speakers and a few ladies and gentlemen. He took his seat on the platform, and I mine also, just opposite to him. We did not speak, but our eyes met.
“At last it all came to an end—near midnight. The audience were fast dispersing in the body of the hall, the lights were being extinguished. The few who remained on the platform were hand-shaking and congratulating the speakers. Captain Reid had a number around him. I might also have joined them—we were then standing only a few feet apart—but something held me back.
“The place was now almost in darkness—all were leaving the platform. I caught a glimpse of my father hurrying towards me, and could just dimly see two or three gentlemen evidently waiting for the Captain, who was still conversing with one person.
“It seemed as though we were again about to be severed. At that moment he came towards me, grasped my hand, and I just caught the hurried words:—‘I leave for London by the next train. Send me your address.’ Speech seemed to have left me, but it flashed upon me that I was in ignorance ofhis, and managed to stammer out:—‘I do not know where.’ He instantly handed me his card, and was gone.
“My father lifted me down from the platform and we groped our way out in the darkness.
“I then learned that Captain Mayne Reid had only arrived that evening, and was obliged to leave by the midnight train for London.
“On awaking the next morning, I immediately sprang out of bed to see if the card which I had left on my table the previous night was still there—or if it had not all been a dream. But there was the card, with the name and address in full.
“It was not long after breakfast before I wrote and posted a formal little note:
“‘Dear Captain Reid,—As you asked me last night to send you my address, I do so.’
“By return of post I received the following:
“‘My Little Zoë,—Only say that you love me, and I will be with you at once.’
“My reply was:
“‘I think I do love you.’
“On receipt of this the Captain put himself into an express train, quickly covering the hundred and fifty miles which separated us. My lover told me that when we parted in London he had feared that it was impossible to make me love him, but he could never forget me, and, in spite of all obstacles, had the firm conviction I should yet be his.
“My father rather reluctantly gave his consent to our marriage, the date of which was then fixed.
“I remember telling my father that I should be obliged to marry Captain Reid, despite his objection. But his disposition was the most gentle and confiding.
“The last letter from myfiancécontains the following:
“I shall soon now call you my own, and gaze again into those beautiful eyes.
“Your love falls on my heart like dew on the withered leaf. I am getting old, andblasé, and fear that your love for me is only a romance, which cannot last when you know me better. Do you think you can love me in my dressing-gown and slippers?
“The wordblasépuzzled me very much. It was not then in my vocabulary.”
Her aunt was greatly astonished at hearing the news of the marriage, as she was daily expecting her niece’s arrivalen routefor school.
The child had gone to school of a different kind to educate herself in the real experiences of life.
After Captain Reid’s marriage many amusing incidents occurred in relation to his “Child Wife.” One day Captain Reid, accompanied by his little lady, was choosing a bonnet for her at a fashionable milliner’s in Regent Street.
The milliner had addressed Mrs Reid several times as “Miss.” At last the Captain exclaimed rather sharply:
“This lady is my wife!”
The milliner, looking very much astonished, said: “I beg your pardon, sir, I thought the young lady was about returning to school, and that you were choosing a bonnet for her to take.”
Two years later, when they were residing in the country, Mrs Reid was one day in the baker’s shop in the village ordering amongst other things some biscuits. Whilst the old man was weighing them out, he offered some to Mrs Reid. She thought this rather odd, but not liking to appear offended took a biscuit. The baker inquired, “How is Captain and Mrs Reid, miss?” Mrs Mayne Reid was much surprised as well as amused at this question, thinking of course the baker must know her, as she and Captain Reid had often been in the shop. She answered: “Captain Reid is quite well, andIam Mrs Reid.”
The old man’s face was a study for an artist; he nearly fell back behind his counter, exclaiming: “I humbly beg your pardon, ma’am. I thought you was the young lady visiting at the house during the holidays.” The Captain’s wife being still taken for a school-girl, it was necessary for her to assume an extra amount of dignity.
It appeared they had fancied that Mrs Mayne Reid was an elderly invalid lady, who did not go out much.
About this time Mrs Reid’s father was on a visit to them, and used to accompany his daughter on horse-back nearly every day. He looked so young that the servants were asked: “Who is that young gentleman who is always riding out with Mrs Reid?”
They got things considerably mixed, taking the husband for the father, and the father for something else, the latter being much the younger looking of the two, though of about the same age.
A short time previous to Captain Mayne Reid’s death, he and Mrs Reid were spending an evening at a friend’s house, and the late John Oxenford was one of the guests. Just as they were taking their departure, Mr Oxenford said to Mrs Reid: “I have had a very pleasant surprise in meeting your father again; he is as entertaining as ever.” Mrs Reid was rather puzzled, since her father had been dead some years, until the hostess explained: “This is Captain Mayne Reid’s wife, not his daughter.”
At which there was a general laugh all round.
These funny incidents were constantly occurring. Sometimes Mrs Reid would be supposed to be in no way related to Captain Reid, and would hear all kinds of remarks and comments passed upon the gallant Captain-author, which she would afterwards relate for his amusement.
Captain Reid used to say he could not have endured having an old wife. On one occasion, when attending a large publicsoirée, a somewhat elderly dame of his acquaintance attached herself to him, and promenaded the room by his side for a great part of the evening. Mrs Reid wondered what was making her husband look so savage. He came across the room to her saying: “I wantyouto keep close by me for the rest of the evening, or people will be taking that old thing for my wife!”
He was proud of his wife, and liked to have her remain his “Child Wife” to the end of the chapter.
“The Hunter’s Feast” and “The Forest Exiles” were now written, the latter being his next boys’ book for Christmas 1854.
“The Bush Boys,” published in 1855, was the first of Captain Mayne Reid’s South African books for boys. It was dedicated “To three very dear young friends, Franz, Louis and Vilma; the children of a still older friend, the friend of freedom, of virtue, and of truth—Louis Kossuth, by their sincere well-wisher, Mayne Reid.”
Captain Reid had commenced “The Quadroon” some time before, and laid the Mss. away in his desk. It was finally published in three volumes, 1856, and was a very popular book. It was dramatised shortly after its first appearance, and performed at the City of London Theatre. Some years later, when a controversy arose as to the source of Mr Boucicault’s drama of “The Octoroon,” Mayne Reid sent the following letter to theAthenaeum, on December 14th, 1861:
“During a residence of many years—commencing in 1839, and ending, with intervals of absence, in 1848—the author of ‘The Quadroon’ was an eye-witness of nearly a score of slave auctions, at which beautiful Quadroon girls were sold in bankruptcy, and bought up, too, notoriously with the motives that actuated the ‘Gayarre’ of his tale; and upon such actual incidents was the story of ‘The Quadroon’ founded. Most of the book was written in 1852; but, as truthfully stated in its preface, in consequence of the appearance of ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ its publication was postponed until 1856. The writing of it was finished early in 1855.
“With regard to ‘The Quadroon’ and the Adelphi drama, the resemblance is just that which must ever exist between a melodrama and the romance from which it is taken; and when ‘The Octoroon’ was first produced in New York—January, 1860—its scenes and characters were at once identified by the newspaper critics of that city as being transcripts from the pages of ‘The Quadroon.’ Some of its scenes as at present performed are original—at least, they are not from ‘The Quadroon’—but these introduced incidents are generally believed not to have improved the story; and one of them—the poisoning of the heroine—Mr Boucicault has had the good taste to alter, restoring the beautiful Quadroon to the happier destiny to which the romance had consigned her. It might be equally in good taste if the clever dramatist were to come out before the public with a frank avowal of the source whence his drama has been drawn.”
Soon after his marriage Captain Mayne Reid took up his abode in Buckinghamshire, at Gerrards Cross, about 20 miles from London. The greater number of his works were written in this rural retreat.
“The Young Yägers,” a sequel to “The Bush Boys,” was his Christmas book for 1856, and on the 3rd of January, 1857, the first chapter of his novel, “The War Trail,” appeared inChambers Journal. Messrs Chambers paid three hundred guineas for the right of issue in their journal, and the following year they published “Oceola” in the same manner, with an advance in price. The scene of this novel is laid in Florida, and deals with the Seminole war.
During the year 1858, Captain Mayne Reid wrote “The Plant Hunters,” also his first essay at a sea book of adventure for boys, “Ran Away to Sea.” It was followed in 1859 by “The Boy Tar,” published by Messrs Routledge, and in 1860 he wrote for that firm “Odd People,” a popular description of singular races of men.
“The White Chief,” published in 1859, was his next novel.
In 1860 “The Wild Huntress” first appeared inChambers Journal.
In 1861 Messrs Routledge published “Bruin, or the Great Bear Hunt,” also a book of “Zoology for Boys: Quadrupeds, what they are and where found.”
Captain Reid dramatised “The Wild Huntress” himself.
In 1861-62, “The Wood Rangers” and “The Tiger Hunter, or a Hero in Spite of Himself,” adapted from the French of Louis de Bellemare, were published; and in 1862, the first part of “The Maroon” appeared inCassell’s Family Paper. It was afterwards issued in three volumes by Hurst and Blackett, of Marlborough Street. Mayne Reid dramatised this story himself, and the play was performed at one of the East End London theatres.
In the autumn of 1863, Mayne Reid published a “Treatise on Croquet.” He was an enthusiast of the game, had made a study of the rules, and spent many a happy hour in sending his enemy to “Hong-Kong.” Calling one day at a friend’s house he picked up a little book called “The Rules of Croquet,” by an “Old Hand;” on examination this proved to be a copy of his own book. It was sent out in boxes of croquet, of what was known as the “Cassiobury” set, and Lord Essex was responsible for its publication. Mayne Reid demanded an explanation and withdrawal of the work. This being refused him, he advised his solicitor, the result being a Chancery suit against Lord Essex, which was eventually compromised by the payment of 125 pounds, as well as all costs of the suit, the withdrawal of the book and the destruction of all copies.
Towards the end of 1862 a singular being presented himself at Captain Reid’s town house. He was attired in a rough blanket, with his head passed through a hole in the middle of it—a sort of “poncho”—and carried a brown paper parcel under his arm. Mayne Reid listened to his story, which was to the effect that he had lately landed from Australia, that he had travelled round the earth more than six times and had lived with cannibals.
Captain Mayne Reid invited the “cannibal” to stay and eat, as it was just luncheon-time. Mrs Reid listened to his wonderful tales with horror. The cannibal remarked, “I scarcely know how to use a knife and fork, having been away so long from civilisation.”
During the repast, Captain Reid had to leave the table to see some one in his study, and Mrs Reid quickly made an excuse for going too, fearing she might be eaten!
The parcel contained a story he had written. He had tried to get an audience of some publishers in London, but they would not look at him. His name was Charles Beach, otherwise “Cannibal Charlie.” Mayne Reid told him to leave his manuscript, and he would look at it, at the same time giving the man a sum of money and telling him to get himself a “rig-out,” as no doubt his appearance being so outlandish prejudiced those whom he called upon.
At the “cannibal’s” next appearance, he was looking a little more civilised, and the manuscript in time, through the help of Captain Mayne Reid, developed into a three volume novel, published in 1864, under the title of “Lost Lenore; or the Adventures of a Rolling Stone.”
In the preface Mayne Reid scarcely takes sufficient credit to himself for the part he played; he had recast and nearly rewritten the whole work before it was placed in the publisher’s hands. He says:
“A ‘Rolling Stone’ came tumbling across my track. There was a crystalline sparkle about it, proclaiming it no common pebble. I took it up, and submitted it to examination—it proved to be a diamond! A diamond of the ‘first water,’ slightly encrusted with quartz, needing but the chisel of the lapidary to lay bare its brilliant beauties to the gaze of an admiring world. Charles Beach is the proprietor of this precious gem; I, but the artisan intrusted with its setting. If my share of the task has been attended with labour, it has been a ‘labour of love,’ for which I shall feel amply rewarded in listening to the congratulations which are due—and will certainly be given—to the lucky owner of the ‘Rolling Stone,’ the finder of ‘Lost Lenore.’”
Chapter Twelve.Bricks and Mortar.The next novel from his pen was “The White Gauntlett,” an historical romance of the time of Charles the First. Many of the scenes are laid in Buckinghamshire.During the same year, 1863, “The Ocean Waifs” was appearing in theBoys Journal, and the following year “The Boy Slaves” was written for the same magazine. After an interval of six years Captain Reid now satisfied his boy readers as to the fate of Karl and Caspar, the young “Plant Hunters,” in the sequel called “The Cliff Climbers.”TheBoys’ Journal, 1865, contained his next boys’ book, “Afloat in the Forest.”This year the wonderful tale of “The Headless Horseman” made its first appearance. There was a large coloured lithograph to be seen at all the railway stations and bookstalls of a handsome black horse, with a rider, in Mexican striped blanket, booted and spurred—all complete, but wanting a head! By many, this work is considered Mayne Reid’s masterpiece. It is translated into Russian, and the circulation is stated to be the largest of any English author in Russia. Captain Mayne Reid is the most popular English novelist there.In addition to his novels and books for boys, Mayne Reid is the author of numerous short stories and magazine sketches, most of which are published in collected form.The author’s many eccentricities were the theme of his rural neighbours’ gossip. During his residence at Gerrards Cross, the gallant Captain attended church more for the purpose of studying the bonnets than anything else. His inattention to the service, as also his dandyism in dress, were alike commented upon. One morning the post brought him the following, sent anonymously by a young lady:“A friend who is deeply interested in Captain Mayne Reid’s spiritual welfare forwards a prayer book, with the sincere wish that it may induce him to behave more reverently in church, and in reminding him that there is such a colour as lavender, hopes that the everlasting lemon kids may be varied!” This was accompanied by an infinitesimal prayer book, and a pair of lavendercottongloves.The vicar also presented him with a large church service; so the Captain’s spiritual welfare was well looked after just then.One of the humbler members of the congregation, a labouring man, had also noticed the non use of a prayer book, and accosted the Captain one day, thus: “Ah, sir, I see you don’t require no book; you be a scholard.” The poor man evidently thinking that he knew it all by heart.Between the years 1862 and 1865 Captain Mayne Reid built himself a house in the style of a Mexican hacienda, with flat roof. In front of the house he constructed an artificial pond—a circular basin lined with cement, a jet of water in the centre—probably to remind him of the alligator and the sisters Loupe, and Luz, to whom we are introduced in “The Rifle Rangers.” He also built some model cottages and a reading room.He made his own bricks, employing a regular staff of brick makers, and was his own architect. During the time of the building he would be up at six o’clock every morning to look after the workmen, and woe betide any who were the least negligent in their duty. The Captain’s voice would be heard afar off, and one might fancy he was again storming Chapultepec, or that a troop of his wild Indians on the “war-path” had suddenly invaded the quiet village.This unfortunate mania for bricks and mortar, combined with other circumstances, ended disastrously, and Mayne Reid had to give up his country home, returning to London towards the end of 1866, to begin the world over again. His spirit was still undaunted, and in spite of failing health he succeeded, after many struggles and disappointments, in re-establishing himself.On Saturday, April 27th, 1867, there appeared in the streets of London the first number of a new penny evening journal, calledThe Little Times. It was an almost exact counterpart ofThe Timesin miniature. In the first column was:“Births.—On the 27th inst., at 275 and a half, Strand, London,The Times, of aLittle Times.“Marriages.—On the 6th inst., at Brussels, Philip Coburg to Mary Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. No cards.“Deaths.—On the 12th inst., at Saint Stephen’s, Westminster, Mr Gladstone’s amendment to the Reform Bill, deeply lamented by Lord Derby.”This paper was Captain Reid’s first enterprise after his bankruptcy. The Publisher’s advertisement was “The Little Timeswill be published daily as soon as possible after the receipt of the morning mails and telegrams.“Its latest edition will contain all the news received up to the dispatch of the evening mails for the country.“Subscribers in the provinces will thus receive the latest London and Foreign Intelligence before it can reach them by the morning papers.“About the political leaning ofThe Little Timesnothing need here be said. Its spirit and proclivities will soon be discovered.“It is scarcely necessary to point out to men of business the advantage of usingThe Little Timesas an advertising medium.“No quack or immoral advertisements will be admitted into its columns—the Publisher reserving to himself the right to decide as to their character.“The terms for advertising will be One penny per word, and Two pence per word for the title in Capitals. No advertisement charged less than Two Shillings.“It is hoped thatThe Little Timeswill be found in the shop of every newsvendor, and on the stalls of every railway station. If not, a note of requisition addressed to the Publisher will ensure not only an answer but a prompt supply.”It was a stupendous undertaking for him, as he not only edited and wrote the leaders, as well as the feuilletons of the paper, but did other literary work at the same time. We give the following “editorial” from his pen, under date of May 6, 1866:“We are on the eve of an event that will startle, not only the people of this country, but Europe and the whole world.“Our information comes from high and indubitable authority; though we do not consider ourselves at liberty, at the present moment, to give details. The vagueness of our statement does not imply its unsubstantiality. All we will now venture to affirm is: that neither the mass of the English population, nor public opinion on the Continent, is prepared for the occurrence; and without indicating the party in the State taking the initiative, or the precise intent and plan of the action contemplated, we simply refer to it as having all the characteristics of acoup d’état.“The action this day taken by the Ministry, in the matter of the Hyde Park demonstration, may assist in the interpretation of the event to which we allude.”“Our first word this day is for the working men of the metropolis; and we should give it to them in the shape of advice, but that we know it would reach them too late. If damage is to be done, it will be begun before we get upon the scene, and our presence there would have no influence in staying it. If windows are to be smashed the stones will commence flying before three o’clock, and when stones are in the air no quiet peacemaker will be tolerated.“But you are not going about your business in the right way. On the contrary, all wrong.You have no right to assemble in the Park.“We do not speak of the Park as being private property, or belonging to the Crown. We deny such a doctrinein toto. Neither that Park, nor any other to which the Crown claims ownership by fossil fictions of old statutory law. It belongs to the nation, but no part or portion of the nation has the right to use it for party purposes without the consent of the whole, and that consent should be obtained through the only authority that can legally grant it—the Legislative Government of the people. We know that this user is claimed by a thing which calls itself Government, in the shape of a Privy Council—not only claimed but enjoyed, without thought of illegality. We have militia trainings, fancy fairs, grand cavalcades of idleness and elegance, with roads cut to accommodate them. All this without asking either Parliament or people. But all this without asking is wrong—positively and legally wrong. If such privileges were asked, neither Parliament nor people would be slow to refuse them. Certainly not the Parliament, and as certainly not the English people, who have never been addicted to a dog-in-the-manger policy when the sport of their aristocracy required permission. The sting lies in your not being consulted, and now the greater sting in being yourselves refused a share of the same privilege. Is this not the true explanation of your present ill-humour? We would risk a wager that it is.“For all that you have no right to assemble in the Park, as you declare yourselves determined upon doing.”He was compelled to abandonThe Little Timesfor want of funds, and also from his health breaking down under the strain of night and day work.After resting a while, Mayne Reid wrote “The Finger of Fate,” the first part of which appeared in theBoy’s Own Magazine, December, 1867.“The Finger of Fate” has since earned a fame its author never anticipated for it, his widow having to defend her rights (and that successfully) in the Chancery Division against an infringement of the copyright, and a leader inThe Timeswas devoted to the subject. The book ends with a trial in favour of the plaintiff!He had also a short tale, “The Fatal Cord,” running in a periodical, theBoys of England, and had engaged to write “The Planter Pirate” for the same paper.
The next novel from his pen was “The White Gauntlett,” an historical romance of the time of Charles the First. Many of the scenes are laid in Buckinghamshire.
During the same year, 1863, “The Ocean Waifs” was appearing in theBoys Journal, and the following year “The Boy Slaves” was written for the same magazine. After an interval of six years Captain Reid now satisfied his boy readers as to the fate of Karl and Caspar, the young “Plant Hunters,” in the sequel called “The Cliff Climbers.”
TheBoys’ Journal, 1865, contained his next boys’ book, “Afloat in the Forest.”
This year the wonderful tale of “The Headless Horseman” made its first appearance. There was a large coloured lithograph to be seen at all the railway stations and bookstalls of a handsome black horse, with a rider, in Mexican striped blanket, booted and spurred—all complete, but wanting a head! By many, this work is considered Mayne Reid’s masterpiece. It is translated into Russian, and the circulation is stated to be the largest of any English author in Russia. Captain Mayne Reid is the most popular English novelist there.
In addition to his novels and books for boys, Mayne Reid is the author of numerous short stories and magazine sketches, most of which are published in collected form.
The author’s many eccentricities were the theme of his rural neighbours’ gossip. During his residence at Gerrards Cross, the gallant Captain attended church more for the purpose of studying the bonnets than anything else. His inattention to the service, as also his dandyism in dress, were alike commented upon. One morning the post brought him the following, sent anonymously by a young lady:
“A friend who is deeply interested in Captain Mayne Reid’s spiritual welfare forwards a prayer book, with the sincere wish that it may induce him to behave more reverently in church, and in reminding him that there is such a colour as lavender, hopes that the everlasting lemon kids may be varied!” This was accompanied by an infinitesimal prayer book, and a pair of lavendercottongloves.
The vicar also presented him with a large church service; so the Captain’s spiritual welfare was well looked after just then.
One of the humbler members of the congregation, a labouring man, had also noticed the non use of a prayer book, and accosted the Captain one day, thus: “Ah, sir, I see you don’t require no book; you be a scholard.” The poor man evidently thinking that he knew it all by heart.
Between the years 1862 and 1865 Captain Mayne Reid built himself a house in the style of a Mexican hacienda, with flat roof. In front of the house he constructed an artificial pond—a circular basin lined with cement, a jet of water in the centre—probably to remind him of the alligator and the sisters Loupe, and Luz, to whom we are introduced in “The Rifle Rangers.” He also built some model cottages and a reading room.
He made his own bricks, employing a regular staff of brick makers, and was his own architect. During the time of the building he would be up at six o’clock every morning to look after the workmen, and woe betide any who were the least negligent in their duty. The Captain’s voice would be heard afar off, and one might fancy he was again storming Chapultepec, or that a troop of his wild Indians on the “war-path” had suddenly invaded the quiet village.
This unfortunate mania for bricks and mortar, combined with other circumstances, ended disastrously, and Mayne Reid had to give up his country home, returning to London towards the end of 1866, to begin the world over again. His spirit was still undaunted, and in spite of failing health he succeeded, after many struggles and disappointments, in re-establishing himself.
On Saturday, April 27th, 1867, there appeared in the streets of London the first number of a new penny evening journal, calledThe Little Times. It was an almost exact counterpart ofThe Timesin miniature. In the first column was:
“Births.—On the 27th inst., at 275 and a half, Strand, London,The Times, of aLittle Times.
“Marriages.—On the 6th inst., at Brussels, Philip Coburg to Mary Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. No cards.
“Deaths.—On the 12th inst., at Saint Stephen’s, Westminster, Mr Gladstone’s amendment to the Reform Bill, deeply lamented by Lord Derby.”
This paper was Captain Reid’s first enterprise after his bankruptcy. The Publisher’s advertisement was “The Little Timeswill be published daily as soon as possible after the receipt of the morning mails and telegrams.
“Its latest edition will contain all the news received up to the dispatch of the evening mails for the country.
“Subscribers in the provinces will thus receive the latest London and Foreign Intelligence before it can reach them by the morning papers.
“About the political leaning ofThe Little Timesnothing need here be said. Its spirit and proclivities will soon be discovered.
“It is scarcely necessary to point out to men of business the advantage of usingThe Little Timesas an advertising medium.
“No quack or immoral advertisements will be admitted into its columns—the Publisher reserving to himself the right to decide as to their character.
“The terms for advertising will be One penny per word, and Two pence per word for the title in Capitals. No advertisement charged less than Two Shillings.
“It is hoped thatThe Little Timeswill be found in the shop of every newsvendor, and on the stalls of every railway station. If not, a note of requisition addressed to the Publisher will ensure not only an answer but a prompt supply.”
It was a stupendous undertaking for him, as he not only edited and wrote the leaders, as well as the feuilletons of the paper, but did other literary work at the same time. We give the following “editorial” from his pen, under date of May 6, 1866:
“We are on the eve of an event that will startle, not only the people of this country, but Europe and the whole world.
“Our information comes from high and indubitable authority; though we do not consider ourselves at liberty, at the present moment, to give details. The vagueness of our statement does not imply its unsubstantiality. All we will now venture to affirm is: that neither the mass of the English population, nor public opinion on the Continent, is prepared for the occurrence; and without indicating the party in the State taking the initiative, or the precise intent and plan of the action contemplated, we simply refer to it as having all the characteristics of acoup d’état.
“The action this day taken by the Ministry, in the matter of the Hyde Park demonstration, may assist in the interpretation of the event to which we allude.”
“Our first word this day is for the working men of the metropolis; and we should give it to them in the shape of advice, but that we know it would reach them too late. If damage is to be done, it will be begun before we get upon the scene, and our presence there would have no influence in staying it. If windows are to be smashed the stones will commence flying before three o’clock, and when stones are in the air no quiet peacemaker will be tolerated.
“But you are not going about your business in the right way. On the contrary, all wrong.You have no right to assemble in the Park.
“We do not speak of the Park as being private property, or belonging to the Crown. We deny such a doctrinein toto. Neither that Park, nor any other to which the Crown claims ownership by fossil fictions of old statutory law. It belongs to the nation, but no part or portion of the nation has the right to use it for party purposes without the consent of the whole, and that consent should be obtained through the only authority that can legally grant it—the Legislative Government of the people. We know that this user is claimed by a thing which calls itself Government, in the shape of a Privy Council—not only claimed but enjoyed, without thought of illegality. We have militia trainings, fancy fairs, grand cavalcades of idleness and elegance, with roads cut to accommodate them. All this without asking either Parliament or people. But all this without asking is wrong—positively and legally wrong. If such privileges were asked, neither Parliament nor people would be slow to refuse them. Certainly not the Parliament, and as certainly not the English people, who have never been addicted to a dog-in-the-manger policy when the sport of their aristocracy required permission. The sting lies in your not being consulted, and now the greater sting in being yourselves refused a share of the same privilege. Is this not the true explanation of your present ill-humour? We would risk a wager that it is.
“For all that you have no right to assemble in the Park, as you declare yourselves determined upon doing.”
He was compelled to abandonThe Little Timesfor want of funds, and also from his health breaking down under the strain of night and day work.
After resting a while, Mayne Reid wrote “The Finger of Fate,” the first part of which appeared in theBoy’s Own Magazine, December, 1867.
“The Finger of Fate” has since earned a fame its author never anticipated for it, his widow having to defend her rights (and that successfully) in the Chancery Division against an infringement of the copyright, and a leader inThe Timeswas devoted to the subject. The book ends with a trial in favour of the plaintiff!
He had also a short tale, “The Fatal Cord,” running in a periodical, theBoys of England, and had engaged to write “The Planter Pirate” for the same paper.
Chapter Thirteen.New York.In October, 1867, Captain and Mrs Mayne Reid went to the United States, arriving at Newport, Rhode Island, in November. Here they took a furnished cottage for the winter.Soon after his arrival Captain Reid was eagerly sought by different publishers who wished to get his name. At Newport he wrote “The Child Wife,” for whichFrank Leslie’s Paperpaid him 8,000 dollars for the right of first appearance in its columns. “The Child Wife” was published by Ward, Lock and Tyler, in 3 volumes, in 1868, and is now issued in one volume by Messrs Sonnenschein and Co. The proprietor of theFireside Companionalso paid 5,000 dollars to run “The Finger of Fate” in his paper. Mayne Reid had as much work for his pen as he could get through, and was now speculating upon bringing out a boys’ magazine of his own in New York.In December, 1868, the first number ofOnward, Mayne Reid’s magazine, appeared; he continued in the editorship for 14 months, doing other literary work in addition, till his health completely gave way, and the magazine was abandoned.He was a constant sufferer from the effects of the wound in his leg, and during this brief sojourn in the United States was a patient in Saint Luke’s Hospital, New York, in 1870, suppuration of the thigh having brought him to death’s door. From the hospital he writes:“To the Editor of theSun.“Sir,—I have been for some days an inmate of Saint Luke’s Hospital, a sufferer from a severe and dangerous malady. To save my life calls for the highest surgical skill, along with combination of the most favourable circumstances, among them quiet. And yet during the whole of yesterday, and part of the day before (the Lord’s Day), the air around me has been resonant with what, in the bitterness of my spirit, I pronounce afeu d’enfer. It has resembled an almost continuous fusillade of small arms, at intervals varied by a report like the bursting of a bombshell or the discharge of a cannon. I am told that this infernal fracas proceeds from a row of dwelling houses in front of this hospital, and that it is caused by the occupants of these dwellings or their children.“Accustomed in early life to the roar of artillery, my nerves are not easily excited by concussive sounds, and, therefore, I have not been seriously affected by them. But, alas! how different with scores of my fellow-sufferers in the hospital, beside the couch of many of whom death stands waiting for his victim. I am informed by my nurses, intelligent and experienced men, that they have known several cases where death has not only been hastened, but actually caused by the nervous startling and torture inflicted by these Fourth of July celebrations. I have been also informed that the venerable and philanthropic founder of this valuable institution has done all in his power to have this cruel infliction stayed, even by personal appeal to the inhabitants of the houses in question, and that he has been met by refusal, and the reply, ‘We have a right to do as we please upon our own premises.’ I need not point out the utter falsity of this assured view of civic rights, but I would remark that the man, who, even under the sanction of long custom, and the pretence of country’s love, permits his children, through mere wanton sport, to murder annually one or more of his fellow citizens, I say that such a man is not likely to make out of these children citizens who will be distinguished either for their patriotism or humanity.“In the name of humanity I ask you, sir, to call public attention to this great cruelty, and, if possible, have it discontinued.“Yours very truly,“Mayne Reid.“Saint Luke’s Hospital, July 5th, 1870.”He was interviewed in the hospital by a lady, who wrote the following account of her visit to Mayne Reid:“New York, August 9, 1870.“My sympathies were enlisted, too, for the brave fellow who has been languishing in Saint Luke’s Hospital. The sole tidings of him was the 4th of July remonstrance, which revealed how his spirit chafed at the seclusion and helplessness incomparably worse than physical pain.“To find my way, then, to the hospital seemed a part of my pleasure in New York. The gate shut me in with a heavy clang, and I walked up the path to the main building with, I confess, no little trepidation at my boldness. In answer to the request ‘to see Captain Mayne Reid,’ I was conducted through a broad hall into a long ward furnished with an infinite number of low, narrow cots, that looked too small for any practical purpose. A turn through a short hall and what appeared to be an apothecary’s closet brought us to the private room of the author. He was lying upon a bedstead (similar to the ones in the ward) which was placed in the centre of the apartment. As he turned his head and raised himself upon his elbow to address me, he presented the view of a middle-aged, sturdy-looking English squire. The head is compact and covered by a profusion of dark brown hair, which, in contrast with the pallid complexion, stood out as if it had no part and parcel with the corpse-like whiteness of the scalp. The brow was smooth and fair, rounded out to gigantic proportions by ideality, causality and reverence. The nose, nervous and scornful, would have been remarkable but for the large and beautiful eyes, that are restless habitually, but when fixed upon an object have a lancellating effect, and withal an expression of great good heart, that is seconded by one of the most winning smiles I ever beheld. Hands of uncommon grace and beauty somehow complete the charm of his lips and eyes.“To speak first of matters of most interest to the public, Captain Reid has been suffering from the effects of a gun-shot wound received in the Mexican war, culminating in an abscess which threatened to exhaust his vitality. Recovered from that by the care of one of the most experienced surgeons in America, he was attacked by dysentery, which at the time I saw him had reduced him to a critical condition again.“‘I may say truly,’ he observed, ‘that I was dead, and am alive. The doctors had given me up, and I felt myself there was no chance. I had the hiccough for hours, and the brandy and water administered gave me no relief. With life slowly ebbing away, and the past and future passing in rapid review before my mind, an old recollection flashed before me in the strangest way, that draughts of pure brandy would sometimes arrest hiccoughs. I reached forth my hand for the bottle of brandy that stood on my stand and took a swallow. Instantly it went like fire through my veins, and with another draught my life was saved. I tell it to you for it may be of service to you some time.’“As we talked, the air coming fresh through the open window, laden with the murmur of leaves and twitter of swallows, a light, even step was heard approaching, and a lady came forward, pausing on the threshold. Oh, but she was fair! with her golden hair caught up under an azure fanchon of satin, and falling in soft ripples over her forehead. There was an expression of firmness in her calm blue eyes which gave character to the face of infantile shape and loveliness. From her face my eye wandered to her figure, struck with admiration at her graceful pose—an accomplishment few women possess. They dance and sometimes walk well, but they rarely know how to stand still. Her gown, I observed, was white, with an overdress or wrap of blue, admirably suited to her peculiar style of beauty.“‘My wife,’ said the invalid, and as he explained that I called because I had read his books she smiled and extended her hand. The smile was like sunshine, and the clasp of her soft, cool hand a positive luxury. The clear and musical voice was in keeping with her beautiful self, and I loitered for a moment to gather a full impression of the scene.”A few days after this interview a serious relapse took place, and on August 10th, telegrams were sent to his friends: “Captain Mayne Reid is dying.” Everything was prepared for his interment, and even an obituary notice was written.His wife was allowed to stay at the hospital during the night, being told by the doctors that any minute might be her husband’s last. He had been lying in an unconscious state for the past three days, all the signs of approaching dissolution being present. About 8 o’clock on the morning of the 11th he rallied considerably. The doctors and two of the lady nurses were around his bed, when he suddenly raised himself up, exclaiming in a strong voice: “Turn those she-Beelzebubs,” pointing to the two ladies, “out of the room at once, preaching at a fellow, and telling him he’s going to die. I’m not going to die. Bring me a beef-steak!”Every one was astounded, the poor chaplain being nearly frightened out of his wits. The beef-steak was speedily brought in, and the patient made a feint of eating a portion.From that day the gallant Captain slowly progressed towards recovery, and on September 10th left Saint Luke’s Hospital and sailed for Liverpool in the middle of October, this being his last visit to the country in whose cause he had shed his blood and earned the laurels of war.
In October, 1867, Captain and Mrs Mayne Reid went to the United States, arriving at Newport, Rhode Island, in November. Here they took a furnished cottage for the winter.
Soon after his arrival Captain Reid was eagerly sought by different publishers who wished to get his name. At Newport he wrote “The Child Wife,” for whichFrank Leslie’s Paperpaid him 8,000 dollars for the right of first appearance in its columns. “The Child Wife” was published by Ward, Lock and Tyler, in 3 volumes, in 1868, and is now issued in one volume by Messrs Sonnenschein and Co. The proprietor of theFireside Companionalso paid 5,000 dollars to run “The Finger of Fate” in his paper. Mayne Reid had as much work for his pen as he could get through, and was now speculating upon bringing out a boys’ magazine of his own in New York.
In December, 1868, the first number ofOnward, Mayne Reid’s magazine, appeared; he continued in the editorship for 14 months, doing other literary work in addition, till his health completely gave way, and the magazine was abandoned.
He was a constant sufferer from the effects of the wound in his leg, and during this brief sojourn in the United States was a patient in Saint Luke’s Hospital, New York, in 1870, suppuration of the thigh having brought him to death’s door. From the hospital he writes:
“To the Editor of theSun.
“Sir,—I have been for some days an inmate of Saint Luke’s Hospital, a sufferer from a severe and dangerous malady. To save my life calls for the highest surgical skill, along with combination of the most favourable circumstances, among them quiet. And yet during the whole of yesterday, and part of the day before (the Lord’s Day), the air around me has been resonant with what, in the bitterness of my spirit, I pronounce afeu d’enfer. It has resembled an almost continuous fusillade of small arms, at intervals varied by a report like the bursting of a bombshell or the discharge of a cannon. I am told that this infernal fracas proceeds from a row of dwelling houses in front of this hospital, and that it is caused by the occupants of these dwellings or their children.
“Accustomed in early life to the roar of artillery, my nerves are not easily excited by concussive sounds, and, therefore, I have not been seriously affected by them. But, alas! how different with scores of my fellow-sufferers in the hospital, beside the couch of many of whom death stands waiting for his victim. I am informed by my nurses, intelligent and experienced men, that they have known several cases where death has not only been hastened, but actually caused by the nervous startling and torture inflicted by these Fourth of July celebrations. I have been also informed that the venerable and philanthropic founder of this valuable institution has done all in his power to have this cruel infliction stayed, even by personal appeal to the inhabitants of the houses in question, and that he has been met by refusal, and the reply, ‘We have a right to do as we please upon our own premises.’ I need not point out the utter falsity of this assured view of civic rights, but I would remark that the man, who, even under the sanction of long custom, and the pretence of country’s love, permits his children, through mere wanton sport, to murder annually one or more of his fellow citizens, I say that such a man is not likely to make out of these children citizens who will be distinguished either for their patriotism or humanity.
“In the name of humanity I ask you, sir, to call public attention to this great cruelty, and, if possible, have it discontinued.
“Yours very truly,
“Mayne Reid.
“Saint Luke’s Hospital, July 5th, 1870.”
He was interviewed in the hospital by a lady, who wrote the following account of her visit to Mayne Reid:
“New York, August 9, 1870.
“My sympathies were enlisted, too, for the brave fellow who has been languishing in Saint Luke’s Hospital. The sole tidings of him was the 4th of July remonstrance, which revealed how his spirit chafed at the seclusion and helplessness incomparably worse than physical pain.
“To find my way, then, to the hospital seemed a part of my pleasure in New York. The gate shut me in with a heavy clang, and I walked up the path to the main building with, I confess, no little trepidation at my boldness. In answer to the request ‘to see Captain Mayne Reid,’ I was conducted through a broad hall into a long ward furnished with an infinite number of low, narrow cots, that looked too small for any practical purpose. A turn through a short hall and what appeared to be an apothecary’s closet brought us to the private room of the author. He was lying upon a bedstead (similar to the ones in the ward) which was placed in the centre of the apartment. As he turned his head and raised himself upon his elbow to address me, he presented the view of a middle-aged, sturdy-looking English squire. The head is compact and covered by a profusion of dark brown hair, which, in contrast with the pallid complexion, stood out as if it had no part and parcel with the corpse-like whiteness of the scalp. The brow was smooth and fair, rounded out to gigantic proportions by ideality, causality and reverence. The nose, nervous and scornful, would have been remarkable but for the large and beautiful eyes, that are restless habitually, but when fixed upon an object have a lancellating effect, and withal an expression of great good heart, that is seconded by one of the most winning smiles I ever beheld. Hands of uncommon grace and beauty somehow complete the charm of his lips and eyes.
“To speak first of matters of most interest to the public, Captain Reid has been suffering from the effects of a gun-shot wound received in the Mexican war, culminating in an abscess which threatened to exhaust his vitality. Recovered from that by the care of one of the most experienced surgeons in America, he was attacked by dysentery, which at the time I saw him had reduced him to a critical condition again.
“‘I may say truly,’ he observed, ‘that I was dead, and am alive. The doctors had given me up, and I felt myself there was no chance. I had the hiccough for hours, and the brandy and water administered gave me no relief. With life slowly ebbing away, and the past and future passing in rapid review before my mind, an old recollection flashed before me in the strangest way, that draughts of pure brandy would sometimes arrest hiccoughs. I reached forth my hand for the bottle of brandy that stood on my stand and took a swallow. Instantly it went like fire through my veins, and with another draught my life was saved. I tell it to you for it may be of service to you some time.’
“As we talked, the air coming fresh through the open window, laden with the murmur of leaves and twitter of swallows, a light, even step was heard approaching, and a lady came forward, pausing on the threshold. Oh, but she was fair! with her golden hair caught up under an azure fanchon of satin, and falling in soft ripples over her forehead. There was an expression of firmness in her calm blue eyes which gave character to the face of infantile shape and loveliness. From her face my eye wandered to her figure, struck with admiration at her graceful pose—an accomplishment few women possess. They dance and sometimes walk well, but they rarely know how to stand still. Her gown, I observed, was white, with an overdress or wrap of blue, admirably suited to her peculiar style of beauty.
“‘My wife,’ said the invalid, and as he explained that I called because I had read his books she smiled and extended her hand. The smile was like sunshine, and the clasp of her soft, cool hand a positive luxury. The clear and musical voice was in keeping with her beautiful self, and I loitered for a moment to gather a full impression of the scene.”
A few days after this interview a serious relapse took place, and on August 10th, telegrams were sent to his friends: “Captain Mayne Reid is dying.” Everything was prepared for his interment, and even an obituary notice was written.
His wife was allowed to stay at the hospital during the night, being told by the doctors that any minute might be her husband’s last. He had been lying in an unconscious state for the past three days, all the signs of approaching dissolution being present. About 8 o’clock on the morning of the 11th he rallied considerably. The doctors and two of the lady nurses were around his bed, when he suddenly raised himself up, exclaiming in a strong voice: “Turn those she-Beelzebubs,” pointing to the two ladies, “out of the room at once, preaching at a fellow, and telling him he’s going to die. I’m not going to die. Bring me a beef-steak!”
Every one was astounded, the poor chaplain being nearly frightened out of his wits. The beef-steak was speedily brought in, and the patient made a feint of eating a portion.
From that day the gallant Captain slowly progressed towards recovery, and on September 10th left Saint Luke’s Hospital and sailed for Liverpool in the middle of October, this being his last visit to the country in whose cause he had shed his blood and earned the laurels of war.
Chapter Fourteen.Closing Scenes.For some time after his return home Mayne Reid’s health remained in a precarious state, and he suffered very much from depression. At one time it was almost feared that his mind would not recover its balance. That wonderful intellect was sadly clouded; the terrible ordeal he had passed through in New York had left its mark behind. But in the end, with careful nursing his illusions vanished, and he once more resumed the pen. After writing some short articles for “Cassell’s Illustrated Travels,” he revised “The Finger of Fate” and “Lone Ranche,” which was published in two volumes by Chapman and Hall. In May, 1872, Mayne Reid commenced writing a new story, “The Death Shot,” for Mr Ingram. It appeared inThe Penny Illustrated Paper, and was a great success, speedily increasing the circulation of that paper. “The Death Shot” was also published by Beadle and Adams, of New York, in theirSaturday Journal.On returning from his autumn tour in South Wales, Captain Reid writes to his young friend, Charles Ollivant:“I’m growing as fat as the claimant, and strong as a bull, but sorrowful as a ‘gib cat.’”He was then re-writing “The Lone Ranche,” and making it a much longer book. It ran through the columns ofThe Penny Illustrated Paper, under the title of “Adela.”In a letter written in November, Mayne Reid says:“I am now in the middle of a negotiation, that if successful will be of great service to me—perhaps give me a small income for life, and for my dear wife when I die. I am trying to re-purchase the copyrights of my novels.”It was successful, and in December, 1873, and the following June, 1874, he was enabled to re-purchase the copyrights of most of his works.In the autumn of 1874, Chapman and Hall published “The Death Shot” in three volumes. It had recently been revised.In the preface, dated Great Malvern, September, 1874, he says:“The author has re-modelled—almost rewritten it.“It is the same story, but as he hopes and believes, better told.”During the summer of this year Captain Reid commenced “The Flag of Distress,” which was first published inChambers Journalin August, 1875. He received three hundred guineas for the right of issue in that journal. Of this book Dr William Chambers wrote to Mayne Reid: “I think the plot excellent, and the character of ‘Harry Blew’ the finest you have drawn.”“The Flag of Distress” was afterwards published in three volumes by Tinsley, and it and “The Death Shot” are now issued in one volume, published by Swan Sonnenschein and Co.He also contributed several articles to magazines and a short tale toThe Illustrated London News.In October, 1874, Mayne Reid was again laid low. This time an abscess attacked the knee of the wounded leg. Again reports of his death were circulated, and once more arrangements made for his burial. For six months he was on his bed, and rose at last a cripple, never being able to walk again for the remainder of his life without the aid of crutches. In 1882 a small pension was granted him from the United States Government for Mexican war services. The claim was for an invalid pension, and this was afterwards increased, but only shortly before his death.During the last few years of his life, Captain Mayne Reid may be said to have literally turned his sword into the “plough share.” He resided then near Ross, Herefordshire, amid the picturesque Wye scenery, and occupied himself in farming. He reared a peculiar breed of sheep—a cross between a Mexican species and the Welsh mountain sheep—and succeeded at length in getting a flock, all with the same peculiarities, namely, jet black bodies, snow-white faces and long white bushy tails. An account of these sheep appeared in theLive Stock Journal, 1880. They were called “Jacob’s sheep,” being “ringed and speckled.”The Captain used to say, jestingly, that he should go down to posterity as a breeder of sheep. Their mutton appeared on his table, and out of their wool he had cloth woven, from which he wore garments made to his own design.He was also a large potato grower, experimenting with Mexican seed. Some clever articles upon potato culture from his pen were contributed to theLive Stock Journal, 1880.In his Herefordshire home he wrote “Gwen Wynn: a Romance of the Wye.”Towards the end of 1880 Captain Mayne Reid revised “The Free Lances,” in fact re-writing almost every line. The book had been originally written while he was editing theOnward Magazinein New York, but was not then published. Mr Bonner, the proprietor of theNew York Ledger, paid a large sum for running it through his paper.This revising, in addition to other literary work, was rather hard upon Mayne Reid. He writes:“I thought I would have broken down, but I seem to get better with the hard work, only I am in great fear my poor wife will give way. She is in very delicate health, and looking quite ill. That acts sadly against me in my work, for when she is not cheerful I don’t write nearly so well.”His wife was his amanuensis. Captain Mayne Reid regularly contributed a Christmas tale to thePenny Illustrated Paperand other journals during these latter days.“The Free Lances” was published in three volumes, 1881, by Remington. TheSaturday Review, July, 1881, says: “Captain Mayne Reid seems to be as lively a writer as he ever was, and if ‘The Free Lances’ causes any less thrill of excitement than was wont to be aroused by ‘The Scalp Hunters,’ the fault must be due to a change in the reader rather than in the author.”“The Free Lances” is now published in one volume.The last novel from Captain Mayne Reid’s pen was “No Quarter,” an historical tale of the Parliamentary wars. Most of the scenes are laid in Herefordshire and the Forest of Dean, all of which Mayne Reid personally visited before writing the story. The principal characters and scenes of the book are historically correct.He also wrote for theSporting and Dramatic Newsarticles on “Our Home Natural History,” and letters to theNew York Tribuneon the “Rural Life of England.”For Mr Ingram’s paper, theBoys’ Illustrated News, of which Captain Mayne Reid was co-editor on its first appearance, he wrote “The Lost Mountain” and “The Chase of Leviathan,” also natural history notes and short stories.“The Naturalist in Siluria,” a popular book on natural history, was also written in Herefordshire.Mr W.H. Bates, author of “The Naturalist on the Amazon,” in a letter to Mrs Reid, says:“Throughout our mutual acquaintance Captain Mayne Reid always impressed me as a man deeply interested in all natural history lore, and the subject was one of our most constant topics of conversation. If circumstances in early life had turned his attention in that direction he would have made a reputation as a naturalist.”The last book for boys written by Captain Mayne Reid was “The Land of Fire,” a short story of the South Seas; but ere its publication the hand that penned it was cold in death.Captain Mayne Reid possessed great powers of oratory. He would speak for hours on a subject with untiring energy. The language from his tongue flowed facile as that from his pen, his favourite theme being politics. He would often astound his hearers by the eloquence he expended upon his beloved theory—the superiority of Republican over Monarchial institutions. Occasionally he came across a Tory equally red-hot, and then the “fur would fly.” But Captain Reid, by his great charm of manner, rarely gave offence, and was, as a rule, listened to with good nature on both sides. Often while in the height of a very hot discussion he would suddenly change the theme, dropping at once from the sublime to the ridiculous with such ease that it was difficult for his audience to tell if he had really been in earnest. Had Mayne Reid chosen, he would have made a name as an orator. The few occasions on which he occupied the platform amply proved this.Though cherishing the strongest Republican principles, Mayne Reid was by no means a leveller, but in many things the very opposite to what the expression of his opinions would lead one to suppose. He was an enigma, which only one in the close contact of everyday life with him could solve.His name rarely figured at literary gatherings, but he sometimes attended the Geographical or Zoological Societies’ meetings; in fact, he avoided rather than sought literary society.Before commencing a new book, Captain Mayne Reid would thoroughly study his subject and work out the plot. He would make rough drafts at first, which were afterwards thrown away.He had no skill with the pencil, but would make curious figures like hieroglyphics in his manuscript, intended to represent objects described, but bearing to all but himself a merely imaginary resemblance.His mode of writing was peculiar. He rarely sat at a table, but reclined on a couch, arrayed in dressing-gown and slippers, with a portable desk and fur robe thrown across his knees even in hot weather, and a cigar between his lips—which was constantly going out and being re-lighted—while the floor all around him was strewed with matches. Latterly, after he became a cripple, the dressing-gown was discarded for a large Norfolk jacket, made from his own sheep’s wool; and he would sit and write at the window in a large arm-chair with an improvised table in front of him resting on his knees, upon which at night he would have a couple of candles placed, the inevitable cigar, matches, and whisky toddy being the accessories.He had a singular habit of reading in bed, with newspapers, manuscript, and a lighted candle on his pillow. At least a score or more of times he has been found in the morning with the paper burnt to black tinder all round him, but neither himself nor the bed-clothes in the slightest singed.The Mexican hero was never an idle man; and after his sword was sheathed in its scabbard, his pen never rested. His brain was as active as ever till within a fortnight of his death.On October 22nd, 1883, Mayne Reid had fought his last battle.An irregular block of white marble, on which is carved a sword and pen crossing each other, and these words from “The Scalp Hunters:—”This is the weed prairie,It is misnamed,It is the Garden of God,mark his last resting-place, in Kensal Green Cemetery, London.
For some time after his return home Mayne Reid’s health remained in a precarious state, and he suffered very much from depression. At one time it was almost feared that his mind would not recover its balance. That wonderful intellect was sadly clouded; the terrible ordeal he had passed through in New York had left its mark behind. But in the end, with careful nursing his illusions vanished, and he once more resumed the pen. After writing some short articles for “Cassell’s Illustrated Travels,” he revised “The Finger of Fate” and “Lone Ranche,” which was published in two volumes by Chapman and Hall. In May, 1872, Mayne Reid commenced writing a new story, “The Death Shot,” for Mr Ingram. It appeared inThe Penny Illustrated Paper, and was a great success, speedily increasing the circulation of that paper. “The Death Shot” was also published by Beadle and Adams, of New York, in theirSaturday Journal.
On returning from his autumn tour in South Wales, Captain Reid writes to his young friend, Charles Ollivant:
“I’m growing as fat as the claimant, and strong as a bull, but sorrowful as a ‘gib cat.’”
He was then re-writing “The Lone Ranche,” and making it a much longer book. It ran through the columns ofThe Penny Illustrated Paper, under the title of “Adela.”
In a letter written in November, Mayne Reid says:
“I am now in the middle of a negotiation, that if successful will be of great service to me—perhaps give me a small income for life, and for my dear wife when I die. I am trying to re-purchase the copyrights of my novels.”
It was successful, and in December, 1873, and the following June, 1874, he was enabled to re-purchase the copyrights of most of his works.
In the autumn of 1874, Chapman and Hall published “The Death Shot” in three volumes. It had recently been revised.
In the preface, dated Great Malvern, September, 1874, he says:
“The author has re-modelled—almost rewritten it.
“It is the same story, but as he hopes and believes, better told.”
During the summer of this year Captain Reid commenced “The Flag of Distress,” which was first published inChambers Journalin August, 1875. He received three hundred guineas for the right of issue in that journal. Of this book Dr William Chambers wrote to Mayne Reid: “I think the plot excellent, and the character of ‘Harry Blew’ the finest you have drawn.”
“The Flag of Distress” was afterwards published in three volumes by Tinsley, and it and “The Death Shot” are now issued in one volume, published by Swan Sonnenschein and Co.
He also contributed several articles to magazines and a short tale toThe Illustrated London News.
In October, 1874, Mayne Reid was again laid low. This time an abscess attacked the knee of the wounded leg. Again reports of his death were circulated, and once more arrangements made for his burial. For six months he was on his bed, and rose at last a cripple, never being able to walk again for the remainder of his life without the aid of crutches. In 1882 a small pension was granted him from the United States Government for Mexican war services. The claim was for an invalid pension, and this was afterwards increased, but only shortly before his death.
During the last few years of his life, Captain Mayne Reid may be said to have literally turned his sword into the “plough share.” He resided then near Ross, Herefordshire, amid the picturesque Wye scenery, and occupied himself in farming. He reared a peculiar breed of sheep—a cross between a Mexican species and the Welsh mountain sheep—and succeeded at length in getting a flock, all with the same peculiarities, namely, jet black bodies, snow-white faces and long white bushy tails. An account of these sheep appeared in theLive Stock Journal, 1880. They were called “Jacob’s sheep,” being “ringed and speckled.”
The Captain used to say, jestingly, that he should go down to posterity as a breeder of sheep. Their mutton appeared on his table, and out of their wool he had cloth woven, from which he wore garments made to his own design.
He was also a large potato grower, experimenting with Mexican seed. Some clever articles upon potato culture from his pen were contributed to theLive Stock Journal, 1880.
In his Herefordshire home he wrote “Gwen Wynn: a Romance of the Wye.”
Towards the end of 1880 Captain Mayne Reid revised “The Free Lances,” in fact re-writing almost every line. The book had been originally written while he was editing theOnward Magazinein New York, but was not then published. Mr Bonner, the proprietor of theNew York Ledger, paid a large sum for running it through his paper.
This revising, in addition to other literary work, was rather hard upon Mayne Reid. He writes:
“I thought I would have broken down, but I seem to get better with the hard work, only I am in great fear my poor wife will give way. She is in very delicate health, and looking quite ill. That acts sadly against me in my work, for when she is not cheerful I don’t write nearly so well.”
His wife was his amanuensis. Captain Mayne Reid regularly contributed a Christmas tale to thePenny Illustrated Paperand other journals during these latter days.
“The Free Lances” was published in three volumes, 1881, by Remington. TheSaturday Review, July, 1881, says: “Captain Mayne Reid seems to be as lively a writer as he ever was, and if ‘The Free Lances’ causes any less thrill of excitement than was wont to be aroused by ‘The Scalp Hunters,’ the fault must be due to a change in the reader rather than in the author.”
“The Free Lances” is now published in one volume.
The last novel from Captain Mayne Reid’s pen was “No Quarter,” an historical tale of the Parliamentary wars. Most of the scenes are laid in Herefordshire and the Forest of Dean, all of which Mayne Reid personally visited before writing the story. The principal characters and scenes of the book are historically correct.
He also wrote for theSporting and Dramatic Newsarticles on “Our Home Natural History,” and letters to theNew York Tribuneon the “Rural Life of England.”
For Mr Ingram’s paper, theBoys’ Illustrated News, of which Captain Mayne Reid was co-editor on its first appearance, he wrote “The Lost Mountain” and “The Chase of Leviathan,” also natural history notes and short stories.
“The Naturalist in Siluria,” a popular book on natural history, was also written in Herefordshire.
Mr W.H. Bates, author of “The Naturalist on the Amazon,” in a letter to Mrs Reid, says:
“Throughout our mutual acquaintance Captain Mayne Reid always impressed me as a man deeply interested in all natural history lore, and the subject was one of our most constant topics of conversation. If circumstances in early life had turned his attention in that direction he would have made a reputation as a naturalist.”
The last book for boys written by Captain Mayne Reid was “The Land of Fire,” a short story of the South Seas; but ere its publication the hand that penned it was cold in death.
Captain Mayne Reid possessed great powers of oratory. He would speak for hours on a subject with untiring energy. The language from his tongue flowed facile as that from his pen, his favourite theme being politics. He would often astound his hearers by the eloquence he expended upon his beloved theory—the superiority of Republican over Monarchial institutions. Occasionally he came across a Tory equally red-hot, and then the “fur would fly.” But Captain Reid, by his great charm of manner, rarely gave offence, and was, as a rule, listened to with good nature on both sides. Often while in the height of a very hot discussion he would suddenly change the theme, dropping at once from the sublime to the ridiculous with such ease that it was difficult for his audience to tell if he had really been in earnest. Had Mayne Reid chosen, he would have made a name as an orator. The few occasions on which he occupied the platform amply proved this.
Though cherishing the strongest Republican principles, Mayne Reid was by no means a leveller, but in many things the very opposite to what the expression of his opinions would lead one to suppose. He was an enigma, which only one in the close contact of everyday life with him could solve.
His name rarely figured at literary gatherings, but he sometimes attended the Geographical or Zoological Societies’ meetings; in fact, he avoided rather than sought literary society.
Before commencing a new book, Captain Mayne Reid would thoroughly study his subject and work out the plot. He would make rough drafts at first, which were afterwards thrown away.
He had no skill with the pencil, but would make curious figures like hieroglyphics in his manuscript, intended to represent objects described, but bearing to all but himself a merely imaginary resemblance.
His mode of writing was peculiar. He rarely sat at a table, but reclined on a couch, arrayed in dressing-gown and slippers, with a portable desk and fur robe thrown across his knees even in hot weather, and a cigar between his lips—which was constantly going out and being re-lighted—while the floor all around him was strewed with matches. Latterly, after he became a cripple, the dressing-gown was discarded for a large Norfolk jacket, made from his own sheep’s wool; and he would sit and write at the window in a large arm-chair with an improvised table in front of him resting on his knees, upon which at night he would have a couple of candles placed, the inevitable cigar, matches, and whisky toddy being the accessories.
He had a singular habit of reading in bed, with newspapers, manuscript, and a lighted candle on his pillow. At least a score or more of times he has been found in the morning with the paper burnt to black tinder all round him, but neither himself nor the bed-clothes in the slightest singed.
The Mexican hero was never an idle man; and after his sword was sheathed in its scabbard, his pen never rested. His brain was as active as ever till within a fortnight of his death.
On October 22nd, 1883, Mayne Reid had fought his last battle.
An irregular block of white marble, on which is carved a sword and pen crossing each other, and these words from “The Scalp Hunters:—”
This is the weed prairie,It is misnamed,It is the Garden of God,
This is the weed prairie,It is misnamed,It is the Garden of God,
mark his last resting-place, in Kensal Green Cemetery, London.