The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp

I was born thirty-five years ago, in a public house called the Church House, in the town of N⁠⸺, in the county of M⁠⸺. It was kept by my grandfather, native of Cornwall, a retired sea captain, whose pride it was, drunk or sober, to inform all strangers that he had been master of his own ship, the said ship being a small schooner. In those days there was a steam packet, called the Welsh Prince, trading regularly between N⁠⸺ and Bristol, and in the latter town we had relatives on my grandmother’s side. The fact of the matter was that my grandmother belonged to Somerset, and she often paid a visit to three maiden sisters, first cousins of hers, living, I believe, near Glastonbury, who had a young relative that had gone on the stage, and was causing some stir under a different name from his own, which was Brodrib. My grandmother held very strong opinions about the stage, and when these first cousins met, no doubt the young man, in those early days, was most severely discussed, and, had he not been a blood relation, would have been considered a sinner too far advanced for prayer.

My earliest recollection is of being taken as a small boy with an elder brother to Bristol on the Welsh Prince by my grandfather.

I was so anxious to see the different states of America that I did not stay long in New York before I succumbed to the persuasion of my Liverpool acquaintance to visit with him some friends in a small town in the state of Connecticut, at which place we soon arrived, with something like ten dollars between us. America, at this time, was suffering from a depression in trade, and people were daily returning to the old country, most of them with the intention of returning again to America at a more favourable time. Not being able to get employment at once, and resolved to be independent of the bounty of strangers, I walked out alone, and sat on a seat in the park, trying to conceive some plans for the future. My box, full of clothes, books, brushes, etc., would amply compensate, I thought, for the week’s lodging which I had had. Yes, I would see Chicago: and, suddenly becoming aware of a man occupying the other end of the seat, I enquired of him the way to Chicago, as though the distance was a paltry ten miles, instead of a hundred times greater. This man looked at me in astonishment, and at last asked me if I intended to beat my way. Seeing my lack of understanding, he enquired as to my financial resources. On shaking my head in the negative, implying that I had no money, he said. “No more have I: and if you are agreeable, we will both beat our way to Chicago.”

We followed his example, late prisoners and citizens, and were all happy together until a late hour.

The marshal, who seemed to have a little respect for me, for having shown the spirit of free speech before the judge, took me aside and asked whether we intended to take advantage of the invitation given by the citizen who had been threatened for contempt of court⁠—to spend the night at his house. “I don’t think so,” I said; “we have had enough of this town, and intend leaving it tonight.” Shortly after these words we left the saloon, but had scarcely reached the street end, when I heard steps following, and to my surprise, the marshal was soon at our side. Now comes the most extraordinary part of this story, which I have often been diffident in relating, thinking it would not be credited. “Boys,” said this burly fellow, who could not get any sleep day or night, “get you to the railroad, and if anyone interferes with you, tell them that the marshal sent you; I shall be with you in about twenty minutes.” We were soon at the railroad, were not interfered with, and the marshal followed in a short time. “Listen,” he said to us, who were again trespassers on the railroad, at his pleasure and instigation: “There is a train already made up to start in five minutes’ time; get into this empty car, and by heavens, no man shall interfere with you.” Which we did, and when the train started, the marshal was there, beside the car, wishing us a pleasant goodbye. “Why,” said Brum, when I commented in astonishment at all this, “it is nothing unusual.

We had been here some fifteen minutes, when we saw the marshal coming down the road leading to the station, the bright star of his authority being seen distinctly on his breast. “Now,” said Brum, “let me be the spokesman, and I will arrange for a month’s comfort.” By this time the marshal stood before us. “Boys,” he began, “cold weather for travelling, eh?” “We don’t feel the cold,” was Brum’s reply. “You will though,” said the marshal, “this is but the beginning, and there is a long and severe winter before you, without a break. You would certainly be better off in jail. Sixty days in our jail, which is considered one of the best, if not the best, in Michigan, would do you no harm, I assure you.” “As for that,” said Brum, “we might take thirty days each, providing of course, that you made it worth while. What about tobacco and a drink or two of whisky?” “That’ll be all right,” said the marshal, “here’s half a dollar for a drink, and the sheriff will supply your tobacco.” “No, no,” objected Brum, “give us a dollar and three cakes of tobacco, and we will take thirty days, and remember, not a day over.” The marshal produced the three cakes of tobacco, seeming to be well prepared for these demands, and giving us a paper dollar, requested us to go to Donovan’s saloon, which we

Even then I did not know what had happened, for I attempted to stand, but found that something had happened to prevent me from doing this. Sitting down in an upright position, I then began to examine myself, and now found that the right foot was severed from the ankle. This discovery did not shock me so much as the thoughts which quickly followed. For, as I could feel no pain, I did not know but what my body was in several parts, and I was not satisfied until I examined every portion of it. Seeing a man crossing the track, I shouted to him for assistance. He looked in one direction and another, not seeing me in the darkness, and was going his way when I shouted again. This time he looked full my way, but instead of coming nearer, he made one bound in the air, nearly fell, scrambled to his feet, and was off like the shot from a gun. This man was sought after for several weeks, by people curious to know who he was, but was never found, and no man came forward to say⁠—“I am he.” Having failed to find this man, people at last began to think I was under a ghostly impression. Probably that was the other man’s impression, for who ever saw Pity make the same speed as Fear?

Another man, after this, approached, who was a workman on the line, and at the sound of my voice he seemed to understand at once what had occurred.