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MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
DEAR DR. DOYLE, –Probably your Edinburgh advisers are right, but it is undoubtedly a misfortune
that the perpetrators of attacks such as that which was
made upon you should be allowed to go unpunished.
Your fi ght was indeed a phenomenal one, and you have the
consolation of knowing that if you did not actually win a seat
for yourself, you did materially contribute to the Liberal
Unionist victories in two other Edinburgh constituencies –
this is generally admitted.
I am sure you will feel that your fi rst entry into active
political life promises a full measure of success at no distant
date, and I hope I may see you again before long to talk matters over.
Yours very truly,
(Sgd.) JOHN BORASTON.
I had no further urge to try political adventures, but when
the Tariff Reform election of 1905 came round I felt that
I should make some sacrifi ce for the faith that was in me. Mr.
“Tommy” Shaw, as he was called – now Lord Shaw – was one
of the most energetic Radicals in Scotland, and was reputed
to be most fi rmly established in his seat, which was called
“The Border Burghs,” consisting of the small towns of Hawick, Galashiels and Selkirk, all of them engaged in the woollen trade, and all of them hard hit by German competition.
It seemed to me that if there was a good fi eld anywhere for
Mr. Joseph Chamberlain’s views on a protective tariff it should
be there, where an open market had caused such distress and
loss. My reasoning was sound enough, but I had not reckoned
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
upon the innate conservatism of the Scottish character, which
cannot readjust its general principles to meet the particular
case – a noble trait, but occasionally an unpractical one. Party
politics are not a divine law, but simply a means to an end,
which must adjust itself as the end varies.
This time I really expended a good deal of work as well as
money upon the attempt, for if you stand for others besides
yourself you have no choice but to work up to the last pound
of steam. I might have added my neck to the other things
which I risked, for in an endeavour to get into comradeship
with the people I joined in what is known as the “commonriding” at Hawick, where a general holiday is proclaimed
while the bounds of the common are ridden over and defi ned.
Part of the proceedings was that each mounted man had to
gallop full-split down the high road over a measured course of
half a mile or so, the burghers lining the way and helping one
by waving sticks and umbrellas. I was mounted on a hunter
which I had never seen before, and which was full of spirit.
Fortunately this monstrous road performance came off late in
the afternoon, and I had taken some of the spirit out of him
by our ride round the common. I do not profess to be a great
horseman, and I certainly nearly made the acquaintance of the
Hawick turnpike. Sooner or later some one will be killed at
that game, and horses must be lamed every year. Afterwards an
interminable ballad was recited with a sort of jingling chorus
to which all who are near the reciter keep time with their feet.
As it would seem unsympathetic not to join in, I also kept time
with the rhythm, and was amused and amazed when I got back
to London to see in the papers that I had danced a hornpipe
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MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
in public before the electors. Altogether I had no desire to face
another Hawick common-riding.
The trouble in dealing with a three-town constituency,
each town very jealous of the others, is that whatever you
do has to be done thrice or you give offence. I was therefore
heartily sick of the preparation and only too pleased when
the actual election came off. I thought then, and I think now,
that a sliding tariff, if only as an instrument for bargaining,
would be altogether to our interest in this country, and would
possibly cause some of our rivals to cease closing their markets to us, while they freely use the open market which we
present. I still think that Chamberlain’s whole scheme was
an admirable one, and that it was defeated by a campaign of
misrepresentation and actual lying, in which Chinese labour
and dear food played a chief part. I stood among the ruins of
a dismantled factory in the Border Burghs and I showed how
it had been destroyed by German competition, and how while
we let their goods in free they were levying taxes on ours and
spending the money so gained upon warships with which we
might some day have to reckon. The answer to my arguments
consisted largely of coloured cartoons of Chinamen working
in chains in the mines of the Transvaal, and other nonsense of
the sort. I worked very hard; so hard that on the last night of
the election I addressed meetings in each of the three towns,
which, as they are separated by many miles of hilly roads, is
a feat never done, I understand, before or since. However, it
was of no avail and I was beaten, though I believe I am right
in saying that the party showed a less decrease of votes than
in any constituency in Scotland. The thing which annoyed me
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
most about the election was that my opponent, Tommy Shaw,
only appeared once, so far as I remember, in the constituency, and did everything by deputy, so that I found myself like
a boxer who is punching his rival’s second instead of himself
all the time. I had the melancholy satisfaction of noting that
the Radical chairman who was so engrossed in the wrongs of
Chinamen in the Transvaal went into liquidation within a few
months, giving as his reason the pressure of foreign competition in the woollen trade.
It is a vile business this electioneering, though no doubt it
is chastening in its effects. They say that mud-baths are healthy
and purifying, and I can compare it to nothing else. This applies particularly, I think, to Scotland, where the art of heckling has been carried to extremes. This asking of questions was
an excellent thing so long as it was honest in its desire to know
the candidate’s opinion upon a public measure. But the honest questions are the exception and the unfortunate man is
baited by all sorts of senseless trick questions from mischievous and irresponsible persons, which are designed to annoy
him and make him seem foolish or ignorant. Some reform is
badly needed in this matter. Often, after a speech of an hour,
I had an hour of questions, one more absurd than another. The
press records wilt show, I hope, that I held my own, for I knew
my subject well, and by this time I had had a good schooling
on the platform. Sometimes I countered heavily. I remember
one robust individual coming down with a carefully prepared
question which he shouted from the back of the hall. I had
been speaking of retaliation in commercial tariffs, and his
question was: “Mister Candidate, how do you reconcile retali-
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MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
ation with the Sermon on the Mount?” I answered: “We cannot in life always reach the highest ideals. Have you sold all
and given to the poor?” The man was locally famous as having
done nothing of the sort, and there was a howl of delight at my
answer which fairly drove him out of the hall.
There is a peculiar dry Scottish wit which is very effective
when you get it on your side. I remember one solemn person
who had a loaf on the end of a pole which he protruded towards me, as if it were a death’s-head, from the side box of the
theatre in which I spoke. The implication was, I suppose, that
I would raise the price of bread. It was diffi cult to ignore the
thing and yet puzzling how to meet it, but one of my people
in broad Doric cried: “Tak’ it hame and eat it!” which quite
spoilt the effect. Usually these interpolations are delivered
in a dreamy impersonal sort of voice. When, in talking of the
Transvaal War, I said with some passion, “Who is going to pay
for this war?” a seedy-looking person standing against the
side wall said, “I’m no’ carin’!” which made both me and the
audience laugh. Again I remember my speech being quite interrupted by a joke which was lost upon me. I had spoken of
the self-respect and decent attire of American factory hands.
“Gang and look at Broon’s,” said the dreamy voice. I have never yet learned whether Brown’s factory was famous for tidiness
or the reverse, but the remark convulsed the audience.
The Radicals used to attend my meetings in great numbers, so that really, I think, they were often hostile audiences
which I addressed. Since their own candidate held hardly any
meetings I was the only fun to be had. Before the meeting the
packed house would indulge in cries and counter-cries with
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
rival songs and slogans, so that as I approached the building
it sounded like feeding-time at the Zoo. My heart often sank
within me as I listened to the uproar, and I would ask myself
what on earth I meant by placing myself in such a position.
Once on the platform, however, my fi ghting blood warmed up,
and I did not quail before any clamour. It was all a great education for the future, though I did not realize it at the time,
but followed blindly where some strange inward instinct led
me on. What tired me most was the personal liberties taken
by vulgar people, which is a very different thing from poor
people, whom I usually fi nd to be very delicate in their feelings. I take a liberty with no man, and there is something in
me which rises up in anger if any man takes a liberty with
me. A candidate cannot say all he thinks on this matter, or his
party may suffer. I was always on my guard lest I should give
offence in this way, and I well remember how on one occasion
I stood during a three days’ campaign a good many indignities
with exemplary patience. I was on edge, however, and, as luck
would have it, at the very last moment, as I stood on the platform waiting for the London train, one of my own people, an
exuberant young bounder, came up with a loud familiar greeting and squeezed my right hand until my signet ring nearly
cut me. It opened the sluice and out came a torrent of whaler
language which I had hoped that I had long ago forgotten.
The blast seemed to blow him bodily across the platform, and
formed a strange farewell to my supporters.
Thus ended my career in politics. I could say with my friend
Kendrick Bangs: “The electors have returned me – to the bosom of my family.” A very pleasant constituency it is. I had now
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MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
thoroughly explored that path, and had assured myself that
my life’s journey did not lie along it. And yet I was deeply convinced that public service was waiting for me somewhere. One
likes to feel that one has some small practical infl uence upon
the affairs of one’s time, but I encourage myself by the thought
that though I have not been a public man, yet my utterances
in several pamphlets and numerous letters in the Press may
have had more weight with the public since I was disassociated
from any political interest which could sway my judgment.
CHAPTER XXI
THE YEARS BETWEEN
THE WARS
“History of the War” – Sir Oliver Lodge – Military Arguments – “Sir Nigel” – The EdaljI Case – Crowborough –
The Oscar Slater Case.
WHEN I returned from South Africa, I found that my wife
had improved in health during her stay at Naples, and we were
able to settle down once more at Hindhead, where, what with
work, cricket, and hunting, I had some pleasant years. A few
pressing tasks were awaiting me, however. Besides the barren
contest at Edinburgh I had done a history of the war, but the
war still continued, and I had to modify it and keep it up to date
in successive editions, until in 1902 it took fi nal shape. I called
it “The Great Boer War,” not because I thought the war “great”
in the scale of history, but to distinguish it from the smaller
Boer War of 1881. It had the good fortune to please both friend
and foe, for there was an article from one of the Boer leaders
in “Cornhill” commending its impartial tone. It has been published now by Nelson in a cheap edition, and shows every sign
of being the permanent record of the campaign. No less than
£27,000 was spent upon an Offi cial History, but I cannot fi nd
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MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
that there was anything in it which I had not already chronicled, save for those minute details of various forces which clog
a narrative. I asked the chief offi cial historian whether my book
had been of use to him, and he very handsomely answered that
it had been the spine round which he built.
This history, which is a large-sized book, is not to be confused with the pamphlet “The Cause and Conduct of the War
in South Africa,” which was a small concise defence of the British position. The inception and result of this I have already
described. I have no doubt that it was to the latter that my
knighthood, and my appointment as Deputy-Lieutenant of
Surrey, both of which occurred in 1902, were due.
I remember that on going down to Buckingham Palace
to receive the accolade, I found that all who were waiting for
various honours were herded into funny little pens, according
to their style and degree, there to await their turn. It chanced
that Prof. Oliver Lodge, who was knighted on the same morning, was penned with me, and we plunged at once into psychic
talk, which made me forget where I was, or what I was there
for. Lodge was really more advanced and certain in his views
than I was at that time, but I was quite sure about the truth
of the phenomena, and only doubtful whether some alternative explanation might be found for a discarnate intelligence
as the force at the back of them. This possibility I weighed for
years before the evidence forced me to the Spiritist conclusion.
But when, among the cloud of lies with which we are constantly girt, I read that Lodge and I were converted to our present
views by the death of our respective sons, my mind goes back
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
very clearly to that exchange of thought in 1902. At that time
we had both studied the subject for many years.
Among the many congratulations which I had on my
knighthood there were few which I valued more highly than
that of my old comrade, H. A. Gwynne, who knew so much
about South African affairs. He was good enough to say: “I look
upon your work during this terrible South African business
as quite equal to that of a successful general.” This may well
be the exaggeration of friendship, but it is at least pleasing to
know that those who were in a position to judge did not look
upon me as a mere busybody who butts in without due cause.
There is one incident at this period which comes back to
my memory, and seems very whimsical. I had taken a course
of muscular development with Mr. Sandow, the strong man,
and in that way had formed an acquaintance with him. In
the winter of 1901 Mr. Sandow had a laudable desire to do
something for the British wounded, and with that idea he announced a competition at the Albert Hall. He was himself to
show feats of strength and then there was to be a muster of
strong men who should exhibit their proportions and receive
prizes. There were to be three prizes, a golden statue about two
feet high, a silver replica, and a bronze.
Sandow asked Lawes the sculptor and myself to be the two
judges, he being referee.
It proved to be a very big event. The Albert Hall was crowded. There were eighty competitors, each of whom had to stand
on a pedestal, arrayed only in a leopard’s skin. Lawes and I put
them up ten at a time, chose one here and one there, and so
gradually reduced the number until we only had six left. Then
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