Hall Caine, the Man and the Novelist. C. Fred Kenyon
one has been tempted almost to forget—that the world is not all beautiful, and that sooner or later the city will again claim us as its own.
But this island-charm was not the only influence that was at work upon the young child’s imagination. His grandmother, superstitious like all good Manx people, would tell him tales in the dusk of evening, that banished all sleep from his eyes, and set his fancy weaving stories of elves, fairies, gnomes and witches. The old woman had the folk-lore of her native country at her finger-ends, and so attentive a listener curled up at the fire of peat made a good story-teller of her. The first book he remembers reading was a huge volume on the German Reformation, about Luther and Melancthon, and other men who soon became his well-loved heroes. These days Mr. Caine remembers well and the memory is sweet and pleasant. But the time came when it was necessary for him to go to school, and he returned to his parents who had settled in Liverpool. At the age of ten he entered as a “new boy” the public school in Hope Street, Liverpool. Among his fellow-pupils was a William Pierce who was afterwards to become one of the most prominent figures in the Congregational Ministry. I am indebted to this gentleman for the following schoolboy reminiscences of his companion.
“Many things served to make the entry of Hall Caine among us noteworthy. In the first place, he was easily distinguished among a crowd of schoolboys by his then bright hair—gold, turning to red—his clear, almost girlish complexion, and his large, luminous brown eyes. I think the almost instantaneous conviction in the minds of the rest of the class that morning was that our new friend would be all the better for a little wholesome persecution when their duties were over, if only to take some of the painful freshness out of him and tone him down to our own colour. This feeling on our part was heightened when he was called upon to read a passage aloud, which he did, as I clearly recall, in a very musical voice, and with much greater modulation than we had dared to employ—lest we should be thought to be giving ourselves airs! When our master was injudicious enough to praise Hall Caine warmly at the expense of the rest of us, the duty of taking him in hand became one of high moral obligation. And though I have no recollection of what happened, I have no doubt that, being so different from other boys in many respects, he did suffer some little persecution, without being, I hope, any the worse for the discipline.
“I think that probably, to the end of his school experience, Caine was somewhat scoffed at by the rougher boys; partly, also, because he was not addicted to settling his differences with other boys by giving or accepting challenges to fight. But he was not in the least a milksop. Among the trivial remembrances of those days, the only outstanding recollection I have of Caine is quite characteristic of him. At one of the terminal examinations we were set to write a short English composition. The report of the examiner stated that one paper was unusual, coming from a class of boys of our years. This youthful production was graced by apt poetical quotations, illustrations of the theme set us—a unique feature in the examiner’s experience of boys of our standard. I remember one of our class-mates remarking that it required some cheek to quote poetry in old ⸺’s composition; but my own estimate of Caine increased by this and similar circumstances, and when I left for one of the larger grammar schools in the city, we were already great friends.”
It will be seen from the above that early in life Hall Caine was schooled to bear the unfriendly criticism and persecution of those who were unable to understand him. The schoolmaster mentioned by the Reverend William Pierce was Mr. George Gill, the head of the well-known firm of publishers of schoolbooks. From the very first Mr. Gill recognised that his young, sensitive pupil had remarkable powers, and that if all went well he would one day make a name for himself. In proof of this I should like to relate a story in connection with the first night of The Christian in London. Mr. George Gill, now an old man, was in the stalls, his heart full of pride at the distinguished position his quondam pupil had gained. The theatre was packed with a fashionable and intellectual audience. A play was about to be produced which had taken America by storm, and it was confidently expected that in England also the drama would achieve a tremendous success. Carried away by generous pride and enthusiasm, Mr. Gill turned to those seated near him, exclaiming: “I always knew it! I always knew it! I said from the very first that the lad had genius, and to-night I am witnessing the proof of it.” The conduct of the old gentleman reflected the greatest credit on his heart and head alike, and it is a noteworthy instance of Hall Caine’s power of making and keeping friends.
But let me return to Mr. Pierce’s reminiscences. “During the few years that followed,” he says, “my friendship with Caine met with little advance. I saw him occasionally only, and heard of his doings but at rare intervals. His people were attached to the large and important Baptist Church in Myrtle Street, presided over by Hugh Stowell Brown, himself a Manxman. It was natural that young Caine should find here an opening for his budding faculties, though he never became one of the inner circle of the workers of the church. I used to hear of his occasional participation in the proceedings of a literary and debating society established at Myrtle Street. Without aiming at it, he easily drew attention to himself—in voice, in manner and in mental cast he was an exceptional youth. Meanwhile he was ‘something in the city.’ ”
Mr. George Rose, another of his most intimate friends at this time, writes me that at the age of fifteen young Caine was apprenticed to an architect. “It was in a quiet spot,” continues Mr. Rose, “somewhat remote from the part of the town where the activities of commerce were carried on. The daily routine of duties was not burdensome, and many of his hours were devoted to the self-imposed tasks of a literary nature, in which he delighted. Probably he dreamed, through many a quiet hour, of success to be gained in after years; if it were possible to recall some of those dreams and, by putting them together, to form the chart of a projected journey through life, it would be found to differ widely in many ways from the course he was ordained to follow. Perhaps the only points of coincidence which could be noticed would be the constant turning towards the Isle of Man that was never absent from any scheme of life upon which his fancy dwelt in youthful days.
“For those who hope to ‘make their way,’ London necessarily fills a large space in the map of life, and thither Hall Caine’s thoughts often turned. Then there were quiet joys in Lakeland to tempt the wanderer; but the little Man Island was the home to which return was to be made at last, and which was to have its scenes brightened by any glory that could be won in the outer world.
“Hall Caine was endowed by Nature with some graceful qualities which would have made him popular in whatever walk of life he chose to follow. Before it was known outside the circle of his friends that he possessed such remarkable qualities of mind he had already shown his power to hold the attention of audiences, and was well known and greatly esteemed in the wide district occupied by the southern portion of Liverpool. It was customary at that time to arrange ‘Readings’ for the amusement of the people. These entertainments were given by societies connected with places of worship, and were intended to have an educating and refining effect on the people who attended them. Hall Caine when very young was in great request at gatherings of that kind, and his presence on any platform was enthusiastically welcomed. He was of pleasing appearance, confident in his manner, and his countenance gave the impression that his disposition was genial. People were always happy to make his acquaintance, and when he began to speak, whether expressing his own thoughts or reciting some piece of poetry, the clear tone of his voice, the perfect enunciation of his words, his intense earnestness and effective dramatic style enabled him to hold the attention of an audience from his first word so long as he chose to address them. His taste lay in the selection of serious pieces; sometimes they were even a little beyond the comprehension of his hearers. He had given much attention to the study of the works of the Lake school of poets, and to those of the best writers of the eighteenth century. With these as models, he had formed for himself an ideal of perfection in language that, even in the excitement of speaking in public, he never lost sight of; and this, combined with his natural fluency of speech, raised his efforts to the level of oratory. The extent and variety of his reading tended to give a peculiar quaintness to some of his forms of expression. He sometimes introduced words and phrases borrowed from old authors, forgetting that they were no longer in common use. At other times the sense in which he used a word was different from that in which his hearers understood it. In connection with his work in the society of Myrtle Street Chapel he undertook to read a poem upon which he was then engaged; it