The Royal Mail Part 15

This flung the door open for a full statement of the position of the family, which was given without reserve, as if to an old friend, until the butler with the clergyman was mentioned, when the officer interrupted him with the remark--

"Ah, to be sure; I know something of him. That was capital ginger-wine you gave him lately."

"Ginger-wine!" quoth the grocer; "I never had wine in my house in my life, and I certainly never gave my son any."

This was enough for the officer, who remarked that there might be a mistake; and soon thereafter he found means to bring the conversation to a close.

Returning immediately to the clergyman's house, he again saw the lady, and told her what had occurred. He made bold to say, moreover, that her butler was a thief, that he was stealing her husband's wine, that he in all probability had made away with the watch, and that she ought to give him into custody, and to prosecute him. At this point the butler was called in, and in presence of his mistress plainly taxed with the theft of the wine. Finding it useless to stand out, he confessed that he had taken it, but protested that he had not stolen the watch.

The lady, however, had no longer any doubt in the matter; and deeply distressed at finding how greatly she had been deceived in her estimate of his character for integrity, exclaimed--"Oh John! to think that after all the pains your master and I have taken to make you a good man, you should have done this wicked thing! Oh John, John!"

The officer saw that in the lady's view all suspicion was removed from the Post-office, and prepared to leave; but feeling anxious about the lady in the absence of her husband, said he should go to the police-station and fetch a couple of constables to attend to the matter. On this hint the butler became greatly excited and alarmed, and earnestly begged that only one policeman might be sent.

"Oh no," said the officer, "you are a big man, and we must have two;"

and beckoning Mrs ---- to leave the room, he turned the key in the door, and went for the police.

During his absence, the household was in a state of wild excitement, the lady of the house being in a high state of nervousness, while below-stairs the servants were in no better condition. Meanwhile, one of the females, either through sympathy for the idol of the kitchen, or in pursuance of womanly curiosity, which is not less likely, sought the vantage-ground of a water-b.u.t.t at the rear of the premises, in order to make a reconnaissance through the window, and ascertain how the butler was comporting himself in the new and extraordinary situation where he was. But one glance into the room was enough; she sprang to the ground, and ran to her mistress screaming that John was cutting his throat. Sure enough he had been engaged in this operation, using a pocket-knife for the purpose; and the officers of justice, on opening the door, found him streaming with blood from the self-inflicted wound.

At this juncture the Post-office official left the matter to be dealt with by the clergyman as he might see fit. He felt sufficient interest in the case, however, to make inquiry subsequently as to the fate of the culprit, and learnt that he had recovered from his injury; that his kind master and mistress had forgiven him; and although they did not receive him back into their service, they helped him in other ways, and were a.s.siduous in their endeavours to keep him in the paths of rect.i.tude and honesty.

The following anecdote, borrowed from a French source,[5] will ill.u.s.trate how serious the consequences may be when letters are not clearly and intelligibly addressed, and by what slight accidents such missives sometimes go far from their right course.

[5] 'La Poste Anecdotique et Pittoresque.' Par Pierre Zaccone.

About the year 1837 there was garrisoned at a small town in the Department of the Pas-de-Calais an honest soldier named Goraud, who had served with the colours a term of seven years. Though he had conducted himself well, and was favourably thought of by his superiors, he had never been able to rise above the grade of full private. He liked his profession, but being unable either to read or write, the avenues to promotion remained closed against him.

Goraud came from an obscure village in Provence, where his poor old mother, a woman of over sixty, lived, and where also resided a married brother, younger than himself, who was surrounded by a rising family of children. The soldier received from time to time letters from his mother, which, on being read to him, affected him deeply, sometimes even to tears. There were, besides, other friends in his native place of whom he entertained kindly recollections, and with whom he kept up intercourse through his family; especially a young woman towards whom he had formerly had very tender feelings, which, though not now so strong, time and distance had not as yet effaced.

Becoming home-sick, and having no bright prospect before him in the army, Goraud yearned to be set free, so that he might spend the rest of his days "in the midst of those he so much loved," as is expressed on the tomb of the great Napoleon. He had already, as has been before stated, served seven years; he had been of good conduct; and now he had but to demand his discharge in order to accomplish his fondest wish.

But just as he was about to make the necessary request, and to realise the dream which he had been cherishing, a letter from his brother changed all his plans. His joy was turned to sorrow. This letter informed him that his mother was seriously ill, and, moreover, that some distemper had a.s.sailed his brother's stock, carrying many of them off; in fact, misery stared in the face those among whom he had hoped to live happily, and to eke out the remainder of his days in comfort. The poor fellow was sadly cast down; the phantom of pleasure had pa.s.sed from his view; he shed bitter tears of disappointment, and was at his wits' end.

Dejection and irresolution did not, however, last. He soon regained command of himself, and filial affection suggested to him the course which he should pursue.

Next day he proceeded to the office of an agent whose business it was to procure subst.i.tutes for individuals desirous of avoiding service in the army; and in a few days thereafter he engaged to serve his country for seven years more, receiving in return a payment down of 1500 francs. It may be guessed what was the next step taken by the worthy soldier. He remitted the 1500 francs to his mother, in a letter directed to the care of his brother; and at the same time he intimated that he was to start at once for Algeria, there to join the new regiment to which he had been posted.

Three months pa.s.sed, and as yet no acknowledgment for the money came to hand. This to Goraud, after the sacrifice he had made, was sadly disappointing; but he did not at first feel alarmed. The idea occurred to him that his mother might be a trifle worse, or that something might have delayed the reply. He decided to write again. He related what he had done, explained the cause he had for uneasiness, and begged that an early answer might be sent to him. This was not long in coming. It stated that the old mother was again well, that the brother had had a hard struggle, and that though he hoped to pull through, it might prove necessary for him to quit the place. In regard to the alleged remittance, it was briefly added that no money had been received.

This latter statement created a most painful impression upon the soldier. His brother's letter appeared to breathe a tone which was not usual; he imagined that, under the guise of calculated frigidity, was to be perceived an insinuation that no money had been sent: and, smarting under the sting of such reflections, the blush of offended virtue rose to his cheek. His feelings ran over the whole gamut of wounded sentiment. He saw himself an injured man, and felt deeply hurt; his money had gone unacknowledged, and he became roused to anger; and then, revolving the whole circ.u.mstances in his mind, suspicion took possession of him. Recollecting that the money-letter had been sent as an ordinary letter by post, and that the reply had not seemed quite right, he now suspected that his brother had received the remittance, appropriated it to his own use, and denied the receipt of his letter. In this frame of mind, he had a communication penned to his brother full of denunciations and reproaches, and couched in such terms of violence, that he would not allow the epistle when written to be read over to him. Next day he started with a distant expedition on active service.

Gloomy, cast down, and above all irate, he was ready to fight with the wind or his own shadow. In the first brush with the enemy he threw himself into their midst with fury, and fought desperately for several hours, as if to provoke the end which he now longed for. Instead of meeting his death, however, he gained the hero's prize--the cross of honour. One month previously he would have hailed this distinction with delight; now everything was dull and indifferent to him--even glory!

About a year after this event Goraud accompanied his regiment to Paris.

As he was leaving the barracks one day a voice hailed him with the question, "Is not your name Goraud?" "Yes, major," was the soldier's reply. "Very good," says the other, "here is a letter for you. There are several Gorauds in the regiment, and the letter has already been opened.

I see you are wanted at the Dead-letter office of the Post-office about some business which concerns you."

He took the letter, and at once hastened to the Post-office. There an explanation awaited him of the miscarriage of his remittance, and the mystery which had clouded his spirits and embittered his life for a whole year. The same letter that he had despatched lay before him with its contents intact. It had been written and addressed for him by a comrade in the regiment, the superscription, turned into English, being something in this form--

"To M. Jacques Goraud, for Widow Goraud, at La Bastide, CANTON of Ma.r.s.eilles."

As it happened, the obliging comrade was a poor scribe, and was without any great experience in letter-writing, or in the art of addressing letters. The only word in the direction which had been plainly written, and stood out in a way to catch the eye, was the word "Canton." This was the key to the mystery; the letter had been sent to China!

At the period in question the sailing-ships conveying the mails took about six months to reach that distant country, and the same time for the return voyage. The soldier's letter had made the double journey; and the blunder being discovered when the letter came back to France, it was sent to the village in Provence to which it was really addressed.

But, alas! adversity had overtaken the family in the old home. They had left the place, and gone no one knew whither; and, so far as the Post-office was concerned, it only remained to return the letter to the writer through the Dead-letter Office.

The moral of this anecdote is, that letters ought to be plainly addressed. Some examples of the rambling style in which addresses are often written are given in another chapter. It would be a useful work were the school boards to give some instruction in this matter to the children under their care. The copy-books might be headed with specimen addresses for the purpose, and the teachers could point out how desirable it is, in addition to plain writing, that the addresses should be well arranged--the name of the person occupying one line, the street and number another, and the name of the town a conspicuous place to the right, in a line by itself. In this particular "they do things better in France," for in that country instruction of the kind in question was introduced into the primary schools more than twenty years ago.

CHAPTER XVIII.

ODD COMPLAINTS.

The Post-office, in its extensive correspondence with the public, has often great difficulty in satisfying what are deemed to be the reasonable claims and representations of reasonable people; but it has also to endeavour to satisfy and persuade persons who, as shown by the demands made by them, are not altogether within the category above mentioned. What would be thought of the following appeals made to the Secretary on the subject of the injury supposed to be done by electricity thrown off from telegraph wires?--

"SIR,--I have been rejoicing in the hope that when the last telegraph wire was removed I should be at peace; but alas for human hopes! Last Sunday and Sat.u.r.day nights, I suppose all the wires must have been working simultaneously, for about 2.0 A.M. I was awakened by the most intense pains in my eyes, and for the two nights I do not think I had more than six hours sleep--that is, none after 2.0 in the morning. Since then I have slept from home, and must continue to do so until either the wires are removed or I leave the house, which I shall be obliged to do, even though it remain unoccupied. The wires are carried in a tube to a pole about 30 yards from my house on the angle, and I imagine that when they are all working, and emerge from the tube, that the electrical matter thrown off must be very great. Pipes have now been run up ---- Road, where a pillar or pole might very easily be fixed, and the present one might be removed 100 yards farther off, where it would electrify nothing but fields.--With many apologies for troubling you again, for, I hope, the last time, and with many thanks for your kindness. .h.i.therto, I am," &c.

"SIR,--I am sorry to be obliged to trouble you again respecting the wires opposite my house at ----. You promised in your favour of ---- that the wires should be removed within a month from that date, a great amount of labour having to be gone through. I was not surprised that six months were required for their removal instead of one, and therefore bore patiently with the delay, although my eyesight, and indeed every one's in the house, suffered most severely; but why, when at last eight were removed, should one be allowed to remain? Since the eight have gone, I have been able to sit in my own house without being in as excruciating pain as formerly; but still I am pained, and particularly between the hours of four and seven in the morning. If one wire affects me so much, imagine my sufferings when nine were working! Such being the case, will you kindly cause the remaining wire either to be removed or encased in the vulcanized tube, so as to contract the current.--Thanking you for your kindness. .h.i.therto, and hoping you will add this favour to the rest, I am," &c.

There are some persons who suffer from the delusion that their landladies and the sorters in the Post-office habitually conspire to keep up, or rob them of, their letters--letters generally which they look for to bring them money or the right to property. These people are always giving trouble, and are difficult to shake off. On one occasion a lady, who was possessed of a set idea of this kind, called at the General Post-office in London to state her grievance, which she did in most fluent terms. Her complaint was noted for inquiry, and then she went away. An hour or two after, she returned to ascertain whether she had left a packet of papers which she had meanwhile missed; but they could not be found. This circ.u.mstance, she stated, convinced her that she had been robbed; and an incident that happened when she quitted the building in the morning confirmed her, she stated, in her idea. A man came up to her and asked if he could show her the way to the Dead-letter Office. "No, thank you," was the reply; "I can find the way myself." She said she knew him to be a magistrate or a judge: "He had a thick neck and flat nose, and the bull-dog type of countenance, and was altogether repulsive-looking." She felt a.s.sured he was watching her, &c.

An aged couple in the south of England moved about from place to place in order to escape from persons who were supposed by them to open their letters. Persecuted, as they imagined, in one town, they would take lodgings in another town, and very soon they would suspect the servants of the house and the officers of the Post-office of obtaining a knowledge of the nature of their correspondence. Then they would wait on the postmaster, and generally go through their chronic grievance. The postmaster, in turn, would a.s.sure them that their letters were fairly dealt with; but this did not satisfy them, and very soon they were off to another town, in the hope of evading their tormentors, but in reality to go through the same course as before.

Mr Anthony Trollope has left us, in the account of his life, a capital specimen of the frivolous and groundless complaints with which the Post-office has frequently to deal. His account is as follows:--"A gentleman in county Cavan had complained most bitterly of the injury done to him by some arrangement of the Post-office. The nature of his grievance has no present significance; but it was so unendurable that he had written many letters, couched in the strongest language. He was most irate, and indulged himself in that scorn which is so easy to an angry mind. The place was not in my district; but I was borrowed, being young and strong, that I might remember the edge of his personal wrath. It was mid-winter, and I drove up to his house, a squire's country seat, in the middle of a snowstorm, just as it was becoming dark. I was on an open jaunting-car, and was on my way from one little town to another, the cause of his complaint having reference to some mail-conveyance between the two. I was certainly very cold, and very wet, and very uncomfortable when I entered his house. I was admitted by a butler, but the gentleman himself hurried into the hall. I at once began to explain my business.

'G.o.d bless me!' he said, 'you are wet through. John, get Mr Trollope some brandy-and-water,--very hot.' I was beginning my story about the post again, when he himself took off my greatcoat, and suggested that I should go up to my bedroom before I troubled myself with business.

'Bedroom!' I exclaimed. Then he a.s.sured me that he would not turn a dog out on such a night as that, and into a bedroom I was shown, having first drank the brandy-and-water standing at the drawing-room fire. When I came down I was introduced to his daughter, and the three of us went in to dinner. I shall never forget his righteous indignation when I again brought up the postal question, on the departure of the young lady. Was I such a Goth as to contaminate wine with business? So I drank my wine, and then heard the young lady sing, while her father slept in his arm-chair. I spent a very pleasant evening, but my host was too sleepy to hear anything about the Post-office that night. It was absolutely necessary that I should go away the next morning after breakfast, and I explained that the matter must be discussed then. He shook his head and wrung his hands in unmistakable disgust,--almost in despair. 'But what am I to say in my report?' I asked. 'Anything you please,' he said. 'Don't spare me, if you want an excuse for yourself.

Here I sit all the day,--with nothing to do; and I like writing letters.' I did report that Mr ---- was now quite satisfied with the postal arrangement of his district; and I felt a soft regret that I should have robbed my friend of his occupation. Perhaps he was able to take up the Poor-law Board, or to attack the Excise. At the Post-office nothing more was heard from him."

The Department not only takes much trouble to investigate cases of irregularity of which definite particulars can be given, but it has frequently to enter into correspondence with persons who seem to have no clear idea of the grounds upon which they make their complaints. A person having stated that his newspapers were not delivered regularly, was requested to answer certain questions on the subject, and the following is the result:--

Questions. Answers.

t.i.tle and date of newspaper? Don't know.

Whether posted within eight days from date of publication? Don't know.

How many papers were there in the packet? One.

Was each newspaper under 4 oz. in weight? Don't know.

Where posted, when, and at what hour? Don't know.

By whom posted? Don't know.

Amount of postage paid, and in what manner paid? Don't know.

The want of information on the part of the public in regard to postal matters of the most ordinary kind cannot at times but give rise to wonder. A person in a fair position of life, residing in one of the eastern counties of England, having obtained a money-order from his postmaster, payable at a neighbouring town, called again a few days afterwards and complained that his correspondent could not obtain payment in consequence of some irregularity in the advice. Thereupon a second advice was sent; but a few days later the sender called again, stating that the payee was still unable to obtain payment. The sender added that he was quite sure that he had sent the money, as he had the receipt in his pocket. On being asked to show it, he produced the original order, which should, of course, have been forwarded to the payee, and without which the money could not be obtained.

A similar instance of ignorance of the method of business as carried on by the Post-office was exhibited by a poor Irishman in London, and is thus described in the 'Life of Sir Rowland Hill':--

"The belief has more than once been manifested at a money-order-office window that the mere payment of the commission would be sufficient to procure an order for 5,--the form of paying in the 5 being deemed purely optional. An Irish gentleman (who had left his hod at the door) recently applied in Aldersgate Street for an order for 5 on a Tipperary post-office, for which he tendered (probably congratulating himself on having hit upon so good an investment) sixpence. It required a lengthened argument to prove to him that he would have to pay the 5 into the office before his friend could receive that small amount in Tipperary; and he went away, after all, evidently convinced that his not having this order was one of the personal wrongs of Ireland, and one of the particular injustices done to hereditary bondsmen only."